Horse With No Name (17 page)

The word coward floated around Julia's mind,
repeating itself, annoying her like a black fly. Why did it matter?
she wondered. The character of the person who'd attacked Hunter was
of less importance than who actually did it.

She opened her eyes and bent forward again,
dipping her brush into the bucket to her right. Absently she ran it
along the floor, no longer focused on her task. Something was
gnawing at the edge of her consciousness but she couldn't bring it
forward.

And then her father's face came unbidden to
her mind's eye. His greying mustache and beard, his furrowed brow
and eyes that watched sternly during his cases but until recently
had almost always looked at his daughter with pride and love. She
heard his voice in her head. Bullies, he had said to her more than
once, are, at their heart, cowards.

She dropped the scrub brush into the bucket
and stood up, pulling off her work apron. "Right you are, Father,"
she said to the kitchen and went to find her hat and riding
gloves.

Twenty-two

She had to sneak out of
town.

She wasn't sure where Merrick was that
evening. But she was sure she needed to stay out of his sight. She
took an indirect route from her house to the livery, avoiding the
main street and the risk that Merrick would see her from his
office.

While she groomed and saddled Stanley, she
kept her ears attuned to Walt's rhythmic hammering from next door.
It was almost like the drum in a band; the clang-clang as regular
as clockwork.

When Stanley was saddled, she led him out of
his stall. The animal automatically began to turn toward the front
of the building but she guided him the other way, whispering to
him. "This way today," and together they walked all the way down
the center aisle and out into the paddocks at the back of the
building.

Earl and Nelson were there, snacking on the
hay Walt put out for them. They both looked up, eyes and ears
interested, and watched as Julia and Stanley crossed to the far
side of the enclosure. She opened the gate and led Stanley through
and then closed it behind them. She glanced toward the back of the
forge and listened. Walt was still tapping out his steady rhythm.
She gathered Stanley's reins, put her left foot in the stirrup and
floated lightly up into the saddle. When her skirt was adjusted,
she clucked to Stanley and they trotted away, up the gentle slope
that led out of town.

***

Alan Cecil worked at the O'Brien Ranch, and
it was him she was looking for. The word coward, with its insistent
poking at her, and the memory of her father's belief about bullies,
finally made her think of Alan Cecil.

She didn't know the man, really. All she knew
of him was how she had seen him interact with his wife, Lily. And
how Lily had reacted to him. That, it seemed, was more informative
than his own behavior.

He was charming. He had exuded charm that
night in the Finnegan's kitchen. Julia hadn't thought anything of
it at the time, but when she pictured the scene, she remembered
that Lily's demeanor had been odd. She was not a relaxed woman, by
any stretch of the imagination. And what had bothered Julia at the
time was that even when Lily’s husband had been having a pleasant,
jovial conversation with Julia, Lily hadn't relaxed.

It was subtle, and Julia didn’t want to
notice at first, but Alan Cecil seemed to have a strong hold over
his wife. He had made that backhanded comment to her at the harvest
festival, which seemed unkind. But it was the way he had been
gripping his wife's arm in the kitchen at Finnegan's that stayed
with Julia. It bothered her at the time but she had been distracted
by Alan's subsequent charm and she hadn't let the moment register
in the front of her consciousness. Now, though, it wouldn't leave
her alone.

Alan Cecil worked with horses. This, combined
with what Julia suspected was a slightly cruel nature covered up by
a thin veneer of charm, was enough to make Julia want to talk to
Cecil. It was the slenderest of threads, but it was all she had. If
she was totally honest with herself, she would realize that she was
really on a wild goose chase. One that kept her from thinking about
the poor rabbit on her front door and the danger to herself that
this implied.

She had no information whatsoever that Hunter
and Cecil even knew each other. Hunter was a refined, almost
delicate person. Julia had never seen him on a horse. She wasn't
sure he owned one. He spent his time, it seemed, within the town
limits, working on his clocks and watches. Julia's limited
experience of Alan Cecil was the polar opposite. Burly,
ill-mannered, coarse, but with that vein of charm that appeared
when needed. As far as Julia knew they had no friends in common
other than Lily. Cecil lived and worked on the O'Brien ranch and
stayed with Lily in her room at Finnegan's as often as his work
would allow.

The hour-long ride gave her time to think,
but rather than examining her own motives too closely, Julia
focused on thinking about what she knew of Cecil. Which wasn't
much. The couple was new to the area. They didn't have children, so
that was not a point of contact for Julia. She knew they had lived
in Kelowna before coming to Horse. Alan had worked as a stock
manager for a ranch there, or so Millie Jones had said. It was
unusual for Lily to work given that she was married. But the Cecils
seemed to be making the best of an untraditional way of life. Alan
lived in the bunkhouse with the other drovers, and that was no
place for a woman. The arrangement they had for Lily to work and
live at the Finnegan's made sense.

As Julia and Stanley followed the nearly
invisible deer trail that led up and around the small hill they
were climbing, she convinced herself that pursuing this line of
inquiry was the right thing to do. Merrick might not agree. She
patted Stanley's neck, reassuring herself with the feeling of his
fur and muscles; distracting herself from this thought.

The O'Brien ranch came into sight. The chapel
was the first building they passed as they came onto the land. The
tiny building with its little steeple reminded Julia very much of
her schoolhouse. Squat, longer than it was wide, with three tall
windows down each side and a set of narrow steps leading up to the
front door. The door was closed as they passed and Stanley barely
gave it a glance. His focus was on the little cluster of
outbuildings they came to next.

The barn was on her left, long and low, with
two wide doors open on the side. She could see into the gloom
inside as she approached.

Her heart was in her throat. It was as though
suddenly her body and brain realized what she was doing. She'd come
out here alone, searching for a man or men who she believed had
already attacked two people; herself under cover of night, and
Hunter in broad daylight.

Stanley felt her hesitation and stopped. She
leaned forward, patting his neck, again seeking reassurance. His
ears flicked around, noticing bird song and the movement of some
tall grass near a fence post.

She thought for an instant about retreating,
heading back into town, giving up her quest. Merrick was right;
what she was doing was dangerous. She should heed the warning of
the dead rabbit on her door. Whoever was behind the attacks was
clearly deranged. What had possessed her to come out here by
herself?

"Hello?"

Julia startled. A man came out of the barn,
carrying a shovel in one hand and shielding his eyes from the sun
with the other.

He was of medium build, though he looked
thick and hard, like a large tree. His face was nondescript and his
beard and mustache were almost entirely white, but the hair that
poked out from under his peaked cap looked nearly black. His lips
were pulled back slightly and Julia could see he was missing a
canine tooth. His work shirt was buttoned all the way to his neck,
but he wore no tie. His expression was questioning but his eyes
looked kind. He was older than Julia by at least two decades but he
didn't seem burdened by his age, as some men do.

"Hello," Julia replied, still debating about
leaving without completing her mission. "I'm, uh, I'm..."

"You're Miss Thom from the school." The man
completed for her. "Had you forgotten that?"

Julia could see he was teasing her; his eyes
were alive with delight. She smiled down at him. "No, I, um. I know
who I am. I'm afraid I don't know your name."

"Cobbs," he said, still holding his palm up
to shield his eyes. "Spenser Cobbs, Miss. How can I help? Are you
lost? Town's thataway." He gave a little jerk of his head back in
the direction Julia had come.

Well, I've come all this way, Julia thought.
"I'm looking for Alan Cecil," she said.

If Mr. Cobbs wondered why the schoolteacher
was out on her own searching the ranch for a young drover, he
didn't let that thought show on his face. He glanced up at the sky.
"It's about supper time," he said. "The men will be eating in the
cookhouse today, since they're working close by." He paused,
thinking. "Why don't you leave your horse here and we'll walk over?
I'll show you the way."

Julia tried swallowing but her throat
wouldn't cooperate. So she threw her leg over Stanley's neck and
hopped down to the ground instead.

Cobbs watched her quietly. When he turned to
go back into the barn he said over his shoulder, "Not a fan of the
side saddle, I see."

"No, sir."

"Good for you, young lady. Those things are a
death trap."

Twenty-three

The cookhouse was just
that. A building about the size of the church Julia had just
passed, but without any adornment. Julia imagined that there would
be at least two large cook stoves inside, along with tables, and
benches for the men to sit on when they ate. But today, in the cool
but pleasant evening air, they were taking their meal en plein, as
her drawing teacher Mr. Albert would have said. Seven men sat on
wooden chairs with broken or missing backs a few feet away from a
large river-stone fireplace. The wood crackled as Julia and Cobbs
approached. A fat man in a stained white apron handed a drover with
a tear in the knee of his pants a bowl filled with what Julia
suspected was some sort of stew or chili.

The men's heads all swiveled in Julia's
direction as she approached with Cobbs, but they didn't stop
eating. They reminded Julia of a small herd of cows; eyes still,
jaws moving.

"Want some supper?" Cobbs asked her, sotto
voce.

She shook her head. "I ate before I came."
Which was a lie, but she was anxious and didn't want to seem too
familiar with the men.

Cobbs nodded once and then raised his voice.
"Cecil. Miss Thom here would like to speak to you."

One of the men muttered something which Julia
assumed was rude because the men on either side of him laughed,
showing dirty teeth and partially chewed supper.

Alan Cecil was sitting flat on the ground,
his legs stretched out in front of him, toes pointed toward the
sky. His back was curled over his lap so he could spoon his supper
to his mouth without dripping on his shirt. There was a large, torn
chunk of bread at the edge of his bowl. He dipped it into the stew
and then took a bite, watching Julia the whole time.

"What about?" he directed his question at
Cobbs who didn't answer.

"Perhaps we could speak in private, Mr.
Cecil?" Julia glanced around at the other men, who hadn't taken
their collective gaze off her.

"Perhaps not," Cecil said, raising his voice
doing an imitation of her. The other men chuckled.

They were sitting in a semi-circle, some on
the ground and some on the old chairs. None of the men had stood up
in her presence.

The charm that Cecil had exhibited in
Finnegan's kitchen was entirely absent. His eyes had flicked to his
companions when he'd imitated Julia, noticing their reaction and,
Julia suspected, seeking approval. Here was a man, Julia reasoned,
who was unsure of himself. In the presence of his wife, he had been
confident and clearly was the more powerful of the two. Now,
surrounded by other men, he seemed shrunken somehow. His sense of
his own power was conditional; it depended upon who he was with.
Julia made a note of this and wondered how Cecil would feel around
another man such as James Hunter, one who was refined and not
likely to provide a physical threat, as she was sure these drovers
did. Would Hunter, who had some sort of relationship with Cecil's
wife in the past, prove a threat to Cecil?

Just inside the cookhouse building, lying in
an open doorway, Julia spotted a milking stool, lying on its side.
She walked over the ten feet to it, picked it up, and carried it
back to the group. She set it beside Cecil, gathered her skirt
behind her and sat down.

The men had obviously hoped to intimidate her
by making her feel unwelcome. When she sat down, the man to Cecil's
left hesitated in mid-chew. She wondered how often a woman stood up
to these men. She further wondered how often they encountered a
woman who was not their mother, sister, wife or a woman they were
meeting for the first and last time in a bawdy house.

As she did very often these days when she
needed courage, Julia decided to pretend the group in front of her
were seven schoolboys and that she was in charge of them. She
looked around at them, letting her eyes linger on each face,
committing them to memory and trying to see if her body reacted to
the sight of any of them. If it remembered any of them from the
night of the dance, though she consciously did not. Each face was
lined and brown from the sun. All of the men were young, probably
younger than her. They had thick, rough fingers with filthy nails
and their clothes were dirty and patched. One fellow, directly
opposite her, had his feet stretched out like Cecil did, and Julia
saw he had a hole in the sole of one boot.