Into the Light (12 page)

As Deborah was stuck with him. He didn’t take her hand to help her into the buggy, but held out his and waited. Through her glove and his she felt the warmth, the strength, but then she was on the seat. She sat tight against the side, eyes locked on the road ahead.

“I need to apologize,” he said once they’d left the long lines of tied horses behind.

Her tongue came unstuck. Maybe it was the everyday sound of hooves clopping down the road. Maybe it was the fact he sat as far on his side of the seat as she did on hers. “No, you don’t. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Maybe for slipping and giving it away and spoiling everything.”

She hadn’t thought of it that way. After all she’d always known there would be a bad ending. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. For what I called you. I don’t know why I said it. I’m the one who lied.”

“To me?”

She didn’t even have to think about that before answering. “No, never to you, but to everyone else. That night I even lied again and told my family I was upset about a drunk that came along, that a stranger had to punch him to make him leave. I told myself it wasn’t much of a lie because it did happen.”

He laughed. “Is that what you thought? I couldn’t have punched a pillow hard enough to dent it back then, so I hit him with the cane. The result was so salutary I decided to keep the thing whether I needed it or not, and I don’t really need it any more unless I’m tired. I shouldn’t admit such low behavior to you.”

“Oh.” Against her will, the corners of her mouth turned up. “I don’t see what was low about it. He deserved it, but that means I didn’t even get my lie right, did I?” She risked a glance at him, his eyes met hers, and he smiled too.

The misery that had been her constant companion since the dance eased. She wouldn’t see him again after today. They’d never talk again, but they could part friends.

“From what you said, I had the idea you were still in college, or only graduated this spring. When I thought it over, I realized you never said that exactly, but I took it that way.”

“I thought you were a middle-aged spinster, probably longer in the tooth than Irene. You didn’t exactly say that either.”

“Oh, but I did say.... I can see why you thought that. My sisters call me an old maid.”

“Your sisters are wrong. What are you twenty-three, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Aah. I take it back. That is old.”

“You need to turn around now,” she said. “We need to be back in time so no one sees you.”

He didn’t argue but reined to a halt and maneuvered the mare around in the road. Once they were headed back, he said, “Would it be so terrible if they saw me?”

She stopped taking short sideways peeks at him and turned to face him. “Of course it would. Your father....”

“My father got it into his head he wanted all the land to the creek and killed people trying to get it. Your people. I know that. You and I were children back then. I don’t see why we can’t be friends now.”

“He had my grandfather killed,” Deborah said, surprised he would admit what his father had done, “and my cousin Norah’s first husband and half a dozen other people who had settled along the creek.”

“Sins of the fathers?” he said, giving the horse an unnecessary slap with the reins. “Didn’t you say your grandfather was a monster? Was that another little lie?”

“No, it wasn’t. He was a very cruel man, but that doesn’t mean he deserved to be murdered.”

Trey — she couldn’t think of him as the Third after this — sucked in a breath and blew it out noisily. “No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry, but I don’t see why old feuds that were over when we were children should keep us from being friends.”

“But it’s not over. The fighting is, but not the feelings. You have no idea how much people still hate your father, your family.”

“Maybe I do. There are people in town who let me know they don’t see much difference between me and my father, and I know how he reacts to the Sutton name. I just don’t care what he thinks.”

“I do care what my family thinks.”

“Even though you’ve spent most of your life running and hiding from them?”

She glared at him. “Leave me at the church, go away, and don’t come back.”

He gave a curt nod, and neither of them spoke again until he turned and pulled up in the place where she’d first seen him. He helped her down and kept hold of her hand. “I’m sorry. I never should have said such a thing. I could talk to....”

She jerked her hand free. “No! You can’t. Please. Let’s just say goodbye as friends and not make trouble. You said you were leaving Hubbell soon anyway.”

“I am, but until then....”

“No. I can’t do that to them. I don’t want to.”

He tipped his hat, rueful acceptance in his face. “All right, Deborah Sutton. And when the Fourth of July rolls around again, think of me. I’m going to remember you.”

Deborah watched him go. If anything was sure in life, it was that she’d never stop thinking of him, remembering four all too brief encounters.

At last she turned away. She could stand at the back of the church for the rest of the service, join in the final hymn. A dark form moved on the church stoop, and Deborah froze, her mind racing. Hiram Johnson. How long had he been standing there?

If she could reach him in time, find out what he’d seen, and beg him to keep quiet.... She lifted her skirt to run, but he disappeared inside. Even knowing it was futile, Deborah hurried after him, into the dim interior of the church.

She stopped just inside the door and watched Hiram march to where the rest of the Johnsons sat and slide into place. He began whispering to his brother before his rear hit the pew.

As the final hymn began, Deborah tiptoed back outside and walked slowly to the picnic tables. Concocting a story to explain what Hiram had seen was beyond her. She was going to have to tell the truth.

N
O ONE ASKED
a question. They all joined her at the table, beside her, around her.

At least Judith and Miriam weren’t here to smirk or frown and neither was Beth, who had left for school more than a month ago. Eli’s boys, too young to care about what concerned adults, took off across the fields with half a dozen other children, and Cousin Norah sent her youngest two away with a few words.

“It was an accident,” Deborah said finally.

“Did he threaten you?” Aunt Em asked, concern all over her face.

“No, he came to apologize because I.... Because I....” It all came pouring out then, the first accidental meeting, what she’d done on the Fourth of July, and what had really happened at the dance. Aunt Em looked more and more horrified, Uncle Jason sadder and sadder, Uncle Eli and Caleb grim, Aunt Lucy and Norah merely interested.

“I’m sorry,” she ended, close to tears. “I’m s-sorry, but I thought he was a boy, a boy from a family we don’t know who went to college, and t-talking to him was interesting and, and it didn’t seem so terrible at the time.”

“I can’t believe you were so foolish,” Aunt Em said. “Out alone on the Fourth like that. You had to know what could have happened, what he could have done. Webster Van Cleve’s son! He killed your own grandfather, paid someone to do it.”

“I didn’t know who he was!”

“But you rode away with him. Hiram saw you coming back down the road in the buggy with him.”

“He wanted to talk to me, to apologize. He apologized, and we’re never going to talk again.” For some reason, after admitting to lies and sneaking, the last bit started her crying.

The only thing Deborah hated worse than crying was doing it in front of anyone. She stood up and took off running, away from the fields where the children whooped and shouted, behind the Grange Hall and into the shadows there. She sank down at the base of the wall, out of sight of everyone, not caring in the least how much dirt got on her Sunday dress.

The tears stopped, and after a while so did her raggedy breathing. She ought to go back now, before someone came to fetch her like a sullen child. Instead she drew her knees up, hugged them, and hid her face.

Footsteps sounded, and she looked up, ready to tell whoever it was to go away more rudely than she had told Trey Van Cleve the same.

Norah sank down beside her, and Deborah relaxed. There had been a time when she fell asleep each night wishing she was Norah’s daughter. Then she had realized that would mean Caleb was her father and moved on to other wishes.

“Hungry?” Norah unwrapped the napkin in her hand to expose a thick slice of bread, glistening with a liberal coating of butter.

“Yes, thank you.” To her surprise, she was hungry. Deborah devoured the bread, used the napkin, and waited for a lecture, advice, or recriminations. Norah just leaned back and closed her eyes, a slight smile on her face. The silence lengthened. Deborah rested against the wall and closed her eyes too.

“You’re my favorite Sutton, you know,” Deborah said.

Norah smiled without opening her eyes. “Right now.”

“Most of the time. You’re good at letting a person be.”

“Mm. Maybe because there are times when that’s all I want myself.”

“Do you ever get it?”

“More now than when the children were small, but even then sometimes Caleb seemed to just know. He’d round them up and take them off for a while.”

More silence.

“I’m going to have to go back and face them soon, aren’t I?”

“Unless you want to walk home. It’s a long way. They won’t say anything more in front of the boys. It will be all right.”

“It didn’t seem so terrible at the time. I just.... I
liked
talking to him.”

“You like him.”

“I do, but I can’t, can I?”

“Did I ever tell you how I once lost a position because of Caleb?”

“No. A position? You took a position, a paid position?”

“I did. After Joe was killed, it was work or starve. I starved for a while, and then I took a position as a housekeeper in town. When Mrs. Tindell found out I was seeing Caleb, she told me it reflected poorly on her and on me, and I had to stop seeing him if I wanted to work for her.”

“The
Mrs. Tindell? The one everybody calls the grande dame of Hubbell?”

“Caleb calls her an old bat, but that’s the one.”

“So she dismissed you because of Caleb,” Deborah said knowingly.

“No, I quit because of Caleb.” Norah opened her eyes, turned her head, and raised her eyebrows. “We got married the first time I saw him after that.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Deborah said. “We enjoyed talking to each other is all. I never thought of him like that.”

“Of course not, you thought he was a boy, way too young for a spinster like you. And I just thought you would like to hear what I did once upon a time when someone told me I couldn’t see someone I wanted to see. Of course I was much older and widowed.”

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“That’s only three years....”

“That’s right, much older.” Norah gave her a wide smile. “And now I’m older yet, so you need to get up and give me a hand. My knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Deborah rose and pulled Norah, who seemed as limber as ever, to her feet. They walked side by side back to where the family waited without saying more.

T
REY MADE IT
back to the ranch in early afternoon. The Grange Hall and church were close enough if the Van Cleve family were so inclined, they could attend in all but the worst weather. As he turned his horse onto the ranch road, he abandoned conjuring up scenarios where the Van Cleve family joined the faithful in the farm community.

Fantasies of outrage and even righteous violence enabled him to keep thoughts of his visit with Deborah at bay. So would focusing on the all too real problem of who had cut harness, loosened a buggy wheel, and tried to put Irene out of commission for a few days at best or cripple her at worst, except he didn’t want to face that reality any more than Deborah’s rejection.

Herman met Trey in front of the barn and didn’t give him a choice. “None of the hands has said a word or even looked sly when your name comes up.”

“Does my name come up often?”

“Some.”

The old man refused to give names, and Trey had no faith a contemptuous ranch hand had gone to such lengths to do harm. Trey accepted Herman’s promise to guard Irene like a hawk and watch for anyone nosing around the harness or buggy as the best he could do.

In truth, he didn’t want anyone to catch Alice with a knife in her hand. A few more months, and he’d be gone from Hubbell, and his sister’s emotional vagaries would no longer matter.

The next few days passed in relative peace so far as Van Cleve family relations went. Trey stuck with polite banalities, and so did his father. Alice seemed too caught up in the prospect of the coming child to worry about her unworthy brother. Vernon and Daniel Forbes had left for the north on business and would be gone at least another week.

Trey spent hours walking over the ranch. He’d never run a race again and expected to deal with backaches when fatigued for the rest of his life, but the cane would soon be an affectation, one he planned to keep.

He shared stories with his mother about her mother, a tough-minded old woman Trey had lived with while in college.

The peace ended as Trey knew it would, this time with an early morning summons to his father’s study. Knocking on the door took him back to a long ago time when he’d vibrated with excitement over permission to enter his father’s private domain, been fascinated by the map on the wall, bookcases, and cabinets.

The big smile with which his father greeted him worried Trey more than a scowl would have. If he’d done anything to invoke this bonhomie, he didn’t know it and hated to think what it might be.

“Sit down. Sit down and let’s see if we can’t get past all these petty differences.”

Trey took both a chair and a cigar with suspicion. At least his father didn’t seem inclined to start pouring whiskey this early in the day.

The map of the ranch and surrounding properties had disappeared when Webster Van Cleve came to terms with Cal Sutton. Other than that, the room looked much the same as it had twenty years ago. Different drapes and wallpaper, but still a dark, masculine room with the same big desk and chairs facing it.