Petticoat Ranch (5 page)

Even with the agony, he reached for that one brokenhearted angel, to try and make amends with her. Then he saw his muddy hands and knew he didn’t dare touch her.

Funny, he wouldn’t have expected there to be dirt in heaven.

He dropped his hand, but the little one grabbed it. “Pa? It’s you, isn’t it? Tell them it’s you. No one believes it, but I know it’s you.”

Pa? He didn’t understand. He knew she was talking to him. She was clasping his filthy hand to her chest, as if it were the greatest of treasures. He looked at that one little blond angel and wished he could be her pa.

Maybe that was it. Maybe this was his lot for eternity. That sounded very good to him. Tears of gratitude for God’s goodness cut across his eyes. He held that little hand firmly, until darkness caught hold of his mind and pulled him under.

Sally almost flung herself down on top of him. Sophie grabbed her.

“It’s him! Did you see the way he recognized me? Oh, Ma! Ma, he called me a little angel!” Sally looked up at Sophie. Sally’s joy was so precious, Sophie wanted to say whatever Sally wanted to hear.

Suddenly, Sally gasped aloud. “If there
is
a double, then why not the other one, Ma? Why couldn’t we have cut the double down out of the tree?”

Sophie ran her hand gently down Sally’s uncombed white curls.
“They took him from right in front of me, Sally sweetheart. I was there. He was in the yard, just walking away from the house after supper. You remember how it was. You were there. I was standing in the door, watching him go.”

They’d come charging in and surrounded Cliff. One of them, Judd she now knew, shouted that they’d tracked a horse thief to this property— right to this yard. Then they dragged him away before Sophie could so much as speak a word in his defense and tell them Cliff had been with her all day.

They’d galloped off, and Sophie had run after them, screaming. They hadn’t even acknowledged her existence. When they’d left her hopelessly behind, she’d dashed back to the corral and caught a horse. She was good at it, having done largely for herself during the war years. She’d been riding after them within minutes. And she’d caught them just as they rode away laughing and sharing a whiskey bottle—leaving Cliff swaying in the wind.

She’d raced to the tree, thinking she might be in time to save him. But Cliff ’s face was a horrible, lifeless gray. His blue eyes gaped open, staring straight ahead at nothing. His neck was bent at an unnatural angle. All that had been left to do was cut him down and carry him home.

Sophie had gone for the sheriff, but he’d begun questioning her about the horses on the Edwards’s property, as if he suspected the vigilantes might have been within their rights to hang Cliff. The sheriff had gone back to town without offering to so much as chase after Cliff’s killers.

Sophie, beyond grief, with the fight battered out of her body, simply dug a hole next to the grave they’d dug for their baby boy. Late in the evening Parson Roscoe showed up with several townsfolk. The parson tried to comfort her, but Sophie couldn’t even respond to his Christian faith. She was afraid if she accepted even a moment of comfort, she’d begin crying and never stop.

Others came out to pay their respects, but except for the parson,
none of them were really friends. On top of Mosqueros’s aversion to the Edwards’s Yankee affiliation, Cliff had a knack for alienating people. There’d been a short ceremony, and Sophie had bitterly refused all help filling in the hole.

She’d also turned down four marriage proposals. Sophie was mortified her girls had witnessed the crude men trying to convince her to marry them over the fresh-turned earth of her husband’s grave. The parson had ordered them off her land. The next day, Royce Badje, the banker, had ridden out to the ranch to notify her that when the next loan payment came due, he’d expect the full amount left on the loan.

Sophie had cattle to sell and a large part of the principal of the loan paid down. Mr. Badje said once the man of the household was dead, the woman was a poor risk. She’d either have to pay her loan in full or sell.

Sophie countered by pointing out she’d kept things going while Cliff was away fighting the war.

“Cliff was at Gettysburg, wasn’t he?” Mr. Badje asked coldly. The banker’s sons had died at Gettysburg, fighting for the Confederacy.

Sophie didn’t answer. They both knew. Mr. Badje had given her thirty days to pay up or vacate the property.

While she was still shaking with anger, the banker proposed marriage. He offered to let her keep the ranch for their home, if she said yes. She’d said no. Then Mr. Badje asked how many years until Mandy was of marrying age.

Sophie’s skin was crawling by the time he left.

The man stirred beside her and brought her thoughts back to the present, but he remained unconscious.

All three of the girls leaned forward, as if they were hanging on every breath that passed through his lips. Sophie studied his relaxed features, willing his eyes to open again, so he could answer some questions. A sudden fierce gust of wind rattled the shed, reminding Sophie of where
they were and how late it was. She needed to get the girls away from him anyway, before they could fall more completely into the dream of getting their father back.

She studied her daughters, grim and mourning in a dark night split by lightning and shaken by thunder. She saw them as she hadn’t seen them in a long while. They were tough as shoe leather, she knew that, but tonight, for the first time, she saw they were gaunt. She had waged a battle to survive on wild game and sparse greens.

Tonight, for the first time, she saw that she was losing that battle. Her girls were being hurt by this lean, hard life. She had to do something. She couldn’t go on hiding, afraid of the hostile, hungry-eyed townspeople. Something had to change. But change took thought and planning. She didn’t have time for either right now. She never had time for either.

“Girls, we have to get some sleep. And we can’t leave Laura alone any longer.”

Her girls each had a look of Hectorish stubbornness. Sophie understood, but they still had to put one foot in front of the other. And that started with sleep. She judged the situation and decided now wasn’t the time for patience and kindness. She started issuing orders. “Amanda and Elizabeth, you go back to the house for now.”

“No, Ma, we want to stay,” Mandy protested.

Beth stormed, “It’s not fair that Sally gets to help first.”

Sophie hardened her heart to their pleading. They had to get through the next day without being exhausted. “Sally didn’t go down into the creek. She’s not soaking wet and shivering.” That was true, but it wasn’t the real reason. Sophie knew she would never pry Sally from this man’s side.

She didn’t waste her time trying to be reasonable. “Do as you’re told. Get some sleep. Sally and I will sit up with him and keep him warm as best we can. You’ll have to spell us later, so try and rest. Laura will wake up just as usual at dawn, and someone’s going to need to have the gumption to take care of her. I’ll send Sally in later to wake you, Mandy. Then Beth will have a turn.”

In the intermittent lightning, Mandy and Beth looked stubborn-still, but the chance at keeping vigil later placated them somewhat. Sophie saw the dark circles under their eyes from the strain of this night, and she knew they’d sleep if they’d only lay their heads down. She didn’t think Sally would. She’d just lie in the house and spin pipe dreams and hope.

In a slightly more gentle voice, Sophie said, “Go on now, girls. If he wakes up and can walk, we’ll bring him in the house where it’s warmer.”

They grumbled, but Sophie had been in charge of this family for a long time. At last they moved away from their patient’s side, and after hesitating in the opening of the little barn, they dashed out into the slashing rain and disappeared into the narrow pathway of the thicket.

Sophie exchanged a long look with Sally, who could barely tear her eyes away from the man. “It’s not your pa, Sally. I’m sorry, and I know you don’t believe me. We all want it to be him so badly. But it’s not.”

“But Ma, he’s. . .”

“Don’t you think I want it to be him?” Sophie interrupted. “Don’t you think I’ve been fishing around inside my head for some way I’m wrong about who I buried that night? It was two years ago. You were only five. It’s possible for you to convince yourself that things were different than they were. But I can’t fool myself.”

“But, Ma,” Sally wailed. “All you have to do is look at. . .”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Sophie cut her off. “Maybe we’ll find out your pa had a. . .a distant cousin or something. I think, with the way he looks, there has to be some connection between this man and your pa, but it’s not him.” Sophie softened her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but it’s just not him.”

Sally’s eyes wavered between the man and her ma. She finally whispered, “Okay.”

And while Sophie knew her daughter believed her, she also knew the hope wouldn’t die. The man stirred. The heavy woolen blanket that covered him slipped down, and goose bumps covered his arms and bare chest.

Moving slowly, as if in a trance, Sally stretched out beside the man and rested her little body along side of him. Just above a whisper, she said, “I’ll keep you warm.”

It was as if Sophie saw her daughter falling in love with this stranger right before her eyes. She didn’t know what to do or say to stop it. In the end, when the man shivered again more violently, Sophie decided to leave it until morning. She rubbed the man’s arms and pulled the blanket a bit higher. When that didn’t make the goose bumps go down, she decided Sally had the right idea. She stretched out beside the man and huddled up close to him to share her warmth. She reached her hand across him to touch Sally’s pale, worried face.

“Would it be so bad to pretend—just for tonight?” Sally asked.

Sophie smoothed her little girl’s bedraggled hair back off her forehead. Then she felt a sudden easing of her heart. Sophie knew it came from a loving God who had proclaimed worry a waste of time.

“You’re going to pretend anyway, aren’t you, sweetie?”

Sally looked a little sheepish. With a shrug of her tiny shoulders that had already borne a lifetime of sadness, she said, “I reckon.”

“So just enjoy it. It wouldn’t be so bad to pretend we’ve got Pa back—just for tonight.”

Sophie saw Sally unbend inside. Sophie knew Sally was pretending and feeling guilty over it, and that had lent strength to the fantasy of her father returning from the dead. But talking about it turned it into something less weighty. Almost a game.

He shivered again. Sally hugged him a little tighter. “Just for tonight.”

The man’s chills lessened as they held him. Sophie looked across that broad chest and noticed that Sally had fallen asleep with her head cradled on the man’s shoulder.

Sophie lay awake and felt him begin to make more natural movements, as a person might do in his sleep. The tension that had been riding her since she’d heard his horse’s pounding footsteps so long ago eased.

And that’s when she remembered her children’s hollow cheekbones and Judd’s cruel, bloodshot eyes. Judd’s viciousness had driven them to this life. The taste of hate burned her tongue.

It grew in her, like mold in that damp, musty shed, until it filled her and threatened to explode. She shook as she lay there beside the man Judd now wanted to kill. Her eyes stared into the black, drizzling night and saw nothing but hate. Satan gripped her heart, and she gave full sway to her thirst for vengeance. Hate roiled in her heart, guilt ate at her soul, and tears burned in her eyes. Then she forced her burning eyes to close. It was evil to feel like this about one of God’s children.

With typical brutal honesty, Sophie admitted to God that she didn’t want to let go of her fury. It was a betrayal of Cliff to forgive. It was ludicrous to love enemies such as these. She forced herself to pray, “Dear Lord, remove this sin from me. Soften my heart. Help me not to hate the way I do.”

For Sophie it was a flowery prayer. Usually, she had neither the time nor the strength to be eloquent. She was too busy living through whatever life crushed down on her next. So exhausted, cold, and afraid, much the same as any other day, she spoke to God in words that summed up everything, “Help me, Lord. Help me, help me, help me.”