Sabrina's Man (14 page)

Frank shook his head and for once dared to cross Sabrina. “She's not like you, Sabrina,” he said quietly, but there was a steadiness in his voice that was unusual.

The argument went on for some time, but in the end Frank and Caroline left, and Dulcie entered. “You ought to listen to your momma. She knows what she's talkin' about, and Mr. Frank, he knows, too.”

“Dulcie, I'm not going to argue with you. I'm going on this trip, and you're going with me.”

Dulcie was sullen for a while; then as she continued to help Sabrina pack, she said, “You always think you can fix things.”

“Well, it's true. I can fix things. All it takes is a lot of determination. Nobody's really showed any of that with Marianne.”

“I don't know how you think you'd do anything about it. You ain't been listenin' to her. She's really gone on this man. We don't know nothin' about him. None of the family does.”

“Well, when I get back I'll handle it.”

“How you gonna do that?”

Sabrina threw a petticoat into the trunk that was already packed then turned to say, “I'll meet this man and decide about him. If I don't like him, I'll hire a private detective to find out what kind of a man he is. Now help me get the rest of this stuff packed. We've got to be on that steamboat by two o'clock today.”

Marianne had met Gerald for lunch, and after he watched her carefully, he said, “You've got something on your mind, Marianne. What is it?”

“I was wondering if you would come and have dinner with us tonight.”

Gerald smiled. He had a good smile, broad, and humor sparkled in his eyes. “I guess your parents want to see what kind of a man you've been running around with. I've been wondering when this would come up.”

“I wish you wouldn't tease me, Gerald. I've never been as serious about a man as I've come to feel about you.”

“I didn't think your family would let you.”

Marianne's eyes blinked; then she nodded slowly, realizing the remark was true. “They've always been very protective of me. Very careful about what I do and who I see.”

Gerald leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea. “Not like that sister of yours, are you?”

“No, she's very strong.”

Gerald set the cup down and stared at the young woman. He was quiet for one moment; then he turned his head to one side and said, “What if you had to choose between the man you loved and your family? Would you go against their will?”

Marianne was troubled by the question. She looked down for a time and said, “I just don't know, Gerald.”

Leaning forward, he took her hand and held it. “If you love a man, Marianne, you give him everything. Just as he'd give you everything he had in him.”

“That's sweet, Gerald. That's what I've always thought.”

“One thing you have to understand, Marianne. I'm not a rich man. Not like your father. You'd have a comfortable life here if you choose to stay. You'll find some man, and your father will give you more than I ever could.”

Marianne suddenly smiled. “I don't care about that.”

“It's hard living out West. Not like living in a big city. You can't run down to the store every morning to get a pound of butter.”

“It'd be like at pioneer times. I've read so many stories by James Fenimore Cooper about how difficult the pioneer life was. It would be like that, I think.”

“Well, it's pretty rough all right. As for tonight, I'll be glad to come to dinner. This may be the last time we meet together. I fully expect your father to see me as a greedy man after his money through his daughter.”

“They'll love you after they get to know you, Gerald.”

Gerald Robbins had come to dinner dressed in the latest of fashion. Caroline Warren saw there was a roughness about him, but he was also able to put on a fine manner and was pleasant. Her husband had probed carefully around, trying to find what kind of man he was, but had not been very successful.

Charles now asked their guest, “I understand you are in the cattle business.”

“Yes, Mr. Warren, that's about all I know. I've done well at it.” He took a bite of the steak on his fork, chewed it, then said, “Of course I haven't done as well as you have. It's hard to make a fortune in the cattle business unless you're someone like the King Ranch with unlimited space and money to go into it.”

“Where do you sell your cattle?”

“Well, now that the railroad is in, we just take them down to the stockyard. Some of them get shipped to Chicago. I would imagine some even come here. We try to grow the finest cattle in the world.”

“I imagine that's a lot of hard work, isn't it, Mr. Robbins?” Caroline said. She had been impressed by Gerald Robbins's manners, and for some reason had been expecting less.

“Yes ma'am, it is a lot of hard work, but I've got a good crew. They've been with me a long time, so we make out very well.”

“Is your ranch very far from town?”

“It's not around the corner, but of course we have plenty of good horses and carriages. No trouble to go once we make up our mind.”

“I imagine it's pretty lonely out there, isn't it?” Mr. Warren said.

“Well, you know, you get used to that and you get to where you even like it. As a matter of fact, I get to feeling all crowded in when I'm in a big city like this one. From the ranch you can look over to the west and see the peaks of the mountains. Beautiful mountains. I go there for a hunting expedition once in a while. Plenty of deer and any other kind of game you like to shoot, but then out on the flatlands that's right pretty, too. In the springtime the wildflowers make a riot of color. Very beautiful. The country gets to you.”

Marianne had said little. “Oh, that sounds so beautiful. Just like I read about in the books.”

The dinner went on for some time, and then they adjourned to the drawing room for coffee and more talk. Finally Robbins took his leave.

After he left, Marianne came to them at once, her eyes sparkling. “Isn't he a handsome man, Mother?”

“Very attractive.”

“But he's talking about a hard life that you've never had.” Marianne's father sought for the words. Caroline knew he felt deep in his soul that something was wrong here, and finally he said, “I don't believe you ought to see him, Marianne. You're infatuated with him.”

“I am not. I actually care for him.”

That was the beginning of the closest thing to a quarrel that Marianne Warren had ever had with her father. Caroline and Charles were determined that she should stop seeing Robbins, and she was equally set on seeing him even more. Marianne finally left the room in tears.

Charles shook his head. “This is a real problem. I wish Sabrina hadn't gone off.”

Caroline shook her head. “I don't think it would make any difference. I've never seen Marianne this stubborn before. It's just not like her.”

“You got two letters?” Dulcie asked.

“Yes. One from momma and one from Marianne.” She opened the first letter and began reading.

Dulcie asked, “What does she say?”

“She's worried about Marianne, of course, but we went over that before I left. She'll be all right.” Sabrina opened the second letter and was quiet as she read it.

“What did Miss Marianne say?”

“She is besotted with that man Robbins.”

“I told you! Didn't I tell you? We ought to go home.”

“No, I've got more shopping to do, Dulcie. I may not get back here for a year. We'll leave Wednesday. Now don't argue with me anymore about it. Things will be all right. When I get there, I'll see to it that Marianne settles down.”

W
aco lifted the eight-pound sledgehammer over his shoulder and was about to swing it down and break a large rock into fragments when the shrill whistle of one of the guards stopped him. He could have gone ahead and smashed the rock, but he was determined not to do one thing that he was told to do if he could get out of it. Carefully he lowered the sledge and looked over at Cecil Petit, his cell mate. “There's the whistle, Cecil. Let's go wash this dust off and maybe get something to eat.”

“Sure, Waco.” Petit was a small man no more than five-seven and thin. He had been unable to handle an eight-pound sledge so the guard had furnished him with a five-pounder. Even this was too much for the young man. He was barely past twenty years old and was the typical Southerner with light greenish eyes and tow hair and a Southern accent.

The guard rode by, his shotgun in the crook of his arm, his eyes darting here and there. “Okay. Get on in and wash that dirt off.”

Waco turned wearily and slapped Cecil on the shoulder. “That's about enough for one day.” Indeed, it had been a terrible day. The blistering sun had burned those who had light-colored skin. Fortunately for Waco, he had his tan from his work on the horse ranch and his years in prison out under the sun.

The prisoners all formed a single line and went by an outdoor shower of sorts. It was simply a hose that was attached to a well that ran on a windmill sort of pump. Waco pulled his shirt off, and when his turn came the tepid water seemed almost cold it was in such contrast with the blazing sunlight. He would have liked to take off all his clothes, but he knew that the guard wouldn't let him.

“Okay, Smith, move on. You're clean enough.”

Waco stepped outside, pressed the water from his hair, and waited until Cecil had gotten his shower. The two of them made their way to the long building that contained, among other things, the mess hall.

“Sure wish they'd have something good to eat tonight,” Cecil said. He was almost gasping for breath, for the hard manual labor was almost more than he could take. “You know,” he said, “I was down in New Orleans one time. We had shrimp, fish, and gumbo. Sure wish I had a mess of that. Or even some catfish out of the Mississippi River.”

“Shut up or I'll break your head, Petit.”

Quickly Waco turned to see that Ring Gatlin, a hulking brute of a man, was glaring at Cecil. “Take it easy, Ring,” he said.

Gatlin was the bully of the prison. He had whipped everybody except Waco Smith. The two had fought it out under the hot sun, and the guards had merely laughed and watched. Waco had walked away, but Gatlin lay unconscious, his face cut and slashed.

“You makin' this your fight, Waco?”

Waco didn't answer. He just simply stared at Ring to see if he would make a move. Then he shrugged and said, “Come on, Cecil. Let's see what we've got to eat.”

The two men filed into the mess hall, which contained six-foot-long tables with benches. At one end there was a mess line, and the prisoners were lining up in front of it. When Waco looked down at the food that was in metal pans, he said, “Well, Cecil, no good old fish or gumbo tonight.”

“No, I didn't reckon there would be.”

The two men filled their plates, walked back, and sat down at a table. Waco stared down at the food, which amounted to a tough piece of pork, beans not fully cooked, and rough bread. There was also a small amount of cold rice. Cecil went at his food like a starved wolf, for as skinny as he was he ate ferociously. As the two men ate, there was little talking.