Sweetwater (32 page)

“Won’t the children go back to their families at night?”

“No family. They will live here.”

“But … who will take care of them?”

“Woman who have no husband will come. Tribe bring food.”

Whit answered her questions patiently even though he did not understand why she asked them.

Later that afternoon, the Reverend Longfellow paid a visit to the homestead. As soon as the buggy, accompanied by a rider, was spotted coming across the meadow toward the house, a flurry of activity ensued.

Trell was cautioned to make no sound before the bunkhouse door was firmly closed. The tracks made by the peddler’s wagon had already been swept away. Beatrice was Jenny’s only worry. The child didn’t understand the reason for keeping quiet about Trell. She liked sitting beside his bed and snuggling the puppy who was getting almost too big for her to hold.

Jenny suggested at first that the minister might be an ally. Ike shook his head.

“He be hand in glove with Havelshell. He even let him wed his girl. Some think he be a playin’ the tune the agent’s a dancin’ to.”

“That’s got nothing to do with the men who tried to kill Trell,” Jenny insisted.

“We ain’t knowin’ that yet, missy.”

“I agree,” Travor said. “Let’s play the cards close to our chest for the time being.”

Jenny came out the back door of the house as the buggy and rider came into the yard. The rider was Frank Wilson. He hung back, leaning on his saddlehorn, his eyes taking in the cut wood, the shed that had been made more secure for the cow and meadow grass that had been cut with a scythe and stacked outside the pole corral.

The preacher alighted from the buggy before Jenny spoke.

“Afternoon.”

“Afternoon. It’s a lovely day for a ride. How are you, my dear.”

“Very well, and you?”

“Couldn’t be better. I’ve looked for you every Sunday. I began to worry and thought I should ride out and see if you were all right. So many things could happen to a woman living alone.”

“I’m not alone, as you can see. Can I get you a cold drink?”

“Why yes, I’d like a cool drink of water. Are the Murphys still here?”

“Of course.” Jenny turned to see Travor approach. “Reverend Longfellow, have you met Mr. McCall?”

“I’ve not had the pleasure, but I’ve seen him in Sweetwater from time to time.” The preacher stuck out his pudgy hand. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you.” The two men shook hands. Travor towered over the pudgy little man.

“It’s Christian of you to help out our teacher. God writes good deeds down in his book.”

“That’s what I thought. I wondered why the church in Sweetwater had not offered to send a crew to cut wood for the teacher. Where I come from, neighbors help neighbors.”

“Where are you from, Mr. McCall?”

“A ranch west of Laramie. You may have heard of my half brother, Pack Gallager.”

“No, I can’t say that I have. Although I’ve been to Laramie a few times.”

“Perhaps you know our friend, Charlie McCourtney, who helped to build the new Federal prison over there.”

Jenny glanced quickly at Travor and saw that his face was grim and his dark eyes were fastened on the preacher’s pleasantly smiling face. Longfellow, acting as though he was unaware of the scrutiny, turned to Jenny without answering.

“Thank you, my dear.” He accepted a dipper of water. “I would like to see your school.”

“The inside of the school and the supplies were destroyed when I got here. It’s taken me all this time to get the schoolhouse ready, but the students will be arriving soon.”

Anxious to get the preacher away from Travor and the bunkhouse where Trell lay, Jenny led the way up the path to the school. Before they reached it, Whit came out the door, mounted his pony and rode away.

“Do you let the Indians roam free in and out of the school?”

“Of course. It’s their school. That was Whit Whitaker. His father donated the school and the money to supply a teacher. He has more right here than any of us.”

“He’s a breed, ma’am. Breeds are not recognized as legitimate heirs.”

“Now isn’t that strange.” Jenny cocked her head to one side, and became the personification of puzzlement. “Offspring of Frenchmen are legitimate heirs, as are Mexican and German.”

It clearly required all Jenny’s self-restraint to keep the sneer out of her voice. She kept in mind Ike’s warning that it was possible that the preacher was playing the tune Havelshell was dancing to. Something about him did not ring true to her either. She decided to be cautious.

Travor waited until Jenny and Longfellow disappeared into the school before he went back to chopping wood. The preacher’s name had struck a chord in his memory. He had thrown out the information about Charlie’s helping to build the Federal prison to test the man’s reaction. He’d heard the name Longfellow mentioned somewhere and in a way unconnected to the poet. This Longfellow was smooth to a fault, hadn’t batted an eyelash. Too nice, too glib. Travor didn’t trust him.

He suddenly remembered the man who had ridden in with the preacher. He looked around and saw his horse tied to a corral pole and the saddle empty. Moving quickly, Travor sank the axe blade into a stump and went to look for him, fearing that he would discover Trell in the bunkhouse. He walked to the back of the shed where Colleen and Ike were sharpening the scythe and grass-cutting knives on a grindstone. Before he turned the corner, he heard Colleen’s loud, angry voice. He eased to the corner and waited to see what was going on before he barged in.

“Ya heard me, unless yo’re deaf as well as dumb as a doorknob.”

“What’d ya say, honeybunch?”

“I said—get the hell away from here. Ya ain’t welcome.”

“Sure I am, pretty gal. Ya jist ain’t knowin’ it yet.”

“Yo’re about as welcome as a nest of hornets in an outhouse.”

“Come on. ’Fess up. Ya’ve been wishin’ I’d come back.”

“Maybe I’ve been needin’ another laugh. Last time I saw ya, ya was flat on yore back in the dirt and I was laughin’ my head off.”

“Yeah.” Frank laughed, showing the wide space between his front teeth. “Ya bested me that time. Next time ya’ll be lyin’ flat on yore back … and I’ll be doin’ somethin’ ’sides laughin’.” He lifted his heavy eyebrows suggestively.

Travor stepped around the corner and hit him square in the mouth. Frank backtracked a few steps before he sprawled on the ground. His hat bounced off his head, rolled under the corral fence and stopped against a pile of cow droppings.

“You’ll be the one stretched out if you as much as look at her crossways,” Travor said, looking down at him as if he were something that smelled exceedingly bad. “When you wake up, you’ll be lookin’ for your teeth and trying to unscramble your brain.”

“What’d you do that for,” Colleen yelled. “I can fight my own battles, kill my own snakes.”

“Yo’re McCall—” Frank got to his feet, dabbing his split lips with the sleeve of his shirt.

“And you’re a smart-mouthed sonofabitch. That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

“Lady?” Frank snorted.

Travor hit him again. Frank staggered back against the pole corral.

“Better call it quits, cowboy, and apologize to the lady. I can hurt you.”

Travor stood calmly rewrapping the neckerchief around his knuckles. He had known as soon as he heard Colleen’s voice that he was going to hit someone and had prepared. He had kept himself alive in many a tight situation by taking care of his gun hand. He trained his eyes on the man he’d just knocked off his feet, despite an angry hiss that came from Colleen.

“This … skirt yores?” Frank jerked his head toward Colleen.

“I don’t like the way you put it, but, yes, the lady’s mine.”

“I ain’t no such thin’,” Colleen yelled.

“Hush up, honey. It’s goin’ to get out sooner or later. It might as well be this loudmouth that spreads the news.”

“Don’t … be callin’ me that, you slack-jawed, pig-ugly bunghead!”

“Pretty when she gets her wind up, ain’t she?” Travor smiled at her proudly.

“Don’t sound to me like she’s yore girl,” Frank mumbled, his lips swelling and still bleeding.

“She is. After she’s halter-broke, she’ll do just fine.”

Frank leaned between the rails, scooped his hat up off the ground and slammed it down on his head.

“Yo’re welcome to ’er, mister. Tamin’ her’ll be ’bout as easy as stretching a skeeter’s ass over a rain barrel.” He turned to leave.

“Hold on. I didn’t hear you apologize to the lady.”

“Sorry,” Frank mumbled and beat a hasty retreat.

“Hee, hee, hee—” Ike laughed as Frank walked away.

“What’er you laughin’ for, ya old … buzzard?” Colleen’s eyes glittered with the light of battle.

“You two remind me of a couple wildcats with one tree ’tween ’em.”

“—And ya remind me of an … old goat!”

“Now, now, sweetheart.” Travor put his hand on her arm. “Don’t take your mad out on Ike. Take it out on me.”

“Ya … shut up, ya … struttin’ rooster!” She twisted under his clamped hand, jerked free and angrily stomped away.

Travor turned to see that Ike’s weathered face was stiff.

“I ain’t figgerin’ ya to be a man who’d trifle with a sweet little gal like Colleen.”

“You figgered right, old man.”

“The little gal’s pure hickory. Straight as a string. I ain’t standin’ by and seein’ a good woman’s name dragged in the mud ’cause a man’s got it in mind t’pleasure hisself.”

Ike paused and waited for some response from the still-faced man and finally it came.

“If you’ve got more to say, say it.”

“The little gal is workin’ her tail off to make a place for her and her granny. If yore intentions t’ords her ain’t on the up ’n up, ya better hightail it outta here. The gal’s been caught in a gully-washer. Her pa was killed and her home burned. She’s come through it with a scar or two. I ain’t standin’ by and seein’ her get more. I be killin’ ya if I hafta.” Ike finished with a wintry smile.

Travor had listened carefully to what the old man was saying. He cocked his head to one side, as if seeing him for the first time.

“You’d do it. Or at least, you’d try.”

“There’d be no tryin’, boy. I’ll do it, and ya’d more’n likely never know what hit ya. I won’t be givin’ ya no chance at me. When somethin’ needs killin’, I kill it. It makes me no never mind how.”

Travor leaned forward and tapped Ike’s chest with a forefinger.

“It’s no business of yours, old man, but I’ll tell you so you don’t get your bowels in an uproar. I’m going to marry that girl and take care of her, and her granny, too, for as long as the old lady’s around.”

“It don’t ‘pear she wants ya. And if she don’t … back off.”

“We got started off on the wrong foot, but she’ll come around. Right now she’s figgerin’ on how to back down and save face.”

“Ya better be right, boyo.”

Ike picked up the scythe and began to sharpen it. Travor returned to the woodpile with a lot on his mind.

Chapter Twenty-one

“I’ve got to get out of this bed.”

“What’s the hurry?” Jenny had brought Trell his plate of food. Cassandra had wanted to bring it, but Jenny was too eager to wait until evening to see him. Now she sat quietly by as he ate.

“That’s what Travor said. He told me how lucky I was to have two pretty women to wait on me.”

“Travor is a blatant flirt and full of Irish blarney.”

“But he’s right about you being pretty.”

“Thank you, Mr. McCall.” Pleasure lighted Jenny’s eyes and brought a slight blush to her cheeks. “You’d better stop talking and finish eating if you want to get out of that bed.”

“I’m trying to eat slow because you’ll leave when I finish.”

“I won’t leave.”

“Thanks for the nightshirt. I’ve never had one before.”

“Cass and I thought it would be comfortable.”

There was an uneasy silence, during which time Trell ate the last bite of food on the plate, eating slowly not only because he wanted her to stay but also because of his sore jaws. Jenny placed the empty dish on the washstand and returned to the chair beside the bed.

“Do you have a mirror?” he asked quietly. “I’d like to see what I look like.”

“I didn’t realize you hadn’t seen yourself since the … accident. I’ll get one.”

She returned from the house minutes later and handed him the mirror. He looked at his face for several minutes, then placed the mirror on the bed.

“Folks won’t be confused now about which is me and which is Trav. I’ll be the scar-faced McCall.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No one wants their face tore up.”

Jenny leaned forward and took his hand in both of hers.

“I wish the scar wasn’t there, but only because of the pain you endured. I know the man behind the face. What is on the outside of him isn’t all that important to me.”

“Jenny, Jenny—you may think so now, but later—” His voice trailed as his eyes looked deeply into hers.

“I’m not put off by the scar on your face.”

“It’ll be there for as long as I live.”

Jenny then did something that surprised her so completely that she was to wonder about it for months, years. Forgetting her resolve to be less forward, she leaned over him and kissed him gently on the lips.

When he caught his breath, he didn’t even feel the pain from his broken ribs. It was over all too quickly. She moved her head back. He could still taste her lips, smell her warm breath.

“I’ve got nothing to offer a woman like you,” he whispered brokenly. “You should live in a fine house and do all the things a refined lady does—”

“Such as?”

“You know what I mean,” he said harshly. “All I have is half a ranch, a few horses and a few cows.”

“I’m responsible for my two young sisters, I’m committed to the Indian school and helping Whit go to college. I’m also in deep conflict with the Indian agent … and there’s more. I’m no prize, Trell.”

“You are to me. The only education I’ve had is what I learned after I was fourteen years old.”

“I’ve known educated men who were dumb as stumps. You’re a good man, thoughtful and capable. I knew that the first day when you pitched right in to help me. And you were kind to a little girl who has suffered a terrible blow to her self-esteem this past year. With your kindness you won her over, which was not easy to do.”