The Great Plains (16 page)

There was much hurt in his mother's face. ‘I shouldn't have brought Philomena here. Chloe was right.'

‘To know that right at the end his niece was returned to the bosom of this family would have filled your father's heart. You know this, Edmund.' Annie's voice faded and she closed her eyes.

February, 1903 – Oklahoma City, Oklahoma Territory

Edmund galloped across the field toward his home. The horse was flighty in the crisp air, keen to charge over the springy turf and turn back towards the river. He let the stallion have his head. Okie was used to fast rides. He had chased white thieves and black boys, run down murderers and wayward cowboys, and even given a little lost boy a ride back to safety. For the moment, however, Sheriff Cadell did not need their assistance. Winter had forced the bad indoors. Brawls in the public houses were common. It was a good season for the whores. More than once Edmund had contemplated partaking of their services. With Chloe and his son still in Dallas, he had spent nearly two months in Philomena's company. Now he understood a little how his father felt. Edmund gripped the reins and coaxed Okie back towards the Wade residence.

The house his father built no longer commanded the area. Larger residences pointed to the continued growth of the city and the increasing wealth of its citizens. In a few years Edmund knew he would be offered good money for the fields surrounding his home. Lots would be redrawn, boundaries renegotiated and the views of the river would eventually be all but obliterated. But for now, much remained the same. Okie trotted up the slight incline reluctantly. The stallion knew they were nearing the stable and that he was unlikely to be freed from his stall again today. Edmund patted the animal's glossy brown neck and then walked him past the garden fence and along the rutted track towards the stables and carriage shed.

His mother's bedroom was located on this corner of the house and Edmund was mindful that he should visit her. He'd not been to see her for three days. He loved her, but they had said all there was to say over the previous months and now when he visited, Annie tended to nod off when he shared the content of his days. It was two months since she'd last stood unaided, a month since she'd been able to bathe in a tub. It distressed Edmund to see his mother so frail and uninterested in life, but her ill-health at least put an end to any suggestion of her meeting Philomena. He wanted her last days to remain peaceful and this was being achieved with the dutiful companionship of Helen, who performed the crucial role of caring for the two sick women under his roof. It was no wonder Edmund filled in the daylight hours either at the office downtown or in the saddle. He rode to work every day and went through the motion of managing the newspaper that at last was wholly his. Yet after so many years of trying to coerce his father into expanding the business, of working his way steadily and conscientiously up the chain of management, he found his new position bittersweet. The paper didn't hold him as it once did. Nothing held him. He felt at odds with his old life now that
she
was here.

Dismounting, he walked the stallion to the stalls. They had a new stable boy, a white lad named Wes Kirkland, who had joined them a few months before Aloysius's passing. He did a reasonable job caring for the horses, carriages and saddlery items. In return he was given food and board and a weekly wage. Wes was a sullen lad, but the boy had a sharp eye and was quick to both learn and obey.

‘You finished with him for the day, Mr Edmund?'

‘Yes, thank you, Wes.'

The fifteen-year-old was short and solid with a stocky torso. Edmund had seen him ride. The boy stuck to horses like glue and he'd once told Edmund that he aimed to be indispensable to the Wades. Edmund didn't doubt it. The boy had no-one and came from nothing. One day when his son Tobias escaped the clutches of his mother and returned to Oklahoma City as Edmund prayed he would, Wes would be a solid man to have by his side. ‘Next time I go out with the sheriff you should come along for the ride.'

The boy gave a slow smile. ‘I can shoot, Mr Wade, and I ain't afraid of nothing or nobody.'

‘Then Sheriff Cadell will be pleased to have you around.'

Cadell had proven to be a firm friend, although it was not friendship that caused the sheriff to move from Dallas to Oklahoma Territory. This newly settled land offered a tenacious lawman opportunity aplenty to test his skills.

‘There's a man waiting for you over yonder at the big house, Mr Wade.'

‘A man?'

Wes crinkled his nose. ‘Yeah. I didn't much like the look of him. He was asking questions and poking about the place so I told him to move on. Squared up to me, he did, like he wanted a fight but he backed off when I held up my fists,' demonstrated Wes, squaring his jaw to good effect. ‘Said his name was Hugh Hocking.'

‘Hocking? Can't say I expected to see him again,' Edmund replied.

‘So you do know him, Mr Wade?'

‘Yes, I know him.' Edmund passed the boy the reins to his horse.

‘Well, he's waiting for you, Mr Wade, but if he gives you any trouble I'll be glad to get rid of him for you.'

Edmund hid his smile. Hugh was twice Wes's age.

‘Snow's a-coming.' Wes called out as he led Okie away.

Overhead the clouds were swirling. The northerly winds had kept the temperature low for a number of days. Edmund could sense a familiar nip in the air and knew the boy was right. ‘Rug the horses up well, Wes.'

The boy gave a wave in response.

Hugh Hocking waited silently on the front porch. Five years had passed since Edmund had last seen him and he noticed that Clarence's son had filled out in the body although he looked tired and strained.

‘This is a surprise, Hugh, I wasn't expecting you.' Edmund held the front door open. Both men removed their overcoats and hung them on the coatstand in the hallway before Edmund showed Hugh into the sitting room. Clarence's son went straight to the fire and rubbed his hands vigorously.

‘I would have called to announce my coming but I thought you'd probably turn me away.'

‘Can I offer you some coffee?' Edmund enquired.

‘No, thanks.'

Both men sat. ‘I'd hardly turn you away, Hugh, considering your father's association with the family.'

Hugh raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, we both know that association ended a long time ago. Your father, may he rest in peace, didn't even come to my father's funeral.'

‘If you remember we had a bit of a catastrophe that day,' Edmund reminded him.

‘Yes, that was the day Serena pushed the maid down the stairs and killed her.'

Edmund cleared his throat. ‘I never took you to be the kind that listened to gossip, especially newspaper gossip.'

Hugh met his gaze. ‘Well, it's all in the past now,' he answered smoothly.

‘So what can I do for you, Hugh?' Edmund asked. ‘What are you doing here in Oklahoma Territory?'

‘I've been looking at some investment opportunities for a client out east, then I'm en route to Montana on business. I'm inspecting a couple of ranches out there.'

‘And?'

‘I thought with your father's passing you might be considering new business opportunities as well. I remember when I worked for your father as his assistant that you were keen to expand.'

‘You've a good memory.'

Hugh gave Edmund a direct look. ‘And a long memory.'

‘It sounds like you're doing well.'

‘You seemed surprised?'

‘Not at all,' Edmund countered. ‘It's just that I imagine that things haven't been easy for you at times and to embark on a new business path and succeed takes effort and discipline. So have you had much experience managing ranches?' Edmund was curious.

Hugh laughed. ‘I don't know anything about cattle, Edmund, but I do know how to manage cowboys and supplies and bookkeep.' He stood. ‘Well, I just wanted to pay my respects.' They shook hands.

‘You might keep in contact then, Hugh, let me know where you are. I have been considering some business options recently and I may well call on your expertise at some stage in the future.'

They parted amicably. Edmund watched Hugh as he mounted his horse. He couldn't help but think back to the day of Serena's tenth birthday when he and his father were readying to leave the offices of Wade Newspapers. Hugh had asked Aloysius to put in a good word with those clients who at that stage were yet to leave the floundering Hocking & Son, and Edmund recalled only too clearly how bitter Hugh seemed that day. He was glad the boy wasn't one to hold a grudge, for in truth, although Aloysius was not to blame for Clarence's financial downfall, he'd not been a friend in the true sense of the word.

Through the window Wes appeared on the road as Hugh turned his horse towards the city. Arms crossed as if a gatekeeper, the stable boy stood to one side as Hugh Hocking rode by.

All was quiet inside the house. Edmund walked up the oak staircase. On the landing above he turned towards his mother's room and then headed across the hall instead. Edmund had done his best to keep away from Philomena. He had kept long hours, returning when he knew it was past the time of decency to visit her. Such restraint was easier the first few weeks when it seemed as if the woman would sleep her life away, then gradually she began to eat a little more, drink a little more. Now she could sit and talk. The few times a week Edmund visited her, he asked after her health but did not linger, he did not dare. Helen was pleased with his cousin's progress. Dr Hubert was less enthusiastic as he feared the end result would not change.

Outside the bedroom door, Edmund was reminded of the first time he saw Philomena, of the sensation of her slight body against his, the fluttering of her breath against his neck as he carried her first to the carriage and then inside his home. He opened the door.

In the half-light of the lamp, Philomena slept. Edmund sat in the chair next to the bed and waited. Her silver hair fanned prettily across the pillow, the whiteness of the linen accentuating the tan of her skin. He reached out a tentative hand to touch the soft tresses.

‘I dreamt a dream of another life.' A single tear traced Philomena's cheek.

Edmund pulled his hand away. ‘You are feeling better, I hear?'

She struggled upright and reached for a cream shawl, but not before he glimpsed smooth flesh between the loose latticework of silk ribbon that fastened her gown.

‘I shouldn't be here. You have been most kind, Edmund, but now I am better …'

‘Do you not wish to be here, safe and cared for? My father would be overjoyed to know that you have returned home.'

Philomena held his gaze. ‘I fear that I am not here out of a son's loyalty. I see it in your eyes. I'm sorry, Edmund, I have not lived the life that your womenfolk have and am somewhat lacking in the subtle niceties that you are used to. I misspeak, perhaps.'

‘No, no you don't, would that we were all so honest.'

‘I am grateful for the care you have shown me, but I should leave.'

Edmund disagreed. ‘I don't want you to. My wife and son are away, my mother is ill and my father dead. I wish to spend time with my cousin.'

Helen entered the room carrying a tray of soup and milk. She was a bland-featured woman, but it was clear she was surprised by Philomena's visitor. ‘I did not expect to see you here, Mr Edmund.'

‘Just place the tray on the table, Helen. Miss Philomena and I are talking.'

‘Yes, sir.' The spoon rattled as she placed it on the side-table. ‘Can I get you anything, miss?'

Philomena politely declined. When the woman had gone, Edmund settled the tray on Philomena's lap.

‘You must have many questions,' she said.

The soup was thick with corn and potato. Helen was a good cook. ‘My father kept a diary from the time of your father's death and your abduction until his passing. He was much affected by the events of the past. It is quite an astonishing record of one man's hope.'

‘He was a Christian then?' Philomena took a mouthful of soup.

‘A Christian yes, but his faith went beyond a belief in God. He always believed that you would eventually come home, and you have.'

Philomena almost smiled. ‘Were you there that day at the Delmar Gardens when he met Geronimo and my son?'

‘No, I wasn't.' Edmund had been out hunting deer some miles from the city and returned late that evening. ‘How old is the boy?'

‘Twenty-four.'

‘What is Geronimo like?'

Philomena's spoon hovered above the soup bowl.

‘Do you not wish to talk about him?'

She returned the tableware to the tray. ‘He is all men and none, he is a child and yet wisdom fills every ounce of his being. He is a gifted healer and a fierce warrior. His tastes are simple and yet money has lured him.'

Edmund could see his cousin clearly believed what she was saying.

‘He is like all men, moulded by his upbringing and altered by life. He is the best of men and the very worst. He is human.'

‘Frankly, I'm surprised to hear you describe him that way. You offer excuses on his behalf?'

Philomena tilted her head as if amused by Edmund's lack of understanding. ‘When Geronimo first met the white man they made a treaty, promising to be brothers, and they traded with each other; the Apache warriors gave buckskin, blankets and ponies and in return they received shirts and provisions.'

‘The Apache have never been a friend of the white people, Philomena.'

Philomena twisted the napkin between her fingers. ‘It is true that Apache raiding parties took them frequently to Mexico, that was the Apache way of life, but it was to steal horses, take provisions and –'

‘And abduct women and children,' Edmund interjected.

Philomena's gaze remained steady. ‘Yes, they did that. Sometimes the taking of children could not be helped. Perhaps they were needed or it was decided after a fight that the child couldn't be left to fend for themselves? As for women, they were needed as wives, to ensure the continuation of a particular band.'

‘And you condone these actions?'

‘Geronimo's first wife and children were killed by Mexicans.'