The Passionate and the Proud (24 page)

Emmalee had been expecting this. “Yes,” she told him. “Garn and Creel were at the three pines. They saw what happened. But I didn’t want to tell you Garn had been there because you might have—”

“Gotten upset? Maybe. And I don’t trust Landar, anyway. It seemed to suit his purposes to stick up for us in the business with Kaiserhalt, but I wonder if that wasn’t just to impress you.”

His glance was accusatory. Emmalee felt a cold barrier between them, and she admitted to herself that she had, by withholding the facts, contributed to the building of that barrier.

“Even if I named him as a witness, I didn’t know
what
he might say,” she offered in her defense, recalling that Garn had once told her he never lied.

“Uhhh-hmmm,” said Randy. “Em, you have to be honest with me.”

“I
am
being—”

He shook his head. “No, there’s something about this fellow, I don’t know what, that exerts a strange hold over you. And if that hold’s not broken, I’m afraid for our future.”

“Oh, Randy,” she cried, distressed. “That’s not true. There’s no hold, or anything like it. I just made an error of judgment, that’s all. I should have told you he’d been there at Three Pines.”

Randy seemed relieved. “All right, honey. Let’s not worry about it anymore. I assure you that I can accept the fact of Landar’s brief involvement in your life.
You
accept it, put it behind you, just treat him is you would anyone else living here, and we’ll go on into the future. This is a great day for us, in spite of all the trouble.”

He was right. She leaned toward him, and he touched her forehead lightly with his lips. It was all right between them again, yet in her deepest soul Emmalee suspected that something awaited, something she did not want to see, but that already had a face and name.

Emmalee would have gone with Randy to ask Hester Brine for a loan, but Garn was still there, drinking beer at the back of the store. She saw Torquist leaving the place, and thought it would be wise to discuss with him now the duties he might require of her. But the crowd of pioneers was milling all about, and by the time she’d fought her way out the door and into the street, the wagonmaster was nowhere to be seen. Garn’s black stallion was tied to the hitching post, and Otis leaned against the wall of the store, puffing on a lumpy, hand-rolled cigarette.

“Congratulations, Emmalee. You got what you wanted.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d be keerful, though.”

“Why is that?”

“There’s things afoot that you don’t know about.”

“Isn’t that what you told me when you gave me the ride into town?”

“It’s much more serious now,” Otis said. “There was a lot of additional hatred created today.”

“Don’t think I don’t know it.”

“I’m not sure that you do. Tell you what. Say I come over for you after supper and we take a little ride and talk?”

“We can talk here. Right now.”

Otis blew a blue stream of smoke and looked at her levelly. “I think you’re wonderful purty,” he said. “I could help you out a lot. Let’s put it this way: I want to see you alone.”

“I told you that I was engaged. I appreciate your honesty, but—”

“Clay.” Otis shrugged. “Yeah, I seen him in there. He’s a good, decent guy, but he’s a fanner. He’s already lost. You’ve
all
lost already. The deck has been stacked and the deals
made
.”

“And you would tell me all these things, would you? How can I be sure that you’re telling the truth?”

“Well, I reckon you know that I’m Mr. Pennington’s right-hand man. I know a lot of stuff.”

“There is such a thing as loyalty.”

Otis straightened up, holding his temper in check with difficulty.

“I don’t think it’s disloyal,” he said coldly, “to try and protect somone you like when bad things are about to happen. Do you?”

“I—I guess not.”

“Then I can come for you tonight?”

Emmalee was tom. She had seen with her own eyes the growing acrimony between Torquist and Pennington. She knew that Vestor Tell and the ranchers were involved in some sort of shady deal that meant harm for the farmers. Otis might be able to provide details about these matters. But she was engaged to be married! How could she possibly go off riding with a man at night, a man whose interest in her clearly extended beyond friendship?

“Well?” Otis prodded.

But
if
she did go with him, let’s say for a short ride—he seemed, in spite of his rough exterior, nice enough—and
if
she did learn from him information that would protect Randy and herself and the fanners, was that not worth the risk?

What will Randy think, if he finds out?

He’ll understand.

What’ll you do if Otis tries something?

I can handle him.

Is it worth the risk?

It’s worth the risk. If I learn even one thing that will help us, it’ll be worth it.

“All right,” she told Otis. “I’ll go for a ride with you. But only for a little while and only as a friend. I appreciate the fact that you’re trying to help me.”

“Sure. As a friend,” said Otis, grinning.

“I mean that.”

“Oh, I mean it too. I’ll ride over here along about sundown, how’s that? Reckon we ought to be a little…ah,
careful
about this. Say we meet ’bout a quarter mile upriver?”

Emmalee agreed, feeling uncomfortably sneaky and a little unclean. If this was what it felt like to be a spy, she didn’t know if it was worth the risk. She wondered how Ebenezer Creel had felt while spying on the movement of Union troops. And how he had felt when all his efforts came to naught.

Otis tipped his hat gallantly and sauntered away.

Even though she had promised Otis that she’d meet him at nightfall, Emmalee worried about her decision. The rendezvous was risky, and it was being made under false pretenses on her part. She wanted to relax and prepare herself for it, but events conspired to increase her tension.

First, Myrtle assigned her to the group of women in charge of preparing the evening meal. Myrtle, who had bossed, cajoled, and scolded everyone all the way across the Great Plains, treated her charges equally and responded to excuses or complaints unvaryingly.

“Sure, I know you’ve got other things to do,” she said, when Emmalee pleaded, just this once, to be let off, “but it’s your turn to work.”

So Emmalee peeled potato after potato and felt time drag. She’d been on the verge of asking Myrtle why Garn Landar had seemed so pleased about claiming worthless land, but managed to suppress the impulse. After all that had happened, it wasn’t quite seemly to show particular interest in Garn.

Then, after supper was finally over, a second unavoidable delay presented itself: Horace Torquist wished to see her in his tent. At once.

“Emmalee!” he cried, when she entered. “I can’t tell you how proud I am of you!”

He was seated at his table, upon which flickered a kerosene lamp. A map of Olympia was spread out before him, a map similar to the one Vestor Tell had, with the boundaries of farms and ranches marked in heavy ink. Torquist motioned her to a seat.

“Yes,” he said. “Not only did you get yourself a fine chunk of land, you also showed the spirit that is going to win this territory for our kind.”

“Our kind?”

“You and I and the others, Emmalee.” His eyes glittered and he swatted the map with a huge hand. “I know we’re at something of a disadvantage territorially, but Kaiserhalt erred badly by trying to cheat you and Randy. I want you to press the matter. Telegraph a formal complaint to the land office in Washington, D.C. Pennington is on the defensive now, and if we can show a pattern to his actions—his attempts to get all the land along the river, for example—perhaps we can get an inspector out here. Some of his claims might be disallowed. I know Pennington and Tell have cooked up something tricky and I wish I knew what it was.”

Emmalee realized, once again, the extent to which Torquist’s singlemindedness had perverted his original purity of purpose. The knowledge made her nervous, knowing as she did that his own scheme involving false claims jeopardized the future. He did not seem to understand that, however. To those who are inveterately self-righteous, only their enemies are capable of wrong-doing.

“I hadn’t…that is, I’d just as soon let well enough alone. We have our claims. I don’t think contacting Washington would serve a useful purpose.”

Torquist looked disappointed. “You don’t?”

“No. I hoped that, after today, the fight in the store and everything, we could all go about our business in peace.”

“I’m afraid you’re very naive. I guess I shall have to pursue matters in my own way, then. Let us proceed to our agreement. I know it is going to be difficult for you to establish your farm while you’re working for me, but a deal is a deal, is it not?”

Emmalee nodded. That was something she had learned all too well.

“I don’t expect much heavy work out of you,” Torquist went on, “maybe some plowing and extra help at harvest time. Mainly, I’ll have you taking care of my house, which I’m going to build immediately, and seeing to my personal needs, cooking, laundry, shopping. Things like that. When your chores are finished, you’re quite free, of course, to work your own land and set up the necessary domicile.”

When your chores are finished
! Emmalee had a feeling that Torquist would not stint in the assignment of work. She would be lucky to have a moment’s free time.

“Things are not easy in this life, Emmalee,” said the leader sanctimoniously. “But we are tempered by fire, are we not?”

“Or burned,” murmured Emmalee.

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing. When shall I begin?”

“Tomorrow morning. You can help dig the cellar and haul rocks for the foundation. Willard Buttlesworth and the men are going up into the woods to begin lumbering. I hope to have my house raised before the snow flies. You will live with me, of course. There will be a room for you. That is, you will reside with me until such time as you are married. What do you and Randy plan, by the way?”

“We hope to be wed after the harvest. Next fall.”

“Wise. Well, during the second year of your obligation to me, you may live with your husband and travel to my house for your work.”

Emmalee said nothing, imagining the situation. The constant grind of chores for Torquist, while all the time her frustration would grow. Randy was going to have a difficult enough job setting up his own farm. She might
lose
hers if she could not build some sort of shelter and get the requisite amount of land under plow. This did not seem to bother Torquist, however. He had money. Perhaps, already, he envisioned buying her land.

I’ve got to buy my way out of this agreement,
she realized. Borrowing money from Hester now seemed to be the only answer, in spite of the fact that Randy had already done so.

“I shall see you in the morning then, sir,” she said, standing up.

“Fine. Fine. Do you have gloves? Bring them with you. Digging a cellar is hard work and the handle of a shovel raises blisters and calluses more quickly than you might think.”

“I don’t expect much heavy work out of you…”
Emmalee griped to herself, repeating Torquist’s words as she left his tent. If digging a basement and hauling rocks wasn’t heavy work, she wondered what was!

It was getting dark now, time for her to go meet Otis, but just as she was getting up her nerve to slip out of Arcady, a third delay, in the person of Randy, presented itself.

“Em! I’ve been looking all over for you. Where have you been?”

“Talking with Mr. Torquist.”

He noted her crestfallen expression. “Things are bad?”

“They could be better.” She explained what Torquist had decreed. “I don’t think I’ll have a minute to myself.”

Randy sighed, looking discouraged. “Just when I was feeling good too,” he said. “I’m going to borrow two hundred dollars from Hester. That’ll be plenty to start with. I can buy seed, equipment, and stock. Enough seed to plant some acres on your land, too, and two hundred is not so much that we can’t pay some of it back next year,
if
the harvest is good.”

“If it’s good. Are a lot of people asking her for money?”

“Yes. Quite a few.”

“Randy, i was…I was thinking. Maybe I should borrow four hundred, use the one hundred I have…”

He frowned at the mention of what he considered tainted money.

“…and buy my freedom from Horace.”

“Em, four hundred is a fortune. You’ll have to put up your claim as security. What if you can’t pay it back? You’ll lose your land.”

“What were Hester’s terms?”

“She wants a hundred back per year, and three percent interest. Face it, Em. With both of us working as hard as we can, and assuming a good harvest, we’ll be hard pressed just to pay back
my
loan.”

Emmalee had to admit that he was right. Yet, if she spent all her time in toil for Torquist, she’d probably lose her land anyway. If all options are risky, which option is the least so?

“I guess I’ll have to think about it some more,” she told Randy.

I’m going to do it, she vowed to herself. I’m going to get free of Torquist and worry about the future when it comes. That way I’ll have at least a fighting chance.

“Em,” said Randy, putting his arm around her and squeezing her waist, “let’s…let’s go somewhere and be alone for a while.”

She thought of Otis, waiting for her, and of the information she wanted to get from him. She was also aware of Randy’s affectionate need, and felt guilty all over again.

“Could we…I’m sorry, but I’m just awfully tired. I think I’ll get some sleep. Would you mind terribly?”

He looked disappointed. “Yeah, well, I could use the rest myself. I’m going out with Buttlesworth in the morning to cut lumber for our new home…”

Emmalee felt truly dissatisfied with herself now, knowing what she was about to do and hearing him talk about their future house. But she had committed herself to seeing Otis, having already determined that the risk of doing so was very high, but not excessive.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“It’s all right, sweetheart. I understand.”

He walked her to the Bents’ wagon, beneath which she would be sleeping, kissed her a little shyly—the Bent girls were inside the wagon—and walked away.

“Well, Em,” said Darlene Bent meanly, “you seem to have just about everything, don’t you?”

Emmalee did not answer. Time was running. The moon was rising. What if Otis got tired of waiting for her to show up and came riding into Arcady? There might be a scene. She spread her bedroll beneath the wagon.

“My sister asked you a question,” said Priscilla Bent.

“You got a man and land and a future,” Darlene whined. “Our poor old pa ain’t got nothin’ an’ he’s gonna have to hire hisself out. It ain’t fair, that’s what.”

“I’m sorry,” Emmalee said. She lay down and waited, taut and tense, while they berated her some more. Eventually they grew tired of it and began quarreling among themselves while getting ready for bed in the wagon. Emmalee bunched up her blankets and sneaked away into the gloom.

Arcady seemed ghostlike and impermanent beneath the moon. Lights glowed from the windows of the general store. Emmalee skirted it, heard men and women laughing and talking inside, saw Garn’s big horse in front of the place. Saddlebags bulged on the animal’s sleek flanks. Garn had obviously stocked up on supplies. Well, if he was going to live way up in the hills of Landar’s Folly, he wouldn’t be around town much. That was probably good, anyway. No, it
was
good. Emmalee wondered briefly about Lottie having had Garn’s horse, and had she not been in such a hurry she might have paused to look in the window of the store. Was Lottie in there? Was she preparing, maybe, to go with Garn? But Emmalee did not wish to entertain the thought and she did not have time to look in the window. She passed the general store and walked on.

Otis was waiting for her, just as he said he’d be. She saw the tiny red glow of his cigar in the distance. Walking closer, she made out the large, dark shape of his horse, then the outline of Otis himself. Standing next to him, she could see his face quite clearly in the moonlight. He was all washed up and had on a clean shirt and neckerchief. He tossed his cigar into the river, where it hissed for an instant, died, and went floating away. The Big Two-Hearted murmured soothingly. Emmalee wished she could let her tension flow away with it.

“There you are.” Otis smiled. He was pleased to see her. “Have some trouble sneakin’ away?”

“You might say that.”

“I knew you’d come, though.” He reached for her, took her by the shoulders, and drew her toward him. She averted her face at the last moment, and his fumbling kiss of greeting landed on her left ear.

“Let’s sit down,” he said hoarsely.

“I feel like walking. I’m—”

“Nervous, huh? All right, we’ll walk. But you just relax. You’re in good hands when you’re with Oats Chandler. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to you that you don’t want to happen.”

He grinned. She forced a smile. It felt uncomfortable to travel under false pretenses, so to speak, like taking a bath in a river for the first time, only a lot less clean. Otis took her hand and they began to walk along the riverbank.

“I really am damn happy you came,” he reaffirmed. “You shore are purty an’ as you must be able to tell, I like you a lot.”

She had the feeling that he was going to try to kiss her again, but he didn’t. Her problem now was to get him off the subject of romance and onto the matter of Pennington’s schemes. There wasn’t any easy way to bring it up, though, without seeming suspicious. She waited for an opening.

“You ever think about settlin’ down?” he was asking her. “Well, I guess you have, on account of you’re engaged, ain’t cha? But that can’t mean much, can it, on accounta you’re here with me?”

“No, I really am engaged. I’m here to see you as a friend, just like I said.”

He stopped walking and drew her to a halt beside him. “You an’ me don’t have to pretend,” he said. He dropped to the grass and pulled her down next to him, still holding onto her hand.

Emmalee smiled. There didn’t seem to be much else that she could do. “I’m not pretending,” she said.

“Come on,” he said, puzzled. “You’re too much woman for a farmer. I figure your deal with Randy Clay is sort of a temporary alliance, a way to get started.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” she answered firmly. “I’m quite serious about my betrothal.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” He was disappointed. Then he rallied. “When you gettin’ hitched?”

“After the harvest next fall.”

“A lot can happen ’tween now and then,” he said hopefully.

“That’s true. And one of the things that has to happen is my being able to get part of my claim under plow.”

Otis released her hand, reluctantly, apparently realizing that he had misread Emmalee. But he was still there with her and he could talk to her. What he’d said was true: There was a lot that could happen before the first harvest.

“You did right proud for yourself by getting that claim, Em. I never did care much for Alf.”

“Were you able to get good ranchland?” she asked casually, easing toward the information she needed.

“I shore did. Great grassland next to Burt Pennington.”

“Isn’t there going to be…some problem? You know, the difference between farmers and ranchers. It’s already serious, and—”

“Trouble ain’t going to last long. Because, a year from now, two at the most, there ain’t gonna
be
any farmers in these parts.”

Now she had him talking. Keep it going, she thought. “Well, I don’t know if I’m slow-witted or something, but I just don’t understand.”

Otis laughed sympathetically and put his arm comfortingly around her shoulders.