To Dream Anew (29 page)

The men began to talk amongst themselves. To Cole it looked as though they were seeking permission from one another to believe such a tale. “I found the shovel with blood and hair caked on it.”

“But how can you be sure it was the Lawrence boys?” another rancher questioned.

Cole tightened his grip on the piece of paper he’d brought with him to the meeting. “Whit told me it was. Why would a dying man have any reason to lie about his killers?”

“Maybe he held them a grudge,” someone suggested.

“If anyone had the right to hold someone a grudge, Whit did. I haven’t told this to anyone else—only the few men who accompanied me that night to Whit’s know the truth—but Maggie Farley was raped before she was killed. Men who would do such a thing need to be stopped. Those men are still out there. I think we have good reason to worry about our women and children’s safety.”

“No one is going to believe the Lawrences had anything to do with Whit’s and Maggie’s death,” G. W. said, shaking his head. “No, sir. Chester’s lawman won’t be locking up his boys.”

“Probably not,” Cole replied. “Which is why we need to figure out what to do. Lawrence is threatening to steal my ranch Through legal means. He killed Whit for his land. How soon before he comes after the rest of you? Right now he’s just nagging you from day to day about selling. What happens when he loses his patience and decides to take matters into his own hands and hurry the process along?”

“Was she really raped?” an older man asked. “Only an animal would do such a thing.”

Cole nodded. “That’s exactly the way I see it. Those who were responsible for Whit’s and Maggie’s death were no better than animals.”

“Well, up in these parts we trap and kill vicious animals,” Slim Smith, a short, wiry man, announced. He owned a small spread about three miles south of Madison.

“We can hardly be killing men—that would make us no better than them,” Cole said, trying to maintain control of the meeting. “What we need to do is get them out of here and off to a bigger city, where Chester can’t corrupt the law.”

“With enough money you can corrupt most anything,” G. W. said sadly.

Cole looked hard at his friend. “Could they corrupt you, G. W.?”

The man straightened a bit. “No. No, they couldn’t. No matter how much money they offered.”

Cole smiled. “I have a feeling most of the men in this room feel the same way.”

All of the men nodded and agreed with Cole’s statement, commenting to one another and raising the level of conversation to a confused pitch.

“Men, hear me out!” Cole shouted above the growing din. The men fell silent and looked up. “We have very few options. What we need to do now is figure out which ones will accomplish the most and work the best for us.”

“I think we’d better start any serious consideration with prayer,” Ben Hammond interjected.

Cole looked to the older man. “We’re going to need it.”

As the temperature dropped into the teens and then below zero, Dianne despaired of it ever being truly warm again. She worried about the boys and tried to keep a hot fire going in their bedroom stove. John still shared his parents’ room, where the fireplace was always lit to keep the room ready for his naps. He was nearing age two but was small for his age, and Dianne fretted that he might suffer more than the others.

Even now as she tucked him in for the night, wrapping a warm beaver pelt cover around him, Dianne worried. Sometimes the winters were mild, but other years they were harsh and cold. Sometimes the snows came and sometimes they didn’t, but it was always a battle to keep children alive. Neighbors had lost babies to one sickness or another. Faith had nearly lost little Lucy, her youngest, to scarlet fever. Death was all around them—especially in winter.

“Is he asleep?” Cole asked as he entered their bedroom for the night.

“Yes. He woke up fussing, and I rocked him a bit and put him back to bed. He probably just had a bad dream,” Dianne said, hoping and praying that John wasn’t coming down sick. “How did your second meeting go? Did you come up with any ideas of how to stop the Lawrences from taking over the valley?”

“No, not really. However, a couple of the men pointed out that nothing more has happened. Guess even the Lawrences have hunkered down because of the cold.”

Dianne looked at her husband in disbelief. “So you’re all going to do nothing because it’s cold?”

Cole frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

“Well, it sounds as though the men think everything has gone back to normal. It will never be normal around here as long as killers roam as free men.”

“Dianne, I wasn’t suggesting that we forget about doing something. I was merely pointing out what was said.”

“I know, but I also know that Maggie and Whit need to be avenged. For that matter, so do Sam and Trenton. The Lawrence boys may well have been the ones Portia got to do her dirty work.”

“But you don’t know that,” Cole said as he sat down wearily.

“I know that Mr. Langford believes Portia killed his son. I know that Trenton was helping to gather that information and that Portia probably found out about it. She probably decided to take matters into her own hands.”

“ ‘Probablies’ don’t hold much weight in court.”

Dianne put her hands on her hips. “Someone has to do something. It’s not right that all this time has gone by and still no one is paying for the death of Sam or the near death of Trenton. most are happy to believe that Trenton and Sam killed each other.”

“Dianne, I can’t help that. We can’t press that issue…. Portia is throwin’ in with the Lawrences—at least that’s what it looks like. Ben said she’s out at the Walking Horseshoe Ranch most every time he goes out there to call. If Lawrence is behind Whit and Maggie—”

“If? You said
if
? You know Lawrence was behind their deaths. He wanted their land, and surprisingly enough, he now has it.” She knew her tone had grown bitter, but Dianne couldn’t help herself.

“My brother had to leave the comfort of his home,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He’s out there—only God knows for sure where. He might be half dead from cold or starving. I have no way of knowing.”

“You had no way of knowing for all those years he was out-lawing either. He’s a grown man who is capable of caring for himself and Angelina—provided he lets her stay.”

“But he deserves our attention to seeing this matter resolved.”

“So this is really about Trenton and getting revenge for him?”

“It’s about all of them,” Dianne said angrily. “You obviously don’t seem to care.”

“I formed the men up, didn’t I?” His eyes narrowed. “Do you know how hard it was to bring those men here—to suggest we do something to take the law into our own hands? I sat in a similar meeting nearly twenty years ago, and the outcome wasn’t so good, if you’ll recall. Vigilante justice may be widely accepted in the West, but I’d much rather see guilty men tried in court than hanged by their neighbors.”

Dianne remembered the story Cole had told her of his one and only ride with vigilantes. A woman he loved was killed accidentally by Cole’s father. It had separated the men for years and left a painful scar on Cole’s heart.

“All I want is justice,” Dianne said, trying not to see the hurt in her husband’s eyes.

“You just want Portia Langford dead.”

“Well, given the fact that she’s been responsible for so many other people’s deaths, what’s wrong with that?” Dianne asked stubbornly. She could no longer deny her hatred for Portia, and yes, she did want the woman to hang. The thought momentarily startled Dianne.
When did I become so coldhearted?

“You think that if Portia is found guilty and executed or imprisoned, then Trenton could come back to the ranch, is that it?”

“Well, why not?”

“Because Chester Lawrence no doubt knows all the details of Trenton’s past, as would his lackeys. Trenton can’t come back here—not now, not ever—don’t you see? Not unless you plan to go down the line and kill everyone with whom Portia shared the truth about your brother.”

Dianne felt tears come to her eyes. She knew Cole was right, but it hurt so much to be unable to have Trenton here where he belonged. Portia Langford had ruined everything.

Cole crossed the room and drew Dianne into his arms. “I know this is hard. I miss him too. I feel like I lost my best friend.”

“It isn’t fair. She’s here and he’s gone. It’s not right.”

“But we can’t interfere and break the law to see things changed.”

“I know,” Dianne said, sniffing back tears. “But I wish we could.”

“No you don’t. You haven’t got a lawbreaking bone in your body. You would never hurt anyone—not even Portia.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Dianne replied. “There’s a lot of bitterness in my heart toward her.”

“Bitterness will only spread and take over like those weeds in the garden you always fuss about. If bitterness takes over your heart and kills everything lovely, where will that leave me and the boys?”

Dianne closed her eyes. “I love you and the boys. It’s Portia I hate.”

“You can’t hate her and keep your love for us untainted. It isn’t possible. I know. I hated my pa for what he’d done to Carrie. That hate ate away at me until I couldn’t love anyone—I almost lost out on loving you because of it.”

“I don’t know how to do anything but hate her. It’s so easy in light of all the problems she’s been involved with.”

“You need to take it back to God,” Cole said, smoothing back Dianne’s hair. He kissed her forehead. “You need to let Him love you and show you how even this will be dealt with in His time. He won’t be mocked, Dianne. He won’t see His children forsaken. God will deal with Portia and Chester—maybe not in the way we’d like to see it happen, but He will resolve this.”

Dianne straightened the cushions on the settee and stood back to make sure everything was in place for an afternoon of sewing. She’d invited Charity and Faith to join her at the ranch along with Koko and Ardith. They hoped they might get a regular sewing circle started.

“Look, Luke,” Winona called from the frosted windowpane where she stood on a chair. “I can make a picture.” She dug her finger into the icy glaze and drew her version of a cat. “See, a kitty. Mama says we’re going to have a bunch of new kitties in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to have new calves in the spring,” Luke said proudly. “And Papa says I can go help at roundup, but you can’t ’cause you’re a girl.”

Dianne forced back a laugh. “Now, Luke, don’t be unkind. Winona has made a very nice picture. Why don’t you go to the other window and draw some calves?”

“Can I help?” Micah asked. At three and half, he was his brother’s shadow.

Luke shrugged. “I guess so. You can draw all the legs. There’s going to be a whole bunch of them, though.”

Micah nodded, his expression serious as the weight of his task settled upon him. “I can do it.”

Dianne laughed as the boys went to work. Winona, not to be out done, began making more kittens.

The sound of a wagon approaching caused Dianne to note the hour. It was nearly eleven. They were right on time. She untied her apron and placed it across the back of a chair. Then, smoothing down her gown as she walked, Dianne went to the front door.

She opened the door just as Levi showed up to help Charity from the wagon. “It’s sure cold today, isn’t it, Levi?” Charity said, hugging him close. “Goodness, but that wife of yours must be feeding you well. You look to have put on at least ten pounds.”

“She’s a good cook to be sure.” He reached up to help Faith from the wagon, then after she was safely on the ground, Levi helped Mercy and Lucy as well.

“I’ll take care of the horses. You get inside,” Levi ordered.

“Oh, but those girls have grown!” Dianne exclaimed as the party hurried to the house.

“Well, Mercy will be ten next April,” Faith declared. “I still can’t believe that.”

“I can’t believe it either,” Dianne said as she closed the door once everyone was inside. “It also means I’ve been married ten years.” She marveled at the way time had flown. “It can’t really be ten years, can it?” She met Faith’s amused expression and had to laugh. “I suppose most women are better at keeping track,” Dianne said, shaking her head, “but I’ve truly lost track of time.”