“I’m sure old Graves will be well enough to play next Sunday,” Olivia said. Frank scoffed, and Andy glowered at him. They ate their pie rather hurriedly, and Olivia played with her piece, as she was not really hungry anymore.
Andy returned to the comfy chair by the fire and started stuffing his pipe with tobacco. Olivia cleared the table and carefully covered the leftover food. She washed the dishes, and when she returned to the sitting room, her brothers sat in silence.
“How about a little music, before we go to bed?” Olivia said to break the tension. “Aunt Mary sent me a book of sacred songs, a recent publication — it’s quite wonderful.”
They agreed, and Olivia sat in front of the piano. She opened the book and began playing. The book housed a delightful mixture of American folk songs and sacred songs.
Aunt Mary was their late mother’s sister. She lived in Scottsdale, and they didn’t see each other nearly enough, in Olivia’s opinion. She sent Olivia books and music regularly, as her husband was a publisher, and she knew of Olivia’s love of reading and music. Andy didn’t approve of Mary, because she had run away from the man she was engaged to and married a divorced man instead.
Aunt Mary had never been to the ranch, as Olivia’s father would never have allowed it. Olivia’s mother saw her sister only a few times after she married Roy Wagner. Mary had no children, and she loved Olivia like she was her own.
Olivia had managed to convince her brother to allow her to see Aunt Mary in the past month, but only because Aunt Mary was gravely ill. During her visit, Mary had told Olivia that she regretted nothing in life, except not seeing her sister before she died. Life was too short for grudges and love should always be the answer. Olivia had held her and cried when she had to return home. But Mary wiped her tears away and told her not to pity her; her life had been well lived, she just had to take care of herself.
“I wish I had your courage, darling Aunt Mary. You lived your life true to yourself in the face of scrutiny from others.”
Aunt Mary had given her a journal of her mother’s. She had given it to her sister to keep the last time they met. Olivia still remembered her Aunt’s words: “Please guard it safely. When it is time you need to read it, you will know it. Keep it safe from prying eyes and above all from your brother, Andy. I am not so sure how much time I have left on this earth. This is for you to have, dear. It would be a way to get to know your sweet mother better.” As Olivia had been so young when she lost her mother, she cherished every story about her and let other’s memories of her mother guide her into knowing her better.
Olivia still hadn’t read the journal. It was laying at the bottom of her wooden chest in her room. She was afraid of tarnishing the image she had of her family, of her parents’ marriage.
Mary had once mentioned that her mother had regretted marrying Olivia’s father. He was much older than she had been, and it had been her mother’s parents’ wish that they marry. She had chosen duty and family.
What will I discover about mother if I read her journal? I am terrified of the truths that lie in there.
Chapter Three
Marc got up early, as he always did. He walked into the kitchen and began preparing coffee. As he boiled the water, he thought how much he missed the creature comforts of living with his parents, especially his mother's cooking.
What I would give to wake up to the smell of mother’s homemade sausages and freshly made coffee, he mused. Going out to the day with a full stomach and returning home to a house that smelled like dinner, smelled like home. How I miss that...
Marc had to prepare the ranch for the coming winter. Soon he would need to hire cowboys to help with gathering up the steers for sale. His father had usually hired the same cowboys every year, but they were getting old. Marc wondered what had happened to them, and if they still came to these parts.
He finished making the coffee, and after a quick cup, he went to the stable. O’Leary sat in the stable, shoeing the light brown steed that Clarissa usually rode.
“Good morning,” Marc said as he walked towards his black horse and stroked his mane.
“Morning, son,” Seamus replied as he hammered the horseshoe with practiced hands. “I felt better after the tea your sister made; she may have found something she can make without burning,” he added with a crooked grin.
“I will pass that on to her,” Marc replied with a chuckle. “I need to ride to town today to inquire about some cowboys to help with the steering,” Marc said. “Do you know what happened to Langston? I haven’t heard anything about him in a long while.”
Langston was a cowboy that Marc had known almost all of his life. He roamed between the counties and took odd jobs here and there, never one for wanting to settle down. A true roaming cowboy...
“Oh, he hasn’t been here in years,” Seamus replied as he began working on another leg on the horse. “Your father hired some traveling cowboys the past two years. The rumor is that Langston stole sheep from the Thorndike farm, up by the town limits, and has been on the run ever since.”
“What? I can’t believe it!” Marc said astonished. “He was an honorable man, trustworthy.”
“You know how the Thorndikes are. I wouldn’t put it past them to make something like that up,” Seamus said.
“Well, I’m going to get some answers. Could you please finish shoeing my horse soon? I’m riding to town later,” Marc said as he left the stable.
“You got it!” O’Leary called after him.
* * *
The smell of burnt eggs greeted him as he walked back into the house. A far cry from the memory of this home as it once was. He entered the kitchen and noticed his sister putting a jug of milk on the kitchen table, her back to the stove.
Why can my sister not be more focused? Her mind flutters like a bird in spring and how can she not smell that?
“Good morning, Clarissa,” Marc said emphatically.
Clarissa turned quickly to gaze at her brother. She rushed to the pan and removed the eggs from the fire. She looked nervously at her brother who had turned around.
“It’s only a little burnt, I think?” she said hopefully, looking into the pan.
“I’m sure it's fine,” he sighed as he walked to the kitchen table.
Clarissa portioned the eggs on two plates and put bread and butter on the table. As Marc ate the disappointing breakfast, his mind wandered to Olivia. I must see her again. She is all I can think of. An angelic presence that has come to mesmerize me and wash away all my trepidation and apprehension.
“O’Leary is shoeing my horse, and then later in the afternoon I will need to ride to town. As we’re meant to have supper with the Carters later, you will need to ride with me,” Marc said to his sister who was playing with her food. “You’ll need find something to occupy yourself while I attend to some business in town.”
Clarissa looked at her brother with a slight scowl on her face. “I can ride to town on my own,” she said fiercely.
“I don’t want you to ride alone,” Marc replied with equal determination.
“Marc, I’m nineteen years old!” Clarissa retorted. “I don’t need to be coddled.”
“This is not up for discussion!” he said with finality.
Clarissa opened her mouth to object but stopped. She knew she couldn’t argue with him. “Fine,” she said coolly, getting up to clear the kitchen table.
Marc sighed as he observed his sister. He didn’t know how to talk to her. He’d been away for so long, and she had changed so very much in that time. He still saw her as his little sister, not the young woman she was becoming.
* * *
Later on, Clarissa sat on the porch outside the house, and as usual had a piece of paper and a pencil in her hands. She loved writing letters. This one was for her dearest friend, Beatrice Hendricks. Clarissa had met Beatrice five years ago when Beatrice stayed in Eloy to help out her aunt. They became instant friends, and after Beatrice left back to Florence, Arizona, they corresponded with e
ach other, keeping the friendship strong.
Clarissa was usually carrying a letter or two in her pockets, and she kept all of her treasured correspondence in a wooden chest in her room. She probably ought to spend more time concentrating on housework or cooking, but an empty piece of paper was too tempting. She could write a poem about the beautiful birdsong that woke her every morning, a letter with news to a dear friend, or even a love letter.
Clarissa folded her letter and pocketed it as she heard Marc’s footstep. She got up and fastened her hat, tying a neat bow beneath her chin. As her brother lead the two horses carrying their carriage, she gave him a little bow and laughed heartily. Marc shook his head at her silliness, and then they were off. Clarissa was not one to hold a grudge, and her annoyance from this morning seemed long forgotten.
The trip from the ranch to the town was not too long. The ride took longer, of course, with the carriage but Marc preferred to travel in this style when he took Clarissa along. He knew she was a fine rider but her fickle nature worried him, and he thought it was safer if he was responsible for her safety when traveling. It also gave her an opportunity to write, which he knew she loved to do.
* * *
Marc parked the carriage and tied the reins to the hitching post. Clarissa jumped down from her seat before he could offer her his hand. She stood close by him, looking around.
“You should stay here or at the General Store with William,” Marc said.
“Oh, please can I go see Sarah?” Clarissa pleaded. “She will be at the church now.”
“All right, but just for a little while. I will meet you at the General Store later,” he said after thinking for a moment.
“Thank you!” Clarissa said. She was thrilled and she tipped on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I just need to pop into the post office to mail this letter to Beatrice, then I’ll go straight to Sarah.”
Marc smiled fondly at her. Am I being too strict? he mused as he walked towards the town saloon, watching as Clarissa entered the post office. She was independent by nature and strong-willed.
* * *
Marc walked into the saloon. He knew that cowboys often stayed here and perhaps one of them would have some answers about Langston. The saloon was almost empty. At the bar, the owner, Mr. Martin, was polishing a glass. In one corner, a black-clad man sat with his hat covering his eyes. Marc did not recognize him. Slumped over another table was old Graves and Marc almost wanted to go and thank him, for without his drunkenness he would not have seen Olivia play at church.
“If it isn’t Marc Payton,” Mr. Martin said as he recognized him.
“Good day,” Marc said, tipping his hat.
“What brings you here on this fine Monday?” Mr. Martin asked. “It’s mighty unusual.”
“I have questions about Langston, the cowboy who used to work for my father,” Marc said.
At that, the black-clad man turned his head slightly. “I haven’t seen Langston in quite a while,” Mr. Martin said thoughtfully. “Not for a few years, I believe.”
“He was a good worker and proved helpful to my father. I heard a rumor that he’s on the run, do you know anything about that?” Marc asked.
“Not much more than that. I heard he got in some sort of trouble up at the Thorndike Ranch and since then, no one’s heard from him,” Mr. Martin said.
“Are you in need of a cowboy?” a gravelly voice spoke suddenly. Marc and Mr. Martin turned in the direction of the black-clad man who had finally looked up.
“I might be,” Marc said warily. “And who might you be?”
“They call me Red,” the stranger replied simply.
“Red what?” Marc asked back.
“Red’s fine,” he said with finality.
“Why should I hire a man who has no last name?” Marc asked him.
“My last name has nothing to do with my riding abilities, son,” Red replied, eyeing Marc shrewdly.
“Fair point,” Marc said.
“Marc, can I have a quick word?” Mr. Martin said gesturing for him to come closer. Marc turned away from Red and walked closer to the bar.
“I would be mighty careful now, son. Cowboys like him are often times outlaws with a bounty on their head, and you could become an accomplice if he’s a wanted man found on your property,” Mr. Martin warned. Marc was about to reply when Red got up.
“I’m riding out tonight, but I will be back in a few days. I’m a good worker, and I charge a fair price. If you’re still in need of a rider, you’ll find me around,” Red said, finishing his glass and tipping his hat as he left the saloon. He had a slight limp, and his bootstrap clanked with every other step as he dragged his leg.
Marc left the saloon deep in thought, wondering about the man he had just met. He walked towards the General Store. As he neared, the door opened and the two Wagner brothers walked out.
He looked around, wondering if Olivia was there as well. Andy Wagner walked past him, giving him a stiff nod of the head. The younger brother, Frank, stared at Marc for a moment before bidding him good day hastily, then hurrying after his older brother. Marc walked into the store, slightly disappointed when he realized that Olivia was not there.
William Carter looked up from behind the counter as the door opened and beamed at Marc. “Good to see you, Marc,” William said.
“You too,” Marc replied. “Where is Clarissa? I told her to meet me here.”
“Don’t you worry. She went to the house with Sylvia to help her with supper,” William assured him. “They just left a moment ago.”
“Good, good. I just worry about her,” Marc said.
“You’re a good brother, Marc,” William said kindly. “Now I just need to close up here and then we can get going.”
Marc helped William close up, just like he’d done when he was younger. The Carters had been a big part of his family when he was growing up. William and his father had been close friends for many years, and whenever Marc went into town with his father, they stopped at the store.
The Carters were beloved in the town. They had no children, as their only son died in infancy. But they adored children, and the children of the town adored them.
William was a short man with a great, white mustache that he combed carefully every morning. He had a large protruding belly and his eyes crinkled from years of smiling at his customers. Sylvia was slightly taller than her husband, very slim, and always wore her hair in a high bun.
She was one of the ladies in the church society that managed various events for the church, like the yearly bake-sale; her delicious pies always sold out first.
Once they finished closing up, they walked the short way to the Carters’ residence. As they neared, the dog, Tufty, bounced up and down when he saw his owner arriving.
“Get down, boy,” William said as he pushed the dog away. Tufty leapt over to Marc and licked his hand. Marc stroked his head and scratched him behind the ears. A delicious smell greeted them as they walked into the house.
“Sylvia, I’m home,” William called.
Sylvia appeared in her white apron with Clarissa at her heel. “Hello Marc, dear,” she said. “Go and rest while Clarissa and I finish dinner,” she smiled at the two of them.
Marc followed William into the sitting parlor, where the latter poured them whiskey. They sat in the chairs. “I met the strangest man at the saloon before,” Marc said as he settled in the comfortable chair.
“What were you doing at the saloon on a Monday?” William asked surprised.
“I was looking for information about Langston, the cowboy who used to work for my father. This man was a very peculiar cowboy, who only goes by the name Red,” Marc said.
“Well, the strangest folk cross through this town of ours,” William said.
“I will need cowboys soon, but I worry I’m too late hiring,” Marc confessed.
“You’re not too late. Right around this time, the town will be filling up with people looking for work,” William assured him.
&
nbsp; “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Marc said.
“You’re a good rancher Marc. As long as you lead with conviction and trust your instincts, you’ll be fine,” William said.
“Thank you.”
“Is there anything else on your mind, son?” William asked as Marc looked contemplatively into his glass.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about young Olivia Wagner,” Marc said, still staring at the amber liquid in his glass. “I would like to get to know her better.” William didn’t say anything but looked thoughtfully at Marc.
“You’re quiet,” Marc said looking at William.
“The Wagner boys, Andy, in particular, have inherited your families’ old feud, I’m afraid. Since Roy Wagner died they have become more reclusive; they hardly ever come to town, except for bare necessities, and for church, of course,” William said.
Could William be right? The last time we met, they were cordial, prayed, and gave their condolences at Mother and Father’s funeral. Are they still harboring the old rivalry? They are conservative, that’s for sure, and more pious than I am, but I am not ready to give up. Not at all.
“I think I will have a talk with Andy Wagner soon,” Marc said with confidence. “We can’t let the past control our future.”
At his words, Sylvia walked into the parlor. “Dinner is ready, gentlemen.”
They sat at the kitchen table with the delicious smell of steak-pie, beans, baked vegetables, and freshly baked bread ensnared their senses. Marc tried to contain himself so as not gorge on the food, but Sylvia chuckled as she filled his plate. Marc savored the first bite, enjoying the pleasant taste, and soon Sylvia was giving him third helpings.
“I think Clarissa ought to come by more often,” Sylvia said as the chatter about cattle died away. “I could teach her to make my famous pie,” she added with a knowing smile.
“Oh, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it, Marc?” Clarissa said, looking hopeful at her brother.
The Sheriff's Rebellious Bride (Historical Western Romance) Page 30
