Calder Born, Calder Bred

by Janet Dailey

  “Doctor?” An approaching nurse summoned him to the side. He excused himself and stepped away, but they were still within range of Ty’s hearing. “You asked me to notify you when Mr. Calder began to regain consciousness,” the nurse was saying. “He’s coming out of the anesthesia now.”

  “Good.”

  A splintering crash violated the hushed silence of the special ward. For a shocked second, no one reacted except to look toward the door of the room from which the loud noise seemed to have originated. Then both the nurse and Dr. Haslind were hurrying toward it. Ty followed, only a step behind.

  As they pushed the door open and charged inside, Ty had his first glimpse of the trouble inside the room. A nurse was trying to strap a struggling patient into his bed and at the same time prevent him from ripping off the array of tubes and wires attached to his body. Beside the bed, an Ty stand had been overturned, its bottles of solution on the floor, still rocking from the fall.

  The patient’s head was wrapped in bandages, as was most of his naked body, a cast enclosing the lower half of him virtually from the waist down. Myriad cuts and bruises made his face almost unrecognizable, and his head rocked from side to side in a frustrated protest at his inability to move, never giving Ty a clear look at him. Only one arm appeared to be fully functional, since the other was in a cast; but judging by the havoc that had been raised, one was enough.

  At the last minute, he tore his arm loose from the strap before the nurse could fasten it securely. “My wife! Why won’t you tell me where she is?” His voice was so weak and hoarse, it was barely above a loud, rasping whisper. It finally hit Ty that this battered and scarred man was his Either.

  The doctor joined the nurse, lending his efforts to firmly subdue the patient. “Calder, you’ve got to lie still,” he ordered impatiently. “A lot of us have worked hard to put you back together. You’re going to undo everything we’ve done.”

  Ty approached the bed in a kind of daze, trying to reconcile this person with the indestructible image of his father he carried in his mind. The man he’d practically idolized, and whose respect he’d valued above that of all others. So tough, so strong, so helpless now.

  “I’ve got to know if Maggie’s all right.” It was as near to a plea as anything that had ever come out of his mouth. His arm was strapped down, immobilizing him, but still he strained in resistance. No one listened to him. They were too busy trying to put everything back in order, righting the Ty stand and reinserting the needles into his veins and attaching the monitoring equipment.

  “Let’s concentrate on getting you better,” the doctor said in an almost absent response to the hoarse demand as he snapped impatiently at the nurse filling a hypo needle. His glance flicked across the bed at Ty, irritation showing. “I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “No.” It was a flatly voiced refusal, and the doctor chose not to argue. Ty bent closer to the man in the bed. “Dad? It’s me, Ty.” His voice was level, all emotion pulled out of it. "You’ve got to do what they tell you.”

  The brown eyes that were turned on him were the same as his father’s, hard and piercing when they wanted to be. And they were now, despite the glaze of pain.

  “Ty, they won’t tell me. Your mother ... is she alive?” Desperation clawed at the edges of his weak and gravelly voice.

  There was a long moment before Ty could push out an answer, his throat gripped too tightly by emotion. Finally he looked away to say thickly, “I think you already know the answer to that, Dad.”

  “Yes.” The word was long and slow in coming, so soft Ty almost couldn’t hear it. A wet shimmer covered his father’s brown eyes before he closed them to hide that gathering of tears.

  “Mr. Calder”—one of the nurses firmly but politely nudged Ty out of the way—“we’re going to have to put this tube down your throat. It’s going to be very uncomfortable, but it will be easier if you don’t fight us.”

  There was no resistance left in him as his father mutely gave himself up to their ministrations. “You’d better leave,” the second nurse suggested to Ty and blocked him away from the bed. “There’s really nothing you can do here. Take your family somewhere and try to get some rest. Just leave word where you can be reached and we’ll contact you if there is the slightest change in his condition.”

  It was sound advice, although it wasn’t easy to convince his sister of that. She wanted to stay at the hospital so she could be close to her father. In the end, Ty relented when Tara agreed to stay with her. But he couldn’t allow himself the luxury of such a gesture. Too many other things required his time and attention. He had seen first to the living; now it was time to make arrangements for the dead and put into motion the adjustments necessary for the continuation of the ranch’s operation.

  A place to stay had already been arranged. Dyson kept an apartment in Helena for his occasional use, and Tara also had a key. She gave it to him.

  “I don’t understand him,” Cat murmured tautly as she watched her brother stride away from the waiting room. “How can he leave when our father might be in there dying?”

  Personally, Tara was heartened by the control he exhibited over his emotions. It seemed to make a mockery of Jessy’s claim that he had needed her.

  “I don’t think you’re considering the number of responsibilities that have fallen to him now. He has to act as the head of the family as well as take full charge of the ranch.” It was the realization of a dream for Tara, and there was a streak of guilt that she found a cause for rejoicing in this tragedy. “There are many arrangements he has to make.”

  “You mean ... for my mother, don’t you?” Cat said in a small, grief-tormented voice; then agitation lifted it. “It isn’t fair,” she protested in a stormy outcry. “She had no right to die! Not like this—with no warning! How could she have done this to us?”

  No logic could combat those words of bitter rebellion against rate. Pain-charged emotions were being released through anger, so Tara simply let the girl rant on until the tears came. Then she held Cathleen in her arms and let her cry to the point of hiccoughing exhaustion.

  On the way to the apartment, Ty stopped at the local mortuary where his mother had been taken and made arrangements for her body to be sent home for burial in the family plot. After that, there was a long list of phone calls he had to make. He started by tracking down which hotel Phil Silverton, the attorney who handled all the Calder interests, was staying in.

  “How is your rather, Ty?” the man asked after Ty had reached him by phone. “The hospital wouldn’t give me much information.”

  “Not good,” Ty admitted, still struggling himself to race the reality of that. “I spoke to him briefly, but—The doctor is unwilling even to say what his chances are.”

  “What do you want me to do about this meeting with Hines from the Interior Department? Naturally, when we heard about the plane crash, everything was put on hold. However, I know he’s still in town.”

  “I’ll meet with him,” Ty said. “See if you can schedule something for tomorrow morning.”

  “Right.” It was an affirmative answer, followed by a short pause. “I haven’t heard any official word about the cause of the accident. An eyewitness thought the plane had engine trouble. Was your father able to tell you anything?”

  “No. I didn’t ask.” The cause had been the least of his concerns. He was still trying to deal with the aftermath of it

  “Ty—I hate to bring this up, but. . . some decisions have to be made. From what you’ve told me, your rather is going to be out of commission for a long time, even if he survives. You are going to have to be empowered to act as head of the company. There are two choices. If the doctor can certify that your rather is aware of his actions, we can have him sign a document turning control of the company over to you. Or we can petition the courts and have you appointed to manage his interests. The first is the best way if it can be done.”

  “We’ll talk to Dr. Haslind about it in the morning..” Ty understoo
d the necessity for it. In all but fact he had taken over, but making it legal sounded so final.

  “I’ll draft a document tonight.”

  After he had concluded his business with the attorney, Ty phoned Dyson at his home in Fort Worth. Despite business conflicts, Dyson was Tara’s father, therefore a member of the family and entitled to be notified of the accident. Ty gave him what details he knew, embellishing none of them.

  “If there is anything I can do in the meantime for you, please call,” Dyson said in parting and hung up the phone, sobered by the news.

  “What is it?” Stricklin removed his wire glasses and sat back in his chair to study his solemn-faced partner.

  “Calder’s plane crashed yesterday.” Dyson rose from the desk and crossed the room to pour himself a drink. “His wife was killed.”

  “And Calder?”

  “He’s in very critical condition.”

  Stricklin reached for the telephone. “HI contact our pilot and make arrangements for us to fly up there.”

  “Yes, do that.” Dyson nodded absently.

  Ty called Stumpy Niles at the ranch and apprised him of the situation; then he made a separate call to the Haskell house. Jessy answered, and he repeated again the words he’d said so often that they’d lost meaning to him.

  “How’s Ruth?” he asked in a voice that was heavy.

  “I don’t know,” Jessy admitted on a troubled sigh. “She keeps demanding that Vern take her to the hospital so she can be there to look after your father, insisting it’s what Webb would want her to do. She talks about your grandfather as if he were alive yet. Then she rambles about all the illnesses she nursed Chase through as a child.” There was a slight pause. “The doctor’s given her a sedative, so hopefully she’ll rest.”

  Ty rubbed his forehead, trying to erase the dullness. “Has anyone been to O’Rourke’s place to notify him about the accident? I should have done it before I left but . . .” A broken sigh came from him as he left the sentence unfinished. Too many other things had crowded any thought of his uncle from his mind.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ll go see him,” Jessy volunteered.

  “Thanks.” Just the sound of her voice was somehow oddly reassuring. It was the one steady thing in this upheaval that surrounded him.

  Few stars were shining in the inky black of a moonless night when Jessy drove into the yard of the Shamrock Ranch. The house was darkened, no light showing from its windows. Her headlights failed to pick up any sign of life in the yard; the usual tall yard light was not lit.

  When she stepped from the pickup cab’s warm interior into the chill of the night, her breath billowed in a steamy vapor. She hunched her shoulders against the sudden drop in temperature and looked around, searching the dark shadows of the barn and corral. At this hour, she doubted that O’Rourke would be out riding. She turned toward the house, and a voice jumped at her out of the shadows.

  “Are you looking for me?”

  Jessy swung around, staring into the darkness, barely able to make out the motionless black form against an equally black background. No sound betrayed his presence, and he offered her no silhouette against the faint stars in the sky.

  “Yes, I am.” She took a step in the direction of the voice, then paused. For reasons of his own, he didn’t want to be seen clearly, or he would have come forward. So Jessy didn’t press him. “I’m sorry, but I have some bad news.” No sound prompted her to tell him. There was only a waiting silence. “There was a plane crash.” It was an uncomfortable feeling to talk without being able to see the person she was addressing. “Your sister . . . was killed.”

  There was a trace of gray against the black; a breath that had been long held was released. It was the only reaction as the silence lengthened.

  “She’s coming home tomorrow.” Her voice gentled with compassion. In this, she couldn’t be blunt, “Ty asked me to tell you that the funeral is being scheduled for the day after. He would have come himself, but he’s at the hospital. His father is badly injured, and they aren’t sure he’s going to make it.”

  “He’ll make it, all right.” There was a leaden sound to the voice that came from the shadows. “Them Calders have as many lives as a cat.” The statement seemed tinged with bitter acceptance.

  “I’m sorry about your sister, Culley. I know how close you were to her.” Jessy felt a reluctance to leave him. She frowned slightly, trying to penetrate the shadows and gauge how well he was handling the news. “Would you like me to stay awhile? Maybe fix some coffee?”

  He was a long time answering. “I’d rather be alone,” he said finally.

  There was nothing left to do but crawl back into the truck. As she reversed the pickup onto the rutted lane, the beams briefly swept the motionless figure of a man, hands thrust in the pockets of his dark coat and the brim of his hat shading his face.

  For a long time, Culley didn’t move from his position. The sound of the truck had faded into the night and silence enclosed him before his motionless stance was finally broken. He lifted his face to the heavens, the wetness of tears glistening in his dark eyes. A groan came from his throat.

  With a mournful cry, he wailed her name. “Maggieee!” Guilt bore down heavily on him, driving him to his knees.

  23

  The throng of people attending the funeral had thinned out until only family was left at the gravesite. All the headstones bore the name Calder, including the newest, inscribed with the words Mary Elizabeth Calder, My Beloved Maggie. Ty felt keenly the absence of his father, the one who mourned her passing the most.

  A slim, softly gloved hand slipped inside the crook of his elbow. Ty roused himself to glance at his wife, a dramatic vision in her ebony fur and a turban-style hat. The cold had rouged her cheeks with color, giving an added vibrancy to her looks.

  “It’s time we went home. Cathleen’s already at the car waiting for us,” she prodded him softly.

  “Yes,” he agreed on a heavy breath and lifted the Mack Stetson to put it on his bare head, pulling it low.

  Together they turned to walk across the frozen ground to the car. “I wondered whether he would show up here since he didn’t attend the church service,” Tkra murmured.

  Ty located his Uncle Culley O’Rourke, the object of her remark, as he angled across the small cemetery to the pickup parked all by itself. The black suit he was wearing made him appear a slim, dark shadow. His head was bowed, and there was a look of utter loneliness about him.

  “Uncle Culley!” Cat had noticed him, too, but her call went unheeded. She left the car and hurried down the narrow path between the graves to intercept him. “Uncle Culley, wait!”

  He slowed and finally turned to meet her. The cold air had taken some of her breath. She paused to catch it again while she searched his stony fact. There was a haunted bleakness about his eyes, the only sign that revealed the extent of his grief. She was moved by it.

  “Will you please come home with us?” She felt, oddly, that she was talking to a child, despite the gray of his hair. “A few people who were very close to Mother are stopping by The Homestead for coffee. You should be there, too.”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly, his glance sliding briefly past her. “I’m not welcome there.”

  His reason momentarily stunned her. “Yes, you are,” Cat insisted. “You’ll always be welcome, the same as when Mother was alive.”

  “Nothing’s the same.”

  “Please come. I know how much you miss her.” Her voice became choked, breaking on a sob. “So do I.”

  Gently, the way someone would caress a delicate petal, he touched her cheek. There was a sadly adoring look in his eyes. “You look so much like her.”

  All through the memorial service and the graveside ceremony, Cat had struggled to hold back the tears, trying to wrap an adult privacy around her grief. But at sixteen, she wasn’t as mature as she wanted to be. The little gesture of love from a man so lonely and alone as her uncle unleashed the awful ache. Without
caring how childish it looked, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in the warm collar of his coat and needing the silent comfort of a pair of arms around her.

  Culley held her close. The ache inside him was so great it hurt to breathe. Yet there was solace in the way she needed him that filled a void. She was a part of Maggie. He still had that. A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth as he silently thanked Maggie for giving him this.

  But he was also conscious of the couple standing by the car, watching them. As always he was aware of all things that went on around him. Gently but firmly he held Cathleen away from him and wiped at the wet trail of her cheeks.

  “I’ll always be close by if you ever need me,” he promised her. “You’d better go now. Your brother’s waiting.”

  She started to turn away, then stopped to plead one last time, “Won’t you come?”

  “No. I’m not good around people,” he said gently and urged her along with a motion of his hand.

  “I’ll come visit you—soon,” Cat promised and headed for the car, glancing over her shoulder now and then to see him standing there, so alone.

  “You should speak to her, Ty,” Tara murmured in disapproval of the emotional scene between uncle and niece. “I don’t think that sort of thing should be encouraged.”

  “I wouldn’t be concerned about it if I were you.” He opened the car door and helped her inside. “They’re just sharing their grief.”

  As Cathleen reached the car, she explained, “I asked him to come to the house, but he wouldn’t.”

  “It’s probably just as well, Cat,” he said and walked around to the driver’s side.

  At The Homestead, Ty stopped the car and climbed out to assist Tara and Cathleen, but he didn’t accompany them up the front steps. Halfway up, Tara paused to see what was keeping him.

  “Aren’t you coming in with us?” she queried sharply.

  “No. I’m going to stop over to see Ruth Haskell for a few minutes,” Ty explained. “The doctor wouldn’t permit her to attend the services today, so I thought I’d pay a call on her.”