“I didn’t realize your family went back so far. Tell me about them.”
Morgan was annoyed at himself for mentioning it. The last thing he wanted to discuss was his family. “Some other time,” he said, stepping to the next marker.
Anne stooped and plucked a handful of wildflowers from around the old gravestone. “One of my favorite poets is Emily Dickinson. She wrote about death in many of her poems.” Anne cradled the flowers against her cheek. “One of my favorites starts out, ‘Because I could not stop for Death— / He kindly stopped for me— / The Carriage held but just Ourselves— / And Immortality.’ ”
Morgan felt a chill as he saw the image of black-robed Death pulling up for him in a horse-drawn carriage. “Emily was kind of depressing, don’t you think?”
Anne looked thoughtful, and he was struck again by the fathomless sadness in her eyes. “She was very original, and her imagery is wonderful.”
“You sound like a teacher.”
Anne laughed. “Sorry. I’ve always wished I could write poetry, so sometimes I get overly enthusiastic.”
Morgan saw pollen left by the flowers on her cheek. He reached down and smoothed his thumb across her silky skin, then wished he’d kept his hands to himself. Touching her made him want to touch her more. “Whatever happened to old Emily?” he asked.
“She died a recluse. It must be sad to die alone. Yet, I don’t think she was afraid of death. In another poem, she wrote, ‘I never spoke with God, / Nor visited in heaven; / Yet certain am I of the spot / As if the checks were given.’ ”
“Is that why you come to the church? To contemplate poetry?”
Anne looked over her shoulder toward the simple white frame building. “No. I come to find peace.”
Morgan thought her answer baffling, but on one level, he understood it perfectly. “If you find it, share it,” he said. “I’ve always wondered what peace would feel like.” Her eyebrows knitted together, but before she could ask him a question, he took her elbow and said, “Come on. We’d better start back before Maggie rings the dinner bell. On the way, we can talk about the picnic Skip’s planned for next week. You are coming, aren’t you?”
Anne sorted through her closet in vain. “It’s no use,” she grumbled to the empty room. She didn’t have a single thing to wear on a picnic.
“What’s the big deal?” Marti had asked that morning. “You throw on some jeans and a T-shirt.”
The “big deal” for Anne was spending all afternoon and evening with Morgan. Ever since he’d caught her at the church, ever since he’d touched her cheek, listened to her talk about poetry, ridden home with her, and studied her so solemnly with his blue eyes, she’d been unable to think of anything else.
She’d never known anyone like him. All the boys back home in her school were like children compared with Morgan. He was guarded and mysterious. She yearned to know what motivated him, what made him so secretive and distant. “Forget it,” she told herself. “Just have fun with him.” She attacked her closet again.
Anne was still trying on outfits when Marti arrived. “Aren’t you ready yet?” Marti wailed.
“Almost. Which looks better—the blue shirt or the red one?”
“The blue. Now, let’s go. The guys are waiting down by the corral, and we need to get saddled up.”
Hurriedly, Anne changed shirts and tugged on her boots. At the corral, she slipped Golden Star a lump of sugar and tossed a saddle over the horse’s back. She tightened the cinch and swung her leg over. “What’s keeping you?” she asked Marti.
“I’m all thumbs with this saddle,” she complained. “How do you do it so quickly?”
Anne didn’t tell her that her speed came from wanting to be with Morgan. “Lots of practice.”
They rode through the yard to the edge of the fenced property near the barn and corral. Blond-haired, blue-eyed Skip couldn’t take his eyes off Marti as they rode up. Anne noticed that Morgan smiled at her, but there was no gleam of adoration in his eyes like the one in Skip’s.
They fell into a slow pace, with Skip and Marti riding in the lead. The sun beat down on Anne’s back, and the air smelled like newly mown hay. “I thought you might be riding the bay by now,” Anne remarked, noticing that Morgan was astride his regular quarter horse. “I’ve seen you working with him, and he looks tame to me.”
“I ride him, but my uncle’s giving me grief. He says that the horse spooks too easily and that he’ll never make a work horse.”
“Isn’t it all right to have the horse just because he’s beautiful? Just because you like him?”
“A horse has to earn its feed. That’s my uncle’s philosophy. As for me—I agree with you. I’d like to get the bay to the point where he’s show-worthy.”
“Have you done that kind of thing before?”
“I ride the rodeo circuit in the late summer, before we have to bring the cattle into the winter grazing range. When rodeos hit the small towns around here, people turn out for the fun. I’d like to exhibit the bay, ride in the parades.”
“You really ride in rodeos?”
Morgan grinned. “Bronc busting’s my favorite event.”
“You actually ride a horse that wants to throw you?” She remembered the time she saw him tossed around the corral by the bay. He’d hit the ground with such a thud, she’d actually ached herself.
“It’s good money.”
“Aren’t you afraid of getting hurt?”
“It goes with the sport. You know, ‘no pain, no gain.’ ”
“The parade part seems more my speed. Waving at people from the back of a beautiful horse—yes, that’s more like it.”
“You need fancy gear for that—expensive saddles, clothing—lots of flash. Tourists like to see movie-star cowboys. The real thing isn’t very glamorous.”
She thought the real thing was very glamorous. “I’ve never been to a rodeo. It sounds like fun.”
“Platte City has its Pioneer Days celebration soon. As part of it, there’s a rodeo. I’ll be riding in it.”
“Pioneer Days? Can I come?”
“Sure. The whole ranch attends. You’ll have a good time.” He looked sideways at her. “After I ride, we could do something together—if you want to, that is.”
If I want to! Anne could hardly keep from shouting. “I’d like that,” she said calmly.
Morgan clucked, and his horse quickened his pace. “Come on. Let’s catch up to Skip and Marti. If we’re not careful, Skip will eat all the food before we get a bite.”
Anne urged Golden Star to keep up, all the while smiling to herself. She was with daredevil Morgan on a golden Colorado afternoon. He’d invited her to a rodeo. She wished she could bottle the afternoon. Life was beautiful. If only she could make it last.
Nine
THEY RODE ACROSS grassy fields, up rocky terrain, through narrow rocky inclines. The ground flattened out again, and they crossed through a creek that gurgled over sparkling stones. The sun was setting when they came to a lone tree in the middle of a flower-studded field.
“We’re here,” Skip announced, reining in and dismounting.
“Where’s ‘here’?” Marti asked.
“Heaven,” Morgan replied, swinging down from his horse.
Anne swung off Golden Star and glanced in every direction. She wanted to race across the field. She wanted to embrace the sky. “You’re right—this place is heaven,” she told him.
They removed the saddles from the horses and allowed the animals to graze. Skip spread out a blanket, and they opened a picnic basket. “How long did you plan to stay, Skip—until the next Ice Age? There’s so much to eat!” Anne exclaimed.
He plopped down on the blanket, across from Morgan, who’d already staked his claim. “I wasn’t sure what everybody’d want to eat, I brought fried chicken, tortillas, burritos—do you like these things?” he asked.
Marti made a face. “Never touch the stuff. I prefer lobster.”
Skip looked crestfallen, and Marti la
ughed playfully. “Everything looks delicious.”
Anne placed the tip of a chili pepper on her tongue. Immediately, her mouth felt on fire and her eyes began to water. “No fair! They’re too hot!”
“Everything Spanish is hot,” Marti said with a flirtatious, sidelong glance toward Skip.
He flopped backward dramatically. “I’m in love.”
By the time they’d finished eating, the sun nestled between two mountain peaks. Morgan pulled Anne to her feet. “Let’s take a walk.”
They crossed the field, walking toward the setting sun. “Do you suppose poets could write about this view?” Morgan asked, pointing to the hues of pink and lavender in the sky.
“The world is so beautiful sometimes that I can hardly stand it.” Anne kept thinking about the generous, anonymous benefactor who had given her the means to be in Colorado. How she longed to thank JWC. How she wished she could meet and know this person. Anne bent and gathered a handful of colored blossoms.
“You really like flowers, don’t you?”
“I always have. My father told me that he first fell in love with my mother because she reminded him of an English garden.” Anne laughed. “When I was little and hated taking baths, he’d say, ‘Anne, one can always distinguish a great lady—the air around her smells like flowers.’ ”
“Did it get you in the tub?”
“Every time.” She smiled at him.
“Marti told me that your mother died when you were young.”
“That’s true. I miss her still.”
“Do you remember much about her?”
“It’s difficult to remember. I know from her photographs that she was beautiful. Mostly, I recall small things.”
“Such as?”
“She laughed a lot. I remember how she and Daddy would sit on the front steps and laugh together. Mother was British. Daddy met her while he was studying at Oxford. And she truly did smell like flowers.” Anne closed her eyes and inhaled, as if the Colorado air might somehow import that other fragrance from across time.
She opened her eyes to see Morgan staring at her. She wondered what it would feel like to rest her head against his chest, the way she’d seen her mother do with her father. “What about your mother?” she asked, hoping her feelings weren’t written on her face. “Was she descended from the Cheyenne grandmother?”
Morgan had avoided discussing his family, but now he felt secure and talked. “The Cheyenne is on my father’s side. My mother was a beautiful woman too, but different from the way you described yours. Mama loved a good time. She should never have gotten married. And she and my dad should never have had a kid.”
Anne felt sorry for Morgan, for the hurt look that surfaced on his face. Had his mother treated him badly? “What about your father?” She expected Morgan to say that his mother had run away with another man and that his father was around somewhere.
“My dad’s dead.”
The matter-of-fact way he said it shocked Anne. “I see,” she said, without seeing at all. Did that mean that his mother had abandoned Morgan—simply walked out of his life? And how had his father died? Morgan didn’t add anything, although Anne gave him plenty of time. “How long have you been living with your aunt and uncle?” she asked after an awkward silence.
“Six years.”
“Your aunt cares about you. I can tell.”
“I know,” Morgan said. “She’s my dad’s sister. We have a lot in common.” Talking about his parents had depressed him. Recalling the look of love in Anne’s eyes when she spoke about her parents only intensified his pain. He pitied the little girl whose mother had died and left her behind. He ached for the twelve-year-old boy he’d been when his father had been taken away and his mother had packed her things and left, even though he understood—still understood—why she had. He honestly didn’t hold it against her.
His mother’s words came back clearly, although it had been almost seven years. “I can’t stay. I can’t sit around year after year and wait for this to happen to either Maggie or you. No one should have to have this happen. No one. It’s a living nightmare.”
“Has our conversation depressed you?” Anne’s question pulled Morgan back into the present.
“No way,” he replied, forcing a smile. Looking over her shoulder, he could see Skip and Marti kissing. He wanted to kiss Anne too. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until the fear inside him went away. “I learned to live with it a long time ago.”
Anne didn’t want to challenge him, but she was certain he’d never learned to live with what had happened to him. She gazed skyward and saw that stars were beginning to appear. “I’ve never seen so many stars,” she said, hoping to recapture their earlier mood. “In New York City, you have to go to an observatory to see this kind of star power.”
Morgan looked up and studied the star-studded night. “Out here, you take some things for granted. Night skies full of stars is only one of them.” Pretty, rich girls from big cities, whom he didn’t want to become involved with, were another.
“Look!” Anne cried, pointing heavenward. “A shooting star!”
Morgan watched the star streak across the night. “Some nights, it seems like the whole universe is falling to earth.”
Anne could only imagine. Still staring upward, she heard Morgan say, “We should head back. It’s a long ride home.” She followed him back to the blanket, disappointed. Marti was making repairs to her lipstick, and Skip looked thoroughly kissed. For a moment, Anne felt a sharp twinge of envy. If only Morgan felt that way about her.
“We need to saddle up,” Morgan told Skip.
“So soon? Marti has the whole night off.”
“Well, I don’t,” Morgan said, forcing Anne to believe that he was making up an excuse to be rid of her.
Skip touched Morgan’s shoulder and whispered, “Is it because of what her old man said?”
Anne heard his words and whipped around in time to catch the warning glare Morgan shot to Skip. Skip shuffled self-consciously and began folding the blanket. Flabbergasted, she stood rooted to the ground. She felt shock, then humiliation. Had her father dared to go to Morgan behind her back? Had he actually said something to him about her condition?
Her fingers were stiff as she saddled her horse, but once they were all on the trail, she couldn’t keep silent. Skip and Marti were lagging behind them this time, and once Anne was sure they were out of earshot, she said, “I heard what Skip said back there.”
“I figured you did. He’s got the tact of a skunk.”
“Don’t be mad at him. I’m glad I overheard. What did my dad say to you?”
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me.” Her heart was pounding, and her hands trembled on the reins.
“He didn’t threaten me or anything. I know he’s only concerned about you.”
In the dark, she couldn’t make out his expression. “He didn’t threaten you?”
“He asked me to leave you alone, that’s all.”
Her anger flared, but she bit it back. “I wasn’t aware you were bothering me.”
“All right.… he doesn’t want us spending so much time together. He doesn’t want me to get too involved.”
“Why?”
“It’s a fact of life, Anne—fathers who bring their daughters out to the Broken Arrow for a summer vacation don’t want them to get sidetracked by some dumb cowboy who’s got nothing to show for his life. I’m not well educated. I’m not wealthy. I’m not any of the things fathers want for their daughters. I understand his feelings.”
“Well, I don’t! He had no right—”
“He had every right.”
“My dad and I don’t have that kind of relationship.” How could she explain it to Morgan, who had no father and who argued with his uncle about control of his life? “My father’s always given me space to make my own choices. He’s never imposed his will on mine. And he’s always trusted me. It’s just now that …”
“Let’s
just forget it,” Morgan said. He clucked to his horse, urging it to a canter.
Anne balled the reins in her fist in total frustration. She broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. She dug her heels into Golden Star’s side and rode in a slow gallop all the way back to the ranch.
Ten
“DIDN’T WE HAVE a ball?” Marti asked.
“Sure. A great time was had by all.”
“Maybe you were right about my giving other guys a chance. Maybe I deserve to see what there is beside Peter. Maybe we can do this again soon.”
“Maybe so. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Sure …” Marti’s voice trailed off as Anne hurried toward her cabin. She didn’t want to be rude to Marti, but she had plenty to tell her father.
Her father was sitting outside on the steps when she arrived. “Did you have fun?” he asked.
Anne felt betrayed and didn’t bother to hide it. “Waiting up for me? You haven’t done that since I was thirteen.”
“Whoa … wait a minute. I’m just breathing in all this wonderful fresh air you’re always telling me about. What’s the problem? You sound as if you’re indicting me.”
She crossed her arms and stood in front of him. “I know that you told Morgan to leave me alone.”
“How do you know that?”
“It came out in conversation.”
“It simply ‘came out’? Did he tell you?”
Anne recognized her father’s attempt to put her on the defensive. She figured it was a skill teachers must cultivate in order to deal with belligerent students. “Why did you do it, Dad? Why would you tell him such a thing when you know I want a normal life.”
He sighed heavily and urged her to sit beside him on the steps. “All right, maybe I did question him about his motives toward you.”
“His motives? What are you—a detective?”
“You’re infatuated with him, Anne.”
She felt her cheeks color. Were her feelings so obvious that her father could read them from a distance? “I’ve never known anyone like Morgan before.”
Sixteen and Dying Page 5
