She spun away from the window. There was only one way to find out—ask him! She checked her hair in the mirror, dabbed some perfume on the white globes of her breasts that swelled above the neckline of her dress, and went downstairs.
The house was quiet except for the rattle of pans in the kitchen where Joseph and Cecilia were preparing a meal. Della swept aside the velvet draperies that covered the doorway to Adam’s office and went inside. He sat in the same position as he had when she left him hours earlier, legs stretched out, head resting against the back of the chair.
“Papa, darling, are you hungry? You didn’t eat anything this morning, and I had Joseph fix scrambled eggs with peppers, just like you like them.” Della leaned down, so that her face was close to his, and pouted prettily.
Adam looked at her without moving his head, then back down at his feet. Exasperated, Della moved a small stool in front of him and sat down. She leaned over so the front of her dress gaped invitingly, and covered his hands with hers.
“Talk to me, Adam. I’m so lonesome.”
He looked at her again. His eyes stayed on her face, and she smiled. Then he pulled his hands from beneath hers and looked away.
“What’s the matter, darling? Tell Della. You know I love you. You can tell me anything, Papa Adam. I’ll understand. We’re family.” He didn’t acknowledge her words by as much as a bat of an eyelash. Anger flared and blazed brightly, fed by a wounded ego. Who the hell did he think he was to sit there like a great lump and ignore her? Men had paid as much as a hundred dollars an hour for her company, and here she was wasting her time on him, sitting at his feet, begging the bastard to look at her!
She got to her feet and began to pace the room. It wouldn’t do to speak to him when she was angry. She had to choose her words carefully, ease into the question she was determined to ask. She calmed herself by planning her strategy, then went back to the stool and sat down.
“Darling, I need advice and you’re the only one I know who can tell me straight out what to do. Are you listening?” His eyes flicked to her and away. She was encouraged to go on. “As you know I’ve been quite successful with my business and I’ve accumulated a sizeable amount of property. I’ve made out a will, darling, leaving it all to you. I’m wondering if there is any way Kain, as next of kin, can step in and take it from you after I’m gone. I don’t want him to have anything that’s mine. Not after what he’s done.”
He looked at her and his eyes began to brighten with interest. They honed in on her face, narrowed, and glinted. It was as if a light had suddenly gone on in his head.
“Is that all that’s worrying you?” His voice was rough, but she didn’t care as long as he talked to her.
“No, darling. I also want you to tell me if there’s any way Kain can take my inheritance away from me.”
“What inheritance?” he asked quietly.
“Well, this place.” With a wave of her hand, she gestured to the area around them. “That is, if you leave it to me.”
His move was so quick and unexpected it brought a startled cry from her. He jumped to his feet with such violence that she almost fell off the stool. His arms swung around and his hand just missed her face. She didn’t know if he meant to hit her or if she was just in the way. As soon as she could get to her feet she backed away from him. He stormed across the room, pounded the opposite wall with a balled fist, turned, and came back.
“I thought that was what you were getting at, you bitch! All of you gawddamn women are alike. All you want to do is get your greedy hands on my land. You want to know if I have a will, isn’t that it, Della? And you want to know if I’m leaving everything to you. You’re thinking the old man is going to cash in his chips, and you’ll have your own private little stud farm—a whole bunkhouse full of cowhands to screw.” He threw his arms wide and his head jutted forward. “Ain’t that right, Della? Ain’t that right? You’ve never cared a gawddamn for anything but money and a stud in bed—”
“Don’t be vulgar, Adam. I merely asked you a civil question.”
“Hush up!” he bellowed. “Hush your fuckin’ mouth! I know what you are! Everybody knows what you are, Della. You’re a whore! A slut!”
“Yes, I’m a whore, and a damn good one. And I won’t hush! You’ve moped around here like a love-sick calf since you saw that woman in town and I’m sick of it. I’m sick and tired of taking your abuse. Don’t throw that word slut at me again, Adam. There’s a world of difference between a whore and a slut,” she shouted.
“Get your hot little twat off my ranch! Go! I sure as hell don’t need you,” he roared. His face had turned crimson and the cords stood out on his neck. He kicked over a halltree, strode to the desk and swept the ink bottles to the floor.
A long ribbon of fear that she had spoken too hastily unfurled in Della. “Now, Papa. Don’t talk like that—”
“Don’t now papa me, by Gawd! I’m not your papa. I’m not your anything. I wasn’t even married to that straightlaced, prissy bitch.”
His appalling words rocked her. “What do you mean?” she asked with biting urgency.
He ignored the question, turned and stomped to the end of the room, flung back the drapery and looked out the window. Then, as if jolted to action, he spun around and strode back across the room.
“I’m leaving this ranch to the United States government to be made into a park. They’ll put a statue of me right out there in the yard, sittin’ on my white horse—a monument to a great man who wrestled this land from the gawddamn red asses.” He threw his arms wide and brought his fists back to pound on his chest. “That’s me, Adam Clayhill, the first white man to take a chunk of this wilderness, tame it, and hold it. Adam Clayhill ran off the savages, Adam Clayhill held this land to keep the scum that follow the trailblazers from coming in and cutting it up. Adam Clayhill did it all. By Gawd, when they hear what I’m going to do they’ll beg me to be the governor of Colorado, or they’ll not get an inch of my land!”
“I doubt if your lawyer would make out a will like that,” Della said with feigned indifference, although she was desperate to know if the will had been made.
“What the hell do you know about it?”
“He made out your other will, didn’t he?”
“I’ve never made out a gawddamn will in my life! But I’m going to. You can bet your little hot twat I’m going to. I’ll go down in history, along with John Fremont, Zebulon Pike, and that great know-it-all Custer, who thinks he’s going to fence in the redskins. I say kill ’em and be done with it. Chivington’s way is the only way, by Gawd.” He paced the floor in long strides, and the words poured from his mouth, laced with curses.
Della was so angry she was almost sick with it. Her fury burst forth in a strangled shout. “You couldn’t even kill one red ass. Logan Horn has beat you at every turn. His ranch is even bigger than yours. Face it, Adam, you’re nothing but an old has-been, and the sooner you die the better I’ll like it!”
Adam continued pacing and muttering as if he hadn’t heard a word she said. Suddenly, he stopped in front of her, his face frozen in a mask of hate. Spittle ran from the corner of his mouth.
“You whore! You’ve teamed up with Kain to ruin me. I’d never have married you, but there wasn’t a whore in town, and I was bored. That gawddamn clerk said he’d give me the marriage papers, but he run off. Damn you and your half-wit brat! Damn you to hell and back!” As quick as a flash he slapped Della across the face with the palm of his hand, then on the other side with the back of it.
Della was dumbfounded. He was out of his head. She saw that he was completely confused as to who she was. He looked so frenzied, so ugly and maddened that she was paralyzed with shock and fear. She turned to leave, but he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.
“Hear me, Ellie! You’re nothing but hair and bone and skin with a hole in it.” His voice rose to a deafening yell, a fierce, wild look contorting his face. “Oh, I know what you thought! Yes, I know, I know. You bitch!” he shriek
ed. “Gawd, how I hate you. I’ll kill you . . . I’ll kill—”
He reached out for her and she shrank from his hands, backing away. The corner of his mouth jerked down, his eyes stared, and he hung there as if suspended while his face became expressionless. Then, as if his legs were melting into the carpet, he sagged to the floor.
Della stared down at him, appalled and astounded, not knowing what to do. Then she screamed for Joseph.
* * *
Vanessa had gone to the porch to call the men to dinner when the sorrel horse pulling a small, light buggy turned into the lane leading to the house. The horse was halted beyond the porch, and the man stepped down.
“Howdy.” He was a tall, thin young man in a wrinkled duster over a black suit. He was clean-shaven except for the beard that outlined his jaws and came together at his chin.
“Good afternoon.” Vanessa could see John and Kain coming from the barn on the run.
“I’m Dr. Warren. This poor beast pulling my buggy is going lame. Oh, how do you do, sir?” he said as Kain rounded the end of the buggy. “Dr. Warren. I was just telling the young lady my horse is going lame.”
Kain stuck out his hand. “Kain DeBolt. My wife, Mrs. DeBolt, and Mr. Wisner.”
The doctor shook hands with Kain, removed his hat and nodded to Vanessa, then held out his hand to John. His face was young and friendly. He had not a single hair on the top of his head, but a thick growth around the edges connected with the hair on his face. His accent had the flavor of the deep South.
John moved over to the sorrel and cautiously lifted the leg the horse was favoring. The doctor patted the animal on the side and peered down at the leg.
“The animal was suffering, and I didn’t know if he could make it to town. I wondered, sir, if you could spare a horse. I’ll return it later and pick up this one.”
“We’ll certainly work out something,” Kain said. “Meanwhile, my wife was calling us to dinner. Won’t you come in and join us?”
“Thank you. I would be pleased.”
“The horse has a bad cut on his fetlock, Kain. The doctor can use one of my horses, ’n we’ll get this feller in the barn ’n put some pine tar on it.” John began to unhitch the horse, who stood quietly as if he knew his ordeal was over.
“Can you doctor it after you eat, John?” Vanessa called. “You know how it irritates Aunt Ellie when her corn bread gets cold.”
“I’ll be right in, missy.”
Kain led the young doctor into the kitchen and introduced him to Ellie and Mary Ben, and then to the others as they filed in. They sat down at the table and Ellie asked Henry to say grace. Ever the polite hostess, she engaged the doctor in conversation while the dishes were being passed.
“Did I hear a bit of the South in your voice, doctor?”
“Yes, ma’am, you did. I was born and raised in Mississipi, not too far from the Shiloh battleground.”
“I thought that battle took place in Tennessee.”
“It did, ma’am. I’m from Cornith, right across the border.”
“That was a terrible battle. Vanessa’s father was a doctor, and he told us stories of terrible suffering.”
“My daddy was a doctor, too. He spent most of his time in a northern prison.” He accepted the meat platter and helped himself.
“I didn’t know we had a doctor here until a few days ago,” Kain said.
“I’ve only been here a couple of months. I guess you’d call it the lure of the mountains that brought me here.”
“Usually it’s the lure of gold that brings people here.”
“Yes.” The doctor laughed. “I heard before I came here that a man need only to find a stream coming down from the mountains, wade in, and pick up the nuggets. Thank you,” he said to Henry, who passed the plate of corn bread. “It isn’t what you have that makes a happy life, it’s good health. The patient I just attended, a man who seems to have everything, a big ranch, a beautiful home, servants, would probably trade places with the poorest man alive if he could be healthy again.”
“Is he someone who lives near us, doctor?” Kain asked the question in the silence that followed.
“As far as I’m concerned, there isn’t anything near anything else in this country, Mr. DeBolt. It’s all sky, plains and mountains. My patient was a Mr. Clayhill. His ranch is about ten miles from here. Do you know him?”
“Yes, we know him.” Kain looked at Ellie. She was watching the doctor, letting nothing at all show on her face.
“One of his cowhands came in yesterday to fetch me. I spent the night out there. Mr. Clayhill has suffered a spell of apoplexy.” The doctor helped himself to another serving of corn bread, over which he spooned a generous amount of gravy. He was obviously hungry.
“Is Mr. Clayhill paralyzed?” Ellie asked when it seemed the doctor would drop the subject.
“Are you familiar with the disease, ma’am?”
“Yes, a little. I know there are several types of apoplexy.”
Vanessa watched her aunt, as did everyone else at the table.
“He did not suffer a temporary fit. It’s much more serious. Mr. Clayhill has no voluntary movements except breathing, turning his head slightly and moving the fingers of one hand.” The doctor filled his mouth and after he swallowed, he added, “Sad. Very Sad.”
“Why do you say that? Is Mr. Clayhill dying?”
The doctor looked down the table at the pleasant looking woman who had asked the question. He glanced at Kain and saw that he also waited impatiently for an answer, as did his wife and the other young couple. Only the old man who had unhitched his horse and the other two continued to eat.
“Doctor,” Ellie said, breaking the silence. “I am Mrs. Clayhill. I have the right to know if my husband is dying.”
The soberness of Ellie’s words brought every eye to her face and drew even a deeper silence. John and the Hookers couldn’t conceal their dismay. The doctor was dumbfounded, but rallied quickly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Mr. DeBolt called you—”
“Hill. My son and I go by the name of Hill. Mr. Clayhill and I have been estranged for a long time. Nevertheless, he is my husband. Is he dying?”
“Mr. Clayhill is conscious but cannot speak. He may live a few days, or a year, or he may be gone by the time I return. A stroke patient usually dies within a few days of the attack. If he lives longer than that he has a chance of living for months or even years with good care. Sometimes the paralysis remains, at other times disappearing in the course of some months, partially or completely. It is impossible to predict what the results will be.”
“Who is taking care of him?”
“Ah . . . his daughter is there.”
“His stepdaughter,” Ellie said quickly.
“Cases are known in which the patient’s bodily functions have been entirely recovered while various impairments of the mind have persisted. The loss of speech in connection with apoplexy happens frequently if the right side of the body is paralyzed during the stroke, which is what happened in this case. It is interesting to note that Mr. Clayhill understands everything perfectly, but is unable to communicate.”
“Is his stepdaughter taking care of him?”
“He’s being cared for by a Mexican woman and a Negro servant. Miss Clayhill doesn’t seem to have the, ah . . . patience to care for the sick.” The doctor looked quickly from Ellie to Kain and back, and a dull redness covered his cheeks. “Ma’am, you may wish to consider—” He cut off what he was going to say when he saw the frosty look that came over Ellie’s face.
John moved his chair back from the table and the legs rasped loudly on the plank floor. The Hookers got quickly to their feet, moving fast for them. The tension in the room was being felt by all.
“If’n ya want, I’ll hitch up fer ya, Doc. ’N don’t ya worry none ’bout yore horse. He’ll rest in the barn ’n be fit in a day or two.”
“I’m obliged to you.”
In the silence after the back door was firml
y shut, Ellie got up and brought the coffeepot to the table. She refilled the cups and when she came to Henry, she placed her hand on his shoulder, as if just wanting to touch him. He and Mary Ben sat close together on the bench and she could see her tightly holding Henry’s hand. She was a dear girl, Ellie thought, thanking God once more that she loved her son.
“Oh, dear. I forgot the custard pie. It’s John’s favorite. I’ll be sure and save some for his supper.”
Nothing more was said about Adam Clayhill until the doctor was ready to leave.
“Mrs. Clayhill—”
“Call me Mrs. Hill, doctor.”
“Do you want me to stop by again tomorrow?”
“It would be nice if you could make it at mealtime.”
“Thank you. I must say that’s the best meal I’ve had since I came to Colorado.”
“It’s my turn to thank you.”
After the doctor left, Kain and Henry went back to the job of shaping fence posts, and the women began cleaning the kitchen. Vanessa arranged the castor set in the center of the table, set the other necessaries around it and covered it with a cloth. Mary Ben silently took the large granite pan from where it hung on a nail behind the stove.
“Girls, would you mind if I went upstairs for awhile?” Ellie stood in the middle of the kitchen, her eyes focused on the window across the room.
“Of course not, Aunt Ellie. It’ll not take me and Mary Ben any time at all to wash up.”
“I need to be alone . . . to think.” She turned and looked levelly at Vanessa.
Vanessa went to her, encircled Ellie’s waist, gave her a quick, firm hug and gently nudged her toward the door. She listened to her footsteps as she went up the stairs to her room.
“What does it mean, Van? Do ya think she could still love that mean ole man?” Mary Ben poured steaming water into the dishpan from the teakettle.
“I don’t know. She loved the man she thought he was for so many years.”
Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] Page 32
