Wildest Dreams

by Rosanne Bittner

  He turned and walked away. It was nearly time to leave out on the cattle drive. He decided he might as well speed it up and go tomorrow. Maybe she was better off not seeing him at all for a few weeks.

  PART THREE

  Just as a seed can sprout new life

  After being tossed aside,

  Forgotten and left to die;

  So can love buried by pride and guilt

  Come to bloom again...

  Stronger, healthier, even more beautiful.

  CHAPTER 18

  January 1876

  Lettie shivered as windows rattled from wicked winds, winds that once nearly drove her insane, but to which she thought she had grown accustomed. Now she hated the sound again, for the howling monster outside brought with it a blizzard that kept everyone buried in their homes. These past winters had become more bearable, with the additional company of Elsie and Mae and all the children, but now winter brought something much more dreadful than the loneliness she'd once felt. Now the wind and snow meant they could not get help for little Paul. Her baby was suffering with a terrible fever, and what she and Mae were certain was pneumonia. She bent over Paul's small bed to bathe his face again with a cool rag, aching at his groans and whimpers of pain.

  Straining to lift another pitcher of water, seven-year-old Robbie poured it into a washbowl on the stand near his mother. "What else can I do, Mama?" he asked. "Should I see if Mae has the hot tea ready yet?"

  Lettie turned to meet Robbie's blue eyes, blue like his father's. Luke. She needed him, but something kept her from telling him so. He needed her in return, yet she could not bring herself to go to him. What was this barrier between them? And poor Robbie. All her children needed her, but first there had been the agony over losing Nathan again, now this. Little Paul seemed to be dying, and the winter storm outside was not going to allow any Double L man to get into town and back with the doctor quickly enough to help. Robbie tended his little brother almost as faithfully as she did herself, always the little doctor, always wanting to help, just like with Pancake.

  "I don't think he can swallow anything," she told Robbie, struggling to keep control of herself in front of the boy. The cloth she'd been holding to Paul's head was already hot, and she turned to rinse it in the water again to cool it off. She wrung it out and handed it over to Robbie. "Would you like do it this time?"

  "Okay."

  She fought tears at the sight of Robbie gently laying the cloth on his brother's forehead. Her two youngest sons had always been close, always playing together. Robbie watched his five-year-old brother more like a father would. He was so different from Ty, who cared only about learning how to ride and rope and handle cattle; Ty, who was his father's image and worshiped the man like a god. Ty and Robbie had nothing in common, except that they shared the same blood.

  She took a moment to stretch and rub her neck and shoulders. Everything ached. She had been sitting by Paul's bedside for two days straight, afraid to go to sleep, hardly eating. She walked to a window, but the snow blew so badly she could barely see the barn beyond the front lawn. Adding to her worry and agony over Paul was her additional concern for Nathan. Where was he? How did he and the Indians survive in this kind of weather? Was he starving? Freezing? She looked down at the ragged old stuffed horse that sat on the window ledge. She had put it in Paul's room, telling him always to take care of it, telling him that someday Nathan might come back for it... come home to stay... but now she knew that was only a fantasy. She surely would never see her firstborn again, and for no truly logical reason, she blamed Luke; just as part of her blamed him now for

  Paul's being sick and unable to get help. If they were not so isolated here, so far from civilization...

  A tear slipped down her cheek when she noticed something else, a shiny little black stone lying on the ledge beside the horse. She remembered the day she had taken a walk with Paul, before Nathan was found. Little Paul had always demanded so much of her attention, and she had not minded, for he was her precious baby, her last child. When they went for that walk, Paul had found the stone and was fascinated by its color and gloss. He had handed it out to her, telling her he wanted her to have it as a gift. She told him to take care of it for her, that it was very special because it was a present sent from God.

  She picked up the stone and rubbed it between her fingers, realizing Paul had put it beside the horse because both were dear not just to him, but to his mommy. It hit her then how she had neglected her baby after Nathan ran off. She had gone into such a depression that she had been lost in it and had not given any of the children the attention she should. That neglect only made Paul's sickness even more devastating now, her agony over his pain made worse by her guilt for not spending enough time with him.

  She could not even take comfort in Luke. She loved him so, yet sometimes she hated him. She had taken to sleeping in the guest room since Nathan left, aching to be held, yet needing to be alone. Luke had not demanded that she come to his bed. He had been quiet and withdrawn himself since getting back from the summer's cattle drive. He had dived headlong into claiming more land, involved himself intensely in the Cattlemen's Association, even made a trip to Denver to talk to cattlemen there about ways to deal with farmers and with sheep men who were beginning to filter into Montana. He had invested in the Northern Pacific Railroad and had gone to Helena to talk to the railroad's representatives about the best route to be considered through Montana. The trips had kept him away several more weeks after the cattle drive, and between his absence and the inability on both sides to share their feelings, he was becoming like a stranger to her.

  She put her head back and looked around the lovely little room, with its flowered wallpaper. Luke had built this beautiful, elegant home for her. She could live no better, even in more civilized parts, yet in spite of their comfort, the dangers of the land continued to threaten them. She turned to look at Paul lying there, so miserable. Robbie wet the cloth again and put it to his brother's fevered brow. Yesterday her baby had coughed so hard he had spit up blood. Now the coughing had stopped, but his breathing was labored, nearly every breath bringing a gurgling sound. Her once-lively, loving little boy just lay there with his eyes closed, while outside the wind battered everything in its path.

  She heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway then, heard the familiar jangle of spurs. She recognized her husband's gait, slightly off rhythm because of the broken leg that had never healed quite right. His big frame loomed in the doorway, and he glanced from her to Paul, then walked over to the bed to lean down and touch the boy's hot cheek.

  "Do you think Tex and Runner will get through the snow to town, Pa?" Robbie asked his father.

  Luke straightened, breathing in a deep sigh. "I don't know, son. They should have been back by now. They might be buried someplace themselves by now, maybe had to take shelter."

  "Will the cows all die?"

  Luke ran a hand through his hair. "Not if this wind keeps up. There will be big drifts in some places, but in other places the wind will blow the snow away and leave bare spots. If the cattle can get to those places, they'll be all right. The biggest danger is when the snow gets deep without any wind, so there's no place to find grass. Cattle won't dig for grass like horses and deer will. They just stand in the deep snow and—" He stopped short, not even wanting to mention the word "die."

  He closed his eyes, realizing he had been babbling like a fool. Did Lettie know what Paul's sickness was doing to him? His precious little son was so sick, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Did his mother really think she was the only one aching over little Paul's sickness and suffering over Nathan. If he could take the pain into his own body, he would do it in an instant. He would rather die himself if it meant little Paul would live.

  He turned to Lettie, knew what it would do to her if she lost Paul. She would in turn be forever lost to him in love and spirit. "We just have to pray Tex and Runner get through to Doc Manning," he told her aloud.

&nbs
p; Luke, I feel so guilty, she wanted to tell him. Little Paul had needed her more than any of the other children, always a mama's boy, always wanting to be held or read to. In these last few months he had grown closer to Robbie because he'd lost his mother's attention.

  "Yes," she answered Luke, turning back to look out the window. Piano music floated into the room from the parlor downstairs, where Pearl sat playing some of Paul's favorite songs. Katie was in the kitchen helping Mae fix supper, but no one had much of an appetite. She felt a big hand on her shoulder then. Why couldn't she turn around and let Luke put his arms around her?

  "He'll get here, Lettie. Paul will be all right." When she did not answer, Luke went to Paul. "I love you, Paul," she heard him saying softly. "Daddy's here."

  "He's a lot cooler now, Pa," Robbie spoke up. "Touch his hands. They're not hot anymore. See what a good doctor I am?"

  "Well, I guess you must be, Robbie. He is—" There came a moment of silence, and then Luke let out a strange, guttural sound. Lettie felt a knot come into her stomach. "Oh, my God! My God!" Luke groaned. "Not my son!"

  Lettie managed to turn around. Luke sat on the edge of the bed holding Paul close to his chest, bent over the boy, his shoulders shaking with the deep sobs of grief. She did not have to ask why. Her son was dead. She should have been holding him when it happened, not standing at the window. All these hours she had kept such a close watch, and the moment she got up and moved away, her baby's spirit had left them.

  Robbie stood staring in disbelief, his eyes wide and full of terror and sorrow. He ran out of the room then, screaming Paul's name.

  "More nesters!" Luke was almost glad to find them. His search to find ways to vent his anger had become almost an obsession. "Cut those goddamn barbed-wire fences and ride through their crops!" He pulled his six-gun and began firing into the air, charging forward ahead of his men, the first to cut down enough barbed wire to ride into a cornfield and begin trampling it. The eleven men with him followed, cutting more fence, stomping their horses over vegetable gardens and through more corn, all of them firing their guns to bring terror to the hearts of the family that had unwisely chosen to settle on government land Luke considered his own for grazing cattle.

  Luke charged his horse to the sod house, and a woman came running out of it, hoisting a baby on her hip, screaming obscenities. Her straight hair hung limp and unwashed, and her face was that of a young woman aging too soon, dry and drawn, her lips parched. A worn calico dress hung on her too-thin body. "What do you think you're doing?" she screamed. "You men get out of here!"

  Luke recognized her as Betty Walker, the wife of Johnny Walker. The young man and his brother, Jeeter, and his father, Zack Walker, had been warned several months ago to get off Fontaine land. They were squatting there in hopes of farming the land without legally paying for any of it. Luke suspected when he first found them that they had stolen some of his cattle for their own meals. They were a sorry lot, better at making trouble than at farming.

  "Where's your husband?" Luke demanded.

  The woman looked around frantically. "He's in town! They're all in town! I'm here alone." She backed away. "You get out of here, Luke Fontaine! How dare you do this?"

  Luke rode closer to her. "And how dare you Walkers come back here to settle on someone else's land! When Johnny Walker and his pa and brother get back here, you tell them to get their things together and find someplace else to settle! I warned you last spring! This is Fontaine land, and I won't put up with grazing land being plowed under, or with barbed-wire fencing. You understand that? If you stay here, we'll keep destroying the fences and the crops! We don't want any nesters around here! Next time somebody is going to get hurt!" He turned his horse and rode off, the woman's curses filling the air around him.

  "Damn you, Luke Fontaine! You're a bastard! A bastard!"

  "Maybe so," Luke muttered. His father had said so, hadn't he? Maybe the real Luke was now emerging, the one who hated his father, hated everything, hated himself; the bastard child who was doomed to fail. Yes, he was achieving his dream of building his own wealth, of proving he could succeed on his own; but he had failed as a father, failed as a husband, even failed as a son. He had never received one reply to the letters he'd written to his father. His dream had cost him two sons... and a wife. As much as he loved Lettie, he had never realized just how important she was to him until he had lost her. They still shared the same house, but it was as though she was not there at all; and he had withdrawn his own presence as much as possible. He could not bear the way she looked at him, could not bear sleeping alone in their bed at night.

  Ever since Paul's death nine months earlier, the barrier that had already formed between them had grown even higher and wider. Things got worse when they got the news about the slaughter of George Custer and more than two hundred of the Seventh Cavalry at the Little Big Horn. They couldn't help wondering if Nathan had been a part of the awful massacre, if he was even still alive. The Sioux were being hunted relentlessly now by the army. Life must be hell for them, and many Sioux had fled to Canada.

  Luke couldn't face his guilt, and the only way to avoid it was to stay away. He used roundup and branding time as an excuse, then the summer's cattle drive. Now this, a tour of his own land and surrounding government land he considered his own, routing out nesters, sheep herders, searching for rustlers. He wasn't sure how he would get through the winter. He hoped it would not be a bad one, so that he could make it into town to the saloons and play cards and drink away his loneliness and sorrow. The trouble was, he still loved and needed Lettie. She was the only woman he wanted, but neglected needs made him wonder how much longer he could go on without a woman.

  In the distance Betty Walker continued screaming her curses. He wondered just when it had all changed for him, when he had gotten so cold and hard. It wasn't just Paul's death, or even when Nathan ran off. It had begun long before that, slowly building in his soul. It had begun the day his father kicked him out, had festered even more when Nathan was first taken and he had been unable to get the boy back. Those two things had given him the determination to prove he could make it in life, and do it here in Montana. Nothing was going to stop him, and nothing had. He remembered Lettie asking him once never to let himself become like Tex was, ruthless and cold-blooded, but that was exactly how he felt. This was much easier than loving, much easier than caring.

  He rode to a hill overlooking the pitiful homestead and watched his men finish trampling the crops. Tex rode up beside him, taking off his hat and raising it while he let out a war whoop. "That ought to convince them to move on," he told Luke with a grin. "Them Walkers ain't nothin' but trouble."

  Luke nodded, taking one of his favorite thin cigars from a shirt pocket and lighting it. "The big problem is going to be those Mormons who are bringing in sheep. Hank Kline up at the Lazy K says he's had a hell of a time with them." He puffed on the cigar a moment. "The Cattlemen's Association has made the unanimous decision that each rancher can get rid of them any way they choose." He looked over at Tex. "If we have to kill all the sheep, that's what we'll do. We're heading on northwest, Tex. Runner said that's where he spotted some of them. I'll give them an ultimatum, a few days to get the hell out of Montana. If they don't go, the buzzards are going to have themselves a feast on lambchops."

  Tex grinned even more. "I'm with you, boss."

  Luke turned to watch his men set fire to a small shed below. A little boy came running out of the sod house to cling to his mother's skirts... a boy about Paul's age. Paul. His precious little Paul who had his father's dark hair and his mother's pretty green eyes. Little Paul, bright, lively, always running and laughing... now lying under the ground, forever silent. The thought of it still made him so sick inside he wanted to vomit. Sometimes he thought his heart would literally burst from the ache of it. He couldn't face his son's death. He could hardly bear seeing that little grave behind the house. Somehow, someone had to pay for letting Paul die. He couldn't vent his wrath on God himse
lf, so he would vent it on these people who dared to try to destroy what he had built. The ranch was all he had left.

  Tex rode back down the hill to gather the men. He wondered at the change in Luke Fontaine. Everybody knew that since Nathan had run back to the Indians, there had been a strain on the Fontaine marriage. Things had gotten worse since their littlest boy died. Luke probably had the prettiest wife in all of Montana, but the man looked for all kinds of ways to stay away from home. It was too bad. He could remember when Luke and Lettie were about the happiest couple he'd ever come across. He'd never been in love like that, never had kids; and now that he saw what loving and losing a son could do to a man... and a woman... he didn't want any. Caring that much was not for him. Some of the men said Lettie Fontaine had lost her mind with grief, and for some reason, she blamed her husband for the boy's death. That was too bad. Luke was a good man. The things he was doing now were simply not the kind of things the Luke he had always known would do, but then frustration over the love of a woman, combined with the kind of grief everyone knew he was suffering, could change a man; and Luke Fontaine had definitely changed.

  Lettie walked into the parlor, surprised at the visit from someone she thought she'd never see again. "Nial!" Much as she had resented the man for being so forward the first time she had known him, it was good to have company. For months she had not had the desire to go into town and attend the women's gatherings, had not had the desire to do anything but stay home and visit Paul's grave almost daily. Women friends had stopped coming out, and she knew it was because they didn't know how to comfort her; and they probably knew her marriage had been crumbling ever since Paul's death. They didn't know what to say to her anymore. Poor Henny had had a stroke and couldn't get out. She should go see her again. It had been months. But she just couldn't seem to leave home. Nothing seemed to matter anymore except the house and the children she had left to her.