"I have no idea," Livi answered, "but you and Cissy get on out of here. Whatever he wants to talk about is between him and me. And maybe I have a few things I'd like to make clear to our good friend Mr. Campbell."
"This is just like it used to be when he'd come to the house in Lynchburg," the boy complained. "Reid would ride in, and before he could say hello the two of you would be—"
"Tad—" his mother warned.
The boy huffed. "Damn it, Ma, why can't you just be nice to him? Don't you see we need his help?"
Livi would face a room full of rattlesnakes before she'd ask Reid Campbell to lift one finger on her behalf.
Tad seemed to sense he wasn't making headway and started toward the door. "Come on, Cissy. You can help me stack wood, if you want."
Livi watched her children go, telling herself that Tad was wrong about needing Reid's help. They'd been doing just fine. The crops were in and flourishing. Eustace and Violet had been doing more than their share. She couldn't think of a reason in the world to turn to Reid.
"You gots powerful feelin's for that man," Violet observed, coming up beside her.
"That I do," Livi admitted. "And with good reason. If it weren't for him, we'd still be back in Lynchburg. If it weren't for him, David would be alive today."
"He looks like he know that, too. Look like he's takin' Marse David's death as hard as you."
"Nonsense, Violet. He didn't even flinch when I told him David was dead."
Livi had wanted Reid to mourn David as deeply as she did. She needed someone who understood the intensity of her loss, who would share her pain and grief and bewilderment.
Beside her, Violet shrugged. "Maybe he didn't say nothin', Miz 'Livia, but you look at Mr. Campbell up close. He's feelin' bad. An' your boy's right. We could use his help."
Having expressed far more of her opinion than Livi cared to hear, Violet picked up her pan of splints and the half-finished basket and went out into the sunshine.
Livi didn't have long to wonder what Reid wanted to discuss. He was back in a matter of minutes. While he was gone he'd discarded his filthy buckskin shirt for one of tow and tied back his hair with a leather thong. He looked more Campbell than Creek in this attire, more civilized than savage, except for the tattoo peeking out from beneath his sleeve.
Still, apprehension simmered in the pit of her belly as she swept the greens into a pot of salted water to soak. She cast a glance toward where Reid was resuming his seat at the end of the bench. Maybe what Violet said was true. He did look haggard under his bronze-toned skin. The dark shadows beneath his eyes made it seem as if he hadn't slept.
But if those observations roused any softer emotions in her, Reid's first words obliterated any concern she might have felt.
"It seems obvious, Livi, what's best for you and the children is to leave Kentucky."
"What?" Livi fought to catch her breath.
"Virginia's where you all belong," he went on, his forearms braced against the tabletop. "When it's safe for you to travel, I'll be happy to escort you back. You can buy another house in Lynchburg and resume the life you left behind. I'm sure that would be best for everyone."
Livi stared at him, anger rattling through her like artillery fire.
"What you need to understand is that life here in Kentucky is hard," he continued, "harder than you can possibly know. There's land to clear and fields to plow, homesteads to build, expand, and defend. There's constant danger and very little help. No woman alone could contend with that."
No one knew the truth of what Reid said better than Livi. Every hour since they'd left Lynchburg had been a struggle. Every day they'd been at the cabin had taxed her strength and will. She and the children and the Hadleys had wrung themselves dry struggling to get those fields plowed. They'd worked from daylight to dark to get them planted. They'd hoed the weeds and prayed for rain.
She'd battled to tame this this land with every ounce of her strength and gritty determination. She'd done it with the help of others who understood the cost as well as she. Now Reid wanted her to simply turn her back on all they'd accomplished.
She might have hated this land because coming here had cost David his life. She might yearn for safety and security, but she could not sacrifice this the homestead her husband had built for an easier life. Not when the seeds she had planted with her own hands were growing. Not with the promise of seeing a fine harvest in the fall. She'd worked too hard, invested too much, to let Reid Campbell drive her off. And somehow, that decision surprised her.
"The only thing you and I have ever agreed on, Livi," he went on, taking her silence for acquiescence, "is that you don't belong out here in the wilds. You're a planter's daughter, used to genteel surroundings, to having people do for you. You're not brave enough or strong enough to make a life out here. And you've got the children and that baby to think about. The sooner you pack up and leave, the better for everyone."
Campbell was stating his case with a clarity even an imbecile could understand. Every word he said was true. A month before, Livi would have agreed with him.
She did not agree with him now.
"What gives you the right, Reid Campbell, to dictate where my children and I should go and what we should do? Why are you undermining decisions I've already made?"
Reid blinked, as if resistance were the last thing on earth he had expected from her.
"I'm only thinking about what's best," he fumbled. "I'm only doing what David would want—"
"What David would want?" she mocked him. "You never gave a damn about what David wanted. All you cared about was luring him out into these damn mountains. All you cared about was defeating me.
"Now David's dead because of this land, because of this dream, because of you! And it seems a little late for you to have reservations—"
Reid shoved to his feet, a white line etched around his mouth. "I had nothing to do with David's death!"
"Oh, but you did! For as long as I can remember, Reid Campbell, you've come to us with tales of this place beyond the mountains, this Eden of rich, new land all but free for the taking. You enticed David until the word 'Kentucky' became the promise of a better life, a prayer that only moving west could answer."
"It wasn't me or my tales that brought David here," he denied hotly. "He wanted this land for himself, for the children—and especially for you."
Livi recoiled. "He never wanted it for me. David knew exactly how I felt about Kentucky."
"He may have known," Reid answered, "but after marrying so high above his station, after making you choose between your family and him, David needed to prove himself. Out here he had a chance to do that, to make his fortune. Out here he had a chance to show everyone who shook their heads when you married him that he was worthy of a wife from such a fine Virginia family."
Oh, please, God! Livi prayed silently. Don't let David have done this for me! Yet Reid's allegation held a savage sting of truth.
She lunged at him in spite of it. He caught her flailing hands and easily bound her to his chest. Livi twisted against him, panting, tears suddenly coursing down her face.
If they'd been anything but the bitterest adversaries, Reid might have wrapped her in his arms and offered comfort. If they'd been anything but the staunchest foes, Livi might have curled against him and shared her grief. Old jealousies and the new accusation prevented either of them from doing that. Reid held her clapped tight against him until the tension in her drained away.
When at last he loosened his hold, Livi staggered to the bench and sat down hard. She knew there was no sense assessing blame. The David they'd both loved was dead, and neither of them could change that.
Though it made perfect sense to accede to Reid's demands and go home, Livi knew she could not leave. Not when David had bought this land with something so dear as his life.
"Well, then, Reid," she finally said, her voice cuttingly prim, "I thank you so much for your concern, but the children and I won't be going back to Virginia. We're
staying on here. David left this land to us, and since it's ours—"
"Well, no, Livi," Reid interrupted, an expression she couldn't quite fathom crossing his face. "Strictly speaking, the land isn't yours."
Livi's world went dim around the edges. "What do you mean?"
"When David came to Kentucky last fall to stake his claim, I came with him. We decided to pool our acreage so there would be six hundred acres instead of three. We also made an agreement."
"What kind of an agreement?"
"We agreed that if one of us should die—or fail to come back from the wilds—the land would go to the remaining partner."
It took a moment for the import of what he was saying to sink in—that if David was dead, the land, all the land, belonged to Reid.
"I don't believe you," Livi whispered.
"I thought you might not." Campbell withdrew a folded paper from inside his shirt and extended it toward her.
As she read, phrases danced before her eyes. "In the event of one of the partner's death or his unexplained absence for a period of two years... the land surrounding Wilcox Creek extending on the north... shall duly fall into the possession of the remaining partner..." The paper was signed by both David and Reid and witnessed by two men whose names she did not recognize.
Oh, David, what have you done? she wanted to wail, holding the page with trembling hands. After all we've suffered, the land's not mine? After everything, you gave Reid Campbell a way to take it back?
Yet the agreement made sense. Reid's expeditions into the wilderness for months at a time were perilous. If bears or illness didn't get him, Indians might. This agreement had been a way to protect David and his holdings. That Reid should use it against her now was a travesty of everything her husband must have intended this agreement to be.
Renewed anger brought a surge of heat into Livi's cheeks. She refused to let Reid Campbell take this away from her.
"So do you mean to evict us?"
"You don't belong here."
"It's more that you don't want us here."
A dull red flush crept up his neck. "You can't survive alone in Kentucky. By trying to do that, Livi, you risk the children's lives as well as your own. I can't stand idly by and let that happen. If you think I won't enforce what this paper says—"
She didn't care what the paper said.
"Oh, I have no doubt you'll try to enforce it, but all it says is that you own the land. You can't take the crops I planted. They belong to me. You can't take the house that David built. That's mine, too. Consider me a sharecropper, if you like, but I'm staying. I'll be happy to pay you a stipend when our crops come in."
"I don't want a stipend, goddammit."
"Very well, Reid," she answered, doing her best to sound reasonable. "We'll do this however you say, but I'm not moving one foot off this land until the crops we planted are harvested."
"Christ Almighty, woman!" he shouted. "Can't you see that leaving is what's best?"
"And tell me, Reid, what will we live on if we go? The crops out there are my only assets."
"For God's sake, Livi, I'll give you money—"
"Crossing the mountains is difficult at any time," she continued. "Do you want me to go now and risk miscarrying David's child?"
He glared at her from the far end of the bench.
Remembering belatedly what Tad had said, Livi softened her tone. "Please, Reid, try to understand. We've lost so much already, I can't let you take this, too. Once the crops are harvested, we can discuss our leaving again. But for now—"
"Jesus, Livi!" Reid thundered. "I don't want you here!"
The truth at last.
"Well, I don't want you here, either," she shouted back. "Not on this land. Not in this house. And since David built at least this side of the cabin for me, I think I have the right to ask you to leave!"
"Fine!" Campbell thrust to his feet. "Fine. But this isn't over, Livi. As long as you're on this land, it will never be over. And what are you going to tell the Hadleys now that you've got no land to pay them with?"
"You leave the Hadleys to me. Now get out of my house!"
Livi couldn't think when she'd had more satisfaction than when she slammed the cabin's door behind him.
Chapter 12
"You sure this is where you saw those turkeys roost last night?" Tad whispered to Reid as he peered toward the dark stand of trees at the edge of the field.
"Just try that call," Reid insisted under his breath, "and see if I'm right."
Between them and their quarry lay a meadow thick with buttercups, cornflowers, and Queen Anne's lace. Each blossom seemed to glow in the rising sun, fierce blots of color spangled with dew. Both man and boy were hunkered low in the lee of a fallen tree, their guns primed and loaded at their sides.
With a skeptical sniff, Tad took a triangular piece of slate and a chip of wood from his trouser pocket. By rubbing the wood across the stone, he produced a loud gobber-ruckk, remarkably like a turkey's call. The two of them held their breath and waited. Reid nodded and Tad tried the call again.
This time a large tom answered, flapping out of the trees.
Reid grinned and poked the boy.
The bird gawked forward, his blue head iridescent in the dawn, his orange wattle quivering. Another turkey followed his lead. Two more came out of the trees. While Reid and Tad watched, better than a dozen of the ungainly birds flew and hopped and wobbled out of the woods. There were adults and a few pale pullets, looking vulnerable and naked without their full growth of feathers. The turkeys chattered among themselves, complaining and gossiping, oblivious of the danger that lurked yards away. They bobbed and scratched through the grass, looking for breakfast.
"Give us both time to sight before you fire," Campbell warned softly, picking up his gun. When Tad was ready, Reid whispered, "Now."
The rifles cracked simultaneously, shattering the morning quiet. Squawking and screaming, the flock of turkeys flapped back into the woods. Two of their number lay flailing in the grass. Tad and Reid reloaded as they ran to claim them.
Tad had just finished cleaning his tom when Reid loomed over him.
"Good shooting, boy," he said.
"Pa let me practice when we were away from the house."
"Your ma think you were too young to handle guns?" he asked as they hefted the birds and turned in the direction of the cabin.
Tad shrugged. "She was pleased enough that I knew how to shoot once we were on the trail."
Tad's comment gave Reid the perfect opportunity to ask about the Talbots' journey to Kentucky. Not only did he want to know about the trip and how David had died, but he needed to find out what happened to the doeskin bag he'd entrusted to David's care. Questioning the boy might stir up memories best forgotten, and Reid was loath to risk upsetting Tad.
Yet Reid's Creek honor demanded that he avenge David's death, make his killers pay for what they'd done. But without knowing more about who attacked the Talbots' camp, Reid didn't stand a chance of finding them.
He was sure Livi could tell him what he needed to know, but Livi wasn't talking—at least not to him. She hadn't cast a glance in his direction since she'd ordered him out of her cabin four days ago.
"If Pa and old Rusty were here," Tad said on a sigh as they tramped through the woods, "it would seem like things were right again."
Reid knew what Tad meant. Because a boy learned by doing, David had let Tad tag along when they'd hunted around Lynchburg. Reid had relished those crisp mornings in the hills, the easy camaraderie, the hound snuffling through the underbrush, scaring up birds.
"What happened to Rusty?" he asked.
"He died last fall while you and Pa were here."
"Then we need to get you another pup," Reid murmured, thinking aloud. "It's good to have a dog out here. They set off howling if there are Indians around."
"We haven't seen any Indians since we reached the cabin."
Reid gave a dubious snort. "A party could pass just the other side of
these trees and you'd never see them. Maybe I'll ride on over to Logan's Station and see if Ben Logan's bitch has had a litter recently."
Tad perked up. "Logan's Station? How far is that?"
"Six or seven miles, maybe. Whitley's Station is closer, but not as big. You mean your ma hasn't searched out the settlements yet?"
"We've been busy planting and all," Tad said with a shrug. "Ma's been wanting to meet some folks out this way. She's got her heart set on a barn, and she knows she's going to need help to build it."
A barn? Reid thought, struggling to reconcile the idea that the bit of fluff and lace David had married could want something so practical.
But then, the fact that Livi had managed to get the fields plowed and planted hinted at a side of her Reid had never seen. As much as it chafed at him to have her and the children underfoot, he supposed she'd earned the right to stay until the crops were harvested. Besides, once he'd managed to nail Livi down and make her tell him about the men who'd killed David, he'd be heading out.
"All of us could ride over there with you," Tad proposed, breaking the silence.
"What?"
"Ride over to Logan's Station."
"To Logan's Station?" Reid's thoughts had been tangled up in Livi telling him something that would lead him to David's killers. "Now, Tad," he began, "I don't think..."
Just then they topped the ridge behind the cabin. On the flat below, Livi was heading back to the house. She strode along with her back straight and her red braid swaying, a brimming bucket in one hand and her milking stool in the other.
This was not the woman he'd known in Virginia, Reid thought with a ripple of unease. Livi had changed.
Before Campbell could realize what Tad was about, the boy took off down the path to the cabin.
"Ma!" he shouted as he ran. "Ma! We got two big turkeys for you to smoke. And guess what, Ma? Reid's taking us to Logan's Station so I can get a dog!"
* * *
Livi refused to be grateful. She would have bucked up her courage and gone looking for neighbors eventually, or they'd have found her. She would have made her way to Logan's Station on her own. She hadn't needed Reid Campbell's help.
A Place Called Home Page 18
