by Judith Pella
Carolyn reined Patch to a stop. The sun had fully risen now, its scorching rays beating down on her. All was still and quiet as if she and her horse were the only living things for miles—as well they might be. But the raging storm of Carolyn’s emotions made up for the peace surrounding her.
What was going to happen now?
What was she supposed to do?
“I don’t know…I just don’t know.”
She leaned over Patch and stroked his charcoal mane. His nearness somehow comforted her.
“Dear Lord, what should I do? I don’t want to hurt my mother…I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want my life to change, but it’s going to. Show me, God. Show me!”
9
When Carolyn rode back into town about midmorning, she wasn’t really in the mood to see anyone. She wanted to talk to Sky, though not just yet. Right now she wanted solitude.
But she was not going to get her wish. A small knot of people had gathered near the boardinghouse where she was staying. Shouting and yells rose from the group.
“Atta boy!”
“You get him, Billy!”
“Take that, half-breed!”
The sheriff—not Pollard, but the regular sheriff who had been out of town for the last week and just returned—quickly dispersed the spectators with his own shouts. When the area had cleared of most of the by-standers, Carolyn saw two figures fighting in the dirt. One was her brother; the other was Billy Yates.
Whenever Billy was around Sky, he found some reason to pick a fight with him. Billy was three years older than Sky, and in the past his natural size had always given him the clear advantage over Sky. But at sixteen, Sky had already outgrown the Yates boy by two or three inches. Billy still out-weighed Sky, but years of ranch work had given Sky muscles, strength, and endurance far beyond his years. This was the first time in a couple of years that the two had tangled, and Carolyn noted proudly that her brother was giving the bully a run for his money.
The sheriff, on the other hand, was not in the least impressed. It was hard enough keeping peace in this wild town with all the real desperados that passed through. He didn’t need to waste his time on punk kids. He had trouble pulling the two youths apart, but finally he was able to get a good grip on Billy and lug him to his feet, giving the young man a violent shake and standing him erect.
“Can’t you leave this poor Injun kid alone?” the sheriff asked.
“I don’t like the looks of him, an’ I don’t like to breathe the same air as him,” snarled the Yates boy. He was nineteen now, but in no way mellowed by age.
Sky, who had started to rise, took another lunge at Billy. The sheriff shoved him back to the ground where Sky stayed, panting and tense.
“Okay, Billy,” said the sheriff, “you get outta here, and if you can’t come to town without starting trouble, I’m gonna bar you from here altogether, you hear?”
Billy shrugged in an attempt to show he was unimpressed by the sheriff’s threats. But he complied with his order and marched away, not without a final scowl toward Sky.
The sheriff yanked Sky to his feet. “Well, boy,” he said in a gruff but not entirely unfriendly tone, “you’re almost as bad as that Yates boy. You can’t seem to come to town without getting into trouble.”
“I didn’t start it,” protested Sky.
“Well, you ain’t the first Injun to make that claim, but it still don’t matter. Trouble is trouble, and you best learn how to control that hot head of yours.”
By now Carolyn had arrived on the scene and was listening to the conversation. She could not keep quiet. “My brother don’t have no ‘hot head,’ Sheriff!” she retorted angrily. “But a man has to defend himself against scum like that—” She jerked her head toward the retreating figure of Billy Yates. “Especially when the law ain’t gonna do nothing about it!”
“Lookee here, girl!” the sheriff replied, no trace of friendliness in his voice now. “I think your family’s got enough trouble around here without you starting more. Now, both of you, skedaddle before I put you in jail with your ma!”
Carolyn took a threatening step toward the sheriff, but Sky put a hand on her shoulder and held her back. “Let’s go,” he said firmly. He had to nudge her once or twice to get her to move.
“Someone ought to shoot that Billy Yates!” she blurted when they were well away.
“Maybe someone will one day,” replied Sky, “but it ain’t gonna be me.”
“A kind word don’t always turn away wrath, Sky, no matter what Sam says.”
“I think the things Sam tells us are right, but not everyone is called or able to live like he does. That’s not why I try to avoid trouble. I’m afraid that once I got started really fighting people like Billy, I might not be able to stop.” He paused and shook his head, his muscles still taut with repressed fury, his hands clenched into fists. “But when they speak ill of my father, I could kill!”
“Well, if it’s any comfort to you, Sky, at least the things they say about your father ain’t true.” She was immediately sorry for the bitterness that crept into her tone.
“I’m sorry,” Sky replied with compassion. “I forgot for a minute.”
No matter how angry Carolyn might at times be at the world in general, she would always have a tender place in her closely guarded heart for her brother, her best friend.
She softened her tone as she replied, “That’s okay, Sky. I wish we could all just forget.”
“It’s too late for that. As long as Ma is in danger, we gotta do what we can to help her.”
“I know, but it might mean digging more into the past. Who knows what else we’ll find out.”
“We’ll find enough to prove our mother’s innocence!” declared Sky firmly.
“I suppose…”
Sky’s eyebrows shot up and he gave his sister a rare hard look. “You sound as if you don’t believe what Ma said.”
“I believe her, but…Sky, like you are afraid to start fighting, I’m afraid to find out any more, that’s all. I’m not sure I want to know.”
“Learning these things about your father is hard, Lynnie, but if I know you, you will be too stubborn to let it go.”
She made an attempt at a smile and nodded in agreement. “You’re probably right, doggone it! I never did know how to leave well enough alone.”
They parted at the livery stable where Carolyn left her horse. Sky returned to the boardinghouse to clean up a bit before visiting his mother. As Carolyn watched him walk away, she could not help wishing, despite all the pain his mixed blood caused him, that she could be him. He had a heritage and a history to be proud of, no matter how much people like Billy Yates tried to belittle it.
But she could not change who she was, or her parentage. She just had to accept it and go on. It would help no one, especially her mother, if she moped around filled with self-pity, making life miserable for herself and everyone else. Maybe she would have to turn over a few more painful rocks in her parents’ past; maybe she would find out that her mother did indeed kill her father; maybe she would meet her grandfather and be faced with his hatred.
Whatever happened, she would just have to take things as they came, put a little more trust in God, and be strong. That was the only way she would be of use to anyone.
10
When it came time to transport her mother to Stoner’s Crossing, Carolyn resisted the suggestion that she stay behind. Deborah practically begged her to stay at home, and Carolyn noted a desperation in her mother’s tone that seemed to far exceed the surface dangers of the trip. Still, Carolyn remained obdurate until Sam drew her aside and sternly asked his stepdaughter to give some consideration to the added burden of worry her presence would place on Deborah. Carolyn accepted the rebuke contritely.
She was also swayed by the reasoning that with Sky busy running the ranch, there ought to be some member of the family besides Yolanda, who had her hands full under the best of conditions, available to care for Griff. Carolyn had a soft
spot in her heart for Griff, so she agreed to stay. But she told herself that the minute Griff was well, if things were not already cleared up, she would go south.
Those first couple of weeks after Sam and Deborah departed were bitterly lonely for Carolyn. Sky was gone all the time, as were Longjim and most of the other hands, working at spring roundup. Yolanda offered company, but most of her conversation revolved around house and hearth, which completely bored Carolyn. She wanted to be out working with the boys, riding, drinking in the countryside she so loved. She didn’t exactly begrudge Griff her time. She loved him, too, and as long as he needed her she would not leave him. But that didn’t prevent her from gazing longingly out the window or pacing restlessly.
And Griff was in no position to entertain her or relieve her boredom. He remained in critical condition. The doctor, when he made his biweekly visits, was amazed he stayed alive at all, especially after the infection set in. Griff was either comatose or delirious the entire time, and Carolyn was terribly afraid for him. One cowhand who stopped by to visit mentioned that he’d never known anyone who’d been gut-shot to survive. Carolyn tried to reassure herself that Griff’s wound wasn’t exactly a gut-shot, but was nearer to his side. It was a futile reassurance at best.
Griff looked so pathetic that she wanted to cry. And maybe that was another reason for her restlessness; she was simply uncomfortable with the vulnerability her teetering emotions caused in her.
One particular day, he seemed his worst. His skin was ashen, and he had dropped thirty pounds from his hefty frame. His eyes, which had always danced with mischievous humor, were sunk deep in black-ringed sockets. He literally looked like death. Carolyn suddenly knew with an intensity she had not previously felt that Griff could die. Then she began to weep in earnest.
As much as she tried to fight it, she knew she must accept the fact that soon Griff would be taken from her.
“Lord, am I really gonna have to say goodbye?” she murmured. “It just don’t seem right. Griff’s not that old; he’s got a lot more still to give.”
She paused and let the silence, broken only by Griff’s labored breathing, close in around her. She wasn’t really looking for some miraculous answer to her prayer. She found that God usually didn’t work that way with her. The answers to her prayers most often came in quiet, subtle ways. Sometimes answers didn’t come at all, or as Sam would say, God was just deliberating or telling her to wait a while. Often when she prayed, she just hoped for the best, trusting that God had heard and would answer in His time.
Thus Carolyn was not fully prepared for the sense of security that suddenly enveloped her. She could not believe the peace she felt all at once as she gazed at Griff’s wracked body. She almost felt guilty for it. But a voice inside her—in her heart, or mind, or deep within her soul, she did not know—assured her clearly and persistently:
Griff will live.
There was no more to it than that, really. A quiet impression that could not have come from her anguished, fearful soul. God himself had seen fit to bless her with this assurance.
Her tears gave way to excitement, not only for Griff’s sake but also because it showed her all over again how much God loved her. When it really mattered, at one of the lowest points in her life, He chose to bolster her with such a miracle, with undeniably heaven-sent peace. She realized anew that God was truly there for her when she needed Him. And He was there for Griff, too.
After that day she had a completely different attitude toward the time spent nursing Griff. She no longer felt lonely and forsaken, and she realized that her previous reaction had in large part been her way of subtly separating herself from Griff, protecting herself by severing her emotional ties to Griff. Now, she talked to him all the time, even though he never made any response. She’d babble on and on about all the news she heard from roundup activities, or about the new horses, or she’d pass on funny stories the hands told her.
Yolanda acted worried about this at first, afraid, perhaps, that all the recent stress had finally gotten to the poor girl. It just wasn’t normal for the child to sit there talking to the unconscious figure. But when it soon became obvious that Carolyn was in much better spirits than she had been in a long time, Yolanda stopped fretting.
One day, two weeks later, Carolyn was trying to feed Griff some broth. The doctor said that as long as he could swallow without choking, they had to try to get some nourishment into the patient. A good portion of Yolanda’s excellent chicken broth was dribbling down Griff’s chin, but Carolyn thought enough was being consumed to keep him alive, anyway.
As was her habit, Carolyn kept up a constant flow of one-sided conversation with his unresponsive form. “My goodness, Griff! If you could only see yourself. I don’t reckon a baby could do worse. Whoops! There goes some more. I’m gonna have to get you one of them baby bibs.”
“Watch your English, girl,” came an unexpected and barely audible reply. “Your ma don’t want you talking like the cowhands.”
“Aw, she don’t really—”
Suddenly Carolyn stopped. The voice was coming from her patient, who had not spoken a coherent word in two weeks!
“Griff? Did you say something, or was I hearing things?”
“’Course it’s me. Who else did you expect?”
“Oh, Griff, you’re awake!” She set down the spoon and bowl and jumped up.
“Where’re you going?”
“To get Yolanda. She’ll want to know.”
“What about the rest of that there soup? It was mighty tasty.”
Carolyn laughed, then bent down and joyfully kissed Griff’s cheek.
The next time the doctor came by, he was more than a little surprised at his patient’s progress. He had fully expected to come to the ranch only to find a freshly dug grave. Not only was Griff not dead, he was getting back some of his color and, though he still couldn’t tolerate solid foods, he was feasting on Yolanda’s beef and chicken broth.
“Let him eat what he wants,” the doctor instructed. “Change that bandage two or three times a day and keep using that cleaning solution I left. And most of all, he’s got to stay in bed two more weeks—no exceptions! After that, he can get up once or twice a day, no more! Build him up gradually.” To Griff’s protests, the doctor added, “You aren’t to even look at a horse for another month after that. Then—and only then—we’ll see how you’re doing.”
“A month! You gotta be kidding! I shoulda just kicked the bucket if I have to stay cooped up for over a month.”
The doctor addressed his next statement to Carolyn. “It’s up to you, young lady, to see that he follows my orders. If he gets up too soon and breaks open that wound, he’s liable to go right back to where he started.”
“Don’t worry, Doc,” Carolyn said with a stern warning glance toward Griff. “I’ll keep him in bed if I have to tie him there.”
Griff proved to be a terrible patient. He hated being in bed and made no bones about telling anyone who happened to be within earshot. What was worse, he couldn’t do anything about it even if he tried. And he did try, but most of the time all he could do was gather enough strength to sit up and eat. Once, when he felt particularly strong, he swung his legs out of bed when no one was watching. He only fainted for his efforts.
“Fainting!” he lamented when he came to. “Just like a woman! What’s gonna become of me, Lynnie? I’m a has-been. May as well put me out to pasture. I’m finished!”
Carolyn tried to cheer him up, and finally managed to lift his depression by losing several games of poker to him.
11
Upon regaining consciousness, the first thing Griff wanted to know was what happened to Deborah. His last clear memory was of Deborah’s hands being bound together. When Carolyn filled him in on all that had gone on afterward, he cursed Pollard vehemently and swore to get even with him.
He knew better than anyone what a return trip to Stoner’s Crossing could mean for Deborah—not only the possibility of execution, but also h
aving to face the wrath of Caleb Stoner. Unfortunately Griff didn’t have his wits about him enough to hide his fears in front of Carolyn.
“Not there!” he exclaimed when Carolyn informed him of Deborah’s transfer. “That’s worse than Daniel stepping into the lion’s den. She ain’t never gonna get no fair treatment there.”
“What do you mean, Griff?”
Griff quickly tried to repair his error. “Aw, nothing. You know how I feel about the law.”
“Griff!” Carolyn demanded hotly. “You better tell me straight, you hear! Everyone’s been lying to me all these years, and I ain’t gonna put up with it no more. I want to know everything.”
Griff groaned and laid a weak hand over his forehead. “Later, Lynnie, honey. I better rest now—”
“Oh no, you don’t! You been sleeping all day. Now out with it!”
Griff smiled in spite of himself. He and Carolyn had always had a special friendship. He never could figure out why she seemed to adore him so, but had he been more intuitive he might have seen that the reason was, in part at least, because he had never tried to win her love or respect. She was a natural rebel, that girl, always trying to march to a different drummer, as her mother often said. Griff supposed he and Carolyn were kindred spirits in that sense. They understood each other and gave each other plenty of room to be themselves. Griff never expected Carolyn to measure up to some standard that simply didn’t suit her basic nature, even if her parents might have done so out of love.
That same mutual understanding, however, prevented them from being able to bamboozle each other. She’d know if he tried to humor her with some white-washed story now, and she wouldn’t let him get away with it. But he wondered just how much Deborah had told her daughter of the events of nineteen years ago. He did have a certain loyalty to Deborah, too.
