Stoner's Crossing

by Judith Pella

  Laban wasn’t going to stand for it. He had worked too hard, slaved too long under Caleb’s degrading and demeaning hand to give it up easily.

  He cast a hard, cold look at his father now as they sat alone in the study. “You are making a grave mistake in allowing her to remain here.”

  “I never asked for your opinion in the matter,” Caleb said with a sneer. “I felt you ought to be apprised of the situation, that is all.”

  “You have always regretted accepting her mother—it will be the same with the daughter, mark my words!”

  “I only have one son now to lose.” Caleb left no doubt as to how little the loss of Laban would affect him.

  “She will not take my place, do you hear?” Laban’s voice rose with passion.

  Caleb laughed. “Believe me, I doubt she would want to. If she is a true Stoner, her ambitions are sure to be higher than that.”

  His inflection on the word higher incensed Laban.

  “Why you—!” he blustered threateningly.

  “Don’t you dare speak so to me!” snapped Caleb, effectively cutting the younger man off. “I am still your father.”

  “And may God have mercy on me!”

  “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you until you can be civil to me.”

  Laban snorted derisively. “I won’t put up with much more of this, Father.” He spat out the final word with contempt. “Just make certain that girl watches her step around me.” He lurched to his feet and strode to the door.

  Caleb’s voice stopped him as his hand poised on the doorknob. “If anything happens to her, you will pay, Laban. Mark my words!”

  Laban flung open the door with a vengeance and, stalking from the room, slammed it behind him. His fury mottled his face to a livid red.

  How dare they try to rob me of my due!

  At that moment, Laban Stoner could have killed them all—his father, the girl, anyone who stood in his way. But he refused to succumb to his passions. In the end that would get him nothing but a noose around his neck. Instead, he stormed outside and vented his anger in bullying the ranch hands, taking much pleasure in boxing the ears of the young Mexican stableboy.

  Let Caleb have his way now. It wasn’t going to last. Laban had known for years that his inheritance was on shaky ground. Caleb avoided discussing his will with Laban and was forever threatening him that he’d not get a cent. Thus, in the last couple of years Laban had been working toward a more certain way of insuring he’d get what was rightfully his. Now, with the appearance of the girl, he’d have to accelerate those plans. One way or another, the Stoner Bar S Ranch would be his!

  21

  Caleb gave his son’s retreating figure a final smirk before leaning back in his chair and ruminating upon the recent turn of events.

  For some sweetly malicious reason it delighted him to see Laban so agitated. It was a small recompense to Caleb for all the years he’d had to spend guarding his backside from Laban’s greed. Not that Caleb seriously believed that his skulking, no-good half-breed of a son really had the guts to kill him; but as long as there was even a slim possibility of it, Caleb had to be alert.

  And for that reason, Caleb was not at all adverse toward the arrival of this granddaughter out of the past. He did not doubt for a minute the validity of her claims. The birthmark she had which was identical to Leonard’s, and also to one Leonard’s mother had had, was only the beginning of the basis for his accepting her. She definitely had his son’s eyes, especially evident when they flashed with that haughty passion he remembered so well in Leonard.

  Oh, Leonard! Why were you taken from me in the prime of your life, when I had so many plans for your future?

  Is it truly possible that part of you lives on? That your loss is not nearly as complete, as deadly final, as I had believed? Ah, but why couldn’t you have sired a son, a man I could have poured my life into as I did you? If I didn’t know such things were beyond the schemes of men, I would blame that murdering wife of yours. But I’ll bet she delighted in the fact that she gave birth to a mere girl, knowing how it would gall me to pass my legacy on to her. If, indeed, I choose to do so.

  Female or not, she is of my blood—and my son’s blood. And Deborah knows that I’d sooner pass what I have along to a female than to that misbegotten greaser whelp who despises the very air I breathe.

  Caleb expelled a heavy sigh. He picked up the daguerreotype of his son he kept on his desk. The pain of Leonard’s loss clutched again at Caleb, as fresh as if it had occurred only yesterday instead of nineteen years ago. Caleb was a cold, ruthless man, yet it was possible, even for such a man as he, to possess feelings. Laban might describe these emotions as his father’s “fatal flaw,” and attempt to use them to bring the powerful old man to his knees. Carolyn, on the other hand, might see them as Caleb’s “soft spot,” a vulnerable side that could be nurtured and expanded until love and mercy balanced his arrogance and ruthlessness. But regardless of how Caleb’s deepest emotions were defined, they existed, and they centered on his dead son, whom, in his own way, he had loved.

  And now there was Carolyn, Leonard’s own daughter. Could he possibly come to love her also?

  Yet Carolyn was clearly Deborah’s daughter as well as Leonard’s, especially in that impudence and willfulness of hers. She acted like a swaggering cowboy and spoke to him with all the respect and deference one would use toward a stableboy. Still, Caleb had to admit, that’s also when she most resembled Leonard.

  In many ways Caleb was as disturbed as Laban. He was not quite ready to accept the girl, but neither was he prepared to reject her out-of-hand. She would take some taming, to be sure. That feisty spirit of hers would have to be broken as he might break a green colt. But in the end she could mean the fulfillment of his dream that his empire go to Leonard’s progeny. That was surely a better outlook than he’d had before today. He’d been fretting over this very thing for months now, ever since—

  No, he mustn’t dwell on that! He must only keep his sights on the fact that his future was looking brighter by the minute. Not only was Deborah back in jail, but Caleb now had an acceptable heir.

  Laban, of course, might prove to be a problem in the matter of the inheritance. He might not have had the nerve to kill Caleb, but where a young, albeit gritty, young girl was concerned, Laban would bear close watching. It wouldn’t hurt if Caleb assigned someone to look out for the girl, too—someone he could trust. He already sensed that, like her mother, she would not be one to be easily housebound. The moment he had left her earlier, she had gone out to the stable to see to the care of the horse she’d brought from town. She was still out there. What more could he expect of a girl who refused to wear a proper dress to meet her grandfather for the first time.

  Caleb rubbed his bony chin. There was really only one man to whom he could entrust this delicate matter.

  Half an hour later, Caleb’s foreman, Sean Toliver, stood before him. Toliver was barely thirty years old, but in spite of his youth, he was extremely capable. He had come west from England years ago, a mere lad of fifteen, but he had filled those ensuing years with enough adventures to quickly make him a seasoned frontiersman. He had been on several cattle drives in the early days when Indians were still a menace. He had ridden as a scout with Ranald Mackenzie, fighting Comanche. In ’75 he joined the buffalo hunters in the wild and dangerous hunt that had all but exterminated the bison. When he had come to the Bar S Ranch two years ago, he had quickly made himself indispensable. Toliver was a real man in Caleb’s estimation, and he had often considered leaving the ranch to him. They looked at life in much the same way, with no-nonsense, canny eyes.

  “Thanks for coming, Toliver,” Caleb said, as if his foreman really had a choice in the matter. “Have a seat.”

  Caleb left the confines of his desk and moved to a leather chair next to a table that held a selection of alcoholic beverages. Toliver took the seat opposite Caleb, his brawny frame filling the chair. He appeared to be completely at ease in the pre
sence of his stern, often daunting employer. That was something else Caleb liked about the man—he had guts.

  “What can I do for you, Boss?” Toliver spoke in a British accent tempered curiously with a Texas twang.

  “I suppose by now you have noticed my new houseguest?”

  “It’s hard not to; she’s quite the looker. Where did you find a filly like that, Mr. Stoner?” He gave Caleb a meaningful wink.

  “She happens to be my granddaughter,” Caleb replied in a tone that clearly indicated Toliver might be getting a bit too relaxed.

  “Sorry about the misunderstanding, Mr. Stoner. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

  “Never mind. I have something far more important to discuss.” Caleb paused, leaned toward the table, and lifted a decanter. “Whiskey, Toliver?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Caleb poured two glasses, handing one to Toliver before leaning back comfortably in his chair.

  “I’d like to talk about a very delicate matter with you, Toliver, and I’d like to be certain it never leaves this room.” Toliver nodded in assent, and they sealed the agreement by sipping their whiskey. “Up until today,” Caleb continued, “I had no idea I even had a grandchild, the daughter of my eldest son who was killed nineteen years ago.”

  “And you are certain she is who she claims to be?”

  “As sure as I need to be for the present.”

  “What’s the problem, then?”

  “I am most favorably disposed toward the idea of a child of my son, Leonard, carrying on after me. I would have preferred if it had been a boy, of course, but I could learn to live with it as it is. Unfortunately, there is someone who stands to lose much because of this turn of events.”

  “Laban, I presume?”

  “Yes. The girl has not even been here a full day, and he is already highly resentful of her, although nothing has even been mentioned about the state of his inheritance. I think he might try to make things difficult for Carolyn while she is staying here at the ranch.”

  “I can see why you’d think that.”

  “That’s where you come in, Toliver. I’d like you to keep an eye on the young lady. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing as much of her as I will.”

  “She did look as if she knew her way around a ranch.”

  Caleb raised an eyebrow, silently stating his disapproval of such unladylike behavior. “Her mother allowed her to become wild and impudent.”

  “Would you like me to tame her while I’m at it?”

  Caleb’s thin lips curved into a humorless smile. “I don’t care what else you do with her as long as you keep her safe.”

  “Oh, she’ll be safe with me, Boss, you can count on it!”

  “Thanks, Toliver.”

  “I think I ought to be thanking you. This is one job that’s going to be a pleasure!”

  “Just see to it that you don’t forget it is a job, and I expect it to be done well.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Boss. Your granddaughter will be as safe as a babe in its mother’s arms.” Toliver paused, sipped his whiskey, let it roll around pleasantly on his tongue a moment before swallowing, then said, “What about my other work? It’s roundup time, you know.”

  “I know you can’t be her shadow, but try to keep tabs on her and on Laban, too.”

  Caleb was certain this was going to work out perfectly. Perhaps Sean Toliver and Carolyn Stoner would one day be a romantic match to boot. Nothing would please Caleb more than to see his ranch go to Leonard’s child and a man like Toliver.

  Only one other thing would be necessary to complete his life and allow him to die a happy man—he wanted the chance to watch his son’s murderer hang by the neck until she was dead.

  That consuming desire had not changed one degree since the day nineteen years ago when she had been snatched from the gallows by that thieving outlaw. Caleb had nearly given up hope of vindication and could hardly believe his good fortune when that no-account Pollard had appeared in town with her last month. He had wanted nothing more than to ride to town immediately, just for the pleasure of seeing her once more behind bars. But he had restrained himself for a very practical reason. Things in these parts were different twenty years ago. The town had been smaller and more isolated, and Caleb had had a firmer grip on its citizens. He was still confident of his influence, which had spread even to the capital. But these days people were apt to be more scrupulous about the law. It was hard enough to get a court to hang a man, much less a woman. There might be another trial, and Caleb was concerned about protecting his image. He didn’t want to risk garnering sympathy for Deborah by letting his desire for vengeance be so obvious. He had to play this with more finesse than he had before. Deborah had more in her favor now than she had back then. It was entirely possible that her sentence could be commuted to imprisonment instead of hanging.

  But Caleb Stoner would be satisfied with nothing less than seeing Deborah hang.

  It didn’t bother him that his granddaughter was also her child and the girl might mourn her mother. He felt confident he’d be able to manage the girl, just as he’d done with the town and his friends in the state capital. Why, once Carolyn was convinced of her mother’s guilt, she might have little sympathy for the woman who murdered the girl’s father.

  Yes, in no time, he ought to have that girl tamed and looking at things his way. In no time at all.

  Part 6

  Pursuit of Hope

  22

  The dirty glass allowed only a dull shaft of light to penetrate into the dank, gray room, and that was deflected and broken by the iron bars in the window casement.

  Sitting on her bed, her Bible open in her lap, Deborah purposely ignored the unnatural gloom of the early morning. She made a concerted effort not to focus too closely on her surroundings, trying not to see the filth and ugliness, trying not to think that outside the drab and foreboding prison walls was the wide open land. Sometimes it seemed to take all her strength to avoid thinking of the hillsides dotted now with a few late-blooming wild flowers, or the grassy prairies she so loved—all open and free and beautiful.

  She was successful most of the time in keeping the eyes of her heart on the Lord, finding hope and succor in God alone. But there were difficult moments when her mind wandered toward thoughts of home, of riding her favorite horse, flying with carefree speed over the grass, the wind stinging her face, blowing her hair. In those times, she felt her imprisonment, the closeness of the walls, the oppression of captivity, far too acutely.

  Deborah had been struggling with this feeling since yesterday when a stray thought had brought it all crashing in upon her. Depression had begun to overwhelm her, and she lay upon her bed after lights out, praying until she fell asleep. At dawn she awoke, still heavy-hearted, and sought consolation in her Bible. Passages from the Psalms had lifted her spirits, and she had begun to sense, at last, a release from her oppression.

  She simply could not become self-absorbed; of all her loved ones, she was at the moment the safest.

  Sam was traveling thousands of miles away on the slim chance that he could convince a famous eastern lawyer to champion her cause. She had to keep praying that his spirits and hope would be buoyed, that he would not become discouraged.

  She also prayed for Griff who, though apparently improving, was not yet fully recovered. Any small setback could prove disastrous, even fatal.

  Sky was also shouldering a huge burden for a boy of only sixteen. Yes, he had good help in Slim and Longjim, but she knew Sky well enough to know he would take his responsibility seriously and expect more of himself than anyone else would.

  And Carolyn…Deborah was afraid to even consider what she had allowed her daughter to get involved in. The brief note she had received from Carolyn yesterday was somewhat reassuring, but still Deborah found it impossible to trust Caleb Stoner. She wondered now if she should have forbidden her to go to the Stoner ranch. Perhaps Carolyn would have obeyed.

  At that outrageous thought, a
smile invaded Deborah’s gloom. Carolyn had been determined; nothing would have stopped her. Now she had entered the most dangerous place of all, and Deborah could do nothing about it.

  Nothing but pray.

  And that she must faithfully do. She was not helpless as long as she had that one weapon. Perhaps God had her in this very place to keep her still long enough so she could devote her whole self to that one important effort.

  In this place, where she was surrounded by the obvious needs of others, she could spend hours in prayer just for them. In fact, theoretically, she shouldn’t have any time at all for self-pity.

  Deborah thought of her two cell mates. Nell James was about Deborah’s age and had been a hardened criminal almost from childhood. She was now in the middle of a six-year prison term for horse stealing and attempted murder. Nell admitted she was “guilty as sin” for the thieving part, but the man she had tried to shoot deserved it because he had been roughing her up and trying to horn in on her rustling operation. He had walked away scot-free, claiming he had been attempting to bring her to justice.

  The other woman was a twenty-seven-year-old red-headed saloon girl named Lucy Reeves. She had come west five years ago from Boston as a mail-order bride, but her prospective bridegroom had been killed in a gunfight. Alone and desperate, she married another man, who turned out to be a brute. She left him after a year, and while he was riding after her to bring her back, he was killed in a thunderstorm, struck down by lightning.

  Lucy didn’t mourn his loss, but she ended up in the same position as when she had first come west. She needed to make a living—which was almost impossible for a woman to do alone and with no money…a respectable living, that is. She had no trouble at all getting a job in a saloon. She told herself she’d work long enough to make train fare in order to return home to Boston. Then she committed her terrible crime: she stole fifty dollars from her boss. She claimed the money was rightfully hers and that he had withheld it from her. No one believed her word against a man who was rather influential in the town. She was sentenced to two years in prison, and now had only a few more days of that term to serve.