by Judith Pella
“He died before I was born,” added Ramón.
“I’m sorry, Ramón,” said Carolyn. “I know what that is like.”
“What is to miss about what you never knew?”
“That’s a good question. I guess it just leaves a little bit of emptiness inside, no matter what you do to ignore it. A person’s parents are an important part of who they are and, at least for me, having one absent like that is kind of like getting a piece of me cut off. I reckon that’s another reason why I’m here; I want to try to get to know my father even though he’s long dead.”
“That would be Leonard Stoner?” asked Eufemia.
“Yes, señora. Did you know him?”
“Of course.”
“Did you know him well?”
That eyebrow shot up once more. “As I do most of my regular customers.”
“Regular?”
“Carolyn, I do not wish to tarnish any esteemed notions you may have of your father.”
“It’s not that, señora. I realize many men in the West frequent saloons. There ain’t many other social outlets for them. He wasn’t a drunk or something, was he?”
“You need not fear that. He was a respectable, upstanding citizen.” There was an edge to Eufemia’s statement Carolyn couldn’t quite identify, a hollowness.
“What was he like?”
“Surely your grandfather has told you all about him.”
“According to him, my father was nearly a saint. I know that can’t be true.”
“Because of your mother?”
“Because no one’s that perfect. If only half of what my mother says is true, then there’s a lot more to know than what either Caleb or my mother says.”
For the first time a touch of amusement sparked in Eufemia’s dark eyes. It lingered only a moment before that, too, was reined in behind her protective wall.
“I do not wish to become involved—” Eufemia began.
“Mamá!” Ramón broke in.
“No,” said the woman. “It is never wise to become involved in other people’s family disputes.”
“I respect that, Señora Mendez. I’m sure there’ll be other folks in town who will talk to me.”
“Do not count on it, Carolyn,” Eufemia said. “Caleb Stoner’s picture of his son Leonard is the official town view. There are no others. There can be no others.”
“I can’t believe that a whole town can be so controlled by a single man. There must be someone willing to tell me the truth.”
“Do you truly wish to know the truth?”
“I have to learn the truth.”
“Then I pity you, Carolyn Stoner.”
Mouth slightly gaping, Carolyn stared speechless at this peculiar woman. But before Carolyn could form a proper response, Eufemia rose.
“It has been a pleasure meeting you, Carolyn,” she said without enthusiasm. “I must now return to work.”
“I—I…” Carolyn stammered. “Thank you.” She rose also, followed by Ramón. “I hope I can visit with you again.” All the manners her mother had drummed into her finally came to her rescue. In reality, though, Carolyn was not anxious to see Ramón’s mother any more than was necessary. She was an extremely unsettling woman.
Ramón walked with Carolyn back out to the street. The bright light of day was oddly comforting to Carolyn. She took a deep, cleansing breath.
“I’m sorry about all that,” said Ramón.
“There’s no need to apologize. Your mother was just being honest, and I appreciate that.”
“She has her reasons.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has no great affection for the Stoners, that’s all.”
“Does anybody?”
“This town owes the Patrón a lot. Loyalty speaks louder than liking or disliking.”
Carolyn shrugged. Then how would she ever find what she needed to know? Frustrated and discouraged, she bade Ramón good-day and walked down the street to the general store. Ramón returned to the cantina.
37
Eufemia had returned to the piano and was just seating herself on the bench when Ramón returned.
“Mamá, I don’t understand why you treated Carolyn that way. She is a friend of mine—”
“She is a Stoner—don’t forget that, Ramón.”
“If you hate the Stoners so much, it’s that much more reason to help her. She’s trying to free her mother, and that is the last thing Caleb Stoner wants.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I guess I don’t. You were around when her father was killed. You might be able to help her and her mother.”
“Why should I help them? What do I care about them? And for all I know her mother is a murderer. Would you have me help a murderer?”
“What if she is innocent as Carolyn believes? I’ll tell you this, that Carolyn won’t give up until she gets to the truth.”
“How could she learn the truth? She is nothing but a foolish girl.”
“I wouldn’t underestimate her, Mamá. That’s what Señor Stoner is going to do, and it will be his undoing.”
“That is even more reason for us to stay away from that girl.”
Ramón shrugged. Maybe he was making too much of this. But so was his mother, and that puzzled him. Perhaps it was best to not get involved.
“What truly worries me,” Eufemia said in a cool, stern tone, “is your concern about all this. I don’t want you getting involved with that girl, do you hear?”
“And why shouldn’t I?” he retorted, irked at his mother’s attempt to interfere in his life. “She’s an attractive girl, and I like being around her—”
“You are a Mexican, she is white.”
“Bah! Carolyn was raised among the Cheyenne, and her own brother is half Indian. She hates bigotry.”
“I tell you, stay away from her!” Eufemia’s impassioned words drew the attention of the bartender and another customer who had just come into the cantina.
“Well,” Ramón said, “there’s no need to worry. She’s all taken with Toliver, the Bar S foreman.”
“Then that is for the best.”
“Toliver will use her, then cast her aside. He cares only about himself.”
“It is not your concern. You are not for her and she is not for you. That is all that matters.”
“And what other choices are there for me around here, Mamá? Two or three old, ugly señoritas. Maybe it’s time I found a better place with more choices.”
Eufemia’s hard features softened momentarily. “Ah, my Ramón! Maybe it has been wrong of me to keep you here. And now that she has come…” She paused and seemed to retreat inwardly for an instant. She then spoke as if verbalizing half-formed thoughts, “It is something to think about, son. Perhaps that is our only choice. Unless…”
“What, Mamá?” Ramón prodded when his mother’s comment trailed away, unfinished.
“Nothing. And now I must return to work. Ramón, could you go to the back and bring in some clean dishcloths? There are glasses to be washed.”
After a few moments Eufemia set her fingers on the ivory piano keys, producing a melody both sad and haunting. A tear escaped the corner of her eye, but she did not stop to brush it away.
38
By the time Carolyn finished her shopping, it was getting near supper and time to be returning to the ranch. She could not help feeling the excursion had been a waste. She had hoped to question the townsfolk about her father. Señora Mendez had definitely put a damper on that.
She made a few small purchases at the store and was heading to her horse, debating whether to speak to the sheriff, when several riders came galloping down the street toward town. She recognized them immediately as Bar S men. Sean Toliver was in the lead.
He reined his mount in front of her. “Good afternoon, miss!” he said in that odd British-Western accent. He doffed his hat and swept it toward her in a wide arc.
“Hi, Sean! What brings you fellas riding into town in such
an all-fired lather?”
“It’s Saturday night,” said Sean, “and the end of roundup, to boot. The boys want to kick up their heels a bit.”
“I guess they’ve earned it.”
“And what brings you to our fair city?”
“Just shopping. I reckon I mostly wanted a change of scene.”
“Why don’t you join us?” he asked with an amused glint in his gray eyes.
“Even I’m not that progressive, Sean,” said Carolyn with a laugh. “On the range I’ll hold my own with any cowboy, but that’s as far as it goes.”
“Why, I’m shocked, Miss Stoner, that you’d think I’d even suggest you accompany me to a house of ill-repute!” His amusement pulled at the corners of his lips. “I had more in mind something respectable, like a church social.”
She eyed him with mock suspicion. “What church social? Where?”
“The ladies of our town—that is, the respectable ladies—host a little soiree every year at the end of roundup. They hope to provide an alternative to the saloons for the local ranch hands after a month of hard labor. They put on a fine spread for supper that draws the lads, and then a bit of dancing with the pretty daughters of our more upstanding citizens keeps ’em entertained for a few hours. It doesn’t exactly put the saloons out of business, since most of the lads find a way to get in both forms of entertainment. Anyway, I’d be honored for you to accompany me.”
“Well, gosh, Sean, it sounds great, but I ain’t hardly dressed for something like that. And once I returned to the ranch, changed, and came back—”
“Buy something at the store and change right here.”
“Something new? But it seems so extravagant. Besides, I’d have to tell my grandfather where I was.”
“As far as extravagance goes, when was the last time Caleb bought you a new dress?”
“Never.”
“Well, it’s about time. Don’t you know that grandparents love doting on their grandchildren? And, concerning the other matter—” He stopped and shouted to one of the cowhands, “Hey, Joe, you’re going back to the ranch, aren’t you? Well, tell Mr. Stoner his granddaughter is attending the barn dance with me.”
Joe looked a bit puzzled, and Carolyn wondered if he had really planned on returning to the ranch. But he said, “Okay, Boss.”
Sean swung back around to Carolyn. “There, it’s all settled! Now let’s go see about that dress.”
“Both of us?”
“Of course. I happen to have impeccable taste.”
He was right about that, but his choice was not exactly what Carolyn would have picked. It was a pale yellow gauze frock with a belt that tied in a big bow at the back, and yards of white eyelet lace trimming the hemline—hardly Carolyn’s style. She preferred something a bit simpler and understated. All that flowery-flummery made her feel just a little silly.
He silenced her protests. “I’m the one who will be looking at you, Carolyn, so it makes sense that you oughta be wearing something I like.”
The thought of him looking at her the way he so often did made her tingle all over, making it impossible for her to refuse. Besides, she was lucky the store had any ready-made dresses at all. The only other choices were a couple of calico skirts and blouses. This particular dress had been special ordered by the banker’s daughter, but when it arrived it didn’t fit—the girl had put on some weight in the two months it had taken the dress to arrive from New York.
The dress fit Carolyn well enough, though she thought it could have used a couple of tucks here and there. She had just the opposite problem from the banker’s daughter. She’d love to put on a few pounds, especially on her upper half. She hardly did the neckline justice, and stuffing a few pieces of cotton wool in strategic places in the bodice only slightly improved the fit. She felt like a child playing dress-up when she stepped out of the dressing room.
“Oh, Sean, I feel ridiculous!”
“You look splendid, my dear, simply splendid.” But he cast a critical eye at her, and obviously wasn’t completely satisfied. She self-consciously tugged at the neckline, but he wasn’t observing that area at all. “The hair! That’s the problem,” he declared triumphantly. “Mr. Wexler!” he called to the storekeeper. “Call your wife.”
Half an hour with Mr. Wexler’s wife seemed to work a miracle, at least by Sean’s reaction. Carolyn’s dark brown hair, usually hastily pulled back in a single braid at her back, had been let down to flow freely about her shoulders except for the side curls, which the storekeeper’s wife drew up with ebony combs. Mrs. Wexler used her hot curling iron to make ringlets in the drawn-up strands. The effect was fetching, lovely, demure, and sweet—all the things Carolyn knew she wasn’t.
But Sean raved at the metamorphosis. And Carolyn tried to match his enthusiasm. She felt silly, but it was absolutely thrilling to have a man like Sean Toliver make such a fuss over her.
She felt like a different person as she left the store and walked with Sean to the big Cattlemen’s Association Hall for the dance. Indeed, even her mother or brother would not have recognized her on first sight had she passed them on the street. She had been transformed into the kind of woman people like Sean and her grandfather were likely to admire. As she thought of her grandfather, she wished he could see her…though, why it should matter, she didn’t know.
39
The Cattlemen’s Association Hall was decked out in colorful streamers, and there were already two dozen people milling around the two long tables that held a delectable variety of hot dishes, salads, and desserts. At first there was about an equal mix of ranch people and townsfolk in the gathering. Then ten or twelve cowboys entered just after Carolyn and Sean, and more filtered in throughout the evening. Soon the ratio of men to women was very high, and there was not a wallflower among the women present.
Carolyn had a good time, though at first she felt a little conspicuous, especially when it was obvious she was the object of everyone’s curiosity. After all, she was Caleb Stoner’s long-lost granddaughter. But once they got over their own awkwardness, they proved to be a congenial lot. The banker’s daughter was glad her dress had found a good home, and even commented on the fact that it did Carolyn far better justice than it had her. She invited Carolyn to tea sometime, and Carolyn politely accepted.
There were five musicians, playing fiddle, harmonica, accordion, guitar, and banjo. They favored lively tunes, and Carolyn and Sean danced until they were breathless. Sean’s excellent dancing made her feel clumsy—there had been few opportunities at the Wind Rider Ranch for learning how to dance. But he didn’t seem to mind.
Even though the women were in great demand for dancing, Sean kept Carolyn to himself. Whenever another man asked her to dance, Sean turned him down. Carolyn began to get annoyed, for she thought it was unfair both to herself and to the partnerless cowhands. But she said nothing, had a couple of glasses of fruit punch to cool off, then let Sean swing her back out to the dance floor.
When the dancers paused momentarily to form up sets for a Virginia Reel, Carolyn felt another tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Matt Gentry.
“Find yourself another gal, Gentry,” said Sean. “This one’s taken.”
“I don’t mind, Sean,” Carolyn said suddenly. “You’re the only fella here who’s danced every dance. It don’t seem fair.”
Sean scowled.
“Aw, come on, Boss,” said Gentry. “Give us poor cowpokes a break.”
Before Sean could reply, Carolyn linked her arm through Gentry’s and moved into a set just as the music began. She was having a good time with Sean, but his attempts to control her rankled her. Best to let him know early that she was an independent girl.
Gentry, for all his gawky, coarse manner, was almost as good a dancer as Sean. He performed the reel flawlessly. When the musicians, hardly missing a beat between numbers, began their first waltz of the evening, Matt made the transition effortlessly. But Carolyn had some difficulty. A reel was one thing; if you just paid attention,
you could get through without too much hazard. But Carolyn’s upbringing had emphasized horses and cattle, not dancing—especially not waltzing. She just could not get her feet to move in sync with Matt’s, and she tried several times to take the lead. Finally, after she had stepped on his feet a dozen times, the music stopped.
She smiled sheepishly. “After that, I reckon I owe you a new pair of boots.”
“They ain’t the worse for the wear. And, anyway, it was worth it to get a dance with the prettiest gal here.”
Just as Carolyn opened her mouth to reply—though she hardly knew what to say to such an unexpected compliment—Sean appeared to reclaim her. She couldn’t even say a proper thanks to Matt before she was whisked once more onto the dance floor.
After that dance, she found herself almost unconsciously looking around for Matt. Was she hoping for another dance with him? But he was nowhere in sight.
“Let’s go get some fresh air,” said Sean suddenly, forcing her attention back to him.
The breeze outside felt good. Carolyn took a deep breath.
“I’m sure glad you talked me into coming tonight, Sean,” she said. “It’s a real nice dance.”
“Just so you don’t forget who it was you came with.”
“What do you mean by that? You’re not riled because I danced with Matt Gentry, are you?” She couldn’t help being flattered, even if his possessiveness did perturb her.
“One thing you’d better learn about me, Carolyn; I’m not big on sharing what’s mine.”
“Yours? I ain’t sure I like the sound of that.”
“Why not? Oh, I forgot, you fancy yourself one of them independent girls.” He said the word as if he were speaking of a contagious disease.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Sean. But I prefer to think a fella cares for me without having to control me. I still like to think for myself.”
He gave a dry laugh. “Indeed you do, Carolyn! But you have a lot to learn about men. You are going to have a hard time finding a man worth his salt who doesn’t like to be in control. That’s just the male nature.”
