by Judith Pella
As Matt opened a couple of cans of beans and heated them over the fire, Carolyn told him the rest of her mother’s story.
“Well, Carolyn,” he said when she finished several minutes later, “I’m impressed. I guess you have been around some.”
She smiled, pleased to have finally made her point with this cocky cowboy. Maybe he’d respect her more in the future.
Matt took the heated cans off the fire and set them on the floor to cool. Carolyn thought there was no better fragrance than beans cooked over an open fire when you hadn’t eaten for hours. Though it was even better in the open air, this was almost as good. But Matt wasn’t finished yet with their meal. He threw on his slicker and ducked outside for a few minutes with a bucket in hand. When he returned, the pail was half full of rainwater, and he proceeded to make a pot of coffee—the second best fragrance, in Carolyn’s opinion.
She didn’t feel at all uncomfortable that this cowboy was fixing their meal. She was so inept in the kitchen that she could hardly open a can without injuring herself.
When they sat down to eat, Carolyn took up the conversation where they had left off. “So, Matt, I told you my life story, now it’s your turn.”
“Aw, never mind about that. You don’t want to hear it.”
“But I do, and what better way to while away this storm.”
“Well, it ain’t a very good story, that’s all. Not one I much like repeating.” He paused a moment in thought, as if he was remembering something. When he began again, his tense attitude had softened. “I reckon it comes out okay, though, so maybe for that reason I should tell it. Anyways, someone once told me I didn’t have to feel shy about boasting if it was about God.”
“God?”
“Sure. The things you said about God, when you was talking about your ma and you…well, I can understand them a mite, though, I suppose, I don’t talk about them out loud very much.”
“What’s in our hearts is more important to God than what we say,” Carolyn said encouragingly. “Sam says some folks have the gift of verbally expressing spiritual things, and some don’t. God don’t expect us all to act the same, else He would have made us all the same. I’d like to hear what you have to say, Matt, but I’d understand if you don’t feel comfortable talking about it.”
“Time was, I never talked about it,” Matt replied earnestly. “But, like I said, a couple of years back something changed for me and I was able to accept the past a little better. You see, when I was about ten years old, I watched my whole family get massacred by Comanche. I was down at the stream getting water when the war party came. I heard the shooting and ran up just as they was setting fire to our house. My ma and pa and two sisters were already dead. They’d have killed me, too, if I hadn’t been a male. The chief’s son had been killed by soldiers not long before their raid on us, and he figured I was young enough to take in as his own. So they took me captive instead of killing me.”
“My ma told me that the Comanche were a cruel tribe, especially with captives.”
“That’s true, but mostly toward females. Of course, they don’t take adult males captive—they kill them. But young boys had a little better time of it, I think. They beat me a lot, but I suppose no more than my own pa used to. It took me a long time to stop hating them for what they did to my family, but after a while I accepted my lot. I couldn’t have survived if I had tried to escape; and there were some, including the chief, who were fairly nice to me. I didn’t have no family left and no place else to go, so I just made the best of it. And, for a young boy, the life of an Indian is kind of idyllic—you know, riding, hunting, war parties. I learned a lot in the three years I was with them, and it was a good thing, because when I was thirteen, I struck out on my own. That was in seventy-four, when the last of the tribes finally surrendered to the whites. I could either join the renegades or go to the reservation if I wanted to stick with the Indians. But my loyalties weren’t that strong—they were still the people who killed my family. So I lit out alone.”
“At thirteen? That must’ve been tough.”
“I knew how to take care of myself. The hardest part was the loneliness; not having any family or—well, anyone.”
“Weren’t there any families willing to take you in?”
“I reckon there might have been, but I was just too wild to care much about living a civilized life. The loneliness finally did get to me, and I fell in with a bad crowd—you know, outlaws. They gave me a kind of security without having to give up my freedom.” He paused for such a long time that Carolyn thought he was finished and was about to prod him for more. Then he continued, though his reluctance was obvious. “I ain’t proud of the rest. But I’ve told you this much, so I might as well continue. About three years ago I killed a man. All those years of riding with outlaws, and I’d never killed anyone. It shook me up, but mostly because I realized that it wasn’t as hard as it should have been. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I both liked the sensation and hated it all at the same time.
“Besides that, I got hauled into jail, too. It was a fair and square gunfight, so they couldn’t hold me, but they suspected I was involved in the rustling in those parts and were trying to keep me in jail until they had proof. Well, I made the acquaintance of…a couple of fellas who, I guess, felt sorry for a kid like me being in such a heap of trouble. One of ’em convinced the sheriff to let me go, in his custody, promising I’d keep out of trouble, or else the sheriff could put him in jail. I’d never met anyone like that, who’d put himself on the line for a complete stranger. Well, what with feeling the way I did about the shooting, confused and all, I was willing to hook up with these two men for a spell. I had been about ready to leave the outlaws, anyway, and even had a promise of a job from a hand I’d met from the Stoner outfit. What I learned in a week from that fella—the one that got me out of jail, I mean—did more for me than I can rightly explain. It gave me the courage to change, to stop trying to prove how tough and independent I am.” He stopped and grinned self-consciously. “Holy smoke! I ain’t talked this much in, I don’t know how long!”
Carolyn smiled, too. “It makes me appreciate it all the more.” To lighten the mood, she added, “What I don’t understand is how a fella with your background ever learned to dance so well!”
He chuckled. “Not long after I came here to the ranch and settled down to the ‘civilized’ life of the cowboy, I made myself learn.”
“But why? Even I never had need to learn to dance.”
“That’s sure an understatement!” He looked at her slyly out of the corner of his eye, and when he saw her smile, he smiled, too. Then they both burst out laughing.
“So, why’d you learn?” asked Carolyn, ever persistent.
“Well, it’s at dances like the one last Saturday that a fella meets girls—you know, nice girls like the kind a man would…marry.” He fumbled a bit over the admission, and Carolyn wondered if she saw some red creep up his cheeks, although it might just have been the reflection from the fire.
“Why, Matt Gentry, are you looking for a wife?”
“Sure, what’s wrong with that? I reckon after the kind of growing up I had, it’s important to me to have a family and a home.”
“Really?” His earnestness made her feel a little ashamed at poking fun at him. “But you’ve been at the ranch a couple of years now. How come it’s taking you so long to get hitched?”
“Boy, you sure are full of questions, ain’t you?” When Carolyn gave an apologetic shrug, he went on. “I ain’t found the right girl, yet, that’s why.”
“You’re the picky type, then?”
“Just because I want to get married don’t mean I’m in a hurry to get stuck with just anyone.”
“So, what’re you looking for?” Carolyn’s question was completely guileless. She had come to look upon Matt as a friend; having designs on him never occurred to her.
He seemed to feel the same way, for he displayed none of the usual reticence that was common between m
en and women when such topics were broached.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get too specific. I think I’ll know when she comes along, though. I figure that’s where faith in God’ll come in handy.”
“Well, I wish you the best, Matt. Say, have you met the banker’s daughter? She’s a fine gal, a real homebody, too. She fixed that delicious fried chicken we had at the dance. I saw some of her stitchery, and it was beautiful.”
“You ain’t gonna start playing matchmaker, now, are you, Carolyn? That might put a real strain on our friendship. I’d rather just take things as they come, without pushing too hard.”
“Okay, I’ll back off. But she is a nice girl.”
He smiled. “Well, I’ll take a closer look at the next dance. What about you?”
“And the banker’s daughter?” jibed Carolyn.
“You know what I mean. You ever want to get married?”
“You ain’t proposing, are you?” Carolyn had begun to feel silly and couldn’t imagine why.
“Be serious.”
“To tell the truth, I ain’t given it much thought—well, until recently.”
“You mean, until you met Toliver?”
“He sure knows how to turn a girl’s head,” Carolyn said evasively. “But I got plenty of time. Besides, Griff says he pities the fella that marries me, that I’ll probably drive the poor man to drink. I can be just a little headstrong at times—so I’ve been told.”
Matt responded with a hearty laugh. Then he said with quiet sincerity, “I think there’s a perfect match out there for everyone—even you, Carolyn,” he added playfully, “though he would have to have the patience of Job, the serenity of Saint John, and the fortitude of the apostle Paul—”
“Oh, you!” Carolyn gave him a shove, then giggled when he shoved her back.
When the merriment had quieted, Matt said suddenly, “Hey, listen! The rain’s stopped.”
They both jumped up and looked out the window. Indeed, the storm had abated and the previous furor was replaced with a deep peace. Neither knew when during their conversation it had happened, but both felt more disappointment than relief. It had been a fine, relaxing time there in the line cabin. Carolyn couldn’t remember when she enjoyed herself more, especially since coming to the Bar S Ranch.
“Guess we ought to head back,” said Carolyn.
“It wouldn’t do to spend the night here if we don’t have to.”
Carolyn had tried not to think of that possibility when they had first come. Now…it was just as well that the rain stopped. But she’d have more to fear if she had been with Sean; Matt had thus far been a perfect gentleman. In fact, anything beyond their friendly conversation had not seriously occurred to Carolyn, and she was certain it had been the same for Matt. Still, she hated to see the evening end.
“Yeah,” she said, “we best get back.”
46
They returned to the house long after midnight. Carolyn stole quietly up to her room, not encountering a soul.
She was so tired that she was asleep as soon as her head touched her pillow. When she awoke the following morning, she didn’t have to remind herself about her beating. Her body ached all over, and the cuts on her face had bled in the night and were crusted and painful by morning. She had to avoid being seen somehow.
When she didn’t come to breakfast, Juana came to her room.
Carolyn remained under her covers, her face turned and partially shielded by a blanket. “Come in.”
“Are you all right, señorita?”
“I just ain’t feeling too well, that’s all.”
“Perhaps the Patrón’s sickness is catching, after all?”
“Oh no, I’m sure it’s not that.” The last thing Carolyn wanted was a doctor sent for and the house quarantined. “It’s…just a girl thing, you know.”
“Oh,” Juana sounded relieved. “Can I do anything for you?”
“Could you get me a basin of hot water and soap and towels? I’ll just wash up here. And, do you have any medicinal salve? I fell off my horse and have a couple of scrapes.”
“Sí, señorita. I’ll find something.”
“Oh, and Juana, how is my grandfather today?”
“He is much better. He ate a good breakfast and perhaps will feel like getting out of bed later.”
“That’s good. Would you explain to him that I ain’t feeling much like seeing anyone today? I’ll just have dinner and supper here, if that’s okay.”
“Sí, Señorita Carolyn.”
Feeling pleased with herself over her swift thinking, Carolyn lay back in bed and relaxed. Then it dawned on her that she was going to have to be cooped up in her room all day. A whole day would be lost! But she knew she had no choice. If Caleb found out what Laban had done, there was sure to be trouble.
By the next morning, the bruise on Carolyn’s cheek was almost invisible. A bit of powder borrowed from Juana covered what remained. Her lip also was almost back to normal, although she had to take care not to smile suddenly or the crack would open again. The cut over her eye had improved a little with cleaning and salve, but was still rather nasty and might even leave a scar. However, she was confident that her fall-from-her-horse story would excuse that.
When she saw Caleb at breakfast, he, too, looked better.
“We have had a peculiar rash of illness, haven’t we?” he said.
“Yeah, but let’s hope there ain’t no more.”
“I agree.” He paused, sipped his coffee, then added, “Carolyn, I want you to choose a different horse. The one you picked is a lively one and rather young.”
“Because of the fall? That wasn’t the horse’s fault.” She paused a brief moment to think of a plausible explanation. Sam and her mother would be glad to see that lying did not come easily to her. “I was just showing off in front of one of the hands. You can ask him; it was just my pure foolishness.”
“Who was that?”
“Matt Gentry.”
“I don’t like you mixing with the hands. You are my granddaughter and ought to behave yourself accordingly.”
“If I was your grandson, I bet it wouldn’t bother you.”
“But you’re not, are you?”
“Just my dumb luck!” Carolyn grumbled.
Caleb made no response, and they ate the rest of their meal in silence. However, when they finished and were about to leave the dining room, Caleb paused at the door and said off-handedly: “I forgot to mention that there was mail yesterday while you were ill.”
“For me?” Carolyn hadn’t really expected anything, but the thought of hearing from her family was uplifting.
“No, but it might interest you, regardless. My lawyer has sent me a message to inform me that a new trial has been granted your mother on the grounds that she wasn’t properly represented the first time and was tried in a hostile town. It’s set to begin on Monday.” He made no attempt to cover up his displeasure.
Had she been with anyone else, Carolyn would have jumped up and cheered at that news—her mother had a second chance, and there would be less than a week more to wait for it. Instead of cheering, however, she tried to be reserved for her grandfather’s sake. She smiled, but even that had to be cautious because of her lip.
“She is my mother, Grandfather,” Carolyn said, as if she had to defend herself, “and I do want to see her free.”
“That’s understandable; even I would not deny you that. But, Carolyn, a new trial does not necessarily mean freedom. In order to win their case, the defense would have to come up with new evidence.”
“And what makes you so sure there isn’t any?”
“Because all the evidence there is was presented at the last trial, and it convicted your mother.”
“But that’s what this new trial is all about,” countered Carolyn. “Even the court feels the last trial wasn’t fair.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Caleb said flatly.
“And don’t get your hopes
up, Grandfather,” Carolyn said with far more emphasis. Then she added with entreaty, “Grandfather, what if…what if a trial exonerated my mother? What would you do then?”
“It won’t, so there is no use making idle talk.”
“But what if! If the real murderer were found, would you stop hating her?”
“It will never happen.”
“Oh, Grandfather!” Carolyn stamped her foot in frustration.
“Is that so important to you, Carolyn?”
“No matter what you say, Grandfather, I still want to have you both. And I think it’s possible.”
“I would like to ask you a probing question,” said Caleb, his dark eyes intense. “What would you do if she were to be proven, beyond doubt, to have murdered your father?”
Carolyn licked her lips. She didn’t like that question at all, and had tried hard to avoid it. “I just don’t know.” It was the only honest thing she could say.
“I give you the same answer, but I will add that regardless of whether your mother actually pulled the trigger of the gun that killed my son, she is still the one that destroyed my home and my son. I will never forgive her for that.”
“Grandfather, I think you have hated my mother for so long you are afraid to give it up. And maybe, like me, you are afraid to accept the truth about just what kind of man my father was.”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady.”
“I’m not. I just want peace between us, but that will never happen unless we face the past.”
“Don’t talk to me about facing the past. I do so nearly every day as I mourn my dear son’s loss. And every day I see your mother standing over him, holding his gun, and my Leonard lying there dead, a senseless bullet in his back.”
Carolyn was thinking of the conversation she’d had with her grandfather in the room where her father had been killed; it was so similar to this, and she feared a traumatic repeat. Suddenly, one difference occurred to her. “In his back, Grandfather? Before you said there was a wound in his chest.”
“Back, chest—it’s all the same to me.”
