by Jo Goodman
He was. He got inside, wrestled the door shut, and dropped his load on top of the one Jane had put on the table. She was facing the stove, warming her hands over it. He held up his gloved ones, wriggled his fingers.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “It was foolish to go outside without gloves. I can’t find them. I can’t find anything these days, Max. Wherever I am, my mind is somewhere else.”
“I don’t think that’s unusual, considering your circumstances.”
“My circumstances? My circumstances are no different than anyone else’s. We are in this together, aren’t we?”
“Oh, certainly,” Max said quickly. “We are, of course we are. I was just thinking that . . .”
Jane arched an eyebrow, waiting. “Yes? Thinking that . . . ?”
“Well, that it’s probably harder on you. You’re left behind, aren’t you? Today you’re with me. Yesterday it was Jem. Before that it—”
“I understand what you’re saying, Max, but I don’t agree with you. It’s harder on my husband. He can’t stay here all the time, and it tears a strip off his skin when he has to go.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He took off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. “It must be a hell of a thing to have your brothers turning on you the way his are. Jessop and Jake were talking about it the other day, and they couldn’t imagine it until Jem started waxin’ poetical about Renee. Still, they didn’t really turn on him.”
“No, they wouldn’t do that.” Jane turned her back on the stove and began emptying her apron pocket. She tossed the pins into a basket on the table. The ones that missed, Max picked up and threw in. “Did I hear Morgan right this morning? They were riding out past Blue Valley?”
“Yep. Piney Hill. Settler’s Ridge. Leastways, the boss and Jake were going that way. Jem and Jessop were riding up to Hickory Lake.”
“So it will be dark before they get back.”
“For the boss and Jake, sure. Jem and Jessop should come riding in before then. You thinkin’ about supper?”
“Yes,” she said, although she was thinking nothing of the kind. “I was wondering how many would be here for supper.”
“I’ve got my chores done. I could help.”
“It would be lovely to have company.” When Max started to unbutton his coat, Jane stopped him. “No, not yet. I need eggs. Six if you can encourage the hens to give them up. And you will probably want to put your gloves back on. Not one of them was kind to me this morning.”
“Good idea. And the next time you go outside, wear your coat.”
Jane accepted the tit for tat and waved him off. While he was gone, she folded the sheets and clothes and carried them to the bedroom. Max was not back when she returned. Supposing the hens were not being kind to him either, Jane put the basket of clothespins in the pantry and selected the items she needed to make Eggs Susette.
She dropped six fist-sized potatoes in the sink and placed everything else on the table. Watching for Max out the kitchen window, she scrubbed the potatoes with a brush and then pierced each one a few times with a fork before placing them in the oven. Afterward, she sat at the table with her cookbook to review the recipe. Realizing she was going to need two more eggs, she stepped onto the back porch to call for Max.
She had no opportunity to say his name. A gloved hand arrested her speech as soon as she opened her mouth. At the same time, an arm circled her waist and pulled her back hard enough to make her lose her balance. Her assailant supported her. She stared at the bell she was supposed to ring. It hung in its proper place, and it was well outside her reach.
“He’ll be coming along directly, Mrs. Longstreet. Don’t concern yourself that he won’t.”
The words were directed into her ear. The tone was calm; the breath was warm. It surprised her that she recognized the voice because their only exchange had been so brief, but she was confident that it was Gideon Welling who was holding her.
Jane made no attempt to struggle. She held herself still but not relaxed. He was holding her close enough to feel her tension.
“You know there’s no point in screaming,” he said. “You’re not hurt and no one except for that fellow in your henhouse is going to hear you. He’d probably want to come after you, and that would surely get him pain for his trouble. That sound right to you?”
Jane drew in her lips so they would not rub against the palm of his leather glove. Her nod was almost infinitesimal.
“Good,” he said pleasantly. “I’m going to take my hand away, step to the side, and you’re going to go back in the house. I’m going to be right behind you. We’re clear on that?”
When she nodded again, he did exactly as he said. So did she. Immediately upon entering the kitchen, her eyes darted to the gun rack. She did not realize that some small movement of her head had given away the direction of her glance until Gideon spoke.
“That’s a fine Remington you’ve got there. Good for long range. Go on, you have a seat at the table while I remove temptation. That’s right. Over there. All the way at the other end.” Gideon removed the Remington rifle from the rack, examined it, and then did the same with the Winchester. “Another fine piece here. There’s an empty space. That must be what Morgan’s carrying. I don’t see him riding out without one.”
He did not seem to expect a response, so Jane said nothing.
“You stay where you are, ma’am, while I attend to these.”
His confidence that she would do as he wanted made Jane set her jaw, and yet she knew it was not misplaced. What were her choices when Max’s situation was unknown to her, and she had no means of escape? She watched him disappear with the rifles and listened to his footsteps for some indication of where he was taking them. It was a good strategy on his part, she thought. She would never find them quickly enough to use them.
On the other hand, he had left her alone in the kitchen where there was an astonishing array of weapons. Jane chose her sharpest paring knife and put it in her apron pocket. Even if he found it, it was easily something she might have been carrying in her apron before he accosted her. Jane made certain she was sitting exactly as he left her when he returned to the kitchen. Even the cookbook was still open in front of her.
Gideon sniffed the air. “What’s in the oven?”
“Potatoes.” Jane felt absurdly delighted that he appeared to be disappointed.
“Huh. Well, that’s something at least. Are you going to have enough for guests?”
“I would have to know how many guests.”
“How many potatoes you got in there?”
“Six.”
Gideon nodded, satisfied. “I reckon that’ll do us fine.” He wandered over to the window and looked out. “You being so accommodating and all, I figure you remember bumpin’ into me in Bitter Springs.”
“I do.”
“You know who I am?”
“Gideon Welling.”
He looked over at her, a narrow smile creasing his face between his mustache and his new growth of beard. “So you figured it out. I’ll be damned.”
“Most likely.”
Gideon’s eyes sharpened momentarily, then he chuckled. “Yeah. Most likely.” He pointed to the cookbook. “What are you making with those potatoes?”
“Eggs Susette.”
He whistled softly. “Eggs Susette. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted the like before.”
“I’ve never made them before.”
“So this is in the nature of an experiment. No harm in that. I always think it’s good to try something new. Like comin’ here. This is new.” He looked out the window again.
Jane merely stared at his profile.
“Where is Morgan?”
“Around and about.”
“See? Now, that’s an unacceptable answer. I’d hoped for better since we are getting along so well.” He stood back from the sink and began to unbutton his coat. He casually parted it to reveal his gun belt and the weapon riding low on his hip.
“Is tha
t a Remington .44-caliber?”
“It is.”
“The Model 1858 or the 1875?”
“Jesus. Do you have ice water in your veins? Either one will shoot you dead.”
“Mr. Welling, my blood has been running cold since you waylaid me on my own back porch. You made a point of showing me your gun so I thought you meant for me to remark on it.”
“Lord, help me. It’s the Model 1875.”
“Do you carry an extra cylinder or find that you can reload as fast without exchanging it?” Even from her current angle, Jane could see that Gideon’s dark eyebrows were rising toward his hairline. He did not answer her question, though. Instead he pointed toward the window.
“Here they come,” he said. “And none too soon to my way of thinking.” He went to the door and opened it. “Stay where you are, Mrs. Longstreet. There’s no cause for you to be jumpin’ up like someone lit a fire under you.”
Jane sat, but she did so slowly and with what she regarded as a certain air of dignity.
“About time,” Gideon said.
Jane pressed down hard on her lips to keep from crying out when she saw Max. He was standing, but only just. The men on either side of him were more responsible for holding him upright than he was. The tender flesh all around his left eye was badly swollen. If he had any vision there, he would not have it much longer. Blood still oozed from a split lip. His jaw sagged oddly to the left, and Jane wondered if it was broken. She knew the moment he saw her because he made an effort to stand taller. She shook her head, and her eyes pleaded with him not to do anything that would make his situation even worse.
Max’s hands were bound. Jane could see that his knuckles were bloody and swollen. She admired his pride for still holding them in tight fists. It must have pained him. She also noticed that his gun had been taken away.
Jane dragged her eyes away from Max’s bruised face to look at the men on either side of him. They had not emerged unscathed, but Max had not been able to return the damage proportionately. The larger of the pair, a man with a barrel chest and broad, sullen features, also had a cut lip, although his blood was already drying. The other was chewing on a matchstick and working his jaw from side to side. He did not have the narrow range of motion that Max did, but Jane could tell he was nursing a substantial blow.
“Please let him sit over here,” Jane said. “So I can tend to him.”
The two newcomers regarded her with a mixture of surprise and suspicion; however, they both looked to Gideon for their orders.
“You better do what she says,” Gideon told them. “My brother’s got himself a wife full of sass and brass. Put him over there beside her.” He pointed out the men as they helped Max to the table. “Big fella’s Avery. The other one’s Dix. Dixon, but mostly he goes by Dix. This is Mrs. Longstreet.”
“Ma’am,” said Avery.
“Ma’am,” said Dixon.
Jane wished they had scowled at her. Their mannerly greetings and polite smiles were more disturbing. She wondered if anyone expected her to introduce Max.
“That’s Max,” Avery said to Gideon. He set one of his large hands on Max’s shoulder and pushed him into the chair that Dix held out for him. Once Max was down, they both pushed the chair close to the table.
Gideon said, “Did you get anything out of him besides his name?”
“No. He’s not much of a talker.”
“Well, we’ll see if that changes.” He looked at Jane. “What do you need to look after him?”
Jane told him, and Gideon sent Avery to collect it. “A basin of fresh water also. Please.”
Gideon jerked his head toward the sink, and Dix went to fetch it. “Did you take care of the horses?” he asked.
“Out of sight, just like you wanted,” said Dix. “Marcie’s finishing up. He should be along directly.”
“And the others?”
“The others? Oh, yeah. Everyone’s exactly where you want them.”
“Good. We’re settling in.”
Dix put a bowl of water in front of Jane. Avery returned from the washroom and placed the items she had asked for beside the bowl. He handed her a washcloth.
“You two can go into the parlor for a spell. Warm yourselves at the fireplace while I get acquainted with my sister-in-law. I’ll send Marcie in when he gets here. Don’t get too comfortable. Everyone’s got to take a turn outside on lookout.” When they were gone, Gideon removed his coat and hung it on a peg beside the empty gun rack. He stuffed his gloves in a sleeve and placed his hat on another peg.
Jane watched him run his fingers through his hair in a gesture that was reminiscent of Morgan. It was unexpected, and Jane confronted her first moment of real despair since Gideon Welling had appeared. Searching for composure, she began to minister to Max’s wounds.
Gideon pulled out a chair at the end of the table opposite Jane, spun it around, and sat. “He’s lucky.”
“I doubt that he thinks the same.”
“Maybe not, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not dead. That makes him lucky.”
If those were Max’s choices, Jane was inclined to agree. She did not say so, choosing instead to concentrate on bathing his face. She gently touched his jaw and encouraged him to try to move it. He did, but with great care. “I’m so sorry, Max.”
“Why are you sorry?” asked Gideon. “If Morgan were to apologize to him, I could understand. But you? Seems a mite excessive.”
“I sent him out for eggs.”
“Well, then, you’re right to be sorry.”
“Which I still require.”
“What? Oh, you mean the eggs. Marcie can get them before he comes inside.”
Jane dabbed alcohol on a cotton ball and pressed it against Max’s lip. His head reared back and his eyes watered, but he did not make a sound. “Hold that there while I see to your hands.” He brought up his bound hands to his mouth, and Jane carefully washed his battered knuckles.
Gideon watched her ministrations. “You’re good to give your man so much kind attention, but it’s likely only a temporary balm, you understand.”
“What do you mean?”
Max spoke between clenched teeth. “He means they’re going to plant more fists in my face.”
Jane’s head swiveled to Gideon. “Is he right? You’re going to hurt him again?”
“Maybe. Where is your husband?”
“I told you. Around and about.”
“Then, yeah, he’s right.”
Jane wrung out the washcloth hard. “For God’s sake, how can I possibly know where Morgan is? It is a ridiculous question. Morning Star is twenty-six square miles. That’s more than sixteen thousand acres. He could be standing in the middle of any one of them right now.”
“Where did he set off to?”
“Blue Valley.”
“That doesn’t mean much. What direction and how far?”
She looked at Max. He shook his head. Jane told Gideon anyway.
“And the others?” asked Gideon.
Jane hesitated, and then relented. It seemed little enough to tell him. He wasn’t going to ride out to meet them when he could wait at the house to announce his presence.
Gideon lightly tapped the top rail of his chair. “What has Morgan told you about me?”
Jane was keenly aware that Gideon’s question served him alone. He did not ask, “What has Morgan told you about us?” It came to her suddenly that Jackson Welling might not be one of the “others.” She could not say what the consequences might be, but in spite of not knowing, she asked, “Where is your brother Jack?”
Gideon did not answer immediately. His head tilted to one side as he studied Jane. He knuckled his beard. “He’s outside.”
Jane shook her head. “He’s not. You are lying.” She was not certain it was true until she said it, and then she was very certain that it was. “Yes,” she said with confidence. “You are lying.”
Gideon pointed to his right eyelid. “Was it twitching? Sometimes I don’t
notice it, and I can’t really stop it, so . . .” He held up his hands in a helpless gesture. “I would not want to play poker with you.”
“Where is Jackson?”
“Nebraska. A little place called Falls City.”
“He did not want to join you?”
“He did, except that he couldn’t, seein’ how he got himself murdered for cheatin’. At cards, you understand. Not with a woman.”
Jane offered no condolences. Her face remained a mask, and she went back to attending to Max.
“You haven’t asked why I am here. You probably figured out this isn’t a regular family reunion.”
“Yes. Your actions have spoken to that. It seems clear you have business with my husband.”
“‘Business.’ That’s as good a word for it as any other. Yes, I have business with my little brother.” Gideon suddenly leaned back and called into the front room, “Avery! Go outside and see what’s keepin’ Marcellus. He should have been here by now. And while you’re out, get—” He cocked an eyebrow at Jane. She held up eight fingers. “Get eight eggs.”
Avery appeared in the doorway, shrugging into his coat. “Eight eggs.” He sniffed the air just as Gideon had done earlier. “Am I smelling potatoes bakin’?”
Gideon nodded shortly and pointed to the door. When Avery lumbered off, Gideon said, “Shouldn’t you be seein’ to those potatoes about now?”
“It has not been long enough.”
He shrugged. “Guess you would know. Just don’t get any ideas about ruining our dinner for spite. That’d be real inhospitable, and frankly, it would piss me off.”
Jane ignored him. She sat back and critically eyed Max’s injuries. She wrung out the washcloth and applied one corner of it to a runnel of dried blood on his jaw just below his ear. When he winced, so did she. “I’m sorry.” He waved off her apology as she withdrew the cloth. Jane sighed inaudibly and turned to Gideon. “Except for seeing to his pain, I am done here. I have some headache powders in my dresser that could help him if you will allow me to get them.”
Gideon jerked his chin at Max. “You have a headache?”
