The Redemption of Rachel: Companion Book Two: The Cattlman's Daughters

by Danni Roan

  Ray finished drying, then pulled the dress the girl had brought over her head. Her knickers were still wet, but it wasn't like she couldn’t do without them. She quirked a small smile as she thought of all the woman in the house who would be horrified that she wore nothing but the dress, but they didn't need to know, and with that she stepped out into the bright light of a warm spring day.

  For just a moment Ray stood on the steps of the bathhouse, feeling a warm breeze tug at her skirt. A heady smell of tilled earth and loam filled her nostrils, pulling at long suppressed memories. Turning her head, she found the source of the smell - a large kitchen garden had recently been planted, its neat rows of thick black earth showing tiny sprouts just peeking over the mounds.

  With a huff, she turned away from her perch and headed to the place she now called home.

  Lifting the latch of the door, Dusty Ray stepped over the threshold and immediately saw the fresh plate of food on the table. The dishes from the day before had been removed and another stick or two had been added to the fire. Her stomach rumbled, and all at once she realized she was actually hungry as she hurried to the table to eat.

  After eating her lunch, she tidied the room as best she knew how and washed the plate and cutlery in a small basin she sat on the stove to heat. "Well, I suppose I live here, I might just as well keep it clean as not," she said, but a secret joy pricked at her in having done a job well. With hands on hips she surveyed her living space. None of the work she'd done that day had come naturally to her, but she'd done it, so maybe, at least for now, she'd be safe.

  With a nod, she turned and walked back out to the bath house, only to find the old Chinese man folding her freshly pressed clothes. He never said a word, but simply winked at her as he handed her the pile of clean items. She wanted to thank him somehow, but the words wouldn't come, so instead she scurried back to the safety of the now familiar building she lived in.

  Making a cup of tea on the small stove, Ray shivered as something cold slipped down her spine. She must be more tired than she thought after the work of the morning. She placed another chunk of wood in the stove and waited for the water to boil. A few minutes later, cup in hand, she walked to the small stand by her bed and examined the brown bottle. Very carefully she poured her tea into the empty container, swirled it vigorously and poured it back into her cup. He lips felt numb as she sipped the amber brew.

  A half an hour later she crawled into the big bed and pulled the heavy quilt up to her chin as small shivers raced through her. I must be coming down with something, she thought as she sniffed, but eventually she fell asleep.

  Approaching the bunkhouse, Deeks was disappointed to see no light reflected in his window. He'd hoped that Ray would have started moving about more now that he'd asked her to get up and do things. He sighed as he lifted the latch on the door and stepped inside.

  Even in the dark he could tell something was different, and quietly he set the full plate of food on the table and lit the lamp. The first thing he saw was the stack of clean clothes on the edge of the table, then the clean plate and utensils sitting on the shelf of the small cupboard, but Ray was back in bed.

  With a soft sigh he turned toward the woman. "Ray, what are you doin' in bed at this hour?" he asked, his voice betraying his disappointment. There was no response from the other side of the room, so he crossed to where she lay, huddled under the quilts. In a moment he'd taken in the sheen of sweat on her brow and slight shiver of her shoulders.

  With a gentle hand he reached out to feel her forehead, which was clammy. "You alright?” he asked lamely.

  Glassy eyes turned toward him and he knew she was sick. Stroking her hair back from her face, he lifted a prayer that she'd recover, then turned and put the kettle on to boil. His first step was to make a cup of tea and fill a basin with warm water. For a big man, with hands gnarled from years of wielding a hammer, he could be very gentle. Laying a warm cloth over the woman's eyes, he pulled and lifted her into a more upright position and offered her some of the tea.

  "You drink a little of this," he whispered. "You gotta keep some liquids in ya."

  Ray opened pale lips and let some of the warm tea trickle down her throat. He managed to get about half the cup into her before her shivering became too great.

  After bathing her face and settling her more comfortably in the bed, Deeks turned down the light and crawled into their big bed. He could feel Ray's body shaking next to his, and with great care he wrapped his large arms around her, pulling her close to him for warmth. Snuggled close, she smelled of soap. Not the flowery things that the James' girls preferred, but simple honest soap. He was pleased that she'd finally had a proper bath and drifted off to sleep with some hope for the woman budding in his heart.

  In the darkest part of the night, the heat of the woman next to him woke the old blacksmith. She was soaked in sweat, but alternately covered in goose bumps. Pulling the blankets back to cool her, he wondered what he should do. A moment later her retching told him, and he snatched up the bed pan not a moment too soon.

  By the time dawn came, Deeks had been up and down several more times, bathing Ray's face, helping her out of her dress, and emptying the bed pan where she'd sicked up. He scratched his head as he turned toward the door wondering what she might have. It couldn't have been something she ate, she'd been eating the same thing as him and the rest of the ranch, and so far no one else was sick. A cold shiver climbed up his spine. He hoped it wasn't serious.

  "I'll just go up to the house an' get some grub," he called quietly. "I won't be long." Then he stepped through the door.

  Entering the kitchen, Deeks came face to face with Chen Lou, who scowled at him.

  "You look bad," the old man said accusingly. "You sick?"

  "No, I've been up all night with Ray. She's been sick."

  Just then Bianca came bustling into the kitchen. "I see that woman has decided to do something of use around here finally," she said, her dark eyes flashing. There was no need to guess how Bianca Leoné felt about the woman Deeks had brought home.

  He was just about to say something to her about Ray not being well when Chen Lou laid a hand on his arm. "I make porridge for her," the wizened man whispered. "You no say anything. I come down later."

  Deeks nodded, recognizing the wisdom of the idea then walked down the long hall and out the front door toward the barn.

  A half an hour later he and Chen Lou walked back to his side of the bunk house.

  Ray still lay curled in bed shivering and sweating.

  On silent feet Chen Lou walked toward the bed and peered down at her. His eyes raked the thin woman's frame, taking in her pallor and perspiration. He also noticed the empty laudanum bottle on the table.

  "This not good," he chided. "I see this before." He lifted the bottle in his hand. "She use all up, now body wants more." He shook his head, making his braid swing.

  "What'll we do?" Deeks asked, concern in his voice.

  "I help," Chen Lou replied with a smile. "She get better, you see."

  Together the old blacksmith and the ancient Chinese man set about caring for a woman they both knew virtually nothing about.

  Over the next few days, either Chen Lou or Deeks stayed with Ray. They sponged away the sweat, and somehow managed to get some soup or porridge into her. Most of the time she couldn’t keep anything down, and already being thin, they worried that she might waste away, but on the sixth day she seemed to rally a bit. She was still tired and weak, but it seemed like the worst of it was over.

  That night an exhausted Deeks crawled into a freshly changed bed with a sigh, and hoped that tonight they'd be able to sleep straight through. Ray, no longer restless and agitated, seemed to have slipped into a deep, restful sleep, and he lifted a prayer of thanks heavenward as his eyes closed.

  The sound of Ray's voice next to him woke Deeks in the middle of the night. For a long moment he lay there, waiting to see if she needed something or if he needed to grab the bed pan again. "My name's
Rachel," her soft voice called into the darkness. Deeks listened, straining his ears to hear her words. "I'm not Dusty Ray. I'm Rachel." Rolling over, he could see that the woman next to him was still deep in sleep. "I don't care how many times you hit me, I'm still Rachel." Her whisper ended on a sob that squeezed his heart. Very gently, he lifted an arm and wrapped it around the thin frail form beside him. For a moment she wriggled, trying to move away from him.

  "It's just me, old Deeks," he whispered soothingly. "Rest easy, now."

  Ray's ridged form seemed to suddenly relax in his grasp, and he pulled her up close to him. Not for the first time he wondered what she'd been through. He'd seen the scars, the bruises and the hard black wall behind her blue eyes. God, he thought into the darkness, can she finally just have some peace?

  The morning of Meg's wedding was spectacular, bursting into the world in brilliant reds and golds. Somehow, it seemed like a promise to Davrum Deeks as he sipped his morning coffee and looked out the windows of his small home.

  Behind him he heard Ray stirring. "You want some breakfast?" he asked, not turning toward her.

  "I believe I could eat a little something," she replied, then to her surprise he turned and placed a small iron skillet on the stove.

  "I thought I'd just make us some scrambled eggs," the old man offered. "Mebbe, some toast."

  Ray struggled to her feet, feeling as wobbly as a new born colt, but managed to get to the table. A few minutes later, she was sitting across the table's battered surface eating eggs and toast with the man who'd helped see her through a bad time.

  "Today's Meg and Clay's wedding," Deeks said, taking another sip of coffee. "I'd like you to attend. You don't have to stay but you're a part of the ranch now..." He let his words trickle out.

  Bright blue eyes met his faded blue gaze for a long moment, then without a word the woman nodded. "I can't say I'll be fit to attend, but I'll come if that's what you want."

  Chapter 6

  For the next few weeks an unspoken agreement seemed to bloom between Ray and Deeks. He made no more demands of her, but she kept house and even began cooking breakfast each day. They both preferred dinner from the big house, and he would bring a plate home each night. Before bed Ray would rub ointment on his back and try to help ease the stiffness and pain from his old injury.

  Ray still kept to herself, and made sure that if she had to be out or use the washing facilities, she did it when no one was around, slipping wraith-like from place to place and staying out of the way, sometimes even working at night, as she seemed to be plagued by insomnia. Occasionally Chen Lou would come and have a cup of afternoon tea with her, but he neither spoke nor asked questions; he simply checked in now and then and he always helped with the ironing.

  May brought soft showers to the range of the Broken J, and new things sprang from the ground like hope. Flowers dotted the fields, and rows of oats, corn and wheat appeared in the open fields behind the ranch. The smell of growth brought back memories of a life, long gone, to the reclusive woman with the gold and silver hair.

  "Ray, what in thunder are you doing?" Deeks called one afternoon as he arrived to find her standing in the wet grass in her bare feet, soaked through from the falling rain, a bouquet of dandelions in her hand. The woman he'd married simply shrugged and turned back toward the apartment.

  Deeks shook his head, wondering if maybe the illness of a month ago had rattled her senses.

  Ray, on the other hand, simply stripped out of her wet clothes and slipped into one of the three dresses she owned, hanging the wet one on a peg near the stove to dry. As soon as she'd begun to unbutton the gray, woolen dress Deeks turned his back. Although he knew they were legally married, he could never quite get used to her lack of inhibition about stripping down in front of him. Her flippant disregard for propriety somehow always unnerved him.

  Once the woman was decently dressed again, she put the kettle on and began preparing coffee, and a few minutes later Deeks found himself sitting at their small table looking over the rim of his cup at Ray. She'd filled out a little, finally, her dresses no longer hanging on her like a sack, and a bit of color had crept into her once sallow face. He could tell she had something on her mind and he waited patiently for her to speak.

  They had a strangely silent relationship, but not an uncomfortable one. They simply lived together but seldom truly interacted.

  Ray swallowed hard then lifted her eyes to the man across the table. "I'd like a garden," she said bluntly.

  Davrum Deeks could have been knocked over with a feather as her words fell around them. He might have expected almost anything else: a new dress perhaps, or a hair brush, some frippery a woman would want…but a garden, he blinked not knowing what to say.

  "My family had a garden once upon a time," Ray said, in way of explanation, "I like the way they smell."

  "We already have a big kitchen garden," Deeks offered, "you could work there." It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it immediately.

  "Never mind," the woman said, her voice flat and unemotional, as the shutters swung shut behind her eyes.

  Feeling like a fool, Deeks stared into the bottom of his mostly empty cup. He didn't really want more coffee, but he stood to his feet and made a show of pouring another cup and adding milk and sugar, before taking his seat again.

  "What kind of garden did you have in mind?" he finally asked carefully, watching the narrow face of the woman on the other side of the table. "I mean, do ya want posies, or vegetables, or what?" Was that a spark of hope in her eyes?

  "I don't know. I've never had a garden, so it can be anything that will grow."

  The old blacksmith simply nodded.

  "Eric," Deeks called to Hank and Fiona's son as he walked toward the forge.

  The boy popped out of the barn like a jack-in-the box. "Yes, Uncle Deeks?" the lad queried. "Scooter’s in here, he ain't in your forge." A moment later, the scraggly mule walked out of the barn and stopped to nuzzle the boy’s pale blonde hair.

  "Well bring him here, then," Deeks called, swiping his arm in a welcoming gesture. Normally the Broken J blacksmith was chasing the nosey mule out of his workshop, but today he had other ideas.

  "What cha' want?" Eric asked, curious. The boy of six was always interested in what Deeks was doing and loved to visit the old man at his work, his bright blue eyes sparkling with wonder at the glowing steel.

  "You reckon that old calabahoos can pull a plow for me today?" Deeks asked, looking at the undersized mule.

  "Sure!" The boy answered excitedly, "Scooter can do anything." His cherubic face glowed with pride for the creature that not too long ago had saved the boy’s life.

  After making some modifications to an old horse harness, Deeks and Eric walked over to a patch of earth beside the bunk house. Scooter seemed content enough to pull the small plow they'd attached to his traces, and moved calmly along without complaint. It wasn't until Deeks put his foot on the plow forcing the cutting edge into the ground that the mule stopped and looked behind him. The animal’s wide brown eyes, ringed with a lighter gray than his flea-bitten coat, made it appear as if the mule was wearing spectacles as he looked through the old black smith.

  "Don't worry, Uncle Deeks," Eric piped, "I'll get him going." With a confident step the small boy walked around to face his equine companion. "Now Scooter, we need to help Uncle Deeks git some work done. You're the strongest one of all of us, so you have to pull the plow so we can grow stuff." He gently patted the mule’s mealy nose and smiled before taking the bridle in his hand and giving a soft tug.

  For a moment Deeks thought the mule would refuse, but then blowing out a hearty huff, as if to say 'if I must', the mule leaned into the chest strap and pulled the plow through the soft, black earth.

  When the small patch of earth was tilled, boy and man walked with the mule back to the barn. "He done, I mean he did good, didn't he Uncle Deeks?" Eric's voice called as he walked along, one hand on the shoulder of his little mount. "Can I give him s
ome oats for his hard work?"

  Deeks chuckled. "I reckon he earned 'em," the older man chortled. "You take him to the stall and I'll pull the pin on the feed room.” He didn't mention that the mule was why he'd had to make a hook and eye pin to keep the feed door closed in the first place. Scooter was always opening doors and letting himself in or out of where ever he wanted to be.

  "You should try sleeping on the hard floor," Ray's words a few days later caught Deeks by surprise, and he just blinked at her over the top of his book. He'd carried several books down to the bunk house with him as the days grew longer, including several on plants that he'd rummaged out of the small library in the parlor at the ranch house.

  Now sitting, book in hand, he stared at the woman sitting in the other stiff chair at the table, flipping pages.

  "Come again?" he asked, bemused by her words.

  "For your back. You should try sleeping on the hard floor for your back. When one of the girls would put her back out that's what she'd do. She'd stretch out on the floor for a few days, keeping it straight until it didn't hurt so badly anymore."

  Deeks didn't know what to think of the suggestion or where it had come from, but he mulled the idea over for a while. "But my backs already crooked," he finally stated.

  "Yes, but maybe it will straighten out a bit. It's not as if it's broken."

  Davrum Deeks ran a callused hand through his white hair and huffed. "I guess it can't hurt to try," he finally said. If she was going to take the time to think of how to help him, he could at least give it a go and see what happens.

  That night a man of nearly sixty found himself stretched out on a thick quilt on the hard plank floor of his own apartment, right beside his own perfectly good double bed. Ray had warmed the blanket over the stove before he lay down and it didn't seem to hurt to just lay there on his back. As the minutes slipped by, he heard the woman shimmy out of her dress and climb into bed. His back didn't hurt exactly, but he couldn't say he was totally comfortable.