"I'll go see him," Rose said.
"It's no use," Madison said. "He's still angry about my leaving."
"I don't care what he's angry about," Rose said, getting slowly to her feet, "it's no reason to refuse to talk to you when you're trying to defend him. Keep an eye on William Henry, George. He can sneak off almost as fast as Zac."
George started to say something, but Rose didn't pause.
"This is the most stubborn, hardheaded family I've ever met. I can tolerate it most of the time, but not when it could cost Hen his life."
"Wear a shawl," George said. "It gets cool at night."
She entered the house.
"Aren't you going to stop her?" Madison asked.
"Do you think you can?"
"No, but--"
"Neither can I."
"I don't understand," Madison said. George had always been able to control everybody, even his father on occasion.
George smiled, rather complacently Madison thought.
"You wouldn't," George said. "Not after living with Ma and Pa. I wasn't sure I could either. I wouldn't have tried if Rose hadn't forced me. Now sit down. If anybody can make Hen talk, it's Rose."
Rose came out of the house. "Is there anything you particularly want to know?" she asked Madison.
Madison didn't understand how this petite woman could make a stubborn man like Hen do anything he disliked.
Probably the same way Fern has captivated you.
But Madison wasn't willing to admit to that just yet.
"I need to know where he rode that night, who may have seen him, and exactly where he was at the time Troy Sproull was killed. If I could prove where he was, nothing else would matter. Failing that, I've got to figure out who did murder Troy. I'll need to know everything Hen knows about the man, even the smallest detail."
"I'll do my best."
"How is she doing?" Madison asked, nodding his head toward the house.
"Go see for yourself," Rose answered, her expression lightening. "You'd better stand in readiness, George. If the last twenty-four hours are any example, it shouldn't take more than three minutes for the fireworks to start."
Madison had started to get up, but he sat back down. "I'm not going in there if she's going to start yelling at me."
"I don't know what she's going to do, or what she did, but you owe her an apology."
"Me! I didn't push her into that stream." Madison had admitted his guilt to himself, but he didn't like hearing it from somebody else.
"Maybe not physically, but you drove her to run away. Now go in there and talk to her. She feels guilty, too. Will you be here when I get back?"
"If she doesn't chew me up too badly."
"Does he always talk about women like this?" Rose asked George.
"He didn't used to."
Madison threw up his hands and went inside. As long as everybody was determined to have a piece of his hide, he might as well let Fern have her share.
Chapter Seven
Mrs. Abbott looked up from her needlework when she heard the door open. "Where are you going?" she demanded.
"To see Miss Sproull."
"Not in my house. I don't permit men to visit ladies in their bedrooms."
Madison bit back the retort that came to mind. He reminded himself that George and Rose were staying here.
"I'll leave the door open, and I promise not to approach the bed," he said striding past.
"Mr. Randolph! Mr. Randolph!" he heard Mrs. Abbott calling to his brother. Either Rose or George must have found a way to allay Mrs. Abbott's fears because no one came after him.
He raised his hand to knock on Fern's door and realized he didn't know what to say. How do you say you're sorry to someone you've been intentionally aggravating? It didn't seem fair he should have to take all the blame, but he knew the fault was his. Feeling guilty made him angry, and he wasn't feeling very contrite when he knocked on her door.
"Come in."
She didn't sound too sick. Maybe he could make a quick apology and leave. He felt in need of a good stiff brandy.
Madison came to an abrupt halt the moment he stepped through the doorway. If he hadn't known he was in the right room, he would have sworn he was looking at a stranger. The Fern he knew wore pants, a baggy shirt, and a hat. The woman in bed wore a very attractive pink nightgown and allowed her long dark-blond hair to fall attractively over her shoulders. Big blue-grey eyes stared at him, somewhat apprehensive, somewhat accusing. She seemed to draw within herself when he stepped into the room.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. It was a dumb question. She had to be feeling like hell, but he couldn't ask the question he wanted answered. How had the tomboy he'd helped undress turn into the woman in the bed?
Fern could feel the heat of embarrassment engulf her body until it reached her toes. This man had undressed her, had handled her body. She would have pulled the covers over her head if the pain of even the smallest movement hadn't been excruciating.
"You took my clothes off, didn't you?" She shouldn't have asked him -- she didn't want to know the answer -- but she couldn't help herself.
"What makes you think . . . Why should . . . Why does it matter?"
"Why does it matter?" she echoed. "How would you like it if some woman knocked you out, put her hands all over your body, then took off your clothes?"
"I didn't knock you out," Madison responded, testily.
She felt Madison had violated her privacy. She felt almost as vulnerable and defenseless as she had that night so long ago, the night she tried so hard to forget.
"At least I didn't touch your chemise."
Fern flushed a deeper shade of crimson. No one, not even her father, knew about the lace-trimmed chemises she ordered directly from Chicago. It mortified her that after trying to appear so hard-nosed, after bragging she could do anything a man could do, after demanding she be treated like one of the fellas, that Madison, of all people, should know her secret. It made her feel like a fool. A silly female. A pathetic fraud.
"Besides, it's your fault as much as mine," Madison said. "Do you always pull crazy stunts when you get angry?"
Fern would gladly have hit him if she could have lifted her arms. She also felt a little frightened of him. She never felt in control when he was around. She didn't act like herself; things didn't happen the way she wanted. If she didn't put some distance between them, he might try to kiss her again. Even worse. She might want him to.
"I try to fall off my horse every time I find myself alone with a tenderfoot," she snapped. "They tend to get depressed, what with being so helpless once they're out of the city. Carrying me into town gives them something to do, makes them feel useful."
"You sure gave a convincing performance," Madison said, his temper rising.
"I do my best for Boston lawyers with a penchant for forcing themselves upon helpless females. Besides, if I hadn't run away, I might have been so overcome by your good looks I'd have compromise myself."
"It takes two to be indiscreet," Madison replied, too angry to weigh his words. "You don't tempt me that far."
Madison regretted his angry response as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He felt all the more like a heartless bully when he saw the hurt in Fern's eyes. She seemed to have a unique ability to make him forget even the most basic tenants of civility. Then make him feel bad about doing it.
"Look, I didn't come here to argue with you," he said, struggling to get a grip on his temper. "I just wanted to see how you were doing and apologize for what I did. I have a nasty temper. It doesn't take much to set it off, and I've discovered an abundance of fuel in Abilene."
Damn! When was he going to learn to shut up before he put his foot in his mouth?
"Then you shouldn't have come here. We don't have one law for Texans and another for everybody else."
Madison could feel the last thread of his self-control snap.
"Miss Sproull, I sincerely hope that one day in the very near future you ar
e accused of something you didn't do. I hope there isn't a single man, woman, or child in Abilene who believes a word you say. I want you to sit in that jail thinking the hanging rope is your certain end. Because then you'll know what you've done to that boy."
She opened her mouth to speak.
"And don't prate to me about justice. You're only interested in vengeance. Otherwise you wouldn't close your mind to anything that might throw light on the events of that night. You'd sift through every piece of evidence, every clue, over and over again until you knew what took place that night."
"Nobody can know what happened."
"The killer knows."
"But that's Hen."
Talking to her was like talking into the wind. Trying hard to keep his expression from showing his frustration, he said, "Suppose I can prove Hen wasn't anywhere near the Connor place that night."
"You can't."
"But suppose I could. Do you hate Texans so much you'd rather see Hen hang and the real murderer go free?"
He could see the battle going on within her. If she said she wanted Hen to die no matter what, she condemned herself.
"If you can prove he was somewhere else that night," she said, struggling with each word, "I'll do everything I can to help you find the killer. But--"
"Good. Now you'd better get some rest. We have a lot of work to do before the trial."
Mrs. Abbott was standing outside the door when Madison stepped into the hall.
"She's all yours. Her temper is a little frayed and her integrity is stretched to the limit, but her virtue is unsullied."
Mrs. Abbott's gasp, a sure sign of her badly violated sense of propriety, made Madison feel better. Now he only needed to beat Hen senseless, and he might even feel cheerful.
George looked fed up when Madison reached the porch. "I hope she came out of the interview in better shape than you. If Rose finds her with an elevated temperature, there's going to be hell to pay."
"That's the most obstinate, irritating female I've ever met," Madison said, pointing toward Fern's room.
"That's how Rose described your brothers when she first came to the ranch. Are you sure they aren't more applicable to you than Miss Sproull?"
"If you had any idea what that girl said--"
"I know exactly what she said," George interrupted.
Madison looked blank.
"It's July. The window is open. Half of Abilene knows what you said. I don't know what happened to you in the last ten years, but you weren't brought up to treat women like that, even when they irritate you. How many more times are you going to cause me to be ashamed of you?"
Madison thought he would explode. Why in God's name had he ever left Boston? He might as well have been facing his father all over again, his needling, his snide remarks about Madison's cleverness, making light of his interest in books, of his friendship with Freddy, making him feel small and unimportant.
He never expected it of George. George had been the one who tried to protect him, to explain him to his father, the one who tried to make him feel better when his father had left him shattered and shaking after one of his blistering tirades. Madison had thought he could depend on George at least, but it was obvious he couldn't.
"I don't give a damn whether you're embarrassed or not," Madison said, so angry he had trouble keeping his voice steady. "I mean to prove Hen didn't kill Troy Sproull. Then I'm going back to Boston, and you'll never hear from me again."
He turned and stalked off the porch, down the walk, and into the street. He wanted a stiff drink, and he was going to the noisiest, roughest, most dangerous saloon in town to get it. If Abilene lived up to its reputation as the wildest town in the west, maybe he could spend his time dodging bullets rather than hiding from his thoughts.
* * * * *
Fern wished she could have bitten her tongue right off. She hadn't intended to drive Madison away in a rage. This whole mess was more her fault than his. Yet the minute he stepped into the room, she had felt violated. That put her on the defensive. And when she felt defensive, she became belligerent. That's how she reacted to all men.
She wondered why somebody hadn't pointed it out.
They have. They just stopped a long time ago because it didn't do any good.
"I tried to stop him," Mrs. Abbott announced as she burst into the room. "It's not proper for a man to visit a woman in her bedroom."
"He just came by to see how I was." Piss and Vinegar! Now she was defending him to Mrs. Abbott!
"It is not okay," Mrs. Abbott declared, her sensibilities badly injured. "He may have meant to be thoughtful, but he was quite rude. Some people think just because they went to a fancy school and wear fancy clothes they can act like a king or something."
Fern didn't have fancy clothes and she hadn't even finished grade school, but she had been acting like bad-tempered royalty for years. She couldn't blame Madison for doing the same thing.
"He'll probably behave better when he's not upset."
"If he comes around again treating me worse than a black slave, he'll have plenty of reason to be upset," Mrs. Abbott declared. She gave the bedspread such a vigorous straightening Fern feared for the seams.
"Has Mrs. Randolph returned?"
Mrs. Abbott's countenance cleared as if by magic. "I don't think so. It's quiet on the porch. She's never around but what that little boy is calling her name every half minute. Mr. Randolph positively dotes on her. You'd think it would ruin her the way he spoils her, but she's just as bad about him. It's hard to believe a man could be so besotted with a woman as big as a cow about to drop her calf."
Fern didn't want to hear how George spoiled Rose or adored her despite her present condition. She felt sadly neglected and unwanted, and hearing how George worshiped his wife didn't do a thing to lift her spirits. On the contrary, it showed her one more thing that would never happen to her.
Mrs. Abbott seemed to have decided the entire room needed rearranging after Madison's disturbing visit, even Fern's clothes which caused her to grimace in disapproval when she touched them.
"And she's such a little thing," Mrs. Abbott continued. "So graceful despite being big enough to have two babies. It's no wonder every man in town treats her like a queen. I never saw a more gracious lady."
You might as well say I have all the charm of an outlaw steer, Fern thought to herself.
Mrs. Abbott began rearranging everything on the table next to Fern's bed.
"But she doesn't sit around preening herself in the mirror. No indeed. If I didn't stop her, she'd do half my work. And her paying me to take care of her. Do what I will, I can't stop her taking care of my Paul. You won't find that kind of consideration every day. No, you certainly won't."
Mercifully, before Mrs. Abbott's veneration for Rose could drive Fern to the screaming point, the object of her adoration returned.
"You're looking a little drawn about the eyes," Rose said, giving Fern a rather searching look. "I gather your interview didn't go well," Rose said
"I should think not," Mrs. Abbott declared, fire once more in her glance. "How could any decent female feel comfortable with a strange man in her bedroom? And shouting at her all the time."
Rose looked inquiringly at Fern.
"He was put out about something I said," Fern told her, unhappy at having to confess her folly.
"Him put out!" Mrs. Abbott exclaimed. "Humph! You wait until I see him again. I'll put him out a bit more."
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Rose said. "We want him to concentrate on clearing Hen of those murder charges. Making his furious isn't likely to help."
"I'm sorry, but I can't have him violating my house."
Rose tried to repress a smile, but wasn't entirely successful. "I don't think he meant to do that. Could you warm some milk? I think Miss Sproull should go to sleep."
"Coming right up," Mrs. Abbott said. She straightened a dresser scarf she had straightened twice already and gave the room one more glance before finally depa
rting.
"I trust he didn't upset you too much," Rose said.
"It was more a case of me upsetting him," Fern admitted, so glad to be relieved of Mrs. Abbott's censorious presence she was willing to tell Rose practically anything she wanted to know.
Rose gave her a long, penetrating look. Fern felt as though the protective layers to her soul were being peeled away one by one.
"Do you have to hate him so much?"
"I don't hate him," Fern exclaimed, shocked that her actions should lead anyone to such a conclusion. She was equally shocked to realize she didn't hate him. She'd thought she did. She had intended to. "I don't want him getting his brother off." She couldn't explain about being undressed or about the chemise. Not even to Rose. "But I don't hate him. I don't think anybody could."
"Yes, they can."
"Why? He's thoughtless and positive he's the only one who has any brains, but he's not really mean. He just doesn't stop to realize how what he says affects people. He hates being here. Everything about Kansas irritates him. Especially me."
"He probably finds it even more difficult to be with his family," Rose said, her gaze still rather clouded. Now she was the one straightening dresser scarves. "In fact, I would like you to do me a favor."
"Of course," Fern said. After what Rose had done for her, it would be churlish to refuse any request.
"This may seem a strange thing to ask, but could you try to be nice to him?"
Fern opened her mouth to speak.
"I won't expect it of you if you can't, but could you?"
"Why?"
"I don't feel I can explain that just know, but things are much more difficult for him than you know. I have a feeling your being nice would mean a great deal."
"But surely you, his brothers . . ."
"There are times when family can be more of a problem than a solution."
Fern swallowed. "I'll try," she said, wondering how to go about being nice to a man whose instinctive reaction on seeing her was to growl and start tearing up the ground, "but I can't guarantee he won't close his eyes and groan the next time he sees me."
Rose's solemnity vanished. A suspicion of a smile appeared at the corner of her mouth. "No doubt you made him furious, but he's a man, and men are flattered by the attention of an attractive woman."
Fern Page 8
