Fern

by Greenwood, Leigh

  At least the saloons were down on Texas Street, far enough away she probably wouldn't pass any cowboys. She could never have passed them without being recognized.

  She slowed her steps as she approached Texas Street and the Drovers Cottage, but she saw no one on the porch. Ducking her head, she hurried past.

  There was no cover now until she reached the livery stable at least a hundred yards away. The huge open area on either side of the railroad tracks offered not the slightest vestige of cover.

  Tom Everett was at the stable.

  "I wouldn't be going out if I was you," he said when she told him she wanted him to saddle her horse. "It's working itself up to a real blow out there."

  "I know, but I've got to check on the farm. Papa's away for a couple of days."

  "Shouldn't be riding off into the night, either," Tom said. "What if something was to happen to you?"

  "I've been riding over this country any time of the day or night since I was six. Why should I stop now?"

  "If you was to fall off your horse, there wouldn't be nobody to find you until morning."

  Fern opened her mouth to say she never fell off her horse, but by now everybody in Abilene knew why she was staying at Mrs. Abbott's house.

  "I could get myself back. My ribs are almost healed."

  Minutes later she was in the saddle and headed out of town. She had to pass the Drovers Cottage once more, but she felt relaxed this time. In the saddle, she looked like any other farm hand.

  She felt for her rifle to make certain it was in place. She never used it, but since that night eight years ago, when a man tried to rape her, she hadn't gone out at night without it.

  * * * * *

  "Until we find out who killed Troy Sproull, no one's going to believe Hen's innocent," Madison said. "They're more likely to believe we paid Eddie Finch to lie for us."

  George had found a soddy out on the prairie where they could keep Eddie until the hearing. It was far enough from town that no one could hear a shout for help. But so far George's cowhands had managed to convince Eddie he'd be happier not shouting at all.

  "Especially since that's exactly what the witness wants," George said.

  "Hen could always go back to Texas," Madison suggested.

  "I don't run away," Hen said, looking straight at Madison.

  "That's no way to show your appreciation," George chided.

  "Don't stop him," Madison said. "Let him get it out of his system."

  "I'll never forget waking up and finding you gone," Hen said, the familiar anger blazing in his eyes.

  "There are things I won't forget either," Madison shot back. "If I didn't like hunting cows, or riding in the boiling sun until I was too tired to see straight, or tearing my body apart wrestling with wild steers, you couldn't wait to tell me what a poor figure of a man I was. Whenever I mentioned wanting to go back to school, or you caught me reading a book or trying to clean up that pigpen we lived in, you used to say it was a shame I hadn't been born a girl."

  "I don't remember plaguing you so much."

  "It was such a habit I doubt you even heard yourself. It was like having two of Pa around all the time."

  Hen rose to his feet, coldly furious. "I'll kill you if you ever say I'm like him again."

  "You can shoot me where I stand, but the truth isn't going to disappear just because you don't want to hear it," Madison said.

  "You were always cutting at Monty," Hen accused. "You knew he couldn't retaliate except by getting mad or getting into a fight. You knew he couldn't do that without hurting Ma. That was a coward's way."

  "Was it any better than your doing everything you could to prove I couldn't measure up to your standards? The more I tried, the more you despised me."

  "We didn't despise you," Hen said.

  Just like Pa. God, how he hated that man, but it seemed he ran into him no matter where he turned. "Pa did his best to make me hate myself. Why do you think I begged to go away to school? Why do you think I was nearly crazy when I had to come home? Living with you and Monty was just like living with him."

  "You left because of Monty and me?" Hen asked.

  Madison wanted to answer with a shout. For years he had tried to force Monty and Hen to admit to their brutality. Being able to ride and shoot and rope had never given Madison any sense of accomplishment. The twins could do all of it better. But the things he could do didn't give him a sense of self worth because his father had scorned them.

  Now he had a chance to pay off an old score, maybe heal and old wound, and he couldn't. He couldn't remember even seeing Hen vulnerable. He had thought both his and Monty's souls, if they had any, were encased in leather. Now he could see the leather had cracks in it. If he could make Hen believe he had driven him away, Hen would never forgive himself.

  Madison admitted he had never had much understanding for anyone but himself, much sympathy for anyone except George. Maybe trying to understand Fern had made the difference, but for the first time in his life he could sense some of his brother's torment. He didn't know the cause, but he could see the pain.

  No matter what Hen and Monty had done, nothing he said now could change it. If they were to have any chance of being a family again, they had to forget the past.

  He didn't have to look at George to know how he felt. Dear George, he cared so much and tried so hard to help them learn to love each other. Would he ever see the day when they would be a real family again?

  Madison doubted it, but he didn't want to be the one to destroy George's dream.

  "No. I left because I had to."

  Madison saw the crack close. The precious soul inside was safe for a while yet. He was glad he hadn't hurt Hen. He couldn't hurt him without hurting himself just as much.

  "About the only time I felt human was when I would sit with Ma. Sometimes I would read to her. Other times I would just listen to her talk, mostly about when she was young. Can you understand any of that?"

  Hen didn't answer. In fact, he didn't seem to be listening at all. Madison knew there was no way his brothers were going to understand him. And until they did, they would never be able to forgive him. He didn't know why he bothered. Living so far away, it shouldn't be important.

  But it was. He finally knew why he had left Boston. He had been looking for a way to ask their forgiveness.

  He walked over to the window and looked out, reluctant to face Hen, yet anxious for his answer.

  "I used to wonder why Ma couldn't try harder," Hen said, his voice softened by memories. "Even while we were at Ashburn, she seemed to give in to everything. When we got to Texas, she wouldn't even try. She wanted to die. I tried to make her stop, but I couldn't."

  Madison never had understood why Hen, the toughest and least emotional member of their family, should have been the one most closely attached to their mother.

  "I didn't like Rose at first. She could do everything Ma couldn't. That made Ma look bad. Then when I started to like Rose, I found myself getting angry with Ma. Finally I figured out Ma left everything she loved in Virginia. Her family, beauty, a way of living that gave her life meaning. Coming to Texas was like taking her food away. It was only a matter of time before she would starve to death. It was like that with you?"

  "Yes."

  Hen looked as though he finally understood. "You like it in Boston?"

  "Most of the time."

  "George can fit anywhere."

  "I can't."

  "Neither can I," Hen admitted. "But it was so soon--"

  "That's Fern!" Madison exclaimed, when a figure on horseback rode by his window.

  "You've got to be mistaken," George said. "She was going to bed as soon as we left."

  "I thought I saw her go by on foot earlier, but I know she just rode by."

  "What would she be doing?" George asked.

  "I don't know," Madison replied as he grabbed his hat, "but I'm going to find out."

  "Why should he care what happens to Fern Sproull?" Hen asked after the doo
r closed behind Madison. "You think he's gone sweet on her?"

  "He's been extremely attentive to her ever since the accident."

  Hen whistled long and low. "Jeff will have a fit. Her father was a Jayhawk. Some people even say he rode with John Brown. That's worse than being a Yankee."

  * * * * *

  "She said she was going to check on the house 'cause her father was away," Tom Everett told Madison. "I told her she ought not be going about at night, but she wouldn't listen. Fern never did listen to nobody."

  "I'm well aware of that," Madison said. "Saddle Buster. I'm going after her."

  "I ain't saddling Buster for you to kill in the dark," Tom argued.

  "I don't plan to kill him, but I can't ride your other nags. I might be the one killed."

  "Not you," Tom declared. "Anybody who takes up with Fern Sproull has got to have more lives than a barnyard cat. Riding about in a rainstorm ain't going to use up more than two or three."

  "I haven't taken up with her," Madison said. "I just can't allow her to go out there alone. She's not well yet. Anything could happen to her. Besides, she's a woman."

  "Maybe, but no man around here is going to remind her o' that fact. Last time anyone tried, she practically rode her horse over him."

  Madison chuckled in spite of his irritation. "She does get a little touchy, doesn't she?"

  "You might call it touchy. There's others that calls it loco."

  "They'd better not within my hearing."

  But a short while later Madison had decided he was the one who was loco. He would probably find Fern sitting quietly at home, dry as toast and safe as a lamb in a fold. From the looks of the sky and the sound of the wind, he was more likely to arrive soaking wet and be faced with the return ride to town through the worst part of the storm.

  He didn't expect an invitation to stay the night.

  But the farther he rode, the more uneasy he became. It didn't make sense for Fern to be going home. How did she know her father was away? He hadn't heard anything about it. Not that he expected Fern to tell him everything, but he did expect to know something like that. And even if her father was away, and even if she knew about it, why would she want to check on the house? She hadn't been home for days, and it hadn't worried her.

  But if she wasn't going home, where was she going? Madison didn't have an answer to that question either. But the farther he rode, the more certain he was that he was going on a wild goose chase.

  * * * * *

  The trip to the Connor place was long and tiring. Fern hadn't recovered as much of her strength as she thought. Long before she reached the homestead, her chest ached painfully. So did her muscles. All those days in bed had left her weak.

  She kept looking over her shoulder. She couldn't decide whether she was afraid someone was following her or if she was hoping Madison had. She kept telling herself it was foolish. Madison didn't know she had left town, and nobody else would care.

  A storm was coming up. A bad one from the feel of it. Thick clouds raced across the sky obscuring the moon. A sharp wind plowed through the grass in undulating waves. She had brought a rain slick, but it wouldn't be much use against a wind blowing so hard the rain came straight at her. She just hoped she would reach the soddy before it started.

  The deserted buildings of the homestead presented an eerie appearance in the dark. The soddy looked slate grey in the dim light, but the shadows were impenetrable. According to Dave Bunch, it had been much like this the night Troy was killed.

  The rain started just before she reached the soddy. It came with a rush out of the opaque night, like a huge angry beast, pommeling the earth with millions of tiny fists. In just a few moments the dry, powdery soil turned into mud.

  Fern dismounted and tied her horse securely. If a crash of thunder should cause it to run away, she would be forced to spend the night in the soddy. The certainty that the roof leaked badly didn't bother her as much as the feeling that something was not right about this night.

  But she was no longer a frightened girl of fourteen. And she carried a rifle. A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the empty landscape making Fern feel even more alone. Banishing a senseless shudder, she stepped inside the doorway.

  The interior lay in utter darkness. She walked to the back of the one-roomed house and took out a white shirt she had brought, draped it over the end of the bed, and retreated to the doorway.

  She couldn't see anything. Moving inside didn't help. Moving outside made it worse. Madison was correct. The killer couldn't have seen Troy crouched in the inky shadows. He could only have killed him with a lucky shot. But Troy had been shot once, in the heart. And there were no stray bullets buried in the walls. No lucky shot.

  She moved to the back of the room and faced the doorway. Anyone entering the house would have been silhouetted against the light. It would have been very easy for Troy to kill his assailant with a single shot.

  Fern leaned against the back wall, surprised she felt such tremendous relief. Hen couldn't have killed Troy the way they'd thought.

  Madison really was trying to discover the truth.

  This was of vital importance to her. Over the last few days her feelings about Madison had changed. She would have been devastated if her original evaluation had been true. She felt her body shiver and relax, as with an internal sigh.

  It was safe to love Madison.

  It didn't matter. She loved him anyway.

  * * * * *

  The storm broke over Madison with savage intensity. He pulled the rain slick around him, thankful Tom Everett had insisted he take it. He wished he had accepted the offer of the wide-brimmed hat as well, but it was too late now. He could dry off when he reached the Sproull farm.

  Yet he wasn't surprised when he reached the house to find Baker Sproull by himself. He had felt certain for some time he was on the wrong track. Fern's father had no more idea than he where she might be going.

  "She ought to be looking after her steers," Sproull muttered sullenly, not moving from his chair or inviting Madison in. "I don't suppose she is though, not with your crowd doing everything you can to ruin her."

  "Where is the herd?" Madison asked.

  "About three miles south of here," Baker said. "There's as pretty a piece of prairie as you've ever seen. Several miles of bottom land with plenty of water and grass. Fern's kept her herd on it for years. Won't let nobody touch it. And I can tell you a bunch of them have tried."

  "How do I find it?"

  "You don't. Not on a night like this."

  "Then you'll have to go after her."

  "Are you crazy? That's one helluva storm. If she wants to get herself blown from here to Missouri, it's her business."

  "You lazy bastard!" Madison exploded. "She fell off her horse trying to follow your orders. If you had half as much interest in your daughter as you had in your chickens, she wouldn't be out there right now."

  "How do you figure that?" Baker asked.

  "You'd never understand even if I had time to explain."

  But as Madison headed back into the night, he felt certain that once again he had failed to guess Fern's destination. He was no more sure of his own. The only landmark Baker Sproull had given him was the Connor place. Once he passed that, he was on his own.

  * * * * *

  The howling wind whipped the rain into a froth and flung it at Fern's face like thousands of tiny arrows. She would be soaked to the skin before she reached town. Her horse probably looked forward to reaching the livery stable as much as she looked forward to slipping into her warm, dry bed at Mrs. Abbott's. Her saddle was cold and wet. She hated that.

  She was tempted to turn around and wait out the storm at the soddy. She thought momentarily of stopping at home, but she doubted her father would let her to go back to Mrs. Abbott's. It was just as unlikely Madison would let her remain without a confrontation. She wanted to avoid that.

  Besides, she didn't want to see her father just yet. The ride tonight had forced her to
admit she wasn't ready to get back into the saddle. She might not want to admit that to Madison, but she had no trouble admitting it to herself.

  She also had some thinking to do about her own future. Madison had forced her to confront some truths about her relationship with her father. If she went back now, she would be stepping back into the same role for the rest of her life. She knew her father would never change. This was her one chance to be treated differently. She had to be certain of what she wanted. Once she made her decision, her father would never allow her to change it. He wouldn't want her to leave. But if she did, he wouldn't let her come back.

  It hurt her to admit that, but she had known he had no warm feelings for her. If he felt anything, it was resentment she was alive rather than her brother. All her life she had tried to fill the place of that dead infant. All along she had known she never could.

  But what would she do if she left home?

  All of a sudden she knew what she wanted. And just as immediately she knew it was impossible. Madison would never ask her to marry him. She was crazy to think he might. She would be even crazier to say yes if he did.

  There couldn't be two more mismatched people in the whole country. It didn't matter that she thought he was the most handsome man in the world or that he haunted her dreams. It didn't matter that his kisses had planted hopes in her heart even the most ruthless logic couldn't eradicate. It didn't matter she kept telling herself she wanted nothing to do with being a woman and a wife.

  She wanted to be with Madison for the rest of her life, but she didn't have the slightest idea how to bring that about. Not that the prospect of success didn't frighten her almost as much as the thought of failure. She couldn't work out the answers just now, not with the storm doing its best to sweep her away. She had to concentrate on getting back to town without being washed down some creek.

  The presentiment that someone had followed her bothered her more than the rain. It grew stronger and stronger as it became more difficult to see the trail. A flash of lightning showed her an empty landscape, but she couldn't shake the feeling she wasn't alone.