by Heather Gray
"Well, sure, but probably not like you think. I've never heard a voice from the clouds saying, 'Grady, I want you to do this.'" Grady used an over-the-top dramatic booming voice. When Bobby smiled at his antics, he continued, "Sometimes I get this sense of certainty deep in my soul, and I know God's telling me to do – or not do – something. Other times I'm wondering about a particular topic, and I find what I'm thinking about right there in the Bible, even though I didn't sit down to look for that particular subject. God talks to me through other people, too."
When Bobby's eyebrows shot up over his widened cobalt eyes, Grady hurried on, "Let's say I've been asking God about what I should do with my life. Should I ranch? Should I farm? Should I become an accountant?" Bobby didn't think highly of accounting as a profession if the look on his face was any indication. "So one day, I'm sitting on the porch drinking my coffee, and Gramps comes out, sits down and says, 'Son, I've been thinking about what you're going to do with the rest of your life.'" Grady knew a limited number of imitation voices, so Gramps came out sounding an awful lot like God had earlier.
Bobby jumped into the conversation, "So, because you've been asking God about this but haven't said anything to your grandfather, when he sits down and brings it up, you think maybe God is trying to tell you something?"
"Pretty much, yeah. It doesn't mean I think Gramps is the voice of God, but it means I'm gonna pay extra special attention to what he has to say." They both continued to watch the distant perimeter for signs of approach while Grady asked, "Does that make sense?"
His voice contemplative, Bobby answered, "Kind of. Thanks for answering."
****
As the horizon lightened, Mary stepped out onto the porch to see how the night had gone. "Fine," Clive answered abruptly when she asked. "No intruders." Bobby gave her a frown and small shake of the head when she looked at him. Apparently Clive had been that way all night. Being stuck working with Clive when he was in a mood was about as much fun as dancing with a porcupine.
Returning to the house's interior, Mary woke the girls up. Mrs. Wilkes offered to fix them breakfast, but Mary declined. She needed to get everyone home, check on the animals, and see if Pa had turned up. Neither Lizzie nor Gigi wanted to leave the Wilkes home, but when Mary put some starch in her voice and told them to get outside, they obeyed, woebegone expressions and all. Mrs. Wilkes gave them each a hug goodbye and told them all they could come visit her anytime.
Mary had planned for them all to walk home, but while she was getting the girls up, Grady hitched the wagon and pulled it into the yard. When everyone came out of the house, he lifted Lizzie and Gigi into the wagon. Mary climbed in before he could offer her a hand up.
****
Grady pulled the open wagon into their yard. Before he had the brake engaged, Mr. Fitzgerald came storming out of the house. His gait was steadier than when Grady last saw him at the picnic, but his demeanor remained belligerent. He yelled at his children, demanding to know where they had been. Grady climbed out of the wagon while trying to tune the man out. He knew Mary, independent to a fault, would not thank him for interfering.
Grady picked Lizzie up and gave her a twirl, red braid flying, before setting her on the ground. He got not even the flicker of a smile for his efforts. Desolation filled her chocolate eyes. When he lifted Gigi into the air and twirled her, he again failed to elicit a smile. She looked at Grady for the briefest moment before casting her sorrowful gaze to the ground and trudging after her sister. Gigi's sparkling sapphire eyes had been replaced by the wan blue of faded denim.
The boys stepped between their father and the younger girls, and Mary approached the man from the other side, drawing his attention.
"I'm sorry, Pa. With the shooting in town, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes asked us to stay with them." Mary did not look at her father's face. She kept her eyes down while her shoulders rolled forward into a hunch. Her feet were barely moving, softly shuffling across the ground as she drew closer to her father.
"Who's that?" barked Mr. Fitzgerald, waving an angry hand in Grady's direction.
"That's Grady, Pa. He's Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes' grandson. He lives in Texas on a cattle ranch. You remember him, don't you? He used to come over and play with us when we were all younger." The placating tone of Mary's voice grated across Grady's nerves. Biting back the words he wanted to say, he reminded himself that Mary would not appreciate his interference.
"Get in there and get your chores done, you worthless bunch of brats! Fat lot o' good it did me, coming home to make sure you were all safe. You weren't even here. Off gallivanting with the likes o' him! You've shamed yer name, yer family, and yer ma's memory!" The air was thick with the man's venom, and Grady wondered how Mary and her siblings had been able to survive life with their pa all these years. He could see each word hitting Mary like a blow. Grady watched her pull further and further inside herself. Abuse was bad enough, but the way this man was treating his daughter was reprehensible. Her father's punishing words were damaging Mary, which in turn hurt her brothers and sisters. It had to stop.
Mary spoke up timorously and said, "Sorry, Pa. I didn't mean no harm by it. I was trying to help Mr. and Mrs. Wilkes." Grady clenched his fists at his sides. He told himself to be quiet, not to interfere, to let Mary handle it.
"That's about as useful to me as hen's teeth, girl! You should o' been here, protecting this farm, taking care of yer family, not off seeing to someone else's holdings. Who knows what could o'happened to this farm. You abandoned it and yer responsibilities when you left. Now get yerself in the house!"
"That's enough!" Everyone jumped at Grady's bellow. Mary was pale and shaken, terror stretching the skin of her face tight. Torn by the look Mary gave him, Grady wished he could take the words back. Almost. Stepping away from the wagon and cutting the distance between he and Mr. Fitzgerald by half, Grady spoke firmly, "You will not speak to your children like that in my presence again, do you understand me?"
"Do you aim to tell me how I can speak to my own young'uns? You got no rights here. Now get off my property!" Spittle flew as Mr. Fitzgerald yelled, his hands tightly fisted and stiffly held at his sides.
Grady took two more threatening steps in the man's direction, "Mr. Fitzgerald, I will be back here tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. If I see one bruise on any of these children, I will haul you down to the sheriff's office myself."
"Sheriff can't arrest a man for disciplinin' his children. Ain't nothing you can do." Grady was close enough to smell the man's need for a bath, to hear the raspy catch in his breath and to see exactly what he'd hoped for in the man's eyes – cruelty and alarm.
Hoping to feed that latter emotion until it grew into fear, Grady said, "Make no mistake, sir. If you harm any of these children ever again, you will answer for it. If not with the law, then with me." His words were pitched low, their sound guttural. Grady drew on advice his father had once given him about confronting cattle wranglers and mimicked Mary's pa. He balled his hands into tight fists, keeping them at his side. He let the anger he felt for the man build in him until it felt like hatred was licking at his heels. Then he took two more steps toward Mr. Fitzgerald. The color drained from the older man's face.
Grady had long figured Mary's pa was a coward. He degraded and demeaned his children because they couldn't fight back. He wouldn't pick a fight unless he believed he could win it. Grady aimed to make sure Mr. Fitzgerald knew this was a fight the man could never win. Then he would leverage that knowledge to ensure the safety of Mary and her siblings.
"I will not stand by," malice now controlled Grady's voice, "and allow you to harm your children ever again. You lay a hand on them or treat them badly, and you will answer to me. I will be watching. I will be checking in. You will never speak to any of them like that again. Am I clear?"
All the bluster gone from his voice, Mr. Fitzgerald said, "Get off my property. You're not welcome here."
"I'm leaving, but don't doubt it for a second. I am watching, and I w
ill be back."
With that, Grady walked back to the wagon, climbed in, released the brake, and, with a "hayup" to the horses, went on his way. Keeping the horses to a walk, he took his time and showed no fear. He didn't want Mr. Fitzgerald to get the notion that his leaving the yard in any way meant he was backing down.
As soon as he made his way past a bend in the drive and knew he couldn't be seen from the front porch, Grady let go of the reigns, put his hands over his face, and said, "Oh Lord, what have I done?" The adrenal effect of the confrontation caused him to shake, and his fear for the Fitzgerald children intensified the tremors. Grady had done what he could for now, but he couldn't move into their house and protect those children around the clock. He had to hope his words and manner had been enough.
Grady picked the reins back up, his shaking reduced to a quiver. He felt like he'd just faced a raging bull and lived to tell about it. He headed the horses toward home, praying all the while. At first light tomorrow, he would be at the Fitzgerald farm. Grady would follow through on the claims he'd made.
If he had to maintain a threatening persona that didn't feel nearly as foreign to him as he thought it should, so be it.
Chapter Eleven
Grady was up the next morning long before the sun. There was an unusually bitter chill in the air, more like winter than spring. With stiff fingers, he got the horses hitched to the wagon. Throwing a couple of extra blankets up behind the seat, he took off toward the Fitzgerald farm.
Upon approaching the farm, he slowed the horses to a gentle walk, hoping to be as quiet as possible. He didn't want to wake the family if they were still sleeping. This, however, was a hardworking family. Mary was up and fixing breakfast, and one of the kids had already been into town to deliver the milk and eggs. Nonetheless, he was surprised when the front door opened and Clive came sauntering out.
"Whadyadoin' here?" the boy asked briskly, the anger Grady had seen in him simmering further under the surface, less obvious than it had been in recent days.
"Came to give y'all a ride to school," was all Grady said in response.
"And check up on us?" As Clive talked, he approached the horses, offering each a rub between the ears and a gently spoken word of praise.
"I told your pa I would, and I aim to keep my word." He could see the emotions at war within the boy. It was no wonder. Grady was sure he must seem alien to the family, given the example of manhood their pa provided.
Right then, Mary stepped out onto the porch. "What are you doing here, Grady Carlisle?"
"He's here to check up on us, make sure we're all still alive and that Pa hasn't done us in." Clive said the words without his usual rancor as he passed Mary and returned to the warm house.
"Might as well come in for breakfast, Grady, but you can't be making a habit of this."
Puzzled by the invitation, Grady asked, "Is your pa around?"
Mary shook her head in the negative. "He headed out late last night."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No. Never does."
Unsettled, Grady went on, "Did he say when he'd be back?"
The hint of a smile touched Mary's face as she asked, "Why? So you know how long before you have to check in on us again?"
Brake firmly in place, Grady climbed down from the wagon. He wished he knew the right words to keep Mary's banter going without bringing up anything dark or ugly. "Nah, Mary. Simply wonderin' when I'm goin' to get my next pie, is all," Grady said in an exaggerated Texas drawl.
Grady settled himself at the breakfast table in what had become his customary seat at one end. He smiled at each of the kids. Their looks were much more solemn this morning than the last time he'd shared a meal with them here. That previous meal, however, had been interrupted by a sheriff coming to tell them their pa would be returning. It seemed even when this family had a light-hearted moment, darkness was always quick to chase it away.
Grady blessed the meal as had become his practice. Everyone ate in silence, even Gigi. When the meal was over, he waited patiently, allowing everyone time to gather their supplies for school. On his way out the door, Grady said to Mary, "I'll be by each morning this week to give them a ride. Jus' so you know."
Mary's face was inscrutable. Her thoughts and emotions were locked away from Grady's view. He could only hope he was doing the right thing. Her voice giving nothing away, she said, "You don't have to do that."
Grady put his hat back on his head and said, "Yes I do. If I want to be able to look people in the eye and say I am a man, then I have to do this."
"I don't understand you," Mary said, her mouth tensing, her eyes giant azure pools of confusion.
"I know, Mary," Grady said, tenderness in his voice. "It's important for me to make sure you guys are okay and that I didn't make things more difficult for you. I'd be hard-pressed to live with myself if I made things worse and then left y'all to deal with it on your own."
Still looking uncertain, Mary nodded her head, waved to the kids, and sent them all off with a "Be good!"
****
Lizzie and Gigi sat on either side of Grady as the horses led them into town. Everyone remained silent. The boys were in the back and jumped out of the wagon before it even came to a complete stop at the schoolhouse. They were still early yet, but the door was open. Clive stopped to give each of the horses another scratch between the ears before he and Bobby took their things into the schoolhouse. Both horses turned to watch Clive walk away. If Grady didn't know better, he'd say his horses were lovesick.
As Grady got ready to climb over her to get out of the wagon, Lizzie placed her small hand on top of his. He looked into her face, and what he saw there tore at his heart. Lizzie had brown eyes, the same shade as Clive's. Where his were usually filled with anger and resentment, hers were filled with such terrible sadness. No child this age should have to carry so many hurts in her heart that they couldn't help but spill over into her eyes.
Grady turned his hand over so he gently held Lizzie's hand in his. Doing his best to reassure her with his look, he said, "I'm going to do everything I can to make this okay, Lizzie. Don't you fret about it." With a slow and completely unconvinced nod, Lizzie removed her hand from Grady's and let him climb down so he could lift her from the wagon.
Gigi scooted over on the seat so he could lift her down as well. As he set her feet on the ground, she leaned over and asked, "Can I tell you a secret?" Not sure what to expect from this precocious youngster, Grady nodded his head and leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. "Pa didn't do nothin' to any of us last night. He's so mad at you, all he could talk about was getting revenge. I think he hates you." When she leaned back from him, Grady assumed she was finished and stood back up. Gigi went on to ask, though, "Was that your plan?"
Grady was still processing Gigi's words. With her last question, he stopped to consider her more closely and saw wisdom far beyond her years. "I won't lie. I was making it up as I went along yesterday, but yeah, that was sort o' the plan."
"It was either a real good plan or a real dumb one. I'm not sure yet. If it gets you killed, then it was dumb."
A bark of laughter escaped Grady before he said, "You're a good girl Gigi Fitzgerald." Then, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he added, "I aim to make sure I don't end up killed anytime soon, so don't spend too much time worrying about that."
Back in the wagon, Grady released the brake and gave the horses a "hayup" as he headed toward the sheriff's office. He had spoken to both the sheriff and the reverend the prior week, trying to understand why nothing had ever been done to help those children. What he'd learned had surprised him. While he'd not directly asked her, Grady had gotten the impression from Mary that nobody in Larkspur had tried to help them. According to the sheriff, though, that was far from true. Both he and the reverend had also pointed out how Mary had become cut off from the folks in town. Grady wanted to ask Mary about it, but she seemed to be as prickly as a Texas Hedgehog Cactus around him.
When
they'd finished talking the previous week, Sheriff Spooner had asked Grady to keep him aware of key developments at the Fitzgerald farm. Grady figured this qualified.
****
Tuesday morning came and went in much the same way, with no sign of Mr. Fitzgerald. Wednesday morning followed the same pattern. Because Grady hadn't seen much of the unpleasant man since he'd been back in Larkspur, he didn't at first give this much thought. When he arrived to give the children a ride to school on Thursday, though, he had to ask Mary, "Is it normal for your pa to be gone so long?"
Mary shrugged, her expression wary. "He sometimes goes off for a few days at a time, sometimes longer. I can think of two or three times when he's been gone this long."
"What do y'all do when he's gone like this?"
Grady should have seen it coming, but Mary's answer still surprised him. "We take advantage of his absence and take care of things around the farm that need attention."
Not knowing exactly how to respond, Grady opted for silence. The boys were already climbing into the back of the wagon, and the girls were waiting patiently for him to lift them onto the seat.
After delivering the children safely to school, Grady headed over to the sheriff's office to update Sheriff Spooner on Mr. Fitzgerald's continued absence. "Is he often gone this long?" he asked the sheriff.
"His movements have always been hard to track," the sheriff responded with a frustrated sigh. Running a hand through his black hair, he asked, "Are Mary and the kids okay?"
"Seem fine to me."
His look grim, the sheriff said, "Thanks for letting me know." He clapped Grady on the back, and the younger man was reminded of how Sheriff Spooner had restrained Mr. Fitzgerald at the church picnic. The lawman's stocky build hid more strength than seemed reasonable.
