Wayward Lady

by Nan Ryan

  Austin and Beth went out of their way to help the two Foxworth women face their lonely life on the frontier with no man in the house. Austin had insisted they let him help financially when Suzette had finally admitted to him that her father had left little money, only uncollected medical bills. But she resolutely declined. Her salary from the newspaper, along with the little money they made from the cattle, would see them through. It wasn’t starving that worried her, anyway; it was her mother.

  Lydia Foxworth, though still a young woman, had lost interest in life. She never went anywhere, except to church on Sundays. She was painfully thin and pale and talked little, even to Suzette. More than once Suzette had heard her mother sobbing and had gone to her room to comfort her. Lydia, her eyes red-rimmed and tortured, admitted to Suzette that she was simply lost and very lonely without Blake. She felt life had no meaning for her and often prayed to a merciful God to take her to heaven to join Blake.

  Suzette was patient and understanding, but she knew there was little she could do. Frantic for a solution, Suzette called on Beth Brand for help. Beth, a kind, sweet woman, embraced the tearful Suzette and assured her that she and young Jenny would spend more time with Lydia while Suzette was busy at the newspaper office.

  The very next day, Beth and Jenny packed a picnic lunch, and they had Bennet Day, Austin’s watchman, hitch up the buggy. When they arrived at the house, Lydia, still wearing her nightgown and robe, apologized for her appearance at such a late hour and promptly excused herself to dress.

  Beth pretended nothing was amiss. Pulling out a large bolt of pink muslin and some pattern books, she told Lydia they had come to ask for her help. Lydia was once a quality seamstress. Would she please help make Jenny a new Sunday dress? By lunchtime, Lydia was fitting the bodice while Beth filled three plates with fried chicken and potato salad, announcing it was time they all took a breather.

  Lydia had to be dragged away from the old sewing machine, saying she was just beginning to get the hang of sewing again. Beth assured her she would get plenty of practice, for Jenny would soon be going to school and would need lots of pretty dresses. Lydia, smiling for the first time in months, looked at the beautiful little girl and told Beth that she would personally see to it that Jenny Brand would have the prettiest frocks in all Jacksboro, thoughtfully adding that she had a lovely spool of Irish lace packed in the chest in her bedroom; it would make a nice trim for the pink dress.

  Beth’s visit had been a tonic for the frail Lydia Foxworth. Soon she was looking forward to the frequent visits of Beth and Jenny and baked cakes and cookies for the Brands and studied pattern books with interest. Suzette breathed a little easier and told Austin Brand that Beth and Jenny’s visits had saved a drowning woman. Austin Brand just smiled broadly.

  Austin rose with the sun and slipped out of bed. He was shaving when the slender, sleepy Beth came to him, yawning and pushing her dark hair back from her face. “Austin?” she said softly.

  “Beth, it’s early. Why don’t you sleep a while longer.” He smiled and touched her cheek.

  “Not on your life.” She kissed his hand. “I’ve no intention of letting you slip away to Fort Worth without so much as a good-bye. We’re having breakfast together before you leave.”

  “Whatever you say, dear.” Austin was agreeable. “Beth, you know how I hate to leave you and Jenny, but the gentleman from Scotland is only going to be in the city for a short time. If I’m ever to improve my herd, I must buy some quality cattle to breed with the longhorns. It’s high time I begin building for our future. I intend to have the best and the most beef in all Texas within a few years.”

  “Good for you, Austin.” His wife watched his gray eyes flash with excitement. He had visions of building the Brand empire into one of the largest and most successful on the plains, and Beth was just as certain as he that it would be done.

  Austin grinned at her. “Beth, I’ll not get started on all my grandiose schemes this early in the morning, but I promise you, dear, within the next year, I’ll start building you the mansion you deserve. We’ll use this house for the ranch hands. I realize I only have a few, but I intend to hire several full-time men. That way, I won’t be going on cow hunts or up the trail to Abilene. I’ll stay right here with my two favorite ladies. In fact”—he reached out and slid his thumb and forefinger up the soft satin lapel of her robe—“this could well be the last trip I take without you and Jenny. I hate leaving you alone.”

  “Mr. Brand,” Beth smiled up at him, thinking as she always did that he was surely the most handsome man the good Lord had ever created, and said sweetly, “that will be wonderful. We’re terribly lonely when you are absent. But, dear, don’t be worrying about us. You act as though you’ll be gone for ages. It’s just going to be for a few days, isn’t it?”

  Nodding, he replied, “Yes. Tom Capps and I have a definite appointment with the man from Scotland, Mr. Samuel Wellington, on the day after tomorrow. As soon as our business is completed, I’ll be coming home.”

  “Then we’ll hardly know you’re gone. Jenny and I are going to put up some pear preserves this morning. After lunch, we’re going to ride our horses over to visit Lydia. We’ll stay and have supper with her and Suzette. Or perhaps they’ll come over here for the meal and I’ll persuade them to stay the night.”

  Austin wiped the excess lather from his face. “I like that idea. In fact, if they’ll agree, why not have them stay here until I return?”

  Beth kissed her husband’s chin. “I’ll try to get them to, Austin, but you know Suzette, she’s so independent, she hates to feel she’s imposing. She would never have asked me to help with her mother if she’d not been desperate. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do. Suzette’s like her father. When Blake was alive, I tried more than once to loan him money and he would never hear of it. Suzette is the same way. I know they have to struggle. I’d like to help them out.”

  “You do help them, darling. You gave Suzette a position at the Echo. With what you pay her they are able to get along. Then, too, you are letting Suzette send their cattle up the trail with ours, aren’t you?”

  “Umm,” he mused. “Still, I’d like to do more.”

  “I know, dear, but you cannot force a stubborn young woman like Suzette. Get dressed now. I’ll go down and start our breakfast.”

  Half an hour later Austin stood on the long porch, ready to depart. In his arms was a beautiful, sleepy little girl who had wrapped her hands around his neck. Her feet were bare and Austin cupped them in his hands.

  “Darlin’,” he said softly, kissing her velvety cheek, “you be a good girl while I’m gone and I’ll bring you and Mommy some nice presents from Fort Worth. Don’t be riding your pony unless Bennett is around to watch and don’t be sneaking down to the creek to wade; you might fall in and drown. Don’t dare—”

  “Daddy, Daddy”—Jenny screwed up her pretty face—“don’t you ever want me to have a good time?”

  “Yes, Sweetheart.” He hugged her to him. “I always want you to have a good time. I’m sorry, I’m too much of a worrier, I suppose. Just be careful and mind Mommy.”

  “I will, Daddy.” She put her small hands on either side of his face and kissed him. “See you in a few days.”

  Austin reluctantly put her down and turned to his wife. Beth stepped into his embrace, wrapping her slender arms about his middle. “Hurry back, my love,” she said against his throat.

  Kissing her lightly, he smiled. “Take care, Beth. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He released her and, winking at his young daughter, bounded down the steps and out to his waiting horse. The iron-gray gelding, Confederate, whinnied and shook his head, tossing his thick mane. Austin mounted, tipped his Stetson to the two admiring women in his life, and galloped away.

  “Mommy, will we take some preserves over to Mrs. Foxworth’s?” Jenny set three luncheon plates on the table in the kitchen while her mother sliced bread from a big loaf.

  “Why, I think that would be
nice, don’t you?” Beth Brand, pleased with their morning’s work, took a seat across from her daughter. “I know Suzette likes pear preserves; I’ll bet her mother does, also.”

  She began dishing up food, filling all three plates. “I wonder what is keeping Bennett. He should have come inside by now. When he’s finished with his meal, we’ll clear away the dishes and be on our way to the Foxworth ranch.” She smiled at Jenny, then fanned the air. “My goodness, it’s already warm. I dread the summer this year.”

  “Me, too, Mommy.” Jenny buttered a piece of bread. “I want summer to pass so I can go to school. Do you think I’ll learn to read and write?”

  “Yes, Jenny, I’m sure you’ll do well in school. Dear me.” She reached across the table and put her hand to her daughter’s sweet face. “I can’t believe you’re old enough for school. Seems it was just…” Beth’s voice trailed off and she turned her head, listening.

  “What? What is it, Mommy?”

  “I…I’m not sure. I thought I heard Bennett or someone…someone calling or…” She rose, motioning Jenny to stay where she was. She walked to the back door and looked outside. “Oh, dear God in heaven!” Beth slammed the door shut and threw the heavy bolt.

  Seeing the look of horror on her mother’s face, Jenny was out of her chair, rushing to Beth. “Mommy? What is it? What is it?”

  Grabbing Jenny’s hand, Beth headed for the parlor, pulling her daughter along. The little girl could hear loud war cries coming from the yard. Her eyes wide with fright, she looked out the front door just before Beth banged it shut. A band of a dozen painted, whooping Indians were moving close to the yard, their circles growing smaller and smaller, trapping the two helpless females inside.

  “Get down!” Beth shouted as she pulled the Winchester from its case and loaded it. Beth fell to her knees and pointed the gun at the melee. The sounds of the loud, bloodthirsty calls split the still April air. “Where is Bennett!” Beth cried. “Why doesn’t he help?” Now she was firing blindly into the circle of warriors.

  Jenny clung to her mother’s skirts but made not a sound. Beth, her eyes narrowed, trying desperately to aim, saw a sight straight from hell. Screaming, naked red men, breech-loading rifles in their hands, were now in the yard, firing into the house. She ducked her head as a china vase on the hutch shattered. She continued to fire wildly into the swarming intruders, doing little damage.

  “Oh, God, no!” she moaned and pulled the trigger again. A flaming arrow had come through the window and the lace curtains were ablaze, sending tongues of fire up the wall.

  Beth dropped the gun and shouted to Jenny, “Don’t move from the floor! Stay down!” She crawled to the kitchen to fetch a bucket of water. By the time she returned, a sheet of fire had spread to all four walls. Beth looked at the fire, then at her daughter, and knew that it was hopeless, that she and Jenny would have to take their chances outdoors. She dropped the bucket of water, picked up the rifle, and took Jenny’s arm. By now thick smoke was filling the room and Jenny was coughing and rubbing her eyes.

  Beth jerked the little girl to her feet, raised the gun, and threw open the door. She stepped outside, her daughter behind her. Quickly she took aim and pulled the trigger, hitting a young warrior in the chest. Another shot hit one of the horses; it stumbled and went down, tossing the rider over its neck. Unhurt, the brave shouted and started running directly at Beth. She pulled the trigger again, felling the savage just as his moccasined feet touched the front porch. He grabbed his throat and fell.

  Beth fired for the last time. She was out of ammunition. In desperation, she reversed the hold on the long rifle and ran into the mass of Indians, swinging wildly at the horsemen. Like a madwoman, she screamed and swung the long gun until it was yanked from her hands by a grinning brave. She whirled immediately to find her daughter, but Jenny was no longer behind her. And then in horror, Beth watched her little girl being lifted up into the saddle in front of a tall, young warrior with black paint streaked across his face and chest.

  “Jenny! Jenny!” she screamed and ran toward the horse.

  “Mommy, help me!” Jenny strained and squirmed in the grip of the long arms encircling her, before being slammed hard against the Indian’s chest as the horse sped away, leaving a distraught Beth running after them.

  Beth tore across the pasture, her skirts held high, the undergrowth ripping her silk stockings and scratching her legs. She didn’t get far. A pair of strong hands reached down and scooped her from the ground, jerking her up onto the saddle of a big paint horse. The warrior who held her smiled while she screamed and pleaded for her daughter’s life.

  She could hear Jenny crying ahead of her. The other Indians were close, no longer interested in the ranch house, now engulfed in flames. The two warriors Beth had shot were draped over their ponies, led by a young brave. It was then that Beth saw the lifeless body of Bennett Day. The old cowhand lay on his back, his sightless eyes staring at the brilliant April sun. His thick mane of white hair was gone; his head had been spilt open with a tomahawk. Beth stared in horror as the hooves of the horse she rode caught in a torn shirtsleeve and Bennett’s body was dragged several feet before the fabric ripped, releasing him.

  “Dear Jesus!” Beth choked and began to kick and claw at the dark arms holding her. The powerfully built brave was not bothered in the least by her attempts to free herself. He merely tightened his arm about her, making it hard for her to breathe.

  Beth could still see her daughter’s long dark hair and knew in that instant that she must calm herself, that she had to keep Jenny in sight. Now her tears evaporated. She had to keep her wits about her for her daughter’s sake and she was going to do it. When the horse she rode closed the gap, Beth called to her daughter, “Darling, I’m with you, don’t be afraid. It’s going to be all right, Jenny. Mommy’s here.”

  The tall Indian behind Beth grunted and jerked her back against him. “No talk!” he shouted near her ear.

  “But my little girl,” she begged, “she’s just—”

  “No talk,” he repeated coldly, and a strong brown hand came up to cover her mouth. Choking and stammering, Beth continued to try to call to Jenny, but it was no use. She couldn’t make a sound. Finally, she gave up and leaned against the Indian, trying desperately to think of some way to save her precious daughter. She said a prayer and hoped God would answer.

  Instead, torture began for Beth Brand.

  The band of Indians continued to ride fast to the north, still shouting their war whoops, their lances held high. When they had traveled several miles and were safely away from the settlement of Jacksboro, the horse carrying Jenny stopped abruptly. The others, including the one carrying Beth, thundered on across the prairie. Frantically, Beth tried to twist her head over the tall Indian’s arm, but she was pinned so tightly it was impossible.

  Suddenly her captor pulled up on the reins and the big paint horse halted. Slowly, the warrior turned the pony and Beth could see her daughter once more. All the horses stopped, save for the ones carrying the fallen braves. The young Indian leading those horses continued homeward, never looking back. Jenny was pushed from the horse. She stood alone in the grass, crying for help. Beth felt the big hand that had been covering her mouth slowly slide away.

  “Jenny!” she shouted wildly. The word hadn’t died on her trembling lips when a rifle was raised to the little girl’s dark head and the trigger was pulled. Jenny crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. Insane with rage and shock, Beth cast off the strong arms of the brave and slid from the horse. She rushed to the still, lifeless body of her daughter, screaming her name.

  She was stopped before she reached Jenny and was flung to the ground roughly. As she struggled to rise, a heavy foot was brought down on her stomach and a stocky brave wearing white war paint grinned at her. Beth clawed at his leg; he grunted and kicked her in the face. Blood spurted from her mouth. Again she scrambled up. Superhuman strength flowed through her slender body and again she tried to reach her little girl.r />
  “Jenny, Jenny,” she sobbed, and was again thrown to the ground. This time there was no getting up. Her slim arms were jerked up over her head with enough force to snap them from their sockets. Yet she lifted her head, looking toward her daughter and so didn’t see the men moving in on her. Her vision was unobstructed just long enough to see a young brave stand over Jenny and lift her limp head from the ground. With a flash of a sharp knife, its blade gleaming in the sun, he quickly sliced away Jenny Brand’s long dark curls and scalp. He rose immediately, laughing gleefully. In his hand, Jenny’s scalp, blood dripping, was held up proudly to the cheers of the others.

  Beth’s head fell back to the ground, the scream inside extinguished. She cried. Four braves squatted on the ground, one at each arm, one at each foot. Beth was unable to move, but it made little difference to her now. Jenny was dead; there was no longer a reason to stay alive.

  The braves were laughing and one sank to his knees near Beth’s face and touched her long, dark hair. Beth closed her eyes. He was going to scalp her, she was certain of it. She didn’t mind, but she wished he would kill her first. For what seemed an eternity, he rubbed and stroked her long, loose hair, grunting throughout. Slowly, Beth opened her eyes. The Indian smiled down at her and released her hair. His hand went to the buttons of her dress and, in one swift movement, he jerked the bodice away.

  Beth was pleading again, but not for her life. She was pleading for an end to her life. It fell on deaf ears. Within seconds, several smiling braves were on her, stripping away her clothes with amazing speed. Beth was left naked but for one shoe and silk stocking. Above her the crazed braves were putting on her torn dress and underwear. She began to think that was what they wanted. They loved colorful clothing; perhaps they would just take her clothes and mercifully kill her.