by Linda George
Rosalie and Trina spent hours talking about the books they'd both read, the significance of symbolism, exquisite description, and characters so real, they swore they'd met them in town last week.
The days at the Hart Ranch had to be the happiest time of Rosalie's life. But, by the third day, Tom seemed antsy to get back to Fort Worth, then on to Lubbock and Denver. She'd heard him talking to Gabriel in the evenings about all the cattle they'd lost.
“I hate like hell to see Paw borrow money for that bull,” Tom said one evening. “We already owe for a passel of cows we bought last spring. Paw expected the investment to pay off treble in new calves this next year. Then the fever hit and took every last one of them, and the bulls, too.”
“I wish I had a bull to send back with you now, Tom. I've already told you the first bull calf to be born is yours if you want it.”
“Thanks, but a calf won't be of much use the first year. We have to have a bull come spring who'll do his duty by every cow we have.” He remembered Rosalie, sitting in Trina's rocker, reading TREASURE ISLAND. “Pardon me, Rosalie.”
She nodded, excusing him when there was actually nothing to excuse him for. She'd seen bulls “doing their duty.” She'd also seen what men did to women after their “duty” had been done. She kept reading, savoring every word of rich text.
Gabriel got up to fetch a cup of coffee from the stove. “Amos has done business with this banker for a long time, though, didn't you say?”
“Better than twenty years. But Richard Strickland is a hard man in a lot of ways.”
Rosalie perked up at the name Strickland. Could this be Zane's father? She wasn't about to ask. She pretended to keep reading, hanging on every word spoken.
“Hard?”
“After twenty years, you'd think he and Paw would be friends. But Strickland counts no man friend who borrows money from his bank. We've often joked he has a lump of coal for a heart.”
“Like Scrooge.” Rosalie wished she hadn't said that! Now, they'd know she’d been listening.
“Exactly. Only Strickland isn't going to have any spirits visiting him, other than expensive brandy.”
“So you think he might not approve the loan for the bull?”
“There's no reason for him to deny it. He knows the McCabe family is good for the debt the first minute it can be paid back. He's earned a pitiable amount of interest off us through the years, I can tell you.”
“Then why are you worried?”
“Strickland has been threatening to retire for the past five years. Wants to leave the bank to one of his sons, but he has to choose which one.”
“The eldest, I assume?”
“That's the problem. Strickland's eldest son is a good-for-nothing womanizer. If he isn't drunk, he's sleeping it off. He never comes to the bank unless his old man orders him there. Then, he's off again, first chance he gets.”
“Doesn't sound like much of a banker.”
“Zane isn't much of a man.”
Rosalie gasped and dropped the book. It slid off the side of her lap and onto the floor. Thank goodness it landed without the pages being bent or creased.
“Is something wrong?” Tom retrieved the book and handed it back to her.
“No, nothing. I just.remembered something I must do in the kitchen. Please excuse me.”
She laid the book carefully on the table beside the chair, then hurried out of the room, not wanting to draw more attention to her familiarity with Zane Strickland's name. She grabbed a dish cloth and began wiping every surface in the kitchen, even though she'd done it an hour ago, after supper.
Tom wouldn't take kindly to knowing he’d be escorting her to Denver because Strickland had refused to do so, or if he knew why she’d be working for the Strickland family, or that she’d be defending herself against Zane Strickland every minute she was compelled to work there. Tom might back out on taking her at all if he knew. If only there could be a way to leave the Acre without having to be servant to Zane Strickler and his father as payment for that card game.
Tom came for a cup of coffee. “At that rate, you're going to shine things until they disappear.”
“What? Oh. I just don't want Trina to come back to a dirty kitchen.”
“No chance of that with you around.” He winked at her and went back to the front room with a full cup of the rich brew.
Rosalie collapsed into a chair at the table, wringing the dish cloth in her hands. In the morning, they'd head back to Fort Worth. Rosalie's time with Gabriel and Trina would end. And her time with Tom...
She decided to check on Trina and found her sitting on the side of the bed with a dress over her head, arms flailing to push through the sleeves.
“Trina, you shouldn't be exerting yourself. Let me help.”
“I can do it. Let me try,” she wheezed, pushing her right arm through the long sleeve. “You're leaving in the morning. I have to be able to do for myself.” The left arm followed, then she pulled the dress down and into place. “Why, Rosalie, you're crying.”
“No, I just got a cinder in my eye. Really.”
“I know real tears when I see them. What's wrong?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” That did it. Tears washed down her cheeks, as though spring rain had breached the banks of a creek.
“Did Tom or Gabriel say something to hurt your feelings? I'll teach them a thing or two about courtesy!”
“No! They didn't do anything, except be nicer to me than anyone ever has been in my life. When you said we were leaving in the morning, I realized I won't be seeing you again after tomorrow.”
Trina's expression, and her arms held wide to embrace, made Rosalie cry even harder when Trina held her and patted her back in a motherly way. Trina possessed such sweetness, Rosalie could hardly bear it. And all this crying! She'd hardly cried in her whole life. Since coming to this ranch, she'd cried buckets of tears. She couldn't figure out what was wrong with her.
Yes, she could. Being treated like a decent, respectable woman, having men speak nicely to her, having Trina as a real friend, getting to know Tom— If all that wasn't enough to cry about, then what was? She dried her tears on her skirt and got up from where she'd been sitting beside Trina on the bed.
“I'm sorry. I've just come to love...being here. Meeting all of you. It's been a genuine pleasure to get to know you and your family.”
“It isn't as though we'll never see each other again. Someday, Gabriel and Hannah and I will come to Denver. We'll visit you, I promise. And, I'll write every month.”
Rosalie nodded. Of course, that's the way it would be. “I'll let you know where to send the letters, just as soon as I'm settled.”
“Good. Now, even though I’ve brought it up a dozen times, you haven't told me why you’re going to Denver and what you'll be doing there, other than turning the head of every young man in town. Believe me, their heads are going to turn.”
Rosalie smiled at the idea, then sobered. “I'm going to be house maid for a well-to-do family in Denver. My father arranged for me to go.”
“Well, now, there's nothing wrong with honest work, is there? Most of my friends in Denver had house maids who were perfectly lovely women. In fact, I liked some of the maids more than I liked the friends they worked for.”
“You're just saying that to make me feel better.”
“No, it's the truth. Katie Bell's maid, Sylvia, had more sense than Katie Bell will ever have. She made the perfect wife for Geoffrey Monroe, because she won't ever vex him with too many questions about the wrong subjects, as I did.”
“He was your beau?”
“Before I met Gabriel. He even bought me an engagement ring. Gaudiest thing you ever did see, with red and green stones and gold filigree. He almost cried when I told him I couldn't accept his ring because I loved another man.”
“Gabriel?”
“Yes. We met on the train to Silver Falls.”
“Tom told me a little about that, but not everything.”
&nb
sp; “I was kidnapped! I’ve never been so scared as when I had to cut a bullet out of that scoundrel.”
“Tom didn't tell me about that.”
Trina smiled. “I can see we have a lot to talk about before you leave in the morning. Now, help me fasten this dress so I can get up and walk. I've been practicing when no one was watching. You'll be surprised at how well I'm doing.”
“Actually, everything you do surprises me. In a good way, of course.”
“I wish I could keep you here another month. I'm going to have that talk with Tom, too, before you leave, and I can't wait to tell you about my adventures in the mountains and how it all turned out. That hooligan surprised us all!”
Rosalie wished, too, that she could stay a month. But, she couldn’t. So, she’d enjoy every minute she had left, enough to last a month—or a lifetime.
<><><><>
The next morning, everyone came outside bright and early, except for Hannah, who had chosen to sleep instead of saying good-bye. Rosalie had touched her velvety cheek before leaving the house, though. Of all the babies she'd helped into the world, Hannah Hart would always be her favorite.
“Rosalie, I'll write, as soon as you let me know where to send the letter.”
“I'll write the minute I get to Denver, I promise.”
“And Tom, you must promise you won't let Rosalie feel like a stranger in Denver. You're the only friend she’ll have there, other than Papa, Will and Bo. Don't just drop her at the door and disappear, you hear me?”
Tom grinned at his sister, knowing exactly what she meant. “Don't worry, Trina. I have no intention of letting Rosalie get lonely in Denver. I'll be checking on her from time to time.”
“See that you do. Rosalie, if he doesn't come around often enough to suit you, tell me in your letters so I can scold him soundly.”
Rosalie hugged Trina for a long time before stepping back. “I can't tell you what it's meant to me to know you.”
“No crying, now, I won't have it.” Tears shone in her own eyes as she said the words. “No crying other than my own.” Both women sniffed at tears and hugged again.
Tom and Gabriel shook hands.
“It's been good seeing you, Gabriel. You take care of that little girl, now. Bring her to Fort Worth as soon as you can, and have her photograph made to send to Paw. I could describe her beauty all day without coming close.”
“We'll do it. In fact, we'll have that new photographer in Fort Worth take pictures of all three of us. How would that be?”
“We’ll send an extra one for Rosalie. I promise.” Trina hugged her brother.
Rosalie allowed Tom to help her into the buggy. It was almost as though she and Tom had come to visit Gabriel and Trina as one married couple in the family visiting another. She had to get that out of her mind, though. If Tom kept his promise and “checked” on her in Denver, then maybe, someday…
“Bye! Don't forget to write! I’ll pout for a month if you forget!”
“I won't! Thanks again, for everything.”
“Hannah will grow up knowing how special you were in her life. I'll tell her every day!”
“Take care, Tom. Let me know about that bull calf.”
“I will, Gabriel. Thanks.” Tom slapped the reins on the horse's rump and they headed for the ridge and Fort Worth, with Rosalie turned backward in the seat, waving to Trina and Gabriel until they were out of sight.
“I declare, Tom, you have the nicest sister in the world. And she's married to the nicest man.”
“Nice? I've never thought of my sister, or Gabriel, as nice.”
“You know what I mean. Courteous and friendly, open to strangers and willing to share who they are and what they have.”
“If that's your definition, then I guess 'nice' is the right word after all. Trina can be as stubborn as a mule, though.”
“I noticed. But Gabriel loves her. He really, really loves her.” She lapsed into contemplative silence.
Tom didn't interrupt. He knew what had her occupied. Trina and Gabriel were the first people in a long time—hell, maybe ever—whom Rosalie had met who didn't live in the Acre and make a living in a despicable manner. No wonder she'd taken to them like a chick to a mother hen.
Mother. His little sister, the mother of a baby girl. Without Rosalie, something bad might have happened. But she'd been there, and Trina and the baby were healthy and sound. The McCabe and Hart families would owe Rosalie a debt of gratitude for the rest of their lives. He smiled. Trina didn't have to worry about Rosalie being all alone in Denver. Tom would see to it she never lacked for companionship.
“Which family will you be living with in Denver?”
Oh, dear, she thought. Here it comes. “I...I don't know the family name. My father arranged it. I never asked.”
“Well, when we get back to your place, we'll find out from your father. It might be we know the family. I'm sure my father will. You said they were well-to-do?”
“Yes, that's my understanding.”
With a grin as big as the sky above them, Tom said, “You know, the McCabe ranch has gotten pretty lax since Trina married Gabriel. I think my father might welcome the idea of having someone to get our house back in top shape again. And I know he’d love your dumplings as much as I did.”
Rosalie knew what he was about to say and held her breath.
“How would you like to come to live at the McCabe Ranch instead? Whatever you're to be paid, I'm sure we could match or beat it.”
“That would be wonderful, but my father has promised this man I'll be coming. And, with your cattle problems, I don't imagine your father would appreciate your saddling him with additional expense.”
Tom frowned at that. “I'm sure something could be worked out.”
If it only could. “Let me get settled in Denver first, and we'll go from there. If I could, of course I'd choose the McCabe Ranch over any other well-to-do family in Denver. You understand, don't you?”
“Sure. Just thinking out loud, that's all.” Damn, but that had been a stupid thing to suggest. She was right about Paw. He'd hit the ceiling if Tom obligated him to pay a house maid. But Rosalie wouldn't be just a house maid. She'd be like a member of the family, as she'd been at Trina's house. A member of the family...
They'd just pulled up at the Kincannon house when a girl who came running to meet them, her face twisted with fear.
“Rosie, thank the Lord you're here. That man who cut Lizzy before came back. You gotta come quick.”
“Not Lizzy again!”
“He said he didn't finish with her last time. We tried to tell him she was sick and couldn't see nobody, but he pushed his way into the back and found her.” A sob escaped her cracked lips. “Please come, Rosie.”
Rosalie ran inside. Tom felt his jaw tighten at the thought of Rosalie's life in Hell's Half Acre. Dirt and filth, blood and violence were daily fare in this abomination. With a sigh, he followed her into the dance hall.
Putrid odors assailed him again. He made his way down the hall toward the room where Mary died in childbirth. Rosalie sat in a chair beside the bed, bent over Lizzy, talking quietly, giving tense orders to the other girls to bring needle and thread, hot water and soap, and a bottle of whiskey to use as disinfectant and pain killer.
“Anything I can do?” Tom stepped just inside the door. The girls gawked at him. Uncomfortable under their scrutiny, he kept his eyes trained on Rosalie and the thin girl on the bed, covered in blood.
“The bastard used his knife on her again. Cut the other leg this time, before the first had a chance to heal. He cut her stomach, too, and crushed her left hand.”
Tom felt his stomach knot up.
“There's not much anyone can do for her now.” Rosalie tied a rag around the girl’s gnarled left hand.
Tom left the room and motioned to Sadie, standing just down the hall. “Where is the man who did this?”
She stepped closer, into the light, casting a worried glance at Rosalie before answering. “Are yo
u sure you want to confront him now?”
“Where?”
“In the front room, drinking, boasting about how he fixed Lizzy for good this time.”
“Show me.”
She led Tom to the end of the bar, then pointed at a man about halfway down, laughing, guzzling whiskey, spattered with Lizzy's blood. A rage unlike any he'd ever experienced flooded through Tom as he approached the bar.
“You like cutting women, do you?” Tom's voice was deadly quiet.
The man turned to look at him. His eyes widened. Four deep scratches on his right cheek oozed blood. “McCabe. I never expected to see you here.”
Zane Strickland. Rage doubled in Tom’s gut as he held back, knowing he should turn this scum over to the law for what he'd done. He ached to slug this waste of skin and wipe the smile from his face. Hell, why not?
Tom punched Zane straight in the jaw before he could react. He fell heavily to the floor, hitting a spittoon, slinging its filthy contents everywhere.
The bartender reached under the bar and brought out a shotgun. “I don't want no killing in my bar.”
“Send for the marshal. I don't intend dirtying my hands on this sorry excuse for a man more than I have already.”
The bartender nodded to a man standing near the door, who eased outside, then ran.
When Strickland roused and tried to get up, Tom pushed him back to the floor with one boot. “Stay put. You aren't going anywhere.”
“This isn't your fight, McCabe, unless that bawd is your woman.”
“She's a human being. No human deserves what you've done to her, you pig. I guess cutting women and breaking their bones makes you feel more of a man. But you're nothing, Strickland. You're less than nothing.”
Strickland started to get up again, but the double barrels of the bartender's shotgun kept him in place. “Just stay right there.” He turned to Tom. “Who are you, mister?”
“Just passing through.”
“You don't look like the type usually comes in here. You came from the back, but I ain't never seen you up front.”
“I'm with Rosalie Kincannon. She's here to help Lizzy.”
