“Lumber mill, eh?” Floyd hurried to catch up, huffing all the way. “He must be doing pretty well with all the new buildings going up in town.” He sounded impressed, which gave Edmund another insight into his character. He considered himself too important to meet just anyone. Like the “cowboy” who lived on the ranch next to his niece’s.
“Mmm.” Edmund wouldn’t agree or disagree with Floyd’s comment, but the truth was Josiah was doing very well. Not only that, but since growing closer to his brother, Edmund had been inspired by Josiah’s generosity to those less fortunate. He was a good, decent man, a credit to the relatives who’d reared him and to their own parents, some of whose teachings Josiah remembered.
They found Josiah with his sleeves rolled up and helping an Indian lady build her booth.
“Hey, Edmund, you’re just in time. Hand me that short board over there.” Holding a piece of lumber in place, Josiah pointed with the hammer in his other hand toward his stack of wood.
Edmund did as he asked. “Mrs. Longfeather, I see you’re bringing your fine jewelry to sell.”
Although wearing a calico dress like the other local ladies, the middle-aged woman wore leather moccasins. Her thick black hair was held up on her head with a fancy jeweled comb, and around her waist hung a shiny silver and turquoise belt. Her dark piercing eyes and high cheekbones further marked her as an attractive woman despite her years. “Yes, Mr. McKay. You need something? If I don’t have it, I’ll make it for you.”
Lula May might like one of those fancy combs. Whoa. He couldn’t buy presents for her. “Thank you, ma’am. Once you get your wares all set out, I’ll take a look.” Maybe he should buy himself a new belt buckle to help the lady’s business. “Josiah, this here’s Floyd Jones, Lula May’s uncle.” He urged Floyd forward with a little wave.
Josiah finished nailing the board into place before brushing his hands on his trousers. He reached out to Floyd, whose reluctance to accept the gesture was obvious by the sneer on his face.
“Surely you have hired men who can do such things.” Floyd gave Josiah a brief handshake, after which he drew out a linen cloth and wiped his hand.
Edmund couldn’t help but wonder if his brother thought the same thing he had about Floyd’s soft, smooth hands. If he’d ever done a lick of work in his life, it didn’t show. Edmund opened his mouth to introduce Mrs. Longfeather to Floyd, but Floyd had already turned his back on her. Another measure of the man. Edmund’s patience was running thin. He recalled Lula May saying she grew up on her uncle’s plantation. From the frayed edges of Floyd’s well-made suit jacket, Edmund could see he was no longer a wealthy man. Probably lost everything in the war and hadn’t been able to recoup the losses in the thirty years since Appomattox. Yet he still carried an attitude of superiority, not to mention a streak of mean, if the way the young’uns shied away from him was any indication.
Since Founders’ Day had been held just a few weeks ago, not as many folks came to town to celebrate July Fourth as had attended that event. Some couldn’t afford another day off from working their land in the middle of summer. Edmund had also heard some folks, the older Southerners, say they still didn’t feel like celebrating the birth of the United States of America. That was a shame, since the War between the States had made the North and the South one country again. Edmund wished they could all live in peace, but he supposed bitterness and resentment was a way of life for some. Old Gad had taught him that bitterness only hurt the man who held it close, like coddling a rattlesnake. Edmund was glad to remember that, because he could very easily resent a man like Floyd Jones who, sure as the sun came out hot in July, treated his flesh and blood awful poorly.
* * *
Lula May had more important things to worry about than winning ribbons for her cake. Still she was pleased with the red ribbon attached to her china plate at the end of the competition. She’d watched Edmund arguing in a friendly fashion in favor of her cake with the other two judges, banker George Henley and a gruff older rancher named Clyde Parker, both of whom had voted for a chocolate cake. At last he relented, and ribbons were passed out. Turned out Mrs. Carson made the chocolate. After her family’s devastating fire, the older woman needed some cheering up, so Lula May was glad to see the blue ribbon go to her.
Calvin made a good showing in the horse race, but he was beaten by a weathered old cowboy who rode much too dangerously in Lula May’s way of thinking. A five-dollar gold piece wasn’t worth a lifetime of suffering from an injury. She was glad to see Daisy Carson congratulate Calvin. And just as glad to see Daisy not linger around Calvin with the other girls, all giggling and making eyes at him while he shuffled his feet and stared after Daisy.
The family stayed until after dark and enjoyed the fireworks display. The younger children seemed to have enjoyed their day, probably ate too much and gladly fell asleep on the blankets in the back of the wagon. Calvin and Samuel rode on ahead to milk and feed the cows. As Lula May drove home, she could smell Uncle’s awful cigars on his breath and clothes, as well as another unpleasant smell recalled from her years in his home. She hadn’t tried to keep up with whatever he was doing today, but apparently he’d found someone to supply a harder beverage than the lemonade and strawberry punch others were drinking.
Several other families took the same southbound road out of town, each one giving friendly waves as they turned their wagons onto the long drives leading to their own ranches. Finally, Lula May and her family were alone on the road, with the bright almost-full moon lighting their way.
“Ho, the wagon.” Edmund galloped up beside her on Zephyr and tipped his hat. “Did you all have a good time?” Gentleman that he was, he included Uncle in his question.
“Yes, indeed. It’s always nice to break away from the routine and have a celebration and see my friends. Winning that red ribbon just added to the fun.” She wouldn’t try to guess whether he knew the squash cake was hers before tasting and judging it. He’d liked it enough to stick up for it, and that was all that mattered.
“Humph. You call that a celebration?” Uncle wobbled on the bench, and for a moment, Lula May feared he would fall over. He huffed out a rank-smelling breath and nearly knocked her off her seat.
“Yep.” Edmund lingered near her side of the wagon as they traveled. “Nice clean fun, and no regrets the next day.”
“Humph.” Uncle repeated his favorite word. “I never regret anything.” He then fell into a sort of stupor.
“I was pleased to see that was your cake I voted for.”
The moon hung low and cast a light on his handsome face because his hat was tipped back just a bit. She saw no guile there, so she felt an extra measure of happiness that he’d liked the cake. But why would she look for guile in him? He was nothing like her wily uncle, whose every word must be parsed for underlying meanings. She really must not become suspicious of other people just because Uncle wore insincerity like a badge.
“Thank you. I’m glad, too.”
For some reason, Edmund kept riding beside her, even passing the arched entrance to his ranch without turning in.
“You don’t need to see us home.”
“Thought maybe I could help you put those young’uns to bed.”
She laughed softly. “You mean you want to be sure the cattle rustlers didn’t take advantage of our day in town to steal my few head of cattle.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
“I do appreciate at it, but you don’t need to watch over us.” She had a strange longing for that exact thing, but with Uncle’s threats hanging over her, she didn’t dare lean on Edmund.
“Me?” He put a hand on his chest and gave her a mock-wounded look. “Watch over you? The independent, capable Mrs. Lula May Barlow?”
Hmm. Maybe he wasn’t so guileless after all. But at least she knew he meant her no harm. She rewarded his little performance with another light l
augh and the skeptical arching of one eyebrow.
And was rewarded with that chest-deep chuckle she’d come to like far too much.
It turned out Uncle needed more help getting to bed than the children. Lula May gratefully surrendered that chore to Edmund. Once they had everyone settled, Lula May walked Edmund out to the hitching rail where Zephyr awaited his master.
“Why have you started tying him up?” She patted the stallion’s neck, admiring his conformation, and he nickered his appreciation. “First day you showed up here, you ground-tied him.”
“Well.” Edmund cleared his throat. “I think he’s developed an attraction to your pretty little mare.” He looked across the barnyard toward the corral, where Lady’s shiny brown coat gleamed in the lowering moonlight. Now Edmund gazed down at Lula May. Unlike out on the road, she couldn’t make out his expression due to the shadow cast by his Stetson. But his tone was gentle. Kind. Even questioning. “Sometimes I have a hard time getting him to go home.”
“Oh. I see.” Heat flooded her face. Was he talking about their horses or about his own feelings? No, she must not attribute such sentiments to him. Even if she wanted to deepen their friendship, she didn’t dare, not until she solved her problems with Uncle.
“See you at church on Sunday?” He gripped the pommel.
“Yes. We’re looking forward to it.” She stepped back so he could swing up into the saddle. As much as she wanted to watch him ride away, she forced herself back inside the house. No sense in fostering feelings she couldn’t follow up on.
She retreated to her office with the intention of making sure her property deed was still safely tucked in its hiding place. When she opened the door, a wave of stale cigar smoke struck her. Despite her orders and no doubt to spite her, Uncle had deliberately smoked in her private office to show her who was in charge. Her heart sank.
She sat at the desk and bowed her head against her crossed forearms, not daring to pray out loud, even with the door closed. Lord, what am I going to do? I want to trust You, but how can I know what You want me to do?
Pulling off her boots, she slid one sock-covered foot over the well-worn floor and up the right inside wall of the desk. Not a single bump or splinter gave evidence of the safe hidden within a complex system of sliding boards that eventually opened behind the false back of the inside of the desk. Using both feet, she dusted the whole area so it would look as though she’d simply removed her boots after a tiring day and sat down to work. To further throw off suspicion, she lit a kerosene lamp, pulled out a piece of scrap paper and started a grocery list. She’d leave it here on the desk half-finished. Was there anything else she could do to throw Uncle off? When his lawyer showed up next week, would he bring Sheriff Fuller out to demand that she surrender the deed? Only time would tell.
Later, as she lay in bed, she continued her prayer, yet all she could manage was, Help me, Lord. Please help me, over and over again. Instead of an answer, what she saw in her dreams was Edmund’s kind, handsome face with a gentle smile aimed directly at her, reminding her that she still hadn’t thanked him for saving her life.
Uncle slept late again the next day, giving Lula May time to devise some diversions. She chose one of her older, gentler horses for him and cleaned up Frank’s long-unused saddle. How she hated to think of Floyd in that saddle, which had long served a far nobler man.
Once up and dressed, however, he wasn’t in a mood for riding. Or much of anything else. He lingered long enough over breakfast, coffee and an old newspaper that the children came in for dinner before he finished. To prevent him from unleashing the abuse threatening on his brow, Lula May told the children to pack sandwiches. “You can take dinner to Calvin and Samuel.” Her older sons had told her they would spend the day in the pasture working the particular cow ponies they hoped to sell. “Then you can go picnic by the creek.”
“Goody.” Daniel shot a superior glance at Jacob. “We can practice what Mr. McKay taught us.” Just like the little rascal to lord it over his older brother that he’d had a bit of fun Jacob had missed out on.
Jacob opened his mouth as if to speak, but a quick glance at Uncle changed his mind.
Lula May winced inside. All the confidence he’d gained last week was slowly draining away under Uncle’s scowls. “And just what did he teach you?” She’d been too busy to ask Edmund or the children about how they’d spent Tuesday afternoon.
“Rock skipping.” Pauline looped an arm in Jacob’s like a wise little mama wanting to include all of her children. “We’ll show you, Jacob. It’s fun.”
After instructing them not to go swimming or to fall in the creek “accidentally,” Lula May sent them off for the afternoon of fun before turning back to Uncle.
Who was nowhere to be found. Not at the kitchen table, not in the parlor. Not even in her office, which she’d carefully locked last night before turning in. At last the unmistakable sound of Uncle’s snoring wafted down the hallway. Yesterday must have been harder on him than she’d thought.
She couldn’t get it out of her mind that he must have connected with his spy at the celebration. Not only had he imbibed in spirits, which none of her neighbors would have provided, but he’d been out of sight most of the day. Although after the horse race, she did see him accepting some cash from someone standing in the shadows. Why would anyone be giving him money? Was it about the horse race? She should have marched over to find out who that person was and exactly what was going on.
With a ranch to run, she didn’t have time to solve that mystery. Her twice-a-month laundry day was coming up tomorrow, and she needed to be sure the children’s clothes were mended before she washed them. As she gathered and sorted the garments, a random thought crossed her mind. Had Edmund been able to get that scorch mark out of his shirtfront? Maybe she’d find out at church on Sunday. If the scorch was still there, she might even offer to remove it for him. Or not. That would bring more condemnation from Uncle or Constance Hickey, the last thing she needed. Which reminded her that she’d need to wash Uncle’s clothes, including his linen suit. And iron all of it, too.
As if she didn’t already have enough to do.
* * *
When Edmund dismounted in front of the church tent on Sunday, about twenty young’uns gathered around him, both boys and girls.
“Are we really going to start the Young Ranchers’ Club again, Uncle Edmund?” Adam looped an arm around his in a proprietary way.
“Do we girls really get to come?” A little girl, whose face was familiar but whose name he didn’t know, gripped his other hand and gazed up at him. Her adoring trust touched that tender spot in his heart he tried to keep hidden.
Before he could answer, Josiah and Betsy approached him. Betsy looked a mite peaked, and Edmund prayed his sweet sister-in-law wasn’t coming down with something.
“You really think you can corral all of these little cowboys?” Josiah held his two-year-old son, Eddie, in his arms.
Blessed every time he saw his tiny namesake, Edmund reached out to the babe, who gripped his hand with baby fingers and grinned. “Guess I’ll have to. A promise is a promise.” In truth, he was mighty pleased to renew the lessons, even though the girls would add a complication. Maybe Lula May could help out. Maybe that would be just the thing to get her away from her uncle. That was, if she could spare the time from her own ranch work.
Right then, she drove her wagon into the church yard, with Calvin and Samuel following behind on their horses. The three young’uns piled out of the back, Bibles in hand. Only Floyd was missing.
Edmund disengaged from his brother and the group of children as politely as he could and strode over to the wagon. “I hope Floyd hasn’t taken sick.” This time, without asking if she wanted help, he reached up. As natural as if they’d done this often, she let him grab her waist and lift her down.
“Thank you.” She straightene
d her frilly blue dress and adjusted her matching bonnet. The color reflected in her eyes, making them as blue as the Texas sky above them. “Floyd decided to stay home.” To her credit, not a hint of dislike or disapproval shaded her tone. Not even relief.
“Too bad. He’ll be missing a fine sermon.”
Again, it seemed natural to accompany her and her brood into the tent and take a seat with them on one of the long benches halfway to the pulpit. If folks wanted to keep on staring, they could do so. The Lord had given Edmund a job to do, and he had no intention of letting others’ opinions and nosiness deter him from the task. Besides, they’d all come here to worship and learn about the Lord, so people would do well to pay attention to the preacher instead of Edmund and Lula May. Who were not courting, no matter what it looked like.
As if to deny his thoughts, Mrs. Constance Hickey, town gossip and troublemaker who’d caused his good friend CJ Thorn a heap of grief by spreading rumors about his brother Ned, peered at them from her perch on the wagon carrying the piano. The instrument had to be carted over from the schoolhouse every Sunday, and Constance Hickey played it with a fervor that far exceeded her talent. Right now, from her interest in Edmund and Lula May, she seemed to be forgetting her duty was to play that piano, not make judgments about people in the congregation.
* * *
With everyone watching their every move, Lula May didn’t have the nerve to tell Edmund she’d be happy to get that scorch mark out of his shirt. In fact, after Pastor Stillwater said his final “amen,” she made a beeline to where several ladies from the quilting bee had gathered to serve coffee for the monthly after-church social hour. A couple of her friends gave her knowing looks. Unfortunately, Constance Hickey also joined the group but didn’t lift a hand to help serve the beverages.
“Edmund McKay is a handsome man.” Mrs. Hickey’s pursed lips and clipped tone made it sound like Edmund’s looks were a moral failure of some sort. “Everybody’s wondered for years why he hasn’t married. Now we know why.”
A Family for the Rancher Page 15
