by Jo Goodman
“Yes.”
“It’s simple. He thinks you’re his.”
Raine rolled her eyes.
“And that you always have been.”
She slowly shook her head from side to side. “I cannot explain it. There’s no accounting for him being so single-minded. I have never encouraged him.”
“Love.”
“What?”
“Love accounts for it.”
“No,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t.”
“Then lust,” he said. “Greed, because he wants all of you. And pride because you wound him.”
“Wound him? His hide is as thick as a buffalo’s.”
His hide was at least that thick, Kellen thought, and his head was thicker. Still, he offered another explanation to Raine. “He has to pretend you don’t hurt him, doesn’t he? Otherwise he would look foolish to everyone within earshot.”
“Are you suggesting I should stop prickling when he calls me Lorrainey and sit on his lap when he invites me?”
“No.”
“Because I can tell you what would happen if I showed him a scrap of kindness.”
“I understand.”
“He’d have me right there. In the saloon.”
“I understand,” Kellen said again.
“On the bar.”
“I know.”
“With people watching.”
Kellen put out a hand. “Whoa.”
Raine stopped. She looked away and tucked her chin against her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” said Kellen. “Did it sound as if I were trying to excuse him?”
“No.” She raised her head, shook it almost imperceptibly. “It sounded as if you were trying to blame me.”
A muscle worked in his cheek. He waited for her to look at him again. When she finally did, he said, “I am more sorry than I can properly express.”
She smiled faintly. “Then you must be sorry indeed. I’ve been noticing that you know a whole lot of words.”
He returned her smile because she seemed to expect it. She had forgiven him even if he had not forgiven himself.
He tipped his chair onto its rear legs. “What was it you gave me to put in Eli’s drink? I’d like to know it’s handy when he comes around again.”
“Just a sleeping powder. Mr. Burnside, the druggist, makes it for me. Eli has a hollow leg. He never passes out. I usually slip it into his bottle myself, but he grabbed it too quickly. I was not confident you could manage him all evening. Did you have a plan?”
“Other than keeping him occupied?”
“Other than that.”
“No. No plan.”
“What did you think when his head hit the table?”
“That I finally bored someone to death.”
Laughter bubbled to Raine’s lips, leaving the imprint of a smile in its wake. “It was probably only a matter of time,” she said.
He grinned. “Well, thank you. Eli slept it off in the back room?”
“Not entirely. I asked the Davis boys to throw him over his horse. They escorted him back to the ranch. That probably accounts for his absence these last couple of evenings.”
Kellen dropped his chair onto all four of its legs. “I know what I needed to know. I should be going.”
“Before you go,” she said. “I want to tell you what happened to Ellen.”
Chapter Four
Kellen fell into a troubled sleep. The images seared in his mind’s eye could not easily be dismissed, and while each one passed eventually, it came around again like a dark, demonic horse on a carousel from hell.
At its barest bones, the story of what happened to Ellen Wilson could be stated in a single sentence. Isaac Burdick raped her, a pregnancy came of the violence, and she and the baby died in childbirth.
Raine had given him the bare bones first, and then she put flesh on them.
Through Raine’s eyes, he saw Ellen at fifteen: a winsome dervish of a girl with strawberry blond hair, green eyes, an unfettered laugh, and little understanding of her own charm. He saw the eighteen-year-old Isaac Burdick, too. The boy was a pared-down version of his older brothers, slimmer, bonier, but with the same thick black hair, pale blue eyes, and squared-off jaw. When he was culled from the Burdick herd, he was less confident of his place. Arrogance faded, along with the sense of entitlement.
Left alone, he might never have gotten up the nerve to do more than speak to Ellen in passing, but Eli and Clay, like Raine, saw where his affections lay. Raine feared that discouraging Isaac or cautioning Ellen would simply put the pair together more often. She watched instead and took every opportunity when Isaac was around to find something for Ellen to do that would keep her close. For their part, Eli and Clay were relentless in their ribbing. The first thing they did upon entering the saloon was to look around for Ellen and prod Isaac until he was moving in her direction. Raine eventually kept Ellen away from the saloon altogether.
Raine’s maneuvering did not escape the notice of Eli and Clay, and she made the painful acknowledgment that it might have spurred them to concoct their plan. The motivation was to outwit her. Isaac was hardly more than a means to do so. Ellen was of no account.
It happened a little over four years ago in May. The saloon was crowded with men fresh from a cattle drive. Most of them worked for the Burdicks. Raine had Walt to help her at the bar and two girls who no longer worked at the saloon to take orders and fetch drinks at the tables. Because Clay Burdick had a fondness for poking at Walt, Raine didn’t like to leave him alone for long. She already felt tied to the bar that evening and with heavier rope than usual because of the presence of Eli and Clay. She remembered feeling relieved when Clay finally stepped outside in search of fresh air. Eli stayed where he was, but he was less troublesome when he wasn’t showing off for his younger brother.
Either one of them.
Raine remembered the fear as something so powerful it stopped her heart and stole her will. At the moment she realized that Isaac had never been with his brothers, and that Clay was gone, she couldn’t breathe or move. The inability to act lasted mere seconds, but then, and every time she thought about it since, the time between comprehension and action yawned before her like a great chasm that she could neither jump nor bridge.
Raine took the backstairs two at a time to reach the third floor. Ellen was not in their apartments. Backtracking, Raine stopped on the guest floor, and saw Clay Burdick standing outside the door to the only room not let for the night. She charged ahead, her outcry mingling with the one she heard from inside the room. Clay braced himself for the impact of Raine’s body. She was the one who lost her footing and staggered back. The second time she launched herself at him had as little effect.
She cried out for Ellen and heard her name come back to her in a strangled voice as desperate and frightened as her own. She threw her fists at Clay while she screamed at Isaac to stop. Neither brother responded.
Clay was mostly amused by her efforts until one of her wild punches caught him on the nose. Instantly Raine squeezed behind him. She was flush to the door when she managed to open it and practically fell into the room.
Ellen lying on the bed. Ellen with her skirt bunched at her hips, her thighs spread wide around Isaac Burdick’s hips. Ellen’s terrified eyes. Her clenched jaw. Blood on her lip. Isaac panting, rutting, his bony fingers digging into Ellen’s pale buttocks. Apologies, too. He was sorry, so sorry, but he could not help himself. She wanted it. He knew it was the same for him. His brothers told him it would be like that.
Raine attacked, knocking Isaac sideways and shoving him to the floor. She pummeled his face until Clay got his arms under her shoulders and yanked her away. He held her back and told his brother he better finish what he started, better finish it, or he would. Raine howled as Isaac slowly got to his feet and stumbled back to the bed. Ellen hadn’t moved or tried to cover herself. She was all but senseless and only whimpered when Isaac dragged her closer to the edge of the bed and lifted her hip
s. He was no longer aroused. The beating, Raine’s presence, his brother’s taunting, perhaps Ellen’s pathetic cries, something had reached him. His cock was soft, a doughy lump between his thighs. He had to work to stir himself. Clay gave him direction. He was painfully slow in coming around but blessedly quick in coming.
Clay had no interest in Ellen but the violence and humiliation aroused him. Directing the scene was no longer enough. He held a squirming, writhing woman in his hands, a woman who had broken his nose and bloodied his face, and in his mind, the Widder Berry was better sport than her virgin sister.
He told Isaac to get his whore out of the way, and then he half carried, half drove Raine to the bed and threw her on it. The force that he used to push her down stunned her, but she twisted onto her back and drew up her knees. When he would have fallen on her, she threw all of her strength into her legs and drove the air from his lungs with the soles of her boots. She rolled to the edge of the bed and went over the side, scrambling to her feet and using a chair to block Clay’s advance.
Isaac was mute, backed into a corner by nothing but his guilt. Ellen lay curled on one side facing him. She did not react to her sister’s fight, even when the bed was jostled and shoved. Raine never asked for help. She told her sister to get out, to run. Ellen did not move.
Eli came upon them before Clay wrestled Raine back to the bed. He put a forearm around Clay’s throat and pulled him away. He held him in that stranglehold until Clay’s knees sagged. When he let go, Clay dropped to his hands and knees and drew deep, gasping breaths. Eli kicked him in the ribs for good measure.
His gaze slid over Raine. “Clay’s got no right to you. I told him that before.” He cocked his head to where Ellen lay. “Isaac didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just a boy himself. Uriah offered to buy him a whore at Miss Selby’s place, but he didn’t want one. Problem is, the only cherry he ever had was on top of one of Mrs. Burnside’s sundaes. Your sister was sweet on him. You know it, too. I reckon he was overcome the way young men are from time to time.”
He bent, yanked Clay up by the collar—no mean feat since they were equal in size—and gave him a shove toward the door. “He won’t be bothering you again, Lorrainey. Isaac, get out of here.” He held up a hand and then used his forefinger to point to Isaac’s open fly. “Sure, you’re proud of it, but it ain’t decent to wave it around once it’s been used.”
Raine believed the Burdicks did not expect Isaac to be arrested and, once arrested, did not expect he would stand trial. She was certain they never took the trial seriously because even at that juncture they never considered that the outcome was in doubt. Isaac was the only one who looked scared from time to time, but a single glance from his father could put real fear into him and make the other fade away.
The town was dependent on Burdick cattle and Burdick money. Uriah Burdick owned the bank. He owned Miss Selby’s whorehouse. He owned the corral where other ranchers sent their cattle for shipping. He owned several of the buildings along the main street including the government land office and Ted Rush’s hardware and leather goods store. He had the largest ranch and hired the most hands. He spread his money around. He did not come into town often, but when he did, it stirred the merchants to display their finest goods and the citizens to find yet another reason to loiter on the sidewalks. Standing just over six feet, Uriah Burdick was still an imposing figure, not as handsome as his sons, but carrying himself with more distinction and dignity. And it was always counted as a good visit when he returned to the ranch with no bodies left behind.
There were many reasons for people to back down. Some of them did, but what surprised Raine was how many did not. Ellen was well liked. She was incapable of giving offense, and she spoke to everyone she passed in the course of a day. No one had an unkind word for her, and the blame for what happened did not attach to her.
Dr. Kent examined Ellen and confirmed the rape. Marshal Sterling took a deputy with him to the Burdick ranch and brought Isaac back. Mr. Collins sent a telegraph to the judge in Rawlins, explaining the situation. The marshal didn’t hold out much hope for getting Isaac to trial outside of town, and the local magistrate, who would normally oversee the proceedings in a matter where there was no murder, lived in Uriah Burdick’s pocket during trying times. The station agent was the first to admit his astonishment when Judge Abel Darlington agreed to sit for the trial. Moses T. Parker, also from Rawlins, was appointed prosecutor. The jury came together after that. Jack Clifton. Harry Sample. Terrence McCormick. They were the first to take their seats, the first of twelve good men. John Hood was another, now dead, and then came Hank Thompson, chosen to be the jury foreman, now missing.
The trial lasted two days, but that was because Isaac Burdick’s lawyer called upon every ranch hand on Uriah’s payroll to give testimony that Ellen Wilson had seduced Isaac and then cried rape. Raine had never seen some of the men who were paraded in front of the jury, nor been aware of their number. It seemed to her that the ranks had swelled until there was a man for every cow. Judge Darlington eventually stopped the parade. The men and women who testified to Ellen’s good character had their voices all but silenced by the sworn statements of Uriah Burdick’s men.
Ellen took the stand and spoke without passion or inflection. Raine had expected that Ellen would look to her for strength during her testimony, but her sister carried that weight on her own. Ellen’s eyes never left Isaac Burdick, and every member of the jury saw it was Isaac who ducked her gaze and looked away.
Raine also gave testimony. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had cleared the floor of their mercantile to make space for the court. Every chair had someone sitting in it, and people squeezed in until they lined three walls shoulder to shoulder. Raine spoke clearly, only mincing those words Moses T. Parker judged as too crude or coarse for public airing. She was not allowed to say “cock,” even in repeating Eli’s words. There were things Clay said to his brother that the prosecutor also deemed unfit to be spoken by a woman. Even in Wyoming, where women enjoyed certain rights not shared by females outside the territory, plain speaking was not always one of them.
Raine was not hopeful at the end. The prosecutor had done well by Ellen, and the judge, who clearly could not show favor, seemed disposed to believe her story, but the verdict still rested with twelve men, any one of whom might have placed Uriah Burdick’s interests above Ellen.
It was the gasp that woke Kellen now. He heard it clearly in his sleep, exactly as Raine had described it to him. It was the collective indrawn breath of every person in the courtroom at the moment Hank Thompson stood and delivered the will of the jury.
“Guilty.”
Kellen pushed himself to sit up. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands until he saw sparks and then leaned back against the iron rail head. He knew exactly where he was, but he could still hear the murmurs in the courtroom. It was as if he were holding a conch to his ear and listening to the sound of the ocean trapped inside.
He got up, added coal to the stove, and then padded to the bathing room to throw cold water on his face. Afterward, he braced his arms on the vanity and stared into the mirror. The light from the stove in the other room was too meager to push aside the shadows. He suspected they would be there if he held a lamp up to his face.
“Christ, Kellen. What have you gotten yourself into?” If his reflection had answered, he would have taken it in stride. More than that, he might actually have been relieved.
He rubbed his jaw. His stubble was rough against his palm, like sandpaper. He breathed out slowly and felt the tension resting in his neck and shoulders begin to ease. As tired as he was, returning to bed did not interest him. He left the bathing room and found his robe and socks. He put them on before lighting the oil lamp. From the trunk he never unpacked, he took paper, pen and ink, and a blotter and set them on the table beside the lamp. He looked it all over and pronounced himself satisfied.
He sat down and began to write.
The end of the trial was not the end. Isaac
was sentenced to five years in the federal prison at Cheyenne. There was talk that he would not get that far, but not because there was any intention among the citizens of Bitter Springs to storm the jail and hang him. Rather, it was believed that the Burdicks would never allow the No. 3 train to reach the prison with Isaac on board.
Federal marshals joined Benton Sterling and his deputy to escort Isaac Burdick. The train came to a halt near Medicine Bow after midnight. A section of the tracks had been torn out and the timber made kindling for a bonfire the engineer could see in time to make the stop. The marshals were prepared to shoot to kill, starting with Isaac Burdick, but the masked raiders took passengers for hostages and Isaac was surrendered without a shot being fired. To rub salt in the wound, the raiders also broke into the mail car and made off with the strongbox.
No one doubted the Burdicks were responsible but proving it was another matter. Isaac was not at the Burdick ranch when the marshals rode out to get him, and the posse crossed tens of thousands of acres and never picked up a trail.
There was a shift in the mood of the town as time passed and Isaac could not be accounted for. Let sleeping dogs lie, some said, though never in Raine’s hearing. She sensed it in their actions, in the way some of them could no longer meet her eye, and when it became apparent that Ellen was going to have Isaac’s child, the blame that had never been her burden to carry was placed squarely on her shoulders.
It wasn’t her fault that she was raped, but that she was pregnant, well, she must have wanted that. Couldn’t she forgive Isaac? If he was found, did she truly want him to spend five years in prison? After all, he was the father of her child.
Everyone didn’t hold to the same sort of thinking, but for Ellen it was as if the censorious voices were around her all of the time. Nothing Raine said made it different. Raine held out hope that the child would bring Ellen back to her and made herself believe she could love Isaac’s baby if Ellen’s own heart was healed. That dark irony never came to pass.
