by Jo Goodman
“Mail order. That’s what he meant.”
“Oh.” She finished the roll, dusted off her hands, and cut into the apple. Her mouth watered. “How did Eli take it?”
“Well, he didn’t shoot me.”
“Do you want a slice of this apple? It’s crisp.” She took his groan as refusal. “So how did you explain it to him?”
Kellen punched his pillow once and rolled onto his back. He opened his eyes, which was a mistake because he saw the apple. He put out his hand, palm up. “Eve.”
She glanced at him sideways. “Did you say ‘Eve’?”
“Please. I said please.”
Raine dropped a slice into his hand. “It sounded like you said ‘Eve.’”
“Huh.” He ate the apple slice, and then related everything he’d told Eli.
Raine took it all in, and skepticism slowly gave way to astonishment. “He believed you? He actually believed I turned down his proposals because I couldn’t bear to see him estranged from his father?”
“He certainly seemed to.” Kellen offered a modest shrug. “But then I was convincing. I almost believed it myself.”
She gave him another slice of apple. “Lies come easy to you, don’t they?”
“Well, I suppose it depends on your perspective. Lying is difficult, but telling a story? That comes naturally.”
Raine chuckled. “Not to Ted Rush it doesn’t. I think he must have told everyone tonight how it could have been his neck that was broken because he has a porch and steps and sometimes even walks on them.”
Kellen finished his apple wedge and shook his head when she offered him another. “Ted’s mistake is that he’s always at the center of the story. He’d do better if he observed more and took himself out of it. Like Walt. He tells a good tale because he watches people, pays attention to the details.”
“Not many folks listen to Walt.”
“Their loss.”
Raine nodded. She put the apple core and the knife on the table then lay down next to Kellen, turning on her side as she stretched. She slipped one arm under her pillow to elevate her head and studied his profile. Strands of his rumpled, chestnut hair looked burnished in the lamplight. She itched to push back the unruly spikes that fringed his forehead, but let them be because they made him seem a little disreputable, and it was better for her when she thought of him that way.
He blinked, drawing her eyes to his thick, dark lashes. “It’s a shame God gave you those eyelashes.”
“So my sisters tell me.”
“They don’t make you look pretty, though.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“The way they shade your eyes sometimes…when you’re looking around but not so that anyone can be sure…I think they make you look dangerous.”
“I’m glad to hear that, too.”
“You want to look dangerous?”
“Sometimes.” He turned his head just enough to let her see the pointed lift of his eyebrow. “Sometimes I only want to be left alone.”
“I’m thinking you should have slept somewhere else.”
“It’s occurred to me.” He returned to staring at the ceiling.
“When did you move all your things here? I assume these are all your things.”
“Walt did it for me while I was in the saloon. Most of the hotel guests were there, so it seemed like a good time.”
“He never said a word.”
“Not all of us chatter like we’re freezing.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“I think you just did.”
Raine sighed. “There’s just one other thing.”
Kellen didn’t respond. He waited to hear it.
“Mr. Jones asked me to ask you if you would mention the survey when you go out to the Burdick place tomorrow.”
“Well, that explains why you’re still wide awake and pushing me in that direction.”
“So he’s right. You are going out there tomorrow.”
“Today, now. I want to leave as soon as I can after there’s light.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
“In the morning, if you were awake. If you weren’t, I would have left a note. And yes, before you ask, I harbored some small hope that you’d be sleeping.”
“Coward.”
“And yet I am not offended.”
“Don’t pretend you’re more afraid of me than the Burdicks.”
“But I’m not afraid of the Burdicks. You, on the other hand, terrify me.”
She pushed up on her elbow so she could see his face more clearly. “You don’t mean that.”
He shrugged.
“You do mean that?”
“You’ll have to decide. I said it. I’m not going to explain it.”
“Could I stop you from going out to the Burdick ranch?”
“Don’t ask. You’re not going to try. We have an agreement, and this is part of seeing it through.”
Raine gave him a faint, reluctant nod. “Do you know when I can expect you back?”
“Late. Very late, I think. It could be the following morning, depending on whether I’m invited to spend the night. Eli didn’t mention that, but he did say I would be joining them for dinner. They intend to take me on a tour of the ranch.”
“That could require more than one day. It’s a big spread.”
“I don’t need to see it all to write about it. I explained that to Eli. He also knows that I want to interview Uriah. His father apparently is looking forward to talking to me.”
“If he is, it’s because he thinks he can use you.”
“I’m certain of it. Perhaps he has a grievance that he wants to make public. The New York World is a very public stage.”
“You know you don’t actually work for Pulitzer.”
“I do realize that.” He remembered saying something very like it to her, but the subject had been their marriage. “Your point is nicely made.”
“Thank you.”
“Are we finished now?”
“Yes. You can go back to sleep.”
Kellen turned, pulled her into his arms. “I’m not as interested in sleeping as I used to be.”
The eight-mile ride out to the Burdick homestead was uneventful. Kellen knew from Raine and Walt that he was on Burdick land at mile five. Marshal Sterling had been shot somewhere between miles six and seven. Kellen did not think he was riding into a trap; nevertheless, the hair stood up at the back of his neck and he remained watchful.
He was met by a couple of ranch hands when he got in sight of the house. He declined their escort. They went with him anyway, not because they were expecting trouble, but because it was what they were told to do when they saw strangers close to the house. Kellen approved of their ask-questions-first policy.
Eli and Clay came out on the porch of the log home just as he was dismounting. His escorts took Cronus off to the corral to care for him. Kellen rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension still pulling his muscles taut. Wind buffeted his duster around his legs. He reached into the pocket of his long coat and removed a notebook and pencil. When he looked up, Clay’s hand was hovering near his gun.
Kellen held up the notebook. “I’d like to sketch the house, if you don’t think your father will mind. I don’t take photographs myself, and after what you said last night, I didn’t want to presume that I could invite Mr. Petit to come with me.”
“Good thinking,” Clay said.
Eli gave approval for the sketch, and Kellen roughed it out quickly. It was a large house but low to the ground and so wide that it looked as if it squatted on the land. It was solidly built and generally in good repair, with curtains at every glass window and a fine oak door. The features that had been added for Mrs. Burdick’s pleasure, such as the window boxes and the porch swing, were still present but had been allowed to weather and now appeared fragile. Walt had warned him to tread carefully around any mention of Uriah’s runaway wife, and looking at the shabby state
of the empty window boxes and the listing porch swing, Kellen knew it was good advice.
When Kellen finished the sketch, he approached the porch and held it up for Eli and Clay to critique. Eli said it wasn’t bad. Clay offered a grunt.
“You want coffee, something to drink?” asked Eli.
“Nothing.”
Eli nodded. “Uriah’s inside. He wants us to show you around first. He says there’s no sense talking to you before you know anything, and he figures a feller from back East needs more than a little education.”
“I’ve been to other ranches,” Kellen said.
“But you’ve never been to this one, and Uriah thinks it’s the only one that counts. There’s a fresh horse waiting for you. If you don’t want anything before we go, then we’re just wasting time. C’mon.”
They set out northwest and rode for miles along the creek. Kellen’s horse was a frisky, cinnamon-colored mare that required a firm hand. He was aware of the brothers watching how he handled the animal and suspected they would call an early halt to the tour if he did not manage the mare. Kellen showed them that he could. Eli gave him a quick, approving nod, while Clay, who sat easy on a great gray beast he called Phantom, looked simultaneously disappointed and impressed.
As they rode, Eli pointed out landmarks and talked about grazing and herding and branding the cattle. Clay talked about the history of the place, how his father drove longhorns from Texas to start the spread and eventually mixed the breed with better beef cattle when the advent of the railroad meant long drives were no longer a necessity.
They veered away from the natural boundary of the creek to show him where barbed wire fenced some of the property. When it was all open range, the cattle wandered everywhere. That suited the longhorns, but cultivating good beef cattle meant restricting them in smaller areas in the better grasslands. The best beef for market came from cows that didn’t have to walk so far for food that their muscles turned tough and stringy. Barbed wire also meant they didn’t have to hire as many hands to manage the herds.
Kellen asked them about the blizzard from the winter before and how it had affected them.
“Just about killed Uriah,” Eli said. “Hard times, for sure.”
Clay nodded. “We could only bring in some of the cattle. Two of our best hired hands died trying to get to town for feed for the horses and hens. They lost their way, and they’d been to town and back hundreds of times. That’s the kind of storm it was. Over and over. From October to March. The white blinded you when it was falling, and after the snow stopped and the sun came out, well, there’s no hat Stetson makes that keeps the glare out of your eyes when it’s coming at you from the ground.”
“Cattle froze where they stood,” said Eli. “Some got buried in drifts. Most of them just starved.” Eli extended his arm and waved it in a wide arc that encompassed all the land to the horizon. “It was a graveyard. After the thaw we were working day and night, dragging the dead cattle to bonfires to keep the wolves from picking off the animals we had left.”
Clay said, “It will take years to recover, build the herd back.”
“What about water?” Kellen asked.
Eli tugged on his woolen scarf so it covered the lower half of his chin. “You saw the creek. That serves the cattle on this parcel of land, but it’s been known to dry up in the summer. We need to own the source in the mountains, maybe build a dam and reservoir to keep the flow of all the creeks steady.”
“Folks in town would have somethin’ to say about that,” said Clay. “Same source supplies their wells. The Pennyroyal taps into an underground spring to get its water.”
“And a dam would shift the flow?”
“Regulate it, let’s say. They’d still have water.”
Kellen understood what Clay didn’t say: The Burdicks would be the regulators. He decided he would wait until he met Uriah to mention the government survey.
They stayed in the saddle all morning, shared some jerky and biscuits by a grove of cottonwoods and box elders in the afternoon, and headed back before they reached the parcel where new barbed wire fencing was being rolled out. Kellen could see men working in the distance, but when he asked if he could watch, Clay abruptly announced that Uriah was waiting for them. Eli shrugged, agreed with his brother, and that was that. It was the only occasion that Kellen asked if he could make a sketch that his request was declined. Lack of time was the reason offered, and Kellen accepted it without an argument.
It was nearing dusk when they reached the ranch. They gave their horses over to the hands and went into the house through the back. Clay showed Kellen where he could hang his coat and hat, and Kellen transferred his notebook and pencil to his vest. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with loaves of bread fresh from the oven. Beef stew simmered on the stove. Kellen’s mouth watered.
The cook, a thin man of indeterminate years with more gristle on his bones than meat, raised the long wooden stirring spoon as a warning to Clay to stay away from the bread. “Your da’s waiting in the parlor. Shake the dust off somewhere else unless you want grit in your stew.”
“That’s O’Malley,” Eli said.
Kellen looked back at the man who now worked for the Burdicks in the same capacity Walt once had. O’Malley, tough as old shoe leather and with a face equally creased, looked as if he could take care of himself. The abuses that Walter Mangold suffered at the hands of the Burdicks weren’t likely to be visited on this Irish immigrant.
Uriah Burdick was pouring a whiskey for himself when they entered the parlor. He offered a drink to all of them in place of a greeting. When he put the glass in Kellen’s hand, he paused.
Kellen stood still for the scrutiny. It was nothing he hadn’t experienced upon seeing his own father after a long absence or even a short one. Apparently this met with Uriah’s approval because he looked at his sons in a manner that said, “See?”
“So you’re Coltrane,” Uriah said.
“I am.” When Uriah released the whiskey glass, Kellen thanked him for the drink.
“Eli tells me you’ve wedded and bedded the Widder Berry.”
Kellen didn’t blink. “She’s my wife, yes.”
Uriah grunted softly, waved a hand to indicate that they should all sit. He put himself between the wide arms of a plump, gently worn, velveteen-covered chair. “I considered rescinding the invitation once Eli told me about your marriage. I even suggested to my son that in light of this new circumstance, he should have consulted me before he went ahead and offered you our hospitality.”
“I understand. You think I have competing interests.”
“Competing interests,” he repeated. “Don’t you?”
“I have a job to do, Mr. Burdick. I will write a fair piece. If you like, I’ll let you read it for accuracy and comment before I send it back to New York.”
“Then I can make changes?”
“Yes, to the facts if they’re wrong. And if you think I’ve misrepresented something you said, you can comment on it or any other part of the story. I’m interested in your ranch. The cattle market is making a lot of men money, but few people outside of ranchers like yourself and the men who work in the Chicago slaughterhouses understand how it gets from hoof to plate. No one in New York knows how little of the quarter they spend on a Sunday roast ends up in your pocket.”
Uriah was silent, thoughtful, as he sipped his whiskey. “Everything you’re saying would sound a whole lot better if you hadn’t taken up with Lorraine Berry.”
“She’s the reason I’m here, Mr. Burdick. The idea for the story came after we were married. I got the newspaper to pay for my ticket out here on the strength of the story I promised them. I made some stops along the way, spoke to other ranchers. I have enough notes now to make it a four-part serial. I’d like to have enough for five parts. Something to run all week.”
“A week’s seven days, son.”
“Well, if you give me something to work with, maybe Pulitzer will start it on Sunday and push it through Sat
urday. I’ve made some sketches that the artists at the World can improve. Would you like to see them?”
Uriah nodded and accepted the notebook that Kellen handed him. He looked through it, glancing at the sketches but taking his time when he found notes. He closed it, gave it back, and took up his whiskey again. “Seems like you were paying attention.”
“The most important part of my job.”
Uriah leaned forward. “Then pay attention to this. I’ll talk to you, say my piece, and if I like what you’ve written, there might be more, but if I get a whiff of Lorraine Berry’s honeydew all over this story, I’ll put you down like a horse with colic. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Kellen leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees, and rolled the tumbler of whiskey between his palms. He met Uriah Burdick’s stare straight on and never wavered from it. “You’re an easy man to understand, Mr. Burdick. You don’t mince words. Neither do I. Lorraine Berry is my wife, and while I’d like to tell you that you have to respect her at all times, what I require is that you respect her within my hearing, otherwise you’re disrespecting both of us. I see quite a number of books on your shelves and another open on the table at your side. You impress me as someone who is learned, so when I tell you that the pen is mightier than the sword, I expect that you know what I mean.”
Except for the crackle of logs in the fireplace, the room was silent. Kellen wasn’t sure that Eli and Clay were breathing. In contrast to them, Uriah’s nostrils were flared and his chest rose and fell deeply. Kellen did not allow his eyes to stray, and in the end it was Uriah who blinked.
“I appreciate a straight shooter,” he said at last. “Even when he’s not aiming a gun at me.” He knocked back his whiskey and set the glass aside. “I want to hear your questions. Eli. Clay. You boys go see if O’Malley needs some help. Maybe he won’t poison us tonight if you set the table.”
