Frontier Secrets

by Anna Zogg

  Knowing his face would give him away, he kept his head lowered. “I’m hungry.”

  Rhett knew he sounded like an oaf, but he couldn’t help it. Not while under Marshall’s watchful gaze. The man might be grateful for his mare’s rescue, but that didn’t mean he would wholeheartedly approve of his niece getting friendly with a nearly penniless saddle bum.

  “Come in, then.” Ellie looked worried at the thought of him not eating. “I know Mrs. Johnson always has food in the kitchen. No need to go around back.”

  “I can find it.” He spoke quickly before she offered to serve him. “Thank you.”

  He hurried up the steps and through the house. Gratefulness and disappointment hit him simultaneously when Ellie didn’t follow. From the sound of Marshall’s voice, Rhett determined she went to his cabin.

  In minutes, he found a bounty—ranging from cold pancakes to slabs of ham. He carried a laden plate into the great room. The first sips of steaming coffee caused him to sigh in pleasure. Mrs. Johnson always had a ready pot, likely because her husband seemed to drink a gallon himself every day.

  After sitting, Rhett dug into the pancakes. He was nearly through when a form filled the open doorway. Marshall. Ellie scooted past him, heading for her bedroom. However, she left her door open.

  The ranch owner studied Rhett before taking a seat across from him. “Ellie tells me you’re educated.”

  As he sipped his coffee, he considered how to answer. And wondered why his boss wanted to know. “My mentor was strict about lessons.”

  “Mentor?” Marshall’s eyebrows shot up. “You didn’t attend school?”

  “Correct, sir.”

  “Hmm.” His boss looked away as though considering. “I suppose you learned the basics? Reading, writing and arithmetic?”

  Rhett nodded, hesitating to say more so as not to brag. From the next room, the swish of material told him Ellie was listening.

  “And? What else?” the ranch owner prodded.

  “Music. French. History.”

  Marshall’s eyes widened. “You good with numbers?”

  With caution, he answered. “Fair.”

  “Huh. I might have you help with the books. I hate all that figuring.” Marshall rose and headed to the door. “I was going to ask Ellie, but she’s too busy fussing over me.”

  “Am not.” Her protest came from the other room.

  Rhett hid his smile behind his coffee cup. Truth be told, his head spun at the thought of helping with the books. No more ditch digging? Fence fixing? The possibility pleased him.

  And the prospect of being closer to Ellie. Seeing her more.

  Eyes narrowed, his boss studied him from the doorway.

  Rhett set his cup down and met the man’s gaze, aware that he must take care with his answer. “I’m your employee, sir. If I can best help that way, then I’m happy to be at your service.”

  A cautious grin tugged at one corner of Marshall’s mouth. “Dunno if you can do more’n add two and two, but sounds like you’ve more education than all the cowboys here combined.”

  Rhett kept his expression neutral, not knowing if that was a good or bad thing. But after his boss headed back outside, Ellie peered around the corner. Her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes told him she was pleased by her uncle’s remark.

  Perhaps admitting being educated would prove to be a very, very good thing.

  * * *

  Later that day, Ellie sat by the large window, sunlight streaming over her, as she fought to line up two seams. Despite her care, the fabric slipped and pulled out the stitches she had painstakingly put in. Why had her mother not taught her to sew? Embroidery, yes. Sewing, no. Of course, they had servants for tailoring, but they only adjusted the store-bought clothing that she owned.

  Growling, she lined up the fabric and tried again. If this tiny little placemat gave her this much trouble, how much more difficult would a dress be? Even stitching up people’s wounds was less trouble.

  After stabbing herself a couple more times, she rolled up the material and shoved it back into her trunk. Perhaps Mrs. Johnson could give her a pointer or two. That is, if the older woman stopped working long enough.

  Wandering back to the window, Ellie looked out. Her uncle and Rhett had left soon after they had talked, but she found herself wishing they would come back. Mrs. Johnson claimed not to know their destination, so couldn’t estimate how long they would be gone. She did volunteer that a few other men had gone with them.

  Ellie was about to head to her bedroom when she saw her medical bag sitting in one corner of the great room. Stopping, she stared. Hadn’t she put it away the other day? After Mrs. Johnson had scraped her elbow, Ellie had applied some ointment. Shaking her head, she returned the bag to her room and then retrieved her bonnet.

  After slipping it on, she headed for the barn. The beautiful day begged for her to be outside, so why not Tripper, as well? Surely she could get a halter on the gelding and lead him to the small pasture by herself.

  Rays of sunlight streamed through the wood slats as she paused inside the barn, allowing her eyes to adjust. Motes of dust hung midair, floating on an undetectable updraft. Enthralled by the sight, she watched.

  A strange sensation, of a scintillating joy she had never before felt, rose inside. She lifted her eyes heavenward, aware for the first time that God was the reason for her happiness. The overhead beams seemed to part, revealing the heavens above.

  Neck tingling, Ellie sucked in a slow breath. Time and space seemed to burgeon, imbedding her soul with the weight of eternity.

  “Father?” After speaking in a whisper, she fell silent. She heard no audible voice, saw no flash of lightning, but she knew—without a doubt—that the Lord inclined His ear to her.

  The flapping of a bird, somewhere in the shadows, brought her back to earth. But Ellie hugged herself, overwhelmed by the lingering sweet sensation.

  The low groan of an animal startled her. She strained to listen. Again, she heard the sound. Tripper?

  She hurried toward his stall, confounded by what could ail him. As she opened the gate, she gasped.

  His head hung low, but what froze her blood was his skeletal appearance.

  “What...?”

  Tripper didn’t raise his head or nicker like he usually did. The thought struck her that he appeared as despondent as the first time she had seen him, before she stitched up his wound.

  He groaned again.

  “Tripper.” She moved toward him, gingerly touching his back. “What is it?”

  He appeared listless, not even raising his head when she walked behind him. Had his wound become infected? After a brief exam, she saw it was almost healed. She found no other injuries. His feed and water appeared untouched. Why wasn’t he eating?

  For many minutes, she remained in the stall, unable to fathom what was wrong. Thoughts ricocheted in her head. An unwelcomed idea burst upon her. Had Rhett known about Tripper’s condition and not told her? That question settled into a disturbing doubt. Perhaps he did know and hadn’t wanted to tell her because of his recent success of getting into Uncle Will’s good graces.

  “Hang on, Tripper.” She patted her horse’s neck. As gently as she could, she slipped the halter over his head, then led him from the barn. He stumbled as he walked as though blind. After Ellie put him in the pasture, she stood back to study him. Head still hanging, he didn’t move. In the bright light, she could see his coat had grown dull. Some patches looked bare.

  “I’ve failed.” The obvious conclusion came to her. She had overlooked something when it came to caring for the horse.

  Did Rhett know and not tell me?

  The relentless question continued to build in her thoughts. He said Tripper would make a full recovery. For a while longer, she watched her horse until her heart could take no more. Chest heaving, she marched back to the house to w
ait for the men.

  * * *

  “That’s pert near the ugliest horse I ever seen.” Whitey, reining beside Marshall in the yard, spoke loudly enough for the whole group to hear.

  Lagging behind the others, Rhett glanced around to see whose mount he meant. He caught sight of a gaunt chestnut in the pasture that looked vaguely familiar.

  “Whose bag o’ bones is that?” Marshall asked, still astride his mount.

  “Tripper.” The name escaped Rhett before he had the sense to shut his mouth.

  Five pairs of eyes fixed on him.

  He had to remind them. “Ellie’s horse.”

  Deafening silence met his pronouncement.

  “Looks to me,” Bartow drawled, “you ain’t been doing such a hot job taking care of him.”

  Rhett met his gaze, then stared ahead. Something was very wrong here, but he couldn’t understand what.

  “He’s suffering.” Marshall’s mouth tightened. “It’s obvious even from here.”

  “Want someone to put him out of his misery, boss?” The foreman’s tone contained an odd eagerness. When Marshall didn’t answer, Bartow tilted his head in Rhett’s direction. “Seems to me he should be the one to do it.”

  “True.” Marshall’s flinty gaze fixed on Rhett. “You were responsible for him. I’ll not have Ellie seeing him in this condition.”

  “Yessir.” What else could Rhett say?

  “Do it now. Before supper.”

  Transfixed, Rhett didn’t move as the men continued their way into the yard.

  “Take him up to the woods,” Marshall threw over his shoulder. “I don’t want my niece more upset than she’s bound to be.”

  Rhett nudged his gelding forward. The others were hitching their horses. As he rode by, Bartow glanced up. A satisfied smirk marked his face before he ducked his head.

  Why would the foreman be happy about the death of Ellie’s horse? Whatever the reason, the heavy rock that plunged into Rhett’s stomach told him this whole incident boded ill.

  Especially for him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A distant pop woke Ellie. Then a second. Were those gunshots? They sounded far away.

  Late-afternoon sunshine streamed into her bedroom. Earlier it had gotten so hot, she had opened her window a couple inches. But the warmth had lulled her into taking a nap.

  Still groggy, she sat up. Her mother’s diary thumped as it landed on the bed beside her. The words Ellie had read earlier jumped off the page.

  Lord forgive me for what I’ve done.

  The phrase puzzled Ellie. She couldn’t imagine what heinous crime Mama had committed. In the previous entry, she had described what it felt to be in love. For the first time in her life.

  Frank, her intended, wasn’t the one who occupied Adeline’s thoughts, but his younger brother—the dashing and handsome William who had arrived from the wild frontier.

  As Ellie read of the dances, parties and theater performances they attended, she couldn’t help but imagine what her own life would have been like if she remained in Chicago. What if Rhett had visited her there? Ellie dismissed the silly picture that came to her mind of him attending a ball or lounging in the stuffy parlors of Chicago’s elitists. He didn’t belong there.

  “I don’t either.” She fingered her mother’s diary as she spoke aloud.

  Only a few pages remained to read. Judging from the quietness of the house, Rhett, her uncle and the other men hadn’t yet returned. According to her clock, supper should be soon. The Johnsons must be delaying the meal until after Uncle Will’s arrival.

  Time to finish the diary. She found her spot. Her heart began to thump uncomfortably as she learned of her mother’s anguish because of something she had done. But what? Ellie had already read of the sorrow when she believed her beloved William had died. Adeline grieved that she would have to face life apart from him.

  But from the last entries, some new torment gripped her, evidenced by smeared ink and tear-blotched pages.

  Mother insists Frank and I marry as soon as possible. How can I agree to this? But I can no longer consider only myself. God’s will be done.

  A few more lines followed, then the diary ended.

  Ellie closed it, then reopened it to reread the last page. Why would Grandmother Tess insist they marry immediately? More importantly, why had Mama agreed when she was still grieving over William?

  Unless, of course, Grandmother already knew he hadn’t died. She wanted her daughter wedded to Frank before William reappeared. But Ellie couldn’t reconcile that fact with her mother’s torment.

  Ellie rechecked the date of the entry. June 10. If she remembered correctly, her parents had wed on the fifteenth of that same month.

  A cold prickle of premonition edged down her back.

  ...I can no longer consider only myself.

  Ellie reread the line several times. With shaking fingers, she recalculated when her parents had married and the date of her own birth. Almost eight months later.

  The truth hit her like a bucket of ice water.

  “Dear Lord.” Ellie’s voice shook as she spoke aloud. “Uncle Will is...is my father.”

  * * *

  Heart heavy, Rhett left the shelter of the woods. Taking his time, wended his way back to the ranch. He would have to tell Ellie his suspicions—someone had poisoned her horse. But when could he arrange some time alone with her? And would she believe him?

  Never had self-recrimination hit him as hard as it did now. He should have kept a better eye on Tripper. Should have checked his feed. Looked more closely at the gelding. Maybe Rhett could’ve acted sooner and either caught who was harming the horse or stopped it before the gelding got so sick.

  Dusk blanketed the ranch as he paused on a hill and stared at the well-lit house, smoke rising from two chimneys. He was in no hurry. Likely Marshall was waiting for his return, though. What could Rhett tell him?

  “Lord, give me wisdom,” he prayed aloud. “Please.”

  He nudged his mount on.

  As he drew closer to the yard, his boss rose from the chair in front of the cabin. A couple men by the bunkhouse straightened. One turned his head, as though speaking to his companion, who then hurried off.

  Seemed they were waiting for him.

  He slid off Wash and slung the reins over the hitching post. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Marshall stride toward him. But he stopped in the middle of the yard. Obviously he wanted a report.

  Gulping, Rhett walked toward him. Please, Lord, keep me from lying.

  “You take him to the woods?” Marshall asked.

  “Yessir.”

  The foreman arrived. He planted himself beside Marshall while his posse circled Rhett. Instinctively, his palm sought his knife. He didn’t like that two of them were standing behind him.

  Marshall scowled. “What do you want?” He singled out each of the four men with his glower. “This’s none of your business.”

  Their eyes flicked to Bartow, who dismissed them with a jerk of his thumb.

  A chill pooled at the back of Rhett’s neck and crawled down his spine at this further proof that Bartow was the true leader, not Marshall. How could the owner not see that?

  Only after the four slunk off did Rhett relax.

  Best be proactive. He fixed his gaze on Marshall. “I took the gelding past the ridge.”

  “I heard the shots.”

  “Two.” Rhett licked dry lips. “He’s gone.”

  “Good.”

  “Shots?” Ellie’s question sliced the air. She rushed down the porch steps, wrapping a shawl about her shoulders. “Who got shot? I heard gunfire.”

  Rhett opened his mouth to answer, but the words stuck. He would not lie to her but dared not reveal the truth—not with this audience.

  “Your buddy here killed you
r horse,” the foreman answered.

  “What?” Her voice rose as she stared at Rhett. “You shot Tripper?”

  Before he could speak, Marshall stepped between them. “I told him to.”

  Stepping around him, she advanced on Rhett. “How could you? He was my horse. You had no right.”

  “He was sick, Ellie.” Marshall spoke again. “Please understand. I can’t abide—won’t abide—letting a wounded animal suffer. Not if I can end its misery. I told Rhett—”

  “You should have told me. Asked me first.” Ellie glared at her uncle but settled her ire on Rhett. Tears choked her voice. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

  Rhett clenched an impotent fist. Her pain was his pain. He could relieve it in an instant. Regardless of the consequences, he had to admit what he had done.

  His gaze flickered to her uncle, who stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder. Rhett lowered his voice as he stepped closer, preparing to admit he had spared Tripper. “I’m sorry, Ellie, but it’s not—”

  “Go. Leave me.” She shook off her uncle’s hand as her gaze remained fixed on Rhett. “Leave me be.”

  Sobbing, she wheeled and rushed to the house. The slam of the door sounded as a death knell.

  Rhett gulped air, wanting to run after her and tell her the truth. Tripper was not dead—not yet, anyway. Pete had intercepted Rhett when he had been about to shoot the gelding. One look at the horse and his friend claimed to know what had happened—Tripper was poisoned. Pete asserted it wasn’t too late to save the horse.

  Assuming he had gotten to the gelding in time.

  Tomorrow might be another story. If Pete couldn’t help Tripper, the horse wouldn’t last the night.

  * * *

  “Miss?” A timid knock on the bedroom door followed Mrs. Johnson’s voice. “Your breakfast is on the table. And a nice, hot cup of tea.”

  Ellie rolled to her side, pulling the feather pillow over her ear. She didn’t want to eat. And she most certainly didn’t want to talk to anyone for the rest of her life.