Everyone here is the same… Mom was pretty sad after you left, I even found her crying in her room one afternoon, but she’s better now… Dad kept telling her that every Tucker left home at one time or another, just like he did, but that might have made it worse. Grandmother had a bit of a trouble with dizziness, but now she’s better and having her friends over for cards like nothing ever happened… you know how she is!
Enough about us, how are you? I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’re a teacher and that you’ve set out to have a life of your own! Every day, you’ll be meeting new people and doing things that you’ve never done before. That sounds like the greatest thing in the world, but I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that… I’ve never been as outgoing as you. It’s easier for me to stay where I know things than try something new. But now that I watch you succeed, it makes me want to strike out on my own! Who knows… someday I might be the one who gets to take the train out of town… maybe I’ll get to have a career, a new life out of Carlson. I’ll keep hoping and studying, all right?
I love you so much, Charlotte! Don’t forget how proud I am of you!
Your sister,
Christina
P.S. Have you met any nice men? I’m your sister and have a right to know!
Happiness blossomed brightly in Charlotte’s heart as she finished her sister’s letter, putting it carefully back in its envelope. She hadn’t known it when she’d returned to the ranch, but something from home had been just what she’d needed. Although Christina’s own self-confidence had often been lacking, she had never wavered with her unflagging support of her older sister.
Christina’s postscript made Charlotte laugh; she had no idea whether it was right to call Owen a “nice man,” but he had certainly had an impact on her. Whenever she thought of the man who had shouted at her, who had made light of her name, who had shared his feelings about his mother, or who had kissed her so passionately, she found her heart beating faster, filled with emotions she had never imagined.
I’ve definitely met someone…
But there was another matter that needed her attention, something that involved a man who was most certainly not nice. If her stay in Oklahoma was to remain pleasant, she couldn’t wait any longer to do something about him.
“Git after it! Git after it! Git after it!”
John Grant whistled and shouted, encouraging a pair of cowboys who were desperately trying to coerce an unbroken colt to follow their commands. His tan ears were pricked high, spittle flew from his mouth, and he held his head up and alert. Whatever movement the men made as they worked in tandem, the horse attempted the opposite, his hooves rising up before slamming down into the earth as geysers of dirt shot up at every step. To Charlotte, it looked like an awkward dance with only two willing participants.
Suddenly, the horse bolted hard to his right, directly toward one of the ranch hands who now was trapped between the obviously upset animal on one side and the fence on the other. The hand grimaced, preparing to be struck, but at the last second the horse veered slightly, just clipping the man with his front quarter. The blow was still tremendous; the man fell hard on his rump, his hat flying off in a cloud of dust.
“Dang it all!” he shouted.
“All right there!” John bellowed. “That’s enough of that for now! Why don’t we let that horse run around some and work some of that gol-damn steam out of what bothers him, then we’ll give it another go!” When he turned and noticed that Charlotte had come up behind him, watching a few steps away, he added, “Sorry ’bout the language, young lady.”
“Nothing I haven’t heard before, I’m afraid.” She smiled. As the cowboys made their way from the corral, she said, “That looks dangerous.”
“It is,” he agreed. “Horses don’t know their own strength. This one’s wild and don’t take to tamin’. Course you gotta convince him otherwise, and that’s when a fella’s most likely to get hurt.”
“How long does it usually take to… convince them?”
“A bit longer than I’d like!”
Watching John Grant smile as he talked about his horses, about his livelihood, Charlotte could see why he inspired such loyalty in Hale, Del, and all the other men. John was equally quick with a smile, a shouted order, or even the quiet surety of purpose she saw during the fire. He was friendly and a charmer. Charlotte wondered if she too hadn’t been taken in when she had agreed to teach Sarah Beck.
“How about for this horse?”
“Give him a few more of these sessions and he’ll start comin’ round.”
“That’s how I feel about some of my new students,” Charlotte said with a chuckle. “Whether it’s reading or writing, arithmetic or geography, I have them do it over and over again in the hopes that they’ll finally learn a little of what I’m trying to teach them.”
“None of your students could possibly be as hopeless as some of the mustangs we got comin’ through here.”
“Other than Sarah, you mean.”
John’s eyes narrowed and there was a beat of tension that passed between them, if only for an instant. “I didn’t quite mean it like that,” he answered. “How’re things goin’ with her schoolin’?”
“Better than I’d expected, to tell you the truth. We’ve been working on building her reading skills, and while she can get frustrated quite easily, she tries as hard as she can to sound out the words,” Charlotte explained, pausing before dropping her reason for coming to speak with him. “But there is a problem, a big one, although it’s not with her.”
“What’s that?”
Charlotte proceeded to tell John about her frightening encounter with a drunken Alan Beck outside the shack; she recounted his horrible rant about how his daughter couldn’t learn a thing, his inappropriate advance toward her in the pouring rain, and the fact that she had feared him. When John asked why she hadn’t told him when he had come to pick her up, she explained that she’d been too shaken to think clearly, and that now, after she’d time to give the matter thought, she’d decided to talk to him about it.
And I’ve been awfully preoccupied with Owen…
“I hate to say it, but I was afraid this might happen, though I sure hoped otherwise.” John frowned. “He looks the sort, like a man who’s been beaten down a bit and finds a drop of courage in a bottle ’cause he ain’t got none of his own to spare. Ever since him and Sarah arrived, he’s been hangin’ over the lip of that bottle, and from what you’re sayin’, looks to me like he finally fell in.”
“I don’t know if I can go back there until I’m sure it isn’t going to happen again,” Charlotte admitted.
“I guarantee you that it won’t, even if I have to stay out there with you the whole time. This is too darn important to me to have anythin’ gummin’ it up.”
“Why?” she asked, the question already out of her mouth before she could contain it.
“Why what?”
“Why is my helping Sarah so important to you?” Charlotte plunged recklessly forward, deciding that knowing was worth any potential risk. “When you took me out to the shack the first time, you asked me to give your offer a chance, to trust you, and to try to teach her something. I’ve done that. Now it’s you who should trust in me. Why would you want to risk our standing around town for someone you scarcely know?”
John was quiet for a long time, moving only to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. With every passing second, Charlotte felt certain that he would not tell her anything, but finally he nodded.
“Life is full of a lot of things, some of ’em funny, some sad, even some angry, but the hardest thing I’ve ever tried livin’ with is regret,” he began, his eyes wistfully staring off into the distance. “When you’re young, you’ll do all sorts of things, foolish and whatnot, things you wouldn’t if only you’d had a few more years on your bones to know better.”
John paused, falling so silent that Charlotte could hear the rebellious colt’s tail swishing away persistent flies.
&n
bsp; “Even a young lady such as yourself,” John continued, “even though you comin’ to Sawyer, leavin’ your home in Minnesota, is the first step in what’s sure to be a long life, I reckon even you’ve got a handful of regrets.”
“One or two,” she agreed, her thoughts again racing to her erratic relationship with Owen.
“Well, I’ve got one that weighs down on my soul.” John’s tone darkened. “Somethin’ I can’t rightfully make up for, and let’s just say that when I first took a gander at Sarah Beck and her situation, it was the sort of reminder a God-fearin’ man ain’t likely to ignore.
“In an instant, a man can make the sort of mistake he spends the rest of his life tryin’ to make up for. Me askin’ you to teach that girl, to try to help her make somethin’ better outta the mess of her life, it ain’t much, but it’s ’bout all I got these days.”
When John finished, he turned to look at her, allowing Charlotte to be witness to the competing emotions written on his face: anger, disgust, and shame colored his cheeks. There was much that she could assume from listening to his words, much that reflected poorly on him, but she resisted the urge to leap to any improper conclusions. She knew that she had been allowed to share a part of John Grant’s secret, an honor that was both flattering and troublesome.
“I know it ain’t the whole truth, least not spelled out as simple as a story you might read to your students,” he said, “but is it enough?”
“It’s more than I knew before.”
“It is at that.”
Given the modest success she had gained in trying to understand John’s interest in Sarah Beck, Charlotte felt optimistic. Ever since Hale had told her that Owen was suspected of fouling the well, she had considered how she might come to his defense. Since John was the owner of the ranch that was being threatened, he would be directly involved with any finger-pointing. If she wanted to clear Owen’s name, there was no one better with whom to talk.
The only way I’ll ever know is to ask…
But before she could say a word, Charlotte was surprised to see a commotion start on the opposite side of the corral, cross within spitting distance of the startled horse, and head directly toward where she and John stood; fast as lightning, she understood that it was Salt and Pepper, one after the other, racing just as quick as their legs would carry them. Though they were definitely interrupting, she couldn’t help smiling. She hadn’t seen them underfoot since the day of the fire when they had been frantically racing back and forth from the ranch house to the nearest barn, as if they couldn’t decide whether they wanted to be brave and fight the fire or fearful and hide in the house.
“And what are you two little rascals up to today?” John asked in false consternation.
As if he were providing an answer, Pepper began to yap furiously; Salt only occasionally barked one deep woof, filling in what his partner left out.
“Sounds important,” Charlotte commented.
“More than likely it ain’t nothin’ more than one of ’em tipped over the water bucket we keep out for ’em and they’re too lazy to head down to the creek.” He smiled. “I suppose I should go and see.”
“You wouldn’t want to make them angry,” she said, wondering if they usually got their water from the well that had been tampered with.
“No, I would not,” he answered, giving no hint that anything was wrong. Turning to leave, he only made it a step before stopping. “I promise you that I will take care of Alan, so are we settled?”
Charlotte nodded, her moment to stand up for Owen lost in a furious riot of barking dogs.
It was coming on dawn when Clyde Drake stepped out of his cabin, leaned against the railing of the porch, and lit himself a cigarette. His bleary red eyes were underlined by dark circles, testament to his almost sleepless night. Taking a deep drag, he waited for the tobacco to settle him, to calm his nerves. Absently, he rubbed at his throbbing temple.
It’s a hell of a mess I’ve gotten myself into…
The orders Clyde had been given by Carter Herrick weighed heavily upon him. It was a dangerous, bold plan. While the chance for the destruction of Grant’s property and injury to its hands was great, so too was the chance of Clyde’s own discovery. To make matters even worse, his fellow conspirator was again dragging his feet, complaining about the risk they were taking. They had been up half the night arguing about it. In the end, Clyde knew that he would have to be the one to realize Herrick’s demands.
Clyde Drake had never been the brains of an outfit, instead always content to be the muscle who did what he was told. At the orders of others, he’d beaten defenseless old men, burned houses down to the ground, slapped around women regardless of their age, and even robbed a bank in Kansas. He’d never regretted what he had done, content to fill his pockets with the money he was paid, even if that cash soon disappeared on whiskey and whores. But even a man such as he could clearly see that Carter Herrick was growing unbalanced and that his desire for revenge on John Grant was consuming him. He was becoming reckless, willing to risk it all as he became more and more desperate. But the real problem was that he wasn’t risking his own neck, but those of his men.
“And that means me,” Clyde mumbled to the dawn.
Carter Herrick wanted John Grant ruined, not dead. But there was going to come a time when Clyde was going to have had enough of dancing around the matter. Ruthlessness was a trait he had in spades. He had no problems with killing the man, even if that contradicted his boss. The man whom Herrick held in his pocket would undoubtedly try to stop Clyde, but he’d only get dead alongside Grant.
But first Clyde would do what Herrick asked. He’d do it carefully, cautiously, but he would do it.
Stamping out his cigarette butt, Clyde went back into his cabin in search of an elusive couple hours of sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
I SWEAR, one of the things that I’ve never been able to decide on, no matter how hard I try, is in what season would it be the best to die,” Constance Lowell declared, her withered hand rising to her chin in a pose of reflection. “Of course I know that we get no choice in the matter, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering, all the same.”
Try as he might, Owen could not think of a way to escape the old woman short of simply running away.
Owen cringed; he had been planning this moment for a couple of days, thinking that it would be nice to come and surprise Charlotte as she finished her day of teaching. After their passionate kiss, he’d resumed his job of picking Hannah up outside of the law office where she worked, but on this day he had made arrangements for his sister to get home by other means, leaving him free to pick up Charlotte after school.
He’d come early, parking on the street opposite the school. The wide, treeless road hadn’t offered any shade from the relentless beating of the summer sun, the truck’s cab roasting like an oven, so he had taken refuge under the paltry shade offered by a young maple tree in front of the funeral parlor; still, it had afforded some protection.
Owen hadn’t even noticed her approach.
“They all have their ups and downs, pros and cons, as my father was fond of saying at great length,” Miss Lowell kept on, either oblivious or uncaring about his indifference. “Spring can be beautiful with all of the flowers, but even in these parts it’s likely to rain. Summer is so very pleasant, but what if the day is just as unbearably hot as this one? Fall is my favorite time of year, but once again it’s a question of weather. Even winter, with an invigorating chill in the air, there’s a problem in trying to dig a hole in the hard ground! I just don’t know!”
… how I’m going to get out of this!
“Which one would be your favorite, young man?”
“Umm,” he stumbled, unprepared for her question, “I suppose I’d say fall.”
“But have you considered the problems of—” she started, but Owen had already managed to tune her out.
Of course, Owen knew all about Constance Lowell; if you spent enough time in Sawyer, she
was sure to be mentioned. The stories were many, each more unbelievable than the one before. He’d heard about the time she had stood up and applauded a particularly strong sermon for the burial of the town’s longtime grocer, about how she often showed up at weddings clothed only in black from head to toe, and about how even at her own father’s funeral it seemed to everyone in the congregation that she was having the time of her life. Somehow, Owen had always managed to avoid her… until now.
“Do you ever wonder how people will find out how you died?”
“Excuse me?” he asked, her question jarring him.
“Because I wonder about it all the time,” Constance chirped cheerily. “For most people you meet, word of their demise is circulated in print, written up in the obituary column in the newspaper, but for someone of my stature, maybe it would be broadcast over the radio,” she kept on as her eyes twinkled at the possibility.
Suddenly, the school bell rang, as pleasant a sound as Owen had ever heard in his life, and a sigh escaped his lips.
Children rushed out of the school’s front doors, boys and girls of all ages running past them down the walk like foxes intent on returning to their den, talking all the way. Constance paid the children no attention, prattling on as if they were not even there.
“Word of mouth would almost certainly carry news of my passing to most in town, going from ear to ear, especially over the telephone, but among the important people in town, I suppose—”
Finally, Charlotte came out of the school just behind another woman, an odd-looking lady who went off down the walk in a huff without a word.
Looking at Charlotte made Owen’s heart do funny things. There was no point denying he thought she was beautiful; the way that the streaming sun shone through her blond curls as they lay on her white blouse sent a tremor through his chest. When she finally noticed him, her lips curled into a curious smile, and he left Constance in midsentence.
Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] Page 15
