by DiAnn Mills
“That I’d like to see. Pete said she’d turned into a good shot. His reports about her were outstanding, and I’m glad she’s spending her hours teaching. I’m proud of my girl.” Murdock swore. “I hate that Pete’s gone.”
“I believe Eva wants to know if he has family.”
“He does.”
“I’ll let her talk to you about that. Do you have any more questions?”
“Just be careful and keep Eva safe. Let me think about where I can send her and get back to you. Right now my mind is blank. Do you really think someone there is involved?”
“I do.”
Murdock moaned. “I wish I knew who or what was behind all of this. I’d hoped that sending her there was simply a precautionary measure, but now I see the danger keeps compounding. If only we understood the killer’s motives.”
“Yes sir. I’m going to do my best to keep Eva from harm.”
“Tahoma, tell your father I’m sorry I didn’t let Eva know about his friendship with Andrew. Bennington forbade it.”
“Why’s that?”
“I have no idea.”
Murdock was being kind. If Eva had been told about her father’s friendship, she would have wanted to continue helping his people like her father had. From what Tahoma’s father had said about Bennington, the old man didn’t believe in helping others.
Tahoma handed the phone to Eva. As she talked about her desire to send money to Pete’s family, she swiped at a tear.
It was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.
Wouldn’t the sheriff like to see that?
CHAPTER 27
I crawled into Tahoma’s truck so tired that a sense of numbness had spread throughout my body and certainly my brain. The sheriff had me look at photographs of wanted men, but none of them looked like Walt Chambers. Again I drank in the smells of the truck—of the outdoors—and of Tahoma. How could one man have made such an impression in my heart? I wanted to talk to him about Pete and ask if he had any idea who’d killed him. Why had the killer spared me once but then changed his mind? Did Tahoma have any answers? Or did Pete die with the information? So many things had been kept from me, and that knowledge shattered my confidence. It also infuriated me.
I was a grown, educated woman. But my sheltered life had left me ignorant of the ways of the world. I wanted to learn it all without delay.
In my exhausted stupor, I remembered my foolish words to Tahoma on the way to Santa Fe. He’d been right. We were from two different worlds, and he’d never be at home in New York. At times, home was a distant shore. I belonged in the gray stone mansion with Victoria. Yet the past weeks had changed me, strengthened me, and I’d never be the same. Neither did I want to be the pitiful creature who’d boarded the train to New Mexico. I should have stayed and fought, but then I’d never have known Tahoma or Charlotte or Pete or Rex or my beloved Monarch boys.
My pondering solved none of the problems plaguing me. Right now, I needed to stay awake.
Tahoma touched my shoulder. “Eva, try to sleep.”
“I can’t. It would be selfish of me when you have to drive back home.” I caught my words and leaned my head back against the seat. “I said ‘home,’ didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Before my father died, he used to take me on many of his trips. At night I’d always want to go home. One night, in between my tearful pleas, he told me something I’ve never forgotten.”
“What’s that?”
“He said home was being with those you loved. A safe place. Not a building, but a warm spot in your heart. I didn’t quite understand it then, but I do now. Ghost Ranch is my home until this is all over.” I wished I hadn’t used the word “loved,” for I’d already said too many unwise things this evening. With my weariness, I needed to cease talking.
“During medical school, I missed everything associated with home—our ways, family, food, the peacefulness of the high desert. The sounds and the culture of those living in Chicago made me homesick. Only the intense drive to become a doctor kept me rooted there.”
I abandoned the need to be quiet for the desire to hear his voice. “Did it change you?”
“I became a Christian there.”
Since I’d learned that being a Christian meant more than going to church, his confession intrigued me. “How did your family accept your faith?”
He didn’t answer for several moments. “I’ve never told them.”
I thought Tahoma was the strongest man in my life and that he could withstand any storm. My hero, my warrior, was not perfect. What other things did I not know about him?
“But someday soon, I will. I must,” he said.
Another silence fell between us.
I’d made many mistakes in my life, and I’d surely make many more. I refused to dwell on his inability to tell his parents about his faith. After all, I hadn’t been able to make a decision about Christianity myself. And the deterring factor was Victoria, who didn’t believe in any deity.
I breathed in deeply and considered another matter. “Tahoma, did Mr. Murdock indicate I needed to leave Ghost Ranch?”
He sighed. “He’ll let you know. If one of the ranch hands is involved, you’re no longer safe there. It may take time for him to find a new place.”
“I’ve called them all my friends.”
“Eva, this will be over soon.”
I thought of Pete. “I hope so. I’m tired of living in fear for myself and others.”
I sat upright and chilled at the realization.
“What’s wrong?”
“This is Thanksgiving. I’d completely forgotten.” I eased back against the seat. “It’s hard to find something to be thankful for. Does that sound wicked? Selfish?”
“We’re alive.”
I nodded. “I must look at every day as a gift.”
“Your father loved you very much,” he whispered. “Love is a true gift.”
“I miss him. I don’t remember much about my mother, except she was beautiful and had a radiant smile. Father never stopped grieving for her.”
He took my hand; his callosed fingers spoke of hard work and determination. Sweetness like warm honey spread through me. Tahoma made me feel special, and I liked that. “Your father would have been very proud of you tonight.” He released my hand, but I still felt his firm hold. “I know I was.”
I closed my eyes to secure this memory forever. Some women would be disturbed about a man watching her every minute of the day. But instead I was secure, and the knowledge helped me to be a better person. While Tahoma and others were ensuring my safety, I was growing stronger. If only I could share my intimate thoughts with Victoria, but she’d not understand. My letters to her were superficial, and I found them harder and harder to write. So many topics were taboo when it came to her. At times I wondered which one of us lived in the real world.
I wanted to dwell more on my profound feelings about Tahoma and life, but sleep overcame me.
CHAPTER 28
After sleeping later than usual because of our early-morning return from Santa Fe, I wanted to stay in my cabin and ponder what I should do next. Instead I forced myself to walk to the cookhouse for Thanksgiving dinner.
Grandfather was dead. Pete was dead. Charlotte, Tahoma, Rex, and many other fine people were in danger. And when I dwelt on the tragedies of late and what might happen next, I had to include the Monarchs, Mr. and Mrs. Benally, Mr. Murdock, and Victoria. Where would I go if the killer wore the disguise of one of my new friends? But my desire to stay here caused an ugly streak of selfishness to wind through my veins.
I reached for the door at the cookhouse with the understanding that those inside valued Pete too. According to Charlotte, his good nature had kept the ranch hands in high spirits. Most of the men inside would not be in a mood for a celebration. What about the killer? Did he mask his deed with a show of grief?
I raised my shoulders and decided to hide my sorrow and fears.
I
nside the cookhouse, Charlotte and the cook had labored to prepare a fine meal of wild turkey, smoked beef, mashed potatoes, hot buttered corn, and many other dishes native to this area—warm corn and flour tortillas filled with beans, pork, and green peppers. I found it difficult to fill my plate, and the thought of eating soured my stomach. The ranch hands mumbled thanks for the fine display of food, but the normal laughter and teasing had disappeared. Festive occasions should never be tainted with blood.
I glanced around the room and saw many eyes on me. If they knew Pete’s true mission to Ghost Ranch, they’d be sure to blame me. As well they should.
Everywhere I looked, I saw signs of Pete: the way he walked with his head held high, the way he wore his hat pulled down over his eyes like an outlaw on a movie screen, and his easy laughter. The cliché that one didn’t miss someone until they were gone repeated in my mind. The losses over the years saddened me even more. I remembered my mother rocking me and my father giving me a riding lesson. Memories marched ahead to Grandfather and how he perplexed me so, but I missed him. And Pete… I’d once thought he might be the killer. How wrong I had been.
I prayed for God to keep those who had befriended me safe. And I must lift my head because my friends deserved my best.
Looking around the cookhouse again at all my new friends, I remembered last Thanksgiving. Grandfather, Victoria, and I had sat at the long table in the dining room with an electric, three-foot-wide crystal chandelier twinkling overhead. A crackling fire offered warmth and atmosphere while we dined on heirloom china. Grandfather always ordered beef Wellington for Thanksgiving, but I didn’t remember what other foods were served or the conversation. I did recall Grandfather complaining about a spot on the silver. I wished I’d requested the leftovers to be sent to needy families. But I hadn’t even considered it then. How shallow of me.
Did Pete’s family have food to eat this day? Did his wife worry about how she’d feed their family? Would his children be able to attend college? I made a mental note to remind Mr. Murdock to take care of them. At times, I’d been rude to Pete.
“Miss Eva,” Rex said. “You haven’t eaten a bite.”
I stared into his rugged face. “I’m sorry. I keep thinking about Pete and other things.”
He stepped over the bench beside me and sat down. “I know it’s hard, but we have to go on. That’s what Pete would have wanted.”
“I just have no appetite.” I picked up my fork. “But I’ll do better, to honor him.”
He sucked in a breath. “I understand. We all hate what’s happened. But look at today this way. The cook and Miss Charlotte worked since before sunup to fix all this food.” He gestured at the table. “And you made these tables look purdy with special pieces of glass and ribbons and dried flowers.”
I inhaled to keep from crying. I’d decorated the tables before Charlotte and the cook arrived this morning because I didn’t think I could manage Thanksgiving.
“If one of these men made fun of your work, wouldn’t you feel bad?”
I swallowed an invisible lump in my throat.
“Well, I’m thinkin’ that’s how the cook and Miss Charlotte feel.”
He’d made his point. I picked up my knife and sliced a bit of turkey. “I’ll not ruin anyone’s day, especially Thanksgiving.”
“Good girl.” He patted my arm. “You’re one special little gal.”
I smiled at him, wishing Grandfather had displayed some of Rex’s kindness. I vowed to spend less time feeling sorry for myself.
I hurried through my dinner and carried my plate to the kitchen. “An excellent meal,” I said to Charlotte and the cook. “The apple pie was the best I’ve ever tasted. Why don’t you two eat, and I’ll finish serving the men?”
The chubby man shook his head. “I can’t do that, Miss Eva.”
I handed him a clean plate, more determined than ever. “Yes, you can. The food is already prepared. It’s time for you to relax and enjoy this fine day.” I picked up another plate and handed it to Charlotte. “You too. I can handle this. You have taught me well.”
She eyed me strangely.
“Please,” I said. “I need to do this.”
She removed her apron and took the plate. “Have you ever served food to anyone before?”
I nibbled at my lower lip. “No, but it’s time I started.”
She kissed my cheek and held out her plate. I picked up the serving fork for the turkey platter. “White meat or dark?” If I hadn’t heard her ask the same question, I wouldn’t have known to say it.
“Both.”
I found the choicest pieces then spooned the potatoes, dressing, gravy, and more. She seemed pleased, but we didn’t have time to talk, because ranch hands were lined up for second helpings and dessert. This was surely my best decision of the day…for Pete…for Thanksgiving.
Time flew as I filled plates and scooped up large slices of apple pie and ladled rich cream over each piece.
“Need some help?”
My attention whirled to Tahoma. A delicious sensation swept through me, sweeter than any pie. His hair hung to his shoulders. Oh my, he was incredibly handsome. I hadn’t seen him enter the cookhouse. “Happy Thanksgiving. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I heard there was a celebration here today.”
I placed a slice of pie on a man’s plate, but he didn’t want cream. Instantly I turned my attention back to Tahoma. “Have you had your dinner?”
“We don’t do Thanksgiving.”
I wasn’t surprised. “You must be hungry.” I nodded toward the plates. “Better hurry before it’s all gone.”
“After the pie’s served.”
He joined me by placing spoonfuls of cream atop the slices. We both laughed when a young ranch hand requested one plate for pie and another for cream. The mood in the room had definitely changed, and I liked to think I’d helped, but I knew it was God. More and more I was relying on Him. Strange but reassuring.
“Would you like to visit my parents this afternoon? Father has been asking for you.”
“Oh, yes. But first I have to help clean up.”
“We can do that together.”
Despite my grief for Pete, I think it may have been the finest Thanksgiving I’d ever known. Blessings came from unusual places, and my friends had shown me how to be a servant. I was learning that helping others was a wonderful way to soothe sorrow.
Tahoma watched Eva do her best to look as if she’d mastered washing dishes. When dinner was over, she’d insisted on cleaning up so the cook and Charlotte could rest. Eva had no idea where to begin. He attempted to dry a plate that still had mashed potatoes and gravy on the edge. He dipped it back into the soapy water, and she cringed.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Practice makes perfect.”
“Thank you. This was not on the curriculum at college.” Her shoulders lifted and fell, then she offered a sad smile. “But it should have been.”
She picked up a heavy cast iron pot. It banged against the side of the table, indicating the pan probably weighed more than she did.
“Why don’t you dry, and I’ll wash?” He held back a good belly laugh.
She blew a rebellious strand of hair from her forehead. Red-faced, she agreed. “I never thought washing dishes could be so hard. Mrs. Monarch showed me how, but they didn’t have this many.”
This time he laughed. “You really have done a fine job. It’s my turn to give you a rest.”
She stepped aside for him to take over at the washtub. “What do you really think of my first attempt to clean a kitchen?” “I think it’s a blessing to everyone here that you didn’t offer to cook.”
She frowned and threw a wet dishcloth at him. “I suppose I walked into that comment.”
“With both hands.” Tahoma sank his arms up to his elbows in hot suds and the cleanup went much faster. Finally the two left the cookhouse and stepped into the frosty air en route to his truck.
“I’m sure my father will have
stories for you. He loves talking about Andrew and the times they spent together during the Great War.”
Her sky-blue eyes sparkled. “Oh, I hope so.”
“You wouldn’t if you’d already heard them a hundred times.”
“Very funny, Dr. Benally. However, I’m excited.”
They bumped along the dirt road, leaving the ranch behind them. He realized that she needed to get away from Ghost Ranch for a while today. If she wanted to talk about Pete or anything else, he’d be there for her. Mr. Murdock would most likely decide to change her location soon. So he’d divert her attention today, with the understanding she’d be leaving the high desert and his life.
“Do you have any idea how incredibly beautiful this all is?” she said. “I’ve been to the East and West Coasts, Europe, and the tropics—and those places are stunning. But not like the high desert.”
Tahoma wanted to say that she could make her home here, but why make them both miserable when she needed to hide? “Tell me about home and your life in Syracuse.”
“Victoria was my nanny. When my mother died, she took over. Then when Father died, she became all I had left. Except for Grandfather.”
“Did your parents become ill? Or is my question too painful?”
“Not at all. Both died of health issues that the doctors were unaware of. Luckily Victoria stayed under Grandfather’s employ to care for me.”
“I can tell you have a high regard for her.”
“I do. She’s a private person and worries about her future. But I’ll always make sure Victoria is taken care of. When I went off to college, she asked me to return every weekend because she couldn’t bear to be alone.”
“With your grandfather and the servants?”
“Grandfather and Victoria had an understanding—she stayed out of his way, and he stayed out of hers.” Eva sighed. “And Victoria would never associate with the servants. Perhaps I can change some of her ideas when I return home. In my letters, I’m timid about expressing myself. I need to sit down with her and explain how I’ve become a better person. For certain, I’ve changed for the better, and I’d like for her to experience the same reward of helping others.”
