Stands a Calder Man

by Janet Dailey

  “Ve vill have a better harvest this year,” he insisted.

  “Of course we will.” They were empty words, issued for his benefit. But Lilli knew the rains had come late this year. The stand of wheat was not nearly at good as last year’s.

  “You find out vhy you don’t have babies,” Stefan repeated his earlier demand.

  “I will,” she agreed flatly. A silent dread was on her. If the cause turned out to be Stefan’s impotence, it would ruin him completely.

  Again silence came between them as they traveled toward their home. Lilli had always thought she knew Stefan so well—all her life. But that had been as a child and a young girl. His quietness came from hiding inside himself so others wouldn’t know his failures and weaknesses. He was uncertain and indecisive, his actions swayed and colored by those dominant individuals around him. He wanted to be what he saw in other men. It was their attitudes and behavior he adopted, taking their lead in a situation and pretending it was his own. If Franz Kreuger hadn’t been with him that morning, Lilli doubted that Stefan would have shot Webb. He was driven to act by his perception of what Franz Kreuger would have done in his place.

  Then Lilli became caught up in her own confusion. Was she finding fault with Stefan, making much out of his weaknesses, to justify the love she felt for another man? There was only one clear certainty in her mind. She did not love Stefan in the way that a woman loves a man. She cared for him deeply the way a person cares for a close family friend. She owed him much for looking after her when her parents died, although she had been the only one left for him, too. And she owed him a wife’s loyalty. If there was a persistent voice inside her head that kept asking if she didn’t owe herself some happiness, Lilli tried not to hear it.

  That evening after Stefan had fallen asleep, Lilli slipped out of bed, taking care not to disturb him, and stole outside into the night. The coolness of a night breeze wrapped its arms around her, stirring the thinness of her long nightgown. She turned her eyes to the west, the longing in them deep and sharp. Webb lived somewhere over there. Why had she been so damned noble and refused to see him? Why had she denied herself a few moments of stolen pleasure in his arms?

  He was so close, but so far. She lowered her head, knowing she would never take the step to lessen the distance. She stood there, uncertain whether she was being incredibly strong or merely stupid.

  21

  Squatters were a problem for all the ranchers, but the size of the Triple C made it the most vulnerable. For the last four years, Webb had been locked in a running battle to keep them off his land. There were a few shooting scrapes, but most of them left without a fuss once their presence was discovered. He’d set up patrols in an effort to ward off squatters before they crossed his fences and keep the occasional rustling of beef by the starving families to a tolerable level.

  There were other ranchers that came down hard on the squatters, Ed Mace foremost among them. It might have been more accurate to say Hobie Evans. Stories had circulated that Hobie was quick to use his rifle, and there had been enough woundings to give validity to the stories. Webb knew there were grumblings among his own men that he was being too lenient with the squatters instead of teaching them a lesson to pass on to others of their kind. But he couldn’t look at those squatters’ wives without thinking of Lilli.

  He’d seen her in town a few times and been tempted a thousand times to seek her out these last five years. But she had rejected him twice, turning down the love he wanted to give her. Webb wasn’t about to open himself up a third time. A man had some pride.

  And a lot of loneliness. Another wreath had blackened the front doors of The Homestead two years ago with his mother’s passing. Pneumonia, the doctor had said, but Webb suspected she just didn’t have the will to fight the illness. Not even Bull Giles’s constant company had filled the void that had been created when his father died. With her death, Bull had packed up and left. He had looked old—old and very tired.

  So now Webb was the sole occupant of the big house. He spent no more time in it than he had to, not liking the hollow sound of his footsteps in the empty rooms. With a late-afternoon sun angling on the ranch buildings, Webb crossed from the barn to the new commissary. Prices for supplies at Ellis’s store had risen to the point where it had become practical to set up a private store at the ranch, buying food and equipment at cost from suppliers and selling the excess to the men and their families for slightly higher prices, but still less than what Ollie Ellis charged.

  The increased prices for goods were about the only effect the war in Europe had on the area. It was all happening far away—on another continent. The news of battles was old by the time it reached Blue Moon, and the names of the places in Germany and France were unknown to most Montanans, except for the immigrant settlers whose roots and families came from those places.

  But the grain and beef from the area fed the American army and became their contribution to the war effort, exempting cowboys and farmers alike from the draft. Some boys from the area went off to war, but most of those were sons of immigrants, eager to prove their loyalty to their new country. Life went on as usual for everyone else, the First World War in Germany becoming merely another topic of conversation and speculation.

  Halfway to the store, his steps slowed as he observed Ruth coming out of the schoolhouse. Virg Haskell was waiting for her, taking the books and papers she was carrying and falling in step beside her like some schoolboy walking a girl home. It wasn’t the first time Webb had noticed the man hanging around Ruth. The sight of them together stirred a vague feeling of dislike. Webb couldn’t fault Virg Haskell in the work he did on the ranch; yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some kind of weakness in the man’s character, even if it hadn’t surfaced. Ruth was a fine woman. She deserved someone better than a common drifter like Virg Haskell.

  The barns and corrals were just ahead of Nate as his weary horse plodded toward them, blowing out the dust that clogged its nostrils. Slumped in the saddle, sapped of energy by the searing August heat that had turned the range prematurely brown, Nate felt as weary as his mount. Things didn’t look good out there. When he noticed Webb crossing his path, he checked his horse’s direction and aimed it toward his boss and friend.

  Listless as his body was, his eyes retained their keenness. Nate observed the interest Webb was paying to the couple walking away from the schoolhouse, and the displeasure that tightened his mouth. Nate guessed, with a degree of wry cynicism, that it was a case of Webb not wanting her, but he didn’t want anybody else getting Ruth, either.

  A second later, Webb recognized the horse and rider plodding toward him with heads hanging low and stopped to wait for them. The horse and rider were a matched pair, their dust-covered bodies streaked with muddy sweat.

  Nate didn’t waste his breath on preliminaries. “You’re gonna have to be movin’ the cattle to the north range sooner than you figured. They’re walkin’ off weight trying to find graze.”

  The announcement made Webb absently look at the dry and cracked ground at his feet. He had hoped the other sections of the range would hold out another month at least. The north range was well watered and had a fairly good stand of grass. It would have been good winter forage, considering the poor hay crop they’d had.

  “It’s that bad out there, huh?” It wasn’t a question, just a protest against the facts.

  “June’s usually our wet month. Bet we didn’t get more’n a half-inch. And the sky’s been bone-dry since then,” Nate reminded him. “If you think the grass is in bad shape, you oughta see those drylanders’ fields. They ain’t growin’ wheat this year, but they’ve got a helluva crop of thistles.”

  Webb took the news without any outward reaction, but another kind of grim frustration registered inside him. In the previous years, the drylanders had struggled from one growing season to the next. A lot of them had given up when they had proved out the term of their claim, and sold their homesteaded land to the next man willing to try his
luck—and there never seemed to be a lack of those. The Reisners, Lilli and her husband, hadn’t been among the ones to quit the land. That much Webb knew, but he’d heard nothing to indicate their lot was any better than the next man’s.

  This season there had been near-drought conditions which might be marking the beginning of a dry cycle. Webb glanced skyward at the haze that filtered out the blue to a dusty color. It was hot and dry—so dry that the perspiration evaporated almost as soon as it broke on the skin, or else became caked with the dirt to clog a man’s pores.

  “We’re going to start the fall roundup early this year and sell all the steers of marketable age. I don’t want to carry anything extra through the winter and use up what grass we’ve got,” Webb stated. The cattle prices were high right now with the war in Europe, and he intended to sell his cattle while they had weight on them and could bring top price.

  The big Belgian mare stood docilely while Lilli dragged the harness off its tall back and set it on the ground. When she moved to its head, the mare lowered it and tried to rub the bridle off, butting against Lilli’s chest. It staggered her backward a step before she tiredly recovered her balance and unbuckled the cheek strap. The bridle was loose in her hands as the mare spat out the jangling bit and walked to the water trough.

  Gathering up the harness and bridle, Lilli hauled them into the shed and draped them on their hooks. She paused to chip off a piece of salt from the new white block and let it melt in her mouth as she walked outside. She flopped down in the shade of the shed, exhausted by the dry heat.

  Her skirt was pulled up around her bent knees, hoping for some air to circulate and cool her skin. Petticoats were too suffocating in this scorching heat and too cumbersome in the fields. Lilli had abandoned them after her first week in the fields doing a man’s work because they couldn’t afford to hire anyone. The family they had befriended had moved on, and they hadn’t found anyone else willing to work for room and board.

  She tiredly supported her head with an arm propped up by a knee. She was so tired she could cry, but there didn’t seem to be enough moisture to use for tears. There wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t ache from pulling the weeds out of the wheatfields so they didn’t steal what precious moisture the ground contained. Her arms, face, neck, and part of her chest were so brown from the constant exposure to the sun that it was impossible to tell where the freckles ended and the tan began.

  She heard the plodding of horse’s hooves on the hard-baked ground and the rattle of metal harness pieces. Stefan was coming in from the fields. She straightened and pushed her skirt over her knees when he came into view.

  “Is supper ready?” he asked and whoaed the mare.

  Anger flashed through her at the way he expected her to work in the fields and have supper ready when he came in, too. “No.” Her voice was a dry rasp. “I just got the mare unharnessed.”

  “Veil? She is unharnessed now,” he prompted irritably.

  It was useless to argue that she was tired. Supper still had to be put on the table, and it fell to Lilli to do it. She walked stiffly into the shack and banged things around. It helped to momentarily relieve her frustration and growing sense of hopelessness that all this work was for nothing. There was only the slimmest chance that they’d have a third of their usual harvest.

  With the potato soup heating on the stove, Lilli went to the wash basin and dipped a cloth in the water to press against her hot skin. A small rectangular mirror hung above the basin. She looked at her reflection—the dullness of her hair, her sun-browned skin, and the hollows under her eyes. She was a very old twenty-five.

  “There’s no reason to think about him anymore,” she murmured to herself. “Webb wouldn’t want you now.”

  She turned away from the mirror, unable to look at herself. The wet cloth was laid aside as she walked to the stove to stir the soup. Outside, she heard Stefan at the cistern, pumping water into a bucket. She stepped out the door to call to him.

  “Don’t forget to water the garden.” It had nearly burned out in this heat, but some of the vegetables might be saved.

  Stefan was bent over the bucket, sloshing water on his face. He looked so old and broken, without the will to go on, but there was a stubbornness in him, too. It came from that awful fear of failure that drove him. Although he never told Lilli, he was convinced this long, dry weather was God’s punishment for his German birth and the war that raged over there. Instead of shouldering it as a cross, it became a chip. When he cupped his hand to take a drink from the bucket, Lilli frowned worriedly.

  “The water hasn’t been tasting right, Stefan,” she warned. “I’ve been boiling it before we use it for drinking.”

  But he paid no attention to her and swallowed several handfuls before he straightened. “It is just varm,” he insisted and picked up the bucket to take it to the garden.

  Everything was warm, Lilli thought. It never cooled off, not even at night. She went back into the house and ladled the soup into bowls. The table and chairs had been moved outside so they could eat where the air was not so stifling. With this endless heat, it became so close in the shanty that Lilli felt suffocated. But it wasn’t much better outside unless the wind blew. Even a hot breeze was preferable to none, although it meant dust being blown into the food. Not that it mattered, since her mouth felt gritty all the time.

  Confined and restless, Webb laid down the pencil and pushed out of the big leather chair. The damned paperwork was endless. It multiplied into mounds every time he turned his back on it for one day. He crossed the den to the liquor cabinet and poured a glass of whiskey. After a quick, burning swallow, he shuddered and rubbed the back of his neck.

  There was a noise, the faint squeak of a floorboard. He looked up and saw Ruth in the doorway. He attempted a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I tried to be quiet so I wouldn’t disturb you if you were working.” She glanced at the desk. “Are you all finished?”

  “Hardly.” He tipped his head back to toss down another swallow.

  “I came by to invite you to have supper with Dad and me,” she explained.

  He hesitated, looking at her, then shook his head. “I’d better pass. I’m liable to spend the evening talking instead of taking care of that paperwork.”

  “You do have to eat,” she persisted. “I promise I’ll chase you out as soon as you’re finished eating.”

  “Or maybe you could stand over me with a ruler,” Webb suggested in a dry reference to her schoolteaching.

  “If you’ve ever been in my classroom, you’d know I don’t do that with my pupils.” She smiled tentatively. “You used to stop by now and then, but you haven’t been by lately.”

  “I’ve been too busy.” He shrugged aside the length of time that had passed since he’d been in her company. “I’m surprised you noticed. Haskell seems to be a regular caller nowadays.”

  “Does that bother you?” She hoped it did. She hoped he was jealous. He had noticed Virg Haskell was paying attention to her even though she had tried to discourage him.

  “Why should it bother me?” He frowned his surprise at the question. “You’re the one he’s seeing.” Another thought occurred to him. “Is he pestering you? I can tell him to leave you alone, if you want.”

  “That isn’t necessary.” Ruth lowered her head, feeling defeated again. “Will you come to supper?” She repeated her invitation, taking one more chance that he’d accept.

  His gaze ran over her, as if measuring her against someone else. “No, thanks,” he refused.

  A little knife twisted in her heart. “You still haven’t forgotten her, have you?” She hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but now that she had, she wasn’t sorry.

  His mouth thinned and came down at the corners. “No, I guess I haven’t,” he agreed in a clipped voice. Neither of them had to say her name. They both knew she had meant Lilli.

  “She’s married, Webb.” It took a great deal of courage for Ruth to say that.


  “I am well aware of that.” He gave her a cold, impatient look, as if angered that she had reminded him of the fact.

  This friction between them was intolerable. Ruth crossed the space separating them with a rush of quick little steps to assure him that she hadn’t spoken to hurt him. She stopped when she reached his side, lifting a hand to rest it tentatively on his forearm and claim the attention he’d turned away from her.

  “I’m sorry, Webb. I had no right to say that.” It was simply that she had lived so long in hope that he would forget Lilli—and that, when he did, he would finally turn to her.

  For a long second, Webb looked at the hand on his arm before he lifted his gaze to her face. The muted coloring of her hair and eyes appeared nondescript, yet despite the blandness of her features, he saw something that appealed to a weakness in him. Everything about her was leaning toward him, wanting to please him and wipe out that coldness.

  As he set his drink on a side table, Webb wasn’t conscious of the silent debate he had with himself. Then he turned to Ruth and heard her quickened breath with a certain detachment. When he took her into his arms, he wasn’t seeking the gratification of his male needs. There were women who took care of that for a living.

  He wanted to bury himself in the softness of a caring woman and find a respite from this consuming loneliness. She was yielding in his arms, her body pressing itself to his length. Her lips were pliant to the demands he made of them. All things were as they should be, but it wasn’t enough.

  The lonely ache became more intense, tinged with a bitterness. Her kiss couldn’t fill the emptiness inside him. Webb became disgusted with himself for using her without a care for her feelings. His hands lifted to her shoulders to push her from him. He tightened his grip and forced Ruth away from him. The sight of the little girl-hurt look in her expression turned him from her, and Webb reached for the drink he had so recently discarded.

  “I shouldn’t have done that, Ruth,” he said grimly and heard her make a little wounded sound. “You have my apology and my word that it won’t happen again.”