by J. T. Marie
The morning after the new wife’s talk with my father, I packed a bag of things I really wanted to keep—it was small, holding only a family photo taken before my mother died, the contents of my piggy bank, and a ladies’ pistol I knew my father kept in a drawer in his study. I found the bullets, too, and added those to the bag. In the kitchen, I made off with a loaf of fresh bread and a couple apples. Then I went to Bernie’s and knocked on the window to his bedroom. When he peered out, I handed him the bag and said, “Get back. I’m coming in.”
I didn’t need any help pulling myself in. It was still early, and Bernie looked like he’d been sleeping moments before I woke him. His thick blond hair was disheveled, a haystack on top of his head. His heavy eyelids made him look even more tired than he probably was. “What are you doing here, Nat?”
“I’m leaving.” Without further explanation, I started rooting through Bernie’s dresser drawers. We were similar in size, though in the past few months he’d begun to grow a little taller than me, and his mother had bought him new pants to accommodate his new height. I found the old pants in his dresser and pulled a pair on. They fit perfectly.
From where he sat on the edge of his bed, Bernie laughed. “You look like a boy in my pants!”
“That’s the idea, dimwit.”
Quickly I pulled my dress off over my head and I heard him gasp, but I was in too much of a hurry to be embarrassed. A shirt from another drawer fit me well. He had socks and a pair of old shoes that needed to be re-soled, but I wasn’t picky. He watched as I filled my bag with a change of clothes.
It wasn’t until I hefted the bag that he seemed to realize what I was doing. “Hey, those are my things!” he cried.
“I’ll send them back if I can,” I promised.
Bernie frowned at me. “Wait, where are you going?”
I didn’t know, so I said simply, “I’m running away.”
That was almost twenty years ago. I’ve been running ever since.
Chapter 7
Shortly after noon I’m down on my hands and knees in the last stall, scrubbing the boards and not really thinking much of anything at all, when I hear the stable door open with a squeal of hinges. I sit up and lean back on my feet so I can look around the edge of the stall. It’s probably one of the ranch hands sent back for a lariat or a rein, or maybe someone’s horse threw a shoe. At any rate, it’s a break in the monotony and a diversion from the quiet of my own head for a few minutes.
But I see a swish of dress and quickly duck back into the stall. Miss Lucille’s low heels make no sound on the dry ground, but the buckles creak a little as she approaches, and there’s no denying the crinkling sound of her petticoats in the still, cool darkness of the stable. The only lantern hangs above the stall I’m in, damn it, a beacon drawing her to me like a moth to a flame.
I stand to extinguish the candle inside but it’s too late. She’s already leaning on the stall door, smiling prettily at me.
“Afternoon, Mr. Nat,” she says.
I touch my head and remember my hat’s hanging on a nail with the reins behind me. “Miss Lucille,” I mumble. “You shouldn’t be in here.”
“It’s my daddy’s stable,” she points out. “I do the accounting for the ranch so we can afford to pay hands like you to look after things. I’m pretty sure I can be anywhere on this property I want to be.”
I feel a dull blush heat my face. “I…I just meant it’s dirty, and you might soil your dress.”
The dress she wears is as pale as the hot summer sky and makes her eyes look an impossible shade of blue. Her cheeks are a warm, sun-kissed color, and her lips are a slick pink from some sort of cosmetic. Her smile hasn’t faded as she stares at me, and I’m all too aware of the smell of manure that clings to my clothes and skin. I feel rumpled beside her, common, dingy. I fold and refold the soapy damp rag I’ve been washing with and try not to stare. She really doesn’t belong here—she’s too pretty, too perfect, a princess amid the grime and dirt.
When she speaks, her voice is low and intimate between us. “Mr. Nat, why won’t you look at me full on?”
I give her a quick glance and like what I see, so I look again, furtive, then let my gaze get drawn back to her. Now who’s the moth, and who’s the flame? I clear my throat but my voice still squeaks when I whisper, “You look real nice, Miss Lucille.”
“Could you call me Lucy?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, ma’am, I reckon not.”
Her smile softens and she peers over the top of the stable door to look inside. “I don’t think it’s fair Mr. Chavez gave you stable chores for fighting that young boy this morning. He should be here cleaning up, too. I heard he started it.”
I don’t know where she heard about the fight—from the servants, most likely, who would’ve seen it through the kitchen windows while cleaning up after breakfast. They wouldn’t have heard the talk, just seen Jonesy go for me and the way we tussled on the ground. “Oh no, ma’am, I’m not being punished,” I assure her. “Today’s my turn mucking out the stalls. It isn’t hard work, and it keeps me out of the sun a bit. It’s a hot one out there.”
Miss Lucille pinches the collar of her dress and pulls it away from her delicate neck, fanning herself a little. “Tell me about it,” she says, though there isn’t a drop of sweat on her.
I don’t know if she realizes she’s doing it or not, but as she tugs on her collar, the top button slips from its loop, then the one under it. Suddenly I catch a glimpse of the hollow of her throat, a dimple of dusky flesh I know I’m not supposed to see. I’m staring now, I know I am, and from the corner of my vision I see the catlike grin on her rosy lips. One finger slips down the open collar, loosening another button.
Quickly I clear my throat and turn away. “You really shouldn’t be in here, Miss Lucille.”
I hear the stable door groan as she leans against it heavily. “It’s perfectly proper, Mr. Nat, I assure you. Boss Daddy’s gone into Junction and all the hands are out in the fields, and the house servants rest this time of the day. Besides, if you aren’t going to avail yourself to that Maddy’s charms down at Stubs’, I know you won’t take advantage of me.”
“Maddy?” I ask, confused. When I look back at her, my gaze is drawn to that open collar and the hint of skin shadowed inside. I don’t even pretend I’m not staring any longer.
Miss Lucille laughs. “You do know she’s the saloon’s girl? I mean, you are aware of what she’s there for, right?”
My face heats up and I duck my head. “I’m not interested in Maddy,” I mumble.
“Then you’re the only one who isn’t,” she says, sounding pleased. “Where do you think Boss Daddy is right now?”
The image of Boss Daddy with Maddy flashes through my head and I close my eyes, revolted. The man’s three hundred pounds, easily. Maddy isn’t exactly skin and bones, but she’d be crushed beneath his weight. Unless she rides him like a bronco…would a man that big move a lot in bed? God, I don’t want to know.
Softly, Miss Lucille asks, “Can I ask you a question?”
I nod quickly. “Yes ‘m, of course.”
“Why don’t you lay with Maddy?”
Startled, I turn back to the stall. The stables can hold two dozen horses but right this minute it feels close and tight. The weight of Miss Lucille’s piercing gaze pins me in place. “What makes you ask something like that?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.” She laughs, a playful sound like a splash of bright light in the darkness. “It’s just you go into town every night, and I know you eat at Stubs’, and I’m sure Maddy’s tried to take her share of your hard-earned money. But Boss Daddy says you’ve never laid with her.”
I shrug, uncomfortable. “I really don’t think he’d like us talking about this.”
“Is it someone else?” Miss Lucille persists. “A sweetheart back east, maybe?”
I plunge my drying rag into the bucket of soapy water at my feet and wring it out. Then, without looking at her,
I shake my head. “I’m just not interested in her, okay?”
She leans further over the stall door, and lowers her voice to a mere whisper. “Boss Daddy says it’s ‘cause you’re queer. Is that it?”
I shake my head again. “I’m not interested in men,” I say truthfully.
She lets out a sigh of relief and rocks back on her heels. “I knew you weren’t. I told him so. I said you just didn’t like jezebels, and there’s nothing wrong with waiting until you find the right lady to settle down with. Maddy isn’t the only woman in Junction.”
Now I do look at her, and there’s something in her eyes that makes my heart skip a beat. It lurches in my chest and I have to catch my breath. “No, ma’am, I reckon she ain’t. You’re prettier by far, and I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”
Maybe not, but the smile she gives me says she appreciates the compliment.
Chapter 8
Miss Lucille leaves when I start refilling the stables with hay. It fills the air with dust and makes talking difficult, if not downright impossible. I have a bandanna I pull up over my nose and mouth, but her dainty handkerchief offers little protection against the dust. As I work, I mull over our conversation. Why was she so interested in what I think of Maddy? Surely Miss Lucille owns a mirror, and can see with her own eyes how prettier she is than the saloon girl. Younger, too, and smart. I heard she attended a women’s college back east to learn how to run the ranch. I wouldn’t believe it—a school for women, really?—except she’s the one who keeps track of our earnings and, so far, I’ve never known her to short a ranch hand. Boss Daddy might be the brawn behind his business, but Miss Lucille is definitely the brains.
Thinking of her father seems to call him into being. Just as I’m finishing up in the stable, Boss Daddy’s coach pulls up outside the open doors. I hear the horses’ tack jingle, then the driver calls out, “Whoa!” It’s only partly to stop the horses—he wants whoever’s in the stable to know the horses need to be looked after. Like most of the house servants, he’s too lazy to bother with real work.
I unhitch the horses and let them graze in the paddock off the stable while I block the coach’s wheels. Boss Daddy owns two dozen horses but doesn’t ride himself. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because he’s so damn big. His stable is full of strong workhorses, but it’d take a special breed to carry his weight. The white suits he favors only seem to add to his bulk. His coach is the only one in town, and if it isn’t parked out front of his stable, then chances are it’s pulled up to Stubs’. Boss Daddy takes his turn with Maddy same as everyone else.
It’s while I’m lugging the brush and bucket out into the paddock to wash down the horses that someone heads over from the main house to fetch me. “Boss Daddy wants to see you,” his manservant says. He’s known only as Toombs, and he’s easily the oldest person on the property, with his stooped back and gnarled hands. But he moves fast despite his age and often volunteers to run errands outside so he can sneak a smoke in the process. Before I even put away the brush, he’s leaning against the paddock fence, lighting up.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
Toombs shrugs and draws in deep on his cigarette. “He’s in his study with Miss Lucille. I’d step lightly, if I were you.”
Dread curls through me. Did Boss Daddy somehow find out we were alone together in the stable? I can’t think of a way to ask without telling Toombs something I’d rather he didn’t know, so I leave him to his smoke and hurry up to the main house. On the porch, I remove my hat and take a moment to slap it against my shirt and pants, knocking loose dirt and grime away. When I’m somewhat presentable, I run a hand through my hair to comb it down and, with a deep breath, enter through the kitchen door.
Boss Daddy’s study is near the front of the house. The servants in the kitchen glance up at me, then turn back to their preparations for the evening meal. I nod at no one in particular before hurrying through the swinging door into the hallway, then following it down to the study on the left.
The heavy wooden door is ajar. As I approach, I hear Miss Lucille’s voice raised in indignation. She’s the only person alive who can talk to Boss Daddy so angrily without reprimand. “You said this was my decision, remember? You said I had plenty of time—”
“Damn it, Lucy!” Boss Daddy thundered. I cringed against the wall, unwilling to interrupt such a volatile moment. The hallway was empty, and I alone listened in on the argument. “I’m not getting any younger, and by God, neither are you! A good marriage now will ensure the ranch’s future. And I don’t see you out there looking!”
Something slams on a desk, and Miss Lucille cries, “So what, you want to marry me off to the first stranger who blows through town?”
“All I want is for you to meet the fella,” Boss Daddy hollers over her. “He’s a nice man, comes from a good family. Miss Barbour says—”
“Of course she does!” Miss Lucille shrieks. “He’s her damn nephew!”
“Don’t you use that language with me, young lady,” Boss Daddy warns.
I snort with laughter and quickly press my hat to my face to stifle the sound. Boss Daddy wants to introduce Miss Lucille to Cheap Charlie? I don’t know whether to feel sorrier for her…or him.
Her father rumbles on. “He’s a sight better than any other man around Junction. He’s from back east—”
“So’s Nat Allen.”
My name in her voice dries up any lingering laughter. I lean in closer, holding my breath, biting my lower lip between my teeth.
Boss Daddy growls in frustration. “What can you possibly see in that nancy?”
I think I’ve heard enough. Clearing my throat, I push the door open wider and duck my head in. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
He’s a towering man, over six feet tall, and almost as wide. In his white suit, he looms larger than life, his hands and face colored by the sun. His hair is slicked back, dark with oil, but a strand has escaped to dangle in front of his eyes, which are the same pale blue shade as Lucille’s. When I enter the study, he takes a deep breath that seems to puff him up even more, almost like a frog getting ready to sing. Then he smooths back that errand strand of hair and motions to a chair in front of his desk. “Nat. Sit.”
Miss Lucille gives me a curt nod, but there’s nothing of her former friendliness in her stern features. She moves towards the back of the room, taking quick little breaths to calm herself down. I glance from her to him and back again, wondering what all this is about.
I’m moving too slowly for Boss Daddy’s tastes, because as I near the chair, he barks out, “I said sit.”
I drop into the seat like a stone. “Yes, sir.”
My meekness seems to calm him some. He lets out a rush of breath and deflates into his own chair, reaching for the box of cigars he keeps at hand. Without looking at me, he sets about trimming and lighting a stogie while he says to me, “You worked in the stables this morning, didn’t you, son?”
I give Miss Lucille a quick glance, but she isn’t looking at me. Instead, she’s watching her father, but she must have noticed I turned towards her because she shakes her head ever so slightly. Which means what, he doesn’t know she was there, too?
Carefully, I say, “Uh, yes, sir. Today was my day to muck out the stalls. I was just about to rub down your horses, then I thought I’d head out to find Chavez—”
He waves a hand at me, cutting me off in mid-sentence. By now the cigar was lit, and he drew deeply on it, visibly relaxing. “Good, good. Listen, if you don’t have anything else planned, can you do me a favor?”
“A favor?” My voice squeaks; I can’t help it.
Boss Daddy shoots a look past me at his daughter, as if to say, See what I mean? “Yes, a favor. Miss Lucille needs to run into town for a few things at the general store. I’d accompany her, but I just got back. If there’s nothing pressing, maybe you can take her?”
I gulp, suddenly nervous all over again. “Sir?”
“Just go with her into town,”
Boss Daddy explains, “carry her things, you know. Take the coach. Chavez can spare you the rest of the afternoon, and you’ll be doing me a big favor.”
Behind me, Miss Lucille grumbles, “If you’d have just let me ride with you earlier, but noooo, you had an important appointment with the town slut.”
“Lucy, hush!” Boss Daddy glared at her. The look terrified me, but his daughter only scoffed, then slammed the door on her way out.
When she was gone, Boss Daddy sank back into his chair and sighed. “God, boy, I’ll tell you right now, that woman will be the death of me yet.”
Chapter 9
I find Miss Lucille out by the stable. I assume we’ll take the coach, since it’s covered and the sun is high, but she’s hitched up one horse to the small cart the ranch hands sometimes use to carry lumber or hay. It has a flat bed with raised sides and a board in front for a driver. As I approach, Miss Lucille gives me a bright grin that shows none of her earlier exasperation. “Hop on up, Mr. Nat.”
Taking the reins from her, I do as I’m told. “I thought we’d be taking the coach.”
“That stinky old thing? I can’t stand the smell of Daddy’s cigars on a good day.” Miss Lucille grabs her skirts in both hands and holds them up, exposing her ankles and half her legs as she clambers up beside me. When she sits down, her dress spreads out around her like a pat of melted butter, and she smooths it primly into place. Her arm rests comfortably against mine, and I scoot over a little to put some distance between us. Turning that grin my way again, she asks, “You can drive this thing, right?”
“I have before,” I tell her, but it was only to run some seed out to a field in the lower acreage. I didn’t have a passenger beside me, and if I had, it wouldn’t have been anyone half as pretty as she was. Pushing that thought aside, I give the reins a hard shake and guide the horse towards the ranch gate.
Beside me, Miss Lucille sighs. “Can you believe that man?” she asks, a trace of anger creeping into her voice.
