Dorothy Garlock

by This Loving Land

  Jack’s horse stood beside the house, stamping and swishing his tail to rid himself of the pesky flies. John Austin hesitated. He had an intuitive feeling that Jack wouldn’t want him to bother Slater. He guided his horse around behind the bunkhouse, tied her, and squatted in the shade to wait until Jack left the house.

  It seemed a long while to the waiting boy, but finally Jack came out, mounted, and rode off toward old Raccoon’s garden. John Austin walked quickly along the stone wall, then darted into the coolness of the house. He could hear Teresa in the kitchen as he sidled past the door and down the hall to Slater’s room. The door was open and he peeked in.

  Slater lay on the bed in his drawers. He had bandages around his waist and up over his ribs. Another bandage was on his left shoulder, and both his hands were covered with strips of cloth. His right arm was raised, the forearm laying over his eyes. John Austin stared for a moment. Slater wasn’t in any shape to help himself, much less Summer. He thought about it for another moment, before deciding he could at least talk to him about it.

  He walked into the room and sat down in the chair beside the bed. When he next looked at Slater, he was looking back at him, the arm having moved up to rest on his forehead. The first thing that struck the boy was how awful Slater looked. He had just been shaved and had small nick-cuts on his chin. His cheeks were sunk in so that the scar stood out in bold relief on his face. Suddenly, John Austin was scared, and almost wished he hadn’t come. Slater looked scary! Looked like he didn’t want to be bothered about anything.

  “What do you want?”

  Slater acted as if he was mad at him. A part of his mind searched for a reason, the other part was determined to get help for Summer.

  “Are you feelin’ better?”

  “No. I feel like hell. What did you expect?”

  “I wish you felt better.”

  “Well, I don’t. Now, what do you want? If it’s another book, go get it.”

  The cold tone hurt a little, but a determined look settled on the boy’s face.

  “I come to talk about Summer. You like her, don’t you? You said you did.”

  Slater covered his eyes with his forearm again. He lay still for so long John Austin wasn’t sure he was going to say anything. Finally, he said harshly:

  “What about her? She went off with Jesse to bury Ellen, didn’t she? She thought that was more important than staying here with me.”

  He sounded bitter and hurt-like. John Austin had heard that tone before, but not from a man.

  “I don’t think it’s that,” he said, then rushed on. “I don’t think she even liked Mrs. McLean or she wouldn’t of yelled ‘shut up, shut up’ at her.”

  Slater lay still for a moment, then removed his arm slowly. His eyes roamed the boy’s worried face.

  “When did she say that?”

  “The day she come to tell us you were goin’ to be all right. She had on a big smile then, but she didn’t smile no more after she talked to Mrs. McLean. She cried and held onto Sadie, and Sadie made me take Mary up to the loft. Mrs. McLean just walked up and down on the porch. That was before Travis come to shoot her.” He waited to see what effect his words were having, to see if he was telling Slater something he didn’t know.

  “Go on, go on,” Slater urged.

  “Well, I’ve been thinkin’ that if Summer was just goin’ for the buryin’, why did she take her trunk and why did she say she would write me a letter? That morning, she almost cried when she come to my bed to say she was goin’. I know how Summer looks when she laughs ’cause she wants to cry. She did it lots of times when Mama was sick.”

  Slater lay silently for a long while. John Austin knew he was thinking, because he did that himself sometimes.

  “What does Sadie say?” Slater didn’t act like he was mad anymore.

  “She don’t say nothin’ about it a’tall. I tried to ask her, but she said if I loved my sister, I’d best hush up and read my books like she told me. Sadie acts flighty and scared like she did that time Travis come. I knew she was scared of him ’cause her eyes got so big and she wouldn’t look at him. She never smiled or laughed and played with me and Mary after that, and I don’t know why she was scared of him. I liked him.”

  Slater’s quiet eyes studied the boy’s face until John Austin began to squirm and finally his lips began to quiver and he blurted out:

  “I miss Summer! I want her to come back! I think she’s got . . . trouble!” He looked away from Slater and blinked to hold back the tears, but the dam broke when Slater reached out a bandaged hand. He fell on his knees beside the bed, hiding his face in the folds of the sheet. His shoulders shook with the force of his sobs.

  Slater placed an arm across the boy’s shoulders and let him cry.

  When John Austin raised his tear-streaked face, it was defiant. He was ready to defend his right to cry.

  “Summer said it was all right for a man to cry. Summer said boys and men have feelings, too. She said. . . .”

  “It’s all right, John. Don’t apologize. Summer’s right. Men do have feelings.”

  “And you’ll get her back?”

  “First, we’ve got to find out why she left. Go and get Sadie. Tell her I want her to come over here right now.”

  “She’ll be awful mad at me, Slater.”

  “Well, in that case, go find Jack and tell him I want to see him. After that, tell Teresa you’d like to have some of that pudding she made before Pud eats it all.”

  That terrible heavy weight seemed to roll away from John Austin’s shoulders. Things would be all right now that he’d told Slater. It had been silly of him to wait almost three whole days before telling. He was almost running by the time he got to the front of the house, then was running when he reached the yard.

  John Austin was sitting in the kitchen when Jack came out of Slater’s room. He was still sitting there when Jack returned with Sadie and Mary. Teresa sat Mary on a chair and gave her a bowl of pudding. Jack and Sadie went into Slater’s room. John Austin could hear loud, angry voices, could hear Slater cursing, Jack’s even tones and Sadie crying. He wanted desperately to hear, but Mary kept on wanting to talk to him. When Teresa wasn’t looking, he slipped into the hall and stood beside Slater’s door.

  “It seems goddam strange to me that she’d go off without telling me.” Slater was angry. His voice wasn’t loud, but cold, and dripped with sarcasm.

  “I only know what she told me, Mr. McLean.”

  “For God’s sake, why the Mr. McLean now, when I’ve been Slater for weeks?” There was silence. “How come she decided to go to the burying? Did Jesse talk her into it? Make her feel obligated? I suppose he wanted to give Ellen . . .” he said the name sardonically, “a decent burial, with soon-to-be family members present.”

  “I . . . don’t know,” Sadie said between sobs. “But he didn’t do nothin’! It ain’t his fault. None of it’s his fault.”

  “Then why isn’t she back, Sadie? Tell me that. It’s been three days. Ellen had to be put in the ground two days ago, or you could smell her clear over here,” he said cruelly, bitingly. “I know Summer wouldn’t of gone off without John unless she was coming right back—or unless she decided she’d rather have Jesse than me! If that son-of-a-bitch lays a finger on her, I’ll kill him!”

  “He won’t! He’s just takin’ her . . ’cause after the buryin’ she wants to go to the Mormons . . . and get chairs and things.”

  “You’re lying!” Slater shouted, and John Austin cringed against the wall. For a terrible moment, it was deathly quiet, then Sadie said:

  “Do you want me to . . . go?”

  “Hell, no, I don’t want you to go! But you’re lying! You’re lying to protect both of them! God! If I could only get on a horse. If only. . . .” Slater was really mad and John Austin was thankful the anger wasn’t directed at him. “Jack, take Luther and whoever else you want and go get her.” His tone was rough, commanding: then, in tones of anguish, he said, “She’s slipping away from me,
Jack. I’m losing her! I got to know if she wanted to go—if she changed her mind.”

  “We’ll leave at first light, Slater. We’ll find ’er and bring ’er back. She can tell ya herself why she went. Don’t you worry none ’bout us findin’ ’er. I ain’t takin’ Jesse’s part, but I’ve knowed him a long time, ’n I’d bet my boots he’s straight with womenfolks.”

  “He better be! By God, he better be!” Slater’s voice was hoarse, strangled. “If anything happens to her, Sadie, you’ll wish you’d never heard of McLean’s Keep.”

  “Ain’t goin’ to help you none talkin’ to Sadie that way, Slater.” Jack spoke up hastily and firmly. “From the looks of things, Summer did what she wanted to do.”

  “Get the hell out of here! Both of you!”

  When Jack and Sadie came out, Sadie’s face was swollen from crying. She walked past John Austin without looking at him, went to the kitchen, thanked Teresa, took Mary and left.

  John Austin stood with head bowed. He didn’t want anybody to be mad at him, but if Summer came back, he didn’t care! He wished she was here now.

  It was dark when Bulldog rode in. The old man was exhausted and his horse was lame. He didn’t believe he had ever been so worn out. He figured he must have rode sixty miles since daylight. After stripping his horse, he went to the cookhouse and bellowed for grub.

  “By God, Bulldog, I ain’t never seed so much a goin’ on in all my born days, and ye missed it all! Jist been one happenin’ after the other ever since ye went off.”

  “Where’s Jack?”

  “Dunno. Round some’ers.” The cook set a bowl of stew on the table. “Ye looks like ye been squeezed through a knothole, Bulldog. He, he, he! Them rangers on yore tail?”

  Bulldog gave him a disgusted look and began eating.

  “Ain’t had so much goin’ on . . . since the hogs et my brother.” The cook eyed Bulldog to see if he appreciated his joke.

  “I didn’t know you’d come back.” Pud came into the cookhouse and the hand he poked into the crock came out with a fistful of dried peaches.

  “Well, ya know now. Where’s Jack?”

  “Dunno. Round some’ers.”

  “Is that all anybody can say round here? Dunno! Dunno!” Bulldog gave a snort of disgust. “Get off your arse ‘n find him.”

  Thirty minutes later, he and Jack sat in the yard, away from the bunkhouse, away from the curious ears anxious to know what was happening now. Jack did most of the talking, telling Bulldog everything from the time Slater rode off into the hills until the army troop took the prisoners to the fort. Told him about Travis shooting Ellen, told him about Travis’s torture of Slater and Slater being brought in by the Apache. It was a lot for Bulldog’s tired mind to soak in, but he had to know it all before he dropped the news that Summer was in the hotel in Hamilton and Jesse Thurston had taken her there. He waited patiently for Jack to finish explaining about Slater being so upset about Summer going to the Rocking S for Ellen’s burial.

  Jack built a smoke while Bulldog told the reason he had high-tailed it out of town and almost rode his horse to death getting back to the Keep.

  “What do you make of it?” Jack asked.

  “I ain’t got no idey.”

  “Slater’s beside his self a worryin’. Ain’t gonna be no holdin’ him down once he hears that she’s in town.” Jack was thoughtful for a moment. “Ain’t no use me ridin’ to the Rockin S, now.”

  “Why do ya reckon she went and did somethin’ like that for? A goin’ off with Jesse with Slater all stove up . . . I’d just never a thought it of ’er. I’d a swore she was solid.”

  “Wal, she done it, and we ain’t goin’ to be able to keep it from Slater much longer. If’n we could wait another day, t’would give his side and ribs a lit’l more time to heal. He’s a goin’ to be rarin’ when we tell him. Ya know how he gits.”

  “I know.” Bulldog grinned in spite of his weariness.

  “He got a temper what matches Sam’s when he gets riled.”

  Both men sat in thoughtful silence. They had one strong common bond between them. They both loved Slater like a son. They both had been elated when he fell in love with Summer and she with him. It seemed to them that the boy who had been alone so much, bitter over his pa’s murder and his own scarred face, had found the gold nugget all men dreamed of finding.

  “I think the best we can do, Bulldog, is ta give ’em another day to heal up, ’afore we tell ’em. He thinks I’ll be gone tomorry so he won’t be askin’ and if he dunno you’re back, it’ll take care of some of the time. I’ll tell Teresa not to let nobody near him, no matter how loud he bellers. She might could slip a bit of that Indian powder in his grub to settle him down. We can stay out a sight, but by tomorry night we’ll have to tell him, and God knows what hell might break loose.”

  “I can’t think of nothin’ better ta do,” Bulldog said, with a wide yawn. “I’m so all tuckered out I can’t hold my eyes apart. If’n I don’t wake when you think I ort to, come ’n get me.”

  Seventeen

  Friday finally came. It followed five of the most miserable days of Summer’s life. Today, at noon, she would board the stage that would take her away from Hamilton forever. By the time the first light of dawn came, she was up and dressed and sitting beside the window. Later, after she ate the breakfast left on the tray in the hall, she repacked her trunk and returned to the window where she could watch for the first sight of Jesse, who was coming to take her to the stage office.

  Jesse had been to see her twice during the last five days. She thought she would have lost her mind without his visits. He was an altogether different man than what she had at first believed. He was a lonely man, she discovered. She could understand how Ellen had commanded so much loyalty and love from him. Without him having to tell her, she knew that Ellen’s death freed him to love Sadie. His face took on a smiling, eager look when he talked of her and Mary.

  He talked with Summer briefly about his plans for the future. Slater, he explained, was now the owner of the Rocking S. He felt sure that was the way the judge would see it, as Slater was the only living kin as far as anyone knew. When things were settled, he and Sadie would be married and start building a spread somewhere else.

  “Slater will want you to stay,” Summer had said.

  “It’s time I start building something of my own,” was his simple reply.

  Summer leaned her head against the window frame. She knew every inch of the street below, every knot-hole in the building across the street. She had had nothing else to do for five whole days but stare out the window. She had not been out of the room, had seen the hotel man only one time and that was when he left the tray by the door and she thought he had gone away, but he was standing down the hall waiting for her to come out so he could get a glimpse of her. Somehow, his leering look had made her feel guilty and unclean.

  The shadow on the building across the street told her that it wouldn’t be long until the sun would be straight overhead. She began to feel anxious. Jesse said he would be here and he would be, she told herself. Nevertheless, the minutes dragged while she watched. Nervousness made her twist her handkerchief round and round her finger, and by the time she saw him turn the corner and head toward the hotel, the hankie was soaked. With a deep feeling of relief, she got up and put on her hat, pinning it carefully to her piled hair so the wind wouldn’t whip it from her head. Jesse didn’t come up right away and she figured he was settling with the hotel man. She got out the money Slater had given her and waited.

  “Summer?” Jesse’s voice.

  She unlocked the door. “Hello,Jesse.”

  “The hotel man’s paid, put your money away. You’ll need it. I’ve got your fare bought to Austin, and Bill said he would look after you. Come on, he’s holding the stage.” When Summer protested about the money, he said, “We’ll settle it later. Sadie and I may come through Austin. Where could we find you?”

  “I’ve decided to use my mother’s name. Wheeler.
I’ll leave word at the post office.”

  Summer tilted her chin a little higher and straightened her back when they walked out into the noon sunshine. Jesse lifted her trunk to his shoulder and put a hand beneath her elbow. As they walked to the station, she was conscious of the curious eyes that followed them, and her face burned. She forced herself to lift her eyes from the dusty street and looked straight ahead, her face calm, her feelings well bottled up inside her.

  Bill, the driver who had brought her and John Austin to Hamilton, was waiting beside the stage. He took Summer’s trunk from Jesse and heaved it up to his helper to secure in the luggage rack.

  Now that it was time to go, Summer wanted to cling to Jesse. Reading her thoughts, the torment on her face, he squeezed her arm and bent forward to murmur reassuringly:

  “You’ll do fine, Summer. Remember, if things don’t work out, write to Captain Slane at the fort. He’ll get word to me. Now, you’ll do it?”

  Fighting back the tears, she nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered through trembling lips.

  Jesse turned and lifted her into the coach, his own face masked over to conceal his feelings. Summer sat down beside a Mexican woman with a squirming baby. The coach was full; three men and one woman beside the one holding the baby. The men looked irritable because of the delay, and stared at her resentfully. The whip cracked, the coach lurched and began to roll. Summer, sitting on the backward seat, kept her eyes on Jesse for as long as she could see him. The trail curved, a cloud of dust rolling up behind them, and they left the town behind.

  It seemed to Summer that she was alone in a lonely world. In fact, she had never been as alone as she had been for the last five days. On the way out from the Piney Woods, she had had John Austin to take care of. In this very same coach they had come to Hamilton in search of Sam McLean. They had found him, all right, Summer thought bitterly.

  The heat was stifling in the coach. Summer took off her hat to fan herself and the breeze it created helped to quiet the baby. She prayed her stomach would stay still. Usually, by noon it would settle down, but today she had been so nervous waiting for Jesse that she had to keep swallowing to keep her mouth from filling with saliva.