by Jo Goodman
“Better if you talk. Your mind won’t drift. Tell me about Thaddeus and Fiona. How are they?”
Remington knew that Ben was right and he launched into a story about his father wanting to make Fiona a gift of one of the new mares, but finding out that the particular chestnut he had chosen was as single-minded as Fiona herself. None of the hands thought the mare would accept Fiona in the saddle Christmas morning. The mare had thrown everyone at one time or another, and Thaddeus was understandably reluctant to let his wife mount her.
“That’s why I finally gave in and told Phoebe we could come to town. Thaddeus asked me to choose a saddle for Fiona, and I said I would. I was at the leather goods store when all of you were at the bank.” He raised his glass but only took a sip. “Have I thanked you for looking out for my family?”
“About five or six times. And they’re my family, too.”
Remington nodded and said quietly, “I wish you wouldn’t be a stranger at the ranch. Phoebe and I have our own place, you know that. You could—” He stopped because Ben was already shaking his head.
“I won’t sneak around Twin Star to visit you. It wouldn’t only feel wrong; it’d be wrong.”
“Only in your mind.”
“Maybe, but there it is.”
Remington eyed Ben over the rim of his glass. “How’s Ellie?”
“She has nothing to do with me not going out to the ranch.”
“I didn’t say that she did. I was inquiring about her health.”
“Uh-huh.” When Remington continued to stare at him, Ben decided to let it go. “In that case, she’s well. Grieving about Doc’s passing. She was a better friend to him than I knew.”
“I thought we might see her at the hotel.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“It’s been a long time, Ben. I can understand that she would want to avoid Thaddeus and Fiona, but Phoebe? There’s no need. Phoebe championed her. She was the one who could see events through your mother’s eyes.”
“What about you?”
“Me? For all intents and purposes, Ellie raised me. I loved her. I suppose there for a while I thought I felt differently, but time passes, and I learned that nothing’s changed.”
“Maybe you should tell her that. I could, but she wouldn’t believe me.”
“Maybe I should.” He took another sip of his drink. “You know, Ben, if she really wanted to get away, she would have gone farther than Frost Falls.”
“I know. But then she wouldn’t be able to punish herself in quite the same way.” He leaned forward, bottle in hand, and refreshed Remington’s drink and then his own. He placed the bottle on the table between them but closer to his side. He sat back and rested his head against the back of the sofa. “I like it here,” he said. “I missed the ranch more when I was Jackson’s deputy than I do now that I’m sheriff. I had more time on my hands then, I guess, less responsibility. Did Thaddeus put Jackson up to recommending me for the job?”
“You know better than that.”
“Hmm. I guess I still wonder.”
“Well, he didn’t. He approved. So did I. The election was up to the people. We didn’t stuff any ballot boxes.”
Ben chuckled. “Jackson might have. He was dead set on getting to Paris. I don’t think there was anyone except his wife who didn’t think it was a damn fool notion.”
Remington started to reply but he cut himself off when he heard Phoebe’s cry drift down the stairs. The tips of his fingers turned white on his glass.
Ben didn’t like the sound any better than Remington. He kept one eye on the bottle so Remington couldn’t take it and run. “You remember Lily Salt? She was Lily Bryant when you knew her in school.”
“Huh?” Remington required a moment to get his bearings. Ben’s conversational diversion gave him whiplash. “Yeah. Sure. Jeremiah’s wife. I don’t see her around much when I’m in town. What about her?”
“Jeremiah’s been whaling on her. I took Ridley to see her early on, but Jeremiah won’t have any part of that now. I spoke to Mary Cherry this morning about Doc’s passing, and once she got her thoughts together, she told me that she thinks Lily’s in a bad way again. Nothing she could see, and nothing Lily would say, but Mary’s got a nose for that sort of thing. I can’t dismiss it.”
“There are children, aren’t there?”
Ben held up four fingers just as Colt had done earlier in the dining room.
“Damn. Does he wallop on them?”
“Clay—he’s the oldest—says no. I’m not sure I can believe him. There are no visible marks. I’ve talked to the schoolmaster, but that man comes from the spare-the-rod, spoil-the-child line of thinking, so I don’t know if he’s a reliable source. He has a switch hanging beside the blackboard. Hurt my backside to look at it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I want to talk to Ridley first and hear what she knows. Mary said she spoke to Ridley’s housekeeper about it a few days ago, so it might have gotten back to Ridley by now. There’s almost no way either one of us can lay eyes on Lily if she doesn’t leave the house or if I don’t put Jeremiah in jail. So far, the wily bastard hasn’t given me cause.”
“No public drunkenness? That doesn’t sound like Jeremiah. I recall Jackson joking about giving him exclusive rights to one of the cells.”
“We didn’t arrest him all that often,” said Ben. “If he didn’t harm anyone or destroy something or no one pressed charges, I usually escorted him home on the sheriff’s say-so. God only knows how many times I put Lily in danger when I dropped him off on his doorstep.”
“You feeling guilty?”
Ben nodded. “Some. I didn’t know what I didn’t know.”
“Rock and a hard place. You do what you can and sometimes you can’t even do that. I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Hmm.”
Remington’s head snapped toward the staircase when Phoebe cried out again. “Jesus, that tears me up. How long since the last time we heard her?”
“I don’t know. Five minutes?”
“Five minutes. The doc said Phoebe’s labor was stalled. Does five minutes sound like it’s stalled to you?”
“Hey, you’re the one with the experience.”
“I was drunk.”
“Well, you said yourself that you read a book.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t exactly bone up, and I mostly looked at the pictures.”
“How’d you graduate law school? Those books have pictures, too?” Ben added a finger of whiskey to Remington’s glass when he held it out. “Last time I’m filling it, so go easy.”
Remington ignored him. “Maybe I should look in on Colt. The boy sleeps like the dead, but those sounds that Phoebe’s making could raise Lazarus.”
“I’ll go,” said Ben. He stood and swiped the bottle from the table, gave Remington a knowing grin, and headed for the stairs.
Colt was blissfully unaware of what was happening down the hall. Ben straightened the boy’s blankets where he had kicked them off and added some coals to the stove. He stood outside the door, listening in the event he had disturbed his nephew but he heard nothing.
Ben started for the staircase, backtracked, and went to stand at his bedroom door. It was ajar a few inches; he nudged it open a few more. Ridley was telling Phoebe to relax, close her eyes, and think about holding her baby in her arms. Did she favor a girl or a boy this time? Ben didn’t hear Phoebe’s reply, but he wondered what she said. He hadn’t thought to ask either Remington or Phoebe if it mattered.
He stepped back. The floor creaked under his boots. He paused, tried to retreat again, but this time the door opened and Ridley poked out her head.
“I thought it was probably you,” she said. “Colt would have barged in and Remington wouldn’t have come close. What do you want?”
“Nothing. Um, I came up to look
in on Colt. He’s still sleeping, by the way.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You, um, don’t suppose I could see Phoebe?” He added quickly, “If she says it’s all right, that is. It would set Remington’s mind at ease if I could make a report. It’d set my mind at ease, too.”
Ridley’s head disappeared from the opening as quickly as a turtle retreating into its shell. She placed her fingers in the door to stop it from closing but also to keep Ben from nudging it back open.
Ben realized that she was pantomiming his request because he couldn’t hear a word she was saying. When she reappeared, it was to open the door wide enough to usher him inside.
“How is he?” asked Phoebe. She pushed back damp strands of hair that had escaped the knot on her head and come to settle against her temples and one cheek. “I see you’re carrying a bottle. I suppose that tells me something.”
Ben went to the foot of the bed and held it up. “Better than half full,” he said. “I took it for safekeeping purposes.”
“Uh-huh. And left my husband alone with every other bottle you have in your cabinet. Where is your head, Ben Madison?”
He grinned good-naturedly. “Clearly not attached to the rest of me. How are you?”
“Ready to have this baby.”
Ridley said, “Phoebe’s started hard labor. She’ll be ready to push soon.”
“She’s only started hard labor?” asked Ben. “What was that before?”
“Mm,” Phoebe murmured. “Apparently a picnic, so says the doctor.”
“I did not say that.”
Phoebe’s fingers curled and her back stiffened. “One of you come here. Quick.” Ben reached her first. She grabbed his hand. “Here we go.” Once again the contraction seized her breath. Her nostrils flared and creases appeared at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
“It’s time,” Ridley said. “You can push.”
Phoebe did.
Ben thought she might twist his fingers off but complaining just then would not have been wise. By his count, the contraction lasted a full ninety seconds. When it was over, Phoebe went limp.
Ridley pointed Ben toward the door. “Go on. Tell Remington that Phoebe is doing excellently. Whether you want him to know that you were here is up to you.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to mention that.”
Phoebe had a drawn smile for him, weak but knowing. “Coward.”
“That’s a fact.” He left the room.
Chapter Thirty-two
According to Ben’s pocket watch, Winnie Frost arrived at six minutes after three in the morning, making her officially a Friday’s child, good and giving. Remington was able to see his wife as soon as she delivered the afterbirth and Ridley had mother and daughter spit-shined and polished, all of it done to Phoebe’s exacting directions.
Ridley left the parents and the new arrival on their own and carried out a pail with the placenta and an armload of soiled linens. Ben pulled out the washtub and showed her where she could dispose of the afterbirth. When she returned to the house after taking the opportunity to finally relieve her bladder, Ben was pouring a bucket of cold water into the tub. It looked to Ridley as if he had already made several trips from the sink pump to the tub.
“Do you have a washboard?” she asked.
“Of course. In the pantry. The soap’s in there as well.”
She retrieved both. She was preparing to kneel at the tub when he stopped her with a look.
“Sit down,” he said. “In a chair, not on the floor. I can do this.” At her raised eyebrows, he said, “Did you think I took my laundry to the hotel for my mother to do?”
“Not exactly.”
Ben dumped soap flakes into the water and swished them around. “What do mean, not exactly?”
“I thought she came over here and picked up your laundry.” Ridley threw up her hands, laughing, when Ben sprinkled her with soapy water. “I apologize.”
“Good. People who live in glass houses . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a housekeeper.”
“Oh. And you have a good point.”
Ben started to scrub. Ridley covered her mouth to hide a yawn. “You could leave now,” he said. “Get some sleep.”
“Not just yet. I’d like to look in on Phoebe and Winnie one more time.”
“They really named her that?”
“Mm-hmm. Your niece is Ophelia Winchester Frost.”
“I’m going to call her Ophelia.”
Ridley chuckled. “Good luck. I’m not sure that she’ll ever answer to the name. At least at the ranch.”
“Why Ophelia? Do you know?”
“One of Fiona’s favorite roles, according to Phoebe. That’s when I realized that Fiona Frost was formerly Fiona Apple, the toast of the New York stage. I saw her perform once when I was young. Father took us all to the city. He had a speaking engagement at one of the university hospitals and we had a holiday.” She smiled a little crookedly. “It’s a good memory.”
Ben glanced up at her in time to see that crooked smile before it faded.
“What is it?” she asked, self-consciously raising her fingers to her lips.
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring at my mouth.”
“It’s a lovely mouth.” When that lovely mouth pursed disapprovingly, Ben merely grinned. “Still lovely.”
Ridley leaned over and flicked water at him. “Please don’t retaliate,” she said when he sat up. “I don’t have the energy for a full-out water battle.”
“You are fortunate. Neither do I.” Ben returned to scrubbing. “Maybe you should check on Phoebe and little Feely now. You’re going to fall asleep in that chair.”
Ridley didn’t stir. “Feely? That’s your idea of a proper nickname?”
He shrugged. “I’m trying it out.”
“Try harder.”
“Fifi?”
Ridley ignored that. “Where was Ellie this evening?”
“We’re talking about that now?”
“I’d like to, yes. I noticed that she didn’t come out to the dining room while we were there. I found that odd. She makes a point to stop by my table when I’m there, whether or not I’m with you.”
“She has responsibilities outside of the dining room. She was probably busy doing other things.”
Ridley’s raised eyebrow was lost on Ben. He didn’t look up. She also noticed he was scrubbing just that much harder. “Earlier tonight I asked Phoebe if she might like to have another woman attending her in addition to me.”
“Another woman?” Ben posed the question with a certain amount of cynicism. “Or did you specifically ask her about Ellie?”
“Ellie.”
“Then you should have said that right off.”
“I’ve upset you.”
Ben stopped scrubbing. He sat back on his heels; his hands folded over the lip of the tub, gripping it. He was quiet and he did not look up. Finally, “Besides declining your suggestion, what did Phoebe say?”
“I thought she was candid. She told me that Ellie was unlikely to agree, and it would be unfair to put her in that position. She also said Ellie’s presence would be a problem for Fiona.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
Ben reached for the towel he had dropped in the water, lifted it, and began to wring it out. “It sounds as if Phoebe was straightforward. So what is it that you want to know?”
“The why of it all. Phoebe showed me the forest and none of the trees. Why would Ellie refuse? Why would it upset Fiona if she didn’t?”
When Ben finished wringing out the towel, he tossed it on the table and chose another. “Did you ask her?”
“Yes. She said I should speak to you.”
He sighed deeply and started scrubbi
ng again. “Of course she did. You know my mother worked at Twin Star for better than twenty-five years.”
“Yes. She told me.”
“And that she came there when Mary, Thaddeus’s first wife, was confined to her bed during her pregnancy with Remington’s sister?”
“I didn’t know that. That’s the sister who died?”
“Mm-hmm. Mary died soon after she gave birth. Remington was five, I think, or thereabouts. Ellie was there for the grieving and the comforting. She stayed on. She was more than a housekeeper, less than a wife. In effect, she raised Remington. I was born at Twin Star. Remington was six then. Thaddeus raised me right beside his son. I idolized Remington, followed him around, pestered him. We fought, scrapped in the yard, and I wouldn’t let anyone say a word against him even if they were bigger, older, or stronger. He looked out for me.” Ben smiled a shade wistfully. “No question that he had an easier time of it. In every way that mattered to us, we were brothers.”
Ridley winced in sympathy when Ben scraped his knuckles against the washboard. She waited patiently while he shook out his hand, afraid to pose a question or insert a comment that would make him think better of finishing his story.
“We are still brothers. Nothing that’s ever been said made a lick of difference to us. Sure, we had to sort out some things, but there was never any doubt that we’d see eye to eye in the end. It didn’t even take very long. No scrapping, no shoot-out. We’re not Cain and Abel. Hell, we’re not Jacob and Esau.”
Ben finished scrubbing. This time he passed the towel to Ridley to wring. “If you’re going to sit there, I guess it wouldn’t bother me much if you helped.”
She took the towel and twisted it over the washtub while he went to work again.
“There’ve always been whispers about me being Thaddeus’s bastard. I didn’t like hearing that much because of what it said about my mother. I wasn’t aware of it when I was a kid. I got wind of it when Remington went east to college and was no longer around to beat the snot out of someone who said it. My response to the comments was different. I didn’t do anything. I figured fighting was the surest way to keep the rumor in everyone’s mind. I didn’t ignore it exactly; I shrugged it off. There were lots of things that’d get my fists up, but not that. Besides, Ellie talked about my daddy as I was growing up, and it didn’t matter that I never knew him. I had a picture of him in my mind. Why would I believe what some thin-skinned, thick-witted kid said to me when my mother told me different?”
