Petticoat Ranch

by Mary Connealy

  The thought of going to town made her sick.

  Sophie thought of the evil eyes of the man who had come to her house in the thicket last night and wondered if she would run into him in Mosqueros. She thought of that arrogant sheriff and the greasy banker, and she dreaded town so much, she felt goose bumps break out on her body.

  Clay hadn’t even asked her if she wanted to go. The Edwards family had never attended church! Cliff hadn’t cared for Parson Roscoe when they’d first moved here, Cliff being a staunch Episcopalian and Parson Roscoe coming from a Methodist persuasion. The small town she’d lived near in Pennsylvania had one church building and a circuit rider, like so many other small towns. Sophie’s family had worshiped with everyone else in town, paying little heed to the denomination of the parson.

  She’d tried to go to church in Mosqueros for a while, after Cliff had left for the war. But by then there’d been such hostility toward her and the girls, Sophie couldn’t bear it. She’d found a firm champion in Parson Roscoe though.

  They didn’t announce it around town, but he and his wife had made their parsonage in South Carolina available as a stopover for the Underground Railroad, before they felt God call them to a frontier ministry. They’d been here five years before the Edwardses. But Sophie firmly believed that God had put the Roscoes in Mosqueros as a direct answer to prayers she wouldn’t begin praying until many years later.

  She wiped dry the last of the breakfast dishes, then with apprehension churning in her belly, she turned her attention toward preparing for church. Getting ready herself was easy. She owned one decent dress. She had it on. There were two others, but they were out of the question. She’d butchered a deer in one last night. Even though she covered it with an apron, that one was so awful she wouldn’t think of wearing it out in public. And her other dress was the huge one she wore for her disguise. There was enough fabric in it to make dresses for all three older girls, providing she could get the Hector stink out of it.

  She let her hair out of the braid she’d slept in, combed it smooth, then rebraided it and coiled it into a neat bun at the base of her neck. She went from one girl to the other, fixing the hair of each, although Laura didn’t need much fixing with her little cap of white blond curls. Mandy had tried to braid Sally’s hair. The braid was a little lopsided, and too many hairs had escaped for it to be suitable for church, so Sophie quickly tidied it, complimenting Mandy on her efforts and giving pointers at the same time. Mandy was learning. With a sigh of contentment, Sophie knew Mandy would be doing more of these little chores every day.

  Sophie had put each girl’s hair into a braid with nimble fingers and began tying a pink ribbon into Beth’s hair.

  Mandy shouted, “It’s my turn to wear the pink ribbon!”

  Beth gasped so loud it was almost a screech. She whirled around so fast she whipped Sally in the eye with her braid. “It is not your turn! It’s mine!”

  “My eye!” Sally squealed. She grabbed for her eye and wailed at the top of her lungs, “You hurt my eye!”

  Beth ignored Sally and kept at Mandy, “You got to wear it for Christmas! That’s the last time we got dressed up, and you wore the pink ribbon!”

  Laura, up until now sitting on the floor contentedly watching her sisters, started crying in sympathy with Sally.

  Mandy balled up her fists at her sides. “It was not Christmas! It was that night Parson Roscoe came out to visit. We got all dressed up, and Sally wore that ribbon. She’s the youngest. We go oldest to youngest, so your turn must have been before that. It’s my turn!”

  Mandy reached for Beth’s hair, and Beth slapped her hand.

  “Sally, let me see your eye.” Sophie added sharply, “Girls, don’t fight! Mandy, it’s Eliz. . .” Sally backed up, sobbing and wiping at her eye. Mandy and Beth were wrestling with each other and screaming to raise the dead. Sally knocked into Sophie, and Sophie staggered backward and would have fallen, except strong hands were there to catch her. She looked behind her as she was set back on her feet. Clay.

  Mandy got her hands on the pink ribbon and, not purely coincidentally, one of Beth’s braids. The screaming reached the point where it could make ears bleed.

  Clay roared into the chaos, “Quiet! Every one of you girls, be—quiet—right—now!”

  Dead silence fell on the room. The girls all looked at Clay, and after a few seconds of shock, Sally started crying. “Don’t you love us anymore, Pa?”

  Elizabeth started crying next. “I didn’t mean to be so naughty!” She buried her face in her hands and wept. After a few seconds she reached back and dragged the pink ribbon out of her hair and tossed it at Mandy. “Here—” she said brokenly, “take the stupid—ugly ribbon— if you want it—so bad!”

  The ribbon hit Mandy in the chest, but she didn’t even try and catch it. Instead tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Pa. I didn’t mean to make you stop loving us. Don’t leave us. Please!” Mandy’s voice cracked. With a sudden burst of grief that almost sounded like a scream, she whirled away from all of them and dashed out the door, crying.

  Laura tottered toward Sophie, who was studying the drama calmly. Sophie curled up one corner of her mouth, shook her head, then she picked Laura up.

  “Enough, girls,” she snapped. “We’re going to be late for church!”

  “Don’t yell at them!” Clay grabbed her arm and spun her around.

  She wanted to snarl at him for grabbing at her like that, but she held her tongue when she saw the stricken look on his face, as he looked from her to each of the sobbing girls and, with complete panic, looked to the door.

  “I’d better go after her! She could get hurt running around so upset.” Clay hurried out the door, looking backward fearfully.

  Once he got out, Sophie turned back to the girls. Beth was still sniffing a bit, but she was already tying the pink ribbon in her hair with a faintly satisfied air.

  Sophie said, “Next time is Mandy’s turn, and don’t any of you forget it! Now Sally, it’s your turn for the blue ribbon. Come over here.”

  Sophie had them all ready in just a few minutes. She found Clay in a near panic, searching for Mandy. Sophie told him to ready the horses. He seemed eager to obey her. Sophie rousted Mandy out of the barn hayloft, a favorite hidey-hole since she was little. She tied the yellow ribbon in Mandy’s hair and plunked her on the horse. The six of them rode double on the two horses and Hector and headed for town.

  Clay carried Sally in front of him. Mandy rode double with Beth in complete harmony. Sophie carried Laura like a papoose on her back.

  Sophie rode beside Clay. Companionably she nodded at Beth and Mandy, riding slightly ahead on Hector’s broad back. “It’s certainly easier to get the girls ready for church since they got older. Going to town used to be a real struggle.”

  “It used to be harder than this?” Clay asked in a horrified whisper.

  Sophie arched an eyebrow at him. “Well, of course. I had three girls under five years of age at one time. My goodness, it was a battle getting them all dressed and keeping them clean until we’d get to town.”

  Clay gave Sophie a wild-eyed look. She had no idea what he was so upset about. He shuddered slightly and spurred his horse into a trot. Sophie shrugged and increased her own speed to keep up with him. Clay treated them all like they were part sidewinder and part crystal, afraid they’d bite or break if he made a single wrong move.

  Go figure men.

  E I G H T

  The trail to Mosqueros passed the thicket where they’d lived. Sophie looked at the familiar little path. A shiver of fear ran up her spine. She jerked back on the reins so suddenly her horse reared. So much had happened since the night she’d seen Judd, Eli, and the other man, she’d forgotten to tell Clay that the men who had killed Cliff had been chasing him. They’d called him a horse thief. They’d spoken of hangings. She wheeled her horse around to where Clay lagged behind them. He was immediately alert.

  Mandy and Beth were ahead of them, but there sat Sally
, enjoying the ride she was getting from her new pa. Sophie hesitated.

  Clay said, “What?”

  She shook her head sharply at him, just as Sally looked up from petting the horse. Sophie couldn’t baldly announce, in front of her little girl, that men were looking for Clay to kill him.

  Sophie immediately wiped the concern from her expression. “I was just thinking about the old place.”

  Clay caught her hint that what she wanted to say was best said away from the children. His eyes had that narrow, dangerous look about them, and his already cautious way of watching a trail became even more careful.

  Sophie dropped back beside him. “I should tell you about life in that place sometime, Clay.”

  Sally piped up, “We ate roots and greens and jackrabbits. There were fish in the creek, but they were almighty hard to catch, and Ma could fetch us a deer when she had a mind to.”

  “Like last night?” Clay asked. “We went out riding herd, and here your ma finds food for a week.”

  Rather tartly Sophie replied, “Hunting with three children is quite a trick, Clay. Remind me to let you try it sometime.”

  Clay gave her a long, slightly horrified look, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d had to take the girls. Or maybe he was imagining hunting with them. “I may remind you, and I may not.”

  “There are other things I have to tell you. But later.” Sophie held his gaze.

  He tightened his grip on Sally as if to protect her. “Right after church soon enough?”

  Sophie said with a brisk nod, “Just barely soon enough.”

  “Let’s catch up to the girls a mite.” Clay clucked to his horse.

  Sophie stayed right beside him the rest of the trip. She tried to let go of her fear for her new husband, as well as her thirst for revenge for her old one. Every time she turned her mind away from vengeance, she thought of the enmity that was sure to face them in Mosqueros, and she tried to control her resentment.

  In her opinion, her neighbors had chosen the wrong side in the war. They’d held it against her and her family when they lost, and they’d turned their backs on the Edwards family when Cliff died—when she’d needed help so badly.

  None of these were emotions fit for a church service. She wasn’t having much luck, but still she struggled against her anger. All over the United States, people had hard feelings against their neighbors and life needed to go on. Sophie was determined to put it behind her. While she rode along she prayed, Help me, help me, help me.

  Adam jerked awake. He lifted his head and peered around him. There was nothing. He seemed to be lying flat out on grassland. He’d passed out after staggering along for what seemed like hours.

  He fumbled for the wound on his side. The bullet had entered from the back and passed clean through. Adam wasn’t surprised he’d been back-shot by that pack of cowards. He felt the dried blood, and just that little movement cut razor sharp through his side and back.

  His girl needed help. “Give me the strength to take one more step, Lord. One step at a time, let me get to her.”

  He had nothing necessary for survival. Not food nor a weapon. Not even a fit set of clothes. But Adam figured God wouldn’t give him the powerful message that Sophie needed him then not give the strength to go and help. Adam was a man of the West now. He’d learned to live with the land and let it provide for him. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered on toward Mosqueros.

  “They’re here, Irving. Oh, I so hoped they’d come!” Sophie heard Mrs. Roscoe’s joyful pleasure when they rode up to the sagging picket fence that surrounded the little wooden church.

  The small group of people milling around outside the church were staring. Sophie dismounted with grave misgivings. She tied her roan to the hitching post, alongside a dozen others, swung Laura around to her front, and pulled her out of her little leather carrier.

  Clay helped Sally down, then swiftly went to lift first Mandy, then Beth off of Hector. He took Laura and had a steadying hand to spare to help Sophie alight.

  Sophie took a minute to fuss over the tendrils of hair that had escaped from the girls’ braids. The girls looked fine, but Sophie was delaying the moment she’d have to walk into that crowd. Clay came to stand beside her, with Laura in his strong arms.

  Sophie smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  Clay nodded and grinned. With his hand resting on Sally’s back, he went to say hello to the parson.

  “Good morning, Parson Roscoe.” When Clay spoke, several people approached him.

  “Clay McClellen!” the banker’s voice boomed.

  Sophie braced herself for trouble.

  The banker extended his hand and said jovially, “Glad you could make it in to worship with us.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it, Royce,” Clay said easily, reaching out to shake hands with the short, stocky man.

  “Let me introduce the missus.” Mr. Badje swept his arm sideways with a flourish.

  The missus! Sophie almost choked, she was so surprised. A pretty young woman approached shyly, and Royce Badje took her hand. She clutched his hand in both of hers and hung on as if she’d caught a lifeline. Badje looked at her bowed head with adoration. Sophie knew the banker hadn’t given her a thought in a long time.

  “Clay McClellen, I’d like you to meet my wife, Isabelle. Isabelle, say hello to Clay.” The banker gave the order and little Isabelle performed on command.

  “Hello, Mr. McClellen.” Isabelle nodded her head and held on to her husband even tighter.

  Clay lifted his hat clean off his head and held it against his chest. “Howdy, Mrs. Badje. Have you met Sophie and my girls?”

  It was as if a dam broke. Everyone flooded toward them and welcomed them genially to church. Sophie spoke to everyone, and all her girls were fussed over, especially Laura. Before long the girls were off chattering with other children, and Sophie and Clay were visiting pleasantly with the congregation.

  A lady Sophie had never seen before approached her. “How do you do? I am Grace Calhoun, the new school teacher.” Each word was clipped and perfectly pronounced—no Texas drawl for this young woman.

  Sophie nodded her head at the extremely proper teacher. Grace Calhoun’s demeanor reminded Sophie of her more formal upbringing in Pennsylvania, and she dusted off some of her more genteel manners. “I am pleased to meet you, Grace.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. McClellen, but I prefer Miss Calhoun. I feel my students must hear me referred to with respect in their homes if I am to keep order in school.”

  “Um. . .” Sophie felt herself blush a bit. “Of course, Miss Calhoun. As I said, I’m pleased to meet you. This will be the first school in Mosqueros, won’t it?”

  “No, Mrs. Badje was the teacher before she married. I mean to see things are well run. Are you intending to send the girls to school, Mrs. McClellen?”

  The woman had a chilly manner. Her hands were folded primly. Her bonnet was carefully tied with a bow precisely angled under one ear. Her lips were pursed, not unlike someone who had just had a drink of vinegar. But Sophie thought behind the prissy behavior she saw truly kind eyes.

  School. She’d never given it much thought. Survival had been too much work. She’d taught the girls to read with books she owned, mainly the Bible. And she’d taught them their numbers and simple arithmetic. There was so much more, though. Sophie looked sideways at Clay.

  Before she could ask, Clay said, “We’ll be there for sure, ma’am.” Clay reached out his hand to shake Miss Calhoun’s.

  She flinched just a bit. “It is a lady’s decision if she will shake hands with a man. It is improper of you to offer me your hand first.”

  Clay’s hand stayed where it was for an awkward second or two, then he lowered it and rubbed it against his pant leg. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “No, I don’t imagine you did.” Miss Calhoun nodded her head. “I’d best be getting inside.” She turned stiffly and headed into the church. Sophie noticed Miss Calhoun went in
alone and felt a stab of pity for her. She wondered if the young woman had any friends.

  A flurry of friendly faces came up and greeted them. Parson Roscoe broke up the fellowship time by waving the congregation inside. Mrs. Roscoe took Sophie’s arm firmly and escorted her to the front pew. Clay and the girls filed in beside her.

  Sophie’s head was spinning. She’d never been treated so kindly by the people of Mosqueros. It could only be due to Clay and whatever passed between him and the townsfolk when he’d done his shopping yesterday. Buoyed by the happiness of it, she faced the parson, ready to listen to the first preaching she’d heard in years.

  Parson Roscoe held his big, black Bible open in one hand, lifted it to eye level, and roared, “Avenge not yourselves!”

  Sophie almost jumped up out of her seat. She reached sideways without thinking what she was doing and clutched Clay’s hand. She wanted to shake her head and deny the verse the parson had selected, but she held herself still. She didn’t want to hear that it was wrong of her to want vengeance for Cliff. And now vengeance for Clay. She didn’t want to let go of her hate for Judd and Eli and the men who rode with the J BAR M.

  “Leave room for God’s wrath,” the parson thundered.

  Sophie realized her own hand was hurting she was holding Clay’s so tightly. She tried to relax her grip, only to realize she wasn’t the only one holding on. Clay’s hand was crushing hers.

  Relentlessly the parson said what Sophie didn’t want to hear, “For it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine.’ ”

  Mindful that she was sitting front and center in a very small church, she dared a quick glance at Clay.

  Parson Roscoe said vehemently, “ ‘I will repay, saith the Lord’! ”

  The parson’s voice faded from her hearing as she looked at her new husband. His face was flushed, and his eyes were locked on the parson. His jaw was rigid. Sophie sensed a terrible battle going on within him for self-control. She knew the words were striking home just as hard with Clay as they were with her. Clay wanted vengeance, too. Every bit as badly as she did.