Charlie handed Lark a paper—a telegram—yet her attention was still on the gold plate.
“And feel how heavy this badge is, Miss Lark!”
Charlie offered the marshal’s badge to Lark, and she accepted it—though her attention was fixed to the gold plate in the box containing the pearl-handled pistols.
“It says,” she began, “Presented to US Marshal William S. Evans with much gratitude and thanks from the people of the great state of Texas.”
“William S. Evans?” Charlie asked. “Who’s that? Uncle Slater and Uncle Tom’s daddy? Is that who hid these in this drawer? I’m sure glad someone left the key in it! Ain’t these pistols a sight?”
But Lark’s heart was in her throat. Her stomach churned as understanding began to wash over her.
“And what’s on that paper, Miss Lark? What’s that say?” Charlie begged.
With a trembling hand, Lark raised the telegram and read aloud, “By telegraph from Washington D.C. To US Marshal William Slater Evans stop. To certify that you are hereby reinstated as United States Marshal stop. Permission to act as your judgment dictates concerning escaped prisoner Samson Kane or any other fugitive, criminal, or law-breaking citizen stop.”
“William S. Evans!” Charlie exclaimed, pointing to the gold plate in the gun box lid. “William Slater Evans? Uncle Slater’s a lawman?”
2
“William S. Evans?” Lark whispered, tears springing to her eyes. The name echoed through her brain, growing louder and louder until her head began to ache with the pounding.
“What’s the matter, Miss Lark?” Charlie asked then. “You feelin’ okay? Is yer cactus stings hurtin’?”
“No…no, I’m fine, Charlie,” Lark managed. Closing the pistol box, she returned it to the drawer, laying the telegram and badge inside as well. “Put the key back where you found it, Charlie…please,” she whispered. “I…I don’t think your Uncle Slater wants anyone to know about this…at least, not right now. S-so let’s keep this our secret, all right. Do you understand?”
Charlie’s brow puckered. He seemed thoughtful for a moment. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he said, “All right,” and hopped down off the chair.
As Charlie returned to his corner—as he began to mumble under his breath in speaking for his wooden soldiers—Lark’s hand clutched her throat.
“William Slater Evans,” she breathed. “United States Marshal,” she gasped, finding an easy breath elusive. “No! No…it can’t be!” she whispered.
In a wave of despair, shame, and horror, memories of her past—the truth of who she truly was—flooded her consciousness like a nauseating poison. She heaved once, nearly loosing the contents of her stomach.
“No! Please, no!” she cried as tears poured over her cheeks. The pain—the fear she’d known the night before when she’d thought for a time that perhaps Slater Evans was an outlaw—paled in association with the truth she’d only just discovered. William S. Evans—William Slater Evans—United States Marshal—revered and respected lawman. Lark was miserably well acquainted with the legend of US Marshal William S. Evans.
“Are you behavin’ for Miss Lark, Charlie?” Katherine asked.
Lark’s hand flew to cover her mouth as another wave of anxiety-driven nausea washed over her.
“Yes, Mama,” Charlie whined with aggravation.
“I’ve got the bread in the oven, Lark,” Katherine said. “Would you and Charlie like to work a puzzle with Lizzy and I?”
Struggling to speak—to keep from collapsing in a heap of emotional despair—Lark shook her head.
“Y-you go ahead and start without me,” she managed. “I’ll be along shortly.”
“All right,” Katherine said. “Come on, Charlie.”
“Miss Lark needs some time, Mama,” Lark heard Charlie say. “We found a box in that desk with a couple of pearl-handled pistols in it…and a badge too. Did you know Uncle Slater was a lawman, Mama?”
Lark winced—nearly broke into hysterics—for if one thing was certain in life, it was that the innocence of a child prevented him from keeping a secret.
“Run on in the kitchen and wait for me, Charlie,” Lark heard Katherine tell the boy. “I’ll be right there.”
Lark stiffened as she felt Katherine take her shoulders. She bit her lip, withholding the sobs begging to escape her.
“So now you know,” Katherine said softly. “I swear I don’t know why he’s kept it from you. It’s so obvious the two of you are—”
“He is William S. Evans…isn’t he, Katie?” Lark asked, though the evidence had already proven the truth. Yet somehow—somehow she still hoped she would wake up and discover it had all been a dream—that there was not a badge in the desk drawer—no guns—no telegram.
“William Slater Evans,” Katherine said. “One of the greatest lawmen there ever was. Slater’s the one who took Samson Kane in, you see. That’s why Samson Kane came here when he escaped…why he’s come for Slater. Nobody could touch Samson Kane…not until Marshal Slater Evans went out after him.” Katherine paused—squeezed Lark’s shoulders with affectionate reassurance. “I don’t know why he keeps the truth so quiet,” she said. “I suppose…I suppose he doesn’t want anyone gushin’ praise all over him and such things. Or maybe, maybe the things he saw…the men he brought in…maybe all of it was just too terrible. Maybe he just doesn’t want to think about it anymore.”
Lark buried her face in her hands—bitterly wept.
“Why, honey!” Katherine exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter? If you’re worried about Samson Kane gettin’ to Slater…don’t! There’s not an outlaw ever born that could get the best of Slater!”
Lark was weak—frightened. Everything she loved was about to be stripped from her, but not by Samson Kane—no! Everything she cared for—Katherine and the children, Tom, her life at the ranch—all of it would be taken from her. All this still didn’t break her heart the way thoughts of losing Slater did. And she would lose him—if she’d ever even truly had him at all. She couldn’t think of what the expression on his face would be when he found out—wouldn’t think of the utter disgust and hatred he would own for her when he did—if he did.
Instantly, she thought of escape. Slater need never know! She could run—run as she’d been doing for years! Spring had come. The warmer weather would enable her to run, and she would! She would rather run from Slater—let her heart take to bleeding, bleed out on the new spring grass. She would rather die a slow, miserable death than to have Slater Evans discover the truth and loathe her for it.
“Samson Kane will not harm Slater, Lark,” Katherine said, turning Lark to face her. “I promise you he won’t.” Katherine wiped the tears from Lark’s face, smiled, and said, “Slater will send Samson Kane back to prison or kill him…and then the two of you can finally settle into one another.”
Lark shook her head, continuing to weep.
“No,” she cried in a whisper. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand he’s in love with you,” Katherine whispered. “That he’s havin’ a mighty hard time keepin’ himself from just takin’ you in his arms and—”
“No!” Lark interrupted. “You don’t understand! If I stay, he’ll find out. He’ll discover the truth if I stay. And if he knows the truth…oh, Katherine! I couldn’t face him if he knew the truth!”
“If you stay? If he finds out what truth?” Katherine asked.
Lark shook her head. “I-I can’t tell you, Katie,” she cried. “You’ll hate me too!”
“What’s the matter?” Tom asked, unexpectedly entering the room.
Lark gasped, “Oh no!” Tom would hate her too—despise her! Yet in that moment, Lark knew no one would despise her for the truth as thoroughly as Slater would.
“She’s upset, Tom,” Katherine said.
“Well, I can see that, Kate,” Tom grumbled. “What’s the matter, Lark? Aren’t you feelin’ all right?”
“No…no!” Lark cried. “I have to leave. I have to
leave before you all—”
“Leave?” Tom exclaimed.
“She found Slater’s badge,” Katherine explained. “Rather, I think Charlie found Slater’s badge…in the desk, he said.”
Tom sighed. “Darlin’,” he began, “is it really so terrible as all this? Bein’ in love with a lawman?” He smiled and gathered her into his arms. Lark clung to him for a moment—prayed for the strength to believe Slater would still want her after he discovered the truth. “They ain’t such bad fellers…a little pouty sometimes maybe. But you know Slater loves you, and just because he’s the law—”
“You don’t understand!” Lark cried. “You don’t understand!”
Tearing herself from his arms, she fled to her bedroom, closed the door, and drew the small bolt.
“Lark! Honey!” Katherine called from the other side.
“Give her a minute here, Katie,” Tom said. “We’ll give you a minute, darlin’,” Tom said. “Then you come out and let us help with whatever is eatin’ at ya. All right?”
“Yes,” Lark sniffled. “Just give me a moment to collect myself. Just a moment.”
“All right then, honey. Take yer time. You just take yer time.”
But Lark knew Tom too well. Tom Evans didn’t take to waiting. No doubt he was already heading for the front door, intent on summoning Slater.
Quickly, Lark went to the wardrobe, withdrew her old carpetbag, and began stuffing her clothes into it. She opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and removed her mother’s photograph. The old clothes in the trunk could stay. The new ones she’d sewn over the past few months and the dress Tom had given her for Christmas were much nicer. Hurriedly she opened the bottom drawer of the small washbasin and pitcher stand. Long ago she’d found some of Mrs. Simpson’s things in it—including a small photograph of Slater and Tom inscribed by both men to say, Our Dear Matilda. Merry Christmas from your boys. Taking the photograph was stealing; Lark knew it was. Still, Mrs. Simpson could no longer treasure it—and Lark would.
Lark paused to glance around the room. Renewed tears streamed down her face as she thought of the joy she’d known in living there—in sleeping each night knowing Slater was sleeping just above her.
Carefully, she drew the small bolt at the door, opened the door a crack, and peered out. It was as she thought. Tom was nowhere to be seen. Katherine wasn’t at the door either. Lark assumed she’d gone to check on Charlie and Lizzy.
Quietly she crept from the room, closing the door behind her so that they would not know she’d left. Making her way to the back of the house, Lark managed to slip past Johnny’s room unnoticed. Johnny was sitting on the floor with his back to the door, intent on a book he was holding in his lap. Therefore, he didn’t hear Lark open the door and slip through it.
Instantly, she realized that without her slicker or even her lavender wool coat, she would have to find shelter before dark. The sun warmed the spring days, it was true, but the nights were still far too cool to endure comfortably. As she stood on the back porch, trying to find the courage to run, Lark thought of Samson Kane. She knew that if she happened upon him while trying to flee, he would surely kill her—for it was certain he knew that she had lied to him. Still, she wouldn’t think of being killed by Samson Kane—or, worse, gutted like a fish by the outlaw. She simply would not cross his path.
There was no more time to plan. Tom may have found Slater by now, and though she was not sure of the depth of his feelings for her, Lark knew Slater cared for her—that he would return to the house once his brother had told him of Charlie’s discovery and Lark’s reaction to it.
She glanced to the barn—to the corrals. There was no sign of Slater, Tom, or the other Evans ranch cowboys. Lifting her skirt with one hand and holding tight to her carpetbag with the other, Lark stepped down off the porch. She would run—run as fast as her legs would carry her. If she could make it to town, perhaps she could find a room at the inn, for she was not so destitute as she had been when first she’d arrived. Slater and Tom had paid her well to be their cook and housekeeper—even increased her wages once Katherine and the children had arrived. Having spent very little of her collected wages, Lark knew she could easily survive until she found other means of work—even for months if need be.
Creeping toward the barn, Lark slipped to one side of it, inching her way down its length with her back to the outer wall, keeping her attention on the house.
“What you runnin’ from, baby?” Slater asked.
Lark gasped—turned to see Slater standing behind her, a furious glare furrowing his brow.
“You,” she said, bursting into tears.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
She gasped once more as he snatched the carpetbag from her hand. Bending over, he placed one broad shoulder into Lark’s midsection, effortlessly lifting her onto one shoulder. Lark had seen him lift grain and flour sacks this way, carrying them to the cellar. But grain and flour sacks didn’t wriggle and move.
“Put me down!” she cried, weakly beating on his back with her fists. “You won’t care that I’m leaving once I’ve told you!”
“Oh, I’ll put you down all right,” he growled, stepping into the barn. “After I’ve tanned yer fanny!”
Lark yelped with astonishment as Slater rather tossed her off his shoulder to land softly in a pile of straw. Glaring at her a moment, he dropped her carpetbag and folded strong arms against a broad chest.
“Tom tells me that you don’t take too kindly to lawmen,” he said. “Especially ones who’ve been keepin’ secrets.”
“You don’t understand,” she began.
“I understand that I shoulda told you before,” he said. There was pain in his voice—regret in his expression. “I shoulda told you, Lark…but now you know why I was afraid to. I’d knew you run from me when—”
“Don’t you see?” Lark cried, burying her face in her hands. “It’s not you! It’s not beautiful, wonderful you, Marshal Evans! It’s me!”
“Lark—” he began, taking a step toward her.
“Stop! Stop! Don’t come near me!” she cried. “Don’t you see? It’s not that you’re a lawman. What would be the wrong in that? It’s…it’s which lawman you are!”
“Lark,” he said, “I don’t understand.”
“Do you recognize the name Eddie Dean Wakley?” she asked, holding up a hand in a gesture that he should not move closer to her.
Slater paused—frowned—shrugged. “What does that have to do with the shade of General Lee’s drawers?” he asked.
“Do you remember him?” she asked, again. “You’re the US marshal who tracked him down, aren’t you? You’re the marshal who took him to the state prison in Texas…aren’t you?”
Confusion was plain on Slater’s face as he nodded. “Yes, it was me…maybe eight…maybe nine years ago. But I don’t understand—”
“Do you remember when you found him?” she asked.
“Well, sure, but—”
“Tell me about it, Slater. Tell me about the day you found the outlaw Eddie Dean Wakley.”
“Baby, please—” Slater began.
“Just tell me, Slater!” she cried. “Just tell me!”
Slater took a deep breath—ran a hand through his hair.
“All right. All right. Though I don’t see what this has to do with—”
“Just tell me, Slater. Please.”
“I was…I was down in south Texas, almost to Mexico. He was holed up in El Paso. Eddie Dean Wakley was as bad as they come, and I’d been chasin’ him for months. I chased him halfway to Canada and then all the way back to Texas before I finally cornered him.” He paused, shaking his head in frustration. “Baby, can’t I just kiss you and settle you on down that way? I don’t see what this has to do with why you’re runnin’ from me.”
“You chased him to Texas,” Lark prodded, however. “And…”
“And…and what?” he growled.
2
“And…and who was with him w
hen you found him?” Lark asked, biting her lip to try and keep from melting into sobbing once more.
“Baby, I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know. He was holed up in the upstairs of a saloon. I pistol whipped him and…”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. Lark wiped at her tears with her sleeve.
“He had a wife,” he said, lowering his voice. Lark’s heart began to hammer as she wondered when complete realization would take hold of him. “She was a pretty thing. I remember I felt so guilty somehow takin’ him away and leavin’ her there…but I figured she’d be better off anyhow. He’d been draggin’ her all over creation…her and the little girl.” He paused again, inhaled a deep breath, rubbed at his whiskery chin with one hand. “I hated to think on how he treated that little girl. She looked just like her mama…a lovely little thing she was. I remember her mama called her Birdie…but that wasn’t her real name.”
Lark watched as Slater was then rinsed with recognition.
“Her mama called her Lark,” he whispered. “That was the name of Eddie Dean Wakley’s little girl. Wasn’t it?”
Lark nodded. “Lark Medora Wakley,” she whispered. “Lawrence was my mother’s maiden name.”
He was quiet a moment—glanced away from her. She saw him swallow, saw his eyes mist with moisture.
“Are you runnin’ from me because you hate me for takin’ your daddy to prison…for leavin’ you and your mama with no man to look after you?” he asked. “Or are you runnin’ because you thought I’d give a damn who your daddy was?”
“My mother always thanked God for you in her prayers,” Lark whispered. “Every night until she died, she thanked God for bringing you to us…for making you a strong enough man to take my father and set us free. I thanked God for you too.”
Slater glanced away a moment, and Lark could see his jaw clenching and unclenching to bridle his emotion.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that my father was an outlaw…even if he is dead. He died in prison, but he was an outlaw…no better than Samson Kane,” she added.
Weathered Too Young Page 26
