“Forty-eight, I think. I know what you mean. We all used to speculate, too. He just up and vanished and was never found. Strange. Sad, too.”
“And there is, or I should say was, Uncle Rudolph McCutcheon. The oldest of the four boys. Our grandfather, Augustus McCutcheon was only sixteen when he came along.”
Charity laughed. “I know. Thank goodness Grandma Sarah was sixteen too, and not younger. I’m nineteen. By their standards, and my mother’s—I don’t know if you remember but she was pretty young when she had Matt—I should already have a passel of kids. They moved to Texas in thirty-six, right after Texas was annexed into the States, but before even my pa or Uncle Gideon was born.”
“You know a lot.”
“My father has it all written down in a ledger he made when he was a young man,” Charity said. “Has dates and names and all sorts of interesting stuff. Says it’s important to know who you are and where you came from. Also, to remember the mistakes your forefathers made, so you don’t repeat them yourself. Now he’s recording all the grandbabies and such and what and where.”
Chaim grunted as if thinking over what she’d just said.
“Come on, I want to show you something.” Chaim reined his horse off the narrow, well-worn road and guided it up a good-sized incline. Charity had to lean forward and give her mare ample rein as the horse scrambled up the shale and rock. He pulled up in front of a cliff that overlooked the whole valley and had a nice view of Rio Wells.
“Beautiful,” she said softly, taking it all in.
“Glad you like it. Kind of puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“Sure does.” She sat there drinking in the pinks and corals of the rugged land. The olive hues of the cacti and ironwood bushes blended nicely with the dry, earthen brown of the floor of the valley. A cricket of some kind buzzed behind her as if upset at the intruders in his area. A bald eagle glided across the horizon.
“Your brother Luke?”
Charity snapped around, looking at Chaim and not sure what to make of his question. “What about him?”
“He was always off limits in our household, too. I know he’s a half-breed, but not much more than that.”
She stared at Chaim for a few more moments, then faced the valley in front of her. “Maybe that’s because it’s none of your business.”
“Okay. Didn’t mean to offend.”
Several minutes passed. She could feel that soon they would venture on and she didn’t want to leave the tenseness between them. Besides, Chaim was family and in a way had a right to know. It was out of ignorance that most anger and suspicion was born.
“Chaim, I’m sorry. I’ve just had my fill of stupid questions about Luke from people who didn’t have any reason for asking. You’re family. You have a right to ask.” She hunkered down into her saddle and crossed her arms over her chest.
“My mother, when Matt and Mark were just little fellows, was taken off the ranch in an Indian raid. Back then, Y Knot was nothing more than a one-cow town. Since there wasn’t any Sheriff,” a pain jabbed Charity in the heart, thinking about Brandon, “it was hard for my father to find anyone to help search for her. Plus he had his little sons to care for. At first, he didn’t have any choice and left them with a neighbor for a few weeks so he could go after my mother. Returning without her, he found Matt and Mark grimy and thinner than before. When they saw my father they clung to him like a tick on a dog’s ear and he was resolved to do better for them.”
“That’s when he brought them out here to Rio Wells?”
“Yes.”
“That was before any of us were born,” Chaim said quietly.
Again, she nodded.
“Does your mother ever talk about what happened?”
“Never.”
They sat in silence as the eagle made another pass across the horizon.
“What’s Luke like?”
Charity had to remind herself that Chaim, or the rest of the family, had never met Luke. And since it was a subject no one ever talked about, they probably had all sorts of strange ideas about him. Perhaps they thought he had hair down to his waist and rode around shirtless, looking for scalps. Or that he pitched a tepee next to the ranch house. She pushed down a surge of anger. “He’s just like the rest of us. No different.”
“What’s he look like?”
Charity had to count to three. “Chaim,” she said, turning to face him. “Now you are starting to make me mad. What the hell do you think he looks like?”
Chaim sat up, making his dozing horse jump in surprise.
“He looks like Matt. He looks like Mark. Heck, he even looks a little like you.” Even as she said the words, she knew she wasn’t being completely honest with him. Luke did have a wildness about him that made him stand out. No matter if the three boys dressed identically, with the same hair cut—Luke always got the second look.
“Okay, I can see I’ve said too much. Let’s get moving.” Chaim turned his roan gelding and started for the trail.
Charity waited a good minute before she followed. It all just stuck in her craw. She’d never be ashamed of Luke—ever! She loved him and wanted to protect him from hurtful words. Just like she did with John, when people went to whispering about what happened when he was just a boy. How they looked away causing darkness to pass over his expression. But even worse than that, and boy did it gall her, was how so called friends would ask questions, or let slip a little comment, oh so innocently of course, as if they didn’t know what they were doing. Did they really believe they were fooling anyone? Shameful. But, she didn’t fault Chaim for trying to familiarize himself with family. That was different.
Charity clucked and the mare, already antsy to follow Chaim’s horse, plunged eagerly down the hill, sliding on her haunches and breaking her speed with her powerful front feet. Charity leaned back in her saddle, dropping all her weight into her stirrups. When she was almost at the bottom a gun shot rang out. Almost instantly, another blast ripped the air, and a bullet whizzed past her ear, imbedding into a tall saguaro cactus with a thud. She ducked to the side of her horse and spurred hard, wanting off the face of the hill where she was vulnerable to take a bullet herself.
Chapter Forty
Charity reined up behind some rocks. With a thumping heart, she pulled her Colt 45 from her bag and spun the chamber, checking to see that it was loaded. All still quiet, she looked carefully around, holding the gun close to her chest. Where was Chaim? Descending the hill she’d been deep in thought and hadn’t seen what had happened. She waited a moment longer. Still nothing.
“Chaim!” she shouted.
Carefully, she nudged her horse forward, warily scanning the edge of the brush as she went. Twenty feet in front of her she spotted the roan with Chaim slumped over his neck.
“Oh, my God!” A shiver of dread spiked though her. Forgetting her own safety Charity galloped up to her wounded cousin. His chest was soaked in blood. “Chaim, can you hear me?” She gave his shoulder a shake. “Chaim! Please, say something!”
Some garbled words came out of his mouth before he sank forward again, and like a one hundred-eighty pound sack of grain, almost tumbled to the ground. She grasped his shirt and fought to keep him in the saddle of his spooked horse. Galloping hoof beats over the crest of the hill made her want to give chase. Give the devil, whoever he was, a taste of what he’d given Chaim.
But she couldn’t. Chaim was in a bad way. If she didn’t do something fast, he would die. Reaching for her bag, she tossed her gun in and pulled out her night shirt and rolled it into a ball. She stuffed it under his shirt next to his chest and then pushed firmly to stop the flow of blood that now glistened on her hands like liquid rubies. With her home-made bandages in place, she took his horse’s reins and started forward, but Chaim slipped to the side again.
This wasn’t going to work. She’d have to ride behind him and try to keep him aboard. Without dismounting, Charity slipped over behind his saddle and settled onto the roan, pray
ing the gelding was broke to ride double. She reached around Chaim with one arm, holding him as securely as she could, and took the reins with the other, all the while still holding the reins to her mount.
Dear God, she felt the need to hurry, but knew if she did, it would risk Chaim falling. She was thankful they were already off the side of the hill, because now it should be smooth riding all the way into Rio Wells. If she could just keep him in the saddle. The roan moved forward steadily. And her horse came along, too. A small sigh came from Chaim as he tried to sit up.
“Just stay down. You’ve been shot.” A plop of rain landed on Charity’s rein hand. When she glanced up, another splashed her face and one landed on her thigh. Time was of the essence.
All was eerily quiet, then without warning, a bright flash lit the area and Charity prepared for the crack of thunder that would follow. When it hit, both horses tried to bolt but Charity fought to keep herself and Chaim aboard, as his horse danced around. Hers jerked free and ran off in a frenzied panic.
***
“Lily,” Tante Harriett called from the kitchen, “I’ve made you a nice cup of hot tea. Come drink it before it gets cold.”
Happy that her aunt was feeling so much better, Lily set her work aside. “It’s starting to rain,” Lily remarked, opening the back door to look out. The musty smell of wet earth wafted in on a warm breeze as the tin roof started to sing. “Let’s leave this open for a while and let the fresh air in. I love the smell of rain.” She scooted a chair over by her aunt and went and picked up her cup.
“Yes, let’s.” Tante Harriett peered out into the alley. “I’m actually anticipating a trip to the mercantile—soon.”
Lily looked at her in surprise. “You are? Would you like to go today? I could close for a few minutes and we could go over now.”
“Oh, no.” Her aunt’s face clouded over and Lily realized that going to the mercantile was just hopeful thinking on her aunt’s part. That was okay. One day at a time. At least she was here now, downstairs, having tea in the kitchen. The rain started coming down in earnest and soon was a deluge, splashing on the wooden step and onto Lily’s shoes.
“I need to close this,” Lily laughed as she went to the door. Just then the little white cat bolted inside as if the devil was on its tail, almost tripping her. “Come in, come in, before you drown.” She was looking down at the cat when she heard her aunt gasp.
“Close the door. Quickly.” Her aunt was out of her chair and pushing it closed. With shaky hands she bolted the lock and quickly drew the window curtains closed.
“What is it?” Lily asked in alarm, following her aunt as she shuffled toward the stairs.
The sound of the rain was now deafening. “Just a summer storm,” she replied, looking over her shoulder. “I feel tired, Lily. I’m going upstairs.” The fear in her eyes was evidence enough for Lily that her aunt was not telling her the truth. At another sound of thunder, the frightened cat, her back arched and her black eyes wide, dashed up the stairs in front of them.
Lily placed her hand on her aunt’s shoulder, stopping her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing, dear, just the storm.”
The back door rattled as someone knocked with force.
“Don’t answer it.”
“Why?”
“Please, Lily, just do as I ask. And go and lock the front door and close the curtains. No one else will be shopping in such weather. Go quick.”
Tante Harriett’s expression held such concern Lily had no choice but to do as she asked. She ran over to the front door and yanked the medal rod into its slot with force. Then she drew Mrs. McCutcheon’s heavy drapes across the front window just before she saw a figure in a black coat hunched in the rain, hat pulled low, come out of the alley next to the store and approach her front door.
Tante Harriett motioned to her from half-way up the stairs. “Come upstairs with me, Lily,” she whispered, as a loud knock rattled the front door. Lily looked back and forth, not knowing what she should do. Perhaps Tante was having hallucinations from the drugs. Maybe they weren’t out of her system yet. But that didn’t seem possible, for it had been quite some time and John felt sure she was better. Could she have gotten into his safe?
“Lily.”
This was only the second time Lily had ever heard anything but love in her aunt’s tone. Now there was fear, laced with authority, demanding that she obey. In the darkened store, Tante Harriett’s face was an unreadable mask.
“I insist you leave that person and come upstairs with me.”
Lily turned away from the door, praying it wasn’t a matter of life and death. Was John hurt? It could be anything in the world.
Chapter Forty-One
John and Emmeline were almost back to the ranch. They were huddled on the buggy seat beneath the blanket they’d used for their picnic trying to ward off the rain. Suddenly, a horse came out of nowhere, galloping up from behind, and passed them with ease. It was saddled and the reins flipped around wildly. John pulled up on the startled buggy horse as it tossed his head and pulled on the bit, calming him with his voice. “That looked like Charity’s bag on the back of the saddle.”
Emmeline grasped his arm. “That’s the grey horse she was riding yesterday. Something must have happened to her.”
Without another word, John hauled on the left rein, turning the buggy around. “Heaaw,” he shouted. Leaning forward, he slapped the reins on the wet back of the distressed horse, sending it galloping back toward town. “You watch your side and I’ll watch mine,” he shouted. “And hold on.” The buggy fairly flew down the road, not meant to be driven so fast. It bounced over ridges and groaned loudly as the wheels were punished in pot holes. John prayed it would hold together long enough for them to find Charity.
As the panic inside him grew, John scanned the area. He had to pull up and walk at the part of the road that was washed out, a place they hadn’t gotten to on their drive today. It wouldn’t be far before they’d reached Dry Street, which would mean they’d missed her somewhere between the ranch and town. If that happened he’d continue into town and gather some men to go out on a search. He’d seen everything they could from the road.
Emmeline touched his arm again, getting his attention as he pulled into town. He slowed the horse from a gallop to a trot. “What now?” she shouted. She’d long since let go of the blanket she was holding so she wouldn’t get bounced out. Her hair was one blob of black and she pushed it out of her eyes with cold, shaky fingers.
“I’ll stop at the livery and gather some men. Maybe you could run down to the sheriff’s office for me.”
“Of course.”
John pulled up in front of the livery, bounded out of the buggy and ran to the other side to help Emmeline. The horse was lathered, and his eyes were glazed in fear after their breakneck journey. Just as Emmeline held out her arms to John, she pulled up. “Look.” She straightened and pointed down the street. “That’s Chaim’s horse at your office. Maybe they were together.”
John hopped back into the buggy, scrambled overtop Emmeline, and picked up the reins. He flipped them up once and brought them down across the tired horse with a loud slap. The buggy lurched forward.
Charity must have seen them drive up because she met them outside.
“Thank God, you’re here,” John shouted, as he wrangled the horse to a stop. “I thought something had happened when we saw your horse galloping back to the ranch alone. What’s going on?” Standing in the buggy he paused for the first time since he’d seen the racing horse, and took a deep, calming breath.
She held the door open and frantically waved him in. “It’s not me. It’s Chaim. He’s been shot.”
At Charity’s words many emotions flashed thorough John, fear being the strongest. It could’ve been an accident, or…Who would want to kill Chaim? Not waiting for Emmeline, John leapt from the buggy and ran inside. Chaim was laid out on the examination table shirtless with a bullet hole in the left side of his chest, nerve
-wrenchingly close to his heart. Tucker dipped a cloth in the water basin and wrung it out as he cleaned the excessive blood from Chaim’s torso, and Dr. Bixby shuffled around the room, getting ready to go after the bullet.
“I’m glad you’re here,” the old doctor said without looking up. Charity must have told him who had arrived before he entered the room.
Emmeline followed him into the office but stopped at the door, tears streaming down her face. Slowly, she walked forward and pressed her palm to Chaim’s cheek as she looked longingly into his face. A sob escaped her. Charity took her by the shoulders and led her out of the room.
John pressed his finger to Chaim’s neck, feeling for his pulse. “He’s awfully weak.”
“Yeah, lost a lot of blood.” For the first time ever Dr. Bixby’s voice sounded shaken and old. Or, the likelier probability was he was showing the love he had for Winston and Winnie’s second eldest. Most likely Dr. Bixby had delivered Chaim and seen to his needs for all these years. He no doubt felt closer to Chaim than John did.
“Looks like it went deep.” John leaned forward to get better look.
“By all that is holy, I think you’re right,” Bixby responded tenderly in what John thought was a prayer. “It doesn’t look good for our Chaim.”
Both doctors washed up and Tucker went into the kitchen to get the tools out of the boiling water. When Bixby took the opposite position his hands were shaking vigorously. As Bixby attempted to take the tray of instruments from Tucker, he almost spilled the lot.
John looked up at the old doctor.
Bixby shook his head. “It’s no use. I can’t seem to make ‘em stop. Never’s happened like this before.” The shaking got worse and his whole body trembled right before John’s eyes.
“Why don’t you go out and talk with Emmeline? She and Charity looked like they could use a friend right about now. Someone who knows what’s going on and can ease their fears.”
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