Vickie snorted. “Oh, of course everything had gotten twisted. Why, to hear from my esteemed elders the story she’d passed on, Sam and I were practically unclad, and all but—uh—all but—”
He held up one hand, palm out, to stop her. “Honey child, say no more. I get the picture. So what happens now?”
“Oh, Papa is still thinking over the whole situation. Although what happened yesterday certainly does not incline him to my favor. When they—he—will make any decision at all is anyone’s guess. Do they allow Jessica to continue her lies, to proceed with a wedding she doesn’t deserve, just to keep face? Or do they give in to my pleadings, and allow me my chance with Sam?”
From his perch upon a small but sturdy wooden table, he sent her the bright-eyed glance of a chickadee. “Wanna stay here in town overnight, in my room at the boardin’ house…with me? That would really get the tongues waggin’.”
“It would get me thrown out of my own house, is what it would get. Good heavens, Val, do you want me to become known all through town as a fallen woman?”
He shrugged. “Well, if we could fit the words to the deed… However, I would be honored to marry you first. Reckon that would take care of your reputation, for all and good.”
“Marry?” She looked up, her jaw dropped. “Val. Dear Val. I just told you—”
“Yep, I know. But it would solve a lotta problems. I live to serve, my little sugar plum; just tryin’ to be helpful. Here, more coffee?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t think so. I’m feeling a little woozy right now, and I’m not sure I can even climb into Marigold’s saddle and ride home without accident. You put something in my cup, didn’t you?”
“Oh, my. Ever mistrustful. Have we resolved your difficulties with this nasty Sam feller yet?”
Suddenly Vickie pulled herself from the chair and began to pace, as if she were unable to sit still with all the wild thoughts tumbling through her brain. Admittedly, her steps were not as sure and safe as usual. In fact, a couple of times it was necessary for Val to grab an elbow or a forearm to keep her on an even keel.
“I don’t know. I’m still too upset, and the real adults at my house are still too angry with me, that none of us seems able even to discuss the situation any more. And if Jessie shows her face around me, from wherever she’s been hiding, I’ll—I’ll—hic—snatch her bald-headed!”
She wobbled in her path from corner to newspaper desk and back again, then gave up and fell once again onto the long settee Val had provided.
“Think I’m not—hic—not real clear on anything right now, Val. Huh. But, thank you—thank you for listening, for bein’ good friend. Uh. You got a—hic—you got a blanket here, somewhere—?”
Amazing what a few snootfuls of really good southern redeye could do, mused Val a little later, looking down fondly at the girl who would always hold first place in his heart. She was stretched out full length, with a crumpled pillow under her head and a plaid afghan covering her from waist down. Much later, after she woke, he would ply her with a dose of salicylic acid for the headache she was bound to have acquired, tie Marigold to the rear of a surrey, and drive her home.
For now, though, there would be no nightmares, no weeping, no insurmountable troubles to complicate her life.
Just sweet dreams, and the barely audible sound of very ladylike little snores.
Liquor was only a temporary resolution, it was true.
But maybe, while Vickie slept, the answer would miraculously come to her, and the future would look bright again.
With every fiber of his being, he wished that that future would include Valentine DeMarco.
Chapter 13
“Got me a hankerin’ for a couplea nice thick pork chops, fried crisp and brown, for supper. Maybe with some sliced onions. Whaddya think; we got any of that layin’ around here?”
“M’h’m.”
Silence for a few minutes, broken only by the crow of a rooster from the hen house out near the barn and the scrape of knife and fork across a plate on the breakfast table, where brother and sister sat at opposite ends. Each perusing his/her own line of thought. Riley had yesterday’s newspaper folded beside him; to all indications, Sophie was leafing through recipes in a cookbook.
It was a quiet morning, thus far. Probably helped by the fact that neither Jessica nor Vickie had yet made an appearance, which decreased the chances to nil of another volatile temper tantrum or blowup of some kind. Entertaining, in one respect; definitely disrupting, in another.
Worse, in Riley’s opinion, was the fact that any hope of a mended relationship between the sisters had probably gone the way of the saber tooth tiger—extinct forever. It looked like things were irrevocably shattered. He sighed. Well, people had lived through such cataclysms in the past, and they would doubtless again in the future. Such was human nature.
“Think I’d like to take a trip to town, one a these days, see what’s goin’ on. Do me good to get out and about, if these old bones are up to the surrey ride. You’re welcome to come along, if you wanna.”
“M’h’m.”
More silence, other than the rustle of paper and the sudden burble of the coffee pot left to rest on the stove’s back burner. Such quiet was unusual, almost uncomfortable. Riley wasn’t sure how to fill it. Although he doubted that was even his responsibility. Wasn’t it Sophie’s job to take charge of the household, and whatever might come along? Shouldn’t she see to it that he didn’t have to sit here, talking to himself and forcing conversation?
“Lookin’ to let one of our men go. Bennie Cooper seems to be gettin’ itchy feet all of a sudden, says he wants to head west and do some prospectin’ in California. Told him he’s about twenty years too late to get in on the gold rush, but o’ course he ain’t about to listen to an old codger like me.”
“M’h’m.”
Riley finally lost patience enough to slap the table top with one hand, no matter how much it might do damage to bones and muscles already at less than top peak performance. “Goldarn it, woman, ain’t you been payin’ attention to a word I’ve said?”
She raised sober eyes to meet those so entirely similar. Odd; she was wearing some plain brown outfit with white cuffs and collar that made her look like a nun. Or a scolding little jenny wren. Except that today she wasn’t scolding. Riley almost wished she would; that would be more in character than this mealy-mouthed appearance.
“Yes, Riley, I’ve heard every word you’ve thrown at me. Did you expect a response?”
“It’d be nice if you’d carry on a little give-and-take,” he grumbled, “steada sittin’ over there like judge and jury. What’s goin’ on with you anyhow?”
In the same quiet, somber vein, Sophie carefully folded her pages together and closed the cookbook in which she had been making notes. “I’m leaving, Riley.”
“Ha. You’re leavin’,” he hooted, pushing his empty plate aside. “You been here, livin’ off the ranch, for a donkey’s age. Where in Hades would you go, woman?”
“Some might consider it Hades. I would consider it my former life. In Boston.”
“Boston?” Riley was stunned enough that his unshaven jaw dropped, and he could only stare. “Why wouldja wanna go back there anyway?”
“I never planned to spend the rest of my life here at the Yellowstar. I’ve given you what I could, Riley; I’ve managed your house and managed the raising of your girls. They’re all grown up now, able to get along on their own. Now, even though I love this place, I want to go home.”
Sensing that she was entirely determined upon this course of action—although the reason was still lost upon him—he attempted bluster. “But Soph, I figured you saw the ranch as your home. I figured you’d be here till the day one of us died. Nothin’ else much to go on, y’ know. I mean—look at me. I can’t handle things without you.”
She had pushed her chair out of the way to rise, with a small swish of skirts, and gather up the crockery piled together. “You can handle things quit
e well, Riley. And it’s time for you to do so. As I say, over the years I have given and given; you have taken and taken. Hire a housekeeper, if you need one.”
“But, Sophie—”
A heavy sigh of exasperation. “Very well, since you will accept nothing I tell you, there is this—my health is not the best. Not that you would be aware, since you are so caught up with the state of your own. Not that I hold you at fault for that, mind you; it’s completely understandable. However, your mind does seem to run in a single track, mainly around yourself.”
He let out a yelp of protest. “Now, Sophie, that’s a low blow. You know what I’ve gone through.”
Pausing to study her irascible brother, he possessed of the sharp tongue that so seldom offered a good word for anyone, she relented. “Yes, Riley, I do, indeed. And I’m sorry. That wasn’t quite fair. However, I have consulted Dr. Bishop—”
“Huh. Well, he’s a quack. Not worth a hill of beans. Whadja go see him for?”
“Because he’s the only physician in town. He has referred me to a Dr. Thomas Hartford, in San Antonio, for a more thorough examination, more tests, and an informed diagnosis.”
Riley shifted position in the big chair that wasn’t all that comfortable if one chose to stay too long a time. He was ready to grab his cane and move to his office, where cushions awaited his achy carcass. “You gonna tell me what’s actually botherin’ you, little sister?” he asked, in a gentler tone.
“You’re aware that my coughing spells have become worse, and of longer duration.”
“Thought that was just due to weather. Doncha take some kinda herbal stuff that helps?”
She shrugged. “It does help. And perhaps part of its recurrence, and its exacerbation, is due to the fact that I’m getting older, Riley. So many physical problems are aggravated by age, as you well know. But then…”
“Then—what?”
“Well, in combination of that, It’s my heart. Sometimes there’s pain; sometimes there’s just my breath catching, with dizziness, and spots before my eyes. If I’m going to keel over, I’d like it to be in a house that belongs to me, in my own bedroom.”
“Aw, Soph. How long has this been goin’ on?”
“A while. I haven’t mentioned anything before, because…well, there has just been a lot of stress around here lately.”
“You never said a truer word.” Riley leaned back, feeling suddenly very tired and worn out.
He had taken her presence, and her wonderful capabilities, for granted all these years. It would appear that she had given a good deal of thought to her future, however much time she had left on this earth, and that meant returning east. Would he be able to talk her out of this decision?
She, too, was looking tired. Early morning light sweeping in through the big kitchen windows cast an unflattering shadow over her face, and she leaned against the table’s corner as if gathering strength to move on.
“At any rate,” she finally said, “I’ll visit this doctor, to see what he has to say. Perhaps he’ll feel my condition is too serious for me to travel such a distance, and I’ll remain behind after all.”
He cast a worried eye in her direction. “Can’t have you go harin’ off on your own, Sophie, if things are that bad. You need to make a call on that there doc in Santone, fine and dandy. But don’t dare go on your own; you take one of our men with you.”
“I hadn’t actually gotten that far in my thinking. But, yes, you’re right.”
“Or maybe,” Riley was pursuing his own line, “even Jessie’s young feller. He ain’t been hangin’ around as much as I expected, but it seems like he’d be trustworthy enough for a trip. And, likely, given his home circumstances, he’d have the time to spare.”
“Sam?” Maneuvering the plates she had taken up, Sophie considered that prospect. “It’s possible, Riley. Thank you for the idea. I still do plan on returning to Boston, but I agree that it would be wise for me to visit this specialist first.”
“For sure.” Wearing a grimace, he struggled upright just as she came toward him. He put one weakened hand on her forearm. “Don’t take my grumpiness amiss, Soph. You know how I am. You know how fond I am of you, and how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for this family since you got here.”
Clearly pleased that he had at least absorbed some of what she had been trying to get across, she managed a thin smile. “Yes, of course.” She patted the back of the hand that held her in place. “We don’t often speak of emotions, do we, Riley? We just—sort of skim around anything deeper than what’s on the surface.”
“Yeah, reckon it’s easier that way. For me, anyway. I can sure understand you wantin’ to go back to where you lived so long, old girl, but I would miss you like anything. For now, see if you can scare up them girls of mine. Ain’t no point in you doin’ all the work around here when there’s two more strong young backs to pitch in. Even if they ain’t very willin’.”
Once, not long ago, Sophie had seemed composed of inexhaustible energy, taking all the physical demands of household management in stride; even whatever emotional flare-up must be dealt with as the girls grew older and more independent—rambunctious, even. Now, though, he noticed a slight grayish tinge to her complexion that he hadn’t seen before.
Shame on him, for using his own condition as an excuse to ignore parental responsibilities. If his girls were spoiled and sometimes actually shrewish of temperament, most of the blame could be laid at his door.
Outside the kitchen door hung a large iron bell upon its post of wood and clapboard, common to most farms and ranches; the clapper would ring—loudly— to summon inhabitants for meals, in from the range, or for emergencies. Riley hobbled out onto the porch and pulled firmly on the handle, which produced quite a clamor. To be expected. That was the purpose, after all.
Then he returned inside, where his sister was already beginning to wash the breakfast dishes. “You go finish clearin’, Soph. I’ll work at this.” It was necessary for him to lean only slightly against the counter to unbutton both shirt cuffs and roll them out of the way.
“You? Please, Riley, don’t make me laugh.”
“You go right ahead and laugh all you want. Reckon I can help with kitchen duties once in a while.” Elbowing her gently aside he was as good as his word, picking up a dishcloth and wincing dramatically at the heat of the water.
Eyes wide with disbelief, Sophie shook her head and moved to obey. “Lord help me, is Christmas almost upon us? Surely this is the season for miracles.”
Vickie was the first to respond to the call of that clarion signal. Cautiously she took a step across the threshold and peered around. “You rang?”
“Where’ve you been, girl?”
At the sound of his voice, Vickie turned. Stopped. Gaped. There stood her father at the sink, calmly submerged to his forearms in soap and suds. Who had never, in her remembrance, lifted a finger to accomplish any household task. That province lay, of course, within the realm of women’s work.
“Uh. Animal chores. Papa.”
“Animal chores.”
“Yes. That old tom got into a fight with something last night, and I was bathing his wounds and making sure he had plenty of food and water. And Daisy has moved her kittens again. And I fed the hens and gathered the eggs. Which you probably enjoyed for breakfast, by the way.”
More and more, she was finding an inner toughness that helped her to stand on her own two feet and defy bullying. It was an infinitely admirable characteristic, one that quite honestly no one had ever expected to see in the rather timid, unassertive younger Clark daughter.
Standing hipshot now, with one hand clasped at the waist of her buckskin-colored skirt, she lifted her chin. “There. That’s the itinerary of my morning. Was there something else you wanted of me, perchance?”
An Endless Love to Remember: A Historical Western Romance Book Page 21
