A Touch of Forever, page 9
“I can get to my own damn feet.”
“Language,” Ellie said mildly. “You’re still representing the sheriff’s office. Here. Take my hand.”
Hitch ignored the outstretched hand as he rose to his knees. He peeled an oddly shaped piece of flapjack from his cheek and shook it off his fingertips. It wasn’t easy. The molasses made everything sticky. He sat back on his haunches, and when Ellie handed him a damp kitchen rag, he took the offering. What he wanted to do was bury his hot face in it, but he only wiped it down and handed the rag over.
“Sorry, Ellie. Mrs. Vandergrift.” He brushed Fedora’s delicate hands aside when she would have picked up a broken piece of china. “My mess, Fedora. I’ll clean it up.”
Fedora kept the dish shard she was holding and looked up at Ellie for direction. Her face was pale, but her small chin didn’t wobble and her eyes were dry. “Mr. Shepard came in while you were back here.”
Ellie heard Fedora’s statement as an explanation for why she’d hurried into the kitchen. She was fleeing the dining room. “You didn’t leave him standing at the entrance, did you?”
“No, ma’am.” She hardly noticed that Hitch was gently removing the piece of broken china from her hand. “I showed him to his usual table even though it’s Saturday and he’s never come on a Saturday before. He asked for flapjacks, eggs, fried potatoes, and bacon. I poured coffee for him. Mr. Shepard said he had plans to ride out toward the Double H this morning if the rain stopped.”
Ellie blew out a breath. “Oh, Lord, that’s right. I clean forgot it was Saturday. He asked me if he could have some provisions for the outing, and I assured him he could.” Her eyes darted to the cook. “Mrs. Vandergrift?”
“I’ll get on it straight away once my floor is cleared of all this rubbish.”
“Doing it now,” said Hitch, picking up the pace at which he was picking up the pieces.
Ellie helped Fedora to her feet. “Mop and broom, Fedora. Hitch is proving he can take care of this.”
Nodding, Fedora gracefully skirted the mess on the floor on her way to the broom closet. When she returned, Hitch was setting the tray piled with the detritus of his fall on the butcher block. There was a short battle of wills as he tried to take the broom from her, but Fedora held on and he settled for the dustpan and eyed the damp mop that she leaned against the table.
Mrs. Vandergrift watched them with pursed lips and raised salt-and-pepper eyebrows. Disapproval did not improve her appearance, and she would not have been offended to hear it. Shaking her head, she turned back to the stove and began pouring batter onto the sizzling griddle.
Ellie did not miss the cook’s censure. She was grateful not only that Mrs. Vandergrift did not voice it, but also that Fedora and Hitch did not see it. “Empty the dustpan on the tray, Hitch, then carry it out. Bring the tray back. Fedora will finish the mopping and I’ll wipe down the butcher block.” Her assignments were meant to avoid a tug-of-war over the mop, and they worked as planned. Hitch returned from the outside at the same time Fedora was at the broom closet. Ellie wanted to believe they took advantage of a few moments in passing away from the cook’s disapproving eye, but she wasn’t sure that Hitch had the gumption or that Fedora even knew there was an attraction.
“Rain’s slowed,” said Hitch, taking up the stool again. “Did Mr. Shepard say what he was going to do out by the Double H?”
Ellie surreptitiously nudged Fedora. The girl was waiting at attention for Mrs. Vandergrift to plate the food and pass it to her. When Fedora didn’t move or respond, Ellie said, “He’s speaking to you.”
Fedora’s narrow shoulders and slender frame twitched as she came out of her trance. “Oh. Pardon?”
Hitch repeated his question.
“A survey.”
“Huh. I thought he’d been over that section of land.”
“I don’t know about that. He said he was doing a survey and was taking someone to help him.”
At the stove, Mrs. Vandergrift snorted. “That no-account George Hotchkiss, I’ll wager.”
Ellie sighed but otherwise ignored the pointed interjection. “I didn’t know where he was going until Fedora told us,” she said to Hitch. “He didn’t offer that information when he asked about provisions, and I guess I wasn’t interested enough to ask. Now, if he’d mentioned that he’d hired someone, I would have wanted to know about that.”
Hitch shrugged. “Seems like Mr. Shepard had a lot to say to you this morning, Miss Chen, or does he always ramble on when you’re at his table?”
“I don’t usually wait on him.”
Which wasn’t an answer to his question. He let it go. “How’s that jail order coming, Mrs. Vandergrift? Billy will be wondering what’s keeping me. If he’s up. I made coffee before I left to tempt him.”
“I have it right here,” the cook said. She set a full plate of flapjacks and bacon on the tray and covered it with a blue-and-white kitchen towel. “You make sure you bring back that dish. I reckon you know we’re down three. Can’t keep losing them.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started off to get his hat and slicker, but when he turned, he saw that Fedora was holding both out to him. She was a head and a half shorter than he was and had to raise her arm to keep his slicker from dragging on the floor. He took it, thanked her, and shrugged into it. Droplets of water still fell from the sleeves. He was careful with his hat, adjusting it until it sat on his head in the preferred position. Hitch was working out his parting words to Fedora, which wasn’t easy with Ellie standing in front of him looking a little amused and Mrs. Vandergrift standing at his back with a turner in her hand. He just about had them set in his mind when the cook interrupted in chilly, authoritative accents.
“I’ve got plates for you, Chen. Take them. Get them out of my way.”
Fedora had a brief, apologetic smile for Hitch, or at least he imagined that she had. He held on to that glimpse of her sweetly tentative smile on his walk back to the jail. He could almost dodge the raindrops now. Clouds were parting and east of town he made out a glimmer of sunshine. If his luck held, maybe there’d be someone else in a cell tonight who’d need a meal from the Butterworth.
* * *
• • •
“How is your mother?” Roen asked. He’d been holding on to the question until they reached the place he had in mind to begin the survey. For most of the journey he’d been occupied keeping an eye on Clay, who had not exaggerated his lack of riding experience. The boy’s concentration was so focused on staying in his saddle that he had a difficult time with conversation. Roen dismounted first and then made sure Clay was able to do the same without mishap. The boy was lithe and light on his feet, and there was no awkwardness at all. That was youth, Roen thought, not familiarity, and he was reminded that there was a lot about youth to recommend it.
Clay took the reins of their riding mounts and led the horses to a scrub pine where he could tether them. Roen began to remove his instrument case and tripod from the packhorse.
“Did you hear what I said?” asked Roen when Clay came back to get the pack animal.
“You asked about Ma. I was thinking on how to answer.”
“You have to think about it? Is she all right now or isn’t she?”
“In between, I’d have to say. Not exactly one or the other.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That’s what I was figuring, so I didn’t answer right away.” Clay removed the canteens but left their provisions on the horse. He led the animal over to the others. “I wasn’t being rude,” he called over his shoulder.
“I realize that.” Roen handed Clay the tripod. “You think you can set that up?”
“Sure. Show me where you want it.”
Roen walked about twenty paces ahead and drew an X in the damp soil with the toe of his boot. “Right here.” When Clay had the tripod in place, Roen set the wye level on it and removed the telescope. He peered through it, locating a point in the distance to be his marker in the crosshairs. He handed the telescope to Clay. “Have a look. You might have to make an adjustment for your eye. Just turn this dial until everything’s in focus. That’s a wye level on the tripod. It measures elevation.”
While Clay was doing that, Roen took out his compass and turned it in the direction of the line he wanted to survey. True north was to his left. He was facing northeast. According to his map, he was close to the Double H’s boundary line. He returned the compass to the case. “Has Dr. Madison been to the house?”
“No.” He continued to look through the telescope, moving it across the tree line. “I can see the needles on the loblollies. Ain’t that something?”
“Indeed. Do you think the doctor should visit her?”
“Don’t see the point. She’s not sickening for anything. She’s just not herself, or rather she is, but not in a good way.”
As an explanation, it left a lot to be desired. Roen wondered if he should offer to call on her. He hardly had the thought before he rejected it.
“Hannah says she’s grieving.” He handed the telescope back to Roen. “I don’t know about that. My sister has peculiar notions sometimes. I have to remember she’s only ten.”
It didn’t sound all that peculiar to Roen. “Perhaps she’s grieving for your father.”
“Don’t think so.”
“Aren’t you coming up on the time of year he died?”
“That’s still a few months away.” He looked around. “So what do we do now?”
Roen recognized that the subject of Lily Salt was closed. “I need my notebook. It’s in the case. I have a pencil here.” He produced it from his coat pocket. When Clay came back with it, he set the telescope in the level again and then showed Clay how to record the elevation. He exchanged the level for a transit to measure horizontal and vertical angles, explaining the process to Clay as he went. When the information was recorded, Roen told Clay to get the chains from the packhorse.
“For measuring distance,” he said. “This is an engineer’s chain. One hundred feet long with one hundred links. There are tally tags every ten feet. Careful. It’s a little heavy. Hold this end while I walk it out.”
The process of measuring, recording, walking, and comparing calculations to the map was repeated throughout the morning. They packed up once to find shelter under an overhang of rock while they waited for another round of rain to move on. It was as good a time as any to open the leather bag of foodstuffs Ellie Butterworth had packed for them. Clay ate with gusto. Roen, only a little less so.
“I guess the only person who makes better fried chicken than Ma is Mrs. Vandergrift,” said Clay.
“Your mother makes fine chili and cornbread.”
“She does. She’s good at a lot of things. You know she works for Mrs. Fish, sewing new things and mending others.”
Roen had removed his coat to sit on and now Clay was giving his garments a critical eye. “What is it?”
Clay shrugged. “I was thinking that Ma could do something about your workin’-outside-of-town clothes. Take them in maybe or just start over. That shirt doesn’t fit you proper and your vest gaps. Your trousers hang kinda funny.”
Roen pointed to his head. “Do you want to say something about my hat?”
“No. A felt derby’s fine, but I like the kind of hat ranchers wear better. Sheriff Ben wears a Stetson.”
“I know.”
“Your boots are good.”
“Thank you. It might interest you to know that the valise carrying my working-outside-of-town clothes went missing in Saint Louis. I put in a request to have the case sent on to me, but it hasn’t arrived. These clothes were the best I could do at Hennepin’s mercantile. I had more success at the leather goods store.”
“Huh. That’s too bad about your clothes, but I guess losing them was better than losing your instruments.”
“I carried those with me.”
Clay nodded. “Good thing you did. We gonna start again?”
“Soon as you finish the pie.”
“There’s pie?”
“Mm-hmm. Apple. I smelled it when Mrs. Butterworth was packing our bags.” He took it out, unwrapped it, and gave it to Clay. “Go on. I only asked for the one piece. It’s for you.” Roen began to clean up while Clay made short work of the pie.
Clay wiped his hands on his trousers when he was finished, ignoring the handkerchief Roen held out for him. “Don’t want to get it dirty.” He stood, picked up their bags, and carried them to the horses. “Did you see that?” he asked. The bags were still in his hands. “Something moved over there.” He jerked his chin to the left.
Roen followed the movement with his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”
“Caught it out of the corner of my eye. Not close. Way over there.” Clay hung the bags over the packhorse. “Can I look through the telescope?”
“Sure. Isn’t it likely to be an animal?”
“Coyote, maybe, but I’m thinking something taller. With something that glints.”
Roen gave him the telescope, and Clay stepped away from the animals. Roen threw his coat over a saddle and followed, squinting as he tried to see what had captured Clay’s interest. They saw the flash at the same time. Roen pushed Clay to the ground at the exact moment something hot and stinging creased his upper arm. It was followed immediately by the report from a rifle.
“Someone’s shooting at us!” Clay made himself as small as he could against the ground.
“Roll,” said Roen. “Toward the horses. Now!”
Clay hugged the telescope to his chest and did as directed. He stopped when he was lying between two of the animals. He watched as another shot hit the ground less than an arm’s length from Roen. “He’s shooting at you, not me!”
“Run back up to the shelter where we ate. I’m not moving until I know you’re safe. Go!”
Clay scrambled to his feet but stayed low. He ran in that crouched position to their picnic shelter. There was a third shot, but now Roen was on the move. He reached the overhang seconds after Clay. They sat there, catching their breath and bracing for another shot in spite of the fact that they were well protected for the moment. If someone came after them, they were fish in a barrel.
“What do we do now?” asked Clay. “You don’t have a gun, do you? I didn’t see that you packed a gun.”
“Because I didn’t. As a rule, surveying does not require one.”
“Bet this changes your mind.”
Roen didn’t have an answer for that. He clapped a hand over the wound in his arm. Blood was beginning to seep through his shirt.
“Hey! You’re hurt.” Clay moved closer to get a better look.
“It’s nothing. A crease. I’m trying to decide if I was lucky or if it was a lucky shot.”
Clay frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that whoever was doing the shooting intended to run us off, not kill us.”
“Maybe I should find out, make a run for my horse, and ride back to town. I could bring Sheriff Ben here. If no one shoots at me, then we’ll know. He’ll see he’s run me off.”
“That’s about as brave a plan as I’ve ever heard and about as foolish. No. You’re not riding out, not without me, and not until we’re sure that it’s safe.”
“How we gonna know that?”
Roen released his arm and found his handkerchief. “You can give up that telescope now.” The boy had a death grip on it. “And thank you for taking such good care of it.” When Clay handed it over, Roen draped it with the white hanky. He crab-walked to the opening of their cramped shelter and raised his makeshift white flag above the overhang and waved it.
“You’re surrendering?” Appalled, Clay’s dark eyebrows laddered his forehead. “Even Custer didn’t surrender.”
“Custer died. I’m taking you back to your mother in the same shape she sent you to me.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.” He continued to wave the flag in a broad arc. “This is nothing.”
“How do you know? You been shot before?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Roen recalled the event more clearly than he liked. It was a consequence of ending his arrangement with Victorine as she’d had definite expectations regarding their relationship that did not agree with his. “And no, I’m not telling you about it, so don’t ask.”
“I’d tell you if I’d been shot before.”
“You haven’t been shot now. There is no before about it.” Roen lowered the telescope. “I’m going to step out. You stay put.”
“But—” He stopped because Roen was already ducking out from under the rock ledge. Clay cringed in anticipation of another shot as Roen began to rise, but when it didn’t come, he crawled to the entrance and tried to look up. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing’s happening. There’s no one here and no one coming. You can come out. We’re leaving.”
For once, Clay was at a loss for words.
Chapter Ten
Lily heard the familiar screech of the back door swinging open. Despite his good intentions, Clay still hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. “About time you’re home,” she said, turning away from the sink, where she was scrubbing out a pot. She used her apron to dry her wet hands and brushed rusty tendrils of hair made damp by the hot water. In spite of the fact that Clay was late arriving home, Lily had a ready smile for her son when he stepped into the kitchen. That smile faltered but didn’t fade when she saw Roen Shepard step into view behind him. Good manners kept it in place. That, and a stronger constitution than she generally credited herself with.
“Mr. Shepard,” she said. Her voice was steady, and the annoyance she felt was absent from her tone. Lily rested her gaze on Clay, who she observed was not quite looking her in the eye. “What is it? What’s happened?”
