A Place Called Harmony, page 19
“This one is simple.” Patrick looked serious. “Shelly and I tied up that outlaw these Roma boys caught during the raid. Now what do you want us to do with him? There’s not a lawman for over a hundred miles and we don’t have a jail, much less a cell. Since he was caught during the raid on our supply wagons, I’m thinking there will be no doubt of his guilt, but the captain says there will have to be a trial and we haven’t got enough men for that. You bringing him into our town kind of makes him all our problem now. So we’ve got to think of something to do.”
“I guess you’ll have to shoot him,” Truman said between bites.
Patrick jerked as if slapped by Truman’s answer. “We can’t just shoot him.”
“You’re right. Too much noise. We’ll have to knife him in his sleep.”
“No.” Patrick took another step backward. “We can’t do that.”
“Right again, McAllen. Way too much blood to have to clean up. I guess we could choke him. That wouldn’t make any noise or leave any blood. Only, wait to do it until he’s close to his grave. A dead body always seems heavier than a live one.” Truman took another bite. “It’s like the blood cools down and turns to lead once a man dies. So, my advice is to choke him within a few feet of the grave.”
Patrick paled a few shades. “You’re joking?”
“Of course I’m joking,” Truman snapped, half mad that McAllen had even believed him for a minute. “I’ll take him back to Dallas when I return the wagons.”
Clint didn’t like the idea but he’d figured out while he’d been upstairs waiting that four wagons had to go back. Even if Momma Roma could drive the fourth one, it wouldn’t be safe to send the one driver, two half-grown boys, and a tiny woman out alone. Much as he hated the thought, he’d be returning to Dallas.
“How about you and Shelly go out and feed the outlaw? One of you can hold a gun on him while he eats and the other can try to talk him to death. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll kill himself to get a little peace and quiet.” When Shelly grinned, Clint added, “I’ll let you two figure out which one does which job.”
Patrick shook his head and walked away saying, “I’m sorry I even thought I missed you, Truman.”
Clint laughed and realized how good it felt. Every nerve had been twisted into knots for two weeks. Now finally, even amid all the mess they were in, it felt so good to be home.
Momma Roma came in before he finished eating. Everyone hovered around her, wanting to ease her load. She talked in her broken English about how her mother had insisted on coming to America.
Clint leaned forward and touched her hand. “This is all my fault,” he began. “If I could have hired more men to guard the wagons, or if I’d figured out Jack West wasn’t to be trusted.” He didn’t add that he should have at least left Dollar Holt in too bad a shape to follow him, or maybe he could have warned the sheriff in Dallas about Dollar’s threat. “I should have been more aware of someone behind me. One blow to the head and I was no help. Your mother got hurt saving my life. I should have . . .”
Momma Roma pulled her hand out from under his and slapped his fingers. “No. No,” she shouted. “My mother, she not saving you, she was’a saving all. We could never have’a fought them off without you. Don’t you see? You were our one’a chance. She use her one’a bullet so you could be free’a to fight.”
Clint understood. She was right. The grandmother had saved them all that night. He nodded and suggested she try to eat something.
Karrisa handed him Danny and sat down on the other side of the tiny woman. They talked in Italian, his wife’s voice comforting and Momma Roma’s heartbreaking—even though he couldn’t understand the words.
As he rocked the baby on one arm, Clint watched Karrisa comforting first the mother and then her sons. They all knew sorrow waited at the door, and soon it would be time to let it in.
Carrying the baby, Clint walked out on the porch and stepped over the old yellow dog. All the people arriving hadn’t affected Davy’s sleep at all. The sun had set without him noticing and the air was warm tonight, hinting of spring. Harmon Ely had painted the population sign again: POPULATION 14.
“Someone else come?” Clint asked.
Harmon Ely shook his head. “Damned if I didn’t count myself twice. We got four men counting me, three wives, one stray half-grown girl, and, counting your son, five boys. Seems to me we’re a little heavy on boys.”
“Tell McAllen to only have daughters.” Clint smiled. He’d like to be around when that conversation happened.
Ely went back to his painting.
Truman tucked the blanket around little Danny. “You’re getting heavy, son,” he said in a low voice, and swore the baby smiled at him. “Did you take good care of your mother while I was gone? You need to work on making her smile. I have a feeling she hasn’t done near enough of that lately.”
Harmon Ely muttered something about everyone in the place going crazy. He picked up his paint bucket and went back inside.
Clint didn’t care. He’d just as soon talk to Danny alone. Somehow knowing the little boy had his brother’s name eased a sorrow that had followed him for years.
After a while, Karrisa stepped out on the porch and took the rocker next to him. She didn’t reach for the baby or say a word. They just sat side by side as he rocked Danny to sleep.
Finally, in the stillness, he said, “I’d planned on kissing you first thing when I got back. Would you have had any objection to that, dear?”
“No,” she whispered back.
He waited awhile, trying to figure out how to put his words in order. “I worry,” he began, thinking he’d already started wrong. “I fear that my interest in holding you again might frighten you. I need to assure you that I would never hurt you or do something that you wanted no part of.” His words were too formal, but he wanted everything completely clear. She owed him the effort to be a partner in this adventure, but nothing more.
She rocked for a few minutes before she answered just as formally, “I am your wife. A man should have a right to kiss his wife, providing she’s told him such an act is not unpleasant to her.”
“And is it, dear?”
“No, Truman, it is not.”
He thought about kissing her right then, but people were everywhere tonight and they were not two kids in love like Patrick and Annie. He’d wait until the time was right.
An hour later, Granny Gigi simply forgot to take another breath and passed as if in sleep. Daisy came down to tell Karrisa, who told the family. They cried and hugged and talked of better times, but in the back of everyone’s mind whispered one question.
How long until they too breathed their last breath?
Chapter 25
TRADING POST
At dawn everyone—except the prisoner tied up in the barn—dressed and followed the coffin Patrick and Shelly had made toward a rise in the earth a quarter mile away. Patrick had carved a dove on the top of the box and Gillian watched Momma Roma cry when she ran her fingers along the wood. Patrick’s thoughtful gesture had been simple, but it seemed to mean a great deal to Granny Gigi’s daughter.
Gillian wore his uniform and looked like the polished officer he was except for the bandage still circling his head. Black curly hair in need of a trim hung over the bandage. He had walked the land at dawn and marked off the beginning of a cemetery on a hill that would someday overlook the town. If generations of Mathesons, McAllens, and Trumans were to be buried here someday, he thought it only fitting that their spirits watch over the place.
Daisy walked beside him, her hand in his, and their boys followed along like ducks. Charlie was dirty by the time they were halfway to the open grave, but Gillian doubted anyone noticed. Charlie was always dirty.
Abe, the four-year-old, explained what was going on to his younger brother as they walked. “She’s dead, Ben, just like a chicken is when Momma wrings his neck.”
“Will she run around for a while?” Ben didn’t seem all that interested in a woman he’d never seen dying. “Chickens run around for a while even without their heads.”
“I don’t think so. Maybe. Maybe not.” Abe answered as if he were an authority on everything. “That may be why they put her in the box. Just to make sure.”
Gillian turned around, frowning at his oldest sons. “Stop talking, boys. Just march. No talking or running around at funerals. It’s a rule.”
The frown that sent new recruits running for cover didn’t seem to affect a three- and four-year-old.
They both nodded, then forgot the rule while watching Charlie push Dylan over in the muddy wagon rut. Now both twins were dirty.
As the small procession reached the grave, Patrick and Shelly lowered the casket while the others gathered around. Gillian guessed it was his job to do the service since no one else volunteered. When he’d suggested Patrick might want to say the words, McAllen said no so fast he must have already feared being assigned the duty.
As Gillian read from the Bible slowly, allowing Karrisa to repeat the words in Italian, all the women and Harry Woolsey cried. Gillian didn’t dare close his eyes for the prayer. No telling how many of his sons would fall into the grave.
“She lived a long life and was blessed with those who mourn her,” he said. “Now may she go from Harmony to Heaven in peaceful passing.”
Everyone said amen. They all waited as the dirt was placed in the grave, and Annie set a handful of spring flowers on top. Momma Roma sang a soft song that few understood, but they all politely listened. Then they all walked back to the trading post.
Daisy put her arm around Momma Roma in comfort, leaving Gillian to grab hold of the twins, who’d decided to toss mud clods at each other. As he gripped two muddy little hands, Gillian announced in his most military voice, “You two will be in for a round of reprimand when we get back to headquarters.”
Neither looked like they cared. Charlie was trying to swing with Gillian’s steps, and Dylan fell down so many times Gillian felt like he was dragging him most of the way. He was thankful when Daisy took them from him, only she frowned at him like she thought it was his fault they looked like mini mud men.
“These two have no discipline,” he said, thinking it was lucky that he came home from the army to help. Daisy was outnumbered.
She just smiled as if she knew a secret. “Wait until they turn two and move into open rebellion.”
His wife walked away with the mud boys before he could ask any questions.
Gillian joined the main group gathering in the kitchen for coffee.
They all sat at the long table drinking from tin mugs and eating biscuits with jam. Since most had had little sleep, no one felt like talking. One by one they all drifted off to take care of neglected business or to rest.
Gillian could hear Ely snoring in his comfortable chair by the old stove in the store. The McAllens went out to the barn, saying they had a little project to finish. Momma Roma told all her boys to get some sleep as they climbed the stairs. Truman hitched up his wagon and took his wife out to see their place before the low clouds dumped another round of rain.
The trading post was quiet. For a few hours, Gillian worked on his plans. For a town to work, every detail had to be considered.
When Daisy went to their bedroom to get the boys down for a nap, Gillian poured himself another cup of coffee and sat across from Jessie, who looked to be knitting a ball of knots.
The girl still looked frail, but he knew exactly how strong she was. She’d gotten him here all by herself. They hadn’t had time to talk without others around since they’d been at the post, but Daisy had kept him up on what Jessie was doing.
“You all right, kid?” he asked her, wondering again how old she might be.
She nodded. “I like it here. You going to let me stay or try to take me back to that mission you dumped me at before? Daisy says I can stay, but she’s not the captain of this camp.”
Gillian shrugged. “I’m not so sure she’s not the boss, but either way, you can stay. You saved my life, kid. I’m grateful. If you want to stay here with Daisy and me till you’re grown, that’s fine with us. You’ll be treated like one of the family. You’ll be expected to work like we all do, but whatever we have will be yours, too.”
“I get to keep the money I make at the store?” She faced him directly, but he saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “I dust and put things where they go for Mr. Ely. He pays me a dime an hour.”
“You keep that money. Daisy and I will buy what you need like clothes and such. That money from Ely is for what you want.” Gillian still wasn’t sure the girl liked him. The only time she talked seemed to be to the boys. “Are we all right with what happened out there on the trail?” He knew he didn’t have to mention the man she killed. “You did what you had to do, girl, and there is no wrong in that.”
“I know what Nate had planned for me,” she whispered. “They caught an Apache girl once. I seen what they did to her. We were moving camp the next day and Nate said to just leave her tied up, but I cut her ropes before we left. When Nate noticed she was gone, he slugged me hard and told me my time was coming. If Nate were to rise up from the dead, I’d shoot him again.”
“How’d you end up with them?”
“My mom used to cook in an outlaw camp over near the Indian Territory. One night she and this man she’d been keeping company with ran off with the latest haul of stolen goods.” The girl played with her hands, twisting her fingers together, then pulling them apart. “I ran after her, but she told me to stay. She said she’d come back for me, but she never did. Since I could cook, I got traded to first one gang and then another. I figure I don’t got no one, but I ain’t a dumb animal to be swapped around.”
“Can you read?”
She shook her head. “Never saw no need. I like learning, though. Mr. Ely is teaching me to count money and Karrisa is showing me how to sew.” Jessie leaned forward. “Can I stay here with you and Daisy forever, Captain? I swear I’ll never be a bother. I’ve never known good people like all you folks. If my mom drove up today I wouldn’t want to go with her.”
Gillian nodded. “You can stay and we’ll teach you to read. We’ll build a schoolhouse soon and you can go to school.”
The girl hardened a little, silently telling Gillian that she’d been lied to all her life.
“I’ll stay for a while, but don’t promise too much.”
“Fair enough. Do you have any idea how old you are, Jessie?”
“The sergeant’s wife at the fort said I was about the same size as her twelve-year-old, but she said the way I’m filling out I might be older and just small for my age.”
“How about we start with fifteen? You can tell people that, and next spring we’ll have you a birthday party and you’ll be sixteen.”
She frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “All right. Nobody ever bothered to ask me before about my age, but lots of folks around here seem to want to know, so now I’ll have something to tell them.” She stood. “I’m going to the store. There’s work to be done there. I can’t just sit around here getting older.” She took two steps and turned back. “I’d like to know how to read and write. It might come in useful sometime.”
He grinned at Jessie but didn’t try to delay her, guessing she’d talked to him about as much as she wanted to talk. Standing, Gillian set his cup on the washstand and opened the door to his bedroom.
To his surprise every member of his family was sound asleep. With all the people at the trading post the boys were up early every morning and hard to get to sleep at night. Daisy was no exception. With the extra people, she’d been helping out more in the kitchen. Her day started an hour before dawn and ended when the last boy went to sleep.
He removed his uniform jacket and boots, then carefully lay beside her, pulling the blanket over them both as he leaned back. She was still sleeping on top of the covers every night, using excuses for not sleeping with him. Most nights both were too exhausted to talk when they finally settled all the boys.
Placing his hand on the side of her head, he felt her soft sunshine hair and the warmth of her cheek. He wanted nothing more in the world than to make love to his wife, but he knew this was not the time. The boys might wake or someone might come into the kitchen or it was too light or too late, or she was too tired.
He’d heard all her excuses except the truth. His beautiful wife of five years didn’t want to sleep with him. Gillian couldn’t figure it out. She’d uprooted the family, she’d traveled hundreds of miles, she’d risked everything on the chance that he’d stay with her here, but she didn’t want him to make love to her.
Part of him thought he might try courting her again, but how does a man court the mother of his children? They might not have spent a great deal of time together, but she was his wife and his only lover. He knew her body in great detail, not only from memories, but also from his dreams.
He couldn’t bring himself to wake her. He didn’t want a hurried mating; he wanted the passion of before. He wanted his loving Daisy back, and he’d have her if he had to build the two-story house all by himself.
Then there would be no blanket between them if he had anything to do with it.
Chapter 26
TRADING POST
Clint felt like he was walking in an ocean of sorrow. No one ate any lunch. The weather had turned too bad to take Karrisa out to check on his land and new chimney. He’d hitched up a wagon but wasn’t surprised when she shook her head and took the baby back inside. He took the wagon to the barn, checked on the prisoner, who’d refused to say a word, and walked back to the porch.
No one came to the trading post, so Harmon Ely complained that he might as well close the store. If there were wagons on the road they’d probably stopped wherever they could find cover to wait out the rain.
He walked around the store, the kitchen area, the back porch with a roof that leaked, then back to the front porch where rain barred him in like a prison. Restless in the confined space with so many people, he circled again and again.
