Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (4 page)

When Trellis came back out to the veranda, Mara stood at the end of the wagon as if she expected Aubrey to attack the injured man.

“I told Ma.”

“Sure ’n ye would,” Aubrey sneered and cast Mara a resentful glance. “Ye’ll be sorry ye brought him here, me girl.” He walked back up the steps to the porch, his face livid with rage.

“Maybe and maybe not. But I don’t think so. No one in need was ever turned away from this house while my father was alive.”

Even at the school where fits of temper were common among the homesick girls Mara’s temper was legendary. She held it in check now, even though a red rage burned deep within her.

“Trellis, go get someone to help get this man in the house.” Mara issued the order and looked Aubrey directly in the eye. Something was going on that she didn’t understand, but she had rights here. This was
her
home,
her
land; and from the looks of it, she should have come back long ago.

Aubrey McCall felt as if he had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. Why had Shannon McCall’s daughter returned home? An educated miss such as she would have no reason to come to this place after all this time unless she intended to sell it. He suspected that Shannon McCall had left money in a bank in Denver to pay for her schooling, but had been unable to find out for sure until he had stopped sending money to the school after the first year and not a word had been said.

The girl had written she had a good-paying position at the school. What had caused her to give it up? Why hadn’t she let him know that she was coming? He would have put a stop to her if he had known. She was going to be every bit as stubborn and self-righteous as her father, he could see that. Aubrey turned on his heel and went into the house. Damn her for bringing that bastard here! He ignored his wife’s calls from the bedroom and went directly to the cupboard in the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink.

Trellis returned with two men. Mara had no idea of the picture she made standing at the end of the wagon. Her straw hat was askew. Sun glinted on the copper in her hair that hung loose from its knot. Her dress was soiled, her cheeks were red and sparks of temper flashed from her emerald green eyes. Determination to have her way was evident in every line of her body.

She had a chance to observe the men as they approached. One was thin with a narrow face and eyes set close to his beaklike nose. His arms were long, hanging almost to the knees of his bowed legs. The other was strongly built and wore a high-crowned Texas hat designed to keep the sun off his skull. He was tall and had a long, lean, hard face burned brown from his forehead to a square chin. His clothes were those of a man who spent long hours in the saddle. A gun belt was strapped about his waist; the other man had a weapon tucked into his belt. Mara was used to seeing men wearing weapons as if they were part of the clothing, but it crossed her mind that these two didn’t appear to be the type of men to work on a farm.

“Sam Sparks, ma’am.” The tall man put his fingers to the brim of his hat and nodded politely to Mara before peering down at the man who lay in the back of the wagon. He whistled through his teeth. “Godamighty!”

“I found him about halfway between here and Sheffield Station. He’s been shot in the side and in the leg, I think.”

“He’s in bad shape,” the tall man said slowly in an accent of the deep south.

“Do you know who he is?” Mara asked.

“I’ve seen him around.”

“Ma wants you to bring him into her room, Sam,” Trellis said in a low tone, his eyes going from Mara to the tall man. “There’s a bunk in there,” he added.

Aubrey came out onto the veranda carrying the whiskey bottle in his hand and watched the injured man being lifted out of the wagon. The two men and Trellis staggered under his weight, but they made it up the steps and into the house.

Mara followed them, passing Aubrey without a glance. She kept her mind firmly on the injured man so that she wouldn’t look at the destruction done to her mother’s house. The layout of the rooms was familiar, four rooms downstairs, two rooms upstairs. They passed from the parlor into the kitchen and from the kitchen into the back bedroom, the room that had been Mara’s parents’ room.

Brita McCall was sitting up in bed with pillows behind her. Mara saw the fear and pain on her face. Her dark hair was streaked with gray, her face showed the lines of age, but it was still as sweet as Mara remembered. Blue eyes clouded with pain sought hers, and Brita lifted a crippled hand toward her.

“Hello, Cousin Brita.”

“Hello, Mara Shannon. Ach, ’n what have they been doin’ to me boy?” Tears came to Brita’s eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks.

“I don’t know. I found him along the road.”

“Pack, me darlin’,” Brita murmured. “If only I could get up ter see ter yer hurts.”

“Didn’t you know it was Pack?” Trellis asked when he saw the surprised look on Mara’s face.

“No.” She shook her head. “Who would have done such a terrible thing to him?”

Trellis glanced first at his mother and then at his father who had followed them into the house, then shook his head.

“ ’Tis not enough he be here in this house. ’Tis my bed he be takin’.” Aubrey stood at the end of Brita’s bed, the bottle still in his hand.

Mara saw Brita cringe. A tremendous dislike for her father’s cousin was building rapidly within her. She threw Aubrey a disgusted glance, took off her hat and placed it on the bureau. The short man left, but Sam Sparks lingered beside the bunk.

“Will you be needing help here, miss?” he asked.

“Why, yes, if you would be so kind.” Mara looked pointedly at Aubrey.

“Cullen’ll not be likin’ ye to be stickin’ yer nose in, Sparks. Ye best be gettin’ on back to the bunkhouse.”

“This isn’t a job for the young lady, McCall.”

“She bit it off, let ’er chew it.” Aubrey took a long swig from the bottle.

“Please stay, Mr. Sparks. Cousin Brita and I would appreciate your help.” Mara saw that Brita was either too frightened to go against her husband’s wishes or too worried about her son to speak.

“We’ll need hot water and vinegar to start. He’s out cold, and it will be easier on him if we do what we’ve got to do before he wakes up.”

“I’ll get it.” Trellis moved around his father and left the room.

Sam took off his hat, hung it on the bed post, and knelt down to unwind the wool scarf from Pack’s leg. Sam’s thick hair was a dark russet brown. The upper part of his forehead was white where it had been protected from the sun. To Mara he looked much younger without the hat.

Mara gazed down at the unconscious man. She tried to compare this big man with the boy who had come to the school with her father so many years ago. Only the dark hair was the same. He was tanned almost mahogany to the waist, his great shoulders and arms narrowing to a sinewy middle. Mara had never seen a man as near naked as this one.

“I’m sorry your son is hurt, Cousin Brita. I’m just glad I came along when I did. I’ve no experience in tending to injuries, but I’m not squeamish and I’ll do what I can if you and Mr. Sparks will tell me what to do.”

Sam Sparks stood and looked down into Mara’s emerald eyes. She saw that his eyes were clear and knowing, and a faint smile pulled at his lips.

“Looks like you’ve done all right so far, miss,” he murmured.

“Mara.” Brita spoke her name and Mara turned to her. “I can sit in a chair. Trellis will lift me.”

“Oh, Ma!” Trellis came to the doorway. “It’s hurts ya so much to move.”

“I can stand the pain, Trell. Bring the chair. He be a sweet child,” she said to Mara. “I don’t be knowin’ what I’d do without him.”

“Is there something I can do, Brita?”

“Nothin’, but I do be thankin’ ye. ’Tis the misery in my joints that’s made me as helpless as a babe.”

The chair was placed close to the bed, and Brita’s legs swung over the side. Trellis put his hands beneath his mother’s arms, lifted her up, swung her around, and gently lowered her to the chair. Moans of pain came from Brita’s lips in spite of her attempts to hold them back. Her feet and ankles were terribly deformed by her affliction, and her spine was curved in a permanent arc. Trellis settled her in the chair and placed a blanket across her lap. For the first time Brita got a good look at her son’s face. She moaned and clenched her teeth as if in agony.

“Pack, me sweet boy. I told ye ter go, I told ye. . . .”

“Ma’am, he’s got a bullet that’s got to come out. It might not be something you want to see.”

“I be seein’ cruel things aplenty, Mr. Sparks. I got to be knowin’ the worse. Will me boy die?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. McCall. He’s been shot, and it looks like they dragged him behind a horse and beat him.”

“Sweet Holy Mother of God! How can they be so cruel?” Brita took a deep breath and closed her eyes for an instant. When she opened them, she began to give orders. “Ye’ve got to get the bullets out. Can ye sew him up, Mr. Sparks?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bring the hot water, Trell. Mr. Sparks will have ter wash his hands. They’ll not like ye ter be helpin’ him, Mr. Sparks.”

Mara stood by and pondered their use of the word they. It was almost as if Brita, Trellis and even Sam Sparks knew who had tortured the man.

“Let me worry about that. I’ve got to strip him, ma’am.”

“ ’Tis not a sight for yer eyes, Mara Shannon.” Brita’s gentle face was creased with lines of worry. “Trell will help Mr. Sparks.”

Mara picked up the bloody petticoat she had used to wrap about Pack Gallagher’s torso and the wool scarf she had tied about his leg. She stepped out of the way when Trellis came with a teakettle of hot water and a handful of clean cloths. Her face reddened when she realized that Sam had opened Pack’s trousers and was waiting for her to leave before he pulled them off.

“Call if there’s something I can do.”

Mara went into the kitchen and gazed in despair at the disorder. The iron cookstove that had been her mother’s pride was still there. A fire behind it had charred the wall. The trestle table had a familiar look, but instead of ladder-backed chairs, two wooden benches now sat at each side of it. The range and the work counter were covered with piles of plates, cups, pots, and an assortment of cutlery. The floor was covered with grease and scraps of food embellished with chunks of dried mud. Cobwebs and soot hung like Spanish moss behind the cookstove.

A flicker of anger swept through Mara and threatened to burst into full flame.

The parlor had suffered as much damage as the rest of the house. A broken-legged table leaned against the wall where the window was boarded up. The loveseat was gone, as was the clock that sat on the mantel above the fireplace. Several heavy chairs stood in the room, and a barn lantern hung from a nail on the wall. Had Mara not been such a strong-willed woman she would have collapsed in despair. Instead she seethed with fury against those who had devastated her home. Her rage fed her determination to stay, take over the property her father had left her, and get a full accounting from Aubrey McCall.

Mara went to the door of the front bedroom and looked around. The bed in the corner was unmade, men’s clothing was scattered about, a bridle and a set of reins had been flung into the corner, and an empty whiskey bottle lay on its side on the bureau. Fortunately the doors leading to the living room and the one going into Cousin Brita’s were both still solidly hung and would afford her some privacy if she stayed here.

“Trellis,” she called. “Who uses this room?”

“Cullen. He don’t sleep there much. But he’ll be sore if ya mess with his things.” Trellis came to the bedroom door.

“Then he’ll just have to be sore.” Mara’s voice was no-nonsense hard. She closed the connecting door and began ridding the room of Cullen McCall’s belongings. Under different circumstances she would not have dreamed of touching another person’s personal property, but anger, humiliation and disappointment spurred her on to clear the room as quickly as possible and make it her own again.

As she worked, a murmur of voices came from the other room. Trellis made trips to the kitchen, and once she heard him going upstairs. A cry tore from the wounded man. Mara stopped and put her hands over her ears for a long moment. The breath went out of her, and she felt her stomach suck in. Brita’s low soothing voice could be heard over the grunts of pain.

Mara’s mind kept pace with her hands as she worked. Someone had tried to kill Pack Gallagher. It was evident that Aubrey McCall hated him. There was something evil here, some reason why Brita wanted her son brought into her room. Did she think that whoever had done this terrible thing to him would come back to finish the job?

Mara felt a sudden homesickness for her neat, comfortable room at the school. The cooks would be getting dinner now, and the maids would be setting the tables with white linen and bone china. After dinner the girls would gather in the parlor to take turns at the piano or pair off to play cribbage or whist. On a night like this, Mara would take a couple of books to her room, undress in the soft light of the glass lamp with the hand-painted shade, and crawl into her warm, sweet-smelling bed to read.

No dinner was being prepared here, she thought, coming back to reality. And in order to have a decent place to sleep, she had to clean out this room and make up a bed with the linen from her trunk. There was no going back. Her bridges had been burned behind her. The unpleasant scene with Miss Fillamore when Mara told her she was leaving had opened her eyes to the fact that the affection the woman pretended to have for her was merely a facade. Miss Fillamore had called her a featherhead and said she was foolish to give up a secure position to travel to an uncivilized part of Wyoming; and if she went, she could not return. The schoolmistress had urged Mara to hire a broker, sell the property, and stay at the school. When she refused, Miss Fillamore had taken the attitude that she was somehow disloyal and had immediately hired a woman to take her place.

The sun had set when Mara went to the porch to drag in her trunk. She saw four men on horseback coming across an open field toward the house. She suspected one of them would be Cullen McCall, and Cousin Aubrey would be waiting to tell him the news. The look in Trellis’ eyes when he came to help her with the trunk told Mara that the boy had also seen the riders and was uneasy.