Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) (11 page)

Lorenz stopped his recital long enough to take a deep breath and remembered to use his border drawl. “That's when Rity started singin' in saloons for money to pay for doctors. When ah got better, she took me along to Carson City and went to work there for Red keepin' books and as a partner in his card place. Still think ah can fit in a real home with a decent woman,” he jeered at the finish.

MacDonald loomed over him, silent for a moment and then said, “Aye, but when that anger comes on ye again, I suggest ye take it out on stones and rocks, or mayhap, the woodpile.”

Lorenz closed his eyes and shook his head. The telling of it all had been hurtful, but he had been so sure that MacDonald would not consider letting someone like him near his wife and daughter that he risked it. Maybe MacDonald thought it was all right, but Lorenz knew he wasn't fit.

He looked at the big man standing there like a rock and his real reason for running came blurting out of his despair and his mouth. “Mr. MacDonald, I can't go where Mama is. I don't know what I'll do when she tells me to get out.”

MacDonald felt rocked by the revelations, but knew he must go gently. “Lorenz, I have been wed to yere mither for almost seven years. That tis more than the time ye had with her. I ken her ways and her thinking. She twill nay throw ye out.”

From the time of Lorenz's outburst, they had been moving further and further away from the wagon and the path to the edge of the barely running water. They were south of Martin, but at the banks of the small river. “To me, it sounds like ye are saying that yere perception, way of thinking, of yere mither tis why ye keep trying to run. Since ye kenned that yere sister had nay but yere welfare, wellbeing,” MacDonald took pains to make sure Lorenz understood his words, “upper most in her mind, why did ye run from her? Yere actions make some of yere words hard to believe.”

Lorenz clenched his hands and half turned to him. “Cause she whupped me right in front of the whole town.”

Not really surprised that Lorenz could drive someone to that point, MacDonald asked, “And what had ye done that brought it on?”

“Nothin'!”

“That too tis hard to believe as once more yere actions make yere words hollow. What twas it that she thought ye had done?”

“I was with Red, and he stopped in at the fancy whorehouse to talk with the Madam. The girls were all clucking over me while Red and the Madam went in another room for a drink when Rity came busting in screaming her head off. She used her parasol on the girls and on anyone that was handy. The Madam and Red came running out to protect the girls, and Rity knocked the Madam down and slammed the point of the parasol into Red's belly. Then she grabbed me and pushed and pulled me out the door using that damned parasol on me, and everybody in town getting an eyeful. She kept swinging it like a cane until we got home and then she really laid into me with a belt. After that she said I had to go my room and stay there without anything to eat 'cause I had cussed at her. She slammed the door on me and then she went to work at her gambling place. I just grabbed my gun and some food, and high tailed it to the stable were Dandy was, and left. I knew nobody would be looking for me until morning and by that time I'd be long gone, and I was.”

At the end of this recital, MacDonald was thankful for the darkness that hid his smile. “Did ye, ah, actually bed one of the whores?”

“Nah, there wasn't time, and Red had only said maybe 'cause I was pretty young. He said he'd see how I do just talking with them.”

“Good, tis nay the way of a first bedding.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, another subject that I am sure yere mither and I twill nay agree upon when the time comes.” He shrugged. “It seems yere sister also has yere mither's temper.”

They paced along the water's edge, staying away from the camp area. “Mama cain't have one that bad,” Lorenz insisted.

MacDonald chuckled. “Oh, aye, that she can. If there had been but two Indians that attacked yere cabin that day, they would have lost. Yere fither must have kenned they would be attacked for he had taken both guns with him. Daniel had been sent to the field to help him ere the attack came. She ran out of the house with a broom as her club and used it on the first one to dismount. She downed him and knocked the wind from him, and nigh had another down when the third emerged from the cabin swinging the babe by one leg. Of course, yere mither dropped the broom and grabbed yere brither. They may have thought her mad for nay running as an Indian woman would have done and let her live. I dinna. Then too, such a woman would breed brave laddies, and they had two of hers already.”

“By the time I rescued her, she twas a skinny body of bone and her hair had turned completely white. The Comanche were sure she twas mad indeed. They had cut off the ends of her little fingers as their way to show her grief over losing two of her wee ones to members of the tribe, but she kept trying to tempt Daniel back to her. They tried cutting off her ears since she did nay listen to their commands, nay to their reasons as she would nay bide by their rules. She may have kenned their ways more than they kenned as she kept behaving as though she twere mad. Mayhap she did become a bit mad when the babe twas given to a different tribe. Since they were nay certain of her sanity, they fed her very little. Starvation usually brings a sane person to heel. Nay her. She defied them to the day we hit their camp.”

“Y'all married her anyways?” To Lorenz this seemed as mad as the tale of his mother.

“Of course, I did. She tis a brave, magnificent lassie. Who else would have the courage to attack me with fists and tongue because I rescued her and nay her laddie? She kept screaming at me to go find Daniel. She did nay calm down till I went to look for him.”

MacDonald changed the subject. “It grows late, and I must rest. As much as I would nay, I must bed ye down with the ropes, and in the morrow, ye have the task of apologizing to Martin.”

“Why?” Lorenz stopped. He felt beaten and drained. It was one more thing that he could not understand.

“Ye took his rifle. Tis almost as serious as taking his horse in this country.”

“Mr. MacDonald, I don't know how to do that,” Lorenz admitted.

“Ye use such words as 'I took yere rifle and I should have nay and I sorrow'; nay, yere way is to say 'I'm sorry.' Any of those words should do nicely.” He prodded Lorenz towards the wagon.

Lorenz reverted to his usual way of speaking. “And iffen ah don't, yu'll ain't going to let me ride Dandy into yore place, right?”

MacDonald grinned into the darkness. “Aye, that tis correct. Yere actions and the doing of what tis right twill determine how much freedom ye have.”

Lorenz kept walking as he continued protesting. “Hit won't do no good. Martin ain't goin' to believe me.”

“That does nay matter. What matters is that ye do apologize.”

As usual, MacDonald was proficient in tying Lorenz, who stretched at the ropes in the hopes that just once the big man would relax or make an error. Nothing had gone the way he had planned. He had thought the act of killing Zale and watching him die would silence the rage inside him. It had not. Instead, he was physically confined, going where he did not want to go, and for some reason he was calling the big man Mr. MacDonald.

When he came in from his night watch, MacDonald started the coffee. As usual, the noise roused the rest of the camp. Martin didn't bother to glance at Lorenz, or give his usual greeting on his way to the latrine area.

Lorenz tried once more to convince MacDonald that Martin was in no mood to talk to him, but MacDonald simply raised his eyebrows and pointed. Lumps stuck in Lorenz's throat as he approached Martin slapping the biscuits into the Dutch oven.

He squatted down by the older youth and tried. “Uh, Martin, I took your rifle last night, but, well, ah…”

“Lorenz, shut up. I ain't interested and y'all are saying words that Uncle put into your mouth.” Martin clamped the lid on the Dutch oven and set it in the coals. “I've got work to do.” He turned his back on Lorenz and started heating the pan for gravy made with flour and water.

The words stung deeper than he believed they could. Lorenz stood and walked back to MacDonald, heartsick and breathing heavier. A week ago, he would not have cared, but for awhile there had been a comradeship with Martin that he wanted to keep. He could find no one to blame but himself. Martin was the one person who really believed that he, Lorenz, was worth trusting, and he hadn't proved out. It was a bitter realization. Lorenz was under no illusion that MacDonald trusted him, or did he? Why hadn't he pulled that trigger? How did MacDonald know he wouldn't? He stuck his hands in his pocket and mouthed the bitter words. “He won't let me finish.”

“Try again after breakfast,” suggested MacDonald. “Meanwhile, we twill wait for the coffee.”

Lorenz considered and took a deep breath. He would try again and this time Martin would believe him. Hell, he always could make people believe him, but this time, he decided, he wouldn't try any of his mind tricks.

After breakfast, Lorenz grabbed the coffee pot as Martin loaded the Dutch oven with items to be cleaned. “Ah have to work, or else ah'm in trouble,” he announced.

Martin raised his eyebrows and continued to pack the rest of the eating gear. They both carried their load over to the slow, running water. As Martin rinsed and scoured the plates and utensils, he ignored Lorenz's clumsy attempts to apologize again.

Lorenz set his lips, and continued to try to find the right words to break through Martin's resolve when James broke in. “Thus sayeth the Lord: Seven times seventy.”

Martin's head snapped up. “What's that got to do with him?”

“You know, you studied the catechism. Jesus meant you can't decide whether he means it or not.” James was quite pleased with himself. He could quote scripture and not be in any danger of retaliation from Martin; not without Martin being in trouble. Maybe he could even make Martin squirm while he practiced doing what a real Pastor would do.

It was almost possible to see Martin thinking. Guile wasn't in him and he knew James was right. That was the maddening part. Both young men stood and faced each other. “Why should I believe y'all? Are y'all telling me y'all ain't going to try to run again?”

Lorenz shook his head. “Ah ain't going anywhere but home today. Ah'm just sayin' if ah try anything again, ah won't touch nothing of yours, and ah'll do it when ah can't get y'all in trouble.” He stuck out his right hand as a peace offering hardly daring to believe whatever it was that James said had worked this change in Martin.

Martin looked down at the hand and reluctantly shook it. “All right, I'll accept your apology, but I ain't going to trust y'all to keep it.”

“That's not what God meant,” intoned the younger Rolfe. He had his hands behind his back and was rocking back and forth on his heels. He was quite pleased with his efforts. He had made Martin do his bidding.

Martin made ready to go after his younger sibling, and Lorenz stepped in front of him. “Blame me, not him.”

“Y'all are sticking up for him?” Martin was struck by the unbelievable situation.

“Well, he helped me. Seems fair.”

Martin looked at Lorenz and smiled. He then put out his hand and they shook again. “Okay, maybe y'all mean it this time.”

As MacDonald and Rolfe saddled their horses, Lorenz moved toward Dandy. MacDonald shook his head. “First ye ride the wagon. Twill be a couple of hours ere we ride ahead.”

Lorenz swallowed, but accepted the dictum. “How long does it take before we get there?” he asked Martin.

“We'll be there about noon. Tante Anna will feed us. A good thing. I'm damned tired of my cooking.” He clucked at the horses once James was in the wagon.

“How would she know to have enough food for all of us?” asked Lorenz. To him it was another puzzle.

“Y'all would be surprised. Women whose men are gone out here always seem to know when they are coming back in. Besides, we've made the trip before. She knows how long it takes.”

Morning slid by in a haze of dusty, jolting minutes. Martin ventured few subjects as Lorenz sat huddled with half-true memories and perceptions. At times, he felt an unbelievable elation and next he felt completely lost. He knew his homecoming would be a complete debacle. MacDonald, however, had won and he would soon see his mother. Lorenz harbored a grudging admiration for the man as they traveled over a land covered with prairie grass, some still green with new growth, some of it starting to yellow at the tips, and clumps of waving blue flowers nestled among the green. Gradually, the sun swung higher as it moved to a late morning position.

MacDonald brought Zark alongside and signaled for Martin to rein in. Lorenz bailed over the seat and grabbed his saddle. He told himself that it was the excitement of actually riding again impelling his haste, not the possibility of seeing his mother after so many years. Within minutes he had cinched down his saddle and bolted into it. MacDonald nodded at him and waved at the others. Lorenz lifted his chin and even smiled at Young James ensconced on the wagon seat.

Twenty minutes later, they topped the rise and looked down at the ranch quarters. To their left, about a quarter of a mile from the two-story ranch house, a rock formation jutted skyward creating a sculpture by nature. It flared upward and then about three quarters of the way to the top the rock flattened out in front of a small cave. Behind the cave, rocks reared again and flowed upward into a caricature of a monk's head. Below them, the prairie grass spread out towards the house, the springhouse, barn, washhouse, outhouse, and small shed. Corrals circled three-fourths of the barn and extended back by almost two acres. It looked like there were three sections to the corrals. The smallest fenced section held a lonely milch cow that lowed a greeting. The headquarter buildings of the Rearing Bear ranch, unlike most of the ranch buildings Lorenz had seen, were painted and not faded wood.

“Ah didn't know yu'all was rich,” he said as they drew up to look.

“Nay rich, laddie, but someday, mayhap. Look, there stands yere mither and the wee one. He took off his hat and waved at the two distant figures on the porch. “Let's ride.”

“How'd she know?” asked Lorenz, keeping Dandy at the pace set by the larger horse.

MacDonald barely glanced at him. “She tis a Kenning Woman. Oh, and ye are to remove yere hat when ye greet her.”

Lorenz swallowed. More damn rules. He kept looking at the woman holding the small figure by the hand. She wore a simple, straight grey skirt and white blouse covered by an apron. The hand that had been guarding her eyes against the noon sun was now clutching at the hitching rail, the knuckles as white as her hair. As MacDonald had said her hair was completely white, parted in the middle and drawn back into a bun to better cover the missing ears, the severity softened by the escaped curls framing her face. The eyebrows were still dark, arched over grey eyes lighted by quick intelligence. Her body was no longer skinny as MacDonald had termed it, but filled out to match her tall frame. Her movements were decisive and controlled. The little girl at her side was jumping up and down, waving at them, and screaming, “Papa, papa.”

As they reined in, MacDonald reached over and grabbed Dandy's reins and dismounted. He lapped the reins over the post and picked up the “Papa, papa,” screaming child. Lorenz found his face and body frozen, unable to smile or move. He stared straight ahead; afraid to look at his mother should she recognize him and reject him once she realized he was not Daniel.

“Lorenz, dismount!”

No help for it. He had to move or be pulled down. As he swung down, the woman was on him; her arms around his body, squeezing hard and then she removed one hand using it to touch his face, his hands, and his hair. “Mein sohn, mein sohn, mein liebe, mein herzen,” she kept repeating. Finally, she stopped long enough to touch the scar and he tried stepping back, but she retained her hold on him and her grey eyes opened wider, “They hurt du!” she exclaimed in English and turned to MacDonald.

“Mr. MacDonald, they have hurt him. Who did this? Du must run them down!” Her English was almost as accented as Rolfe's, the German idioms and words as frequent.

“Mrs. MacDonald, the man who did that tis nay longer with us.”

“Good!” She turned her attention back to Lorenz. “Vhere is Margareatha? She vas mitt du vhen ve vere attacked. Vhy is she not mitt du?”

Lorenz was staring at her, his mind reeling, the German words too much for him to process, but somehow he knew they were endearments. Then suddenly everything she was saying made sense; even the German and accented words he had not heard in eleven years; vhere became where and vhy became why. How could he tell her about Rity?

MacDonald answered for him. “It seems she tis in Carson City, Nevada. We have sent yere lassie a telegram and told her a letter twill follow.”

The grey eyes snapped at MacDonald. “Du did not tell her to home immediately come?”

Lorenz took some satisfaction in watching MacDonald's face become a bit blank. “I did nay think to do so,” he admitted. “I did tell her that Lorenz was safe with us.”

“Ach, gut,” she turned to Lorenz again, “have du seen Daniel or August?”

Lorenz was still dazed from her greeting and shook his head, unable to form words. She was still touching him, stroking his hair, his face, his arm as though he would evaporate like smoke and suddenly she was holding him tight again, strange choking noises coming from her throat. The warm smells came up from her body, smells no longer just lingerings in his mind, but smells of vinegar, sugar, flour, vanilla, and her own individual scent. He couldn't stop his arms and they wrapped around her, his voice choking out, “Mama, Mama.” Now it was his turn to fear this was a dream and she would disappear and a world filled with hate and hurt would return.

MacDonald watched them sway together for a moment as he explained to Mina that her brother was as happy as she would be if she had not seen Mama for a very long time, then he stepped closer and wrapped one arm around his wife. Gradually her choking sounds stopped and she lifted her head.

“Mr. MacDonald, I thank du.”

He smiled down at her. “Mrs. MacDonald, ye are welcome.”

Lorenz and his mother stepped slightly apart, his breath coming in heavy, rapid gasps as he fought down the urge to cry. He couldn't let the big man see tears, not now. He set his teeth as he realized MacDonald had bent and kissed his wife.

To his dismay, his mother did not protest, nor did she seem flustered as MacDonald lifted his head to smile down at her. Her face had grown pinker, but her eyes were sparkling as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed MacDonald on the cheek. “Velcome home, Mr. MacDonald.”

MacDonald's smile grew wider, “'Tis good to be back,” he said. Then he turned to Lorenz. “And this wee mite tis yere sister, Wilhelmina LouElla MacDonald. We call her Mina as tis much easier.” He turned to the child riding on his arm; her arms were firmly clamped around his neck. “Can ye nay say 'hello' to yere brither?”

Mina turned solemn, amber eyes on Lorenz and her face reddened. She looked back at her father. “Is he really mein bruder?” Like her mother and the Rolfes, she spoke a mixture of English and German, freely mixing the words and meanings.

“Aye, that he tis, and he tis called Lorenz.”

Mina turned back to Lorenz with puzzlement in her eyes. “But he is big,” she protested stressing the word big. She had heard the tale of children taken and could not understand how Lorenz could be the same height as her mother.

Lorenz grinned. At least someone conceded he was not a child. “Hi, Mina.”

In response, Mina leaned forward and put her arms around his neck and hugged. Once again Lorenz went into shock. The child was warm and smelled of youth and innocence. He waited for MacDonald or Mama to scream at Mina not to get so close to him.

Instead, MacDonald addressed his wife. “Anna, the Rolfe menfolk will soon be here with our purchases. Tis there enough for all?”

“Ja, of course. Ach, the food!” She grabbed Mina and ran for the door.

MacDonald stood with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “She can become excited.” He looked at Lorenz. “We need to put up our beasties.” He took both of the lead reins and led the way to the barn. Lorenz still in a daze stumbled along. As usual nothing had gone the way he had said it would. Why had Mama made such a fuss over him?

He stayed in his dazed world, scarcely able to breathe or think while they removed the saddles, turned the horses into the holding pen, and placed the saddles inside the barn. MacDonald's went on a saddletree while his was placed up on the shelf. “We twill build one for ye later.”

Lorenz barely noticed the long area between the two sets of stalls running on either side of the barn. One set of three stalls was for horses with a high manger and separate grain box. The two mangers on the other side were lower and open, each with a moveable bar in the rear, and another up and down one that moved in front. Tools and saddles were stored against the entry wall and a work table set under a small window. Various tools for ranch and farm hung neatly on the wall. Lorenz decided that he was going to be a free hand for this ranch and his mind returned to reality. He heard the wagon roll into the yard, looked out, saw the Rolfes, and realized there was a fence with some sort of tree in front covered with small pellets of growing fruit.

“Mr. Rolfe, du and your boys vill for dinner stay, ja?” his mother greeted the new arrivals. “There's fresh beer in the springhouse. Help yourself.”

“Ja wohl, Frau MacDonald, ve'll be glad to eat here. Danke schon.” Rolfe dismounted and went through the side gate, heading for the springhouse and his beer. “Du vant one, Mac?” he yelled as Martin pulled up the team slightly pass the tree and applied the brake.

“Aye, friend Rolfe,” boomed MacDonald's reply, “right after the laddie and I have unloaded our purchases.”

The barrel of liquor was set in the washhouse with the parcels from the store on top, the lumber stacked alongside of the fence, and their camp gear set out by the back door. “We'll take it inside when Mrs. MacDonald is out of the kitchen,” explained MacDonald. “We'll nay be in her way while she tis setting the table.” Somehow he made it sound like a sin to be in Mama's way.

Lorenz looked around. Young James had helped Martin with the horses and then both made a beeline for the outhouse. MacDonald accepted the bottle from Rolfe and sipped away with satisfaction. His mother emerged from the springhouse carrying a pitcher of milk.

Rolfe then proceeded to wash his hands and face at the improvised stand near the back door. A wavy mirror was set over the enameled, white basin and a shelf with a dowel holding a towel underneath completed a place for a quick toiletry. Rolfe removed his hat and used the comb, and as they reappeared, his two male heirs followed his example. Then it was MacDonald's turn. He handed the bottle to Lorenz and generously splashed water on his face and hands before combing his hair. He reclaimed his bottle and said, “Now tis your turn.”

Lorenz could not believe he was home and welcomed. This was contrary to the world he knew existed. Since he had not yet stepped into the house, freedom was still his. He knew once inside there would be no escape. Even if he escaped, his mother and her voice would imprison him forever. MacDonald's command made him blink his eyes and he shook his head, “Ah ain't dirty.”

Martin guffawed. “Lorenz, Tante Anna ain't going to let y'all to the table unless y'all wash up.”

Lorenz felt the blood rise in his face. Everyone was grinning at him now. It was no longer him against the big man. It was him against all of them and there was nowhere to run. His mother appeared at the door, smiling at them all.

“Dinner is ready. Von't du come in?”

“As soon as Lorenz washes his hands and face,” the words rumbled out of MacDonald, amusement flickering in his brown eyes.

Anna moved outside and fixed her large, grey eyes on him. “Vash your face and hands, und use that comb.” Her words, simple and direct, burned into him. Weren't mothers supposed to be on your side? He stood looking at her.

A puzzled look came into her eyes and MacDonald added an explanation. “I dinna think yere lassie had time to re-teach him the ways of civilized mankind during the brief time he twas with her. All that twill be explained later,” he added as a closing.

His mother's eyes were still puzzled, but a more determined look came into them. “Lorenz, du are the food letting get cold. Vash now und use the comb.” Her voice was stern, broking no argument.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Lorenz remembered that look. This was not the time to defy her with everyone else standing around with smirks on their faces. He bent and hurriedly splashed water on his face and hands and used the towel. He heard the door close and he started to turn and realized MacDonald blocked his way, standing there with comb in hand. The big man didn't say anything. He was just smiling a closed mouth smile, but the eyes were hard and the amusement gone. Lorenz yanked his hat off and grabbed the comb. It stuck almost half way down when MacDonald caught his wrist.

“Nay so hard, laddie, twill break the comb, and then yere mither twill fuss.”

Rolfe laughed. “Dot's the last thing du vant. She is a formidable voman.” Still chuckling he led his sons into the house.