Jane Bonander (2 page)

“Hired hands are more plentiful than you think.” She wasn’t nearly as certain as she sounded.

“I think you got him all wrong, honey. He’s not—”

“Papa,” she interrupted, “if we don’t let him go, we’ll go through hell again when Josette has to face another birthing.”

Her father frowned and shook his head. “I think you’re wrong about him, Julia.”

“Papa.” Her voice was stern, brooking no nonsense.

“What’ll I tell him?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She tried to quell her impatience. “Does it matter? Papa, something has to be done. I don’t know what.” She’d thought of trying to get Josette to use measures to keep from getting pregnant, but that was like telling her it was all right to do … what she did. Julia felt tears of frustration sting her eyes. “We’ve got to do something, Papa. Things just can’t continue this way. She’s … she’s becoming a tramp.”

Julia watched the emotions flick over her father’s face, knowing he was trying to find the solution himself. She should have been angry with him for the way he pampered and protected Josette. At times she was, but she was to blame, too. And she’d never really fought with Papa before. His life was hard enough. Instead, she’d stood by and watched her sister become a pretty, but useless, appendage to the family.

Josette had Papa wrapped around her little finger. It had been that way ever since their mother died. He could deny her nothing, but in doing so, he’d led her to believe that the only things that were important were her own selfish needs. Heaven forbid that she should have any responsibilities, Julia thought peevishly.

“Don’t defame your sister, Julia.”

“
Defame
her? Papa, she does that well enough all by herself. She doesn’t need my help. Have you forgotten about Marymae?”

He cleared his throat and wiped his hands and face on a towel. “Nobody knows about that but the three of us—”

“Oh, Papa. Surely you don’t believe that no one
knows
what happened?”

His frown was filled with more sorrow than anger. “Why, nobody’s said nothin’ to me.”

Julia forced down her impatience. “Just where do you suppose they think the baby came from? That she just fell from the sky? That the stork dropped her on the way to someone else’s house?”

“Now, no need gettin’ sarcastic,” he answered with a weary sigh.

Julia pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Papa, we don’t live in the middle of nowhere. People notice things like brand-new babies.”

“Yeah, I suppose they do. I’m just glad no one’s asked me about it. I wouldn’t know what to tell them.”

“The truth might be nice.” She was unable to curb her sharp tongue.

“Oh, but to have people think my little Josie—”

“You’d rather they thought Marymae was mine?” She was incredulous, but shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Well, dang it, Julia, even I sometimes forget that the baby is Josie’s. You act like the child’s ma.”

“It was either that or watch her starve to death right before my eyes.” Even though she’d come to love Marymae as her own, her resentment toward her flighty sister welled up within her again.

Her father walked to the edge of the stoop. Julia knew his face would be filled with longing as he gazed out over the vast acreage that used to be rife with wheat and now lay fallow.

“After your ma died, we moved here to get a fresh start. It’s been ten years, eight of ’em growin’ and sellin’ more wheat than we thought possible. Now look at what we got. We got nothin’, Julia. Nothin’.” He massaged his neck with gnarled fingers.

Julia didn’t answer; she didn’t have to. She knew his thoughts. Knew he was remembering the torrential downpours they’d endured three and four years before, which ruined the grain, and on the heels of the rain had come two years of drought. They hadn’t recovered. She wondered if they ever would.

“I’ve tried to do right by you girls. Guess I shoulda married again. It wasn’t fair to either of you to grow up without a ma. Why, just look at the two of you. You’re all but worn-out doin’ all of the work around here. And Josie …” He sighed. “Josie needs a firmer hand than mine. When the trouble started, I should’ve sent her to your aunt Mattie in San Francisco like she wanted me to. Maybe she could’ve done something for Josie, but I don’t see how. Mattie was a wild one, too.”

Julia was surprised he even mentioned his younger sister’s name. He usually only referred to her as “as the wild one,” because she hadn’t followed the conventional path of marriage and babies. At forty-five, Mattie Larson ran a successful boardinghouse in San Francisco. Julia had no doubt that Josette would have been a different person if Mattie had been around, for the adult Mattie stood for no nonsense from anyone. And Josette was absolutely filled to the brim with nonsense. But Papa had refused Mattie’s help from the very beginning, probably because they had never seen eye to eye on anything. “Aunt Mattie would have made mincemeat out of Josette and you know it.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that’s what she needed, honey. You both needed a ma, but I just couldn’t bring myself to marry again. Just couldn’t replace your ma in my heart. At least Mattie would’ve been a woman for the both of you to look up to.”

Julia was close to tears whenever her father exposed his fears and his broken heart. “Oh, Papa,” she said, coming up behind him and hugging him around the waist. Shock raced through her when she felt how thin he was. He’d had less stamina lately, too. Poor Papa. He was wearing out. “You’ve done a fine job. Josie and I love you very much.”

He snuffled a skeptical laugh. “Yeah. I done a mighty fine job, ain’t I? Got me one daughter who can’t get enough of men, and the other who can’t stand the sight of them. Not to mention that I’ve got me a grandchild, but no son-in-law.”

He ran his fingers through his thick, gray hair and lowered his head. “Who’s gonna run this place after I’m gone?” He laughed bitterly. “Who am I kidding? If things go on like this, there ain’t gonna be a place left to run.”

Julia clung to her father. The very idea that one day he’d be gone made her stomach cave in. She didn’t like to think about it. She wished he wouldn’t mention it. His mood had been so low recently, she’d become worried about him.

But she felt frustration, too. Basically, she’d been running the ranch for years. She’d done everything but keep the books, and knew she could have done that, too, but her father refused to let her. Before they lost the wheat, she’d been responsible for hiring the threshing crews and seeing that the grain got to Martinez, where it was loaded onto the ships bound for Europe. Now, all they had left were a few walnut trees and more fruit trees than they knew what to do with. And … a folder full of unpaid bills.

If they’d been the only fruit growers in the area, perhaps they could have sold enough to make a go of the ranch, but many grew fruit because it was such an effortless crop. But it was delicate, too. If shipped too far, it would spoil. If picked too early, it wouldn’t ripen. Daily she fought her panic that the time would come when they’d be forced to leave. It would kill Papa. He seemed to be dying some each day, as it was.

They could no longer afford to keep help. Papa had wanted at least one good permanent hand, and he’d hoped it would be Wolf McCloud. If Julia knew nothing else, she knew it shouldn’t be him, no matter how hard he worked. She felt threatened by his presence, and she
would
get rid of him.

She gave her father a final squeeze, then led him into the house. “Let’s not worry about that now, Papa. Something will happen. It always does,” she suggested. “Come to the table. Your lunch is ready.”

When he sat down, she put a piece of leftover quail pie and a dish of peach sauce, which was his favorite, in front of him, hoping to stimulate his appetite. He’d been eating so poorly of late.

Her heart ached for him. Until recently, she hadn’t thought much about his loneliness and personal heartbreak. Children rarely think about their parents’ problems, for they’re so wrapped up in their own lives. Like Josette. But Julia saw herself in him, could almost envision herself sitting at the table twenty years from now, alone, but hopefully not lonely, but she couldn’t be sure. That thought spawned another.

“Papa, I haven’t seen the Henleys lately.” Meredith Henley and her son Serge, whom she’d once tried to marry off to Julia, usually came by on a weekly basis.

“They went back East. Left Frank Barnes in charge,” he answered, toying with his pie.

The mere sound of Frank Barnes’s name made Julia flush with humiliation and anger. “I don’t know why they had to hire him, anyway. He should have been run out of town.”

“Just because he went and got your sister pregnant don’t mean he ain’t a good hand, Julia.”

Oh, Julia thought, if that were the
only
reason she despised him. She would never forget how he’d pretended to court her, and all the while was sleeping with Josette. He was pond scum. Buffalo chips. Hog slop. And she was glad he was gone.

“Serge and Meredith will be gone a few months,” her father offered, interrupting her thoughts.

Julia vividly remembered the day Meredith had tried to convince Papa that a marriage between her and Serge was essential. She knew Meredith wanted their land, for it backed up against the creek. Not exactly a union made in heaven.

But recently Papa hadn’t seemed interested in pursuing that. He’d even been reluctant to visit much with Meredith, which surprised Julia, for they had been close friends for many years. At one time she’d even thought perhaps Papa would ask Meredith to marry him. But Meredith was too strong a woman for her dear, sweet Papa. She would have flattened him like a herd of wild horses.

Unlike sweet, unthreatening Serge. Julia was happy her father hadn’t pursued the marriage thing, for though she wanted to save the ranch, she didn’t want to marry someone to do it, not even Serge.

Watching Papa now, so frail and sick, brought a fresh stab of guilt. She was being selfish. “Papa, if marrying Serge would make things better—”

“No!”

Julia’s relief was overshadowed by her surprise at the look of fury that crossed her father’s face. “But—”

“Don’t bring it up again. I won’t have …” He paused, his fork clenched in his fist. “I don’t want my girls to marry just to save the ranch.”

“But, Papa, I would—”

“I know you would, Julia, honey. That’s the sin of it. I know you’d do anything to save my hide, but I won’t let you waste your life. It’s too hard on a woman out here. If she don’t marry for love, she ain’t got a life at all.”

“You and Mama didn’t marry for love,” she reminded him.

“But we grew to love each other, honey. That’s the difference.”

“Well, but how do you know Serge and I—”

He actually laughed. “Serge? Tarnation, Julia, you’re more of a man than he is.”

Julia felt no insult; she knew what he meant. Serge was the most complaisant man she’d ever known. Not like Wolf McCloud. Or Frank Barnes. But she wouldn’t dredge all that up again. She was faced with it far too often as it was. Daily, in fact, whenever she looked into Marymae’s sweet face.

“I guess I might reconsider such a thing if Serge were a different kind of man.”

Julia gave him a puzzled frown. “What do you mean, different?”

“You don’t know, do ya?” His smile was sad, cheerless, as he plunged his fork into the quail pie. He ate with little enthusiasm.

Julia reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand. “All I know is that I would do anything you asked if it meant saving the ranch.” But she was grateful he wouldn’t make her marry against her will.

“I know, Julia, I know. And I love you for it.”

As she sat across the table from her father, she knew something troubled him besides his fallow land and his daughters. He’d brooded long hours at his desk, poring over maps and papers and books. And his appetite was nearly gone. Yet when she questioned him, he would not take her into his confidence.

She rose and cleared the table, carrying the dirty dishes to the dishpan. As she poured hot water from the teakettle over them, she looked out the window, toward the small corral next to the barn that her father had built for the horses. Mr. McCloud’s black Arab warm-blood pranced inside the enclosure, appearing frisky and anxious for a run. Their two geldings, Ole and Lars, stayed toward the back, avoiding him like cowards avoid a bully.

Julia loved horses, and had been dismayed when so few people rode them in the valley, using them instead to draw buggies or pull wagons and buckboards. She had a feeling it was because most of the settlers had come from the plains and hadn’t become accustomed to riding horseback out here, where the land was rolling with hills.

But Julia had. And now, what she wanted most was to give both her and McCloud’s stallion a bit of exercise. Papa kept McCloud so busy, he didn’t have a chance to ride his horse. Completely ignoring the scolding voice that reminded her it wasn’t up to her to rectify that problem, she checked on the baby, then dug into the bin for a few small apples. She hurried from the house, slowing her steps as she reached the corral.

Stepping on the lower rung of the fence, she hung over the top and studied the animal. How perfect he was! Beautiful as a statue. Yet she’d watched him run, graceful as a gazelle, the brawny pockets of muscle beneath his sleek hide rippling with power.

“Here, boy,” she urged, extending her hand. What had McCloud called him? Baptiste? “Come, Baptiste,” she crooned. The animal came toward her, his nostrils flaring slightly and his majestic head bobbing. He approached her hand, the bristly hairs around his muzzle tickling her palm as he took the apple from her. He whickered and nudged her hand with his nose when he finished his treat. She inhaled, loving the smell of horseflesh as she rubbed his forehead.

“You’re a wild thing, aren’t you?” she whispered, watching him paw at the ground.

She went into the barn, retrieved McCloud’s curb bit and split-ear headstall, then entered the corral through the side door. She fed each of the geldings an apple, then spoke softly as she moved toward the other horse.

“Whoa, Baptiste.” Surprisingly, he stood quietly while she worked the bit into his mouth, then slipped the stall over his ears. Perhaps he was as eager for a run as she. The saddle, which straddled the fence, would be something else entirely, for it looked heavy.