Jane Bonander (4 page)

Wolf rose, stuffing Amos Larson’s letter into his pocket. “Those days are gone, Baptiste. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

Baptiste swore. “I don’t have to. I ain’t going to be around long enough to care,
mon ami.
”

Wolf walked to the window and stared out into the stormy afternoon. The oaks stood stalwart against the rain, but the boughs of the fir trees that flanked the cabin waved frantically, tossing and twisting in the wind. “You’ll outlive us all, you old roué.”

“Where are you going, and when?”

“Martinez.” It had been a quick decision. Wolf was curious to know why Amos wanted him to see his lawyer. “And soon.”

“To a woman, no?” Baptiste’s voice was sly.

Wolf turned from the window. “Is that all you think about?”

With a casual shrug, Baptiste threw his rough, callused hands into the air. “What else is there? If I quit thinking about women, and no longer want one in my bed, I will die.”

Wolf chuckled in spite of himself. “Is that what’s keeping you alive?”

His sly smile widened.
“
Oui
Why do you think ol Angus died so young,
mon ami?
He lived too pure a life.”

Wolf nodded, feeling a twinge of sadness. He missed Angus more than he cared to admit. Angus had been a father to him. Wolf knew what kind of man he himself was, and knew that without Angus, he’d have been even less.

Turning to the window once more, he stared outside and thought about the trip to Martinez. The rain had not subsided. But he would leave at first light, whether it was storming or not. If he kept to the grassy knolls above the river, he could be there by late tomorrow afternoon.

To Wolf’s surprise, Amos had greeted him with a warm embrace. Now, as they sat in front of the fire in Earl Williams’s law office, Wolf could see that Amos’s health had declined even further.

“I’m dying, McCloud.” Amos gazed into the fire, his features bleak and bony.

Wolf didn’t know what to say, so he simply waited. He had an old aching in his gut, similar to the one he’d had when he lost Angus.

“I should have died weeks ago, but I couldn’t leave this earth until I knew my Julia had some peace.”

Wolf shifted in his chair. “What do you want of me, Amos?”

Amos continued to study the flames. “Remember that piece of land you took a shine to? Over there, at the bend in the creek?”

“I remember,” Wolf replied. It had been a place to which he could escape, and he had. The next ranch, perhaps a mile away, had also been visible. It was the one he’d taken an interest in. The one where he hoped to find the woman that had left him to die.

“I’ll sell it to you cheap, on one condition.” His voice was soft, yet filled with dignity.

Wolf felt a thrill of excitement but controlled it. “What’s your condition, Amos?”

“That you stay on after I’m gone and act as Julia’s foreman.”

Wolf felt a shiver of dread inch up his spine. He wondered how long he’d be there before the strident daughter with the lush mouth drove a stake through his heart. Or before the one with the hot drawers smothered him.

He flung himself out of his chair and strode to the window. “Oh, no you don’t, old man.”

“McCloud, you’re a lot like I was when I was a pup,” Amos mused.

As Wolf studied the Martinez harbor, where empty three-masted ships bobbed lightly atop the water, he thought about his life, about the sins he’d committed against humanity and himself. He thought of the orders he’d taken from the Army superiors that had caused countless innocent lives to be lost—all in the name of progress. He recalled the command that had meant robbing land from unsuspecting Indians and giving it to white settlers who didn’t need it but wanted it just the same—all in the name of progress. He thought of the supplies that were meant for the Indians, and how he’d known they were being sold to the whites for next to nothing, leaving the Indian people to starve over the harsh winter—all in the name of progress. And he thought of the innumerable children who had died because of his actions. Their deaths were a constant heavy weight on his heart.

He’d known demons and devils and every shade of hell imaginable. Most men had no idea what he felt in his soul. More times than not, he wasn’t even sure he had one, for how could any man, whether he had Indian blood or not, be a party to what was done to the unsuspecting Indians of California?

“I’m nothing like you, Amos.”

Amos was quiet for a moment, then said, “Don’t sell yourself short, McCloud. I’ve seen the man you pretend to be.” He paused. “I’ve also seen the man you try so hard to hide.”

Wolf smirked. “Am I that easy to read, old man?”

Amos ignored the question, asking one of his own instead. “Doesn’t my offer appeal to you?”

Wolf turned from the window. “The part that appeals to me is overshadowed by the part that doesn’t.”

“And which part doesn’t?”

Wolf took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. “Amos, your daughter Josette is—”

“I knew what you’re going to say, McCloud. I know what she is. She—” He pressed an old bandanna to his mouth and coughed, deep sounds that seemed to rob him of strength. When he finished, he sank deeper into the chair, his head against the back, his eyes closed.

“She’s gone, McCloud.”

Wolf heard the old man’s defeated tone. “Gone?”

“Up and run off with some Gypsy fellow.” He shook his head. “Julia was right. I pampered Josie somethin’ awful.”

“So Miss Julia is there alone?” He didn’t know how he felt, but a ripple of excitement returned.

“Yep, and after I’m gone, she’ll need help.” His gaze was rheumy as it landed on Wolf. “And I want it to come from you.”

Wolf knew Miss Julia well enough to know she wouldn’t take this lightly.

“If I agree to this, Amos, we’ll have to draw up a paper or something. Miss Julia—”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “Julia thinks you’re like the last foreman I hired. Don’t worry. Earl has drawn up the papers.” His twisted fingers shook as he picked at his trousers. “Julia’s a hard worker, McCloud.
Too
hard. I’ve come to depend on her. And because she never once complained, I dumped all the work on her that should have been shared between her and her sister. She’s had a few hard knocks in her life, but she’s got a good heart.”

Again Wolf presumed the reference was to Miss Julia’s baby, but he didn’t ask. “She’s not going to like it, Amos.”

Amos sighed, a sound so forlorn, Wolf felt a twinge of fear. “She’ll come around. And when she does, she’ll need the help. We got bills to pay, McCloud. I ain’t got a clue how to make good on them, but I got a feelin’ you do. We talked about it, remember?”

Wolf felt Amos’s gaze on him, and when he returned it, he was stunned by the feverish glaze in the old man’s eyes. “About drying the fruit?”

Amos simply nodded. “It’ll work. I never thought of it. The wheat was my whole life; the fruit was just … there. Always too much, rotting on the ground … ”

Wolf wanted that piece of land, even if it meant butting heads with the haughty Miss Julia. Yet he wasn’t convinced. “Are you sure this will work, Amos?”

“It’s got to. The bills ain’t the only problem, McCloud. My land butts up against the creek. I’ve got the only private land that does. Someone wants it. There’s plenty of ranchers hereabouts that would do just about anything to get it. The water is way down, McCloud. Even with the drought, it shouldn’t be that low. Something’s wrong, but I ain’t got the strength to find out what it is.” He paused, and again Wolf felt his feverish gaze. “You do.”

Wolf studied the fire. He wanted that piece of land. It’s what Angus would want him to do, and for some reason, even though Angus was dead, Wolf knew he would approve. “Let me take a look at those papers, Amos.”

Amos smiled and visibly relaxed. He appeared serene as he pulled them from his pocket and handed them to Wolf.

Wolf studied them and signed his name at the bottom, handing them back to Amos as he stepped away.

“You keep a copy for yourself, McCloud. Will you be comin’ back with me now?”

“I’d like to go to Sacramento and get my inheritance, Amos. Close out my account there.” He extended his hand, which Amos took. Despite his weak appearance, Amos had a strong grip. “I’ll be back in a few days.”

Amos smiled, his leathery skin wrinkling like a raisin. “I promise I won’t die till you get there, McCloud.”

Wolf felt that twinge in his gut. He almost wanted to embrace Amos again, but knew he was being foolish.

A robust fire erupted in the fireplace, yet Julia rubbed her arms, hoping to drive away the chill. Except for the sound of the storm, everything was silent. The pendulum on the grandfather clock ticked slowly, rhythmically, and she found herself waiting for it to strike, just to hear some noise. It was so quiet without Papa stirring about …

Tears stung her eyes and she pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. She couldn’t believe he was gone. There was a gaping hole in her heart, and the ragged edges of pain continued to cut at her like shards of broken glass.

The clock chimed, making her jump. So often she’d dreamed of this kind of silence, hungered for it, if only for a few moments. The reality was far less appealing, especially when it went on for days, and could be expected to continue forever. As it did now.

She went into her bedroom and undressed in the dark, tempted to crawl into her cold bed and escape into sleep. But she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. But sometimes when she thought about the future, a sense of panic rose within her so strong, she felt she might lose her mind.

Her pulse would race, and she could scarcely catch her breath. Her thoughts would blur and she was unable to concentrate on the most mindless task. She would feel as though she were drowning, but just before she went down for the last time, succumbing to the bliss of escape, she would remember Marymae. And the ranch. And her father’s desperate dreams. And she knew she had to face reality even though thoughts of escape tempted her.

She shrugged into her flannel robe, belting it snugly around her waist, then picked up the dish that held the squat candle and went into the kitchen. She lit the candle, then swung the light back and forth over the containers of food that had been left by the neighbors. Pies. Cakes. Smoked pork. Pickled cucumbers. She put the candle on top of the pie safe, then began filling the safe with the extra food that didn’t fit onto the pantry shelves. More food than she could ever eat before it spoiled.

It was wasteful, but she understood that people had to do something in troubled times, and they usually did what they did best. Even if it meant cooking and baking enough food for a harvest crew.

Just as she slid the last pie into the safe, she heard a knock at the door. Frowning, she picked up the candle, stepped into the other room and glanced at the clock. Eight-thirty. Who in the world would be out on such a nasty night?

She went to the door and opened it a crack, then flung it wider, clinging to the knob when she saw who it was. Oddly enough, she
had
thought about him lately. It hadn’t been intentional; he was there again, invading her daydreams as well as those she wrestled with at night.

“What are you doing here?”

“I heard about your father. I’m sorry.”

His response was so unexpected, she merely stood and stared at him. The candle flickered and sputtered against the force of the wind, sending his face into devilish planes of light and shadow.

“What? No sarcastic remarks, Mr. McCloud?” His gaze was on her, and she shivered.

“Despite what you think of me, ma’am, I don’t find death a subject for levity.”

Cold, wet fingers of wind reached through her robe and nightgown, sending gooseflesh over her skin. “Come in,” she offered, stepping away from the door.

He came inside, firmly closing the door behind him, then wiped his boots on the mat.

“What happened?”

His concern was surprising and caught her off guard. She pulled the lapels of her robe together and went to the fire in an attempt to dispel the chill that had invaded the house, and her bones. After warming her hands, she turned up the kerosene lamp on the mantel.

“How did you hear?”

He took off his hat and raked his fingers through his hair. “A person hears things,” was all he said.

“He went … he went hunting up on the mountain. He took Sally. He rode her now and then, just so she wouldn’t forget—” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, unable to continue, for the knot of tears in her throat threatened to choke her.

She swallowed and took a shaky breath. “When Sally came back alone, I was frantic. She’s a sweet mare. I rode her, giving her lead, and she took me right to him.” She closed her eyes against the picture of her father lying in a pool of blood, part of his head blown off. “He must have tripped. The gun went off.” The possibility that his state of mind had propelled him to take his own life was painful, but not unrealistic. She didn’t want to think about that and refused to verbalize it.

Her knees felt weak, and she grabbed the back of a chair.

Suddenly McCloud was there beside her, his arm around her shoulders. She desperately wanted to turn to him, to allow herself to soften and be soothed by him. A touch—even his—would have been welcome.

“Will you be all right?”

She shrugged him off and turned away, angry that he affected her at all. “Of
course
I won’t be all right, Mr. McCloud. My father is dead. How would you feel if you were in my shoes?”

He said nothing, but took a turn around the room, stopping in front of the photograph of her and Josette that had been taken the summer before. “And your sister?”

So, Julia thought, trying to push away the foolish hurt, he finally got around to that. She turned, wanting to be sure her distress wouldn’t show. “You’ve made the trip for nothing, Mr. McCloud. She left.”

He turned swiftly, his expression unreadable. “She’s really gone? You don’t expect her back?”

She tried to smile, but knew she failed. “For all I know, she could come back any time. Does that make you feel better?”

Returning his gaze to their picture, he said nothing for a long time. Julia sensed his disillusionment. When it came to men and their feelings for her sister, Julia knew she always came in a poor second.