Mary Connealy (109 page)

Abby was working near that end with the dough, but there was plenty of room for the old tyrant.

“Why didn’t one of you women bring them into my room?” Mort swept his hand across some flour that scattered too close to him.

Abby started kneading harder, pretending the dough was Mort’s yammering face.

“You used to care that I was stuck back in there alone, Gertie.”

Abby felt her temper rising. But was it really Mort, or was she panicked because she felt herself weakening to the white world?

“But now you’d let me starve to death if I didn’t come and fetch every bite I eat.”

Bam!
Abby slugged the dough with her fists, her jaw clenched shut.

Mort jumped a little, and his eyes narrowed. “You act like a savage. You need to learn some woman skills if you’re going to stay around here.”

“And you’re like a whining dog that used to sneak around the edges of our camp.” She punched the dough again. “Worthless, begging for food but never doing the few little things a dog can do to help.”

“You got something you think I should do, say it. You think I like sitting in my room all day reading Wade’s book?”

Abby felt a pang of remorse over her temper. She knew Wade wanted his father to come to his own faith in God. After his outburst the other night, Wade had gone back to being patient with his father. But his father had behaved himself with Wade.

The man really didn’t want his son to leave. And wasn’t that a good thing? Wasn’t that loving? Wade finally had a father who loved him after all these years. Abby didn’t want to ruin that, and she knew she could with a word. She’d tell of Mort’s behavior and announce she was leaving, and Wade would come with her. He’d follow her into the rugged mountains to her valley.

She longed to go there and live. With her Indian family gone, she’d be able to have the place to herself. All alone. Forever. No, she couldn’t bear that much loneliness. She knew herself well enough to admit that. But with Wade, maybe they could make a life up there in the thin air among the mountain peaks.

“I do know something you could do, old man.” Abby jammed her fingers deep into the dough.

Mort’s eyes widened as she swung her hands toward him. He snatched his coffee cup out of the way just in time.

She slammed the dough onto the table in front of Mort. “This takes no brain nor skill nor legs. Knead this dough for two more minutes. Then shape it into loaves.”

Mort shoved his chair back two feet from the table. “Woman’s work.” He might as well have spit when he said it. “You think I have no pride left?”

“Now, Abby …” Gertie had endless patience with this old curmudgeon. Abby knew confrontations distressed the older woman. If she hadn’t known she had to leave sometime, she might have kept quiet.

Abby put both fists on the table and leaned down to Mort’s face, his teeth nearly bared. She kept her jaw clenched so she wouldn’t shout the next words. “If you want to be useful”—no, she wasn’t shouting, more like hissing, which still wasn’t good—“there are things you could do. You might not think they are worthy of your great manliness, but they would help. And there are more
manly
things we need done. There is a chair we set aside in the pantry because the leg is loose. You could repair that. Surely that is a manly pastime.”

Mort’s face was turning red. His breathing was loud. Abby had a sense that he, too, was struggling to control himself. He hadn’t forgotten Wade’s threat. And yes, he’d lashed out a dozen times this week. But Gertie had jumped to do his bidding and he’d calmed down. There’d been no drawn-out string of insults and shouts. Too bad he’d been closer to Abby this time. “I’ll do any work you have for me. Don’t pretend like you’ve asked.” Mort’s voice started climbing.

“Now, Mort …” Gertie stepped to the foot of the table, wringing her hands.

Abby knew she should stop for Gertie’s sake. For Wade’s sake. But the satisfaction grew. She’d been spoiling for this fight. For the first time she really knew what she wanted—to leave and take Wade with her. This would be a real chance for happiness. The only one she could see.

“Don’t pretend like I’ve refused to help you.” Mort pounded the side of his fist on the table and hit the dough, plunging his hand into the soft, sticky mound.

“Don’t pretend like you’ve tried, old man.” Abby reached for the dough and jerked it away from him.

“Please, let’s not fight.” Gertie took the dough from Abby, clearly hoping they’d just let her do the work.

“Always you leave women’s work for us and men’s work for Wade while you roll around this house like a…like a…worthless object, a child’s toy on a string, making everyone’s life harder.”

“I want this fight to stop now. You’re both being unreasonable.” Gertie for the first time sounded stern.

His temper blew. “A child’s toy?” Mort grabbed the wheels of his chair.

Satisfied, she gloated that she’d ignited that temper. Now he’d say words he couldn’t take back. And she’d tell Wade and they’d leave.

“I want peace!” Gertie shouted and clutched her hands together as if begging.

Until now Abby had been calculating in her pokes and jabs at Mort’s ego. But when Gertie said “peace,” and Abby knew she meant peace no matter the cost, Abby went over the edge of her temper, right after Mort.

Suddenly she saw Gertie and Mort in a way she’d never seen them before. Peace at any cost. “That’s right. That’s what we’ve all been doing, having peace at the cost of our self-respect. Taking Mort’s abuse to try and maintain some kind of peace in this house.”

Abby turned on Gertie. “Is that what you did when Wade was growing up? You let Mort hit him, then rushed in and bandaged his wounds when it was over, all for peace?”

“You leave Gertie out of this, you little wildcat.”

“Well, if a man hit a child I loved, any child”—Abby glared at Gertie, sorry that her temper had turned on the older woman, but not sorry she spoke the truth—“he’d have himself a war.”

Abby knew then that she wasn’t going to find a place in this house and she wasn’t going to go tattling like a child to Wade, either. She’d find her beloved mountain valley. She’d find her home alone in the wild. With no man, no people, white or Indian, no peace but the peace she found in God. She ripped the apron off her body and flung it aside.

Mort and Gertie seemed frozen by her hateful words.

She stormed out of the room and was changed into her deerskin dress and moccasins and out of the house before either one of them had moved from the kitchen. The two of them were stuck in a twisted relationship of anger and placating, wounding and bandaging. For all she knew, Wade didn’t have the will to leave it all behind either.

If he couldn’t break free of this sickness, it was best that she found out now before she was foolish enough to fall in love with him.

She took no horse. She had only her knife and knew she could live very nicely with nothing else forever.

“We’ve got the herd rounded up and ready for the drive, Pa.” Wade pulled his Stetson off his head and wiped his brow.

The days were long and hot now. Spring had come so late up in the mountains where Wade had wintered that he was having trouble adjusting to the full summer heat. Add to that, he’d only a few days ago finished roundup, and it didn’t seem right at all.

Gertie set a glass of cool water on the table as Wade hung his hat on the elk antlers on the wall beside the kitchen door. Wade noticed her setting a plate of cookies on the table, too. She always had some on hand for him. Wade had to admit this was a more comfortable life than the one he’d lived in his mountain cabin during the bitter winter.

“Where’s Abby?” She’d been avoiding him ever since Sunday. Wade had to bite back a smile. A spirited little thing, his Abby, but she’d come around.

Gertie and Pa exchanged a look, and for the first time since he’d come in, he really looked at them. Two very worried people.

Wade’s head swiveled to nail his pa to the wall with his eyes. “What did you do?”

Pa got a stubborn look on his face. “I’ve been trying to do better; you know that, son. But that woman is just plain contrary.”

“Tell me right now.” His pa got a sullen look that Wade knew only too well—stubborn, mean old man. But Gertie wasn’t so tough. He turned to her. “Well?”

Gertie’s hands were clenched together, her eyes wide with fear. She’d always been the peacemaker in this house; Wade wondered how she could have stood it all these years. “She left, Wade.”

“Left? Left for where? When?”

“We don’t know. She was okay and then Mort came in. He didn’t say that much, nothing that should have set her off like that, but she took exception to it.”

He felt empty inside. Lost. She’d left him. Or had she ever really been with him?

“Let her cool off for a time, son. If she wants you, she’ll come back. If she doesn’t want to stay in the white world, you can’t make her.”

Turning to study his father, Wade prayed silently, wondering what exactly had happened. Pa could still bark well enough. But he’d been so much better. He’d been reading the Bible daily. Why hadn’t Abby been patient and given his father more time to grow in the Lord?

Sinking into his chair, Wade stared forward, seeing his future stretched out in front of him without her. He slapped the table and stood. “No, I can’t make her stay. But I can go with her.”

“Wade, you can’t leave us.” Gertie grabbed his arm. “We need you here.”

Stopping at that familiar weight on his arm, Wade looked down at the only person who’d ever loved him all the while he was growing up. The woman who had come to him after his father’s rampages and bandaged his wounds, held him, prayed with him. She did need him. He saw that now. Looking back, he saw that, in her mothering, Gertie had needed Wade as much as Wade had needed her. They were both Pa’s prisoners.

If he left with Abby, he’d be abandoning the only mother he could remember. And would his father fall away from his first steps toward faith? Could Wade’s actions now be directed by the devil himself to knock Pa off his path back to God? Why had Abby left? She knew he loved her. She had nowhere else in the world to belong. Wade shoved his hands deep into his hair as his thoughts chased themselves in circles.

The answer came to him quietly.

Prayer.

That was the only answer.

“I need time in prayer.” Wade grabbed his hat and went outside, knowing there’d be no peace to pray in that house. There’d never been any peace.

He’d been in prayer three minutes before he knew where she’d go.

“What do you mean she’s gone?” Tom Linscott grabbed Wade by the shirt collar and lifted him onto his toes.

“Get your hands off me.” Wade knocked Tom’s hands aside. He’d come charging into this little wreck of a cabin lined with bunks. Tom and all his hands lived in this hovel. Now Wade stood in the doorway shouting. “I don’t have time for this. Abby left. She had a fight with Pa—”

“I’m going to find your father and shoot him dead.” Tom rammed his fist into his palm with a loud
smack.
“He’s a complete waste of human skin. I should have—”

“Will you shut up? Fighting with my pa won’t help me find Abby. I was sure she’d come here. Where else could she be?” Wade turned and strode away from the cabin.

“To town?” Tom followed on his heels.

“There’s no one in town she knows at all.” The sun was setting. Wherever Abby had gone, she’d spent at least one night alone in the wilderness. Wade was half crazy thinking of the danger.

“Muriel would take her in. Or Libby.”

“She might have seen Libby, said hello. And she met Muriel at church, but she doesn’t know them at all, and she hates whites. She’d never go to them. She’d see it as begging.” Wade stopped beside his horse, ready to mount up and ride, but to where?

“How about the Dawsons’? She sat at the table with us the day of the jailbreak. Red and Cassie were both there. And you said the two of you stopped by the Hardens’ on your way home, with Cassie and Red there. She knows them.”

Shaking his head, Wade tried to think. His mind spun around. “It doesn’t sound right. But I don’t know where else to try.”

“Let’s go check the Dawson place first.” Tom whirled and charged toward his corral. His black stallion stood there, proud, watchful.