Mud Creek (14 page)

“When you’re better, you and I need to have a nice, long chat.”

Violet didn’t answer, and Helen spun and left.

*    *    *    *

“Was it Walt?”

“No.” Violet shook her head. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“Then who was it? Don’t lie. I’m tired of your stories.”

Violet peered down at her hands, too mortified to look her sister in the eye.

Her ordeal was over, but she was weak and unsteady and in no mood for an inquisition.

They were down by the creek, hidden below the rim of the bank so Florence couldn’t see them out her window.

They had sneaked away—at Helen’s insistence—to bury the remains and the ruined towels. Violet had protested, claiming poor health, but Helen had forced her to participate.

There were so many topics Violet would like to discuss with Helen. She wished they were more alike so Helen would sympathize and console her. Yet Helen was so good, and Violet was so bad. If Helen lived to be a thousand years old, she could never conceive of what it was like to be Violet.

Helen could never grasp how Violet struggled to get by, how difficult it was to maneuver in the world when she was so broken on the inside.

“Well?” Helen pressed. “Who was it? Start talking and don’t stop until I tell you I’ve heard enough.”

“It was a fellow in New York.”

Helen snorted with disgust. “The one at the carnival.”

Violet yearned to deny it, to fervidly declare that she hadn’t misbehaved. It had all occurred so long ago, and Maywood was so far away. It seemed as if some other girl had engaged in all that wickedness.

She nodded. “Yes. The one at the carnival.”

At least she
thought
it was him. It might have been his friend, but she would never admit it.

“On my wedding night,” Helen said, “that’s why you could offer advice.”

“Yes.”

“You’d done it before.”

“Yes.”

“How many times?” Helen fumed.

“Just the once,” Violet fibbed.

“You swore the gossip wasn’t true,” Helen scolded. “You told me it was all innocent, that people misconstrued.”

“I know,” Violet grumbled, actually feeling a tad guilty.

“I defended you! I took your side. I looked our neighbors directly in the face and called them liars.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I shamed and embarrassed myself in front of the whole town, and all you can say is that you’re
sorry?
”

“I
am
sorry.”

“I don’t think you are, Violet. I don’t think you’re ever sorry about anything.”

They sat, silent and miserable, watching the muddy water of the creek flow by. Violet picked up a rock and tossed it in, studying how it sank, how the circles floated out in perfect rings.

She wished she could vanish like that rock. She wished she could jump into the creek, that it would sweep her away and no one would ever see her again. It would be such a blessed relief to disappear.

“What now?” Helen asked after a lengthy interval. “How do we go on after this?”

Violet shrugged. “We just forget it ever happened.”

“Forget! I’ll never forget as long as I live.”

“I will,” Violet mumbled.

The painful nightmare was already fading. She had a scurrilous past, and she was adept at blocking out memories, at pretending nothing awful had transpired.

“What should I do with you, Violet? How can I ever trust you again?”

“I’ll try harder to be who you want me to be. I will, I promise!”

“What good are your promises? When have you ever kept a single one?”

“Don’t give up on me, Helen. I couldn’t bear it.”

“You don’t seem to understand that you can’t act like this out here. What if Walt finds out? What if he sends you away? What would become of you?”

“He won’t find out.”

“You can’t be sure of that! This place is too small. There aren’t any secrets.”

“I won’t cause trouble ever again,” Violet vowed. “I swear I won’t. I was just…unhappy. You know how I get.”

“Yes, I do know. That’s what concerns me.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ll behave.”

“You’ll behave? Really? Like magic, you’ll mend your habits?”

“I will. I mean it this time!”

Helen pushed herself to her feet. Her disdain clear, she glared down at Violet, making Violet feel petty and pathetic.

“I don’t believe you anymore, Violet,” she murmured. “I don’t believe you’ll ever change.”

Helen turned and marched away.

“Is Mary a real Indian?”

“Yes, she’s a real Indian.”

Helen watched James laugh. He was such a handsome man, and she never grew tired of looking at him.

“Is she dangerous? Would she kill us in our sleep?”

Helen frowned and might have scolded, but he took the question in stride.

“No, she’s not dangerous. Those are just stories to scare young children.”

They were walking across Walt’s south pasture with six-year-old twins, Evelyn and Edith Henderson. They were pretty little things—with white blond hair and big blue eyes. They had a homestead several miles to the north, and their mother and stepfather had come for the barn raising.

James had come, too.

Mary had accompanied him on a stocky pony, pulling a load that trailed behind it on the ground. Her cargo had turned out to be the poles and tarps for an Indian teepee. Everyone had furtively observed, pretending not to be intrigued as she’d set it up away from the rest of the gathering.

Apparently, it was to be his tent for the night. Mary didn’t stay, though. Once the structure was in place, she’d leapt on her pony and rode off without a word to anyone.

Helen would have liked to speak with her, but there’d been no chance, and it was probably for the best. When she’d arrived with James, there had been muttering and snide remarks about the two of them, with people breathing sighs of relief as they realized they wouldn’t have to socialize with her.

Helen found the petite woman to be extremely fascinating and wished she’d remained for the party. Helen didn’t care what the neighbors thought. She’d like to become friendly with Mary. She’d kept the amulet Mary had given her, but she never wore it. It was tucked away in the bottom drawer of her dresser.

Occasionally, she’d take it out and study the strange markings. She wanted Mary to explain what they meant, why she’d painted it, why she’d felt compelled to offer it to Helen. She wanted to inquire about Mary’s life, her past. How was it that she lived with James Blaylock? What was their connection?

He had previously stated that she was his housekeeper, but no one believed him. Their relationship was assumed to be indecent.

Carl and Robert ran up, and Robert made a scary, leering face at the twins.

“Mary isn’t dangerous,” he growled, “but I am. I eat blond girls for supper!”

He lunged at them, and they squealed and raced off with the boys chasing them toward the teepee. The adults had to act as if they weren’t interested in it, but the children couldn’t contain themselves and were excited to snoop inside.

They’d begged James to show it to them, and when he’d happily agreed, Helen had tagged along, unable to hide her curiosity. And it was the only way she could manage to spend a few minutes alone with him.

He’d been at the ranch all day, and she’d been dying to chat, but couldn’t arrange a conversation. He’d worked as hard as the other men, harder actually, and whenever they’d halted for water or meals, he’d been surrounded, with everyone eager to claim his attention.

Helen had stealthily eavesdropped, feeling desperate and lovesick and very disgusted with herself because of it. She was now a married woman, but she was so disloyal in her heart!

She’d always viewed herself as sensible and moral in her conduct. Who could have guessed she was so treacherously unfaithful?

She hadn’t seen him since the Fourth of July. He’d promised to stop by, but he hadn’t, which was just as well. There was no benefit to be gained from such an inappropriate and pathetic infatuation.

Still, he was the only person she could talk to, the only person she could turn to for advice.

Violet’s situation had left Helen more distressed than ever. She was anxious to discuss what had happened, and even though she would never broach the real subject with James—it was much too shameful—she could mention Violet in more general ways.

He would listen and commiserate, would provide the wise counsel she so urgently needed.

The children had arrived at the teepee, but Helen and James were strolling too slowly for them.

“May we climb in?” Carl called, pointing to the flap that served as a door.

“Go ahead,” James called in reply.

Carl practically leapt through, but the twins hesitated. Robert leaned down and spoke softly to them. They nodded gravely, then he helped them in.

They were good boys, Carl and Robert. Respectful to their elders, kind to others. With brown hair and eyes, they were thin and wiry and surprisingly handsome considering they had Walt and Florence for parents.

They’d been generous in their friendship with Helen, and when they started school in September, her world would be incredibly quiet without them.

“Are you sure it’s all right if they’re in there without you?” she asked him. “They might tear apart your belongings.”

“There’s nothing for them to ruin. Just some food and blankets.”

“Carl and Robert are always hungry. They’ll eat whatever you brought.”

“I don’t mind.”

There was a circle of rocks in the grass, the same type Mary had utilized to brace the bottom of the teepee, and they each sat on a stone. They were staring toward the gathering where people were lounging, finishing their suppers. A few men were off in a group, furtively sipping from a bottle. An older couple had a fiddle and guitar, and dancing was about to begin.

The sun had set, the foundation of the barn completed. At dawn, the hammering would recommence, with the sides and roof quickly added. Then everyone would pack up and head for home.

She would hate it when they left. The vast prairie would seem more empty than ever.

She gazed around at the stone circles and looked over at James.

“These rocks are everywhere.”

“This is a sheltered spot. When the buffalo were thick as ants, the Indian bands camped here to hunt.”

“Really?”

“They’d leave the rocks in place and use them again when they returned.”

Even though it was a warm summer night, she shivered. As a girl in New York, there had been such terrible stories about the natives in the west. They were savages. They were murderers. They were a step above animals. They loved to sneak onto a farm, kill white men in their sleep, then abscond with the white women.

The news that they’d been defeated and contained on reservations had been a relief to the entire nation.

But it was riveting to think of that prior era—such an amazingly few short years earlier—when there had been no Walt or Florence or homesteads or fences. In her imagination, Helen could practically see a small Indian village, the ponies and cooking fires and children like Carl and Robert running in the grass.

“Is Mary from this area?” she asked.

“No, she was raised down by the Black Hills.”

“Is her family still there?”

“No, she’s the last of her line. Many of the men died in the Indian wars. The rest perished from illness and heartbreak after they were rounded up.”

“You have an affection for her people.”

“A great affection. My father and I grew up out here. They saved our bacon more than once.”

Helen should have changed the subject, but she was so curious about him, and she knew so little. It wasn’t as if she could press others for information. She could hardly gush about him to her husband.

“I hear such dreadful rumors about the two of you,” Helen baldly said.

“I suppose you would.”

“The gossip can be extremely coarse.”

She let the comment trail off. If he chose to enlighten her, they would have a discussion. If not, she’d talk about something else.

“Yes,” he chuckled, “there is no shortage of opinions about Mary.”

“Are any of them true?”

He leaned toward her. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Mary is my sister.”

“Your…sister?”

“Yes.”

“My goodness.”

It wasn’t close to any revelation she’d expected, and she was struggling as to what her reply should be.

The races never mingled, and it was considered an unpardonable sin to interbreed. But with her having become acquainted with the couple involved, it seemed silly to disapprove.

They were both cordial and interesting. Why disdain them for their parents’ transgressions?

“Have I shocked you?” he asked.

“Yes, very much.”

“Will you avoid me now? Will you whisper and mutter and spread stories?”

He grinned, his marvelous blue eyes twinkling in the twilight. She sensed that this was a test, and with how others acted, he probably figured she’d fail.

“I would never criticize or condemn you,” she vowed.

“You’re very kind.”

He reached out and gave her hand the fond squeeze she enjoyed. It made her feel tethered to him, as if they had a special bond.

“How did it happen?” she said.

“In the way it always happens, I imagine. My mother died when I was a baby. My father was alone, out on the frontier. Mary’s mother was very pretty.”

“It must have been hard for you during the wars.”

“It was very hard. Hard to take sides. Hard to know what was best. I’m glad those days are over.”

He peered off to the horizon, his expression haunted. It was the only time she’d ever seen him disturbed, and she wondered what sorts of memories plagued him.

Albert once claimed that James had served in the army. What must it have been like to have a sibling who was a native, to have a stepmother who was a native, while the whole country viewed the natives as enemies?

“So Mary is your sister.” Helen was eager to lighten the tone of the conversation.

“Yes.”

“And neither of you admits it. You must relish all the drama you stir.”