Mud Creek (30 page)

“You are a miserly skinflint, and I’m sick of your complaining over what I’ve
cost
you.”

“I’ve put a roof over your head! I’ve let you live with me and—“

“You call this living? You call this shack a home? You haven’t spent a penny on me, and I haven’t asked you to spend a penny. Stop whining. I can’t stand it when you nag.”

“I’ve given you whatever you needed, and I’ve demanded nothing in return—except that you do a few chores. Yet you refuse to pitch in at even the simplest task.”

“Oh, woe is me! Poor, poor Albert. He’s in charge of the whole world, and Violet won’t obey!”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

He slapped her. He shouldn’t have and his mother had raised him better, but he was beyond shame or remorse.

“Ooh, aren’t you tough!” she goaded, totally unaffected by the clout. “Such a big, burly fellow! Able to hit a woman! Aren’t you proud, Albert? Aren’t you—”

He hit her again, hard enough to stagger her, to knock her down.

“Shut up, Violet, or I swear—with the state I’m in—I’ll murder you with my bare hands.”

She was on her knees, crawling away to escape his wrath, and as she scampered by the sofa, she furtively reached out and pushed something under it, something she didn’t want him to see.

He seized her by the hair and jerked her onto her haunches.

“What are you hiding?” he seethed.

“You’re hurting me, you crazy pig.”

“Am I?”

He tossed her aside so violently that she smacked into the stair banister. As she gasped with pain, he smirked, delighted to have finally gotten her attention. In the future, she wouldn’t be so quick to taunt and needle.

He leaned down and patted the floor, his fingers eventually landing on a metal box. Frowning, he pulled it out, his heart dropping to his toes when he realized what it was.

His moneybox! How had she found it?

He had it buried under a board in the chicken coop, and he hadn’t dug it out in months. Why would she have suspected he had money stashed away? Had she been searching for it? While he was out, fighting to keep the ranch from floundering, had she been snooping in his sheds and dresser drawers?

The box was still locked, so thankfully, she hadn’t peeked inside. If she had, she’d have stumbled on all the wealth he possessed. The ranch had provided no sustainable assets. Every item that should have accrued in value was broken down, ruined, wrecked.

He was a breath away from walking off and leaving it all behind. He’d merely been waiting for summer to arrive, and he’d been in no hurry because he hadn’t decided where he’d go. Maybe to Deadwood, to work in the mines. Or maybe to Sioux Falls to a job in the stock yards. Or to Yankton for employment on the riverboats. He wanted a place where he’d be far from Helen, from failure.

His sole motivation was the hidden cash, the last dollars from their selling out in Maywood, from the few cattle he’d actually gotten to market. After years of toil and regret and loss, it was all that remained.

And Violet assumed she could steal it from him? That she could take it and sneak off with the hired hand?

Was that why they’d been laughing? Had they been celebrating their discovery? Had they been planning how they’d spend their pilfered loot?

Albert shuddered, thinking how devastated he’d have been later on if she’d left without his knowing about the theft. He’d have rushed to the chicken coop in June, eager to begin his new life. He’d have pried away the board, only to find his nest egg had vanished.

It would have been such a distressing blow; he’d likely have hanged himself from a rafter rather than accept what had occurred.

He glared at her, and she met his angry gaze, then a smile crept across her face. She thought it was funny! She was humored to have been caught!

At that moment, he hated her as he’d never hated another person. If he’d have been holding his shotgun, he’d have killed her on the spot.

“Get your coat and get out,” he told her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the middle of the night. I’m not leaving.”

“Go to the cottage. I’m sure Carstairs will welcome you with open arms.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You go—now!—or I will pick you up and bodily throw you out the door.”

She studied his eyes, and his heated expression gave her pause. It was her nature to be contrary, to argue just for argument’s sake. But she shrugged and grabbed her bedroll off the floor.

As she started toward the kitchen, she grumbled, “Waste of a perfectly good fire.”

“Violet,” he called.

She spun around. “What?”

“You and Carstairs need to hit the road, first thing in the morning.”

“You always were a bossy prick.”

“I’m serious, Violet. I’ll head out to do chores at dawn. If you two are still here when the sun crests the horizon, I’ll ride to town to fetch the sheriff.”

“To tell him what?”

“I’ll tell him you stole my money.”

“I didn’t steal it,” she protested. “You still have the box.”

“Who will he believe? Me? Or some drunk-addled girl and her drifter sweetheart? You’ll end up a convicted felon, locked in the women’s jail down in Sioux Falls.”

“That would never happen,” she boasted, but she didn’t look too sure.

“Wanna try me? Wanna see what I can wrangle as your conclusion?”

Violet studied him again, then muttered, “Fine. We’ll leave.”

“First thing. Don’t make me ride to town.”

She stormed out, and he hovered, listening as the quiet settled.

He hadn’t ever previously worried over how isolated he was, but he couldn’t deny that he was afraid of the pair. If they would steal his life’s savings, what else might they attempt? Was he in danger?

He expected he might be.

He went to the kitchen door and pulled his ma’s hutch across it, then he hurried to the front room and blocked the other door with the sofa. There were a couple of windows, and Carstairs could certainly break one and sneak in. If he entered that way, Albert couldn’t stop him.

Yet he could stay awake and on guard. He could wait till dawn and the security daylight provided.

He ran upstairs and he dragged the mattress from his brothers’ bed, stuffing it on the landing as a barrier to anyone climbing toward him.

Then he proceeded to his own bedroom and barred the door as he had the others. His shotgun was in the corner. He loaded it, then hauled his chair over to the window, and he sat, watching the eastern sky.

*    *    *    *

Violet trudged across the pasture, the dry grass snagging at her skirt, the slush wetting her boots. Albert was off in the distance—walking!—on the other side of the creek. She didn’t know where his horse was, but the animal was nowhere in sight.

Albert ambled along, his shoulders hunched against the wind. She’d seen him, but he hadn’t seen her.

He thought they’d departed, that he’d threatened them and they’d scampered off like scared rabbits. But he didn’t realize how desperately Violet wanted that money.

Harry had found the box in the chicken coop, but Albert had interrupted them before they’d had a chance to pry it open. So she hadn’t learned how much cash was in it, but considering how furious Albert had been, it must have contained a small fortune.

Though Albert would never agree, he
owed
Violet quite a lot. He owed her for luring her to the Dakotas, for marrying her sister, for trapping Violet so she’d wasted a year of her life.

Most especially, he owed her for the times he’d hit her. The prior evening, he’d punched her hard enough to blacken her eye. Her head ached; her teeth ached. Her ribs were bruised from when he’d pushed her into the banister.

Yes, he owed her, and she intended to collect.

He didn’t have the box with him. Earlier, as he’d ridden off to do chores, they’d spied on him from out by the road. He had to have hidden it somewhere in the house, and Harry was back there, exploring every nook and cranny, which aggravated Violet to no end.

She felt that their roles were reversed, that
she
should be tearing Albert’s home apart. Not Harry. But he’d insisted that she confront Albert.

Once they fled with the money, he would know the identity of the thieves, so Violet couldn’t let him contact the sheriff.

“This is all your idea,” Harry had said when they’d argued over who should meet Albert out in the pasture. “You get to finish it.”

“You wanted the money, too,” Violet had angrily hurled. “Why must I be the one to deal with Albert?”

“Because sometimes, darlin’, you have to clean up your own mess.”

If she could clean
up
her own messes, she wouldn’t need Harry. If she could look after herself, she could have gone off on her own.

How she wished she were a man! If she was, she could behave however she pleased, without some irritating male directing her every move.

She reached the bank of the creek. Albert was very close, but he hadn’t glanced up. He was searching the creek bottom, trying to figure out the best spot to cross.

The days were still very cold, the nights even colder. The river was frozen in some locations and thawed in others. A person could cross on the ice, but you had to pick a place where it was thick enough to hold your weight.

Eventually, he saw Violet, and he flinched, his rage visible from a distance.

“Why are you here?” he shouted. “Didn’t I tell you to leave and never come back?”

“Yes, you told me, Albert, but I ignored you.”

“Where is your boyfriend? Has he abandoned you already?”

He’s at your dump of a house, tearing it to pieces.

“Yes,” she lied, “he left me. He didn’t want any trouble.”

“Then he’s smarter than I suspected.”

“Yes, he’s very smart.”

“You callous witch! My family did everything for you and your sister!”

“That’s me: ungrateful, lazy, old Violet Pendleton.”

“You have no shame.”

She chuckled. “You could be right about that.”

“You just take and take and take, and you never give anything back but heartache and misery.”

“Is there a point to your insults?” she snidely asked.

“You’re not staying!” he fumed. “I don’t care if your buddy, Harry, deserted you. I told you to go, and I meant it. Now get off my land!”

“No.”

“I’m coming over there, and when I arrive, I’ll take a damn switch to you. If I have to beat you to a pulp to drive you away, I will.”

“You think you’re so tough.”

“We’ll see who’s tough,” he countered. “We’ll see once I’m across the creek.”

He peered around, studying the ice, and ultimately, he marched away from her, down to the next bend. She followed along, matching him stride for stride, but on the opposite bank.

In a frenzy, he tripped and slid down to the water’s edge. He tested the ice with his foot, took a step, then another and another. He was gauging the thickness, listening for fracturing. When he heard nothing, he grew cocky and stomped toward her.

The crack—when it happened—was very loud, like a rifle being shot. In one, quick rupture, the river opened beneath him, and he fell in to his waist.

The current was swift, and it nearly pulled him under. Frantically, he grappled for purchase, wrestling, struggling, but the ice was very slippery.

“Help me, Violet,” he finally pleaded, and oh, how she relished having him beg.

“No.”

She stared down at him, observing as the catastrophe unfolded, but feeling completely detached from it.

“Please, Violet!”

“No.”

He clawed and scraped at the ice, the lower half of his body submerged in the frigid stream. He was dressed for winter in heavy boots, coat, and trousers. The garments were saturated, freezing him, dragging him under.

His flailing slowed, his hands stiffening.

“Violet”—his voice was softer now—“you have to help me.”

“You shouldn’t hit girls, Albert. It’s what I told Walt the night he died.”

His eyes widened with understanding, but he couldn’t display much more of a reaction. “You were with Pa when he…he…”

“Yes. He hit me, and he shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“He was screaming at me to shut up, and his heart exploded.”

“You’re lying.” His teeth were chattering, his lips turning blue.

“He thought I loved him. He sent your mother away because of me.” She snorted with disgust. “He thought I’d
marry
him, but I never would have.”

Albert’s mouth was moving, but no words came out. He couldn’t muster the energy to yell at her.

“Violet…” He was whispering.

“I guess I don’t have to shoot you, after all, Albert.” She retrieved the small pistol Harry had provided and lifted it so he could see. “It’s Harry’s. He showed me how to kill you with it.”

“Kill me?” His question was a moan on the wind.

“But I don’t have to shoot you. The creek is doing a fine job without my assistance.”

He attempted to say something, and it seemed as if he was trying to ask about Harry, so she explained, “He’s up at the house, ripping it apart. We’ll find your moneybox, Albert.”

Albert shook his head, but he couldn’t speak to demand that Harry stop his search.

“You should have given it to us,” she said, “without all this fuss. It was just money, Albert. Was it worth this ending?”

His struggles ceased. Their gazes were locked, his malice clear, but what could he do?

“You were always an ass, Albert, and I always hated you. You were so mean to me. You shouldn’t have been.”

His right hand slipped away, then his left. In slow motion, he sank down and down, his chest disappearing, his shoulders, his neck, his chin, until finally, he vanished altogether.

She sat for a few minutes, waiting, watching to be sure it was over. Where the current curled around the bend, she could see his body, held fast under the ice.

“There will be no miracle occurring today,” she sarcastically murmured. “Albert will not rise from the dead.”

Behind her, she heard Harry calling her name. She waved and walked over.

“Are we finished with him?” Harry asked as she approached.

“Yes, and I didn’t have to lift a finger. The idiot fell through the ice.”