Mud Creek (4 page)

Helen had to do something. They couldn’t continue on as they had been, and Violet was so desperate to escape Maywood. Why stay? What was keeping them?

They had nothing left. No family. No home. No friends brave enough to stick by them after a hint of scandal.

Only Albert had stepped forward. Only Albert had offered the aid that no one else would extend. How could Helen fail to grab hold?

It wouldn’t be the worst conclusion in the world, marrying Albert. She knew him well; she was aware of his preferences and habits. There would be no passion or joy with him as her husband, but there would be no surprises, either. No quarrels or bickering. No drinking or loose women or hard fists thrown in anger.

A sense of calm seeped through her, and she walked to the front parlor to retrieve Albert’s letter. When she returned to the kitchen, Violet was sitting up in her chair.

She was bedraggled, her eyes red, her cheeks mottled. She looked forlorn and smaller, as if some of her vibrancy had leaked away.

“I’m so sad, Helen,” Violet said.

“I know you are, but everything will be all right.”

“How can it be? I behave so badly. Why do you put up with me?”

“You’re my sister, Violet. I’ll always fight for you.” She patted Violet’s hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped in a bloody towel.

“You’re too nice to me,” Violet insisted. “If you had the slightest inkling of what I’m really like—“

“Hush now. I won’t hear you denigrating yourself. You’re weary and overwrought. Let’s just forget about it for tonight.”

Violet noticed Albert’s letter and asked, “What’s that?”

“I think we should leave here,” Helen told her.

“Leave…Maywood?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like that.”

“So would I, and this is what we’re going to do.”

“Is this the town where we’ll live?”

“No. We’ll be out in the country, remember?”

Albert smiled at Helen, feeling awkward and bumbling, when he wanted to appear mature and composed. He’d always found her to be very sophisticated, and in his lengthy ruminations, she’d sometimes taken on near mythic proportions.

It had been three years since he’d seen her, and she was as pretty as he recollected. Her hair was still a striking blond color, but she’d lost some weight which, in light of her troubles, was understandable. He’d lost weight, too.

She was a short woman, and he liked that she was. He was a short man, himself, and only a few inches taller than her. When he gazed down at her, she seemed very petite, so he felt larger, protective, more in control.

“Will we come here to shop and socialize?” she asked.

“No, Prairie City isn’t anything but a whistle stop.”

“Thank the Lord,” Violet muttered behind him. “This has to be the most dreary, godforsaken place in the world.”

Violet was correct, but Albert was incensed that she would say so. The tiny village was desolate and ramshackle, a string of buildings thrown up along the tracks by hardscrabble merchants. Did she have to be so condescending? Helen had just stepped off the train, and he wouldn’t have her upset by any bickering.

He clenched his fists and inhaled a deep breath, reining in his temper so he wouldn’t whip around and snap at Violet. He’d forgotten how flippant she could be, how irreverent and mocking, and he couldn’t allow her to goad him.

With how strenuously he’d been working, and in view of the pressures back at the ranch, he was often enraged. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t maintain his good humor. He wasn’t the person Helen used to know. Experience had warped him, and the equanimity he’d previously possessed had been pushed out by stronger emotions that were fueled by worry and exhaustion.

But then, he didn’t imagine she was the same, either. She’d been a pompous girl, and hopefully, her string of calamities had drummed out some of the arrogance. The tables had been turned, with Helen desperately needing Albert’s help. She was beholden to him now and would be forever.

He gestured to the endless prairie stretching to the north. Two rutted, overgrown wheel tracks were the only indication of the route they would follow, and he tamped down a shudder. He hated wandering through the sea of grass, where there was nothing but sky and rolling hills. It made him feel dizzy and disoriented.

“We’ll head in that direction,” he said, “as soon as everything is loaded in the wagon.”

“How far is it to the homestead?” Helen inquired.

“Eighty miles or so,” he informed her, struggling to keep his voice casual.

He hadn’t exactly been honest in explaining the circumstances of where they’d be located. He’d hedged on the distances and conditions, but he wasn’t sorry for his obfuscation. He’d just been so anxious to have her by his side.

“Eighty…miles?” She looked aghast.

“Yes.”

Violet was horrified, too. “We’ll be eighty miles from town?”

“No, no.” Albert forced a chuckle. “Prairie City is where we come for major supplies that are delivered on the train. There’s another town out our way.”

“What’s it called?” Helen asked.

“Mud Creek.”

“And how far is that from the homestead?”

“Six or seven miles.”

“Did you hear him, Helen?” Violet nagged. “It’s six
miles
from the ranch.”

Violet glared at Helen, which had Albert fuming. From the moment they’d exited the train, tension had festered between them. They must have been quarreling on the trip, but he wouldn’t tolerate any discord. They’d get their fill of it with his parents’ squabbles, and he had no use for Violet Pendleton.

She had always taken advantage of Helen, and now, with Albert in the picture, their relationship was about to change. Violet would not be permitted to badger or harass Helen as she had in the past. Albert would see to it.

“It’s not as isolated as it sounds, Violet,” Albert lied. “We go into Mud Creek all the time for socials and dances and market day.”

“Do the neighbors come in from the surrounding farms?”

“Of course. The next big celebration is the Fourth of July. Mud Creek holds a parade and picnic and fireworks—the whole shebang. You’ll meet everybody, and you’ll make all kinds of new friends.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” Helen said, glaring back at Violet.

Violet rolled her eyes and let the subject drop, and Albert was grateful. He wasn’t about to stand on the train platform, arguing with her.

“Let’s round up your bags,” Albert told them, “and I have a few errands to attend, then we’ll head out. I’d like to put in some miles before nightfall.”

“How many days will it take us to get there?” Helen inquired.

They were finally at a point where he couldn’t continue to prevaricate. She was about to learn the meaning of the phrase
wide open spaces.

“Four or five.”

Violet gasped. “Five days?”

“More than that if we hit a storm and have to hunker down.”

Violet spun on Helen. “Are you listening, Helen? Five
days
in a wagon.”

“It’ll be fun, Violet. It will be an adventure. Don’t be such a grouch.” She gazed at Albert. “I apologize for our low spirits, Albert. We’re tired from the journey, and Violet’s been ill. She’s nervous about marrying Arthur. It’s been ages since we’ve seen you two.”

“How is Arthur?” Violet queried.

Albert carefully shielded any reaction to her question. “We’ll talk about him once we’re on the road. First, I need to finish my chores.”

He wasn’t about to tell them the truth. Not until they were out on the prairie, and it was too late to turn back. Violet was flighty as a mockingbird, and she might seize any excuse to trot off. If she refused to climb onto the wagon with him, Helen wouldn’t, either.

Down at the end of the platform, some men had heaped a large pile of personal possessions. Helen and Violet were the only passengers who’d disembarked, so it had to belong to them. There were numerous trunks and boxes, as well as the small organ that had set in Mildred Pendleton’s parlor in New York.

Albert had instructed them to pack light. How could they expect him to transport all that rubbish out to the ranch? He’d traveled in just the one wagon, and it was already filled with supplies.

“Looks like your bags are unloaded,” he said, fighting the urge to scold.

“We brought more than we should have”—Helen must have noted his dismayed expression—“but it’s the last of my mother’s things. We couldn’t bear to part with any of it. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all.”

The train whistle blew, and it jerked and clanged and chugged away. They stood, observing, as it rolled on down the line, the sole sign that it had ever been there a slight rumble under their feet. As the noise abated, it was very quiet, the only sound the roar of the wind rustling the grass.

Helen studied her stacked luggage. “Is there room in your wagon?”

“No, we’ll have to leave most of it here.”

“Can we come back for it?”

“Sure,” he fibbed, having no intention of ever retrieving the worthless trash.

When he made the arduous journey again, it would be to fetch things that mattered: seed, flour, salt, lumber. It wouldn’t be to pick up her mother’s old books and hats.

“Could we bring the organ for now?” she pressed.

“I suppose—if it’ll fit.”

It wouldn’t be so bad to take it with them. Helen played quite well, and his mother, Florence, played a bit, too. Recently, she’d been feeling terribly disheartened, and music in the evenings might lift her spirits.

“I tell you what,” he said, “there’s a hardware store across the tracks. Why don’t you go over and see if there are any items you forgot. Once we depart, it will be some time before we return.”

“We packed carefully,” Helen replied, “and we followed the suggestions Florence sent. I think we’re prepared.”

“Why don’t you check anyway? I need to speak to the blacksmith. I’ll ask him about storing your belongings.”

“Would you? Oh, Albert, that’s very sweet.”

“After I’m done, I’ll find you, and we’ll try to tie the organ onto the rear of the wagon. Then…we’ll be on our way.”

“I can’t wait,” Helen claimed, but her lack of excitement was clear.

She stared out at the horizon, and for just a moment, her mask slipped. He read panic and misery in her eyes, but as quickly as her true sentiments were revealed, she hid them.

He swallowed down a burst of irritation. Eventually, she’d realize that she was lucky to have cast her lot with him, that she should be glad. He wouldn’t push.

With a hand on her back, he urged her toward the crossing so she and Violet would walk over to the store.

He watched until they were inside, then he proceeded in the other direction, stopping at the saloon to purchase several boxes of bottled whiskey. He liked to pretend that he was buying it for medicinal purposes, but the sad fact was that he and his father drank every night.

Though Albert had always viewed himself as a moral man, he’d found that alcohol helped him to relax. It soothed his temper so that his problems seemed less dire, and he stocked up whenever he could.

Next, he hastened to the blacksmith’s barn. As he approached the door, his neighbor, James Blaylock, stepped out of the building. Albert tamped down a grimace.

Blaylock was everything Albert was not: tall, handsome, rugged, tough. He’d been raised in the wilderness, so he knew how to survive the brutal summers and vicious winters. He had a comfortable house, a herd of magnificent horses, and cattle that stretched to infinity.

But he was like a bird of prey, hovering as settlers died, went crazy, or gave up and moved back east. Then he’d swoop in and buy their land for a pittance. Each passing month, his ranch got larger, and he got richer.

At age thirty, he was only six years older than Albert, but he appeared so much smarter and wiser. He was a cavalry veteran who’d caught the tail end of the Indian wars, so he carried himself like a hero, but he liked the redman too much and they liked him—despite his sordid history with their race. He lived openly with an Indian woman, and people wanted to shun him over it, but they didn’t dare.

In an emergency, he was the first to pitch in or bestow a kindness. He advised and assisted without complaint, and in such a desolate land, where you needed the support of others in order to survive, no one could afford to spurn him.

“Hello, Albert,” he said. “What brings you into town?”

Albert puffed himself up, pleased as punch to announce, “My fiancée arrived on the train.”

“Your…fiancée?”

“Her sister, too. They were our neighbors in New York. I’ve been proposing to her for years, and I finally wore her down.”

Blaylock scowled, but managed to choke out, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. We’ll probably marry on the Fourth, when the preacher should be in Mud Creek for the festivities.”

“That’s a good plan.”

“We’ll invite you to the celebration.”

“I appreciate it. Are you heading home today?”

“I’m hoping to start within the hour.”

“I’d be happy to tag along, if you’d like some company.”

The offer rankled. Blaylock had once stumbled on Albert when he was lost and riding in circles. To Albert’s great shame and relief, Blaylock had rescued him, leading him home as if he was a wayward calf.

Before he could remember to be more circumspect, Albert snapped, “I don’t need you holding my hand, Blaylock. I can drive myself out to my own place without you showing me the way.”

“I’m simply being friendly, Albert. Out here, it’s safer to travel in a group. You understand that. Let me know if you change your mind.”

He walked on, and Albert bit down the rude comments he was yearning to hurl. It was ridiculous to hate James Blaylock merely because he was competent and capable, but Albert couldn’t abide such prideful arrogance.

He spun away and went into the blacksmith’s barn. The man was sitting on a bale of hay, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Hello there, Mr. Jones,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“My fiancée just got off the train.”

“That so? I thought I saw a pretty girl stroll by.”

“She’s real pretty.”

“You’re a lucky fellow.”