Mud Creek (9 page)

She’d been in bed for three days, and Helen couldn’t convince her to shake off her despondency.

The situation wasn’t unusual. Back in Maywood, she’d often suffered through such perilous moods. She’d soar with vitality, then the fire would sizzle out, and she’d slump with despair. Helen didn’t understand what caused the strange variations, but in New York they hadn’t mattered so much.

Violet would mope and sleep and ride out the desolation, as Helen and her parents tiptoed around, worrying about her and frantic to stop the awful shifts of temperament. Gradually, Violet would improve, would return to her normal self for awhile, then the cycle would start all over again.

Here on the ranch, though, sloth wasn’t tolerated. It couldn’t be. There was too much work, and no one was allowed to slack off.

So far, Helen had hidden Violet’s condition from Albert, telling him that Violet was simply under the weather. He’d accepted the explanation, but for how much longer? What if Violet was ill for an extended period? There was no predicting the length of her incapacitation. Her most protracted bout to date had lasted ten weeks.

Helen was balanced on a grueling tightrope, learning her way with the Jones family, while humoring Albert and coddling Violet.

She was exhausted and too overwhelmed for words.

“Violet”—she sat on the edge of the mattress—“listen to me.”

“Please go away.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired, and so…sad.”

“Maybe if you took a walk in the sunshine you’d feel better.”

“I’ll never feel better,” Violet dramatically hurled, and she began to weep, a deluge that might continue for hours.

Helen gazed out into the main room.

The tiny, two-room abode wasn’t a cottage, but a shack that was dim and dreary, and she kept the door open so more light would filter in. Bugs snuck in, too, and plenty of dirt, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t abide the darkness. It left her short of breath.

She stood and went to the stoop, peering out to the bleak horizon. She was out of her element, bewildered and terribly alone. Off in the distance, a row of white buttes shimmered like a mirage. What would happen if she saddled a horse and rode toward them?

Where would she be when she arrived?

A few of her own tears dribbled down her cheeks, and she swiped them away.

She was about to be a bride. It was supposed to be a joyous time. She should have been celebrating. Instead, she was heartsick and afraid and more weary than she’d ever been.

What good were tears? Why rue and regret? There was no use feeling sorry for herself.

She was dying to talk to somebody, to ask their opinion about Violet. Albert and Walt were her only choices for any advice, but she would never discuss the dilemma with them. Besides, they were out in the pasture, building a fence that never seemed to be completed.

Florence was in her kitchen, and Helen wished she could go to the older female, that she could be consoled by the sort of wise counsel her mother had previously provided. But Florence was in an even worse state than Violet and worthless as a confidante.

Out on the road, she was amazed to suddenly observe two riders passing by. It was the first sign of life she’d witnessed on the rutted track.

To her amazement, the pair turned through the gate, approached the main house but trotted on by. As they neared, Helen recognized that it was James Blaylock, and she’d never been so relieved to see another person.

There was a native woman on the horse behind him, and Helen remembered Albert’s rude comments about Indian
medicine
that he’d hurled at James when they’d encountered him on their journey to the ranch. Albert had been incensed over a salve James had recommended to Helen, a salve that must have been prepared by his current companion.

Helen assessed her, deeming her to be exotic and striking. She was very petite and probably Helen’s age, but dressed like a character out of a dime novel: leather leggings, a beaded tunic, moccasins. Her hair fell down her back in a single braid, a feather sticking out of the braid.

Helen hadn’t realized the natives still moved around unencumbered. She was fascinated and unnerved, and she couldn’t stop staring.

Did the woman live openly with James Blaylock? It was such a scandalous notion that Helen refused to consider it. She didn’t imagine the neighbors would tolerate such a shocking arrangement, so how could it be occurring?

“Mr. Blaylock”—Helen forced a wide smile—“hello.”

“Hello, Miss Pendleton.”

He reined in and dismounted, but the Indian woman stayed on her horse. He gestured to her.

“This is Mary,” he said.

Helen blinked, fighting to hide her surprise. She’d expected a strange name, in an unpronounceable language. Not something boring and ordinary like Mary.

“Hello, Mary,” Helen replied, but Mary simply studied her, alert and mute.

“How have you been?” he asked.

“I’m…fine.”

Manners dictated that she lie, that she pretend she was all right, but at that moment, she was so overburdened that she could barely keep from staggering over and wailing with misery.

“I brought you that salve I promised.”

“Oh, I’d forgotten all about it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He reached into his saddle bag and retrieved a jar.

“You should smear some on,” he instructed, “whenever you’ll be outside for any extended time.”

“I will.”

“And maybe in the evening, if your skin is dry, so it can sink in all night.” His cheeks flushed, as if he was embarrassed to admit, “I use it myself.”

“Then I’m sure it’s marvelous.”

She sighed, wishing she had a comfortable parlor, that she could invite them in and brew some tea. But while the shanty had a small table and two chairs, there was no way to heat any water, no cups or saucers.

Albert had installed a stove for heating, but there was no means to cook on it. They ate all their meals with Florence and Walt.

There was an awkward pause, as he waited for her to offer them some courtesy, and she blushed to high heaven. She feared that he’d assume she didn’t want to socialize with Mary.

“I’d ask you in,” she explained, “but the place isn’t suitable for entertaining. I don’t even have enough chairs for everybody to sit.”

“We don’t expect you to make a fuss,” he graciously claimed.

“I’m sorry.”

She must have appeared pathetically wretched, because he leaned in and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t worry about us. We were passing by, and we need to keep on.”

She glanced up at Mary, at him, at Mary again. She bent nearer and murmured, “Could I talk to you in private for a minute?”

“Absolutely.”

He took her arm and led her around the side of the cottage. She slumped against the rough wood of the wall.

“What is it?” He was extremely concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I’m just feeling…overwhelmed, I guess.”

“I thought you might be. That’s why I visited.”

“It’s so big and quiet, and I’m always alone.”

“How is Florence?”

“Not well. She’s not herself these days.”

“I heard she was suffering.” He peered off toward Florence’s house, as if there were secrets he’d like to confide, but he was a circumspect man. He pulled his attention to Helen. “How are you holding up? Tell me the truth.”

He had the loveliest blue eyes, and he was staring at her with such intent compassion. She couldn’t help blurting out, “I’m a mess.”

He chuckled. “It will get better.”

“I’m certain it will. But for now, I’m struggling terribly. I’m having to cook and clean and wash the laundry and tend the garden and…and…” Her blush deepened, her cheeks on fire with the shame of confession. “I’m so incompetent, James! I don’t know how to do anything useful.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“Could you sense it? Just from looking at me?”

“I figured your life was probably a bit easier back east.”

“We had a maid! I went to college; I was going to be a teacher, and I…”

She cut off. “Gad, listen to me carrying on. I’m not usually such a complainer.”

“I didn’t think you were,” he gently said. “This will take time, remember? Time to acclimate. Time to build up your endurance.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“You’ve only been here two weeks.”

“It seems like two years.”

He chuckled again. “You’ll stumble through it. You’re a survivor.”

“You are so kind.”

She gazed up at him, desperate to plead with him to save her, to spirit her away, to fix what was wrong. Her yearning to be rescued was humiliating, and she was aggravated to be so needy and out of sorts.

“How is your sister?” he inquired.

“Actually, that’s what I was anxious to discuss with you.”

“Is she having some difficulty?”

“No. She’s just ill, and I’m at a loss as to what I should do for her. There’s really nothing
to
do, but I hate to burden Albert or Walt. They wouldn’t understand.”

“What ails her?”

“She has these moods, where she’s very happy, then very sad. Currently, she’s very sad and too weary to crawl out of bed.”

“Have you spoken to a doctor about it?”

“Yes. They disagreed on what caused her condition. Most of them felt it was impurities in her blood that fueled the reverse temperaments, but none of them had any suggestions as to a cure.” She groaned with fatigue. “The past year or two, it’s been growing worse. That’s the reason I brought her here. I hoped the peace and quiet would calm her nerves.”

“There’s no solution to her problem, though, so it’s pointless to fret. You’re letting it vex you too much.”

“I’m so isolated; I can’t stop obsessing.”

“You have to learn to ease your mind. Talk to yourself.” He laughed softly. “Or talk out loud. Talk to the horses. Talk to the cattle. It’s how I stay sane.”

“If anyone heard me prattling on, they’d assume I was as crazy as Florence.” Her shoulders slumped. “Everything was so different in New York. We were constantly busy, and we had friends and neighbors who would come to call at all hours. I’m so lonely!”

“I warned you that this would be a big change.”

“I guess I didn’t realize
how
big.”

“You’ll manage, and I’ll help when I can.”

“You must think I’m a dreadful nuisance.”

“I could never think that about you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile, and they were enveloped by the most tender shroud of intimacy. It seemed as if any wonderful thing could happen, as if she’d always known him and they’d always been close.

He must have sensed it, too, because he quickly glanced away, deliberately breaking the fond moment.

“I need to be going,” he told her. “What could I do for you before I leave?”

“Could you cast a magic spell that would give me a fancy house and a dozen servants?”

His smile widened. “I don’t believe so.”

“Well, then, you could simply promise to stop by again real soon.”

“I will. I promise. I’ll be in Mud Creek for the festivities on the Fourth. Will you be there?”

“Yes.” Albert swore the preacher would be in town, that it would be her wedding day. The very idea set her heart to racing with dismay. “I’ll be getting married—if the preacher shows himself.”

The announcement froze him, and she could see a hundred thoughts flitting behind his poignant eyes. She half expected him to try and dissuade her, but he was too much of a gentleman to impose his negative opinion.

And if he urged her to back out, she could never heed him. Albert had rescued her from dire straits, and she’d agreed to repay him by becoming his bride. The bargain provided her with the means to care for her sister.

How could she renege?

He dipped his head. “I’ll be sure to attend the ceremony.”

“I’d like that,” she replied. “It would be nice to have one friend in the crowd.”

He started them toward the front of the cottage, and just as they would have rounded the corner, he asked, “Would you like me to have Mary look in on your sister?”

“At Violet?”

“Yes.”

Helen was taken aback. The intense Indian woman made her uneasy, and she couldn’t predict how Violet would react.

“Is she a doctor?”

“A healer. She has some interesting medicines—they’re different from what you’ve seen prior—and she’s very competent at administering them.”

Helen couldn’t figure out how to politely decline, and as she dithered, he patted her hand.

“It won’t hurt my feelings if you refuse.”

“I don’t know what she could do.”

“You might be surprised.”

I doubt it,
Helen mused.

Over the years, her parents had hired dozens of trained doctors to no avail. It wasn’t likely that a native healer would have any better luck.

“I’ll ask Violet what she thinks—once she’s up and around. This latest bout should pass before too long.”

“I hope it will.”

They continued on, and as they approached the horses, Mary studied Helen in a severe way.

Helen wanted to speak to the woman, wanted to hear her voice, wanted to question James about their relationship, their history, why they were together. But she had no idea how to pry into such impertinent, personal issues.

He spun to Helen. “If you ever need me, send Carl or Robert over to my place.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You never know how quickly trouble can occur. If you have any problems, get a message to me. I’ll come right away.”

“You’re kinder to me than I deserve.”

He squeezed her fingers. It was an affectionate gesture, and he’d done it several times now. She’d let him without protest, and she couldn’t believe she kept ignoring the proprieties. She had no business touching hands with him—especially when she was about to marry someone else.

Mary motioned to him, and he went over to her. She leaned down and whispered in his ear. His brows rose as she furtively slipped him a small object. Then she turned her horse and rode away.

Looking uncomfortable, he walked over to Helen.

“What did she say?” Helen asked.

“I’m…I’m…” Disconcerted, he paused. “I’m embarrassed to tell you.”