This Loving Land (24 page)

“I’ll drive you in the buggy. We can say you’re going to the buryin’. It’s the only thing I can think of. We’ll leave an hour before dawn. It’ll give us time before they’re all a stirring.”

“I’ll be grateful,” she said again. “I want to be gone and get it over with.”

“It’ll make it easier on you.”

Long after the stove had cooled and the coffee pot was empty, they sat at the table and talked. Summer was reassured by Jesse’s attitude. She was doing the right thing, he said. He only wished she had family or friends to go to. He promised Sadie he would see her safely to the Mormon settlement. Summer promised Sadie she would write. Both women cried.

At the ranch house Jack gave Slater Summer’s message. He had been forcing himself to stay awake until Jack returned.

“She’s all right?”

“Yeah, just tired. Had a killin’ headache accordin’ to Sadie. She’ll be over first thing tomorry. You better let Teresa give you that powder like Summer said.”

“Tell her to get it,” he said dejectedly. “Might as well sleep.”

He closed his eyes and Jack tiptoed out. A feeling that things were not quite right settled on him, but he was too tired to think about it, and headed for the bunkhouse.

Summer never looked back once she climbed into the buggy. She sat in the corner of the soft, leather seat, keeping her eyes straight ahead, and was only vaguely aware when the buggy springs yielded to Jesse’s weight and he was beside her. He flicked the reins and they moved out. The wagon carrying the bodies of Ellen and Travis fell in behind them, Tom’s and Jesse’s horses tied to the tailgate.

Leaving had put such a strain on Summer that she felt faintly ill with weakness. Sadie had burst into tears at the last minute, and begged to be allowed to come with her, and John Austin had come down the ladder to stand mutely perturbed. Watching her with solemn, puzzled eyes, he made no attempt to approach her.

Summer had awakened her brother and explained she was leaving. She didn’t say how long she would be gone, but that it was necessary for her to go without him. He was to mind Sadie and do the lessons Slater would assign to him. She would write to him, she said, and he was pleased that he would be getting a letter. When she was about to leave him he almost dumbfounded her by asking:

“Have you got trouble, Summer? If you have, me and Slater will take care of it.”

Summer laughed before she would cry. “Of course not. But thank you.” She hugged and kissed him and instead of wiggling away as he usually did, he returned her kiss and clung to her for a moment.

It was going to be a warm day. That was only one of the reasons Jesse wanted to get an early start, another being he wanted to be well ahead of the soldiers when they headed out with their prisoners. And foremost, he wanted to leave before it was necessary to explain why he was leaving with Slater’s intended wife.

It seemed unreal to Summer that she was sitting in Ellen’s buggy, leaving McLean’s Keep. She tried to keep her thoughts away from Slater. She needed time to get used to the idea that she couldn’t love him. A few months ago, she would have been delighted to know she had a . . . relative. A lump rose up in her throat that she found difficult to swallow. She wouldn’t think about it now! She would think of something else, anything. See the beautiful sunrise, she told herself. There’s a rabbit, and isn’t that a mockingbird that’s singing?

Before she knew it, her thoughts were back at McLean’s Keep. She wondered if Sadie would be convincing when she announced that she had gone to attend Ellen’s burial, she wondered how long she would wait before she gave the letter to Slater. She had promised to give her time to be far, far away. Oh, Slater, dar—No! No! I can’t think it, I can’t say it, anymore. I must not think of him . . . that way!

A shiver passed over her when she realized how alone and unprotected she would be once Jesse left her. It seemed that McLean’s Keep and everything dear and familiar was dropping away into the distance behind her, and the more it receded, the more vulnerable she felt. Soon, she would have no one at all. Soon, she would have nothing except her own strength and wits to aid her.

The sun was up, and neither Summer nor Jesse had said a word. By the time they left the hills and were on the plain, the sun was far above the horizon. The trail was overgrown and full of holes and jagged pieces of sandstone, which Jesse skillfully avoided. The horse plodded on into the heat of the day. A dead possum lay beside the trail, its body grotesquely bloated. A snake slithered into the grass in front of them with startling speed and disappeared. Summer could not still the revulsion the scaly, diamond-patterned creature aroused in her. The only sound to disturb the eerie peace of the prairie was the jingle of the harnesses and the thump of the horses’ hooves.

Sitting beside the silent Jesse, Summer stared up into the sky. It soon split into layer upon layer of floating white clouds, and she could feel them enveloping her. It was a familiar feeling, like a summer day of her childhood. It was a time for not being attached to anything.

“Better put your hat on. You’ll get a touch of sun.”

She wished Jesse hadn’t spoken; it spoiled the silence. Obediently, she put on her hat and, as if suddenly remembering he was there, turned to look at him. His eyes were squinted against the sun’s glare and his face was wooden. Her heart and mind had room for compassion. Poor man. Enslaved by his love for Ellen all these years. He must have known the kind of woman she was. Yet he loved her and accepted what crumbs of affection she chose to give him. Now, he was free to love Sadie, and she, Summer, was the one enslaved by the results of love.

Midmorning, Jesse stopped to talk to Tom and to tie his horse to the back of the buggy. After that, Tom veered the wagon off onto another trail and they continued on toward Hamilton.

“It’s good of you to do this,” Summer said. “I know you want to go on—want to get on with the burying.”

“Tom will start things and I’ll be there by evening. We’ll go on to the Mormons.”

“Ellen said they were good people and would take me west with them.”

Jesse was silent, then said thoughtfully, “I’m not so sure this is the place you should go.”

A flutter of apprehension stirred her. “Ellen said if I had money, they would take me.”

“We’ll see.”

Because she must, she believed Ellen had been speaking the truth, and sat silently, her face a blank, but surging inwardly with uneasiness.

As the buggy approached the Mormon settlement, Summer had an ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach. The women were washing clothes and didn’t raise their heads as the buggy swept by. The children were not running and playing as children usually do, but stood silently beside their mothers with averted faces. Men, who were working at various chores, neither looked up nor offered a greeting. Most depressing of all was the silence. The ring of a hammer, the buzz of a saw were the only sounds.

Jesse stopped the horse and wound the reins around the brake.

“I’ll see what I can find out. You stay put.”

Summer watched him leave. She tried to catch the eye of one of the women so she could give her a friendly smile, but there was not a single woman who did not have her eyes averted. The children were all being forcibly made to look elsewhere and were uncommonly hushed. The sight of this universal snub caused Summer to grind her teeth. They were peaceable people, Christian people. Why were they ignoring her? It was almost as if they knew!

Jesse spoke to a man working on a wagon wheel. The man had not turned from his work, but gestured toward a rear building. After a quick glance around, Jesse went behind the building.

Summer sat in confused silence, her heart racing even though it felt heavy as lead. When Jesse returned a tall, thin carrion of a man walked beside him. He was wearing a black frock-coat and a straight-brimmed black hat. A long, flowing beard rode majestically on his chest. When they reached the buggy, Jesse climbed in and picked up the reins.

The man’s pinpoint-hard eyes fastened on Summer. She felt the color drain from her face and wanted to move closer to Jesse, wanted to leave this place, wanted to cry.

“Ain’t ya gonna talk it over with the woman?” The voice was deep, booming and full of self-righteousness.

“Hell, no.” Jesse flicked the reins and the horse moved ahead. As they circled to return the way they had come, the man stood in the road, his arms raised, his powerful voice reaching them.

“I am a devout Mormon,” he shouted. “Our Prophet, Joseph Smith, was a divinely inspired man. His vision of a modern Zion in the west has been realized. We go to join him. It is God’s will that woman be used to procreate so we may multiply and spread across the land. We preach that the wages of sin are death!”

“What you want is to satisfy your own filthy lust, old man!” Jesse shouted, and to the horse, “Heee . . . eee yaw!” The animal responded with a burst of speed.

Jesse allowed the horse to run until they were out of sight of the settlement and pulled him up to a walk.

“Goddam crazy old fool!” Jesse’s face was red and sweat ran from his forehead. “Goddam crazy old fool,” he said again.

Summer’s head was spinning. She had been holding tightly to the side of the buggy but she let go now to fumble in her pocket for something to wipe her face.

What could she do now? Willing the tears not to come, she glanced at Jesse and found him looking at her.

“What did he say?”

“He said you’d have to marry him, be one of his wives before he’d take you with them.”

Summer gasped, tears forgotten in her sudden anger. “No! Never!”

“That’s what I told him,” Jesse said drily, “along with a few other things.”

Her anger died as quickly as it came. What could she do now? What in the world was she going to do? Tears would have started had she been left to her own thoughts, but Jesse was speaking again.

“I’ve met Bible-spouting lechers like him before,” he bit out. “Had my doubts about takin’ you there in the first place.” He turned to face her, and for the first time she saw him smile. “When he clapped his eyes on you, they almost laid out on his face. He thought he was about to get hisself a real choice little bit of woman.”

In spite of herself, Summer smiled in return. Then, as if she had no right to smile, she sobered.

“I’m imposing on you, Mr. Thurston, and I feel badly about it. I think it’s best for me to go to Austin. I can get a teaching job there.” She stopped, then forced herself to go on. “I can drive the buggy on into Hamilton and leave it at the livery stable, if you want to take your horse and go on to the Rocking S.”

“I’m not in that big of a hurry, Summer. Nothing at the ranch that won’t keep till night. We’ll go on into Hamilton and see when the stage runs to Austin.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thurston.”

“Name’s Jesse. Just plain old Jesse,” he said with a sigh.

Summer shivered. “I can’t help thinking about that old man, and what I’d have done if you were not with me.”

“Don’t think about him. He ain’t worth a plug of tobacco.”

“But those poor women. They all seemed so sad.”

“That’s how he keeps ’em with him, cowed and afraid.”

Hamilton’s street was teeming with several times its normal population when Jesse drew up beside the stage office. He wrapped the reins about a post and disappeared inside. He didn’t need to tell Summer to stay put this time. She sat quietly, eyeing the jostling crowd. There were drovers in their drab work clothes, former easterners in dark suits, soldiers in pieces of uniform and the usual amount of strutting cowhands laden with pistols and Bowie knives. What Summer didn’t know was that the army troop had arrived with their prisoners, and the crowd had surged into the street to watch their passing and to linger to talk about this exciting event that had jarred their usually monotonous existence.

The last time . . . For a moment, gripped by a rush of savage emotion, Summer thought she would scream. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to think of the time she and John Austin had arrived at this stage stop, and when she opened them again, Jesse was climbing into the buggy.

“Friday. The stage goes on Friday.”

“Friday? That’s . . . five days. I can’t wait five days.”

“Yes, you can,” Jesse said gently, but firmly. “You can stay at the hotel.” He was turning the buggy around in the middle of the street.

Summer’s lips trembled. She wanted to protest, but didn’t feel she had the right to burden him further.

“It’ll be all right,” Jesse said, seeing her stricken look. “It won’t be very comfortable, but you can stay in the room. I’ll come on Friday and put you on the stage.”

At the hotel, he helped her down. She could feel the stares of the men lining the benches as she stood waiting for Jesse to lift her trunk from the back of the buggy. The hotel lobby was stiflingly hot, and the odors of highly seasoned food, beer, tobacco juice and sweat mingled.

Graves, the hotel man, got up from a cot where he lay fanning himself.

“Well, well, well, Miss Kuykendall.”

Jesse drew the soiled register pad forward and scribbled something.

“This lady will take that front room with the windows on the south.” He spoke in a clipped, no-nonsense tone. “You’ll bring her meals over from Mrs. Hutchinson’s place three times a day. And you’ll keep your mouth shut.” Quick as lightning, he reached across the counter and grabbed the front of the man’s shirt, pulling him almost off his feet. “If any harm comes to her or if she’s bothered in any way, I’ll stomp you to death.” He gave the man a vicious push. “I’ll be back, and she better have no complaints.” He picked up Summer’s trunk, and with a hand beneath her elbow ushered her up the stairs.

At the door of the room he left her with the promise to return the day after tomorrow. The room was not the one she and John Austin had shared. For that she was thankful. She wanted no reminders of a time when she was full of hope, confident that she and her brother would be happy under the protection of Sam McLean.

Sam McLean! The name lit some flame that had never been lit before. Such a burning hate and fury took hold of her that she shook with the fever of it, and every vestige of self-control went up in a white blaze of emotion. With a terrible little sob, she pummeled her stomach with her fist, blind to everything but the fact that her brother’s child grew within her.