“Interesting setup you got here. I seen somethin’ like it once. Some folks I knew were gonna have a ferry just like this. They had plans. I seen ’em.”
Anora peeked around a porch post to get a better look at the man.
“Do I know you?” the cowboy asked the ferryman. The cowboy got no answer from her tormentor.
The ferry ground to a halt. The cowboy removed his hat and ran his long fingers through his black, curly hair. She caught a glimpse of a wide-toothed grin. “Hey, howdy. You’re Ruben Tillery, ain’t you? Whit Comstock, you remember me? We come across country together.”
The cowboy reached out his hand for a shake. Anora spied her tormentor’s sneer, and shuddered. The cowboy withdrew his hand, looked at it, and dropped his arms down to his side.
“Name’s Talbot, Ben Talbot,” Anora heard her tormentor say.
“You don’t say,” the cowboy said, eyebrows raised. He grinned wide. “Well, now, I sure am sorry…but you looked familiar.”
He turned his attention toward the muddy, rutted wagon track and caught sight of Anora. She made for her fire pit and started to dismantle it, turning her back toward him, keeping her face hidden, hunching her shoulders.
Ignoring the ferryman’s surly attitude, the cowboy asked, “That your misses?”
“Yep.”
Before the cowboy could ask another question, her tormentor jumped down off the boat and secured the line to the pylon on the bank. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the cowboy, still grinning. With a shake of his head, he gathered up the reins of his horse and the tethers to his mules. “Well, I sure am sorry I mistook you for ol’ Ruben,” he said. “I lost track of him, and his family, at the Dalles. I been workin’ on a spread south of here. Just passing through. You wouldn’t happen to have heard the name of Tillery? Or Sennett, maybe?”
“Nope,” her tormentor answered, his head down.
The cowboy shrugged. “Well, I had to ask. A lot of people must come through here. If you happen on them folks, you tell them Whit Comstock’s keepin’ an eye out for ’em.”
“Yep. Folks come and go. Don’t usually ask names,” her tormentor answered and waved one of his big hands over his head.
The cowboy led his mules and his saddled buckskin up the muddy lane. With her head down, Anora could feel him staring at her as he passed, and she held her breath.
Dead, she had to stay dead and gone. Her past, the cowboy, the decent people, must not find her.
Chapter Three
Done milking, she started to leave the barn but stepped out of the way to allow her tormentor, leading Roscoe and Pete, to put the oxen into their stall. Leaving him the lantern, hanging it on a nail bedside the oxen’s harness, she rushed to the cabin, worried her venison chili, simmering throughout the afternoon, had boiled away. She poured water over the beans and meat, satisfied she’d caught it time. She tapped the golden top of the loaf of cornbread and heard a wagon pull up into the yard. Her tormentor called out a deceptively cordial welcome to his customers.
Following him inside, there appeared a tall, large-framed man, who had to duck his head to enter the doorway. Trailing behind him a pretty woman with dark brown hair and warm brown eyes, and a little girl, the spitting image of her mama, stood quietly to the side.
To Anora’s amazement, and consternation, she heard her tormentor say, “No, no, now you all come on in. ‘Norie’s got lots, and it’s good and hot. You say you come from New York? You been living up at Fort Astoria?”
Anora averted her eyes, busying herself over the Dutch oven. He’d never invited anyone into the cabin before.
What was he up to? What did he mean by it?
Whatever he was doing, she knew she would pay for it somehow. The anticipation of her humiliation made her sick to her stomach.
“That’s right,” said the tall man. His voice captured her attention—it was as deep as he was tall, soft and smooth as the breeze on a warm summer day. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he looked very powerful and solid. He had a clear, steady look in his blue eyes. “We came through Panama, then on shipboard to San Francisco, and up to the fort.”
“You’ve had a trip then,” her tormentor said, a congenial smile parting his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He caught Anora’s look of interest, narrowed his gaze, flashing the visitors a friendly smile.
“Well, you come on over to the fire, Missus, you and the child look plumb chilled.
“The name’s Talbot, Ben Talbot.” He reached out, pulling Anora to his side, giving her a quick buss on her bruised cheek. “This is my woman, Norie; she don’t talk these days. But she’s gettin’ better.” He smiled down to her bowed head, his tobacco-stained teeth bared in an unnatural grin. Letting her go, he pulled over the bench near the door for the woman and child and offered his chair to the man.
Backing up, he took the remaining chair for himself and went on to say, “Norie took a tumble out of our wagon when we come down the valley, almost two years ago. Her poor head was near crushed under the wheels. For a spell, I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep her. She has good days and bad. We just went through a spell, but she’s better today. Ain’t that right, Norie?” he asked.
Knowing better than to answer, she set out extra bowls, spoons, and knives. Wheels? Crushed my head? No. No, that’s not true. Not true. I’d have scars, surely, broken bones. No, He’s lying. Why? Why would he make up such a story? But her memory, why couldn’t she remember? Safer not to remember. Don’t remember. Forget everything. Hide behind stupid. Safer stay dumb, deaf, and dumb. Too horrible, too terrifying to remember. Forget…forget…forget. Hide behind a dimwitted façade.
The stranger quickly filled in the awkward silence. “My name is Hank Reason, this is my wife, Lydia, and this is our daughter, Isabell.”
“I’m four,” piped in the little girl, holding up four little fingers, while Anora cut the cornbread into squares.
“Well, ain’t you bright as a new penny.” He beamed at the child and patted her hand. “I bet you’d like some cold milk with that bread?” His dark countenance came down and cast the little girl’s delicate face into shadow.
The little girl pulled back, slipped her hand out from under his heavy paw, and folded her fingers tightly together in her lap.
All of this talk set Anora to thinking about something her tormentor had said. She filled the child’s cup with milk, repeating the name Ben Talbot to herself in her head. He’d introduced himself as Ben Talbot. That didn’t sound right. It didn’t fit.
In her mind, he was her tormentor, never a name attached to his face or his hands.
Why would he say his name was Ben Talbot?
She’d heard him say the name before, and every time, she wondered why he used it. It wasn’t right.
She hated it when he called her…Norie…in front of other people.
She spooned out the chili. Mr. Reason explained how they happened to come to this part of the country. “Lydia’s brother, maybe you know him, Paxton Hayes? He came out in ‘43. He wrote us over a year ago letting us know he was well and invited us to come west. He suggested a piece of land for us to homestead and offered us his home until we can get up house and barn. I’ve brought a hundred fruit trees with us; they’re in the wagon. I thought to put in an orchard.”
Her tormentor nodded, encouraging Mr. Reason to continue.
While Mrs. Reason ate her meal, her gaze followed Anora moving from the table to the hearth. Anora wished she would stop.
Her tormentor had noticed too, and interrupted Mr. Reason to order her to get out of the way, find a place to sit, and eat.
Retreating to a dark corner of the room, Anora sat on the edge of the bed, balancing her plate, a bowl of chili, and buttered cornbread on her lap. She began to eat, wishing herself invisible.
The little girl, Isabell, stared at her, absolutely fascinated. She’d turned completely around in her chair, eating her cornbread, studying Anora, an expression of sympathy and curiosity wri
tten on her little pixie face.
“You got a place in mind around here to homestead?” he asked. “An orchard’s gonna’ take time to bear fruit,” he said. His black eyes snapped with glee; an evil smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth when Mrs. Reason turned her daughter around by her shoulders.
“We’re planning on farming four hundred acres above your place. That open meadow above your barn is ideal. I figure to put the house on the side of the hill. There’s nice, big oak trees up there that would look mighty pretty in a front yard…maybe a swing for Isabell. We’ve been up there most of the day. We meant to get down here in time to catch your ferry over to Takenah, but we lost track of time.”
He slapped his thigh. Anora flinched. “We’re gonna be neighbors. Well, ain’t that somethin’.” Leaning back in his chair, her tormentor smiled in Anora’s direction, his eyes glistening with cold, steely anticipation.
Lurching forward, his voice sharp, he said, “Norie, we need more coffee here. We got company. You can’t just fall asleep over there.”
Anora jumped to fill coffee cups.
With his congenial smile back in place, he addressed Mrs. Reason, “I guess you’ll be happy to get settled at your brother’s place before the little one arrives?”
Mr. and Mrs. Reason exchanged glances. Mrs. Reason blushed and put her hands in her lap, her big brown eyes staring unseeingly into the contents of her bowl.
∙•∙
Hank cleared his throat. He didn’t know how Ben Talbot had guessed they were expecting a child in a couple of months. He thought it one thing for another woman to guess his wife’s delicate condition, but to have another man, a stranger, guess upon such short acquaintance, he found that disconcerting.
He didn’t like Ben Talbot. He didn’t trust his big smile. The man’s eyes, his eyes didn’t smile. They were calculating, dark and cold eyes. And he didn’t like the way he barked at his poor wife.
Norie Talbot looked as if she’d gone ten rounds with Bulldog the Bruiser of Buffalo. No, Hank didn’t trust the man. He also decided this was one neighbor they didn’t need to be neighborly with.
A heavy silence filled the cabin for a few moments, then Ben Talbot said, “You weren’t thinking of camping tonight?”
Hank intercepted the look Talbot aimed at Lydia. “We’ve camped for almost a week. We’ve got a good army tent, with cots, even a camp stove.”
“Well, I won’t hear of it,” Talbot said. “You can’t be sleeping out in the cold, Mrs. Reason. Not in your condition. And the child…no. You come inside by the fire. Bring in your cots. Set yourselves up on the floor. We ain’t got a lot of room in here, but it’s warm as toast, and there’s a roof to keep the frost off your noses.”
Talbot made it sound sensible, and it would have been welcome if the invitation hadn’t come from Ben Talbot. Hank wished he knew of an argument against it, but couldn’t find the way out. Lydia squirmed on the bench beside him. He took her hand and placed it on his knee. “We’ll be comfortable in our tent for one more night,” Hank said. Lydia nodded in agreement.
“Well, let the child sleep in here at least. We’ll fix her up nice and cozy by the fire. Won’t we, Norie? She might even want to climb under the covers with us.”
His evil chuckle sent chills down Hank’s spine.
∙•∙
Her tormentor trained his calculating gaze on her. Anora hoped the Reasons could read the danger in his conniving eyes.
Isabell got up from her chair and came to Anora’s side and took her hand. “Did you fall off your pony? I fell off my pony and I hurted my nose. It was bruised for a long time and my teeff hurted a lot. Mama gave me mush wiff lots honey on it.”
“There now, you see, your little doll has taken a shine to Norie,” he said, and laughed. Coming to his feet, headed toward the child, his arms snaked out to scoop her up.
Mr. Reason stepped in before him. His hand on his daughter’s shoulder, he said, “We’ll go get the cots and bring them in. Do you have a place where I could bed down my cattle for the night? We’ll be up early so we can be first in line for the ferry.”
“Of course, of course.” Sounding, oh, so accommodating, he said, “You most certainly will be the first to cross in the morning. We’ll send you off with a good breakfast. Won’t we, Norie?”
Anora forgot to keep her head down, and their gazes collided and held a moment. In that moment, she saw the cold, ruthless gleam of the devil. He’d caught her out, looked into her now awakened mind, and she would pay.
»»•««
Isabell sat on the bed with Anora holding her hand. Slipping her wrist out from under the child’s cool fingers, Anora decided she needed to get the supper dishes cleared from the table. He’d be back soon. Mrs. Reason started to help her.
“No,” said Anora, her voice a choked whisper. “No, please.” Quickly, she limped across the room to stop the woman from taking the dishes to her wash pan on the counter.
Mrs. Reason blinked but didn’t say a word and relinquished the bowls. She withdrew, motioning her daughter to come and sit on her lap while Anora went about her chores.
Anora made short work of cleaning off the table and washing the dishes. By the time the men returned no evidence remained of their meal. Mrs. Reason sat by the fire with her daughter. When they heard the men returning, the sound of their feet on the front stoop, Anora quickly wiped her wet hands on her apron and sat on her stool to the side of the room in the shadows.
He stopped in the opened doorway, looked around the room, his gaze landing on Anora as he assessed the climate in the room. He wouldn’t want her talking, getting friendly with Mrs. Reason. Saying nothing, he pulled the kitchen table away from the fire, and helped Mr. Reason unfold their cots.
“I reckon it’s time to call it a night, Norie. I’ll help you fetch more water so these folks can wash up in the morning,” he said, taking her by the arm and dragging her toward the door.
Out on the porch, he twisted a hank of her hair and gave it a hard yank, forcing her head back. “You put those eyes of yours back in your head if you want those folks in there to stay safe. No one knows they’re here. I could slit their throats, and no one would be the wiser. Bet he’s got some cash stashed away in that wagon of his. Smart as they come that Mr. Reason. Be fun to go a round or two with his misses. But…you wouldn’t want that to happen, now would you? So I guess, you better be extra nice to me, snuggle up and keep me warm. You know how I get when I’m feelin’ rejected, I get mean. No tellin’ what I might do. It’s up to you to keep our company nice and cozy.” He shoved an empty bucket at her. “Get the water, and hurry up, it’s damn cold out here.”
Anora rushed off to fetch the water. He followed her back into the cabin and said to their company, “Now, folks, there’s water under the kitchen counter and a pitcher over here on the top of the bureau for washing.
“Norie and me, we’ll be up before dawn, but we’ll try not to disturb you folks,” he said and went to the other side of the bed, sat, and began to take off his boots and shirt.
Anora realized she’d have no privacy. The Reasons had no privacy. He’d known how it would be. He left very few things to chance. She slipped off her red dress and then pulled the comforter up over her shoulders.
Mr. Reason poked at the fire. Mrs. Reason helped her daughter out of her shoes and dress.
Mr. Reason placed himself on the cot closest to their bed. The little girl, positioned between her parents, was made comfortable on her cot. And Mrs. Reason took the cot near the wall, close to the door.
Anora heard the Reasons whispering to one another. Mrs. Reason said she didn’t like the situation. Mr. Reason shushed her, his hand going to his wife’s cheek. Mrs. Reason removed her shoes and then slipped in under her wool blanket with her dress on.
Mr. Reason laid down, his feet over the end of the cot, near the fire. Anora held out hope for a reprieve. The Reasons had gone to sleep. She could hear the child softly snoring. She saw the firelight playin
g on Mrs. Reason’s cheek, her soft, doe eyes closed in repose. She prayed the Reasons would remain oblivious of the danger and true ugliness so near at hand.
“Ain’t they a picture,” he whispered into her ear, his arm going under her head, tugging her close into his side.
»»•««
Anora covered her face with her arm. A thousand accusing eyes—brown eyes, childish eyes, blue eyes, blue as cornflowers in July eyes full of disgust and repulsion in their shining depths lived inside her head. Her corruption, the filth of her existence, exposed to soil the decent, pure mind of this good woman, this mother, Lydia Reason.
The minutes ticked away, Anora waited. Very quietly, she got out of bed. She had a couple of hours before he’d wake up. Sleep for Anora would not come tonight.
Soundlessly, she searched the bedding for her petticoat. She found it wadded up under the comforter at the bottom of the bed and put it on. Silently, she tiptoed to the front door, took her mackinaw off its peg, and slipped outside.
∙•∙
Hank watched her go. Ben Talbot was an animal. He vowed to himself he’d help Norie Talbot whenever he could. He didn’t know how or when. He’d have to help her in a way that didn’t jeopardize her tenuous life with her brute of a husband.
Chapter Four
“I don’t know how she managed it,” Lydia said.
Anxious to get his wife and daughter away from Ben Talbot, Hank urged his team of mules up the southwest bank past the Willa Jane, and her boarding passengers.
Lydia couldn’t stop talking about their uncomfortable encounter. “That big breakfast—hash, fresh eggs, biscuits, butter and cream, my, it tasted good.”
Yes, the fresh eggs, butter, and cream, under any other circumstances would’ve had Hank salivating, but this morning, he couldn’t enjoy any part of the meal. He could tell by the way Norie Talbot moved, hunched over, wincing when she had to bend over or lift something, she’d prepared their feast at great cost. She nearly dropped the skillet when she took it off the fire. The bastard didn’t even try to help, yelling, cursing her for being clumsy.
The Widow's Ferry Page 3