A Restless Wind

by Brandt, Siara

  “Oh, dear,” was Delia’s comment. And then, after picturing the whole incident, Delia set her knitting in her lap and joined in the laughter.

  Even Lieta, usually so poised and self-possessed, was laughing behind the hand she held over her mouth.

  Chapter 10

  All the preparations for tomorrow’s trip had been made. It was mid-afternoon and the porch was in complete disarray because Will had spent the morning pushing chairs together to play train.

  He had just given the cat a saucer of warm milk and now the cat was purring and rubbing against the boy’s legs, which Hetty found surprising because earlier Will had contrived to put two pairs of doll boots on the cat. Which was by no means an easy feat. The cat had not been at all happy to be wearing boots.

  “She’s a very clever hunter,” Will said, running his hand over the cat’s arching back. “If she wants something to eat, she goes down to the creek and pulls out a fish with her paw.”

  Will turned and abruptly asked his mother for the tenth time that morning. “Mayn’t I go see Father now?”

  “Your father must have quiet, Will. Sleep is his best medicine,” was his mother’s reply.

  “But I want to show him the arrowhead I found in the creek.”

  “You can show it to him later,” Rachel said and sighed. “You must learn patience, Will. Remember, an impatient man will never be happy himself and he is certain to make other people unhappy as well.”

  She picked up a small shirt from her sewing basket. “You may take your father his dinner when it’s ready.”

  Will, for the moment, had forgotten all about seeing his father or arrowheads. He was laughing with delight at the cat who was chasing its tail. Whenever the cat caught sight of it, she tried to grab it by leaping around in circles.

  Rachel, watching her son, looked up and smiled warmly at Jesse who had just ridden up and halted his horse at the porch steps. He had come twice in the past few days to check on John’s progress and to talk to Rachel about the trip tomorrow.

  Will stepped up to the rail and said to Jesse. “Emmy and me, we have been feeding the birds with breadcrumbs every morning,” He looked down at the cat who was once again rubbing against his legs. “The cat likes the birds as well, but not the same way we do.”

  “No, I imagine there is a difference,” Jesse said with a grin as he crossed his hands on the pommel of his saddle.

  “Do you think the cat dreams of birds when she sleeps?” Will wanted to know, having found in Jesse a new audience. Before Jesse could answer, Will was informing him, “Emmy got to see Father this morning. But I have to wait because Mother says I am unable to stay quiet for very long and Father needs his rest.”

  Rachel shook her head and said to Jesse, “You might as well expect the wind to be quiet.”

  Jesse gave a low laugh and turned to look at Will who was now marching up and down the porch waving a stick for a saber. The very same stick he had dropped in the creek. He pointed his stick at Jesse, who was still sitting his horse at the edge of the porch.

  “You. Soldier,” Will cried. “Bring up my horse.”

  Jesse had removed his hat. He ran his hand through his dark hair, smoothing it away from his face. After he replaced the hat, he saluted and said to Will, “You horse is here, general. Don’t you think it’s time for you to be checking on the position of your troops?”

  Jesse’s eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat. The sun lit only his lean, sculpted jaw. Hetty waited for the humor she had detected in his drawl to manifest itself and finally saw it in the slight curve of his lips as Will asked breathlessly, “On horseback?”

  “Sure.”

  “You mean ride?”

  “I mean ride,” Jesse said. “Would you like that?”

  Would he like that? The boy had pestered the cowboys every single day to ride their horses.

  “Yes!” Will squealed, so excited that he ran down the porch steps and then back up them again.

  “If you get permission from your mother,” Jesse added, looking at Rachel. “She outranks me.”

  Will stopped and looked to his mother.

  “Yes, you can go,” Rachel said, laughing at her son’s exuberance.

  Hetty was also smiling as she watched Will quell his excitement long enough to stand still and be lifted to the saddle.

  “You sure can ride, General,” she heard Jesse say after he seated the boy in front of him and rode him around the yard.

  Will straightened at the complement and asked, “Can we ride across the water and back?”

  “I reckon we can do that.”

  Hetty could hear no more of what Will way saying, but he chattered incessantly. The last thing she heard was Jesse’s low laugh, a deep, warm sound that stayed with her even after they had disappeared around the corner of the house.

  Not many men were willing to spend time entertaining a child, Hetty mused. That was supposed to be women’s work. But both Jesse and Pierce seemed to enjoy spending time with Will.

  “Will is always losing buttons,” Rachel said as she searched through her sewing basket. She picked out a button and threaded a needle.

  “My girl is growing so fast,” Rachel said with a wistful sigh as she paused to watch Emma who was walking among the rows of the garden, checking the progress of the emerging plants. “She looks so pretty in that dress.”

  Rachel smiled at Hetty. “In spite of all that brought us here, we have enjoyed our visit. It has been so long since I had a chance to visit with another woman.”

  Hetty nodded. “It does get lonely out here at times.”

  “You have all been so kind and generous.”

  “Helping people isn’t being kind or generous. I know that you would do the same for me, Rachel.”

  “If we hadn’t come here, I don’t think that John- ” She broke off and Hetty saw that there were tears in her eyes, the first sign of the strain she had been under and Hetty knew that she needed to talk.

  “The night that they came and burned down the barn, I was so frightened.” Rachel closed her eyes as she relived the horror of that night.

  “I pleaded with John not to go outside. He couldn’t have stopped them. Not by himself. They knew we were in the house and they called to us, taunting us and threatening so many unspeakable things. It was terrible. They would have killed John that night. I have no doubt about that. And my children- I can’t tell you how afraid I was for them. Or how helpless I felt. But I refused to let John go. And so we stayed there, terrified and helpless, waiting for them to burn the house over our heads.”

  She paused and drew a deep breath. “I was afraid of what was going to happen when we returned, when John is back on his feet. I was worried sick over it. And then when Mr. McLaren offered us his house, I can’t tell you how relieved I was and what a blessing it will be for us, what a blessing he has been. And all of you.

  “Living in his house will be like- like being under his protection. He isn’t a man that other men trifle with. I know that he has a bad reputation. But I can’t help but feel that he has been misjudged. He has been nothing but kind to us. There is no way that we can ever repay him for all that he has done for us.

  “I watch him with the children and try to imagine him as the kind of man that we heard he was. But I can’t make myself believe it.”

  It was hard for Hetty to believe as well. She looked up as Jesse rode back with Will and deposited him on the porch. After that he visited with John for a while. And later, he tipped his hat politely to them before he rode off.

  “Why, Will, what is this?” a surprised Rachel asked her son. “Have you decided to straighten up after yourself? Without me telling you to do so?”

  “Jesse told me that if I put the porch tidy, he would take me riding again,” the boy explained. “So I decided I had better put it straight. I am getting older, you know.” And he set to work putting the chairs back in place.

  When Will was almost finished, Pierce came to the porch to check on the pro
gress of the horse hair. For the hundredth time, Will wanted to know how many days had passed and how many days were left to go. Rachel, without looking up from her sewing, reminded her son again that patience was a virtue.

  Will followed Pierce as he settled in one of the porch chairs. He stood close to Pierce’s chair, wanting to know everything Pierce knew about snakes.

  “They say that a snake won’t die until after the sun goes down. Is that true, Pierce?”

  “I’ve heard it said,” Pierce replied, his eyes narrowing, his voice trailing off as he watched Brent Marsten riding up the drive.

  Chapter 11

  Hetty, leaning against the porch rail, glanced over at Brent who had stepped to the rail beside her.

  “I just think they should be made to clean up their mess,” he said.

  “They did actually,” was Hetty’s reply.

  “Did what?”

  “Clean up. You should have seen the porch before they straightened up.”

  He heard the laugh in her reply but pretended he did not. “You spoil them, Hetty.”

  “I like spoiling them.”

  Hetty moved away from the rail and sat down in one of the porch chairs, wondering how much longer Brent’s visit was going to last. He had been here nearly two hours already.

  Brent took a seat in the chair beside hers. He frowned at the one chair that hadn’t been put back against the wall. The frown stayed in place as he looked at Will’s stick propped against the wall, a stack of wooden blocks in one corner and the basin of vinegar in another.

  “You were saying, Brent,” she began, picking up the thread of conversation they had begun earlier. “That women are not as brave as men are.”

  “No, Hetty. I was merely stating that what happened the other night would have unnerved most women.”

  “Then you mean to say that most women, in general, don’t have courage?”

  Brent let out a half laughing breath. “I have seen my sister, Amiline, scream at the very thought of a small mouse or a tiny spider in her house.”

  “As long as there are men to protect us, I suppose women do not need much courage.”

  Brent studied her face for a moment, not at all affected by the sarcasm in her remark.

  “Is that what you are thinking, Brent?”

  “I am thinking,” he said as he continued to stare at her face. “How pretty your eyes are when you get angry.”

  She sighed, losing patience with him. “Or perhaps you are thinking that I am susceptible to flattery.”

  “You never have minced words, Hetty.” He laughed and considered her for a moment longer. “You know, most women are flattered when a man gives them complements.”

  “But we were not talking about my eyes, Brent. We were talking about your opinion on the lack of courage in women. This is the very thing I am talking about. You refuse to take me seriously simply because I am a woman. I am trying to discuss something important and you are discussing my eyes.”

  “I am taking you seriously, Hetty. I heard every word you said.” He leaned lazily back in his chair, his expression anything but serious as he laced his hands behind his head.

  “The fact is that men have all the freedom in the world, while women- ” She repeated words from a speech she had heard in Boston. “While women are taught to be helpless and dependent on men and to accept an inferior role.”

  “A man has the obligation to earn a living. He needs to have freedom. As for that, Hetty, I wouldn’t call working for a living freedom in any sense of the word.”

  “And women don’t have to work in life?” Her lips compressed for a moment. “Because, truthfully, Brent, I never saw a wife and mother who could spend a day of uninterrupted leisure. How many men would be willing to take over a woman’s responsibilities?”

  “Not many,” Brent admitted. “But I happen to think that women are more suited to raising children and keeping a home.”

  “And that in your opinion is not work?”

  “Granted it’s work. But can you honestly say that a woman has the nerve or the drive to go out and take on all that is necessary for success in the business world? Do you really think a woman could compete with a man?”

  Hetty knew that in his business dealings Brent was considered to be shrewd and ambitious. She had even heard the word ruthless used to describe him. She also knew that during the time that she was away in Boston, Brent had acquired a great deal of land, in addition to what he already owned. It seemed he was not content with what he already had.

  “I suppose that depends on one’s definition of success.”

  “Money-making is my definition of success,” he said. “I admit it.”

  “Then money-making is the driving force in your life?”

  “It is one of them, yes. When I take a wife, Hetty, I want to be able to provide her with everything she could want.”

  The intent look in his eyes held a subtle significance as he continued to look straight at her.

  “What if your wife wants more out of life than just wealth? What if she wants- equality. Respect. Her own interests. Maybe even her own business.”

  He laughed. “You mean like one of those suffragettes who lately have become quite- violent in the pursuit of their cause?”

  “Then you don’t believe women should have the right to vote, either?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Men vote, don’t they?”

  And in Brent’s opinion, there was a good reason for that. She could see it in the look on his face. Brent didn’t care one bit for suffrage, or temperance, or equality, or women and children who suffered immeasurably at the hands of violent, drunken husbands who had the unquestioned right to do whatever they wished to their families and had no one to answer to.

  As her Uncle Zeb would have said, Brent’s opinions were set in stone. And why should he change his opinions? As long as he was in the superior role, there wasn’t one single reason on earth for him to want things to be any different.

  She glanced up, distracted for a moment by a deep rumble of thunder that echoed down from the hills. The dark cloud bank just showing over the tree tops warned of a coming storm. She kept her thoughts to herself, but she was sincerely hoping that Brent would decide to end his visit before the storm hit.

  “A helluva night,” Pierce said and reached down to unbuckle his spur straps. “I’m sure glad you were here. I’d have had a terrible time getting those horses back in myself.” He removed the spurs and dropped them on the floor by his bunk.

  The storm had hit in the late afternoon. A huge tree had fallen on the corral fence and some of the horses had gotten loose. Jesse had helped drive the horses back in and then he had stayed to help Pierce remove the tree and repair the downed section of fence. Both men had been thoroughly drenched by the driving rain.

  “This storm sure spooked the horses. Spooked me, too. I never saw such thunder, lightning and rain. Nor wind,” Pierce added as he slipped out of his soaked leather chaps.

  During his visits to check on John Forbes, Jesse had taken a liking to the young cowboy. Pierce was as honest and straightforward a man as he had ever met.

  “Thank you, Hetty,” Pierce said fervently as he struggled to pull a water-soaked boot off. He jerked his chin in the direction of a pie setting on the table. “Hetty’s always sending food to the bunkhouse. Help yourself.”

  “Surprised she found the time,” Jesse commented as he removed his hat and raked a hand through his wet hair. “She had extra company today.” He pulled a chair up to the small table and sat down.

  Pierce had visibly straightened. “You mean that snake Marsten was here?”

  At Jesse’s nod, Pierce cursed under his breath. The wide brim of his hat cast shadows on his unshaven face. His lean jaw tightened. The lines about his mouth were rigid with undisguised dislike.

  “I notice he sort of gets your back up,” Jesse said as Pierce took off his wet hat and tossed it onto his bunk.

  “Oh, he provokes me, all right. I hate him worse
than I hate any sneaking coyote I’ve ever run across. He’s spent the afternoon sweet talkin’ Hetty, I expect?” Pierce wanted to know.

  “Appeared so.”

  Jesse didn’t know exactly what it was that Pierce had against the man, but there was unmistakable hostility in Pierce’s voice and in his eyes. Jealousy was a possibility. But Jesse didn’t think it was that. Jesse didn’t like Marsten either. No, within the young man ran a cold fire of contempt and fury which at the moment he wasn’t bothering to hide.

  “I reckon you have your reasons for not liking the man.”

  “I wouldn’t call him a man,” Pierce remarked lowly. “A mean, miserable snake is what he is.”

  Pierce pulled up a chair for himself and sat down across from Jesse as he cut himself a generous piece of pie.

  “There was a dog used to come around,” Pierce began. “Starved-looking thing. And half wild. He never came close to the ranch. He would only come as far as the trail over the west ridge. Well, I got in the habit of throwing him some scraps, and he’d come and eat them as soon as I backed off far enough. After a while, he got to the point where he would eat out of my hand.

  “He wasn’t mean, just scared. One day I was coming back through the trees on the ridge and I saw that Marsten had shot that dog. There wasn’t any reason for it.” Pierce paused, frowning for a moment at the recollection.

  “Marsten just sat there watching the dog twitching in the hot sun. You could see plain enough he enjoyed watching the dog suffer. I rode down to help the dog or put it out of its misery if it needed doing. By the time I got there, it was too late. And Marsten was gone.”

  Pierce shook his head. “I never could abide a man who will wantonly kill something like that. He’s brutal with his horses, too. I’ve seen their mouths and their sides bloody. He’s not shy about using a whip on them, either.

  “And yesterday,” Pierce went on between bites of pie. “Emma told me Will got his fingers slammed in the barn door. She was up in the loft playing with the cat. Will was in the barn looking at Marsten’s saddle. You know that fancy saddle of his with all the silver on it?