White Deception

by Susan Edwards

  A hand on her arm made her jump. “I didn’t mean it like that, sister,” Matt said.

  Mattie swallowed. “I know you didn’t.” And she did. Matthew and Renny went out of their way to include her in as many of the daily tasks as possible—even when it took longer than if they just did the work themselves.

  Anger and despair rose in her. She hated not being able to carry her own weight. It would take Matthew and Renny most of the day to deal with the dead animals. Instead of insisting on helping when she knew perfectly well that there wasn’t anything she could do to get the job done faster, she held her head high. There was one thing she could do, and despite the protests that were sure to come, she was determined to do it.

  The swirling mist told her Matthew had turned to leave. “Matt,” she called. “When we get to town this afternoon, we need to speak with Sheriff Tyler.” The situation here was out of control. They needed help.

  Steps heavy with fury approached. A wall of cold seemed to go right through Mattie. “No! We handle our own affairs.” Renny’s voice brooked no argument.

  “Renny—”

  “You heard me. I won’t have him meddling in our affairs.”

  Mattie narrowed her eyes, but before she could tell Renny that she was speaking to the sheriff regardless, Matthew broke in.

  “I agree with Mattie.” He paused. “Tell her everything, Renny.”

  Whipping her head from side to side as though she could see her brother and sister, Mattie felt another frisson of fear snake down her spine. “Tell me what? What did you not tell me already, Matthew?” Her voice turned hard. The one thing she could not tolerate was being coddled, being protected from the truth.

  Caitie lifted her head. “We found candy in the barn.” She hiccupped several times. “No one will let me have any.” She laid her head back down on Mattie’s shoulder.

  “Renny?”

  “Can’t tell if it’s poisoned,” Renny said, her voice low. “But—”

  Renny didn’t need to say more. If Caitie, who had a sweet tooth, had found the candy, or Kealan—

  Her mouth went dry. Whoever had left the sweets was letting them know they could have just as easily poisoned the youngsters. Mattie was frightened. And helpless.

  Furious, more determined than ever to do what it took to protect her family, she tightened her hold on Caitie. “Renny, we need Tyler.”

  She felt her sister’s hand on her arm. “We take care of our own,” Renny reminded. “Caitie needs you. Take care of her while we take care of…the rest.”

  “Renny, be reasonable!” Mattie said. But her sister didn’t respond. Mattie felt her whip around, felt the tip of her braid brush against her shoulder.

  “There’s work to be done!” Renny shouted at Kealan and Daire as she stomped off.

  Mattie shook her head. From the side, Matthew put his arms around her and Caitie.

  “She is a stubborn fool at times,” he said. “When is she going to forgive him for just doing his job?”

  “Never,” Mattie said heavily, leaning against her brother for a moment “He tried to take Kealan, Caitie and Daire from us. She’ll never forgive him for that.”

  “Hell, Mattie. Can’t blame him or half the town for looking out for their welfare. Our parents had just been killed.”

  Mattie didn’t reply. The older O’Brien children had been left with the three youngsters to take care of, but they’d managed. Life had been a struggle in those first months after losing their parents, and many in Pheasant Gully had feared that they wouldn’t make it through the winter on their own.

  Sheriff Tyler had proposed taking the younger three and putting them with other families for the winter. Renny had fought him tooth and nail. Finally, Patrick O’Leary, the O’Briens’ only neighbor and later Mattie’s father-in-law, had stepped in and personally vowed to make sure they were all taken care of.

  And he had. New to Pheasant Gully, he’d just gotten his own home built. He didn’t have to step in and help a bunch of strangers, especially when he had his own family to look after, but he had. And his children had become friends with the O’Brien children. Mattie had even fallen for Collin.

  She drew in a deep breath. Yes, they owed Paddy O’Leary so much. He’d been a blessing in those early days of grief.

  Matt’s voice pulled her back to the crisis at hand. “We’ll work this out later.”

  “Yes, we will.” Now Mattie was determined to make Renny see sense. She didn’t want to go behind her sister’s back. After the fire, it had been Renny who’d taken charge, seen to their needs. Mattie had been laid up for months with burns and blinding headaches that sometimes kept her in bed for weeks. Renny had been the one who held them together as a family.

  She’d also kept Mattie from wallowing in pity. She still did. Mattie figured Renny, who was a year older, had earned her place as head of their family. But this time she was wrong. Stubbornly wrong, and Mattie was going to do everything in her power to see the right thing get done. Even if it meant incurring Renny’s wrath.

  Left alone in the misty morning she could not see, Mattie turned back to the house, carrying Caitie. As she reached the back porch, she sank onto the bottom step, rocking Caitie to and fro. Her young sister slumped against her breast, fatigue overtaking her.

  Mattie wished she could so easily escape from the horrible truth.

  Without her eyesight, how could she spot an enemy trespassing on their land? And if the enemy came onto their land, what could she do? A gun or rifle in her hands might just as easily kill one of her siblings.

  Her stomach churned with worry and fear. She didn’t know what was going on; she knew only that they were in danger. But from who? And why? She knew one thing: the dreams of fire and the return of her visions were tied to it.

  Somehow, the past and present were merging. But that knowledge did her little good. In the past, she’d relied on her eyesight to make connections between her visions and the world. That was no longer a possibility.

  Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek on her sister’s soft curls. All she could do now was talk to the sheriff. She refused to allow Renny’s pride to get in the way of their safety.

  Chapter Two

  “Matilda. We need to talk.”

  The sound of her father-in-law’s deep voice drowned out the sounds of celebration and made Mattie groan beneath her breath. Every time she was left alone, Patrick O’Leary—known by his family and friends as Paddy—felt compelled to press his case.

  Mattie moved her empty plate to a corner of the quilt she was sitting on. Tucking her legs to one side, she smoothed her apron over her skirt. “Paddy, I appreciate your kindness—”

  His voice loomed over her. “Kindness, bah! We’re talking family, child. You’re my daughter.”

  Mattie heard his knees creak as he hunkered down in front of her. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Sick with worry, that’s what I am. Before, with just them chickens and horses gettin’ loose, we all figured you were just being plagued by mean pranks. But what happened this morning is serious. It’s a warning, child.”

  Sighing, Mattie reached out a hand that trembled slightly. Immediately it was engulfed in two work-roughened ones.

  “Papa O’Leary, having all of us move in with you and your family just won’t work.” She gentled her voice, knowing he was genuinely worried about her and her siblings. And with every right.

  The nagging ache behind her eyes made her wish for t
he day to be over, for the arguing to be done. Instead of this joyous celebration, fear and worry were coloring her day. She’d had just about all she could handle for the day. “Your home—”

  “Spare the excuses, Matilda. My house is big enough.”

  Mattie resisted the urge to grimace. The house was not big enough for her and Mrs. O’Leary. Patrick loved and accepted her as his own flesh; his wife did not. Katherine O’Leary had no use or liking for “’breeds.” She was more concerned with her social standing, and having a husband who not only insisted on moving his family west but also on homesteading land adjoining a family of “’breeds” had only made her colder.

  For the sake of Paddy and her own siblings, Mattie tried to tolerate her. But how to tell her father-in-law that moving in would just not work?

  “Think I don’t know the real reason you refuse to move in with us?” Patrick asked, his voice lowered. It had turned deep and rough.

  Guilt slid through Mattie. “It wouldn’t work. You know it wouldn’t.” She spoke softly. Regretfully.

  Patrick O’Leary gave a frustrated sigh. “Then move into town…till we catch the bastard. If money’s the problem, I can—”

  “No,” she interrupted. Mattie wished she could have kept their problems from her father-in-law, but Patrick had seen the smoke from the burning carcasses from his homestead and ridden over to see what was going on. And from that moment, he hadn’t given her a minute of peace.

  Nor had the sheriff, or her own sister who was fuming because Sheriff Tyler was being as stubborn as Patrick. Unlike Patrick, Tyler was back to pressuring them into selling and moving into town—something he’d tried to get them to do after the death of their parents, and again after the fire.

  Here she and Renny were in complete agreement. They would not give up what their father had wanted for his children: land and independence. “No. We won’t sell and move into town,” she said, knowing Paddy was likely to take up where the sheriff had left off.

  “We won’t leave,” she said again, more fiercely. Her father had fallen in love with the land during his military travels, and after years of living a city life, he’d brought his family here to live among the wide, rolling expanse of open prairie, streams and woods. Leaving was not an option. And not just because the land was paid for.

  Out here, on the western edge, they were now much closer to Mattie’s Sioux relatives. The location her father had chosen was perfect: close enough to a growing town to get basic supplies, and not too far from the larger river city of Yankton, the capital of the Dakota Territory. Bordered on the south by the Missouri River, steamboat trade flourished and made getting supplies not sold in Pheasant Gully easier.

  In front of her, Patrick stood. “Whoever poisoned your cows is not playin’ around, Matilda. If you won’t stay with us, at least think about staying here in town with the Jensen sisters. Just for a while.”

  “And who would take care of the land, plant the corn and tend the livestock?”

  “You know full well that your animals—what’s left of them—can graze my land. Give it thought. Might be one of the younguns next time.”

  Mattie felt again a tremor of panic and fear. It would be so easy for someone to poison Caitie or Kealan. Even Daire had a sweet tooth. But before she could say anything further, a soft, sweet voice interrupted.

  “Pa, Ma’s looking for you.”

  Mattie could have hugged Brenna, Patrick’s youngest child.

  “We’ll speak more on this, Matilda.”

  Listening to Patrick stalk off, Mattie shoved her bonnet off her head. She hated wearing them, preferring to have her hair unbound and flowing freely. “Brenna, where is Renny?”

  “I don’t know, Mattie. Would you like me to find her for you?”

  “No, not if you don’t see her. Don’t disturb her.”

  “Want me to sit with you? I’ll tell you what’s going on.” The girl’s voice dropped. “Saw Jonathon kissing Mary. Behind the church, even.”

  Mattie grinned. “Tell me all.” She enjoyed Brenna, who seemed much too serious for her age most of the time.

  Brenna sat and chatted happily for a while, then she got up to get something to drink. Left alone, Mattie lifted her head to the weak warmth of the setting sun. Clearing her mind, she listened and imagined her surroundings.

  Behind her, the creek burbled and babbled. Children scrambled over the banks and splashed in the shallow water nearby. Women chatted and laughed. Mattie saw in her mind the small groups, the pristine white aprons worn over the “Sunday go-to-meetin’” dresses. She picked out Mrs. Henley’s high-pitched voice.

  Earlier Renny had described the woman’s attire, said she looked like a walking tipi in her full skirts, and she’d said the woman’s husband, Mr. Henley, was a man with the poles up his backside. The nose-in-the-air couple owned the feed store, and both thought themselves above most citizens of Pheasant Gully.

  Mattie grinned. Surprisingly, the pair’s two daughters and three sons were a joy to be around; they hadn’t yet adopted the haughty air of their parents. For a while, Mattie amused herself by “watching” others through her ears. It still amazed her just how much she noticed that others did not. Like the fact that Mr. Potts at the post office was having an affair with Miss Marley, the spinster schoolmarm.

  She grinned. Oh yes, she knew. It was in their voices, the hidden meanings in their conversations. Sometimes she thought she saw more blind than she had with her sight.

  * * *

  A soft spring breeze filled the air with the warm, yeasty scent of fresh bread and spicy fried chicken. Hungry, Reed followed the demands of his stomach.

  Buildings on either side of Pheasant Gully’s main road shadowed the wagon-wheel-scarred street, and his boots crunched hardened clods into smaller pebbles that would soon be ground into the hard, packed road. A horse and rider coming toward him veered to the side when Reed made no move to get out of the way. Each step he took was accompanied by the comforting slap of his holsters against his thighs.

  The sight of those twin revolvers caused most men to steer out of his path. Or maybe it was the sight of guns along with his dark, Indian looks. It didn’t matter that he was half white; most folks saw only a ’breed.

  Tall, dark, dangerous—it was an image that had served him well during the last year.

  Still, the burn of bitterness churned deep inside him. He was as white as any of them, save the color of his skin; city-bred and street smart, yet he was treated like something wild and unpleasant.

  Passing the last building at the end of town, he felt a shaft of late-afternoon sun spear him full in the face. He squinted against the sudden brightness and tipped the rim of his hat down to shield his eyes. Then, with hands resting casually on hips, Reed studied the congregated townsfolk spread before him like a flock of sheep. How fitting that the bucolic celebration was taking place in front of the church.

  Out of habit he scanned his surroundings with an air of bored detachment, but that was belied by his hard, cold eyes, which missed nothing—including the gaiety and welcoming beauty that even he, a man disillusioned and bitter with life, could appreciate. After all, he had no grudge against the earth or its maker. Just a goodly number of its inhabitants.

  Resentment crept through Reed. For the last year he’d spent more time traveling through towns than staying in them. Mostly because he was a stranger, and a ’breed, and because most people couldn’t see that he was just a man like them, except perhaps wit
h a driving sense of duty.

  The experiences of the last year had made him tired of having to feel like he needed to beg the right to be among so-called civilized men. Reed clenched his jaw tight as two women hastily stepped back inside a shop. The look on their faces clearly said they were afraid of him—like he was going to capture them, take them to his village and have his way with them.

  He grunted in disgust. Small towns and those who inhabited them made him nervous and uncomfortable. They also pissed him off, what with their townsfolk’s superior attitudes and stupid prejudices. Usually he camped just outside of town, entering only to take care of business. But this time, he’d rebelled.

  Especially this time.

  This town.

  His searching gaze spotted a lone burr oak near the riverbank a short distance from the main gathering spot. Reed strode toward it. Reaching the tree, he slid into shadows the hue of fermenting grapes, and leaned against the rough bark.

  Hunger tempted him to leave the shadows for the light, laughter and tables of food spread out before him; wariness and experience kept him from giving in. Still, he eyed the mounds of roasted pork and beef, pots simmering with beans and soups and stews. Bowls, plates and platters blurred as his gaze feasted.

  Damn, he could use a hot meal. Anything was better than the hardtack and even harder, dry-as-dust biscuits that he’d lived off for the last couple of weeks. Using one finger, he tipped the brim of his hat slightly up. The need to arrive in Pheasant Gully well before his quarry had meant long days in the saddle.

  With each deep breath he drew, his stomach gave a sharp twang, urging him to walk over and help himself. The two women who ran the boardinghouse where he’d taken a room had told him the entire town had been invited to celebrate this betrothal; why didn’t he just do it?

  But instead of giving in to hunger, Reed twisted his lips into a sardonic smile. The two elderly sisters had to be blind to have issued the invite to him, for his kind was never invited or welcome at such social functions.