Seasons of Glory

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Glory clutched at her head, as if she could squeeze out her awful doubts. Stop it. Riley is not guilty of anything. Think about something else. Forcing herself to do just that, she spread out the packet’s contents over her quilted bedcover and eyed them. She couldn’t deny it—they struck a deep chord inside her. In some very personal way. Some way that made her feel sick at heart.

  Why couldn’t Jacey just tell me why she thought I should have them? Why just me? The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she felt with her sister, and she blurted, “Oooh, I’d give you such a smack if you were here.”

  “And who is it yer talkin’ to, child?”

  Her heartbeat leaping at the unexpected sound of Biddy’s voice, Glory pivoted on her bed to face the open door. “You startled me. Come in. I was talking to Jacey.”

  Two steps into the room at Glory’s invitation, Biddy stopped, stared at her, and then looked around as if she expected a spirit to be in the room. A hand to her blouse’s collar, she ventured, “Jacey, is it? And why would ye be fussing at yer sister?” Not giving Glory a chance to answer that, she pinched up her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Could it have something to do with the young man from Tucson who’s eating in me kitchen, even as we speak?”

  Guilt brought a smile—a sickly one, she was sure—to Glory’s face. “I was going to tell you.”

  Biddy folded her plump hands over her round, apron-covered middle. “When, pray tell? I’d not know yet if Sourdough hadn’t sent the boy inside for a late breakfast, seein’ as how yer tired guest slept through the men’s meal. He’s askin’ if ye have an answer for Jacey’s letter. Imagine me surprise upon learnin’ he’s been here since yesterday evening.”

  Glory didn’t quite know how to answer all that, so she diverted her nanny’s attention with the letters and the journal. “Well, now you know. Come here. See what you make of these.”

  Curiosity apparently getting the better of her insulted snit, Biddy waddled to the bed, her gaze riveted on the papers. “And what are they?”

  “I’m not sure, except for Jacey’s letter. One good thing—she knows about the trackers. She writes that they were hired in Tucson.” Glory hesitated long enough to take a deep breath before telling her nanny, “And she’s on their trail.”

  Biddy squawked and clasped her hands together over her heart. “That darned Jacey. She’ll not rest until she gets herself killed. And just ye wait until I get me hands on her, if she does.”

  Fighting an ill-timed fit of chuckles, Glory bit down on her bottom lip and reached for the aged letter closest to her. Thinking to distract Biddy from a day-long, pot-banging, housecleaning tirade brought on by news of Jacey’s antics, Glory held it out to her nanny. “Here. Look at this. I have no idea what it is. Well, I know it’s an old letter. But what I don’t know is why Jacey would send it to me.”

  Her face a mask of curiosity, Biddy took the offered letter and eyed it. “Well now, let’s see what Miss Jacey thinks is so important that she’d send that nice young man downstairs here at this time of year.” As she ran her gaze over the page, she perched an ample hip on Glory’s bed and then sank into a deep—somehow disquieting—quiet. After a moment, she flipped the page over to the signature, read it, and cried out, “Sweet merciful heavens.”

  And then she fainted dead away, slumping off the bed and landing with a bouncing thunk on the braided oval rug. Squawking in shocked surprise, Glory jumped up and then knelt beside her nanny. Lifting the older lady’s gray-haired head onto her lap, Glory patted her nanny’s pale cheek, and cried out, “Biddy! What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Nothing. Biddy was out cold. Glory thought frantically—she needed to get help. But who—? Then it came to her. James McGinty was downstairs eating. Carefully scooting out from under Biddy’s limp form and grabbing a lacy pillow from off her bed to place under her nanny’s head, Glory scrambled to her feet, lifted her skirt out of her way, and ran to the door. Tearing down the hallway to the head of the stairs, she leaned over the balustrade and called out, “James?! Come quickly. Biddy’s fainted. Hurry!”

  Before she could’ve counted to ten, James’s long-legged bounds had him upstairs and helping her. Glory quickly gathered up the old letters and the journal, set them aside, and then helped James heft Biddy onto the bed. Leaving him sitting with the elderly woman, Glory hurried to the water closet at the hallway’s other end. There she wet a facecloth, and in only moments was back in her bedroom and applying the soft rag to Biddy’s forehead as she roused and thrashed about.

  “What brought this on, Miss Glory, if I may ask?” James’s blue eyes were round with apparent concern.

  Glory shook her head and coo-cooed to Biddy. “There now, Biddy dear. Just be still.” She then met James’s gaze. “I don’t know. I simply asked her to look at these letters Jacey had you bring me. She took one look, called upon the heavens, and then fainted dead away. I was hoping you could shed some light on all this.”

  His eyes popped open even wider. “Me, ma’am? I don’t rightly know as I could. I cain’t read a’tall.”

  Her hands pressing against Biddy’s shoulders to keep her from falling off the narrow bed, Glory shot James a look. “Well, perhaps you can tell me what you know from Jacey and that Mexican saloon owner—”

  “You mean Señor Estrada?”

  Glory nodded. “I suppose. What do you know about all this, James?” Before he could answer, Biddy clutched at Glory’s hand, drawing her attention down to her. “Oh, thank the stars, you’re awake. What happened, Biddy?”

  Red of face, hair all but undone, Biddy shook her head. “There’s naught he can tell ye, child.” Biddy then surprised Glory with a show of strength that sat her up. She focused a hard expression on young James. “Is there, young man? Ye know nothing.”

  Completely stumped by this behavior, Glory frowned from Biddy to James, and saw him fidgeting about. He swallowed hard enough to bob his Adam’s apple. “Yes, ma’am. I don’t know nothing about them papers. I swear it. All’s I know is what I’ve heard all my life about J. C. Lawless and Kid Chapelo—”

  A loud snort from Biddy cut off his words. She swung her short, skirt-tangled legs over the side of the bed. Her hands clutched at fistfuls of bedcovers. “And ye’ll not go repeatin’ idle gossip, now will ye, lad?”

  James backed up, as if fearing an attack by the Lawless nanny. “No, ma’am. I shorely won’t. My grandpa’d skin me alive, if’n I did.”

  Biddy relaxed … just a bit. “There’s a good lad. Now, go on about yer meal. I’m fine. Just a tetch of weakness from climbing the stairs. I’ll be along directly, and we’ll talk more.”

  James was already on his way out the door. “Yes, ma’am. But you don’t need to hurry none. I’ve finished my vittles, and my horse is all saddled. I’ll just clear on out of yer house.” He turned to Glory. “I thank you for yer hospitality, ma’am. You got a reply for Miss Jacey?”

  Unable to think straight at the moment, Glory shook her head.

  “It’s probably just as well that you don’t,” James said. “Because I ain’t about to venture onto Calderon land to deliver it. Well then, I’m headin’ out.”

  “But James,” Glory protested, extending a hand to him. “Wait. I want to talk with—”

  But James had already rounded the door’s casing and disappeared from sight. Out in the hallway, his rapid footfalls, muffled only slightly by the woven runner carpeting the hardwood floor, told their own story—James McGinty was all but running away from Biddy’s wrath.

  Glory swung her disbelieving gaze back to her nanny. “Margaret Biddy Jensen, you scared the life out of that young man. What’s gotten into you?”

  Red-faced and perspiring, Biddy fluffed and pulled at her heavy skirt, and tucked her wispy hair back into its bun. “Nothing.”

  Downstairs, the front door slammed. Glory put her hands to her waist and gave Biddy an accusing look. “Nothing? That’s all you have to say? Why, he fled from here. I wanted to ask him about those t
rackers. Jacey mentions them in her letter, as did Hannah.”

  A wide-eyed look of relief claimed Biddy’s features. “Oh, the trackers. Is that all?”

  “Is—?” Glory narrowed her eyes at her nanny. “Is that all? Biddy, those men are tracking me and my sisters. They could kill us. And all you can say is ‘Oh, the trackers’? I wanted to describe Brown and Justice to James. He might have recognized them both. Or at least one of them.”

  Biddy blinked a few times. “And if he did, child? What then?”

  Glory cast about for an answer. “Why, I suppose we could … kill them. Or something.”

  Biddy sat up straighter, looking more and more sure of herself. “Kill them, is it? And who’re ye appointing to do that? Not yerself?”

  It was Glory’s turn to straighten up. “If I have to. Papa always said a good leader’s willing to do the same as he’s asking his men to do.”

  A whoop of disbelief shot out of Biddy. “And will ye look at her—she’s a leader of men now. You listen to me, Glory Bea Lawless. Those two drifters are gone from here. And good riddance. I’m glad. Riley took them with him when he left. ’Tis not our concern now—”

  Glory grabbed Biddy’s arm. “What did you say?”

  Biddy pulled back, studying Glory’s face. “About what?”

  Glory tightened her grip. “Don’t play coy with me. You said Riley took those men with him, didn’t you?”

  Her nanny’s expression crumpled into eyelash-batting and looking everywhere but at her charge. “Why, I don’t know that for sure. They were behind Riley as they rode off in the same direction. But they could’ve gone their separate ways at any point.”

  Glory let go of Biddy and headed for the doorway. “They didn’t. And you know it.”

  As Glory turned into the hallway, Biddy called out, “Where are you going?”

  “To the Thorne place. And don’t you try to stop me.”

  “The Thorne place?” came Biddy’s screech. Heavy, hurrying footsteps told of her pursuit. Indeed, no more than a few steps down the hall, Glory’s arm was grabbed and she was spun around. “Ye cannot go there, child. ’Tis one thing for Riley and his mother to come here, where they’re welcomed. But another matter entirely for a Lawless to set foot on Thorne property. No tellin’ what might happen.”

  “Biddy, let go of me,” Glory warned. “I’m going, and I’ll be fine. No Thorne’s ever hurt any Lawless before.”

  Biddy took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them again. “Aye, ’tis true enough, they haven’t. But the Lawlesses have injured the Thornes. Think of the old man’s crippled leg. And think on this—yer father’s not here to protect ye and to make them think twice. Besides, there’s talk of—”

  “The land feud. I know. I’ll be careful—I swear it. I just want to talk to Riley. I have no intention of losing my temper and shooting anyone.”

  * * *

  More than three hours later, and nearing the dividing line between Lawless and Thorne properties, Glory reined in her chestnut mare, stared at the unbelievable words scrawled on the crude wooden sign stuck into Lawless dirt, and thought back to her parting words to Biddy. I have no intention of losing my temper and shooting anyone.

  The unusually warm and windless day seemed to pale as she sat there staring, absorbing. Someone—no doubt a Thorne—had proclaimed this land to be Thorne property. As the shock of discovery melted away, an aching sickness of the heart had Glory’s hands shaking. Surely, the merest gust of wind could blow her off Daisy. As if the mare read her mistress’s thoughts, she stomped a foot, signaling her impatience. Glory tightened her grip on the reins, glared at the contentious property marker, and dismounted.

  Thorne land? We’ll just see about that. She stalked over to the sign and two-handedly gripped the wooden stake, much as she would someone’s throat. Then, with grunting effort and much pushing and pulling, she finally exerted enough temper and strength to yank the hated sign up out of the hard ground and heave it as far as she could.

  She watched the marker hit the ground and slide—words down—into a dry gully. A smile of grim satisfaction narrowed her eyes. With that—and once her breathing returned to normal—she mounted Daisy and rode hard for the Thorne place.

  Only when their homestead loomed into view did she slow her mare. Then, steeling her courage with a deep breath and a check of her sheepskin-coat pocket for her pistol, Glory guided Daisy into enemy territory. Past the weathered corral, the red barn, the wagon yard. Right to the front door, where she reined in. Immediately, the door opened. Glory’s grip on the reins tightened as she waited to see who was coming out to greet her.

  Mr. Thorne and his four younger sons stepped outside and, in watchful silence, ranged themselves across the front porch. Zeke, John, Caleb, and Henry. As Glory looked them over, she experienced the strangest feeling, as if she were seeing Riley at different stages of his growing-up years. When she settled her gaze on Henry, she noted that he bore the bruises and swellings of a recent fight. Then she nodded to Ben Thorne. “Morning, Mr. Thorne. I’m looking for Riley.”

  “He ain’t here.” With that, Ben stepped to the edge of the porch and spat in the dirt, right in front of Daisy.

  Stiffening with shocked offense, Glory forced herself to look directly into the older man’s eyes, so much like Riley’s that it hurt. “I see. Well then, can I speak with Mrs. Thorne? I’ve come a long way—”

  “I know exactly how far you’ve come from your place to mine, young’un. Now just turn that horse of yours around and get off my land. Ain’t no one hereabouts that wants to speak with you.”

  Despite her roiling guts and sweating palms, Glory kept on. “Perhaps I could speak with Mrs. Thorne?”

  “Mrs. Thorne ain’t at home. She’s over to the Sutfields. Will be all day.”

  After that, except for a shifting of weight or the occasional sniff from one of the sons or their father, no one said anything. Glory exhaled a breath laden with defeat and no small amount of fright. “All right. Well, I’ll just be going then. Tell them I came by, please.”

  The men said nothing, gave no sign that they’d relay her message. Quirking her mouth, Glory edged Daisy into turning around. But her next thought had her reining the mare. Once again, she faced the tall, white-haired man that was Ben Thorne. “I’ll thank you not to put up signs on my property. I took down the one I found on the way here. When I get home, I’ll be sending my men out to ride the line and look for more. Let’s hope they don’t find any.”

  Her words had the Thornes standing tall, looking ready to reach for their guns. Wondering if what gripped her belly was sadness for this turn of events or smugness for having stirred a reaction from them, Glory kneed Daisy, turning the mare back the way they’d just come. Showing the Thorne men her back, she nudged her horse into a canter that quickly gained them the safety of the open prairie. Only then did she give in to a hateful thought. Darned Thornes. Riley and his mother are the only ones worth a—

  Two men, not too far away and laboring over a fence post two hilltops away, caught Glory’s attention. Their hobbled horses grazed nearby. Glory’s breath hung in her throat. She wrenched back on the reins, bringing Daisy to a dust-raising halt. The men straightened up, stared right at her. Saw her. Exchanged a look with each other.

  Glory knew in her heart she should put her heels to Daisy and send her flying over the ground for the safety of the Lawless holdings. But she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at Carter Brown and Abel Justice, working on Thorne land. Finally, she wrenched around in her saddle and stared back in the direction she’d just come. It was true, then, all the talk she’d heard from Biddy and Smiley. The Thornes were somehow behind the trouble at home.

  That thought, when no other one could, galvanized Glory. She spared the two men another look, saw they hadn’t moved any, but still felt a need for speed and distance. Digging her boot heels into Daisy’s tired sides, she urged the little mare into a gallop. Glory kept the mare’s hooves flying ov
er the hard, uneven ground until she outran her panic. Only then, and knowing she had to spare the animal or end up on foot when the mare’s heart gave out, did Glory slow her to a canter and then a walk. Belatedly, she realized she’d reined Daisy at the exact spot where earlier she’d uprooted that property marker.

  In a heartsick cold sweat that sickened her stomach, Glory slid off Daisy and collapsed onto the hard ground. Sitting in the billowing heap of her skirt, she cried. Just sat there, holding Daisy’s reins, hearing the mare blow, feeling the horse’s hot breath in her hair, and cried. Great, wrenching sobs with fat, hot tears. Not caring about passing time. Or the sun’s path in the clear sky. Not caring about anything but the agonizing hurt in her heart.

  “Glory?”

  With a startled gasp, she twisted around, saw who was standing there, and took another moment to absorb that it was really him. She swiped at her eyes and rubbed her sleeve under her runny nose. “Leave me alone, Riley Thorne.”

  But he didn’t. “I just came from home. My father said you’d been there, that you asked for me.”

  “I did.”

  “What’d you want?”

  Glory sniffled, shook her head, watched him threading his horse’s reins through his gloved fingers. Looking at him was painful, so she looked down at her skirt. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  She heard Riley huff his breath out, heard him mutter, “Dammit.” Then to her he said, “It matters to me.”

  Glory looked up at him, challenging him. “Does it?” But her heart thumped with his flesh-and-blood nearness, with his air of belonging to this land, to owning this very patch he stood upon … and in a way that she, as a woman, would never be able to claim. “I was just told to get off Thorne land.”

  He firmed his lips together and then said, “I know.”

  Glory raised her chin. “Then you’ll also know I mean it when I tell you to get off Lawless land. You’re standing on it now—no matter what your … damned sign said. So if you’re out here looking for it, I threw it in that ditch.”