Biddy managed a smile for the man. His hangdog expression told her plainly enough that he hoped she would turn down his offer. “Yer most kind to offer, but no. I’ve been handling the girls since they was born. I’ll take care of this, too.” Her next thought sent her gaze to her lap, where she picked at a loose thread in her skirt and softly said, “Thank ye for listenin’, though. I didn’t know where else to turn. With Old Pete gone, yer the only one left on the place, besides meself, who knows the truth of the matter.”
Smiley cleared his throat. Biddy looked up to see him grinning. “I’m right pleased that you confided in me. You know I love that child like she’s my own. Feel the same way about the other two and … everyone else in the main house. Always have.”
Before Biddy could say anything to that, the door from the bunkhouse opened into the office and in stepped Heck Thompson. He stopped when he saw Biddy, but she and Smiley both waved him in. Biddy indicated for the man to proceed with his business with the foreman.
While they spoke of some ranching concern, Biddy quit listening and pulled a hanky from her skirt pocket. It was just as well that Heck had interrupted because she was blinking back sudden tears, tears brought on by the layers of meaning contained in Smiley’s words. She lived in the main house. So Smiley cared for her, too. And here they’d never before spoken of such things together, and yet were the closest things to grandparents the Lawless girls had. They’d wasted a lot of years, Biddy reflected.
She watched Smiley speaking with Heck, allowed her warm feelings for the foreman to surface. They had so much in common. Their loyalty and years of service to the elder Lawlesses, not to mention their love for them. The land, this ranch. Their home. And the three girls. They certainly had them in common. But Glory, no more than a stray little kitten when they’d first seen her, was special to them both, Biddy knew.
A little lost waif when J. C. brought her home, she’d been near to death and so tiny. Months of nursing her back to health, of sitting up holding her all night to make sure she breathed, of rocking her and crooning to her, of soothing the child’s mewling little cries had forged a special bond. Only now did Biddy recall Smiley pacing back and forth outside, peering up at the house, asking through J. C. how the little one was.
Again Biddy could see herself and Catherine taking turns with the child—she at night, Catherine during the day. It had taken two mothers to replace her real one and to save the tiny baby that she’d been. Then, when she was older, Smiley had sent to the house—again through J. C.—wooden toys he’d whittled. For the baby, he said. It weren’t no big deal. Just been bored, found himself whittling. That was all.
Biddy smiled. But it faded. And now, here the child was—grown up, healthy, but threatened again. And in some vague way that Biddy couldn’t put a finger on, couldn’t name … couldn’t fight. That terrified her, and she needed help.
She dabbed at her eyes and stuffed her hanky back in her pocket. She focused on Smiley’s strong yet kindly face as he nodded at Heck in dismissal. She exchanged a look with him, but waited with him in silence until Heck closed the door after himself. As soon as they were alone again, Smiley all but leaned over the desk toward her. “You all right, Biddy? Are you crying?”
Biddy sat back heavily against the slatted chair’s support. He’d called her Biddy. Not Miss Biddy. Not Miss Jensen. But plain Biddy. She stored that away for later reflection. Right now she needed to concern herself with Glory. “I’m not cryin’—me at me age. But I … well, I’m having second thoughts”—she tested his name on her lips—“Smiley.”
The foreman’s eyes lit up. Biddy felt herself color. She rushed on. “I’m not so sure I can just let Glory—on her own—realize that her whole life has been a lie. Why, the realization could come to her in the middle of the night. Or out at the graves. And then what, with no one about to steady her? When she finds out she has no Lawless blood—and her with that stubborn pride? Why, she’ll hate us all.”
The pleased light in Smiley’s dark eyes faded. “Maybe for a while, but not after she has time to think it through. Believe me, that stubborn pride of hers will stand her in good stead. She’ll realize she’s been raised no different from Hannah and Jacey, that’s she’s as much a Lawless in fact as they are in blood.”
Unconvinced, Biddy pursed her lips. “I wish I had the same certainty in me heart as ye have, Smiley.” His name was coming more readily to her lips. “But ye haven’t seen her the past two days since she went to the Thorne place. She just stays in her room, mourning and calling for her mother. And she’s havin’ them nightmares again about the murders. Why, ’tis enough to put me in me grave. And all this without her knowing she has two mothers to mourn. What will she be like then?”
Smiley slammed a fist down on the desktop, making Biddy jump. “Those damned Thornes—pardon my language. But I’ve a mind to take a bullwhip to every last one of them.” He then cast a cautious, testing look Biddy’s way. “Well, except for Mrs. Thorne, that is. She’s a good woman.”
Biddy smiled. “Well now, ’tis glad I am to hear ye say that. But ye should know, I’m of a mind to send for Riley. Again.”
Smiley narrowed his eyes at her. “You sure about that? It’s been right peaceful-like without him here.”
“Hmmph. Mayhaps out here. But not inside there, I can tell ye.” She pointed in the direction of the main house.
Smiley’s lips worked, showing his unsettled state as he concentrated on Biddy’s face. She smiled at him. He threw his hands up. “All right. You know what’s best for the young’un. Send for Riley Thorne, if you’ve a mind to. But remember, since Ben and Louise also know the truth, Riley might know by now. While I don’t believe he or his mother would use that knowledge against her, who’s to say what Ben might do? He wants this land awful bad. And if he gets it, we all lose.”
Smiley’s words struck close to Biddy’s heart. “’Tis my worst fear. We’d lose the only home we’ve ever known.” Biddy pursed her lips together and shook her head as she came to her feet. “I had no idea how much I had to worry about before I came out here. But now I see—’tis bigger than all of us. And who’d have thought it would all come down to Glory’s slender shoulders to keep it all together?”
On his side of the desk, Smiley stood, too. “What are you going to do?”
Biddy exhaled heavily, knotted her fingers at her waist. “I’m going to tell her. ’Tis the right thing to do. But first, tomorrow morning, I’m going to the Thorne place. I want to hear from Louise what happened to Glory there. And maybe I can talk her into coming back with me. I’d like her here, as Catherine’s friend, to help me explain things to Glory.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Smiley spoke barely above a whisper.
Despite her warm feelings for the man, Biddy pulled herself up stiffly. “It may not be. But it’s no less wise than you men fightin’ over a piece of dirt. The Good Lord knows that all these years ’twas only Catherine’s and Louise’s friendship that kept J. C. and Ben from killing each other.”
Having said that, she quieted, waiting for Smiley to dispute her words or to argue with her. But he remained silent. Biddy ducked her chin, finally admitting her own doubts. “I just hope the children—and the love I know they have for each other—are strong enough to withstand what’s coming. Because the truth can kill us all. And not only Glory.”
* * *
Mounted on Pride, Riley surveyed the stretch of flat land laid out before him, broken only by the washboard hills and waving tallgrass. It’d been three cold, November days now since he and Glory had found each other out here and made love. He hadn’t been able yet to sort out his feelings regarding that because here he was sorting out Lawless cattle from Thorne cattle. And having to fight his father and brothers every step of the way.
Stretching in the saddle, feeling Pride’s stamp of impatience, Riley turned at the sound of approaching hooves. With narrowed eyes, he watched Henry rein his lathered horse next to him. In wary silence he waited
for his brother to speak.
Henry notched his felt hat up and spat between the two horses. Then he swiped a hand over his dust-and sweat-grimed face and said, “Caleb and Zeke found about ten more head over in that next dry gully. Lawless cattle. I’ll swear and be damned, Riley, I ain’t never worked so hard to return cattle to someone I hate. If she wants her steers, let her come get ’em.”
Riley inhaled and exhaled as if breathing required conscious effort. He’d been listening to Henry gripe since they’d started rounding up the herd yesterday. Too tired to bellyache with him again over the same issue, he ignored all but his brother’s statement of fact. “Ten more head? Damn. How does this keep happening?”
“Well, it ain’t like there’s any fences. Cattle don’t know the difference from one piece of dirt to the next.”
Riley nodded. “True enough. Only, before the past couple weeks, it seemed like they did. Does it appear to you that someone is driving them over our way, just to start trouble?”
Henry stopped in the act of reaching for his canteen, looped as it was around his saddle’s pommel. “Like who?”
A shrug and a sharp-eyed stare preceded Riley’s answer. “I don’t rightly know.”
Henry took his meaning, judging by the way he sat up straight and narrowed his eyes right back at Riley. “I might be a lot of things, and I might not cotton to the Lawlesses, but I ain’t a cattle rustler, Riley.”
“I never said you were. But I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Henry eyed Riley a moment before uncapping his canteen and bringing it to his lips to take a long pull. Watching him, Riley experienced a sudden flash of memory, of Henry as a scrawny boy, always making things harder for himself than they had to be. A grin tugged at Riley’s lips. Despite his constant desire to pound some sense into his brother, he admitted to the rush of love in his heart. Danged kid.
As Henry recapped his canteen, Riley continued watching him. Next month, his brother would marry the girl he loved. At least this one thing was easy for him. Fall in love, get married, and everyone was happy about it. Then Riley thought of Glory, of his love for her. And how, right now, it looked like it could never be. Frustration gusted Riley’s breath out of him. No sense dwelling on it. He turned to Henry. “If you’re through sitting a spell while the rest of us work, show me where those ten head are.”
“Me sitting a spell? You’re the one up here overlooking our hard work, like you’re some kind of king or something. What the hell have you been doing all morning?” Despite his challenge, Henry turned his horse as he spoke and led Riley, grinning behind his back, in the direction he’d just come.
For the next few hours, Riley helped his father and brothers sort Thorne cattle from Lawless cattle. It had taken him two days of arguing with them to get them out here and working. They all felt pretty much like Henry did about this venture. But he’d finally made them see that their looking like cattle rustlers, which by all the evidence was exactly what someone wanted them to appear to be, didn’t help their cause—that of regaining their pasture lands. A range war was one thing in the eyes of their neighboring cattlemen. Cattle rustling was another.
Still, even though the work they did was right and good, Riley expected at any moment for Smiley Rankin and a string of Lawless hands to come thundering over the hills, guns blazing. Because he knew from afar it’d be hard to tell “sorting out” from “mixing in.” But when lunchtime came and that hadn’t happened, Riley felt heartened some. Perhaps they could herd the cattle back to Lawless land without anyone being the wiser.
Reining in Pride a distance away from the chuckwagon, and on the side away from his congregated family and their few hired hands, he dismounted and hobbled the gray gelding, leaving the big horse enough length to graze and get to the water-filled rill for a drink. Thinking only of his own lunch, and how he was the last one in for the meal, Riley approached the wagon and was only two steps from rounding into view of the men, when he heard Abel Justice’s voice rise above the sound of spoons scraping against tin plates.
What the man was saying abruptly ended the other quiet or teasing conversations going on at the same time. His words had the same effect on Riley. He stopped where he was, listened, and felt sure his heart would thump right out of his chest.
“Well, Mr. Thorne,” Justice was saying, “I ain’t one to carry tales, but I heard-tell that Miss Glory ain’t no Lawless a-tall. I been told her real folks was killed by that Mexican desperado what ran with the Lawless Gang. And he left her—no more’n a tiny baby—for dead. But J. C. Lawless brought her home to raise as his own. A good, Christian thing to do, is all I’m saying.”
“What the hell—?” That was seventeen-year-old John. “Miss Glory ain’t even a Lawless?”
In less than a second, Zeke followed up his older brother’s bold cussing with, “The hell you say!”
“That’s enough. You two boys watch your mouths.” And that was Ben Thorne’s deep, authoritative voice. For the next few seconds only an occasional neigh from a horse or the lowing of the cattle broke the silence. Then Ben spoke again. “Where’d you hear that, Justice?”
Abel answered, “Here and there. Is it true?”
Keeping his presence a secret, Riley waited what he felt was a lifetime for his father’s answer. He could only imagine the rapt looks on his brothers’ faces. And the thoughts running through their heads. “I couldn’t say if it was or not.”
Riley exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His father knew Glory’s real story … and yet, he was keeping it to himself. Or at least he wasn’t verifying it. And probably for no other reason than because Abel Justice was a stranger, not yet to be trusted. Still, noble or not, Riley was glad for his father’s holding back the truth. He listened in when Abel Justice went on.
“Well, don’t git me wrong, sir, I ain’t meaning the lady no harm. She’s a right sweet little thing, she is, and God-fearing, just like myself. Got a lot on her shoulders, too. I just think it’s a shame, is all—her being a little orphan twice over. And all alone now on that big old ranch. It don’t seem right.”
After a moment of quiet, punctuated by a couple of metallic scrapes that told of the men continuing their meal, came Ben Thorne’s soft reply. “No. It doesn’t.”
Riley became aware of the sweat pooling under his arms, despite the day’s sharp coldness. This was the last thing he needed—Abel Justice firing up his father’s vengeful juices. His first thought was to interrupt, but then he stilled himself, thinking he’d be better off right now to listen. Because if the drifter was telling the truth, that he’d heard Glory’s story “here and there,” then Riley needed to know everything the man knew. And then he needed to get to Glory before she heard it from someone else—when they came to take her land.
Thus riveted in place, he stayed where he was and heard Justice say, “Well, I just find myself wonderin’ how—what with too-few men, and no real or legal claim to the land—”
“There’s no law in no-man’s-land to say what’s legal and what ain’t. A man holds onto what he can by might alone. Ain’t that right, Pa?” That was nineteen-year-old Caleb, the Thorne who said what the others only dared think.
Riley rolled his eyes. Shut up, Caleb.
“That’s right,” Ben answered his son.
Justice added, “I reckon yer right, boy. By might—and by what others will allow or tolerate … the way I see it.”
Dammit. Judging by the quiet on the other side of the wagon, Riley knew that Justice had just fed their thoughts of a range war. Thoughts that he’d barely been able to squelch lately. Riley found himself again wondering how Abel Justice knew the truth about Glory. Had the drifter overheard the conversation between himself and his mother when she told him? He thought back to that day and then shook his head. No, Justice and Carter had ridden out with Henry before that talk.
Eliminating that, Riley reflected on who else knew, but immediately discounted Biddy telling him. Smiley Rankin? He’d wo
rked for J. C. Lawless since there’d been a Lawless ranch. He had to know. But two folks more fiercely loyal to the Lawlesses, you couldn’t find. And they’d kept the family secret for nearly twenty years. Neither one of them would just up and tell a stranger.
So, with J. C. and Catherine—a terrible nagging in his gut accompanied the horrible conclusion Riley’s mind forced on his consciousness—and Old Pete dead, no one else outside the family knew. Except for himself and his parents. And now his brothers and the other hands, thanks to Justice. Were the people involved being systematically killed off? It appeared that way. Riley’s eyes narrowed. Who was doing this? And why?
Just then, a new voice broke into the discussion on the other side of the wagon. It belonged to Carter Brown. “Look here, Mr. Thorne, it appears to me you got five big old sons, which gives you a lot of blood-family and loyal firepower. And Miss Glory, for all Justice here is sweet on her, ain’t got nothing but a handful of drifters and old-timers to count on. Seems to me it wouldn’t take much to turn things in your favor. If that was yer aim.”
Riley’s gut clenched. Then he heard his father say, “If that was my aim.”
And again exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Not until this moment did Riley realize the truth of what his mother always said—he was just like his pa to keep his own counsel. I have to pull thoughts and words out of you both, she always said. Right now, Riley counted that a good trait. Figuring he’d heard enough, he started around the wagon, but was stopped again, this time by the sounds behind him of a steadily approaching wagon.
He’d no more than turned around before he was joined on his side of the chuckwagon by his father and brothers, who looked startled to see him there. They were followed by the assembled hands, among them Justice and Brown. Riley spared those two only a hard-eyed glance, which they didn’t return, before he too focused on the harness-jingling, clattering buckboard nearing them.
Seasons of Glory Page 21