A vague, troubling memory flirted around inside her head. Her pa—but not Clay McClellen, her first pa. Mandy had only shadowy memories of him, and those were muddled because, of course, being twin brothers, her first pa, Cliff, looked exactly like her second pa, Clay. It was hard to separate memories.
But she had one that was crystal clear. The day her first pa died.
Pa had only been back from the war for a little while. He was a quiet man. Her second pa was quiet, too, but a pleasant, good-natured kind of quiet. Her first pa was sullen quiet. Moody. Mandy remembered how they all tried hard to placate the man…. The dinner table. On the day he died.
Ma told Pa there was a baby on the way. Mandy had started laughing, and she and her sisters, Beth and Sally, had giggled and talked about the new baby.
“It better be a boy. I’m sick of nothing but girl children.” Pa slapped his hand on the table and made the plates and silverware jump and clatter. Then he jabbed a finger at Ma. “Try not to kill my son this time.”
All of them fell silent.
Mandy had no idea what he meant, though later she’d learned Ma had lost a baby boy between Beth and Sally. She’d been thrown from a horse, doing man’s work Pa wouldn’t do.
Tears brimmed in Sally’s eyes, and for one second Mandy hated her pa. Mandy was eight, a big girl, and she’d gotten used to him. He didn’t hurt her feelings hardly at all anymore. Beth was pretty good at ignoring him, too. They’d learned to protect their hearts. But Sally was only three and she adored him. She took all his hard little digs and stuck by him, defended him, loved him. She tried so hard to be good enough to earn Pa’s love. But no one could be good enough to earn something that didn’t exist.
Ma had looked around the table on that long-ago day, with her eyes wide, sad, full of love—apologizing wordlessly for Pa’s cruelty. Mandy knew her ma was glad she’d given birth to girl children.
Ma’s gaze settled on Sally’s hurt little face for a second then Ma’s eyes lit with fire. Absolute rage ignited.
Mandy felt a chill of fear.
“These girls are the best children any man could have.” Ma spent her life trying to keep the ornery man she’d married happy. She almost never lost her temper—a fearsome thing when she did. “The only one in this family who doesn’t measure up is you.” Ma glared from her end of the table.
Pa glared back.
They looked as if they hated each other.
Mandy could remember the slashing pain of the first moment in her life when she’d realized finally, fully, that her pa didn’t love her, never would. That heartbreaking truth hurt nearly as much as if she’d been stabbed. But even then she knew it wasn’t her. There was something broken in her pa. He didn’t know how to love.
Even at eight years old, Mandy wanted to beg Ma not to fight. Ma was decent and strong. Pa was selfish and weak. The decent, strong person had to do decent, strong things like love unlovable people and keep peace even when it wasn’t easy.
Pa had shoved his chair back hard enough that it tipped over with a loud crash. Without another word—silence was so often his way—he left, slamming the cabin door behind him.
Ma stormed after him.
As she swung the door open, a crowd of men rode into the yard, yelling, guns drawn, surrounding Pa.
Someone shouted, “Horse thief.”
Shouting threats and accusations, the crowd grabbed Pa and rode off.
Ma screamed and ran out of the house. But they left her behind in a cloud of cruel laughter and dust. Within the hour, Pa was dead and Ma was digging him a hole in the ground.
I’ve married a man just like my pa. Oh, God, protect me. Protect me. Protect me.
There would be children of course, and Mandy would spend her life praying this prayer for herself and her young’uns.
Mandy felt sick. Then she remembered that Sidney had a charming side, too. He wasn’t all sullen and angry like Pa. There would be good times, plenty of them if Mandy could just be good enough, cheerful enough, obedient enough to keep him happy.
And on the days she couldn’t do enough, she’d find a more painful way—painful for Sidney—to calm him down. No man was ever going to put his hands on her in anger. And she’d shoot any man who did such a thing to her children. Being her husband wouldn’t save him. She’d make sure Sidney knew that for a fact.
She lifted all the luggage she could carry, squared her gun-toting shoulders, and headed for the chuffing train now pulling to a stop in the darkened town. She suspected this load of work was her lot from now on.
The driver came alongside her, carrying the heavy box Pa had sent along, leaving behind the single large trunk for Sidney. “You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want.” The driver spoke quietly to her so his voice didn’t carry past the screeching brakes and steaming locomotive engine.
Mandy exchanged a look with the man. She didn’t know him, but she knew his kind. Gruff, taciturn Western men didn’t talk much. They minded their own business except when it came to protecting women. The grizzled driver would take care of Mandy if she asked him to.
But he was wrong. Mandy had said her vows before man and God. She had to go.
Oh, Lord, protect me.
“Thank you, but he’s my husband. I do have to go.”
With a shrug, the man fell silent as he helped her load her things onto the train. Then he left to tend his own horses.
She still hadn’t spoken to Sidney when the train pulled out on a journey that left her precious family behind forever.
“I’ve brought in three more. They all resisted. They’re dead.”
The colonel’s blue eyes narrowed.
“I’m here to collect my reward.” Cletus Slaughter knew what the man was thinking. He’d have let all these cowards roam free if it was up to him.
They’d had this fight before. But the colonel always paid.
“What poor men did you catch this time, Slaughter?” Lifting the papers up, the colonel read the three names, his fussy, trimmed white beard quivering a bit with anger.
Cletus enjoyed watching the man hate him while having to fork over the money because it was the law. “They’re deserters and cowards. I hate a coward.”
“So you shoot them in the back?” The colonel slammed a fist on his heavy desk. “I’d say a back shooter is the worst kind of coward.”
Everything about this office was polished, uppity. But no amount of fancy furniture and slick uniform could make Cletus answer to anyone. He’d had his time in the cavalry. Now he savored shoving the rules and regulations down this pompous officer’s throat.
“They’re wanted men. I’m claimin’ the reward.” Cletus crossed his arms, enjoying the feel of his new shirt. He’d been livin’ high since he’d found out the army paid for the return of deserters. Most of them begged and crawled, and a few of them tried to run.
Yes, he’d put a few bullets in a coward’s back. Glad to do it.
“This is the end, Slaughter. I’ve sent a wire back East asking the War Department to drop this business of hunting down deserters. This dead-or-alive rule for deserters is left from the War Between the States. They don’t intend to enforce it now. Most of the time, if deserters are caught the only punishment is asking the men to serve out their times. Sometimes pay is even negotiated for them.”
“Long as it’s the law, I’m gonna keep huntin’. Now where’s my money?”
“The purser has it.” The colonel grudgingly wrote up the order to pay the bounty. “What poor fool are you going after this time?”
Cletus didn’t trust the colonel not to interfere if he knew. “None’a your business, Colonel. You’ll find out when I bring him in.” Cletus snatched the note and smirked at the colonel, using the writ to give him a sloppy salute. Officers hated that.
He collected his bounty and rode out. When he was settled into a ground-eating walk on his thoroughbred—a grand horse, paid for on the backs of cowards—he pulled out his list and saw that it wasn’t that far
of a ride to a place one of the cowards had been sighted. Cletus had informers everywhere.
A deserter on a stagecoach riding along, enjoying the fat of the land—a land he’d betrayed. A doctor. Most likely left men to die. Now somewhere putting his filthy hands on unsuspecting citizens and living rich.
Cletus couldn’t hold back a smile as he imagined this one making a run for it. He caressed his brand new Colt single-action army revolver. Best gun made. Cletus had the best of everything now. And he would for as long as the cowards remained.
Spinning the gun’s cylinder to check that it was fully loaded, Cletus thought about the cowardly doctor. He hoped Alex Buchanan would run.
Eight
Alex finally felt good enough to concentrate on hating himself.
He preferred to starve wallowing in filth. It kept his mind occupied. But tonight he ate well, then bathed and went to bed. He could concentrate on self-loathing.
Clay McClellen had tossed him a change of clothes, even a worn but decent pair of boots and a battered hat, shoved a bar of soap in his hands, and directed him to a farm pond to bathe. There’d be no supper until Alex got back.
Alex had refused the clothes, but McClellen got gruff and said they had a mountain of old clothes left behind by former hands. Alex wondered about that. He was about McClellen’s height. The clothes were probably his. But Alex was so hungry his belly button was rubbing against his backbone, so he took the clothes and scrubbed himself clean. It took a while because the filth was worked deep into his skin.
The beef stew in the bunkhouse was so delicious Alex almost made himself sick gobbling it down. The rest of the hands went for the chow with just as much enthusiasm, so Alex wasn’t even embarrassed to be seen eating with the manners of a wolf.
Then Alex rolled into a hard bunk that felt like he’d floated into heaven compared to a lot of the places he’d slept. And the nightmares came.
Alex jerked awake to find a grizzled cowhand named Whitey shaking his shoulder. Alex looked around in the dim light of dawn to see every man in the building awake and staring at him.
As soon as he’d come fully awake, Whitey slapped him on the arm. “Been to war myself, son. A lot of the hands have. And had my share of bad dreams. We have a light day on Sunday. See if you can get another hour of sleep.”
Whitey handled the cooking in the bunkhouse, and he’d done a fine job last night. He was gray-haired and had knowing eyes. He walked away with a slight limp. The men flopped back on their beds, minding their own business the way only cowpokes could. Alex was too afraid to let himself sleep again.
His dreams were so real he seemed to be reliving the horror. The blood.
Alex closed his eyes, as if that could stop it, but it only made it worse. His dreams felt like his leg was being amputated. They tore a hole in Alex’s soul as surely as a hacksaw tore through muscle and bone. Something he’d done and done and done. Now he was left with that hole, big enough to let the devil in. Because Alex felt the devil inside him, felt the rage and hate and evil.
He was lost.
God, I’m so lost.
He threw the blanket off and stood, grabbed his boots, and slipped out, even though he knew every man there heard him. They were a salty lot, plenty of soldiers in the bunch. McClellen knew how to hire hands…. That meant he’d know enough not to hire Alex.
Outside, in the dim light of early morning, Alex pulled on his boots and strode toward the pond where he’d bathed yesterday. Maybe if he soaked his head in cold water the nightmares would fade.
He neared the crest of a low hill, covered with scrub pines that blocked his view of the pond. Clay McClellen stood from an old tree stump and started toward him, carrying his rifle.
That’s when Alex heard the distant sound of laughter, women’s laughter.
He stopped and let McClellen come the rest of the way. The man was guarding his women. So many women. Alex had heard all about the beautiful McClellen women from the cowhands last night.
Clay had daughters, one married and gone to a man who wasn’t good enough for her, although it sounded like no man could ever be good enough for her. Beth, the spitfire—they’d asked about her as if their own long lost daughter had returned. Some grumbling had erupted about her going off to school when she’d been way too young. But she’d been headstrong and gotten her way. Harum-scarum Sally, she sounded like their favorite. And Laurie, still young but so obviously adored. Which left Sophie, the prettiest and toughest wife any man ever had. Plus McClellen had himself a passel of sons.
The cowhands talked in absolutely respectful terms. In fact their tone was more in the way of a warning of stark and horrible pain should Alex ever dare to say a wrong word or give a wrong look to one of the McClellen women. They’d put it nicely—for brusque, Western men. He’d gotten the message.
And now here he was, most likely intruding on the women bathing.
Alex noticed that McClellen had stationed himself so he couldn’t see the pond either, mindful of his daughters’ modesty. Alex envied the man until he could hardly breathe.
“Sorry, McClellen. I didn’t know there’d be anyone out here.” Alex said it quick before McClellen could start shooting.
“Call me Clay. Don’t worry about it. That’s why I came out, so as to warn men away. The girls come out lotsa mornings for a little while, but only if I’ve got time to guard ’em.”
“So, Clay, you looking for any more cowhands?”
McClellen’s eyes narrowed, not with anger but with thinking, considering. “You’re a doctor. Why do you want to be a cowhand?”
“I don’t want to be a doctor anymore.”
Clay shook his head. “Try to make some sense.”
Alex almost smiled. Almost. He didn’t do much smiling. He didn’t exactly keep his past a secret. He just didn’t talk to anyone about anything.
“I doctored on the frontier for the cavalry.” Alex couldn’t hold Clay’s eyes anymore so he looked at the ground and saw his nightmares again. “It was bad is all. I got a belly full of sick and hurting people. I can’t do it anymore.”
“Beth told us last night you really helped that man on the stage. She said you were pretty good.”
“She said that?” Alex looked up, startled. He’d just flunked another test judging from the scowl on Clay’s face.
“You stay away from my girls.” Clay took a step forward and Alex backed up quick. “No cowhand on this ranch gets two chances, you understand. And my girls’ word is law. If one of ’em doesn’t like you for any reason at all, you’re gone. I don’t listen to two sides of a story when one of my girls is telling one side of it. Understand?”
“Sure. That’s the way it oughta be.”
“There’s a man in the federal penitentiary right now who was schoolmaster here and made the mistake of slapping Sally’s hand with a ruler.”
“They put him in prison for that?” Alex knew women were treated with respect in the West. But that seemed a little extreme.
“He did a couple of other things, too. But none of it mattered a lick to me ‘cept what he did to my girl. She was five years old and her teacher convinced her I’d be on his side. So she didn’t tell me he was thrashing her. Now they know I’ll take their side. Always.”
“Good. That’s the way it ought to be.” Alex had half a notion to ride to the federal penitentiary himself and take a piece of the man’s hide. “Before you say I’m hired, I might as well tell you I’m not a hand on the range. I’ll work hard for you but I’m … I haven’t been at it very long.”
“So go back to doctorin’.”
Alex ignored the advice. “I just don’t want you hiring me based on lies. I admit I’ve got a lot to learn.”
Clay shook his head as if he were already tired and it was just past sunup. “Fine. I’ll expect you to be worthless for a while. But Alex?” The tone of Clay’s voice was frightening.
“What?”
“If one of my cowhands breaks an arm or needs a cut sewn up, y
ou’ll help us out.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order.
“I’m not a doctor anymore. I told you.”
“And I don’t expect you to be one. You’ll be busting broncos and branding cattle with everyone else. But I’m trying to keep Beth under control, and I don’t want her doctoring a bunch of beat-up cowpokes. It ain’t proper. She’s been a hand at healing all her life. I swear they used to pretend to be hurt so she’d come and make a fuss over them. That was part of the reason I finally gave in and let her go back East to study.”
“Part of the reason? What’s the other part?”
“She cried.”
Alex flinched. He’d have let her go, too.
“I … I’ve seen some things … ugly things.” Alex held Clay’s eyes for too long. He didn’t want to make that promise about doctoring. He didn’t know if he could make that promise. And Clay McClellen didn’t look like the kind of man who had much patience for weaklings. “It’s a hard promise you’re asking me to make. And I don’t make promises I can’t keep. All I can say is … I … I’ll try. I’ll do my best.”
Clay stared as if a hard enough look could go all the way into Alex’s brain. Finally Clay relaxed.
Alex didn’t know if that meant Clay had managed to read his mind or he’d realized Alex had no mind to read so he’d given up.
“That’s all any man can do, I reckon.”
Alex nodded and turned back to the bunkhouse.
“Oh, Alex?”
“Yeah?” Alex wondered what other promises McClellen was going to wring out of him.
“The ranch hands all ride along with us to church.”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m not a churchgoing man, not anymore.”
“The only other job I’ve got this morning is to send some hands out to fetch back the dead bodies from the stage wreck. You’re welcome to ride along with them.”
Alex would rather go to church. He’d also rather take a beating. That must have shown on his face.
Sophie's Daughters Trilogy Page 6