The Lockwood Legacy - Books 1-6: Plus Bonus Short Stories

by Juliette Harper

  Jenny stared at her suspiciously. “Are you feeling alright?”

  Kate laughed. “Look, this is how I see it. Over the last year our father killed himself, you and Mandy uprooted your lives and moved down here without complaint. I know getting used to living out here had to be hard on you. Then folks start getting shot in the living room, we find out Daddy was in love with a dead woman his whole life, and we find a damned Aztec treasure. I’m thinking rolling with the punches is about all that’s left. If you think going up to the draw is what you need to do, I won’t try to stop you, but will you at least tell me why you think it will help?”

  “Do you remember that time you shot the rattlesnake by Daddy’s foot?” Jenny asked.

  Kate did remember. She was 16 years old and they were loading hay at the barn. Langston was right in the middle of one of his rants, walking back and forth from the barn to the pick-up, throwing bales of hay for Kate to stack. As she reached down to catch a bale, she realized her father was passing right by a coiled rattlesnake with every step.

  “Daddy.”

  Langston continued his tirade, his boot coming down right by the snake as he returned to the barn.

  “Daddy,” she tried in a louder voice.

  His answer was another hay bale flung angrily in her direction as once again her father turned on his heel and stalked back to the barn.

  The sliding back window of the truck cab was open. Kate reached inside and angled a 30-30 rifle out of the rack, carefully passing it through the window. This time when her father came out of the barn, she said, “Goddammit Langston Lockwood, stop.”

  He did, his left foot falling right by the rattler. The snake drew back to strike. Kate shouldered the rifle, aimed, and blew the snake’s head off.

  Langston didn’t move. He looked down at the snake and up at this daughter. “Why in the hell didn’t you say something? You got blood all over my boot.”

  “Why in the hell wouldn’t you shut up and let me say something,” Kate countered hotly. “And be glad it’s the snake’s blood and not yours.”

  “Huh, talk louder next time, Sister,” he said, putting the bale in his hands on the tailgate. “You’re gonna clean that rifle when we get back to the house,” he added crossly. But then, on his way back to the barn he said over his shoulder, “Damn good shot.”

  Kate shook her head as she re-lived that afternoon. “I was shaking so bad it’s a wonder I didn’t blow his foot off. What in the world made you think about that?”

  “You had ways to connect with Daddy,” Jenny said. “You’re a hell of a shot. You’ve never been thrown off a horse. You could out bluff him at the poker table, and then you learned to out drink him. The old bastard wouldn’t bend enough to say it, but he respected you. I had nothing.”

  “Honey,” Kate said, “that’s not true. You worked as hard on this place as I did when we were kids. You could have made that shot same as me.”

  “The shot isn’t the point,” Jenny said. “I could do all of those things, but never well enough to suit him because of the one thing I did do well. Draw. I lived ranch life, but I was more interested in capturing it with my pencils, teasing the emotion out of a pen full of shearers or the hungry look in a dogie calf’s eyes when it’s begging for a bottle. I felt it all and I wanted to share it. He didn’t want to feel a damned thing and I was a constant reminder of that.”

  “I’m afraid I still don’t understand what you want to accomplish back up in the draw,” Kate said.

  Jenny tried another angle. “When you get off Bracelet and tie her up to a pen, what knot do you use?”

  “A jerk knot.”

  “Who taught you to tie it?”

  “Daddy.”

  “Who taught you to saddle a horse?”

  “Daddy.”

  “Can you feel him with you when you do those things? Or anything else you do every day to keep this place running?” Jenny asked.

  Kate thought about the question. “I don’t know that I would have put it that way, but yes. Daddy and I always did best together when we were working, not talking. You’re right. I do all kinds of things his way because that’s how I learned to do them, so yes, I guess that means he’s with me.”

  “You care about those things,” Jenny said. “I can do them, but they aren’t vital to who I am in the world. Drawing is vital to me. I want to see if I can find anything of Daddy in my art. If there’s any connection I can make with him on that level to put him to rest in my head. Do you understand now?”

  Kate nodded. “Yes, I think I do. We’re all trying to make peace with the old reprobate in our own way. It’s going to be different for us all. I think Mandy made her peace with Daddy when she pulled that trigger on Marino. Doing that made her feel like a Lockwood. I think it’s always bothered her that she doesn’t look like the rest of us.”

  “Which is just silly,” Jenny said. “We love her to pieces.” She paused and then asked, “Have you made your peace with him, Katie?”

  “Yes,” Kate said. “I have his books. Knowing what he read, what interested him. That helps me understand him in a way I never could before.”

  “I need to meet him on canvas,” Jenny said. “Where he did his greatest work.”

  “Was he that good?” Kate asked curiously.

  “He was amazing. Some of those sketches are so lifelike they could be photographs. His technique was impeccable. If he had finished that portrait of Alice, it would have been his masterpiece.” She stopped as if something had just occurred to her. “Oh, and that reminds me. Photos. I found one today when I was looking at his drawings. Of us. Was this taken at Clara Wyler’s place?”

  Jenny took the Polaroid out of the pocket of her blouse and handed it to Kate, who smiled fondly. “My God, you loved that pony. Everybody just called him Paint. Most patient horse on the planet. Stand all day with a saddle on his back waiting for some kid to get on him.”

  “Were we just visiting?” Jenny asked. “I don’t remember us going over there all that much even when Mama was alive.”

  “Oh, no,” Kate said. “That was the summer we lived with them.”

  “The summer we what?” Jenny asked incredulously. “Why haven’t I ever heard anything about us living at the Wyler’s for a summer?”

  “Same reason we didn’t talk about all kinds of stuff,” Kate said. “Daddy wouldn’t allow it.”

  50

  “Why in God’s name did we live with Clara and Clint Wyler for a summer?” Jenny asked.

  The sisters had taken their conversation into the kitchen. Kate was making coffee and Jenny was seated at the table. “You want a cup?” Kate asked.

  Jenny frowned. “Did you ever stop to think drinking coffee at 5 o’clock in the afternoon might explain why you don’t sleep worth a flip?”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” Kate asked, holding the scoop in mid-air over the can of ground coffee.

  “It’s a yes.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Kate said, starting to count scoops. When she was done, she said, “I honestly don’t know why we were at the Wylers’. To tell you the truth, I haven’t even thought about it in years.”

  “What do you remember about that summer?” Jenny asked.

  Like so many of Kate’s childhood memories, this one began with Langston Lockwood’s scowling face. “Your Mama’s got to go away for a while. I don’t want you brats underfoot. I’m sending you to that goddamn Clara woman’s house. Mind your manners, Sister. You girls don’t go shaming me, you hear? We have to live in this town.”

  By eight years of age, Kate had learned to say, “Yes, sir,” and keep her questions to herself. At her father’s orders she went to her room and packed her bag, then did the same for her little sister.

  “Where we going, Katie?” four-year-old Jenny asked. She was sitting on the floor of her room surrounded by crayons, drawing chickens in a Big Chief tablet.

  “We’re gonna go to Mrs. Wyler’s house for a while,” Kate answered, folding her sister
’s pajamas. “Daddy says we’re in the way right now. Pack up your Crayolas, Jenny, so you can take them with you.”

  “But where’s Mama?” Jenny asked, her lower lip starting to tremble.

  Kate got down on the floor with her sister and spoke urgently. “You can’t cry, Jenny, please. Daddy’s already mad, and if he sees you crying he’ll holler at us more. Mama will be back.”

  “Did she say so?” Jenny asked uncertainly.

  “I didn’t talk to her,” Kate said. “I just know she’ll come back. I promise. Now stop crying, okay?”

  Seemingly satisfied with her sister’s assurances, Jenny started carefully putting her crayons back in the box. “Okay, Katie,” she said. “I’ll be good. Do you like my chicken?”

  Kate glanced down at the drawing. “You always make the legs too long,” she said. “They look like those pink birds in the zoo picture book.”

  “Flaming go-gos?” Jenny asked.

  Kate smothered a giggle, “I think they’re called flamingos.”

  When the sisters came down the hall, each carrying a suitcase, there were no tears. Langston threw the cases in the bed of the pick-up and never said a word on the drive to the Wylers’ place. He pulled up in front of the house, and said, to the girls, “Get out. Do what Clara says. Don’t make me come back over here. I’m busy.”

  As Kate got out she heard Clara Wyler say to Langston in a low, angry tone, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Langston Lockwood, talking to little girls like that.”

  “Tend to your own goddamn business, Clara,” Langston snapped. He waited for Clint Wyler to remove the suitcases from the bed of the truck and then drove off in a cloud of dust without so much as a backward glance.

  Kate and Jenny stood awkwardly by the front gate. Clint Wyler, a mountain of a man who made even Langston Lockwood seem small, squatted down beside Jenny. “Hi,” he said. “Do you like horses?”

  Jenny glanced at Kate, who nodded. Jenny said in a small voice, “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you like to come with me to the barn and see some?”

  Still uncertain about what she should do, Jenny said, “Don’t you have to be busy, Mr. Wyler? My Daddy is always busy.”

  “I’m done being busy for the day,” Clint said, with forced good cheer. “Let’s go see the horses, okay?”

  He held out his hand and Jenny took it tentatively, glancing at her sister. “Go on, Jenny,” Kate said. “Go with Mr. Wyler. I’ll take our stuff inside.”

  “Don’t you want to come, too?” Clint asked, smiling at her. “You can put your stuff up later.”

  “No thank you, sir,” Kate said. “I should put our things up so we’re not in your way. Daddy said we weren’t supposed to be any trouble to you and Mrs. Wyler.”

  Clint and Clara exchanged looks and Clara said, “We’ll be out in a minute, Clint. You and Jenny go ahead.”

  When Clint and Jenny were out of earshot, Clara looked down at Kate. “What did Langston tell you about all this, honey?”

  “That Mama had to go away and we were to mind you, Mrs. Wyler,” Kate said. She hesitated and then asked, “Is my Mother all right, ma’am?”

  “Yes, honey,” Clara said, “she’s okay.”

  “When will she be back?”

  “I don’t know,” Clara said, putting her hand on Kate’s shoulder.

  Kate looked down at the dirt and asked in a small voice, “Is she gonna come back?”

  Clara knelt down in front of the little girl and gently tiled her chin up until their eyes met. “Yes, Katie, she’s coming back. And until she does, you and Jenny will be here with us and nobody is going to yell at you, okay?”

  As Kate finished telling the story, the sun was setting over the Rocking L. In the softening light she saw the first tentative whitetail does coming up to the yard feeder.

  She stood quietly looking out the window over the sink, sipping her coffee for a minute. And then, as if collecting herself, she said, “She was true to her word. She and Clint were wonderful to us. He let you ride Paint every day, took us fishing, made a swing in the backyard. They didn’t have a TV, but at night Clara read to us. I can still see you sitting in Clint’s lap listening to her.”

  “And you never said a word about any of this, all these years?” Jenny asked, thunderstruck.

  Kate left the window and joined her sister at the table. “We weren’t exactly the kind of family that sat around and reminisced about things, honey. I really hadn’t thought about all of this in years until you showed me that picture.

  “How long did we stay with them?”

  “Into the fall,” Kate said. “When it came time for me to go back to school, Daddy told me to tell people if they asked that Mama was visiting her people up North.”

  “What did Mama say when she did come back?” Jenny asked.

  “She told me I was a good girl for minding Daddy and that she was sorry if she scared me,” Kate said. “She brought you a set of colored pencils and a stack of sketchbooks. Even when you were that little you were already drawing scenes of what you saw around you. You did draw some awful long-legged chickens until you figured out how to get’em the right size.”

  “Scale and perspective,” Jenny said absently.

  “Like I said, getting them the right size,” Kate said, grinning.

  Jenny laughed and shook her head. “Is there no end to what we don’t know about this family, Katie? What do you think happened? Why do you think he sent us over there? And where did Mama go?”

  “I just always figured it was the first time Mama’s cancer showed up and she was off being treated,” Kate said. “It makes sense. She came back; life went on. Mandy was born that August.”

  “What month did Mama come back?” Jenny asked.

  Kate thought for a minute and then said, “It was right after Christmas, maybe on into January. The stuff she brought you was a late Christmas present. She gave me the whole set of the Nancy Drew books.”

  Jenny considered the explanation. “And then five years later the cancer came back. I guess that does make sense.”

  Kate looked at her appraisingly, “You don’t sound like you think it makes sense.”

  “No, it does,” Jenny said. “I’m just really surprised about all of this, that’s all. Is Clara still alive?”

  “Yeah, she’s lives in town at the old hotel. It’s assisted living apartments now. She’s been there since Clint died,” Kate said. “She has a bad back and asthma. Not good for her to be out here by herself. They never had any kids of their own. One of Clint’s nephews takes care of the place for her.”

  Jenny drained the last of her coffee. “Guess I better be getting back to my place,” she said. “Josh is fixing backstrap tonight.”

  “He cooks?” Kate asked.

  “Better than that, he does dishes,” Jenny said, pushing her chair back under the table.

  “Look, Jenny, I’m sorry if all of this upset you,” Kate said. “I wasn’t intentionally keeping anything from you.”

  “I know,” Jenny said. “I’m just surprised that I don’t remember any of it. Like everything else that’s come up lately, it’s just a lot to take in, but I’m not really upset. It sounds like it was a nice summer.”

  Kate smiled wistfully. “It was, come to think of it. I guess I didn’t let myself think too much about being with them after we came home because life here was so different. I was real sorry when Clint Wyler died. I thought a lot of that man, especially after he was so nice to you. I made a point of going to the service. Standing room only at the church, and the Masons did a beautiful job at the grave. He was a good man.”

  “Has all of this upset you?” Jenny asked.

  “Yes and no,” Kate said. “I still have a lot of trouble understanding how Daddy could have been reading Lord Byron in private and being such a bastard out in the world.”

  “It upsets me more that he was such a bastard at home,” Jenny said curtly.

  Jenny didn’t go immediately to her own place.
Instead, she walked around the barn in the opposite direction and stood leaning on the top of the pasture gate, arms crossed, watching the sunset. There was a lot about the conversation with her sister that bothered her.

  Kate said Irene Lockwood came back to the Rocking L in January. Mandy was born in August. Seven months. Mandy didn’t look a thing like any of them. She was barely 5’ tall, the only blonde in generations of Lockwoods. Irene had been roughly Jenny’s size, maybe a little taller, say 5’7”, and her hair was reddish brown. Langston’s hair was black. Was it possible that Langston was not Mandy’s father?

  If Jenny’s growing suspicion was right, the revelation would devastate her baby sister. Jenny certainly didn’t care one way or the other, and neither would Kate, but Mandy, sensitive, sweet, and always insecure about her place in the family would mind, very much.

  Jenny knew she should just let the proverbial sleeping dog lie, but she was filled with questions. What had made Irene leave the ranch so suddenly? Where did she go? Did she leave with a man? If so, who was he? Was he Mandy’s father? And if Irene did find happiness with someone else, why in the name of God did she come back to Langston Lockwood?

  Chances were quite good that the only person who might be able to answer those questions for Jenny was Clara Wyler. It would be easy enough to just drive into town and pay a visit. Old folks who were shut-ins thrived on company, and after all, Clara had been Irene’s closest friend.

  But how in the hell was Jenny supposed to ask the question? “Hi, Mrs. Wyler. So nice to see you. Who was Mandy’s father, if you don’t mind my asking?” Jenny snorted at her mental rehearsal of the potential conversation. Yeah, that approach probably wasn’t her best option.

  The sun was painting the sky in front of her from a palette any artist would envy. Vibrant oranges swirled seamlessly into lurid purples all tinged with reds — a surrealistic scene overlapping the reality of the landscape stretching out before her.

  The wood under her arms felt rough and oddly soft at the same time, the effect of weathering Texas heat and cold. Sometimes, as Jenny grappled with the unfolding family past, she felt the same way, as if she were wearing to grayness under the weight of secrets born on a revealing wind.