“What does that mean—his own kind?”
“Why, Rebecca is a Jew, and Jews are different from other people. She’s from another race, Zane, but Rowena is blonde and from the same race Ivanhoe’s from. It’s real sad. Rebecca’s in love with him, but she won’t get him.”
Zane stared at her, then shook his head stubbornly. “That’s crazy, Rosa. Why, that Rebecca is a beautiful woman, prettier than Rowena! And she’s real nice, too. I’ll bet you’re wrong. I’ll bet Ivanhoe picks Rebecca. Go on, read some more.”
“No, it’s too late.” Rosa stood up, placed the book on the table, then asked, “Do you want anything? A glass of water?”
“I’m thirsty, all right.” Zane watched her as she left the room, then returned with a glass of cool water. He drank it, then looked up at her. “Hate to have to be waited on like this. You must get sick of it.”
“No, I don’t,” Rosa said. She seemed subdued, not at all lively as she usually was. “I’m glad to do it. Not just because you saved me out there in the hills, but because it was my fault you got hurt.” She smiled at him, and put her hand out to take the glass. “I thought it was the finest thing I ever saw, Zane, the way you stood up for me.”
“Didn’t do much good,” Zane mumbled. “Got myself all punched out and didn’t stop them.”
“But you tried,” Rosa nodded. “I’ll never forget it.”
Zane asked suddenly, “What’s wrong, Rosa? You don’t seem happy tonight. You worried about something?”
“I guess it was the story,” she said slowly. She sat down beside him again and shook her head sadly. “Isn’t that silly? To be sad about a story that never happened when there’s so much real trouble.”
“I don’t know why you should be sad. It’s a great story.”
“It’s what we were talking about,” Rosa said slowly. The lamp was turned down low, and her face was thrown into high relief by the golden light it cast over her. Her dark hair glowed and her eyes seemed much larger as she sat there looking at him. “All the time I was reading about Rebecca, I was thinking about myself.”
“Why, what’s she got to do with you?”
“Oh, Zane, she’s a foreigner and so am I!” Rosa cried out impatiently.
Zane stared at her, shock in his thin face. “A foreigner? You’re no foreigner!”
“I’m a Mexican!” Rosa said, her lips growing thin. “Don’t tell me you never noticed!”
Zane shook his head, saying, “Why, I never thought about it!”
His words brought a warmth to Rosa’s face, and her lips grew soft. “That’s sweet of you, Zane,” she said, then something came to her, and she shook her head. “But people do notice. No man will ever look at me and want me—not like I’d like to be wanted.”
“I would!” Zane blurted out, his fair skin burning as a blush rose to his cheeks.
Rosa smiled then, and moved by an impulse, reached out and put her hand on his cheek. “Yes, you would, Zane—but you’re still young. When you get older, you’ll want a gringo woman.”
She rose to her feet and left the room before he could answer. He struggled to get down in the bed, but sleep came slowly. He had never been around a young woman before, and her behavior troubled him. Punching the pillow, he lay back and went to sleep, muttering, “I’ll ask Sister about it. She’ll know—”
At dawn, awakened by the sound of voices, he got out of bed painfully, pulled on his pants, and moved carefully into the kitchen. He found Winslow and Smoky at the table, with Hope and Rosa moving back and forth from the stove. Winslow turned as Zane entered and smiled at him. “Come on in before Smoky and I eat it up, Zane.” He eyed the young man’s slow, painful movements, then nodded. “Horse fell on me once, right after the fight at Chancellorsville. Broke some ribs and hurt like the devil. You’re taking it better than I did.”
“Zane, I was going to fix your breakfast and bring it to you,” Rosa scolded.
“Aw, I cain’t lay in that ol’ bed forever!”
“Better take her up on it, Kid,” Smoky grinned. “You ain’t gonna get many offers like that from a young lady!”
Hope smiled at Zane’s obvious discomfort at Jacks’ teasing. “Don’t pay any attention to Smoky, Zane. He’s just jealous.”
“Lady, you’re shore right about that,” Smoky nodded. “I been on my lonesome so long, I get plumb starved for personal attention. What I been thinking about doing is finding a widow lady whose husband died right convenient like and left her a good-sized bunch of cash. I figure I could sort of manage it for her, and she could wait on me all she wanted to.” Jacks looked at Hope and asked, “You seen any rich widows lookin’ for a handsome young feller to take care of?”
“No, Smoky,” Hope said, laughing at his plaintive tone. “I think you’d have to get in line, though, if there were such a woman.”
Rosa fixed her plate and sat down beside Dan, asking, “Can I go with you today? My ankle’s almost well.”
Winslow shook his head but grinned at her affectionately. “Maybe next week. Doc Matthews said for me to take good care of you till then, and I aim to do it.” He studied her and asked, “You fixed your hair different?”
“Yes, Hope did it for me.”
“Looks real good,” Dan smiled. He turned to Hope and winked so that Rosa could not see it. “I’d be pleased if you didn’t give this girl any more help like that. If she gets any prettier, some long-legged galoot of a puncher will run off with her.”
Winslow didn’t notice the flush of pleasure that came to Rosa’s cheeks, but all three of the others did. All through breakfast, Zane was quiet, saying almost nothing. Hope said, “Dan, I’m going with you this morning.” When he gave her a surprised look, she added, “I want to get out of the house—and you and Smoky can’t do all the riding.”
She went to change into a riding outfit, and when she emerged, the two left. Zane watched them go, then noted that Rosa was throwing the dishes into the pan with what seemed to be unnecessary roughness. He said nothing, but sat there talking to Smoky, who was drinking coffee. Finally Rosa turned and walked out of the room without a word.
“What’s wrong with Rosa?” Zane asked.
Smoky grinned and shook his head. “Jealous of the big fellow,” he commented.
“Jealous!” Zane glared at Jacks as if he had insulted him. “That’s crazy, Smoky! Why, he’s at least thirty years old!”
Jacks studied the face of his young friend, knowing at once what the problem was. However, he said only, “Mexican girls marry lots younger than girls this side of the border.” He sipped his coffee, noting the distress on Zane’s face. Youngster’s stuck on the girl, was his thought. Well, be odd if he wasn’t, pretty as she is. He got to his feet, saying, “Guess I’ll catch me some shut-eye, Zane,” and left to go to the barn, where he and Winslow had fixed up a tack room to sleep in. As he left, he slapped Zane on the shoulder, saying, “Be glad when you get all healed up, Zane.” Outside, he spotted Winslow and Hope just cresting one of the rolling hills, and gave them a thoughtful look. Finally he shook his head and moved on into the barn.
Hope rode beside Winslow, listening as he spoke of the condition of the cattle, but her mind was not on that. He saw that she was only half listening, and he fell into a silence. Finally she said, “Dan, what’s going to happen? About Arrow, I mean?”
“Hard to say,” he said thoughtfully. “I been expecting them to do something to offset that business in the saloon. I know Ash Caudill, and he’s a hard nut. He lost a little of his reputation in that fracas, but he’s not a man to quit.” He sat in the saddle easily, his tanned face constantly surveying the terrain.
They moved ahead, coming to a natural draw, and he nodded at the cattle grazing there. “You’ve got some good stock, Hope,” he remarked. “You’ll have a good herd this year.”
“My husband knew cattle,” she replied, and he looked at her quickly.
It was the first time she’d mentioned her husband, but he’d picked up on so
me of the problems. For one thing, Cody had followed him around a great deal, and had given away the fact that he had hated his stepfather. Then Amos had spoken guardedly of his son-in-law, revealing a little more. But it was Ozzie Og who had given the clearest picture of Willis Malloy. “Mean as a snake,” the cook had spat out. “Treated that woman and those boys like dirt. It ain’t Christian of me, but I’m glad the sucker’s dead!”
Winslow was watching her, and she turned so suddenly that he had no chance to avert his eyes. His look of obvious admiration disturbed Hope, and she said quickly, “We’re all grateful for your help, Dan—but I hope you won’t have to stay here too long.” Then she said, “I guess that sounds ungrateful, but I—don’t want—”
She broke off, embarrassed by her own thoughts. “You have your own life to live, and the sooner you can get back to it, the better. You can’t nurse us along forever.” Her words had struck him, she saw, and quickly she changed the subject. “Rosa’s a nice girl. She’s worried about her father, isn’t she?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I believe she knows he’s dead.”
“Oh, Dan!”
He glanced at her, saw the pain in her eyes, and said, “She’s probably right.”
“What will happen to her?”
“I’ll take care of her. The ranch isn’t much, but it’s hers for what it’s worth. I owe that much to her dad—and to her.”
“It’s awkward, isn’t it?”
“Well, it is for a fact. I don’t know anything about children—not a thing.”
“Rosa’s not a child, Dan,” Hope stated flatly.
He gave her a surprised glance, then nodded. “No, I guess not—and that makes it more tricky. I guess I’ll have to hang around to see she gets a good husband.” A thin smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and he added, “Now that’s something I never thought I’d be doing—trying to keep a bunch of cowboys from a young lady. Makes me feel like Methuselah!”
Hope thought of the look on Rosa’s face when she had left the house with Dan, and said thoughtfully, “You may have an even bigger problem than that, Dan.” When he gave her a questioning look, she said, “Nevermind. Let’s ride around by the flats. I always liked that country.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A MAN CAN’T RUN AWAY FROM GOD!
“Aw, Dan, I don’t wanna go to church,” Cody protested. “I’d rather you and me take ol’ Buck and go see if we can get us a wild turkey over by the river.”
Winslow pulled the straight razor down through the white, frothy lather on his throat before he answered. His beard was tough and his eyes watered as the blade raked across the flesh, making a rasping sound. He wiped the lather from the razor and looked across the porch where Cody leaned against the outer wall watching him. “We’ll do that tomorrow,” he said, then grinned at the boy. “Now, I like listening to your grandpa preach. Guess I missed out on things like that for too long.”
Cody brightened up at the mention of a future hunt and stood there watching Dan finish shaving, talking with excitement about how he planned to get his gobbler. He was wearing his church-going clothes, and his hair was pasted down with water. Winslow listened to him, inserting a comment from time to time, speaking to the boy as if he were another man. He had been amused at the manner in which Cody had attached himself, but then had realized that there was something pathetic about it. He had been at Anchor for three weeks now, except for trips to his own ranch and to town, and Cody had become his shadow. “The boy’s never really had a father and he looks up to you,” Smoky had remarked, noting Cody’s insistence on following Winslow as closely as possible.
“Guess I better put on a clean shirt,” Winslow said. He dried his face, then threw the shaving water out. It splattered Buck in the face, drawing a startled bark. Winslow laughed with Cody, and as he went to the small room he shared with Smoky, Cody stuck close to his side. As he put on a white shirt and a pair of clean gray pants, he answered the questions that Cody fed him in a steady stream, amused at the boundless curiosity of the boy. He put on his good boots, tied a string tie around his neck, then brushed his heavy black hair.
“Guess I’m ready,” he said. “Let’s go to church and get skinned.”
“Grandpa does lay it on pretty hard, don’t he, Dan?”
“Sure does. But that’s the way it should be, I reckon. Too many preachers seem to be afraid to tell their congregations they’re going to hell if they don’t repent.” He smiled wryly, adding, “Your grandfather doesn’t have that problem.”
“Are you saved, Dan?”
The simplicity of the question might have offended Winslow if it had come from an adult, but as he looked down at the boy, he saw only an innocence and a concern. “I reckon not, Cody.”
“Me neither. Guess we’ll both go to hell, you reckon?”
A shock ran through Winslow such as he had seldom felt. He had slipped into his coat and had just settled his low-crowned black hat on his head as Cody spoke, and the question hit him hard. He turned quickly to Cody and studied the boy. Cody stood there matter-of-factly watching him, and finally Winslow said, “I hope not, Cody. You need to listen to your grandfather—and to your mother. Don’t look at fellows like me.”
Cody frowned, his brown eyes wide and careful. “Well—I guess so, Dan.”
The scene bothered Winslow, but he could not think of any way to say what he was thinking to the boy. He left the room, and they found the rest of the family coming out of the house. Amos was sitting on the seat of the wagon, and Dan got there in time to put out a hand and help Hope climb in. She was wearing a white dress with small yellow flowers and a small white hat with yellow lace around the brim. Her hand was firm and cool in his, and she gave him a smile, saying, “Thank you.”
Winslow saw with surprise that Zane was coming out of the house. He watched as the young man moved slowly and carefully down the porch, and said as he approached the wagon, “Feel like spreading your wings?”
Zane shrugged, and his answer was brief. “Sure.” He grasped the wheel of the wagon, took a deep breath, and climbed onto the back seat, his lips tight.
But when Amos said, “You sure you can make it, son?” Zane grinned and nodded. Then Rosa came out, wearing a dress that Winslow had not seen—a light green frock with darker emerald embroidery around the bodice. Dan handed her into the back seat, then Cody scrambled in to sit beside her. When Winslow climbed in to sit beside Hope, Amos said, “Giddap,” and the wagon moved off.
“Weather’s changing, ain’t it?” Amos remarked. “Think there may be some cold over behind those hills.”
“I used to like fall back home,” Hope said, “but now it reminds me that winter is coming. I’m sure not looking forward to another winter here.” She was acutely aware of Dan Winslow. He had surprised them all by going to church on his first Sunday and had not missed a service. Now his arm pressed lightly against hers, and there was no way she could move away from it. The impulse to do so brought a sudden feeling of disgust, for she had been aware since Winslow had come that she was not comfortable in his presence. And yet, it was not a simple dislike, for she did like him—very much. She was pleased that Cody had taken to Winslow and was amused at the persistence with which her son followed the big man.
She was aware also that Zane disliked Winslow—and it bothered her. She would have called Zane’s attitude toward Rosa puppy love, but somehow she could not. They were both so very young, and she was afraid for them. Once she had tried to talk to her father about it and had discovered that he was very much aware of the problem. But he had only said, “Nothing to be done, Daughter. Young people will be drawn to each other.”
The air was cool as they drove along the slopes of the hills, and there was a stirring in the earth. Hope said, “I like spring best. In the fall everything dies. I like it when the grass comes up and the trees start budding. Fall and winter are just too gloomy for me.”
“I always liked them,” Dan remarked. “A change after the hot s
ummers. Good to feel the bite of cold after sweating all summer. I remember how we all nearly died in the summer, trying to keep up with Stonewall Jackson. That man was a driver! Then at Fredericksburg we had snowball fights. I’ll never forget that.”
Hope said hesitantly, “I feel so strange, Dan.” He turned to look at her, noting that the sun had given her fair skin a golden tan, and that a line of tiny freckles was sprinkled across her cheeks and nose. She was usually a solemn woman, but there was a streak of humor in her that often took a strange turn. She would laugh at Buck when their new kitten scratched his nose—a happy laughter like that of a very young girl. But now she was sober, and added, “I feel like something’s going to happen. It’s like this time of year, when the sun’s shining, but you know sooner or later winter will come.”
“Know the feeling,” Dan nodded. He sat idly on the seat, his face relaxed as he spoke. “I guess it’s natural enough. Life’s mostly trouble, with a few good times in between. The war was like that for me. No matter how much fun a fellow had, we always knew sooner or later we’d be in the middle of the dying. Guess old Job was right when he said, ‘Man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.’ ”
Amos looked across at Winslow, saying, “You know the Bible, Dan.”
“Know it—but don’t do it,” he replied laconically. He was uncomfortably aware of the woman beside him. Aware of her profile, the curve of her shoulders, the rich yellow gleaming of her hair—even of the lovely turnings of her body. He had been aware of her since coming to Anchor, and his sense of her presence had grown in him. He had known women, but somehow this one particular woman with her strong, straight eyes and her concealed warmth and humor had gained some sort of admiration in him that puzzled him.
He shook his shoulders slightly and went back to her statement. “I guess I know what you mean, Hope, about feeling something’s going to happen. I figured we’d have trouble long before now. Can’t see Arrow just folding up and start handing out Christian charity.”
“Maybe they will,” Hope said, and for the rest of the trip she was quieter than usual.
House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman Page 23