“An’ your sisters?”
Pain stabbed Matt’s chest. “My baby sister got took by a fancy family.” He sent Clancy a brief, self-conscious grin. “Man probably still has a dent in his shin from where I kicked him. Clunked him good, tryin’ to keep him from takin’ her. But it didn’t help.”
Looking back at the photograph, Matt touched the image of Maelle. “My other sister went with a man who did photography. Always wondered what happened there. She was dressed like a boy at the time.”
Clancy’s brows pulled down. “A boy?”
Matt shrugged. “Hard to explain.” Shaking his head, he said, “Hope that man didn’t get too mad when he figured out he had himself a girl instead of a boy. Hope he was good to her . . .”
“Hoo-doggies, Matthew . . .” Clancy whistled through his teeth. “Wal, I’m glad a good family took you in.”
Matt nodded, raising his chin and peering into space. “Oh yeah, really liked those Bonhams. They treated me just like I was one of theirs—sent me to school and everything. Now, Mrs. Bonham, she was pretty strict about how things should be done—real particular, y’know? But never mean or spiteful about none of it. She was a nice lady.” His throat tightened. “But when I was nine or so, there was a bad drought. Crops failed, money was scarce, and they couldn’t afford to feed their own, let alone an extra. So they took me to an orphanage in Springfield.”
“An’ just left ya there?”
At Clancy’s derisive tone, Matt faced him. “I don’t hold a grudge. I knew they didn’t want to—the missus carried on somethin’ fierce as they left.” Remembering Mrs. Bonham’s distraught face as the wagon drove away caused an ache in Matt’s heart. He pushed the image aside and continued. “I stayed at the orphanage a couple years before a man took me in. He had a ranch in the Missouri River valley, an’ that’s where I learned cattle ranchin’.”
“A cattle ranch in Missouri . . .” Clancy’s voice turned pensive. “But I thought Gerald said you come to us from Texas.”
Matt stood and paced to the door. This was the part of the story he’d never told. “I did. I ran off to Texas from that ranch. It . . . it was owned by a fellow named . . . Jenks.”
Clancy’s head jerked. “Lester Jenks? Big feller, gold tooth in the front?”
Matt nodded. “That’s him.”
Clancy jolted to his feet. “You got adopted by Lester Jenks? Then why’n tarnation are you here ’stead of—?”
“No!” Matt rubbed the back of his neck, pacing back and forth in the small room. “He didn’t adopt me, Clancy. He just took me. Took me an’ worked me. Just . . . worked me.”
Slowly, Clancy lowered himself back to the bed.
Matt leaned against the wall, too tired to remain upright without assistance. “He worked me, Clancy, like you’d work a dog. An’ he never paid me. I’d see the other hands line up on pay day, an’ I figured I should, too. The first time, he laughed an’ told me to run along. The second time, he came around the table, took me by the shirt collar, an’ gave me a kick that sent me sprawlin’ in the dirt. The third time . . .” Matt’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips. “The third time I could hardly put on a shirt for a week, what with the welts he left on my back. After that, I didn’t get in line. ’Course, he found plenty of other reasons to take that ridin’ crop to me.”
Clancy’s jaw clamped so tight the muscles in his cheeks bulged.
“But I kept track of what he owed me. I knew what he paid the other hands, an’ I knew how long I’d been there. So one night when . . . when he an’ the others headed into town, I sneaked into his office.” Matt’s legs began to tremble. He sank down on the edge of the bed. “I made up a bill on a piece of paper I found in his desk. Wages for forty-four months. Then I subtracted off the cost of one horse. I found the cash box in his bottom drawer, an’ I took what he owed me. I saddled the horse, an’ I rode out.”
“An’ you been on your own ever since?”
“Yes, sir.” A smile twitched Matt’s cheek. “Wasn’t so bad, really. I was tall for my age—most folks figured I was older than I really was, so they weren’t opposed to givin’ me a job. I knew ranchin’, thanks to Jenks. So I worked cattle ranches in Kansas, Oklahoma, an’ Texas. Worked my way as far from Missouri as I could get.
“That last one—the Triple E in Spofford, Texas—that’s where the boss let us off on Sundays for church. Grateful for that—came to know Jesus. Now He’s with me all the time, so no matter where I’m travelin’, I’m not alone.” He sighed. “Prob’ly woulda stayed at the Triple E, ’cept the boss took sick an’ died. His wife had to sell, an’ the new owner brought in his own men. Left me lookin’ for a job again. I saw Mr. Harders’s ad, applied, and”—he flipped his palms outward with a smile—“here I am.”
“And you ain’t seen your sisters since you were a little boy?”
Matt shifted his head to look at the photograph. “Nope.”
“Don’t ya want to find ’em?”
“Sure do. But I don’t know how. I don’t even know what their names are now. Surely not Gallagher anymore . . .”
“Gallagher?” Clancy’s tone echoed confusion. “Your name’s Tucker.”
Matt scratched his chin, grinning. “Well, now, I made that up when I left Jenks. Went from Bonham to Tucker ’cause I was plumb tuckered from him workin’ me so hard. Figured it’d be harder for him to track me if I had a different name.” His grin faded. “’Course, also makes it harder for my sister to find me.”
He blinked hard, looking at the photograph. “My older sister, she made me a promise. Said she’d find me someday. I keep hopin’ . . . ’Course, all my movin’ around . . . could be she’s tried an’ just couldn’t catch up with me.” He paused. “I gotta stay put. But if Jenks sees me at the meetin’ tomorrow, he could sic the law on me, accuse me of stealin’. I could end up in jail.” Panic welled. “I can’t let that man see me.”
“Don’t worry.” Matt had never heard Clancy use such a harsh tone. “You won’t be bothered by Jenks. I’ll go in tomorrow, give Jackson a hand. Gerald won’t mind who goes an’ who stays, so long as the chores git done around here. You stay put.” He snorted. “It’s no secret how Jenks feels about sheep. He won’t come out here—not for nothin’. So you’re safe long as you stay here.”
Matt drew a deep breath and let it out by increments. “Thanks, Clancy.”
Clancy’s brow creased. “You oughtta talk to Gerald, though. He could maybe—”
“No.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t want him thinkin’ he’s hired a thief. The fewer people who know, the better. It’ll keep Jenks from gettin’ wind of my whereabouts.”
“But Jackson bein’ a lawyer . . . he might could help ya, Matthew.”
But Matt set his jaw. “You know what they do to horse thieves, Clancy.”
The older man’s face paled.
“Even if Jenks owed that horse an’ pay to me, it wouldn’t be hard for a man with his money an’ power to convince a judge otherwise. You . . . you gotta stay quiet, please?”
Clancy nodded. “Don’t you worry none. I won’t say nothin’.”
“Thanks, Clancy.”
“Let’s go get us some supper, huh?”
Matt rubbed his stomach, surprised to discover his hunger had returned. Knowing he wouldn’t need to face Jenks tomorrow, the weight of dread had lifted. “Sounds good.”
Clancy gave Matt’s arm a light punch as they walked to the big house together. “You know what I’m hopin’, Matt? That ol’ Gerald’ll get into office, an’ them laws’ll get changed, an’ men like Jenks won’t be takin’ advantage of no more orphans.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Maelle
Shay’s Ford, Missouri
April, 1903
As Maelle walked into the building Jackson had told her was used for town meetings, she chuckled softly. For one of the first times in her life, she was attired appropriately for an opera house. The flaring gray skirt and trim-fitting shirtwaist
felt peculiar after the years of wearing trousers and men’s shirts, but no one should look askance at her today.
Balancing the box that held her camera and several blank plates, she walked down the center aisle toward the well-lit stage. Red velvet curtains, hanging from ceiling to floor, bunched at both sides of the stage. The shining wood floor of the stage was empty except for a row of three straight-back chairs behind a simple podium. Her gaze scanned the dim room for the best place to set up her camera. Although electric sconces were placed above shoulder level all along the side walls, none were lit. She hoped someone would light them before things got started or the room would be too dark for photographs.
Stopping at the apron of the stage, she turned to face the shadowy rows of velvet-covered seats. She wanted to be able to photograph the attendees as well as the presenters today, but she didn’t want to move around and draw attention away from the proceedings. She tapped her lips, considering her options.
“Mike?”
The single word exclamation startled her so badly she nearly dropped her box. She spun to face the voice, her skirts swirling around her ankles. Jackson stood at the back edge of the stage, gawking in open-mouthed amazement.
She clutched the box like a shield. Her heart pounded as he crossed quickly to the apron and stared down at her, his gaze sweeping from her toes to her eyes. “You look wonderful.” The words rasped out. “Just . . . wonderful!”
Her skirts shifted as she took a backward step. Spiders of wariness scurried down her spine. Lifting her chin, she inhaled through her nose and pinned him with a fierce glare. “I had a little chat with Isabelle, and she convinced me that my odd mode of dress might give some people the wrong impression about my character. I only put this on to convince the fine people of Shay’s Ford that I’m not a reprobate.” She deepened her scowl. “I didn’t do it to impress you.”
Jackson looked like he was holding back a grin. “I would never have suspected as much.”
She lowered her gaze, her trembling arms still hugging the camera’s box. A sigh escaped. “I apologize for my snappishness. I . . . I just feel conspicuous, I suppose.”
His laugh burst out. She glared at him, and he pursed his lips, stifling the sound. “I’m so sorry. I’m not laughing at you, honestly. It’s just that you feel conspicuous in a dress that would blend in with every other woman in town. Yet in your trousers, which stuck out like a crow in a flock of redbirds, you didn’t.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Mike.”
Heat filled her cheeks, and she looked to the side. “It’s a matter of feeling comfortable.” Her voice seemed oddly intimate in the empty, echoing room. “I’ve worn trousers since I was very young. And I feel . . . safe . . . in them. In this dress . . .” She brought her gaze around, meeting Jackson’s once more. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away. “I don’t feel like me.”
Jackson squatted, resting his elbows on his thighs and linking his fingers together. “So be yourself. If you’re more comfortable in trousers, wear them. Don’t let Isabelle tell you what to do.”
He smirked. “She likes to tell everyone what to do. Aaron’s working on her penchant for bossiness.”
Maelle felt a grin grow on her lips. “I’m pleased to hear it.” But then she sobered. “However, she made a valid point, and I certainly don’t want my attire to be a stumbling block that keeps others from seeing my true character. I want people to see Jesus in me. If they’re put off by my clothes, they won’t see my heart. So . . .” She took in another deep breath. “The pants will be set aside. At least while I’m in polite company.”
Jackson smiled, his dark eyes shining in approval. “Mike, do you have plans for this evening?”
She shifted the box a bit. It was growing heavy. “Why?”
Still hunkered a mere few feet away, he said, “There’s a restaurant in a hotel on the edge of town. It has a view over the Mississippi so you can watch barges and paddleboats coming in to dock. Very relaxing. Would you like to join me there this evening?”
Another dozen spiders raced up her spine, causing her breath to come in little spurts. “Is it me or the dress you’re asking out to dinner?”
He jerked to his feet. “I . . . I . . .”
“That’s what I thought.” She turned and headed down the aisle toward the back of the room.
An echoing thud told her he’d hopped off the stage. “Mike, wait!” A hand curled over her shoulder, bringing her to a halt. “Please, don’t run away from me.”
Ducking from his grasp, she fixed him with a fierce glare.
“I’m not running away.”
“Are you sure?”
Maelle took two steps backward, putting distance between them. “I’m not running away. I’m just getting away.”
“But why?”
“Suddenly you ask me to dinner, pay me compliments. Well, that makes me uneasy. I don’t know whether you’re asking me— Mike—to dinner, or if it’s just the dress giving you ideas.”
Jackson frowned. “Now, wait just a minute. I—”
“I put on this dress so my trousers wouldn’t be a distraction to the people in this town. I didn’t put it on to invite attention from men. So keep your invitation, Jackson Harders, and leave me alone!”
Storming between two rows of seats, she charged to the side aisle. She made her way to the front of the room, stopping at the left side of the stage. A quick glance confirmed her opinion that she would have a view of the entire room and the stage from this location. After setting up her tripod, she plunked her camera into place. Once it was secure, she stepped behind it and made a show of perusing the room for the best views. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jackson stomp up the middle aisle, catch the stage lip with his hands, and lift himself onto the platform. He disappeared behind the curtains.
The moment he was out of sight, she lowered her head and closed her eyes. Tears pressed behind her lids, but she held them at bay. Tears were for sissies. No one could ever call Mike Watts a sissy. She’d always been the toughest kid in every town she entered. She’d fielded punches and verbal assaults and always came through unscathed.
So why did Jackson’s invitation to dinner leave such a bruise on her heart? Because she expected better of him. She’d thought he was different—that the external didn’t matter to him like it did others. But then he saw her in a dress, got all bug-eyed, and nearly tripped over himself asking her to spend the evening with him.
“Why, Jackson, did you have to remind me of those other men?” The words were a groan that nearly wrenched her heart from her chest.
“What other men?”
Her hand flew up to press against her pounding heart. Jackson stood in the center of the stage, one hand in his trousers pocket, his weight resting on one leg. The tenderness in his brown-black eyes brought a new sting of tears.
She focused on her camera, fiddling unnecessarily with the lens. “What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?” Her body quivered from head to toe, and she hated herself for appearing so weak.
The squeak of floorboards warned her of his approach. Maelle’s heart doubled its tempo, and she whirled around, ready to demand he leave her alone.
But he only sat on the edge of the stage, several feet away, his legs dangling. “I didn’t intend to sneak up on you. I actually stomped pretty hard just so you would hear me coming.”
“Well . . .” She shifted the camera a few inches to the right and peered through the viewfinder. Anything to keep herself occupied and avoid making eye contact. “I didn’t hear you. And I think it’s rude to listen in on someone’s private conversation.”
“But you asked me the question,” he reminded her.
A hint of teasing underscored his tone, but Maelle refused to let him dissuade her from her anger. The anger kept the hurt at bay. “I was thinking out loud. I wasn’t talking to you.”
Jackson leaned sideways, resting his palm on the stage floor. “Mike, I didn’t inte
nd to offend you by asking you to dinner, but I suspect that’s what I did. I apologize.”
She pinched her brow and examined his face. His expression remained open, kind, with no trace of insincerity. Yet she still wondered . . . She jabbed her finger in his direction. “I find it interesting that you never asked me to dinner when I was wearing pants.” Lifting her chin, she challenged, “So why now?”
Jackson shrugged, holding out both hands in surrender. “Because you have to eat?”
The twinkle in his eyes undid her. She snorted, then giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. His chuckle joined hers, and they enjoyed a moment of shared mirth.
Then he turned serious again, tipping his head and looking directly into her eyes. “Truly, Mike, I know I scared you, and I didn’t mean to. I’m not even sure why you found my invitation so frightening.” Leaning forward slightly, he added softly, “If you’d like to talk about it, I’ve got two good ears for listening.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
He raised his eyebrows at her quick answer, but he didn’t push her as he rose to his feet. “All right. But the invitation to listen remains open, whenever you’re ready to talk.”
She didn’t answer.
One side of his lips raised in a smile. “The invitation to dinner also still stands. They serve a pounded beef steak covered in grilled mushrooms that I highly recommend.”
Maelle’s stomach rolled over, her tongue creeping out involuntarily to lick her lips. Then she squared her shoulders and shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”
Jackson frowned. “Are you still afraid of me?”
Afraid? Of Jackson in his three-piece suit and silk jabot, the stage lights slanting across his face and highlighting his chiseled features? The shadows on his face brought a reminder of other faces, other shadows, but Maelle fought the bad feelings. Swallowing, she replied firmly. “No, I’m not afraid of you. But I can’t go.”
He tipped his head, his expression turning boyish. “Why not? You have to eat. Why not eat with me?”
My Heart Remembers Page 20