Stoner's Crossing

by Judith Pella

  “I didn’t. We had but one conversation which, it seemed, the court thought pertinent to the case.”

  “Can I ask what it was about?”

  “Oh, dear me, it’s been a long time…”

  The banker’s wife paused so long in apparent thought that Carolyn mistook her intent and said quickly, “Mrs. Vernon, if you feel you ought to be quiet, I’ll understand. I don’t want you to get into trouble with my grandfather.”

  “Caleb Stoner may own ninety percent of this town and at least fifty percent of the bank, but he doesn’t own me, my dear! I’m afraid I am no longer the meek and obedient wife I once was. If Caleb would try to ruin us for telling the truth—not that he ever would, I am sure—then so be it.”

  “Can I ask you something, Mrs. Vernon?” When the woman nodded, Carolyn continued. “Now, please don’t take offense, but I have to ask. Did you tell the truth at the trial?”

  “I did,” Mabel said, a bit defensively; then she sighed. “Well, I told the truth, but later I could see how my ‘truth’ could be taken in many ways. I always wondered if I did justice toward Deborah Stoner. But then, I couldn’t see what I could have done differently.”

  “My ma said just about the same thing—that is, that even the truth was twisted so it made her look bad.”

  “I am so sorry for that.”

  “She’s got another chance now, Mrs. Vernon.”

  “I still don’t see how my conversation with your mother can help. It was so brief, really. I recall that when I met her that day, she looked so unhappy. I invited her to tea, and she didn’t hesitate once in accepting, except to glance at the big cowhand who was with her. At my house she was very reticent and reserved, and I could tell it took all her nerve to speak of her marriage. She did so only in the most general way. I recall very clearly her asking if it was common for husbands to strike their wives—poor thing! I had the feeling she was entirely innocent of such matters. But I was shocked, of course, when I realized the implication of her question.”

  “Then she said he struck her?”

  “She never actually said so; and during the trial, the court examined that point quite carefully.”

  “But why else would she have asked?”

  “Unfortunately, the law requires facts, Carolyn. They said it was pure speculation to conclude that her question meant he beat her. Besides, even if they had proven she had been beaten by her husband, that is not an acceptable motive for murder. And male-dominated juries would not even accept it as a fault against the husband. The prevailing opinion of the day was that if a man struck his wife, she must have deserved it.”

  There was a moment of silence as the three women absorbed this unsettling fact. Then Carolyn asked, “Was that all there was, then, to your conversation with my ma?”

  Mrs. Vernon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked down into her lap for a long time. When she glanced back at Carolyn, there was shame in her eyes. “I’m afraid that was all. I realized later—too late—that she was reaching out for my help, and I gave her none. She needed a friend, and all I did was tell her she had to try harder to please her husband—”

  “Mama!” cut in Barbara with astonishment. “How could you? You don’t believe all that about women deserving to be beaten?”

  Mrs. Vernon’s lips parted with a ragged, distraught sigh. “I was young myself then, and that’s what I had been taught. I know now it’s pure nonsense. And, Barbara, you can be sure that if your future husband tries to hurt you, he will have a very dangerous mother-in-law to deal with!” She tried to smile at her daughter. But the look of sorrow quickly returned. “Unfortunately, my hindsight was of no help to your mother, Carolyn. I failed her then, and my later testimony helped to put her on the gallows. That has been a burden I have carried with me all these years. You don’t know how glad I was when I recently heard she had been arrested again—not that she had been arrested,” Mrs. Vernon added, a bit flustered, “but that she was still alive and well. We had all given her up for dead.”

  “You can be sure, Mrs. Vernon, that my ma doesn’t hold grudges against anyone in this town, not even Caleb,” reassured Carolyn. “She’s had a good life in all these years, and I’m pretty certain she’d say she’s been happy. So you don’t need to feel bad. Another thing my ma would say was that God used those things to make us all what we are, hopefully better people.” Carolyn paused, thought a moment, then went on. “But, Mrs. Vernon, you weren’t the only one to testify at the trial, were you?”

  “I daresay not. The trial went on for three days. But I couldn’t tell you who else testified. As I said, I came only to testify and left immediately. No one informed me about the rest of the trial—and no one talked about it later, not even the few women in the town. It was not an item permitted for idle gossip.”

  “‘Permitted’? You mean by Caleb?”

  “That’s right. And out of deference to his grief, we respected that. I must also admit that I felt so bad about the whole thing that I didn’t want to ask. I just wanted to forget all about it—which, as you can see, was impossible.”

  “I really appreciate you telling me what you have, even though it must’ve been hard. Everyone else in this town is too afraid of Caleb to say anything. I have one more question.”

  “Go on, dear,” said Mrs. Vernon gently. “If the only way I can help is through my memory, then I am glad to do it.”

  “What was my pa like? And—” Carolyn quickly added, “don’t tell me he was handsome and smart. I want to know the truth.”

  “But that is the truth, at least part of it. Whenever I saw him, he was quite charming and the perfect gentleman. But…well, there were rumors. Ladies were not privy to all the details, but I’d heard there had been lynchings of rustlers and Indians by the Stoners. They were ruthless men, I think. I myself was at the bank once when your father was dealing with one of the small ranchers who had fallen behind on a note held by the Stoners—even to this day, your grandfather holds notes on most of the ranches around here. I remember wondering how such a gentleman—and your father was always that in my presence—could wear such a terrible look of menace. It sent a chill down my spine—”

  Mrs. Vernon stopped abruptly when she noted the taut pain in Carolyn’s expression. “Oh dear!” she said. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean—”

  “No, Mrs. Vernon. I asked for it. I want to know.” But then Carolyn added in a whisper, “I think…”

  Mrs. Vernon rose, bent down next to Carolyn, and put an arm around her. The motherly tenderness of the gesture felt good to Carolyn, who missed her own mother’s comfort more than she realized. She leaned her head against the banker’s wife and was surprised to feel a tear escape her eye and drip down her cheek. Another one followed. She tried to sniff them back but without success.

  “Dear child, I am so sorry,” said Mrs. Vernon.

  “It’s not your fault. I’m such a fool, that’s all…I don’t just want to prove my ma’s innocence. I want to prove my pa’s, too. But…I know that’s gonna be impossible!”

  “It will all work out somehow,” Mrs. Vernon soothed, patting Carolyn’s shoulders. But even as she spoke, the banker’s wife remembered how she had failed Deborah, and she feared she was doing the same with the poor woman’s daughter.

  Part 10

  Confusing Encounters

  42

  When Carolyn returned to the ranch that afternoon, the house was quiet and still. She walked through several of the downstairs rooms looking for her grandfather and finally ended up in the kitchen hoping to find someone. Just as she entered, Juana, Maria’s niece, was coming in through the back door.

  “Oh, Señorita Stoner,” said the woman, who was about ten years older than Carolyn and only vaguely resembled her aunt, “you have returned. Do you need something?”

  “I was wondering where my grandfather was, that’s all.”

  “He is in his bed.”

  “In his bed? In the middle of the afternoon?”

  �
��He has not been well.”

  Carolyn remembered how tired he had looked when she left that morning. Now she felt awful that she had gone off, leaving him when he was sick.

  “What’s the matter with him? It’s not serious, is it?”

  “Maybe just a touch of the ague.”

  “Has a doctor been sent for?”

  “Oh no, señorita. The Patrón will have no doctors.”

  “Well, I’m going up to see him. If he needs a doctor, he’s gonna have a doctor!” Carolyn wondered only vaguely about the doctor’s bills she had discovered on Caleb’s desk.

  Carolyn swung around and made her way back through the kitchen and up the stairs to Caleb’s room. She knocked softly on his door, and when there was no answer she gingerly opened the door a crack, poking her head in. Caleb was indeed lying on his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, eyes closed. She was about to retreat, thinking he was asleep, when Caleb’s voice stopped her.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s me, Grandfather.”

  “Carolyn?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you want?” His voice was somewhat hoarse, but more inquisitive than remonstrative.

  “I heard you weren’t feeling well, and I just wanted to see if I could do anything for you. Can I come in?”

  “I suppose so…” Then more firmly, “Yes, I’d like that.” When she was in, he gestured for her to pull up a chair and sit by his bed. “It was thoughtful of you to come,” he said.

  “Why, of course I’d come! Land, Grandfather, do you think I’d be able to ignore your being sick and all?”

  For the first time, Carolyn felt relaxed in Caleb’s presence. Perhaps it was because he looked so different like this, lying down, with pale skin and a weak voice. He wasn’t as intimidating. On the contrary, he seemed quite vulnerable, and that natural part of Carolyn that had a heart for the helpless instantly reached out to him. It was easy to forget for a moment all the things she had heard in town—Mrs. Mendez’s bitterness when she spoke of the Stoners, Mrs. Vernon’s guileless honesty and pain when she uttered the truth. It was easy because Carolyn wanted so desperately to cling to her tender hopes that she had found a dear and loving grandfather. It was simply impossible to think of him as the ruthless, threatening town patriarch, her mother’s sworn enemy, when he was lying there looking up at her with such sad, pitiful eyes.

  “You are a good girl, Carolyn, I must admit. It’s been so long since someone has cared about me.” He sighed, and his deep-set, dark eyes, now looking almost cavernous with fatigue, momentarily softened as if with some remembered joy.

  “I do care about you, Grandfather, and I so want things to work out between us.”

  “I believe they will.” He reached out and took her hand in his and they sat in silence for several minutes. Then Caleb said, “Carolyn, when I die, I want you to have the ranch.”

  “Grandfather, this isn’t the time to talk about such things. You’re not dying, for heaven’s sake! There’s plenty of time to think of that. Besides, it’s Laban who should rightfully inherit your ranch—I wouldn’t stand in his way.”

  “Bah! That bas—excuse my language, but that’s the only way I’ll ever think of him!—he doesn’t deserve an inch of this place.”

  “You shouldn’t talk of him that way, Grandfather. He’s your son and ought to be treated better.”

  “Don’t you side with him!” Caleb spat out bitterly. “I was resigned to my ranch passing to him, but now that you are here, things are different.” He stopped suddenly upon hearing a sound in the corridor; he didn’t speak for a moment, but when the sound did not repeat itself, he continued. “I’d sooner burn the place to the ground than see him have it.”

  “That’s not right, Grandfather, and I couldn’t take it from him like that.”

  “Who says you’d have a choice? A man’s will is sacred.”

  “Well, I’ll be honest with you, then. If you left the ranch to me instead of Laban, I’d just turn it over to him. I would not be able to abide by a will like that.”

  “You are a stubborn girl.”

  “Laban has stayed here all these years and worked hard; it’s only fair.”

  “He hates my guts! And if he had the guts, he would have killed me years ago.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Not that he didn’t think of it every day.”

  “Maybe if you were a little kinder toward him—”

  “Bah!” Caleb turned on his side and, leaning on an elbow, he faced Carolyn directly. “Perhaps to save your mother you’d take the ranch?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We can cut a little deal, that’s all. You agree to run this ranch after I die—and we’d have it in writing—and I will do whatever I can to free your mother.”

  “What could you do, Grandfather? What do you know that could save her?” Carolyn asked, her hope rising.

  “All I have to do is testify that Leonard was beating her—”

  “Is that true? Was he?”

  “That really doesn’t matter. They’ll believe what I say.”

  “You mean you’d lie?”

  “Don’t be so naive, Carolyn. That’s the only way she will get off.”

  “You don’t know what you are saying.” Carolyn stared at her grandfather, appalled. Suddenly the helpless, fragile man disappeared, replaced by—she did not want to think what he had all at once become. “It’s the fever talking, Grandfather. When you’re better, you won’t even remember all this.”

  “I’ll remember, and so will you.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Not even to save your mother?”

  “My mother will be freed because she is innocent. I don’t have to make any deals with—”

  “With the devil, Carolyn?” Caleb cut in sharply. “Believe me when I say you will have no choice.”

  “Grandfather,” Carolyn said as calmly as she could, “I’m going to leave now and let you rest. You’ll think differently when you’re better.”

  Caleb said nothing more, and Carolyn left.

  It seemed that every time she was in her grandfather’s presence, she left on the verge of tears, confused and frustrated. She needed to get away for a while, out in the open. She needed to think—or perhaps she just needed to not think, to forget it all. She naturally sought out the one place where she could do all those things best—the back of her horse.

  As she hurried down the corridor on her way out of the house, she did not notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows just outside Caleb’s room.

  43

  There was no one in the stable. Ramón had gone into town to visit his mother, and the other hands, having finished their necessary chores, were taking Sunday afternoon off. She went to Tres Zapatos’ stall and quickly saddled her. But as she was leading the mare out, she heard the stable doors close. The bright light that had been streaming in from that source was suddenly cut off.

  It took only a moment for the newcomer to make himself known. It was Laban Stoner.

  “Good afternoon, Laban,” she said in her most congenial tone. But he was the last person she wanted to see at that moment.

  He said nothing for some time, just staring at her with his dark eyes that were so like Caleb’s.

  “Where are you going?” he demanded at last.

  “Just for a ride.”

  “You think you are so high-and-mighty, don’t you? The woman who has Caleb Stoner wrapped around her finger. He gives you a horse, he gives you free rein on the ranch…he gives you everything.”

  “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He’s not going to give you this ranch—do you hear!” His eyes flashed, his mouth twisted with ire.

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t play dumb. I heard your little conversation—my reward for coming to look after my poor, sick father.”

  “Well, if you heard, then you also heard that I wouldn’t take the ranch. That wouldn’t be
fair to you.”

  He sneered at her, as if the idea of such an honorable gesture meant nothing to him. “You’d take it fast enough to save your mother.”

  “He didn’t mean that; he was out of his head. None of that’s gonna happen. There’s no way he can make me take the ranch from you, Laban. You must believe that.”

  “You think, like everyone else, I am a spineless idiot, don’t you?”

  “That’s not so!”

  She wondered at the desperation in her tone. But a terrible panic had begun to creep upon her. She saw violence in Laban’s expression, heard it in his voice. It frightened her.

  “You would kiss the devil’s feet to save your mother.” He took a step toward Carolyn, and she stepped back, only to find herself up against the wooden stall. He reached up his hand—a large, calloused, strong hand—and circled her throat with it. “But what would you do to save your own neck? I think you would sleep with the devil for that!”

  “Stop it!”

  “I tell you now, Miss Carolyn Stoner, I will kill you if you stand between me and this ranch.”

  “Laban, please, don’t say things you don’t mean.” When he had threatened her before, she had given it little consideration, but now, even as Carolyn spoke, she knew this was no empty threat.

  “I could have killed him many times,” Laban went on. “He thinks I didn’t because I couldn’t, but that isn’t so. I thought I could be patient. Why risk my own neck when just a little patience would get me what I wanted? You have changed all that. I am no longer patient!” His hand tightened on her neck as he forced her harder against the stall.

  “That hurts. Stop it!” She reached up a hand and shoved him, surprised at how easily he gave way, stepping back from her.

  She tried to turn from him toward her horse, but he caught her arm in a vise-like grip.

  “Like him, you think I am nothing, his bastard son. But I am a man, his true son!”

  “I know that, Laban.” But her voice shook as she spoke, lacking proper conviction.

  “You don’t think I could do it, do you? You believe I have no guts, or why else have I stayed here all these years under his thumb. You don’t fear me enough, Carolyn.”