Chapter Forty-Nine
“Roady, are you sure Flood and Claire won’t mind you taking the afternoon off to escort me into town?” Sally asked, excitement zipping through her. She watched from the front window of the bunkhouse as the ranch sleigh and a team of horses were hitched and ready to go.
Outside, Francis stood holding the lines, his back hunched against the wind. He was as thick as a bear from all his clothing, and frosty air issued forth from his lips as he breathed.
“I wouldn’t want to overstep their hospitality,” Sally went on.
Her layers of clothing, as well as the heavy fur coat Claire had insisted she wear, kept her toasty warm. But they were still inside a building. She knew the ride into Y Knot would be brutal. Roady had cautioned her all morning. They’d have to make good time, as not to be out in the cold too long.
Francis glanced at the window and stomped his feet. When he saw Sally watching, he dipped his chin and turned away.
“Said they didn’t.” Roady pulled on his thick leather gloves. “But I could see in their eyes they think we’re loco.”
“But Francis, Ike, and Smokey?”
“Mr. and Mrs. McCutcheon insisted we take ’em. They’d not let us venture out without men riding guard after what happened to Uncle Pete.” He slugged down the last of his coffee and strode to the kitchen.
Smokey and Ike led their horses from the barn.
“They’re ready,” she said, turning back to her husband. “Everyone’s out there.”
Roady came to her side and ran his hand down the arm of the borrowed fur coat. “Then let’s get going. This is something we should have taken care of months ago. Waiting any longer isn’t an option. A day or two could make all the difference.”
Sally breathed a huge sigh of relief. He was right. Too much time had passed already. She needed to make sure her sisters were protected from Eric Greenstein. A little cold and discomfort weren’t stopping her now.
She nodded. “Agreed. Once we do this, I won’t ask for any more favors.”
He chuckled and went to the door. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t. I like makin’ you happy, but not when we’re risking your life.”
“And the lives of the men? Only ten days have passed since—”
He shushed her with a look. “They’ll be fine. Doing something will take their minds off him. Don’t let ’em fool ya; they like going to town.”
At the thick wooden door, she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. “Thank you, Roady.” She was aware of Lucky’s presence. “I won’t forget this.”
“All right then, let’s get this party started,” he said.
Sally pulled her fur hat lower and lifted the wool scarf across her nose and mouth.
Outside, with a firm hand, Roady helped her into the sleigh. “Up you go.” He handed her to Francis, who had climbed in when they’d come outside.
She snuggled down into the middle of the front seat, and Roady got in beside her. With several animal skins and a heavy buffalo robe, he tucked in every tuckable place. Finished, he laid one robe across his lap and lifted the rifle off the floorboard. They were ready.
Ike and Smokey mounted, both with their Remingtons cradled in their arms. They wouldn’t let anything get close.
“We’re off,” Francis called out, and she imagined his shy smile behind his wool scarf. He clucked his tongue and slapped the lines.
The sleigh glided forward with ease. They made a wide turn in the yard, taking them past the ranch house where Flood and Claire stood in the window.
When they waved, Sally tried to wave back, but her hands were captured under the robes. All she could do was lift her chin and smile, even though that too was hidden. They smiled back, but she could see the worry in their eyes.
When the sleigh was about twenty feet ahead, she turned to see Smokey and Ike started behind. She felt safe and protected.
Except for the cold, the countryside was gorgeous. White as far as the eye could see. The steel-blue sky overhead said they had a clear day, at least for a while. Filled with eagerness, Sally swiveled again and watched the riders. Smokey and Ike’s large ranch horses pushed through the snowfall, a bit easier since the virgin snowpack had already been broken by the sleigh’s team.
Roady leaned in. “Warm enough?” His gaze searched hers.
She nodded. “Actually, yes. Everything is so beautiful. I’m glad we came.”
But were the poor cold ranch hands? She owed them so much for doing this favor. She’d cook them a nice supper and bake a cake once she was home again in her own cozy cabin.
“Good. At least the snow isn’t too deep here. Up in the mountains, the drifts must be ten to fifteen feet.” He shook his head.
Emerging from a copse, the sleigh moved forward as if on wings. Off to the right, where the trees thinned, she could see open prairie rolling away to the hills, and farther back were the large mountains. A small grouping of cattle stood with their heads hung low. Only a few looked to see who was approaching. Large lumps of white were scattered around, and she wondered what they were.
When Roady noticed what she was looking at, he put his arm around her and turned her head away.
Feeling his uneasiness, she burrowed closer and focused her gaze forward. They passed a stream where the ice had been broken out, and she could hear the trickle of water over stones. By the ranch hands, she guessed. The snow was trampled around the watering hole where the cattle came to drink.
While she stayed warm in the house each day, the men, including Roady, were outside working to keep the animals alive. Ranchers were tough, but vulnerable too. She stole a glance up at Roady, a dark feeling unsettling her nerves. Uncle Pete’s passing had opened her eyes. Montana was not only romantic, but perilous too.
Chapter Fifty
Mr. Tracy glanced up when Sally and Roady entered the telegraph office. “What in tarnation brings the two of you into town?” He gaped at them, his eyes widening at their sudden arrival.
As they hurried for the woodstove in the corner of the room, he said, “I’d think you had more sense. I’ve seen a few folks from town getting out and about a bit, but no one from the ranches. You must be frozen solid.”
He was right; Sally was. By the time they’d reached the halfway point, Sally was seriously rethinking her decision. No wonder Flood and Claire had tried to dissuade her. They’d talked until they ran out of objections, giving in to her decision.
They didn’t know the real reason why she needed to get to Y Knot. They knew nothing of the telegram she would send—if the lines were still up and working. She’d insisted she needed to check on her sister Heather, out at the mill. That she was homesick for her. Sally hoped she hadn’t destroyed the wonderful relationship she’d forged with them, especially Claire.
The McCutcheons considered Roady a fifth son, and in turn treated her like a beloved daughter-in-law. Sally risking so many lives—Roady, the ranch hands, as well as her baby and herself—could not ingratiate herself to them. They’d think her a spoiled brat. But because of her sisters, that couldn’t be helped.
“We’d like to send a telegram,” Roady said. “Are the lines clear?”
“You’re in luck.”
She sought out Roady’s gaze. They’d talked about what to say, but hadn’t written out anything. Didn’t want the note falling into anyone else’s hands.
Roady beat his gloves together a few times and then peeled them off, tossing them next to the stove. She left hers on and followed him to the counter, where she noticed a plate of food pushed to the side.
The very small telegraph operator wiped his hands on a cloth and nodded. He put his finger on the telegraph and waited.
“Who’s it to?”
“Before we get started, I want to make something perfectly clear,” Roady said in a serious tone.
The man’s head jerked up, and his gaze met Roady’s.
“You have to promise you’ll keep every single word to yourself. This is private. Our busines
s only.”
Sally glanced at Roady’s rock-hard expression.
“Of course,” Mr. Tracy said, his brows lowered. “That’s part of the job.”
That might be so, but the man’s gnome-like eyes burned with curiosity. Sally felt a moment of panic. In a few seconds, he’d know her shame.
Roady leaned one arm onto the counter, getting closer. “I mean it, Tracy.”
Mr. Tracy straightened. “So do I.”
Roady gave her one last glance before saying, “This is to Travis Stanford, St. Louis, Missouri, in a sealed envelope. We want the note delivered to him only.”
“Confidentiality will cost ya extra.”
“Fine.”
Sally looked away. Soon this man would know her baby wasn’t Roady’s. She’d been sure of this decision, and still was, but that didn’t make the truth any easier. Humiliation squeezed her chest. She turned to look out the front window, keeping an ear to hear what Roady would say.
Beware Eric Greenstein STOP He forced himself on Sally STOP Keep him away from your sisters and mother STOP Do not take matters into your own hands STOP He will pay in due time STOP I will see to that STOP Tell no one STOP Sincerely Roady Guthrie STOP Your new brother-in-law END
Sally eased closer. How would Travis handle the situation? She’d been so worried about Anita and Melba; she hadn’t given her brother much thought. What if he exacted justice himself? What if he killed Mr. Greenstein? She didn’t want her brother to go to prison, or worse, be hung. In a panic, she gripped Roady’s coat.
He glanced down and smiled. “No worries, sweetheart. Everything’ll be fine.”
She felt Mr. Tracy’s gaze on her face but didn’t look at him. Their secret was out. The attack she’d endured wasn’t just between her and Roady any longer. She knew what she’d insisted on was the right thing to do. No taking it back now.
“Back so soon?” Mr. Tracy mumbled when Roady returned alone twenty minutes later. The man laid down the buttered biscuit he was about to shove into his mouth and wiped his hands. “Did ya forget something?” He glanced at the area around the woodstove.
“Sure didn’t. Need to send another telegram.”
Mr. Tracy’s gaze cut to the door. “Where’s your wife?”
“Visitin’ with her sister out at the mill.”
The telegraph operator’s brow peaked almost imperceptibly. Over the years, the man had most likely heard his share of revelations.
Roady couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Did he believe Sally a loose woman? He didn’t know, and actually, he didn’t much care. Right now, all he could think about was what he had to do next.
“Today?”
“’Course.” Tracy hopped down and went to the telegraph.
“This is confidential too. Send it to Eric Greenstein, St. Louis News and Events.”
The telegraph operator’s head jerked up, his eyes questioning, and then he went to work clicking out the address. “Done. What do you want to say?”
Keep watch over your shoulder STOP I’m not a timid girl STOP You will pay for what you did STOP Don’t ever approach my wife’s family STOP If you ignore this warning your wife will get the letter you sent STOP Along with the bank note STOP And an explanation STOP I look forward to our meeting STOP You can bank on that STOP Roady Guthrie STOP Sally’s cowboy husband END
When Mr. Tracy finished, he didn’t look up. His jaw clenched and released several times. “Anything else?” he asked, keeping his attention on his fingers.
“That’s all. How much do I owe you?”
Mr. Tracy slowly raised his face and looked him in the eye. “It’s on the house.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Evelyn groaned and gripped her stomach, and Margaret almost dropped her knitting needles into her lap. She and Evelyn sat by the fire after Chance and Andy had finished the noon meal and the kitchen cleanup was done.
In haste, Margaret set her knitting on the small side table and hurried to Evelyn’s side. “What is it?” she asked.
“Just getting ready for labor, I think,” Evelyn wheezed out. She panted a couple of times and rubbed her large belly. “These pains shouldn’t surprise me. Everyone says how agonizing labor is. I can’t expect to be different.”
“But you’re not due.” She still had an entire month to go. Surely, Evelyn wasn’t going into labor now.
Evelyn laughed and took one of her hands. “No, no, nothing like that. Dr. Handerhoosen said my body will begin to prepare for labor, softening up. That means bones will begin to move, so when the day arrives, labor will be as easy as possible. I’d guess that’s what’s been happening the last couple of days.”
Last couple of days? “You haven’t said as such.”
From the very beginning, Margaret had been frightened Evelyn would go into labor early, and she’d have to deliver the baby. She couldn’t deal with such thoughts. She’d run a mail-order-bride agency, not dealt with matters that came after the unions were formed, like childbirth.
Evelyn laughed and released Margaret’s hand. She lifted the tiny layette gown suitable for a boy or girl. “What do you think?”
Margaret forced a calming breath and settled herself back in her chair. “It’s beautiful. You’re more talented than I with your knitting needles.” Everything would be fine. They still had several weeks to go.
Evelyn glanced at the garment, and then back at Margaret. “Really? That’s difficult for me to believe. I’ve tried to measure up to you, but haven’t come close.” She laughed softly. “Not by a country mile.”
Margaret had been pulling out her last sloppy stitch in the baby blanket she worked on. Evelyn’s statement made her glance up. Is that how she feels? Margaret hadn’t meant to impose such standards onto her goddaughter. Not at all.
“What do you mean?”
Evelyn’s smile faded. “Only that I’ve tried to please you, and I believe I have, for the most part. But you must admit, I’ve fallen short countless times.” She waved a hand in front of her. “Actually, I don’t know why I brought that up. I truly need to thank you for raising me after Mama passed on. Without a father, or any relatives, I can’t imagine how my life would have turned out.”
She hadn’t known Evelyn felt inadequate. The thought broke her heart. “Raising you was our pleasure. Our home just wouldn’t have been the same without you. It would have been much too quiet. My most wonderful memories are of when you were a baby and a child. You were such a curious little thing. You never stopped asking questions.” She laughed, even though she felt like crying. “Ran us all ragged. The colonel, as well. We had to keep several steps ahead of your imagination, or we’d be in trouble.”
Evelyn smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes, I remember.”
“Those were good years.”
Setting the dainty little garment aside, Evelyn gave her an intent look. “Margaret, do you know who my father is?”
Blindsided, Margaret didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she looked at the fire between them, deciding how much she should say. So many years had passed, she’d thought perhaps Evelyn would never ask this question. She’d been wrong.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” But I have my ideas.
“You must remember who my mother was seeing at the time. Whenever I’d ask her, she had a way of redirecting the conversation.” She placed her hand on her belly and rubbed a slow circle. “As I grew older, I realized that was because the topic brought her pain, so I stopped. She lived with you when she was a teacher at Kirkwood Seminary Women’s College. Were you with her when she found out she was carrying me?”
That heartbreaking day was burned into Margaret’s brain as deeply as a brand on a steer.
“Margaret? Please?”
She nodded. Maybe the time had come for Evelyn to know something, at least. “I’d just returned from lunch with friends at the Teacup Café. Do you remember the quaint little eatery not far from the house I used to take all the girls to?”
Evelyn n
odded.
“The house was quiet, or so I’d thought. Your mother had been staying with us for about six months, renting a room on the second floor.” Pausing, Margaret reached for her drink to wet her suddenly parched throat. How much should she tell? What did Estelle want Evelyn to know? “I started up the staircase when I heard a noise in your mother’s room. I stopped and listened because usually she’d be teaching at that time of day. I thought perhaps she’d taken sick.”
Evelyn listened with large, wonder-filled eyes.
“I knocked, but Estelle didn’t answer. I put my ear to the door and heard soft sobs and the sound of her blowing her nose. I was alarmed, fearful something had happened.” She gripped the chair arms, remembering that day well. Remembering her feelings of helplessness. “I begged her to open the door. She was alone in the world and very upset. I knew she needed a shoulder to lean on, so I didn’t stop asking until she let me inside.”
Evelyn nibbled her bottom lip. “What did she say?”
“That she’d had to relinquish her position because she was with child. And that she didn’t know how she could go on without a job and with a baby on the way.”
Margaret would not share how bitterly Estelle had wept. How giving up all that she’d worked so hard to achieve had broken her heart. How the father of the baby had shut the door in her face when she’d gone to him. No, that would stay wrapped up in Margaret’s heart forever.
“I made her an outcast,” Evelyn whispered, her eyes brimming.
“No. You didn’t. She chose a solitary life. After you were born, I encouraged her to get out and meet people. To let me care for you, and to put you in school, but she wanted to stay inside the Victorian and teach you herself.”
Lumbering up, Evelyn went to the stacked firewood and hefted a log onto the fire.
Margaret stood and stepped close. “You’re supposed to let me do that,” she scolded at her side.
Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9) Page 24