Westbound Awakening

by Hildie McQueen

  "Don't say that…"

  "It's the truth. I've come to terms with it. I just ask you sit with me and let me get to know you. Tell you as much as I can about myself and your inheritance." Mae clenched her teeth; he didn't have a right to ask anything of her. Her father chuckled. "You're probably thinking I'm lucky you even came." He was right of course. "And you're right about that. I was proud and stupid. When your mother told me she was expecting, it was right after I'd become engaged to Mary. My fiancée was a good woman. And she came from a respectable, wealthy family. At first I planned to return here to Texas and break off the engagement. Then I became terrified. And well too proud to admit to her family and mine I'd been unfaithful to Mary and fathered a child out of wedlock. At twenty-eight, I should have known better. Instead of cowering, I should have been a man and not succumbed to pride. I admit her money was also a factor." Well his statement cinched it; he was her father. Honest and to the point of crassness.

  He'd been the same age as she was now. She could relate to pride, but greed, was something she didn't understand. "So now you get this large ranch and it is prosperous, so something came of my cowardly act I suppose."

  His chuckle was without mirth. "The sad thing is, I bought it and prospered this ranch without any monetary help from Mary or her family. After meeting you, guilt followed me, a heavy burden I could not lay down. I threw myself into work and prospering this land." He shook his head. I will admit to you I fell in love with your mother the instant I met her, and I wish I'd never abandoned her. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

  Mae blinked at his confession. If only her mother had known. Perhaps she did; they had both loved each other, and the ending was tragic. On some level she could relate to it.

  "Mary and I never had much of a marriage. Through the years, she was a good wife to me." Her father continued.

  "What happened to her?" Mae asked.

  Her father looked past her to a dresser along the wall. Mae followed his line of sight to see a portrait of a young dark-haired woman dressed in a flowing gown. With a hand on her lap and another on the arm of a chair, she looked into the distance, her face solemn except for a slight lift at one side of her mouth. "Mary died of a pneumonia; she was always frail."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Yes well, I am too. I never made her happy. Sometimes I wondered if she grieved for another, a lost love or heartbreaking romantic interest. She never said anything. At times however, her melancholy was so heavy, it weighed down those around her." Again he closed his eyes, this time his breathing became labored.

  Mae studied the woman in the picture, the eyes told a story of loss and sadness. So much like her mother's. "I should let you rest."

  "Come visit me after supper daughter. I would like to speak of the accounts. Bring the ledgers with you. Elma knows where they are kept." His eyes closed and his rasping pants slowed.

  Making her way to the kitchen, Mae stopped at the doorway into the large room to the right of the entryway. A huge fireplace flanked by twin leather chairs, each with a wooden footstool faced another pair of wooden chairs with overstuffed cushions. Over the fireplace a rustic mantle, over it a large landscape painting of what looked to be the surrounding lands. The curtains framing the windows were long and cream colored, the thick fabric capable of keeping light out and heat in.

  She moved inside running her hand along the back of one of the chairs. Her eyes took in the room, lighting on a large porcelain vase. It was painted with an intricate design of a floral bouquet that took her breath away. She traced it with a fingertip. Could I live here?

  "Hello cousin," at the masculine voice Mae gasped and thrust the vase forward. The vessel tottered, and she grabbed it with both hands to steady it.

  A stocky sandy brown haired man who looked to be about thirty stepped toward her. "I'm sorry. I thought you heard me walk in." He held his hand out. "I'm Joshua, and you must be Mae."

  Mae shook his hand. "Hello Joshua, I've heard good things about you. I just left my father's room, I suppose I was deep in thought and didn't hear you approach."

  Joshua nodded. "How is he?"

  "Elma says he seems better. To me he looks frail and in a lot of pain."

  "Uncle Joe has been hanging in there waiting for you to return. He's a strong old man." Sorrow etched on his face when Joshua's brown eyes searched hers. "I don't expect you'll believe me, but he cares for you deeply."

  She bit back an irate retort; it wouldn't do any good to argue with people who obviously held her father in high regard. "I want to talk to you about the ranch. It doesn't strike me as fair for it to be given to me and not you. It's obvious my father cares for you, and you've been working the land. Not to mention, you've been here all along to help."

  Joshua smiled. "Aunt Mary left me her lands. They neighbor Hawkins' lands on the east side and rivals them in size. A couple hundred acres of prime, rich land is all mine." He gave her an easy smile and she found it easy to relax with him. "I appreciate it Mae, but I don't need what by all rights belongs to you."

  "I -- I don't know anything about ranching," Mae stuttered. "I'm not even sure wish to remain in Texas."

  "Well, you'll make the right decision when the time comes. I'll help you hire another good ranch hand to help Alan if need be. I've been lending a hand since Uncle Joe took ill. To continue for much longer is too much for me to do alone with only Alan."

  "I see." Mae sunk into the nearest chair. "I appreciate your honesty. You could have just taken the ranch and sold it or something."

  "Now that would not be right." Joshua gave her a patient look, which made her feel childish. "It's all right to be scared Mae, but the land out there." He pointed out the window. "Well Mae, it's your birthright and if you're meant to stay, it will call to you to do so." He took a breath. "Well, I better go see the old man. Nice meeting you."

  Mae listened to Joshua's footsteps until they became faint. Would she remain in Texas? Maybe her future was here. The only truth right now was she just missed John. It was the only truth. This was not what she expected at all. No, she thought at the most she'd remain two weeks, speak to her father and book a passage on the stagecoach back to Virginia. Now she wasn't sure if she could leave, at least not until she figured out what to do with the land. Her father was on the brink of death, the glaze in his eyes, the dullness, being telltale signs of an imminent end.

  Gray eyes formed in her mind, followed by John's face and then the distinct line of his straight nose, and smooth jawline. The depth of his voice when he'd moaned while kissing her, echoed in her mind. Mae squeezed her eyes tight needing to keep the vision longer. Surely he didn't think of her. No, he was reunited with his family and starting a new life. At the thought of him kissing another woman, a knot formed in her throat and she struggled to swallow. "No."

  "Senorita, dinner is ready." Elma interrupted her thoughts. "Would you like it brought here?"

  Mae straightened and lifted her hand to her hair to smooth it from her face before turning to the woman. "I would appreciate it. Thank you, Elma. And can you tell me where the ledgers are please? Father wants to review them with me after I eat so I'd like to look them over."

  Elma went to a cabinet to the right of the door and opened a drawer. From it she pulled two large ledgers and brought them to Mae. "This one is for household expenses," she handed it to her. "And this one is where the Senor Hawkins keeps track of all the other ranching expenses and incoming money."

  After dinner, Mae went to see her father to find him fast asleep. She stood over him for a few moments and watched his chest rise and fall, his breathing labored. Sadness filled her at the realization she'd never get to know him. At least the hatred and anger she expected didn't fill her. Holding the ledgers in her lap, Mae sat in a chair to continue watch over him. When he woke, they would discuss the accounts. Although they were well kept and organized, she doubted it would take very long for him to be satisfied she had the gist of what needed to be done to keep them straight.
/>
  The thud of one of the ledgers slipping off her lap and hitting the floor woke her. Her father continued on deep in slumber, and Mae rose to go and do the same. When she bent to collect the book off the floor, she noticed the corner of a picture frame which had been tucked or fallen under the nightstand. She picked it up and was astonished. It was picture of her mother and herself at about five or six.

  The last time he'd visited perhaps? What a tragic story it turned out for all those involved. Her father succumbed to the pressures of a well to do family, and her mother was ostracized for becoming pregnant out of wedlock. Thankfully, her family from Northern Virginia gave her the house in Widow's Peak. Then they'd promptly all but disowned her. Although her father married, neither got their happily-ever-after.

  14

  Two days after Carla had left Wesley in his care, the ever-present fever became worse, and John lost hope he'd be able to care for the child. Death was now something he feared. The last thing he wanted for his son was to be abandoned and alone in a strange town with no one to care for him.

  John shook so hard his teeth chattered, yet he managed to guide the horse down the winding road on Hawkins lands to the main house. Lord, don't let her be gone, not yet. He repeated the prayer he'd been chanting in his mind over and over again. Mae had told him she didn't plan to stay long, yet he hoped she'd decided to remain for while longer. Surely she'd not left so soon, needing time to recover from the travel here.

  Wesley sat next to him, silent, holding his precious bundle. His eyes shifted up to John's face every few minutes as if to assure he'd not passed out. He had wondered about it himself several times during the six hours it took to get there. Although the boy was no more than three, he had a mature calmness about him. John took strength from it, and it steadied him.

  The large ranch house finally came into view, and John breathed a sigh of relief. "See the house Wes? We're going there."

  "House," Wesley repeated his eyes wide. "Big."

  "Yes, it's very big," John replied and repeated the prayer. Mae had to be there. Otherwise, his options were to find a place to live with Wesley and somehow hire someone to help care for him while he recovered, if it was even meant to happen. He wasn't sure he could do it, not with the way the raging fevers and pain continued to assault.

  The door opened and the short Hispanic woman he'd met last time came outside just as he pulled the wagon to a stop in front of the large ranch home. Her eyes went from him to Wesley and back. "I remember you.You are Senorita Mae's friend. Come inside." She rounded the cart to Wesley's side and held her hands up to the boy. "Well hello boy, come here let me help you down." John watched as his son held his arms out seeming to accept the woman as a friend.

  The woman met his gaze over the child's head, concern evident at seeing the sheen of perspiration on his face. "Come inside Senor, I have some fresh lemonade."

  John's mouth watered at the thought and he climbed down not able to suppress the groan at the piercing pain. With each step, he wanted to crumble to the floor. "Thank you Ma'am. Is Mae here?"

  The woman nodded, and relief flooded him so hard his legs almost buckled. "Si, she is here. My name is Elma," she told Wesley who regarded her with interest. "Come. Inside. Once I serve you a cold drink, I will let senorita Mae know you are here." The woman made her way inside with Wesley in her arms as John followed barely able to keep his balance.

  The boy watched him over Elma's shoulder, and without blinking he tracked John's movements. A pang of guilt built in John’s chest at how unsteady his son's life was. John did not look away; his son needed reassurance from him right now.

  Once he’d limped through the entryway into the house, John placed a small bag with a change of clothes just inside the doorway in the dimly lit hallway and forced himself to keep up with the woman and his son as they made their way to where he assumed was the kitchen. Pulses throbbed up his leg with each step until his breathing became so labored he had to stop and lean against the wall.

  Elma materialized and grabbed his arm, urging him forward. "Senor, you are not well at all. Doctor Kennedy will be here later to see Senor Hawkins, and I will ask him to see you."

  "Good, yeah...I planned to see the doctor in a day or two. Just need to rest a bit."

  The woman did not reply, and by the set of her lips pressed together into a tight line, John knew she didn't agree. He was already going to ask too much of them, so the last thing he needed to burden them with was his illness.

  The sound of voices traveled down the hallway, Elma and a muffled masculine voice. From the tone of the conversation, it was someone the woman knew. If it were someone from town, then hopefully they'd leave right away and were there only to see Elma. She was not in the mood for visitors. Most of the night her father had moaned in pain, and she'd remained by his bedside dolling out regular quantities of medication. Exhaustion did not begin to cover how she felt at the moment. Even the thought of going to the kitchen to get some tea before lying down for a few minutes would be a hardship for her at this point.

  Mae arranged the blankets across her father's chest. He'd barely spoken today, his eyes continuingly closing and his breathing became more and more labored as time progressed. She'd been hesitant to wake Elma up and send someone to fetch the doctor. Thankfully when the woman finally came to check on him the next morning, he seemed better. Doctor Kennedy was due to come any minute, so they'd wait. She looked to the doorway; maybe the male who'd arrived was the doctor, as it was possible he decided to arrive earlier.

  Mae leaned closer to the slumbering man, and placed her hand on his forehead. He felt cool to the touch, no fever.

  A tremor shook him and his eyes opened. "You are still here." The weak statement scared more than reassured her. "Don't worry 'bout me. I'm going to die a happy man knowing you are where you deserve to be." His eyes closed again. A soft moan followed by tremors began again. She pulled on his chin to open his mouth and dispensed two drops of medication.

  Minutes passed, and the moaning continued. This was troublesome. Mae scrambled from the room. "Elma! Come at once." She rushed down the hallway to the kitchen. He couldn't die. Not yet. Suddenly, she was not ready to let him go.

  "Senorita, what is it?" Elma stopped her just as she got to the kitchen doorway. "Is the Senor in a bad way?"

  "Y -- yes…" Mae stuttered only to stop speaking at seeing a pale John sitting at the kitchen table. He had a glass of lemonade in front of him, his hand wrapped around it.

  When he went to stand, Elma went back to where he was and pushed him back down with a firm hand on his shoulder. "You should remain seated Senor McClain."

  "What's wrong John?" Mae went to him brushing hair away from her face with the back of her hand distracted by the new matter at hand. "Are you sick?"

  Despite his sallow skin and dark circled eyes coupled with the sheen of sweat on his face John's voice was strong. "I've had better days. I need to speak to you." His gaze swept to the boy and warmed. "My son needs a place to stay while I recover."

  "Of course," Mae replied, distracted by the thumping of her heart at John's presence. She looked back to Elma. "Please send someone to fetch Doctor Kennedy; my father needs him now." She turned an accessing eye to John. "And he can see John while he's here too." Elma rushed to the back door and exited.

  "You will stay here for a few days. You don't look well enough to travel right now."

  John opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped when she tapped her foot and nodded, "I'd appreciate it."

  Not sure what to do, Mae took a breath. "I will get a bedroom ready for you." Her eyes swept to the other side of the table, and she noticed a small child who sat opposite John. He'd not moved since she'd entered, so she'd missed him being there. What was she thinking? Of course it was John's child. He'd mentioned needing the boy to stay. She swung back to John. "Did his mother come with you?"

  "No, just us two."

  She made her way toward the child. "My name is Mae." Her attempt at a
smile failed.

  Exact replicas of John's serious eyes looked back at her. The boy seemed at ease around strangers. "Hello."

  "His name is Wesley," John told her. "My son."

  "It’s more than obvious since he's your spitting image." Mae patted the boy's head and looked at John who stared at the boy as if noticing the resemblance for the first time.

  "He's got your eyes, dark hair and seems to have your personality as well."

  He gave her a questioning look.

  Elma came back inside. "Alan is gone to fetch Doctor Kennedy. I will go see about Senor Hawkins."

  "No," Mae stopped her. "I will go back. Please see about Mister McClain and Wesley." She was not ready be alone with John, didn't want to know why he was there with only his son. Not today. Thankfully, he did not try to stop her.

  She went back to her father's bedroom to wait for the doctor to arrive but could not sit still. Twice she went to the door and started to leave, turned away and paced back to the window. Maybe she should go and talk to John, if he planned to leave the child with her. Where was the boy's mother?

  John's wagon remained in the front of the house. Alan appeared and drove it away to the back where the stables were.

  Why was John here? Why did he come alone with only the child? It was obvious he was very ill. Her face softened at recalling the small child. He was adorable; no doubt a replica of what John had looked like as a babe. Did John leave the boy's mother? Was it possible? No, perhaps, his she was away, and John needed help caring for the boy. Wesley. Yes that was his name. John needed help with Wesley since he was not feeling well.

  Her head falling forward snapped Mae awake at Doctor Kennedy's voice just outside the doorway. The opening of the door made her jump to her feet and move toward it. Elma stood with him, a grim expression on her face. The doctor moved past Mae into the room and she would have followed him except for Elma taking her arm.