Janet Quin-Harkin

by Fools Gold

  “I think Buster needs to grow before he can defend you from banditos,” Manuel said, smiling.

  “I am saying you need a cactus fence,” Don Miguel said. “Only a fool would try to come through prickly pear and you can defend one gate.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Libby said. “But I wish you would take your complaint to the sheriff. I’ll come with you, if you like. I’ll help you get justice.”

  Don Miguel shook his head. “No, señora. I cannot let you do this. If you speak for Mexicanos, whom these men think are so lowly, you may also find yourself with bullet in your back.”

  Libby watched them ride away, angry at her powerlessness. It seemed so unfair that Don Miguel and his son, who behaved in every way like gentlemen, should be victimized by any uncouth lout who could call himself a Yankee. When she got back to the house she did double-check the rifle and the ammunition supplies and she wondered if she should get guns for the new Chinese laborers.

  The days passed with no unfriendly visitors and Libby relaxed her vigilance. Then, one evening she was bringing in washing from the line when Buster started barking. She scanned the horizon, listening for horses, but saw nobody. Buster continued barking, the hair on his neck erect as he looked down to the creek.

  “What is it, boy?” Libby asked. She slowly put the washing into the basket at her feet. As she straightened she noticed a movement and two men came out of the willows, walking slowly up the slope toward her. They were unshaven and ragged, with shapeless hats pulled well down over their faces. Libby put her hand on Buster’s collar.

  “What do you want?” she called.

  “Good day to you, ma’am,” one of them said in a low, gravelly voice with a marked southern accent. “We was wondering if y’all had any odd jobs you needed done.”

  “Thank you, but I already have a helper who does my odd jobs,” Libby said.

  “We’re mighty hungry, ma’am,” the other man said, walking closer to Libby. “We could sure use a bite of food, if you can spare it.”

  “I’ll see what I can find for you,” Libby said. “Why don’t you wait right there and I’ll come out with it.”

  She hurried back to the house, taking Buster with her. She tried to tell herself that these were poor starving men and she owed them charity, but every instinct warned her not to trust them. She burst into the kitchen and grabbed the surprised Ah Fong. “Listen to me,” she whispered. “Take both the horses. Lead them quietly away from the house and then ride as fast as you can to get Don Miguel. Tell him bandits.”

  “You be all right here alone?” he whispered back.

  “I’m going to get the rifle,” she whispered. “Go!” she added as he opened his mouth to protest.

  As she came out of the kitchen she gasped to see the men right at the doorway. Buster was growling, showing his teeth.

  “Cute puppy,” one of the men said. “Might amount to something if he grows up.” He aimed a kick in the dog’s direction. “Shut up, dog,” he said. Buster cringed and dodged but kept growling.

  “I thought I told you to wait down there,” Libby said angrily. “I don’t want my children scared.”

  She still could not see their faces. “You live here all alone then?” one of them drawled. He was a tall, gangly man, like a daddy longlegs spider and his torn pants came up above his ankles.

  “I have my field workers,” she lied. “They live behind the house. They’ll be coming up from my fields shortly. It’s getting dark.”

  “We didn’t see nobody in the fields, did we, Bo?” the tall man drawled.

  “Sit down if you want food,” Libby said. She started into the house.

  “Kitchen’s out here, ma’am, ain’t it?” one of them called after her.

  “But I keep my dishes in the house,” she said shortly. She ran up the steps, snatched the rifle from the wall, and threw her shawl over her, hiding the hand with the rifle in it. “Stay here and don’t move,” she whispered to the children, firmly shutting their bedroom door.

  “Mighty cozy place you got here,” came a voice behind her and the tall man stood leaning against the doorframe. “Seems a pity you ain’t got no man to share it with.” He leaned in farther. “Specially that nice big feather bed through there.” He grinned, showing a mouth of blackened teeth.

  In the back bedroom Noel began to cry. The man looked at her with amusement. “Seems like you can find yourself a man when you need one,” he said, “and you found yourself one not too long ago.”

  “I must ask you to leave my house,” Libby said. “I was intending to be charitable and feed you, but I’ll not be insulted. Get out and take your friend with you.”

  The man’s grin widened. “Now who’s going to make me get out, little lady?” he asked.

  Libby threw back her shawl and levelled the rifle. “I killed a man with this once,” she said. “I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.”

  “No sense in being hostile like,” the man said. “I was only tryin’ to make pleasant conversation. Didn’t mean no harm, ma’am. Me and Willie could sure use some food and then we’ll be on our way.”

  He started to back down the steps. Libby kept him covered all the way to the kitchen. Then she grabbed a lump of cold meat and a piece of bread, putting them together on a plate.

  “Here,” she said, putting the plate down without taking her eyes off the men. “Take this and go. Get off my property and don’t come back.”

  She stood there, rifle still pointed at them as Bo slunk toward the plate and picked up the food. “Much obliged, ma’am,” he muttered. He handed the food to his partner, then without warning, he rushed her. She shot and the bullet went wide as he grabbed the gun stock. Before he could snatch it from her, however, Buster sank his teeth into Bo’s bare shin.

  “Ow, get him off me,” he yelled, hitting out at the dog and giving Libby a chance to regain the rifle.

  “Get out while you’re still alive,” Libby said, calmly reloading the spent chamber. “I’m going to count to five and then I start shooting.”

  Before she could reach three the men began to move off. From over the hill came the sound of hoofbeats and yells. The men looked up in alarm as Don Miguel, his son, and Ah Fong all galloped into view.

  “My workers returning,” Libby called with satisfaction as the men scrambled to reach the creek.

  “Are you all right?” Don Miguel asked, springing from his horse with gun drawn as Manuel wheeled after the men.

  Libby nodded. “They were just leaving,” she said, not wanting to tell him what a narrow escape she’d had.

  Manuel stayed on guard all night, but the men did not return. “Those kind are like vultures,” he said. “They only prey on those who cannot defend themselves. I do not think they will be back.”

  Libby hoped he was right. She couldn’t help wondering how many more like them there were, roaming the countryside taking what they could, preying on the weak, beyond morals and beyond law. She was glad when the new Chinese helpers arrived. She decided it might be wise to arm them, and with Don Miguel’s help taught them how to use rifles. She also gave in to Don Miguel’s suggestion and had her workers plant a cactus hedge around the house as their first task. She now slept with her own rifle beside the bed and chained Buster outside the front door on guard.

  She did not have the rifle with her, however, in the middle of the day when she was out in the kitchen baking bread. Buster cocked his head and sprang up barking. She came out of the kitchen, her apron and hands covered in flour, to see a dark figure riding up to the house. He also had his hat pulled down over his eyes and there was an air of menace about him. Libby thought of Ah Fong and the others out of reach in the fields, the little girls with them. Without waiting to hail the stranger, she raced to the house and got down the rifle, then she planted her feet squarely on the front porch as she watched the stranger dismount and come toward the house.

  “That’s far enough,” she called and cocked the rifle. “State your business from ther
e.”

  “I’m looking for a Mrs. Grenville,” said a shocked voice. “I was told she lived around here. Would you happen to know where I might find her?”

  He looked up so that Libby saw his face clearly for the first time. “Good God,” she said, lowering the rifle. “It’s Edward Percival Knotts!”

  CHAPTER 33

  IF LIBBY WAS surprised to see her family’s young lawyer friend riding up on a horse in the middle of the Californian wasteland, Edward Percival Knotts seemed even more surprised to see her.

  “Libby? Is that really you?” he asked. “I can hardly recognize you. You look so different.”

  “Maybe it’s the lack of velvet,” Libby said with a smile. “I’m sure I used to look different in velvet but it’s such an impractical fabric out here.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Edward Knotts said, shaking his head. “Look at you—you look like a frontiers-woman with your dark skin and your wild hair and your trusty gun in your hand.”

  “That’s because I am a frontiers-woman,” Libby said. “I’ve no idea how you managed to find me, but you’re very welcome. Please, come inside.”

  Edward Knotts got down stiffly from his horse and tied it to the porch rail. The way he walked up the steps told Libby that it was a long time since he’d sat in a saddle. She grinned and led the way into the house. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asked, motioning to the sofa.

  “Looking for you,” Edward Knotts said, wiping his forehead with a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. His face was very red and mottled yellow with dust. “Your father had been going down to the waterfront, trying to get news of you. Finally, he met a man who had seen a lady with two little girls and a Boston accent but no man with her. Your father asked me if I’d undertake the journey and I agreed, although if I’d known what lay ahead, I don’t think I should have been so willing, even for your sake.”

  “You had a bad voyage?”

  “Bad is not the word for it,” Edward Knotts said, replacing his silk handkerchief, now streaked with dirt and sweat, delicately in his pocket. “It was pure torment. I had to share a cabin with three other men, all of whom snored and had the most appalling manners. The food was a disgrace—no fresh vegetables for weeks and the most awful, unidentifiable stews and puddings you’ve ever seen. We were all seasick around the Horn, and to cap it all, three horrible days in San Francisco. That place is a hellhole if ever there was one, and then I had to pay a completely ridiculous price for a horse in Sacramento.”

  “Poor Edward,” Libby said, smiling to herself. “What an ordeal.”

  “I suppose you must have gone through pretty much the same sort of thing yourself,” Edward said.

  “Not exactly. I came overland,” Libby said, still smiling. “We didn’t have to worry about seasickness.”

  “Well, that’s a blessing,” he said, not hearing the sarcasm in her voice. He looked at her, shaking his head as if he could not believe she was real. “I think it’s a miracle that you’ve survived so long. And you’re looking well too. Your father was sure that you’d be destitute by now, if you were still alive.”

  “On the contrary,” Libby said. “I’m doing rather well. I own this land and I also own land in San Francisco. I plan to make a small fortune in fruit and vegetables this summer and if all goes as I’m hoping it will, I’ll build a house in San Francisco for the winters and spend just the summers out here.”

  Edward Knotts paled visibly. “You’re planning to stay on out here—for the long term?”

  “I think so,” Libby said. “I like the climate. I like the country. I think it has a great future.”

  “But the lack of culture. The lack of civilization,” Edward Knotts said.

  “I have very agreeable neighbors,” Libby said, “and I can go down to San Francisco when it seems too lonely up here.”

  Edward Knotts looked around the empty room. “You keep using the first person,” he said. “Can I assume that you never managed to find poor Hugh?”

  “I found him,” Libby said, “but he’s now dead. He was killed in an Indian uprising.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Edward said. “It must have been a great shock to you.”

  “I have learned to survive a great many shocks.”

  “And your daughters?”

  “They’re out in the fields down below the house with my Chinese workers. They think it is the greatest treat to plant seeds and pull weeds. They should all be up for lunch soon. I was in the middle of baking bread. Come and talk to me and I’ll make you some coffee or tea.”

  Edward Knotts got to his feet. “This place is really cozy,” he said, as if he had noticed it for the first time.

  “It’s fine for now,” Libby said. “It only has two bedrooms and no guest quarters, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the sofa, but I had to concentrate more on my fields than my house this year. When I have more time I plan to build an adobe home like my neighbors have.”

  “A what?”

  “Mexican brick. It’s so delightfully cool. Come on, the kitchen’s out here—another trick one learns in a hot climate.”

  She led the way down the steps. Edward’s horse stamped impatiently at the railing. “We’ll have Ah Fong put it in the corral with the other horses and give it something to eat,” Libby said. “He won’t be long. It’s almost noon.”

  “I can’t believe you,” Edward said, following her into the kitchen. “You’re not only surviving on your own, but thriving on it.”

  “Maybe I was made for this sort of life,” she said. “I never felt satisfied with my life at home.” She took a pot from the stove and poured him coffee.

  “You are not lonely?” he asked.

  “Sometimes.”

  “You don’t feel the need for a man in your life?”

  “But I have a man in my life,” Libby said.

  “A new man?” Edward asked, shocked.

  “Very new,” Libby said. “Would you like to come and meet him?”

  “He’s here? Now?”

  “He certainly is,” Libby said. “Come on, he’s in bed, but he’d love to get up and meet you.”

  “Libby, wait a minute . . . I can’t, I mean, it’s just not. . . .” Edward babbled as she marched into the house ahead of him. A few seconds later she reappeared with Noel in her arms.

  “Meet Noel Michael Grenville,” she said.

  Edward Knott’s face was a picture of amazement. “You had a baby out here?” he demanded. Then more softly, “Was Hugh alive to see him?”

  “Hugh died four months before he was born,” Libby said.

  “You poor thing,” Edward said gently. “Fate has indeed dealt you some cruel blows.”

  “My father would no doubt say that it served me right,” Libby said, nuzzling Noel up to her face so that he giggled in delight. “I’m surprised that he wanted you to search for me after so long.”

  “They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Edward said hesitantly. “And, of course, your mother missed you terribly.”

  “Poor Mother,” Libby said. “It must have been an ordeal for her.”

  “For all of us,” Edward said, “not knowing if you were alive or dead. Your father is a stubborn man, as you very well know, but I’m sure he has regretted a million times his parting words to you.”

  “Now you’ll be able to go back and reassure them that their fragile little blossom has turned into a sturdy vine,” Libby said, smiling at him. “I’ll write them both a long letter.”

  Just then Buster started barking and there were squeals from the track below the house. The two girls came running up the path, yelling as they ran.

  “Mama! We saw a snake and Ah Fong chopped off its head with the hoe and it went on wriggling and wriggling,” Eden yelled.

  “And Lee is going to make it into a soup,” Bliss shouted.

  They both stopped short when Libby and Edward appeared at the door. Edward took in the two tall, skinny girls, barefoo
t and both wearing old brown ginghams. “Merciful heavens,” he said under his breath.

  “Girls, we have a visitor,” Libby said. “Do you remember Mr. Knotts. He often came to your grandfather’s house in Boston.”

  “I don’t remember my grandfather’s house,” Bliss said.

  “I do,” Eden said shyly. “And I think I remember you. You used to play croquet with us when we went visiting.”

  “That’s right,” Edward said, “and I remember that you always used to beat me. I don’t suppose you play much croquet here.”

  “We don’t have a lawn,” Eden said. “It would be a waste of water.”

  “We might plant one later, when we see how this year has gone,” Libby said. “Croquet might be rather nice, or how about a tennis court?”

  “Who would we play with?” Eden asked, laughing. “Don Miguel’s too old and Conchita’s too fat. That leaves Manuel and the Chinese.”

  “Go and wash your hands for lunch,” Libby said, “then you can help me carry the food through.” She turned to Edward as the girls ran on ahead. “You see, they are thriving perfectly well, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, but Libby,” Edward stammered, “not growing into the little ladies your parents would expect.”

  “There is not much call for little ladies out here,” Libby said dryly. “I’m sure you too would welcome a wash before lunch. You can use the jug in my room. Come, I’ll show you.”

  She led the way through to her room, noting how plain and simple it must appear after the overdone elegance of Boston. Then she ran across to the kitchen to check the meal with Ah Fong. The haunch of venison, steaming under thick brown gravy, would have graced any table and Edward Knott’s eyes registered his surprise and anticipation when Ah Fong put the platter on the table.

  “This was marvelous,” Edward said when he had finished every scrap on his plate. “Everything tasted so good.”

  “You’re lucky that my neighbors shot a deer,” Libby said. “The beef from their cattle is very tough and stringy. We’re used to it now, but you wouldn’t be. But if only you’d come a month or two later, what a feast you could have had. I’ll ask Ah Fong to see if any of the new potatoes are ready, but you’re too early for tomatoes or fresh strawberries or grapes.”