JOE'S WIFE

by Cheryl St. John

  She turned to face him. "If anyone says anything hurtful in front of her, they'll have to deal with me."

  He seemed pleased by her words. "I…"

  "What?"

  "It just makes me so mad to think of anybody treating her—treating her the way I know they can."

  "Like they've treated you."

  "Yes."

  And he thought she was ashamed of him. There was no way to explain the truth without revealing more than she could cope with. She'd seen how cruel people had been to Tye. She didn't want the same for Eve. "Tye, can we adopt her? Legally?"

  "You'd want to?"

  "Yes, of course."

  His concerned expression softened. "Lottie had the attorney draw up some papers before she died, making me Eve's guardian. All we'd have to do is see the judge."

  "Let's do it, then."

  He grinned.

  She wasn't used to his smile, and a funny feeling slid through her chest. "Thank you, Meg."

  Her heart skipped a beat at his use of her name. She was falling apart again. She forced her gaze away from his dark eyes and studied Eve.

  She thought he would say something more then, but he didn't. He joined Eve in finding a suitable stick and throwing it as far as he could for Major to retrieve. They played the game until Tye told Eve he had something to do.

  He disappeared for half an hour, then showed up driving the wagon full of lumber toward the house. Eve and Meg followed him around to the front, where he parked the wagon and climbed down to open the tailgate. He stacked lumber at the corner of the house.

  "What are you doing?" Meg asked, watching in curiosity.

  "He's buildin' a porch," Eve piped up. "We bought the boards today."

  Meg couldn't have been more surprised. "A porch?" she asked, staring.

  "A porch," Tye confirmed, and continued to move wood from the wagon.

  By the time he had it all unloaded and the horses back to the corral, the sun had waned and a chill gripped the evening air.

  Tye built a fire in the fireplace, and Eve brought her stack of books. "Will you read to me, Tye?"

  "What would you like to hear tonight?"

  "We haven't read this one yet. It has pictures."

  Tye accepted the small leather volume. "Songs of Innocence. William Blake." He opened it and scanned a page. "It's poetry."

  Eve climbed into his lap and settled herself comfortably, obviously secure in his affections.

  "Alice in Wonderland and that one there belongs to Meg's niece, but these other ones was Meg's when she was a little girl."

  "You read this when you were little?" he asked, glancing at Meg.

  "My father read it to me until I was at least eight," she said with a shy shrug.

  "Tell me about your father. I remember his building on Rose Street

  . And I remember seeing him bringing you and your sisters to school. He had a beard."

  Meg nodded, her eyes suddenly misting at the recollection of her father. "In the winter. Mama always made him shave it off, come spring. I don't know why."

  Tye's deep blue eyes were full of sincere interest. A half smile softened his always sad expression. "And he read to you?"

  "He read to all of us. He ordered us books from the East as soon as he learned of English translations. We had a whole shelf of books in our house."

  "That was your daddy, Meg?" Eve asked, her attention captured. "Did he live with you?"

  "Yes. We all lived together in town. The Pratts own the house now. It has a window seat along the east windows in the dining room, and another up in the bedroom my sisters and I shared. Father used to read to us in the parlor every evening. And on Sunday he took one of us for a buggy ride. I remember how I looked forward to the Sundays when it was my turn to go."

  "Why only one of you?" Eve asked.

  "Well, I guess with so many children, he wanted to take a little special time with each one."

  "Did you sit on his lap when he read?" Eve asked.

  "When I was small, I did." Both Tye and Eve listened with wistful expressions, their hair the same dark sheen against the blazing fire. Neither had known a father's love or attention the way she had.

  Several minutes passed in companionable silence before Tye opened the book and began reading. His deep, velvety voice caressed the words and phrases and brought them to life.

  Eve snuggled against him, engrossed. She was only five. Tye would make up for her years without a father, Meg was certain. But no one could ever make up those years for him or fill the place of a parent in his heart.

  If only people knew the Tye she knew. If only they saw the inherent goodness and the love he had to share, they wouldn't think less of him for something he couldn't help. What made people so judgmental and cruel?

  After their story time, Meg got Eve ready for bed and tucked her into her cozy pile of blankets. "Give me kisses, Tye," she demanded.

  He knelt and covered her cheeks with kisses. She giggled and hugged him around the neck. Meg watched their play with a pang of envy.

  "Where's Major?" Eve asked.

  Meg opened the door, but she didn't have to whistle. The dog bounded in and crossed the room to lick Eve's face.

  "He just licked off all my kisses," Tye teased.

  "No, he didn't. He's giving me more." She wrapped an arm around the animal's neck and he settled down beside her.

  Within a few minutes child and dog slept. Eve liked the dog better than she did her, Meg thought.

  She straightened out her sewing basket and made a list of items she needed from the mercantile. She glanced over to where Tye sat in the overstuffed chair. He'd closed his eyes and rested with his head against the chair back and palms on his thighs.

  "Aren't you going into town?" she asked.

  "Nope."

  Meg got out her few remaining pieces of stationery and her bottle of ink, and prepared to write a letter to her mother. Her gaze was drawn back to Tye. "Is there any particular reason you've decided to stay home tonight?"

  He didn't reply.

  "Tye?"

  He'd fallen asleep. She smiled to herself. Nobody could keep going at the pace he had for the past month. It was a wonder he hadn't fallen asleep and toppled from his horse during the day.

  She had neglected writing her mother before roundup, not wanting to explain her hasty marriage, but now she wanted to tell her mother about Tye and Eve. Mother would remember Tye. What would she think? What would she say when she wrote back? During the war and after Joe's reported death, Mother had repeatedly invited Meg to come stay with her and her husband, Charles, in Denver. Meg's mother had loved her first husband, had raised her family in Aspen Grove, but after Meg's father had died and her brothers and sisters were married and gone, she had been happy to remarry and move to a less provincial locale.

  Perhaps she'd understand Meg's desire to keep the ranch. Or perhaps she'd consider Meg foolish for not coming to the city to mend her heart and eventually find a new husband.

  Meg labored to keep the tone of her letter light, to keep her confusing emotions a secret. She signed and folded the letter, then blew out the lantern.

  "Tye?" She touched his shoulder.

  "Hmm?" He peered at her through slitted lids.

  "It's late. You should lie down."

  He rubbed a hand down his face and got up, moving into the bedroom. By the time Meg checked Eve and the fire, he lay beneath the quilt, snoring lightly.

  She washed quietly, changed clothing and slipped into bed. Her letter had made it all sound so simple, as simple as she'd planned it. From the words she'd written, her mother would never guess the turmoil that dogged her thinking night and day. From the beginning she'd believed Joe would have wanted her to go through with this plan. But would she have wanted it the other way around?

  What if Joe had immediately remarried? What if he'd invited some other woman to their bed and she'd set him on fire?

  Meg squeezed her eyes shut and turned to her side, curling up as f
ar away from Tye as she could without falling off the edge of the mattress. Joe's letters were filled with his sincere pledges of undying love and faithfulness. He wouldn't have allowed her memory to vanish or have taken another woman to his bed and his heart so easily.

  With increasing self-reproach, she tried to remember his face, the color of his hair in the firelight. His smell.

  The faint scent of tobacco drifted on the night air, a scent that combined with the sun-dried linens and the smoke from the candle she'd extinguished to drive home the fact that everything was different now.

  This might be the same house and the same room and even the same bed, but nothing was the same.

  Joe's death had changed her world.

  And Tye had set it on fire.

  Meg hadn't worn her yellow linen dress for more than a year. She had aired and pressed it and, after finding matching hair ribbons and her cream-colored silk shawl with fringe, she stood before her mirror, fussing with her upswept hair.

  "You look beautiful, Meg."

  She smiled at Eve. "So do you. You'll be the prettiest girl there."

  "Really?"

  "Really. I've never seen hair as beautiful as yours."

  "Mama said my hair is shiny as a raven's wing. I never saw a raven, so I don't know if it's so."

  "It's so. I'll show you a raven."

  "Are you two lovely ladies ready?"

  Tye stood in the doorway, tall and handsome in his white shirt, bolo tie and elk-hide vest, his boots polished to a shine. At his hip he wore the ever present .45 and holster.

  "We're ready," Eve piped, and ran to wrap her arms around his legs. "Carry me, Tye!"

  He picked her up effortlessly and smoothed her skirt. "Don't want to wrinkle this pretty dress."

  "What about your shirt?" She touched his collar.

  "Nobody's gonna look under my vest."

  "Maybe you'll take it off."

  "If I do, people will just have to see wrinkles."

  Eve grinned. "C'mon, Meg."

  "Right behind you. I have a couple more pies to pack." She followed them moments later.

  "There are blankets in the back for the ride home, in case it's cool," Tye said, assisting her up to the seat.

  Gus and Purdy waited in the wagon bed.

  "Whoo-ee, look at the missy!" Gus called. "Hurry up, Tye! The Double Oarlock hands will get all the prairie oysters ahead of us!"

  "I'm sure there'll be plenty." Tye clucked to the team with a grin.

  "What's prairie oysters?" Eve asked from her perch between Meg and Tye.

  Meg studied a spot on the horizon with diligence.

  "That's the Founder's Day specialty," Tye replied. "Each ranch takes turns cooking their own secret recipe."

  Apparently satisfied, Eve moved on to another question. Meg listened to their exchange all the way to town. Tye was inexhaustible in his explanations and stories. Meg learned more about him every time she was close enough to overhear his conversations with Eve.

  Since it was the only building large enough to accommodate all the ranchers and townspeople, as well as protect them from the weather, the livery had been scrubbed and cleaned and the animals corralled out back.

  Long tables had been set with refreshments: barrels of beer, pans of baked goods, jars of pickled eggs and trays of potatoes baked in their jackets, as well as the traditional roundup specialty.

  Gus and Purdy headed for the food.

  "Hatch, we need a hand with a couple of barrels," Jed Wheeler called to Tye.

  "I'll be right back," Tye said.

  A platform for the musicians had been constructed of planks, and several men tuned fiddles. One of the wives from the Lazy B always played the harmonica, and Meg spotted her among the other women.

  A commotion sounded outside and a half-dozen men unloaded a piano from the back of a wagon and lifted it onto the platform. Several heads turned toward Fiona Hill, who smiled nervously, and Meg stifled a chuckle at the thought of the woman's clumsy renditions of hymns being pounded out for the celebration.

  Before long the music began. Eager to celebrate, the ranchers, wives, reps and merchants ignored the off-key selections and mingled on the dance floor. Eve stood at Meg's side, watching the activities with fascination.

  Catching Meg's eye, Reverend Baker made his way toward her. "Good evening, Meg."

  "Good evening, Reverend."

  "How's little Eve doing these days?"

  "She's doing quite well, actually," she said over the choppy music. "She positively dotes on Tye, and the feeling is mutual. I've grown quite fond of her myself. Tye and I have decided to adopt her."

  "That's wonderful news. I know she'll be a blessing and a comfort to you, as well as the other way around."

  "I believe you're right."

  "I'm always glad to see roundup over and church attendance pick up again."

  "We've missed the last couple of services. We'll be there again tomorrow."

  "I'll look forward to that." He bent forward to give Eve a pat on the head. She smiled up at him, then turned her attention back to the dancers. The reverend moved into the party.

  Meg took Eve's hand and wandered through the milling people toward the tables of food. "Are you hungry, sweetheart?"

  Eve shook her head.

  "Maybe you'll change your mind when you see what's there."

  Eve's eyes widened at the impressive display of dishes. She chose a chicken leg, a slice of bread and a dessert, and Meg carried her plate in search of a place for her to eat.

  Gus motioned to them from where he was seated on a row of hay bales across the back wall. "The missy can eat with us," he offered.

  Meg settled her with her food and, promising to bring her a drink, headed back to the tables.

  Laughter rippled through the gathering. Meg spotted Fiona moving away from the piano with a grin. A handful of men urged Tye to take a seat on the bench before the keyboard.

  He obliged, coordinated briefly with the other musicians, then led into a smooth, lighthearted waltz.

  A murmur ran though the crowd, and delighted dancers paired off on the sawdust-covered floor.

  Tye knew piece after piece, popular tunes as well as old favorites, and played song after song, many with words he sang for the listeners' pleasure.

  No one asked Meg to dance. She wasn't surprised, really: her standing in the community had taken a serious punch in the past month. The only one who'd said more than two words to her had been the preacher, and he didn't dance. It had been a long time since she'd danced with Joe. She swayed to the music, remembering those days and the admiring glances of all the other young women.

  Finally, Tye left his station at the piano, and the musicians continued without him. He made his way through the crowd to where Meg stood.

  She looked up. "I'd heard you used to play at the saloon, but I didn't know you were so good."

  "Yeah, well, I don't know if I'm 'good.' Maybe just 'better.'"

  She grinned at his reference to Fiona's exuberant attempts.

  "Want to dance?"

  She glanced around, a little surprised, a little embarrassed. On the other side of the dance area she spotted Niles Kestler frowning at them. "Yes. I'd love to."

  Tye was a good dancer. He led smoothly, one hand at her waist, the other holding her right hand, his steps not at all ungraceful, even though he favored one leg. Meg learned the unusual gait, the comfortable pace he set, and allowed herself to relax and enjoy the dance and the music. It had been a long time…

  Several songs later, Tye led her to the side. "Where's Eve?"

  "She's back with Gus and Purdy."

  "Let's go outside for a few minutes. I have something for you."

  "All right."

  Emery and Claudelle Parks whispered something to each another as Tye led Meg toward the door. Meg chose to ignore their rude gossiping and stares.

  The evening air was clear and cool, a rain-scented breeze drifting down from the mountains. Tye took her arm an
d led her across the side street and up onto the boardwalk until they reached the front of the next building, where an oil lamp burned. There he stopped and stood awkwardly for a moment.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Well, I want to— I have something for you."

  "What?"

  He reached inside his vest and pulled out a tiny flannel bag with a drawstring. Taking her hand, he placed the bag in her palm.

  Meg felt the small object inside through the fabric. With the fingers of her other hand, she traced the circular shape. Puzzled, she glanced up into his dark eyes.

  Loosening the drawstring, she pried the bag open and turned it upside down. A large gold ring fell into her palm. Meg held it closer to the coal oil lamp. Could it be?

  "Is this—" She picked it up and held it between her thumb and forefinger. "This is my father's ring."

  Tye nodded.

  "How did you get this?"

  "I earned the money to buy it back."

  "How?"

  "Working."

  Working. He'd earned the money for this ring by working. Her mind raced across the concept. Working all those nights he'd ridden into town? All the nights she'd mentally accused him of numerous dishonorable acts. "Working at night?"

  He nodded.

  Meg closed her eyes against the rush of stinging shame. She'd thought the most horrible things of him. She'd imagined him doing anything but working. She'd thought he'd been drinking … visiting loose women. She'd thought the worst. "Doing what, Tye?"

  "Playing at the Pair-A-Dice, like before."

  "All those nights you were gone you were playing the piano to earn the money for this?"

  A frown creased his handsome brow. "Aren't you glad to have it back?"

  Unable to keep his gaze any longer, she placed the ring back in the bag and drew it tightly shut, clutching it in her fist. "I'm glad to have it back, Tye," she said softly. "But I'm ashamed of myself."

  "You don't have anything to be ashamed of," he assured her. "You're the kindest, most good-hearted person I've ever known, Meg."

  "No. No, I'm not." That last came out in a broken voice.

  He engulfed her fist in his. "Yes. You are."

  His warmth suffused her fingers and spread up her arm until it radiated through her entire body. She looked up hesitantly. "Thank you."