Out of Innocence

by Adelaide McLeod

“Now don’t ye go getting fancy on me. Just ride at a nice easy gait over to O’Donnells' like I said.” Hannah clucked at Blue, pulled up on his reins and turned to wave at Belle. Belle smiled, waving her on. Blue single-footed down the road. If that little lass could conquer her fear, then so could Belle.

  Belle rode Horse down the trail as if she were leaving the ranch. She circled back behind the hillside and up the ravine where Dry Buck Creek spills down from the mountain under the cover of cottonwoods and pucker brush. She had to get to the summit without being seen, she thought, as she started her trek up the gully where she had seen the smoke. What would she do when she confronted the intruder, the thief? She passed the hackberry tree silhouetted against the sky. It had managed to live through a lot; so could she. As she came over the brow of the hill, she saw a man sitting by the fire with his back to her. There was something strangely familiar about him but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He turned to face her as she came closer. Belle couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Her heart was in her throat. She was seeing a ghost. Was it really Roy Blackwell? How could he be alive? Numb, in disbelief and terror, she froze there looking at him.

  “You’re just in time for breakfast,” he said. He didn’t seem the least distraught.

  “Blackwell?”

  “Thought I was dead, didn’t yah? Well, I’m not. It takes more than a bump on the head and a swim in the river to kill me.”

  A feeling of well-being enveloped Belle. Hank didn’t have to fear the law; he could come back.

  “If you don’t want me telling the law that you and that boyfriend of your’n dumped me in the river, you better be nice to me.”

  “I’ll be nice. I’ll give ye ten seconds to get on your horse and get off my ranch. Tell the sheriff anything you like. That will give me reason to tell them what really happened the other night, how you accosted me. They’ll lock you up for good this time.”

  “Not so fast, girlie. You and me’s got unfinished business.”

  “Ye need to wash your ears, ye damn fool.” Belle fired a shot at the ground in front of Blackwell’s boots. The dust flew.

  “Now look it here,” Blackwell said.

  “I’ll shoot to kill if I have to,” Belle said as she pointed the Winchester at him. There was fire in her eyes and fear in her heart. She couldn’t kill him and she knew it. “If you ever come on this ranch again, I’ll shoot you first and ask questions later, do you hear me? Maybe I ought to do it anyway.” She raised the Winchester and took a bead on Blackwell.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” He slammed his left foot in his stallion’s stirrup, tugging at the saddle horn to pull his enormous body upward. She fired her gun in the air and then within feet of the retreating Blackwell as his horse broke into a dead run. She rode down the mountain in a daze. Climbing off Horse, she sat on the boulder under the hackberry tree. She needed to gather her wits. There was nothing, nothing at all, to prevent Hank from returning to her now.

  “Blackwell’s alive and you drove him off?” Harold said as Belle related the day’s events over a cup of tea on the O’Donnells’ porch. “That was dangerous."

  “What would ye have me do, Harold? I couldn’t let that imbecile drive me off my ranch.”

  “No, not you, Belle. I’m just sorry it came to that. Think you ought to tell the sheriff the whole story?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter much. He’ll see Blackwell in Horseshoe Bend soon enough. What I need to do is find Hank and let him know and I don’t know how to go about it.”

  Days flew by, and summer was almost over. T.J. came home from McGregor’s with money in his pocket. Winter was threatening and there was no word from Hank. Belle sought out John Larkin who was still working across the river; he’d heard that Hank had gone to California or maybe South America with a big construction company. He was realizing his dream. He was seeing the other side of the mountain, Belle mused. Yet the thought of losing him forever was so devastating that her energy had drained dry as she gave in to her fear that he’d never return.

  T.J. and Hannah understood her melancholy. Losing Hank had been hard for them, too. When Belle realized how sad the household had become, she resolved to do something about it. In their best bib and tucker, they climbed into her Tin Lizzy and drove down to Boise to see the sights. Light and shadow intermixed on the buckskin hills as they made their way south. The mist rose off the broiling river like steam above a tea kettle. Patches of flimsy clouds wafted against the canyon walls.

  Once in Boise, they visited the Capitol and the three of them climbed into the rotunda where the stairs were narrow and at a dizzying height. The view of the valley proved to be worth every step of the climb.

  They followed the streetcar to a place called White City Park. Beautiful mansions with their lofty shade trees graced Warm Springs Avenue. The children had their first ride on a wooden roller coaster and a carousel with its wild-eyed horses and saw their distorted reflections in strange mirrors in the Fun House. The late afternoon was spent in The Natatorium, an indoor, natural hot-water swimming pool that was like a giant greenhouse. Lush ferns hung from the verandas and potted flowers adorned the edges of the pool. With all its elegance, the place smelled like rotten eggs. “It’s sulphur from the natural hot water," the lifeguard explained. "After a while, you get used to it and don’t smell it anymore."

  A barrel strung on a cable roped off the deep water from the shallow. But best of all, there was a rock grotto at the far end where the bravest of boys climbed to frightening heights and dove into the pool below. Although T.J.’s swimming technique was no better than a dog paddle, he was a natural in the water and fearless. Belle covered her eyes as he jumped from the top and cannon-balled into the water.

  Hannah was timidly belly-flopping off the stairs, where the water was shallow, into Belle’s waiting arms. They were only a year apart yet Hannah seemed so unsure of herself while T.J. would tackle anything. Characteristics, Belle thought, wrapped together in a confusion in her own being.

  When it was time to leave, the children dallied and were reluctant to shed their rented bathing suits.

  Belle planned to pick up Flo after work and they would dine on Chinese food. As she stood in the lobby waiting for the children to get dressed, someone came up behind her and covered her eyes with his hands. “Hank? Is that you Hank?” Belle’s heart soared as she struggled free and turned around. “Oh, hello, Nathan. I thought you might be someone else."

  “So the country girl has finally come to the city.” He ignored Belle’s tone.

  “Yes, how are you?”

  “Fine. I’d like you to meet Constance.” A black-eyed woman gave Belle a measured smile. She was far from a beauty but she was fashionably dressed in a green and white crepe de chine and a matching cloche like one Belle had seen in Falk’s Department Store window. A miniature Yorkshire terrier was draped over her arm.

  “Hello, Constance,” Belle said.

  “How do you do.” She was distant and aloof

  Belle turned to Nathan. “We’re meeting Flo for dinner. We’re having Chinese at Shanghi-Lo’s.”

  “You’re going into Chinatown alone?”

  “No. With Flo.”

  Nathan raised an eyebrow in disapproval. “Are you going to be in town long? Maybe we can get together.”

  “No, just overnight. We’ll be going back in the morning.”

  Nathan looked at her in a way that was almost embarrassing. What must this Constance person think?

  “It was nice meeting you.” She smiled at Constance. “Goodbye, Nathan.” Belle turned and led her children out the door. Nathan deserved better than that. She was a cold fish. What did he see in her anyway?

  Flo was full of questions and Belle didn’t hesitate to tell her all about Hank and the Blackwell saga. There were some things left unsaid because the children were sitting there. “I finally met him, Flo. He’s handsome and wonderfully funny. It’s like he holds all my missing pieces. I’ve never felt so com
plete. Just knowing he exists has changed my life.”

  “Where is he now?” Flo asked.

  “On road construction somewhere. But he’ll come back, I know he will.”

  “But, if he doesn’t hear about Blackwell being alive--?"

  The thought of being hexed surged through her yet she couldn’t allow her mind to dwell there. “It will all work out, Flo. It’s just a matter of time.”

  “You wouldn’t leave the ranch for Nathan. Would you for Hank?” Flo asked.

  Belle thought about her unwavering love for the raging Payette, the musky black earth where she found harmony, the wild geese that had made the ranch their home, the power she felt as she pressed her knees against Blue’s velvet withers as they raced the Payette, the hackberry tree that had become the symbol of her own survival and the sacred spot where she and Hank had pledged their troth. These things were her treasures yet no match for the passion she felt for Hank Gallagher. ‘‘Aye, I’d go to the end of the earth for him.” She blinked away threatening tears and knew she’d better change the subject. “I saw Nathan and I met his lady friend. I wish I could say I felt better about her. She seemed so cold.”

  “Oh, Constance is fine, Belle. She’s just a Bostonian--they’re like that. But we’re breaking her down. Speaking of Nathan, look who just walked in.” Nathan was alone and heading for their table.

  “Good evening, ladies. Excuse my barging in like this, but Belle, I have to talk to you.”

  “This is not the right time,” Belle said, knowing full well that there couldn’t be a right time.

  “For a minute, please,” he pleaded.

  Belle glanced at Flo who raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Well, just a minute, then.” She rose from the table and accompanied Nathan to the alcove at the entrance where he embraced her, kissed her before she knew what was happening.

  “Nathan, stop. You’re betrothed. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I know all about Hank Gallagher and I know he left you. Just because I’m getting married doesn’t mean things have to end between us."

  “What in the world are you suggesting?”

  “I’ll come up to your ranch whenever I can get away. And we can be together. I’ll let you go back to your dinner party if you’ll just say that this is not the end for us and that you want me the way that I want you.”

  “I’d be lying if I told you that. I’ve love for only one man. His name is Hank Gallagher and if I can’t be with him then I’ll be alone. This is goodbye, Nathan.” Belle turned and walked away and let the sharp clicking of her heels punctuate her resolve so there could be no doubt in Nathan’s mind that whatever it was between them was over.

  Back at the table, she slid into her chair, feeling distraught.

  “What happened, Belle? What did Nathan want?”

  “He’s your friend, Flo,” Belle said as she picked up her chopsticks. “You don’t want to know.”

  Flo turned down the corners of her mouth and widened her eyes staring at Belle.

  "All right, I’ll tell you. He’s having pre-marital jitters, that’s all. Now tell me about you,” Belle said.

  “Oh. I’m madly in love, Belle. I know it’s real this time. His name is Blair and he’s a judge’s son. His mother is very snooty; social position means everything to her. So Blair told his parents that I’m from a prominent eastern family and I try hard to act the part. I hate to brag, but I’m pretty good at it. Blair knows he’s stretching the truth but I think he’d have a conniption if he really knew about my past and I’m not about to tell him. Is that wrong, Belle?”

  “Ye shouldn’t be deceitful, Flo but I guess ye wouldn’t have much of a chance if you revealed everything. Just follow your heart. If he’s really the right man, he would be understanding if he knew your whole story."

  “But I don’t dare risk it, Belle. It would be too devastating to lose Blair.”

  “How does it go--the truth shall make ye free? If Blair can love ye in spite of your past, then think of what a marriage ye would have: solid as a rock.”

  “I couldn’t stand it if he threw my past at me every time we had a disagreement. You’d never tell Hank about Du Cartier, would you?”

  “I already have.”

  “Well, I’m not you, Belle. I never can be. I have to live by my wits."

  “Of course it’s been hard for you, but it will all work out. Look how you turned your life around already. I’m so proud of you.”

  “You are? Really?” Belle could sense how much Flo needed to hear that.

  “Of course, I am. Whatever you decide, it will be the right thing. When do I get to meet this Blair of yours?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It had been a wet spring. The trillium had come and gone. Belle pushed the hand plow down the ditches, uprooting milkweed, and grasses that appeared overnight. The cloudless day was a gift from heaven, and though it raised her spirit, it didn’t stop Belle’s pangs of loneliness.

  Both T.J. and Hannah had flown the nest. Belle had wrapped her life so tightly around her children that she thought of little else. Now T.J. had gone halfway around the world to Scotland. At fifteen, he was mature and sensible. Belle’s father encouraged her to send him to St. Andrews for his education and such an opportunity couldn’t be ignored. T.J. would spend a year in preparatory classes before he entered the university.

  With Angus on the faculty, the boy would have an inside track to a fine education and a chance to know his grandfather and Scotland. Any young man would be better for it, but especially T.J., who needed to find pride in his heritage. And Angus was delighted. He could do for his grandson what he hadn’t been able to do for his sons.

  When Belle had agreed to let him go, she had no idea how much she would miss him. Tommy had grown tall and muscular with the firm jaw of a Scot. His eyes told the world he loved life and was looking for fun.

  The canyon folk hadn’t forgotten that Belle came to the ranch carrying a child. The tongues would never be done with their wagging. Now, T.J. would be away from that. Exposed to his Scottish heritage, the question of who his father was would become less important. Belle had decided long ago not to tell T.J. that a villainous, heinous Frenchman named Du Cartier was his father. If T.J. was tempted to look for him, Belle was afraid of what he’d find. Nor did she want him to hear that he was the result of a terrible act of violence. He had prodded relentlessly for information but Belle’s mind was made up.

  At one point, she had even considered making up a story that he was Ben Herrington’s child. But she couldn’t bring herself to lie to T.J. So she skirted over the topic the best she could, repeating and repeating when he asked her that she was married to Harlow Pruett when he was born and that Harlow was his father--legally he was. She had hoped that he would be satisfied but she knew in her heart that he never was. Angus Mackay in all his wisdom would know what to do.

  Hannah was only thirty miles away. Ready for high school, she had gone to Boise to live with Flo who had married the judge’s son, Blair DeWitt. They lived in a fine house on Hays Street close to the Capitol Building. Flo had told Blair there were things in her past that she wanted to bury and forget, and Blair seemed all right with that. Funny, how Flo’s dilemma had become so simple.

  Hannah helped Flo with the cleaning and cooking to earn her keep. She loved living in Boise, yet she never missed a chance to ride up home. Her stays were so short that Belle marveled that she bothered. It wasn’t Hannah’s shyness that spirited her home. It was the binding link between mother and daughter, as though they shared the same heart. She had grown to be a lovely young woman, already taller than Belle. Her mahogany red hair, a gift from her grandmother Mackay, framed her delicate freckled face. She had Harlow’s soft green eyes. When Belle watched her, it was like looking in a mirror that held the secrets of her past. With all her heart, she wanted to protect Hannah from life’s pitfalls but she knew she couldn’t. May Hannah never have cause to mourn or shed a bitter tear, she prayed. Being a st
eady presence through Hannah’s growing up years was the only gift she had left to give her daughter.

  Hannah played the violin with a chamber music trio, sang in the Presbyterian church choir and took lessons in china painting from Bess Campbell, a renowned Boise artist. Her life was full.

  Being alone magnified Hank’s absence. It had been almost five years now. There wasn’t a day she didn’t think of him, or a night she went to sleep without his name on her lips. If only she could get word to him that Blackwell was alive. She had visited Hank’s parents in Weiser, but like Belle, they were in the dark.

  There had been a letter a year ago; she carried it in her sweater pocket and read so many times it had grown torn and ragged and almost illegible. She had it memorized:

  Dear Heart,

  How I miss you, my darling. I often dream of some far away place where we could be together but that would make you a fugitive as I have been. I can’t do that to you. I keep myself going by thinking of the good times we had together. I’ll never give up on us. I'm coming back--you’re stuck with me. I love you more every day of my life and hope you, T. J and Hannah are well.