by Barbara Goss
For the first time she admitted to herself she was truly fond of Jeremy Grant. Yet this fact did not elate her. What if Jeremy and Melita got back together? They were very close at one time—engaged. Caring for someone meant making yourself vulnerable, and the years with Big Bear had taught Laurel to defend herself from pain.
Unwittingly she turned toward the object of her thoughts. As her eyes met Jeremy's they smiled at each other instantaneously. Such a kind man could not hurt her as Big Bear had. Suddenly trust flowed between them, and all the doubts she'd experienced seemed swept away.
As Laurel glanced at Dusty, all her breezy self-confidence evaporated. He'd caught the gesture and an expression of hurt and disappointment covered his face.
Poor Dusty. Had she falsely encouraged him? Jeremy would think so, yet she had always felt comfortable with her friend Dusty. What right did he have to want more from her? Couldn't he be happy for her if she and Jeremy… She stopped that train of thought. Too soon, she reminded herself. Don't think along those lines yet. At least wait until you see what happens between Melita and Jeremy.
After dinner, the guests were shown to the living room for coffee. Some sat, while others milled about, socializing. Laurel stood by the door, allowing the guests an opportunity to convey their best wishes to her and her new family. Despite her light conversation, Laurel kept one eye on Melita and Jeremy. For some reason her interest in them became of paramount concern.
Melita had spent most of her time after dinner introducing her mother to people. Now Laurel noticed Melita's eyes often searched the room. Searching for Jeremy? Did Melita still care for him? Laurel worried. If so, why had she left him for this Ram?
When Jeremy wasn't talking to people, he stood, broad shouldered and handsome, watching Laurel from a distance and smiling his approval whenever their eyes met. She needed his support and was glad for it, even depended on it. Why hadn't she realized before tonight how much she cared for Jeremy?
While an elderly couple told Laurel the story of how they had met and settled in Fort Worth, Laurel's eyes searched for Melita. She finally spotted the woman edging her way through the crowded room toward Jeremy. The way someone constantly interrupted Melita's progress almost amused Laurel. After several frustrated attempts to reach him, the woman became agitated and actually began to ignore the guests who called her name or began to converse with her, in order to reach the fireplace, where Jeremy stood, watching Laurel.
Finally reaching him, Melita tapped his arm and said something that made him laugh. They stood talking. The old couple, possibly tired of Laurel's inattention, had moved on; the local preacher, Reverend Billy Childs, took their place. Yet she kept one eye on Melita, who continued talking animatedly with Jeremy.
She felt her composure weakening. How could Laurel compare with Melita? While she herself felt lovely tonight, Melita abounded with beauty, grace, and intelligence. Laurel could barely read and write or carry on a witty conversation. Suddenly her dream world seemed less than ideal.
Yes, people called her lovely. She now had a family, but she still felt inadequate. How could she learn to be smart, like Melita Coopersmith? How could she compete with perfection?
Laurel quickly chastised herself. If Jeremy preferred Melita to her, then so be it. What could she do about it? It was not going to spoil her perfect evening. Pleased with herself for making such a decision, Laurel laughed with the preacher at a comment he'd made. Yet when she saw Jeremy lead Melita outside, a wave of apprehension swept through her, and her stomach clenched tight.
Chapter 9
This should be the happiest day of my life, thought Laurel. Yet I've never felt worse. Why? She sighed and nudged her horse with her heel. Here she rode to her family at last, and who showed up to escort her? Dusty. Why? Because Captain Jeremy Grant had been too busy.
Laurel spurred her horse again. Of course she liked Dusty, but she had wanted Jeremy to escort her. Yes, she was disappointed at Jeremy's disappearing act with Melita last night. She felt momentary panic as her thoughts jumped onward. Where had they gone? What had transpired between them? Had he stayed out too late with Melita? Was that why Flora had made excuses for him?
Laurel, obsessed with her thoughts, had lagged too far behind, and Dusty had halted to wait for her. When she caught up, the man, who had been quiet smiled and commented, “You don't seem happy for a gal who has just discovered her family and is going home after eighteen or more years.”
“I am happy. I'm just unsure of my reception.”
“You mean Ram and Ada?”
“Yes,” she replied, yet she knew Angus would not allow them to be impolite to her.
“Or is it Melita and Grant who have you upset?”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw them leave together, too. They're probably engaged again, if I know Grant. He never could resist Melita. She's his Achilles' heel, I fear.”
“Achilles' heel?”
“His weakness, so to speak.”
“So you think they will end up together?” Laurel asked, heart thumping wildly.
“I never doubted it.”
“But what about Ram?”
“Ah, he was just a temporary diversion—probably to make Grant jealous. You see, Jeremy kept prolonging the engagement by postponing the wedding date. I think she just used a different tactic to get him nailed.”
“Nailed?” she asked, puzzled by his slang.
“Married.”
“Oh, Dusty.” She scratched her auburn head. “You confuse me.”
“Sorry. I believe Melita used her interest in Ram to get Jeremy Grant jealous enough to finally set a wedding date and keep it.”
“Do you think her plan worked?”
“You saw them leave together last night.”
“Yes, I did.” She stiffened her back and tried to act as though it mattered little to her. “If he's so easily misled by Miss Coopersmith, then he deserves to be—as you called it—'nailed.' ”
“Don't worry,” comforted Dusty. “If you need anything, just call me.”
“Thank you, Dusty.” She smiled. Why should Captain Jeremy Grant and Melita spoil her special day?
Drawing up to the ranch house, Dusty helped her dismount. “Well, here you are—home.”
“Yes,” she murmured, feeling lost.
Laurel spun around her new bedroom. She pinched herself to be sure she wasn't dreaming. Though it smelled a bit musty, she could see efforts had been made to alleviate that. Curtained French doors that led to a small balcony stood open wide. The room was magnificently large and feminine. Had it always been this beautiful, or had someone gone out of the way to please Laurel? Surely not Ada. Her welcome had been stiff and cold, albeit polite. Laurel felt no friendship there.
The furniture, made of light-colored wood, had numerous carvings on the doors and drawers. Laurel ran her hand across the dressing table. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smiled. How far I've come! She toyed with her hair and stared at her image. One hand smoothed the blue gingham dress she wore.
What will my future be? Suddenly Laurel felt very alone and vulnerable. She gazed around the lovely room with its pink, ruffled bedspread and pink-and-white gingham curtains. While lovely, everything suddenly frightened her. She gazed at her image in the mirror.
Here I am, but what do I do now? I have a new life. Will I do it justice? What will I make of myself as Laurel McCallister? What if I fail? She shivered, despite the heat of the afternoon. What if something happened to Angus or Maggie? They are all I have now. The surroundings were foreign, yet this was her home. But what is home without familiar things? She felt no comfort here.
Her eyes scanned the room for some familiar object and stopped short at a book on the nightstand. She walked over, picked it up, and read its title: Holy Bible. She hugged it to herself. The Tatums had gained great comfort from this book, and she'd seen several Bibles in the Grant’s home, too. Though she couldn't read as well as some, she drew comfort from the familiar ob
ject. She'd never seen this particular book before, yet it was not strange, but familiar, like home.
Replacing the Bible, she stepped out of the French doors onto her small balcony, and took a deep breath. Fresh air! Her room must have been locked up for some time. She settled herself comfortably in a large rocker in the comer of the balcony and soon fell fast asleep.
For the first time since on the trail from Oklahoma, Laurel's nightmare reoccurred. While different, it was no less frightening. Instead of bloody scalps or dying babies, she had visions of her taunting Indian playmates and the torturous tricks they often played on her. Again, she awoke to her own shrill scream.
Looking about frantically, hoping no one had heard or seen her, she fled inside her room. Surely no one had seen her. Only time would tell if someone had heard her cry.
Once inside, she stopped short. Her hand flew to her mouth to prevent another scream as she faced a figure in the doorway.
Worried blue eyes scanned Laurel and her surroundings, and then looked at her questioningly.
“Oh, Maggie! It's you!” Laurel let out her held breath.
Maggie's eyes demanded an answer.
“I'm sorry, I napped and had a bad dream.”
Maggie's form relaxed. Apparently Laurel had a loyal protector. Did she need one here?
Laurel reached out and hugged Maggie. “Oh, how I wish you could talk!”
Maggie broke from the embrace and looked at her with tear-filled eyes. She thumped her chest with her hand while her eyes pleaded with Laurel.
“You?” She guessed. “Maggie? You?”
Maggie nodded happily. She then held her hand gently over her own heart and again coached a response from Laurel.
“Chest?” Laurel asked, but quickly changed her answer when Maggie frowned. “Heart?" A half-excited look told her she was close, but not accurate. Laurel sighed, Chest… heart… feelings… “I know! Love!” she cried excitedly.
Maggie smiled broadly, and then held up both hands for her to expect another word. She then placed her index finger on Laurel's forehead.
Laurel smiled and took the woman's hands in hers. “I love you, too.”
Maggie smiled but seemed still unsatisfied. She scanned the room, and with an excited look, her eyes found the Bible. She motioned for Laurel to sit beside her on the bed while she opened the large, leather-covered book.
The old woman pointed anxiously to the first page.
Laurel squinted to read the words. Luckily, someone had written in neat, large letters. Laurel read aloud: “To Angus and Genevieve: May God bless you on this, your wedding day, and every day hereafter. Love, Mother.”
Farther down the page another message appeared: “Born April 8, 1853, Laurel Anne McCallister.” Someone had drawn a tree with branches and offshoots from these branches. Maggie pointed to a large branch, and Laurel read the words. “Margaret Ann McGraw—Angus McCallister, June 5, 1800.” She looked at the excited Maggie. “Is that you, Margaret Ann McGraw?” Maggie nodded, pointing to the branches stemming from her and Angus McCallister's branch.
Laurel traced each branch with her finger as she read aloud: “Malcolm, born 1802; Donald, born 1804; Mary, born 1807; William, born 1810; Hertha, born 1812; Gordon, born 1815; Angus, born 1817; and Patrick, born 1820."
Laurel pointed to Angus, born 1817. “Is this my father?”
Maggie nodded.
“Where are all the other children?” she asked.
Maggie flipped the Bible's pages to the back inside cover and pointed. There Laurel could not make out the entries as well. They were not written as precisely. It appeared to be a record of many deaths.
“Are none alive?”
Maggie shook her head, sadly. Flipping the book back to the front, she pointed to Angus's name.
“Just Angus?”
Maggie frowned and nodded. She flipped through the Bible's pages, and then scanned a page before pointing to a word and urging Laurel to read it.
“Father?” Laurel asked.
Maggie nodded definitely, then pointed to Angus's name again.
Laurel thought she understood. “You don't like me calling my father Angus?”
She nodded once.
“All right,” agreed Laurel. “I will try to remember.” She patted Maggie's hand lovingly. “It will become a habit in no time.”
Yet Maggie's troubled look continued. She pointed to her own name, and then pointed to herself, again coaxing Laurel.
Laurel smiled. “Yes, Grandmother. I understand.”
The woman smiled excitedly and hugged Laurel.
“We are family,” said Laurel. “And thank you for showing me our family tree. It’s comforting to know where I came from. And, that I have a real birthdate!”
Maggie picked up the Bible, kissed its cover, and handed it to her granddaughter. The book Laurel had felt she knew turned out to be a family heirloom. Already, without even having read from it, the book had given her security.
Before departing, Maggie pointed to the large mantel clock on the shelf over the bed and tapped the number six. Laurel knew she would be back then to escort her to dinner.
Bored with exploring her room, Laurel returned to the balcony. Longing to walk around the ranch, she swung her legs over the low rail and headed toward the creek. She toyed with the shallow water, then decided to follow the crooked, winding stream away from the house. As she wandered out of sight of the ranch, she comforted herself with the thought that it would be impossible to get lost if she stayed by the stream.
She crossed the stream several times by stepping on large rocks, but never left it. The sandy area had few trees, but the farther she roamed from the house the thicker the bushes and brambles grew. Her surroundings' serenity calmed her. Perching atop a large rock, Laurel drew up her legs and gazed at the barren yet beautiful area around her. She wondered which direction was Oklahoma, then which direction was the Grants' home. The thought of Jeremy filled her with regret. When would she see him again? Staring up at the blue sky, she hugged her legs. The vision of Jeremy leading Melita through the front door and out into the darkness last night haunted her.
As the sun dipped behind the distant, faded-purple mountains, she realized the time, scrambled off the rock, and headed for the creek she'd followed. She'd crossed the creek so often that when she tried to recall which side she'd begun on, she became confused. Had she crossed it to sit on the rock, or had it been on her side of the creek? Why hadn't she noticed the sun's position before she sat down?
The scenery around her seemed all the same. No distinguishing landmarks helped her note her way. She looked about, bewildered. Soon it would be dark and Laurel knew she had to make a decision. She chose to take the direction away from the sun, a short distance, to see if anything looked familiar. If not, she could quickly go the opposite way.
She rounded a sharp bend in the creek and breathed a sigh of relief. She knew for certain she was heading in the wrong direction, for ahead stood an old shanty. If she had passed one earlier, she'd have recalled it.
Preparing to spin around and head back, she noticed two horses tied to a tree near the shack and heard loud voices inside. Before she could take a step, a word of the conversation within drifted her way, Indians. She paused and squatted, Indian fashion, beside a small bush and listened to the two male voices.
“How many men are riding with the shipment?” queried one.
“Jeb said about a dozen. That's twice as many as before. How do you expect us to grab the haul with that many guarding it?”
“Then we'll hire more men and catch them off guard.”
“Where'm I going to get more men?” the gruffer voice whined. “You said yourself we shouldn't let too many in on this. Now that you've got that Indian squaw living here, we'll have that sneakin' army captain and his Indian pal nosing around. I tell you, we ain't going to get away with stealin' another Indian supply wagon.”
“You leave them out of this! I'll take care of them!” the commanding voic
e answered with such vengeance that Laurel shivered. “Ask Jeb, Bo, or one of the other regulars if they know anyone who can be trusted. Didn't Bo say his brother wanted in to some action?”
“Yeah, but I think he meant gamblin'—he's a bad drinker, too. If you 'member, we decided not to trust him.”
“Well, now perhaps we have no choice.”
“Aw, we already stole four supply wagons; we'll get caught. How about goin' back to rustlin' cattle? There's talk the railroad will run through Fort Worth by next year or so, and they'll build stockyards right here.”
“True, but until then we have to hustle them too far, and our chances of getting caught are even higher. Besides, we're only stealing what rightfully belongs to us. Why should our government clothe and feed those savages?”
“How many more will we have to take?” the gruff voice asked with a tired sigh.
“As many as we can, and if you love cattle rustling so much, you'll be happy to hear that the government just bought several thousand head near Dodge City, and they're driving them to the reservations, to be divided amongst the Indians.”
“Got the details?”
“No, but I'm working on it.”
“Is it still all right for me to live here, or do I have to move now that the squaw's up at the big house?”
“Stay here! She won't nose around this way, and even if she did, you're my right-hand man is all. Nothing strange about the foreman living on the ranch.”
“Good. Hey, where you goin'? Want another drink?”
“No. I'm expected for dinner, to meet my new family member.”