Unbroken Hearts

by Anna Murray

  The elder Underwood, red-faced and sputtering, picked up his hat and stalked out of the store.

  "Lordy," exclaimed Edward Watkins as he waved his hands, "I swear I never seen a girl with so much spit and fire as Miss Emily Anders!"

  Soon everyone in Watkin's was bellowing with laughter. Edward Watkins wiped tears from his eyes.

  Sarah smiled shyly at Cal. "You used your bad arm."

  Cal lifted the arm. His brown eyes twinkled. "Well butter my backside." A look of pride spread across his face as he watched Sarah tuck unruly tendrils of hair back into place.

  Edward Watkins sputtered on like a creaking wheel. "They had it coming. Thad'll never live it down – bein' laid out flat by a little woman. You got gumption, lady. Your sister, too." Edward's gaze upon Emily was pure admiration.

  "Some woman you've got yourself," quipped Earl, as he shot a wink at Cal.

  Heat rushed up Sarah's neck and stained her cheeks. The story would be jack-rabbit-jumping around town as fast as jaws could flap. Suddenly she wanted to go home. She inched toward Cal.

  Then something familiar caught her eye. Emily saw it at the same time, and she let out a tiny gasp.

  During the scuffle Bill Underwood had knocked over a pile of wool blankets. In the middle was a wooden case. Papa's fiddle case.

  Sarah's stomach knotted into a crazy mix of excitement and fear. How was it the violin landed at the store? Had Mr. Watkins bought it from the thieves? Were they living in this town, perhaps even lurking in this store now? She pushed back the fear and stared at Mr. Watkins.

  "M-Mr. Watkins, where'd you get that?" She pointed at the case.

  "That box?" Watkins blankly followed her finger. "It must have come in with the load of blankets."

  "I know what's in it!" Emily squeaked. "At least I hope it's there." She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  Sarah spoke breathlessly. "Mr. Watkins, the day we were robbed those thieves took my pa's fiddle. It was in that box."

  Her shining emerald eyes pierced the case; her stomach was still clenched tight. She swallowed and looked expectantly at the man.

  Earl strode out from behind the counter. Briskly he lifted the scratched wooden case from among the blankets, and set it on the counter in front of the girls. They peered anxiously as he worked the latch and clapped their hands when they laid eyes on the fiddle and bow. Watkins blinked and rubbed his chin.

  Sarah's long fingers reached out; she lovingly picked up the instrument and turned it over, absorbing every curve of the front, back, and sides. She knew it as a mother knew her own child. She ran her hands along the back and sighted for straightness along the fingerboard. Sarah's heart sank when she spied a hairline crack along the seam where the back met the side, just below the upper bout. Quickly she glanced up. She'd hidden her dismay well; the men were all smiling. Aside from the crack there was no new damage. She looked warily at Mr. Watkins.

  "Mr. Watkins, how much do you want for this fiddle?" Surely Cal would give her an advance. Or maybe Watkins could extend her some credit now that she had a job.

  "I didn't buy it," Watkins thought aloud. He looked past Sarah, to Cal, who was standing behind her. "Odd it turned up in a blanket load from Lone Eagle." He wrinkled his brow.

  "Lone Eagle?" echoed Emily.

  "Indian Chief," explained Earl. "Not the big chief, just chief of the band living south of town." He eyed Cal curiously, but Cal just stood mute behind Emily as he gazed at the instrument.

  Meanwhile Emily and Sarah's eyes met in sisterly exchange.

  "Well," Earl debated, rubbing his chin, "seeing as I didn't pay anything for it--"

  "And it was stolen from them. They should have it back," interrupted his son, Edward. "That's only fair."

  The men at the counter briskly nodded and muttered ayes. Earl Watkins closed and latched the case, and handed it to a beaming Sarah.

  "I don't know how to thank you." Tears glistened in her eyes. "This is the only thing we have left that belonged to our papa. It means a lot to us."

  Earl coughed, and his voice came out taut as that fiddle's high string. "Heck, tis nothing." He set his jaw gruffly. "You ladies just be sure not to ever fight in my store again," he ground out.

  "Yessir." Emily and Sarah intoned in unison. Excited and relieved, they hastily made for the exit. Cal followed, dodging between barrels of goods and a sudden surge of men coming through the door.

  Chapter 16

  Late afternoon orange-blanketed the ranch. Rich smells rumbled up to the house on the chuck cook's smoky fire.

  Emily's blue eyes spotted Roy as he returned from his trip to the mining camp. She lit off her perch next to Ned and Mrs. Easton and ran, singing out his name. Roy rewarded her salutation by wildly waving both arms. Em whooped and ran into his long shadow.

  Roy leaned from his saddle and scooped the little girl up, wrapping one arm tightly round her tiny waist. Sarah and a gaggle of ranch hands watched as the chattering duo rode past the corral and bunkhouse. Roy nuzzled the top of Emily's head and handed her back down to Ned, who'd limped out to greet them. Then he disappeared inside the barn, and the ladies folded back into the kitchen.

  After a few minutes the back door slammed. Roy sauntered across the crooked floor and kissed his Mama. He inhaled deeply, because no place smelled like home these days. Sarah slid a piece of fresh bread onto a plate, set it in front of him, then reached across the stove and poured a cup. Roy leaned back to stretch weary limbs as he listened to Sarah and Emily recount the events of the previous two days.

  He laughed, and his eyes danced when Emily told him of their scrap at the general store. Nearly nine years younger than Cal, Roy displayed the heart of a child, especially when he was with Emily. His boyish energy was well-suited to Emily's animated manner, and Sarah felt a rush of pleasure thinking about the friendship blossoming between them.

  "I've a wee something for you in the barn." Roy winked playfully at Emily. "It's in a wooden box near the door. You can't miss it." He lazily spread butter on the bread and took a bite. Faster than a rattler strikes Emily was on her feet and out the door, blond curls trying to keep up.

  "I've never seen anyone so excited about a surprise," Roy observed.

  Sarah sat down across from him and looked at her hands. "She likes you." She felt awkward. Emily hadn't even thanked Roy properly before she'd bolted out the back door, and she felt she owed explanation. "I remember a few holidays, but Emily was just a babe so she doesn't have memories. My uncle didn't put much stock in giving gifts." Then Sarah reddened and stiffly put her fingers to her lips. It was the truth. Uncle Orv wasn't prone to kindness.

  "That's a shame." Roy cleared his throat.

  "It's in the past," she shrugged. "I saw some scraps of fabric in your pantry . . . and I was wondering . . . might I use them to make a rag doll for Em?"

  Roy nearly coughed up the piece of bread he was swallowing. "Sure, not a problem," he waved offhandedly. "Use whatever you want."

  "Thanks."

  Roy nodded, tipped his cup, and slugged down the last of it. "Anytime. You make good coffee."

  They heard Emily squeal all the way from the barn, and Roy smiled triumphantly. "Found it." He winked at Sarah. "Cal could learn a thing or two from Emily 'bout showing proper gratitude for my gifts."

  Red stained Sarah's cheeks.

  Emily bolted back into the house, clutching a ball of fur to her chest. She excitedly held out a white kitten with black and brown markings for Sarah to see.

  "Oh, look at his cute pink nose!" She spun around to Roy. "Where did you get him?" The little fellow shakily clinging to Emily's dress, but she didn't appear to notice.

  Roy grinned. "A mama cat had a litter at the mining camp. McHenry gave me this one." He took a bite of the bread and chewed. "I reckoned we could use a good barn cat. Like it?"

  Emily's bouncing told him she did like it. "I can't tell if it's a boy or girl. But it doesn't matter because I'm going to name it "Patches."

 
Emily thrust the kitten at Sarah to hold, and throwing her arms around Roy she planted a kiss firmly on his cheek.

  "Well, well," he laughed.

  Sarah beamed. Tough cowboy Roy had met his undoing.

  * * *

  At supper Roy talked about his mule dealing. Emily gushed about her new kitten. Cal had mentioned Sarah's shooting practice to Roy, and Roy asked her how it was going, making a big show of being "usurped". Cal hadn't allowed him to touch the repeating rifle yet.

  As they finished the meal Cal motioned to his brother. Roy rose abruptly, excused himself, and moved Mrs. Easton to the parlor, pulling Emily along behind him. Carrying a pile of dirty plates, Cal followed Sarah into the kitchen. As she turned to clean the plates Sarah felt Cal press himself to her back, wrap his arms around her waist, and inhale her fragrance.

  "I thought about you this afternoon," he murmured as he brushed his lips along the side of her neck.

  Sarah leaned back into his warmth. "I missed you as well. I'm glad Roy is back. You know Emily is crazy about him."

  Cal laughed. "Sometimes he makes me crazy, but I'll always be grateful he brought you and Emily here." His voice was deep and smooth.

  Sarah was shaken by the sincerity of his tone. She felt her throat constricting and eyes burning. "Go fetch the rest of the dishes." She averted her head so he couldn't see her eyes.

  Showing newborn emotions was awkward. She'd spent years burying dreams, grieving the loss of her parents. Sarah hadn't thought about a future for herself, that is, not until she came to the Mineral Creek Ranch. Her heart had turned to a store of sisterly love. The bond between them, strengthened by shared adversity, was enough. It had to be.

  Until Cal.

  When Cal sauntered back a minute later, lugging more dishes, a scheming smile stretched up to his shining dark eyes. "Emily said you know fiddle tunes. Can you oblige us?"

  She tossed her eyes down to the dishtowel she was holding. "I can't."

  His coaxing expression suddenly contorted into disbelief. "But Emily's been boasting on your playing and --"

  "It has – it has a crack," she quickly muttered.

  "What? It's broken?"

  She glanced into his brown eyes and back down to the towel. "A crack along the seam," she explained.

  "Why didn't you say so? I can fix it. Show me." He shoved his thumbs into his pockets. He thrust out his chest and stood tall. "Sarah, trust me."

  Sarah's eyes traveled from the towel up his strong arms to his face, and her heart lurched. Her lower lip twitched. "I did help Papa repair it once." She unconsciously twisted the dry towel in her hands. "He glued a seam. Then he wrapped it tight with hemp."

  "I can do that."

  "I 'spose . . . " She dropped one end of the towel and dragged the back of her hand across her forehead.

  Sarah dropped the towel and hurried into the parlor. Cal followed and winked at Roy, who was getting whupped at dominos. Sarah opened the fiddle box and removed the fiddle to show Cal the crack. A little brown package was tucked under the rosin. She took it from the case. "What's this?"

  Emily leapt off the chair where she was sitting. "Another surprise!" She hopped from one foot to the other as she watched her sister unwrap the small package. Emily gasped when she saw two silver hair combs emerge from the paper. "Oh my, those are beautiful."

  Sarah bit her lip to hold back tears. Something was scrawled on the inside of the wrinkled paper. She flattened it and read it to herself.

  To Sarah, from Cal

  Sarah looked at Cal and saw his manly face flooded with joy. Emily and Roy clapped approval. Mrs. Easton's eyes misted over and she blinked rapidly.

  "Sarah never had a gift from a man before!" Emily twittered.

  Sarah awkwardly wiped at her eyes. "Thank you." It was as much as she could say. She carefully folded the combs back into the brown paper and placed them back into the fiddle box.

  Cal looked at Sarah with unabashed longing in his eyes. He'd never fallen so fast and so hard for a woman. Sarah had come into his life as unexpected as an autumn twister, and she'd seared him with her courage, grace, and need. Thoughts trampled through in herds but he pushed aside most and concentrated on one: How he planned to ask her to marry him, at just the right moment. He smiled and decided to make his proposal as soon as he could get her alone, perhaps even tomorrow. He permitted himself to briefly think about that moment, about holding her close and declaring his forever love to her. And she would do the same. Everyone in the parlor turned to stare at him when he heaved a contented sigh.

  Sarah decided to make a try at playing the violin after all. Her hands shook as she lifted the fiddle to her chin and ran the bow across each string with her right hand, at the same time turning the pegs with her left. The scent of seasoned maple wafted up from below her chin and calmed like an enchanted forest. She found the sound adequate, although it didn't project as it had in the past.

  Sarah softly played a waltz. Cal rose from the sofa, rolled up the rug, and took Emily's hand. Their first steps were uneven but they were soon whirling across the floor. Roy claimed Emily for the next tune, a lively reel.

  Cal laughed. "I'll bet you were thinking we couldn't dance." He angled toward Mrs. Easton. "Mama taught us."

  "I admit I'm surprised. Do you gentlemen sing as well as you dance?"

  Roy laughed.

  "We sing and whistle to the beeves," said Cal. "It's how a cowboy keeps spooked herds from stampeding." Then, in dramatic fashion, Roy and Cal crooned a cattle call about riding the range and sleeping under the stars. At the refrain they took to hollering and yodeling.

  Sarah waved her hands and Emily covered her ears and laughed. "What's that?" shrieked Emily. The men stopped abruptly.

  Cal threw up his hands delightfully and stared at them in mock disbelief. "Ain't you girls ever heard a cowboy yodel? When stormin' and lightnin' strike, the yodel's the only thing calms the herd."

  "Like a lullaby?" mused Emily.

  Sarah laughed. "But can you really sing? You know, regular-like, not yodelling?" She didn't wait for them to answer her questions. "How about 'Amazing Grace?"

  She looked up into their faces, and was immediately struck by raw sadness. Both tough Easton cowboys noisily cleared their throats and thrust hands into pockets.

  "Sure. That's mama's favorite." Roy's blue eyes flickered to the gray, bent woman.

  Sarah barely glanced at Mrs. Easton's soft face before she raised the bow and launched into an introduction. Emily led them into singing.

  Their voices bended together like a flowing stream. Cal's bass wove through Emily's contralto. Roy joined them and the trickle ran to a river full of harmony, so lovely that Sarah's eyes shone bright with pleasure. When the song finally ended the room fell silent. Mist clouded the eyes of the mute group in the Easton parlor, but most deeply touched was Mrs. Easton. Cal leaned forward, quietly untied his bandanna, and gently wiped tears from his mother's face.

  He swallowed. "Now I'll bet you thought ranchers like us couldn't sing. Mama taught us that, too." Then he smiled and lightly kissed Mrs. Easton on her cheek, but he couldn't keep his eyes off of Sarah.

  She played another waltz, and Emily danced again.

  Sarah didn't want the evening to end, and, from the looks of it, neither did Cal or Roy or Mrs. Easton. After nearly two hours of singing, laughing, and dancing, they were all exhausted. The Easton household retired to their beds, each feeling more like they were truly a family.

  Chapter 17

  Sarah wore her new combs. She hummed as she scrubbed egg from a cast iron frying pan. Cal had woken early and prodded Sarah to get Mama dressed quickly, telling her that he and Roy were going out to rope strays. The men shoveled down their biscuits with gravy, gulped their coffee, and flew out the door.

  When Sarah gave Emily the choice of doing her sums or scrubbing pots she promptly chose math on the porch with Mama. Ned was cutting firewood, and his chopping echoed off the bunkhouse and barn.

  Sarah
was cleaning up when she heard horses whickering in the front yard.

  Emily opened the front door and shouted down the hall.

  "Sareee, we got company!"

  Hastily she wiped her hands on a towel, walked to the front door, pausing momentarily at the high shelf where the Winchester rifle was kept. Cal had never mentioned what she should do if strangers came when he was away. Through a side window she spied Ned on the porch. She decided it was needless worry.

  When she poked her head out the door her eyes met with Sheriff Aiken, alongside a stranger, who looked like one of the miners from town. The strange man was standing beside a supply-laden mule with a stocking on the right front leg; she was sure it was one Roy had taken up to the mining camp.

  Aiken pushed his hat back on his head, leaned against the rail and smiled. "Howdy, Miss Anders." His eyes lit briefly on Ned. "Howdy, Ned. Congratulations on landing yourself a job."

  "Yah, I was lucky." Ned allowed. Aiken's idle tone and posture didn't change what everybody knew: The man was re-branded beef, and his mark changed so often there was no telling which ranch owned him. "Heard talk about Dishwater Sal and Belle headin' up to Ingston."

  Aiken cleared his throat. "They did, an' Dode an' Jess are working at the Copper Strike now." Then the sheriff shifted and spoke with cool authority. "I'm aimin' to investigate the trouble Miss Anders ran into a couple days back." He glanced at Sarah as he touched the brim of his hat. "I hope you're OK, Miss." Then he swiveled back to Ned and waved a hand at the man standing ten feet off. "This hombre's Peck, a detective from Denver. Peck tracks the toughest criminal sort of outlaws. He'll have a gander around."

  The man named Peck colored and shifted uncomfortably.

  Sarah knew something about such agents; she'd read stories of Allen Pinkerton and his National Detective Agency in the papers. An Illinois neighbor used to bring the papers back from Chicago. She'd pictured the detectives as fine looking men in sleek dusters who rode fast, elegant horses -- not at all like this grizzled five-day-bearded goat who was leading a stubborn-looking pack mule. And it didn't bear mentioning that a detective's mule likely wouldn't be hauling shovels and pick axes.