KeepingFaithCole

by Christina Cole

  “Wait,” Goose called, holding up a leather-gloved hand. “Maybe we should think on this a little more. Why settle for a dozen caballos when we could have hundreds?”

  “Hundreds?” Ignacio hooted. “Dios mio! Juro que hay mas de mil.”

  “Thousands, probably.” Even though Tom didn’t understand the words, he could guess their meaning. “But we only need enough to make a start.”

  “Are you loco, man? Look at all those horses. Think of all the money we could make.”

  “Well, you’re the one who’s loco if you think the three of us could round up that many animals.”

  “So, we come back. We get more men, build more corrals. We ride the valley again, figure out ways to trap those horses. Why not take what Dios has given us?”

  Tom didn’t hesitate. “Why not? Because I’m the jefe here, and what I say goes. Both of you agreed to ride with me. We get what we came here for today, and we’re done.” He looked from one brown face to the other. A broad grin broke out. “Later, we’ll come back with all the riders we need. There’ll be plenty of horses waiting for us. It takes time to plan a large-scale operation, time to find the right men, to buy all the supplies.” He pushed his hat back. “It takes money, too. Today, we make a start.”

  “Wise man,” acknowledged Ignacio. “You should listen to him more often, hermano.”

  “Here’s how we’ll do it.” Tom motioned them closer. “We’ll ride down, nice and slow. Once we move in, they’ll split up into smaller bands,” he explained. “We’ll look for the best, single them out, and cut them away from the rest. The important thing is to keep them headed in the right direction, keep them together, keep them moving toward our corrals.” He gave a thumbs-up sign. “We can do it.”

  The Mexicans responded in kind, pointing their thumbs upward.

  Goose rode slightly off to the left and stared down into the valley again. “We do not have much time.” He glanced back toward Tom.

  “Asi es.” Ignacio’s voice held a note of urgency. He, too, gazed off toward the distance. “We must go down now, señor. The horses are moving.”

  “You’re both loco.” Tom peered down from the ridge. A man’s vision, he’d once heard, depended a lot on the color of his eyes. A fellow with light, blue eyes—like his—or clear, gray eyes, could see farther than any dark-eyed hombre. Or so he’d been told. He had yet to see any sign of movement among the horses. Most likely Goose and Ignacio were letting excitement get the best of them. But he needed to keep them happy. “All right, let’s get started.”

  Riding at an easy canter, Tom led the group down the ridge. Glancing to the wild horses again, he drew in a sharp breath, surprised to find that they were definitely on the move, a dark, undulating ribbon sweeping through the valley.

  “Something’s spooked them, all right,” he admitted, looking toward his companions with increased admiration for their visual abilities.

  “They know we are here.” The corners of Ignacio’s mouth turned downward. Goose, too, wore a grim expression.

  “Doesn’t matter. Between the three of us, we’ll run their legs off, tire them out. We’ll catch ourselves all the horses we need. Don’t doubt it.”

  As Tom had predicted, the line of horses quickly broke up into several smaller bands, most veering off toward the south and west, but one herd continued coming toward Tom and the men who sat watching and waiting. It was only when the horses came within roughly a hundred yards that they suddenly halted.

  “Dios mio!”

  All three men—Tom included—spoke the words at once.

  The sun momentarily came out, peeking over the edge of a thick cloud to illuminate the breath-taking sight before their eyes.

  A sorrel-colored mare led the band. Her coppery red mane glistened in the sunlight as she tossed back her head and gave out a shrill whinny. A magnificent black stallion galloped out from behind. Immediately aware of the danger his mares faced, he took charge, side-stepping to the left to lead the herd around the men who threatened them.

  “Come on. Let’s go!” Kicking into action, Tom rode out hard, turning the wild horses back. The stallion and the sorrel mare raced to the left, manes and tails flying as a dozen sets of hoof beats thundered over the earth. The sun slipped behind the clouds again, plunging the day into a chilling gloom. An uneasiness crept over Tom, but he shook it off.

  The three riders split up, each taking a position where they could coordinate their efforts, bring the band of wild horses together, and move them steadily onward toward the makeshift corrals they’d fashioned.

  Clods of dirt and dust poured up, turning the skies to shades of yellow and gray and choking the breath from the riders. The day’s cloudiness added to the effect, making it almost impossible to see what was going on with any degree of clarity. If the horses took a notion, they might wheel around, turn back the way they’d come, and cleverly avoid capture.

  Tom rode off to the left, up a slight rise, hoping to get above the pall of dust and dirt. He caught sight of Goose and Ignacio riding farther ahead. The corral was still a long ways distant, but with luck—and hard riding—they could keep the band together.

  Working fast, he darted to and fro, heading stragglers back into the herd. Hoof beats echoed from the nearby mountains, a steady clatter in Tom’s brain. From what he could see, the band of horses was larger than he’d first estimated. Probably close to twenty, maybe as many as two dozen. A damned good start, indeed.

  The horses, as well as the riders, were tiring. Waving his hat in the air, Tom let out a cry of victory. They had a ways to go yet, but they would succeed. His future looked all but assured.

  Suddenly the swarm of horses seemed to break apart. The animals turned in a dozen different directions, and the huge black stallion raced headlong toward Tom. Caught by surprise, he pressed his knees against Dandy’s flanks to swerve out of the wild horse’s path. On raced the stallion, his long neck stretched out, his black mane flying. Tom gave chase, racing after the beast. Forget the mares! Forget Goose, Ignacio, forget even his dreams.

  In that moment, nothing mattered more than this black stallion, a horse more powerful, more beautiful than any Tom had ever seen. He reached for his rope, even as he rode harder, hoping to catch up to the glorious creature.

  From the start, he knew how foolish the idea was. Still, he chased after him, much like he’d once chased after the beautiful, dark-haired Miss Lucille McIntyre, the young woman who had become his wife.

  The wife who was about to walk out on him.

  Tom reined up, watching as the proud stallion leaped over a yawing crevice, his safety now assured. Looking behind him, he realized that most of the mares had gotten away too. Had Tom not gone running off after the stallion but remained to work with Goose and Ignacio, perhaps all the mares could have been driven into the corrals. Now, because of his foolishness, his own dreams would have to be put on hold a little longer.

  But what good were any of his dreams without Lucille to share them with him?

  From the other side of the crevice, the black stallion snorted. Tom’s head jerked up. To his surprise, the horse stood looking back at him, one forefoot pawing at the ground almost as if he wanted Tom’s attention.

  “What is it, fellow?” he called out. “You want to rub it in, do you? You want to tell me what a fool I am?”

  The stallion seemed to understand, although, of course, it had to be only Tom’s imagination. Still, the fine horse shook his big head. His shiny mane rippled down his neck. He whinnied, then looked up to gaze directly at the man he’d eluded.

  The uneasiness Tom had felt earlier returned along with a weariness so deep it came from within his very bones. This horse was trying to tell him something, trying to warn him in some way.

  “Speak up,” Tom said in a hushed voice. “I’m listening.”

  Folks always said maybe it was because he’d been born in that barn, but then again, maybe it was only because his love for a fine horse ran so deep, or could be it
was some of both, but either way, he’d always been able to understand what horses told him. It wasn’t exactly that he heard any voices, but more of a feeling that somehow translated into words and thoughts. It was simply a knowing. That’s what he’d always called it.

  And he knew now, without the slightest doubt, what this horse was telling him.

  Tom tipped his hat, bowed his head, then turned Dandy around and rode back toward the Mexicans. He caught up to them shortly before they reached the corral. Between them, they’d managed to catch six good mares. Both men glared at Tom, but neither said a word.

  “Look, I have to go. I need to get back to Lucille.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Goose threw down his hat. “What’s got into you? We lost more than a dozen good horses because you went loco. You knew that stallion would break away and try to lead us on a chase. Why in hell you follow him?” He lapsed into a string of virulent Spanish that Tom didn’t even try to comprehend.

  “Ay, ay, ay! Two horses apiece.” Ignacio hung his head and muttered a few words that Tom guessed were probably curses. When he looked up, the Mexican’s dark eyes glowered. “All that work for this?”

  “Keep the horses,” Tom said. “At least that makes three for each of you. Better than two.” He shrugged. “We’ll catch more next time. I promise.”

  “There won’t be a next time.” Goose dismounted, then bent down to retrieve his hat. “You’re fired, jefe. Or else, I quit. We both quit.” He indicated himself and his brother.

  “Well, fellows, I wish I had time to jaw, but I don’t. I’ve got a feeling down in my bones that something’s wrong. I need to get back home and…” Tom paused. Hell, yes, something was wrong. His wife had threatened to leave him, and he’d told her to go right ahead. A fine husband he was. He didn’t deserve a loving wife like Lucille. “I need to take care of my family,” he finished. Without another word, he turned and rode toward home, paying no heed to the shouts and cries of the men behind him.

  As he rode, the chill in the air deepened. What had begun as a favorable spring morning had turned into a depressing gray afternoon that promised nothing but miserable weather and a foul mood. Little wonder, actually, that his bones ached. Most likely he’d developed a spot of the same rheumatism that afflicted his mother.

  He talked to himself as he traveled back over the ridges, down the sloping hillsides, across the plains where the spring grasses and brightly-colored wildflowers brought sudden surges of hope.

  Nothing was wrong. When he reached home later than afternoon, he’d find Lucille and Faith waiting for him. They’d be glad to see him…both of them. His heart lifted a bit as he allowed himself a moment to pretend that all was well. It took a lot of effort, though, to hold on to that pretense, especially when all the while, those bones of his kept insisting otherwise.

  Riding into the yard, he sucked in a deep breath. Time now to put all pretense aside. Time to face the truth.

  Time, too, to right all the wrongs, to tell Lucille how much she meant to him and ask if they could start over, if they could begin again and this time make love work.

  * * * *

  Lucille didn’t come outside to greet him. Disappointment filled him. Had she really left him? Or, maybe she hadn’t heard him ride up. Hoping that was the reason, and not wanting to frighten her, he rapped at the back door.

  “Lucille, I’m home.”

  Still, no answer.

  Damn it! He swore under his breath, regretting the angry words he’d spoken earlier that morning. “Lu, where are you?” He banged his fist on the door, then, too impatient to wait, he pushed his way into the kitchen. An eerie silence greeted him. His bones had not lied.

  “Lucille!” he called again. His mind refused to believe that she’d walked out on him. There had to be another answer to the question pounding through his head. He moved swiftly through the farmhouse, checking for any sign of trouble or anything that might provide a clue to the whereabouts of his wife and child.

  Nothing appeared out of place. As far as he could ascertain, nothing in the house had been disturbed. Thankfully, nothing indicated that any struggle had taken place or that ill fortune of any kind had come calling.

  Face it. She’s gone. You told her to leave, told her to get the hell out of your life.

  No. Lucille had married him, had vowed to stay with him. For better. For worse.

  Had Faith taken sick? Had Lucille found it necessary to drive into town? Perhaps his worries were all in his mind, and this would turn out to be nothing more than a routine trip to the mercantile for supplies.

  Despite his efforts to remain calm and his attempts to convince himself that nothing was truly wrong, those knowing bones of his kept sending warnings to his brain. A shiver of apprehension slid down Tom’s spine as he stepped onto the porch again. The wagon sat in the drive. Clearly, Lucille had not driven to Sunset.

  “Lucille!” he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. When he stepped from the porch, he glanced downward. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the wheel ruts in the soft, rain-damp earth. He hadn’t noticed them before. He’d been too intent on searching inside the house.

  While Lucille hadn’t taken the wagon into town, someone else had obviously driven her and Faith away from the farm. His sense of urgency did not diminish. No matter how many times he told himself that his wife and Faith were surely safe with friends, his heart refused to accept it, refused to believe it.

  He closed his eyes and recalled that crazy moment when the black stallion had stopped on the other side of the crevice. The horse had put himself in danger by coming to Tom, had risked capture in order to help his mares escape. And he’d spoken to Tom, had told him that a real man does whatever he must to ensure the safety of those he loved.

  His family. His girls.

  Lucille. Faith. His mother.

  He loved each of them.

  Stepping into the kitchen again, Tom immediately caught sight of Lucille’s cloak hanging on its peg. With the weather as cool as it had been and the threat of rain in the air, his wife would not have gone into town without her cloak.

  Tom bolted through the door, his heart pounding with renewed trepidation. Again and again he shouted Lucille’s name.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  His heart sounded in his ears.

  He called out again.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Once more he heard it. The steady thump, thump, thump came not from within his own chest, but from the direction of the old spring house. Cocking his head toward the stone-walled building, he listened again.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “Lu!” His long legs carried him recklessly across the yard. With each stride, the thumping grew louder, more distinct. He could now make out faint cries coming from behind those thick, white-washed walls. “Take it easy,” he called out. “I’m here. I’ll get you out.”

  Someone had jammed the lock with a thick stick of firewood.

  No, not someone.

  Like Lucille said, he caught on quick, and it didn’t require much brainwork to figure out who had locked his wife in the spring house.

  Tom’s heart plunged. His mother had done more than lock Lucille away. She’d stolen Faith.

  He yanked the wood from the lock and pulled the door open. His wife tumbled out, sprawling face-down onto the ground. Tom dropped to his knees, gathered her into his arms, and held her close.

  “My God, I thought I’d lost you. I was afraid I’d waited too long to tell you how much I love you.”

  She clung to him. “Faith,” Lucille rasped. “Your mother…”

  “Hush. Don’t try to talk.” He smoothed her dark hair with a loving touch. “We’ll find them. We’ll get Faith back.” Her body trembled and he wanted to hold her close forever.

  But there was no time to waste.

  Lucille drew away. She pushed at her hair which had come loose from its ribbons and now fell in long, flowing waves about her shoulders. “She tricked me. She sent me out to
the spring house…just like before, Tom. When the fire started at the shop.” Brushing away tears, she looked up at him. “You’d think I’d be smart enough to know better.”

  “It’s not your fault, honey.”

  “She warned me! She told me once not to ever turn my back on Faith. She swore she’d take her from me.”

  “We’ll find them.” He gestured toward the wagon. “Get your cloak, and let’s get going.”

  “I don’t need my cloak. There are blankets in the wagon.” She raced forward. Tom hurried to the corral. Working as fast as he was able, he hitched up the draft horse, then climbed aboard next to Lucille.

  Although she said nothing, he heard her sobbing.

  Fear coursed through him. As much as he wanted to reach for Lucille and promise her that everything would be all right, he could offer no such reassurance. His mother loved Faith and would never intentionally hurt her, but accidents happened, especially when Ma was drunk.

  Growing up, he’d learned that lesson early on.

  He’d done his best to help. Now, he thought of all the times he’d picked her up when she’d fallen, all the salves and ointments he’d gently rubbed on cuts and burns, the cold compresses he’d held against her bruised limbs.

  He’d done all he could to fix whatever was wrong, and in the end, his efforts had probably done more harm than good. Maybe if he’d left her alone, she would have sobered up. Maybe she would have had no choice but to stop drinking.

  Tom let out a breath, his thoughts still centered on his childhood home.

  “I think I know where she’s gone.”

  “Where?” Lucille asked.

  “Home. Her old cottage, I mean. The place where I grew up.”

  Now Lucille would see where he had come from, would know the wretched life he’d been born into. Maybe it was time for her to know how difficult his life had been, how hard he’d struggled to make something of himself.

  Above them, thick gray clouds moved across the sun, obliterating its light and casting a pallor of gloom over the landscape as Tom and Lucille set off for the old cottage.