Forever, Victoria

by Dorothy Garlock

  For a long excruciating moment she stared at him, then without replying she turned on her heel and walked proudly down the hall to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was the largest room in the house. One end was taken up by a massive fireplace, the stones artfully chosen and carefully placed. In front of this, on the plank floor, were a braided carpet and two comfortable, settlelike chairs with extremely high backs, that when placed in front of a roaring fire would trap the heat. The broad mantel held one of her favorite possessions, a glass-fronted clock her mother’s parents had brought west in ’forty-nine. A large, heavy oak table, its plank top rubbed to a glowing finish, sat in the middle of the room. At the far end there was the cookstove, the work counters, and the shelves that held the everyday dishes and cooking supplies. These were hidden from view by a cloth curtain strung on a rod that parted in the middle and was hinged on the ends to swing out for easy access.

  Victoria loved this room. It was here that she and her parents had lived during the long, cold winter months. Since her father’s death she had cooked and eaten her meals here, alone.

  With what she privately considered to be exemplary self-control, Victoria pulled herself together and started the fire going in the cookstove. The fine stove had been her father’s gift to her several years ago. Victoria was proud of it and equally proud of what she could do with it.

  She slammed the door on the firebox after filling it with kindling and yanked up the teakettle to take it to the water bucket to fill. Why did life play such mean tricks, she wondered with a frustrated bang of the granite dipper as she hung it on the wall. Why couldn’t things have gone on as before? Why did Mason Mahaffey have to be everything she hadn’t expected him to be? Bogged down in her miserable thoughts she had completely forgotten about Nellie and Dora until the younger girl spoke from the doorway.

  “Nellie and I want to help.”

  “I don’t need any help!” Victoria snapped before she turned to see Nellie, leaning against the door frame, obviously shaken from the effort of making the trip from the parlor to the kitchen. Victoria surfaced from her own despair and noticed the blue eyes pleading for acceptance, the slight figure trembling. “What I mean is…there isn’t much you can do. I’m used to working alone, but sit here, Nellie.” She pulled a chair out from the table. “You can tell Dora how to set out the dishes. That is, after she washes her hands.”

  Dora held out her hands, palms up. “They’re not dirty.”

  “When did you wash them last?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Then they’re dirty. Put water in the washbasin, use the soap and the roller towel.”

  “You’re bossy! Almost like Aunt Lily.”

  “Dora!” Nellie’s voice was a desperate whisper.

  Victoria ignored it and looked down sternly at the small, defiant face. “This is my kitchen, my dishes, and they will be handled with clean hands.”

  “It’s not your kitchen. It’s Mason’s!” Dora crossed her arms and tilted her head stubbornly.

  “I’ll not debate the question with a child. Either do as I say or go back to the parlor. It makes no difference to me.”

  “Oh, all right, but what’s debate?” She stomped to the washstand. “Why should I have to wash and Nellie don’t?”

  “Nellie does. You can bring her the basin.” Victoria added more fuel to the stove, then swung open the curtains to reveal the shelves stacked with plates, bowls, and cups. “Here are the dishes, but first spread this cloth. We may be out in the wilds, but we’re still civilized.”

  “Are you going to take those pretty dishes in that glass thing when you go?” Dora was bringing the washbasin to her sister.

  Nellie’s eyes sought Victoria’s face. Her misery was so clearly etched there that Victoria was overwhelmed by the tenderness and concern she felt for the delicate girl.

  “Victoria, please don’t feel so bad! Mason didn’t know about you. I’m sure he didn’t. He’s the dearest, kindest brother in all the world.” She looked as if she might burst into tears.

  Victoria was touched, unbearably, by Nellie’s words. She turned her back to the girl and lifted the wooden bowl from the tin that held the flour, not wanting to think about her own misery or Nellie’s sadness. She turned her attention to the biscuits that would go with the cream gravy flavored with small strips of fried jerky

  The heat from the cookstove made the kitchen warm, and the light from the shining lamp chimneys created a rosy glow. Victoria moved from the stove to the workbench, her color intensified by the heat from the oven when she bent to remove a pan of golden brown biscuits.

  “There’s a crock of butter in the pie-safe, Dora.” Victoria, not wanting to admit to herself she dreaded hearing the sound of boot heels in the hallway, worked swiftly and efficiently.

  Mason came suddenly and quietly into the room. His three brothers stood in the doorway behind him. Her quick glance took in everything about them.

  Mason wore moccasins and the boys were in their stockings. Boots had evidently been removed and left at the door. All had washed. Mason’s expression was unreadable— not friendly, but not surly. She noticed he still wore his gunbelt as did his brothers. It was the first time she had seen him without his hat. His hair was black and thick and sprang up from his forehead, a few strands toppling over, the ends scraping his brow. His eyes swung around the room, missing nothing.

  “Supper is almost ready, Mr. Mahaffey,” Victoria said, her voice barely cordial. She turned her back on him and eased the biscuits onto a platter and poured the creamed beef gravy into a large bowl. She placed the food on the table and took off her apron.

  “Gawd!” Doonie’s eyes feasted on the golden biscuits, the crock of butter, and the dish of strawberry jam. He reached for a biscuit even before he sat down.

  “In this house we say a blessing before we eat, and gentlemen wait until ladies are seated before they sit down.” She didn’t look to see how Mason took this. “You may sit over there,” she said to the serious twin and motioned with her hand. “And you beside him.” It was a relief to look at Pete’s grinning face. “Doonie, you and Mr. Mahaffey will sit at the far end. Nellie, Dora, and I will sit at this end so that we may wait on the table. For as long as you’re here you’ll keep these places. When the meal is over, kindly fold your napkin and leave it beside your plate.”

  “Gawd!” Doonie said with disgust.

  “I told ya she was bossy,” Dora said with satisfaction.

  Tension crackled in the room. Mason took stock of the obstinate tilt of Victoria’s chin. The tawny wide-spaced, clear eyes reminded him of the color of a young lion. They were fascinating eyes, unwavering, but he sensed in them an undercurrent of pain. He made the first move to go to his assigned place, and the others followed. When they were standing behind their chairs, Victoria, with a firm hand against Dora’s back, pushed her into her chair, and then sat down herself. Nellie was already seated.

  “You may do the honors, Victoria.” There was naked command in Mason’s voice.

  “I intend to, Mr. Mahaffey.” Victoria bowed her head “Dear Lord,” she prayed aloud in a clear, calm voice, “we thank Thee for the provisions thou hath made for us, your children, and bless this food for the nourishment of our bodies. Amen.” She looked steadily at Mason. “You may pass the biscuits while I pour the coffee.”

  Mason and his family ate quietly. Victoria could tell they were enjoying the meal by the quantity of food that was disappearing. Dora and Doonie couldn’t seem to get enough of the strawberry jam, and had Victoria been less miserable she would have enjoyed seeing them savor the treat. Mason had faultless manners and she was surprised to see that Nellie’s manners were equally so. The twins were trying not to gobble their food and they lifted the coffee mugs carefully so as not to spill on the cloth. Only Doonie and Dora ate with uninhibited pleasure and left smears of jam and gravy on the cloth beside their plates.

  “I met Stonewall Perry,” Mason announced generally, but Victoria knew
his words were directed at her. She ignored them and got up to refill the milk pitcher. When she returned to the table she brought along a plate of fried pies she had made from last year’s dried apple supply. She had planned to take them to the cookshack for Ruby to serve the men, but she was glad she hadn’t when she set the plate on the table in front of Doonie. He looked at it with wide disbelieving eyes before they found hers. Victoria was almost sure she saw a flicker of friendliness in their depths before he lowered them.

  “I met Stonewall Perry, Victoria.” From the tone of his voice Victoria could tell her cool reserve had got under the skin of the confident Mason Mahaffey.

  “I heard you say that,” she said lightly and dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

  “He’ll be in later on,” he said ignoring her seeming disinterest. “How long has he been working here?”

  “Twelve years. He knows every crack and crevice in this valley, and has the respect of the men who pass through it.”

  “The outlaws, you mean.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he one of them?”

  “Ask him.”

  “In other words you don’t intend to be of any help.”

  “Certainly not. Why should I be?”

  “I can think of a number of reasons.”

  “I’d be interested in hearing them, but not now. Mealtime is not the time to discuss business.” She gave her voice a distant, chilly quality.

  Mason’s dark brows drew together in a thunderous frown at the rebuke. Victoria watched him. Then, as if by magic, a thought seemed to amuse him and a maddening smile played about his mouth. Victoria considered kicking him under the table. She was sure she could, with careful aim, connect with his shins. The thought of inflicting pain on his person was tempting, but she decided that she wouldn’t risk giving him the satisfaction of kicking her back, which she knew he was capable of doing. There were other ways of getting under his skin.

  “Is this your first trip to Wyoming Territory, Mr. Mahaffey?” She smiled pleasantly and addressed her words to Pete.

  He darted a glance at his brother, but his eyes were twinkling when they met hers. The twins were very handsome boys. Boys? Victoria decided, suddenly, they were at least her age, in spite of their slight, wiry builds.

  “Why, yes, ’tis, ma’am. But it ain’t no different from Colorado once ya get to the mountains.”

  “Is that right? I’ve never been over a hundred miles from this valley. I was born in this house. My mother was a teacher so it wasn’t necessary to send me away to be educated. I’d enjoy hearing about Colorado.”

  Pete’s grin widened. “And I’d like telling ya about it, ma’am.”

  She smiled, ever so slightly, and let her eyes move around the table to Mason. His eyebrows had snapped down into a straight line. He’d gotten the message. She’d show him! She laughed quietly to herself and allowed her eyes to linger on Pete. A plan was forming. Mason Mahaffey would not shove her out of her home! She’d stay on here one way or another.

  “I imagine you have many stories to tell about your own travels, Mr. Mahaffey,” she said to Mason with sweet malice. “I can hardly wait to hear them.” She looked back at Pete as if she couldn’t keep her eyes from him.

  “I just bet you can’t!” The muttered words gave her a world of satisfaction until she glanced at him and saw the murderous look on his face, then she quailed inwardly, but she didn’t retreat. She turned her eyes back to Pete and continued to smile pleasantly.

  “I’ve never known a pair of identical twins before. Did your mother have any difficulty in telling you apart?”

  “No, ma’am. I carried a string tied about my wrist until Clay got a chip knocked out of his tooth. ’Fore that we used to switch the string and fool her some.” He laughed and looked at his twin. “Course I knew I was Pete and Clay knew he was Clay, but I don’t think our pa ever got us straight.”

  How wonderful it must have been, Victoria mused, to have grown up with brothers and sisters. Her own lonely childhood stretched out behind her and she felt a quirk of regret that she had never known the affection that existed among the members of this family.

  The scraping of Mason’s chair against the plank floor brought her attention to him. His face was bland and guileless, but there was a certain gleam in his eyes.

  “I want to speak with you…in the office, Victoria.” He spoke with maddening assurance.

  “After the supper things have been cleared away, Mr. Mahaffey.” She got to her feet and turned her back to him. “Dora, the three of us will share this chore. I’ll prepare the wash water. You scrape the dishes and bring them to the work counter. Nellie, you can sit here and dry the dishes and give them to Dora so she can reset the table for morning. Leave the caster set, the butter, and the jam on the table, Dora. We’ll cover them to keep them free of dust.”

  Dora’s face was mutinous. “Do I have to, Mason?”

  “You want to learn how to take care of a house, don’t you? I think you should take advantage of what Victoria can teach you.”

  Victoria couldn’t believe that such a gentle voice had come from the mouth of the stern-faced man. Looking at him she saw a softening in his face that changed his countenance completely.

  “Oh, all right. But I want to see more of the house than just this old kitchen.”

  “You will, but do your work first.” He put his fingers on her chin and gave it a shake. “When you finish here, you and Nellie can get settled in your room. I’m depending on you to help your sister until she gets stronger.”

  “All right, Mason. I’ll help,” Dora assured him solemnly.

  “I knew you would, cherry cheeks, or I wouldn’t have asked you.”

  Mason herded his brothers into the hall. Victoria could hear them talking as they went from room to room and cringed at the thought of strangers roaming her house unobserved.

  CHAPTER

  * 3 *

  “My God, Victory! I ain’t never seen so much a goin’ on in all my born days.” Ruby came hurrying across the yard from the bunkhouse, and even in the dim gloom of the evening Victoria could see the worry on her round, wrinkled face. “Hit’s been jist one happenin’ piled on top the other.”

  Victoria threw the dish water onto the ground. “Is Stonewall having trouble with Kelso again?”

  “No. Ain’t nothin’ like that. Sage come in all shot up. I swear that man’s tougher’n a mangy wolf. Got it in the leg ’n’ shoulder. I had ta fix him up or I’d a been up here quicker’n a scared rabbit when I seed ya come a drivin’ in with that bunch. My jaw dropped clear down, I was so surprised. Lordy, Victory, what the hell is a happenin’? Stonewall says it’s him—M.T. Mahaffey!”

  “It’s him, all right! He and his family moved in and took over, Ruby. And there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.”

  “Consarn it! Stonewall says he ain’t no tenderfoot, Victory. Stonewall says he’s a steady-eyed bastard.”

  “He’s no tenderfoot. Oh, Ruby! I’m so scared I’m sick.”

  “Scared? He ain’t…Why that bastard! I’ll kill ’im! He touch a hair on yore head ’n’ I’ll jump on his behind like flies on cow pies!”

  “No. It’s not that. I’m not afraid he’ll harm me,” Victoria said quickly. “But he’s here to stay! They’re already talking about what I’m supposed to take with me when I leave.” A fresh spasm of alarm shot through her and she felt as if a tight hand were squeezing the breath out of her body.

  “Oh, flitter, honey. Talk ain’t goin’ ta cut no mustard. It’s doin’ what counts. That critter dunno what he’s up against. Thar’s a couple dozen men what’ll clean his clock if’n he makes a move against ya.”