Forever, Victoria

by Dorothy Garlock

  “That’s enough, Dora!” Nellie spoke sharply. “Ladies don’t talk like that.”

  “I ain’t no lady, Nellie. I’m just a kid.”

  They followed Mason to the kitchen where he picked up the boiling teakettle, carried it to the waterbucket and put several dipperfuls of water in it to cool it. They were going down the hall when Victoria came in, followed by Pete, Clay, and Doonie. Mason continued on to his room and disappeared inside.

  Victoria went to the kitchen cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey, opened a drawer and grabbed up a handful of neatly folded cloths, and stalked down the hall. She edged Nellie and Dora out of the doorway and went into the office.

  Mason stood at the washstand holding a bloody towel to his face. Victoria set the whiskey bottle down with a loud thump. He let the towel fall back into the washbasin and looked up.

  “Just what I need.” He pulled the cork, put the bottle to his lips, and gulped the fiery liquid. Blood from his cut cheekbone ran down over his mouth. Victoria took the bottle from his hand and wiped away the blood with a cloth before slapping the cork in place.

  “Sit down. You’re getting blood on my clean floor.”

  Mason wrung out the towel and held it to his face.

  “Yes’m,” he said and sank down in the chair.

  “Dora, go get the washbasin from the kitchen,” Victoria said in a no-nonsense voice and the little girl ran to obey. “I suppose you expect me to thank you for what you did.”

  “Why, ma’am, I’d not be so foolish as to expect anything like that.” The one eye visible under the towel teased.

  “You had no right to butt in!”

  “You think Stonewall’s up to fighting? Maybe you haven’t noticed, but Stonewall is no longer a young man.”

  Victoria look startled. “I’ve noticed, but there wouldn’t have been a fight!” she said stubbornly.

  “Kelso was itching to fight somebody. If not with fists, with guns. That tall, lanky hand, Sage, had his six-shooter drawn.”

  “Kelso has been here a long time. He’s never caused any trouble until the last year or so.” Victoria jerked the towel out of his hands. “That cut on your face should have a stitch in it.”

  He ignored the remark about the cut. “And I don’t suppose you know what’s turned the man sour?”

  “How would I know? I let Stonewall take care of managing the hands.” She opened a small chest and took out a leather bag. “Lie down on the bed. I’ll put a stitch in that cut, unless you’d rather Ruby did it.”

  After Mason lay down Victoria put a towel beneath his cheek and poured a quantity of whiskey into the cut. He rose up off the bed.

  “Good God, woman!”

  “Yes, Mr. Mahaffey?”

  “You liked doing that, didn’t you?”

  “Almost as much as you liked fighting! Now be still or I’ll have Pete sit on you.”

  “Have you done this before?” His eyes sought hers, found and held them.

  “Only on cows and horses,” she said with strong disdain.

  He grinned and his face hurt; he grimaced with pain and it hurt more.

  Victoria asked Nellie to bring another lamp and went about the work of preparing the needle and thread. Doonie and Dora stood just inside the door and the twins looked over their heads. Looking up for a brief moment Victoria was flooded with the feeling of being in the midst of a family, her family.

  Mason remained perfectly still while she pierced his skin with the needle. When she leaned close to him he caught a hint of cinnamon—or was it cloves?—on her breath. He looked at her face while she worked, liking her closeness. The surge of feeling she gave him was different from the effect of any other woman he had known. At times she was like a soft sleeping kitten, at other times like a dozing wildcat that might wake and start clawing. His eyes snared hers.

  “Make me pretty,” he said softly.

  Victoria’s eyebrows went up in question. “Do I add vanity to your list of obnoxious qualities?” she murmured.

  “Is it a long list?”

  Victoria ignored the question and worked on silently. Mason took pleasure in watching her deft hands and single-minded attention to her task. Her touch was sure and true, and when she finished two neatly tied stitches held the flesh together and only a small amount of blood oozed from the wound.

  “Cold wet cloths will hold down the swelling.”

  The back door slammed and seconds later Ruby came bustling into the room. Victoria looked up anxiously.

  “Ain’t no more trouble, Victory. Don’t look so worried. Kelso’s had his feathers plucked fer a while and Sage’ll keep an eye on ’im. See you got that gap in Mason’s face sewed up. That’s what I come about. Knew hit was a bad un.” She leaned down and peered at the wound. “Ya did a right good job. Cold wet rags’ll hold down the swellin’. That’s something you can do, dumplin’,” she said to Dora who had sidled up close to her. Ruby took her hand from Mason’s shoulder and drew Dora against her.

  “Can I come see you tomorrow, Ruby?”

  “Course you can, dumplin’. Now I got to get along. Just wanted to see if Mason was all right.” She leaned over as he sat up on the cot. “I thank ya.” She spoke so softly that the words reached only his and Victoria’s ears.

  Ruby avoided Victoria’s eyes, and looked down at the small hand that had made its way into hers. “Somethin’ smells good, don’t it? Think hit’s berry cobbler?” she asked the child as they left the room.

  Doonie and the twins followed them down the hall and Victoria heard the back door slam. Nellie picked up the blood-stained towels and went out, closing the door behind her, leaving Victoria alone with Mason. She repacked the leather case, put it away, and turned to go, but Mason’s words stopped her.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said quietly. He had raised himself up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  She faced him and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “You’ve been here a day and a night and you’ve worked your way in solid with Ruby. So what does that mean? I’m still owner of this ranch.”

  “How long do you think it would have taken for the rest of the men to get out of line when they saw Stonewall couldn’t handle Kelso?”

  “And what makes you think he couldn’t? You’re the one who made the challenge! Kelso would have cooled down,” she said stubbornly.

  “You are the most mule-headed woman I’ve ever met. Damnit! I did what I did to prevent a killing! Things were getting out of control here. Stonewall couldn’t have held on much longer. Can’t you see that?”

  “I could have hired someone to back him! I don’t need your help. I want you out of here.” She looked down to hide the hurt, angry look in her eyes. Silently she prayed that he would not sense the depth of the hurt she felt knowing that he and his family had won Ruby’s friendship.

  “Victoria…” His tone had softened. “I’m going to say this one more time. I’m here to stay. I’ll admit that this ranch is ten times more than I was led to believe it was. Nevertheless I paid my money for it and brought my brothers and sisters here. They’re not even my full blood brothers and sisters. My mother died when I was born, but the girl my pa married was my mother in every sense of the word. I loved her just as I loved my pa. I’m keeping their family together here on this ranch until they are grown and on their own. I’m not leaving. They’re not leaving.”

  Victoria’s feelings had run the gamut from hurt to anger during the last few days. She stared into the dark, bruised face and very suddenly she wanted to be out from under the burden she had carried for so long. She had tried to hold on because she had Ruby and Stonewall, because she believed right would triumph. It seemed now that she had been wrong on both counts. What was a place, anyway? It was what you carried in your heart that mattered. Her father had come here and made a place for himself. She would have to go somewhere and make a place for herself. Her eyes took on a dull, blank stare, and her lips moved stiffly.

  “All right.”

&n
bsp; Mason felt her withdrawal, saw it in the bleakness in her eyes, in the looseness of her mouth and in the bending of her proud head.

  “All right what, Victoria?” he asked softly.

  “Just all right. I’ll go to town tomorrow and see what Mr. Schoeller says. If he says give up, I’ll give up.”

  “That’s all?”

  She shrugged. “That’s all.” She reached for the door.

  “We have to pay off Kelso.”

  Victoria took a key from her pocket and tossed it on the desk, then opened the door, and went out. Mason listened to her steps in the hall, heard her close the door of her room softly. He sank down into the bed and cursed silently.

  CHAPTER

  * 6 *

  Victoria woke from her nightmare. Her mouth was dry and her face was wet with sweat, but nevertheless she felt relief, as she always did when she realized she had only been dreaming. In the dream she had been weeping with despair.

  She got up shakily and washed in the basin, put on a flannel shirt, her split riding skirt, and her boots. After she had combed and braided her hair she put a few items in a flat leather bag, took her hat from the hall tree and went out onto the porch. She could hear voices in the kitchen when she passed the door, but she didn’t look to see who was there.

  Victoria liked this time of day very much; the early morning sun was warm on her face, there was no dust in the air. She paused to look toward the corrals. There was little activity there because most of the men had saddled up and left the ranch for their day’s work. The few who remained were preparing to leave. On her way to Stonewall’s cabin she saw Hitch Willis, who served as both blacksmith and horse doctor, come out of one of the outbuildings. She called to him.

  “Is that brown mare of mine up, Hitch?”

  “Yes’m. Ya want me ta saddle ’er up fer ya?”

  “If you will, please. I’m riding to town.”

  “Righto.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Stonewall coming along behind her. She retraced her steps and went to meet him.

  “Mornin’.”

  “Mornin’, Victory.”

  “Did Kelso leave without any more trouble?”

  “They said he rode out an hour ’fore dawn. I hated for him to leave like that, Victory. He was an old-timer here. But lately he’d had a burr under his tail, ’n’ nothin’ went right fer him.”

  “It’s best that he’s gone,” Victoria said, dismissing the subject. “I’m going into town today. I’ll try to be back before nightfall, but if I see I can’t make it I’ll stay over at the Overland Hotel.”

  “Mason said ya’ll was goin’. Said ya was goin’ to see that lawyer feller.”

  Victoria didn’t even try to hide her anger. “Mason said?”

  “This mornin’ when he and the boys come down fer breakfast.”

  Victoria looked silently at the man who had stepped in and filled the void when her father died. How easily he accepted Mason’s presence on the ranch. It hurt her, more than she imagined. “Good-bye, Stonewall,” she said quietly.

  “’Bye, Victory. I’m kind a glad Mason’s ridin’ with ya. Lately I’ve been worried ’bout ya ridin’ that trail alone.”

  Victoria went quickly to the corral and met Hitch coming through the gate with the mare. She smiled at the old man, swung the leather bag up and hung it on the saddle horn, and mounted.

  “Thank you, Hitch. ’Bye.”

  She put her heels to the mare. The animal responded and she rode toward the hills. The men who stood watching her didn’t see the dejected look on her face and she didn’t see the puzzled looks on theirs.

  Victoria had reached the fork of the pass road when she heard the sound of hoofbeats behind her. She kept the mare moving at a steady pace and her eyes on the trail ahead. When Mason moved up beside her she scarcely glanced at him.

  “Mornin’,” he said.

  She slowed her horse to single-footing thinking he would move ahead of her, but he slowed his mount to keep pace. His eyes roamed her slim figure. He liked the way she sat in the saddle—solidly, feet dug deep in the stirrups, back straight.

  “You should have had some breakfast. You didn’t have supper last night. What are you trying to do? Starve yourself?”

  She turned cold eyes on him. “I’m going to say this one time.” She tossed the words back at him that he had said to her the night before. “It’s none of your damned business what I do, or where I go. Get the hell away from me!”

  She put her heels to the mare and they sprang ahead. She rode for a while, keeping the horse in a gallop. The panic in her stomach eased, and she slowed the mare, but kept her eyes on the pinnacle to the east. The trail climbed steadily and she slowed the mare even more to allow her to pick her footing among the loose rocks and heavy boulders. She forced all thoughts of Mason from her mind and concentrated on guiding her mare.

  In half an hour Victoria came to the top of the pass where the evergreens grew thick and the air was cool. She shivered and hurried the mare on down the trail where there was some shelter from the cold wind. In another month there would be snow in the pass and a few weeks after that it would be impassable. Everyone going to or coming from the ranch would have to take the lower, longer road.

  About midway to town she stopped beside a stream and let the mare drink. Mason moved up beside her and did likewise but didn’t speak. She moved on as if he weren’t there.

  Shortly after that they met two men leading a pack animal. They pulled off the trail to allow them to pass and Victoria nodded to them and they tipped their hats in return.

  When she reached the main street of South Pass City, Mason was riding beside her, taking appraisal of the activities and watching the people. A team of mangy broncs drew a buckboard through the dust. A freighter’s wagon was unloading in front of a commercial establishment. Two women stepped from the butcher shop, came down the boardwalk and entered the General Mercantile Store. A bay gelding stood restlessly in the dusty street flicking off flies while his rider talked with a freighter.

  Victoria, oblivious to the stares of the loungers who sat on slab benches in front of the saloon, turned up the side street toward the livery. The two women shoppers came out of the Mercantile Store and paused to watch her from under their ruffled gingham bonnets.

  On the side street, Oscar Hanson, the barber, came to the doorway of his shop and emptied a worn, faded apron of dark hair clippings. He was as thin as a beanpole.

  “Hello, Miss McKenna.”

  “Hello, Mr. Hanson.”

  The man’s long face lit up. “How be ya?”

  “Fine,” Victoria called back.

  A high-sided freight wagon was backed before the raised porch of the furniture store, the six mules asleep standing up. The furniture dealer, who was also the undertaker, stood at the end of the porch supervising the unloading of a dark walnut bedstead with dresser to match, and two white pine coffins.

  “Howdy, Miss Victoria. Nice day.”

  “Howdy. Yes, it is a nice day.”

  “If you’re going to be in town awhile Bessie would like to see you. Come on by the store if you have time.”

  “Thank you. Tell your wife I’ll stop by, if not today, then soon.”

  The furniture dealer rubbed his finger along the side of his face and studied the tall man who rode beside Victoria, noting that his eyes moved constantly up the street, to the right, to the left. The man watched everything at once and he looked like he’d been worked over. Strange to see Miss Victoria with a feller like that, he thought before he turned his attention back to the unloading of the freight wagon.