Forever, Victoria

by Dorothy Garlock

  MARTHA WILSON MCKENNA

  Wife and Mother

  Feb. 20, 1825-June 22, 1860

  Martha Wilson McKenna. Victoria remembered her mother saying that Martha was such a dull, colorless name that when she was young she had wanted to be called Gloria or Evangeline or some other cheerful name. That was the reason she named her daughter Victoria. You will be victorious in everything you do, she had told her. You only have to put your mind to it. If only it were that simple. Victoria stood up slowly and looked around. There were more than a dozen graves in the enclosure. Two were freshly dug, the resting places of the two men who had tried to kill her and Mason. But why? Even several conversations with Stonewall over the past few weeks had failed to provide a reason.

  The word had spread up and down the outlaw trail that bushwhackers had set out to kill Victoria McKenna and had, in fact, wounded her. More than the usual number of drifters had made their way to the ranch, leaving as soon as they were sure Victoria had recovered. Mason had acquired a hero’s reputation for facing and killing the men responsible.

  The north wind was chillier than she had expected and Victoria buttoned her flannel shirt around her neck before she stepped into the saddle. She missed Rosie. Mason had picked this mare for her to ride. It seemed Mason made every decision, or had a hand in making every decision, that affected her and the Double M.

  With a sudden spurt of resentment she put her heels to the old mare and rode up the hill. Urging the mare to a gallop, she rode hard, exulting in the freedom of riding into the wind. At the top she pulled the mare to a stop and turned to look back at the ranch house.

  The afternoon sun lay across the land, separating light and dark into lines and patches. Smoke curled up from the chimneys, washing flapped on the clothesline, and Dora played with the pups in front of Ruby’s cabin. The Double M had changed since the Mahaffeys moved into the ranch house.

  Victoria shivered in the cold wind, but sat her horse and watched Nellie, her blue dress a bright spot against the log buildings, come out into the yard and begin to take the clothes from the line. Nellie had grown stronger in body, prettier, since coming to the ranch. She was sweet, cheerful, and eager to learn all aspects of homemaking. Her biscuits were as good as Victoria’s after only a few lessons. She liked cleaning the house, and she could stitch as well as any dressmaker in South Pass City. The one thing she absolutely refused to do was pick up a tatting shuttle. She said she had made enough lace to last a lifetime. It was Nellie’s soothing presence that made having so many strangers in her home at all bearable for Victoria.

  Victoria saw Mason come out of the tack house, pause and look up toward the hill. She knew his walk and his stance even at a distance. They had been alone several times since the night he had kissed her, but he had made no attempt to touch her again. On more than one occasion, she had turned suddenly and found him staring at her. She was always the one to look away first.

  With her eyes on him, she started the horse down the hill toward the ranch. At the bottom of the hill she gigged the mare sharply, gave her the reins, and they rode into the yard on a dead run. By the time they reached the corral gate Mason had opened it and she rode through without looking at him. The mare’s sides were heaving when they stopped and Victoria dismounted and patted the side of the horse’s face before handing the reins over to old Hitch.

  The old man grinned at the scowl on Mason’s face and at the impudent glance Miss Victoria gave him. He chuckled. If ever there’d be a man to halter-break that one, it would be Mason. They’d make a mighty fine pair to harness fer a long pull. Old Hitch led the mare into the barn still chuckling.

  Mason closed the gate. “Are you trying to break your neck or the mare’s?”

  “What makes you think I’m trying to break either?” She raised innocent eyes to his. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been riding for a long time. I’ve raced with the drovers every year at our after-the-roundup celebration and I fully intend to race this year.”

  “We’ll start the drive to the stock pens day after tomorrow. Stonewall says it’ll take about a week or ten days to get things all buttoned up and the money in the bank.”

  “This is the first time since I can remember that Stonewall hasn’t gone,” she said wistfully. “Papa and Ruby and I used to meet him in town and we’d go to the Overland for a celebration. Papa loved celebrations. We always had a blowout and a big feed after roundup and on the Fourth of July.”

  “There’s no reason why we can’t continue the tradition. I like celebrations, myself.”

  “We’ll wait a few days and let the men get over their spree in town. Of course not all of them stay in town. Some hightail it back here to the ranch.”

  “You mean some of the men who work here are wanted by the law?”

  “Could be. I’ve never asked them.” They walked slowly toward the house. “Papa would send word of the blowout down the trail and we’d have a lot of visitors all of a sudden.” She laughed and Mason thought it the most pleasant sound he had ever heard. “I think they came for the pie and the bear claws. I’m sure they got all the beef they wanted to eat.”

  “Has word been sent out?”

  “Sure. Ruby sees to it since Papa—”

  They came to the yard gate and he put his hand on her arm to stop her.

  “When we make the drive it will take most all the hands. I’ll be leaving Sage, Jim Lyster and a couple of other men here. Stonewall thinks it’s a good idea, too.”

  “Why? Do you think someone’s going to pack up the ranch and run away with it while you’re gone, or that I’ll gather my outlaw friends around and not let you back in?” She looked at him levelly, revealing nothing of the torment she was feeling at the thought he would be gone for a while.

  “Victoria,” he said with exasperation. “I don’t care if you like it or not. I’m going to see to it that you’re not left alone without a crew of dependable men. Things aren’t the way they once were in this valley. I don’t know why, but someone wants you and me dead!”

  “I don’t believe it and I never will. How long has it been? A month? Nothing has happened. Land grabbers won’t come here. Not if they have any sense at all.” Once started she couldn’t stop and threw out accusations rashly. “You’ve taken over my ranch, my home, my life, my—” She broke off before she made the admission that would confirm her absolute humiliation. “You’ve curtailed my freedom until I can’t ride on my own land. You told Hitch to saddle up that wheezy old mare that’s good for nothing but crow bait!” Her amber eyes hardened as she said, “You’re greedy, Mason. I’m even in your debt for saving my life.”

  She recognized the signs. He was about to lose his temper. What had possessed her to say those things to him? Her words had penetrated his cool armor, she thought, as she watched the lines around his mouth become more deeply etched. But it’s true! This is still my ranch!

  “Victoria,” he said her name menacingly. “You are trying my patience.” He moved a step nearer to her and lowered his voice, not to keep from being overheard but because he was trying to control his anger. “You have liked having us here. You’ve been happy. You would never again be content to rattle around in that house alone, bearing the responsibility for this ranch alone, living here year after year alone. There’s one other way I’ve taken over your life that you’ve failed to mention.”

  “What?” she asked tremulously and wished she hadn’t when she saw the predatory gleam in his eyes.

  “You know.” He smiled. “You’re a woman unfulfilled, Victoria. A passionate woman who needs a man in her bed—and that man is going to be me.”

  She gasped in indignation. “Why…you—you’re crude!”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

  “You said that to pay me back!”

  “Yeah,” he said again. “But I mean it.”

  Her face was scarlet and she felt hot even in the cool wind. She moved to go around him, but he took her elbow firmly in his hand. His low chuckle did n
othing to ease her irritation.

  “Come on, little wildcat. Let’s go talk to Stonewall and Ruby about the celebration.”

  * * *

  The parlor had been off limits for the Mahaffeys since the first night they arrived. The door was kept firmly closed. When Victoria wanted to be alone she went either there or to her bedroom. That night, after the supper dishes were washed and put away she left the family sitting around the kitchen fireplace. Mason and the twins were talking about the cattle that were gathered in the lower valley, Doonie was trying to teach Dora to play checkers and Nellie sat beside the lamp stitching a dress from material Victoria had given her.

  Victoria went to the parlor and lit the lamp, the one with the hand-painted roses on its china base. The room was cold so she took the scarf from the spinet and flung it about. her shoulders. She hadn’t played the spinet since the Mahaffeys had come to the ranch, except for the time Nellie had coaxed her to play a few bars when they were alone in the house.

  Playing the spinet was one of Victoria’s greatest pleasures. On a sudden impulse, she pulled up a chair and sat down before the keys. Her fingers played lightly on the yellowed ivories. She tipped her head and listened to the plucked strings. Dora’s rough treatment had not harmed her treasured instrument. She played a slow melody and began to sing.

  “A little girl with a sweet, sad smile and beautiful golden curls,

  Came into my store this morning and this is what she said.

  Please, mister, I want some lilies, the kind that never die,

  To take them to my mother who lives up in the sky,

  For baby is going to heaven, our darling mama to see…”

  She had become so absorbed in the song she just barely heard the door open. Her voice faltered and she spun around. The Mahaffeys, all five of them, stood hesitantly in the doorway. For a long moment not a sound was heard. Then Nellie shouldered Doonie aside and came into the room.

  “Please don’t stop, Victoria. Our mama used to sing that song.” It must have been the big tears in Nellie’s eyes that caused Victoria to shrug her shoulders and turn back to the keyboard.

  She blocked the audience from her mind and song followed song. She was singing for herself, not for them. Her voice had a husky fragility that blended well with the sweet sound of the spinet.

  The only songs Victoria knew were the ones her mother had taught her and some she had picked up from Ruby or visiting drifters. She sang about a cowboy who dreamed about his sweetheart, and about a gambler who saw his mother’s face in the cards in his hand. Her favorite was “The Little Rosewood Casket.” When she finished it she stopped playing and started to lower the cover to the keys. She felt hands on her shoulders and knew they were Mason’s.

  “Sing ‘Strawberry Roan.’” He had bent his head and whispered in her ear.

  She couldn’t refuse, and played the song, feeling the weight of his warm hands and the closeness of him against her back. Her voice quivered at first, then became stronger. She sang all the verses to the song.

  When she finished Dora’s voice broke into the silence that followed. “Can you play ‘Rye Whiskey’?” The little girl stood grinning her toothless grin.

  Victoria glanced around the room. The twins squatted beside the door, Doonie stood just inside. Only Nellie had sat down in one of the fragile, needlepoint chairs. A wave of compassion came over Victoria. They were intruders in her home, but they had given her every consideration regarding her privacy. After Dora’s destructive outburst they had been as careful as it was possible for them to be with the house furnishings, and they had been pleasant company. She looked at Dora who was waiting expectantly. Her hair had come loose from her braids and her face showed signs of the blackberry jam she had eaten for supper. Yet her eyes were shining and she had caught the sides of her faded skirt with her two hands.

  “I can. But wouldn’t you rather sing another song?”

  “Nope. Ruby teached me this one. I can dance, too.”

  Victoria felt Mason’s laugh from the movement of his hands on her shoulders.

  “You can? All right, here goes.”

  She began to play the lively tune and Dora began to sing.

  “Rye whiskey, rye whiskey,

  rye whiskey, I cry.

  I’ll drink that rye whiskey

  till the day that I die.”

  Each time they finished a verse Victoria would pause until Dora launched into another. The child knew all ten verses and while she sang she jigged and twirled about the room. When she finished her brothers and Nellie laughed loudly and applauded. Dora basked in their attention.

  “Looks like we’re going to have a chorus girl on our hands,” Mason murmured.

  “Maybe, but she needs to learn a new song.” Victoria couldn’t help the smile that tilted her lips. She lowered the cover on the keys and took the scarf from her shoulders to cover the spinet. Dora came to lean against her knees.

  “Ruby said I could dance on the stage. She said I was pretty, too.”

  “I agree. You are a pretty girl.”

  “Can you learn me a song?” This was the first friendly overture Dora had made.

  “Well…” Victoria said slowly. “You could learn the songs faster if you could read. I think we have some books stored away that I used when I learned to read. Would you like to see them?”

  “Godamighty! Do they have pictures?”

  “Some do. Tomorrow we’ll get them out and have a look.” Victoria stood and Dora danced away to tell Doonie about the books.

  “Dora needs someone to take her in hand and teach her that ladies don’t say ‘godamighty,’” Mason said with a scowl.

  “Some do. I’d take Ruby over any lady I ever met. Her manners may not be sans peur et sans reproche, but she’s genuine.” Her eyes dared him to dispute.

  He grinned. “She’s beautiful and speaks French, too.” He spoke as if thinking aloud and his eyes teased her.

  “Seulement un peu.” She tilted her head haughtily and walked past him.

  Later, as she snuggled down into her bed, she remembered this was the first night since the Mahaffeys came that she had gone to bed without making sure the parlor door was shut. A few short months ago, she had not known they even existed. And because of Mason’s chance meeting with her half brother in England they were here, weaving themselves into the fabric of her life, their amicable personalities making it impossible for her to hate them and even possible for her to be…fond of them. Her mind stumbled over the word love. It was strange, she thought painfully, that she hadn’t realized she had been lonely. Never having had a large family, she could not have missed what she did not know. Would she ever be satisfied again to spend long evenings alone with only the wind rattling the roof and the creaking of the house to break the stillness?

  Victoria turned over on her side and stared into a darkness no more confusing than her own thoughts. Mason. Mason brushing the hair back from her eyes; Mason wrapping himself around her to keep warm; Mason saying, I want to feel every inch of your golden body, dear heart. Mason. Mason. Mason. Tears trickled down from between her closed eyelids.

  During the night she began to dream lovely, wonderful, intensely sensual dreams. Mason was kissing her. His lips were warm and explored her mouth, her eyes, her throat. The dream was so deeply real she could feel his fingers on the rounded flesh of her breast, fondling the stiff peaks until a whimpering sound came from her lips and her own hand came up to clasp his and press it tighter to her breast.

  “Mason…” His name came from her lips even as she was searching for his.

  “Kiss me, dear heart. Kiss me and hold me.”

  “Yes! Oh, yes, Mason!” Her lips, soft and eager, sought his that were firm, yet gentle, hardening with passion only at the insistence of hers. Her hand came out from beneath the covers to find its way to the back of his neck. Something deep within her was stirring, bringing an ache to the nether regions between her legs. She moved restlessly, a hunger gnawing at her relentle
ssly.