by Craig, Emma
“Yeah, it’s a real nice dolly,” he said, wishing it were true.
Maddie heaved a sigh too big for her six-year-old body. If Noah hadn’t been feeling so bad, he might have grinned because the sigh made the little girl sound like a junior adult.
“Oh, I know it isn’t store-boughten like the kind you’re prolly used to. Mommy says we can’t afford store-boughten dollies. But I love this one, and I think she’s pretty. Her name is Priscilla.”
“Priscilla, huh?” He remembered that from when Maddie had met Anastasia Merchant.
Maddie nodded. “I wish my name was Priscilla, but Mommy says Daddy and her named me after my grandma. Daddy’s mommy, Madeline Richardson. She lives in ‘Cago, like Grandma and Grandpa Baxter.”
“In Chicago, does she?” He couldn’t figure out why she was bothering to explain her family history to him today of all days, when the only thing he wanted was to be alone so he could contemplate his many sins in private.
Another nod. “So I named my dolly Priscilla, ‘cause that’s what I want my name to be.”
“Makes sense.” Noah was astounded to realize it did. Did that make him more or less crazy, that he understood the reasoning of a six-year-old?
“And Mommy makes Priscilla new clothes whenever she can.”
“Yeah. Like on your birthday.”
“Uh-huh. Mommy has to work in Mac’s store, you know, so she doesn’t have a lot of time to sew.”
“Yeah. I know.”
Maddie brightened. “But sometimes she sews dolly dresses while she’s waiting for customers to come in. She makes Priscilla dresses out of the same material she makes my dresses. And matching sunbonnets too, though I don’t like sunbonnets. I’m s’posed to wear them so’s I don’t get sunstroke.”
“Sounds like fun.”
Maddie gazed up at him, her expression critical, as if she’d detected the false note in his voice. “You don’t have to lie, Mr. Noah.”
“I’m not lying, Maddie.” He almost crossed his fingers behind his back as he used to do when he was six and told a deliberate fib. He and his chums had believed crossing one’s fingers negated the sinfulness of the lie. Ignorance was such bliss.
“Hmm. I know Priscilla isn’t as pretty as store-boughten dollies, Mr. Noah, ‘cause I seen a store-boughten dolly once on a wagon.”
“Priscilla is a fine dolly, Miss Maddie.” He felt pressured, and he didn’t like the feeling. His lips still burned from Grace’s kiss, his mind raged, and his innards were doing back flips. He didn’t want to be talking about dollies with Maddie Richardson, especially since old Priscilla was about the sorriest excuse for a kid’s toy he’d ever seen.
Why the hell wouldn’t Grace just give up like any sane woman would do? She wasn’t doing herself or her kid any favors, remaining out here, living on love. Living on love. The expression made Noah feel queasy.
“You’re just saying that,” Maddie announced with a firm nod. “You’ve seen much nicer dollies than Priscilla, huh?”
Noah glared down at her and wondered how she’d got so damned smart all of a sudden. He didn’t feel obliged to answer since she was doing so well on her own.
“But it’s not true, you know.” She kissed her doll on the top of her yarn hair. “Priscilla is the best dolly in the world because Mommy made it for me with love. Mommy says that love can make anything beautiful.”
“She does, does she?” Noah wondered if he was having a seizure. Suddenly his heart hurt like a coyote had just bitten a chunk out of it.
Another nod from his pint-sized conscience. “I keep praying to God in heaven that love can give my mommy a reed organ.” She grinned up at him like an imp. “And me a daddy. If Mommy could have an organ and I could have a daddy, Priscilla and me would be real happy.”
She bounced off, humming, holding Priscilla like a baby. Noah watched her go, feeling like a two-thousand-pound horse had just kicked him in the guts.
# # #
Mac took the pipe from his mouth when he saw Noah stomping over to him, and blew out several smoke rings. He’d been expecting this.
People. They made things so hard for themselves. As much as Mac loved human beings, he sometimes didn’t wonder at the rest of his wizardly race having given up on them. They were an obstinate lot, humans. And here came Noah Partridge, one of the most obstinate of them all, looking like he was upset enough to spit poisoned darts.
With delicious irony, Mac gave Noah the sweetest smile in his repertoire. “Good morning, lad. Ye’re lookin’ fit today.” He looked like he was about to pitch a fit, is how he looked.
“Yeah?”
“Aye. Grace’s cooking is doin’ ye a world of good, lad.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Oh, aye.” Mac winked, and was amused to see Noah’s mouth flatten out into a rigid white line of fury.
“Listen, Mac, I have to go away for a while. I’ll be back sometime, I reckon.”
“You will, will you?”
“Yeah. That all right? I mean, do I owe you any money or anything?”
“Nay, lad. Ye’re all paid up. Ye don’t owe me a thing.” He figured Noah was smart enough to understand what he’d left unsaid. He knew it for certain when Noah squinted at him hard, and his frown intensified. Mac didn’t laugh, because he knew how seriously people took themselves. Noah, especially, wouldn’t appreciate having his heart’s misery laughed at.
In truth, Mac’s amusement wasn’t meant as a criticism or a mockery. He only wanted to laugh because it seemed a shame to him that the poor lad had to go through this terrible crisis. Yet Mac knew that people needed their crises. Crises somehow helped them come to appropriate conclusions. Humans weren’t wise, like Mac’s race of wizards. They did things by trial and error and instinct, none of which were very reliable.
“I’ll need a bag of grain to take with me for Fargo.”
“Of course. Is Grace in the store? She can take your money for it.” He only asked for form’s sake. Mac knew very well that Grace was crying her eyes out in her bedroom, poor lass.
“Er, no. No, she had to leave the store for a minute.”
“All right, lad. I’ll fetch ye a bag of grain.”
So he and Noah walked back to Mac’s mercantile, Noah as frigid as an icicle beside him. Even his walk was stiff. His leg must be paining him, because his limp was more pronounced today. Well, such was life if one were a human, Mac reckoned. Too bad about that, but there was only so much a wizard, even one as old and wise as Mac, could do.
He heaved a sack of grain onto the counter and took Noah’s money. Then he walked back outside with him and watched him saddle up his horse. “Got food for yourself, lad?” he asked gently.
Noah lifted a shoulder. “I’ll kill something.”
He sounded like he was looking forward to it, and Mac grinned. “Aye. There’s plenty of game around if you know where to look for it.”
Noah didn’t answer. He pulled Fargo’s cinch tight, flipped the stirrups down, divided the grain evenly so Fargo would be balanced—which made one of them, Mac thought with an internal grin—strapped down his bedroll, and swung himself into the saddle. He didn’t speak another word, but pulled the brim of his hat down in Mac’s direction by way of farewell. Mac nodded pleasantly.
Then Noah was off, looking like his last friend had died. Mac sighed.
“Poor lad,” he murmured. “Poor lad.”
# # #
“He’s gone?”
Grace’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She’d laid a cold rag over them, but she didn’t have time to pamper herself for very long. Her head ached, too. Crying always gave her a headache. At Mac’s words, her heart plummeted to her shoes.
“Where’d he go?” Maddie asked after she swallowed a bite of the dumpling she’d been chewing. She was so very polite for a six-year-old. Grace thought defiantly that at least she’d done that much right in the rearing of her.
“I don’t know, Maddie-lass. He didn’t look very happy when he l
eft, though.”
Maddie frowned as she carefully spooned up a bite of chicken and gravy. “I hope I didn’t make him sad when I told him about Priscilla.”
“Priscilla?” Grace turned to stare at her daughter. “What did you tell him about Priscilla?”
“Only that you made her for me and I love her better than any old store-boughten dolly. I could tell he didn’t think she was as pretty as some dollies he’s seen.”
“Oh.” Grace’s eyes filled with tears again. What was the matter with her, that she was getting emotional at the supper table? “That was very nice of you, Maddie. I’m glad you like Priscilla.” She’d made that doll with every ounce of love she had in her. That didn’t make it as fine as any of the wax-head dolls her family could buy Maddie in Chicago.
She wanted to fold her arms on the supper table, lay her head on them, and give herself up to another crying jag. She was depriving her daughter, whom she loved more than anything else in the entire world, for a dream. What’s more, it was a dream destined for failure. She knew it, and she kept fighting for it anyway. What an idiot she was.
Maddie’s smile was as bright as the Christmas star. “You know what I think?”
Grace couldn’t force any words through her aching throat. She shook her head and willed herself not to bawl out loud. She couldn’t quite force a smile.
Mac said, “What do you think, Maddie m’lass?”
When Grace looked at him, he winked, and she knew he was aware of her distress. She turned her head away and tried to wipe her eyes without Maddie seeing.
“I think Mr. Noah has gone away to get Mommy’s reed organ.”
“Oh, Maddie!” Grace got up from her chair so fast it nearly tipped over. She ran to the kitchen sink so her daughter wouldn’t see how her perky comment had devastated her. She braced her hands against the sink and commanded herself to take control of her rocky emotions.
“Why’d Mommy get up, Mac?”
Maddie sounded puzzled—justifiably so. Grace hadn’t even excused herself from the table. What kind of example was that? She pressed a hand against her abdomen, where even now another baby might be growing, and wondered about her priorities. Speaking of examples, what kind of example would that be for her daughter? If Grace had been alone in the house, she’d have howled in frustration.
“I think she went to the stove to get the cobbler, Maddie m’lass.”
“But we aren’t done with the chicken and dumplings yet.”
Grace heard Mac laugh gently.
“Aye, lass, but you know your mama. She’s an organized thing, your mama.”
An organized thing, was she? Well, Grace guessed Mac was right. She’d organized herself into a job at his store, and she was working herself blamed near to exhaustion, and for what? For a piece of land that was likely to be the death of her. She’d refused a perfectly good offer for it; an offer that would have paid her and Maddie’s way back to Chicago with money left over. Or she could have bought another parcel of land here, if she was determined to stick it out, a smaller parcel, one she could handle, perhaps in town, where she could at least get work for wages. And she’d refused. Thrown it into Noah’s face.
Frank used to tell her that she could out-stubborn a mule when she put her mind to it. And he’d been right. And Frank was gone. And now so was Noah.
He was gone. He’d just taken off, without even saying good-bye. Of course, she’d as much as told him to go to hell. Maybe that’s what he was doing. At least if he did, he wouldn’t get her land.
“Oh, my heavens,” she whispered. If Noah didn’t get her land, so what? Someone else would soon. What a monumental, blazing ass she was!
“I think I’ll save room for some clobber,” Grace heard from the table. “I like Mommy’s clobber.”
She sounded so grown up, except for her mispronunciation. She was growing like a weed. Soon, Grace knew, she’d be old enough to know what she was missing. Grace wondered for the first time if Maddie would hate her when she realized that Grace’s determination to fulfill Frank’s dream had condemned her to a life alone, on the empty plains of New Mexico Territory, without family or playmates or luxuries. Luxuries? Without even common necessities.
If only Frank had lived, they would have made out all right. Frank would have seen to it. They’d have both seen to it that Maddie went to Chicago for visits. And, with luck, they’d have had more children. Grace hadn’t had any trouble giving Maddie birth. They’d wanted more children.
“Your mommy’s a good cook, Maddie lass.”
Her daughter didn’t answer, but in her mind’s eye Grace could see her nodding as she chewed another bite of chicken. Or maybe a carrot. Maddie liked carrots. Oh, Maddie, Maddie, I was doing it for you!
Grace stared into the kitchen sink, a fancy galvanized metal model Mac had managed to come up with from somewhere. He found the most amazing things. Must be because he had connections he’d met through running his mercantile establishment. She and Frank had determined to make do with zinc buckets and wooden tubs for the first few years. It would have been hard, but they’d been up for it. They’d been up for anything, together.
Why was she struggling on alone? This evening, with Noah’s absence gaping like an unbridgeable chasm in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t think of an answer that didn’t sound stupid.
Mac’s gentle hand on her shoulder startled a squeal out of her. She saw what looked like millions of sparkles in the air when she jerked around.
“He’ll be back, lass. You’ll see.”
Mac looked at her with such a kindly expression on his face that Grace couldn’t be strong for one second longer. She uttered a sob, and fell into his open arms. He patted her on the back and clucked softly, and a feeling of peace seemed to permeate her body from where his hands touched her through her insides, and even to her fingers and toes. She didn’t cry long—which was a good thing, since the headache from her emotional fit this afternoon was vicious.
When she pulled away from him, she saw that he was dangling a handkerchief in front of her. She managed a shaky laugh. “Where did that come from?”
He gave her another wink and grinned. “Ah, lass, I have me ways, y’know.”
“Yes,” she said as she took the handkerchief and mopped her face. “I know.” She made sure her cheeks were dry before she blew her nose. She didn’t want Maddie to know her mama was such a deplorable weakling. “Thank you, Mac. You always know what a body needs.”
“Aye, I have me ways,” he said again. “Are ye all right, lass? Do you need to be alone for a while?”
“No, thank you, Mac. I’m fine. Fine.” Fine, was she? As Grace went back to the kitchen table—holding the pan of cobbler so Maddie wouldn’t suspect anything was amiss—she wondered if she’d ever be fine again in this life.
Maddie’s happy smile when she spotted the cobbler almost broke her heart.
# # #
Noah rode until his bones ached. He rode until his head pounded. He rode until he feared for Fargo’s health, and then he rode some more. He let Fargo lead the way and didn’t know where they were going until they got there.
He eyed the sweep of the Pecos River as it twisted through the scrub. He saw those blasted little trees sitting there, just waiting for Grace Richardson to come live beside them and charm them into life, and he muttered, “Damn it, Fargo, why’d you bring me here?”
The horse, winded and hanging his head, didn’t answer. Noah swung down from the saddle. His bum leg almost buckled under him, but he refused to let it. Damn it, he was in charge of his body; if he couldn’t control his heart or his mind or anything else in this rotten world, he could at least control his body.
He glanced at the river again, remembered the few short hours he’d spent with Grace here beside it, and knew that even his body ruled him more often than not. He kicked the dirt at his feet, startling a jackrabbit out from under a low-growing mesquite bush and sending it bounding away across the plains. Noah thought about shooting it, but he d
idn’t have the heart. He’d find something else to eat for supper, if he ever got hungry. He probably would. His luck wasn’t running high lately.
“Criminy, Fargo, what am I supposed to do now? Take Grace’s land away from her or stick around, buy another parcel—one that I don’t want—and watch her lose the land we both want anyway? What purpose would that serve?” He glowered at the river, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
Another alternative occurred to him, but he rejected it savagely. “She sure as hell won’t want to marry me now. She hates me.”
Fargo had wandered over to the river. Noah felt a stab of guilt. Guilt wasn’t an unusual emotion for him, but he generally didn’t feel it for his horse’s sake. He’d been used to treating the animals in his life much more gently than he treated himself. With a sigh of remorse, he walked over and took up the trailing reins.
“After you drink yourself sick on that mineral water, I’ll take care of you, boy. I’m sorry.”
Jesus, he was talking to his horse! Well, why not? There weren’t any people around who wanted to talk to him.
“Criminy,” he muttered. “Now you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”
He told himself to snap out of it, and proceeded to remove Fargo’s saddle and rub him down. Then he gave him a few extra oats to make up for the harsh treatment he’d endured since they left Rio Hondo. Only after Noah had cared for his horse did he catch some fish for himself. They were pretty tasty, considering everything in Noah’s life seemed to have turned to ashes in the last few hours. Not that anything had been particularly appealing before.
Knowing Grace Richardson hated his guts hurt, though. It hurt more than Noah had believed anything would ever be able to hurt him again. He’d believed all his hurt had been used up years ago. He was mortally unhappy to discover the truth.
Noah and Fargo camped that night beside the Pecos River, on the property owned by Grace Richardson. Noah’s dreams were filled with odd images and sensations. Grace was 176176 Ê in them, and Maddie, and more children. Noah awoke with the strange conviction that they had been his children. His and Grace’s. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the dream away. It wouldn’t be erased. Damn it all, how many more kinds of a jackass did he have to prove himself to be, anyway?