The Visions of Ransom Lake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “Myra has been so excited about your comin’,” Mrs. Clayton confessed. “We thought she was gonna burst at the seams yesterday mornin’ at the town meetin’ when she announced you two were comin’ to stay with her and Dan. It’s nice to have some lovely new young ladies in town. This should please all the young bucks hereabouts, shouldn’t it, Jerome?”

  Jerome nodded in agreement, winking flirtatiously at Yvonne.

  Yvonne blushed appropriately and humbly mumbled, “Thank you, Mrs. Clayton.”

  “Why?” Vaden blurted in forthright honesty. “Aren’t there any other girls in town? I truly hope you didn’t ask us here just to marry us off, Aunt Myra.”

  “Vaden!” Yvonne snapped, turning scarlet with embarrassment.

  Myra and Mrs. Clayton only chuckled as Myra replied, “No. We didn’t ask ya here to marry ya off, Vaden. But…if that’s what should come of your visit…I’d only be too happy to have ya livin’ nearby all the time.”

  Yvonne rolled her eyes, horrified at her sister’s behavior as Myra and Mrs. Clayton continued to look amused.

  Jerome, however, seemed to sense the unsettled emotions arising between the two sisters. “Well, on behalf of all us ‘young bucks’ in town…I’m just plain delighted to have two such lovely ladies to help beauty up the place.”

  Though his eyes were firmly set on Vaden, it was Yvonne who responded to his compliment. “Why, you’re too charming, Mr. Clayton. If everyone in town is as nice and complimentary as you and your mother, we’ll be spoiled rotten before our first day is done.”

  Jerome continued to stare at Vaden. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked to Mrs. Clayton. “May we help you with anything in the mercantile today, Mrs. Clayton? We’re only just getting our feet wet, but Yvonne and I like to jump right into new responsibilities and challenges.”

  Mrs. Clayton opened her small handbag and withdrew a piece of paper. “As a matter of fact, Miss…Vaden, is it? There are a few things I’ve been intendin’ to pick up the next time I was in.” She handed the paper to Vaden, who smiled, relieved to have a task to remove her from beneath the unnerving stare of Jerome Clayton. He was quite handsome, and it always made Vaden uncomfortable when a handsome man noticed her.

  “Leave it to me, Auntie,” Vaden chirped, and she went about the store gathering the items on the list.

  Though she busily accumulated the things Mrs. Clayton had listed, her attention was arrested immediately when Mrs. Clayton said to her aunt, “Have ya heard that Ransom Lake is moving into town for the winter?”

  “Mercy, yes! Danny told me just last night, and I thought surely he had misunderstood. Ransom Lake never winters in town. He hides up there in them mountains, and I don’t know why they don’t find him just a solid chunk of ice every year come spring,” Myra commented.

  “It’s true, I tell you. My Raymond saw him just this morning over at the blacksmith’s. He was telling ol’ Manfred Dennis that he’d be needin’ some new brandin’ irons done up ’cause he planned on bringin’ his new heifers down with him, and he’s changin’ his brand.”

  Myra shook her head, clicking her tongue in disbelief. “I can’t imagine what would’ve made that man do it. You know how secretive he’s always been. Well, this will certainly set tongues to waggin’.”

  Vaden turned and smiled at her sister, who also smiled in amusement at the tongues already wagging. She was unsettled immediately, however, when her eyes fell to Jerome Clayton to see he still stared at her, grinning and seeming pleased at what he saw. In the next moment, Vaden felt a prickling at the back of her neck, and she involuntarily shuddered. Something in the young man’s expression had changed. Hadn’t it? She couldn’t quite be sure what it was, but for a few moments Vaden felt truly uneasy in his presence. She inwardly told herself it was, as always, her dramatic imagination and returned her attention to the conversation at hand.

  “How I’d like to know what’s in that man’s mind,” Sable Clayton muttered. “What made him take to the hills like he did?”

  “My guess is tragedy. Pain of some kind,” Myra answered. “A man just doesn’t live like that without somethin’ sending him to it.”

  Vaden set the items she had gathered on the counter and turned to find a hush had fallen over the room. All eyes, including Jerome’s, were turned toward the front entrance to the store. As Vaden herself looked up, her heart began to pound madly with excitement. There in the doorway stood none other than the mysterious Ransom Lake. He nodded slightly in greeting to the onlookers.

  Amazingly, Myra found her composure at once. “Mr. Lake! What can I help ya with today?” Vaden knew by the crimson color rising to the face of each and every person in the mercantile, they all were wondering how much of their gossip Ransom Lake heard before they noticed he had entered the building.

  The hermit seemed to sense the discomfort in the room and simply mumbled, “Boots,” in a lowered voice.

  Vaden’s eyes fell to the well-worn boots the man wore. She blushed a deeper cherry hue when she looked up to find him staring defiantly at her.

  “Well, of course, Ransom,” Myra said. “I’m certain you’ve got a busy day ahead, so I’ll just bring out a few pair for ya to look at.” She went to a far corner of the room and began rummaging through a variety of footwear.

  Vaden could not help but stare at the man. He stood no more than six feet from her, his eyes all the more disturbing. She noticed his long black hair was slightly graying at the temples, and for some odd reason, it appealed to her. It seemed to deepen the mystery prevailing in the very air around him.

  “We hear you’re planning to winter on your farm in town, Ransom,” Jerome stated bluntly.

  The hermit nodded.

  “It’ll be good to have ya here,” Jerome added. “It’s always helpful to have another man around when a hand is needed with winterin’ cattle and such.”

  “That’s a wonderful piece of property you’ve got out there, Mr. Lake,” Mrs. Clayton remarked.

  “Thank ya, ma’am,” the man mumbled.

  “Will any of these do, Ransom?” Myra asked, holding up a pair of large boots in each hand.

  Ransom Lake’s brow puckered in a thoughtful frown of consideration. “Do ya have any higher up?” he asked. “To just below my knee maybe?”

  Vaden was thrilled by something about his voice. Something tantalizing. It was quite deep, and he seemed to mumble his words more than speak them. It was unusually masculine somehow, even if most folks may have considered it impolite. She could only continue to stare at the man, for he was incredibly intriguing! As she had noticed before, the sleeves to his shirt had been torn away at the shoulder seams, and his massively muscled and sun-bronzed arms were no less than astounding, impressive. She had never seen the like! Of course, most men wore sleeves, so their arms weren’t publicly displayed as a rule. But she was positive most men’s arms hidden beneath proper sleeving were not of the size and perfect formation this man’s were. Glancing quickly at Jerome Clayton’s sleeves, she was only more convinced of this fact. Ransom Lake was also taller than she had been able to surmise before, and his shoulders were definitely a pair of the broadest she’d ever seen.

  “Oh, dear. I’m not sure, Ransom,” Myra mumbled. “Why don’t ya go ahead and try a pair of these on and I’ll have Vaden take a look.” Myra handed the pairs of boots she held to the man. He set them down on the floor, removing his own worn ones there in the middle of the store. “Vaden, would you please…” Myra began. “Vaden!” Vaden tore her curious gaze from Ransom Lake and looked to her aunt. “Did ya see any other boots that might serve Mr. Lake while you were rearrangin’ the boxes this mornin’?”

  “Yes,” Vaden said quickly, excited somehow at the prospect of being able to help the man. “Yes. I think I did. I’ll get them at once.” She turned and looked up to the high rows of shelves nearby.

  Mrs. Clayton cleared her throat uncomfortably, gathering her purchases and laying her payment on the counter. “Here ya are, M
yra. We must be off now, Jerome.” She left promptly, taking hold of Jerome’s sleeve and pulling on it so he would follow her. Both of them were obviously uncomfortable in the presence of Ransom Lake.

  Cowards, Vaden thought as she began to stretch up toward the higher shelves. It irritated her that people were such thoughtless cowards when faced with those they didn’t know or understand.

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Vaden! Use the stool!” Yvonne whined, having turned to see her unconventional sister scaling the tower of shelves in an effort to reach a particular box of boots placed very high up.

  “Be careful, Vaden,” Myra gasped. “You’ll fall!”

  Vaden secured her right foot on another shelf and reached up further, knowing full well her feet were anchored on shelving at least three or four feet from the floor. “I’ve got it now. Don’t worry so, Auntie.”

  “Vaden Valmont! There is a man present. Get down from there at once! I swear. You have no vision whatsoever of propriety,” Yvonne scolded in a loud whisper.

  Vaden, realizing she had climbed dangerously high and that Yvonne was founded in some of her scolding, was determined, however, to obtain what she had set out to obtain. Therefore, unaware both her aunt and Ransom Lake stood directly beneath her, she stretched her arm high and began tugging on a boot box with her fingers. “I’ve got it now. You worry too much, Yvonne. I’ve just about…”

  In a last, strenuous effort to clutch a firm hold on the box, Vaden gasped as her other hand, which had anchored her by holding solidly to another shelf, slipped. Instantly, she felt herself falling down and backward. Though she landed with great force, the floor did not feel as hard as she had anticipated. This was, she realized in the very next moment, due to the fact her fall to the floor had indeed been cushioned. She felt strong hands at her waist as Ransom Lake pushed her off his own body and onto the floor beside him. Vaden had fallen from the shelving, knocking Ransom to the floor and landing on him instead. She gasped once more as he sat up in time for the box of heavy boots, tumbling from the high shelf, to hit him squarely on the head.

  “I’m…I’m so sorry, Mr. Lake,” Vaden stammered, horrified as she watched the man put a hand to the top of his head where the box had hit him. He then studied his fingers as if he expected to find blood there from a head wound. “I was only trying to help, and I…I didn’t stop to think.”

  “You rarely do, Vaden,” Yvonne muttered. Then, sighing, she added, “You could’ve been hurt and…oh, are you all right, Mr. Lake?”

  Vaden watched as Ransom Lake stood, brushing the dust from the seat of his pants before offering a hand to her. Vaden felt a shudder as the angry, intense gray of the man’s eyes bored into her own. Feeling completely undignified, humiliated, and juvenile, Vaden took the offered hand. Instantly her senses went whirling, for his touch caused goose bumps to break over her like a rising fever. The man possessed profound physical strength. As he pulled Vaden to her feet, he either overestimated the weight of the girl or underestimated his own muscle, for his powerful yank on her arm propelled Vaden up and forward with such force that instead of standing gracefully, she stumbled forward, bumping against him. At the same time, she tromped mercilessly on one of his stockinged feet with the heel of her shoe. The man let out a short groan and closed his eyes for a moment before the intensity of their tempestuousness glared at her once more.

  “Oh, dear,” Vaden heard Myra moan.

  Vaden knew Ransom Lake must be in awe of her clumsiness, as well as furious for the damage done him by it. But without a word, he simply bent, picked up the boots that had spilled from their box upon hitting the floor, and pulled them onto his stockinged feet.

  “They’ll do,” he muttered, looking to Myra.

  “Are ya sure, Ransom? I mean, I don’t want ya to feel obligated—” Myra explained.

  “They’re fine. How much?”

  “Well, after what just happened…I don’t feel I can accept—”

  “How much?”

  Vaden dropped her humiliated gaze to the floor as Ransom glanced at her again. Every inch of the surface of her body was crimson. The blush was so thorough it was almost painful.

  Myra relented and accepted his payment for the boots. Then he picked up the overly well-worn boots he’d worn into the mercantile and tossed them in the trash barrel near the front door as he started to leave.

  “Mr. Lake,” Vaden called out. He looked to her again. “I’m truly sorry. It was so terribly clumsy of me and—”

  “Yes, Ransom. Accept my apologies as well,” Myra interrupted.

  The unnerving gaze of the man lingered for a moment on Vaden. He looked from her feet to her head quickly, and Vaden fancied she could almost discern something like a grin beneath his heavy mustache and beard.

  “None needed, Myra.” With a nod in Yvonne’s direction and a finger at the brim of his hat, he left the store.

  “Good gravy on the taters, girl!” Myra exclaimed in a lowered voice a moment later. “What on earth possessed ya to—”

  “Vaden…when will you learn to think before you act so unconventionally?” Yvonne interrupted.

  “I was only trying to help,” Vaden defended herself. “I’m sorry you both had to endure the humiliation of yet another of my thoughtless antics.” Vaden brushed an embarrassed tear from her cheek as another followed. “I’m not you, Yvonne! I don’t have your grace and beauty. And sometimes conventional propriety seems so ridiculous to me that I—”

  “Now, girls,” Myra soothed, “what’s done is done. And besides…that’s the first hint of a grin I’ve ever seen on that man’s face.”

  Yvonne smiled at her sister and put a reassuring arm about her shoulders. “It was terribly funny, Vaden. And I’m sure Mr. Lake will think of it and smile to himself every time he sees you.”

  Vaden closed her eyes and sighed, further humiliated at the truth of Yvonne’s assurance. “Thank you for that, Yvonne. I feel much better,” she mumbled sarcastically.

  “It’s hard for Vaden to be cooped up, Aunt Myra.” Yvonne smiled lovingly at her sister. She admired Vaden’s spirit and love of life. “Why don’t you take a little walk, Vaden? It always helps you to feel better.”

  “Yes, sweet pea. You go on ahead. It’s almost lunch, and then Yvonne can take a little time for herself when you’re back.” Vaden sniffled, knowing full well she was simply irritating everyone and they were the ones in need of respite.

  Without a word, she walked toward the front door. She paused, however. Looking back to see Myra and Yvonne already occupied with something else and not looking in her direction, she reached into the barrel near the front door and retrieved the boots Ransom Lake had discarded there. Her daddy had always said you could tell a lot from a man by studying his boots. Quickly she turned and dashed down the hallway at the front of the store to her room. Bolting the door, she set the boots on the floor, sitting herself down in front of them.

  The leather had been good, strong leather at one time, she observed. Still was, in truth. She noticed the straps at the top of the boots used to help the wearer pull them on were nearly torn away from so many days of being tugged at. She took one boot and turned it over, studying the sole intently before turning the other boot over and comparing its sole. “He’s left-handed,” she muttered. The left boot was in much worse shape than the right. The toe was torn away, the sole was nearly worn through, and the heel was worn shorter. It had a blackened area at the ball of the foot, and Vaden surmised this was the boot used to kick out coals from fires. Then, hurriedly, she unlaced her own boots and slipped her tiny feet into the cavities of Ransom Lake’s abandoned ones.

  “Never judge a man ’til you’ve walked a mile in his shoes,” she whispered. Clunking around the room several times, she thought about the boots and their owner. These were boots owned by a driven and hard-working man, boots that had walked, ridden, climbed, waded, and run. But the left boot was uncomfortable on one side of her calf. Reaching down, she felt a sheath had been fashioned inside, a
nd she withdrew a large pocketknife. She held the knife up to inspect it better and was intrigued to see an inscription along one side.

  “Denver S. Lake,” she read aloud. “Leadville, Colorado.” She had heard of Leadville, the little town in Colorado that had grown into a rich silver bonanza. “‘Silver lines the clouds above. Reflects like rain, is rare as love,’” she recited. She had never liked the particular badly written line of poetry until that moment. Turning the knife over, she mused aloud, “Denver? Not Ransom.” Then she gasped as she realized Ransom Lake was certain to remember he had left the knife in his old boots and would no doubt return looking for it. What if he already had? What if he had returned to find his old boots gone from the barrel in her uncle’s store?

  Removing the boots, she shoved them under her bed and put on her own once more. Then, clutching the knife securely in one hand, she dashed out into the mercantile to find it thankfully empty except for Yvonne and her aunt.

  “I thought ya were out walking,” Myra mumbled with a puzzled expression.

  “I…I had to put something away,” Vaden answered. “But I’m going now.” Without pausing for further conversation, she hurriedly left the store, walking down the street in the direction she had seen Ransom Lake go. As if fate had intended it, he appeared suddenly, having just exited the blacksmith’s establishment.

  “Mr. Lake!” Vaden called, waving when he turned and looked at her. Immediately, she froze as the unnerving color of his eyes settled intently on her. How would she explain the knife being in her possession? She couldn’t simply approach him saying, I stole your boots from the trash barrel and found this within. When she made no move to approach him, Ransom Lake strode determinedly toward her. So entirely determined did he seem that Vaden took two steps backward as he approached, for he was ever so intimidating.