Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  The young are so resilient, Meg thought. “I’m glad he’s coming,” she said. “It will be good to see him.”

  Jeb nodded and folded the letter. “He has a way of cheering people up.”

  It was late afternoon in mid-August when Win appeared on the hill. James and Charlie jumped on their ponies and rode out to meet him. They took their time coming in. Always eager to share stories, Charlie gestured broadly, telling Win something Meg couldn’t quite hear. But when he spread his arms and tilted his head back like he’d seen his mother do while riding, she knew he was telling Win about the new arrangements at the ranch. Meg and Jeb turned to each other and smiled when they heard Win laugh out loud. It sounded like comfortable old times.

  The dogs, as despondent as the rest of them without Gus, bounded out to greet the friendly voice. Win rode into the yard and dismounted in the center of a small whirlwind of boys and dogs.

  “Oh, Win!” Meg ran down the porch steps and hugged him. “We’ve missed you so.”

  “I’m so sorry about Gus, Meggie, so sorry,” he whispered in her ear, causing her eyes to mist. She wondered how long it would take before her heart didn’t break at the thought or mention of Gus. She mustered her strength, however, and smiled through her tears.

  “Gus would want us to go on living and be happy.” She took a deep breath. “And that’s just what we’re doing.”

  “Good to hear it. I was concerned about you.”

  Jeb and Win greeted each other with their traditional bear hug and slap on the back. Charlie grabbed his saddlebag as James brought his horse to the barn. The men disappeared into the house to get settled. Meg heard the sound of glasses being pulled from the shelf and sat back down on the porch swing to wait for them to return. No more work today; they would celebrate Win’s return. A gentle breeze swirled around her. She smiled and whispered, “There you are. I knew you’d join us. He looks good, doesn’t he, Gus?”

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: WIN

  Dawson ranch, mid-August 1882

  Win realized he’d been away too long when he crested the hill to the Dawson ranch. Two figures rode out to meet him, and he was taken aback when he finally recognized James and Charlie.

  He knew the reason for his extended absence. The joy and anguish of seeing Meg were so intertwined he denied himself one to avoid the other. When she had appeared at the door and skipped down the steps to embrace him, his heart fluttered. “Oh, Win!” she’d cried. “We’ve missed you so!” He loved hearing her voice, even though she said “we.” When he whispered in her ear that he was sorry about Gus, he felt her arms tighten around him appreciatively.

  Inside, Win met Anne, who was leaving for the day. Jeb fished around for the bottle of whiskey that didn’t get much use these days, he said, but they had to properly celebrate Win home. Win grabbed three glasses and stole a glance at Meg sitting on the porch swing. She was smiling. Her lips moved as though she was talking to someone.

  They toasted to each other’s health on the porch and Win shared his news. He told them everything he’d learned from the Mobergs about Lizzie growing up next door to her beau, Stephen. She had become quite an accomplished horsewoman. Glenn gave Meg credit for piquing her interest. Win paused his account long enough to squint at Meg.

  “I hear you can still cut a hole in the wind.”

  “I was so sore! I could barely move the next day.”

  “Nobody else’s ma can ride like that.” James made no attempt to disguise his admiration. “It was something to see. After that, Miss Anne came to do the housework for Ma so she could work with the horses.”

  Win noticed Jeb and Meg glance at each other. Meg had grown even lovelier over the years, as her physical beauty had always radiated from a natural inner sparkle. Jeb had himself a sweet and satisfied wife, that was apparent. It was the painful part of coming back, seeing them love each other. When he was away, he could imagine Meg wishing for him to return, wanting him. Returning was always bittersweet. Obviously, she was doing just fine without him.

  “Well, it looks as though my new neighbors run a successful operation,” Win said, attempting to brush away the sting. He waited for his comment to register. Jeb and Meg turned to him in surprise.

  “Neighbors? What are you talking about?” Meg asked.

  “I wrote to our friend Mr. Brewer awhile back. I bought that mountain.” Win pointed to the nearest peak. “Just got word it’s all settled.” He pulled a telegram from his pocket and held it up as proof.

  “Win!” The delight in Meg’s voice made his heart pound.

  “What the hell are you going to do with a mountain?” Jeb seemed unaware, after all these years, of the effect his wife still had on Win. Perhaps he chose to ignore it.

  “I’m not doing anything with it. It protects the canyon where Gray Wolf winters, though.”

  Meg sighed with gratitude and reached over to grasp Win’s hand. “Oh, Win.”

  “The pay isn’t good on expeditions, but I’ve had very few expenses over the years.” Win squeezed Meg’s hand, strong from hard ranch work, but still surprisingly soft. “I socked some money away and jumped on the opportunity. Got it real cheap, too. When the land was surveyed, they found no precious metals, so no one wants to mine it. It’s too steep to farm or graze cattle. I got to name some landmarks on the map when we drew the boundaries. C’mon, I’ll show you.” Still holding her hand, Win plucked Meg from her seat, but then let go first before she could pull her hand away.

  Everyone scrambled off the porch and into the yard, where they had a clear view of the mountain range. Between the ridge and their ranch were the valleys and forests where Gray Wolf and his family lived, secluded and well protected by rough terrain. Gray Wolf’s people had tried to escape into the canyon when the cavalry discovered their camp. Had they made it, they would have been impossible to find.

  “See the ridge that runs from over there to there?” Win asked, pointing at the mountains. “I named that Dawson Ridge. Just below it is Gray Wolf Canyon.”

  Jeb laughed. “Let me guess. You named that highest point up there Avery’s Peak.”

  “Ha! No; actually, I named it Steensland Peak.”

  Meg put both her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob, but it came out anyway. Jeb put his arm around her and kissed her temple, a comforting gesture Win wished was his to give.

  That night, while Jeb and the boys milked the cow and fed the horses, Win dried the dishes as Meg washed them. Win thought they might use the time to talk privately, but Wash and Running Elk arrived unexpectedly and lingered. Meg excitedly told them about Win’s land purchase. They shared the news that two mares were almost ready to foal. By the time they ran through the condition of the whole herd, the dishes were put away and Jeb was back. Later, when they sat on the porch in the dark and watched the moon rise over the plains, Win saw Jeb take Meg’s hand and squeeze it affectionately. An old scar pulled open. He wondered if longing for Meg was keeping him from enjoying other life pleasures. Maybe it was time to let her go—really let her go—so he could think about settling down himself and be happy with someone.

  Win had met a singer on the riverboat that brought him as far as Omaha. What inspired him to take the riverboat instead of the train, he couldn’t say; the winds of Fate, maybe. The singer, Jeannette Bordeaux, was pretty and fun. She had a voice like a songbird and alluring eyes. She lived on the riverboat, traveling up and down the Missouri, entertaining passengers between St. Louis and Omaha. He liked her and apparently, she liked him, because she invited him into her bed. He told her he was on his way to the mountains and that he wouldn’t be able to stay, but she said she didn’t care. She accepted his wanderlust, she told him, leading an independent life herself. Unfortunately, they quarreled before he left. But most of their time together had been enjoyable and, oddly enough, he missed her.

  Win told Jeb about Jeannette the next day when they rode into town.

  “You are full of surprises, you old drifter.” Je
b looked at him sideways. “I thought it was buying land that made you seem different, but I guess love is the reason. It’s about time a woman caught your heart. You gonna bring her here to live on your mountain?”

  Win figured Jeb could have easily said it was finally time a woman other than Meg caught his heart, but he didn’t, so Win didn’t joke, either. Meg and Jeb seemed closer than ever, and immune to the jabs of jealousy he’d been able to inflict in the past. “I don’t know if Jeannette caught enough of my heart. I’m not sure she’d like living on a mountain, anyway.” He decided to change the subject. “Meg looks good. I expected her to be in quite a state, losing Gus.”

  “She was at first. She was pretty low, but the schoolteacher, Etta Sinclair, helped her out of it. So did taking on some of what Gus used to do. Working with the stock helps her feel close to him, I think. She grew up in the stables, so it makes sense that she feels comfortable there. She only learned to cook so they could run that way station together. She sure wanted Gus to live out his life out here. You know how devoted she was to him.” A breeze swirled around them, kicking up a little dust. “That was a mighty thoughtful thing to do, Win, naming the peak after Gus. How did you really get the money to pay for the land?”

  “Ha! What makes you think I didn’t just save my wages?”

  “Because I know you, and this seems like one of those times where you say that stupid motto of yours.”

  Win grinned. “Well, I didn’t want to brag in front of Meggie and the boys, but, Jeb, old friend, you are looking at one hell of a lucky poker player. In Washington, DC, I finagled my way into an inner circle of men with too much money and too little common sense.” He shook his head. “That group of shifty bastards had been murdering Indians for years with their damn treaties and policies, starving those who stayed on the reservations and hunting down those who didn’t. I spent a painful month with those pigs, trying to change their minds. In the end, I finally just played poker with them, quietly taking their money. I felt justified funding a land purchase for Gray Wolf from their personal bank accounts.”

  Jeb whistled. “Do they know what you did with their money?”

  “Nah. I was tempted to throw it in their faces, believe me. Brewer had wired me the cost of the acreage, so I knew exactly what I was playing for. I resisted gloating and walked away as soon as I had enough to buy what I needed.”

  “Shows good restraint to quit while you’re ahead.”

  “Once I won their money, they wanted to win it back, of course. I’ve gotta make myself scarce in Washington for a while. I wasn’t doing a lick of good there anyway. There’s a woman, Mrs. Jackson, who published a book last year about the government’s treatment of the Indian. It’s called A Century of Dishonor. She sent a copy to every member of Congress. I heard she wrote a quote from Benjamin Franklin in each copy . . . something about looking at your own hands stained with blood. Even she couldn’t change policy.”

  “Maybe people will see the light someday.”

  “You’re optimistic.”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to see the effect of someone right away. Just like that riverboat singer.”

  “Hell, Jeb, I tell you about one gal who turned my head, and you’re already marrying us.”

  “Ha! You’re right; sorry.”

  “I just became a goddamn land owner; that’s a big enough bone to chew on for a while.”

  Jeb and Win arrived at the Carters’ store and Georgia created quite a stir greeting Win. She fussed over him like a mother while Mick scolded her for fussing, but then behaved the same way. After the news was shared and business tended to, however, Georgia got a sad look in her eye and pulled a package out from under the counter. It was addressed to Gus.

  “I’m not sure what to do with it,” she said. “I don’t want to upset Meg or Etta . . .”

  “Etta?” Win asked.

  “Gus’s sweetheart, the schoolteacher.” Georgia spoke in a whisper, although no one else was in the store. Win raised his eyebrows, causing Georgia’s finger to wag at him. “Don’t you say a word, Win Avery. Miss Sinclair is a very private person and would be horrified to know I knew about Gus and her. But Gus came in just days before he died, looking for something special for her. He saw these hair combs, but the Smith boy had knocked the case over and one was chipped, so he ordered a set from our catalog. I’m sure that’s what is in the package.”

  “Gus always told Meg how pretty she looked when she wore the combs I gave her. The ones Ma had, remember?” Jeb stared at the package.

  “I remember.” The image of Sarah Dawson, sitting in front of a mirror and putting the combs in her hair, popped into his head. Jeannette would hold an earring to her ear as she looked at her reflection. What was it about women and pretty things? He wondered if Meg had earrings. He had never seen her wear them. Combs for her wild hair seemed better suited for her. He brushed all three women from his thoughts as Jeb opened the package. Two matching combs were neatly packed in a box.

  “What do I owe you for them, Georgia?”

  “We’re square, Jeb.” Mick dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand.

  Jeb carefully returned the combs to the box. “Well, it’s obvious he bought them for Miss Sinclair. I’ll deliver them to her.”

  “Thank you, Jeb. You handle things so well and I . . .” She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her nose. “I just get emotional. Poor woman . . . with those rumors that follow her around and now Gus . . .” She didn’t finish, but only shook her head.

  As they rode toward the schoolhouse, Win pressed Jeb with questions until he finally spilled the beans about Gus and Miss Sinclair. Gus had told Jeb it had been a long time since he had been in the company of a woman who inspired him in such a way.

  Win laughed out loud. “Jeb, you amaze me. You’re the most moral and decent person I know and yet you condoned this amorous union.”

  “Aw, hell, Win, you make me sound boring.”

  “So old Gus swept a schoolteacher off her feet and had a heart attack while they were—” The image rendered him momentarily speechless. “It’s just not fair.”

  “Not fair, perhaps, but don’t pity him. They had been seeing each other for months. He spent every Saturday night at her place. He’d come home just ahead of the sun, whistling and smiling. In fact, I cautioned him that their secret wouldn’t stay a secret if he wasn’t careful. He was concerned about Miss Sinclair’s reputation, but . . .” Jeb smiled. “It was hard to keep him from floating off the ground.”

  Win laughed. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Most people would say they oughtn’t have been carrying on . . . Why don’t you?”

  “What’s right and what’s wrong is measured by a rule stick I’ve come to question.” Jeb shook his head. “I say as long as it isn’t hurting anyone, let people be. There were rumors Miss Sinclair was married to an outlaw who was killed busting out of jail, yet she is one of the most charming women I’ve ever met. The boys get excited about schoolwork—can you believe it? I don’t care if she kept company with Gus. She gave him some of the best months of his life.”

  “Amen, brother,” Win said. “I should be so lucky.”

  When Win and Jeb arrived at the schoolhouse to give Etta her package, the ponies James and Charlie rode were still tied up outside. The boys and Miss Sinclair were bunched together, hovering over her desk. They turned their inquisitive expressions toward the door when the two men blocked the sunlight streaming in.

  Miss Sinclair straightened up. “Mr. Dawson, please come in. We’ve become quite absorbed by a walking stick.” Her eyes held amusement, the way Gus’s used to.

  Win took off his hat as he strode over to the teacher and extended his hand. “Winston Avery, ma’am.”

  “Of course you are! I’m Etta Sinclair.” She shook his hand. “What I’ve heard about you could fill a book.”

  Win wanted to say that he had heard the same about her, but held back, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot. Besides, the boys had
torn shirts and dirty faces. James had a bloody lip.

  Miss Sinclair turned to Jeb. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “Looks like a fight. What happened, boys?” Jeb touched James’s swollen cheek.

  “Billy Smith called Anne a squaw. Said only Indians work at our ranch, so she must be a squaw and cooks squaw food. Said we ate dog. So I punched him,” Charlie said.

  “How come James looks worse than you, then?”

  “Cuz he jumped in before Billy could punch me back. Billy grabbed my shirt and tore it, but James was quick! Got a couple a good licks in before Billy knew what was up!” Recounting his version of the story, a wound-up Charlie began reenacting the fight until James scowled at him, uncoiling his wire spring.

  “James and Charlie know I don’t approve of fighting in the schoolyard, but honestly, the Smith boy had it coming. He taunts everyone. I’ve reprimanded him many times, and finally had to speak to his parents. I’m afraid the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree in this case. I can hardly blame James for something I’m tempted to do myself.”

  “So, they aren’t being kept after school as punishment?”

  “Oh, heaven’s no! When we dismissed for the day, I spotted a walking stick on the window ledge. We just got to looking at it.” Miss Sinclair tilted her head in a way that indicated all was well.

  “I figured I’d give Billy a chance to get on home.” James scratched his cheek. “No sense rehashing the same fight. He’s a pretty sore loser.”

  “That was wise, James. You OK?” Jeb rested his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  James nodded. “I reckon.”

  James looked so much like Jeb at his age and Jeb reminded Win of Dr. Dawson. Calmness and understatement certainly ran in their bloodline. For a moment, Win was transported back in time to Miss Palmer’s classroom, after he and Jeb had committed some minor crime. He glanced at Charlie who, although he had Meg’s coloring, could have easily been a young Winston.