by Donis Casey
Micah shifted his weight as well, mirroring her stance. “I’ve been all around.”
“I’ve never been any further east than Arkansas nor west of Enid. Must be interesting to travel.”
He shrugged. “It gets tiring. I envy anybody who has his own place in the world—a family that loves him.”
“There’s no reason you can’t have that. Didn’t you say your father has a cattle business in Abilene he wants you to go into?”
“Oh, yeah, I guess he does, but I’ve been having second thoughts about that. I’ve been footloose too long, I reckon. I wouldn’t know how to set down roots.” He looked down at the ground, then back up at Mary. “I’d like to. Just don’t expect it’ll come to pass.”
“Seems to me that folks can pretty much do anything they set their minds to.”
A blush spread across his cheekbones, and he smiled. “Maybe.”
The blush caused something to loosen in Mary, and she took a few steps nearer the fence. “How’d you end up traveling with Kurt? Y’all are about as alike as dirt and Sunday.”
“I like old Kurt,” Micah assured her with a laugh. “He’s a good hearted Deutch, even if he is as thick as a plank.”
“I don’t think he’s thick. Just shy.”
“He ain’t so shy with livestock. No mule can out-stubborn him. Why, I’ve seen him rassle a iron-headed mule right to the ground.”
“That’s quite a prodigious feat.”
“Why, you needn’t sound so skeptical, ma’am, though perhaps I did overstate the case a mite.”
Mary rewarded his comment with a snatch of the bubbling laugh he had described, and shook her head. “I thought you were on your way to work.”
She was dismissing him, but he didn’t seem to take the hint. “Excuse me, Miss Mary, but can you handle a gun?”
This unlikely question gave her pause, and she hesitated before she answered. “I’ve done some shooting in my time. Why do you ask?”
His face reddened yet again, and his hand automatically moved up to remove his hat. “Well, I been thinking that it couldn’t hurt if maybe you had a little target practice. I mean, wouldn’t it be good if you was prepared to defend yourself? I’d be honored to go with you out to the back section out there where your dad and brothers shoot cans off the fence, if you’d like.”
“Oh, mercy, Micah. I don’t care to become a gunslinger over this.”
He bit his bottom lip and turned another couple of shades of red. “Well, ma’am, I know that a well-brought up lady like yourself shouldn’t have to learn to handle firearms. Any fellow would be proud to be your protector. But you can’t have somebody around close to look out for you for the rest of your life. Whoever killed your uncle is skulking around here somewhere, sure as daybreak, and it sure would comfort me if I knew you could blow the snake’s head off if it came to it.”
“I can handle a rifle. Daddy makes sure every one of us knows enough not to shoot ourselves at least.”
“What about a pistol? I was thinking I’d ask your father if I could give you a small sidearm that I don’t carry any more. It’s got a good safety and it’d fit just about right into the pocket of your skirt, or an apron maybe.” He looked down at the ground. “I sure would hate it if…I mean to say, I’d be distressed if I didn’t do everything I can to make sure you’re safe.”
Mary was amused and touched at his fumbling. “You’re sweet.”
He looked up. “Then you will?”
While Mary was still considering her reply, Gee Dub walked up with Charlie at his heels. Micah started and looked back over his shoulder at the boys, who were returning to the house after milking with full pails in their hands. The flush on his face spread down his neck.
Gee Dub put his pails of warm, foamy milk down on the ground by the fence. His dark eyes appraised Micah’s face, then Mary’s, as he flexed the cramp out of his hands. “I see that Ma let you out of the house.”
“Well, she’s got a weather eye on me.”
“She probably sees that Micah is bodyguarding you,” Charlie interjected.
“Micah was just suggesting that I do some target practice. I expect he thinks I should hone my shooting skills and go about armed to the teeth so that I can drop an assailant at fifty feet.”
Charlie liked the idea. “How about this afternoon?”
“Oh, Charlie, I was just joshing around. I could be the best shot in the county, but it isn’t that easy to shoot a…”
“Mary!” Alafair called from the back door, interrupting the conversation. The four young people looked toward her as one. “You’d better come inside now, sweetheart. It’s light enough now that you shouldn’t be outside in plain sight.”
Mary’s gaze shifted from her mother to Micah and then to her brothers. “This afternoon sounds fine.”
***
After overcoming Alafair’s strenuous objections, Mary, her brothers, and her sister Ruth trooped out to the field in the early afternoon, hauling a sack of empty tin cans, an old-fashioned .44 revolver, and a box of bullets. The heat was oppressive and the myriad tiny buzzing insects were maddening, but at least Mary could be outside and distracted for a little while, even if she had to surround herself with mobs of people before her mother would reluctantly stop badgering her to stay within doors.
The spot they chose was their usual target-shooting venue. A gate in the barbed wire fence that surrounded the horse pasture provided a surface on which to place a row of cans, and the grassy field afforded a long, clear view so no unintended living targets could sneak up on them. One solitary tree, a tall, stringy persimmon, grew a few dozen yards from the gate. It was the perfect place for the siblings to spread an old quilt, sit in the shade, and pick cockleburs off their stockings or trouser legs while waiting their turns to shoot.
Micah had not wanted to intrude on the expedition once Mary’s siblings decided to go, but she cajoled him, and he walked up from the stable to join them just as Gee Dub was arranging cans along the top rail of the gate.
“Micah,” Charlie greeted him. “Just in time! You can take the first turn if you’ve a mind.”
Micah grinned an ingratiating grin and shook his head. “Not me,” he demurred. “I’m afraid y’all will see what a bad shot I am and think less of me.”
Mary looked up from loading bullets into the six-shooter. “Well, then, you could use the practice.” She handed him the gun, and he shrugged.
“All right, but I wasn’t fooling, now.” He took aim, slow and precise, and hit five of the ten cans perched on the gate.
“Well, that’s not bad, Micah,” Charlie said over his shoulder, as he raced to the fence to retrieve and replace the cans.
“Now you, Miss.” Micah handed the gun to Mary. “After all, the point of this here exercise is to improve your skills.”
Mary reloaded, aimed carefully, and shot five times before she nicked one can. She lowered the revolver and rubbed her forehead. The noise and kick of the gun hurt her aching head worse than she had anticipated. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Micah step toward her. But it was Gee Dub who placed his hand on her shoulder.
“You want to stop?”
She shook her head. “Just a little more. I don’t want y’all to think I can’t do any better than that.”
Gee Dub nodded, then stepped behind her to help her sight. “Lift the barrel a bit,” he said into her ear, “and sight along that notch.”
“I remember,” she murmured, and he stepped back. She tried again, and hit three of the five remaining cans. She stepped back, surprised but happy, and accepted her siblings’ accolades.
“Me next!” Charlie called, as he replaced cans, but Ruth stepped up and relieved Mary of the pistol.
“Out of the way, Charlie. You boys get to shoot all the time.” She threw a challenging glance at Gee Dub, but he spread his hands in surrender. Mary backed off, and felt rather than saw Micah move up beside her as Ruth took aim.
Six quick shots, reload, then four more, a
nd three cans remained standing. Ruth gave a triumphant whoop as everyone cheered.
Micah grabbed his hat brim with both hands and pulled his hat down over his ears in an exaggerated expression of humiliation. “Lord have mercy, Miss Ruth! I reckon I’ll have to ask you to give me some lessons!”
Ruth handed the gun to Gee Dub before she pranced back into the shade to throw her arms around Mary.
“Your turn, Gee Dub,” Mary urged.
Gee Dub looked up from reloading. “It’s Charlie’s turn.”
“I’ll bet you can’t beat me,” Ruth challenged.
There was an instant of silence before Charlie said, “Go on, Gee.”
Gee Dub shook his head. He knew very well that his brother and sisters wanted him to show off for the hired man. He was a very good shot, and they all knew it. “Naw. I practice all the time. It’s y’all girls who need to be learning.”
“Come on, Gee Dub,” Mary said. “I’ll make you your very own apple pie if you can knock off all ten of those cans in ten shots.”
Gee Dub hesitated, clearly torn between his disdain for braggadocio and his desire for a pie he wouldn’t have to share. “What do you get if I can’t do it?” he asked, suspicious.
“I’d say you have to make me a pie, but I expect that wouldn’t be much of a prize for me. So I’ll just settle for getting to tell everyone you couldn’t do it.” She looked sidelong at Micah and gave him a sly wink, and was gratified to see his eyes widen and a dark flush stain his sun-browned cheeks.
He turned to Gee Dub. “Come on, Gee Dub. Somebody’s got to stand up for us men, here.”
Gee Dub reloaded the cylinder, raised the gun, and shot the first can off the fence.
Charlie clapped and cheered, “Hooray!”
Gee Dub cocked the hammer and aimed.
“Watch out!” Ruth yelled as he pulled the trigger. The second can fell.
Gee Dub eyed the red-cheeked fifteen-year-old in mock outrage. “So it’s going to be like that, is it?”
“Hey, bragging rights at stake here.”
Gee Dub turned back around decisively and took aim.
“Look, it’s a giraffe!” Ruth exclaimed, but cans three, four, and five went flying.
Gee Dub reloaded, trying desperately to keep a straight face as Ruth stood there with an innocent expression and waited. He shot once, twice, and then shot again as Ruth waved her arms about and clucked like a chicken.
By this time, Micah, Charlie, and Ruth were collapsed with laughter, and even Mary was chuckling. Gee Dub allowed himself a bare smile as he plugged another can, then ostentatiously covered his eyes with his left hand and shot off the tenth one.
“I declare!” Micah gasped. “That’s some shooting!”
Gee Dub shrugged. “Just cans. They don’t generally try to run while you’re shooting at them.”
In the general fun, no one noticed that Mary had stepped back into the shade and sat down heavily on the quilt. I laughed, she was thinking to herself, horrified. Bill was just put in the ground and I forgot and laughed.
***
Alafair was quite familiar with the place the kids went for target practice. There was no place around that field for a mile for a bushwhacker to hide and practice his nefarious occupation. She had tried to talk Mary out of going, of course, but it hadn’t taken her long to see that even the best-natured of her children had just about had enough of her constant concern. And, truth be told, Alafair thought it was a good idea for Mary to hone her gun-handling skills, under the circumstances. She had already considered giving Mary the little two-shot derringer her father had given her when she was sixteen. But that little gun had already been the cause of enough trouble. She’d talk to Shaw about buying a different lady’s gun for Mary.
The instant the kids were out of sight, Alafair went into the bedroom and took Mary’s journal from its hiding place. If Mary insisted on having an outing over her mother’s objections, then Alafair was going to put her absence to good use by checking to see if Mary had remembered anything new since last she looked. She had no intention of telling Mary what she was doing, but neither did she feel an instant’s guilt about snooping. One did what one had to do to help her children.
“What you doing, Mama?”
Alafair started. She had been so engrossed in her reading that she hadn’t heard Grace come into the bedroom. “Gracious, shug! You gave me a fright.” She casually laid the book on the bed beside her.
Grace grinned at the thought of scaring her mother and took a flying leap into Alafair’s lap.
“I thought you were playing outside with the girls,” Alafair said. “Go into the kitchen and I’ll get y’all some cookies.”
Grace jumped off Alafair’s lap and was out the door without another word, the latest victim of her mother’s practiced child-distracting skills.
Alafair shook her head. She should have known better than to try and do something stealthy while any of the children were within a mile of the house. She regretted having to return the journal to its box before she had finished, but at least she had a better idea of what Mary was thinking, and something new to ponder.
Should she tell Scott?
No, not yet. At the moment, Mary was just thinking random thoughts. There was no connection she could see between last Fourth of July, the boys’ trip to Waco, and the murder of Bill McBride. If something was working its way toward the light of day from deep in Mary’s head, it wouldn’t help a thing to try and force it.
Chapter Twelve
I reckon we all remember that trip to Waco Bill and the boys made. They had finished their business and were ready to come home after a week, but they got delayed and ended up having to stay on an extra two weeks. Remember how Grandpapa fretted over that? The trip started out the same as usual, Bill told us. Him and his friends took the train to Dallas, then to Waco, where Mr. Jackson sent somebody to pick them up and carry them on out to the ranch. They spent three days out there, looking over stock—having a good time, too, to hear Bill tell it—trying to teach Farrell Dean the difference between a stallion and a mare, or keep Art Turner from playing his tricks on Miz Jackson’s pretty maid.
Bill bought three thoroughbred fillies, and Nix bought a quarter horse foal, since he had plans to start a racing stable. I don’t remember if the Turners bought any stock or not, but I expect they did. Johnny especially has a good eye for horses. As for Farrell Dean, maybe he learned the difference between a fetlock and a forelock. I hope so, considering what happened to him.
***
With only one minor swerve to avoid a flapping charge from the rooster, Martha bicycled past the house straight to the barn when she got home from work that afternoon. She kept her precious bicycle in its own little stall in the barn, next to the milk cow, and she always put the bike away immediately. She would never think of leaving it in the front yard, even for a little while, where it might be exposed to the elements, or where curious dogs might sniff it or pee on it, or horror of horrors, some sibling might play with it.
Martha dismounted at a roll as she neared the barn, and walked the bicycle up the path to the wide open door. She could see both her brothers in the small corral off to the side. Charlie was circling a pinto yearling around and around on a rope in the dusty yard. His left hand guided the pinto and his right twirled the end of the rope over and over, occasionally slapping the ground to encourage the horse to keep moving. The brim of his well-worn tan cowboy hat was turned down in the front, the better to shade his eyes from the harsh summer sun, and he had it pulled down so low on his forehead that he was forced to tilt his head back a little to watch his pony’s progress.
Gee Dub slouched languidly on the fence, his own hat pushed casually to the back of his head, watching the proceedings with one booted foot on the bottom rail and both elbows on the top.
“Howdy, boys,” Martha called.
Gee Dub smiled at her, but it was Charlie who replied, “Hey, Martha.” His body turned away from her as the horse ci
rcled, but he kept his sister in sight by looking at her over his shoulder.
“That’s Paintbrush, isn’t it? Is he already old enough to train?”
“I had my eye on him since he was foaled,” Charlie hollered at her as he circled. “Daddy said if I can gentle him, I can have him.”
“Well, good luck.” Martha turned to enter the barn, but hesitated when Gee Dub unfolded himself from the fence and ambled toward her.
“His own horse,” Martha observed, inviting Gee Dub’s opinion of Charlie’s readiness to care for his own animal.
“He’s getting a mite impatient riding old fat Pork Chop,” he offered. But that was not what he had come to discuss, and Gee Dub was not one to go the long way around when it came to conversation. He nodded toward the barn. “Mary’s in there.”
Martha’s eyebrows inched up. “I’m surprised she’s been allowed to run around unsupervised.”
“Her and Ma have butted heads over that one all day. Mary and a bunch of us went out to the horse pasture for target practice this afternoon. Ma about had a conniption, but Mary wasn’t having none of it. She’s bounden not to be made a prisoner, she says. I don’t think she enjoyed herself very much, though.”
Martha pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I think she’d just as soon stay at home, but can’t abide Mama’s fussing. Mary wants to be let alone, and Ma can’t help herself.”
Gee Dub nodded toward the barn. “This is the deal they came up with, I think.”
“And y’all are the guard unit?” She nodded toward Charlie.
“I reckon.”
“What are you supposed to do if the murderer shows up and starts taking pot shots?”
“My plan is to leap into the air and catch the bullet in my teeth.”
Martha snorted a laugh, but she said, “It’s not something to joke about.”
“I know. Well, I expect we should be glad Ma and Daddy haven’t packed us all off to Grandma and Grandpa’s in Arkansas.”