The fear of losing her own again had gripped her when Brodie had ridden out with Rice and Zane to join up with Sam Houston’s army. She loved Zane, as she loved Julie, but he was a grown man, toughened by time, while Brodie seemed to her little older than when he had run about the house barefooted in a single shirt, his eyes bright, his voice crying out.
Looking up at the sky, she searched the infinity beyond the few stars that were already beginning to twinkle.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, “why did You take my boys?” She spoke aloud involuntarily, and then brushed a hand across her face, trying to dispel the shadows in her mind. She expected no answer from God, for she had prayed this prayer a thousand times.
Suddenly, she was startled as the big hammerheaded tom cat that had been adopted by Moriah leaped into her lap. She stroked the battle-scarred face, and the cat began to purr loudly. He shoved his face against her hand, and she doubled up her fist so that he could push against it.
“Well, Smokey, you look pretty bad,” she said quietly. Her fingers traced the scars on Smokey’s head, and the purr seemed to intensify. “All those fights for a little romance. Was it worth it, do you think? Or have you forgotten now all that tomcatting around you’ve done?” She sat there speaking quietly to the cat, when suddenly Bob appeared. The huge dog cast a resentful glance at Smokey, whom he hated, and sat down on her feet.
Smoky turned, and his paw shot out and raked across Bob’s jowl. He did not draw blood, but Bob’s eyes glowed, and a deep, vicious growl began rumbling in his throat.
“You two stop that or get off of me!” Jerusalem scolded, slapping both of them on the head. They both settled down to a temporary truce, but Jerusalem knew that it would last only as long as she was there.
A coyote began to howl far off, and Jerusalem felt an answer in her heart—which was filled with loneliness. She stroked Smoky’s head, and he settled down, but her thoughts suddenly turned inward. She had been thinking, ever since Brodie left, how she would handle it if he were killed in battle. And now she shoved the thought away and fiercely tried to think of the things she had to do, the meal that she would fix for dinner tomorrow, the need to build a fence to protect the chickens from the coyotes and other varmints that roamed the plain. Anything to think of but losing Brodie! She could not bear the thought of that!
She was not a woman given to a great deal of introspection, but at times, she did have those moments of contemplation, wondering what it was that made her the woman that she was. As she sat there, she realized that the feelings for Brodie were mixed with something else. Her thoughts turned to her marriage with Jake, which had been bittersweet all those years he was gone. He had not been a good husband—in fact, he had been a very bad one. But still, when she thought of those times when he came home from his long wanderings, she remembered how she had responded to him fiercely. She knew she was a woman of great passion, and when Jake had left for those long periods, she had missed his touch. And even now she longed for a man to love her completely.
“I miss having a man.”
Jerusalem whispered these words aloud and then suddenly felt ashamed. “Why, I must be a hussy to say such a brazen thing!” She tried to push the thought away, and yet it would not leave, and she began to wonder if other women craved physical love the way she did. She well understood that it was only part of a marriage, but it had been a part she had mostly been denied. Not long after marrying Jake, she had understood that she loved him more than he loved her. All the years that they had been together, she had tried to win his love. When he was home, she had pleased him with her affection and warmth. But he had neglected to tell her so, for he had not been a man who said such things.
Suddenly, a fragment of sound came to Jerusalem, and she grew still, shoving her thoughts aside. The sound grew louder, and hope grew in her.
It was still light enough to see the two horsemen that approached, and her heart gave a lurch. Only two, she thought. Was one of them killed?
She got up immediately, shoving Smoky up from her lap and pushing Bob away. The horsemen grew larger, and soon they were close enough so she could see that it was Zane and Brodie. She thought for a moment with fear of what had happened to Rice, but the joy of seeing Zane and Brodie pushed that away. She saw Brodie step out of the saddle, and she rushed toward him. He was smiling, and when she got to him, she was overwhelmed with emotion but did not want to cry in front of them.
Brodie laughed, saying, “Well, Ma, I reckon you’re glad to see us.”
Zane stood by smiling at the scene and said, “I bet you hope Serena gives you that kind of a welcome.”
Jerusalem turned and went to Zane, and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “I’ve been worried about you both.”
She had no time to say more, for the others came running out of the house. Mary Aidan ran straight to Brodie, who snatched her off her feet and tossed her high in the air. She began peppering him with questions, and Julie asked, “Where’s Rice?”
“He went on into town,” Zane said. “He had some kind of business to see to.”
Moriah went to hug Brodie and said, “What was it like? Did you fight?
Was there a battle?”
“Don’t pester them with questions. I know they’re starved,”
Jerusalem broke in.
“That’s right,” Zane said. “We ain’t had a good meal since we left here.”
Jerusalem took a deep breath, then released it. “Come on inside, and I’ll fill you up.” She had a thousand questions swelling inside her that she wanted to ask. She looked at her brother, who smiled and nodded his head in a knowing fashion. They would talk later. She wrapped her arms around both of them and walked into the house.
CHAPTER
NINE
A pale blistering sun beat down from overhead, heating all the earth, an implacable melting ball in a cloudless cerulean sky. The air was thin and still, and far off Clay could see a cloud of fine dust raised by wild horses. As he lay tilted back in his chair, he watched the heat waves dancing in layers along the soil. At his feet Bob lay as if dead, which was customary with him. The big hound had basically two motions, either lying like a dead dog or growling and charging inexorably at something or someone.
A restlessness had taken hold of Clay in a way that he had experienced several times in his life. The wound he had taken at Goliad had slowed him down so that he had been unable to work. Simply sitting around the house watching the women wash clothes and cook was not his idea of an exciting life. For some reason he felt that something had come to an end for him. He had thought about how his life had had purpose when he had come back from the mountains to bring money from Jake to Jerusalem and the family. He’d had no intention of staying more than a few days, but somehow he had wound up agreeing to help them leave Arkansas and head for Texas in search of Jake. That had been a challenge that he’d accepted, and he managed to keep them from getting scalped and help them get established.
After arriving in Texas, he had thrown himself into the effort of keeping the family together—and had even taken on looking after Gordon Lebonne’s family after he had died. It had been a chore seeing to all these responsibilities. When he had ridden off to join Sam Houston’s army to take part in the battles against Santa Anna, that had been exciting.
But there was nothing interesting sitting on a chair on a front porch and watching Bob as if he were dead. He felt like giving Bob a poke with his heel, but he knew Bob would not move unless he kicked him hard. “You are a worthless, triflin’ dog and ought to be chopped up and fed to the fish, Bob. What do you think of that?”
Bob didn’t even move a muscle, and Clay shook his head in disgust. “You and me are about the same. More dead than alive.”
For a time he sat there thinking about the mountains, and, as always, he remembered the good times he had spent there. Sure, there had been danger, but part of the excitement was the adventure he had experienced living there. The weather was hot enough in the summer, but it
was a dry heat that didn’t bother a man. And in the winter when the cold crackled, a man could spit, and sometimes it would freeze in the air with a snapping sound—now, that was weather! He thought with longing of the cold mountain streams, cold enough to make a man’s teeth hurt. He also remembered times when he thought he would get scalped, but even those he remembered fondly. He had never felt more alive than when he was matching his wits and his eyes and his legs against the Cheyenne.
Maybe I ought to go back to the mountains. I hear they found gold out in California. Maybe I ought to go try to fill my pockets up with nuggets. He toyed with the idea, and as he did, he saw Julie come out from around the house. She had been boiling clothes, washing them, and now she had come to hang them on a wire that was strung between two big walnut trees that stood to the east of the house. His eyes narrowed, for he saw that she was wearing a pair of pants and a man’s shirt. He recognized the pants as belonging to Clinton, who had outgrown them—and noted with appreciation that Julie filled them out thoroughly. A smile touched his lips as he watched her fasten a dress to the line and then a petticoat and then a pair of men’s drawers. He thought, There’s somethin’ downright unseemly about hangin’ men’s underwear alongside of women’s, but that wouldn’t bother Julie none.
He tilted back, enjoying watching her. Though she could be difficult at times, he was fond of Julie. He never knew what she would do next, although whatever it was would be fairly audacious. He liked that about her, but he was careful around her. He knew he would have to answer to Jerusalem if he ever took up with Julie.
He heard a shout and brought his chair down and twisted to the right. Clinton had come sailing out of the barn, shouting as he approached. Clay grinned, for it amused him to watch Clinton’s religious fits. He was convinced that one day Clinton would calm down, but right now the young man had all the fiery heat of an evangelist.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” Clinton shouted, coming up to Julie. She turned to face him and did not answer for a moment. “Don’t you know you’ll go to hell for wearin’ forked pants?” Julie laughed. “I never read that anywhere in the Bible.”
“Well, it’s there somewhere,” Clinton said loudly. “It ain’t decent.
You get in the house right now and put on a dress like the Bible says.”
“Go on about your business, Clinton. I’m going riding when I finish this, and I can’t ride in a skirt.”
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere in them pants! It’s downright scandalous!”
Clay leaned back, his eyes slitted, and his lips turned upward in a grin.
“Give it to her, Clinton,” he murmured. “Let’s hear you rip and roar and see how far you get.”
At that very moment Jerusalem came out, no doubt drawn by the sounds of the two shouting at each other. She stopped on the porch alongside of Clay, took in the scene, then turned and looked at him. “Why don’t you stop that, Clay?”
Clay looked up slowly and said innocently, “Why, if they was my young’uns, I would, but they ain’t.”
His answer angered Jerusalem. She was irritated with Clay anyhow, for ever since he’d come back from the war with Santa Anna, he had been impossible to live with. Even after his wound had healed, he’d done very little work, and now the irritation that had been growing in her boiled over. “Clay, you’ve been moping around for days now doing nothing but complain. It’s about time you acted like a man.”
Her words gave Clay a guilty feeling, which he hated. He jumped to his feet and shoved his hat back on his head. “I reckon I’m the judge of what I’ll do around this place.”
“Well, go do something worthwhile. You’re acting like a spoiled brat.”
Clay glared at her. “I reckon I will do something worthwhile. I guess I’ll just go into town, have a few drinks, and play some cards.” He whirled and leaped off the porch, and her words followed him.
“Good, you won’t be underfoot.”
Jerusalem watched him as he headed for the barn and knew that she shouldn’t have said what she did. She owed Clay Taliferro more than she could ever repay for all he had done to help her, but he was hard to live with at times. Putting him out of her mind, she moved across the yard until she stood in front of Clinton and Julie.
“Clinton, what’s wrong with you?”
“I wish you’d look at them pants she’s got on, Ma. She ain’t no better than a hussy! Why—”
“You leave her alone, Clinton.”
Clinton stared at his mother, affronted. “I’d think since you’re her sister, you would be more interested in her.” He turned around and stalked toward the house, slamming the door as he went in.
Jerusalem turned and eyed Julie, who was watching her warily. “Don’t start on me, Jerusalem. You know how he is.”
“I know, but be patient with him.”
“It’s easier to be patient with a chigger than it is him,” Julie laughed.
“Did you hear what he said? He said I’d go to hell for wearing forked pants. Now, where did he get a hare-brained idea like that? If that’s the worst thing I ever did, I’d feel pretty good.”
“Well, they do make you look pretty—obvious.”
“Let him look the other way.”
Jerusalem shook her head, knowing that it was useless to talk to Julie when she was in a mood like this. Going back into the house, she found Clinton in the kitchen drinking a glass of water thirstily. He gave her a hurt look, and she went over to stand beside him. She noticed how tall he was getting. In a few more years, he would be a big man like his father. She knew he really was sensitive to anything she said. Julie had said many times, “He’s nothin’ but a mama’s boy.” His soft side did not bother Jerusalem, for she liked the obvious affection Clinton was capable of showing. She waited until he was through drinking, then reached out and took his arms. His eyes were even with hers now, and she said, “You’re growing up, Clinton. Before you know it, you’re going to be big like your pa and strong like he was.” She smiled and reached up and ruffled his hair.
“And good looking like he was, too.”
As she had known it would, this sudden gentleness on her part melted Clinton. “Aw, Ma,” he said. “That ain’t so.”
“Yes, it is.” She ran her hands down his cheeks and studied his face.
“You look so much like him it frightens me sometimes.” She continued to talk gently to him, then gave him a hug. “Try to understand Julie. I know she’s a pain at times, but it doesn’t do any good to fuss at people, son.”
She stepped back and shook her head. “It’s what’s on the inside that has to change.”
At that moment they heard the sound of a horse running hard, and Clinton turned and looked out the window. “There’s Clay,” he said.
“Where is he goin’ ridin’ so hard?”
“Probably to get drunk,” Jerusalem said.
Clinton swirled around. “To get drunk! Why?”
“Because I nagged him. I should have learned by this time, Clinton, that Clay’s a man, and he’s got to make a fool of himself from time to time.” A reluctant smile turned the corners of her lips up. “It’s in all men.
Once in a while it just has to break out.”
Clinton was staring at her incredulously, and then his eyes danced.
“What about women?”
Jerusalem laughed and said, “No, we’re all sweet and soft-spoken and nice all the time. Haven’t you noticed?”
Clinton laughed aloud. He had a crooked grin, the exact replica of Jake’s, which brought memories back to Jerusalem. “Well,” he said, smiling broadly, “women are taken pretty easily by serpents.”
“Now, was that a nice thing to say to your poor, old mother?”
“You ain’t poor, and you ain’t old either.”
“Why, that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day! I’m gonna make you a pie of your very own. You don’t even have to let Brodie have any of it. What kind will it be?”
“Apple!”
>
The Dry Gulch Saloon was not particularly attractive, but it was the biggest one in town, and Clay had made himself at home for the past two hours. He had been drinking steadily and playing cards, and a woman, whose name he now forgot, was sitting beside him, egging him on. He had been winning steadily, and one of the losers, a tough-looking man named Hack Dempsey, stared down at the winning hand Clay had tossed down in the middle of the table. He stared at his own hand, threw them down with a curse, and watched as Clay, moving leisurely, reached out and dragged the pot in.
“You’re too lucky, Taliferro.”
“Why, Hack,” Clay said, pronouncing his words very distinctly, as drunks will usually do, “you hurt my feelings. Poker ain’t luck. It’s all skill.”
Dempsey cursed again and poured himself a drink from the bottle on the table. He was a large man, a little overweight, but obviously tough.
The scars on his face were proof that he had been in some fights in the past. “I’m sayin’ that it ain’t luck, and it ain’t skill either.”
Clay reached over and put his arm around the woman and pulled her close. He put his head next to her ear and said, “Lena, I think Hack is hinting around that my card playin’ ain’t exactly on the up and up. Is that what he’s sayin’?”
“Why, honey, he wouldn’t say a thing like that.”
Hack cursed again. “You win one more pot, and I’ll do more than say it.”
The Yellow Rose Page 8