A woman’s voice was coming from the stairway and had risen to an almost hysterical pitch.
“Graves! Graves, you bastard! Where’s my baby? If you let anything happen to her, I’ll . . . I’ll crucify you! Mary Evelyn! Mar . . . ry!”
Summer hurried to overtake the woman before she bolted down the stairs.
“Your little girl is with me,” she called, but the woman was already at the foot of the stairs and didn’t hear.
The hotel man came up from a cot behind the counter.
“Shut yore goddam mouth! Yore waking up the whole place.”
“You . . . you yellow-bellied . . . skunk! Mar . . . ry!” The woman was sobbing now.
“She’s with me,” Summer called again.
The woman turned. She was no more than a girl. Green eyes stared up at Summer out of pain-darkened sockets. Tight, matted curls framed a thin face with a short, upturned nose. A pink satin dress, much too large for the slight frame, hung to the floor on one side and came up to midcalf on the other. She raced back up the stairs.
“Where’s she at?”
“You get that little bastard and get outta here!” The hotel man was standing at the foot of the stairs, his face twisted with rage. “Whore! Slut! Out . . . do you hear? Out!”
“You have Mary? Oh! Oh, thank God! I was so scared! I was scared that piss-ant had done something to her. I’d a killed him! I swear, if he’d a hurt my baby, I’d a killed him.”
“She’s all right. She’s sleeping in my room. Come, I’ll show you.”
The man with the gun went back into his room and slammed the door when Summer marched by him without as much as a glance. Inside her own room, she closed the door firmly and turned the key. The girl went to kneel beside the bed. The child was awake and reached out to wrap her small arms about her mother’s neck.
“Mama . . . Mama . . .”
“Oh, baby! Oh, God, baby, I was so scared! I couldn’t find you, lovey.”
Summer stood at the end of the bed. The light from the flickering lamp played on the girl’s pitifully thin shoulders and arms. When she looked up, her eyes were swimming with tears, her mouth looked puffed and bruised, and there were teeth marks on her neck.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“No thanks are necessary. I think my brother was smitten with her,” she said, indicating the sleeping boy. “They took to each other right away.”
The girl looked searchingly at Summer, then at the boy on the cot. She covered the little girl and got shakily to her feet.
“I’m at the end of my rope,” she blurted out. “I just don’t know what I’m goin’ to do.” Tears streamed down the tired white face, and her lips trembled. “I’m not a whore, ma’am. Not yet! But I’m just the same as . . . ’cause I don’t know how much longer I can hold out without going to bed with ’em! I don’t care about me, anymore, but I got to find a place for Mary Evelyn. You like her, don’t you? She’s sweet and real . . . good.” She sank down on the bed and buried her face in her hands.
Summer put her arm across the shaking shoulders and the girl’s story poured out in sobbing, broken sentences.
Her name was Sadie Irene Bratcher; married at fourteen, mother at fifteen and widowed at seventeen. She’d married a young drifter and they had tried homesteading, but the lure of town was too much for her young husband. He died in a shootout over a card game, and Sadie and the little girl had been on their own for almost a year. She had come to Hamilton about a month ago. The only work she could find was in the dance hall, and it took most of her earnings to pay the hotel man.
“I’ll go to whorin’, if it’s the only way I can feed my baby,” she said firmly, then trembled violently. “Oh, God, ma’am, you can’t know what it’s like . . . pawin’ . . . slobberin’ . . . and they stink and dip snuff and spit! But I could do it if I had a decent place for Mary to stay.” The girl rocked back and forth in her misery.
Summer went to the window and looked down. The street was empty, except for a horse tied to the rail in front of the saloon. The horse stood, head down, stamping or pawing occasionally, to relieve the boredom of waiting. Summer felt the shadowy presence of Sam McLean more distinctly than any time since her mother had died. He was in the back of her mind, a person to lean on. He stood solidly between her and her becoming like this poor, miserable girl. The girl was desperate, and Summer knew what she was leading up to; the request she was about to make. She couldn’t take on the care of another child. She couldn’t. But . . . Bulldog had said something . . . something about if she wanted a woman . . .
Not one to hesitate after making a decision, Summer went back to the bed and faced the girl.
“I’ve a solution, if you’re willing to go out to a homestead with me and my brother.” She sat down on the bed. “We have a homestead about thirty miles south of here. I don’t know what kind of place it is, but it’s near a large ranch owned by . . . our guardian. We’re going out there tomorrow. You and Mary are welcome to come with us. I don’t really look forward to being the only white woman for miles and miles around. Another thing, Sadie, we don’t have much money, but we’ll have a place to live. We’ll have to work hard, put in a garden first thing and . . .”
Sadie was speechless, stupefied with disbelief. Then the words burst from her.
“Oh, ma’am! You’d take me and the baby with you?”
“Why not? And my name is Summer.”
One girl laughed, the other girl cried. Summer felt as if a load had been lifted from her shoulders. Here was someone she could talk things over with, someone who, hopefully, would work beside her. The girl’s need was even greater than her own. They began to talk, to plan, and finally slept when dawn was just a few short hours away.
By sun-up, the town was astir.
Through a crack in the door, Summer watched the hotel man’s retreating back. She closed the door softly and smiled reassuringly at Sadie. Green eyes stared unsmilingly back at her. The freckles stood out, each one like a grain of brown sugar on the fair skin. The girl who stood, clutching the hand of her small daughter, didn’t remotely resemble the dance-hall girl of the night before. A well-worn cotton dress covered her from neck to instep, but the bodice was loose and the waistline clearly showed a recent loss of weight. The bravado of last night, when she found her daughter missing, was gone; fear of what the hotel man would do when he discovered she didn’t have the money to pay for last night’s lodging took its place.
When Summer opened the door for Bulldog, he stood and gaped at the two women and two children waiting for him.
“Mrs. Bratcher is going with us,” Summer said, by way of introduction. Her voice was confident this morning. She had set a course, and felt she had command of their future once again.
Bulldog shifted from one foot to the other. “Wal . . . now . . .” He clearly didn’t know what to say.
Summer thought it best to tell him the complete story.
“And we’re not paying him one cent!” she said firmly. “He’s been charging her a dollar a day!”
The whiskered cowboy shook his head. “A dollar! Wal, now . . . Did he want to take his pay out in trade, Sadie?”
The girl nodded.
Summer looked from one to the other. Of course Bulldog would know who she was. There weren’t that many women in town that Sadie would go unnoticed.
“I’ll be back fer ya.” Slamming his dusty hat down hard on his head, the cowboy gathered up two armloads of boxes.
The trip from the room to the wagon in front of the hotel went smoothly. The hotel man wasn’t at the desk, and when Summer asked about him, Bulldog spit contemptuously into the dirt.
The sun was only half an hour above the horizon when their light wagon rolled to a halt in front of the store and the pile of supplies stacked on the loading dock. Hangers-on called out good naturedly to Bulldog as he lifted the heavy bags and boxes onto the wagon bed.
Since leaving the hotel, Sadie had relaxed, and her lips were tilted continuou
sly in a smile. Summer was immensely glad for her presence. The two children stood behind them, watching all that was going on with large, excited eyes.
“I’m glad you’re with me!” Summer clasped Sadie’s hand.
“Yo’re glad! Oh, Jesus Christ . . . Oh, I mean . . . I still can’t believe we’re out of that . . . place. I’ll work hard, miss. I’ll work my fingers to the bone!”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. We’ll work together. And for Pete’s sake, call me Summer.”
“I ort to be a callin’ you angel, that’s what I ort to do!”
At the sound of Summer’s laughter, the loafers in front of the store all turned their heads in unison to look at the lovely, raven-haired girl. She had piled her hair in a loose knot on top of her head because of the heat, and curly tendrils floated about her face and clung to the nape of her neck. The dark cotton dress she wore set off her violet eyes, and with the flush of excitement spreading over her fair skin, she was quite beautiful. But she was completely unaware of the picture she made, and the eyes that couldn’t seem to look away from her, as she held out her sunbonnet to Sadie.
“I’ll be right back, John Austin. Sadie, don’t let him get out of the wagon. After you know him better, you’ll understand why. I’m going to get us some garden seed.”
Summer paused in the doorway of the store to allow her eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the darkened interior. It was filled to capacity with goods needed to sustain life on the vast cattle ranches that surrounded the town. Barrels of flour, sugar, salt pork and cornmeal crowded the aisles; jugs, tools, baskets, rope and harnesses hung from the rafters. Her eyes settled on a table of bright yard goods, and as she walked toward it she passed behind a man counting out a stack of silver dollars to the store clerk.
The man was very tall, whiplash thin, but with broad shoulders and long arms. His dark hat was pulled low, the broad brim shielding his face, and a long, thin cheroot in his mouth trailed a waft of not-unpleasant smoke. His clothes were dark and free of dust, and against his thigh rested a holstered gun. But Summer wasn’t aware of these impressions until later. She was only dimly aware that the man stopped clinking the silver until she passed him.
After looking over the yard goods and thinking how nice it would be if she could afford to buy the blue for herself, the green for Sadie and the sunny yellow for Mary, she put the thought from her mind and moved to the now-vacated counter.
“Mornin’, miss.” A youngish clerk with a large Adam’s apple, which rose and fell as he spoke, stood wiping his hands on a once-white apron.
“Morning. How much are the seeds?”
“The seeds? Oh . . . they’re ten cents for this scoop.”
“Ten cents?” Disappointment and uncertainty tinged her voice. “You’d pay two cents for that scoop back in the Piney Woods where I come from. Ten cents, you said? Well . . . give me a scoop full of bean, beet, turnips, corn and okra. I’ll also need some potatoes to eye.”
The clerk looked over her head. “If you’re the lady Bulldog got the supplies for, ma’am, you ain’t gonna need none. Bulldog said you ain’t . . . he said that . . . well, he gave me a bill of what to lay out, and warn’t no potatoes on the bill. He said you ain’t goin’ to need . . .”
“Is that stuff out there all for us?”
The clerk’s face turned a beet red. “Well . . . I was told to lay out a stock; I was given a bill to fill.”
“I can’t pay for those things.” Her voice was flat, angry. “I can’t pay for them now, and maybe never!”
“They’re paid fer, miss.” The clerk smiled broadly, but Summer didn’t.
“Bulldog paid for our supplies?”
“Mr. McLean paid, miss.” For some reason the clerk’s face burned a bright red again, and he kept his eyes on his hands.
Summer’s lips tightened. “I’d like a copy of the bill, please.” She stood proudly, looking steadily at the fidgeting clerk who stood as if cemented to the spot. “The bill.” Summer held out her hand.
The clerk’s eyes roamed the store, looking everywhere except at her.
“I’ll make it out and give it to Bulldog—later.” He began to scoop out seeds, wrapping each batch in a piece of brown paper.
Summer regretted her quick remarks. She had no doubt the story would be all over town by noon—if not spread by the clerk, then surely by the tall customer. Pretending to look closely at the bins of dried beans and rice behind her, she let her eyes wander until she located him. He stood with his back to her, and it was something in his stance, in the way he held his head, that drew her eyes to him again and again. He bent his head to light another cheroot, and she knew. He was the tall man from the street, the one Bulldog had talked with the night before. She turned to face the counter; her heart had started to beat at an alarming rate and her face felt suddenly flushed.
“Two sticks of peppermint candy, please.” For some reason she lowered her voice to a mere whisper.
When Summer left the dimness of the store, she was aware that the crowd of loafers had increased. She was also aware that the sun was higher, and that it had grown warmer. All this she knew, but in a secondary way, for her attention was on the handsome buggy, escorted by half a dozen riders, pulling up in front of the store. The driver eased his long length out of the seat, and reached up a hand to help the woman who was sitting beside him. She was lovely, and her clothes were the finest Summer had ever seen. She was dressed all in gray, from the soft, high-button shoes to the wide-brimmed hat set atop high-piled blonde curls. She lifted gray-gloved hands, deftly folded back a gauze of gray veil up and over her hat brim, and laughed softly into the man waiting to help her. He reached up and encircled her narrow waist with both hands and lifted her gently to the ground. He handled her as if she were a piece of priceless porcelain, and Summer marveled because he was a large-framed man with a stern, unsmiling face.
Summer headed for the steps, hoping to slip past the party unnoticed. To her embarrassment, the woman stopped and smiled at her.
“Hello.”
Her voice was musical and seemed just the right sound to come from such a beautiful creature. It was difficult to determine her age, for though her face was smooth, her eyes bright and her hair shiny, she had a very few wrinkles at the corner of her eyes and around her neck, where the lace collar of her dress was secured with a delicately-carved brooch.
“Ah . . . hello.” Summer was ashamed of the stammer in her voice, and moved to pass on.
The woman reached out a gloved hand and placed it on her arm.
“Have you just arrived in town?” She smiled so sweetly and her voice was so friendly that Summer couldn’t help being flattered by her inquiry.
“Since yesterday.”
“I thought so.” She smiled up at the stern-faced man. “I was right, Jesse. I thought I knew all the lovely young ladies for miles around.” Summer felt a flash of pleasure on hearing the compliment. “I’m Ellen McLean, dear. And this is my son, Travis.” Reaching around, she placed her hand on the arm of another man standing slightly behind her. He had blond hair and dancing blue eyes and winked openly at Summer when she glanced at him. She could feel the color come up her neck. She held out her hand to the woman.
“I’m Summer Kuykendall.” She made the announcement and waited.
The name brought no hint of recognition from the woman, and it occurred to Summer that perhaps Sam McLean hadn’t told his family about her and John Austin.
“I’m happy to meet you, Summer.” Mrs. McLean placed both hands around the forearm of the stern-faced man. “This is my good friend and manager of our ranch, Jesse Thurston.”
Summer looked into the coldest eyes she had ever seen. They were light gray, almost the color of the woman’s dress, and absolutely expressionless. He raised his hand to the brim of his hat, his eyes holding her as if he could pin her to the wall. Summer inclined her head and her eyes shifted to Travis McLean, who was grinning at her in open admiration. He was somewhat you
nger than the other man, but still looked too old to be the son of the fairylike creature dressed in gray.
“Are you, by any chance, related to the Kuykendalls that homesteaded here some years back?” Mrs. McLean smiled up at the big man again. “I don’t like to think of how many years back, Jesse, really I don’t!” Her smiling eyes came back to Summer. “You can’t be Nannie Kuykendall’s daughter!”
“But I am. Did you know my mother?”
“Yes indeed, my dear. Your mother lived near Sam McLean’s ranch. My late husband, Sam’s brother, took up land a bit further west.”
A flicker of regret crossed Summer’s mind, and at the same time relief that this wasn’t Sam McLean’s family. She felt she was not yet equal to the task of meeting the McLeans.
“You’ll be living out on the homestead? I haven’t been there for years. May I call on you?” Not waiting for her question to be answered, she rushed on. “I didn’t visit your mother as often as I liked, but I’ll visit her daughter.” Her eyes sought the stern face. “Won’t it be nice for me to have a lovely young woman to visit, Jesse?” The man looked down into her wide-eyed face and his hand came up and patted the gloved hand on his arm.
During this pause, Summer had moved to the steps.
“I’ll look forward to your visit, Mrs. McLean.”
“I’ll call on you soon. Goodbye, my dear.”
Travis McLean swept his hat and clasped Summer’s elbow to assist her down the steps.
“I’ll bring my mother to call.” His voice was low and he emphasized the first word. His hand gently squeezed her arm.
Trying not to notice the intimacy, and vastly relieved that this man was not Sam McLean’s son, Summer walked quickly to the wagon. She took Bulldog’s hand and climbed up over the wheel and sat beside Sadie. Then she noticed how quiet the street was. All activity, it seemed, had stopped while she conversed with Mrs. McLean. Even the store clerk stood in the doorway, his hands folded across his apron. Suddenly, Summer wanted to get away from this place, away from the watching eyes. Now Bulldog and Sadie seemed full of quiet, unspoken disapproval, and Summer felt uneasy.
Dorothy Garlock Page 3