by Liz Harris
The doctor shook his head. ‘The sheriff’s been asking around. It’s quite a time since he did any work for anyone in town. There’s no way he’s getting his money from any of the folk around here.’
Connor’s shoulders slumped. He sat back in the chair and looked around the room. ‘Well, I can’t rightly say I haven’t asked myself how he could be spending so much,’ he said at last. ‘Like I said, he told me he was working, but I didn’t see any sign of it, and no one ever came up and mentioned that he was working for them, like folk often do.’
‘You gave him some money, or so he said, didn’t you?’
‘Yup. It was probably enough to pay for his lodgings for a while, but not for all of the things he was spending money on.’
The doctor gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘Anyway, we thought you oughta know the way we were thinking.’
Conn stood up. ‘I must get back and see how Bridget’s doing. I was gonna go and tell Niall about what happened to Bridget after I’d spoken to you, but I reckon I’ll go straight back home. Oonagh will have told him anyway, or someone else in town will have. When you see him, maybe you’d tell him he’s welcome to visit Bridget whenever it suits.’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Thanks for telling me about Niall. I appreciate it. I admit that there are things that don’t seem to add up, but I’d need to hear some solid evidence before I believed that of my brother. I can’t see him killin’ animals. Nope, not Niall.’
And that’s what he told himself all the way back to the homestead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Still breathing heavily after the strenuous brushing down he’d given his horse, he dropped the bar across the doors of East Barn and leaned back against the door. His bare arms steamed in the chill evening air, and he rubbed them with his hands as he stared up at the darkening sky.
After years of studying the sky, trying to work out how late he dare leave the wheat and the corn before harvesting it, knowing that if he misjudged it, a single downpour of rain would be sufficient to ruin the whole crop, he’d gotten pretty good at being able to forecast what was coming and when, and he knew that Ellen’s early Thanksgiving would be the last time that the neighbours would come to them that year. Well before the end of November, the land would be buried beneath a mantle of snow and they’d surely have had the first of the winter blizzards. No one would be able to visit again until the snow had melted, which might not be before the end of April, or even later.
He started to walk towards the house. By the time that spring came, Ellen would move with difficulty, he thought. She’d have to be careful not to slip over. He must make sure that the paths around the house were free of ice at all times.
He glanced towards the kitchen and saw her pass in front of the window. He wasn’t looking forward to telling her the town’s suspicions about Niall, and nor Aaron, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. Apart from one question from Aaron after he’d got back, they’d kept from asking anything, and had waited for him to feel like talking about it. However, it was unfair to keep them waiting much longer.
Thrusting his hands into his jeans pockets, he sped up his steps. As he reached the kitchen door, it opened. Ellen stood in the doorway.
‘There you are,’ she said with an anxious smile. ‘I was coming to tell you that dinner was ready.’
‘Let me wash my hands and I’ll be there.’ He put a bowl in the sink and started pumping water into it. Ellen brought a jug of hot water across to the sink and poured some into the cold water in the bowl. ‘Thanks,’ he said. He leaned over the bowl and immersed his arms to his elbows. ‘How’s Bridget doing?’
‘Much better now, I’m happy to say.’ She unhooked the drying cloth and stood next to him while he washed his hands and arms. ‘The pain’s not as bad.’
‘That’s good. Doc did real well. Elijah, too. There, I’m done.’ He turned to her and reached out to take the cloth from her with his wet hand. With a laugh, she moved the cloth out of his reach, took hold of his outstretched hand and began to run the cloth along his bare skin, backwards and forwards, wiping away the droplets of water that shone silver in the hairs on the back of his forearm.
He gazed down at her hand. ‘Ellen,’ he said quietly.
He looked up into her face. Their eyes met, and locked. Then she smiled, released his first arm, leaned across in front of him and lifted his other arm. Slowly she slid the cloth the length of his arm and brought it back again.
‘Ellen,’ he repeated, his voice low.
She glanced up at him and laughed. ‘I think you’ve already said that.’
‘I guess I have,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘And you know what, I’m mighty tempted to say it again.’
‘Then we’d better go back to the subject of Bridget,’ she said, running the cloth between his fingers, first one finger, then the next, and the next. ‘She was feeling so much better that she even suggested getting up for dinner, but I told her she had to stay in bed. She wasn’t too pleased, and said so several times, but when I looked in on her a little while after that, she was fast asleep, and she was still asleep when I checked her a few moments ago. It’ll do her good. There, your arms are dry now.’
He gave her a lazy grin. ‘I’m mighty tempted to plunge them into the water again.’
Laughing she turned away, hung the drying towel back on its hook, and went across to the stove. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that he was still standing there, watching her. She half-smiled at him. The clear-blue eyes that gazed back at her were warm on her face.
‘Aaron’s already at the table,’ she said.
‘I guess I can take a hint.’ He moved away from the sink and took a few steps towards the living room. As he passed close to her, he hesitated a moment, then went on through to the living room.
‘I’ve roasted a sage chicken,’ she said, following Connor into the living room shortly afterwards, a plate of food in her hands for each of the men. ‘With mashed potato, peas and string beans.’ She went back for her plate, returned with it and sat down opposite Connor. ‘I’ve put a plate aside for Bridget. She’ll be hungry when she wakes.’
Connor bit into the chicken. ‘This is real good. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.’
Aaron picked up his knife and fork, then put them down again. He stared at Connor. ‘We can talk about the food if you want, Conn, or we can talk about what’s really in our minds. Did you find out about Bridget, and what did Doc want?’
‘So now you know everything I know,’ Connor finished.
‘Nothing can surprise me about Miss Oonagh,’ Aaron said. ‘I never did like that one. But I reckon they’re wrong about Niall. I can believe a lot of not-so-good things about him, but he was real good with cows, and I sure find it hard to believe that he’d stoop to killin’ animals for a few lousy bucks.’
‘That’s the way I see it, too,’ Connor said, nodding. ‘Making a bad choice of friends is one thing, but slaughtering animals is another.’
‘So what are they gonna do?’ Aaron asked. ‘Did Doc say?’
‘He didn’t volunteer anything and I didn’t ask. I guess they’ll keep an eye on him. There’s nothing more they can really do. I told Doc to tell Niall that he was welcome to visit Bridget. If he comes, we might pick up something from him, but it’s a long shot.’
Ellen got up, collected the empty plates and carried them out into the kitchen.
‘I’ve made an apricot pie,’ she said, returning to the living room a moment later, a dish in her hand.
Aaron stood up. ‘I reckon I’ll go back to the bunkhouse now.’
‘Won’t you have some pie before you go?’ she asked, putting the dish on the table.
‘I won’t, thanks. There’s still some cracks around the window frames, and I need to stuff more cloth into them. I’ve a good chance of finding the cracks tonight as there’s a slight wind getting up. I’ll soon feel where the cold air’s comin’ in.’
‘’Night, Aaron,�
�� Conn said.
‘Night, boss. Night, Ellen.’ A moment later, the kitchen door clicked shut.
‘I’ll see if Bridget’s awake,’ Ellen said. She wiped her hands on her apron and started towards the door to Bridget’s room.
‘Wait,’ Connor called. ‘Come and sit down. Bridget will make herself heard if she wants food. It’s her leg the snake got, not her tongue.’
Ellen hesitated, then returned to the table and sat down again.
‘You haven’t said anything yet about what Doc said. Aaron spoke readily enough, but not you. What are your thoughts?’
‘He’s your brother. I obviously hope that everyone’s suspicions are wrong.’
‘Obviously,’ Connor said dryly. ‘And now that you’ve made the comment a dutiful wife should make, in your heart what do you think?’
She hesitated.
‘Tell me, Ellen. I want to know. Be honest. I’d like to hear what you think.’
‘I don’t really know what I think. On the one hand, Niall says he cares about animals and that he cares about Bridget. And if his feelings are genuine, I think he’d be unlikely to join in with killing animals.’
‘And on the other hand?’
‘If something he shouldn’t do presents itself, and he can make money from it, then I’m not so sure that Niall wouldn’t do it. He’s lazy and has loose morals. I’m remembering his suggestion to me that night you were out with William, and I’m remembering that, despite him saying several times how fond he was of Bridget, he deliberately put ideas into her mind that he knew would hurt her. And much as he was supposed to be keen on cows, he wasn’t keen enough to make an effort to get another ranch. In fact, he’s done very little with animals since he got back.’
‘All that’s true.’
‘Also, his friends are the sort of men who play cards for money, who drink a lot, visit a type of woman. Such activities cost money, and the men who do them aren’t always bothered about keeping to the right side of the law when they go after the money they need.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, Conn,’ she said quietly, ‘while I don’t believe that he would have gone out of the way to look for something illegal, I can believe that if it landed in his path, he might get involved with it.’
He nodded slowly. ‘That’s fair enough. I’ll just have to hope that you’re wrong.’
‘We’ll both hope I’m wrong. I very much want him to be innocent in all of this.’
‘I appreciate that. And now we should think about something more pleasant. Let’s talk about our early Thanksgiving dinner. Are you still sure you wanna go ahead with this? They’d understand if you didn’t. You’ll be feeling more tired than usual. Alice always was. With every baby, she was sick at the start of the day.’
‘I haven’t felt sick at all, and I’m looking forward to having a Thanksgiving with visitors. When I was growing up in Omaha, the weather wasn’t a problem in the same way as here, since people didn’t have animals they had to get back to, and we always had a large gathering at home. I loved it. I’d like to do the same here.’
‘We could ask them to bring food? They’d be happy to and it’d give you less work.’
‘No,’ she said smiling. ‘It’s my way of thanking them for welcoming me as they did. I’d like to do it by myself. If Bridget’s better, though, she might be willing to help me.’
‘Fair enough.’ He looked curiously at her. ‘You never talk about yourself, do you? You never say you have a headache, or you’re tired, or you’ve hurt your hand or anything. You must say if you don’t feel well, even if it’s nothing to do with the baby.’
‘I’ll remember that. Thank you. The only difference is that maybe I’m a little more tired than I was.’
‘You must stop and rest whenever you feel you need to. We’ve looked after ourselves for a year. With help, maybe, but it’s been only Bridget and me, and Aaron, of course. We can do that again, with you helping us whenever you can. But only when you feel strong enough.’
‘I won’t take any chances. Thank you.’
‘You mustn’t thank me. You’re having my child. I don’t need thanks for wanting to take care of you like I should. Besides,’ he added with a grin, ‘I seem to recall saying that I never wanted to hear those words from you again.’
She laughed. ‘So you did.’
He stared at her for a moment, then got up, moved to the chair closest to her and sat down. ‘In the years after Alice gave me Bridget,’ he said quietly, ‘I watched her suffer as first one baby, then the next, died in her belly. And then, finally, I held her in my arms as she died, our baby lying dead beside her.’ He took her hand. ‘I want to help you, Ellen. You must let me.’
She nodded.
‘I’m not thinking now about our baby. I’m thinking about you. Sure I want a baby, but you being all right when your time comes is more important to me than the baby.’
Surprise in her eyes, and disbelief, she looked up at him.
He pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, and his hand lingered there. His forehead slowly creased in amazement. ‘And that’s the truth,’ he said, his voice full of wonder. ‘But I guess I didn’t know it till now.’
Chapter Thirty
Ellen opened the kitchen door to go for the eggs. The morning air stung her face. Shivering, she glanced up at the sky. Leaden dawn had only just begun to fragment into merging bands of milky white.
She pulled her buffalo skin coat more tightly around her, and quietly shut the kitchen door behind her. Bridget hadn’t yet appeared for breakfast and she didn’t want to disturb her. She began to make her way quickly to the hen house, the crisp layer of frost that covered the ground crunching beneath her feet.
They’d need extra water with the Thomases and Careys coming for their Thanksgiving dinner, she thought as she passed the pump. She’d fill up some pails from the outside pump for that. The pump arm was sure to have thawed by the time she was ready for the water, or at least she hoped it would’ve. She had memories of chipping away at the ice-bound pump when she and Robert had lived on his parents’ ranch. It had been one of the few tasks that she’d hated doing.
She reached the hen house and put her hand on the latch to open the door.
‘Ellen!’ she heard Bridget call, her voice coming from the direction of West Barn.
She stepped back in surprise and glanced across the empty corrals to the barn. Bridget was half-running towards her, carrying a large pail with both of her hands. Her movements were jerky as she tried not to slip on the frosty ground, and milk was spilling with her every step.
‘Be careful now, Bridget,’ she called, and she started to go quickly towards her.
Panting, Bridget came to a stop in front of Ellen. She bent down to put the pail on the ground, and remained bent over, breathing heavily.
‘Mind you don’t fall and find yourself back in bed so soon after leaving it. Martha’s looking forward to seeing you today. It’d be a pity to be stuck in bed when she gets here.’
‘I won’t be.’
‘I thought you were asleep. You must have been up very early to have done the milking already. It’s kind of you to want to help like that, but you mustn’t do too much too soon. You’re still quite weak. And the mornings are cold now. You must stay inside the house and leave the milking for me. Just till you’re stronger.’
‘It’s Daisy,’ Bridget said, straightening up, fear on her face. ‘Where’s Aaron?’
Ellen glanced towards West Barn, then back at Bridget. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘I don’t know, but she’s ill. She’s not walking properly and I can tell she doesn’t feel well. One of the reasons I did the cows this morning was to see her. I was worried about her since she didn’t look right yesterday.’
Ellen put her arm around Bridget’s shoulders. ‘Poor Daisy. She’s never been very strong. Motherless runt calves often aren’t. She’s done well to have lived this long. Lots of dogies don’t.’
Bridget shrugged off her arm. ‘Aaron wi
ll make her better. He always does,’ she insisted. ‘Where is he?’
‘Behind East Barn with your pa. We’re not the only ones who are up early. They’ve already started roasting our Thanksgiving pig. None of the neighbours will want to get back home late.’
‘Uncle Niall would know what to do. I wish he was coming to lunch. He hasn’t yet been to see me since I was bitten.’
‘Your pa told him he was welcome to visit you any time. He’ll have been busy, honey, or he would have come.’
Bridget nodded. ‘The last time he came to the school to see me, he said he had lots of things to do.’ She picked up the pail and clutched it to her chest. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Aaron will know what to do,’ she said, and she stepped sideways to go around Ellen to East Barn.
‘No, you don’t,’ Ellen said, stopping her. ‘Go and put the milk – or what’s left of it – in the kitchen. And then you’d better have a glass of buttermilk and some biscuits. You haven’t had breakfast and you need something to keep you going. It won’t help Daisy if you get ill all over again.’
‘But Aaron must—’
‘I’ll go and get Aaron,’ Ellen interrupted. ‘When you’ve had something to eat, you can go very carefully back to Daisy. And I mean carefully. You don’t want another accident, do you?’
‘What’s the matter with her, Aaron?’ Bridget asked, staring anxiously at him as he walked the calf in a circle, then knelt down and ran his hands up and down her hind legs.
Ellen stood at the edge of the stall and watched him.
‘She’s certainly lame, and she’s got a lot of small swellings on her hocks,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll wager she’s got ’em from lying on the hard floor, or possibly from fallin’ down. She slips quite easily, I seen. You say Daisy’s bin feedin’ all right?’
‘I’m sure she has or I’d have noticed.’
He ran his hand across the calf’s stomach.
‘She’s not gaunt and her stomach doesn’t bounce when she walks in the way that a sick cow’s stomach bounces. Her head and ears aren’t drooping, and she seems to be feedin’ all right, so I reckon the swellings aren’t a sign of illness.’