Heartsong

by Lynn Winchester

  A knock on the door made her turn, a sinking inkling in her heart made her sigh. Bernie opened the door and swooped in, coming to land on the end of Rhetta’s bed.

  “I want to get out of this house and, since I can’t go into town, I asked Aunt Melda if her cook could make up a picnic for us,” Bernie announced, as if her plans were set in granite.

  Rhetta, annoyed that her sister hadn’t even thought to ask her what she wanted, planted her hands on her hips and glared across the room at Bernie.

  “Oh? Well, what if I don’t want to go on a picnic? I thought I’d have lunch with JoJo and the kids.” She really should go and visit with them; she’d promised JoJo she would.

  Bernie sniffed, turning her nose up at Rhetta’s idea. “While I love JoJo, I do, what could you possibly have to talk about with her? You have nothing in common save Timothy. She has children, you don’t. She’s married, you’re not. She has a nice house, a big plot of land—”

  Rhetta held up her hand to stop her sister’s obvious dig at her lack of anything worth having. “I get it, Bernie. I’m not rich or happily married or raising a passel of blessings…but I will…one day.” And there it was…her deepest desire laid open for her sister. The one person she should have been able to share this with, was the one she most feared would laugh about it.

  Bernie arched a brow and tapped a thin finger against her cheek. “So, you want to get married and have your own little Rhettas and Bernies? I can see that, Henrietta…”

  Rhetta grimaced at her sister’s use of the more masculine name, a name too much like the name of the doctors who helped birth her.

  “But, Henrietta,” her sister said that name again. With emphasis. “How will you ever attract a man to marry if you continue to dress like the little rag girl from that fairytale Mother read us all those years ago?”

  That stung. But Rhetta had grown used to such things, so she’d learned quite quickly how to stem the flow of burning tears.

  “Maybe I don’t want to marry a man who cares only for what I wear or how I look. Maybe I want a man who looks at me with intensity, holds me with gentleness, and is honorable, kind, and downright handsome as sin.” The steady thump-thump of her heart sped up as she realized she’d just described Mac Solomon. A man she had no business thinking about at all, let alone thinking of him as her husband.

  Bernie laughed humorlessly. “If you can find a man like that, I’ll eat my best hat.”

  Rising from the end of the bed, Bernie gave a dramatic sigh and walked toward the door she’d left open when flying in. “I’ll meet you at the stable in an hour. It’ll be nice to get outside, see the scenery, have a coze with my only sister…” Bernie lifted a shoulder playfully then whirled away, leaving Rhetta to wonder what part of “no” her sister didn’t understand.

  Rhetta dismounted and tied Ranger to an oak branch. He was a beautiful horse; thirteen hands tall, chestnut flesh, black mane and tail, and a proud bearing. She was honored to call him hers, and he seemed just as happy about being up here as she was. After asking Timothy where the best view of the property would be, Rhetta and Bernie had followed a well-trodden trail up a hill to the east of the house, nearest the mines her uncle had bought—and then lost to her aunt when he was arrested for claim jumping, theft, and for attempting to murder her brother, Timmy, and his wife, Johanna.

  Bernie pulled her horse, Belle, to a halt beside Rhetta, then slid from her sidesaddle onto a perfectly positioned tree stump. Tying her reins to a different oak branch, Bernie patted her roan on the hide quarters, which made the smaller horse swish her blonde tail.

  “Isn’t she a beautiful horse? I think Timmy picked perfectly,” Bernie gushed, turning to glance at Ranger. “I think your horse is perfect for you, Rhetta. He is your favorite color, brown, and he seems to like the outdoors as much as you do.”

  Rhetta offered an ironic laugh. “Ha, Bernie. Funny. Can we get this picnic started so you can get bored, complain about the bugs and sun, and we can leave?”

  Bernie thrust her chin into the air and narrowed her gaze at Rhetta. “Well, aren’t you sour? What happened to you being quiet and withdrawn?”

  Fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Rhetta grabbed the sack containing their picnic lunch from behind her saddle. Inside the sack was two cold beef sandwiches, apples, cheese, and the blanket on which they could sit.

  Sucking in a breath to steel her nerves, Rhetta met her sister’s gaze. “What happened is that I’ve grown up. I’m no longer that little girl who sits in the corner and lets you get all the attention. I’ve come into my own, and I think I deserve a little respect from you, Bernadette,” she said, her voice stronger and more level than she’d expected it to be.

  Bernie had the grace to look guilty, but it was gone in a flash. “You may have grown up, Rhetta, but you aren’t a woman. Not really. You may have the curves and the intelligence—Lord knows you throw your smarts around like a sack of horseshoes—but you don’t look or act like a woman should.”

  That smarted. “Oh? So how does a real woman look or act?” she asked with feigned disinterest as she spread out the large, red, wool blanket and placed the sack of food on it. This back and forth with her sister was getting old, but Rhetta knew this had to be said, Bernie had to have her say so Rhetta could feel like she’d tried with her sister. It didn’t matter what Bernie said, Rhetta could never be that perfect twin her sister wanted; the doll, perfectly made-up, perfectly presentable. Rhetta sat on the blanket and Bernie came to sit beside her, slowly gathering her skirts and lowering herself to the ground with a grace unnecessary out in the middle of nowhere.

  Bernie waited for Rhetta to start pulling the food from the sack before she finally answered. “A woman is finely dressed, polite, thoughtful, considers her future, and encourages the attentions of eligible suitors.”

  Rhetta snorted. That list was decidedly short and shallow. When she thought about what a woman was, it had nothing to do with how she dressed or who she encouraged, and everything to do with her birth, her choices, her heart, and her sacrifices. Her own mother, Sally Hanlon, didn’t always wear fancy dresses, but she’d sacrificed for years so her children, and then her nieces, would have all the attention and things they needed. She loved deeply, carried herself with pride, and didn’t care over much if her hems got a little muddy.

  That was the kind of woman Rhetta wanted to be.

  “Bernie, according to that list, there aren’t many women in our acquaintance. Our cousins, Phyllis and Brigette, certainly dress finely, but they aren’t polite or thoughtful. What about Hannah or Bethany? Neither of them are husband hunting; does that mean they are less of a woman than you are?”

  Bernie’s brows furrowed and her lips drew together into a pinched line. After a few moments of thought, Bernie answered, “I suppose my list could use work, but I am right about you needing to dress better and think about getting married. You’re twenty, our parents can’t carry you forever.” Taking a bite of her apple, Bernie turned away to look out over the ranch, completely missing the pained look on Rhetta’s face.

  They ate in silence for a while, then Bernie broke the quiet with: “I think I just might try my hand at landing that foreman.”

  Shock and fear roared through Rhetta. Bernie was talking about Mac, and the realization of her sister’s intentions sank into her belly like lead. She swallowed and laid aside her half-eaten apple, suddenly sick to her stomach. “What do you mean?” she asked, forcing a flippancy she didn’t feel.

  Bernie met Rhetta’s gaze with a smirk on her face. “I mean that he’s handsome, probably makes good money working for Timmy, and he is certainly built like a man should be built. Those shoulders…that chest…” Bernie cooed, sighing. “I think I might test the waters…see if I can’t get myself engaged by the end of our visit.”

  Chapter 6

  “No!” Rhetta blurted, startling Bernie. Her sister’s eyes widened, her chin dropped into her chest, and her hand flew to her mouth. She’d shocked her sis
ter, but she couldn’t care; the idea of Bernie married to Mac made everything in Rhetta twist into a knot. She tried to tell herself that she’d objected because Bernie wouldn’t be happy with a man like Mac; a man focused on his job, a man who didn’t seem the pampering type. But if she were being honest…she couldn’t stomach the idea of Bernie having Mac, not when Mac had taken something from Rhetta…a piece of herself she couldn’t quite name.

  Bernie’s shocked face darkened and hardened into an angry glare. “Why ever not, Sister?” Bernie asked, her gaze peering through Rhetta’s skin, right down to her bones. Rhetta fought off a blush, but lost. Bernie chuckled. “Don’t tell me that you like Timmy’s foreman…”

  Rhetta crossed her arms and huffed. “No. I didn’t say that. I just don’t think you and he would suit, that’s all.”

  It was Bernie’s turn to cross her arms and huff. “You’re wrong. He’s handsome, I’m beautiful. He’s a little rough around the edges, and I’ve always wanted to shape a man into the perfect husband. And he’s got something about him…” Bernie trailed off, her gaze drifting faraway, the ghost of a satisfied smile on her face.

  “What about him?” Curiosity killed the cat, and Rhetta wasn’t too far behind.

  Bernie snapped out of her dreamy look and met Rhetta’s eyes. “I guess you could say there’s an…intensity about him that makes him…mysterious. Almost like he pulls you in.”

  Rhetta knew exactly what Bernie was talking about. It was that pull that brought Rhetta to her bedroom window to watch Mac working the horses. It was that pull that made her balk in the barn when they were alone. She should have stayed, should have spoken with Mac, learned more about him, like why was he in the woods. But the intensity, the compelling presence of him, terrified her.

  “It makes him all the more attractive. And, since you say you aren’t interested in him, I will try my hand at winning him for myself.” Bernie smiled coyly, then shrugged. “I could do worse.” That last bit fired Rhetta’s guts, and she didn’t stop to wonder why.

  “I think he could do a lot better,” Rhetta said, her voice sharp. Bernie recoiled, her face paling. Rhetta immediately felt sick about what she’d just uttered. Leaning forward, Rhetta put her hand out to touch her sister’s leg, to show her how terrible she felt.

  “Oh, Bernie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Bernie shot to her feet, slapping Rhetta’s hand away. “Of course, you didn’t! For all your smarts, you never think about me and how I feel.”

  That struck Rhetta like a sour note. “What in the blazes are you talking about?” she asked, rising to her feet to face her sister. “You’re the one who can’t seem to find a single thing about me you like. You’re the one always pushing me to dress better, act prissier—become more like you, as if I’m not good enough as I am.”

  Bernie tipped up her chin. “So, you think you can get Mac to choose you over me?”

  Why was her sister back on Mac? Why couldn’t she focus on someone else, anyone else? Anyone other than the man who had rooted himself into Rhetta’s thoughts, growing there like a towering oak, overshadowing everything else in her mind. Except her sister. “Why can’t you leave Mac alone? You don’t know, maybe he has a wife or a lady he’s wooing. You may be wasting your time on him. Leave him be.”

  Bernie smiled a mocking smile. “He’s not married, and there’s no lady…at least not yet,” Bernie cooed, sneering. “I saw the way he looked at me…”

  The sick in Rhetta’s stomach rose into her throat and she swallowed it down. Had she missed that? Had Mac really looked at Bernie with interest? It wouldn’t surprise her; Bernie had always been the prettier, more attractive twin. Rhetta was exactly as Bernie explained; a plain, brown mole. She couldn’t blame Mac for finding Bernie alluring, especially not when standing next to a mole.

  Trying to recover some pride, Rhetta bent and started packing up the leftover food, stuffing the blanket into the sack roughly. “Well, if you’re so determined to marry Mac, why don’t you go on, get back to him, I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”

  Bernie clicked her tongue and narrowed her eyes at Rhetta. “I think I will,” she said, her shoulders back, her chin up, her bearing haughty. She sidled around Rhetta, headed for Belle, and Rhetta straightened to carry the sack back to Ranger.

  Motion from the right stopped them both in their tracks, making them turn to look.

  Two men, dressed in dirty clothes, wearing tattered coats and hats, stepped into the clearing. One man stepped forward, pointing a gun at Bernie, and the other one followed suit, pointing a gun at Rhetta. Rhetta stopped breathing.

  “Well, what do we have here?” the man on the right asked. He was a little shorter than the other man, and his clothes were a little less tattered, but he was just a menacing.

  Bernie looked to Rhetta, her eyes large in her ghost white face. Rhetta knew Bernie was asking her what to do, begging her to think of a way to make things right, but Rhetta couldn’t make this right. The men had guns.

  “What do you want?” Rhetta asked, taking a step closer to her sister. “We have no money, but there is a little food in the bag.” Maybe they’d take it and go. Deep down, she knew she was fooling herself.

  The taller man grunted, sneering, showing his brown and black teeth—what was left of them. “What ya think, Brandt? Think we should take their food and git?”

  The man, Brandt, answered, “Oh, I think they have more to offer than that sack of leftover food. No, I think they have a lot to offer.” His piercing, ice-blue gaze seemed to tear away Rhetta’s bodice, violating her without touching her. Yet. Trembling, she gathered her courage and took another step toward Bernie, who was standing next to Belle.

  Get to Bernie, get on the horse, run as fast as we can. Get help. It sounded much easier in her head, but she knew the bullets in those guns were faster than she or her sister.

  “We having nothing else to offer you. Please…just let us go. We won’t make any trouble for you,” she pleaded, her voice shaking.

  The men looked at each other for a moment then snapped their attention back to Rhetta and Bernie before Rhetta could take another step.

  “No. I think we have somethin’ else in mind fer ya ladies,” the unnamed one drawled, his words sending prickles of terror up Rhetta’s back. “I think ya live at Wheeler Hills. I think ye’re related to that good-fer-nothin’, sidewinder, Thomas Wheeler. Ya have a slippery look about ya.” He narrowed his eyes at Bernie, and Rhetta sucked in a breath at the obvious insult.

  These men knew her uncle? What had her uncle done to them? She already knew her uncle was capable of murder, she wouldn’t put it past him to cheat these men. She didn’t know how to answer the man. These men obviously had an issue with her uncle, so telling them they were correct in their assumption that they were related to him would probably make things worse.

  “Yes,” Bernie said, immediately sealing her and Rhetta’s fate.

  The men sneered, cackling maliciously. “Good!” Brandt rushed to Bernie, grabbing her around the neck and pulling her into him. Bernie’s scream was cut short by the press of the gun barrel against her cheek.

  Rhetta, heart in her throat, lungs burning, wanted to scream, but the other man had come up behind her, and wrapped his free hand around her throat. She was in the same predicament as her sister; gun to her cheek, belly bottoming out…heart pounding.

  “What’s he, yer daddy? Yer uncle?” the man strangling Rhetta asked.

  “Uh-uh-kle,” she forced out, choking.

  “Uncle? Well, yer uncle owes us a piece of that mine of his. He never woulda known ‘bout it iffin it weren’t fer Cassius and I doin’ the dirty work to get the maps.”

  Her uncle had stolen from these men. Nope. Not a surprise.

  “What do you want from us?” Bernie was able to squeak out.

  Brandt shoved his nose into Bernie’s hair, taking a deep, disgusting whiff. “I can think of a few things I want from ya, little Miss Wheeler…” He took another lon
g whiff and Bernie cringed, drawing in on herself. “But, what we really want is our share of his lode. What we’re owed fer our services.”

  It came to her then; these men had no idea her uncle was rotting away in a prison cell out near Deer Lodge. They’d called Bernie, Miss Wheeler, so they couldn’t possibly know anything about Uncle Thomas’ family. That meant Uncle Thomas probably never intended to give these men what he owed, rather, he shared only enough information to get the men to work for him, but not enough for them to find him once he hightailed it.

  “Uncle Thomas is in prison. He can’t give you anything!” Bernie choked out, her face turning red in her frustration. “Let us go!” Her sister finally found her courage, but it was a bad time. If these men didn’t think they could get what they came for, they had no reason to keep Rhetta or Bernie alive.

  “Is that so?” Brandt drawled, mockingly. “Figured he’d end up in chains—the man doesn’t have an honest bone in his body.” Cassius sniggered at her back, and Rhetta just stopped herself from vomiting. “Well, iffin he can’t get us our money, seems that leaves ya to get it fer us.”

  “Let us go…we’ll get you the money and we’ll bring it back to you. Just don’t…don’t hurt us,” Rhetta offered, her body shaking with enough force to make the gun barrel against his cheek vibrate.

  Cassius pulled her closer, and Rhetta could smell the sour of his filthy body, his whiskey, and his clove cigarettes.