by Linda Ford
He’d mostly gotten over his own loss, though there were times when missing his mother seemed like having a pile of hay lodged in his stomach. It just wouldn’t go away. Now he had the fresh pain of losing Harris. And the dreadful specter of his father’s possible death.
But the day had been pleasant. Seeing Sally’s smile, playing with Robbie, watching Carol light up when he sang a cowboy song. As he hit the back step of Grandmama’s house, his happiness dissolved into reality. He flung the door open. “How is Pa?”
“Same, my boy. I gave him more medicine an hour ago. He’s been resting since then.” She turned from arranging slices of yeasty-smelling bread on a platter. “I heard you singing as you crossed the yard.” Her smile was gentle. Not at all reproving.
But Linc felt as if he stood before ten pointing fingers. How callous to be happy with his brother buried in the mountains and his father likely dying a slow, painful death. Yet for a few hours this afternoon he’d shoved the knowledge to the back of his brain and enjoyed himself. Yes, he’d had fun.
He didn’t realize he smiled so openly until his grandmother straightened. “What have you been up to, Lincoln McCoy?”
He sobered so quickly his lips almost knotted. “Grandmama, I was working all afternoon.” Playing with Robbie and Sally most surely qualified as work. He was amusing the boss’s son, after all. “Did you know the Finleys have a tiny grove of crab apple trees? I pruned them. Hopefully they will become stronger and more productive now. And I turned over the garden soil.”
Grandmama sniffed. “Those trees have been there longer than the Finleys.” She studied him a full thirty seconds. “First time I ever saw someone so pleased about a little yard work.”
His sigh was long and purposely exaggerated. “Would you feel better if I dragged through the door, my chin bobbing on the floor and moaned and groaned about how hard life is?”
Her sigh was equally long and exaggerated. “Of course not.”
He started to smile, but she held up a warning hand.
“But I’d feel a lot better if you told me Sally Morgan was away for the afternoon.”
He narrowed his eyes, vowing he would not let her guess how glad he was that she wasn’t gone. “Now why would that make any difference to you?”
She matched his narrowed eyes. Not for the first time in his life he realized how alike they were in their gestures, and often in their speech. “Because I fear it means a lot to you.”
He wanted to protest. Say it didn’t make a speck of difference. Assure her he never once looked at Sally. Never even noticed her. But he couldn’t lie. If he tried, she would know immediately. The trouble with two people having the same mannerisms was she would see his attempt at lying as clearly as if she had lied. Instead he shifted directions. “Didn’t you say she was unofficially promised to Abe Finley? Practically engaged to be married.” He hoped his silent emphasis on unofficially and practically didn’t come across in his words.
“I said it. Did you hear?”
“I must have, since I repeated it to you.”
Grandmama took three steps toward him, stopped with her very sturdy shoes toe-to-toe with his dusty cowboy boots. “I mean, did you hear it here?” She tapped his forehead. “Or is it stuck somewhere between there?” She touched his right ear. “And here?” She flicked his left ear.
“Ow.” He jerked away and grabbed at his ear, pretending a great injury. “Why’d you do that?”
“You don’t need to think you’re too big for me to handle, young man. If you don’t behave yourself I’ll hear, and if I hear, I’ll deal with you.”
“Ho, ho.” He bounced away a few feet. “You might find it hard to put me over your knee and smack my bottom.”
“Your size doesn’t intimidate me.”
He stalked right up to her and leaned over to meet her eyes. Never once did she falter. Not that he expected her to, any more than he expected she would consider trying to carry out some form of corporal punishment. “I’m a big boy now. Maybe you should be afraid of me.” To prove his point, he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the floor.
She squealed. “Put me down, you naughty boy.”
He spun around the room, accompanied by her choked laughter. “Not until you tell me what a good boy I am.”
“Never.”
He swung around the room again.
“Put me down. I’m getting dizzy.”
“Am I the best boy in the world?”
“You’re the best grandson this old woman will ever have.”
“Good enough for me.” He set her down and steadied her as she regained her balance. “Hey, wait a minute. I’m your only grandson.”
She chuckled and gave him a fond look, liberally laced with teasing. “Now do you want supper first or you want to check on your father first?”
He laughed. “Still good enough for me.” He glanced toward the bedroom. “I’ll check on Pa first.”
“Good idea. Call me if you need anything.”
He headed for the doorway and paused before he stepped into the room. It always shocked him to see Pa like this—all busted up, his color almost as bad as Harris’s had been.
He scrubbed his hands over his eyes and pushed away his morbid thoughts. To neutralize them, he allowed one mental picture of Sally. He had many to choose from—her laughing as they escaped Robbie’s kidnapping, her concern when he faked a mortal injury, her anger when he almost fell from the tree, her shyness over coffee, the way she watched him out the kitchen window, all the time pretending she wasn’t.
He chose the way she shied away from him at the table. If he needed any further proof she was aware of him, that was it.
He smiled, let the thought smooth his tension. Yes, he understood she and Abe were meant to be, but he promised himself he would deal with reality after he was through caring for his father. He stepped into the room. “Pa?”
His father stirred, managed to drag one eyelid open. “Linc. Where am I?”
Doc had warned Linc that Pa’s mind would become more and more confused. “We’re in Golden Prairie, at Grandmama’s house.”
“Harris is dead, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, Pa. We buried him back at Coal Camp.”
“He had a nice putting away?”
“Best possible. All the miners came out. They even shut the mine down for the funeral. There were lots of flowers. Harris’s friend, Sam, sang ‘Amazing Grace.’ It was very nice.” He would never hear the song again without choking up with sorrow.
“Good.” Pa groaned again. “I’m in terrible pain.” His words were tight.
Linc poured out a spoonful of the medicine and held it to his pa’s lips, then pulled a wooden chair close to the bed and sat by his father, talking softly, his voice providing comfort until the medicine took effect.
He wet the facecloth in the basin of water and wiped his face gently. “Pa, I wish I could make you feel better.”
“Me, too.” His father’s voice cracked.
“You want a drink?”
“You got anything stronger than water?”
Linc’s lopsided grin quivered. “Coffee?”
Pa snorted. At least, he attempted to. “Ain’t what I meant.”
“You know Grandmama would sooner swallow tacks than have the devil’s drink in her house.”
“I sort of recall.” Pa’s voice faded. Talking consumed all the energy he could muster.
Linc held a cup of water to his lips and supported his head as he drank.
Pa fell back, exhausted. He would sleep until the medicine wore off, then Linc would be there to give him more.
But oh, it hurt to see his powerful, stubborn Pa like this.
Again, he found solace in picturing Sally. This time he chose the mental picture of her planting the garden. How she straightened and met his gaze across the yard. Even that far away, he enjoyed the way her eyes watched him. He couldn’t see the color across the distance, but he didn’t need to. He supposed officially
they were hazel, which seemed a flat word when describing her eyes. Golden brown with flecks of green. He’d been fascinated to watch the color shift from almost green to gold when she turned toward the light. It had been all he could do not to stare.
His mind smoothed as he let his thoughts drift along the pleasant trail. Pa moaned and Linc sighed. Try as he might, he could not ignore his father’s plight. He wished there was some way to help him. All he could do was pray. Not only for God to ease his pain, but also for his father to realize eternity waited—and he needed to choose where to spend it.
He touched his father’s arm. “I’ll be back later.” He returned to the kitchen where Grandmama waited to serve supper.
She sighed. “I wish I could spare you this. Spare both of you.”
His face must have revealed his pain. He made no attempt to disguise it. “I wish it, too.” He rubbed his eyes, suddenly so weary he could think of nothing he’d rather do than sleep for the next three days.
“Sit and eat.”
Food held no appeal, but his grandmother had spent the afternoon cooking. The least he could do was show some appreciation. He waited for her to sit across from him and reached for her hands before he bowed and said grace.
Soon enough he discovered he could eat heartily, even though he ached inside. His energy returned with eating. He dried dishes for Grandmama then returned to the bedroom. Already Pa was growing restless as the pain medication wore off. He reckoned it was safe to give another dose and waited for the medicine to ease Pa’s discomfort.
Pa began to breathe easier as the medicine did its work.
Linc rose, planning to slip away and let his father rest.
“Don’t go,” Pa gasped.
Linc sat back, his legs rubbery. Was this the last breath his father would draw?
“It gets mighty lonely in here.” Pa’s voice was reedy.
“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
Pa opened his eyes long enough to give Linc a grateful look.
Glad he could do something that earned Pa’s approval, Linc eased himself into a more comfortable position.
“I miss your ma,” Pa whispered.
“Me, too.”
“She used to read to me.”
“I remember.” Pa could write his name, decipher enough to buy something in the store, but not much else. “Do you want me to read to you?”
Pa’s eyes flew open, filled with a combination of pain and hope. “It might give me something else to set my thoughts on.”
Linc gained his feet.
“Not the Bible.”
“Okay, Pa.” He didn’t bother to keep the disappointment from his voice. In the front room stood a huge cupboard, the lower shelves crammed with books. He searched the titles. Pilgrim’s Progress. Perfect. He pulled it out, returned to the bedroom and began reading. “‘As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain place where was a den, and laid me down in that place to sleep; and as I slept, I dreamed a dream.’”
Pa made no protest, though the message was almost as clear and pointed as any scripture. Indeed, he lay quietly, breathing slowly.
Linc paused, wondering if he’d fallen asleep.
“Continue,” Pa said.
Linc read for an hour until his voice was hoarse. Quietly he closed the book, waiting to see if Pa would protest.
His father cracked one eye open. “More tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
He remained until he was certain Pa slept, then tiptoed away, his insides knotted in dreadful anticipation of the fact that his father wasn’t getting better.
Only one thing eased his mind—remembering Sally. According to what she said, she only stayed long enough to serve supper to the family. She’d be gone by now. Too bad. He might have slipped over to speak to her. The walls of the house seemed to press in on him. “Grandmama.” She sat at the kitchen table doing some fancy handiwork. “I’m going for a ride.”
“I expect you need to get away for a bit.”
He paused at the outside door. “Where did you say the Morgans live?”
Grandmama dropped her handiwork and gave Linc a look fit to bleach his skin pure white. “I didn’t say. And best you stay away.”
Linc grew still. He barely breathed. “Even my own grandmother thinks I’m not fit to associate with decent people,” he muttered.
Grandmama had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—” She shook her head, unable to finish what she started to say.
“Just what? She shouldn’t associate with the likes of me? Shouldn’t even be seen in my company?” He spun on his heel. “I’ll try and keep it in mind.” He strode toward the barn as if chased by an angry posse and quickly saddled Big Red. He rode from town at a moderate pace, but once he reached the open road, he urged Red into a full-blown gallop.
He rode until the wind cleared his brain, then turned and rode back at a more leisurely pace. Rather than go directly back home, he rode up and down familiar streets. He’d been back in Golden Prairie for days, but his movements had been restricted to his grandmother’s place, the Finley place and a few businesses in the heart of town as he looked for work. Now he was curious. How much had the place changed in the years he’d been away?
He passed the redbrick two-story school. The same dusty yard. The same worn playground equipment—a slide, a pole swing and two teeter-totters. The same flagpole directly in front of the main doors with parallel sidewalks where girls lined up on one, boys on the other to march inside. His time in this building had been mostly pleasant.
With a flick of the reins, he moved on. Houses on either side of the street had faded, their yards threadbare. Everywhere he saw evidence of the drought. He recalled the names of people who had lived in the houses. The Stewarts—a middle-age childless couple. The pair sat on matching rockers on the veranda, watching him with all the interest of a small town resident seeing a stranger in the midst of their lives.
Next to them, the Rowans lived with a houseful of young ones who would be mostly grown by now. Charity Rowan had been in his grade. She’d always been friendly. Wonder what became of her? He paused before the house and considered going to the door to ask after her and the other children.
Mr. Stewart rocked to his feet and moved to the top step. “Hey, there.”
Linc turned toward the man. Although the greeting wasn’t unusual, the tone of the voice was far from friendly, and Linc’s shoulders tensed. “Hello, Mr. Stewart. How are you?” Far as he knew there was no reason for rancor between him and this man.
“You’re that McCoy boy, aren’t you?”
“I’m Lincoln McCoy.” He didn’t normally give his full name, but somehow he wanted the man to know he bore a noble name, though he doubted Mr. Stewart or anyone would think Abraham Lincoln in the same thought as Lincoln McCoy.
“Heard you lot were back in town.”
Linc half expected the man to spit. His wife sat behind him, her arms crossed firmly over her thin chest.
“Came to see my grandmother. Help her out a bit.”
“Likely help yourself to anything else you can get your hands on. No one has forgotten how Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels disappeared. Maybe they couldn’t find evidence, but none of us have ever believed you innocent.”
Linc tried to think how to answer. He had nothing to hide. No shame to disguise. He hoped coming back would prove his innocence to the townsfolk. But only if they gave him a chance.
His hopes had risen when Abe offered him a job. Linc was more than grateful after he’d spent the morning going from business to business and being flatly turned down. He knew it had more to do with his name than the depressed economic atmosphere. If he’d had any doubt, the clucking of tongues by a group of gossipy women in the store where he’d gone to ask for a job made it clear. That’s when Abe had stepped in, taken in the situation and said he needed a man for yard chores. Abe had given him a chance to prove himself.
&n
bsp; Not that Linc was foolish enough to believe Abe was anything more than an exception to what most people thought, but he owed the man for offering him a job. He directed his attention back to Mr. Stewart. “I have my eyes on nothing that isn’t my own.” Guilt stung him. Could he honestly say those words in regard to Sally? But that wasn’t what Mr. Stewart meant, any more than Linc did.
Knowing his interest in Sally ran against his gratitude to Abe sent a twist of guilt through Linc’s thoughts.
Mr. Stewart made a noise ripe with disbelief.
Stung by the man’s unwillingness to accept the facts, Linc didn’t bother to moderate his words. “Seems to me a man who refuses to abide by what a court of law decided—namely, that the McCoys are innocent—is as guilty of dishonoring the law as a man who steals.”
Mr. Stewart gave Linc a hard look. “You might have fooled the law, but you didn’t fool me.”
Linc kept his words low but let each one carry a weight of protest. “Sounds to me like you’ve appointed yourself judge and jury.” He wondered if the man had heard of Harris’s death and their father’s injuries. But it was unlikely such knowledge would influence the man’s attitude. He seemed pretty set on seeing the McCoys as undesirables.
“Just consider yourself warned. We’ll be watching you. Don’t think you can pull a repeat performance.” Mr. Stewart returned to his rocker, crossed his arms and glared, he and his wife a matched set of disapproval.
Linc studied them a full thirty seconds. His insides protested. He ached for a way to prove his family’s innocence. The McCoys were restless, sometimes aimless. His brother and father had chased after adventure and the next big chance. None of those things made them bad people. The theft of Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels had been conveniently laid on the McCoys. Likely someone passing through had seen an easy mark and lifted them. But no one ever considered that. Not with the McCoys handy.
But the harsh look on Mr. Stewart’s face and the equally forbidding one his wife wore informed Linc there was no point in further argument with this pair. He prayed they didn’t represent the attitude of the majority of Golden Prairie residents.