The Brides of Evergreen Box Set

by Heather Blanton

  Angela took a slow sip of the coffee and closed her eyes to savor it. And this peaceful moment. Once her father was up, everything would change.

  “That husband of yours. Mighty impressive the way he stood up to your father. And he did it so… gently.”

  Martha always had been able to sense Angela’s thoughts. She was glad to see things hadn’t changed. “I don’t know who was more surprised. Father or me.”

  “You didn’t think Joel would have left you just because your pa tried to scare him?”

  Angela had no way to express her confusion over the whole matter. How had things spiraled so wildly out of control? “No, I think the only thing Joel is afraid of is being dishonorable.”

  “An officer and a gentleman?”

  “To the core.”

  Martha drummed her fingers, thinking. “He looks at you with such longing… almost like he can’t have you. Strange.”

  Angela’s cheeks burned, but she couldn’t think of any reply that wouldn’t make this hole deeper. Instead, she tried to change the subject. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Martha got the hint and stood. “Nothin’ special unless you’ve got requests. Eggs, bacon, grits.”

  “Pancakes?” The craving for a warm, sweet cake with maple syrup and strawberries hit Angela like a wave from the ocean. “Yes, pancakes. I’ll help you.”

  “No, you won’t. Take a few days before you get back into the routine around here. You’ve got a husband—”

  “Martha!” General Fairbanks bellowed from the dining room. “Consarn it, get breakfast out here. Start with coffee. I’m burning daylight.”

  “Here, I’ll do it.” Angela jumped to her feet and hurried to the stove. “You get those pancakes started.”

  She remembered her father liked his coffee with a splash of cream and a pinch of sugar. She hardly saw the point then for the ingredients, but poured his coffee, made it the way he liked it, and walked it out to him.

  The natural light creeping in from the windows and the weak lamp burning overhead, gave the general a sinister appearance. The odd lighting deepened the lines of his bony face, painting him in a haunting, arguably evil visage. Sitting at the head of the long table, scouring a newspaper, he scowled at the stories.

  Angela refused to be intimidated and raised her chin. “Good morning, Father.”

  His mask did not change. Slowly, he folded the newspaper closed and looked up. “Sit down, daughter.”

  She set the cup before him and did as he asked. Steam swirling in front of him, he wrapped his fingers around the mug, but did not pick it up. “You owe me an apology.”

  “Yes, I do. And I should beg your forgiveness for running away.”

  “But…?”

  She shook her head. “No buts.” She started to slide her hand over to his but stopped herself. “I am sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you, and I do pray you’ll forgive me. One day.”

  “Like your mother. Headstrong and willful.”

  Groaning, Angela slid back from him. “Please let’s not dredge that up.” How many times had she been tempted to blame her father for her mother’s rumored unfaithfulness? What woman could live with a tyrant like him? The accusations served only to deepen the rift. “She’s gone. It’s been nearly two years now. Let her rest in peace.”

  “Only proves how marrying is the single biggest decision a body can make. You’ve made a mistake with him.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “This is a ranch, girl, not an old soldiers’ home. Not a hospital. There’s nothing he can do here. He’ll be a burden for you and for me and I’m not taking on your half-husband.”

  “Is that what you’re afraid of? That you’ll have to take care of someone other than yourself?” She hadn’t meant for the words to sound so sharp, but her father’s jaw clenched.

  “Angela, would you mind letting your father and me talk for a moment?”

  Joel’s voice from the entrance startled both her and the general. She turned and searched his face, desperately trying to communicate the question, are you sure?

  He nodded and approached the table. “It’ll be fine. I don’t think we’ll come to blows.”

  Her father’s eyebrow jerked upward, but he didn’t argue.

  “All right.” She rose from the table. “If you’ll both excuse me.”

  Joel waited for Angela’s footsteps to fade, then joined the general at the table, pointedly sitting at his right hand. “I understand, sir, you’re dealing with a lot. She’s been gone a year. You returned her letters unread,” the general’s lips thinned at the subtle barb, “so you had no idea whether she was alive or dead—”

  “Apparently she was very much alive.”

  “Yes, sir. She was. I’m glad I met her. I’m glad she’s come home to you—”

  “And she can stay.” The old man’s eyes burned into Joel, gray and cold. “But I told you last night you’re leaving. You are not welcome here. There will be no invalids on this ranch. You pull your own weight or get off my property.”

  Shame heated Joel’s cheeks, but he didn’t look away from Fairbanks’s challenging gaze. He was an invalid. He might not be able to pull his own weight. Then how could he take care of Angela?

  I don’t have to. All I have to do is leave.

  And let this tyrant lord Angela’s mistake over her the rest of her life.

  Joel felt for her. Too much so.

  Someone cleared his throat. He and the general followed the sound to Henry Long Feather standing in the kitchen doorway. “Excuse me, General. Should I come back?”

  “No, we’re done here.”

  Joel’s part had been played. His time to exit the stage had come. Working his jaw back and forth, he dallied, but there was nothing he could say to this man to change things between them. He rose and left the room without a word.

  12

  Joel had to have one last look at the general’s remuda before he left. He might never see such beautiful horses again. Or maybe he was dallying, drumming up a reason to stay.

  Surprised by a dusting of snow, he hobbled across the front porch and out to the corral where two geldings, the piebald Tonka and Long Feather’s black-and-white pinto Wind Rider, stood bridled but without saddles, waiting. Out in the main pasture, a dozen or so horses, mostly sorrels, grazed sleepily, their coats glistening with the light snow. Among them, two yearlings played a game of tag in the crisp morning.

  I don’t want to go, Lord. Angela—she’s too vulnerable to be left here alone, but I’ve certainly stepped into something that is none of my business. I have to leave, but I do wish I could ride one last time…

  “You are not an invalid.” Long Feather walked up beside Joel and rested his arms on the top rail. “And you can pull your own weight. But you must do more. More than a man with two legs.”

  “I’m not doing anything else. He’s right. I should leave.”

  “I did not figure you, soldier boy, for a coward.” Faint wrinkles around the edges of the Indian’s eyes deepened, as if he might be thinking about smiling. “I thought if a man was a great Indian fighter, surely he could take on one of his own white men.”

  This situation wasn’t funny, though. “There’s more going on here than just a bellowing old man trying to stay in control.” There’s Angela.

  “If she stays and you go, he will break her this time.”

  “This time?”

  “Rumor is Mrs. Fairbanks cheated on the general. Then she left him. Not long after, she got a fever and died. He has been trying to break Angela’s spirit ever since. I do not know why.”

  “But I bet you have a suspicion.”

  Long Feather chewed on the comment for a moment. “Crush her spirit and she will lose the will to leave him.”

  “But she’ll hate him.”

  “But she will be under control.” Long Feather turned to him. “You give her strength.”

  Joel let out a long, agonized sigh and laid his forehead on the fence. “I want to
help her but…” Entrenching this lie, giving it substance, didn’t seem the way to do it.

  “There is a rodeo December first. All of the ranches in a hundred miles come here to compete. You could win at least one of the events.”

  Joel raised up and cut his eyes at Long Feather. “Forget for the moment why that’s not even a possibility, why would it matter?”

  “Fairbanks has a standing offer to the winners for a job anytime they want or need it.”

  “So I could stay, and he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on?”

  For a moment, Long Feather didn’t react, but when Joel’s lips twitched, the Indian threw his head back and cut loose with a rumbling, hearty laugh. “Yes, soldier boy,” he slapped Joel on the shoulder, “Exactly.”

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You won something.”

  Long Feather’s mouth hitched up in the corner. “Yes.”

  “What event?”

  “Two events. The Chief’s Race and team roping.”

  “I know what team roping is, but what is the other?”

  “A half-mile race bareback. And because I train fast horses, the general has won the Chief’s Race six years in a row now.”

  “I don’t know,” Joel worked his jaw back-and-forth and studied the horses out in the pasture. “A rodeo? And it’s almost a month out? I wasn’t planning on st—” He bit that off. “I mean, I have some business over in Deadwood. I can’t wait that long to tend to it.”

  “It can wait. She can’t.”

  Long Feather had a way of cutting to the heart of a matter and did so with uncanny precision. Joel swiped a hand over his mouth. “Maybe a month wouldn’t make that much difference… just what event do you think half a cavalry officer is suited for in a rodeo?”

  “I am thinking team roping. I have seen you throw a rope. Your balance will find its way back to you with work. And I will be your partner.”

  That had to give them a chance, Joel thought.

  “But, you should know this: Fairbanks is a hard man. A king who—it is said—will kill to get what he wants or keep what he has.”

  “You don’t mean literally.”

  “I suspect much truth in the rumors that surround him. Never take your enemy for granted.” Long Feather slapped the rail. “Enough talk of storm clouds. Today you will practice by doing real work.”

  Joel’s second-thoughts reared up like an angry stallion. “I should leave, Long Feather. I’ve got no business here.”

  Long Feather dropped his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Today we work. Decide where you belong later.” He shoved Joel toward the corral gate.

  13

  Laurie settled at the kitchen table for the day’s lunch break and smiled gratefully as Martha poured a cup of coffee for her. “Thank you. The stove didn’t quite warm the schoolhouse this morning. I’ve been chilled.”

  “Schoolhouse,” she scoffed, returning the pot to the stove. “That man. I could choke him. A tack room ain’t a schoolhouse.”

  Laurie wouldn’t disagree, but she also wouldn’t challenge the general. He had made it clear to her he was allowing her to teach on the reservation when he preferred she stay on the ranch. Yet, she loved those cherubic brown faces of the Cheyenne children every bit as much as the pale, freckled white children of the ranch hands. She did not want to endanger the balance she’d struck between the two worlds. Nothing could endanger her mission to teach the children and share the Gospel with them.

  She took a sip from the cup and savored its warmth, flavor, and aroma. “It’s all right. I keep the children busy. They don’t seem to notice as much as I do.”

  Martha slipped a slice of ham and a biscuit in front of Laurie then sat down opposite her. The old woman’s hazel eyes glittered with curiosity. “Where do the Cheyenne children learn?”

  “Oh, weather permitting, we gather beneath a cottonwood. Other times, I use the tipi the tribe gave me.”

  “Good Lord, do you mean to say you actually live in one of those things?”

  Laurie fought not to drop her gaze. “It’s not awful.” She often received this startled reaction from white women. She couldn’t understand why. The first pioneers had lived in dirt-roofed hovels, wagons, and primitive one-room cabins while settling the West. “Why do you think it’s so bad?”

  Martha raised her eyebrows as if the answer was evident. “Indians are…well, you know, you work with them. They’re dirty.”

  Unkind remarks like this hurt Laurie every bit as much as they would have hurt the children if they’d heard them. “They’re not dirty,” she said softly, recalling her words to Long Feather: too many white men have failed to reflect Jesus as we ought. “They’re just different from us.” As different as dogs and cats.

  “You are such a dear.” Martha reached over and patted Laurie’s arm. “To love them the way you do. God bless you.”

  “It’s not hard.” It’s not as if they’re wild cats or skunks or something of the like. “Not at all. Just see them as children of God.”

  “Oh, my, that’s where I fail, I suppose. I should see past the color of their skin and the crude way they live. But the differences keep getting in my way. I’m sorry if that sounds awful.”

  “No.” Saddened by this woman’s prejudice, Laurie lowered her head. “No, I’ve heard it before.”

  “My first husband Lemuel was killed by Indians in ’55. It’s a hard thing to get past. And most folks out here have a story like that.”

  A somber silence settled between them as Laurie mulled over the deep-set hatred. Atrocities had been committed by both sides. “You seem to accept Long Feather.”

  Martha chewed on her lip, her brows colliding. “I reckon that’s ‘cause he doesn’t seem so Indian here. You know, no tipi, no drum-banging. He’s not all decked out in deerskin. He’s almost white.”

  Almost. The word tripped Laurie. “You’d never really see him as a white man, though, would you? No matter how many white customs he adopted.”

  “Well, when it comes down to it, you can’t change who or what you are.”

  He’s a child of God, Laurie wanted to yell. But until Christ lived in a person’s heart, forgiveness and looking at life with God’s perspective shouldn’t be expected. “I wish we could all get past seeing someone as white or Indian. And just see brothers and sisters.”

  Oh, that pitying look Laurie was so used to tainted Martha’s expression. The housekeeper tilted her head, reached out and gently squeezed Laurie’s hand. “If more Christians were like you, Miss Laurie, maybe there would be a chance. There are still too many hard feelings, though. You be mindful of that.”

  The woman stood up as if to end the conversation, but Laurie held on to her hand. “Forgive me if I’m dense, but what do you mean?”

  Martha cupped her hand and spoke gently, as if she was explaining the death of a grandparent to a small child. “On both sides, there are folks who think you’re favoring one group or the other. And that makes ’em angry. You just be careful and mindful.”

  14

  Every part that had parts ached on Joel by noon. He would have kept on traveling down the road if he’d seen what Long Feather had in store. The day of riding bareback and moving cattle had been a trial by fire.

  Going without a saddle wasn’t something Joel had done since about the age of sixteen. His thighs were exhausted from squeezing. He’d tossed a lariat or waved it at so many heads of cattle he didn’t think he’d be able to lift his arm in the morning. His back ached. His leg thrummed.

  And he wasn’t done yet.

  The dusting of snow had melted away but hadn’t been enough to wet the ground good. The slow-moving, meandering herd of Herefords kicked up one unholy dust cloud. Sick of riding into it, Joel readjusted the bandana sitting on his face and slapped his rope… again.

  Long Feather came out of the cloud and reined up beside him, pulling down his bandana to talk. “How is your seat?”

  “Sore.”

  “I mean your balance?”r />
  Joel slapped the rope again and nodded, surprisingly impressed by what he’d learned today. “I can feel everything. It’s not just motion. I can connect muscle movement with actions.”

  “Yes. I see it already. You are more balanced, more steady.”

  “Maybe I am, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to sit down for a week. In the United States cavalry, we are fond of our saddles.”

  Long Feather grunted. “Soldiers rely on them too much. If the white man had come to this land with only horses and no guns, you would be speaking Cheyenne right now.”

  Joel saw the smile spreading on Long Feather’s face and joined in the joke. “But we did come with guns.” Holding in a laugh, he steered Tonka off to gather in a stray calf.

  Long Feather muttered something, but Joel didn’t catch it. The good humor evaporated, though, as riders came pounding up to them, breaking through the dust cloud like avenging ghosts. Almost instantly, Joel recognized the lead rider. “The general.”

  “Yep.” Long Feather didn’t sound thrilled to see his boss.

  The old man, scowling like he was plotting the death of a marauding coyote, rode up leading four other cowboys. The group reined to a stop in front of Joel and Long Feather, blocking their path.

  “I told you to get off my property.”

  Before Joel could respond to the general’s challenge, Long Feather nudged his horse forward. “I told him to stay. I want his help.”

  The old man’s glare shot to the Indian. “Since when are you ramroddin’ this outfit?”

  “I train your horses and hire the men I think are the best riders.” He jerked his chin at Joel. “He suits.”

  “Does he, now?” General Fairbanks looked Joel over, top to bottom, and back again, not bothering to hide a sneer. “Fine. Let him cut me out six head.” Long Feather started to move, ushering Joel with a wave, but the general protested. “No. Just him.”

  Joel and Long Feather exchanged tense glances, but Joel gave a curt nod. What choice did he have?