by Denise Dietz
Rising from his bed, Edward shifted his body into a wheelchair. He asked for his favorite hunting dog, Mercury, short for Mercurial, and trained the hound to heel beside the chair.
Edward shared Flo’s dislike for smelly gas automobiles. Just the same, he bought Jack’s old Bearcat and hired a chauffeur named Karl.
“You’ve never seen Cave of the Winds,” he said one day. “I’d like to see it again. Will you accompany me?”
“Of course,” she replied.
“Let’s take Mercury along. He can run for help if we get stuck at Fat Man’s Misery. It’s a narrow passageway, almost too narrow for an automobile. Damn, I wish we could ride.”
“You’ll ride, once you’ve regained your strength.”
Edward leaned forward and stroked her belly. “I think Chutzpah just kicked.”
When Ringling Brothers Circus came to town, camping near the Colorado Avenue viaduct, Edward bought tickets for himself, Flo, Steven and Marylander. He patiently explained every event to Marylander then led her through the grounds so she could “touch an elephant.”
Marylander, now twelve and sightless, was still a spunky, stubborn, wild-natured girl. Steven adored her and told anybody who would listen that he planned to marry her.
“Edward, you’re wonderful with children,” Flo said.
“I didn’t have time for my own. That’s probably why Ned turned out so poorly.”
“Nonsense. Elizabeth fares very well. And Katie spruces up every time she sees you.”
“I promise I shall live to see our baby born, Flower. Robert E. Lee once said the human spirit is equal to any calamity, and I believe a resolute mind can triumph over a useless body.”
While Edward took his afternoon naps, Flo visited the stables, making Bully-Ben her reluctant accomplice. Edward had forbidden her to ride the horses until after “Chutzpah’s” birth.
“I’m not riding,” she told Bully Ben with a smile, recalling Marylander’s disobedience and subsequent justifications. “It’s just that I have to take time by the forelock, or in this case fetlock, so that Rubaiyat will learn to trust me. Poor baby’s been mistreated something awful.”
“You’ve worked magic with Ruby, Missus Flower.” Bully-Ben stood just inside the barn entrance, moving his head back and forth like a pendulum, looking out for a servant who might tattle. “None else but Little Toby can enter Ruby’s stall.”
Flo curried the mare’s silky chestnut hide with a soft brush. “Stand still, my pretty red jewel. When you’re a well-behaved lady, I’ll introduce you to Khayyam and name your first colt Omar.”
Bully-Ben’s ruddy cheeks paled. “You’d better hide. Master Ned’s comin’ this way.”
Flo ducked inside the tack room but peered through a crack in the door. Rubaiyat pounded her hooves and gave a shrill whinny when she caught Ned’s scent.
Good judge of character, thought Flo.
“How’s the mare today, Bully-Ben?”
“You can see for yourself, Mr. Ned.”
“Her disposition hasn’t improved?”
“Does she look like she’s improved?”
“The mare will behave once Mrs. Flower has time to gentle her. By the way, Cook’s been grousing that you ain’t paid her a visit of late.”
Bully-Ben fumbled for his corncob pipe, then seemed to remember he was in the barn and couldn’t light it.
Ned nudged the stable hand with an elbow. “I promised I’d talk you into joining her tonight, after everyone’s gone to bed. She’s already baking up apple fritters.”
Bully-Ben licked his lips.
“And now I’ll be on my way. I’ve a business meeting in Divide, but I’ll visit the mare again tomorrow. Perhaps she should be shipped back to her previous owner.”
“I told Mr. Edward that Ruby was skittish.”
“I hope Mrs. Flower doesn’t try to tame her. Mrs. Flower is eight months pregnant, and yet a servant saw her headed for the barn around midnight. More than once, I might add.”
That’s a lie, thought Flo. She visited the stables during the afternoon, never at night.
* * * * *
A perfect night for a murder, thought Ned.
He glanced at the clock above the sideboard, then the men sitting around the dining room table. As host, Luke kept offering barbecued beef sandwiches, but he was the only one who ate them. Richard Reed was a vegetarian. Randolph Tassler puffed a fat cigar. Alan Tassler, who’d matched Ned drink for drink, now slumped in his chair with his eyes shut, his mouth open. Ever since Katie’s accident—
“Is it safe to talk?” Richard ran his hand through his hair.
“I’ve given the servants the night off,” Luke said between bites of thick-baked bread and savory beef. “My father’s upstairs, asleep. My brother lives at the ranch, but avoids contact with outsiders. He’s terribly scarred, you know.”
“Lytton, check out the kitchen,” Richard ordered.
Ned lurched to his feet. Ignoring the kitchen at the end of the hallway, he leaned into the front hall banister. Richard must never guess how much whiskey he’d had before the meeting. Richard wouldn’t approve. Richard purged his body daily with a rectal enema.
Was Suzette gearing herself up for Flower’s murder? Ned pictured Aguila del Oro. Soon Little Toby would go to bed inside the cottage he shared with the chauffer, Karl. Old Bully-Ben would wait until Little Toby hit the sack before sampling Cook’s fritters, and whatever else she had to offer, leaving the stables unguarded.
The dilemma had been how to get Flower inside the barn. Ned had suggested Suzette whip Rubaiyat, trusting the mare’s shrill cries would bring Flower running.
“Ruby’s screams might wake others,” Suzette had argued.
“I suppose you have a better plan.”
“Nothing’s more valuable than a workable plan. Listen closely, Ned, because the best way to put an idea across is to wrap it up in a person.”
“What does that mean? I’m sick of your axioms, Suzette.”
“Flower gives your father his medicine at midnight. While she’s gone from her room, I’ll slip a note under her door.”
“You’ll send her an invitation?”
“The note will be a forgery, signed by Cat McDonald.”
“What if you’re wrong and Chinook’s not the one?”
“I’m never wrong. But I’ll word the note so it sounds more like a plea than an assignation.”
“I suppose you have that figured out, too.”
“Certainly. The note will beg Flower to meet him in the barn because he wants darkness to hide his scars. How can she refuse? Even if Cat wasn’t her lover, he saved her life.”
“How will you get Rubaiyat to attack?”
“I’ll wait until Flower is at the barn entrance, then whip the mare into a frenzy. By the time others arrive, she’ll be dead and I can intermingle. I’ll wear nightclothes.”
Ned had decided that tonight was the perfect occasion since he’d be at a Klan meeting. Suzette had agreed, eager to perform the deed and reap the rewards. Brainless idiot! She didn’t realize he planned to kill her, too. He didn’t know how yet, but he’d find a way. After all, nothing was more valuable than a workable plan, he thought, returning to the dining room and glancing at the clock.
Luke wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Why do you keep looking at the clock, Lytton?”
“Because shortly after midnight I’ll control my father’s assets.”
“What do you mean? We don’t want trouble with the law,” Richard said.
“I’m in Divide!” Ned shouted. “If Flower’s dead, I’m not accountable. The shock might even kill Edward. Suzette would say something about killing two birds with one stone. I’ll wager my inheritance that’s just what she’d say.”
* * * * *
Flo read the short letter for the third time. Then she ripped the paper into shreds. Even so, the words remained indelibly etched on her mind.
Why did Cat want to see her?
If his note had mentioned their
affair, she’d have ignored it. But he’d pleaded for understanding, and she had no right to refuse. After all, he had saved her life.
He had battled to live, and how had God rewarded him? When his bandages were taken off, the left side of his face, from cheekbone to chin, was a mass of scars. He’d even lost most of his ear.
“That was my deaf ear,” he had murmured from his hospital bed. “Too bad they never recovered the raggedy piece. You could have worn it inside a locket.”
She had turned away to hide her tears.
After that one visit, Cat refused to see her again.
Why had he changed his mind tonight? How had he delivered his note? By greasing a servant’s palm, of course. Which servant? Did it matter?
With a sigh, Flo donned the extra-large pair of blue jeans Edward had insisted on buying for her. Then she added a cable-stitched, oversized white sweater. Twisting her braids into a coronet, she glimpsed her reflection.
If Cat had any romantic notions, the sight of her belly would dissuade him. Her mirror revealed an ashen face. Smudges of fatigue shadowed eyes that bore an expression of fearful anxiety. And if that wasn’t enough, her body resembled a goose. A goose wearing blue jeans. An enormous gestational goose.
Shielded by her ungainly bulk, Flo left the house and walked toward the barn.
* * * * *
Grateful for the darkness, Cat McDonald crept through the grounds of Aguila del Oro. He felt like Don Quixote. He remembered Titanic the bull. Canon City didn’t have icebergs, and Aguila del Oro didn’t have windmills—just trees and pastures and lily ponds.
Craving a slice of Tonna’s rhubarb pie, Cat had walked into the kitchen and overheard Ned Lytton’s drunken boast.
Luke’s Buick Speedster had been close at hand.
By Cat’s reckoning, it was just past midnight. He stared at the house with its gables and bell tower. It loomed majestically, a solemn, brooding storybook castle. Suppose he guessed which room belonged to Fools Gold? How would he get inside? Storm the castle? Scale the walls? Damn! The image of John Chinook, quixotic hero, refused to die.
He pictured himself entering her room. He’d bend over the bed. Her inky lashes would flutter open. She’d scream.
With a self-mocking grin, he adjusted his Stetson’s brim, shading the left side of his face. Then he laughed. Who was he hiding from? The man in the moon?
“Do a few scratches on your face make your arms and legs weak?” Tonna had asked. “Do your eyes not see? Does your voice not sing? Answer me, Cat.”
“A few scratches? My face looks like a patchwork quilt.”
“Does Dorado trot away at the sight of your scars? Do the birds spread their wings in frightened flight? Does the Chinook wind change direction or the mountain lion retreat?”
“Of course not, Tonna. Birds don’t care. Animals have hearts and souls. It’s the men who have no souls.”
He had been quoting Fools Gold, yet even she had turned away, unable to stomach the sight of his mutilated face.
Tonna had numbed his pain with medicinal herbs, and, in due course, the purple-bruised, red-puckered skin faded. But Tonna couldn’t work miracles.
Cat had always scoffed at movie-magazine stories, especially the critic who’d described John Chinook as “a handsome drifter.”
Handsome drifter? Not hardly. How about scar-faced nomad?
Even Fools Gold couldn’t face his face.
After their first flinch, the hands grew accustomed to Cat’s altered appearance. Several had left when Luke took over, but a few wandered back to obey Cat’s firm commands and the ranch throbbed with productivity once again.
Cat had anticipated battling his brother for control. However, Luke made a clean breast of his negligence, even apologized for the angry words flung at Papa following Dimity’s death.
But that came too late. John McDonald was now a grizzled old man who sat on the front porch, rocking back and forth in his chair. His watery eyes gazed into the distance and he rubbed an emerald necklace between his fingers as if it were a rosary. In the beginning, before her heart and body turned so cold, Papa must have truly loved Dimity.
Was it true love that had brought Cat here tonight? Or was he still playing hero?
* * * * *
As Flo navigated the path to the stables, her whole body trembled. Suppose Cat had used the plea in his note to trick her? What if he wanted the baby? What if he threatened, once again, to confront Edward?
She pictured Claude DuBois pressing a megaphone against his lips. She knew exactly what he’d say. “All right, Flower. You are no longer Fools Gold Smith, the parlor house waif. You are Mrs. Edward Lytton, lady of the manor. We don’t want faith. We don’t want pathos.”
“What do we want, Claude?”
“Gumption.”
Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the barn, and was almost at the entrance when she heard her mare scream. Without delay, she ran inside.
From a middle aisle, box stalls stretched on each side, ending with a large breeding enclosure on the right and a tack room on the left. Every alcove had a Dutch-style door, barred by a half-gate. Except for Rubaiyat, the horses were out to pasture. The tack room’s light encompassed Rubaiyat’s stall.
Flo saw the mare flail with her hooves. Blood streamed down her flanks, and welts crisscrossed her haunches.
Standing just outside the stall, Suzette wore a black silk kimono with embroidered red roses. She held a bloodied leather whip. Spying Flo, she pulled a roped handle, swung open Rubaiyat’s gate, and cowered behind the gate’s slats.
Rubaiyat’s ears lay flat against her head. Her lips were drawn back over her teeth. She screamed again, first in pain, then with triumph, as her wild eyes focused on the open space that led to freedom. Darting into the middle of the barn, she skidded to a halt when she saw Flo, who blocked the exit.
With sudden insight, Flo remembered the lie Ned had told Bully-Ben. Tomorrow morning, when Edward found her body, he’d think she had paid Rubaiyat a nighttime visit. Nobody would believe she’d whip an animal, but Ned would have an explanation for that too. Flower was eight months pregnant. Her temper had frayed. Her judgment had become impaired.
Edward would blame himself for purchasing Rubaiyat. The shock might even kill him.
Clutching her belly, Flo careened toward the exit.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Suzette ran forward, skirting the mare, and pushed roughly at Flo with both hands.
Flo stumbled, fell, scrambled to her knees. Suzette lashed out with her feet. Flo crawled toward the barn door. She must protect the baby. She must protect Edward.
Suzette laughed. “Look at Flower Smith on her knees. That’s a sight I’ll enjoy for the rest of my life.”
The rest of her life was brief. Ignoring Flo, who had never shown her anything but kindness, the mare, a blur of red fire, reared up and struck at Suzette. Rubaiyat’s front legs thrashed in a mesmerizing rhythm of continuity as she issued forth a series of shrill whinnies.
Sarah Ann Dusseldorf, also known as Suzy, masquerading as Suzette Dorfman, slid to the floor, her shrieks of terror echoing throughout the barn’s raftered roof.
At long last Rubaiyat stood motionless. Despite the pain coursing through her body, Flo managed to rise and maintain her balance while she walked toward the quivering mare. “There, there, my pretty jewel,” she crooned. “It’s all over. We’re both safe now.” Twisting her fingers in Rubaiyat’s mane, she led the mare inside an empty stall and closed the gate.
Suzy lay in a puddle of blood. Rubaiyat’s hooves had crushed her skull. Straw stuck to her body wounds and she looked like a crimson-painted scarecrow. Her left arm was nearly severed from her shoulder.
Controlling the urge to vomit, Flo knelt and captured Suzy’s wrist, trying to find a pulse. There wasn’t any. How could there be?
She heard footsteps. Still on her knees, she slanted a glance toward the barn’s entrance. A tall figure stepped aside and melded into shadows, allowing the emer
gence of several servants. Karl pushed Edward’s wheelchair. As if from a distance, Flo watched everybody freeze in various postures of horrified fascination.
Aggravated by new scents, Rubaiyat struck at the boards of her stall. The servants’ deep silence magnified the loud thud of the mare’s flailing hooves.
Edward wheeled his chair closer, saw the stained whip, saw Flo’s sweater and jeans, crusted with blood. Clutching at his chest, he began to rise.
“What are you doing?” Flo shouted. “Sit down! Do you want to kill yourself? Karl, wheel Mr. Edward back to the house.”
“Stay right here, Karl. Is the blood on your clothes from the whip’s lash, Flower?”
“No. From Suzy . . . Suzette. From her wounds.”
“What happened to Suzette?”
“The mare attacked.”
“Which mare?”
“Rubaiyat. She was once called Red Lady. I changed her name when—”
“I gave strict instructions not to purchase Red Lady.”
Flo took a deep breath and almost cried aloud from the pain of her bruised ribs. “Ned wanted to get rid of me and blame it on my mare. He didn’t know that, against your orders, I frequently visited the stables. Suzette brutally whipped Ruby and . . . is Little Toby here?”
“Yes, Missus.”
“Bully-Ben says Ruby will let you enter her stall. Please cleanse her cuts and apply salve.”
“Yes, Missus.”
Flo bit her lip hard, but she couldn’t control the whimper that pushed its way up her throat.
“What’s wrong?” Edward’s face blanched.
“The baby. Oh!” Flo felt her back explode. She bent over double.
“If that mare harmed you, I’ll have her shot.”
“Please, Edward, it’s the baby. Suzette kicked my ribs and belly. Rubaiyat saved my life. Oh, God, I hurt.”
Edward turned toward the servants, who were still assembled in a tableau of mute bewilderment. “Carry Mrs. Flower inside the house, Karl.”
“No, too late.” Flo rocked back and forth on her heels. “Carry Suzette away. Leave me in peace.”
“Karl, take Mrs. Flower’s head. Bully-Ben, her feet.”
Flo felt her body lifted.
Rubaiyat whinnied.