"Will, your parents and your sister were buried under a tall oak tree, not far from where the cabin had stood." There was sorrow in his tone – the same that I felt – and he cleared his throat, putting a hand to his mouth. We were all quiet for a few seconds. "Do – do you remember the tree, son?"
I didn't make any noise or movement. If I said I remembered, it would be like letting him into my world, my memories...my life. But I didn't want to deny that I knew where the very tree he mentioned stood. Only a few yards from the front of our house, the only reason it hadn't burned when the Apaches set fire to the cabin had to have been the Hand of God. For a moment, I let myself remember the wooden swing Papa had fixed over a limb of that tree and how Lisbeth pushed me so high I'd felt like a bird flying. She'd sing when she pushed me, I remembered, and the sweet sound of her voice washed over me and mingled with the memory of my childish laughter. Grandfather wouldn't have known about the tree, unless he'd seen it himself.
Finally, I nodded. "Yes," I said. "I remember."
And as bad as I'd expected to feel, I was surprised when it didn't happen. Instead, I felt relieved to say I knew the tree he was speaking of. It dawned on me that him seein' the tree and me rememberin' it was the first thing he and I had ever shared.
My mind filled with dozens of questions. It had been over two years since it had all happened – Mama, Papa, and Lisbeth being killed, the cabin burned – and me bein' stole by the Apaches. I used to dream about it sometimes, but those nightmares had faded with time. An' it wasn't like I'd forgot Mama and Papa at all. I still thought of them, and of Lisbeth. No one would ever replace them, but still I sure was thankful to have the new family I was a part of with Jacobi, Laura and the triplets – and even Deelie Ray, when she wasn't on her high horse.
The rain pounded somethin' fierce on the roof, and I wished this blunt old man would take his memories, and desire for me to come with him back East, and leave us ... but I knew he wouldn't. And even if he made a move to go to the barn with the others, Jacobi wouldn't allow it. Not with his cough bein' so bad. But right now, I didn't want to be cooped up with him for five more minutes.
"Will..." He put a hand out to me, then let it fall to his knee when I didn't take it.
I felt a twinge of pity for him, followed quickly by anger at myself for it, and at him for just being here in the same room.
"How did you find me?" I blurted.
Jacobi evidently had wondered the same thing, because he tensed and slowly sat forward.
"The west isn't as vast as it might seem, Will. Not to someone who's navigated the oceans of the world." A smile touched his lips. "I knew where your family was, my boy, from before you were ever born. From the time your father laid claim to that piece of land he fought and died for, I knew."
I was dumbfounded. He'd known where we were all along, and had never come West – not until it was too late. I thought of the conversation me and Papa'd had that time, about how Papa didn't get along with the ocean. I could imagine, now, how disappointed a man who loved the sea, who made his living from it, would be to learn his son didn't share that love at all. My father had turned away from everything my grandfather had spent his life building for him.
But my papa had explained it to me in a way I understood. Talking with my grandfather, I realized something that I hadn't before. After the way me and Jacobi had gotten so close over the past two years, buying this ranch and buildin' it up, working on it every day and making plans for what we were going to do to improve on it, I could understand how my grandfather must have felt to have his hard work and love thrown back in his face. Maybe I wouldn't have ever known the closeness with Papa that I shared with Jacobi – that weaving together that comes from seeing things the same way and looking forward to future plans we both wanted to come true.
My papa had not been a great man. He had walked away from his fortune and gone West nearly penniless, according to what I overheard Mama telling Lisbeth one night. But it didn't mean he'd hated my grandfather; it just meant they'd wanted two different things. And when it came right down to it, it was Papa's life. He'd had to do something he wanted to do, and making his way in Indian Territory had been it.
If my grandfather had cared enough to keep track of what Papa's life had been like, he must understand this too.
"I know Lisbeth's birthday, and yours, Will – though your father never answered any of my letters."
I nodded. I remembered when those letters had come. As time passed, Papa had gone from burning them as soon as the messenger delivered them, to leaving them unopened on the kitchen table, until they disappeared – I figured Mama had put them up, hoping one day he'd open them. Now, as I thought back on it, it seemed Papa had been unfair in not responding at all. But loyalty wouldn't allow that thought to linger.
"If you knew so dang much, why didn't you come sooner?" I asked, disdain filling my tone. "Mama and Papa and Lisbeth have been dead over two years."
He started up, angry at my insolence, but Jacobi came up swiftly out of his chair. "Lest you think to be heavy handed, Mr. Green, think again. This is Will's home, and he'll speak what's on his mind. If you don't like it," he nodded across the room, "there's the door."
The old coot eased back down into the settee. I imagined back in his younger days, he had seen most everything done his way. I could tell it was a new experience for him to be stood up to.
He waited a minute before he said anything at all, and I figured I'd made him so dang mad he was having to grab hold of himself and get calmed down some.
"I...didn't know what happened to you after the Apaches killed Robert...Anna...and Lisbeth. I thought certainly you had been murdered by those red devils too, but then—"
He broke off, as if unwilling to finish his own explanation. After a moment, he went on, "I offered a reward for the life of any of those murderers, not knowing you had survived. One day, a young man showed up on my doorstep. He had news I could scarcely believe. He said...you were alive."
I looked at Jacobi. The thought flashed in my mind that several months past when he and I had been trailin' Laughing Wind's band, there had been a member of the posse, Mike Dawkins, that I'd feared would recognize me. It was a very slim chance that would happen, since I had only been a kid when I'd met him. Papa and me had run into him and his grandpa in town one day. But somehow, he'd remembered. And I recalled how, when Jacobi and me had come out of the Colbert's Ferry Station house, he and Marshal Eddington had seemed to have a lot to talk about. Jacobi had taken note of it, too. I'd felt the tension cord up and run through him as he stood close beside me.
Marshal Eddington must have thought long and hard about how to get back at Jacobi and me, both. Just thinkin' about his smarmy fat face made me want to light out and find him. And watching Jacobi's expressions, I knew he was feeling the very same way.
"Who was this man, Mr. Green?" Jacobi asked casually.
My grandfather gave him a shrewd look. "Out for blood, Kane?" He shook his head. "I offered a reward and he answered. He was there on behalf of a lawman, a marshal, so there's no need for you to get worked up over it."
He turned back to me, his blue gaze boring into me, as if he were trying to look deep into my very being.
"Will, I won't force you to come back East with me, but I will ask it as a favor." He held up a staying hand as I started to protest. "Just hear me out, please—" He broke off again into a fit of coughing, and it was several seconds before he could get his voice steady enough to go on.
It gave me a little time to consider what he might say next, and the possible reasons he might have for wanting me to make the trip.
"I-I never had the opportunity to set things right with your father. You're my only grandson. I want to see that you get a proper chance for the life you deserve. You know, just because this life is what your father chose doesn't mean it's the life for you—"
I was shaking my head. "You don't know me. It is what I choose—"
"You don't know anything
else!"
"I don't want to know it – don't you understand?"
"Give me a chance to show you what your life could be like in Boston!"
"Why should I?"
Our voices had risen until we were practically shouting, and I looked for Laura to come sailing through the door any minute, mad at us for waking the babies. My question vibrated through the air and hung, demanding and strident.
The answer came, shocking in its quiet simplicity.
"I'm dying."
Chapter 31
My breath left in a rush. Dying? I'd always envisioned my grandfather, when I'd thought of him, as a kind of angry God-like figure who sat scowling from a throne, his finger pointing accusingly at my father as he banished him for not wanting to be a ship builder. But he wasn't that. He was smaller than I'd imagined him to be, probably due to his age and whatever disease ravaged his lungs. But in his younger days...I imagine he'd probably come much closer to the picture of him that my mind had conjured.
Now, he was just an old man, my blood kin, no matter how I wished it otherwise – and he was dying.
The room was still and close, like all the air had been sucked out of it, leaving the three of us to struggle with what to say next.
Jacobi, as always, knew the right thing. He leaned forward in his chair, looking squarely at my grandfather. "I'm sorry, Mr. Green. But, as difficult as that news is to hear, I'm afraid I can't allow you to use it to tip the scales into convincing Will to do something his heart isn't in."
I expected Grandfather to shoot back with something, to try to put Jacobi in his place, but he didn't. After a moment, he nodded and looked down at the floor. "You're right, of course, Kane. I had...not intended to make my declining health situation known – to anyone. Oh, my men know, of course, but—" he broke off and gave a deep sigh.
Just for an instant, I almost felt sorry for him. Did he believe it could be something that no one else could see with their own eyes? Maybe...he still hoped he could get better; cheat death somehow – at least for the time being.
"Will," he said, suddenly turning to me once more, "you don't have to stay in Boston. Just come home with me and let me show you the things you're missing here—"
Well, that was the wrong thing to say to me. I wanted to tell him so many things I didn't know where to begin. And I felt myself getting mad all over. Maybe he didn't mean it like it sounded, but to me, it seemed as if he was looking down his nose at me and my existence – just like he'd done to Papa.
"I ain't missin' one damn thing, old man – not one! Who do you think you are, comin' in here and lookin' down on any of us?" I stood up quickly, my anger too hot to allow me to sit one second longer, talkin' to the old coot and us all tryin' to hide our feelings under a thin layer of polite manners.
"I am your grandfather, by God!" His voice thundered through the room as he too came up from the settee and squared off to face me, his face drawn in the lines of righteous indignation I had so often imagined.
But it didn't scare me. And it was right then, it came clear to me just how much had happened to me in the last two years... I'd come from a child, seein' my family murdered right in front of me, bein' kidnapped by those red devils and rescued by Jacobi, through two tough years of growin' up. Maybe I wasn't fully a man yet, but I'd lay money that my grandfather hadn't ever gone through anything near what I had. And what might've had me shivering in my boots two years ago didn't mean a thing to me now.
I tilted my head up a little to look right into his face, just like Papa had always taught me to do. His eyes glittered in the dim light, and I could see the resemblance in his face to my father. I wondered if he could see the same features in mine.
"I ain't denyin' that, old man," I said coldly, with as much disdain as I could muster. "So quit thinkin' your way is so God-blessed better than any other. I'm your grandson, but I was born and raised here in this land, and I ain't about to leave it and take to the sea."
He shook his head. "You're Robert's boy..." he said softly, his voice trailing away to a whisper. "Through and through..."
"No, sir," I said hotly. "I'm part way my mama's blood, too. Anna Ridgeway – remember her?" It made me even angrier to think of how my grandfather seemed to dismiss every aspect of my being, except as how it tied in with him. I was my own person, I wanted to shout. But first, it was important to me that he remembered I'd had a mother, every bit as important as my father had been.
At that, his face changed, softening at the mention of Mama's name. "Yes, boy. I remember her." All the passion of the earlier moment seemed to disappear into thin air, leaving only a sadness in its wake that seemed to wilt him like flowers in the hot sun.
Jacobi watched, same as I did, not saying anything. We both waited, knowing there was a story about my mama that my grandfather was remembering. Suddenly, I was hungry to hear what he had to say, and I wondered how much time he had left to him.
* * * * *
But instead, he turned away from me and sat down, his eyes looking into a past that only he knew about.
"I'm very tired," he said slowly. "Is there a place I might lie down, Mr. Kane?"
Jacobi stood up. "Back here. You can rest in the bedroom."
He led the way, and I knew he expected me to help the old coot. I wasn't sure about it. I didn't know if my grandfather would allow me to come that close to him after the way I'd talked to him. Part of me was ashamed. I knew I should've showed more respect for three reasons. He was a guest in our home. He was an elderly man. And, most of all, he was my grandfather. I expected to hear about it from Jacobi once the old man was in the bedroom with the door shut.
I stood up and moved toward him, putting my hand out to him. I was unsure if he'd accept my touch or slap my hand away. Our eyes met, and his fingers touched mine.
"Just let me hold onto you while we walk, Will."
I nodded, suddenly embarrassed at the earlier way I spoke to him. I looked away as his fingers wrapped around mine and we started toward Jacobi and Laura's bedroom.
His hand didn't feel shaky or anything. It was strong and weathered, with a firm grip. But his breathing was labored, and when I glanced at him, sweat beaded his brow.
Once inside the bedroom, he asked me to pull off his shoes, and I knelt beside the bed where he sat, to do so.
"If you need anything, just call," Jacobi told him.
He managed a weak nod. "Yes, I will. Thank you for your kindness."
Jacobi pulled the door to, not closing it completely, so we'd be able to hear him. I wondered, weak as he was, if we'd hear it through the small crack he'd left, if my grandfather should try to call. We made our way back to the sitting room. The storm had let up some, and everything was quiet except for the sound of the wind and rain outside.
Jacobi and me both sat where we had been before. He watched me for a few seconds, as if he was trying to decide what to say. Finally, he spoke his mind as he always did.
"I'm surprised at you."
Well, that got my back up. But right then, I figured anything he said would have. I was surprised at myself too. Even though I felt my anger had been justified, the display I'd put on sure hadn't been.
"I'm not gonna apologize to him, if that's what you're thinkin'."
Jacobi leaned forward, forcing my gaze up to his by the sheer power of his presence. "Will, that insolence has gone far enough. You understand me?"
I nodded, swallowing hard. Of all the people in the world I didn't want to ever displease, Jacobi was the first. More than anything, his tone wounded me. I'm surprised at you, he'd said, but really, he'd meant I'm disappointed in you. And that was something I couldn't live with.
"What got into you?" The kindness in Jacobi's voice brought a lump to my throat.
"I'm not goin' back."
"Not if you don't want to," Jacobi agreed. "But...aren't you curious to see what your alternatives are? Just because your father didn't want to stay doesn't mean it might not appeal to you."
"Do you
want me to go?" My question was breathless, laced with the pain that never would quite vanish completely at the thought that maybe I was just in Jacobi and Laura's way. Maybe I'd be doing them a favor if I did leave...one less mouth to feed. But then, who would help Jacobi until Gabe and Little Jake got big enough?
"Will...you know better, don't you? By now, you should. You're my son. No – not by blood, but my love for you is as strong as if you were my own." He stopped, as if choosing his words. "You're my right-hand man, my wrangler, the one I count on for just about everything these days."
"Then how can I go? How can I leave you to manage everything all alone? Gabe and Jake aren't gonna be big enough to take my place for—"
"Whoa!" He held up a hand, cutting off the rest of what I'd been going to say, a stricken look in his eyes.
"Gabe and Jake are never going to take your place, Will. Never. Oh, sure, when they're old enough, they'll be helping us build fences and muck out stables and all, but you'll always be the oldest, so you're the one I'll be counting on until you go off to see the world, or start your own family – whatever your life's path might be."
I didn't know until that very minute just how much I needed to hear those words. Jacobi and me were close – we'd been through too much together not to be. When you save another man's life, there's a bond between you like no other – and we'd both done that for each other. But I always felt as if I was outside the circle of our family somehow, now that the triplets were here.
I nodded, finding my voice had completely deserted me, and there was nothing I could do but agree, anyhow. On the surface I was part of the family, and I knew everyone felt that way... I was the only one with any doubts, and I wasn't exactly sure why.
"I think," Jacobi said carefully, "you have some questions that I don't have answers for, Will. But your grandfather does. The only way to learn what you want to know is by spending time with him." He was silent a moment, allowing that to settle.
Ride The Wild Range Page 16