“No, I just want to hear what Davis writ.” Her gaze never left his face as he scanned the first page of the letter. “Just read it out loud, okay, Brett?”
He glanced at her, then cleared his throat. “All right.”
“‘Dearest Sister, If you are reading this letter I am dead. I’m glad Ma and Pa have gone to their reward and don’t have to know how their only son turned out. Sometimes when I close my eyes I see Ma’s work-worn hands folded in prayer as she knelt beside our beds. How gentle her hands were. How sweet her prayers. I can still hear Pa’s deep voice as he read to us each morning and evening from that big black Bible. I know you’ve shed many a tear since I walked away from the farm to seek my fortune, my dear little sister, but don’t cry for me now. My downfall did not come immediately. For several years I walked a straight and narrow path. I even had a small place of my own. Then, I met Maggie O’Brien.’”
~*~
Connie sat with her arms wrapped around her drawn up knees. At the name of Maggie O’Brien, she straightened. “Davis knew Maggie?”
Brett nodded. “Looks like it. Wasn’t Maggie your mother?”
“Yeah, but I never knew Davis knew her. Why didn’t he tell me, Brett?” She rose and settled closer to him as the need for comfort overwhelmed her. He put his arm around her to hold her close. She drew a deep breath and looked up at him. “It’s all right. Maggie knew a lot of men. You can go on.”
Brett turned back to the papers in his hand. “‘Don’t blame Maggie for the path I chose, Rosy. She never tried to deceive me. I knew what Maggie was when I met her, but that didn’t keep me from loving her. After she left me, I walked around in a daze for weeks, then I walked away from my farm and started looking for her. I thought she would go back to a bordello, but my unfaithful wife had vanished.’”
Connie caught her breath, the words from the letter hitting hard. “Davis and Maggie was married?”
Brett looked at the paper in his hand. “So it would seem. He says, ‘I never stopped looking. I found odd jobs here and there. Then, one day when I was down to my last nickel, I met a gang of men who were planning a robbery and joined them. I only planned to help on that one job, but once I was in, there didn’t seem to be any way out. Eventually I organized my own gang. Everywhere I went I looked for Maggie. Finally, almost nine years after she left me, my search ended. I went to a place called Queenie’s. It was a real dive. I prayed Maggie hadn’t sunk to this depth, but I asked a little girl who didn’t look over fourteen or fifteen years old about her. She told me Maggie died of consumption only three days before.’”
“That was Bitty,” Connie remembered the girl who’d been so kind to her. “Bitty was sixteen. Her family died of cholera and she didn’t have nowhere to go, so she went to work for Queenie. She was always good to me.”
Brett shifted to the next sheet of paper. “Shall I continue?”
Connie nodded.
“‘I turned to leave, and the girl caught my sleeve. ‘Maggie had a little girl,’ she said. ‘Connie’s real pretty. Could you take her and find her a good home, Mister?’ I stood there for a minute feeling like I’d been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. Maggie had borne a child. I didn’t want to see the living proof of my wife’s unfaithfulness, but I heard myself telling the girl to bring her to me. Connie was a skinny little thing with snarled hair and a dirty face. The dress she wore was little more than filthy rags. I knew she hadn’t got in that condition overnight and I despised the neglect Maggie had shown her child. Connie stood in front of me with her head bowed as if she expected me to kick her. I spoke her name, and she pushed the pale tangle of hair back from her little face and looked up at me with huge, blue-violet eyes. That’s when I knew, Rosy. The woman, Queenie, told me Connie’s age and her birth date. She didn’t want to let Connie go. I gave her five hundred dollars, all the money I had on me, and she gave me Connie.’”
“Davis bought me!” Connie stared at Brett. She clutched her stomach. Why’d Davis do such a thing? “I never knowed that.”
“Why do you think he paid so much for you?”
“Davis had a tender heart. I reckon he felt sorry for me.” It was the only answer she had. Connie looped her arm through Brett’s and hugged it tight to her. “The first thing Davis did was buy me some new clothes—boy’s clothes—britches and shirts. He burned my old clothes and give me a bath and washed my hair. He like to scrubbed the skin off me. After I was clean enough to suit him, he had me put on my new clothes, then he tried to brush my hair. Finally he just chopped the tangles all off. When he got done, it was short as a boy’s hair. He told me when I was old enough to take care of it I could have it long again.”
Brett looked far off as if trying to see into the past.
Good thing he couldn’t imagine how she’d looked then. He might not have anything to do with her now if he could.
“How long was it before you let your hair grow again?”
“I’d reckon it was four or five years. Davis was real picky about bein’ neat and clean. He told me his ma always said cleanliness was next to godliness.” She giggled. “He said, ‘Connie, it may be too late for me to be godly, but I sure as the world aim to be clean.’ I hadn’t never been clean before, but once I got a taste of it I never could abide to be dirty no more. That’s one way me and Davis and his ma was alike. We liked to be clean.” She rested her head on Brett’s shoulder. “You know another way I was like Davis’s Ma? We was both named Connie. Constance really. Davis used to say to me that his ma would be right proud to know I was named after her. I wonder why Maggie did that?”
Brett stared into her eyes until he made her stomach jump. “What? Is something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, but this all does seem strange, doesn’t it?”
Connie nodded. “Read some more, Brett.”
The shadows lengthened as the sun lowered over the rounded hills in the west. Brett looked down at the letter and began to read. “‘I knew I wasn’t providing a proper home for Connie, but from the moment she looked up at me with those blue-violet eyes, I loved her. Now that you’ve seen Connie, I’m sure you understand why I couldn’t bear the pain of letting her go.’”
“I loved him, too.” Connie blinked to stop the tears from forming and whispered, “I never loved nobody in my whole life, Brett, ‘ceptin’ you and Davis.”
Brett brushed a gentle kiss across Connie’s forehead before returning to the letter. “‘Connie can out-ride and outshoot most men. I’ve taught her everything I know about survival, but this is no life for a girl-child. I have promised her that soon we will go away to Mexico and leave this life behind. I’ve been stashing gold in a cave near Springfield, Missouri, to make all our dreams come true. There isn’t as much as I’d like, not enough for all the talking I’ve done, but there’s plenty to give her a good start on life. I’ve shown her where it is. When she’s old enough, remind her of her inheritance and let her go, Rosy. This is all I have to give her, and it’s hers alone.’”
Brett lowered the letter. “Is this why you were so desperate to come back to Missouri? Because of the gold Davis hid in the cave for you?”
Connie sat in stunned surprise. When had she stopped thinking about the gold? The promise of riches had been her lifeline, her reason for going from one day to the next for as long as she could remember. She’d forgotten why they were going to Springfield. The last few days had been centered on Brett and meeting his family. Setting up a home in Springfield where they could become really married. Getting the gold wasn’t so important anymore.
She looked at Brett. “I thought the gold would make me a ‘have.’ When I was six Maggie sent me to school. The other kids made fun of me. They throwed rocks when I tried to play with them. I never went back to school after the first day.”
Brett drew her into his arms and held her close. “Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry.”
Connie shook her head. “I only wanted someone to love me. I thought if I was a ‘have,’ the other ki
ds would be my friends. But you never knowed about the gold and you loved me, anyhow. Davis loved me, too, didn’t he? That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be like the others.”
Brett spoke into her sweet-smelling hair. “Don’t ever doubt my love for you, Connie.”
She leaned closer to him, absorbing every bit of love she could. “I won’t, Brett. I surely won’t.”
“Do you want to hear the rest of the letter?”
At her nod, Brett lifted the last page.
“‘I reckon I thought Maggie would change after we were married. I took her to my farm. Evenings we sat on the porch and talked about our future, or at least I talked. Looking back I realize she didn’t say much. Maggie listened while I built my castles in the air. I’d always dreamed of a large family. I told her I wanted to name our first daughter Sarah Constance after Ma.
Maggie and me only lived together for two months. We were married on June third. The fourth of August I had to make an overnight trip into town for supplies. I asked Maggie to come with me, but she said she wanted to do some cleaning. When I came home she was gone and so was my saddle horse. Queenie confirmed what I already knew when she told me that Connie was born on April 5, almost eight months to the day after Maggie ran away. Our mother was the only other person I ever knew that had eyes the color of Connie’s. I knew the first time I saw her she was mine.’”
Brett’s voice drifted off. Connie felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t move to tell him she was fine. Truth be told, she wasn’t. A fist squeezed her heart until she wondered if she might die. Davis was her father? That couldn’t be right. He never told her.
Finally, Brett started reading again.
“‘Rosy, I know you never had children of your own, but Connie is blood. She’s a part of you. I ask only that you love her and see that she grows up to be a good Christian woman like you and like her grandmother. Connie doesn’t know I’m her father. She had such lofty ideas of the man she only knew as Shane. I could never shatter her dreams. Don’t bear ill-feelings toward Maggie for what she did. I’d reckon she was never cut out to be anything but what she was, and I find comfort that she remembered and named our baby after Ma like I wanted. Please take care of my little girl, Rosy. I love her with all my heart. Your brother, Shane Davis.’”
Brett folded the sheets of paper and returned them to the envelope. “That’s all, Connie. Do you want to see what’s in the other envelope? It has your name on it.”
Did she want to? Whatever it was couldn’t hurt her any more than the letter had. She nodded.
Brett took a picture out and handed it to her. Connie looked at the handsome young couple in the faded and scratched photograph and felt dead inside. The man, seated in an ornate chair, had light hair like hers. Davis. Her heart yearned for him. Despite the stiffness of their pose, he looked happy. The woman, standing with her hand on his shoulder, was beautiful. Maggie.
“It’s Maggie and Davis.” She handed it back to Brett.
“It’s their wedding picture.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “You look like your father.”
She didn’t want to talk about them. She still hadn’t accepted that Davis was her father. “What’s that paper?”
Brett unfolded a much-creased document that had been with the picture. “It’s a marriage certificate. Shane Davis and Maggie O’Brien were united in marriage on June 3, 1830 in Wichita, Kansas.”
“I was born April fifth, eighteen hundred and thirty-one. How long after is that?”
“Ten months and two days. Maggie left Shane eight months before you were born. I know what you are thinking, Connie. You aren’t illegitimate.”
The truth left her weak. She felt the blood rush from her head. “Then my name really is Davis.”
“Yes, it was. Your father loved you, Connie.” He reached out to her, but she shrugged away from him and slipped to the ground. She loved him, but she couldn’t let him touch her now. Not until she figured this all out. She wrapped her arms around her legs, drawing her knees tight to her chest.
He knelt beside her and tried to draw her into his arms.
“Just go ’way.” Her words were muffled as she buried her face against her knees.
“I want to help you, Connie. Please don’t shut me out. I love you.”
She pulled even farther from him. She couldn’t help it. Not now. So much battered against her mind, bruising her heart. She had to sort it out without Brett.
“I’ll be here when you need me, Connie.” Brett patted her shoulder and walked away.
Connie sat huddled in a fetal position remembering. Once more she saw Davis lying in the dusty street in front of her. Saw herself running to cradle his lifeless body in her arms. Felt hands pulling her away from him while her heart shattered and broke. She hadn’t shed a tear then—Maggie had long ago beaten the tears out of her—and she didn’t shed a tear now when her pain was as fresh and new as it had been the day he died. Back then it had been a dear friend she grieved, now the teardrops that poured down like rain inside her aching heart were for her father. Why hadn’t he told her?
Daddy! I would have called you Daddy, Davis. If only you had told me.
Chapter 13
Brett lay out their bedrolls in the dark. He pulled off his boots and stretched out on his bed to watch Connie. She sat still, tensed into a ball. If she’d cry, he might have an idea what she thought—what she felt—but she didn’t. The ache in his heart deepened the longer he watched her. If he could take her pain, he would.
Finally, her body seemed to relax. She stood and lifted her face to the night sky for a moment. Then in the light of the campfire, she took her boots off, walked in stocking feet to her bedroll, and pulled it close to Brett’s. She lay down beside him close enough to touch. Uncertain what he should do, Brett remained on his back staring at the stars twinkling above them.
Her voice came to him in a whisper. “Brett, are you asleep?”
“No.” Still, he didn’t move.
“Brett, it weren’t my aim to hurt your feelin’s. It was just—well, there was so much. I needed time to let it all soak in. Please, don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not angry with you, Connie, but I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want you to hold me, Brett. Just hold me.” Her trembling voice sounded small like a child’s.
He turned on his side and pulled her into his arms. He held her without words while he fought the pain he sensed in her taught body. “Tell me what you feel, Connie.”
Connie put her arm around his waist and hugged him close. He felt the tremble that had been in her voice move though her body. “I don’t reckon I much know the answer to that.”
He waited for more. She should be crying by now. Mom always said a person needed tears to release the hurt inside. Any one of his sisters sure would’ve long before now.
“I didn’t know Davis was Shane and that him and Maggie was married.”
Again Brett waited, but she lay quiet in his arms. “Why didn’t you know Davis’s given name was Shane?”
“Ever’body just called him Davis. I never knew. I heard Maggie say she never loved no man but Shane, but I never heard her say they was married or what his family name was. She never used the name Davis.”
She snuggled closer as if she wanted to bury herself in his arms. “I hate her, Brett.” Her voice held no emotion.
He shook his head. “No, Connie. You can’t hate her, she was your mother.”
Without warning, she rolled away from him. “I don’t want to talk about it no more. Let’s just go to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll leave.”
~*~
Mid-morning, they rode into a small settlement. Connie had scarcely spoken all morning so Brett wasn’t surprised when she picked at her food in the small café they found. He finished everything on his plate and polished off the remains of Connie’s meal.
After they finished, Brett guided Connie down the street. “Let’s see what’s for sale in the store windows.”
“All right.” Her voice carried no enthusiasm.
“Would you like to go into the general store? We could pick out things we’ll want to buy later when we set up housekeeping.”
Connie nodded. She let him take her from one thing to another, but nothing he said or did erased the hurt look in her eyes. He gave up. “We might as well get back on our way.”
~*~
The sun painted the western sky in varying shades of orange and red as they passed through another small town named Jennyville. Brett led the way through the quiet main street and turned north where a church sat alone on the corner. Less than a mile up the road from the church a woman worked in a garden beside her house.
Connie spoke for the first time in several miles as she pulled Chester to a stop. “Wait, Brett.”
He turned back. “Is something wrong?”
She nodded toward the house in need of a new coat of whitewash. The porch roof sagged and the steps leading to it leaned. Grass, tall and mostly gone to seed near the house, needed the service of a scythe.
“Maybe we oughtta fill up our canteens.”
Brett had been so concerned about Connie he hadn’t thought to check their water supply. He lifted his canteen and shook it. About half full. “Think that woman would give us some water?”
Connie had already turned her horse toward the house. Brett shrugged and followed. As they drew near, the woman straightened and watched them approach. A boy who looked to be about ten years old stepped out the front door with a rifle pointed in their direction.
Brett started to call out a greeting, but Connie spoke first. “We ain’t meanin’ no harm, ma’am. This here’s Brett Norris and I’m Connie Norris. Our horses could use a drink of water.” She held up her canteen with a friendly smile. “Reckon we could, too.”
They waited while the woman looked them over. She gave a brisk nod and motioned to the boy. “Josh, show ’em where the water is.”
Connie and the Cowboy (Outlaw Gold) Page 14