As if he understood her innermost longings, his arms tightened around her. As if he felt the same way.
“No, Lucky,” he called up at length. “Thanks, but tell ’em I’m comin’.”
The disparity didn’t hit Madolyn until later. At the time it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Tyler to expect Lucky to traipse through the center of the house and down two flights of stairs to relay a message he could have stepped around the corner and delivered for himself. At the time all she could think about was being in his arms.
And of not being in his arms. “How long will you be gone?”
“Want to plan your battles accordin’ly?” Before she could respond, he kissed her again, deeply, possessively. When he lifted his lips, it was mere inches. He rested his forehead against hers. Their breathing labored to the same cadence. “Promise me somethin’, Maddie.”
She resisted the frightful urge to say, Anything. “What?”
“That you’ll be here when I get back.”
Madolyn sat on the wagon seat, her back stiff, her parasol held high. Young Clements had eagerly accepted the chore of driving her to her brother’s. She felt a twinge of guilt for not preparing him for a less-than-cordial reception.
Truthfully, she wasn’t sure what to expect from Morley. But since she had heard nothing in response to the message she sent him earlier, she could envision the scene. It could well be a repeat of last time, even without Tyler along to antagonize him.
Regardless, she could not give up on gaining his help to secure her inheritance or in providing for his children. She could not give up—not for Morley’s sake, nor for the children’s, nor, for that matter, for her own. Daily she became more and more aware of the scant amount of time left her. With every passing day her year’s grace dwindled further.
But more than her inheritance was at stake now. Much more. Somehow, she sensed that were she to remain in this barbaric land much longer, her relationship with Tyler would get out of hand. Already, she feared she was becoming too fond of the man.
And if his parting words were an indication, he was beginning to feel things for her. Goldie’s advice had turned out to be fool’s gold.
Madolyn ran two fingers inside her high collar, loosening it from her skin. Already the dire weather predictions were proving true, and it wasn’t even June. My, what would summer bring?
Higher temperatures and shorter tempers, no doubt.
She turned her attention to the boy beside her. He was what her mother would have called a string bean, lanky to the point of being skinny. Under the hot sun, freckles fairly popped out across his nose and cheeks.
“You should have worn a hat, Clements.”
“Naw, Miss Maddie. Sun don’t hurt me none.”
“Nevertheless, I would hate for you to blister on my account. You were awfully kind to agree to drive me all this way. I shall speak with my brother about your fee.”
“You might as well try diggin’ for water in them mountains yonder as to try to get money outta ol’ Morley.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Ever’one knows him for the biggest tightwad this side of the Mississip. Why Goldie won’t even let her girls service him no more.”
Madolyn gripped the wagon seat with her free hand. Perspiration beaded her forehead, and only half of it from the weather. Would the indignities never cease to shock her? Why, even children in this barbaric land discussed disgraceful matters. A boy Clements’s age shouldn’t know about…about things that even she, at thirty, didn’t know.
“How old are you, Clements?”
“Goin’ on sixteen, I reckon.”
“You don’t know?”
“Not rightly.”
“Are you, uh, what happened to your parents? If I may ask so bold a question.”
“No need to worry ’bout bein’ bold. I ain’t ashamed of the fact I’m orphaned.”
“Orphaned?”
“Yes, ma’am. Left at the depot, I was, back when the town was whole.”
“Left? By your parents?”
“Don’t rightly know. I was a tyke. Goldie figured me to be no more’n three or four. ’Course, there’s always the chanct that I’m overgrown for my age. Then again, I could be undergrown. Don’t reckon I’ll ever know for certain about my age. Don’t reckon it to be a bother, not knowin’.”
“Of course not, Clements. So, Goldie’s been your…uh…”
“Goldie’s like my ma, I reckon. ’Course I don’t rightly know what a ma’d be like.”
“I’m sure Goldie has made a fine mother.” Notwithstanding the scandalous education he had received, Clements had proved himself an exemplary young man.
“What about education?”
“Education?”
“How far have you gotten in school?”
“A bit here an’ there.”
“You aren’t enrolled in Miss James’s class?”
“Miss James is new to town. Fact is, ’fore her, we didn’t have no school a’tall.”
“No school. You mean there was no school in Buckhorn while you were growing up?”
“No, ma’am. Ol’ Morley don’t believe in such.”
“Well, he certainly had the privilege of an education himself.” Until he ran away from home, she thought. “What does Morley have to do with it?”
“He’s against spendin’ money on a schoolmarm.”
“But he will spend five hundred dollars on a horse?”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about my next order from Abilene. I shall add some things for you, Clements.”
“Not for me. I don’t want nothin’ from Ol’ Morley. Not that he’s likely to go to payin’ for it no-how.”
“He owes you, Clements. Do not doubt that. And every other child he has deprived of an education.”
So incensed was she, that when Clements drew the team to a halt, she was startled into dropping her parasol. Without thinking, she jumped to the ground to fetch it.
There stood George Washington Sinclair. Although she could tell he recognized her, he still leveled the shotgun on them.
“Hola, Jorge.” Madolyn picked up her parasol, swatted at the dust that clung to it, suddenly tongue-tied. “Ven,” she tried, motioning to the wagon as she spoke. When Jorge made no move to climb aboard, she wondered whether she had the word right. Or whether, like last time, he chose to obey his father over her. She could hear Tyler now, “Mind your own business, Maddie.”
Relentless to a fault, she persisted, but at the end of an exchange that was nowhere near as fluent as when Tyler spoke with the boy, she had understood only one thing.
“No, Tía.”
Disappointment mounted; still, she forged ahead. Climbing into the wagon, she stepped over the seat and began to rummage through a crate. Presently, she withdrew a pair of black boots, which she extended to Jorge. The boy’s green eyes popped. Then she realized she had failed to learn the words for foot or size, or, as it was beginning to seem, for anything really helpful.
“Do you speak Spanish?” she asked Clements.
“Some.”
“Well, tell him to hold up his foot.”
That met with a measure of success, for in response to the relayed message, Jorge hopped around on a bare foot, waving the other one toward Madolyn. She stared at the callused sole that gave new meaning to her mother’s term, “rusty.” But this child’s calluses were real, a result of running around the rocky, thorn-riddled countryside without protective footgear. Yes, Tyler had been right, boots were a much better choice than shoes.
She watched Jorge sit on the roadside and stuff his foot into the boot she tossed down to him. She prayed it would fit, for she had guessed at the sizes and this was the largest pair.
His foot slipped in nicely. She tossed him the other boot and he stood proud and tall with his ragged duckins tucked into the stove-pipe tops.
She had forgotten socks, but he didn’t seem to notice. When he
walked, however, she could tell the boots were too large. Oh, my. She rummaged through another parcel, searching for something to stuff in the toe.
“He’s got it,” Clements called.
When Madolyn looked around, Jorge was busy stuffing handfuls of dried grass into the toes.
Finished, he stood up, stomped his feet, and favored her with a wide grin. “Gracias.” His sombrero bobbled with his eagerness. “Gracias, tía.”
Tía. Tears rushed to Madolyn’s eyes. Tía. Undoubtedly the sweetest word she had learned in this barbaric land.
“How do you say nephew?” she asked Clements. She would have to go back to Loretta with a list of phrases. Hello, How are you? and What time do you have? were proving as worthless as last year’s calendar.
Her young driver shrugged, thought a moment, finally admitting, “I don’t know. Say it in English.”
“An excellent idea, Clements.” Scrambling to the ground, Madolyn took one of Jorge’s hands. It felt nearly as callused as his foot had looked, but even through her gloves, touching the boy did wondrous and warm things to her heart. With her free hand, she tapped her chest. “I am tía.”
Jorge nodded, grinning.
She tapped his chest. “You are nephew.”
His eyes widened.
“Ne-phew,” she repeated, tapping him again.
“Ne-few,” he tried.
“Yes.”
“Sí.” Jorge tapped Madolyn, then himself, “Tía y sobrino.”
Madolyn laughed. “So-bree-no,” she tried. “So-bree-no.”
Jorge laughed with her, and for a moment, Madolyn was lost in time and space and in the love that enveloped her in the wary but softening eyes and laughter of this boy, her nephew. Reaching, she straightened the brim of his hat. She fairly itched to hug him.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. But when she climbed back aboard the wagon and instructed Clements to whip up the team, she departed from her nephew with a swelling of love. It didn’t bother her that she couldn’t allow herself to hug him today.
Tomorrow. Or one day soon. Before she left.
By the time they reached the second boy, Thomas Madison Sinclair, Madolyn had shaken off the bout of melancholy she experienced at the thought of leaving her nephews.
The boots fit close enough. The boys accepted them eagerly, but each in turn refused her offer for a ride home. All except Little Jefferson Davis. Madolyn smiled fondly, recalling that he had been named in honor of Tyler.
That said a lot, in her estimation, about the friendship between Tyler and Morley. Such a friendship, one that had flourished for nearly twenty years, could not be allowed to die for lack of care.
Would not be allowed to die, she vowed, adding one more item to her list of things to accomplish before she returned to Boston. My, oh my, but she had better get a move on.
With Little Jeff sitting proudly on the seat between them, his eyes on his shiny new boots and one grubby hand clutched in Madolyn’s, Clements drew the wagon to a stop in the shade of the same mesquite tree Tyler had hitched the rig to that day.
Morley saw them coming. He came stomping up from the barn, his same blustering self. “You haven’t left yet?”
But his tone was more quarrelsome than hostile. His voice was merely gruff when he frowned at Little Jeff and spat out an order in Spanish.
Little Jeff pointed to his boots.
“What the hell—” Morley transferred his attention to Madolyn, then to the parcels heaped in the wagon bed. “I told you there’s no room out here.”
“I’m not moving in, Morley.” Reaching, she braced herself with a hand to his shoulder, before hopping to the ground. He made no move to assist her. Not that she needed it.
MEN! For the first time in her life, she added her brother to the category defined by that perfidious term. “I’ve brought things for the children. Surely I’m allowed to bring gifts for my nieces and nephews.” Her smile wavered when he eyed her sharply from beneath the brim of his soiled Stetson.
“If Grant’s put ideas in your head, I’ll—” he accused.
“No one had to put ideas in my head, Morley. Unfortunately, I saw the despicable state of affairs on my first visit.”
“They’re my affairs,” he quarreled. “I won’t stand for you meddlin’ in my business.”
“I consider nieces and nephews my business, too.” When he started to object, she interrupted with, “even if you don’t.”
“Well, I damned sure don’t. You oughta get yourself back to Boston. How many times do I have to tell you? This ain’t no place for a lady.”
Taking a tactic from who knew where—Goldie and her girls, most likely—Madolyn twirled her parasol over her head and smiled in an enticing way that surprised her more than it did her brother. “Thank you for the compliment, Morley. I knew you couldn’t be all that angry to see me.”
She used his stunned reaction to link arms with him. “Clements, would you unload the wagon while I visit with Carlita.” So saying, she began to stroll in the direction of the hut. “And be sure to open those crates…like we discussed.”
Morley dug his heels into the dirt. “No, you don’t, Maddie. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I aim to put a stop to your meddlin’. You ain’t agonna sashay in here an’ ruin my life.”
“Ruin your life? If I were half as clever as you and Tyler make out, I would be president of the United States of America.”
“What’s Grant got to do with this?”
Ignoring his question, she continued, “And if I were—president, I mean—the first thing I would do is give women the vote. Once we have the vote, Morley, we won’t stand for behavior like yours.”
“My behavior ain’t none of your business.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice off to the side.
Madolyn had hoped to save this argument until last, but seeing the boys, one after the other, barefoot and armed, afraid to come to their own home for fear of their father, she simply could not keep her mouth shut.
“It appears to me, Morley, that you are entirely too much like our departed father.” Before the words were out of her mouth, Morley had jerked away from her.
“The hell you say!” His eyes were dark and angry.
Madolyn jumped back, her parasol lowered ever so slightly, just in case. The thought of having to defend herself against her own brother’s temper appalled her. “Morley, please, I didn’t mean to anger you. But if we needed proof, there it is.”
“Proof of what?”
“That your children are afraid of you.”
“You don’t understand this situation, Maddie. Not by half. So stay out of it.”
“I understand more than you think. I know you and Carlita aren’t married.”
“That damned Grant!”
“Tyler told me, yes, but I would have heard it, anyway. You aren’t all that well thought of in Buck.”
“Buck ain’t my town. What’d folks in Horn say?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not allowed over there.”
“That got you bumfuzzled, too? It’s a free country.”
“What good is it to be free to cross the tracks, when you ordered every single person on that side to ignore me? You don’t know the misery you’ve wrought, Morley. And before you say you don’t care, let me tell you that I intend to right it.”
“Right what?”
“Everything. Beginning with the divided town. You might as well know, we have formed the Buck-Horn Reunited Society, with the ultimate goal of rejoining Buckhorn.”
“No one in either town will go for that.”
She smiled. “Wait and see. But listen, if you dare. There’s more. I have Tyler’s permission to use the school during the summer. I shall be holding classes for the children.”
“Bully for you.”
“Your children.”
“My children? These kids have work to do. I can’t afford to run this ranch without their help.”
“You’ll be able to run it better when they’re educat
ed.”
“I can’t afford—”
“Before you start poormouthing, let me advise you that I know about the five hundred dollars you paid for ’Pache Prancer.”
“That sonofabitch Grant! I’ll—”
“You might as well stop blaming Tyler, because you and he are about to make up.”
“Says who? I’ll bet he hasn’t agreed to that.”
“Not yet. But I can’t let either of you destroy a twenty-year-old friendship.”
“It ain’t your friendship. Who the hell’d you think you are?”
“Your sister, Morley. Your only relation, except these wonderful children, and Carlita, who is soon to be your wife.”
“Soon to be my WHAT?”
Madolyn swallowed, cleared her throat, and continued, “I spoke with Pastor Arndt. I know you would prefer an Episcopal priest, but Baptist will have to do. You’ll be just as married—”
“And you’re just as wrong. I don’t aim to alter my life, not one single bit. Not to suit you or anyone else. Do you hear me? Not one single bit.”
“Oh, it looks like Clements is finished unloading. Let me sum things up, Morley, lest you failed to catch everything the first time. I shall expect the children in Buck one week from tomorrow for classes. I have arranged for Goldie to rent you the two rooms at the end of the hall—one for the boys, one for the girls. At fifty cents a day including meals, that comes to two dollars and fifty cents a week. Keep track of their chores, so they won’t be idle on the weekends. You know how idle time—”
“Those kids ain’t goin’ in to school, so don’t hold your breath.”
“My nieces and nephews will be educated, Morley Sinclair. Even if I have to hold school under a mesquite tree at each of their posts.”
“Damn that Tyler Grant!”
“I shall speak with Carlita about the wedding date. Traditionally, the bride sets it.”
“NO! Do you understand me, Madolyn Sinclair. I said no. No. No. No. Stop meddlin’ in my life!”
“Call it meddling if you like; I see it as righting the wrongs of an earlier generation. In this case, Morley, I cannot sit by and allow the sins of the father to be repeated. I will not allow my nieces and nephews to go uneducated, nor will I see them reared in an immoral environment. It’s unhealthy, unchristian, and if it isn’t illegal, it should be.”
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