by Vivi Holt
The man scooped them up – first Eve, then Holly, one in each muscular arm, his eyes flashing in triumph. Holly’s heart lurched at the look of utter fear in her sister’s eyes. Then Eve screamed, a blood-curdling scream that sent a chill down Holly’s spine …
8
Holly woke and sat bolt upright on the straw tick, her heart thundering in her chest. Sweat ran down her face and she turned her head from side to side in the darkness, looking for the man with the tin-plate face. He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t there – it was just a dream, one she’d had many times when she was feeling unsettled or fearful about something.
She exhaled and rubbed her forehead, then stood slowly, smoothed her nightgown over her legs and crept from the room. There was no point in trying to sleep now – she never could once she’d had that dream. She wished she could see Eve, have her sister hold her and tell her that their nightmares were all in the past, that the man with the crooked nose would never find them again.
At the kitchen table, she lit the lamp and searched Kurt’s things for a piece of paper and a quill. He’d said she could use anything she wished, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to still her pounding heart until she’d written down her thoughts. She tucked her nightgown around her legs, sat down and began to write, the shadow of the pen falling across the paper, away from her hand in the flickering lamplight:
Dearest Eve,
I hope my letter finds you, Rodney and James well. We all miss you very much. We’ve arrived at the home of Kurt Sawyer and he and I are married. He is technically a landowner – he has a ranch just outside Wichita. The oversight in the description, it seems, is because his brother, who owns a flour mill in town, wrote the ad. Kurt says he didn’t know what his brother had written. I have decided to see it as a small indiscretion, one that can be overlooked. Especially considering my failure to tell him just how many children I was bringing with me until after he sent me a ticket.
I know, you’ll shake your head at me when you read this. You told me to be completely honest with him and I should have told him that from the first. But he has come to terms with my failure, as I have with his. We both find ourselves in a situation different from what we expected. But it doesn’t follow that we should be unhappy.
So far, we are getting along well. He is young but a hard worker, and I believe he will be able to provide for us. He seems good and kind, and he has a way with the children that warms my heart. He has a very pleasing look about him as well.
My concern is that Tripp is so unhappy here. He feels I have betrayed his father’s memory by taking a husband, and that we could have made it on our own without Mr. Sawyer. He is blinded by his rage and refuses to even try to accept the change. Have I made a mistake, dear sister? Perhaps we should have attempted to make it on our own, but I was unable see how – not after the way Ma and Pa raised us. I couldn’t do that to my children, couldn’t force them to live in that kind of squalor and neglect.
Part of me thinks of coming home to you, that perhaps we should simply get on the next train and return to New York. I’m homesick and anxious about the children, and I don’t know what is right or wise any longer. My head is churning with thoughts, hopes, decisions and doubts. And none stand out to me. Tell me what I should do.
I had the bad dream just now, the dream where the man with the tin-plate face is coming after us again back in Morgantown. I wished you were here to remind me it was just a dream.
I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Your sister,
Holly Sawyer
The blade fell against the log, splitting it in two, and Kurt let the head of the axe rest against the ground while he caught his breath. He had all the wood he needed to build the smoker. Once it was completed, he’d head out and shoot a deer. The smoker would be big enough to cure a good portion of the beast, providing them with a supply of meat for the winter months.
He ran the back of his hand across his damp forehead and squinted into the afternoon sunlight. Summer was over, but the heat still lingered. It wouldn’t be long before the days were cool and the nights frigid. He’d noticed Holly using the supplies he’d purchased in town at her request. She’d been crocheting blankets and stitching quilts every spare moment in preparation for the change of weather. There was a new set of curtains on the bedroom window, and a cozy brown-and-blue-patterned wool blanket at the foot of the bed.
Once he had enough food stocked or in process, he intended to build bunks for the children. He scratched his head beneath his Stetson. When would Holly share his bed instead of theirs? He’d known it would take time, but it had been weeks since her arrival and still she kept her distance. She was polite enough, even kind in her attentions toward him, but there was a space between them he couldn’t breach, no matter how he tried.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see Tripp disappearing over a rise in the distance. The boy was alone, striding with purpose through the tall grasses toward the bull pen where Kurt kept Sheridan, the ornery bull he’d purchased from William Drake in June. The animal wasn’t well behaved enough to be with the rest of the cattle, though he made forays into their pasture without Kurt’s approval by simply leaping over the fence whenever he fancied.
Kurt rubbed his beard with a frown. Surely the boy wouldn’t bother Sheridan. If he did, the bull might not take kindly to the intrusion. He’d warned all the children about the animal, but it was an open question whether Tripp would heed it. He set the axe against the stack of split wood and hurried after Tripp.
That boy really was a frustration to him – he moped around the place and gave him lip his own father would never have stood for. He knew Tripp needed some time to come to terms with the changes in his life, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could put up with being disrespected in his own home. Still, his heart ached for all the children whenever he saw a lonesome or melancholy look on one of their little faces – and he’d grown to care for them more than he’d imagined he could in such a short time.
The long grass brushed his trouser legs and the setting sun seemed to cover everything in a white haze, burning his retinas. He blinked hard, hoping to spot the boy. If he could see him, perhaps he could call him back before he got much further. Then he might still have time to build the smoker before darkness fell.
He reached the barbed-wire fence he’d erected to keep the bull separate from the rest of the herd. It was a temporary measure – he’d hoped the animal would fit in with the group, but he’d caught it goring one of the young steers and chasing others soon after it arrived. So far, the separation hadn’t seemed to temper his behavior.
He glanced around the enclosure to where the bull stood facing the far corner. He couldn’t see what was there, but he could guess. “Hey!” he shouted, waving his arms over his head.
The bull turned and studied him, its eyes rolling back into its head. Sure enough, Tripp was cowering in the corner. He thought he could hear the child whimpering. Why didn’t he just climb back through the fence? “Tripp! Climb through the fence!” he yelled.
Tripp straightened slowly, as though he didn’t wish to provoke the beast. But it didn’t work – the bull charged him, head down.
“Tripp!” cried Kurt, sprinting toward where Tripp was climbing back through the fence. But it was too late – Sheridan caught him anyway, sending him flying through the fence and the air. He landed at the base of a tall willow tree and lay slumped in a tangle of arms and legs. Sheridan snorted, then, his territory successfully defended, turned and trotted back across the enclosure.
When Kurt reached Tripp, he scooped the child up into his arms. “Tripp?” Tripp didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, long lashes black against the pale skin of his freckled face. Kurt’s heart fell. “Tripp, can you hear me?”
Still no response. He jogged toward the house with Tripp in his arms, his frown like a razor cut across his face.
Holly poured a spoonful of pancake batter onto the griddle, w
here it sizzled in the melted bacon grease. The songs of birds filled the air as they flitted outside the cottage, preparing for nightfall. Heather and Sarah set the table for supper, while Eleanor pushed a toy horse around the floor – a gift whittled for her by Kurt during evenings by the fire.
The air grew cool once the sun set now, and Kurt had assured Holly that winter would be cold, though not nearly as cold as New York. They would probably even have snow for Christmas. She’d been preparing for the new season and was satisfied with all she’d managed to achieve in such a short time.
She heard the rapid tramp of boots across the yard. Her heart leaped at the sound of Kurt’s approach, and she wiped her palms on her apron. He must have finished his chores already, and no doubt he’d be hungry. She’d grown to enjoy their conversations at supper and after. During the day he was working out on the ranch, but evenings were their time together. She’d taken to settling the children on their pallets earlier and earlier, anticipating conversation by the fire with her new husband.
But when he burst through the door, the look on his face and the limp form in his arms made her heart drop. “Tripp’s hurt,” he called. He carried the boy straight into the bedroom and laid him on the bed, boots and all.
She rushed to Tripp’s side and knelt, pressing a hand to his forehead. “What happened?” she asked Kurt.
He shook his head. “I told him not to set foot in Sheridan’s pen. But he did it anyway and the beast sent him flying.”
She gasped, her pulse racing. She couldn’t lose her boy. She checked him gently all over with both hands, looking for any sign of injury. Finding no blood or broken bones, she turned again to Kurt, her throat tightening with each moment. “Where is he hurt? Did you see what happened?”
Kurt removed his Stetson and sighed. “Well, I trimmed Sheridan’s horns back after he used them on some steers a while ago, so the boy wasn’t gored. But the bull caught him straight on and flung him against a tree trunk. He might have hit his head pretty hard, and I’m sure he’ll have some bruises.”
His words brought her some hope. If only the boy would move. “Tripp?” she whispered close to his ear. Still nothing. She hurried to the washstand, poured water from the jug into the bowl, wet a cloth with it and carried it back.
As she gently wiped his face, he began to stir. “Ma?” he murmured, blinking his eyes.
She laughed with relief. “Tripp, where does it hurt?” she asked, resting a hand on his forehead.
He gripped the crown of his head with both hands. “My head’s pounding something fierce.”
She laid the wet cloth across his forehead. “I’ll mix up a poultice – maybe I can find some herbs in the garden to help. You silly child, venturing into a bull’s pen that way. You could’ve been killed.”
He offered her a weak smile. “Sorry, Ma.”
“Well, you should be glad Kurt was there and saw what happened. He carried you all the way back to the cottage, I’ll have you know. I hate to think what might have become of you if he hadn’t been there. That bull might’ve decided to jump the fence and have another try.” Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she fought them back.
Tripp glanced sideways at Kurt, who lingered in the doorway. “Thank you,” he said.
Kurt nodded, his cheeks coloring and disappeared into the living room.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, straightening and hurrying after Kurt.
She found him in the front room, pacing between the girls as they watched him goggle-eyed. Holly watched for a moment too, then met him at the kitchen table. “Thank you, Kurt. I mean it – I’m glad you were there. Thank you.”
He put his hands on his hips, his eyes flashing. “What about the next time?”
She froze. “I’m sorry …?”
“What about the next time that boy decides he’s had enough and does something foolhardy? What then? I can’t watch him every moment of the day.” He frowned, rubbing his mouth.
She frowned. Was he angry at her about something? “I’m not sure what you mean …”
“He’s doing stupid things because he doesn’t want to be here. He hates me and he’s determined not to accept this life.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “I … I didn’t know it’d be this hard, Holly.”
Despite his concerns, her heart skipped a beat when he said her name. The word sounded like honey on his lips. She ducked her head. “I know. It’s always more difficult when there are children involved, that’s for sure. But …?”
“And you didn’t tell me. That’s what stings the most. You didn’t say you had children until it was too late to turn back.”
Her brow furrowed. “Now hold on just a moment – I did tell you, as soon as I knew we were coming. How was I to know you’d send me a ticket after one letter? Besides, you could’ve put us on the next train back to New York if you didn’t want to take us on. And what about that advertisement your brother wrote – “successful landowner,” with the address of his mill? Hrumph!”
His eyebrows lowered. “I told you, that wasn’t my doing.”
“So you say.” She crossed her arms, unwilling to let him push her around. She’d done what she had to in order to protect her family – she wasn’t about to be shamed for it!
He sighed and closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them she saw resignation lingering there. Her bravado faded and she sunk into a chair, resting her head in one hand.
“I’m sorry, Holly. I just don’t know how to work this out.”
Her gut roiled with fear. Was he going to ask them to leave? She could feel it coming and swallowed the bile that rose up her tightening throat. “So … what are you saying?”
He sighed. “Maybe you and the children should go back to New York. I mean, it’s not what you expected, I know. I’m not what you expected. And I don’t know if Tripp will ever accept me …” He trailed off and started to pace again.
She watched him, her thoughts in turmoil. They’d have to leave. He didn’t want them here any longer. What would they do? Where would they go? The tears that had threatened for so long finally snaked their way down her cheeks. She sobbed, covering her mouth to quiet the sound.
But it was too late. He’d heard and came hurrying to her side, kneeling next to her chair, his face drawn. “I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to – I thought you wanted to go home. I just want you to be happy … I don’t know what to do.” His words tumbled out as he cupped her face in his work-worn hands.
She leaned her cheek against his palm and let her eyes drift shut even as tears continued. “We’ve nowhere else to go,” she whispered. A lump formed in her throat and she tried hard to swallow it.
When she opened her eyes, he was studying her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. “I just feel …”
“What?” she asked, lifting a hand to caress his cheek.
He looked down at the floor and inhaled deeply. “… like I’m not enough. For you, for the children …”
She frowned as his gaze met hers, but she didn’t look away. It was as if she was finally seeing him for the first time: the faintest freckles across his strong nose, the flecks of green in his blue eyes, the pain that lingered behind them. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” She raised a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You’re a good man. And I’m sorry we’ve turned your life upside down this way. I understand why you’d want us to leave …”
His brow furrowed, he caught her hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it, lingering there a moment. “I don’t want you to leave. Not if you don’t want to. I just thought … I thought you weren’t happy here – you or the children – and I didn’t want you to think you had to stay.”
She forced a smile. “Where else would we go?”
9
Sam and Sal stamped their hooves, seemingly impatient to begin the journey to town. Holly pinned her hat on her head as she walked to the wagon. Everyone else was already loaded up and waiting for her. Tripp sat gl
umly on the wagon seat with Kurt. He’d recovered well from his encounter with Sheridan – just a few bruises and a couple days of double vision – but still looked pale and sullen.
His siblings were crowded into the wagon bed, wrestling and arguing about nothing. Holly rolled her eyes and peered over the wagon rail. “Behave yourselves. We’re going to town and I want to see company manners from all of you.”
They righted themselves, looking sheepish. “Yes, ma’am,” four little voices said in unison.
Kurt finished fixing the traces in place and hurried to help her up to the seat.
“Thank you,” she murmured with a smile. As she settled beside Tripp, she couldn’t help thinking about the conversation of a week earlier. Kurt had suggested they should go back to New York, but only if that was what she wanted. He hadn’t raised the subject since, and she’d largely kept out of his way. She needed time to think. Perhaps they should return home, but if they did, she’d need a plan for when they got there. So far, she’d come up blank.
She supposed they could move to Morgantown, though it made her stomach lurch. It was the last place on Earth she’d ever want to go, but she knew people there and could conceivably get work, especially since the state of West Virginia had opened a university there. Likely they’d be able to board with one of her old friends for a reasonable rate until they got their own place. But she didn’t wish to take her children to the very town where her own childish innocence had been dashed.
The wagon set off, the horses easily pulling their load. Tall, big-boned with shaggy manes and forelocks, the Clydesdales trotted sedately down the winding trail that would lead them off Kurt’s ranch and directly to Wichita.
She glanced at him, back straight, his black vest buttoned over a long-sleeved white shirt. His town clothes – she’d ironed them for him the previous night, using a flatiron warmed by the fireplace coals. He looked dapper and handsome, with his hair neatly combed beneath the brim of his hat.