Authors: Christina Cole
“Have you told anyone? Are you sure?” he asked, choking back
more emotions than he knew how to handle.
Lucille’s nose crinkled, and her mouth dropped open. “Oh,
no, that’s not what I meant. I’m not in the family way.”
“Are you sure?”
Her face turned several shades of red. “Absolutely certain.”
She stared down at the ground.
“You said we had to get married.”
“Yes, for Faith! Don’t you see what I’m talking about?” She
hugged her cloak tighter. “I’m not asking you to love me, Tom. It’s got nothing
to do with love…or lovemaking.” The color in her cheeks deepened. “It’s the
only way we can guarantee a home for Faith. It’s a way for us to keep her. If
we’re married, if we’re a family, if we can provide her a real home…”
Now his mouth opened, but words wouldn’t come up. He managed
to nod.
“Like it or not, it’s the only way,” she whispered.
Damn but she was right. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
“When? How? I mean, what are we supposed to do? Don’t you
ladies need time to plan a wedding?”
“The sooner, the better. I can make a wedding dress in a few
days. I’m a seamstress. It’s what I do.”
“I suppose I could talk to Reverend Gilman.” Tom looked up.
“You do want to get married in the church, don’t you?”
“I hadn’t given it much thought,” she said, biting her lip.
She seemed to turn shy now. “Probably a good idea. Yes, if we’re going to get
married, we should do it in church.”
“I’ll go into town and make arrangements tomorrow. About two
weeks?”
“Let’s make it three.”
“All right.”
Lucille’s hands were encased in thick, woolen mittens that
scratched his jaw when she reached up and pressed one against his cheeks. He
jerked his head, and she let her hand fall away.
“I can see you’re not too happy about the idea,” she said.
“To tell the truth, I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet, if
you know what I mean.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t expect much from you. It won’t be a
real marriage.”
“We’ll live together, won’t we?”
“Yes, I suppose, but—”
“Where?” He scratched at his jaw again. It still itched from
those damned woolen mittens. “I reckon we’ll have to live with Ma.”
Her jaw dropped. She stared up at him, her eyes wide.
“Absolutely not,” she protested. “We’ll stay with my mother.”
He shook his head. “No. That’s where I draw the line. If
we’re going to get married, I’m going to be the head of the house. I’m not
moving in and expecting your mother to take care of us.”
“Be reasonable, Tom. Faith is already settled and
comfortable. No need to uproot her again.”
Although he saw the logic to her thinking, he wasn’t going
to back down. A man didn’t begin a marriage—even a sham marriage—by moving in
with his mother-in-law.
“Either we live with Ma, or we don’t get married. It’s up to
you.”
“This isn’t a good way to start.”
“You want to forget the whole crazy idea?”
“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? A crazy idea.”
“Hell, yes. In the first place, a woman isn’t supposed to
propose marriage to a man, and in the second place…” He stopped. There was no
second place.
He was shaken up, had no
idea what he was saying. “Never mind. You need to make a decision.”
“I’ve already made up my mind, Tom. We’re getting married,
like it or not.”
Like it or not?
He wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But now, as Lucille
spun around and headed back the way she’d come, he suddenly felt like letting
out a whoop and a holler. Lucille McIntyre wanted to marry him.
But not because she loved him. Not because she had any
feelings for him. Only because she loved Faith.
It was a start. But now, how in the name of all that was
holy would he tell Ma that Lucille was about to become her daughter-in-law?
That the two of them would be moving in to the little cottage? He’d better
hurry home and tell her right away. Gossip spread fast in a place like Sunset,
and God forbid she hear it from somebody else.
They wouldn’t have a real marriage, he reminded himself.
But they would have a real home.
And they would have Faith forever.
* * *
*
Lucille had once feared Christmas would be a sad occasion
for her. She’d once worried that memories of her father’s death would spoil the
holiday and deprive her and her mother of any joy.
That was before Faith came into their
lives.
Tom stopped by on Christmas afternoon, bringing little gifts
for all three of them, and leaving Lucille embarrassed that she had nothing to
give him in return. They sang carols, lit candles on the tree, and wished one
another good tidings.
Watching Faith and Tom together brought a feeling of peace
to Lucille’s heart. She no longer questioned whether she’d done the right thing
in proposing to Tom. She knew she’d made a wise choice.
The holiday season passed quickly and the new year began.
Life settled back into a fairly comfortable routine. During the day, Faith
remained with Olive while Lucille worked at the dressmaking shop. Word of her
impending marriage had spread throughout Sunset, and many of her friends
dropped by to offer their best wishes for her future happiness.
When the bell jangled one morning and the door opened,
Lucille rose from the stool in front of her sewing machine. Putting a bright
smile upon her face, she prepared to greet another customer. The smile faded.
Charlotte Henderson stood at the doorway.
“Hello, Lucille.” She closed the door behind her and stepped
into the shop.
Lucille nodded in return, but said nothing. She wasn’t sure
what to say.
“You’re probably not happy to see me.” The woman took
Lucille’s measure. She stood at the doorway, and Lucille realized she was
waiting for an invitation.
“Come in, Charlotte.” She stepped forward, resolved to be as
gracious as possible. “Why don’t we let bygones be bygones?” she suggested.
She heard the words as they came out of her mouth and
wondered if her brain had been engaged anywhere in the process. But what would
be the point of creating ill will between them? Starting off her new life with
anger and unhappiness toward her mother-in-law could have disastrous
consequences.
How does she feel
about the marriage?
The question fluttered through Lucille’s mind. She dared not
ask.
“Yes, let’s put the past behind us,” Charlotte said, taking
a cautious step forward. “After all, you are going to be part of the family.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“It would be good for us to get along.” Her hesitation
seemed to pass. Her steps confident now, she breezed past Lucille, removed her
cloak and hung it neatly on one of the pegs in the wall.
Dumbfounded, Lucille could only stare as Charlotte grabbed a
broom from the corner and set about tidying up.
Finally, Lucille found her voice. “What are you doing?”
“Sweeping,” she replied. “Getting the shop ready for
business.”
“But—”
“Tommy told me you’d reopened the shop.”
“Yes, but I don’t need any help. I can’t afford to pay you.”
She fell back on the comfortable excuse. While true, it wasn’t the reason she
didn’t want Charlotte working there.
The broom stilled. Charlotte’s hands tightened around the
wooden handle.
“Please, Lucille.” When she looked up, her lips quivered and
tears glistened from the corners of her eyes. “Let me come back.”
Lucille pursed her lips, all her good intentions and well-meaning
ideas forgotten. It never did a bit of good to hide her feelings. She’d learned
that lesson long ago. People caused themselves untold misery by pretending to
feelings they didn’t have. Why not face the truth and deal with it?
She didn’t want Charlotte working at the shop.
Truth be told, she’d be happy to never see the awful woman
again, but unfortunately, she’d be seeing more, not less, of her. She’d have a
miserable life, indeed, if she couldn’t be on reasonably good terms with her
mother-in-law. She would have to make adjustments. She would have to try again
to accept Charlotte and come to an understanding with her.
“If you come back, there will be rules to follow.”
“I understand.”
“Be here promptly at seven each morning.”
“I can do that.”
“See that all your chores are done each day.”
“I will.”
“To my satisfaction, Charlotte. I won’t have you doing a
slip-shod job.”
“No, of course not. I’ll work hard. I promise.”
Lucille bit her lip, tempted to keep throwing out more rules
and restrictions in a foolish hope that Charlotte might reconsider. How
uncharitable of her. She bowed her head and stared down at the floor, ashamed
by her unkind actions.
“We’ll see how it goes. That’s the best I can offer.”
“You won’t regret it, dear. I know how awful I’ve acted in
the past, but we’ll move on now.” The broom began to move again. Charlotte
hummed softly as she swept the planked wooden flooring.
“Yes, right. We’ll move on.” Lucille slowly lifted her chin.
She squared her shoulders, and forced herself to smile again. “We’ll work
things out. I know we can.” She took a step forward, then suddenly stopped as
the mournful sound of the church bell rang through the air.
Both women knew the somber message it pronounced.
“The death knell,” Lucille whispered, choking back a feeling
of dread.
All animosity between them forgotten, the two women clung
together, listening and counting. By custom, three strokes for a man, six for a
woman, and nine for a child.
Once.
Twice.
The heavy bell clanged a third time, then fell silent.
Chapter
Thirteen
Tom walked alone
among the tombstones scattered
about the little cemetery, staring down at the names carved upon them. He could
read them now. He could read, too, the comforting words inscribed on so many of
the markers.
Gone to be with her father in Heaven.
Called home too soon.
Sadly missed by wife and daughter.
On he walked, keeping his
eyes from the small crowd gathered together on that sunny winter afternoon.
Didn’t seem right to have that glorious golden light pouring down from above.
To show respect for the dead, the day ought to be more somber with gray clouds
and quiet shadows.
Around the bend, drawn by
six fine black horses, came the fancy black coach with the mortuary’s crest
emblazoned on its sides.
“Bury them with Black.” For
the first time, Tom read the undertaker’s slogan. He shook his head, muttering
under his breath about Darrius Black’s almost lighthearted quip. Whatever
happened to respect? Dressed entirely in black, the man stepped to the ground,
then motioned for the pall bearers to come forward. Reluctantly Tom joined
them.
As he and the others lugged
the heavy pine box from the back of the coach and carried it to the wooden
sawhorses set up by that awful, gaping hole in the ground, Reverend Gilman took
his place in front of the mourners. They were a silent bunch. Few of them
really knew the deceased. Most attended simply because it seemed the right
thing to do. Leland Chappell had no family, no one to take on for him, as it
was called, no one to weep and wail over the body.
Tom’s gaze searched through
the crowd, finding Lucille with Faith in her arms. She hadn’t known Leland. She
knew, of course, what a good man he was. Tom had talked often about him. He
caught Lucille’s eye and set off toward her, but before he’d taken more than a
few steps, a voice boomed out across the quiet setting.
“Hold up there, Henderson! I
need a word with you.”
When he turned to see Judge
Morse waddling down the sun-dappled hillside like a fat goose, Tom stifled a
groan. Whatever the man wanted, couldn’t it wait?
Morse gestured for him to
step aside. Tom didn’t feel much like talking, but not wanting to cause a
scene, he quickly complied.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Morse remarked. “Not often we have so much sunshine this time of year. Looks like
the heavens are smiling down on the old fellow.” He pulled off his tall
stovepipe hat and waved it in the direction of the grave. “It’s a sure sign of
the man’s goodness.”
His words gave Tom a jolt.
Interesting way to think about it. For once maybe the obese judge was actually
right.
At the gravesite, Reverend
Gilman cleared his throat. “Brothers and sisters, we’re gathered here today to
say farewell…”
Knowing his place was among
the mourners, Tom looked away from the judge. Morse, however, would not be
deterred.
“How’s it going? Things all
right with you and that little one?” When Morse clapped a friendly arm around
his shoulders, Tom flinched. “Say, I hear you’re getting married. I want to
wish you the best.”
“You’ve heard right.” Tom’s
patience faltered. “Things have never been better, and if it weren’t for losing
a fine friend, I don’t suppose I’d have a complaint in the world.” He drew away
from the judge. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to pay my respects.”
“I know how you feel, but
there’s nothing you can do for Chappell now.”
“All the same, sir, I’d like
to hear what the preacher has to say.”
“You might like to hear what I’ve got to say, too.” Morse
chuckled and tapped a hand at the chest pocket of his jacket. “You know,
sometimes what seems like an awful tragedy has a right nice silver lining to
it.”
“Yeah, Ma says things like that sometimes.” Except that his
ma was more apt to get it right. Clouds had silver linings, not tragedies.
“He left it all to you.”
Tom went rigid.
“Everything he owned,” Morse continued, his voice low.
“Land, a few horses, the house. Couple outbuildings.”
“I know what he had.” His whole body, from top to toe, felt
stiff. He understood now what the judge was getting at. Leland Chappell’s life
had come to a sudden, unexpected end, but his death meant a new beginning for
Tom, a chance to have everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever dreamed
of having. It couldn’t have come at a more propitious time.
He ought to be grateful, at least, but damn it all, it was
hard as hell to be glad at the surprising turn of events. Maybe later, after it
all sank in, he’d be able to feel something. Not happiness. But maybe
appreciation. And determination, too.
Chappell had believed in him.
“You hear what I said?” Morse pushed his nose closer to
Tom’s face. “He left everything he owned to you.”
He glanced toward Lucille once more, caught her curious
gaze, and smiled, wishing she were there beside him to hear the news, to know
their future together had been assured. Next, he glanced upward, wanting to
give thanks to the true source of his blessings. Leland Chappell was surely
looking down upon him from heaven, and he was surely wearing a broad smile.
“Yeah, I heard you,” he said, turning his attention to the
judge again. “When and where do I need to be to claim the property?”
“Denver. Reading of the will takes place Tuesday morning at
ten o’clock.” He let out a wheezy breath. “By the way, how are you doing with
your reading and writing? There will be a few papers to sign, and if need be,
you know, you can make your mark. I’ll vouch for you.”
“No need to do that, Judge. I’ll be there Tuesday morning.
I’ll sign whatever papers you’ve got.”
With a flourish.
* * *
*
On Tuesday evening, he stood with Lucille at his side,
inspecting the land he’d inherited. In the eyes of another man, the place
before them probably wasn’t much to look at, but to his eyes, the run-down
little ranch house with its weary, white-washed outbuildings, its rough-hewn
fences, and rock-strewn yard might as well have been heaven itself. It was
his
.
He’d proudly signed his name that morning with bold,
important strokes, slowly and carefully forming the letters. Not just a
shameful X affixed to the page, but a genuine
signature.
No more convincing proof of his determination to succeed
could be found. He’d grown, he’d changed, and with Lucille’s help, he’d provide
a damned good life for Faith. For all of them.
“Before you say a word, I know it’s not in the best shape,
but I can fix it up.” He turned toward Lucille, worried that she might not see
the same hope for the future that he did. “Whatever’s wrong with the place,
don’t you fret. I’ll make it right.”
She hadn’t said a word since he’d brought her there. She
stood with her lips pursed, her hands tightly clasped together, and she looked
first one direction then the next, clearly taking it all in, but obviously
reluctant to express her thoughts or feelings. When a tear slipped down over
her cheek, Tom brushed it away with his thumb.
“I’m sorry, honey.” He swallowed back his disappointment.
She stiffened and turned her back to him. “Do you really
expect us to live here?”
“Yes, I do. It will make a fine home.”
“Tom! This is the old Love place. It’s cursed!” She spun
around to face him again. “You know the story of Joe Love.”
“Sure. Everybody knows his story.”
Years before, outlaw Joe Love had robbed a payroll coach,
buried the money somewhere—or so folks said—and finally got himself shot to
death right outside the back door of the house, no more than a few yards from
where Tom and Lucille now stood.
“You know about the money, too, I suppose.”
“There’s no money here.” He and Leland had talked about it
one day. “Chappell looked for it. Never found a cent.”
“Love hid it very carefully.”
“If by any chance we stumble across it, I’ll gather it up,
shove it all into a burlap bag, and take it back to wherever it belongs. I
don’t need stolen loot.”
“Joe Love swore he’d protect his money, even after death.”
Enough was enough. Tom groaned. “You don’t mean to stand
there and tell me you believe those tales of hauntings.”
“The man vowed to run off anyone who set foot on his land.
That’s exactly what’s happened, don’t you see?”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Consider the facts, Tom. Something caused Mr. Chappell to
get sick and die.”
“It’s called old age.”
“You said yourself he was a tough old fellow. You said he
was in perfect health.”
“He appeared to be, but, honey, things happen.”
“What about the Robertson family? They lived here, and just
disappeared one day. Nobody’s seen them since.”
Tom tried to keep a straight face but failed. Despite
himself, he had to laugh. “That’s not quite how it went.” He placed his arms
around Lucille’s waist and drew her closer. “Leland told me about them. They
came out here from somewhere east. When they bought the place, they didn’t have
a clue about what had happened here. Once the missus found out about Love
getting himself killed on the property, she was bound and determined to get
away. They were in such a hurry to sell out, Chappell picked it up for next to
nothing.” He leaned down and nuzzled against her neck. “I truly never thought
you’d be one to believe in ghosts.”
“Mama says they’re real. She’s visited with Mrs. Triplett.”
“The old woman who claims to speak with spirits?” Tom
chuckled. “Well, I’m surprised she hasn’t conjured up Love’s ghost to ask him
where he stashed all that money. She could be living mighty high on the hog.”
“Stop making this into a joke.”
“You’re right. I need to be serious.” He stepped back and
turned her about, moving his hands up to hold her at the shoulders. “We’re
getting married, Lucille. Now, I understand that we’re not going to have a real
marriage. But we are going to have an official document declaring that we’re
husband and wife.”
“What are you getting at?”
“The way I see it is that even if I’m your husband in name
only, I’m still obligated to take care of you, to provide for you. For Faith,
too. You weren’t too happy at the prospect of sharing a home with Ma, so right
now, you ought to be jumping for joy to think that we’ll have a place of our
own.”
She blinked back tears. “Your mother won’t move out here
with us?” Reaching out, she took his hands in hers. “Really?”
“I promise. This place is all ours, and ours alone.”
Lucille smiled and leaned against Tom. “Guess I was being a
bit foolish,” she admitted.
“No need to worry about ghosts and long-dead outlaws, honey.
Forget the past. We’ve got our whole future ahead of us.”
* * * *
The next morning, Tom saddled up early. He and Goose rode up
into the hills, once more searching for the wild horses, this time with new
purpose and increased determination.
Now, he had the land he needed. If he could capture a few
good mares, then find a stud available to service them at a reasonable price,
he could turn his fledgling Henderson Horse Farm into a viable enterprise.
They rode westward, and Tom did his best to keep his hopes
high. Their last search had ended in failure, but maybe they’d have better luck
today. Lately things were going his way.
As they rode higher into the mountains, the sheer beauty
surrounding them left Tom speechless. Unable to utter a word, he peered down at
the land below him, his eyes assessing the resources it provided. A narrow
stream, now a glittering ribbon of ice, cut through the snowy landscape below
them.
Suddenly Goose punched his shoulder. “Over there,” he said
in a low voice. He pointed, and Tom’s gaze followed, catching sight of a small
band of horses coming toward the stream.
“…
ocho
,
nueve
,
diez
…”
“I don’t know your numbers, Goose, but I reckon there’s
about a dozen of them.” Tom drew in a breath, trying to contain his excitement.
The horses, mostly chestnuts and sorrels, were fine-looking animals, indeed. As
he watched, a powerful black stallion trotted out. With a snort, the leader
took to his heels, leading his mares away.
“Son of a bitch got wind of us.”
“You think we can catch them?” Goose pointed again toward
the end of the valley. “You think maybe we run them through that gap, trap
them?”
“Might be a possibility. I’ve heard of men running mustangs
for days, tiring them out.” He scratched his jaw, trying to figure the best
approach. “With a small band like this, I reckon we could probably rope the
lead mare. The rest will follow.”