The Vegetarian

by baqaqi

Part 1

It all started the day Clarence went into the pot. At least that was the first Jan knew there was going to be a problem. It could be it began long before that, when Father Michael first dropped off the girls.

Of course it was only one of many problems, and certainly not the worst of them, but most of the others she had inherited. This one she couldn’t help but acknowledge she had a hand in creating.

Poor Susie. Reluctantly she added Poor Clarence.

Technically it was not a pot he went into but a roasting pan, and it never should have happened. At the very least she could have tried to work out a trade with Mr. McGowan before Thanksgiving. It wouldn’t have changed the fact that the bird had been eaten, but at least the little girl wouldn’t have had the evidence before her on that fateful day and then revisited as leftovers over the course of the following week.

She had always been a quiet, sensitive child. Now she was a quiet, sensitive child who would not eat meat. Not that they had meat so very often in their humble household, or that the other girls minded in the least taking her portion when they did, but she was so wan to begin with. Could it be good for her to subsist on beans and vegetables alone?

It did not happen all at once. First it was merely those she could visually identify as having limbs that she rejected: chickens, rabbits, any small game. Next fish, with their glassy eyes and gaping mouths, were out. Sausages remained on the list of food she would eat until Martha, always full of useful information, so kindly informed Susie of how they were made.

Now they sat at the dinner table again, Dad, Jan, and all the girls. Susie gingerly poked beneath the delicately crusted mashed potatoes covering the shepherd’s pie. Within the brown gravy she found something solid. Nudging it aside with her fork she looked up to the young woman, eyes questioning silently.

“It’s a kidney,” Jan said simply.

Suzie frowned thoughtfully. It didn’t have any legs or wings or fins. Was it an animal?

“A kidney, stupid,” the eleven-year-old next to her said. “Don’t you know what a kidney is?”

“Martha, what have I told you about using that word?” Jan asked.

“Sorry, Aunt Jan,” Martha muttered, her eyes showing nothing resembling remorse. It was too late, though. She already had captured the five-year-old’s fearful curiosity. As soon as she figured her aunt wasn’t listening she poked the bottom of Susie’s rib cage. “They’re right inside there,” she whispered wickedly. “Kidneys make pee.”

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The San Joaquin Valley could get mighty dry during the summer, but there were showers during the winter that seemed intent on making up for it all at once. Even a well maintained oilskin couldn’t keep all that water from seeping through a bit at the seams. The trip had certainly begun with blue skies, but by the time they had arrived at their destination dark, heavy clouds had rolled over the mountain barricade obscuring the heavens with a gray, wet blanket. By the time they started off for home it had begun to shed some of its weight upon the land.

It was beginning to rain again, but the two riders plodded on side by side regardless, prodding along the bloated beast in front of them. The younger never ceased to be amazed at how obstinate the elder could be over the stupidest things. Usually he did not mind humoring his brother so long as it didn't cause anyone else grief. For one thing it gave him plenty of opportunity to rib him when things invariably did not go as planned. Neither was he averse to undergoing a little hardship when circumstances required it. This, however, was ridiculous. He wanted to be some place warm, wearing clean dry clothes and tasting anyone's cooking but Nick's. Besides that he had the sinking feeling he had a cold coming on, and riding through this muck wasn’t doing it any good. He thought it was an awful lot of trouble for just one cow, and he said so.

"A cow and a calf!" Nick insisted, scowling, water dripping off the brim of his black hat and streaming down his glistening rain poncho.

"I'm sure that makes aaall the difference," Heath drawled twitching one eyebrow, his voice reverberating in his sinuses. Actually, it did make a difference. It made this trip even more idiotic. Driving a very slow, very pregnant cow they didn't need forty miles through the rain just so they could get it back to Stockton by Friday. "You know, we could have waited a couple days. 'Till the rain let up?"

"Huh uh. Izzy’ll be going to the doctor day after tomorrow, and I want to be the first thing she puts her arm around when that cast comes off. And I promised I’d take her to that church social, too. If I stand her up again she’ll probably set the dogs on me.”

"Then why," Heath asked the obvious, "are you bothering with this?" He nodded ahead. “ We could be home in half the time or better.”

"Because I won it, and I'm keepin' it. Besides, that’s a valuable piece of property. Do you have any idea how much Ferguson paid for that bull?" he asked referring to the animal that had sired the calf.

"Thirty-five huuunnndred dollars," the two spoke together in rhythm, one emphatically the other in monotone. Nick scowled mildly self-consciously.

"Looked kinda scrawny to me," Heath prodded, even soggy he was unable to resist the tease. "I figure he got took."

"It's not quantity, it’s quality!" Nick insisted boisterously, seemingly oblivious to his brother's smirk. "And he's been a busy boy. Get him away from those cows and he'll put on another two hundred pounds like that!" He motioned a snap with his right hand, but between the glove and the noise of the rain it was inaudible. "I won't deny those Herefords are good at turning grass into fat beef, but I don't think I've ever tasted a better steak than the ones Ewen served us up from that cull, and he's no cook. Just think what Silas could do given the same beef." He reached over and gave the cow's belly an affectionate slap. "Besides, I kinda like the look of 'em," he continued.

He would, the quieter man thought to himself. Nick had a definite affinity for the color black. You'd never know by looking that Ebony, Ewen Ferguson’s beloved bull, was part Longhorn. The dark coloring dominated over the more mottled hide of the Texas variety, and the crossbreed had even less horn than Prince Oxford, that is to say none. According to Ferguson he was descended from two of four naturally hornless, or polled, bulls shipped specially over from Britain by a countryman of his in Kansas. He was two generations removed from a cross that had been bred back to the original Aberdeen-Angus stock and was therefore seven eighths pure English, and had produced offspring of consistently excellent quality for over four years.

Nick had known Ferguson about six years now. The Scotsman had a reasonable sized spread just out of Merced. They had met at an auction in Fresno when he went down to purchase some breeding stock. They had introduced themselves to each other by way of a fist fight, gotten smashed together in a drinking contest, then hit it off amazingly well as they sobered up together in the pokey after being arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct. Since then he had a standing invitation to drop by any time he was out that way.

This time he had made a point to be out that way. The trip was ostensibly to check out some horses, but Heath knew better. Nick was just aching to get out from under the ever-watchful eye of his intended father-in-law. Not that Heath had figured his brother would be up to no good, but having Dai Morgan constantly looking over his shoulder just waiting for him to mess up was definitely cramping his style. Proud, impulsive, headstrong, hot-tempered Nick was not the Quaker blacksmith’s idea of the perfect husband for his daughter.

Poor Nick. There weren’t many people who intimidated him, but the six and a half foot giant definitely did. And why not? Even at fifty years of age Dai still spent all day swinging that sixteen-pound hammer. The fact that he proclaimed himself a peace loving man did not in any way detract from the effect of his physical presence. Much more importantly though, was the fact that he had a certain amount of control over Nick and Isobel’s future happiness together. Unless Nick adhered to the conditions he had set he would not give his approval for the match. Of them, the one Nick was having by far the most difficulty with was the injunction against brawling.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if the word hadn’t gotten out. For some low-lives this was a dream come true--a chance to rile Nick Barkley without the guaranteed consequence of getting the tar beaten out of them. A privilege normally reserved for family. For the first couple weeks Nick took it in good spirits, waving off the jibes with an unconcerned, even superior smile. He was on cloud nine. Nothing could ruffle his feathers. “They’ll get sick of it soon enough,” he had said optimistically.

By the third week that smile had developed a tic, but he remained resolute. No fighting.

They did not get sick of it. Quite the contrary. It promised to the best entertainment to liven up what could otherwise be a very dull winter. Casey behind the bar denied any knowledge of it, but Heath had it on very good authority there was a pool going as to when Nick would finally crack.

Heath began to recommend giving the saloon a miss on the days that they went to town, just to stay on the safe side. However as intent as Nick was on staying out of trouble, he was just as determined to keep going places where it might be found. He could give or take the beer, but he wasn’t about to let a bunch of yellow yahoos keep him from having it when or where he chose.

Then just two weeks ago Harry Talbot went a little too far. Heath didn’t quite catch what he said about Nick’s fiancé, but just bringing up a woman’s name in a bar was reason enough for censure. One look at his brother’s face told him that the man’s tolerance, already stretched far beyond its usual limits was about to snap.

Nobody in the saloon dared laugh until they were ten feet out the door. Even then it was hardly above a snicker, but the damage was done and Nick was furious with him.

“I suppose I ought to thank you for that,” Nick said, sounding not at all convinced.

“That’s what brothers are for,” Heath returned, nursing his bruised knuckles. Harry bore the imprint of the blond’s fist on his face. “It’s lucky Simmons and Frost decided not to join in. I wouldn’t care to take ‘em all on alone.” More likely they were just betting on a different day.

“You wouldn’t have been alone,” Nick assured him. “Izzy said she’d have me with or without her father’s blessing. I would have gladly taken care of Harry myself.”

“He’s liable to be your father-in-law for a long time. I’d go for ‘with’ if I was you.”

“Like hell you would. Not if you had to put up with every coward in town takin’ a poke at you and yours to get it. A man doesn’t put up with that--” he paused a moment “--or have his little brother fight his battles for him.” Raucous laughter peeled down the street from behind the saloon doors, and he bristled.

Heath could just see those little hairs standing up on the back of Nick’s neck. If they hadn’t been preparing to leave the next day he would have gone back into the saloon, taken Casey aside, and put some of his own money down.

Part 2

Once the last orange of January had been brought in and sold, things were usually pretty dead until the spring calving began. Certainly, there were always fences to mend, but nothing that demanded the direct supervision of either of the Barkley men who ran the ranch. Aside for the weather being miserable, it was a perfect time for them to get away.

To be honest with himself, Heath had his own reasons for wanting to get away for a while, and they weren’t so far removed from his brother’s. He had been courting Amy Hoversland after a fashion for nearly half a year, and ever since Nick and Isobel announced their intentions, Jim and his wife Laura had been getting, well, pushy. Amy was a nice enough girl. Sweet, pretty--not so it jumped out at you, but pretty enough. There wasn’t anything wrong with her, but all the same Heath wasn’t sure he wanted things to go any farther than they had. A little distance might help him figure if he was just reacting to the unwelcome pressure from her parents to make a declaration of intent.

As far as horse buying, the trip was a bust. It seemed every second critter they came across was either cow-hocked, coon footed, calf kneed, bandy legged, or pigeon toed, and those that weren’t, well, Nick found something wrong with each and every one of them anyway. Still, getting away seemed to be just what the man needed. The tic was gone, the old enthusiasm had returned, and within a very short time all Nick could talk about was getting back to his girl. And then they dropped by Ferguson’s place and got into that stud poker game.

The old bachelor rancher, though honest, was a surly fellow, and he liked to drink and gamble a bit more than was wise. Beside him Nick, who was a good deal more likely to pass out from a blow to the head than from drink, looked downright restrained. Ewen had taken one look at the fat wad of bills bulging unspent in Nick's pocket and vowed that the Barkley boys would not depart his property without leaving a goodly portion of it at the poker table. For a while it looked as though he might get his wish. He had won pot after pot, but luck was ultimately not on his side.

Heath had to give his brother credit. He had tried to pull out like a gentleman a number of times, but the Scotsman was most insistent. Ewen just didn’t know when to stop. It was that and his poor business sense rather than the quality of his cattle that kept his ranch from taking off the way it should have. To pay off his debts and be sure his employees got their wages regularly, he was constantly being forced to sell more of his stock to market than he could readily spare to build the herd up.

It was a shame, really. Heath had been quite impressed with the technical side of the operation. Ewen and his hired help certainly knew their cattle. The man had some truly excellent breeding stock of which he took exceedingly good care. The fertility rates were good, his heifers had virtually no difficulty calving, and the percentage of his calves that survived up to weaning was phenomenal. The trade off was that Angus/Longhorn crosses did wean a bit lighter and took a bit longer to reach full mature weight than their own Herefords. The hope was that as the animals were bred back to favor the Angus line they would gain a bit better.

By contrast, the Barkleys’ prize bull, Prince Oxford, was not nearly as prolific as the hybrid bulls, and while the older cows seldom had trouble his progeny were too often too large for the young heifers to deliver without aid, but the steers reached respectable market size nearly a full year earlier than Ferguson's crosses. That meant a full year’s maintenance cost cutting into his profits.

The Scotsman had not believed Nick could have beaten his full house or he would not have risked Ebony's first progeny of the season in response to the hundred-dollar raise. The cow carrying it was fully half Longhorn but Ferguson was hoping it would be a male of breeding caliber to increase his experimental herd. This calf would be about three quarters Angus, and if it were indeed a male of good form, he could be sufficient to produce offspring of reasonable conformation to be incorporated into the breeding program.

Nick had no such ambitions. While he, too, was impressed with Ferguson’s breeding program, he had committed, however reluctantly, to the Hereford and was sticking to it. However he had no objection whatsoever to raising an excellent quality steer for the family's private consumption, and he had especially enjoyed the look on the formerly smug man's face when he told him his plans for the cow's offspring, right down to the potato salad on the side.

In his opinion he was being generous in accepting the hybrid cow and unborn calf in lieu of one hundred dollars. Ferguson had looked angry enough to spit nails, but let it go. He had been beaten fair and square. He just hadn't figured on Nick's surprising ability to contain his enthusiasm over his flush. Of course Heath had recognized immediately when his brother had acquired his needed queen of hearts, but then he knew Nick a lot better than the Scotsman did.

Heath wasn’t sure he would have taken the animal had he been in the same position. Nick seemed confident that Ewen could afford to lose it. He was after all a hard-working man with good employees, excellent stock and a good piece of well-watered land. Still, Heath had worked for men like that before and watched them go under when there just didn’t seem to be any reason they should other than the personal weaknesses of the man at the top.

To a first approximation, Nick and the Scotsman were very similar. They were both volatile, impulsive, and enjoyed their pleasures, but while Nick didn’t necessarily show the best of judgment in his personal life, he was always extremely careful when it came to running the ranch. He appreciated lady luck when he found her, acknowledged her power, but knew better than to rely on her in lieu of good planning. He never bet more than he personally could comfortably lose (it was his own, not family money he had been wagering) and was very conservative with his business dealings. He was open enough to innovation on a small scale, but big changes, like the switch to Herefords, were a lengthy process. Nick liked to be absolutely certain something was going to fly before he was willing to risk the family’s holdings. One exception to that was consenting to having the herd inoculated with that anthrax vaccine, but that was a special case. He had the entire family’s endorsement for that, and it was a matter of honor and friendship, not a whim.

Not like this. Sniffing back a nose full of snot, Heath looked disgustedly again at the black cow. Nick was cutting it mighty close to the wire trying to get home on time while driving this animal. Izzy really should give him hell if he misses their date.

While Charger splashed through a puddle, the light haired cowboy decided to needle his brother a bit more. "I didn't know Isobel had a dog."

"Huh?" Nick responded confused.

"You said she was liable to set the dogs on you?" he stated, his voice lifting at the end.

"Oh. Well, I expect she'd run out and get one just for that purpose if I don't show up this time."

"You think so?" Heath twisted the corner of his mouth into a bemused smile. The way Nick had gotten himself wrapped up in that girl…well it was pretty funny. She was just a little too outspoken and overbearing for his personal taste. With Nick, however that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Women who insisted on being too subtle tended to get frustrated with the man who often needed to be bashed over the head with a point before he was able to see it. And people who didn’t have a good measure of good sense and confidence, or didn’t know how to stand their ground often got swept over in the irresistible current of Nick’s often overwhelming determination.

Occasionally even those who did, he admitted wryly to himself.

The rain started coming down harder now, and the sky was growing rapidly darker. In the distance there was a silent, brief flicker of light. That surely meant trouble to a man foolish enough to be out in the open with excitable stock. They were going to have to find themselves some shelter and a place to tie down the animals. As if reading his mind Nick reined back and signaled for a stop. "We'd best get someplace dry before that lightning gets any closer," Heath called out over the din.

Nick nodded his consent. He considered a moment. "The road branches off just a mile or so up ahead,” he called out. “Fellow I met a couple of times lives near there. A vet, name of Dan Wallace. Don't think he'd mind putting up with us for a couple hours. We could take a short cut. Get there in about half the time, but we’d have to ride over that hill. It’s pretty exposed, but I’m willing to risk it if you are."

Heath looked at the shallow slope and hollered back, “Sounds good to me!”

They were just cresting the hill when the heavens opened up in earnest. The rain pummeled the earth then bounced up again, carrying with it a quantity of mud loosened from the ground. The other side of the hill was a good bit steeper than where they had come up, and the ground was slick. Heath was starting to think maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.

“NOT HERE!” Nick yelled, sensing his brother’s reluctance. His voice was barely discernible over the rage of the torrent. “IT LEVELS OUT FARTHER EAST! WE’LL GO DOWN TH--!”

His last words were cut off by a flash of lightening followed immediately by a terrific BOOM! The horses screamed and reared.

Part 3

Heath reacted quickly, gripping tightly to Charger with his legs. The slick mud slipped beneath the horse’s hooves, but an agile beast, he quickly regained his footing. Far less agile, however was the profoundly pregnant cow, and occupied as Heath and his mount were with keeping themselves upright, they were unable to move out of its way.

“HEATH, LOOK OUT!” Nick hollered out, struggling to keep his own Duke under control, but it was too late. Man and horse were broadsided by a half a ton of black hided pot roast. Down the incline they went together, Charger sliding barely ahead of the massive beast with Heath still clinging tenaciously to his back. Heath didn’t dare let go, knowing that if he did he would surely be crushed under the tumbling cow that was quickly gaining on them.

His endurance was rewarded. Charger found his feet just in time and scrambled clear. The cow was not so lucky. She continued to slide downward, bawling and kicking all the way.

Nick tore his eyes away from the spectacle of the tumbling behemoth to his brother. Heath was keeping his seat fine and didn’t appear to be hurt, but the bay was painfully limping his way down the remainder of the slippery hill. As soon as they reached level ground, the drenched and muddied rider dismounted his injured horse. With as much haste as was prudent Nick rode down to meet him.

Heath was examining one of his horse’s hind legs when Nick got there. “I don’t think that cow’s gonna make it,” he said looking only briefly up.

The elder brother dismounted. “Forget the damn cow. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I think so, but I don’t like the look of this knee. How much farther did you say your friend lives from here?”

“Mile, maybe two. You wanna walk him?”

“Well I ain’t gonna ride him. Not till I know how bad it is.”

Even through the noise of the rain Heath could hear Nick’s exasperated sigh. Walking a lame horse could be even slower than leading a pregnant cow. In earlier years he would have interpreted the reaction as unjustified irritation, but in the four years he had known his brother he learned to distinguish when the temperamental man was angry with someone else or just himself. This time it was most certainly the latter.

“All right,” said a resigned Nick. “You take care of him.” He sighed again and pulled his rifle from the boot. “I, uh, I guess I’ll go take care of the cow.”

Heath’s gaze followed after him, and he couldn’t help but sympathize. Now not only were they bound to be late, Nick was losing his prize as well. He gave Charger a pat on the rump and followed.

The hybrid was in pretty sad shape. Animals that size do not fall gracefully. She could still move her head slightly, but her legs were shattered and her neck was broken. At least she wasn’t likely to be in much pain. Nick raised his weapon to put her out of her misery, but as he began to squeeze the trigger he noticed the movement within the cow’s belly. The calf was still alive. How old was it now? Old enough to survive? Ferguson had said he liked to start his calving early. It was just possible this didn’t have to be a total loss.

“Heath, if you’re sure you’re alright and can wait here a few minutes I’ll race over to Wallace’s to get some help. Bring back a wagon, dry blankets. . .”

“Help? With what? That cow’s beyond help, Nick.”

“You remember that heifer we lost last year?”

Heath nodded. The two men had struggled together for hours trying to pull out an oversized calf to no avail. The heifer was just too small. The calf wouldn’t budge, and rather than lose both animals they’d decided to shoot the mother, hurriedly cutting her open and releasing the calf from it’s prison.

“I don’t know, Nick. Sounds like a long shot to me.”

“The calf lived, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, but we had a whole pasture full of new mommas to choose from to look after it. We’re thirty miles from home in the middle of a rainstorm with a calf that ain’t ripe yet.”

Nick took it all in, but from the set of his jaw, Heath could see he was determined. He shook his head, giving in. “All right. Go on then. I’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t get up and walk off. I’m goin’ anywhere fast anyway.”

“Thanks, Heath!” Nick clapped him hard on the shoulder, then after returning the rifle to the boot swung back into the saddle. “I’ll be right back!”

Heath watched his brother disappear into the rain. Once Nick was out of sight he allowed himself to wince with pain as he rotated that shoulder. He didn’t think he had dislocated it, but he had definitely pulled something, and that whack didn’t help it any. Well hell, he supposed it was worth a try. No sense going home empty handed without at least giving it a try.

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“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Jan exclaimed. She had looked up from the pot she had been stirring and noticing the tiny rivulet of water creeping over the threshold, ventured out of the kitchen to inspect its source. The girl was standing by the open window, rain pelting her in the face. “Martha, you’re going to catch your death of cold! Whatever were you thinking?” She inserted herself between her niece and the window and pulled down the sash.

Martha did not deign to answer. Jan was not her mother. What does she care if I catch my death of cold? she thought. She doesn’t care about us. About any of us--just precious Susie. When Daddy comes home and finds out how mean she’s been then she’ll get it. He’ll tell her off good, just like he always did her teachers and anyone else who dared to treat her unfairly.

She was Daddy’s princess, the smartest of all his children--he even said so. ‘Clever Martha’ he called her. “How’s my clever Martha?” he always said when he came in and scooped her up in his arms. Daddy never scolded her for sharing her immense store of knowledge with the world. Never told her she was being inappropriate. Never thought she was showing off or being vicious. If Susie wanted her to tell her something, why shouldn’t she? The world was full of unpleasant truths. If Martha had to accept them why should the dumb little baby be any different?

But everything would be fine again once Daddy came home. He understood things nobody else did, like sitting out on the front porch during a thunderstorm and cheering on God whenever there was a really big flash of lightening. Not Grandpa. Not her older sisters. Certainly not Aunt Jan. And precious little Susie was scared of thunder.

Mary and Catherine were nearly as bad as Aunt Jan. They were always sucking up to her, offering to help out around the house, insisting that she do the same. They were all so unfair. Mean. They all hated her because she was so smart. Because she wasn’t cute and stupid and timid and didn’t faint at the sight of blood like some people.

“Martha,” Aunt Jan said expectantly.

The girl rolled her eyes. What did she want now?

“Could you please go to the closet and get the mop? You’ve let water in all over the floor, and someone might slip.”

So unfair! she thought trudging bitterly to the broom closet. Still, there was no use in saying no. She had learned that the first day she and her sisters first walked through the door six months ago. She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed did not accept no for an answer. She fetched the mop and pail and returned to the sitting room. Expending as little effort as possible she swished the implement back and forth. The water sloshed across the smooth polished surface over to the braided rug and she stopped to marvel at how quickly and effectively the fibers soaked up the moisture. It seemed to just suck it off the floor. She swished a bit more in that direction, and again the rug soaked it right up. It didn’t even change the color any. It occurred to her she could just direct all the water there, and nobody would ever know. It didn’t matter that it was no easier than doing the job properly. That wasn’t the point.

She chanced to look out the window again, the view now obscured by the six-over-six panes. There was something out there, no, someone on a horse coming this way. A big man, she figured, riding fast. Who could possibly be coming to visit in this weather? Nobody went out in a thunderstorm if they didn’t have to. Nobody she knew but her and. . .

“DADDY!” she yelled, and dropping the mop she flew to the door, flung it open and ran outside.

Part 4

It was a bother to have to use a lamp at this time of day. Natural light was so much better for executing the delicate stitches, but when the rain clouds so obscured the sun there wasn’t any alternative. Mary was intent on using every spare minute she had to finish her project. It just had to be done in time. She was half-way through a very finely stitched flower when she came to a rather distressing realization. Oh dear! she thought then looked over to her sister. “Catherine, do you have any more blue silk? Mine is almost gone and I’m only half through.”

“Maybe,” Catherine said absently, not looking up from her book. The fourteen year old lay on her stomach, her elbows planted on the double bed the two eldest girls shared, her fists holding up her chin. A long black braid lay along the length of her back. “What will you give me for it?”

“I’ll replace it next time we go to town, I promise.”

“That might not be for a long time, Mare.” She turned a page. “What if I need it before then?”

“You? Need it?” Mary set her embroidery down fiercely. “When was the last time YOU did any embroidery?”

Catherine shrugged. “I might decide to start working on that sampler again.”

“You haven’t touched that in over three months! I want to finish this in time for John’s birthday.”

“Work on a different color. Then when we go to town you can get some more blue yourself.”

“But it won’t be the same. Not exactly. It will ruin the whole piece if I switch in the middle of a pansy.”

“Then pick it out and start again. I want my blues to match, too.”

”Your silly sampler is just for practice. It’s a perfect waste to use silk on it anyway. It won’t matter if the color is off. Come on, Cath!”

The younger girl did not answer.

“All right,” Mary sighed. “You can have one of my new hair ribbons.”

Catherine looked up. “The red one?”

Mary frowned. “The green.”

“ And you get me some new silk to replace what you take.”

“Agreed.”

“Check the bureau drawer,” Catherine said. “The little one on the right.”

Mary crossed the room, nearly tripping over a pair of small feet sticking out from under the bed. The little girl had been so quiet she had quite forgotten she was there. Next to Aunt Jan’s skirts that was her favorite place to hide during a thunderstorm.

She stooped over and lifted the dust ruffle. “You can come out now, Susie, the lightning’s over.”

After a moment the legs began to move and the girl’s little body shimmied backward, her skirt riding up as her backside wriggled into view. Once her head had cleared she popped up jack-in-the-box style into a sitting position, her legs making a ‘w’ on the floor.

“What have you been doing under there, Susie?” Mary asked. As usual, Susie didn’t answer, but instead unclenched her handiwork from her chest. In her hand she held her dolly, bound head to toe in the tattered ribbon she had removed from her own golden locks.

“Oh dear! She’s sick, is she?”

Susie nodded.

She had certainly done a job on Dolly. Those knots were tied so tightly they threatened to cut off its non-existent circulation. From the damp toothmarks on the ribbon it appeared she was having some difficulty resolving them.

“You’d better go ask Aunt Jan to help you with that,” Mary said. “But I think she’s going to have to snip it off this time.”

Obediently Susie got up and left the room in search of aid. Jan had a lot of experience untying those knots and could often get them undone without sacrificing the ribbon. Even her skills had their limits, but she was usually willing to give it a try before getting out the scissors. . . at least when the cat wasn’t involved. Susie’s arms still bore many scratches from the last time she attempted to minister to that poor creature.

Mary continued on to the bureau and pulled open Catherine’s sewing drawer. Inside was a mass of tangled threads and unidentifiable scraps. Pins and needles were scattered loosely about.

“This is a mess! How do you ever find anything in here?”

Catherine shrugged and turned another page.

Eventually, she found the blue silk. Much of it had been unwound from the little skein, however, and was knotted about as badly as that ribbon was around the doll. Worse even, if one counted the number of knots, but they were loose enough that if she sat down at it for a few minutes she should be able to separate it out. She carried the drawer back to the little desk and started pulling at strings.

A bother. That Catherine was so careless with her things. It was really Mary doing the favor here, straightening them out, and yet she was paying for the priviledge. Oh well, she didn’t care much for that green ribbon anyway, or the red one for that matter. Seventeen was really too old to be braiding ribbons into her hair any more. And John liked it pinned up.

She was just starting to tackle a particularly complicated snarl when she heard Martha’s excited cry. Mary and Catherine looked skeptically at one another, then both girls dropped what they were doing, jumped up and dashed to the sitting room. Aunt Jan was already there, Susie clinging tightly to her leg. The front door stood wide open, the floor drenched.

“What’s going on?” Catherine asked incredulously. “Is Daddy--?”

Jan shook her head. “No, Honey. Not your dad. Just a rider coming. Could you please go get Grandpa? I think he’s fallen asleep in the office again.”

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Nick rode hell for leather for the vet’s house. He felt bad about leaving Heath out there and wanted to get back as soon as possible. As he got closer, he saw the front door swing open, and someone run out. A little girl. He could barely make out the shape of a skirt before the rain plastered it to her legs. He slowed up, letting her approach. She was calling out something. Even though the rain had let up some, it was still loud enough to muffle the words Was something wrong there?

Suddenly, just as the girl was getting close enough for him to get a good look at her, she stopped in her tracks.

“Howdy!” he called out. “I’m looking for a Dan Wallace. Is he here?”

The girl turned around and ran back to the house.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Disappointed and humiliated at having done something so stupid, Martha ran back inside. Aunt Jan was there, arms outstretched for her, but she ran right past to her big sister, crying just like a baby.

“It’s alright, Sweetheart. A natural mistake,” Aunt Jan said.

Martha humphfed and tore herself away to the girls’ bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

A little confused, but undaunted, Nick continued up to the house. By the time he’d dismounted, he saw a familiar face at the door.

“Wallace? Dan Wallace?” he called out.

“Can I help you?”

Nick hopped up the porch steps and reached out his hand. “Nick Barkley! You remember my father, don’t you?”

Dan took the hand firmly with a nod of recognition. “Sure, I remember Tom Barkley and you. Come on in out of that rain. Cathy you wanna go take care of Mr. Barkley’s horse?”

“Wait, wait a minute,” Nick started. “I was wondering if you folks could help me out. My brother’s out a couple miles off--”

“Jarrod’s with you?” Dan asked.

“Ah, no. Heath. Anyway we’ve got this cow carrying what could be a very valuable calf…” He continued on explaining the situation. If the vet found the men’s situation at all peculiar he didn’t let on, but he was a little dubious about the calf.

“Even if we get it out quick and can keep it warm enough ‘til we get it back here, it’s going to need milk.”

“We’ve got milk,” The girl called Cathy said.

“No, no. It’s gotta be early milk. Calf, ‘specially premature one, doesn’t get its early milk within its first few hours you might as well forget it.”

“The McGowan’s Sukey just calved a couple days ago!” another chirped up. She was similar in appearance to Cathy, same dark hair and turned up nose, but looked a couple years older. “John told me yesterday when he came to visit.”

“A couple days?” Dan frowned. “Might do. You figure your Johnny could convince his old man to part with a few quarts? I owe this man’s family a favor.”

“Oh, I’m sure he would!” she said.

Part 5

“I’ll be right back,” he had said.

Heath pulled the soggy handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. Time was such a subjective thing. When one was waiting in the rain with a cold and a banged up shoulder, it went pretty damn slowly.

Much of that time he had spent squatting at that cow’s side, giving whatever dubious comfort he could. The leeward side of the hill offered only minimal cover, but he wanted to stay clear of the trees so long as there was lightening in the area. The flash that had spooked the horses had been mighty close indeed, and he didn’t like to tempt fate. Six years back during a brief stint working out Mariposa way he’d come across the corpse of a mule, a prospector’s companion, fried from beneath when lightning struck a tree. The jolt had traveled down the trunk and through the roots, taking the unsuspecting animal by surprise from beneath. Since then he preferred to take his chances out in the open during an electrical storm if he couldn’t find more certain shelter.

However, once he was relatively certain the last of it had passed he made his way toward the foliage. There, while waiting for Nick to return, he had a chance to get a good look at Charger’s knee before setting himself down to rest on a relatively dry boulder. There was no apparent wound, and it didn’t seem to be swelling much, but he was definitely favoring that leg. Hopefully it was just a bruise and would mend quickly, but he reaffirmed in his mind that he didn’t want to be riding a hurt mount if he didn’t have to. He doubted, though, that it would have taken any more time to just walk to that house his brother spoke of than to wait it out for that wagon.

What was taking him so long? What was he doing? Sitting down for tea and cookies? A nice little chat by the fire? ”Oh don’t worry about Heath,” Nick reassures his host. ”He won’t mind waiting another half hour or so. Could I have another one of those cookies?” “Why certainly, Mr. Barkley! Have two! Have three!” A host of beautiful girls surrounds him eager to do his bidding, one carrying a plate of huge sugar cookies another with a teapot. Another kneels at his feet polishing his boots. Still another stands by his side, holding a cigar to his lips, her ample bosom thrust in his face. ”Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Barkley?” He is in hog heaven, lapping up all the attention, brother, fiancé, cow and calf all forgotten as he sips his chamomile.

Chamomile? Heath shook the vision from his head. He had to be feverish. At least the rain was letting up. There actually even seemed to be some blue sky somewhere out on the horizon, and there off in the distance--he craned his neck and squinted his eyes just to be sure--movement. He rose to his feet and pressed forward out of the canopy to get a better look.

Yep, that was Nick all right. Boy howdy! He knew that man’s silhouette anywhere. And there was indeed a wagon on which he could make out two figures riding. Instantly he took back every evil thought he’d had.

“HEATH!” Nick called out just as soon as he was within shouting range. Heath took off his hat and waved it in the air.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Jan had no qualms about leaving the younger two girls in Catherine’s care. Susie was never any trouble, and in all honesty, Martha behaved better for her older sisters than she did for their aunt. Usually buried in a book, Danny’s second daughter was occasionally absent minded, but very responsible when it counted. Catherine would keep the beans from burning, and by the time they returned would have water heated and poured for the first bath and more on the stove for the next. They would arrive home cold, wet, and dirty.

Jan did feel a little guilty about sending Mary off in the horrible weather however, but the eldest of her nieces was most enthusiastic. Not so very surprising--Mary would seize any excuse to go see that young Johnny McGowan. And with her doing the asking, John the elder wouldn’t refuse them a pint or two of Sukey’s milk. He was nearly as taken with the seventeen year old as his son was.

Of more concern to her was Dad. Despite his calm, reasoning exterior, she could tell that inside he was as excited as a schoolboy over this adventure, the first time in a couple of years he’d been called out on emergency. His vision was going, and his arthritic hands were not as steady as they used to be. In addition he had a tendency to fall asleep at inopportune moments. She wasn’t sure how he’d hold up to the challenge, but she couldn’t come out and say that. In the end, she just made it her business to be on the wagon when it was ready, and the urgency of the situation disallowed any opportunity for argument. If he needed her assistance she would be there. If not, she was an extra hand.

All parties converged at the body of the poor prostrate beast. As Jan and her father climbed down, Mr. Barkley, the one who came to the door, apologized to his brother.

“Sorry it took so long, Heath. We got going as soon as we could, but it took a while to get the wagon hitched up.”

“Hardly noticed you’d been gone,” Heath replied. He looked curiously at the pair.

“Oh, uh, Dan this is my brother, Heath. Heath this is Dan Wallace.” Heath nodded politely. “And this is, ah. . . “ Nick faltered. In their haste to leave the house they’d quite neglected to go through introductions.

“Janet. Janet Wallace,” the woman finished.

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”

“Well, lets not just stand around here jawin’ in the rain,” her father said. “We’ve got work to do. Jan, you go ahead and fetch me the blankets and supplies. Now, Heath?” Dan frowned briefly at the unfamiliar name. “As soon as that calf comes out and starts breathing it’s gonna need to be bundled up warm. Best bet is to hold it tight right up to your skin and we’ll wrap blankets round the both of you. Up side--you get the first bath. Think you can handle that?”

“Boy howdy, first in the bath? Might just be worth it!”

“All right then, lets get busy!”

BVBVBVBVBVBV

Heath peeled off his rain poncho, and with that held up against the rain removed both coat and damp shirt beneath. A dry blanket was then thrown over his shoulders which were already beginning to goose pimple. Together he and Jan then held the poncho over the other two men and the cow. The old vet’s hand was more deft and steady than it had been in a few years, and once Nick had ended the cow’s life, Dan hastily but carefully slit open first its belly then its womb until the calf came spilling out in a wash of meconium stained amniotic fluid. It lay still on the wet blanket.

Quickly, Dan reached into the calf’s mouth, clearing away the mucus, then began rubbing its body briskly. When that failed to stimulate it into breathing, he leaned in, putting pressure on its rib cage and released, then repeated the process, forcing it’s young lungs to expel their contents and draw in air.

The calf gave a sudden kick, and with a nod from the vet, Heath dove down and scooped up the squirming, wet, black creature. Immediately the blanket was bound around them followed by another. Leaving the poncho draped over the carcass, they hurried to the wagon. Nick and Dan aided him into the back while Jan fetched still more blankets to heap on top.

The new calf settled down, slick and hot against Heath’s chest, warming him as much as he was warming it. It was a good thing for him--had it been struggling much he wasn’t sure if he could have held it.

“I’ll go get Charger and catch up with you,” Nick said leaping from the wagon bed. Dan nodded and made for the bench to drive, but Jan intercepted him. Heath couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. The result, however, was that the woman ended up driving, and the old man joined him in the back.

“You all right there, son?” The vet picked the wrong shoulder to slap. Had it not been for the blanket wrapped around, partially supporting the calf’s weight, the sudden shock of pain might have caused Heath to drop his burden. Instead he grunted, his head dipping in what could easily have been interpreted as a nod.

“Good, good.” Dan sat down next to him. He didn’t say any more for a while, but glimpsed over at him occasionally along the bumpy ride back to the house. After a particularly hefty bounce that lifted both men briefly from their seats he called up to the front, “You were saying something about my half blind driving, Jan?”

“Ye-e-es, Dad,” she lilted back.

The corner of Heath’s mouth curled up in a bemused smile.

“Aach, kids!” Dan muttered. “Now I know you and your brothers treated your daddy with more respect than that.”

How to answer that? There was always someone who didn’t know. Tom Barkley had an awful lot of acquaintances it seemed. More popped up all the time. Some knew about Heath, and some didn’t. One got tired of explaining, and unless he was asked flat out or had some pressing need to he didn’t feel obliged to. He had nothing to apologize for, and it was the beginning of a conversation he didn’t particularly want to have. Let Wallace work it out for himself. As for whether Nick or Jarrod ever sassed their father once they hit adulthood, judging from the occasional exasperated sighs Victoria emitted throwing up her hands, he had a reasonable guess. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Well, he was a good man. Damn shame what happened to him. Railroad can be ruthless.” He probed farther. “You know, he, Nick and Jarrod used to stop by whenever they drove cattle this way.” He frowned. “Of course usually it was more than one cow. Last time must have been more’n ten years ago. I suppose you woulda been a bit young then,” he speculated out loud, but didn’t look entirely satisfied with that explanation for not knowing him. Heath would not have been all that young. Nick had been accompanying their father on drives ever since he hit his teens.

Heath looked down, observing the large rhythmically flaring nostrils poking out from under the layers of blanket. The calf was worn out, but it was breathing regularly enough. Asleep. Though the trauma of its birth was past, life was still bound to be a bit of a struggle for a while. When he looked up again he found he had been saved from any farther explanations for the time being. Wallace, too, had fallen asleep.

Part 6

The door to the girls’ bedroom burst open, and a blond blur skittered in and dived under the big bed, heedless of Martha’s grumbled “Go away!” A moment later the back door banged, and there was a cacophony of voices.

“Here let me get--”

“Where do I--”

“The kitchen is probably the warmest--”

“NOT the kitchen! Come on in this way. Over by the fire. I’ll take that coat.” Aunt Jan, of course. She never allowed animals, even small ones, into the kitchen, and the surgery was probability just as warm. Grandpa spent a lot of time there, ostensibly reading, but more often asleep in his big comfy chair. The stove was kept going constantly during the winter to drive the cold and damp from the room.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“CATHERINE! GET SOME OF THAT HOT WATER IN HERE!” That was definitely Grandpa.

Curiosity won out over shame and self-pity. Nothing, absolutely NOTHING interesting could happen around this house outside of her purview. Besides she was no scardy cat to be hiding from strangers. Though they had been dry for some time, she wiped her eyes once more on the sleeve of her fresh dress before poking her nose into the hall.

What a mess. There was mud and rain on the floor. The tracks led to Grandpa’s office, the surgery, where Grandpa and two men were by the Franklin stove, hunched over something. Probably that calf she had heard someone mention. Didn’t anybody ever tell them they were supposed to wipe their feet when entering a house? And she had just mopped!

“I hope you don’t expect me to clean up this, too!” Her proclamation barely rated her a glimpse from the others. Aunt Jan was juggling an armload of filthy blankets, and the men continued talking about the business at hand.

Martha recognized the one from before, not so much by appearance--she’d only gotten a good enough look at him to realize he was not whom she imagined--but from that grating, barking quality to his voice. She turned to the other, who looked no more like a brother to him than, than Susie like a sister to her. Shirtless, he crouched by the stove, fair haired, muscular, and smooth featured.

He looked down so tenderly at the bundle on the floor, as if he felt a special attachment to it. Why he should, she couldn’t fathom (cattle were stupid, ugly, boring creatures) but it piqued her curiosity, and she moved in closer for a better look. Daddy almost always let her watch when he was examining animals in his office. Always told her what he was doing. Always let her help. She was a good helper.

It was a calf all right, black as night and really small. She didn’t think she’d ever seen one that small. No, wait. There was that stillborn one Daddy brought back home that one time to dissect, but this was the smallest one she’d ever seen alive.

Grandpa turned suddenly and bumped into her with his elbow. “You’re blockin’ my light, girl. Jan, can you get Martha out of the way? We’re tripping all over her here.”

“I’m sure if you’ve got something she can do she’d be glad to help, Dad.”

“Don’t need any help. Got plenty of hands as is. Mary back yet with that milk? No? Probably flirtin’ with that McGowan boy. Why the hell couldn’t Danny have left me with grand sons instead of a bunch of useless-- Thank ya, Catherine. Is that boiled?”

“Yes, Grandpa.” The fourteen year old set down a bowl of water and a washcloth.

“Did you take those beans off the fire? I think I smell something burning.”

“Oh! I forgot!” Catherine jumped up and darted back to the kitchen.

“Well, speakin’ of plenty of hands, I don’t figure you need mine any more,” Heath said. “Nick, this is your baby; I’ll leave you to it. Those horses need puttin’ away. Martha is it? I sure would appreciate you showin’ me where everything goes.”

The stranger’s warm tone and kind eyes took some of the sting from her grandfather’s not so gentle brush off. And he needed her help. She positively glowed, nodded enthusiastically and rushed toward the door to comply.

“Little brother, I think you musta been listening to that rain dropping on your head too long,” the other guffawed, rising to his feet himself. “You gotten a good look at yourself? Or a good whiff?” He scrunched up his face as if her were smelling something indescribably nasty. “The doc’s doin’ fine washin’ that calf by himself. How about you do us all a favor and get in that bath? I’ll take care of the horses.” He gestured toward the kitchen where they had passed the steaming metal tub on the way in.


Heath looked down at his front and felt liked a danged fool. No, he hadn’t gotten a good whiff of himself--with his stuffed sinuses he couldn’t smell a thing, but those horses sure could. While Nick wouldn’t be any daisy either, the older brother’s dirt and sweat wouldn’t have the same negative effect as the combination of blood and fouled birth water smeared across his chest. Even Charger wouldn’t allow him anywhere near until he’d had himself a good washing. He gave an acknowledging nod and made a “go ahead” gesture toward the door.

Nick walked toward Martha. “Now, you wanna show me where you keep the--”

“I’ll go get you some towels!” Martha blurted out to Heath and skipped out of the room.

Nick turned back to his brother, simultaneously affronted and amused by the girl’s sudden change of direction.

The Golden One shrugged.

“I’ll send Catherine right out to give you a hand, Mr. Barkley,” Jan said apologetically.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Nick said, a little distracted. “I’m. . . sure I can find everything by myself.”

Heath allowed himself to be ushered out of the shelf lined surgery and into the kitchen. Jan dismissed Catherine from her stove side vigil and apologized for their humble dented bathtub. “I imagine you’re accustomed to much finer.”

“Not at all. This is just fine,” he reassured her. “I remember havin’ lots of kitchen baths in a tub just like this when I was a little boy.” He drew his eyebrows together in an amiable frown and scratched his head. “Though I usually got the last go, ‘cause I was always the dirtiest.”

“Well now you get to go first for the very same reason.“ She had a real nice smile, not dazzling, but easy and natural.

“I feel sorry for the fella who’s gotta go after me, though,” he continued in mock seriousness, and her smile broke into a chuckle.

“Not to worry,” she said. “We’ll pour this out when you’re through. By that time the water on the stove will be hot enough for your brother’s.”

“What about Dan?” The woman’s father (Or was it father in law? They shared a last name, and Dan as much as said the girls were his grandkids) had been protected by a slicker when he cut open that cow, but Heath was sure the old man was in more dire need than Nick.

“Guests always go first. Dad would be the first to insist on that.”

That ‘Dad’ was no help either. Many women referred to their in laws in a similar fashion. Still, she didn’t look old enough to have a daughter Catherine’s age. Perhaps she was a widower’s second wife. Or maybe she just looked younger than she really was--a distinct possibility. The tired vet himself looked to be in his seventies or at the very least his late sixties, and his gray hair and wrinkled face gave no hint of any resemblance he might at one time have shared with her if she was in fact daughter. Those wrinkled features gave him pause. Heath didn’t like the idea of of the old man being forced to take a tepid, second hand bath, but Dan had already shown he had a proud streak. Probably wouldn’t take to well to the suggestion that he waive the rules of hospitality to pander to his aging bones.

Just as Heath was making a mental note to urge Nick to make his bath a short one, the wet haired, puffy eyed younger girl returned with her arms impressively loaded.

“I’ve brought you some towels and soap, and. . .” the girl peered into two boxes balanced precariously on top. “I don’t know what these are called, but they’re supposed to make you smell nice,” she offered. “What do you like better: sandalwood or lavender? I can add it for you? Let’s see.” As she craned her neck to get a good look at the instructions, the whole stack threatened to tumble down. “The box says you need a quarter cup for every--” Heath rescued the bath salts just as they began to tip, sending up a large cloud and spilling some from each perfumey package on his front.

“Thank you, Martha. I’m sure I can manage,” Heath said without betraying even a hint of sarcasm as he blinked the dust from his eyes.

“Well then, Mr. Barkley. We’ll leave you to it,” Jan said. “Martha?”

“Martha?” she repeated, giving the girl’s sleeve a tug. Reluctantly the girl followed her out of the room, and the door clicked shut.

The homey little high backed tub beckoned seductively, and once he had divested himself of boots, socks, trousers and long drawers, he lowered his tired, aching body into it, the sweet smelling bath salts fizzing noisily and tickling his chest as they came in contact with the steaming water. He slid himself down as far as possible to submerge his injured shoulder. Eyes closed, he could not suppress a slight groan as the therapeutic heat permeated sore muscle.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

No sooner did that kitchen door close when Martha realized she had forgotten something terribly important. Why, she hadn’t brought that poor man anything to wear once he had gotten out of the tub! He maybe had a change of clothes packed on his horse, but in all likelihood they would be dirty. She had the impression the two brothers had been on the trail for quite some time.

No, she’d have to fetch him something of Grandpa’s, though the fit wouldn’t be so good. Daddy was more his size, but all of her father’s clothes had been left back at home in Elk Grove save that favorite sweater of his she’d sneaked in her luggage. He had no need of it where he had gone. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind her loaning it out, just until the stranger’s, Heath’s she reminded herself, own clothes were clean. He’d have to make do in the pants department. They’d be a little short, but Grandpa’s pot belly provided ample room around the waist.

Without bothering Aunt Jan or anybody, she crept down the hall and ransacked Grandpa’s drawers for unmentionables and his least favorite pair of trousers, then proceeded to the girls’ room and retrieved Daddy’s sweater from under her pillow. It was still a teeny bit damp from her crying fit, but Heath, coming straight from the bathtub wasn’t likely to notice or care.

She could hear Aunt Jan and Grandpa in the surgery. Catherine had presumably gone out to the barn to help with the horses, because she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Without really thinking about it, Martha quietly turned the knob and pushed open the kitchen door.

He was leaning back in the tub, facing the door, tiny bubbles clinging to his damp chest hairs, and eyes closed with an expression of exquisite bliss on his face. At least he was for the moment before she spoke.

“I’ve brought some clothes for you!”

He sat bolt upright with a start, causing a huge wave to overflow the edge, making a terrific splash on the kitchen floor. First hands plunged down to cover what was already hidden by the cloudy water, then hairy legs wobbled from side to side as he tried unsuccessfully to cover the bare knees which rose high above the brim of the little tub. His wet skin glistened softly in the lamplight.

Embarrassed at having barged in on him this way she stammered, “I’ll j-just leave them here.” She deposited the clothing on top of the towels and hurried out, pulling the door solidly shut behind her.

“Martha, what’s going on out there?” Jan called from the surgery.

“Nothing,” she answered innocently. Martha fell back against the door, her eleven year old heart beating wildly. God, he was beautiful!

Part 7

“Well I’ll be jiggered!” John McGowan exclaimed, looking over the newborn calf.

“You know when Mary came up soaked to the skin and carrying on about an emergency and needing some of Sukey’s milk, I figured I just had to come and see what kind of valuable animal was worth all that fuss.” He shook his head in disbelief. “A black doddie, could it be? I haven’t seen one of these in over twenty years! Didn’t know there were any of these in the States.”

Nick nodded. “Ferguson said it was an Angus cross.”

“Aye, Angus, they’re often called that. But a cross? With what?”

“Longhorn.”

McGowan let out a sharp “Hah!” then shook his head again. “Generations of carefully breeding polled cattle and what do they do in America but breed ‘em to the long horn!” he mused.

Nick felt compelled to defend the little guy. “That’s some mighty good beef there.”

“That it will be. If it lives. For my money Scotland’s got the best beef cattle in the world. Don’t know that I’d go risking my neck over one little calf though. Early, too by the look. What happened to the dam?”

“She’s at the base of that hill a couple miles west of here.” Nick explained the whole situation to the sympathetic Scotsman.

“Just left it lyin’ there did you?”

The lanky cowboy nodded ruefully. “’Fraid so. Pretty much gutted and ready for skinning and hanging, but I was hoping to get back Stockton before the week’s out.” He looked toward the kitchen where Heath was still engaged in his bath. With Charger lamed, even a little, that was looking unlikely. They certainly weren’t going anywhere today. The Wallaces had offered them the loft for as long as they needed it. He hoped it wouldn’t be long.

“Well now we can’t let good Scottish beef go to waste, can we? I’ll tell you what, Barkley. For, say, a side of that cow Johnny and I would be more than glad to market the carcass for you. Send you the proceeds. Can’t say we could get you top dollar, but it’s a sight better than leavin’ it to the coyotes.”

“You just split that with Wallace here and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Nick agreed. The two connoisseurs shook hands and it was settled. The money he could get for the meat would be a mere pittance, nothing like the $100 he had put up against that cow in that poker game, but it sure would be a shame to just let it go.

“Now Mr. Barkley, we couldn’t accept--” Jan started.

Nick put up his hand to halt her. “It’s not a gift,” he clarified. “There’s no way we’re going to be able to bring that calf back with us any time soon. You can think of this as down payment for looking after it until we can come get it.”

“It’ll probably just die,” young Martha opined pessimistically from the corner.

“Don’t say that!” Her sister, Catherine whispered, shushing her.

“Well it will,” the younger insisted no more quietly than before.

Indeed, if it would not eat, it surely would die, and the vet was not having much luck getting it to take the bottle. He’d tried holding the calf’s head solidly between his knees and forcing the nipple into its mouth, but while it swallowed what milk escaped it would not suck.

Heath emerged barefoot from the kitchen, pitifully attired in a worn beige cable knit wool sweater and a pair of loose trousers that stopped a good three inches above his ankles. “We-e-ell now, aren’t you something?” Nick observed, hands on hips. The scent of flowers perfumed the air around the freshly scrubbed cowboy. “John McGowan, this pretty smelling gentleman is my brother, Heath.” The two men greeted each other.

Heath did not miss his brother’s critical scrutiny. “Your turn next, Nick. I bet Martha there can rustle you up something dry to change into.” Martha did not deign to either support or deny that claim, but diverted her red face in another direction.

“Ah no, no thank you. Actually I was thinking of heading back out with McGowan. Show him where we left that cow.”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just stay here.”

“Suit yourself.” Heath did look pretty worn out, and it would be a shame to take him out in the rain again just when he’d got himself all prettied up. Nick figured that if they picked up McGowan’s son first the three of them should be able to manage the carcass all right without him.

The Scotsman and Black Irishman didn’t stick around any longer than necessary. If the cavity of that cow wasn’t cleaned out completely very soon it would sour the meat, and that kind of work benefited more from a man’s strong back than what the vet was trying to accomplish. And the latter required a measure of patience Nick quite lacked at the moment.

Soon after they left, Jan announced the next bath had been prepared. Dan surrendered calf and bottle to Heath, wishing him better luck, rose slowly to his feet, and made his way to the kitchen.

Jan looked around. Now that the excitement was mostly past, there were more mundane things to attend to. There was the rest of supper to prepare, the table to set, and the floor of course. Catherine had already done her share. She turned her attention to Martha, thinking of the sloppy, incomplete job the younger sister had made of mopping earlier. She really wasn’t in the mood for waging war, and while the girl wasn’t doing anything constructive at present in the long run it would just be easier to do it herself. Besides, while she had no problem with going about kitchen business with Dad taking his bath (he usually required her help getting out of the tub anyway) it would be altogether improper for the girl to enter. However, the dishes were stored elsewhere. “Martha, would you be so kind as to set the table, please?”

“Me?!! How come I always have to do it? Why not Mary or Catherine?” the girl complained.

“Mary is staying with the McGowans tonight. Mr. McGowan said she was in a frightful state when she arrived and his wife would not hear of letting her leave. And Catherine has been making herself useful all afternoon.”

“What about Susie?” Martha challenged.

Jan felt a headache coming on. “I asked you,” she sighed. Why did this girl have to make an argument out of everything? “However, if you prefer, Susan could set the table, and you may finish mopping the floor when Grandpa is done with his bath instead.”

Martha glowered.

“Not that it’s any of my business,” Heath said looking up from the calf, “but I think I’d choose the table myself. Never did much care for mopping floors.”

The effect was surprisingly immediate. “How many places should I set?”

Jan was not sure whether to be grateful to the man or appalled. She was embarrassed at her own inadequacy in dealing with the child, but really anything that caused Martha to behave in such a positive manner should be welcomed. Besides, it was the choice was counting on: While setting the table was usually Susie’s job, (Martha’s “always” was much exaggerated), Susie would not willingly come out of hiding as long as there were strangers in the house. In her own way, the shy little girl was as difficult as her dark antithesis.

Jan swallowed her pride, choosing to be relieved at being spared this particular battle. Heaven knew there would be more. “Make it seven,” she said. That would exclude Mary, who would not be here, and allow for both guests, though she was not certain when Nick Barkley meant to return. It was best to err on the side of hospitality.

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That Martha sure was a handful, Heath assessed. The way she looked at him made him more than a little uncomfortable. Not that he felt she meant anything by it. It was just. . . well. . . he was glad she had left the room. That just left Catherine, who also had been looking at him rather oddly. Not quite the same as Martha, but curiously, as if she had been wanting to ask him something. Finally she could contain herself no more.

She cocked her head. “Is your name really Heath?”

“Yep, that’s my name?”

“Like Heathcliffe?”

“Nope. Just Heath.”

“Oh. Because I thought it might be Heathcliffe. You know like in the book.”

Heath shook his head. He had no idea what book she was talking about. He tapped the side of the bottle, releasing some of Sukey’s milk onto his fingers and presented them to the calf. The calf sniffed and licked a little, but did not suck. Probably didn’t like the taste of all those bath salts that had permeated his skin. Heath didn’t blame it.

“You know. Wuthering Heights? By Emily Bronte?”

Wuthering Heights? He understood ‘heights’ but what was ‘wuthering’ supposed to mean? It sounded foreign, as did the name ‘Bronte’. “Sorry. I’m not much of a reader of French literature.”

“Not French, English!”

“I haven’t read much of that either.”

“But your mother must have, to name you after him. It’s such an unusual name.”

If Leah had, she hadn’t mentioned it. And his name didn’t seem so uncommon to him. True, he had never met anyone else with it, but he had known a girl named Heather, which wasn’t so far off. They meant pretty much the same thing. Anyway, he’d never met another Audra either, and as far as he knew his sister hadn’t been named out of a book. And there were other names that seemed a good deal odder to him than his own. Elroy, for instance. Now there was an unusual name.

“You really should read it,” Catherine insisted. “I’m sure you’d like it. Heathcliffe is such a romantic character. Strong but troubled, and desperately in love with Catherine Earnshaw. She’s such a silly dolt though and marries this insipid anemic looking fellow named Edgar even though she’s really in love with Heathcliffe too.”

He might have known. One of those silly dime romance novels. The description of Edgar, however brought to mind a picture of that fellow, George his sister was currently fascinated with. If the Heathcliffe in the book was anything like Audra’s old boyfriend, Conner, than this Edgar may well have been an improvement.

“I could lend it to you if you like?” Catherine offered.

“Well, that’s awfully kind of you to offer, but Nick and I won’t be staying long, and I’m a slow reader. I don’t know when I’d be able to get it back to you.”

The girl looked disappointed.

“But I sure will look it up when I get home,” he added politely. “Maybe the Stockton library will have a copy.”

“You have a library in your town?” Catherine brightened. “How wonderful for you!”

Yes, Stockton had a small library. Heath couldn’t say as he’d ever set foot in it, but he remembered passing by it a couple of times and seeing the sign in the window boasting its collection of over eight hundred books. He reckoned that between his office and the study at home, Jarrod had at least twice that many. And Audra had a good-sized collection of those dime novels of her own. If he really wanted to read that book he was more likely to find it at the Barkley ranch than among the old donated volumes of the Farmer’s Almanac in the storefront library on Church Street. Still, compared to what Catherine had available to her it would seem like a lot. It was sure a lot compared to what he had grown up with in Strawberry.

He sensed more than saw the movement by the surgery door. He looked up, and it was gone. Was it that Martha watching from outside the room? No, he could hear the sound of dishes being laid rather heavily on the table. He waited quietly, and then a flicker of yellow curl was visible, followed momentarily by a tiny face maybe three and a half feet from the ground before, realizing she had been observed, it disappeared again with a squeak and the sound of scampering feet down the hall. From his sitting position by the stove, Heath craned his neck trying to see where the little feet had gone to.

“You got mice in this house?”

“No,” Catherine answered, taking him literally. “That was just Susie. She doesn’t like strangers.”

“You can tell her I don’t bite,” Heath said. “Though I can’t vouch for my brother.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’ll be back in her hiding place under the bed for the rest of the day, I bet. She only came out again because it was so quiet. She probably thought you both had gone.”

Catherine was wrong, however. In a few minutes there was a shuffling of feet in the hallway, and the little girl was back peeking timidly from behind the door.

Part 8

Heath offered the little girl a welcoming hint of a smile, and the face disappeared again, but this time there were no footsteps scampering away. He had not scared her off entirely, but apparently she wasn’t yet certain it was safe to venture into the room. Well if it was the quiet that made her feel comfortable he was very good at quiet. Kinda preferred that himself. He returned his attention to the calf, consciously avoiding looking in the direction of the doorway again.

The silence was broken when Jan reentered the room with a mop. She quickly and efficiently cleaned up the floor, though she moved a bit awkwardly as she did so. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” she said, finishing up. “How are you doing with that calf?”

He shook his head. “Not much luck. Just doesn’t seem to get the idea.”

“Is it a girl cow or a boy cow?”

The whisper was so tiny and came from out of nowhere, he almost thought he had imagined it. Then he caught sight of little fingers clutching a fold of the woman’s full skirt.

“It’s a boy, stupid!” came the imperious voice of Martha. “Are you blind or something?” She unfolded her arms to point at the calf’s equipage. “A girl one wouldn’t have a--”

“Thank you, Martha. You’ve made your point,” Jan interrupted turning three shades of pink.

Martha rolled her eyes disrespectfully. “Well she ought to know the difference by now. Anyway, even if it were a girl. . . a female” she corrected herself, “it wouldn’t be a cow until it was grown and calved at least once. Isn’t that right Mr. Barkley?”

Heath would have appreciated being left out of this discussion, but he nodded anyway. “That’s right.”

Martha folder her arms again and smiled smugly as if to say “Well there you are!”

“How is the table coming?” Jan asked, changing the subject.

“I’m all done.”

“Did you remember the napkins this time?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? Let’s go check, shall we?” Jan began to usher both older girls out of the room for what Heath had a feeling was a private chat on propriety. They made a comical little progression, followed as they were by the littler one, still concealed within her mother’s skirts. When they were outside the door, he heard Jan’s voice trailing off again, “Catherine, could you please. . .”

Soon afterward the door opened again, and Catherine returned, a suspicious lump behind her back now. “Susie wants to know if she can pet the calf,” she explained apologetically.

“Sure,” Heath said agreeably, and the two approached, the little girl still carefully keeping Catherine between herself and the dangerous intruder. Once they were close enough, a little arm shot out barely long enough to touch the calf’s black fur before quickly retracting again to safety.

“Would…you like to hold him?” A timid, befreckled face emerged slowly from behind the human shield, blinking huge, blue longing eyes.

“Would you?”

The tiny girl nodded ever so slightly, and Heath smiled in encouragement. Calf still in his arms, he got up slowly. His shoulder gave a mighty twinge, but he suppressed it for fear any sudden move might frighten her off again. He motioned for her to sit down in the spot he had just vacated, and when she was settled, carefully lowered the animal onto her lap. Next to her, the premature calf looked huge. It outweighed her, maybe as much as two to one, but it didn’t bother her any. Little arms wrapped themselves around its body, gently stroking the sleek coat.

“He’s soft,” the little girl whispered again. “Is he sick?”

“Well, he will be if he doesn’t get something to eat,” Heath answered. “I been trying to get him to take this bottle here, but he’s so little and tired, he doesn’t know what to do with it. I’ll show you something though. Can you give me your hand?”

Susie cautiously put out her right hand, and Heath shook some milk from the bottle onto her fingers. “Ok, now you put that in front of his mouth.” The little girl did as she was told, and after a brief sniff--

“Eeee hee hee hee!” the little girl squealed, startled at the feel of the rough, wet, black tongue that flicked out to tickle her fingers. She put out her hand to Heath again, and he shook more out for her. The calf didn’t wait for her to bring it close, but stretched out his neck, lapping it up to her enchanted giggles. Again and again they repeated the procedure, until Heath decided to forgo this taking turns and just kept a constant dribble of the warm milk going on the little girl’s hand which was licked quickly away by the hungry young animal. The calf grew more enthusiastic, licking harder and harder.

“Careful now, he’s got teeth,” Heath warned, but the child paid no mind, delighted when the calf took a couple of fingers in its mouth and began sucking on them.

From there it was only a matter of insinuating the bottle’s nipple along with the finger, and then joy of joys the calf made a brilliant discovery. Susie withdrew her hand from its mouth, and it was sucking eagerly, taking in the desperately needed nourishment.

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Jan decided to let the ‘stupid’ remark go for now, much as she despised the use of that word. The other matter was more important. “There are some things you just DON’T say, especially in front of company.”

“Why?” Martha wanted to know. “Daddy showed ME how to sex animals when I was younger than Susie. New kittens are hard because their parts look pretty much the same. You have to go by the distance between them. Calves are obvious.”

The very flustered aunt tried to explain. She began a number of times, halting before she got very far and finally finished with, “You just don’t. You’ve embarrassed me, and you’ve embarrassed Mr. Barkley.”

“He didn’t look embarrassed to me. He’s a rancher, isn’t he? He has to check them himself when they immasculate them at branding time,” Martha countered, proudly enunciating the four syllable word.

Another dicey topic. She was missing the point entirely. “That’s not the same. Men may talk of such things among themselves, but never in mixed company. For a lady to mention it-- ” Jan hoped Martha would appreciate her using the term ‘lady’ instead of ‘girl’, “--is quite improper.”

Danny bore much of the blame for this little deficit in his daughter’s behavior. Jan did not doubt that he taught Martha to sex kittens and thoughtlessly broached many other subjects inappropriate for a young lady’s casual conversation. When Consuela died without giving him the son he so longed for, he began to treat his youngest daughter as one instead. She was excused from needlepoint and many of the more feminine chores the older girls took care of in order to follow him around with his work. He had her skip school often to assist him, claiming she could learn more at his side than from some spinster and a bunch of dusty history books. Apparently it did not occur to him to ask himself whether this was a sort of knowledge that would be much benefit to her when she had grown.

A schoolteacher herself, Jan took some exception to her brother’s attitude. There was a good deal a young girl could learn from a spinster and dusty old books, especially when her own mother was gone and there was no other adult woman to teach her all the things a young lady should know. There was so much about life Martha needed to learn, and Jan hoped to heaven she wouldn’t have to learn the hard way. The way she had.

“Now, if you’ll just set out the napkins I’ll help Grandpa and we can get ready for dinner.”

Martha turned to go, then stopped. “Aunt Jan?”

“Yes, Martha?”

“Do, do you really think I offended him?” she seemed oddly timid, and actually quite contrite.

That was a hard question to answer. “Embarrassed yes, offended…I don’t know.”

“Do you think I should apologize?” Jan could not remember ever seeing her so unsure.

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary. Just try to remember in the future that you are a young lady.”

Martha nodded then proceeded on toward the linen closet to fetch the napkins. From the surgery came a familiar if seldom heard sound.

“Hee hee hee hee!”

She peeked through the door and was astounded.

“I think you’ve made yourself a friend for life,” Heath smiled warmly, smiled at Susie. He assisted the little girl in holding the heavy, bladder shaped glass bottle, while that stupid calf nursed in her lap. Susie laughed again, and Martha’s face blackened.

Part 9

“What’s a continent?”

Jan looked up from the essays she was only now getting around to grading. The little one had been sent off to bed with the other girls over an hour ago, but here she was blinking those big blue eyes curiously at her across the table.

“What are you doing up, sweetie?”

It had been a long day, what with the excitement of the Barkleys and the calf, and then when dinner was almost through Nick Barkley returned with the McGowan’s Sukey and her calf in tow. John McGowan had offered to loan the animal to them in order to keep a fresh milk supply ready at hand for the “young doddie’s” consumption. The Jersey was an easy mother and a good producer. Once the little black got stronger they could try putting him directly to the teat; John didn’t figure she’d object to an extra calf at her udder any more than she did to a pair of hands.

Getting Catherine and Martha to bed had not been so difficult. Once their guests had given their compliments and headed out to sleep in the loft both had slipped obediently off to their room to turn in. Susie, on the other hand, was reluctant to leave her new little friend. Jan reassured her they would take good care of the calf through the night, and that she could feed it again in the morning.

“Him!” Susie corrected. “He’s a boy!”

Jan winced. ‘It’ was less personal. She warned the little girl it was not a good idea to get too attached to the animal. As Martha pointed out, it could very well die soon, and--

“No he won’t!” Susie interrupted enthusiastically. “I’ll take good care of him!” There was a tender eagerness in her eyes.

--”and he is a food animal.” Susie’s face immediately fell, wrenching her heart. It was the same thing she had said about Clarence. That had been too late, of course. The child had already named the turkey behind her back, bonded with it. Best to clarify this from the start. And yet, she thought, and yet, this was a valuable animal. Didn’t Nick Barkley mention the cow costing him one hundred dollars? And with all the effort these men were putting forth to save the calf, surely they intended it for breeding purposes? Perhaps it would not be so bad. After all, in order for the animal to survive, it would need careful nurturing, and nurturing came as natural to Susie as breathing. So long as she knew and accepted the fact that she would have to give the animal up one day. . . .

Dad, however did not allow the conversation to continue. “To bed. NOW!” he ordered impatiently, and the little girl skittered away without farther comment. Dad had little patience for children, especially girls. Especially quiet little girls who were not comfortable asserting themselves. Jan had been terrified of him when she was young. Age and responsibility had changed her perspective, though, along with the fact that it was her work as a school teacher and the occasional check from one of her brothers which supported them. To little Susie, however, he was still huge, loud, fearsome, and all powerful. But that did not keep her from getting up later that night once his snores began emanating from his room down the hall.

“It’s very late, Susan. You need to be back in bed. Do you need a drink of water?”

Susie repeated her question in a tone of voice that spoke urgency.

“A continent?” It was an odd thing to want to know in the middle of the night, but Jan did her best to explain in terms that a five year old would understand as she got up and began ushering the child back to the girls’ room.

The little girl, however seemed most unsatisfied with the answer. It was apparently not what she was looking for. “A big piece of land? Like Mr. McGowan’s farm?”

“Much bigger.”

“But he’s not big. He’s little.”

Jan was perplexed. “Who is little?”

“The baby,” Susie insisted then clarified, “the baby cow. The baby boy cow.”

Jan blinked a couple of times, the meaning eluding her.

“I wanted to bring him to bed with us, but Martha says I can’t because he’s dirty, but Grandpa gave him a bath. She says it doesn’t matter because he’s a continent, and she said I had to ask you what it means because you’ll get mad at her if she tells me.” While she seldom spoke in front of others, Susie was never at a loss for words when alone with the woman she so closely resembled.

With a sigh, the tired school teacher put a hand to her forehead. “Not ‘a continent’,” she said finally. “ Incontinent, and she’s right. He,” she closed her eyes, “ it may not come to bed with you.”

“What is incontinent?”

“It means he’s not potty trained,” Jan replied, accidentally slipping again on the pronoun. The problem was that she, too, had begun to think of the little fellow as a ‘he’ rather than an ‘it’. If she wasn’t careful she would lose her resolve entirely.

“Oh.” That seemed to satisfy the little girl, but before she allowed herself to be herded back to bed she stole another wistful glance back in the direction of the surgery. “Can I give him just one more pat before I go to bed?”

“No, sweetie. He’s gone to sleep. We don’t want to wake him up now.”

“But won’t he get cold? Grandpa said we have to keep him warm.”

“The fire is nice and warm in there for him. You trundle on to bed now.” Jan opened the girls’ door and escorted Susie back to the bed she shared with Martha and kissed her goodnight again. The older girl was lying quite stiffly with her eyes closed, unaware of the comical difference between her rigid guise of sleep and the relaxed, vulnerable, even sweet look that came over her when she entered that state in reality. The aunt allowed the charade to go unchallenged, and even pretended not to notice the way Martha flinched when she gently kissed her forehead as well.

Catherine did not need to fake sleep. The gentle rhythmic buzzing that came from the big bed she had all to herself in Mary’s absence was genuine.

She peeked in again on the sleeping calf before returning to the papers, and then again before she, too, went to bed.

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“Heath!”

He was awakened by his brother’s gruff whisper and a slap on the thigh.

“Hunh? Wha? What is it?” he muttered. Tired as he was, he had only been half asleep. The loft was warm and dry, and what little animal odor did reach his blocked sinuses didn’t bother him any, but with the congestion impairing his breathing it had taken him a long time to get even that far into slumber. He had retired early to the barn after only a few bites of the meal he could barely taste and after tending to necessary details climbed the ladder to the loft. He was under the covers well before Nick returned with the McGowan’s cow, yet remained hovering over the edge of wakefulness until long after the darker man’s steady rattle pervaded the air.

“You’re snoring, that’s what!” Nick complained bitterly. “Roll over would you? You’re spookin’ the horses.”

“I don’t snore,” Heath protested drowsily. He didn’t. Leastways, not like Nick did when his hay fever was acting up.

“Hmmph! Maybe you don’t usually, but you sure are now. Loud enough to sour that old Jersey’s milk.” He could almost hear his brother’s forehead creasing. “You got a cold or somethin’?” The question sounded like a dare.

“Nah, I’m all right, Nick,” he lied. “Just thought I’d give you a taste of what I’ve had to put up with every night on the trail.”

“Good!” Nick responded, choosing for now, in his anxiousness to get home, to believe the fib. “’Cause I had a good look at Charger’s leg when I got back. If you really wanna rest him another day, that’s fine with me.”

Heath agreed. A day’s rest would do the horse some good, but he understood Nick’s eagerness to get back. “He should be good to go by the day after, provided the swelling has gone down enough.”

“Provided you don’t decide to go and get yourself sick.”


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Plink. . .plink. . . plink. . .

Back in Stockton a steady drip fell from the ceiling of the bedroom into a pot. Father had been meaning to get around to fixing that roof, but somehow it never seemed to to get done. There was always something more pressing that required his attention. It looked like Isobel was going to have to climb up there herself and take care of it as soon as the rain let up.

Bother.

Well, at least she had the cast off her arm. She was going to wait until Nick got back, but there was so much to do that needed two hands, and the doctor agreed that a few days more or less really didn’t make that much of a difference compared to the months she had been wearing it. The bone was pretty well healed. Besides, with all this rain, he would be late anyway. It would have been nice if he had sent a telegram to that effect, but she wasn’t holding her breath.

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Martha woke to find the spot next to her cold and empty. Oh for Pete’s sake! she said to herself, knowing full well where to find the missing brat. She slid from under the covers, and tiptoed quietly out of the room, careful not to wake her sleeping sister. She stopped briefly at the linen closet to fetch an extra blanket then continued down the hallway then across the living room to the surgery door.

Sure enough, there she was curled up next to that stupid calf. “For Pete’s sake!” she said again, this time aloud in an irritated whisper. Pete. Pete? She smiled at her private little joke, and unfurled the blanket, spreading it over the two stupid runts, absolutely determined that she was not going to be the one who cleaned up the loose, bovine waste which would surely be soiling it in the morning. Susie continued sleeping, but the calf roused somewhat, and finding Martha’s fingers before it, immediately seized them in his mouth. Surprised, Martha jerked her hand back, and the calf stretched hungrily toward her.

“You’re not very picky, are you?” she humpfed. She looked around, and found the emptied nursing bottle lying on a table. “Hungry are you, Petey?” she asked. With an exaggerated sigh she got up, collected lantern and milking pail and headed out toward the barn.

Martha padded softly across the yard, bare toes squelching in the cold mud. The rain had mercifully moved northward, but she still had to lift the hem of her nightdress to keep it from dragging in the puddles left by the week long deluge. Carefully, she opened the side door and stepped into the dark barn, swinging the lantern before her. Along with the quiet animal sounds she could hear the two men sleeping. One an even light snore like Aunt Jan’s only a little louder, and the other with fits of sudden, oddly spaced rattling that shook the rafters. Her first thought was that the loud obnoxious racket had to come from the one who more fit that description, and she rejoiced that this particular noise was not added to Grandpa’s impressive sawing in the back bedroom. Then again, she considered guiltily, she’d heard plenty of sick, congested animals before, and that sure sounded like someone having difficulty breathing. The next snort was followed by a fit of coughing and a creek of movement overhead.

Martha froze. Hungry calf or no, she knew she really wasn’t supposed to be out here in the middle of the night, not with two strange men up in the loft. After already embarrassing herself twice, the thought of being discovered sneaking in on them did not appeal. She listened longer, and the coughing subsided, replaced again by the sounds of fitful sleep. With relief, she continued on toward the corner where Sukey was penned with her calf. Having no separate stables, she passed the horses tied there, their own geldings, and then the Barkleys’ mounts. She’d had a peek at the injured bay earlier in the day before Heath had gone back out to check on him, and remembering the swelling and the way it had been limping briefly set down the pail and lantern for a closer look.

Charger did not object as she approached and examined him. Now that wasn’t so bad, really. Some nasty abrasion there, but the swelling had gone down considerably. The skinned knee had been well cleaned and left in the open air to heal. Come to think of it, both the Barkley’s animals appeared to have been well groomed before the men had turned in and looked quite comfortable. She glimpsed back at Grandpa’s two and noticed they also had been well tended to. They both wore blankets and looked clean, dry, and happy. Martha knew that neither she nor Catherine had done it. Aunt Jan had been too busy fussing around over everything, Grandpa too tired.

They must have. She felt ashamed. That couldn’t have made a very good impression, just abandoning Jake and Lumpy all cold and wet after taking them out in the rain. She thought of Heath looking so tired and worn out. Was that him coughing? And still he had gone out to check on his horse after his brother had already put them away. She was sure he was the one who had done the grooming. That other Mr. Barkley hadn’t stuck around nearly long enough to comb down four horses and have tended that knee so nicely. Had he also picked the stones from their hooves? She moved over to squat by Lumpy and lifted his feet one at a time. He seemed to pick up stones out of nowhere, much more so than Jake, but he was all clear despite her neglect.

That wasn’t going to happen again, she resolved. Heath would see how conscientious she was with the animals. She thought again of Susie sitting there with the calf laughing and the way he smiled at her. She would love for someone to smile at her that way. And really, didn’t she deserve it? She did care about these fellows, she thought stroking Lumpy’s muzzle. She usually did take good care of them. She just got a little distracted, that’s all.

And thinking of distracted, with a final pat she left the horses and picked up pail and lantern to complete her errand.

Part 10

“Hand me up a couple more nails, would ya, Heath?”

“OK, just a sec.” Heath wrestled the chicken wire into position, and held it in place while he reached for the paper bag. When he woke up that morning the shoulder felt a bit better. Mostly just stiff he figured, but as he twisted around he was halted by a searing sensation that took his breath away. The wire sprung back as he hunched over in pain.

After Jan had left for school with the girls, the two Barkleys got to work fixing things around the house that the seventy-odd year old vet had let go. Heath in particular felt it would have been inappropriate to offer money in exchange for their room and board when they were being treated as friends of the family, but it was only right for a welcome guest to lend a hand when he could. Nick agreed. For one thing he wasn’t good at sitting around doing nothing, and for another it made him uncomfortable to look at something that needed fixing and just leave it there. Dan protested initially, claiming Nick’s offer of part of that beef was more than payment enough, but gave in easily enough. It had been a long time since he’d had a young man around to help. Jan was busy enough just looking after the girls and teaching, and his granddaughters didn’t know one end of a hammer from the other.

It was approaching noon, and already the clothes that had been washed for them and set to dry before the stove were filthy again.

A big fat hen ventured out through the breech where the chicken wire had coiled itself loosely out of the way. It cocked its head at him and looked dumbly into his tortured face with its beady black eyes. After a moment of staring, it darted its head forward and pecked at the white knuckled hand with which he gripped his knee for stability.

Up on the roof of the chicken coop, Nick was looking in the wrong direction to notice his brother’s situation. “Come on, boy! I want to get this finished before that rain starts up again.” He was answered by a loud squawk and a handful of flying feathers followed shortly by a handful of flying nails. “No need to be so touchy!” he grouched picking up the scattered hardware, then continued muttering under his breath as he pinched a nail between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and struck with the hammer in the other. “ Somebody didn’t sleep very well last night.”

Rather than stopping like a sensible person, Heath waited just long enough for the pain to subside to a tolerable level before resuming his labors. He was careful not to repeat the movement that had resulted in the discomfort and worked slowly. So slowly that when Nick had finished replacing the rotted boards above and slid to the ground the older man was disturbed that Heath was only just finishing tacking the chicken wire into place. The delinquent hen was back inside, and all the birds were keeping a respectful distance.

Nick’s first thought was to rib him about taking so long. He did often enough even when Heath was working up to speed just to keep a competitive spirit to things, but seeing the sweat on his brother’s brow he stopped himself before the words had half come out.

“What say we go on inside and rest a bit?” he said instead, concern wrinkling his forehead. “I thought Jan said she had made some lemonade before leaving this morning.”

The blond nodded in agreement. A rest didn’t sound like a bad idea at all, though the couple minutes it would take to drink a glass of lemonade didn’t sound like enough. Maybe a week would do it. Heath drew in a deep breath through his mouth, the other passage to his lungs prohibitively blocked. That would have to wait until they got home and he could be sick at his leisure. He didn’t want to hold up Nick any longer than absolutely necessary.

**

Their entry woke the vet from a light nap. Dan was a little disoriented at first, but recovered quickly and set about getting that lemonade. He apologized about not having anything else to offer them.

“I was expecting Mary to be back to make some lunch. I’m afraid I’m as useless around a stove as the girls are at repairs.”

The glasses poured, the three men sat down at the kitchen table. Nick looked over at the old man with a puzzled expression. “You know Dan I coulda sworn last time I was here you had a house full of boys. You had what? Six sons?”

“Seven. Well you knew Kenny died in the war.”

“Right, right.”

“As for the rest: they grew up and left home. Mark and Andrew went to back East and got themselves married to a couple of society girls. They share a practice in Boston. Jimmy joined the cavalry. Mike, Mike thought he was gonna make it rich in the gold mines. He died in a cave in six years ago. Will entered the seminary last year.”

“Noo! Will?”

“Yeah, took me by surprise too, but he says he heard the call.”

“And Danny? He moved up to Sacramento didn’t he?” Nick barely remembered the eldest of Wallace’s boys except to name him and that he had been expected to go into business with his father. He did remember there had been some sparks flying over that move and the Mexican bride he had taken with him. Danny had been a good ten years older. Jarrod had known him better.

Dan looked away and nodded slightly. “Little south of there.” The old man’s eyes unfocused, and he began to mumble. “. . . irresponsible. . . knew it would come to no good. . . left Jan and me with a load of spoiled half Mex. . . .”

“Did something happen to Danny?” Nick couldn’t help asking, though the topic appeared more distressing to the vet than the loss of two of his younger sons. It hardly mattered, for the old man wasn’t listening any more. Dan Wallace got up from the table still muttering and shuffled back toward the hall. The two brothers’ eyes followed him as he rounded the corner and turned to look at one another once they heard the door to his bedroom click softly shut.

“I guess something musta happened,” Heath ventured, and Nick nodded. They finished their lemonade without farther comment. It was the quieter of the two who broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Guess I could work on that barn door next. I heard it bangin’ some last night.”

“Oh no you don’t either!” Nick retorted sharply. “From the looks of you, you can barely stand. If you feel like you need to do something you can set with that calf a while. I’ll take a look at that door.”

Color rose in Heath’s cheeks. He didn’t care for Nick’s patronizing tone. Granted, it was his usual tone, but sometimes it grated more than others. The most annoying part of it was that he was right. Heath didn’t have the strength now, mental or physical, to fight him over it. When Nick got up to head out again and clapped him on the shoulder (the good shoulder this time) he stayed behind.

The calf was still asleep in the surgery, tied, for all it needed it (it still slept most of the time), in a corner away from anything it could damage. It was close enough to the Franklin stove to keep it warm without being able to reach it and burn itself on the hot metal. Heath didn’t stay with it long. It had already been fed recently and didn’t really need anything, and the heat pouring from the stove was oppressive. What he really needed was some place to lie down a while, preferably not the barn. Not with Nick banging around and poking in on him every five minutes like a mother hen.

Seven sons was it the old vet had? Where did Wallace put them all? Did he stack ‘em all like jars of Audra's pickles in that one room the four girls shared? Somehow he didn’t think so. There were stairs leading up from the kitchen. He wondered what was up there. Heath’s thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of another of the pretty dark haired girls. The other one he hadn’t met yet.

“Can I help you?”

“No. . . no, I was just looking around. Oh, I’m Heath Barkley,” he introduced himself. He pointed in the general direction of the surgery. I’ve been looking after a calf my brother and I brought in last night.”

“Of course,” she said. “I met your brother yesterday. My name is Mary Wallace.”

“Pleasure, ma’am,” Heath nodded.

Mary looked up the stairs. “Well, there are a couple of rooms up there, but they’re packed solid with books and trunks and old equipment. Grandpa can’t bear to throw anything out, you see.” She added in a confidential tone, “When we first got here it took a week to clear out the room my sisters and I are in now.”

“How long ago was that?” Heath was curious.

“Back in July. Let’s see that would be six, no, seven months ago. Have you seen Grandpa around?”

“I think he went to lie down for a nap.” He didn’t say anything about the brief conversation regarding her father that had ended so oddly.

The girl did not look at all surprised. The old man apparently spent a lot of time sleeping. She headed over toward the pantry and started pulling down pots. “I don’t suppose he’s gotten you anything for your lunch?”

“No, ma’am, but to tell the truth I’m not all that hungry.”

“Really? I’ve never met a man who wasn’t hungry all the time.” It struck him as comical hearing her saying that. She seemed so young to have an opinion on the subject. But then he had to remind himself that Audra hadn’t been much older back when he first came to live with the Barkleys, and could surely picture her saying the same thing. Maybe he was the one getting old.

He thought of Jan. The woman who cared for the children couldn’t be all that much older than Mary. It must have been difficult for her taking over a family of girls who could more easily have been her sisters than her daughters. She sure had her hands full with that Martha.

“Anyway I’m sure your brother is hungry. I know John Jr. is, and I’ll bet Grandpa’s been complaining of starvation since ten o’clock this morning.”

She had that right. “John Jr.?”

The girl blushed. “Mr. McGowan’s son. He drove me home and brought some of that beef with him. Your brother and he are storing it now, then they’re going to tackle that barn door, but I think they’d feel much better with something in their stomachs, don’t you?” The girl poured some water from the kettle on the back burner into a pot and added some eggs from the basket on the counter.

Heath agreed, they probably would.

“Then I’ll make some egg salad sandwiches. Johnny says I make the best egg salad in four counties. Are you sure you’re not hungry?” She looked at him coyly.

“Best egg salad in four counties huh? I think I might be able to manage a samwich or two.” He was not a big fan of egg salad, but it only seemed polite. And he was beginning to feel a tug at his stomach.

“See, I just knew it!”

When the sandwiches were ready and the table set, Mary went out to get Nick and Johnny. By the time she returned Dan had emerged from the back room. “’Bout time,” he grumbled, looking at the food. He gave young John McGowan the evil eye as the boy entered the house.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wallace,” Johnny said politely.

“Afternoon, humph! You sure took your time bringing my granddaughter back here. Get distracted along the way?”

“No, sir!” John replied nervously. “We were just a little busy this morning, and then Dad wanted to get that haunch loaded up for you folks.”

Dan continued to eye him suspiciously, but said nothing.

“That’s right!” Nick said cheerfully as he entered through the back door. “Oh Dan, Johnny here and I were talking, and we thought it would be great if he could bring his family over for a big ole steak dinner tonight. How does that strike you?”

“We could bring the potatoes, some canned corn, and I’m sure Mom would be happy to throw together one of her chocolate cakes?” Johnny added.

The vet seemed to consider for a while then nodded his agreement. Heath figured the chocolate cake was the clincher.

“Thinkin’ of food, what’s for lunch?” Nick asked rubbing his hands together. “I could eat a bear.”

Heath slapped his brother on the back. "Even better, Nick. We got some of Miss Mary's famous egg salad!"

Part 11

Nick couldn’t have been any prouder of those steaks if they had been carved from his own meaty backside. All right, so a little more aging could have made them a little more tender, and the cow hadn’t exactly been fattening for the past few months, but the beef still looked pretty darn good laid out there on the grill. Smelled good, too. And Nick took a possessive joy from being provider of the feast. Oh the ladies were doing their bit to be sure. There would be bread and mashed potatoes, creamed corn and greens, and McGowan had brought along a couple jugs of home-brew, but he was willing to bet they hadn’t had good meat for a long while. Yes siree, this would be a regular treat for them. A damn sight better than burned beans and egg salad.

As he turned the last slab over, he felt a small wet splat on the back of his neck. There was a soft rumble in the distance, and Nick growled in response. The dark clouds had been promising more rain all day, and it looked like they were about to finally make good their threat.

“Oh no, not again!” came the voice of John Jr. from behind, and he felt a couple more drops hit him. “How are they coming along?”

“Five more minutes and they’ll be ready.” Nick wasn’t much of a cook in general, but he knew how to barbecue a steak the way he liked it, and the way he liked it was blood rare.

Johnny shook his head ruefully at the sky. “I don’t know if we’ve got five more minutes.”

“We’ll make it, but just barely. How are they makin’ out inside?”

“Well, the table’s all set, Mom’s just finishing up the mashed potatoes, and Mizz Wallace is fetching some more chairs from upstairs.”

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

“Whose are these?”

“Which?”

There was a whole box of them tucked in the back of one of the upstairs rooms, unearthed by their search. They were a bit dusty, but otherwise in good condition. Had Aunt Jan and Grandpa forgotten they were there? Surely Jan would have told her about them. When Father Mike gathered her and her sisters from their home, she had only been allowed to bring three of her own books. Since then she had read them each a dozen times, and she was on her second tour through her aunt’s shelves as well.

“These ones here.”

Aunt Jan craned her neck over to see the volumes in her hand: a Jane Austin, a Dickens and another couple.

“Well I’ll be! Those must be your grandmother’s. I was afraid your grandpa had gotten rid of them.”

“Grandma’s? Really?” the girl was excited. Most of the printed matter in the crowded upstairs rooms were veterinary texts and journals, but she was overjoyed to come upon what promised to be a veritable treasure trove of poetry and fiction. Was Grandma a reader, too? It was hard to imagine. Grandpa was always telling Catherine she was too bookish, filling her head with useless fluff. He was strictly a non-fiction man, which was why he claimed he never bought newspapers.

“Catherine, you can look through the books later. Will you help me with these chairs please?”

She reluctantly set down the volumes and relieved her aunt of half the burden.

***

Heath Barkley was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with an outstretched arm. “Here, let me get those, ladies.”

“Mr. Barkley, you’re supposed to be resting,” Jan said in a tone of voice that reminded him of every mother he had ever known. Martha would have called it her she-who-must-be-obeyed tone.

“I’m all rested out, ma’am.”

The lady did not relinquish her chair, and with a glimpse ordered her niece not to give the man hers either.

“We can manage quite well. These are the last two chairs we’ll need. You just have a seat at the table. We’ll be serving dinner any minute.”

The table was as long as the one back at the Barkley ranch. Heath supposed it would have to have been with a family of seven sons. No one else was seated yet, so he had his pick. He chose a seat in the middle of one side, hoping it would be out of the way. Immediately others took his cue and noisily started to seat themselves.

Dan took what appeared to be his customary seat at the far end, and proclaimed that the children were to sit at the other. Starved for male company, he offered Mr. McGowan one corner and reserved the other for Nick, who was still busy with the steaks. Mary was allowed the grand favor of sitting next to her Johnny with Heath to her right side. This put Heath squarely in the middle of the children’s section. Catherine quickly took her place opposite him, and to his surprise, shy little Susie climbed into the seat on his right. Martha, who missed Susie’s seat by a fraction of a second, was prepared to defend her choice my any means necessary, but after a stiff warning from her grandfather, grumpily settled for the chair across from the five year old, leaving the other end seat for Jan to supervise the young ones.

The room was silenced by a loud crash of thunder followed nearly immediately by the sound of heavy rain on the windows. All eyes turned toward the kitchen. BAM! the door flew open and a wet backed, hunched over Nick rushed in from the downpour. Once sheltered he straightened up revealing the heavily burdened platter he had been protected. “Just barely made it!” he proclaimed beaming.

There was a resounding cheer from the table, and platter precariously balanced, Nick executed a neat bow.

With great ceremony, the plate of steaks was laid on the table and those assembled lowered heads to offer a word of thanks for feast and fellowship before digging in.

***

The sight of such bounty cheered Martha after her disappointment over the seating arrangements. Large, steaming bowls were passed around the table. She helped herself to big spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and corn and waited anxiously for the beef to come her way. The other Mr. Barkley, however decided to see to its distribution himself, spearing each juicy slab with the serving fork and depositing it on the waiting plates.

***

SPLAT! A huge brown hunk landed on Susie’s plate causing her to draw back in surprise as the black blur continued it’s enthusiastic progression around the table. She stared at it a long time, not knowing precisely what it was. She had a good idea what it wasn’t. It was not a vegetable.

All around, people were making jovial conversation. Knives were flicking and forks clicking. Martha was chewing away, her cheeks full and round as a chipmunk’s in spite of Catherine’s chiding her to slow down.

***

“You need a hand with that?” Heath offered.

Jan had only stayed at the table long enough for grace. In addition to the chocolate cake Ruth McGowan had brought, she had a pie in the oven for desert and was too busy checking on its progress and hopping about fetching drinks for everyone to settle down to eat herself. And that poor little girl next to him was at a loss what to do with the man-sized piece of beef Nick had saddled her with.

“Here, let me help you out.” Heath picked up her knife and fork and started cutting the meat up for her. Back and forth he sawed with the knife, revealing the steak’s pink and red interior. Juice flowed from the cut flesh onto her plate.

“Didn’t I say Scotland has the best beef cattle in the world?” Mr. McGowan’s voice could be heard from the other end of the table. “And that wee lad’s got more angus in him than his momma here. I’ve got my fingers crossed for ya he makes it!”

***

Momma?

Susie stared at the meat with renewed horror, and began to shake her head slowly, eyes wide and unblinking.

“I think that oughta do ya,” Mr. Barkley said and set down her silverware. She looked over at his plate. His steak lay in the middle still untouched. Turning back toward her own, she watched silently as the blood from the slab of beef leaked out forming little rivers that crept across the plate, contaminating the mashed potatoes and vegetables. Her chin began to tremble.

“Somethin’ wrong, Susie?” Mr. Barkley asked.

She whispered in a voice barely audible, “It’s his Mommy.”

***

“Oh for Pete’s sake, you’re not going to start crying, are you?” Martha complained through a mouth full of potatoes.” Which of course she did. The older girl rolled her eyes and explained to Heath, “It’s not a party unless Susie cries.”

Jan quickly set down the hot, brown and bubbly pie and hurried to the table.

“What’s going on over there?” Her father’s voice boomed across the room.

“Nothing, Dad. It’s all right.” She turned to the little girl. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’ll get you another plate.”

“She doesn’t need another plate,” Dan replied crossly. “She’s got a perfectly good dinner right there!”

“We have some left over beans in the--”

“I have had it up to here with that girl’s nonsense! She’ll eat what’s put before her and be grateful for it!”

“Come on, Suz! It’s really good,” Martha said pointedly cutting off another juicy big hunk from her own steak, popping it into her mouth, and chewing noisily. She smirked with satisfaction as the little girl blanched. Grandpa was right. Susie should be more grateful. Here their guests had brought them a real treat and she was bawling like a baby. That ought to show Heath what an ungrateful little weasel she was.

One that had Aunt Jan wrapped around her little finger. Martha took another delicious bite. As the woman retrieved the tainted plate in spite of Grandpa’s orders to the contrary, she heard Heath say, “You know, I’m not much in the mood for beef myself. You got enough of those beans left for two?”

Part 12

Beans? Nick was taken aback. How the hell could he want beans? For the last couple weeks, with the exception of those steaks at Ferguson’s they’d had nothing BUT beans. While Heath hadn’t exactly been complaining, Nick would have figured his brother would be more than ready for something else. This wasn’t just any old beef either! This was hundred dollar cow beef, rare and juicy, and the man was pushing it away in favor of burned, leftover beans.


**

The tired, somewhat woozy cowboy wasn’t much in the mood for beans either, but he had a certain sympathy with little Susie. While he was beyond that sort of sentimentality toward the animals off which he earned his living, he could see how a small girl might feel differently, especially when she’d spend a large portion of the last 24 hours cuddling up to the cow’s offspring.

Heath prided himself on being a fair man, a non-judgmental man. He usually liked kids. Despite Dan’s grumblings to the contrary, he found Mary and Catherine to both be fine, witty, responsible young ladies. That shy little Susie was just too sweet for words.

But Martha was a bully, plain and simple, and he did not like bullies. The fact that she did not actually strike the little girl didn’t make her any less a bully. Words were her weapons, and she used them to pummel the younger girl just as surely as fists would have. Aside from that, the doe-eyed look she kept giving him was disturbing. The handsome cowboy was uncomfortable enough getting looks like that from women twice her age. She did it again just after her saucy, “It isn’t a party unless Susie cries.” Despite his good nature it made him want to slap her across the face. It was as if she thought bringing Susie down should somehow elevate her in his eyes.

Well, some people just rub you the wrong way.

It was too warm in here. Must be all these people crowded into one room. He’d only had a bit of sandwich at lunch, but didn’t feel hungry in the least.

The little sweetheart didn’t appear too interested in her beans either. She sat there, tiny in the big chair looking down, her hands fisted in her lap. While she had stopped crying, she looked as if she wanted nothing better than to run from the table but didn’t dare. A glimpse toward the other end of the table revealed that she was being held in her seat by her scowling grandfather’s glare. Heath wondered how many times a similar scene had been played out. It made him want to say something more, but he was a guest in this house, and he knew it was not a good idea to interfere where child rearing was concerned.

The girl’s mother, only now getting a chance to sit down to the meal herself, reached out and touched her shoulder. “If you’re really not hungry, sweetie,” she whispered, “I think it would be all right for you to go and look in on that calf. I’ll have another warm bottle ready for him as soon as dinner is over.”

The old vet opened his mouth to object, but the woman shot him such a look that he closed it again. Turning to face the little girl again he said, “Well get on with you then!”

Grateful, the child slid down and scampered from the room. When the sound of her footsteps had faded her grandfather spoke out over the hush.

“You’re spoiling her rotten, Jan. You let her pick her own meals and run off when it doesn’t suit her. If she’s this willful and disobedient at five what do you figure she’s gonna be like at fifteen? Leading you along by a string.” He shook his head.

“Susie is not disobedient,” Jan’s voice was firm. “She is a very sensitive child, and I will raise her as I see fit.”

“Well it’s a FINE job you’re doing of it! And the rest of MY grandchildren. You’ve got one who won’t eat, one who won’t do anything without her nose in a book and one,” He looked disgustedly at Martha, “one who won’t do anything but get in the way. What do you think Danny will have to say about how you’re raising his girls when he comes back?”

“I. . . I think Mary’s turned out just wonderful,” Johnny stuttered nervously, trying to lead the way out of the unpleasant conflict.

There was a chorus of “Hear! Hear!”s from the other end of the table, and Dan had to concede the point.

“They’re ALL wonderful, Dad,” Jan insisted quietly, but loud enough to be heard by the two girls nearest her. Catherine smiled wanly in response. Martha looked the other way.

“Almost as wonderful as these steaks!” Ruth McGowan chirped up, and the table broke into appreciative laughter.

After another round of “Hear! Hear!”s Dan’s frown gave way. “Ah, but these steaks are nothing to compare to your chocolate cake, Ruthie!” The tension broken, the diners returned with revel to the feast before them.

**

Nick was pissed off. Heath had barely eaten more of his dinner than little Susie had, and from just the look of him it was apparent why. Damn it all! It’s not Heath’s fault, he tried to remind himself. It wasn’t as if he planned it. Hell, if anything it was Nick’s own fault. He should have noticed before that Heath was ill, but he was so focused on his own entertainment. And then there was that stupid cow. If he hadn’t been so insistent on herding that slow beast with them, they would have been back in Stockton by now. They couldn’t go now, whatever rush he was in.

Of course he hadn’t forced his brother into anything. He was a grown man. Sure Heath had groused a bit about the weather, but he never put his foot down. While he generally acquiesced to Nick’s pronouncements, he knew how to put his foot down. He just didn’t have the sense to unless it was someone else’s toes Nick was about to step on.

And getting up from the table, Heath had had the nerve to suggest that they get an early start in the morning. While the ladies and children looked after the dishes Nick took him aside. He pushed the conducted man firmly onto the soft sofa.

“We’re not going anywhere in the morning,” he said tersely.

“I had a look at Charger, Nick. He’s doin’ pretty good--”

“Yeah, but you’re not. We’re staying.”

“Aw, it’s nothing but a little cold. It won’t be the first time I’ve ridden with a cold.”

“A little cold my foot! You can barely stand. If I bring you home like this, Mother will have both our heads. Damn it, Heath, you should have said you were coming down with something before! I coulda, coulda--” Well he could have done something. The dark man continued to pace angrily. He stopped and threw out an arm. “I coulda left that damn cow with Ferguson, for one. Come back for it later. We would have been home in half the time and you could be sick as a dog in your own bed. You know any time in there, ANY TIME you could have said ‘No, Nick. I ain’t goin!’ but no. You’ve gotta suffer in silence and now we’re stuck here for a week or however long it takes you to get over your little cold!”

Not waiting for an answer, Nick stormed off, brushing past the young ladies who had assembled silently in the hallway on his way out toward the barn.

**

“Is something wrong?” Aunt Jan asked, looking concerned. She, too had heard the raised voices and come to see what was the matter.

“The Barkleys are going to be staying longer,” Martha piped up, always eager to be the first to dispense information, “because Heath has a cold, and his brother is throwing a tantrum.”

Jan looked over to Heath for confirmation. The blond cowboy shrugged, and the eleven year old knew she had correctly summarized the situation.

“Well I’m glad you’ve decided to say. Riding out in the rain with a cold is an invitation to lung fever. Surely your brother doesn’t blame you?”

Martha nodded her head enthusiastically. It was shameful. “He was livid!” Livid. What a great word. She had picked it up from Catherine, and was happy to have found an opportunity to use it in a sentence.

“Oh he’s not mad at me. He’s just mad about having to stick around, and I happened to be near by. He doesn’t mean anything by it. In five minutes he’ll have gotten used to the idea and forgotten the whole thing.”

“But why? I thought he was enjoying the visit, catching up on old times. I know Dad is thrilled to have male company about for a change. Is it the accommodations? I don’t suppose the hay loft is the easiest place to sleep during a rainstorm.”

“No, that’s not it. Nick could sleep in a tree in the middle of a hurricane. It’s just. . . ” He furrowed his brow and the corner of his mouth twisted up slightly into a crooked smile. He lowered his voice in a confidential whisper. “He’s got a girl waitin’ on him at home. He promised her he’d be back by Friday, and he’s afraid she’ll have both his ears if he doesn’t make it.”

That big, loud, obnoxious brute? He had a girl waiting for him? And he was scared of her? Martha was incredulous. She couldn’t imagine what any woman could possibly see in him. Any woman in her right mind would run from him like the plague. It must be a crazy woman, and probably ugly as sin. That would explain him being scared of her. Still, it did seem the Barkleys were rich. Someone might be willing to put up with him just for the money. Buy why, when there was a much nicer, much quieter, much better looking brother. Unless, unless he was already taken?

“And you, Heath?” she ventured. “Don’t you have a girl waiting for you, too?” Five pairs of long lashed female eyes watched him expectantly for an answer.

“Hah!” Nick’s voice barked as he returned through the front door. “Does he ever!” Martha felt a wave of disappointment wash over her. He was twice her age, impossibly out of her reach, but the notion that he could be married or engaged was no less heartbreaking.

“Yeah,” the man grinned, striding across the front room, devoid of his anger of mere moments before. “I’m sure Amy’s just achin’ to hear from you, huh Heath? Her and her father and mother! You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’d got yourself sick on purpose, just to put off having to go back.”

“Why?” Martha wanted to know. She ignored her aunt’s silent scold. “What’s wrong with her?”

Before Heath could speak, his loud mouthed brother answered for him. “There’s nothing wrong with Amy, girlie. Heath here just isn’t sure he wants to be roped in just yet. They’re all waintin’ for him to propose, ain’t that right?”

“Thanks for clarifying that, Nick.” Heath did not seem particularly thankful. Martha, however was overjoyed, despite being referred to as “girlie”. He wasn’t married. He wasn’t even engaged, and was in no hurry to settle down. Why, in only six years she would be seventeen! While Mary wouldn’t be allowed to tie the knot until her eighteenth birthday, it was already understood she and Johnny would marry as soon as she was of age. How long was Heath willing to wait?

“Of course she’s got nothing on my Isobel,” Nick tossed off.

“The most beeyooootiful girl in the valley,” the handsome blond droned. Yup, thought Martha about that crazy woman. Ugly as sin.

“Damn straight! Uh, sorry, ladies,” the loud one apologized belatedly for his strong language. His expression then soured, remembering. He didn’t want to stick around here for a week. Martha reflected that she didn’t care to have him around either, though she did not mind at all having the other one stay. But the barn was so cold, and so far away. Maybe if they moved some things around in the upstairs rooms they could find a place for him in the house? Then Aunt Jan of all people came up with a wonderful suggestion.

“Mr. Barkley,” she started, and both men looked at her. “Nick, that is. You know, there’s no reason you have to stay as well. You could head back to Stockton in the morning, and Heath could stay with us until he is well.”

Nick halted and blinked a couple of times. Apparently it hadn’t even occurred to him to go on without his brother. He seemed to consider a moment then shook his head. “No. No, I couldn’t do that.” Still, he glimpsed over at Heath, the unspoken Could I? in his eyes.

**

Heath had been only moments from suggesting the same thing. He wasn’t looking forward to having Nick stomping around for days in a foul mood. “Don’t see why not. If you hurry, you might even make that dance?” And if he felt better in the morning, there was nothing to prevent him from leaving once Nick was gone.

“I don’t know,” Nick drawled out, thoughtfully. “You sure you wouldn’t mind riding back alone?”

A silly question. It was Nick, rather than Heath who was such a glutton for company. “Naaah, I’ll be fine.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Barkley,” Jan said. “We’ll take good care of your brother, won’t we, girls?”

Four heads bobbed up and down in enthusiastic agreement.

Heath felt a heavy weight where his few bites of beans had settled at the pit of his stomach. What am I getting myself into?

Part 13

Jan had never seen Martha so thoughtful and obliging. As soon as Nick Barkley had started out to the barn to turn in, without even being asked, she began pulling out blankets to make up the sofa for Heath, declaring that he must not spend even one more night in the drafty loft. She arranged and rearranged the pillows, brought out a stack of handkerchiefs for his disposal, and every couple minutes was asking their guest if there was anything she could do for him? The girl’s aunt could not remember her ever taking such an interest in another’s welfare, and wanting to encourage such ardent benevolence, the girl’s aunt was inclined to allow her to happily continue. However, after a point when she had been harassing the man every couple minutes with one little benefaction after another and queries as to whether there was anything else she could do for him, Jan noticed he was starting to look a little put upon. She finally had to take Martha aside and tell her they must let Mr. Barkley get some sleep now.

For the next half hour, every time someone made so much as the tiniest noise or poked a head into the living room, Martha’s loud hiss could be heard at the farthest corners of the house. “SHHHHHH! Heath is trying to SLEEP!”

If one good thing were to come out of their guest being ill, it was that Dad had finally consented to having the upstairs rooms turned over. Except for the chairs, the things up there hadn’t been touched in the nearly ten years since her mother passed on, and many of them since long before then. As the boys moved out, their rooms had been filled with miscellaneous stuff. When Jan’s nieces arrived it had taken them hours and hours to exhume Will’s downstairs room to make space for them, and he had been gone only a few months.

However, there was no room to put Mr. Barkley in the surgery, and it was apparent that having him lying on the living room sofa for several days was not going to work. Besides, in the middle of a house full of young ladies, it just did not seem proper. It would be all right for one night, but after that they must see that he have a little more privacy. The vet had suggested that Jan surrender her room and bunk with the girls, but this solution seemed much more tenable. And once the man had left, the older girls would finally have a room separate from the younger ones.

Originally, Jan had just wanted to go through and throw everything out. After all, if in ten years or so the things up here hadn’t been needed, what was the likelihood of them ever being wanted again? However, Catherine’s discovery of the boxes of old literature helped to change her mind. While most of what was up here could probably be classified as useless junk, there was a sizable amount of stuff that was there not because it had no purpose, but because of the memories that were attached to them. There were mounds of Kenny’s things which had been stowed away, never to be looked upon when his name appeared on the list of those fallen in battle. There were tools and toys, and two vacant beds. And there were all of Mom’s old things: her wardrobe, her spinning wheel, boxes of books and the rocking chair in which she had sat and nursed each of her ten babies in turn, from Daniel Wallace Jr. all the way down to Jan, the youngest, and her one and only little girl, including the two little ones who had died in infancy. And there was the wonderful sewing machine Dad had bought her on the installment program, which made keeping her brood clothed so much easier, and allowed her to fill her wardrobe with the lovely dresses now gathering dust. Jan was just starting to learn to sew on that machine when her mother died. Two days afterward it had been removed from sight along with nearly everything else the veterinarian’s wife had ever used. Did Dad really find these things so painful to look at? They made the young woman feel warm and at home.

Well, these things could not be thrown out; that was for certain. But there was so MUCH stuff, Jan finally had to content herself that the best they could do was pack what they could all that much tighter into one room in order to free up the other. Her mother’s books were rescued and set aside for Catherine. The rocking chair, wardrobe, and of course the bed she left out, as well as the sewing machine. The furniture would be useful, the girls would be needing new clothes soon enough, and if it made Dad uncomfortable to look at them he needn’t climb the stairs.

She and the girls were pushing boxes and furniture around well into the night. Really, the younger girls ought to have been sent to bed much earlier, it being a school night, but she and Mary could not have done the job alone. She would have settled for the addition of Catherine alone, but Martha had so wanted to assist(!) that Jan allowed it, and surprise, surprise, her help was actually. . . helpful!. Susie did not wish to go to sleep all alone, so she too was allowed to stay up, but soon curled up on the unused bed and had sailed off to dreamland, completely unconscious of the industry around her. Doubtless, the sounds of their activity could be heard downstairs, but if this were going to be done, it had to be taken care of now. When the sounds of Heath’s snoring, joined by her father’s came wafting up the stairs she felt a bit of relief. They were not keeping him awake.

Finally, in the wee hours, when the room was reasonably clear and all that remained to be done was a thorough sweeping and dusting, she sent her three black haired nieces to bed and paused a moment to look at her sleeping golden child. She loved all the girls terribly, as if they were her own, she often told herself, but this little one WAS especially dear to her. How could she not be? And yet Jan often felt she was neglecting her these days. What with teaching school, the house cleaning and looking after Dad and the other girls she hardly had any energy left. Martha alone was so draining. It seemed the older girls were looking after Susie more than she was.

She sat down in her mother’s chair and started to rock slowly back and forth. Blond eyelashes fluttered as the child dreamed. Were her dreams happy? What did she dream of? All the things she should have had, but didn’t? Or was she too young and inexperienced to notice those? Jan noticed them, and regretted not being able to provide them.

Food, clothing, shelter she had, but a child needed a mother and a father. Jan tried her best to be one, and supposed Dad, in his own way, tried to be the other. But so often lately the two adults seemed to be at cross purposes. While Jan loved her father, he was not the sort of man she would have chosen herself. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision the sort of man she would have wanted. Within her mind appeared the face of a blond, mustached young man with gleaming white teeth.

No, not Douglas either, she sighed. He was not a man at heart, but a boy, and she had been but a girl, silly and trusting. It had never occurred to her that when he left the valley pursuing some business deal he promised would set them up for life, he had no intention of ever returning. She had no idea where he was now. For a long time she had waited for him, just as Dad waited for Danny, but now she was glad he was gone. For all his gruffness and differences with her regarding child rearing, her own father was a responsible man with a sense of duty he had passed on to all his offspring. Douglas would not have been able to teach a child what he didn’t understand himself.

Another face presented itself, blond headed like Douglas, but the smile not quite so wide, eyes with a kind and steady intensity instead of a flashing carefree joviality. The face of the man downstairs. A peculiar thought. Wherever did it come from? Her own memory answered that: it was the sound of Susie giggling as he held the bottle for the calf in the child’s lap. Jan had never before seen the little girl take to anyone so quickly. He was quiet, patient and thoughtful. And when he subtly came to Susie’s defense at the dinner table, Jan thought she could have kissed him.

Oh heavens! she exclaimed internally, blushing, though there was no one to see. Am I thinking of the children, or am I thinking of myself? For truth be told, she found more appealing about him than just the way he interacted with the shy little girl. She had to admit to herself, to having held her own breath while waiting for him to answer Martha’s rather awkward question, ”Don’t you have a girl waiting for you, too?”

Well why not? She was, after all twenty-three, single and certainly entitled to be thinking of courtship and marriage. If a suitable man of good character happened to stumble by her house, why shouldn’t she consider him a possibility?

There were four very good reasons. A man who was not eager to be “roped in yet” would be no more eager to be saddled with her instant family to boot. No man would be. And despite Dad’s eternal hope for a successful appeal to make all things right, she saw little hope for Danny’s return before the ten year sentence had been fulfilled. By then her brother’s daughters would be grown.

For a self-indulgent moment she allowed self-pity to swallow her. It's not fair she screamed silently, balling her fists, her imaginary voice sounding in her head much like Martha. She was barely in her twenties, and all of life's opportunities were closed off to her. Even that might not be so bad if she could just handle the job properly, but Dad was right. Even if her time and attention weren't already horribly stretched between teaching and home duties, she hadn't a clue about raising teenagers. All she could hope is that she didn't do much damage.

She closed her eyes a moment and dreamed a dream of a young woman unencumbered by the responsibilities she hadn't asked for. A dream of romance with a man who would love her and be true to her. And if he was blond and muscular, and had a kind smile and a soft voice perhaps it was more than coincidence.

It was a lovely dream, but when she opened her eyes, the little girl was still there, asleep on the bed, yellow locks sparkling in the lamplite like spun gold on the bedspread, thumb in her mouth. A tear, not of remorse but awe welled in Jan's eye. She and her brother had both had their foolish moments with far reaching consequences, but she would not wish to trade even one of the girls for any man, no matter what.

Part 14

Heath slept fitfully, waking often. The sofa was more comfortable than the loft, but only just. Besides, had he been in the finest of beds it would not have made a whit of difference. His head was pounding, he was completely unable to breathe through his nose, and sweating so much that his shirt was soaked through. Halfway through the night he couldn’t take it any more, and sat upright undoing the buttons. The first arm came out alright, but the second took special care.

If anything, his shoulder seemed worse than it had been before. As he moved it forward, he could feel, even hear a sort of a pop. Pulling his arm back took a supreme effort of will, and lowering it back to his side was pure agony. By the time he was completely clear of the sleeve he was out of breath. He lowered himself, panting heavily, back onto the sheets and reveled a while in the coolness of the air on his bare skin. He could feel individual hairs on his chest spring back up as the sweat which had plastered them down slowly evaporated. Only to a point, however. The air itself was damp with a week’s rain, and while his body was still sticky, it went from one extreme to the other. Overwhelming heat gave way to chills.

He drew the covers up over himself, and soon found himself sweating again. For hours it seemed he alternated between sweltering and freezing, and sometimes felt he was both at the same time. He didn’t feel at all thirsty, but something told him he should be drinking nonetheless. Whether it would make him feel better he did not know, but it couldn’t possibly make it worse. He reached out his good arm toward the end table where a pitcher and drinking glass had been left for his use. His hand felt clumsily around, but when his fingers finally came to rest on the brim of the glass, his grip faltered, and the tumbler tipped over and fell, shattering on impact with the floor.

bvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbv

Martha awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in bed. Unsure what had wakened her, she opened her ears and looked around. As far as she could tell, the house was quiet except for the usual night time noises. Three feet away, lit by moonlight streaming through the window, Mary and Catherine lay sleeping in their bed, dead to the world, but next to her, the spot was once again bare. Martha felt just a little bit abandoned. When she and her sisters first came here she was appalled at having to share a bed with the brat. Back home, each girl had her own room. Yet she had grown accustomed to having that warm little weight by her side, and missed it when it wasn’t there.

That Susie! She had probably gone to the surgery to sleep with that stupid calf again. It was gaining strength now. Yesterday it had finally made it to its feet, something a newborn calf generally did in its first couple hours of life. Grandpa had been very worried that if it didn’t stand soon it wouldn’t make it, but now that it had, it would be more difficult to keep indoors. Very soon it would be banished to the barn, and then what would Susie do when she started feeling maternal in the middle of the night?

Idiot child! Martha kicked off her covers. Aunt Jan had only lightly scolded the blond treasure when she found her in the surgery last morning. Grandpa was right. She let Susie get away with murder. What had she done but all but told the brat that in return for her devotion, the calf could be her responsibility. As if Susie knew the first thing about it! Her idea of looking after something was tying it up in bandages and suffocating it half to death with her affectionate death grip hugs. Martha had been helping her father tend sick creatures as long as she could remember, and did anybody even think to ask her if she wanted the job?

Of course she didn’t want the job. It was a stupid animal owned by a stupid (Heath had made it clear to whom the calf belonged) person. Food with feet. She didn’t care any more about it than she did about Susie. Her feet dropped to the floor, and for the second night in a row she padded barefoot out of the room.

Petey was probably hungry now. Calves always were, and it was probably last fed just before Aunt Jan went to bed.

As she walked down the hall, she thought she heard something stirring up ahead, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to take a quick peek at their guest. The living room was pitch black in comparison to the girls’ room. The windows, in addition to facing the opposite direction, were covered by curtains. Still, she could make out some movement, and the sounds the man was making were not snores. It occurred to her it might have been these, at a somewhat higher volume, that had roused her.

“Are you all right, Mr. Barkley?” she asked timidly. He did not sound well.

“Don’t,” he started softly. Don’t what? She approached the foot of the sofa.

“No, don’t. . .” he was practically incoherent. “Broken. . . “

She reached out and her fingers came in contact with hot, damp, trembling flesh. Immediately she drew her hand back. He was feverish. Martha’s mind raced. What did one do for a fever? She seemed to recall cold compresses, and there was a tea made from, from. . . . No, she didn’t want to guess. This wasn’t a time to show off. “You stay right there, Mr. Barkley. I’ll go get--” Grandpa? No, not Grandpa. Aunt Jan would know what to do.

“Watch out for broken. . . .” the man muttered, making no sense whatsoever. He was delirious as well.

Martha turned around and headed back down the hallway toward her aunt’s room. She knocked once, twice, but there was no answer. “Aunt Jan?” Still no answer. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. In the moonlight she saw the empty bed, covers perfectly arranged. Where was she?

Upstairs, of course! She must have fallen asleep in the room they had been cleaning. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember Susie coming to bed at all. Chances were they were both up there. She scuttled back toward the kitchen, but just as she was passing the sofa she stopped short.

Pain! Her mouth dropped open in a silent yowl.

Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain! The floor beneath her was wet, and her foot had come down hard on something hard and sharp. Suddenly she realized what Heath had been trying to say. There was broken glass on the floor, and she had just stepped on it. She hopped backward, resisting the urge to yell out for help. When she was pretty sure she was clear of the debris, she sat down on her backside and pulled her foot up to her. Her eyes of little use, she felt gingerly around until she had the penetrating shard between thumb and forefinger and pulled. It hurt as much coming out as it had going in. She could feel other bits stuck to the bottom of her foot, but that appeared to be the only one to puncture the sole. Gently, she brushed the rest off then rose again to her feet.

“Sorry,” she heard the whisper.

“It’s OK, I'm fine. I'll just get a mop and clean it up after I get Aunt Jan." It was her own fault. She should have listened to what he was saying. Carefully she backed farther away from the sofa, sticking close to the opposite wall as she made her way around the room. Then having achieved the dining room she continued through to the kitchen and hobbled up the stairs.

Part 15

There was shattered glass and water all over the floor. In his earlier semiconscious state, Heath hadn’t the presence of mind to get up and clean the mess he had made, and someone had suffered as a consequence of it. With much effort, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He regretted it instantly. The world seemed to move all around him. While he didn’t feel at all nauseous his body insisted most firmly that he should lie back down. Instead he reached across the end table, carefully feeling for the matches and nearly upset the lamp as well. His hands shook as he took a match in hand and endeavored to strike it. The match broke and fell into the puddle on the floor. The second blazed nicely, however, and somehow he managed to light the lamp before the creaking of steps announced another’s approach.

“Oh my. Martha, stay in the kitchen please. There’s broken glass all over the floor here.”

“I know. I’ll go get the mop and clean it up.”

“Not until you have something on your feet. I don’t want you stepping on any of this and getting hurt.”

Heath expected Martha to complain that it was too late and she already had, but the girl for once didn’t say anything. “I’m real sorry about that glass ma’am. I can clean it up.” If he could stand up, that is. He leaned his body clumsily forward, gripping the edge of the sofa for stability.

“No you won’t either! It’s no trouble at all.” Her slightest touch forced him back into the seat.

“Martha, you’re right. He’s burning up. Mr. Barkley, you lie right back down there. Have you been having the chills, too?”

“A bit,” he confessed.

The woman frowned and turned back toward the girl. “Forget what I said about that ice then. That will just make it worse.”

Heath having made no move to lie back down, Jan gently prodded him in that direction, mercifully not touching his sore shoulder. The bruising itself wasn’t bad at all; probably invisible in this dim light. Still, he didn’t have the strength to resist her direction, but when she mumbled they had better go get his brother he protested.

“No. Don’t wake Nick. You bring him in here, and you’ll never get rid of him until he’s convinced I’m right as rain.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a blessing to have people around you who care about you.”

She was right, but occasionally blessings had a tendency to feel like curses. While in general he preferred to be with family if he had to be ailing and he appreciated Nick’s concern, he didn’t want his brother sticking around for something as stupid as a cold. And Nick would most definitely insist on staying. He’d pretend it didn’t matter that he was missing yet another date with his fiancee, but the man was as transparent as glass.

He could feel blue gray eyes gazing into his thoughts. Jan spoke again. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll see what we can do about that fever. If it improves soon enough we won’t bother him, but if you get even the slightest bit worse or that fever doesn’t come down in the next couple hours. . .”

Heath closed his eyes and nodded in agreement. He reflected that a bit of ice might not be so bad for the shoulder, but he didn’t want to ask. They were going to too much trouble on his account already, and he had a feeling Jan would consider the injury in the “slightest bit worse” category.

The woman disappeared for a moment and returned with a small pair of slippers. “Here you are, Martha. Ah good; that’s exactly right. Pick up what you can first then the mop. What a help you are! Just let me get past to start some water boiling.”

“Boneset tea?” Martha asked.

“Boneset tea. A cup every half hour.”

Heath groaned internally. He’d tasted plenty of that noxious concoction from his mother’s loving hands and figured he’d willingly pick the ague over the hideous brew any day. Martha looked at him sympathetically.

The medicine was as nasty as he remembered it, but he drank it all anyway. Jan stood by the sofa, waiting until he had finished the last drop before taking the empty mug back to the kitchen. “Try to get some sleep now,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t mean to be a burden on you,” Heath apologized.

“It’s no trouble at all,” she replied warmly, then turned back toward Martha who after taking her time finishing the clean up job was now standing around, watching. “You need to get to bed yourself now, young lady. You have school in the morning.

“I will soon, but I was going to go out and milk Sukie for the calf.” The girl’s voice had returned to it’s usual acid tone. “Or shall I go wake up Susie and have her do it?”

The woman ignored the sudden attack of attitude. “No, I don’t think Susie will be too disappointed about missing one feeding. You know where the pail is? Good. Don’t forget to put on your coat now. Thank you, Martha. You’ve been a big help tonight.”

Martha shrugged and turned away. Without farther comment she headed toward the door.

“Your coat, Martha!” Jan reminded her. With an exaggerated sigh, as if she thought she was going well out of her way to please the woman, the girl plodded to the closet with an exaggerated limp, and dragged a long, heavy coat from the hanger. Neglecting to close the closet door, she resumed her progression to the front entrance.

“A coat generally works better when it is put on,” the woman said in a voice that bordered on the edge of tolerance, then noticing the girl’s gait changed her own tone. “Martha, is there something wrong with your foot?”

“I’m FINE!!” the girl snapped back. She jerked her arms into the sleeves, yanked the front door open, and slammed it behind her.

“She stepped on some of that glass,” Heath explained belatedly. It hadn’t occurred to him that Martha might not have said anything about it.

“Oh no!”

“I don’t think it was too bad. She doesn’t strike me as the sort to suffer in silence.”

“No, not our Martha,” Jan agreed. He could have sworn he saw her glimpse briefly at his shoulder. “Just the same, I’d like to take a look at it before she goes back to bed.” The woman looked very weary herself just then.

“You’ve got school in the morning, too,” Heath observed. Now he really felt badly about putting her out.

“Don’t you fret about that, Mr. Barkley. Believe me, it won’t be the first time I’ve been up nursing someone’s fever,” she reassured him, “or the last.”

With all those girls and the old man to look after, it didn’t surprise him. She went to teach every Monday through Friday, then came home and had a whole family to care for. Even though the two older girls helped out some, it couldn’t be any picnic. Dan might be the official head of the family, but it was clear to Heath the veterinarian’s presence in the household made Jan’s load heavier rather than lighter. He remembered the way his own mother had to toil to make ends meet to provide for herself and him. A woman with responsibilities couldn’t take off work just because she had spent the night looking after a sick child. Things were hard for a woman on her own.

“How long has your husband been gone?” he ventured.

“My husband?” Jan asked, rather taken aback. “I’m not ma-- Oh! You mean Danny? The girls’ father?”

“He’s not your husband?”

“Oh, goodness no. No, Danny is my brother.”

“Ah.” He wasn’t sure why, but this cheered him. Then he remembered, Martha said she was going to get Aunt Jan. Aunt Jan.

“He’s been gone for six months now,” she continued. Before he had a chance to ask if the man had passed on, she answered the question. “Danny is in prison.” Jan looked uneasily at the front door. “The girls all miss him terribly, but I think Martha probably the most. She was always her Daddy’s little girl. Mary and Catherine are both more like their mother, but Martha and Danny are cut from the same cloth.”

“And your father, too,” Heath surmised.

“Yes,” Jan agreed. “Dad, too.”

“And little Susie. I suppose she’s more like her mother?”

A peculiar look came across Jan’s face in the flickering lamplight, just before she looked uneasily away. “Yes, I imagine she is.

“Mr. Barkley, you really must get some sleep now,” she said.

“It’s Heath,” he insisted, “if you don’t mind, that is. May I call you Jan?”

She seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then the warm smile returned to her features, and the light crease in her brow ironed itself out. “Please do.”

Part 16

It wasn’t fair. The pail rang softly as the warm milk struck the bottom. Martha’s vision inexplicably clouded with tears. What did she care anyway? So what if she had been the one to wake first, to know instinctively something was wrong. So what if she had known exactly what to do. And Aunt Jan was being so patronizing, praising her like she was a dog or a five year old and sending her off to bed! The tyrant wanted him all to herself. That’s what it was. “Thank you, ma’am. I don’t mean to be a burden on you.” The way he looked at her and said that, you’d think Martha wasn’t even there, or that it was Aunt Jan who had cut her foot on his account rather than the deserving girl.

Well, Martha hadn’t complained, and she wasn’t going to complain. She would bear her injury with a stiff upper lip. No crying like baby Susie! OK, maybe the glass hadn’t gone in very far, and it hardly even bled, but it sure hurt, and one never knew. Maybe she would get lock jaw or her foot would gangrene and have to be amputated. Then they’d be sorry. Then they would realize the magnitude of her sacrifice. But she wouldn’t care, because it would all have been for him.

She could see it all in her head. Heath would look at her all soft eyed. “I am so sorry, my dear, dear Martha,” he would say holding her hand. If Aunt Jan were to call her that, she would want to gag, but from Heath it would be different. He would mean it. He would give anything for it not to have happened, and feel guilty for having been the cause, but she would shake her head and tell him not to blame himself. What was important was that he was all right, that he would be saved from the ravages of fever. Tears welled anew in her eyes as she pictured herself saying that to him. And he would admire her for her selflessness.

Oh who was she kidding? He didn’t even notice her, and by the time her foot rotted away he would be gone. She sniffed loudly. Why should it matter to her? Just because he was soft spoken with kind eyes? Just because he was so beautiful? Just because her heart leapt whenever she looked at him? It wasn’t so long ago she had looked down on Mary with such disdain for the way she mooned over Johnny McGowan, but now she thought she almost understood. Not for Johnny himself, of course. Johnny was such a boy. Heath was so much more mature. So much more self assured. A man.

Was she actually growing up? The notion seemed preposterous to her and yet as natural and obvious as could be. In some ways she felt as if she had been born already thirty years old, and in others adults were still such scary foreign creatures. But not Heath. Or if he was scary it was in a wonderful, mysterious sort of way. For no logical reason she felt that if only she had him to lead her through, that treacherous transition wouldn’t be so bad. That there might be some compensation for taking on the burden of womanhood.

He had to notice her. Her silly dream about him waiting for her was just a dream of course, but he could at least notice her.

When she returned inside, she was quickly and quietly ushered through the once again dark living room to the kitchen. There, to her displeasure, her aunt insisted on looking at her foot. She protested at first, but when she was told Heath had voiced concern on her account, she submitted to inspection. The glass had all been removed and the cut had stopped bleeding early on, but Jan cleaned it with soap and water and applied a small dressing nonetheless. Only then was she allowed to go on to feed Petey.

Sitting in the surgery with the calf sucking greedily at the bottle, Martha wished her aunt would just go back to sleep. She wouldn’t, of course. Heath would be needing more of the tea all through the night, and that precluded sleep on his caretaker’s part. Then when the fever broke (and Martha knew it would break--God would not be so cruel as to make the poor man sicker and require his nasty relative to stay any longer than absolutely necessary) and his body began to sweat in profusion, Aunt Jan would be there with a soft, dry towel to pat him dry so he would not be left soaking in his own perspiration. If only it could be her instead, she thought wistfully as her eyelids grew heavy.

*****

Quite a lot of time had gone by since Jan heard the last sound from the surgery. When she peeked cautiously in, she saw that the girl had fallen asleep with her arm around the young calf again. That made two nights in a row. It seemed like such a pity to wake her, but Martha would sleep much better in a bed. As a compromise, she decided to wait until Heath had settled again before rousing her.

When she returned to lift the girl in her arms, Martha stirred. “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m just taking you to your bed now,” she said as she started toward the girls’ room. Martha shook her head and muttered something barely coherently. “Are you sure?” Jan asked. Her niece nodded. “All right.” She turned around and headed back into the kitchen with her precious, heavy bundle, then climbed the stairs to the upper floor. Susie appeared to be out cold, but when Martha’s weight hit the mattress she automatically rolled over to make room.

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVB

The sun was high in the sky when Heath awoke the next morning. The house was quiet. He had vague memories of the night before, bits of fitful slumber interrupted by doses of medicine. As the fever was breaking it was almost even worse, but when the sweating was through and Jan had given him clean, dry sheets, sleep surrounded him like a cocoon from which he emerged congested and groggy, but mildly refreshed.

He sat up on the sofa. Granted, he didn’t feel great, but he thought he could manage the ride home now. His dreams had been peculiar and disturbing. At one point he imagined the obnoxious little Martha rubbing him down with a towel and whispering words of endearment most inappropriate for her age to him. It made his flesh crawl, and despite his attitude toward the other members of the household, in particular the girl’s aunt, he wanted nothing better than to be out of there as soon as possible.

“Good morning, Mr. Barkley!” The eldest girl, Mary, entered the room with a tray.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, pulling the sheet nonchalantly up over the lower part of his exposed torso.

“Well, Aunt Jan and the girls are at school, and Grandpa is looking over the calf.”

“And Nick?”

“He left about three hours ago.“

“Oh.” Heath was a little disappointed Nick had gone without saying good bye. It wasn’t like him.

“He left you a note,” she added and indicated the end table before heading back to the kitchen. The house guest searched around a moment, careful not to upset the thin porridge in front of him before finding the scrap of paper. On it was his brother’s characteristic scrawl with the brevity of a telegram.

“Tried to wake you but you were sleeping like a rock. I’ll stop in Modesto and send the doctor your way just to be sure. Rest up, and I’ll see you in a few days.

Nick

PS: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

From the easy tone of the note, Heath figured Jan hadn’t mentioned the fever, or if she had, she downplayed it some. Well that was good. Then Nick was less likely to go all mother hen about it when he caught up with him. He began searching around again.

Mary returned carrying another steaming cup of the dreaded brew. “Are you looking for something?”

“Just my clothes,” Heath answered. He thought he had left his shirt on the arm of the sofa. He thought he had been wearing his trousers when he lay down.”

“Oh, I haven’t gotten to the laundry yet. They’re still dirty and then they’ll be a long time drying. But. . . you won’t need them for a while anyway. Here, Aunt Jan said you’re to have some more of the boneset tea with your breakfast. Then when you’re done I’ll help you move to the upstairs room.”

Heath had no appetite for the thin gruel and even less for the tea. “Thank you,” he said, “but that won’t be necessary. I’ll be heading out as soon as I get myself ready.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Barkley. Aunt Jan said you were to stay in bed.”

“That’s all right,” Heath said, hoping he sounded better than he felt. “I’m sure I’ll be fine now. Could you get me my things please?”

“They’re still very dirty,” she said hesitatingly.

“I don’t mind.”

“Well. . .” she wasn’t quite sure, and didn’t have the strength of purpose her aunt did. “Well, you get started on the porridge and tea, and I’ll dig them out of the pile.” She started back again, then stopped and turned around. “You really must drink the tea. Aunt Jan will be very angry with me if you don’t.”

Heath knew that for a long ride he needed to have something in his stomach, and forced himself to eat the porridge. The boneset was another matter, but he didn’t want the girl to get into trouble. Looking around, he found a potted plant. Hopefully the hot liquid wouldn’t harm it much.

Mary looked very pleased when she came back to find his cup and bowl empty. “You really are feeling better, aren’t you?” she exclaimed and handed him the damp, foul smelling clothes. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to wait until these are clean?”

“I’m sure.”

Mary left him to dress in peace. He winced putting the shirt on, but convinced himself the shoulder felt just a bit better than the night before. When he had the clothes on, he went out to ready his horse. Charger looked glad to see him. Unlike the blood, the scent of his master’s sweat didn’t bother him in the least. “Hey there boy!” Heath said, giving him a pat of greeting. “You ready for another long ride?” The leg looked sound. The rest had done the horse good. How he was going to get saddled up with the bum arm, however, he wasn’t quite sure.

The question turned out to be moot. The saddle was nowhere to be seen. Where he had last remembered it being was pinned another note in his brother’s hand.

“GO BACK TO BED,” it read.

Part 17

Very funny, Heath thought to himself as he wadded Nick’s note into a tiny ball. The sky was a clear blue this morning, without a single threatening cloud on the horizon. The first perfect traveling day in over two weeks and now this. He began searching the barn from top to bottom, but it wasn’t there. It had been deliberately hidden.

Damn! he cursed silently. Where in blue blazes did Nick put it? Heath cast an eye back toward the house. Mary had been promptly forthcoming with his clothes. There was a good likelihood he could wheedle the saddle’s location from her. He strode purposefully from the barn, but before he reached the front door of the house he was overcome by a woozy feeling and started to sway.

“Good heavens!” he heard a voice exclaim, and in a moment Mary was there next to him, reaching to come to his aid.

He put up a warning arm. Just the thought of her taking him by the bum wing made his shoulder scream with pain. “It’s all right!” he said. “I can make it myself.”

“I. . . I think you’d better lie down again,” she said hesitantly, and he nodded slightly in agreement. Once inside and she was on his good side, he allowed her to help him up the stairs to the bed that had been made up for him before he had awakened that morning. Lying back he let out a soft groan. The bed was much more comfortable than the sofa. Perhaps a little more rest wasn’t such a bad idea after all. The upstairs room was cozy. This had been a child’s bedroom at one time, he surmised. The walls were clad in an informally patterned wallpaper. There was a rocking chair and a wardrobe and a desk with a sewing machine. Blue curtains at the window were drawn, keeping the bright rays of the sun out.

Definitely an improvement on the living room. At least now he would have a little privacy, and he wouldn’t have to feel like that Martha was watching him all the time with those hungry, beady little eyes. Mary looking after him now wasn’t so bad. She was a nice kid. More to the point, she was spoken for. She was “safe”.

She put a cool dry hand to his forehead and frowned. “It’s been over a half hour,” she said. “I think it’s time for another cup of tea.”

There was only one problem with this room. There were no potted plants.

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Catherine perched alertly beside her aunt in the little buggy; the younger two girls sat behind. She looked forward to getting back home. More and more she was considering Grandpa’s house her home, though Martha continued to insist that their home would always be Daddy’s house in Elk Grove. However without Daddy there it didn’t feel like home. And to be honest with herself, it hadn’t even felt like a home with him there -- not since Mama died.

Martha probably didn’t even remember Mama very well. She had been only six then, and their mother had been ill for so long. On top of that, Mama’s delicate constitution could not tolerate Martha’s loud ways, and as a consequence, the little troublemaker was consigned to the out of doors most of the time while the older two girls kept house, nursed their mother, and quietly accepted instruction. Daddy ended up having to drag her around with him in order to keep her out of trouble. For all the good that did. Catherine had lost count of the number of times her little sister had been suspended from school for acting out.

No, Grandpa’s house was as much home as anyplace was, the girl figured. Aunt Jan wasn’t Mama, but she was nice enough. Grandpa wasn’t much worse than Daddy. Of course she missed some of her friends, but then her best friends had always been her books. They took her to fantastic places populated by romantic characters with lives infinitely more interesting than hers.

But in the last few days something had broken up the dull monotony of everyday life. Strangers had come. One had sadly already left, but the other was still there. Of course she felt bad for the reason he was remaining with them. She would do everything she could to make him comfortable. Being sick was so terribly tiresome. He would need something to help pass the time. Now that she had a whole weekend in front of her, she would have plenty of time to entertain him like she had Mama. And she knew just the thing.

***

Jan, too was anxious to get back. Nick Barkley had warned her his brother might wish to leave in spite of his condition, and she hoped mightily he would not. It was a relief to see Charger still in the barn. Lumpy, however was gone. Dad must have ridden out. Despite his age, he was the only vet for miles around, and he was occasionally called upon when an animal took ill.

Mary filled her in on all the details of Mr. Barkley’s attempt to leave when she and the children came inside. “He had another long nap, but I think he’s awake now. He was very angry. It seems someone has moved his saddle.”

Catherine asked if she might be allowed to go up and pay their guest a visit. Martha protested that she asked earlier, but both were politely refused. “Perhaps a bit later,” Jan said. “Right now I believe you girls have homework to do.” Having been the one to assign the homework, she knew that for a fact.

“But we have the whole weekend to finish it!” Martha protested.

“And if you do it now you won’t have to be worrying about doing it all weekend,” she countered.

She went on through the kitchen to the stairs. Knocking softly on the door she inquired softly “Are you awake?”

“Come on in” Heath answered. She opened the door and popped her head in.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. He looked terrible. And he looked angry.

“Where’s my saddle?”

The question took her off guard.

“Your saddle?”

“My saddle! It’s not where I left it.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Perhaps it was moved, somewhere else in the--”

“I’ve looked everywhere in the barn. You’ve deliberately hidden it.”

“Hidden? Why ever for?”

“To keep me here!”

“I did no such thing. However, you are much too ill to be going anywhere.”

“Don’t you think I’m the best judge of that?”

She studied him a moment before answering. “No, I don’t believe you are. Furthermore, I don’t believe you would have gotten five miles before collapsing.”

“That’s my problem, not yours.”

Jan shook her head in disbelief. This man could be even more difficult than Martha! “It most certainly IS my problem,” she insisted. “Your brother has entrusted you into my care, and I am responsible for your well-being. Now I assure you, I know nothing about what became of your saddle, but whatever it was if it kept you from going out and risking your life out of some delirious sense of pride, I am grateful for it!” She did not add and you should be as well! Obviously he did NOT feel that way, and she did not think it her place to tell him what he should or should not be feeling.

He must have experienced some remorse for his outburst, however, for his countenance softened. He lay back in the bed again and closed his eyes. “It was probably Nick,” he muttered.

“Well,” Jan said heading back to the door. “I’ll see what I can do about finding it. I imagine you’d like a bit more rest now.”

“That’s all right,” Heath replied, opening his eyes. “I’ve been sleeping most of the day. I could do with a little company now.”

There was a loud thump thump thump of feet coming up the stairs. “I’ve finished my homework, Aunt Jan!” Martha chirped. She had a box tucked under her arm. “I thought Heath might want to play a game of checkers,” she said, presenting it.

“How thoughtful of you, Martha. Mr. Barkley was just saying he was getting a little lonely, and I do need to start dinner,” Jan said. Before the words were completely out of her mouth, Catherine had quietly appeared behind her.

“I thought Mr. Barkley might like me to read to him,” the older girl said. “When Mama was sick she always found it relaxing when I read to her.”

“I was here FIRST!” Martha complained, giving her sister a dirty look. Suddenly Heath looked a good deal more weary.

“Girls, please! Let’s not have any fights. It’s entirely up to Mr. Barkley.”

Part 18

This was not what Heath had in mind. After getting over his initial anger, he had been rather hoping for a relaxing chat with Jan. But having said he was in want of company he was now bound to accept it in whatever form it came. His eyes flitted back and forth between the two sisters. Not a difficult choice. He would rather eat the checkers than play a game with Martha.

“Boy howdy, I. . . I don’t think I’m quite up to checkers just yet, but I wouldn’t mind bein’ read to.”

The younger girl glared angrily at the the older.

“That’s not fair!” she complained. “I finished my homework FIRST!”

“Martha, Mr. Barkley does not wish to hear you girls argue. Why don’t you come downstairs with me and help--”

“We could take turns reading!” Martha instantly offered in what she no doubt thought was a pleasant voice. It wounded like a whine to Heath, and was an obvious attempt to be allowed to stay. One that thankfully failed.

“Perhaps another time,” Jan told her.

“But--”

“You can help me peel potatoes.”

Heath heard the girl’s voice trail off as her aunt escorted her down the stairs. “It’s not FAIR!”

Catherine took a seat in the rocking chair and held up a well worn volume. “Are you ready for me to begin?” she asked.

Heath nodded. As ready as I’ll ever be.

“All right then. I’m sure you are going to love this, because it’s all about you!” The girl opened the book and began reading in a clear, well tutored voice:

“Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte.” Catherine cleared her throat. “I have just returned from a visit to my landlord - the solitary neighbor that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect misanthropist's heaven: and Mr. Heathcliff,” the girl peeked over her book and beamed at him, “and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little imagined how my heart warmed. . . .”

Heath was sure he understood most of the words, but the way they were strung together it was difficult to grab their meaning. He was starting to get a head ache. Catherine was such an enthusiastic and dramatic reader though. She apparently was making more sense out of this than he was.

“. . . 'Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,' he interrupted, wincing. 'I should not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it - walk in!'

“The 'walk in' was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the sentiment, 'Go to the D--'”

Halfway through the curse, the girl stopped self-consciously. “Oh! I’m not sure if I should read that part aloud. She uses quite strong language there. Oh well. It’s literature after all. I suppose it’s all right.” She repeated the line, but whispered where it read “Go to the Deuce”

It went on and on with words like “soliloquizing” and “penetralium,” “vexatious,” “prudential,” and many many more like them, with an overabundance of syllables and a deficit of meaning. If Heath had been just a little more tired he would have gone to sleep, but as he told Jan, he had slept all day. Besides, abrupt spikes in Catherine’s animated oration jarred him to attention every time his eyelids drifted toward one another. He was forced to suffer the tedious tome in a state of uncomprehending wakefulness.

Maybe checkers with Martha would not have been so bad after all? Perhaps if he just pretended to go to sleep. . . . He closed his eyes again and after a moment let out a light imitation of a snore.

“This isn’t boring you, is it?” Catherine asked eagerly. He blinked his eyes open and saw her anxious, disappointed face. He didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

“No, not at all. Keep reading,” he said.

******

It seemed to go on for hours. The girl’s well modulated voice never seemed to tire. In time, he did drift back into a surreal half slumber. The images from the book became bent and twisted by his own imagination. In his dazed state he imagined a spirit at the window. “Heath, oh Heath let me in!” It wailed. “It’s Catherine! Oh please let me in?” What on earth was Catherine doing outside in the rain? Was it raining. He got up out of bed to help the poor girl out, but when when he reached the window she shrank, and her mouth twisted into the sneer of the younger sister.

“CAAAAATHERINE! Aunt Jan says you have to come down and set the TAAAAABLE!” a voice called out from below. Heath gave his head a little shake, and realized he was still in bed. Catherine still sat in the chair.

“I’ll just finish this bit and be right down,” she insisted at much lower volume.

Martha materialized in the doorway.

“SHE SAYS YOU HAVE TO, NOWWWWW!”

Catherine ignored her little sister and kept reading until she reached the end of the chapter. Politely she asked Heath if he was enjoying the book and despite himself he insisted he was. Didn’t he think it an amazing coincidence that the hero and heroine were named Heathcliff and Catherine? Just like them! Again, he reminded her that his name was Heath, not Heathcliff, but she thought the difference to be of little consequence. She began to ask him what he liked best in detail, but Martha was impatient.

The eleven year old folded her arms across her chest, jutted her jaw forward and spat out, “Catherine, stop bothering Heath about that boring book, and go downstairs.”

“It’s not at all boring, is it Mr. Barkley?”

Mr. Barkley was not given the opportunity to answer.

“It’s the most boring book in the whole world,” Martha insisted.

“You just don’t understand it because you’re a little girl,” Catherine replied tolerantly. ”You’re too young and immature to properly appreciate true romance and passion the way Mr. Barkley and I do.” Heath felt the urge to pull the blankets over his head.

Her remark had the desired effect over Martha. The younger girl was left speechless and gaping like a fish. Satisfied she had made her point, Catherine excused herself to go set the table.

Martha’s tongue, however, never strayed far, and upon regarding Heath again she had recovered it. “Mr. Barkley, your face is all red!” she exclaimed, and rushed over to his side. “Has your fever returned? It would be just like Catherine to forget to get you your medicine. She can be SUCH a CHILD,” she tssked. He flinched as she put a sweaty little palm to his forehead and frowned. “No, no fever, but I’ll make sure you get more tea so it won’t come back. Maybe a double dose since you missed one. Are you comfortable? I could rearrange the pillows for you?”

“No, no need to trouble yourself,” he answered both in reply to the tea and the pillows.

“It’s no trouble at all!” She insisted, and started messing around with his bedding.

“No, really I -- AAAH!” He yelled out suddenly as she tried to pull him forward and pain shot through his shoulder.

“OH!” Martha retracted her tentacles immediately.

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Dr. Pierce was not in when Nick reached Modesto. His wife was there, however, and explained that he had gone to attend one Mrs. Murphy who was about to deliver her seventh child. Mrs. Pierce did not think it would be long before her husband returned, as the expectant mother had always experienced easy births and had plenty of hands around to help.

“But if it’s an emergency--”

“No, not an emergency I don’t think,” Nick responded, though he would have been happier to know the doctor was on his way to Heath’s side. “But make sure he gets there as soon as possible. I don’t feel right just leaving him.”

That business taken care of, he wandered over to the local telegraph office. He wanted to let his family know what was going on and to tell Isobel he was on his way. After scribbling out the first and handing it to the operator a young boy burst in. “Da! It’s a girl!” he yelled.

“Well!” the operator beamed. “What do you know!”

“You must be Mr. Murphy,” Nick surmised. “Congratulations!”

“Aye, thank you.” The man beamed.

“Ain’t you gonna come and see her?” the boy asked plaintively.

“Now Seamus, you know I can’t leave until Banks comes to relieve me. Be a good boy and run around to his house, will you?”

“Yessir!”

But “Banks”, who had evidently been ready for just this eventuality, sailed right in and quickly ushered the “new” father out.

Nick left as well, confident that the doctor, now having finished servicing Mrs. Murphy, would soon be on his way to the Wallace residence to see to his brother.

It wasn’t until well after noon that he remembered he had neglected to send the second telegram, and by that time he was only a few hours from home.

Part 19

An interlude.

The weather had finally cleared up. How long it would remain that way, Isobel had no idea. One thing she did know: if she had to listen to another night of drip drip drip she was going to go crazy. Something was going to have to be done about that leaky roof. Her father was too busy in the shop to do it, and she was too proud to engage someone else. The only person she might have considered asking was out of town, and who knew when he would return? Probably not before the rain. She was just going to have to take care of it herself. And then of course there was the crack in her bedroom ceiling. Plastering that almost seemed worse. At least the roof would be more solid beneath her feet than a wobbly step ladder.

That roof was mighty high up there. She would have to go out through the dormer in her room and work her way up the shingles. Logically she knew the roof wasn’t very steep at all, though she wondered about how slippery the wooden shingles would be. She wished she were more surefooted. Climbing had been her brother’s forte, whereas she was at home in the water. Oddly enough, the cat-like Roger had hated the water as much as she hated heights, and he drowned when they were children. She always feared she would fall to her death.

She had come close a couple of times, the last one resulting in several broken ribs and the broken arm which had only recently been freed from its restrictive cast. That arm, her dominant one was much atrophied now. It would take a while before she had full use of it again. However, over the right arm’s three month imprisonment, she had developed a good deal of skill with the left. She was confident that with it she could effect the necessary repairs. Still, were pride and sanity not at stake, she would leave the task until later.

Just for good measure she found herself a good, solid piece of rope. She could anchor one end to the chimney and tie the other around her waist. That way if she lost her footing she wouldn’t fall. It looked pretty silly, but that didn’t bother her terribly.

She did wonder what had become of Nick. There had been no word from him in quite a while, and he and his brother had been due back days ago. Missing the church social that evening didn’t bother her so much as not knowing where he was. Perhaps he had fallen victim to the infamous Barkley luck.

It was a peculiar sort of luck the Barkley family held, one that put them in extraordinary and precarious circumstances. Where the luck came in, was that for all their trials and tribulations, the Barkleys always made it through reasonably intact. Small compensation, especially for those near to them, who often did not fare so well. Isobel’s cousin, Vivienne, had often joked to her that becoming involved with the family could be injurious to her health. As proof Vivienne pointed to that same incident in which she had broken her arm.

“That wasn’t Nick’s fault,” Isobel had protested. “In fact he saved my life.” And that wasn’t the first time either. Much as it embarrassed her to remember his fetching her down from the upper branches of a tree, she had to admit to herself that that, too, counted as a rescue.

“It doesn’t have to be his fault. That’s how the Barkley luck works. People near them just drop like flies.”

Well, Isobel had no intention of dropping like a fly. She tightened the knot around her waist and started up the stairs.

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Nick made even better time than he had anticipated. Having told his family in the telegram he figured on being back around six, he had no compunctions about stopping by Isobel’s first when he hit town a full two hours before then. If he didn’t give her some warning of his return, chances were that when he came to pick her up for the church social that evening, not only would she not be ready, but he was liable to be in for a severe tongue lashing about assuming she would be when she had no reason to expect him. This way she would have a couple hours to get over being pissed off about his not wiring her that he was running a few days late, and would have forgiven him before the first dance.

He left Duke with Bart at the livery stable, veritably skipping over to the blacksmith’s house, and rapped on the door.

There was no answer.

Odd. She was usually home this time of day, starting dinner. Dai Morgan, her father, preferred his main meal in the evening when he came home from the smithy. He banged a little harder.

Still no answer.

He had a sudden thought: the weather here couldn’t have been any better than forty miles south. This was probably the first fine day they’d had in a long time. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if she were collecting laundry out back. Confident he had solved the mystery, he stepped back from the front door. . . and just missed being hit by the hammer as it fell from the roof.

“What the--!” He looked, but didn’t see anyone. “Iz?” he called up, frowning. No. It couldn’t be.

“That you, Nick?” That was her voice, all right, coming from above and to the rear. What the devil was she doing up there? He jogged quickly around to the other side of the house, and there she was, clinging like a monkey to the roof of the house as she dangled from a rope tied to the chimney.

Nick experienced a moment of panic. “Don’t move! I’ll be right up!” He tore through the back door, banged through the kitchen, and thundered up the stairs only to meet her calmly coming out of her room, shutting the door behind her.

“I thought you--” he spluttered. “Weren’t you--” He started again. “What were you doing on the roof?” he finally demanded.

“There was a leak. I replaced a few shingles,” she answered easily.

“You’ve got no business going up there in your condition. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it needed doing; so I did it.”

You should have waited for me to get back,” Nick rejoined, and realizing he was opening the anticipated can of worms hastily added “or told Jarrod. He would have sent one of the men over to take care of it for you. Those bones of yours--”

“Have mended!” Isobel interrupted. “It’s been months, Nick. I got the cast off earlier this week. It’s good as new.”

“Yeah? What about that rib that wouldn’t set?”

“It set,” she retorted. “It just set a little funny is all.”

“Funny?” He looked concerned. “How?”

“It pokes up a little. Oh stop that!” She swatted his hand away. “Dr. Merar said it’s nothing to worry about as long as it’s set.”

“All right, all right!” he held up his hands, giving up the point. “But I still don’t like you out on that roof. Promise me you won’t do it again?”

“Only if you promise to be around next time it needs fixing,” she half conceded.

“Agreed!” That was easier than expected. “Now, am I going to get my welcome back hug or not?” His hands came down and settled gently about her waist.

He got his hug and an enthusiastic kiss that about rocked him off his boots to go with it. When their lips parted she nestled against his chest again, soft and warm. “I missed you,” she said.

Nick rested his head on top of hers. “I missed you, too, Iz, and I’m sorry I’m so late getting back.” He explained all that had happened, from that stupid poker game to Heath’s practically shooing him out the door of the Wallace house.

Hearing of Heath’s illness, she told him she didn’t blame him one bit for being tardy. It echoed back to a time she had unjustly blamed him for standing her up. Heath had been injured then, and as a result, Nick had shown up at her door hours late. By then she had given up on him and left the house. She didn’t give him a chance to explain until much, much later. This time she was willing to hear him through and forgive. And he was technically still on time for their date, even if neither of them were anywhere near prepared to go out.

“Yeah, well if I hadn’t insisted on bringing that cow along we would have been back days earlier,” he admitted. “In time for me to be there when you got that cast off.”

“True.”

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” he asked earnestly.

Isobel pulled back a moment and seemed to consider. “You know, I think there may be,” she said.

“Just name it!”

A timid smile crept across her face. Taking him by the hand, she opened the door to her bedroom and led him in.

Now what, Nick wondered with curious anticipation, could she possibly have in mind?

Part 20

Amid the clatter of plates and pots, Jan thought she heard something above. Trusting Catherine to execute her duties unsupervised, she went up to investigate. “No, thank you!” Heath was saying through clenched teeth. “You’ve done more than enough already.” He was obviously fighting to maintain an amiable tone. She closed her eyes and sighed. What was that girl up to now? She’d sent her up to fetch Catherine, not to make a nuisance of herself.

“Martha, I asked you not to bother Mr. Barkley!”

“But I didn’t mean to--”

“Downstairs NOW! I’m sure you can find something useful to do.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Martha burst out of the room, sobbing. “I was just trying to help!” Jan instantly regretted snapping at her. For the very first time since the girls had arrived, Martha was taking an interest in the welfare of another human being. She should be supporting her efforts, not berating her. Still, she had suspected their guest was taking an avid dislike to her. Jan was grateful that he was a patient man and wasn’t being openly hostile. Still, she thought it best that from now on Martha be encouraged to keep her distance.

*************

Heath, too, felt badly about speaking sharply. It was the combined effect of the pain and the girl’s irritating presence that caused him to lash out. Oh well. At least he didn’t kick her the way he had the chicken. And maybe from now on she’d let him be.

The pain in his shoulder subsided quickly back into a dull ache. It appeared that only moving his arm outside a particular range caused discomfort. When Jan came up a bit later bearing a supper tray, it felt much as it had before Martha’s “help”.

Heath didn’t have much of an appetite. It was a shame. The food looked good and all; he just had no desire for it. The illness played only a part. The other inhibiting factor was the laxative side effect of the tea. He promised to eat a little, but by the time she returned to collect the tray (and bring another cup of tea) he had only been able to manage a couple bites.

“You need to eat something,” Jan scolded gently.

He apologized, commenting that it all looked real good, but he just couldn’t. He didn’t want her to take it as a reflection on her cooking.

“Don’t worry about that,” she reassured him. “But the doctor will tell you, you need to eat to get better.” A slight furrow formed in the woman’s brow. “When he gets here. Your brother promised he would be sending the doctor along, but there’s been no sign of him.”

That evening, the woman’s father paid him a visit. “Jan thought I should come and check you out, though I can’t imagine what else she figures I could do. I’m an animal doctor, not a people doctor.” Heath submitted to a brief examination in which Dan put a hand to his forehead (there was only slight fever now) and listened to his chest.

“Well, you’re congested,” the vet said, “but you already knew that.” I didn’t hear any fluid in the lungs, so I don’t think you’ve got the pneumonia.” He looked distastefully at the mug by the bed. “Jan been giving you that stuff, huh? Yuck. Can’t stand it myself. Tell you what. I’m no doctor, but I can fix you up a brew I think you’ll like a lot better.”

A half hour later, the old man brought up a couple mugs and a steaming pitcher of another warm drink. As Dan poured, a familiar potent aroma pierced through the cowboy’s clogged nasal passages. “Cheers!” Dan said, lifting his own mug. “Helps the arthritis some, too,” he explained. Heath took a careful sip of the toddy. It went smoothly down his throat. “Good, eh?” the man winked, settling himself carefully into the rocking chair. “Beats the hell out of Jan’s poison. Go ahead, there’s more where that came from.”

Heath drank slowly, but the hot whiskey nonetheless passed quickly from his empty stomach to his head. He felt in a few minutes as if he was breathing easier. Or if he wasn’t, he didn’t care. The ache in his shoulder likewise faded from consciousness.

“You know, you’re the spittin’ image of your pa,” Dan observed. “Anybody ever tell you that?” Heath allowed that he had been told that often. “Yep, he used to come through here all the time. Of course that was a long time ago. Before the war, and during. We both had sons in uniform at the same time. My boy wore the gray, but Tom didn’t pay no never mind. When he got the news Kenny’d fallen, he came all the way out here personally to express his regrets. Then when Emmie died--” He paused a moment, looking down at the smooth arms of the rocking chair. “When Emmie died he helped me to send her back east to be buried. She never took to life out here,” he said ruefully. “I took her away from her home, her family. I guess its only fair my own boys have all been taken from me, one way or another.” Once again he went through his list of sons and how they had been removed from his household: Kenny, Mike, Mark, Andrew, Will, Jimmy. During the course of the monologue, the vet refilled both mugs at least once. Heath lost count as his brain began to fuzz.

The old man, too became less lucid. Alcohol and fatigue slowed his speech. “Ain’t fair about Danny, though,” he said, and Heath wasn’t sure if it wasn’t for the second or third time. “We’ve had our differences, but he turned out good. I raised him right. All this” he waved his hand drunkenly about, “a mistake.” Dan’s eyes closed as he stumbled the rest of the way into sleepyland. Heath didn’t notice. He had preceded him there.

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Nick dipped the spatula into the pot and scooped up another glob of spackle. He reached up and applied it to wide, crooked white line where the crack in the ceiling had been. “Just a little bit more. Once it’s painted it won’t even show.”

“I really appreciate this, Nick,” Isobel said, holding the ladder still.

“My pleasure!” he insisted. “But it’s getting a little late. If I don’t get myself home soon the family’ll be worrying about me as well as Heath.” He carefully scraped the surface of the plaster scar smooth.

“Are you sure your brother will be all right?”

“Positive. Matter of fact, I figure he’s in hog heaven right now, being waited on hand and foot by five beautiful young ladies. There! That ought to do it!” He dropped the spatula back in the pot and headed down the ladder.

“You didn’t say anything about beautiful young ladies before,” Isobel observed.

“Oh yeah. Wallace has a house full of em. All very beautiful and very eager to please,” he said meaningfully. It was true. They were all fine looking girls. He just left out that they were mostly less than half his age.

A hint of jealousy shone in his fiancee’s eyes. “I’m surprised you were able to pull yourself away,” she said, her voice suddenly cool.

“Well now, that was easy!” He wiped his hands on his pants before putting them around her. “They’ve got nothing on the beautiful lady I had waiting for me at home.”

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The two girls lay together in their shared bed, whispering to one another, while Mary and Catherine slept.

“You can’t tell anyone. You understand, Susie?” Susie did not understand. “It’s a matter of manly pride,” Martha tried to explain, her voice lowering in a way that suggested she knew all about manly pride. “He doesn’t want anyone to know he’s hurting. If I weren’t as perceptive as I am nobody would know.”

“But shouldn’t we make it better?” Susie asked, confused. When people were hurt you had to make it better. She clutched her beloved dolly tightly to her chest.

“He doesn't want us to.” Martha still felt wounded by the way he had sent her from the room. The only way to feel better was to mentally extend his not wanting her to help him to include the rest of the family as well.

“When the doctor gets here I’ll let him know,” she reassured the wide eyed Susan. “He’ll know what to do.”

Part 21

The girls, all except one, were dressed for church and performing their morning chores. Martha, as usual, was slower in getting ready, but this time it was for a different reason than her normal dragging of the feet. While others were distracted, she sneaked into her aunt’s room and started going through the vanity drawers. She realized her mistake the evening before. She should never have suggested playing checkers with Heath. It was such a childish game; he probably never played it at home. The way Catherine had called her a little girl in front of him rattled her, too. She was not a little girl, but it occurred to her that her tomboyish appearance might lead Heath to believe she was. Naturally he, a grown man, didn’t want to be bothered by children. From now on, she would dress more appropriately for a young lady. Ah! That’s what she was looking for! A little used box with a powdery smell. With this and a few other things, her transformation would be complete!

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They were all over him. Hundreds of ‘em. Little tiny people. They raced back and forth across his chest with their ropes. He wanted to reach out and brush them away, but he couldn’t move. This must be the Kingdom of Lilliput, he surmised, and they the Lilliputians, but they had made a mistake. That was the wrong story. He wasn’t Gulliver. He was Heathcliff.

No no no no no. Not Heathcliff, Heath. Heath Barkley.

It was so confusing. His brain and tongue were fuzzy and dry. The pounding of the surf crashed rhythmically in his ears in time with the throbbing pressure behind his eyes. As he drifted back toward consciousness he became conscious of another pressure on his bladder. All that tea and all those toddies had been collecting there over the course of the night and were demanding to be released. He felt simultaneously dehydrated and neigh unto bursting. Logic was returning to him as well as the memory of who and where he was, but all that was secondary to getting himself to the outhouse.

He started to roll himself over and out of bed, but was disturbed to discover his body would not respond. I must not be awake enough yet, he thought to himself. I’d better do quick before I make an ocean of my own on this bed! He urged himself to wakefulness a bit at a time, making himself feel the bed beneath him, and hear the sounds of the house coming alive.

Eventually he was even able to pry his glue stuck eyelids open, letting in the morning light so that he was certain he was no longer asleep, but still when he tried to raise a hand to rub the night’s crumbs of sand from the corner of his eye found he could not. His muscles contracted, but met with resistance. He gazed down at himself and realized both arms had been strapped across his chest straitjacket style. What the? In fact, his whole body appeared to be bound, neck to toe in a mixture of twine and bed clothes. How could this have been done without him noticing? Reflecting on the amount of alcohol he had consumed on an empty stomach, he figured he must have been out cold. Then came the other question: why?

Never mind. Now that he knew what was wrong, all he had to do was free himself. He didn’t figure it would be too difficult, but he hadn’t reckoned on the practiced skill of his captor. The knots were tight and well placed, his hands completely useless. Wriggling as much as he could failed to loosen his bonds even the slightest. Still, he was embarrassed enough by his present predicament, he dared not call out for assistance. Instead he continued to thrash about.

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In the kitchen, pans rattled as Jan busied herself getting breakfast started. Directly after waking and dressing, she had gone upstairs and tapped on Heath’s door, but received no answer. He had slept the whole night through without her hearing as much as a cough out of him. It pleased her that he was finally getting some much needed rest, and as he hadn’t yet woken on his own she decided not to disturb him. If he was sleeping that soundly, chances were his fever was enough abated not to require any more of the medicine.

It disturbed her that the doctor had not yet arrived, though she could think of a number of reasons he might have been delayed. Jan had been hoping Heath would be well enough to accompany them to mass today, but even if he were, that was now out of the question. Someone would have to remain home with him until the doctor arrived. Dad would, of course. He seldom went to church these days. But he was barely capable of looking after himself, much less another. Much as Jan would have preferred to stay herself, she could not see sending the girls on to church all by themselves.

That left Mary. Heath had been earnest in his praise of Mary’s ministrations the previous day, and she was inclined to ask her niece to oblige again today. The presence of Dad in the house should be sufficient to keep the community from gossiping about her being left with a young man. Besides, everyone knew Mary and Johnny were expected to be engaged as soon as the girl was of age. People would be much more suspicious of Jan remaining at home with a handsome stranger. The people in these parts had long tongues and long memories. Desperate as they were for school teachers, she had been informed upon receiving her current position that at the slightest hint of further impropriety on her part, she would be dismissed. For the sake of the girls, she could not risk that.

Jan dipped a finger in a glass, then flicked a few drops of water into the pan. Immediately the tiny beads began to sizzle and dance across its surface before evaporating away. Perfect. With a knife she dipped into the lard can when she heard a terrific thud from above. Grabbing an oven towel, she removed the fry pan from the heat and quickly ran upstairs to see what was the matter. She was followed soon after by several other pairs of feet.

She cautiously opened the door, and her jaw dropped open with astonishment at the pathetically wriggling mummy’s form by the bed. It took her no time at all to recognize the handiwork. “Susan Elizabeth!” she cried, upon fixing her eye on the guilty little girl in the hallway. “What have you done to that poor man?!?!”

“Help?” came the muffled voice from the man on the floor.

Part 22

Martha had not known her confidential conversation with the younger girl would have had this result. She had not known. . . but she had hoped. Susie and her bandages! And that look on Aunt Jan’s face when she singled out the likely culprit was too precious for words. The child could do nothing but shrink behind the door, casting her eyes down to the floor, as sure an admission of guilt as ever there was. That should be sufficient to remove any partiality Heath might have for Susie.

Boy, that had to be uncomfortable there. Worse than the effects of her gentle tug on his arm had been. She felt a little sorry for him. Aunt Jan, of course, ran immediately to his aid. “I am so sorry, Mr. Barkley! I don’t know what could have gotten into her. We’ll have you out of there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” She began at once to tackle Susie’s knots.

The cat, however, had been an excellent escape artist, and Susie had learned much from him in her efforts to minister to @#%$’s imaginary wounds. The bindings proved too much for Jan’s abilities under the present circumstances. While Heath was helpless to free himself, still, he couldn’t keep from thrashing about, which made things even more difficult for those trying to help. Finally, Aunt Jan gave up. “Mary, could you please run and fetch me the scissors?”

Uh oh. Susie was really going to be in for it. Those had been some of Grandma’s best sheets. Martha couldn’t have been more pleased.

“Maybe I could help,” she offered, trying not to sound as if she were gloating. “I’ve gotten pretty good at undoing Susie’s knots. Grandpa will be furious if you have to cut them up all on account of her.”

“No thank you, Martha. Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Jan added with surprise. “Are you still in your nightgown? Please go downstairs and put some clothes on.”

No, she was not yet dressed, and she was certainly creating the wrong impression parading in front of Heath in this indecent manner. Besides, she had let the box fall in Aunt Jan’s room when she heard the thud from above. She had best go get it before someone else found it.

Prancing down the stairs, Martha practically ran into Mary coming the other way. “You know you really shouldn’t run with scissors,” she made sure to be loud enough for all to hear. “It’s very dangerous. A big girl like you should know better!” Feeling very much the adult she continued down in a more stately fashion until she had reached the lower floor. No longer feeling herself the object of scrutiny, she then broke into a sprint for Aunt Jan’s room.

Oh no! The lid of the box had fallen off when she dropped it making a mess on the bed and floor! Hastily, Martha scraped up as much of the powder as she could with her hands. She was able to get most of it off the floor, but the bedspread was in a horrible state. What was she to do? She wiped her hands on herself, leaving colorful smears on her nightgown. Then she pulled the quilt off the bed and flipped it over, soiled side down. There! That ought to do it! She congratulated herself on her ingenuity.

With the sudden THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD! of heavy feet running down the stairs, she nearly dropped the box again. Instead, she gathered it tightly against her chest as she raced out to see what was happening now. She was just in time to see the large blur of a man as he disappeared out the kitchen door toward the outhouse. He was certainly looking more lively this morning.

************

Jan was still there with her little shadow when a much relieved Heath returned to the attic room. “Susan has something she would like to say,” she told him. “Don’t you, Susan?” The little girl buried herself further in her skirts. “Come on out, Susie. Mr. Barkley can’t hear you in there.”

Very timidly, Susie poked her head out. Large, blue, repentant eyes met his but briefly before being cast down to her shoes. “I’m sorry.” The words were as soft as a mouse’s whisper.

“Whatever possessed you to do such a thing, Susie?” the woman asked.

“Martha said he was hurt,” Susie meekly replied.

“He’s been sick,” Jan agreed, “but I think he’s getting better. Are you feeling better Mr. Barkley?”

Heath assured her that he was.

Showing more confidence than he had seen her demonstrate before, Susie surprised them both with a lengthy explanation. “But Martha said he hurt his shoulder. She said it hurt when he moved it. She said it had to be kept still in order to get better. Only she didn’t say which one. . . so I did both. And then there was more. . . ‘bandages’ left over. . . so I just. . . kept. . . going?” The man felt both sets of blinking eyes focus on him.

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” Heath wasn’t sure if Jan were addressing Susie or himself.

Susie chose to believe she were the one asked. “Martha told me not to.” Of course she did. “Cuz he’s embarrassed about it.”

“All right, Susie. You can go feed the calf now.” The girl gave her a relieved look, but before she left, she again turned to their visitor with an earnest and unprompted apology.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Barkley.”

“That’s all right,” he said, with a genuine tenderness. “Just promise you won’t do it again.” Susie nodded emphatically then skittered out of the room.

Jan was obviously grateful that he had accepted Susie’s apology so readily. “Thank you for not being too angry with her.”

“She’s a sweet kid,” Heath observed. “Dangerous, but sweet.”

With a chuckle, she replied. “It’s a family trait. Now, let me have a look at that shoulder!”

Realizing he had little choice in the matter, Heath surrendered himself to the woman’s scrutiny. She had warm hands and a gentle touch.

Jan carefully examined Heath’s shoulder. “I don’t see any bruising, but it does look a little swollen. Does it hurt much?”

“Not unless I move it.” He said.

“All right then, I won’t move it. I think Martha was right. It should be immobilized but,” she added, “I don’t think we need to go to extremes. A sling perhaps, until the doctor gets here?” Finding material for a sling was not at all difficult. There were plenty of good sized pieces left of the ruined sheet.

**************

They were running late. So late that Jan was compelled to put off breakfast until after church. “Now, now, it won’t do us any harm,” she comforted the children. “In fact it is a common practice for people not to eat anything of a Sunday until after communion,” she informed them.

“What about Mr. Barkley? Won’t he get hungry while we’re gone?” Catherine asked thoughtfully.

“Well, I was hoping Mary would stay behind today and wait for the doctor. She can serve him something, and have breakfast ready for us when we get back?” Jan looked at her eldest niece questioningly.

“Of course I wouldn’t mind staying home with Mr. Barkley!” Mary said. “We got along quite well yesterday only,” the young lady paused a moment. “Only I was going to go for a walk with Johnny after church.”

“I could stay home!” Catherine piped up. “After all, Mr. Barkley is likely to get bored lying around all day. I could read to him some more! We were just getting to an exciting part of the book.”

“But I don’t mind, really.” Mary hastened to add. “John will understand. I’m sure he will.”

“That’s not fair! If they get to stay home with Heath, why can’t I?” came Martha’s voice from down the hallway. Susie, too looked up at her with eager, questioning eyes.

“Am I to understand that we have a house full of heathens here? Does none of you wish to come with me to worship our Lord on his day?” The three girls in the room shook their heads, accompanied by Martha’s loud “NOOOO!”

Jan sighed audibly. She could understand all too well their desire to stay at home. It seemed they all had developed a fascination of one sort or another with their guest. Herself included. She blushed remembering the feel of his hard shoulder muscle under her fingers then shook the thought off. This was not a worthy object of contemplation on the Sabbath day. She must be heathen herself. No, she could not give in to this. She was determined that they should stick with her original plan. Mary would stay with Heath, and the rest of them would go!

She retained her resolve for the whole five seconds that passed before Martha walked into the room.

Part 23

“OW! You’re rubbing too HARD!” Martha complained, squirming. Speaking was a mistake, however, as her open mouth provided a trap for the wash cloth on it’s next pass. “BLBGFPBBB!” she spat at the combined tastes of rouge, eye shadow, and lye soap.

“Hold still now. We’re almost done here,” her aunt replied calmly. We’re? There was no we about it!! Martha saw nothing wrong with her face as it was. Aunt Jan sometimes wore make up, albeit infrequently. In fact, Martha was rather surprised to note, she was wearing some today. Perhaps not quite as much as the young girl, but then she was lucky enough to have blue green eyes to begin with and didn’t need the extra to make up for the ugly brown Martha had inherited from her Mexican mother. Martha couldn’t help her hand shaking while applying the colored powder. She had never done this before. A little extra blue pigment applied first above the left eyelid, and then above the right helped the two sides match a little better. And the red circles on her cheeks were no more intense than those of the pretty women that peppered the Sacramento river front.

“Those are hardly the sort of women you want to be emulating!” Aunt Jan insisted.

It was humiliating. To be dragged over to the washstand in front of her big sisters and and have her face washed for her like a baby! She should have done it herself when Jan commanded it, but she hadn’t taken her aunt seriously enough about not letting her out of the house looking like that. She had at least expected Mary or Catherine to come to her defense, but the only one who spoke up for her was stupid little Susie.

“I think it looks pretty!” she had said.

“See!” Martha had responded.

“Like the clown we saw when the circus came to town!” Susie added. Aunt Jan hadn’t laughed, but she looked as if she wanted to.

“Believe me, Martha, I’m not doing this to punish you,” she said, setting her jaw as she reapplied herself to rubbing. “You know, you’re growing into a beautiful young woman. You have your mother’s lovely dark eyes. Some day when you’re older you’ll be surprised at just how many young men’s heads you’ll turn. And then just a little touch of make up will enhance your natural beauty, provided your father does not object. But sparingly applied. It should bring out your face, not cover it up like a disguise.”

“Like a clown,” the voice of one of her sisters tittered behind her. Martha squirmed, wanting to turn around and identify which, but her head was held firmly in place.

“All right, that will have to do,” Aunt Jan said finally, when Martha’s face felt it had been scoured raw. The red on her cheeks from the scrubbing was nearly as deep as the rouge had been. “And now the other thing!”

Martha blinked her eyes, feigning ignorance. “Whatever could you mean?”

“Do I need to do that for you, too?” Jan asked, her patience nearly exhausted. “What are those? Stockings?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Martha insisted, making eye contact with the ceiling.

Her aunt sighed and walked toward her, resolved.

Martha folded her arms protectively across her chest as she backed down the hallway away from her. “All right! All right! I’ll. . . take care of it!” she said. Quickly she slid back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Of all the nerve! She actually would have done it! Right there in the hallway! What if he were to walk down?

Her face burning with anger, shame, and the aftereffects of the brutal washing, Martha moved in front of the mirror and began unbuttoning her dress. She slid it off her shoulders and reluctantly removed one, two, three handkerchiefs and a rolled up cotton stocking from each “bosom” supported by the corset she had borrowed from Catherine, leaving her looking pathetically flat chested. Well, if she couldn’t have a shape in one way, she was determined to achieve one in another. She reached behind her and began adjusting the laces, pulling tight, tighter, tightest across her midsection until she could hardly breathe and fixed a knot Susie would have been proud of. She slid her hands down her sides as she studied her reflection. While her puppy fat torso did not turn instantly into that of a wasp, it did give her figure some suggestion of an hourglass shape. That would have to do. With some difficulty, she pulled the top of her dress back on and retied the sash to show off her new waist.

If Aunt Jan noticed the difference, she didn’t mention it. Chances were, however, that she did not notice it. She was too distressed about the time. The make up battle had cost them a precious half hour. Now even if they hurried they would certainly be late for church. The gospel reading would be over and the priest would be well into the sermon. The girls would get their wish. They were staying home.

“NOW you tell me!” Martha huffed with as big a breath as she could manage in her constricted condition. “I could have--” She stopped. The daggers in her aunt’s eyes told her no she couldn’t either.

*********

Consequently, they were all home when the doctor finally arrived. He apologized heartily for not being able to make it any earlier. “I was with Mrs. Murphy,” he explained. She surprised us yesterday by delivering twins! The second was quite small but took her time. I was beginning to fear we might lose both mother and baby, but finally at about a quarter to midnight she made her appearance.”

Dr. Pierce was led by feminine entourage to the attic bedroom. Once there, he shooed his escorts out and examined the patient thoroughly, checking for fever, listening to the lungs for any sign of pneumonia, and finally investigating the injured shoulder. He took Heath’s arm through the entire range of motion comfort would allow, and just beyond. “You injured this in a fall?” he speculated.

Heath nodded. “That’s right. I’m not really sure how though. I don’t remember landing on it.”

“No, more likely you had your arm outstretched and took the weight on the palm of your hand or at the elbow. That’s how most of these kinds of injuries occur. You’re lucky you didn’t dislocate the shoulder or break a bone. Judging from how well you’re moving, I’d say that you’ve only sprained a couple of the muscles, or at worst a very small tear in the tendon. Not a very bad injury, but if you don’t take good care of it, it could take months to heal completely.”

It would have been best, he explained, if ice could have been applied immediately, however it was a bit late for that. Right now, rest and warmth were what was required. He prescribed a regimen of massage to keep a good supply of blood flowing to the joint and specified that by no means was Heath to do any riding or strenuous work for another week. By then the shoulder should have improved some and the cold resolved itself.

Heath accepted the suggestion philosophically. Despite the fact that he’d near had his arm pulled out of it’s socket, been obliged to listen to hours of incomprehensible literature, repeatedly forced to drink a noxious substance, bound worse than a hogtied calf, and had every move closely monitered by four adoring little girls, he figured he’d spent worse weekends. Nick wouldn’t need him back at the ranch for some time. As long as his family knew he was on the mend, he could live with sticking around a few more days. But more to the point, his saddle still hadn’t shown up, and no one in the house would admit to knowing its whereabouts.

He agreed to follow the doctor’s advise on two provisions. One: NO MORE TEA! the other: If he had to spend another day in bed, he would go berserk. He wanted to be up and dressed. Unfortunately, despite all her good intentions, Mary had not gotten around to doing the laundry. His clothes were not fit to be worn, especially on a Sunday. He would be in another of Dan’s big waisted, short legged trousers again, but Mary promised he would not have to suffer that nasty, itchy, wool sweater Martha had thrust on him his first day there. She had something much nicer, more fitting for the Lord’s Day that he could wear.

The eldest girl disappeared into her room and returned with a white, frilly, man’s shirt embroidered all over with blue pansies.

Part 24

Blue pansies. “Boy howdy!” Heath declared at a loss. His left eyebrow twitched upward. “That’s real. . .” a little nod helped push the last word out “. . . purdy.” A lot of effort had obviously gone into the delicate stitchery, and the blonde cowboy was flattered to be presented with the shirt. He could not refuse to wear it without insulting Mary. Just the same, he was sure glad Nick wasn’t there to see it. With a little help, he managed to pull the fancy shirt up over his shoulders.

“Why, it’s a perfect fit!” Mary proclaimed proudly as he buttoned the left cuff.

“I told you, you were making it too big for Johnny,” Martha intoned.

Johnny? Heath halted and looked up, his hand hovering over the second cuff. The two older girls were shushing their stiff backed little sister.

“Oh, here! Let me help you with that!” Mary said, and gently taking his arm, fastened the sleeve button.

****

Martha was beside herself. Heath was out of danger, but would be staying with them for another week! What could possibly be better?

Noontime was fast approaching, and Heath, no longer tied to the bed, came and joined them as Aunt Jan, assisted by the dutiful Mary and dopey Catherine set to meal preparations. Martha, not wishing to be left out, also offered to help, but instead was told she and Susie could run along and play. While Susie was content to return to her dollie, Martha was both perplexed and disappointed. She would have thought Aunt Jan would be thrilled to have her helping out. Wasn’t that what she always wanted? But no, the girl had the distinct impression that her presence was not so much unnecessary as unwanted.

It was Mary. It had to be Mary. Heath liked her best. That much was obvious. Aunt Jan and she must have decided that the rich and handsome Heath Barkley was a better catch for her than the neighbors’ son.

THAT was why they were all trying to shut her up when she pointed out that is was Johnny’s birthday shirt he was wearing. They were afraid she was going to go and spoil it. And why shouldn’t she? Mary already HAD Johnny. She should leave Heath alone and give someone else a chance. It was only fair. But no. Aunt Jan liked fickle, fickle goody two shoes Mary better. Everyone did. Never mind that Martha was the first to sense Heath’s pain. Never mind that she just knew the she and Heath were meant for each other. Their souls must be tied somehow. Why else would she feel this way about him? She was his soul mate, and he didn’t even know it. If Aunt Jan and the others had their way, he never would. Dejected, she slumped out of the kitchen.

Well, not really slumped. The tight corset held her back ramrod straight. If she so much as rolled her shoulders forward, she was unable to breathe. Even with perfect posture it was difficult to get a really big breath. Ah, the discomforts women suffered to please their men. And what more would she be willing to suffer for just one fond look. . . .

A sudden burst of light laughter was audible through the door behind her. Among Aunt Jan’s “heh, heh!”s, Catherine’s giggles, and Mary’s titters, she made out a low quiet chuckle that must have been Heath. What were they laughing about? Were they laughing about her? Had they, had they told him about the make up? About the, the--she self-consciously put a hand to her flat chest. Blood rushed to her face, and she saw spots before her eyes. Feeling a bit faint, she slumped over against the wall in the hall.

Take a deep breath, she told herself, but there were no deep breaths to be had. The world began to wobble, and her knees gave way as darkness enveloped her.

******

“There’s no need for you to do that, Mr. Barkley,” Jan said.

“I’m glad to help out,” he insisted, “and it’s ‘Heath’, remember?” His blue eyes met hers.

Jan glimpsed uneasily over at her nieces, who seemed to be taking in the interchange with some amused interest, and blushed.

“The doctor said you were to keep that shoulder still,” she managed to counter, reaching to remove paring knife and potato from their house guest’s grasp.

“I don’t know, Aunt Jan,” Mary shook her head. “I think you had better let him help. Otherwise he’ll insist on doing something else.”

“Well, there is that barn door,” Heath smirked, winking conspiratorily at the girls.

“Now don’t you even think of it!” the woman exclaimed apalled. “Do you want that shoulder of yours to--” She stopped mid sentence, realizing they were teasing her. She had to laugh at herself. The girls followed suit, and then Heath, eyes shining joined in, first in a silent, closed mouthed huffs and then in a low soft chuckle.

It was good to hear the merriment in his voice, especially after him having spent the last few days so miserably. It did not bother her to be the but of their little joke, though it did make her wonder if maybe she wasn’t a little too mother hennish. Again she remembered that these two nieces were not so very much younger than herself. Right now they seemed more like her peers than her charges. Mary was nearly old enough to be wed. Did maternal fussing from a woman more of an age to be a sister than a mother chafe just a little bit every now and then? It must, but someone had to be there to guide her nieces. As ill equipped as she sometimes felt she was for the task, she and Dad were all they had.

Whether or not she was a mother hen, she sensed the man would indeed find something else to do with himself, possibly risking more damage to that shoulder. At least this way, she could keep an eye on him. Jan conceeded Heath the knife and potato. “I’ll be very careful,” he promised overly seriously, prompting another round of snickers.

Their merriment was interrupted by a loud thump in the hallway. “What was that?” Heath asked, as Jan’s head jerked toward the door. There was a scuffling of chairs as they rushed to see what was the matter.

Part 25

It was as if a great weight had been removed from Martha’s chest. Cool air filled her lungs. Her eyelids fluttered, as confused, she tried to piece together what was going on.

“I think she’s coming around,” came a male voice near her left ear. She could feel his breath, warm on her face, and savored the moment, knowing that as soon as she opened her eyes it would end.

“Oh, thank heaven!” That was Aunt Jan. “Can you hear me, Martha honey?” She had resolved not to answer, but there was a gentle slapping on her right cheek.

”Mmmmhh,” she groaned, involuntarily pulling away.

“That’s right. Take a deep breath now. The doctor can’t have gotten far. Catherine will have caught up to him by now.”

“We don’t need a damn doctor, Jan!” Martha’s eyes popped open. Grandpa stood over them all, disgusted. “It’s obvious what happened. What were you thinking, letting her go straight laced like that?”

The prostrate girl just knew her aunt would come back with an “I had no idea!” or something like that to shake off the blame, but Jan ignored the accusation all together. “It doesn’t hurt to be sure, Dad.”

She was lying on the same sofa their guest had so recently occupied, Aunt Jan crouched before her, and Heath, wonderful Heath by her side, gently stroking her hair.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” There was warmth and concern in his voice. She nodded. She had never felt better in her life. And then she noticed her dress had been pulled down to her waist, the corset laces cut. Her eyes widened in horror. “Mary, could you bring over that blanket, please?” For all her mortification, he sounded so calm, so gentlemanly. He had seen her discomfort and rushed to put her at ease! The blanket was quickly brought, and he tucked it carefully around her.

******

Dad was right. She should have noticed something was wrong. It was so unlike Martha to even put on a corset. It never occurred to her the girl would have been able to lace it that tightly, especially without assistance. But then one never knew what to expect from Martha.

What a relief it was that the older girls were not so difficult. Catherine was always busy with her books and her day dreaming. Of course that carried some problems of its own, but nothing serious. Mary, on the other hand, was just plain too sensible to get into trouble. No, thank heaven, she never had to worry about Mary.

Catherine returned with the doctor in tow. After a thorough examination, he came to the same conclusion. She appeared to be fine. Still, he ordered bed rest for the patient and once Martha was tucked into bed in the girls’ room gave a little lecture regarding ladies’ undergarments.

He shook his head. “I cannot understand why women choose to do such a thing to themselves. Have you any idea how such instruments distort the female figure even when worn properly? I know it is fashionable for a woman to have the waist of a wasp, but it certainly is not healthful, especially for a young girl whose bones have not nearly finished growing yet.”

“I’m sure you’re right, Dr. Pierce,” Jan replied. “Thank you so much for coming back. Can you stay to lunch?”

The doctor thanked her kindly, but begged off. He hadn’t seen much of his own wife in the past few days and felt obliged to return home for Sunday dinner. “Now, you remember the instructions I gave you for that shoulder?” he asked, just to make sure. Jan regarded Heath. Despite her protests, he had lifted the girl himself from the floor and carried her to the living room sofa. Much as he tried to hide it, she could see he was suffering for it. Doubtless Dr. Pierce could as well. He harumphed. “I don’t say these things for my own health, Mr. Barkley. You go easy on that arm.”

“Oh I will,” Heath assured him. “I’ll take it real easy.”

The doctor was not reassured. He turned to Jan. “You’ll see that he gets regular massages?”

BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV

Jan reached forward, nearly making contact before losing her nerve and pulling back. You silly girl! she scolded herself, covering her mouth with the fingers of her right hand. Why was this so difficult? Before her, the bare, muscular shoulder waited.

The older girls were cleaning up after lunch, and Martha was reluctantly taking a nap. Dad’s arthritis was giving him particular pain, or she might have left it to him.

He’s not going to bite you.

No, biting was not what she was worried about. It was this giddy feeling she couldn’t shake. Perhaps if Dad and Susie hadn’t been watching, this would be easier. Then again, perhaps not.

“Is something wrong?” Heath asked, craning his head back. A painful looking twinge halted it’s progress before he was able to turn sufficiently to make eye contact with her, and she took notice of his well stubbled profile. He hadn’t had a shave in several days, and the effect was not unpleasant, just scruffy, in a -- she swallowed -- masculine sort of way.

Snap out of it, Jan! These were not feelings she should be having. He was an injured man, and this was just a simple therapeutic massage. “Just a little unsure how to begin,” she confessed clumsily. With a supreme effort, she forced herself to reach forward again, this time finally making contact with the skin. She started out very gently. “Let me know if it hurts.”

He shook his head. “I barely feel a thing.”

Gradually, she worked her fingers harder into his flesh. Beneath them, she could feel the fibrous, knotted muscle tissue stubbornly resisting her manipulations. She heard the breath catch in his throat.

“I’m sorry, was that too hard?”

“No, no, that’s good. It hurts some, but it’s a good hurt.”

Even so, she eased up just a touch -- pain could cause the muscles to bunch up even worse -- and gradually, she felt his shoulder begin to relax. His eyes closed and his breathing became deep and even. How ridiculous her reluctance had been. She could do this all day.

“Ahem.” Dad cleared his throat, and Jan looked over to his disapproving countenance. She had the distinct impression he could read her mind. Certainly he could communicate his own thoughts effectively without speaking a word. His eyes warned.

Immediately she schooled her own features away from whatever expression they must have assumed, an into an attitude of medical detachment. I will not shame you again, she promised mentally. Dad nodded his approval, and he eased up himself. After several minutes, her fingers began to grow weary, but she kept it up for the prescribed duration as marked by her father’s pocket watch. She was simultaneously saddened and relieved when it was over.

Part 26

While the Wallace ladies were beside themselves with glee about having Heath in the house, John McGowan Jr. was beside himself in quite a different way. Concerned that Mary had not materialized for their walk, that Sunday afternoon he made it his business to stop by to make sure everything was all right.

Mary apologized for having missed their appointment and explained the situation. He was certainly relieved that no ill had befallen her, yet somehow not completely comfortable with the situation. It was not right that a man should be staying in a house full of defenseless young ladies, and distracting them from their regular lives. Poor Martha had taken ill herself, and yet they didn’t pay half the attention to her as they did the obviously recovering house guest.

In general, John wasn’t particularly fond of Mary’s eleven year old sister, but it was really a pity they weren’t taking her illness more seriously. “How are you feeling now?” he asked as he visited her in her darkened room.

“Much better,” she assured him with a trembling voice and a heavy sigh. “All I really want to do is get up and join the family again.” With that, the young girl rose into a sitting position and made to get out of bed, but then started in to swoon. “Ooooh, I feel so dizzy!” she said.

Johnny started for the door. “Stay right there!” he commanded. “I’ll go get Jan.”

“No! No!” Martha answered dramatically. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I don’t want her to worry about me. Maybe Mary though, but, no, she’s far too busy. . . looking after Heath.” She sounded so disappointed, so helpless.

“I’m sure she can take a minute from his side,” he answered, heating up a little under the collar.

“I wouldn’t want to be a bother,” Martha protested. “She’s been such a help to him, you know. She’s been the one to stay with him when Aunt Jan has to go out, and he can’t stop saying how wonderful she is. So generous. She’s even letting him wear that shirt she’s been making you for you. OH!” she stopped herself. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you about that! It’s supposed to be a surprise for your birthday! The shirt, I mean,” she added sheepishly.

Johnny’s cheek twitched. “That’s all right,” he said through tight lips. “I won’t let on you told, but I will go get someone.” He left the room followed by the girl’s weak protests.

At his pronouncement, Jan rose immediately to see to her niece. Mary and Catherine, however were not impressed. “John, there’s nothing wrong with her,” Mary insisted. “She’s just grubbing for attention.” He supposed he knew that. Still, he preferred his girl to be looking after Martha than this fellow.

Heath looked healthy all right, in his shirt. He was a solid fellow, with blond hair. Outweighed him by a good thirty, forty pounds, and all of it muscle, Johnny admitted grudgingly. Probably looked better in that shirt than its intended recipient would. And Mary was at his beck and call. Tomorrow was Monday. She would be home with him all alone except for her grandfather. And what kind of protection was the old man? Johnny didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“You know, Mr. Wallace,” he began, not looking away from Heath. “I’ve been thinking. There hasn't’ been so much that needs doing back at our place recently. I’ve been thinking, maybe I could come over every now and then and, you know, lend a hand? You all have so much to do, what with having an injured stranger in the house. I could help. . . keep an eye on things. How does that sound to you?” His eyes hadn’t moved from the intruder.

“Barkley’s no stranger,” the old vet said. “I knew his daddy.”

“Knowing a man’s father isn’t the same as knowing the man.”

The vet didn’t answer right off, and John knew he had struck a chord. The silence reverberated uncomfortably.

“Well now, that sounds right neighborly to me,” Heath broke in.

“It does?” He was surprised by the amiability of the potential rival. What was his game?

“Oh sure. After all, like you say, you folks don’t know me so well. I could see you being a little nervous about leaving me alone with your loved ones.”

“Not alone,” Dan replied, a little wounded. “I’m here.”

“But you never know when you’ll be called away on an emergency, like the other day?” Heath observed diplomatically, stoking the older man’s pride. “And I can think of a number of things you could do to help out. There’s that barn door, the rotted fencing, and . . .” He went on to enumerate a number of things he and his brother had noticed amiss on the neglected homestead.

“Well,” Mr. Wallace said grudgingly as the list grew. “I guess we could use a hand at that, but I won’t take any charity,” he warned. “I’ll pay you fair and square.”

Janet returned to the room. “She’s just hungry,” she said. “She barely touched breakfast, and slept right through lunch; it’s no wonder she’s a little wobbly. I’ll just go to the kitchen and prepare a tray for her.”

Dan looked at her, then Mary, then the two men watching them and slid his jaw to the side, as if chewing on his thoughts. Young people! Yes, maybe it would be a good idea for them to keep an eye on each other.

*****

Dan Wallace might have been made a bit discomforted by his female progeny being drawn to their guest, but he was happy to have male company himself. For all that week, when he was awake and not indisposed, he spend his time in conversation with the young man. Heath didn’t talk so much, it was true, but he listened ok. After a while, the old vet forgot he had never heard of him before the rainy day they met, and as they grew more acquainted, his mind invented memories to include him. He “remembered” things Tom had said about this younger son of his, how he worried about him and Nick during the war, and longed for the day when all his boys could be riding at his side again.

If Heath did not confirm these memories, neither did he deny them. A couple of times though, when Dan drew out these reminisces, the young man seemed on the verge of commenting, but then held his tongue. Perhaps, Dan thought, there existed some bad blood between the two. If that were the case, it was the man’s own business, and it was not his place to pry, but before putting the subject behind him, he felt compelled to draw on his own experience.

“It does no one any good to dwell on past grievances against blood kin. Danny and I should have buried the hatchet long ago. That Mexi wife of his. She didn’t turn out so bad after all. I should have been there for him when she died. Then maybe he wouldn’t have ended up where he is.”

“You mean in prison?”

Dan nodded.

“What happened?” Heath asked.

*****

The question had been meant as a diversion, a way to shift the topic from his father. Under different circumstances Heath would have simply set the man straight. He had not grown up in the Barkley family. He was Tom Barkley’s illegitimate son. He was neither ashamed nor proud of that fact, as the circumstance was no fault of his own. It was merely the truth, but he stopped short of saying so. Heath now knew enough about Dan Wallace’s personality to guess that the man would have taken the revelation as an affront to the memory of a friend. As a guest, Heath had no desire to give his host grief.

What he learned about the injustice that had been committed against Jan’s brother shocked him.

******

“Nothin. It was nothing,” Dan replied, shaking his head. Six months since the trial, and he still couldn’t believe it.

“What did he do?”

“Oh, he held up a bank,” the old man waved his hand dismissively.

Heath wrinkled his brow. “He robbed a bank?”

The man misunderstood. “Not robbed. Held it up.” The vet explained. “Danny went down to Mexico, to fulfill Consuela’s dying wish. She wanted the girls to meet their grandparents. It was a hard trip for him to make. They didn’t like him much, wanted to take the girls from him, but he wouldn’t have it. On the stage back, he was already in a bad way. But then to see the foreclosure on his door when he got home -- that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“My son never missed a mortgage payment in his life,” the old man emphasized. “He was gone three months but no matter what, he wired money to the bank on the fifteenth of each month like clockwork.” Dan rubbed his forehead. “I should have taken it myself. I could have gotten a receipt for him, but. . . well, I didn’t. I was still mad at him for marrying her in the first place. For leaving and starting up on his own instead of staying in practice with me. And the bank, well, it lost the payments.

“Danny was half out of his mind. I don’t know where he got the gun. Danny never fired a revolver in his life, but he burst into that bank waving it around. Held up the bank for five hours while the staff went through every piece of paper until they found those Western Union receipts. When it was all straightened out, he turned himself over to the sheriff. The gun wasn’t even loaded.

“He hadn’t hurt a soul. Just scared ‘em some. The bank was so embarrassed about their mistake, they didn’t press charges. We figured they’d keep him in jail for a couple days for disturbing the peace and let him go. Maybe a fine. But one of the bank tellers, the one Danny had taken aside and put the barrel to his head, turned out to be a judge’s son. He took it personal. Next thing we knew they were throwing all kinds of charges at him. We got a court appointed lawyer who didn’t know his left shoe from his right, but it wouldn’t matter if he did. He didn’t have time to do more than learn our names before the trial came up. With a jury of second cousins to the judge,” he spat out bitterly.

“Somehow, that doesn’t sound right,” Heath said.

“Of course its not right!” Dan retorted, banging his fist angrily on the table. It felt good to blame someone other than himself for a change. “They had their minds made up before a lick of evidence had been presented! Then they baited him at the trial. Danny’s a gentle man, but they started in to insulting the dead. His Mexican wife, and Kenny, my poor Kenny. They called him a murdering, bloodthirsty Reb. The court appointed attorney didn’t do a damn thing about it, but Danny wouldn’t stand for it. He stood up and threatened to pound anyone who spoke that way about his family. And they used that against him, as evidence he was dangerous. And they put him away. They put him away for ten years because some idiot couldn’t keep track of a few pieces of paper.”

Heath looked down at his hands for a few moments while he thought, then met the old man’s eyes. “I can’t make any guarantees,” he said. “I don’t know much about the law myself, but it could be my brother Jarrod could help you out. He’s a lawyer, you know.”

Dan shook his head. “I’ve had my fill of lawyers. Danny’s lawyer kept talking about an appeal. Of course the county won’t pay for that. We kept paying him money from our own pocket and got a whole lot of nothing. The man was a crook, plain and simple.”

“Well Jarrod’s no crook. He’s a good lawyer. The best there is. If anyone can help you it’ll be him. I promise you, I’ll have him look into it, and it won’t cost you a cent.”

The man was in earnest, Dan could tell. Maybe, he dared to think, there was still hope after all. “Mr. Barkley,” he said. “I don’t care about the money. I don’t need charity. I’d be willing to give everything I have to get my boy out of prison, but I’ve got to know there’s really a chance.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Heath replied. “I’m not offering any charity. I’ll just ask him to look into it. It’s the least I can do for all your family has done for me.”

It still sounded like charity, especially on top of all that beef Nick had given them in return for seeing to that calf, but he could look into it. If Danny could possibly be cleared this mess, there were worse people to be indebted to than the Barkley family. A ray of hope began to filter through his storm filled psyche.

Part 27

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Several sharp raps that seemed to shake the attic bedroom wakened Heath. He sat bolt upright with a start and looked around him, trying to get his bearings. After a moment’s confusion, he remembered where he was. It was late in the morning, at least nine o’clock he guessed by the angle of light streaming through the window. Late enough for a man accustomed to rising before the break of dawn. Lying abed like that he felt downright decadent, but he was well rested. A long scraping sound drew his curious gaze overhead, and then the banging began anew.

Heath wormed out of the nightshirt he was wearing, pulled on the clean trousers folded over the foot of the bed, and grabbed his neatly pressed shirt before heading down the stairs. The kitchen was empty, though a steaming pot stood on the stove. As he reached the bottom stair, the sound of voices drew him to the half opened back door.

“What do you think you’re doing, boy?” the old man’s voice hollered. “Come down offa there! You’re giving me a headache!”

Heath didn’t hear the answer, but Wallace must have. “Oh you DID, did you? And what makes you think we NEED any help around here?” He ventured outside to see the man of the house and his oldest granddaughter gazing upwards, their hands raised to their brows, shielding their eyes from the sun’s glare. Silhouetted above a ladder propped against the house was the figure of a young man.

“Grandpa, please, not so loud!” Mary jerked her head slightly toward her grandfather. Then for the benefit of the figure on the roof half yelled herself, though in a voice roughened in an attempt at restraint, “We don’t want to wake our guest!”

“Too late,” came the sardonic reply from above. “Good morning, Mr. Barkley! I hope you slept well?” The young lady turned abruptly toward Heath, startled. Her eyes lingered a moment longer than was comfortable on his bare torso before she blushed and diverted her eyes down.

“Well enough,” Heath replied, regretting not having taken that extra moment to pull on the shirt. He endeavored to remedy that situation, but the shoulder caught before he got on the first sleeve. “What ‘cha doing up there, Johnny?”

“Just fixing a few loose shingles. I’m just about finished.” The boy gave two more absent taps with the hammer. “There! All done!” John gathered his things and shimmied down the ladder. Cocky young fellow Heath thought to himself.

The boy quickly insinuated himself between his girl and the visitor, giving Heath the up and down. “You make a habit of going around half naked in front of a lady?” Compared to the grown man’s muscular physique, Johnny’s gawky 17 year old frame was puny, but back straight, he had puffed his own chest out in a show of possessive, protective bravado. Only a very slight trembling in his voice betrayed an edge of fear.

The embarrassed Mary regained herself in indignation. “Oh Johnny, don’t be ridiculous!” she scolded. “The man’s injured. Naturally he has a little difficulty getting dressed. Here, let me help you with that, Mr. Barkley.” She elbowed her way around Johnny, took a hold of Heath’s shirt, and eased it up over his arms. The boy sunk back between hunched shoulders as he looked on. The girl’s hands brushed against the hair on Heath’s broad chest as she reached to start fastening the buttons. Johnny’s glare darkened considerably, the muscles around his jaw tightening until they threatened to pop like an over stretched cord.

“I can take it from here, thanks,” Heath replied taking control. He met Johnny’s eyes, offering the posturing young buck a peaceful smile and nod as if to say You’ve got nothing to fear from me, kid, but the boy continued to watch at him suspiciously.

“So, uh, you got that roof all fixed up, huh?” He asked.

“Fixed up. Humph!” Dan huffed. “There wasn’t anything wrong with that roof to begin with!” Heath had an inkling he was right there. The attic had been bone dry. Of all the things that were run down on the property, the roof was likely the least of them.

“There were a couple of loose shingles,” Johnny shrugged. “Anyway, you gotta have someone up there every now and then just to make sure it stays in good condition.”

“And who asked you?”

“Aw, come on, Mr. Wallace,” the boy responded, adopting a casual air. “I don’t have so much work at home just now, and you are all extra busy, what with that calf and. . . an injured guest. I figured you could use some help.”

Heath spoke up. “Sounds right neighborly to me.”

Mary’s expression flickered a moment, as if, Heath thought, she were trying to decide whether or not to stay irritated with the jealous young man. Finally, she took her cue from Heath. Her brow smoothed and a winsome smile returned to her face as she turned back to her beau, resting her hand gently on the boy’s arm. “It is awfully nice of you, John. Now Grandpa, you know he’s right. There is an awful lot that needs fixing around here.”

With the girl’s affectionate attentions returned to their proper place, Heath could breath a bit easier.

“Yeah, well,” the old man began to hem and haw. “I guess it’s all right. But no more of that banging, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny agreed. He looked down at his girl and allowing himself a shy smile, took her hand in his.

“Ah, ah ah ah! Now none of that!” the old man barked, holding up a finger and casting a warning eye. “You young people! You think I was never a young man? First it’s holding hands and then. . . “ He shook his head violently. “If you’re here, Johnny, you’re working, not pussyfooting around with my granddaughter! I want you where Mr. Barkley or I can see you.”

Heath started to get uncomfortable again. “Oh, I don’t really think that’s nec--”

“Hell, Heath, you and Nick got a pretty good idea of what needs doing, didn’t you? I’m not real sure myself any more. . . ”

He did not like the direction this was going.

“Maybe you could supervise young Johnny here. You know, let him know what needs doing.” Lowering his voice a bit, but not so low the young folks couldn’t hear, he added with a wink, “Act as kind of a chaperone, too, eh?”

Mary blushed. Johnny glowered. Heath felt a headache coming on.

Part 28

It wasn’t exactly fair turning the task over to Heath, but Dan Wallace wasn’t going to waste energy feeling guilty about that. At the moment, his family were doing the Barkleys a favor. He actually had a pretty good idea of what needed doing around the place. It was harder to think up things that didn’t need doing, and therein lay the problem. Overwhelmed by the hopeless enormity of it all, he could not begin to tell another where to start. And, too, he was just plain ashamed. He didn’t mind much asking such a little one in return. This way he didn’t have to be telling young Johnny all the things he should have been doing himself if his hands would only work right and if he weren’t so damn tired all the time.

Of course Jan should have been seeing to it that the girls did their fair share, too, but no. She let them fritter away their time in frivolities. Like Mary with her fancy needlework with those expensive silks. He grudgingly supposed that was all right. She did after all have a trousseau to prepare. Just because they weren’t so well off right now was no reason for her to go into marriage like a pauper. Danny had made a good living up in Elkhart, and for all her flaws being Mexican and all, his wife, Consuela, had had a good hand when it came to fine sewing and taught her girls all she could. Jan claimed it would be a travesty not to allow them ample time (and the pennies for silk) to work at it before they were married off and had to run houses of their own.

Catherine didn’t even do that. She spent the whole day with her nose in a book. What good was that going to do her? And Martha. . . what did Martha do all day? Not housework, that was for sure. Even little Susie helped out more than she did. Whenever Jan cleaned, there the little mite was, pushing a rag right behind her. And even at five she could be counted on to collect eggs from the hen house without dropping half of them. One couldn’t say the same for Martha. He was willing to swear the girl broke them on purpose, just as she did everything in a haphazard way, to make it less trouble for others to do the work themselves rather than ask her to. And Jan just let her get away with it. All she needs is a little patience and understanding. Humph. Jan had a lot to learn about child rearing, that was for sure. Dan understood Martha well enough. The girl was too clever by half. Patience was wasted on her. What she really needed was a switch across her backside.

And what HE needed was to go check on that calf again. The thought brightened his mood considerably. It seemed to be doing pretty darn well, considering. Most calves were up within an hour from birth, but this one, born early as it was, took its time. Then this morning when he first went in, the critter was standing up. Wobbly, but standing. It might just make it. He couldn’t help congratulating himself on the job he’d done, first removing it from it’s dam alive and then keeping it alive this long. Few men would have known the key thing: getting it that new cow milk. If Sukey’s own calf had been any older, he wouldn’t have been at all optimistic. There had to be something special in that new milk, though he couldn’t say what. Only, if a new born calf didn’t get it right soon--either didn’t suckle or went straight onto your everyday milk--it’d die or at least come out sickly. How good it was to be useful again, doing the work he loved, feeling competent for a change. He might not be able to hammer a nail straight, but there were still things he could do.

*****************

Heath had only been able to take it so long watching Johnny at work without joining in himself. It was the sort of thing Nick would tease him about. You’re supposed to be supervising the job, not doing it he remembered his brother saying on one occasion. No point in paying someone to do a job and then go and do it yourself. Too bad it wasn’t Nick in this situation. He would be better able to appreciate it. Even though he was engaged, Heath’s swaggering older brother wouldn’t mind all that feminine attention. He had no difficulty ordering people about, and as far as Johnny’s attitude went, Nick could match him strut for strut. It could be kind of funny.

But then again, it was a good thing it wasn’t Nick in this position. Nick wouldn’t sit still for the boy’s posturing. He was incapable of ignoring a challenge. He wouldn’t let it come to blows, not with a kid half his size. Nor would he purposefully taunt him or try do draw the lady’s interest, but Johnny didn’t deserve that kind of grief. He wasn’t a bad kid, just protective and had every right to be wary. If Audra and Mother were at home alone with some stranger under similar conditions, he would certainly be concerned. He’d want to have someone looking in on ‘em, and Mother was a good bit more formidable than old Dan Wallace. in that same position you could just bet Heath would be just as wary.

Anyway, nobody was paying John for the work he was doing, so it hardly counted. Besides, if they were going to be hanging around together all week, he figured they’d strike a better report working together.

At first Johnny had sneered when Heath came up alongside him to lend a hand. “Are you sure ought to be doing that? I wouldn’t want you to put a strain on that bum arm of yours.” He eyed the sling on Heath’s left arm.

“I think I can manage.”

He did, and in doing so struck just the right chord. The kid appreciated being treated as an equal a lot more than he did having an outsider tell him what to do. Even one armed he wasn’t totally useless. Together they fixed a loose down spout from the rain gutter, then Heath held the barn door steady with his good shoulder while Johnny rehung it.

“Mr. Barkley, you stop that this instant!” Mary huffed, standing just outside the barn, her hands planted on her hips. It had only been a matter of time before he was found out.

“I can’t do that just now, ma’am,” Heath replied unconcerned, “or your gentleman here’ll be squashed flat.”

The young woman could not argue against that, but complained, “The doctor said you were to be resting your shoulder.”

“It’s all right, I’m only using my right arm. That’s it, John. One more oughta do it.” The boy gave the hinge pin a tap, and Heath relaxed his hold on the heavy door. He gave it an experimental push, and the door swung smooth and easy. Johnny came over by him and gave him a nod, an acknowledgment of a job accomplished well together.

“Anyway, it’s nearly noon,” Mary said. “There’s just time for a massage before I set the table.” The satisfied look disappeared from the boy’s face.

“Yeah, about that,” Heath began. “You know, I’m feeling a lot better now. There’s really no need to bother about that.”

“Really?” she looked skeptical.

“Practically healed,” Heath reassured her. As proof he raised the arm just so, along an arc which he already knew from experience was relatively painless.

“See?” the kid chimed in. “Good as new!” Johnny gave him a light, friendly punch in the shoulder. He was genuinely surprised when the man flinched. “Hey, you really did hurt that shoulder didn’t you.”

Heath didn’t reply, just cocked his head slightly, giving his eyebrow a little twitch as he waited for the flash of intense pain to subside.

“John McGowan!” Mary exclaimed, appalled. “Of course he did! What did you think, he’s been faking it?”

“I thought maybe . . . I mean just as he’s getting rid of the cold he pops up with some other reason to stick around, and I mean, he’s not even bruised and you’ve been. . . been. . .“ the boy stumbled over his words.

“Oh honestly you can be so childish!”

Part 29

On the whole, Heath preferred Jan’s massages.

Mary dug her fingers furiously into his shoulder.

“I just can’t believe that Johnny!” she fumed. “It never occurred to me what a suspicious nature he has. How could he even think of accusing an old family friend like that? Why on earth would you want to fake an injury? To enjoy the sumptuous accommodations? To get to spend hours listening to my little sisters bicker and Grandpa grumble over every little thing? He owes you an apology, that’s for sure, but I don’t think you’re going to get one from him.

“I’m really sorry, Heath,” she apologized for him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“I think I might have some idea,” he replied.

“What?”

“I think he might be just a little bit jealous.”

“Jealous? Whatever for?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like the idea of there being a man in the house.”

“But that’s ridiculous!”

“Not really. He’s never met me before. A lot of people would be suspicious of a man left alone with a pretty girl. How would he know if he could trust me?”

He expounded a little farther on his own feelings about his mother and sister being in a similar situation, but Mary didn’t hear. Her mind had gotten stuck at “pretty girl”. Her hands stopped moving, and she felt a rush of blood to her face. Did he really think she was pretty? Not that that mattered in the least, of course, she thought to herself, and resumed massaging his shoulder with a vengeance.

“Well I still think it’s ridiculous. Johnny has no right to be jealous. We can have anyone we want stay here,” she asserted. “He has no say whatsoever! It’s not as if we were married, or even officially engaged. He has no rights over me.”

“Maybe that’s just it. He doesn’t know if he can be sure of you.” The brief dark silence that followed was merely the calm before the storm.

“Be sure of me!” Ow! The heel of her hand dug a bit too hard under his shoulder blade. “You mean he’s threatened because he doesn’t trustme?” Heath started to protest, but she interrupted. “No, no, you’re right. He doesn’t! That shows you how little he thinks of me, that I’d turn from him and swoon over the first good-looking man who crossed the threshold! When we’ve been courting for nearly six months! Well, not really courting. I’m not of age. But still, six months! Was all that time wasted?”

Thankfully, she eased off a bit. Then, in a more gentle voice she continued, confiding in him. “ Coming here from Elkhart was very difficult. Along with losing my father, I was torn away from everyone I knew: friends, neighbors, everyone. Of all my old girl friends there was only one whose mother allows her to correspond with the daughter of a convict, and the boys. Well, I knew a lot of boys, but I didn’t know them all that well. Not well enough to be able to write any and keep in touch without being, you know, too forward? I felt so alone.

“And then there was Johnny. He wasn’t as tall and handsome as Andy, he didn’t have hair that was as thick and curly as Peter’s, and he wasn’t as smart as Luke, but he was a nice enough boy. He was also the only boy of a suitable age within five miles of here. I suppose he figures that automatically entitles him to my exclusive attentions.” She was becoming more vigorous again.

Heath winced in pain, and Mary apologized, realizing that in her indignation she had gotten a little carried away. He waved off her apology in an “it’s nothing” sort of a way.

“It makes me angry, though,” she confessed.

“He thinks the world of you. I figure a girl could do a lot worse,” Heath replied.

“Maybe so,” she admitted. Her manipulations softened some, and as his muscles loosened a bit his eyes drifted shut. “You’re very kind in defending him to me when he’s been so beastly himself.

“I suppose,” she continued, “you know how it feels.”

“How do you mean?” Heath inquired.

“I was just thinking about that girlfriend you have at home?”

Heath drew a blank. The term didn’t immediately conjure up a picture of anyone at home. The only face that came to mind had blue eyes and light hair, and he didn’t feel entitled to use the word “girlfriend” for her. Not yet anyway.

Mary prodded him. “The one the other Mr. Barkley, your brother, was talking about?”

“You mean Amy?” Of course. She had completely slipped his mind.

“Was that her name?”

“What about her?” He couldn’t help thinking he should feel the tiniest bit guilty for having forgotten her, but he didn’t. It was more like relief.

“About how she and her parents have been waiting for you to propose? Almost like you’re being forced into it?”

“Is that how you feel?” A frown crossed Heath’s forehead. “Like you’re going to be forced to marry Johnny?”

“NOOOO. . . . Well, maybe a little bit. It’s not that I’m not fond of him,” she clarified, “but I don’t want to marry him just because no one better happened along.

“Is she pretty?”

“Oh, sure. She’s pretty enough I reckon.” Of its own accord, the corner of his mouth crooked into a sardonic half smile. She had hit pretty close to the mark. Amy was a nice girl. Pretty, amiable, not bad company, but something was missing there, and if he were going to spend the rest of his life with a woman he wanted that something to be there. That other face came to mind again. That smile. That flush of red across her cheeks when he called her by her Christian name for the first time.

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Huh?” Heath’s eyes popped open.

“I’m sorry,” Mary apologized again. “I’ve made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“No, it’s all right.” He turned around to face her.

Bashful, she looked down. “Did, did you mean it when you said. . .“

“Sure I meant it.”

“I don’t mean anything by that, really.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“I mean, I know you’re fond of Aunt Jan and all, but. . .”

Heath lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “Mary, you’re a beautiful young lady. Do you think Johnny’s only interested in you because you’re the only girl within five miles? He’s a right lucky young fella.

“And thinking of Johnny, I’d best get out there and find something else for him to do before he starts banging on the roof again. Thank you for the massage.”

“You’re very welcome.”

As he reached for his shirt, Mary started forward to help him, but he stopped her. “I can manage myself I think,” he said, sliding his arms into the sleeves. Slowly he rotated his shoulder into the shirt. “Yeah, that feels a lot better.”

Part 30

What a week! Heath had never before experienced another like it.

It wasn’t all bad. Not really. In fact there were times he wouldn’t have traded for anything. The look on Jan’s face when she came back from the school on Monday to see him working with Johnny! She threatened him with tea every hour on the hour if he didn’t get back into the house that very minute. Both Dan and Mary got an earful from her for their roles in permitting his industrious disobedience. Heath apologized, of course, insisting all the blame rested on his own shoulders, and she had been unable to maintain her ire. When she looked him in the eye all harshness melted away.

“Just make sure you rest tomorrow,” she insisted. “You have no business being out in the cold so soon after being ill. You could catch pneumonia. And if you don’t allow that arm to heal you’ll be here all month.” From her it didn’t sound so much like a threat. While he wouldn’t have thought so an hour ago, as he looked into her earnest golden flecked blue eyes the notion of staying for a month sounded downright attractive. In the morning, however, she was off to the school again, and he was left with Dan, Mary, and John McGowan Jr.

Not wanting Mary to get in trouble again, he obeyed Jan’s commandment to take it easy. For the most part. He passed the days in games of cards and checkers with the old man, looking after Nick’s precious black calf and making conversation with Mary. Mary did most of the talking, of course, and most of the talking was about Johnny. Heath’s part consisted mostly of “uh huh”s, interjected at appropriate intervals to indicate he was listening. Every now and then there was a pause a bit longer than time enough for the girl to take a breath, indicating she was expecting some greater response. Generally a “boy howdy” sufficed.

Still, Heath made sure to spend a fair amount of time out with Johnny. The boy, also no doubt fearing repercussions from Jan, refused all offers of help except those least strenuous: handing him tools, retrieving extra nails, and the like. They exchanged few words, but Heath had the feeling a kind of understanding was growing between them. While the jealousy was still there, he felt a lot of the hostility had passed, that the boy was even growing to like him. All this made him feel easier about the situation, and freer to enjoy the time circumstances compelled him to spend in Mary’s company.

It was after the girls returned from school, however, he looked forward to most. That was when he got to spend time with Jan. They didn’t talk so much during the day when there was a meal to prepare and a dozen curious ears about, but just sitting in the kitchen shelling peas or cutting onions while she tended the stove made him feel good. Occasionally he’d glimpse over and catch her looking at him. Then later, after Dan and the girls had gone to bed he’d keep her company while she graded homework and prepared the next day’s lessons. After talking his ear off (these Wallace females did like to talk, all but Susie, that is) she’d accuse him of distracting her from her work. Then silence would reign again until her work was complete and it would be his turn. He had nothing on Jan or Mary for chatter, but he found he had things worth saying. Things that mattered to him, like the way grass smelled after a spring shower, the magic of watching a new foal stumble to its feet for the first time, the way on a clear summer night as you were lying on your back listening to the cattle breathe, the stars seemed to reach right down like the hand of God to touch you, and about family.

Over the past four years, Heath had learned a lot about family. Prior to then he thought he’d known everything he needed to on the subject, that the only family he really needed was the fella that looked back at him from the mirror when he was shaving.

“And what happened four years ago?” Jan asked one night when they had talked until clock had ticked well past midnight.

I shouldn’t be keeping her up, he thought guiltily. Maybe I’ll be sitting around all day but she’s got to teach in the morning. She gazed sleepily at him him, her elbows propped on the table, her chin resting the backs of her interwoven fingers. She could barely keep her eyes open she was so tired, but every time those heavy lids crept down more than half way she immediately blinked them up again, so determined she was to hear him.

What happened four years ago? He almost told her then. His mouth even opened to tell her how he had lost the only family he knew and gained the one he’d never known he had. Yet he held back. Better not to drop that load on her. Not now and maybe have her awake all night digesting the information. No, it was bound to come up again. Instead he smiled sheepishly and answered, “I found out I was wrong.”


Mary and Jan weren’t the only two ladies he had contact with that week. Catherine regaled him with another chapter of her book every afternoon, and Martha was constantly hovering about, though it seemed just when she was beginning to get on his nerves, her sister or aunt would call her away. And then there was Susie.
While he seldom saw her apart from at the dinner table now, while she didn’t say another word to him and would run off and hide if he so much as looked in her direction, there was still an odd sort of dialogue between the two of them.

********

After the mummy wrap incident, she had been keeping her distance. Even though he had said it was okay, Martha insisted he was still pretty mad. He didn’t show it, but that’s how people were sometimes. You had to be careful.

It made her feel bad to have someone mad at her. Grandpa was always mad at her. When he yelled it made her cry. It didn’t matter how many times she was told not to take it to heart, that he was just grumpy by nature and it wasn’t her fault. She knew it was by the way he looked at her. She tried to be good. She tried real hard, but somehow she always messed it up. She’d only wanted to help Mr. Barkley’s hurt arm, but she’d ended up doing something bad. Just like when she wanted to make the kitty better. What a dummy she was. Grandpa had wanted to take the switch to her then, but was finally convinced that the nasty scratches she had received were sufficient punishment should be enough remind her. They hadn’t been.

Martha was being a little nicer to her though. She even fetched her dolly down off the wardrobe for her. It had been flung up there while Martha was demonstrating the difference between the way starlings and gulls fly. The older girl had held tight to the prized project while showing fluttering wings, but then for a long glide she had let go. Off sailed the doll through the air until it hit the wall above the wardrobe and slid down. Even standing on a chair, Susie couldn’t reach it, but though Martha suddenly remembered she had to go and feed the chickens, she graciously took the time to fetch the doll first. Afterward she suggested that by way of gratitude Susie might feed the chickens for her. It sounded fair. Besides, Susie liked the chickens: Bitty and Peck-peck, Cora and Clara (in memory of the lamented Clarence) and the others. They all had names now. They were all safe from the pot.

She loved all animals, from the horses in the barn to the mice that occasionally nibbled holes in their feed sacks in spite of the cat. And that sweet little baby calf. She had to balance her desire to cuddle with him with her fear of Mr. Barkley’s anger and her shame over her misdeed, because he any time she wanted to go visit the calf there was always the possibility of running into the man.

The door stood slightly open, and she peeked through the tiny crack. There he was sitting quietly, stroking the calf. He looked friendly, just like before, but she couldn’t go in. She was too scared. As she shifted her weight, the floorboard beneath her creaked ever so slightly, and he looked up suddenly. She froze, afraid for a moment he had seen her, but then he turned his attention back to the calf. “Sounds like they got mice, fella,” he said.

A couple moments later he was rising to his feet. “Good bye, fella,” he said out loud. “I gotta get back. . . to Catherine. To finish up that chapter she was readin’ me.” He walked slowly and heavily across the floor. Susie had plenty of time to scamper out of the way before he reached the door.


Later, after extricating himself from another hour’s enthusiastic reading from Wuthering Heights, Heath heard the soft singing of a lullaby from inside the surgery and smiled.

Part 31

“I worry about her,” Jan confided. “You’ve seen her. She barely eats anything. She lives on bread and beans.”

“Folks have gotten by on less,” Heath reflected.

“But it can’t be healthy.”

“Well, it’s not what I would choose for myself every day,” he shrugged, “but I don’t think it’ll hurt her. Believe me, during the war I seen plenty of men on the edge of starvation. She ain’t starving.”

The words were comforting, but concern for Susie’s eating habits wasn’t the only thing that shadowed her mood. It was Sunday again. Heath had had plenty of time to recover. He no longer flinched when he raised his arm. This massage was likely to be the last one.

“I expect you’ll be leaving soon,” she said haltingly, half hoping he would contradict her though he had no reason to do any such thing.

“I reckon I will,” he agreed. He could not have seen her eyes close and her head bow with the disappointment she had no right to feel, but as she moved to withdraw, he reached up quickly to seize her hand from his shoulder. Holding it gently, but firmly, he turned in his seat to face her.

“I want to thank you. . . and your father,” he hurriedly added, “for lettin’ me stay this past week.”

“More like forcing you, I should say.”

He chuckled. “Maybe. But I can’t think of any place I’d rather have been kept captive.” Her eyes flickered up to meet his. She only meant to glimpse at them to ascertain his sincerity, but their intense blue depths grabbed a hold of her as securely as his hand held hers, and would not release her, so that she found herself gazing into them. “Stockton,” he said, “isn’t so very far.”

“No.”

“Farther than I’m comfortable taking that calf just yet. He’s still pretty weak. You’ll write? Let me know how he’s doing?”

“I’ll do that,” she promised.

“And let me know how you’re doing. You and your father and the girls, too.”

“If you like,” Jan answered shyly.

“I would like that. I would like that very much.” Those eyes, those earnest blue eyes, which said so much more than he articulated, would not let go. He began to lean toward her slowly, and she felt herself inclining in his direction.

All of a sudden, Jan felt dishonest. He was completely in earnest and she was not being totally upfront with him. She would have broken away if it weren’t for those blue, blue eyes. Even after they closed, even after her own had closed they retained their power over her. Her lips began to tingle with the anticipation of their meeting.

And when they touched a delicious warmth she had struggled hard years to forget spread all through her.

************************

Heath allowed himself to be convinced to stay long enough to go to church with the family, and Dan, who generally considered church to be for women and children, decided he might as well go too. On the way, Mary could feel how the presence of their guest among them in the wagon put her sisters in high spirits. Even shy Susie, who sat as far away as possible stole animated glimpses at him every now and again. The excitement almost made up for the fact that he would be leaving in the afternoon.

Her grandfather’s opinion was shared by a good many in the area. A apart from their party there was hardly a man present. The church was a sea of women’s faces, and it seemed they were all stealing glances. Mary didn’t mind. Let them look! Tongues had been wagging all over the valley for the past week. Well now they could see first hand what they had been gossiping about. They couldn’t help but be impressed when the minister welcomed the member of the well known Barkley family. The same ladies who turned and whispered to the person next to them in the pew when they walked in were practically lining up to be introduced to him when the service was over.

Much as she was enjoying the attention and the jealous looks she was getting from the other young ladies in the congregation, she was more interested in finding Johnny. While she had seen him during the service sitting next to his mother, after the final blessing and dismissal he had made himself scarce. After a little hunting, she spied Ruth McGowan talking with the minister. She waited as patiently as she could until their conversation ended and then stepped right up.

“Mrs. McGowan, have you seen Johnny around?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh! Good morning, Mary!” Ruth exclaimed seeing her only just then. Mary blushed, feeling embarrassed for having blurted out the question without so much as a greeting. “How is that little calf doing?”

“Really well. Grandpa said he can start taking milk from Circe any time now, so we can send Sukey and her calf back.”

“That’s lovely news. I’ll send Johnny by this afternoon to get them. He went home right after communion. Some excuse about helping his father out.” The woman looked at her thoughtfully. “Are you two having a fight?”

“I don’t think so,” Mary answered, frowning. “But -- he has been acting rather odd for the last couple days. Did he say anything to you?”

“No, but a mother knows when something is wrong. She doesn’t always know what, but I thought it might have something to do with you. Friday, when I asked him how you were doing he just shrugged and turned away.”

Mary, dismayed, brought her fingers to her lips.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure you two can work it out, dear,” Ruth continued. “that is if you want to.” She looked off over Mary’s shoulder. Mary turned around, following her neighbor’s line of sight. Heath smiled and nodded back, then started toward her.


“You about ready to go, Mary?” he asked after exchanging the requisite pleasantries. “You grandfather is fetching the wagon now.” He offered her a gentlemanly arm.

“Yes, I suppose I am.” She turned back toward Mrs. McGowan and wished her a good day. “I’ll talk with Johnny this afternoon.” Then, taking the proffered elbow she walked off with Heath.

Part 32

“Easy now, Circe,” Dan said, trying to calm the cow, but it wasn’t having any effect. She wasn’t having any of it.

At a week and a half old, the little black premie calf was steady on its legs, and had even fleshed out a little. There was no reason it couldn’t leave off the bottle and start taking its milk directly from the source. Exceptin’ the cow didn’t see it that way. When the calf approached, she turned away, denying him access to her udder. It turned itself and walked around hoping to meet with more luck on the other side. No luck. She shifted her hindquarters, effectively blocking it.

“I don’t get it,” Dan said, scratching his head. “She took on a bum last year without blinking.”

“Maybe this one smells too foreign,” Heath suggested. “Maybe she needs some time to get used to him.” They presented the little fellow again, but the cow took a more aggressive stance. She ran a few steps toward the calf, and he turned tail and fled.

That was enough for Dan. “This isn’t going to work,” he said ruefully. For whatever reason, she wasn’t going to take the calf.

“We could leave you Sukey a while longer,” offered Johnny. “We’ve never had her turn down a calf yet.” He had come to collect his family’s property, but decided to stay and watch when he found out the Wallaces were going to give the little angus a try at suckling before Heath left.

“Naw, that won’t be necessary. We’ll just keep it on the bottle with Circe’s milk instead. Anyway I can try her again later,” he continued, scowling at the crowd assembled, “when there aren’t so many people around.”

With the show over, Young John McGowan set about gathering up Sukey and her calf, and the rest of the spectators headed back inside. All but one. He turned his back on her, making a show of messing around with some ropes.

“Johnny?” Mary said tentatively.

He remained silent for a while then finally answered, “Shouldn’t you be getting back into the house? I figured you’d want to spend every last moment you could with him.” He sounded as if he were trying to come across nonchalant, but the words had a bitter tang.

“Are you angry with me, John?”

Johnny shook his head. “No, I’m not angry with you.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

The young man shrugged. “I’m not avoiding you,” he lied.

“You ARE!” she insisted, coming around and placing herself in front of him. She was not as easy to discourage as the calf had been.

“I just figured I was starting to get in the way.”

“In the way?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

Johnny looked up and nodded toward the house. “Of you and Heath.”

Mary was aghast. “ Of me and Heath? Who told you--”

“Nobody had to tell me. It was plain there for anyone to see. It’s no mystery why you would pick a fella like that over me. And with him you could have a ranch ten times the size of our place. Never have to work a day in your life.”

She shook her head. No!

“Oh come on, Mary. I can tell by the way you look at him. You’re in love with him. And I was mad. Really mad at him, but I couldn’t really blame him either. I mean, look at you!” He looked up at her, his eyes full of adoration. “And once I was convinced he was a decent fella -- well, I figured I’d just step out of the way.”

“Oh John!” She felt just horrible. “But I don’t WANT you to step out of the way! Honestly!

“I admit I have had some feeling for him,” she confessed, ashamed. “He’s a lovely man, kind,handsome, rich. . .” Her eyes began to lose their focus as she brought to mind his muscular chest and that crooked half smile. “Handsome, soft-spoken--” She realized she was rhapsodizing and cut herself off short. “But it isn’t love.”

Dubiously he regarded her. “I love you!” She insisted. She loved his slightly blotchy face, his earnestness, his devotion to her, his jealousy, and his generosity. But he didn’t seem inclined to believe her now. She would just have to prove it to him. “I love you, John McGowan, and I wouldn’t trade you for a hundred Heaths or a ranch the size of California!”

*********

Martha seethed with jealousy remembering how Mary had approached the wagon arm in arm with Heath. She had no right. No right! She already had Johnny McGowan wrapped around her little finger. Wasn’t he good enough for her? It wasn’t fair that she should have Heath as well! Martha had stopped worrying about Susie stealing his affection, and she knew he only put up with Catherine and her stupid romance novel to be polite. She didn’t even mind him talking with Aunt Jan so much, because she was so old and with all her baggage couldn’t possibly appeal to him really. But she’d been unable to do anything about Mary.

Mary was “perfect”. Everybody knew it. Grandpa always said she was the best of the lot. Perfect. Humph! She was polite and pretty and always did what she was told. She was a sissy, that’s what she was. And. . . and a Jezebel! But that didn’t seem to matter to Heath. Well maybe she could sew neatly, and maybe she liked to cook and clean and do all that mindless stuff, but what of it? She wasn’t clever like Martha. No, she was dumb as a post, with no more brains or initiative than Sukey. A cow, that’s what she was. Martha enjoyed thinking of her attractive sister in terms of the ungainly animal. What can offer a man but to produce offspring and milk. What about intelligent conversation, huh? Martha herself was conversant on a number of subjects, from animal husbandry to geography to. . . to. . . well she couldn’t think of anything else offhand, as her eyes were stinging just that moment.

Heath couldn’t help it, she supposed. All that time he spent alone with Mary during the week, and her nursing him along. Catherine was always talking about books wherein rich young men are struck down then fall in love with the beautiful women who nurse them back to health. People wouldn’t write books like that if there weren’t a shadow of truth to it, would they?

Well the others might be sad, but she for one was glad he was leaving. Once he was away for a little while he would forget all about Mary. Martha would of course carry him eternally in her heart, though. Then maybe in a few years, when she was of age she would find him again. Then maybe she would be pretty with a grown up figure. Pretty and smart. He would see her then and know, as she did now, that they were meant for each other.

For now, however, she had better go get that saddle. The place Mary had stowed it was soooo obvious. Heath would have found it in a minute if Martha hadn’t rehidden it. He must have passed over it a dozen times as he searched the barn without even suspecting it was there. If it had been up to Mary, he would have ridden off before he was well, fallen off in some ditch and died. Yet Aunt Jan and Grandpa still considered Mary competent to look after Heath and not her.

Stupid, perfect Mary. Couldn’t she ever do anything wrong in their eyes? Martha sniffled as she opened the side door of the barn. There was a sudden noise above in the hayloft. “Hey! Who’s up there?” she called. Silence. Too late for that! She’d already heard it. Somebody was up there all right. Probably Susie. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be up there. Martha made a quick mental list of the chores she could get the little girl to do for her in return for not tattling as she hurried up the ladder.

When she got to the top, however, it was not Susie she found. Her jaw dropped to her chest, and her eyes about popped out of her head as the two discovered parties tried to cover themselves.

“Oh -- My --”

“SHHHHHH!” Mary pleaded, grabbing another handful of hay.

“-- Gawd.”

“This isn’t what it looks like. We, ah, we were just looking for, ah. . .” Johnny spluttered, grasping for straws. Mary just looked at him, and he shut right up. At least she wasn’t so stupid as to think they could convince Martha that she didn’t see what she saw.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you Martha?” She couldn’t be stupid enough to really believe that either.

Martha lifted her voice. “OH AUNT JAAAAA-AAAAAN!!”

Part 33

Within moments, the Wallace household was turned upside down. The girls’ grandfather tore into them mercilessly with a rain of verbal abuse that did not let up in the slightest for several minutes. While he took a momentary pause to gather breath for a new assault, John ventured to appeal peevishly, “Believe me, Mr. Wallace, my intentions are honorable.”

“HONORABLE? HONORABLE???” Furious, the old man seized a rake and commenced swinging it at the boy. “I’ll give you honorable!”

“Ho-hold it there!” Heath intercepted the rake. He’d heard the yells and come running like everyone else. His first instinct was to keep out of it, but he couldn’t stand by and watch someone get hurt.

“This isn’t any of your business, Heath,” Dan warned.

“You don’t want to do anything you’ll be sorry for.”

“No danger of THAT. Now leggo!”

“Not until you let go of the rake.” The arthritic old man was no match for the youthful, muscular cowboy. After struggling a moment, some of the fire left Dan’s eyes, and he relaxed his hold on the smooth wooden handle.

Heath took the weapon and then regarded the boy. “You’d better be getting home, for now. You’ll wanna let your folks know what’s going on. I can pretty much guarantee this isn’t the end of it.”

Johnny nodded then looked to Dan for confirmation.

“Get outta here!” Dan snarled. To his granddaughter he pointed at the house and ordered, “Inside!”

Dan had used up the strength of his physical anger in threatening the boy. There wasn’t enough left to give his granddaughter a good smack across the face, but the verbal onslaught was far from over. The sobbing Mary was not allowed a word throughout the whole tirade. No sooner did she begin to speak then she was cut down by the same charges over and over again. “I give you a roof over your head, food in your belly, and this is how you repay me? How dare you? How DARE you? Didn’t my son teach you better than this?”

“Yelling at her isn’t going to change anything,” Jan interrupted. “What’s done is done.”

“You!” Dan turned on his daughter, his eyes gleaming rabidly. “This never would have happened while Danny was looking after the girls. You set a fine example! Lettin’ ‘em fill their heads with that -- that romantic slop!” he pointed to the book Catherine had left open on the kitchen table. “She was a fine young lady when she got here. Six months under your schooling and she’s reduced to a whore!”

Mary wailed out loud and ran to bury her tear streaked face in her aunt’s shoulder.

“That’s ENOUGH, Dad!” Jan put an arm around her niece. “I’ll take it from here.” He opened his mouth to begin again. “I’ll TAKE IT from HERE!” repeated the woman, who as the family’s major source of income had been putting food onto his table for the past three years. Her back was up. She would not take no for an answer.

Disarmed for the second time that afternoon, the shamed man threw out one more jab in his trembling voice before retreating. “That’s right. This is your fault. You deal with it. I wash my hands of it. I wash my hands of all of it!”

For a while after he left the room, Mary continued to weep in Jan’s arms, until finally gathering control of herself, the girl straightened up and wiped her eyes. “I knew you’d understand, Aunt Jan.”

“Understand? No, I don’t understand,” her voice was soft in tone, but firm. “I don’t understand how you could do this. I thought you would have known better than to do such a foolish thing. How long has this been going on?”

“This is the first time. I swear it!”

“What were you thinking? How could you take such a risk?”

“It’s not a risk, Aunt Jan. We’re going to be married!”

“’Going to be married’ is not the same as ‘married.’ You cannot tell the future, child, even though it seems written in stone.”

“He wouldn’t leave me in trouble, if that’s what you mean. The only reason we aren’t married is because you and Grandpa wouldn’t let us until next year when I’m eighteen.”

“Oh honey, you’re still a baby,” Jan sighed mournfully.

“I’m not a baby, Aunt Jan. I’m nearly as old as you are.”

She shook her head. The girl had no notion. “Mary, when you have a child, you age in more than years. Don’t be so anxious to give up what’s left of your childhood to be a wife and mother.”

“Haven’t I practically already? I was looking after my sisters before you were, you know, and it wasn’t by my choice. If I’m going to have to cook and clean and mend and sew and take care of children anyway, I want it to be in my house with my children. Mine and John’s.” The girl broke into tears again. “You don’t have a right to condemn me,” she sniffed. “You know you don’t.”

“I don’t condemn you, Mary. I just don’t want you to throw your life away.”

“I’m not throwing my life away. It’s what I want.”

*****

Heath tapped softly on the open door. “Okay if I come in?” The yelling had stopped, and he figured he’d waited long enough for the smoke to clear.

Jan started a bit, shaken from some private thought, and nodded. “Thank you for staying out with the girls and keeping them occupied.” She sniffed and rubbed the side of her nose with her right hand, the tips of her fingers tracing a line along the bridge and then across her cheek. Her face was dry, but she looked as if she might have been crying.

“No problem. They’re a little shook up, though. Worried. Is everything going to be all right?”

She closed her eyes, nodded, and sniffed again. “Yes. We’ll survive.” She chuckled sadly. “We’ve been through worse.”

He walked to the fireplace where she was standing. Her left hand rested on a silver picture frame. In it, he thought he recognized younger versions of Mary and Catherine standing by a light haired man in his thirties and a proud, beautiful Mexican woman. The baby in the woman’s lap had to be Martha. Susie had not yet been born. “Your brother?” he asked.

“Hmm.”

“He looks like a nice fella,” he offered.

“He is. Or he was. I hate to think what six months in prison have done to him, though. And now I have to write him and tell him about this. It’ll kill him if she turns up--” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“Now, my mother always told me never go about borrowing trouble.”

“A wise woman, your mother. No, I won’t. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. “I’m sorry you had to be here to see this. I can imagine what you must be thinking.”

He shuffled his feet a bit. “I’m not thinking anything, except hoping everything comes out all right. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you, if that’s what you mean.”

“Dad was right. What a mess of things I’ve made. It never would have happened if Danny were here.”

“You don’t know that.

“I’ve set a horrible example. How could I blame her for following it. This past week--”

”You haven’t done anything wrong, Jan.”

“Haven’t I? I. . . I’ve been practically throwing myself at you. All the time I’ve spent alone with you, the massages -- for propriety, that should have been Dad, not me, and not Mary. . .”

Heath was confused by her sudden attack of guilt over these things that were nothing. “With your father’s arthritis, he’s lucky to button his own shirt. There wasn’t anyone else. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He paused for a moment, then continued, “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying it either.”

She flushed and looked away. “These girls watch what I do. I have to be a model for them.”

He didn’t think there had been anything at all shameful about the way they had been conducting themselves. They’d only kissed a couple of times, and never in front of the children. Throwing herself at him had she said? Of all the young ladies in the house with the possible exception of little Susie, she had done that the least. He was the one who had been taking the lead.

“I don’t know if there’s a worse thing a woman can do. A woman like that stamps her child with a name of shame that can never be washed off.”

Increasingly more uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, Heath said, “I’m sure Johnny would marry her before anything like that could happen.”

“That’s not the point. Whether he got scared and ran off or whether he died tomorrow she could still be in that position. A woman has no business taking that risk. It’s an abomination.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Those are your father’s words, not yours.”

She turned and looked him right in the eye. “Your feelings have changed, haven’t they?” she challenged.

An uneasy silence filled the room. It crept into all the corners, forcing out the dust that had been hidden. This was a Jan he hadn’t seen before. Not the kind and open woman, but someone else. Right now, the way her eyes were set, her nostrils flaring, she looked like the bitter old man.

He couldn’t answer right off. She was right, in a way, but not for the reasons she thought. And he wasn’t sure whether what he was feeling at that particular moment had validity or was just a knee-jerk response. After a long silence, it was too late to answer. He looked toward the window. “If you need me to stick around for a couple more days--”

“No,” she answered quickly. “No, you go on back to your own home. This is a family problem . . . we’ll . . .deal with it.”

Thus dismissed, his gear flung over his shoulder, he headed to the barn. Half an hour ago he was regretting having to go, and now he felt as if he were being pushed away. Fine. They could go ahead and deal with it then. He readied his horse, checking the animal’s knees first. The abrasion was all cleared up. Then on went the riding tack. Heath tightened the girth swiftly and securely, checked everything, then made to mount.

“Are they all done yelling?” The shy tiny voice came from the back of the barn where the calf had been moved to from the surgery. Heath squinted his eyes and saw the little golden haired girl hugging the animal in the shadows.

The fierceness left him as she let go the calf and crept forth. There was something so disarming about Susie. “Yeah,” he said only slightly gruffly. “They’re done. You can go back inside now.”

He expected her to scamper right off as soon as she had gained the door, but instead she hung about, watching him as he gave Charger the final once over. He raised a foot to the stirrup and swung himself up and over the horse’s back.

“I wish you didn’t have to go away,” she said, barely loud enough to hear. “You’re a nice man.”

Heath had the feeling he had been granted the highest praise. His heart that much warmer he returned with sincerity, “Thank you. I think you’re a real nice girl, Susie.”

“Am I going to see you again?”

He thought a moment before answering. “Well I reckon so. You’ve still got our calf. Can you promise me you’ll take real good care of him in the mean time?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I promise,” she said.

“All right then.” For better or for ill, he’d committed himself. He gave Charger a touch of heel and headed out.


End of Volume 1