Chapters
73-80
by
heartcat
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program
"Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and
have been used without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.
This story includes adult situations and sensitive scenes that
might be too realistic for some readers.
Chapter 73
The mourners gathered at the gravesite, as hundreds of
people come to say farewell to California's beloved Governor, Samuel White.
Hundreds more lined the wrought iron fence at the cemetery's perimeter, not
allowed onto the grounds, but still desiring to show their respect for the
great man. The cathedral earlier had been filled to capacity, and many mourners
who could not get inside to hear the orations, stood outside on the wide stone
steps and along the sidewalks, still wishing to be a part of this historic
event.
Governor White had not been able to spend that final Christmas in his Mansion
as he had hoped. Nor had he been able to spend one last Thanksgiving there. The
day before that holiday, as his wife Bertha sat at his bedside, the Governor
had suddenly roused from sleep, sitting up in his bed. He had given a great
gasp for breath, his chest rattling, and then had sunk backwards onto the
pillows, forever stilled.
The Republican nomination convention was to have been held yesterday, but it
had been postponed until tomorrow, out of respect for the fallen Governor whose
internment was being held today, three days following his death, two days after
Thanksgiving. The date of the actual election had been pushed up from February
of next year to December 20th. In the interim, the Speaker of the legislature
would be the acting Governor.
Wisps of white clouds stretched through the azure sky, and the early afternoon
sun shone brightly overhead as the priest's words intoned favourite biblical
passages. The coffin, a beautiful piece of workmanship, befitting a man of Sam
White's social stature, with it's intricately carved rosewood lid, and the
shining bronze handles, stood on a raised dais near the grave. The pallbearers
stood at attention on either side, their hands clasped before them, their heads
bowed after carrying the Governor to his final resting place.
Jarrod stood alone in the midst of the crowd, pensively watching the
proceedings. Jarrod recalled his conversations with Sam White. Remembering how
the Governor had first told him he'd been following Jarrod's career, how he'd
been watching him, and how pleased he had been by what he had seen. Knowing
that he had had the Governor's respect, his support, was a balm for Jarrod's
melancholy. When Jarrod had approached Bertha White at the church to offer his
condolences, she had seemed genuinely pleased to see him, smiling at him
through her widow's tears. She had whispered into his ear that Sam had had the
highest respect for Jarrod, and that she knew his presence here today would
have meant a lot to the Governor.
When he had received the telegraph wire, Jarrod had been shocked by the news of
Sam White's passing, even though it was not really unexpected. It had been
enough to galvanize him into action, as once more his sense of duty and
obligation overrode all else. He had had a long bath, then shaved the
beginnings of a beard and moustache, washing the obvious traces of the last
week's personal sorrow away. He had packed a bag, and dressed in a clean suit,
realizing as he did so that he would need suspenders under his jacket. He had
lost some weight, though he shouldn't have been surprised to learn that. He had
barely eaten in the last several days.
Jarrod had allowed Silas to fix him some turkey soup, knowing that he would
have to combat the weakness and dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He
had had to choke the broth down, unable to handle the chunks of vegetables and
meat, and though he knew that with Silas's skill the soup must be good, Jarrod
found it tasteless. Mother especially, had been relieved to see him making an
effort to rejoin humanity. She had volunteered to accompany him to the funeral,
as had both Nick and Heath, but Jarrod had wanted to pay his final respects on
his own.
Henry Stanton had come upon Jarrod when they had been entering the church earlier,
and had sat next to him in one of the pews. Henry had wanted Jarrod to know
that despite the failure of their political liaison, he still considered Jarrod
a friend. His presence at Jarrod's side told him this more clearly than any
words could have. Even though he would join a different group of friends after
the church service, he had wanted to Jarrod to know that he had not been
abandoned.
Henry's spectacled eyes had taken in the younger man's appearance, his mouth
twisting in dismay. Since he had seen him last, Jarrod had gotten thin. And
there were deep lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. The once
vivid sapphire of his eyes was a washed out pale blue now. Henry hadn't
imagined that Jarrod would take his retreat from politics so hard. After all,
it had been Jarrod's decision to step down, made freely and without duress.
Henry could see that it was obvious the other man was regretting that decision
now. Unless, he thought, Jarrod was suffering some physical malady. He hoped
not. The loss of Sam White was enough to deal with for a very long while.
Patrick Vandermeer had passed their pew on his way out of the church, shooting
Jarrod a look of such venom and loathing, that Henry Stanton did a double take.
Jarrod, however, seemed inured to the hatred. Henry wondered what more was
going on between the two men. He knew, of course, that Patrick's eldest
daughter, Patricia, had moved from home and was now being courted by Clayton
Knowles. Or, as others whispered, was his mistress. Henry had the distinct
impression that Patrick blamed Jarrod Barkley for that somehow, even though it
had been awhile since Jarrod and Patricia had been keeping company. Whatever
was behind the animosity, Henry was glad that he wasn't in Jarrod's shoes.
Patricia Vandermeer looked across the crowd to her left where Jarrod stood
resolutely, as Father Flannigan began to recite the twenty-third psalm. "The
Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green
pastures..."
How thin Jarrod looked, Patricia realized, her heart catching in her throat. He
had lost a considerable amount of weight since she had last seen him. His
beautiful blue eyes seemed sunken in their sockets, and his skin had an
unhealthy, jaundiced undertone she thought. Still, Patricia believed, Jarrod
Barkley was the most handsome man she had ever seen.
"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in
paths of righteousness..."
Could her soul be restored?
Patricia wondered morosely, a woebegone expression settling over her delicate
features. She reached a gloved hand beneath the black, half-veil that hung down
from her hat's brim and partially covered her face. Hiding the bruise there,
high on her left cheek. She glanced surreptitiously at the tall, blond man on
her right.
She had gone to Clayton again last night, in her sorrow over the Governor's
death, feeling acutely her loss of her father and her sister, seeking comfort
from his arms. Despite the passion and intensity of their kisses, and the
ardour with which his hands had roamed over her clothing, Patricia had found
that when she sought to touch him in return, Clay had been physically unmoved
by their foreplay.
Still new to the secrets of physical love between a man and a woman, she had
been flustered, uncertain of what she was doing wrong. She had undressed,
pressing her naked body against him, hoping to ignite some spark in him. Her
small hands had worked at the belt buckle, helping him slip his trousers down
over his slim hips. Tentatively, she had pressed her hips against him, grinding,
seeking some reassurance of her own femininity and desirability.
"Yea though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me...."
But his body had remained staunchly indifferent to hers. In frustration and embarrassment,
unable to endure further humiliation after the way she had been so
unceremoniously dumped by Jarrod Barkley, Patricia had at last cried out to
Clay, "What's wrong with you?"
Clayton had pushed her away from him then, down onto the bed, his face a study
in rage. "There's nothing wrong with me!"
He had choked out, his features and tone evidencing his fury. "It's you!"
he'd hissed at her. "You have no idea how to please a man!"
His words had stunned Patricia, but nowhere near as much as his actions. Clay
had pounced upon her then, obscenities assailing her ears, as his hands roughly
explored her body. When she cried out an objection, he had back-handed her
across the face. Her stunned silence had followed. No man had ever, ever hit
her before or laid a hand on her in anger.
"...thy rod and they staff, they comfort me."
He had hurt Patricia then, doing things to her that she could never even have
imagined. His hand tangled in the black tresses of her hair, he had forced her
to do things to him as well. As he had abused her, his passion had grown, until
at last, while she struggled beneath him, he had taken her forcibly. Her tears
had only seemed to excite him more, until at last, gasping and shuddering above
her, he had finished with her, and rolled to the other side of the bed.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence
of mine enemies..."
She had lain there, sobbing, curled fetally, a blanket pulled up to her chin.
Eventually, Clayton had reached for her, turning her so that her head was
against his smooth, broad chest. He hadn't spoken to her, hadn't said a word,
as his broad hand caressed her hair. This tenderness, after what had come
before, had seemed particularly horrific to the young woman. She had lain awake
for hours after Clay had drifted off to sleep, his arms tight bands around her,
holding her prisoner. She had not dared tried to slip out of his bed.
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life..."
Patricia had attended the funeral of Governor White today, hoping to see her
father, hoping to have a moment alone with him. Hoping to be able to throw
herself on his mercy and beg to be allowed to return home. She missed him and
she missed her sister, Mary. And Patricia knew now that it had been a mistake
to have turned to Clayton Knowles the way she had done. She had ignored her
inner warnings about the man, because of her broken heart and bruised pride.
She could not love Clay. Indeed, last night he had proven himself unworthy of
her affection. Despite the cool, unruffled exterior that he presented to the
world, she knew that underneath there lurked the soul of a monster. Jarrod had
been right about Clay Knowles all along. Patricia knew that she might never
have Jarrod, but she also knew that she had to get away from Clay.
"...and I will dwell in the house of the
Lord forever. Amen."
Bertha White's sobs broke the still air just as the honour guards began to
discharge their rifles in salute to the fallen Governor. Patricia watched
Jarrod as he stood with his head bowed as he said a private farewell to Sam
White. She was angry at her father and his compatriots for their callous
dismissal of Jarrod from the election, and their defection from him. Jarrod was
obviously suffering as a result of their decisions. Patricia longed to go to
him, to offer him comfort and support. To ease whatever pain was eating away at
his soul. Even if she could only offer that support as a friend, and nothing
more.
Clay Knowles observed Patricia watching Jarrod Barkley, knowing she believed
that she was being discreet. But her disloyalty was jarringly obvious to him.
He wanted to reach out and slap her, to remind her who she was with. Who she
belonged to now. But he managed to keep his composure. Later, he would deal
with her emotional infidelity. Clay felt the acid burn high in his digestive
tract as he thought about her refusal of his proposal several days ago. He had
given her more than enough time to reconsider.
She had continued to take advantage of his generosity, pretending that she
cared for him, even offering him her body again last night. He had been unable
to perform, knowing that she still hadn't offered him her heart and soul. His
failure to become aroused, and her subsequent accusation, had humiliated him.
At last, he had ceased to be gentle and had taken with force that which was
rightfully his.
He had delighted in her anguish, at the tears that had shimmered in her emerald
eyes. Had delighted in her debasement as he had wielded his physical and mental
superiority over her, while she cowered beneath him. Finally, knowing that
there were no thoughts of Jarrod Barkley running through her pretty head this
time...that the only thing Patricia was aware of was the fear he
had instilled in her, and the pain he
had caused her...Clay had been able to satiate his need.
Barkley looked terrible, Clay thought detachedly. Gaunt. With that yellowed
pallor of a man who'd been spending too much time with the bottle. And still
this simpering fool at his side ogled Barkley as though he were some kind of
Adonis. He would not
have this!
"Patricia," Clayton said, bending down to put his mouth near her ear,
"I need to know, my dear. Will you marry me?" He had to hear her
declare her love and loyalty, or Knowles thought he would burst. The coffin was
being lowered into the grave. Bertha White threw a handful of earth onto her
late husband's coffin, her sister holding onto her arm to support her.
"Oh Clay," Patricia whispered, "this is neither the time nor the
place." She refused to look at him, a blush coming over her aristocratic
cheeks.
"What better time to reaffirm the living, than in the shadow of
death?" he insisted, taking her arm, his fingers digging through her coat
into her elbow. "Marry me!" he hissed.
Clay knew that his chances at garnering the Republican nomination were non-existent.
Jim Bannon and his people had been unable to unearth any dirt on Gil MacIntyre.
The support for MacIntyre was overwhelming, and now with Governor White dead,
sentimentality was running high, and since MacIntyre had been White's
endorsement, everyone wanted to honour the man's last request. Clay knew that
the Mansion was not to be his. The convention tomorrow would just be a
formality. Gil MacIntyre was getting the Republican nod, and most assuredly the
state as well.
Clay had already seen his political dreams crumble, in large part to Jarrod
Barkley. He was not going to lose this exquisite creature to the other man's
memory as well. He would have Patricia Vandermeer, all of her, and nothing and
no one would stand in his way!
"I...oh, Clay..." she said dispiritedly, her eyes wandering again to
Jarrod Barkley. The mourners began to disperse, walking down the slight incline
towards the cemetery gates and the various coaches and carriages assembled there.
People passed them, paying them no mind, deep in their private thoughts of what
Sam White had meant to them.
"It's because of him,
isn't it?" Clay asked, reliving his humiliation of the night Patricia had
gasped the other's man's name while he, Clay, made love to her. "You can't
put that pathetic loser out of your mind, can you?" he whispered harshly.
"As long as Jarrod Barkley is a plague upon this earth, you'll never stop
loving him, will you?!" Knowles accused.
Patrick Vandermeer tossed a handful of dirt into the open grave, bidding his
old friend farewell. As he straightened, he felt the tightness in his chest
again. The pains were becoming more frequent and intensifying over the last
couple of days. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was time to consult his physician. He
took Mary's arm through his and they began to stroll away from the graveside,
and back towards the gate and their carriage.
He saw Patricia up ahead, standing next to Clayton Knowles. He had not seen his
daughter since that morning in her room, when they had had their confrontation.
The argument over Jarrod Barkley, that had sent his little girl straight into
the arms of Patrick's worst enemy. He thought that the two looked like they
were arguing.
He couldn't stand to think of his precious Patricia in that despicable man's
clutches. No matter what she had done, she was still his daughter, and Patrick
loved her. He would send a message to her at the hotel, begging her
forgiveness. Perhaps it was not yet too late for them to reconcile. The mansion
felt empty without Patricia's warmth.
Jarrod felt the other mourners passing by, and he opened his eyes and raised
his head. It was over. Samuel White had been praised and eulogized. He had been
prayed over. His friends and loved ones had said their good byes and sent him
on this final journey. Jarrod wondered if there was anything beyond death. He
had always believed that there was, but now he found himself doubting all of
it. God. Heaven. Grand design. He began to shuffle away, alone, as most of the
other mourners had already moved off.
Patricia's tear-filled eyes as she looked up at Clay gave him his answer. He
might have her corporeal self, for now at least, but Jarrod Barkley had long
ago claimed the lovely young woman's soul. No matter what Clay did, or said, or
gave to her, Patricia would never love him. Would never belong to Clay wholly.
Not as long as Jarrod Barkley was alive. Jarrod Barkley, his nemesis had
managed to best him yet again. Clay's acrimony manifested itself, as he reached
into his vest pocket.
Patricia saw Clay withdraw the derringer. At first, she thought that Clay was
going to kill her, and she closed her eyes for a brief second, hoping that the
pain would not be too great. Then, through the subtle shift of his body, she intuited
his real target. Her
emerald eyes widened in terror as Clay levelled the small, golden pistol.
"Jarrrrrrod..." she screamed.
Jarrod heard the voice that called his name. Recognized both it's familiar
timbre, and recognized also the panic. He spun around as a shot rang out. At
first, he thought that one of the honour guards had erroneously discharged his
weapon. Then he looked across the grass to where Clayton Knowles glared at him,
with homicidal fury. Jarrod watched as Clay's eyes widened, the man's mouth
dropping open in surprise, as Clay looked into Patricia Vandermeer's contorted
features as she stood swaying in front of him before collapsing to the ground.
Patricia didn't hear the second shot that came from one of the riflemen, nor
did she see the blood explode out the side of Clayton Knowles' head, or know
that he dropped lifelessly onto the ground beside her. She didn't see her
father stumbled towards them, his face stricken. She didn't see his grimace as
he clutched at his chest as the excruciating pain stabbed out from his chest,
and down his left arm. She didn't hear her sister screams, or see her father's
body topple forward.
Jarrod scrambled across the grassy incline towards the fallen woman. He turned
her over, staring transfixed at the crimson blood that pulsed out over the
small, ivory hands that clutched her abdomen. Her patrician features were waxen
with shock. Jarrod pulled her into his arms, cradling her head and shoulders,
gazing at her in disbelief.
Patricia had seen the gun. Small though a derringer might be, it was just as
deadly as a full-sized pistol. Knowing that Clayton Knowles meant to kill
Jarrod, she had instinctively thrown herself in front of the gun's line of
fire. She had heard the pistol's report, had felt the searing pain in her
abdomen, and then her legs had buckled underneath her. She had heard the second
shot, sounding farther away, and her heart had lurched. Clay had managed to get
in another shot. Jarrod? Where was Jarrod? Was he
dead?
Patricia saw the familiar, handsome face bend over her, and she smiled. Jarrod
was alive. He was unhurt. Clayton had failed. She had saved her one true love
from the monster who had thought to destroy him. She saw the concern in
Jarrod's vivid blue eyes, glistening now emotion. He did
care. She tried to speak, tried to tell him that everything was all right. She
was fine. She didn't even feel the pain anymore. She didn't realize that blood
continued to bubble up through her dress, over her folded hands. As much as she
longed to reassure him though, she couldn't speak. Her brain just couldn't seem
to communicate with her tongue.
"Oh, Patricia," Jarrod said raggedly, sorrowfully. She had saved his
life. She had deliberately stepped into the path of the bullet that had been
meant for him. Selflessly, she had been willing to forfeit her life for his
own. Even though he had told her they had no future together.
Despite the ugliness that had occupied one small corner of her soul, there had also
been a goodness and grace in her. The goodness that Jarrod had seen when they
had first met. The kindness that had always made her work so tirelessly for
those less fortunate. The decent part of her that had loved him. How different
she might have been if she had been raised in a different atmosphere, one of
tolerance as he had.
Patricia began to feel cold, and her teeth started to chatter. She felt so very
sleepy. She just wanted to close her eyes. To rest. With a supreme force of
will, she lifted her right hand towards the left side of Jarrod's countenance,
to that spot between his cheek and temple. Lightly, she touched his face. And
as she had longed for since their parting...as he had done in their past, in
another lifetime ago...Jarrod bent his head into her palm, and closed his eyes.
"I...love..." she tried to force the words out, with her last
expulsion of air. Then her green eyes glazed over. Her hand dropped, leaving a
scarlet stain on Jarrod's cheek. And Patricia Vandermeer lay dead in his arms
as pandemonium broke around them.
Starr walked slowly down the staircase and into the bar. It
was mid-morning; she could tell by how high the sun was when she'd looked out
her window. Her head was pounding, the after effects of drinking all of that
good Pennsylvania whiskey last night. And why not?
The young cowboy had been buying, his billfold overflowing with his winnings
from the high stakes poker game he had just cashed out from. And he'd been in
the mood to share the wealth, so Starr had insinuated herself into his arms.
The young cowboy was feeling particularly gleeful since the bulk of his
winnings had been gleaned from none other than Nick Barkley. Starr had sat
behind Nick's shoulder for the first part of the night, just watching
curiously. Lady Luck usually favoured Jarrod's dark-haired brother, but that
fickle female had abandoned the tall, rangy cowboy for the younger, red-headed
lad last night. Starr had been surprised to see Nick lose so consistently, and
even more surprised at how he kept upping the ante. Nick was usually a smart
poker player, and those nights when he was hot he played til the wee hours, and
those when he was not, he usually cashed out and pursued more private
entertainment.
But last night, Nick Barkley had drank hard and played foolishly, to the
delight of the young red-haired kid. Starr had nonchalantly switched
allegiances, balancing on the arm of the kid's chair, purring compliments. And
when the youngster had finally finished his game, and expressed his desire to
celebrate, Starr had happily gone along for the ride. Eventually, she'd tempted
him upstairs to divest him of another big chunk of his spoils, but not until
she'd helped he and a friend polish off one of Harry's best bottles of whiskey.
Starr couldn't help but notice that Nick had been very morose, sitting and
drinking quietly after he'd lost his stake. The Barkley foreman, Duke McCall
had sat with Nick. Starr's eyes had swung over to the two men in the corner
from time to time. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a subdued Nick. He was
normally a loud, boisterous fellow, and when he came into Stockton on occasion
to cut loose, his booming, gravelly voice was usually easily recognizable over
the din in the saloon.
Starr had learned from Harry that Jarrod had been dumped unceremoniously by the
Republican party, and was no longer a potential candidate for governor. She had
been consumed with guilt, wondering if that development had had anything to do
with that cold-hearted bastard 'Clay' and the information she had shared with
him. Jarrod's fall from grace had been the talk of the town for the last
several days.
Starr had also heard that Jarrod's mistress and her kid were no longer staying
out at the Barkley ranch. That the Indian woman had, in fact, left town. Starr
had wondered if the woman had abandoned Jarrod Barkley now that his political
dreams had been crushed. If that was all that had drawn the woman to
Jarrod...the power that had been in his grasp...then the Indian woman was a
fool! And she didn't deserve a wonderful man like Jarrod!
And then there had been the bombshell about Governor White's passing. There had
been lots for the people of Stockton to talk about over this last week or so, yesiree!
Starr couldn't help but wonder if Nick's sombre mood had anything to do with
any or all of these latest occurrences.
Eventually though, Starr had turned her thoughts away from Nick and his sweet
brother, and had concentrated on the business at hand. She had partied with the
young cowboy, then taken him up to her room where they'd celebrated his good
fortune in private. He had passed out soon after they had enjoyed one another,
and Starr had found his wallet, still burgeoning with bills, on the floor by
her bed. It had never even occurred to her to lift out a few of them for
herself, even though he would never miss them or even be sure how much had been
there to begin with. But he had already paid her. Starr might be a whore, but
she still had some integrity. She wasn't a thief.
She had kicked the cowboy out of her bed just a half hour earlier, amid his
promises that he would be back, then had washed and dressed and finally made
her way down to the saloon. It was still closed at this early hour, but Starr
knew that Harry would have some coffee on, and maybe something that she could
eat to help settle her queasy stomach.
She found Harry leaning on the bar with one hand propping his chin, the other
arm laid across the scarred wooden surface. His brow was furrowed as he stared
intently at the newspaper spread open there. He shook his head, mumbling
something to himself, not yet aware of Starr's presence. She sauntered over
behind the bar, sidling up to Harry and playfully pinching his ample bottom.
She was rewarded with his startled expression and indignant outcry.
"Starr!" he reproved.
Her laughter died in her throat as she saw past him to the front page of the
Stockton Eagle. She stared at the four photographs there, as ice water coursed
through her veins. Two she did not recognize. But one was Jarrod Barkley. And
the last one...Starr closed her eyes to fight back the memory of that awful
night...the last one was that monster.
'Clay'. "Harry..." Starr asked hoarsely. "What does this say?
Please tell me!"
Starr couldn't read. Her parents had worked a tiny plot of land in the middle
of nowhere, miles from the nearest town or any semblance of a school, barely
subsisting on their crops. Neither of them could read either, so it wasn't a
skill they had passed down to Starr or her sisters or brother. She reached past
Harry's not insignificant middle and snatched at the paper. Her face was white
as she shook the newspaper at him. "Please, Harry! What is this
about?" she cried anxiously.
Harry couldn't understand why the woman was so upset. "Give me a minute,
Starr," he said soothingly. He smoothed out the Eagle on the bartop again,
and pointed with a chubby finger to the headline. "This here says, 'Three
dead! Governor White's funeral marred by further tragedy!'."
Starr clutched the bar. Three dead?
Four photographs. One of Jarrod Barkley. Three
dead? "Which three, Harry?" she
demanded, her body beginning to shake. That brute had hurt Jarrod. He'd killed
him. She had seen the evil in that man's soul...felt his hatred for Jarrod.
Starr should have done more than just mention the man to Nick Barkley. She
shouldn't have been such a coward! She should have gone to Jarrod, and let him
know that Lucifer himself was watching him.
Harry looked at Starr with dawning comprehension. She had a crush on Jarrod
Barkley, he knew. Harry reached out to touch the woman's shoulder, feeling it
tremble beneath his grasp. "Not Jarrod, Starr," he assured her.
"Jarrod's fine."
Starr gave a relieved gasp, closing her eyes and sending a silent prayer
heavenward. She had lost her way over the years, and it had been a long time
since she'd set foot inside a church, and almost as long since she'd held a
private communion with the Lord. But that morning, Starr thanked Him for sparing
Jarrod's life. Then she realized the ramifications of Harry's pronouncement.
Four photographs. Three dead. Jarrod was not one of the victims. That must
mean....
"This
one!" she jabbed her red painted fingernail at the photo of the handsome
blond man. "He's dead?" she inquired shrilly, her eyes seeking and
holding the bartender's.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. That one, and the other two." He was surprised
by the venom of Starr's next words.
"Good! May he
burn in hell!" Starr spat. That demon 'Clay' was dead. He would never hurt
Jarrod now. He'd never hurt her again either. Or anyone else. She wasn't the
kind of person to take gratification from another human being's death. But
Starr knew that the blond-haired man hadn't really been
human. She ran her tongue over the gap where a tooth was missing. "What
happened?" she asked, calmer now that she knew Jarrod was all right.
Harry read the article out loud for Starr, from beginning to end, seeing how
important it was to her. She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully, as he
read the eye witness reports that stated that the young woman...she had been
truly beautiful, Starr could discern even from the grainy black and white
photo...had deliberately put herself in the path of the bullet that the
fair-haired devil had aimed at Jarrod. She had saved Jarrod's life, that young
woman. Patricia. God rest her soul.
The man's name was Clayton Knowles, Harry informed her. And he had also been
running for the Republican nomination. An alert member of the honour guard had
observed Knowles withdraw his derringer, had heard the shot and seen the young
woman fall, had watched Knowles raise the gun again, and had fired, killing the
murderer before he could claim another victim.
The article reported that at one time Jarrod and the lovely lady had been
keeping company, but that at the time of the shooting, she was being courted by
Knowles. Jarrod and the Knowles fellow were political rivals. There was no
motive given for the attempted murder of Jarrod Barkley, who it had been
announced previously was no longer in contention for the Republican nomination.
Jarrod had declined all attempts by the press to interview him. There were
hints of a possible love triangle, however.
The older man, Harry told Starr, was the young woman's father. He had suffered
a fatal heart attack upon witnessing his daughter's death. The reporter had
noted that Patrick Vandermeer had once been one of the strongest supporters of
Jarrod Barkley's political aspirations, until his recent change of heart.
The story finished with the statement that Gil MacIntyre was being officially
nominated today as the Republican party's candidate in the December 20th
election, since with Clayton Knowles dead, there was no one to oppose him. It
was expected that MacIntyre would sweep the state and be the next Governor.
Starr thanked Harry for taking the time to read the article to her. She wrapped
her arms across her chest, the headache and discomfort of the hangover
forgotten as she mulled over the amazing tale. Walking slowly to the rear of
the saloon, she exited the back door, and stood alone in the alley. Starr
looked up at the clear blue sky, and couldn't help but think of the gorgeous
blue of Jarrod Barkley's eyes. She thought of how close he had come to death,
her throat tightening as she considered such a thing.
The truth was, one never knew how much time one had in this life. Starr was
thirty years old. She had spent half of her life working in saloons, sharing
her favours with any man who could afford the privilege. She had kept herself
clothed and kept a roof over her head, it was true. And she hadn't really
minded the work. Sometimes, she had even enjoyed it. Except for that one
encounter with the blond satan and his perversions.
Starr pictured Jarrod's handsome smile, and she could hear his deep voice,
asking her from time to time if she might not like to do something else with
her life. She had always assumed that once she had begun down this path, there
was no turning back. But was that true? Was this her destiny? When Jarrod had
asked his questions, always without judgement, Starr would sometimes feel the
yearning for something more. For a man like him, and a stable home. For young
ones, perhaps. Then she would shuck off the dreams as being no more than that.
Dreams.
Perhaps Starr could never have a man like Jarrod Barkley. But there were other
good and decent men in the world. Thirty wasn't a spring chicken any more,
Starr knew. She was no fresh young flower. But the face that she saw in her
looking glass was still pretty, her figure still trim. Maybe somewhere out
there, there was a man who would see beyond her past, and who would be willing
to work side by side with her to carve out a little place in this world. She
could be a good wife, Starr knew. Maybe a good mother, one day.
She thought of the beautiful young woman who was dead now, her bright and
privileged future gone. She thought of the horrible man, 'Clay', who would
never again practice his particular brand of evil on the world. In the blink of
an eye, lives could change or be lost, Starr realized. Was it too late for her
to start over? She continued to gaze up at the azure sky. Jarrod Barkley had
never thought so, she knew. He had believed that there was more out there for
her, if she had only wanted to reach for it.
She had a sister in Oregon, Maisey, married to a bank clerk. It had been a few
years since they had been in touch. Maisey's husband Daniel had last written to
her though, on both their behalfs, that if she ever wanted to come to Oregon,
she and Daniel would welcome her there. Starr had just started working at the
Golden Eagle then, and Harry had read the letter for her. At that time, Starr
hadn't been able to envision any life other than the one at the saloon. Now
though, Starr had enough money set aside to pay for her passage. And to
contribute to her keep if Maisey and Daniel opened their doors to her. Or to
find a room on her own, if they had changed their minds.
She had always thought in her idle time that she would have made a fine
dressmaker. Her mother hadn't taught her reading and writing, but she had
taught her middle daughter to work magic with a needle and thread. Perhaps, she
could use what money she had managed to save, to open a dress shop in Oregon.
And she could put her shady past behind her and forge a new life. Maybe even
find a man to love her that she could love in return. It had been a while since
she and Maisey had been in touch. But she didn't think that would matter. The
two of them had always been close growing up. There was a bond between them
that would transcend time and distance. She would enlist Harry's help in
writing her sister a letter. Today.
Yes, Verna thought to herself, life was too short not to live it to the
fullest. And if Jarrod Barkley was right, it was never too late to make changes
to control one's own destiny.
The late afternoon sun gleamed on the golden hide of the
mare that pranced around the paddock, tossing her pretty Arabianesque head, her
white mane and tail ruffled by the motion. She kicked up her back heels and
gave a whinny that was answered over on the south pasture. The mare paused, her
regal head held high, her ears pricked at attention, her delicate nostrils
flaring as she tested the air. Her shoulders quivered as the call came again,
and she pawed at the dirt floor of the enclosure. Then, with a flick of her
ivory tail she was off again, cantering around the wooden perimeter.
Jarrod leaned on the top rail, watching the Palomino move gracefully about the
paddock. He could well understand how these golden horses came to be favoured
by her Majesty Ysabella de-Bourbon...the queen who had pawned her jewels to
cover the cost of that pivotal expedition that discovered the New World. It was
on record that Queen Ysabella had kept nearly one hundred Palominos as the
chosen favourites of the crown. Only members of the royal family and nobles of
the household were permitted to ride them. Commoners were not even allowed to
own the beautiful mounts.
Queen Ysabella had sent a Palomino stallion and five mares to her Viceroy in
New Spain, the territory now known as Mexico, in an effort to perpetuate the
Golden Horse in the New World. The blood spread to the Texas plains, and on
into California. Many years later, they had become the favourite of Jarrod's
Uncle Jim Barkley, who had raised them out on his Abbottsville ranch.
'Palomino', Jim Barkley had informed him, was a Spanish surname. Uncle Jim had
been fond of telling anyone who would listen, that the Golden Dorado, the
original Palomino of Spanish times, was as close to being a true breed as any
other horse was today. Those original Palominos were of Arabic-Moorish-Spanish
blood and breeding, closely akin to the Arabian and Moorish Barb.
In Queen Ysabella's time, the Palomino was not bred by being crossed with
sorrels as was often done today with the quarterhorses and saddlebreds that
occasionally spawned golden offspring, Jarrod knew. When the Spaniards used
their 'corral breeding', a light-coloured Palomino mare like this one, would be
mated to a very dark Palomino stallion. Records going back more than one hundred
years ago to Barcelona, showed that those Spanish Palominos from past history
had bred true.
Uncle Jim had admired the flaxen-coated steeds for their beauty, versatility,
maneuverability and endurance. He had spent years traversing down in Mexico,
tracking down old Spanish-Mexican families whose stock had descended from those
original Palominos. Over his travels, and over time, he had purchased the
horses, usually one by one, until he had acquired a small herd of his own. They
had been his pride and joy.
After Uncle Jim's death, which the family had not even known about until a
couple of months after the fact, his unscrupulous attorney had sold off the
beloved Palominos. Victoria and Audra had stopped in Abbottsville on their way
to a wedding, to visit with the late Tom Barkley's older brother. They had been
told that Uncle Jim had lost his faculties and that his affairs were being
taken care of by his attorney, the younger Abbott. And that in order to keep
the ranch running, the Palominos had been sold.
After the truth had come out, that Uncle Jim had actually died from an accident
that occurred on a trip to Arizona, and the Abbotts had been embezzling since
that time, the estate had reverted to the Stockton Barkley heirs. Victoria had
tried to locate Jim Barkley's precious Palominos and purchase them back for the
family. But the buyer was adamant that he would not sell. No matter how much
money was offered to him. Eventually, Victoria had given up her quest for Uncle
Jim's treasured golden horses.
Then that day in San Francisco, almost six weeks ago, Jarrod had approached
Herbert Thorpe and offered him an obscene sum for one of the Palominos that he
had purchased five years previously. The ones that Victoria had tried so
desperately to acquire. Jarrod had known that it wasn't so much the money that
had swayed Thorpe to part with the mare, as it had been the leverage that
Jarrod might soon be Governor of California, and the other man's desire to
curry favour. Even though Jarrod had known then that he intended to withdraw
from the nomination, he had let the other man believe that Jarrod Barkley was
headed for the Mansion.
And so the papers had been signed and ownership of the mare had been
transferred. She had been delivered yesterday, two weeks before Christmas. El
Viento Dorado. Golden Wind. She'd been a slender
two-year-old filly when Jarrod had seen her last. Uncle Jim's pride and joy. A
horse with a wonderfully smooth gait, and incredible stamina. A horse with that
ideal coat, the colour of an U.S. 14 karat gold coin. With a mane and tail of
pure snow, with not even a trace of darker coloured hairs. Sixteen hands of
equine perfection, with a notably Arabian head and regal carriage, and
intelligent brown eyes. A seven-year-old mare now, filled out a bit with age
but still in top condition, she was every bit as beautiful as Jarrod had
remembered her to be.
And she was to have been Catherine's Christmas present. When Jarrod had
introduced Catherine to Jingo in the stable that day, she had told him about a
palomino she had once seen in Canada. Her first glimpse of a golden horse. She
had said wistfully, "I used to think that
anyone who had a horse like that must feel as though they owned the world."
Jarrod had wanted to give her that feeling. To let her know that even if he
could not give her the world, he wanted to give her his
world. He had envisioned at the time of his purchase, the two of them riding
together, Catherine aboard Dorado, he aboard Jingo, as they had explored the
ranch and the surrounding valley. As his wife, she would have owned, in
conjunction with the rest of them, all of the Barkley lands. This could have
been their kingdom. Jarrod had also planned to purchase a pony for Cadence and
to teach his new daughter to ride.
The mare stepped towards the fence, pressing her velvet muzzle towards him. Her
mane tumbled down across her face, her brown eyes regarding the man
thoughtfully, without a trace of fear. She drew in his scent, before pushing
him impatiently with her nose. The mare demanded treats. She was used to being
spoiled, used to humans bringing her sugar and apples and carrots. All the
familiar humans that she knew were gone, and her stablemates were too. She had
made the journey from the ranch that had been her home for the last five years,
to this new valley. But the mare sensed that this new man was someone to be
trusted. She pushed her nose against his arm again, whickering softly.
Jarrod could not bear to touch the mare, and he turned his back to her. She
snorted her disapproval and trotted off to explore the far side of the paddock.
Jarrod reached inside his coat, to his shirt pocket, and extracted the eagle
feather. He ran it through his fingers, musing. Catherine had told him that in
order to really live life, one had to have balance. That this feather
represented the balance of form that the eagle required to attain flight. And
that for a man to attain his own flight, to spread his wings and experience
life fully, his existence had to have balance. His life would never have balance
again, Jarrod knew. The scale that weighed his heart and soul was empty now and
forever.
Jarrod wondered what they were doing right at this moment. His Catherine and
Cadence. He could envision them in a small log cabin someplace. Outside of a
quaint little town. Nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, perhaps. A
pure mountain stream would tumble down from somewhere above, meandering through
the back of the property. It would be a neat, tidy little place that they had
purchased to begin their new lives. Smoke would curl up out of a stone chimney.
There would be a small barn, and a wagon, and a horse. A cow as well, so that
Cadence could have fresh milk. And a few chickens, that would scratch around
the yard. Deer would come down from the high country sometimes, to pick at the
hay, leaving their cloven prints around back of the barn. An owl might nest in
the big redwood closest to the cabin, and on occasion they might spy it
swooping back to it's nest, some unfortunate small animal clutched in it's
talons.
Unbeknownst to Cady, there would be a puppy, from a fall litter. Still at the
property of one of their neighbours, but ready to be brought home on Christmas
Eve. A little mongrel puppy...a hound cross perhaps. With a black and tan coat,
and floppy ears, and big paws that it would grow into as it cavorted about this
idyllic setting with the chortling child. After the man rose at dawn on
Christmas morning to bring it into the house in a wicker basket, just waiting
for the little girl to wake up, he would tie a big, red bow around it's neck..
There would be a fire blazing in the hearth right now, the smell of woodsmoke
enveloping the home's occupants. On the mantle, candles would burn. And there
would be a shallow wooden bowl filled with oranges and limes, studded with
cloves, adding their unique spicy-citrus aroma to the room. Crisp, white lace
curtains would hang at the windows. Pine boughs would drape above them,
bringing the scent of the outdoors in. Oil lamps on tables situated in front of
the windows, would stand ready to light the way home for a man at the end of
his work day.
Cadence might be sitting cross-legged on a rug, playing with the little
handmade doll her mother had made for her last birthday. Putting it to bed in a
little hollowed out log that a man's hands might have carved for her. Her dark,
wavy hair would be pulled back by a pretty pink bow, that matched her pink
calico dress. She would glance at her mother from time to time, and she would
feel as though this had always been their lives, and that there had never been
any hardship or ugliness prior to this current happiness.
Catherine, no longer needing to work as a laundress, might be at the kitchen
table, rolling out dough to make cookies. Jarrod could smell some already
baking on tins, the air fragrant with cinnamon, while Catherine cut out more
Christmas shapes from the dough. She would hum to herself softly as she worked,
bent over the table, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders. Jarrod's
fingers actually itched to tuck that one strand behind her ear.
It would be a small, homey cabin. There would be a loft upstairs where Cadence
would have a bed of her own, where two parents would sit and read to her and
tell her bedtime stories. There would be an additional room downstairs, at the
side of the cabin, where Catherine would sleep. Not alone though. Oh
no!
At night, her body would burn with passion for the man with the curly red-gold
hair. Her Jesse. She would wrap her long legs around his waist, and cry out his
name in the hours between dusk and dawn as their bodies joined, writhing with
pleasure. He, Jarrod, would be but a dim memory. Sometimes, Catherine might
wonder whether he had even been real, or whether she had just dreamt him. If
she happened to think of him at all.
Jarrod could imagine the man...tall and broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, youthful
and vibrant, coming through the door at the end of the day. Calling out merrily
to his wife and child. In one hand he might hold a couple of ducks that he had
killed. Cadence would squeal with delight, jumping up from the floor and flying
into his arms. "Daddy! Daddy!" she would cry, her blue eyes,
identical to the man's, dancing with joy. She would proclaim her love for the
father that she now idolized. She would never even ask about the dark-haired,
blue-eyed man who they had left behind in a place called Stockton.
Catherine would wipe her floured fingers on her apron. She would smile across
the room at the man. Something would pass in the air between them, an unspoken contentment.
A gladness that they had found their way back to one another, and that their
family was whole again. Catherine would walk towards him, her dark eyes
shining. Proudly, he would reach out a hand for her, and she would place hers
within his broad grasp. The man would pull her closer, his lips brushing across
hers. Perhaps their foreheads would touch for a moment, as they leaned
together, their daughter nestled between them, encircled by their loving arms.
The three of them were frozen in Jarrod's thoughts with tortuous clarity. A
happy family tableau. And before too many more months had passed, perhaps
Catherine would feel the man's seed begin to grow and stir inside her, as her
belly rounded. And there would be a reaffirmation of the couple's love that
would culminate in a sibling for Cadence late in the following year or early
the one after that.
STOP! An inner voice
screamed inside Jarrod's head. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take the images
that tormented him, day and night. Images that appeared unbidden as his
traitorous thoughts kept turning again and again to Catherine and Cadence. The
woman and child that he still loved. They would never be his, had never been
his, but he couldn't put them out of his head. Or his soul. They were part of
him now, and would be until he drew his final breath. Jarrod could not have
them, but he could not forget them either.
There had almost been a time or two when Jarrod, consumed with agony, had
thought to go after them. Had thought to try to find them, and to make his plea
to Catherine to leave the husband who had abandoned her once, and to instead
make her future with him. And then Jarrod would remember that this was what
Catherine had wanted. That she had already made her choice. And Jarrod,
clinging to the last vestiges of his principles and morality, would know that
he would have to honour the sanctity of her marriage to another.
When he woke up in the mornings, wiping the previous night's sleep from his
eyes, for a split second, as he welcomed the new day's dawning...Jarrod would
forget. For that infinitesimal moment, there was no pain, until he inevitably
remembered that Catherine was gone. And then he would bury his head in his
hands and think that he had nothing to rise for. Nothing to live for. If his
sleep wasn't still so plagued with nightmares, Jarrod would have spent all of
his hours in slumber.
And soon after becoming cognizant that Catherine and Cady were no longer part
of his life, would come the crushing realization that his dear friend Jingo was
gone. By Jarrod's own hand. He would have to shoulder the burden of
responsibility for the senseless death of his brave mount. And the guilt would
weave through his pain.
Sometimes, he would wonder what it would be like to just close his eyes against
the pain, to go to sleep and to never have to wake up again.
And then Jarrod would think of Mother, and the sorrow that would cause her. He
would think of Nick. Of Audra. Engaged now to her fiancé Bobby Olson,
anticipating their wedding next May. He would think of Heath, and Annabelle and
baby Chase, now four months old. He would think of Gene. And it would just
barely be enough to keep him going one more day.
And sometimes, Jarrod would think of Patricia Vandermeer. Patricia, who had
believed Jarrod worth dying for. He would remember her body in his arms, her
life force draining away, and wouldn't be able to help thinking of another who
had died in his embrace. Also from a bullet meant for him. When the initial
shock of what had happened at the cemetery that day had worn off, and Jarrod
had had time to consider all of the implications, he had found himself too
empty inside to respond.
Still too raw over the loss of Catherine and Cadence, he hadn't been able to
mourn Patricia properly. Or Patrick. Their deaths still hadn't quite sunk in,
Jarrod knew. And he still wasn't quite able to process the knowledge that Patricia
and Clayton Knowles had been involved. Had had a relationship. Jarrod knew that
Knowles too was dead. That the man had been trying to murder him. But it all
seemed so surreal.
Mary Vandermeer, by way of Henry Stanton, had sent word to Jarrod to please not
attend the funerals of her father and sister. Respecting the young woman's
wishes, he had sent flowers, but had stayed away. Patrick and Patricia had been
laid to rest in the same cemetery where Lenore Vandermeer had been buried
twenty years earlier, their internments witnessed only by family and close
friends.
Gil MacIntyre had received the Republican nomination, unopposed. No one doubted
that he would defeat Democratic candidate Judd Kingsley and soon be sworn in as
Governor of California. Gil was a good man, Jarrod thought detachedly, and
would serve the people well.
As much as Jarrod might wish that Clay Knowles .22 calibre bullet had found him
and ended his pain that day, it was not to have been. And Jarrod was unable to
sully Patricia's ultimate sacrifice by not attempting to go on with his life.
And so each day, he got up. He went through the motions, often only the
selfless fellowship of his new best friend, Jack
Daniels, getting him through the day with his
limited sanity intact.
Just yesterday, bathed in the glow of Jack's
distinctive, charcoal mellowed company, Jarrod had been in the study, and had
found the envelope wedged under the blotter. The envelope that had come the
same day as Gene's letter, only to be pushed aside and forgotten. He had
reached for the letter opener then, slitting the envelope. He hadn't recognized
the penmanship as his blue eyes had begun to read.
'Dear Jarrod,
I am having Mother write this for me, as my right arm is still out of
commission and will be for some time. I just wanted you to know...'
Whether it had been an apology from George Vail, or an attempt at an
explanation, Jarrod had never determined. He'd lit the letter on fire, and then
dropped it in the tin waste basket, watching it curl in on itself, as the
flames consumed it. Jarrod had no desire to know whatever it was that George
had wanted to tell him. George Vail was dead to him. The young man who had been
his friend had ceased to exist the moment his dementia had carried him over
Catherine's threshold with the intent to harm her.
Gladys Vail had come out to the house not long ago, to see Jarrod, but he had
refused. He imagined that Gladys, upon learning that Catherine and Cadence had
left Stockton, had perhaps thought to throw herself on Jarrod's mercy and see
if he might now change his mind about George and his banishment from town. But
Jarrod would never change his mind about that, even if Catherine was no longer
here.
The mare whinnied again, standing on the other side of the fence from Jarrod.
He turned back to her, his lonely mind seeing Catherine now, decked out in one
of her new riding outfits, sitting proudly astride the Palomino's back. And
there beside them, was Jingo. Healthy and whole. And as real as the fence rail
beneath Jarrod's fingers. Catherine had the sorrel gelding's reins and she
reached them towards Jarrod now, her smile beckoning him to join her for a
ride.
The vision shimmered, and then was gone. And just the mare stood there, her
ears pricking forward and backwards, as she stood stock still, regarding the
man, testing the air.
Jarrod reached inside his coat, for his hip flask, unscrewing the cap on the
sterling silver container. He raised it in a salute to the mare, then brought
it to his lips. "Hello, Jack, old buddy,"
Jarrod's deep voice resonated inside his skull, as the liquid burned a path
down his throat.
Soon, the numbness would come. Jack
was good that way. A real pal. He never let Jarrod down. Jack
was the only friend that mattered anymore, Jarrod sometimes thought. Jack
asked no questions and made no comments. This new ally of Jarrod's got him
through each anguished day so that he could spend yet another miserable night
before beginning the desolate cycle again.
Chapter 76
He was standing at the paddock, watching the mare. Even
though she couldn't see his face, his sorrow was evident in the slump of his
broad shoulders beneath the coat, and in the bowing of his dark head. Her
happiness at her recent engagement was marred by the knowledge that her oldest
brother was hurting so badly. She glanced at the ring on the third finger of
her left hand. A diamond that sparkled in the afternoon light. A symbol of her
hopes and dreams for the future. While Jarrod, it seemed, withdrew from them
more and more each day, his misery evidencing that he did not look forward to
the days and months ahead. It wrenched at her heart to see him this way.
Several times, Audra had thought to tell her brother of her conversation with
Catherine that night. She had wondered why Jarrod had never gone after the
woman and child, even after he had turned away from politics. She wondered what
hard truths Catherine had shared with him to make him respect her decision to
leave Stockton. Even after the Governor's death, and the tragedy that had
ensued at his funeral. Audra kept expecting Jarrod to change his mind, to track
down Catherine and Cadence, but as the days had passed, Audra had realized that
he never would.
At first, she had thought that it was because in his heart of hearts he
believed that their leaving really had been for the best. That Jarrod believed,
despite how much it pained him, that there could be no future for the three.
That it was just too impossible. And so he had not set out on a quest to find
Catherine and her daughter and bring them back.
He had sent one of the hands to the shack to bring back all of Catherine's and
Cadence's belongings that had been left there, and then Jarrod had set them in
his room. Audra had thought that he was only torturing himself further by
keeping these tangible reminders, but of course she had not dared to say so.
Audra had often tried to think of what Catherine had said that had ended the
relationship with such finality. Obviously, the woman must have believed that
her future did not lie with Jarrod. How Catherine had convinced her brother of
that, Audra had no idea. She agonized over whether or not interfering now would
be worse for Jarrod in the long run. If she were to give him any false hope
that there might yet be a chance for him and the woman he loved...and then
Catherine was to tell him otherwise...then that additonal cruelty might really
be the final straw that Jarrod's fragile psyche could not bear.
Surely, Catherine must know that Jarrod was no longer in contention for the
governorship. Surely she must know what had happened in Sacramento, with
Clayton Knowles and Patricia Vandermeer. Surely she must know that Jarrod could
have died that day. And yet, Catherine did not return to him of her own accord.
That, to Audra, spoke volumes. No matter how much Jarrod mourned the loss of
their love, it seemed apparent to his sister that Catherine had moved on with
her life.
If only her oldest brother could do the same. He was with them physically, but
not in spirit. He was becoming a gaunt shell of the vibrant man he had once
been. He rarely ate, and had lost even more weight. She knew that he was
drinking far too much. Sometimes he would go for days without bathing or
changing his clothes. Some mornings he would shave, while others he sported a
dark shadow. Jarrod had closed down the Stockton law office indefinitely, and
had left Mark Treymore running the one in San Francisco.
He barely spoke to any of them, even Mother. No one knew how to help him. Their
words could not seem to reach him. He seemed immune to the strength of their
love. If the sheer force of their combined wills had not been able to bring
Jarrod out of this dark place, then Audra wondered what ever could.
There was an uneasy silence now between Jarrod and Nick. Jarrod never looked at
his dark-haired brother. Never spoke to him. Audra had seen Nick's face some
evenings, as he watched his big brother sitting in the billiards room, staring
into the hearth. The inner turmoil, the guilt that Nick was feeling, was
evidenced by the deep lines that seemed permanently etched on his countenance.
The two men might have been in the same room, but they were a universe apart.
The only thing that bound them was a tenuous memory of that scene in the study.
One that they never spoke of.
Three days after Patrick Vandermeer's death, two men had come to the ranch to
talk to Nick and Jarrod. Jarrod had been barricaded in his study again, and had
not joined them, but Nick had invited them into the library. When they had
left, Nick had informed the family that they had been representatives of
Kimball-Merriweather. Subsequent to Patrick Vandermeer's death, an emergency
meeting of the stockholders had been called.
Without Patrick to wield his influence, a decision to deal with the Barkleys
and to uphold the contracts for Overland and Sacramento Western, had been
unanimous. The men had been apologetic, claiming that it had been Patrick's
intervention that had lead to Kimball-Merriweather reneging on what they had
always believed to be a fair deal. Nick had not found a buyer or transport
company in the meantime, so he had signed off on a reinstatement of the
original deal.
Those evenings when Jarrod had actually joined the family, Audra had been
unable to cajole him into playing checkers or chess with her. He would stare at
the board, if she mentioned a game, and his face would pale. He would shake his
head, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. Sometimes, Heath would try to tempt
Jarrod into a game of billiards, but Jarrod would only continue to gaze
wordlessly into the fire, seeming not to have even heard his sandy-haired
brother's invitation. Jarrod, always an attentive uncle, had lost all interest in
baby Chase.
Audra knew that Mother had tried to speak with Jarrod privately, though she
wasn't aware of what their conversations had entailed. Mother seemed to be
treading carefully, worrying about Jarrod's stability. She had voiced her
concerns to her other children that Patricia's death, so reminiscent of Beth's,
must be a cruel irony that would weigh heavily on her oldest son. Mother
continued to watch Jarrod, Audra knew, always on edge, always ready for the
explosion that she felt must soon come.
Audra had hoped that it would. That Jarrod would lash out against his torment,
and finally be able to begin the healing process. But as one day flowed into
the next, she began to believe that such a release was to be denied her
brother. He was internalizing all of his anguish, all of the helplessness,
hopelessness and despair. When Audra looked into his eyes these days, she was
seeing less and less of her brother Jarrod, and more and more of a stranger.
None of them knew how to reach him. And again Audra would wonder if she should
tell him about her talk with Catherine. She was torn as to which would be the
right thing, and which might be the wrong. To make a mistake, to make an
erroneous decision, with Jarrod slipping away from reality with each passing hour,
might seal his doom. She would lay awake at nights, tossing and turning in her
bed, praying for guidance to help her see her way to best help her brother.
Audra had thought of unburdening herself to her mother. Of unloading her guilt,
and leaving the decision up to Victoria, as to whether or not Jarrod should be
told. Whether he should be given the knowledge that might send him on a journey
to win Catherine back. A quest that might end in more heartache and
disappointment than Jarrod could bear in his current condition, weakened as he
was both physically and spiritually.
And then she would hear him thrashing around as his demons tormented him in the
night's darkest hours. She would hear his screams, and his guttural cries.
Audra would bury her head under her pillow, and sob in heartache and confusion.
And always, as a new day dawned, she would know that she could not share her
burden with anyone else. It was hers alone to bear. The decision to go to
Catherine had been hers, and the decision on whether or not to share that
information with Jarrod would have to be hers as well. If only she could
receive some sign, get some inkling as to whether or not sending Jarrod after
Catherine, assuming he could even find her, would bring about his
salvation...or be his Waterloo.
Audra approached her brother now, Blossom following at her heels. "She's
beautiful," the young woman commented with a faint smile, leaning against
the fence, watching the golden mare trot about. Jarrod didn't respond or even
turn to acknowledge her presence. "What's her name?" she tried. The
mare had arrived yesterday, to the surprise of all. Jarrod had not told them
she was coming, nor how she had come to be there, nor what his intentions were
for the lovely palomino.
At first, the horse's arrival had ignited a spark of hope in the Barkleys.
Perhaps Jarrod was getting ready to move on. Somehow, he had taken some
initiative and arranged to purchase this mare. A replacement for his lost
Jingo, they believed. A concrete step that showed that Jarrod was beginning to
make his way back towards life. And then he had left the flaxen creature in the
paddock. With orders to Duke that no one was to touch her. No explanation as to
where she had come from, or what he planned to do with her. He had ignored the
magnificent horse after her arrival, until now.
Mother had said that the golden horse was almost identical to the Palominos
that Uncle Jim had once owned. They had no idea where she had come from. A man
had dropped her off yesterday, putting her in the paddock at Jarrod's request,
and then ridden off. She was a mystery to them.
"El Viento Dorado,"
Audra was surprised but pleased to hear Jarrod respond at last.
Audra's limited Spanish allowed her to translate the name. "Golden
wind," she mused. "That's beautiful.
Uncle Jim used to give all of his Palominos Spanish names," Audra
reminisced.
"She's Catherine's horse," Jarrod said matter-of-factly. "Her
Christmas present."
Audra's heart caught in her throat and tears burned in her sapphire eyes. Her
beloved oldest brother was so out of touch that he had purchased this mare for
a woman who was no longer part of his life. He was imagining that she was still
with him. He was planning for a festive holiday season shared with her. Audra
had never known anything so terribly sad in her entire life.
"Oh, Jarrod," she said brokenly. "Catherine's gone, Big Brother.
Don't you remember?"
Jarrod whirled on her then, his blue eyes wild. "Remember?!"
he raged. "That's all I ever think about! Every single second, with every
beat of my heart!"
His breath was hot and sour on her face. "I'm sorry, Jarrod," the
young woman said in confusion. "But you just said the mare is for
Catherine....for Christmas....I thought...." Her voice caught on her last
word with a sob. What was she going to tell him?
That she'd thought he had lost his sanity?
Jarrod raked his hand through his black hair. He didn't have the will to
explain to his little sister now the story behind the golden horse. He lifted
the flask to his lips again, tilting back his head and closing his eyes, as the
whiskey made it's familiar way to his gullet.
Audra began to shake. She couldn't watch Jarrod do this to himself anymore! She
grabbed his forearm, forcing the bottle from his lips. "You have to stop
this!" she wailed. "You're killing yourself, Jarrod, don't you see
that?! The answer isn't there, at the bottle of a liquor bottle!" She had
never spoken to her brother that way before, and would never have been able to
imagine doing so, but Audra felt driven. "You have to go on with your
life! You have to realize that what's done is done! And that it's probably for
the best! Catherine knew that Jarrod, as hard as it was for her to admit, and
you have to accept it too!"
Her words penetrated that fog that had begun to surround him. "Catherine
knew that Jarrod, as hard as it was for her to admit..."
Why had Audra said that? He had never told them about Catherine's letter or
about her husband, Jesse. Why would Audra presume to know anything about
Catherine's reasoning or her motives for leaving him? What
exactly did Audra know?
Jarrod wasn't even aware that he had dropped the silver flask, as he wheeled
towards his sister. He grabbed her forearms tightly, pulling her close towards
him. "What do you mean?" he snarled. "What do you know?"
Jarrod, who had never laid his hands on his little sister in anger, shook her
now. The Lhasa Apso barked and growled.
Audra paled, her eyes widening with shock as Jarrod's hands gripped her
painfully, jerking her roughly. She could hear Blossom, voicing a warning as
she nipped at Jarrod's heels. Audra felt her feet lift off the ground for a
moment before touching back down again. For the first time ever, she was afraid
of someone that she loved and that she had always believed loved her. Tears
squeezed from beneath her lids and rolled down her wan cheeks.
"What did you DO?!"
Jarrod thundered his betrayal.
Audra knew that she had said something wrong. That she couldn't continue to
keep from her brother what had happened between she and Catherine the night
that Jarrod had had that fight with Nick, and threatened to kill him.
"Please," she sobbed. "You have to understand, I was only trying
to protect you! To protect our family!" Fear made her voice shrill.
Blossom continued to yap as she darted around them.
Jarrod released her then, and Audra lost her balance and fell backwards to the
ground. Immediately, Blossom jumped all over her mistress, licking her face,
trying to ensure that Audra was all right. Audra pushed the little dog away.
She sat where she had fallen, her legs too shaky to allow her to stand. She
looked up at her brother in desperation, her eyes imploring him to understand.
"People were threatening to kill you, Jarrod! And then that awful fight
with Nick! The way you hit him and swore that you would kill him..." Audra
lifted a hand to dash at the tears that continued to stream down her face.
"I saddled up Misty Girl and rode into Stockton. I had to see
Catherine...to make her understand everything that was at stake..."
Jarrod looked down at the young woman, his eyes hard. "You?!"
he said in a strangled voice. Something wasn't coming to him, he knew.
Something obvious that he couldn't quite decipher. Audra had intervened in what
was none of her business. Her foolhardy words had been the push that had made
Catherine decide to be with Jesse. Perhaps, if Audra had left well enough
alone, Catherine would have chosen him!
Inwardly he railed against the injustice. His own sister had forced the woman
that he loved into the arms of another man.
And then...a thought came to him...a thought that chilled him to the bone. It
was all too coincidental. The return of Catherine's husband. Audra's late night
ride to Catherine. Catherine and Cadence's disappearance the following day. Oh
good God! Jarrod thought then, as his teeth began
to chatter. What if...what if it had all been a
lie?
"Was Jesse there?" Jarrod demanded, fighting the dizziness that
threatened to overtake him. "Was a man there? Did she say anything about
her husband?"
Audra's confusion was evident. "What are you talking about?" she
cried up at him in bewilderment. "There was no else there. Just Catherine
and Cadence." She shook her head, her blonde hair floating around her
shoulders.
"There was a letter," Jarrod whispered hoarsely, his eyes holding
those of his sister, so like his own. The fuzziness from the alcohol had burned
away, leaving a painful clarity in it's place.
Audra began to understand. Catherine had known Jarrod would pursue her. Audra
had told her to make sure that he wouldn't. To find some way to discourage him
permanently. Catherine had told Jarrod something in a letter...made up some
lie...something so terribly hurtful and final. That was why her brother had
never gone after Catherine and Cadence. Audra struggled to her feet, grabbing
onto to Jarrod's coat sleeve.
"What did the letter say, Jarrod?" Audra begged.
The pain of that moment came crashing back over him again. He could see it
clearly, held in his hand, her farewell to him. Catherine had lied to him...but
what if the lie hadn't been the one in his office that day? What if...what
if the lie had been Jesse?
His voice stammering, Jarrod shared the gist of the letter with his sister. She
clamped her hand over her mouth, closing her eyes tight. "Jarrod, I gave
her the money to leave," Audra confessed. "A few hundred dollars. She
took a bit, but she left the rest for me at the post office. I told her that
she would have to come up with some way...some way to ensure that you would
never follow her..."
Jarrod's stomach churned. And so his clever Catherine had determined the one
method that would be guaranteed to force Jarrod to let she and Cadence go. She
had created a fictitious husband. Knowing that even if Jarrod's pride was not
sufficient to keep him from wanting her still, that his sense of honour would
be too strong to allow him to pursue another man's wife. That Jarrod could
never destroy someone's family.
He closed his eyes. 'Please dear God,'
he begged silently, 'let that be true. Let the
whole thing have been a fabrication!' He would
have to find out for sure, one way or the other.
"I didn't know," Audra said sadly. "I had no idea. Please
forgive me! If I'd known..."
Jarrod's gaze pinned her to the spot. When he spoke again, his voice was so
glacial that Audra thought she might never be warm again. "I don't know if
things can ever be the same between you and I again," he warned. The words
fell against her soul like a broadsword. "If I don't find them...I don't
ever want to lay eyes on you again." Audra thought she might be sick.
"Of course, it won't really matter. Because I'm never coming back here
until I do find them, and can manage to make everything right again."
The he strolled off, leaving her standing there shivering. Even though her
heart was breaking, Audra couldn't help but notice that Jarrod's long stride
was purposeful. His shoulders were squared. He held his head high. Ironically,
even as she had lost him, Audra's wish had been granted...and Jarrod had
returned.
Jarrod stared at his reflection in the looking glass, his
chin extended upwards, the razor poised in his hand to remove the three day's
worth of dark stubble. Could it be true?
he asked himself again. Could Catherine and Cadence be out there
somewhere...alone? All this time, while he had thought his girls to be cosseted
and cared for...had they been on their own again...struggling? Might Catherine
still love him as much as he loved her? He had to find them! As difficult as it
might be, as long as it might take, Jarrod would not rest until they were a
part of his life again.
He finished shaving, splashing cold water up over his face to rid himself of
the last of the effects of the alcohol. He was sober now, he knew. Audra's
stunning revelation had taken care of that. Silas would have coffee waiting for
him downstairs, and a couple of sandwiches as well. Jarrod hadn't eaten today,
or yesterday either. He would need to take care of himself, to make sure he had
the physical strength and the mental acuity to complete his task. The most
important one of his life.
Jarrod was surprised to find that his pants were so baggy. Even with the
suspenders, they looked terrible. Sighing, he went to Gene's room, and rifled
through his bureau. Gene was almost as tall, but much more slender. And he
still had some clothes at the house. Jarrod found a pair of grey pants that fit
much better than his own. He slipped on the dark blue shirt that Catherine had
done her loving beadwork on.
Pausing to check his reflection again, Jarrod frowned at the image he saw
there. He looked horrible, he had to admit. His eyes were red-rimmed and
sunken, dark smudges beneath. His cheekbones stood out, giving his face a gaunt
look. His skin had an unhealthy pallor. For the first time in weeks, a smile
actually curled the corners of Jarrod's mouth. Hopefully, he thought with
good-natured self-deprecation, Catherine hadn't just been in love with him for
his stunning good looks! He was presentable at any rate; his hair washed and
slicked back, his face clean-shaven, his clothes neat and tidy.
There was a spring in his steps as Jarrod bounded down to the front foyer. They
were all there waiting for him. Mother, Heath, Annabelle. Audra, in the
background, arms crossed in front of her, her eyes on the floor. Nick stood at
the bottom of the stairs, holding his older brother's gaze, his own inscrutable.
"Audra just told us what happened out there. About the talk you two
had."
For a moment, Jarrod wondered if Nick was getting ready to deck him. He'd been
a bit harsh with Audra, he should never had touched her in anger, and just
remembering that made Jarrod feel sick. But he believed his anger at her had
been justified. She had convinced Catherine to leave him. And had ostensibly
given her enough money that she could have gone so far...and hidden so well...that
Jarrod might never have found her again. That kind of interference in his
life...in his future, his destiny...would be hard to forgive. Still, like all
of her brothers, Nick was very protective of Audra, and Jarrod could understand
if Nick had taken umbrage after Audra's description of the events that had just
occurred.
Nick's next words left him stunned. "She made a mistake. I made a big one
too. All that matters now, is that we make things right again. I'm going with
you, Big Brother, and I'll help you find them." His deep voice rang with
sincerity.
Jarrod stared at his brother. "It could take days, Nick. Weeks. Maybe
longer."
Nick shrugged his shoulders. "However long it takes...all that matters is
getting you two...you three...back together. Heath can take care of things
here." Nick looked over at their fair-haired sibling who nodded
emphatically.
Jarrod's throat felt tight. Nick hated to be away from the ranch for any length
of time. He never even went on vacation. It was more stressful for him to be
away from his beloved valley, than it was to work year round. This offer was
even bigger than it looked on the surface, Jarrod knew. For Nick to be willing
to turn his back temporarily on that which was most important to him...in order
to help his brother...especially after what had happened between them that
night...meant the world to Jarrod.
"Thanks, Brother Nick," Jarrod said softly. "This is something I
need to do alone though."
Nick nodded. "Okay. But take Orion then. He's a great trail horse. Lots of
speed and stamina."
Jarrod knew how much Orion meant to Nick. Coco's replacement was a fine animal
and Nick's pride and joy. Somehow, Jarrod sensed that to refuse the offer,
would in essence be to refuse Nick's overtures at repairing their relationship.
"I appreciate that," Jarrod accepted.
Victoria came forward, taking her oldest son's arm. There were tears in her
eyes, to see him reaching back to them across the chasm that had separated
them. One that she had begun to wonder if she could ever bridge. "Silas
has put together an early dinner," Victoria said. "Some cold leftover
beef and some salads and rolls. I'm sure you're anxious to get going, but you
really should eat something first."
Jarrod acquiesced and allowed the silver-haired matriarch to escort him to the
diningroom. He was too nervous to be hungry, and his stomach was too shrunken
to accept much just yet, but Jarrod did manage to eat a small meal. When Silas
went around filling the wine glasses, Jarrod shook his head briefly, and
covered the top of his glass with his hand. He'd had more than enough to drink
these past few weeks, he reasoned. He would have to stay sharp for the work
that was ahead of him. He did enjoy several cups of coffee, however. It had
been a long time since food and drink had tasted like anything other than
sawdust to him.
There was still a pall over the table though, and the tension between Jarrod
and Audra was palpable. While Jarrod seemed to have found his appetite, the
young woman appeared to have lost hers. She pushed the food disinterestedly
around her plate. She was too ashamed, too shaken by what had happened between
the siblings out by the paddock, to even look at her big brother.
It had been hard for her to admit to the others what she had done. She prayed
with all of her heart that Jarrod would find Catherine and Cadence. Even then
though, she wondered if her adored oldest brother would ever find it in his
heart to forgive her. If he would ever understand.
After dinner, Nick saddled up Orion, while Jarrod grabbed a couple of changes
of clothes. He unlocked the desk drawer in the study, and took out two of the
black velvet boxes. With trembling hands, he tucked them into his coat pocket.
He just had to find them. Catherine just had to accept his proposal. He didn't
think his heart could take another disappointment.
Jarrod strapped on his gunbelt, then said farewell to the family who stood
assembled in the foyer. Audra was there, though she stood further back from the
others, and kept her gaze riveted to the floor. Mother and Annabelle hugged
him, wishing him all the best. Heath clapped him on the back and shook his
hand, and told him to wire home his progress. Jarrod thanked them all, then
left the house and headed for the stable.
Nick was just tying on the canteens and his brother's bedroll. He checked the
cinch on the saddle and led the black outside to where Jarrod was approaching.
He held onto the reins for a moment and stood with his hand on Orion's neck
while Jarrod mounted. Nick cleared his throat. "Jarrod...I just wanted to
let you know how sorry I am. For everything. Especially, for what I said that
night. I swear, I didn't mean..."
Jarrod reached down to squeeze the rancher's shoulder. "I know, Nick. And
I didn't mean what I said either. Let's make it water under the bridge."
Nick grinned gratefully, handing the reins up to the attorney. He held his
brother's gaze for a moment, dark eyes staring into light ones as a silent
communication passed between them. "Go get 'em!" he enthused,
slapping Orion on the flank, and the gelding began to trot away.
Jarrod's first stop was at the McNeil's in Stockton. It was already twilight.
The days were getting shorter now. He removed his hat and knocked on the door,
sorry to realize as Leo opened it, that he was interrupting their dinner.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Jarrod began. "I'm trying to find
Catherine and Cady. Did you or Halley see them the morning that they left
town?" he asked hopefully.
Halley came to stand behind Leo. She nodded at Jarrod. "She came to say
good bye. They seemed in quite a rush. It was all so sudden." She looked
at the man suspiciously. She had often wondered why Catherine and the child had
left so abruptly. They had seemed so happy, the three of them. Catherine and
Jarrod Barkley had seemed so much in love. What had happened between them? And
why was he only looking for them now?
"Did she say where they were going?" Jarrod inquired. He saw the veil
cross over the woman's dark eyes. "Please," he implored, "it's
important."
Halley looked sad and shook her head. "No." He could sense that she
was telling the truth. "She hasn't wrote or nothin' either."
"Was there anyone else with them?" Jarrod wanted to know. "A
man?" he prompted.
He held his breath while Halley frowned and shook her head. "I didn't see
no one else, jes them." She gazed at him speculatively. "You reckon
to find 'em and bring 'em back?"
"Yes, Ma'am, I do," Jarrod said simply.
Halley grinned then, her peculiar gap-toothed smile. She nodded vigorously.
"Good! They was so sad, poor things. Like they dint wanna go nowheres, but
they had ta. Ya know?"
Jarrod felt strangely relieved to hear this bit of information. While he no
longer really believed that there was any husband...no Jesse...he was still
glad to hear that Catherine and Cadence hadn't given the appearance of two
people going off towards a happy future. They sounded like two people who were
running away. He felt a bitterness towards Audra again, but fought it back. His
main priority now was just to find them. He thanked the McNeils and remounted
Orion, heading for the train station next.
John Hodges, the stationmaster, knew who Jarrod was talking about when he
mentioned the Indian woman and child. John had seen them board the Barkley's
private railcar together that time, back at the beginning of last month. He
told Jarrod that he hadn't seen the woman purchase any tickets since then.
Jarrod asked about a man with curly red hair...if anyone of that description
had purchased three tickets in the last month...but John couldn't recall.
Jarrod thanked him for his help and moved onto the stage depot at the other end
of Stockton.
Evans at that stage depot did
remember the woman and child. He said that they had come in one morning, a few
weeks back. He couldn't remember what their destination had been, but he did
distinctly remember that there had just been the two of them, and only two
tickets purchased. Jarrod's heart had soared at this news. There had not been
anyone with Catherine and Cadence when they had left Stockton. No red-headed
man.
Evans had suggested that the coach driver might recall where the pair had
disembarked. He checked his logs and determined that the driver that morning
had been Vince Collins, who happened to reside there in Stockton. Evans
directed Jarrod to Vince's place in town, and Jarrod remounted Orion. He was
getting closer, he could feel it. He sent up a silent prayer that Collins would
indeed remember Catherine and Cadence and would know where they had gotten off
the stage. It would at least give him somewhere to start.
It was past dark when Jarrod knocked on the door of the Collins place. Mrs.
Collins, short, plump, with unruly strawberry blonde hair, and at least two
children that Jarrod could see peeking out from behind her skirts, and more
small voices in the background, opened the door for him, smiling distractedly.
A small, nondescript black dog barked and jumped at the door, and she closed it
up, just leaving a crack, gazing out at him tiredly with a wry grin.
He had asked if Mr. Collins was in. She had suggested that Jarrod try one of
the saloons. She looked down at the tow-headed toddler who was trying to
wriggle out the front door, and her exasperated look, and the wistfulness in
her tone, told Jarrod that she wished she could join her husband for a stiff
drink or two right about then.
Jarrod asked her to describe Vince, and she'd looked at him warily for a
moment, wondering why he wanted her husband if he didn't even know who he was.
Jarrod explained hastily that he was looking for someone, a passenger on one of
the coaches Vince had driven. She'd seemed satisfied with that, and informed
him that Vince Collins was a short, burly man with curly dark hair, a big dark
moustache, and, in her proud words, 'the prettiest green eyes in the state'.
Jarrod had tipped his hat to her, and left her to her domestic confusion,
hurrying to the Golden Eagle first.
There was no one of that description there, and Harry, who knew Collins, told
Jarrod that he hadn't seen him come in. Harry was surprised to see Jarrod in
town. The lawyer looked awful, Harry thought, like he was just recovering from
a prolonged illness. He could see that Jarrod was in a hurry, but he caught his
arm as the other man turned to leave the bar. "Just wanted to let you
know," Harry said quietly. "Starr's left town. She wanted me to tell
you, the next time I saw you, that she was goin' to stay with her sister in
Oregon. Maybe open a dress shop. She said..." Harry paused, remembering
the hopeful look in the woman's eyes as she had left the saloon that day,
"...she said to tell you that from now on, she's just plain Verna."
Jarrod couldn't help but smile. Would wonders never cease? "Thanks,
Harry," he said. He was glad that the attractive woman was finding a new
place in the world. She was a good person, Jarrod had always believed, with a
heart of gold. She deserved something better in her life. He wished her well.
Jarrod found Vince Collins at 'Mitchell's Tavern', seated at one of the tables,
drinking beer and chatting with friends. He caught Collin's eyes and asked if
he might have a word with him. Collins, a happy-go-lucky, gregarious sort,
complied good-naturedly. He recognized the lawyer, but didn't let on. He knew
the poor fellow had been through a lot lately, from what he'd read in the
papers. He wondered curiously what Barkley wanted with him.
"Yeah, I remember the Indian woman and the kid," Collins said,
rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He really did have remarkable green eyes, Jarrod
noted. "They was just about two of the saddest people I've ever seen. They
was the only two to get on in Stockton that day. There was another couple
already on board, an older couple."
"Do you remember where Catherine and the child disembarked?" Jarrod
asked intently.
Collins sighed, frowning, and chewed thoughtfully at his bottom lip. He lit up
a cigarette and the blue smoke filled the air around them. Jarrod didn't hurry
him, though he could feel his heartbeat pounding inside his head. This was too
important. Collins just had to remember. The shorter man stared into space for
a few moments, then a broad smile broke out on his fleshy face.
"I do remember!" he slapped his thigh. "They got off in
Redemption. Cause the woman looked up at the sky and said something funny.
Biblical sounding. Something that had to do with Creation and then redemption.
I don't recall it exactly, but they were pretty words. The older couple, they
stopped for a late midday meal, and from there we..."
"Redemption?" Jarrod interrupted. The name sounded familiar. He
thought the town was south of Stockton.
"Yeah, it's just past Modesto. Maybe thirty-five, forty miles from here.
No different really from any other. Not quite your one-horse town, but not far
from it," Collins volunteered.
"And you're sure that they got off there?" Jarrod pressed.
"Yep. The woman was laughing to herself, but not like it was funny, you
know what I mean? That the place was called Redemption. Maybe 'cause it seemed
so ordinary, not like there was all that much to redeem it." Collins
shrugged.
Jarrod didn't want to ask his next question, but he had to. "Did anyone
meet them there? A man? Maybe with red hair?" He held his breath.
Collins shook his head. "No. Nobody at all. They just stood there for a
bit, looking kind of lost. The little girl, she looked like she was going to
cry," he added sadly. He had a bunch of little ones of his own, each and
every one of them a treasure, and he couldn't stand to think of a child sad or
hurting. She was a half-breed kid, he'd known, with her honeyed dark skin and
blue eyes. But she'd sure been a pretty little thing.
Jarrod reached into his pocket and handed the other man a couple of coins.
"Thanks a lot, friend," he smiled. "Buy yourself a couple of
drinks on me."
It was already after dark, and Jarrod knew that the sensible thing to do was
just to get a room at the hotel and stay the night, and begin his search in the
morning. But he was too keyed up with this new information. He was saddened to
hear that Catherine and Cadence had begun their journey under less then
heartening circumstances. But he was also elated to know that they had made
their trip alone. And that there had been no man to meet them there. Jarrod was
convinced now that the entire story of Jesse had been a lie. After his talk
with Audra, he had thought so, but he had wanted to be sure.
Jarrod knew that he could never sleep tonight, so he squeezed Orion with his
legs, and the gelding began to move off. He would see how far he could get
tonight. Under cover of darkness, their progress would be slower. But he should
be able to make Redemption by midnight, or shortly thereafter. If either he or
the horse became too tired, they could always camp out.
Jarrod wondered what he would find in Redemption. He assumed that Catherine and
Cadence would have moved on again, and he prayed that he would be able to pick
up their trail there. As he left the outskirts of Stockton, the clouds parted
to reveal the waxing moon. Jarrod remembered the story that Catherine had told
him. About the Sun Dogs who took turns snapping at the moon. He could hear her
sultry tones playing across his inner ear. Perhaps somewhere, she was gazing at
this very same moon.
Galvanized to action, he felt alive again. Jarrod had hope now. The night air
was cold, but he only found it invigorating. He patted his jacket, and felt the
outline of the jewelry boxes. They were out there, somewhere, his two girls.
Wherever he had to go, whatever it took, Jarrod would find them.
It was well past midnight when Jarrod and Orion came to the
outskirts of the town that called itself Redemption. It was an overcast night,
and frequently the moon had been blanketed by cloud, making the passage over
unfamiliar terrain slow going. Several times Jarrod had considered just
stopping and camping for the night. And then, as if on cue, the moon would
burst from behind it's covering and light his way once again, encouraging him
in his journey.
It was cold at night this time of year, and Jarrod turned up the collar of his
coat against the chill. He was grateful for the tan gloves that kept his fingers
warm. He wondered where Catherine and Cadence were. He hoped that they were
someplace warm and safe.
The black gelding was a wonderful mount, with a smooth, rolling gait. He was
very sound, not the least bit spooked by the darkness or the unfamiliar
landscape, or the foreign sounds and smells. Even the coyotes heard howling
nearby when they picked their way through a rocky pass, did not phase the
dependable animal. In many ways, Orion reminded Jarrod of Jingo. And with
thoughts of his loss, came again the guilt and sorrow.
It was no reflection on his love for his sorrel gelding though, that Jarrod was
unable to sustain his melancholy. His future had opened up for him, and once
more he had hope. He was too afraid to dare believe that Catherine and Cadence
might still be in Redemption. Catherine would probably have wanted to put as
many miles between them as possible, once she had made her decision to leave
him. He only prayed that her trail would be as easy to pick up there, as it had
been in Stockton.
Luck had been with him tonight, Jarrod knew. He had considered hiring private
investigators to track the pair down, but he had known that he would be unable
to sit back at the ranch...just waiting. And from past conversations with those
who had worked for him, he knew enough about the process of finding people to
believe that he had as good a chance as any to track Catherine and Cadence
down. He might not be a professional, but he certainly had the determination
and the impetus that no hired man could ever have. This wasn't just some job.
This was Jarrod's entire life at stake.
And, he knew, Catherine and Cadence would be visible. They would be memorable.
It would be hard for them to blend in amongst a crowd. People who take notice
of them. And hopefully, Jarrod could find the people who would eventually
direct him to the woman and child, and could convince them to help him in his
quest. And if they wouldn't help him out of generosity or kindness, he had
brought more than enough money that he should be able to help prompt stubborn
memories.
Redemption. As Orion
walked the main street of the town, Jarrod considered the name. Could he
possibly find his own redemption here? His deliverance from his demons? The
salvation of his tortured soul? Could what he might find here be the answer to
his prayers...the apex of his dreams? Or would the trail go cold now? Might
they have been here and then have moved on to someplace else, disappearing
entirely? Jarrod shook his head against the thought. He refused to harbour any
negativity.
Jarrod knew that the best place to commence his search here, was to stop at the
sheriff's office. A good sheriff took note of the inhabitants of his town. Who
had come. Who had gone. What the daily routines were of the people here, so that
if something was out of order, he would sense it almost immediately. And the
jail was never closed. Even at this late hour, there would be somewhere there.
If not the sheriff himself, then a deputy. If not in the office itself, then
out on his rounds. It would be a good place to start, Jarrod knew.
Jarrod dismounted outside the Redemption jailhouse. He patted the gelding on
the neck. He would have to get him stabled. Make sure the horse had something
to eat and drink. As soon as Jarrod had finished here, he would take the black
to the livery and see that he was well cared for. Then he would see about
getting a room at the small hotel he passed on their way in. Jarrod thought
again of Nick's offer to come with him. His genuine desire to see his brother reunited
with the woman and child that were his heart. His selfless loan of the gelding.
Jarrod was glad that he and Nick had found their way back to one another again,
across the valley of hurt and misunderstanding. It was one less burden for him
to carry, one less hurt for him to have to withstand.
Nervousness overtook him as he tied the reins to the hitching post. There was a
lit lantern inside, casting a soft, golden glow. Someone was there. Every nerve
ending tingled with anticipation. Despite the night's chill, Jarrod broke out
in a sweat. The legs that carried him across the plank boardwalk felt like they
were thin, wobbly saplings. The hand that he raised to knock on the door
trembled. What might he possibly learn here? Anything at all? Jarrod's stomach
churned at the prospect, as two short raps rung out in the still air.
Catherine moved the chairs back from the table, bending to push the
long-handled corn broom underneath, swiping at the sawdust, pulling it back
towards the pile that she had gathered before her. She was almost done
sweeping, then it would be time to fill the bucket with the water that was
heating on the woodstove in the back room. And then would come the part she
hated the most. Getting down on her hands and knees, scraping and scrubbing the
cuds of chewed tobacco that had missed the spittoons. Cleaning up the smelly expulsions
that drunken cowboys had disgorged from stomachs soured with too much alcohol.
And tonight, there would be blood to clean as well, from where it coagulated on
the floor, mixing in with sawdust, creating rusty stains on the wood. There had
been a fight over accusations of cheating in a poker game. A game that had been
friendly one moment, and had raised bloodlust the next. Thankfully, there
hadn't been any gunfire. It had just been one drunken cowboy pounding on
another drunken cowboy, until the sheriff had arrived to haul the two battered
and inebriated combatants back to the jail where they could sleep off their
anger, their pain, and their excess.
The only casualties in the altercation had been a couple of the chairs. The
steady bang of the hammer at the other end of the saloon was the only sound in
the room, as Mack Branscom, owner and bartender of the establishment known as
the 'Ace in the Hole', worked to repair his furniture. His head was bent over
his task, his dark curls interspersed with grey. His muscles bulged beneath the
arms of his plaid, flannel shirt. Occasionally, the noise of the pounding was
broken by a colourful expletive, as Mack either hit his finger, or just gave
vent to his exasperation.
Mack wasn't very loquacious. In fact, he was the least talkative bartender that
Catherine had ever encountered. Usually, the men who poured drinks for a living
were extroverted and garrulous. Mack was unusually reticent. He was a decent
enough employer though, and that was the only thing that mattered to Catherine.
He was a bachelor. He wasn't openly friendly, seeming more to tolerate her presence
than to welcome it, but he had at least given her a job.
In exchange for cleaning the saloon at night, and the set of rooms Mack had out
at the back, and for doing his laundry, he had allowed Catherine and Cadence to
have a small room above the bar and agreed to feed them. As well, he had told
her that any money she happened to find on the saloon floor while she swept up
and washed up, was hers to keep. Occasionally, she had found a few precious
coins that had fallen from someone's pocket, or been knocked from the table
during a game of cards. These she hoarded gratefully in her room.
Cadence was up there now. Sleeping. The transition had been hard for her
daughter, Catherine knew, and it pained her to see the woebegone expression
that sometimes settled over Cady's beautiful features. The child missed her
friends. She missed Stockton and she missed the Barkleys. She missed Jarrod.
She had stopped asking about their previous life, had stopped asking about
Jarrod or talking about him, seeming to sense that it upset her mother. She had
settled into their life here, though she was a quieter, less exuberant child
than she had been before.
Catherine ached at her daughter's unhappiness. She tried to hide her own
despondency. She believed that she had done the right thing though. Everything
that Audra had said that fateful night had been true. There was more to
consider than her own happiness. Her relationship with Jarrod had had
consequences even beyond those that she had imagined.
The hatred and prejudice towards their love had been too far-reaching to
overcome. Because of the colour of her skin, people would never let them share
their love in peace. To the point that some individuals would even threaten to
kill Jarrod, before accepting them as a couple.
But knowing logically that she had done the right thing hadn't made it any
easier for her heart to accept. Catherine missed Jarrod with such fervour that
the forfeiture of his love made the deprivation almost too much to bear. If it
hadn't been for Cadence, Catherine didn't know how she could have gone on. As
it was, each day was a struggle. Each empty beat of her lonely heart continued
her travel through perdition.
She had found a newspaper some weeks ago, and had read with horror that
Jarrod's political dreams had been shattered. His party, his staunch
supporters, had abandoned him. She had known, the contrition immediate and
painful, that it had all been because of her.
Because of their relationship. Because Jarrod had openly dared to love an
Indian woman. Her guilt had overwhelmed her. She had known all along that her presence
in his life might well be a liability too impossible to overcome. And in the
end...it had been. Jarrod would not be Governor.
She had wept then at the injustice of it. Perhaps, if she hadn't been so
selfish, if she had turned from him earlier, knowing all along the
inevitability of their love, she might have spared Jarrod this public
humiliation. She had wondered then how he had dealt with the loss of his
ambitions and aspirations. She had wondered, tears spilling down her face, if
he might hate her now. Might regret that he had ever laid eyes on her. That he
had ever allowed her into his life. The cost he had had to pay was just too
high.
If she hadn't left him when she had, surely it was unavoidable that his ousting
from politics would have damaged their relationship, and his feelings for
her...probably beyond repair. In some corner of his soul, he would always have
blamed her. Blamed his feelings for her.
And what they had had would have deteriorated until it had finally disappeared.
She knew that her lies about 'Jesse' would have wounded him deeply. Jarrod, a
man of honour, would not be able to either understand or condone deception. How
his opinion of her must have plummeted, his anger and disgust supplanting the
care and compassion he had nurtured.
Catherine hadn't been wrong to leave Stockton. To leave Jarrod. Her mistake had
been in not doing so earlier. Perhaps she could have spared them all this
ensuant heartache.
All of this knowledge did nothing to ease her pain, however. She would lay
awake in the dark in the wee hours after her work was done, and she would cry
silent tears of misery. She would intone in her mind the poem that so
completely defined who Jarrod was as a man. She would picture his face, the
intensity of his blue eyes, the slightly dimpled skin of his right cheek, and
the small birthmark there. Her body would long for his touch. And the loss of
him would cut through her soul like a knife.
Catherine's hand dashed at the tears that had formed in her eyes, bending to
scoop up some of the sawdust into an old sack. Mack, at the other end,
continued to hammer, reattaching a leg to one of the chairs. She saw the piece
of copper, and bent to retrieve it, slipping it thankfully into her apron.
Christmas was just two weeks away. It would be a lean one this year. Not that
they had ever had much. She wished that she could do something special for
Cadence, decorate their room, do some baking, or at least have a couple of
presents for the child on Christmas morning. As it was, the most Catherine
would probably be able to get might be some penny candy. And a few ribbons,
perhaps, for her daughter's gorgeous dark waves.
Cadence wouldn't say anything, Catherine knew. She would be grateful for
whatever she might receive. She didn't have much hope for a festive holiday.
And that, Catherine knew, was the saddest thing of all.
She reached a corner of her apron upwards, and dabbed at her eyes. What was she
going to do? Catherine considered the information that she had learned recently,
that had added to her tribulations, leaving her feeling so terribly defeated
and alone. They said that God didn't give you more than you could bear, but
Catherine didn't believe that that was true anymore. How much more could she be
expected to handle before her burdens became too great and she lost all will to
persevere?
There was a knock at the door, and Mack swore under his breath. He got to his
feet, rising to his full height of six foot five. Catherine wasn't used to
looking up at many people, and Mack was perhaps the tallest man she had ever
known. He was broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip, and when you looked
at him you got the impression that in a tussle between Mack and an angry
bull...Mack just might win. He was so imposing that his mere presence in the
saloon at nights was usually enough to ward off any trouble from rambunctious
cowboys.
He strode past Catherine without so much as a glance, mumbling to himself as he
reached the door. She went back to her work, sweeping up more piles of sawdust.
"We're closed!" she heard Mack bark through the glass pane, his voice
resonating through the room. "Go home, buddy!"
There was a tapping on the glass and a muffled voice from beyond. "Oh for
Pete's sake!" Mack grumbled, unlocking the door.
The cool night air rushed in around them, dancing across the floor and up
Catherine's skirts, raising the flesh on her arms and legs. She shivered,
moving chairs back into place. They scraped across the floor, cushioning the
sounds of the quiet exchange between Mack and his visitor. The door closed
again, and Mack stomped back to his crippled chairs.
Catherine heard the footfalls behind her, and then she heard the voice.
"Don't you dare
do that again, Catherine Vaillancourt!" came the soft admonition.
She began to tremble, not daring to believe her ears as the familiar deep tones
fell over her. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, her heart galloping in
her chest. She began to say the words, even as she was turning around. "Do
what?" she asked hesitantly.
It couldn't be true, but it was. He stood there, arms crossed over his chest,
his brilliant sapphire eyes shining. "Make our
decisions all on your own," he chided gently. His gaze held her rooted to
the spot. It's just so...so...condescending."
Catherine couldn't move. She couldn't breathe.
"First of all, it's like saying that life and love should only be perfect.
That that's what people expect from relationships. An idyllic utopia. Instead
of taking the hardships along with the good times. Rather than surmounting
challenges. Working together to make things right. Secondly," he
continued, tilting his head to one side now, "it's implying that I don't
have the common sense or the wits to solve my own problems. Our
problems."
His words transported her back to their first picnic. To the grassy spot by the
river. To the game of chess. The board that he had set up on the blanket. To
her realization that Jarrod was letting her win, and to her subsequent
outburst.
"It's implying that I don't have the maturity to control my own destiny.
That you are somehow better...smarter...wiser
than I am." His blue eyes twinkled, as he saw her understanding dawn.
"Making someone else's decisions for them, unless they are a child, is
so...so...so self-important and superior!"
He unfolded his arms and reached for her then, an expression of such yearning
on his handsome face.
Catherine stepped into his embrace. "You are absolutely right," she
told him agreeably, her voice quivering. "Everything you've just said is
so true. Will you give me another chance...if I promise to behave myself?"
Jarrod leaned his forehead against hers, welcoming the connection that he had
pined for all these weeks. "I think I just might," he said softly.
They both laughed.
And then Catherine leaned into him, as the laughter turned to tears. She laid
her head on his shoulder. 'He's so thin,'
she thought. His arms went around her shoulders, and she sobbed against his
coat, against the familiar scent of his cologne and cigar smoke held in the
fibres.
Jarrod was here. He
was real. Somehow he
had found her.
His hands reached for her face, holding it between his palms as his lips roamed
over her cheeks and eyes, tasting the saltiness of her tears. His own sapphire
orbs glistened with emotion. And then he pressed his mouth against her burgundy
lips. All of the pent up passion and longing...all of the sorrow and the
pain...all of the happiness at being in one another's arms again...the full
depth of their love...they communicated to one another as their tears mingled
in the hunger of a kiss neither had ever thought to share again.
It came to him, as Mack Branscom watched the man and woman
embrace. He'd known the man looked familiar, but he hadn't been able to place
him right away. Barkley. Of the Stockton Barkleys. The lawyer. The one who'd
been running for governor. Mack had seen the man's picture in the paper.
When the woman had shown up at his door last month, with the child in tow,
offering to do whatever work needed to be done at the saloon, she had seemed
almost desperate. Not begging though. She'd still had her pride. But he'd known
that she needed a job really bad.
And being an Indian, there wasn't much out there for her. He'd known that too.
It didn't bother him any...her being Indian. He didn't have any great love for
Indians, but he didn't harbour them any ill will either. They were like anyone
else, he reckoned. Some were bound to be good and some were bound to be bad. As
it had happened, he could use someone to clean up the place. Both the bar and
his private quarters. So they'd struck up an arrangement.
She'd known what the job entailed beforehand, how dirty the work would be, and
he'd never heard her complain once. She'd thrown herself into the work,
accepting it for what it was, never acting like she was too good for it. Never
doing anything but a thorough job. And she was quiet. Kept to herself, which he
liked. And the little girl was quiet too. Well-mannered and well-behaved. A
white man's child. A half-breed obviously, with those big, blue eyes. Cute
little thing.
Barkley's child, Mack reckoned idly, as he stole a glance from the corner of
his eye. The two were kissing now, so absorbed in one another that they might
have been the only ones in the room. The way they clung to one another...the
tears...told him that this reconciliation was the most important thing in the
world to both of them.
They were crazy, Mack knew. A white man and an Indian woman. It was forbidden
love. He felt the sadness creep over him. Mack knew all about forbidden love.
He knew that it didn't always matter if you were a good and decent person. If
you lived your life fairly and honestly. If you gave what you could to the
world and asked nothing in return. It didn't matter if who you loved didn't hurt
nobody in the world, and shouldn't be nobody's business but your own. It didn't
matter how deeply you loved. There were rules.
Good for them! Mack
thought. They were going to flout convention and the whole world be damned. It
wasn't going to be an easy road for the couple. Damned near impossible, as far
as he could see it. But they were in love, and they were going to give it their
best try. A white man and an Indian woman, who weren't afraid to share their
deep feelings for one another. Mack wished them luck. They were going to need
it.
He sighed inwardly. Well, it was time to look for a new cleaning woman, he
reckoned. The man was holding the woman in a grip that said he wasn't never
going to let her go. Mack set his hammer on a nearby table, and brushed the
sawdust from his denims. He thought that maybe he could use a glass of water,
right about now. And maybe the couple could use some privacy. Even though they
both seemed to have forgotten he was there.
Mack stood for a moment, watching the pair wistfully. All
the best, he thought sincerely. As rocky as the
road ahead was bound to be for the couple, Mack envied the young Indian woman.
Dark though her skin might be, at least she
had a chance, however slim, to be with the man that she loved.
They crept into the room quietly. Catherine lit an oil lamp, the wick down low,
then they walked softly to the small brass bed where Cadence lay snuggled under
the blankets. Jarrod felt a paternal rush as he stared down at the small,
slumbering form. He wanted to gather the child into his arms, or at the very
least to smooth her hair and caress her cheek, but he was afraid to wake her.
He had missed her so very much, this daughter of his heart. Fresh tears pricked
at his eyes.
There was a small settee in the room, and Catherine coaxed Jarrod to come sit
down. She sat beside him, swivelled to her right, her legs across his lap, her
knees bent. He put one arm around her shoulders, drawing her head to his
shoulder, his cheek against the top of her head, while the other hand rested on
the skirts that covered her thigh. They sat that way for a long while, neither
saying anything, content just to be together.
At last, the myriad of thoughts that raced through their minds could be
contained no more as haltingly, they began to speak. At Jarrod's prompting, and
after he had offered Audra's admission of culpability, Catherine told him her
version of the events of that night. Her voice was no more than a whisper, as
she relived her discussion with the young blonde woman. She told Jarrod, a
flush staining her cheeks, that finally, just before dawn, the lie had come to
her. The one way that she had thought to prevent Jarrod from following.
Catherine could see the pain in his eyes and regretted that she had been the
cause of it. She had been unable to think of any other way though, that would
have ensured he would not even want to come looking for her. She had known that
if Jarrod really wanted to find she and Cady, there was no where she could go
that he would not catch up with them eventually.
That was why she had gone no further than her first stop. If he pursued them,
it wouldn't matter how far she had gone. If he didn't, there was not point in
continuing to run. She had chosen Redemption, because the irony of the name had
appealed to her tortured heart.
She explained to him all of her reasons behind her actions. Her belief in
Audra's words. Her fear that Jarrod's very life was in danger. Not just his
political dreams or his career. She told of the guilt she carried for the troubles
that were plaguing the Barkley family because of her relationship with Jarrod.
She explained how heartbreaking it was to think of him at odds with his beloved
brother because of her.
Jarrod listened to her, trying to understand. Catherine saw the hardness in his
eyes, whenever Audra's name was mentioned. Finally, she reached her hand to his
cheek, her thumb roving over the small, brown birthmark. "Jarrod,"
she said softly. "Please don't blame Audra. There was no maliciousness in
her action that night. She was afraid. Truly afraid. For the survival of your
family. For your own survival. For the way things had broken down between you
and Nick. Everything that she told me that night was the truth. Perhaps you'd
rather that I hadn't heard it all. Perhaps I would too.
"But that doesn't make it any less the truth. And even though Audra
believed it was best for me to leave...the final decision was mine.
She didn't force me Jarrod. She didn't have a gun to my head. I
believed that there was no other choice. And I
was the one who left. You can't blame Audra for that."
Jarrod looked at Catherine intently, knowing that what she said had validity.
He loved her all the more for taking responsibility for her own actions, and
for trying to heal the rift between Audra and himself. "Why didn't you at
least talk to me about this?" he asked, wounded, unable to understand what
had driven her away without even saying anything to him first.
Catherine took a deep breath, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. "I had
believed from the beginning that what we had could never last. I had promised
myself that I would give myself to you as fully as I could, for as long as it
was possible. You seemed so...unrealistic about everything. You never once
admitted that there might be a problem for us. You never once said anything
about my being Metis and about how some people might not accept that. How it
was bound to be a problem for us.
"If you couldn't admit it to yourself, I didn't see how I could get you to
admit it to me," Catherine told him honestly. "I thought you would
just insist that there was no problem, that you could have it all...and it was
becoming all too obvious that that wasn't the case. And that other people were
getting hurt now too."
Jarrod took her hand from his cheek and kissed it. He sighed. "I knew all
along that there would be problems," he said to her surprise. "I
didn't want to say anything, because I was afraid that it would scare you off.
That before I'd had a chance to prove myself to you, before I could convince
you that none of what happened around us was more important than our being
together...that you would draw away from me. For my own good. I thought that if
I admitted there would be problems, you might think they were too big to
surmount. You might feel responsible, as though it were somehow your fault. And
so I kept my own concerns away from you, trying to protect and shield you.
"And I know now that that was my biggest mistake. I should have been
honest with you from the beginning about how difficult the road could
get," Jarrod realized.
"And now it's cost you the governorship," Catherine whispered, her
voice breaking, remembering the article in the newspaper.
"No!"
Jarrod insisted emphatically. Then he remembered Cadence and lowered his voice
again. "No, that's not true. I'm
the one who went to them. I withdrew. It wasn't what I wanted, Catherine. Not
anymore. I'd known all along that I couldn't have both, not really, but I'd
still held out a faint hope. I decided to go as far as I could. And then when I
knew that it wasn't what I really wanted, even if it had been attainable still,
I stepped down." He saw the confusion in her dark eyes. "I told them
to break the story to the papers however it would be best for the party. It
didn't matter to me."
It wasn't her fault then!
Catherine thought in disbelief. She hadn't cost Jarrod his political dreams.
Perhaps in a way, but the decision to leave politics had been a conscious
choice on his part. "I thought..." her voice trailed off.
"I should have discussed it with you a long time ago. I should have told
you when I went to Sacramento what I was planning to do. But I was afraid that
you might not let me. That you'd believe that it was because of you. And in a
way, it was. But it was because I wanted to be with you and Cady. To devote my
life to you two, not to politics. I wasn't prepared to make the sacrifice that
a life in the Mansion would have meant. I had already decided when we went to
San Francisco that I was going to turn my back on that life. And when I told
you, I wanted it to be a done deal, so that there would be no discussion about
it, no contention over the issue.
"I made the mistake of assuming that you would know how I felt,"
Jarrod told her with a shake of his head. "I tried to tell you over and
over that you were my whole world, you and Cadence."
Catherine tilted her head, frowning. "You never once said anything about
us being...permanent..."
Jarrod kissed her forehead. "I was waiting for some sign from you. Trying
not to rush you. Or scare you." Jarrod explained to her why he had waited.
That he had known that day in the cemetery that Catherine was the woman he
wanted to spend his life with. But that he had also known it was a package
deal. She and Cadence both. And he had wanted to go slowly, to take his time
and do it right. "So I watched you for some sign. Some encouragement that
you were thinking of marriage. That you were ready to accept me into your life
and Cady's life wholly."
"So much that went unsaid," Catherine mused sadly. "So many
unspoken assumptions on both our parts. We should have trusted one another
enough, trusted our love enough...to be totally honest. Even when it might have
been hurtful or frightening."
Jarrod nodded. "No more protecting one another by exclusion. No more
omissions for the sake of kindness. No more second guessing. From now on, we
share everything. All of our thoughts and feelings. Whatever they are."
Catherine squeezed his hand to second the statement.
"That was my mistake with my family too," Jarrod exhaled.
"Instead of telling them what my plans were...I made them have to guess. I
thought it would be obvious to everyone..you and them. I was expecting all of
you to read my mind and know my thoughts. I kept things from them, and in turn
it forced them to keep things from me. It was the uncertainty that brought
everything to a head. That caused so much pain and confusion."
He reached to touch Catherine's hair, feeling the silky dark strands against
his fingers. "I guess Audra is no more to blame than I am," he said
at length. She smiled, relieved to hear the forgiveness in his voice.
Catherine touched his cheek again, concern filling her obsidian eyes.
"You've lost weight," she observed. "Have you been ill?"
Jarrod looked away from her for a moment. Where
could he begin? Catherine knew about the
governor's race, but she didn't seem to know more than that. Haltingly, he
began to tell her. Everything this time, holding nothing back. Of finding her
letter. Of the emptiness and despair. Of his wild ride back to the ranch that
day. He told her of Jingo's fatal injury at his hands, and how he had had to
put the gelding out of it's misery. Her tears had spilled over then, sharing in
his guilt and pain.
Jarrod told her about the drinking and the nightmares. About his withdrawal
from everyone around him. His cessation of work. He told her about Governor
White's death, and about pulling himself together in time for the funeral,
still just clinging to his sanity. And he told Catherine about Patricia.
Before he did, he went back to that day in the office. The time that Patricia
had caught them in an innocent embrace. He explained about her prejudices and
bigotry, feeling Catherine stiffen, and how it had convinced him to end his
relationship with Patricia. He also told her that he had never loved Patricia.
That he had courted her out of the same loneliness that had infected him before
he had met Beth. And how Patricia had seemed the sort of woman he was expected
to marry.
Jarrod admitted how he had spent his life striving to live up to other people's
expectations of him. Sometimes, at personal cost. And then he had met Catherine
and she had been everything that ever mattered to him. What he did
want, not what he should
want.
Jarrod talked about Clayton Knowles, his long-time rival and the animosity the
two men had for one another. And finally, having set the stage, he told
Catherine that Patricia must have begun to see Clay Knowles socially. But that
evidently, despite their parting, she had still had deep feelings for Jarrod.
Catherine gasped aloud when Jarrod's words painted a vivid picture of what had occurred
at the cemetery that day. Of Clayton Knowles twisted hatred and envy, too
impossible to decipher or understand. Of Patricia Vandermeer's sacrifice, borne
out of love. Of the three deaths that day.
Catherine felt the wetness on her cheeks. The beautiful, perfect Patricia had
never stopped loving Jarrod. How well Catherine could understand that. And she
had given her life for his. While Catherine detested the woman's bigotry, she
couldn't help but feel sorry for her unrequited love. And grateful that her
final actions had ensured Jarrod's life. May she
rest in peace.
Jarrod went on to describe how the drinking had intensified. How he had shunned
food. He talked about the nightmares. Even though Catherine hadn't been there,
she felt as though she had witnessed his downward spiral. Mostly, he shared
with her the incredible sadness and loss.
"I can't live without you and Cadence," Jarrod told Catherine
intently. "I was existing. Barely. But it wasn't living. Inside, I was
dead. Nothing in this world matters to me more than the two of you." He
reached inside his jacket pocket, taking out the two velvet boxes. He flipped
the lid of the first one to determine which ring lay inside. He saw the opal
within. He slipped the other box back into his pocket.
Jarrod shifted Catherine's legs from over top of his lap. He got down on one
knee beside the settee. Her mouth dropped open. He glanced around the small
room. It was not the most romantic of settings, but it would do. The important
thing was not to waste another minute of their lives with wondering or waiting
or second guessing. He cleared his throat. Reaching for Catherine's left hand,
Jarrod looked up at her, his blue eyes filled with love.
"So many times, I have wanted to ask you this, my sweet Catherine,"
Jarrod said nervously. "You
are the one who knows me true. You see inside my soul. You take all that is
good and decent in me and make it one hundred times stronger. You are the most
remarkable woman I have ever known. Your honour, your decency, your
intelligence, your courage, your strength...I admire you more than I can say.
"I love you more than I ever knew it was possible to love. Everything that
I have, I want to give you. Everything that I am, I want to be for you. You are
the sunshine that warms my days and the stars that guide my nights. You are so
much a part of me, that I can't really see where my soul ends and yours begins.
As our hearts are inexorably joined, so too I want our lives to be. I cannot
imagine an existence without you, or without our Cadence. Please
Catherine...would you do me the honour of being my wife?" He opened the
box to show her the ring.
Catherine's throat was so tight that she could only nod. She couldn't even see
the ring that Jarrod was slipping on her finger, her eyes were so full of
tears. She had never heard more beautiful words in all her life. And that he
had mentioned Cady in his proposal...our Cadence,
he had called her...was the greatest gift Jarrod could have given her, next to
the offer to share his life and all of the love that it entailed.
"I love you, Jarrod Barkley," Catherine told him huskily, as he
pulled her into his arms. "Forever and always. Nothing in this world would
make me happier than to be your wife."
Jarrod kissed her then, his lips hungrily seeking hers. Catherine
had said yes! She would marry him, and she and
Cadence would be his girls. Fully and always. Jarrod's mind reeled at the
knowledge that earlier that very day, he had thought them lost to him forever.
Less than twelve hours ago, he had been at one of the lowest points of his
life. And now, incredibly, he was reunited with Catherine again. His whole
world had changed from complete and utter agony to sheer joy.
His body responded to having Catherine in his arms, and he felt the electricity
flow back from her. But Cadence was here, and it would be light soon. Jarrod
had waited this long for Catherine; he could wait a bit longer. Groaning his
regret, he pulled away from her. Catherine's soft whimper as his lips left hers
almost made Jarrod lose his resolve. It required all of his control to resume
his seat on the settee. He brought her long legs across his lap again, and she
burrowed he head against his chest. His arms encircled her, while her palms
pressed flat against his chest. They sat that way, reveling in their physical
closeness after the pain of their parting, and in the knowledge that they would
let nothing come between them again.
Jarrod didn't think that it was possible to sleep, but somehow he had drifted
off. He was having a dream, a wonderful dream, that Catherine had agreed to be
his wife. A voice broke into his thoughts, and he resented the intrusion. But
it was insistent, and he began to rouse.
"Jarrod? Jarrod?" the soft whispers came again. He opened his eyes.
It was fully daylight. A pair of blue eyes gazed at him in wonder from a
honey-coloured face framed with dark waves.
"Good morning, Pumpkin," Jarrod yawned. Catherine stirred in his
arms, stretching before swinging her legs over onto the floor.
"Momma, it's Jarrod!" Cadence said awestruck. Then she grinned at
him. "Good morning, Jarrod. I missed you."
Jarrod's heart tightened. "I missed you too!"
"Are you going to stay and visit us?" the child inquired.
"Actually," Jarrod told her, "I came to ask you something. I
already asked your Momma, now I have to ask you," he told her
mysteriously.
Catherine smiled curiously at Jarrod. Cadence's grin warmed her heart. She
hadn't seen such unabashed joy on her daughter's face since they had left
Stockton. Catherine watched Jarrod take another box out of his pocket.
He perched on the edge of the settee, reaching to lift Cadence up and seat her
beside her mother. Again, he got down on one knee. He took Cady's small left
hand in both of his bigger ones. "Cadence," he began, feeling the
nervousness again, "I'm sorry that we've been apart for so long. I've
missed you and your Momma terribly. I've been thinking about you every day. I
want you to come back with me, and I don't ever want to be apart from you
again."
Cadence looked at her mother uncertainly. Could
this really be true? Could Jarrod have come for them finally, just the way she
had dreamed?
"I've asked your Momma if she would marry me. If she will be my wife. I
want to ask you, if you would be my little girl. If I could be your
daddy." Jarrod's eyes misted over. "I love you Cady, and I want to
take care of you for always." He took the small sapphire ring out of it's
case, holding it out for her to see. "This ring is a symbol of my promise.
That I will love you forever, and try to be the very best daddy that I can be.
I won't be perfect, and I might need your help, but I do promise to love you and
take care of you." Jarrod squeezed her hand. "What do you say,
Cadence? Can I be your daddy? Will you be my daughter?"
Neither of them noticed Catherine just then, either the hand pressed to her
throat, or the tears that coursed down her cheeks as she watched the scene in
wonder.
Cadence responded by throwing her arms around Jarrod's neck. "I just knew
you'd be my daddy one day!" she squealed with delight. "I just knew
it! I knew you'd come for us, Jarrod. I love you! Bigger than up to the
sun!"
And Jarrod slipped the little gold ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit.
The circle was complete. They were his now, and he was theirs. And nothing on
earth could stand in their way or separate them again.
The train rumbled over the tracks, pulling steadily towards
it's eventual destination. Victoria Barkley sat with her hands folded in the
lap of her aqua-coloured dress, watching her family as they laughed and talked,
eagerly anticipating these next few day spent in San Francisco. Finally, the
festive mood of the holiday season had settled over the white mansion and the
occupants therein. Christmas...Victoria's favourite time of year...was actually
cause for celebration now. And the Barkley's were determined to do it in style!
Just two days ago, the sombre mood of these last horrible weeks had been
lifted, when Jarrod had walked through the big, oak door with Catherine and
Cadence. Victoria had been stunned. Jarrod had only left for his search to find
the two the previous evening! And here they were now, the middle of the
afternoon on the following day...reunited. It just didn't seem possible!
Victoria had said an extra prayer that night at bedtime, thanking God for not
making her oldest son's quest for the two who were his heart, needlessly
arduous or challenging.
She had stood there in the foyer in shock. Until Jarrod had ushered Catherine
and Cadence forward, an arm around both. His grin had been infectious, and
Victoria had felt the smile curve her lips. "Mother, I want you to be the
first to know," Jarrod had told her grandly. "Catherine has made me
the most jubilant, blessed man on earth! She has agreed to be my bride. And
this little lady," he said, his eyes resting on the top of Cadence's dark
waves, "has agreed to be my daughter!"
Victoria had burst into tears then, her heart overflowing with joy. Her Jarrod
had come back to her. Her treasured son no longer dwelt in the darkness of his
own tortured soul. In finding these two, he had found himself again. Somehow,
the diminutive woman had managed to gather all three into her embrace,
welcoming all of them home. For good.
Audra had wandered into the foyer then, stopping hesitantly. She had been torn
between a desire to rush to the group, relieved and elated to see her brother
back so soon, with his beloved Catherine and Cadence...and between her guilt
and fear. Jarrod's laughter had broken off, as he had spied her above their
mother's silvered head. Her heart had begun a staccato dance as she waited to
see the hatred and derision settle over his familiar countenance.
"Perhaps you'll be able to help your future sister-in-law to plan our
wedding," Jarrod said softly, his blue eyes full of compassion and
understanding.
When he had winked at her, Audra had burst into tears, running across the hall
to join the group. Jarrod had found Catherine and Cadence. With amazing speed.
And Catherine had accepted his proposal and returned to the ranch. And her
brother had forgiven her. Catherine looked over at the young blonde woman's
approach. Audra had forced herself to hold the other woman's gaze. Waiting to
see what she would see within the depths of the obsidian orbs. But there was no
recrimination. No anger. Only acceptance. Everything would be all right now.
Then of course there had been the reunion with Annabelle and Chase, and the
sharing of Jarrod and Catherine and Cadence's wonderful news. And finally, Nick
and Heath had come home from a day spent on the range. There had been more
hugs, more tears, and heartfelt congratulations as they family congregated in the
drawing room, readying for dinner.
Heath have given Jarrod's future bride a big bear hug, that squeezed the air
from her lungs. "Boy howdy, yer a sight for sore eyes!" he'd
enthused. "I've gotta warn ya though," he teased, whispering against
her ear, "once the Barkleys take ya into their fold, they weave velvet
chains around your heart, and they'll never let ya go."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Catherine had responded, kissing
his cheek.
Victoria's Christmas had come early, with the gift of this new daughter and
grandchild, and the return of her son...back with them again in every way. Then
she had glanced around the room. Christmas!
It was only a couple of weeks away! And they had done nothing yet to decorate
and plan for the holidays! No one had been able to muster the enthusiasm yet
for this specialest of seasons with the dark cloud they had all been living
under. She would have to get to work immediately! There was so much to do. And
presents! She would need to go shopping, with the addition of two more names to
her list!
Seeming to read her thoughts, Jarrod had announced, "I've made
arrangements for the Barkley's car to be hitched up to Wednesday morning's
train! We're going to San Francisco for a few days on a shopping excursion.
Anyone care to join us?"
There had been a resounding chorus of agreement. Everyone had been excited to
participate in the trip. Heath and Annabelle thought it would be the perfect
opportunity for Chase's first train journey. Audra had been willing to tear
herself away from her Bobby for a few days. Even Nick, who seldom left the
ranch and didn't really enjoy the big city, seemed excited to go.
"Well, it's kind of slow around here," he'd told the astonished
faces. "Duke can manage things just fine for a bit. After all, I've got
some shopping to do too!" he'd told them defensively, with a wink at
Cadence.
There wouldn't be room for all of them at Jarrod's townhouse, but Mike Chang
had offered the Barkleys the use of his place in Chinatown, should they ever
need it. He had taken his family to Hong Kong last month, and wouldn't be
returning until the new year. All the Barkleys needed to do was wire ahead to
the Chang's houseman, and things would be made ready for their arrival.
Victoria decided that Silas could begin to decorate the house, with Ciego's
help as needed, and when the family returned from their jaunt, they could throw
themselves into the enjoyable task. After all of the pain and the sadness the
family had experienced, and their triumph over all of the forces that had
threatened to tear them apart...they would make this a Christmas to remember!
And now their trip was underway. Jarrod had gone into Stockton and wired to
Mike Chang's about their plans, and he had also sent a wire to Gene. The
youngest Barkley brother had already been planning to return for Christmas, but
Jarrod had wanted the added impetus of meeting his future sister-in-law and new
niece-to-be, to ensure that his plans weren't waylaid. He wanted this to truly
be a family Christmas...his old family and his new one, together for the
celebrations.
Victoria watched Jarrod and Catherine, seated side by side, their heads
touching as they conversed quietly. Jarrod held Catherine's hand in both of
his. Victoria had noticed that the pair seemed always to be touching. As though
they wanted to continuously reassure themselves that this wasn't a dream. As
though they never wanted to let one another go much further than arm's length,
in case anything should ever try to separate them again.
Things wouldn't be easy for the couple. Victoria was under no illusions about
that. But they would make it, she was certain. With all of the Barkleys to give
their unwavering, unconditional support. There would likely be sacrifices, and
not just for the pair, but for the rest of the family as well. But whatever it
took, Victoria was willing to surrender all that she had, to guarantee that
that look would never leave her oldest son's eyes. He was happy. He was at
peace. And whatever it cost, there would be no price too high to ensure that
continuation.
There might be friends who would no longer be friends...who would turn their
backs on the Barkleys. There might be business partners who would no longer
want to deal with Barkley holdings. But those friends would never have been
true friends to begin with, if petty prejudices could come between them. And
there was no dollar amount that was greater than her son's happiness. Even if
it meant a dip in the Barkley finances, Victoria believed that Tom would have
agreed.
Everything they had done, everything they had built, this empire they had
carved with their bare hands...had all been for one thing. For the children
they had brought into this world. To give them opportunities, to make their
lives better and easier. To give them choices and chances that were denied to
others. And what they had acquired materially had been noteworthy indeed. And
it had made all of their lives easier, Victoria knew.
But nothing had ever been more important than family and each individual
member's happiness and fulfillment. That was the whole foundation that their
domain had been built on. And she knew that Tom would have believed it
too...that no matter how many columns the numbers on the bottom lines of the
ledgers occupied...nothing would come before his children's happiness.
Tom would have approved of Jarrod's decisions, and his choices, and been proud
of him, she believed. Catherine was Jarrod's soulmate, as Tom had been
Victoria's. Cadence was the child of Jarrod's heart, as Heath was hers. And anyone
who couldn't see that...anyone who would try to deny them their
happiness...well, they had no idea what life and love was really about.
Victoria watched Audra and Cadence playing checkers. She had been so grateful
that her daughter and son had been able to put any differences,
misunderstandings and mistakes behind them. While she didn't condone Audra's
actions...the way she had gone to Catherine that night...she could understand
them. Audra felt that same fierce protectiveness for her family that defined
all of the Barkleys. She had believed Jarrod's life to be in danger. And, like
the rest of them, she hadn't been sure of the depth of Jarrod's feelings for
Catherine.
Audra had always depended on Jarrod, more so than her other brothers, Victoria
knew. He was her surrogate father after Tom's death. Jarrod's constant tutelage,
his consistent affirmation of Audra's value and worth, had helped her blossom
into the young woman that she was. Victoria knew how much Audra loved
Jarrod...perhaps in some ways, because of the parental aspect of their
relationship, even more than she did her other siblings. And the mother could
imagine how frightened her daughter would have been to imagine losing the
oldest brother who was her rock.
Victoria hadn't been too surprised that after a successful end to his search,
Jarrod had been able to forgive his sister. She had, however, been somewhat
surprised to find that Catherine felt no lingering ill-will towards Audra. Her
openness and affection for Audra was not an act, but came from a heart that was
generous and caring by nature.
She was an incredible young woman, her future daughter-in-law. Heath had
commented to her one evening that Catherine had an 'old soul'. A maturity that
belied her years. Some of that, Victoria knew, was the result of having to grow
up too fast. Of having to endure hardships and horrors that no one should have
to deal with. But the bulk of it was just the person Catherine was. She had a
perceptive way of looking at things, and an understanding that all people
strive for but so many never attain, even after a lifetime of searching and
self-discovery. She was the perfect match for Jarrod. He too had always had a
maturity beyond his years, and a selfless nature.
Victoria had never really learned what had happened between Jarrod and Nick to
cause the gap in their relationship. She knew only that it had been healed.
That the brothers had reaffirmed their love for one another and the important
places they held in one another's lives. Nick's glee at seeing Jarrod,
Catherine and Cadence reunited was genuine. He couldn't be happier than he was
at their betrothal.
Victoria stood up and moved down the car towards Jarrod and Catherine. She
touched Jarrod's shoulder lightly, before taking the seat across from the pair.
"So," she asked with a wide smile, "have you two set a date
yet?"
The couple exchanged an excited glance. "We have," they said in
unison, then chuckled. Catherine nodded slightly to Jarrod, indicating that he
could share their news. "New Year's Eve!"
Victoria clapped her hands together, clasping them. "Wonderful!" It
wouldn't leave much time, but she knew how anxious they were to begin their
lives together as man and wife. "Where will you have the ceremony?"
Jarrod gave a grin. "We were hoping at the house. In the drawing room, if
that's all right."
"All right?" Victoria said. "That's perfect! Oh my, there's so
much to do! I'll need a new dress! Of course, the house will already be
decorated for Christmas, but we'll have to do something more for the wedding.
It's a good thing we're going to San Francisco, the selection is so much better
there! And what about invitations? Have you thought who you'd like to
invite?"
Jarrod laughed at her enthusiasm. "We only want a small wedding," he
confided. "Just the family. A few friends, perhaps."
"Still...there isn't much time and I want everything to be just perfect
for you!" Victoria insisted. She stood up. "Audra? Audra!" she
called to the lovely blonde, who looked up startled from her game at the
urgency in her mother's voice. "The wedding is on New Year's Eve!"
"New Year's Eve!" Audra exclaimed with delight. "Oh what a
darling way to usher in the new year!" Her broad smile lit her porcelain
features. "But my goodness, Mother, there's so much to do!"
Heath, Annabelle and Nick had clustered around, Nick and Heath clapping their
brother on the shoulder, hooting and hollering about the impending nuptials.
The enthusiasm in the air was infectious and catching it, Cadence began to
dance around the car, clapping and scampering from adult to adult. She wasn't
exactly sure what a 'wedding' was or what it entailed, she knew it meant her
and Momma living with Jarrod forever. A 'wedding' certainly seemed exciting
though.
After talk of the event had begun to wind down, and the train closed in on it's
destination, Catherine and Jarrod got up from their seats, each approaching a
different Barkley brother. Nick was leaned forward over a table, glancing out
the window at the countryside. Jarrod squeezed his shoulder, and Nick swivelled
his head, giving a toothy grin.
"Now I have to buy Christmas presents and
wedding presents!" Nick said with an exaggerated sigh and a big wink.
"You know shopping isn't my thing, though I'm sure little sister would be
happy to help out. You'll have to give me some ideas though. Let me know what
you want," Nick encouraged.
Jarrod's blue eyes held the other man's dark gaze. "Actually, there is
something that I'd really like," Jarrod told him quietly, his eyes
intense. "I'd like to know if you'd do me the honour of standing up for
me. If you'd be my best man."
Nick's throat got tight. He had hoped against hope that his brother might ask
him to share in his day this way. But after what had happened that night in the
study...despite the way the rift between them had healed...after his careless,
hurtful words Nick hadn't known if Jarrod would want him next to him as he took
his bride and began their life together. "Big Brother, I don't have the
words to tell you how much the honour would be mine." The two men shared a
quick embrace.
Catherine approached Heath at the front of the car where he was pouring a glass
of water for Annabelle. He gave her his familiar lopsided grin. She stood
before him, hesitantly. "Heath," she began slowly. "Heath, I
wanted to ask you something, and I don't want you to feel that you can't
refuse, if you just don't think it's right, or you're not comfortable,"
Catherine told him. Heath nodded his understanding. "You know my parents
are both dead, and any other family I have is far away. I was wondering
if..." she swallowed nervously, "...if perhaps you wouldn't mind
giving me away."
Heath stared at Catherine, at her shy smile, his eyes widening. "I can't
rightly think of anythin' that I'd like better," he told her. "I'm
honoured that ya'd ask."
She reached to touch his sleeve. "Jarrod wanted to ask both you and Nick
to stand up for him," she admitted. "But he agreed that I could ask
you first. I understand if you'd rather be there for him...he is your brother.
I want you to know that however you choose to participate in our wedding, the
main thing to both of us is just having you there."
Heath put his hand overtop of hers. "I appreciate that." He looked at
Catherine. "To accompany you that way, to be the one to hand ya over to my
brother...that would sure be special," he assured her. "It would be
my pleasure." He held her gaze a moment longer. "I know what it's
like to be without family. And I know what's like to find one again. I happen
ta think this one is pretty special. And I happen ta think yer pretty special
too. And I'd be pleased as punch to deliver ya to my brother's arms, and into
his life."
Catherine nodded as a tear gathered in the corner of her eye. "Thank
you," she told him. "Brother Heath."