Rage: The Death of Tom Barkley

Chapters 1-7

by ShiningStar

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.

Chapter 1

Jarrod Barkley paused to listen as he reached the top of the stairs. It was silent—as silent as death. A narrow ribbon of light from beneath Nick’s door told him that his brother was still awake. Audra’s, Eugene’s, and his mother’s rooms appeared dark.

He listened again and wondered if he heard Audra crying, then decided that it was only the echo of the past two days. Her grief was painful to behold, but he could deal with her tears. It was his mother’s lack of them that was agonizing. While he realized that she had been holding herself together for the family—for Audra and Eugene especially, he knew she had to break sometime—and the sooner the better.

He started for his own room, his dress boots moving noiselessly across the thick carpet. He felt weighed down—even trapped. He was the oldest, and though Nick could run the ranch, he would have to be more involved now. There was no doubt that he loved the ranch, but he loved the law more, and his practice was just beginning to be profitable with the new office in San Francisco. He’d been spending more and more time there, but now that time would have to be spent in Stockton.

Guilt over the feelings of resentment that were already surfacing because of his new responsibilities made him pause outside his younger brother’s door. “Nick?” He knocked lightly.

“Yeah, Jarrod, I’m up. Come on in.”

Nick was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his dress shirt and tie. He lifted his head from his hands as Jarrod entered. “What?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Yeah.”

“I think everyone else has turned in, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Nick. . .if you need some help tomorrow. . .”

“Sure. Thanks, Jarrod.”

“Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Jarrod closed the door softly and stood for a moment wondering if he should check on Eugene. Sometimes he felt that he didn’t know his youngest brother very well. Eugene wasn’t even born when Jarrod had gone away to boarding school and only a baby when he’d gone back East for college and law school. Then there had been the War, and after that he’d had to finish his education and set up his practice. He hadn’t had much time to get acquainted with Eugene.

Audra, though only three years older, was a different story. She’d insisted on his attention for whatever time he was at home. Besides, his relationship to a sister was different anyway. He moved down the hall to her room and put his ear against the door—but there was nothing. Then he listened at Eugene’s door—also nothing.

Relieved, he went on to his own room. For tonight at least, he had been given a reprieve. But tomorrow—oh, lord, tomorrow! A thousand business details awaited him in town, but if Nick needed him, they would have to wait. And Mother—what of her? Dr. Merar said that she was in shock and that, when it wore off, she would grieve and be all right. Jarrod hoped the man knew what he was talking about. Her icy control was beginning to frighten him.

* * * * * * * *

The moonlight spilled through the open drapes in Victoria Barkley’s room as she sat at her dressing table contemplating the empty bed behind her. Always before she had known that Tom Barkley would be back, but that was all changed. For thirty-one years she had shared her soul, spirit, and body with him, and it had never occurred to her that she would be left alone so soon.

She could see herself dimly in the long glass. Loosed from its net, her hair streamed down her back almost to her waist. She had disliked having to put it up every morning, and though short hair was certainly not fashionable for women, she would have taken the shears to it herself except for the fact that Tom liked it.

It had begun going white in her mid-thirties, and by the time she was forty, it was complete. When she’d begun to suspect that she was once again in the family way, she wondered what people would think of her. Somehow, white hair on a pregnant woman seemed out of place.

Dr. Merar hadn’t laughed when she said that she was going to look more like the baby’s grandmother. She’d liked that he took her seriously. Dr. Litton, who had taken care of her when she was pregnant with Audra, had in fact been drunk the Sunday afternoon that the baby put in a precipitous appearance on the buggy seat between the ranch and Stockton. She had to insist to him that the afterbirth was still inside, all the while listening to him tell her to be a good girl and let old Doc take care of things. If Tom hadn’t ridden to Ash Flat and brought back another doctor, she might have died of infection and shock.

Dr. Litton left Stockton soon afterward, and Dr. Merar took his place. He’d seen Audra and Nick through diphtheria that first year, and she knew that she wouldn’t have had Eugene if he hadn’t been there.

* * * * * * * *

She reached half-heartedly for the silver-handled brush and began to draw it through her hair. She still wore the black dress she’d put on early that morning—not necessarily because she’d felt the need to conform to the expectations of the town. They expected her to be the grieving widow—which she was—but she’d never show her anguish to them. She disliked public displays of emotion and always suspected their genuiness.

Placing the brush back on the dressing table, she leaned forward and inspected her face, but it was the same one she’d gotten up with two days ago. Two days—had it only been two days? The men from the railroad had been harassing the ranchers for two weeks, but it had only lately begun to be serious.

Tom said they could build elsewhere with the same results. There was no need to take the small farms that so many families had carved out with their sweat, toil, and tears—and, in many cases, fertilized with their blood. He said it could be worked out to everyone’s benefit if only the railroad people would listen.

And for awhile they had. For awhile it seemed as if the whole conflict would simmer down and that life would go on as usual. Then, three nights ago, George Hayden’s house had gone up in flames—and his wheat, too. His neighbors blamed the railroad, and even Tom admitted that the railroad was probably responsible. But violence would only beget more violence. There had to be another way, he said as he got up from the breakfast table that morning. As the largest landowner in the valley, the others looked to him for answers. She’d watched him ride out, refusing Nick’s company.

Should she have urged him not to get involved that morning? Could she have kept him from riding to the Haydens’ even if she’d tried? It had never occurred to her to try to stop him. When he made up his mind to something, he did it.

* * * * * * * *

If she put her fingers together, she could still feel the smooth pods of the butter peas she was shelling when the shout from the road brought her from the kitchen to the front of the house. When she saw the wagon—with Tom’s horse tied behind—she’d known.

She refused to be stopped from throwing back the tarp covering Tom’s body, and the image would stay with her for the rest of her life. His shirt was soaked with blood—so much blood that the shirt itself looked crimson instead of light blue. His eyes were half-open, his mouth slack, and blood ran from the corner of it.

“Bring him in the house.”

George Hayden didn’t move. “We oughtta take him into town, Victoria.”

“Bring him in the house.”

In the kitchen, she stripped the oilcloth from the table so the men could put his body on it. Silas, coming in from the garden with more butter peas, let the basket slide from his arm. “Lord have mercy!”

“Send someone for Nick,” she said. Then she turned and went upstairs to find Audra and Eugene.

She closed her eyes as she remembered the coldness of her words. “Your father is dead. The railroad men killed him.” Then she’d left them and gone back to the kitchen.

Silas came in with Francisca, the elderly widow of one of the first Barkley hands, and who had stayed on after his death to help Victoria with the two younger children. Her face betrayed no emotion, and she didn’t have to ask Victoria what to do. She knew her place was upstairs with Eugene and Audra.

“I want you to ride into town and send a wire to Jarrod in San Francisco, Silas.”

“You want me to tell him. . .”

“Tell him his father is dead.”

Silas turned away to hide his tears. Tom Barkley had given him a good life here on the ranch. He’d had work that he enjoyed and the respect of the family and the hands as well. He went out to the barn to saddle a horse.

Victoria realized that the men were still standing in the kitchen. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll take care of him now.”

When they’d drifted away reluctantly, she began to gather what she needed.

The buttons of the shirt were slippery with blood and difficult to push through the buttonholes. When she’d finally managed to strip it off and drop it on the floor, she pulled off his boots, then unbuckled his belt and worked his trousers, then his drawers, over his feet.

She had washed many bodies for burial—young, old, male, female—but never in her wildest imaginings had she considered that she might someday wash the body of her own husband. Naked on the table, he still seemed a commanding presence.

She counted six bullet holes around his heart. They were still seeping as the last of his life’s blood drained away. Six. Any one of them would have killed him. Why did they have to keep firing? She tried to picture the shock on Tom’s face when he’d realized he was hit. Had he been conscious as he fell from his horse? Had he felt the ground beneath him? Had he thought—had he thought of her?

Slowly, with cold deliberateness, she washed him beginning at his face and working down. At first his body seemed foreign to her, but then she touched his belly and recalled how she’d always found it amusing how he was proud that, even in middle age, it remained lean and taut. During each of her pregnancies, he’d loved to watch her grow larger and make teasing comments on the disappearance of her waist. Sometimes she’d laughed—and sometimes she’d cried, and then he’d had to comfort her.

She put both hands on his shoulders and moved them down his muscular arms. She recalled the first time she’d seen him without his shirt. It had been on their wedding night when she was eighteen. She hoped he knew what he was doing—and at the same time didn’t want to think that he had learned through experience. When he’d removed his shirt, she’d gasped at the thick blonde hair that covered his chest and his back and thought fleetingly that she’d married an orangutan. Remembering that now made her smile.

He was heavy, but somehow she managed to turn him enough to sponge his back and buttocks. As she laid him down, she thought of the first time she’d seen him completely naked. Out of respect for her maidenly innocence, he’d blown out the lamp on their wedding night before he got into bed with her. She’d frozen as he felt his way through the folds of her nightdress. But then, the next morning, when she’d waked next to him, his skin against hers, she’d thought that maybe she wouldn’t bother with a nightdress ever again.

She washed his face again and noted that he needed a shave. She couldn’t do that—not well anyway. Perhaps Silas would do it for her. His half-open eyes made her slightly nauseous. Finding two coins in the pocket of his trousers, she placed them over his eyes.

He was growing cold as she finished. After covering him with a clean sheet, she gathered up his clothes and took them outside. They were too damp to burn easily, but she was trying for the third time to coax a flame to life as Nick rode into the yard.

“Mother!”

She didn’t look at him. “Your father is dead.”

Nick made a strangled sound of disbelief. “No!”

“It was the railroad.”

He stood stock still in the middle of the yard, then took a few steps toward the house and slammed his fist onto the porch railing. “No! I should’ve gone with him!”

“And gotten killed, too?”

“Damn them! Damn them!”

“Nicholas, you know I don’t like that language.” The words came automatically from her mouth, but she acknowledged that she’d been thinking the same thing. Damn them! Damn the railroad barons and their unmitigated greed!

She turned, and for the first time Nick saw the bloodstains on the front of her dress. “Oh, god! Mother. . .” He stretched out his arms, but she walked past him as if he were invisible.

“Silas went into town to send a wire to Jarrod. I expect he’ll be on the evening train. You’ll need to take the buggy in to meet him.”

He followed her into the kitchen, stopping short when he saw the draped body on the table. “Mother, you didn’t. . .”

“He was my husband,” she replied. “Do you want to look at him?”

It took Nick a full five minutes to pull back the sheet from his father’s face. Sickened with horror and rage, he ran outside and vomited violently in the grass. She stood listening for a moment, then turned and walked slowly through the dining room and up the stairs.

Chapter 2

Victoria rose from the dressing table and went to look out the window. Her body felt stiff and unnatural—almost as if it didn’t belong to her. For two days she had, in fact, felt as if she were watching herself from somewhere outside her body—as if she were dreaming and knew that she was dreaming and would wake up soon.

The full moon slid behind a cloud, then edged out again. It had been on such a night that Tom Barkley had asked her to marry him.

Look, I know your father sent you back East for a proper education and a proper marriage. You got the education.

They’d been walking along the river away from her aunt’s watchful eye. She didn’t approve of the rough, uneducated man who’d caught her niece’s attention when she wandered too near the docks in Boston. It was true that the man had rescued her from a drunken sailor bent on regaling her with his glorious exploits on the high seas, and she’d been properly grateful. But when he’d shown up at the house again the next afternoon, she’d been less than hospitable.

Yes, Tom, I have my education now. Father was right to send me back.

She’d smiled up at him from under thick eyelashes that shadowed her cool gray eyes.

He didn’t count on you meeting me on the way back, now did he?

I don’t expect he did.

In her pocket was a letter from her father written almost a month ago. He was leaving the small mining camp in Pennsylvania where Victoria had been born. There was, he said, no future in the coal mines. He was moving west to try his hand at lead.

Father is leaving Pottsville. He’s going west.

What are you goin’ to do?

I always thought I’d go back and look after him. He’s all alone since Mother died, and he sent me to Aunt Harriett.

That what you wanta do—spent the rest of your life in a minin’ camp?

Not really. Aunt Harriett wants me to marry Enoch Griswold.

That old man you were telling me about?

He’s not so old—only forty—and he’s very rich.

So you’ll be a rich widow-woman by the time you’re thirty!

Do you have a better suggestion?

He’d gotten red-faced and fidgety then.

I reckon I do.

Oh?

You could marry me. I’m not gonna be poor all my life.

I see.

Well, what about it, Vic?

Yes.

Yes?

Yes.

You mean you’ll marry me?

I mean I’ll marry you, Tom.

He’d stared at her for an eternity before he finally made so bold as to take her hand and raise it to his lips. He’d seen fancy-pants men do that in places where he’d worked, and the ladies seemed to like it. Victoria seemed to like it, too.

You’ll have to talk to Aunt Harriett.

Why? I’m not the kinda man she wants you to marry.

You’ll have to talk to her anyway. It’s the proper thing to do.

Why are you so all-fired worried all of a sudden about bein’ proper? You came out here with me tonight without a chaperone!

You’ll have to talk to Aunt Harriett, Tom, that’s all there is to it.

The devil, girl! You have a way of ignorin’ what you don’t want to think about!

Victoria watched the moon disappear again. From the very beginning, Tom had understood her completely. One of the things that irritated him about her was how she could turn a conversation away from an unpleasant subject—even when it was important.

She curled her fingers in the velvet drape the way she used to curl them in Tom’s hair. That’s what she’d been doing for two days now—turning away from an unpleasant subject. If she didn’t think about Tom being dead. . .

She thought instead of Audra and Eugene. At fourteen and thirteen, they still needed her, but she’d held them at arm’s length for two days. She’d wanted to slap Audra when she exploded in a fresh bout of sobbing at the cemetery. Her hand had actually tingled with the desire. And she’d found Eugene’s puzzled expression exasperating. What was there to be surprised at? Death was a non-negotiable fact.

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to that night by the river.

All right, I’ll talk to her, but you know what she’ll say. What you gonna do then, Vic? Go with me or stay with her?

I suppose you’ll find out, won’t you?

Don’t you go ‘supposin’ me, Vic!

Why?

Because I’m not a ‘supposin’ kind of fellow, that’s why! I’m not educated like you, but I’ll make more money than any of those fancy-pants around here! You see if I don’t!

There are many kinds of education, Tom. Not all learning takes place in a classroom.

She remembered now how he’d lowered those thick, irregular brows over the piercing blue eyes that could make her quiver inside.

I’m no dummy!

Of course not.

You ain’t gonna live high on the hog for awhile, y’know. Not like you do here.

I found it slightly boring after awhile.

It’s gonna be hard work.

I know how to work, Tom.

Well, if you don’t, you’ll have to learn.

I’ll learn.

Not surprisingly, her aunt had not only said no but had laughed in Tom Barkley’s face.

“Marry my niece? You’re joking, of course.”

“No, m’am, I ain’t. I love her.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Has everythin’ to do with it.”

“My suggestion to you, sir, is that you go back where you came from and marry someone of your own kind.”

With that, she’d turned and swirled away, leaving him standing in the parlor with his stained cap in his hands. He was half-way down the front walk when Victoria caught him.

When are we going to be married, Tom?

We ain’t.

I knew Aunt Harriett would say no.

Says to go back where I came from and marry my own kind.

But you asked me to marry you.

Well, it ain’t gonna happen.

Why not?

Why not? The devil, girl!

Do you love me, Tom?

Never loved any girl before—never will again.

I’ll marry you, Tom. I’ve already written to Father.

She had the dressmaker fashion a wedding gown of lace and satin. When Tom saw her in it on the night she left her aunt’s house for good, he remarked that what it cost would have fed them for six months.

But that’s your responsibility, Tom.

Didn’t say it wasn’t—said the dress wasn’t necessary.

I think it was.

They were married in a small chapel near the waterfront. She’d insisted on a church because he mother always said that was important. Tom wore his best trousers and a clean shirt—which was all he had to wear. At the last minute, he’d gone into a store and bought a string tie. Immediately, they’d boarded the ship where Tom would work for their passage to California.

Respecting her modesty, he’d left her alone in their cramped cabin. She folded her wedding gown away with satisfaction. Now her daughter would have something to wear on her wedding day. Wearing her nightdress, she sat on the edge of the narrow bunk and waited for Tom—and realized for the first time how ignorant she really was. She hoped he’d know what to do—but she also hoped he hadn’t learned from experience.

He’d been gentle with her at first—not rushing her—waiting until she began to respond to him. The second time, his passion had both frightened and delighted her.

Later they lay in a tangle of arms and legs in the slight space afforded them by the bunk.

You sorry, girl?

No, Tom, I’m not sorry.

What d’you think your father’s gonna say when he gets your letter?

Didn’t I tell you? My mother ran away to marry him. I’m sure Aunt Harriett has already washed her hands of me—like mother, like daughter, you know.

Wish I could take you to see your father.

I knew when I left I likely wouldn’t see him again.

Your parents—were things good with them?

It wasn’t an easy life, but they loved each other very much.

You like your mother?

I ran away with the man I loved, didn’t I?

You know what I mean.

I look like her. She died when I was fourteen. Father sent me away because one of the miners was pressing to marry me and wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

She sighed contentedly, curling her slender fingers in the thick hair covering his chest.

The day before I left, I went down to the cemetery where she’s buried—she died of typhoid, but Father and I were spared. I wanted to say goodbye. The grave isn’t even marked, and the next time the river overflows its banks, I expect the whole cemetery will be washed away. My two sisters are buried there, too. They were just babies—not even walking—when they died.

I’m sorry, Vic. But you know I’ll take care of you now. I’ll give you everything someday.

* * * * * * * *

Their destination was the San Joaquin Valley, Tom told her. Good land, more opportunity—a place to build a life. He’d seen it just once and vowed to return.

They’d built a life just as he’d said. Tom had taken her from a dugout with a dirt floor to a two-story mansion that would rival any plantation home in the Old South where he’d been raised dirt-poor and hungry. They’d worked and sweated side by side for everything they had, and Tom’s vision had never wavered. Despite his lack of education, he was a keen businessman and a shrewd judge of character. Cattle, mines, mills—he’d acquired them all—and done it honestly.

Jarrod had been born exactly a year and a week after their marriage. Nick followed two years later. When Nick was four, she gave birth to a third son who was stillborn. Eight years went by before she became pregnant with Audra, and Eugene had arrived the next year. It was almost like having two families, but they’d blended well.

She had everything he’d promised her—material possessions, a name that was recognized all over the valley—and love. He wasn’t a demonstrative man in public, though he extended her all the courtesies befitting a lady. But in private—in private he was a tender companion as well as a passionate lover.

He delighted in his family—three fine sons and a daughter—though she thought sometimes that he was disappointed in Jarrod’s choice to practice law rather than run the ranch with his father and brother. She could see Eugene going the same way, too, and while Tom was never outwardly critical of either son, he was obviously closer to Nick.

He doted on his only daughter, of course—spoiled her shamelessly. Victoria was hard put to balance his extravagances for Audra with lessons in thrift and self-denial.

But as a family, they were united. Life ran smoothly—until two days ago.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria moved away from the window and stood looking at the bed—so large, so empty. She lifted her left hand and stared at the wide gold band that had symbolized her marriage for thirty years. It had been her mother’s—Tom couldn’t afford a ring when they married. Later, he’d wanted to give her a diamond, but she refused. This ring, scratched and almost worn through in spots, was a mirror of their union—of what they had built together.

She gazed at it now as if she were seeing it for the first time. Tom had put it on her finger, but now Tom was gone. For thirty years she had been his wife—who was she now? She had never really had an identity of her own. She’d been Seth Vance’s daughter for eighteen years and then, overnight, Tom Barkley’s wife, the mother of his children. The children were still here, of course—at least, two of them, but they’d be grown like their older brothers before too many more years. Audra would marry and leave home for good. Eugene spoke of becoming a lawyer like Jarrod. Jarrod spent more and more time in San Francisco these days, and Nick—Nick would marry, too, and bring home a wife to be mistress of this house.

What was left for her? She was only forty-eight. Barring catastrophic illness or accident, she might live another twenty or even thirty years. But without Tom? She could barely remember the years without him—and she couldn’t contemplate the years ahead without him.

She hadn’t looked at him in his coffin—wearing the suit that he couldn’t afford for their wedding. Hadn’t she looked at him enough? Hadn’t she washed the blood from his naked, mutilated body? The memory of those six bullet holes smote her now. A sharp pain jolted her in the spot where they had been. She had been part of Tom Barkley for thirty years, and those bullets had pierced her heart as well. But Tom was dead now, beyond feeling—while she was left with nothing to do but endure the agony.

She pressed her hands to her breasts to stop the pain. Her breath came faster, and the walls of the room began to close in around her. She could feel her heart pounding. In blind panic, she ran to the door and into the hall, then down the stairs and out into the night. She threw up her hands against the thousands of stars that were like silver bullets racing toward the earth to invade her soul.

Jarrod sat up in bed at the sound. It was shrill, like the cry of a wounded animal, and it made him shiver. Racing to the window, he looked out on the front and saw his mother, perfectly spotlighted by the moon, fall to her knees and begin pummeling the dirt, hoarsely wailing over and over “Tom. . .

Tom. . .Tom. . .Tom. . .”

Chapter 3

Jarrod was the first one downstairs the next morning—he hadn’t really slept since being awakened by his mother’s weeping. Silas was up as usual though. “Mr. Jarrod, can I get you some breakfast?”

“Just some coffee right now, Silas, thank you.”

“You get some rest last night?” Silas filled Jarrod’s cup and set the pot down on a mat.

“Not much. How about you?”

“I slept right well, I reckon. Don’t know why.”

“You were tired—we were all tired. You—you didn’t hear anything last night—anything odd?”

“Nothin’.”

“That’s good.”

“You let me know when you want your breakfast.”

“I will—thanks.”

Nick came in a few minutes later—not striding in confidently as he usually did, but walking almost like an old man weighed down with the years.

“Morning, Nick.”

“Morning, Jarrod.”

“There’s coffee.”

“I see it.” Nick poured himself a cup. “Mother not up yet?”

“No.”

“Audra? Eugene?”

“Not yet.”

“You goin’ into town today?”

“Not today. What can I do for you around here?”

“There’s some fence down, but McCall can send someone to finish that.”

“All right. What else?”

“I—I don’t know. Father—Father usually had a list—in his mind.”

“You’ll pick it up.”

“Yeah, I reckon.” Nick drank his coffee in silence, then poured himself a second cup. “You make this?”

“Silas was already in the kitchen when I came down.”

“I came close to knocking old lady Simmons’ teeth down her throat when she said that she didn’t understand why he was sitting with the family at the church!”

“Well, you can’t expect everyone to understand.”

“Silas helped raise us! Father hired him when we were just little kids—when we were still living in that house down the hill.”

“That’s right.”

Nick sat back in his chair. “Come to think of it, he was the one who always came up with the wooden spoons for Mother to whack us with.”

“You kept hiding them.”

“So did you—before you went off to school. Don’t know how he always knew where I put them.”

“He has eyes in the back of his head.”

“Must be.”

“Nick—did you hear anything—well, out of the ordinary last night?”

“No—I was out like a lamp when my head hit the pillow. Why?”

“Oh, I just thought you might have—never mind.” He looked past Nick at Eugene who had paused in the door. “Eugene—how are you doing?”

The boy shrugged. “I’m hungry.”

“Why don’t you go ask Silas to start breakfast then? Is Audra up?”

“I heard her moving around in her room, I think. Where’s Mother?”

“Still asleep.”

“Oh.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

“Nick, why don’t you take Eugene out with you today? I think he could use your company.”

“Yeah, sure, all right. For a kid who likes books as much as you do, he’s not bad with a rope. You think I should go up and check on Audra?”

“I’m here.” Audra came slowly into the dining room and walked straight into Jarrod’s outstretched arms.

“How are you doing, honey?”

“All right.” She sat down at her usual place, trying not to look at her father’s empty chair at the end of the table. “What are we going to do today?”

Jarrod blew out his breath. “Callous as it may sound, honey, we’re going to get back to business as usual. Father would want that—and besides, we don’t have any other choice.”

* * * * * * * *

Sheriff Madden came while they were still eating. “Sorry to barge in on you,” he said. “But I thought you’d want to know that the railroad boys have cleared out.”

“They’ll be back,” Jarrod said.

“Word around town is that they won’t—not for a spell anyway. Folks are pretty riled up about your pa and what they done to George. I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’d turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to any trouble for those rotten bas—boys.”

“They’re gone, huh?” Nick said.

“That’s right.”

He slumped in his chair. “Saves me killing the whole bunch, I guess.”

Jarrod noted his lack of enthusiasm for the task, but he frowned anyway. “Nick, you know that’s not what Father would want.”

Nick’s eyes blazed. “How come you think you know so all-fired much about what Father wouldn’t want? Huh? Seems to me you been gone more’n you been here! Seems to me I’m the one been working with him to run this ranch all these years! So how come now you think you can tell me anything about him?”

Jarrod lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

Sheriff Madden backed up. “I gotta get back to town. Tell your mother what’s happened.”

“Thank you for coming, Fred,” Jarrod said. “We appreciate you riding all the way out here.”

“Yeah, Fred.” Nick got up and extended his hand.

* * * * * * * *

Audra cleared the dishes and carried them into the kitchen. “Silas, do you think I should fix a tray for Mother?”

“I think you should let her alone for awhile. But if you want to do somethin’, you can finish shellin’ all those butterpeas she was workin’ on the other day.”

Audra wrinkled her nose. “I hate shelling peas—but I’ll do it, Silas. I’ll take them out back and sit in the swing.”

“Take a coupla pans with you.”

Audra got two shallow pans from the pantry and picked up a burlap sack half-filled with peas. She would have preferred something to keep her mind—rather than her hands—busy, but this task was better than nothing.

Heading for the swing, she paused to study the odd-looking mound in the brick pit where Mrs. Tully’s big black pot usually sat on wash day. Moving closer, she saw a shirt and some trousers. She bent down and studied them. They’d been partially burned, but it looked like the fire had fizzled out too soon.

Setting the pans and the sack down, she reached for the shirt and held it up. The back was partially gone, but the front was intact and reminded her of her apron when she’d been making strawberry jam. A piece of the stain flecked off when she touched it—and then it struck her what she was holding.

Nick, Jarrod, Eugene, and Silas, hearing her scream, came running outside.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria woke from a restless sleep to the sound of her daughter screaming hysterically. Instinctively, she was on her feet in seconds and out the door, tying her dressing gown around her waist as she ran. “Audra!” The girl’s room was empty.

She continued downstairs and through the empty dining room, coming to an abrupt halt on the kitchen porch as she caught sight of her sons surrounding Audra while Silas hovered nervously on the edge of the group.

“Why the hell didn’t somebody finish taking care of these?” Nick yelled.

“Nick!” Jarrod’s voice matched his brother’s in irritation. “I for one didn’t even know they were here!”

“I just didn’t think,” Silas said, his voice breaking.

“It’s all right, Silas,” Jarrod said. “None of us have been thinking much lately.”

Victoria grasped the railing for support as the memory of the past few days came flooding back. No one had seen or heard her. Audra was being comforted. She moved to go back inside, thinking of the secure privacy of her room where she could sit alone—and then the recollection of the empty bed made even that retreat seem uninviting.

She straightened her shoulders. “Audra.”

The men broke away from their sister at the sound of her voice. She strode across the yard and took the girl in her arms. “Come in the house, Audra.”

Audra’s body shook violently, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Her first impulse was to go to her mother’s outstretched arms and receive the comfort she had always found there. But then she remembered how it had not been there for awhile—how coldly her mother had informed Eugene and her that their father was dead—how her mother had stood at the cemetery, removed from all of them both physically and emotionally—and she backed away.

“Audra, honey!” Jarrod sounded both surprised and reproachful.

Victoria let her arms fall to her sides. She looked from Audra to Jarrod, then to Nick, and finally to Eugene. Then she turned and walked back to the house.

“Eugene, I need you to ride out with me this morning,” Nick said.

“Why?”

“You got a problem with that, boy?”

“I guess not.”

“Then go saddle up!”

Jarrod put his arm around Audra and walked her back into the house. “Go upstairs and lie down awhile, honey. You’ll feel better.”

“I’ll never be all right again! Nothing will ever be all right! Father’s dead, and Mother hates us. . .”

“Now, Audra, you know that’s not true. She’s had a tremendous shock. . .”

“What about all of us? She didn’t even talk to us for two days except to give us orders and. . .”

“I know it’s hard for you to understand.” Jarrod closed his eyes against the memory of the sights and sounds of the previous night. “Go on upstairs and wash your face. I’ll take you into town with me this morning since Eugene’s helping Nick.”

Victoria stood at the top of the stairs waiting. “Audra,” she said as her daughter reached her.

Audra tried to brush past her mother, but Victoria caught her arm in a steel grip. “Audra, it’s my fault. I tried to burn the clothes, but they didn’t catch.”

Audra shook her head and tried to pull away, but she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry.”

“I—I had his blood—on my hands!” Audra choked, more angry now than horrified.

Victoria dropped her daughter’s arm and stepped back. “And you think I didn’t?” She held up her hands. “I thought I’d never get them clean! I still feel it—wet and slippery—it was still warm!”

Audra paled, but she didn’t move.

Victoria threw back her head. “Oh, god!!” she moaned. “I had his blood all over me!”

Some indefinable emotion stirred inside the girl. She was too young to understand more than the fact that her father was dead, but there was a nagging thought that perhaps her mother was just as lost as she was. Mother and Father had always presented such a strong, united front. There was no way around them. If one said no, the other meant no, too.

“Mother, I. . .”

Victoria ran into her room, and after a moment, Audra followed.

“Mother. . .”

Victoria knelt by the side of the bed, beating it with her fists as she had beaten the dirt on the drive until her skin felt raw. “Oh, god, oh, god. . .”

Audra sank to the floor beside her mother and laid her head against her mother’s back, hearing the shallow, rasping breath torn from her lungs. For the first time, the girl looked down the coming years and realized that she would be an adult before she wanted to—and that age held no answers to life’s questions, no promise of happy-ever-after like the books her father had read to her. Father had always been Father, but now he was dead. Mother had always been Mother—but now she was a woman bereft.

In that moment, the girl and the woman exchanged roles. “We’ll be all right, Mother,” Audra murmured, taking her mother in her arms. “Jarrod and Nick and Eugene and you and me—we’ll be all right.”

“Damn you for dying!” Victoria moaned. “Damn you for thinking you could fix everything, and all you did was get yourself shot to pieces!”

Chapter 4

Audra left her mother sleeping and came slowly down the stairs. Jarrod was waiting for her at the foot. “Are you all right, honey?”

She snuggled into the comfort of his arms. “I think so.”

“Silas burned the clothes.”

She shuddered. “Oh, Jarrod, they were so awful!”

“Try not to think about it. How’s Mother?”

“She’s asleep. But she was so—so angry, Jarrod! Angry at Father! It wasn’t his fault!”

“No, but I think I can understand how she feels. She’s had the rug pulled out from under her. She’s strong, but she’s depended on Father since she was eighteen years old.”

“I’ll be eighteen in three years. I can’t imagine being married—traveling on a boat all the way across the country!”

“That took courage, all right.”

“Will she ever be the same? Will any of us ever be the same?”

“No. Something like this changes people forever. But we’ll be a family like we’ve always been—you’ll see. Mother will take charge—Nick will run the ranch, and I. . .”

“What will you do, Jarrod? Go back to San Francisco?”

“Not right away.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that he would have to close his office there now and come back to Stockton permanently.

“Did Eugene go with Nick?”

“I think so.”

“I’m going for a ride, too.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She put her arms around her brother’s neck and patted him softly. “No, please, Jarrod. I need to be by myself. I need to think about things.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then don’t go far—just down by the creek.”

“All right.” She tiptoed to kiss his cheek. “Nick and Eugene are getting a late start, so I’ll tell Silas we won’t have lunch until one.”

“That’s a good idea.”

He watched her go, considering that she seemed changed just since breakfast. As the only girl, she’d been petted and indulged by the men of the family—his father being the worst offender—but somehow their mother’s firm hand had kept her from being spoiled. She was going to be a lovely woman before long. The thought made him smile.

He wondered if he should go up to check on his mother, then decided against it. Going into the library, he walked directly to his father’s desk and opened the bottom drawer. Slowly he thumbed through the files until he found what he was looking for—Tom Barkley’s will. He knew what was in it, of course. He’d drawn it up himself. The others would have to know soon because there were matters of business that couldn’t wait too long.

He put it back where he found it and closed the drawer. Things would wait a few more days anyway. Mother wasn’t herself—not that he blamed her—but she would need all her wits about her to understand how Father had left things for all of them.

He told Silas that he was going into town to his office and would eat lunch there. “If Mother doesn’t come down for lunch, send a tray up with Audra. She didn’t have breakfast, and she has to eat something.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Jarrod. I’m mighty sorry about the clothes.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Silas. Nick knew they were there, too. There’s just been too much to think about in such a short space of time.”

“They’re taken care of now.”

“That’s good. Thank you, Silas.”

“Your mamma’ll be all right, Mr. Jarrod. She’s a strong woman.”

“I think she got much of her strength from Father.”

“She did, but she’ll find what she needs now inside of her.”

“You’re sure of that, are you?”

Silas nodded. “Right sure.”

* * * * * * * *

As he rode toward Stockton, Jarrod understood what Audra had meant by needing to be alone to think. He needed the same thing. There was the office to close up in San Francisco. He’d paid the rent on that and his hotel suite three months in advance, but it might take that long to settle things there anyway.

Eugene would be going back to school in another month. He’d have to look through his father’s papers to see how the tuition was handled. He wondered how much Nick knew about the actual business of the ranch—or whether he’d just let Father handle it. Then there were the mines—but Uncle Samuel oversaw those. Still, Father had retained a sixty-five percent interest in them when he’d let his younger brother take them over several years before.

Uncle Samuel. Jarrod had never liked him—couldn’t even understand how his father could have a brother so different from himself. He had a chance for an education—I didn’t. I was surprised that he’d come all the way out here, but it’s just as well to keep things in the family anyway. You know I’m more interested in the ranch, so it was a help to have him step in.

There was something about his uncle that Jarrod distrusted, however. He’d never said as much to his father, but the doubt and dislike were always there. He had a feeling that Nick didn’t like him much either, but since they rarely saw one another, there wasn’t any obvious conflict. It had seemed strange to Jarrod that his Uncle hadn’t made the trip for the funeral. Of course, it was a long way, and Mother hadn’t wanted to wait. He’d sent the wire himself, and as yet there had been no reply.

Jarrod took his time riding into town. The day was warm, and his suit was slightly uncomfortable. He’d gotten into the habit of dressing in business suits all the time now—even when he was home on a visit. Nick sometimes alluded to his fancy pants—it was an expression he’d heard his father use often to describe men who didn’t often get their hands dirty.

He wondered if he’d be able to make a decent living in Stockton. There was legal business to be had—and, in truth, he’d had a large share of it since graduating from law school. But compared to San Francisco—well, the smaller town didn’t even begin to compare.

He shook his head to clear his mind. It was best not to think of San Francisco any more than he had to. That part of his life would soon be over. He wondered fleetingly if Father had acquiesced to his setting up an office there because he realized that someday, when he was head of the family, he’d have to come home again. That would mean that Father had anticipated his death—had he? Jarrod didn’t like to think so.

Leaving the horse at the livery stable, he took the back way to his office. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate expressions of concern and sympathy, but they weren’t what he wanted or needed right now.

He was surprised to find his secretary, Miss Lawrence, hard at work. “Oh, Mr. Barkley,” she said, looking up from the paper she was copying. “I didn’t know you’d be in today.”

“I might say the same about you.”

“Well, I didn’t come early, but there were several things I needed to attend to. I don’t like to get behind.”

“Neither do I. Just go on with your work, and I’ll be in my office. I may need to dictate some letters after lunch.”

“Of course.”

Jarrod entered his plain but comfortable office and sat down behind the desk. It was his, bought and paid for with the money from his first litigation, and he loved it. It wasn’t as fine as his father’s desk, but that was all right. It was his.

He looked around. When he came back to stay, he’d make a few improvements—some drapes, maybe, to cover the paper shades. A larger carpet on the hardwood floor. The one there now was from the attic at home. He could remember it in the dining room of the smaller house they’d occupied before the present house was built.

Tom Barkley had offered to furnish his son’s office in style—but Jarrod could tell that his father was pleased when he’d turned him down. I’ll do it a little at a time, Father. You paid for my education. Anything else is my responsibility.

Responsibility. He’d been the responsible child—the one who kept his more impetuous brother Nick out of as many scrapes as he was able. But this new responsibility was more than he ever wanted. I’m making you Audra’s and Eugene’s guardian, Jarrod. I don’t mean for you to take over anything rightfully belonging to your mother, but you’re younger than both of us—and I want to make sure those two are provided for if anything happened to the two of us.

Of course, Father. I understand. I don’t mind.

But Jarrod had to admit now that he did mind. He minded very much. He loved his younger brother and sister, but he didn’t want to be their father. Guilt gnawed at him. Who else would Father have left in charge? Certainly not Nick. Nick knew the ranch like the back of his hand, but he wasn’t suited to having the full responsibility for his two younger siblings. It would never work.

You understand, Jarrod—you’ve got the say-so legally, but it’s what your mother says that counts. I just want to make sure that they’re all right if something happens to her.

Yes, Father. I’d never oppose Mother’s judgment where Audra and Eugene are concerned.

Jarrod sighed. He hadn’t counted on ever having to step in with them at all. Father and Mother would live to a ripe old age—or at least until Audra and Eugene were grown. He rose and walked to the window.

Why, Father? Why did you have to go where you knew you could get hurt? What right did you have to put your life in danger when so many people depended on you?

An emotion kin to anger stirred inside him. Father’s decision to intercede with the railroad had cost him his life—but it had cost all of them something, too. His decision had left Mother without a part of herself—Audra and Eugene without a father to help them finish growing up—Nick without a partner on the ranch—and himself—it had cost him his freedom of choice forever.

He leaned his head against the warm glass. Nick, Audra, and Eugene would go on with their lives. Mother—well, Mother would go on, too, but not quite in the same way. And he, Jarrod, would watch life go on around him—but he would never be part of it again the way he had been. The family would look to him as they had looked to Father. Father had left them, not intentionally, but it had been a desertion of sorts. How could he then do the same?

“Mr. Barkley?” Miss Edwards was standing in the half-open door.

Jarrod turned.

“There’s someone to see you. He says he’s your Uncle Samuel.”

Chapter 5

Jarrod resented the intrusion his thoughts, especially by this man, but he extended his hand courteously. “Uncle Samuel, how are you?”

Samuel Barkley shook hands with his nephew, all the while taking in the modest office. He’d never been in Jarrod’s office before but expected better for the son of Tom Barkley.

“Fine, fine, Jarrod. Started for Stockton as soon as I got your wire.”

“Mother didn’t want to wait for the service.”

“Of course. I understand. I’ll pay my respects at the cemetery later. What happened?”

Jarrod indicated a chair for his uncle and sat down behind his desk. “The railroad’s been making trouble for awhile. A few nights ago, one of the farmers who refused to sell out had his house and crop burned. Father tried to intercede.”

“I see.” That’s like my brother, Samuel thought. Thinks he can—could take care of everything.

“The sheriff says they’ve cleared out—at least for now.”

“But they’ll be back?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Well, well.” He settled back in the chair. “How’s the family?”

“About like you’d expect. Nick’s carrying on as usual. Eugene is pretty confused about the whole experience, and Audra—well, as of this morning, I can see some real maturity about her.”

“And Victoria?”

“Mother’s not doing well, but that’s to be expected. She and Father were together for thirty years—a lifetime.”

“A lifetime.”

“You’ll stay at the house, of course. Mother will want to see you.”

“Thank you, Jarrod. I want to make myself available to the family.”

Jarrod felt a vague stirring of concern. He didn’t want to fight with his uncle, but he didn’t intend to give up control of the business his father had set before him in the will.

“Thank you, Uncle Samuel, I’m sure we’ll all appreciate your support.”

“Tom did have a will, didn’t he?”

Jarrod felt vindicated. Samuel Barkley wanted to be sure of how things stood now that Father was gone.

“Of course. I drew it up myself.”

“You?”

“Who else?”

Samuel Barkley recovered himself. “Well, of course, who else? I’m sure it’s convenient to have a lawyer in the family. Perhaps there will even be a doctor one day—isn’t that what Eugene is thinking about?”

“That’s right, but he’s only thirteen.”

“Quite a difference in ages between the Barkley children.”

“Mother always said it was like having two separate families.”

Samuel Barkley chuckled, but he didn’t sound amused. And, in fact, he wasn’t. It was just too bad that the younger children weren’t the only ones. He could deal with them easily. As it was, Jarrod and Nick would be more difficult. However, difficult as it might be, he didn’t intend to see the Barkley fortune slip through his fingers. He laced his fingers together over his expensive vest and contemplated what lay ahead.

The Barkley family had been dirt poor in Georgia where they’d settled long before there was an independent United States. The first Barkley had come to the New World as a debtor seeking refuge in the colony established for just such as he. Unfortunately, things never got much better—not until Tom Barkley left home and struck it rich in California. The oldest of a large family—ten children—Tom had been generous with his parents and siblings. He was responsible for Samuel, the youngest brother, having an education.

In truth, Samuel was the only Barkley who wanted an education. The other boys had turned to farming like their father and grandfather before them, and the sisters had married other farmers who toiled to wrest a living from the red Georgia soil. None of them had achieved the status of the slave-holding plantation owners who controlled most of the state. Samuel wasn’t sure they even cared, but he did. He’d always wanted better, and he’d seized the opportunity offered by his brother. He’d educated himself and then come west seeking whatever else Tom Barkley might do for him.

Managing the mines wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but he’d made it profitable. When Tom saw that he was capable, he’d given him a quarter interest in them—with the gentleman’s understanding that he, Tom, would always cast the deciding vote in any serious business matter. Samuel had agreed and promptly organized things so that those serious business matters hadn’t always come to Tom’s attention. The other part of the agreement said that, upon Tom’s death, his executor would have the right to remove Samuel from management and buy back the twenty-five per cent at fair value.

He felt reasonably certain that Jarrod knew of the arrangement, and he was anxious to see what the will contained. He’d asked Tom to sign a paper guaranteeing him a share in the mines for life, but Tom had said that things could change and that it was in the best interest of both of them to leave things as they were.

So it was important to him to know who was executor of the will. He hoped it wasn’t Victoria, although he had every reason to believe that Tom might have given her that authority. It wouldn’t be Nick—he might know the business end of a bull, but that was as far as his managerial skills went. Jarrod was a possibility. He’d just said that he’d drawn up the will. It would make sense for him, as the attorney, to be the executor.

Samuel contemplated his oldest nephew. He looked nothing like the Barkleys and neither did Nick. Tom had always said they favored Victoria’s father who had died soon after their marriage. Audra and Eugene were true Barkleys, however, as was Samuel. Blonde and blue-eyed, they reminded him of the brothers and sisters he’d left behind in Georgia.

Jarrod stood up. “Why don’t we have lunch at the hotel, Uncle Samuel, and then we’ll ride out to the ranch. I’ll rent a buggy so we won’t have to send back for your luggage.”

The older man rose. “I don’t want to interrupt your work.”

Jarrod dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have anything pressing. To tell you the truth, I just needed to get away by myself for awhile.”

“Of course. I understand. But I insist on buying lunch.”

Jarrod reached for his hat. “Done.”

* * * * * * * *

Samuel Barkley reacted with his usual distaste at the sight of the fine home that his brother had built. It reminded him too much of the Georgia mansions where he’d never been welcome. He also disapproved of the way the Negro man, Silas, was treated—less like a servant than as a valued member of the household. In Georgia, he would be a slave—and his uppity ways would keep him in the fields instead of working in the big house.

The man in question opened the door now. Clad in his white jacket and neat black tie, he bore himself with dignified authority. “Mr. Barkley,” he said politely, relieving Samuel of his hat.

“Silas.”

Jarrod handed Silas his hat also. “Silas, my uncle’s luggage is in the buggy. Would you ask Ciego to take it upstairs to the guestroom? Tell him to rest the horse before taking the buggy back to the livery.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jarrod, right away.” He walked confidently away.

“Make yourself at home, Uncle Samuel. I’ll go upstairs and see about Mother and Audra. Nick took Eugene with him today. I thought it would be good for the boy.”

“Oh, no doubt, no doubt. Take your time, Jarrod.”

Jarrod knocked on Audra’s door. “Honey?”

She opened the door quickly. “I’m just being lazy,” she said.

He kissed her cheek. “Did you have a nice ride?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Did Nick and Eugene come in for lunch?”

“Well—Eugene sort of dragged in.” She dimpled. “But Mother came down.”

“That was my next question. I hope she ate something.”

“A little.”

“Is she in her room?”

“I think so.”

“Well, I need to warn you that Uncle Samuel is downstairs.”

Audra’s face fell. “Oh, no!”

“Now, honey, he’s father’s brother after all.”

“He’s not going to stay long—is he?”

“I have no idea. You don’t have to go down right now if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Then go back to whatever you were doing—being lazy—and I’ll go talk to Mother.”

His mother’s voice responded to his knock. “Come in.” She was sitting by the window staring out over the pasture.

“How are you, Lovely Lady?” he asked gently, stooping to kiss her.

She turned her slate-gray eyes to his—eyes so full of anguish that his heart seemed to turn over inside his chest. “I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t know.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“No.”

“Mother—Uncle Samuel’s here. I had to ask him to stay at the house, of course.”

“Of course.”

“He’s here about Father’s will, I’m sure.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Perhaps—if you’re up to it—I could read it tonight, and then he could be on his way tomorrow or the next day.”

“Whatever you think, Jarrod.”

“Do you know the terms of the will?”

“Your father and I never discussed it. He just told me that you’d drawn it up for him.”

“You know that I’m the executor?”

“No—but I thought that would be the way he’d leave things.”

“Why?”

“I have a certain standing in the Valley by virtue of being Tom Barkley’s wife—but now I’m only his—his widow. As a man—and as a lawyer—you’ll be able to handle business better.”

“We discussed it thoroughly, Mother. I didn’t want to usurp your place, but Father felt that it would be difficult for you.”

“He always tried to protect me.”

“He loved your very much.”

She turned back to look out the window again. “But not enough to stay alive.”

“Mother. . .”

“Jarrod—don’t say too much to Samuel—about the family or the ranch, I mean. I—I don’t trust him. I never did.”

“Is there any particular reason?”

She appeared to wait before nodding slowly. “Yes, but I don’t want to discuss it right now.”

“For what it’s worth, Mother, I don’t trust him either—but I can’t tell you why exactly.”

“Oh, I could tell you exactly why—but it will keep.” She rose. “I suppose I’ll have to go down and see him.”

“I’ll tell him you’re resting, Mother. You can see him at dinner.”

She sat down again. “Thank you, Jarrod. Does Silas know he’s here?”

“Yes.”

“Then he’ll see to a proper dinner.”

“I’m sure he will.” Jarrod slipped silently from the room.

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the windowsill. How many times had she sat here like this watching for Tom Barkley to ride in? Part of her still expected to see him—only a speck in the distance at first—then clearer as he drew closer—and finally, pausing just outside the back gate to look up at this very window, knowing she’d be there. He’d take off his hat and bow gallantly from the waist. It was his special salute to her—my partner, the love of my life—he called her.

She felt tears forming again. Why, Tom? Why did you leave me? We should have grown old together—seen our children marry and our grandchildren in this house. Thirty years! How could you just ride out like that and never come back? I almost hate you for what you’ve done! Almost—but not quite! Oh, Tom, I loved you from that first moment on the waterfront! How could you leave me so easily? How, Tom? How?

Chapter 6

“Mother?” Audra put her head around the door. “May I help you dress for dinner?”

Victoria stirred. “I don’t need any help, Audra.”

The girl’s mouth quivered slightly. “All right.” She backed out of the room.

“Audra—I’m sorry, dear. Please come in.” She rose and went to her daughter. “I haven’t been much help to you these past few days, have I?”

“It’s all right, Mother. I understand.”

“Do you? I wish I did. I feel so unlike myself—as if I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Audra gave herself up to her mother’s comforting arms—the arms she’d needed so desperately since her father’s death.

Victoria stroked her daughter’s hair. “Forgive me, darling.”

“It’s all right.”

“Did Jarrod tell you that Samuel is here?”

“Yes. I—I don’t like him, Mother. He makes me feel like I’m five instead of fifteen.”

“I always felt it was a mistake for your father to let him take charge of the mines.”

“Why, Mother?” A warm feeling of being included in adult concerns filled the girl. Her mother was speaking to her as if she were an adult—sharing feelings with her that she might not have shared just a few days ago.

“It was just a feeling—you’ll understand more about that as you get older. Women have these feelings—intuition, perhaps.”

“I hope he won’t stay long.”

“Jarrod feels that he wants to know the contents of your father’s will—so he’s planning to read it tonight after dinner. I want you and Eugene there, too.”

“All right, Mother.”

Victoria smiled a little. “Now—help me choose a dress for dinner. Perhaps if I look good, I’ll begin to feel that way.”

* * * * * * * *

The meeting between Victoria and her brother-in-law had been polite—no more. She hadn’t thanked him for coming, nor had she offered any condolences for the loss of his brother. She knew that, as the youngest, Samuel had been only a child when Tom left home and that he had little affection for the person of his older brother—only for his money.

Dinner was eaten mostly in tense silence. Samuel noted that Audra helped Silas serve the meal. His disapproval was obvious to Victoria, but she held her tongue. All the children had been taught to work—and they had especially been taught that Silas was there to help, not to do everything. Silas had been particularly adept at convincing the younger Barkleys that helping him was a privilege, not a fact of life, and there were many times when Victoria had to go out of the kitchen so that Audra wouldn’t hear her laughing as the child pleaded with Silas to let her polish the silver or use the feather duster on the stair railing.

Audra was pouring the coffee, and Silas was serving lemon pound cake when Jarrod decided to plunge ahead. “We’ll go into the library after dinner so that I can read Father’s will.”

Victoria watcher her brother-in-law’s reaction from beneath lowered eyelids. There was satisfaction in his expression—and avarice.

Nick glanced up. “What’s the hurry?”

Jarrod took a bite of his cake. “No hurry, Brother Nick. But it has to be done.”

“Not tonight.” Nick stabbed his fork into the cake so vigorously that it slid part-way off the plate.

“I know it’s unpleasant,” Samuel Barkley said smoothly, “but as Jarrod said, it’s necessary.”

“Not tonight,” Nick repeated.

“I think so, Nicholas,” Victoria said. “It’s best to get it over with.”

Nick retreated into sullen silence.

“Mother, Nick said I was a big help to him today,” Eugene said quickly. “I thought maybe that I should—well—not go back to school next month. I really liked helping Nick.”

Victoria lifted her eyes from her plate to gaze at her youngest son—her baby. He looked so much like his father! She fought back her tears. This wasn’t the time or the place.

“No.” Nick didn’t look up. “You’re going back to school, Gene, if I have to hobble you like a calf and sling you across a saddle.”

Gene’s face suffused with color. “But you said. . .”

“I know what I said!” Nick glanced up, softening slightly at his younger brother’s stricken countenance. “You were a big help, Gene—you’ve been growing up right under my nose, I guess. I didn’t think about you knowing everything you do.”

“Father taught me the same as he taught you,” the boy responded with a hint of anger.

“Yeah, I know. But he wanted you to go to school, too—because that’s what you wanted.”

“Father’s dead,” Eugene said flatly, lowering his eyes.

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“That changes everything!”

Victoria touched her son’s arm. “Gene—why don’t we talk about this later—when we’ve all had some time to adjust. If, when it’s time for you to return, you still feel you’d like to stay at home, then I’ll allow you to extend your break from school.”

“If Gene gets to stay home, then I should, too,” Audra said.

“Now or later makes no difference,” Nick said stubbornly. “He’s going back to school. And so are you, Miss!”

“I make those decisions, Nick, not you.” Victoria touched her napkin to her lips. “Is everyone ready to adjourn to the library?”

* * * * * * * *

Samuel had not missed the friction between the family members, but it was beyond his understanding that it was fueled by shock and grief, not because they were truly irritated with each other. Neither did he miss his sister-in-law’s coolness toward him and how—as she swept out of the dining room on Jarrod’s arm—she ignored him totally. He pushed the anger away from him. He couldn’t afford to let emotion rule this evening. There was too much at stake.

When everyone was seated in the library, Jarrod went to the desk and took out his father’s will. Sitting at the desk was another matter. Instead, he chose a chair near his mother.

“Father asked me to draw up his will about two years ago, and he added a codicil just last month.” He glanced at his siblings. “A codicil is simply new information not in the original will.”

Nick moved uneasily in his chair, then got up and walked to the cabinet where the liquor was kept.

“That can wait, Nick,” Victoria said.

“I’m a grown man,” he snapped, “and I know when I need a drink!”

The room was deadly silent.

“Nick.” There was a hint of a plea in Jarrod’s voice.

Nick didn’t move, but he didn’t pour himself a drink either.

“Nick, I know how difficult this is for you,” Victoria said softly. “I don’t want to hear it either. Reading his will just brings it home that your father is gone forever.” Her voice broke slightly, but her bearing remained serene.

Audra reached for her mother’s hand and squeezed it.

Finally Nick sat down, stretching his long legs in front of him to stare at the tips of his boots. “Well, get on with it!” He crossed his arms across his chest as if defending himself from a mortal blow.

Jarrod slipped the thin document from its envelope, unfolded it, and began to read. “When I said I drew up Father’s will, that was slightly misleading. Father wrote his will, and I simply made sure that he hadn’t left any legal loopholes.”

I, Thomas Auden Barkley, being of sound mind and in good health, do make, publish, and declare that this is my last will and testament, revoking any others heretofore made or spoken by me.

First, I wish all my just debts to be paid in full.

Second, I wish for my son, Jarrod Thomas Barkley, to be my executor without bond.

Third, I give all my property, real and personal, to my beloved wife, Victoria Barkley, with the following exceptions:

To my son Nicholas Jonathan Barkley, I give the Barkley ranching business. The yearly profits, over and above the costs of running the ranch and continuing to provide a contingency fund for drought and other natural disasters, are to be distributed equally between my wife and four children.

The profits due my daughter Audra Beatrice Barkley, will be placed in a trust fund to be administered by Jarrod Barkley with the advice and consent of his mother. Control of the trust will be turned over to Audra when she is twenty-five years old or has been married for three years.

The profits due my son Edward Eugene Barkley will be placed in a trust fund to be administered by Jarrod Barkley with the advice and consent of his mother. Control of the trust will be turned over to Eugene when he is twenty-five years old.

All mining interests are to be administered by Jarrod Barkley, and all profits from the mines belong to my wife Victoria during her lifetime. She may dispose of them in her own last will and testament as she sees fit.

The ranch may be sold with the consent of four family members, one of which must be my wife. The mines may be sold at any time by my wife.

Any other property, which I may own at the time of my death, belongs to my wife Victoria, to keep or dispose of as she wishes.

Jarrod looked up—but not in the direction of his uncle. “It was signed and witnessed as the law requires.” When no one spoke, he began to read again. “This is the codicil.”

Having shared financially with the family of my birth, I intentionally leave nothing to any who survive me.

Having given twenty-five per cent of the mining interests to my brother Samuel in return for his management of the mines, I leave him no other money.

It is my wish that his shares in Barkley Sierra Mining Company be bought back at the value per share plus fifty per cent if he agrees to sell within six months of my death. After six months, the shares will be bought back at value only. I further instruct my executor, Jarrod Barkley, to remove my brother Samuel Barkley from his position as manager of Barkley Sierra and to hire a qualified replacement as soon as possible.

Samuel Barkley sat forward in his chair. “Remove me?”

Jarrod nodded. “That’s what it says, Uncle Samuel.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“I don’t know.” Jarrod refolded the papers and returned them to the envelope. “He didn’t give me an explanation.”

“Value plus fifty percent is more than fair, Samuel.” For the first time, Victoria looked straight at her brother-in-law.

“Do you know why he wanted to get rid of me?” Samuel’s face flushed angrily although he tried to keep his voice neutral.

“No, I don’t. Tom didn’t discuss the terms of his will with me either before or after he wrote it. Until tonight, I was as ignorant of its terms as everyone else—except Jarrod, of course.”

Samuel rose and began to pace. “I’ve kept those mines running at a nice profit for six years!”

“Yes, you have, Uncle Samuel,” Jarrod said.

“I should be allowed to stay on!”

“That’s not my decision to make,” Jarrod replied. “As executor, I have to abide by the terms of Father’s will.”

The man stopped pacing and faced his sister-in-law. “Victoria? Where do you stand in all this?”

“As Jarrod said, it doesn’t matter where anyone stands—the terms of my husband’s will are clear.”

“I see.” The unnatural redness of his face faded to an unhealthy pallor. “I’m sure the rest of you have other business to discuss, so I’ll say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Samuel.” Victoria’s voice was flat.

He left the room with as much dignity as he could muster. But at the top of the stairs, he brought the flat of his hand down on the newel post with a stinging force. “He knew! That stupid lout knew! But I know a few things, too—and if Jarrod doesn’t want his mother to know—if he doesn’t want the whole Valley to know—he’ll find a way to get around that will! Oh, yes, he’ll find a way!”

Chapter 7

Victoria went to Eugene’s room first to say goodnight. “Mother, did you mean it when you said I could stay home from school?”

She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Yes, I did. I want you to think it over carefully, however. Your father didn’t have the chance at education, so it was important to him that his children have a chance.”

“Nick didn’t go to school—except here in Stockton.”

“That’s right. It was his choice, just as this will be yours.”

“Mother—is everything going to be all right? I mean—will we get along now that—that. . .”

“We will still be a family, Gene. We will always miss your father, but those of us who are left will just love each other even more.”

He submitted to a brief kiss on his cheek—even though he considered himself beyond all that. The confusion that had plagued him for days now was receding slightly. Father was gone, but Mother was back, and he believed her that things would be all right again.

Victoria’s next stop was her daughter’s room. She wasn’t surprised to find Audra in front of the mirror inspecting her face.

“You spend entirely too much time looking at yourself, Audra,” she said briskly.

“I’m ugly. My face is fat.”

Victoria swallowed her amusement. “Then by all means come away from the mirror and don’t depress yourself further.”

“Oh, Mother!” Audra’s dimples deepened.

“Fifteen is a difficult age. I was only a year younger when my mother died, and my father sent me back East to live with his sister.”

“That’s where you met Father, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Bring your hairbrush, Audra, and I’ll see to your hair.”

“Do you think Uncle Samuel will leave tomorrow?”

“I expect him to.”

“He’s angry over Father’s will.”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think Father. . .”

“It’s not for any of us to question what your father did, Audra.”

“But. . .”

Victoria rose. It’s time for bed, Audra. It’s been a long day.”

“Are you really all right, Mother?”

“I will be.” She hugged the girl tightly. “Goodnight, darling. Sleep well.”

The hall was quiet, but there were still lights downstairs. Nick and Jarrod were probably discussing the will—and Samuel. She started to go down but changed her mind and went to her room instead. Once there, she was drawn to the window despite its blackness. She considered that the blackness mirrored her life at this moment. After thirty years with Tom Barkley, she couldn’t envision even the next thirty days without him.

She let her thoughts drift to the terms of her husband’s will. Nothing had surprised her, even the codicil turning Samuel out of Barkley-Sierra. There had been much that she hadn’t known about Tom Barkley, but he had known everything about her—about Samuel and her.

You’re a beautiful woman, Victoria—better than my brother deserves.

He’s my husband, Samuel.

What does that have to do with it?

It has everything to do with it. When I took my marriage vows, I meant them.

Did he?

Of course.

I wonder.

It’s not your business to wonder, Samuel.

Tom’s getting to be an old man, Victoria.

He’s only seven years older than I am.

And I’m ten years younger than you are, but that doesn’t matter to me.

It matters to me.

Why? What are you afraid of?

You wouldn’t understand.

Try me.

She remembered so clearly, as if it had been only yesterday, how Samuel had moved cat-like across the carpet of the library until she could feel his breath on her neck. Her whole body shuddered as his hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and she hadn’t resisted when they’d moved slowly down toward her breasts. She’d known it was wrong—that she should stop him—but she couldn’t move.

The children. . .

Jarrod is in San Francisco. Nick is with his father on the cattle drive. Audra and Gene won’t be home from school until late this afternoon. The man who drives in for them hasn’t even left—I checked.

Silas. . .

Is in the kitchen. Come upstairs with me, Victoria.

It was as if she were somewhere out of her body watching it move toward the stairs, her feet gathering speed with the pressure of Samuel’s hand on her waist. Samuel had locked the door behind them and turned to her.

I can give you so much more than he can.

How do you know that?

I know things haven’t been good between the two of you for a long time—since just before Eugene was born.

That’s not true—I---we. . .

I know it, and you know it, Victoria. Tell me, did he make love to you last night? The night before? The night before that? When was the last time he took you in his arms and made you feel like a woman?

Look at me, Victoria. I’m clean. I don’t smell like sweat and horses and manure. I can talk about things besides cattle and land and crops. I’m what you gave up twenty-five years ago when you married my brother. You were meant for better—for a gentleman—all the money in California can’t make my brother what he isn’t and can never be.

I love him.

Do you?

His slender fingers were unbuttoning her bodice, not fumbling with the tiny buttons as Tom’s work-roughened hands would have done.

Don’t, Samuel. It’s wrong.

Isn’t it wrong for Tom to take you for granted the way he does—to neglect your feelings—your needs? You have needs, don’t you, Victoria? A woman’s needs—I can feel them—and I can meet them.

Her dress fell to the floor around her ankles, and he began to unlace her camisole.

Please, Samuel. . .

You came with me willingly, and you can leave—but you don’t want to, do you?

He put his lips on her throat.

You don’t want to leave, do you, Victoria? You want me to make love to you. You want to know what you’ve missed all these years. Did Tom ever consider your pleasure, or did he just take his?

She closed her eyes as her camisole fell open. She knew that she should stop him, but he was right—she didn’t want to. He couldn’t know that it had been almost two years since she and Tom had done more than just share a bed. Two years of silent anger on her part, and two years of resignation on his. How many nights had she longed for her husband to turn to her? She’d wanted him to beg so that she could refuse, but he hadn’t played the game her way. And then, just lately, she’d known that he wouldn’t have to beg—that she’d go to his arms without question—but it was too late—too late.

She never knew how much time it took her brother-in-law to undress her fully—but as he was carrying her to the bed, she heard the buggy on the drive and knew that Antonio was leaving for Stockton to get Audra and Eugene from school.

Hurry.

No, Victoria, I’m not going to hurry. You’re going to enjoy every minute of this, and when I’m through, you’re going to know how much you’ve missed.

“Mrs. Barkley? Mrs. Barkley?” It was Silas. He was in the upstairs hall calling for her.

Continued…