Rage: The Death of Tom Barkley

Chapters 8-14

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 8

Victoria was downstairs the next morning before anyone else. Silas had made coffee and was just beginning breakfast. “Mornin’, Mrs. Barkley. Sleep fine?”

“I slept very little and not very well, Silas. I suppose it will get better.”

“Yes, m’am.” He hefted two iron skillets onto the wood stove. “Bacon, or ham this morning?”

“What did we have yesterday?”

“Ham.”

“Then we’ll have bacon this morning.”

“I’ll get some from the smokehouse.”

She watched him cross the yard, a slender, erect figure in his starched white coat. Five years ago there had never been any discussion between them of why she hadn’t answered him that afternoon—or why she’d appeared some minutes later hoping that her guilt wasn’t written across her face.

* * * * * * * *

Did you need me for something, Silas?

Yes, m’am, I was wondering about dinner.”

What about dinner?

Well, m’am, Mr. Tom, Mr. Nick, and Mr. Jarrod aren’t here. . .”

The rest of us have to eat!

Oh, yes, m’am. Will Mr. Tom’s brother be here?

Of course, he will—he’s our guest.

Certainly, m’am. I’ll be fryin’ chicken tonight.

Is that all you wanted?

She’d never spoken to him before in that tone of voice, and shame mingled with her guilt. The man turned a bland face toward hers, and she read everything in his eyes—everything she didn’t want to know that he knew.

Yes, m’am, that’s all I wanted.

I’ll—I’ll be in my room then. She’d started for the door, then paused without turning around. Thank you, Silas.

Yes, m’am.

Samuel was nowhere in sight when she reached the upstairs hall. She closed her eyes against the vision of him as he stood beside the bed undressing.

Look at me, Victoria. Look at what you can have, and ask yourself if you still want Tom Barkley.

She couldn’t help herself—she looked. It made her think of her first night as Tom’s wife—the dark, stuffy cabin where he’d taken her on the hard, narrow bunk. His gentleness had been as unexpected as his passion. Yet there had been a reticence about him, too. For years they’d made love only in the dark of night, and she’d never seen his body—nor had he really seen hers. She’d thought she was satisfied, but now she wasn’t sure.

Do you like what you see, Victoria?

Samuel sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled back the sheet. When she’d reached for it, he laughed.

Come, come! You’re not the virginal bride! But you are a beautiful, desirable woman, Victoria Barkley.

And then—Silas.

She stood in the hall listening for any sound from Samuel’s room, but there was nothing. He’d been angry with her, of course. She felt vaguely disappointed but more than a little relieved. Silas had saved her from herself. She went into her room and locked the door.

* * * * * * * *

Now, five years later, the memories humiliated her, and she covered her burning face with her hands. Samuel had been gone before Silas called them to dinner, and she hoped that he would be gone before morning this time.

She’d never spoken to Tom of what had happened, just as they hadn’t spoken of the time he’d spent in Strawberry when Nick was small. He’d come home changed, and she’d tried to make herself believe it was because of his injuries. She knew, though, that there was more to the story—and she didn’t want to know what it was.

Life had settled back to normal. Soon after Audra was born, Tom had built this house and moved the family into it. She’d been pregnant with Eugene at the time and disinclined to do much in the way of getting settled or decorating. Jarrod was away at school, and Silas and Mrs. Montoya did most of the work getting the household running and looking after Audra and Nick. Tom had been busier than ever and less available to her.

It had been a difficult pregnancy, one that she had not welcomed.

It’s too soon to have another baby.

Well, I don’t see as you have much choice, Vic.

I won’t have another one—believe me!

Now, Vic, you know you’ll be happy when it gets here. You love babies.

I’ll love this one, but there won’t be another. Mark my words, Tom—no more!

She’d been sick every morning and every evening for nine months. Her back hurt, and her legs cramped regularly at night, denying her sleep. Given the ease of her other pregnancies and births, Dr. Merar couldn’t explain it except to say it was her age. He’d been sympathetic—more sympathetic than Tom—but it hadn’t helped.

The stairs in the new house hadn’t helped either. She’d begged Tom to wait a few months before they moved, but he was proud of the elegant mansion and wanted to occupy it. She’d accused him of caring more for his image than for his wife, and it had stung him.

I did it for you, Vic.

No, you did it for Tom Barkley! You did it to prove to the world that you’re better than all those who ever looked down on you!

By her eighth month, she was huge and miserable. Her feet and her hands were swollen, and she couldn’t eat more than a few bites without a terrible burning in her chest and throat. She began to spend all of her time in her room, wearing a dressing gown that didn’t reach all the way around her, and not bothering to comb her hair or put it up. Tom left the house early and came home late.

Fortunately, she’d gone into labor in the middle of the night when Tom was available to fetch Dr. Merar. He’d hesitated, however.

It’ll be awhile, Vic. I hate to bring him out here to sit all night.

She’d acquiesced until, a few hours later, she knew that something was terribly wrong, and she’d told him that if he didn’t get the doctor, she and the baby were both going to die. And, she added, she hoped they did!

Tom decided to send Antonio to town for the doctor. She knew he didn’t believe that anything was wrong, but he felt guilty about leaving her. By the time the doctor arrived, his guilt had turned to fear. Something was wrong.

Dr. Merar said that the baby had turned and was lying crosswise.

I can’t deliver it like that, Victoria. I’m going to have to try to turn it back. Feet-first would be better than nothing.

To his credit, Tom had stayed with her during those agonizing hours while Dr. Merar had worked to make the delivery possible. Victoria heard little but her own screams, but at one point she thought she heard she word surgery, and she knew then that she would surely die.

Howard Merar was successful, but her labor lasted throughout the day and into the night. It was almost twenty-four hours later when she heard the weak mewing of her new infant, but she was too exhausted to ask if he was all right—and when the doctor brought him to the bed, she closed her eyes and turned her face away.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria took her coffee and walked into the dining room. As was his custom, Silas had set the table the night before. The sight of Tom’s empty place at the head of the table stabbed her consciousness painfully. Then, advancing a few steps, she pulled out his chair and sat down, and an immediate peace came over her.

I’m alive. I can smell the coffee, feel the sun through the windows behind me, hear the ranch coming alive for another day. You gave all this up, Tom, when you rode out to be the great mediator. You’re dead. Dead and buried.

She felt coldly calm, as calm as she’d been while she washed his mutilated body.

I hate you, Tom. I hate you for leaving me. I hate myself for the time we weren’t really together even when we shared a bed. I hate the railroad. I hate your brother. I hate not knowing what happened in Strawberry that time you were gone so long—and I hate knowing that you guessed what almost happened between Samuel and me. Maybe you thought it actually happened. Maybe I wanted you to think so—wanted to hurt you.

She leaned back in the chair and sipped her coffee slowly.

Oh, Tom. Oh, Tom.

She’d thought that she had no tears left, but they came now in a silent torrent.

Oh, God, Tom, I loved you! I loved you!

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod found her weeping uncontrollably and took her in his arms. “I wish I could do or say something, Mother.”

“There’s nothing—nothing!”

“Maybe you should go away for awhile. You and Audra could come back to San Francisco with me after I file Father’s will for probate. Go shopping. See a musicale. Gene will be fine here helping Nick.”

“When are you going?”

“Soon. I’m—I’m going to close my office there.”

“Close it! Why?”

“Well—I’m needed here now.”

“You’re giving up your career to come home and take over for your father? Think again, Jarrod!”

“I should be here for you.”

She took a handkerchief from her pocket and blotted her face. “When did you make that decision?”

“I—I don’t know. After the funeral, I suppose. And I’m not giving up my career. I have a practice here in Stockton.”

“It’s your practice in San Francisco that’s going to make you successful.”

“Isn’t the family more important?”

“I don’t need to be wet-nursed, Jarrod!”

“I didn’t mean that you did, Mother, but. . .”

“Give it up and come home if that’s what you’re determined to do—but do it for yourself, not for me or for Audra and Eugene. They’ll think things over and go back to school. I’m sure of that.”

“Don’t you think Father would expect me to step in. . .”

“You’re the eldest, Jarrod, not the parent, and you can never be your father.”

She touched his face. “You are yourself—I love you very much. I’m so very proud of you. But I want you to remain my son—not become my caretaker.”

Nick’s entrance put an end to the conversation. He noted where she was sitting, and disapproval clouded his face. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning, Nick. Are Gene and Audra up?”

“Heard ‘em arguin’ about something.”

“I see.”

Nick sat down in his accustomed place. “Why are you sitting there?” he asked bluntly.

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“Your father is dead, Nick, but I’m not. As the surviving parent, I am now head of the family, and I’ll thank you to remember that when you address me.”

He didn’t reply.

“Furthermore, your business is now the ranch. It’s all on your shoulders, and I have no doubt that they are strong enough to carry the burden. I trust you to do what has to be done—and to ask someone for advice if you’re not certain. I won’t interfere, but neither will I let you or Jarrod usurp my place as the head of this family. Do you understand?”

Nick glanced up at her and nodded curtly.

“I asked you a question.”

“I understand, Mother.”

“Good.”

Silas entered bearing the huge coffeepot. “Just set it down, Silas,” Nick snapped. Then he shook his head. “Sorry—I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Nick.” He moved smoothly to the place Victoria usually occupied and brought her plate and silverware to where she was now. “You want me to serve now, Mrs. Barkley, or wait on the children?”

“I’ll go hurry them up,” Jarrod said quickly. He returned in seconds with Audra and Eugene behind him. “Uncle Samuel’s on his way down.”

Victoria reached for her napkin and spread it in her lap, then pressed her hands together to keep them from trembling.

“You gonna replace him?” Nick asked.

“I have to, Nick. I have to abide by the terms of Father’s will.”

“Nick, can I go out with you again today?” Gene interrupted.

“Yeah, sure, Gene.”

“Mother, may I ride into town with Jarrod this morning and visit with Amanda?” If Audra noticed that her mother was now occupying the head of the table, she gave no indication.

Victoria nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Samuel Barkley made his entrance. “Good morning,” he said politely.

“Good morning, Samuel,” Victoria said.

“Jarrod, I’ll ride into town with you this morning if you don’t mind.”

“That will be fine, Uncle Samuel.”

The man unfolded his napkin with a concerted deliberateness. “I suppose you’ll be filing your father’s will for probate this morning. I do think, however, that we have some very important things to discuss before you do.”

Chapter 9

Jarrod faced his uncle across the desk. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.”

“You have the proof?”

“There are at least five people who can testify to it.”

Jarrod turned away and stared out the window. “And what do you expect me to do?”

“Your father didn’t specify a timetable for replacing me. I want two years guaranteed in writing.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“That would be unfortunate, especially for your mother.”

“Maybe Mother already knows.”

“I very much doubt it.”

“She and Father were partners. They weren’t in the habit of keeping secrets from each other.”

“No? Well, of course, if you’re sure enough to take the risk. . .”

“I never liked you, Uncle Samuel. Now I know why.”

“Unfortunately, I must admit that the feeling has always been mutual.”

He rose. “I’m going to check in at the hotel. Take your time thinking this over, Jarrod, but think about it carefully. I meant what I said.”

* * * * * * * *

Silas parked the wagon in front of the general store and went inside. “Mrs. Barkley needs these things,” he said politely, handing a list to the man behind the counter.

“I’ll get everything loaded for you. How’s everybody at the ranch, Silas?”

“Gettin’ along,” Silas replied. “I have to go to Mr. Jarrod’s office—mind if I leave the wagon where it is?”

“No—no problem, Silas. I’ll have it loaded when you get back.”

Silas had changed his white coat for a dark one, and those who didn’t know him might have mistaken him for a local businessman—except, of course, for his dark skin. Even ten years after the war, black men were not seen too much in Stockton and other smaller communities. But this morning, as he strode purposefully toward Jarrod Barkley’s office, Silas felt himself on business—perhaps the most important business he’d ever undertaken.

Jarrod’s secretary greeted him politely and ushered him into the office. “Silas—what brings you to town?”

“Came in to get supplies, Mr. Jarrod. I wonder—could we have a talk—private like?”

“Of course. Sit down.” Jarrod pulled up two chairs and indicated one for Silas.

“Well, sir, Mr. Tom give me a letter sometime back—asked me to make sure you got it whenever he passed on.”

“Why didn’t he just give it to me?”

“Think he thought it best to give it to me.”

Jarrod let that pass. “Do you know what’s in it?”

“I do. Yes, I do. Mr. Tom told me.”

“Well—maybe you should tell me.”

Silas nodded and reached into his pocket. “Here’s the letter—and before you read it, I’ll tell you just what he said to me that day.”

* * * * * * * *

An hour and a half later, Silas walked back to the loaded wagon, got into it, and drove away toward the Barkley Ranch. His presence in town had not gone unnoticed by Samuel Barkley—who now wondered why the servant had spent so much time in his employer’s office.

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod spent the afternoon reading and re-reading the papers that his father had entrusted to Silas. While the papers did not contain irrefutable proof that Samuel Barkley had enriched himself at the expense of the men who worked for Barkley-Sierra, especially the miners and their families, they contained a careful chronicling of the available evidence.

What Jarrod didn’t understand was why his father had allowed his brother to continue managing the company. If he even suspected what was happening, didn’t that make Tom Barkley equally responsible for the hardships and tragedies? So why had he kept quiet?

The papers contained no hint that Tom had kept quiet because his brother knew about Strawberry—but why hadn’t he suspected that, too? Well, perhaps he had. What was it that Silas had said? Tell Jarrod to go to Strawberry and ask for Leah. She’ll know the truth.

The truth about what? The mines? Or the truth about the blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man who looked too much like a Barkley to be anything else?

Jarrod felt overwhelmed with indecision. If he went to Strawberry, would he prove his uncle right or wrong? If he gave him the two years he wanted, would that be the end of it? Or would Samuel continue to blackmail the family? Would his demands cease—or would they eventually become too great for the family to endure?

He tossed the papers on his desk and sat back, trying to quell his anger. He had every right to be angry with his uncle, but he had never before been angry with his father. Well, he was angry now. His father had died and left this mess for him to deal with! What was he supposed to do? Either way, the family was going to get hurt. Hadn’t Tom Barkley realized that? What had he been thinking?

That his father might have been unfaithful was almost as much of a shock to Jarrod as Tom’s death. Men did such things all the time—but he’d looked on his father as more than a man. Even though he hadn’t wanted to follow in Tom’s footsteps by taking up a rancher’s life, he’d admired him for what he’d made of himself—without much education and most opportunities. Not that Tom had held himself up as a model—he was aware of what he lacked. But Jarrod had wanted to be the man his father was—or thought that he was.

Now. . .

* * * * * * * *

Silas unloaded the wagon with Antonio’s help. Then he went inside to see what he could do for Mrs. Barkley. When Tom Barkley had brought him to the ranch, he’d made it clear that it was for his wife’s benefit. Whatever she needs, Silas. Anything. That’s your job—your only job.

And for twenty years, it had been. Living on the ranch had been a good life. He’d had a comfortable place to live, clothes that hadn’t gone through three owners before they came to him, authority over his own sphere—the kitchen—and most of all, he’d had respect. He hadn’t been so much a servant as an actual member of the household, and he’d taken that position very seriously.

Five years ago, he hadn’t liked the idea of Tom Barkley going on a trail drive and leaving his wife alone in the house with the two younger children and his brother. Silas had distrusted Samuel Barkley from the beginning. It wasn’t his place to say so, but he’d done everything else he could think of to get the message across to Mr. Tom that his wife wasn’t safe with his younger brother.

He was right, too. Though he would take it to his grave, the conversation he’d overheard in the library that afternoon still rang in his ears. He’d listened long enough to know what was going on, but he also felt sure that Mrs. Barkley would soundly rebuff the man. When he’d returned to the library later and found them both gone, he felt sick inside. Without hesitation, he’d climbed the stairs and stood in the hall calling for Mr. Tom’s wife. When there was no answer, he knew—and was afraid.

The tension between the adult Barkleys had not escaped him. It all began when Mr. Tom went off on Barkley-Sierra business and didn’t come home for two months. When he did finally arrive, there was a difference about him—and Mrs. Barkley had seen it, too. That was how it started. How it ended, he wasn’t sure—but he did know that it ended after Samuel Barkley’s visit five years ago.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria had intended to be useful after breakfast. She’d gone into the library and sat down at her husband’s desk to do the household accounts. But the smell of his cigars in the humidor and the pile of notes he’d been in the habit of jotting down made her mind race.

I’m glad you’re home, Tom. I missed you.

Did you?

Yes, I did.

You had Samuel for company.

Samuel isn’t you. Besides, he left rather abruptly.

Oh. Well, I suppose he had business to take care of.

I don’t know.

Where are the children?

Gene and Audra went up hours ago. We decided you weren’t going to get in tonight after all.

We had to push it pretty hard, but Nick was ready to get home as much as I was.

He stripped off his sweat-stained shirt and dropped it on the floor of their bedroom. She held her tongue. At least she’d been able to teach the children to put their soiled laundry in the basket she’d provided for that purpose. She sat at her dressing table and watched his pants follow the shirt.

Gotta clean up, Vic.

I heated some water for you.

Reckon Nick’s already used it.

I can heat more.

Nah—think I’ll go down to the creek and cool off.

Like that?

It’s dark—won’t nobody see me.

She’d stood at the window and watched him go—a lantern swinging at his side. In that moment she ached for him as she never had before. What had happened to them? Was it the unexpected and unwanted pregnancy? Was it Strawberry? What? Suddenly it seemed unimportant.

Stopping only long enough to light a second lantern and grab an old blanket from the kitchen supply closet, she followed him to the creek.

What you doin’ down here, Vic?

You’ve been gone a long time, Tom. I want to spend some time with you.

Oh?

Yes.

She hesitated only a moment before shedding her dress and petticoats. He’d stared at her in disbelief as she stepped into the water up to her ankles.

You comin’ in like that?

How would you like me to come in?

Like me, I guess.

He’d stood up out of the water then, his naked body glistening in the moonlight. Without a pause, she took off the rest of her things and tossed them on the bank. When she looked at him again, he was holding out his arms, and she waded into them.

Chapter 10

The next day Samuel Barkley went back to Millersville, the headquarters for Barkley-Sierra. He did not speak with Jarrod again, nor did he have the written guarantee he’d demanded—though he felt sure he would have it soon. He simply felt that he should be out of the vicinity when Silas was visited by the nightriders.

They made their appearance the next night—their identities hidden by white sheets, torches burning, rope already tied in a noose. They came just before midnight, leaving their horses a safe distance away, and drug the man from his bed before anyone realized they were there.

Not since he was a youth in South Carolina had Silas heard such threats—been called such names—felt such fear. They tied him to the porch railing and left him there with the warning to stay out of the white man’s business or they’d be back—and this time the noose would go around his neck.

Antonio found him at dawn, and his yells brought the family from their rooms with dressing gowns hastily sashed. Audra and Eugene shrank back in horror as their older brothers helped Silas inside to sit down. Victoria ran for salve for his lacerated wrists and ankles.

“You want the doctor, Mr. Barkley?” Antonio asked Nick.

Nick grabbed the rope still dangling from the porch railing and hurled it angrily across the yard. “Go get him!”

Antonio went to saddle a horse.

“Who did this, Silas?” Nick demanded harshly, entering the kitchen where Audra was making coffee.

Silas shook his head. “Don’t know, Mr. Nick.”

“Whaddya mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean they was all covered up—sheets.”

Jarrod’s mouth tightened. He’d heard about the Klan from a man in San Francisco—how it had terrorized the ex-slaves in the South and grown more and more powerful since its inception. But he had never expected anything like that in California. Yes, there were ex-Confederates in the state, but why would they target a single black man who had lived among his white neighbors peacefully for twenty years?

“Did they say anything?” Jarrod asked, bringing Silas a glass of water.

Silas met Jarrod’s eyes. “They said not to mess in the white man’s business.”

Jarrod sucked in his breath.

“Meaning what?” Nick bellowed.

“Nicholas, lower your voice.” Victoria returned with salve and bandages and proceeded to tend Silas’ injuries.

“I shoulda told Antonio to bring the sheriff, too!” Nick stomped out the back door.

“Do you know what all this is about, Jarrod?” asked his mother.

“I’m not sure,” he said, but the glance in Silas’s direction said that he did. There was only one link to the South that he knew of—Samuel Barkley—and Samuel had never liked Silas.

Victoria insisted that Silas spend the rest of the day in his room resting. “Audra and I will see to breakfast, Silas.”

“No, m’am, I’m fine now.”

“I insist, Silas. Audra will bring you some breakfast as soon as it’s ready.”

Jarrod laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go on, Silas. It’ll make us feel better anyway.” He walked outside to join Nick.

“Simmer down,” he said. “Silas is all right. I don’t think they’ll be back.”

“You don’t think! What I wanta know is why they were here in the first place!”

Jarrod considered telling his brother about their uncle’s demands and threats—he desperately needed a confidante—but he knew how hot-headed Nick could be. It wouldn’t do to have him ride to Millersville and confront Samuel Barkley.

“Let me do some investigating, Nick.”

“Well, while you’re investigatin’, I’m gonna post a guard on the house every night!”

“That might not be a bad idea—but I really don’t think they’ll be back, Nick.”

“You know more’n me then!”

Breakfast was silent and interrupted toward the end by the arrival of Howard Merar. He disappeared into Silas’ room and later joined the family at the table. Audra brought him a cup of coffee and a heaped plate.

“He’s not seriously injured,” the doctor said.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t talk about this in town,” Jarrod said.

Howard’s eyebrows went up. “No, of course not—but you’re going to contact the sheriff, aren’t you?”

“Sure he is!” Nick’s voice all but rattled the silver.

“Nicholas, your voice.” Victoria glanced at Howard apologetically.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jarrod parried.

* * * * * * * *

After breakfast, Jarrod rode into town with the doctor, and Eugene went out again with Nick. Audra and Victoria cleaned the kitchen and then checked on Silas who was sleeping.

“I don’t understand what happened,” Audra said as they went upstairs to dress.

“I don’t understand it either, darling,” Victoria replied. “But I think Silas and Jarrod do.”

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod didn’t talk to Fred Madden. This was, he decided, a family affair, and bringing Fred into it could only complicate things. He re-read the papers his father had left with Silas and contemplated a trip to Strawberry. Who was this Leah? And why would she know the truth? The truth about what?

* * * * * * * *

Two days later, when it appeared that Silas was recovered from his ordeal, Jarrod announced at breakfast that he would be away for a few days. Victoria followed him upstairs later and asked where he was going.

“Strawberry.”

She fell back as if the word had struck her.

“What is it, Mother?” Jarrod steadied her carefully.

“Nothing.”

“Something, I think. Do you know something about Strawberry?”

“Only that your father has a mine there.”

“Nothing else?”

“Before Audra was born, he went there to see about something and didn’t come home for two months. I had a wire saying that he’d been in an accident and was recovering.”

“What kind of accident?”

“I don’t know. He never talked about it. He never said anything to me about that time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Of course, she did know—or suspected at least. “Will you see Samuel?”

“Probably not. I’m not going on to Millersville unless. . .”

“Have you made arrangements to replace him?”

“Not yet. Mother, are you sure you don’t know why Father. . .”

She turned and left the room quickly.

She spent the morning sitting at the window in her room. Everything had changed when Tom came back from Strawberry—and then things had changed again after that night at the creek. She’d never felt so close to him as she did after that. For the first time in over twenty years of marriage, they’d not only seen each other physically but emotionally as well.

There had been no confessions, no recriminations, no explanations. There had been nothing but the two of them alone in the moonlight, their bodies sliding together through the cool, still water, touching, exploring, and finally coming together with a passion they had not shared even in the early days.

Later, wrapped in the blanket, they had sneaked back through the kitchen and up the stairs to their bedroom where they’d made love again and fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

After that, their marriage turned a corner. Whatever they had lost, they not only rediscovered but found more. He seemed to regard her with a new appreciation for all she had done in the early days as they struggled. He even spoke to her of the fact that she had given him five children and recognized the grief she’d never been able to share with him when their third child was stillborn.

My mamma had nine children. I guess I thought that’s what women did, Vic. I guess I never thought about the sufferin’.

You were there with me four times, Tom.

Maybe I shut it out. Maybe I couldn’t admit I was the cause of what you were goin’ through.

He began to spend more time with her. Sometimes they rode to Oak Meadows for a picnic. Twice they went to San Francisco. More often they went down to the creek late at night to swim and made love in the moonlight.

Victoria leaned her elbows on the window ledge and put her face in her hands.

We had so little time, Tom. We lived together for thirty years, but we had so little time for each other. I know that you loved me. Whatever happened in Strawberry, I know that you never stopped loving me. I wish I’d told you about Samuel—that nothing happened—that when Silas called to me, I knew I had to stop what I was going to do.

Oh, I was unfaithful to you all the same. I didn’t sleep with your brother, but I wanted to—and the wanting was enough. Would you have forgiven me if you’d known? Did I forgive you for Strawberry, or did I just push it away?

If I could see you riding up to the house again—if we could start over—would things be any different? I’ll never know, but I wish—oh, how I wish. . .

She heard Jarrod riding out. She didn’t want him to go—didn’t want him to find out what she didn’t want to know—and yet—yet—would knowing let her bury Tom finally and forever?

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod Barkley stood by the fresh grave in the small, neglected cemetery. The crude lettering on the wooden marker read Leah Thompson 1830-1876. Some wilting wildflowers in a tin can leaned precariously on the uneven mound.

The two women at the dilapidated house hadn’t wanted to tell him more than this—that he could find Leah Thompson in the cemetery. When he’d told them that his name was Jarrod Barkley, they’d gone into the house and closed the door. He considered that it had been a wasted trip, and yet—perhaps what they hadn’t said told him what he needed to know.

Putting on his hat, he untied his horse from the lone tree and mounted. He knew it was useless to return to talk to the women—and he wasn’t sure he really wanted to hear anything they had to say. Uncle Samuel had said that there were five people who could testify to the truth—now there were only four, but four were enough, even if was only hearsay for them.

What am I going to do, Father? If I abide by the terms of your will, Mother and Nick and Audra and Eugene are going to get hurt. If I don’t, other people are going to get hurt—people may die in those mines. You always took care of business before. Why didn’t you take care of this? Why did you leave it for me to deal with?

He’d said he was going to be away for a few days, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Perhaps he should go on to Millersville and confront Uncle Samuel one more time. At the crossroads outside of town, he pulled up and thought about what to do. Then he headed toward Millersville.

Chapter 11

Samuel Barkley didn’t stand up when Jarrod strode into his office. “Well, well, I didn’t really expect to see you so soon, counselor.”

“I’ve been to Strawberry. Leah Thompson is dead.”

“Is she now?’

“That’s right. What do you know about the men who paid Silas a visit at the ranch the other night?”

“Men? Silas?”

“Men in the Valley don’t put on white robes to go hang someone—they just do it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

The two men eyed each other nervously for a few minutes.

“I came to tell you that I’m not extending your time with Barkley-Sierra—not in writing anyway. But I’m sending in an independent auditor to go over the books and also a mine inspector. Whatever he finds wrong, you’d better correct.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No threat—just a statement of what you should be prepared for.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I’ll have your check ready—fair share price plus fifty percent.”

“Do you really want to push me, Jarrod? What I know would destroy your family—not that I’d mind, of course.”

“Father paid for your education. He helped everyone in his family. Why do you want to hurt his children—and his wife?”

“He owed us. When he left, I was two years old, and times were pretty lean for us. He was the oldest—he should’ve stayed to help out.”

“He sent back money as soon as he made some. I’ve seen his business records.”

“Charity.”

“Why charity?”

“You know what the Barkleys in Georgia are, Jarrod? Crackers—poor whites—and before the War at least, nothing—no amount of money—could have made us anything else.”

“How is that Father’s fault?”

“Oh, I guess it’s not, but he came out here a built that big house to look just like the one near where we lived. We were about as welcome there as bedbugs, so he built his own. And Silas—treating him like an equal when in Georgia he’d have had his black hide flayed off for his uppity ways!”

“This is all very interesting, Uncle Samuel, but it still doesn’t explain what you have against Father.”

Samuel sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his flat stomach. “It’s very simple, Jarrod—I always wanted what he had—and felt I deserved it more.”

“You can have it—he paid you well.”

“I always wanted what he had,” Samuel said again slowly, a smile playing with the corners of his mouth. “Including his wife.”

Jarrod paled. “What. . .”

“Ask your mother about that time five years ago when Tom and Nick were away on a cattle drive, and you were in San Francisco getting your office set up. Ask her which Barkley brother she really preferred.”

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod nursed his aching hand as he rode out of Millersview. The blow he’d delivered to his uncle’s jaw had knocked the man backwards out of his chair. Something had cracked—the man’s jaw—the chair—or his skull. Jarrod wasn’t sure which—hadn’t waited around to find out—and didn’t care.

He smiled a little at the memory. Nick would have had his hands around the man’s throat, and he’d been tempted. But being hung for deliberate murder didn’t appeal to him. Then his smile faded. His mother—ask his mother—dear Heaven, the man was insane! A man might be impulsively unfaithful—once—and be forgiven, but to even consider that his mother could have had any sort of like relationship, especially with Samuel Barkley. . .

Jarrod felt nauseous. His mother! It was unthinkable!

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod had been home less than a week when the wire arrived.

Regret to inform. . .S. Barkley shot. . .Strawberry. . .wire instructions. . .

Without telling anyone why, Jarrod returned to Strawberry and went directly to the sheriff’s office.

“Had to go on an’ bury him, Mr. Barkley. Little place like this ain’t got a way a-keepin’ a dead body too long, y’know.”

“I have no problem with that,” Jarrod said. “I just want to know what he was doing here, and who shot him and why?”

The sheriff looked embarrassed. “Uh—how much d’you know about your papa’s business here in Strawberry.”

“Enough.”

“Well, I reckon your uncle knew too much. He was out at the old Thompson place talkin’ to Hannah—you know Hannah?”

Jarrod nodded curtly. Hannah was the colored woman who’d closed the door in his face when he said his name was Barkley.

“Hannah’s along in years—not quite right sometimes, y’know—anyway, she seemed to think he was there to hurt her Miss Leah.”

“Leah Thompson’s dead.”

The sheriff raised his eyebrows curiously, but when Jarrod didn’t offer any more information, he went on. “Yeah—but sometimes Hannah don’t know that. Best I can make out, he was tryin’ to get her to sign some kind of paper. Poor old soul can’t read or write!”

“What was on the paper?”

“Hannah burned it.”

“I see.”

“Right after she blew a hole the size of my fist in Mr. Barkley’s back.”

“His back?”

“There’s the rub—if he was leavin’, why’d she shoot him?”

“You don’t have her locked up, do you?”

“Well, no. She ain’t gonna run off nowhere. Couldn’t if she wanted to. But there hasta be an inquest, and I don’t know how anybody on God’s green earth could do anything but find she shot him in cold blood. But she won’t hang—she’ll likely get sent to one a-those asylums.”

“Better for her to hang,” Jarrod muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Well, she’ll need a lawyer, and I’m that.”

“You gonna defend her?”

“She just did my family a favor—yes, I’m going to defend her.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“Look, sheriff, you and I both know what this is all about—even though we’re not coming out and saying it. It’s been a secret this long, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“Don’t see how it can.”

“Nobody but Hannah knows what she was being asked to sign—and she’s probably not going to tell. I’m going to plead self defense.”

The sheriff stared at him. “Self defense?”

“That’s right.”

“It might work. Nobody around here liked Barkley anyway.”

“I’ve just become aware of some of his unscrupulous business practices. He was going to be replaced anyway—and I’ll make sure the family sends someone in who’ll clean things up.”

“Folks’ll be glad a-that.”

“Enough to let that poor woman live out the rest of her life in peace?”

The sheriff studied the younger man’s face thoughtfully. “Could be,” he said. “Could be. The man you need to see is Michael Ryan. He and his bunch had a lot of run-ins with your uncle over the way he did things. If we could get some of them to speak up for old Hannah, why, the judge might see things in a different light.”

“Judge Carter? District circuit judge?”

“Yep. He’ll be here in a week.”

“Does Strawberry have a grand jury?”

“After a fashion.”

“Then maybe we could get things finished with a coroner’s inquest.”

“Could happen. See Mike Ryan at the company store.”

* * * * * * * *

When Victoria received Jarrod’s wire about Samuel’s death, she felt only relief. Samuel meant to make trouble for the family one way or the other. It didn’t matter if her knew about Strawberry—he knew about her. How had she let it happen—or almost happen? Her face grew hot as she remembered standing naked before her brother-in-law.

What concerned her now wasn’t Samuel Barkley but rather why Jarrod was staying so long in Strawberry—and if he would tell her when he returned. Somehow she doubted that he would.

* * * * * * * *

When Jarrod finally found Mike Ryan in his “office”—a back room in the local saloon—he came face to face with the evil Samuel Barkley had done. The handsome man sitting in the torn leather chair was about his own age, and his muscular body rivaled Nick’s. He also had no legs below the knees.

“Mine cave-in,” Mike said casually. “Stayed pinned under a support beam for almost two days. What can I do for you, Mr. . .?”

Jarrod’s jaw tightened. “Barkley. Jarrod Barkley.”

“Tom Barkley’s oldest son—the lawyer.”

“That’s right.”

“How did I know? When you sit here like this day after day for two years, you make it your business to know everything about those who put you here.”

“I’m not making excuses for my family—but I’m not accepting the responsibility for what my uncle did either.”

“Fair enough. What is it you want?’

Jarrod told him—all except the reason, but Mike seemed to know it. “Hannah nursed me six months after this. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for her. Don’t like to think about her locked up in a crazy house.”

“I don’t think she’s crazy. I think she knew exactly what she was doing—she was saving her own life.”

“Not the way I hear it.”

“He might have been leaving—but he’d have been back.” Jarrod sketched Silas’s experience.

“I see whatcha mean. Well—maybe you’re right.”

“I don’t want to see this go to trial—for obvious reasons.”

“You sure your mamma don’t know?”

“I’m not sure of anything, Mr. Ryan, and I’m not planning on finding out.”

“But you’re willin’ to try to get Hannah off?”

“That’s what I said. I don’t think anyone wants to see an old woman put away for getting rid of the man with his hands wrapped around the throat of an entire town.”

“No. . .”

“Give me the name of three or four others like yourself who’d be willing to testify about the good Hannah’s done—and the terrible things my uncle has allowed to happen. I need people to say why she had cause to be afraid of Samuel Barkley—why she shot him to protect herself.”

“You really think you can do this?”

“I really think I can.”

“She didn’t kill him just to protect herself, you know.”

Jarrod caught his breath. He’d hope the subject of the other person involved wouldn’t come up—or worse still, that he’d run into him on the street.

“Heath left here when he was fourteen—lied about his age and joined the army I heard. But he came back when he heard about his mamma. He’s the one you want.”

He’s the last one I want, Jarrod thought, but he said, “Why?”

“’Cause he can tell you about Samuel Barkley. Went to work in the mine when he was eight years old. And he hated Barkley’s guts. He hated all the Barkleys’ guts—reckon he still does. But he loves Hannah—she helped raise him. He’d do anything for her.”

“Can you tell me where to find him?”

Mike Ryan stretched like a cat on the rug in front of a cozy fire. “I’ll put out the word—he’ll turn up. You stayin’ in town?”

“At the hotel.”

“Not there!”

“Why?”

“Never mind—look, there’s rooms upstairs here—not fancy, but clean.”

“All right.”

“Just tell the bartender that Mike said you needed a place.”

“And you’ll put out the word—so the speak?”

“Yes.”

“You do understand this is urgent?”

“I understand.”

“And by the way, tell your bunch that there’ll be a new man at Barkley-Sierra. I’ve hired an auditor and a state inspector—whatever they say needs doing will be done.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Then hear it again—and understand that I mean what I say.”

Chapter 12

Silas knew that Victoria hadn’t slept in several nights. She came to breakfast each morning looking pale and drawn and hardly touched her food. On the third morning he said he thought she ought to see Dr. Merar.

“I don’t need a doctor, Silas. I need my husband. I need my life back the way it was.”

“Now, Mrs. Barkley, you know that’s not gonna happen. You need to take care of yourself..”

“May I have another cup of coffee, Silas?”

“No, m’am, that’s number four you’re workin’ on right now. You don’t need coffee. You need sleep.”

“I’ll be all right, Silas.”

“I don’t think so.”

She studied his face for a moment. “You know what happened five years ago, don’t you?”

“Lotsa things happened five years ago, Mrs. Barkley.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“No, m’am, can’t say as I do. I’m gonna tell Antonio to hitch up the buggy so you can go to town to see the doctor.”

“I told you I didn’t need a doctor!”

“Mr. Samuel—he was a wicked man—better he’s gone.”

She couldn’t argue with him.

“Better for you and all the children.”

“I’m not grieving over him—if that’s what you think.”

“No, m’am, I don’t think nothing.” He turned to go.

“I’m not going to town, Silas.”

“Yes, m’am.”

She rose wearily from the empty table and started for the stairs. Half-way up, she felt dizzy—and then everything went black.

* * * * * * * *

In Strawberry, Jarrod Barkley waited for the man Mike Ryan had called Heath. Heath. His brother? No, half-brother. But a Barkley was a Barkley.

While he waited, he talked to Hannah—who knew what she’d done and seemed resigned as to her fate—and to Rachel Caulfield and to as many others as Mike Ryan suggested. He steered clear of the hotel.

“Matt Simmons and his wife would be glad to see Hannah gone,” Mike told him. “She knows the truth about them, too. She and Rachel.”

“The truth?”

“Leah was Matt’s half-sister. She worked at the hotel—cooking, washing dishes, you know. Matt and Martha—they’d have signed anything Samuel Barkley put in front of them if he’d made it worth their while.”

“Perhaps I should find out if they did.”

“I’d leave it for now anyway. If they have anything to say, they’ll come forward at the inquest.”

“Which is tomorrow, by the way. Where’s—where’s Mr. Thompson?”

“I’ve got the word out. He’ll be here.”

“I hope so.”

“He’ll be here.”

Jarrod wished he felt as certain.

* * * * * * * *

Howard Merar met Audra and Silas in the hall. “I’ve given her something to help her sleep.”

“What’s wrong with my mother?” Audra’s voice trembled.

“She’s exhausted, Audra—physically and emotionally.”

“I thought she was better.”

“I think she tried to be better for all of you.”

“What—what’s going to happen now?”

“She’ll sleep—hopefully twenty-four hours. You need to check on her regularly, and if she wakes up, get some food into her—not coffee!”

“She’s might-near lived on coffee the past few days,” Silas offered.

Audra lifted her chin. “I’ll see that she eats. I’ll move one of our camp cots into her room and sleep there.”

Howard was about to say that wasn’t necessary when he realized that it was—for Audra anyway.

“I think that’s a fine idea.”

Audra brightened. “I’ll go find it right now!”

“I’ll find it, Miss Audra,” Silas said. “You just go on in and sit with your mamma.”

Silas saw the doctor out. “She really goin’ to be all right?”

“She’ll be fine, Silas. Well, no, she won’t be fine. She’s had a tremendous shock—and a horrible loss. The whole family has. It’s just going to take time. I want you to send for me—day or night—if you think it’s necessary.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll sure do that.”

“How are you, Silas? You had quite an ordeal yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he said with dignity. “Reckon my pride got hurt worse’n anything else.”

Dr. Merar nodded. “Had mine wounded a time or two myself. Well, you look after things, Silas, and call me if you need me.”

* * * * * * * *

The coroner’s inquest was scheduled for ten o’clock in the morning. Jarrod hired a buggy and went out for Hannah and Rachel himself. On the way to town, he ventured to ask if either one of them had heard from Heath.

“Best he don’t come,” Hannah said tightly.

“Best for who, Hannah?” Jarrod asked in surprise.

“For him. For my boy. My boy don’t need to get mixed up in this!”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

“Since Miss Leah died. Don’t recollect just when that was.”

“It was last May, Hannah,” Rachel said kindly.

“Huh.”

The small room was crowded. Though there were chairs for Jarrod, Hannah, and Rachel, most of the men stood shoulder to shoulder, sweating, murmuring among themselves. Mike Ryan was carried in by two burly men that Jarrod had seen at the saloon.

“He hasn’t shown up,” Jarrod whispered to Mike. “You said he would.”

“I said I’d put the word out.”

“No, you said he’d be here.”

Mike looked over his shoulder and grinned. “And he is.”

Jarrod turned and saw a tall blonde man, some years younger than himself, edging through the crowd. He was slender, almost thin, but he carried himself with an easy confidence. He shook hands with Mike and spoke to Hannah and Rachel. “What’s all this about?”

“Samuel Barkley. He’s dead. Shot,” Mike said.

Heath’s eyes narrowed, his face hardened. “I hope that son-of-a—I hope he died by inches!”

Mike lowered his voice. “Hannah shot him.”

“What?”

“He was tryin’ to get her to sign some paper sayin’ you was—well, you know.”

“I’d-a killed him myself!”

“Yeah, and hung for it.”

“What are they gonna do to Hannah?”

“Well, she’s got a lawyer—a good one. He thinks he can stop it right here.”

“Lawyer? She can’t afford. . .”

Mike looked past him at Jarrod who was standing removed from the group. “Heath, this is Jarrod Barkley. He’s here to speak for Hannah.”

Heath whirled, fists clenched, eyes blazing hatred. “Ain’t the Barkleys done enough in this town?”

Jarrod saw a flash of Nick in the tightened jaw and hot, impulsive words.

“That’s just it—they haven’t—but they will. Good things.”

Heath sneered. “Yeah, I’ll just bet!”

“I’m going to need your help, Mr. . .”

“Heath’ll do.”

“All right, Heath. You’ve got to get up on that stand and testify that Hannah was afraid of Samuel Barkley—and that’s why she shot him.”

“Of course, that’s why. . .damn the man!” Heath pounded his fist into his palm.

* * * * * * * *

Audra never left her mother—who slept for nineteen hours without stirring. When she woke, she was confused. “Audra? What time is it?”

“The middle of the night, Mother. No, don’t try to get up.”

“What happened?”

“You fainted on the stairs. Dr. Merar was here and gave you something to make you sleep.”

“Where are the others?”

“Nick and Eugene are asleep.”

“And Jarrod?”

“Don’t you remember—he went to Strawberry on business.”

“Strawberry!” The name struck fear in Victoria.

“Yes—that’s where—you do remember that Uncle Samuel is dead, don’t you?”

“Is there no end to killing?” she moaned, turning her head away from her daughter.

“It’s all right, Mother, really.”

Victoria felt tears on her cheeks again. No end to killing. No end to tears. Her life was unraveling, and for the first time, she couldn’t seem to bring together the ragged edges and begin again.

“Audra, go to bed. I’m all right now.”

“No, you’re not. You’re crying again, Mother.”

“I need to cry! Please, Audra—please, leave me alone!”

In the darkness, Victoria let the tears come in earnest. She wanted to scream, but the others would hear and be frightened.

Damn you, Tom Barkley! Damn you! Damn you for dying and—damn you for having a brother like Samuel—and damn you for Strawberry!

* * * * * * * *

After the inquest was over, Mike Ryan suggested they all gather in his “office” at the saloon. Heath insisted on driving Hannah and Rachel home himself and said he’d join them later. Jarrod accompanied Mike and his two burly bearers down the street and didn’t have to be asked twice if he wanted a drink. He did. A good stiff one. Maybe two.

The support of the townspeople for Hannah—and their combined hatred for the Barkleys—had overridden the law. Hannah was going home to live out her days in peace. It was over—for her at least. Jarrod, on the other hand, knew that, for his family, it was just beginning.

When Heath returned, he brought a bottle from the bar and set it in the middle of the rickety table that Mike called a desk. “You strike gold, boy?” Mike asked with amusement.

“Maybe.”

Jarrod observed the young man closely. If Audra and Eugene were here—and if the three of them stood up together—it would be clear to everyone that they were sired by the same man. Besides that, though Heath was quieter, he had the same fiery temper and dogged determination as Nick.

The young man knocked back three drinks and then looked at Jarrod. “Thanks for what you did for Hannah.”

Jarrod nodded. “I wanted to.”

“I can pay you a little now. . .”

Jarrod waved his hand. “I don’t want to be paid. I owe this town something. The Barkleys owe it something.”

“You got that right! Barkley-Sierra’s had this town by the throat for too long!”

“I told you things were going to change.” Jarrod hesitated. “Father’s dead.”

Heath didn’t react.

“Shot by railroad men.”

Heath shrugged. “That’s the way of it sometimes.”

“He didn’t know what Samuel was doing.”

Heath took a fourth drink. “Lot the old man didn’t know about—or didn’t want to know about maybe.”

“Maybe we need to talk about that.”

Heath didn’t say anything.

Jarrod shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, Heath—I idolized my father. So do my brothers and sister—and my mother—well, even she didn’t know.”

Heath shrugged.

“Even so, I think you’re owed something.”

“Ain’t owed nothin’.”

“I’m the executor of Father’s will. I can see that you get your share.”

Heath stood up. “If I ever want it, I’ll let you know. Right now, everything about the Barkleys stinks—even their money.” He stalked out.

“Kid had a rough time growin’ up here,” Mike observed. “Mighty rough.”

“Did—did everyone know—about him—about my father?”

“Not at first. Not about your pa anyway.”

“Who spread the word? Samuel?”

“Nah—it was Matt Simmons. Him and his wife Martha.”

“What did they have to gain?”

“Nothin’. It was pure meanness. Then when your uncle took over Barkley-Sierra, they went to him with the story.”

“But why? How did they know he didn’t already know—or even wanted to know?”

“Oh, I figure they worked it some way so that he made it worth their while.”

“Maybe I should see them before I leave.”

“Don’t do that, Mr. Barkley. Heath wouldn’t like it—and you do care how he feels—don’t you?”

Jarrod nodded. “I care.”

“Then leave it alone.”

“I can’t leave it alone forever, Mike. Heath’s my. . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word brother.

“You gonna tell your ma?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see how I can. She’s still very—fragile.”

Jarrod tried to fathom telling his mother about Heath. He tried to imagine her reaction—but then, there was always the chance that she knew. She could have lied to him when she said she didn’t know about Strawberry—lied to protect him just as he wanted to protect her now.

* * * * * * * *

Before he left the next morning, Jarrod went to the bank and set up a fund for Hannah and Rachel to be administered by Mike Ryan. Mike was rough and uneducated, but he was honest, and he wouldn’t touch a penny that didn’t belong to him. Jarrod also arranged for Mike to be paid a small administrator’s fee. It couldn’t be much, or Mike would see right through it, but it was something that he could count on every month.

He was at the livery getting his horse when the man approached him. He knew without asking that the craggy-faced man with the hang-dog expression had to be Matt Simmons.

Chapter 13

“Mornin’, Mr. Barkley.”

“Mr. Simmons.”

The man laughed nervously. “Knew it was me, huh?”

Jarrod didn’t reply.

“Guess you’re glad about the way the hearin’ went yesterday. Guess I am, too. Poor old soul wouldn’t a-lasted long in one a-those places they talked about.”

Jarrod cinched the saddle and checked his saddlebags.

“Heard you saw Heath at th’ hearin’.”

“That’s right.”

“You know he’s your pa’s, doncha?”

“Mr. Simmons, the Barkley business is just that—Barkley business. I don’t intend to discuss it with anyone outside the family.”

“Oh, sure, sure—but y’oughtta know that m’wife and me—we helped Leah raise that boy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah—thought maybe you’d think we deserved a little somethin’ for it.”

“Think again, Mr. Simmons. I heard my uncle wouldn’t have known about Heath if it hadn’t been for you. How much did he pay you?”

The man’s face flushed an ugly red. “You got it wrong, Mr. Barkley.”

“When you can prove that to me, we might have something to talk about.”

He got on his horse and rode away.

* * * * * * * *

He dreaded going home. Knowing his mother, she’d demand answers about Samuel, and he’d have to give them to her. Lying to her was unthinkable. But what would those answers do to her? She was already holding on by her fingernails. How much would it take to destroy her completely?

* * * * * * * *

Audra checked on her mother the next morning before she went down to breakfast and found her still asleep. The girl frowned. This cycle of sleeping and crying, then not sleeping was wearing on everyone. She wanted to understand, but she was beginning to feel somewhat irritated at her mother. Where was the strong woman she’d depended on for fifteen years? Where was the woman who comforted her and always made things better, who could come to a decision in seconds, who could manage any crisis? It was almost as if the bullets that pierced her father’s body had killed her mother, too.

Nick and Eugene were already at the table. “Where’s Mother?” Nick asked.

“Still asleep.”

“Oh.”

“Nick, can I go into town today to see Amanda?”

“You need to stay with Mother.”

“I’ve been staying with her, Nick, and she doesn’t want me! All she wants to do is lie in bed and cry!”

“All the more reason not to leave her alone.”

“I’m not the mother around here!” She slid into her chair and grabbed her napkin.

Nick glanced up at his little sister, noting that she looked paler than usual. “No, you’re not, honey. I’m sorry. I’ll see if Antonio can carry you to town this morning. I’d rather you didn’t ride in alone.”

“Why not?”

Nick hesitated, then decided to be honest. “Audra, those men from the railroad may be gone, and they may not be gone.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I don’t know that it has anything to do with you, but if there’s going to be any shooting, I don’t want you riding into it.”

“Oh, Nick, I. . .”

“That’s just the way it’s gotta be, Audra. For awhile anyway. I’m sorry.”

“Mother let me go the other day.”

“You went in with Jarrod, and Amanda’s brother brought you back.”

“Father wasn’t afraid of them!”

Eugene set down his glass of milk. “Father’s dead,” he said quietly.

Audra burst into tears and fled the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to make her cry,” Eugene said.

“You didn’t, Gene. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nick, I sure wish things would get better pretty soon.”

“I know—so do I. You about ready to go to work?”

The boy’s face brightened. “Sure, Nick!”

* * * * * * * *

When Jarrod rode in just before dinner, the house was eerily quiet. Hearing him in the foyer, Silas came out of the kitchen. “Welcome back, Mr. Jarrod.”

“Thanks, Silas. Where is everybody?”

“Mr. Nick and Mr. Gene are still out. Miss Audra’s in the kitchen making biscuits. . .”

Jarrod rolled his eyes. “Good lord.”

“Now, Mr. Jarrod, you eat one of ‘em anyway.”

“Where’s Mother?”

“Mrs. Barkley’s been in her room all day. Matter a-fact, she’s been there three days. Dr. Merar came out. Said it was shock.”

Jarrod frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I been carrying meals up to her, but she don’t eat much.”

“I’ll go up and see her.”

He was half-way up the stairs when Silas spoke again. “Mr. Jarrod—how was things in Strawberry?”

Jarrod froze. “What do you know about Strawberry, Silas?”

The man seemed to be considering his words. “I don’t know nothin’.”

“And Mother? What does she know?”

“What she thinks she knows is what’s botherin’ her—that and Mr. Tom bein’ gone.”

Jarrod shook his head. “Silas, anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a legal mind?”

The older man smiled. “No, sir, you’re the lawyer.”

Jarrod laughed. “Sometimes I wonder.”

He tapped lightly on the door at the top of the stairs. “Mother?”

“Come in, Jarrod.”

She was dressed and sitting by the window. “You’re back from Strawberry.”

He crossed the room to kiss her. “Yes, Mother.”

“Is—is everything all right?”

“I don’t know. Is there something about Strawberry I should know?”

“Samuel didn’t tell you then.”

“Tell me what?”

“About Strawberry. About me.”

“You?” Icy fingers clawed their way into Jarrod’s gut. So Samuel had been telling the truth after all.

Victoria sighed. “It seems we’re playing games.”

“Samuel said some upsetting things. I found out others in Strawberry.”

She nodded. “Did you meet her?”

Jarrod knew the moment of truth was here. “She’s dead,” he said quietly.

“Oh.”

He waited. Would she tell him about her own indiscretion? Did he want her to?

“I never slept with Samuel Barkley.”

He waited.

“But I considered it, so I’m just as guilty.”

“Mother, that’s in the past.”

“Not for me.” She looked up, her gray eyes so full of anguish that he could feel her pain. “I loved your father.”

He took her hand. “I know that, Mother. And he loved you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “My God, Jarrod, I’ve lost him—and I’ve lost myself! I don’t want to live, but I can’t die and make orphans of Audra and Gene.”

“Mother. . .” He pulled her into his arms. “Mother, it will get better in time.”

“Are you so sure?”

“We need you more than ever—Audra, Gene—even Nick and me as old as we are.”

“When we didn’t have two nickels to rub together, your father always said things would get better.”

“And they did.”

“Yes.”

“Father would expect you to go on.”

“He always expected a great deal of me—sometimes more than I wanted to give.”

“But you always managed somehow.”

Victoria sat back, her eyes dry. “I will manage again,” she said after a moment. “I will, Jarrod.”

He leaned to kiss her cheek. “Of course, you will, Mother. I want to clean up a little, and then I’ll take you down to dinner.”

She nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

* * * * * * * *

A few miles out of Strawberry, Heath Thompson stomped out the remains of his campfire and packed his tin cup and coffeepot in the cloth bag atop his bedroll. Where to now?

He mounted his horse easily and swung its head toward the west. Mike had said he was a fool to turn down Jarrod’s offer of a share of the Barkley fortune. Maybe, but he didn’t think so. It wasn’t time—not yet. The memory of his mother was too sharply painful. She’d never taken anything from Tom Barkley, and she’d tell him not to take anything either.

For now, he’d put the whole thing behind him as he’d done for years. But he’d take the memory of his half-brother’s face with him, and someday—maybe not soon, but someday—he’d meet him again. Then it would be time.

Chapter 14

Before Victoria went down to dinner on Jarrod’s arm that night, she’d made a decision. She would survive. Not only that, but she would consciously push back the thick black fog that threatened daily to engulf her, and she would reclaim her place of authority in the family. She did not think it would be easy, nor did she feel physically or emotionally up to the job. But it was her job—she had it to do—and she wouldn’t fail.

In the weeks and months that followed no one ever saw her cry again, and when she spoke of Tom Barkley, she did so with a casual warmth that led some to believe that she was done with her grieving. She was not. He was her first thought when she rose each morning and the last when she closed her eyes to sleep at night.

Sometimes she felt he was so real that she could carry on a conversation with him.

Gene doesn’t want to go back to school. I think he should, don’t you?

Yes.

I felt I had to let him make the choice rather than dictate to him.

I agree.

Audra has decided to go back. That’s probably best. Joel Tansy has been here lately more than he’s been at his own home.

She’s too young to think of marriage.

But she will. You know that. When you walk her down the aisle. . .

I won’t do that, Vic.

No, of course, you won’t. It will be Jarrod or Nick, I suppose. Jarrod didn’t close his office in San Francisco, by the way. He realized it was unnecessary—and foolish.

Nick looks after things here.

Yes, he does. He reminds me more and more of you, Tom. Except for his temper—where did he get that?

And sometimes, when she lay down at night, she was sure she felt him get in beside her. She’d close her eyes and try to feel his breath on her face, to remember how clumsily he’d unfastened her nightdress—and how skillfully he made love to her once he’d tossed it aside.

You’re so soft, Vic.

Time was when I was as much like leather as you are.

You worked hard in your time.

You still work hard.

You were right about this house, you know. I did want to prove something to people. But I also wanted it for you and the children. I like seein’ you in comfort.

I know, and I love you for it.

Ah, Vic, you’re so soft. . .smooth as silk. . .I love touchin’ you.

I love you touching me.

The old man still makes you happy, huh?

You make me happy, Tom.

In time she gave away his clothes and divided his personal possessions among the children. His watch went to Jarrod, his gun to Nick. She had earrings made for Audra from the gold cufflinks that had been an anniversary present the year after they became close again. Gene asked for the leather-bound journals his father had used to keep accounts even before the ranch finally began to show a profit.

The family began attending church again and accepting social invitations. Victoria refused to put on mourning, saying it was an archaic idea. Instead she wore the colors that Tom had liked seeing her in best—rose and sky-blue and mint-green. She began to put her hair up fashionably rather than wearing it caught low on her neck. Sometimes, when she looked into the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Other times she thought that the person she was becoming was someone she liked much better than the old self, and then it was hard not to feel guilty—but only briefly. She refused to entertain useless emotion.

For awhile I didn’t know who I was—but I think I’m finding out. I miss you, Tom. I’ll miss you forever. But it’s going to be all right. Just like you said, it’s going to be all right.

* * * * * * * *

Three years after the Tom Barkley’s death, Audra finished school and came home, immediately throwing herself into work at the recently-established orphanage. Eugene entered college at the young age of seventeen, still undecided between the law and medicine. While Jarrod traveled between Stockton and San Francisco, Nick kept the ranch running smoothly. Any anxiety he might have felt about doing things right on his own eventually vanished.

The railroad steered clear of Stockton for a few years, but they came back. They always came back. This time, they wanted Barkley land that had been sold to several smaller farmers. She tried to believe that the dispute would resolve peacefully—Jarrod was preaching that cause all over the valley—but terror became entrenched in her heart, a silent visitor that made itself known in the quiet moments just before dawn and again at dusk. Who would ride out and not come home? Would the door open to her sons striding in, calling out and laughing? Or would there be another wagon, another bloody body to reclaim and wash and bury beside Tom?

Life went on, of course. What would be couldn’t be changed with fear and worry. She had told Jarrod that she would manage, and she was doing just that. No one would ever know what it cost her.

Everyone was home the weekend that marked the third anniversary of Tom Barkley’s death. They hadn’t talked about the occasion over dinner—though she knew they’d all thought about it. She went up early that evening to help Audra alter a dress. Eugene was studying in his room when she stopped in to say goodnight.

Later, as she passed through the upper hall to her own room, she heard loud voices below. Two of them she could identify—Nick and Jarrod—but not the third. She caught the fainter sound of a glass being smashed, and then the door of the library was flung open and someone dashed out.

For a moment, her heart was in her throat as she thought of the young man she’d met at the docks in Boston that day—that handsome, brash, ambitious young man with whom she’d rebelliously run away one day and stayed with him for thirty years.

The face that turned briefly up to hers was Tom’s face. For a moment, their eyes locked, and she understood the anger in those deep blue pools that challenged hers. She gripped the railing until her knuckles were bloodless. Tom’s face—Tom’s son. The proof of Strawberry. She closed her eyes against the memory, and when she opened them again, the young man was gone.

But he would be back. She knew that as surely as she knew the sun would rise the next morning. And when he came. . .when he came. . .what then?

Oh, Tom, you left us a legacy—land and wealth and a name that commands respect all over the valley—and four children born of our love. But there was more. I know that now. Did you know? Did you want to tell me? Did you even try?

When he looked at me, I saw the same thing in his eyes that I saw in yours when you talked about how someday you’d be above all those who’d looked down on you. Does he want the same thing? If he does, he’ll succeed simply because he’s your son. What you set your mind to do, you did, and he will, too.

But he can’t do it apart from the rest of us, Tom. We’ll have to accept him. I wonder—will he accept us? Are we the enemy just as those “fancy-pants” you always spoke of were your enemies?

Perhaps I should be angry with you, Tom—the betrayed wife—but I’m not. I think I always knew, and over the years, I accepted the fact that you weren’t perfect anymore than I was, and we went on. Those last few years were the best of our lives, in fact. We were closer in every way.

I need you tonight, Tom. I need you to hold me, and—yes—make love to me. I need to know that you loved me best, and I think you did. I need your strength for what lies ahead—the railroad, this angry young man—the hurt and confusion of our children.

His face was startlingly clear for a moment, and then it began to fade. She stretched out her hand imploringly.

Tom! Tom, don’t go! I need you!

You can stand alone now, Vic. I know you can. I married a willful girl who became the strongest woman I’ve ever known. It will be all right. Trust me.

Please, Tom. . .

Ah, Vic, how I love you! How I love you!

He was gone. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into her room and noiselessly closed the door.

THE END