Cassandra Austin (6 page)

Cally still sat with her teeth clenched when he stopped at Ned’s. Andrew thought she would have some special instructions for her animals’ care, but she didn’t say a word. By the time he pulled up in front of the Gwynns’ big house, his frustration outweighed any guilt he had felt earlier. He was ready to dump her off and run.

The sisters opened the door and stood on their porch waiting for them. Andrew jumped down and hurried around the wagon, but Cally had scrambled down unassisted. He retrieved her flour sack and took her arm, escorting her up the steps.

“Miss Easter and Miss Noella Gwynn, this is Miss Cally DuBois.” Cally tried to tug her arm out of his grip. “Cally, say hello to the Gwynn sisters.”

“Hello,” she spit.

Andrew pretended that was as cordial a greeting as he had expected. The sisters were looking the girl over with somewhat sour expressions.

“I believe the first step is a bath,” said Noella, more to her sister than anyone else.

“Are you hungry, dear?” Easter asked.

Cally shook her head. She turned her huge eyes toward Andrew, then squinted them into a glare that made him want to groan.

“Of course you’re hungry. Come on into the kitchen, dear. You can eat while the water heats for your bath.” Easter reached out to take the girl’s arm while Noella stepped back, obviously not wanting to get too close until the girl was properly scrubbed.

Andrew literally handed Cally over to the woman.
She was safe now, and he needed to prepare for his trip. “Goodbye, Cally,” he said, giving her the flour sack. He hoped she would look at him again until he remembered her glower of a moment before. With a last tip of his hat to the ladies, he returned to the wagon and left.

Cally refused to turn and watch him go. The shorter and more rounded of the women coaxed her toward the kitchen. A bath and food didn’t sound too bad, she decided. She had worked hard the past few days trying to rescue her garden after the heavy rain. Her house had required constant cleaning, too, as mud continued to drip from the ceiling at odd moments ever since the rain.

The Gwynn sisters’ house was certainly grand. They entered a funny little room with no furniture except an undersized table and lots of doors. The short woman led her through one of these doors into a room bigger than her whole house. Cally stood in the middle of it and turned in a slow circle. There was a table with chairs that matched, a huge cookstove with fancy ironwork and a pump right inside the house. There was also a funny short cupboard with tightly latched doors that Cally promised herself she would investigate as soon as the women were gone.

“This is the kitchen,” said the short one. She had stepped into another room and returned with two cloth-covered dishes. “Sit down, dear,” she said as she placed the dishes on the table.

“I think we should call her Calloway,” said the tall woman as she pumped the handle at the sink. “I am Miss Noella, and she is Miss Easter.”

“Then I’m Miss Cally,” she said, hoping to upset the ladies. It worked. Noella bristled and exchanged a look with her sister. Easter turned nervous eyes back to Cally.

It was Noella who attempted to instruct her. “If you work for us, it isn’t proper for us to address you with a title. I suppose we could call you—” she paused as if the word tasted bad “—Cally, if you prefer it to Calloway.” The woman’s tone was cold, and Cally decided she didn’t like
Miss
Noella.

Easter must have read rebellion in her face because she reached out and patted Cally’s hand. “It’s all right, dear. You—”

Noella cleared her throat, and Easter faltered.

“Cally. You wouldn’t know something like that.”

Of course not. I also wouldn’t know any better than to sit here and let you two fill my bath.
Cally watched Easter slice off thick chunks of bread and cheese and decided that one night here might not be so bad. Especially if she pretended not to know anything.

Cally would have been willing to let the old ladies drag the brass tub into the kitchen, but Noella told her sharply to help. She helped empty the buckets of hot water into the tub, too.

Easter left the kitchen for a moment and returned with loaded arms. “Here’s soap, a towel,” she said, putting each item on the table. “A gown to sleep in, some undergarments. The wardrobe in your room has your dresses, and your aprons are in the chest of drawers.”

“Just leave those…clothes you’re wearing in a pile by the door,” added Noella. “You can burn them in the morning.” She looked down her nose at Cally.
“We’ll need to see about some more appropriate shoes, but that can wait. We expect breakfast by seven in the morning.”

“We’ll come in and help you find things tomorrow,” Easter added. “Then we can discuss the rest of your duties.”

“I suggest you go to bed as soon as you’ve cleaned up the kitchen after your bath.” Noella turned to leave the room but stopped at the door, evidently waiting on her sister.

“Go to bed where?” asked Cally, longing already for her own little cot.

“Your room is through there,” said Easter, pointing to the door past the sink. She followed her sister out, and the door was closed behind them.

Cally sighed. She should be grateful they didn’t stay and “discuss her duties” during her bath. She was almost surprised the tall Noella didn’t want to watch to make sure she got adequately clean.

After another glance at the door the women had left through, Cally crept to the odd cupboard. Cautiously, she lifted the latch that held the door and eased it open. Cold air rushed out to greet her, and she slammed the door closed. She stood and stared at it a moment then opened it again. Butter and milk sat on the shelves as if they were in no danger of turning sour. Was this a newfangled icebox Pa had talked about? He had seen one in the restaurant, he said. She hadn’t imagined that regular folks could have them, too.

She closed the door again and turned her attention back to the tub. She had always known most folks
lived better than she did. It had never bothered her before, and she wasn’t going to let it now.

Cally picked up the soap and sniffed. It smelled heavenly! She quickly threw off her hat and clothes, stepping gingerly into the hot water. No sense passing up a hot bath with scented soap. As she sank into the tub, rubbing the soap to fill the air with its fragrance, she had to hold back a giggle. Did the old ladies think seven was early? She would be home milking Belle long before that. And Haywood wouldn’t be around to drag her back.

Haywood. He must think he was quite a man, getting her to come here when he knew she didn’t want to. She slid down the tub to wet her hair and resurfaced to lather it with the soap. She had gone along all right, but at least she had kept him from kissing her.

She hadn’t been able to keep him from touching her, though. In the wagon and at the door, he had touched her arm, sending that strange tingling through her. She had hoped that the problem would have passed by now. That strange fire in his eyes had told her otherwise, and she had made him promise just in time.

He made her life so confusing. If he would just leave her alone, she would be fine, but he had to keep coming around, telling her this and that, claiming he was worried about her. And this story that Pa had asked him to look after her, she hated to believe that. Pa did some mighty strange things sometimes, so it was most likely true.

Everybody seemed to think that the sheriff was an honest man. But then she had also overheard women
whispering that he was strong and brave and handsome and everything else. What did a bunch of gossips know? He was the low-down skunk who had killed Pa. Well, sort of. Maybe. Anyway, he
was
trying to ruin her life!

She sank into the tub and rinsed the soap out of her hair. This huge tub was such a relaxing way to bathe. It seemed odd to step out onto a wood floor. Her feet would still be clean when she went to bed! She rubbed herself dry with an unusually soft towel and pulled her nightgown out of her flour sack. She left the old ladies’ things lying on the table.

She took a few minutes to try to dry her hair. She ran her fingers through the tangles and rubbed it with the towel, only to create more tangles. With a shrug, she tossed the damp towel on the floor.

Gathering her clothes, she walked cautiously toward the door Easter had indicated. She pushed it with her fingertips and peered inside. It wasn’t yet dark outside and light filtered through filmy white curtains. This room was almost as big as the kitchen! It contained a bed twice as wide as her own, covered with a worn but colorful quilt. There was a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. She couldn’t resist a peek.

The wardrobe contained three dresses, all gray, all of a coarse serviceable fabric. She wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t fond of dresses; they got in the way. Anyway, she had outgrown her last one years ago. But if she decided suddenly to wear dresses again she would choose some a little more interesting than these.

In the drawers she found aprons and piles of odd garments, evidently intended to wear under the dresses. Some contained strips of something stiff, and
Cally imagined they would be quite uncomfortable. Others were creamy white and soft and inviting. She thought for a moment about taking a few of the things with her, but dismissed the idea, slamming the drawer.

She sat down on the bed, laughing at the way it gave under her weight. An honest-to-goodness feather mattress! No wonder the old ladies had warned her that breakfast was at seven. In a bed like this a person would want to sleep the day away.

She snuggled under the covers, thinking about the trick she was playing on the old ladies and Haywood. Her last thoughts before she fell asleep would be of scented soap and feather beds. Or so she thought until Haywood’s face intruded. That soft voice when he said he was worried about her seemed to murmur in her ears.

She rolled over, sniffing the sweet scent in her damp hair. “Iceboxes and wood floors,” she murmured.

Haywood’s face wouldn’t leave her alone. The tingling started in her stomach as it always did when she thought of him.

“Mr. Perfect Sheriff,” she mumbled. She forced herself to picture him dirty and tired, his hair windblown and wet with sweat, clinging to his forehead.

The tingling turned to warm liquid and spread through her body. She found she had no choice but to give in to it. She let the warmth reach clear to her fingers and toes. She would be glad when this fever passed. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, remembering Haywood’s kiss.

A
ndrew intended to ride out before dawn. After delivering Cally to the Gwynns, he made all the other arrangements. His deputy knew he would be gone. The county commissioners considered his trip a vacation but agreed to let him go. He was heading home to pack his saddlebags when some extremely loud whispering caught his attention.

“But we gotta get help!”

“No! Shhh! Somebody’s coming.”

Andrew rounded a corner and stopped in front of Schoolmaster Jarrell’s house. In the side yard stood a small boy looking up into a cottonwood tree. In the gathering darkness Haywood could make out a dark shape high in the tree. “What’s the trouble?” he asked softly as he approached.

The boy turned quickly. “Howdy, Sheriff,” he said with exaggerated carelessness. He grinned, revealing two oversize front teeth with empty spaces on either side.

“Aren’t you the Russell boy?” Andrew asked.

“Yes, sir. Mikey.” He stuck his thumbs in the
straps of his overalls and tried to cross his feet at the ankles. He barely caught himself before he fell.

“Well, Mikey,” Andrew said, listening to strange little noises from the branches above him. “Shouldn’t you be home?”

“No, sir,” replied the boy, still smiling.

Andrew turned and looked into the tree. “Taylor, is that you?”

“Mikey, you are so stupid.”

“I am not neither! You’re the one what’s stuck!”

Andrew put a hand on the little boy’s shoulder, quieting him. “Just tell me what the trouble is, Taylor. We’ll worry about exactly why you’re in that tree once you’re safely on the ground.”

Andrew could hear Taylor squirming a little on the branch. “My britches is caught, and I can’t reach it. I can’t even get the darn thing to rip and let me go.”

“Don’t try too hard,” Andrew cautioned. “You might fall.”

Andrew stepped closer to the tree trunk as he tried to gauge the pattern of potential foot- and handholds. It was growing darker by the moment, and climbing the tree after the boy didn’t look promising. He was a little out of practice. Besides, his weight could break a branch that had held the boy safely. “Maybe Mr. Jarrell has a ladder.”

“We can’t ask him,” blurted Mikey. “‘Cause then he’ll know we’re here.”

Taylor whispered harshly above them, “He’s gonna know we’re here if I fall out and die on his yard.”

“He won’t know I was here.” The boy took off at a run as if he could see in the dark.

“Darn little coward,” Taylor muttered.

“Just sit still,” Andrew said. “I’ll get some help.”

Andrew tried Mr. Jarrell first. He looked back at the boy in the tree as he waited for the schoolmaster to come to the door. “Yes?” asked the man suspiciously, raising a lantern high to shine on Andrew.

“Mr. Jarrell, do you have a ladder I could borrow?”

“Why?”

“There’s a child caught in your tree.”

Jarrell looked at him, at the tree and finally back at Andrew. “Not in my tree, sir.”

“Uh, yes, there is,” Andrew said.

“In my tree? The schoolmaster brushed past Andrew and peered into the tree before he would believe it contained a boy. “There’s a boy up there.”

“Yes, sir. He’s stuck. Do you have a ladder I could borrow to help him down?”

“What’s he doing up there?”

Andrew was growing short on patience. “Let’s get him down and ask him. A ladder, sir?”

“No,” Jarrell said, still staring into the tree. “I don’t own one.”

“All right,” Andrew said. “Just sit still, Taylor. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here,” called the boy.

Andrew left Jarrell at the base of the tree holding the lantern aloft. He was forced to ask one neighbor after another, all of whom reported to the schoolmaster’s yard to discuss the boy in the tree. The yard was getting crowded before Andrew found anyone who admitted to owning a ladder.

Finally, with the ladder propped against a relatively
stable branch and two of the neighbors holding the bottom, Andrew went up the ladder and untangled the boy’s britches from the limb. When Taylor was on the ground, the neighbors applauded and slowly drifted off toward their homes.

All except the schoolmaster. Before Taylor could make his escape, Mr. Jarrell caught his ear. “And what were you doing in my tree, young man?”

“I was sittin’ there stuck. What did it look like?”

“Don’t get smart with me.” He tightened his grip on the ear, and Taylor opened his mouth in silent protest. “Sheriff, I want you to see this boy home and make sure he’s properly punished.”

“I can do that,” Andrew said quickly, taking the boy’s arm in hopes of freeing his ear.

“Be sure you explain all the trouble he’s caused,” the schoolmaster added before turning Taylor loose and taking his lantern back in the house.

“He’s an old meany,” Taylor grumbled, rubbing his ear.

“I’ll walk you home,” Andrew said. “And on the way you can explain what you were doing in Mr. Jarrell’s tree.”

“I already told you what I was doing.”

Andrew scowled down at the boy.
“Why
were you in the tree?”

Taylor dragged his feet as they walked down the street toward his home. “Are you gonna tell my pa?”

“I haven’t decided,” Andrew said.

Finally the boy took a deep breath. “Mr. Jarrell is the meanest man in the world. He makes fun of Mikey all the time. Sometimes Mikey comes to school with a button missin’ or a hole in his pants.
Mean ol’ Mr. Jarrell always has to say something to make him feel ashamed. Mikey’s mother’s dead! My old man can’t sew on a button. Can yours?”

Andrew didn’t answer. Taylor’s house was in sight and he slowed his own steps, hoping to get all of the story out of the boy before they reached the house.

“Anyways,” Taylor continued, “Mikey don’t always get his work done, since he has to help more at home. He ain’t even got a sister, you know. I got both a sister and a ma. Course, if ya got a ma, a sister ain’t much use.”

“Taylor, that still doesn’t tell me what you were planning to do.”

Taylor stopped walking altogether. He looked toward his house, and Andrew turned too. There were no lights. The boy’s family had gone to bed. Finally the boy spoke again. “Mean old Jarrell deserved it.”

“Deserved what, Taylor?” Andrew didn’t have to work at making his voice stern.

Taylor answered just above a whisper. “He said Mikey’s ma was lucky she died and didn’t have to see what a stupid boy he was.”

Andrew shook his head. Maybe Jarrell deserved it. That didn’t make what the boy was doing right, whatever that might have been. He prodded again, more gently. “Tell me what you were planning.”

The boy shrugged. “I just climbed his tree.”

“Come on, Taylor. You can’t expect me to believe that.” He grinned at the boy. “Tell me what you were going to do.”

Coaxing didn’t work either. All he got was a shrug. Andrew suspected Taylor had hopes of trying again. He held the boy’s shoulders and crouched to look him
in the eye. “Listen, Taylor, it’s right to want to protect someone who is smaller and weaker. I admire your loyalty to your friend. But playing tricks on Mr. Jarrell is just going to make life harder for both you and Mikey.”

Taylor didn’t look as if he believed it entirely. Andrew imagined he thought if the trick had worked it would have been worth any punishment. And of course, there was always the hope of not getting caught. “If anything happens to Mr. Jarrell now, he’s going to suspect you, you know.”

Taylor wrinkled his nose. “I don’t care if he’s mean to me as long he leaves Mikey alone.”

Andrew sighed. “You could have gotten hurt tonight, Taylor.”

The boy nodded. “I was a little scared.”

“That’s good, Taylor. You should have been scared. Now, promise me you won’t bother Mr. Jarrell again.”

Taylor suddenly grinned, and Andrew knew he was thinking ahead to the possible outcome of such a promise. “Oh, yes sir, Sheriff. I promise.”

“Good.” Andrew let the boy go and watched him dart away and scramble up a tree. In a moment he climbed through an upstairs window and was safe inside.

As Andrew walked through the partially lighted streets toward his home he reflected on his decision to let the boy go. Had he been lenient because he identified with the boy’s need to protect his friend? But wouldn’t Taylor have learned respect for authority if he had roused his father? Did anybody ever
know if they were doing the right thing when it came to children? Or when it came to anybody else?

He thought of Cally in the big, strange house with women she didn’t know, then shook the thought away. Surely he had done the best thing for her. Cally was safer with the Gwynns than on the farm alone. She would be more comfortable, too, if she gave it a chance. She was probably sleeping soundly by now. He didn’t need to worry about her. He had other things to worry about, like his trip tomorrow.

An hour later he was ready to turn in himself. His saddlebags were packed and waiting at his kitchen door. All he needed was a good night’s sleep.

All he got were fitful dreams. The Gwynn sisters loomed large and cruel in his imagination, mixed up with the angry schoolteacher. Poor Cally shrank to a tiny child, younger even than the boys.

He repeated to himself all his reasons for moving her into town, but none of them altered the fact that it wasn’t what she wanted. He had taken her away from her home and shut her dog in the barn. The way she shrank away from him on the wagon seat showed how much she hated him.

Just what were his goals here, anyway? he asked himself. DuBois had asked him to look after Cally. “See she hooks up with someone decent,” were his words. Working for the Gwynn sisters certainly qualified, probably beyond the old man’s expectations. Why should he care if she didn’t
like
it?

Cally was a child. Well, not exactly, but she had grown up in such isolation, it was nearly the same. She didn’t know what was best for her. Her safety
and future mattered more than what she thought she wanted. Didn’t it?

And it certainly shouldn’t matter if she didn’t like
him.
If she shrank from his touch and glared at him, he should be all the happier to be rid of her. The little spitfire should be
grateful.
If she wasn’t, he should walk cheerfully away.

He should be worrying about the poor old ladies who had gotten themselves into more than they imagined. How many times had the girl tried to sneak weapons in to her father? How many times had she spit in his face while he tried his best to be decent and polite to her?

The cut on his arm had nearly healed. He rubbed it now, trying to refresh his memory of her uncivilized behavior. Instead, he remembered the freckles on her pale face when she nearly fainted. Which reminded him of her huge emerald eyes. Which in turn reminded him of her startling hair. And that, of course, led him to remember the tempting body barely hidden by the thin white gown.

Andrew groaned as his body responded to the image. She was not worth losing sleep over! He should be thinking of Stedwell and Terris. He should be using his head to guess their plans.

“I should be sleeping!” he muttered aloud. The ride tomorrow would lend itself to considering Stedwell and Terris. He needed to sleep, which he finally did just before dawn.

The nearly sleepless night took its toll. Andrew was still saddling his horse at seven o’clock the next
morning when Noella and Easter Gwynn marched into his yard.

“Thank goodness, you haven’t left,” Noella called.

“You have to go after her,” said Easter.

“Oh, Lord,” mumbled Andrew.

“She ran off in the night.”

“She didn’t bother to make her bed.”

“She didn’t even bother to dump her bathwater!” This last outburst was from Noella. Andrew glanced at the long nose, wrinkled with distaste.

I would have run away, too.
He shook off the foolish thought. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said, preparing to mount.

Easter wrung her hands. “Where could she have gone?”

“Home.”

“She could never make it all the way home on foot!” declared Noella.

“Sure she could. It’s less than two miles.” Andrew swung into the saddle. “I’ll try to bring her back, but I’m not making any promises.” He tipped his hat before reining the mare around and cantering out of the yard. The Gwynn sisters had a lot to learn about Cally DuBois.

She would be home. She would be armed. And she would tell him to leave. He would—what? Throw her across his saddle, bound hand and foot? Threaten to kiss her to get her to behave? He was really looking forward to matching wits with someone reasonable like Terris or Stedwell.

He could see her in the chicken pen as he neared the farm. Royal barked an alarm, and she took off for the house. A moment later she stepped out carrying
the blasted shotgun. He reined up and dismounted, struggling with his temper.

“I thought you’d be on your way by now,” she called to him as she leaned the shotgun against the soddy.

“What are you doing here?” It was a stupid question, but it beat swearing at her.

“I had chores to do.”

“Ned’s boys would have done the chores.”

“They ain’t their chores, they’re mine.”

Andrew strode toward her. “Will you go back to the Gwynns when your chores are done?”

“To do their chores, too? Why should I?”

Andrew felt the anger drain away. Why indeed? To ease his mind. “Cally, they’ll take care of you.”

“Take care of me like I’m a child?”

Andrew didn’t answer. He realized he should have denied it when he saw her eyes harden.

“They want me to wear ugly gray dresses,” she added.

“They’d be beautiful on you.” He hadn’t meant to say it. His loose tongue was caused by his lack of sleep, surely.

Her reaction was instantaneous. “Oh no, you don’t.” She eased closer to the shotgun. “You don’t come near me, and you don’t go flashing those fevered eyes at me, neither.”

Andrew considered her a moment. Fevered eyes, huh? Maybe she was right. It was foolish to want to protect someone who wanted to shoot him. She could protect herself the same way. “You win,” he said.

“Good,” she said.

“I’ll be on my way.” But he continued to stand and look at her.