Cassandra Austin (8 page)

Because of the rain, she had cut some tall grass with her butcher knife and spread it under each of her squash and pumpkins so they wouldn’t spoil in the mud. She was still getting a few tomatoes, though the vines were looking sadly bedraggled. She liked to go into her little root cellar just to look at all she had harvested.

“This is a wonderful way to live,” she told Royal. She took the bucket of tomatoes to the house and greeted Queen with a pat on the head. “We don’t need anyone else, do we?”

Both dogs watched her, obviously agreeing.

“We’ll be fine here all winter, even if we have a blizzard like we did a couple years ago. We were fine then too, thanks to my garden.”

Cally knew she didn’t have enough wood cut for the winter, though it didn’t take much to heat the house. It had seemed best to take care of the garden until frost, then work at gathering the wood. She didn’t say any of this, however, not wanting to hear her own worries aloud.

She left the bucket by the door and sat down in her rocker. She deserved a little rest, she decided. Royal took up a position at her side. “In a way, I look forward to winter,” she said. “I can catch up on the mending, and maybe stitch up some more of Pa’s old clothes to fit me.” She tried to pretend it sounded like fun.

She rested a hand on Royal’s head. “It’s nice, just us here, don’t you think? We don’t need a man around, telling us what to do. Even Haywood finally
got that message.” She laughed. “Though for a while there, I didn’t think he ever would.”

She rocked awhile in silence, listening to the birds chirp and the dogs pant. “How long’s it been since he was here? A week or more, I reckon.” The fever must have passed, she decided. She was certainly glad he wasn’t still coming around looking at her funny and trying to kiss her and such. “I didn’t need that,” she said.

Cally closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the rocker. After another quiet spell, she said drowsily, “The nicest thing about being way out here is I don’t even have to think about the sheriff.”

After a few minutes, Royal’s sharp bark brought her out of her doze. “Company?” She got to her feet and entered the house, returning with the shotgun. She raised the gun to her shoulder and watched the horse and rider come closer. When she recognized Sheriff Haywood she lowered the gun, stomping her foot on the hard ground. “Oh, shoot! It’s Haywood!”

Haywood dismounted and trailed the reins on the ground, approaching her slowly. Cally was tempted to raise the shotgun again, but it wasn’t any use. Haywood knew by now she wouldn’t shoot him. She leaned the shotgun against the wall behind her and stomped her foot one more time before she spoke. “I thought you’d forgotten about me. I’d forgotten about you.”

The man had the nerve to grin. “Believe me, I tried. I’m here on official business.”

“You gonna officially demand that I go live with the old ladies?”

Haywood seemed to hesitate. Something about his
manner made Cally wary. He reached in his pocket and withdrew a paper before he spoke. “Cally, did your father ever go to Abilene?”

Cally shrugged. “He’d go off for a few days once in a while. I don’t know where he went.”

Haywood took a step closer, and Cally stiffened. “Do you know if he gambled?” he asked.

Cally lifted her chin. “I suppose so,” she said. She knew so. They fought about it from time to time. Pa would always swear he would never gamble again.

“Would you recognize your father’s handwriting?” Haywood stepped close enough to hand her the piece of paper. Cally took it from him, unfolding it carefully. The small page was a mess of scrolls and curls in blue ink. She swallowed. She was supposed to identify this somehow?

Then she remembered Pa writing something in the Bible after Ma died. She remembered it clearly because it had seemed so odd. She hadn’t understood why Ma’s dying added anything to the Bible.

Without a word to Haywood she turned and carried the note into her soddy. Haywood was in a sudden rush to follow her in. She gave him a curious glance over her shoulder. When she reached for the Bible on the little shelf beside the stove, he seemed to relax. She gave him a questioning look, but he didn’t offer an explanation.

Cally peered at him closely. It was dark in the soddy so she wasn’t sure if he showed signs of the fever again. She decided it would be best to get outside, where she could see him better and he would have more trouble cornering her. She turned and left
the cabin, giving him a wide berth and moving well away from the door as he followed.

Feeling safe once again, she handed him the Bible and the note. “Pa wrote in here somewhere,” she said.

Haywood turned the Bible and opened it to the front. He found the page almost immediately and looked at it closely. He placed the note next to it and studied them both.

Cally wondered what they both said. Of course they wouldn’t say the same thing so she didn’t see how it would help him. She wondered fleetingly why she would want to help the sheriff with anything.

Finally he closed the Bible and handed it back. “It’s the same, Cally. I’m sorry.”

Cally shrugged. “Why are you sorry?”

Haywood watched her with an odd expression, but at least it didn’t seem fevered. Cally tried to take comfort in that.

“Cally, didn’t you read the note?”

Cally glared at Haywood. He wasn’t leaving her any way to keep from telling him. She lifted her chin, ready to spit in his face if he laughed. “I can’t read.” Her voice would have curdled milk.

Haywood didn’t flinch. He looked more sorry than surprised. She began to wonder if he would respond at all. When he did all he said was, “Oh.”

Cally considered spitting at him anyway. When he spoke again, his voice took on that warm honey quality she had heard before. “You better sit down.”

She blinked twice, responding to the voice rather than the words. Something was wrong.

Haywood took her arm, and warm tingles curled
through her body. She ought to pull away. He drew her the two steps to the rocker and eased her into it. Crouching in front of her, he said, “Cally, your father took a trip to Abilene last spring. He gambled with a man named Val Milton and lost. He wrote this note, saying he owes eight hundred dollars and putting up this homestead if he didn’t pay it off.”

Cally stared at him, unwilling to understand what he was saying. This was something Pa had done; it had nothing to do with her.

Haywood seemed to expect her to speak, but she couldn’t. He looked so sad, Cally was tempted to touch his cheek. She didn’t, of course, remembering the fever in time.

“Cally, I’m the sheriff. It’s my duty to confiscate this property for Mr. Milton. You have to come to town.”

It seemed completely incredible. “Mr. Milton wants my farm?”

“I think he’d rather have the eight hundred dollars. But the farm is what he gets.”

Cally closed her eyes and let everything sink in. She had worried Pa would do something like this. Still it seemed so unfair. “How soon?”

Haywood came to his feet. He paced off a few steps and turned back. “Milton will have to have the deed registered. There’ll be some formalities, but he’ll get the farm in the end. It won’t get any easier if you wait.”

“Now?” she asked.

Haywood sighed, looking off in the distance. She wondered if he saw the same things she always saw, or if he was just thinking of his duty. He took Pa,
now he was taking her home. Haywood had taken everything! Well, maybe she wasn’t being exactly fair either, but it was such a blow.

His voice was almost too soft to hear when he spoke again. “How about tomorrow morning? I’ll bring the wagon and help you move into town. I’ll make sure, but I think the Gwynns will still take you in.”

Cally came to her feet. “What about Royal and Queen? What about all my animals? They were never Pa’s. He couldn’t have gambled them away.” She knew that wasn’t quite true but it should have been.

He stepped toward her. “I’ll find a place for them, Cally. It’ll be all right.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and she shook them off.

It wouldn’t be all right! How could he say it would? She turned around and went into her house. She wanted to slam the door but knew that would send a shower of dirt down on her head. Besides, she couldn’t do it without hurting Queen. Instead she pushed the door closed enough for Haywood to know he wasn’t welcome.

She sat down on her cot and looked around at the cluttered room. It seemed incredible that she had been so happy a moment ago only to discover that she had lost everything. She took a deep breath, trying to get past the anger and think clearly. Somehow, she’d find a way to get it back.

Haywood stood staring at the half-closed door. He wanted to follow Cally in and take her in his arms. The two dogs looking at him so trustingly made him
feel worse. He turned and walked slowly toward his horse.

The poor girl couldn’t even read, and he had forced her to admit it. He felt guilty now for thinking she intended to toss the note in the stove. She had trusted him enough to take his word for what the note meant.

Her father had written her date of birth in the front of the little Bible. He wondered if she knew that in a little less than three weeks she would turn eighteen.

After a last look at the little soddy, Andrew mounted and turned toward town. Eighteen was hardly a child, but it was too young for a woman to be on her own. Especially a woman like Cally. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. Because she seemed so vulnerable, he supposed. He pictured her trying to sneak the butcher knife in to her father but dismissed it.

Nothing would convince him that she didn’t need his help. Discovering that she was a little older than he had previously thought made no difference. She was alone. She was his responsibility. He would tell the Gwynns she was coming, then he would find a home for two dogs, a cow, a mule and a few chickens. How hard could that be?

By the time he got to town he decided he couldn’t go around asking people to take in Cally’s dogs. Selling her milk cow didn’t seem right. Who would want a worn-out mule? He remembered her father saying she didn’t have the heart to kill a chicken. How could he let them end up in someone else’s pot? He went instead to his landlord.

*   *   *

Taylor and. Mikey swaggered down the street toward Sheriff Haywood’s house. “What you reckon he’ll have for us to do?” Mikey asked.

“Spy on somebody, maybe” Taylor suggested. “Sneak through a window where he can’t fit. Gather ev’dence.”

“What’s ev’dence?”

“Things left behind what makes a lawman know who done the deed.”

“What deed?”

“Whatever.” Taylor nodded knowingly, and Mikey did the same.

They stepped up to the front door where Taylor knocked loudly. They waited, listening for any sound from the house, then Taylor knocked again.

“You reckon we’re early?” Mikey asked, cupping his hands to peer in a window.

“Let’s go around back. Maybe he wants us to be more secret-like.”

The boys jumped off the porch and ran around the house. The sheriff was back there all right, but he didn’t look as if he had any law-enforcing in mind, secret or otherwise. He was carrying shovels from the barn.

“Hi, boys,” he greeted them. “Ready to do some work?”

“T
his ain’t deputy work,” Mikey groused. He tossed another shovelful of debris from the floor of the chicken house into the cart Haywood had left outside the door. He felt as if they had been working for hours.

Taylor didn’t answer.

“I can’t even pretend this is deputy work.”

Taylor stopped scooping and looked out the door. “Just be quiet,” he said softly. “It might be a test. Sheriff Haywood might wanna see if we can follow orders without question.” He narrowed his eyes. “He might be testing to see if we’re tough. He wouldn’t want to trust no deputy what was afraid of—”

“Chicken poop,” Mikey provided, rubbing his nose.

“Yeah,” Taylor said seriously.

“Afraid ain’t exactly what I’m feelin’,” Mikey said. Before going back to work, he cast his friend a look that said, you got me into this.

“Maybe he’s gonna hold a prisoner in here,” Taylor suggested.

Mikey glared at him.

“Maybe not.” Taylor went back to work. “It could be worse,” he offered after a few minutes. “It could be fresh.”

The sun had just peeked over the horizon when Cally sat down in the rocking chair to wait. Her little trunk, with all she owned that was worth taking, was inside ready for Haywood to carry to his wagon. The cow and mule were staked near the house. Her chickens were in the crates that had recently been her kitchen shelves.

As she had pried the boards loose from the barn stall to use as lids for those crates, she remembered fashioning her father’s cross. She was leaving her parents’ graves, as well as her home. How could she be expected to do that?

She had spent most of the night trying to come up with a solution. She had considered holding Haywood off with her shotgun, but knew he was convinced she wouldn’t shoot. If he didn’t scare, she would have to actually shoot him. She couldn’t quite bring herself to picture Haywood shot, not to mention the fact that Pa’s shotgun might explode in her face.

Besides, the deputy and all manner of marshals would come after her if she shot him, and she couldn’t shoot everybody that came. Eventually she would have to run, and then she would lose the farm anyway. Or they would hang her.

Even now, she tried to think of a less bloody plan that would save her home. What if she simply didn’t go? Haywood could argue and coax, and she could dig in her heels and refuse to budge. He wouldn’t
shoot her. He would be patient and polite, but eventually he would become frustrated and angry. She would like to see him angry, she thought, grinning down at Royal beside her.

Her mind had been playing that scene last night as she drifted off to sleep. Even in her imagination Haywood wouldn’t cooperate. The dream came back to her now in surprising detail. Haywood had lifted her in his arms and carried her to the wagon. Only he hadn’t put her down. In the dream he held her in his strong arms, her cheek against the clean white shirt, his face hovering over hers as she waited to be kissed.

She remembered coming awake this morning with a sense of peace that was out of place considering her dilemma. “The fever,” she had mumbled then, but now she wasn’t so sure. These feelings seemed to return too often and too easily to be explained as an illness or even a natural cycle. For some reason that was beyond her understanding, she longed to be in Haywood’s arms.

She tried to bring her thoughts back to her immediate problem. With a sigh, she voiced the conclusion she had reached earlier that morning. “I don’t see any way out, Royal. I’ll have to move to town. I don’t know what’ll become of you and Queen.” Her voice caught, and she buried her face in Royal’s soft fur. They had been together since Royal was a pup more than five years ago. He had always been there when she needed a friend, something she couldn’t say for anyone else. And Queen—she could barely remember a time before she had guarded the door.

In a moment, she sat up. “I’ll show Haywood that I’m not a child who needs to be looked after. I’ll work
for the old ladies, and I’ll save my money. Then I’ll buy back you and Queen and Belle and Jewel. Then I’ll buy back this farm, and everything will be right again.”

She knew it was impossible. She knew she was dreaming. But she couldn’t bear to believe anything else.

She sat and rocked for nearly half an hour before she saw Haywood and his wagon emerge from the creek. She didn’t move until he had pulled to a stop at her door. She watched his eyes fall on her crated chickens and knew the moment he realized she was resigned to go.

“My trunk’s in the house.” She urged Queen out of the doorway and went inside. He followed her in, and, as before, his presence seemed to fill the tiny space.

“Is this all you’re taking?” he asked gently, lifting the trunk.

Cally looked around the little room again. She couldn’t picture any of her pots and baking pans in the Gwynns’ kitchen. Her dented tin plates and bowls wouldn’t look right at their table. There wasn’t even much sense in bringing many of her own clothes since she would be wearing gray dresses and white aprons from now on. “That and my shotgun’s all from in here. My root cellar’s full of food, though.”

Haywood set the trunk back down on the packed dirt floor. “Cally, leave the shotgun here.”

“It’s my shotgun.”

“You won’t need it in town.”

Cally narrowed her eyes. He was being patient and coaxing, just like she predicted. It made her furious.
She wanted him to understand how horrible this was for her. Short of that, she would settle for hurting his feelings. “Why? ‘Cause you’ll take care of me?”

He had the nerve to smile. “Exactly,” he said, lifting the trunk again.

She followed him outside, the shotgun in her hands. As he slid the trunk into the wagon bed, she slid the shotgun in beside it. Haywood quietly lifted it and carried it back inside the soddy. Cally glared after him. At least he didn’t know her father’s old pistol along with his knives and razor were in the trunk.

“Fetch a candle,” she called, “and I’ll show you the cellar.” She knew he would find the candle lying on her table. She could guess he carried matches in his pocket since he was always ready for anything. He had even thought to bring several empty crates. If she had known, she wouldn’t have used her kitchen shelves for the chickens. She didn’t try very hard to fight back her resentment.

Haywood managed to catch up with her in time to help with the cellar door. “You won’t need the food, Cally,” he started. “The Gwynns will…” He had reached the bottom of the rock steps and struck the light He looked at the neat shelves lined with sealed jars. “You’ve worked hard, haven’t you?”

“I could survive the winter here,” she responded proudly. She didn’t add that she didn’t need him or the Gwynn sisters. She was sure he heard that in her voice.

She could see he debated with himself whether to take all her hard work to town or not. Well, she had already decided. She wasn’t leaving this food for the no-account gambler who was taking her farm! “If the
Gwynns don’t want it, I’ll sell it from Mr. Lafferty’s store.”

Haywood turned toward her, grinning again. “Lafferty’s Feed and Canned Goods?”

“Sounds good to me.” She decided she hated his grin.

Haywood handed her the candle. “I’ll get the crates. Do you have some straw to pack between the jars?”

Cally shook her head. “Pa’s old clothes, maybe?”

Andrew agreed and twenty minutes later the crates full of canned goods were all packed in the wagon. Somehow, out of the little cellar, there didn’t seem to be nearly as much food as she thought. She had talked him into taking most of the potatoes, but he wouldn’t promise that she could come back later for her pumpkins and squash. She made a secret vow to raid her own garden at night.

The chickens responded with squawks of outrage as Haywood lifted the two crates into the wagon. Her rocking chair followed. Cally called Queen and patted the wagon bed to coax her in. The old dog obeyed slowly, jumping in and circling three times before lying down. Belle and Jewel were tied behind the wagon and Cally climbed to the seat, narrowly avoiding Haywood’s offered hand.

When Haywood was seated beside her, she asked the question she had been postponing. “Where are you going to take the animals?”

Haywood hesitated long enough to make Cally worry. If they were all destined to die, she was getting out right now! She was nearly trembling with anger by the time he finally answered. “Well, I asked
around a little, but I didn’t have much luck. For now, I guess they come home with me.”

Cally stared at him, sure she had misunderstood.

“The mayor owns the place where I live. I talked to him first to be sure, but he doesn’t care. I’ve got plenty of room, and I’m not far from the Gwynns’.”

“So I can still take care of them?” She was almost afraid to hope.

Haywood laughed. “I’d like that. The chickens are the only thing that could cause a problem. There’s a little chicken coop but no pen, and I’m not sure I like the idea of them having the run of the yard, not to mention the neighbors’. I’ll get a pen up as soon as possible.”

Cally was so happy, she almost wanted to hug Haywood. All her animals would be safe. She could see them whenever she wanted. She wouldn’t have to buy them back after all.

She knew Haywood watched her with a smile on his face, even though she refused to look at him directly. She didn’t want him to think that he had made her happy. She watched Royal trot along beside the wagon as an excuse to turn her head away from Sheriff Haywood.

At the edge of town, Haywood turned the wagon in his drive, passed the house and stopped in his barnyard. Cally tried not to show her admiration for the big house and even bigger barn. She had known which house Haywood rented, but she hadn’t allowed herself a close look at it before. It was nice. In fact, to Cally, it looked like a mansion. But then, the Gwynns lived in a mansion, too.

Haywood untied Jewel and Belle from the back of
the wagon and turned them into the corral while Cally slowly climbed from the wagon seat. She told herself that she was glad he didn’t offer to help her down.

“Come, Queen,” she said, as she walked around the wagon. “This is your new home.” The dog came to her feet, and Cally ruffled the fur on her neck, adding more softly, “Just until I can get the farm back.”

Queen jumped out of the wagon, shook herself and ambled toward the inviting shade under the back-door overhang. Cally couldn’t help but grin as the dog sniffed at the walk and the door and finally spread herself across the doorsill just as she did at home.

She heard Haywood’s footsteps crunch in the gravel behind her, then the startled squawk of the chickens. She turned to the wagon and grabbed the second crate, following Haywood to the chicken house.

Haywood set his crate down and opened the door, holding it wide for Cally to enter. “You can thank Taylor and Mikey for cleaning in here,” he said.

Light through the south window shone on a patch of wood floor that showed definite signs of a recent sweeping. Fresh straw was in the nests that lined one wall, and a tub of water and a pan of oats stood under the window.

“Taylor and Mikey?”

“Deputies in training,” he mumbled. “Never mind.” Haywood closed the door behind them and pried the lid off one crate. “Do you think they’ll be all right if I keep them shut in until I get the pen up?”

Cally shrugged. “I guess.” The house was bigger
than their house and pen put together and tighter than her soddy. He didn’t need to know that, though.

The chickens fluttered out of the crate, creating a storm of dust and feathers. In a moment the second crate was opened and all six hens were free to investigate their new home.

Cally couldn’t help but think they wouldn’t want to go back to their old coop. She caught herself before she said it aloud. She couldn’t let Haywood know what she planned.
Because he’ll tell you it’s foolish, and he’ll be right.
She brushed the thought aside and left the chicken house without another word to Haywood.

He followed her out quietly. Being patient and polite, she thought irritably. He could make a better home for her chickens, her mule and her cow than she could. Even Queen was settled happily at his door. But he would never make Royal feel at home. The dog waited for her and trotted beside her as she walked back to the wagon.

While Haywood carried her half-filled sack of feed and her milk bucket to the barn, Cally knelt and put her arms around Royal’s neck. “You have to stay here, boy. Can you understand? I’ll come back and see you twice every day.” She buried her face in his fur for a moment before she stood. “Stay!” she commanded.

Royal whimpered and sat, watching her closely.

Cally climbed onto the wagon seat without looking back. Haywood climbed up beside her. For a moment she thought he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He turned the wagon in the yard and started down the drive that ran beside the house. Before they
got to the road, Royal was trotting along at the horse’s side.

Haywood reined the horse to a stop. “Cally,” he started.

“Haywood, you can’t lock him in the barn. He needs to be able to run around. Let’s talk the Gwynns into letting me keep him there.”

Haywood shook his head. “It’s no use. Besides, it won’t be forever, Cally. I’ll get a chain. A long chain. One that will let him run all the way from the house to the barn. When he gets used to being here, we can try again to set him free.”

To Cally’s dismay, Haywood put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. His hand began stroking her hair. She had sworn not to cry, but she would if he continued. She looked up to find his face only inches away, his lips near enough to touch. He was going to kiss her. For a few seconds, she would feel safe. She leaned toward him slightly and closed her eyes.

But he didn’t kiss her. He sat up abruptly, easing her out of his arms. Muttering to himself, he jumped from the wagon and called Royal. Royal didn’t even glance at Cally. Her loyal dog followed the sheriff to the barn, leaving her alone with thoughts that centered more on the sheriff than the dog.

In a moment she heard Royal’s muffled bark, and Haywood climbed up beside her again, starting the team moving forward. Cally sat stiffly as far from him as the wagon seat would allow.