Eyes of Silver, Eyes of Gold (10 page)

He began to work horses again, starting with young stock that would benefit from quiet handling, since he still was not ready to start riding. Anne spent most afternoons outside with him, trying not to get in the way, imitating the way he did things and petting and brushing the young horses herself. Sometimes hours would pass with only a few words spoken to the horses, but she delighted in every minute of it.

When Cord suggested she should learn how to handle his guns, Anne hesitated at first, then remembered Charlie Meeks’ leering face and agreed. Mastering how to clean, oil, and load the weapons came easy. Hitting what she aimed at was a different story, but she could see herself slowly improving as the days passed, and after all, she didn’t need to be a sharp shooter, just competent.

After evening chores and dinner, Anne prepared for the next day’s baking or sewed loose buttons or little rents or worn places in her few clothes that were wearing out so rapidly. Cord cleaned and oiled harness, saddles, and bridles or made minor repairs to other equipment.

At night Anne slept curled against Cord’s shoulder, utterly content with a new life that was better than anything she had ever imagined or dared hope for.

For Cord there was no ease. Most nights he lay awake long after Anne was asleep, wondering how long she would stay, wondering what price he would pay for stealing this time with her.

Because he believed the first time Anne was back in Mason, she might just decide to run home or to Rachel Ross, he put off any mention of a trip to town as long as possible. He also was not sure she really understood how much of a pariah she would be now with most of the townspeople or how she would react to the loss of lifetime friends and maybe even her family.

The fact was, though, by early December they were almost out of everything, from grain for the livestock, to flour, sugar, and coffee. Mentioning going to town as if he expected her to stay home got him nowhere.

“I figure to take the wagon into town for supplies first thing in the morning,” he said. “If you feed the stock, I’ll do the rest of the chores when I get back.”

She tipped her head and looked at him as if she knew what he was up to. “What if I want to come with you?”

He suppressed a sigh. “We’ll leave a little later.”

“Good,” Anne said. “We need to make sure we’re really married, even if it does mean seeing Reverend Yellow-Belly Pratt again.”

A pistol was not Cord’s favorite weapon, but the next morning he strapped on the gunbelt before going to hitch up the wagon.

Pulling up in front of Pratt’s house, Cord asked, “You sure you don’t want to stay here?”

Every line of Anne’s face and body said she did, but she shook her head and climbed down. It was Sarah Pratt who answered the door and stood in the doorway wooden with fear. Charles Pratt walked up behind his wife to see who had come calling and turned sickly pale and began to back up.

Cord spoke very politely, “Like to see you a minute privately, Reverend.”

With a shaking hand, Pratt gestured to a door off the hall. Anne had to about push Mrs. Pratt to get by her, but the woman leapt out of the way as soon as Cord took a step. In his study, Pratt tried to ignore Cord. “Anne, what is the meaning of this? What are you doing here with that man?”

Hoarse with fury, she said, “I’m here with my
husband
to get the marriage certificate you seem to have forgotten the day you married us.”

Pratt seemed to get even paler and began to stutter. “T-that w-wasn’t… you c-can’t….”

Cord leaned back against a wall, opened his coat to be sure the gunbelt showed, and let her vent her anger.

Anne was almost spitting. “You craven, yellow, useless, sad excuse for a Christian, you did the marrying, you can just find enough spine to write the certificate.”

“Anne, y-your f-father….”

“Damn my father, and damn you. For once in your cowardly life you can just do what’s right.”

Pratt was beginning to look distinctly ill, so Cord decided to take a hand.

“Actually, Reverend, we sort of figured you’d be happy to make things right. You know, earn redemption through a good deed.”

Charles Pratt was a whispy man, and Cord thought of him as gray all over. Gray hair, gray skin, indeterminate colored eyes behind spectacles - now as Pratt finally looked at him, Cord wondered if he was right about the preacher’s blood slowly turning from red to a thin, gray gruel.

“R-redemption?”

“Yeah, you know, forgiveness.” Cord didn’t intend the threat of the word to be subtle, and it wasn’t.

Pratt crumbled. “It needs witnesses.”

“Benton and White were both there. Maybe they’d be interested in a little redemption too.”

The preacher was holding onto his desk as if he knew he would fall without the support. “All right,” he whispered, “I’ll get them.”

“That’s real considerate of you, Reverend. Suppose we meet you back here at noon.”

Pratt didn’t raise his head again, but nodded.

Giving Pratt that much time worried Anne. Back at the wagon, she said, “You’ve given him two hours to round up help and make trouble.”

“He hasn’t got that much sand.”

Anne climbed back on the wagon seat, hoping he was right. Cord stopped next in front of a small shop off of Main Street. It was Armand LeClerc’s goldsmith shop, she knew, but she didn’t understand right away. When the bell sounded as they walked in, Mr. LeClerc bounced to his feet from the armchair behind the counter. He was a small, round, white-haired man, and he smiled widely at them. “What can I do for you two today?”

“We need a wedding ring,” Cord said.

Anne made no attempt to hide her delight, as LeClerc pulled a tray with various sized gold bands out of a drawer. She examined them with uncritical pleasure.

Cord wasn’t as pleased. He said, “They sure look plain. Don’t you make anything prettier?”

This time she felt dismay. Didn’t he realize prettier meant more expensive? She knew exactly how much money they had. Perhaps she could pretend not to like any of the more expensive rings.

LeClerc left the first tray on the counter and pulled out a second. The problem with pretending was that she wasn’t very good at it. Some of these rings were definitely too gaudy, some were designed so that they would not be practical for ranch life, but some were undeniably special.

“Pick one you like.”

Did he seriously think he was going to borrow money from his wretched brother to get through the winter in order to buy her a fancy ring? She knew better than to argue with him in front of Mr. LeClerc. She began sorting through the rings. First she eliminated the gaudy, then the impractical. She was left with four rings and hesitated, sure she preferred the most expensive.

Armand LeClerc spoke as if he understood the problem. Perhaps he did. He had been selling jewelry for many years. “Very wise choices, my dear. Some of my own favorites, and I made them all. The price won’t choose for you since those four are all the same.”

Anne smiled at him gratefully and picked up her favorite. Three slim strands of gold entwined on the top, merging into one band underneath the finger.

The ring didn’t fit, and Mr. LeClerc explained that he had plain bands in all sizes, but each of the unique rings had to be sized for the person who would wear it.

“But we’re only in town today.”

“If you can wait an hour or two, I can have it perfect.”

She glanced at Cord to see what his reaction to all this was. “We have nothing to do till noon anyway. We can wait.”

“In that case,” said Mr. LeClerc, “why don’t you come to my shop and keep me company while I do the work. If you don’t mind indulging an old man and listening to him ramble on.”

Anne was surprised when Cord agreed but realized his dual purpose when after a short time he excused himself and disappeared to the barber’s for a much needed haircut. He returned promptly enough and soon Mr. LeClerc was entertaining them with stories of his boyhood in France as he heated the ring in his small forge. Anne could never decide later which was the more fascinating, the work he did or the stories he told.

Before the ring was ready, Helene LeClerc, as small and round as her husband, was serving them coffee, joining them for a while and letting the shop keep itself. The ring would be even more precious because of the happy time that went with it.

Cooled and polished again, the ring fit perfectly. Back in the shop, Mr. LeClerc asked, “And do you want a man’s ring too?” Anne knew she had not kept her face from showing what she thought of that.

She absolutely expected, however, to hear Cord say no, and was delighted all over again to hear him say instead, “How much?” After very little discussion, they left the shop with both rings in Cord’s pocket - and with new friends.

Pulling up in front of Pratt’s again just before noon, Cord fished the rings from his pocket and said, “I don’t suppose you want to put this on in there?”

She grinned at him. “You don’t suppose right.”

She pulled off the awkward glove she had made for herself out of an old pair of his and held out her left hand. After he slipped the ring on her finger, she held out her hand for the other ring and did the same for him. She smiled at him, feeling light-hearted with happiness and saw the answering smile in his eyes. Suddenly she wanted very much to throw her arms around him and kiss him thoroughly but was sure he wouldn’t like it a bit and didn’t. They climbed down and headed for the house.

Mrs. Pratt was nowhere to be seen. Reverend Pratt answered the door himself and wordlessly led the way to his study again. Michael Benton and Thomas White sat on the edges of their chairs. Both men got quickly to their feet when Cord and Anne walked in the room, looking very much like they wanted to dive through the window.

Pratt, either emboldened by the presence of White and Benton or having found a modicum of courage somewhere, started in, “Now, Anne, you must realize you don’t have to stay with this man because of what’s happened. I’m sure your father would be happy to have you home, or you could go to Sheriff Reynolds. You can’t do this to yourself because of an unfortunate turn of events.”

Anne had decided these men weren’t worth her emotion. “It has nothing to do with have to, and as far as I’m concerned it was a fortunate turn of events. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got other things to do today.”

Pratt sat behind the desk with resignation and began to fill out the scrolled, engraved form. When he finished writing, he turned the certificate toward Anne and said, “You sign your maiden name.”

She did and then handed the pen to Cord.

Pratt said, “If you make your mark, I’ll print it in below.”

Cord didn’t even look up, just signed, “Cord Bennett” in a strong hand. White and Benton then signed.

Cord wasn’t through with them yet. “I think we’d all like to see this written in the church records, Reverend.” Pratt sputtered and delayed but ended up pulling out the marriage records and entering their names and the October date.

“You have a fee for this sort of thing, Reverend?”

“N-no. People donate what they can.”

“Mm. How about a fee for seeing that this is written down in the courthouse records like everybody else?”

“There’s a small fee. You can take the certificate and….”

Cord threw a dollar on the desk and his voice went softer and menacing, “I suppose if we check at the courthouse next time we’re in town, we’ll find it in the records?”

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll see that it’s done right away.”

“Good, because we’ll check.” Cord then politely tipped his hat to each of the men. “Thank you, Reverend. Mr. White, Mr. Benton.”

Anne saw no reason to disguise her contempt. She gave them all dirty looks and then walked out.

When he pulled up in front of James Miles’ General Store, Anne explained to Cord she would like to go in alone while he went to the feed store. James Miles was Rachel’s father and had been like an uncle to her all her life. She was hoping to talk to him and to have him understand and sell them goods without Cord even coming in.

She sensed his reluctance, but all he said was, “Hurt’s worse when your friends get mean.”

“I know, but I want to try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll wait for you outside.”

When James Miles caught sight of her, his long narrow face lit up. “Anne, I didn’t know you had come home. It’s good to see you. Are you all right? How are you?”

She smiled back but asked quietly, “Mr. Miles, can I talk with you alone a minute?”

Puzzled, Miles made the familiar gesture of smoothing his black hair over the little bald spot. Then he gestured to his assistant to take over and led the way to the storeroom in the back of the store. They sat face to face on wooden crates while Anne told James Miles the story she had told Sheriff Reynolds quickly and concisely.

She finished with, “So, you see, Mr. Miles, I’m here with my husband for supplies. I know I can’t ever be friends with your family the way it’s been in the past, but I’m hoping we can still at least be friends.”

Miles tried to argue with her. “You can’t be serious about this. No matter what’s happened you know you have friends who will help you. You don’t have to live out there with that, that….”