Montana Rose (3 page)

Then, as Griff ’s breathing became shallow and his eyes fell shut, he found the strength to speak one last time. “Sawyer never got the spring while I lived.”

Cassie remembered the triumph in Griff ’s voice, like his life had been a success and now he could die happy.

“I reckon Miz Griffin’s comin’ with me. Parson, let’s get it over and done.”

A howl of protest exploded from the other men and brought Cassie back to the present. The volume of the noise forced Cassie back a step. She ran into someone and turned to face the heavy, tobacco-chewing man and be assaulted by his breath again.

Mort Sawyer’s son, Wade, pushed his mount past his father and reached for Cassie. He leaned down, grabbed her under her arms, and yanked her up onto the saddle to settle her in front of him. Her legs scraped painfully on the saddle horn.

Wade turned to his father. “I want her, Pa.”

“She’s mine, boy. We’ve had it out. The spring’s gotta be in my hands.”

Wade lifted Cassie’s chin roughly until she looked straight into his eyes. She’d looked into those eyes before. Too many times.

Wade had the habit of dropping by her home when Griff was gone. He’d done it too often for it to be chance. Now he studied her with those weird, bright green eyes, the color of envy and rot. Wade Sawyer was responsible for one of the few true acts of defiance Cassie had to her name. She’d learned to shoot. Practicing when Griff was away. And she’d kept a gun close at hand all the time.

Of course, she didn’t have it now when she needed it.

Wade sank his fingers painfully into her jaw and leaned his face so close that for a second Cassie thought he meant to kiss her. She jerked her head sideways to escape his grasping fingers and pushed at the hand that shackled her waist but couldn’t dislodge Wade’s grip.

He was amused by her struggles. Only inches from her, Cassie saw he had a black eye and a slightly swollen lip that seemed to underscore the violence in him. She thought of Red and the black eye she’d given him and wished she’d been responsible for Wade’s.

He said loudly enough for the crowd to hear, “Well then, I guess you’re gonna be my new mama.” Then Wade kissed her until she felt bruised. Releasing her, he looked at her with greedy eyes that didn’t match the humor in his voice. Dead serious eyes that claimed her in a way no marriage could.

Mort edged his horse next to Wade’s and grabbed Cassie then hefted her into his lap. His beefy arms settled around her, even before Wade’s had left her body.

The touch of the two men induced shudders so violent that she lost a battle with self-control, just as she had this morning with Red. She wrenched against Mort’s grip and started shrieking like a madwoman.

She caught Mort Sawyer in the belly with her elbow, and his response was a mild grunt. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her fat middle and roared, “Where’s the parson?”

She struggled more wildly, kicking at Mort’s leg and making his horse prance sideways. She looked around at the men. They had all fallen back and seemed content now to watch the show.

She heard the parson say, “I’ll not marry a woman to someone against her will, Sawyer. I won’t stand before God and conduct such a travesty. This isn’t something you can dictate. You let her go right this—”

Mort’s horse charged forward under his master’s skillful hand. Mort reached down and grabbed the parson by the front of his black suit. He lifted the man onto his tiptoes with one hand while he controlled Cassie with his other. “You’ll marry us, Parson, or I’ll take her home, and when she’s broken in, maybe after she’s given me a son or two, she’ll agree nice enough.”

Wade laughed, but it was a sickening, hollow sound. “I’m gonna have a baby brother.”

Mort shoved the parson back and he fell to the ground. A man who would do that to a preacher would do unspeakable things to his wife.

Darkness spun in front of her.

A quiet voice behind her cut through the noise. “I’ll marry Mrs. Griffin, if she’ll have me.”

Cassie’s head cleared, and as she twisted around to locate the owner of that kind voice, her eyes focused on Red Dawson. The man she’d hated more than any other on this earth ten minutes ago.

“Beat it, Dawson. She’s mine,” Mort Sawyer said.

Cassie remembered Wade’s eyes. Even though she had always been sheltered, she knew terrible things were in store for her if she was taken to the Sawyer ranch.

Mort marched the horse straight at Red.

Red stopped the horse by patting its nose. “Whoa, boy, easy there.”

Then he looked at Cassie. With a voice as out of place as a breeze in the midst of a tornado, he asked, “Whattaya say, Cassie, will you marry me?”

“Parson, it’s settled. We get it done now!” Mort roared.

Cassie heard the violence in Mort and recalled the foulness in Wade and smelled the filth in her nearest other suitors ... and saw the decency in Red’s eyes. She still hated Red Dawson, although less than she had a few minutes ago. Or more correctly, she now hated other people more.

Unless Griff ’s grave opened this minute and let her jump in, Cassie didn’t see as she had much choice. A minute passed as the chaos went on around her and the trampled grave stayed closed, and as if someone else spoke out of her lips, she said, “Yes...”

She almost said,
Red,
before it occurred to her that Red must be a nickname. She didn’t know the name of the man who proposed to her. It was humiliating to ask him.

Somehow it seemed less humiliating to just say, “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Cassie was a widow one day and a newlywed the next.

The wedding was held at the cemetery with a good share of the wedding guests standing on her dead husband’s grave.

She didn’t so much have wedding guests as she had a lynch mob. Twenty-five armed men wanted Red Dawson dead. Cassie thought that no doubt one of Red’s murderers would then insist on marrying her. If the pattern continued, she’d be forty or fifty times a widow within the next few hours. At that rate, Divide would be a ghost town by the weekend.

Cassie Griffin’s contribution to Montana.

Red had reached up to take Cassie off Mort’s horse. Mort had spurred his horse away, but Red had caught the reins and soothed the animal while glaring at Mort.

“You will do the right thing, Mort Sawyer. Before God and all these witnesses, Cassie has refused your offer of marriage and accepted mine. Now let her down.”

Cassie felt the hands on her body, not sure who all was touching her. But Red lowered her to the ground. She suspected that “all these witnesses” was a better incentive than “before God.” Considering his treatment of the parson, Mort didn’t seem to be much interested in what God saw when He looked into Mort’s black heart.

Red pulled Cassie to his side, looked down as if to check that she was in one piece, and then reached his hand down to assist Parson Bergstrom in standing.

“Let’s get it done quick, Parson.” Red slid his arm around Cassie, and Seth did some shoving to get to her side. The crowd grumbled, but even Mort Sawyer only made noise.

“Do you, Cassie Griffin, take Red Dawson to be your lawfully wedded husband?” The parson spoke the words so fast it was obvious he was scared to death.

To Cassie, that didn’t speak well for the man’s trust in eternal life. But maybe he believed well enough, he just didn’t want to pass through those pearly gates into eternal life right now today.

Someone said, “I do.” Cassie suspected it was she.

“Do you, Red Dawson...” The parson repeated the most abbreviated version of marriage vows Cassie had ever heard—though in truth she hadn’t heard many. The parson used an economy of words, most likely planning his escape all the while.

The service took about two minutes, including the time it took for Red to get Cassie off Mort Sawyer’s horse. How he managed it Cassie didn’t really know. There was a relentlessness to the way Red moved. He seemed unconcerned with the hostile explosions surrounding him.

The only rational thought Cassie had about Red was if she’d blackened Griff ’s eye the way she’d done to Red, the punishment would have been severe and swift. She expected nothing less with her new husband. Hopefully Red would wait until they were alone to mete out her punishment.

Wade Sawyer was openly furious, but his father controlled him, maybe thinking the cold-blooded murder of an unarmed man in front of dozens of witnesses might be too much for even a Sawyer to walk away from.

Cassie was summarily married, and Red took her arm and led her away from the mob toward the stables. He stooped to pick up his shovel on the way.

Cassie remembered the argument she’d seen Muriel having with Red in the same spot where the shovel lay. “Muriel nagged you into marrying me, didn’t she?” Cassie looked at Red fearfully. Now Cassie veered from grief and shock to humiliation.

“I did what I thought was right, I reckon.” Red hurried her to the stable, whether because he had work to do or because he was looking for shelter from the horde, Cassie couldn’t say.

Then she thought of the way Wade had looked at her and the tyrannical way Mort had taken her from the other men. Well, she’d made the best of a bad situation. She’d come up with a plan.

Death.

Marrying Red Dawson was her second choice, and it was a poor second. But, all things considered, she’d do it again.

They moved on toward the stables, her wedding guests prowling around behind them. Cassie had a moment to wonder if possibly Red lived in the stables. She really didn’t know the man at all. She’d seen the red hair a time or two around town, and fortunately his nickname was easily recalled. But Red Dawson, along with almost every other person in Divide, was a stranger.

Red went into the stable and headed for a saddled buckskin that was half as tall and a quarter as pretty as the magnificent bay Cassie had ridden to town bareback when Griff died. The bay had been stabled here ever since.

Cassie looked over at the regal animal who stood eating in a stall. Seth had gone for Griff ’s body without taking Cassie along. He’d brought her dress and Griff ’s suit because she quoted Griff ’s careful deathbed instructions. Seth had fed and watered the other bay, left out at the ranch. That one was a matched partner to the one she’d managed to bridle and climb onto after a long struggle. The two horses were the only livestock Griff had left when he died.

Red didn’t even look at the bay. He hung the shovel on the back of his saddle, turned to stretch out his hand to her, and said, “I’ll give you a leg up.”

“I’ll ride my own horse.” She realized with a start those were not proper words for a wife to say to her husband.

His ordering her onto his horse, telling her what to do—that was something familiar. Her objecting—that was rude.

She clamped her mouth shut, determined to be as good a wife to Red as she’d been to Griff. But they really did have to take the horse.

“The horse belongs to the bank.” Red held his hand out, waiting for her to come to him.

Cassie shook her head, trying to rattle the words around inside her head so they made sense. “B–Belongs to the bank? I don’t understand.”

“They’re mortgaged, Cassie. Your place has a lien on it for the property, the livestock, and the contents of your home.”

“Griff mentioned a loan. But surely the horses ... we brought them west with us. They were from my parents’ stable. I know they were paid for.”

“They were paid for then ... maybe.”

Red’s tone made Cassie wonder how much was known publicly about her finances. Obviously far more than Griff had ever told her. Griff had always told her a woman shouldn’t concern her weak mind with money matters.

Red went on. “Now they’re mortgaged. I can’t afford to pay off your loans. I’d end up owning horses I don’t need, a house miles away from my place, and fancy furniture that won’t fit in my soddy. The bank can take ’em.”

“How did you know about the loan?” Cassie struggled to keep up. Every word he spoke was news to her.

“It’s a small town.” Red shrugged. “And I work at the bank some, washing windows and such. I hear talk. Besides, it’s no secret. Everyone knows.” He reached for her, pulling back as he studied her stomach. He ran one finger over his puffy lip, glanced at her for a second, and then said, “I’ll have to ... to lift you onto Buck. Excuse my ... my
familiar
... uh ... touch.” He very carefully, looking alarmed, put his hands under her arms and lifted her so she sat facing sideways on his saddle. He settled her gently.

“Uh ... try hooking your leg over the horn.”

Cassie shook her head, confused at what he was asking her to do. “I ... I don’t ride...”

“I don’t have a sidesaddle. You’ll just have to learn to ride Buck like this or straddle the horse. Except, if you do that, your skirts’ll ... um ... they’ll ... well...” Red’s face turned a color that matched his hair. “You’d best just figure on sittin’ sideways.”

With another nervous glance that met her eyes, he gingerly took hold of her right leg and swung it around the saddle horn. Again he was gentle and Cassie thought of the sharp scrape of Wade Sawyer’s saddle horn when he’d slammed her onto it. She grabbed at the saddle horn through the layers of her gown.

Red untied Buck and swung himself up behind the saddle with a single graceful leap. He pressed against her back as he shifted the reins from one hand to the other. He brushed her arms and sides. He looked around her and his chin nudged her hair.

When he got so close, touching her, close enough to smell the earthy scent of dirt and sweat, Cassie realized what she’d done by marrying him. She thought of a husband’s manly needs. Her stomach quivered at the humiliation that lay ahead of her. If only he wasn’t as demanding as Griff had been. He’d left her alone at first, because he said she was too young. But for the last year, scarcely a season had gone by that Griff hadn’t come to her bed. Griff had explained that it was her duty so she’d endured it.

Then she remembered what else Griff had said. A woman was unclean when she was with child and he wouldn’t be with her until after the child was born. She barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Surely she had time before Red claimed his rights. Maybe by the time the baby was born he’d forget what his rights were.

Red shifted his weight and made a clucking sound to start his horse moving. She shifted forward so he wouldn’t be so close, but he caught her. “Hold still. I can’t see when you lean that way.”

Cassie obeyed quickly, hoping she hadn’t annoyed him.

“It might be a good idea to stop at the bank and talk this out with Norm. He’ll move to claim the property, but I don’t want him to think we’re not willing. It’ll ease his mind some if we tell him we expect it.”

Red steered Buck around to the back door of the bank. Red slid off, reached up, lifted Cassie down, and led her into the bank through the back door. “It being Sunday, the bank isn’t open, but that Norm always has something that can’t wait until Monday.”

She’d never been inside the bank. She’d always either stayed home or remained in the carriage when Griff had bank business. A door was ajar next to the safe and Red walked toward it, but Cassie hung back.

“Norm, I can always trust you to be working on the Lord’s Day.”

“Now, Red, don’t start,” a deep voice replied. “I never catch up.”

“Can I talk to you a minute?” Red asked.

“Come on in my office.”

Red rounded the counter then leaned back to look at her. “Come on, Cass. I’m in a hurry. I’ve got chores.”

As always, Cassie obeyed because a woman must always obey her husband, but she couldn’t imagine why she needed to hear this.

“Hey, Norm. Cassie Griffin and I just got married.” Red reached across the desk and shook hands with the formally dressed older man who rose from his chair.

Red was dressed in coarse brown pants and a shirt made crudely from flour sacks. He was liberally coated with dirt from his grave digging. But he greeted Norman York like they were close friends. Griff had always called him Mr. York.

“Congratulations, Red. Congratulations, Miz Griffin, um, Miz Dawson, that is.”

For the first time, Cassie realized she had a new name.

“Sit down.” Mr. York gestured to the pair of heavy wooden chairs that faced his desk.

“No thanks, Norm. We’re in a hurry. Stock’s waiting.” Red got right down to business. “Now, we’ve heard about the mortgage. The one bay is in the stable and the other un’s out at Griff ’s place. Seth fed him enough for a couple of days. We’re turning over ownership now. I’m not going that direction, so you’ll have to bring him in yourself. Reckon the whole place is yours now, so handle things any way you want.”

“Griff ’s furniture...” Cassie began to protest.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Dawson.” Norman York became very formal. His grammar improved along with his posture. “Your husband mortgaged everything—the house and its contents. I really can’t allow you to take anything out of it. Of course the dress you’re wearing is yours to keep. Although I think there’s a bill at Seth’s to settle up on it.”

“But, there are personal things, my great-grandmother’s pearls...”

“Those are included in the mortgage, Miz Dawson.”

“I ... I inherited them. They have been in my family four generations. Griff wouldn’t mortgage them!”

Mr. York went to a cabinet and pulled a file drawer out. He sorted through papers until he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Cassie.

She read it with ever-increasing shock. “My mother’s cameo? And the ... the
frames
my grandparents’ portraits are in? But the portraits, surely I can have them?” Cassie looked up from Mr. York to Red, humiliated. She struggled to gain control of herself. It didn’t matter. Her heirlooms were all just foolish vanity. Surely that is what Griff thought.

She glanced back at the note one last time and lost her composure. “My Bible?” She looked up at Mr. York. “No, a Bible has no monetary worth. But it’s been passed down for generations in my family. It’s precious to me. No one else would ever want to buy it.”

Mr. York fiddled with his string tie for just a second as if it had been pulled a bit too tight. “The thing is, Miz Dawson, that Bible came from Germany a long time ago. I told your husband the same thing, that no one wants an old Bible except the folks who have their names written in it, but Griff knew that huge old book was a New Testament of something called a Gutenberg Bible. It’s worth quite a bit. I will have to ship it back East to sell it, but it alone is mortgaged for over two hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred dollars?” Red exclaimed. “For an old Bible?”

“I know it’s crazy for any book to be so valuable.” Mr. York nodded. “Your husband—uh, that is, your former husband—tried to convince me it was worth far more than the amount I agreed to. We could build a church with that. A big, beautiful church. If things settle up right, the Bible is the first thing I’ll save back for you. But you can see that I can’t just give it back. I will get the photographs for you but not the frames.”

“My family Bible is mine. Griff had no right—”

“The fact is, Miz Dawson,” Mr. York cut her off with considerable force, “a woman’s possessions become her husband’s on the day they marry. Now you may not understand that, but it’s the law. Griff had every right to mortgage that Bible. And if you didn’t want him to, you could have lived without your silk dresses.”

“Norm, that’s enough,” Red said.

Mr. York quit glaring at her and turned to Red. A look passed between the two men, but she couldn’t gather her wits enough to analyze its meaning. She was struck speechless by the venom in Mr. York’s voice. He blamed her for her fancy clothes. He probably blamed her for every beautiful thing Griff had bought. Her whole world shifted at that moment as she realized that the cutting comments she’d overheard about the china doll and the rather stiff way Muriel had always treated her came down to the perception that she was the one who demanded everything be so fine. Mr. York clearly believed that. Did Red?