Softly Falling (39 page)

“I can’t take it,” he said out loud, heartsick. He couldn’t remember a day this bad since the surrender.

He went outside, dreading one more minute on his property. Pierre was already sauntering toward the barn, a low-slung affair ideal for his bull and girlfriends. Jack had planned to enlarge it next year, but what was the use now? Maybe Manuel was a scoundrel too, and Bismarck was gone.

Pierre stood just inside the small door next to the closed barn doors. He waved Jack closer, but there was nothing urgent in the motion. Of course, it wasn’t Pierre’s bull missing or dead, was it?

“
Jefe, jefe
, calm yourself! I decided to move.”

Manuel’s cheerful voice greeted Jack as he ducked through the low door. Only a month ago they had knocked together a roomy stall for Bismarck and company. Manuel had moved himself into a smaller stall and roofed the little enclosure with wood from a farther enclosure. Jack stooped to look inside to see bedding, a chair and table, sacks of beans, and all those onions in the corner.

In a rocking chair, Manuel sat close to Bismarck’s pen, knitting. He had found a square iron stove from somewhere and there it sat, giving off plenty of heat. Jack just shook his head, amazed at the resourcefulness of one old man.

“Uh, where did you get the stove? And how in thunder did you move it here?”

Manuel stuck his knitting needles through the ball of yarn. Clever man, his knitting covered his legs. He gestured over his shoulder. “It was there in the corner. I hitched up Bismarck. He is kind to me.”

Jack stared in amazement, picturing the stately progress from one end of the barn to the other. He doubted Bismarck even broke a sweat. “He’s your friend,” he told Manuel. “I don’t have to tell you to be extremely careful with fire in here.”

“No, you don’t,
señor
, but I understand why you do,” Manuel said. “Bismarck cost you very dear.”

“It’s more than that,” Jack replied, shy to say it, but so grateful that one thing had gone right today. “You’re my friend too. If it comes down to life or death, I value your life more.”

Manuel gave a philosophical shrug. “If the wood gives out, I have lots of straw to burn. We will outlast winter, and you will have calves.
Adios
now. There will be snow tonight.” He looked down at his knitting. “And I have work to do.”

“I may have trouble returning, if the snow is too deep and it is cold,” Jack said, reluctant to leave. Everything he wanted was here in this barn. Well, almost everything.

“I have never minded solitude,
señor
,” Manuel said gently. “Think of the years I herded sheep.” He looked around at the barn and the cattle, contentment on his face. “This is enough.”

The snow came sooner than nightfall, but there were no blizzard winds. They rode silently, each man to his thoughts, with the Indian’s probably more productive, no matter what he was thinking.
How in the world do I tell her
warred with
If I see you, Clarence Carteret, I will murder you.

By the time they reached the schoolhouse, that first landmark of the Bar Dot, darkness had fallen and the snow was beginning to drift.

“You going to Buxton first?” Pierre asked.

“He’ll keep. I’m going to talk to Lily.”

“I wish you had good news.”

“So do I. D’you know, I was becoming genuinely fond of Clarence Carteret.”

He curried Sunny Boy in silence, then turned the tired horse into a stall and added more hay than he probably should have, considering. One hand on the rope, he walked behind Pierre, who branched off to the cookshack. Jack could just make out a light on in his old quarters. Hand still on the rope, he drew frigid air into his lungs and patted his pocket with the telegram.

Lily opened the door with a smile. “We were starting to worry about you. Come in,” she said.

He looked around the front room, now the school, with the winter count, maps a little worse for wear from their trip from the old school to the new one, and the table and bench that took up most of the space. He could see beyond the room into his bedroom. He wondered if she made the bed every day. She had hung her precious pictures in there. On the small table by the bed was a photo of her father. It took all his willpower not to rush in there and throw the thing into the snow.

He sat at the table moved from the cookshack, noting that someone had drawn lines to separate each student’s area. They had created a classroom, a little refuge from what he knew with vast uneasiness was going to be a tough winter. All was orderly and calm. He felt his shoulders relax.

“We are careful about our space,” Lily said. “It might matter a great deal when we are snowed in.”

She spoke with calm practicality, her words so precise. He loved the sound of Lily.

“It might come to that,” he said, at a loss of where to begin.

He hesitated, heartsick at what he had to do, when all he wanted to do was sit with her in his old house and pretend they shared it—as simple as that. He could imagine that he lived there again, and he didn’t have to leave once he had delivered his fearsome message. He could comfort her and share the misery, not leaving her to stare down the long, solitary corridors of her disappointed hopes.

He pulled out the telegram, watching her eyes as he pushed it toward her as she sat across the table from him. She picked it up, read it, and gasped. He kept his eyes on her face, but she refused to look at him. He didn’t even hear her breathing; maybe she wasn’t.

“Lily,” he said, mainly to start her drawing breath again.

She still did not look up. “I am so ashamed,” she said finally. She put her arms on the table and rested her head on them, a woman mortified and stunned by such betrayal. He almost wished Clarence had begun no reformation, because Lily would be in less pain right now. He hesitated only a moment, then rested his hand on her head. He felt her shake.

“What will Mr. Buxton do?” she whispered. “Tell me truly.”

Keeping his hand on her head, wishing the space between them was smaller, he said, “He will order you off the place.”

“I have nowhere to go, and little money to do it with.”

“You asked me what he would do, and that’s it. But I will remind him that you are teaching his only child, and you are desperately needed.”

“He won’t care.”

“No, he won’t, but Mrs. Buxton will, and she has the power to make him miserable.”

Lily looked up at that. She sat up. “Do you approach her, or I?”

“Both of us.”

She gave a little sigh at his words, and he felt in his bones how desperately tired she was of trying to bend events in her life by herself. Maybe he was tired of it too. He reached across the table and took her head in both of his hands.

“We’ll do this together.”

“When?”

“Now.”

C
HAPTER
36

J
ack waited in the front room while Lily pulled on the extra long johns and wool socks that Preacher had left for her. She had less trouble buttoning her dress over all the excess underwear than she expected, which told her she was losing weight. The worst of the winter still loomed ahead, and Madeleine had already put them on shorter rations, probably at the foreman’s suggestion.

Lily tried to think of anything except her father, but all she could think of was the man who had left last week, smiling and happy, the man who had deserted her over and over again. This was the last time, she vowed to herself as she stood there, hands clenched.

She covered her mouth, but her anguish came out anyway, half a sob and half a cry of fury.

“Lily?” Jack asked on the other side of the closed door. “Lily?”

She took several deep breaths, determined not to be a further burden to an already overburdened man. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

Drat the man. Why couldn’t he be superficial like her uncle? If she had told Uncle Niles she was fine, he would have searched no deeper because it was the answer he sought. She yanked open the door.

“Actually, I have seldom been worse,” she said, wiping angrily at traitor tears she hated to feel, because they showed how thoroughly Clarence Carteret had rummaged through every hope she possessed. Her voice softened. There was no need to disturb this kind man only trying to help. “Really, Jack, I’ll get over this. I have before.”

He nodded, troubled because she was troubled, which touched her heart down to its dusty center. He held out his hand and she put her hand in his, craving nothing more than a touch that told her she was not alone.

He managed a smile, the philosophical kind. “You have a long winter ahead to decide what you will do, come spring.”

“Provided Mr. Buxton doesn’t turn me out in fifteen minutes.”

“Let’s find out.”

Snow pelted them as they slipped and slid from building to building, guided by the ropes the men had strung earlier. Deep twilight had come and gone, leaving an eerie light created by falling snow. She tugged on Jack’s hand, and he obliged her by slowing down and inclining his head toward hers.

“Do you know, I really enjoyed that very first snowfall,” she said. “It was a novelty to me.”

He laughed and clapped an arm around her shoulder.

He had to tug her up the two steps to the Buxtons’ porch. Fothering may not have been a real English butler, but he held the door open before Jack even knocked.

“We need to see the Big Boss,” Jack said.

Fothering looked from one to the other. “What has happened?”

“How . . . how do you know anything is wrong?” Lily asked.

“My dear delightful Lily, no one goes outside in this weather. Tell me, please.”

Jack showed him the telegram. Fothering’s eyes narrowed. “Lily, you can do better than this father.”

“I know, but this is
my
dilemma,” she said.

“
Our
dilemma,” Fothering corrected. Ever proper, he turned to Jack. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”

“Not much of one,” Jack admitted. “I’ll take any suggestions.”

“Something will come to me,” Fothering assured him. Then he bowed and went his serene way to find Mr. Buxton.

“If Bismarck ever makes me a wealthy man, I want a butler,” Jack said.

Fothering returned quickly and gestured to them. “Courage, dears,” he whispered as he opened the door.

Jack had been in Oliver Buxton’s office many times, often bearing good news, sometimes to be yelled at for some misdemeanor, but more likely to receive stupid orders from a man who didn’t know the first thing about cows. Never before had he cared so much about the outcome of an encounter with his employer. He had always known he could walk away from the Bar Dot and find work, because his reputation guaranteed him a job anywhere in the territory. This was different; this was Lily. Women existed at the whim of men, even in this territory where they had the vote.

Silent, he handed Buxton the telegram and waited for the explosion.

Not surprisingly, Buxton did exactly what Jack had done in Cheyenne. He cursed with a fluency that made Lily take a step back, her eyes troubled. Jack did nothing to stop the foul language that spewed from his employer’s now beet-red face, simply because he did not want to call any more attention to Lily’s presence, which he knew would be the man’s next target. He moved closer to Lily, not quite touching shoulders with her, because he dreaded what Buxton would say about that. Better to keep this as professional as possible.

When he ran out of filthy words, Buxton turned to look at Lily. His eyes narrow and mean, he raked her up and down as she stood there, head high, remembering to breathe now and then, her own face a curious mottled color that made Jack wonder if he ought to slide a chair behind her.

Silence. Lily swallowed. Buxton just stared at her, dissecting her down to the marrow. Jack felt his throat go dry. Somehow, the silence was worse than the swearing.

“Get. Off. This. Ranch.” Buxton delivered his ultimatum in a low voice more menacing than shouts.

Jack watched Lily, ready to intervene, because the air fairly crackled with Buxton’s animosity. What he saw amazed him, humbled him, and assured him that forever after he would know that women were strong.

“I have nowhere to go and I am your daughter’s teacher,” Lily said. Her voice was no louder than Buxton’s, and she did not plead. She calmly stated the issue, making no apology because nothing that had happened was her fault, even if Buxton’s venomous helping of vitriol had accused her of everything her father was.