This Calder Sky (25 page)

Life did not always turn out the way a person wanted
it to be, or even the way he tried to make it. He had taken a girl and made her into a woman before her time. He had ignored her youth, her background, and her father's resentment toward the Calders, certain these factors could never touch them, that they could be isolated from the world's unpleasantness. Chase realized that their relationship had been without depth because it denied what each of them were. A thing endures when there is commitment, and collapses when there is none.

Chase flexed his arm. He was able to move it more freely now; the soreness was easing from it. In time, it would heal completely, but there would be a scar.

After two weeks in the mountains, Chase rode out. He made a detour to the north range, a farewell ride to the simpler days that would never come again. He had finally accepted that and turned his horse toward The Homestead without looking back.

When the rider and packhorse were first sighted approaching the main quarters of the Triple C, a ranch hand was dispatched to The Homestead with word that Chase was coming in. Everyone carefully avoided noticing Webb Calder as he strolled toward the barns. There was no one within twenty yards of the father and son, meeting after a two-week separation.

“I see you finally made it back,” Webb observed with a feigned air of only mild interest. But his eyes were sharp in their study of the rider, a heavy beard growth shadowing the rough features.

Chase's mouth split into a smile, showing white teeth against the dark beard, and there was a glittering brilliance to the deep brown eyes. “I ran out of cigars,” he replied and clicked to his horse, walking it past his father and into the barn with the packhorse in tow.

There was pride in the lift of Webb Calder's head. His son was back and he was whole. Nate Moore wandered out of the barn and paused briefly beside
Webb. He looked back toward the opening where Chase had disappeared.

“Do you have the feeling that he left a boy and returned a man?” Nate asked and moved on without waiting for an answer.

It was several seconds before Webb followed his son inside and walked to the stall where Chase was unsaddling his horse. “Maggie O'Rourke has left. She's gone to California to live with a relative of her mother's—a sister, I think.”

There wasn't a break in the rhythm of the hands unloosening the saddle cinch. “I'm glad for her,” Chase stated and lifted the saddle from the horse's back. Pivoting, he swung it onto the top of the stall's partition wall and smoothly met his father's look across the saddle seat. “It's what she always wanted—a chance to get away from here and make something out of her life. It's best.”

“Yes,” Webb agreed.

PART IV
 

A sky of parting,
A sky in two,
This sky that carries
A Calder through.

There was a great deal about her aunt that reminded Maggie of her mother. Their coloring was the same, except that gray strands had begun to silver her aunt's black hair, and her eyes were a darker shade of green. Cathleen was taller than her mother had been, and plumper, but during those last years of her life, her mother had worked herself thin. Most important, though, her aunt had the same sweet, caring disposition. She had welcomed Maggie into her home with open arms.

Maggie stared at the hands wrapped so warmly around her tightly clasped fingers. It hadn't been easy to inform her aunt that she was going to have a baby. Despite this gesture of affection and understanding, Maggie braced herself for the words of reproach.

But they didn't come. “It's possible that this might be a blessing in disguise,” Cathleen Hogan suggested.

Maggie lifted her head, wary and skeptical. “How?” She had glossed over the circumstances of her relationship with Chase Calder, just as she had been uncommunicative about her father's death, relating only that his neck had been broken and he'd died instantly, and letting her aunt assume it had been an accident. She took advantage of the fact Cathleen expected her to be too upset to discuss it.

“I've been worried about leaving Mother and Dad Hogan alone all day while I'm working,” Cathleen explained, referring to her late husband's parents, who presently lived with her, too. “There are days when Mother Hogan is so crippled by her arthritis that she can't get around at all. With Dad Hogan's hearing growing worse every day, I worry that if she fell, he might not hear her cry out for help. My neighbor, Mrs. Houston, looks in on them once or twice a day, but I can't afford to hire someone to stay with them all the time. With you here, Mary Frances—” She used Maggie's given name and paused.

“I'll look after them and fix their meals,” Maggie volunteered, relieved that she could help her aunt and not be a burden. It was more than her iron streak of independence could have tolerated—to be pregnant and dependent on a relative stranger.

“It would certainly ease my mind if you did.” Cathleen smiled warmly. “I was afraid I was going to have to quit my job, and the Gordons have been so good and understanding.” She squeezed Maggie's hands in a reassuring manner. “I'll have to ask Dr. Gordon to recommend an obstetrician for you. I want you and your baby to stay healthy.”

Since she had arrived in the Chatsworth area of California's San Fernando Valley three days ago, Maggie had learned that her aunt was employed by a family
named Gordon. She had been hired as a housekeeper for the brother-sister pair, but her duties had gradually evolved to include taking personal care of the sister, Pamela Gordon, who had been partially paralyzed after a fall from a horse. Naturally, it was Pamela that her aunt mentioned most often. She knew little about the brother.

“What kind of doctor is your employer?” Her curiosity was aroused by the comment.

“He's a plastic surgeon, extremely well known, too.” Cathleen seemed to take a personal pride in the fact. “People scarred in fires or accidents are always being recommended to him. He has his office and clinic in Los Angeles which is about a forty-minute drive from his home, so he commutes daily.”

Maggie didn't envy him the drive back and forth every day. The streets and highways were clogged with vehicles. She'd heard about the traffic in Los Angeles, but seeing it was quite another thing.

“I'm glad you're here with me, Mary Frances.” Her aunt filled the brief silence that followed her remark. “I know it's what your mother would want.”

Which prompted Maggie to say, “Momma was always determined that Culley and I were going to have a good education. Even though I'm going to have a baby, I'm still going to get my diploma.”

“That won't be any problem. The schools here have night classes three evenings a week. Also, there are correspondence courses available that enable you to learn at home,” her aunt replied. “We'll check into both and see which works best. Everything will be all right. You'll see.”

As her aunt left the small bedroom that was Maggie's to return to the living room, where her in-laws were watching television, Maggie was more optimistic about her future than she had been in many days. At least
now she had something definite about which she could write to Culley.

Nearly a month went by before she received a letter back from her brother. In the meantime, she had started taking correspondence courses and her life had settled into an undemanding routine of keeping house and looking after Grandma and Grandpa Hogan, as she had begun to call them. Culley's letter arrived just as she was putting lunch on the table. She let her bowl of soup cool while she read it.

September 28

Dear Maggie,

How are you? I am fine. The weather is starting to turn cool here. How is it in California? I am glad you like it there.

Tucker's café burned down last week. Jake saw it from his window when he was closing up and turned in the alarm. The whole building was in flames by the time the county fire truck got there. They let the café burn and pumped all the water on Jake's place to keep the fire from spreading to his building. There's nothing left of Tucker's café but the burned-out shell. He lost everything, even the money he had in a metal box in the back room. The fire was so hot I guess it just turned the bills to ashes. He didn't have any insurance, either.

They said the fire started in the kitchen. They claimed it was caused by grease. But I'll bet it was Calder who started it. Tucker thinks so, too, but he can't say nothing any more than we could.

I had a man hired to help me on the ranch, but he quit yesterday. Nobody will convince me that Calder didn't have something to do with him leaving. He'll never drive me out. I'll get even with them for what they've done. It may take me a while, but I'll do it.

There isn't any more news, so I will close for now. Take care of yourself.

Your brother,
Culley

Maggie read it through again, then slowly folded it and slipped the letter back into its envelope. A moodiness settled over her, raw memories freshened.

“Who is the letter from, Mary Frances?” Grandpa Hogan inquired in a loud voice so he could hear himself. He always used Maggie's given name, as Cathleen did.

“Culley.” Her voice was dull and flat.

“Who?” He frowned and cupped a hand to his ear.

“My brother!” This time Maggie answered loud enough for him to hear.

The following Sunday, Cathleen packed a picnic basket and surprised Maggie with a drive to the beach after Mass. It was her first sight of the ocean. The minute Cathleen assured her that she and Mother Hogan could cope with setting out the picnic lunch, Maggie slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot across the sun-warmed sands to the water.

Stopping short of the beach-licking waves, she gazed out over the vast expanse of ocean swells, dark green beneath an enveloping sky of blue. For an instant, she was spun away on a memory of Montana, a sea of grass under a stretching sky.

A fingerlet of sea water curled around her toes, drawing her back to the present. It felt cool after the heat of the sand. Wading a little ways in, she turned and walked parallel with the tide mark as the waves broke gently over her ankles. The air had a tang to it. Suddenly curious, Maggie bent down and scooped up some water in the cup of her hand. She touched the wetness with the tip of her tongue and wrinkled her
nose at its salty, fishy taste, shaking the moisture from her hand.

The beach began to fill up with the swimsuited crowd, making Maggie conscious that her summery cotton dress was out of place. It was an old one of her aunt's, made over to fit Maggie's burgeoning figure … not that she was actually showing so much yet. It was only when she looked sideways in the mirror that the protrusion of her stomach was noticeable.

Sharing the beach and ocean with others didn't diminish her enjoyment of the experience, but Maggie did retrace her steps to rejoin her aunt and the elderly couple. Cathleen smiled when she saw Maggie approach.

“What do you think of the Pacific?”

“It's wonderful,” Maggie admitted, sinking onto her knees on the blanket her aunt had spread on the ground. “I'll have to write Culley tonight and tell him the ocean really does taste salty.”

“Are you hungry? We have cold cuts, avocado salad, cheese, and fruit.” Cathleen passed her a plate.

“It all looks good.” She started filling her plate by taking a little of each.

“What would you like to drink, Mother Hogan?” Cathleen asked her mother-in-law. “I have cold water or lemonade.”

“Lemonade.” She turned to her husband. “What do you want to drink, John?”

“Hasn't Art come back with the beer?” he asked, referring to Cathleen's late husband, his son.

“John, you are getting old,” his wife reproved him sharply. “Your mind is wandering. Our son has been dead for twelve years now.” She cast a sad, apologetic glance at Cathleen.

“Don't worry, Mother Hogan. It's all right.” She smiled.

Maggie guessed she was more aware than her aunt was about the frequency of these memory lapses by Cathleen's father-in-law. She'd run into it often during the week. As much as she'd grown to like the aging couple, it made conversation difficult. She didn't mention that to her aunt, but she did write about it to Culley in a letter.

A few days after Thanksgiving, there was a letter in the mailbox from him.

November 30

Dear Maggie,

I'm sorry I haven't had time to write to you, but I've been real busy.

What did you do for Thanksgiving? Tucker came over. He brought food to fix dinner. He's working for Calder now as a cook. I couldn't believe it when I heard it in town. He said it was the only place he could get a job. I told him he could have stayed here, but he said he was a cook, not a cowboy. But he still hates Calder the same as we do.

There was a big fight at Jake's last weekend. Some new guy accused Buck Haskell of stealing money out of his wallet. They argued and it turned into a free-for-all, with Chase Calder and the Triple C against the others. The sheriff had to break it up. I always knew they were a bunch of crooks at the Triple C.