This Calder Sky (26 page)

It's starting to snow. I have to go check the cattle.

Your brother,
Culley

Two weeks before Christmas, Maggie sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor wrapping the shirts she'd bought for Culley so she could mail them to him. An artificial Christmas tree stood in front
of the picture window, a Nativity scene displayed at the base of its cotton-swaddled feet. Outside, the grass and trees were still green, the air warm.

“It's hard to believe it's almost Christmas,” Maggie declared with a glance at her aunt, busy addressing her Christmas cards. “I'll bet Culley is snowed in.”

Cathleen paused in her writing. “You miss him a lot, don't you?”

“Yes.” It was a simple admission, and Maggie didn't attempt to elaborate on it.

“Why don't you write and ask him to come here for the holidays?” she suggested.

Maggie shook her head sadly, knowing it wasn't possible. “The weather is too unpredictable at this time of year, blizzards and ice storms. He couldn't risk being gone from the ranch.” Her answer was logical and sensible, but it didn't stop her from wishing she could see him. She needed someone she could talk to, someone who knew the facts surrounding her father's death, someone who understood her inner anguish. As wonderful and good as Cathleen had been to her, Maggie wasn't able to confide these secrets to her. They were all bottled up inside, silenced by pride.

As if sensing that it would be best to change the subject, her aunt asked, “Have you picked out any possible names for the baby yet?”

“Yes.” Maggie heard the thud of a cane in the hallway and rose automatically to help the arthritically distressed Mother Hogan into the living room, seating her in one of the armchairs. “If the baby is a boy, I'm going to name him Tyrone,” she told her aunt. “If it's a girl, I'd like to name her Cathleen, after you.”

From the minute she had become aware of the life growing inside her, Maggie had begun to block out the part Chase had played in the baby's conception. She considered the baby solely her own.

“What a lovely thought, Mary Frances!” her aunt
declared, genuinely moved by her words. “Thank you.”

As Maggie started to sit down to finish wrapping Culley's package, she paused to pull the gray sweatshirt down past her hips. It stretched across her stomach.

“It's going to be a boy,” Mother Hogan stated. And she observed, “Look at how low she's carrying the baby.”

“That's an old wives' tale.” Cathleen smiled away the remark. “It doesn't have a thing to do with the sex of the baby.”

Before that moment, Maggie hadn't considered whether she would prefer to have a boy or a girl. Boys certainly had an easier time of it in this world than girls.

“I suppose Dr. Gordon told you that,” Mother Hogan replied in a tone that questioned his knowledge.

“Does he have children?” Maggie asked. His sister, Pamela, she recalled, had never married, but she didn't remember her aunt saying anything about the brother.

“No, he and his late wife were childless,” Cathleen answered.

“His wife died?” Maggie pressed the last piece of Scotch tape onto Culley's package.

“Yes, some years ago in an automobile accident.” Her aunt paused, a sudden smile breaking across her expression. “I wish you could see the way the house is decorated for the holidays, Mary Frances. I swear, Pamela has persuaded the doctor to hang garlands and holly in every room of that house. You have never seen a brother and sister so devoted to each other.”

Maggie thought about that as she wrote Culley's name on the package. Maybe they were separated by thousands of miles; maybe they hadn't always agreed on everything; still, they were close.

But Christmas came and went without Maggie hearing a single word from Culley. She worried silently while she listened to weather reports that spoke of the
blizzard burying Montana in snow. It was after New Year's when she received his Christmas card with a ten-dollar bill tucked inside and a hastily scribbled note.

January 3

Dear Maggie,

I'm sorry this is late, but I couldn't get out to mail it. It's been a bad winter so far. One of the horses—the bay with the bad eye—slipped on the ice by the water trough and broke its leg. I had to shoot it.

Sorry this can't be a longer letter, but I've got a dozen head of cattle missing. I can hear Calder's plane flying over. He's been dropping hay to his cattle. I doubt if he's lost a single cow. He has the luck of the devil.

Thanks for the Christmas card and the shirts. They are nice. I gotta go now.

Your brother,
Culley

She shivered, remembering those Montana winters—the frigid air pressing an invisible icy band across the forehead and freezing the moisture in the nose; blowing snow clinging to eyebrows and eyelashes; and the cold that numbed the legs until a rider couldn't feel the horse under him.

The baby kicked inside her and Maggie rubbed a hand across her swollen stomach, as if comforting it. The walls of the house seemed to close in on her, confining her. She wanted to get out—go somewhere, anywhere—but she couldn't. It was almost time for lunch and she still had an American history lesson to study, not to mention the two older members of the household, who shouldn't be left alone. She fought
down the restless melancholy and waddled to the kitchen.

The last weekend of March Maggie went into labor. Seven hours later, she gave birth to a strapping eight-pound, nine-ounce baby boy. She was allowed to hold the squalling infant, with its prune-red face and mass of wet-black hair. None of it seemed quite real until later, after she was wheeled to her room to rest.

It was the next day when the nurse brought him in for his morning feeding that Maggie examined his tiny, perfectly formed fingers and toes, and laughed at the little mouth eagerly seeking the bottle's nipple. Then came the surge of maternal love. It was a warm glow that radiated from within and shone from her features when she glanced across the room to her aunt, who had arrived a few minutes earlier.

“Isn't Ty the most beautiful baby you've ever seen?” Maggie insisted.

The remark was an indirect invitation to be a part of the scene, and Cathleen walked closer, stopping beside the bed. Her fingertips made a caressing brush over the baby's thick, down-soft hair.

“He certainly is,” Cathleen agreed and laughed softly. “I feel like a grandmother instead of a great-aunt.” She paused to admire her nephew again. “He has so much hair. I think his eyes are going to be brown.”

“My father had brown eyes.” Maggie refused to remember that Chase's eyes were brown. The bottle was emptied of its formula. She set it aside and shifted little Tyrone O'Rourke to her shoulder, patting his back to burp him.

“Mother Hogan sent along a present for the baby.” Cathleen handed Maggie a gift-wrapped box.

She managed to balance the baby against her shoulder
and slip off the ribbon to open the box's lid. Inside there was a little blue sweater and a matching knitted cap with a small, rounded bill.

“I'm going to dress him in this the day I take him home,” she decided. When she looked up, she saw the leather-bound Bible Cathleen was holding, its edges worn.

“This is for you.” Her aunt ran a loving hand over the book's surface before she offered it to Maggie. “It's the Bible of the Malloy family, your mother's parents and mine. Since you, little Tyrone, and your brother represent the last remaining descendants, I wanted you to have it. My mother gave it to me, but I have no children of my own. It's right that you should have it.”

Maggie gazed at it, not knowing what to say. “Thank you,” she murmured at last, a vague tightness in her throat.

The nurse came into the room, bright and cheerful, as all of the nurses on the maternity ward seemed to be. “Has Tyrone finished his bottle?”

“Every bit of it,” Maggie confirmed.

“My, he's a hungry boy, isn't he?” the nurse declared with a wide smile of approval, her look gentle as she gazed at the sleepy head resting on Maggie's shoulder. “He's going to grow up to be big and strong to take care of his momma.” She glanced apologetically at Maggie. “It's time to take him back to the nursery.”

“Yes.” She reluctantly surrendered her son to the nurse.

“It looks as if Tyrone received a present today.” The nurse paused beside the bed with the baby in her arms to admire the sweater set. When she noticed the Bible on Maggie's lap, her expression became curious. “What's this?”

“The family Bible.” She opened the Holy Book to the page that recorded the births, deaths, and marriages of the Malloy family and their children.

“Well, isn't that nice?” the nurse declared and shifted slightly for a closer look. “There's the place where you enter the information for Tyrone's birth, listing the date, time and place, your name, and the father's, if you know it.”

It was an innocent remark with absolutely no slight intended against Maggie's character. Yet she stiffened at the implication she didn't know the name of Ty's father. To her, that was a sin worse than giving birth to a baby out of wedlock.

“May I borrow your pen, Aunt Cathleen?” she requested. “I want to enter Ty's birth in the Bible.”

The nurse left the room before she saw the clearly legible handwriting spell out the name of Chase Calder. Her aunt wasn't able to stay long because her in-laws were home alone. When she left, Maggie wrote Culley to inform him of his nephew's birth.

April 2

Dear Maggie,

I'm glad you and the baby are okay.

I hope you didn't worry because you hadn't heard from me in a long time. It was a rough winter, but I made it through in pretty good shape. The cows are calving, so I'm real busy. I've lost some weight. I guess I miss your cooking. The way the house looks, it misses you, too.

Buck Haskell has been charged with robbery and assault and battery. Neil Anderson got drunk at Jake's the other night. Buck followed him out to the truck and hit him over the head and robbed him. One of Jake's girls saw it all from an upstairs window. What do you want to bet Calder gets him off?

Take care of yourself.

Your brother,
Culley

Buck pivoted away from the desk in agitation, then turned back to face Webb Calder, his boyish features screwed up in fury. “You aren't going to take a whore's word against mine? I tell you I was nowhere near Anderson! I didn't even see him leave! That bitch is lying through her teeth!”

Webb looked at Ruth, who was standing to one side. She was biting her lip, her eyes blinking, as if holding back tears. “Watch your language, Buck,” he cautioned. He didn't hold with swearing in front of women. It showed disrespect. And he especially didn't like the idea of Buck swearing in front of his mother.

“I can't help it!” His fist made a downward stroke through the air. “I never expected that you would doubt—”

“It isn't a question of doubt, or what I believe,” Webb interrupted sharply. “These are serious charges that have been leveled against you. I'm not taking them lightly, and neither should you. I have always stood behind my men when they were in trouble. I'll stand
behind you. Now, the young lady claims she saw you hit Anderson over the head and rob him. We need to establish where you were and what you were doing at the time.”

“Who notices the time when you're drinking?” Buck argued. “I didn't know I was going to need an alibi. I played some poker, drank …” He paused, struggling for something more specific. Then his glance fell on Chase, standing by the fireplace, an arm hooked on the mantel. “I was with Chase most of the time. Ask him.”

“It's true.” Chase nodded, wearing the same grim expression that was on everyone's face in the den—his father's, and Buck's parents, Ruth and Virgil Haskell. Only on Buck, it took on a desperate quality. “Buck and I were together almost the entire evening, but, like him, I didn't pay attention to the time.”

“I could have been in the john when Anderson got banged on the head.” Buck lifted his hands in a beseeching gesture. “That… girl claims she saw me, but maybe she said that because she's the one who really did it. Where's her alibi? Who was upstairs with her when she supposedly saw me? She could just as easily be the one who knocked Anderson out and rolled him. I'll bet that's what really happened. Anderson never saw who hit him. He said so. Why couldn't it have been a woman?”

“I admit it's possible,” Webb conceded.

“Why else did she wait until the next day to tell the sheriff? Why didn't she come forward that night when they found him? It sounds fishy to me,” Buck insisted. “Wait a minute!” He turned again to Chase, remembering something. “I borrowed five dollars off you last night—
before
they found Anderson outside. Would I be borrowing money off you if I had just robbed somebody?”

“No, it wouldn't make sense,” Chase agreed.

“There! You see! That proves it!” Buck declared with a decisive nod of his head.

Webb rubbed his hand across his mouth in a thoughtful manner, then brought it down to the desktop. “I'll see what can be done to get this straightened out. In the meantime, Buck, I advise you to stay away from Jake's until it is.”

“I'll make sure he does,” Virg stated. “Come on, boy.” He motioned to his son to come with him, then glanced at the man rising from the chair behind the desk. “Thanks, Webb, for backing the boy.”

“Buck is family.” The statement explained it all.

Virg turned to his wife. “Are you coming, Ruth?”

Her gaze darted away from Webb to her husband. “In a minute, Virg.” There was a slight hardening of Virg Haskell's expression as he flashed a sharp look at Webb, then turned to escort his son from the room. When the pair had left, Ruth took a hesitant step toward Webb. Her hands were clenched together in a knotted ball. The tightness of her smile revealed how deeply worried she was. “I just wanted to thank you … for helping Buck.” Her voice was very low, but otherwise steady.