Daisies In The Wind Page 23

  18

  Rebeccah peeled potatoes in silence, working numbly alongside of the other women filling the Bodine kitchen. Only two days ago Caitlin Bodine had yearned to hear “Oh, Susannah,” had begged Rebeccah not to hurt Wolf, and had smiled through her pain. Now she lay in the cold, hard ground—like Bear, Rebeccah thought miserably—never to be seen or smiled at or sung to again.

  “She’ll be sorely missed,” Myrtle Lee Anderson sniffed into her handkerchief as Emily Brady heaped sliced beef on a platter and young Mary Adams shelled peas for the Bodines’ dinner.

  “She will be, that’s for sure.” Emily sighed quietly, fighting a new flood of tears.

  In the parlor Lorelie Simpson was serving steaming cups of coffee to Wolf and Gulley Pritchard. Nel Westerly set out a plate of cookies alongside slices of her famous chocolate cake. The whole town had attended the funeral this morning, and they were now rallying around the sheriff and his son, consoling them in their grief, as the leaden rain fell from the sky and everyone tried not to think about how strange the house felt without Caitlin’s brisk, cheery presence.

  Joey Brady popped suddenly into the kitchen. “Billy’s crying in the barn and he won’t come out. He won’t even talk to me.”

  Rebeccah and Emily Brady exchanged glances. “I’ll go to him,” Rebeccah said in a low tone, and hastily threw on her cloak.

  As she hurried across the sodden yard with raindrops pelting her face and soaking into the wool of her cloak, she wondered what she would say to him. How could one begin to heal the pain of such a fresh, raw, and devastating wound? Somehow she must try.

  Inside the barn it was quiet, except for the soothing sounds of the horses munching their oats and whickering softly at her arrival.

  “Billy?”

  There was no answer.

  Rebeccah walked past the first few stalls, letting her eyes adjust to the shadowy dimness. “Billy—Sam—are you here?”

  Then she heard the dog’s low whine and something else—a child’s muffled sobs. She found them huddled in the farthest stall among piles of clean, sweet-smelling hay.

  Sam’s tail thumped the floor as Rebeccah paused in the entrance to the stall. Billy didn’t look up.

  “It’s all right,” she said softly. “It’s good to cry.”

  As if released by her words, the sobs wracked out of him then, convulsing his narrow shoulders and hunched back. The tears flowed without restraint. “I’ll ... never see her again ...” He gasped once and buried his face in Sam’s neck. Little hiccupping coughs came in between the sobs. “I don’t want her to be dead! I want her to be back with us just like always!”

  “Yes, yes, Billy. Of course you do. So do I. She was my best friend in Powder Creek—the only woman friend I’ve ever known. I’ll miss her terribly, and so will you and so will your pa. But she’ll always live in our hearts. Even death can’t take a person we love out of our hearts.”

  “It c-can’t?”

  He looked up at last, the gray eyes swimming with tears. His face was blotchy and red, and his nose was running. Rebeccah knelt beside him as she handed him the handkerchief from her pocket. “No, of course it can’t. Why, my father is still in my heart every single day. I think about the way he used to brush his horse so carefully and sing to him sometimes ... and the way he’d listen to me with both eyes wide whenever I told him a joke or showed him a card trick. And the way he used to admire the sunset—he wore this expression of pure awe sometimes when he looked out over a canyon at the setting sun. Oh, I remember everything ... and those memories keep him close to me.” She settled down in the straw beside him and ventured a light hand on his arm. “Caitlin can stay close to us too. We can talk about her and think about her and remember her as much as we want. Every time I bake her strawberry pie—the one she taught me how to fix so that the crust was just right—I’ll remember her and smile. And every time you look at her sewing box under the tea table, or the chair where she used to sit and test you at your spelling, you’ll remember her. And you’ll smile, too, Billy. You’ll feel all of your love for her and her love for you. Caitlin will never really go away.”

  He had grown calmer while she talked. With one last sniffle he leaned his head against Rebeccah’s shoulder. They sat like that for a while in the sweet-smelling dusk of the barn, with the rain pattering on the roof and Sam stretched out beside them, his shaggy head resting on Billy’s knee.

  That night Rebeccah dreamed of Bear and of Caitlin, square dancing together in what might have been the schoolhouse, but there were no fiddlers, no music or bright frontier garb or any other dancers at all, only the two of them, dim, shadowy forms with bright light illuminating their solemn faces as they did a do-si-do down a wide tunnel of blackness.

  A week passed. Life went on in Powder Creek. But Rebeccah still found it difficult to believe Caitlin was really gone. Don’t hurt him, Caitlin had pleaded, almost her last words spoken on earth. Now that Rebeccah knew what had transpired with Clarissa, Caitlin’s concern made a bit more sense to her, but she could still scarcely believe what else Caitlin had said: that Wolf cared for her more than for Lorelie Simpson or Nel Westerly—that she, Rebeccah Rawlings, had the power to hurt him—or possibly, she reasoned with a sense of wonder, to heal.

  Rebeccah hadn’t seen Wolf since the day of the funeral, though she had brought over a kettle of stew and a batch of cornbread muffins one night, and on another a mess of fried chicken and boiled carrots. Both times women from the surrounding area had been at the house to accept the offerings, for it seemed the town was banding together to help Wolf in his time of grief. Mary Adams helped with the wash and the household chores, and the women of the community took turns keeping an eye on Billy and making sure the Double B larder was stocked with food, not to mention providing a good quantity of freshly prepared meals.

  When she brought the chicken and carrots over just before supper one night, she was surprised to find Abigail Pritchard and Coral Mae Taggett working side by side in Caitlin’s kitchen. Coral was removing a batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven as Abigail tossed onions and turnips into a frying pan sizzling with butter.

  Neither woman appeared to be speaking much to the other, but they both forced tense smiles when Rebeccah came in. She soon learned that since the schoolhouse dance they’d been trying to become better acquainted.

  “I reckon if Waylon’s so set on her, there must be something to recommend her,” Abigail muttered after summoning Rebeccah to a private conference in the parlor. “She’s corning to supper tomorrow night, and then we’ll see. But I can’t help wishing Waylon had picked someone more like you, Miss Rawlings. Or like Nel Westerly. She’s a sensible, respectable young woman, and her father’s property adjoins ours. Why, a union between those two would be downright convenient. Still,” she added regretfully, “I’ve a hunch Nel’s already spoken for —or will be soon.” She smiled confidentially at Rebeccah. “Rumor has it that Wolf proposed to her the day after Caitlin’s funeral, and she accepted, but they don’t want to announce it until a decent mourning period has passed.”

  Before Rebeccah could react to this startling pronouncement, Coral Mae Taggett, who’d obviously been eavesdropping, stuck her head out the kitchen doorway. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Mrs. Pritchard!” she informed Abigail tartly. “Molly Duke has been seeing a lot of Wolf lately, and she told Hank Boswell, who in turn told me, that Wolf is planning to propose to Lorelie Simpson within the week.”

  Coral noticed Rebeccah’s sudden pallor. “Miss Rawlings, what in heaven’s name is the matter with you?” she cried in alarm, and then let out a muffled oath as she recalled the way the very drunk Miss Rawlings had looked at Wolf Bodine the night of the schoolhouse dance.

  “N-nothing. I’d better be going,” Rebeccah said faintly, trying not to think about Wolf with either Molly Duke, Lorelie Simpson, or Nel Westerly. She made her excuses and fled the Double B as quickly as she could.

  Yet she lingered for several moments in the buckboa
rd before starting the team toward home, pretending to settle her cloak more comfortably around her while she struggled to contain her inner turmoil.

  Could those rumors be true—any of them? Most likely not, she reasoned, trying to stop her hands from trembling as she picked up the reins. Rebeccah had already learned that towns like Powder Creek thrived on gossip, much of it untrue. But she would have dearly loved to see Wolf Bodine come riding up at that moment so that she could ask him straight out if they were true. It would be embarrassing—no, humiliating—to show such interest in his affairs, but Rebeccah would rather at that moment have known humiliation than the frantic uncertainty churning inside of her after hearing what Abigail and Coral had to say.

  But the trail from town was deserted, and there was no sign of Wolf returning home, so she clucked to the horses and went on her way, telling herself that Wolf could not be planning marriage to either of those women because Caitlin had said he cared for her.

  And hadn’t he confided in her about Clarissa, admitting that no one else in Powder Creek knew the truth? That counted for something—it must. It showed trust, didn’t it? And the way that he kissed her ...

  A strangled sob rose in her throat. Did he kiss them with the same hungry, urgent intensity? Did he hold them in his arms and make them feel that what they thought and felt mattered to him deeply and that he’d rather be there kissing them and touching them than be anywhere else?

  She spent a sleepless night, listening to the coyotes howl in the windswept darkness, pacing the cabin, trying to lose herself to no avail in the poetry of Byron, but the knots in her stomach seemed to be closing off her lungs, making it difficult to breathe. At last, just as a delicate peach-colored dawn was painting the sky, she wrapped herself in the eiderdown quilt, flung herself onto her front porch, and gulped in great deep breaths of crystal-sharp air. Gazing out at the jade glitter of the distant lakes tucked in the steep ridges of the mountains and scanning the high, magnificently forested horizon in every direction, she wondered if she would not have been better off remaining in Boston, in that cold, stifling life she had known before she’d come to Powder Creek. She may not have been happy there, but now the grief and heartbreak and love and despair that enveloped her seemed too much to bear. Gazing out at the vast, breathtaking beauty of mountains, forests, lakes, and prairies, of soaring eagles above the firs and the solitary elk she spied on a distant butte, she felt tiny, insignificant, and powerless. She had come to Montana for peace and solitude, and instead she had found bursting, confusing Life: rambunctious children, kind friends, lonely danger, death, isolation, a sense of community, hope, desire, love—and uncertainty.

  Life.

  Later that day, still in a troubled mood, Rebeccah felt a flicker of irritation when Chance Navarro arrived at the schoolhouse just as the last of the children trudged off for home.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said at once, following her back toward her desk at the front of the classroom. “It’s Mrs. Bodine’s death, isn’t it, honey? You’re missing her?”

  “I didn’t think it showed.” She wasn’t about to tell Chance the other reasons for her low spirits. “I’ve been trying to put on a cheerful front for the children, especially Billy. I know how hard it is to lose someone so important to you. He must feel as if he’ll never recover from the pain.” She picked up the apple Evan Kramer had brought her that morning and studied its glowing red skin.

  “You know, Chance, when my father died, I felt as if I’d lost the only person who had ever cared about me, the only person who ever would care about me. He was all I had, all I had ever had. I loved him so very much that for a long time after he died, the pain was like a great weight pressing on me, crushing me.”

  “You’ve never mentioned your father to me before, Rebeccah.”

  Startled, her eyes flew to his face. “Haven’t I? Well, I don’t usually talk about him, I suppose. You ... know about him, I’m sure. Everybody does.”

  “That he was Bear Rawlings, the famous outlaw? I sure do, honey. But I’m the last one in the world who would ever hold that against you.” Chance covered her hand with his. “You see, my daddy was an outlaw too.”

  She let the apple slip from her angers and thud onto the desk, her eyes mirroring her astonishment. “Who ... was he?”

  “Oh, no one as famous as Bear Rawlings, but he had a bad reputation throughout Missouri. Why do you think I changed my name? Rebeccah,” Chance said softly, “I told you all along that we have a lot in common.”

  “Yes, but I never realized ... Chance, it’s strange isn’t it? To love someone so much and yet the person you love is someone others despise? To know that they’ve done wrong and yet ...”

  Seeing her distress, he clasped her hand and held it firmly. “I know, honey. My daddy was a good man—at least to me. My ma brought me up, and we didn’t see much of him, but he sent money regularly, and Ma was so grateful, she didn’t even bother to ask where it came from. I guess she figured we were better off not knowing.”

  Rebeccah nodded. Bear’s exploits had kept her in elegant gowns, jewels, and fripperies, and enrolled at Miss Wright’s Academy for years. She didn’t like to think about that.

  “Did your father leave you pretty well taken care of?” Chance asked, studying the slender hand cradled in his. “I reckon he must have, with all the bank jobs he got away with. I’ll wager you just haven’t had time yet to build up your ranch, but surely come spring you’ll be buying yourself a whole big herd of cattle and cashing in on the beef market in the East.”

  “I don’t know what will happen come spring.” Rebeccah shrugged. She slid her hand free of his and straightened a pile of papers on her desk. “I donated the stock holdings and money Bear left me to some far worthier causes and only kept the ranch because he won it honestly—but as you can see, it’s not much. I plan to buy some cattle, a little at a time, and to build a corral and try to make a go of ranching—but it’ll take time. Right now I’m trying to save up enough money to start with a small herd of longhorns and a part-time ranch hand to do the branding.”

  Chance fingered the brim of his derby, his green eyes jewel-bright against his leather-brown skin.

  “Donated the stock holdings? And the money? You’re downright noble, honey.”

  Rebeccah retrieved her dark blue cloak from its peg by the door. “Noble, my foot. I accepted Bear’s ill-gotten gains for years and enjoyed the luxuries they bought me. But at some point while I was at school, I started thinking about the suffering that was caused by his stealing that money, about the innocent people who might have needed it, needed it far more than Bear or I did, and then ... well, I couldn’t benefit from it anymore.”

  “You’ve got an honest soul, honey.” Chance sounded almost amused. “What about the rest of what Bear left you?”

  “The rest? That was all—except for a few jewels and keepsakes, and I’m going to try to hang on to those ... for sentimental reasons. It might not be exactly right, but ...”

  “There must have been more—he acquired a lot of loot in his life, from what I heard....”

  Rebeccah stared at him, and abruptly Chance broke off. Color flooded his cheeks. “Sorry, Rebeccah. It’s sure none of my business. But this is the first time you’ve opened up to me about your pa, and since we have so much in common, I thought ... well, I’m curious, you see. I thought for sure he’d have left you rolling in gold, or silver....”

  “You thought wrong,” Rebeccah said. But she was staring at him, really staring at him, and a faint prickle of uneasiness slid down her spine. She suddenly became aware of how isolated she was here in the schoolhouse with Chance Navarro. Strange, she had never been uneasy being alone with him before, but suddenly all of his questions disturbed her. The eager glow in his eyes disturbed her. She must be loco, she told herself, unconsciously squaring her shoulders as she turned away toward the schoolhouse door. What she was thinking was ridiculous. Just because Chance had asked her a lot of questions ...

  �
��I have to go now,” she said, forcing a smile. “The Moseleys have invited me to supper with them, and I promised to tutor Cara Sue in her mathematical tables, so I mustn’t be late.”

  “I’ll ride over with you,” Chance offered, following her out of the schoolhouse into the chill, clear air, but Rebeccah shook her head and kept the smile pasted on her face.

  “There’s no need. It’s not far. Good day!”

  She’d been rude, she realized as she clambered into her buckboard before he could assist her, and then wondered with a stab of conscience, as she saw the chagrin tighten his face, if she had been wrong. Maybe Chance was not unduly interested in Bear and his ill-gotten gains, and in her own acquisition of them, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was something besides innocent curiosity underlying all of his questions. She felt unaccountably relieved when he mounted his horse without pressing her further, and simply lifted a hand in parting.

  In light of his odd behavior this afternoon she needed time to think. To be alone and to think. She waited until Chance had ridden off toward Powder Creek and then she turned the team east toward the Moseley ranch, her mind full of unwelcome suspicion.

  She didn’t see the cluster of riders watching her from the butte behind the schoolhouse.

  And she didn’t see them disappear one by one over the bluff as she headed alone along the deserted trail.

  19

  “Heard something today. Thought it might interest you,” Molly Duke murmured over the rim of her whiskey glass. She was stretched languorously across the crimson velvet coverlet of her bed, hoping Wolf would be so overcome by the sight of her voluptuous breasts peeping naughtily out of her purple satin dressing gown that he would swoop down and take her there and then. But Wolf, damn it, seemed perfectly comfortable right where he was, leaning back against the cushions of the overstuffed velvet chair, his big boots planted firmly on the floor.