A Dream to Call My Own (16 page)
Eyeing Dave hard, Nick gritted his teeth. “What do you mean? He’s gotta pay.”
“I agree.”
“Then why not get on with it?” Nick could barely think straight. Rage overtook his reasoning.
“Look, you and I both have known Wyman long enough to be sure of one thing: The man doesn’t do anything without Rafe’s direction. My guess is that Rafe was the one to start all of this, just as we’ve always suspected. Rafe is the one who wanted your property.”
“And I fell right into his hands,” Nick said, his voice filled with disgust.
“The important thing is getting them both to admit their part. I want to put them both behind bars, because I’m fairly confident they were not only responsible for your fire but for most of the criminal activities around these parts. Probably George Gallatin’s death, as well.”
“Then why wait?”
“Because I need proof. Right now, all I have is the confession and say-so of another criminal. We’d be laughed out of court if we had nothing more than that. Rafe would hire a lawyer to say that the witness held a grudge and was lying.”
Nick calmed a bit. He knew Dave was making perfectly good sense, but in his heart he really wanted to take the matter into his own hands. “So what do you suggest?”
“Lacy once told me that Cubby insinuated that he knew a great deal about the death of her father. He’s also implied knowing about other things. My guess is that if Rafe is at the center of this, Cubby will have overheard them plotting and planning. He might even be able to get Rafe to confess to it or discuss some of these things while witnesses listen in. If a law official or two could overhear his admission to guilt, and if we could get Cubby to testify, as well, we can see them both without excuse.”
Nick drew a deep breath and nodded very slowly. He couldn’t stomach living in the same town with men who would risk the lives and welfare of others just to get their own way. He knew evil existed, but he’d hoped Gallatin Crossing would be free of it. Now more than ever, he knew they were making the right decision to leave the area.
Before he could speak, Beth entered the shop with Max in her arms. “Have you seen Justin?” she asked.
Nick shook his head. She appeared worried, but he couldn’t imagine what had her so worked up. “He’s probably just off fishing. It’s getting dark, so I bet he’ll be home soon.”
“He was supposed to be in his room. I caught him playing a prank with Max and yelled at him. I didn’t handle it well at all.”
“What kind of prank?”
“He hid Max under a sheet and put Calvin in the cradle and covered him up. When I went to check on Max, Calvin jumped out.”
Nick grinned. “You’re the one who taught him to play games like that.”
Beth’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t teach him to risk the life of his brother. Max is only a few weeks old. Justin could have dropped him.”
Putting his hand on her arm, Nick tried to soothe her. “Look, I know it wasn’t right. I’m sorry if you thought I was making light of the situation. I’ll find him and have a talk with him.”
“You need to find him and whip his backside.” She turned in a huff. “I think we’re well past talking.”
Nick followed her out but said nothing. He caught sight of his son sneaking around the hot springs pool fence and decided to go confront him instead of trying to talk any more about it with Beth. She needed time to let go of her anger.
“I’m glad for the chance to learn something other than tending bar,” Cubby told Hank. “I’m sick of all of that.”
Hank spread the ledger open and smiled. “This will be a great opportunity for you. You’re a natural at this. I have no doubt you’ll own your own store one day. Maybe your pa will even give you this one.”
Cubby frowned. “My pa never gave anyone anything—and once he owns it in full, I don’t doubt he’ll corrupt this like he has everything else.”
“Well, be that as it may, I believe you’ll be quite successful. You’re smart, and folks tend to like you. Keep the friendly attitude, and you’ll have customers returning.”
“If things work out the way I want, I’ll learn well enough to have my own place and move on. I don’t want to live in my father’s shadow all my life.”
The pain in Cubby’s voice was too evident to ignore. “You know, Cubby, you remind me a great deal of myself. My father drank and womanized all the time. It broke my mother’s heart until the day he died. In truth, she suffered even after that, because she worried about her sons.”
Cubby’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know your father was like that.”
“Not only that, but he was a criminal. That’s what he did for a living.” Hank grew thoughtful. “The man worked harder at stealing money than he ever would have had to at an honest job.”
“Did he kill folks?”
Hank looked at Cubby and shrugged. He’d often wondered that himself. How far did his father’s treachery extend? “I don’t know. He was hanged for stealing a horse and murdering the man who owned it, but it was wrongfully done. The real culprit was later found out, and everyone realized their mistake. Of course, by then it was too late. My mother said it was probably some strange form of justice—that somewhere along the way, my father had probably deserved it and life was just catching up with him.”
The boy’s shoulders seemed to sag a bit. “But you’re a good man. How did you keep from being like him?”
“Cubby, I guess I decided at an early age that I wanted to be my own man—a man folks could respect. My mother was wise enough to get me away from my father’s influence as much as possible. She even took us to Boston after our father died so that we wouldn’t have to live under his reputation or the influence of his old friends. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. God had a way of working it all out for good, but it was never easy. My pain and bitterness—the hatred I held for my father—nearly destroyed me. Had I not learned to let go of that anger and let God transform it into something better, I would have turned out just like him.”
Neither one said anything more for several minutes. Hank could see that his story had deeply affected the boy. He could only hope it would have a positive influence.
Putting his attention back to the ledger, Hank motioned. “Come stand beside me. Now see here, I have listed in this column all of the items I’ve ordered. This column shows what I already have in stock. It’s important to keep an accurate inventory. It’s the only way to know for sure what kind of profit you’re actually making.”
“It also reminds you what you have around to sell,” Cubby offered. “I know about inventory because of Pa’s liquor.”
Hank nodded. “It would be roughly the same.” He turned the page. “This is what I’ve ordered from Bozeman, and this column is what I’ve ordered from Salt Lake. I post the quantities ordered in this column and the exact amount that gets shipped in this one, and the payment is listed over here.”
Rafe had asked Hank to train his son to take over the store so that when the sale was final and the deeds exchanged, business could go on as usual. Cubby was attentive, but Hank could see his expression was troubled.
Hank closed the book and focused on Cubby. “You seem to have something else on your mind.”
The boy flushed and looked away. “I’m doing my best.”
“It’s not that, Cubby. I just wondered if you needed to talk more about your pa.”
“It’s not just him. It’s everyone. No one but you takes me seriously. Their first thought is that I’m Rafe Reynolds’ son and that I’ll be just like him.”
Hank frowned and nodded at his own painful memory. “But your father takes you seriously enough to give you charge of this store.”
“He’s just desperate. He wouldn’t have me doin’ it if he thought he could get someone else to do it for as little as he pays me.”
“Why don’t we go next door and have some lunch,” Hank suggested. “We could talk more about this.”
“No. I can’t go there. I’ve made such a mess of things with Miss Lacy that I don’t even want to see her.”
“What kind of mess?”
Cubby met his gaze. “You mean she didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I asked her to marry me a while back, but she told me she didn’t think of me in that way. Then I found out she was marryin’ Dave Shepard.” Cubby pounded his fist on the desk. “It’s not fair.”
Hank wanted to smile at his boyish indignation but knew it would devastate the young man. “Lacy’s a hard woman to understand sometimes. She’s been through a great deal, but she has a tender heart.”
“I hate myself for how I acted. I hit her,” Cubby said, bowing his head. “I’m completely ashamed, and I apologized to her for it, but I can’t forget it.”
“I certainly can’t condone being violent—especially with a woman.”
“She told me I was just like my father.”
Hank started to speak, but Cubby looked up. “I’m not like him. I got dreams that he can’t understand. I want to settle down someday and have a family. I want to have a respectable means of makin’ a living. I want a wife, and I want her to be proud of me.”
“Cubby, I think most men want those things.”
Cubby fidgeted nervously and looked rather embarrassed. “Could you call me Quennell? It’s my real name, but no one uses it. Cubby makes me feel like a wet-behind-the-ears boy. Maybe if folks start calling me by my real name, they’ll see me as a man.”
“Quennell is a fine name, and I will certainly be glad to use it, but you know it takes more than a name to make a man.”
The boy straightened and squared his shoulders. “Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, honor.” Hank eased back and leaned against the wall. “Keeping your word is one of the most important things a man can do. A man’s word is more important than just about anything else. If he doesn’t stand by what he promises to do, then folks won’t believe him in any other area.”
“I keep my word.”
“Quennell, I have no doubt you do. Being a man also means enduring the things life sends your way. It means being kind and reasonable when you don’t get things the way you want them. And it means never hurting those weaker than yourself.”
“Like Lacy,” he breathed and shook his head again. “I wish I could take back what I did. She hates me now—hates me for that and for other things.”
“I’ve never known Lacy to truly hate anyone.” Hank thought of his feisty sister-in-law and grinned. “She has a temper, that much is true, but I doubt she hates you.”
“She told me I was like my pa, but as much as I hate to admit it, my pa is evil—just like you said your pa was. I’m not him, Hank. I’m a good man. I don’t do bad things like my father. He cheats people and lies. He doesn’t care who he hurts or even if it costs someone their life.”
“That may be, I can’t say. I do know there is more to life than simply being a good man, though.”
Cubby frowned. “What more could there be?”
Hank motioned the young man to take a seat, then did likewise. He pulled open a drawer and found his Bible right where he’d left it after that morning’s reading. “Last Sunday the sermon was about the heart of a man. It’s kind of like what you and I are talking about.”
He opened the Bible to the twelfth chapter of Matthew. “See, here it says, ‘O generation of vipers, how can ye, being evil, speak good things? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh. A good man out of the good treasure of the heart bringeth forth good things: and an evil man out of the evil treasure bringeth forth evil things.’ If there’s good in your heart, you’ll have more to show for it than simple words. You see the things your pa does, and they trouble you. That’s because he’s bringing forth evil things. I felt the same way about my father.”
“So I have to do good things in order to be a good man?”
“It’s more than that. It says that good comes from the good treasure of the heart. Do you know what that good treasure is, Quennell?”
“Gold?”
“You’re close. Drop the
l
and you’ll have it.”
Cubby frowned and shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“God. God is the good treasure in your heart.”
“I know you folks are religious. Pa says it’s a waste of time—that there is no God.”
“And what do you think?” Hank leaned back in his chair. “Do you think he’s right?”
Cubby considered the question for a moment. “He’s not right about much else.” He continued to reason the matter. “I s’pose it would make sense that he’s not right about God, either. I know Miss Lacy says that Jesus was a real man and God at the same time, and that He died for our sins. I don’t understand why He would do that, though.”
“Because He loves us. You and I are a lot alike, just as I’ve already told you. When I was a boy, I learned about God, but then I walked away from all I knew to be good and true. Thinking about God made me feel bitter and angry. I didn’t understand why my father was the way he’d been or why my mother had to struggle and bear such sorrow. I figured God couldn’t possibly care about us, and I convinced myself that in order to be happy, a man had to take charge of his own life and make his own decisions. Coming here, I soon saw the foolishness of that way of thinking.”
“But why are you tellin’ me all this?”
Hank looked intently at the young man. “People without Jesus in their heart are going to do evil things. They won’t be able to help but do evil, because that’s what exists in abundance in their heart. Evil people are self-centered and care only about satisfying their own needs.”
“Like my pa.”
Hank didn’t want to speak out against the boy’s father despite agreeing with his conclusion. “We’re all evil and self-centered without Jesus, son.”
He stiffened. “What do you mean? I’m not evil. I’m not like my pa. I told you that already.”
Forgetting the boy’s desire for his given name, Hank tried to find a way to help him understand. “Cubby, we’re
all
sinners. Sin makes us evil. It destroys our life and corrupts everything we touch. Jesus did, indeed, come to die for our sins and to save us from that evil. When He rose from the grave, Jesus had victory once and for all over evil.”
“But I don’t think like my pa, and I don’t do bad things.
How can I be a sinner?”
“The Bible says we all sin—we all make mistakes. We tell a lie to keep from getting in trouble. We willingly hurt someone. We withhold the truth when we know it needs to be told.”
Cubby paled. “Keeping quiet about knowing something is a sin? That makes you evil?”
“There are a lot of things that make us sinners. If you know the truth about something and you don’t reveal it when others are trying to hide it, then you’re no better.”
“But what if the truth will hurt someone you care about?”
Hank felt sorry for the boy. He was certain Cubby was speaking about his father. “Sometimes that happens. I wish there were easy answers, Cubby—Quennell. Being a man isn’t easy, and sometimes we have to make hard decisions. I will say this, however.” Hank flipped over several pages of the Bible to the book of John. “The Bible says, ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ Sometimes it’s hard to be honest, but in the long run it’s always the best way.”
“But this truth will change my life.”
Hank smiled. “Truth usually does.”
Cubby nodded and got to his feet. “I should get back to the saloon. Pa’s expecting a lot of folks tonight, and he’ll need my help.”
Watching the young man go, Hank felt a burden to pray for him. The odds were against Cubby. He was immersed in a setting of evil and sin, and his father was one of the biggest culprits. It would be different if Cubby could live in a home where God was revered and good was promoted.
Maybe I should talk to Gwen about having Cubby come live with
us up north
. The thought startled Hank, but just as quickly, it seemed the right thing to consider. He couldn’t very well stand by feeling sorry for the boy and not offer to give him a way out of his dilemma.
Lacy found herself restless amid the relentless noise of trees being felled and houses being built. She was saddened that the woods were being torn down without concern to the devastation left behind, all in order to provide housing and new businesses.
But more than the noise and the chaos, Lacy was troubled by the future. The night before, she’d dreamed she’d found her father’s killer. The man had been ugly and surly. He had laughed at Lacy’s tears and accusations. He had freely admitted to killing her father but said that no one would ever make him pay. In her anger, Lacy had pulled out her rifle and shot the man without giving it another thought. Worse still, she’d felt a sense of rejoicing and satisfaction as the man crumpled to the ground and died.
“You’ve got your revenge,” the man muttered. “Are you happy now?”
The memory of that dream-turned-nightmare haunted her now and kept her from focusing on sorting through the storage sheds and packing things for the move.
Could she kill her father’s murderer? If the opportunity presented itself and the killer mocked her in the same manner as the man in her dream, would she be glad to watch him die?
Lacy had never thought of herself as ruthless or lacking compassion. She’d always valued human life, which was why she felt so driven to see her father’s killer convicted. At least that was what she’d always told herself.
“I’m not after revenge,” she said aloud. She took up a crate of old dishes and considered whether they were worth salvaging. The word echoed in her mind.
Revenge. Revenge.
“Well, what if I do want revenge?” She knelt beside the box and began lifting out dinner plates. “Why does revenge have to be wrong? Wanting someone to pay for what they did isn’t a selfish thing.” The Bible was full of stories about good winning over evil and justice being served.
