A Restless Wind (10 page)

     After Brent had dismounted, he turned to Hetty with a concerned look as he took off his hat.  “Your uncle told me what happened,”  he said.  “Are you all right?”

     “Yes, of course I am,”  she replied.

     Brent Marsten was a handsome man.  He was tall and powerfully built.  His carefully- tailored coat hugged wide shoulders.  There was an air of confidence about him as he stood before her.  That hadn’t changed in the two years she had been gone.

     Brent’s hair was dark like his sister Amiline’s.  But there the resemblance ended.  While Amiline’s eyes were dark, Brent had unusually pale green eyes.

     Those eyes held a fair measure of speculation in them as he looked at Jesse.  Hetty knew Brent well enough to know that he wasn’t happy at finding Jesse McLaren there.  But he gave a short, curt nod to acknowledge Jesse’s presence.

     Even later, when they were sitting on the front porch.  Brent’s mouth was still set in a straight line as he watched Jesse across the yard, another sign of something that seemed like irritation at Jesse’s presence.

     “I would have come sooner to welcome you home,”  Brent said to her.  “But I have had some trouble myself.”

     At her questioning look, he explained with a single word,  “Rustlers.  It was a bad night of it for me, too.  I lost some cattle.  I don’t have a strict count yet.  But it was a considerable loss.”  He studied her for a moment, then said,  “So, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened last night.”

     She explained briefly as Brent lounged back in his porch chair, his hat dangling from one hand.  “And Jesse McLaren accompanied you back here,”  he finished for her.

     He ran a hand thoughtfully across his cleanly-shaven chin, his eyes narrowing as he looked across the yard.  “It’s true then.  I’d heard he was back.”

     Brent shifted his gaze from Jesse to Hetty.  “Do you think he means to run his old place again?”

     “I wouldn’t know,”  Hetty replied.  “I only know that he saved John Forbes’ life last night.  And maybe the rest of the family’s lives as well.”

     “Yes, it’s too bad about all the trouble they have had,”  Brent said, watching as Jesse rode away.  “I imagine the family was badly shaken up.”

     Still lounging back in his chair, Brent watched Emma and Will carry a saucer of milk and some leftovers from breakfast to the barn.  They had asked her earlier if they could feed the cat.

     “Those are the children, I take it?”

     “Yes, two of them,”  Hetty replied, watching as the cat appeared around the corner of the barn to meet Emma and Will.

     “Hetty,”  Brent began in a serious tone.  “Don’t you know how dangerous it was for you to be riding out alone in the middle of the night?  Anything might have happened.  Especially with men like Jesse McLaren prowling around.”

     She opened her mouth in defense of Jesse, but at that moment her uncle appeared at the screen door.  He stepped out onto the porch and looked at Brent.  “You were saying about Jesse McLaren?”

     Brent looked at her uncle a moment before he said evenly,  “What I meant to say was that I was surprised to see him hanging around here.”

     “A man was beaten and shot last night,”  her uncle said as he took a seat beside them on the porch.  “His wife and children were badly frightened.  Considering that Hetty was probably in danger herself and that Jesse McLaren was likely the only thing that kept worse from happening, he’s welcome here.  As a matter of fact, I’m damned glad he did show up.”

     Brent grinned, although the gesture seemed somewhat forced and his eyes, it seemed to Hetty, stayed cool.  “Well, it seems we owe the man a measure of gratitude,”  Brent said smoothly.  And then, changing the subject as he settled back in his chair, he said,  “Now, Hetty, tell me all about Boston.”

     By nightfall, John Forbes was delirious with fever.  His wife spent hours bathing his face with a damp cloth and murmuring to him in a soothing voice.  It seemed to have an effect on him for at times he quieted into a more peaceful sleep. 

     For one more day he hovered between consciousness and delirium.  And then near dawn on the third day he opened his eyes and looked around the room.  His gaze finally rested upon his wife’s face and he smiled faintly.

     He was gaunt and pale.  Beneath the dark beard stubble, his cheeks were sunken and there were shadows beneath his eyes.  But he reached out to take his wife’s hand.

     Hetty had just walked into the room with his washed and mended shirt.  She laid it over the back of a chair. 

     “You’re awake,”  she said, surprised, but pleased.  “Are you hungry?”

     “As a wolf,”  he replied weakly.

     Delia, who had come into the room after Hetty, declared that to be a good sign.  If he had an appetite, he must be one the road to recovery, which no doubt was due in part to the fact that Delia, too, had watched over him with an unceasing vigil these past few days.

     “I’ll bring you some tea,”  Delia said.  “If you can keep that down, we’ll bring you some broth.  That should start building up your strength.”

     After he had his tea, the women re-bandaged his wound.

     “It looks much better,”  Delia declared after they had carefully unwrapped the bandages.  The herbs they had applied to his wound had taken the poison out.

     Later, after John finished a bowl of broth, he asked to see his children and the family spent the rest of the morning together.

     The mood was light on the porch that afternoon.  Everyone was breathing easier due to the relief they felt over John’s recovery.  Rachel had barely left her husband’s side these past three days and she had finally been able to come out to the porch to spend some time with her children.

     Early that morning, Emma and Will had worked beside Hetty in the vegetable garden.  Later she had entertained them by reading stories about fairies and giants.  Everyone had agreed to keep the children busy so that they would not have much time to think about all that had happened.

     Yesterday Pierce had gone up to the attic to haul down several trunks that were filled with clothes that Hetty had outgrown.  She had talked Rachel into taking them for Emma.  Hetty had enjoyed seeing the delight on Emma’s face as they dug through the trunks of clothing.

     Right now, Emma was sitting on the porch swing, absorbed in a new book.  She was as avid a reader as Hetty had been.  Pretty in a red plaid dress that had once belonged to Hetty, Emma turned another page as she toyed with the long dark braid trailing over her shoulder.

     Delia had some knitting in her lap.  “Rachel,”  Delia said, smiling at the baby sleeping contentedly in her mother’s arms.  “She is the prettiest baby.  Pretty as a May morning.  The little angel is always so content.  Why, she never fusses.”

     Lieta was seated in one of the porch chairs.  Her hair, swept up in an elaborate chignon, contrasted darkly with her richly-embroidered bodice of ivory silk.  Lieta was working on some sketches.  She was a very talented artist and had already sold several oil paintings in Boston.

     On the paper before her, she had drawn some trees and fence posts, the ‘local color’ she had come west to capture.  Just now her pencil was forming the outlines of a horse while Will leaned over her shoulder.

     “Could you teach me to draw, too?”  Will asked Lieta, watching as her rapidly moving pencil filled in the details of the horse.  “You are awfully clever at it.”

     Lieta seemed somewhat surprised and after a moment said,  “Why, yes, Will.  I’ll teach you.”

     Which surprised Hetty because Lieta had not shown much patience with the children before this.  And she definitely had not been very happy with Will the other day after he had left some of the candied fruits that Delia had given him on a chair.  Lieta had sat on them without realizing it.  Emma had told Hetty that Lieta had been walking around all morning with the candy suck to the back of her skirt before she knew it was there.

     Right now there was a slight smile on Lieta’s face as she talked to the child.  It was not hard to like Will.  He was a bright, amusing, very likeable child with an inquisitive nature and ringlets of gold-tinged chestnut all over his head.  Hetty could see why his mother
couldn’t bring herself to cut those curls.  Will immediately left Lieta’s side when Pierce walked up to the porch.

     It was easy to see that Will already idolized Pierce, who was sometimes like a child himself.  Right now Pierce was telling Will very seriously how he could make a snake out of a horse hair, explaining that if Will put the horse hair in vinegar for six days, he would find it alive on the seventh day.  Pierce and Will were both eager to get the project underway so Hetty brought them a basin from the back porch.

     While Pierce carefully poured the vinegar into the basin, Hetty asked in a low voice,  “Don’t you think he’s going to be somewhat disappointed in seven days, Pierce?”

     “Maybe,”  Pierce replied with a mysterious air.  “Maybe not.”

     “Really, Pierce,”  Hetty said quietly.  “And just how many snakes have you brought to life from a horse hair?”

     “Never counted,”  Pierce returned quite seriously.

     Pierce was good natured, good-looking and irresistible when he smiled.  He gave her one of those smiles now as he set the basin in a corner of the porch.

     Emma looked up from her book.  “I used to believe that my dolls had feelings the same as I did,”  she said as she watched Will settle the horse hair into the vinegar.

     “I suppose I did, too,”  Hetty said as she leaned a hip against the railing and watched Will and Pierce carefully adjust the horse hair.

     When Pierce got to his feet, his spurs jangled musically as he crossed the porch.  “That’s mighty interesting, ma’am,’  he said as he leaned over to look at Lieta’s drawing.  He watched her a while and then settled himself on the porch railing, entertaining the women with a lively commentary, his subjects ranging from cattle stampedes to Indians.

     He also talked about moving the Forbes to the McLaren ranch.  Delia and Lieta were looking forward to ‘roughing it’ so they could get a real feel for the ‘wild west’.  The children were eager to know what their new home looked like.

     “How big is the house?”  Will asked.

     “I don’t know,”  Pierce said with a glance at Hetty.  “I’ve never been there.”

     “I don’t know either,”  Hetty said with a shrug.  “We’ll all find out Tuesday.”

     “We’ll head out early Tuesday morning,”  Pierce went on.  “After a four-day visit, we’ll be back by Friday night.  In time for the wedding on Saturday.  There’s nothing like a wagon trip, ladies, to give you a taste of the real outdoors.  Or a horseback ride.”  Pierce was talking now to Lieta who had insisted on making the trip by horseback.

     “Don’t worry, ma’am.  I’ll find you a gentle horse for the trip.”

     “I have ridden before, Mr. Champlin,”  Lieta informed him, glancing up briefly as she started a new sketch.  “I am not exactly what you call a-  a tenderfoot.”

     “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t ride a horse proper, ma’am.  I’m sure you can.  But I prefer a gentle horse myself.”

     “Pierce is just being modest,”  Hetty informed the other women.  “There isn’t a horse that he can’t ride.”  She looked pointedly at Pierce.  “Except that blue roan.”

     “True,”  Pierce agreed.  “That particular horse was pure outlaw.  I should have suspected he was part devil.  He had one brown eye and one blue eye.”

     “Really, Pierce?”  Will asked.  “He had one blue eye and one brown?”

     “He did for a fact.  Orneriest horse you ever saw.  He bucked me clear to He-  to breakfast and back.”

     “Yes,”  Hetty said with a laugh.  “As I recall you did get off the hard way, Pierce.”

     “She’s right,”  Pierce confided to the women on the porch.  “He tossed me right over the corral fence and into the wood pile.”

     “Goodness.  You weren’t hurt, were you, Mr. Champlin?”  Delia wanted to know.

     “Only my pride, ma’am,”  Pierce replied.

     “And something else,”  Hetty reminded him, striving mightily to keep a rein on the laughter that was threatening to spill out uncontrollably.

     “Hetty,”  Pierce warned.  “Don’t you dare.  It wasn’t funny,”  he said very seriously though even he was struggling with his own mirth.

     “Yes, Pierce.  It was funny.”

     In reply to Delia’s ‘What happened?’,  Pierce explained.  “After unloading me like a sack of potatoes, that ornery cuss followed me over the fence, fixed me with his blue eye and then took a chunk out of my hide with his teeth before hightailing it to the hills.”

     “He bit you?”  Will asked, wide-eyed.

     “He bit me.”

     “That must have been terribly painful,”  Delia said.