Dorothy Garlock (30 page)

After that Maud had been almost subdued, and one time she had even called Willa by name and asked her for a drink of water.

This morning Willa had brought warm water for her to wash her face and hands, then a plate of flapjacks with butter and honey.

“I’ll ask one of the men to make a little table to sit across your lap so you’ll be more comfortable when you eat,” Willa said cheerfully.

Maud snorted. “’Bout all you’ll get them to make for me is a coffin.”

“You’ll not need that for a good long time if I can help it.”

“What was all that rumpus I heard this mornin’?” Maud asked after Willa had given her the quinine powder the doctor had prescribed.

“Oh, that was Charlie and Jo Bell. He brought his sister’s trunk to her room. She was bawling him out about something. Those two get along like a dog and a cat.”

“Why’d they come here?”

“For a visit. Their father was killed back at the stage station. His name was Gilbert Frank. I suppose you’ve heard of him?”

“He was no good. Oliver said he went through Regina’s money in nothin’ flat. Who killed him? Not that it matters.”

“Another gambler. Mr. Frank accused him of cheating. I
doubt if Jo Bell will stay here very long. She’s a town girl. Charlie is different. He’s a fine boy, Mrs. Eastwood. He wants to be a cowboy. You’d like him if you got to know him.”

“I’d do no such thin’,” she fumed. “I want ’em gone from here. I don’t like her none a’tall. I woke up ’n’ she was in here . . . lookin’ at me. She’s got a evil eye.”

Why the sly old thing. She had been playing possum.

“She’s a year older than her brother. Charlie is a good worker. He’ll earn his keep and hers while they’re here.”

“I ain’t got no say ’bout what goes on outside this house. Smith and that whiskered old buzzard do just what they please and don’t tell me nothin’. Inside is mine. I don’t like that black-haired witch. She hates me. I could tell.”

Willa had seen Smith when she had opened Maud’s door to let Buddy out. He had been coming from the water closet at the end of the hall with a wire cage containing two dead rats. She had hurriedly shut the door and had waited until she was sure that he had left the house before she had gone downstairs.

*  *  *

Inez drove into the yard in a two-wheeled cart pulled by a donkey. Her black hair was streaked with gray, her face round, and her body immense. She jumped down, agile as a young girl. Smith went to meet her.

“How do, Smith?”

“Hello, Inez. How’s my best girl?”

“Go on with ya, ya horny rooster.” She swung her arm. The blow that landed on Smith’s chest would have felled a smaller man. “How’s that white-haired old coot that hangs ’round here? He ain’t been to town for a while.”

“He’ll be glad to know you’ve missed him.”

“I ain’t said I missed
him.
”

“I was away for a few weeks. He had to stick around here.”

“Jeez, Smith, I was plumb bumfazzled when that mud-ugly, bowlegged Injun brought me the paper. Hell, I ain’t never had no letter before. Good thin’ my sister’s boy could read writin’. I’d a been settin’ there yet a’lookin’ at it.”

“It’s like I said in the letter. I’ll be obliged if you’ll help out here for a while. Mrs. Eastwood fell and broke her leg, and—”

“Well, now, ain’t that a lick? Can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Hush up, Inez, and listen.” Smith led the donkey over to the water tank. Inez walked beside him.

From the kitchen window Willa saw Smith talking to the heavy-set woman. She wore a loose white shirt over a full dark skirt, short enough to expose thick ankles and beaded moccasins. Her hair was tied at the nape of her neck with a wide red ribbon. She laughed occasionally. Smith’s mouth spread in a wide grin, and he flung an arm across the woman’s shoulders as they walked toward the house.

Willa was pouring water over the soiled bedclothes when Smith and Inez came into the kitchen. The woman’s loud pleasant voice filled the room.

“Golly-bill. I never ’spected to step foot inside this place. It’s grander than what I thought.” Her eyes swept the kitchen. “Whoo . . . ee! There’s ever’thin’ there is to do with, ain’t they?”

“Inez, this is Miss Hammer. She’ll take care of Mrs. Eastwood if you’ll help her out with the other chores.”

“Howdy.” The hand that enveloped Willa’s was big as a man’s and just as rough. The woman’s eyes were large and midnight black. They were smiling, friendly eyes.

“Hello.” Willa liked the woman immediately. “I’ve never been in such a place as this, either.”

Smith was backing toward the door. “Billy will get you what you need to cook meals, Inez. I’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t ya be worryin’ ’bout a thin’, boy. Me ’n’ Miss Hammer’ll do just fine.”

“—Please. Call me Willa.”

“Willa. Ain’t that a pretty name. And ain’t ya a pretty little jigger. Ain’t she, Smith? Huh, Smith?” Inez turned to look at him when he didn’t answer. “Well, I’ll be a flop-eared mule!”

Smith was looking at Willa and she was looking at the caster set on the table as if she expected it to take wings and fly.

“Lord-a-mercy!” Inez chortled. “Smith’s a-lookin’ calf-eyed at a woman. ’Tis ’bout time. I was startin’ to think ya didn’t have all the right parts.”

Although shocked by Inez’s blunt words, Willa couldn’t keep her eyes from going to Smith. His mouth was tight, and beneath his suntanned skin, his face was ruddy.

“You talk too much, Inez.”

“Yore right ’bout that. Go on with ya. If yore wantin’ me to get anythin’ done, I got to be gettin’ to it.”

Smith’s eyes clung to Willa for a long moment, then he backed out the door. She had a strong urge to go to the door and watch him cross the yard, but her feet felt glued to the floor.

“He’s a damn good man,” Inez said belligerently as if she expected Willa to argue with her.

“Have you known him long?”

“Since he was ’bout the size of a fence post.”

“He carries a lot of anger around inside him.”

“Ha!” The snorted word was the only comment Inez made.

Willa was amazed at how fast the cheerful woman took over the kitchen. By mid-afternoon, she had not only washed the soiled bedclothes and hung them on a line to dry, but she also had a pot of chili simmering on the stove and bread dough set aside to rise, and she had knocked down the cobwebs in the hallway and swept down the walls.

Maud was angry when Willa told her that a woman had come out from Buffalo to help.

“Get her outta my house,” she yelled. “I got to keep things nice for when Fanny comes.”

“We need her, Mrs. Eastwood. I can’t cook your meals, wash the bedclothes and spend time in here with you. She’ll not bother anything. I promise.”

“
He
had no right to bring her here. Fanny will come. She’ll take care of me.” Tears flooded Maud’s eyes and ran down her cheeks.

“I’ll take care of you until Fanny gets here. Don’t worry. You’ll not be alone. I’m going to sleep in here every night, like I did last night.” To Willa’s surprise, Maud reached out a bony hand and clasped hers.

While Maud napped, Willa washed herself and changed into another of Starr’s dresses. She hated wearing the woman’s clothing and longed for things of her own. After brushing and recoiling her hair, she piled her arms with bedclothes from the bureau drawers and went down to the kitchen.

“These things haven’t been washed in six years, Inez, and they smell musty. Shall I hang them on the line to air before we make up a bed for you?”

“I’ll hang ’em out. Sit ’n’ rest yourself a spell while ya can.” Inez snatched the bedclothes from Willa’s hands and was out the door before she could protest. When she came back, she spoke as if she hadn’t left the room. “Yore runnin’ yoreself ragged. Smith said ya was usin’ yoreself up, so sit right down. I’ll brin’ ya a glass a buttermilk. He said ya was partial to it.”

“You’re not to wait on me, Inez. I’m here to work same as you.” Willa spoke the last words to an empty room. She sank down in the chair thinking that Smith had been saying quite a bit. She wondered if he had prepared Inez for Jo Bell. Willa didn’t get the chance to ask her.

Looking fresh and beautiful in a white dress with a blue ribbon in her black curls, Jo Bell came quietly into the room, paused and looked around. Inez stared at her. Jo Bell lifted her chin and stared back.

“Charlie said we had a maid.”

Willa stood. “Inez, this is Jo Bell Frank, Mrs. Eastwood’s niece. Inez isn’t a maid, Jo Bell—”

“The chamber pot in my room needs emptying,” Jo Bell announced, looking at the older woman with her dark brows raised in an intimidating fashion.

“Zat so?” Inez tilted her head and put her hands on her ample hips. “Then empty it, yore . . . graciousness.”

Willa watched silently as the shock on Jo Bell’s face turned to anger, and she steeled herself for the unpleasantness that was bound to come.

“Who do you think yore talkin’ to? Ya’ll do as yore told or get out. I’m next of kin here.”

“Horse-hockey!” Inez snorted. “Yore just a snot-nosed kid! I ain’t carin’ ’bout what kin yore next to.”

“I’ll not stand for a servant talkin’ to me like that.”

Inez laughed. “I don’t give a whoop ’n’ a holler what ya’ll stand for.”

“Damn ya to hell,” Jo Bell screamed.

“Don’t ya be cussin’ at me, girl.” The tone of Inez’s voice changed from amusement to anger. “I’ll back-hand ya cross the mouth. I’m thinkin’ it’s what ya’ve been needin’.” Inez raised her hand as if to slap the girl.

Willa held her breath.

“Ya just wait, ya . . . fat . . . old tub a lard! Ya just wait. I’ll get even with ya and that . . . slut, too.” Jo Bell wheeled and pointed her finger in Willa’s face before she ran from the room.

Willa could hear her running up the steps and followed to
see if she went into Mrs. Eastwood’s room. She didn’t. She went into her own room and slammed the door.

“Well, if she ain’t a hat full?” Inez said from behind Willa. “Smith said she was a pissant. He said she didn’t have no more sense than a cross-eyed mule. He didn’t mis-put it a dang bit. I swear to goodness. I come to within a whisker of slappin’ her jaws.”

“She was unreasonable before, but since her father died, she’s ten times worse. Inez,” Willa turned and looked the woman straight in the eyes. “I don’t want her in Mrs. Eastwood’s room when I’m not there. I’ll be grateful if you’ll help me watch.”

“Hummm . . . course, honey. Do ya think she’ll hurt the old gal?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I should lock Mrs. Eastwood’s room when I go out.”

*  *  *

It was not yet dark.

Smith turned away from the corral and looked toward the lighted windows of the house. He had never expected to see anyone other than Maud in the house again. It made him think of other times he had stood alone and lonely and stared at the lighted windows, wanting desperately to be welcomed inside.

Tonight he had eaten his fill of Inez’s chili, drunk his coffee and gone outside. Willa had not come down to supper. Jo Bell had stayed in her room, thank God, and Charlie had chosen to eat with the men in the bunkhouse. Sitting at the table with Inez, Smith had eaten his first meal in Oliver’s house.

Inez had told him about her encounter with Jo Bell.

“Will ya fire me if I slap that girl’s mouth shut?” she had asked teasingly.

“Hell, no. I’ll give you a raise.” Smith knew Inez well enough to know it wouldn’t come to that unless the girl struck her, and that wasn’t likely.

The sound of a running horse interrupted Smith’s thoughts. He stepped away from the corral gate and looked toward the trail coming from the southwest. As soon as he got a glimpse of the rider, he knew it was Sant, and he was coming on fast. No one sat a horse like Sant Rudy.

“That you, Smith?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Open the gate. We’re driving in six of the sightliest mares you ever did see.” He wheeled his horse, rode back a way, then turned to ride on one side of the lead mare. Another horseman rode on the other side, boxing her in. A rider at the rear drove the herd, and within minutes they were inside the heavy pole corral, circling, whinnying, kicking at the barrier separating them from freedom.

“Well, old boss!” Smith slammed the gate shut and turned to the man stepping down from his horse. They clasped hands and jerked each other about.

Although Sant was older than Smith by twenty years, he did not show his age in his movements or reactions. He was still rangy and stood well over six feet tall. He was hawk-nosed and butt-jawed. His dark reddish hair showed no gray. There were two things about Sant that people noticed when they met him for the first time. His eyes were light gray, clear and so cold-looking that they had been likened to the ice feathering the edge of a mountain stream after a heavy frost. A fearsome scar on his right cheek ran from the corner of his eye to his jawbone, the relic of a bone-deep furrow slashed by the claws of a mammoth grizzly, a grizzly that Smith had killed to save Sant’s life. The whitish scar stood out against Sant’s weathered skin. Neither wind nor sun had darkened it.

“Glad to see you, Sant. Damn glad.”

“You ain’t got no better lookin’ while I was gone.”

Smith laughed. “I guess you think you did. Hellfire, you smell like a wet goat.”

“Bathing never was top of my list. What ’a you think of the mares?”

“You didn’t steal them from the silver lobo, did you?” Smith asked jokingly.

“That we did.”

“No!” Smith whistled between his teeth, showing his surprise and appreciation.

“The silver lobo was off fighting a couple of interlopers who were trying to take some of his mares. This group was lagging—they’re heavy with foal. God, he was mad when he got our scent. He made a pass or two and was primed to fight. It was all we could do to stay outta his way and hold the mares inside a rope corral with a rope halter on them.”

“I’m surprised he gave up.”

“He caught a sniff of something. Probably a panther. He was off like a shot. Never thought I’d be grateful to a panther. He saved our bacon. The sonofabitch was trying his damnedest to kill us.” Sant turned to the men who were stepping down from their horses and spoke to the older of the two men. “Cliff, come meet my partner, Smith Bowman. This here’s Cliff Rice; he’s buying work stock for the railroad crews.”