Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (22 page)

She unfolded her cramped legs and placed her feet on the floor. As soon as the tingling stopped, she tugged her hand from his and got to her feet.

“I’ll start breakfast.”

“You’ll get splinters in your feet. Go put on your shoes; I’ll start the fire.” He stood and gave her a gentle push toward the door.

The bewildering moment was over, but it was not gone from her mind. It stayed with her as she dressed and caused her to converse absently with Emily who had already washed, dressed, and tidied the room. Finally the other girl, sensing her preoccupation, lapsed into silence and waited until they could go down to the kitchen together.

While she was preparing breakfast, irrational anger at herself for what she had allowed to happen surged through Mara. She had sat there like a lump of lard and allowed Pack to kiss her, knowing perfectly well that he didn’t even
like
her! What had gotten into her? She didn’t care much for him either! Anger and humiliation caused her to set the iron skillet down on the top of the range with a bang. Immediately she was sorry and glanced around to see if Emily had noticed. Thankfully she had stepped out onto the porch to hand Pack the empty water bucket.

Mara’s thoughts continued to churn. She had merely been decent to Pack for Brita’s sake. He had said all manner of vile things to her after she had almost ruptured herself getting the big ox into the wagon and bringing him here! She hadn’t forgotten the morning he accused her of parading around in her nightclothes to attract attention. And she hadn’t forgotten that he called her baggage! How could she have been so stupid as to allow him to kiss her?

Pack came in and spoke quietly to Emily. Mara kept her back to him until he sat down at the table. He and the twins ate hurriedly and, to Mara’s relief, left immediately for the burial site to prepare the grave.

“They’re taking the wagon and Sam’s going with them,” Mara said to Emily when she came in from hanging the wet towels on the porch line. It was becoming a habit with Mara to relate things to Emily that the near-blind girl couldn’t see. “Sam and Pack seem to get on well together.”

“Pack never mentioned anything to me or Charlie about knowing him.”

“I like Sam. He’s different from the others who hang around the bunkhouse. I don’t know why he’s here or what he does every day when he rides out, but he has something on his mind.” Mara was aware of the interest on Emily’s face. “Did Sam tell you where he’s from?”

“He said he was from Texas and that he had a sister named Rose who was killed while he was away fighting in the war.”

Emily turned to place a stack of plates on the table, but not before Mara saw the blush that covered her cheeks. Questions began to form in Mara’s mind. If there was something between Pack and Emily, why did she blush at the mere mention of Sam Sparks? And was Pack so low-down that he would kiss Mara when he was in love with another woman? Mara desperately wanted a quiet time so that she could be alone to think about the triangle, but too much depended upon her today. Nevertheless, it lurked like a dark shadow in the back of her mind.

Because all had to be in readiness for the burial by the time the preacher arrived, Pack and the twins went to the creek to wash as soon as they returned to the house, taking with them soap and towels Mara had laid out and the clean shirts she had ironed the day before.

Steamboat sent word up to Mara that the hindquarter of beef he had started to cook at midnight would be ready by noon. Now, with the preparations for dinner complete, the women were free to carry the teakettles of warm water up to Mara’s room so that they could wash and dress for the service. Mara was in a better frame of mind. She had decided to cope with each event of the day as it happened in the best way she knew how. Tomorrow would be time enough to think about other things.

In somber black dresses, their hair pinned back so severely that not a single frivolous curl was allowed to escape, Mara and Emily went to the parlor. The twins, Pack and Charlie were there. Charlie wore a black serge suit and Mara found herself wishing that Pack had a coat to wear. The shirt she had ironed was tucked neatly into his breeches and he was wearing a black string tie. She didn’t know where the tie came from unless Charlie had brought it.

The twins didn’t even look up when their father came to stand in the doorway. Aubrey looked worse than Mara had ever seen him. His face showed the ravages of dissipation even though he had gone to great pains to make himself presentable. Mara went to him.

“Come sit over here, Cousin Aubrey.” She took his arm and led him to a chair at the head of the bier.

“The preacher’s comin’.” It was Cullen who called the words from the porch.

Pack got to his feet. “Mara Shannon? Will you come with me to greet the preacher’s missus?”

“Of course.” She went ahead of him out the door, stood beside him at the top of the steps, and watched the approach of the black buggy pulled by a handsome black horse. A lone rider rode behind, and behind him was a wagon carrying the burial box.

Mara heard a low hissing sound that came from Pack. At the same instant she recognized the rider as Ace January. She looked up quickly and saw a flicker of anger on Pack’s face. Why, for heaven’s sake, was he angry because the marshal had come to his mother’s burial? She had no time to think about it because the buggy pulled up in front of the house, and Sam came off the end of the porch to stand at the horse’s head while the preacher climbed down from the buggy. He removed his duster, folded it, and placed it on the floor, then helped his wife to alight. She also wore a duster, a cape that her husband lifted from her shoulders.

Pack ignored the man and woman and went to the wagon that had pulled up behind the buggy. He jumped into the wagon bed to inspect the box, picked up a rag, and wiped the dust from the top. When he jumped down again, he saw that the marshal was still sitting on his horse watching Mara. A muscle jumped in Pack’s jaw as he ground his teeth together. Later, he told himself, later he would have a word with Ace January.

“Let me do this, Pack.” Sam came to take the end of the box and the driver took the other end. They carried it past Cullen who stood on the porch, his thumbs hooked in his belt. Pack elbowed him out of the way and held open the door for the men to take the burial box into the house.

Ace January continued to lean on his saddle horn, watching Mara, making no move to step down from the horse.

Mara went down the steps to meet the preacher and his wife. “Mrs. Piedmont, I’m Mara Shannon McCall.”

The woman looked at her with her head tilted to one side, her small mouth pursed. She was not as tall as Mara, but her bosom was enormous, making her look top-heavy. Her stiff, black taffeta dress was buttoned up to her chin. Black hair threaded with gray was coiled and pinned over each ear, and she wore a small straw hat trimmed with a black feather plume. She was sweating profusely.

Mara held out her hand. The woman held her breath as if the air was filled with an offensive odor. Her face reflected her reluctance to take Mara’s hand.

“How do you do?”

Mara was puzzled by the hostility. The woman spoke briskly and touched her hand as if it were not clean. The minister’s face was red, his flabby jaws shaking. He looked like a puffed-up toad about to explode. From the looks of the pair, Mara thought, they had not missed a meal in their entire lives.

“Reverend Piedmont, it’s unfortunate we have to meet under these sad circumstances. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McCall.”

“Miss McCall. I’m not married.”

“Ah . . . I assumed you were married to the younger McCall.”

Mara didn’t answer. She would not satisfy the morbid curiosity of this pompous pair. They had not wanted to come. It was written on their fat faces and in their pious, stiff-necked attitudes. Mara wanted to tell them to get back in the buggy and leave, but good manners had been ingrained in her by her mother and later by Miss Fillamore’s teachings.

“Would you like a cool drink?” Mara lifted her brows and spoke in a tone of quiet reserve that Miss Fillamore used when she was forced to be polite.

“Yes, I would. It’s more than six miles out to this . . . place. It’s a miserable ride and I’ve not been well.” Mrs. Piedmont waved her handkerchief before her face.

“I’m sorry to hear it. Come in. It’s a bit cooler in the house.”

Mara led them through the parlor where Pack and Sam were lifting Brita’s body and placing it in the coffin. When they reached the kitchen, she dipped into the water bucket with the dipper she took from the nail on the wall and handed it, brimming full, to the woman. Mrs. Piedmont hesitated, gave her husband a withering glare, then carefully inspected the dipper. An Irish imp inside Mara prompted her to speak.

“You needn’t be afraid to drink from it. The dipper is clean.” The tilt of her lips was more a sneer than a smile. Her chin was high and her eyes as cold as ice. She prayed she’d be able to endure this woman at least until after the services.

“A body can’t be sure.” Mrs. Piedmont sniffed and took a few sips from the dipper before handing it to her husband.

“Hrumph!” He cleared his throat noisily before he drank. The auburn-haired woman before him looked as cool as a cucumber in spite of the hot day. She wasn’t at all what he had expected to find in a place like this, but he knew well that a ladylike appearance could be deceiving. Didn’t the whore at the Diamond Saloon look like a lady during the light of day? But at night her true identity was revealed. She turned into a painted, naked siren, drawing unsuspecting men into her den of iniquity, corrupting their souls with lust.

“I have written a eulogy I wish you to read at the gravesite.” The woman’s voice broke into the minister’s thoughts. He took the paper from her hand, glanced at it, and nodded.

Reverend Piedmont wanted nothing more than to get the service over with and head back to town. Since the marshal had volunteered to ride out with him he felt safe enough. It was his congregation he feared. He didn’t know what their reaction would be if they found out he had come running at the request of the infamous pugilist of Laramie.

*  *  *

Mara rode on the seat beside Emily and Charlie on the way to the burial ground, and Aubrey sat on the tailgate. They followed Pack and the twins who walked behind the wagon carrying the coffin. The preacher’s buggy, the marshal, and Cullen on horseback completed the procession.

The place where Shannon and Colleen LaMont McCall were buried was a quiet, beautiful spot shaded by tall pines. The knoll was fresh and green. Wild violet and buttercup blossoms nodded in the late morning sun. A slight breeze ruffled the rich green grass, and from far away came the melodious sound of a mourning dove. In the branches overhead a robin sang a merry song.

The procession stopped alongside the fenced enclosure. Pack, the twins and Sam carried the coffin and lowered it gently to the ground beside the gaping hole. The mourners gathered around. Pack reached back, grasped Mara’s hand and pulled her up beside him and the twins. Reverend Piedmont took his place and opened his Bible.

Mara, determined not to allow the minister to rush the services so that he could leave, began to sing. Her voice rose sweet and clear. After the first few words, Emily and Charlie joined her. Pack bowed his head and squeezed her hand.

“Shall we gather at the river?

Where God’s angel’s feet have trod.

With it’s crystal tide forever,

Flowing by the throne of God.

Yes, we’ll gather at the river,

the beautiful, the beautiful river,

Gather with the saints at the river,

that flows by the throne of God.”

When the song ended, a hush fell over the group. The minister looked at Mara. She nodded to him and he began the service by reading the eulogy she had written. When he finished, he read a short verse from the Bible, then began to recite the Lord’s Prayer. Sam stood beside Charlie and Emily. His voice and theirs joined with the minister’s and Mara’s.

The ceremony ended and the coffin was lowered into the grave. Sam and Charlie each took a spade and began to fill the grave. Pack stood as still as a stone, holding tightly to Mara’s hand while spadeful after spadeful of dirt was dropped on the box. The twins, tears streaming down their faces, stood beside him. With his head bowed, his hat in his hand, Aubrey stood apart as if he were not a member of the family.

During the service Mara had managed to keep the tears from her eyes, but after the grave was filled, Travor and Trellis came forward with a waterbucket full of wildflowers and carefully placed it at the head of their mother’s grave. Mara’s control gave way, and tears ran down her cheeks in a steady stream. She moved up between the twins and put an arm around each boy. They clung to her, and the three stood silently together until Pack moved up close behind them, his chest against Mara’s back, a hand on the shoulder of each of the boys.

Charlie led the others away, leaving Brita’s sons and Mara alone beside the grave.

Reverend Piedmont and his wife walked past Sam as he was putting the shovels in the wagon.

“The ladies fixed up a good meal, Reverend. We’ll all go back to the house to eat.”

“We . . . ah, got to be getting on back to town.”

“Ya’re not in no hurry,” Sam said flatly.

“Yes, we are,” Mrs. Piedmont blustered.

“I’m sayin’ ya’ve got time to be sociable.” Sam’s face was like a stone carving.

“But . . . we don’t have time, do we, Arnold?”

Sam’s sharp eyes pierced the wavering eyes of the other man. “You have time, don’t you,
Arnold?
”

“We’ll take time.”

“That’s better. Wait up ’n follow us back.”

Sam walked away as Mrs. Piedmont began to sputter. “What’s the matter with you? Where’s your backbone? I’m not eating a bite in that house! The idea! You know what the ladies in the circle will do if they find out we were consorting with that—that McCall trash? They’ll not help fix up the parsonage. We’re going back to town.”

“Shut your mouth for once!” Reverend Piedmont snarled and grabbed his wife’s elbow. He propelled her toward the buggy and boosted her up onto the seat.