Judith E French (8 page)

He didn’t take a lantern to the barn. He knew every inch of the way by heart. Murmuring softly to the horses
to settle them, Shane climbed up into the loft. There he swung open a door and sat back against a pile of hay with his rifle across his lap.

He sipped slowly at the coffee, trying not to remember how Caity felt in his arms. He could still smell the faint heather in her hair. Fat Rose’s girls bathed in scent. He reckoned you could catch wind of Rose’s house a mile downriver. Caity didn’t smell like that; she was wholesome and clean, and soft as a new-hatched duckling.

“So why did you come here?” he murmured aloud. “Why this time and not before?” Was it the shame of bearing a child out of wedlock? Or was it possible that she still cared for him?

He could care for her a hell of a lot, if he let himself. His feelings for Caity ran deep and wide. He’d shut them off and built a dam of icy bitterness in his head to stop the hurting. It wouldn’t take much to melt that ice and bring the dam crashing down.

“I could love you again, Caity, girl,” he whispered. “I could take you and another man’s babe as my own, if only I could trust you.”

“Ouch! Let go! You’re killin’ me!” Justice kicked and squirmed, but Caitlin held him firmly by the back of the neck and scrubbed his face until it shone.

“You’re to wash your face and hands before coming to the table,” she insisted. “And brush your teeth and comb your hair.”

“Comb your teeth!” Derry echoed, then burst into a merry giggle.

It was quarter after seven by the watch Caitlin had hung around her neck. She’d been up since five, and she’d attacked the kitchen dirt between patting up round loafs of soda bread and preparing a pot of tea and a large duck-egg omelet.

Caitlin had pushed the leg-of-mutton sleeves of her russet morning gown above her elbows and tied an apron around her waist to protect the delicate cotton percale. She’d braided her hair and coiled the heavy mass into a bun, crowning it with a tiny lace cap, once as white as sea foam but now faded to old ivory. Shane had ridiculed her stylish clothing, but this was the plainest dress she owned. It had been more than five years since she’d ordered a new gown, and her fashions—though made of good cloth and lace—were sadly out of date.

Caitlin released her hold on Justice, and he slid sullenly onto the back bench on the far side of the trestle table. She’d set it with a linen table cover, her mother’s blue and white delftware plates, and silver spoons and forks. She’d been unable to find her knives. Either they were in her other trunks back in town or someone had stolen them.

She went back to the hearth and slid the hot loaves of bread onto a plate. She’d found no butter or jam in the kitchen larder, only a tin of syrup. Quickly she sliced the bread and served the children generous sections of omelet. “Will you have tea with your breakfast, Justice?” she asked him.

He jabbed at the eggs with a fork and didn’t answer.

“Milk!” Derry proclaimed, grinning until two dimples popped out on her rosy cheeks. Caitlin had dressed her in a light wool dress of red tartan with red lace-trimmed pantalettes. Derry’s black hair was neatly braided and tied with tartan bows to match the dress. “I want milk!” she clamored, scratching at her button nose. “Milk!”

“No milky,” Mary said. She sat, arms folded over her chest, in the rocking chair. Her coppery face
wrinkled in disapproval as she chewed at the stem of the unlit pipe. “Justice like coffee. Tea blaah. Tea for sick boy.”

“This is very good tea, Mary. I brought it with me from Ireland.”

“McKenna no drinky tea. Drink coffee. No likey eggs mix up like pudding.”

“Berry drinky tea,” the toddler exclaimed. “Good.” She pursed her rosebud mouth and nodded firmly.

“Only a small cup, precious,” Caitlin said, kissing the crown of Derry’s head. She did indulge the child with tea, laced liberally with milk. At home, she’d seen Maureen give the babe tea to dull her hunger. Here in America, with food abundant, tea would be a much rationed treat for Derry and not an everyday drink.

“I don’t like this stuff,” Justice said, dropping a forkful of egg on his plate. “This bread tastes funny.”

“Wait for grace to be said, Justice,” Caitlin admonished gently. “Didn’t Shane … your father … teach you to—”

“I haven’t taught myself much in the way of prayers,” Shane said.

Caitlin turned to see him filling the doorway, and her heartbeat quickened. “Shane. I was just going to call you for breakfast.”

“Coffee?” Mary asked.

“Sure.” He splashed water on his face.

“I’ve made a pot of tea,” Caitlin said. “I thought you—”

“Coffee.” Mary pushed a dented tin cup into his hand. “Coffee good,” she said. “Tea ba-ad.”

“Not ba-ad,” Derry said. “Good tea!”

Caitlin took her seat at the end of the table. “When you’re ready, Shane. Mary, will you join us?”

The Indian woman shook her head. “No eat egg pudding. Fried egg. Coffee.”

“Is Gabriel coming in for breakfast?” Caitlin asked. She’d wanted this first morning together to be special. She even wished she’d had the time to pick wildflowers for the table.

Shane sat down, and Caitlin murmured a simple blessing. Derry began to eat heartily. Justice played with his slice of bread while Shane sipped at his coffee.

“Did you see anyone in the night?” Caitlin asked. “Are you going to report yesterday’s shooting to the local constable?”

“No to both questions,” Shane answered. He took a slice of her soda bread and carefully spread syrup on it. She waited while he took a bite.

“Did I put in too much salt?” she asked anxiously.

“No, it’s good,” he replied. “Very good. Brings back a lot of memories.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“You brought all this stuff with you?” He indicated the table settings and the linen.

“Yes, I did.”

“No wonder your trunks were so heavy.”

Justice glanced at her and flashed a taunting hint of a smile. Standing up, he pushed back from the table. His hand caught the edge of the barely tasted plate of breakfast and knocked it to the floor.

“Oh!” Caitlin flinched at the sound of breaking delftware.

“Sorry,” the boy called as he fled toward the door. Mary shoved a piece of cold fry bread into his hand, and he vanished outside.

Barely containing her anger, Caitlin knelt to pick up the broken sections of the plate. The original set, made in Dublin as part of her grandmother’s wedding dowry, had consisted of twelve place settings. The beautiful delftware
had survived two generations without harm and come to Caitlin on her mother’s death. Since then, two of the precious plates had been cracked on the journey from Ireland, and the deliberate breaking of this one meant that there were only nine left.

“It was an accident, Caity,” Shane said. “He didn’t mean it.”

“He meant to do it, all right,” she replied.

“You should have kept it packed away for good use only. A farm kitchen’s no place for such—”

“It’s our kitchen, Shane!” she cried passionately. “Our kitchen. Why shouldn’t the children eat off nice plates? They shouldn’t be brought up like ignorant wild things.”

“You think I bring my son up like an animal?”

Caitlin’s throat constricted. “You’re not being fair.”

“Me? Or is it you, to cast blame on a boy for breaking a dish?” He pushed back his own plate. He’d taken no more than a few bites of the omelet.

“I’m trying, Shane,” she said. “Can’t you see that I’m trying?”

“Try a little harder.” He raised his cup and Mary refilled it with coffee.

Caitlin stared down at her own breakfast. She’d been ravenous, but now she couldn’t eat a bite. They were fighting again, and that was the last thing she wanted. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but this delft was my grandmother’s. The set means so much to—”

“You put too much store in things,” he said tersely. “Go easy with your changes. We’re used to doing things our way here on Kilronan.”

“I’m sure you are.” But would there ever be a place there for her?

Shane took another sip of his coffee.

Caitlin glanced at the spot where Derry had been sitting, but it was empty. “Derry?” Caitlin looked under the table to see if the child was hiding there. “Where did she get to?” she asked Shane.

Mary pointed toward the open door. “She follow boy.”

Caitlin went to the step. “Derry? Where are you?”

Shane came to the door. “Look in the backyard,” he said. “She’s probably after that duck again.”

“Fleurblanche,” Mary put in. “Mary’s duck. You no let baby chase duck.”

Caitlin walked around behind the house and called the little girl’s name again.

“Still haven’t found her?” Shane asked. He put his hat on his head and pulled it down to shade his eyes. “I’ll check the barnyard. Justice!” he shouted. “Have you seen Derry anywhere?”

Caitlin walked faster. How could the child have vanished into thin air? “Derry?” Caitlin rounded the corner of the house. Near the smaller stable, two hens scratched in the dirt. A horse stood with its head resting on the top rail of a fence. Nothing else moved but the clouds overhead. “Derry!”

Shane appeared at the entrance to the barn. He shook his head. “Not in here. Neither of them.”

Mary came out the front door and hurried toward the far pound. “Fleurblanche have nest in Goliath’s pen,” she said.

Caitlin followed her. “I don’t see why the duck—” Suddenly Derry wailed, and instantly her cry of fear was muffled by the bellow of an angry bull.

“Derry!” Caitlin cried. Fear washed through her as she broke into a run.

Shane caught hold of her arm at the edge of the six-foot-high
stockade fence, but she threw herself against the wall and peered through the space between two logs. On the far side of the enclosed compound Caitlin saw a lean-to stable open on one side. The only gate to the enclosure was a stout wooden door with a foot-high gap beneath it, adjoining the shed.

In the left corner of the log structure, half hidden in the straw, a tearful Derry crouched clutching at the white duck. Between the child and the fence stood a massive roan-and-white bull with huge curving horns.

Caitlin stared in terror as the beast shook himself from snout to tail and pawed the earth with one black-tipped hoof. The bull’s hindquarters were turned toward them, his bulging, black eyes focused on the tiny girl in red.

Caitlin dug her nails into the rough logs until two snapped off at the quick. But she didn’t feel the pain, and she didn’t need Shane’s urgent “Shhh!” to be still. Instinct told her that any sudden sound might spook the bull to gore Derry with those terrible horns or to trample her to death.

How tiny Derry looked. How helpless. Caitlin wanted to close her eyes and shut out the horror, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

An odd buzzing filled her brain and seconds lengthened to eternity as she watched Shane curl lean fingers around the top of an upright post. His frame tensed, and Caitlin realized that he meant to scale the fence rather than take the precious time to run around to the gate.

“No!” Mary’s warning came from a few yards away. “Look!” She pointed to the bull.

Goliath snorted. His white-rimmed eyes rolled in his
great head, and the shiny black skin on his nose wrinkled. Slowly he swung his heavy head to look away from Derry.

The duck squawked and gave one flap of his wings as he broke free of the toddler’s arms and half flew, half ran across the high-walled pound.

The bull ignored the duck. He pawed the ground again, sending up puffs of dust, and made a short feint toward the shed.

“Wait!” Mary commanded.

Wait for what? Caitlin screamed silently. Wait for the baby to be killed before our eyes?

Derry wept hysterically, deep sobs that racked her small body, and shook a minute fist at the bull. “No!” she cried. “No!” Thrashing in the tangled straw, the child finally managed to rise to her feet. Caitlin’s heart broke as Derry tried to run, fell again, and cried out for her. “Ma-ma!”

Caitlin felt the hot Missouri sun on her face and smelled the acrid scent of urine. The red of the bull’s hide and the dusty gray of the earth blurred before her eyes. Her mouth tasted of metal and dust. “Derry,” she whispered. “No, don’t run. For the love of God, don’t move.”

“I’m going after her,” Shane said. He jammed the toe of his boot in a crack in the fence, but in the split second before he leaped, a stone struck the bull’s nose.

“Hey! Hey!” Justice shouted. “Bull turd! Weeny pizzle!” Another rock flew through the air.

Goliath threw up his head and bellowed in rage. Behind him, between the animal and the open shed, Caitlin saw Justice leaping up and down and heaving stones for all he was worth.

“Justice!” Shane yelled. “Get the hell out of there!”

“Na-na-na-na-na!” the boy taunted, and hurled another stone.

Shane launched himself over the fence as the bull wheeled and charged toward Justice.

Shane landed on his feet on the far side of the fence and raced, bare-handed, toward the bull. “Goliath! Here!” he shouted. “Here!”

Seemingly unaware of the man’s presence, the bull pounded after the boy. Sweeping the broad head low, he tried to impale Justice on the gleaming ivory tips of his horns. The boy dodged and ran back toward the wall as Shane leaped onto the bull’s back and tried to grip his horns.

Caitlin caught only a glimpse of Justice as the bull tossed Shane to the ground and charged the boy a second time. Shane rolled and scrambled to his feet, instantly going after the animal again.

Goliath ground to a sliding halt amid a cloud of dust and eyed the boy. White-faced and trembling, Justice backed up until his escape was blocked by the wall of upright posts.

Caitlin could hear Mary yelling for Gabriel to bring a gun, but Caitlin knew that there would be no time. Whatever happened in the next few seconds would mean life or death for Shane and the children, and it would be over before anyone could help. Snorting angrily, the animal lowered his head and raised his hindquarters, tensing his muscles to charge again. His
front hooves dug the ground, and foam dripped from his gaping mouth.

Derry’s screams shrilled above the thunder of Goliath’s bellow, but Caitlin could only watch in stunned silence.