Mary Connealy (93 page)

Wade felt heat climbing his neck—temper. If Pa had hit Gertie …

“And if I can’t get my own son to help me, then I’ll find someone who—”

Abby laughed and jabbed a finger at Wade’s plate. “You eat your food. Keep your mouth busy so we women can talk.”

Pulling his thoughts from violence, Wade looked from his raging father to Gertie to Abby. “I think I’ll say a prayer before I eat. Would any of you like to join me?” Prayer was what he needed very badly right now.

Pa continued shouting. Gertie stared at her entwined hands, more fearful than prayerful. Abby bowed her head.

Wade prayed quietly, ignoring his furious father, who was too wound up to even notice they weren’t listening to him.

“God, thank You that the roundup is going well. Bless the hired cowhands I have. Let those who want to learn find skills here on the M Bar S that they can use all their lives. Keep us safe, help Pa get better, bless this fine food Gertie and Abby made, and let me use the strength I gain from this meal to be a good servant to You, Lord. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

“I’ve got enough money to buy and sell all of you ten times over. If you don’t get this door fixed—”

“We already took a mountain of cake over to the bunkhouse. You kept the men out for such a long time.” Abby braced her elbows on the table and plopped her chin on her fists. No manners at all. Wade had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. And she lived here at his house, with him.

“I’m trying to get three weeks’ work done in one, and short-handed, too. But the worst of the hands quit right off, and the ones who stayed are working their hearts out trying not to lose their jobs at the end of the week. Some of them are pretty unskilled, but they’re game, and they’re making up with effort what they’re lacking in experience.”

“Stop talking and eat.” Abby pointed at Wade’s plate.

He couldn’t help but smile at her bossy ways.

She smiled back. “I’ve thought that maybe we could build a ramp of dirt to the back door. Your father could be free to come and go as he pleased.”

Pa quit trying to yell and jerked around to face Abby. “Really? That’s a good idea.”

“I may let you roll out of here then knock down the ramp so you can’t get back, old man.” Abby smirked at him.

Wade was appalled—and thrilled—at her disrespect. He had never dared talk to his father this way. Of course, his father had been quick with punishment, but that was when Wade was a child and had no ability to defend himself or escape.

The fear Wade battled every day, with the help of his Savior, faded, replaced with confidence that if Abby could face down his father, so could he.

“Instead of a dirt ramp, how about I have a wooden ramp built. Less work than piling up dirt. It’ll be smooth and that wheelchair will roll right down it.” Wade cut one of his fluffy biscuits and scooped it up with a spoonful of the savory stew.

“Quiet, eat.” Abby flicked her fingers at him. “Good idea, though. I have some practice with building. I could cut down saplings, lash them together. It wouldn’t be hard.” Abby turned to glare at Pa. “You could even make yourself useful and help.”

Pa lifted his chin, his eyes shooting bullets.

Abby’s eyes narrowed and didn’t waver.

Wade watched the byplay between the two, memorizing Abby’s courage and his father’s impotence.

“I think we could build a special wagon without much trouble, too.” Abby stared at the wheelchair. “If we tore the seat out of the buckboard and could somehow roll your chair into place, you could probably handle the reins. You could make yourself useful.”

Pa slammed his fist on the arm of his chair and made a noise similar to a hissing rattler.

Wade swallowed quickly to interrupt the attack. “I asked Libby in town to send Sam out here when he’s home. I thought we could widen some doorways so Pa could get to all parts of the house. Sam’s a good builder. He could help with the ramp and any other ideas you’ve got. Pa, if you could work the buckboard, maybe you could run to Divide to pick up supplies. If we sent a list, the storekeeper would fill the order and load the wagon. You wouldn’t have to get down. Your arms are still strong enough to drive. You could get out of here, see your friends.”

Wade paused for a moment to consider if there was a man alive who would count Mort Sawyer as a friend. A neighbor, even a friendly acquaintance, maybe, but a friend? No one with any sense would count Pa as a friend. He had always been too ruthless to trust.

“I’m not going to town in the buckboard.” Pa battled the wheelchair to roll it to the table then slugged the arms of it hard. “People would see me and pity me.”

Remembering Abby’s calm disrespect, Wade scraped his plate clean, chewed, and swallowed. “They probably pity you already, Pa. And you break that wheelchair, I’m not buying you another one, so calm down.”

Gertie gasped.

Pa’s face turned an odd shade of purple.

“Maybe if you got out, proved you can still do some work, they’d pity you less.” Wade waited to see what form his pa’s explosion would take.

“Probably not.” Abby studied Pa as if he were an interesting species of bug. “I think they’re going to pity him no matter what. But if a man were strong, strong in his guts, in his heart, he could ignore misplaced pity. Only a weakling would prefer to be useless.”

Gertie slid from the table, and for a second Wade wondered if she was going to leave or maybe fly to Pa’s defense. Instead she took Wade’s plate and refilled it.

Good thing—he was still starving and this conversation had given him an appetite. “What do you say, Pa? Interested in any of this? The ramp? I don’t know how well that chair rolls.”

“The ground is hard packed. Not too many ruts, except right after a rain. He might be able to get to the barn and even do some work out there.” Abby looked doubtfully at Pa. “It’d probably take a lot of strength to get out to the barn, but it might work. It’d probably be good for your arms.”

“There are some rough places in the yard, but the men could spend some time smoothing them starting tomorrow. And if we built the ramp right, we could make one part slope down and a second part at the right level to roll right into the buckboard. We could have you free to ride the range in no time.”

A sudden look on Pa’s face had Wade regretting, just for a split second, that he’d been unkind. The hunger on his pa’s face, when Wade said the
word free,
reminded Wade of the best things about his father. His willingness to work long, hard hours. His skill as a horseman and cattleman, never asking hired men to do a job he wasn’t willing to do.

Pa had a brutal streak, and no amount of hard work made up for that, but Wade couldn’t take away from his pa the incredible strength of will it had taken to move into this country and take and hold this land.

Wade would have called it strength of character except Pa’s character was so badly, miserably flawed by cruelty. Watching now, knowing how badly Pa wanted to control his own property, Wade asked quietly, “What was it that made you think turning your fists on me was a decent thing to do?”

Pa’s expression of hope and hunger faded, replaced by sullen anger. “I raised you the way my pa raised me.”

Abby laughed scornfully. “And look how well you turned out. Is that your point? A broken, lonely old man in a wheelchair? With one child, a son who had left you and only now returned home, not out of love but out of duty? You call your life a success?”

All good questions, but Wade wanted to ask something else. “You mean my grandpa Sawyer hit you when you were growing up?”

“Some. When I had it coming.” Pa’s defiant eyes slid away from Wade’s. “My…my ma was tough, though. She put a stop to it. Most times. But I got the message that I had to be strong. Same as I tried to teach you. But you came out weak. Weak like your ma.”

“Weak because of what? She died? She couldn’t turn aside your anger? She wasn’t mean enough to pull a gun on you to drive you back?” Wade remembered his mother. She’d been a gentle soul, trapped like Wade. “What do you mean by weak, Pa?”

Pa scowled, and Wade saw the lines cut into his father’s face by years and years of steady hate. “She was always at her Bible. Always praying. She tried to ruin you with that stuff, too. A man has to depend on himself. God respects a man who makes the most of what he’s been given. God gave me strength and a sharp brain and He expects me to use it.”

“You used your strength to tame this ranch land, Pa. But you also used it against me. Why?”

“I wanted you to stand up for yourself. I wanted you to grow up as strong as me. To be worthy of this ranch I built for you.”

“You sit there now, in that chair, a broken man, and claim to have had a reason for how you acted, but I don’t think you really thought it through, Pa. I think you have a mean streak and you took it out on someone smaller. That isn’t what I think of as strong, Pa. It sounds weak to me.” Wade stared at his pa for a long time, and for the first time in his life, he saw a man to be pitied. A boy who’d been battered. A weakling who was maybe, in his own way, just as fearful as Wade.

“‘Whom shall I fear,’ Pa?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a Bible verse I say to myself all the time. Psalm Twenty-seven. ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?’ I’ve spent my whole life fearing you, Pa. But no more.” Wade slashed his hand downward. “Because with God, I don’t have to fear anyone.” Wade turned his attention to his supper.

“I–I’m sorry, son.”

Wade looked up from his meal at the words he’d never heard before. He had no idea how to react to an apology from his father. He’d never gotten one before.

“It was never my intention to make you afraid.”

Somehow Wade found it easy to respond to that. An excuse. The old man wasn’t really taking responsibility at all. “As if the way you acted wasn’t meant to frighten me? As if the fact that it did is somehow my fault?”

“No, that’s not how I meant it.”

“That’s what you said. And you know, I think it was your intention. I just can’t figure out what pleasure you got from terrorizing a child.” Wade went back to eating.

“No pleasure.” Pa stared at his hands, folded in his lap, subdued. Not himself at all. “But power, I guess. Some kind of satisfaction. I thought I needed to run the whole world, control every bit of it. Dominate every acre and tree and cow and rock. And that stretched to people, too. Including you. Just know that I’m sorry. I know I done wrong by you. I’ll probably do wrong again, but maybe now I can at least admit it when I do.”

Wade stared at his plate of cooling supper. When he spoke, it was quietly. “I appreciate the words. It isn’t enough, it doesn’t make up for much, but thanks for at least saying it.”

After a long stretch of silence, Pa rolled to the kitchen door and opened it. “We could do it. We could fix up a ramp and adjust the buckboard. I could oversee this place again.”

“Good—the sooner you take back control of this ranch, the sooner I can leave.” Wade chewed thoughtfully on his biscuit.

Gertie gasped and rose from the table to begin cleaning the kitchen.

A cow lowed softly in the distance. Crickets chirped, and a night owl whooed. A cool breeze reminded Wade that summer came late up here and left early.

“I’m for it. Mort and I will start work on it tomorrow morning.” Abby took her knife out of its sheath. “It will get him out of this house, and good riddance.” She rose and picked up a whetstone lying on the kitchen counter, and soon the soothing rasp of metal on stone filled the silence.

The first thing Red saw when he came riding up was Cassie, running out of the house to meet him, a smile on her face and her long dark hair flying.

Red had pushed all night to get this rustled herd home, just so he could see his pretty wife. Silas and his women were agreeable, and the Jessups were too quiet to voice an opinion.

The Jessups who’d come to see to Red’s place stepped one by one out of the rocks here and there, lowering their rifles as soon as they recognized Red, Silas, Belle, Emma, and the three other Jessup brothers.

It gave Red a deep pull of satisfaction to know his family had been so carefully guarded. Good men, the Jessups.

Red spurred his horse ahead so he could keep Cassie from getting run down by the herd, but the cattle were tired after a long trek and they probably would have just walked around Red’s careless little wife. When he pulled his horse beside her, he bent down and lifted her off her feet to settle her on the saddle in front of him.

“Hi.” He looked at a smile warm enough to melt the Rockies in January; then Cassie flung her arms around his neck and gave him the hello kiss he’d been dreaming about. The herd headed straight for the pond south of his house while Red greeted his wife enthusiastically.

Then Cassie noticed the prisoner. “Is that man draped over the horse one of the rustlers?”

“Yep. There were two, but one got away.”

“Does it hurt him to have his head hang down like that?”

Red sure hoped so. He wasn’t about to forget the man had a rifle trained on that gap. “He’s fine. We’ll take him on into Divide after breakfast. You think we’ve got enough food to fill this crew up?”