Mud Creek (28 page)

“I’ve had a turn of bad luck. I was headed for Deadwood, but my horse keeled over, and it left me in a jam. I’m looking for a situation while I figure out how to get myself out of it.”

“I don’t have funds to pay wages,” Albert said. “So you’ve wasted your time—and mine.”

He spun and started off, when Carstairs said, “I’d be happy with room and board. You wouldn’t have to pay me.”

Albert whipped around. “You’d work for nothing?”

“It beats starving or sleeping in the snow.”

Violet butted her nose into their business. “You could use him, Albert. Don’t be so stubborn.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, which was a bald-faced lie. Most days, he didn’t know how he could keep on for another minute. “And if I
did
need help, it wouldn’t be from some citified dandy I just met.”

“I’m not from the city,” Carstairs huffed. “I’ve spent my whole life in these parts. I can build fence, shovel muck, run cattle. You give me a chore, and I won’t quit till it’s finished. You have Harry Carstairs word on that.”

“Albert,” Violet nagged, “he’ll work for
free
.”

“He’ll work for
food
, Violet,” Albert countered.

“With it being only the two of us, we have enough to eat. One more mouth won’t make much of a difference.”

“It always makes a difference.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s nearly time to plant the garden again.”

“Yes, it is, as I remind you on a daily basis.”

“He could take charge of it. A second man would definitely lighten your load.”

“She’s right, Mr. Jones.” Carstairs glanced around, scrutinizing his surroundings. “You’ve got a nice place here. It can’t be easy to manage it all by yourself.”

Albert hemmed and hawed. He wanted to send Carstairs away, but the sad fact was that he was dying for some male companionship.

He yearned to have someone with whom he could debate the issues that plagued him: the weather, the dead cattle, the broken plow, the spring planting. The list went on and on.

They were the types of concerns he’d previously discussed with his father. Walt had been in control and competent to make the tough decisions, but now, the entire burden rested on Albert’s weary shoulders.

He had no idea how to proceed and had begun to suspect that he’d have to abandon the ranch and move on to other ventures. The ranch had been his father’s dream, but there was no way Albert could keep on.

He constantly fretted, wondering how a person simply walked away. And what about Violet? Would he leave her behind—as the twins’ stepfather had left them behind?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that was precisely what he would do. So he never talked to her, because he refused to give her any hint of his low intentions.

He couldn’t predict if Harry Carstairs would provide any of the friendship he was anxious to receive, but wouldn’t it be worth a try?

If he turned out to be useless, Albert could always send him packing.

“All right,” he finally muttered. “Violet convinced me. You can stay.”

“Thank you. You won’t regret it.”

“I hope not or I’ll run you off in a New York minute.”

“You’ll never have to.”

“We’ll see.” Albert gestured to his old cottage. “Let me show you where you can sleep and stow your things.”

“The cottage, Albert?” Violet said.

“Yes, Violet, the cottage.”

“Why can’t he live here with us? I’d like the company.”

“Because he’s a hired
hand,
Violet. The hired
hand
doesn’t live with the boss. Don’t be stupid.”

“But the cottage is disgusting, and you don’t want to heat it.”

“He’s a grown man, and he claims to be thrifty. He can haul firewood up from the creek, or he can collect some cow chips. They burn hot in that stove.”

“Wherever you’d like me to bunk down,” Carstairs said, “I’m happy with it. I’m just grateful you’re giving me this chance.”

Albert flashed Violet an irksome glare, warning her to shut up and go away, then he marched off. Carstairs fell in beside him.

“Is that your woman?” Carstairs asked once they were some distance away from Violet.

“My sister-in-law.”

“Where’s your wife, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I
do
mind you asking,” Albert said, “but you might as well know she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“No need to be sorry. She wasn’t cut out for this life, so she was more of a hindrance than a help.”

Carstairs peered over at the house where Violet was posed in the doorway, grinning, flaunting herself.

She waved at Carstairs, and he waved back. Albert kept walking so Carstairs had to hurry to catch up.

“What’s her name?” Carstairs inquired. “Was it Violet?”

“Yes, Violet.”

“She’s real pretty.”

Albert shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Is she a widow?”

“No.”

“Has she got herself a man?”

“No,” Albert snorted. Who could put up with such an irritating, vulgar, foul-mouthed ingrate?

“You’re here alone with her?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t the neighbors shocked?”

“I can’t imagine any of them even know.”

“Have you ever…?”

Carstairs raised a brow, letting the salacious insinuation trail away.

His question was rude and insulting, and Albert couldn’t believe he’d posed it. He had only just arrived, and Albert had only spoken to him briefly. How dare he cast aspersions on Violet’s character—or Albert’s own.

“No,” Albert firmly said, “I have
never.
”

“Just curious.” Carstairs hastily extended his palms, as if to ward off a quarrel. “No need to work yourself into a lather.”

“She’s my sister-in-law,” Albert repeated, “and my wife’s beloved sister. I hold her in the highest regard and would never dishonor her.”

“I understand.”

“Besides, she’s crazy as a loon.”

“Is she?”

“A wise man would definitely steer clear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Carstairs mused.

They continued on, but Albert could feel Violet watching them all the way.

Helen reined in her horse and stared across the messy, unkempt yard that led to Albert’s house. It was her house, too, though she refused to claim it.

The property looked one storm away from the end. It seemed clear that Albert would ultimately join the ranks of other failed homesteaders who’d fled the brutal world without making a dent in it. If there hadn’t been a pair of long johns flapping on the clothesline, she’d suspect he’d already taken off.

She wasn’t sure why she’d finally mustered the energy to check on Violet. When she’d mentioned the prospect to James, his only comment had been, “I was wondering when you’d decide it was time.”

He wouldn’t let her come by herself, though. He’d accompanied her. Robert, too.

Robert had some belongings he wanted to retrieve, and Carl was worried about his dog. James had said they could bring the mutt back with them, and they’d tried to convince Carl that he could ride over with them to fetch the animal, but he couldn’t be persuaded, which was probably just as well.

Helen didn’t imagine that Albert’s situation had improved, and she’d hate to have Carl witness his brother’s dire straits.

Albert’s troubles left her extremely afraid for Violet. If Albert gave up on the ranch and departed, what would happen to Violet? Where would she go? She wasn’t welcome at James’s, so what were her options? Was she even aware that she needed to begin making plans?

A few days earlier, Mary had been in Mud Creek, and she’d returned with some disturbing rumors about Violet. Apparently, Violet had been spotted in the company of a disreputable drifter, and if the story hadn’t been so pathetically typical, Helen would have scoffed at the idea of Violet misbehaving. Yet Helen knew her sister’s true proclivities.

If there were rumors, they’d have started from a bedrock of fact, and old habits died hard.

She was anxious to chat with Violet. If she didn’t, and Violet did something stupid and reckless—when Helen could have intervened and stopped her—Helen would never forgive herself.

“I don’t see anybody,” Robert said, the icy wind whipping at his words.

“I don’t, either,” Helen replied, “but then, it’s not as if we were expecting a crowd. They never have guests.”

He frowned. “Do you think they might have…moved on? The place looks abandoned.”

“There’s laundry on the clothesline.” She pointed to it. “They’re here.”

He nodded, comforted by her assurance.

While he was glad to be living with James, he fretted about his family. He missed his parents and his brother, Arthur. He had to miss Albert, too, though he never talked about him. Robert was very devoted to Helen and wouldn’t want to seem disloyal.

She wouldn’t have protested if he’d visited Albert occasionally, but she would never permit Robert to stay with his brother. Albert could barely take care of himself, let alone someone else.

Helen’s guilt over her adultery, over her desertion, would never completely fade. As her penance, she would provide this favor to Albert. She would raise his brothers to adulthood. She would have his mother released from the asylum and would care for her, too. James had already sent inquiries to Minneapolis.

But Helen absolutely would not allow Albert to have control over any of them.

“Time’s wasting,” James said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Will we be home for dinner?” Robert asked.

The boy was growing like a weed and constantly hungry.

Helen chuckled. “Yes, we’ll be home for dinner.”

“When we left,” Robert explained, “Mary was baking a cake. She told me I could have a big, fat slice when I’m back.”

“Then we’d better be doubly sure we hurry,” James said.

He urged his horse forward, Helen and Robert following after him.

They went straight to the main house, dismounted, and entered the kitchen without knocking. But there’d been no need to announce their arrival.

There was no one present, and the room was a total mess. The dishes were all dirty, the pots and pans, too. Food hadn’t been stored properly, so it had rotted and it stunk to high heaven. A loaf of bread—that was hard as a rock—sat unsliced on the floor.

The front room was just as bad. There was garbage tossed everywhere, dozens of empty cans of beans—as if Albert ate without bothering to heat the contents. Cigarette butts were snubbed out on plates, liquor bottles tipped haphazardly, the dregs staining the rug.

The stove was cold, as if it hadn’t been lit in ages, and no firewood or kindling had been brought in. As Albert staggered in from a tiring day out in the fields, there would be no cozy welcome.

It was amazing how quickly his life had fallen apart without her, and the disarray only underscored how he was teetering on the edge. What on earth would become of him?

Helen walked over to the stairs and called, “Violet? Are you up there?”

The three of them waited for a response, but received no answer.

It was the first week of April, but the weather was chilly and blustery. Snow littered the ground in patches, and where it was melting, there were stretches of impassable mud. In the summer, Violet had wandered in the pastures, but currently, the conditions were too treacherous for strolling.

Had she fled?

“Where are the things you wanted?” James asked Robert.

“Up in my old room.”

“Why don’t you run and fetch what you need?” Robert hesitated, nervous about being up there by himself, and James added, “I’ve never seen the upstairs. Mind if I tag along?”

Robert couldn’t hide his sigh of relief. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

They went up together, and Helen proceeded to the back stoop, ignoring the disgusting filth of the kitchen. She stared toward the cottage, and smoke was billowing from the chimney. The door was open, her sister visible.

She hollered, “James?”

“Yes?”

“Violet is out in the cottage. I’ll go over and talk to her, then we can leave.”

“All right. We’re about done. We’ll follow directly.”

She thought about walking over, but the mud and slush would have made the trip difficult. So she climbed on her horse, and he maneuvered the worst of it.

At the cottage, she was dismounting when she heard Violet laugh. Helen was about to speak up, when she heard a man laugh, too. Helen halted and frowned. It wasn’t Albert’s voice, and a gloomy sense of tragedy plopped onto her shoulders.

She stepped to the threshold, and she had to blink and blink to adjust her vision. It was very bright outside and very dark inside.

Finally, she could see her sister—and the man who was with her. He was seated on the chair, his coat off, his shirtsleeves rolled back. With curly blond hair and blue eyes, he was extremely handsome, the type any woman would find hard to resist.

Violet was in the middle of the floor, a bottle of liquor in her hand, and she was giggling wildly, twirling in circles. Her color was high, her cheeks and nose red, her hair down. The top two buttons of her dress were unbuttoned.

Suddenly, she lost her balance, and he reached out to steady her.

“Whoa, girl,” he cautioned. “You’ve had plenty. Maybe you’d better stop for a bit.”

“I’m happy,” Violet chirped. “I don’t want to quit.”

“I ought to finish some chores before Albert gets home. If he rides in and those horse stalls haven’t been tended, he’ll know I’ve been loafing.”

“Let him fume,” Violet pouted. “I don’t care about him.”

She tumbled onto the man’s lap, and Helen couldn’t stand anymore.

“Violet,” she quietly murmured.

The pair froze, then Violet peered over. “Helen! You’re here!” She leapt up, explaining, “This is the sister I was telling you about.”

“How do, ma’am.” The man motioned with his fingers as if tipping his hat to Helen.

“This is Harry Carstairs.” Violet was slurring her words. “He’s my best friend!”

“Mr. Carstairs,” Helen said, “would you excuse us for a minute. Violet and I need to talk.”

“Uh-oh,” Violet muttered. “She’s upset with me.”

“She certainly is,” Carstairs agreed.