Mud Creek (29 page)

“
Saint
Helen is what I’ve always called her. She’s the biggest fusspot in the world.”

“Where would we be without sisters, though, hmm?”

He pushed himself to his feet, and he sauntered toward Helen, his male gaze intent and potent. Obviously, he was fishing for a female reaction, but she didn’t give him one. She stoically watched, thinking he probably spent his life charming unsuspecting women, was probably very good at it.

What kind of influence would such an attractive, but dodgy fellow have on a girl like Violet?

The numerous answers to that question were too depressing to contemplate.

Helen waited until she was sure he’d gone, then she approached her sister. Violet had slid into the chair Mr. Carstairs vacated. She glared at Helen, her expression mulish and defiant, daring Helen to chastise.

“Why is Mr. Carstairs here?” Helen asked.

“He’s Albert’s hired hand.”

“Albert would never squander money, paying wages.”

“He’s working for room and board.”

Helen cast a contemptuous glance at the squalid space. “It doesn’t appear that he’s working very hard.”

“He has more important things to do than shovel manure.”

Violet chortled, as if she’d shared a humorous joke, and Helen could only sigh. She was alarmed and unbelievably weary.

She felt terrible and—oddly—responsible for her sister’s deteriorating condition.
She
was the one who had convinced Violet to travel to the ranch.
She
was the one who’d dragged Violet onto the train.
She
was the one who’d foolishly assumed that the country air would benefit Violet.

But as she witnessed the result she’d wrought, she was sick with dismay.

Helen’s marriage to Albert had been doomed to failure, a blunder of monumental proportions. Yet she’d escaped it. In the process, she’d left Violet behind.

What now? What now? What now?

What acceptable conclusion could be wrangled for such a wild, unruly girl? Where could she ever be happy? Or at least safe from self-inflicted harm?

At times, Helen wished her parents were alive so they could take control of Violet, so they could advise Helen on what to do. At other times, she was glad they were deceased so they couldn’t see the despicable spot to which Violet had descended.

Helen hadn’t pushed her there—Violet had always been destined for trouble—but it seemed as if Helen had orchestrated the current dilemma. How could she stop Violet’s plunge to madness? How could she slow this inevitable decline?

Violet raised the liquor bottle to down a swig, and Helen yanked it away and tossed it in the corner. It landed with a thud.

“Hey!” Violet protested. “That’s good whiskey. You can’t waste the stuff. It’s my medicine. I can’t function without it.”

She might have risen to fetch it, but she was drunk and disoriented, and Helen was blocking her way.

“You’ve had enough,” Helen scolded.

“I haven’t had
nearly
enough. Not if I have to put up with a dose of your sanctimony.”

Helen ignored the jibe. “Where is Albert?”

“How would I know? Out with his
cows
, I suppose.”

“He’s still at the ranch? He hasn’t left?”

“No, he hasn’t left. He’s too much of a coward. Where would he go anyway? Tell me that, would you?”

Her eyes were venomous, her hatred of Albert clear.

“How long has Mr. Carstairs been here?” Helen inquired.

“I don’t remember exactly. Ten days or so?”

“Did you meet him in Mud Creek?”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Who wants to know?”

“Whose idea was it for him to follow you home? Yours?”

Violet grinned slyly. “Why would I bring him to such a crappy place?”

“He seems like a smart fellow. I don’t expect he’ll stay long.”

“No. On that point, he and I are in complete accord.”

“He’s leaving?”

“Very soon.”

“Has he asked you to accompany him?”

“What if he has?” Violet sneered. “What’s it to you?”

“Has he asked you?” Helen repeated more firmly. “Tell me the truth. Don’t lie.”

“No,” Violet replied, “he hasn’t asked me.”

“You’re hoping he will.”

“Why would I hope that?” Violet claimed. “He doesn’t have any more money than me. Where would we go and how would we get there?”

Helen’s exasperation was beginning to leak out. She needed to keep it tamped down—it was futile to grow frustrated with her sister—but she was so aggravated.

“What is your plan, Violet?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you remain here forever? Don’t you want more for yourself?”

“Who knows what might happen?” Violet snickered spitefully.

“What if Albert leaves? He won’t take you with him.”

“I could live with you,” Violet suggested, then she jeered, “Oh, I forgot. You found your meal ticket, and I’m not welcome to join in the feast. I have to find my own banquet.”

Helen could have argued or defended herself, but bickering was a waste of time.

Violet never thought she was in the wrong. No matter the situation, she never thought she was at fault.

“Fine,” Helen said, “I agree: I’ve found my own banquet, and now, you have to find yours. How precisely will you accomplish it?”

“Whatever I do—or don’t do—it’s none of your business.”

“You’re my sister, Violet. I’m worried about you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. You left me with
Albert
. After that cruel blow, you don’t have the right to question me about anything.”

Helen struggled for calm. There was no appropriate comment, no viable action to be taken.

“Are you having relations with Mr. Carstairs?”

“Didn’t I just mention that you’ve lost the right to question me?”

“What if you get pregnant again?” Helen pressed. “What if the baby catches this time and you don’t miscarry? What then?”

“What if you fall down a well and croak?”

“Have you considered the consequences of your behavior? What if you wind up in trouble, and he abandons you?”

“What if you die and burn in Hell for your adultery?” Violet snorted with disgust. “You always land on your feet, don’t you, Helen? Did you ever notice? You always come out smelling like a rose. Nothing bad ever sticks to you.”

“I try to be a good person.”

“Ha! Is that how you justify your conduct at night when Blaylock is sawing away between your thighs?”

It was a despicable remark, and Helen narrowed her gaze, as if bringing her sister into clearer focus.

She had an image of Violet that had been built over the years in her parents’ home in Maywood. She’d viewed Violet as a younger version of herself, a female with the same type of dreams and goals. Apparently, the picture in Helen’s mind didn’t match the reality. It never had. That was the problem

She’d been defending someone who didn’t exist. The girl sitting before her, this foul-mouthed, offensive, selfish devil, was the true Violet, the
real
Violet.

Helen’s pile of regrets were so vast, she was buried in them.

“Goodbye, Violet.”

“Goodbye, Helen.” Violet was cold, her distaste blatant.

“I’m sad to see that it’s come to this low end for us.”

Violet simply yawned, wanting her boredom to be obvious. “Why don’t you head over to the house? Cook me some dinner before you go. Maybe gather some firewood and light the stove. It’s the least you can do.”

“I think my days of
doing
for you are over.”

Helen spun and left.

Behind her, Violet hurled, “Judgmental shrew.”

The horrid insult was like a knife in the back, but Helen didn’t turn around. She went to her horse, irked to find Mr. Carstairs holding the reins.

“Leaving so soon?” he inquired.

“Yes.”

“Have you and your sister quarreled?”

Helen ignored the probing query. “I’m a bit worried about your presence here, Mr. Carstairs.”

“Why would you be? How is it any of your concern?”

“This place is technically half mine. I’d say that gives me the right to ask a few questions.”

“Albert needed some help.”

“Pardon me if I point out that you’re not providing much in the way of assistance.”

He chuckled. “I’ve never been too interested in manual labor.”

“What are your plans for the future?” she demanded.

“Don’t really have any.”

“How long are you intending to stay here?”

“Don’t really know that, either.”

“My sister is not well. She never has been.”

He shrugged. “She seems fine to me.”

“I’d hate to think you might take advantage of her when she’s ailing.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grinned a wicked grin, trying to earn her good opinion, to make her believe he was honest and decent, but he could never convince her.

As she mounted, he offered his hand to balance her, but she climbed up on her own. He was still gripping her reins, and she reached down and yanked them away.

“I have to tell you, ma’am”—he smirked—“that you’re looking mighty fetching for a woman in your condition.”

She shouldn’t have bothered to reply, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What condition is that, Mr. Carstairs?”

“Your husband told me you were dead. Told me flat out, the first time I ever spoke to him. He said, ‘My wife is dead.’ Just like that.”

“I’m not dead, and I won’t be for many decades. You might remember that if you ever decide to hurt Violet. I have a long memory, and I’d be inclined to retaliation.”

She kicked her horse, and it lurched away from him.

To her enormous relief, James and Robert were riding toward her, Carl’s dog loping behind. She trotted over to them.

James noticed her upset and was about to comment, so she gave a quick shake of her head, urging him to caution. She wouldn’t discuss the situation in front of Robert.

Robert gestured to Carstairs. “Who’s that?”

“Albert’s new hired hand.”

James’s eyes widened with surprise and a touch of alarm. Helen flashed another glance, letting him know she’d share the whole story once they were alone.

“I’m glad Albert has some help,” Robert said.

“So am I,” Helen agreed. “He definitely needed it.”

“What the fellow’s name?”

“Harry Carstairs.”

Helen peered over at James, her expression weary and anxious, even though she was trying to hide it. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

“Let’s do,” James concurred. “I’ll bet Mary’s finished frosting that cake.”

Robert grinned. “Oh, I forgot all about it!”

He whipped his horse around and took off. Helen and James cantered after him.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Albert had been awakened from a sound sleep. He was on the stairs, staring down into the front room. He wasn’t sure of the time, but it had to be very late.

Violet was laughing and stumbling around, which was normal behavior for her. But to his stunned surprise, Harry was with her. They had a fire burning in the stove.

His temper flared.

He’d repeatedly advised her that she could wander all night if she chose, but she absolutely could not waste firewood during the wee hours when any sane person would be in bed.

And why was Harry with her? He had chores in the morning. Why would he feel free to stroll into Albert’s home, to frolic with Albert’s sister-in-law?

“Violet!” Albert snapped. “I asked you a question. What are you doing?”

“I told you: Nothing!”

Albert couldn’t contain his fury. “If you’re determined to lie, I’ll let Harry tell me why you’re causing trouble. Maybe he’ll give me a straight answer.”

He shifted his irate gaze to Harry who was sitting on the sofa. Harry pushed himself to his feet.

“I apologize, Albert, but I heard her outside, caterwauling. I was worried she might hurt herself, so I brought her home.”

“Next time, let her caterwaul,” Albert replied. “If she wants to make a fool of herself, what’s it to you and me?”

Violet bit down a snicker, and she and Harry shared a potent visual exchange. It was a look of close and inappropriate acquaintance, and it riled Albert enormously.

Obviously, they had a friendship of which Albert had been completely unaware. But he should have known, shouldn’t he?

On the day of the barn raising, Violet had proved herself to be a whore, but Harry seemed so smart. Why would he involve himself with her?

“I’ll just see myself out,” Harry said.

“You do that,” Albert tersely responded.

“Again, I apologize for disturbing you.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Albert warned. “You and I have several matters that need addressing.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry acted as if he’d been chastised, but as he turned to leave, Albert was certain he winked at Violet.

Violet grinned and bit down another snicker, appearing very much like a child who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. What game was she playing with Harry? Every sinful thought and deed was visible in her expression. She was no better than Eve in the Bible.

Albert’s rage ignited. He wouldn’t shelter a harlot, and as the door closed behind Harry, he stomped down to her.

“What is wrong with you?” he hissed, marching up, shaking a fist in her face.

“Don’t even
think
about lecturing me.”

“You’ve been whoring for him!”

“If I have or if I haven’t”—she shoved his fist away—“it’s none of your business. How many times must I remind you that you’re not my father or my husband?”

“You’re a single female, living under my protection. You will
not
prostitute yourself! Not while I’m here to prevent it.”

She flopped down on the sofa. “You annoy me. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“Do you hear me? Are you listening?”

“I hear you just fine, and you’re a dreadful boor. Go to bed, Albert!”

The way she sneered his name, the way she mocked and ridiculed, provoked him past his limit.

He grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet so they were nose to nose.

“You will not disrespect me!” he bellowed. “Not when I have fed and clothed you far past the moment you deserved any charity.”