Stands a Calder Man (48 page)

“Well . . . it has been a rough year,” he admitted, pride making it difficult to state why he'd come. “I have been considerin' arranging to get a small loan.”

“You just tell me how much you want and I'll make a draft for you this very minute.” He reached into his desk for the loan forms and picked up a pen to begin filling them out. Then he stopped and looked across the desk at the rancher, as if a thought had just occurred to
him. “I hate turning down business, but you might be better off raising money another way.”

Ed Mace looked skeptical. As far as he was concerned, he had explored every other option to no avail and now found himself backed into a comer, forced to come to the bank with his hat in his hand. Although, he had to admit, so far Doyle Pettit had made it quite painless.

“How?” he asked.

“You've got cattle, and prices have never been higher than they are right now. Why don't you sell off your breeding stock?” Doyle suggested craftily. “Next year, you'll be able to start building up a new herd at probably half the price that you can sell your cows for now.”

Doyle failed to mention that next year Ed Mace wouldn't have cattle to use for collateral, which meant he'd have to mortgage his ranch. After that, buying the ranch cheaply would become a simple matter. It would stretch his own finances thin, but the risk was worth it to get possession of the Snake M Ranch.

The leaves had fallen from the cotton-woods and willows growing along the banks of the river. The skeletal outlines of trunks and branches stood starkly against the tan haze of an October sky. Webb had thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket as he stared at the muddy riverbed. Behind him the ranch buildings of the Triple C sat on sun-baked ground and The Homestead was silhouetted against the jagged northern horizon. But it was the muddy pools of water in scattered pockets along the riverbed that commanded his attention.

“This river has never run dry before.” He turned his head to Nate. “And it's like this the whole length?”

“Worse,” he grunted. “At least here you got puddles. Most stretches don't even have mud in the bottom. The river in the north range still has a trickle running through it.” He wanted a cigarette bad, but there were too many piles of dry leaves around and too much dead grass. “What do you figure on doin'?” Nate's question didn't get an immediate answer. “I heard Ed Mace sold all his breeding stock so his range wouldn't get overgrazed this winter.”

Webb shook his head to refuse that option. “It's taken too long to build our herds and have the kind of quality breeding stock we've got now. I'm not selling.” It was an absolute decision. “We'll throw all the herds onto the north range and hope for the best.” He turned away from the dried-up river. “Get a message to Doyle that we can't spare any more water for the drylanders. The well at the barns went dry this morning.”

Nate said nothing and blew out a wearily grim breath that seemed to ask when the drought would end. By mutual assent, they climbed the bank and started toward the ranch buildings. Abe Garvey was hobbling as fast as he could toward them, puffing at the effort. He stopped and waved to hurry them.

“Hey, Webb! They sent me to fetch you. It's your missus. It's her time!” he called.

Webb broke into a run, excitement and anxiety claiming him at the same moment. “Send someone for the doctor,” he ordered hurriedly. Simon had been at the ranch only yesterday to deliver a son to Ruth.

“No need,” Abe puffed. “He was here, checking to see how Ruth and her baby were doin'. The doc's up at The Homestead now.”

When Webb burst into their bedroom, the pain of the last contraction was just passing. Lilli was breathing deeply and roughly, beads of perspiration collecting on her forehead and above her lips. When she saw the worried look in his rugged and earthy features, she smiled at him, her own unease slipping away.

“You hadn't better be having second thoughts about becoming a father,” she warned him as he took her hand and leaned close to the bed. “Because it's too late for that.”

“No. No second thoughts.” A half-smile came onto his mouth, gentling it. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, and Webb bent down to kiss her.

“None of that.” Simon Bardolph interrupted the affectionate exchange and approached the bed. “Unless you plan on delivering this baby, I suggest you go downstairs and have yourself a drink, Webb.”

“Later.” He didn't take his eyes off Lilli, her dark hair spilling over the pillow her head was resting on, its red sheen subdued.

“Now,” the doctor insisted and gestured toward the door. “Out. It's going to be a while, so go pace the floor somewhere else. I don't want you upsetting our little mother.”

Webb reluctantly gave in to that argument, kissed her again, and left the room to wait downstairs in the den. He tried to stay calm, but he kept hearing little noises upstairs, sounds of movement and muffled cries. They worked on his nerves like a file. The sun was making a blazing descent below the horizon before he heard the squawl of an infant. He took the steps two at a time and knocked impatiently at the closed door. Simon opened it with a wiggling bundle in his arms.

“Chase Calder, meet your father.” He passed the strapping baby boy into the crook of Webb's arm.

“Lilli?”

“She's fine.”

And Webb looked at his newborn son for the first time, all red and wrinkled, a wet mass of dark hair on his head, and a perfectly formed fist flailing the air near his mouth. In a kind of daze, Webb walked to the bed. He could feel the tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at Lilli. Her dark hair was clinging damply to the sides of her face. She looked exhausted, yet remarkably happy.

“The poor thing is as ugly as me.” Webb smiled.

“And he'll be as handsome as you are, too,” she murmured, a little weakly.

Simon came to the bed, smiling at the three of them. “I think your son would like something to eat; then both of them need to rest.”

Webb laid the baby in Lilli's arms and left the room reluctantly for the second time.

After adjusting the hood, Lilli tied it under her chin and glanced at Webb watching her so anxiously. Admittedly she was weak and sore, but certainly not the invalid that he considered her to be.

“I'm ready. Shall we go?” She pulled on her gloves, feeling as bundled up as little Chase was in Webb's arms.

“I think you should stay here,” he said for the tenth time. “It's too soon for you to be moving around. You
should be in bed. It's only been two days since the baby was born.”

“Webb, you're making it sound as if I'm embarking on some hazardous journey,” she reproached him with a hint of amusement. “I'm not going any farther than Ruth's house. I assure you I'm strong enough to walk that far.”

“But there's no need. I can go.” The determined glint in her eye warned him that she had no intention of staying behind. Sighing his irritation, Webb put an arm around her waist and guided her to the front door.

As much as he could, he used his body to shield her and their son from the sharp wind blowing from the north. It swept the dry ground in front of them, brushing up dust clouds to sting their eyes and irritate their lungs.

Virg Haskell opened the door when they arrived at the Stanton house. Webb barely gave Lilli time to push back the hood of her cape before sitting her down in a chair. Little Chase whimpered in his arms, completely covered by the small baby quilt. Webb turned back the corner of the quilt and returned the sugar-tit to his son's mouth to quiet him.

“That's a fine-looking son you have,” Virg Haskell said and glanced at the man and woman, trying to figure out why they had come.

“How's Ruth?” Lilli asked.

“She and the little bucko are doing fine.” He smiled proudly.

From the bedroom, Ruth called out, “Who is it, Virgil?”

“It's”—he half-turned his head to answer—“Miss Lilli and Webb . . . and their son.”

There were sounds of movement from the bedroom. “I'll be right out.”

“Can I get you something?” Virgil offered uncertainly. Even though his wife had become very friendly with Lilli Calder, he doubted that this was a social call.

Dissatisfied with the sugar-tit, the baby in Webb's
arms began fussing and waving angry fists in the air. “You'd better give him to me.” Lilli reached for her son.

Webb gave him into her care before responding to Haskell's inquiry. “No, nothing, thank you. Lilli and I are here to talk to you and your wife on another matter.”

The bedroom door opened and Ruth emerged. It was obvious she had made a hurried attempt to make herself look presentable. A ribbon secured her blond hair in a long ponytail at the nape of her neck, and she was wearing a loose-fitting dress. She was stiff and a little unsteady on her feet, holding on to the doorway before coming the rest of the way into the room.

“Lilli, you shouldn't be up. You need to rest and get your strength back,” she murmured anxiously.

“That's what I tried to tell her,” Webb responded dryly. “But she insisted on coming.”

“I've heard that Indian women have their babies and get right up and do their work,” Lilli said to dispute both of them, “I'm fine, really. Please, sit down, Ruth,” she urged. “Webb and I came because we have something to ask of you.”

“What is it?” Ruth gingerly sat on a chair close to Lilli's and gazed at the baby boy wrapped in the blanket quilt in Lilli's arms. “He's a beautiful baby.” There was a trace of envy in her voice.

“He's a very hungry baby.” Mixed in with the love in her expression, there was regret and a hint of guilt. She hesitantly looked at Ruth. “I don't have enough milk for him. Simon fixed some special milk for him, but it didn't agree with him. He said the best solution would be to find another woman willing to wet-nurse. Webb and I thought”—she paused to glance at her husband, standing beside her chair—“we'd ask you.”

Ruth didn't need time to consider the request, accepting it immediately. “Of course I'll do it.”

“Thank you.” Lilli bent her head to hide her trembling chin and blinked back the tears. Chase began crying again. She tenderly kissed his forehead, then
handed him to Ruth, “It would probably be best if he stayed here at night.” It was the hardest thing Lilli had ever had to say. “I'll have Webb bring his cradle and . . . everything.” Her voice broke.

“Don't worry, Lilli.” Ruth cuddled Webb's son close to her breast and laid a reassuring hand on her friend's arm. “I'll take very good care of him, just as if he were my son.” It was the easiest promise in the world for her to make.

Some kind of maternal alarm clock woke Ruth in the middle of the night for the two o'clock feeding. She picked up her noisy and impatient son and carried him into the living room to sit in the rocking chair. His blond hair was downy soft and curly, his blue eyes showing signs of remaining that color. His given name was Timothy Ely Haskell, but her husband had started referring to him as “my bucko” from the first day. It had seemed to fit him, so that Ruth now thought of him as Buck. She adored him in the special way a mother loves her child, smiling as he tugged fiercely on her nipple and pummeled her breast with his little fists.

But, later, when little Chase Benteen Calder suckled at her milk-swollen breast, there were tears in her eyes. This was Webb's son, different in size and coloring and temperament from her own. She had dreamed of this day—of holding his baby to her breast. It had come true, not exactly the way she had wanted it, but she was nursing
his
son.

The stethoscope was captured by a small hand that immediately decided it was meant to be eaten. Simon Bardolph chuckled and pried the Calder baby's fingers loose from the instrument. Innocent brown eyes looked at him boldly.

“By the looks of you, Chase, you've already had enough to eat,” he declared.

“He has grown, hasn't he?” Lilli declared proudly as her nearly five-month-old son began jabbering. He was sitting up straight, firmly balanced, chubby but not fat.

“He's already trying to crawl, but he usually ends up scooting backward.”

“He'll figure it out soon enough; then you'll probably wish he hadn't,” Simon murmured dryly and closed his bag. “I haven't seen two healthier babies than this one and little Buck in a long time.”

“You will have some coffee and cake, won't you?” she said and picked up the growing youngster, balancing him on her hip. “Webb should be back shortly. He had to go to the train station to pick up the senator. I know he'll want to see you.”

“Can't.” Simon shrugged into his coat. “I have to get over to Kreuger's place. Three of his children are sick. Looks like pneumonia.” He shook his head, unwillingly comparing the disparities between this household and the pitiful circumstances of the dryland family.

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Lilli held Chase just a little tighter. As much as she disliked Franz Kreuger, she still felt sorry for his wife, Helga. “How is . . . his wife?”

His glance skimmed her briefly, trying to decide if she really wanted to know. “I don't think you'd recognize her.” He sighed. “I don't think she eats. I wouldn't be surprised if all the food goes to the children and her husband, and she eats whatever is left.”

Lilli felt guilty at having so much, guilty because she hadn't given a thought to the families she had lived among with Stefan. There had been a vague awareness that the drought and the grasshoppers had hurt a lot of families, but she hadn't let her mind dwell on it. But the doctor's remark reminded her of winters when she had been hungry, with little in the house to eat.

“Simon, before you go, stop at the commissary and take a supply of food with you,” she urged. “If Kreuger asks you where you got it, tell him the church is distributing it. Take food for other needy families in the area, too.”