[Texas Rangers 04] - Ranger's Trail (6 page)

Andy said, “I guess a lot of folks wouldn’t understand. I don’t myself, sometimes. The Comanches killed my mother here. Then they took me as one of their own. Some would say I ought to hate them, but they became my people. They’re still my people.”

“
I like to think we’re your people, too, me and Len and Shanty, and the Monahans. Tom Blessing, too.”

“
You are. Guess there ain’t many like me with people on both sides of the fence. Not blood kin, but even better.” Andy turned toward his horse.

Rusty said, “We don’t have to be in any hurry if you’d like to stay a while.”

“
I’ve said all I know to say to her. Stayin’ and wishin’ won’t bring her back. It won’t even bring back a clear memory.” Andy mounted the sorrel and started out.

Rusty remembered the first time he had seen the Monahan farm. Preacher Webb had escorted him there on his way to join the rangers at Fort Belknap. The place had looked like paradise after a long ride up from the Colorado River. Paradise was lost during the strife of war, but fragments had been regained in the years since.

Andy asked, “You nervous?”

Rusty was. The nearer they came to the farm, the less certain he was of what he should say, how he should approach Josie. In his view, one thing had always stood between them. He had once loved her older sister Geneva, but she had married another. For a long time he had feared that his growing feeling for Josie came only because she had begun to resemble her sister so much. The years had gradually erased his doubt, but he was afraid Josie might not be so certain.

He saw two men working with a young horse in a corral, trotting him around and around at the end of a rope. A boy sat on the fence, watching. He raised his arm and pointed, then jumped down and began running toward the two visitors. One of the men called after him. “Billy!”

The boy seemed not to hear. He cried, “Andy! Andy!”

Andy dismounted and swept the boy into his arms, swinging him halfway around. “You derned little Indian, you’ve grown a foot.”

“
I ain’t no Indian. But I
have
grown. I’m near as big as you are.”

He was not, but the point did not merit an argument.

Rusty said, “Howdy, Billy.”

The boy replied, “Rusty,” and gave his attention back to Andy.

He thinks Andy’s the one that hung the moon, Rusty told himself, smiling. Billy was Geneva’s son, and Evan Gifford’s. While Rusty had been away serving as a frontier ranger, Evan had come back from the war, gravely wounded. Geneva had nursed him, and a strong bond had developed between them. Rusty recognized Evan in the corral, along with his brother-in-law, James Monahan. Evan climbed over the fence and walked out to meet the visitors. He was smiling, but his voice was stern.

“
Billy, we’ve taught you not to go runnin’ off by yourself that way. You don’t always know who’s comin’ in.”

Billy said, “I could see it was Andy. Couldn’t you see it was Andy?”

“
My eyes aren’t as sharp as yours.” Evan grasped Andy’s hand as if to crush it. “Good to have you back.” He looked up at Rusty. “You, too. Bring your wagon on up and we’ll unload it.”

Rusty looked toward the main house, hoping to see Josie come out onto the porch. Evidently she did not know he had arrived.

“
Is everybody all right?” he asked.

He caught the serious look that came over Evan’s face. Evan said, “Didn’t anybody write you about Clemmie?”

Clemmie was the family matriarch, mother of Josie, Geneva, and the youngest sister, Alice.

Rusty felt a sharp foreboding. “Our mail goes astray a lot. What’s happened to Clemmie?”

Evan jerked his head in the direction of the main house. “Yonder comes Preacher Webb. It’s more his place to tell you than mine.”

More than thirty years ago, circuit rider Webb and farmer Mike Shannon had found the orphaned Rusty wandering bewildered in the wake of an Indian battle. Mike had become Rusty’s foster father. Webb had been like a benevolent uncle, poor in the world’s goods but generous in spirit and rich in friends. He had married the widowed Clemmie Monahan three years ago.

He seemed older now than he actually was. He had lived a strenuous life, most of it in the service of others. Rusty felt a rush of sympathy as the tall, gaunt minister walked slowly toward him. Every step seemed to bring pain. Rusty hurried to meet him, to spare him from having to come so far. He was conscious that Andy followed him, eager to hear about Clemmie. She had become like a grandmother to him.

Rusty was careful how he grasped Webb’s gnarled hand, knowing arthritis afflicted him. “It’s good to see you, sir. What’s this about Clemmie?”

Webb’s face was grave. “The Bible tells us that even the just must suffer times of tribulation. Clemmie has had a stroke. Her limbs are paralyzed on one side. She cannot so much as leave her bed without someone to support her. She even has trouble in speaking.”

Rusty was momentarily speechless. Clemmie Monahan was a little woman, weighing scarcely a hundred pounds, but she had always reminded him of a willow. Ill winds had bent her more times than was her due, but never, it had seemed, could they break her. It always shook him to see infirmities catch up with people he had considered invincible, like Daddy Mike and Preacher Webb and Clemmie. Such occasions forced him to consider his own vulnerability.

He asked, “Can’t anything be done?”

“
James fetched a doctor out here all the way from Sherman. He gave her some medicine, but I think it was more to bring the family’s hopes up than to fix what’s wrong with her. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve prayed over this.”

“
I wish there was somethin’ I could do.”

“
She’ll be cheered that you’ve come.” Webb put an arm around Andy’s shoulder. “Andy, seein’ you will be better medicine than anything a doctor could give her. She looks on you as one of her own.”

Andy said, “I wish I was.”

Rusty said, “I wonder what brought this on.”

Webb frowned. “Just one trouble too many, I reckon. I don’t guess you knew that Alice ran off with a cowboy.”

Alice was the youngest daughter. Len Tanner had long had eyes for her. This news would be a sad disappointment to him. “Any idea where they went?”

“
We had a letter. Said they got married down at Fort Griffin. James swore he’d go and fetch her back whether she wanted to come or not. He was killin’ mad. Clemmie had to talk hard to stop him. That’s when the stroke hit her.”

“
How did Josie and Geneva take Alice’s runnin’ away?”

“
Better than their mother did, but that’s not sayin’ much.”

Rusty could not wait longer without asking, “How is Josie?”

“
Bone tired. Besides bein’ nurse, she’s takin’ on all the work Clemmie used to do. I’ve been afraid she’d wind up sick herself. You’ll be like a dose of tonic to her.”

“
I’d have come earlier if I’d known.”

“
Josie wrote to you. I guess you didn’t get her letter.”

“
Never did.” He had lost Geneva because of a lack of communication during the last part of his ranger service. She had thought him dead. Evan Gifford had come along, an answer to her loneliness.

Josie heard footsteps on the porch and came to the door. She stared at Rusty in pleased surprise, then self-consciously reached up to check her hair. It needed combing. She said, “I must look a sight.” She seemed to consider retreating back into the house, then stepped out onto the porch and into his arms. He held her tightly and said, “You look beautiful.”

“
You’re a terrible liar.”

“
I’d have come sooner if I’d known about Clemmie.”

He stepped back without releasing her. As Webb had said, she looked tired and drawn. Even so, she was still a pretty woman. Josie’s blue eyes glistened. “I wrote you a letter,” she said.

“
I never got it. I ought to’ve come sooner anyway.”

Webb asked, “Is Clemmie asleep?”

Josie shook her head. “She woke up when she heard Billy holler. She’ll feel better, seein’ who’s come.” She kissed Rusty again. “So do I.” She led him to a bedroom. Andy and Webb followed.

Rusty wanted to say something that might pretend cheerfulness. Seeing Clemmie lying there even thinner than normal, her mouth twisted by the stroke, he could think of nothing that would not sound flippant and false. “I’m sorry, Clemmie.” That was all he could say before he choked.

Her left arm was still and useless. She raised her right arm, and he took her hand. She struggled with her words. “The heart … ain’t quit beatin’.” Her eyes cut to Andy. “How’s … my Indian boy?”

Some people could call him that and he would take it as a compliment. Others said it and he was ready to fight. Clemmie could call him anything she wanted to.

Andy seemed to have as much trouble with his words as Clemmie did. “I’m … I’m just fine.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. His face was pinched. Rusty sensed that only a strong will held back Andy’s tears.

She squeezed Rusty’s hand and looked at her daughter. “Take Josie … take her out into the sunshine. Make her smile.”

Josie protested, “What if you need somethin’, Mama?”

“
Warren … ,” she nodded toward her husband … “he can get it. Or Andy.” She touched the boy’s arm. “You stay with me, Andy.”

Andy cleared his throat. “Sure. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You want somethin’, you just tell me.”

Josie seemed hesitant, but Clemmie dismissed her with a motion of her hand. Rusty put his arm around Josie and walked her out onto the porch. They seated themselves on a bench. She took a deep breath and expelled it. “The fresh air does feel good. I haven’t had much time outdoors since this all happened.”

“
Preacher Webb is worried about you. I’m sure Clemmie is, too.”

“
There’s nobody else here to care for her in the things it takes a woman to do. Alice is gone. Geneva’s got her own family to see after. Preacher Webb and James do what they can, but the rest is up to me.”

“
You’ve got your own life to live.”

“
I wouldn’t have a life if it wasn’t for Mama. She always took care of me. Papa would turn over in his grave if I didn’t take good care of her.”

The family had never entirely recovered from Lon Monahan’s death early in the war. Radical secessionists had killed him for his Union sympathies, and a young son had died with him. After many hardships and indignities, the surviving Monahans had found shelter and protection at Rusty’s farm on the Colorado River. There they had remained until the war ended.

Then, at least, Rusty had known how to help them. He felt useless now.

He said, “I suppose you can guess why I came.”

The look she gave him seemed strangely defensive. “I think I might.”

“
Things are in good shape down at the farm. They came near takin’ it away from me once, but that’s over now. I’m askin’ you to go back down there with me.”

The sadness deepened in her eyes. Tears welled before she turned her head and wiped them away. “For years I waited for you to ask me. Even a few weeks ago, I could’ve said yes. Now I can’t. I can’t leave here while Mama’s in this shape.”

Rusty could not have said the answer surprised him, but it shook him nevertheless. He could have come earlier. Once last fall’s crops had been gathered he could have made the trip at any time. But he had waited, uncertain of the future, uncertain he would continue to own the farm when others wanted it and were more favored by the reconstruction government.

“
We’ve built a separate cabin for Andy,” he said, realizing how feeble an argument that was, how little it must mean to her in the face of hard reality.

She said, “You can see, can’t you, why I can’t go with you? Even if I’d gone with you before, I’d have had to come back. There’s no debt as heavy as one you owe to your blood kin.”

Rusty had no blood kin that he knew of. He had been a nameless orphan, left wandering in the wake of an Indian raid. But he understood what she meant by debt, for since boyhood he had felt a deep obligation to those who had given him a home and selflessly cared for him as if he had been their own.

“
Clemmie would want you to be happy,” he said. He knew that was another weak argument.

“
I couldn’t be happy knowin’ I hadn’t done right by her. No, Rusty, we’ll have to wait … wait ’til Mama gets over this stroke, or ’til …” She did not finish.

He tried to keep his voice from betraying the disappointment he felt. “You’ve got to do what you think is best.”

She leaned against him. “I wasn’t sure you’d understand.”

“
I understand.”

“
I always said you’re the best man I ever knew, Rusty, except maybe for Papa and Preacher Webb. I’ll just have to wait some more. I hope you can.”

He could. He had to. In all his life he had loved only two women. One had been lost to him. He would go to any length to avoid losing this one.

“
However long it takes,” he said. “I just wish there was somethin’ I could do for Clemmie.”

“
The best medicine she could have would be to see Alice come back. Or at least to know she’s all right.”

“
Why wouldn’t Alice be all right?”

“
It’s that man, Corey Bascom. I never did trust him. I don’t think anybody did except Alice. James wouldn’t have hired him if he hadn’t been desperate for help in breakin’ horses. I could see that Alice was taken with him, but I never once suspected they might run off together.”

“
It’s hard sometimes to tell what’s in young folks’ minds.” Rusty often had difficulty in reading Andy’s intentions. He could be as inscrutable as an Indian.

Josie said, “Alice got a thrill out of havin’ all the young bachelors around here come and pay court to her. That’s why I can’t figure why she settled for Corey. He had an air about him like he was hidin’ somethin’. Maybe it was the mystery that attracted her.”