The Legacy (11 page)

“Good morning, Mrs. Massey,” Hutch called, giving her a start. He was approaching from the green expanse beyond the parked wagon, a chestnut horse held by a halter rope in each of his hands. “How did you find your first night as a cow-puncher?” he smiled. Caroline smiled back, not really understanding him.

“Good morning, Mr. Hutchinson. I slept well, thank you.”

“I’m taking these two to water at the creek over this way, then I’ll get some breakfast cooking,” he said. Caroline nodded, and glanced around. “I put a can of water there, in case you wanted to freshen up any,” he added, smiling again as he made his way past the camp.

Caroline’s real want, however, was for plumbing. She dithered for a while and then realized, to her dawning horror, that she would have to relieve herself amidst the bushes, and that Hutch’s ostentatious departure in the other direction was probably meant to reassure her that he would be nowhere around to witness this indignity. He had placed a wad of torn up news sheets and a thin cotton towel next to the solicitous can of water. With a horrified grimace, Caroline made as best use of these meagre facilities as she could. Upon his return, Hutch, with great delicacy, neither looked for nor asked after any of the items he had set out for her.

By midday the sun was scorching, but Caroline’s arm, clutching her dusty parasol, was heavy with fatigue. She gave up and folded it into her lap. Looking up into the vast, fathomless sky, she saw two distant dark spots, circling high above.

“Are those eagles?” she asked, pointing skyward, and noticing as she did how brown with dirt her lace glove was. Hutch followed her gaze, squinting.

“Just buzzards, I’m afraid. Not really many eagles down here on the prairie. If you go up into the Rockies you’ll see some beautiful birds. Those are some sharp eyes you’ve got there, Mrs. Massey,” he told her. He looked back out over the horses’ ears and sang quietly to himself:
“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do . . .”
Caroline let her eyes drift to the horizon, then she straightened in her seat and pointed again.

“Somebody’s coming!” she exclaimed, excitedly.

“Well, we’re not at all far from the ranch now, ma’am. It could be one of our own riders,” Hutch nodded, with a subtle smile.

“Is it Corin?” Caroline asked, her hands flying to her dishevelled hair. She began to tuck wayward strands of it beneath her bonnet. “Do you think it’s Mr. Massey?”

“Well,” Hutch smiled again, as her frantic grooming continued, “I know of no other man who rides a mare as black as that in this vicinity, so I think it just might be your husband after all, ma’am.”

Caroline was still brushing her skirts and pinching her cheeks, not caring if Hutch witnessed these efforts, when the rider drew near, and she at last saw Corin for the first time since she’d wed him over a month before. She let her hands fall neatly into her lap, and sat up straight even though she was bubbling with nerves inside. The black horse covered the ground in an easy lope, kicking up sprays of sand, and when at last he reached them Corin pulled the kerchief down from his face to reveal a wide grin. He was as golden and lovely as she remembered him.

“Caroline!” he cried. “It’s so good to see you!” He swung down from his horse and came to stand by her foot. There she remained, seated high on the wagon, transfixed with fear and anticipation. “Are you well? How was the journey?” When she didn’t reply Corin’s face fell a little and a puzzled look came into his eyes. This was her undoing. Still lost for words, and more relieved to see him than she would ever have admitted, Caroline surrendered all propriety and toppled herself from the bench into his waiting arms. Only the sparseness of her prevented the couple ending up in the prairie sand. Behind them, reins held casually in one hand, Hutch watched with a laconic smile, and gave his boss a genial nod.

T
here was a scattering of people around the ranch house when the wagon bringing Corin Massey’s new wife finally pulled up outside. They were young men mostly, with worn, dusty clothes, who seemed, nevertheless, to have made some attempts to comb their hair and tuck in their shirts. Corin smiled at the trepidation on Caroline’s face as she gave her own filthy attire another despairing glance. The men nodded, tipped their hats and murmured greetings as she climbed down from the wagon, and she smiled and acknowledged them politely.

“I so want to take you on a tour of the ranch, Caroline. I’m so excited to show you everything! Unless you’re too tired after your journey?” said Corin, swinging down from his horse.

“Oh, I am so tired, Corin! Of course you must show me everything, but first I need to lie down, and then take a bath,” she said. Corin nodded readily, although he looked a little disappointed. The tall, white house Caroline had envisaged was instead a low, wood-frame building; and although the front had indeed been painted white, prairie sand had blown up against it and given the bottom half a grubby look. Corin followed her gaze.

“A spring wind blew up before the paint had a chance to dry,” he told her, sheepishly. “We’ll paint over it, don’t worry. Luckily we only had time to do the front, so not too much work was undone!” Caroline peered around the corner of the house, and sure enough the sides remained bare wood.

“I’ll see to Strumpet. You take Mrs. Massey on into the house,” Hutch said, taking the reins from Corin.

“Strumpet?” Caroline asked, bewildered.

“My mare,” Corin grinned, giving the horse’s forehead a rub. Caroline knew little enough about horses, but the animal appeared to scowl. “The most contrary, bad-tempered soul you’ll find on these lands, and that’s a known fact.”

“Why do you keep her, if she is so unpleasant?”

“Well,” Corin shrugged, as if this had never occurred to him, “she’s my horse.”

Inside, the walls were bare and no curtains hung at the windows. There was furniture enough but it was placed higgledy-piggledy, at odds with the angles of the room. An easy chair drawn up to the burner, with piles of livestock journals and seed catalogues beside it, was the only thing that looked to be in its right place. Many boxes and cartons stood around the floor. Caroline turned a slow circle, gazing at all this, and sand rasped beneath her boot heels. When she next looked at her husband she could not hide her dismay. Corin’s smile faded from his face.

“Now, I deliberately didn’t have it all fixed up because there was no point, I thought, until you’d arrived and told me
how
it should be fixed. We’ll get it set up quickly enough, now that you’re here,” he explained, hurriedly. Caroline smiled, drawing in a shaky breath rich with the scent of newly hewn oak. “It just . . . it took me longer than I had planned to get the place built . . . I’m sorry, Caroline.”

“Oh, no! Don’t be!” she exclaimed, anguished to see him crestfallen. “I’m sure it will be wonderful—I know just how we should finish it. You’ve done
so
well.” She turned and leant her head against his chest, and revelled in the smell of him. Corin pushed strands of hair back from her forehead and held her tightly. His touch made her warm inside, and gave her a tight feeling, like hunger.

“Come with me,” he murmured, and led her through a door in the far corner of the main room, to a smaller room where a large iron bedstead dominated. It was draped with a fine, multicolored quilt, and Caroline ran her fingers lightly over it. The fabrics were satins and silks, cool and watery to the touch. “I had the bed freighted all the way from New York,” Corin told her. “It arrived right before you did; and the quilt was my mother’s. Why don’t you try it?”

“Oh, no! I’d dirty it. It’s so lovely, Corin,” Caroline enthused.

“Well, I’m dirty too; and I say we try it out.” Corin took her hands and then her waist, and then linked his arms around her.

“Wait! No!” Caroline laughed, as he pulled them both down to land, bouncing, on the mattress.

“We never did get our wedding night,” he said softly. The sun streaming in from the window lit his hair with a soft coronet and threw his brown eyes into shadow. Caroline was very aware of the stale smell of her own unwashed body, and the dryness of her mouth.

“No. But it’s not bedtime yet. And I need to bathe . . . and someone might see in.”

“We’re not in New York any more, love. You don’t have to do as your aunt tells you, and we don’t have to do what society tells us . . .” Corin placed his hand flat on her midriff and Caroline caught her breath, fast and shallow in her chest. He worked each button of her blouse free and smoothed it gently aside.

“But, I—”

“But
nothing
,” Corin murmured. “Turn over.” Caroline obeyed, and Corin fumbled slightly as he undid the laces of her corset. Released, the sudden rush of air into Caroline’s lungs made her head spin, and she closed her eyes. Corin turned her to face him and traced the lines of her body with the roughened palms she had noticed the first time they met. He kissed her eyelids softly. “You’re so beautiful,” he said quietly, and his voice was deep and blurred. “Eyes like silver dollars.” Alarmed by the force of the passion she felt, Caroline kissed him as hard as she could. She had little enough idea what to expect, knowing only that Corin now had rights to her body that nobody had had before. Bathilda had hinted darkly at pain that was to be borne, and duties that were to be performed, but the press of Corin’s skin against her own was a feeling more wonderful than any she had yet experienced; and the gentle insistence of his touch, the shift of his weight between her thighs, filled her with a sensation that was hot and cold and almost painful and so far beyond anything she had felt before that she cried out in astonished joy, no longer aware that there was any impropriety, or anybody else in the world to hear her.

C
orin toured his new wife around the ranch in a buggy, since it was too far to walk and she had never ridden horseback before. He had seemed stunned by this fact, but then he’d shrugged and said, “Don’t worry; you’ll learn soon enough.”

But Caroline did not trust the animals, with their ugly teeth and brute strength, and the thought of sitting atop of one did not appeal to her in the slightest. When Corin proudly introduced her to his brood mares, and to the stallion Apache, Caroline nodded and smiled and struggled to tell them apart. The creatures all looked the same to her. He drove her around the various corrals, stock pens and cattle chutes, and the low, roughly built bunkhouses where the line-riders slept. Caroline noticed how comfortable her husband seemed, without a trace of the uncertainty or diffidence he had shown in New York society. They passed a pitiful-looking hovel, half dug into the ground and then roofed with planks and sod.

“That would have been our home, if you’d come to me much sooner!” Corin told her with a smile.

“That?”
Caroline echoed, appalled. Corin nodded.

“That dugout’s the very first dwelling I put here when I staked my claim in ninety-three. And I wintered in it twice before I got a proper house set up—I found one out on the prairie and dragged it here—if you can believe that!”

“You stole a
house
?”

“Not stole! No, not that. I suppose it had been put up by some boomer, trying to settle the land before it was legal. Well, whoever built it had moved on, or been moved on. It was just sitting there, sheltering nothing but rattlesnakes; so I shook them out, loaded it on a flatbed wagon and dragged it back here. It was a good little house, but certainly not roomy enough for a family.” As he said this he took her hand and squeezed it; and Caroline looked away bashfully.

“A
large
family?” she queried, tentatively.

“I reckon four or five kids ought to do it,” Corin grinned. “How about you?”

“Four or five ought to do it,” she agreed, smiling widely.

“Here, now; this is the shelter we bring the mares into when they’re due to foal.”

“What’s that?” Caroline asked, pointing to a conical tent beyond the mare’s corral.

“That’s where Joe’s family lives. See the dugout beside? Joe and his wife sleep there, but his folks wanted a teepee like they’d always had, and so that’s what they live in still. They’re a traditional sort of people.”

“Why would . . . Joe’s family live in a teepee?” Caroline asked, perplexed. Corin looked at her, as puzzled as she.

“Well, they’re Indians, sweetheart. And they like to live as they ever have, although Joe himself is more forward-thinking. He’s worked the trails for me since the very beginning, when I could only pay him in clothes and five-cent tins of Richmond tobacco. One of my best riders—”

“Indians? There are
Indians
here?” Caroline’s heart quickened and her stomach twisted. She would not have been more shocked if he’d told her he let wolves roam amidst his cattle. “Hutch told me they were all gone!” she whispered.

“Well, most of them have. The rest of Joe’s people are on the reservation, east of here, on land that reaches the banks of the River Arkansas. Those that remained here in Oklahoma Territory, that is—Chief White Eagle leads them. But some went north again a few years back. Chief Standing Bear led them back to their Nebraska lands. I guess they were more homesick than the others . . .” he explained, but Caroline scarcely heard this brief history of the tribe. She could not believe her ears, or her eyes, that here camped on her doorstep were the savages of whose atrocities lurid stories had circulated in the east for decades. Fear froze her to the core. Wildly, she grabbed the reins from Corin and dragged the horse’s head around, back toward the house.