The Return of Caulfield Blake (17 page)

“If he can stand the strain of four boys inside four walls.”

“Can't be too much worse'n winterin' with a half-dozen buffalo hunters,” Caulie said.

Hannah laughed and waved the boys out the door. Then she grew more serious.

“Marsh is none too happy you're here,” she told him. “I just couldn't see shunting you off to Dix's cabin, hungry and wounded and all.”

“There's a month's food in that cabin,” Caulie said, “and it's far from uncomfortable. It might be better I was gone tomorrow.”

“Better for who?”

“Everybody, especially you, Hannah. I never meant to come between you and Marsh. I must've been a fool to've hoped I could get to know Carter and Zach again without it makin' tilings hard on Marsh. He's been a good husband?”

“The best.”

The answer stung, and Caulie busied himself a moment with the scrubbing.

“Carter told me how hard it was for you,” Caulie told her. “You never let on.”

“Would it have changed anything, Caulie? I don't imagine you had an easy time yourself.”

“No.”

“And now you've come back. There've been a lot of changes.”

“I know. Carter's close to as tall as Lamar was when we raided that depot in Tennessee. As tall as he ever got to be.”

“What will happen next, Caulie? Which way will it turn?”

“Depends on Simpson, Hannah. And the sheriff. I've known lots of lawmen, though, and this one doesn't seem to have the stomach for a set-to with Henry Simpson.”

“So he'll come.”

“Here or maybe to town. He's lost some men. Might be easier to bring somebody in with an itch to set fires.”

“One spark and the whole town would go up. Don't forget. Henry Simpson owns most of that town. He'd hardly celebrate if the hotel burned down.”

“Might be worth it to rid himself of Dix and the others.”

“He could do that just as easily by burning us out.”

“Then it's likely that's what he'll choose to do.”

She started to say something more, but he put a finger to his lips. Little Wylie stood in the doorway, and Hannah turned her attentions to the child. The water was growing tepid, and Caulie rose slowly. He wrapped a nearby towel around himself, then sat in a chair and rubbed the soreness from his weary body.

“I meant to help you with that,” Hannah said.

“You're needed elsewhere,” Caulie said, nodding to a confused Wylie. “I'll tend to myself.”

“But the arm . .

“I've dressed wounds before,” Caulie assured her. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

She seemed a bit disappointed, but she didn't argue. Instead she led Wylie off, leaving Caulie to dry himself. It took but a few moments, and he draped the nightshirt Zach had left him over a pair of tired shoulders and set off down the hall.

Caulie had no trouble finding the boys' room. After all, he and his father had built most of the house. The only change in the room was that the small beds that had once occupied the far wall had been moved to the opposite wall. Two larger beds replaced them. Between the beds lay a quilt Hannah's mother had made from scraps of wool uniform coats left from the war. Underneath that quilt Zach was deep in sleep. Carter lay on the near bed, his eyes wide open.

“He said you'd appreciate the comfort of a real bed,” Carter whispered, pointing to his sleeping brother. “Zach could sleep on a fencepost.”

“Not always,” Caulie said as he sat on the bed and drew the blanket aside. “He used to curl up in a little ball on my lap. Then when I'd place him in his bed, he'd kick like a Missouri mule.”

“He stopped doing that a long time ago.”

“Sure,” Caulie said, sliding beneath the covers. “Seven years changes things.”

“Yes, it does,” Carter said somberly. “What am I supposed to call you? How can we explain you to Todd and Wylie and Sally? Am I Carter Merritt still or am I a Blake again?”

“All that'll sort itself out, son.”

“That's it in a nutshell. Am I your son? Was Marsh helped me use a razor the first time. He bought me a rifle and taught me to shoot. Am I supposed to forget all that?”

“Don't ever forget any of the good things,” Caulie advised. “Try to forgive the bad. My pa told me that when I was just about your age, Carter. I do my best at it.”

“You haven't forgiven Simpson.”

“No, I haven't,” Caulie confessed.

Caulie closed his eyes and let Carter do likewise. But tired though he was, Caulie couldn't seem to find any rest. He kept gazing at his sons, two lean figures with long legs and broadening shoulders. It didn't seem possible. When they spoke, manly sounds flowed from their lips. Carter was using a razor! Was it possible so much time had passed? Seven years. It was a terribly long time, longer even than the war, and that had lasted an eternity. All those months and days alone, drifting rootless on the wind, had taken their toll.

It was too long, Caulie told himself. He'd never drift like that again. No, death was better than being alone.

Caulie woke to the sound of an ax chopping kindling. The sun was well up in the eastern sky, and he was surprised to have slept so late. The other beds in the little room were deserted. Blankets were neatly tucked beneath mattresses, and Zach's bedding was carefully stacked atop a small trunk at the foot of the bed. An ancient pair of woolen trousers and a homespun shirt lay there as well.

“Well, I'll be,” Caulie muttered as he pulled aside his covers and rolled to the end of the bed. “My old chest.”

As he bent over to examine it, his stiff elbow ached. He went ahead anyway. The initials C.B. were hand lettered on the tough leather sides, and Caulie knew all too well what lay inside. A cavalry saber, two Colt dragoon model pistols, a brace of aging flintlocks brought out west by his grandfather, and the remains of a Confederate officer's coat occupied the bottom. On top were clothes left behind, neatly stored away in hope of Caulie's return.

“I always figured you'd be back for that trunk,” Hannah said, stepping into the room. “Guess it's a good thing I saved it.”

“A relic from the past,” Caulie told her. “The clothes'll come in handy now. The guns belong in a travelin' show. They're just curiosities now.”

“They're a legacy. My boys will want them someday.”

“I don't know that I'd bet my house on that, Hannah. Carter doesn't have much use for me.”

“Is that why he spent an hour shining your boots? You always were a mite quick to judge, Caulie. Give them time. They passed a lot of sunsets staring down at the creek, expecting you to ride home from your wanderings.”

“I was told I wouldn't be any too welcome.”

“I was tired of gazing down that road, Caulie.”

“I guess a woman has a right to a husband who stays at her side.”

“She does.”

“I wish I could've been one, Hannah. Wanderin' sure seems to have levied a heavy price.”

“On all of us,” she said sadly. “If you're hungry, I can fry you some ham, a couple of eggs. . .

“Easy up?” he asked, grinning.

“Easy up,” she echoed, returning his smile.

He nodded, and as she headed for the kitchen, he shed his nightshirt and dressed himself. The trousers smelled of mothballs and gun grease, and the shirt fit poorly. They were clean, though, and he'd worn worse.

Caulie smoothed out some of the wrinkles, then joined Hannah in the kitchen. She was busy frying eggs and merely pointed to a chair. He sat down, and minutes later she handed him a platter of ham with two sizzling eggs on top.

“Well?” she asked as he took the first bite.

“Like old times,” he said, smiling.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. She then returned to the stove and set a kettle on to boil.

Caulie saw the distress etched into her face. He knew he'd put it there. He started to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Instead he finished his breakfast in silence.

Later he walked along the hill to Carpenter Creek. Zach was there skipping flat stones across the swollen stream. Hannah's three little ones huddled together beside their older brother and watched. Caulie thought to join them, but the strange uneasiness filling the twins' eyes stopped him. Only the girl seemed friendly. She flashed a good-natured smile in Caulie's direction, and he nodded in answer.

He had a notion to soak his weary feet in the cool water and rest his aching arm, but the sound of an approaching rider cast everything from Caulie's mind.

“Pa?” Zach asked, racing over.

“Best get the little ones up the hill, son,” Caulie warned. By the time Zach chased the twins and Sally back to the house, Marsh and Carter appeared atop the hill armed with shotguns. Only one rider splashed his way down Carpenter Creek, though, and Caulie recognized the scrap of ill-fitting cloth and unkempt blond hair as Charlie Stewart.

“Mr. Blake,” the boy cried, drawing his horse to a halt and gesturing wildly back toward town. “There's been trouble in town.”

“What manner of trouble?” Caulie asked. “Your ma and pa are all right?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy said as he struggled to catch his breath. “Mostly.”

“What happened?”

“Was Colonel Simpson's boys. Nobody saw 'em clearly, but we all know. They raided the jailhouse first.”

“Freed the prisoners?”

“In a way,” Charlie said grimly. “Killed 'em, every last one.”

“Good Lord,” Marsh said, shaking his head as he joined Caulie beside the tired young messenger.

“I guess Simpson's not takin' any chances on a trial,” Caulie mumbled. “Well, there must be more, Charlie. Dix didn't send you out here without a fair purpose. Ridin' these hills alone's not the wisest thing a man could do.”

“They didn't just go to the jailhouse,” Charlie said, staring off into the distance as he tried to swallow a mixture of fear and rage. “They came to the store, tore down the door, then started after Pa. They beat him up. Locked Carlos in the storeroom and pinned me to the floor. We'd helped if we could've. Mr. Cabot and Caleb heard the ruckus and came over. Heaven sent, they were. One look at Mr. Cabot's rifle sent them cowboys runnin'.”

“How's Dix?”

“Fair,” Charlie said. “Ma says town's too dangerous. She put Pa in a wagon and took him to the ranch. The Cabots stayed in town, what with Court still hurt and all. Katie stayed to look after Johnny Moffitt. The Salazars went with Ma.”

“I'll be out to help organize things,” Caulie promised. “You tell your pa not to hurry himself to his feet.”

“He's not one to listen to such advice from me,” Charlie said, stabbing his chest with a thumb. “Might from you, though.”

“I'll saddle my horse. Charlie, are Joe and Art well?”

“They stayed in town, too. Looked scared, though.”

Caulie frowned. Things had quickly taken a turn for the worse. That was certain.

“Charlie, would you like some breakfast?” Hannah called to the youngster.

“Couldn't eat a thing,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “Thank you, ma'am. I'd best get along back.”

“Wait for me,” Caulie urged. “I won't be long.”

He started immediately for the barn. Hannah raced over to argue, but Caulfield Blake wasn't a man who changed his mind once he set it to a course.

“He knows best, Hannah,” a relieved Marsh declared. “The danger's upstream.”

“I know that well enough!” she raged. “You can't let him follow that boy up there and get himself killed. Caulie, Charlie, bring the others here. We can hold out together.”

Marsh shook his head, and Caulie nodded. Dix would never come anyway. The fight had come to his land, and he'd never been one to take the first step in a retreat.

It took but a few minutes for Caulie to ready his horse. The stallion seemed to sense the urgency in Caulie's movements, and the big horse stomped the ground in anticipation. As he smoothed out the saddle blanket and lifted his dusty saddle onto the horse's broad back, Caulie noticed he had company. Carter pushed Zach inside the barn, and the two boys stared up solemnly into their father's eyes.

“Ma'd have you stay,” Carter spoke. “You heard her.”

“In time,” Caulie answered. “Just now it's hard . . . on all of us.”

“Pa?” Zach asked.

“Please, son, no good-byes,” Caulie pleaded. “There've been enough of 'em already, and besides, I'll come back.”

“Will you?” Carter questioned.

“I always have,” Caulie assured them. “Look after your ma.”

Caulie tightened the cinch, stroked his horse's neck, and mounted. He rode past the boys, past a sad-eyed Hannah, and along to where Charlie Stewart anxiously waited.