Wind Song (8 page)

Luke walked over to Matthew's chair and laid his hands on his son's thin shoulders. "It was our pleasure, wasn't it, Matthew?"

She held out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Matthew." She smiled as the young boy stood and politely shook her hand. With his expressive eyes ad thoughtful young face, he was an appealing child. One who touched some tender chord deep within her.

Both father and son walked her out to the horse and wagon. "Stay on the road," Luke cautioned her. "It'll take you right into town."

She hesitated. "The Indians…won't bother me, will they?"

"They shouldn't."

She would have preferred a more positive response. "You mean they
could
bother me?"

"Don't see any reason why they should."

She tried not to think of the horror stories she'd heard involving Indians. Since they hadn't harmed her in the previous encounter, there wasn't any logical reason for them to harm her during any future meetings. "I'm much obliged to you for your hospitality."

"It was our pleasure. Are you sure it's wise to drive all the way to town by your self? I'll help you flag down the train if you like. It should be here around noon."

Not wanting to have to explain her financial bind, she declined his offer. "I think I much prefer getting there by own virtue. I never did like to depend on public transportation, even in Washington."

"If that's the way you want it…" He rested his hand on his son's shoulder. Matthew lifted his hand and waved. Once again, the boy touched her on some level. It was something in his face or, more accurately, something in his eyes that seemed to call out to her. She only wished she knew what it was he was trying to say.

She gave him an encouraging smile, as she would have a student who had raised his hand to speak, only to lose his nerve after being called upon.

Much to her disappointment, Matthew dropped his head and looked so forlorn that her heart went out to him. Had she been deserting a child of her own, she couldn't have felt more guilty. It made no sense, of course. She hardly knew the boy.

She turned her eyes to the boy's father. Luke Tyler's face was without expression, making it impossible to guess his thoughts. "Would it be all right if I write to him?"

Luke touched his son's hair. "We don't have a post office. Not since the fire, and I don't have much call to ride into Hays."

He didn't want her to write. He couldn't have stated it more clearly had he told her outright. Feeling rebuffed, she climbed onto the wagon seat and reached for the traces.

All at once Matthew fell to the ground and began thrashing about in a wild frenzy of arms and legs.

His father quickly scooped him from the ground, but his strong muscular arms seemed challenged to the limits as he fought to control the kicking, wild fury he held.

"What's the matter with him?" she cried.

"Nothing…just go."

"But…"

"Go!"

She flicked the traces and took off down the road. She didn't feel right about leaving, though she had no idea what she could do to help. She wasn't even certain what was wrong with the boy. Was he simply spoiled and given to temper tantrums? Somehow she doubted it. Luke Tyler didn't strike her as the sort of man who would allow anyone, not even a child, to take advantage of him.

It was not epilepsy she was certain of that, for she'd helped several students through epileptic attacks over the years. Nor was it any of the other diseases she could think of that typically caused seizures.

What, then, could have caused such a terrible fit?

Shaking off the impulse to turn back, she snapped the whip over Rutabaga's head. It had been obvious that Mr. Tyler had not wanted her to stay. It was equally evident that father and son had a lot to hide.

She'd traveled a ways down the rutted dirt road before she chanced looking back over her should toward the soddy. Only the windmill was visible from this distance. The other structures blended in too well with the environment to be visible.

But it wasn't buildings she searched for; her eyes sought Luke Tyler and his appealing, though apparently troubled, young son.

Neither of them was in sight.

Chapter 7

The journey to Hays seemed to take forever, partly because she found a cool running stream beneath a cluster of cottonwoods and was reluctant to leave the lovely oasis.

She never saw as much as a single Indian, though she imagined them everywhere. She did pass an enormous herd of buffalo peacefully grazing on a sparkling green sea of soft, bending grass. She wondered if it was the same herd that had stampeded the night before.

At one point she caught a glimpse of a distant train heading in the same direction. Had it been only twenty-four hours since she'd arrived in this desolate land?

It grew hotter with each passing hours. Around noon, she stopped the wagon once again and poured a small portion of water from the canteen onto a clean handkerchief to mop her face and neck.

Feeling slightly refreshed, she nibbled on a piece of dry meat, more to break the monotony of the trip than to satisfy any hunger. The meat was tasty and surprisingly tender. She ate all but a small piece, which she tucked away to eat later.

By the time she reached the bustling town of Hays, she felt as limp as an old rag. It had taken her five hours.

Flimsy wood buildings lined both sides of Old North Main Street. Wagons of every size and description filled the wide dirt road and loudmouthed merchants, vying for customers, hawked their colorful wares. Farmers dressed in canvas overalls could be seen lifting bales of buffalo hides and sacks of dry corn from the wagons onto the platform of the train depot. The waiting train divided the main street in half and held up traffic.

One drummer with a brightly painted wagon took advantage of the ready-made audience that the stalled train provided and shamelessly touted the virtues of Marshall's snake oil.

Curious, Maddie stopped her wagon to watch. The drummer lifted his stovepipe hat to her. "Here's a lady that looks a perfect picture of health." He spoke loud enough for all to hear. "Tell me, Miss, do you by chance owe your good health to Marshall's snake oil?"

Maddie gave the man a dazzling smile. "Of course," she called back. "What do you think made my hair this color?"

Appreciative laughter exploded from the crowd. Maggie swung her wagon around, leaving the drummer to glare after her.

She brought her wagon to a halt in front of the Perty Hotel, which overshadowed a peanut stand and Cy Godard's Saloon and Dance Hall. Inside, the sleepy-eyed clerk stuck his pen into the inkwell and gave her a nod. Overhead, the wooden blades of a fan turned lazily in the hot, oppressive air.

"I would like a room for one night," Maddie explained.

"Sorry, Miss." He had such a slow drawl that even the fan seemed fast in comparison. "There ain't no rooms avail'ble. A recent prairie fire burned down the entire town of Colton. Haven't seen this many people since I left San Anton'o."

"But surely there must be a room somewhere? If you could recommend a place I could stay and find refreshment, I should be most obliged."

"The r'freshment part is no problem. Hays, here, has seventy-five places where a person can quench a thirst. Name your pois'n. Everything from twenty-five-cent whisky to five-dollar-a-bottle Madam Cliquat is at your beck and call. The room? Well, now that might be a probl'm. Yessiree, a probl'm." The clerk thought for a moment. "My advice is to check with Widow Gray. She owns the white house on the next street. Take a right at Hound Kelly's Saloon. I heard tell she was rentin' out rooms to stranded trav'lers. A mighty charit'ble woman, that one."

Maddie thanked him and followed the man's directions to Chestnut Street. The clapboard house was, in her estimation, more brown than white, but the lace in the windows looked warm and inviting.

A matronly woman looked up from the garden as Maddie pulled her wagon in front of the weathered picket fence.

Climbing down from the wagon, Maddie walked up to the gate. "Are you Mrs. Gray?"

The woman straightened. "Indeed, I am. And who might you be?" She spoke with a thick English accent.

"My name is Maddie Percy. I'm looking for a place to stay. I was told I might find a room here." Though the rosebushes were scraggly and dry, the colorful blooms on the other bushes looked as lovely as the flowers in Washington, and Maddie suddenly felt homesick.

The woman stared pointedly at Maddie's blue cotton trousers, then gave a disapproving frown when her gaze came to rest on the mass of tangled red curls that not even Maddie's sunbonnet could hide.

"That will be a dollar a night--and there'll be no carrying on with the other guests."

"At a dollar a night, I should say not!" Maddie declared. "Do you by any chance happen to know where I might find a Mr. Boxer?"

Mrs. Gray narrowed her eyes. "That's the superintendent of schools. What business would you be having with him?"

"He's my employer."

The woman looked incredulous. "You're a teacher?"

Maddie nodded. "I was supposed to teach in Colton. Now I'm not sure where I'll be teaching."

"Oh, heavenly days, the fire." Her manner toward Maddie improved considerably. Apparently teachers were rare enough in these parts to warrant high regard. "A terrible thing. You'll find your Mr. Boxer at the law officers of Lerner and Thornburgh. They were kind enough to let him set up temporary headquarters. It's a short walk. Why don't you leave your horse and wagon here, luv? That way you won't have to fight traffic."

"Thank you, I think I'll do that. Would you mind if I freshen up first?"

"Oh, you poor thing. Come in, come in." The woman stomped her feet on the mat in front of the door to rid her boots of dirt.

Maddie grabbed her valise from the back of the wagon and followed the woman inside the house and up the narrow stairs to the second floor. The necessity room was to the right of the hallway.

"You won't find better in Kansas," Mrs. Gray said proudly. The room was complete with a dry sink and oval mirror, but was sadly lacking by Washington standards, and any calls by nature would have to be answer with a trip to the outhouse in back.

Maddie thanked the widow and as soon as the older woman took her leave, poured water from the china pitcher into a matching basin. It felt good to wash the dust and grime off her face and hands, but it was only a temporary measure at best. What she really longed for was a bath.

She brushed her hair, braided it, and pinned it up in cogwheel style over her ears. She debated whether to change into more suitable attire before meeting Mr. Boxer, but decided against it. It was far too hot to bother. Besides, after being left stranded the day before, she wasn't feeling particularly charitable toward the man.

A short while later, following Mrs. Gray's instructions, Maddie walked down Chestnut to Old North Main Street. She quickly located the stone law offices on the other side of the train tracks.

Inside, several men, including the sheriff, sat in a semicircle facing a wall chart. A man whom she presumed to be either Lerner or Thornburgh (given the size of his girth, possibly both) broke away from the group of men to greet her. "May I help you, Miss?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Boxer."

The man standing closest to the chart turned and peered over the steel frames of his spectacles. "Elliot Boxer at your service. How might I help you?"

"I'm Madeline Percy." When he showed no recognition of her name, she explained further. "I agreed to teach in Colton."

The man's confusion cleared. He nudged the bridge of his glasses up his nose with his forefinger. "Oh, yes, Miss Percy. You came all the way from…"

"Washington."

"Yes, yes, I remember now. As you are no doubt aware, we had a most unfortunate fire."

"So I discovered."

"Burned everything down to the ground." He shook his head, and his glasses slipped back down his nose. "Most unfortunate."

"Yes, it was." She hesitated. "I was wondering if I might have a private word with you?" She glanced at the other men, who had risen to their feet at sight of her and who were now watching with open curiosity. "If you prefer, I could come back later."