The Return of Caulfield Blake Page 12

  “It might be if you hadn’t stopped ’em at the creek. Pa, they’re short on space and long on trouble here. Come back with me.”

  “Your ma send the invitation?”

  “She sent me. It’s pretty close to the same thing.”

  “Is it?”

  “Pa, when I was really little, I remember talking to you about the war. You were selling horses to the Yanks, and I was all mad about it. Remember?”

  “I’m surprised you do. You weren’t very big.”

  “I didn’t understand how you could do business with ’em after they killed your own brother. You said something I still remember.”

  “Oh?”

  “You told me somebody has to start mending fences. Don’t you think maybe you could do that with Ma?”

  “I don’t know that we’ve got fences to mend.”

  “With Carter then. Lord, he’s got himself all tied up in knots about you coming back. He won’t even talk to me ’cause I take your side. Ma storms around the kitchen, tossing pots here and there, mad at everybody for no reason.”

  “That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “It’s ’cause she’s worried. I know that. She blames herself for getting you in the middle of all this.”

  “I’ve been in the middle of this a long time, Zach.”

  “She asked you to come back, though. Tliere’s something more, too. Old man Simpson could come to our place. I got nothing against Marsh. He’s been better’n just good to me. Carter’s a fair rifle shot, too, but we wouldn’t stand much of a chance. I heard all about Court Cabot from Caleb. If anything was to happen to little Sally or Todd or Wylie, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “You needn’t worry about any such thing.”

  “I do worry. Come home?”

  Home? Caulie thought as he gazed into Zach’s reddening eyes. Did such a place really exist anymore? Would he be welcome, or would words fly like Hannah’s frying pans?

  “Pa, please?” Zach pleaded.

  “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to pass one night there. It’s a long ride. You sure you can get me there?”

  “Blindfolded,” Zach said, jumping up and leaning against Caulie’s bloodstained arm. “She’ll be glad to see you. You’ll see.”

  Glad wasn’t exactly the word for it. Hannah’s face bore signs of shock and surprise. As Zach led the horses to the bam, she rushed to his side.

  “They’ve shot you!” she gasped.

  “Hardly broke the skin,” he told her as she examined the arm. “I wouldn’t worry myself, Hannah. I’ve had worse bein’ tossed off an unladylike mustang.”

  “I know all about that, and I know when somebody’s been shot, too.”

  She conducted him inside the house, removed the bandanna, and scrubbed the wound. After fixing him a cup of mint tea and stuffing a thick slice of bread down him, she ordered Carter to drag out the bathtub once again.

  “I’m too tired for all this fuss, Hannah,” Caulie complained.

  “Tired or no, I won’t have you fester up on me.”

  “I can take my own bath.”

  “Don’t let it bother you, Pa,” Zach said, gazing in through the doorway. “She bosses everybody that way, and she bathes us all right in front of everybody.”

  “Not me,” Caulie objected. “It’s not proper. We’ll do it in the kitchen. And what help I might need Zach can provide.”

  “Zach needs his rest,” Hannah told them. “Get to your bed, young man. As to your privacy, Caulie Blake, there’s not much I haven’t seen before, and more than once I might add.”

  Zach laughed loudly, and Carter dragged the bathtub in.

  “Boys, see if you can get him out of those rags. I’ll bet Marsh has something he can wear.”

  “Ma, remember that old trunk in the storeroom?” Zach said. “It’s full of Pa’s old clothes. Some likely still fit. He hasn’t put any weight on.”

  “Probably not,” Hannah agreed. “I’ve tasted his cooking. I wouldn’t feed it to pigs.”

  “Now hold on,” Caulie complained. “I seem to recall you took a likin’ to my berry pies.”

  “Well, you did have a way with baking, I grant. But what you did with meat stands as a crime.”

  He laughed at her, and for a second the last seven years seemed to fade off into memory. Then he spotted Carter’s disapproving face and grew silent. Hannah saw it, too.

  “Ma, the little ones are waiting for you to hear their prayers,” Carter said. “Pa’s been in there awhile, biding time till you came.”

  “Then I’d best go along,” she said. “The boys can start the water boiling.”

  “Sure,” Zach said as he took down a kettle from the wall and headed for the water barrel. Carter turned away, but Caulie reached out and held the boy in place.

  “Don’t you think it’s time we made our peace, Carter?” Caulie asked. “I don’t think I can bear to read so much hatred in your eyes.”

  “When you leave, you won’t have to see it anymore,” Carter said, shaking loose.

  “That’s true. Is that all I should remember?”

  Carter stopped a second. He turned slowly and stared sadly at Caulie.

  “You didn’t have too much trouble forgetting the'last time.”

  “I didn’t?” Caulie asked, his eyes growing wide. “You boys were never out of my thoughts. I wrote, often and steady.”

  “Letters,” Carter grumbled. “What use’s a letter? You don’t know how it was, all the people calling you names, saying you were a coward and a traitor, siding with the Yanks and all. Ma quit sending us to school in town. ’Cept for Kate Stewart, I had no friends. Ma wasn’t even welcome at church.”

  “It was hard on me, too,” Caulie said as he unbuttoned his bloody shirt. “I lay on my back three days. Then I rode as far north as I could. Even so, for six months each time I saw a stranger, I figured he was sent by Henry Simpson.”

  “We even changed our names!” Carter cried.

  “That’s a lot to ask a man to do,” Caulie said, gazing at the floor. “But not as much as to ask him to give up his wife, his family, his home. Seven years is a long time, Carter, and I won’t ask forgiveness. Only know for each hour of pain you’ve felt, I’ve known two. And many’s the time I’ve thought I’d been better off if Simpson’s hirelings’d finished me that night in town.”

  “I never wished for that,” Carter said, sitting beside Caulie on the floor. “But you brought down such hard times on us.”

  “Not me,” Caulie objected. “Henry Simpson. And now he’s started again. It’s time he paid.”

  “Men like Simpson never pay,” Carter said bitterly. “They hire the work done, or they buy off judges.”

  “He didn’t the last time,” Caulie declared. “And he won’t this time, either. We won’t settle our business in a courtroom. It’s bound to come to a head soon, and the final word will be spoken out there among the same rocks and hills and creeks we’ve fought over for fifteen years.”

  “Who will win?” Zach asked, returning with the water.

  “I guess we’d better,” Caulie said as Zach lit a fire and filled a kettle with water.

  By the time the water was hot and the tub was full, Caulie had shed his clothes and settled into the bath. The swirling warmth chased off some of the shivers that had plagued him since the ambush. The reluctant approval in Carter’s eyes had done the rest.

  “Time you boys were in your blankets,” Hannah announced as she returned to the kitchen.

  “I left you a nightshirt there on the chair,” Zach explained before going. “Carter and I’ll carry the rest to our room. It all right if he beds down with us, Ma?”

  “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 cou
ldn’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.

  Chapter Fourteen

  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.”