The Return of Caulfield Blake Page 8

  “Ma, you hurt yourself,” little Sally remarked as she sat down and leaned her small head against her mother’s side.

  “It’s nothing, Honeybee,” Hannah told the child. “Where have your brothers gotten off to? I haven’t seen them the past hour.”

  “They rode off,” Sally said, pointing to the south.

  “Not those two,” Hannah said, smiling as Sally squirmed and giggled. “Wylie and Todd.”

  “They’re back at the pond splashing around, Ma.”

  “Why don’t you go fetch them, child. We might have a little lunch, don’t you think?”

  “They don’t like me to watch them swim, Ma. Todd threw mud at me one time.”

  “They know better than to go in the water without anybody back there to watch them. Now go fetch them, Honeybee. Tell them I said to come up quickly.”

  “Yes’m.”

  Sally scampered off, and Hannah set aside her sewing. Her fingers lacked the touch today, and when she gazed again toward the south, she couldn’t help seeing the pillar of smoke rising from the distance. Something was burning, most likely the hovels over at Ox Hollow or Marty Cabot’s place.

  “I never should have let the boys go,” she grumbled. “That’s why Caulie came back, so they would be safe from all this.”

  A vision of Zach slung across a saddle filtered into her mind, and she gasped. Instantly she shook off the thought. After all, Caulie would look out for them. Marsh was there as well. They’d never let her children come into any real danger.

  “Ma, I told them,” Sally said, reappearing at her mother’s side. “They’ve been fishing. Didn’t catch so much as a worm, though.”

  “Well, come along and help me ready lunch. Maybe your father will be home in time to join us.”

  “I’ll set the table for everybody, then. You think Uncle Dix will come? I wish he’d bring Katie. She gave me a bonnet, remember?”

  “Yes, dear,” Hannah said, smiling as she marveled at the simple way five-year-olds looked at life. Hannah wished she could think of bonnets or anything save the distant smoke marking the scene where her loved ones were riding into terrible peril.

  Midday came and went, but without a glimpse of Marsh and the boys. Hannah resumed her sewing, taking time out only to see that little Todd and Wylie had their early afternoon rest. Given to their own inclinations, the four-year-olds would run till they dropped.

  By two o’clock the twins had napped long enough. They were chasing their sister around the house when Hannah hollered for them to hush.

  “I hear something!” she yelled. “Get on over here, children.”

  Sally tugged her reluctant brothers toward their mother, and the four of them sat together for a moment. Hannah reached into her sewing basket and fingered the revolver. Down below, near the creek, horses were splashing their way through the sodden bank. She counted two, three, maybe more animals. She held her breath and prayed it would be Marsh. She fought off darker thoughts—visions of Matt Simpson’s arrogant face bringing home the dead.

  “Hannah, we’re back!” Marsh finally bellowed. At the sound of their father’s voice, the children instantly darted out the door. By the time Marsh Merritt emerged on horseback from a stand of oaks, he was surrounded by grinning faces and eager arms.

  “Marsh?” Hannah called as he halted long enough to pull the boys up on the horse behind him. Sally crawled onto her father’s lap. Still there wasn’t a hint of anyone else. Then Carter rode past his father, his straw-colored hair and pale face blackened with smoke from the burning cornfield. Zach joined them shortly, his normally bright eyes clouded with shock and fatigue.

  Hannah walked out to greet them. As she held the bay’s bridle, Zach managed a faint grin.

  “Is everyone . . . did anyone come to harm?” she asked.

  “One of the Mexican families got themselves killed,” Zach explained. “Happened before we got there. Carlos Salazar was shot, too. You remember Carlos, Ma. He brought that spotted pony over last winter, the one Sadly likes to ride.”

  “And the others?” Hannah asked, turning to Marsh. “They’re all right?”

  “Simpson lost some hands,” Marsh explained. “But Dix and Marty came through fine.”

  “Caulie?” she asked nervously.

  “Oh, he’s just fine, Ma,” Zach said, brightening at the mention of his father’s name. “Should’ve seen him, Ma. He was just like a general, shoutin’ commands, cuttin’ those Simpson riders to pieces.”

  “I thought maybe you’d bring him back with you,” Hannah said as Zach rolled off his horse and leaned against her. “He’s out at Dix’s place all by himself, and . .

  “He knows he doesn’t belong here,” Carter declared. “Not anymore. I made it pretty clear to him.”

  “You what?” Hannah asked. “Carter Merritt! It was I asked him here. He’s more than welcome if he chooses to come, and I’ll not hear you speak ill of him.”

  “He ran out on us, Ma. You forget that? How do we know he won’t do it again?”

  “He won’t,” Zach argued. “He kept lookin’ back to make sure I was all right. He cares, Ma. About you, too.”

  Marsh had sat silently for a time. Now he helped the little ones down, then instructed Carter to fetch the horses along to the bam.

  “Sally, Todd, Wylie, you help your brother. Take my horse, Todd. Wylie, you take the bay. Zach’s pretty well spent, what with his midnight antics and this business today. It’s best we get him along to the house.”

  “Sure, Pa,” the little ones said as one. Carter then climbed down, took his horse in tow, and waved the little ones along.

  “You angry with me, Marsh?” Zach asked when the others had passed from view. “You always say a man ought to tend his own animal.”

  “Won’t hurt the little ones to lend a hand, and Carter knows what to do. I’m in need of a rest just now, and you look to be the same.”

  “Come on, scamp,” Hannah said, leading the sweaty thirteen-year-old toward the house. “I’ll see if we can’t fill a tub. You look to need a good scrubbing.”

  “Yes’m,” Zach admitted. “I feel like I’ve been cooked on a spit and am ready for the smokehouse.”

  “Smell like it, too,” Marsh declared.

  Hannah laughed, then left Marsh to help Zach drag out the washtub while she set kettles of water on the stove. By the time the water was hot, Carter had the horses in their stalls. The tub was soon full, and Zach soaked in it like there was no tomorrow.

  “Never will get me to fight in a battle,” Todd commented as he brought his brother a cake of soap. “Not if you have to take a bath midweek ’cause of it.”

  Hannah laughed as she shooed the little ones along. There were afternoon chores waiting, and all sorts of debris was clogging Carpenter Creek following the flood. Marsh soon had Carter hacking away at tangles of willow limbs and cottonwood saplings. The little ones strained to carry buckets of water from the well to the near-empty water barrels. Sally fed the hogs and watched her little brothers. Hannah settled in beside the tub and rubbed Zach’s weary shoulders. It had been a good while since they’d had a serious talk, and she could read the need in Zach’s bloodshot eyes.

  “I asked him to come home last night,” Zach told her. “He is welcome, isn’t he?”

  “Always has been. He was born here, and he mostly built this house.”

  “Ma, I know you told me before, but I’ve got to ask. How come he left? I mean, I see how much he misses you. It’s on his face. How come a man who feels so strongly would go away? Doesn’t make sense.”

  “I know,” she said, stroking his stringy hair. “I used to think it was because he’d outgrown us, changed so that he didn’t belong. Each year I’m a little less sure.”

  “Carter doesn’t much like him. Marsh, neither.”

  “Carter felt it more than you, I suppose. All of a sudden he was the man of the family. Marsh lifted that burden. As for Marsh, it’s natural he should feel strongly, especially with you taking
to Caulie like you have.”

  “He’s my pa.”

  “It’s more than that,” she said, splashing water onto the boy’s face. “You’re so much like him, Zach. When he was little, Caulie Blake could ride the wind. I never saw a boy who could fill the day with more mischief. Unless maybe it was you.”

  “Oh, Ma.”

  “So don’t blame Marsh if he acts like Caulie’s a bit of a thief. He is, you know. He’s stolen your heart. Deep down Marsh knows there’s a rightness in that, and he doesn’t hold it against you, Zach. Be patient. It’s going to take us all a bit of time to figure out our feelings.”

  “I was considerin’ goin’ over to the cabin, maybe stayin’ there tonight. He’s all alone there, Ma. And if I . . .”

  “No, Zach. Your place is here.”

  “And Pa’s?”

  “Is where he feels he belongs. If he wants, he’ll come here. Caulie never in his life did something he didn’t choose to do. It’s cost him a lot, that headstrong way of his. But it’s made him strong, too.”

  “You still love him, don’t you?”

  “He’s part of me, Zach, just like you and your brothers and sister. We grew up together. A lot of my life passed in the company of Caulfield Blake. But now I feel we’re partly strangers. Seven years is a long time.”

  “I know. I feel it, too.”

  “And I’m not altogether certain I can forgive him, Zach. The hurt is deep.”

  “Yeah, but he came when you asked.”

  Hannah nodded, then left to fetch a towel. When she returned, Zach took the towel, wrapped it around his waist, and shivered his way to the side room he shared with Carter and the twins. Hannah marveled at how small and vulnerable he appeared. And she wondered how she could have been persuaded to allow little Zach to ride off to Ox Hollow.

  She heated the tub twice more that afternoon. First Marsh and Carter washed away their weariness. Then the little ones scrubbed away creek mud and horse sweat. After frying a chicken for supper, she led Marsh out toward the creek to watch the sunset.

  “It’s been a time since we did this,” he told her. “What brought you to bring me here?”

  “I don’t know,” Hannah told him. “I guess I just needed to hold on to someone’s hand just now.”

  “I remember the first time we walked here. You called me Caulie.”

  “We came here often, especially when Pa’s cabin stood just the other side of the creek from Caulie’s place.”

  “You’ve been thinking a lot about him lately.”

  “I know. Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive, Hannah. Only thing is, I’m beginning to wonder just where I fit in. Zach’s slipped away already, and I see you drifting, too. You’re my wife, Hannah. Your name’s Merritt now.”

  “Have I ever given you reason to think I’ve lost sight of that?”

  “No, and I’d keep it that way. I don’t want him here, Hannah. It’s one thing that you didn’t trust me to handle Henry Simpson. Now I’ve lost a son, too. I won’t have Caulfield Blake in my house. People in town are already talking.”

  “People in town,” Hannah said in disgust. “They’ve been the problem more than once, them and their talk. Can you forget who built that house? It’s his home more than anybody’s.”

  “That was long ago, Hannah. It’s my sweat that’s kept the ranch going, not Caulfield Blake’s reputation. He wouldn’t try to take the title back, would he?”

  “Henry Simpson maybe. Not Caulie.”

  “You’d invite him to stay, though. Do your feelings run so deep that I ought to reconsider my place?”

  “Of course not,” she said, intertwining her arm with Marsh’s. “You’re my husband. I’ve got no other. I worry about him, though.”

  “I thought him equal to each and every task,” Marsh couldn’t help saying. “The way Zach talks, Caulfield Blake built the mountains and dug the riverbeds.”

  “He acts that way sometimes, Marsh, but it’s all bluff and bluster. He hurts. And I can’t help wondering if he hasn’t come back to die.”

  “Die?”

  “It’s one way to come home, Marsh. He never took chances when he fought Comanches. He knew we depended on him. It seems to me he’s taken grave risks since getting here.”

  “You think he’d take less chances if you were still married?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Marsh admitted.

  “Caulie’s not so different. He puts on a poker face, but he cares as much as anybody.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  “I know,” she said sadly. “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  Caulfield Blake stayed at Ox Hollow long enough to see the dead laid to rest. Roberto Salazar carved the names of the slain on planks saved from the ruin of the Cortes barn. By dusk the ashes of the houses had cooled, and wagons laden with sullen farmers and their families rolled down the road toward town and a new future farther west.

  “This shouldn’t go unpunished,” Dix Stewart declared. “We all saw Matt Simpson here. I’ll have a warrant sworn out. Justice will be done.”

  “You really think anybody’s goin’ to serve that warrant?” Marty asked. “Who’s goin’ to hang Henry Simpson’s grandson? The boy’s just seventeen. Besides, no one’s forgotten what happened to Caulie after Austin was strung up.”

  “I’m goin’ to the sheriff,” Dix said. “I can’t believe the law’s totally disappeared from Texas.”

  “Whose law?” Caulie asked. “The same law that kept young Perry from gettin’ his papers filed?”

  “I’ll swear out the warrant,” Dix argued. “Will somebody else bear witness?”

  “I will,” Joe Stovall said. “I saw the Simpson boy and Abe Jenkins besides. Don’t know that it’ll do a lick of good, but I’ll put my name to the paper, Dix.”

  “Me, too,” Art Powell added. “We stuck together across half of Tennessee. I can’t see goin’ separate ways now.”

  “Marty?” Dix asked.

  “I’ve got my family to look to.”

  “Caulie?”

  “It’s a long way back to the cabin, Dix.”

  “Then stay the night with us in town. Rita’s not lost her touch with a skillet. I can’t believe you’d choose jerked beef over chicken and dumplin’s.”

  “All right,” Caulie said, sighing. “But it’s like as not to stir up worse trouble.”

  “Worse?” Joe asked. “There’s been murder done here today. How can it get worse?”

  Caulie stared grimly toward the Simpson place. They all knew it could get worse. And most suspected it would.

  Caulie found himself and Dix Stewart received coldly in town.

  “What’s that you say?” the sheriff asked when Dix related the morning massacre. “You did what? Killed raiders at Ox Hollow! Simpson men, you say? And Mexicans were killed as well. I never heard of the like. Why didn’t you send for me straightaway?”

  “Would you have come?” Caulie asked.

  “It’s my duty to settle disputes. Now there’s been bloodshed on both sides. It’s apt to get out of hand. Now you tell me Matt Simpson led these raiders. Matt’s just a boy. He’s a trifle wild, I’ll grant, but he wouldn’t go shooting up farmers without a reason. Those Mexicans, the Salazars in particular, are always stirring up folks. If things are so unfair, let ’em go back to Mexico.”

  “Their grandfather fought with Sam Houston at San Jacinto,” Dix raged. “Their people have lived in Texas two hundred years.”

  “So they claim. I wouldn’t put a lot of stock in such talk, though,” the sheriff said, laying loudly. “It’s easy to claim you’re this and that.”

  “You mean like callin’ yourself a colonel?” Caulie asked.

  “You watch your talk, Blake. I barely kept Matt from pullin’ on you th’other day at the hotel. You keep insultin’ Henry Simpson, you might find riders cornin’ to pay you a call.”

  “Then when Dix brought me into town, you’d likely call me a tr
oublemaker, too, huh?” Caulie asked. “I’m warnin’ you, Sheriff. People won’t stand by and watch night riders terrorize their neighbors.”

  “Oh? Why don’t you go back to your horses up on the Clear Fork, Blake? Leave me to handle things hereabouts.”

  Caulie started to reply, but Dix turned him toward the door.

  “You were right,” Dix whispered. “There is no law in Simpson. We’ll wind up settlin’ tilings ourselves.”

  Caulfield Blake couldn’t complain about coming to town, though. Rita had a true talent in the kitchen, and sitting down to supper at a real table, surrounded by friends, took him back to other, gentler times. But even as he helped little Charlie Stewart clear the supper dishes, Caulie couldn’t help thinking that such peaceful interludes rarely lasted long. And whenever he felt safe, secure, the dark storm clouds of war gathered, and he wound up facing the stiffest trials of all.

  It was a sobering thought, and Caulie was tempted to ride back to the cabin that night.

  “You can’t go yet,” Charlie pleaded. “Pa said you can have my bed tonight. I can sleep in a blanket roll, just like a real range cowboy. Tomorrow Ma’s goin’ to pack us a picnic basket. We can go down to the pond and have a time of it. Besides, you’re supposed to tell me about chasing mustangs up on the Clear Fork.”

  “I never promised to do that,” Caulie grumbled.

  “Well, no, but Katie said you would. You used to tell her stories, or so she says. You ought to do the same for me. I’m half named for you, remember?”

  Caulie grinned as the boy stared up with wistful eyes.

  “Named for me, you say?” Caulie asked, forcing a stern look to his face.

  “Charles Blake Stewart. That’s me. The Blake’s you, right?”

  “Well, I’m not the only Blake to’ve crossed this range.”

  “But you’re the one that Pa rode with in the war. Katie told me all about how you saved his life up in Tennessee. You’re Zach Merritt’s pa, too. Zach and I go fishing sometimes.”