Deborah Camp (30 page)

Grandy’s head came up and he looked toward his room. A child’s room.

“I had something to live for,” Zanna continued, rising and moving lithely around the room. “A baby! I started filling my time with plans for the baby growing inside of me, imaging how I would welcome it into the world. Yes, that was to be my child’s room. It was a girl.”

Grandy’s gaze swept up to hers. He waited, dreading the rest.

“It was a stillbirth,” she said, her voicing dropping with her spirits. “I was in my sixth month. Fayne came home angry about something. A damaged fence, wet weather, lost steers, I forget just what.” She shrugged. “He grabbed up one of the fire irons and started hitting me.” She saw Grandy’s gaze flicker toward the fireplace. “They’re gone. I got rid of everything that had bad memories. The fire irons. The bed Fayne and I slept in. The barn. That chair is about the only thing I kept that was Fayne’s and I kept it because my father liked it, too.”

She passed a slender hand across her damp cheeks. “I fell over the sofa and knew that something had broken inside me. I told Fayne, but he just went on with his business. He took his pleasure and left me lying on the floor. By the time he came back, I was lying in a pool of blood and had lost consciousness. That’s when he sent one of the men for Doc Pepperidge.” She walked behind the sofa. “See? I never could get the stain out. You can still see the dark spot where my blood soaked into the wood.”

Grandy twisted to look over the back of the sofa. Sure enough, the spot was there. But it wasn’t what he would call a spot. It was a stain worthy of a large throw rug. Futility writhed in his gut and he stood up and went to the front door, opening it so that the breeze could lick the sticky sweat from his face and neck.

“Doc Pepperidge helped me with the stillbirth. He told me it was a girl. He said it was a wonder I didn’t die. At the time I wished I had, but Doc Pepperidge said I was a healthy woman and I’d survive.” Her voice was a monotone, relating the story with little outward emotion. She sighed. “And so here I am. I’ve always had a strong constitution.”

Her last comment struck him as ironic, she looked so frail. But he agreed with her. She had iron in her veins.

“Doc Pepperidge,” Grandy said. “He knew? He knew about Fayne’s other side?”

“I think he suspected all along, but I’m sure he knew
after I lost the child. He examined me thoroughly and I saw pity on his face when he saw the bruises and other signs of violence. Of course, he’d seen me before. One time he set my arm after Fayne broke it and another time he was summoned when I hit my head. I was black and blue that time and I’m sure Doc Pepperidge didn’t believe I got that way by falling off a horse, which is what Fayne told him.”

Grandy ran his eyes up and down her slender body, wondering what pleasure a man would take from harming such a fragile being. “So what did the doctor say to Fayne?”

“About what?”

“About your injuries.”

“Why, nothing.” She batted her eyes, confused. “What could he have said?”

Grandy swung around to confront her. “He could have told Fayne to keep his damned hands off you or he’d kick the shit out of him, that’s what!”

Zanna smiled, touched by his clear-cut thinking. “No, Grandville, you don’t understand. I’m sure Doc Pepperidge felt that whatever went on between Fayne and me was private. Isn’t that how we’re all taught? That what goes on between a husband and wife is personal?”

“Not when one or the other is in danger. He’s a doctor, for God’s sake! He’s supposed to heal the wounded and prevent disease, not watch an epidemic of violence break out right under his nose and not lift one hand to prevent it!”

“What could he have done?”

“I told you. He could have tried to talk some sense into Fayne and if that didn’t work, he could have gone into town and brought the sheriff out here.”

Zanna clasped her hands and brought them up under her chin, baffled by his inability to understand human frailties. A man of action, he couldn’t forgive those who weren’t strong or swift enough to equal him. “What you’re
saying wasn’t possible. Why, if Doc Pepperidge had said anything to Fayne, Fayne would have blown up. He would have stopped speaking to the doctor and he’d have told everyone else in town to shun him. Within days, Doc Pepperidge would have been ruined. As for the sheriff, Fayne handpicked him. He owned him. Don’t you understand? Fayne was loved and respected. No one would have believed him capable of such cruelty. Even if
I
had made it public, no one would have believed me. Look what happened to Duncan’s wife.”

“What?”

She sighed, wishing she hadn’t brought it up, but forced to deal with it now that she had. “She told some of her women friends about how Duncan beat and whipped her. Word got around and everyone called her crazy. They pitied Duncan and thought he was such a good man to stay with his lying wife. Finally, she could take it no longer and hanged herself.”

It was too much. Grandy whirled and applied the flat of his hand to the door facing, wishing with all his might that Duncan Hathaway would ride up this moment on his crazed palomino so that Grandy could wrap his shaking hands around the man’s scrawny throat and throttle him. He looked outside with unseeing eyes and waited out his burst of fury, but it seemed there was no end to it.

“Good God! What a bunch of despicable neighbors you have around here,” he bit out.

“Not just here. Everywhere.”

“But if you’d spoken up … Theo would have stood beside you and maybe even Doc Pepperidge. You might have been heard.”

“No.”

“You sound just like my mother. Why is it women let men run over them and keep quiet about it?”

She frowned, disappointed in him, yet not really surprised that he didn’t understand. Men seldom understood the prison in which they’d placed their women.

“Because we have nowhere to go,” she explained. “No way to make a living unless we sell ourselves. No money, no pride, and nothing in this world except our own shame at ending up in such a state. That’s why we keep quiet. Most of us have children whom we place before ourselves. We can’t leave the children with the very men we fear, can we? So we stay because the other choice is no choice at all.” She went to the window and looked out. “The fire’s dead,” she whispered, feeling cold and black inside. “The people around here had known Fayne all their lives, but not many knew me. I could have shown off my bruises and broken bones, but they would have believed Fayne’s stories about my accidents and then Fayne would have brought me home and taken his anger out on me full force.”

“What about Perkins and the others?”

“Fayne was their boss. They did as they were told and kept their ears and eyes closed. I think Perkins figured out that I wasn’t a clumsy fool, but he never said anything. It wasn’t his place to say anything.”

“His place …” Grandy sucked in his breath, seething with anger. “If I’d been here, I would have hung Fayne out to dry and let the buzzards finish him off.”

She examined the arrogant thrust of his jaw and smiled. “I believe you would have, Grandy, but then you understand to some extent. You were raised by a brutal man. So many people could have no idea what kind of pain I’ve endured at the hands of Fayne and Duncan Hathaway.”

He reached out one hand and trailed his fingertips down her damp cheek. His hazel eyes spoke to her of bright, noble things. “My God, you’re brave.”

“If I were brave, I would have taken up a pistol and killed myself.”

“No!” His hand slipped beneath her hair and curved at the back of her neck. “Don’t say that. Don’t
ever
say that!”

She stared at him with blinding realization, suddenly
aware of the full intensity of his reactions to her story. With a comforting smile, she grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away because his touch had become too tender for her to bear.

How could she feel worthy of his sympathy when she was still keeping from him her most despicable, unforgivable sin?

“I swore to myself that I’d never involve anyone else in this ugly life of mine. It tortured Theo so …” She bit lightly on her lower lip, thinking of the courageous gentleman who would walk through fire for her. “Theo can’t think rationally where I’m concerned and he tends to do foolhardy things.”

Grandy found himself wishing that thoughts of him could make her eyes shine with devotion and her expression soften into that of an angelic cameo. Theo Booker did that to her. Booker brought out the maternal, nurturing goodness in her. What do I bring out in her? Grandy wondered, but couldn’t answer his question with any certainty.

“Did you think that by marrying me you’d send Duncan running with his tail between his legs?” he asked and was pleased when his question made her smile.

“Not even in my wildest dreams did I think that. I thought you might deter him. Having a husband, I felt, might make me more respectable and therefore make it more difficult for him to treat me badly. I thought I might be able to wear him down, make him tired of waiting for me to be …” She gave him a quick, furtive look.

He nodded. “To be alone,” he said. “That’s why you didn’t want me to go to market or ride the range. You were afraid to be alone because Duncan would get wind of it and come over to make himself at home. Do you think he’d rape you again?”

“No.” She grew alarmingly somber, her voice low and unsettling. “That won’t ever happen again. That’s one thing I know for certain. If Duncan ever tries, one of us will end up dead and I don’t care which one it is.”

Grandy sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Zanna, don’t talk like that.”

“But you don’t—”

“Listen to me, will you? Talking about dying only lets him win, don’t you see?”

“He killed most of me that day anyway. He killed all the good things in me.”

“That’s not true,” Grandy said, jiggling her hands urgently. “You know it’s not true. You’re feeling sorry for yourself and that’s fine. You’ve got a right.”

“Do I?” She tugged her hands from his, suddenly furious with his patronizing tone. “Does a woman really have any rights in this man’s world? I can’t be sure because I’ve never had any given to me except for the right to be brutalized, bullied, and ordered about like some dumb animal.”

“Hey, I’m on your side. Don’t go getting huffy with me.” He frowned, irritated that she’d refuse his tender mercies. “Damn, you make it hard to offer a shoulder to cry on.”

“I’m through crying. I’ve taken matters into my own hands.”

“You’re one tough hombre, huh?”

“That’s right,” she confirmed, hitching up her chin to counter his jesting.

“Then you don’t need me to hang around. I can ride the range with the boys.”

“I … well, I don’t …”

“Right, Zanna? You didn’t have to marry me. You can handle this all by yourself.”

She glared at him and to her consternation, he smiled. “You think you’re so smart,” she sassed. “What I meant is that I took matters into my hands by marrying you. I gave title idea careful consideration before I went into town to claim you. Believe me, it was a difficult decision. I loved living here by myself. Bringing a stranger—a stranger I’d found in jail—here to my beautiful Primrose took nerve.
I sacrificed my privacy and my dream of living in this house alone. Peacefully alone.”

“It doesn’t sound to me as if you thought it out carefully.” He caught her challenging frown and shrugged it off. “How could having me here keep Duncan away from you for long? Sooner or later, Duncan will make his move.”

“You can stop him.”

“Maybe. Again, it doesn’t sound to me as if you used your head. What made you think I’d be the kind of man to stop Duncan? I could just as well turn my back like everyone else has done.”

“But having a man—a husband—made it less acceptable for Duncan to hang around me.” She saw that he’d taken her point. “And it’s worked. He has a reputation to uphold and accompanying a newly married woman wouldn’t look good.”

Grandy looked pointedly toward the window. “So he’s found a different way to intimidate you. What does he want? Does he want you to marry him?”

“Yes.” Zanna averted her gaze, wrestling with indecision. Should she tell him the entire truth? Self-preservation warned her not to reveal too much. “He wants this land. He’d get it if we were married.” She went to stand near Grandy at the window. The stench of burning hay and charred soil wafted through the open front door. Studying Grandy’s chiseled profile, she wondered what he was thinking. Did she really want to know? Zanna followed his gaze to the distant smoke. “I didn’t think Duncan would rape the land. I could never bring myself to hurt Primrose. I love it far too much.”

Grandy’s shoulders sagged momentarily, then he seemed to shake off his feelings and stepped behind her to cradle her in his embrace. “You’ve been through the mill, haven’t you?”

As if she hadn’t heard, Zanna stared straight ahead, remembering the barn that had once stood on that charred
field. A rickety structure, it hadn’t been used except to pen up hogs or to store broken farm tools. It was a stinking, grimy place.

“It was Sunday,” she said, unaware that she had spoken aloud until her voice rang in her ears. “I had on my Sunday best. He said he wanted to show me something out in the bam after we had our dinner. Duncan always ate dinner with us, but he’d already left.”

“He ate dinner here every day?”

“Yes, and we supped with him every evening.”

“The brothers must have been real close.”

“Inseparable. They sh—” She paused to fight off a shudder. “They shared everything.”

Grandy closed his eyes tightly, fighting off his own revulsion.

“I went to the barn and Duncan was there. I knew by the look on his face that something horrible was brewing, but I had no idea what. How could I have? It was unthinkable. The hired hands weren’t around. They’d been given a couple of days off and had gone to visit their kinfolk. Nobody was around the place. Nobody was there to hear me screaming. And the gloves.” She hiccuped a sob. “Duncan had on those filthy, bloodstained gloves and he put one over my mouth to keep me quiet. I tasted them and I can’t g-get that t-taste out of m-my mouth and I can still sm-smell them and when I see those g-gloves I just … j-just—”