Debra Holland - [Montana Sky 02] (33 page)

His hands tightened on the reins, and he forced himself to relax. No sense letting his mind bolt away from him. If he faced things squarely, he knew Samantha’s caring for him hadn’t been shaken. He was the one who’d been shaken.

Confessing his past had ripped open the scars. His side burned in response, and he dropped one hand to cover the welted flesh. Yet…maybe now they’d have a chance to heal cleanly, no longer festering beneath his skin, under his thoughts.

The old wound had driven him away from the mismatched collection of orphan boys at Samantha’s place. All because he couldn’t face his own fear of his past—that somehow they might turn into his wicked gang members, and cause the harm to
Christine that the old gang did to that poor unfortunate girl and her family.

Deep down inside, he’d believed he deserved to be punished. Didn’t he think that’s what had happened when Alicia had died, making him cling that much more tightly to their daughter?

For the first time, Wyatt could feel more like a boy twisted by circumstance into terrible choices, rather than an evildoer who deserved to be punished. He released a long breath that seemed to come from his toes.

Guess maybe he’d have to get to know those boys on their own merits, without judging them from his past. They deserved that from him.
He
deserved that from himself. But would he be able to?

Jack untied his book satchel from Brownie’s saddle horn and dropped it onto the straw floor of the livery stable. He unlooped the leather thong holding his lunch bucket on the other side of the horn. Through the horse and hay odor of the stall, he caught an appreciative sniff of smoked-ham sandwich, pickles, and chocolate cake. Even after three months of fine eatin’ at Miz Sam’s place, he still relished the luxury of food consisting of more than gritty bread and badly cooked meat. Meals at school were something he looked forward to.

Tim reached over the stall wall and whacked Jack on the head. “Gonna tie that there pail on your nose like a feedbag.”

“Hey.” Jack twisted away. Any other morning, the smack and the words would lead to tussling with his twin, but Jack was too busy anticipating another day of work with Mr. Thompson and Mr. Sanders to bother retaliating against his brother.

He set the bucket carefully next to the satchel, then unbuckled Brownie’s girth strap. While his hands busied themselves with attending to the horse, his mind pondered rebuilding the outhouse. He reviewed sawing and nailing planks, the piecing together of the frame. His fingers curled like he held a hammer. Somehow the feel of the smooth wooden handle in the palm of his hand had a balance and rightness he itched to experience again.

With a last affectionate pat to Brownie’s side, Jack followed his brother and Daniel out of the stable. In his eagerness, Daniel
swung his satchel in one hand and his pail in the other, any higher and he might dump out his lunch. But Jack knew the younger boy would settle down his fidgets right enough when they started working.

Jack did a wiggle step of his own, remembering how yesterday the two men had been patient-like with the boys—taking time to explain what they were doing. And their praise, well he’d soaked up every word. After a while, he’d been able to relax, no longer watching for the blow that might come from any little mistake he made, or for no reason whatsoever. Instead, he enjoyed his growing sense of accomplishment, something he had never really experienced before. The feeling seeped through his memory of yesterday and bubbled up in him today.

Although the morning air had a cool bite to it, it would soon be sunshiny. A good day to be outdoors instead of cooped up inside. Not that he minded his lessons so much anymore. He eyed the white schoolhouse, children heading toward it like ants to a crumb of vanilla cake. Why, he had the Gettysburg Address all in his mind—words marching in step across his brain like soldiers. Figured Miss Stanton would be right pleased with him.
Fourscore and seven years ago—

Tim jostled his elbow. “There’s Ben an Arlie.”

Ben, looking like an advertisement for a haberdasher, lounged against the rail of the stairs, a scornful expression on his face. Coveralls baggy, but new enough, hair slicked down, Arlie hovered on the other side of the rail as if unsure whether to face the twins or run inside to safety.

Ben straightened and thrust out his shoulders, seeming to call attention to the contrast between his striped suit and the old clothes the boys wore. “Looks like the walking ragbags have arrived,” he called out.

Daniel stop his swinging, dropping to a stiff gait. Over the top of Dan’s head, Jack met Tim’s eyes and shared a quick message.
Fight or ignore them?

Tim shrugged.

No sense makin’ more trouble.
Ignore them,
Jack telegraphed back with a faint shake of his head.

Tim caught it, nodded.

Jack glanced around for the reaction of the other children. Usually, they all called greetings with each other when they arrived. Even the twins and Daniel had come to be included in the early-morning ritual.

Now, Jack caught their gazes sliding away. Mark Carter’s usually cheerful face seemed shuttered. Christine and Sara Carter gripped hands, distress in every line of their bodies. One of the older girls whispered to another, and both tittered with laughter.

What the heck was goin’ on? Was this about the outhouse burning down?

Ben smirked. “Hey, maybe you laborers can come over to my house when you’re finished here. Think I could find work for you to do.”

Jack rolled his eyes but kept walking. They needed to leave their things inside, then they would be free to head around back and find Mr. Thompson. Side by side, they hurried up the steps.

When they drew even with Ben, he stepped in front of them. “Heard you two burned down Mrs. Murphy’s haystack last night.”

Burned? Widda Murphy’s haystack?
Shock shook Jack’s body. His mind raced like a wild horse trying to escape a corral. But he didn’t dare ask for clarification or give Ben the benefit of a response. He’d wait and ask Mr. Thompson.

Ben narrowed his brown calf eyes, until he resembled a snake. “My mother’s taken care of you two,” he hissed. “She’s called for a meeting on Sunday after church. The whole town’s going to be there. And we’ll get rid of you
troublemakers
once and for all.”

Jack fired up. “Doubt Miz Rodriguez gonna let that happen.”

Ben leaned forward until they almost touched noses. “My mama is going to speak with the Cobbs and with Mack Taylor.”

“So.”

“My uncle’s the banker in this town, numskull. The man with the money. If my uncle won’t loan your mama money, and the Cobbs don’t let her shop at their store, and Mr. Taylor refused to sell her hay or grain, how are you all going to fare?”

“So what? Us ’uns will manage.” He’d see to it if he had to plant a whole farm to feed them.

Ben straightened, a triumphant smile squeezing his face. His sneer included Daniel. “She’ll lose her ranch, that’s what. Then all of you will be gone. Run out of town to beg and cause trouble somewhere else.”

Jack’s stomach lurched; he needed to get away from Ben. Looking over at his brother, he jerked his head toward the back of the school. He grabbed Daniel’s arm, pulling him with them down the steps. Still carrying his satchel and lunch pail, Jack strolled as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He refused to let Ben see how upset he was.

When they’d rounded the corner of the building, Daniel stopped short. “Could they do that to my mama?”

“Don’t know.”

“We gonna lose the ranch?”

Don’t know that either,
but Daniel’s eyebrows had winged upward again. “Na,” Jack said, lying to give the younger boy some comfort. But the word came out sounding flat rather than
bouncy with encouragement. “Come on. Us ’uns got a privy to build.”

More anxious than he cared to admit, Jack picked up their pace until they almost ran around the bushes.

Mr. Thompson and Mr. Sanders stood before a pile of new lumber, talking in low tones, their faces serious. They looked up. The seriousness didn’t leave their faces, only seemed to deepen.

Jack slowed his momentum; dread made his boots heavy.

Mr. Thompson nodded. “Morning, boys.”

Daniel scuttled forward. “Morning, Mr. Thompson, Mr. Sanders.”

Jack and Tim remained silent. Something wasn’t right. A familiar feeling crept through him, probably through Tim too. When they’d felt it before, they’d learned to walk soft and be ready to run.

Jack’s body tensed.

Mr. Thompson glanced at him, gray eyes sharper than nails. “You boys know anything ’bout the fire at Mrs. Murphy’s?”

Jack met his brother’s gaze and saw the old familiar sullen look slide over his twin’s face. He knew his own features must be reflecting back a similar picture. He didn’t really want to look that way, but his body hardened to stone, a granite mask like the ghost face nature had carved into Haunted Mountain. But he had to say somethin’. “Us ’uns just heard. Ben tole us.”

The men exchanged glances.

Mr. Thompson ran his fingers through his hair. “Tell me straight. You boys have anything to do with that fire?”

Hurt pierced the rock surrounding Jack’s heart, a pain deeper than the slashes caused by the Widda Murphy’s haranguing, Mrs. Grayson’s threats, and Ben’s taunts. Thompson’s disbelief cut to the core.

He couldn’t even speak. The silence stretched.

“I’m waiting for your answer,” came Thompson’s clipped demand.

But Jack’s throat froze tighter than Osomaemie Crik in winter.

Tim spoke up, saving Jack from having to reply. “Us ’uns didn’t have nothing ta do with it.”

“Where were you two last night?”

Daniel bobbed up and down. “They were asleep in our room.” His voice rose. “You saw us, Mr. Thompson. My ma tucked us up.”

Nick Sanders cocked an eyebrow at Thompson, a brief twinkle lurking in his eyes.

Thompson shifted. “But I didn’t check on you all night. But maybe Mrs. Rodriguez looked in on you.”

A flash of anger melted Jack’s paralysis. The man didn’t believe them. Hurt, shame, betrayal all balled up in a need to run. “Come on.” He turned tail on the two men, dragging Dan with him.

He whipped around the school, heading for the livery stable, Daniel gabbling behind. Tim followed, silent and understanding. Jack didn’t bother to stop and explain. He needed to get out of there, away from people who looked down their noses at him and Tim.

Inside the livery, it didn’t take more than a moment to saddle up Brownie and tie on the satchel and lunch pail. The other two followed suit. They led the horses outside and mounted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see Thompson heading for them. Jack pretended not to see the man. Instead, he set his heels into Brownie’s sides, urging the horse to a canter. He was through with people who didn’t believe him—through
with this whole dang town. He weren’t never comin’ back. Not if Thompson crawled and pleaded.

They left behind the last of the buildings, heading out to the ranch. While one part of him wanted to go to Miz Sam for comfort, Ben had also threatened her. If she kept on the twins, took their side, she might lose the ranch. And he knew how much the ranch meant to her. Heard it in the tone she used in talking about the future. Watched the look of pride that would light up her face brighter than a sunrise when she looked around her land.

Miz Sam had been good to them—better than anyone since their ma. And to be honest, maybe better than his ma. The traitorous thought made him squirm in the saddle. But that was the truth. Miz Sam stood up to people. Probably would even have faced down his ole man. He could just see her takin’ a skillet to the side of his pa’s head. He doubted she’d back down from warrin’ with the townsfolk, and she’d lose the ranch for sure.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Little Feather had lived in a cave when his family had died off. Said it kept him snug and dry, with plenty of water nearby. He remembered the Indian’s description of the long series of tunnels that started near Thunder Gulch. Jack had even told about the caverns in school one day, Sharin’ Day, they called it. Miss Stanton had been mighty interested in his description, mentioned wanting to see them for herself. If Little Feather had survived in a cave, living off the land, Jack and Tim could do it too.

A pang of doubt seized him. Little Feather had been mighty scrawny when he first came to live with them.

Jack pushed the doubt away. He was sure Miz Sam wouldn’t begrudge them some supplies, blankets, and knives. He’d miss Brownie and Mariposa somethin’ fierce, though. Reaching down, he stroked his mount’s neck. Too bad he couldn’t take the horses.
But if he did, he’d be strung up for a horse thief sooner than you could say Jack Cassidy.

He couldn’t even let himself think how he’d miss Miz Sam.

But it was for her own good.

Standing in the middle of the street, Wyatt stared at the retreating backs of the boys riding their horses out of town, and debated about rushing to the livery stable to saddle up Bill and go after them. He didn’t feel good about how Jack had just taken off, and sensed how hurt the boy had been by Wyatt’s distrust. But if Wyatt couldn’t give Jack his complete trust, what good would it do to ride on after them? Might make things worse.