Dreaming on Daisies (28 page)

Steven had no idea what he planned to do, but he couldn’t stand around any longer listening to a conversation that had nothing to do with him. He pushed open the bunkhouse door and halted. “What are you doing?”

Tom swung around and glared. “What does it look like?” He gestured toward the bed, which was littered with clothes. “Packing. Didn’t you hear me say I want some time by myself?” He turned back and stuffed a shirt into his bag.

“I didn’t realize that meant you’d be leaving. Are you headed to town?” Steven rested his shoulder against the door frame.

Tom kept his back turned. “What’s it to you?”

Steven didn’t miss the husky note in Tom’s voice. He straightened and stepped closer. “I hate to see you leave the ranch with things unresolved between you and your father. It’s going to hurt Leah, you know.”

Tom’s movements stilled. “It always comes back to Leah, doesn’t it?” The words were soft but clear. He shifted into action again, snatching at a pair of trousers and cramming them into his bag without folding them.

Steven hesitated, not sure he had any business speaking his mind. This wasn’t his family, or his problem, but somehow he couldn’t let it go. “She’s your sister, Tom. Shouldn’t you care about her as well?”

Tom laughed, but it came out strangled and choked. “I spent the past six years listening to my mother care about Leah. Isn’t that enough?” He flipped the top closed on the bag and secured the buckles, then half pivoted. “Why does everything have to be about Pa or my sister? Don’t I matter?”

Steven’s heart hurt for the young man, but Tom didn’t need pity, he needed direction. “Of course you do, but I think you’re looking at things a little off-kilter.”

“Yes? And how’s that, exactly?” Tom sneered, but his eyes still reflected his pain.

“Your sister loves you. And I’m guessing Charlie does too, but he has a harder time showing it.”

“Ha! Then you don’t know my pa very well. The only thing he loves is this ranch and the saloon. Why do you think my mother left?”

Steven tipped his head to one side. “From what I’ve heard, she left because she never really loved him, even though he loved her. As for loving the ranch and the saloon more than you, I doubt it. I’ve noticed he’s not been drinking much, if at all, since his accident.”

Tom emitted a hollow laugh and sat on the edge of the bed. “So he hasn’t felt up to going to town. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“He’s been to town at least once that I know of, and probably more. And do you think someone who loves to drink does it all in a saloon?” Steven wagged his head. “That’s not been my experience with the people I’ve known who love their liquor. They keep it stashed close. If Charlie wanted to drink, he’d be doing it straightaway here on the ranch. His broken arm wouldn’t stop him.”

Tom didn’t meet Steven’s eyes. “That’s nothing to me, either way. It doesn’t prove he cares about me.”

“I think it does.” Steven sat on the bunk across from Tom. “I think your father is struggling with remorse over his actions. He might be trying to change his ways—maybe in the hope of earning your respect.”

This time Tom threw back his head and laughed in earnest. He wiped his eyes and looked at Steven. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Pa doesn’t care about earning anyone’s respect. He has so much pride he figures everyone sees him the same way he sees himself.”

“It’s too bad you feel that way. You’re missing out by not spending time with your pa. You think you know all about him, but I’m guessing there are things you don’t understand. And then there’s Leah. She’s been grieving your disappearance for years and is pretty happy you came home. Why take your anger at your parents out on her?”

“You don’t understand anything, mister, and it’s not really your business.” Tom got up, grabbed his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m headed to town, and I’d appreciate it if you keep that information to yourself. At least for tonight. I don’t want Leah or anyone following me and trying to talk me into returning. I want to be left alone. Think you can do that?” He towered over Steven, who sat on the bed without moving. Tom’s eyes smoldered with frustration.

Steven stood and forced himself to relax. He’d love to throttle some sense into this young man, but he doubted much that he said or did would make an impact. “I can.”

“Good.” Tom strode through the open doorway without looking back.

Steven moved to the porch, wondering what it would take for Tom to find his way out of the darkness that surrounded him. He lifted his eyes toward heaven and sent up a silent prayer on the young man’s behalf. At this point in Tom’s life, God was probably the only One who could reach him, and even God might have to put some thought into how He’d bring that to pass.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

May 26, 1881

Early the next morning Tom swung his bag up to the top of the stage heading out of Baker City, then opened the door and plunked onto the hard seat. He was more than happy to put the town behind him. The stage couldn’t leave too soon for him.

As the driver cracked his whip and the team surged forward, Tom put his elbow on the window opening and looked outside. Would Pa or Leah show up and try to stop him? Or maybe Buddy or that banker Steven Harding would ride in at the last minute, in hopes of talking him out of his decision.

The streets were congested with early morning shoppers, miners heading to their work, and wagons carting cargo to and from the mines, but Tom didn’t see a single face he recognized as the stage rolled through town. Disappointment hit him hard, but he pushed it aside. It wasn’t as if he’d told anyone he planned to take the stage to La Grande. Harding assumed he would spend a night or two in town, and it was possible Leah and Pa didn’t know he’d left the ranch, since he’d made the banker promise not to tell last night.

Part of him had hoped the man would break his word, rush to the house, and spill the beans. He sagged against the seat and stared at the opposite wall, thankful he was the only passenger. Apparently most travelers were coming to Baker City rather than leaving.

So Harding had kept his own counsel. Fine. He didn’t need anyone in his life interfering. No sir, he’d gotten along fine and dandy for six years, and he’d continue no matter where he landed. He clenched his jaws to keep them from quivering. If only Ma were still alive, he’d go back home.

He sat up straight. He wasn’t a baby; he was a man. Maybe he’d find a good paying job in a mine, or better yet, he’d do some prospecting and strike it rich. Dust rolled in through the open window and Tom coughed, then hitched over to the middle of the seat. If he struck gold or even a good vein of silver, he could go back and show them all how successful he’d become. He wouldn’t be the son or brother who’d been forgotten by his mother when she deeded the ranch to her daughter.

He couldn’t believe Ma did that. Even if the land belonged to Leah’s real pa, his mother could have given him a share. The ranch was left to her by her husband, and it would only be fair for her to divide it between her children. He remembered the look on his father’s face when Leah made the announcement. At least Tom had the satisfaction that Ma didn’t leave it to Pa, either.

Settling back against the seat, he tried not to draw in deep breaths of the dust-laden air. He pulled his hat over his eyes and his bandana up over his nose. Time to sleep and forget the pain of the past. Today was a new day, and if all went well, tomorrow might be even better.

Frances slipped into the door of the café situated inside the Arlington Hotel and surveyed the room, wondering why in the world Charles Pape had sent her word to meet him here. Couldn’t the man have simply come to the house like any decent person if he wanted to talk? She touched the hair that framed her face and straightened her hat, wondering again if she appeared presentable. The last time she’d looked in the mirror she was certain she’d found another half dozen wrinkles scattered across her face. Before long she’d be a shriveled-up mess that no man would care to spend time with. She’d better enjoy this outing while she could.

She snorted a half laugh, annoyed at her penchant for vanity. She’d not battled that in the past, so why it reared its troublesome head for Charles Pape, she couldn’t understand. A twinge of guilt smote her at her dishonesty. She knew exactly why vanity plagued her now, but she simply did not care to face it.

A waiter stopped and bowed. “Good morning, ma’am. A table for one?”

She straightened to her full height. “Do I look like someone who dines alone, young man? Of course not. I am meeting a friend, if he is not here already.” Her gaze swept the room again, but she didn’t spot Charles. She nodded toward a table on the far side of the dining area but directly across from the entrance. “Is that table reserved?”

“No, ma’am. If you will follow me, I will be happy to seat you.” The waiter led the way to the table and held her chair.

“Thank you, young man. And I am sorry if I spoke sharply earlier.” She sank into the seat and leaned back, closing her eyes and feeling her age more than she had in some time.

A step near her table alerted Frances, and she opened her eyes. “Charles. How are you today?” She peered at the man and started. He looked worse than she did, if that were possible. He appeared to have aged considerably from the last time she’d seen him. She motioned toward the chair across the round table. “Sit. You look terrible. Whatever is the matter?”

He pulled out the chair and plopped into it. “As blunt as always, I see.”

She waved in dismissal. “I am not blind, and I am certainly not in the habit of prevaricating when the truth will do as well. Set your pride aside and tell me why you asked me here. I am guessing it has to do with the trouble carved all over your face.”

He fiddled with the spoon that lay next to the cup and saucer.

The waiter glided up to their table holding a pot of coffee. “Would either of you care for a cup?”

Both of them nodded. They waited until he’d filled their cups and went on his way before Charles picked up the conversation. “Some terrible things have happened, Frances.”

A little shock coursed through her at the familiar use of her Christian name, but she decided to let it go. She had formed a liking for this man even though he irritated her at times. Maybe it was all right to allow him this small familiarity, especially in light of his troubled tone. “Tell me all about it. Do not leave a single thing out if you expect to feel better. Talking often cleanses the soul.” She laced her hands in her lap and waited.

Charlie took a sip of the hot coffee, allowing the heat to trickle its way down his throat and land in his belly. He’d wondered if Frances would come or if she’d add to the disappointment that weighed like a boulder on his soul. One more boulder would most likely smash him flat and leave him to dry in the sun where the buzzards could pick his bones.

He shook himself free of the gloomy thoughts. Frances had said that talking often helped cleanse the soul. If that were the case, she should be high up on God’s list of saints.
Now, that weren’t at all nice, Charlie Pape.
This lovely lady had agreed to give him some of her time, and he’d do well to show his appreciation by answering her question.

He leaned forward, his fingers tightly grasping his cup. “I sure do hate to spoil the afternoon. Shouldn’t we talk about somethin’ pleasant instead?”

“Certainly not.” She shook her head quite emphatically. “I am here to help in whatever capacity possible. The least I can do is listen, and then we shall decide if there is anything more to be done. You talk, and I will try not to interrupt.”

Charlie relaxed his grip and rotated his head, hoping to ease the kinks out of his neck. “All right, then. It’s my children. I’m afraid I’ve done somethin’ terrible to them.”

Her eyes widened, and she sat upright. “Oh dear. You have not harmed them, have you?”

He stared at her, unsure what to reply. Harmed them? In so many ways he didn’t know where to start. “I’m afraid so. And I think I’ve done sent Tom packin’.”

Her brows drew together. “I beg your pardon? Sent him … packing?”

“He skedaddled out of town two days ago on the stage. We didn’t find out until he’d been gone a few hours, and it was too late to bring him back.”

Frances held up her hand. “Maybe you should start at the beginning. I know I said I would not interrupt, but I am afraid I have no idea what you are talking about, Charles. If you would humor me, please, and explain why Tom would leave and what you did to expedite his departure, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Charlie nodded. “I guess I’d best start with Leah, then, or you won’t understand about Tom.”

“Leah? Oh my. You sent her packing? Oh dear!” She placed her hand over her heart.

“No, no. She’s still at the ranch. Although I ain’t sure how long I’ll be there, at the rate things are goin’.”

Frances shook her head, the confusion evident on her face. “This is all a big muddle. You are leaving the ranch as well? Who will care for it? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“I think I might have, Frances, for sure and for certain. Hard to tell, since it seems I’ve been makin’ mistakes right along for some time now.” He scratched the stubble on his chin and winced. He’d been so preoccupied this morning he’d forgotten to shave.

“Charles.” She reached across and touched him, her fingertips light and soft. “Slow down and try to speak clearly. I have no idea what you are saying.”

“I know, I know. I’m makin’ a mess of this, too.” He clutched her hand, not caring one whit what others might think. Right now he needed hope to cling to.

Frances didn’t pull away, so maybe he hadn’t scared her too bad. “I thought I owned the ranch. I always believed it would be mine, anyway, since Mary told me she planned on puttin’ the deed in my name. I’ve worked it for years, cared for it, and planned that Tom and Leah would share in it if they wanted to make a home there permanent like.”

She squeezed his fingers. “That makes complete sense. Go on.”

“Mary left Leah a letter, and she found it a few days ago. She left the ranch to Leah, not to me. I don’t care so much about that anymore, not after what I done. Tom, he’s been talkin’ all angry and hateful since he came home. Said I drove his ma off, and he hated me for it. She died, you know.”

Frances looked at him without moving. “Yes. From what I understood, that happened a number of years ago when the children were young. But you said Tom thinks you drove his mother off?”

Misery spread through Charlie’s chest like one of those twisters he’d seen when crossing the plains. Huge, swirling, and angry, consuming everything in its path. “No, ma’am. I let them think that she died then.”

He grimaced, ashamed that once again he’d slanted the truth to make himself look better. “That’s not exactly true, either. I outright lied to them, Frances. I told them their ma died. But all the time Tom was home, he knew the truth. Mary told him she was leavin’ before she walked away. I made her promise not to tell Leah she was alive. I hurt my children, Frances. Hurt them bad, and now I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

He shook his head, ashamed to continue. “The girl loved the ranch so much, but she loved her ma, too. I knew Tom would hate me, and place the blame on me, and he did. I couldn’t stand to lose both of those children.

“I begged Mary to wait two years until Leah turned sixteen before she told her she was alive and livin’ in Portland. Tom came home after bein’ gone for six years and told Leah what I’d done. He threw it all in my face, then walked out again. I got no idea where he went this time, or if he’ll ever come back.” A part of him felt like wailing the words, while another part deep down simmered with an anger he couldn’t explain.

Frances slowly withdrew and slumped into her chair, the color fading from her cheeks. “And Mary did that? She did not tell Leah? She allowed her daughter to think her dead all those years, and you encouraged that lie?”

Charlie sagged and hung his head, shame flooding him as it had never done before. The look on Frances’s face was nearly his undoing. She must hate him too. “I’m ashamed to admit that’s the awful truth.”

“But why, Charles? Why did you choose to tell your children a lie? Why hurt them by allowing them to think their mother died? And Tom? He knew and never told his sister?”

She shook her head. “I do not understand that at all. It makes no sense. Then to come home and blame you for his mother’s death.”

“She passed last year. Doctor told Tom it was some kind of disease. I didn’t know about it until it was too late. Tom sent me a letter sayin’ she was sick. Then a few months later I got another letter sayin’ she died.” He worked to hold in his roiling emotions. “I didn’t want my children to leave me alone.”

“No, I do not believe that, Charles.” She peered at him closely, her intent gaze unwavering. “There must have been another reason. I cannot perceive of any man telling his children their mother was dead simply because he hoped they wouldn’t leave him.”