Home by Morning (16 page)

“Yes. Tired, of course, but Doctor Boyce said they are both doing well. Troopers, he called them. Said she looks like her father. The baby, that is.”

“That's nice. Real nice.”

A long pause. Thomas rested a hip against his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and watched them. Had he and Prudence Lincoln been so uneasy with each other those first few meetings?

“Well, then.” Mrs. Bradshaw wiped her palms down her skirts. “I should go. As you can imagine, things are in a bit of an uproar.”

“I'll walk you back.”

“That's not necessary.”

“It is to me.”

“Oh. Well, then.” A flash of a smile. Another red rush over her cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Quinn.”

“My pleasure, Mrs. Bradshaw.”

Thomas stared at the closed door for a long while after they left. Then, with a sigh, he pushed thoughts of
Eho'nehevehohtse
from his mind and settled at his desk to eat his lunch. He would have to get a stick. And a dog. But first, he would walk through the canyon and find the peace that eluded him.

*   *   *

“I need a dog,” Thomas announced that afternoon when he joined Jessup, Hardesty, Brodie, and Quinn in the Red Eye to congratulate Tait Rylander on his new daughter. The saloon was open now, and many men came by the table to offer good wishes. The Rylanders had much money and spread it freely about the town. For that and their fine characters, they were held in high esteem.

“Phoenix had pups a while back,” Hardesty said. “Only one left is the runt. A male. You're welcome to him.”

“Who is this Phoenix?”

“The dog Audra took in. We think she ran off from Weems.”

Thomas frowned.

“The murderer you killed last summer?” Ethan prodded.

“Did I kill someone last summer?”

“Actually, it was the fall that killed him,” Declan Brodie said. “You haven't killed anyone since you knifed the man who tried to take Brin. Been a slow year for you.”

“Not anymore.”

“Aw, hell. Who was it this time?”

Thomas sipped from his ginger beer.

“More than one?”

“What does it matter? They were all white.”

“Well, that's just perfect. We hired a murderer for our new sheriff.”

“Who said I murdered them?” Thomas studied the man beside him. Declan Brodie walked such a straight line, sometimes he tripped over his own righteousness. But he had made a good sheriff, and Thomas respected him for that. “No body, no proof of murder. Is that not what you told me last summer,
ve'ho'e
?”

“At least tell us you had reason, or were defending yourself.”

Because he saw true concern in his friend's eyes, Thomas decided to explain his actions, something he rarely did. “Two of them tried to ambush me, and the other sent them to do it. He also threatened Prudence Lincoln, and put Lillian in a place called an asylum. Is that reason enough?”

“Damn,” Hardesty muttered.

“Reason enough for me,” Rayford Jessup said. “Sounds like they needed killing.”

Tait Rylander studied him, the fingers of his right hand absently stroking the scar at his temple. Buster Quinn stared into his glass. Brodie said nothing. All three men were bound by laws that seldom made sense to Thomas.

“What do you need a dog for?” Hardesty asked, breaking the long silence.

“To help
Katse'e
find her way.”

“Find her way where?”

Buster Quinn explained how his blind uncle's dog had warned him of approaching dangers, like creeks, or drop-offs, or obstacles in his path. “Damned good guard dog, too.”

“I should get Rosie a dog,” Tait said.

Declan Brodie frowned. “Who's Rosie?”

“My daughter. Who'd you think?”

“I thought her name was Rosaleen.”

“It is. I shortened it to Rosie. Sounds more . . . baby-like.”

“Then why didn't you name her Rosie in the first place?”

“Because Luce's mother was named Rosaleen, and she wanted—hell, never mind.” Grabbing the bottle of the Scotsman's whisky, he poured into his glass. “Sometimes talking to you is like pissing up a rope.”

Ethan Hardesty looked from one to the other. “I thought her mother's name was Ida.”

“Ida Throckmorton is her guardian, not her mother.”

“Even I knew that,” Rayford Jessup said. “And I'm new.” He topped off his own glass, then slid the bottle on to Buster Quinn. “As long as the pup isn't a sight or scent hound, it might work for Lillie. Those hounds are too easily distracted for nursemaid work.”

“He looks a bit like Ash's wolfhound, Tricks. Same rough coat, but I doubt he'll get near as big.”

“Rosaleen,” Brodie mused. “Sounds Irish.”

“For God's sake,” Tait burst out. “It
is
Irish. My wife is Irish. Her mother was Irish. Why is that so hard to figure out?” Tossing back the last swallow, he plunked the glass onto the table and rose. “I'm going to see how she's doing.”

After Rylander slammed out the door, Brodie stoppered the bottle and frowned thoughtfully. “Seems cranky.”

“Not surprising,” Quinn said. “Helen told me he was up most of the night.”

Brodie studied him then swirled the whisky in his glass. “Girls are hard. Brin came out crying and didn't shut up for six months. And then there's that whole after-the-baby thing. Tait's in for a hard time.”

Nods all around. Like Thomas, they probably remembered how Edwina Brodie had made everyone suffer after Whit was born. But her spirits seemed recovered now, so there was hope for Tait Rylander.

Thomas asked Brodie when he was going back to the ranch. “R.D. said you and the boys were leaving tomorrow?”

“First light. Chick's loading the wagon now. By the way, when Jessup came, we brought your horse back from the ranch. He's got it out at the Wallace stables.”

“I will come for him.”

Jessup nodded.

A long pause, then Brodie swiveled in his chair to pin Quinn with a smirky smile. “So, Buster. You going to tell us who Helen is, or not?”

Thomas watched color stain the older man's cheeks. “Helen Bradshaw. The housekeeper.”

“Oh.
That
Helen.”

“I knew that, too,” Jessup said and belched. “Don't you ever talk to your wife, Declan?”

“Not if I can help it.”

The other men laughed. Thomas didn't. When Brodie caught his glare, he said, “I was joking, Thomas. You know I meant no disrespect to Ed. I just don't talk much, and when I do, I seem to get into trouble.”

“This is true.” Thomas rose. “Now I must go get my horse and see what damage your children did to the house while I was gone.”

O
ne week stretched into two. Then three. By the end of the first month, Thomas's life had taken on a sameness that calmed the turmoil in his mind, even as it numbed his spirit.

Every morning, he walked
Katse'e
to the new two-room schoolhouse built on the ashes of the Chinese camp that had burned last year when fire swept down the canyon. He had made her a walking stick from a length of ash, and she was learning to use it. On Joe Bill, if she had the chance. The pup Ethan Hardesty gave her was too young to be much help—and might never be. As the weeks passed, he looked more and more like the Scotsman's Irish wolfhound, a dog bred to hunt. But
Katse'e
loved him, and someday he would make a good guard dog like his sire, despite being named Bitsy.

After leaving her off at the school—and in the care of Jamie Jessup, who watched over her even though he had three years less than she did—Thomas would walk through the town that he was paid to watch over, stopping at different shops and stores along the way to answer questions or listen to complaints. But rarely to visit. The townspeople seemed to prefer that he keep his distance, which was fine with him.

The rest of the morning he spent in his office, looking over paperwork, updating the wanted lists, and waiting for his lunch to arrive. Afternoons, he did his work from horseback, riding along Mulberry Creek, or up to the old mine, or along canyon
trails. Then, if Curtis had not gone to get her from school, it was time for Thomas to walk
Katse'e
back to the Arlan house—he still could not think of it as home, and doubted he ever would.

Every evening, he sat before the fire and read aloud from a book Rayford Jessup had given him about a Scots hero named Rob Roy. It was slow going with all the Scottish words, but
Katse'e
seemed to enjoy it—as did Miss Minty, Harriet, Bitsy, and the Abrahams. He also read from the braille book Prudence Lincoln had bought for her, while
Katse'e
followed along, her small fingers moving over the raised dots that made up the letters and words. It was a halting process, but Thomas felt a father's pride when Lillian was able to read a few of the words on her own.

Nights were long and restless.

Then dawn would come, and the cycle would begin again.

It was hardly the warrior's life he had once envisioned, but at least he had a purpose, even if it was not one of his choosing.

He thought things were going well, but then not long after
Katse'e
started school, he came home to find her hiding under the back stoop with Bitsy. Neither of the Abrahams had been able to coax her out. Curtis had walked her home from school that day, and he said everything was fine until she heard Thomas come through the front door.

Wondering what he had done this time, Thomas went out to talk to her.

“What are you doing under there,
Katse'e
?”

“Hidin' from you.”

“Why? Did you do something wrong?”

“No!
You
the bad one! You stay away from my dog!”

Baffled, Thomas bent to peer under the step. “What did I do?”

“You a Dog Soldier!”

He glanced at Curtis, but the black man shrugged, looking as confused as Thomas was. “Yes, I was a Dog Soldier. But you knew that,
Katse'e
. Why does it upset you now?”

“'Cause you eat dogs, that why! But you ain't eating mine!”

Thomas jerked back when the stick poked from beneath the step to ward him off. He heard whining, but did not know
if it came from the dog or his daughter. Both seemed upset. “Who told you I eat dogs?”

“Joe Bill. He say that why you called a Dog Soldier, 'cause you eat dogs.” She was crying now, the pup whimpering with her.

Thomas sighed. “Joe Bill was wrong,
Katse'e.
That is not why we are called Dog Soldiers. I do not eat dogs.” Not lately, anyway. They were not that tasty.

“Fo' true?”

“For true. You will come out now before the spiders find you.”

“Spiders?”

People rarely stopped to visit. Tait Rylander spent most of his days with his wife and new daughter. Declan Brodie and his oldest son had returned to the ranch. Edwina Brodie and the younger children had stayed at the Sunday house so the ones old enough to attend could go to school. Every morning, he nodded to Audra Hardesty through the window of the
Heartbreak Creek Herald
office, but Ethan was trying to finish their new house, so he only came into town for building supplies. He saw Rayford Jessup more often, but as the weeks passed, he grew busy at the Wallace stables, readying them for the foals that would arrive next fall.

And little by little, as the turmoil eased and the numbness faded, Thomas's anger grew.

At first, he had no focus for it. But it was there when he awoke, and there when he lay tossing at night, festering under his skin like a mesquite thorn. Then one morning, he awoke so filled with rage his jaw ached, and one face filled his mind.
Eho'nehevehohtse.
His wife.

Three times he had gone to her and three times she had sent him away. Yet she still haunted his thoughts. He was weary of it. After this long with no word, he accepted that she would not come back to him. It was time to cut her from his life and his mind, or he would never find peace. So he blocked her in every way he could, until finally, he could pass an entire day without thinking of her more than a few times. And slowly, as Mother Earth gave birth to spring, he began to heal.

The days lengthened. Snow on the south-facing slopes melted away, and the creeks that spilled out of the mountains rose against their banks. On his rides through the canyon, he
welcomed the first early buds pushing up through the damp soil—dewberry, bitterroot, blue flax. Before long, aspen would leaf and arrowroot blossoms would cast a yellow blanket over the sunny slopes. Already birdsong filled the air, and overhead, squirrels leaped from limb to limb.

But down below, in the soft, damp ground where the snow had melted, and in the ice-crusted patches that never saw the sun, tracks showed. Human tracks.

Most of the miners had left with the first snow and few trappers stayed now that the game had dwindled with the arrival of so many people. But these tracks were new. And familiar. Thomas had seen them earlier in snow—wide, slightly toed-in, separated by a long, dragging stride.

Several times on his rides, he had smelled wood smoke, but had not been able to make out the source. And twice, he had seen a dark form move through the trees. Tall. Upright. Wearing the pelt of a bear, but moving like a man. A big man.

The last time he had seen him, Thomas had called out. But the figure had scurried higher onto icy slopes where Thomas's horse could not go. When he talked to Quinn about it, they decided he was the recluse that several townspeople had seen, but none had spoken to. Crazy, maybe, but harmless. So far.

As time passed,
Katse'e
grew less fearful that he would leave her. She had taken well to the Abrahams, and their gentle patience gained her trust. She spoke of Prudence Lincoln less and less. Thomas was grateful for that.

The cat turned out to be male, and his name changed from Harriet to Harry. As the days warmed, the cat spent much of his time prowling the creek and leaving fresh kills on the doorstep. But Bitsy rarely left Lillian's side, even sleeping in her room on an old blanket. Each day, Thomas worked to train him, but the dog had a sharp nose and preferred to chase after every scent the breeze brought his way. Once, the pup was lured away by coyotes. An hour later, he limped home with several bites and blood on his muzzle. A good lesson for both the dog and the girl.

“Them bad coyotes,”
Katse'e
had scolded as Thomas smeared Winnie's salve on the pup's bites and cuts. “They play too rough.”

“
Okom
does not play.
Okom
is always hungry and will hunt where he must.”

“Hungry? You mean he eat Bitsy?”

“If he can.” Seeing her shock, he tried to explain. “It is the way of things,
Katse'e.
Food is life. And in the forest, an animal is either the hunter or the hunted. Until your dog is bigger, he will be hunted. That is why we must keep him on a rope when he is outside, and guard him well until he is big enough to guard you.”

“You mean coyotes eat me, too?”

“I think you would be too stringy. But you should never go into the woods alone. It would be easy to lose your way. Even with your dog and your stick.”

She grinned. “That stick a good whacker. Give that stinker Joe Bill a good crack yesterday. Sent him runnin', sho' 'nuff.”

“No, Lillian.” Thomas tried to sound stern, but he knew what a trial Joe Bill could be. “Your stick is not a weapon. It is to help you find your way, not hit other people.”

“He say I blind like a mole.”

“He is right. You are blind. But he is also wrong to tease you about it. Tell him you do not like it. If he does not listen, we will try another way.”

“He also tease me about the way I talk. Can I whack him for that?”

“No. But maybe if you spoke more like the others, you would not be teased as much.”

Tears rose in her eyes. “You think I talk funny, too?”

He brushed a finger along her cheek. “Not funny, little one. But sometimes it is hard to understand your words.”

Tears gave way to belligerence. “You want me to be more white.”

Thomas sighed and struggled to find the right words. “I want you to be
you
, my clever, funny, spirited daughter. But how will others see the best of you if they cannot understand your words?”

She thought long and hard, then let out a deep breath. “All right. I try to do better. But you try, too. Sometimes you ain't—
aren't
—so easy to understand, either.”

Despite her troubles with Joe Bill, she seemed to enjoy school, and although she could not read or write, she had a good memory and a quick mind and was able to keep up with most of the lessons.

She was settling in. She had friends now, and a family, and animals to tend. But what most helped her find her place in Heartbreak Creek was her singing.

Thomas knew music was important to her, so the Saturday after they arrived, he had gone to speak to Pastor and Biddy Rickman.

“I will bring her to your church,” he had told them, after explaining about his new daughter and that she liked music. “And you will let her sing.”

“Of course. I'm sure the choir ladies will happily welcome—”

“No. Alone. She will sing alone.” He glanced at Biddy Rickman, who pounded on the church piano like she was killing ants. “No piano. No other voices. Only her. You will nod to me when it is time, and I will lead her to the front.”

They blinked at him.

“Good. I will bring her to services tomorrow,” he said, and left.

The next morning over breakfast, he asked
Katse'e
if she would like to sing at the church.

“Sho' 'nuff! I jist loves to sing. Ev'rybody love to hear me, too. Ain't—
isn't
—that so, Miss Winnie? You asks me to sing all the time.”

“You have a gift, child, and that's God's own truth. What will you sing?”

“‘'Mazin' Grace' my favorite. That a good one?”

“It certainly is.”

“You come hear me sing?”

“Of course we will.” Winnie gave Thomas a look. “And your daddy will come, too.” The Abrahams knew Thomas rarely went inside the church.

After breakfast, Thomas had dutifully gone upstairs to put on his fancy suit and help
Katse'e
into the dress Prudence Lincoln had bought her in Indianapolis. Then the four of them had walked down to the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek.

He had been inside the church only a few times—mostly for weddings and christenings. All that hellfire and damnation made his head hurt. So when he led Lillian and the Abrahams to a bench that second Sunday morning after they had arrived in Heartbreak Creek, many surprised faces turned his way.

He ignored them. And he ignored most of what the pastor said, until the wild-haired man nodded to Thomas, then spoke to the people sitting on the benches.

“And now, folks, I'd like to introduce a new member of our congregation, and ask her if she would like to sing for us.”

Thomas led
Katse'e
forward. Standing beside her, he faced the gathered townspeople. “This is my new daughter, Lillian Redstone. The Great Spirit took her sight three years ago. But he gave her the gift she will now share with you.” A last pat on her thin shoulder, then he walked back to his seat.

As soon as she sent the first note bouncing against the rafters, she won the hearts of all those within hearing. Crossing his arms over his chest, Thomas had sat back, filled with pride and the same awe he had felt the first time he had heard her sing. He suspected
Katse'e
would always find her place in this world, no matter the trials put before her. Her spirit was very strong.

By the time the month called March arrived, they were settling in as a family and Thomas was beginning to find his balance. This might not be the life he had expected to lead, but with
Katse'e
to take care of and the town to watch over, he was beginning to feel part of a tribe again.

Then, early the following week, everything came tumbling down around him when Curtis ran into the sheriff's office and told him
Katse'e
was gone.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Pru watched the man shuffle through papers strewn across the scarred tabletop in the stark interrogation room at the jail where she had been held for well over a month. This was the first time she had dealt with this questioner. His suit was rumpled. His muttonchops needed trimming, as did his thin brown hair. He looked tired and bored, and hadn't even bothered to introduce himself when he'd come in a few minutes earlier.