Judith E French (13 page)

Now another woman walked in the garden and cut flowers for the house; at least, Caitlin hoped someone did. Some of the roses had been planted by Caitlin’s grandmother, others by her mother. Caitlin had been no older than Derry when she’d stood beside them and watched as they rooted cuttings to give to friends.

Caitlin had never thought of herself as a thief, but the roses belonged to her family. When Father lost the house,
she and Maureen had quietly dug several smaller roses and tucked them in among the household belongings to be loaded in carts.

And the night she’d decided to come to America to join Shane, she’d done worse. She’d stolen into her mother’s garden and secretly taken cuttings of the apothecary rose—the red rose of Lancaster, the alba—the white rose of York, and her grandmother’s favorite, old blush.

The rose she was planting this afternoon was the white Lady Banks, a thornless climber. She didn’t know if she’d be at Kilronan long enough to see it bloom in the spring, but a small voice inside her demanded that she set down roots in this rocky soil. In any case, the white flowers would look beautiful against the weathered log house. If she left Missouri, the roses would give Shane something to remember her by.

“Water! Water!” Derry insisted.

Mary shrugged. “Water not make dead grow.”

“It isn’t dead,” Caitlin insisted. “And we can’t water it yet, sweet,” she said to Derry. “First we have to plant the rose.”

The soil resisted the shovel. She could dig only a small amount of earth and stones at a time. Ignoring Mary’s scowl, she whispered to the dormant rose. “Sink your roots deep.”

“McKenna say you plantee flower?”

Teeth gritted, Caitlin glanced up at Mary again. “Mr. McKenna is resting. I don’t need his permission. I’m his wife, and mistress here at Kilronan. Mr. McKenna said that the house was my domain. I can do what I like.”
Except get rid of you
.

“Diggee hole in yard.”

“The rose will climb against the porch,” Caitlin replied with more patience than she felt. “That makes it part of the household.”

The Indian woman grunted.

Justice came out on the porch and hunkered down on the top step. “Won’t grow,” he said. “Looks dead to me.”

“Not!” Derry declared. Splashing her hands in the bucket again, she sprinkled Justice with water.

Both children giggled.

Then Derry looked at Mary and defiantly put both hands on her hips. “Bad cow,” she said. “Chasey my duck.”

“Mary’s duck.” Mary tapped her unlit pipe against the open door.

Caitlin tried to avoid a confrontation by changing the subject. “Justice saved Derry’s life this morning. If he hadn’t thrown those stones …”

“Save-ed wife,” Derry echoed.

Caitlin corrected her unconsciously. “Life, not wife, sweety. He saved your life.”

The child nodded vigorously. “I wove
her.”

Justice folded his arms over his chest. “I guess you could say I’m a hero.” Then he frowned. “He,” the boy corrected. “I’m a man. You don’t say
her
for a man. You’re s’posed to say
him.”

Derry beamed and nodded. “I wove her.”

Justice’s face reddened under the copper tan. “She’s a baby. She don’t know no better.” He grinned at Derry, who promptly threw herself into his arms.

The two wrestled playfully across the porch, and Caitlin tried to hide her surprise. She’d never seen Justice behave like a child before.

But Mary, too, had seen what was happening, and it seemed to Caitlin that she was displeased.

“Justice,” Mary ordered. “Need kindling for cookee supper.” She turned and stalked into the house.

Justice untangled himself from the toddler’s embrace and ran off without grumbling.

“Berry help.”

“No,” Caitlin said. “I need you right here.” She wasn’t taking the chance of letting Derry out of sight again after what had happened this morning.

Derry stuck out her lip and shuffled her feet. The toe of one leather shoe was badly scuffed, and the other shoe was untied.

“I really need you,” Caitlin said. Her throat constricted with emotion as she realized how much she meant what she’d said. In spite of Shane’s reaction to Derry, in spite of all the mischief the child had caused on the journey from Ireland, Caitlin loved her with all her heart and soul. “I do need you,” she whispered.

Slowly the child came back and looked down into the hole. “Water?” she asked. Her left pigtail had lost its ribbon, and Derry’s cheek was smeared with mud, but her eyes sparkled with excitement.

My child, she thought. In a strange way, Shane was right; Derry was her daughter, and she couldn’t love her more if she’d given birth to her.

“Come here, you.” Caitlin hugged her tightly. “Yes, it’s time for water now. Let’s put the rose in first.”

Caitlin spread the roots, and together she and Derry crumbled dirt around the plant and tamped it down. Then Caitlin let Derry pour water carefully around the rose.

Her small brow wrinkled with concentration as she slowly completed the task. When the last drop fell, Derry beamed with self-importance. “Berry do—good. Berry no baby. Berry big!” She threw her muddy arms wide.

“Yes, Derry is a good, big girl. Now close your eyes and whisper a prayer,” Caitlin said. “My mama, your grandmother, always said a prayer when she planted a rose. It’s the secret for making it grow.”

Derry’s eyes widened even further, and she wiggled from head to toe. “Grow, rose!”

“Please, God,” Caitlin murmured under her breath, but she knew her prayer was for more than the white Lady Banks.

“More!” Derry cried. “Plant more.”

“Not today,” Caitlin said. “Tomorrow.” She had the cuttings, but she’d have to decide where would be the safest places to plant them. She’d made a start; she’d put down roots. Only the good Lord could know if they would thrive.

Shane woke to the sounds of Mary beating on the iron triangle she used for a dinner bell. His head was still aching, and the clanging added to his misery. Every bone in his body felt as though it were broken. With effort he managed to pull on his boots, find a relatively clean shirt, and run a comb through his hair.

He started for the door, then stopped and ran a hand over his chin. A quick glance into a cracked hand mirror showed him that he needed to finish Caity’s poor shaving job. Muttering under his breath, he propped up the mirror and looked around for his straight razor.

Mary struck the bar again, but Shane ignored her. Before Caity and the little colleen had come to Kilronan, he wouldn’t have given much thought to his appearance at the table. He’d never been a man who went without bathing regularly, and he tried to keep Justice decent. But it was natural for a bachelor house to be a little wild and woolly. After all the fancy dishes and manners at breakfast, he knew that the time of easy ways was over.

“I must have been temporarily insane to send to Ireland again for her,” he muttered.

Again
.

Caitlin’s betrayals galled him like old saddle sores. Caity was headstrong and determined, traits she shared
with Cerise. Looks and Cerise’s occupation aside, the two women were probably more alike than not.

Cerise had lied to him and suckered him out of every penny he could scrape together. She’d hooked him with barbs of steel and played him like a fish on a line. And in spite of what she was and how much her death had cost him, he still cared for her. And even stranger, he was certain that Cerise had loved him in her own way.

He’d been hot for Cerise. He’d wanted her so badly that he could overlook her being a whore, and her taste for strong liquor and loud music. And maybe having Cerise was striking back at Caity for the hurt she’d done him, he mused.

“McKenna!” Mary’s call echoed from the bottom of the steps.

“Comin’!” he shouted back.

He wondered what kind of war he’d walk into downstairs. Would the table be set with fancy china or tin plates? Which woman had cooked the dinner, and which would stick her nose up at the other’s meal?

Damn, but Mary and Caitlin hated the sight of each other. He knew Mary hadn’t given Caity much of a chance. And with Mary being Osage, there was no way that he could expect the two to see eye to eye. Facing down Big Earl and his guns had been easier than sitting in his own kitchen for breakfast.

Giving his cheek a last scrape, he put down the razor and dabbed at the bloody spots with his shirttail. There was still a patch of uneven beard around the scrape on his face, but that would have to wait.

Shane took the steps gingerly, one hand on the wall, and tried to put his boots down lightly, as though he were walking on eggs. His ribs were killing him, and he was damned glad that Big Earl had saved him from tanglin’ with Beau.

He wondered if Earl was telling the truth about losing cattle. If he was, then they’d both have to look elsewhere for whoever was doing the raiding.

Shane smelled Mary’s rabbit stew before he rounded the corner; strong coffee, stew, and Indian fry bread were Mary’s staples. He hoped that she hadn’t scorched the bottom of the kettle again. Her last rabbit stew had been so bad that even Justice wouldn’t eat it.

“Shane.” Caitlin smiled at him. “We’ve been waiting grace for you.”

He slid onto the bench beside Gabriel. The table was set with fancy stuff, Caity’s silver forks and spoons alongside his nicked and bent eating knives with the bone handles.

He noticed two things out of place. Mary’s greasy fry bread spilled out of a blue-and-white bowl onto the white linen tablecloth, and Justice’s seat was empty.

“Where’s the boy?” he asked.

Caity caught her lower lip between her teeth. It was an old habit, something he remembered her doing whenever she was uncertain. “I asked him to wash his face and hands for supper,” she replied. “He said he wasn’t hungry.”

“Grace!” Derry cried. “I do!”

“Just a minute,” Shane said. He went to the kitchen door that led outside and shouted for Justice. On the second try, the boy appeared.

“Wash up for supper,” Shane ordered.

“Ain’t hungry.”

“Didn’t ask if you wanted to eat. Put some water and soap to those hands or I’ll do it for you.”

Caity flashed him a look of real gratitude when he and Justice joined them at the table. Derry lisped her prayer, and they all began to eat, all but the boy, who stared at his empty plate in sullen silence.

“I plant rose,” the child boasted.

“Did you, now?” Shane grinned at her.

“A white Lady Banks,” Caity said. “You remember, the ones that grew on the west garden wall at home.”

Shane reached for the fry bread. “I knew your mother had a lot of roses. But if you recall, I wasn’t too welcome in your mother’s garden.” He grimaced. “Or anywhere on the estate, as I remember.”

“Only because the gamekeeper suspected you of poaching,” Caity replied.

“Potato!” Derry cried, clapping her hands. “ ’Kenna a potato!”

“Not potato, darling,” Caity corrected. “Poacher.”

Shane’s mouth was full of stew, so he didn’t attempt a defense. In fact, he had been poaching hares. Once he’d even killed a deer. That meat had kept his family fed for weeks, but it could have gotten them all hanged or transported if they’d gotten caught.

The stew was too oniony and it needed seasoning, but he added salt and pepper without complaining. Mary Red Jacket had her own ways of dealing with criticisms of her cooking.

Caity took another small bite, chewed slowly, and swallowed. If she thought the rabbit stew was tasteless, she was good at hiding her opinion, Shane decided.

“I’ve brought more cuttings,” she said.

He looked up. “What?”

“Cuttings. Rose cuttings. I’d like to start a small garden behind the house.”

Mary grunted. “Got garden. Onions. Turnips. Squash. Rabbits.”

“I saw your vegetable garden,” Caity answered diplomatically. “It’s very nice, but I’d like a flower garden.” She looked at Shane expectantly.

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever you want.” He noticed that
she’d changed her dress for something blue, sort of robin’s-egg blue, with ribbons down the front and a lacy thing around her neck. The color reminded him of the sky over Rocky Ridge on a clear winter day. It suited her, but it looked kind of out of place for a horse spread.

He broke off a hunk of fry bread and started to mop up his stew with it. Then Shane noticed Derry staring at him, tiny mouth wide in surprise. Hastily he dropped the bread onto his plate and finished the remainder of his rabbit gravy with his fork.

Mary got up, went to the hearth, returned with the coffeepot, and set it down heavily on the table. Justice eyed the fry bread. Only Gabe seemed to be at ease eating off the elegant dishes with a sterling fork.

Shane took a sip of the hot brew. “Caity, I asked you to stay inside today when Thompson showed up at our doorstep.”

Justice’s eyes widened with delight. Mary looked down at the piece of bread she was spreading honey on. Gabe continued ladling another helping of stew onto his plate.

Caity’s gaze met his. “You told me to.”

Shane covered Caity’s hand with his own. It was warm and soft, and touching her gave him a good feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I told you to stay inside because I knew there might be trouble.”

She nodded. “You can’t protect me from everything, Shane. If I’m going to live at Kilronan, I have to decide what’s dangerous and what’s not.”

She was right, and he knew she was right. He wanted her to be tough enough and smart enough to survive. He wanted their marriage to work, and he wanted to find what they’d lost somewhere between Kilronan and Ireland.

But Caity was an innocent greenhorn out here. She hadn’t lived through Indian attacks or floods or cholera.
And if she wouldn’t listen to him … he could lose her like he’d lost Justice’s mother.

“Damn it, woman,” he said softly. “You’ve got nerve, but you’ve got to do what I say when I say it.”

“Because you are my husband?”

Shane felt an uneasy heat creep up his throat. He glanced at Gabe to see if the Indian was amused by this. He hadn’t meant to get into a discussion in front of them all, but now that he’d stepped in trouble, he reckoned he’d have to scrape it off as best he could.