Paxton Pride (47 page)

“You brought Elizabeth here. You packed up and traveled to a spot miles from home and hearth, neighbors and kin, surrounded by hostile Indians, to a ruined ranch much worse than what I see now. You brought her and expected her to stay and do her fair share. You did not send her back to San Antonio. She stayed and helped build.”

“Yes,” True mused. “But that's different. Different times, different woman, different.…”

“No sir, it is not,” Karen said boldly. Erect in the saddle, resolve grew in her, for at that moment she knew what needed to be done, what she would do. Unseen by True, the strength of the Hamptons combined with the dramatic circumstances of the past months. Karen Olivia Hampton, the silly, prideful girl of society, was a creature of the past, beyond her now forever. The mysterious alchemy of the soul, the mix of unknown elements reacting in the presence of the catalyst of tragedy, worked the miracle of transformation. Aware of the change and at peace with herself at last, Karen Paxton surely and deftly spurred the sorrel down the hill toward the waiting remnants of the PAX.

True kept the roan from following, held the animal back. He chuckled to himself, smiled for the first time in two weeks. “No sir, it is not,” he repeated, echoing her words. “Come on, horse. Let's go see what that young 'un's up to.”

The riders had yet to return and Ted was nowhere to be seen. She stripped the saddle from the sorrel, fed him and let him loose with the other horses gathered in the compound before entering the house, its interior gloomy and shuttered. The door closed behind her and she stood alone in the silence.
Elizabeth, I love you. And you too, Maruja. But you'll have to step aside now. There'll be no more time for mourning
. Her face set, she moved purposefully about the room, opening windows and shutters, lighting lamps and setting a fire in the east hearth, waiting only until a cheerful blaze danced crisply, sending out heat to the cold room.

Satisfied, she strode determinedly to the kitchen, into the musty, haunted air of the very spot she had so assiduously avoided. The hearth was cold, the air dank. She gathered wood from out back, bringing in a huge armload, laying and lighting a fire before returning twice more in order to fill the woodbox to overflowing. Soon a roaring blaze combated the chill and the smell of woodsmoke drove the spirits from the room. She found a broom inside the cellar door, and glancing down into the darkness, was stricken with panic and pain as she remembered the terrible fall and its aftermath. Her resolve faltered, weakened.…“No. I'm not ready for that yet,” she muttered as she took the broom and closed the door firmly. There would be time enough for such a confrontation later. Briskly, she attacked the dust gathered on the floor, forcing herself to ignore the long, brown-red smear on the wall and floor near the dining room doorway. There would be time enough for that, too. The floor swept and the attack on the dishes and work surfaces well under way, she didn't hear the latch raise nor the rear door open, didn't see Ted enter and stop short, gaping in surprise at the burst of activity.

“I saw smoke from the chimney. For a moment I thought …” He stared inquisitively at her.

Karen whirled, startled and about to scream, at the sound of the voice behind her.
Jaco
…! Relieved, she smiled grimly. “I'm cleaning out the ghosts.”

Ted nodded in taciturn agreement. “It is good.” He glanced over his shoulder, checking the patio. “I will carry in the pot.”

“No. That is woman's work. Go now. Dinner will be ready at the usual time.”

Dark was descending on the valley when the ranch hands rode in from the northern range. Five of the eight riders intended to draw their wages and leave on the following morning despite the protestations of Harley and Billy. All reined up shy of the hacienda when Shorty pointed out the tendril of smoke drifting from the back chimney. “I tol' you,” one of the riders exclaimed. “The durn place is ha'nted. Y'all better pack your warbags an' come with us. Ain't no call to hang aroun' where ha'nts is waitin' for you.”

What's About sniffed the air. “Well, sir, if that is a ghost, she surely cooks a mighty fine smellin' pot a' chili.”

Harley inhaled deeply. “That ain't all, neither. I smell bear sign. Ghost it may be, but if it makes bear sign, I'm ready an' willin' to take my chances.” He spurred his horse into a gallop, the others close behind.

A half hour later, their animals stripped, rubbed down and fed, they gathered by the well, washing faces and hands, wetting and slicking back hair despite the brisk evening air. When they filed in through the front door they found True and Ted sitting in front of the fire, surrounded by the fragrant odor of hot chili,
tortillas
and
frijoles
and the unmistakable scent of freshly-baked doughnuts. True had to know what was going on but, as the riders crowded around the fire to warm up, only grinned in response to the unasked questions. Someone coughed nervously. Another rolled a smoke. A third inspected first the ceiling and then the floor, both with great care. All waited, none daring to speak.

When Karen appeared in the dining room arch, the men stared in awe, hardly able to believe she was the same woman they had last seen two weeks earlier. “Dinner's on, boys. Come and get it,” she said, as natural as if she'd said it every day for the past ten years. She wore a Mexican blouse whose thick cotton lacing merely accentuated her voluptuous form and a thickly-woven gypsy skirt, a print of red, white and black, which swirled almost to her ankles. Hair the color of straw beneath a midsummer sun hung unbound, flowing in gentle waves over pale creamy shoulders. Around her was an aura of daring and almost forbidden beauty, and her smile was a warmth to contend with the glowing fireplace. She stood confidently in the arch and the tired but fully alert riders were compelled to pass her as they filed into the dining room, each hesitating as he walked by her, then moving awkwardly toward the table, the smell of food forgotten for the moment.

Dinner ended when the men, groaning, pushed themselves away from the first good meal in two weeks. Karen excused herself and asked them to remain seated. She reappeared moments later with a small iron box in her hands and stationed herself at the head of the table. All eyes stared, mesmerized, as she opened the box and withdrew a packet of currency and a leather pouch of gold, placing them on the table next to the money box. “There are some of you who have spoken of leaving in the morning. I would be sorry to see any man here go, but I can understand why some might, and will hold nothing against anyone who does. You will want to draw your wages, of course, and True and I are prepared to settle all accounts now as you will probably be anxious to leave early. You go with our prayers and our thanks. You have been faithful to the brand and we could ask nothing more. I've fixed starter dough, sandwiches and bear sign enough for each man who wants to leave. Should any man here come back through this valley, there'll always be a place for him at the Paxton table.” She paused, leaned slightly toward them to emphasize her words. “We
will
be here, gentlemen. This is Paxton range. This is our home. We will be here.”

The men at the table sat in uneasy silence, furtively looking at each other and the gold, then to Karen and beyond her to the dream that had brought True and Elizabeth to the valley, the dream Karen had assumed and which now shone brightly on her face, filled the room with her presence and the quitters with shame. The leader of those who had been about to leave coughed nervously. “Excuse me, ma'am.”

“Yes, Broadus,” she said.

“Ma'am … uh … I reckon I'd best turn in. I got to check the north range again tomorrow an' round up them strays we missed today.”

Someone started to laugh. Broadus looked about uncomfortably, then grinned sheepishly and joined the laughter which spread infectiously around the table. Not a man asked for wages. Karen took a smaller sack of coins and tossed it to Harley.

The old-timer's face registered shocked surprise and the laughter faded abruptly. “Not me, Miz Paxton. I don't want to quit. Never did.”

“Harley, you and What's About …” Billy grinned wanly, “… ride down to Uvalde tomorrow. We need half a dozen men. Use your own judgement. Just remember, only the best are good enough to ride with the men of the PAX.” She looked at each of the hard faces around her, staring at her with mute appreciation, each one obviously moved by her words.

Shorty broke the silence, slid back his chair and stood. “I don't know about the rest of you, but I got work to see to tomorrow. I'll take the north range with you, Broadus.”

“Okay.”

Another voice spoke up. “The rest of us'll start on Silver Canyon. Must be two hundred head stuck up in there somewheres.” Grunts of approval followed as everyone pushed back their chairs, stood and bade Karen goodnight. Their Karen, she was, for in a way, and through a curious chemistry, she did belong to each one of them as they, in turn, did to her. True, who had remained silent through the meal, was the last to leave the room. Following the men into the front room for a final smoke before heading upstairs to sleep, he paused in the door to look back at the woman his son had brought to the ranch. That society Yankee, he playfully reminded himself. She met his eyes … and when he winked at her, by golly if she didn't boldly wink right back.

CHAPTER II

Karen found herself serving in a capacity other than purely cosmetic for the first time in her life. The discovery there was more to living than a turn of a phrase, a beautiful coiffure or an elegant pose designed to show off a pretty profile filled her with awe. She was useful! Men depended on her! The very idea that work was not slavery came as a profound and delightful shock. Here was knowledge her mother would never possess, never comprehend. More exciting was the feeling she had wakened from a deep and befuddled sleep to her true role in life, and she accepted the multiple challenges of that role with a relish, reveled in the pride of a thousand daily accomplishments, large and small. She was up at the cold crack of dawn. First light saw the men fed and on their way. Alone in the house she started the daily chores. She prepared bread for later in the day, sewed, cleaned, went over Maruja's instructions for the spring garden and, finding the seeds in neatly arranged packages in the dead woman's quarters, laid out the garden and planted. She made time to accompany Ted, still on the mend, to the sun-warmed hills where he continued her lessons in the lore of the land. An avid and rapid learner, she soaked up information and stored it away for certain use. Karen's metamorphosis was complete, and with the silent but evident approbation of True, she took over more and more of the responsibilities of running the ranch, putting to good use Maruja's earlier, unheeded lessons and her own keen, native intelligence.

The unspoken gloom of early February melted as the men set to work. The severe winter had scattered the herd widely, mostly because there had been no one to handle the cattle during the critical time of the ice storm, and until the complicated and wearing task of searching each distant, secluded valley and canyon was completed, no one could rest. It soon became evident the herd had been decimated, for every day the tally of carcasses found by the hands rose grimly. When a rider from the north told them a small ranch had been wiped out, they listened carefully. Over two hundred head of mixed stock were wandering loose and could be had for little more than the effort of rounding them up. True, feeling his oats with the coming of the warm days, took four men to buy the herd and drive them back, an unusual trip for the middle of March, but more than worth it at the price asked.

Karen was left nominally in charge, with Harley acting as foreman while Ted continued to regain his strength, carried on with Karen's lessons and scouted the far reaches of the PAX range, keeping an eye out for trouble and spotting strays which he hazed back to Sabinal Canyon where the other riders could pick them up more easily. As important as was the work of rounding up the herd, Karen instigated and pushed the men to begin the work of rebuilding the ranch. Every day at least two men were split from the ten available and set to work at the less rewarding labors of cutting trees and snaking them back to the building site. Harley had chosen well on his trip to Uvalde and the men he brought back were workers, not shirkers, and though they grumbled incessantly, complained they were hired as cowboys and not lumberjacks, they fell into the spirit of the work, coaxed on with liberal doses of bear sign served with an irresistible smile. The adobe skeleton of the bunkhouse had survived serious damage from the fire and soon the first logs were notched to size and ready to become the roof. The last Saturday in March, the day True rode in with the new stock, Karen declared the next day, Sunday, a
fiesta
and had one of the men kill a yearling steer. Together the men put the roof timbers in place, laid the roof itself and then sat down to a huge dinner of beans and barbecue, followed by an enormous platter of
pan dulce
, the sweet Mexican bread Maruja had often prepared, the recipe for which Karen had found in the kitchen. After the meal there was a general exodus as the men prepared to move their gear to the new bunkhouse, but Karen insisted they wait a few days until the building, freshened by the spring rains, should dry out. At the same time, she decided the hands would continue to take their evening meals in the
hacienda
until the bunkhouse could be equipped with more hospitable furnishings—bunk beds, tables, chairs and a new stove, for the old one had broken when a beam fell on it and cracked the firebox.

Karen worked harder than ever before, but the multitude of responsibilities and tasks, rather than wearing her down, left her pleasantly exhausted and satisfied. She could not help, however, missing Vance, for underlying her state of exultation of a job well done was an ever-present and growing concern for his whereabouts. Where the whims of grief had led him she could only venture to guess. No one had seen or heard of him, not even the drifters who passed through from time to time. True assured her he would return, but the confidence with which he spoke, while comforting, also left her more than a little fearful. What would happen when he did come back? Would the emotional chasm between them become an insurmountable obstacle? Would he stay? Leave again? Could they take up again where they'd left off, or was there nothing left on which to build? There was little time for such thoughts until the day was done. But then, in the solitude of the evening, in the quiet of the night, her thoughts turned on themselves in a confusing mix. She felt wronged, for though she shared his profound sorrow, still he had deserted her, his accusations tempered by neither love nor forgiveness. At these times she could stand the constriction of her room no longer and walked out to pass a lonely vigil on the walls of the compound, afraid of what Vance might have become, yet wishing desperately for his return and the touch of his hands. Below her in the shadows, Ted, unseen and unheard, kept watch over his friend's wife, wondering at her thoughts as she stared out into the silent vastness of the hills and sky which kept her company.