Scars of the Heart (27 page)

“What? I don’t understand, Mr. Hawthorne.” Carly shook her head as if that action could somehow help her brain make sense of what the banker said. “What do you mean, my existing funds cleared the majority of the debt?”

A moment ago, she’d felt calm and in control of her new life. Her morning agenda included this visit with Aunt Ruth’s lender to discuss a repayment plan and to hopefully acquire the names of potential employers. Then Carly had planned to visit the mercantile, dairy, and doctor’s office to discuss repayment. By the end of the day, she hoped to have found a job that paid a decent wage and would then set about making herself at home in her aunt and uncle’s house.

It was now the banker’s turn to be confused. “Miss Dawson, did you not send Mr. Smith to see me last evening with your money and the instruction to settle the Berringer estate, which included paying the good people of this town what your aunt owed them?” He blinked rapidly and leaned forward in his chair, eagerly awaiting the answer.

Carly sat still as stone, desperately trying to make sense of what this man just told her.
Kade?
Kade had paid the debts? It must have taken almost every last coin in his pocket to do so, but why? Why would he do such a generous and thoughtful thing? Her head bowed for a moment as her fingertips smoothed the brows above her tightly closed eyes.

“Miss Dawson, are you all right? Did I somehow misunderstand Mr. Smith’s instruction? He was quite clear, I thought. I, uh . . .” the man stammered and reached for his tea cup.

With effort, Carly recovered and quickly said, “Oh no, Mr. Hawthorne. Everything is fine. I, uh, it is I who misunderstood. Silly me, I thought Mr. Smith would go settle the debts individually, rather than come to you with the task.” Her little laugh sounded nervous and forced, even to her ears. But Mr. Hawthorne breathed a sigh of relief and sat back in his chair.

“Oh, very well then. For a moment, I was quite concerned, Miss Dawson. I sent a representative of the bank out last evening to settle each of the accounts, just as soon as Mr. Smith left.” He removed his glasses and a handkerchief and went about briskly rubbing the already clean lenses.

Carly sucked in a ragged breath, convinced she had done a decent job of covering her confusion with the banker. He didn’t need to know any more of her personal business than he already knew and certainly didn’t need to be alerted to anything unusual where “Mr. Smith” was concerned. After assuring Mr. Hawthorne she had simply stopped by to ask the exact balance of the mortgage loan and his opinion of the value of Aunt Ruth’s house, Carly successfully changed the banker’s focus and concluded her visit as quickly as she could.

Once outside, she took no time to ponder Kade’s actions. She went straight to the mercantile and verified what Mr. Hawthorne had said. Aunt Ruth’s account had indeed been paid and closed. The shopkeeper admitted that gossip traveled through town like a tumbleweed on a brisk breeze and conveyed the fact that Ruth’s accounts at the doctor and dairy were also paid in full. He thanked Carly warmly.

Though her head swam and legs felt weak, she made her way across the square to the bench she and Kade had shared the day before. Nothing about this made sense to her. What possible motive could he have for paying these debts? After a few moments to settle her thoughts and let the fresh air calm her just a bit, Carly decided to look the gift horse in the mouth. With a nod of resignation, she headed directly for Miss Lila’s.

“Gone? What do you mean
he’s gone
?” She planted her palms on the registration desk and leaned so far across it, Miss Lila took a step back.

“Gone, left town. Last night. Asked for some corn bread and bacon, wrapped it in a clean kerchief, saddled up, and rode out.” The woman smoothed her black hair and scowled at Carly’s rude, intrusive manner.

Carly hurried outside, barely noting the tinkle of the little bell and slam of the door that confirmed her departure. She leaned against the porch railing and stared blindly at the rose shrubs on the other side. Kade had left, moved on. Why did that make her feel like she’d just been punched in the stomach? Why did it seem such a shock? Of course he was gone. They had concluded their business, and then some. He had his own personal business to attend to. But without saying good-bye? Without . . . what? Carly didn’t even know. The only thing she did know was Kade Roberts had ridden right out of her life, and she’d never see him again.

The black nickered softly as Kade knelt beside him. The thick brush on the ridge concealed their presence. He wondered if the animal sensed where they were and questioned why they had stopped here instead of proceeding down on to the flats.

Kade rolled a thick, stiff, triangular piece of antelope hide into a cone shape, securing a concave glass piece in the larger end. He peered through the makeshift telescope at the collection of buildings in the distance. Most everything seemed to be the same as he remembered. The house hadn’t changed. The sprawling home with deep porches on three sides and large windows overlooking the pastures had been hand-built by his father. Every board placed, every nail driven as a testimony of the love one man felt for one woman. That house had been his mother’s dream. Much of the structure, including the chimney stack, had been constructed of white stone, brought by the wagonload from farther south.

Dry brown plants stood at odd angles in the window boxes and in the flower beds flanking the wide front steps. Skeletons of what they once were.

For a moment, Kade could see his mother planting the flowers, laughing, commenting on the bright colors, dirt smudged across one cheek. Tamping down his irritation, he continued his inspection. The washhouse and bunks appeared unharmed, though in need of paint. The absence of one large building had drawn Kade’s attention immediately, yet he chose to save that area for last. After a thorough review of the corrals and smokehouse, he slowly angled the telescope’s lens toward a blackened patch of earth just south of the main corral.

Charred support timbers and the trunks of two nearby trees reached up with dark, jagged fingers, as if pleading to the rain god for the salvation that was not granted.
Like souls in a cemetery eerily trying to escape their graves,
thought Kade. He had heard that Nelson Proctor Jr. had set fire to the barn. One night, after losing at cards and drinking heavily, Nelson Jr. had returned home and, in a fit of grief and anger, torched the structure in which his father had died.

Kade had been in the Fort Worth area for five nights now, moving in the shadows, avoiding trouble, and seeking information. He used great care to avoid anyone he recognized, to keep his long hair tucked inside his collar and to keep his hat pulled down low.  He’d found a favorite gathering spot for the locals just outside of town, a place where one could always join a poker game, buy a drink, and arrange for female company, if one was so inclined. And the locals did like to talk, after a couple jars of moonshine and a few laughs.

Learning that Nelson Jr. had started selling off sections of the ranch, Kade decided he had arrived none too soon. Losing any more of the ranch was simply not an option.

Lowering the telescope, he sat back against the trunk of a large pecan tree and closed his eyes. He removed his hat and welcomed the cooling of a gentle autumn breeze. He didn’t have a plan yet, but he knew he couldn’t let Nelson Jr. continue to cut and quarter this ranch that his parents had worked so hard to build, this place they loved, his home.

For a moment, fatigue threatened to overtake Kade and seduce him into a much-needed state of slumber. He shook his head and opened his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he stood and gathered his horse’s reins. Sleep had been short and seldom of late. He could trust no one and had to be on his guard at all times. Soldiers swarmed the area like scattered ants. “John Smith” had asked enough casual questions to learn that Kade Roberts was still a wanted man and would be considered quite the prize if captured in these parts. That little fact posed the biggest problem with regard to getting his ranch back. Kade did not have the authorities on his side. By law, the ranch belonged to him as his parents’ only heir. But he could not very well ride in and evict Nelson Proctor Jr. without being arrested for the death of Nelson Proctor Sr.

Kade needed to learn more about Junior. The more Kade knew, the better equipped he’d be to devise a plan and somehow get back what belonged to him.

Without warning, images of soft green eyes and honey-colored hair danced before him. The clean, sweet scent of lavender seemed as real as the caress on his cheek. With a mumbled curse, Kade shook his head to scatter the memories. Carly Dawson most certainly did not belong to him. She belonged to Virginia, to a life more refined, to a future that included socials and handsome suitors rather than solitude and hard work. No, Carly did not belong to Kade; she’d made that very clear the last time he’d seen her at Ruth Berringer’s house. Her words rang in his ears. With resolution in the set of her jaw and finality in those bewitching green eyes, Carly had said her good-bye. She had dismissed Kade, letting him know he had served his purpose and she wanted him to be on his way.

How could he blame her, really? She saw in him a culmination of all the suffering and longing she experienced since being forced to leave her home in the East. He represented this land, a land that he loved, from its wide-open spaces to the challenges it offered. But to Carly, it seemed dry and brown and ugly. Savage and lacking, just like the folks who called it home.

Kade had seen the strength in Carly, a strength she didn’t know she possessed. He knew she would succeed, she would make it back to the Shenandoah River Valley. She might have to rebuild when she got there, but she could do it. He knew she could. Above all, Kade wanted her to be safe and happy, to live the life she dreamed of, and if Virginia offered her what he could not, then so be it.

Lack of sleep certainly took its toll. With a final look toward what used to be his home, Kade climbed atop the black and set off for a secluded place to nap. Later in the evening, he planned to find himself a poker game and a few loose-lipped opponents. If he was to be successful in his quest, he’d need his wits about him with no more musings of Carly Dawson.

Having watched for an hour or more from an obscure spot in the shadows, Kade felt comfortable that the other patrons would not be able to ascertain his true identity. He had been able to avoid intense inspection since arriving in the area. He did nothing to bring a great deal of attention to himself, even to the point of making sure he didn’t win too much at cards.

The tavern used to serve as a small barn on the Tucker farm about a mile from the fort. The house and crops had been burned during a raid, the farm abandoned or all the family members killed.

Many Texans had fallen prey to Indian invaders. Farms, ranches, and homesteads were easy pickings by some who believed strongly that the white men were invaders themselves, that they should be driven out of Indian territory, made to return to their homes in the East. Horses were stolen, cattle scattered, crops burned. There were even reports of women and older girls taken as prisoners. The renegade actions of these raiding parties added to the mounting hostilities between the natives and the white settlers.

To dissuade such aggression and to delineate the edge of the west Texas frontier, a line of ten forts had been established from Eagle Pass to the Trinity River. Fort Worth, named after the late General William Jenkins Worth, sat on a bluff overlooking the mouth of the river’s Clear Fork. Just four years later, in 1853, the government established a new line of forts farther west. Settlers claimed the abandoned fort for themselves, and the small town thrived. Fort Worth offered a school, a flour mill, and general store. As more pioneers settled there, the town gained a department store and became the western hub for the Southern Pacific stage line to California.

In 1860, Fort Worth became the county seat, but the town had been hit hard by the war, and the population dwindled to fewer than two hundred citizens. Kade developed doubts about the survival of the town soon after his arrival, but those were laid to rest soon enough. Several prominent men, including previous army officers and eastern entrepreneurs, called Fort Worth home. Kade had overheard conversations that involved a push to get the railroad directed here, and he’d discovered that the town seemed to be a stopping point for many cattle drives as they pushed north to Kansas. He knew these components foretold a strong future for the weary community.

After tying the black to what was left of the old corral railing, Kade slipped inside Tucker’s and quickly surveyed the dim, smoky room. Satisfied the crowd included no one he knew, no one that appeared to be a soldier, bounty hunter, or lawman, he made his way to the bar.

Carly Dawson nodded at the conversation and smiled politely when one of the other young women made eye contact. In truth, she wanted to run screaming. Their silly drivel had gone on for more than an hour. She had no interest in their inane chatter, in fact, found them most annoying. She realized she should be quite happy, flattered in fact, that she’d been invited into their circle so quickly. Nicodemus Hawthorne had proven to be well connected and very helpful. He’d introduced her to a friend of his who served as administrator at Marshall University. Carly had finished third in her class at Union Female College in Virginia and excelled in drawing and painting there. After a lengthy conversation with the administrator and the head of the arts studies, Carly accepted a position as an assistant professor and agreed to help the academic professor as well.

Mr. Hawthorne had also introduced her to the local pastor, whose wife had secured Carly three very stylish dresses that had been donated for distribution to the less fortunate. Of course Carly took the handouts, with only one dress to her name and no money, she could not decline the offer. A small part of her had cringed at the notion of being seen in a gown that someone she passed on the walk had cast out just months before. But Carly’s gratitude outweighed her embarrassment. She peered around the small table. If any of the ladies seated there had donated the gown or recognized it, they hadn’t let on.