Shattered Lives (Flynn Family Saga Book 1) (21 page)

Maggie stared at him.  “
Tiyospaye
?”

Flynn nodded.  “It’s a Lakota word.  It’s a group of
people who belong together.  There’s a ceremony and—“  Suddenly, he stopped
speaking, and his face took on that closed, hurt look Maggie hated.  “It’s
getting late.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.  Flynn
boosted her onto the wagon seat.  “I’ll see you around, O’Brien.”

Maggie touched the brim of her hat.

Flynn rewarded her with a grin.

“Wagons, ho!”  Sam’s deep growl carried back to the
last wagon.

The sound of Sam’s voice sent a thrill down Maggie’s
spine.  She slapped the reins against the backs of her horses, and the wagon
lurched forward.

*  *  *

That night, Maggie tried to make supper, but as
usual, she burned everything she touched.  He father came out of the wagon and
sniffed the charred contents of the frying pan.  He slapped her hard with the
back of his hand.  “Useless girl!  Can’t you do
anything
?”

Maggie turned and ran to the picket line.  Her hands
shook as she brushed Sebastian.  Blood trickled down her chin.  She started to
wipe it away with her sleeve.

Someone took her wrist gently.

She turned.

Flynn stood behind her.  “Who did this to you?”

Maggie looked away from the anger in his gaze.  “My
father.”

Flynn placed his hands on her shoulders and turned
her to face him.  He dampened his white linen handkerchief in water from the
Nemaha and wiped away the blood.  He helped her tend to the horses, and then,
he took her by the hand and led her back to her wagon.  “If he hurts you again,
I want you to come and find me.  Do you understand?”

Maggie nodded.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to teach you how to defend
yourself.  Bring that rifle Sam made you buy.  And your pistol.  And your
knife.”  He turned and stalked away.

Maggie watched him go.  She felt as if she had been
leaning into a stiff wind all of her life and it finally stopped.  For the
first time in her life, she had a champion.

A little while later, Frank stopped by with a pot of
stew.  “It ain’t much, Miss Maggie, but I heard you had a little cooking
accident.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears.  “Thank you,
Frank.”

He patted her shoulder awkwardly.  “Tomorrow night,
I’ll teach you how to make stew.”

Maggie nodded.  Her throat was too tight to speak. 
She set the pot over the embers of her fire and climbed into the wagon.  Lucy
lay sobbing on the bed.

There was no sign of Michael.

“Mama, where did papa go?”

Lucy sat up.  Her eyes were red and puffy.  “To that
dreadful man from West Virginia.  He has liquor in those barrels, Maggie!  I
thought we’d be safe on this wagon train, but we’ll never be safe!  Never!”

Shaking with anger and fear, Maggie jumped out of
the wagon and ran to Mr. Simpkins’ wagon.  She heard coarse laughter and
climbed into the back.

Her father sat on the edge of a cot with a jug in
his hand.

Maggie yanked it out of his hand.  “Papa, if the
Major catches you drinking, he will throw you off this train!”

“He wouldn’t dare.”  Michael stood up, swaying.

“Yes, Papa.  He would.  Now either come with me or
I’ll fetch the Major.”  Maggie planted her hands on her slim hips.

“You would, too.  You little traitor!”  Michael took
a step toward her.

Maggie’s stomach ached with fear, but she stood her
ground.

Michael seemed to shrink.  He ran his hand through
his greasy hair.  “All right, Mary.”  He pushed past her and stumbled out of
the wagon.

“My name is Maggie,” she muttered.  She sighed and followed
her father.

By the time she got back to her wagon, the stew had
burned.

*  *  *

Maggie woke before sunrise.  All sense of excitement
and hope was gone.  She felt empty and hopeless.

“Good morning, O’Brien.  Bring your rifle.”

She started.  She opened her mouth to scold Flynn,
but he looked too grim.  She nodded and scrambled into the wagon.  She brought
out the rifle and a box of ammunition.

First, they tended to the horses.  Then, he led her
away from the wagons.  Maggie had already strapped on her pistol.  Flynn
adjusted the belt so that the pistol grip was the same height as the palm of
her hand.  At the touch of his hand, Maggie felt her face redden.  She turned
away quickly.  Flynn took her into the trees, away from the horses.  He looked
around for a target.  He fastened his white handkerchief to a tree.  He paced
off sixty feet, dragging Maggie with him.  “All right.  We’ll start with the
rifle first.  It’s easier to sight.”  He showed her how to pump it to bring a
round into the chamber.  He sighted down the barrel.  “Keep both eyes open and
focus on the gun sight.  Here.”  He handed her the rifle.

Maggie nodded.  She sighted carefully down the
barrel and squeezed the trigger.

It knocked her onto her rump.

Flynn held out his hand and helped her to her feet. 
“There are two things to remember about firing a rifle.  First, squeeze the
trigger, don’t pull it; and second, be prepared for the recoil.”  He grinned. 
“Try again.”

Maggie pumped another round into the chamber.  She
braced her legs and squeezed the trigger again.  This time, she was ready for
the recoil.  The second bullet hit the center of the handkerchief.  The third
struck less than an inch from the second.

Flynn shook his head.  “Beginner’s luck.  Try again.”

Maggie fired a total of six rounds, and each one
struck the target.

Flynn stared at her.  “Is there anything you can’t
do?”

Slowly, Maggie smiled.  “Cook.”

He laughed, and the lines of strain and anger eased
out of his face.  “All right, the pistol is harder.  Let’s find another target.” 
He walked over to another tree and carved an “X” into the bark.  He counted out
twenty paces.  He took the pistol, and showed her how to load it.  Then, he
handed her the gun.

Maggie sighted and fired.

The shot went wide.

Frowning, Maggie tried again, and that shot went
wide, too.  She tried four more times, but each time, it went wide.

Flynn took the pistol out of her hand and sighted
down the barrel.  He nodded.  “The sight is crooked.  Ben will adjust it for
you tonight.  Here.”  He handed her his own pistol.  It was older, and the
handle was worn almost smooth.

Maggie accepted it.  She checked the chambers.

It was empty.

Grinning, he handed her the bullets.

She grinned back.  She loaded the weapon and sighted
carefully.  She squeezed the trigger, and the weapon almost seemed to fire by
itself.  The bullet was about three inches to the left of the target, but at
least it hit the tree.

Flynn nodded.  “Not bad.”

Maggie squeezed off four more rounds.  The last one
was only an inch from the X.  She handed the pistol back to Flynn.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me until after you’ve killed your first
man.  You’ll have to live with that for the rest of your life.”  He turned away
and walked back toward the wagons.

As Maggie watched him go, she wondered whose death
haunted him so much that it had carved lines of grief into his face.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

That night, Frank stopped by her cook fire.  If he
noticed the cut on her cheek, he didn’t say anything about it.  Instead, he
showed her how to build a fire that would cook steadily and evenly.  He taught
her how to cut the meat and when to add the vegetables.  He sprinkled a little
salt and some herbs into the mix and stirred it.  “Keep stirring it, Maggie. 
That way, it won’t burn on the bottom.  I brought some biscuits, too. 
Tomorrow, I’ll teach how to make biscuits and dumplings.”

Tears filled her eyes.  “Why are you all being so
nice to me?”

Frank stared at her in surprise.  “We like you,
Maggie.”

Maggie looked away.  “Thank you.”

Frank patted her shoulder.  “Keep stirring, Maggie. 
Keep stirring.”

Laughing, Maggie stirred the stew.

A few minutes later, Ben stopped by.  He hunkered
down beside her.  “Give me your pistol, Maggie.”

Maggie handed over the weapon.

Ben took a pair of pliers out of his pocket.  With
swift, deft motions, he adjusted the sight.  He looked down the barrel of the
gun and nodded.  “That ought to do it.  See you in the morning, bright and
early.”

Maggie nodded.  “Thank you, Mister Brewster.”

Ben squeezed her shoulder.  “Call me Ben.”  He stood
up and walked toward the picket line.

That night, her father didn’t complain about her
cooking.  Even Lucy cleaned her plate.

The knot in Maggie’s stomach eased a little as she
lay down beneath the wagon.

*  *  *

The next day, Maggie and Flynn rode away from the
wagons.  Flynn took her to a clearing beside the river.  They dismounted and
tethered the horses.  Then, Flynn drew his knife so fast that it was a blur.  “A
knife fight is your worst option, Maggie.  Most men will have weight and reach
on you.  And don’t throw your knife unless there’s no other choice.  Although
in your case, you’d probably hit whatever you aimed at.  But then you’ve lost
your weapon.  Your best bet is to go for the belly.”  He lunged at her.

Maggie danced back reflexively.

Flynn nodded approvingly.  “Good.  Now, draw your
own knife.”

Maggie swallowed hard.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Flynn grinned.  “That’s not going to happen.” 
Before he finished speaking, he had moved in, taken her wrist and the knife
went flying.

Maggie’s mouth opened.

“
That’s
your best option in a knife fight. 
Move fast, before your opponent has a chance to use his knife.  Disable him if
you can.  Kill him if there’s no other choice.”  He looked her up and down.  “You’ve
got long legs.  I’ll teach you how to kick.”

“You mean like this?”  Maggie’s leg lashed upward
and struck his wrist. 
His
knife went flying.

For a moment, Flynn looked surprised.  Then, he
laughed.  “Maggie, are you sure you’re not a boy?”

Maggie shook her head.  “I wouldn’t know.  I never
had a brother to compare with.”

Flynn’s face reddened.

Maggie grinned.  “Why Mr. Flynn, you’re blushing.”

“I am not!”

Her grin broadened.  “Are too.”

He grinned back.  “Am not.”

Laughing, she picked up her knife.  Flynn bent and
picked up his own knife.  “All right.  Come at me.”

This time, Maggie watched his whole body, not just
his hands, and this time, she was ready for him and danced out of the way of
his lunge.  She jabbed with the knife, but Flynn wasn’t there anymore.  He came
around her and put his knife against her throat.  “This isn’t a game, Maggie.  Your
life depends on this.”

Maggie stood very still, hardly breathing.

Slowly, he released her.  “Now, this time, I want
you to try to sneak up on me.”

Maggie nodded.  She drew her knife and walked away
from the river.  She turned.

Flynn stood behind her with his knife pointed at her
heart.  “Another lesson, Maggie.  Never trust your adversary.”

She nodded solemnly.  She sheathed her knife, and he
sheathed his.  She drew her knife again with a speed that surprised both of
them.  Her knife touched his shirt, just above his belt.  She felt his breath
in her face.  Then his hands moved so fast she couldn’t see what he did, and
she was facing in the opposite direction with her arm twisted up behind her
back.

“I’d really like to learn how to do that,” she said.

“It’ll take time.”

She kicked backward, but he wasn’t there, and she
found herself kneeling on the ground so that her shoulder didn’t come out of
its socket.  “Well, it’s a long trip to California.”

He laughed and released his grip.  She turned to
face him.  He sobered.  “You mean it, don’t you?  You really want to learn.”

She nodded.  “The Major said that it’s very unlikely
that my father will ever stop drinking.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder.  “No.  He probably
won’t.”

“So I’ll probably have to take care of the ranch. 
That means hiring help.  Men.”  She turned and grabbed his arm.  She tried to
twist it up behind his back, but he was too strong.

“And you’ll need to be able to protect yourself.” 
He pulled free.  “That’s enough for one day, Maggie.  Like you said, it’s long
trip.  We’ll have time.”

She nodded.  They rode back to wagons in silence. 
Just before they reached camp, Maggie reined in Patches.  “Mr. Flynn?”

“Yes, Maggie?”

“Are you mad at me?”

He was silent a long time.  Then, slowly, he shook
his head.  “At your father.  And life.”  He sighed.  “You shouldn’t have grown
up over a saloon.  You should have grown up in a white house with—“  He stopped
speaking and kicked Scout into a gallop.

Maggie and Patches hurried after him.

*  *  *

The next three weeks were the best in Maggie’s
life.  She woke before dawn and ate breakfast at Frank’s cook fire.  She went
to the picket line and took care of her horses.  Then, she climbed onto her
wagon and moved that much closer to her dream.

They followed the Missouri River northward, toward
the Platte.  Sam set an easy pace at first, but each day, they started earlier
and traveled farther as the greenhorns grew stronger and more confident.

They camped outside of Lancaster, six weeks after
they left St. Jo.  It was unseasonably hot, and the air was still.  Maggie stood
on a hill and looked out at the prairie, stretching as far as she could see.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Maggie turned and placed her hands on her hips. 
"Robert Sean Flynn, you've got to stop—"

"Sneaking up on people.  I know."  He
grinned and stood beside her.  Slowly, his grin faded, and his face looked
solemn, as if he stood in a church.

"This place is special to you," she said
softly.

Flynn nodded without speaking.  "I was happy
here.  Before the war."

Maggie nodded.  "My father was different after
the war, too.  And it isn't just the drink."

Flynn nodded again.  "War changes a man.  The
things we see, the things we do..."  His voice trailed off into silence.

Maggie hesitated.  "But you built a life for
yourself.  You—you learned how to be happy again.  Somehow."

Slowly, Flynn turned and stared at her.  "Maggie
O'Brien, when did you get so wise?"

Maggie blushed at the compliment.  Then, slowly, she
grinned.  "When you weren't looking."

Flynn laughed.  "Come on.  I'll treat you to
supper."

Guilt jabbed Maggie sharply and her grin winked out. 
"But my folks—"

"Will either learn how to fend for themselves or
starve."  His grin broadened.  "And I doubt they will starve if they
miss one meal."

Maggie grinned again.  "All right."

Together, they walked back to Sam's wagon.

*  *  *

That night, Maggie lay on her back and looked up at
the stars, happier than she had ever been in her life.

“Damn it, Lucy!  Give it back!”

“Mama, no!  Not when he’s drunk.”  Maggie scrambled
into the wagon.

Lucy O’Brien stood holding the jug of moonshine in
her arms protectively.  “I am not going to let you throw away our last chance
at a better life!”

“I need it, Lucy!  You know that!  I can’t sleep
without it!”

“I don’t care!”  Lucy threw the jug down, and it
shattered.  The moonshine ran across the floorboards.

“Mama, no,” Maggie whispered.  She stepped between
her parents.  Michael shoved her out of the way and turned on Lucy.  Maggie had
seen Michael beat Lucy a hundred times before, but there was something
terrifying about his rage this time.  Maggie grabbed his arm, and he flung her
off as if she weighed nothing.  She got to her feet, but she was too late. 
Michael struck Lucy hard.  Lucy fell backward, hitting her head on the crate
that contained her dishes.  There was a thump, like the sound of pumpkin when
it hits the ground.

And then blood mingled with the liquor that flowed
across the floor.

“Mama!”  Maggie ran to her mother.  Lucy’s beautiful
blue eyes stared at her, unseeing, and her breast did not rise and fall. 
Maggie fumbled for a pulse at her neck, but there was none.  She stood slowly
and turned to her father.  “She’s dead.”  Maggie didn’t recognize the sound of
her own voice, harsh with anger and contempt.  "You killed her.  You
killed her!"

Michael’s face went white as the rage drained out of
him.  His hands shook as he grabbed the rifle.  Maggie reached for the gun. 
Michael swung the butt of the rifle and struck the side of her head.  She fell
heavily, and darkness blinded her for a few moments.  She shook her head and
got to her hands and knees.  She stood up just in time to see her father put
the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.

Maggie winced as Michael’s blood and brains struck
her.  She shut her eyes tightly and clenched her teeth against the bile that
rose in the back of her throat.  Over the roaring in her ears, she heard the
commotion outside the wagon.  She heard voices asking what had happened.  Then,
she heard Sam’s voice.

“Maggie?  Are you all right?”

Maggie swallowed hard and opened her eyes.

Sam stood in front of her with his hand on her
shoulder.  “Maggie?”

Maggie tried to speak, but no sound emerged from her
mouth.  She tried again.  She put her hands to her throat.  She tried one more
time, but she couldn’t make a sound, not even a sob.

Sam stuck his head out of the wagon.  “Flynn!”

Flynn ran toward the wagon.  “I heard the shot, Sam. 
What—“  He stopped.  “Maggie!  Are you all right?”  He climbed into the wagon.

Maggie bowed her head.

Sam sighed.  “Get her out of here, Flynn.  Ask one
of the women to look after her.”

Flynn nodded.  He picked Maggie up and carried her
outside.  Ellie Lonnegan stood next to the wagon she shared with her husband
and her son.  She bit her lip when she saw them.  “Poor child.  Put her inside
our wagon, Mr. Flynn.”

Flynn climbed into the back of the wagon and laid
Maggie down on the bed.  Ellie brought a cup of hot tea into the wagon and held
it to Maggie’s trembling lips.

It was too sweet.  Maggie made a face and shook her
head.

“Drink it anyway.”  Ellie put her arm around the
Maggie and helped her sit up.  “Sugar always helps when you’ve had a shock.”

Maggie took a sip.  Slowly, the shivering stopped.

“Stay with her, Mr. Flynn.”  Ellie left the wagon.

Flynn took Maggie’s hand in his.  “Maggie, I’m
sorry.  I should have told the Major.  I should have—“  He stopped speaking and
looked down at her hand.  “You’re freezing.”  He rubbed her hand between his. 
His hands were warm and comforting.  “It’s all right, Magpie.”

She shut her eyes.  Her mouth and throat moved, but
no words came out.  She shook her head.

Flynn touched her shoulder gently.

Ellie came back in the wagon with a basin of hot
water.  “Thanks, Flynn.  Can you leave us alone, please?”

Flynn nodded.  He climbed out of the wagon.

“Get out of those clothes, Maggie.”

Maggie tried to obey, but her hands shook so badly
that she couldn’t unfasten the buttons of her shirt.  Ellie undressed her.  She
wrung out a cloth and washed her as gently as if she were a baby.  Maggie shut
her eyes and gritted her teeth.

Ellie touched the bruise on her temple.  “Your
father did this?”

Maggie nodded.

Ellie’s breath hissed, but she continued to wash the
blood and gore from Maggie’s body.  “Can’t you speak?”

Tears of grief and frustration burned Maggie’s
eyes.  She shook her head.

Ellie rummaged in the trunk at the foot of the bed. 
She took out a pair of trousers and a shirt.  She regarded them sadly for a
moment.  “These belonged my brother.  He was killed in the war.”  She removed
Maggie’s trousers and cleaned the rest of her.

Maggie pulled on the clean trousers and shirt and
stood up.

Ellie grabbed her wrist gently.  “Where do you think
you’re going, young lady?”

Maggie tried to speak and gave up.  She pulled away
from Ellie.  She picked up the basin and cloth.  At Ellie’s fire, she ladled
more hot water into the basin.  She looked at Ellie questioningly.

Slowly, Ellie nodded.  “You want to prepare your
parents’ bodies for burying?”

Maggie nodded.

Ellie squeezed her shoulder.  Together, they walked
back to the O’Brien wagon.  Ellie put her arm protectively around Maggie’s
shoulder as they walked.

When they came to the wagon, the Major stood beside
it.  “Why did you bring her here?”

“She wants to help with her mother’s body, Major.  I
think it’s something she needs to do.”

Sam nodded slowly.  “All right, Mrs. Lonnegan, but
you stay with her.  And Ben and I will take care of her father.”

Ellie nodded.  “Is he still in there?”

Sam nodded.  “We brought out her mother’s body
already.”

Ellie turned to Flynn and Ben.  “Can you please
bring Lucy’s body to my wagon?”