What Once We Loved (55 page)

22

Zane pushed an unconscious Ruth off of him and into the box of the buggy. He should leave now. Ruth would be his, she would disappear, and no one would know where she'd gone. It was the perfect crime! Her death, complete. He could return in a day or two, claim his child and the ranch.

But no, the child had seen him through the door. He was sure of that. He would have to silence her first, then leave with Ruth.

He hobbled from the buggy. The horse moved forward, then back. He should tie it; no time. He thump-walked to the porch, pushed open the door. His eyes adjusted to the dim room. He couldn't see her now. She'd been lying on a cot, had been able to stare out the door. Where had she gone? From the corner of his eye he saw a movement. He jerked aside, and the Dutch oven swung against the door instead of hitting his wooden leg.

“You brat,” he seethed. With his cane, he struck at the girl who stood wobbly as a new colt. She went down. He should kill her, push a pillow over her face and be done with it. He heard the buggy shift outside. No time. Taking her with them would take too long, be too hard to manage with Ruth, too. When he returned, it would be a child's word against his, and no one would believe her. A court of law would listen to him. He was her father, after all.

He smiled and backed out, pulled the door shut and made his way
to the buggy. It was perfect! Ruth his, at last, and he wouldn't even have to share the spoils!

Mazy hadn't laughed so much in…years, she decided. Burke Manes was a wonderful storyteller, especially telling tales of his own foibles. “Didn't you have a compass point to follow?” she said. “A reckoning device, something?”

“It would have done me little good. I knew which way was north. I just didn't know which direction I'd left my horse at.”

Mazy scratched at Pigs head, watched him sniff after a covey of quail. “But you got the elk home. You found your pack animal? You didn't have to consume it out on the trail?”

“Eventually,” he said. “Gave me time for pondering, wandering around in my own little southern Oregon wilderness.”

“Deep thoughts, I'm sure.” She liked that he used a word her mother was fond of too.

“In a way.” He grinned at her, a single dimple in his check. “I decided I knew why the Israelites were lost for forty years in a stretch of desert only twenty miles wide.”

“Why?” she said.

“Because the men refused to stop and ask for directions.”

Mazy doubled over in laughter again. “Oh, Mister Manes,” she said.

“Burke,” he said. “It's Burke, and I do hope I have the privilege of calling on you again. Seldom does a man have such an attentive audience.” I m sure—

“What's that?” Burke said, looking past her, holding his hand up for silence.

Mazy turned. She heard it now too, the clanging of the dinner triangle.

“Ruth must want us back there,” Matthew said.

“I wonder what's got that terrapin in such a tizzy,” Lura noted.

“Maybe somethings happened to Jessie,” Matthew said and started down the zigzag trail at a run.

At the house, Jessie was draped across the hitching rail with one hand, clanging as hard as she could against the iron with the other.

“Hey, hey,” Matthew said, holding her up. “We're here. How'd you get out here? Where's your mama?” He looked beyond her.

“She ain't inside,” Lura said, stepping past him to scan through the open door.

“He. Took. Her.” Jessie gasped each word. “He. Took. Her.”

“Who? Who took her?”

“Buggy tracks,” Seth said. “Fresh ones.”

“That man,” Jessie said, and she wept. “Zane Randolph.”

“Ma. You, Mariah, Mazy, you stay with Jessie here,” Matthew ordered. “Boys, grab up our mounts.”

“I'm going with you,” Mazy said. “I'll take Ruth's Koda.” They raced to the barn, bridled up. Mazy swung to ride astride, bareback. “Hold the gate,” Mariah and Matthew shouted as one. When Mazy rode through, she spied a new horsehair rope. The one Ruth had been working on, she bet. She leaned, grabbed it, and kicked Koda to a gallop.

He hadn't even felt a need to rush. This was so delicious. He'd been calm. He had kept to his plan. It was sped up a bit; he'd had little time to let Ruth squirm, to let the realization of what he'd do to her fester within her. He'd squeeze from her every gold eagle she had earned. And then he'd take her life. He supposed he was fortunate no one else was there, though he would have loved to see the face of the man he'd bested once and for all. The child having seen him dampened things a bit. No matter. Even the drizzle couldn't drown his ecstasy, his triumph.

He'd keep her…no. He'd pull aside, finish what he started, then bury her in the timber.

The buggy slid on the road, and he realized the drizzle had turned the trail to muck. He didn't need this now. He certainly didn't want to get stuck in muddy ruts with Ruth beside him. He lifted the buggy whip, snapped it against the horse and shouted to keep the animal moving. He had that stream to cross, and then he could make it to the outskirts of Jacksonville, ride on through to One Horse Town. The Chinese and Kanaka would pay no attention to a woman left in their garbage heap. That would give him time to revive her, savor her terror before he finished his dessert.

Now that he'd decided, he couldn't make the horse move fast enough. He struck it again and mud flew up, pitting his hat. The horse slowed, and that was when he felt more than heard hooves thundering behind him.

Rain pelted their faces. “They're up ahead!” Matthew shouted, and he leaned forward on his horse. The Quarter-Pather seemed to tighten up, then explode in response to Matthew's knees. They could all see the buggy ahead. And beyond Mazy could see the creek Burke had said was called Daisy when they'd splashed through it early that morning. It was running full now. Even up onto the grassy bank. A tree had washed down, leaving the branches and roots tangled around a boulder and smaller rocks. It was right where the ford was. Too narrow for the buggy, she thought. He'd have to stop. They'd have him! And Ruth, too.

“What's he doing?” Seth shouted.

Mazy blinked. The rain came almost sideways now, the wind blowing with it. She felt blinded and lifted her skirt to wipe at her eyes. Could that be? He was trying to drive the buggy into the swollen stream, into the rush of the water.

“Hold back!” Matthew shouted. “Let them be! The mans crazy!”

They pulled up, the horses breathing hard.

Randolph pushed again, the poor buggy horse rearing, stepping backward while he whipped it forward. “Go! You blasted horse! Go, I say!”

The animal was frenzied now. Pig ran past Mazy, barking, which added to the sounds of rain, the splatter of mud, a screaming horse being driven beyond its limits.

“No, Pig!” Mazy called out. The dog stopped, but the buggy horse went on, entered the water. Zane drove it into the ford, into the branches and leaves being swept along, catching the wheels in the net of tree root and rock. “It's too narrow!” Mazy shouted.

Her words gave no halt to his effort. Water rose up to the horses belly. It tried to rear, tried to move back, then lunge forward. They all watched as though in slow motion: The horse broke through the web of branches held firm there while the buggy pitched up on one wheel and came down jammed in the rocks. Zane jolted forward, and Ruth spread as limp as a whip across him and the box.

The horse pulled, attempted to rear, twisted by the harness and stiff side rods. It gave one last effort, the filly s throe shifting and tipping the buggy more. Zane appeared to be skewed deep into the wedge of the rock, his movement hampered by an unconscious Ruth.

“Ruth!” Mazy shouted. “Ruth! Can you hear us?”

Matthew had dismounted. He plunged, high-legged through the raging water, his knife drawn.

His leg! His leg was caught! And not The Stub. The good leg, his only leg. What was that? A bone! A bone exposed in his good leg! He felt numb like he had been in the river when the brat and that Indian woman had left him behind. Horses, always horses and women ruined
him. Ruth moaned. He could hear his own raspy breathing. He had pushed too hard. He could have had it all legally. Why had he pushed the horse? Her fault. Ruths fault. His cane with the stiletto knife drifted toward him, caught in Ruths arm hanging limply across Zane s body. He looked up and saw a man in the water. A blade in his hand. He grabbed Ruth tighter.

What is that idiot doing? Trying to cut the reins? The harness free? What difference does it make? The animal will diel That must be Ruth's man! The horse cant live. Why is he bothering with it? Why isnt he helping me? Iù a trick! He wants Ruth. He's moving to grab Ruth.

“Get my leg out! You fool! Idiot! Can't you see? Leave the horse be! Help me! “

He was coming closer. Yes, here he was.

“Pull up, under my arms. Do that!” Zane shouted to him. But the man was reaching for Ruth. “Dont bother with her.” He grabbed at his cane, pushed the man back with it.

“Let her go, and I'll be able to help you!” Ruths man shouted at him. He moved here and there, climbing above and around, yanking and pulling, trying to free Ruth from Zanes grasp. The pain seared into Zanes brain. “No! Get a rod, something! Anything. Free the leg. Free the leg!”