Yellow Rose Bride (21 page)

“Come in, come in.” Gillian shooed her into the foyer. “I'll make a pot of tea. Maybe you can get her to drink something.” The older woman wandered off, talking to herself under her breath. Vonnie glanced at the closed parlor doors. Removing her gloves, she stepped to the doorway and carefully slid open the double doors. Beth sat in front of the fire, staring at the flames. “Beth?”

The bride-to-be glanced up at the sound of her name. “Yes? Vonnie?”

“Hi.” Vonnie stepped inside the room, pulling the doors closed behind her. “I'm glad I found you home this morning.”

“Oh.” Beth offered a whimsical smile. “I had
planned to spend the day with Hildy, but come in. Warm yourself by the fire.”

She strode to the fireplace, grateful for the invitation. March cold winds blew. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she unbuttoned her heavy fleece coat. “Beth, there's been an accident.”

“Oh?” Beth looked up. “Someone I know?”

“Not someone, but something.” She sat down on the stool, grasping her friend's hands tightly. “I'm so sorry. Someone entered my sewing room last night and destroyed your gown.”

For a moment the only sound in the room was a log popping and the ashes showering to the grate. “I know this is dreadful news, but we have time to order a new dress. The wedding is months away—”

Beth held up a hand. “Stop! There isn't going to be a wedding.”

Vonnie paused to catch her breath. “Now, Beth, a bought gown won't be so bad. I'll have time to make alterations, add whatever trim you want.”

Beth met her concerned gaze. “There isn't going to be a wedding. Period.”

Vonnie couldn't find her voice. At first elation filled her. Adam wasn't marrying Beth! Then compassion. Adam had broken Beth's heart. How could he?

Or had she broken his?

“Tell me what happened?”

“Adam stopped by last night.” Beth's eyes teared up.
“He had the biggest shiner you ever saw, but he wouldn't say how he got it—other than some babble about ‘falling through a loose board.' But it was more, much more. Eventually the reason for his visit came out. He broke off the engagement.”

“Oh, Beth, I'm so sorry.”

Vonnie's head reeled. Adam had broken the engagement. Adam?

“No.” Beth dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “He was right. We both knew that what we had together wasn't right. Not in the way of ‘lasting' right. I loved Adam. I believe in his way he feels deep affection for me, but deep affection isn't enough to last ‘till death do us part.' He was wise enough to recognize that and spare us both considerable grief.”

“You're all right with this?”

She turned, her nose bright red from crying; she wasn't completely all right. What bride-to-be who now wasn't ever cherished the thought of this hour. But Vonnie knew that Beth was strong, and Adam, for whatever his reason, was right. In her heart she knew that Adam would never love a woman the way he had loved her, but she wasn't sure that was why he'd broken the engagement. Adam had changed, matured. Maybe he had simply decided he would not do his father's bidding.

Taking her friend into her arms, Vonnie held Beth tightly as the young woman sobbed.

She blinked back tears, realizing what she'd done. She'd sold the ranch to Tanner and she and Cammy would be leaving for San Francisco imminently.

Timing never seemed to be her and Adam's strong point.

 

Late that afternoon, Vonnie glanced at the trunk that Eugenia had dragged in from the spare room and had begun to fill with Cammy's dresses. The neighbor had spared no time in packing.

“I think she should take the green dress, don't you? It would be perfect for afternoon tea,” she said, carefully folding the pale green batiste. “I'll have to get some extra hat boxes—”

“Vonnie, come look at this picture.”

“Momma, no. Put the album away.”

“No, come see this. See how handsome your father is.”

“Momma—”

The day had already been hectic. First Beth's dress, then news of Adam and Beth's broken engagement. She couldn't face much more, and yet she fought to keep from going to Adam to ask why. Why now?

“Please dear. It will only take a moment.”

Vonnie surrendered, going to kneel beside Cammy to look at the pictures that fascinated Cammy and seemed to give her some sense of comfort.

She pointed to a photo that showed five men standing together, each in uniform with their rifles beside them. “See how handsome he is in his uniform? How young they look. That's Daddy, and P.K.”

Vonnie glanced at the picture, recognizing the men though they were young. “That's Franz standing beside Daddy, isn't it?”

Cammy suddenly clutched the photo album to her chest.

Vonnie frowned. “What's wrong?”

The woman's eyes widened in fear and her lips trembled.

“I don't want to go to the cellar! Don't make me go to the cellar! Teague said I never had to go there. Not ever!”

“It's all right, Momma.” Vonnie soothed, alarmed at her mother's reaction.

“I hate it down there,” Cammy snapped.

“You don't ever have to go down there.”

“I don't want to go…I don't want to go…”

It took some time to calm her mother, but Vonnie was finally able to pry the photo album from her mother's hands and persuade her to lie down.

Eugenia remained with Cammy most of the day, sorting through her wardrobe, while Vonnie packed her sewing materials.

That evening, exhausted after the stressful day, she moved through the house turning out the lamps.

As the wick died away, the front parlor window shattered, spraying glass across the rug.

Smothering a frightened scream, Vonnie watched, horrified, as a rock bounced across the room and came to rest at her feet.

Heart pounding, she ran to the window to look out.

A shadow with a distinctive limp separated itself
from the woodshed and made its way quickly back across the open space to the barn.

Andrew?

Letting the drape fall back into place, she picked up the rock and unwound the piece of paper wrapped around it.

Holding the paper in trembling fingers, she read the cryptic message.

“Sell out while you can,” it warned.

“Andrew,” she whispered. “Have you been doing this to me?”

S
taring at the thirty-three-year-old newspaper, Adam studied the article and the accompanying picture.

“Find what you're looking for?”

“I think so,” he said, closing the huge drawers that contained the dusty back issues in the back room of
The Weekly Amarillo News.
“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” the editor said, closing the door and locking it.

Coming out of the newspaper office, Adam paused on the sidewalk. He finally had the answer to one question. Now on to the other.

Later that morning he knocked on Franz Schuyler's door. Dr. McDonald answered his knock.

“Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I need to speak to Franz.”

“Audrey's very ill this morning, Adam. Perhaps another time?”

“Sorry, I'll come back later. Is there anything I can do?”

“I wish there were, But no, there's nothing.”

Adam turned and spotted Sheriff Tanner walking toward him. Usually content to let the sheriff past, Adam stopped him.

“Tanner.”

“Baldwin.” The sheriff tipped his hat.

“You remember El Johnson, the guy who rode with my father, Teague Taylor and Franz during the war?”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“Where is he now?”

“Now?” Tanner lifted his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Last I heard he'd moved from Austin to twenty or so miles from here. Why?”

“Did you ever know the real reason behind Teague and P.K.'s hatred?”

Surprise crossed the sheriff's face. “Don't reckon I do, not for certain. You've lived with the feud all your life. Don't you know?”

“Bits and pieces, things P.K.'s chosen to tell me. I have a feeling the trouble runs deeper than a squabble over jewels.” He had a hunch the feud had festered until no one knew for certain what it was about.

“Don't know what I could tell you about Johnson other than I heard he's a hermit—don't let many folks come around.”

Adam nodded. It figured.

“Heard the wedding's been called off.”

News travels fast. “It has.”

“Suppose you've heard about the trouble out at the Taylor place—Beth's bridal gown?”

A muscle in Adam's jaw firmed. “What trouble?”

“Good grief, man. Are you living in a cave? It's all over town. Someone broke into Vonnie's workroom sometime during the night and slashed the Baylor girl's gown to ribbons.”

Beth's gown.
Guilt flooded Adam. He'd broken her heart, shamed her and now someone had destroyed her gown. He had started to leave when Tanner began to walk on. Then the sheriff stopped and turned back to face Adam. “You do know the Taylor girl has sold out. Lock, stock and barrel.”

Adam's mind went blank then numb. Recovering, he shook his head, trying to clear his head. “Vonnie wouldn't sell.”

“Better check your facts. She did sell. To me. Brought her a fair price and she took it. Her and her mother is leaving for San Francisco before the end of the week.”

What started as a bad twenty-four hours had bloomed into a nightmare. Vonnie had sold the Flying Feather? To Tanner? Had she lost her mind?

“I don't believe you.”

Tanner shrugged. “I won't lose any sleep over it. I'm telling the truth.”

“Why would she sell to you?”

“Well now, maybe that's a question you ought to ask your pa.” Tipping his hat, the sheriff moved on. The whole conversation didn't make sense. P.K. wouldn't
know why Vonnie would sell her land and birds to Sheriff Tanner. The thought that his father cared anything about a Taylor was laughable. He turned on his heel and stepped off the porch, anger warring with temperance. If Vonnie was here right now he'd wring her pretty neck! It had taken him years, but now he knew. He wasn't mad at her for wanting the marriage annulled. He was mad at himself for letting her talk him out of it. All these years he'd felt less a man. He'd taken vows before God and he—not only Vonnie—had failed to honor them. Pride had let him walk away without thinking about the ramifications. Sure, they were young and crazy, but neither had been a babe regarding God's commandments. They
both
knew better.

 

It took a day and a half to track El Johnson down. He found him, a hermit, living not twenty miles from Amarillo. Adam surveyed the old shack, the overgrown yard. El wouldn't welcome his coming.

Rapping on the worn door, he glanced across the open plains. What a desolate place. A man could die of loneliness out here.

The door opened a crack, and a pair of faded blue eyes focused. “Yeah?”

Johnson's greeting was less than cordial, but at least the hermit didn't shoot on sight.

“El Johnson?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Adam Baldwin. P.K.'s son.”

“What d'ya want?”

“I'd want to talk to you.”

“Said all I needed to say thirty-three years ago.”

“Could I come inside?”

El looked as if he wasn't going to cooperate, but finally he stepped back and motioned for Adam to come inside.

Adam focused on the small, dirty room. Dust coated every surface, and the stack of unwashed dishes said that El didn't have a woman.

“Sit if it suits you,” he said, pulling a shabby wooden chair forward.

Adam sat. “You remember my father?” he asked.

El nodded. “I remember him.”

“But the two of you haven't kept in touch over the years?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“No reason to keep in touch.”

“That's true, unless it affects me. And it's affecting me.”

Johnson studiously avoided Adam's gaze. His eyes burned with such intensity that Adam wondered if the man was entirely sane.

“Whatever happened between the two of you has cost me the woman I love.”

El sat, staring reflectively at the soiled tablecloth. “Your papa ever tell you about the war?”

“Some,” Adam admitted. “He doesn't speak of it often.”

“Didn't think so,” El said, digging at a dried-egg splatter with a broken fingernail.

“Most men don't like talking about the war.”

“Yeah, some don't.”

“You and my father, Teague Taylor and Franz Schuyler were friends at one time, right?”

Johnson's eyes shifted warily. “We fought together.”

“You rode in the same company.”

“We did,” El confirmed.

“And you all came back to Amarillo after the war.”

There was no immediate answer, and Adam took that to be a fact.

“Why was it that only Teague and Franz remained friends? Why did my father hate Teague so bitterly, and why did you choose to move to another county and not associate with P.K., Teague or Franz?”

El's hackles rose. “Why should I tell you?”

“You keep your distance from my father, and the others. Why?”

“Things change.”

Adam studied the man for a long moment, wondering what kind of man, what kind of soldier, he'd been. Lean, tall as P.K., a firm jaw, scruffy with a week-old beard. El Johnson was the oldest of the group.

“What things changed?” Adam asked.

“Just things. Now go along and leave an old man his peace.”

“I can't. This feud won't let up or die out. I want to know what happened. What changed and caused some of you to become bitter enemies?”

“I came out here to be left alone. You got no right to come here nosing around.”

“Someone I love is in danger. I don't know why, but I think it has something to do with what happened among you four men.”

Lifting his eyes, El stared at him. “A woman?”

There was a long, brittle silence. “Vonnie Taylor. Teague's daughter.”

“Teague's baby girl?”

“She's not little anymore,” Adam admitted. “You know Teague is dead.”

His eyes clouded. “No, I didn't. He was a good man.”

When El didn't elaborate, Adam pressed harder. “If he was such a good man, why didn't you remain friends?”

“Old memories. Things best forgotten,” the old man said softly.

“The four of you went through the war together. As a rule that strengthens friendships. The four of you built lives, some had families, but only Teague and P.K. acknowledged each other through necessity. They only spoke if they were forced to. I want to know what happened.”

The old man squinted, momentarily lost in his own reverie.

“El, help me. Tell me what happened to cause the hate and animosity.”

“Nothing we're proud of,” he said. “We was comin' home,” the hermit began, so softly Adam had to strain to hear. “Just young bucks, full of havin' survived.
Sick of war.” He rubbed his hand down his face. His beard against the callused hand sounded like sandpaper against wood. “We…come upon the farmer…his wife, and kids.”

Tears filled his eyes as the story unfolded. It was the same story P.K. had told. Hurt, remorse, shame colored his voice.

“Teague wouldn't have no part of it. Said them jewels wasn't ours to take. Said we was thieves, but I was young…foolish…without a brain in my head. I threw the pouch to Teague and told him to take it and shut up.

“He had a young wife waiting for him when he got back. I knew the money would keep them going until they could get a new start.”

He hitched himself up straighter in the chair. “Teague was hardheaded. Said he'd sooner starve than take the jewels.”

P.K. knew Teague had taken the jewels, but the feud went deeper.

“He took the pouch, but not because he wanted to. I left him holding them. What happened after that I couldn't say, but I suspect P.K. figured Teague used the jewels for his own gain.”

“Teague wouldn't do that.”

“A man never knows what he'll do until he's faced with a choice.”

Adam's mind raced. There had to be more to the story. Did El know or was he not saying? Without the answer he could never free Vonnie.

“How's your pa?” Real interest showed in the old man's face and voice.

“Slowing down. He's got a knee that gives him trouble. A horse fell on him a few years back.”

“One fell on him during the war. His right leg as I remember.”

Adam nodded. “He favors the right knee.”

Johnson nodded. “He had bad luck with animals.”

Adam rose, extending his hand. El got up slowly, feebly accepting the shake.

“Thank you.”

“I hope it helps,” he said. “It's been a terrible load to bear. If I could live that day over…” His eyes misted. “Well, things would have been different for all of us.”

It occurred to Adam that all four men had paid a heavy price for whatever had happened that day…and the weeks and months afterward. The atrocity had eaten Teague alive; P.K. had become a bitter old man; the knowledge of his part in the crime was so intense for El that he had withdrawn from life and become a hermit. Franz was the only one untouched by that day.

“It's those jewels,” El said. “They were a curse to the family that owned them, and the men who took them. The curse goes on.”

“Yes,” Adam admitted. “The curse goes on.”

The last time Adam saw El Johnson, he was a broken man, thin as a shadow, standing on his porch, waiting for death.

 

Vonnie stopped at the mercantile to order glass for the parlor window before heading to the post office to wire Cammy's sisters that they would be leaving Amarillo at the end of the week. She'd left Eugenia packing. She ran into the pastor's wife on the way to the mercantile.

“Oh, Vonnie, I was just on my way out to the ranch.”

Noting Pearl's red-rimmed eyes, Vonnie guessed it was bad news. “What's happened?”

“It's Audrey—”

“Oh, no.”

“She's gone to be with the Lord.”

“When?” Vonnie whispered.

“About an hour ago. I knew you would want to know right away.”

Vonnie thought about how she hadn't been to see Audrey in several days.

“I'll go to Franz immediately.”

“The poor man is beside himself with grief. Pastor is with him, but he'll need our support.”

Vonnie hurried to her buggy, forgetting the earlier chore.

She arrived at the Schuylers' minutes later. Hurrying up the walk, she registered surprise when the door opened before she reached it. Adele Wilson and Shirlene Majors, both deacons' wives, visibly upset, lace handkerchiefs to their noses, came toward her.