CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“The dog ate the gingerbread, licked his lips, and smiled,” Kate said.
“Dogs don’t smile, not really,” Frank Cobb said.
“Believe me, this one smiles, really,” Kate said.
“I’d smile too if Doña Maria Ana let me rest my head on her lap and fed me gingerbread,” Trace Kerrigan said.
Kate frowned at her son. “Trace, do you know that every time a young man has an impure thought, Our Lady sheds a tear?”
Frank grinned. “She must cry buckets around this place.”
Kate’s frown deepened. “And she also weeps when a certain segundo makes fun of her.”
Frank let that go. “All right. Tell us about it. I mean, all of it.”
“I’ve already told you all there is to tell,” Kate said.
“Did you recognize either of them?”
“Of course not.”
Trace squirmed in his chair as the parlor rapidly filled with dusk shadows. “Where was that Aragon feller?”
“Maria Ana left him at home.” Kate glanced out the window into the growing darkness. “Winifred is neglecting her duty. It’s time to light the lamps.”
“I wish I’d been there,” Frank Cobb said.
“If wishes were fishes starving men would dine.” Kate smiled. “I’m sorry, Frank, I’m being silly. I wish you’d been there, too.”
“The wounded man needs a doctor, so I doubt he’ll return,” Frank said. “But just to be sure, I’ll have the hands take turns to watch the house for the next few nights.” He leaned forward in his chair. “How did the shoulder hold up?”
“Fine,” Kate said. “It’s a bit stiff now, but not as painful as it’s been.”
What lay unspoken between her and Frank was a date for the vengeance ride. Trace was also aware that the subject crouched in a dark corner like a black dog.
The entry of Winifred, a lighted spill in her hand, banished the topic, at least for now.
As the maid began to light the lamps, Kate rose to her feet. “I feel like I was born in riding clothes. I must bathe and change before dinner.”
Frank and Trace followed her lead and stood.
Frank said, “Kate, you done good today. Where is Maria Ana?”
“Playing with her dog, I guess.”
“She stood up, held her ground,” Frank said. “You told us that.”
Kate nodded. “Yes, she did. She’s got spunk.”
Frank smiled. “That lowdown border trash must be sorry they met up with two such formidable ladies.”
“Well, one of them is for sure,” Kate said.
* * *
Against her better judgment, but because Mrs. Kerrigan had experienced such a traumatic day, Jazmine Salas cooked boiled salt pork and cabbage for dinner, Kate’s favorite dish from the old country. She accompanied what Kate praised as “a fine feast indeed” with a silky parsley sauce and glasses of Irish stout from a fresh barrel.
Predictably, Maria Ana was horrified, but after tasting the dish, her face lit up, and she said to Jazmine, “My compliments to the chef. This is even better than your gingerbread.” She also waxed eloquent about the bread and butter pudding with Irish whisky sauce that followed and insisted that her precious Toro should have a taste.
Trace and Frank, when they heard what was on the menu, decided to eat beef and beans with the hands, though Gabe Dancer once again combed his hair and dined with the ladies.
* * *
The next couple days settled into a tense and somewhat edgy routine. Out on the range more hay was cut and stacked. Shorty Hawkins had a wisdom tooth extracted by Marco Salas the blacksmith and squealed like a baby pig caught under a gate. Maria Ana continued to search the horizon for her wayward husband, and Toro bit Tom Ogilvy the ranch cook. At first Frank took the bite very seriously, warned that there could be serious repercussions, and whispered darkly about a possible execution or at the very least, banishment. But then a puncher gave an eyewitness account of the offense, and it transpired that Ogilvy had teased the dog with a piece of bear sign before Toro decided that enough was enough and tried to take a chunk out of the fat man’s hand. At the pleading of Kate and Maria Ana, Frank wrote off the unhappy affair as a misunderstanding, but Toro was banned from ever again entering the cookhouse, and he and Ogilvy became mortal enemies from that day onward.
Kate’s shoulder had healed enough that it no longer pained her. The problem that agonized her was the attack on the Hellfire. She had declared war on a strong enemy and in such a war men die. The deaths of such men, especially her own punchers, would be on her head and on her conscience.
“An unjust peace is better than a just war.” Cicero had said that.
Kate had read the quote somewhere, and at the time it had resonated with her. But the old philosopher was a Roman and Rome wasn’t West Texas, where accepting an unjust peace was a sign of weakness and plenty of predators were waiting to pounce. Every night before bed she prayed for strength and courage to see this war through to its bitter end. And then, after the last amen, she’d remember what had happened to her and the tragic Tilletts, and her prayers and good intentions went out the window and her thirst for revenge returned.
That thirst returned again as she watched her son and the rest of the tired hands ride in from the range. Wait . . . perhaps she could make some excuse and send Trace away from the KK to safety. As soon as that thought entered her head, Kate dismissed it. Her husband Joseph Kerrigan had not fled to safety from the Battle of Shiloh, and Yankee cannons had taken his life. Joe would expect his son to stand his ground and fight and not turn tail and flee. Suddenly Kate felt ashamed, not only for the treacherous thought she’d had but also at the betrayal of her own principles.
Trace smiled at Kate and waved, a handsome young man in the prime of his youth. She knew when the guns began firing and the battle joined, he’d be as brave as his father.
How could a Kerrigan be any less?
“Hey, Kate, what’s for supper?” Frank Cobb called out, grinning as he rode in the direction of the livery.
“Ask Jazmine. she’s the cook,” Kate called back.
Frank turned his head. “Can’t you take a guess?”
“Salt pork and cabbage,” Kate said.
Frank shook his head and yelled. “Hell, Kate, I’m not that hungry.”
Kate smiled. She felt strong again.