CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The vaqueros buried Davis Salt and his gunmen on the prairie. The Kerrigan hands buried their own dead in the cemetery on the rise above the ranch.
The wake is the Irish way to celebrate the life of the deceased and give them a fine send-off, and Kate Kerrigan ordered it was how the dead punchers should be mourned. The stories were told, the old songs were sung, and the whiskey flowed like water.
When Maria Ana and Don Pedro prepared to leave the next morning, it seemed that everybody at the Kerrigan ranch nursed an aching head, and Kate was no exception.
She and Maria Ana said their farewells in the parlor, two women who had shared the same dangers and had grown closer as a result.
Kate released Maria Ana from her hug and smiled. “Have you quite recovered?”
“The dying boy will stay with me for the rest of my life, Kate.”
“With all of us. And the memory of the dead boys who gave their lives for this ranch.”
“We will never forget, ever.”
“In the end, Don Pedro came for you.”
“Yes. Yes, he did,”
“He saved us.”
“He’s a fine man.”
“I agree with that assessment,” Kate said.
“I don’t deserve him. On our wedding day, I should have realized that I didn’t deserve him. I think we’d have been happier had I known that and lived my life accordingly.”
“Well, you can be happy now, both of you.”
“Yes. I will make Don Pedro happy . . . but as for me, I just don’t know.”
“You wondered if you were going to be brave, remember? Well, you were brave, very brave, and now you must be braver still. A successful marriage takes courage from both sides. It’s not for weaklings.”
Maria Ana nodded. “I understand that now. I had lovers, Kate. The whole time we’ve been married I cheated with other men. They were handsome, charming, and shallow. Just like I was.”
“Don Pedro knows this?”
“He knows. He knew all along. He says he’s forgiven me and I believe he has.”
“And now you must forgive yourself.”
“That will be the work of a lifetime, Kate, but I willingly accept it.”
Kate glanced out the parlor window, where an impatient Don Pedro and his men were already mounted, except for four wounded vaqueros who rode in a wagon. A peon held the reins of Rodolfo Aragon’s horse that Maria Ana had decided to ride back to Mexico.
“I think it’s time to leave, Maria Ana.” Kate took the woman’s hand. “You will come back and see me?”
“Of course, I will.” Maria Ana smiled. “Don Pedro told me he wants us to have a child. The next time I visit I’ll have a fine son or a pretty daughter”—she made a big belly with her hand—“or I’ll be out to here.”
“Either way, you’ll always be welcome at the Kerrigan ranch,” Kate said.
The women hugged as Maria Ana said,“Vaya con Dios, Kate Kerrigan.”
“And you too, Maria Ana . . . Vaya con Dios.”
Her hand shading her eyes, Kate watched Maria Ana and the others leave. She watched until they faded behind a dust cloud and felt a great sense of loss, but through it all she smiled.
Texas had a way of turning girls into women.
* * *
Another departure that day caused great consternation among Kate’s maids, but brought grins to the faces of the menfolk. Gabe Dancer had decided to pull out . . . and he was taking a blushing Biddy Kelly with him.
“Kate, there’s just too much excitement around the Kerrigan ranch for a man of my advancing years,” Gabe said. “Hell . . . begging your pardon . . . that there bunkhouse battle gave me the croup and I ain’t recovered from it yet.”
Biddy was tentative, almost fearful. “Mrs. Kerrigan, ma’am, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more notice, but Gabe asked me to come with him and I accepted.”
“We plan to get hitched, just as soon as we can find a preacher,” Dancer said. “Make it all legal, like.”
Biddy blushed. “Gabe wants us to have a child.”
“Boy or girl, I don’t care,” Dancer said. “He or she will be a great comfort to me in my old age.”
This brought a cheer from the hands who’d gathered to bid Dancer farewell, and even the normally serious Frank Cobb grinned ear to ear.
Trace, who slapped the old man on the back, grinned too. “Go at it, Gabe.”
That remark would normally have brought a rebuke from Kate and a possible mention of Our Lady’s tears, but surprised as she was at Biddy’s leaving, she acted as though she didn’t hear. “You’d no need to give me notice, Biddy, but I’m sorry to lose you. Have you thought about this?”
“I surely did, ma’am. Gabe asked me to leave with him and I told him that I had to pack a bag. The whole time I was packing, I thought about what I was doing and I knew it was the right thing.” She leaned closer to Kate and whispered, “Gabe is such a gentleman and so handsome.”
There is no accounting for taste, and Kate made no comment at that.
“Well, I hope you will both be very happy,” she said. “Biddy, if you ever want to come back, there will always be a place for you at the Kerrigan ranch. That goes for you too, Mr. Dancer.”
Gabe Dancer swept off his cap. “Thank you, dear lady, and let me say that I feel honored to have made your acquaintance. You are a fine woman.”
Kate accepted the old man’s compliment with a smile. “Wait, just a moment.” She walked back to the house.
When she returned she handed Dancer a small canvas poke containing two hundred dollars in gold double eagles. “Every Irish bride should have a dowry, and since Biddy’s father died a martyr’s death and can’t be here, this is her dowry from me, standing in his place. Health and life to both of you.”
Biddy sobbed at that, and Gabe Dancer was touched.
“God bless you, Kate.” He shook his head. “I’m too overcome to say more.”
Kate and the others watched as Dancer helped Biddy onto his mustang and propped her carpetbag on the saddle in front of him. He waved a hand in farewell, and Trace, Frank Cobb, the hands, and the damp-eyed maids cheered as the happy couple left, riding east into the grasslands and their uncertain future.
But the excitement of the long day was not yet over for Kate Kerrigan.
Just as the afternoon light gave way to a gray dusk, Hiram I. Clay and his riders charged into the ranch at a gallop, whooping and hollering as though they were relieving the Alamo. To Clay’s disappointment it was obvious that the battle was over and the victory already won.
“Dear Kate, your Hiram is wrecked, desolated . . . in a word, crushed . . . that he was too late to save you.” Clay squeezed Kate’s hand and pressed it to his lips that were quite damp from his copious tears.
Kate rescued her hand and said, “You’re here now, Hiram, and that’s what matters. I am so glad to see you and your gallant band.”
“I care for you deeply, dear Kate. More deeply than I have the words to express. I am at a loss. Oh, that I was a poet that I could express my feelings in romantic verse.”
“And I care deeply for you, Hiram. You have the soul of a poet, and that’s quite enough.” Then, to deflect the little man’s ardor, “Obviously, Nora reached you. How is she?”
“A brave girl, very. She will be on her feet soon and I will see that she gets an escort back to the bosom of the Kerrigan family.”
Kate would have asked more questions about her maid, but Clay was still stuck in warrior mode. “Now I am here, point out an enemy, dearest lady. Let your Hiram smite him, hip and thigh.”
“The enemy is gone, Hiram, and won’t return now that you are here,” Kate said.
Clay grabbed Kate’s hand again, pressing it to his chest. “This conflict has taught us a timely lesson, Kate. It tells your Hiram that now is the time to wed you, so that he can protect you forever from, as the Bard of Avon said, ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.’” Tears again started in the little man’s eyes and he said, “Be mine, my beloved. Do me the honor of becoming my blushing bride.”
It was fortunate for Kate that Frank Cobb happened to be passing and read the pained expression on her face. “Mr. Clay, Jazmine Salas just made a batch of bear sign if you and your boys are interested.”
“No, sir! I say again, no sir! Until Kate says ‘I do,’ I won’t eat a crumb, not a morsel, not as much as an iota.” Then, as Clay watched hungry punchers drift toward the kitchen, “Ah . . . how much bear sign did Jazmine make?”
Frank kept a straight face. “Judging by how sharp set those boys look, not enough.”
Hiram Clay knew a predicament when he met one, and since the partaking of one of his favorite indulgences was at stake, he wanted a way out of the situation fast. Edging his way toward the house and the wonderful aroma wafting from its kitchen, he said, “Kate, true love makes a man weak at the knees, and I will take your advice and eat a little something to sustain me before I continue to press my suit.”
As far as she was aware, Kate had not mentioned food, but she jumped at the chance. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea, Hiram. After your long and tiring journey, you need to eat a little something. I always say that a man . . .” She was talking to empty space.
Hiram Clay was already hustling to the kitchen as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.