Unable to stop herself, she followed after him down the steps of the porch, stumbling along, her eyes trained on his coat pockets and the hidden toilet set. Standing behind him, she watched him hand first the comb, then the brush, and last, the mirror through the opened door of the gig to the woman inside.
The titian-haired woman, dressed in emerald green from her head to her feet, her face painted with powder and rouge, oohed and awed over his offering. Anora didn’t think anyone’s eyelashes could naturally be that black or thick. The woman’s small gloved hands greedily reached out for the hair brush.
“They ain’t much, but they were Mama’s,” he told the woman. “I wouldn’t want to leave them behind. She never used ’em anyhow, preferred a pine needle brush for her dirty mop.” He looked back at her, shook his head, giving her a pitying glance.
“Everything else is unimportant. I looked around; there’s nothing else worth keepin’. We’re gonna have more, and better, once we get to California.”
Anora, heart pumping wildly, watched the woman inspect the toilet set, turning each piece over in her small, green gloved hands. She held up the mirror to gaze upon her reflection and smiled, satisfied with what she saw.
When she smiled tenderly at him, about to put the hairbrush to the curls at the side of her head, Anora at last found it in herself to react. With superhuman strength, she shoved him aside and grabbed the mirror out of the woman’s hand, snatching the comb and brush away with the other hand.
Ruben fell to the ground. He came up on his elbows, an eager smirk on his face.
Mine!” Anora heard herself scream, in a voice so full of power and blood, she didn’t recognize it. “My mother’s. My mother’s. You won’t put them to your dirty hair. Don’t.”
At her back, Ruben barked a laugh. “I think she could use a little dip in the river to cool off, don’t you, Minna? With any luck, she’ll drown.”
The woman grinned, panting with rage, she said, “Drown the nasty little wart. Dumb piece of muck.” Shaking the dust off her skirts, she skipped alongside as Ruben dragged Anora toward the river.
»»•««
“Well, of course Mrs. Reason is afraid. What woman in her right mind wouldn’t be,” Tamara Gregson said, talking to Hank and Paxton inside the doorway of the mercantile. “I may not have any children of my own, but I know a thing or two about helping in their birthing. Does she know you two have come asking for help?”
Hank shifted from one foot to the other. He heard Paxton grumble under his breath. But before they could defend themselves, Tamara saved them by saying, “Well, that’s all right. I’ll go around this afternoon and invite myself in for some tea. I’ll do my best to let her know I’ll be there to get her and the baby safely through delivery. It’s all a matter of soap and water, and Mother Nature will do the rest. Well, sometimes she needs a little help. Anyway, glad to, Mr. Reason, glad to help.”
Grateful, Hank smiled down to the small, energetic little woman. She reminded him of an industrious little sparrow.
“Well, now would you look at that,” Tamara said, her attention drawn to the display window that faced the main street.
Paxton and Hank looked to see what had taken her eye and saw the tall-in-the-saddle cowboy astride his well-muscled buckskin horse pass before the store window.
“Don’t he look a romantic figure, though,” Tamara said dreamily, a silly, girlish smirk on her bow-shaped mouth.
“Looks like a cowboy to me,” Hank said.
“Cowboy who’s lost his cows,” added Paxton. “I don’t see anything romantic about the man. He looks foolish, kind’a showy. That long black duster, and those boots, and that ten-gallon hat. It’s hard to see the man’s eyes. I don’t trust anyone who hides their eyes.”
They watched the horse and rider go toward the edge of town. Barney ran past the cowboy, the buckskin shied and reared—the cowboy yelled a curse after the running boy.
“Hey, that’s Barney. Hank, c’mon,” Paxton said, pulling Hank out the door.
“Thank you, Mrs. Gregson, for your help,” Hank said over his shoulder.
A few steps from the doorway, Paxton called to the boy, “Barney. Barney, whoa,” Barney ran into Paxton’s arms. Winded, he couldn’t speak right away.
“He’s come back…he didn’t…come ‘cross the ferry. He…he…must’a come the valley road.”
Chattering like a magpie, the boy talked while Paxton and Hank rushed him along to the freight wagon around the side of the mercantile. The mules stood docile, chewing on a small pile of clover Paxton had put down in the feed trough in front of their heads. Their ears pricked up when they came around the corner of the building. The beasts shook their heads, jingling their harness.
Hank kept pace, having difficulty making sense out of the scrambled-up information spewing out of Barney’s mouth. Not far into the boy’s rant, he figured out all was not well at the ferry landing.
“I heard her yelling…I guess it was her. It was a scream like she was being skinned. After I’d left the ferry landing with the Pearson family, that’s when it started. I saw a fancy gig pull up into the yard. They didn’t come down to the ferry. Sometimes folks don’t come down right off, you know, so I didn’t think much on it at the time. It’s got to be him; if it ain’t, somethin’ else is mighty wrong over there.”
“It’s him all right,” said Paxton, waving Barney aboard the freight wagon. Hank leaped onto the board bench and braced himself, with one foot against the dash and one hand gripping the backboard. Barney fell backward into the bed of the wagon, and Paxton whipped the team of mules into a full gallop.
»»•««
Anora, winded, struggled to break free, only to discover that to go in any direction but the direction in which Ruben propelled her, induced a pain that literally took her breath away. In pain and incapacitated, she didn’t, at first, grasp her imminent fate. With the sun in her tear-filled eyes, she couldn’t see where she was being forced to go. With her hearing impaired, voices muffled and a loud ringing in her ears, she couldn’t get her bearings.
But when she heard, off to her left, the creak and screech of the style as Roscoe and Pete moved around and around, she knew she was headed for the river. A scream erupted from deep inside her. It echoed up into the treetops and ripped her throat, strangling—she begged for mercy.
The redhead, skipping alongside, hysterical, cheered him on. Ruben stopped at the top of the bank. Anora caught a glimpse of Paxton Hayes, standing forward on the deck of the ferry.
Ruben saw him too. “Here come some of your customers. I’m thinkin’ you been doin’ quite a trade while I been gone, Little Norie. You’ve been a busy little girl during my absence. Hayes? You been doin’ all right for yourself. I’ve longed to knock his teeth down his stiff neck, muddy him up a bit. Don’t think I didn’t notice the wood pile was full. Bet you had to put out plenty to get that cocky son-of-a-bitch to dirty his hands splittin’ and stackin’ wood. How was he? Good as me? How about the Reason fella, bet you had him too.”
“Comstock?” she heard him say. “God damn the peckerwood. Thought I sent him on his way for good.”
Whit? Despite the pain, Anora had to see, she had to. She saw him then, the cowboy in the long dark duster and his buckskin horse. She remembered then, she remembered he’d come by before. She didn’t want him to see her then, but today, she thought it a miracle he’d found her, come to her, now. Closing her eyes, she prayed very hard.
“Don’t think you’re saved, girlie. I won’t be happy until you’re fish bait. You won’t know when, but I’ll be back.” And with that, Ruben shoved her out and down the hill.
Set free, Anora fell, her feet going out from under her. Her arm dead from the shoulder down, she couldn’t stop herself from rolling closer and closer to the water. She heard splashing and a voice calling her by name. She couldn’t see anything but sky and water. She rolled into a pair of legs, long legs, and hard, pointed-toed boots that poked into her ribs.
The legs bent down, a dark cloak surrounded her, the pain stopped. She thought she’d died. “Anora? Anora Claire Sennett? Is it you?” the voice asked.
She knew the voice. She had to be dead. Whit? Whit’s voice. Strong arms scooped her up and cradled her, the sounds of the river receding.
“Your hair, I recognized your hair, like ripened wheat.” She opened her eyes to the sun. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against a solid, warm body. Eyes opened, she looked up into the face, the face she remembered so well.
“What the hell’s gonin’ on, Anora? Is that Ruben? I seen him here before. Thought I recognized him, but he looked different before. He fooled me.”
Behind them, Anora heard the ferry crunch into shore. Mr. Hayes sprinted past, rushing up the hill, hollering curses, chasing after Ruben.
∙•∙
Hank stood quiet, his heart numb to the sight of Anora clinging to the cowboy. The look of wonder and gladness in her eyes made him want to weep.
He stepped off the ferry and started after Paxton, overhearing the cowboy say, “Anora Claire, never thought to have you falling at my feet.”
Hank stopped in his tracks. The cowboy wiped the muddy tears from her pale cheek with his gloved finger.
“Whit?” He heard her whisper. She blinked several times before saying, “I must have died. You’re here. I only see you in my dreams.”
Guilty of eavesdropping on the cowboy’s response, Hank swallowed the cold lump in his throat.
“It’s me, Anora. You’re far from dead. I reckon you’re sore as hell, but you’re not dead. You got too much living to do.”
Up near the cabin, Hank heard Paxton call Ruben a bloody piece of shit. Hank took off running and got up to the yard in time to witness Paxton tackle Ruben to the ground.
A redheaded woman in green screamed, pounding Paxton about the head and shoulders with a hair brush. “You fool. You’re all crazy.”
Nothing could deter Paxton from giving Ruben a good beating.
Hank pulled the woman back, which proved harder than expected. The woman continued to flail and thrash, kicking, cussing.
Hank thought Paxton would stop once the woman got off him, but that didn’t happen. “Paxton. Paxton you don’t want him dead. Just gone.”
Muttering a string of curses, Paxton stopped himself in mid swing, fist raised above Ruben’s battered and bruised face. Grabbing Ruben by the shirt collar, he hauled the semi-conscious Ruben over to the gig and threw him, none too gently, inside.
Hank gave the woman a shake. “Get in the buggy and get him out of here.”
The woman sputtered and fumed but did as ordered, taking up the reins. When Hank turned around, he saw Paxton, blood oozing from one brow, lip beginning to swell, standing with his arms down to his sides, breathing heavily, his gaze following the cowboy with Anora cradled in his embrace, going up the steps to the cabin. Anora had her arms around the cowboy’s neck, her head resting easily on his shoulder.
The woman turned the bay around in the yard, nearly running them over. Hank managed to reach out and slap the horse hard on the rump before the gig and its passengers went flying up the hill, around the barn, and out of sight.
Paxton started toward the porch, but Hank laid a hand on his shoulder. “She called him by name, Paxton. They know each other from some other time. I’d say they were fond of each other. You didn’t see her down there by the river, but I did. I heard her say she dreamed about him.”
Groaning with real pain, Paxton protested, “It isn’t fair. That drifter will break her heart. I know it sure as I’m standing.”
“Could be, but that’s her look-out. Looks to me she’s made her choice, and not a bad one, all things considered. We’ve got no hold on her.”
Hank turned and hesitated, telling himself he had no right to be feeling like a discarded, worthless old sock. Barney tied off the buckskin to the porch rail. Hank noticed the boy couldn’t take his gaze off Paxton’s face.
“You sure gave him what-for, Mr. Hayes. You gonna cry? Never seen a man cry over a woman. Nutty Norie ain’t nothin’ to cry over. No, don’t make sense.” The boy walked off, shaking his head, talking to himself.
Paxton said aloud more or less to himself, “Well there goes all my big plans.” Hank put his arm around his shoulders. A huge tear escaped and rolled down Paxton’s bruised cheek before he swiped it away with the back of his hand. Growling in disgust, he shook free and stomped off toward the ferry, jaw tight and hands clenched.