22

The rich aroma of rising yeast filled the kitchen as Grace began to give the bread its second kneading. Catherine smiled. It was a beautiful Saturday in her favorite month of the year, June. That alone would fill her with happiness, but the icing on the cake, as it were, was the memory of Seth’s face when he’d seen his drawing in the magazine. He’d radiated so much happiness that even now, twenty-four hours later, she grinned at the thought of what the boy had accomplished.

She was still smiling when she heard the knock on the front door. Puzzled over who might be calling during what was normally the time when the women of the community either visited the shops or began their supper preparations, she hurried to open the door, then stopped, shocked by what she saw.

“What’s wrong, Austin?” She’d never seen such pain and anger on his face. Fear clutched her heart. “Is it Hannah? Did Enright find her?”

Austin shook his head. “She’s safe, but . . .”

“Come inside.” Though hardly anyone walked this direction, Catherine did not want a casual passerby to witness Austin’s distress. Even though he’d said Hannah was safe, something was worrying him.

“I need to see Travis,” he said when she closed the door behind him, “but I want your advice before I approach him.” Austin’s voice was low and ragged, filled with the pain and anger Catherine had seen in his eyes.

“Austin, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“You might want to sit down while I tell you what happened.”

“Now you’re really scaring me.” He sounded as if he expected her to faint over whatever it was he was going to say.

Her heart pounding with anxiety, Catherine led the way into the parlor and took one of the chairs, motioning him to the other so she could watch his face as he spoke.

“It’s Seth.” Furrows formed between Austin’s eyes. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll be blunt. Boone just about killed him.”

Catherine gasped. “What did he do?” She had seen bruises in the past and knew Boone was a violent and vicious man, but never had he come close to killing his son.

“He beat him more severely than I’ve ever seen a boy beaten and survive. When I found him, he could hardly breathe thanks to three broken ribs.” Austin clenched his fists, then took a shallow breath, as if remembering Seth’s tortured breathing. “God was definitely looking after Seth, because one of those ribs could have easily punctured a lung. His whole body is a mass of welts and bruises.”

Catherine closed her eyes, trying but failing to control her shudders. How could anyone be so brutal? She had thought that Boone was more content now that Austin was paying him for Seth’s services. Obviously, she had been wrong. Catherine forced her eyes open.

“And then there’s his hand.” Austin’s frown deepened. “I did what I could, but the bones were so badly crushed that it will take a miracle for them to heal properly. Seth will be lucky if he regains any use of it.”

Catherine shuddered. Hands were so sensitive. Even a paper cut hurt more on a finger than it would on any other part of the body. But Seth had suffered far more than a paper cut. He must be in agony. And knowing that he might never again be able to draw . . . Catherine let out another shudder.

“Poor, poor Seth. What I don’t understand is why Boone would do something so horrible.” Unless he’d been drunk, in which case anything could have triggered his anger. “Had he been drinking?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t what caused the anger. It seems he learned about the contest and wasn’t happy that his son had defied him and was still drawing. That’s why he stomped on Seth’s hand, so he wouldn’t be able to hold a pencil again.”

The impact of Austin’s words made Catherine’s head reel. The contest. “It’s my fault.” The pain that swept through her was unlike anything she had ever experienced as guilt mingled with anguish over what Seth had suffered. “It’s all my fault.” Her voice was as ragged as Austin’s as her heart thudded more loudly than a drum. “I wanted Seth to have something good in his life. That’s why I encouraged him to draw and why I told him about the contest.”

Catherine shuddered again as the images Austin’s words had conjured whirled through her mind. “Oh, Austin, I was wrong, so very wrong. My pride made me think I knew what was best for Seth, and now he’s paying the price.”

Leaning forward, Austin placed his hand on hers in a gesture designed for comfort. Didn’t he realize that nothing could comfort her, not when she knew she was the reason for Seth’s being battered?

“You’re not alone in feeling guilty,” Austin said softly. “When I confronted him, Boone told me I was to blame because I encouraged Seth.” Austin’s eyes darkened. “I believed him at first, and it hurt. But when I was treating Seth’s wounds, I realized that only Boone is to blame. He’s the one who chose to injure his son.”

While that was true, it was little comfort.

“You know this isn’t the first time he’s hit Seth,” Austin continued.

“But it’s the worst. Based on what you said, he’ll never be able to draw again.”

Catherine looked around the parlor, remembering the day of the ice storm and how Seth had retreated to one corner to sketch when he’d grown tired of Hannah’s playing the music box. The room had been colder than the kitchen, but he’d insisted he didn’t mind. There would be no more days like that, no more sketching for Seth.

“I’m afraid that’s true.” Austin lifted her hand, perhaps comparing it to Seth’s mangled one. “As I said before, it’ll take a miracle for him to regain full dexterity in his right hand.”

“His right hand?” For the first time since Austin had told her what had transpired at the Dalton farm, Catherine felt a ray of hope.

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Thank you, God.”

“You’re thanking God that Seth’s hand was destroyed?” Austin’s voice was filled with incredulity.

“No,” Catherine said, opening her eyes and fixing her gaze on Austin. “I’m thanking him that Seth’s left hand was spared.” She looked down at her hands. While the right one was in Austin’s clasp, the left rested on her lap. She raised it and turned it palm upward. Five fingers, all intact. Thanks to God, that’s what Seth still had.

“Haven’t you noticed that he’s ambidextrous?” she asked. “I believe he’s naturally left-handed, but he told me that Boone would hit him if he ate with his left hand, so he learned to use his right. Seth can do most things with either one, but he writes and draws with his left hand.”

“And Boone didn’t pay enough attention to his son to know that.”

“Apparently not.” This was the first positive thing Catherine had seen in Boone’s neglectful parenting. “Where is Seth now?”

“At the ranch. That’s why I wanted your advice. I don’t want Seth to return to the farm, because there’s no telling what Boone might do. The next time he might actually kill him.” Austin closed his eyes for a second, his pained expression telling Catherine he was reliving the scene he’d found at the farm. “I was hoping Travis could help me and thought you might have an idea of how to approach him, since he’s your cousin as well as the town’s sheriff.”

It was Catherine’s turn to give comfort. She entwined her fingers with Austin’s as she said, “Don’t forget that he’s also an attorney. A good one.” Catherine tried not to sigh as she recalled the conversation she had had with Travis about Seth and Boone. “I’m not sure there’s anything Travis can do, but if there is, I know he’ll try. Let me tell Grace what’s happened. Then I’ll get my hat and gloves and go with you.”

“It’s no secret that I don’t particularly like Boone Dalton and that I trust him even less than I like him,” Travis said ten minutes later when he’d heard Austin’s story. “The problem is, Boone is Seth’s father. Legally, he can discipline his son any way he sees fit.”

“Even killing him?” Travis hadn’t seen what Austin had, and even if he had, he might not have recognized the severity of Seth’s injuries. A layman would have seen the welts and bruises, the bleeding flesh, but as a physician, Austin had been able to identify the even more dangerous internal injuries.

“No, Boone can’t kill him, but the fact is, he didn’t.”

And so Boone was free to continue his brutality. For the first time in his life, Austin understood why some men resorted to vigilante justice.

Before he could respond, Catherine leaned forward, placing her hands on the sheriff’s desk. “Isn’t there any way to keep Seth away from Boone?”

“Legally, no.” Once again, Travis confirmed what Austin had feared. Travis wanted to help, but his hands were tied. That meant it was up to Austin to protect Seth.

“What if I worked out a deal with Boone? From everything I’ve seen, he only cares about the work Seth does at the farm. What if I sent Kevin Moore to do Seth’s chores? Kevin’s big enough and old enough that Boone won’t be able to intimidate him.”

The more Austin considered it, the better he liked the plan. “I could argue that Boone wouldn’t have to spend any of that money he prizes so highly to feed or clothe Kevin. He’d be getting totally free labor in exchange for agreeing that Seth can remain on the ranch. If I have to, I’ll agree to keep paying him for the work Seth used to do for me, despite the fact that it’ll be weeks before he can handle even light chores.”

Travis nodded slowly. “That might work. You might be able to convince Boone to relinquish custody. If that happens, I’d be happy to draft the papers.”

“Do you think he’ll agree?” Catherine posed the question to her cousin.

“Probably not, but it’s worth a try.”

Catherine steeled herself not to cry. When she and Austin had arranged for her to join him and Hannah for Sunday supper, it was supposed to have been a happy occasion. They had both agreed that it was time to tell Hannah about Grace’s surgery so that she would not be surprised when Grace removed her veil. Though Grace had not set a date for that, Catherine suspected it would happen within the next few weeks, and she wanted Hannah to be prepared. Today was supposed to be a day for rejoicing, not witnessing the result of Boone’s brutality.

“Oh, Miss Whitfield, I’m so glad you could come.” Hannah’s face was wreathed in a smile, and she grasped Catherine’s hand as soon as she climbed out of the rented buggy. “You need to see what Seth made. It’s a drawing of Papa, and it looks just like him.”

The drawing. Catherine’s heart clenched at the thought of the pain Seth had endured because of that drawing.

“He won, you know.” Hannah sounded as pleased as if she’d been the one whose picture had been awarded first prize. “Come. You need to grad him.”

“Grad?” Catherine looked at Austin, who’d been watching his daughter with a bemused expression.

“I think she means congratulate.”

Hannah nodded and gave Catherine’s hand another tug. “C’mon. Seth’s waiting.”

He looked as bad as Catherine had feared, his face so bruised and swollen that it was almost unrecognizable, his right hand encased in a cast that extended almost to his elbow. But, despite the pain he must be in, he managed a smile.

“This is the first thing I ever won,” he said. And in that instant, Catherine knew she had witnessed another miracle. Somehow, despite everything he had endured, Seth did not regret having entered the contest. The judges had given him something Boone could not destroy.

“I have a secret, Papa. Do you want me to tell it to you?”

Austin smiled at his daughter. With all the secrets she’d had to keep, it was not surprising that she’d invented one of her own. “Are you sure you want to tell me?”

Both he and Catherine had impressed the need for secrecy on both Hannah and Seth when they had told them about the surgery Austin had performed on Grace. Initially, he hadn’t planned to include Seth in the discussion, but Catherine had pointed out that the boy was smart. It was likely he’d realize that Austin had greater knowledge of bodily injuries and how to repair them than an ordinary rancher would, and so Austin had agreed.

To his surprise, neither Hannah nor Seth appeared startled by the fact that Austin had been able to restore Grace’s face. Hannah had simply nodded and said, “I knew you could,” while Seth had declared that Austin could do anything. He couldn’t, of course, and the hero worship in Seth’s eyes had made him uncomfortable, but he’d been grateful that the children had accepted the announcement so calmly.

Hannah nodded so briskly that her braids bounced against her shoulders. “It’s all right, Papa. I want you to know my secret.”

“Then I’d be glad to hear it.”

Her face glowing, she climbed onto his lap and whispered into his ear. “I like Seth. I want him to be my brother.”

“I’d like that too.” Austin hugged his daughter as he thought about all that had happened in the two weeks since Seth’s beating. The boy had made a remarkable recovery. His bruises were almost gone, and though he still had trouble taking deep breaths because of the broken ribs and could do little with his right hand in a cast, he’d settled into life on the ranch.

When he’d first regained consciousness and learned that he was going to stay with Austin and Hannah for a while, Seth had volunteered to sleep in the barn, a suggestion that Austin had quickly vetoed. Seth would sleep in the bedroom across from his own. Like Travis, Austin did not trust Boone.

The man had refused to consider relinquishing his rights to Seth, although he made no protest when Austin offered to have Kevin take over Seth’s chores. When he’d left the farm, Austin had felt as if he were part of an uneasy truce. Boone had agreed that Seth could remain on the ranch until he was completely healed, declaring that the boy was of no use without two good hands, but he would make no promises beyond that. Unsure of what Boone would do the next time he drank too much whiskey, Austin was determined to keep Seth as safe as he could, and that meant ensuring that the boy was never alone.

Because he could do none of his normal chores, Seth had volunteered to keep Hannah amused. From Austin’s perspective, it was an ideal solution. Not only did he not have to worry about his daughter when he was riding the range, but she’d blossomed under the attention Seth had showered on her. In less than two weeks, Seth had become part of the family.

If only that could be permanent.

“Are you ready?”

Grace nodded as she pinned her veil in place. “I think so. And yet . . .”

Catherine understood her hesitation. Today would be the first time the majority of Cimarron Creek’s residents saw Grace’s face. After some deliberation, Grace had decided that church was the right place for the unveiling. The plan was for her to wear the heavy veil into the sanctuary as she did each week, but remove it once she and Catherine were in their customary seats in the front of the church.

Though Hannah knew that Grace’s scars were gone, Austin had said they would sit in the back of the church, since neither of them could predict Hannah’s reaction when she first saw Grace.

If everything went as planned, few would see her face until the service was over, delaying the inevitable questions and speculation and giving Grace a chance to bask in the peace that worship always brought her. All that would change once the benediction was pronounced and the congregation began to file out of the church.

Both Grace and Catherine knew the grapevine would buzz at the sight of the widow without her veil. As Lydia and Travis had pointed out, the familial resemblance was remarkable. Catherine prayed there would be no unpleasantness, but there was no way to know how some of the town’s busybodies would react.

That concern was trivial compared to the fear that Grace’s rapist would recognize her. If he did, what would he do? Would he flee, or would he feign innocence? Though part of Catherine hoped the man who had attacked Grace was long gone from Cimarron Creek, another part knew that Grace needed to know who had fathered her child.

Grace held out her hands. “Look at me. My hands are trembling like leaves in the wind. I keep telling myself he won’t be there, that a man who did what he did wouldn’t be enough of a hypocrite to attend church, but I haven’t managed to convince myself.”

Grasping Grace’s hands to still the trembling, Catherine said, “It’s possible that he repented and that if he is there and recognizes you, he’ll ask for your forgiveness.”

“Do you believe that?” The catch in Grace’s voice said she did not.

“I’d like to. But even if that doesn’t happen, you won’t be alone.” Besides Catherine, Lydia and Travis would be in the pew with Grace.

Grace managed a weak smile and lowered her veil. “I know. Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, they walked down the central aisle of the sanctuary and took seats in their usual pew. Grace gripped Catherine’s hand for an instant before releasing it to lift her veil.

The unusual act did not go unnoticed. Catherine heard murmurs from several women in the pews behind them and a gasp coming from the pew opposite them. Aunt Mary’s eyes were wide with surprise. As Catherine watched, she nudged Uncle Charles. He turned, obviously annoyed, but the annoyance vanished the instant he saw Grace. Blood drained from his face, and though he did not speak the name, Catherine saw his lips form the word Joan.

Afterward she could not have said which hymns they sang and what subject Reverend Dunn had chosen for his sermon. Though she tried to focus on the service, Catherine’s mind was whirling with the memory of the fear she’d seen in Uncle Charles’s eyes. It was so strange. She couldn’t imagine why he would look afraid when he saw Joan. Unless . . .

Was it possible that her uncle was Grace’s assailant? As memories of the way he’d treated her—the touches, the leers, the overly long hugs—flooded through her, Catherine knew it was not only possible, it was likely.

“There’s something we need to do,” she told Grace as they filed out of the church. Fortunately, Grace had kept her eyes fixed on the altar when she’d lifted her veil and was unaware of Aunt Mary’s and Uncle Charles’s reactions. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid I’m not.”

Grace closed her eyes for a second. “You think he’s here?” There was no question of who she meant.

“Yes, but we need to be sure.” Dodging parishioners who wanted to talk to Grace, Catherine led her toward her aunt and uncle, who were standing with Warner. It wasn’t her imagination, Catherine was certain, that Uncle Charles was nervous when he saw them approaching.

“Good morning, ladies.” His greeting sounded forced.

Aunt Mary studied Grace’s face. Though Catherine knew she had observed the resemblance to other Whitfields, she said only, “I’m glad to see that your mourning is ending, Mrs. Sims. Will you both be joining us for dinner today? I’m serving roast chicken.”

Catherine cared nothing about the menu or her aunt’s attempt at friendliness. She needed an answer to her question. Grace had said that the man who attacked her had a scar on the back of his neck. Was that the reason Uncle Charles wore his hair longer than fashionable? There was only one way to find out.

Catherine walked boldly to her uncle’s side and raised her hand to brush aside the hair that covered his neck.

Tucker settled back in one of the rocking chairs on the front porch of the boardinghouse that he now called home and looked around. Oklahoma wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Thanks to men with more money than sense when it came to poker, he had no trouble paying for his room. Six days a week he played cards in the saloon. Six days a week his pockets were full. The problem was the seventh day.

There was nothing to do on Sunday. Everything was shut tighter than a miser’s purse. No stores, no saloons, nothing to do but go to church, and that was one thing Tucker had no intention of doing. He’d heard enough about fire and brimstone when he was growing up. He didn’t need another preacher telling him what would happen if he didn’t repent and walk the straight and narrow. He knew what fate awaited him, and it was too late to change. That was why he was stuck here leafing through one of the magazines someone had left in the parlor.

He frowned as he turned a page. There was nothing to interest a man, just a bunch of words and too many advertisements for those patent medicines the ladies seemed to like.

Tucker flipped another page. Figures. The only real picture was a drawing of some rancher tending to a cow. Tucker had no interest in cows, and his only interest in ranchers was in parting them from their earnings. He turned to the next page, then stopped. There was something familiar about that picture, something that tickled his brain. He turned back to it and stared, his heartbeat accelerating at what he saw.

Yes, sirree! He’d found the mother lode right here in the land of cows with long horns. Tucker grinned as he studied the picture again. No doubt about it. That was no ordinary rancher looking at a cow’s leg. That was Austin Goddard, the man he had traveled halfway across the country to find. And thanks to some artist named Seth Dalton, Tucker knew exactly where the good doctor was hiding out. Yes, sirree. Lady Luck was with him today.

Gripping the magazine in one hand, he strode down the street, practically running until he reached the telegraph office. “Send this to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,” he directed the man when he’d written out the message. One of Enright’s cardinal rules was that someone checked for messages every day. Before he ate breakfast tomorrow morning, Enright would know of Tucker’s success. Now all he had to do was find his way to Cimarron Creek, Texas.