14

Cole got it in his head that he wanted to be upstairs in his own room, and Justin had his hands full getting him up there. The stubborn ox.

He wouldn’t admit he oughta stay in Ma and Pa’s room. Justin didn’t blame him for wanting out of there. It was strange to take over their parents’ bed. Justin wouldn’t have liked it, and he understood why Cole didn’t.

Justin offered to get a few men and carry him up. Cole acted like that’d shame him.

They tried slinging his arm around Justin’s neck, but Cole almost collapsed in pain. In the end, Cole had walked all by himself. With Justin right behind him to catch him if he collapsed, which he never did. But Justin couldn’t exactly trust the half-wit to stay on his feet, now, could he?

Finally, big brother was in his own bed, studying that notebook with the cramped handwriting. Maybe all of Cole’s years wasted in college when he could’ve been helping on the ranch might be worth something at last.

Rosita and Sadie had changed sheets and tidied the room after Angie went back to Skull Gulch, and now they were working in Pa and Ma’s room. By the ruthless scrubbing going into the job, Justin could tell they were eager to leave this bad episode behind them.

It was going to take more than a scrubbing to accomplish that.

Cole held a small wooden desk, placed carefully on his lap. He took notes and read, scratched out what he wrote, then took more notes. He didn’t have time to talk, so Justin left him to it. Justin’s help probably would’ve just slowed him down. Instead, he tried to remember that he was running a cattle ranch.

He was a fortunate man to have John for a foreman and Alonzo for a ramrod for this last spell. He’d spent all his time worrying over Cole. If not for their help, his cattle might’ve wandered all the way to Texas.

Besides, if he tore that notebook out of Cole’s hands so he could read it himself, Cole wouldn’t have a job that’d keep him still. Justin had high hopes he could keep his brother in bed for a few more days. It was Thursday already, with Miss Maria’s funeral set for this afternoon, and Cole had admitted he wasn’t up to attending.

They’d all ride to services on Sunday and see how Cole held up for that fairly easy ride. It was a long one, and with any luck it wouldn’t include a running gun battle.

Once Sunday was over, Justin was firmly fixed on no more pestering of his big brother. He vowed he’d let Cole decide what he felt able to do, even if he did show the sense of a two-year-old child. But it was time to live in the present, not the future.

He strode up to John. “What do you have planned for the rest of the morning? Tell me where to help.”

With a tired smile, John said, “Your help would be greatly appreciated, Justin. We’ve let things slide around here. I’ve asked the men if any of them want to go to the funeral, but none knew Maria all that well. So work with us this morning, and then starting tomorrow we’ll get things back to normal.”

While they saddled fresh horses side by side, Justin looked around the corral and didn’t see a single soul.

“We’re most likely going to be one more man short,” he said to John.

John’s brows lowered and wrinkles covered his brow. He had deep frown lines around his mouth. Justin realized with a pang that John was getting older, and because he was Pa’s age, that meant Pa and Ma were getting older, too. Justin went ahead and threw himself in the getting-older category, as well. Which for some reason made him think of Angie.

“And why is that?” John asked.

Justin forced his thoughts back to John. “Because it’s time to find out which man in our employ is a traitor.”

“Alonzo is back. Is he still one you’re worried about?”

“I don’t trust him, but that may not be deserved. I’m not sure enough where my troubles are coming from to fire one man and think it’s all over. So instead I’m going to set a trap.”

John nodded, his mouth a grim line. “What do you have in mind, boss?”

“Come in for supper tonight. I want Cole involved. Time for that boy to use his brain for something worthwhile.”

John gave a hard jerk of his chin, accepting the invitation. “For now, we’ve got cattle on pasture that’s wearing out. I sent five men ahead to start moving them, but they’re shorthanded.”

“Let’s ride,” Justin said. It felt good to be working again.

Angie stood near Aunt Margaret and Sister Louisa at Maria’s funeral, the children at their sides.

The Bodens had ridden into town. Justin nodded hello but stayed with his family at the graveside. The group paid their respects to Aunt Margaret, Louisa, and Angie and then rode back home.

Ramone hadn’t come. Angie wasn’t sure if it was disrespect or just a man not up to facing more grief.

The children were given quiet time for reading, and classes weren’t held for the rest of the day. Aunt Margaret sent Angie to pack things from Maria’s room. She looked for anything to give to Ramone, yet Maria had nothing anyone would describe as valuable.

She folded a threadbare nightgown and three dark-colored dresses that were long past their prime. There were a few books that belonged on the bookshelves in the schoolroom. Then she drew open the top drawers in a small wooden chest. It contained underthings and a comb and hairpins. The room was the size of a prison cell. Aunt Margaret said she’d tried many times to get Maria to take a larger room.

Angie wondered if Maria’s whole life hadn’t been about martyrdom. Had she felt born into shame? Did she believe she didn’t deserve even small comforts?

The bottom drawer had similar humble things and of lighter weight, as if this was all she had for the blazing-hot summer months. When the drawer was nearly empty, a small stack of papers covered the bottom.

With a quick prayer, Angie hoped for letters, some sign of a private friendship beyond the orphanage.

Instead they were just a mix of useless old papers that looked like they’d ended up in Maria’s room somehow and been forgotten. Some were letters about the origin of the orphanage written from a priest. Father Wharton appeared to have been the clergyman in charge of this area, because the letters were about raising funds and sending children to stay. Interesting, but so old they were more pieces of history than anything to do with Maria.

Angie heard children moving in the hall. They had a break for cake and milk every day at this time. Sister Margaret’s voice joined with the children, talking to Sister Louisa.

“Aunt Margaret?” Angie waited for her sweet aunt to come in.

With her head covered in her nun’s wimple and dressed in her black habit, Aunt Margaret came in, a sad expression on her face. She mourned Maria deeply. They’d been friends for thirty years.

“How can I help, Angelique?”

Angie winced inwardly. She had been so awful to Aunt Margaret for years. Her mother, then her husband, had demanded the distance, but Angie had gone along and wouldn’t excuse herself. It was a shameful thing. One of Angie’s rudenesses was to insist on being called Angelique. It was a much finer name than Angie, or so her mother had insisted, with Edward agreeing completely.

Aunt Margaret had complied humbly to all their arrogance. She was trying to change to Angie now, but it was hard after years of being so careful.

“Have you seen these?” Angie showed her the stack of papers from the drawer.

Her aunt’s brow furrowed as she took the papers and studied them. “Why, I haven’t seen these in years. I knew they’d been misplaced, but in the constant swirl of duties, I’d forget for long stretches of time that I’d once had them.”

“They were in Maria’s bottom drawer. I suspect she forgot she’d kept them.”

Smiling, Aunt Margaret held them close to her chest. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s a sad job, made much harder by the way Maria died. But the work isn’t difficult.”

Nodding, Aunt Margaret’s eyes shifted to the few boxes of Maria’s things. “We will go through them. Perhaps some of her things might fit the older girls.” She hesitated, then said, “But they are worn and dark. The dreary clothes were a match for her temperament. I think it would be best to give them away elsewhere.” Margaret leaned forward to look in the drawer. “There is another paper at the very bottom.”

Surprised, Angie studied the bottom. “I didn’t even notice it. It’s the same size and color as the drawer.” Angie tried to pick it up, but it was stiff, maybe from age. She pried at it with her fingernails, yet it would not come. Finally she pulled the whole drawer out. “I still can’t get it.”

“Try loosening it with one of Maria’s hairpins.”

There were a few resting on the top of the chest. Working at lifting a corner of the paper, she bent it enough to get ahold of it. She pulled the brittle paper out only to see it was a piece of wallpaper faded to an antique shade of white.

“It’s just to line the bottom of the drawer. All that to remove a drawer liner.” Shaking her head, Angie grabbed the drawer to return it, and it swung a bit when she held the drawer with one hand.

Aunt Margaret caught her arm. “What’s that?”

Angie glanced at her aunt, then followed to where her eyes were fixed. The drawer. Aunt Margaret took the drawer and turned it completely over until they could see the underside. A large envelope was stuck to the bottom. The other papers they’d found might have been forgotten, but not this.

Angie could see the envelope wasn’t yellowed with age. It had been put here recently enough, and Maria had to have hidden it herself. Angie looked at Aunt Margaret. “Why would she hide this?”

Her always sensible aunt said, “Let’s find out.”

Angie reached for it and realized her hand was trembling. For no rational reason, she was sure the envelope contained something important. Definitely something Maria didn’t want anyone to see. Angie tugged at it. It had been secured simply by being shoved into a back corner of the drawer. The wood held it on only two sides, so it lifted out easily.

Angie extended the envelope to Aunt Margaret to open. But Margaret hesitated before taking it from her. Angie knew her aunt and Maria were old friends. Was Margaret afraid the letter would say something to show Maria in an unflattering way?

The envelope had a strange address written on the outside. Aunt Margaret flipped it over, carefully folded back the flap, and withdrew a single sheet of paper. She set the envelope back on the chest and then unfolded the paper. Her look of nervous anticipation was replaced by a frown.

“What in heaven’s name is this?” Aunt Margaret turned the paper so Angie could see it.

It seemed to be a series of lines drawn on the paper. They were irregular, not a straight line or a square corner anywhere. The misshapen blocks had been placed side by side and filled nearly the whole page. The odd part was that the boxes had a bold, black X drawn through them.

One was left without the X mark, however.

“What do you suppose it is?” Angie asked.

Aunt Margaret pointed first to a small drawing inside one of the blocks, then to a curvy line near the drawing. “I think this is the Cimarron River, and this right here is Skull Mesa. If I’m right, these markings might be property lines. And those lines are around where the Bodens live. This must be their ranch.” Looking up, Margaret added, “It’s one of the few that hasn’t been marked off.”

“Marked off?” Angie felt her mouth go dry.

“Yes, as if someone’s doing something to these holdings one by one.” Aunt Margaret jabbed a finger at the drawing of Skull Mesa and the unmarked area around it. “And it looks to me like the Cimarron Ranch is next.”