It’s been two days now since Glory’s taken to her bed, Biddy reflected as she grabbed up her shawl, knotted it over her bosom, and headed for the door at the back of the kitchen, Enough is enough. Taking the porch’s wooden steps one at a time, tempering her determination with her bulk, she looked this way and that about the dirt-brown, wind-gusted yard. No Smiley Rankin.
Why could a man never be about when you needed him? At any other time, he was underfoot. Holding a stray wisp of gray hair out of her eyes, she pursed her lips. Perhaps he’d be in his office. Heading in that direction, her fear for her baby’s state of mind forcing a frown to her face, Biddy fumed anew over Glory’s traipsing over to the Thorne place and them sending her packing. Why, the girl’s will to live threatened to drain right out with her tears. The nanny’s worried thoughts carried her to the foreman’s office door, which she wrenched open.
Inside, Smiley sat bent over some bit of leather he worked with a nasty-looking tool. His head popped up when Biddy breezed in. She barely hid her moment of pleasure at the heightened color that stained the man’s cheeks and at how he jumped up, dropping his work and swallowing hard, when he saw her. Dragging a hand over his balding head, as if to straighten hair no longer residing there, he stammered out, “Miz Biddy. I’m right pleased to see you … ma’am.”
Biddy caught herself already in a girlish simper and put a hand to her fluttering heart. “Mr. Rankin. Am I interruptin’ ye? I’ve a matter of some importance to speak with ye about, if I may.”
“My time is yours.” With that, Smiley rushed around the desk, banging his thigh against an edge, grimacing and limping now, but managing to drag a chair out from under its pile of papers and bridles and over to the desk for her. He ripped his bandanna out of his pocket and dusted the seat, and then gestured for her to be seated. “If you’ve a mind to set a spell, I’d be most pleased.”
As if a grand lady in a ballroom, Biddy ducked her chin in acceptance of his invitation and flounced herself over to the chair. She perched her weight delicately on its edge. After carefully arranging her everyday coarse skirt into attractive folds about herself, she folded her plump, age-spotted hands in her ample lap. And waited for Mr. Rankin to sit again in his chair and give her his attention. Only then did she broach her subject. Taking a deep breath, she delved in. “I’ve come to speak with ye regarding my Glory. Only she’s not really Glory, as we both know. Nor is she a Lawless.”
Smiley stilled, put a big-knuckled hand to his chin, and rubbed it while he eyed her. “That’s a pretty bald statement of affairs, Miss Biddy.”
“I know. ’Tis the way of things, though. We’ll not be able to keep the truth at bay much longer, I’m afraid.”
Smiley shook his head. “You’re right. I was afraid it would come to this. I think I knew the minute Rooster McGinty’s boy rode up with that packet from Jacey.” He firmed his lips together and raised a bushy eyebrow. “You going to tell me what he brought?”
Biddy sighed. “Nothing less than Glory’s real mother’s own letters and her journal. Some Mexican gentleman—”
“Glory’s real mother’s journal?” Smiley’s mouth dropped open to a perfect O. “Great jumping Jehoshaphat.”
Biddy nodded. “Aye. Some Mexican gentleman in Arizona had them all these years. That McGinty boy said J. C. himself asked the man to keep them. But he gave them to Jacey, and either he knew the truth, or Jacey—that one’s smart as a whip—figured it on her own. But not a word of explanation from her to Glory about the what or the why of the packet. I fainted clean away when I saw Laura Parker’s name signed to a letter.”
“You didn’t tell Glory right then?”
Biddy primmed her lips together. “I just said I fainted clean away. When I came to, she was of a mind to leave for the Thorne place. And since she’s gotten back, she’s been in her room and crying. And won’t talk to a soul. So, when was I supposed to tell her?”
Smiley appeared to study this, centering his gaze just to Biddy’s right. After a quiet moment, he focused on her. “Yer right. You never got a chance.” Then he snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Wait a minute. There’s yer answer. Jacey meant for Glory to figure it out on her own. So let her.”
“Ye suppose? Just let her? Where’s the good in that?”
“Well, think about it, Miz Biddy—if you tell her who that Laura Parker is, and then tell her we’ve known all along that she’s not any blood kin to the Lawlesses, just how do you think she’s liable to feel toward you? And me?”
Biddy bit at her bottom lip as she met Smiley’s serious gaze. Then she sighed. “Yer right—she’d hate us for sure. But she will, anyways, once she figures it out on her own … if she ever does. So what’s the difference if I tell her meself or let her reason it out?”
Looking unsettled, Smiley ran his big-knuckled hand over his beard-stubbled jaw. “I see yer point. Do you want me to help you tell her? I will.”
Biddy managed a smile for the man. His hangdog expression told her plainly enough that he hoped she would turn down his offer. “Yer most kind to offer, but no. I’ve been handling the girls since they was born. I’ll take care of this, too.” Her next thought sent her gaze to her lap, where she picked at a loose thread in her skirt and softly said, “Thank ye for listenin’, though. I didn’t know where else to turn. With Old Pete gone, yer the only one left on the place, besides meself, who knows the truth of the matter.”
Smiley cleared his throat. Biddy looked up to see him grinning. “I’m right pleased that you confided in me. You know I love that child like she’s my own. Feel the same way about the other two and … everyone else in the main house. Always have.”
Before Biddy could say anything to that, the door from the bunkhouse opened into the office and in stepped Heck Thompson. He stopped when he saw Biddy, but she and Smiley both waved him in. Biddy indicated for the man to proceed with his business with the foreman.
While they spoke of some ranching concern, Biddy quit listening and pulled a hanky from her skirt pocket. It was just as well that Heck had interrupted because she was blinking back sudden tears, tears brought on by the layers of meaning contained in Smiley’s words. She lived in the main house. So Smiley cared for her, too. And here they’d never before spoken of such things together, and yet were the closest things to grandparents the Lawless girls had. They’d wasted a lot of years, Biddy reflected.
She watched Smiley speaking with Heck, allowed her warm feelings for the foreman to surface. They had so much in common. Their loyalty and years of service to the elder Lawlesses, not to mention their love for them. The land, this ranch. Their home. And the three girls. They certainly had them in common. But Glory, no more than a stray little kitten when they’d first seen her, was special to them both, Biddy knew.
A little lost waif when J. C. brought her home, she’d been near to death and so tiny. Months of nursing her back to health, of sitting up holding her all night to make sure she breathed, of rocking her and crooning to her, of soothing the child’s mewling little cries had forged a special bond. Only now did Biddy recall Smiley pacing back and forth outside, peering up at the house, asking through J. C. how the little one was.
Again Biddy could see herself and Catherine taking turns with the child—she at night, Catherine during the day. It had taken two mothers to replace her real one and to save the tiny baby that she’d been. Then, when she was older, Smiley had sent to the house—again through J. C.—wooden toys he’d whittled. For the baby, he said. It weren’t no big deal. Just been bored, found himself whittling. That was all.
Biddy smiled. But it faded. And now, here the child was—grown up, healthy, but threatened again. And in some vague way that Biddy couldn’t put a finger on, couldn’t name … couldn’t fight. That terrified her, and she needed help.
She dabbed at her eyes and stuffed her hanky back in her pocket. She focused on Smiley’s strong yet kindly face as he nodded at Heck in dismissal. She exchanged a look with him, but waited with him in silence until Heck closed the door after himself. As soon as they were alone again, Smiley all but leaned over the desk toward her. “You all right, Biddy? Are you crying?”
Biddy sat back heavily against the slatted chair’s support. He’d called her Biddy. Not Miss Biddy. Not Miss Jensen. But plain Biddy. She stored that away for later reflection. Right now she needed to concern herself with Glory. “I’m not cryin’—me at me age. But I … well, I’m having second thoughts”—she tested his name on her lips—“Smiley.”
The foreman’s eyes lit up. Biddy felt herself color. She rushed on. “I’m not so sure I can just let Glory—on her own—realize that her whole life has been a lie. Why, the realization could come to her in the middle of the night. Or out at the graves. And then what, with no one about to steady her? When she finds out she has no Lawless blood—and her with that stubborn pride? Why, she’ll hate us all.”
The pleased light in Smiley’s dark eyes faded. “Maybe for a while, but not after she has time to think it through. Believe me, that stubborn pride of hers will stand her in good stead. She’ll realize she’s been raised no different from Hannah and Jacey, that’s she’s as much a Lawless in fact as they are in blood.”
Unconvinced, Biddy pursed her lips. “I wish I had the same certainty in me heart as ye have, Smiley.” His name was coming more readily to her lips. “But ye haven’t seen her the past two days since she went to the Thorne place. She just stays in her room, mourning and calling for her mother. And she’s havin’ them nightmares again about the murders. Why, ’tis enough to put me in me grave. And all this without her knowing she has two mothers to mourn. What will she be like then?”
Smiley slammed a fist down on the desktop, making Biddy jump. “Those damned Thornes—pardon my language. But I’ve a mind to take a bullwhip to every last one of them.” He then cast a cautious, testing look Biddy’s way. “Well, except for Mrs. Thorne, that is. She’s a good woman.”
Biddy smiled. “Well now, ’tis glad I am to hear ye say that. But ye should know, I’m of a mind to send for Riley. Again.”
Smiley narrowed his eyes at her. “You sure about that? It’s been right peaceful-like without him here.”
“Hmmph. Mayhaps out here. But not inside there, I can tell ye.” She pointed in the direction of the main house.
Smiley’s lips worked, showing his unsettled state as he concentrated on Biddy’s face. She smiled at him. He threw his hands up. “All right. You know what’s best for the young’un. Send for Riley Thorne, if you’ve a mind to. But remember, since Ben and Louise also know the truth, Riley might know by now. While I don’t believe he or his mother would use that knowledge against her, who’s to say what Ben might do? He wants this land awful bad. And if he gets it, we all lose.”
Smiley’s words struck close to Biddy’s heart. “’Tis my worst fear. We’d lose the only home we’ve ever known.” Biddy pursed her lips together and shook her head as she came to her feet. “I had no idea how much I had to worry about before I came out here. But now I see—’tis bigger than all of us. And who’d have thought it would all come down to Glory’s slender shoulders to keep it all together?”
On his side of the desk, Smiley stood, too. “What are you going to do?”
Biddy exhaled heavily, knotted her fingers at her waist. “I’m going to tell her. ’Tis the right thing to do. But first, tomorrow morning, I’m going to the Thorne place. I want to hear from Louise what happened to Glory there. And maybe I can talk her into coming back with me. I’d like her here, as Catherine’s friend, to help me explain things to Glory.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Smiley spoke barely above a whisper.
Despite her warm feelings for the man, Biddy pulled herself up stiffly. “It may not be. But it’s no less wise than you men fightin’ over a piece of dirt. The Good Lord knows that all these years ’twas only Catherine’s and Louise’s friendship that kept J. C. and Ben from killing each other.”
Having said that, she quieted, waiting for Smiley to dispute her words or to argue with her. But he remained silent. Biddy ducked her chin, finally admitting her own doubts. “I just hope the children—and the love I know they have for each other—are strong enough to withstand what’s coming. Because the truth can kill us all. And not only Glory.”
* * *
Mounted on Pride, Riley surveyed the stretch of flat land laid out before him, broken only by the washboard hills and waving tallgrass. It’d been three cold, November days now since he and Glory had found each other out here and made love. He hadn’t been able yet to sort out his feelings regarding that because here he was sorting out Lawless cattle from Thorne cattle. And having to fight his father and brothers every step of the way.
Stretching in the saddle, feeling Pride’s stamp of impatience, Riley turned at the sound of approaching hooves. With narrowed eyes, he watched Henry rein his lathered horse next to him. In wary silence he waited for his brother to speak.
Henry notched his felt hat up and spat between the two horses. Then he swiped a hand over his dust-and sweat-grimed face and said, “Caleb and Zeke found about ten more head over in that next dry gully. Lawless cattle. I’ll swear and be damned, Riley, I ain’t never worked so hard to return cattle to someone I hate. If she wants her steers, let her come get ’em.”
Riley inhaled and exhaled as if breathing required conscious effort. He’d been listening to Henry gripe since they’d started rounding up the herd yesterday. Too tired to bellyache with him again over the same issue, he ignored all but his brother’s statement of fact. “Ten more head? Damn. How does this keep happening?”
“Well, it ain’t like there’s any fences. Cattle don’t know the difference from one piece of dirt to the next.”
Riley nodded. “True enough. Only, before the past couple weeks, it seemed like they did. Does it appear to you that someone is driving them over our way, just to start trouble?”
Henry stopped in the act of reaching for his canteen, looped as it was around his saddle’s pommel. “Like who?”
A shrug and a sharp-eyed stare preceded Riley’s answer. “I don’t rightly know.”
Henry took his meaning, judging by the way he sat up straight and narrowed his eyes right back at Riley. “I might be a lot of things, and I might not cotton to the Lawlesses, but I ain’t a cattle rustler, Riley.”
“I never said you were. But I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Henry eyed Riley a moment before uncapping his canteen and bringing it to his lips to take a long pull. Watching him, Riley experienced a sudden flash of memory, of Henry as a scrawny boy, always making things harder for himself than they had to be. A grin tugged at Riley’s lips. Despite his constant desire to pound some sense into his brother, he admitted to the rush of love in his heart. Danged kid.
As Henry recapped his canteen, Riley continued watching him. Next month, his brother would marry the girl he loved. At least this one thing was easy for him. Fall in love, get married, and everyone was happy about it. Then Riley thought of Glory, of his love for her. And how, right now, it looked like it could never be. Frustration gusted Riley’s breath out of him. No sense dwelling on it. He turned to Henry. “If you’re through sitting a spell while the rest of us work, show me where those ten head are.”
“Me sitting a spell? You’re the one up here overlooking our hard work, like you’re some kind of king or something. What the hell have you been doing all morning?” Despite his challenge, Henry turned his horse as he spoke and led Riley, grinning behind his back, in the direction he’d just come.
For the next few hours, Riley helped his father and brothers sort Thorne cattle from Lawless cattle. It had taken him two days of arguing with them to get them out here and working. They all felt pretty much like Henry did about this venture. But he’d finally made them see that their looking like cattle rustlers, which by all the evidence was exactly what someone wanted them to appear to be, didn’t help their cause—that of regaining their pasture lands. A range war was one thing in the eyes of their neighboring cattlemen. Cattle rustling was another.
Still, even though the work they did was right and good, Riley expected at any moment for Smiley Rankin and a string of Lawless hands to come thundering over the hills, guns blazing. Because he knew from afar it’d be hard to tell “sorting out” from “mixing in.” But when lunchtime came and that hadn’t happened, Riley felt heartened some. Perhaps they could herd the cattle back to Lawless land without anyone being the wiser.
Reining in Pride a distance away from the chuckwagon, and on the side away from his congregated family and their few hired hands, he dismounted and hobbled the gray gelding, leaving the big horse enough length to graze and get to the water-filled rill for a drink. Thinking only of his own lunch, and how he was the last one in for the meal, Riley approached the wagon and was only two steps from rounding into view of the men, when he heard Abel Justice’s voice rise above the sound of spoons scraping against tin plates.
What the man was saying abruptly ended the other quiet or teasing conversations going on at the same time. His words had the same effect on Riley. He stopped where he was, listened, and felt sure his heart would thump right out of his chest.
“Well, Mr. Thorne,” Justice was saying, “I ain’t one to carry tales, but I heard-tell that Miss Glory ain’t no Lawless a-tall. I been told her real folks was killed by that Mexican desperado what ran with the Lawless Gang. And he left her—no more’n a tiny baby—for dead. But J. C. Lawless brought her home to raise as his own. A good, Christian thing to do, is all I’m saying.”
“What the hell—?” That was seventeen-year-old John. “Miss Glory ain’t even a Lawless?”
In less than a second, Zeke followed up his older brother’s bold cussing with, “The hell you say!”
“That’s enough. You two boys watch your mouths.” And that was Ben Thorne’s deep, authoritative voice. For the next few seconds only an occasional neigh from a horse or the lowing of the cattle broke the silence. Then Ben spoke again. “Where’d you hear that, Justice?”
Abel answered, “Here and there. Is it true?”
Keeping his presence a secret, Riley waited what he felt was a lifetime for his father’s answer. He could only imagine the rapt looks on his brothers’ faces. And the thoughts running through their heads. “I couldn’t say if it was or not.”
Riley exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His father knew Glory’s real story … and yet, he was keeping it to himself. Or at least he wasn’t verifying it. And probably for no other reason than because Abel Justice was a stranger, not yet to be trusted. Still, noble or not, Riley was glad for his father’s holding back the truth. He listened in when Abel Justice went on.
“Well, don’t git me wrong, sir, I ain’t meaning the lady no harm. She’s a right sweet little thing, she is, and God-fearing, just like myself. Got a lot on her shoulders, too. I just think it’s a shame, is all—her being a little orphan twice over. And all alone now on that big old ranch. It don’t seem right.”
After a moment of quiet, punctuated by a couple of metallic scrapes that told of the men continuing their meal, came Ben Thorne’s soft reply. “No. It doesn’t.”
Riley became aware of the sweat pooling under his arms, despite the day’s sharp coldness. This was the last thing he needed—Abel Justice firing up his father’s vengeful juices. His first thought was to interrupt, but then he stilled himself, thinking he’d be better off right now to listen. Because if the drifter was telling the truth, that he’d heard Glory’s story “here and there,” then Riley needed to know everything the man knew. And then he needed to get to Glory before she heard it from someone else—when they came to take her land.
Thus riveted in place, he stayed where he was and heard Justice say, “Well, I just find myself wonderin’ how—what with too-few men, and no real or legal claim to the land—”
“There’s no law in no-man’s-land to say what’s legal and what ain’t. A man holds onto what he can by might alone. Ain’t that right, Pa?” That was nineteen-year-old Caleb, the Thorne who said what the others only dared think.
Riley rolled his eyes. Shut up, Caleb.
“That’s right,” Ben answered his son.
Justice added, “I reckon yer right, boy. By might—and by what others will allow or tolerate … the way I see it.”
Dammit. Judging by the quiet on the other side of the wagon, Riley knew that Justice had just fed their thoughts of a range war. Thoughts that he’d barely been able to squelch lately. Riley found himself again wondering how Abel Justice knew the truth about Glory. Had the drifter overheard the conversation between himself and his mother when she told him? He thought back to that day and then shook his head. No, Justice and Carter had ridden out with Henry before that talk.
Eliminating that, Riley reflected on who else knew, but immediately discounted Biddy telling him. Smiley Rankin? He’d worked for J. C. Lawless since there’d been a Lawless ranch. He had to know. But two folks more fiercely loyal to the Lawlesses, you couldn’t find. And they’d kept the family secret for nearly twenty years. Neither one of them would just up and tell a stranger.
So, with J. C. and Catherine—a terrible nagging in his gut accompanied the horrible conclusion Riley’s mind forced on his consciousness—and Old Pete dead, no one else outside the family knew. Except for himself and his parents. And now his brothers and the other hands, thanks to Justice. Were the people involved being systematically killed off? It appeared that way. Riley’s eyes narrowed. Who was doing this? And why?
Just then, a new voice broke into the discussion on the other side of the wagon. It belonged to Carter Brown. “Look here, Mr. Thorne, it appears to me you got five big old sons, which gives you a lot of blood-family and loyal firepower. And Miss Glory, for all Justice here is sweet on her, ain’t got nothing but a handful of drifters and old-timers to count on. Seems to me it wouldn’t take much to turn things in your favor. If that was yer aim.”
Riley’s gut clenched. Then he heard his father say, “If that was my aim.”
And again exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Not until this moment did Riley realize the truth of what his mother always said—he was just like his pa to keep his own counsel. I have to pull thoughts and words out of you both, she always said. Right now, Riley counted that a good trait. Figuring he’d heard enough, he started around the wagon, but was stopped again, this time by the sounds behind him of a steadily approaching wagon.
He’d no more than turned around before he was joined on his side of the chuckwagon by his father and brothers, who looked startled to see him there. They were followed by the assembled hands, among them Justice and Brown. Riley spared those two only a hard-eyed glance, which they didn’t return, before he too focused on the harness-jingling, clattering buckboard nearing them.
Then he recognized the rig. And the driver. The Lawless buckboard and Biddy handling the team’s reins. His gut tightened. This could only be trouble. Apparently spying the assembled men in front of the chuckwagon, and the milling cattle arrayed off to a side, Biddy brought the team to a dust-stirring halt, still a good distance from the watching men. And sat there, obviously waiting. With the combined weight of his family’s stares burning in his back, Riley turned to his father. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Ben wrinkled his nose in his grimace. “Maybe that’d be best.”
Riley exchanged a charged look with his father and then broke away from the crowd of quiet men clustered around the chuckwagon. Breaking into a sprint, he caught up with Pride, unhobbled and mounted him … all under the watchful eyes of the Thorne men and their hired hands. With a muscle jumping in his cheek, Riley wheeled Pride and urged him into a loping gallop across the hard-packed, uneven ground. In only moments, he reined in beside the Lawless buckboard, saw the worry lines framing Biddy’s faded-blue eyes, further shadowed by her gingham sun bonnet.
Controlling his restive mount with a firm tug on the reins, and ignoring the stark, blue cold of the day, Riley took the gloved hand Biddy offered him. “What brings you over this way, Biddy?”
“Oh, Riley, yer a sight for sore eyes. I thought I saw yer horse over there.” Then she frowned, pulled her hand away, and pointed toward the milling cattle. “Is that the Lawless brand I see on some of them cattle?”
Riley didn’t need to look where she pointed. “Yep. Someone’s trying to make the Thornes out to be cattle rustlers. We’re getting ready to drive them back to Lawless land.”
Biddy swung her bonnet-covered head back to him, considered him a sober moment, and then nodded. “I’ll say a prayer yer done with it before Mr. Rankin comes huntin’ them cows.”
Riley tipped his Stetson’s brim to her. “I would appreciate it. Now don’t tell me you came all this way as your foreman’s advance rider.”
Biddy gave a vigorous shake of her head, which set her plump little chins into motion. “No, not at all.” Then she seemed to crumple into herself. “Oh, Riley, ’tis Glory. She’s in a bad way, and I don’t know what to do.”
Riley exhaled, fearing he knew exactly what was wrong with Glory. He didn’t know which hurt the most right then—his empty stomach or his throbbing temples. He heaved out a sigh, shook his head, and then focused on Biddy. “Wait here. I’ll go tell my father I’m leaving. And then … I’ll go to her. Don’t try to keep up in your wagon, because I—”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s to yer mother I’m going.” Biddy paused, gave Riley a considering look, as if she wrestled with some decision, and then blurted, “There’s more. I don’t quite know how to say it, but Glory’s not really a—”
“A Lawless. I know about her real folks. Ma told me just the other day.”
Biddy exhaled, slumped, put a hand to her cloak-covered chest. “Thank the Lord for that. Yer knowing makes everything easier. I was right to come seek ye out. Ye go, Riley. I’ll collect yer mother and we’ll follow directly.”
“All right. But why do you need my mother? I can handle—”
“Ye don’t understand. After ye left, Glory got a packet from Jacey. In it were Laura Parker’s letters and journals.”
A spasm of surprise tightened Riley’s grip on his reins. “Laura Parker? Isn’t that—?”
“Yes, ’tis. Glory’s real mother. Only Glory’s not knowing it yet. She doesn’t know any of this. At least, she hadn’t figured it out before I left this morning.” Biddy tsk-tsked and shook her bonneted head. “And what’s more, Jacey warned Glory—just as Hannah did in her letter—about men hired to track the girls, maybe to kill them. The very thought just stops me heart. I know I’m asking ye to ride into a hornet’s nest, but don’t let that girl out of yer sight.”
Riley firmed his lips, looked out over the low, brown hills in the direction of the Lawless ranch yard, as if he could see it from where he sat atop Pride. “I won’t.” He then looked down at Biddy. “You go visit with Ma, but don’t hurry home. Give me some time with Glory. Alone.”
Biddy raised her eyebrows and stared right into his soul. Riley’s heart thudded. His hands, encased in his riding gloves, sweat against the soft leather as he pressed his knees against his horse’s belly. Biddy’s expression changed. She looked up at him from under suspicion-lowered eyelids. “Time alone with her? Is that what’s wrong with her?”
Riley found reason to study his pommel, to stretch in his saddle, to look everywhere but at the Lawless nanny. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Riley Thorne. Shame on ye.”
Feeling his cheeks heat up, but refusing to admit he was actually blushing, Riley shot her a look. “You all that surprised, Biddy?”
She shook her head, pursed her lips. “I should be. But I’m not. Well then, be off with ye. Go. ’Tis ye she’s needin’ to see, after all. And not the rest of us.” She gave a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Not for a while, at least.”
Riley understood. He grinned at the fearless, wonderful Lawless nanny. “I think I love you, Biddy Jensen. But don’t tell Mr. Rankin I said that. I don’t want him calling me out.”
Wide-eyed and brushing him off with a wave of her hand, she whooped out her girlish enjoyment. “Go on with ye, lad. Mr. Rankin, indeed. Ye’ve all ye can do to worry about one Glory Bea Lawless.”
* * *
The long shadows of the quiet afternoon—quiet because Biddy was gone to visit Louise Thorne—cast themselves over Glory’s bedroom. Seeping in through the window, the graying beams crept across the floor, creating ripples of dark which tiptoed on cat’s paws for the security of the corners.
Noticing one such dust-mote-laden beam, and watching its progress for long moments, Glory sighed and stretched her aching back. Sitting ensconced on her bed, her legs folded Indian-style, she eyed the scattering of letters and the old journal spread about her. Another day all but gone by as she pored through them, rereading them. And still, she could make no sense out of it all.
Oh, she had inklings of ideas, and various notes she’d made in an effort to correlate people and events, but still … what was Jacey thinking with her little mystery? It wasn’t in her sister’s straightforward nature to play such games. Which only frustrated Glory more, and suddenly told her this was no game. Maybe she was trying too hard, looking too deeply. Maybe the answers were obvious.
Glory gritted her teeth, shook her head. She wiped her dry, scratchy eyes and then blinked until she could focus again on Laura Parker’s life. Why would Jacey send the woman’s letters to her? If these brittle and yellowed pages were related in any way to the murders and the present danger, Jacey wouldn’t have been this coy with them. She would’ve sent James McGinty at a tearing pace with an out-and-out warning. But she hadn’t.
Why? In a tired, bored snit, Glory told herself she couldn’t care less why at the moment. She folded her arms under her blouse-covered bosom and stared at her bedroom’s open door. And frowned. Shouldn’t Biddy be home by now? Glory shook her head, wondering at her nanny’s determined haste to be gone this morning. And at her admonition to “Stay at them letters until they make sense to ye.”
Glory’s frown suddenly deepened. She sat up straight. Her heartbeat picked up speed. She heard again Biddy’s words that she’d just repeated for herself. Ye stay at them letters until they make sense to ye, Glory Bea. To me? Did that mean they made sense to Biddy? Glory cast her gaze down to her lap, fingered the worn cover on Laura Parker’s journal. And had the sudden urge to fling it across the room. But she didn’t. Because she didn’t want to pick it up, like she wouldn’t want to touch a coiled snake.
Instead, she picked up her own notes she’d made of dates and names and places mentioned by the young woman almost twenty years ago. Almost twenty years ago? Glory’s head popped up. She stared vacantly at her reflection in her vanity’s mirror across the room. Almost twenty years ago would be 1854. The year I was born.
With suddenly shaking fingers, she gingerly picked up the journal. Turning the brittle pages one after the other, she found the one on which Seth Parker had recorded the date of his … Glory swallowed the lump in her throat … daughter’s birth. And forced herself to read it again, even knowing what she’d see. There it is. May 9, 1854.
Instantly denying what she now realized she’d suspected all along, ever since her first reading of the journal, she closed it with an angry flip of her hand. The Parkers had a baby girl born on May 9. That was her birthday, too. So the Parkers’ daughter was the same age as her. So? Almost defiantly, Glory awaited an answer, a conclusion, from her otherwise empty room. And got one. As if her conscience were another physical presence in the room, it leaned over and whispered, So they named her Beatrice, Glory.
Glory’s lips quivered. She closed her eyes against the fat, hot tears threatening to flow. Almost of its own will, her hand sought her mouth, covering her lips to keep back the scream that billowed like a storm cloud over her heart. And still, she sat there. It was all very simple, wasn’t it? In fact, obvious. This was why Jacey’d sent Laura Parker’s letters to her without any explanation. This was why Biddy’d fainted when she saw the woman’s signature. Jacey knew who Laura Parker was. So did Biddy. And now, Glory suspected, so did she.
Downstairs, a door opened and then slammed. It sounded like the back door. The one into the kitchen. Biddy’s home. Glory absorbed the sound, listening as it faded into a memory, only to be replaced bare moments later by the scuffing sounds of someone slowly climbing the stairs. With a growing sense of bleak destiny, of bleached-bone finality, Glory riveted her gaze on the empty, open doorway to her room and waited for Biddy to be framed there.
She knew already what she wanted to ask her nanny. Who did Beatrice Parker grow up to be?