“He’s down at the tavern drinking every night; almost got himself kilt just the other day. Don’t see as how he’s any problem at all. Wouldn’t’ve minded having a taste of that wife of his, but now she’s gone, there ain’t nothin’ left but your wife, Brown. Where’s the sense in raiding the place again? Just go in and take what you want.”
Marshall sent his cohort a furious look and turned back to his bottle. He didn’t like anyone getting too close to his plans, particularly not a loudmouthed bastard like Andy. If he hadn’t needed the manpower of Andy and his Raiders, he would have left them alone, but he needed real thieves and murderers, not the puling country bumpkins who got their jollies wearing sheets and pulling their pants down for every female that crossed their paths.
Andy was a true son of Satan, and he helped attract more of his kind. Filling their own pockets was all that mattered to them, not the damned Kentucky politics that kept the other splinter groups of marauders going.
“Keep your tongue in your mouth where it belongs, Whitlow, or it’ll get the pox before your cock does. I owe that son of a bitch, and he’s going to pay before he dies. That’s all you need to know. I’m keeping your pockets lined, ain’t I?”
Marshall drank deeply of the whiskey, ignoring the filth of his surroundings. Only he knew he would have to break that devil’s spawn they called his wife before he could collect the debt owed him. Once that was done, he wouldn’t need these murdering bastards again.
He could see himself now, the glorious Union hero who put period to the depredations of the notorious Raiders. They might even name a school or somesuch after him one of these days. After he rid himself of Wickliffe and claimed his rightful wife.
Seeing the Stone Creek mansion from the master’s chambers was going to be a distinct pleasure, and the sooner, the better.
***
“Before I do anything, tell me what your intentions are toward Laura.”
“What in hell business is it of yours?” Grumbling, Jonathan turned away from his former ward to pour himself a drink. He had no intention of making this easy for Cash. It was time the man woke up and faced the truth.
“I’m making it my business.” Cash took the bottle from Jonathan’s hand and refilled his own glass. It was too early in the afternoon to be drinking, but he needed fortification.
“If you don’t know the answer, Wickliffe, you haven’t got the sense I gave you credit for. The only question here concerns your intentions. Laura might not be given to many words, but she’s never lied to me. I think your intentions are of most importance to her right now.”
Cash glumly accepted that fact. Jonathan would know about Mark. Steeling himself to the inevitable, he replied, “I’ll support Mark, you know that. That’s why I’m here. I just want to make certain Laura gets everything that’s due to her, but I want some rights too.”
“You gave up your rights when you married Sallie. Most of the town thinks Mark is mine. I’m fully capable of taking care of both of them. You can leave town with a clear conscience if that’s what you’re after.”
Cash wasn’t certain what he was after. He glanced around the cold hotel room where Jonathan was staying. He’d seen many of these in his day and he wasn’t looking forward to going back to them. There was always the California ranch. He could install some cute little Mexican maid, and after a while maybe he’d even teach her to speak English and marry her. Anything was possible.
Grimacing, he sipped his drink. “That’s not what I’m after. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you. I’ll just do what I should have done in the first place and let Laura decide. But there’s a few things I’ve got to take care of first.”
Jonathan watched as Cash rose from the chair. When it became apparent more information wasn’t forthcoming, he spoke. “You can’t go proposing marriage to her now. Her cousin’s barely cold in the grave.”
With a snarl Cash gave his former mentor a look that defied argument. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind. Do you think I want to destroy any more innocent lives? I’m going to give Laura what she wants— freedom.”
The door slammed as he stormed out, leaving Jonathan to regard the wooden panel. Perhaps Cash had the right of it, but he felt fairly certain that Laura wouldn’t agree.
Sighing, he left for Burke’s office. If he had to stay in this forsaken place, it wouldn’t be at that hotel any longer.
***
If he were the right sort of cad, Cash thought, he’d sign over the farm, consider he’d done his duty, and walk off. He’d let Laura deal with the problems of Marshall and the lost tobacco and the damaged house and the crop that needed to be harvested. But Cash still retained too much of his mother’s conscience to consign Laura to that fate.
He would solve the problems that he had caused and hand the property over free and clear of any further obligation. He had already poured a fortune down that drain—what difference did it make if he dropped a few more coins? He didn’t need much money any longer. It hadn’t accomplished anything he’d wanted to do anyway.
Not daring to contemplate what he wanted, Cash frowned and strode down the street. Several of his white field hands had already quit, refusing to work any longer with the black men he had hired. He’d heard the epithets thrown in his direction. Nigger-lover was the least of them.
The short-term solution would be to fire the black hands and hire only white, but that wouldn’t last in the long run. Most of the whites thought working in the field like slaves beneath their dignity. They would quit at the first opportunity. And if he left for California, leaving Laura in charge, they would grab that excuse to quit. They would never work for a woman.
He needed to build up a strong and loyal force that would stay under any pressure. It sounded impossible, but there were enough unemployed people in the state to eventually find the ones he sought.
Marshall and his bunch were the worst problem. By spending time drinking with the vigilantes who hated Marshall as much as the Raiders, he’d been able to learn enough of both groups to stem some of the worst offenses to his workers.
The vigilantes didn’t interfere much when they heard of a planned lynching of a Negro worker, but to keep Cash on Marshall’s tail, they passed on the information to him. But even though he’d been able to prevent any immediate mayhem, his workers were nervous. Cash couldn’t blame them from talking of moving north, but they were good workers and he didn’t want to lose their labor if it could be prevented.
So he had to put a stop to Marshall Brown and his gang. He knew it was they who had robbed the train last month. The sheriff hadn’t even bothered to hunt them, he was that terrified of the scoundrels. Being sheriff didn’t pay enough to lay his life on the line.
Finding murdering thieves was a sight better than thinking about the woman waiting for him back at the house.
***
Laura smiled in delight and invited Jonathan in, ushering him into the front parlor and calling a maid to serve them iced drinks. Although August was almost gone, the weather hadn’t eased, and the humid heat had everyone’s tempers on edge. The dim front parlor was the coolest room she could offer, but with the draperies pulled, it suffered from a stifling closeness.
As they took their seats, Laura admired Jonathan’s newfound healthiness. A hint of gray streaked his hair along with the glints of sun, but it only made him look more distinguished. Without the harried look of worry to line his face, he appeared younger, and he smiled more easily. Whatever he was doing in Arizona, it served him well.
He cocked the corner of his mouth in a slight grin under her observation. “Do you approve? There aren’t many women in the territory yet to burnish my pride, so I’m relying on you to provide the necessary polish.”
Laura had forgotten how much she enjoyed Jonathan’s company. He was so easy to be with, unlike Cash, who drove her to the pits of despair. She tried not to think about the heights of ecstasy she knew he could also produce. “I approve. I was just thinking that you must be doing something right out there. You look wonderful.”
“Thank you, madam.” He made a grave bow with his head. “It’s all for you, I hope you realize.”
Laura wasn’t that vain. With a laugh she countered, “And because you’ve found some fascinating research that keeps you so occupied that you don’t worry about anything else. Tell me about it. Your letters don’t give enough detail.”
With a sheepish grin, he agreed. “I didn’t think you’d be interested in the details. Little specks under a microscope and sick cows can’t be very appealing to a lady.”
“But they might be interesting to me. Sick cows? However did you get involved with cows?”
“Because they seem to be affected by tuberculin toxins too. Pasteur’s theories on the causes of disease offer so many possibilities . . . The scope is incredible. If someone could only make some breakthrough, show that the microbes we see in our microscopes are the reasons people and animals get sick, then maybe we will understand better why Jenner’s vaccine works and we can develop one for every disease known to mankind.”
The excitement crept into Jonathan’s voice without his noticing, but Laura heard it, and smiled, except a part of her wept inside. He was happy, and she was glad for him. He had found what he needed. But what he needed wasn’t her. That was a purely selfish thought, and she shoved it aside.
As they finished their cool drinks, a maid arrived to ask if they would like to be served lunch. Rising and taking Laura’s hand as she extended the invitation to stay, he shook his head.
“I would like to share all my meals with you, if I could. But you haven’t given me that permission yet, and I don’t think now is the right time to press for it. I just want you to know that my offer still holds, Laura. I’ll be delighted to take young Mark as my son and you as my wife. The nights can be lonely in Arizona, as I imagine they must be for you here. I’ll be around until you decide.”
Laura watched him go with a wrenching of her heart. Jonathan was a good man, the kind of husband every woman dreamed of. Why couldn’t she love a man like that, who would take care of her every need and smother her in love and protection? Some part of her must be deranged. Perhaps it ran in the family. She should try to overcome it, accept his offer, turn her back on the lush Kentucky fields that were her home and follow Jonathan’s sanity to an arid land, cleansed of the corruption of the past. And perhaps she would. It seemed the only sensible thing to do.
But her heart wasn’t in it. Turning away, Laura went in search of lunch. She needed nourishment if she were to tackle the task of directing the elm tree’s removal.
The thunder rolled in late that afternoon. Laura threw a nervous glance toward the gathering clouds on the horizon and lifted her face to the wind. It came from the west. It was late in the season for the wicked winds that could tear a tree from its foundations, but Kentucky weather could never be counted on to do anything normal. At least she didn’t have to worry about the tobacco that wasn’t there any longer.
That wasn’t much of a silver lining, but it was the only one she could conjure up as she ordered the horses inside and the house and barns battened down.
The house was the weakest point if a true gully-washer moved in. The wind could rip that piecemeal roof right off the beams, and there was no tile to keep the water from dripping through the cracks in the sun-dried wood. This seemed to be a year for momentous thunderstorms.
No wind came with the approaching storm. The sky gradually darkened, but it was as if the clouds trapped the summer’s heat on the ground, and the trees and grass bent under the weight of the humidity.
Before he left, Cash had appointed Jake as his second in command, but the men grumbled under a black man’s orders, their tempers already riled by the heat and irritated further by the pressure of the clouds. Jake lost his temper and snapped at them, and several more threw down their pitchforks and hoes and walked out.
They weren’t the first to leave, and Laura watched their departure with anxiety. She threw a glance to the corn ripening in the distant field. If the storm didn’t flatten it, it would be ready for harvesting soon. Cash would need all the help he could get to bring that corn in. And she didn’t like being left with only a small band of men to protect the house and outbuildings in case the Raiders decided to return.
Surely they wouldn’t return so soon after Sallie’s death. But a thunderstorm had no respect for the dead. Ordering someone to chase the chickens back into their house, Laura started for the stables to make certain the horses were all in. Cash would never forgive her if any more of his precious horses were lost.
The evening meal was consumed in tense silence. Mark cried and pounded fretfully at the mashed potatoes on his plate. Laura picked him up and comforted him, but there was little she could do to satisfy his complaints any longer. Her breasts had begun to dry up after Sallie’s death. She missed the closeness as much as the child, and she hugged him with an inward cry of loneliness.
She wished Cash were here, even if only to rail at him and hear his furious replies. It would be some outlet for her frustration. She didn’t think the storm had anything to do with the emotions winding like a spinning top in her breast. It almost hurt her lungs to breathe, so tight was the cord. She was terrified of how she felt, and she wasn’t certain that she could keep a handle on her pain much longer.
Knowing she was reaching some breaking point, Laura hastened up the stairs after the meal, seeking the privacy of her room with only Mark for company. She let him crawl about the floor as she pumped the pedal of the sewing machine, pouring all her energies into this motion as if it would solve the tension bursting her seams. The material couldn’t fly through her hands fast enough. She kept an eye on the window, waiting for the storm to break.
But the window faced the wrong direction and Laura could see only the occasional flash of light, indicating the storm was moving closer. Lightning would be streaking the western sky, but from this angle she could see only its reflection. That was what the whole of her life had been like. She lived in the reflection of other people’s lives. She wanted to race outside and confront the lightning and dance in the face of it. She was a person too. Why weren’t the tumult of the storm and the ecstasy of the sun for her? Why must she muddle along in the shadow of everyone else, everyone’s cousin but no one’s friend or wife? It wasn’t fair.
Kicking the iron stand when the thread knotted and jammed, Laura stood up and pulled Mark from the draperies where he was clinging in his effort to see out the window. The wind was rising now; she could see the trees tossing their mighty heads. A horse neighed in its stall, but the sound was carried off before she could even register it fully. She remembered another night when torches had lit the fields, and she shuddered.
The howling of the wind was worse in the hall when Laura opened the door to Jettie Mae’s knock. The cracks in the unshingled roof gave entrance to strange noises, and the remaining branches of the elm rattled against the wood. The men had been able to trim out only part of the branches before heat had taken its toll and they had quit for the day. The tree was too near the house to cut down and take apart on the ground, they had told her.
Jettie grimaced at the sound of the rising wind. “You’d better get downstairs. It sounds like dis old house gonna rip apart any minute now.”
The house had stood up to thousands of storms in the past, but Laura was eager for any excuse to escape her lonely thoughts. Gathering up Mark and his bedding, she followed Jettie down the back stairs to the kitchen, where the house servants had gathered to sip coffee and whisper among themselves.
They grew silent when Laura entered, but Jemima filled a cup for her and a new subject was found, and soon the younger maids were giggling among themselves while the adults exchanged desultory conversation over the events of the last few days.
The hurried knock at the back door was almost lost in an abrupt change in the wind, but someone heard it and ran to answer it. The young maid screamed as large black man rushed into the cozy kitchen.
Seeing Laura, he gasped almost incoherently, “They back! They back in the cornfield!”
Laura paled before Jake’s wild terror. And then it occurred to her what he was saying, and rage replaced any fear. The Raiders weren’t going to satisfy themselves with waiting for the storm to demolish the cornfield, they meant to take credit for it themselves.
Rising from her chair, she handed Mark to Jemima and calmly ordered, “Get the guns, Jake. We’re going after them.”