CHAPTER TWELVE
Sunlight from the attic’s north window sent dust motes dancing. Mustiness teased her nostrils. Scanning the large space, she spotted a familiar shape shrouded like a ghost, or perhaps a crypt.
Desperation twisted her insides. This entire attic had become like a tomb. True she’d survived, but how many times must she face these cast-off reminders of her former life?
Each visit to this space reminded her she didn’t belong anywhere. Everyone she’d known was gone. Everything she valued had either disappeared or now legally belonged to someone else.
She fought despair and conquered the need to throw herself onto a piece of furniture and bawl. No, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow herself to give in. With renewed purpose, Penny strode to her desk and removed the dust cover.
Smooth golden oak looked as if she’d just stepped away moments ago. She pulled out the chair, disappointed the brown leather upholstery had crackled and splits marred the seat. No matter, it was her furniture and she loved it. She sat at the familiar desk, feeling at home yet still strangely distanced.
Why hadn’t she thought to search before? Not that she expected to find anything she or her father had left after all this time. Who’d used the desk after she disappeared? She shuddered at the thought of Jim Belton, the mangy coyote, sitting in her chair at her desk.
Maybe Earl had sat here as she was now. Thoughts of Earl saddened her. She should have married him and insisted they live here. Earl would have given in to her request if they’d wed.
Would the rustlers have been so bold if she’d had a husband? Or, would Charlie and Jim have murdered anyone she married?
She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the curtain fall top. Memories assaulted her, slicing into her heart. Her life had been good before her father died. She and Daddy had been happy here.
What future awaited her now? She exhaled a sigh filled with regret. No point worrying about what might have been. Best to deal with the here and now.
She opened her eyes and blinked away tears. Pushing away the loss of time, she struggled with the rolled top and succeeded in raising it without damaging the mechanism. She’d have to treat the grooves with a bar of soap, or perhaps in this time there were other solutions.
Time? Had it become her enemy?
A few days ago to her, this desk had been in the study—her study. The desk and most of the attic’s contents had been hers. Even though she claimed it, Jake was the legal owner. If she had not somehow passed through time, she’d be nothing more than one of the dust motes floating in the sun’s rays.
Sighing, she gazed at the writing surface and cache of drawers and pigeonholes. Tentatively she touched the place where she had set her inkwell. Wouldn’t she have loved one of the new ball point pens Sally had given her? Smiling at the thought, she opened the tiny drawer where she stored her pen nibs, nib holders, and pencils. Nothing remained.
Methodically, she opened each drawer. The press she and her father used to imprint the ranch letterhead remained where she’d left it. She found a sheet of yellowed paper and pressed the stamp against it. Daddy had proudly used the Lone Star on everything.
The raised star beside the first T showed plainly, though it cut through the fragile stationary, and the small letters were legible.
✯Terry Family Ranch, Terry Springs, Texas.
With a sinking heart she wondered if her ranch would be hers once more? Determined as she was, would the lawyers and judges believe she’d traveled through time? She shook her head.
Why would they? She hardly believed it herself.
She had to admit the Knights were correct and no court of law would credit her claim. The reality crushed her. She had to deal the hand she’d been dealt, even if it was the dead man’s hand.
At least she'd insure Jake didn’t lose the ranch to a crook.
At least Jake had given her a job instead of throwing her to the wolves.
At least she could sleep in her own room.
For now…
While searching, she found a set of keys at the front of a drawer. She remembered these. Would the key to the house’s front door still fit?
One key went to the secret drawer in this desk. Penny removed the center drawer to reach the lock. The key turned and clicked, and she pulled open her hiding place at the side.
Inside were family records. She caressed her grandfather’s journal, started during the War for Texas Independence from Mexico. Briefly she wondered if he’d had an earlier diary that had been lost. She’d read this one so often she could almost recite the text.
Next were the letters her parents wrote one another before their marriage, tied with her mother’s pink ribbon. Penny lifted them and inhaled, saddened her mother’s lilac scent no longer clung to the packets. Only the fusty smell of old paper remained and the ribbon had faded to yellow.
She slid out the top letter and unfolded it. A lock of her mother’s auburn hair remained. Sliding the silky strands between her fingers, she wondered if her own fiery locks would darken with time. She replaced the long curl and returned the letter back to the bundle.
Familiar steps echoed through the attic and she looked up.
Jake sauntered over and leaned over the desktop. “Looks like you found something I missed.”
She looked at him and frowned. “You missed?”
“Bart and I used to play up here. Probably every generation did. I pretended there were secret hiding places in the desk, but I only found one.” He pointed to the small drawer in the top.
“There’s this large place hidden on the side. The only way to unlock it is to remove this drawer.” She held up the key. “And use this key.”
“Damn. I knew the drawers on that side were too shallow and saw the slight line of an opening. Couldn’t find a way to get into the secret space without damaging the desk. Tried pressing underneath for a hidden spring.”
She nodded. “Like the one you found in the top?”
“If you know anything about young boys, you know they always think there’s treasure hidden somewhere only they can discover.”
“You’d have been very disappointed. This one held family papers. I suppose Mrs. Dennis is the only one besides me who would find them interesting.”
“Hey, don’t underrate my interest in history, especially anything to do with this ranch. What did I miss?”
Penny explained the journal and the letters, the brittle newspaper clippings. “My grandfather’s journal might belong in the museum Mrs. Dennis mentioned. I’d rather keep it, though. What do you think?”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “The things belong to you and your family. You alone can decide. You should move them downstairs, though, where the air is controlled. The attic gets too hot in summer and too cold in winter.”
She gestured toward the chest beneath the dormer window. “Then reckon we should move that chest of clippings downstairs? They should be organized and preserved.”
“You’re right. Always intended to do that, but there aren’t enough hours in the days around here. There’re new acid and resin free ways to preserve papers and photos. We’ll order some.” He smiled at her. “Perhaps you’ll be the ranch historian.”
“Another job?” She tilted her head at studied him. Was he giving her busy work to keep her out of his hair? Or was this part of their truce?
“Who better than someone who lived part of the history?”
She smiled at him, happy his offer was genuine. “I’ll take the job. I’m good at organizing.” She started to ask about her ranch ledgers, but she heard the booted tread of several people on the stairs.
Rowdy led the way. “Boss, we have things squared away downstairs. What do you want moved?”
Another man accompanied him. She thought the second man’s name was Manuel. Each man tipped a finger to his hat in a gentlemanly greeting. Some things hadn’t changed.
She nodded in return. “Thanks for your help.”
Rowdy put his right hand on the desk. “We gonna wrassle this big fella’ downstairs?”
“And the chair, and this chest.” Jake hefted the chest.
Penny scooped up her treasures, sealed the drawers and closed the top. She hadn’t finished looking through the desk, but later she’d poke around more. “I can get the chair.”
“No need, ma’am. I’ll come back for it,” Manuel said.
Rowdy grunted as he lifted one end of the desk as if it were a hay bale. “Miss Penny, Boss says you’re gonna enter the turkey shoot tomorrow.”
“Not only am I entering it,” she raised her eyebrows and smiled at Jake, “Gentlemen, I am going to win the turkey shoot.”
“This year oughta be some contest.” Rowdy guffawed, “Yeehaw!”