Chapter 20
Kilronan, Missouri
March 1848
Caitlin added the column of figures a third time and sighed aloud when she reached the same answer. “You’re right,” she said to Shane. “We need to get a good price for your livestock in Fort Independence or we’ll be hard pressed to pay the taxes, let alone buy supplies for the coming year.”
Shane removed his hand from her shoulder and leaned over to skim down the columns with a lean finger. “I should have let you do the figurin’ from the first, Caity. You’ve a head for it.”
“Yes, you should have,” she agreed, pushing back from the dining room table.
Caitlin still felt guilty for believing him to be a tight-fisted man in the months when she’d first arrived at Kilronan. Shane hadn’t explained to her that her passage from County Clare had cost him the equivalent of two years’ work.
Since Shane had returned from Saint Louis at Christmas, Caitlin had watched her marriage flower. They were more than joyful bedmates; they were friends.
She was all too aware of her husband’s human frailties. Shane McKenna was quick to anger, proud, stubborn, and rarely expressed his feelings except in their bedroom. And although he never laid a hand on her or the children that wasn’t gentle, he was quick to settle disagreements with men with his fists.
It was Shane’s lack of trust that caused Caitlin the most unhappiness, that and his inability to tell her that he loved her. Nothing she could say or do would convince Shane that she hadn’t given birth to Derry. He was perfectly willing to forgive her for committing adultery, but he could not believe her word. They had long since given up arguing the subject. They simply avoided it, as they avoided talking about why it had taken seven years for Shane’s letters to reach her.
She smiled up at her rugged husband. In spite of those differences, she loved him with all her heart. However, that didn’t mean she wasn’t tempted at times to pound some sense into his head.
Yes, Caitlin mused as she closed the Kilronan account book, her marriage had blossomed, and the full fruit of that ripening would surprise her husband soon.
Caitlin was certain that she was with child, but she hadn’t told him yet. By her reckoning, she could be three months along. Since her cycles had always been irregular, she couldn’t be sure. The thought that she might give Shane another son or daughter brought her overwhelming joy, but also a secret terror.
She carried as Mama had, not showing her pregnancy in the early months. But her mother had miscarried four babes before anyone knew she was with child, and Caitlin was afraid that it might be the same for her. And so she had kept her own council, ignoring Mary’s knowing looks and unspoken questions.
Besides, she reasoned, Shane had enough to worry about now. He didn’t need to concern himself with her health and the coming responsibility of another child. He’d promised to take care of her if she became pregnant, but she wanted more than a sense of duty from him. If he was unhappy about the baby, she didn’t know how she would stand it.
Shane assured her that the winter, which had seemed harsh to her, had been a mild one. There had been periods of thaw when they could pasture the livestock, and they’d made it through the blizzards with only a few oxen and one mule lost.
“As soon as the weather breaks, I’ll drive the animals we want to sell north and west to Fort Independence,” he’d explained. “Choosing the right time to set out is vital. If I wait too long, other herds will arrive before mine. The first come get the best prices. Big Earl has been trying to beat me there for the past two seasons.”
“But you don’t want to go so long as there’s a chance of a late snowstorm,” she reminded him. Gabriel had chilled her with tales of one herd that had been caught in a March storm and died along with the four men driving them.
“It doesn’t pay to get there ahead of the folks headin’ west on the Oregon Trail,” Shane continued. “Some of them bring their own animals cross-country from Saint Louis, but a lot of them come up the Missouri by boat all the way to the jumpin’-off spot to Independence. Oxen and mules would be my choice if I was goin’ west—which I’m not. But a lot of men are dead set on ridin’ good horses, which is where I make most of my hard cash.”
Shane’s plan was for the three women and Derry to remain at Kilronan while he, Gabe, and Justice made the drive.
“It’s two hundred miles as the crow flies. It’s all rugged country, no trails or settlements. It’s times like this when I wish I had Big Earl’s crew.”
“Wouldn’t it be safer for both of you if you combined your herds?” Caitlin asked.
Shane scoffed. “The only word I’ve had from Thompson this winter was when I saw Beau ridin’ his side of my fence line. He accused me of stealin’ his father’s prime stallion and sellin’ it in Saint Louis.”
“You should have shot him,” Gabe said, coming into the dining room from the kitchen.
“I probably would have, if I’d caught him tearin’ down a fence, but he was just lookin’. You can’t hang a man for that.”
“Beau Thompson is worthless. Sooner or later, somebody will do him in,” Gabe insisted. “It may as well be sooner.”
“God knows I felt like shootin’ the ba—” Shane glanced at Derry sitting at his feet putting a bonnet on her cat and broke off. “Good for nothin’,” he finished.
“Killing never settled anything,” Caitlin said. “A fence isn’t worth a man’s life.”
“If it is Beau, I doubt Big Earl knows about it,” Shane observed.
“Or Rachel.” Gabe pushed his hands into his pockets.
None of them had seen Rachel since the day after Christmas. She’d ridden off through the deep snow with a jar of blackberry jam in her saddlebag and a red ribbon in her hair.
“No,” Caitlin agreed. “I’m sure Rachel wouldn’t do anything to harm us.”
“Beau doesn’t have the brains or the ambition to carry on a feud this long,” Shane said. “Rachel does, but she’s not the guilty one. I’d stake my right arm on it.”
Caitlin touched Shane’s shoulder. “You don’t believe Beau could do this alone?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied.
“Who else is there?” she asked.
“Nate Bone, maybe some of the other Thompson hands.”
“If you catch Beau breaking our fence or killing our cattle, why shoot him?” Caitlin asked. “Have him arrested. If you saw him, wouldn’t that stand up in a court of law?”
“McKenna’s word against Thompson’s,” Gabe said. “And Big Earl will back his boy all the way.”
“If you could try to talk to Earl Thompson, maybe—”
Shane cut her off with a shake of his head. “Useless. If I meet up with Big Earl on the trail or in Independence, I’ll tell him what I know. At least he’ll be forewarned.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Caitlin said. “Why would Beau conspire to steal his own horse or kill his own cattle? It must be outlaws.”
Shane frowned. “We’ve only Rachel’s word that they’ve had losses.”
“She wouldn’t lie,” Gabe said. “Besides, Natchez wasn’t Beau’s horse; it was Big Earl’s. There’s more hate under that roof than love, at least between father and son.”
“Whoever the culprit is, they’ve done nothing to us since early autumn,” Caitlin said. “Maybe it’s over.”
Shane shrugged. “I hope you’re right, woman. I’d feel a lot easier about leavin’ you on Kilronan while I make the drive if I knew it was.”
A week later Caitlin leaned against the rails of the corral fence and watched as Shane and Gabriel divided up horses and mules for the drive to Fort Independence. Derry was napping under Mary’s watchful eyes, and Justice stood by the gate, letting animals in and out at Shane’s orders.
Shane had planned on setting out by the first of April. He’d told Caitlin that he expected to take about two weeks to reach the fort, spend two or three days there, and then arrive back at Kilronan in another five or six days.
“I hate leavin’ you alone,” he’d said for the tenth time, “but since the Thompsons will be on the trail, you should be safe enough.”
She’d decided to tell him about the baby when he got back. Once he’d sold the livestock and had the money he needed for another year, she would feel free to give him the news.
“That’s it for this lot,” Shane shouted to Justice. “Fifteen horses and four mules.”
“I saw two oxen and another three horses grazing near the low spot,” the boy said. “Want me to ride out and round them up? One of them is that paint gelding you wanted to sell.”
“No,” Shane said as he coiled the lariat he’d been using and dropped it over his saddlehorn. “I’ll do it myself.” He looked at Caitlin. “Want to ride out with me?”
“Watch out for Goliath,” Justice warned. “That’s where I saw him last. He hasn’t gotten any tamer over the winter.”
“He doesn’t have to be pleasant. He just needs to breed the cows I’m intending on bringing back.” Shane grinned at her. “I’ll try and find you a milking cow and calf, but I don’t want to drive it from Independence. I expect I can find one to suit me at Kane’s Crossroads.”
“And I suppose you’ll expect me to learn how to milk it,” she teased. She knew that dairying was considered women’s work out here. She’d never tried to get milk from a cow’s teats, but if Rachel Thompson could do it, so could she.
“Let Caity take your Red,” Shane said to Gabe. “He’s already saddled.”
Gabe nodded and rode around the outside of the corral to Caitlin and dismounted. He cupped his hands to give her a boost up on the big chestnut gelding. Caitlin felt comfortable on the animal even though he was a half hand taller than Ladybug. Gabe’s horses were well mannered and quick to heed any command.
Caitlin gathered the braided leather reins and urged Red into an easy trot. She’d gradually become accustomed to riding astride and found she actually preferred it to riding sidesaddle. At home, in County Clare, she would have caused a scandal with her pantalette-clad legs exposed beneath her riding skirt, but out here there was no one but family to see and none to protest.
Shane waited for her, then touched his roan with his heels. The two animals trotted side by side out of the yard. Caitlin felt Shane’s eyes on her, but she kept her attention on her mount.
“You’ve got good hands,” he said approvingly. “I think we’ll make a vaquero out of you yet.”
“I’ve got a long way to go to catch up with Justice.”
“He’s a natural.”
“Like his father?” Caitlin suggested.
Shane’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t know who the boy’s father was. Likely Cerise didn’t even know.”
“I know,” she replied. “Shane McKenna’s his father. And I think Justice looks more like him every day.”
“I waded into that one, didn’t I?”
She chuckled. “You did.”
“He’s a good boy, Caity. But if he turns out to be a decent man, you’ll have a lot to do with it.”
“He’s really smart. He knows all the words in his first primer already, and he’s halfway through the second.”
“He’s gettin’ ahead of me.”
She laughed. “You’ll have to study harder.”
“It’s not the readin’ that’s so bad, it’s the writin’. Those letters all run together like chicken tracks.”
They stopped long enough for Shane to unhook a gate and hold it open for her to ride through. Then he backed the roan alongside the fence and dropped the bar to lock it shut. Shane’s gelding was dependable, but he didn’t have Cherokee’s fire. Caitlin knew Shane missed the buckskin, even though he never spoke of him.
Caitlin felt a twinge of guilt whenever she looked at the lyre, but she’d never let on to Shane. She wouldn’t ruin his sacrifice by regretting what couldn’t be changed.
And the music did lift her heart. When she ran her fingers over the strings and the first sweet sounds resounded through the room, she could smell the peat smoke and hear the familiar voices of County Clare.
He doesn’t need to say that he loves me, she thought as she and Shane cantered their horses across the rolling meadow. The lyre says it for him. Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have?
They rode until they reached the slope that led to the willow grove. Then they reined their mounts to a walk, taking care to avoid loose rocks that might injure their horses’ legs.
A low, muddy spot at the bottom of the incline was churned with cattle and horse tracks. Shane dismounted and inspected the sign, pointing out to Caitlin a large imprint that he was certain belonged to the bull.
“I’m going to ride in there and take a look-see,” he said, pointing to the thicket. “You wait here. Don’t come in after me, and if you see Goliath, don’t run from him. He’s got no reason to chase you. You’re on horseback. If he catches wind of you, he won’t pay you any mind.”
Caitlin waited as Shane rode into the tangle of intergrown saplings. She watched the willow coppice, jumping at each crack and rustle of branches.
A loud, angry bellow erupted from the woods. Caitlin raised up in her stirrups and stared into the trees.
Two doves flew from the grass, darting upward in a wild flurry of gray feathers. Caitlin’s chestnut flicked his ears but didn’t panic.
Flies buzzed around Caitlin’s face, and she swatted at them. The waiting was excruciating. What if Shane were hurt? What if the bull gored his horse?
Then she heard a loud crashing and gasped in surprise as two dun mules burst from the underbrush and galloped past.
“Haaa! Get on!” Shane shouted. His voice was muffled by the distance and the trees, but still clear enough to understand.
Caitlin let out a small gasp of relief.
A minute later Shane came into full view, whirling his rope overhead and driving two horses ahead of him. “You see any mules go by?”
“Yes! They went that way!” She pointed.
He threw a loop over a bay mare’s neck and tied the rope to a tree. “I’m going back in for another horse.”
“Did you see the bull?” Caitlin noticed a long bloody scratch along his jawline and another cut over his right eye, but she knew better than to fuss over him.
“Saw Goliath and whacked him on the butt when he wouldn’t get out of my way. I told you, out here, he’s little danger to anyone. He just wants to eat, swat flies, and chase the ladies.”
“Sounds just like a man to me.”
Again she waited while Shane hunted for his stray. When he rode out driving it ahead of him, he untied the line that held the pinto and handed it to her. “Just wrap the end around your saddle horn,” he told her. “There’s a brace of oxen I need to find before we head back.”
“Oh, look,” Caitlin said. A gray fox loped boldly across the pasture, his plumed tail waving behind him.
“Let’s hope he stays away from the house.” Shane chuckled. “If Mary thinks he’s a danger to her precious duck, she’ll make a fox rug out of him.”
Caitlin couldn’t remember a more beautiful spring day. The air was full of birdsong, and green grass was springing up everywhere, growing—it seemed—almost before Caitlin’s eyes. So many shades of green, she thought, like home.
Shane located his oxen and circled around to drive the long-horned animals back toward the barn paddock. One ox went the way Shane wanted it to, but the second splashed into the main creek and stood there bawling.
Shane leaned from the saddle and plucked several purple-blue violets. He grinned. “Don’t ever say that I never brought you flowers.”
Caitlin heard what sounded like a dull pop. Startled, she glanced up and saw a flash of metal on the hillside across the stream. Before she could point it out to Shane, something whizzed past her ear.
“Caity!”
Why was his voice so odd? “Shane!”
The violets fell from his hand. Caitlin watched them drift—almost in slow motion—toward the ground. Shane jerked in the saddle, as though he’d been punched by an invisible fist.
“Shane!” she screamed again.
“Ride, Caity!” he yelled as he dragged his rifle from the saddle scabbard. “Get the hell out of here!”
Shane raised and cocked his weapon, but his movements were strangely wooden.
Caitlin slapped his horse across the rump with the trailing leather reins and headed toward him.
Shane fired his rifle. Dirt sprayed up on the hillside. Then Caitlin saw a man stand free of the trees. He was holding something in his arms.
“Get down!” Shane shouted. This time Caitlin heard a faint crack on the wind as Shane’s body recoiled from the force of the bullet.
Instantly a crimson stain spread across the front of Shane’s vest. He slumped forward over his horse’s neck and tumbled forward to sprawl face first onto the ground.
Caitlin yanked hard on Red’s bridle. He skidded to a stop as she scrambled from the saddle and ran toward Shane.
He was on his hands and knees reaching for his fallen rifle. “My gun,” he rasped.
She snatched it up just as a third bullet smashed into Shane’s thigh. He groaned and went limp.
“Damn your black soul!” Caitlin screamed at the shooter and threw herself across Shane’s motionless body. “Damn you to hell, you coward! Damn you!”