Twenty-three

Silence stretched.

Luke racked his brain before deciding a bluff remained his sole choice. “Dead? Naw. Got some folks to start the rumor. Pure necessity on account of the posse on my trail.”

The man eased toward him, keeping the barrel trained.

He hoped Desperado didn’t get nervous. That rifle would put a hole in his chest big enough to herd cattle through.

“You’ve changed, Kidd. Somethin’ different.”

Sweat trickled down his forehead. He tensed and dismounted, ready to pull and fire the Colt if the need arose.

“For a fact.” Luke added an extra helping of boldness to the swagger he adopted. “’Sides, I took some lead and pert near bought a parcel of prime land on Boot Hill.”

Would Rifle-Toter believe such a tale? He held his breath.

Even if he hooked the man, he couldn’t land him. Not unless he found a name to call him pronto. Though he could think of a few, they’d most likely get him shot.

“Don’t say.”

The gamble could pan out. Lord knows he’d never been much good at cutting the cards, but it was worth a shot anyhow.

He prayed for an ace. “Hell, Lefty, we’ve all aged. You don’t expect me to keep my boyish charm while you get uglier than a horny toad ever’ time I see you. Shoot, I didn’t even recognize you.”

A chuckle opened Luke’s squinched good eye.

“Ugly, huh? You always were too big for your britches. Your poor mama must’ve plumb tuckered herself out whooping you.”

Whew, the hunch paid off. Relief rippled through him.

Lefty almost knocked him down slapping his back so hard.

“Well, yours probably hid you under the porch when company came calling for fear you’d scare ’em half to death.”

“Good to see you, Kidd.”

He’d made it into the hideout with all his hair. Reckon the captain would be pleased. He’d wait to see if he kept it before he passed the music and dancing.

* * *

“But why do I hafta do it?”

Squirt’s whine said little sis hadn’t stepped that far from the new one who’d surprised Glory of late. Not yet. It’d take more than a day or two, she supposed.

The Sunday afternoon clouds parted and let the sun peek through. She could feel the heat through the kitchen window. They had to sneak the laudanum from their mother’s room before she did something they’d forever regret.

“Because I need your special touch with Mama if she wakes.” Glory drew Squirt closer and kissed her cheek. “You’re not a little kid anymore. From now on, Hope and I are going to treat you like a young lady. We’re depending on you.”

“Well, if Hope wasn’t out gallivanting all over the country with Alex O’Brien, she could do it.”

Glory tried to block the rhythm of the small heart beating against her. It spoke of a special kind of fright.

The way hers did since…

This called for focus. Calming the quivers inside would take her mind off unpleasant, scary goblins. Soon nothing but ghostly images would replace what once filled her life.

“Honey, you’re the only one who can wrap Mama around your finger. I chose you for this important task. You can do it, sweetie. Remember how brave and strong you’ve become.”

“All right. But you’ll wait outside the door?”

“I won’t budge until you come out.”

They stole softly to the bedroom. Patience turned the knob and tiptoed in.

Glory listened for sounds. No voices came. Good. That meant Ruth slept. A few seconds later, Glory jumped when Patience touched her arm.

“I can’t find it,” Squirt whispered.

“Did you look on the bed table?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe the bottle fell under the bed.”

“Nope, nothing there.”

She went over all the logical places in her head. Mama had to have it in there. Somewhere.

“It must be in the bed then. The pillows?”

“Aw, don’t make me look there. She’s lying on one and her arm’s on the other. I just know she’ll wake up.”

Damn this infernal blindness!

“Guess I misspoke about you being grown-up and thinking you could handle the job. You tried but it’s too big for you. I would do it myself, only I’d fumble around and wake her.”

If this didn’t work, nothing would. They could wait for Hope. Except Dr. Dalton stressed haste.

Finally, Patience let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, okay. I’ll try again, I suppose. For you. I just hate sneaking into people’s rooms.”

Since when? Glory had to clap her hand over her mouth to hold the laughter. “That’s my girl. Check in the bedclothes too.”

The grandfather clock in the parlor ticked, counting off one of the long seconds Luke spoke about. Minutes seemed to have passed. Concentrate on other noises, she urged herself. Still nothing. Her heart pounded.

At last came the faint click of the doorknob.

“Glory, you’d better come.” Patience sniffled, her voice shaky.

The odd tone chilled Glory’s blood. “Why?”

“On account of…”

“What? Tell me.” She gripped the small shoulders.

“Something’s bad wrong.”

Oh, dear God! The wind flew from her lungs. She stumbled across the bedroom, not waiting for Patience to guide her.

“Mama?” She patted the length of the still form until she located her mother’s face. “Mama, wake up.”

Cold, lifeless skin.

She located Ruth’s mouth. It gaped open.

Dalton’s instructions should they find the opium-laced bottle empty whirled in her head—send for him immediately. Even then it might be too late.

“Patience, tell me if she’s breathing.”

No answer came. Panic swept Glory. “Answer me!”

“I—I can’t—tell.”

Dear Mother Mary! She put her face against Ruth’s lips and detected the faintest of breath.

Mama, don’t you love us enough to see how we turn out?

The sound of the pain-filled answer became as loud in her ears as the familiar gong announcing the hour. Yes, their mother would throw everything away. She’d toss Hope, Patience, and her aside as objects unworthy of a struggle.

Damn you, Ruth Day!

She blinked back hot tears. She’d not give in to them. Not today. Only in the dead of night could she allow such things.

“Patience, you’ll have to go for Dr. Dalton.”

“But—”

“No buts. Honey, you can do it. Hurry!”

The screen door slammed behind the youngest Day, leaving nothing but eerie silence in her wake. Sitting beside Ruth’s bed, Glory cradled the thin, blue-veined hand, desperate to hold on to a shred of hope. She stroked the smooth fingers that had never known a callus or blister—the pampered skin of refined beauty.

A shutter suddenly banged.

Glory jumped in alarm before she realized the wind had picked up, gusting against the windows. Blood in her veins turned to ice.

The wind always carried problems.

Inside the house, spirits of long-dead elders huddled around. They spoke in hushed whispers of that long, painful night of the soul. She suddenly grew old and haggard.

Her biggest fear, the thing she’d fought most, had come to pass.

Useless.

Dependent.

Alone.

Glory rested her head on the sheets. She’d become the very image she so despised. The strength of the wind shook the house, a beast trying to get inside. For her, it already had.

Vague hoofbeats and voices reached her. Probably something her madness conjured. She was alone.

“Patience? Glory?” Hope called. “Where are you?”

She jerked up her head. “In Mama’s room.”

“Dear heavens! Oh no.” The soft calico Hope wore brushed against her. Glory wished she could tell her she’d only dreamed the tragedy.

“We found her too late. I sent Patience for the doctor.”

“Why did I have to go with Alex today of all days? Why couldn’t I have come home with you?”

“Stop it!” Glory laid Ruth’s hand on the sheet and rose. She shook her middle sister. “Stop that right now. You are entitled to a life of your own. You deserve any happiness you can make. Nothing you did would’ve changed a thing anyway. We found Mama like this.”

“The laudanum bottle. How much…?”

“Patience looked for it.”

“It has to be here.”

A rustle of the covers grated on her nerves. She couldn’t bear to know the answer, as it would mean their mother took the easy way out because she was weak-minded.

The shutter banged loudly again.

“Here it is.” Hope paused. “Oh God!” came as a strangled sob.

Finding the truth would complete the numbness seeping over her. She had no room for warmth or love or tenderness.

That had vanished. All it did anyway was bring hurt.

“It’s empty, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Hope’s shoes made a hollow sound on the floor when she moved to the window. “They’re here—the doctor, Patience, and Uncle Pete.”

* * *

Twelve chimes of the clock announced the midnight hour, and Glory had yet to find her bed. Nor had anyone else. They all waited for God alone knew what, even Uncle Pete, who refused to leave.

“I’m scared.” Patience threw her arms around Glory’s middle. “Do you think Mama’ll die?”

“The doctor has done everything to make sure she doesn’t.”

Though whether it would be enough or not only time would tell. For all intents and purposes, Ruth was dead when help arrived. She just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.

Dr. Dalton came from the bedroom for a hundredth cup of coffee. Bloodshot eyes, rolled-up sleeves, and a wrinkled frown were what she pictured in her mind. He had proven his worth. She had no idea how they could pay for his services. It added one more person to whom they were beholden.

“Are you afraid?”

Arm in arm they turned into the parlor. Glory counted the steps to the rocking chair and pulled Patience onto her lap.

“Sure am, Punkin.” Addressing her baby sis by Luke’s nickname had slipped out. She gasped for air.

“I sure miss Mr. Luke. Wish he’d come riding up on Soldier. Don’t you?”

Oh yeah. And a whole lot more. She would never smell fresh hay or hear raindrops on the roof without remembering a love that transcended the boundaries of time and space. It was endless and unconditional. She took him without judgment. However, whatever, whoever he wished to be would thrill her.

Please let him know I’ll shrivel and die without him.

She wouldn’t ask anything else—not even to get her sight back.

* * *

Safety amongst a band of cutthroats could be measured in split-second increments.

Luke kept a sharp eye out for slithery things that favored underground dens as he walked through the unkempt group. His nerves were stretched. Staying alert and ready could mean the difference in living and bedding down with the buzzards.

“Texas Kidd, huh?” The one doing the asking picked his teeth with a long Bowie knife.

The fellow’s looks matched a garden slug’s. Though Luke felt he owed the slug an apology for the comparison.

“That’s what I said.” Luke pulled up an overturned barrel and sat down with the six or seven men who halfheartedly played cards. Their bored expressions suggested they couldn’t wait for the order to ride. “You boys sure have quite a setup here.” He let out a long whistle. “Yep, the trapdoor above hides the whole shebang. Whoever thought of it has my admiration.”

“Humph, if you say so.”

So much for hoping they’d toss in a tidbit now and again. Offering a name would make his job a tad easier. No one had bothered with introductions.

“Ever run across any snakes down here?”

“When we do, we skin and eat ’em.”

He hoped they were pulling his leg. Then he decided keeping an eye out might not hurt.

“By chance, you mind pointing me in the direction of who’s in charge so I can find out when I can get to work?”

“You’re awfully nosy, ain’t you, Tex?” Slug flicked his wrist and launched the knife. The blade stuck in the table half an inch from Luke’s hand.

“Just pays to draw a bead on how the operation’s run.”

“He’ll send word when need be.” Lefty shuffled the cards. “We sit tight and wait.”

That meant the boss man stayed at another location. Either these men plain didn’t know, or else they were awful dumb. Luke cast the Arkansas toothpick a cautious glance. Too many questions could get his teeth picked next. Might pay to become miserly in that department.

“Fine by me. Don’t have nothing but time.”

“Figure we’ll have to lie low for a while on account of the law poking around.” The man to his left spoke, then stuck out his hand. “I’m Bill.”

“Glad to know you.” Luke shook it, measuring the friendliest in the group.

“These others are Frenchie and Cuny. Creede was the lookout you ran into.”

“Howdy, boys.” Nary a one acknowledged him.

“We don’t need no Ranger breathing down our necks. I say we kill the troublemaking weasel,” said Cuny, the only red-haired one of the bunch.

Luke’s blood froze. “Ranger? Here in Coleman County?”

“Yep. A Captain Roberts, I heard.”

For a bunch of moles who only came up for air once in a while, they knew the state of affairs pretty well. Somebody kept them informed.

“Anyone know why he showed up?”

Cuny shrugged. “Could be on account of that woman who got herself hung. Be my guess.”

Luke waded deeper. “Rumor has it they’re looking to pin that on some fellow named McClain. Say, you desperadoes know him?”

The man called Frenchie spoke up. “Only by the smell.”

Now what the hell did that mean? Luke pretended unconcern as he met the surly glare.

“Don’t say?”

“McClain’s been spending a lot of time with that Day family. Saw with my own two eyes.” Frenchie reached for the knife and flipped it end over end, catching it by the handle.

Slithers crawled up Luke’s spine. Evidently, the man kept a close watch on the Day farm. For what reason? He didn’t like any of the answers popping into mind.

“Yep, that Glory Day is one handsome woman despite the britches. Gives a man a powerful urge to settle between those white legs for a picnic lunch. Yep, one of these times I reckon I will.”

Damn!

It took every ounce of control to keep Luke from reaching for his forty-five and blowing the ugly thought right out of Frenchie’s head. He clenched his fists and remembered his purpose. The man had better beat a wide path around Glory though. Or else he’d throw caution to the wind and take great pleasure in educating the bastard on the finer points of anthill torture. He’d heard tell of a man staked out in one who lived for over a week.

“Hey, Tex, whatever happened to that wife of your’n? Now there was one pretty woman. The way she sashayed under a man’s nose used to give me a bad case of the wants.”

Lefty’s question brought an unforgiving quiet. If Luke failed this test, it’d all be over.

“Fickle women. I swear they’re all the same.” He scratched the mud-encrusted stubble on his chin, adjusted the eye patch, and leaned forward. “She ran off with a Bible-toter. Said she wanted a man who’d live longer’n a gun hand. Can you believe the luck?”

Grunts swept the underground chamber. Luke reckoned he hit on something the gang agreed on.

“What was her name?” Lefty asked. “Cain’t seem to recall.”

Criminy cricket! Luke had no clue how to sidestep this hole. Well, gut instinct had brought him this far.

Luke laughed. “Hell, me neither. I’ve put a lot of whiskey and a whole passel of saloon gals between her and forgetting. And you yahoos said I asked a lot of questions!”

The trapdoor opened before anyone could shoot him. A man stepped down the narrow ladder.

* * *

“That sister of mine has a powerful wish to pass on.” Worry rode herd in Uncle Pete’s voice. “I don’t have no more sense than that white mule out there.”

“No one holds you accountable.” Glory considered that if she’d paid more mind to Mama’s problem and had more compassion, it would’ve made a difference. Anger didn’t serve much purpose.

“Well, it darn shore ain’t your fault either, missy.”

She wondered if he’d gone into the mind-reading business.

“How do you know so much, Uncle?”

“Had a whole lotta years to get smart. I done learned fear is in the future. Regret is living in the past. A body can’t do either for long without going off his rocker. I’m guessing Ruth did both. But I sure didn’t hafta rush her along.”

No matter what he said, Glory hadn’t helped the situation any. Fear and regret fit in both pockets…in large doses.

“Is Patience finally asleep?” she asked quietly.

“Curled right here beside me.” The way Uncle Pete said it she knew he watched over them with a fierce protectiveness. He must be exhausted himself.

“I’m glad. Don’t know whenever she cried so much.” If Ruth died, it would affect baby sis more than any of them. Already their parents left a big enough hole as it was. What their future held only a soothsayer would dare predict.

She recalled Dr. Dalton’s assessment upon completing the eye examination in his office.

“Bear in mind I’m certainly no expert, and I’d give anything not to confirm your suspicions, Miss Glory,” he’d said.

“You can fix her, can’t you?” Hope asked.

“Too much damage. The blow to the head restricted blood flow to the back of her eyes. The outcome looks bleak.”

The words echoed in Glory’s mind even yet. No hope.

Uncle Pete yawned loudly. “Yep, I figure life is a package. Comes with good things and bad. A mixture of storms and sunshine…”

His voice trailed, leaving deep snores to fill the room.

Glory contemplated those truths and silently agreed. She only wished the good would outweigh the bad for a change.