Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (22 page)

“The well!” she exclaimed.

“What about it?”

“You’ve
got
to go to John and tell him the truth,” Charlotte explained, suddenly energized by her revelation. “If you’re right about
him being your father, if he knew that you were his son, there’s no way he would believe that you were responsible for pouring
the kerosene into the well!”

“That wouldn’t make any difference at all.”

“He thinks that you did it. Maybe he thinks you also started the fire.”

“So what?”

“But if he—”

“Think about what you’re saying,” Owen swiftly cut her off, and resumed his nervous pacing. “John Grant may be a bastard,
but he’s no man’s fool. If I were to tell him that Hannah and I were his children with Caroline Wallace, wouldn’t he wonder
just why I had come here and what I wanted from him?”

Charlotte felt her chest tightening with his every word.

“If my suspicions are true,” Owen continued, “then we’ve been living under our father’s roof all this time,
taking his pay, and sharing his dinner table right alongside his other family, all the while keeping our mouths shut. We’ve
been here for months, Charlie. I suspect the next question he might ask us is why we waited so long to tell him what we knew.
And how would I answer him… that I wanted to be certain before I ruined him?”

“Which is true…”

“Exactly! And then he either wouldn’t let me out of his sight, or would have Hale throw us from the ranch faster than a gunshot.”

Charlotte hated to admit it, but much of what Owen said made sense. Telling him about the possibility of his being John’s
son wouldn’t do him any good; instead it might end up doing him harm. It all sounded so preposterous, so outrageous, that
she couldn’t imagine anyone believing it, let alone John. If only Owen had come clean when he and Hannah had first arrived,
things could have been different. But he was right; it was far too late now.

And that was what truly scared her. If the investigation into the fouling of the well continued to focus on Owen, and from
what Hale had told her, Owen appeared to be the only suspect, he would eventually be accused. Even if charges were never filed
against him, he would still be banished from the ranch, an act that would tear them apart. She wasn’t certain of exactly what
they had together; she doubted that Owen knew, either; but whatever it was, she desperately wanted to hold on to it. They
were only at the beginning of what they could become together; if
she could help it, she would do anything that she could to keep it from ending.

“So what do you do instead?” she asked. “Hale is loyal to John and won’t give you a moment’s peace until he knows the truth.”

“Then maybe we should help him find it.”

“What are you talking about?”

It was clear that Owen had been giving a great deal of thought to the matter; he knelt down before her, a determined look
on his face, hands punctuating his words as he spoke. “There’s much more to this than you can see if you only think about
me,” he explained. “Even that morning after I’d gone to Del, wondering what had happened, I couldn’t see it. There is a question,
the important one, which you still haven’t asked.”

“And what is that?”

“Since we both know that I am not the one responsible for polluting the well or starting the fire,” he said, gently taking
her hand in his, “who is?”

Owen was right; until that moment, Charlotte hadn’t imagined asking herself that question. She had been so intent on proving
his innocence that she had never wondered
who
actually was guilty. Suddenly, hope sprang up through the depths of dark worry that had surrounded her.

“You’re right,” she answered.

“When we all stood around the well that morning, there was one thing John was sure about,” Owen said,
“that kerosene didn’t get down that well without someone’s help.”

“But whose?”

“That is the question we need an answer to, but there’s definitely someone besides me who wishes John Grant harm.”

“So how do we go about learning the truth?” Charlotte asked. “Where could we possibly start? Neither of us has been there
long enough to really know each person who works on the ranch,” she said, thinking aloud. “Besides, everyone worked so hard
fighting the fire, would someone who deliberately set the blaze
really
do that? I just can’t imagine there is someone out there who is duplicitous enough to do such a thing, as well as dirty a
well.”

“I can’t… I just can’t believe I never wondered about it before now… I can’t,” Owen said, the words spilling out.

“Wondered about what?”

“The fire,” Owen answered, the edges of his lips curling up in a rueful smile. “Until now, I’ve never questioned what happened…
I’d just assumed it was an accident.”

Charlotte recalled her talk with Del on the steps of the ranch house just after the fire had been contained; he’d believed
that it had been an accident, a thoughtless toss of a match that no one would ever fess up to.

“What are you saying?” she asked.

“What if the fire wasn’t an accident,” he suggested, “and the well polluting wasn’t a prank? Who hated Grant enough and what
else is he planning to do?”

*   *   *

Owen couldn’t believe that he hadn’t realized the connections before now; while it was obvious that the well had been intentionally
ruined, he had never contemplated that the same could be said for the fire. Pouring kerosene down a well was malicious, mean
intentioned, but not likely to do permanent damage. But setting a fire… If he and everyone else at the ranch hadn’t risked
their lives to put it out, there was no telling how big a catastrophe would’ve occurred, who might have been killed. How bloodthirsty
a person was out there?

“This is crazy.” Charlotte shook her head.

“Is it really?” Owen asked in answer. “Think of all the things that I’ve said to you about John Grant, about the hatred that
I have for him. We would have to be spectacular fools to think that there’s no one else out there that feels the same. He’s
not a good man.”

Charlotte rose to her feet and walked over to where Owen stood. Gently, she took his hands in her own. “I told you, Owen.”
She looked deep into his eyes, holding him firmly in place, unable to look away. “I think you’re wrong about him; I know that
you are. If you hold this in your heart, you’re making a huge mistake.”

Owen thought of all Charlotte had said to him. She had tried to be persuasive, and in many ways she had been, making him look
twice at facts he had previously taken for granted. Hatred had been his food for so long that he couldn’t imagine backing
away from its table, but he
wavered now, unsure of where he stood. He thought back to how competently John Grant had acted during the fire, the sure way
he had commanded men, Owen included, and wondered if it was possible for the man to be such a spectacular liar, a wolf in
sheep’s clothing.

If it were anyone other than Charlotte reminding him of Grant’s qualities, he would have dismissed her without a moment’s
thought, but since it was Charlotte telling him these things, he had no choice but to consider what she said. Every moment
he spent with her, he found himself more respectful of her logic. Her voice, her smile, her touch were what had drawn him
to her, but there was more to her than beauty. She had compassion and understanding. That she had so much faith in him made
him stronger, made him more eager to think matters through.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“It’s possible that we’re wrong about all of this,” Charlotte continued. “It could have been an accident that started the
fire and I can’t really blame anyone for being unwilling to step forward and admit to it. Maybe the same thing is true about
the well.”

“That was no accident, Charlie.”

“I’m sure you’re right, but maybe the reason for its happening isn’t as malicious as we think. It could be that someone’s
angry that he isn’t making more money or that he had to muck out the horse stalls one too many times in a row and is trying
to get back for it. I’m sure worse acts have been committed for even more childish reasons.”

A part of Owen desperately wanted to accept what Charlotte was suggesting. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions, grasping at
the wildest of straws, when the answer was much simpler. He could see that she wanted to believe another explanation. It would
be so easy to just nod his head and tell her that she might well be right.

A silence settled between them, stretching on as each was deep in thought. Owen was fine with the stillness, patiently allowing
it to linger, happy to be with her, even if the subject of their conversation was difficult. Gradually, he became aware that
Charlotte was still holding on to his wrists; when she saw him notice, she became self-conscious and pulled away.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your day by worrying you.”

“It’s my fault,” she protested. “I shouldn’t have pressed you about your mother.”

Owen tenderly touched Charlotte on the chin, turning her face up until she was again looking him in the eyes. “I’m glad that
you did,” he reassured her. “I’ve never told anyone about what happened to my mother before. No one else seemed worth telling
until you came along.”

Charlotte beamed, his words clearly making her happy.

“Do you remember the first time that I drove you and Hannah into town?” he asked.

“When you were so mean to me?”

“Why do you have to say it like that, Charlie?”

“Because you
were
mean, terribly mean.”

“Let’s forget about that for a moment. I remember that you said that you wanted to go to the roller-skating rink,” Owen said.

“And you thought that it would be a terrible idea…”

“How would you like to go and show me that I didn’t know what I was talking about?”

Ever since the day he, Charlotte, and Hannah had driven by as the roller-skating rink tent was being erected, Owen had thought
about it. In the weeks after, every drive gave him more food for thought, but mostly it gave him pause. Families and courting
young lovers flocked to the rink, laughing and falling as they tried to manage the trick of staying upright on their skates.
He’d wanted to broach the subject to Charlotte for a while, but it had never felt right until now.

“Are you asking me on a date?” she asked, unwilling to let him off easily.

“Aren’t we on a date now?”

“You didn’t give me any forewarning about today…”

“Then I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”

“Would it be all right with you if I asked Hale and Hannah to join us?” she asked, and when Owen gave her a sour look she
added, “The more that you’re around Hale, the more it’s going to look like you’re not capable of being a criminal. Besides,
he’ll be so interested in your sister, you’ll be lucky if he even looks your way.”

“You’re probably right about that.” He chuckled.

“Then it’s a date.”

“It is at that.” He tilted his head toward hers.

When their lips touched, Owen was again filled with a strange sensation, a feeling that had been missing from him for so long
he’d forgotten how it felt; he was filled with the conviction that his life was much, much better than it had been the day
before…

W
E’VE GONE OVER THIS
I don’t know how many times, Sarah. You should be able to figure out the answer by now.”

“I know… I just don’t… I just can’t figure it out…”

Charlotte and Sarah again sat at the worn table in her cabin. Although the evening sun had begun its slow descent to the western
horizon, its light still streamed in through the small, broken window, splashing color on the wall behind them. Since Charlotte
arrived they had been working on arithmetic, a subject that Sarah had found exceptionally difficult. The problems she had
been given weren’t particularly hard, addition and subtraction of sums greater than one hundred, but they confused her.

“Remember to work your way from the right to the left.”

“Where?” She looked at Charlotte pleadingly.

“The bigger number, the number on top,” she answered patiently. “You may have to make changes to it in order to be able to
subtract the smaller number, the one below it.”

“What kind of changes?”

Charlotte sighed. It seemed to her as if they had already had this conversation, every day since she had first come to the
cabin. It was frustrating, slow going. No matter how much she tried, Sarah kept running into the same problems again and again.
To the girl’s credit, the more they went over it, the more likely she would be to be able to remember the lesson being taught.
The task required a tremendous amount of patience, but it wasn’t all that different from working with her students in town.
Still, Charlotte was worried about Sarah.

The change in Sarah’s appearance since the last time Charlotte had seen her was dramatic: her hair was dirty and unkempt,
snarled around her shoulders; her face was drawn and tired; dark circles underlined her eyes; fatigue rode her as if she were
a plow horse. She sat now with her shoulders slumped, her head on her hand, propped up by her elbow. She seemed thinner than
she should have been, as if she hadn’t been eating properly. Charlotte supposed that her condition was due to her pregnancy,
but she wondered if she should say something.

“All right,” she encouraged. “I’ll get you started and then you can do the rest.”

While Sarah returned to her problems, her tongue lightly clenched between her teeth in deep concentration,
Charlotte thought about how happy she was that Alan Beck wasn’t around. Ever since she had spoken to John about Alan’s inappropriate
advances toward her the last time she had been to the cabin, she’d wondered how he intended to keep the man away.

In the end, it hadn’t been very hard.

She and John had driven to the cabin just after Owen brought her back to the ranch after school. At first, the ride had been
uncomfortable for her. While they drove, she stole careful glances at Grant, hoping to see some resemblance between him and
Owen and Hannah, but there weren’t any obvious characteristics they shared; she knew this wasn’t enough to rule out his parentage.
She herself was said to be the image of her mother and looked nothing like her father. Still, after what Owen had told her
about John, she couldn’t help but wonder if she were mistaken and he
was
the villain Owen thought him to be. But then John had started telling her about a stubborn horse, his laughter rolling out
his open window into the countryside, and she had forgotten all of her apprehension. Within minutes, she was convinced her
defense of John Grant had been correct.