Rose (31 page)

“He doesn’t have any ideas at all,” Hen said to George. “None of us does.”

Rose was tempted to leave the room. They were ganging up on her. Even Monty, who was usually too single-minded to understand anything less subtle than a blow to the head. She would have given anything to wipe the grin off George’s face. Hen was just as bad. She plunged ahead. After all, it was her idea.

“I did have one suggestion I thought you might consider,” she said, giving George back his look, stare for stare. “Since there are seven of you, I thought you ought to use the number seven.”

“There’s only six,” Zac corrected.

“You mustn’t forget Madison,” Rose reminded him gently. “George hasn’t.”

That succeeded in wiping the smile from George’s face, but Rose wished it hadn’t.

“And I think you ought to put a ring around the seven. The Circle Seven sounds good. It also makes it harder to change the brand.”

“A square block would make it even more difficult,” George said. He was teasing her. She knew it.

“I like the sound of Circle Seven,” Monty said.

“I still want to know why Rose thinks we ought to use a circle,” George said.

“Does it matter?” Monty asked.

“Yes,” George insisted.

He was determined to pry the reason out of her. Well, he could have it, Rose thought, but he would be sorry.

“I thought of a circle because it represents the unbroken and unending love that holds this family together. Every time you see it, you’ll know why you’re working so hard.”

She’d never seen them look more uncomfortable. She’d
have to remember that men didn’t deal well with real emotion, especially not when there were other men around.

“If we’re going to include Madison, we ought to include you,” Zac said. He was the only one immune to the significance of Rose’s words. “It ought to be the Circle Eight.”

“You play your cards right, young man, and you can have a wonderful career fleecing wealthy dowagers and beautiful heiresses,” Rose said, wanting to hug Zac. “You really can’t call it Circle Eight, though it’s sweet of you to suggest it. It would have to become the Circle Nine when the next one of you gets married, and then the Circle Ten. If you didn’t, the other wives would feel hurt.”

“She’s right,” Jeff said. “I vote for Circle Seven.”

There were no objections.

“When did you think of that?” George asked Rose as he slipped into bed next to her. She moved into his arms as if she had been waiting all day for nothing else.

“A few days ago. It occurred to me that the ranch had no name. As soon as I thought of the name, I realized it could be a brand as well.”

“I mean the part about the ring.”

Rose hesitated. She didn’t want to ruin his amorous mood.

“Every now and then people need to be reminded of the things that are most important to them. Especially your brothers. You face the world in a circle, women and children in the middle, ready to fight all comers, yet you don’t even suspect how much you depend on each other.”

George held Rose a little tighter, his lips against her cheek. “We owe you a great deal.”

Rose twisted in his arms until she faced him, her lips on his lips, her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his thighs. “I think every man ought to pay his debts,” she said, covering his face with nibbling kisses.

“Should I start now?” George asked, biting her neck.

“I’m counting on it,” Rose countered, finding her own point of sensitivity.

The brothers heard their brother’s yell from across the breezeway. They weren’t sure what caused it, but since it wasn’t repeated, they figured the damage wasn’t too severe.

“I’m not going with you,” George said. He didn’t know he’d made the decision until the words were out of his mouth.

“Of course you’re going,” Monty said, his tone sarcastic. “You know you don’t trust us out of your sight. No telling what kind of mistakes we’ll make.”

“A month ago you’d have been right, but not anymore.”

“What’s so different now?”

“I don’t like leaving Rose by herself. I know the McClen-dons have gone into hiding, but I don’t trust them not to come out the minute our backs are turned.”

“Leave Salty here.”

“He’s staying, but I’m staying, too.”

“I didn’t realize you were so taken with the married state,” Monty said, giving his brother a dig in the ribs.

“Neither did I until I thought about being gone for several months. That put everything in a different light.”

“I’ll bet it did.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Hen told his twin. “He is really worried about the McClendons.”

“They won’t show their faces again,” Monty said.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t trust that old man not to attack the devil if he turned his back.”

“I’m tired of the McClendons,” Monty said. “Who’s going to be in charge of this drive? I hate taking orders from George all the time, but at least he’s got some sense.”

“And nobody else does?” Jeff demanded.

“Certainly not you.”

George interrupted what promised to turn into a heated argument. “You know, when I came home I thought it was my
responsibility to hold this family together. I worried myself sick about every decision I made. I didn’t realize until later that I can’t hold you here. You’ll only stay as long as you
want
to stay.”

“So?” demanded Monty.

“The four of you can all be in charge.”

“That’s crazy,” Monty said.

“You have all the skills you need to get the herd to King’s ranch. Nobody knows more about cows than you, Monty, or Jeff about the business end. Hen can be in charge of seeing you get there safely. And Tyler can fix anything that breaks.”

“Maybe so, but ain’t nobody else can make these fools work together,” Tyler said.

“Excruciatingly put, but true,” Jeff added.

“You can’t desert us now just because you’ve got an itch that needs scratching,” Monty said, giving a knowing nod in Rose’s direction.

“I’m not deserting you,” George said, ignoring Monty’s jibe. “I’ll run this ranch as long as you want me to, but I can’t do everything myself. It’s not fair to you or me to try. It’s especially not fair to Rose. You’re going to have to learn to do your part without me standing over you. If you can’t manage one drive together, you’re no better than an ordinary cowhand.”

“He’s right,” Hen said. “We spend too much time fighting. That’s something Pa would do. Well, I don’t mean to be like Pa. And I don’t mean to let any of you.”

The brothers stared at Hen. It was a long speech for Hen, and it was especially forceful. George couldn’t remember when he cared what anybody else did.

“You can begin by deciding on the route. Jeff’s just come back from Corpus Christi, and Ben comes from Brownsville. Between them they ought to be able to figure out the best route.”

“You sure about this?” Rose asked George as she listened to the brothers become embroiled in deciding on their route.

“I’m sure,” George replied, slipping his arm around her waist
and dropping a kiss on her head. “It’ll be hard on them at first, but they’ll soon get the hang of it.”

“Are you certain?” she asked after a particularly loud outburst from Monty.

“They think they’re ready to knock each other down, but they’re not. There’s a good deal of affection in their bickering.”

“No matter what you do, don’t tell them that.”

George laughed. It had a ring of contentment to it. “I won’t. I’ll let them discover it for themselves. That’ll be even better.”

“I could go to Austin.”

“Even if I wasn’t worried about you, they need to do this alone. You ought to understand. You’re the one who told me to stop trying to do everything alone.”

“I know. I just wanted to be sure. I didn’t want you staying on my account.”

“I can’t think of any better reason for staying,” George said. “Not even Zac. And the bull runs a distant third.”

Rose decided that if George was going to talk like this, they could have a very satisfactory couple of months together.

George entered the boys’ bedroom where Rose was getting their clothes ready for the trip to King’s ranch.

“What did you do with that colonel’s letter?”

The question caught Rose by surprise. She had thought they’d all decided to act as if it never existed.

“I put it away. It was making everybody moody and irritable.”

She could see George was agitated. She paused in folding a pair of Monty’s pants, hugging them to her chest.

“I don’t see why that letter upsets you so much. I know your father was hard on you, but can’t you be a little bit proud of
what he did? He died a hero, George. That ought to be worth something.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” George avoided her gaze, as he always did when the subject of his father came up.

“Why not? I didn’t like it when my father decided to fight against the Confederacy, but I was still proud of him.”

“You don’t know anything about my father.”

She resumed her folding. “Then I guess it’s time you told me,” she said.

He raised his eyes to meet her gaze. “No.”

Rose finished folding the pants and slammed them onto the pile. “Your father has stood between us from the moment I met you. You can’t keep going around with this locked up inside. It’ll destroy you in the end.”

George didn’t respond. He just kept staring at her.

She brushed aside a lock of hair which refused to stay out of her face. “It’ll destroy our marriage.”

“I won’t let it.”

“You won’t be able to stop it. It bothers you more than Jeff’s arm bothers him. You just don’t think so because you don’t shout at people or go off and sulk for days at a time.”

“Talking won’t change anything.”

She picked up a plaid shirt and started to fold it. “You won’t know until you try. I love you, George. I want to feel that you love me just as much. But I can’t, not when you shut me out. It tears me up to have to sit here, helpless, while you die a little bit inside.”

“It’ll make you hate him, too.” He picked up a spur that Zac had left lying on the floor.

Rose could hear the pain in his voice. She hated to do anything that would cause him to hurt even more, but he had to come to terms with his father’s ghost or it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Your father can’t hurt me except through you.” She lifted another basket of clothes onto the bed and started to fold
them. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to ask one of your brothers?”

George sat down on his old bed. He spun the rowel of the spur with the end of his finger.

“You won’t understand anything about Pa if you don’t understand that I worshiped him. He was handsome, tall, athletic, smart, charming, popular, and rich. Nobody had a pa like him. I was proud of who I was because he was my pa. And, dammit to hell, I loved him.”

George threw the spur down, got up, and walked over to the window. Even with his back to her, Rose could see the convulsive movement of his throat muscles as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. She ached to go to him, to throw her arms around him, but she knew he had to do this alone.

“You know what hurt me the most about that letter from his colonel? He said Pa was like a father to his men, that no concern of theirs was too small for his attention.” George spun around to face Rose. “There was a time when I would have given everything I owned for five minutes of his attention.”

He still looked in her direction, but she could see his mind going back through the years, seeing himself as he used to be.

She kept folding clothes.

“There was a time when he took me everywhere. He taught me to ride and hunt. He would lay a welt across my back with his crop if I did anything wrong, but I worked myself to exhaustion to please him. It stopped one day, and from then on I ceased to exist. Somewhere I failed him.”

Rose felt herself shaking with rage that any man would beat his son for missing a shot or would turn his back on a son who adored him. If she could, she would have resurrected George’s father just to tell him how much she despised him.

She finished putting Monty’s clothes in neat stacks and moved to Tyler’s bed.

“When he wasn’t chasing other men’s wives, he was busy gambling away everything he’d inherited. Or he was drunk
and getting into fights. It got to where people would turn their backs when they saw him coming.”

George fell silent for so long that Rose finished Tyler’s clothes and moved to Hen’s bed, but she didn’t break the silence. George was so deep in his memories that she doubted he was even aware of her presence.

“Tom Bland, one of Pa’s cousins, had the place next to ours. Tom had been Pa’s best friend since they were boys. He wasn’t married, and after a while he sort of adopted us. He used to help Ma out when Pa was away, or broke. He even took us boys under his wing, taking us on hunts, introducing us around, giving us advice. He used to send Madison money at school. You might say he was more our father than Pa. If we turned out right, it’s because of him.”

George surprised Rose by going to his bureau and taking out a picture in a heavy gilt frame. He handed it to her. It was a daguerreotype of a very ordinary looking man. Even with a heavy beard and mustache, Rose could see the kindness in the man’s eyes. She was surprised that George had a picture of Tom Bland. He didn’t have one of his mother or father.

“Pa took it into his head that Tom and Ma were cheating on him. When he couldn’t provoke Tom into a fight, he seduced his sister. Tom had stayed loyal to Pa through everything, but he couldn’t stomach that. He told Pa not to set foot on his property again or he’d have him whipped. Pa struck Tom and challenged him to a duel. Everybody tried to stop them, but Pa killed Tom thirty minutes later, right there on Tom’s front lawn, in front of his sister and mother.”

Rose handed the picture back to George. He looked at it a long while, bitterness gradually etching his face into sharp lines.

“Now do you understand why we hate him so?”

Rose nodded. At last she finally understood the terrible legacy of this evil man George must call father. She was so horrified she didn’t know what to say. Her heart went out to George. It was easier for the twins. They hated their father
without feeling guilty, but George had loved him. He felt responsible for his father’s change. He wasn’t, of course, but how could she convince him?

She understood better why he didn’t want children, but she didn’t know whether he was more afraid
he
would be like his father or that his father’s blood would turn up in his sons and daughters. It was a cruel curse, especially for a man like George who took his responsibilities so seriously, who valued family above everything else.

She had to help free him from this yoke of misery, but she didn’t know if she had enough influence over him. In order to be free, George must come face-to-face with everything he most feared.

“You’re going to hate what I’m about to say,” Rose began, “but I think you ought to go to that parade in Austin.”

“No!” After the quiet manner in which he had told her about his father, she wasn’t prepared for the vehemence of his response.

“Not because of your father,” Rose hastened to add. “For yourself. If you don’t, you’ll feel guilty about it for the rest of your life.”

George looked at the picture again. “You’re wrong. I’d never forgive myself if I went.” He put the picture back in the bureau.

“You ought to do it for the grandchildren,” she said, ignoring his interruption. “Your father’s being a hero is something they can be proud of. You’ll be giving them something that was denied you.”

George looked on the verge of another outburst, but he controlled his anger. “Then let their fathers go.”

Rose wasn’t interested in the boys or their children. Just George. She lifted another basket to Hen’s bed and resumed her folding. It would have been so easy to remain silent, to concentrate on folding the frayed and threadbare clothes she had washed so carefully, but she had promised herself to take care of George. She’d never expected it would be easy.

“Just the other day you told the boys you weren’t going to shirk your responsibilities as the head of the family. Well, this is one of them. You may be angry at me for saying it, but all of you are going to have to come to terms with what your father was. You’re not punishing him by hiding from it. You’re punishing yourselves. It’s your responsibility to take the lead, to show them it’s time to put this behind them. This parade is just a part of it.”

“I can’t.”

Rose couldn’t stop. She had to reach the center of the problem, George’s dislike and distrust of himself.

“It’s also time you stop blaming yourself for what happened and being afraid you will turn out to be like him. Children are rarely exactly like anybody.”

“How can you be around this family”—a sweep of his hand took in the whole room—“for twenty-four hours and not see Pa’s stamp on all of us?” George demanded, his anger unleashed. “Hen kills without the slightest twinge of conscience. Monty bullies anybody he can and enjoys it. Tyler doesn’t give a damn about anybody alive, and Jeff isn’t concerned with anybody but himself. As far as I can tell, Zac would perjure his soul to be on the right side of an argument. Just the thought of fathering a houseful of children like that causes me to break into a cold sweat.”

Without warning, he took off his shirt. “See that?”

Welts. More than a dozen faint scars across his back.

“Pa did that in one of his drunken fits. Do you think I could live with myself if I did that to a son of mine?”

Rose had thought she was beyond being surprised by the cruelty and brutality of this man. George was right. She could hate his father. What kind of man would beat his son like that? She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up knowing the blood of such a monster ran in your veins.

“Nobody said you can’t have the same traits as your father. The question is whether you let them defeat you or twist you into a different shape.”

“You can’t always control what life does to you.”

Rose knew that. It was easy for her to be logical, to weigh evidence and make rational arguments, but George had to live with the memories, with the passion, anger, and the viciousness still vivid in his memory. It was impossible to rationalize that away.

“George, there’s nobody in the state of Texas more ready and willing to assume responsibility than you. What do you think you’ve been doing when you try to teach your brothers to get along, when you figure out how to improve the herd, round them up for market, or drive them to Corpus Christi? When you teach Zac how to ride, or let him help you and Salty with the shed? It comes so naturally you don’t even realize it.”

“I’ve never liked being the one to make all the decisions.”

“Yes, you do,” Rose contradicted with an indulgent smile. “Why do you think you enjoyed the army so much, or chasing Cortina’s men? You may not like responsibility, but you’d never be happy taking orders. And you’d never be happy away from your family.”

George didn’t look convinced.

“All those traits your father gave you can be used for good. Look at what you and the boys have done since you got back. Hen wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his life to protect any one of us. And though Monty can be irritating at times, he’s the hardest-working hand on the place. Tyler works without complaint even though he hates everything about ranches. Jeff’s fiercely loyal to you. And Zac would lie to God if it meant he could spend more time with you.”

George looked less glum. She didn’t know whether he was listening or had decided to occupy his mind with less depressing thoughts until she had finished.

She picked up her three baskets. “Come with me to the kitchen. I’ve got to start dinner.”

No matter what crisis they might be facing, the rituals of daily life couldn’t be ignored. Dinner not being on the table at seven o’clock would be a crisis in itself.

“There’s a lot more if you would only let yourself see it,” Rose said as she took down a large bowl. “You’re so afraid of failing you don’t want to try, to trust. Why?”

“Because I failed my father.”

“No, you didn’t. Something went wrong inside him. Get me some potatoes.”

“If I could just be sure of that.”

He was listening. If she could only get him to
believe.

She took down a pan and poured some water into it.

“Is there anything Zac could do that would make you turn your back on him?”

“Of course not,” George answered from inside the pantry. “He’s a scamp, and I doubt he can tell the difference between what’s wrong and what he wants to do—I’m not sure he cares that there is a difference—but there’s a lot of good in him.”

“Did you hear what you just said?” Rose asked as he emerged with a basket of potatoes. “If Zac can’t destroy your affection for him, then you couldn’t have destroyed your father’s affection.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Can’t you?” she asked, taking the potatoes from him.

“I don’t know.”

“You interpret everything you do in the worst possible light. Let me tell you what I see. Let me be your eyes and conscience.” She rinsed a large potato in a pan of water and started to peel it.

“I can’t do that,” George said. “My mother loved my father so much she was blind to his faults. I could never be sure you wouldn’t do the same. I’ve got to
know
I can look at myself and be proud of what I’ve done. I want your approval, but I’ve got to have my own as well.”

Rose paused, knife still in the potato, the peel dangling into the water. “Okay, look at yourself all you want, but you’ve got to see what’s there, not a bunch of ghosts from your imagination.”

“You can be a fierce little tiger when you want,” George said, a smile finally lightening the solemnity of his expression.

She sliced off the peel and started a new cut. “We’re talking about my happiness as well as yours. I don’t mean to let a dead man take it from me.”

George’s smile grew even broader. Coming up behind her, he put his hands around her waist. “You’d make a good mother. You’d make your children proud of themselves whether they wanted to be or not.”