Authors: Dorothy Garlock
Ben spooned beans onto a plate and set it in front of her.
“Eat. I’ll go talk to Dory.”
After helping Dory to wash, Odette had wrapped a cloth tightly around her bruised ribs. She had slipped a nightdress over
Dory’s head and helped her into the bed. Odette’s fingers were wonderfully gentle as she dabbed at the cuts on Dory’s face
with a pad soaked with witch hazel. When that was done she had sat with her. Grateful not to be alone, Dory had reached for
her hand and held it tightly.
Because of her swollen lips Dory was unable to speak so that Odette could understand her and had written on the tablet,
I’m afraid for my baby and James… for you and Ben and Wiley.
“Don’t worry, Dory. Papa won’t let anyone hurt Baby. James will come and help him. Papa likes you and Baby.”
“I hope so. Oh, I hope so,” Dory said, knowing Odette didn’t understand her. She wrote on the tablet.
I’ll be all right. Go eat supper. Put the lamp on the table in the hall.
The dimly lit room was lonely after Odette left. Dory’s worst fantasy had become a living nightmare. What had caused Milo
to act so irrationally? He had always been mean, but not as he was tonight. She wasn’t surprised at how Louis had reacted.
He never admitted that Milo was in the wrong even if he saw it with his own eyes. Her immediate fear was for James. He would
be crazy mad when he saw what Milo had done to her. She prayed that Ben would be able to talk sense into him.
Suddenly all that had happened to her was too much to hold inside her. Her aching face twisted as she sought to hold back
the sobs—the only sound in the quiet semi-darkened room. She managed to choke them down, but she couldn’t have stopped the
faint grieving moans that bubbled up out of her misery if her life had depended on it. In all her life she had never felt
such crushing anguish.
“Dory… shhh… don’t cry. Hush, pretty girl, don’t cry—” The words were murmured; the voice was deep and moving.
Dory wanted nothing but to cling to the man who knelt beside the bed. His hand stroked her shoulder and arm. She groped for
him. Gentle hands held her. It was wonderful to be close to someone who cared. Not just someone… Ben.
“Oh, Ben—”
“Don’t worry. Things will work out. They always do.” He spoke softly into her ear. His arms were holding her gently. She was
cradled against his chest, sheltered by strong wide shoulders.
“Not… for me. Ben, what’ll I do? He said he’d do to Jeanmarie what he did… he did—”
“Shhh… don’t think about it. Milo is full of talk. He won’t hurt Jeanmarie. He’ll never hurt you again. I don’t think he’ll
be so brave facing a man.”
“You don’t understand. He doesn’t fight fair! He doesn’t know the meaning of the word. He’s got… friends.”
“And you’ve got me and James and Wiley,” he said quietly.
“He’ll see that James has an accident. He’ll catch Wiley away from here and shoot him in the back like he did Mick. He’ll
kill… you.” Forgetting her sore jaw, she raised her voice and clutched his upper arm.
“You don’t have much faith in me, do you?” he said teasingly.
“I do! I do! But you’ll go and take Odette. She was so good to me. I… I—” She could say no more for the sobs that clogged
her throat
“Hey, now. Don’t cry. Odette and I are not leaving just yet.”
“She’s so level-headed—”
“—And you’re about the bravest woman I’ve ever known. You fought like a wildcat down there.”
“Your arm! Am I hurting your arm?”
“Naw. I could still hug a pretty girl if I had stitches in both arms.” He had a smile in his voice.
“Ben, I’m ugly.”
He laughed. “What brought that on?”
“I don’t want you to think I’m ugly.”
“You’re not. You’re as pretty as a speckled pup—that is when you don’t look like you’ve tangled with a buzz saw.” His chuckle
vibrated through his chest.
“Oh, Ben—” Her arm slipped around his waist and she nestled closer. “I’m sorry to be such a baby. I haven’t cried this much
since Mick was killed.” She took a shuddering breath and let it out slowly.
“Did you love him so much?” She could feel his warm breath on her face.
“Yes. I loved him like I love Jeanmarie. He was so lonely, so misunderstood. If you could have known him, you’d understand.
He was fragile and hated himself for not being what his father wanted him to be.”
“I think Chip understands him now. The walls of the room we waited in were covered with Mick’s paintings. Chip seems very
proud of them.”
“He told me he painted, but I never saw his pictures. He liked making jewelry and gave me a pin he made. He made one for his
mother, too. She gave it to me to save for Jeanmarie.”
“The next time you go to the Malones’ you should see the paintings. They’re very good.”
“I’ll not go again. Marie is dying—”
“I have the feeling that Chip wants to put all that behind him and accept Jeanmarie as his granddaughter.”
“No. I’ll never forgive him for the way he treated Mick. If he had been more understanding of him, Mick wouldn’t have had
to sneak off to meet someone he could talk to who would not ridicule him. He’d not have been killed, shot down in the woods
as if he were no more than an animal.”
“And you would have married him?”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “With Jeanmarie on the way, there’s nothing else I could have done. Although the love I had for Mick
was not like the love my mother had for Papa.” The sob came back into her throat.
“Poor little girl. You’ve had a load to carry.” His voice was the merest of whispers. “Go to sleep. Things will look better
in the morning.”
She felt his lips on her forehead. She wasn’t dreaming because she could feel his breath, warm on her wet face, and she could
smell a faint woodsy scent on his vest. Not wanting to leave the warm security of his arms. but knowing she must, she pushed
herself away from him and lay back down on the pillow.
“Thank you, Ben.”
“You don’t have to be thanking me, Dory.” His voice was strained and light, his face a blur. He stood. “Wiley and I will be
downstairs. You’ve nothing to worry about. Sleep, so you’ll get your strength back.”
Dory listened to his footsteps going down the hallway and wished he hadn’t had to go.
Dory was out of bed before Jeanmarie awakened; and while washing and dressing, she looked at herself in the mirror.
She was too shocked to cry.
Both of her eyes were blackened. They looked like two burnt holes in a blanket. One eye was open, the other swollen shut.
The skin on her face was either black, blue, or red where the skin was broken. Her upper lip was almost twice its normal size.
Both lips had been cut against her teeth, and it was difficult to drink without water dribbling down her chin.
When she removed her nightgown and the binding Odette had wrapped around her rib cage, she discovered dark bruises on most
every part of her body. She thanked God that Wiley had come before Milo had broken an arm or a leg.
Not wanting to face Ben, Dory lingered in the room, dreading going down to the kitchen where Odette was preparing breakfast.
But when she could stall no longer, she walked determinedly down the stairs and stood in the doorway, her knees shaking. Thank
heavens, Odette was alone. She saw Dory as she carried dishes to the table.
“Dory? You all right?” Odette’s soft blue eyes were filled with compassion. “Oh, Dory… Dory—” She hurried to her and took
her hand. “Sit down. I’ll do everything.”
“I should move around or I’ll get stiff.” Odette’s eyes questioned and Dory repeated.
“Poor mouth. I get the tablet.” She ran from the room. When she returned she said, “Baby waking up.”
Dory wrote swiftly, telling Odette to tell Jeanmarie before she brought her downstairs that her mama had hurt her face, and
that the kitten had gone to find its mother.
Odette nodded and went back up the stairs.
Dory wandered to the door and out onto the porch. It was a beautiful spring morning. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The
sun was warm and the birds were singing. A pair of mourning doves searched for seeds in the patch of grass beside the water
trough.
Such a peaceful scene. It seemed impossible that so much ugliness had happened here just a few hours earlier. A man had died,
and her own kin had enjoyed humiliating her, had used his fists on her, hating her, wanting to kill her.
Wiley was sitting on a box beside the bunkhouse door, his shotgun across his knees. Did he and Ben expect Milo to return with
his sidekicks to finish what he and Sid had started last night? Or were they still thinking that whoever was murdering women
would come in broad daylight? Dory stepped down off the porch and called to him.
“Wiley, have you had breakfast?”
“Yup. Couple hours ago.”
“Where’s Ben?”
“He’s ’round some’ers. Said fer ya to stay in the house till he gets back.”
Gets back.
Fear erupted inside Dory. Her brain began to buzz.
He wouldn’t go to the mill alone. If he went at all, he’d wait for James to go with him.
“Where did he go?” Dory stepped off the porch and started across the yard.
“Stay in the house, Dory. Ben said so.”
She stopped. “Did Ben go to the mill?”
Wiley didn’t answer. The longer he was silent the more frightened she became until she felt as if her heart would gallop out
of her chest.
“He went to the mill,” she answered for him and held her breath while she waited for him to deny it. Wiley said nothing. “Oh,
Wiley. Why did you let him go? If they don’t kill him they’ll beat him to a pulp… maybe cripple him for life!”
“It warn’t fer me to say, Dory. I’m thinkin’ he ain’t no slouch when it comes ta lookin’ after hisself.”
“He’s got stiches in his arm where Sid shot him. He won’t have a chance against Milo.” Through her mind raced the brutal realization
of what Milo could do to him.
“He ain’t a man ta go off half-cocked. He knows what he can do an’ what he cain’t.”
“Does Odette know he went there?”
“I ain’t a knowin’ that, but I’m a thinkin’ not.”
Dory felt a numbness in her chest. She looked toward the trail that led to the mill for a long while before she started back
to the house. She stepped up on the porch and turned to look back at the old man sitting on the box.
“When did he go?”
“Before daylight.”
“Why, Wiley?”
“Ya’ll have to be askin’ him that.”
Ben and Wiley had talked long after the women had gone to sleep. Wiley told Ben what he knew of the family, much of which
Ben had heard before. Ben urged the old man to lie down in one of the other rooms and get some sleep. Wiley refused.
“Wouldn’t sleep nohow,” he said. “Guess in my old age I ain’t wantin’ to waste time sleepin’. I’ll sit here an’ count my blessin’s
that Milo didn’t blow my head off.”
Ben spread a bedroll on the floor. He had trained himself to catch a few hours’ sleep whenever he could, but tonight thoughts
of what Milo had done to Dory kept him restless. When he could shut them off, he lay thinking about her. Dory’s arm had been
around his neck, her soft breasts against his chest. How good it had felt to hold her. Was what he felt for her the love a
man felt for his mate? The only thing he knew about that emotion was what he had read in the classics introduced to him by
his old friend, Tom Caffery. He had known then that someday he wanted to be loved as Cathy had loved Heathcliff, but he had
held out little hope for it.
He wondered if Dory would be shocked to know he thought of her naked in his arms, her belly pressed to his. Did she even suspect
that her sweet, caring presence was beginning to fill that vacant place in his heart?
Ben could feel the swelling in his groin as he thought about her. He was a man of strong sexual hungers, but he didn’t regard
this physical change in his body as a sign of love. He liked her, liked to be with her.
Waller, he asked himself just before he gave himself up to sleep, what happened to your plan to set your sights on a woman
only when you had something to offer her? And how do you know she’d even have you after she learns that your daughter’s mother
was a whore and that you have to guard the girl against involvement with James because he may be her uncle?
It was still dark when he awakened. The birds were chirping, a sign that dawn was near. He got up and rolled his bedroll.
He heard the plop of a chaw of tobacco hitting the can and knew that Wiley was awake.
“Ready for some coffee?” Ben asked.
“I’d give a dollar fer a cup.”
“It won’t cost quite that much.”
Ben got the fire going and put the coffeepot on. While waiting, he cleaned and checked his gun and strapped on his gunbelt.
“Ya goin’ huntin’?” Wiley asked.
Ben didn’t answer until after he had set the pot of beans on the stove to heat and sliced bread from the loaf on the table.
“I’m going up to the mill. I figure it’ll be better for me to settle with Milo. If I take care of it there’ll be no need for
James to go storming off up there. The men would be sure to take sides, and that’s the worst thing that can happen to a logging
crew. Some of them could end up under a raft heading down river, or traveling down a sluice with a couple tons of logs on
their tail.”
“Milo’s got a bunch of ornery sidekicks up there that’s jist full of cussedness.”
Ben shrugged. “I figure there’s some of the other kind too.”
After they ate, Wiley made a painful trip to the outhouse, then settled on the box beside the bunkhouse door. Ben led his
saddled horse out of the barn.
“Tell Dory to stay inside and keep Odette and Jeanmarie with her,” he said, as he stepped into the saddle.
The sky was beginning to lighten in the east. He reached the trail to the mill and took a few precautionary minutes before
venturing onto it. The thick growth of pines on each side could easily conceal a predator. That was a risk he would have to
take. A cathedral-like stillness hung over this timbered trail. Every few minutes he stopped to listen for riders coming toward
him. His ears were alert for any sound or lack of sound as he moved the horse on up the hillside.