Unbroken Hearts (10 page)

Chapter 9

   
 
The Easton men were riding
back to the ranch amidst smoke-laced mid-morning sunshine.

    
Two miles passed, and Roy spoke.
 

    
"Lola's gals will stay at the
hotel," he pondered aloud. "You reckon Sarah and Emily should stay on
at our place?" His indigo eyes surveyed Cal from beneath his lowered hat.
"We'd best hire Sarah on to nurse for Mama."

    
Cal had, of course, been grazing on the
same thoughts, but it would be a hard day's ride before he admitted it to Roy.
He shifted awkwardly in his saddle.

 
   
"Maybe she won't take
the offer. Maybe by her it ain't right to live alone with men." He
frowned, tugged his hat lower on his head. Prickly social rules hog-tied a
soul, and it was worst for women.

    
Roy let loose a guffaw before Cal could
form an argument on behalf of relieving the girls' predicament.
 

    
"Brother, you think it matters a lick
after yesterday? Everybody saw her riding the pony!" Roy paused before
letting all his horses out of the barn. "Oh, hell, Cal. I know nothing
happened between you two last night. Don't deny it," he continued, "I
went to check on Emily not an hour after I packed her off, and Sarah was
sleeping right there next to her!"
 

    
Roy glanced over at Cal, and he saw his
brother's eyes locked to his saddle horn.

 
   
"Don't you be dallying
with her none!"

    
Roy's hands flew up in the air.
"Fine! She's your territory. Your birthday present!"

    
"That isn't what I meant," Cal
retorted angrily.

     
"Sure sounded like it to
me," muttered Roy. "Hell," he softened, "I think she's
sweet on you, Cal."

    
There was a moment of disbelieving
silence.

    
"You think so?"

    
"Heck yes. She's right for you Cal.
The woman can cook," he added. "After all that's happened, and now
knowin' that she and Emily might've been hurt or worse in the fire, heck, I
figure biddin' on Sarah was the best money I ever spent." He wiped the
palm of his hand across his thigh. "What's more," Roy grinned,
"Dullen actually thanked me for saving
his
life."

    
They could have been killed in the fire
. Cal quickly thought about the last prairie fire,
started by lightening three years ago. He stole a glance at Roy.
 

    
"The fire strip around the place is
grown over. It ain't right, not being looked after. I'll put men on plowing it
straight away."

    
Roy nodded agreement.

    
Cal swallowed and quickened the pace,
thinking about the strange twist of fate that brought the Anders sisters into
their lives, and of course the worse tragedy that might have been. Silently he
thanked his brother for meddling in things this time.
 

    
When they arrived at the ranch, Sarah and
Emily were watering the overgrown garden. Mama was sitting in their sight on
the shady side of the porch. Upon seeing the men the girls abandoned their task
and walked up to the house to get ready for their uncle's burial. It was
scheduled for that afternoon.
 

    
Sarah's hair was pulled back into a knot
at the back of her neck. Cal was struck with her simple beauty. The woman
seemed unaware of her loveliness, as if she'd never seen her own image in a
mirror.

     
Cal shrugged off a restless feeling.
Just then he had to face the gruesome task of telling the sisters the tragic
news. He told them to assemble in the kitchen, and he invited the girls to sit
on chairs, while he and Roy chose to perch on the edge of the table.

    
Cal slowly turned his hat in his hands as
he reeled out the bad news, and the Anders sisters fell silent as church mice.
After a few minutes Emily finally whispered to inquire about attending
December's funeral. Cal slowly nodded.

    
"W-what will become of N-ned?"
Sarah stammered. A troubled look had spread across her face.

     
Cal wondered if she was sweet on
Ned. He hadn't considered it before. She'd likely had time to get acquainted
with the man who'd ushered her through town on the pony.

    
"I don't rightly know," he
replied. "I didn't talk with him."

    
"It was chaos," added Roy.

    
"Ned is down on his luck," Sarah
whispered. She twisted her hands together.

  
  
Cal's chest tightened. He cleared
his throat.

    
"Well. We're hoping you'll consider
staying on here to care for Mama, and we like your cooking. Of course Emily
would have to help," he added. "We can give you ladies board and
fifteen dollars a month. You'd sleep in the trundle in Mama's room."

    
He sucked in his breath and shifted his
lean side against the table. "Can you, uh, take the job?"
 

    
Cal figured they'd accept, if only because
they were penniless and had no other place to go. Yet it was important for this
to be presented as a choice.

    
Emily couldn't contain her squeals of
excitement. "Oh! I was praying we could work here. But Sarah said that men
like you would want us about as bad as a dog wants fleas."

    
Cal exhaled and glanced curiously at
Sarah, who'd reddened at Emily's bold statement.
 

    
Sarah, clasping her hands together
tightly, blurted, "Why yes, we'll accept your offer Mr. Easton, and we'll
do our best to make you proud you hired us."

    
Cal swallowed and exhaled.
 
"OK then."

   
Sarah had never been paid for her work before, and she supposed she
ought to shake hands to close the business deal, so she smiled and reached
forward. Cal was unaccustomed to shaking hands with women, and he took her hand
lightly, but instead of a vigorous shake he held it gently for a few moments.

    
Sarah knew the Eastons would be fair
employers, for she'd seen how gently and lovingly the men treated their mother,
and, of course, they ran a successful ranch. She and Emily could save money and
get back on their feet.

     
For the first time since the death
of her parents, Sarah felt hopeful about the future. Living with her uncle had
been an exercise in putting one foot ahead of the other and moving numbly
through each day. It had been a joyless life. The Eastons were a fine family.
This felt good.

    
Cal withdrew his hand and worked his
fingers through his dark hair. Each time he learned a bit of something about
Sarah, he realized he wanted to know her more. She was trying to show her gratitude
to him for giving her a job.
Why did he feel like he should be thanking her
instead?

    
He quickly changed the topic. "We'd
best eat and then get back to town for the funeral. I asked Nettie if she could
come to sit with Mama. She'll be here soon."

                                                                     
*
    
*
    

    
The team was hitched to the wagon, and
they set out for town. Cal and Roy sat handsome in their Sunday clothes, and
Sarah regretted that she and Emily looked like poor country cousins. Her
worn-but-clean rose calico dress was the only other she owned. Emily wore a
yellow gingham, also well used. Sarah had braided and pinned her hair neatly
across the top of her head.
 
Emily's gold braids were adorned with small strips of the yellow gingham
torn from the same fabric as her dress. She clutched a bouquet of wildflowers.

    
They passed the scorched timbers and
blackened foundation that were the remains of Lola's. Sarah thought about her
uncle and the outlaws. Maybe they were dead too, or moved on, or already in a
jail somewhere. But what if they were still loose, and camped in the area? She
felt safe at Mineral Creek Ranch, and knew nothing of how outlaws operated. She
remembered the short, fat man with just three full fingers on his right hand.

    
Her voice drifted up to Roy and Cal.
 
"Do you know a man with missing
fingers?"

    
Cal twisted around and looked back at her
curiously.
 

    
"Plenty. We got seven, eight hands
that's missing fingers. It happens when a cowboy ropes a crazy steer, and the
other end of the rope is looped around his saddle horn.
 
His fingers get underneath, get caught
and pulled off." He held up his hand and showed her deep scars circling
two fingers. "Nearly happened to me once. Why you asking?"

    
A flash of disappointment ran across her
brow.

    
"No particular reason. I must've seen
someone like that somewhere," she mumbled. Every bone in her body wanted
the memories to go away. Surely Aiken was working to find the outlaws.

    
Undertaker Sam Owens was waiting out front
of his place just off Main Street. Big Jake Farrel was seated next to him.
They'd loaded the two caskets into Owens' wagon bed. Roy waved and pulled their
wagon around to follow behind.

    
As the tiny funeral procession headed for
the cemetery men on the street bowed their heads, nodded or touched the brims
of their hats. Halfway up the street Ned Kingman caught sight of them, and he
waved for them to stop. Roy slowed the wagon. Ned came through the dust and
slung himself up beside them. As they creaked along Ned chatted with Emily, who
waxed enthusiastically about their new jobs at the Easton's Mineral Creek
Ranch. Sarah was quietly pleased that her friend Ned remembered her.

 
   
They drew near the small
fenced cemetery near the top of a hill, a place that grew out of the prairie in
a smattering of tombstones just visible amidst dense waving grass. They stopped
and the little party debarked and waited stiffly while Owens, Jake, and Roy
unloaded and carried the caskets to a plot at the graveyard's southern edge.
Then they stood tightly, arms grazing against each other, while the minister
introduced himself and launched into the brief graveside service.

    
The Lord's Prayer ended, and Emily tossed
her fragrant flowers onto the caskets. The men straddled them with ropes and
lowered the departed into the graves. Then they stepped back, removed hats, and
bowed their heads.
 

    
Sarah watched the men's hair tangling in
the breeze. She heard the distant drone of the preacher reading verses from his
tattered Bible.

    
Other times, in a distant past, she'd
stood over caskets and felt grief's raging torrent. Sadness gnawed at the pit
of her stomach as she was reminded of the two babies born to silence, buried
between her birth and that of Emily, and she wondered what she would have done
in the days following the death of her mother if not for Emily's comfort, and
the pressing need to carry on. She'd acted as mother, and later as both parents
for the sake of her little sister. How many times had loneliness and
frustration enveloped her, when she heard her father weeping alone in the large
four-poster bed behind his closed door? She was too young to understand his
heartache, and even now it was difficult to recall the helplessness she felt
those long nights, lying in her bed awake, waiting for sunup.
 

    
Now she just felt strangely empty, and
couldn't find it in herself to grieve for Uncle Orv and Joey. Their passing
simply marked another quake that had altered the course of her river.