The smell had suddenly grown stronger, along with the wind. Fine, gritty sand bit into her face. Dust blew into her eyes and nose. What a horrid place!
She stepped off the platform and approached the horse. "Where's your master?" She ran her hand along the horse's rough neck, and it nuzzled her with its nose.
She noticed a disturbing absence of tracks in the dry, dusty ground. She had the uneasy feeling that the horse and wagon had long since been deserted.
Grabbing a handful of the wild oats that grew a short distance from the railroad tacks, she walked back to the platform. The horse's soft nose pressed hungrily against her palms as he chewed the dry stalks. "Poor thing. It looks like we've both been abandoned."
She eyed the wagon. The wood was old and weather-beaten and the seat warped, but the wheels and axle, though rusty, appeared to be in good condition.
Energized by her plan of action, she dragged her trunk across the platform. It was heavy, and moving it required a great deal of effort on her part, but she managed to heave it over the slatted sides of the wagon. It fell to the wagon bed with a thump, startling the horse, which neighed and pawed the ground in an attempt to escape.
"It's all right, boy," she said soothingly, patting the horse on the rump. "Do you have a name?" She thought for a moment and decided to call the horse Rutabaga. The poor horse was certainly the color of one and, Lord knows it had a turnip-shaped head. Yes, Rutabaga it would be.
She glanced around one more time before untying the horse from the platform hitch and climbing into the weather seat.
Without a clue as to which direction led to the town of
Colton, she gathered the thin leather traces in her hands, and headed south so as not to fight the wind head-on.
Dark clouds of dust hugged the ground, then spiraled upward until the sky was covered in a dirty brown film. Eventually the dust blotted out the sun and the cloudless sky looked dark and stormy.
Periodically she stopped the wagon and glanced about, hoping to see a farmhouse or some other sign of civilization. But there was nothing.
The source of the dreadful smell became apparent as she reached a bleak flat area that was completely charred. A fire had recently swept across this part of the prairie, destroying practically everything in its path. She sat for several moments staring at the black stubble that was all that remained of any vegetation. It was hard to believe. Never had she seen such a desolate and lonely land.
Something in the distance caught her attention. A group of people huddled together in the wind. Feeling a surge of excitement, she urged the horse forward. The wagon clattered along the two ruts that passed for a road, stirring up more dust than speed, and making it that much more difficult to breathe. Her initial excitement turned to dismay as she drew closer to her destination.
She halted the wagon. The group of "people" turned out to be a cluster of stone chimneys that stood like upright coffins waiting to be buried. The ground was covered with pieces of charred wood.
Her spirits tumbled as she hopped off the wagon and picked her way through the ashes and rubble. A fire-scarred sign caught her eye. Turning it over with the toe of her high-buttoned boot, she felt a sinking feeling that reached to her very depths. Only three letters remained, but it was enough to tell her that she found the town of
Colton.
Chapter 2
Luke Tyler stared grimly ahead as he urged his horse toward the dark cloud of dust that blew across the prairie and blurred the distant horizon. Overhead, the sky was almost black in color. The dust and ashes from the recent fire combined to make the air thick and difficult to breathe. His throat felt parched.
Keeping one hand on the reins, he pulled the blanket over his seven-year-old son, Matthew, who was asleep on the seat beside him. The boy had hardy slept the night before. No doubt he'd been worried about seeing the doctor.
Luke had heard reports that a new doctor had set up a practice in Hays. Dr. Ben Williams was his name, and he had reportedly graduated from one of those fancy eastern schools.
It was Luke's fervent hope that the doctor could do something for Matthew. The boy had not spoken a word in two years. Not since he'd burst into the house at the age of five and found his mother dead. It was hard to believe that the boy had not said a word in all this time. Neither had he laughed nor made any of the sounds usually expected from a child his age. Nothing.
Maybe Dr. Williams would have some miracle cure, even though the other doctors hadn't. Luke knew his chances were slim, but at this point he was desperate enough to try anything.
Even driving three hours to a town where he wasn't wanted.
It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time Luke pulled into Hays. Matthew stirred awake as his father drove the wagon past numerous saloons, over the railroad tracks, and up to the front of a wooden building. A sign over the door swung back and forth in the wind. Dr. Williams's name was burned into the flapping shingle.
Luke patted Matthew on the leg. "Come on, son." He jumped to the ground and stretched before walking around the wagon to lift Matthew from his seat.
The boy stood perfectly rigid where Luke planted him. His face turned red, almost scarlet; his eyes began to dart back and forth.
A muscle tightened in Luke's jaw. He'd seen this particular look on his son's face far too many times to underestimate its meaning. "Matthew!" He gave the boy a stern shake. "I told you, it's all right. The doctor's not going to hurt you."
Luke knew form past experience that it was a waste of time to try to ward off the impending fit, but he had to try. "Matthew!"
Matthew threw himself flat on the ground. In tortured silence, he kicked and thrashed about like a fish denied water. The young face was tight with unspoken rage and anger.
Luke struggled to control him, but the boy was focused on some inner torment and could not be reached. A crowd of shocked spectators began to gather around.
A woman whom Luke recognized as Claudia Hancock rushed across the street, her black silk skirts flapping about her ankles. She gasped in horror as she watched Luke struggle to control Matthew. "What have you done to that poor, poor boy?"
Luke had finally managed to get a firm grip on Matthew's arms and legs to keep him from hurting himself. He looked up long enough to give her a warning look. "Stay out of this, Claudia."
"I'll do no such thing!" she retorted. She glanced at the crowd. "We should all take responsibility for this boy. This is what happens when you let a child live with a murderer!"
Luke had thought he was immune to the name-calling. Lord knows he'd heard enough of it. What was wrong with the woman? With all of them? Couldn't they see he needed their help, not their scorn?
He was close to losing control. Knowing how dangerous that could be, he gritted his teeth and scooped Matthew off the ground. The boy's frenzied fits last only for a moment or two, never more than that, though at times they seemed to go on forever. Today was one of those times.
Mercifully, Matthew's body finally went limp. His arms and legs stilled as he clung to his father and hid his face against Luke's chest.
"What's the matter with the boy?" someone called out from the back of the crowd.
"Crazy like his father," another voice replied.
Claudia Hancock stepped between Luke and his wagon. "Now that I have seen what you've done to this boy with my own two eyes, I intend to report you to the Child Welfare Department!"
Luke glared at her. "Get out of my way." Afraid of what he would do should he lose control, he fought against the raging emotions inside. For Matthew's sake, he must stay calm. "I said, ‘Get out of my way!'"
The woman looked determined to stay, but one of the spectators interceded. "Let him go, Claudia. We don't want the likes of him in this town any longer than necessary."
Claudia stepped out of Luke's way, and he lifted his son onto the seat of the wagon.
"Don't think I'll forget, Luke Tyler. I'm reporting you!"
Heaving himself onto the driver's seat, Luke grabbed the reins and sped away. Claudia Hancock ran after the swaying wagon, screaming accusations and threats in a shrill voice for all to hear. "I won't rest until they take that boy away from you!"
Luke raced out of town as fast as his horse would go. The ugly threats faded away, but not the horror that had been instilled in him. Take Matthew away?
Could they do that?
He glanced at the son he loved more than life itself. For a man like himself, whose very emotions could mean danger, it was a love that had to be constantly guarded.
Aware that Matthew was watching him, his eyes dark and troubled, Luke gave him a reassuring pat.
"No one's taking you away from me, Matthew." Luke narrowed his eyes to the road in front of them. "No one!"
Luke supposed he should be grateful that the townsfolk had not carried out their threat of long ago and hung him.
That's what the majority of them had wanted to do the day Matthew's mother had died and they found Luke dazed and confused, his clothes soaked in blood, the doctor dead at his feet.
He was convinced they'd have hung him on the spot had it not been for that do-gooder sheriff who thought it more humane to let the motherless boy grow up in the company of a murderer, isolated on a godforsaken prairie, shunned by one and all. Recalling the harrowing events of the last two years, Luke grimaced. The boy didn't deserve such a fate.
But it was the best he could do for him. He gave everything he could to the boy. It wasn't much, but it was better than being dragged off to an orphanage somewhere to be raised by strangers.
Matthew belonged with him, and nothing and no one was going to take him away.
Swallowing the fear that came with the thought of losing his son, Luke urged the beleaguered horse to pick up speed.
He remembered the day he'd first set eyes on the land known as
Kansas
. His wife, whom he'd rescued from a life of prostitution several years earlier, and their young son had been sitting by his side as he'd driven the Conestoga wagon along a rutted trail. It was hard to believe that it had been four years ago, in the spring of '66.
The war with the South had taken a terrible toll on his family, but not for the usual reasons. During the war years, he'd stayed at home and worked at his furniture-making business. A coward, some called him, and he suspected that, on some level, even his wife thought as much. Not that she ever said anything, of course, but he could see it in her eyes at times, especially when friends and neighbors discussed the war and the bravery of
their
loved ones.
Perhaps had he told her the truth, maybe then she would have understood why he refused to fight. She knew most of it: she knew his own father had been the notorious Gantry Tyler, a man who had been wanted in twenty-two counties for murder and thievery. What she didn't know, of course, is what it meant to be the son of such a man. No one could know that.
Luke was only ten when his own mother had finally revealed the horrible truth---that Luke had been conceived out of rape. As shocking as this news was, it did at least offer him an explanation as to why he and his mother had been shunned by the town. How well it explained the whispers, the strange looks, the way his teachers had overreacted whenever he'd had the ill grace to act his age or otherwise dabble in some childish mischief.
It was no easy feat growing up with the knowledge that this father was a criminal. Luke had spent the greater part of his life trying to be everything his father was not.
He had never wanted to believe that a violent streak could be passed from father to son. He resisted the idea almost all his life, even as he guarded against it. Not till the day of Catherine-Anne's death did he realize what he himself was capable of. Only then did he find out for certain what it meant to be cursed by the
Tyler blood.
His mother, bless her soul, knew. She lived in fear that her son would turn out to be like his father. Every angry word or action on Luke's part resulted in swift and harsh punishment. Evan a spontaneous hug from him brought a startled look of dismay to his mother's eyes. It was as if she feared that any show of physical feeling--even love--might precipitate an attack. Perhaps that's why she never had a normal relationship with a man.
The message she gave was clear: it was dangerous to show emotion. Love, joy anger--it made no difference--they were all feelings that must be denied or, if that failed, hidden.