The Woodsman's Rose Page 12

  “And here we are,” said Daniel.

  Sykes looked up to see a little white cabin with emerald green trim. He flashed a wide smile at his companion. “Ain’t that pretty.”

  Jesse came to the door. She waved a towel gaily and Daniel waved back.

  “I wasn’t expecting you today,” she said as they dismounted. “Come on in and have some coffee.”

  “Jesse, this is Eli Sykes,” Daniel said. “Eli, this is my sister-in-law, Jesse Donovan.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Sykes.” Jesse held out her hand. Sykes took it carefully, shook it gently. She was, by far, the smallest woman he’d ever seen.

  “How do, Miz Donovan.”

  “No, please call me Jesse,” she said, with a sparkle in her eye and a laugh in her voice. “Mrs. Donovan’s my mother-in-law. Where’d you two come from? Come on in and sit down.”

  As they followed her into the cabin, Daniel explained their mission.

  “Oh, I heard about that,” she said. “Brian’s out with the herd right now.”

  “Where’s Adam?”

  “He went to town with Rebecca. They should be back any time. So, Eli—you don’t mind, do you? We don’t stand on ceremony around here. Where do you live?”

  “I bought the Wilson place last fall.”

  “Wilson...?”

  “Out by the old stage line,” Daniel told her. “On the way to Fort Defiance.”

  “Oh, my. You must’ve had some trouble with the flood.”

  “Lost alla my stock,” Sykes responded, “but the house is awright. An’ I saved the chickens. Put ’em up in the loft with all the hay.”

  “Well, wasn’t that smart! Would you like more coffee? Oh, wait, that’s Adam and Rebecca now!” With that, she flitted out the door, leaving Eli and Daniel chuckling behind her.

  She came back in with a small parcel, followed by her husband and Rebecca, who carried more packages. After introductions, Sykes found himself staring at Rebecca. “Don't I know you?”

  “Yes, we met in Prescott. I had a dress shop there.”

  “I worked the mercantile there for a while,” he told the others, then turned back to Rebecca with a soft smile lighting up his face. “You left kinda sudden. How long you been out here?”

  “Rebecca took care of Jesse when she was little,” Adam explained. “She moved here with Jesse’s family. Some... things happened, and she had to leave for a while, but she came back about two years ago.”

  “I heard my little mite needed me again,” Rebecca told him, aiming a warm smile at Jesse. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept me away.”

  “That’s awright, then,” Eli said. “We thought somethin’ mighta happened t’ you.”

  “All right, men,” Daniel said. “Play time’s over. Let’s go count some calves!”

  “Stop in on the way out,” Jesse invited. “We’ll all have supper together.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” came eagerly from both men.

  Chapter 24

  Pipe in hand, John Patrick gazed out at the field he called “the north pasture”, though it lay east of the ranchhouse and had never been used for grazing. It was filled with dead stalks a foot or more high, many of them flattened by the rain. A few tiny buttercups had pushed their heads up through the detritus and shimmied in the breeze.

  Donovan had added this parcel to his claim to prevent white people from bothering the Navajo tribe. It wasn’t just the missionaries—the merchant at the Trading Post had at one time decided to offer “summer tours” of the Navajo village to newcomers and visitors to the town. When violence threatened, John Patrick had interceded and offered the chief and his council a percentage of his yearly harvest for this five-acre plot. Now anyone approaching the encampment had to trespass on Donovan land first. Few indeed were those willing to risk the old man’s wrath.

  John Patrick had learned a valuable lesson through that deal. The concept of land ownership was unknown to the Navajo—the elders agreed to leave the land unoccupied in return for Donovan’s promise to aid them in harsh winters. They wanted beef and produce—enough to see them through to spring. The first year, he’d offered several wagonloads of food, but the tribe took only what they needed and refused to take more. Or less. On one occasion, this had placed a hardship on the family, but John Patrick had held firm. They’d live up to their bargain and tighten their own belts accordingly.

  The old man considered the land’s features again as the woodsman stood at his side. The wide bench on which they stood was level, but the field sloped down toward Geordie’s claim and the river in front of him, and up to the foothills behind. A small brook gurgled to his left.

  “You’ve spoken to the tribe about this?”

  “Of course,” Daniel replied. “Explained exactly what I want to do. As long as they have a right-of-way through to town, they’re fine with it.”

  “I’ll give you the deed, lad, though why you’d be wanting this piece of land is beyond me. You’ll not be raising anything of value in that soil.”

  With a short laugh and a gesture at his clothing, the woodsman asked, “Do I look like a farmer all of a sudden? I’m not planning to raise anything, Dad, except a cabin. And maybe some kids.”

  “Hmmm. Well, the deed is yours. A wedding gift. And you’ll not be telling me no.” John Patrick looked into the dark blue eyes of his fourth son, and saw their edges crinkle.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “And the book is yours, too,” the elder Donovan asserted, filling his pipe. “Maybe those kids you’re considering will be needing it.”

  “Dad...”

  Silence followed, as John Patrick lit his pipe and took a few deep puffs. He’d offered his son a passbook earlier in the day, representing the wages he felt Daniel had earned from the age of eighteen. The woodsman had handed it back with a smile.

  “I appreciate it, Dad, but I really don’t need it.”

  “It’s not a matter of need, boy-o. You’ve earned it.”

  “How? By being part of the family? By hunting in the winter and slacking off in the summer? No, Dad. I’ve done maybe three months’ worth of real work around here every year. The rest of the time, I’ve lived my life the way I wanted to. I’ve got plenty of money in the bank from the mustangs I sold, and from hunting for the folks in town. I haven’t earned that money and I really don’t need it.”

  John Patrick understood his son’s reluctance to take the money. The woodsman wouldn't take what he didn’t need—not from nature, not from his family. Not from anyone. But the land he wanted was worth only a few hundred dollars and the wages, his father still felt, had been earned.

  “If you don’t want it now, I’ll be holding it for you. Maybe your Annie will know what to do with it.”

  “And if she says no?”

  “Then we leave it in the bank until the need is there.” John Patrick clapped his hands, indicating the subject was closed. His son knew better than to argue. “What else are you needing, lad? Aside from a worthless meadow?”

  Daniel laughed once more. A worthless meadow, indeed.

  “Just a little help when the time comes to build. But I’ve got to get Annie to name the date first.”

  REBECCA INVITED THE family to Rocking Chair Ranch to celebrate Adam and Jesse’s second anniversary. It was a warm, sunny spring day, and Daniel could tell Annie was excited—her hands were constantly twisting in her lap as they rode along in her father’s buggy.

  “What’s up, aroon?”

  “Jesse’s pregnant.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Her only answer was to cock her head.

  “Of course you’re sure.” He put his arm around her, gave her forehead a loud kiss. “Silly me for asking!”

  The moment they arrived at the cabin, Annie jumped from the buggy and caught Jesse in a tender embrace. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!” She stepped back, caught Jesse’s hand, brushed the tawny hair away from her face and, in a voice of utter certainty, said, “Don’t worry, caraid. Everything will
be fine.”

  Jesse was in her arms again and Adam was holding them both. Daniel joined them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders, his face full of joy.

  As Brian came out of the cabin, his twin held a hand out to him. He joined them, his great arms around the waists of his brothers, the women sheltered within the circle of their embrace. There was joy here and he felt it on his cheeks. He cleared his throat with difficulty.

  “Why’m I cryin’?” he demanded in a voice as gruff as Daniel’s.

  They laughed up at him, and Annie answered, “She’s having a baby.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said Brian. “Lord love us all.” He took Jesse’s hand between his two great paws. “That’s the best news I ever heard.” In the next moment, he had them all locked in his arms again. “Lord, love us all.”

  Chapter 25

  As spring advanced, the lawn in front of the ranchhouse wore its green velvet once more. The orchard was in bloom, and the tulips on either side of the wide porch steps nodded their brilliant heads in the soft breeze. Fuchsia leaves peeked out between the flowers, and tiny purple cabbages lined the drive. Looking out across his land, John Patrick could almost see the verdure of Ireland.

  On a Saturday, just a year after the passing of his mother, the old man took himself to town. The village bustled along. Farmers and ranchers shopped for tools and feed, young mothers congregated at the mercantile, their offspring jostling each other for first chance at the sourballs. Matrons and spinsters alike pawed through the fabrics beneath a huge sign promoting a sale; hunters and traders sorted their goods or gazed longingly at a fine watch or rifle. Young girls stood on the porch in giggling cliques, while boys strutted up and down on the opposite side of the street or in front of the town hall, pretending not to notice them.

  A smile played on John Patrick’s face as he climbed down from his buggy. He loved this village, and the liveliness meant prosperity. Not for all, perhaps, but for most. And he knew that those who had more would find a way to spread it among those who were not as blessed—his village was populated with men who knew the value of neighbors. Men who, like himself, hadn’t been born here. Families whose children might have some ultimate claim to the land. And natives who lived peaceably enough with the white man and the black man, the Chinese and the Mexican.

  It was an unusual town in this place, in this time. A town that took pride in itself, in its own, making work for those less fortunate than others, standing together through the bad times. In a way, an intolerant little town. For the influential among them had seen enough of war, famine, hatred and spite, and worked hard to eliminate the lingering traces of prejudice from their lives.

  There were those, John Patrick would admit, without whom the village would be a better place. Robert Taylor for instance—a smarmy, manipulative man who’d inherited the Trading Post and hadn't learned the value of working with his own hands. Worse than the merchant was his wife, Sarah, a sharp-tongued, vicious gossip who didn’t care if the words she spoke were true. But there were many more who belonged heart and soul to the community, and it was the many who drove the town to prosperity and saw that all were treated fairly, regardless of wealth or talent.

  John Patrick intended to bestow some small reward on two of its citizens. He went first to the bootmaker’s cottage and found Annie there.

  From his vest pocket, he drew a tiny parcel wrapped in muslin, tied with white string. Her hands fumbled with the packaging, then her eyes lit up at sight of the tiny filigree stick pin in the shape of a lily, with seed pearls to represent the pistils.

  “’Twas my mother’s,” he said. “I want you to have this, colleen, in thanks for all you did for her. In remembrance. Ah, don’t cry, colleen.”

  “Thank you. It’s beautiful. I’ll treasure it.” Annie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He kissed her cheek and left her standing in the doorway, looking down at the gift.

  He turned next to the livery and found it crowded with horses. The blacksmith wiped his hands off to give John Patrick a proper greeting.

  “Busy enough?” the old man teased.

  Tommy’s rich laughter split the air. “I swear every pony for two hunnerd miles around needs a new shoe! But I’m not complainin’!”

  “Is your boy here?”

  “He jus’ went home t’ get me somethin’ t’ eat. Haven't had a bite since breakfast. So don't keep ’im too long, hey?”

  John Patrick answered with a salute and made his way to the cottage next door. He arrived just as Alec came out.

  “Looking for me, sir? Could you wait a moment? I’ve got this lunch to deliver.” At the old man’s nod, he hastened away to return in less than a minute asking, “How can I help you?”

  In answer, Donovan held out another muslin-wrapped package. “A thank you,” he said, “for going to Flag for the priest last year, and allowing the family to stay together.”

  “But I didn’t do that for pay.”

  “This isn’t pay, boy-o. It’s a remembrance—something of Mother’s I want you to have.”

  “It was hers? That’s different then.” Alec opened the box and stared at its contents. “It looks...” His voice broke and his eyes filled, for the cameo had his mother’s pure profile.

  John Patrick clasped the silversmith’s shoulder. “Mother always told me it looked just like her. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

  Like Annie, Alec could only nod. Again John Patrick left him there, staring at the brooch, knowing the gift would grow more precious as the years went by.

  Chapter 26

  Family and neighbors gathered to celebrate John Patrick’s seventieth birthday, including the newcomers, Eli Sykes and the Rileys. Only Jesse, Adam and Rebecca were absent from the festivities.

  When Brian arrived, he’d reported that Jesse was suffering from severe nausea, as she had with her first pregnancy. She couldn’t eat and wasn’t sleeping well, and was terrified of losing this baby as she’d lost her first. The entire company, even Jane Barber, greeted the news with dismay. And for Annie, it was devastating.

  She’d been restless and anxious for several days, but had been unable to fathom the cause. From the first time they met, Annie had been tuned to Jesse—even more than to her natural family—and Jesse’s fear tore at her heart. So while Daniel was busy passing out glasses of porter and elderberry wine, she told her father she was suddenly feeling tired and needed a nap, then approached Patricia. She knew the kind-hearted girl would be willing to do almost anything asked of her, and wouldn’t take the time to wonder why.

  “I’ll come up with you,” Patricia offered. “Or I could bring a cup of tea.”

  “Oh, no, don’t bother. I just need to lie down for a little bit. You stay here and have your dinner.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll be fine.”

  Annie climbed the stairs wondering if her decision would bear fruit. John Patrick’s mother, Katie, had inherited the gift of insight from her Druid ancestors. Annie’s mother had shared the gift as well, and Annie thought she might be able to reach Jesse with the help of Katie’s spirit—a spirit she firmly believed was still with them, and which might be most concentrated in the rooms the old lady had used for so long.

  As she entered the sitting room, Annie took no notice of the velvet curtains or trellised wallpaper. She sat on the hearth before Katie’s fireplace, stirred up the embers and added a few pieces of kindling, then deliberately emptied her mind of thought. She stared unseeing into the fire. The smoke wavered and curled, and Annie could almost feel the old lady holding her hand. She closed her eyes and breathed deep, concentrating all her energy on the cabin in the canyon. A strange power flowed through her. Her other hand stretched itself toward the smoke. Opening her eyes in little slits, she saw the smoke curling from the chimney of the cabin in the canyon.

  Yes. The old musical voice reached into Annie’s mind. What she’d expected, what she’d hoped for. Still, it made her shiver. We are almost there. Foll
ow the smoke, see whence it comes. Follow it into the house. Back to the fire. We are almost there. Hear his voice, find his voice.

  “Jesse, mavourneen, you have to talk to me.” Adam’s voice was gruff with emotion. Annie almost drew away, but the old lady’s spirit forbade it. So she stayed with him, felt the depths of the love within him, and the terrible fear. She felt him gather up his tiny wife, move to the chair in front of the fire. She concentrated once more and heard him say, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  The old voice commanded, Be with her!

  Annie’s consciousness flickered to the girl. She felt warm arms surrounding her, gentle hands caressing her. The strength of him, the warmth. And the fear—the terror—the pain, guilt, fear. Annie rocked with her emotion, tried to pull away, but that faint voice encouraged her: She needs us. She needs you. Her heart reached out again, though she moaned with the pain of it.

  Tell him, the old voice commanded through her. Tell him all. And Annie heard the small voice whisper.

  “Adam... Adam...” She clutched at him frantically, her little hands cold in spite of the warmth of the room.

  “Yes, my love. Tell me.”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Tell me why, mavourneen.”

  “What if... the baby... my brother...”

  “What about him, my love?”

  “Could the baby... be like him? He killed her...”

  “Russell? Killed who, mavourneen?”

  “H–he killed... Elena... I know h‒he killed her...”

  Adam’s response was so strong it drew Annie back into him.