The Woodsman's Rose Page 3

  “Other things have happened, too―her baby was born dead and her brother got killed.”

  “Bu-but...” Jake sputtered. “Why does her brother matter? He was nothing but bad.”

  “Maybe so, but she told me when they were kids in Texas―before her mother got sick―her brother would sometimes play hide and seek with her, and swing her from a tree in the yard.”

  “Hard to imagine,” Jake said.

  Daniel grunted. That the man who beat his sister on a regular basis and finally raped her could have been a happy child was impossible for him to believe. Yet he wouldn’t discount Jesse’s memories.

  “Do you think she wanted the baby?”

  “Why would you ask that, Jake? What possible difference would it make? You and I can’t know what a woman feels. I sometimes think of having a baby with Annie and, man, the love I can feel for that child already―I can’t describe it. More than I’ve ever felt before in my life.”

  Daniel’s face tightened and his voice became as rough as sand on a whetstone. “A woman has that baby growing right there in her womb. That baby was forced on Jesse, but it was still there growing, then one day it just died inside of her.

  “You’re too young to remember Henry. He was born back in Abilene and when he died―he was only two―Mother was shattered. She cried all the time. It has to be horrible to lose a child, no matter what.

  “So I don’t know what Jesse felt,” Daniel added. “I just know it was terribly hard for her. And it’s one more thing her brother’s paying for in hell.”

  Though it wasn’t a concept Daniel held with, he knew Jake believed wholeheartedly in hell. He pulled his mare up when he realized Jake had stopped. He looked back to see the youth staring at the hands he clenched on his pummel. The woodsman was about to speak when Jake looked up with accusation in his eyes.

  “You think her brother killed Elena.”

  Daniel turned his head away and nodded.

  “Why won't you tell Alec? He deserves to know!”

  Biting back an oath, Daniel answered in a voice that brooked no dissent. “He doesn’t. He’s too upset. He’s already gone off the rails at me a couple of times, and I don’t know what will happen if he knows there’s nothing he can do―no revenge he can take. If he tells everyone...

  “Family, Jake. That’s what’s most important in this world, even before friends. Even before neighbors. And Jesse is family now. We have to protect her.” Seeing an argument on the boy’s face, Daniel repeated, “We have to. Whether she knows it or not, she’s depending on us to do just that.”

  Jake stared at him for a long minute before he nodded. His father’s primary tenet could be summed up in one sentence: a man has nothing if he has no family, and he is nothing if he’s not a good neighbor. It was a doctrine they’d all learned from the cradle.

  “Family comes first,” Daniel added. “What do you think would happen to Jesse if the whole town finds out? If Sarah Taylor and Jane Barber start in on her again? You know they were behind the rumors that made her out a drunk, the ones that said she was involved with Tommy since she was a kid. You’ve heard what they say about her living with Adam and Brian both.”

  One look at his brother’s crimson face told Daniel his harsh words had hit home. Still the youth protested, “But that’s stupid stuff.”

  “People believe stupid stuff every day, Jake. Every damn day. What will those two women say if they find out Russell killed Elena? They’ll somehow make it Jesse’s fault, and start over with the stories about her and Tommy. And who knows what else they’ll make up so they can feel important. Do you think Jesse deserves that? Don’t you think she’s had enough hardship?”

  “No. I mean, yeah.” Jake scrubbed at his face. “You’re right.”

  “Jake, I can’t let you work with Alec unless you promise you won't tell him.”

  “Okay.”

  “I want your promise.”

  “I promise.”

  Daniel nodded curtly as Jake raised his eyes. “Daniel, what made him do it?”

  “I don’t know, Jake. I don’t understand it. Tommy says some folks are born ornery―I don’t know if anyone will ever understand more than that.”

  They began to ride again, and for a moment, Daniel wondered how he could feel so deeply for Jesse when his whole heart was given to Annie. And he regretted that his responsibility had cost him his closest friendship.

  I thought it would help when I told Alec the man who did it is gone. But it hasn’t made any difference at all. He’s so angry—no, furious. Yet what can I do? I know Jesse isn’t strong enough to bear the shame. Even after all that Adam has done for her—after all the family’s done—she wouldn’t be able to endure it. She’s still so fragile, so delicately balanced between our love and her fears.

  I cannot tell him. I couldn't bear to be the one who hurts her one more time.

  Chapter 5

  Summer came in hot and dry. Occasional storms threatened on the horizon, but the rains didn't come. Drought had hit the Arizona Territory several years before, resulting in the loss of most of the stock and produce which the Donovan ranch and farm supported. Since then they’d irrigated their fields with water from the mountain streams, which were snow-fed and never ran dry. Early in the summer they drove a thousand head of cattle into Jesse’s canyon to let them water at the spring-fed lake.

  Daniel had scouted out the location of their diverse herds, but he took no pleasure in the drive. Neither farmer nor cowboy, he didn’t work the land he loved, yet he lived closer to it than any of his family. And unlike his brothers, who rode the range or managed the farm, he was always busiest in fall and winter. After the round-up and the harvest, in which everyone participated, Daniel would set out hunting for their winter stores. In a good year, he’d finish before Christmas. In the lean years, he hunted all winter. In the spring he made new clothes for the coming year, then helped with the planting and the tending of the orchard. And because of his agile, logical mind, he was often asked to help solve the practical problems the family faced―whether planning irrigation for new fields or installing the indoor plumbing that his father had ordered from New York.

  But in the summer, when his brothers plowed and weeded and rode herd, Daniel was free to do what he wished. For the past several summers, he’d set out on the trail of the wild mustangs ranging north of the Donovan holdings. Up to the mesas he’d go with Alec Twelve Trees. For weeks they’d be gone, to return with a small string of choice horses. They’d spend many additional weeks gentling the ponies, using a method devised by Alec that resulted in work-horses that were high-spirited but not wild, tame but not broken. Daniel loved these trips to the mountains, considering them food for his soul. He was fascinated by Alec’s way with horses, could watch for hours as his friend persuaded a pony to accept a saddle or bit.

  But now Alec was working with Jake, and Daniel could only be thankful the rift hadn’t affected his relationship with Alec’s father, who ran the livery stable and was an accomplished ironsmith.

  The livery stood on the north end of town, spreading across the wide dusty street and backing up to the eastern fork of the river. At the opposite end of White’s Station stood the Trading Post; across from it a small chapel nestled among the sycamores. Between were several houses and smaller shops, as well as the Town Hall, the bank, a boardinghouse and the inevitable saloon.

  As he approached the livery on a sunny Saturday afternoon, Daniel was amused to hear Tommy cussing.

  “Ah, hell!” A Navajo with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and arms as strong as the iron he worked, Tommy had begun to use the expression in missionary school because it angered his teachers, and now the habit was ingrained. He repeated it viciously and threw down his hammer with a clang.

  “Got a problem?” Daniel asked, stepping through the open doors. It was rare for the blacksmith to be out of sorts, his cheerful disposition usually shining through the angular bronze mask of his face.

  “Hey, Dan’l! Boy, am I
glad t’ see you. I could really use your help with this.” Tommy moved with a dancer’s grace as he approached and shoved a piece of paper under Daniel’s nose.

  “What’s this?”

  “A leg.”

  “A what?” Daniel knew his friend wasn’t one to talk in riddles, but the drawings bore scant resemblance to a horse’s leg. Not that a horse would accept one, for that matter. “Wh―? Why don’t you explain this to me.”

  “You know li’l Blue Deer? That sickly boy in the tribe? Well, Doc had t’ cut off his leg the other day, and he’s really, really down in the mouth. An’ Doc said mebbe it could keep ’im from gettin’ better, bein’ so blue. So I thought if I made ’im a new leg...”

  “Yeah, I see.” Daniel pulled on the ends of his mustache and studied the drawing again, picturing Blue Deer in his mind. “He’s pretty small, isn’t he? If you make it out of iron, won't it be too heavy?”

  “I jus’ wanna do somethin’ for the kid. He’s a healer, did ya know? It’s gotta be real tough on ’im, not bein’ able to heal hisself.” The blacksmith scratched at his chin. “I dunno...”

  “What if we made it out of wood? It’d be a lot lighter. I’m not sure how we’d attach it...”

  “Doc said there should be a cup for the leg to fit in, with somethin’ like India rubber to cushion it. Then there’s a harness thet holds it on. Since the boy’s still growin’, he thought it should be easy to adjust.”

  “Hmm... Does he still have the knee joint?”

  “Yeah. The infection didn’ get up too much higher than ’is ankle.”

  “So he could probably use a foot, too. I could carve it easily―could you make a flat hinge for each side so it moves a little better? Can’t have too much play, maybe twenty or thirty degrees. Enough to flex it just a bit.”

  “Sure, I see what you mean.” Tommy pushed one set of his fingers up slightly with the other. “Don't want it floppin’ all aroun’, but jus’ a li’l give so he can walk natural.”

  “How long should it be?” Daniel asked.

  “I got everything right here. Doc measured ’is other leg. This is how long it has to be, an’ this is how big the leg is, where Doc cut it.”

  “Maybe I’ll make him boots, too. Be easier for him to hide it.” Traditional Navajo moccasins were calf-high. “He’d probably feel a little better about it, too, if everyone wasn’t staring at it all the time. Mind if I keep this?”

  “No, Dan’l, go ahead. You think you can make somethin’ that’ll work?”

  “I’ll sure give it a try.”

  Tommy looked over as his son came into the livery. “Hey, Alec,” he called, “come see what we’re makin’ for Blue Deer.”

  Silently, the youth approached. He wore the velveteen shirt customary to the Navajo and a heavy silver chain around his neck. His tight black embroidered pants reflected his mother’s heritage and flared out over high-heeled black boots. Held with a leather headband, his hair was black and shiny as the raven’s wing, and it hung long and loose. His face was dusky, his features strong. He looked at the sketch in his father’s hand but said nothing.

  “Whaddya think?” Tommy asked. Alec shrugged and looked from his father to the woodsman. He stared at Daniel for more than a full minute. Then, still silent, he turned on his heel and left the stable.

  Tommy sighed loudly and heard Daniel’s echo. The blacksmith turned to the younger man and clasped his shoulder.

  “Don't be angry with ’im,” Tommy pleaded. “He’s so tore up―I don't know what t’ do for ’im. He told me once it was my fault―that I shoulda been there with ’er. T’ protect ’er.” His face worked and he turned to bring a fist crashing down on the top of a stall. “Dammit! I wish I had been! But it was the middle o’ the day ... the middle o’ the day in this li’l one-horse town ...” His voice trailed off for a minute. “Who’d ever think, in this li’l one-horse town...”

  Tommy leaned against the stall and lowered his face to his hands. The stoicism he’d learned as a boy had been eradicated by the passionate creature he’d married. He’d been taken from his family at the age of five and put in the missionary school at Flag. There he’d stayed, learning the white man’s ways. Or at least appearing to. For Tommy had a facility that his teachers had never recognized―he could separate himself from the world with ease, retreat into some private place where they couldn't touch him. While he recited their prayers and read their books and learned their habits of cleanliness, he’d never given in. Only the shell had been changed.

  Until Elena.

  He was sixteen when she came to teach at the mission school. She was twenty-four and the daughter of a wealthy Spanish landowner. Tommy was working in the smithy, learning his trade, but after one glimpse of her flashing black eyes, he’d gone to the headmaster and confessed that he’d finally realized the advice that worthy had given him was correct―he wanted to re-enroll in classes and see if he could get a grant for college.

  What Tommy had really wanted was to be near Elena. His grades were dismal, but she seemed not to care. In fact, she encouraged him to come for private tutoring sessions and basked in the obvious admiration in his eyes. Soon, what started as a whim and a game became so serious that it was reported to the headmaster. The school fired her, her father disinherited her, and on the day he turned eighteen, Tommy married her.

  They left Flag amidst a furor, but neither of them cared a bit. They’d been passing through White’s Station on the way to Colorado when Elena espied the white cottage on the edge of town. It had a red door, a picket fence, and a stream flowing through the back yard. It looked uninhabited. Impulsive as always, she’d stopped the stage and made the driver throw down their bags, then told Tommy to find out who owned the house. Tommy had rented it and the livery from Ray Benson, and after several years, bought the house outright.

  Elena. He remembered so clearly her flashing eyes, her profile at rest as pure and clean as a cameo. But repose came seldom, for Elena was ruled by passion. She would laugh, cry, fight at the drop of a hat, and as a lover had been tender and wild by turns, and he’d worshiped her. When their son was born, Tommy felt that his life was complete.

  There was an emptiness now in his life, in his heart, but he knew it was nothing compared to what drove his son. To Alec, the world had revolved around Elena. Tommy wished with all his heart that it had been he, and not his son, who had found her there dying.

  The smith sighed. I can’t change the past. Then he became aware of the strong hand that gripped his shoulder hard. Tommy looked up at his young friend―his son’s friend―and saw the grim set of Daniel’s face.

  “No, Dan’l,” he said, his voice coarse with emotion. “It won't bring ’er back. It won't help, even if Alec thinks it will.” He drew a deep breath and held it or a moment. “B’sides, it ain’t so hard t’ figger out, is it? Only one man in these parts would’ve ever hurt a woman. An’ if it was some stranger, you wouldn’ know he was gone, would you?”

  Daniel dropped his hand and averted his eyes. He didn't answer, but the smith saw that his throat was working.

  “It don't matter who done it,” Tommy said. “It won't bring ’er back. An’ there’s no sense in makin’ somebody else suffer for it―somebody who’s had trials enough of ’er own.”

  The two men stood silently for a moment, thinking of little Jesse Travers. Jesse Donovan. Who’d been Alec’s staunch friend―until her brother had beaten her for being an Indian’s friend. Until her brother had...

  Daniel had learned that Tommy knew of Jesse’s trials when he’d made a report to Raymond Benson, the town’s constable. The cattleman had grimaced but shaken his head.

  “I’m not the law, Daniel,” he’d said in a deep Texas drawl. “The only jurisdiction I have is heah in town. An’ thet’s limited. I can lock ’im up overnight when ’e’s drunk or when ’e shoots up the street. But I can’t take ’im in an’ hold ’im for a trial without hard proof. I told Tommy Twelve Trees the same thing.

  “You
hafta see it yerself, or she’ll hafta bring in a complaint. Tommy swears she won't t, ’cause it would hurt ’er father. I’m sorry, boy, but my hands’re tied.”

  “Will they be tied when he kills her?” Daniel demanded.

  “Not if there’s proof.” Benson had stared at him, seeing the hard resolve in his face. “What’re you gonna do, Daniel?”

  “Protect her,” was the terse response.

  “How?”

  “Anyway I can. Any way I need to.” And he’d cursed long and hard beneath his breath.

  “Be careful, Daniel,” were the constable’s parting words. Daniel had laughed without humor.

  “Don’t worry,” he bit out. “There won't be any proof.” He’d slammed the door behind him. Now, as he shook off his dark thoughts, he knew that he’d been unfair to Benson. Jesse was safe now. Even if Elena was dead.

  Tommy knew the truth. Maybe someday he could tell Alec―when the pain had worn off a little bit and it wouldn’t be so hard to bear.

  “I’ll get this started as soon as I can,” Daniel said. Tommy, he knew, heard the words of sympathy that he couldn't express.

  Tommy grabbed his hand and pumped it up and down. His face had taken on its usual lightness. “Thanks, Dan’l. We got a couple weeks, mebbe a month. Doc said it won't be healed ’til then. Hey, you gonna see Jesse anytime soon?”

  “Probably tomorrow.” Weather permitting, the Donovan clan congregated at the homestead for dinner every Sunday.

  “Well, give ’er my love, y’hear me?”

  Chapter 6

  Daniel picked up his rifle and hit the path toward home. It wasn’t long before a wagon overtook him on the road.

  “Want a ride?” His brother-in-law, Lowell Griffiths, pulled up beside him. A plain-featured man with light brown hair, hazel eyes, and a bone-deep optimism, Lowell was married to Daniel’s sister Evelyn, and just happened to be Annie’s brother.

  “Sure.”

  As Daniel vaulted in, Lowell asked, “What’re you smiling about?”