Mud Creek (15 page)

“She thinks they’re a bunch of annoying busybodies—”

“They are.”

“—and the fact that we’re siblings is no one’s business but our own.”

“If you clarified the situation, I doubt it would matter. If you told the truth, people would still complain. They’ll never be happy with you living together—whether she’s your sister or not.”

“That’s what Mary says, too, that they look for a reason to be miserable.” He shifted so he was facing her. “How are you?”

“I’m hanging in there.”

“You haven’t run off like some other wives who couldn’t bear it.”

She chuckled. “No.”

“How is married life treating you?”

It was a routine question, the type you’d ask any new bride, but she understood that he was genuinely concerned for her welfare. Yet if she apprised him of what Albert was really like, if she mentioned his moods and temper, what could James do?

“I’m learning the ropes,” she said. “I’m actually cooking all our meals. Florence has been teaching me.”

“No one’s been poisoned yet?” he teased.

“Very funny.”

“I haven’t called on you lately.”

“No, you haven’t, you scamp. I watch for you everyday.”

“I had to ride down to Deadwood, so I’ve been gone. But I’m home now. I won’t be such a stranger.”

She hated to discover that he’d been hundreds of miles from the ranch. Though she’d never been over to his place, she knew where it was. She liked to envision him as being close by, liked to assume that he was just over the ridge and she could jump on a horse and canter over there in an emergency.

“If you’re promising to visit more often,” she said, “you’d better mean it. I refuse to fret about you, and if you don’t stop by, I’ll be in a constant dither.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

A pleasant and poignant intimacy flowed between them. She wished she was free to pursue it, but they’d had their chance and it had passed them by.

Eventually, the moment grew too intense for him. His cheeks flushed, and he stood and helped her up.

“Have you ever seen a teepee before?” he inquired.

“No, never.”

“Let me show you the inside.”

They went over and crawled in.

The children had made themselves comfortable, and Helen joined them, sitting on some old buffalo robes. James sat, too, and told them a story. It was an ancient myth from Mary’s tribe about a large bear, chasing a young, brave hunter.

They were enthralled by the tale and listened with breathless anticipation, but he wasn’t allowed to complete it. Someone approached and pulled open the flap. They glanced up to find the twins’ mother. A frown marred her brow.

“Your husband asked me to fetch you,” she advised Helen.

Helen was already pushing herself to her feet. “What for?”

“Your sister is…ill. She needs you.”

The way the woman pronounced the word
ill
had Helen’s pulse racing.

“Would you excuse me?” she said to James.

“You go on,” he courteously replied. “Don’t worry about us.”

*    *    *    *

“What is it? What happened to Violet?”

Helen rushed over to Albert, a soothing hand on his arm, and he shoved her away.

“Where is my belt?” he seethed.

“Your belt? Why would you need your belt?”

He was pawing through
her
dresser drawers, unclear on why he’d search there for an item of his own clothing, but he was so furious that he couldn’t think straight.

His fingers touched a round, hard object, and he yanked it out. It was an Indian necklace, painted with crude symbols.

“What the hell is this?” he muttered to himself. He held it out, his expression reproachful and accusing.

She blanched with dismay. “It’s…nothing.”

“Where did you get it?” he hissed.

“Ah…”

She was weighing her response, trying to figure out how to placate him.

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted.

She flinched as if worried he might hit her, and at the moment, a thrashing sounded like a fine notion.

“I wasn’t going to lie,” she claimed. “Mary gave it to me.”

“That squaw gave you some of her magic, and you brought it into our home?”

“It’s just a necklace, Albert. Why are you acting like this?”

“Why? Violet shamed us in front of all our neighbors, and you have to ask
why
?”

“I have no idea what occurred. I was over at Mr. Blaylock’s teepee with Carl and Robert.”

“Of course, you were,” he sneered. “How could I forget?”

He stuffed the talisman in his pocket, his fury spiking as she scowled.

“Why are you taking it?” she inquired.

“I’m throwing it away, and don’t you ever—I repeat:
ever!
—accept anything from that heathen again. I won’t have her pagan rituals tainting our Christian lives.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Don’t sass me!” he shouted even more vehemently. “Or I swear to God I will beat you within an inch of your life. We’ll see how your fancy native charm protects you then, won’t we?”

He spun away and started toward his father’s house. He hadn’t located his belt, but he’d find a suitable whip in his mother’s kitchen. Violet was there, banished from the party and hidden from view so she couldn’t humiliate them further.

The gathering was rapidly winding down. People were clustered in groups, gaping and pointing. Several were already packing so they could leave at first light.

Albert ignored them and marched on. Helen hurried up behind him, but he ignored her, too. He was too angry for words.

“What is wrong?” she fumed.

“Violet was down by the creek”—he continued walking at a brisk pace—“in the tall grass with Myrtle Dudley’s husband.”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t be stupid, Helen. What do you think she was doing?”

Helen shook her head. “That can’t be right.”

“Myrtle stumbled on them herself. She told everybody. They’re in an uproar.”

Albert increased his stride, but Helen was stuck to him like a tick on a horse’s rump.

“Where is Violet now?”

“In my mother’s kitchen. Tied to a chair so she can’t come back outside.”

“Tied to a chair! Who would dare to treat her that way?”

“
I
would dare! And Pa—who’s in a state. This is our home, and these are our neighbors, and I won’t listen to any complaint from you.”

Helen clasped his arm and drew him around to face her.

“Would you stop for just a minute?” she nagged. “Tell me what transpired, and we’ll chat to Violet together—after you calm down.”

“Your sister has been drinking.”

“Drinking? Where would she have found any alcohol?”

He knew where—from his own stash—but he wasn’t about to admit it. The little thief had probably been pilfering his liquor for months. Well, he’d put an end to that nonsense right quick.

Women shouldn’t imbibe. In that opinion, he and his Pa were in full accord.

“While you were off,” he chastised, “loafing in the pasture with James Blaylock, she was dancing and making a fool of herself with Bob Dudley. She sneaked off, and when he left, too, Myrtle followed them.”

“I don’t believe it,” she scoffed, but she wasn’t very confident in her defense. “Have you talked to Violet? Have you asked her side of the story?”

“I don’t have to ask. Myrtle fetched Pa down to the creek. He saw, too.” Albert pushed her away. “Everyone is leaving tomorrow. At dawn.”

“But…the barn isn’t finished.”

“Precisely, Helen. The barn isn’t finished, and everyone is leaving.”

“Oh, no…” She gaped at the dispersing crowd. “Perhaps if I spoke to them, I could convince them to—“

“You’ll speak to no one!” he spat. “You’re my wife, and you will not beg their pardon or plead for sympathy on behalf of your whore of a sister.” His hurling of the word
whore
had her reeling with shock. “Now I’m busy, and I won’t quarrel with you—here in my yard—while the entire neighborhood is watching.”

He shoved past her and hastened on. As he approached, his father exited out the kitchen door.

“I’ve had enough of her mouth,” he grumbled to Albert. “I need a smoke. You can babysit for awhile.”

Albert entered the kitchen. A lamp was lit, the flame turned low so it cast stark shadows on the wall. Violet was alone, seated in a chair. His father had removed the shackles, and she was rubbing her wrists, as if the knots had been too tight.

Helen stomped in after him. There was a strong odor of alcohol emanating from Violet, and Helen scowled with bewilderment.

Violet grinned at Helen, her expression impish and unabashed. She appeared young and mischievous, as she often had when she was a girl in New York. There’d been no other child as relentless as Violet.

“I’m in trouble, Helen.” She sounded as if she was boasting.

“I heard.”

“Walt’s angry,” Violet said. “Albert is angry. Every stinking person on this ranch is angry, and I don’t even understand why.”

“Violet, you’ve been drinking,” Helen scolded.

“How can you tell?” She giggled.

She was completely oblivious to her disgrace, while Albert was trembling with disgust and wondering how he’d ever show his face in Mud Creek again.

In one, fleeting moment, she’d ruined three years of his family’s history in the area. People could tolerate a lot, could forgive and forget the occasional indiscretion, but not when it was so blatantly committed. Not when the perpetrator was so brazenly indifferent to shame.

They’d likely be shunned. They’d no longer be invited to social events. They’d become pariahs, trapped at the ranch with no friends and no way to ever make any.

If Helen thought they were isolated now, what would her opinion be when she realized the extent of the damage Violet had caused?

“I want you gone from here,” Albert hissed at Violet.

“What?” Helen gasped.

“In the morning,” Albert continued, “I’m setting your bag out on the road. If I see you walking back toward us, I’ll take a whip and drive you off.”

“Albert!” Helen chided. “You’re all heated up, and you’re saying things you don’t mean. Let’s discuss this rationally.”

“I’m happy to leave this godforsaken place.” Violet’s tone was sly and cajoling. “You don’t have to order me away. I’ll go on my own—if you give me some money to pay my expenses.”

“You’re not leaving,” Helen insisted. “I’m putting you to bed, and we’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober.”

“She’s not staying,” Albert bellowed at Helen. “I don’t care if you beg me.”

“Will you beg, Helen?” Violet taunted. “Will you debase yourself a little bit more to this horse’s ass?”

Helen sagged, as if the bones in her body had melted. She looked as appalled as Albert felt, but he was too aggrieved to have her defending the pathetic witch.

For Helen’s entire life, Violet had manipulated her so that she would play the part of rescuer, of champion. But not this time. Not this time!

“I’m done with you,” he told Violet, “and there’s no use pleading with your sister.”

“So who’s pleading?” Violet jeered. “I said I’d go.”

She stood, suddenly appearing much less drunk, as if her inebriation had all been an act. They were toe to toe and much the same height. She stared him down, and he hated her bravado. He wanted to wound her, but wasn’t sure how.

“You’re a whore,” he charged. “I should have known you couldn’t live among decent people.”

She chuckled. “Shouldn’t you check with Walt?”

“About what?”

“Are you certain your daddy will let you kick me out?”

“He detests you.”

“Are you positive?”

She glared at Albert as if she had secrets he could never unravel. He couldn’t bear to be so close to her, and he stepped away.

“Don’t mention my father to me,” he commanded.

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s a burly fellow. I’ll bet he’s extremely virile, don’t you? More than you are, Albert.” She leaned in, smirking. “I listen to you at night. When you’re in bed with Helen, I lie out by the stove and laugh as you try to—“

He slapped her.

He hadn’t intended to lash out, but the problem in his marriage bed, his failing in his duty to Helen, was his greatest humiliation.

How dare she overhear! How dare she brag that she had!

His palm landed perfectly on her cheek, the crack resonating up his arm and into his shoulder. Her head whipped to the side, and she toppled to her knees.

“Prick!” she muttered.

He raised a hand to slap her again, and Helen leapt between them. She was holding his mother’s butcher knife, and she waved it at him.

“Don’t touch her!” Helen warned.

“Stay out of this, Helen. It’s none of your affair.”

“If you hit her again, I’ll kill you! I swear it!”

He didn’t know what she might have done. Would she have stabbed him?

The tense impasse ended as the kitchen door opened. His father entered, followed by James Blaylock. Both men frowned, studying the violent scene.

“What’s going on?” Blaylock finally said.

“Woman beater,” Violet hurled at Albert.

Blaylock was shocked, his father, too, but Albert wasn’t sorry. If given the slightest chance, he’d pummel her bloody.

“He hit you?” Blaylock asked Violet.

“He thinks he’s tough,” Violet retorted, Albert’s palm print clear and red on her cheek, “but I’m not afraid of him. I’m not afraid of anything.”

Blaylock reached for the knife, and Helen surrendered it without argument. Then he urged Albert toward Walt. Walt pulled Albert farther away from Violet, as Blaylock drew her to her feet.

“You’ve caused enough trouble,” Blaylock sternly informed her.

“I am a nuisance, aren’t I?” she merrily replied, as if proud of her behavior.

Blaylock gazed at Helen.

“Are you all right?” he inquired.

“Yes. Shaken up, that’s all.”

Blaylock nodded. “Take your sister out to your house. Put her to bed. Albert will sleep here tonight with his parents.” He glared at Albert. “Won’t you?”

Albert returned Blaylock’s stare with a mute hatred, and Walt answered for him.

“Yes, Blaylock, he’ll sleep here. We’ll figure it all out in the morning.”

Helen led Violet away. Blaylock went, too, but he stopped outside the door, standing like a sentry, watching them scurry to safety. Albert yearned to run after them, to administer the punishment Violet deserved, but it was clear that both his Pa and Blaylock would prevent him.