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God bless! What a day!
I been in the kitchen all mornin'. First I done fixed the family breakfast and then I worked to save the pan. Miss Audra, she tried to make crem-broo-lay for dessert last night, but all what got broiled in the process was my favoritest copper pan. I done soaked the thing durin' the night with bakin' powder and then gone scrubbin' with a stiff brush, but that dark sticky matter coverin' the once shiny bottom din't budge. I put it on the stove again, tryin' to boil the mess off. No such luck! I done tried this, I done tried that. I done tried everythin' I ever hear tell of in near thirty years of housekeepin'. Why, I even gone to the smithy to see if they got some kind of tool to scrape it off, but Jeb jus' laughed at me and kept on hammerin' a horseshoe into shape. So I gone back into my kitchen, put the ruined pan away and added a new item to the list of things to be ordered in San Francisco. 'Cause you can't jus' buy these here copper pans in Stockton in the general store. Them is special made and comes all the way from France!
So I'm late with my chores and upstairs in Mr. Jarrod's bedroom with a pitcher of warm water and fresh towels, cause he jus' done come home from San Francisco - an important man is our Mr. Jarrod, talkin' to the gov'ner and all them politicians 'bout the ranchers' trouble with the railroad - when I hear hoofbeats approachin'. I hurry to the window to see if I gotta go down and open the door and that's when I see him first. A man on a black pony comin' up to the gate.
Mr. Tom! I think, a flash of joy joltin' this old body here and I'm already half turned to run down and greet him, when it hits me and I gasp. For he been dead and buried these six years and a sad day 'twas when they done brung him home over his saddle. I turn back and have me a closer look and there's somethin' in the way he sits his horse, the angle of his shoulders... I shake my head. What a foolish old man you are, Silas, I say to my own self.
I hear Mr. Nick rantin' from downstairs 'bout Mr Eugene thinkin' while them barns are burnin' down and then Miz Victoria - oh my, he done disturbed her afternoon nap! - scoldin' him and askin' them to see to their visitor.
And then the rider comes up to the house and reins his horse in at the front steps and I hear him say, "Small world, ain't it?"
I can't see his face from up where I am 'cause he ain't taken off his hat, but 'tis a young man's voice, soft spoken and mockin'. I grin. Oh boy, you jus' don't rile Mr. Nick, if you know what's good for you.
"Somethin' for you?" Mr. Nick, he asks curtly.
"Mr. Barkley, if you know where I can find him." the stranger says.
"Take your choice," I hear Mr. Nick sayin'.
"Well, I was told Nick does the hirin'."
"Of what?" barks Mr. Nick.
"Well, line boss, hay waddy, hasher, cow prod, jingler. You name it. I've done it."
Hay waddy? I ask you!
Then I hear Mr. Jarrod ask, "What's your name?"
"Heath," says the young man.
"I was on that train this afternoon. Quite a race," Mr. Jarrod remarks and sounds right amused.
"No contest," the young man says confidently. "Not the way those cabbage stacks come off a turn."
"Where're you from?" asks Mr. Nick, soundin' a mite quarrelsome.
"West of the divide."
"How west?" Gettin' worse.
"Pretty much all over." Now the boy seems a bit vexed.
"Last place you worked?"
"Corning." Definitely vexed.
"Sign him on, Nick," says Mr. Jarrod, a hint of laughter in his voice.
"To what?" asks Mr. Nick belligerently. "We're full."
"Well, he did me a little favor this afternoon. Sign him on."
"Take your gear over to the bunk house. See McNally. Tell him to sign you on."
I can tell that Mr. Nick ain't amused, but he won't quarrel with his older brother in front of a stranger.
The young man jus' tips his hat, turns his horse and vanishes 'round the corner. And I go down to set the table for dinner.
*********
There's talk at the table and later in the library 'bout the railroad and what to do 'bout them orders to vacate. Mr. Nick wants to fight, while Mr. Jarrod wants to try the law some more. Mr. Eugene, he don't know. That poor boy's forever between a rock and a hard place! Miss Audra's for fightin', too. But Miz Victoria supports Mr. Jarrod and she's the one to have the last word. They all retire early and not in agreement.
I go 'bout my evenin' chores, dousin' most of the lamps and closin' the French windows, when Mr. Nick creeps down the backstairs and makes off towards the bunk house. I only shake my head and sigh.
I take off my jacket, wash up and put on my dressin' gown lookin' forward to a quiet hour, readin' my ol' Bible before bed, when I hear the front door crashin' open. Indians! Raiders! Rebels! This ol' man ain't up to such commotion anymore.
Then I hear Mr. Nick yellin', "Jarrod! Jarrod, Eugene, get down here!"
I creep to the doorway and peer through the draperies. Oh my! They're both bloodied. The young 'un even more so, blood drippin' from his nose and a split lip. I don't think they see me when I creep closer. Mr. Nick has one hand fisted in the boy's collar and the other holds his arm behind his back in a right painful grip when he shoves him towards the library. The boy's still strugglin', drivin' his heels into the carpet and squirmin' in his grip. But Mr. Nick has him good and proper and would've broke his arm.
He groans when Mr. Nick lets go of him and pushes him into the room with such force he near staggers to his knees. But he's up again and whirlin' 'round - and then I clearly see his face. I grab the door frame and hold on for dear life. This ain't possible!
Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Eugene brush past me.
"Nick, what in the name of..." starts Mr. Jarrod.
The young man, now faced with three instead of one, grabs himself a bottle from the liquor table and crashes it.
Holdin' the ragged glass in front of him to fend 'em off, he says, "Now I've had me a day. Fight and dunked in a stream and near killed by a train. And this one's gonna be peaceful, you hear?"
When no one makes a move he gives up his fightin' stance and moves over to the fireplace.
"So this is what it is," he says, lookin' 'round him. "Well, I wondered."
Then he discovers Mr. Tom's picture hangin' over the mantelpiece.
"Well, the old stud himself," he spits.
Mr. Eugene starts on to him, but Mr. Jarrod grabs him and holds him back.
"Boy howdy, don't he look proper! You know, I bet they buried him in those clothes. With his buttons all shined and his hair all spit and slickered and a rose in his teeth and the honey bees buzzin'."
His voice has risen durin' his speech and now he's near as loud as Mr. Nick, who starts forward. "Oh well, now that's all -"
Mr. Jarrod grabs him, too. "Nick -"
Pacin' up and down the room, the young man goes on, "I'll bet a band played and there was singin' and wailin' and ever so good a time and some parson readin'."
They all watch him careful like, like he's some dangerous animal, and I bet Mr. Eugene still has no idea where this is goin'.
"Well, they buried my mama," the boy says, lower now. "But it wasn't in refinement, and no thousand people weeped over her grave. But in a Potter's Field, like she was nothin' human or flesh."
He heaves a deep sigh. "The night I was born she was alone in a tent in a rotten rathole of a minin' camp up the Stanislaus. And the rain beat down and turned the straw to mud." He near whispers at the end, his eyes shinin' with tears.
With this I let go of the door post and sidle back. I have heard enough. Too much already. This ain't my place to be. I don't wanna know. Oh, Mr. Tom!
Half way up the stairs there stands Miss Audra, lookin' ever so sad. Oh, the poor child! What will this do to them? I close my door behind me, sink to my knees and start prayin'.
A short while after I hear hoofbeats. No need to go lookin'. I know who's leavin'.
After a while my knees start hurtin' and I get up and into bed. The good Lord knows I'm not young anymore and I reckon He's gonna hear me as well when I'm lyin' down.
There's hoofbeats again, leavin' the ranch. Is it Mr. Nick goin' after the boy? Oh Lord, do not let him kill the boy, I pray. Not that I believe Mr. Nick would commit cold blooded murder - but in a rage? In a fight with someone near as strong and determined as him? Anythin' can happen. And he's mad enough to do somethin' stupid. He's a good man, is Mr. Nick, jus' hot headed and he's not used to bein' crossed, havin' had his say on the ranch from the time he's been jus' a boy himself.
Then, there's hoofbeats nearin' the house this time and someone starts thumpin' on the front door and hollers 'bout fire. Heavy footsteps comin' down the staircase. Sighin' I get up again and get dressed. May as well forget 'bout sleep tonight. When I get to the parlor, there's a ranchhand over from the Swenson place, wringin' the hat in his hands and tellin' Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Nick - praise the Lord! he's still here - that them no-good railroad thugs done come to the Swenson ranch carryin' rifles and torches - and could the Barkleys help?
Mr. Nick, he flies off in a right fury, Mr. Jarrod close on his heels. And Mr. Eugene, too, comes boltin' down the stairs and Miz Victoria in her dressin' gown, givin' orders to hitch up the buggy. When I come back from the stable, she done dressed and is on her way out. I wonder where Miss Audra is. Surely she can't have slept through all this upheaval?
The house is quiet with all the family gone. I go to the library and look up at Mr. Tom's portrait. I shake my head.
"Well, Mr. Barkley, sir, that's a right fine mess you've left us here," I say.
The room smells like a saloon and I remember the boy breakin' a bottle when he thinks the brothers are gonna launch themselves at him. There's a wet spot and broken glass over by the liquor table. Can as well clean that up now. So, to the kitchen I go and get me a bucket with warm water and a brush and some soap and rags. My poor old knees are creakin' when I get down and at it and all the while I feel Mr. Tom starin' at my back.
I wonder where the boy is by now. Is he gone for good? Will he make trouble? But what can he do? Oh, what a blessin' that Miz Victoria ain't seen him! I think of how the brothers done looked at him. Mr. Jarrod done watched him with suspicion, but there's sympathy too, even compassion maybe. Mr. Nick done stared him down with disdain, as if he's some dirty saddle tramp - which p'raps he is - caught in a con. And Mr. Eugene, well, he done looked like he don't have no real idea what the ruckus is all 'bout. And of course none of them done seen what I seen right first when I set my eyes upon him proper. That this boy's the spittin' image of Mr. Tom when he been young. Oh, what a mess!
I get up and stretch. My back hurts. We all ain't gettin' any younger. I half turn to the portrait and say without lookin' up, "You better do somethin' for your boy, Mr. Tom, and soon."
Then I take the cleanin' things back to the kitchen, empty the bucket and throw the broken glass and the rags away. I work slowly. No need to hurry. The night's long, mornin' still far away. Should I put the big kettle on the stove, heat some water? Prepare bandages? Will there be injured? Oh dear God, let them all come home again. And where's Miss Audra? I been with this family a good long while. I've held them both, Miss Audra and Mr. Eugene, when they was babies.
After I've prepared everythin', I go upstairs and knock on Miss Audra's door. There's no answer. So's I open it and peek inside, but the room's as quiet and empty as the rest of the house. Where can she be? The hoofbeats leavin' after the boy... But she would not, she couldn't... Ah well, she could and she would. Headstrong, that's our Miss Audra. And a temper jus' like Mr. Nick.
That's when I sink into a chair in the upstairs hall and bury my old head in my hands. And there I still sit when I hear the front door softly open and close again. Hurried footsteps in the hall downstairs. Miss Audra! I think. Has she come back?
I advance to the banister. The hall's empty. Then the door opens again and Miz Victoria steps inside. I'm 'bout to call out to her, when the young man, Mr. Tom's son, comes out of the library, clutchin' somethin' in his hand, then stuffin' it in his shirt pocket. What's he taken?
She's still as a statue. He stops short at the table, 'bout to grab an apple from the fruit bowl, when he sees her. Juttin' his chin out, he takes off his hat and fills it with pears and apples and peaches from the bowl. My poor old heart's a-breakin'. There's Mr. Tom's son, as sure's the others, and all his heritage a stolen trinket from the library and a few apples?
He strides towards her, his gait so like his father's I can't turn my eyes away. He stops, locks eyes with her, then turns to leave, when she speaks.
"He was an imperfect man, my husband," she says. "And in so many ways that could hurt. But he never destroyed, only built and gave life. For he knew that what he brought was a changing way. A revolution of its own that said, 'You are a free man that no one, not railroad, nor Jordan nor Thomas Barkley can own.' And he knew it was something you won only with courage, pride and leadership. That's what he tried to instill in his sons. If you hadn't ridden away tonight, you would have seen that he accomplished it. It's not a battle that can be won in a day, a year or even ten."
She turns towards him and says to his face, "And then one day he made a terrible, wretched mistake. He died... Before anyone really understood." Her voice trembles, but she picks herself up and goes on, "And so, if you were my son, I would say to you, 'Be proud, because any son of my husband has a right to be proud. Live as he would live, fight as he would fight and no one, no one can deny you his birthright!' - That's what I would say to you, if you were my son."
He's listened to her without a word, without a motion. There's a stillness to him that's all his own. 'Cause Mr. Tom, well, he was a boisterous man, jus' like Mr. Nick. You always took notice when he came into a room. He leaves then, without a word, jus' turnin' in the door to look at her one last time, and then he's gone.
I stand still, hardly breathin'. It's somethin' I done learned as a small boy, when I first come into the house in the bad old days. Big Alma, she done teached us. "When Them's 'round," she done said, meanin' the masters, "you's not there. You keep still, you don't look, you don't breath. You's a chair, you's a table. They won't notice." It's somethin' that's stood me in good stead all my life, 'cause you can't help seein' and hearin' things that ain't meant for you, when you live with the family, but are not part of it, really.
And Miz Victoria, she stands there at the door till the hoofbeats of the boy's pony have died away in the night. Then she closes the door and goes into the parlor and I can't see her no more. And I go down the backstairs and wait in the kitchen.
**********
A short while later the boys and Miss Audra come home, Mr. Nick hollerin', "Mother!" as soon as he's through the front door.
I rush out of the kitchen to see if I'm needed and - glory be! - they're all fine and healthy lookin', only Mr. Nick has Miss Audra, her blouse all torn up and wearin' a ragged vest, by the upper arm and drags her over to the parlor, lookin' real fierce.
"Guess what your daughter's gone and done now," he thunders. "The sheriff's brought her over like a... like - I won't say that in mixed company!"
Miss Audra boxes her brother's chest. "Let me go, Nick, you're hurting me," she cries.
Miz Victoria, she's rushed from the room to meet them. "Nick, Audra, please!" she says. "Let your sister go, Nick! Audra, what are you doing? And in such a state!"
"It seems, dear mother," says Mr. Jarrod calmly, "that our sister was found, by the sheriff, in town, in a hotel room with -" he breaks off and exchanges a look with Mr. Nick who rolls his eyes and throws his hands up.
"With the young man who claims to be your brother?" Miz Victoria says.
"There," says Mr. Nick grimly, "there you have it! Well done, sister!"
They all look aghast for a moment.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice what went on here tonight?" Miz Victoria asks. Then she turns to Miss Audra. "What were you thinking?"
"Well, someone had to do something!" Miss Audra says. "And I thought putting him to the test would prove... well, something."
"You were alone with him?" asks Mr. Eugene perturbed. "In a hotel room?"
"Unthinkable what could have happened!" rages Mr. Nick.
"He was a perfect gentleman," protests Miss Audra.
Mr. Jarrod shakes his head. "And if he hadn't been, honey? What then?"
"But he was! He rescued me from the mob on the street -"
"There was a mob?" says Mr. Eugene.
"- and cleaned my wound -"
"Your wound!" exclaims Mr. Jarrod. She shows her arm.
"- and he absolutely wouldn't kiss me!"
"Kiss you!" Mr. Nick roars.
Miz Victoria sinks onto the settee, shakin' her head.
"But I knew he wouldn't hurt me," says Miss Audra. "He could've done when I whipped him."
"Ha!" says Mr. Nick, soundin' right pleased.
"Now, Audra, why would you whip this young man?" asks Miz Victoria dismayed.
"He was trampling on the flowers at Father's grave. That's where I met him this afternoon and then I sent him over to the house, because he was looking for work.
"And I do believe, that he is - what he says he is," says Miss Audra quietly.
Miz Victoria looks up. "I think so, too, my dear," she says.
"Mother!" says Mr. Eugene.
"In fact, I'm quite certain."
"You can't be serious!" yells Mr. Nick.
"But I am, Nicholas. And so would you, if you had memories of your father as a young man."
Mr. Jarrod looks at her and raises his eyebrows.
"He looks so much like Tom Barkley when I married him," she says sadly.
"That would mean..." says Mr. Jarrod, sittin' down next to her and takin' her hands.
"That would mean that your father, my husband, didn't honor his marriage vows, yes."
"And even if," says Mr. Nick, grimly determined, "even if my father had an affair with some little..."
"Nick, please," says Mr. Jarrod.
"Even if he's Father' son, that does not make him my brother. I won't have it."
"Have it, won't have it - that doesn't change the facts, Nick," Miz Victoria cries.
"Oh, Mother," says Miss Audra and sits down on her other side, puttin' her arm 'round her mother's shoulders.
"But what does it mean?" asks Mr. Eugene, lookin' at Mr. Jarrod. "I mean, can he make any demands?"
Mr. Jarrod shakes his head. "Not legally, no. He has no legal rights. Morally now - that's something else."
"Legally, morally, I don't care," says Mr. Nick. "I just want him gone."
"But Nick," says Mr. Jarrod calmly, "if we really have a brother out there, who's quite obviously not been brought up with all the advantages we've had, wouldn't you want to do something about it? Wouldn't you at least want to know him?"
"I would," says Mr. Eugene, surprisin' everybody. "I would want to know where he comes from and what he's done so far. What he's like."
"And so would I," Miss Audra says at once.
"He has without a doubt a reckless streak," says Mr. Jarrod, "which should appeal to you, Nick. He raced the train I was coming in - and won me fifteen hundred dollars from Crown. - Well, I do think we have some moral obligation here to at least... do something for him. I think it's what Father would have wanted."
Mr. Nick plops down onto one of them high backed chairs opposite the settee.
"Well, I'll be..." he says. "And what do you have in mind, counselor? You tried to give him money."
"A pittance."
"So? We give him more? A few thousand? And then good-bye and good riddance. And when that's gone? He comes back for more? You're setting us up for blackmail here."
Mr. Jarrod shakes his head. "I don't know, Nick. I just don't know."
Miz Victoria sighs. "We don't have to decide that tonight, my dears," she says. She looks real tired. "Let's go to bed now. You have to be at the Sample's place tomorrow and you should get whatever rest you can."
Then she gets up, holdin' her hand out for her daughter. "Come now, Audra, let me have a look at your arm."
I hurry to the kitchen and set up a bowl with hot water and some bandages. Miz Victoria thanks me and says, "Silas, if it's not asking too much, can we have breakfast half an hour early tomorrow? My sons have to be at Mr. Sample's place around eight. I know, you must be tired."
I assure her it ain't no problem, and she quietly goes 'bout washin' Miss Audra's arm, which bears a nasty scratch, with soap and water and dresses it in a light bandage.
When they're done, they retire. They don't talk no more and no sound comes from the parlor. The house is quiet. It's well after midnight.
**********
After a few hours sleep I wake up, like I always do, jus' before first light. The cock crows. I feel my years. But it don't matter. The family will soon be up and waitin' for their meal, and then it's off to Sample's ranch for the men and who knows whether they'll all return and in what condition? What a dreadful thought...
I say my mornin' prayers and hope the good Lord will have mercy on this family who can so ill afford another loss. Washed and dressed, I go 'bout my kitchen chores, preparin' a light breakfast of eggs and bacon, pancakes and preserves and a lot of good strong coffee.
Mr. Nick's already out and about, spurs all a-jingle, leavin' instructions for this day's work with Mr. McCall, the foreman. He won't order their hands to help them in their trouble. However, I hope that some of the men will follow him anyways, jus' like they always do come storm come rain. He's that kind of man.
He's the first at the table and I've already served him when the others come down. Miz Victoria smiles at me and thanks me for my trouble and I silently pray that this day won't bring her sorrow. She's such a fine lady and loves her children dearly.
They're all very quiet and hardly speak a word. And then the men put on their gunbelts, even young Mr. Eugene, who's hardly old enough to shave, and they embrace their mother and sister while Ciego brings the horses to the front steps. Miz Victoria, she clings to them, holdin' them and kissin' them, well knowin' she might not see them alive again.
They mount and ride off. Four or five of the hands join them at the gate. And then, we wait.
Miz Barkley and Miss Audra sit in the parlor with their needlework baskets and after I've cleared the table and the kitchen I bring them a tray with coffee and cookies. Why, they've hardly eaten anythin'! They're darnin' socks and mendin' things. It's hard to sew a button on a shirt you don't know will ever be needed no more.
I go upstairs to make the beds and collect the washin'. Mr. Nick's all a-tumble as usual. Mr. Jarrod has one of those mighty big leatherbound law books on his nightstand, still open where he's left it, while Mr. Eugene done read in his Bible of the night. On Miz Victoria's pillow lies the golden locket that holds Mr. Tom's miniature. It been made when he was in his middle years already and wore a moustache and a beard. I place it carefully in its case on the vanity. In Miss Audra's room I find her blouse, torn and shredded at the shoulder and beyond repair. There's also that unfamiliar vest she worn the night before when her brothers done brung her home. 'Tis a man's vest, made for a man with broad shoulders and a small waist. Is it his, I wonder. 'Tis thin, fine leather, well worn and patched in places. I put it in the laundry basket, next to Mr. Jarrod's, Nick's and Eugene's fine shirts.
When I come down I've a quick peek in the parlor. Miss Audra's still at work, darnin', but Miz Victoria, she sits there starin' out the window, her hands tightly fisted in the folds of material in her lap. It must be one of Mr. Nick's, he's the only one wears the sage green.
They don't want lunch and so I retire to my room and lie down. I'm sure I won't be able to sleep, but the night's been long and before I know it I'm gone. My sleep's light and uneasy. I dream of my mama and Nettie and Lizzie. I been jus' a boy when I done got away and I've never seen them again nor heard what become of them after.
**********
I look at my watch when I wake up. Mr. Tom done give it to me when I been with them twenty years. It's heavy and silver and there's an engravin' on it that says 'To Silas Whiting with gratitude. The Barkley Family'. A fine watch it is. There's many a businessman in town who don't have a watch like this. Also, it keeps time with the big clock in the foyer downstairs and I only ever have to move it ahead five minutes or thereabouts every Sunday. It's a quarter to three - and still no word?
I get up right quick and hurry outside. In the kitchen there's the big pot Consuela uses for washin' on the stove, full of simmerin' water. Platters with sandwiches, covered with napkins, are waitin' on the table. I feel right ashamed. While I've been nappin' the day away, Miz Victoria's done my work for me.
I go lookin' and find the parlor empty, no one 'round, the sewin' baskets standin' forgotten. I go on to the back porch and Miss Audra's standin' at the corral, arms on the crossbar, waitin'. Then I hear a cry from inside, "Audra!" and Miz Victoria, she comes runnin' out, nimble as you will, and cries, "They're coming, oh Audra, they're back!" She must have been at the attic windows, lookin' for her sons.
Miss Audra whirls round and comes runnin'. "Oh mother, are they all right..."
They clasp hands and run 'round the house and now I hear them, too. They come at a clip, many horses, and not like they're leadin' dead weight. I follow mother and daughter to the front and there they are, jus' passin' the gates, eight riders and no one over their saddle. Thank Heaven!
They dismount and Ciego comes runnin', and another hand from the bunk house, to take the horses, and Miz Victoria's sheer flyin' into Mr. Jarrod's arms while Miss Audra hugs Mr. Eugene and then Mr. Nick and then Mr. Eugene again. And there he is, too. Mr. Tom's boy. Standin' aside, holdin' the bridle of his black pony and watchin' them.
"Jarrod, you're hurt!" cries Miz Victoria and now I see that he's wearin' his arm in a sling.
"It's nothing," he says, "just a graze. I've seen Doctor Merar."
Miz Victoria hugs Mr. Eugene and Mr. Nick and then she turns to the young man and takes both his hands.
"Thank you," she says, "I thank you with all my heart."
"Ma'am," he says, uncomfortable.
The hands are leadin' the horses away and the family goes into the house, when he turns to the stable, lookin' a little forlorn. But she comes back and takes his arm and calls for Ciego to take his pony and then she leads him into the house herself.
I hurry 'round and enter through the kitchen. They must be thirsty! Hungry! Starved, indeed! So, I prepare a good pitcher of lemonade, ice tinklin' its crystal walls, and put it and some glasses on a tray to bring into the parlor.
Miz Victoria's sittin' in one of them highbacked chairs and Miss Audra and Mr. Eugene are arm in arm on the settee. Mr. Jarrod stands behind his mother, a hand on her shoulder and Mr. Nick is over at the fireplace. The young man stands before them, hat in hand, facin' them all. His shoulders are very straight. I go 'round, servin' the lemonade and when I come to him first, 'cause he bein' a guest, I smile at him, hintin' I mean him no harm and take his hat, givin' him a glass full of lemonade instead. He empties it thirstily.
"How many, Jarrod?" asks Miz Victoria.
"Five of ours," says Mr. Jarrod. "Sample's dead -"
"Oh, poor Nettie!"
"- he was the first. And Curver, Blotts, Peterson. Cahill might not make it. And Harry."
"Sixteen from their side," says Mr. Nick, grimly content.
"I'm sorry it took us so long, Mother," says Mr. Jarrod, "but we couldn't leave for a while. We had to look after Nettie and the children, of course -"
"I'll see her tomorrow."
"And then we had to send for Doctor Merar and Mr. Beckett, someone had to take the... fallen away for burial. The families had to be informed. And the sheriff's office. One of Harry's deputies has taken over for now. And I filed for an injunction, so we should be safe for a while.
"And as you see, we've brought someone with us, who has fought on our side and helped us a great deal." He turns to the young man, who stands quietly, waitin'. Mr. Nick turns away.
"I don't believe I know your name," says Miz Victoria.
"Heath, ma'am," he says. "Leah Thomson's son."
He fiddles with his empty glass and I take it away, findin' him somewhat predisposed to breakin' things.
"The lemonade was lovely, Silas," says she, "but I believe we could all use something stronger now."
Mr. Nick heaves a grateful sigh. "I'll do it, Silas," he says, as I turn to the liquor table and comes over to pour the drinks.
"Perhaps you'd better fetch the sandwiches, Silas," she suggests, "and then we'll serve ourselves."
"Yes, Mrs. Barkley," I say and go to the kitchen again. I get the sandwiches and some plates and napkins and bring it all over.
"Sit down, Heath," says Mr. Jarrod, who has by now taken the other chair.
"I'll rather stand, if it's the same to you," he says. His voice is soft, his accent a mite on the rough side.
I put down the sandwich platters on the table and hand out plates and napkins. The young man, Heath, jus' shakes his head, as I offer him one. Then I retreat into the foyer, but stay 'round in case I'm needed. Oh well, perhaps I'm a bit curious, too.
"So, you are my husband's son," says Miz Victoria. I admire her composure. There ain't much that daunts this lady.
He swallows. "Yes, ma'am," he says.
Mr. Nick takes a deep breath.
"I believe you," she says simply.
"I'm sorry," he answers very softly.
"It's hardly your fault," she says. "But tell me what you had in mind, when you came here."
"Yeah," says Mr. Nick, "why the charade? If you're so convinced of your story, why didn't you come to the front door and state your claim?"
Heath glares at him. "'Cause I didn't mean to tell anybody. I just wanted to... see... what it's like." He looks 'round. "Everythin'... here."
"Ha!" says Mr. Nick.
"What changed your mind?" Mr. Jarrod asks friendly.
Heath glares at Mr. Nick some more. "He did."
Mr. Jarrod turns to his brother and raises his eyebrows.
"I beat it out of him," Mr. Nick admits.
The young man makes a sound like, "Hmph..." but says no more.
"So, if my brother here hadn't used his very special brand of... persuasion, you wouldn't have said anything?"
"Prob'ly not."
"You wanted to know us, but we couldn't know you?" asks Miss Audra softly.
He gives her a lopsided smile. "Somethin' like that, I s'pose."
"And after a while you would just have left again, like some wandering ranch hand - here today, gone tomorrow?" asks Mr. Eugene. "That's hard to believe."
"Hear, hear," said Mr. Nick.
Heath shrugs. "Look, I don't know, all right? I hadn't made up my mind. I just know that I wasn't aimin' at hurtin' anyone and I'm sorry that I have." He looks at Miz Victoria. "Ma'am."
"And what do you want now, Heath?" she asks gently. "Because I am certain that you are Tom's son and as his son you have a right to his heritage."
"Now wait a minute -" starts Mr. Nick, jumpin' up, but she raises her hand and stops him.
"Is it money, land, sponsorship - what?"
"I'm sure, we can find a mutually satisfying solution," says Mr. Jarrod.
"I don't take charity," Heath says through clenched teeth. "But I want a name. I have a right to the name. I want you to acknowledge that."
Mr. Nick snorts.
His mother pays him no attention, her gaze fixed on the young man in front of her. "So, you want to be a Barkley."
"Yeah."
"You want to live with us, work with us, be a family?"
"Wait a minute!" cries Mr. Nick.
She spears him with a glance and he sinks back into his chair.
"Live with you?" the young man asks dumbfounded. "I don't think that's..." he shakes his head, throwin' a quick glance at Mr. Nick.
"But that's what being a Barkley means, Heath," says Miz Victoria. "If it was just for the name, you could have called yourself Barkley any time. But being a Barkley instead of just being called by that name means being a family. Living and working together for a common goal, knowing each other. Standing together. As you did today with your brothers."
"Oh, no," says Mr. Nick.
"Nick!" Mr. Jarrod reprimands him sharply.
"So, will you stay? Give it a try? Give us a chance to get to know you? To know us for better or for worse?"
"Please do!" says Miss Audra.
"Yes," says Mr. Eugene, "I think I'd like that."
"I think it's worth a try," says Mr. Jarrod. "Come on, what do you have to lose? If the old bear here grates on your nerves, I think you're man enough to give him as good as you get." He grins.
Heath remains silent, deep in thought. At last he squares his shoulders and, lookin' at Mr. Nick, says, "If you all agree."
"Oh well," says Mr. Nick, disgusted. "But I want one thing clearly understood: This is a working ranch and I'm running it. When I say jump, you ask how high. Is that clear?"
Heath grins. "You're the boss," he says meekly.
But even from where I'm standin' I can see the twinkle in his eyes.
I leave for my kitchen, deeply content. This day so easily could have cost the family one or more of their sons, but instead it has won them another one.
I busy myself with gettin' supper and after a while Miz Victoria comes into the kitchen and asks me to help her ready a room for Mr. Heath who would be livin' with them from now on. She has decided on the guest room right next to hers and together we spread new bed linens and I bring towels and fill the pitcher on the wash stand.
Supper's a right quick affair - only bread and cheese, salad and cold cuts and such - and Mr. Heath excuses hisself and retires early after seein' to his pony.
The rest of the family stays up in the library far into the night and when I serve coffee, there's talk 'bout money and trusts and fair shares and legal matters.
I go to bed dead tired and when I wind up my silver watch afore dousin' the lamp I stroke the engravin' and murmur, "He's home now, Mr. Tom."
**********
When I come into the kitchen the next mornin' there's coffee brewin' on the stove and Mr. Heath sits at the table cup in hand. I musta looked right perplexed, for he stands up and mumbles, "Hope I'm not intrudin'."
"Not at all!" I say.
"Well then, I'm Heath," he says, strikin' out his hand.
"Right glad to meet you, Mr. Heath," I say, shakin' it.
"Thought I'd get a look 'round, get to know the grounds. And there's a bridge needs fixin'."
"Certainly," I say surprised, because not even Mr. Nick's up as yet. "Breakfast's at seven. You'll have two hours yet."
He gives me that funny half smile of his and says, "Well, reckon I'll see you then, Silas." With that he leaves for the stables.
He leaves me in a right good mood and I'm hummin' when I start makin' the dough for the rolls. And it's nice to have hot coffee fixed.
Half an hour later Mr. Nick comes jinglin' down the stairs, grabs a cup of coffee and runs out. There's a dark cloud hoverin' above him and he only growls at me when I say good mornin'.
Mr. Heath's still out when Mr. Nick returns and the family comes down for breakfast, and while I bring out platters with steaks and pancakes, Mr. Nick starts rantin' again how he can take Mr. Heath's story apart piece by piece and that he ain't willin' to pick up a brother jus' like that - snappin' his fingers - but Miz Victoria interrupts him, sayin' it has all been discussed yesterday until well into the night. Then she sends me out to get more linen - which is on the table in abundance - and so I hear only snatches of what he says.
I find Mr. Heath comin' in the kitchen door dryin' his face with his bandana, lookin' sweaty and rumpled, and I say, "Oh, you better get goin' Mr. Heath!"
"...son of a jackal's... filthy mitts..." Mr. Nick's voice thunders from the dinin' room. "...hoodlums... out of Frisco like locusts..."
"Hoodlums!" Mr. Heath says, raisin' an eyebrow.
"Yes, anyway, you really better get goin'!" I implore him nervously.
"...red-eyed washed-out losers... And let's make one thing very clear," yells Mr. Nick, "This is a..."
"...workin' ranch!" Mr. Heath choruses.
"And that means up in the morning, every morning, at five o'clock with the rest of the crowd, and sweat! Just let him come to me just one time with a dry shirt on his back!" Mr. Nick shouts from the dining room up the stairs - believin' Mr. Heath is still lying abed. Oh my!
Mr. Heath looks down his shirt that really can't be said to be particularly dry or even clean, finds nothin' to complain 'bout, shrugs and goes into the dinin' room, sayin', "I was fixin' a fence and I had a patch of mesquite to clear that was just beggin' for fire. And that's bridge's gonna be fixed before my Modoc breaks a leg which I don't cotton to happen."
"Where the devil you been?" Mr. Nick asks, taken aback.
"Hm, start with the bridge or the mesquite. Take your choice," Mr. Heath says friendly-like and sits down, crammin' his napkin into his shirt collar.
We'll have to see to that.
Then, as if there wasn't platters and platters of them, both brothers happens to spear the same steak. Glowerin' at each other like hungry wolves over a deer they sit, until Miss Audra starts gigglin' and Mr. Jarrod - always the mediator - cuts it in two. When I bring in the coffee, Miz Victoria's sayin' the blessin' and, even if silent, I join her from the bottom of my heart.
**********
After breakfast, Mr. Nick, Heath and Eugene leave for a day's hard labor on the ranch and Mr. Jarrod for his office in Stockton. Miz Victoria lets Ciego hitch up her buggy and she and Miss Audra go visitin' with Mrs. Sample who has jus' lost her husband, the poor soul.
And I go 'bout my daily chores, startin' with the bedrooms. Mr. Heath's bed's neatly made and there's absolutely no washin' to pick up. I put the vest I've found the other day gently on his bed. Guess he might still need it. Then I dust and mop and then start makin' lunch for Miz Victoria and Miss Audra when they're back.
In the afternoon Miss Audra joins me in the kitchen while Miz Victoria's nappin' and she's hummin'. "Oh, Silas," she says, "I feel real bad for being so happy, with poor Mr. Sample dead and all, but I just can't help it. And as a special treat, to celebrate Heath's arrival here, I'm going to try the creme brulée again tonight!"