Chapter 160
"S, Seor," Pepe said. "The boy, he came here to the barn. After we feed Chester, I tied the gelding outside. The boy, he groom the horse where I can watch the house too. Miss Stanton feed the chickens and the pigs and work in the garden. Then she call the boy back inside for more lessons. The dog's been quiet till now."
Ant straightened. "Thank you, Pepe. You've done well."
The young man drew to his full, although short, height. A proud smile crossed his round, dark face. "You want I watch this night again?"
Ant almost dismissed the man, thinking he'd be able to protect the house by himself. But what about the barn? He wouldn't put it past Lewis to steal Chester. Shadow wouldn't let the man near him, but Chester might. And a bullet would take care of Shadow. The thought sickened him.
"I'd be obliged if you'd sleep in the barn tonight. Protect the livestock."
"S, Seor. I will be here tonight."
"I'll bring some food out for you."
"Gracias, Seor." Pepe indicated a straw bale he'd hauled next to the entrance of the barn. The dusky shadows would hide his watchful figure.
Ant touched his hat in an acknowledgment.
Pepe propped the shotgun against the bale and collected Shadow's reins. "I take care of him, Seor. You go inside."
Too tired to argue, Ant thanked the man. He took his rifle, turned, and trudged toward the house, his back to the setting sun, thinking about what to do about Lewis. The pup followed him.
As the search had dragged on today, Ant had realized he'd made a mistake by planting himself in Sweet.w.a.ter Springs. Now with his fortunes tied to the town, he couldn't just pluck David from his surroundings and escape. He couldn't leave Harriet vulnerable. Lewis might punish her for getting in his way, for taking David, for siding with Ant. He didn't need another woman's death on his conscience.
Harriet will just have to marry me. I'll take her and David to Europe. Lewis won't follow us there. I know she loves another, but he's roped and tied. She'll be safe with me. With so much of my capital invested here, we'll be on tight rations but everyone will be safe. That's what's important.
As his boots clunked on the steps of the cabin, he prepared himself for the argument. Can't just launch into asking her to marry me. She doesn't know Lewis is still alive. We will have to discuss everything after David's gone to bed.
Ant took off his hat and rubbed his arm over his face. How can I be so exhausted, yet so wound up? He knew the answer. He'd experienced enough dangerous times when pursuing news stories. But I didn't care about the people around me, only about the story. Now he cared. Cared deeply.
Ant opened the door and stepped inside. He hung the rifle on the rack next to the door. The pup sniffed his boots before trying to gnaw on the toe of one. He did a fancy shuffle to save the boot, unbuckled his gun belt, and hung it on a hook underneath the rack holding the rifle.
Harriet's voice echoed from the kitchen. The cadence sounded as if she was reading out loud. The words seemed familiar.
With a flash of recognition, Ant realized that he was hearing one of Emily's poems. Anger burst within him, ancient and bitter. Without stopping to think, he strode through the house and into the kitchen.
Harriet had discovered a book of poetry on the bookshelf. It stood next to Ant's other books that looked as well-worn as hers. Delighted, she'd paged through the book, stopping here and there to read a poem. She sighed with envy. These are much better than mine. She turned the book over, looking for the author. Emily March. Isn't Emily the name of Ant's sister?
Harriet had found David in the kitchen, hunched over the table in the dwindling shaft of sunlight from the window, brow furrowed with concentration, writing out his numbers. She held the book out to him. "Do you recognize this?"
He looked up, eyed the book and shook his head.
"The poems are by Emily March."
His eyes widened.
"Your mother?"
He nodded, looking fearful and scrunching down in his chair.
She pulled up a chair next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. "Nothing to be afraid about, David. Let's try reading them and see what happens."
Harriet opened up the book, turning the pages until she came to one with a bookmark. She glanced at it, noting that the poem seemed different from the other work, not of the same caliber. More like a ditty really, about a boy playing with his boat. "David, I think this is for you." She read the verses out loud, enjoying the catchy refrain: Sail away down the pond, little boat.
How I love watching as you float.
Then you tack round about to me, Returning even though you are free.
David sat up straighter, a dawning expression of recognition on his face. His brown eyes, usually so somber, sparked to life. Halfway through, David mouthed the words with her. By the end, he croaked a word aloud.
"David, you talked!" Filled with excitement, Harriet leaned over and hugged him. "You do remember this poem. Oh, David. I'm so pleased. I think your mother wrote this about you, didn't she?"
He nodded.
"Let's do it again. I'll read a line, and you
Slowly they worked their way through the poem. David's voice sounded low and rusty, his speech hesitant. But they were spoken words, nevertheless. Each one chimed a musical note in her heart.
When they finished, Harriet had to restrain herself from dancing around the room. Instead, she smoothed back his hair. "Well done, David. How does it feel to talk again?"
He gave her a faint smile and a shrug before ducking his head.
Harriet laughed. "Looks as if you're still going to keep most of your words to yourself for a while. I can hardly wait to tell your Uncle Ant. Better yet, you tell him. Imagine how happy he'll be. Think you can do that?" She tapped the open page of the book. "Let's test your memory. I'll read a whole verse, and you repeat it after me."
"Alright," he whispered.
She read the first verse. Her foot tapped to the cadence of the lines.
Rapid footsteps banged across on the wooden floor of the other room. Ant appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, his face like a thundercloud about to shoot lightning bolts at her.
Harriet had never seen him looking that way. Fear tightened her stomach. "Ant, what is it?"
David slid down his chair and scooted under the table.
Ant didn't answer. Instead, he strode over and grabbed the book out of her hands. He stomped to the stove, opened the door, thrust the book inside, and then slammed it shut.
"Ant," she protested, feeling her heart thumping rapidly. "What in the world?"
"What do you think you're doing?" His voice was rough with anger.
Reading? Bewildered, Harriet struggled to grasp what he was so upset about. "You mean something written by his mother?"
"I mean poetry."
"Poetry?" she echoed.
"A man has no business learning that kind of nonsense."
She shoved to her feet, placing her hands on her hips and squaring off to him. "Nonsense! Poetry is one of the highest forms of literature."
"You're going to turn him into a sissy."
David crawled out from under the table, slipped behind his uncle, and continued out the door. Good. He shouldn't be exposed to this.
"I've never heard such a ridiculous accusation. Through the ages, men were the ones who wrote poetry. Think of the psalms written by David--a warrior king. Knights who wrote chivalrous poems to their lady loves. Nothing sissy about them."
Ant opened his mouth to argue, but Harriet rolled right over him, not letting him get a word in edgewise. "Very few women have achieved recognition from their poetry. Emily d.i.c.kenson is an exception. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I haven't seen many of your sister's poems, but those I've read are laudable. You should be proud of her, not acting like a mad man. Storming in here, destroying a precious book, frightening David."
"We'll talk about this later. Right now there's something more important." He slashed his hand through the air, cutting off the topic.
"More important than frightening your nephew, undoing all the work we've done to make him feel safe?"
Ant took off his hat and set it on the table. He ran his fingers through his hair, sighed. "He's not safe, Harriet," he said, sounding tired. "Neither are you. Mack told me last night that someone stole David's mule."
Harriet's mind fumbled to keep up with him.
" I think Lewis might still be alive. And if that's the case, David's in danger...we're all in danger."
Harriet felt as if Ant had yanked the rug out from under her. "You didn't tell me?"
"You were asleep while I was taking to Mack and barely woke up to get yourself into the house. I left Pepe here to keep watch until I returned."
Harriet's anger didn't abate. She wanted to shake the man. "You could have written the information to me in the note you left. I'm not a child, Ant. Yet, you keep treating me like I'm one with your secrecy about Lewis."
"Let me explain."
She ignored him. "You certainly have turned into a despot. My eyes are open to your character."
"Harriet," Ant grabbed her wrists.
She tried to wrench herself away, but might as well fight a mountain.
"If we don't find Lewis, we'll never be safe here. We'll always be looking over our shoulder. We need to leave."
"I'm not going anywhere. I teach here."
"Marry me. You won't have to work. You and David and I will go to Europe. Lewis will never find us there."
"Marry you." She gaped at him. "Anthony Gordon, I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man in Montana!"
"I know you love Sanders, and I'm not asking for an intimate relations.h.i.+p, just--"
You know I love Nick? Harriet jerked her arms back. When he didn't release her wrists, she kicked him in the s.h.i.+ns. "Let go of me, you oaf!"
He opened his fingers, stepping back and holding up his hands. "Just hear me out, Harriet."
"How did you know about Nick?" she snapped.
"I saw the way you look at him, Harriet. Like a lovesick puppy."
Humiliation lodged in her stomach, sending waves of heat through her body. Harriet put her hands to her burning cheeks. "You're perceptive," she said in a bitter tone.
"It's common knowledge."
"No. No one knows. I...I never told..."
"People figured it out anyway."
Dismayed, she whispered. "It can't be."
A look of pity crossed Ant's face, and he stepped forward. "Yes, they know, my dear. I'm not certain about Elizabeth, but Sanders surely does. It was mentioned in his presence at the meeting with the town leaders. He didn't look surprised." Ant gently grasped her shoulders. "Now, will you hear me out?"
Anger twined with the shame. Harriet pushed him away, but he didn't budge. "I have nothing to say to you, Anthony Gordon. Not another word! Do you hear me?" She put all her schoolteacher authority in her voice.
He stepped back and let her pa.s.s. "We'll talk later."
"We most certainly shall! But for now, I'm going to find David. Hopefully, you haven't rendered him permanently mute!"
Harriet marched across the room and out the door. On the porch, she could see the sun heading toward the horizon. She scanned the area for David and caught a glimpse of him at the edge of the trees that led to the stream. He was probably headed for the pool they'd discovered yesterday. She hurried after him. I'll have to catch him... rea.s.sure him he's safe.
Like a locomotive, Harriet steamed out of the house, leaving Ant with all his persuasive words still unsaid. Might as well try to stop a train.
Ant followed Harriet to the porch, feeling an odd sense of helplessness. He watched her head to the stream and figured he'd better let her cool down before going after her, although he'd keep her in sight. If he caught up with her while her anger was still in full boil, he'd have a wildcat on his hands. Her head start wouldn't matter. With his longer legs, he'd be able to overtake her soon enough.
He paced back and forth across the porch, careful not to trip over the puppy, who decided to shadow him.
In front of the barn, Pepe rose from the straw bale and took a few steps toward the house.
"Stay there and watch the house and the horses," Ant called to him.
Pepe waved his understanding.
Ant scooped up the puppy, who licked his chin. Petting the dog seemed to help soothe him, yet it took a while for him to calm his smoldering emotions. The intensity and heat of his reaction alerted him that something was wrong--something far greater than a book of poems.
Ant knew he wasn't a man given to hot anger and hasty words. His wrath tended to burn cold and quiet, a characteristic that had served him well in the long hunt for his brother-in-law. This reaction wasn't like him.
Ant began to pace again, all the while keeping an eye on Harriet who continued her trek to the river, her back ramrod straight. Why did I get so furious with Harriet?
I was tired and on edge already. Easily set off. But he'd been exhausted and edgy and in danger many times before without exploding at anyone. Why Harriet? Why now? Why poetry?
He'd blown up at Harriet for reading Emily's poems, yet he was the one who'd carried the book in the bottom of his saddlebag for two years. Ant had known of Harriet's love of books and poetry. It was inevitable that she'd find the book and read it.
A long-forgotten recollection surfaced--his stepfather s.n.a.t.c.hing a paper out of his hand, reading it, and then tearing it up, before taking a whip to him. "A man doesn't write poetry," he shouted with each blow. "Only sissies write poems." Ant's back tingled from the memory.
Deliberately forgotten childhood memories flooded his mind. After that experience, Ant had never written another poem, although he hadn't lost his love for writing. He turned to journalism instead, a more manly and rational form of writing. The beatings lessened, but didn't stop.