Home by Morning Read online

  “Something on your mind, Pop?”

  “Twenty-seven of our best going overseas. They’re beautiful, strong horses, every one of ’em,” Pop said, glancing back at the railcars. There was a wistful echo of regret in his rusty voice. “I sure as hell hope someone takes good care of them.”

  Cole gave him a searching gaze. “Yeah, so do I.” It was the first time he’d heard his father express concern for the animals that they were sending to Europe. “Men make war on each other. Animals never ask to get involved. Hell, most people don’t ask to get involved.”

  As if deciding that he’d shown an unmanly tenderhearted side, Pop drew himself up as straight as his arthritic back would allow, and the moment was gone. “Well, never mind that soppy stuff. War is men’s business and men do what has to be done without a lot of whining. No matter what.”

  The gibe was not lost on Cole, but he decided not to rise to the bait. It was the kind of response he’d learned to expect from his father long ago.

  They passed very few people on the sidewalks as they rode through town. Powell Springs was just a scarecrow flapping in the breeze, a spavined shadow of its former self, hiding from a predator it couldn’t see. The only person standing between it and total disaster was Jessica, fine, strong, passionate Jess, who wouldn’t let anything get in the way of her cause to care for the people here. Not Adam. Not Amy. Not even her feelings for Cole.

  The three men walked into the smoky confines of Tilly’s, thirsty and with spurs ringing. It didn’t seem to matter what catastrophes or current events rocked the world. The saloon was a constant with its stuffed elk heads and oil paintings, and the proprietor with a towel slung over his shoulder. Only the Olympia Beer calendar changed annually, and the wall posters occasionally, depending upon who occupied the White House in Washington in any given year.

  Cole ordered a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, while Tanner and Pop settled at a table. The place was fairly quiet this afternoon; only Bert Bauer and Elvin Fowler were there. Elvin’s crutches were propped against the table where he sat. Cole wasn’t sure how he had managed to make it into town, although he’d heard that he was becoming one of Tilly’s best customers. Poor bastard, Cole thought. He could understand why the man would take up drinking.

  He noticed that Tanner stiffened when he saw Bauer, but it didn’t surprise him. That grave robber had enough disreputable character traits to offend just about anyone. Cole passed the glasses around the table and poured a shot into each.

  “Hey, Shaw,” Tilly called from behind the bar. “You’re exactly the man we need to settle a bet we’ve got going here.”

  “Yeah? What kind of bet?”

  “We’re trying to decide which is smarter, a pig or a horse. I say a horse, but Elvin is voting for the pig, and so is Bert.”

  “He would,” Tanner muttered under his breath.

  “Hell, boys, it’s not even a contest. Everyone knows a horse is smarter than a pig!” Pop declared.

  “I knew a man who had a hunting pig, once,” Elvin said. “That hog could flush out game as good as any pointer. It’s their sense of smell.”

  “I saw one trained at a county fair to choose cards from a deck,” Bauer chimed in. “It got the right card every damned time. Show me a horse that can do that.” He signaled Tilly for another beer.

  “Well, those pigs aren’t going to get you home on a moonless night when you’re too drunk to find your ass with both hands. A horse always knows his way back. If you break your leg out on the range, no pig is going to give you a ride to help.”

  “I saw a chicken once that could play a little tiny piano with its beak, and—”

  “Damn it, Elvin, we ain’t talking about chickens, here. We’re talking about pigs and smart horses.”

  The ridiculous debate began to heat up, and Cole knew Pop was in his element. Everyone had a story to tell, an example to cite. Even Tanner got involved, and he tended to be a quiet man who kept to himself. Cole shut out the braying voices and thought of Jessica, beautiful and fired with passion, lying in his arms.

  Tomorrow he would visit Amy at the hospital. Not because he wanted to, particularly, but because he knew he had to. And while he was at it, he’d see for himself her progress. Right now, he tried not to think of the rotten trick she had pulled on them. But it made him wonder if he’d ever really known her at all. Given what he’d learned, he thought she’d be best suited for a snake like Jacobsen. They both pretended to be something they weren’t. He drank half of his shot and sat back in the chair to let the tension ease out of his back.

  The various merits of pigs and horses were discussed for an hour or so. Lost in his own thoughts, Cole let the conversation flow around him like river water. When he bothered to listen again, he noticed it had switched to baldness.

  “Did you ever see a bald Indian?” Pop asked, putting his elbow on the table. “Did you boys ever see a bald Indian?” he repeated to Cole and Tanner. “Nossir! And do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Because they don’t wash their hair. Those chiefs, they’re on to something. If you don’t want to go bald, don’t wash your hair!”

  “I don’t know, Shaw, that doesn’t sound right,” Tilly said, flipping his bar towel over his shoulder.

  Pop poured another drink and thumped his fist on the table. “Sitting Bull, now there’s a good example. They shot him dead but he died with every hair in his braids.”

  Cole laughed, slapped the table, and shook his head. “That’s just a lot of foolishness.”

  Pop got bristly. “What? You don’t believe me? You just take yourself on down to the library and have a look at his photograph hanging there on the wall. Do you think Buffalo Bill would put a Indian in his show that didn’t have hair?”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Cole said.

  “I’ve seen that picture,” Tanner put in. “He does have braids.”

  Cole laughed again at the absurdity of the whole thing.

  “You’re damned right, he does,” Pop agreed. “That Bill Cody was a first-rate showman, with Annie Oakley and all.”

  “Yeah, you tried this trick at home and Susannah got after you for turning the pillowcases gray with your dirty hair. Then she made you scrub your head until it was pink.”

  Pop scowled. “It’s a wonder I have a hair left on my noggin after that.”

  “You’ve got plenty.”

  “Well, women wash their hair and they don’t seem to go bald,” Elvin pointed out.

  “No, and some of them wash it twice a week,” Bauer added. “Or even more.”

  The door to the saloon opened, letting in a gust of damp air and, Cole hoped, a change in this stupid conversation. But when he looked up, he saw Susannah standing there. She still wore her riding skirt and work gloves.

  Elvin nodded. “Maybe washing doesn’t have anything to do—” Noticing her, he broke off, and no one else said another word.

  Two women in Tilly’s in as many months. It was unheard of.

  But Cole stood, knocking over his chair. Something was wrong. Wrong in every possible way. An inexplicable shiver raced through him, raising every hair on his body. Across the table, Tanner stood up too, suddenly as tense as a spring.

  Cole had eyes only for Susannah’s chalk-white face. He crossed the few feet separating them. “What’s wrong?”

  She looked at him as if someone had struck her from behind, a surprise attack that she hadn’t yet figured out. Her mouth worked, but no words came out.

  “Susannah!” He reached over and gripped her wrist.

  Finally, she thrust a crumpled piece of paper at him. With some hesitation, he took it from her and smoothed it out.

  It was a telegram. Oh, God, he thought, telegrams had never brought him good news. Never. He read the words twice, then read them again.

  MRS SUSANNAH BRADDOCK

  RTE 3

  Powell Springs ORE

  DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT SERGEANT RILEY BRADDOCK INFANTRY IS OFFICIALLY REPORTED K
ILLED IN ACTION OCTOBER 11 M MORRIS ACTING ADJUTANT GENERAL

  Cole turned the page over, as if there might some better explanation of the message on the reverse, some proof that it was only a cruel, terrible hoax. But he found nothing.

  “Oh, Jesus.” Cole’s throat was as tight and dry as an old leather glove. His eyes burned as he stared down at the impersonal words printed by the telegrapher. “Jesus Christ.”

  “Where are the boys?” Tanner asked, and glanced in Bauer’s direction.

  “At home.” Susannah’s voice was only a croak. She dropped her head so that the mist on her hair looked like tiny glass beads in the gaslight of the saloon. A choking sob was fighting its way up from her chest.

  “Well, what’s going on now?” Pop asked. “They didn’t give you a hard time at the depot, did they?” Cole looked at his father, who watched them, puzzled and still safe for a moment in his ignorance.

  Feeling as stiff and lifeless as a mechanical penny bank, Cole put his arm around Susannah and motioned the rest of their group outside. “We have to go. Right now.” His brusque tone left no room for argument.

  War is men’s business and men do what has to be done.

  Irrelevantly, he wondered if Pop’s blowhard philosophy would still be the same when he learned that his oldest son had died on a battlefield in France.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Word of Riley Braddock’s death spread over Powell Springs like the dark wings of an eerie, moonless night. Whispered from neighbor to neighbor, through back doors and screened-in porches, it moved along the telephone wire, despite the epidemic that still had most of the town on its knees. The Powell Springs Star ran Riley’s obituary on the front page. He was the third soldier from Powell Springs to die, although Eddie Cookson, killed by a different enemy, had never gotten out of the Pacific Northwest.

  Jessica was checking the inventory of clean linens in a maple breakfront that served as a supply cabinet when Cole walked into the infirmary. She’d already heard the dreadful news about Riley and, not knowing what else to do under the circumstances, had sent an immediate, heartfelt note of sympathy to the Braddock farm.

  When she turned and saw him standing beside her desk watching her like a sleepwalker, his pallor, two-day beard, and sunken, bloodshot eyes frightened her. She hurried to speak to him.

  “Cole,” she said quietly, reaching for his hands.

  He said nothing but put his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder for just a moment. She felt him sigh, and it seemed as if the sorrow of the world was behind it. People nearby gaped and then looked away. Her own heart aching, she hugged him.

  Finally he straightened. “How is Amy?”

  “She’s much better than I ever expected. In fact, I’m planning to release her tomorrow to Mrs. Donaldson.”

  “Does she know about Ri—my brother?” He couldn’t seem to get the name out.

  “Yes. Everyone has heard. But how are you?”

  “I’m—it’s not easy for any of us. Susannah hasn’t slept in her bed for two nights, not since we got the telegram. She just sits by a window in the parlor, like she’s looking for him to come down the road. She cooks, and I help, but none of us is really hungry. We’re all having a hard time.”

  She motioned him into a chair beside her desk and sat down in her own. “I don’t suppose you can bring Riley home?” She thought it was unlikely—France was filled with acres and acres of graves.

  He shook his head, and he spoke to his knees, not lifting his eyes to hers. “I talked to Horace Cookson. He knows a couple of people in Washington, DC. They’re burying the men as soon as possible and pretty close to where they fell. And the horses.” His voice faltered, and he swallowed, then looked at her. “God, they’re burying the horses…”

  “Cole,” she whispered, “shouldn’t you be at home? Do you need a doctor for anyone? Your father? You could have sent a message—I’d have found someone to give me a ride to your place.”

  “No, I’m not here for a doctor.” He straightened and appeared to recover from his daze. “I have to talk to Amy.”

  She covered his hand with hers. “Oh, but she understands why you can’t visit.”

  He shook his head and stood up to walk down the sheet-draped aisle where Amy’s bed was located. Jess followed, her hands laced tightly together, worry making chills fly down her spine.

  Cole rounded into Amy’s cubicle and found her sitting up, reading a book. She looked much better than she had when he’d first brought her in. She wore a modest bed jacket and her hair had been braided into two neat plaits, like a young girl’s. And except for a slight thinness in her cheeks, she seemed well.

  “Cole, oh Cole!” she exclaimed happily. “I’m so glad to see you! But I’m terribly sorry about Riley. It’s such a tragedy.” She turned her cheek for him to kiss. He ignored the invitation.

  He sat down on the stool beside Amy’s bed. His head throbbed from the whiskey he’d consumed over the past couple of days, but he was sober now. And determined. “Hi Amy. You’re feeling better?”

  She put a scrap of paper in the book on her lap to mark her place. “Oh, yes! I’m sorry I scared everyone. Jessica said I was fairly ill for a while. I walked once around the gym this morning. I was a little shaky when I finished, but I’m working to get my strength back.”

  “Good.”

  “Jessica said I can go home tomorrow. To Mrs. Donaldson’s, anyway. We’ll wait until, well, an appropriate amount of time has passed.” She followed this broad hint with a sympathetic smile.

  “That’s fine. You’ll be able to get on with the rest of your life, whatever you decide to do with it.”

  “What?” She gave him a puzzled look that reminded Cole of the way Roscoe looked when the dog was trying to understand him.

  But he was satisfied that she had recovered enough to listen to him. He reached into his shirt pocket and once again pulled out the telegram that Jess had received with his name signed to it. He had whisked it off her table the same night he’d told her who’d really sent it. He also took out the affidavit that Leroy had written. “I have something to show you.”

  Amy’s expression didn’t alter. “Oh, Cole, you poor dear. I know how horrible this must be for you, for everyone.” Fair or not, he couldn’t believe anything she said now, no matter how sincere she might sound. “But really, you don’t need to go through the pain of showing me the telegram about Riley.”

  He unfolded the message and held it up so she could see it. “It’s not about my brother. This is the telegram that Jessica got from me a year ago. Supposedly from me. I didn’t send it.”

  Her delicate brows drew together and she folded her hands on her book. “I don’t understand.”

  “Uh-huh. Maybe this will help. This,” he went on, unfolding the telegrapher’s note, “is a statement written by Leroy Fenton that tells who gave him the message to send.” He held the pages up to her.

  She took them from him and read both. Muscles in her face twitched, and she wouldn’t look at him. “You don’t believe this, do you?”

  He wasn’t about to go through another song and dance regarding her snow-white innocence and pure heart. He’d already heard all that from Jessica, before he’d convinced her of the truth. He leaned closer and put his elbows on his knees, forcing her to look at him. In a low, controlled voice he said, “Amy, I’m not going to marry you. I don’t love you.” She stared at him with her mouth open and eyes wide. “I have always loved Jessica, and you pulled a low-down, underhanded trick on us both. You tried to separate us, and I accept my share of the blame—I never should have started courting you. I wish I had been stronger than that, and because I wasn’t, I owe you an apology. But it was only by the thinnest good luck that I learned about your scheme before it was too late. My brother’s death showed me that our time on this earth is too damned short to waste on bad decisions. You’re free to live your life, but you won’t be living it with me.”

  He snapped the papers from Amy
’s hands, stood up, and walked away. He came abreast of Jessica, who waited nearby, her face unreadable. Kissing her cheek, he said, “I’ll talk to you in a day or so.”

  Granny Mae, passing them with an armload of towels, gave them a steady look but said nothing.

  A high-pitched shriek came from Amy’s cubicle. “C-o-l-l-l-le! Come back here!” Every conscious pair of eyes within range turned to stare at him. But he kept walking.

  He pushed through the doors and went outside, where Sage waited patiently, tied to the hitching rail. Despite losing Riley, and regardless of all that had happened, a curious feeling of freedom lifted part of the weight from his shoulders. Swinging a leg over his horse, he turned for home.

  Inside, Jessica walked to her sister’s bed. Now that Cole had confronted her, she felt she should face her as well. She found Amy with one foot on the floor, preparing to rise.

  “I think you’d better stay put a while longer.”

  Unable to argue, Amy fell back, panting from the exertion, but weak enmity narrowed her eyes as she considered Jess. It reminded Jessica of their last hostile meeting in her office, when Amy’s influenza had just begun taking hold. Her face was blotchy and wet with angry tears. Jessica almost expected to see her begin gnashing her teeth at her. “You…you must be thrilled. You got your way again, Jessica. I hope you’re happy.”

  Jessica sat on the stool Cole had recently occupied and crossed her arms. “I’m not happy at all. I discovered that my sister, my only flesh and blood in the world, deceived and hurt me. When Cole first told me about what you’d done, I refused to believe it. It seemed impossible that the girl I’d grown up with, the sister I’d worried about and sent money to every month while I was gone, could be so disloyal to me. I would have even paid for your wedding.” Her words dripped with irony. “I’d ask you why you did it, but I don’t think anything you could say now will help.”