Beneath The Texas Sky (3 page)

“Oh, your brother is a worrier.” Mike grunted and moved to the bed. “The roundup doesn’t sound near as much fun as being here. I’d give these robes to know who’s the boss of this operation.” He flopped unceremoniously onto the bedcovers and stretched out with his hands locked behind his head. The bed bounced slowly to a creaky halt beneath his weight.

Josh shook his head in mock irritation as he slapped at Michael’s mud-covered boots. “I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight, but should I have the chance, a clean bed would be nice.”

Mike crossed his boots, disinterested in Josh’s penchant for neatness. “I’d sure think twice before closing my eyes in this place. I wouldn’t be surprised if our host, Wilbur Brewer, is the boss himself.”

Josh shook his head. “No way—he hasn’t got the brains.” He looked at the yellowed ceiling. “Speaking of Wilbur, I’ve got some bad news. He wants me to take his wife, daughter, and niece out of here with me tomorrow.
Seems he’s heard some stories about a few of his business partners and doesn’t want his womenfolk around.”

“What?” Mike yelled and sat up. “Hellfire and brimstone, Josh! We can’t have three women with us. The riding’s hard and fast once we hit open country.”

Josh nodded. “I know, I know. But he threatened to blow my cover. I’m not real fond of being shot.”

Mike’s face brightened. “Let’s leave tonight and avoid him. I can be ready in an hour.”

“No,” Josh answered flatly. “We can take them as far as Ben’s ranch. He can see they get a stage from there. I gave my word to his niece and I aim to keep it.”

“I don’t know. It’s dangerous travelin’ with women right now. More white people have been murdered by Indians in Texas in the last year than I figure were killed all together before. It’s bad enough dying, but what those savages do to the womenfolk ain’t fit to talk about in hell.”

“I’ve made up my mind, Mike,” Josh stated. “I’ll meet you out back at six tomorrow morning.”

“All right, ain’t no use arguing with you, I can see that. You’re probably the stubbornest man in Texas, next to your brother. Must be somethin’ in the Weston bloodline.” Mike rose from the bed, not bothering to straighten the covers. “I’ll go collect my gear and get a few hours’ sleep. You brought me a horse, didn’t you? It might look funny for a priest to be caught stealing one.”

“Sure, I brought one,” Josh answered as he unlocked the door. “But I still need to buy another for one of the ladies.”

“Well, good luck. I hear there ain’t a horse for sale for twenty miles,” Mike added as he touched the doorknob. “I’ll see you at six, my son.” Without another word Mike pulled his hood low and vanished from the room.
Josh waited a few minutes before blowing out the candle and disappearing out the same door.

Though it was not yet ten o’clock, the town already rested sleepily under low, brooding clouds. Spring was an unpredictable, sometimes treacherous time in Texas. Josh walked across the street toward the stables with the casual grace of a powerful animal. Most people had already retired for the evening. Many of the stores were boarded up and abandoned. The war had crippled more than just men; many businesses folded when Confederate money became worthless. Without federal troops, and with most young men gone to war, the wild, nomadic Indians had enjoyed a field day attacking poorly defended settlements. The once wide frontier line retreated east and south, allowing survivors to nurse their wounds and plead for federal troops to reopen forts from the Red River to the Rio Grande.

Josh felt an itchiness deep within himself to leave and avoid not only nature’s coming storm but the human one as well. When Wilbur’s friends hit town, the small, sleeping settlement would feel it like sandcastles after a wave. If his brother Ben was right, the men meeting here were planning to control the cattle industry in Texas. If so, all the state might feel the ripple if these men weren’t stopped somehow.

Josh looked about him, searching each shadowed corner for movement, but the streets were sleeping. San Antonio had suffered many times and always seemed to be able to rebuild. Great men may have died here, like Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, but the townspeople, like ants after a windstorm, rebuilt their homes with unlimited diligence. These nameless settlers were the ones who would eventually tame this wild land, not with guns, but with hammers and plows.

It seemed as if all his life Josh had been riding into troubled weather. If it weren’t Indian raids or Mexican bandits crossing the border, there were always a few men like Wilbur Brewer out to make quick money at others’ expense. Josh was bone-tired. The war had knocked all the fight out of him, and now he longed to settle down in peace. He removed his hat and shook his hair in the wind. Peace had never seemed farther away to him than it did at this moment.

Josh stepped cautiously into the darkened stable. Except for a filthy stable boy curled asleep in an empty stall, the barn was deserted. Josh nudged the boy lightly with his boot. “Hey, kid, wake up.”

The boy rolled over and rubbed his eyes with dirty fists. “Yeah, whata you want?” He thrashed amid the straw to his feet as if he could, in his small way, defend the stable.

“I need to buy a couple of horses, tonight,” Josh answered, wishing he had a washtub handy to throw the boy into. The kid smelled more like a horse than a boy.

“What’s wrong with them two you rode in with awhile ago?” the boy asked.

“Nothing, I just need another for a friend. One that’s gentle, if you’ve got one, and another for supplies. About dawn I’ll want my extra saddle put on the horse I led in.”

The filth-covered child shook his head. “I can saddle your horses, but I ain’t got any for sale. Fact is, the only horses I got in this place besides yours and my own nag are three that belong to the hotel keeper. He already told me he’ll be usin’ two of ’em tomorrow.”

Josh thought for a minute. “Saddle all three of his. I’ll make arrangements with the hotel owner.” If they traveled light, they could make do without a packhorse. He knew Wilbur would plan to keep the third horse here in case he needed it. Well, Wilbur would find himself
afoot after tomorrow. He couldn’t accuse his own niece of being a horse thief.

The boy straightened to his full five-foot height. “I’ll have ’em ready at five, mister, but there be one question,” the kid asserted.

“What is it?” Josh asked, fishing in his pocket for a coin to give the lad.

“I’d like to trail along with you.” The boy stood tall. “My family’s all gone, and I’d just as soon not be in town when trouble blows in. I’ve been watching the past few days, and something’s gettin’ ready to happen.”

“Sorry, son,” Josh answered, feeling regretful about the kid. “You’ll be better off here than with me.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, mister, but my best chances are with you.” The kid slung his brown hair out of his eyes. “And that priest,” he added with a glint of intelligence in his light brown eyes.

“What makes you think I have anything to do with a priest?” Josh tilted his head in interest. If this boy had put him and Mike together, who else would have?

“Simple, mister.” The kid scratched his dirty hair. “I seen him go over to the hotel an hour or so ago, and I know you’re the only stranger in town stayin’ there. The fat old toad who runs the place has never been the religious sort.”

“You’re a smart kid. Why do you want to travel with me?” Josh smiled at the dirty suntanned face. Nature had been monotonous in his coloring, for face, eyes, and hair were all a sandy brown. Josh wondered, if clean, the boy’s hair might have golden lines as did his eyes when they turned to the light.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” The kid smiled slyly. “My brother was a Ranger. He showed me somethin’ once.” The kid moved to where Josh had stacked his two-saddles. He slipped his first two fingers between the leather of the saddle on the right side. Slowly he drew out a
silver badge, the emblem of the Texas Rangers. The metal shone brightly between the boy’s muddy fingers. “My brother told me if a Ranger wants to travel unnoticed he slides his badge in here. He said all Rangers do this from time to time, but nobody else knows this hidin’ place. He only told me because he knew I would be a Ranger as soon as I got big enough.” The boy seemed certain of his ambition.

Josh smiled easily. “What makes you think you have any proof? Maybe I bought the saddle or stole it.”

“Maybe you did, mister.” The boy seemed to already have thought of that angle. “Or maybe you, or that priest, is really a Ranger. You both got beards, and I ain’t seen many Rangers without beards. I figure I’ll take my chances. If I don’t cotton to riding with you, I can always take out on my own. I know the country as well as any man.”

“How old are you?” Josh asked, wondering how many years this child thought it took to make a man.

“Fourteen, almost fifteen.” The boy kicked at the straw, obviously trying to distract from his lie.

Josh knew the little fellow could be no more than ten or eleven at the most, but he figured a man had a right to his secrets, even if the man was only half grown. “What’s your name, son?” Josh questioned.

“Dustin Barfield, but folks call me Dusty.”

Josh remembered Sam Barfield who was killed at an Indian battle along the Pease River in 1860. Colonel Ross had called Sam a fine man and an asset to the Rangers, but Josh made no comment about it to the boy.

“Don’t you have any family around here, Dusty?” Josh asked, knowing he must not or he couldn’t possibly look so unkempt.

“No.” The boy smiled, knowing this stranger was considering taking him along. “But I got a horse, a gun, and even a watch with initials on it.”

Josh almost laughed out loud. The child wanted him to know he was no street bum by telling of a treasured watch. “I must be losing my mind, but you can tag along. If we make it across the open country, I know a ranch that could use a good man.” Josh put the emphasis on man. “Have the horses saddled early, and I’ll be over an hour before dawn.

“Yes, sir.” Dusty smiled, spreading white teeth from ear to ear.

“And put that badge back where you found it. You’d better forget you ever saw it,” Josh snapped, with as much sternness as he could muster. “You know the Rangers are inactive now.”

“Yes, sir.” Dusty muttered again. “But not for long.”

Josh turned and started back to the hotel shaking his head. The kid was right; a Ranger didn’t do the jobs that needed doing just for the pay. If Texas hadn’t had the Rangers during the war, there might not be a settler left in the whole state.

Josh decided he must be getting soft in the head. First, he was trapped into taking two women into the wildest country in Texas, then the redhead, and now a boy. This trip might not be the easiest he’d ever tried, but it certainly promised to be the most interesting. And maybe the most dangerous.

True to her word, Bethanie said nothing about her plans to accompany the other women and Josh Weston out of San Antonio. She packed for Allison, while her cousin rattled incessantly with excitement. The tiny blonde was unaware of any danger in traveling, seeing her adventure only as an outing. Bethanie decided in Allison’s case ignorance was probably a blessing and she wouldn’t frighten her cousin with reality.

With Allison finally settled in for a few hours’ sleep, Bethanie began preparing for her own journey. Tiptoeing down to the kitchen, she rummaged through a load of clean clothes she’d just washed for a man and his three sons. Though the garments were worn, she managed to find two pairs of pants and a shirt that looked close to her size. She crossed the darkened kitchen to a ghostly white jar on the top shelf of a pie cabinet. Martha always stashed household money in the vessel, including all the change Bethanie earned doing laundry. Hoping to pay for the clothes she was taking, Bethanie pulled two bills out and quickly stuffed them deep into the laundry basket.

Bethanie jumped as a noise rumbled from her aunt’s room above the kitchen. Hurriedly, she cradled the bundle of clothes to her chest and darted for the front lobby in hope of avoiding any further encounters with her aunt
or uncle. The last thing she wanted was for them to discover her plan to leave.

Halfway across the lobby, Bethanie froze in mid-step as the office door creaked open. Her uncle must have come downstairs and, like her, hadn’t bothered to turn up the lights. Bethanie watched his face shine in the yellow glow through the windows. Wilbur’s fat lips spread across dingy teeth into an ugly greeting. Bethanie could tell by his stance that he’d been drinking.

“Well, Bethanie,” Wilbur slurred the words. Alcohol had loosened his bottom lip making the wet pink mass unmanageable. “Did you come down to say good night to your dear old uncle?”

“No,” Bethanie answered, slowly easing her way past him. “I had to finish some laundry.”

“About that, girl…” He staggered toward her as he spoke. “After tomorrow, I don’t think you’ll have to earn extra money.”

Wilbur stood only a few inches from Bethanie in the shadow between windows. “After tomorrow,” he repeated in a hoarsely whispered promise. She could feel his foul breath against her cheek. “I think I have another idea about how you can earn your keep.” His short, fat finger danced in front of her face almost hitting her nose.

Bethanie leaned back in horror. She didn’t want to ignite his temper for fear of awakening the entire household. When he was drunk, he could be as hard to handle as greased liver. She’d even seen Martha back away from a confrontation. “Good night, Uncle,” Bethanie managed to say with as much resolution as she could muster.

Wilbur’s hand reached and encircled Bethanie’s neck, startling her with his swift action. His porky fingers closed around her slender throat like a vise. He pulled her toward him, seemingly unmindful that he was choking her. “How about a little sample of your future work?”
he groaned just before his huge mouth covered half her face.

Bethanie was suddenly suffocating in the fleshiness of his features. As she struggled to free herself, his fingers closed tighter around her neck, bruising their imprints into her skin. Bethanie fought for her very life. Lack of air was rapidly drawing her world closed around her. Her one free fist struck endlessly against his chest with seemingly no effect.

A door opened somewhere upstairs; an instant later Martha’s sharp voice sounded. “Wilbur, did you find that letter?”

Wilbur’s face moved away from Bethanie with a frustrated growl. He released her throat and let his hand drag down the front of her dress as she gulped for air. “Comin’,” he yelled toward the stairs.

Bethanie could hear Martha’s steps retreating. She knew if she screamed, Martha would come downstairs. She also knew that Martha would find a way to blame everything on her. There was no telling what her aunt might do to her. Bethanie had to see that nothing came between her and freedom at dawn.

Wilbur leaned closer and whispered, “We’re goin’ to have fun. I’ll have no trouble from you; I’ll bet on that. If you want to be walking tomorrow, girl, you’d better not mention this to anyone.” His laughter made a hissing sound between his teeth. “Not that anyone would help you.”

His fingers pulled at the buttons running down the front of her dress as his sour breath heaved in nauseating waves across her face. “You’re lucky. I could just tie you to the storage-room floor and have my fun any time, but I need someone to cook and clean, so I’ll let you have the run of the place as long as you behave yourself.”

Bethanie stood frozen in disbelief, her fists clenched tightly inside the folds of her bundle of clothes. She tried
closing her eyes to make him go away, afraid to speak and provoke him further. Just a few more hours and she would be away, forever free of him.

His lips spread in a predatory smile. “Your time is long past comin’, girl.” He moved his hand across her chest and pulled at her blouse. One fat arm slid around her waist pinning her to him, as he continued to finger her clothing. The buttons seemed to defy him as Bethanie struggled. She fought to keep from crying out as anger and fear danced frantically atop the adrenalin in her veins.

In drunken frustration, Wilbur cursed Bethanie and her clothing as he pulled her into the spans of his stomach. Bethanie freed one arm as he ripped her blouse open, sending buttons flying in the darkness. He shoved his fingers between her dress and camisole until his hand covered the thin material over her breast. “Slim you may be, but ready to pick.” He squeezed her breast painfully until her wild fighting stopped.

“That’s better, girl.” He whispered as he loosened his grip and began to rub her nipple cruelly with the palm of his hand, forcing her breast first one direction then another. “You may be still now, but I can see the fire in them green eyes of yours. You’ll be full of spunk.”

Bethanie’s breathing was irregular with fright. If she moved an inch to escape, his fingers closed over her soft mound with sadistic force. When she gasped to keep from crying out, she could feel Wilbur chuckle with delight. As she stood suffocating in pain and fear, he once more began his cruel circular movements over her tender flesh. His hot breath brushed her neck as he laughed and lowered his mouth to the soft flesh at her shoulder. His hot, stubbly face was like a slimy creature gnawing at her. Bethanie wanted to scream as he buried his teeth and began to suck her blood to the surface, but no sound would leave her lips.

Slobbering on her skin, he whispered, “We gonna’ have some fun in a few hours. You best remember somethin’, I could kill you and there ain’t no one in this town who’d notice. Besides,” he bit at her flesh painfully, “you might even start to enjoy it.” His fingers began to pull at her camisole as he explained his long-awaited plans for her in detail.

Wilbur released his grip instantly at the sound of a door opening upstairs. He cursed the interruption as they heard footsteps. His hot palm slid off the thin material covering her breast and pushed her a few inches from him, as if he were discarding trash.

As Martha’s form appeared on the landing, Bethanie broke free and ran back into the kitchen. She pulled her dress together and slipped behind the door, gulping each breath. She could hear Wilbur’s heavy steps ascending the front stairs and Martha bickering. Bethanie waited until all was quiet before darting silently out back into the cool night air. For several minutes she stood drinking in the calm of the night. Then she began to sob, low, uncontrollable cries of pain.

As her tears subsided, Bethanie crawled beneath the hotel’s wooden steps like a frightened animal in hiding. Here in the dirt she felt safe. She had always hated being in darkness, but now the night covered her pain. Fresh tears flowed down her cheeks as she stared into the blackness around her. She had no doubt about what her uncle planned for her if she didn’t get away before dawn. His vulgar description echoed in her ears making her flesh crawl. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as she fought for control.

From the rooms above Bethanie, voices drifted out an open window. “Did you bring the letter?” Martha’s impatient words sounded.

“Sure,” Wilbur answered, “But I don’t see why it’s so important.”

“Simple, you drunken old fool,” Martha condemned. “Do you think Bethanie would stay here if she knew her father was alive? The letter must be destroyed tonight. Once I’m gone, you’ll stay drunk and Bethanie will have the run of the place. No matter where we put the letter there’s a chance she might find it.”

“But he ain’t no father to her, anyway. Runnin’ out on her mother like that,” Wilbur slurred self-righteously, as if he were a good example.

Bethanie could hear them moving about their room. “There, the letter’s burned along with my link with Bethanie’s father. Now she can stay here and help out. She’s better off than with some old seaman anyway.”

The voices lowered into mumbles as her aunt and uncle retired for a few hours’ sleep. Bethanie cradled her knees to her chest, deep in thought. She knew little about her father. The news that he was alive was not surprising, for her mother had never spoken of him as if he were dead. The knowledge that he was looking for her was shocking, but Bethanie saw the news as one more reason to leave. She didn’t care about a letter. Any man who would leave her mother wasn’t worth finding. She’d seen the pain in her mother’s face each time she’d asked questions. Somehow the answers were never important enough to invoke the sadness in her mother’s eyes.

Bethanie knew her mother, Mary, had left home at fifteen after her parents’ deaths to join a religious group of nearby Shakers. They were a kind, loving people who taught her a great deal about cooking and nursing. The Shakers believed men and women were equal, so when her mother showed an interest in working with animals they encouraged her. Shakers value three virtues: celibacy, industry, and cleanliness. Mary met Mariah, Bethanie’s father, when she was twenty. She told Bethanie once that she thought his name was music to say. Mary and Mariah often talked, but even though the Shakers
believed men and women equal, they were not allowed to work together. He had been an orphan from birth, and the Shakers had kindly taken him in. They named him after the ship that brought the original Brothers and Sisters to America. Once, her mother had said that he was a tall man, three years her senior, with dark red hair.

Mary never blamed Mariah. When Bethanie was born, they left the Shakers. Before three winters had passed, Mariah left his wife and child, never to return. Mary wouldn’t rejoin the Shakers, yet she kept their ways all her life. After several moves, Mary settled in as a cook on a small horse ranch. Here, with few people around, she found the only peace she’d ever known.

Tears rolled down Bethanie’s cheeks in the darkness. She wanted so much to curl up in her mother’s lap and let her brush away all the sadness. But her mother was dead. There was no one but herself to rely on.

Bethanie rubbed her bruised neck, remembering Wilbur’s grip. His stubby whiskers had cut her face with their roughness. In the past six months he and Martha had chipped away all her faith in mankind. In a cramped corner under the porch, Bethanie allowed her belief in people to crumble. Sometime after midnight, she came to one firm conclusion. If she were to survive, she must rely only on herself, no one else. There in the darkness the meek, trusting child died within her. The bruises on her neck would fade in a few days, but the scars on her heart would remain. A steel will to survive forged within her. She was not like her parents. She would not give up. She vowed to fight and survive. She’d go somewhere, anywhere, and make it on her own.

An hour before dawn, Josh waited behind the hotel holding three horses. He watched Bethanie step from the back door and move toward him as a single lantern splattered
pathetic light. She was dressed in pants, as he’d instructed, with a baggy plaid shirt tucked around her small waist. She carried an old, half-filled saddlebag at her side. Her hair was bound into a tight bun at the back of her neck. The harsh clothing did little to hide her gentle womanly grace. Fascinated, Josh studied her as she moved toward him, wondering what her life had been this past year since the war. Judging from what he had seen, her road had not been easy.

“You’re on time,” Josh stated simply as he handed her the reins to one of the horses. “I brought you a jacket and hat.” He didn’t bother to tell her they were his own. “We’d best cover up that hair of yours if you want to get out of town unnoticed.”

“Thanks.” Bethanie pulled the hat on and slipped on the jacket he offered.

As Josh strapped on her saddlebag, he commented, “You sure pack light for a girl.”

“I have little,” Bethanie stated flatly as she stepped one foot into the stirrup.

Josh moved behind her, his hands encircling her waist to help her into the saddle. With sudden, unexpected violence, Bethanie jerked free. Josh couldn’t believe the flash of hatred that reflected in her eyes as she turned to face him.

Her words were low and sharp. “One thing we’d better straighten out now, Mister Weston. We made a deal to get me out of here, but no more. I don’t care what your business with my uncle was, but it is vital you understand. You are never to touch me.” Her voice was only a whisper, yet Josh could hear the steel in her tone. “If you can’t honor that, I’d rather strike out on my own. I won’t be handled by any man.”

Josh backed off a step, idly twisting the ring which had belonged to Bethanie’s grandfather. Any anger he might have felt at her unjustified criticism was overshadowed
by curiosity as to the cause of her strong reaction. He held up his hands in surrender. “Bethanie, if that’s your wish, I’ll respect it. I had no intention of harming you, only to help you up.” Even in the dim yellow light, he could see her fiery green eyes challenging him, questioning his word.

“I need no help.” Bethanie spoke the words with a newfound bitterness. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Josh could see she was nearly at a breaking point. He watched as she pulled herself into the saddle with the easy motion of one accustomed to riding. He wanted to say something, anything, to reassure her, but knew she wouldn’t believe him. If he wanted her trust, he must earn it.