CHAPTER NINETEEN
Will had never been to Jackie Babcock's house, but he had no trouble finding it now. The four-room frame structure sat in a grove of trees behind the blacksmith's shop, a white gravel path leading up to the door.
Will waited until the last of the women had left the Library Society meeting, then went around back, to a yard littered with scrap iron and broken pots and half-a-dozen unfinished projects. Babcock's attempt at an ornamental gate was there, its animals resembling primitive pictographs, thick and awkward. He smiled as he passed it. Poor Jackie. He should stick to making plow blades.
The wash pots were back here, too, bubbling over a split oak fire. His smile broadened and he concentrated on making himself appear. Then, whistling under his breath, he followed the scent of Jasmine Nights up the steps and into the kitchen.
Trudy Babcock stood with her back to the door, bent over a scrubboard and a wooden tub. "Trudy Babcock," Will said in his most forbidding tone. "I want a word with you."
She squeaked and whirled to face him, slinging soapsuds from her hands. She wore a stained gray wrapper, her hair covered with a black kerchief. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What are you doing in my house?"
Will ignored the question. He walked to the washtub and fished out a pair of trousers. "Isn't this an odd time to be doing the wash?" he asked.
"I was busy earlier today, hosting the Library Society meeting.” She straightened. "It's no business of yours, anyway. Get out of here, before I call my husband."
"Perhaps I was drawn here by the scent of your perfume. What is it called again?"
She looked confused. "Jasmine Nights.” She raised her chin. "It's imported. Very expensive."
"Is that so? The way you wear it, you must spend a fortune.” He turned and brought the dripping trousers up to his nose and made a face. They reeked of kerosene and smoke. "Smells like something burning," he observed.
Her face paled, but she quickly regained her indignant expression. "My husband is a blacksmith. His clothes always smell of the forge."
"That's right. Your husband is a blacksmith, isn't he?” He let the wet trousers slide back into the tub. "Or what passes for one, in any case."
"How dare you come into my home and insult me!" she shouted.
Will struck a casual pose against a kitchen chair. He hadn't anticipated how much fun this would be. "I hear Will Bright was a much better smithy than your husband."
The remark had a spectacular effect on Trudy. Her face blanched white, then bloomed bright red. She clenched her fists at her sides and seemed ready to lift off the ground with the force of her rage. "Will Bright was a fraud!" she shouted. "He made all those fancy things people had no use for. My husband is a proper blacksmith. He makes good, serviceable --"
Will studied his nails. "Will Bright made that gate, didn't he?"
For a moment, he worried he had sent her into apoplexy. She shook her fists at him. "That gate! All I've heard about for the past month is that gate! Every time people drive out to Tessa Bright's ranch to work on that worthless Indian chapel, they come back talking about that gate.” Her voice rose to a mocking simper. "Oh, isn't that a beautiful gate. It's a work of art. Too bad there'll never be another like it."
"Yes. It is too bad, isn't it? And too bad about the chapel, too."
Her expression grew guarded. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, too bad it burned. Now Reverend Deering will have to start over."
"That chapel was never Reverend Deering's idea, anyway. Tessa Bright wanted it, so she could be close to her friends, the Indians, and close to the preacher, too."
"Oh?” The idea amused him. "And how do you figure that?"
"She wants the handsome preacher all to herself, and everyone's attention focused on her.” She nodded, knowingly. "She was that way when her husband was alive, too. Always throwing it up in my face that I didn't have the fancy things she did, like that gate."
As far as Will knew, Tessa had never exchanged more than two words at a time with Trudy Babcock over the years. The woman was clearly addled. It was time to put an end to this conversation, he decided. He straightened and took a step toward Trudy. "If you know what's good for you, you'll leave Tessa Bright alone," he growled.
"And what if I don't?” She tried to look fierce, but he could feel her fear.
"I'll tell everyone the truth -- that you set fire to the Indian chapel.” He didn't give her time to think on that, or to come up with some clever denial. He merely nodded in dismissal and disappeared.
Trudy Babcock collapsed in a dead faint on the kitchen floor.
#
Micah wondered if traveling for him would always involve leaving someplace behind. He was always leaving, never making his way toward a place where someone waited to welcome him. Every place he left -- the Kiowa village, his aunt's home, the Army forts, and now Tessa Bright's ranch -- some small part of him stayed behind. Would he soon be wandering the earth as only half a man, with a soul as empty and drained as the walking dead?
Tessa had taken the biggest part of him yet, a part of him he wondered if he'd ever learn to do without. He gripped the reins tighter and marshalled his will against the dark thoughts. He just had to keep riding. Today and tomorrow and the next day, just riding.
He glanced down at the roan mare. Taking her had been a mistake. He couldn't look at her without remembering Tessa. This was the horse who had always wanted to head back to the ranch, the way his own spirit still wanted to. He'd have to sell her, in the first town he came to. He leaned over and smoothed the dark red mane, tangling his fingers in the horsehair the way he'd twined them in Tessa's long locks. If only he could trade off his memories as easily as the horse.
Without warning, the mare shied. Her front feet came off the ground as she rared back, then came down hard, her back legs kicking out. Micah clamped his legs tight and searched the ground for sign of a snake or cactus or some other reason for the docile mare's sudden excitement. She twirled and bucked, frantic now, eyes rolled back in her head. Micah's head snapped back, then forward. He left the saddle, and slammed down into it again with bone-jarring fierceness. The mare shot up again, bowing her back in the middle, then straightening out, sending him flying.
He landed with a thud, all the breath knocked from him, the world a gray haze around him. He blinked, struggling to inhale, and things gradually swam back into focus. But the sight he saw made him groan and close his eyes again.
"I reckon you'll live."
He opened his eyes again. Yes, that was Will Bright standing over him. "Haven't you plagued me enough?" Micah asked.
"Not nearly enough.” Will folded his arms over his chest. "Get up."
Micah shoved himself to his feet, ignoring his protesting head. He avoided Will's gaze, instead looking at the mare, who stood grazing a hundred yards away.
"Afraid she'll run away again?" Will said. "Didn't you train her well enough?
Micah kept silent. He didn't have anything to say to the old man - ghost - whatever he was.
"I trained Tessa well.” Will walked around to stand in front of him, his feet making no sound, leaving no tracks in the dust of the road. "I didn't realize it at the time, but I trained her to stand on her own two feet, so when the time came for her to be alone, she didn't really need me anymore.” He paused a moment. In the silence, Micah could hear the mare's teeth tearing at the grass. "What she did need was a young man by her side, to work with her, not over her.” Will sighed, a sound like wind in the trees. "It took me a while to see it, but now I know she needed you."
Micah looked up, into old eyes that looked as if they'd seen everything. "You were right the first time. I'm the last thing she needs."
"She needed you last night, didn't she?"
Micah flushed. "How --"
"I wasn't there to see, but I know Tessa well enough by now.” He nodded. "Even better now. All those earthly passions get in the way of knowledge sometimes. It took me a while to let go of a lot
of that, but I'm learning."
The rage he'd refused to give into before now rose up inside him. "You haven't learned anything if you can't see what living with me would do to Tessa. Those people in town, the ones whose opinion matters so much, would hate her because of me."
To his amazement, the old man smiled. "Maybe some would. The kind of people whose good opinion she doesn't need."
"She thinks she needs it."
"You don't give her enough credit."
"I didn't ask your opinion.” He started toward the mare. The sooner he got back on the road, the better. The old ghost couldn't follow him clear across the country, could he?
Will watched him, frowning. When he'd decided to come after Fox, he'd thought it would be easy to persuade him to return. All he saw when he looked in the man's eyes was pain and love for Tessa. The vision had jolted him at first, made him angry even. But he'd been handed an extra measure of wisdom these past few days, and he knew now what he had to do.
"Fine, go on," he said. "Leave Tessa to face things on her own."
Fox's steps faltered. "She's a strong woman. People will forget me soon enough."
"Tell that to the mob headed to the ranch right now."
Fox whirled to face him again. "What mob?"
Will shook his head. "You waited too late to leave. The townspeople have already made up their minds. They're marching out there right now. But what do you care?” He made a motion like shooing chickens. "Go on."
Will turned away, but he heard Micah close the distance between them in three long strides. "How big a mob? What do they intend to do?"
"I didn't stop to count heads and I didn't bother to ask their intentions. I thought you'd want to help her, but I guess I was wrong."
"You're wrong about a lot of things, but not this one.”
Will turned in time to see Micah vault into the saddle. I always wanted to be able to do that, he thought.
Micah spurred the horse and took off. Will had to hurry to catch up with him. They left the road and raced cross-country. Will began to regret telling Fox the lie. He was liable to ruin a good horse in his haste.
#
Little more than two hours later, they reached the ranch gate. Stunned, Will stared at the cloud of dust approaching. A mob of buggies, wagons and horses crowded the road to the ranch. Men and women filled the vehicles, armed with shovels and axes and hammers. The mob he'd predicted had indeed arrived!
Fox rode up to block the gate. He turned to the mob, face set as if stone. Any one of the group might have shot him, but the terrifying anger in his eyes stilled them. "What's this about?" he demanded.
A woman worked her way to the front. Margery Finch, looking beautiful as ever in a brown and black riding habit. "We've come to rebuild the chapel," she announced.
"We're not going to let one hateful person ruin the reputation of our whole town.” Ammie Smith stepped up beside Margery.
The sound of an approaching rider echoed down the drive. Will and Micah turned to watch Tessa ride toward them. The look of joy in Fox's eyes made Will sick with envy. But as Tessa neared, the joy faded, replaced by sharp pain.
"What's happening?” She reined in on the opposite side of the gate and looked at the townspeople, confused. "What is going on? Why are you all here?"
"After you left the meeting, Mrs. Finch made everyone see the error of their ways."
Tessa turned to Margery. "What did you say?"
"I simply pointed out that most of us aren't in any position to cast stones when it comes to the question of character.” She looked at Old Man Thornton and Jackie Babcock. Most of the men had the grace to look sheepish.
Gabe Emerson pushed his way to the front of the crowd. "We worked hard building that chapel. We can't let some criminal destroy it."
Tessa raised one eyebrow. "Even if it's for the Indians?" she asked.
He flushed, but gave a curt nod. "I reckon church might do 'em some good."
"Come on, everyone. We have work to do.” Ammie Smith unfastened the gate. Fox helped her swing it wide. The crowd streamed through, Margery riding in last, pausing and bending down to draw Tessa close in a hug.
At last, Tessa and Fox were alone, facing each other, one on either side of the entrance. They were both silent for so long, Will wondered if he'd have to step in. But at last, Tessa found her voice. "Why did you leave?" she asked.
"I couldn't stay. I'll only bring you trouble."
"I've had my share of trouble and it hasn't killed me yet."
"Don't even joke about that.” He looked down the drive, toward the retreating crowd. "Maybe burning the chapel was only the beginning. Maybe next time whoever did that will burn your house."
"And maybe tomorrow I'll discover gold in the creek and be a millionaire.” She sighed. "We can't live our lives on maybes, dreading what might be."
He shook his head. "It's too much to ask."
She bowed her head a moment, as if considering, or praying. "Come to the house with me," she said at last. "I want to show you something."
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and rode up the drive. Fox looked after her for a long moment, then followed, pausing to close the gate behind him. Will trailed along last.
They left their horses in the yard and went into the house and up the stairs, neither speaking, though Fox never stopped looking at Tessa. The set of her shoulders told Will she knew he was watching her; she knew and she wanted him to keep watching.
She scarcely paused in the doorway to her bedroom, but walked straight to the trunk at the end of the bed and opened it. Quilts, blankets, dresses and bundles of old letters collected on the bed as she searched for the one thing she needed. Fox waited in the doorway, but Will watched over Tessa's shoulder, though her actions puzzled him. When she finally withdrew a small silver case, he didn't recognize it at first.
"Look inside," she instructed, handing the case to Fox.
Carefully, like a man approaching a caged rattlesnake, Fox opened the case and stared at its contents, a single daguerreotype of a man and woman in Sunday clothes. The woman, scarcely a girl really, stared at the camera, wide-eyed and nervous in a ruffled dress of some stiff dark fabric. The man struck a proud pose, decked out in a three-piece suit and silver-topped cane, his long dark braids and coppery skin the only incongruity in the image.
Fox stared. He put one finger out to touch the girl's face. "This is you?" he asked.
She nodded. "It was taken on my wedding day."
Fox turned his attention to the man in the photo. "Then Will is - was - Indian?"
Tessa came to stand behind him, sharing his view of the photo. "He was full-blooded Choctaw. Their village was near ours and many of their people worked in town. Even though he was Indian, and so much older than me, I fell in love with him.” The tenderness in her voice moved Will. So after all this time, Tessa still believed she'd made the right choice.
"And you became an outcast when you married him?"
"Maybe.” She raised her eyes to meet him. "But I think I let my pride hurt me almost as much as other people's prejudice. One person snubbed me in a place and I would never go back there to give anyone else another chance. My family threw me out and I never contacted them again. Maybe they wouldn't have forgiven me, but maybe they would. People say things in the heat of anger they don't mean in their hearts.” She took the picture and folded it closed again. "I'm not saying we can make prejudice go away by ignoring it. But we shouldn't magnify it larger than it is."
Micah shook his head. "I can't do anything that might endanger you."
She laid the picture inside the trunk and lowered the lid. "If you're still worried about the fire, I don't think the fire had anything to do with the Indians," she said.
Fox looked puzzled. "Why do you say that?"
"I think Trudy Babcock set that fire. Not because she hates Indians, but because she can't stand for me to have any attention. The chapel is on my land, so naturally it draws attention to
me."
Fox nodded, slowly. "I remember she was there the day Sun Bear talked about how fire could burn up the chapel."
"She's always been jealous of me. She wanted that gate the first day she set eyes on it, and everyone had to pass through it to get to the chapel."
"What will you do about her?"
She shrugged. "She's a coward at heart. I'll casually let her know that I know she set fire to the chapel, and that will be it."
He frowned. "That won't stop her hating you."
She reached out and took his hands. "Micah, what other people think and do doesn't matter to me anymore. It took me a long time, but I've finally learned that I can only worry about me and what I do. I have to live my life the way I feel called to live it. And that's with you."
"Reverend Deering said whatever your calling is, you can't not do it. Every path you take leads you right back to it.” He squeezed her hands. "No matter how many times I set out to leave, I always end up back here, just like that runaway horse."
She smiled. "Maybe somebody's trying to tell you something."
He pulled her close, cradling her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Tessa Bright."
"I love you, Micah Fox.” She smiled into his shoulder. "I can't seem to help myself."
He stroked her hair, over and over, as if he couldn't quite believe the softness of it. "Would you give me another chance?" he asked. "Will you take me as your husband?"
Eyes shining, she raised her head to look at him. "I'll take you. And I'll keep you. Forever."
Will left them as they joined in a kiss. Contentment filled his soul. He could rest well now, knowing he'd done this one thing right in his life.