"Well, she wasn't," Chase said sharply. "It was just her misfortune that she was the oldest. Except for order of birth, it could have been Alaina or Ellen. There isn't a person in this house who should look down his or her nose, that's for damned'sure. She sacrificed things beyond your imaginations to feed you all."
Frankie's larynx bobbed. "I never thought. She was just a little girl, wasn't she? Only Theresa's age."
Theresa was standing near the sink, her small hands clutched around a towel, her blue eyes the largest thing about her. She was developing breasts, but just barely. Looking at her, Chase felt heartsick. Franny had become a prostitute at her age.
"The way I see it, Frankie, you failed to think about a lot of things," Chase remarked. Inclining his head at the boy's new coat, he said, "I see your sister gave you the money to buy the ready-made suit jacket and vest. That's not to mention the fine tobacco you smoke or the money you planned to spend in Wolf's Landing at the saloon, we won't mention for what. What were you thinking, son? That the money grew on trees at the landing? Did you ever once consider that maybe you should get a job?"
Frankie's face twisted and he ducked his head. Acutely aware of Mary Graham's soft sobs, Chase looked at Alaina.
"And you, young miss. Sixteen years old. When Franny was your age, she was supporting this whole family. What have you done to help? Have you taken in laundry? Mucked out stalls for the neighbors? Have you even done any of the sewing for your younger brothers and sisters?"
"Franny always did it," the girl said lamely.
"Franny has always done everything for you," Chase came back. "That's what I’m trying to make you see." He took a long hard look at each child. "All of you are old enough to appreciate that. Money doesn't just fall into people's hands. You have to sacrifice to get it. Your sister sacrificed her life." He looked at Theresa. "No one bought her rhinestone hair combs when she was your age." He shifted his gaze to Alaina. "She never got to wear dancing slippers. No boys ever even invited her to a dance." He glanced over his shoulder to meet Matthew's gaze. "You want a hunting rifle. Not to feed your family, because Franny has seen to that. You want to use it for sport. Franny never had time to play at your age."
Chase paused to let all he had said sink in, his gaze on Franny's pale, tear-streaked face. He prayed she was hearing every word. In a quiet voice, he told them about her dream places, how she had survived the ugliness in her life, how carefully she had guarded her anonymity to protect her family, how pregnancy had foiled her. He ended by telling them about Toodles, who had known all the bad things about her and loved her anyway.
Alaina moved closer to the table. Frankie pushed away from the door. "What I said to her today—that's why she's like this. Isn't it?" he asked shakily. "It's my fault. All my fault." A sob caught in his chest. "Francine? I didn't mean it. Forgive me for what I said. I didn't mean it."
Mary Graham caught her breath, moaned low in her throat, and whispered, "I'm the one responsible for this, Frankie. I'm the one who should beg her for forgiveness."
Chase laid a hand on Franny's hair and bent to kiss her forehead. "She doesn't want any of you to ask for forgiveness," he said softly. "All she's ever wanted from any of you was one simple thing."
"What?" Alaina cried brokenly.
Chase took a deep breath. "To love her anyway. That's all. Just to love her anyway. From where I'm standing, I don't think it's a hell of a lot for her to ask. Do you?"
Mary Graham made a strangled sound and tightened her arms around her daughter. Alaina hugged them both. Chase watched for a moment, but only for a moment.
Then he walked out. Those were the most difficult ten steps he had ever taken.
Once on the porch, Chase sank against a support post, his body aching with exhaustion, his heart aching even worse. He loved that girl in there so much. To leave her here, even though he knew it had to be this way, was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.
The door to the house opened behind him, and a wedge of golden light fell across Chase. An instant later, the hinges creaked closed, and the artificial illumination blinked out. Footsteps crossed the porch. Frankie came abreast of him. After a moment, he sat on the step, draping his arms over his knees, hands dangling.
For a while neither of them spoke. The horses hitched to Chase's buckboard nickered and swished their tails to chase away mosquitos. The high-pitched melody of crickets drifted on the warm night air. Chase looked up at the stars, at the moon, and wished with all his heart that he could take Franny home with him now.
"I guess you think I'm a pretty awful person," Frankie finally said. "That I'm spoiled and selfish and that I don't love my sister like I ought."
Chase winced. "The fact that you realize I might think all those things tells me they aren't true," he finally replied. "Awful, spoiled, and selfish people seldom realize how awful, spoiled, and selfish they really are."
"So you do think it's how I acted."
Chase sighed and joined him on the step, "Frankie, I think you're a little late in growing up, that's all. I'm not sure you can be blamed for that, not entirely. We grow up when we have to, and nobody's required that of you. Franny's made life easy for you. Maybe a little too easy. I think by doing that, she could feel the sacrifices she had made were all worthwhile. She gave you and the other kids all her dreams, made them possible for you. Does that make any sense?"
"I guess." He fell silent for several seconds. "I'm sorry for the way I acted."
Chase turned to regard him. "Yeah? Well, I'm sorrier. I shouldn't have hit you. I reckon I owe you one free punch."
The boy managed a lopsided grin. "You busted my lip."
"I apologize."
"Accepted."
The boy offered his hand. Chase shook with him. Once that was done, Frankie heaved a weary sigh. "Is Francine going to be all right, do you think?"
Chase gazed off into the darkness. Oak trees dotted the property, resembling gigantic mushrooms in the moonlight with their billowing tops and stout trunks. "I don't know," he finally admitted, and saying those words was the greatest agony of his life. "I just don't know."
"What can I do to help her?" the boy asked.
"Love her," Chase said huskily. "Love her no matter what." He took a ragged breath. "That's what brothers are supposed to do."
"I always loved her. Even today when I was saying those cruel things, I loved her. I was just . . . sick inside and hurting. I wanted her to feel as bad."
Chase clenched his teeth. Looking at it objectively, which was no easy task, he could see how Frankie must have felt. "What you did today—you have to undo it somehow, Frankie. You have to put your own hurt aside and concentrate on hers. Do you think you can do that?"
"I already have."
Chase nodded. "I figured you had. Or you wouldn't be out here." He turned to study the boy's profile. "Have you ever looked into still water and seen your reflection?"
"A few times."
"When the wind blows hard, or if the water is disturbed, ripples distort your image," Chase murmured. "You can look until your eyes burn and can't see yourself clearly." He curled a hand over the boy's shoulder. "You are Franny's pool of still water, Frankie. Today, the terrible secrets she has kept from all of you became like the wind or a disturbance in the pool, and she got lost in the blur. No matter how hard she stared, she couldn't see herself anymore, only the ugliness.
"What you must do is make the pool tranquil again so the surface is smooth. Your love for her will be the sunshine that casts her reflection on the water."
"I don't understand."
Chase smiled slightly. "Yes, well, I learned from a very wise man that we ponder what we don't understand. I want you to think about it and find your own way. When you were small, you had a great need, and Franny was there for you. Now the wind has switched directions. She needs you. Desperately. You have to be her looking glass."
Tears welled in the boy's eyes and, shimmering in moonlight, spilled over on
to his cheeks. "In other words, I'm her mirror, and you want me to make sure she sees a pretty reflection."
"Exactly. If you think about it, Frankie, we all get our reflections from the people who love us. It's their opinions that shape our opinions of ourselves. Franny isn't sure she's worth loving any more. You must convince her that she is."
"I'll try."
"If you get to know your sister," Chase said softly, "really get to know her, the reflections she sees in your eyes will be beautiful because she is beautiful."
"You love her a lot, don't you?"
"Yes, a lot."
"Is her baby yours?"
"Yes, mine."
"Then why are you going to leave her here? That's what you're going to do. I can tell by the way you're acting."
Chase dragged in a deep breath and exhaled on a sigh. Spreading his hands, he studied his palms. In simple terms, he explained to Frankie the Comanche belief that yesterday no longer existed and that a person should always walk forward with his gaze fixed on the horizon. "In Franny's case, that belief doesn't apply," he concluded. "She can't leave yesterday behind because too many things happened that were never resolved. She must walk backward in her footsteps and make peace with who she was yesterday before she can deal with who she wants to be today."
"You could stay and help her. I know you want to, and we can make room."
To resist that temptation, Chase pushed to his feet. "I'm not a part of her yesterdays, Frankie. I'm her today. My being here would only make it difficult for her. She needs all of you, not me. She needs you to love her anyway before she can believe I will. Can you understand that? She's suffered a lot of hurt at your mamma's hands. I don't blame your mamma, don't get me wrong. In truth, I pity her because she was ever put in such a situation. But the bottom line is, she inflicted the wounds, and she's the only one who can ever completely heal them. Her and all of you."
The youth hugged his knees. "If I need you and send a message, will you come?"
"Hell bent for leather." Chase stepped to the buckboard, fished under the tarp, and withdrew a bag of gold pieces. "There's enough in here to pay expenses this next month. Before that runs out, I'll make arrangement at the bank for a draft." Chase put the money into Frankie's hands. Looking into the boy's eyes, he said, "You're nearly a man, son. It's time for you to assume the responsibilities of one. I'm counting on you to take care of this family and my wife."
"I will."
Chase climbed into the driver's seat, unlooped the reins, and then gazed somberly into the darkness ahead of him. He didn't want to go. Though he knew he was doing the right thing for Franny, the only thing, he kept remembering the promise he'd made that he would never leave her.
"Frankie, if she comes around and asks after me, will you give her a message?"
"Surely."
"It's important that you tell her exactly," Chase said huskily. "Tell her that when she's ready to come home to me, I'll be waiting for her in our dream place."
21
Waiting. . . To Chase it seemed that August was a million years long. Once a week, he received a letter from Frankie, updating him on Franny's condition. She was doing well, the boy said. Her stupor spells came on less frequently with each passing day. Her appetite was picking up. She smiled often and seemed to be finding peace within herself. Toward the end of the month, Chase made arrangements at the bank to wire money to Grants Pass. Meanwhile he went to work in the mine with his father and Jake to offset the drain on his savings that support of the Graham family constituted. Though he didn't particularly care for mining, it was better than leaving Wolf's Landing and putting even more distance between himself and the girl he loved.
September rolled around eventually, and the days mounted, taking them inexorably toward autumn. Frankie's letters began to arrive less regularly, and he never mentioned whether or not Franny had plans to return to her husband. Chase told himself it was understandable that the boy should write less. He had taken a job, and with the passage of summer, school was once again in session. But deep down Chase feared he was lying to himself.
Losing Franny. It had been a possibility from the first, and he had chosen to take that risk to give her this time to heal. But to face the reality that she might never come back to him? Chase recalled the emptiness in her eyes and told himself he had done the right thing. But knowing that was little consolation for his loss. With each passing day, he faced the fact that the longer Franny stayed away, the less likely it was that she would return.
Not that he blamed her. In Grants Pass no one knew her terrible secret. Here in Wolfs Landing everyone did. Knowing her as he did, Chase couldn't blame her for not wanting to come back and face the ugliness. He wouldn't blame her if she never did.
At the end of September, Frankie wrote to thank Chase for wiring them money a second time, but then informed him, politely, that the family had made other financial arrangements. Their mother was taking in ironing, something she could do by feel. Alaina was doing odd jobs. Theresa was cleaning for local women. Matthew had a job as a stock boy at the general store. Ellen had a clerical job in an attorney's office. Franny was doing handiwork, which was selling quite well on consignment at local shops. Frankie still had his job at the livery and had recently started earning more money by chopping and stacking firewood for people about town.
Chase took the letter down to the creek to read it and reread it, trying to find meaning between the lines. No mention was made of Franny's coming home. Ever.
That afternoon, Chase accepted that the girl he loved might be forever lost to him. His only solace was that she was no longer lost to herself.
May Belle and Shorty set an October date for their wedding. The Wolfs received an invitation, and Loretta responded by offering to have an informal reception for the couple at their home. Chase would have preferred to ignore the entire shindig, but given the proximity, he couldn't. The simple ceremony was to take place at the community hall. The local preacher had agreed to do the honors. The morning of the wedding, the Wolfs set up makeshift tables in their backyard for the reception that afternoon, then went to the hall to decorate and arrange the guest seating.
At two, Chase walked back to the hall with his family to witness the ceremony. Indigo looked lovely in white doeskin, her tawny hair held atop her head in a gleaming twist with pearlescent hair combs Jake had gotten her for her last birthday. The kids were slicked up in their Sunday best. Hunter wore his dress buckskins, which was about as fancy as he ever got. Loretta floated along beside him in blue alpaca.
"I swear, Chase Kelly, a body would think you were going to a funeral. Did you have to wear black?" his mother asked.
Chase tipped the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. "Uncle Swift always wears black, and you never complain at him."
"Your uncle Swift wore black long before he came to Wolf's Landing. You, on the other hand, were raised to appreciate the appropriate types of clothing for different occasions."
The truth was, Chase felt as if he were going to a funeral. No matter how he tried not to, May Belle made him think of Franny, and thoughts of Franny made him feel as if a knife were being twisted in his guts. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Ma. You want me to go home and change?"
Loretta gave him an exasperated look. "Lands, no. Then you'd be late!"
"Not many folks will be there," Chase qualified.
"Most of the town. Preacher Thompson has worked very hard to get people to attend as a gesture of acceptance. For May Belle's sake, you understand."
Chase figured his ma had been stirring that pot of stew herself and smiled slightly. "Well, maybe no one will notice me."
Once inside the hall, Chase joined his family in a middle row and took his seat. Staring straight ahead at nothing, he was aware of the benches being filled but scarcely spared a glance for the occupants. Distanced from his surroundings as he was, he experienced a jolt when he found himself looking into green eyes.
As though
being jerked from sleep, Chase blinked and focused. Green eyes. Beautiful green eyes and a face so sweet he had every curve memorized. Franny. She and her family were entering the row directly in front of the Wolfs. Before taking a seat, she had turned to meet his gaze.
Chase felt as if the bench disappeared from under him. Franny. She smiled slightly, nodded to his mother, then lowered herself onto the bench. He stared at the back of her blue dress. Most of her clothing was still hanging in his room. He didn't recognize this garment and wondered if she had made it. Her Wheeler-Wilson was still at his parents' house, but judging from Frankie's last letter, Chase guessed Mary Graham must have a sewing machine.
The wedding ceremony began, but Chase heard little of it. A hundred questions circled in his mind. The one thought that came clear to him was that Franny, his wife and the mother of his child, had not taken a seat with his family but with her own. Though she had acknowledged his mother with a slight nod, she hadn't him. An uncertain smile, yes. But in his books, that didn't count for shit. This was a public slap in his face. As clearly as though she'd said it aloud, she was announcing a severance of ties between them.
Chase's first inclination was to get the hell out of there, but his pride held him back. If he stormed out, everyone and his brother would know how badly he was hurt, including Franny. God knew he loved the girl, but he didn't want her coming back to him because she felt she had to. Feeling lacerated, Chase managed to sit through the entire ceremony and congratulate the bride and groom at its conclusion.
Though it was the hardest thing he had ever done, once the formalities were over, Chase waited outside the hall for the Grahams. Vowing to himself that he wouldn't reveal his pain by so much as a flicker of cheek muscle, he pasted a smile on when Franny came out the door on Frankie's arm. Chase noticed that her belly preceded her, and his gaze dropped to the sizable protrusion that couldn't be concealed by her dress. His palm ached with yearning to touch her there, to feel for life. His child because he had claimed it. But that was his problem, not hers.