Placita de Paz (Place of Peace)

By Kathleen O'Neill

Rating: G

Part 1. My Sister is in Zion.

It was only 9:45 in the morning, but the blazing Nevada sunshine already beat through the windows, and the scratches and gouges in the bar's wood grain gleamed in exaggerated relief. The woman behind the bar, clean rag in hand, wiped at the surface in futility. A long tendril of her golden blonde hair came loose from the Indian strap that tied her thick glory into a simple low ponytail. She cast a frown toward the brilliant sun that made her eyes water. Those eyes could be clear and honest, even vulnerable, yet they could stare down the rankest cowboy or miner that ever drew breath in Eagle Station.

"Da-yamn!" She muttered under her breath and reached back to secure her hair once again. A half-burned cigar, the fire long out, rested familiarly in her teeth. She grimaced at the effort of working her hands behind her head.

Her blue eyes looked up as Big Dan walked into the saloon. Dan was a big, easy-going man and she took great delight in honing her sharp mind and tongue on the fellow. She removed her cigar.

"I AIN'T open yet," she said irritably and louder than needed.

"I know that, Shelby. I can read," Dan offered in explanation.

"Surprisin'!" Shelby smiled and jabbed her cigar back in her mouth.

Dan paid no attention to the remark. Instead he held out a folded paper. "This came for you. Freighter brought it in with him. Eli asked me to bring it over."

Shelby kept her eyes on Dan and carefully took the letter, which was folded against itself, and tucked to seal it. She opened the paper carefully to avoid tearing it. Her eyes had just read the words 'New Mexico' when she crumpled the note in her hand.

Dan's eyebrows rose in silent question but her face hardened in reply.

"Cain't a person read their mail in PRIVATE? Go on, get outta here! Like I said, I ain't OPEN yet!"

Dan examined the tan fringe of his left jacket sleeve, then eased his eyes up to her face. He nodded in acknowledgement. "You need me, holler." The big man flopped his hat on and stomped out into the searing heat.

Shelby walked into the kitchen behind the bar and opened the message again, slowly.

July 10, 1850

McCrae New Mexico

Naomi and baby dead. Come home when you can.

Daddy

Shelby felt it first in her head. A warm swirling feeling that loosened her spine and made her legs buckle. She grabbed the table to hold herself upright. Giving in, she sank onto a low stool, tears falling silently down her face.

"Oh, God. Naomi . . ." she whispered. Her mind snapped back to the last time she had seen her older sister, the day Naomi had told Shelby she had fallen in love with John.

'The dreamer' Shelby remembered. That's what their father, Zebulon, had called John, back when the boy was young and irresponsible. Their father had disapproved of Naomi's choice. Zebulon thought the young man had come from a "bad family." The father had been no-account, the mother's background cloudy. Even though Naomi and John had kept company since they were thirteen, it wasn't until Naomi was 19 that he asked her to marry him. Daddy didn't like it, but he had said that Naomi was a grown woman and could make her own choices. He had meant "mistakes" Shelby knew, but he hadn't said it out loud.

Shelby didn't know how long she sat there when she heard men coming into the saloon. She crammed the note into her shirt pocket, dragged her sleeve across her eyes, and went out front.

"No breakfast today fellas. If ya want somethin' to drink, help yourselves till noon. Frenchy, you run their tabs for me all right?" Shelby threw her cigar in the spittoon. "Don't let 'em bust up the place!" she hollered. Shelby's eyes were gleaming, her face was flushed as she looked deeply at Frenchy.

"I am honored to be of assistance," Frenchy assured her, his face lined with concern.

The streets of Eagle Station had been busy for more than four hours already that morning and Shelby was glad for the noise and commotion. The town's activity helped diminish the roar of thoughts and emotions tumbling in her mind. She walked briskly to the mercantile; unshed tears stinging her eyes and the inside of her nose.

"Eli, I need a freighter. Got to get to New Mexico fast. Know any?" Shelby's eyes held a brightness that Eli did not notice. Ruth did.

"Yes, Shelby. Jubal Wardy was just here. He brought the message for you. I think he has already left town. But, Monroe Salisbury's freight wagon is due this afternoon with a delivery for me. I am not certain of his route but I know that he goes to Denver after one other stop in Utah territory," Eli offered.

"Wish that danged stage line would get out this way." Shelby tried to smile.

Ruth came forward with a tapestry satchel. "Please, take this for your things, Shelby." Noticing Shelby's pause she added, "It is used! Take! Bring it back later, I do not need it." Ruth held the bag out to Shelby and then patted her on the arm.

Shelby swallowed hard to stuff the emotion that was rising to the surface. She tried hard not to blink, to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks, Ruth," Shelby whispered hoarsely. She dabbed a leather-clad arm across her eyes and nose, and forced a laugh. "Well, dang! I better get packed 'fore I miss that freight wagon!"

The sun felt like an enemy, burning right through a person's clothing. Shelby tugged at her shirt, making a slightly cooler breeze course across the skin on her chest. The heat added to her anxiety and made her irritable. When she saw Jack Wolf crane his neck at her from across the street, she felt downright snake-ish. Jack was owner and proprietor of a hotel with dubious services rendered in addition to lodging. Not only that, he often undercut her drink prices. As she expected, he dropped off the sidewalk and strode, in his arrogant, swaggering way, until he stood directly in her path.

"Jack, I ain't got time!" she barked at him before he uttered a word.

Jack held up a hand, a gesture requesting her to listen. "Ah just heard that you might have received some bad news by way of a letter. Ah thought ah would offer to see to your place while you're gone. Assumin', that is, that you're leavin'." Jack's cold, grey eyes darted to the traveling bag.

Shelby's fist gripped tight around the handle. Her history with Jack Wolf played across her mind. Their paths had crossed and diverted many times over the last twelve years.

Shelby's eyes glowed with a fire and her mouth turned up at the corners in self-assurance. "Thanks but no thanks." With a raised voice, she added, "Now take your nose outta my business!" Shelby shook her head in disgust at the thought that whenever things went bad, Jack wasn't far behind.

Jack raised his right hand to his hat and barely lifted it in the slightest respect for the woman as she walked past. Jack put one foot out in a stance of imperious regard and shamelessly watched Shelby until she entered the saloon

Shelby walked briskly past the men in her saloon and banged the door to her living quarters behind her. Setting the traveling bag on her bed she then opened her wardrobe closet. With an appraising eye, she looked at her clothes. There was her black dress but it was surely too small. 'I might get smaller on the trip,' she thought. Naomi would be long-buried before the freighter reached New Mexico so a funeral dress would not be necessary. However, she grabbed the dress and folded it into the bag. Her button-up shoes, two shirts, and another pair of trousers completed her packing. Turning to her nightstand, she picked up the tortoise-shell comb and brush that had been her mother's and placed them carefully inside the dress.

Frenchy and the other men looked up in surprise as Shelby's door opened wide and she came out with a smile on her face. They couldn't tell that it was forced.

"Can I borrow yer horse Frenchy?" Shelby stood a little too close than was polite, her eyes boring straight into the Frenchman's eyes. "I'll need it about three hours."

"Of course, of course. He is directly outside. But beware, he is full of tricks . . ." Frenchy warned.

"Aw, shut up Frenchy, I been ridin' since before I could walk." Remembering that maybe she ought to be civil, Shelby quickly added, "Uh . . . thank ya, Frenchy."

Frenchy leaned closer still and whispered, "My pleasure."

Shelby rolled her eyes and grimaced a little at his tone, but there was a sliver of a smile in her eyes. He removed his hat as she left the saloon.

Walking out the swinging doors, she found Frenchy's beloved gelding standing at the hitching post, shifting his weight from one rear leg to the other. She pulled the slip loop from the post and swung into the saddle.

The horse, accustomed to Frenchy's rigid rein hand, was joyful at the free rein that Shelby allowed and he loped easily down the road. 'Frenchy don't need a tie-down on ya, ya ain't throwin' your head one bit 'cause ya ain't fightin' a short rein, are ya?" Shelby said to the gelding. He sneezed his approval and that made Shelby smile. She was glad she had a parting shot all ready for Frenchy when she got back to town . . .

Nearly half an hour later, she was there. Shelby looked down and her heart tugged at her throat. She dismounted and walked closer.

The wooden cross had weathered but the name had been carved deeply, to last. Jack Roberts. Though the sun was blazing, the hill always caught a cool breeze off the mountain; it pulled at Shelby's hair, catching strands and tossing them around her face and neck. She hooked the hair behind her ear with one hand.

The grave had settled. The rocks were lower. She knelt down and gathered the loose stones back toward the mound. Tears burned in her nose and eyes but she checked them.

Easing down to the ground, she sat next to the grave. The gelding wandered off a ways to nibble on sweet grass growing in the shade. Shelby looked at the vista before her; vast meadows of grass with the tree line above, mountains - partly pine-covered, the other part rocky and purple - with clouds caught on their tops. The sky was so blue it hurt her eyes to look at it and the air pricked at her nose with its freshness.

"Ben was awful good to bury ya on Ponderosa land, Jack. Nothin'll disturb ya. Ever." Her glance caught a sprig of green growing between the rocks of the grave and her eyes widened in amazement. Could that be a daisy? The flower he had always given her. That it would grow here caused her heart to stir. "Thanks, Jack," she whispered.

Shelby watched the shadows gradually lean further. She knew about two hours had passed and that she needed to leave. Standing, she touched her index finger to her lips and softly pressed it to the cross. She walked several yards and gathered the horse's reins, mounted up and with one last gaze at the spot, urged the gelding into a lope.

Ben Cartwright and his son, Adam, drew their wagon up in front of the Trading Post. Adam pulled the brake to and wrapped the reins around the handle. In one quick movement he sprang from the seat and landed gracefully on the ground. Ben eased himself up and lowered himself from the wagon by way of the wheel cog.

Eli came out from the store. "Good afternoon, Ben, Adam,"

"Hello, Eli."

"Afternoon, Mr. Orowitz."

"I have that hammer you were interested in Benjamin and we have gathered your supplies here. They are ready to load."

Ben glanced at the group of sacks and bags near the door and then back at Adam.

Adam nodded and picked up a sack and carried it to the wagon as Ben followed Eli into the storeroom.

"Here it is, Ben." Eli handed the iron-headed hammer to his friend.

"Nice. Balanced. Is this oak, this handle?" Ben smoothed his hand along the polished wood.

"Yes, the finest, all the way from Maine." Eli took the tool in his hands and admired it, lifted it and looked down the handle for straightness and then felt its heft.

Ben's smile slowly drew into a frown. "That has to be expensive."

"Yes, a little. BUT, a hammer to last a lifetime." Eli shook the hammer slightly at Ben. "To be handed down to sons, even." Eli's eyes twinkled, as he handed the tool back to Ben.

"You . . . are an incorrigible salesman . . . and very good at it. How much?"

"Only three-fifty. For you, three twenty-five and some lemon drops for Little Joseph."

"And for Hoss, no doubt!" Ben clapped Eli on the shoulder. "I'll take it, Eli."

"I will add it to your bill of sale."

Ben leaned on the counter. "Those boys of mine leave this hammer out in the rain just once, I'll have their hides."

Eli erupted in laughter. "Now, now, Benjamin. Sons are more precious than tools. Even the best tools, as this one is!" His laughter quieted and he became serious. "Ben, have you been in town long?" Eli asked while he signed the bill of sale.

Ben shook his head. "About fifteen minutes. Why?"

"A letter came this morning. For Shelby. Her sister has died. She is leaving on the freight wagon in thirty minutes or so.

Ben looked questioningly at Eli.

"I did not read her letter, if that is what you are thinking, Ben." Eli shook his finger at his friend. "Jubal Wardy, the freighter, recited it to me. I think he had it memorized."

Ben tried to hide a smile, as he counted out nine dollars. "Thank you, Eli." Where does Shelby have to travel to?"

"Near Santa Fe."

Ben's face creased in thought of Shelby and the long journey. He followed Eli out of the store and helped Adam load the last three sacks into the wagon.

Eli gave Ben his change. "There she is now." They looked down the street to see Shelby riding Frenchy's horse at a walk. She stopped in front of the saloon and then dismounted. Quickly tying the horse, she took some extra time to pat the gelding on the neck and then scratch his muzzle.

"Here Adam." Ben passed the hammer to Adam. "I'll be right back. Finish up here."

"Yes, sir." Adam looked at his father and then Eli, then looked down at the hammer, not sure what was going on.

Ben walked briskly toward the saloon and gently placed his hand on Shelby's shoulder before she went in. "Shelby, Eli told me about your sister. I am so sorry. Is there anything the boys and I can do for you, while you're . . . gone?"

Shelby turned to him. "No, Ben. Thank ya, I got Frenchy seein' to my place and . . . well . . . I reckon that's all I got to worry about." Her eyes were bright and she forced a smile.

"Well, all right. I hope your trip is as safe and as swift as possible." Ben smiled warmly and offered his hand. She shook it firmly.

"See ya when I git back, Ben."

Ben nodded and then turned to walk to the wagon.

Shelby paced back and forth inside the Trading Post.

"Freight wagon's already forty-five minutes late," she said without looking at anyone or halting her pacing.

Ruth and Eli stopped their tasks, looked at each other and then at Shelby. The couple could feel the tension rising in the young woman.

"It has to come soon, Shelby. Try to be patient, you will make yourself ill." Ruth patted her own chest for emphasis.

Shelby turned around swiftly and looked at Ruth's friendly face and let out a deep sigh. For what must have been the five-hundredth time, Shelby looked out the large window. Finally she saw the wagon lumbering along the road.

"It's here!" she shouted, startling the Orowitz's. Shelby burst out the door, quickly followed by Eli and Ruth. The freight wagon rolled to a heavy stop in front of the store.

"Hello, Eli, Mrs. Orowitz." The young man on the driver's seat removed his hat, revealing a good portion of thick, golden-brown curly hair. After setting his hat, brim up, on the seat, he yanked the brake handle, half-looped the reins around it, and hopped down to the ground expertly. Smiling at Shelby, he introduced himself, "Monroe Salisbury, may I have the pleasure?"

Shelby cut in, "Yeah, pleased ta meet ya. You're late!"

Monroe tilted his head at her and smirked. "That I am, Miss, that I am". He rubbed what were suddenly sweaty hands on his trousers and quickly changed the subject. "Let me get all this truck unloaded for you folks." He quickly went to the back of the wagon.

Shelby put her bag down and helped unload the supplies.

Soon enough, they were finished. Monroe picked up Shelby's bag and set it in the wagon. He tried to offer Shelby a leg up into the wagon but before he could get to her, she was already seated. He shook his head, retrieved his hat from the seat, and climbed up. He tugged his hat on. "Going all the way to McCrae, New Mexico? Near Fort Osage and Council Butte. That's quite a ways."

"Yeah it is and I have to say you don't look old enough to get me to Twin Forks," Shelby stated.

"Well, ma'am - Miss . . . I've been running this freight line for almost four years. It's grown a lot."

"You RUN this here freight line?" Shelby turned and looked at him incredulously.

"I don't just run it." He smiled at her. "I own it." And with that, he urged the horses into a lope.

"Look, I'm sorry I was a bit testy back a ways," Shelby said, looking at Monroe and noticing several grey, curly, strands of hair at his temples. He wasn't as young as she thought. She realized she was staring and returned her gaze to the road.

"Don't worry. You must have a lot on your mind. Most folks don't travel this kind of distance by freight wagon . . . unless they've got some kind of trouble." He cast a sidelong glance at her.

"My sister died."

Monroe looked down and seemed sorry he had mentioned the word trouble. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring-"

"That's all right," Shelby interrupted.

"You going to see family while you're there?"

Shelby's mind turned over the same thoughts she had been mulling for hours - the boys, Daddy. Mama, dead and now, Naomi. "I'll be seein' my brothers and my Daddy."

Monroe nodded. "I don't have any kin. Not anymore. I'd appreciate hearing about your family, if you want to talk about them." He looked sideways at her again, his deep green eyes twinkling.

She ducked her head and offered a wry smile. "Don't git me started. I'll never shut up."

"That's all right with me. We got a few miles to cover."

"Well, my mama and daddy had eight children, all lived. Guess we come from pretty strong stock. I have . . . had . . . one older sister, Naomi. She's the one who just died. I got six brothers younger than me."

"That explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Explains why I get the idea you can handle yourself pretty well." Monroe's eyes widened for emphasis. Shelby noticed how his eyes were rimmed in a darker green and flecked with gold.

She grinned and nodded her agreement. "I held my own pretty well. Bein' older helped. We gave each other fits. Which brought our mama to tears or wrath, depending."

Monroe laughed out loud. "I can just imagine that. Tell me about some of those 'fits', would ya?"

"Well, one time, my brother Jeremiah was pesterin' one of my other brothers, Zachariah. Zach had enough, picked Jeremy right up, and dunked him in our pickling barrel. Poor Jeremy had salt where you don't want to HAVE salt!"

Monroe was helpless with laughter. "What happened then?"

"I'll tell ya, Mama was fit to be tied . . ."

Through towns, settlements, and wide places in the road, Shelby and Monroe traveled and talked, picked up and delivered supplies and letters. Shelby was highly amused at Monroe's nightly ritual. He would loose-tie the horses the other side of the wagon - which marked the edge of their camp - knowing the horses would forewarn him of any invaders, human or otherwise. Always making sure a tree was nearby, he strung a rope from it to the wagon and hung the large, oiled tarp across it, staking the corners. Monroe insisted that Shelby sleep underneath that tarp. He made his bed under the wagon, shotgun, rifle and handgun loaded and ready. Shelby swore he slept with one eye open. She knew she slept with one ear open, oftentimes hearing Monroe cock his guns.

After leaving Mesa de Estrella, they were nearing the end of their travel together.

"Reckon we got about two, maybe three days till we reach Council Butte," Monroe stated, slapping the reins against the horses.

"That little town back there weren't even here last time I was through this way," Shelby remarked.

"Lots of settlers headin' west, these days. Can't do much better than this rich grassland and mild winters."

"I know. That's why my Daddy settled here. Not much water to be had, summers get dry and hot."

"That is a fact."

Shelby leaned against the seat back. There was no way to sleep in the bumpy wagon but closing her eyes sure cut the level of grit in them.

Three weeks plus a couple of days after leaving Eagle Station, Monroe drew his wagon into Council Butte. Shelby eased off the wagon seat then dropped solidly to the ground. She stretched her back and twisted the miles out of her shoulders.

Before she could grab her satchel from the back of the wagon, Monroe was beside her, holding it. His eyes sparkled and he smiled, the dimples deepening in his cheeks. "I'm sure sorry you have to leave me to my lonesome now. But you'll get to McCrae a lot faster by stage."

Shelby smiled quickly at him and took her bag. "Well I dang near talked yer arm off, Monroe."

"My pleasure entirely." He returned a long warm smile at her and held her eyes.

Shelby felt her heart quicken and knew that if the sun weren't beating her face to death, her cheeks would betray the blush she was feeling.

"Well. Goodbye." Shelby stuck her hand out to shake Monroe's hand. He took it but held it gently, like a lady's.

"Good luck to you, Shelby. I hope we meet again." He tipped the edge of his hat to her, turned, lightly climbed into the wagon, and signaled the horses into a walk.

Shelby watched him until the ching-chang sound of the harness rig was lost in the noise of the town. "Yeah, so do I." she whispered.

Shelby looked across the street at the station and saw that the stage was ready to load. She crossed the road and a man took her bag. Approaching the window, she reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out a leather bag full of coins. "How much to McCrae?"

The small man behind the window appraised her appearance and said "Fifteen seventy-five. But the stage don't go to McCrae. It goes to Placita. Have to take a horse the rest of the way." He seemed happy to give her the bad news.

"Fine. Here's the money!" She counted out sixteen dollars in an assortment of coins, some relatively new, some grimy.

The clerk made a pretty big show of counting the coins without touching them. When he finished, he pushed them into his drawer with the eraser from his chalkboard to avoid handling them.

Shelby rolled her eyes in disbelief. 'Well, THAT was manly,' she mused to herself.

Shelby looked behind her to see a woman in fine dress clearly not appreciating the wait or the appearance of a woman in trousers. Shelby turned back around and raised her eyebrow and the corner of her mouth at the station man. He looked at her blankly and gave her a boarding ticket.

"They're loadin' and boardin' right now . . . ma'am."

"Thanks." She rolled her eyes at the man's lack of humor.

Shelby walked the few steps to the stage and handed the driver her ticket. She climbed aboard and leaned her head back to relax. The space was small and confining, hot and full of dust already.

The trip to Placita took two full days.

Part 2. Fences

Shelby arrived in Placita about nine in the morning on Thursday. In town, she bought a horse and saddle for twenty dollars. It was a three-hour ride to McCrae, but she thought she might stop along the way for a long bath in the Mule Deer River.

Her hometown hadn't changed much. The livery, hotel, three saloons, blacksmith, and mercantile were there still. The church was different though. In fact, it was a completely different building. That creased her heart. How her father loved that church. He and the other men had cut the lumber and built it with their own hands.

The sight of Philpott's mercantile brought back memories of her brothers. The times Zach and she had bought candy with money earned for doing extra chores. Their two pennies had bought enough licorice and gum drops for themselves and their sister and brothers. She remembered her first after school job, sweeping for the Philpott's for one penny a day. A fortune to her at the time.

Shelby let her mind slip back to the last time she had seen her brothers. Would she even know them to look at them? She tried to imagine them.

Zachariah. Two years younger. Twenty-five? Fifteen then, used to be quiet and determined. Looked like he'd be tall and broad-shouldered. The boy had had plenty of responsibilities heaped on him since he was five, even more later on, when he was suddenly the oldest.

Jeremiah, two years behind Zach. Always had a smile and a laugh. Colorin' had been like Zach's. Used to follow Zach everywhere and showed promise to be a pretty fair worker.

Ezekiel - could Zeke really be nineteen now? That little boy had been hot-headed and had a mean streak. Born with a crippled leg. Daddy was easy on 'im.

Jonas, born less than a year after Zeke, caught the brunt of Zeke's disagreeable nature. Eight then, shy and unsure of himself. But at two he had shown a strong fondness for horses.

Ezra. Finished with school now? The caution of the family. Felt he could do anythin', used to take bone-headed risks, earnin' broken bones and wounded pride.

And then there was Tobias. His four-year-old face tugged at her conscience. A happier baby never lived. Nothin' bothered him 'cept being hungry; his brothers loved 'im and protected 'im. Well, except Zeke, who was unhappy havin' another younger brother to look after. Toby was fourteen now. Shelby sighed deeply and tried to erase the last vision she had of Toby, sleeping in his bed.

Before she knew it, she was nearing the ranch. Shelby could make out the house in the distance. Then she realized that she had completely forgotten to stop for that long bath, she was so eager to get home. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw the condition of the fence line along the road; sections sagging, others down or missing. That was not like Daddy at all, to leave a fence in that shape. Pushing the fear to the back of her mind, she wondered about her brothers. Why hadn't they fixed the fence? She urged her horse on faster.

Her heart eased when she saw the house. In fact, she felt a swelling of her spirit at the house's bright white clapboards and the dark green shutters and trim. Her mother's roses and peonies were in full bloom and three cats disappeared into them when she rode into the yard. But then her heart thudded against her chest as the realization came to her that she was going to face her father for the first time in ten years. Her hands shook as she urged the horse through the gate.

Her father walked out of the house and wiped his hands on a towel. He tucked the rag into his back pocket and studied her. Then he nodded his head and said quietly and without emotion, "Rachel."

Shelby stepped down off her horse and walked to her father. "Daddy . . . it's good to . . ." Her tight throat choked off the rest of it. She wanted to hug him, feel his strong arms squeeze her with his familiar strength.

After a hesitation, he drew her into an awkward, quick embrace. The lost years and the bad terms of their parting, hung in the air.

"Shelby . . . well . . . just look at ya. Yer all growed up." Her father moved her back from him and placed his hands on his hips, regarding her.

"Ten years, Daddy." Shelby looked at him, hard, searching for signs of emotion. His face, weathered and dark, like old leather. His hair, almost silver now, still curled around his ears and probably still irritated him. His hands. She looked down at them. Gnarled and large, the fingers swollen from being broken in work. The skin, rough with calluses and lines, yet . . . still her daddy's hands.

He tentatively, awkwardly, patted her on the shoulder. "It shore is good to see ya." His eyes softened slightly and Shelby could remember how wonderful his quiet love used to make her feel.

"Ten years," he whispered. "It's been a way too long, gal." He turned to go into the house.

'Hope it ain't been too long,' Shelby thought to herself.

Walking in the house assaulted her senses. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. The mixture of aromas that was so familiar from her childhood could only exist here: the smoke from the wood stove, the oak floors and walls, the thousands of meals cooked in the kitchen, the bread, the fragrance of her father's pipe tobacco, and the sharp, tangy smell of his leather boots. It was all the same.

Shelby entered the kitchen and her heartstrings pulled tight. She walked to the curtains her mother had made, dotted Swiss of the lightest green. They were faded and weak-threaded. She knew none of her family, not her father or her brothers, could bear to replace them. They must wash them carefully, she mused. The kitchen had the utilitarian look of men living alone. Her mother's touch was long missing though many of her things remained.

Hearing Zebulon's steps behind her, Shelby knew her father was watching her. She turned around to see him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.

"It's mighty good to have you in your own home again." His words were gentle but his demeanor was not.

"Glad I'm here, Daddy. Should have been sooner." Shelby sensed that her father felt the same thing, that it had been too long. They were both walking way around the trouble that had gone on between them so long ago.

"Guess the place looks a little worn, old." He lowered his head but edged his eyes upward to look at her.

"Perfect the way it is. Woulda been mad if ya changed it."

The side of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "Why don't you go upstairs, put yer things away and git cleaned up?"

Shelby turned an incredulous face toward him and smiled rakishly. "Well, yes sir, I guess I better."

As she climbed the stairs, she looked at the back wall of the landing. It was still there, the patch in the plaster. When she was about seven, she and her sister tried to haul a crate up the stairs to play in. They couldn't manage the second set of stairs and the crate bounced down the steps and slammed into that back wall, badly shattering the plaster. She remembered her sister and she, with sore backsides, helping their daddy clean it up, and patch and paint the wall. She smiled at the memory of how good it felt to fix something you had broken. 'Wish everythin' could be fixed like that.' Shelby rubbed her hand over her hair and mounted the last flight of steps.

When she walked into her room, childhood memories rushed back and filled her mind.

The window was thrown wide open, as was the door, causing the white cotton eyelet curtains to billow into the room Shelby had shared with her sister. The bed was freshly made and Shelby's breath caught when her eyes rested on the quilt neatly covering the bed. It was a crazy quilt, the first one Shelby had ever worked on. Her mother and she had worked on it in the living room when she was seven. Shelby remembered wanting this quilt pattern above all others for its unpredictability and mish-mash of colors and textures. Her mother had wanted her to make an eternal ring, star or log cabin pattern, more suitable for her hope chest, but her suggestions were in vain.

Shelby placed her bag down and sat on the edge of the bed. She ran her hand along the stitches. Some were neatly done, precisely the same length and met her mother's required fifteen stitches per inch. The other stitches were in an earnest pattern of differing lengths, spaces and numbers per inch. She smiled, remembering how eager she had been - no, impatient - to see the job done. Now, she was glad she had rushed her work for she could see which were her mother's stitches and which were hers. This made the quilt especially dear to her. She was grateful that it had remained here at home, instead of being traipsed around the country the last ten years.

She walked to the wooden washstand and poured water from the pitcher into the simple, white porcelain bowl. After washing her hands, she scrubbed her face and rubbed it vigorously with the towel. In her mind, she could hear her mother's gentle voice: 'Don't rub your face so hard, Rachel, you'll rub the youth right out of it!' Shelby smiled as she combed and retied her hair.

"Shelby, there's lunch. If ya want it, come on ahead!" her father hollered up the stairs.

"Thanks. Be right there." She folded the towel and hung it on the wash stand rack.

Shelby walked into the kitchen as her father sliced off thick portions of roast beef and placed them on a platter.

"We've got beef, potatoes and greens. Help y' self."

Shelby sat at the small kitchen table. "Where're the boys?"

Her father stopped chewing and looked at her. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and then slowly shook his head. Shelby could tell by the set of his jaw that he wasn't happy with at least one of her brothers. "Zach and Jeremy are out to the lower pasture. Been there since yesterday, checkin' for disease. Had some steers with consumption in the next county. Zeke and Jonas are over to Jameson's, helping them brand and castrate. Zeke's more trouble than help on a job like that. Back tomorrow." Her father took a deep breath, then threw the napkin down on the table. "God knows where Ezra and Tobias are. I'll lay you odds it ain't nothin' to do with Ezra." Zebulon pointed at her. "Two of 'em supposed to be mendin' fence up north side. Ain't seen much evidence of it." He went back to his meal.

"Me neither. That's the way I come in. Was worried you were sick, havin' a fence looked like that." Shelby smiled at him. He didn't return it.

"Odds are Tobias run off to chase some fun somewhere and Ezra's probably trying to haul him back." He shook his head slowly. "Time's getting' short 'til I stripe that boy's backside," he said without looking up.

Shelby cleared her throat. "Aw, Daddy, he's just young. Got itchy feet and wild oats to sow."

Her father dropped his fork on his plate. "Seems you forgot what a person's got to do 'round a ranch. And that's work, not chasin' some foolishness somewhere." He noticed her embarrassment and seemed to quickly regret speaking sharply to her.

Shelby looked at him and then continued with her meal, wondering if he also meant her "foolishness".

Zebulon got up to take his plate to the sink and patted Shelby's shoulder as he walked by. She recognized it as his manner of apology.

"Daddy?"

He turned and looked at her.

"Why did you want me to come? I mean, I couldn't git here in time for Naomi's funeral." She still wondered why she had packed the black dress. "You need help with her house?"

Zebulon shook his head. "John was surveying for a big landowner. Came up missing one day. Your sister worried herself into a state. They found his body after three weeks."

Shelby felt her stomach lurch.

"Married all those years and no children. Then they found out they were gonna have a young 'un. Guess she was five months along when . . . it happened," Zebulon examined his hands. "Naomi couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. Carrying that baby drawed the life right out of her. Both of 'em died in birthin' . . ."

The weight of a thousand pounds bore down on Shelby's heart. She still didn't understand the reason for her being brought back home. "I didn't know he was missing, didn't know about the baby."

"Well, it's a damn shame when family is spread out." He looked at her with shining eyes. She was startled by his curse and took it as the rebuke she knew he meant it to be. "C'mere," he ordered as he walked out of the kitchen.

Shelby followed him to his desk in the small study. He sat down, unlocked the middle drawer, and drew out a leather book bound with a thick plaid ribbon. "You need to read this. It's gonna explain some things a lot better'n I can."

Shelby took it and glanced down at her father, who suddenly looked old to her.

"It's your mother's journal."

She felt the blood leave her face as she reached out gently for the book. Her mother had kept a journal? How on earth, with eight children?

"I marked some pages with paper strips. Start there." He didn't look at Shelby.

She nodded and held the book to her chest. Her father stood and went out to the porch with his pipe.

Shelby was lying on her side, both hands tucked up under her pillow. The afternoon breeze from the window coursed across her face and she watched the tops of the trees sway gently. The unopened journal lay beside her. She sat up at the clumping sound of horses' hooves coming into the yard. Someone was whistling outside. The front door opened and slammed shut. The whistling stopped. She hurried to the window and looked out to see her father, in profile, standing there with his arms crossed.

"Where in God's name have you two been?" her father roared.

Tobias, flaxen-haired and slim, pulled his hat down over his eyes a little more.

"Ezra? You answer me. Was it this one?" Zebulon jerked his thumb at Tobias.

Ezra looked at his younger brother and then at his father. He wet his lips. "It weren't all his fault, Daddy. His horse here. She got to limpin' and . . ."

"Where at?" Zebulon shifted impatiently.

"Where at?" Ezra repeated.

Zebulon stared at him.

"Well, it happened in . . . it happened on the road!" Ezra seemed hopeful about his answer.

"WHERE on the road?" The man's face colored with irritation.

Ezra seemed to sense the futility and danger of dragging the telling of it out any longer. "Near town."

"And WHAT were you doin' near town, Ezra, when you're supposed to be working on that fence line?" Zebulon was in full cry now.

Ezra held his breath, then exhaled. Tobias spoke up. "I went to town, Daddy. Had some trouble with my horse, though. Ezra came a-lookin' for me, found me, and we've been easin' our way back home. I need a fresh horse." He smiled hopefully at his father.

Shelby squinted her eyes and cautiously watched from her window perch. She knew that her father's stillness reflected his anger. She saw him draw a deep breath, look down at the ground, and slowly edge his eyes up to Tobias. "Why did you go to town?" Each word was slow and controlled.

Tobias cleared his throat. "Mrs. Hamilton rode by in her buggy, lookin' fierce sick, Daddy. She was goin' to town for the doctor. I told her to go on home herself and I'd go for the doctor. Made it to the doc but my horse couldn't make it back. Got a stone bruise." Tobias looked at his father, his clear grey eyes holding steady.

Zebulon sighed. "Well, get that horse in the barn. Soak her foot, then put enough soft straw down so she can rest it. You both gonna get an early start on that fence in the mornin' hear?" Zebulon turned to go back in the house but caught sight of Shelby in the window. She smiled openly at him. He shook his finger at her. "It ain't fittin' to be spyin' on your daddy, girl."

"I ain't spying on my daddy. I was spyin' on Tobias!" Shelby gave her father a self-satisfied look, then winked at Toby.

Part 3. Wayfaring Stranger

Shelby went downstairs, smiling when she heard Tobias and Ezra brushing their boots off on the porch. She entered the kitchen as the boys hung their hats on the hat stand in the study. The air in the kitchen ignited with energy as the two young men barreled through the doorway, looking for food. At the sight of Shelby in the kitchen, they came to a stop, unsure of what to do. Shelby wondered why she worried if she would recognize her brothers.

"Ezra! It sure is good to see you, my gosh you're tall." Shelby approached the boy, noticing the small scar near his right eye and remembering the accident that happened between them so long ago. He stepped back and lowered his dark blue eyes. He then looked up at her trying not to stare at her leather trousers.

"Yes'm, good t' see you too." Ezra clamped his lips together to keep from laughing. Shelby frowned and gave him a knowing look.

"Toby. You're a young man." Shelby went to the boy to embrace him, but he stiffened and blushed deeply. Shelby rubbed her hands on her legs and pretended to not be hurt by the reception. "Well, supper ain't gonna be ready for an hour but I got potatoes and bacon here, if you..." She hadn't had time to finish her sentence when the boys dove into the food. She rolled her eyes. "Next time you oughta wash yer hands first." They looked at her suspiciously as they finished chewing, and then walked past her into the sitting room to join their father.

Shelby had thought meeting her youngest brothers would be easier than the older ones. If that was the case, she was in for quite a time with the other four.

While Ezra and Zebulon went outside to feed the horses and check gates, Shelby started to cook supper. She cut up the remainder of the roast beef, added potatoes, carrots, celery, and onion to make a large kettle of stew. Two batches of biscuits for a lot of hungry men completed the meal.

Shelby noticed that Zach and Jeremiah, coming out of the barn, had arrived at some point earlier but hadn't heard them ride in. That was not the case with Zeke and Jonas, who rode in, hollering at each other. Shelby watched out the door as Zeke tied his horse to the post and walked toward the house, leaving Jonas to care for the animal. She was disappointed to see Jonas dejectedly gather the reins of both animals and lead them to the barn. Her eyes narrowed as she watched Zeke limp toward the house. 'Ornery cuss.' She slapped the dishtowel against the sink stand.

Zeke slammed through the front door, trailing mud and who knows what else into the entryway. Shelby's eyes widened. When he brushed past her, knocking his shoulder into hers, she shouted, "Ezekiel, ain't you got the manners of a goat?"

He turned and looked at her, his eyes green-blue but hard. He didn't answer her, just flopped down at the supper table. Shelby could feel the heat rise to the back of her neck, but she said nothing more.

Zach, Jeremiah and Jonas came in together. They stopped when they caught sight of Shelby. Jeremy and Jonas walked to her and wrapped their arms around her in turn. "Welcome home, Shelby." Jeremy gave her an open smile, while Jonas just smiled shyly, then walked to the table.

Zach looked at her but said nothing. She couldn't read his eyes, but she thought she saw an accusation there. He walked past her to the table.

Shelby gripped the sink stand and stared out into the early evening sky. Her heart was driving against her chest and her throat was dry. She had to pull her temper into line. Temper? She wasn't sure if she was mad or hurt. Picking up two hot pads, she hefted the iron kettle off the fire and carried it to the table, setting it on a trivet. She returned to the kitchen and retrieved the plate of biscuits that were warming on the stovetop.

Shelby took her place at the table, her mother's old place, and they all bowed their heads as Zebulon prayed.

"Heavenly Father, we are all grateful that thou hast brought our daughter and sister home safe to us once more. Please bless this food and the hands that prepared it, that it may strengthen our bodies in thy service. Amen."

They ate in silence, which was only broken by the sounds of forks scraping plates.

After supper they all, except Jeremiah and Ezekiel, went out to the front porch to sit. Zach softly strummed a hymn on his guitar and Daddy sang in his low baritone.

"I am a poor, wayfaring stranger,

while traveling through this world of woe.

Yet there's no sickness, toil or danger

in that bright world to which I roam.

"I'm going there to see my father,

he said he'd greet me when I come.

I'm only goin' over to Jordan.

I'm only goin' over home."

When the last threads of the sun slipped from the sky, they headed inside for the night. At Zebulon's soft instruction, the younger boys went to bed to get ready for their early start the next day. Jeremiah and Ezekiel played checkers in the sitting room. Shelby smiled when her father came into the kitchen, sat down, lit his pipe and kept Shelby company while she washed up the dishes.

Zebulon spoke without looking at her. "Fine supper, Rachel. I thank ya." He took a long draw on the tobacco.

Shelby noticed his softer tone. "Rachel? Why you callin' me that? I only heard that when I was in trouble and that's been a few years!" Shelby smiled. The smoke from the tobacco drifted her direction and the familiar aroma tickled her nose.

"Remember how I came to callin' ya Shelby, darlin?" Her father removed the pipe and laid his right arm on the table.

Shelby's heart flushed with warmth because he called her 'darlin'. "Tell me again. Love to hear it." Shelby swished two plates in the rinse water.

"Well, you were so little tryin' to do everthin' your sister Naomi was doin'. And you couldn't say your name. All you could manage was "chel". I'd say 'you cain't do what your sister's doing, you're not big enough.' And you'd say 'Chel be big, Chel be big!' over and over. Well, 'Chel be' became Shelby and, why, I can't imagine you bein' called anythin' else!"

"Yeah, and you bein' so cussed hard-headed about Naomi and the boys bein' called by their Biblical names!" Shelby gave her father an insolent look and then laughed at him.

"Doesn't mean you can get wise with me now, just because you're grown!" Zebulon put on a mock-stern face, which made Shelby laugh harder.

"Daddy, know what?" Shelby waited until Zebulon looked at her. "You still got a mighty fine voice. Sounded so pretty out there on the porch"

"Sweet-talkin' me now, are ya?" They both knew he loved the compliment.

Shelby washed two forks at once. "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Zeke, Ezekiel, he seems healthy enough. But he ain't happy. His leg don't seem worse. Still limps hard though, don't he?"

"Yeah. When he was born, doc said that leg might never grow right. Might not walk he said. But he did. He does fine if he don't do too much. And, believe me, he don't try."

Shelby looked at him questioningly as she dried the skillet.

"That boy'll do anythin' to git outta work. He's hot-headed, disrespectful, and lazy." Zebulon shook his head.

"You never worked him much. You're thinkin' you were too easy on him, reckon?" Shelby ventured.

"Yes I was. Felt sorry for him. Coddled him." Zebulon picked at a callous on his left hand.

"Well, that's a human thing, Daddy. You just love him."

"I didn't love him enough in the way that counts. I didn't teach him right." Zebulon stood up and walked to his desk in the next room.

She watched his retreat and then began to dry the dishes.

Shelby climbed the stairs to her room. She stripped down to her long johns and sat in the rocking chair by the window. She took out a cigar and lit it. It had been two days, nearly, since she had had a smoke and the tobacco soothed her. The crickets and lightening bugs dashed and darted around outside as the last of the sun's light crept from the sky.

All relaxation left her when the door opened suddenly and her father stood in the doorway.

"Rach-" His wide smile melted from his face. "JEE-hosephat! What in thunder you doin'?" he hollered.

"These are the only smokes I can get in Utah territory," Shelby hollered in poor defense.

He looked unconvinced. "Same story for your . . . underwear?"

Shelby's face blushed deep. "Confound it, I'm a grown woman just tryin' to relax!"

"You don't look like a woman. You look like my brother!" Her father's mouth clamped shut in a grim line. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows lowered. "Well, it ain't my business. Just glad your mama ain't here to witness it."

Shelby's face fell. "All right, all right. What do you want me to do? Wear a frilly pinafore?"

He looked at her hard. "Don't talk to me like that. You'll show respect for me, no matter your age." He paused. "Some of your mother's things are in that trunk. Suit yourself. It don't make no never mind to me!"

Shelby knew that wasn't true but she took a long pull at her cigar while her father kept a steady gaze on her. Neither was budging. "Night, Daddy." She smiled and blew smoke in his direction.

He frowned and said over his shoulder, "Ladies shouldn't smoke." He shut the door hard behind him.

"Well, I ain't a lady," Shelby called loudly to the closed door. To her surprise the door spoke back.

"I wouldn't be proud of that."

Shelby was stung by the rebuke.

She got up and reluctantly walked to the trunk, setting her cigar on the dresser's edge. The lid squeaked as she lifted it. Resting on the top of the items were some finely crocheted tablecloths and runners; embroidered sheets and pillowcases were next. Finally, between the sheets and some blankets, were several white cotton nightgowns with different white embroidered patterns on each bodice. She pulled one out, tossed it on the bed, and closed the trunk lid. She stripped off the pink long johns and pulled the nightgown down over her head. It fell all the way to the floor and felt cool and crisp against her skin. She picked up her cigar and the journal and sat down in the rocker to read. The cigar rested between her teeth as she opened the book.

Suddenly, she felt uncomfortable smoking a cigar with her mother's journal before her. She threw the cigar into the water in the porcelain bowl on the washstand and opened the book.

Shelby looked at the front page on which was inscribed the date her mother began the diary.

Rebecca McCrae Sterrett

August 15, 1817

Her parents' wedding day.

Shelby remembered that her father wanted her to read certain pages ahead of all others and she looked at the five paper strips protruding from the volume. Each strip had been numbered by her father. She quickly found the first marker and tentatively opened the journal to that page. Shelby was surprised to discover her heart beating in her ears and apprehension filled her as she began to read.

January 17, 1835

Zebulon took the children to the barn while I was indisposed in our bedroom today. The pains came slowly at first, then rapidly. A boy was born this evening. One sharp slap to his backside set him to wailing. Healthy, thank God for that. He is strong with powerful lungs. Blond hair and what look to be blue eyes. His name shall be Tobias. Naomi seems to be recovering after the long difficult birth. We shall rear him as our own, Zebulon and I.

Shelby slammed the book shut and held her breath.

Tobias. Tobias, was actually . . . how can it be? Oh, God. Naomi.

Shelby had only been thirteen when Toby had been born, Naomi, seventeen.

Shelby read her mother's words again. And again. Then she stared at the words. Tobias was her sister's child.

She closed the journal and laid it on the table beside her. Shelby stood, and the rocker swung back and forward into the back of her knees. After reaching back to stop its’ rocking, she crossed to the door and left her room. She walked to the end of the short hall and listened at her father's door. There was no soft snoring, so she knocked.

"Daddy, Shelby."

"Come in, girl."

Her father was sitting in his chair, a larger rocker than the one in Shelby's room, with a flat cushion in the back and a flatter one in the seat. The oil lamp burned brightly. He was reading the scriptures, as he did nightly. Lifting his eyes, he looked her up and down. When he raised his eyebrow, Shelby knew he was noticing the nightgown.

"Fits you good."

"Reckon." Shelby wrinkled her nose.

He laid the open Bible in his lap. "Got somethin' on y' mind?"

"Well, first off, I'm sorry I was wise earlier."

He nodded.

She sat on the bed in front of him. "I read that first page you wanted me to."

He looked down and marked his place with the black satin ribbon attached to the Bible. After closing the book softly, he placed it on the table next to him.

Zebulon didn't answer, only looked at her.

"How did Mama hide this? Naomi too! I never noticed her . . . growing."

"She didn't much. Baby was early, small. You were right young, didn't notice that Mama didn't go to town durin' Naomi's confinement. They both wore their clothes in such a way as to hide the truth, both ways. God knows Naomi didn't go out at all. We planned it, all of it, to protect Naomi's prospects for a marriage." Zebulon rubbed his calloused hands and examined the palms. "Reckon we were wrong?"

"Mama had just had Ezra three years before, so . . ."

"So, it seemed fittin'" Zebulon finished her sentence.

"You and Naomi, did . . ."

"I had a righteous anger, girl. Angry at that boy, angry at your sister. Wanted to get my hands on that skunk. And God forgive me, I wanted to thrash Naomi within an inch of her life but I didn't of course. Things were bad between us for a long spell."

Shelby looked down and nodded slowly. "How old was the boy?"

"It was John. Married each other a couple years later. That boy was always a dreamer. Later on he got sense and provided well, as you know. I come to respect him as a man. A damn shame he died like he did.

"At his funeral, was there any family come?" Shelby stared at the floor.

"Yep. His mama come in from Akela Flats. There are some cousins, spread out. One was a no-account gambler, one was a bounty hunter, heard tell."

Shelby knew her face turned white from the mention of Akela Flats. She felt the blood pulse in her neck. Clearing her throat, she nodded and asked, "John's mama, what's her name? Still in Akela Flats?"

"Last I heard she was. Name was Chandler. Harriet Chandler. Come into some small money when her second husband died. I think she had a past." Zebulon raised his eyebrows to carry the rest of his meaning.

"Daddy, ever'body has a past." Shelby realized she dismissed him to quickly and she colored at his hard stare.

Zebulon clasped his hands and looked down at them. Then looked up slowly. "I reckon I need to tell the boy, now he's old enough. Tell him his real mama's dead and I ain't really his daddy . . .pains me to keep these secrets from him." his voice trailed off.

Shelby's clear blue eyes focused on her father. "And you want me to help tell 'im? Or decide whether to?"

"I'd just like to hear your piece on it."

She looked at the oak dresser drawers, dusty and untended. "Daddy, I need to think on it a while. I've been gone a long time."

Zebulon nodded once and reached for the Bible. Shelby took that as her signal to leave. As she closed her father's bedroom door, she looked across the hall toward Toby's and Ezra's room. Quietly, she opened their door and peeked in at her brothers - well, one of them was her brother.

The room was full of the moon's blue light. Toby's skin was smooth and pale, his hat hung rakishly from his bedpost. He was still wearing his neckerchief. Ezra was hidden beneath a mound of quilt and blanket, but she could see his unruly hair at the top of his head. She smiled to herself. They had been so little when she had left. She closed the door then walked back to her room.

Shelby crawled into her bed. The night air had cooled the sheets and they felt crisp and comfortable, just the way she liked them. "Confound it", she cursed to herself and tried to adjust the nightgown, which had already begun to twist around her legs. Kneeling on the bed, she pulled the nightgown up to her waist and then lay down again and pulled up the covers. She considered that since that was where the gown ended up anyhow, she might as well start off that way. For two cents she would just strip off naked and sleep that way. She dashed that thought.

She reached for the journal and opened it to the second strip of paper.

July 24, 1822

Had another girl this week. Rachel. She is healthy and has a strong cry, but only does it when she is hungry. Sleeps well, keeps herself contented somehow. Zebulon is beside himself with joy over his second daughter. Most would think a man would want sons to work on the place. Not this man. He is rejoicing. After three lost babies since Naomi, Rachel is a miracle to me.

Shelby was surprised to find tears dripping off her chin onto the page. This morsel of information about her birth and her mother and father's love for her . . . pulled at her heart. She rubbed at the offending tears and cleared her throat. 'Emotional woman' she scolded herself.

She read the third marked page.

September 29, 1825

We have had a bad year. Many of our herd have become ill and been destroyed as the law requires. Zebulon pours himself into this outfit and at night stays in the barn until all hours. We pray for blessings on our home and ranch. Funds are low and it is way down in the fall. Naomi and I, even little Rachel, have canned all the vegetables and fruit we could from the garden. Winter threatens to be spare.

The fourth.

January 17, 1837

Tobias turned two today and I am dying. I knew two months before the doctor spoke in hushed tones to Zebulon and me. I have planned my funeral, selected hymns and scripture. I don't know why God would take me from my babies. All of them still so young. But his will shall be done and I have faith in a loving God. Naomi will be a help, Rachel can do quite a bit. I do worry about Zebulon. He is stalwart, yet does a wife know her husband's tender heart? Yes. I will not write again. I pray for God to look after my babies and our home.

The final marked page.

May 5, 1827

Rachel put rotten eggs in my egg basket today. I was making a cake for the church social. I had added three eggs and cracked the fourth, when it erupted all over me and the cake batter. Smelled up the kitchen. In truth, the entire house was alive with sulfur. There was no mistaking who the culprit was as I could hear her giggle outside the window. I let on I didn't know who done it and she came in to enjoy the scene, as I knew she would. I took her by her arm and asked her to not lie and tell me if she did the deed. She nodded seriously. I took the switch out of the bucket of water in the kitchen and switched her legs good. We were a sight, going around in circles as I took the switch to her, she a-cryin' and me a-scoldin'. Sad to say, Rachel got a hard spanking from her Daddy when he came in from the field and heard what she had done. She is a dear little girl, though full of mischief. I must say she is a sad sight this evening.

Shelby laughed out loud as she remembered the event. 'Seemed like fun at the time!' she thought.

She thumbed through the rest of the book and after a few blank pages came upon some different handwriting - her father's. Further on in the book, still another hand had recorded some aspect of their lives - Naomi.

She wasn't ready to read her sister's words, and so turned back to her father's entries. She read from a random page.

June 13, 1838

Cut hay today. Looks like rain by Friday. Jonas has measles, fear for the younger boys.

Shelby turned a few pages.

June 19, 1838

The taxman came today. Put a lien on the place. I must make payments to him or lose the ranch. Naomi tends to the young boys while Rachel, the older boys and I work the ranch. I pray that we will get by.

July 28, 1838

Certain to lose ranch. Collector's officer has no record of my tax payment. No chance of another $127 for taxes. Naomi has left home to work in Council Butte. It has fallen to Rachel to tend the boys. Financially, we are in ruin.

Shelby closed the book as she felt an old hurt rise to the surface. She tried to push down the memories but they persisted. She closed her eyes and let herself remember.

Part 4. Trespasses

It had been shortly after this last entry by her father that life at home had changed. What her father's written word had not said was that he, though a God-fearing, scripture-reading man, had become so desperate to save the ranch that all he did was work and look at his ledger books.

Shelby had been fifteen years old and had been taking care of the younger children during the daytime hours. The boys helped their father with the ranch work. Her father would go out on the range all day every day with the older boys. The younger boys worked at all the yard and barn chores. Shelby kept house and looked after the two youngest. When Zebulon came home nights, he ate and then entered his study, never emerging until the children were long asleep.

Shelby knew her father had been worried about the taxes on the ranch. Money was tight and there wasn't extra to pay the taxes but her father scraped it together somehow. The fact that the payment was lost at the collector's office seemed to drive her father further into his work and away from his children.

One afternoon, while in town with her father to pick up food supplies, she met the saloonkeeper on the street.

"Mr. Cooper, I saw your 'Help Wanted' sign. I want that job."

The man stuffed some papers into his shirt pocket, then put his fists on his hips. "Go home, young'un. Ya ain't old enough to work in a saloon."

"I don't want to work in the saloon. You need help in the kitchen. I aim to do that." Shelby crossed her arms in front of her and pointed her chin at him, her clear blue eyes steady.

Mr. Cooper looked hard at Shelby but gained no ground. "No!" he shouted.

Her arms flew to her sides and her hands fisted into balls. "You got to. I ain't takin' no for an answer. I'll do it for half the wages."

He folded his arms in front of him and squinted at the girl. The smile began in his eyes. "All right, you come tonight at nine and stay until two. Half-wages! And on a trial basis!"

Shelby's face split into a wide smile and she jumped in place with excitement. "Yes, sir, Mr. Cooper. Thank you!"

Shelby gathered the few supplies and hurried back to the wagon to tell her father about the new job.

"Absolutely NOT," Zebulon stated.

"But I can make some money, to help out!" Shelby had pleaded.

"NO! Ain't no daughter of mine workin' in a saloon. I will take care of my own family. I forbid it and that's the end of it." He'd tugged his hat down lower, nodded curtly at Shelby, then turned and climbed into the wagon seat.

"But, Daddy, I won't be workin' in the saloon. I'll be workin' in the kitchen."

"I said NO! Rachel, get in the wagon right now and don't say another word about it."

Shelby had stared at her father in disbelief. She couldn't keep the tears from springing out of her eyes as the heat of her anger burned from her chest, to her neck, and finally to her face. In fury, she stomped toward the wagon, climbed up in the back and sat down hard, in protest. It irritated her further when her father paid no attention to her.

The ride home had been silent and uncomfortable for Shelby. The set-to didn't seem to affect her father at all and that made her all the angrier. She decided that she would take that job anyway. The thought of defying her father raised goose bumps on the back of her neck, but she had a plan. After supper, when Zebulon went out to check the gates, Shelby told her brothers what she was going to do.

"Now, Zach, you are in charge of these young 'uns, hear me? And I'll beat the tar out of you if you let anything happen to any of them while I'm gone. And don't you wake Daddy up neither. Y'all go to bed at eight thirty, and I'll pretend to. If Daddy misses me, just say I went to the outhouse, hear?"

Zack nodded seriously.

"Zach, you don't go to sleep until all the others are asleep and I mean it!"

"I know, Shelby! Quit fussin' at me."

Later that night, Shelby said goodnight to her father and went to her room. At eight thirty, she sneaked out the front door, saddled a horse, and rode to town for her first day of training.

During the next two weeks at the saloon, The White Stallion, Shelby had learned how to cook late night meals for the miners and drunks. She'd even begun to manage the stocking of supplies for the kitchen and had saved Mr. Cooper a lot of money by ordering only what had been needed and minding not to waste anything. She'd raised the prices on the meals and started a dessert menu. Within two weeks, the kitchen had been operating at a marked profit. Every night she'd ride almost all the way home, walk her horse into the barn and creep upstairs to bed for two precious hours of sleep before her ranch day started.

One night, she finished sweeping the kitchen and went out back to empty the dustpan in the garbage. Coming back into the kitchen, she saw her boss. "Mr. Cooper, I know that the kitchen is working good and we're making a lot of money. I want to learn about runnin' the saloon."

"Little gal, you're too young."

She leaned the broom against the wall and calmly looked at the man. "Then I'll quit."

"WHAT?" Mr. Cooper slapped his hand on the wooden counter. Shelby did not flinch.

"I said I will quit your kitchen if you don't show me the ropes of runnin' this saloon." Shelby tilted her head and smirked at him. "And you can't afford for me to quit."

He had narrowed his small, dark eyes at her. "You're a mercenary."

"If that means I'm smart, you're right." She had untied her apron, folded it and tucked it under the counter - fighting the urge to look at the man.

Mr. Cooper shook his head and pursed his lips. After a deep intake of air and a long sigh, he answered, "All right, we'll start tomorrow. But that kitchen's got to keep on runnin' good and fast, or that's the end of it, understood?"

Shelby nodded but couldn't hide the smile on her face. She had already earned a good sum in coins and had hopes of earning a lot more. She locked the back kitchen door and left for the night.

Shelby rode quietly into the yard that night, just like all the other nights. She looked quickly at the silent house, then opened the barn door and led her horse to his stall. The horse sighed in relief when Shelby pulled the saddle off the mare's back and set it on the saddle stand. She had just begun to brush the animal, when the barn door slammed shut behind her. The door shuddered against the doorframe. She jumped in surprise and turned around to see her father standing in front of the door. Her heart banged in her chest and then seemed to fall to her feet. He raised the lantern, which was gripped in his hand, and hung it on a hook by the door.

"Daddy!" Shelby exclaimed, her throat dry.

"Where the devil have you been?" He stood there and seemed to grow taller, the dim glow from his lantern lighting him against the darkness.

Shelby couldn't find her voice.

"ANSWER ME!" Zebulon bellowed.

She flinched. "I was riding . . ."

"WHERE?" he interrupted.

"Around the place . . . and . . . and I went to town." She knew she was stammering and looked down at her feet.

"FOR WHAT?" He seemed to look right through her.

The realization washed over him. "Don't tell me you took that job." His voice was dangerously low.

"Daddy, I'm making so much money for us . . ." Her plea fell off as he walked toward her.

He pulled her saddle stand away from the stall, then his hands moved to his belt buckle. "You defied me."

He grabbed her arm. "Did I tell ya not to take that job? Did I?"

Shelby's heart seemed to quit beating and she found all she could say was, "Yes, sir."

Before she knew it had happened, she found herself over the saddle stand, wishing she were wearing a dress and not her trousers. She knew better than to fight him.

Afterward, he held the belt in front of her. "You don't go back there, girl, hear? Unless you want this end of it."

She'd looked at the brass buckle and knew his threat. She nodded. He left her in the barn. Through the open doors, Shelby could see at least two of her brothers looking out their bedroom window, witnessing her disgrace. Her father had left the lantern behind. She held it aloft as she left the barn, closing the doors behind her. Why was it, she wondered, that after a whippin' she was not only hurting, but she was so hot and sweating with her hair plastered against her neck and forehead. Her entire body shook violently, and her blood seemed to race like a trapped rabbit's. A sob, born of sorrow and humiliation, escaped her throat.

When she had returned to her room, Shelby'd counted the money she had made over the past two weeks. Sixteen dollars. She put the money in her dresser drawer, pulled out a nightshirt and slipped it over her slim frame. Climbing into her bed she lay on her side and tried to sleep. Only then, when alone, had she allowed herself to cry. That had been the night Shelby had made her decision to leave home for good.

The memory was so vivid to Shelby, lying in the same bed as that awful night so long ago. She was surprised to find her hand clutching the quilt. She tried to push the memories away but remembering the event ended all chances of her falling asleep anytime soon.

She stepped quietly downstairs to the kitchen. There was still some milk in the pitcher so she poured herself a cupful. A noise behind her made her startle. She turned and saw her father standing in the doorway. Seeing him so soon after revisiting the events of that long-ago night made her jump. She had to steady her hand to keep from sloshing the milk out of her cup. Her breath came in short gulps.

"Trouble sleepin'?" Zebulon asked, concerned.

Shelby set the pitcher on the table but couldn't look at him. "Just havin' some milk, then I'm goin' back up."

Her father smiled. "Well, all right. Good night then, hon." He patted her on the back, turned, and went back up the stairs.

Shelby breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. "He can still fill up a doorway."

The next morning dawned bright and warm. Despite the stifling air, Shelby walked down the stairs, tired but cheerful. She smiled at Zachariah sitting at the kitchen table, mopping up cream gravy with the last bite of a biscuit.

"Mornin' Zach!"

"Mornin," he replied flatly.

Shelby frowned at the oldest of her brothers. "Get home late? Woke up too early? Drawers too tight?"

The eldest son, not accustomed to receiving guff but giving it, glared at her. "How long you stayin' anyhow?"

Shelby drew her chin back, tilted her head, and looked at him. "Well, just as long as you want me to, Zach." She smiled sarcastically at him.

"Then you shoulda been gone yesterday." Zach shoved the chair backward and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving his plate uncared for.

"If you think I'm cleanin' up after ya . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Shelby fried an egg and cut off a hunk of smoked ham for her breakfast. After her meal was finished, she tidied up the kitchen but left Zach's plate sitting where he had left it.

Tobias exploded through the front door and stopped when he saw Shelby.

"Well, Hi Toby!" She smiled.

"Hi," he said shyly. Just then, Jeremiah, Jonas, and Ezekiel clamored into the kitchen. Jeremiah grabbed Tobias around the neck in a playful manner as Jonas and Ezekiel dropped grass burrs down the back of Tobias's shirt. The boys were laughing, except Tobias. He was trying to hold his own and failing badly.

"There, that'll show you who's boss when it comes to chores. You let us do your mornin' chores again, we'll think of somethin' worse next time!" Zeke promised. They all laughed at Tobias as the youngest brother cried out in frustration.

"I'm gonna tell Daddy what you all did and we'll see who's laughing."

"Go right on ahead, Tob . . . you'll also have to tell Daddy you didn't do your chores." Jonas smiled. The three burst forth in renewed mirth.

Tobias's face contorted as he reached for the burrs and yanked them out. Shelby could see by his tight jaw that he was trying not to cry in front of his brothers.

"If yer gonna rake that stuff out, do it outside. I just swept!" Shelby hollered.

They all pushed their way outside and met up with their father in the yard. Shelby could see all sorts of complaining and explaining going on, with wild arm gestures for emphasis. She watched her father draw Tobias off by himself and talk to the boy, whose head hung low. It was Shelby's opinion that Zeke was the one who needed a good scoldin', not Toby.

Shelby opened the window and hollered, "Daddy, would ya tell Zachariah to get in here and tend to his plate?" He nodded in response.

She watched as her father caught up with the other boys near the barn and had a discussion with them, rather one-sided it looked like to her. Zach headed toward the house and the rest of them mounted horses and rode off to the north pasture and that fence line work that remained.

Not wanting to witness Zach's irritation at being sent to clean his plate, Shelby went upstairs. As she climbed them, she heard the front door slap open and shut, and the sound of Zach cleaning up his plate. She knew he'd exact some sort of comeuppance against her today. She sat in the rocker by her window and opened the book once again. Only when she heard the door slam open and shut again did she begin reading.

November 2, 1838

Shelby left after mornin' chores. Reckon she means to disobey me again. Going in town in a while to git her.

Shelby closed her eyes at this entry. Having that day brought to the front of her mind again, threw the details of it in stark memory.

After the whipping she had endured that night, she had been certain of two things - that she was not going to quit her job, and that her father would make good on his promise. Throughout the morning, she had gone about all her ranch chores silently. Her father had cast expressionless looks at her from time to time, but she pretended not to notice. She knew that he probably considered her mood to be the normal shame that comes from facing your daddy after a whippin'. That was partly true. She always had trouble looking at him afterwards, because she felt ashamed. How Shelby wished she could have instead thrown herself in his arms and asked him to forgive her, but she knew she couldn't. She was going to defy him again.

After her father had gone into his study, Shelby had made sure all the boys were in bed and the younger ones lost in dreams. How her heart ached as she sang to the little ones what she knew would be her last lullaby to them. Her heart pained her as she watched them sleep. She went downstairs and said goodnight to her father, giving him a dutiful kiss. He hugged her briefly and patted her back as she turned to leave. She went upstairs to her room and climbed into bed. She would stay in bed until her father came to check on her, as she knew he would. She couldn't help the sobs that shook her body.

Zach had knocked and then entered her room. "What're ya bawling about?"

"Nothin'. Hush up! You'll wake the dead bellowin' like that," Shelby had whispered in a rush and slapped at his chest.

"Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you're all right," Zach had offered quietly.

"I'm fine! See you in the mornin', Zach," Shelby had lied.

Shelby felt the sorrow of the memory. She continued reading:

November 30, 1838

I have lost the ranch. No chance of me raising another $127 for taxes. The tax collector has bought the place, but we will stay on to work it. Shelby won't come home, won't quit that devil job. She knows I'll give her a licking for defying me and I know she has her mind set to defy me. Both of us will lose, so I let go.

Shelby was taken aback by her father's words. She was lost in thought, when there was a knock at her bedroom door. Zachariah opened the door but didn't enter.

"Can I come in?"

"Why, sure," Shelby said cautiously.

Zachariah shoved his hands in his front pockets, sauntered across the room, and sat on the bed. He looked at the floor. She waited for him to say something. He didn't, so she went back to reading.

"I hated you for leaving." Zack looked out the window.

Shelby looked down at the young man's dusty, worn boots. " Well, I reckon you got the right. You took it all on after I had to leave."

"HAD to leave?" he shouted in anger, his back stiff and straight. His hands waved in her face and then were fisted on his knees. "You could've quit that job and stayed home."

"Couldn't."

"Wouldn't."

"Have it your way. Wouldn't."

Brother and sister held steady gazes, neither looking away.

"Why? Just 'cause Daddy gave you a lickin'? He'd done that before, did it to all us when we needed it. Well, except for Zeke."

"I know. I didn't leave for that reason. I wanted to earn money. The ranch was failing. Daddy was failing."

The words struck Zachariah like a slap across the face. "Take that back." His shoulders tensed. "He ain't no failure."

"He was then. Couldn't bear to watch it."

"So you just left us . . . to lose the ranch . . . to make Daddy start drinkin'."

"WHAT? Daddy never drank a day in his life."

"He did after you left. You drove him to it."

Shelby resisted the urge to slap Zack hard across the face. She remained silent for a long time.

Zack grew uncomfortable, seeming to know that he had hurt his sister. He closed his eyes and looked down.

Shelby noticed his contrition and softened. "How long did Daddy drink?" she asked offhandedly, trying to sound unconcerned.

Zach lay back on the bed and relaxed, tucking his hands behind his head. "About two years. Quit after the church burned down."

"I saw the new church when I come in. How'd it happen?" Shelby looked at Zach, questioning.

"Daddy burned it down."

"WHAT?" Shelby's eyes grew wide with shock.

"Some folks in town and the reverend thought we children weren't tended to rightly by Daddy. They came to take us away and they did too. Daddy came after us, he was drinkin'. When the reverend wouldn't let him have us, Daddy burned the church to the ground."

"My God, he built that church . . ." Shelby's voice faded in sorrow.

Zach covered his eyes as if to erase the memory. "Next mornin' they found him lyin' unconscious across the field from the church. When he woke up, he saw what happened. Didn't remember doin' it. They told him and he broke right down and cried, they say." Zach shrugged his shoulders and sighed deeply. "Daddy told the sheriff to lock him up in jail so's he could ride out the cravin's. When he come out, the reverend brought us kids back to the ranch to him and no one pressed charges." Zach sat up and looked at Shelby. "Reverend said, 'The worth of a soul is worth a thousand churches.'"

Shelby blinked back tears. "I was in New Mexico territory then. With Jack."

Zach nodded. "We heard."

"You did?" Shelby's mouth fell open in astonishment.

"Well, news about a man like Jack Roberts travels pretty easy." Zach enjoyed spitting this news out to his sister.

Shelby shrugged.

Zach looked toward the door. "I guess I better get out there and work on that gate."

"See ya, later?" Shelby offered.

Zach almost smiled. "Sure." He ducked his head and left the room.

Shelby leaned down and pulled her boots off. She wiggled her toes and flexed her foot. 'Gosh, feels good to get those boots off.' Having finished up cleaning the kitchen, she decided to devote the day to reading the journal. The boys and Daddy would be gone till supper. Ham and beans were already cooking on the stove.

She opened the book again and continued. Zebulon wrote:

March 14, 1839

All us are well. Was told yesterday that the ranch has a new owner. Makes no never mind to me. It ain't mine anymore. We just work it. In time it may set well with me.

Shelby closed her eyes and sighed. Knowing her father as she did, she could sense the defeat and resignation in his words and it made her sad. She looked at the next entry.

June 30, 1840

Fella from the bank rode out today. Said I was the new owner of the place. He couldn't tell me how it came to be. I hollered at him to tell me the particlars but he wouldn't. The mule! I said I'd thrash him in a fight. He said I ought not treat my banker thataway. Reckon not. I have no letter from Shelby. She is near to Mexico, I hear tell. Wish I could talk to her, see her. Miss that girl.

Shelby closed the book again. She was pretty sure she was going to wear the book out, opening and closing it. It was clear to her that she and her father were avoiding talking about events of the past. She knew these feelings were troubling her father. It bothered her too, if she told the truth. Restless, she went downstairs and out the front door. She walked the distance to the barn and entered it. Her horse turned and snorted at her and it made her smile.

"Well, hello to you too," she said. "Wanna go ridin'?"

The horse stamped his foot in reply.

Shelby brushed the gelding down and saddled him. She led the horse out of the barn and closed the doors. Looking up, she could see Zach riding over the rise. He waved. Shelby watched as the distance between them shrank.

"Where ya goin'?" Zach squinted down at her.

"Thought I'd ride. Maybe see Naomi's grave."

Zach hesitated. "Can I come with ya?"

"Why sure . . ." She gave him a quizzical look.

"Thanks."

Shelby mounted her horse and they rode toward the hill where the family cemetery rested. As they approached, Shelby noticed the afghan pines that ringed the western and northern borders of the large plot. They were just three-foot-high seedlings when she and her father had planted them. Now, with eleven years' growth, they loomed thirty feet from the ground and knitted their branches together, blocking the constant wind and the blasting summer sun.

They dismounted when they reached the picket fence that surrounded the family plot and then let their horses wander nearby. Shelby touched the weathered wood.

"Needs paint," she stated and turned her head toward Zach, who nodded.

"Reckon so."

The curved headstone at her mother's grave was visible through the gate that Shelby opened and walked through. The stone was cold when she touched it to steady herself as she knelt. She didn't pray. Or cry. Just thought of her mother's laughing eyes, porcelain white skin, and her loving smile. Shelby felt a catch in her throat and she swallowed over and over until the strangling feeling left.

Standing, Shelby then looked around and soon found her sister's resting place next to their mother's. The grass was sprouting up on the mound even though there were still many bare spots covering the grave. She looked at the wooden marker for a moment but then felt the need to leave as emotions overcame her.

She walked out of the enclosure and sat under one of the pine trees nearby and covered her face with her hands. Zach followed her and sat next to her. They sat in silence. When Shelby's shoulders heaved, Zach leaned closer so that his shoulder pressed against hers. She wiped her eyes on her jacket. Zach drew off his neckerchief and handed it to her.

Shelby chuckled a little. "I think God made tears come out our nose so we'd have somethin' to do to make us stop cryin'." Shelby wiped her nose. "Not that I was cryin'." Shelby smiled at her brother, who returned a warm grin.

"Tell me about when you were gone." Zach looked at Shelby with eyes that were twins to hers. His expression was like a child's, as she remembered him. His eyes seemed to be pleading.

She sighed. "All right . . . it'd do ya good to know. Where do you want to start?"

"The first night you stayed gone."

Shelby looked at him and frowned. "The beginning." She picked up a pinecone and broke off a petal. "Well, when I woke up in the morning after that last night, I did all my chores like usual. That night, after Daddy went to his study, I went back to town. I sold the mare and my saddle at the livery and I told my boss I needed to stay in town but couldn't pay rent on a room. He let me sleep in the kitchen." Shelby held up the pinecone and looked for seeds. "Mr. Cooper pretty much knew without me tellin' him that I had trouble at home. He told me though that if daddy came a-lookin' for me, he couldn't stop him and neither could the sheriff. Daddy did come later that day." Shelby tossed the pinecone aside. "Daddy walked into the kitchen while I was washing dishes. I just knew I was gonna catch it again, right then and there. But I got my courage up and I told him I wasn't comin' home anymore. Then I said that if he dragged me home I'd take a lickin' every day and go right back again." Her eyes pierced the truth of this into Zach. "I'll never forget how Daddy looked at me. He walked out and never came back after me. I worked in the kitchen in the morning and in the evening and during the day I worked the bar."

Zach was quiet as he took this story in. "You got a lot of gumption, sister." He hesitated as he considered his next question. "Did ya . . . did ya ever have trouble . . . um, with any . . . customers? You know, like fights, or men making . . . well . . . you know . . . takin' liberties?"

"Sure did. Had this beery old fella kept on pesterin' me for a kiss and a squeeze. I kept tryin' to be polite but finally I punched him in the ear, remember how Daddy told us? He left me alone, but not before he had grabbed me and left a bruise on my arm." Shelby rolled her eyes in disgust.

"Mr. Cooper told me I ought not to wear a pretty dress anymore. Wear some dungarees, he said. That's what I did. I quit fixing my hair, just put it back Indian style. Bought me some leather trousers and a men's shirt. Learned how not to look like pickin's for those yayhoos." She noticed the fire had gone out in her cigar. She reached into her chest pocket for a match. "Though it sticks in my craw that I have to change the way I dress to keep those beasts off me." Shelby struck the match on her boot, lit the cigar, and shook the match. She spit on the head of the match and then stuck it, tip down, in the dirt. "Anyhow, that's the way it was. I learned to like these clothes though. More comfortable. Not trussed up like a bakin' chicken." Shelby took a long draw on her cigar.

"How come you started on those?" Zach motioned to her cigar.

"These?" Shelby yanked the cigar out of her mouth and looked at its burning end. "Well, that's a funny story, too. You know the cowhands, miners, and drifters that stumble into a saloon ain't the rosiest smellin' fellers God ever made. I kept complainin' to Mr. Cooper and he said to do what he does - smoke! He lit a cigar for me, got it started, and gave it to me." Shelby laughed out loud. "Danged if it didn't burn a spot on my tongue and set me to coughin' and chokin'. But it did help with the smell." Shelby grinned impishly at Zach and took a long pull on the cigar, her eyes squinting.

"Now I'm used to it, probably ain't a good thing. Daddy don't like it none at all." Shelby blew out a column of smoke and her right eye closed slightly to avoid it.

"Yes, ma'am, I know. I heard him fussin' at ya."

They both laughed at that.

Zach shifted around to find comfort on the hard ground. "How'd you meet Jack Roberts?"

Pain immediately stabbed Shelby in the throat and chest. Her eyes felt prickly. She quickly stuffed the feelings down into her gut. "Oh, old Jack?" she said a little too happily. "Well, you know he was a gambler. Best there ever was. Never let on how good he was. Wore regular clothes, not old but not fancy and brand new either. Had the stiffest poker face I ever saw." She tapped the cigar against her boot and the ash fell into the dirt. "He come into the saloon every day. He took a likin' to me. And I to him." Shelby laughed. "He's the one taught me to shoot! He'd come and get me at suppertime and we'd go out and shoot. When I got good, he'd wager with men in the saloon that I could shoot an apple off his head. I'd do it, too and he'd make a bunch of money. Me bein' sixteen and all, the fellers bet against him every time. I made him split the money with me." Shelby winked at her brother. "I ain't stupid!"

Zach smiled. He stretched his legs out straight and crossed his right ankle over his left. "Is that how ya got the money to buy back the ranch?"

Shelby turned and stared, slack-jawed at Zach. "How did . . ."

"Well, I ain't stupid neither!" Zach laughed at serving Shelby's words back to her. "Daddy always says two odd happenings that happen close together are usually related."

"All right, I reckon you want to hear all about the tax man and the ranch, now. You know that tax man, Mr. Sebastian, he'd been conveniently foreclosing on property all around the area, right? Well, turns out he conveniently lost folks' tax payments, too, then foreclosed and then had the cussedness to buy the properties. Well he had one other fault. He was a gambler, and a bad one." Shelby cleared her throat. "He'd been in a two-day poker game with six other fellas, including Jack. At the end, it was just him and Jack. Sebastian was desperate and out of money. He put up the title to our ranch to cover his marks in the game. I had told Jack about Daddy losin' the place and he knew I was tryin' to get it back from this fella. But Mr. Sebastian always told me it wasn't for sale." Shelby pulled long and hard on the cigar. "Well, the plain truth is, Sebastian lost and Jack became the owner of the ranch. He never hesitated one second and signed the title over to Daddy's bank and told the bank president to keep what we done a secret."

"Daddy was so surprised he couldn't talk that whole day!" Zach laughed and Shelby joined in.

Shelby fiddled with the button on her cuff. "We had a little trouble a year later with a fella claimin' he had a lien against the ranch. When he found out we had signed the ranch over to Daddy, we made an enemy. He dogged us for ten years. I don't think he's done yet." Shelby tried to erase the vision from her mind.

Zack looked concerned but Shelby shook her head, indicating not to worry.

"I reckon Daddy still don't know the truth about how he came to own the ranch again." Shelby laughed and drew a circle in the dirt with a twig. "After that, Jack asked me to marry him. We got married by the sheriff and we left for the territory soon after. And we made our money as sharp-shooters and gamblers. Finally, we settled in Eagle Station and I bought me my own saloon, six years ago." Shelby scribbled over the circle in the dirt. "Jack died a year and a half, almost two years ago. Cholera. Couple months later, I found I . . . never mind." Shelby choked on the last word. She shook her head slowly. "Guess I won a few and lost a few, Zach."

"Golly, Shelby, I'm sorry."

Shelby waved her hand, dismissing the sorrow. "Reckon we oughta get back?"

"Reckon so." Zach stood and reached down to his sister.

She looked up into his face, then took his hand and stood.

He put his arm around his sister's shoulders. "Dang, I missed ya, Shelby."

"Missed you too Zach, more'n you'll ever know."

Part 5. Blood Brothers

After arriving home, Shelby and Zach saw to their horses and then walked to the house. As they neared the front steps, they heard a commotion behind them. When they turned around they saw Jonas running at Zeke, fist drawn back.

"I'm gonna bust you Zeke!" Jonas screamed and lunged at his older brother. Immediately, the fight went to the ground and a dust cloud rose up and obscured the action.

Shelby and Zach, stunned, watched as another form launched himself into the fray.

"Was that Ezra?" Shelby asked, incredulous that anything could draw her sweet brother into a fight.

"I think so, can't tell rightly." Zach struggled to see through the dust.

"Think we oughta stop it?" Shelby kept her eyes on the fight.

"Hang on a bit. Daddy's gotta be here somewhere."

"Well, that's what I was AFRAID of, Zach, confound it!"

"Shhh." Zach jabbed Shelby a little with his elbow.

Shelby rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest, and looked on. Jeremiah ran up to the three forms and tried to pull one, then the other, off the pile. Soon, he received a smart crack in the jaw for his effort. His good intention dissolved into furious retaliation.

"That's four," Shelby stated.

Zach glanced around the yard and frowned. "I wonder where Toby is?"

Shelby shrugged.

"I'll go check in the barn." Zach's eyes quickly searched the yard.

"'I'll come with ya."

They ran to the barn, thinking they might find their father or Toby. Shelby didn't see anyone and started to leave when Zach grabbed her arm. "Hear that?"

Shelby listened carefully through the noise of the fight just outside. She and Zach ran to the back corner of the barn, their eyes searching the piles of grain sacks. Shelby saw a worn boot. At the same time, they recognized the figure of their youngest brother, Tobias, curled up and clutching his sides, crying and moaning softly.

Shelby knelt over him.

Tobias's clothes were torn, dirty and had blood spots on them. Zach kneeled down and tried to turn his brother toward him. Toby yanked his shoulder away.

"Leave me be." His voice was garbled and angry.

"I'm just tryin' to help ya. Lemme see, boy." Zach kept his hand on his brother's shoulder, rubbing it gently.

Shelby kneeled down on the other side of Tobias. She reached for his hand and held it. She felt the tension leave the boy's arm and was relieved when Toby turned toward her. What she saw brought the bile up from her stomach. Choking the bitter taste back down, she closed her eyes in an effort to calm herself. Toby's left eye was closed tight and swollen, already turning black and violet. He had a mean cut right through his bottom lip, a bloody and probably broken nose, and an obviously bruised body.

"My God, Toby. What happened?" Shelby squeezed his hand and with her other hand brushed his hair from his eyes.

His sister's soft voice caused Toby to cry harder. "I was tryin to fix that wagon wheel. Replace that one, busted spoke. I was tryin to do it like Daddy told me to. I hammered too hard with the mallet and ended up bustin' the wheel too. Zeke was 'spose to be showin' me how. Daddy came in and saw what I done. He went and found and railed at 'im. Then, Zeke came in the barn after me. He was all-fire mad, 'cuz Daddy told him he'd havta fix the wheel. I told him I would fix it and he said I would just break it more." Toby looked away for a moment and then returned his attention to Zach. "I told him to get out, that I broke it and I'd fix it. He pushed me . . . and . . . I pushed him back and he fell and hit his head. Then he put a beatin' on me, Zach. I'm sorry we were fightin.'" Tobias turned his face toward his brother.

Zach squeezed the boy's arm. "Shh. Don't be sorry. Let's get you inside." Zach and Shelby lifted the thin boy to his feet and guided him to the house, past the writhing pile of boys in the drive.

Shelby's face flushed hot and red. She could feel the fire of her temper burn from her chest up to her neck and the hair on the back of her neck prickled. She couldn't give in to her fury. Not yet. She had to tend to Toby first.

"STOP IT!" Shelby and Zach, on the porch, turned to see their father striding toward the fighting boys.

Toby pulled loose from Shelby and Zach, his eyes wide. He seemed to think his father was addressing him. There was no doubt that he was more than a little relieved when he saw that it wasn't him who was in trouble.

"Zachariah! Come over here and help me!!" Zebulon hollered.

"You take Toby inside. I'm gonna help Daddy." Zach hopped off the porch and then ran to his father and the fight.

Shelby guided Toby toward the house.

"Wait, I wanna see what happens." Tobias broke free of Shelby's grasp.

"Yeah, me too." Shelby pushed at Tobias with her shoulder.

Zach grabbed Jonas just after Zebulon yanked Ezra off of the ground. Then they dragged the two warriors to the trough and dunked their heads.

"STAND THERE!" Zebulon ordered the two brothers. They lowered their dripping heads as water drops formed spots on their dusty boots.

Meanwhile, the fight had intensified between Jeremiah and Zeke. They were pretty evenly matched but at the moment Zeke was sitting on top of Jeremiah, holding him by the ears and slamming his head into the dirt.

Zebulon reached down and grabbed Zeke by the collar and dragged him to the trough. Zeke hollered even as his head was plunged into the water. Zebulon drew him out and Zeke set to sputtering and cussing, which earned him a second, and longer, duration in the water.

Zach pulled Jeremiah up from the ground. "Let's wash up brother!" Zach laughed and easily propelled Jeremiah to the water. He dunked him deep.

After bringing Jeremiah out of the water, Zach slid his eyes to Zeke's face and held him with a dark scowl. A slight nod of Zach's head told the culprit that they would soon have more than words over this.

"Daddy?" Shelby called from the front door. "C'mere."

Zebulon turned at the waist. "What is it girl? I gotta get to the bottom of this mess." He turned back and cast his ferocious glance at each of the four boys.

"This'll help ya," Shelby promised and walked into the house with Tobias.

"DON'T MOVE," Zebulon ordered the boys.

Shelby was about to doctor Tobias's face when Zebulon strode into the kitchen. Tobias, sitting on the tall kitchen stool, turned and looked at his father. Zebulon's face drained of color. The boy shrank back, afraid that he was in trouble for fighting. Shelby rubbed his back gently.

Two steps brought Zebulon to Toby's side and he cupped his rough hand around the back of the boy's head. "Who did this to ya? I don't care about the reason."

Toby looked at his father with hesitant eyes.

Zebulon ruffled the back of the boy's head. "Tobias, you tell me now, hear? Ain't no one gonna have retribution on ye fer it. That, I can promise." Zebulon's eyes softened and he waited.

"Zeke."

"Might've known." Shelby saw the muscle of her father's jaw clench and unclench from gritting his teeth, a very bad sign. Zebulon turned and left the kitchen. The door slapped hard against the doorframe, bounced, and slapped softly twice more, as he left the house.

Shelby watched through the window and saw that Zebulon's stride was that of a much younger man as he stormed toward the four condemned boys. Zach stood behind their father, his arms crossed in amusement. Zebulon looked at each boy in turn. And Shelby could see that Jeremiah, Ezra, and Jonas were studies in humility, unable to hold their father's gaze. But even from this distance she could see that Zeke was clearly defiant.

"What happened?" Zebulon asked all of them but looked at Zeke.

"Your 'baby boy' made a mornin' of destroyin' things. He needed a lesson." Zeke's chin lifted high and his chest protruded in aggression.

Jeremiah lunged at Zeke and landed a punch on his ear. Zebulon grabbed Jeremiah by the arm, yanked him back, and pushed him to Zach. "Keep a hold o' him."

Zach grabbed Jeremiah's left ear and easily guided him to the oak tree near the house. "Settle down," he threatened none to quietly in Jeremiah's face, "before I settle you down."

"Tobias needed a lesson, Ezekiel?" Zebulon slid his eyes to the other boys. "Anyone else have a different story?"

Jonas pulled himself straight, looked his father in the eye and spoke up. "Daddy, Zeke like to beat Toby to death if we hadn't a stopped 'im. I'm sorry . . . we know you don't like fightin.'"

Jeremiah and Ezra nodded their agreement.

Zeke, furious, started toward Jonas and grabbed his shirt in both fists and threw him to the ground. Zebulon yanked Zeke backward by the shirt collar.

"You STOP, Ezekiel. RIGHT NOW!" Zebulon ordered. He regarded them one by one and employed his most effective tool - silence.

The boys tensed. Zebulon continued to look at each one of them. His sons were restless at the eternity which Zebulon took before he was ready to speak.

"You gonna whip us Daddy?" Ezra asked in resignation, rubbing the back of his neck.

Zebulon looked coolly at Ezra. The seventeen-year-old swallowed the lump in his throat.

Their father used the suspense to his advantage. "No. I'm not, Ezra. Seems to me you were a defendin' yer brother. Y'all git cleaned up."

Ezra let out the breath he had been holding. Jeremiah and Jonas, too, relaxed and the three boys humbly walked past their father to the house.

Zeke started to leave as well, but Zebulon grabbed his arm.

"You and I got unfinished business, Ezekiel." Gripping the young man's arm above the elbow, Zebulon guided his defiant son to the barn.

As Shelby finished cleaning the cuts on Toby's face, Zach, Jeremiah, Jonas, and Ezra gathered behind her and looked out the open kitchen window toward the barn.

"I wonder if he's gonna give Zeke a whippin'?" Ezra asked.

"Heck no, Ez! Daddy hadn't ever whupped Zeke," Jonas answered.

"Hey . . . hear that?" Zach stopped and listened intently.

They all strained to listen and then looked at each other as the plaintive wails and swatting sounds drifted toward the house. Everyone, including Shelby and Toby, was frozen in stunned silence. They all had grown up feeling that Zeke had gotten by with too much over the years. Clearly, that was not the case today. Toby hopped down from the stool and pushed his way into the pack of brothers at the window. Jonas looped his arm around Toby's shoulder as Jeremiah reached back and playfully cuffed Toby lightly on the chin.

Finally, Shelby saw the humor in the situation. "Look at y'all. Bunch a nosy old women. Cain't you let someone have a bit of privacy at a time like this?"

"UH-uh," they answered in unison.

"I don't know why I thought things would've changed," Shelby said under her breath.

Shelby had made chicken soup with large dumplings for supper and two apple pies for dessert. The boys and Daddy sat around the table, eating, talking, and laughing. Well, not all the boys. Zeke had been asked to not join the family that evening.

The story that Jeremiah had been telling at the table stopped in mid-sentence when Zeke came in from the hallway.

Zebulon looked up and his face clouded. He stood. "I told you to stay out of sight."

"Yes, sir. But . . ."

Angry at his son's defiance again, Zebulon started to walk around the table toward him.

"Wait!" Zeke asked, holding his hands up and looking at his father.

Zebulon stopped, glared at him, and then glanced at Shelby and Zach, who asked him with their eyes to hold off.

"What is it, Ezekiel?" Zebulon's voice was hard and sharp.

Zeke swallowed. He looked at his father nervously, then at Tobias. "Um . . . well . . . what I wanted to say was that I was wrong to beat up on ya like that Toby. I ain't askin' ya to forgive me but I'm apologizin'. Maybe . . . someday . . . I can prove I mean it to ya." Zeke wiped sweaty palms on his trousers, then turned to his other brothers. "Jeremy, Ez and Jonas, Zach, I'm sorry for the fight I caused and I don't hold it agin ya for poundin' on me for what I did to Toby." He looked down at the floor and then glanced up hesitantly at his father. "Daddy, I'm right ashamed of what I done. Forgive me. Please?" Zeke's voice broke at that point and tears sprang from his eyes.

Zebulon stood a little straighter and pushed his shoulders back. His left eye twitched slightly and he rubbed his hand over his chin. When he looked at his repentant son, he did so with gentle eyes. He nodded curtly but his eyes were shining.

"I thank ye for apologizin' to your brothers and me. That takes a man. Still, I can't go back on what I said about suppertime tonight. It stands, son.

Zeke's chest rose and fell in acknowledgement of that statement. "I know, Daddy," he said quietly, then turned and walked back down the hallway in his uneven gait.

"But!" Zebulon hollered and Zeke turned. "In the mornin' I expect you at this table bright and early for breakfast and a full day of work."

Zeke's face split into a wide grin. "Yes, SIR!"

Father and son smiled at each other.

After Shelby cleared the table, she placed some food on a plate and walked up the stairs to the room Zeke shared with Jeremiah. Shelby knocked and then opened the door when he answered. He was laying on his side, looking worse for wear, Shelby thought.

"Brought ya somethin' to eat." Shelby set the plate down on the bed.

He noticed the meal with dessert and looked up at her and smiled his thanks. "I am a mite hungry." Zeke clasped his belly.

"How ya doin'?" Shelby reached for the chair and sat down.

Zeke shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't realize it would hurt worse than the whippin' did to miss supper with the family."

Shelby raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, it almost did," Zeke admitted and ducked his head in embarrassment.

"Mighty brave of you to defy Daddy and leave your room and go out there and apologize. You got a stout heart Zeke!"

"Yeah?" Zeke turned a quizzical face toward her.

"Yeah!" Shelby smiled and ruffled his hair. "Your family loves you, you know that."

"For the first time, I feel just like y'all. Sometimes I didn't quite feel like a member of the family. Daddy treated me different. Used to make me mad."

"Reckon so. He favored you because of your leg. Didn't ask as much of ya as he did us."

Zeke nodded. "And y'all hated me for it."

"Aww, Zeke, that was just kid stuff. We probably didn't like it none, might've been jealous of the easy life you had. But we never hated you. I think . . . you might've hated yourself, just a little, don't ya think?" Shelby looked firmly at him and didn't smile. He pursed his lips, looked down and nodded. "Well, I gotta get out there and get busy in that kitchen, 'fore I'M in trouble!" Shelby laughed. Zeke rolled his eyes. "I'll come back for your plate."

"Daddy know you brought me the food?" Zeke held his spoon still.

"He probably suspects it. If he does, he'll say somethin'. Don't worry, I'm runnin' the kitchen. If he fusses at me, I won't tell him that there's pie!" Shelby winked at her brother.

Shelby left the room and closed the door behind her. As she went slowly downstairs, her thoughts drifted over the conversation she'd just had with Zeke. Well, his feelin's weren't that strange, feeling like he wasn't quite a full member of the family. They all felt the same way. All of them had done their share of mischief growin' up. Him 'specially. But Daddy, even when pushed to the point of tannin' Zeke, had always held back.

She shook her head as she entered the kitchen. Zeke sure had learned to use Daddy's good nature to his own advantage, getting out of work and getting out of trouble. Grabbing the washcloth, she wiped down the table. She pulled the clean towel off her shoulder and dried the table. Shelby had to admit that Zeke's ways had always galled her. She worked the pump handle to rinse out the rag. Maybe he'd learned a good lesson today, maybe gained some respect for Daddy - and himself.

Shelby's thoughts brought her up short. Maybe she, too, had room to recognize her father for the decent, honest and grounded man he was. Her heart stirred in admission of her previous lack of respect for the man. With these thoughts playing in her mind, she began to wash up the dishes.

Shelby went back to Zeke's room to fetch his plate, figuring he'd had enough time to finish. She found him sound asleep, and the plate without a morsel left behind. He looked about ten years old. She closed Zeke's door and went downstairs to the kitchen. As she entered the kitchen, she looked up to see her father standing by the stove. He didn't have to ask the question to get her answer.

"Daddy, you said he couldn't be at the table. You didn't say he couldn't eat." She slid Zeke's nearly cleaned plate into the wash water.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and said nothing.

"Now, come on Daddy! You ain't gonna fuss at me for takin' the boy a plate of food, are ya?" She spun to face him, her fists on her hips.

He remained silent.

"Ya ARE!" she answered herself, shaking her head. Turning back to the washtub, she swooshed the water over that last remaining plate. She kept the corner of her eye on her father.

"YOU . . . are contrary." Zebulon pointed at her with his pipe.

Shelby chuckled.

"You think it's funny, do ya?" He tried to look serious, but failed.

"Yeah, I do! Figured you'd be used to me bein' contrary by now."

Zebulon tried hard not to smile. "I don't care how old ya are, I ain't gonna abide contrariness. I don't like it in a goat and I dang sure don't like it in my young 'uns."

Shelby laughed out loud. "Now, tell me Daddy exactly what did I do that was contrary? Ya didn't tell me I couldn't take Zeke some food. Ya didn't tell him he couldn't eat. Now it seems to me that you just might be a little contrary yourself!" Shelby tilted her head as she bedeviled her father.

"Rachel! You are contrary AND fresh." Zebulon smiled and walked toward his daughter. "But I sure love ya, hon." He kissed the top of her head.

She turned back to wash the plate, her heart swelling with the love she had for this man. Zebulon's right arm shot out and he smacked Shelby smart on the backside. She whirled around, her hand rubbing the spot.

"DON'T . . . be contrary." Zebulon pointed his pipe at her again, smiled, and walked past her and out to the front porch.

She stared after him in surprise and then chuckled to herself.

Part 6. Reckoning

Shelby opened the screen door, stepped out on the porch, and then sat down in the wicker chair next to her father. Neither said anything. Shelby dried her hands further on the dishtowel she had brought out with her. She folded it, smoothed the fabric, folded it again and tugged at the edges, perfecting the square she had made. She thought of how she more often held a bar rag. The two images brought sharply into focus her two lives. She didn't dare ask herself which one she preferred. She sighed deeply.

Her father turned in his rocker and looked at her. "Tired?"

"Some. That fight took somethin' outta me, I reckon."

"You ain't alone, darlin'."

Shelby smiled and then adjusted the pillow behind her back. "I was watching you with Tobias today. You're good with him." Shelby slid her eyes to the side and watched her father. "You ride him kinda hard."

He turned his head toward her. "No harder than any of the others."

"'Cept Zeke." Shelby looked away.

"Zeke got what he had comin'."

"Today he did. Seems to me Tobias needs you to take his part a little more often."

His eyes narrowed at her. "You're talking a little out a turn, ain't ya?"

"No. I'm not. Confound it, Daddy. Why did you have Zeke showing Toby how to fix a wheel? He didn't show him one lick. The boy tried to do it on his own and wrecked it." She knew her tone was accusing. "Broke his heart that he didn't get it right. It shoulda been you showin' him."

"I had things to do."

"You avoid him."

"Watch your tone, girl."

Shelby's mouth clamped shut in irritation. "I think this mess about who his daddy and his mama are, makes you keep him at arm's length."

"That is NOT SO!" Zebulon slammed his hand on the rocker and it made a loud smack.

"All right, all right." Shelby held up her hand in surrender. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the sky. The silence was like a canyon between them with Shelby feeling her words bouncing back at her.

Zebulon turned in his chair and looked hard at his daughter. He opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind. He eased back against the chair back and rocked slightly.

"Pretty sky."

"Mm-hmm."

Zebulon looked at her briefly and shook his head. "You are a caution."

"You sound surprised, Daddy." Shelby's mouth turned up at the sides.

"Well, I'm not. I know when I'm whipped." He returned the half smile. "I told you I wanted to hear your piece on it. And I do. I'm a hard man sometimes, ya gotta bear with me."

"I know."

They sat in silence as Shelby collected her thoughts. Zebulon didn't push her. He drew out his tobacco bag and tamped some down inside his pipe. He lit a match and pressed the burning tobacco down with a calloused right thumb. The fragrant smoke drifted past Shelby's nose and she inhaled the familiar scent.

She drew in a deep breath, bracing herself. "Daddy? I don't think you oughta tell Tobias about things. About Naomi bein' his mama." She looked at him for signs of argument or bad timing and saw none. He was listening. "Daddy, I just keep seein' Tobias and his brothers, work and play and argue. And I can see they love each other, even Zeke, um Ezekiel." Shelby rubbed her arm on the chair arm to relieve an itch. "You love Tobias and he loves you. I seen that myself today." She ran her hand across her throat to stem the emotion rising there. "Ain't nothin' good gonna come from tellin' him his "real" mama is dead and his "real" daddy ran off." She looked out at a lone hen making her way to the coop. "It ain't good for him. His real mama, the one he loved and cried for IS dead. She's my mama, too." She stopped to see if she should rein it in. Her father's eyes were calm and clear. She plunged forward. "YOU are his real Daddy, the one who loves him. It may sound like a strange notion, but to me it don't matter as much who gives ya life as who keeps ya alive, who teaches ya, who cares for ya, who loves ya...who fusses at ya." Shelby leaned close to her father and looked him in the eye. "He has all those feelings tied up in this family. Keep on bein' his family." She watched her father.

Zebulon gazed out at the vegetable garden, his eyes soft and sparkling. "That's what my gut tells me, daughter."

Shelby’s eyes rolled upward. "Daddy, that's yer heart."

He gave her a wry look. "My head was tellin' me somethin' else."

"This ain't a matter of the mind. This is heart territory. Ain't it the choice you'd rather make, anyhow?"

He looked down at his hands. "Yes," he said it so quietly she could hardly hear it. "Fond of that boy." She could hear his voice begin to choke with emotion.

"Well, then. That's that." Shelby leaned back in the chair. Her father reached over and put his hand on top of hers. She clasped it and he held hers tight. A warmth flooded over her, a feeling that for ten years she had longed for.

They watched the blazing sun draw its final colors from the sky. Zebulon looked at Shelby, who had her head back as the light from the sitting room lantern cast a golden glow on her face and hair.

She glanced over at him. "What?" She smiled.

"Nothin'"

"Somethin'!"

Zebulon seemed to draw up into himself just a little. "Just been thinkin' on these last ten years and more." He looked her in the eye. She knew what he was getting at. He knew she knew. "It's a hard notion, havin' no idea where your girl child is, what she's doin'. A father worries."

Shelby stayed quiet. Not sure where this was leading.

"I am the same man now as I was ten years ago, twenty years ago. I...uh...was hard on ya, honey, back then when all I could see was you goin' down a road I couldn't bear. Wanted the best for ya. Understand me?"

Shelby nodded.

"I know when you took that job you were tryin' to help. I know that now. Heck, I knew it then, too. Just couldn't stand the idea of my little girl workin' there." Shelby watched her father run his fingers over his whiskers. "A man's supposed to be a man, take care of his family. I felt I was failin'. Put too much burden on you, after your sister run off. But I felt I needed you at home with your brothers."

Shelby turned her head away from her father to hide the emotion that flooded her face. "I loved Naomi. I miss her so much."

"I do too."

She turned her face to him. "Daddy, I was headstrong. I didn't show any concern for you or the boys when I decided to leave. But I did want to help raise the money to save the ranch. I thought I knew what I needed to do, what was best for me."

"And it wasn't...best for you?"

"Not all of it." Shelby glanced away from her father, into the darkness. "Always movin', workin' towns."

Her father stopped rocking and his eyes snapped at her. "Workin' towns - doin' what?"

Shelby rolled her eyes. "Daddy! Shootin' contests, gamblin'. . . Jack was a crack poker player with a great poker face. He won a lot. We married before I left McCrae."

Zebulon rocked his chair and looked out at the yard. "I heard."

Shelby stood and leaned against the porch rail, her back to her father. "Jack died almost two years ago. From cholera." Her father stopped the motion of the chair. "Shortly after that, I found that I . . . I . . . was with child." Shelby tried to fight her emotions.

Her father stood, setting his pipe down on the table and went to her side.

She turned to him. "But I lost the baby. Daddy." Her voice broke and she covered her eyes with her hands.

He took her hands in his and folded her into his arms. Shelby instinctively buried her face into his wide chest and cried. His hand cupped the back of her hair and he drew her head up under his chin. "Shh, now, now honey." His strong arms wrapped her in a deep, warm embrace, squeezing her tight.

'This is it...' she thought. The feeling of her father's strong love washing over her. This is what she had yearned for in so many dark hotel rooms, camps, and through so many wakeful nights. She melted into her daddy's arms and allowed herself to feel all the pain of the last several years.

"I am sorry, Daddy, that I ran away," she said into his chest.

"Shhh. No need, honey." He rubbed her back.

"I defied you. Hurt you and the boys. I was only thinkin' of myself."

"Well, you made that decision and dealt with the consequences, it appears. Just like I raised you to do." He held her at arm's length and looked at her hard. "When you left, though, I feared you hated me."

"No, Daddy. I could never hate ya. And it weren't the whippin' either that angered me, because I earned what I got. I was angry that I couldn't do what I wanted."

"Can't any of us do what we want all the time," he answered.

Shelby nodded.

"I was sure hard-headed, hell-bent for leather to do as I pleased." Shelby eased her eyes up at him.

"Yes, ma'am, you were. And I made my feelin's plain to you. You made a choice and so did I."

"You sure did." She looked at his face and then drew close in his embrace again. "When I saw you at the saloon, I saw your disappointment. Why'd you let me go?"

Zebulon became motionless at her statement. He sighed deeply. "Why? It woulda done no good at all to drag you back home. You'd a just a run off again. In a battle of wills, it's best for the daddy to step back and let the child go."

"I heard you turned to drink after I left."

"First time in my life I ever took a drink was the day you left. Felt I had lost all my gals. Then the ranch."

"Zach told me some, about the drinkin'."

Zebulon looked up at the stars and his face colored a little, in shame. "I went through a spell."

"My fault," Shelby whispered.

"Don't you EVER say that again!" Her father shouted and shook her a little, then lowered his voice and his expression softened. "It was my choice. Like your choice was yours. I made a mess of things for a while. Then, old reverend gave my attitude an alteration." Zebulon smiled at Shelby. "See, ya ain't never too old to be corrected." He winked at her.

Shelby laughed at the thought of her father being "corrected". "I shouldn't a left y'all, Daddy. It's a fearful thought that you were left with all us kids and no wife. You done a good job with us."

He patted her back and rubbed it alternately. "And I ain't done yet!" He searched her eyes. "I do need to know one thing, hon."

She looked at him, asking him with her eyes.

"Reckon any of that apple pie survived your brothers?"

She smiled, then smiled wider. Finally, she busted out laughing and whispered, "I got another one hid. Come on!"

He reached above her head and held open the door, then followed her inside.

Shelby eased the large pie pan from the cupboard shelf. She set the dessert on the table and took the dishtowel off it. Zebulon saw the large piece of pie that had already been cut away.

"Reckon I don't need to ask who got this piece?" Zebulon tried to look stern.

"What you don't know won't hurt me, Daddy. Here you go."

The night air was still and the sounds of the animals settling in for the night made Shelby sleepy. She had forgotten how the schedule of the ranch and the animals set the timing of everyone in the family. How easily she had fallen back into the soothing routines of a simple life.

She reached for the journal on her nightstand and opened it to the last few pages that had entries. Her father's entries.

September 9,1843

Just bought three sections from Mr. Newberry, our neighbor to the east. This will allow more cattle for this fall. Sending the herd with the Martin group driving to Kansas. Boys will herd with the company as payment for our drive. Tobias is too young to go and he wont be happy staying back. Want to make a record of this ranch. It is growing and it is ours once again through God's mercy.

Shelby had already decided she wouldn't tell her father that it had been she and Jack who had paid the defaulted taxes and restored ownership of the ranch to her father. She didn't want her father feeling obliged to her and was very certain that he would not approve of the funds coming from gambling winnings.

'The less he knows about that the better," she mused.

The heavy oak door to her bedroom groaned as it opened. She smiled when she saw her father standing there. Shelby closed the journal.

Zebulon walked to her bed and sat on the side of it, near her knees. She felt the mattress slant toward him. He looked at her then down at his hands.

"Reckon you'll head back to Utah territory."

"Reckon so."

"When, about?"

Shelby ran her hand over the leather journal. "Oh, I dunno. When you're sick of the sight of me!" She laughed.

He smiled and looked at her. "Wouldn't happen while I'm breathin'. It's been a fine thing havin' you home. A fine thing."

"Well, it ain't easy to think about leavin' either. But I gotta get back to the ... place."

She knew that they were thinking the same thing: once she left would they ever see each other again? She pushed the thought from her mind.

"Daddy, leave the ranch to the boys and come on west with me. You can be my swamper!"

"Honest to Pete, gal, you wise off any chance you git, don't ya?" His face took a mock sternness.

"I ain't bein' wise, I'm serious." She placed her hand on his arm.

"I'll come out there and keep yer books. You probably spend most of what you make on repairs, rowdy as it is out there."

Shelby smiled. "There's some good folks there, too. Ben Cartwright and his boys, honest and decent. Others too. Wouldn't be bad havin' you out there, I reckon. Long as you don't start preachin' to my customers."

"Nope, just to you, young lady." Zebulon smiled. "This Cartwright, what does he do? Merchant?"

"Nah, he's a rancher, Daddy. Comin' right along too. His place is called Ponderosa. Grew by a section just this spring. Like I said, Ben is honest and fair as a judge. He insisted that Jack be buried on Ponderosa land. Carved a nice simple cross for his grave. He's a good man."

Zebulon stood and adjusted the wick in the lantern. "He sounds like a good neighbor. Daughter, the freighter comes in on Saturdays. He can carry you to the territory, when you're ready."

Shelby thought back to Monroe and his deep green eyes. It certainly wouldn't be him again. "I guess Saturday's as good a day as any."

Her father slid his hands into his front pockets. "And thank ya, honey for helpin' me decide on Tobias. You were right and I knew that was the right thing, too. But it took you, gal, to say it out loud and make it make sense to me. He's a good boy."

"Yeah, he is. His Daddy is raisin' him right!" She smiled, then her face became serious. "Daddy, you sure that woman don't know about Toby? You know, that Mrs. Chandler?"

"Nah, girl. She came to the funeral and went back. She don't know anything. Naomi and John wanted Tobias to have his life. They wouldn't've said anything." Zebulon's face reflected assurance.

Shelby was unsure. Something about the situation niggled at her mind. Maybe it was just the association with Akela Flats and . . . she pushed the thoughts away. "If you say so, Daddy."

Zebulon's face split in a grin. "Don't worry your head, darlin'. Get some sleep."

"Nite, Daddy."

He smiled as he closed the door behind him.

Shelby stood in the kitchen, watching the dawn sky change from dark blue to bright red, the air already warm and clear. Zebulon walked into the kitchen where Shelby was waiting. He cleared his throat.

"Got the wagon hitched. Boys are waitin' on the porch."

Shelby squinted toward the front door. She could feel her eyes burning with tears and a knot tied itself in her throat.

"Aw, gal..." Zebulon pulled Shelby into an embrace. "Don't fret now. We'll be just fine and we'll get out there t' see ya sometime. Or you'll get home again. Don't you worry, sugar."

"I'm countin' on it, Daddy." Shelby hugged him back.

"Come on, hon, let's go." Zebulon gently pushed her back and looked at her. "You ain't gonna cry on me, are ya?" He chucked her under the chin.

She smiled and shook her head no. After taking one last look around the kitchen, they joined her brothers on the porch.

The boys who were sitting got to their feet when Shelby came outside. She stood in front of Toby, who wrung his hat in front of him. "Toby, you don't let these galoots get the best of ya, hear? Be good." His clear grey eyes were tearless, but Shelby saw the redness from earlier crying. Her heart twisted.

"Jeremiah, you keep up with Zach, he won't slack off if he knows you're trailing right there." She winked at him. He smiled and elbowed Zach.

"Zeke, you mind your daddy and older brothers. If ya let yourself, you'll grow into somethin' useful!" Shelby teased. Ezekiel beamed at the ribbing.

"Jonas, you help Tobias keep up his learnin.' Don't let him fool with horses his whole time. I'm gonna miss your snorin.'" Jonas rolled his eyes and blushed deeply.

"Ezra, be a help to Daddy." Shelby watched as his head hung low. She squeezed his shoulder.

"Zack, you're a fine man. I'm honored you're my brother." Her eyes met his steady gaze and she marveled at how his eyes were just like hers. She nodded her head and turned to go. Zack held her elbow.

"I want to ask you somethin'." Zack looked at his brothers' faces. "In private."

"Make it quick, we got to move." Zebulon climbed into the wagon.

Shelby nodded and drew him off near the peony bushes. "What, Zach?"

His face was earnest. He wetted his lips and began. "That fella you said is an enemy, the one who said he had a lien on the place. Does he still claim it? Does he want to hurt ya?"

Shelby's face colored at the thought of him. "Nah, he don't want to hurt me. Maybe get the best of me however he can, but he wouldn't hurt me as far as an injury or anything. Anyhow, I think he's scared of me." Shelby winked. "He don't still make a claim to the ranch, but it sticks in his craw that we changed ownership before he could place his lien. I reckon he's got a long memory and a vindictive bone, and I probably ain't goin' to be shed of him for a long time." Noticing his unease, she added, "It's alright, Zack, don't worry."

Zach nodded and then hugged his sister. "You better get back this way soon." She nodded and left his embrace. Shelby turned to all her brothers and waved. "I miss ya already."

The trip to McCrae took more than four hours. She and her father talked about the boys, the ranch, and they sang songs. Zebulon sang old favorite hymns and traditional songs and Shelby joined in when she knew them. Then she sang a few new songs for him that she had learned from living out West. One or two caused him to turn and look at her with what she called "the devil look", which was a grim mouth and a raised eyebrow that demonstrated his disapproval. Of course, this delighted Shelby and she laughed out loud.

All too soon they arrived at the freight office. Zebulon unloaded her satchel and another bag she had packed with some things of her mother's - including the journal.

Zebulon stepped up onto the walk and looked hard into his daughter's eyes. "Don't you let ten years pass again before I lay eyes on ya, hear me?"

"Yes, Daddy. I hear ya." Her voice caught in her throat. They embraced. "Love ya."

"I love you too, darlin', a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck." He released her as the freighter drove up. Zebulon helped the driver unload a dozen or more crates and then placed Shelby's bags up under the seat where they wouldn't bounce much.

Shelby looked at the freight hauler. A short man with a rotund belly, long grey beard and longer hair looked at her with one open eye. "Get on! Who all's getting' on! Name's Jubal Wardy, and I aim to be on time," he hollered and then spat out a stream of tobacco juice to the ground between the horses' feet.

Shelby made a face at her father, rolled her eyes, and climbed into the wagon instead of on the seat. Zebulon smiled. Three more passengers climbed aboard. Two more in the wagon and a thin, old man sat next to the driver.

"Don't look so down in the mouth, young gal," said the fat little man. "You switch off freighters in Placita del Norte, about five hours."

"Thank God....er Thank YOU!" Shelby corrected herself as she looked at her father. Zebulon broke into a deep, rich laugh.

The wagon pulled away from the platform and Shelby suddenly felt the urge to jump out and hug her father and not let go. Somehow, she pushed the feeling away.

They waved until they couldn't see each other anymore.

The End