Trudy Pyburn, sun-streaked flaxen hair plastering her face, clothes dripping wet, ran as if chased by a demon. She dashed by the picnic table and bounded up the side steps into the house.
Moments later she slammed out the door carrying her father's shotgun, leapt down the steps, and headed toward the thickets of honey locusts growing along the bank of the pond.
"Whoa!" Frank yelled, jumping up from the table, spilling his tea in his plate. "What the hell? Tom, catch your sister before she does something we'll all regret."
Tom, already on his feet, dashed past trellises of roses showering the ground in a cloud of faded pink petals.
"What do you suppose Trudy's up to now? I tell you, Maria, we've lost all control of that girl. Tom never gives us a minute's trouble, but his sister is as wild as a woods colt."
His wife sighed and fanned herself with a paper fan she'd brought from church. Her olive skin glowed damp and appealing, and her soft ebony eyes were eloquently sympathetic.
"You're her father, Frank. You're the one to discipline her. She pays no attention to anything I say."
Maria's black hair, coiled into the severe knot he hated, did not detract from her aristocratic beauty. Her bewitching dark eyes and gentle smile still caught at his heart.
He averted his gaze from her, slapped his napkin on the table, and opened the neck of his dress shirt in response to the oppressive heat. "The whole confounded town is talking about her. She should get married. That's what Reverend Hansen says. I've decided to see to that, Maria. I've sent for Will Hardy."
"Will Hardy?" A shadow of a smile touched his wife's full lips.
Frank removed his gunbelt from the chair and buckled it around his waist. He paced while Maria stacked their plates, her expressive eyes reflecting her displeasure at the remains of their mostly uneaten meal.
She touched a limp handkerchief to her damp face. "Consuela sets such a nice table, even when we eat out here," she murmured.
"Leave that, Maria," Frank said, unable to completely hide the anger in his voice. "That's what I pay Consuela to do."
She looked up at the hot cloudless sky and spoke as though she felt she must make polite conversation, "This drought has left everything so dry. Perhaps it will rain soon."
Tommy, his dark hair curling around his tanned face, came into view carrying his struggling sister over a broad shoulder like a sack of wheat. He held the shotgun in one hand, keeping her pinned to his shoulder with the other.
Trudy screamed and hit him with her fists. Reaching the table, Tom wrestled her to her feet and stepped back to avoid a kick.
Frank took hold of his daughter's shoulders, forcing her to face him, and ordered, "Into the house, Trudy."
She quickly moved to follow him. Her mother and brother accompanied them to the front parlor.
Frank gestured toward a chair. "Sit down, Trudy."
She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Oh, mercy! Her daddy rarely lost his temper with her, but now he glared at her. Her breath slipped out in a soft whisper. "But my clothes are wet, Daddy."
His deep blue eyes narrowed and glistened darkly. His stormy look, and the runaway pulse beating in his neck, moved her meekly to the chair he indicated, and she plopped down on the cushion with a squish that did not go unnoticed by her mother.
Maria and Tommy sat nearby on a settee. Frank took a deep breath and eyed his daughter fiercely. Trudy ran her tongue over her lips, feeling like a rat in a trap. She wiped mud from her face and pushed strands of wet hair out of her eyes, wrinkling her nose at the musty odor of pond water saturating her clothes.
Her father stared at her torn and waterlogged apparel. She watched him run his fingers through his hair, so much like hers. She'd inherited his blond good looks rather than the sultry dark Hispanic beauty of her mother, as Tom had. She gazed into her father's brilliant cobalt eyes and knew she looked into her own.
"I want an explanation of this outrageous behavior, Trudy."
She avoided his gaze and clasped her hands in her soggy lap. "I was riding Baron. I wanted to get him used to the saddle
and .... " She shifted in the chair and pulled at the wet riding skirt stuck to her legs, dripping water on Maria's treasured Axminster carpet.
"And?"
"And he threw me in the pond."
Frank folded his arms. "So you were going to shoot him?"
"I just wanted to scare him. Make him sorry."
Frank rubbed his eyes and a flash of controlled anger tightened his mouth.
"Not Baron, Daddy," she said hastily. "Pokey. I wanted to scare Pokey."
"Pokey?" An expression of disbelief crossed her father's face. "Trudy, you know that boy is feeble-minded, but he'd
never hurt you."
"What do you call getting me tossed in the pond? I could
have drowned or broken my neck."
"I hardly think a dunk in the water is life threatening. Don't ever let me hear of you aiming a gun at Pokey. You know better than that. I doubt he intended to get you thrown into
the pond."
"Yes, he did." She looked at Tommy, silently begging his support.
Tommy cleared his throat and rubbed his jaw where she'd slugged him. "Trudy, you know Pokey loves you. His teasing
is the only way he can get your attention."
"He gets my attention all right. A stinging nettle gets
my attention, too."
Tom swallowed a chuckle. "Daddy, maybe you and Mother make too much of Trudy's behavior. She's full of grit, that's all. With nothing much to do, no friends or anything, she gets into trouble."
The elder Pyburn cast a furious glance at his son. "I'll not have you justifying Trudy's misbehavior, Tom."
Frank's angry gaze settled on his daughter again. "Trudy, had you gone to church with us this morning, none of this would've happened. You'll not make a habit of missing church. Do you understand?"
Trudy nodded, twisting her skirt in her hands.
Her father uttered the dreaded words, "It's time you got
married."
Her mouth dropped open. She sat forward. Inhaling deeply, she closed her mouth and swallowed hard. "Married? But ...
but any man in Pyburn County you'd let me marry would be too
old! Like that Judge Beckett person. Hell's bells and cockle shells!"
"Trudy!" her mother exclaimed, "I'll not have you saying such things. I've told you not to use that expression. Proper young ladies do not use that sort of language."
"Oh, Mama. There's no one to hear me. Only the animals."
"No one to hear you? I hear you."
"Don't argue with your mother, Trudy." Frank pulled a chair around and sat facing her. "You're going to get a husband. I've already made arrangements."
"Now, Daddy--"
"Don't ‘now, Daddy' me, young lady. My mind is made up. You'll marry Will Hardy. He's willing to come here all the way from Montana to marry you."
"Who in the name of old Scratch is Will Hardy?"
"A friend who served with me during the war. We worked together for more than a year after the war." Frank hooked his thumbs on his belt briefly, averted his gaze from Trudy, then rested his hands on his knees. "I've stayed in touch with him. Will is strong and courageous and trustworthy. But he attracts trouble like a magnet, just as you do, and he's in trouble now. He killed a Pinkerton agent in a shootout and is wanted by the law."
"Goodlordamighty! An outlaw!"
Maria caught her breath at Trudy's outburst, and her dark eyes cooly appraised her daughter.
Frank got to his feet and paced. "I invited him here to
The Oaks."
Her father's constant moving about made Trudy more nervous, and his fidgety behavior hinted at something about Will Hardy
he was keeping from her.
Facing Trudy, he added, "I've offered him land and uh ...
a sum of money if he'll come to Pyburn County and marry you."
Trudy jumped up. She stared at her father, aflame with
the rebellious, uncrushable spirit he called the curse of the Pyburn family. "I will not marry an outlaw. An old outlaw in
the bargain. Hells bells and ...!" Aware of her mother's disapproving look, she quickly stifled her favorite curse. "Wanting to marry me off to an old man is one thing, Daddy,
but an outlaw?"
"Nonsense. Will Hardy is not old, and he's not an outlaw. He was the victim of mistaken identity and had to kill or be killed."
"Well, I don't care. Something is wrong with him if he's willing to come more than a thousand miles to marry me for a
few acres of land and a small dowry."
Frank Pyburn took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "Not exactly a few acres of land and a small dowry."
"What, then?"
"The details are not important. He's the man you'll marry."
He wiped his brow again, "I told him about a few ... uh, a few
of your character flaws, and he agreed to marry you, anyway."
"Mama, are you hearing this? Tommy, say something to Daddy. He's having a sunstroke. I won't marry that man, Daddy. I hope he does come here like some damn ... sorry Mama ... mail-order husband. I'll make him wish he'd stayed in the east and gone to jail."
Her daddy's eyes narrowed even more and stopped her outburst for a tense moment. Damn and double damn. He was as mad as a swatted hornet, and threatening to make her marry an outlaw person just because she'd tried to scare that dreadful boy Pokey, with his shotgun.
Trudy plopped herself back in the chair, stiff and offended. Ignoring her father's penetrating gaze, she stormed, "You'll all be sorry if you let that man come here and take our land and money, because when I'm finished with him, he'll leave here so fast he'll think he's backing up."
Frank fixed his exasperated gaze on her and let his breath out slowly. "Will Hardy's a match for you, Trudy. I'm convinced he is. That's why I chose him as a husband for you."
Trudy drew her wet skirt away from her legs again and looked at her father from beneath her lashes, a ploy that never failed to get her what she wanted. "May I please go to my room now, Daddy? These wet clothes are making my stomach turn flip-flops."
"Go. But you need to think about this. Will Hardy won't
be pleased if he comes all the way across the country to find a wild filly who won't be tamed."
"I'm not a horse, Daddy."
"Of course not, but the methods used to break a mare to
the saddle are not all that different from those sometimes used to break a willful and stubborn young woman to the bonds of matrimony."
"Heavenly days. You've convinced me I damn well don't want to get married."
"Frank, do something about your daughter's mouth," his wife pleaded. "It is your fault, you know. She hears you swear.
The hired hands don't use that kind of language around me."
"Oh, Mama."
"Trudy, women your age who are not married are called old maids."
"I'm seventeen years old, Mama."
"Soon to be past marriageable age," her mother insisted, tugging at her corset.
Frank shot his wife a reproving glance. "I told you it
was too hot for you to wear that confounded corset, Maria."
In a graceful movement, Maria folded her hands in her lap and said softly, "I must dress properly, Frank, to set a good example for Trudy. Heaven knows, she has few enough good examples around here."
Frank, looming over her, lowered his voice and answered.
"I hardly think you'll catch your daughter suffering in silence for the sake of propriety, regardless of your good example, dear."
Trudy fidgeted. "Daddy, you'll make a mistake if you bring that man here to marry me."
"No, you're the one who will make the mistake if you resist this arrangement."
Trudy's mother suddenly asked, "Frank, if Trudy is so set against marriage at this time, why don't we send her to college somewhere? Waco has an excellent Baptist College. She did so well at the high school for girls at Huntsville, Dr. Saunder's said she had --"
"He said she had great potential, Maria, but he didn't say great potential for what."
Trudy rested her elbows on the arms of her chair and muttered, "I don't know why in the name of mortality you didn't send me to the state penitentiary at Huntsville, instead of the high school for girls, if I'm so bad."
"You're not bad, dear," Maria said.
"The college at Waco is co-educational, Maria. I won't have my daughter going to a school that throws young men and young women together. It's difficult enough for a school to maintain a decent standard of scholarship when they separate the sexes. Since she is not planning a career as a teacher, she can learn what she needs to know right here on the ranch."
"We both know what she's learning here, Frank. She's learning to swear like a mountain man."
"Well, kick me with both feet," wailed Trudy. "Why don't
I just become a nun or something? Would that make you happy?"
"No, dear," Maria smiled. "On second thought, I don't want to send her away. I just remembered we brought her home from school because of an outbreak of yellow fever. Your father is right, Trudy. You should marry Will Hardy."
Trudy groaned aloud. "If I have to get married to please the two of you, why can't I be the one to decide who I'll marry?"
"And who would you choose?" her father demanded. "You damned near turned purple when I told you Judge Beckett asked that I consider him as a husband for you. I don't know of any suitable candidates, other than the judge. You aren't thinking of a ranch hand or one of the vaquero's, I trust?"
"Well I'm damn well not ... I'm not thinking of the judge, be sure of that."
The look on Maria's face clearly indicated her distress. "Must I be continually subjected to this swearing?"
"Trudy," Frank said loudly, "stop offending your mother with that kind of language. Don't make me remind you again."
Maria sighed audibly. "You might heed your own advice,Frank," she said softly.
"Yes, dear," he replied. Lowering his tone somewhat, he focused his gaze on Trudy and continued, "You'll marry Will Hardy and that's settled, young lady."
Trudy pushed her chair back. "May I be excused, now that my future is all planned out for me?" She shook her wet hair--
in much the same way her little golden Cocker Spaniel Princess did when she was wet, and stomped from the room.
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