Chapter 25
Mary led the way.
She rode the little paint pony Conn had given her.
Behind her, the boys rode in the mule cart with the dog.
She could have ridden alongside them, but she didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not to George.
He was agitated. And she knew why.
He’d come here to take her home.
Now, he was upset, wanting her safe at home, but the decision was hers, not his, and she made it before his arrival.
But she sensed something else in George, a change she had been anticipating. He was growing up, and he wanted to be seen as a man.
That was good and proper, and she was happy to see him not just standing taller but also taking himself more seriously. He was seventeen, after all, not seven. It was past time.
She supposed his slow progression to manhood was partly her fault.
And maybe more than partly. Maybe mainly.
She hadn’t exactly doted on the boy, but she’d always been there for him. She had always been a worker, and while she had expected her younger brothers to work, she’d always been too busy working her hardest to pay much attention to how hard they were working.
Whenever George banged up against a problem, she jumped in and fixed it. This started when they were very young, and with that sort of thing, there is rarely a moment when people even consider changing the dynamic.
These thoughts left her feeling vaguely guilty now, as if by doing too much, she had inadvertently prolonged his childhood, keeping him reliant on her, weakening him.
Whether that was true or not, she was thankful to see he had matured during her absence. He was taller, and his voice was deeper, but mainly, it was the way he carried himself.
She could sense that he now viewed himself differently and wanted her to share that view. She hadn’t missed his irritation when she had called him Georgie.
That irritation, though slight, had surprised her. She’d always called him Georgie, and he’d never minded.
But she could tell he had moved past it, so she would do her best not to call him that anymore. Honestly, it would be difficult to remember.
But she must. Because it was important to George.
He’d put on a stern face when she revealed that she wouldn’t be returning with them, and she’d known he was ready to argue.
That’s why she had immediately asked for their help, telling them the truth, that she needed them, a thing she had almost never done.
That request had knocked George off-balance and kept him from pressing her.
Temporarily.
She knew she would have to answer his objections soon.
She glanced back at them now.
It warmed her heart to see her brothers. It really did. How she loved them. And she was so thankful that they had come quickly in her moment of need.
James was rattling on as always. He was animated, pointing at the peak of Mt. Sherman and jabbering about something.
George, on the other hand, stared straight ahead, gripping the reins. His face was set and looked troubled yet determined.
She would not be able to delay him much longer.
If they could just make it to the homestead, it would help. Once the boys saw everything, from the beautiful location to the marks left by the terrible tragedy, they would understand her choice.
Or at least she hoped they would.
Because she truly needed them now. Without their help, she couldn’t rebuild.
Even with their help, it was a daunting task. That fact had been looming larger and larger over her.
Today, while shopping, it had almost gotten the best of her.
She needed mules and a full-sized wagon, but she didn’t have the money, despite Conn’s incredible generosity.
After buying clothes and food and other essentials, then checking prices at the hardware store, she realized the best she could do was one mule and a small ox cart.
She was thankful for it, but how would she haul everything she needed?
She wasn’t sure.
But she was sure of two things.
She would rebuild. No matter what.
And she needed her brothers.
Pa would be fine on his own. He was a strong man, their farm was modest, and this was a quieter time of year. He would be all right without the boys for a while.
Knowing Pa, he had anticipated all of this before sending the boys her way. He probably knew she would refuse to go home.
The realization that Pa had also known this would cause trouble between her and George made her smile.
That’s probably why Pa hadn’t come along. Because he wanted to give George the chance to stand up for himself.
But Pa knew she wouldn’t give in. So he must be trusting her to take care of George in that moment, to use it to build him up rather than tear him down.
It was the way she and her father had always been. They understood and relied on each other without having to say much.
Suddenly, she realized her father was relying on her again.
He wanted her to help George step into manhood.
Even though she didn’t know how that might play out, she took a silent vow then not to fail her father or George.
As they turned down the lane toward her homestead, Mary felt a terrible crumbling inside. Any moment now, they would ride into view of all she’d lost: the burned home, the empty corral, and Cole’s grave.
These things had saddened her in town, but she had managed to control her thoughts and emotions and focus on the road ahead.
Now, riding into the clearing and seeing the charred remains of her once happy home, everything welled up again.
She rode up to the blackened ruins and stared into the ash, telling herself that she needed to be strong. She needed to be strong for George and James.
As she climbed down from the pony, a funny thought struck her.
Had Pa also anticipated that? Had he understood that Mary would, for her brothers’ benefit, wrangle her emotions?
As the boys stopped the cart and got down and stared at the blackened remains of her home with open mouths and pale faces, Mary wondered if maybe her father had misjudged her this time and thought too highly of her.
Seeing them standing there, she knew now was the time to say something, to speak and say something that would comfort them and let them know she was okay and get all of them moving again, but words failed her.
As she stood there, frozen in grief and dreading conversation, something warm and furry slid against the hand hanging limply at her side.
Glancing down, she realized it was the mountain cur.
She patted his smooth head, and he looked up at her with soulful eyes. She kept on petting him, and he leaned into her.
It was a comfort.
And when her brothers at last spoke, saying how sorry they were for what had happened here, she regained her composure.
“Thank you,” she said. “I wish you had seen it before those men came. It was a nice little house.”
George stared at her, likely struggling beneath the enormity of all she had endured.
James looked around, smiling at the fields and snow-capped mountains. “Gee, Mary. This sure is a pretty spot. It’s perfect with the creek and all. Just perfect.”
Mary nodded. “Yes, it was a wonderful place. And despite everything that happened, it still is.”
The boys nodded at that.
“Come on,” she said, and led them over to the tree. The dog followed at her side.
Then they were standing in front of the grave, blinking down solemnly at Cole’s final resting place.
James shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking like he might cry.
The mountain cur went over, and James petted him.
Interesting, Mary thought.
When George turned toward her, he looked less George and more like Georgie. “I’m so sorry, Mary,” he said and hugged her tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Well, the men who did this will pay, anyway,” James said. “That’s for certain now.”
Mary nodded, confident that Conn would, indeed, make them pay. But she was puzzled. A newspaper reporter had hunted her down that morning, and she had given him a statement, but that wouldn’t be in the paper yet. How did the boys know about Conn?
“Yeah, guess who was on our train this morning?” George said.
“Who?”
“Mayfield!” the boys chorused.
“Mayfield? Who’s that?”
Her brothers stared at her in disbelief.
“Clayton Mayfield is the most famous U.S. Marshal in the whole West,” George said.
“Yeah, probably in the whole world,” James added.
“Oh,” Mary said. “Well, if he’s going to go after these men, he’d better hurry. Cole’s brother is already hunting them.”
“Conn?” James said excitedly.
Her brothers had never met Conn, but Cole had told them stories about him, and they had always wanted to meet him. Especially James.
“Yes, Conn,” Mary said.
“He’d better be careful,” George said. “These are some pretty bad men, and Pa said there were a bunch of them. Eleven?”
“Eleven,” Mary said. “But the last I heard, only seven remained.”
“Wow!” James said, grinning. “Conn already killed four of them?”
“Three,” Mary said, and explained about Danny Bump. “Of course, the last I saw Conn was noon yesterday. It wouldn’t surprise me if more of them were dead by now.”
“Well, he’d better stay out of it now,” George said with a solemn expression. “Lawmen don’t tolerate vigilantes. And if there’s one man in the world Conn doesn’t want to cross, it’s Marshal Mayfield.”