Chapter 13 #2
“Yep. Bossiest big sister a kid could have. We all celebrated when she had her first baby, figuring she’d turn her attention to running little Abel’s life instead of ours.
Somehow, she still manages to tell us all what to do, though, even with three young’uns of her own.
Jethro’s still mad at me for taking the deputy job and leaving him and Joanna to put up with all her interferin’ ways.
But he’s got Dora now to act as a buffer, and that wife of his ain’t afraid of letting Judith know that Jethro is her responsibility now, not Judith’s.
You shoulda seen the sparks flying over the Christmas dinner table last year.
Whew doggies. I’d rather shoot my way out of a den of outlaws than try to broker peace between a pair of strong-minded women.
Thankfully, Joanna chose that moment to announce that she was expecting her first babe, and all attention turned to her, exactly as she prefers.
” He grinned, his love for his family obvious.
Trying to keep the siblings straight as he described them proved a challenge since the Paxtons had opted to give all their children names that started with the same first letter.
“So you’re the middle child?”
James nodded as he took a drink of his water. “Yep. Been playing the peacemaker most of my life. Guess the Lord wanted to give me plenty of practice before I became a professional.”
“I suppose my childhood prepared me for my vocation as well.”
Why did she bring that up? Mercy. No topic was guaranteed to throw a damper on an evening faster than talk of her father. And they’d been having such a lovely chat, too.
He looked at her, interest shining in his gaze. “How so?”
She waved off his question. “Forget I said anything. Tales of my childhood aren’t nearly as entertaining as yours. I’d rather hear more about all those nieces and nephews you have.”
“I’ll be glad to regale you with tales of the Paxton pollywogs over dessert, but I’d like to hear more about you.
If you’re willing to share, that is.” He leaned back and raised a conciliatory hand.
“If you’d rather not, that’s fine, too. Just say something about the weather, and I’ll take the hint.
” He winked, making it clear there’d be no hard feelings, no matter which option she chose.
An observation about last night’s storm perched on the edge of her tongue, but she found herself oddly reluctant to speak it into the room.
She fiddled with her napkin, took a sip of water, then picked up a carrot stick and tapped it against the edge of her plate enough times to probably make her dinner companion wonder if she’d decided to converse in Morse code.
He turned to his meal, giving her time to decide. No pressuring. No taking the decision into his own hands by introducing a new topic. No impatient glances or heavy sighs. He’d ceded the reins to her and appeared content to wait and see which way she would direct the conversation.
“I was raised on a farm outside of Cleburne.”
James set his fork down and gave her his full attention. It should have made her more nervous, but somehow it had the opposite effect.
“My father had been injured during the War Between the States. It left him with a limp, which made working the farm difficult, but he made do. The war left him with other scars, however.” She dropped her gaze to her plate.
“Ones that couldn’t be seen. Mama said that was what led him to drinking.
He was trying to block out the memories.
But then he fell from his horse and reinjured his leg.
So he started drinking during the day to deal with the pain.
The more he drank, the less he worked. The less he worked, the more the farm deteriorated.
The more the farm deteriorated, the more he had to drink to escape the shame of his failure.
It was a vicious cycle, and it turned him into a vicious man. ”
“He hit you.”
It wasn’t really a question, but she nodded anyway.
“Sometimes. Mostly he yelled. Degraded us. Blamed us for his troubles. It almost made me glad when he took himself off to the saloon for a few hours, except for the fact that I knew he’d come home in worse shape than when he left.
On a good night he would pass out in bed.
On a bad night . . .” Noreen swallowed. No need to go into those details.
James was a lawman. He’d likely seen the aftermath of a drunken rage.
His hand covered hers, bringing her head up at the tender contact. “I’m sorry, Noreen. No child should ever experience that kind of abuse.”
“No, they shouldn’t.” The trembling in her hand stilled, perhaps from the comfort of his touch, or it could be the resolve rushing anew through her veins.
“That’s why the temperance movement is so important to me.
I want to spare families the heartache I endured.
Liquor destroyed my father, destroyed our family. It needs to be outlawed.”
James leaned back in his chair, taking the warmth of his hand with him. “In my experience, outlawing something doesn’t stop it from happening.”
Noreen pulled her hand down into her lap and rubbed the spot where his fingers had rested. “I know. I’m not so na?ve as to think that prohibition will solve the world’s problems, but it will remove the temptation for many, and that will make a difference.”
It had to.
James shifted in his chair again, bringing his elbows to rest on the table and his gaze to rest upon hers. “So how can I help you make that difference?”