Chapter 7
Cora’s whole body shook as she stumbled into the kitchen.
Ben was like her father. The realization roared through her.
That same hungry, haunted look that had contorted her father’s face every time he’d tried to stop drinking.
Why had she not recognized it in Ben? She slammed her fists against her thighs.
She should have seen it. And he’d already started to worm his way into her affections.
Coming here in Jeb’s stead, paying off the debt, and practically inviting himself to take up residence under their roof.
Her stomach reeled. Brow damp with sweat, she rushed out to the side of the house and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Swiping her hand across her mouth, she kicked dirt over the spot. She glanced toward the stables. Ben McKenzie would have to go.
She wasn’t about to have a man who’d allowed himself to be enslaved to drink, laudanum, or any other concoction living on her property. Somehow, some way…she’d repay him for the loan. But he couldn’t stay.
She’d lived too many years with her father.
Drinking all evening. Passed out on the floor, too drunk to make it into bed.
His hands shaking when he reached for the bottle.
Ben’s hand had shaken when she’d brought out the laudanum.
That was his poison—not whiskey, not brandy.
Laudanum. And she’d waved it right in front of him. She cringed.
It didn’t matter that he’d slammed it from her hand. He’d give in sooner or later, just like her father. Why, there’d almost been fear in his eyes. Fear that he’d take the so-called medicine.
That’s why he was laid up, too ill to work. He was trying to do without it. Her heart wobbled.
“It doesn’t matter.” She said the words out loud.
How many years had her mother waited and hoped Pa would put the bottle aside for good?
And before the bottle, it’d been gambling.
There’d been good months, even good years, until her sister, Amy, had died almost eight years ago.
No more good years after that. Not even good months.
Then, when Mitchell was killed at Sharpsburg, not even good weeks.
Her father probably didn’t see a sober day after that until his own death. And her poor mother…
Cora would never tie herself to a man like that.
She stomped back to the house. And what were all these thoughts about being tied to anyone?
Ben was practically a stranger. She hardly knew him.
How had she ever come up with the idea of welcoming him into the family as a substitute brother?
She marched into the kitchen where the meager supplies she’d bought in town still sat.
The small sack of sugar on the table brought her to a halt.
A luxury she could ill afford, but somewhere in her foolishness, she’d planned to make Ben a pie.
She shoved the sack into the cupboard and grabbed a bar of soap and a couple more rags from the dry sink. Best get back to the stables, before Ben got desperate enough to start yanking the floorboards up.
Outside at the well, she cranked the handle, drawing the bucket up from the cool dark below.
Charlie jogged over, his hat brim flopping with the beat of his feet. “I finished three rows of beans. Can I go visit Ben?” Dirt caked around his fingernails. A smear covered his jaw.
“No.” She stiffened. “Mr. McKenzie isn’t feeling well.”
“Talking to me might make him feel better.” He hopped on one foot. “He says he likes it when I visit.”
Cora let out a huff and heaved the full bucket off the hook and onto the stone wall of the well. A granddaddy long legs scurried out of the way. “Not today. I want you to find some long sticks from the woodpile and whittle them into poles for the beans.”
“But, Cora, them beans ain’t going to need poles for weeks.” He dug his toe into the dirt. “And Ben promised me I—”
“I don’t care what he promised you.” She pointed toward the furrowed garden. “Do as you’re told.”
Charlie’s whole demeanor drooped.
She clasped his shoulders and lowered her forehead to his. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Ben’s too sick for visitors.”
Slowly, his stiff body relaxed beneath her hold.
“What’s wrong with him?” The boy backed up a step when she released him. “He ain’t going….to …?” His lip trembled.
“No, he’s not going to die.” She swiped a lock of hair from Charlie’s forehead.
He pushed her hand away. “You said you were going to get him medicine.”
“I did, but it was the wrong kind. I’ll go to town again tomorrow and see if the doctor’s around. Ask his advice.”
“I want to see Ben.”
A sigh rattled through her. “Later. You can take him his supper.” She waved at him. “If you make good progress on the bean poles.”
He shot out a breath that vibrated both lips. “If you say so.” He pivoted on his heels, hands in his pockets, casting a furtive glance at the stables. “There might be some poles in one of the stalls.”
“No.” She pointed to the woodpile and picked up the bucket as Charlie meandered his way to his chores.
A flock of robins dotted the patch of bluebonnets down toward the creek. But Cora’s glower held tight as she hurried her steps to the stables.
She jolted to a halt as she crossed the threshold.
Ben had come downstairs. He sat on the bench, his blanket wrapped around him and his head against the stall wall.
Bits of straw clung to his stockinged feet.
She would have guessed he was asleep if it wasn’t for his right leg jigging up and down as if he were running a race.
Her swallow caught in her throat. He wasn’t well…
He looked…vulnerable…someone in need of—
A board creaked beneath her foot. His eyes flew open. That same haggard look.
“I’m sorry, Cora.” He pushed himself up on unsteady legs.
She pressed her lips together and picked up her pace. Water sloshed from the bucket onto her skirt as she headed for the stairs. “I’m cleaning. Don’t come up.”
“Thank you.” His voice sank. “I’ll repay you. I know you probably don’t understand—”
“I understand plenty. And I don’t want your money.” She spit out the words. How dare he come here with this kind of secret and get her and Charlie used to his company, get her to care?
Heart weary, Ben sat on his bunk, cupping his soup bowl in his hands. He’d paced for two hours after Cora cleaned his room, every fiber in his being stirred by the close encounter with what his body craved more than food or even water.
Charlie sat a few feet away in Cora’s usual spot, the cane-bottom chair. He rolled a canvas ball from one hand to the other. Too quiet. Did he know what had transpired?
“Aren’t you going to eat?” The boy tossed the ball and caught it.
Wrapped in a blanket, Ben settled back against the wall and stirred the spoon in his broth. “Did Cora say anything to you about me today?”
Charlie shrugged. “Just that you were sick and didn’t feel like visiting.”
At least she’d spared him from losing the boy’s respect.
“Do you suppose she’ll come up this evening?
” Foolish question. Of course she wouldn’t.
How would he rest tonight without a glimpse of her smile or lake-blue eyes or without hearing the soothing sound of her voice as she read?
Her presence eased the grating of his bones and the gnawing turmoil in his gut.
“Nope.” Charlie wiggled his knees toward each other and then away, in and out. “Says she has too much work to do.” He knitted his brow. “Did you make her mad?”
Ben exhaled. How in the world should he answer that?
“Not mad.” She was probably furious. “Just…disappointed, I’d guess.
” She probably thought he was weak, insane, lower than the bottom dregs of society, a man she didn’t want to be near.
Thank God, she’d allowed the boy to come up, at least. “We had a disagreement. Grownup stuff.”
Charlie shrugged. “Maybe you’d better say sorry.”
He gulped. “I did. But sometimes sorry isn’t enough.”
“You can do extra chores, or give her a gift. Or smile and say something nice.”
If only it was that simple, but the way she’d looked at him as she’d come down the stairs with her used rags and bucket, it was as if she’d like nothing better than to rid herself of him along with the dirty water.
“I plan to do more chores than you can count when I get to feeling better.” Yes, that’s what he’d do.
God willing. He’d show her his worth. He’d earn back her respect.
“How many chores is that?” The boy rocked forward.
“I don’t know.” Ben sipped his lukewarm soup. “I’ll let you keep the tally because you’re going to help me.”
“I am?” He beamed. “How about hunting and fishing?”
“We’ll start with the front gate. Then the corral.” Ben discarded the spoon and lifted the bowl to his lips. “We’ll surprise your sister.” No use giving Cora something to say no to, as she had his money this afternoon. When he got better, he’d ride to town himself and buy supplies for them.
“Can we read?” Charlie hopped up and meandered toward the saddlebags.
“Bring them over here. I’ll dig out the Dickens book, and you can read me a few pages.”
“It’d sound better if you did it. Quicker too.” The boy heaved the leather satchels and wobbled over to the bed.
Ben’s throat burned from too many weeks of stomach upset.
“You need the practice. I need to rest.” He set the empty bowl on the bedside table.
Great Expectations probably wasn’t the best story for Charlie to read, but it was the only book, other than Last of the Mohicans and his personal Bible, he’d brought with him.
“The story’s about an orphan, taken care of by his sister, but Pip’s sister is nothing like yours.
He wasn’t blessed with a sister like Cora who loves you dearly and would do anything to protect you. ”
“Cora’s the best sister ever.” Charlie took the book. “But I miss Mama Scott. She was a real momma to me.” Charlie plopped down in the chair and fingered the embossed leaf design on the book cover.
Ben stretched out on the bunk and tugged the wool blanket up to his shoulders. “I imagine Cora is a lot like her.”
“In some ways. Not as quiet, though.” He brightened. “I bet Cora would be brave enough to fight a mountain lion.”
Ben smiled as he rolled onto his side and wedged his arm under the pillow. “I don’t doubt it. How about you read some?”
Charlie opened the cover as if it were a treasure and read the first page, tripping over the words Pirrip and blacksmith. He looked up. “The boy in the story never saw his mama. But I remember my Comanche mother.”
“You do?”
“She was a good mother too. Left me because she had to. Figured my pa’s home was the best place for me. Safer. And she was sick. That’s what Mama Scott told me.”
So that’s how he’d come to be part of the family. Mrs. Scott had taken in the child of her husband’s unfaithfulness. “I’m sure Mama Scott was right. You’re a lucky boy to have had two mamas that loved you.”
“Pa didn’t.” The words dropped like rocks.
Ben frowned. “Maybe he just didn’t like to say so.”
The boy shrugged and returned to reading about the orphan Pip. After a couple of pages, he looked up. “Ben?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to get well, aren’t you? And stay with us?”
Ben swallowed hard as he gazed into the boy’s big gray eyes. How should he answer? “I’ll get well sooner or later.” He’d get better a whole lot sooner if he’d taken that spoonful of medicine today instead of scaring the devil out of Cora and making her think…making her think what?
“But you gotta stay. Cora said you’re like a brother to us now.” Charlie closed the book and leaned forward, waiting.
From the way Cora looked this afternoon, the brother invitation had been canceled. But Charlie had lost too many people already, been hurt too much.
A slow stream of air leaked from Ben’s lungs.
He had a life in Philadelphia, his commitment to his father that he’d eventually take over management of the newspaper, and an almost-fiancée chomping at the bit for him to hurry back and make good on his proposal.
“I’m not leaving anytime soon. You and I have a heap of work to do.
I may even have to go find us some cattle. ”
“I’ll come too. I know how to tie a calf...”
Ben closed his eyes as the boy talked on.
The need to make a dangerous promise or break a heart had been averted.
For now. The cymbals started in his head again.
Every bone in his body ached. He’d been stupid to say no to the medicine.
But Cora and Charlie needed a whole man, not one shackled to a bottle.