Samuel - 1
The sun inched toward the horizon as we rushed back to the ranch. I still had no clue what was going on. All I knew was that Ambrose had spotted something in the dirt and looked as though he’d seen a huge bear rather than a small object. Then we were rushing back. His scowl had returned, but this time, it didn’t feel furious like those I’d seen before. His scowl was thoughtful and worry-filled.
He had been short with the stable hand when handing over our horses, and if he hadn't glanced back after walking several paces, I would have thought he'd forgotten about me. The look was brief, but it lingered on me for a heartbeat, not long enough to take whatever meaning was behind it but enough to feel the weight of its significance.
Clearly confident I would follow him, he marched toward the family home at the center of the ranch. A few people called out to him, only to look confused and concerned when he did no more than raise a hand in greeting. Some that I’d worked with were ready to look beyond my outlaw status and looked at me with questions. All I could do was shrug, knowing anything I said wouldn't answer them and would probably piss Ambrose off even more.
When we reached the house, he stopped at the bottom step and turned to face me. There was turmoil on his face before he took a deep breath and gestured for me to follow. “You're good for the day. It's too late for the normal meal, but I'm sure there's something we can find."
"Oh, of course," I said, recovering and still trying to figure out what was happening.
We entered the house, and he snorted when he looked down the hall. "It's as if you know exactly when I'm comin’ to the house and just...wait. I'm still not sold on the idea that you don't have someone waiting to tell you when I'm comin'."
I saw Hipolita's kind face peering at us with a smile. “Now, what kind of talk is that? You worry about all the wrong things. Did you know that?"
"Who said anything about worrying?" he asked, and, in one of those rare moments I usually didn't get to see up close, I saw he was trying not to smile. "I'm just trying to figure out your secret, is all."
"A woman's allowed to have her secrets, and it's not a good idea to pry into them either," she said in a grave and playful tone. It reminded me why I’d taken to her so quickly. She could have two conversations and say two different things, meaning both. "And if that stormy look on your face tells me anything, you'll be looking for your daddy."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with complete sincerity and respect. It was the first thing I'd noticed when she came to look for him yesterday: he immediately changed both attitude and demeanor. On the one hand, he was like a solemn little boy who didn't want to upset his mother, and on the other, he was a grown man who’d been taught respect and knew precisely who to give it to. "I heard he was in his office?"
"He is. Apparently, he wanted to talk to your brother," she said, and although there wasn't an obvious change in her tone or her face, something about the air around her told me the rumors I'd heard about Ambrose's brother weren't exactly off the mark. "I can't imagine you'll bring him news that will improve his mood much."
"No," Ambrose said, his face scrunching up in the way that only happened when he was well and truly ticked off. It was usually my sign to back off from antagonizing him for a while unless it stuck around, which meant I needed to keep my mouth shut until the next day. Whether that was because of the mention of his brother, his father's probably already sour mood, or the idea of bringing him bad news, I didn't know. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Well, that depends on the favor since I'm supposed to be cleanin'," she said, tilting her head.
He glanced back at me. “We didn't stop for meals on the way back and...didn't get much chance to eat before that. Can you get this one fed and send him back to his cabin?"
"Shared cabin," I muttered.
"Complain about your lodgin' to someone else after you've done your time," he snapped and then sucked in a deep breath. "Just...go with her. She'll feed you so much you'll need to be rolled out of here and fitted for new pants."
"Well, if I get stuck in these pants, will you come around and get me out of them?" I asked, watching his eyes widen at my boldness before snorting. "What? It's not like I'm going to ask Miss Hipolita to do something like that. And my, uh...cabin mates aren't exactly going to feel generous enough to help."
"Just...go," he said with a sigh, but I swore I saw the ghost of a smile on his face as he turned away.
"That boy didn't even make sure I was alright with it before strollin' off," Hipolita said with a shake of her head, tucking a rag into her back pocket and watching Ambrose walk away. "Must be something real important for him to forget that little detail."
"If I knew what we found, I'd tell you," I said with a shrug. "Just found wolf prints and from what I saw, boot prints as well. Then he picked something up from the dirt and suddenly wanted us to come back."
"Boot prints?" she asked, frowning. "Near the wolf prints?"
"Yes, ma'am, that alone was enough to get his attention. But whatever he found was the final nail, and we came back here hard enough that the horses will probably need a couple of days rest."
Her eyes flickered toward the hallway, lips thinning. "I see."
"Well, apparently, you see a lot more than I do," I said with a snort. "Because I'm still confused."
"You would be, you weren't around...well, in any case," she said, eyes snapping up at the sound of a door closing. "Let's get you into the kitchen. The cooks are done for the day, but I just so happen to know how to cook, so let's see what I can whip you up."
She clearly didn't want to talk about the subject out in the open, and I glanced in the direction she had, to let her know I understood. “I won't argue with some food. He wasn't kidding about not getting much in the way of food today. Riding that hard can be tiring, so I think a pick me up is in order."
"Well, let's see if I can provide that," she said with a smile, waving at me to follow her.
"You made it sound like you're used to cooking around here," I said as I followed her, finding a topic that was hopefully safe in case other people were listening.
"Not as much as I used to," she said with a smile. "Ambrose used to live in this house, and that boy could eat like he was starving. When he was much younger, I wouldn't be surprised if I came to the kitchen to grab myself a muffin or a cup of tea and found him raiding the larder like some critter. I figured if he was going to eat in the middle of the night, he might as well eat well. I cooked for him as a boy too, so it worked out nicely for both of us."
"He didn't eat with his family?" I wondered as she pushed open a door, and I followed her in. The kitchen was as spacious as the last time, but it seemed bigger without everyone in it. Yet there were still signs, the nicked surface for cutting and preparing, the polish on the stove, the fading paint where things were constantly brushed against the walls. All showed the kitchen had been used for years, yet it was still clean and orderly, showing the love that went into it.
"He did, but...well," she said, a frown creasing her brow. "Lord above, he'd kill me if he knew I was going to tell you this, but he was...sensitive as a boy. A stern look from his father or his brother...well, his brother being his brother could be enough to put off his appetite. Sometimes, the only way to get him to eat was to pull him into another room and make him something he liked."
My knee-jerk reaction was to laugh, but something resonated with her words, and I let them settle for a moment before speaking. If I really thought about it, I could make sense of what she was saying. After all, Ambrose was fairly sensitive to what I said and did. It manifested as a bad attitude and a barely contained temper, but it was sensitivity all the same.
And then there was how he was around his father. Ambrose was grumpy, sure, but he was also confident, thoughtful, and steady. Yet all it took was a look from his father or just the man's presence, and Ambrose folded into himself, losing all confidence in his abilities or decisions. I had no idea what his father had done in the past, but it was obvious Ambrose looked to his father's word with the same intensity and reverence of a zealot toward their preacher.
"Come to think of it...I can see what you mean," I said with a snort, shaking my head. "He's learned to hide it, but...he's not very good at it, is he?"
She chuckled as she pulled out salted pork, eggs, and a loaf of bread. "No, but I won't be the one to tell him that. Most people think he's serious and grumpy like his daddy. But I'll always remember the sweet boy who tried to put on a brave face even though he'd come running to eat with me to get some peace."
To call that mental image endearing was an understatement. To say it still felt at odds with the man I knew despite believing it made sense was an even bigger one. "Do you miss it?"
"Him as a boy?"
"Just...that part of him."
"Back where I'm from, I usually took care of the little ones, and you learn a few things by doing that. They grow up, and they change, and sometimes they change into people you can be proud of, and sometimes...not. There's always going to be things you miss, no matter how much you know children will change as they grow. But you also learn that they don't change quite as much as they'd like you to think they do. Deep down, he's still that sweet boy. It's just buried under a lot of other things."
"It seems to be buried deep enough that not even he seems to know it's there."
"Maybe so. I keep hopin' he'll find someone who will find a way to dig it back out. I know it ain't easy for you to see or believe, but there's a treasure locked in his heart that's waiting for someone to find. They'll just need to be patient...and as stubborn as him. He's more like his mama than his daddy, even if he tries to be like him. He's a good man, and I hope someday he'll realize it. But I can wait."
My ears perked at the mention of someone rather than specifying a woman. I wasn't so impulsive as to believe it had any deep meaning, but it was odd phrasing. I weighed the possibility of probing a little deeper against her potentially figuring out I had a reason for being curious.
"So...he's never had someone come close to that?"
"Close to what?"
"Finding that treasure you're so sure is there."
She gave me a pointed look as she stirred a fire to life in the stove. “I know it's there, thank you very much."
"Fine, that you know is there."
She chuckled. “And no. He's never really shown any interest in findin' someone. His brother has been fond of pointing out that he hasn't got a wife, but it's one of those few things that he can't get a rise out of Ambrose over. His sister has tried, bless her heart, to find him a wife, but it's never worked out for anyone."
"And his dad?"
"He...has never said a word about it."
"I wonder why."
"Mr. Isaiah is...well, he's a man of few words, and what words he does speak are only about things he deems important. Maybe it would be different if it was only Ambrose, but his siblings have kids, and maybe that's enough for him. Or maybe he ain't too worried about blood when it comes to runnin' the ranch. Whatever he thinks, he keeps to himself."
It was curious, as most fathers I'd known were extremely concerned about their son's love life. Especially when they had something like a business or a ranch that needed someone to take over at some point. Maybe she was right, and he wasn't worried because he already had children and grandchildren who could step up when the time came.
Or maybe...the perceptive man had already figured out his youngest child's deepest secret. Which, again, was strange because that was something a father would typically try to head off at the pass. Then again, if he was hardest on Ambrose, perhaps that was the reason. Or maybe he was waiting to see if the secret was dragged into the light for him to deal with. I knew very little about the man, but he didn't strike me as particularly accepting of things that didn't fit into his narrow expectations.
As far as I know, my parents had been ignorant of my...predilections. Admittedly, there had been some evidence to the contrary, although it wasn't compelling. Mostly, it had been how my mother stopped suggesting girls in town after a while. Or the way I had been speaking with the blacksmith's son once, a normal conversation that was only slightly laden with innuendo. My father had been watching us for a little too long, and although I couldn't prove it then, I could have sworn there was a knowing glint in his eyes before he'd turned away.
I'd wondered and feared what my parents would say if they ever learned that particular fact about me, and after their deaths, I was left just wondering. Unless people were right about life after death, I would never find out what they had to say on the subject. Then again, it was probably for the best that they had never known, and I hadn't found out their views. My parents had been good, honest, hardworking people, but that didn't translate to something that fell so far outside their understanding and ran against how they thought a man should be.
"Now then, what's this face for?" she asked, surprising me by leaning in and cupping my chin in her hand.
"Oh!" I said, too surprised to hide it. "No, I...sorry, I went somewhere in my head for a minute. Nothing to worry about."
She held tight to my chin, turning my face and looking me over. "Don't go lying to me now. Those pretty blues don't hide everything you know, especially when someone knows what to look for."
"What were you looking for?" I asked wryly.
"Something of you, the real you," she said, smiling gently. "Who were you thinking of?"
"Naked people."
"Always so quick with a joke."
"Now, who said it was a joke?"
"I know grief when I see it, and I know what grief that never goes away no matter how many years pass feels like, and I saw that...who were they?"
"I..." The warm understanding in her voice had taken me completely off guard, and to my horror, I felt an altogether familiar sting start in the back of my eyes. There were several items on the list of things I didn't want to do while I was stuck at this ranch, and breaking down in tears was definitely in the top five, at least at the moment. "My parents."
"Mmm, yes, that would be the sort of loss you never really get over. Were you young?"
"Sixteen," I said, mumbling as I wilted under the intensity of her attention.
"Old enough to take care of yourself, but still a boy in ways."
"Sure. Can you let go of me now?"
She chuckled, releasing me and promptly turning back to her preparation. "Men are such silly creatures. You can go through so many injuries, but the moment anyone dares to come near your heart, you shrink away like they were holding a weapon out. The pain of the heart is no more painful than the pain of a broken leg; both need time to mend, and both may hurt even after they heal."
"Well, that kind of pain is mine and mine alone," I said, feeling more naked than I had back in the river. I had been eager enough to talk to someone perceptive that I’d forgotten just how double-edged that particular trait was in another person. She was clearly an empathetic and caring person, and I should have been better prepared for her to flip the script on me quickly. "It's not for other people to see. Well-meaning or not."
"You're as stubborn as Ambrose," she said with no malice but plenty of affection.
"I'm not sure how I feel being compared to him. And I know for a fact he’d hate the idea of being compared to me."
"That's because you're both men and naturally stupid. I don't hold it against you. It's just how the Lord decided to make you. Perhaps to keep some balance in this world."
"Not sure how that's balancing anything, but...sure."
Sizzling filled the air and mingled with the smell of cooking meat. “So, I take it the two of you are getting along better then?"
"I...don't know about all that ," I said with a laugh, glad to have something to find humorous. "I think he's learned to tolerate me barely. And me? Well, I'm still his prisoner, so I'm not exactly rushing to make friends with him."