Chapter 17
“Iwant this step fixed!” Pa’s fist hammered against the doorframe. “I want to get out of this house.”
Wade had only moments ago strode into the kitchen out of the dark, up the three steps that formed a back stoop. He had a ladle full of Gertie’s delicious chicken noodle stew ready to dump on a plate full of biscuits.
Wade lowered his plate and the ladle. He was starving, exhausted, frustrated, filthy, saddle-sore, and grouchy. Not a good time to have to handle his father. “How do we fix the step, Pa? Got any ideas?”
There, dump it back in Pa’s lap. The old man would rant and rave steadily for about ten minutes while Wade ate. No trouble tuning out the sound of Pa’s yelling. Wade had become a master over the years. He returned to dishing up his dinner, his stomach growling nearly as loudly as his father.
“Someone with any brains would know that.”
Abby came in with Gertie right behind her.
“Sit down and let me get that for you, Wade.” Gertie immediately began flapping at him, shooing him aside.
Grinning, Wade escaped with his full plate and sat at the small kitchen table.
It was a relief to not have to sit in the formal dining room and eat off china.
Instead, he had a tin plate and quick access to seconds.
“Sit down with me, ladies. It’s been a brutal day, and I could stand the sound of a woman’s voice or two. ”
“We’re going to fix this door, or I’m ripping the whole back of the house down with my bare hands.” Pa grabbed at the doorframe as if intending to begin right now.
Sighing, Wade said, “You ladies are gonna have to talk loud to drown out Pa.”
Gertie gave Pa a wide-eyed look. Had he taken his nasty temper out on the housekeeper?
In earlier days, after Wade’s ma had died, Gertie had protected Wade to the extent she was able, and Wade had never seen Pa use his fists on her.
But Pa’s temper was out of control at times. Why else would Gertie be so scared?
Heat climbed Wade’s neck—temper. If Pa had hit Gertie…
“And if I can’t get my own son to help me, then I’ll find someone who…”
Abby laughed and jabbed a finger at Wade’s plate. “You eat your food. Keep your mouth busy so we women can talk.”
Pulling his thoughts from violence, Wade looked from his raging father to Gertie to Abby. “I think I’ll say a prayer before I eat. Would any of you like to join me?” Prayer was what he needed very badly right now.
Pa continued shouting. Gertie stared at her entwined hands, more fearful than prayerful. Abby bowed her head.
Wade prayed quietly, ignoring his furious father, who was too wound up to even notice they weren’t listening to him.
“God, thank You that the roundup is going well. Bless the hired cowhands I have. Let those who want to learn find skills here on the M Bar S that they can use all their lives. Keep us safe, help Pa get better, bless this fine food Gertie and Abby made, and let me use the strength I gain from this meal to be a good servant to You, Lord. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”
“I’ve got enough money to buy and sell all of you ten times over. If you don’t get this door fixed?—”
“We already took a mountain of cake over to the bunkhouse. You kept the men out for such a long time.” Abby braced her elbows on the table and plopped her chin on her fists. No manners at all. Wade had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. And she lived here at his house, with him.
“I’m trying to get three weeks’ work done in one, and shorthanded too.
But the worst of the hands quit right off, and the ones who stayed are working their hearts out trying not to lose their jobs at the end of the week.
Some of them are pretty unskilled, but they’re game, and they’re making up with effort what they’re lacking in experience. ”
“Stop talking and eat.” Abby pointed at Wade’s plate.
He couldn’t help but smile at her bossy ways.
She smiled back. “I’ve thought that maybe we could build a ramp of dirt to the back door. Your father could be free to come and go as he pleased.”
Pa quit trying to yell and jerked around to face Abby. “Really? That’s a good idea.”
“I may let you roll out of here, then knock down the ramp so you can’t get back, old man.” Abby smirked at him.
Wade was appalled—and thrilled—at her disrespect. He had never dared talk to his father this way. Of course, his father had been quick with punishment, but that was when Wade was a child and had no ability to defend himself or escape.
The fear Wade battled every day, with the help of his Savior, faded, replaced with confidence that if Abby could face down his father, so could he.
“Instead of a dirt ramp, how about I have a wooden ramp built? Less work than piling up dirt. It’ll be smooth, and that wheelchair will roll right down it.” Wade cut one of his fluffy biscuits and scooped it up with a spoonful of the savory stew.
“Quiet, eat.” Abby flicked her fingers at him. “Good idea, though. I have some practice with building. I could cut down saplings, lash them together. It wouldn’t be hard.” Abby turned to glare at Pa. “You could even make yourself useful and help.”
Pa lifted his chin, his eyes shooting bullets.
Abby’s eyes narrowed and didn’t waver.
Wade watched the byplay between the two, memorizing Abby’s courage and his father’s impotence.
“I think we could build a special wagon without much trouble too.” Abby stared at the wheelchair. “If we tore the seat out of the buckboard and could somehow roll your chair into place, you could probably handle the reins. You could make yourself useful.”
Pa slammed his fist on the arm of his chair and made a noise similar to a hissing rattler.
Wade swallowed quickly to interrupt the attack.
“I asked Libby in town to send Sam out here when he’s home.
I thought we could widen some doorways so Pa could get to all parts of the house.
Sam’s a good builder. He could help with the ramp and any other ideas you’ve got.
Pa, if you could work the buckboard, maybe you could run to Divide to pick up supplies.
If we sent a list, the storekeeper would fill the order and load the wagon.
You wouldn’t have to get down. Your arms are still strong enough to drive.
You could get out of here, see your friends. ”
Wade paused for a moment to consider if there was a man alive who would count Mort Sawyer as a friend. A neighbor, even a friendly acquaintance, maybe, but a friend? No one with any sense would count Pa as a friend. He had always been too ruthless to trust.
“I’m not going to town in the buckboard.” Pa battled the wheelchair to roll it to the table, then slugged the arms of it hard. “People would see me and pity me.”
Remembering Abby’s calm disrespect, Wade scraped his plate clean, chewed, and swallowed. “They probably pity you already, Pa. And you break that wheelchair, I’m not buying you another one, so calm down.”
Gertie gasped.
Pa’s face turned an odd shade of purple.
“Maybe if you got out, proved you can still do some work, they’d pity you less.” Wade waited to see what form his pa’s explosion would take.
“Probably not.” Abby studied Pa as if he were an interesting species of bug. “I think they’re going to pity him no matter what. But if a man were strong, strong in his guts, in his heart, he could ignore misplaced pity. Only a weakling would prefer to be useless.”
Gertie slid from the table, and for a second, Wade wondered if she was going to leave or maybe fly to Pa’s defense. Instead, she took Wade’s plate and refilled it.
Good thing—he was still starving, and this conversation had given him an appetite. “What do you say, Pa? Interested in any of this? The ramp? I don’t know how well that chair rolls.”
“The ground is hard packed. Not too many ruts, except right after a rain. He might be able to get to the barn and even do some work out there.” Abby looked doubtfully at Pa. “It’d take a lot of strength to get out to the barn, but it might work. It’d probably be good for your arms.”
“There are some rough places in the yard, but the men could spend some time smoothing them starting tomorrow. And if we built the ramp right, we could make one part slope down and a second part at the right level to roll right into the buckboard. We could have you free to ride the range in no time.”
A sudden look on Pa’s face had Wade regretting, just for a split second, that he’d been unkind.
The hunger in his father’s expression, when Wade said the word free, reminded him of the best things about his father.
His willingness to work long, hard hours.
His skill as a horseman and cattleman, never asking hired men to do a job he wasn’t willing to do.
Pa had a brutal streak, and no amount of hard work made up for that, but Wade couldn’t take away from his pa the incredible strength of will it had taken to move into this country and seize and hold this land.
Wade would have called it strength of character except Pa’s character was so badly, miserably flawed by cruelty.
Watching now, knowing how badly Pa wanted to control his own property, Wade asked quietly, “What was it that made you think turning your fists on me was a decent thing to do?”
Pa’s expression of hope and hunger faded, replaced by sullen anger. “I raised you the way my pa raised me.”
Abby laughed scornfully. “And look how well you turned out. Is that your point? A broken, lonely old man in a wheelchair? With one child, a son who had left you and only now returned home, not out of love but out of duty? You call your life a success?”
All good questions, but Wade wanted to ask something else. “You mean my grandpa Sawyer hit you when you were growing up?”
“Some. When I had it coming.” Pa’s defiant gaze slid away from Wade’s. “My…my ma was tough, though. She put a stop to it. Most times. But I got the message that I had to be strong. Same as I tried to teach you. But you came out weak. Weak like your ma.”