Chris Larabee half slid, half fell, out of his saddle, leant against a big boulder beside the track and threw up for the fourth - or was it the fifth? - time that day. There wasn't anything left in his stomach except bile but it heaved just the same. He slumped down with his back to the rock and wondered whether if he hit his head hard enough against it the pounding behind his eyes would get worse or go away.
"You OK mister? 'Cause you don't look too good."
Chris managed to drag his eyelids open enough to squint at the speaker through the slits and into a pair of blue eyes gazing at him full of concern. Eyes blue like cornflowers, like summer skies, like Sar....
"Your Daddy never tell you not to talk to strangers?" he managed to growl.
"All the time. Wait here. I'll be back."
The kid moved away removing the shade and allowing the full force of the late afternoon sunshine to dart its red-hot needles into Chris's brain. He closed his eyes tight against the light and knew he wasn't going anywhere for a while; he was staying here, though where here was the Lord alone knew.
With his hearing heightened by the hangover every faint rustle of leaf and shift of twig or stone thundered and echoed heralding the return long before a large wet object pressed against his face and he managed to work out it was his refilled canteen. He took it and sipped the cool sweet water slowly. His throat might be on fire and his mouth as dry as desert sand but gulping liquid would only make him throw up again and he didn't have the energy, so he sipped and forced his eyelids far enough apart to watch his saviour through the lashes. It was a definitely a girl. Boys usually didn't have hair that long and even though the dungarees she wore were old, patched and a couple of sizes too big they couldn't entirely hide her neat figure. She was checking through his saddle bags but he couldn't be bothered to object. Maybe later.
At least, he thought, the horse hasn't run off.
"You need something to eat," she said. "Can you walk? Or do you want to hold on to the horse? I don't think I can carry you."
He scanned the smudged face before him for any hint of mockery and to his surprise found none.
"I can manage."
She waited until he'd climbed to his feet before moving. He was tempted to hold on to a stirrup but his pride wouldn't let him. Nice to know he had that much left. She led the way into the copse a few yards back from the trail. Chris stumbled over a couple of roots as he followed her along the narrow path winding through the trees but managed not to fall flat on his face. By the time he reached the small clearing he was beginning to get the hang of walking without having to think about each step.
The glade was quiet. A stream bubbled softly over a pile of rocks into a small pool, a breeze ruffled the leaves and occasionally a bird called. His horse was loosely hitched to a tree branch next to a burro. Both animals free to crop at the grass as they wished. The burro wore a harness, presumably for hauling the travois piled with branches which lay, ready for hitching, on the far side of the pool. The girl knelt by a small camp-fire on which a coffee pot was heating, she was engaged in unpacking a burlap sack and laying its contents out on an old towel.
" Coffee's on. Here's the sugar. Now what to eat? It would take too long to cook bacon or oatmeal but there's bread, cheese and apples and ... yes ... beef jerky!."
She glanced up as he approached, smiled shyly, and held out her hand. " Please take a seat. I'm Ella McKenzie."
The formal phrases and gesture took Chris back to another more gracious lifetime. Dredging his company manners back to the surface he politely shook the grimy little paw, noticing fresh cuts and bruises across his knuckles as he did so and said, "Chris Larabee. Pleased to meet you Ellie, er Miss McKenzie."
"Ell _a, " she corrected. "It's short for Isabella."
Chris sat, propping himself against one of the tree trunks, and watched Ella deftly cut the bread and cheese while the coffee brewed. She would clean up to be a pretty girl, he decided. There was a good shape to her face, pleasant regular features and even teeth, though it was difficult to see through the hair which escaped from its rough ties and clouded over her face.
He still wasn't thinking too clearly so he asked the question out loud instead of in his head,
"Ella, you don't live here, do you?"
She looked over in astonishment and said, "No. I live with my Daddy and .... Our place is that way", she pointed, "Less than a mile. Over the ridge, left at the lightning tree and down." Another gesture indicating the towel, "I came here to bathe."
Chris looked around, still puzzled, "Why d'you come here for a bath? Can't you get one at home?"
"No. Not since Daddy married Her and they moved in."
The reply was so soft he almost didn't hear the words but he did hear the sound of the black, almost hopeless, despair and it reverberated in the void where his own heart had been. She was staring at the ground. And she was too young to be in this kind of pain. Far too young. He kicked himself for being tactless but before he could apologise she shook herself, pulled the long tangles back and retied them in their cord, poured coffee into a tin mug and said, more to herself than to him, "But you can't live by wishing. Just have to get on and make the best of things."
She handed Chris the mug and a hunk of bread and cheese and asked, "D'you want sugar?"
He shook his head and sipped the coffee cautiously. It was hot and strong and he was grateful for it.
"Sorry Ella, " he said. "But I ain't going to eat that. Save it for later. I'd appreciate more coffee. If you can spare it."
"It's your stuff, mister. It was on your horse." A sudden note of suspicion in the voice and she hesitated in coming over to refill his mug. "The one you were riding anyways. You didn't steal him did you?"
"Nope."
"OK then. What's his name?"
"Don't know."
Chris hesitated to continue but Ella was clearly waiting for more information and equally clearly ready to believe his answers, so he concentrated on piecing together odd shards of memory.
"There was a sheriff," he said. "Pulled me out of bed this morning. Put me on that pony and told me to get out of town."
Was it only this morning? He remembered hands dragging him out into daylight and thrusting him into the saddle. Then wind rushing past his face and his stomach churning until he'd had to stop to vomit. He looked down at himself. Yeah, he had slept in his clothes, probably more than once. He stroked his chin confirming that he hadn't shaved for a few days and identified a sore spot on his left cheek.
"Guess I got drunk and into a fight."
He stilled the reflex to check how many bullets were left in his gun and belt, that could wait until she'd gone, but an image flashed before him of a young man, hardly older than Ella, flying backwards with blood spurting from his chest and a gun spinning out of his hand.
"Where?"
Chris shrugged.
"D'you know where you are now?"
"Nope."
"Redvale."
She took pity on his continuing confusion and explained "Ain't really much of a town. We've got a school and a church and one saloon as well as the general store but that's about it. No one will disturb you here but if you want a bed for the night come on up to our place. It ain't the biggest farm around here but we do have a bunk-house for when we're harvesting. Nobody's using it at present so no reason why you shouldn't." A small hesitation crept into her voice as she said this. "Though you might want to clean up a bit first." She glanced up, checking the sun's position in the sky and started up. "And will you look at the time! C'mon Daisy, " she said to the burro. "We must get back. They'll be wanting dinner soon."
Daisy took two paces towards the travois, put her head down and stopped dead. "Oh no! Please Daisy." Ella cried. "It's not that heavy."
Chris climbed stiffly to his feet intending to help out. Daisy took one long doubtful look at this new threat and decided, as many others had done before her when faced with it, not to argue.
"If you want a bed you'll need to get to us before sunset," Ella explained as she fixed the ends of the travois into the harness, "There's party at the Grants tonight. Everybody's going." Adding "It's Kevin's birthday," as if that explained everything.
Chris escorted her to the edge of the wood so she could point out the way, then sat quietly by the fire, drinking coffee and trying to recall more of the past few days. Had he really been so drunk he'd blacked out? He closed his eyes and tried to remember more.
Dark gold sunlight filtered through the trees by the time he snapped back to consciousness from a nightmare of more than usual violence. Shadows were deepening and the sun looked to him like a ball of blood. Few things scared Chris Larabee but tonight the thought of staying here in blackness with only himself for company terrified him. He needed to be near people, even if he didn't want to talk to them. Glancing at the sky he knew that he'd have to hurry if he wanted to take up Ella's offer of a bed before they all left for the party. He went to splash cold water on his face and caught sight of his reflection in the pool. Blond hair dark with sweat and dirt, unshaven, right cheek streaked with blood from a cut over his eye, bruise on the left, shirt stained and the eyes grim and hooded. Chris Larabee looked hard at the killer before him and wondered why the good little girl hadn't run away screaming.
***
The sun was inching below the horizon as Chris set off for the McKenzie place, but there was still plenty of light for him to follow the track left by Ella and Daisy. He'd made good use of Ella's towel and soap and felt more human if not much happier. Nothing like jumping into icy water to get the heart pumping and drive the last of the whiskey out of his head. Walking would help too. Besides after carefully checking him over he decided the horse needed a rest. In their haste to be rid of him the good citizens of Whereveritwas had stuffed all his gear into his saddlebags or sacks strapped to the saddle and overloaded the poor beast. He'd tipped the lot out on to the ground and managed to find a clean, though crumpled, shirt and fresh pants to wear instead of the stinking clothes he'd stripped off. His vest and jacket needed a good brush and sponging to deal with the dust and the saloon stench of smoke and bad whiskey but he couldn't do much about those for now except fold them away as he repacked everything properly. Shaving could wait until he had hot water and a steadier hand.
As he walked he fingered a small wooden box now resting in his pocket of his duster.
Chris stopped for a moment by the dead tree to check his bearings. The trail dipped gently down to cross a more regularly used track and head up to a homestead about twenty yards further on. A buckboard was turning on to the track as he watched. The low sun made the tree cast a long, deep, black shadow across the trail. If any of the travellers had looked back they might just have made out a pale face, but none of them did so Chris and his pony passed unnoticed.
There were four travelling in the wagon: a man concentrating on driving the pair of unmatched horses, an elegantly dressed woman seated stiffly beside him and two younger women, almost equally elegant, squabbling in the back. Neither looked like Ella. Chris wondered where she was and whether this was the right place. Only one way to find out so he walked on. The track ran between a field holding a couple of milk cows and what had once been a pretty garden up to a paved yard between the barn, and other outbuildings and the homestead itself. There were a couple of horses with Daisy in the corral behind the barn.
He noted signs of neglect as he walked, fences in need of proper repair, weeds where there shouldn't be, couple of trees blown down but left to rot instead of being sawn into logs and the barn needed new planks in its walls. Even if this wasn't the right place he reckoned he should be able to get a night's lodging in return for a day's work.
The homestead itself was an L-shaped building now forming one corner of the yard. The oldest part, the original log cabin, fronted on to the track with the later extension part wood and part stone running back from it. This was good farming land and it was clear that once this had been a rich farm. Chris wondered where the money had gone. Faint light spilled from the open back door but no one appeared. Chris hitched the horse to the rail by the smaller of the two outbuildings, slipped off his duster and hat, eased his gun in its holster and went exploring.
The open door as he'd guessed led into the kitchen. Despite being clean, neat and warm, there was an air of making do and age about the room. There were also signs that someone was around. A kettle was heating on the range and a small pot of soup or maybe stew stood ready nearby. A lit oil lamp turned low stood next to a jam jar full of wild flowers on the kitchen table. A black cat, stretched comfortably on the small rag rug with his back to the heat of the range, opened his eyes and subjected Chris to their full golden appraising stare before deciding he wasn't worth moving for, giving a casual lick of disinterest to one paw and settling back to his nap.
The big barn had the musty smell of old straw and hay. He could make out shapes in the darkness which he reckoned must be farm machinery, though again there was a feeling of disuse. The smaller building was the stables. He lit the lantern hanging on a hook inside the door and discovered mostly empty, but clean, stalls. Tack and saddles were stored properly at the end farthest from him. The single occupant was a well bred bay mare who pricked up her ears and huffed a welcome as he approached. Chris stroked her nose while he looked her over carefully and decided she'd cost enough to explain some of the disrepair. Two stalls away from her someone had laid fresh straw on the floor and put hay, oats and water ready with a horse blanket over the divider.
Next to this stall, steep steps, almost a ladder but with wider treads, led to an upper floor so with the lantern in his left hand, his right ready to draw and ears twitching for the slightest sound, Chris climbed up. Knowing the layout was as important for a gunfighter's survival as knowing who else was in town.
This was where the hired hands slept, when there were any. The room ran the full length of the building. Four low wooden bed frames stood in a line, one end pushed under the eaves. The far end was a stone wall with a stove standing against it. Another sign of better times. The bed nearest the ladder had been dusted down and covered with a thin mattress, a tick covered pillow, and a couple of folded blankets. So someone was expecting a visitor. Maybe he was in the right place.
Chris descended and led the pony to the stall, quickly unloaded him, transferred the saddle to the stall divider and threw the blanket over his back. The proper rub down he deserved after his hard work could wait until he'd found where Ella was hiding.
Turning the corner of the stable led him out of the yard. The stable roof extended over the end wall providing shelter for the big copper and wash tub. The pile of clothes and the fire under the copper suggested someone was about to do washing. Soap, washboard and brushes were also set ready but the copper was only about three-quarters full. There was a big old cast-iron pump and trough nearby. Close enough that it had to be there to provide water for washing but the handle was broken: a while back to judge from the rust on the break. Someone had tried unsuccessfully to repair it by binding the pieces together with string.
He looked around. The water had to come from somewhere. Opposite, and heading away to his left, he could just make out the vegetable patch and at its end some trees. Fruit trees he guessed with something - or someone -moving through them. Reflex put his hand on his gun but he managed to resist drawing. The something became a dark slow-moving figure which turned into Ella carrying two heavy pails on a yoke. Chris took his hand off the Colt and called, "Hey Ella. Want a hand with those?"
She stopped dead and looked up, scared for a moment, then he was blessed with a small smile of relief and welcome.
"Mr Larabee! You came."
She put the pails down carefully and ran over.
"I set a stall for your pony and there's a bed almost made up. Come and see."
She tried to move past him but he blocked her. She was hiding behind her hair again.
"I found them."
She stepped sideways again and he stepped with her forcing her to look up at him and let him see that the dirt on her face was streaked with the tracks of her tears.
"Thought you had a party to go to," he said, softly, and saw all the resentment and frustration build behind her eyes and flood out in fresh tears.
She sank down, head on her knees. Chris could see her shoulders moving with the sobs but no sound came and somehow that moved him more than crying ever could. For the first time in a long age he found himself wishing for Buck's company because Buck would know how to deal with this. He knelt beside her, hesitantly reached out, tentatively rested his hand on her shoulder and felt her shudders lessen. What else would Wilmington do?
"Tell me," he said. "Tell me why you're still here."
She raised her head and wiped her face on her sleeves.
"She said I'd let them down. I was too plain. My hair's a mess and I haven't got a dress and I don't know how to behave in company and how could they take such a fright? And he didn't say anything. He stood there and said "yes dear ". I tried to tell her I have got a dress and that I always look a mess because I do all the work. Why doesn't she like me? Why does she make Daddy hate me? I have got a pretty dress. It was one of my Momma's but I fixed it to fit me. They spent all day getting ready. They could've done the washing and cooked dinner while I was seeing to the stock and getting the wood. Oh Momma."
She broke off into more tears but this time sobbing out loud. Chris moved slightly closer and didn't resist when she turned into him wanting to be held and comforted. Holding her brought back memories of comforting another crying child. Memories he tried to avoid but there was no whiskey here and no way to step back without hurting her feelings, and this child had been hurt too much for him to add to her pain. In desperation he said, "Can I see your dress?"
"Why?" Muffled by his shoulder.
She pulled away and looked at him doubtfully.
"I can do the washing."
"I need a bath and I don't know how to do my hair."
"Plenty of hot water in the copper. Will be if we build the fire up. And," he found himself smiling slightly," I can put your hair up for you. Might need a trim though."
For a moment she looked hopeful then her face fell again. "Daddy took the wagon. How would I get there?"
"Horse in the stables."
"You can't ride your pony any more today. " Then she caught on and half in excitement and half in horror continued. "You wouldn't . we can't . Temi's Her's. Oh my. But we couldn't."
She sighed.
"Don't you want to go?"
"More than anything."
He stood, stepped over to the woodpile against the kitchen wall, checked the edge on the axe, and began chopping logs into fuel for the fires. That would be useful whatever she decided. When he'd filled one basket he carried it over to the copper and built up the fire under it. He noticed the pails and Ella had gone. She came over from the kitchen with them, eyes sparkling.
***
Beyond the orchard was a wind-powered pump intended to keep the big water tank for the stock filled. This tank was now also Ella's source of water for the washing.
"There's a pipe to the kitchen sink but it takes too long to fill the copper that way," she explained as they trudged back.
The copper was steaming when they returned so they drew some of the nearly boiling water off into the wash tub before topping it up. Ella added a couple of handfuls of soap flakes before throwing the first load of shirts, blouses and underwear in to the tub. Chris paddled them to ensure everything was properly doused in the hot, soapy water and could be left to soak for a while.
"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Ella asked.
Chris nodded. "I used to help my Momma." And my wife, he added silently because those words were still too hard to say. "Let's see your dress."
Ellen drew the dress out from its hiding place in one of the dresser drawers and laid it out reverentially on the table. Pale blue silk with a higher neck and fuller skirts than was currently fashionable, but it would be fine on a young girl. If Ella had adjusted it then she was a good needlewoman because Chris couldn't see the stitching.
"Where's the underwear?" he asked.
"Underwear?"
"Dress like this needs a corset and drawers and stockings."
"How do you know? My Daddy doesn't know things like that."
"Your Daddy a good man?"
A nod.
"I'm a bad one. That's how I know."
He was surprised, and mildly amused, when she accepted this without fear or further question but thought hard for a moment, twisting a strand of hair in her fingers to assist her concentration before she said, "I guess they'd be in Momma's trunk. I hid it in the root cellar so She couldn't throw it out." Then she opened the hatch, picked up the lamp and led the way down.
The trunk was a solid brassbound affair with everything neatly and carefully laid away in tissue paper. Ella held the light and let Chris find the requisite items. He sorted through the delicate layers trying not to disturb them too much and found not only everything he was looking for including garters but also a good hairbrush and comb, scissors, a box of hairpins, some blue ribbons and a pearl necklace. He suggested that this would look good with the dress but Ella said she couldn't wear it so they repacked it with the rest of her dead mother's treasures and went back upstairs.
It was almost full dark when Chris left Ella to have her bath, but there were two lanterns hanging ready under the eaves by the copper, so he rolled up his sleeves and started on the washing. He got his own stuff out and added it to the pile, hanging jacket and vest by the copper to steam the creases and smell out of them. He scrubbed the first load, ran it through the mangle to get the soapy water out and left it soaking in a tub of clean water while he shaved. If he was taking a young lady to a party he should be a presentable escort. Then he topped up the tub with more hot water and put the second load of dirty work shirts, pants and overalls and his own pants in for a long soaking, mangled the rinsed clothes, and went to saddle and bridle the mare.
Temi was a lively and wilful animal but good-natured. He reckoned she hadn't been exercised enough recently as she was impatient to get out of her stall, eager to go when Chris got on her back and snorted in disgust when he dismounted after walking her round the yard a couple of times to check her paces and tied her to the rail.
"We'll have a run soon, beautiful," he promised, soothing her neck. Then he picked up his duster and hat and returned to the kitchen. The door was closed so he knocked and called, "Ella, are you dressed?"
"You can't come in." Almost a shriek of distress. Then more mournfully. "I can't tie the corset. The laces won't pull."
"Like me to do it?"
"Have you seen ladies in their underwear?"
"Seen 'em without it too."
"Oh."
Silence.
"Okay. You can come in."
She was standing with her back to the door and to him. Chris chose not to say anything to her but to concentrate on unravelling the tangle of laces and begin tightening them. Once the garment was sufficiently tight to be in no danger of slipping he told her to grab hold of the table, pulled the corset into shape leaving her room to breathe and tied it off. Then he picked up her dress, held it so she could slide into it without making eye contact and fastened that too.
Fully clothed she turned and speechlessly asked for his approval.
"You look very pretty," he said.
"Really?"
"Yes. Better when your hair's up. Sit."
She sat and let him pull her hair over the back of the chair and begin to work the comb through the still slightly damp knots and tangles. One or two he had to cut out and he trimmed an inch or so off to even the ends.
"I do try to brush it," Ella said. "There isn't always time."
Ella's hair clean and brushed fell straight and smooth down to her shoulder blades. Any complicated style with curls and ringlets was out of the question, aside from not having the necessary tongs or time it wouldn't suit her. He continued the rhythmic brushing while he thought. Simple but stylish.
"Who did you do this for?"
"My wife. Sarah enjoyed having her hair brushed. She always said it was easier for someone el."
The words stuck in his throat and he froze in mid-stroke, almost unable to breathe. Buck had tried, and to be fair to the man tried, to trade happy memories after the funeral. Chris had rebuffed every attempt. What the hell was he doing talking to a stranger?
Ella sat very still and spoke quietly.
"People don't realise how much remembering the good stuff hurts. Sometimes hurts more than the bad things 'cos you know you can't do that any more. You won't see Momma smile or hear her singing on baking day or sit alongside her and read to her. I was eight when she got sick, real sick. Doc Miller said she got eaten away from the inside."
She reached round for the brush. He couldn't let go. The slight touch of her hand brought him back and he resumed the long slow brush strokes to lay the hair evenly round her head.
"She got so thin and she cried from the pain. She cried a lot sometimes and Daddy and I took turns sleeping in the bunkhouse so we'd get some sleep but one of us was nearby for when she needed us. All through though she kept saying "remember this day" or "the time we ." Trying to get us to think about her alive not dying. She said it was fine to be sad for a while but she hoped we'd be thankful too. For all the happy days. Because she was thankful for them."
Chris found the kitchen blurring as his pain began to filter through his barriers and fill the void again. He wanted, hell he needed, whiskey, and not a shot or two more like a bottle or more, or a fight now to avoid speaking or thinking and neither were possible. This girl knew grief and loss too, and was coping better, so much better. Deep in his heart he knew Sarah would have said the same things to him if she'd had the time. Then she had been the light in his darkness, and her smile or frown much more effective in encouraging his good side than any beating or preaching. He began to plait the first of the strands to draw the hair back into shape. Concentrating on what he was doing he managed to cope with speaking about his dead wife for the first time since he'd found his home in ashes.
"Sarah said it was always easier for someone to do your hair for you. But I think she just liked having me play with it."
I liked that too, he thought.
He'd got about halfway down when Ella's fingers reached for the strands and took over allowing him to start the next and they set up a system. She finished the last one as he brushed the rest of her hair back into one length, twisted it into a neat pleat, pinned it in place and fixed the ends of the thin plaits around it leaving them looped over her face to soften the hairline.
He moved round to check his handiwork and nodded. There was something missing but it would do.
"Was she pretty too?"
"She was the most beautiful woman I ever met." Chris said simply. "Never will be anyone like her."
"Just like my Momma."
Too much. Much too much.
"You got a mirror? You should look at yourself. And a clothes brush. Need to brush my hat if I'm going to be seen with you."
"It's there on the dresser ," she said, and ran off into the rest of the house. She returned more sedately and wide-eyed.
"No-one will know me. Even Daddy . I almost didn't recognise me in the mirror. It's wonderful." She got close enough to reach up and kiss him lightly on the cheek. "Thank you."
Chris shrugged, pulling his hat and coat on quickly to cover his embarrassment. The small box banged against his leg as the duster swung closed. He pulled it out of the pocket and opened it. The two silver combs nestled inside, still untarnished. He'd bought them on that last trip saying to himself they were for her birthday but knowing he'd give them to Sarah within days of seeing her again. Mexican silver inset with blue turquoise and black onyx bands. Too expensive really but perfect for her. He'd imagined fixing them into her hair as he paid. Sarah was gone when he got back so the present stayed at the bottom of his saddle bag and he'd forgotten he still had it until this afternoon. He knew Sarah wouldn't mind, Sarah would downright tell him to do this, but he hesitated.
"Come here, Isabella," he said, as he tipped the combs into his hand and laid the box on the table.
She looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled.
"If no-one's going to know me I can be Isabella, can't I?" She saw the combs. "You can't ."
"Can" Chris said, thickly. Ella seemed to understand and stood so he could place them. As he slid them into the blonde hair, he thought about how good they would have looked in Sarah's darker locks and smiled to himself.
"You'll need a coat."
Thrown over his shoulder as he opened the kitchen door and went to collect the mare, using the movement to stop his emotions overwhelming him. The moon was rising and nearly full so there would be light enough to find the road.
Ella slipped on an old army coat at least two sizes too big for her as she left. "It's twenty to now," she said. "So we should be there just after nine. Oh! But everyone knows Temi. If we ride up on her they'll think you stole her."
She looked puzzled.
"It's an old horse traders' trick. Whitewash to paint a star or blaze and blacking to hide it. Works if you don't let the buyer get too close."
In the end Temi made it clear she didn't want her face painted but was quite happy with white socks on her forelegs. Indeed she seemed quite proud of them.
***
The mare had an easy smooth sure-footed stride which ate up the distance. She would have been happy to gallop at full speed but Chris reined her back to a slightly more sedate canter. Ella knew a few short cuts so they were there in no time at all.
The Grants were clearly wealthy: their farm was in much better order than the McKenzie's. The house was larger too and set some way back from the track but easily visible. Lights shone from every window, the biggest barn and the yard between. Through the stillness of the night they heard music and cries from the dancers long before the house came into view. Torches marked the path leading to the yard between a field of young corn and what would be the hayfield later in the year. For now the end closest to the house was covered by the guests' wagons and a horse-line.
Chris stopped the mare short of the entrance to the yard to let Ella dismount. He slid down then lifted her to the ground, and helped her out of her coat.
"Leave the coat here," Chris said, laying it by a pair of rocks set as field markers. "I'll come back for you at midnight. No-one will ever know you've gone. "
She looked a little hesitant so he added, "Sure you'll be OK?"
Someone coughed and spat nearby and a man stepped into the light, hands out to show he was no threat.
"Howdy mister," he said in a voice cracked from age, smoke and whiskey. " Let me take your horse. Colin asked me to look after the horses tonight. Saloon's closed 'cos everyone's here and Barney and his wife are running bar so I ain't got nowhere else to be. You're the last to arrive. Dancing's already started iffen your daughter wants to go on up while we get the mare settled."
Ella threw a quick glance at Chris. "I'll be fine," she said. She took a deep breath, flashed him a smile and set off, head held high.
"Go on Isabella," he said. "See you later." and waited until she was half-way across the yard before looking the man straight in the eye and adding," Ain't my daughter. Ain't anything else to me either. I'm here 'cos she wanted to come and her Daddy wouldn't bring her. Safer with me than on her own."
The old man met his gaze. "Reckon you're right there. You want to go up for a bit? Make sure she's all right? I'll walk the mare here for you. Keep her warm."
Chris shook his head and went to remount. A hand gently restrained him. He turned to shake off the interference and realised that the man might look disreputable but there was intelligence in the eyes still.
"Son, I used to be sheriff here. 'Course people now see 'Old Ben' the town drunk and forget that. I like whiskey. Just got to like it more and more. Anyways. Still got my eyesight and still got brains iffen no-one expects me to use them. I still feel kinda protective to my own, see. Don't like to see trouble come to them. You know what I mean? Guess you do too."
He spat, more as punctuation than a need to rid himself of the tobacco juice.
"Now what should I make of you. You're new round here and you ain't a farmer that's for sure. Not with that gun set that way at your side, and that look in your eye. If that mare you're riding didn't have those socks she's be the dead spit of Missus McKenzie's Artemis, and that little girl has a look of old Becca Benson. So how did a man like you get hold of them?"
Chris raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Don't get me wrong, son. I ain't looking for trouble here, but maybe I am looking out for Ella McKenzie. If that is young Ella . "
"Someone should." Chris said. Then he added, "She won't come to any hurt from me."
Ben considered him before nodded acceptance of Chris's word. "'kay then."
He continued talking partly to Chris but mostly to himself as Chris mounted the mare.
"Now 'course not being from around here you wouldn't know about Becca. She was Jacob's big sister, died lessee after Ella's momma but not long after so must be five years back. Shame 'cos she'd've sent the Widow Dawson about her business quick smart when she first set her cap at young Ian. Now Jacob he has the big spread north of the McKenzie holding and his younger boy, Mattie, went off east to be a lawyer or doctor or some such. Said he would never take to farming and Jacob wouldn't force him. Guess if he married he'd've a girl around that'un's age and likely the money to pay someone like you to bring her out to meet her grandpa."
"But I don't reckon anyone's going to listen to what an old drunk has to say. Even if he was sheriff. And is at the moment sober."
Despite himself Chris was intrigued enough to ask, "Isn't Jacob Benson here?"
"Nope. Bin living quiet since Joshua, his elder boy, and his wife and two of their childer took the fever and died two winters back. Keeps the place going in good order though and little Jake don't want for anything, including a taste of the belt when he gets into trouble. Anyways, if that pretty little girl were Jacob's grand-daughter, wouldn't be out of the question for her to come visit."
Ben's eyes twinkled up at him.
Chris smiled. "Good story."
"Then again Becca turned me down to wed Rory McKenzie and they had but the one boy and hasn't he had a peck of trouble what with Liza dying so young and then Maria Dawson getting her way with him, all the way down the aisle too, with her fine 'ladylike airs' and her two lumps of girls. Cain't do anything useful either of them ."
He spat again. "Think the first story's better though."
"Yep."
"Maybe that's what I'll say. Iffen anyone asks me. Don't 'spect they will though."
With that he turned and marched back to his post and Chris rode off back the way he'd come.
Chris let Artemis have her head and the mare made even shorter work of the miles on the return trip. Back at the McKenzie place Chris stripped down and set to work on finishing the laundry. He put Ella's stew on the stove to heat through gently with the makings of a fresh pot of coffee before he started. By the time Pony, as he'd begun to call the black, was rubbed down properly, the laundry done and hanging on the lines beyond the vegetables, all the tubs emptied and rinsed, the fire banked down under the copper and all evidence of Ella's bath and dressing eliminated from the kitchen it was almost eleven o'clock. Chris sat down in the dimly lit kitchen on the chair by the stove, ate his stew and drank some coffee. He closed his eyes for a moment and was shocked into wakefulness by the kitchen clock striking the hour.
Ten. eleven . twelve.
It was midnight and he was supposed to be waiting for Ella.
He grabbed coat and hat, swung on to the mare's back and kicked her into full speed, realised what he was doing and reined back slightly. Breaking Temi's leg wouldn't help anyone.
He met Ella running towards him along the road, the dark coat gathered round her, and her hair flying loose in a cloud around her head.
"He's after me," she yelled, as he approached.
Chris turned the mare, reached for Ella's hand, swung her up in front of him and raced for home.
Back in the yard she was off almost before they stopped.
"Yell if you can't untie the laces," he called after her as she fled towards the kitchen.
Chris took the mare into the stable and set about cleaning her legs and rubbing her down. He was putting Temi's blanket on when he heard the buckboard return. He turned out the lamp and stayed still listening hard to watch from the shadows, stroking the mare's nose to keep her quiet as he did so.
To his relief the man unhitched the horses, turned them loose in the corral and left the rig in the yard. The women were yawning as they climbed down and went towards the back door, the older one calling for Ella.
He caught snatches of conversation from the younger ones, which faded as they entered the house.
"I don't care what anyone said, I'm prettier. And my dress is much nicer. Isn't it Mama?"
"He wouldn't have danced with her at all if you hadn't tripped me. He'd have been too busy dancing with me."
"Would not."
"Would too."
"Would not."
He figured Ella would be kept busy for a while. He'd ask her whether she enjoyed herself in the morning, so he went up to the loft, lay down on the bed and fell quickly into a deep, and, for once completely unaided by alcohol, dreamless sleep.
***
The sun was up when Chris woke next morning. He lay still for a moment listening for signs of activity. Other than the restless movement of the horses below, there were none. He dressed quickly and descended quietly. Artemis and Pony whickered separate greetings as they saw him so he stopped to give each a little attention and a scoop of oats before moving out into the yard and over to the kitchen.
The kitchen door was shut. He peered through the window and saw Ella still asleep on a bed roll in one corner, the black cat curled up against her. He opened his eyes and sent a warning glare to Chris not to disturb her or, more importantly, him. Kitchen clock showed it was half past seven. Chris thought for a moment then returned to the stables. He could usefully muck out the stalls and groom the mare so Ella didn't have to do that later. If she was still sleeping when he'd done he'd wake her and get the range fired up for breakfast. Before he began he collected his clean clothes from the line. The shirts weren't quite dry so he laid them over the bed frame reckoning they would be by the time he came to pack. Then he stripped down to his waist, hung his gun-belt from a hook by Temi's stall and set about sorting out the stables.
He'd moved to grooming the black when he heard a noise, slid beneath the animal and drew his gun using the horse as cover. Ella looked at him wide-eyed. Chris holstered the Colt and shrugged. She looked round.
"Oh. You've done it all. Thank you. I came over to say I got breakfast going," she said. "Daddy's up but They aren't yet. He's hitching the team 'cos he's got to go into town for supplies. There's ham and eggs. And fresh biscuits."
"Sounds good. I'll wash up first."
She hesitated briefly and then asked, "Do you mind waiting a moment? Until Daddy's gone."
"Sure," Chris replied, cutting off any further explanation. He could quite see why she would find it difficult in the cold light of day to explain who he was, why he was here and what she'd been doing with him. He waited until he heard the rig drive off before he had a quick wash, put his shirt back on, and sat down for the first time in at least a year to eat, not drink, his breakfast. It wasn't yet ten o'clock either.
As she poured coffee into his mug he asked, " Was it worth it? Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Oh yes! It was . wonderful. No-one recognised me not even Daddy, or if he did he didn't say, so I danced with Kevin almost all the night. Except when he had to dance with his Momma and one or two other older ladies and when we ate. And we talked. We used to. He was my best friend before he went off to college. But he didn't look at any of the other girls all night ... especially not Them." She smiled at the recollection and then her face fell. "I know it's wrong to take pleasure from the misfortunes of others, but they were so horrible, they are so horrible to me it felt kinda right for them to be unhappy for once."
"Know what you mean, sometimes feels like justice." Chris said, pleased to see the small cloud lift and her elation and enjoyment of her party return.
" And there was food, oh my! Oh my! So much food I haven't eaten so well in an age. There was roast ham and beef and lamb and sweet potatoes, greens, peas, and then apple pie and peach and pecan and pumpkin with lots of thick cream. I had cider. And Kevin hasn't changed too much. He's grown of course but he's still kind and caring and his eyes still crinkle at the corners when he laughs. I wanted to tell him I was me but that would have caused such a row. Once or twice I thought he guessed but he didn't say anything so maybe not. I had the best time. I'll remember last night as long as I live. Thank you so much."
Ella busied herself about the kitchen as she answered and he ate. She mixed up another batch of biscuits even though most of the ones on the plate were uneaten.
"She likes them fresh from the oven," she explained. "Oh and before I forget, you should have this."
She pulled the wooden box out of her pocket and laid it on the table by his plate. "I'm so sorry but I lost one. It must have been when I ran. I was dancing with Kevin and I forgot all about the time until I heard the clock. He tried to stop me. I think he caught my hair because it started to come down as I was running away. Anyway, I am really, really sorry."
Chris pushed the box back to her. "It's yours," he said, gruffly." No use to me. Now, got any fencing wire and strap iron?"
"Maybe. In the barn. Why would you want those?"
"Thought I'd see if I could fix that pump. In return for the best breakfast I've had since . for some time."
He smiled at her and was pleased that she smiled back. Then she picked up the box and put it back in her pocket, and said, "I'm going to get the laundry." leaving Chris to finish his coffee.
He cleared his plate and cup into the sink before heading over to explore the barn. Someone at sometime in the farm's lifetime had acquired a small forge and a good set of tools so Chris managed to find everything he thought he might need to repair the pump handle for a while. Really it needed to be re-forged but he didn't have time for that, and while there was a forge there wasn't any charcoal to heat the metal properly. The strap iron was narrow enough that he reckoned if he could put a length on all four sides of the bar and wire it tightly it should be strong enough to work until Ella's Daddy found the cash to get the job done properly.
There was an old pair of thick leather work gloves lying on the workbench so he decided to light a small fire to heat the wire. That would make it easier to work and mean when it cooled it would form a tighter bond. The weight and shape of the tools felt good in his hands. It also felt good to make something again.
The fire was going and he'd cut the iron lengths when he heard the yelling from the house and crept over to find out what was going on. As he got closer to the kitchen door he realised it was the older woman finding fault with Ella in a continuous rant. It wasn't yelling as such, simply that the woman only had loud on her volume control and enjoyed picking on other people. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her back to him. Ella was going about her tasks as if this were a daily occurrence. She caught sight of him and shook her head slightly, eyes pleading with him not to interfere, so he returned to his self-imposed task and with each turn imagined wrapping the wire around the woman's throat.
He was putting the tools neatly and tidily back in the barn when Ella rushed in and pushed the big door as far closed as possible behind her.
In answer to Chris' questioning look she whispered "Shhh, we have visitors," and disappeared up the ladder into the hayloft. The loud rustling which followed telling him she was burying herself in the hay.
Chris strapped his gun back on and checked the draw. He watched through the gap three men ride into the yard and halt. The youngest, fresh-faced and well, but not flashily, dressed, would be Kevin Grant, he reckoned, the cheerful one around forty with a family resemblance to Kevin almost certainly Kevin's father: the other old enough to be Kevin's grandfather but still fit and strong he couldn't say for sure.
***
The woman who'd been berating Ella appeared in the kitchen doorway and smiled pleasantly and welcomingly at the group.
"Why gentlemen, I wish I'd had some warning of your visit. Then you wouldn't catch me in all my mess from baking," she said, removing her apron and wiping her hands on it as she spoke. "But lucky for you I have biscuits fresh from the oven and there's a pot of coffee on the stove. I have to say my thanks once again for the lovely party last night, Colin. We all enjoyed it so much."
It was the mention of biscuits which led Chris to the uncharitable thought that she'd slipped an apron over her head when she heard the riders approaching so she could make a show of taking it off.
"Now Kevin," she continued, flirting with the youngest rider, "Which of my girls have you come calling on? My Rosaline or my Victoria? Poor dears were so excited and exhausted after all the dancing they did I let them sleep in this morning."
So, thought Chris I was right. Those are the Grants.
"Neither Mary," said the oldest man as he dismounted. "Come to see my fool nephew. See if we can't sort out this mess. Where is Ian?"
"Now Jacob," Colin said.
"He had to go into town but I'm expecting him back any moment. Uncle Jacob, Colin, why don't you come in and sit while you wait."
Jacob hitched his horse and began an inspection of the property. Chris had to pull back as he passed the barn door.
"Thank you kindly Mrs McKenzie, but we don't want to put you out."
"It's no trouble, Colin, and how many times do I have to tell you to call me Maria? Come inside and then perhaps you can tell me what's the matter and maybe we can sort it before Ian gets back. That man has had so much heartache I like to take as much of the burden on myself as I can."
Jacob snorted.
"It's the girl who was at my party," Kevin interjected. "The one who ran out at midnight. She's vanished and I need to find her. I asked everyone. Old Ben Myers said it struck him she had a look of the Bensons and he recollected Jacob had kin in the East, so she might be staying with him. So Dad and I rode out to see ."
"Don't know why you paid any mind to him." Jacob interrupted. "Man's wits drowned in whiskey a long time back. He carried a torch for Rebecca all his life so now any pretty girl looks like her. Still there is one little Benson girl round here, where is she?"
"Didn't they tell you, Ella stayed home last night? Poor thing is so painfully shy, and so awkward in company we thought it best."
"But Mr Benson," Kevin said, "I think I would have known Ella."
Jacob ignored him. "Where's my niece, Mary Dawson?"
"Oh that poor child. She's such a worry. She's so quiet and, well, I have to admit it despite my efforts boyish. You know she prefers to spend her time out on the farm tending the stock or the crops...
"Guess someone has to," Jacob muttered
Mary continued in her reasonable tone trying to ignore the provoking comment, though Chris caught a flash of annoyance in her eyes, ". rather than helping with the housework. Out in all weathers too, quite ruins her complexion. And her hands!" She threw up her own in horror at the thought. "She could be anywhere, depends what needs doing and I wouldn't know anything about that, but I don't expect to see her before dinner time. Then I expect she won't be fit to be seen anyway."
She thought for a moment before suggesting "Why don't I let Ian know you called? Then he can come over later and set your minds at rest about that poor little girl."
Chris had had enough. He walked out and said to Jacob, "Ella's hiding in the hay loft." Adding to Kevin, "You should go get her."
He waited a moment for a response but the group just stared, dumbstruck.
"She enjoyed your party," he added and walked over to the stables. Time to leave.
He heard Kevin run into the barn calling for Ella, Mary McKenzie's cry of "Who does he think he is?" and Jacob saying " You wait in the kitchen. I'll sort this out." in a tone even she couldn't argue with. He glanced back to see Mary storming across the yard kitchen with Colin Grant following more slowly in her wake and Jacob striding towards the stables after him.
Chris quickly finished his packing and had set about saddling Pony when Jacob finally caught up with him.
"Hey mister" he called from outside the stable, "I'd appreciate a word with you."
Jacob entered, hands tucked in his belt pulling his coat back and showing he wore no gun. Chris glanced at him and then continued tightening the cinch.
"You fix that pump handle?"
Chris nodded.
"You did a good job, Mister ..."
The pause was sufficient for Chris to decide he was being asked for his name.
"Larabee. Chris Larabee."
Jacob stepped closer extending his hand, "Jacob Benson."
Chris shook hands.
"I think I owe you some thanks. Not just for looking out for Isabella but," he laughed, "Never seen Mary Dawson rendered speechless before. Thought she might have an apoplexy on the spot. Still."
Chris reached for the bridle.
"She helped me. I helped her," he said, with a slight shrug. Jacob seemed to want more so he added, "She's a good kid. Got a good heart. Despite everything."
Chris turned away from Jacob's scrutiny and back to his task. The man wasn't stupid and there was shrewdness in his eyes too. The ability to see into other people's souls seemed to be a family trait.
"Takes after her grandma then." Another uncomfortable pause. "Why don't you stop that and come over to the house while we get this cleared up?"
Chris stopped and looked directly at Jacob. "I didn't hurt Ella."
"Didn't think you did. I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of character and I don't reckon you're the kind to take advantage of young girls. Not looking for a fight either when I know I'd lose. I'd prefer we all sit down and set out the full story plain and simple. I want to know how Mary Dawson's been treating my niece, 'cuz I get the feeling I ain't going to like the answers. And maybe I should have kept a closer eye on things round here."
Chris considered this briefly before shaking his head and leading Pony into the yard.
"Be easier without me. "Haven't killed a woman. Yet," he said. "I took Ella over to the Grants and brought her back. Rode that bay mare. Ben'll confirm that. Get Ella to show you the dress she made. I did the washing Ella was supposed to do. That's all."
Chris swung into the saddle. "I have a couple things of my own to sort out."
Mending a few dozen bridges with my best friend, he thought. And the worst of that was Wilmington would let him.
He tipped his hat to Ella as he rode out.
***
Epilogue
Chris sat on the boardwalk outside Inez' bar, his chair tipped back to rest against the wall, watching the people of Four Corner peacefully starting their day. He had a large mug of good coffee to sip after his plate of huevos rancheros and nothing to do for the moment. JD and Ezra were on duty in the sheriff's office, Vin out visiting Nellie, Josiah and Nathan attending to their other work, and Buck, well Buck would be around somewhere. And there he was, walking up the street waving a piece of paper.
"Hey Chris, " he called. "Who do you know in Redvale? And how did you meet her? What's she like? Blond or brunette?"
Chris let the chair drop forward, and put his coffee down on the table. Buck slid into the chair opposite and continued. "There's a return address but no name. You sly dog you." He sniffed the envelope. "Not scented, but a lady's handwriting. All curves and ."
Chris held out his hand for the letter and waited for Buck to realise he wasn't going to get any response. Wilmington sighed and changed the subject.
"Here you go. It got sent to the newspaper so Mary asked me to bring it over. Now I must get me some of those," indicating the plate and bouncing to his feet, "Hey Inez sweetheart, how is the light of my life this morning." as he disappeared into the bar.
The envelope was plain paper and the return address simply "Grant, Redvale, Montana." It contained a single sheet of paper folded to fit. When he pulled it out an opened it up a small photograph fell to the floor. A family photograph of a young couple with two small children, one still a baby. He looked closely before he turned to the letter, the striking young woman was Isabella McKenzie. The picture wasn't the usual stiffly formal family portrait but a relaxed group; the small child in Kevin's arms laughing and Kevin gazing adoringly at his wife.
Chris turned his attention to the letter. It was dated two weeks earlier.
Dear Mr Larabee,
I wonder if you remember us and the kindness you did for us. I never got the chance at the time to thank you. News arrives slowly in our town so it was only a couple of days ago we saw the story about a group of men protecting that Indian village, and that Judge Travis had asked them to protect Four Corners..
The day you left Ella told me everything that happened and showed me the comb she had. I had the other. Once I knew she was the wonderful girl from my party as well as my oldest friend, I told my Daddy I'd asked her to marry me and she said yes. That led to an almighty row between Jacob and Maria, upshot of which was Jacob took Ella to live with him until our wedding.
Proudest moment of my life was seeing her walk down the aisle towards me with Jacob on one side and her Daddy on the other, 'cos Jacob insisted on Ella getting a real good wedding day and he paid for all of it, though my Daddy offered to help out. Jacob sent some of his people over to help Mr McKenzie sort out his place and somehow made sure it all passes to Ella and our kids. I'm not sure whether Jacob also had a hand in Maria and her girls suddenly finding the money to go back to her family east but that's what they did. Ella didn't say anything because it's not in her nature to think bad things about anyone but I was relieved they weren't there to spoil our day with their sour looks and bad mouthing.
We now have two boys and another child on the way. Ella's blooming and everything I ever wanted. She wanted to name our first-born after you but the way Maria spoke before she left I persuaded her that wasn't a good idea so we called him Gordon after my grandpa and Stuart after her great-grandpa. But our second boy is Christopher McKenzie Grant and already making it clear people shouldn't mess with him any more than his namesake, the man we hope you don't mind us thinking of as Ella's fairy godfather.
I don't have the words to say what I felt when I met my two boys for the first time and seeing their momma safe and well holding them. I still sometimes just have to sit and watch them sleep to know they're real.
So thank you Mr Larabee. From all of us. And if you are ever back this way again please call in. There'll always be a bed and a hot meal for you.
Yours faithfully,
Kevin Grant.
THE END