The Long Road Home Part 4

"This is no longer a vacation home. It is home. My home." Nora's chest swelled. At that moment, she felt she could really do it.

"Well," Seth answered with a grunt. "It won't be any vacation, that's for sure. But it's plain you got your mind set. The boys and I will look around and see what's got to get done before snow sets in. But it won't be cheap. It's a big house."

Nora paled. "I understand. But do keep a tight rein on the budget. Nothing fancy."

C.W. looked at her askance.

Nora turned to face him squarely. "And you, Mr. Walker. What are your plans?" Her voice was as cool as the autumn air.

C.W. shook his head. It seemed to her he would laugh out loud.

"My plan, Mrs. MacKenzie," he replied in a controlled voice, "is to honor my contract and finish out this lambing. Then I'll pack and be out of here by October's end." He glanced at Seth for confirmation.

C.W.'s eyes took her measure and she felt she had come up lacking.

"My contract does not stipulate that I work on your house for this...urge of yours to live off the fat of the land. If you get a chill, you can always pack up and jet down to Palm Beach."

Nora dug her nails into her palms. She wanted to scream at him that she wasn't that type at all. That she was scared out of her mind.

Pride held her tongue. She knew that to them, she was a pitiful figure. To them, a woman without a man was sad enough, but one trying to make a life for herself alone in the mountains was an object of ridicule.

Nora took a long breath and willed her hands to relax at her sides. "I see," she replied with a patronizing tone. "Whatever is more convenient for you."

His blue eyes steamed, and by the way he cleared his throat she sensed that he, too, was swallowing his frustration.

"It's clear I can't stay in this house," he continued in a decidedly polite manner. "I'd appreciate being able to sleep in the cabin."

A sound of disbelief came from the corner. Esther was whispering furiously in her father's ear. Seth shrugged and looked away.

"There's not but a potbelly stove in there," Esther cried. "No water, no facilities. You'll freeze your you-know-what off."

"It'll do," he replied, still looking at Nora, "if you'll agree to let me eat breakfast here, do some laundry, and take a shower or two. I'll be discreet."

"Yes, I think that would be fine, Mr. Walker. Until October's end, that is."

"I think you're crazy," said Esther. "Or just muleheaded." She scowled. "Shoot, I'll fix up the cabin for you. But when that frost hits, you'll be checking to see just what Jack nipped."

Esther blushed as the men snickered.

"You quit it, you guys," Esther barked.

C.W. reached out and gave her back a friendly pat. "Thanks, Es. I do believe your temper will keep us all warm this fall."

Nora was quick to notice the commiserating glance Esther offered him. Once again, C.W. caught Nora staring at him, and a veil of distrust cloaked his features.

"I'll check on the car," C.W. called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

Nora watched his retreating back in silence then glanced from the empty doorway to Seth, to Esther, then back to Seth with her eyebrows raised in question.

"That Charley don't jaw much," said Seth. "Keeps to himself. But he's a good man. Best I ever hired."

"Where's he from?" Nora asked.

"The east. Got references from some horse farm. Did some managing, not much handling of sheep. He's a quick learner, though."

"It's true. He's always got his nose in some sheep or farm book," added Esther. "I like him. So do Frank and Junior. Thought they'd be jealous, the way C.W.'s taking over and all, but I guess it's all in the way it's done." The look she gave Nora spoke plainly of how poor a showing she'd offered so far.

Seth's persistent nods and occasional "yeh-ups" confirmed that Mr. Charles Walker had pa.s.sed the stringent acceptance test of Vermonters. Nora was impressed.

"Seth," Nora began, looking into the caretaker's wizened face, "I have to get a handle on the finances of this farm right away. Budgets, expenses, and the lot. When can we meet?"

Seth scratched his head. "Any time, as long as you meet with Charley."

"Mr. Walker?"

"Yep. Charley's the man for the numbers." He jawed his gums a moment then added, "Sure helps me out, I can tell you. Truth is, he's so good I just let him handle the whole job now. And he's teachin' my Frank the tricks, too." He hitched his pants. "If you got any questions about budget, missus, Charley's the man to ask."

Nora did not respond. She faced the unpleasant prospect of having to work closely with the stone-faced, dispa.s.sionate, opinionated Mr. Walker.

"Nothin' worth doin' around here," Seth concluded, tugging at his visor. "I'll be joining C.W. at the barn. Esther, you wait till this Doc Redman shows up."

"Sure, Pa," Esther muttered.

Seth left, leaving the two women in an awkward silence. Nora had never known Esther very well. Unlike the other Johnstons, she had always kept her distance. Esther was tall, angular, and with her penetrating green eyes, striking. She wasn't a big woman, just strong boned, and Esther never hunched her shoulders, as so many other tall women did. The effect was one of confidence, and it was imposing. Nora remembered stories about Esther, the way she'd venture off into the mountains alone.

"I'll go make you some tea," said Esther in her husky voice. "Don't fall asleep, now. You might have a concussion or something."

"No, I won't."

Nora viewed the closing door with relief. Her triumphant return had turned into an embarra.s.sing disaster. Instead of charging in and taking over, here she was, lying in bed with a goose egg on her head. Life just wasn't fair. Tomorrow, she'd try again, Nora vowed, burrowing under the blankets. Tomorrow, she'd do better.

The mountain of blankets formed a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. She sank deeper into their warmth. Nora turned on her side and watched, transfixed, as a spider carefully spun its web in the dusty corner.

To each creature a home, she thought with hope.

5.

IN THE LOWER BARN, C.W. was working up a sweat. He loved to throw hay. It was hard, backbreaking work that brought his muscles to the point of pure pain. C.W. threw at a steady pace, humming a soundless tune in his head, beating the rhythm of his pitches with grunts. Poke, lift, pitch. Down, up, and out. Down, up, and out. Over and over. Faster and faster. His biceps began to tremble, and sweat beaded his brow and pooled under his arms. He needed to work hard now. This was the one way he could blot out the questions that haunted him.

Today, however, the questions kept coming. Why was MacKenzie's widow here now? He'd thought he found the perfect haven in which to hide while he redirected his life. Seth had confirmed that the MacKenzies never came here. What was she up to? And why was MacKenzie's widow worried about old Seth's house budget? He was right about her, he realized with distaste. She'd be cheap with good, honest people and end up using them, just like her husband did.

From the corner of his eye he saw a figure move near the barn's entry. C.W. groaned, threw a final forkful of hay, and stopped to catch his breath. Standing still now, his muscles throbbed so; he could hear the beat of it in his brain. After wiping his brow with his dusty shirtsleeve he looked over his shoulder toward the figure by the door.

Seth was rubbing his jaw as if he had a bad itch, and when he wasn't rubbing, he was. .h.i.tching his pants and clearing his throat. C.W. coughed, set down his pitchfork, and met Seth's gaze. There was no delaying it. Seth wanted to talk.

"Hey, Seth," he called, slipping easily into the vernacular. He walked directly over to the old man, his long legs crossing the barn quickly.

"Barn looks good," Seth said. His smile was brief.

C.W. was always stunned to note how many of Seth's teeth were missing. "Thanks."

"Yeh-up. Can't work a farm when the tools are rusted."

"Nope," C.W. replied. He enjoyed giving the short rejoinders as much as Seth did hearing them. Seth started at hitching his pants again.

"Something I can do for you, Seth?"

Seth looked off at the ewes awhile. "You were acting strange up there with the missus," Seth said at last.

Here we go, thought C.W. "How so?"

"Like you knew her."

C.W. skipped a beat. "Nope. I never met her."

Seth screwed up his eyes.

Cagey old bird, thought C.W. with affection. He held his tongue, however, knowing his silence could outlast even Seth's patience.

"Silence is a wonderful thing, son," Seth said after a spell of watching three hens peck the corn. "But it's a far cry from secrets."

C.W. kicked the dirt and stared at his dusty boot. "I never met her," he said quietly.

Seth nodded, knowing it was the truth.

C.W. ran his hand through his hair with a long sigh.

"Well, I guess I was hard on her for a while there. Skinny New York women have a way of getting on my nerves." He was relieved to hear Seth chuckle. "From what I know of MacKenzie, she's going to be a real pain."

"What you know of MacKenzie?"

Clever man, mused C.W. "I know what I hear. Let's see, from you I heard he was ornery as a mule and late to pay his bills. From the boys I heard he was short on charm and long on demands, and from Esther..." He paused. "I get mixed messages from Esther. I gather she both hates him and, dare I say, admires him?"

Seth rubbed his jaw again. C.W. sensed an untold story there. Seth looked away for a moment, but when he swung his head back, his face flattened to a deadpan.

C.W. went back to his hay. He hadn't thrown more than three forkfuls before he heard Seth's voice again.

"You workin' up a frenzy today," Seth said.

"Lot of delays," he grunted between pitches. "Lot to get done before the sun sets."

"Lot of thinkin', seems to me."

C.W. slowed, stopped, and peered over his shoulder once again. Seth was standing with his hands in his rear pockets and one foot slightly before the other. His eyes were boring into him.

"When a boil starts to fester, it's time to stop everything and clean it. Else it spreads and ruins you. Makes you mean and ugly and you hurt bad all the time."

"Just what is it you think I need to clean out, Seth?"

Seth gummed a bit, holding back. "Reckon you know that best, son. But I do know that you've been festering for months now and it looks like its comin' to a head. Might be time to tend to it, that's all I'm saying."

A quiet pall settled in the barn. C.W. leaned on his fork while staring at the ewes. They stared right back at him, as though waiting for his response.

C.W. shook his head and dug his fork into the ground. Festering was the word for it. Perhaps it was time to purge. He trusted Seth, both his wisdom and his silence. Running his hand in his hair, he approached Seth.

"I never met Mrs. MacKenzie," he began slowly. "But I knew Mike."

Seth's eyes widened.

"Everyone on Wall Street knew the 'Big Mac.' Mac, the big dealer. Mac, the big spender. There was this inside joke, sp.a.w.ned by jealousy: 'Have you heard today's Mac Deal?'"

He looked up at Seth. The old man wasn't smiling.

"MacKenzie was this ruddy, handsome fellow with a loud, confident laugh and a firm handshake," C.W. continued. "People enjoyed gathering around him and listening to the ribald stories that he told with professional skill. But his eyes were cold and calculating.

"At least he was honest about it," added C.W., kicking the dirt. "Mike wanted to make money. And boy did he. Some called him a genius. Others called him a shark. He had an instinct for the kill and devoured businesses and swallowed profits in huge gulps. And that was business." He shrugged. "I saw him as a highly leveraged con artist."

"I guess I ain't surprised you're some kind of money man, the way you handle numbers. Still, it makes me wonder. I know how MacKenzie left. Why'd you leave?" Seth asked.

C.W. flinched, hearing in his mind the revolver's retort, Mike's blood blurring his vision again. His nose burned. His breath choked. C.W. wiped a shaky hand across his face, squeezing his eyelids tight. Then, suddenly, the answer came to him. A burst of clarity, after so many months of confusion. C.W. took a great gulp of air before speaking, more to himself than to Seth.

"I don't want a killer instinct."

C.W. didn't move; he stared out of the barn with his hands in his hip pockets, while a muscle twitched in his broad jaw. From across the barn the sound of bleating was a staccato against the quiet dusk. Seth waited, giving C.W. the time he needed to clean out the wound.

After a spell, C.W. blinked, absently stretched his shoulders, and turned toward Seth, a sheepish look on his face.

"I suspect the boil burst."

"Yeh-up." Seth shifted his weight. "Speakin' on MacKenzie. The missus, she ain't nothing like the mister."

"Oh? How is she different?"

"She's a sad one. Used to wonder what made her so. When they first came up here she laughed all the time. Sweet thing, always comin' down to the house with a gift from town or to buy more syrup from us than she'd ever use. They didn't always have that big house. Nope. Used to camp up there before the building set up...and during. Some of them nights was cold enough to freeze water in a pail."

He shook his head and chuckled. "We used to credit it to love. And them being young, 'course. Heard he got pretty rich, real quick. Money can change a man."

C.W. felt a chill. "So I hear."

"Not her though. She was sweet as ever. But she started getting that sad look on her face, like a ewe what's been left behind in the field."