A Reason to Believe Read online

  “You said he was adopted?”

  Rye’s amusement faded. “By some folks looking for cheap labor. Maybe it was Slater’s punishment for getting out of so much work when he was younger.”

  Dulcie didn’t say anything.

  “Then there was Creede,” Rye continued. “My big brother. I always looked up to him. Wanted to be just like him.” His thoughts carried him back, and with it came the anguish and fear he’d felt the day the men had come. “He was sixteen when Ma died. We’d been working in the field when two men came to the house. Creede always blamed himself for what happened that day.”

  “What happened?” Dulcie asked softly.

  He blinked, and the horrific image of what they’d done to his mother disappeared. “They killed her,” he answered, keeping his voice matter-of-fact.

  Dulcie gasped.

  Rye ignored her, knowing he’d be unable to continue if he looked at her. “After me and Slater were taken to the orphanage, Creede went after them.”

  “Did he find them?”

  It was a question Rye had asked himself a thousand times. One he still didn’t have an answer to. “Don’t know. But I do know Creede wouldn’t have given up. Not ever.”

  Unless he’d been killed.

  Rye refused to believe the brother he’d idolized was dead. As for Slater, he was too smart to let anyone get the better of him.

  “Have you given up on them?” Dulcie asked.

  He had given up once, but that was before he’d been left with little else to do with his life. “No. I don’t think I can.”

  He tilted his head back down to meet Dulcie’s eyes, and was startled to see compassion in their depths.

  “I don’t have any brothers or sisters, but if I was separated from Madeline, I’d never give up looking for her,” she said. “And I’d do anything to get her back. Anything.”

  The vehemence in her tone and expression underlined her words. No matter what kind of wife she’d been, Rye didn’t doubt she was a good mother.

  Dulcie blinked and her cheeks flushed. She stood and grabbed the water pail. “I’d best get supper started.”

  She walked away with mannish strides, but the sway of her backside was pure woman.

  SIX

  “MORNIN’.”

  From where she sat on the milking bucket, Dulcie jerked up her head to find Rye standing on the other side of the corral, his forearms resting on the top pole. She pressed a hand to her chest where her heart threatened to leap out. “Rye. I didn’t expect you up so early.”

  He grinned and tilted his head, giving her the impression of a mischievous boy. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

  Her face flamed. Oversleeping yesterday morning had been uncharacteristic, but she felt guilty enough to ignore his inference. “I thought after your fall from the roof . . .”

  Flossie mooed, reminding Dulcie of her chore, and she resumed milking the cow.

  “My head hurts some but it’s better than yesterday,” Rye said. “I figured I’d get an early start on fixing what I broke.”

  “I hope you aren’t planning on going back up on the roof.” She wasn’t about to allow him to do something so foolish as to get dizzy and fall again.

  He grinned crookedly. “No, ma’am. I won’t be climbing any ladders today.”

  Embarrassed by her show of concern, Dulcie kept her gaze on her hands. She searched for something to say, but her mind was blank.

  “I’ll gather the eggs,” he said, breaking the awkward silence.

  Dulcie shook her head. “No, that’s all right. That’s my job.” She swallowed the lump of embarrassment. “I’m sorry you ended up doing that and the milking yesterday.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t mind, Dulcie.”

  Her name spoken in his honey-smooth voice sent a shiver down her spine. Annoyed by her body’s reaction, she said curtly, “I’ll take care of it today.”

  “Suit yourself, but I don’t mind.”

  The raucous birds and the rhythmic sound of milk being squirted into the bucket surrounded them.

  “Madeline and I’ll be going into town this morning,” Dulcie said when Rye didn’t leave. “I need a few things.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?”

  “No need.”

  “All right. I’ll hitch Jack to the wagon after breakfast,” Rye offered.

  She glanced at him. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Is there anything you need?”

  “I got nails enough to finish the roof and porch with some to spare, and I can’t think of anything else.”

  Dulcie nodded in acknowledgement and Rye sauntered back to the barn without another word.

  Although relieved he’d left, Dulcie felt abandoned and alone. Shrugging aside the foolish notion, she finished milking Flossie and stood. Later, after she’d gathered the eggs, she wasn’t surprised to see Rye hewing new shingles for the porch roof.

  After breakfast, while Madeline sat by the table playing with Aggie, Dulcie prepared for the trip into town. The extra butter and eggs she put in a bucket and covered with a towel. Hopefully there was enough to trade for flour, coffee, salt, and maybe some sugar.

  With a quick glance at Madeline to make sure she was still involved with her doll, Dulcie opened the trunk in her parents’ bedroom. The whiskey bottle was nearly empty even though it’d been over half full when her father was arrested.Maybe she’d drunk more than she thought, but after what she’d endured the past couple of weeks no one had a right to condemn her.

  With a sinking sensation, she realized her difficulties weren’t at an end. Although Rye’s assistance had gone far to relieve much of her worries concerning the farm, his presence kept her on edge. And the whiskey blunted that edge. Could she afford to buy one more bottle? That was all she needed. Once the crop was in and Rye was gone, she wouldn’t touch another drop.

  She closed the trunk and slipped her hand into her trouser pocket. Her fingers closed on the small cloth bag. Five silver dollars and a few odd coins was the sum of her and Madeline’s savings. Her father had left nothing but broken promises.

  The jangle of metal and leather brought Dulcie out of her bitter musings. Rye was bringing the wagon up to the cabin. It was a thoughtful gesture, and one she appreciated, but her gratitude remained tempered with wariness. Men did nice things for women when they wanted something in return. And usually that something they wanted was the woman herself.

  She quickly exchanged her trousers for a faded black skirt that she wore on her rare trips into town. Despite the fact that many folks didn’t think much of her, she didn’t want to add more fuel to the fire by appearing less than respectable. Pausing in front of a small mirror, she adjusted her hat, making sure her hair was piled beneath it.

  “Let’s go, honey,” Dulcie said to her daughter.

  Madeline hopped off her chair and joined her mother at the door. With the bucket of eggs and butter in one hand and Madeline’s hand in the other, Dulcie walked outside. Rye was standing in front of the mule, rubbing its knotty nose. He looked up when they came outside and his gaze traveled across her, giving her a flush of awareness. If he was surprised she was wearing a skirt instead of her usual trousers, he didn’t show it.

  “Your carriage, ladies,” he said, bowing at the waist and grinning.

  Dulcie’s cheeks heated, though she couldn’t help but smile. “Pulled by the finest steed in the county, I’m sure.”

  Rye chuckled and patted the mule’s neck. “Jack thinks so.”

  “Going with us, Mr. Rye?” Madeline asked.

  Rye came around to join them by the wagon that had seen better years. He squatted down in front of the girl. “Somebody has to stay here so Flossie and Smoke don’t get lonely.”

  Madeline’s expression fell. “Maybe I stay, too.”

  “Then who’d keep your mother company?” He glanced at Dulcie then back at the girl. “Besides Jack.”

  Dulcie’s lips twitched with laughter.

  “I s’pose,�
�� Madeline said slowly.

  “You s’pose right, Miss Madeline.” Rye stood and hoisted her up, swinging her around once before depositing her on the wagon seat.

  Madeline’s face brightened with pleasure as she giggled. Dulcie reveled in the sweet sound. Before Jerry died, her daughter had laughed little and rarely when he’d been home. Despite everything, Dulcie couldn’t help but wonder if Jerry’s death wasn’t as much a tragedy as a second chance for her and her daughter. But a second chance at what?

  Rye took the pail from Dulcie and gave her a hand up into the wagon. Even though she didn’t need it, she accepted his assistance with something akin to guilty pleasure. Once she was seated, he passed her the bucket, which she set between her feet.

  “We’ll be back before noon,” Dulcie said.

  Rye merely nodded.

  Dulcie picked up the reins and immediately noticed the sheen to the leather. “When did you have time to clean the tack?”

  He shrugged. “A few days ago. Woke up earlier’n usual so figured I’d use the time.”

  Dulcie rubbed the straps between her fingers. It wasn’t a big thing, but that he’d done it without being asked was something she was unaccustomed to. “Thank you,” she said with a husky voice that startled her.

  “You’re welcome.” Rye stepped back.

  Dulcie lightly slapped the mule’s rump with the reins and the wagon jerked into motion. Rye raised his hand in farewell, and Madeline waved with all her might, as if she were going on a long journey. Dulcie didn’t look back as they rolled out of the yard.

  The town was only three miles away, a distance Dulcie had often walked as a child when she’d gone to school. Many of the larger trees along the way were familiar, like old friends. She recalled climbing more than one after school, less than eager to get home and do her chores. Although her pa drank back then, it wasn’t like after her ma died.

  “Pretty bird, Ma.” Madeline pointed to a blue bird flitting from branch to branch as it squawked.

  “That’s a blue jay.” A flash of golden feathers caught Dulcie’s attention and she motioned to a bush filled with small yellow and black songbirds. “Look over there, honey. Goldfinches.”

  Madeline’s eyes sparkled and she clapped in delight.

  The road curved to the west, and Dulcie’s heart skipped a beat. Jack seemed to sense her hesitancy and slowed to a plodding gait. As the wagon came abreast of the too-familiar tree, Jack stopped altogether. Dulcie didn’t know if she’d reined him in or if the mule had halted on his own.

  The oak tree was the oldest and largest in the area with its towering height and wide-spreading branches. The trunk was so big Dulcie and Madeline could hide behind it easily. Dulcie stared at the lowest branch, which was ten feet off the ground, and as thick as her waist. She pictured that morning with the dew glistening on the grass and the coral and orange sky on the eastern horizon. Although she’d been warned, the only thing that had prevented her horrified scream was her sleeping daughter.

  They’d left him hanging there like a freshly killed deer, his open eyes bulging like a fish out of water. The evidence of his body’s humiliating surrender to death was there for everyone to witness. The sheriff had helped Dulcie cut her pa down after they’d rolled the wagon beneath his swaying body. She thanked God her daughter had been asleep when she’d come upon his body.

  “Why stop, Ma?” Madeline asked curiously.

  Dulcie shook aside the gruesome memory. “I thought Jack might need to rest, but I think he’s ready now.”

  After urging the mule into motion, Dulcie kept her gaze aimed straight ahead. Fiery rage burned through her veins. Men too cowardly to show their faces had hanged her father, and the sheriff assured her he’d make an effort to discover their identities. But he had made no progress by the day of her father’s funeral. Dulcie doubted he’d put in much effort for someone deemed a murderer.

  Locust came into view, and she stiffened her spine and pressed her shoulders back. As they rolled down the main street, she was overtly aware of the wary and unfriendly attention she garnered. But those didn’t bother her as much as the pitying looks. Thankfully Madeline wasn’t old enough to notice, much less understand them.

  Dulcie drew to a stop in front of the general store. Her hands shook as she looped the reins around the brake handle. Before jumping down, she wiped her damp palms across her skirt. She had Madeline pass her the bucket with the precious butter and eggs then helped her daughter down.

  Ignoring the few people around, she entered the store and walked directly to the counter. Mrs. Coulson, whose husband owned the mercantile, nodded, but her expression remained aloof.

  “I have eggs and butter to trade,” Dulcie stated without preamble.

  Mrs. Coulson crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom. “We don’t have much need for either today.”

  Dulcie’s fingers tightened on the bucket handle and she glanced at Madeline, who was eyeing the candy jars. She turned back to the woman and leaned closer to her, not wanting to upset her daughter. “You’ve always traded before.”

  Mrs. Coulson shrugged, her eyes hard. “Like I said, no need.”

  Desperation hummed through Dulcie. “What if I come back tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Coulson glanced away. “Doubt if we’ll need any then either.”

  Anger stirred, replacing Dulcie’s nervousness. “What about the day after that?”

  Mrs. Coulson didn’t bother to reply, but met Dulcie’s gaze with a flat, inhospitable one.

  After the harvest was brought in, Dulcie would have money, but until then she had only her eggs and butter to barter.

  Mr. Coulson, a rotund man with twinkling eyes, came out from the back room. He paused, looking from his wife to Dulcie. “Morning, Mrs. McDaniel.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Coulson.” Dulcie kept her voice as amiable as she could. “I came to trade eggs and butter for some dry goods.”

  Mr. Coulson smiled. “How much do you have with you?”

  The man’s wife glared at him. “I told her we didn’t need any today.”

  The store owner had always seemed good-natured, so Dulcie was surprised to see his eyes glint with annoyance. “You’re mistaken,” he told his wife. “We’re out of both, and Mrs. McDaniel’s butter and eggs have always been of the highest quality.”

  Mrs. Coulson spun on her heel and marched into the back room. Her husband didn’t even bat an eye, but turned back to Dulcie and smiled. “Now let’s see what you have.”

  Relief made Dulcie’s knees weak but she steadied herself and set the bucket on the counter. Mr. Coulson lifted the towel.

  “I was hoping to get some flour, coffee, and salt,” Dulcie said quietly.

  Mr. Coulson nodded. “I’ll help you.”

  In no time, the bags were piled on the counter. The store-keeper had been more than generous, even including some sugar in the trade.

  “Would you like some?” Mr. Coulson asked Madeline, who was eyeing a jar of gumdrops.

  Madeline nodded.

  “We can’t,” Dulcie said, her voice tight.

  “Nonsense,” Mr. Coulson said. He lifted the lid and scooped out a liberal portion into a small brown bag, which he handed to Madeline. “There you go, little miss.”

  “What do you say, honey?” Dulcie asked her daughter.

  Her eyes huge, Madeline said, “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you very much,” Dulcie said to him.

  Mr. Coulson chuckled. “Every child should have a treat now and again.”

  Confused, Dulcie frowned. “Why are you being so nice to us?”

  The man didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and he sobered. “You and your little girl didn’t have anything to do with Lawrence’s death, and there’s no reason you should pay for what your father did.”

  Although pleased by Mr. Coulson’s willingness to continue doing business with her, Dulcie couldn’t help but feel a spark of indignant anger. “I know everybody believes my father killed Mr. Carpenter, b
ut he didn’t.” Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “He was passed out drunk in our barn.”

  Mr. Coulson’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Liquor changes a person. Your pa wasn’t the man he used to be.”

  “That might be, but it didn’t make him a murderer.”

  “He argued with Lawrence an hour before he was found dead.”

  Dulcie clamped her teeth together. She knew who had supposedly seen her father argue with Carpenter. It had been her word against Virgil Lamont’s. Even his name made her grit her teeth. Lamont had come to know her like a man knew a woman while she and Madeline had traveled with him from Kansas to Texas. It had been her decision, but Lamont had given her little choice. Then he’d threatened to tell the sheriff how she “paid” for her ride back home if she didn’t stop insisting her father was innocent. Afraid for her reputation, she’d backed off. Only she hadn’t expected the town to take justice into their own hands.

  She couldn’t afford to antagonize the store owner so she didn’t press her father’s innocence. “I thank you, Mr. Coulson.”

  Dulcie took the smaller bags of coffee, salt, and sugar, while Coulson carried the flour. Madeline’s hands were busy with the candy bag and her doll.

  “Thanks again,” Dulcie said to him as he returned to the store.

  “You and your little girl are welcome in my store any time,” he said.

  Dulcie blinked aside the moisture that stung her eyes. A small kindness, yet it was more than she expected.

  The sheriff ’s office was down a block on the same side of the street, and Dulcie took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s go pay Sheriff Martin a visit.”

  Madeline, one cheek puffed out with a gumdrop, nodded with excitement. Dulcie supposed just being in town was an adventure for the girl, just as it had been for her when she’d been a child. How long ago that seemed.

  Madeline skipped down the boardwalk at Dulcie’s side. Once at the office, Dulcie paused a moment to gather her composure then opened the door and stepped inside. The sheriff, his boots on the desktop, lowered his newspaper.

  “Dulcie,” he said and clambered to his feet. He ran a hand over his thinning hair. “What can I do for you?”