Part 26 (2/2)

Laramie settled into his new responsibilities. For the first months, through the last of winter and into spring, he spent his days in the saddle from sunup to sundown. He wanted to discover the lay of the landa”to survey the entire ranch and know thoroughly each draw, each hill, each valley. He checked the water supply, the gra.s.s supply, each head that grazed, each new calf that arrived. He could not manage well what he did not know well, he reasoned, and his boss took great pleasure in watching him take the job so seriously.

”Make a good rancher,” he informed his elderly wife. ”Too bad he don't have a spread of his own.”

”He's young,” his wife reminded him. ”He has lots of time fer thet.”

As the days lengthened, Laramie felt well enough in control to a.s.sign the range riders the tasks that needed to be done.

That gave him more free timea”something he did not welcome.

He resumed his wors.h.i.+p in the small church, and the preacher's daughter took up her role of flirting again. Laramie tried to avoid direct contact with her. He was sure she was a fine young woman, but he just wasn't interested.

He began to look for things to do. They were not always easy to find. He spent more time reading his mother's Bible. The lessons he learned helped him get hold of his life againa”but he still could not forget Ariana. He still was not able to think of her as his sister. He began to wonder just how long it was going to take.

One day, in his loneliness, he drew out his mother's little chest. Would he find healing there? Would he find the link that would finally enable him to think of Ariana as a part of his family?

Listlessly he turned over each hankie, each b.u.t.ton, each little memento. There was nothing. Nothing that changed the feelings in his heart.

He had emptied the little chest and was about to put all of the contents back in place when he noticed that a bit of the lining was coming loose.

He wasn't skilled in mending and fixing, but he wondered if there was some way he could repair it so the little chest wouldn't continue to come apart.

He ran one finger along the spot and felt something he had not noticed before. He lifted the box for a closer look. To his amazement there was a little clasp hidden from casual view. He pushed on it. Wiggled it gently and pushed again. Then he lifted ita”up and in. To his surprise the bottom of the chest flipped upward on a small spring. There was a false bottom to the small chest.

Laramie could not believe what greeted his eyes. The whole bottom of the small box was covered with bills. Money. Stacked thicka”though crisp with age. Strange money. He was not familiar with it. But it was money, of that he was sure.

”I don't believe this,” he said to himself. ”Mama had a whole stash here.”

He looked over his shoulder. He did not wish to be observed. The door was closed. He moved to pull the curtain over the one window. Then he sat back down at the table and began to lift out the crinkled bills.

At the bottom of the pile he discovered a small book. Was this her record of account? Laramie lifted the book and flipped the pages. No. There were no numbers. Simply writing. Some sort ofa”record. Or journal. He laid the book aside and began to count the money.

There were thousands of dollars. Enough for a ranch of his own. Enough to give Arianaa”

His thoughts stopped there. When would he ever stop thinking of Ariana?

He stirred from the table and paced about the small cabin. The money had lost all its appeal. What good was it?

Yet it was there. He should do something with it. He placed it, all but a single bill, rather roughly back in the secret compartment and carefully fastened the false bottom into place. He did not return the little book. He laid it in with the hankies and b.u.t.tons and brooches. He should send the things to Ariana. They were more suitable for a lady than for a man.

Laramie put the chest back in its hiding place, opened the covering on the window, and checked his hair in the cracked mirror on the wall. He would just ride on into town and visit the banker. Perhaps the man could shed some light on the strange currency.

”Where'd you get this?” asked the cigar-chewing man behind the desk.

”My mama left me a box,” replied Laramie. ”I didn't realize it had a false bottom in ita”until today.”

”This was in it?”

Laramie nodded. There was no need to tell the man that the bill was only one of many.

”Haven't seen these for some while,” said the banker as he turned the bill over and over in his hand.

”Real money?” asked Laramie.

The man twirled his cigar with his tongue. He looked up and smiled in an amused fas.h.i.+on.

”Real money, all right,” he said, and Laramie was about to let his breath out with relief when he continued. ”Ain't worth a lick, though. Confederate. Union decided it's not legal tender. Might as well use it to start yer fire in the morning.”

So Mama's box held no treasure after all, Laramie thought to himself as he rode home. It had been a disappointmenta”but after what he had already been through, it didn't matter all that much.

He let his mount pick his own gait. He was not in a hurry to get anywhere. What was there to do when he did get home? Nothing? Perhaps he'd ride on out and check the west spring. Or maybe he'd see how that new colt in the east pasture was doing. Or maybe he'd just loaf. He didn't knowa”he didn't really care.

And then he remembered the little book. Maybe I should take a look at it, he concluded. Looked like a woman's writing. Maybe it's Mama's. If it was her diarya”it might hold some information. Maybe even some answers.

Laramie urged the buckskin forward at a faster pace. He was rather in a hurry after all.

Chapter Twenty-four.

The Answers.

By the time Laramie reached the ranch he was anxious to get his saddle horse put up for the night so he could get to the small journal. His inner tension had been mounting with each mile he traveled.

He could hardly wait to discover just what the little book was. What secrets of his pasta”Ariana's pasta”it might hold.

He entered his small abode and shut the door against the noise and dust of the day. It was rather dark after he had pulled his curtain firmly across the little window, so he lit his lamp before lifting the small chest from its hiding place, withdrawing the small book, and settling himself at the wooden table.

He flipped open the first page.

”To my dear daughter Lavina Ann Bradley on the occasion of her fourteenth birthday. July 10, 1836,” it read in a crisp script. Beneath the penned inscription were the words, ”Always be the G.o.dly woman admonished by Scripture in 1 Peter 3:4. Your loving father, Winston P. Bradley.”

Laramie turned to the next page. The writing had changed. He could almost envision a young girl sitting at a polished writing desk, her smooth brow puckered in concentration.

”July 10, 1836. Today is my fourteenth birthday. I cannot believe it. Mama gave me the most beautiful blue gown. It is my first real grown-up dress with charming puffed sleeves and a full skirt with lots of petticoats, and blue ruffles upon beautiful blue ruffles. She also said that when I wear it I will be able to pin up my hair. Imagine. Mea”grown-up. Papa gave me that horse I have been teasing for and a sidesaddle so that I might ride her in ladylike fas.h.i.+on. He also gave me this book. To keep a diary, he said. I think that he feels I am terribly impulsive and he hopes that it will teach me a bit of discipline. (He wishes me to write an account in it daily, but that seems like a very big ch.o.r.e. Almost like a school a.s.signment. I think that I shall write in it only when something very important happens.) Like today. Today has been so exciting. Even Ethan shared in my joy. And brothers do not do that very often.”

Laramie turned the page.

”July 11, 1836. I wasn't going to write in my diary today, but Papa asked me at the breakfast table if I had. Since I had not, I a.s.sured him quickly that I would. He seemed satisfied. But I really have nothing important to write about. It looks to be an ordinary day, and after having such an exciting day yesterday, it is difficult to endure. And it is so miserably hot and stuffy. I think that I shall die of the heat. I have asked Papa if we might go to our house in Charleston, where the ocean breezes help to make things a bit more bearable. He wouldn't give his answer.

”July 12, 1836. It is still hot and miserable. Even Mama is annoyed with the heat. I hope that she joins me in persuading Papa. Perhaps then he will take us to Charleston.

”July 13, 1836. We are going to Charleston. Oh, joy! I can hardly wait. Mama said that she simply could not endure the swampy heat of the plantation. I will take along my new blue gown and pray for a party so I may wear it. Ethan is fussing because Papa said that he cannot go. He has to stay home and help with the plantation. Papa says that is a man's duty. I don't think Ethan enjoys being a mana”at sixteen.”

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