Part 22 (2/2)

Chapter Ten.

Q^z^s^Q W inn sat on the porch swing wrapped in the night.

There were more differences in day and night sounds than he had everrealized. It seemed as if even the wind sounded different at night, Winnmused, perhaps because at night it was free to go where it pleased. He tried to empty his mind of all thoughts except the sounds around him.

He heard an owl hoot somewhere near the barn. The wind kept the sh.e.l.lsclattering almost constantly. He knew he would never forget the sound ofthose sh.e.l.ls.

That wasn't the only thing he would never forget. It had been a week since Billy Emery's funeral, a week since he had held Cynthie and kissed her.

Whenever he thought of her, he thought of her soft body wrapped in his arms.Now, as always, when he thought of it, he tried to think of something else.

The day after the funeral, Greg had taken him to the cemetery to show himwhere his father and grandfather were buried. Emery's death seemed to haveaffected him, but he was more curious than unhappy.

Winn had traced his fingers over the carved stones to read theinscriptions. Victor G. Franklin had died in August of 1869, not quite a year ago. He had been forty-five years old. Cynthie's father had been namedTyler Randolph, and he had died in January of the same year and had beenfifty-two.

He thought of Cynthie burying her father and husband in little over half a year. He wished he could have been around to comfort her.

He was thin king about her again. There was no getting around it. All week he had tried to avoid her but it hadn't helped. Of course, she was probablyglad to avoid him herself, as ill-tempered as he was becoming. He didn't actually lose his temper, but anyone around him was bound to notice howtouchy he had become.

He was ashamed of it, but the anger would come on suddenly. He would think of something he wanted to do and instantly realize that he couldn't possiblydo it, would probably never be able to do it. It was then that he would feel the surge of anger. He tried to control it by forgetting about what he hadwanted in the first place. It didn't work.

The strongest desires always involved Cynthie. He wanted to help her.

He wanted to find out who had murdered her hired man and who had stolen her cattle. He wanted to check the campsite himself to see if he might findsomething the others had missed. It was all so impossible. He wanted, atthe very least, to talk to Louie about the murder and what the sheriff mighthave found, but Louie had been busy all week with the cattle. He and Jeremiah were taking turns as guard, and of course Winn couldn't help there,either.

He should go inside and sleep, give his mind a rest, but the house smelledlike Dempsey's cigar smoke and he couldn't turn his thoughts off anyway.

”Think about what you can do,” the lady had said. Right now he couldn'tthink of a thing.

Upstairs, Cynthie stood by the window, half listening to the same nightsounds. She felt a mood almost of despair coming over her. She hadn't felt this bad since she had lost Victor. She supposed that the death of BillyEmery had stirred up a lot of old feelings.

But a lot of it was due to her present situation. What could she do to save her ranch? Someone wanted her cattle enough to kill for them. She wished whoever it was would just take them and not hurt anyone else.

She was worried for Louie and Jeremiah. She was glad, at least, that Louiewasn't let ting Peter take a turn guarding the cattle.

It was time she faced the fact that she couldn't run this ranch herself.

Kyle had been telling her the same thing the last few days. She didn't need it anyway, not really. She still owned Father's s.h.i.+pping business in NewYork, and she and Greg could live comfortably anywhere.

Maybe that's what she should do, sell the ranch before anyone else got hurt.Maybe she could keep the house and still live here, raise a few horses.Could she manage that with the help of Louie, Jeremiah and Peter?

She knew she wanted to stay out here on the prairie. She and Greg had becomepart of it and she didn't want to leave it.

She looked down at the letter in her hand. She didn't know how to plan herfuture. She wanted desperately to include Winn some way, but she knew shewas just daydreaming.

There wasn't enough moonlight to read the letter through again. She didn't want to anyway.

”If his sight has not returned by the time you receive this, there is nothing I can do. Nerves were probably damaged in the accident and can onlyheal on their own.”

How was she going to tell Winn? He seemed so moody lately and spent moretime by himself. She didn't know how to help him. She had been such a fool to think she could, just because her father had been blind.

Father had lost his sight gradually, had been given time to prepare for it,and in all likelihood had hidden any anger or despair from his daughter.

Winn's life, on the other hand, had changed so suddenly he didn't know whatto do with it anymore. Maybe she could teach him how to live with hisblindness but she couldn't make him want to learn. He had to do that himself, and she was afraid he wouldn't.

The doctor had mentioned a school for the blind in Boston. It had been established nearly forty years ago and would probably be very good for Winn.Would he let her send him there? Did she want to send him away?

Anything would be better than watching him like this, she decided. She would tell him about the letter soon. Soon. She felt like a coward.

Maybe she could try one more time to get him busy. He was always better whenhe had been doing something.

She smiled, remembering church last Sunday. It hadn't been hard to talk him into going. The week before he wouldn't even consider it.

Surely that was a good sign. They had sat with Greg between them and Winnhadn't seemed uncomfortable at all.

And he had sung. She loved to hear it. So had the rest of the congregation.He had told the pastor that as long as they sang familiar hymns he wouldn'tneed a hymnal. He had laughed when the pastor told him that the churchdidn't own any hymnals yet.

But the happy mood hadn't lasted, and by the time they were home he had beenquiet and sad again. When she managed to be alone with him, she would seehis face harden with anger and he would leave. What did he blame her for? How could she make him tell her what she had done?

She tossed the letter on her dressing table.

”Arrogant doctor,” she muttered.

”If you were going to wait this long, you shouldn't have written at all.”

She flung herself on the bed. What could she do to make Winn laugh?

There had to be something she hadn't tried yet that would give himconfidence, b.u.m some energy, fill up some time. She would think of somethingif she had to lie awake all night. She was not going to give up yet.

”I think this is crazy,” Winn said for at least the third time.

”It'll be fun,” Greg said. He tugged at Winn's hand, trying to make him walkfaster. ”Fun for you, maybe. You get to watch.” Greg giggled and Winn wa.s.sure he heard Cynthie laugh, as well. He turned in her direction.

”I want you to remember that this was your idea.” ”I can't blame it on Greg?”

she teased. ”You help him. Mama. I'm gonna tell Peter.”

”Oh, good. Peter's going to watch, too.””Well, he's got to saddle her for you.” She took the arm that Greg haddropped and walked along beside him. She wasn't feeling nearly as confident as she pretended. This might turn out to be a poor idea but it was all shehad been able to come up with last night.”Tell me about this horse, again,” Winn said.”I think Greg was exaggerating.””No, really. All you have to do is sing. She was trained by somebody.G.o.d knows who or how long ago, but she walks when you sing. You stop singing, she stops walking. You start singing again, she turns around and comes back where you started. ”

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