Part 14 (1/2)
”What does he know?”
”He says your brother wasn't anywhere near that soddy when Troy was killed.”
Madison's well-schooled features didn't betray his mounting excitement.
”Where did he see Hen?”
”He wouldn't say.”
”Will he tell it to a judge and jury?”
”I don't know.”
”I've got to talk to him.”
”He may not agree to meet you. He's not a trusting man.”
”Tell him I'll meet him anywhere, any time,” Madison said. ”I'll do what I can. I'll let you know.”
Madison turned to go. ”What do you get out of this?” he asked, turning back.
”I want to know who killed Troy.”
”Why?”
”I want to shake his hand. I hated the son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h.”
”You shouldn't leave yet,” Rose said. ”You're still so stiff you can hardly move.”
”I have to go home,” Fern said. ”There's n.o.body to do my work. Besides, there's n.o.body to take care of Papa.”
”There's not a man alive who can't get along by himself if he has to,” Rose stated. ”I can't describe the condition of the house we live in when I arrived at the Circle Seven. It was enough to kill rats, but the Randolph men were thriving.”
”I don't imagine they'd want to live like that again,” Fern said, thinking of the meticulous care that Rose took of her family.
”Wait until you meet Monty. As long as he has a full stomach, he could live in a creek bottom and be happy.”
”I don't imagine I'll meet any more Randolphs,” Fern replied, thinking of the things Madison had said to her in the jail. She had tried to put the entire exchange out of her mind, without success.
”You'd like Monty. He's not like Madison.”
Fern was surprised at how much Rose's comparison irritated her. She'd accused Madison of nearly every shady practice she could think of, yet now she found herself wanting to defend him. Her brain must be getting soggy.
”Take this nightgown with you,” Rose said.
”I can't,” Fern answered.
”Of course you can. I've got lots more. They're about all a woman in my condition can wear.”
Fern had to admit she had liked wearing the gown. It made her feel feminine even if she knew she didn't look it. It was a small vanity, like her hair and her lace chemise, but harmless as long as she remembered it was just an illusion.
”Okay, I'll take it, but I don't know when I'll wear it. If Papa sees it, he'll swear I've taken sick.”
She wondered what Madison would think. A stupid question. If he wanted to see a woman in bedclothes, he would look for someone much prettier, much more feminine, much more fetching in pink.
She wondered if he had a mistress.
He was much too straightlaced to seduce a lady. If he was to satisfy his physical needs, it would have to be with a soiled dove, much as the Texas cowhands did when they reached Abilene after being on the trail for two or three months. She wondered what soiled doves in Boston were like. Probably a lot more ladylike than anybody in Abilene.
”You ought to have more than one nightgown,” Rose said. ”Pretty dresses, too. A woman owes it to herself to look her best as often as possible. It does wonders for the way men treat us.”
It wouldn't do wonders for the way they treated her. No one in Abilene could remember seeing her in a dress, and they never would.
”There's not much call out here for women to look pretty,” Fern said. ”Men are more pleased if we're strong and hard workers.”
”They like strong, hardworking women in Texas, too,” Rose said, ”but there's no reason we can't be both. Besides, I expect George to look attractive. Just because he keeps company with horses and cows is no reason to smell like one.”
Fern laughed. ”I'll. have to tell Papa that next time he comes in smelling like the barnyard.''
”You can't use reason on them,” Rose warned. ”They don't understand it, for all they consider themselves rational creatures.”
”Don't make me laugh. It still hurts.”
”Which proves you have no business leaving. How do you plan to get home? You can't mean to ride your horse.”
”I've ridden a horse more than I've walked,” Fern said, trying to think where to pack the pink nightgown. She had nowhere but her saddle bags, but she didn't want it to smell like her horse by the time she got it home. Not that she planned to let anybody know she had it. It would just be nice to know that it was tucked away in the bottom of her drawer.
”That may be true, but you're in no condition to ride just yet.”
”I'm much stronger than you think.”
”Maybe, but I can see you wince every time you bend over.”
”I'll probably keep on wincing for another week, but it won't kill me.”
”Are you always this stubborn?” Rose asked, her exasperation showing.
”I'm usually worse,” Fern said, trying to smile. ”I'm being very polite.”
”d.a.m.n your politeness. I'm more concerned about your well-being.”
”I'll be just fine. I've taken much worse falls and had no one to look after me. My mother died trying to have the son Papa always wanted.”
”Mine died when I was twelve, but I think my father was well satisfied with his daughter.”
”So is mine, as long as I do my share of the work.”
”You mean as long as you act like a son.” ”It's not his fault,” Fern said, not meeting Rose's gaze. ”It's my choice.”
”Why?” Rose asked, baffled. ”You're pretty enough to have half the young men in Abilene wearing out the trail to your farm.”