Part 11 (1/2)

IX.

At the ranch we left the horses in Jon's care and walked back to the house, with Red once more loping along at my side. On the porch Caleb waited for the three of us, looking severe and remote. He had never wanted anything since I'd arrived except to have me gone, and I wished I could understand what lay behind so strong an antipathy.

”Mrs. Morgan is awake, and she wishes to see you right away,” he told me. ”She wants to see you and the dog and the man. Those are the words she used. So you'd better go up.”

Hillary laughed. ”I've been wanting to meet the fabulous lady who is opposing Mark Ingram.”

When we started upstairs, Caleb stopped Gail curtly. ”Not you. You've been away all morning, and she doesn't need you now.”

Gail lost none of her surface sweetness. ”That's all right with me. I'll get back to work on those accounts I've been doing for Mrs. Morgan. Sometimes I think I'm more secretary than nurse around here. See you later at midday dinner. Around twelvethirty?”

Accounts? I wondered. Somehow I didn't care for the idea of Gail Cullen delving so deeply into Persis Morgan's affairs.

At least I was relieved to know that the sedative had worn off. The emotion stirred by my visit to Domino was still upon me, and I could look at my grandmother with new eyes. But I must be careful now. My explosion toward Mark Ingram had made me a little distrustful of my own reactions. If I weren't careful I might find myself promising what I couldn't possibly fulfill. The brief urge to be helpful was fading.

Nevertheless, I felt a sense of uneasy antic.i.p.ation. No encounter with my grandmother was likely to be static. The seeds of conflict between us were there, and eventually they would grow. Even though she meant to hold back the truth from me, the darn would not stand forever. And when it broke . . .

More than anything else I needed to control my own feelings, to resist and be strong.

She awaited us propped high on her pillows, her eyes snapping brightly, and I noted that she did not look as though she were dying.

Caleb introduced Hillary, and Red promptly placed his forepaws on the bed and gazed with limpid brown eyes into the face on the pillow. For the first time I saw my grandmother smile, and when her eyes and lips quirked up at the corners, her look was unexpectedly roguish.

She put out her own hand, permitted it to be sniffed, and then stroked his plumy coat. He accepted the caress with joy and gave her his most melting look, accompanied by little whines of happiness.

Persis snapped her fingers at him. ”Over here,” she said. ”Come around the bed and guard me on this side.”

Clearly Red was already on the same wave length. He understood gesture and command, and scampered around the bed, ears flopping, to seat himself with his chin on the coverlet. One hand on his head, she looked up at me. In spite of my resolutions I found myself warming to the tenacity for life that looked out of her eyes. There was a sympathy in me since seeing Domino that had been lacking before. A subtle bond had grown between us.

”Caleb tells me you went riding up the valley. I suppose you went over the mountain to Domino after all, even though I asked you to stay away?”

”You knew I would go,” I said. ”You sent Jon Maddocks there ahead of us. Anyway, I couldn't not go.”

Caleb brought chairs for us, but I didn't want to sit down. She flicked her fingers at him in dismissal, and he gave me a look of warning before he went away. I knew it meant not to tire her, not to wear her out, but it meant something more as well that I couldn't fathom.

There seemed to be more energy in her now, and she didn't look in the least tired. ”I expect it was foolish of me to try to keep you away,” she said.

”Why should you want to?”

Heavy lids drooped and her face lost its briefly quirky look. ”Never mind that. It's all ancient history by this time,” Then she opened her eyes and stared straight at Hillary. ”So this is your young man?”

It seemed to me that Hillary looked a little less at ease than was usual for him. As though he might be more impressed with Persis Morgan than he had meant to be. Or perhaps he found her an uncertain quant.i.ty in his range of experience.

”You might put it that she's my young lady,” he said.

She shook her head at him. ”Unsuitable. You're an actor. You belong to the East. Laurie belongs here.”

He was ready enough to humor her, and not take offense. ”You can't really know that, can you?” he asked cheerfully. ”Maybe I do belong out here. Maybe I can even be on your side, if you give me a chance.”

139.

She neither accepted nor rejected. ”While you're here you can be useful, at least. If you want to be.”

He turned all his lovely charm upon her as he smiled. ”Persis Morgan has always been able to command,” he said with a slight flourish.

She regarded him from beneath half-closed eyelids, and though the look was faintly coquettish, it was not incongruous, and I found myself watching delightedly as she displayed an ability to play the old games.

”Yes, you can be useful,” she went on. ”I want you to stay on at the Timberline and watch him for me.”

”You're talking about Mark Ingram?”

”Of course.” A faint flush had come into her cheeks, and her eyes were brighter than ever. ”I could put you up here at my house easily enough, but you're more useful to me over there.”

”I would enjoy being useful to you,” he said, sounding as though he really meant it. ”I've always liked people who don't beat around the bush.”

”I haven't time left for bush-beating. Ingram has to be stopped. What he's doing is despicable. Laurie is going to stop him, and you can help. You're both having dinner with him tonight, aren't you? So listen to him. Find out about his immediate plans, if you can. How does he propose to get me out of this house? That's what I want to know.”

I thought of my recent encounter, and was all the more doubtful that we could learn anything Mark Ingram chose not to tell us.

”Why do you consider it despicable to rejuvenate Jasper?” Hillary asked. ”Isn't it a good idea to restore it to the way it used to be and bring in people who will enjoy it and draw it back into life?”

”He wants more than that He wants to spoil the valley and wipe out Domino.”

”To get people to come, he must offer something. The valley slopes will make good skiing.”

”The trees will go, the wilds will go. Old Desolate won't be that anymore. And Domino-he'll erase what's left of it. Too many old mining camps have vanished.”

”It's already nearly gone,” Hillary said.

”Are you siding with him?”

”No!” His vehemence surprised me. ”I've told you I can be on your side, but I can play Devil's Advocate either way. There's something else, isn't there, Mrs. Morgan? Something you haven't explained? If you want us to help, don't you think you'd better give us more of what we ought to know?”

She closed her eyes, and for a moment I thought it was a gesture of dismissal. I hated to see how old she looked with animation wiped from her face-old and withered and nearly finished with life. I liked her better when she was coquettish, or even domineering. I couldn't let Hillary push her too hard.

”You don't have to tell us anything you don't wish to, Grandmother,” I said. ”You're tired now. We'd better go, so you can rest.”

That brought her eyes wide open and angry, and her words snapped. ”All I do is rest! Your young man is right. I can't expect you to help me merely on trust. I can't tell you the whole story either, but I'll tell you this much. A long time ago Mark Ingram was the friend of my very worst enemy. Perhaps that abominable man is behind him now. Ingram hasn't come here merely to open a new resort. He could go anywhere for that. He has come to punish me, destroy me. And he knows he can do it. He has only to force me out of this house, make me give up the valley-and I am finished with living. But I'm not ready to die. Not yet. Not while there's an ounce of fight left in me. Not while I have a granddaughter who may be persuaded to stand by me.”

Hillary spoke softly, as though he didn't want to dispel her mood of anger. ”This-enemy-can you give us his name?”

For a moment she hesitated. Then she looked straight at me as though she expected some special response. ”His name was Noah. Noah Armand.”

Once more the familiar tremor ran through me, as though some deep, sensitive nerve responded with a quiver of dread.

”Your husband?” There was a change in Hillary's voice, though he spoke in the same low tone.

She raised a warning finger at him, her eyes upon me. ”Hush. Laurie, you do remember something?”