Blood Ties
"Uncle Ethan p…promised." Ben wrestled a heavy flour sack out of the back of the wagon to make room for the keg of nails Joseph loaded in its place.
"Uncle Ethan's promised before," Joseph replied, mocking his younger brother's tone. He stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The morning had turned unseasonably hot as the Indian summer sun beat down on the dusty streets of Paradise. The autumn gold leaves contrasted with the sultry heat, and Joseph, who was uncomfortably overdressed, was getting short tempered.
"B…but, this time he said for sure." Ben persisted, dropping the flour at Joseph's feet. A powdery cloud billowed up from the cloth sack, dusting the front of Ben's shirt with a fine layer of white.
"Just because Uncle Ethan says it's going to happen doesn't mean it will. You should know that by now. He made the same promise last month." Joseph lifted the sack of flour, dumping it in the back of the buckboard. "But this time he will." Ben refused to be swayed by Joseph's pessimism and his brown eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Yeah. Well, we'll see." Equally stubborn, Joseph could not believe in his Uncle's reliability with the same adoring innocence that Ben did. He'd seen things go wrong too often to believe this time would be any different. Something else, more important, would require Uncle Ethan's attention. Something always did.
Claire emerged from Mr. Lee's store with a bundle of folded clothing in her arms. "Ben, where's George?"
Ben scuffed his foot along the boards of the top step and spoke slowly, "He went down to the bank to wait for Uncle Ethan."
Bending over, Claire dusted the loose flour from the front of Ben's coat. "Mr. Lee has some clothing Toy and Min have outgrown. He said you and George could have whatever fit. So go find him and come right back here, please."
"Yes." Ben hung his head and walked down the street, kicking aimlessly at unseen pebbles.
Claire watched Ben's slow progress. He looked so forlorn in his oversized, hand-me-down coat and over-patched trousers. Brushing a stray lock of fine blonde hair from her eyes, she looked expectantly at Joseph. "What's bothering him? I thought he was excited about the trip to Carson City."
"What do you think?" Joseph found it hard to meet his sister's steady gaze. Suddenly, he felt guilty for speaking so sharply to Ben. "They were supposed to make that trip as soon as we got caught up with the rent and work. You know as well as I do we'll never get caught up and they'll never get to go."
"And I suppose you made sure to tell him that," Claire said angrily, glaring at Joseph, her lips drawn into a straight, thin line. That look, and her adult manner, angered Joseph. She was only a year older than he was, but had assumed the role of parent and authority.
"Look, Claire, what's the sense in pretending? Ben will only get hurt."
"It doesn't hurt to dream."
"Yeah, and you're starting to sound just like Mama." Joseph turned his back on his sister. Dreaming can be bad, he thought, when there really isn't any hope. He busied himself re-arranging the load on the back of the wagon, shifting the sacks which did not need to be shifted, until he felt his sister's eyes leave his back. He heard her turn and go back into Mr. Lee's store. Ben idolized Uncle Ethan, and Joseph knew it was wrong. Uncle Ethan meant well, but he wasn't dependable, not by Joseph's way of thinking and Ben would continue to get hurt until he learned that
~0~0~0~
"C…C'mon, George," Ben said, "Now." Ben tugged at his brother's sleeve. George was much more interested in the intriguing array of hunting knives Mr. Axelrod was arranging in his store window. Burnished steel blades glinting in the sun and carved bone handles rubbed to a satiny gleam seemed fairer than all the gold in the Paradise Mine, and Ben had to admit, he would like to have one. He paused for a minute, staring at the display with open admiration.
"Don't dawdle in front of my store if you aren't buying. You'll get in the way of those who do."
Ben looked up into the ever sour face of Cyrus Axelrod and gave George's sleeve one last sharp tug. "C'mon," he said urgently. Together the two boys bolted down the street. Mr. Axelrod gave Ben the willies. He always had, and it had been worse since Ben had overheard the plans Axelrod and Mr. Dodd had made to burn down the hotel when Mrs. Lawson, Claire and George had been held captive there. They'd tied Ben up to keep him from warning Uncle Ethan, and though he hadn't been harmed, Ben held a secret fear of Mr. Axelrod since then. George was far less intimidated by Axelrod's harsh demeanor, but then, George hadn't been tied up either.
Turning one last time to make certain Mr. Axelrod wasn't following them, Ben charged blindly down the street. He just registered George's warning to watch where he was going when he blundered full tilt into a pair of black clad legs. Stunned by the sudden collision, Ben sat down abruptly and somewhat painfully in the dust and found himself staring up at a complete stranger.
Dressed from hat to boots in black, the stranger's clothes were richly tailored, far out of step with the average citizen of Paradise. The only person Ben had ever seen dressed as well had been Mr. Lawson. Ben's eyes travelled slowly from the stranger's knees to the top of his well-groomed head. He swallowed hard. The man's stern features were framed in a thick shock of snow white hair, and a strong smell of tobacco clung to his clothing, adding an earthy touch to his otherwise immaculate appearance. The man's mobile, white eyebrows drew together in a scowl.
"So, young man," he said coldly, "what have you to say for yourself?"
~0~0~0~
"Paid in full for another month." Ethan placed the rent money on the counter in front of Henderson's teller. Mildred looked from the money to Ethan, then sniffed with disdainful doubt. Ethan was getting a little tired of the way she looked down her prim nose at him. He wasn't sure whether he disliked her because she worked for Henderson, or simply because of her better-than-thou attitude. Margaret, Amelia's ever-curious teller, had shown him as much disdain, but he had always found her amusing. "It's all there," Ethan added as Mildred began counting.
"It is still my duty to check, Mr. Cord." Mildred pursed her lips and nodded her grey head at him like a school marm correcting an errant pupil. The odor of lavender clung heavily to her clothing and she continued to count the bills with exaggerated slowness.
"Ain't arguin' with your job," Ethan mumbled under his breath as he waited impatiently for his receipt. He was supposed to ride to Carson City to check on a new herd bull to replace the one they'd lost during the summer. Although his knowledge of horses was excellent, he wasn't all that familiar with the good points of cattle. John Taylor had agreed to accompany him to provide whatever knowledge he could, and since Ethan couldn't think of any more excuses to delay the trip, he had promised to leave today and take the boys with him. They were looking forward to the outing and he wanted to get started before noon.
"Well," Mildred said reluctantly, "everything seems to be in order." She reached for her pen, dipped in into the inkwell and began to write his receipt in her meticulously spidery script.
"Thank you, Miss Mildred," Ethan said with a polite flourish as he reached for the slip of paper. He was rewarded by the crimson flush that crept up Mildred's neck and flooded her cheeks with color.
As Ethan turned to leave, Henderson emerged from his office. "Mr. Cord, would you please step into my office. We have some business to discuss."
"The rent's paid, Henderson. We don't have anything to discuss 'til next month."
"I'm afraid you are wrong, Mr. Cord." Henderson stood aside, waiting for Ethan to pass. Ethan glanced suspiciously from Henderson to Mildred, who busied herself with a stack of receipts on her counter. She could not quite hide her smile as Ethan passed by her and into Henderson's office.
~0~0~0~
"Claire! Claire!" George careened into Mr. Lee's store and nearly knocked his sister over in his haste. "You won't believe it."
"Believe what? Slow down, George, and tell me what's going on. And where's Ben? He was supposed to find you." Claire took her youngest brother by the shoulders and held him, though he wiggled with excitement and his bright blue eyes were shining. Just then, Ben burst through the doorway. He was covered with dust and his cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, but his eyes were as bright as George's.
"What's-going on?" Claire demanded. "Have you gotten into trouble?
"N…n…," Ben began.
"No." George finished his brother's sentence as he frequently did, filling in the words Ben stumbled over.
"Okay," Claire said, sitting both boys down on a sack of grain. "You'd better tell me what's going on."
George and Ben squirmed and exchanged glances. "We were in front of Mr. Axelrod's store-" George started.
"I knew it," Claire interrupted. She stood with her arms folded looking sternly at her brothers. "Haven't we had enough trouble with Mr. Axelrod?"
"Nothing happened," the boys said in unison.
"We were just looking at the knives in the window," Ben said carefully. "Mr. Axelrod told us to get m…m…"
"Moving," George said, looking sideways at Ben as he did.
"He s…s…scared me, and we started to run," Ben went on.
"He wasn't watching where he was going, and he ran into the man." George was quick to point out who had done the running in to.
Claire looked from one to the other, waiting for them to continue. She didn't want to have to report to Uncle Ethan that there was anything amiss. "Ran into who?" she asked at last when it became obvious the boys weren't going to continue.
"We…d…d…"
"Don't know," said George. "He was a stranger. All dressed in black with lots of white hair."
"And a gold chain on his vest," Ben blurted out.
"Ben knocked into him when he was running real fast."
"Did you knock him down?" Claire asked.
"N…no," Ben said. "He…he…knocked me down,"
"But he's not hurt," George added. The boys glanced at each other. "We thought he'd be mad, but he wasn't. And he gave us these." Both boys held out a hand and in each sweaty palm lay a shining new quarter.
"He said we could spend it however we liked." George finished the tale and began to grin from ear to ear. Claire could imagine what he was thinking, perhaps dreaming of a shining new pocket knife.
"Boys, you can't just take money from a stranger on the street. We're not beggars and we don't need charity. You should give the money back."
"B…but, Claire, he knew our names," Ben said pleadingly. "So he isn't a stranger, is he?"
"How did he know your names?"
Ben and George both shrugged silently.
"Can you point him out to me? Is he still on the street?"
The boys ran to the front window of the hardware store, pressed their noses against the glass and looked up and down the street. Ben finally nudged George and pointed. 'There he is, Claire. In front of the b…b…"
"Bank," George said.
Claire stepped out onto the boardwalk. It was difficult to see clearly because the brim of the man's hat shadowed his face in the noonday sun, but Claire felt her heart lurch. It wasn't possible. It was so long ago, but the man looked hauntingly familiar, and the familiarity gave Claire a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.
~0~0~0~
"As you know, it is customary in transactions such as the sale of this bank, to audit the bank's books and re-evaluate loans and mortgages." Henderson shifted his weight so that he sat rigidly in his chair. Flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his lapel, he avoided looking at Ethan. Instead, he thumbed the papers that lay before him.
"Didn't know." Ethan found it difficult to keep from gritting his teeth. Henderson did not bring out the best in him, and he had to struggle to remain civil to the man.
"Well, it is," Henderson continued, nonplussed by Ethan's obvious dislike.
Ethan sat in the same chair he had occupied when he had first negotiated his loan with Amelia, only this time the scenery was a lot less interesting. The office had changed very little from the polished hardwood floor to the massive oak desk, it was much as Amelia had kept it, except it lacked the warmth of her presence. "What exactly does re-evaluate' mean?" As usual, Ethan found himself on the defensive when he dealt with the new banker. Maybe, it was the man's bloated self-image or the underhanded way he had bought the bank from Amelia's husband. Something told Ethan, Henderson was not to be trusted.
"In going over your loan agreement, I've found that the first two monthly payments were deferred in order to give you time to establish ranching operations."
"Takes more than two months to establish that," Ethan said softly under his breath.
Henderson continued as though there had been no interruption, looking up from his papers at last to stare critically at Ethan. Ethan wondered how the man could look at him so directly, but avoid ever looking him straight in the eye. "Under the agreement, you were to pay the two deferred payments at the end of the first year. But," Henderson added quickly, "our records indicate that has not been done."
"And?"
"And, I must insist the missing two months be paid in full by the end of next week, which marks the end of the one year period." Henderson finished then sat braced as if expecting an outburst.
"What?" Ethan half rose out of his seat. He had the over powering desire to wipe the smug look from Henderson's face. "Half the ranchers in Paradise probably got the same deal. We always had an understanding with the bank."
"Yes, apparently it was a custom of Mrs. Lawson's to extend such credit, but Mrs. Lawson no longer runs this bank, and it is my policy to collect what is due."
"And if I don't pay up by the end of next week?" Unconsciously, Ethan's hand sought the cold comfort of the gun at his side.
"I'm afraid I will have to foreclose. Your property and any cattle will be auctioned to cover the debt." Henderson had not missed the movement of Ethan's right hand. His eyes widened and he swallowed hard.
"You can't evict every rancher in Paradise." Ethan's voice was low.
"I have yet to evaluate the other ranchers, Mr. Cord," Henderson continued with renewed boldness, puffing out his chest like a proud peacock. "Your profession, such as it is, is unstable at best. Your income is erratic. Your demise could be imminent and untimely, leaving me with an unpaid debt and no way of collecting it."
"There wasn't anything wrong with my profession when you needed a sheriff to handle Johnny Ryan," Ethan reminded him.
Henderson deftly ignored that statement. "As I said, your income is erratic and your chances of survival questionable."
Ethan stood, glaring down at Henderson's portly figure as the banker nervously fingered the papers in front of him. "I'll have the money before the end of next week."
As he turned to leave, Henderson found the courage to inject one final barb to the insult he'd already inflicted. "I've heard of your skill at poker, Mr. Cord. I do not believe it is a dependable source of income."
~0~0~0~
"How did he react?" The stranger lit a long cigar and puffed its rank odor into the air. Henderson sniffed. He had never adopted the tobacco habit, and he found the foul odor offensive, but he did not ask the man to extinguish his cigar. If he offended the stranger, he might lose the money the man offered.
"How do you expect? He was angry. From what I've heard, that is how he usually reacts to unpleasant news. With his fists, or his gun. I'm lucky I wasn't the recipient of the business end of either one. Though for a moment, I had my doubts."
"And will he be able to pay?" The man blew smoke rings into the already cloudy air.
Henderson coughed. "I don't know. If he doesn't, we can evict them. Without property, or a home, or a means of income, he can't provide for his sister's children. I've done as you asked. There isn't anything else I can legally do. The rest is up to you."
The stranger nodded, then stood and extended his hand to the banker. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. A check will be delivered to you as soon as they are off the ranch. I appreciate your assistance."
~0~0~0~
