"I was very young at the time, of course, so there's a lot I don't remember
at all." Elliott Marston stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand. Sam
doubted that he saw it. "On the other hand, there are some unimportant
things I remember quite well. Like the cats on board the ship that chased
rats. And the first time I saw a kangaroo, I thought it was some strange
kind of dog."
Shadows spread across the bedroom carpet as the afternoon sun moved to the other side of the house. The tawny glow shone on the gold strands in her husband's hair. She reached out one hand to stroke it but pulled back, afraid to trespass.
"We joined a large band of settlers heading into the interior. My parents were warned about the danger. The aborigines had been harassing wagon trains for some time but I guess they decided it was worth the risk. We were about six days out of town, not quite halfway to the first station, when we were attacked. Our wagon was at the back of the line. My mother was one of the first ones killed."
He paused to sip his whiskey. Sam slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder, then across to caress his cheek. Turning his head slightly, he pressed a kiss into her palm.
"I have no memory of anything after that, no idea when my father was killed. I'm told that I was found wandering down the track back to town. Apparently I put up quite a fight when someone tried to pick me up." Another sip, then a several more.
"The Torkens were part of our group. Abner and his wife Kate took care of me until we got to the station. I had no other family and eventually the authorities decided to let the Torkens adopt me. I grew up on their ranch."
The glass was empty. He looked around for the bottle and refilled it.
"They were kind to me, in their own way. They were older than my parents and their children were grown up. Except for Cal. He was seventeen then and their youngest child. He lived at the ranch too." With a sudden movement, he gulped down the contents of his glass.
As the dusk chased the remaining light from the room, Marston walked through the desert of his childhood memories. The room gradually filled with the confusion and fear of a boy plunged into a strange environment without his family, too young to really understand what had happened to him. He talked about his fondness for the Torkens, his gratitude for everything they'd done for him and their understanding. The warmth of his tone testified to his sincerity.
In a much colder, restrained manner, he described Cal; the young man older by more than a dozen years, who'd made his boyhood a trial. Practical jokes designed to terrify and apparent juvenile pranks that stopped just short of assault assumed large proportions in these memories. It became clear to Sam that those three years until Cal joined the army and left the ranch had been very traumatic for the young orphan.
"After that I rarely saw him. By the time he'd left the army, I had grown up and moved out on my own. Abner Torken loaned me the money to start up my ranch and allowed me to pay it back in slow stages without interest. Cal didn't like it because he had big plans for their ranch and could have used the money, but his father stuck by our arrangement. He was a good man."
"Was Cal's letter about the money?" Sam's question pulled him back from his thoughts.
"No." He looked around for the bottle again. It was empty. He toyed with his glass as he considered his answer. "Not really. When Abner died, Cal wasn't left with a lot of fund even though Abner didn't leave any debts. Cal made it clear to me that if I had been paying what he called a proper rate of interest then he wouldn't be in such a tight spot. He had a point but I was not going to pay over large sums of money I didn't have either. So it was understood between us that I owed him something but not in a financial sense. When WARTHOGS was founded, it was decided that we would pursue the pacification strategy I told you about. Cal was in charge and I agreed to put the plans into action."
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. "We tried a number of things, working in co-operation with the army and sometimes on our own. We even imported an American named Matthew Quigley, which didn't work out the way it was supposed to." He grimaced. "Remind me to tell you about that some day after I've had enough to drink."
"The letter.?" Sam prodded.
"That letter was a rather pointed reminder that we have outstanding business to take care of. He wants to know how Sam Flanagan is working out. As far as he knows, your father is working on my ranch performing security duties in the area. I never told him about the, uh, situation."
"What are you going to do?" Wariness infused her voice as she watched him closely.
"I'm going to make sure that this mystery about Ches Watters is cleared up, find out who killed Hiram Crabbs, find another security agent to undertake the work that needs to be done, meet with Cal and get him off my back, take you back to the ranch and live happily ever after." He heaved a deep sigh. "That's about it, I think."
"And will we live happily ever after?"
"Yes, we will." He looked straight ahead but didn't seem to see her. "After I've fulfilled my obligations and helped wipe out the aborigines who murdered my parents."
Shadows spread across the bedroom carpet as the afternoon sun moved to the other side of the house. The tawny glow shone on the gold strands in her husband's hair. She reached out one hand to stroke it but pulled back, afraid to trespass.
"We joined a large band of settlers heading into the interior. My parents were warned about the danger. The aborigines had been harassing wagon trains for some time but I guess they decided it was worth the risk. We were about six days out of town, not quite halfway to the first station, when we were attacked. Our wagon was at the back of the line. My mother was one of the first ones killed."
He paused to sip his whiskey. Sam slid her hand up his arm to his shoulder, then across to caress his cheek. Turning his head slightly, he pressed a kiss into her palm.
"I have no memory of anything after that, no idea when my father was killed. I'm told that I was found wandering down the track back to town. Apparently I put up quite a fight when someone tried to pick me up." Another sip, then a several more.
"The Torkens were part of our group. Abner and his wife Kate took care of me until we got to the station. I had no other family and eventually the authorities decided to let the Torkens adopt me. I grew up on their ranch."
The glass was empty. He looked around for the bottle and refilled it.
"They were kind to me, in their own way. They were older than my parents and their children were grown up. Except for Cal. He was seventeen then and their youngest child. He lived at the ranch too." With a sudden movement, he gulped down the contents of his glass.
As the dusk chased the remaining light from the room, Marston walked through the desert of his childhood memories. The room gradually filled with the confusion and fear of a boy plunged into a strange environment without his family, too young to really understand what had happened to him. He talked about his fondness for the Torkens, his gratitude for everything they'd done for him and their understanding. The warmth of his tone testified to his sincerity.
In a much colder, restrained manner, he described Cal; the young man older by more than a dozen years, who'd made his boyhood a trial. Practical jokes designed to terrify and apparent juvenile pranks that stopped just short of assault assumed large proportions in these memories. It became clear to Sam that those three years until Cal joined the army and left the ranch had been very traumatic for the young orphan.
"After that I rarely saw him. By the time he'd left the army, I had grown up and moved out on my own. Abner Torken loaned me the money to start up my ranch and allowed me to pay it back in slow stages without interest. Cal didn't like it because he had big plans for their ranch and could have used the money, but his father stuck by our arrangement. He was a good man."
"Was Cal's letter about the money?" Sam's question pulled him back from his thoughts.
"No." He looked around for the bottle again. It was empty. He toyed with his glass as he considered his answer. "Not really. When Abner died, Cal wasn't left with a lot of fund even though Abner didn't leave any debts. Cal made it clear to me that if I had been paying what he called a proper rate of interest then he wouldn't be in such a tight spot. He had a point but I was not going to pay over large sums of money I didn't have either. So it was understood between us that I owed him something but not in a financial sense. When WARTHOGS was founded, it was decided that we would pursue the pacification strategy I told you about. Cal was in charge and I agreed to put the plans into action."
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head. "We tried a number of things, working in co-operation with the army and sometimes on our own. We even imported an American named Matthew Quigley, which didn't work out the way it was supposed to." He grimaced. "Remind me to tell you about that some day after I've had enough to drink."
"The letter.?" Sam prodded.
"That letter was a rather pointed reminder that we have outstanding business to take care of. He wants to know how Sam Flanagan is working out. As far as he knows, your father is working on my ranch performing security duties in the area. I never told him about the, uh, situation."
"What are you going to do?" Wariness infused her voice as she watched him closely.
"I'm going to make sure that this mystery about Ches Watters is cleared up, find out who killed Hiram Crabbs, find another security agent to undertake the work that needs to be done, meet with Cal and get him off my back, take you back to the ranch and live happily ever after." He heaved a deep sigh. "That's about it, I think."
"And will we live happily ever after?"
"Yes, we will." He looked straight ahead but didn't seem to see her. "After I've fulfilled my obligations and helped wipe out the aborigines who murdered my parents."