Chapter One
Mrs. Edmonds tried to warn me about perdition, Lori Durant mused. And perdition is where I've landed. Lori picked at her dress, which thanks to the heat, clung to her body in saturated discomfort. The sun beat down from overhead roasting her as if she were a slab of beef on a spit. She had protection in the form of a parasol, but a gust of wind ripped it from her fingers and for all she knew had carried it off to Colorado. "For the first time, I'm regretting my decision," she muttered daubing a handkerchief along the back of her neck.
"Better buck up," Moss Grimmick said nodding in her direction. "Besides, your brother's is the next stop." Lori perked up at the mention of her brother's homestead and cupped a hand over her eyes hoping to catch a glimpse. In every direction she looked, flat barren ground covered by knee high prairie grass danced and twisted in the wind. The movement reminded her of ocean waves lapping against the sides of a boat, only her vessel was not a ship. It was a jolting, creaking buckboard. Lori longed to reach George's farm and its well. His letters boasted of the coolest deepest well in Ford County.
"I don't see it," Lori whined.
"That's cause we ain't there yet." Lori studied the thin, pinched faced man, relieved he decided lend her a meager exchange of words. For the past hour the only activity he bothered to engage in was tobacco chewing- and spitting. Moss Grimmick owned the Dodge City livery stable. And when Lori approached the town's deputy, he recommended 'Ole Moss' for the job of escort. Only the deputy failed to warn Lori about Mr. Grimmick's sour disposition – or devotion to his muck rake. It took careful application of feminine wiles, and when those failed, a three dollar tip to induce the man to leave his equine castle.
"Unloading all those bags is gonna cost extra lest you git those nephews of yer's to do it, and they best move cause I ain't got time to lollygag." Mr. Grimmick tilted his chin and spit a blackened stream of tobacco juice over the side of the wagon.
Lori gagged at the sight of the tarry stream and made a concentrated effort to ignore the man's bad manners. After all she told herself, this was the frontier, not a tea room. If only he had bothered to take a bath. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of perspiration mingling with horse sweat. Lori closed her eyes picturing a lovely bath tub filled to the brim with cool, refreshing water.
"May I ask you something Mr. Grimmick?" Lori hoped to wheedle a conversation out of the sour man and break up the monotony. It was also a way to keep him from loading more tobacco into his mouth.
"You can ask. Whether or not I can answer is another matter." The man aimed his next stream of tobacco for a yucca plant and missed.
"Is all this prairie land unclaimed? I haven't seen any fences."
"Most of the land around these parts is owned by Dell Kendrick. He runs the South Wind ranch. Butts right up to George's place. Dell's been talking about fencing. Hasn't done it yet. I guess he still prefers open range."
South Wind, an appropriate name for a ranch out here.
Moss Grimmick felt himself warm up to the idea of a conversation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good yammering. Most of the things he discussed weren't fit for delicate ears. "Now your brother wanted to fence, but well after Elizabeth died, he never got around to it. Things kinda went downhill for 'im."
Poor George, Lori sighed. Life had never been easy for her older brother. "George wrote to me when Elizabeth died. He blamed himself."
"Can't see why'd he do that. Pardon my saying so, but that wife of his didn't take care of herself with that last baby. Doc warned her, but she worked herself into a hard labor." He reddened at the use of the indelicate word. "What I mean is Doc did all he could for her. Well this is the place," Mr. Hanks said and nodded to the right of Lori.
Lori turned and stared ahead in mute shock. "No, no, no, this can't be the place." It couldn't be she told herself willing the site to disappear. George promised. "But its sod," she gasped.
"Best sod house in the county."
A half hinged door flung open and three ratty dressed, barefooted heathens strode into the yard. Suspicion covered faces coated in grime. A squalling baby noise came from somewhere deep inside the interior of the… yep…a dirt clod.
My new home is a house sized dirt clod.
A miserable thought crossed Lori's mind, and without thinking she said, "If the outside is made of dirt, then so is the inside."
"Well that'd stand to logic. Now some folks paper or paint the insides. Course George never did."
I'm being punished for telling Mrs. Edmonds to shove off. She will never let me move home. In fact by now she's probably turned her house into a sanctuary for stray cats.
"You the aunt?" A grubby hand yanked at the hem of her skirt. Lori peered down at the matted haired, filthy faced urchin and felt the sharp intake of air. His grip left blackened smudges on her silk taffeta. "Why'd ya suck in air like that for?" The heathen asked.
"You got the consumption?" Another asked.
"You kids git those bags for yer aunt. Come on git busy. I ain't got all day," Mr. Grimmick rumbled. Lori wondered how he'd respond to the idea of driving her back to Dodge.
The oldest of Lori's heathen charges glared at the sight of the baggage. He was dark haired, at least the hair appeared dark under all the grease.
Lori remained seated in the buckboard too stunned to move, trying to absorb her plight. She wanted to understand why George misled her. The sod house, Lori held her nose at the thought of calling it a home, was bad enough. He might have at least set a proper door. And where were the windows? Could there be a fireplace? The wind changed direction assaulting her senses with the pungent aroma of fresh pig manure.
"Why would George place his barnyard within smelling distance of the house?" she mumbled.
"Yep, George was sure proud of this place." Mr. Grimmick spit another wad of juice.
"Mr. Grimmick, you gonna teach me to spit like that?" A heathen asked.
"No I ain't, now git them bags."
Lori's eyes darted around the farm searching for the well. She noticed the barn and was pleased it was constructed of timber, the parts standing anyway. The roof missed several boards, and the construction leaned to the left. A corral sat adjacent, its makeshift slats falling apart piece by piece. Inside the corral, a small group of pigs frolicked in mud. She wondered what one called a group of pigs; a herd – a flock? All Lori understood was the smell. They stank. She turned her head away and continued her search. They had to have a well. George promised he had the best water in the county. Lori rubbed her forehead. George promised a lot of things.
After hoisting Lori's trunk over his shoulder, the oldest heathen grunted, "That's all of it Mr. Mr. Grimmick."
"Well," The sour man glared at Lori. "You getting down or what?"
"Oh," Lori said and gingerly maneuvered her way off the wagon. Her foot slipped and she caught the buckboard seat in an attempt to keep from falling. In the process, her skirt became entangled in the splintered side of the buckboard.
"I can help," said the heathen who smudged her skirt. He yanked at the fabric filling the air with a sharp rip. Lori's stomach turned as she beheld the jagged gash in the taffeta. She gazed down into two blue eyes beaming up at her. "Adds to the smudges," she said, and attempted a wry smile.
"You sure yer my aunt?" He asked. "You look more like one of them fancy ladies."
"What?"
"You sure you ain't got the consumption?" The other heathen asked.
"No I haven't got the consumption. And I can assure you I'm not a fancy lady. I happen to like pretty things." Lori knew she was a vain woman, but she didn't care. She enjoyed her clothes and she like to play up her figure's best attributes. In anticipation of meeting her new family, she chose a favorite cream silk taffeta. By the looks of George's dirt farm, she ought to have dressed in a flour sack. She'd fit in better.
The oldest heathen sneered in Lori's direction and cast a wad of spit at her feet. Blanching, Lori raised her skirts and took step backwards knocking over one of her carpet bags. The two smaller heathens poked and prodded at petticoats and under-things which tumbled onto the hard ground. From inside the dirt clod, the baby's squall climaxed to a fevered pitch.
"Git up," Mr. Hanks yelled and slapped the reins across the mule's backs. Lori watched the wagon roll across the prairie leaving her behind. Misery knotted her stomach as she realized she'd skipped perdition and landed straight into the devil's drawing room.
"We ain't takin no bath," Brett flatly informed Lori. The two younger heathens crossed their arms in defiance. The baby, Ceilia, let loose a fresh squall.
"You will bathe and you will be brought up to live as good Christians, not heathens," Lori said over the timbre of Ceilia's ear-splitting squall. "It's what your parents desired and what I will see to." Lori plucked Ceilia off the dirt floor and cooed softly in the child's matted hair.
"Hush sweetheart," Lori said holding the baby close to her chest. Ceilia quieted once Lori discovered the source of the baby's discomfort. Lori watched helplessly as the overflow from the worn diaper spilled onto her smudged and ripped skirt. "She needs changing and a bath as well. It's a wonder the four of you aren't covered in lice. It'll be all I can do to avoid them myself–fleas too for that matter."
"You may be our aunt, but it ain't no call to go insulting us," Brett said. The oldest, he took an immediate dislike to his aunt and her uppity attitude. Brett Durant didn't need some far off relation taking over his home-least of all some fancy dressed nitwit from back east. She'd try and mother him. Well, he had a mother, and she was dead. And Brett reckoned God didn't make another woman good enough to take his ma's place. He'd make running off Lori Durant a pleasurable pastime. Shouldn't be hard either, he reasoned as dinky and frail as she looked.
Lori raised a pert eyebrow at the heathen. Sod houses, her ruined dress, and now Brett Durant, destroyed what remained of her mood. She stomped over to the dirt clod's main piece of furniture, a rickety wooden table and laid Ceilia on top. Lori removed the soiled diaper and plunked Ceilia back onto the dirt floor. Holding her nose, she gingerly lifted the putrid offense by the corners and raced to the lone window. Throwing it open wide, Lori tossed the offense onto the prairie.
Turning, she clasped her hands in front of her and took a long deep breath. Then she lost her composure. "I've traveled a thousand miles in dusty stagecoaches over rut filled roads. I've endured the company of gamblers, toothless buffalo hunters, and…" Lori stumbled for the proper word, "frail sisters. I've been forced to wade through mud ruining my best slippers I might add. And all that was before landing in Dodge City. Furthermore, I just spent an hour trudging through tick infested prairie grass, heat, wind, and savages probably hiding in every buffalo wallow, not to mention the lovely little sticker known as a goat's head…"
"Those smart. I got one in my foot once," Bobby said. He was the middle child. And of the three boys, the only one she'd trust with a sharp instrument–if her back wasn't turned.
"They aren't much better for hands," Lori said. She rubbed the reddened sore she picked up off the side of George's Soddy. One more reason she had to despise dirt clods.
"You always throw your arms around like that when you talk?" Billy asked. He was the youngest boy, and naturally curious. He figured if she didn't have the consumption, maybe she had jerky bones. He'd heard old timers, like Mr. Festus, sitting outside the barber shop talk about pains in the joints. Maybe she needed some liniment. They had plenty for the horses, but it was out in the barn.
Lori rolled her eyes at the little heathen's remark. "Where was I?" She asked the oldest.
"Traveling out to our place, but they ain't been no Indians round these parts for awhile. They stick to their reservations 'cept when they raid." Brett gave a momentary thought about traveling over to Fort Dodge; invite a few Comanche Scouts over for Sunday supper.
"Yes and thank you Brett for your keen observation on our red brothers." Lori leaned out the window drawing fresh air into her lungs. Her dress smelled as badly as her new family. "Children, I've survived traveling through perdition and where do I find myself? This place, which isn't exactly a scene out of a Currier and Ives print. Look you three, I traded a comfortable townhouse full of fine china and overstuffed sofas to live here, a dirt clod. So if I say take a bath, take a bath you will."
"It ain't a dirt clod Aunt Lori," Bobby said. "It's a soddy and the finest in the county. Took our pa months to build it. Ain't that right Brett?"
"Sure is. And we got furniture too Aunt Lori. Table works and we got a bench for sitting. We got a lantern for night time and plenty of stuff to cook with. Back behind the quilt over there is a bed with a dresser and wash basin too." Boy was she dense. They had all the comforts they needed. Yep, running her off was gonna be a hoot. Brett grinned as the temptation got the better of him. "Sod houses are the best for the plains Aunt Lori. Cool in summer; warm in winter. The only drawbacks are rattle snakes in the roof, and when it rains, the ceiling drips mud."
"I have a pet bull snake Aunt Lori Wanna see him?" Billy piped up.
Lori swallowed hard and stared up at the ceiling. Mud and pigs were unpleasant at best; snakes were an entirely different crisis.
"By the way, who's a Currier?" Billy asked jerking on Lori's skirt to get her attention. He wondered if they might be those folks over in Comanche County the Marshall kept talking about stringing up.
"Oh," Lori said mourning the comforts of rugs and overstuffed sofas. "Do any of you realize right now at this very minute I could be sitting next to the ocean at Wilmington's Hotel having tea, but oh no. I'm in the middle of an oceans worth of goat's heads, pigs, mud, wind but no trees mind you, and snakes. Your pa never wrote me about snakes!"
"Aunt Lori, we got trees out here," Bobby said. "You need trees for wind. You just ain't seen 'em all yet. Want me to show you?" Poor Aunt Lori must have real bad eyesight. And the way she talked, he thought she hated the prairie. Not Bobby. He loved it. There was no other place on earth he reckoned where in spring the grass turned zillions of colors. That was on account of all the wild flowers. He remembered his momma used to pick them for the house. He missed his pa, but there were things about his momma Bobby yearned for. Wildflowers in spring and the way his momma laughed were the two things he missed most.
Lori rubbed her forehead and ceded the point. "Fine Bobby. You have trees. Something has to account for the wind out here. But let me get one thing straight. I'm the aunt and from this point forward, I'm in charge. Therefore, the four of you will bathe once I figure out how to work this thing." Lori took her frustration out on the cook stove viciously kicking it. "Damn!" She grabbed her foot and jigged across the room, pain shooting through her big toe. The boys giggled. "You did not hear me curse," she said cringing at her use of the obscenity. "Is there a church in town?" It wasn't too late for penance. Maybe she could keep the fires of hell at bay.
"Nope," Billy said. "We got some preacher who travels a lot but no church."
"Say we agree to take a bath." Brett stuck his hands in what remained of his tattered pockets. "Scrub behind the ears and everything. What's in it for us?"
"Other than resembling Christian children instead of savage heathens?" Lori was taken aback at the grime encrusted scowl. Was he planning to scalp her or burn her at the stake? Perhaps she should try a new tactic. She had to admit that sarcasm, although her favorite personality trait, was not exactly a way to influence muck faced heathens.
Hoping a bribe might do the trick, Lori sugarcoated her words. "I brought presents. You take baths and you git, I mean get, your presents. Then tomorrow, we start scrubbing this place," she said feeling a dismal sense of defeat.
"We like presents," Bobby and Billy chimed in and began stripping off their rags.
"Wait a minute!" Lori scanned the interior for the necessary equipment. "First we need water and a tub, and somebody will have to show me how you work this." She nodded in the direction of the cook stove.
"We use buffalo chips Aunt Lori." Brett replaced the scowl with a sardonic grin. "Builds up a right nice fire."
So, he plans to burn me at the stake. I can read the headlines now; Buffalo chips used to roast eastern woman alive; Comanche Nation denies all knowledge.
"Buffalo chips? Ah yes, they come out of the end of the buffalo. Betcha thought I didn't know that. Well, why not." She threw her arms in the air. "Makes perfect sense to me. So will someone show me the way to the well? You do have water? George wrote that you had water."
"Best in the area," Brett said. "Come on Aunt Lori, I'll even show you how to gather those buffalo chips for the stove." Brett scooped Ceilia off the floor and followed Lori outside into the heat. "And don't you worry Aunt Lori. We haven't seen a rattle snake all day."
It took three hours of chip gathering, heating water, changing and reheating fresh water, but at last the urchins sat in front of Lori, scrubbed clean and shining. Lori shoved the last of their rags into the cook stove to burn. "Once I get settled, we'll go into Dodge for new clothes and things." She glanced at the children now fresh and smelling like her best honeysuckle soap. She hoped she remembered to pack more. It was one of the many frivolous items she vowed never to be without. She would have packed a crate had she realized its necessity.
Lori inspected her charges and decided she liked what she saw. Brett was a mirror image of his mother, dark hair, aristocratic cheekbones and soft rounded shoulders. He was in his early teens more solid than bulky, and he moved in self confident strides. Since George's death, Brett had taken over the farm and the parenting chores of his three younger siblings.
Bobby, the middle child, possessed the heart of a naturalist. Thick, wavy golden hair that trailed over the collar of his button-less shirt. Freckles dotted the bridge of his nose drawing attention to deep, chocolate colored eyes. He had a sturdy build and when he walked he mimicked Brett's strides.
The youngest, Billy and Ceilia were delicate boned imps. Billy had George's bright blue eyes and high forehead. More imp than child, he was thin as a blade of grass and lightning quick. This Lori discovered at bath time when she was forced to chase him through the corral, and the pigs, to get him into the tub.
The baby, Ceilia, toddled in her own little world of exploration. She reminded Lori of a set of loosely stacked cups, continually tottering and tipping. A round mouth held in a concentrated pout, contrasted against large hazel eyes.
Lori's thoughts were interrupted by a demanding teenage voice. "You gonna stare at us all day or you gonna live up to your promise?"
Lori decided to ignore Brett's rudeness. The loss of his parents, coupled with the responsibilities of both the farm and his siblings, weighed heavy on him. He needed time. "I was admiring the handsome family I inherited underneath all the muck and grime. I bet you four are the best looking set of siblings within fifty miles. Brett if you'd be so kind to bring my trunk over, I'll pass out the presents."
"Wow, this is like Christmas," Bobby said. He hoped his new aunt liked to pick wildflowers. He knew the best spot for his favorites.
Brett took an arm and swiped Lori's carpet bags from off the top of her trunk. "Never knew somebody to have so many bags," he muttered thinking she must have at least forty changes of duds. Heck, she'd already changed her clothes twice and it wasn't even dark yet. And she even burned that silk thing Ceilia messed on. Maybe he'd burn up all her duds.
"Can I git my present first?" Billy asked figuring since he liked presents best, the others could wait.
"Here." Brett dumped the trunk on the floor near Lori's feet nearly taking off a foot in the process.
"Why didn't you just drop it on my head?" Lori's sarcasm dripped as she spoke. "You've been trying to brain me since I got here."
"Didn't occur to me," Brett sneered at his aunt. He sat down on the bench testing her resolve. Lori made a mental note to sleep with one eye open for the next few years.
"Brett, knock it off," Bobby chastised his brother. "She just got here."
"Yeah, Brett knock it off. She's giving us presents ain't she? Aunt Lori can I git mine first?"
"No," Lori answered opening the trunk. She gave a sigh of relief noting the contents were safely intact. "I'll start with Ceilia since she's the youngest." On top of the clothing lay a china head doll. Lori reverently picked it up and held it for the boys to see. "This doll is for Ceilia. It was mine when I was her age. I think it's nice to have something special, and Missy was my favorite." She handed Ceilia the doll. Excited, Ceilia burbled around the dirt floor dragging the doll with her.
"Next, is your gift Billy."
"Oh boy!" Billy dashed over to the trunk. "Gimmee, gimmee," he cried jumping up and down.
Lori pulled a sling shot out from under a stack of linens. "Billy, this was your pa's. I thought maybe you might like something of his. Your pa got to be known as the terror of Maple Street. When people saw George's slingshot sticking out of his pants, they'd board over their windows."
"Wow! Look Bobby, my very own sling shot! And it belonged to pa! See Brett," he said holding it up for his big brother to look at. "Thanks Aunt Lori."
"You're welcome. Now to Bobby." Lori fished around in her trunk until she caught hold of the cloth wrapped bundle. She tugged it out of the trunk and ran a hand over the cloth. "This is special Bobby," she sighed. "I hope you enjoy them." She handed Bobby the bundle.
Bobby took the cloth in his lap and tried to figure out how to unwrap it. He found a string and tugged sending the books tumbling onto the floor. Bobby tried to sound happy. "Oh, books." He thought about asking if she had any more sling shots in her bags, but decided against it. It might hurt her feelings.
"Ah, not any books. Read the cover on that one," Lori said pointing to the top book.
"The Terrible and True Adventures of The Waco Kid and His Arch Enemy, Tater Logan." Bobby gazed up at Lori and brushed a wad of golden hair out of his eyes. He waited for an explanation.
Lori clapped her hands together and winced at the soreness from the goat's head. Rubbing the sting away on the side on her hip she explained, "When I was a small girl, about Billy's age, George and I lost our parents in a fire. We went to live with our mother's dearest friend, Mrs. Edmonds. Well I can tell you George didn't stick around long. The war started and it was his way to escape. You see, Mrs. Edmonds was a strange sort of lady."
"How so?" Bobby asked.
"Well, for one thing, she hired a voodoo witch to help her nurse wounded soldiers during the war."
"Nut uh," Brett said.
"Cross my heart. Mrs. Edmonds turned her home into a convalescent center for wounded soldiers. She had two helpers, your mother Elizabeth and Cleo, the voodoo witch. Speaking of Elizabeth, that's how she came to meet your pa. She was his nurse. But their romance is another story. Presently we're talking about Mrs. Edmonds."
"So this Mrs. Edmonds had voodoo witches living in her house?" Billy asked. "And the soldiers let the witch nurse 'em?"
"I don't believe Mrs. Edmonds ever considered how the soldiers felt about the matter. She has her own ideas of what is and is not proper. Like, for instance her cats. She has fifteen. Her favorite is an old yellow tom who drinks whiskey."
The kids exchanged disbelieving looks. "Ah, I see you don't believe cats drink whiskey. Well, Mrs. Edmonds was subjected to fits of the vapors. And when the vapors hit she'd take to her bedroom along with her cats. Now that old tom was her favorite and would lay right on top of her stomach. The other cats sort of congregated on the floor and chairs and such. Unbeknownst to me, Mrs. Edmonds had a whiskey bottle hid under her pillow, and when she took to her bed, she'd pop the cork and have a party. One day I caught her spoon feeding whiskey to her old tom. She tried to tell me she kept the whiskey for snake bites. Well let me tell you that excuse didn't wash cucumbers. There is not one snake anywhere within the city limits of Baltimore."
"But Aunt Lori, what has all this got to do with these books?" Bobby asked puzzled.
"Yes, the books!" Lori exclaimed. "Mrs. Edmonds was courted by the great Waco Kid. They met when at a book signing in Baltimore. He signed his way into her heart, or so Mrs. Edmonds claimed. I'll have you boys know the Waco Kid gave me this." Lori moved off her trunk and opened it removing a beaded, deer skin jacket. She put it on testing the fit. "Still fits," she proudly declared twirling in a circle. "The Kid gave Mrs. Edmonds one too. But she doesn't wear hers because she's gotten fat and the middle buttons keep popping off. Bobby if you'll open that top book, there is an inscription written inside."
Bobby opened the book and read out loud,
To Little Running Deer,
Remember me when you read
the adventures. My you live long
and have many of your own.
Yours truly,
The Waco Kid
"Who's Little Running Deer?"
Lori held her right hand in an Indian salute. "Me. The Kid gave us all Indian names. Mrs. Edmonds was Antelope Sitting Beside Water, and Cleo was Blue Medicine Woman. Cleo especially liked her name since she was a voodoo witch. So you see Bobby, those stories have special memories for me. My wish for you is to read them and have special memories of your own. And when you grow into this," she said indicating the deer skin jacket, "you may have it."
"It's the best ever," he cried. Bobby had seen men in town wearing deer skins. They were rough frontier types he admired from afar. Now he could be just like those rugged men. He closed his eyes picturing himself strutting down Front Street everybody dropping over dead from jealousy. He'd even out shine Mr. Festus's fancy boots.
"Aunt Lori," Billy piped up, "What happened to the Waco Kid? Is he still back east signing books?"
"Not exactly." Lori slipped the jacket over Bobby's shoulders. "The Kid proposed marriage to Mrs. Edmonds, but she wanted to turn her home into a cat sanctuary and turned him down. Last I heard The Kid hopped a clipper ship headed for the British West Indies. Who knows; in a few years we might hear stories of his adventures among pirates."
Brett scoffed at his aunt. "You tell stories just like pa. They ain't no truth in anything you just said. A whiskey drinking cat, a voodoo witch and some old timer who calls himself The Waco Kid. Why you probably got that deer skin jacket off some old buffalo hunter in town."
"Believe what you want Brett. Hasn't anybody ever told you truth is stranger than fiction? Anyway, the final gift," Lori said reaching one more time into her trunk "is for you." Brett jerked the small case out of Lori's hand and tossed it onto the rickety table.
Lori sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You'll regret that. It was your father's."
Brett suspiciously eyed Lori and the box before he pried the lid off. He reached inside and withdrew an army medal, staring at it in awe.
"Your pa was severely wounded at the Battle of Antietam." Lori's voice softened forcing Brett to pay attention. "Among his wounds, he took a mini ball in his leg. The surgeons wanted to amputate." Lori shivered. "George begged them not to take his leg, and at the last minute, Mrs. Edmond was allowed to bring George home to die. Elizabeth and Mrs. Edmonds held onto hope and nursed him back to health. Brett, before your pa was mustered out of his unit, General Meade saw to it that he was recognized for bravery on the battlefield."
"He did?"
"Brett, your father saved the lives of many men on both sides of the war. He risked cannon and musket fire to pull the wounded out of harms way and bring them water. I think it is important for you to have his medal. It should belong to his first born son." Lori's eyes shone as she spoke. She willed herself not to cry, but seeing Brett clutch his father's medal to his chest was more than she could stand. "Well." She stood abruptly and wiped a hand across her cheek. "I do believe its time for bed."
"Will you read me a Waco Kid story tonight?"
"Can I keep the jacket with me and maybe sleep with it too?"
"Can I sleep with my sling shot Aunt Lori?"
"Is Ceilia gonna sleep in your room tonight? Will her doll be okay?"
"Yes, yes, and yes. Yes to everything."
Brett touched Lori on her shoulder. "Aunt Lori?"
Lori composed herself. "I'm listening."
He was unable to hold Lori's gaze. "I still don't like you, but thanks for this." He clutched the medal close and left the house to sleep in the barn.
"It's alright Brett; I like you enough for both of us," Lori said to his retreating back.
CHAPTER TWO
Dear Mrs. Edmonds;
I apologize for the delay in writing, but I have been busy acquainting myself with George's farm and his unique children. Brett is every bit a copy of Elizabeth and has welcomed me in his own special way. Bobby, the middle child, has an indispensable knowledge of the flora and fauna. And the two youngest children, Billy and Ceilia, are heart tugging little imps full of energy.
As George wrote, he has the deepest, coolest well. It comes in handy for watering the livestock. I'm learning all about barnyard animals and such. And I can brag to you that George's house is the best of its kind in Ford County. It has a marvelous cook stove which burns about anything you put in it.
So there is absolutely no reason in the world for you to worry about me. I'm fine, and Kansas is a dream.
I lay pen aside wishing you good health.
Sincerely,
Lori Durant
Well, Lori thought sealing the envelope, it wasn't a complete lie. George did have the deepest, coolest well in Ford County. It sure came in handy for scrubbing the dirt clod Lori was forced to acknowledge as home. Two weeks into her interment on the prairie, and Lori discovered survival involved more than a fresh change of clothing and smelling like honeysuckle soap. She needed backbone.
Lori learned that butter churns caused calluses. Candling eggs did not mean to form candles out of egg shells. When slopping pigs, it was best not to wear silk skirts; George's old army pants made running from the crazed sow easier. To avoid swollen fingers while nailing boards onto the barn, move them out of the hammer's way. She was also learning what it meant to be a parent.
Ceilia woke early, and if she didn't have her afternoon nap, look out. Bobby taught her what poison ivy and poison oak looked like. Then when necessary, he taught her how to make the cure for each. Billy followed Lori from chore to chore full of questions about The Waco Kid and Mrs. Edmonds' whiskey drinking cat. And when he wasn't openly terrorizing her with Billy's pet bull snake, poison ivy, or goat's heads, Brett's attitude remained a notch below hostile.
A breakthrough hailed for the two in a fashion similar to a Governor's reprieve. Lori was a patient woman, but she drew a line where Brett, cook stoves, and her favorite dresses were concerned. Salvaging her best from the fire, Lori narrowed her options to either dragging Brett to Fort Dodge in chains or asking the Marshall to lock him away – like maybe twenty years. What saved Brett was a last minute dose of whitewash and the mention of Dell Kendrick's name.
Dragging Brett by the ear to the barn, Lori noticed two cans of whitewash sitting on a shelf. Finding them full, she changed her mind about Fort Dodge and handed a brush to Brett. As Lori announced her intention to brighten the dirt clod's interior, Bobby and Billy joined in and made a game out of Brett's punishment. Things progressed smoothly until a slap across Lori's cheek by Brett's loaded brush, set off a playful game of every man for himself. When the fight ended, paint covered walls, floor, ceiling and the Durant family.
"Well, I guess we all look like a bunch of painted hooligans," Lori giggled. "But at least the walls got a decent coat." They rested under a cottonwood tree allowing the inside of the dirt clod to dry. Ceilia napped on a pallet, the only Durant free from paint. Lori gazed at Brett, covered in white from head to toe courtesy of Bobby's bucket dump. She nudged his leg with the toe of her boot. "Thought you'd get me good did ya Brett? How about a cease fire, on all fronts?"
Brett allowed a smile to tug at his lips. "I'll think about it." He fought the emotion, but he was developing a grudging respect for his aunt. She had spunk. And if anybody had told him his eastern aunt would take to army pants and laugh after getting coated with whitewash, he'd wonder if they'd been drinking Doc Adam's laudanum. Yep, Brett had to admit his aunt was a good sport. And with the exception of his poking her best dresses in the cook stove, she never lost her temper. One of these days he was gonna have to explain that military stockades didn't have dungeons where they kept teenagers chained to walls.
Lori nudged him again. "Brett you need to heat the cook stove again. I imagine it's gonna take some scrubbing to get rid of all this paint."
"I might look a sight, but you should see yourself Aunt Lori. That red hair of yours is plum coated. Might have to buy a bunch more of that honeysuckle soap to get it all out."
"Hey, Aunt Lori," Bobby asked. "When we headed into town like you said for new clothes and things?"
"I have a letter to mail, so I guess we'll go in the morning after chores. Boys I never knew there was so much work to a farm." Lori held her fingers up and began counting off an improvised list. "Churning, milking, gathering eggs, whitewashing." The boys laughed. "And we got what Brett, fifty acres of wheat?"
"Yes ma'am. It promises to be a good crop too. If we can keep Kendrick's cattle out of it."
Billy spit. "That skunk. I hate him. I'd sick my bull snake on him, but it ran off again."
Lori felt guilty. She was tired of finding the snake lodged under her sheets, courtesy of Brett. Billy saw her armed with the bucket and whisk broom and gave Lori a questioning gaze. She lied and told him she was cleaning. It was later while Brett read the boys a chapter from The Waco Kid Wrangles A Rustler, that she set the snake free on the prairie.
"I hate that skunk more 'n caster oil." Bobby one upped Billie. "Kendrick's a low down smelly skunk. I'd like to see him tussle with the Waco Kid. That'd teach him to mess with us."
"What do you mean mess with us?" Lori asked.
Brett sat upright. She might as well hear it from him, so she got the true story. "Dell Kendrick owns most of the land around these parts-"
"I remember Mr. Grimmick telling me," Lori interrupted.
"Well he wants our place real bad. He started pushing pa to sell right after ma died."
"No," Lori gasped. "Your pa was in deep grief. How unfeeling and cruel."
"Kendrick don't have no feelings. He's mean as a pole cat. Has been ever since he lost his folks to an Indian raid. He wants our water rights real bad. The bastard told me he'd get our farm one way or another. I keep pa's musket on the wall on account of him."
"The nerve!" Lori said growing indignant. "Threatening children. Well the skunk isn't getting his greedy hands on our home."
"You mean that Aunt Lori?" Brett asked suddenly interested in what his aunt had to say.
"With all my heart," Lori solemnly swore. Mud, muck and Brett, tried her nerves, yet she survived. Granted, life on the prairie was not soft; but Lori discovered things about herself which mattered. For instance, lightening did not strike her dead when she gave up fine silks for army trousers. Hard work improved her coloring. As for the calluses on her hand, gloves worked miracles. For the first time in her life, she was on her own, an independent woman. Lori narrowed her eyes. "We fight to keep what's ours. But Brett, nothing will work if you and I are at war. Truce?"
Brett shrugged and exhaled slowly. "All right." The tone in his voice reverted back to the coldness it possessed the day Lori arrived. "We have a truce, but only till we take care of Kendrick." Life taught Brett harsh lessons. If he let this aunt get close, he might grow to love her. And what if she died like ma? He held out his hand wondering if she'd accept his terms.
Lori's mood dampened but she was determined not to let Brett see her sadness. She clasped his hand. "It's agreed. Truce till we defeat Kendrick." Sitting under the blazing Kansas sun, coated in whitewash shaking her nephew's hand, Lori had an idea. "Tomorrow we shop." Shopping always lifted her mood.
The Durant mob spent the better part of Saturday morning in Mr. Jonas's store. Since Lori didn't sew, she bought the children store made sets of clothes, under things, and socks. Some women flashed Lori warning shots which roughly translated veered towards the, learn how to handle a needle or go broke, reprimand. Lori scoffed at their arrogance. She had her savings and it pleased her to purchase the children new things.
Next to the stacks of clothing, Lori added the essentials: salt, flour, coffee, and apples. The apples were an expensive luxury, but the kids might enjoy their sweetness. She purchased nothing for herself.
"Hey Aunt Lori," Billy said. He pointed out a jacket and skirt ensemble of light yellows and creams. "You bought us all stuff, well, it's your turn."
Lori dropped everything and passed Ceilia off to Brett. "Here, hold her," she said. The jacket was a solid cream and the skirt a gorgeous silk stripe, with a yellow on yellow tone. Lace ran along the neckline and cuffs. Lori judged the lace to be a Paris creation. Unable to stop herself, she ran a hand over the material "Oh my. I haven't seen anything so smart since I left Baltimore. This dress is perfect for a stroll and lunch at Delmonicos."
"Better buy it Aunt Lori," Bobby said taking a bit out of an apple. "I bet you ain't got one yellow dress like this in any of your carpet bags."
"Your right I haven't," Lori absently whispered, even though she had at least two. She whirled around to Mr. Jonas. "May I try this on?"
"Certainly. Just let me get you some under things to go with it," he said glad to finally sell the expensive New Orleans frock. Kitty turned it down, and he feared a loss for all the time it hung on his rack.
"Oh, I have to have it." Lori's coloring took on a rosy hue parading in front of the children. "It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen."
"Aunt Lori, you got tons of dresses at home," Brett said. "You might want to reconsider on account of I got some harness needing fixed."
"But we have funds. Remember I told you Mrs. Edmonds made a lot of investments with my money. I've a tidy sum and as long as we don't get too extravagant, we're set." Slapping a hand down on the counter, Lori proclaimed, "Kids after this, we deserve lunch at Delmonicos."
Brett dropped his harness at Maynard's Shop, and spying Festus and Quint, he ran over slapping Festus on the back. "Hey guess what? Aunt Lori's treating us to lunch at Delmonicos. Never been there before. Well gotta run see ya." He tossed a wave and cut across Front Street dodging horses and buggies. Not seeing Louie Pheters, he plowed headlong into him nearly knocking the inebriated man into a horse trough. "Sorry Mr. Pheters!" Brett said skipping down the boardwalk.
Quint and Festus watched in amusement as the usually serious Brett Durant acted as if the day were a holiday and the fishing ripe. "Bout time them youngins had some happiness," Festus said. "Been hard on 'em." He flitted through the various members of the Hagan clan hoping to find a comparison and pass off some Hagan wisdom, but Quint interrupted him half way through Aunt Thede's second husband.
"Well," Quint said airily. With Festus he never knew when to be completely serious. "If you feel that way, why don't you join them? You can even pay for the meal."
Festus snorted, "Ain't got time – sides I recall you was a fixin to buy me a beer on account of them bellows I mended up last week."
Quint took a deep breath remembering how Festus mended up his bellows. Then he rolled his eyes at the thought of why Festus had to mend his bellows. "Actually, Festus, a beer sounds good about now."
Noticing he had the upper hand, Festus tucked his thumbs in the waist band of his pants and began an exaggerated sashay across the street to the Long Branch. Quint removed his apron and tossed it on the anvil and followed.
Brett reached Delmonicos out of breath and discovered Lori and his siblings seated at a round table next to the window of the restaurant. Lori waved to Brett motioning for him to hurry and join them. The air snapped with excitement.
"The special today is stew. I didn't know how long you'd be so I ordered for you," Lori said as Brett pulled out a chair. That was fine by Brett. His mouth watered enough to fill a dry creek bed.
The food soon arrived bringing a halt to conversations about the morning's shopping excursion and the art of harness mending. The owner of the restaurant watched the Durant family impressed that Lori instructed the children in proper restaurant etiquette. Elbows never belonged on a table. Gentlemen removed hats when they entered a building. And shouts of, "Hey Brett chows on!" is never appropriate.
Half way into the meal Billy looked up from his plate. "You know what the best part of this is?" he said scooping up a mouthful of stew.
"What's that Billy?" Lori asked. She dipped her butter knife into the bowl and removed a slathering of butter for Bobby's roll.
"We don't hafta do the dishes." Everybody laughed and silently Lori agreed. If she kept washing dishes and doing laundry at the same rate, her hands were going to become two weathered pieces of leather. It was a good thing she insisted on purchasing the expensive lotion Mr. Jonas had in the back of his storeroom.
"Bobby, how's your stew?" Lori asked.
"Good," he said through a mouthful. Since the waiter sat his plate in front of him, he dug in scraping down to the white of the china. "Can we get seconds Aunt Lori?"
Lori shook her head no in response. "We have to finish. I'm supposed to meet with the banker about your pa's estate. It shouldn't take long, but you'll need to sit quietly while I go over the final accounts."
"I don't wanna sit."
"Me neither."
"I can take the kids over to Miz Garrick's," Brett said in an off-hand manner. Bobby and Billy began snickering.
"What's so funny?" Lori asked.
"Miz Garrick has a daughter named Hannah. Brett's sweet on her," Bobby said.
"Hey watch it," Brett said and smacked his brother upside the head. His sudden movement shook the table and Billy's milk spilled onto the floor.
Lori calmly grabbed an extra napkin and mopped Billy's spill. "Alright you two stop teasing Brett right this instant." Setting the glass back in front of Billy she said, "There's still some left. Try not to spill it again."
"But Aunt Lori, I didn't," Billy said confused. It was Brett who shook the table. Billy was always getting accused of things. He didn't really mean to cause trouble, it always found him.
"Brett, here is some spare change." Lori dug in her reticule handing him pennies. "If the boys and Ceilia behave themselves at Miz Garrick's, you can buy them stick candy. And please thank her for allowing you all to visit."
"Sure Aunt Lori," Brett said. "You hear that you three, good behavior or no candy."
"We hear," Bobby and Billy moped.
"I'm sorry Miss. Durant, but it's is the best I can do under the circumstances." Lori sank back in the chair as if absorbing the wallop of a sledge hammer. For the past hour, Mr. Gaylord Archer, the President of Drover's Bank, carefully laid out her financial straights. She was flat broke.
"I should have come here before Delmonicos and the store," she said in a stunned whisper. "You're sure of it Mr. Archer?"
He nodded. "Quite sure. Evidently this Mrs. Edmonds placed your funds into some very risky investments. And I'm sure you don't want to hear this, but your brother gambled and he acquired a long list of creditors. After Elizabeth died, things got worse. He took out a mortgage on the farm. It's a shame he couldn't get his finances into better shape before drinking himself to death. I assume you'll want to sell and move the children back east. I have a buyer, and any profits left from the sell should allow for a comfortable trip."
Brett and the children would never forgive her if she sold. For that matter she'd never forgive herself. There had to be another way. "No Mr. Archer, I won't sell. Please use what's available in my savings to pay off George's debts. As to his bank note, is there any possible way for you to work with me?" If the banker agreed to extend the note, then with the harvest from the wheat, she and the children could survive the year.
An uncomfortable, anxiety swept over Gaylord Archer. He ran a finger around the inside collar of his shirt which suddenly felt like a noose. "I'd like to Miss. Durant. I realize you had no idea of the severity of George's indebtedness, or Mrs. Edmonds mismanagement of your funds. Unfortunately, I can't promise anything other than I will consider your circumstances."
Lori nodded. "I understand," she said without really understanding anything at all. Lori rose to her feet. "Good day."
"You're sure you won't change your mind and sell?" He asked escorting her to the door.
"Very sure. In fact, I hope to hear good news from you soon."
Mr. Archer smacked his lips and opened the door for Lori. A burst of heat made her dizzy, and Lori placed a hand against the side of the building to regain her composure. After mouthing a silent prayer for one of Mrs. Edmond's bad investments to turn golden, she gazed out over Front Street. Horses trotted and cowboys whooped it up at the various saloons. In the distance, cattle lowed in complaint as they were herded into cattle cars. She wondered if the children were still at Miz Garrick's.
"Cuse me Miz Durant?" The man said quietly bringing a finger to the brim of his hat. He was a gangly sort, scruffy in his appearance and unshaven.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"I'm Festus," he said. "Festus Haagan is the name. Ma'am the Marshall would like it ifn you could come to his office."
Warily, Lori scanned the street. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
"Oh, it ain't nothing but a bit of mischief. I reckon we can git it fixed right up in no time," he said wanting to reassure her. "Right this way ma'am."
The Marshall's office sat on the opposite side of Front Street about midway out of town. Festus and Lori walked side by side exchanging the occasional nod or greeting. "Folks here sure are nice," Lori said. "Most everyone has gone out of their way to make me feel welcome."
"You ain't met Dell yet," Festus muttered under his breath.
"I'm sorry," Lori said.
"What I said was this here's the friendliest town in these parts and I just knowed you'd fit in oncet I laid eyes on ya. Well, here we are," he pointed at the Marshall's office. "I best be off ma'am got business over at the Long Branch."
Lori gave the man her most charming smile. "Thank you Festus. I hope we meet again."
"I reckon we'll run into each other a whole heap of times. Ma'am," he said and was gone.
Lori stepped over the threshold of the Marshall's office and stopped short. An unconscious hand flew to her neck. The Marshall, had to be the one wearing the star on his chest, crossed his arms and stared at her. The other man, the one next to the Marshall brought on her heart stoppage.
Lori prided herself where it involved matters of the heart. She refused to give in and become some silly frump of female giddiness. Until now. The two eyes locked on her were the deepest indigo she'd ever seen. They'd be sensual too, if they weren't openly glaring at her. The rest of the man's qualities defined the word sensual. He dressed like other cowboys - chaps, shirt and boots. It was how his body filled them out, which made her wish for Mrs. Edmonds' vapor cure. Muscles strained and rippled against the material covering his form; a gun belt slung low over narrow hips bringing a blush to Lori's cheeks. She tore her eyes off the gun belt and watched mesmerized as the man lazily pushed the Stetson back on his head.
The interaction between the two was not lost on Matt Dillon. He stood and walked over to Lori. Trying to ease the situation, he extended his hand. "Miss. Durant I'm the United States Marshall for these parts. Name's Matt Dillon."
A chorus of Aunt Lori's and Billy's innocent erupted from a long narrow bench where the four Durant children sat. Lori whirled around and witnessed faces panicked as if on trial for their lives.
"Now you kids hold your horses. I said I was gonna handle this and that's what I intend to do. No more outta any of you, or I'll slap ya in a cell," Marshall Dillon ordered. He used his authoritative in charge voice and added a bit of mean for good measure. Not much else worked on the Durant kids. The only person he frightened was Lori.
"Marshall may I ask what's happened that you'd threaten my children with incarceration?"
The sensual man lowered his head and shook with suppressed laughter. Under the circumstances his merriment seemed hardly appropriate, "Sir?" Lori challenged him.
"Miss. Durant maybe I can explain," The Marshall said. "This gentleman is the owner of that busted window sitting in the wagon outside."
"Oh," Lori said frowning as realization set in. "Billy's slingshot." She knew she never should have allowed him to bring it into town.
"I'm afraid so. Now Mr. Kendrick here-"
Lori grimaced at the mention of the Kendrick name. "Not Dell Kendrick?"
The Marshall and the man nodded.
"The Dell Kendrick whose ranch butts up next to my brother's farm?"
The two men nodded again.
"Oh my."
"He thinks I did it on purpose Aunt Lori!" Billy shouted in his best victim voice. "He chased me and dragged me and everything!"
"The Marshall said for you children to hush." Lori rubbed her forehead. She paused growing angry and drew her hand away from her face. "Billy, did you say this man dragged you?"
"I can answer that," Kendrick said enjoying the woman's discomfort. When she pranced into Matt's office, he was sure Festus had plucked the wrong woman off the street. He figured the Durant Aunt for the homely sort- a thin, school teacher type who enjoyed rapping knuckles. Not some curvy little red head in yellow silk. "Your brat took his slingshot and busted my new window. When I tried to snatch it from him, he took off. So I ran him down and drug him back to the Marshall's office." Dell watched Lori's eyes widen and figured she was about to swoon. She didn't have much salt to her that was for sure. A man fighting a prairie fire with kerosene had a better chance of survival than she did raising those hellions.
Lori's temper boiled over. "You ran him down?"
"Lady I was dang near close to lassoing him. But I drug him back by the heels instead."
"You physically drug my nephew back to this office by his heels?"
"In the dirt kicking and screaming every step of the way."
"Marshall Dillon!"
"Now Miss. Durant," The Marshall said ignoring Lori's outburst. "Dell and I here figured up the cost of a replacement window. It comes to twelve dollars and fifty cents."
"Oh," Lori said bristling. To men, it was all dollars and cents. Everything had a price tag. Never mind human beings as long as figures end up in the black. Hadn't the banker just proved that to her?
"He took my slingshot too and won't give it back," Billy said pointing at the Marshall.
Brett mussed Billy's hair comforting him. "He'll give it back alright Billy. Don't you worry."
Bobby jumped off the bench. "We saw the whole thing Aunt Lori; it was an accident. Billy didn't mean to shoot his stupid old window."
Pulling Bobby back down on the bench, Brett attempted to finish the explanation. "What Bobby says is the truth Aunt Lori. We saw that skunk Kendrick rough up Billy from Miz Garrick's, so we hightailed it over here. The Marshall made us sit down, and he sent Mr. Hagan after you."
"I see. Billy are you hurt badly?"
Billy let out an exaggerated groan. "That skunk Kendrick busted up my ribs something fierce Aunt Lori," he said doubling over on account of busted ribs sounded like good and roughed up.
Lori eyes darted around the office searching for a place to sit down. The only empty chair was behind the Marshall's desk. She squared her shoulders and marched over flouncing her new skirts. Marshall Dillon was a tall imposing man and his office furniture fit his form, not Lori's. Her chest barely rose above the desk. To give an added boost to her height, she adjusted one leg underneath her bottom. It wasn't much, but it helped. She emptied the contents of her reticule onto the desk.
"You mind telling me what you're doing there?" Matt asked amused at the little eastern woman engulfed by his desk and chair.
"Certainly," Lori said. "I just need to get at the lining." She ripped a square of material from the bottom of the bag. Underneath, she removed a wad of coins. Lori counted them into her hand and then stuffed the remainder back inside. It was the last of her emergency travel funds. "This should take care of your window, Mr. Kendrick," she coolly informed the man, pushing the coins across the table in his direction.
She ain't gonna last, Dell thought scooping up the money. She's too dainty for all her show of sass. He wondered if her fingers ever traveled over the rough handle of a plow. He bet she hadn't seen one day of hard work in her life. And the dress she had on. It was from Jonas's. The same dress old man Jonas had been trying to sell for six months. No one would buy it due to the price tag. Went to show she had no head for money either. And this was the woman in charge of the Durant hell raisers? God help her, but George's farm was going to be his in no time.
Backing away from the desk, Lori noticed Billy's slingshot wedged into a half opened drawer. "Marshall, may we please take the slingshot with us? The reason I ask is because it belonged to George and was meant as a gift for Billy. I give you my word that it will never be brought into town again."
He nodded in agreement. "As long as you give me your word, that'll be alright." Lori removed the slingshot and motioned for the children to prepare to leave.
"Not so fast," Kendrick growled.
Lori coolly motioned for the children to sit back down. "Yes, Mr. Kendrick?"
"There's only five dollars here. That window cost me twelve-fifty. Not to mention that it took over six months for it to get here from Kansas City."
Marshall Dillon sobered and set his mouth in a tight line. Right about now, he'd rather deal with the likes of rustlers as opposed to the blow up about to take place.
"Mr. Kendrick," Lori said quietly. "I fully realize that I gave you only five dollars. The remaining seven-fifty is to provide medical care for my nephew."
He tried by Matt failed to cut off the laugh welling up in his belly. "Miss. Durant, I don't believe Billy here is anywhere near seven dollars and fifty cents worth of hurt."
"He ain't five cents worth of hurt," Kendrick jeered.
"Marshall, five dollars is all this," she pointed a thumb in Kendrick's direction, "so called gentleman is going to get. If Mr. Kendrick finds my terms unsatisfactory, he's welcome to take me to court."
Turning to face the skunk she added, "I'd love for you to explain to all of Ford County how you chased a seven-year-old child down the middle of Front Street, dragging said child in the dirt, by the heels, all the way to jail."
Dell Kendrick's jaw set. He wasn't used to women standing up to him. Most either fought for his attentions or stayed out of his way. And with the exception of Corinne over at Maddie's house, he preferred women who stayed out of his way.
"Your words Mr. Kendrick," Lori said. She'd teach that skunk to drag innocent children.
Dell felt the grinding tightness in his jaw. Not only was she facing him down in front of Matt, she used his own words against him. The little ninny didn't even have the good sense to be afraid.
"Furthermore," Lori pressed her advantage, "you freely admitted in front of me and the Marshall that you not only dragged my seven-year-old nephew in the dirt, by his heels, you would have lassoed him! Your boorish behavior may be acceptable for savage Indians; however, we live in a civilized society. Good day Mr. Kendrick, Marshall Dillon." Lori took Ceilia out of Brett's arms. "Come along children, its time to go home. Oh, Billy one minute."
"What Aunt Lori?"
"Did you apologize to Mr. Kendrick about his window?"
"I tried but he started chasing me. I was too scared, on account of I'm just a seven-year-old child," he said.
"Well he isn't going to hurt you now, not in front of the Marshall. You need to apologize."
"Sorry," he spit at Kendrick.
"Marshall if that's all, my family and I will bid you good day," Lori said flouncing her skirt over the threshold of the office door. Before leaving, she leveled one cold hard stare at Kendrick. Billy stuck out his tongue. He poked his thumbs in his ears and was about to wiggle his fingers when Lori grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him away.
"You know Dell this is all your fault," Matt said once they were alone. "On account of your boorish behavior. Don't you know we live in a civilized society?"
"Well Matt I'll try to remember that the next time one of her little dears destroys my property." Dell Kendrick adjusted the fit of his Stetson to a more comfortable angle. "Marshall Dillon if that's all, I will bid you good day."
Matt Dillon chuckled.
"Billy," Lori asked on the way out of town. "How did you come to break Mr. Kendrick's window?"
"I aimed right for it," he said without hesitation.
"But in town you said it was an accident. All of you said it was an accident. You lied to me!" Lori felt her pulse race. She wondered what type of punishment would be appropriate. Parenting was turning out to be more of a challenge than she bargained for.
"Well, Aunt Lori it was that skunk Kendrick," Billy said. "Who cares about him anyways?"
"I care. We're better than Mr. Kendrick's kind. We don't try to run people off their land. We don't chase children down in the middle of the street and drag them places. Look, when we get home we'll talk more about what went on in town today."
Lori hugged Ceilia close to her chest and kissed the top of her head. She never bargained for being independent and broke. She never bargained for three feisty hellions. And she never bargained for Dell Kendrick.
29