"Francie, stop it!" the man yelled, as the dark-haired woman hit her target for the first time. He dismounted and rushed to her, grabbed her by her arm but it was too late, Heath ducked but he wasn't fast enough to avoid the second impact. "Ouch!" he cried out as something hit him hard on his left shoulder.
"Stop it!" he insisted, grabbing the girl's other arm and holding both of them behind her back with a certain effort, as she jerked frantically.
"Leave me be Turk, I want to kill him," she seethed.
Turk was a man of average height but strongly built, as his unbuttoned shirt revealed. He wore a tan worn out Stetson, a red handkerchief around his neck and chaps. "Cool down, now, honey," he soothed... "Please?"
Rubbing the side of his head where the first blown had hit him and a painful lump was already growing, Heath bent to examine what the girl had thrown at him. Canned beans, canned beef… the main course of their next meal, very likely.
With a last tug, Francie freed herself. Apparently calmer, she put both hands on her hips and peered down at him with wild eyes. "Well? I'm waiting!" She pressed.
"Wa… waiting for what?" Heath muttered, knowing all too well what she meant.
"For the explanation you owe me for what you did, Thomson," she clarified.
As his old companions stood there in silence, waiting, Heath's mind went back to his last trip to Strawberry.
He blindly watched her name on the tombstone, his hand clutching her bible, and the paper clipping that was inside he held so tightly his knuckles were white. All that was left of her. He pressed his eyelids shut and let his tears flow.
"I apologize, Francie. I went to Strawberry and I had to go before I changed my mind.. I wanted to see… you know… my… But it was too late," he informed, trying without success to sound aloof.
It was too late. Too late to give her back her joy. He would never hear her laughter again.
Francie dropped her eyes and hung her head sorrowfully.. Without a word, she closed the distance between herself and her former boyfriend and hugged him.
"I'm sorry, Heath," she whispered.
Heath hugged her back, grateful for the surprising warmth his old friend's touch brought to his wounded heart.
As they parted, Turk passed his arm around Francie's waist, as to make clear to whom the woman belonged, now. She laid her head on the man's shoulder as Heath nodded in acknowledgement. The image of a girl dancing, her tiny body flying around in his arms like a graceful bird, passed by almost unnoticed across the corner of his mind.
In the meantime, Turk's men had formed a murmuring circle around them. "Hey, Thomson," one of them greeted, and soon others joined in. Heath nodded at them gratefully. Once, for a while, these men had been like a family to him. He had almost forgotten what it meant to belong.
"It's been a long time, Thomson," Turk greeted in turn. "Something we can do for you?"
"I hope so. I need a job, Turk," Heath said straightly.
"You're lucky, Thomson, it just so happens that we're a man short," Turk said with a broad smile, offering his hand.
Sabrina unfolded the paper clipping and studied it. She didn't really need to read, she knew each word by heart, but reading and pronouncing them was a new kind of pleasure she had just discovered.
Sabrina's mouth moved in unison with her eyes as they ran over the words Thomson's mother had written.
"My dearest Heath, I honored my promise. Now you know who your father was. I love you, my son. Leah Thomson."
She smiled wryly. Leah Thomson, Tom Barkley's mistress..
A light knock on the door made her jump and she quickly put the clipping between her breasts.
"Mr. Nick is waiting for you in the dining room, Ma'am," Silas politely announced.
"Thank you, Silas, I'll be right there," she replied.
You will be avenged, my love, I promise.
Shaking hands with Turk, Heath felt a part of his life was definitely over. In that very moment, all the lies he had been telling himself dropped away and he finally saw the truth, his heart was broken. It was broken because he was leaving his father's family. Because he enjoyed working with Nick. Because he enjoyed talking with Audra.
It's over. You will never see them again and you better get it through that thick head of yours. The sooner you forget them, the better.
As expected, Turk had told him they were moving on tomorrow with the first light, and it was just what he needed. He just wanted to forget. Forget about his father's family and what they already meant to him. Forget about Sabrina and what she was doing to Nick.
Forget about his mother's death.
Forget about his father's desertion and what it had done to him and his mother.
The cabin that was their home was small and poorly furnished, but clean and neat. From the chair where she had collapsed after a long day slaving in her brother's hotel, Leah sighed in tiredness and despair. She had been swallowing her pride all day long - Martha had been particularly hateful that day – and Heath had assaulted her as soon as she had set foot in her home. She just didn't have the strength to fight with her fourteen year old boy. Not again, not that day. She felt the well-known sting in her eyes. Her old friends, tears, were fighting their way to the surface.
"Heath, please, love, try to understand," she begged. The boy who once had been her only solace was now before her, angry, deaf to her pleas.
"You! You try to understand," Heath snapped. "Can't you see I need to know? Please, tell me," the boy insisted.
"Shut up!" A voice commanded. They hadn't heard her walk in the room, but now Hannah was standing there, the candid white apron on her brown dress, a basket with their laundry under her arm. Heath turned his head at the blunt words and winced at what he saw, the woman's usually warm, gentle brown eyes were now piercing him from under furrowed brows.
"Show a little respect, boy. This is your mother," she scolded tersely.
"I… I can't," the boy yelled. Feeling his own tears make their way toward his eyes, he turned to leave. He didn't want to show them how weak he was, how easily hurt. How much a little boy he still was.
Leah rose from the chair, reached out and laid a trembling hand on the boy's arm, feebly grabbed his sleeve.
"Heath…"
The boy yanked angrily and freed himself. Leah realized there was nothing she could do or say, no reasoning nor pleading, he wouldn't listen. She knew the price she was going to pay for her silence was high… too high. She knew she was going to lose the son she loved above anything else, and she braced herself for the unavoidable.
Heath sniffed back his tears and swallowed hard. His mother looked so much older than her age. Her beautiful, once lively eyes were now immensely sad. He was the one who had put that sadness there. His heart ached in regret at the very thought, but he had decided not to listen to his heart. He needed to do what needed to be done, or he wouldn't survive.
Heath sighed and softened his tone. "I never asked you anything. This is the only thing I want, the only thing I ever wanted. In the name of God, mama, for the last time. Please, tell me who I am. Please, tell me who my father is."
Leah shook her head forlornly. "I can't… I can't. But I promise you this one thing, Heath, I won't take my secret to the grave. I will tell you who your father is before my time has come. I promise… Heath!"
But the boy wasn't there anymore. In Hannah's arms, Leah cried bitterly all the tears she had left.
The day after, Heath joined the army.. After the war, he drifted around aimlessly, without a place to go, sick in his body and in his soul, feeling alone in the world. He did any kind of job – cowboy, miner, even deputy marshal – until he joined the mustangers and the girl by the name of Francie reminded him how much he really loved his mama. That he had never stopped loving her and how much he still needed her.
She died before he could drop down at her feet asking for forgiveness, but she had kept her promise.
Heath touched his shirt's pocket and realized it was empty.
- 1 -
