Terms of a Texas Marriage(22)

After clearing away the few dishes, she set off in the direction of the barn. Finding it empty, she walked down the main hall toward Hank’s house. As soon as she rounded the corner, she saw him sitting on the wooden porch, leaning against a post with a wide-eyed little boy hanging on his every word. Apparently Hank had picked up the boy from his overnight stay at Leona’s and from the lingering smell, they’d already enjoyed a breakfast of bacon and eggs.

“...So he lays real quiet-like and crawls on his belly—real slow—over to the fallen log. But just as he reaches fer his gun, this old owl comes screeching out of the trees and swoops down right at him.”

“Wow...” Scotty’s voice held the excitement of the moment. “What did he do?”

“Well, Roy reckons that old owl done give away his hiding place, don’t ya see, so he pulls his gun from the holster, counts to three, then jumps out from behind the log with his gun a blazin’. Old Treach figured that owl was after a mouse so he never knew what hit him.”

“Boom! Bang! He shot him! Didn’t he, Hank?”

“He did fer a fact. Got the reward of all that gold and built him a little cabin right there on the bank of that river. Some people say his ghost still walks along the riverbank to this very day, protecting his gold.”

“I wouldn’t never go there ’cause he might think I was gonna steal it and I sure wouldn’t want him to shoot at me!” Scotty shook his head, speaking in whispered excitement. Then he noticed Shea for the first time. “Did you ever see him? Old Roy?”

“Once. When I was about your age.” She smiled and winked at Hank.

“Man...”

“How was your campout?”

“It was good!” Scotty answered, his eyes full of excitement. “We got hot dogs and cooked marshmallows on a stick. Mine got on fire.”

“You had a campfire?”

“Uh-huh. And we heard the owl way deep in the woods. Then we hadda go in the house cause of the rain. But it was cool.”

Smiling, Shea turned her attention to Hank. “Where’s Alec?”

“Said he was going to ride out to the north and see if he could find the old original homestead. Left here a couple of hours ago.”

“Ride out...on what? You mean on a horse?”

“He saddled Ransom.”

“Ransom!” He’d never make it back in one piece. Shea was incredulous. “And you let him? That horse could—”

“He’s a big boy, Shea.” Hank squinted up at her. “I watched him saddle the gelding and swing up like he’d been doing it all his life. Didn’t seem to have any problem with him.” He shrugged and bent his head, his attention focused on the small stick he’d been whittling.

Alec told her it had been a long time since he’d been on a horse. To handle Ransom as proficiently as Hank described, he would have to be a skillful horseman. A feeling of unease ran down her spine. She turned and quickly made her way back into the barn.

The stalls were empty. Hank must have moved the horses to the other barn in preparation for the drive. She marched straight down the main hall and back toward the house. Her truck was missing. She supposed Jason or one of the other hands had borrowed it, which wasn’t unusual. She didn’t see Alec’s car either, which was unusual. Maybe Alec had let one of the hands use it to run into town. It wouldn’t be the first time. She climbed into the only remaining vehicle in sight, the old white Jeep.

She wouldn’t sit around and wait for Alec to come back. Something could happen. It was of equal concern that he was nosing around the old home site. It was a sacred place to her. She put the Jeep into gear and headed toward the big gate that opened to the northern pastures.

It was a bright, sunny day with not a cloud in the sky. All indications of the thunderstorms that had blanketed the area in the predawn hours were gone. Thanks to all the rain they’d had this spring, the grass was a deep, rich green. Shea should have enjoyed the outing. The old home site was her favorite place where the world couldn’t come crashing in. It was a special place. A private place. Why had Alec headed there? With a grimace, she punched the pedal, and the Jeep bounced along the dwindling path into the deepening timber.

The trail cut through the forested area for several miles, skirting the vast grasslands to the west. It wound its way through the trees, over a rise and down into a small valley. The cooling waters of a small lake glistened in the sun as a gentle breeze sent small waves to lap against the shore. It was just past this tranquil setting that one would find traces of the original home site.

Shea shifted to a lower gear as the vehicle climbed the rise past the lake. As she topped the hill, she spotted Ransom, his front feet tethered, contentedly munching the tender, knee-high grass.

Pulling up a short distance away from the remains of the old foundation, she killed the motor and stood up in the seat. Immediately, she became aware of the silence. Somewhere in the distance, a meadowlark sang. The trees, touched by the gentle breeze, danced to its song.

Leaving the Jeep, she walked purposefully in the direction of the old home. There was very little left of the original structure. Not surprising since fire had raged through the timbers, followed by the ravages of the elements for two hundred years. The giant cinder blocks supporting the foot-thick oak timbers and roughly hewn floorboards were still intact. Three walls, log and mortar, and a corner of the original lower roof remained, their edges bearing traces of the fire that had claimed the house. The tall, sturdy chimney rose impressively as if daring anyone to challenge its right to be there.

“It’s incredible.” Alec’s deep voice beckoned from behind her. Shea spun around, watching him casually walk toward her.

“Yes,” she replied warily. “Is this where you’re going to build your shopping mall?”

Alec ignored her taunt. He looked at the ancient dwelling. “Tell me about the house. Did they bring in the logs or were there trees this size on the land?” He looked up at the remaining roof.

“The logs for the house were all cut from here. The stones used in both the chimney and for some of the floor support were gathered from the creek bed.” Shea pointed to the east. “Down there.” Alec nodded, silently encouraging her to continue.

“The house had only two rooms and a loft. The kitchen was separate, over there.” She nodded in the direction of the far side of the structure. “It used to have a covered breezeway linking it to the house. You can still see some of its foundation.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure exactly what caused the fire. Dad tried to find out once, but there were no records. He believed lightning struck the roof. I think he said that someone died. There wasn’t a lot anyone could do to save the structure. The remains you see here are probably thanks to a few buckets of water from the well.”

“So, after the fire, your family rebuilt in the present location?”

“Yeah.” Shea pushed away a strand of hair the wind had blown in her face as she looked at him with curiosity. “Why are you so interested? I mean, what does any of this matter to you?”

Alec turned away, looking out over the surrounding area. “If you’ll remember, it was my ancestors’ land. They lived here, too.”

She couldn’t argue with that. He had as much a right to seek his heritage as she did.

“Behind the house—” she pointed west “—on top of the far rise is the old family cemetery. I think one of your relatives might be there, as well.”

“I’d like to see.”

Together they walked to the small burial ground. The names and dates on the long-standing headstones were partially obscured, some more than others. The men and women who had come to this land, driven by a desire to build a future and the courage to tame the raw wilderness, now rested in peace on this small patch of earth. At the edge of the area, two headstones stood slightly apart from the others.

Alec read one of them. “‘William Alec Morreston. Born 1780. Died 1848.’ My great-great-grandfather.”

Shea reached out and gently touched William’s stone. “Odd he was buried here. He was originally from the north, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Alec nodded. “My grandmother used to tell me stories of how her grandfather loved the West. He came out here as a young man and fell in love with this part of the country. There was a young woman he met here. Alyssa, I think. He wrote that they were to be married, but she died before it could happen. Eventually, he returned to the family home in New York but I guess this is where he wanted to be laid to rest.”

“At least someone in your family had some sense,” Shea couldn’t resist saying. She glanced at Alec in time to see a grin pull at the corners of his mouth.

“I have some old letters indicating he was a trapper. He used the river for his transportation and supposedly built a cabin, probably more of a shack, not far from here. Does the property reach as far as the river?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About a mile in that direction.”

“You up for a hike?”

“We could take the Jeep.”

“Let’s go.”

It took only a few minutes to reach the river’s edge. Together, they walked along the high riverbank looking out over the wide expanse of the Red River. Appropriately named—the red clay, seen in the shallow parts of the riverbed and in the steep canyon walls flanking each side, cast a pinkish glow in the late afternoon sun.