Dorothy Garlock Read Free Page A

all, Smith took another drink fromthe bottle and wondered for the thousandth time why Oliver Eastwood, an educated, kind man, had wanted to raise the wild, unpredictable cattle and why he had married a shrew like Maud, who over the years had become more belligerent, more unreasonable and more demanding.
    Smith dragged his hand over his unshaven face. He was tired. It had been a long trip down to Denver, and although he had left the city days ago, he was still a long way from home. One thing was sure. Fanny, who now insisted on being called Francine, wouldn’t be coming home. The damn bitch! He could wring her blasted neck. If she had answered her mother’s letters, it would have saved him the trip. He wondered how the old lady would take it.
    Smith felt old. He was caught by what he could never forget. He was sentenced to spend the rest of his life reliving the pleading look in Oliver’s eyes, then the flash of mortal fear just before the end.
    He reached for the bottle. Guilt ripped into his soul like a barb. He would give half his life for the chance to relive that one day.

CHAPTER
    2
    W
illa lay on the pallet and listened to the creak and groan of the wagon, her heart shriveling within her. To the aching loneliness, the bitter sense of loss, was added the guilt of not having stayed to bury her loved one. Her grief had been wild and noisy before blessed blackness had enfolded her in its arms.
    She felt calmer now; the storm of grief had abated for a little while, but the humiliation of being whipped and stoned was like a hungry dog gnawing at her pride. Words spoken by a preacher long ago came back to haunt her. He had said that when a sinner died, he would roast in everlasting hell—but he had failed to mention that the sinner’s torment began in this world. It was
her
fault, someone had said. She had sinned. She must have sinned or God would not have punished her in such a cruel way.
    What could have happened to stir the crowd to such a frenzy that they would strip Papa Igor of his dignity by exposing his deformed body to the crowd, then hang him? He was the kindest, gentlest man in the world. Well educated, he loved to visit and was able to converse on most any subject. Sheowed her love of books and history to his teachings. Why couldn’t people see beyond his misshapen body and his features distorted by the large lumps that had appeared on his face the last few years?
    At Willa’s insistence they had moved six times in four years. When he had fixed all the clocks that needed repair in one town and sold all the clocks they were going to sell, they moved on. People tolerated the grotesque little man only as long as they needed his skills. And then the taunts would begin. Mothers would threaten their children with “be good or the clock man will get you.”
    Willa could scarcely remember life without Papa Igor. She did remember all those many years ago, standing with her mother beside the road in the Mississippi river town where she was born. They had been put out of the rooming house when they could no longer pay. Tired and hungry and with no place to sleep, they had welcomed the peddler wagon when it had stopped. The little man had jumped down and, after tossing their bundle of belongings into the wagon, lifted her up onto the seat and had helped her mother climb up to sit beside her. He had laughed at her shyness and thrust a stick of peppermint candy in her hand. From that moment on she had adored him and he had doted on her, loving her as if she were his own.
    Papa Igor and her mother had never married because her mother had a husband. Willa’s father had left them shortly after Willa was born. Her mother had told her he was an irresponsible boy with itchy feet. They used Papa Igor’s name, and the townspeople assumed they were husband and wife. When she was older, Willa realized that her mother and Papa Igor had never shared a bed and that their relationship was more like that of a brother and sister. Her