Never Leave Me

Never Leave Me
by Vivian Gilbert Zabel

          “You will do as I say, young lady!” Roger Wrainwright’s voice echoed through the halls of the mansion. “If I even hear a whisper that you are seen with that, that cowboy again, I will pack you off to a boarding school in the east so fast you won’t have time to . . .”

          “Daddy, be reasonable.” His daughter’s voice didn’t carry as her father’s, but Marion Wrainwright had moved close enough to the library door that she could hear her granddaughter clearly. “I’m much too old for boarding school. Besides, when you and Momma got married, you were working on a ranch.”

          “On my father’s ranch. I wasn’t a half-breed with no chance of being anything.” Roger pivoted on his heel before striding to the tall windows overlooking the terrace. “You will not have anything else to do with him. If I can’t get you away from him, I will make him leave, and I will make him sorry he ever laid eyes on you!”

          “Daddy! No, you can’t do that.” Deidra ran to her father’s side. Pulling on his arm, she begged, “Please, don’t hurt Joe, please.”

          Roger turned cold eyes to stare at the young woman beside him. The pain filling her dark, green eyes nearly caused him to soften. Those eyes were so much like her mother's. Roger stiffened at the thought of Abby, the woman who abandoned them three years ago for Hank, a cowboy. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and answered, “Only if you break off all connection with him.” He opened his eyes to stare at the now pale face beside him.

          Deidra backed away, tears threatening to overflow. “You win. I won’t let you hurt Joe, but I won't live under this roof any longer.” She whirled, long skirts creating a breeze, and ran from the room, never noticing her grandmother standing a few feet from the door.

          Marion shook her head before entering the library to confront her son. “Roger, you are turning that girl away from you. She is going to hate you.”

          Roger stuffed his hands into the pockets of his western slacks. “I can’t let her lower herself with the likes of that breed.”

          “Don’t give me that. You didn’t come from pure blood by any means.” Marion dropped into a chair beside the desk. “Who do you think you are, passing judgment on another man?”

          Spinning from the window, the man glared at his mother. “I am not judging him. I just want better for my daughter.”

          “I see, you want better than your mother for your daughter.”

          Roger dropped his eyes. “No, no, it’s not that.”

          “Yes, it is, and it is something even more selfish and hateful: You don’t want to lose your daughter to a cowboy because your wife left you for one.” Marion rose from the chair. “You want to forget that you, too, are part Indian through me, and you want to punish your wife through your daughter.” She started toward the door to the hall before pausing. Without turning toward the man behind her, she added, “The sad thing is you are going to lose her anyway because you are pushing her away, making her hate you.” The older woman swept from the room.

          Marion marched upstairs. Once behind the closed door of her suite, she collapsed into a chair. Oh, dear God, what am I going to do? Her thoughts whirled. He will drive her away just as he did her mother. Her eyes roved the room until lighting on a drawing on the wall. She rose from the chair and walked to stand before the picture of a distinguished man, a cowboy hat in a hand beside one leg. Oh, David, what can I do?

          A smile crossed her face as she remembered the day the artist frantically sketched her husband, who impatiently waited. David no longer did any of the actual ranch work, but he needed to oversee those who did. “You were so upset when you had to turn the reins of the ranch over to Roger. But, you have never seemed an old man to me, never.”

         Arms circled her waist. “I’m glad I didn’t.” The voice beside her ear caused Marion to twist in the still strong arms. Facing her husband, she smiled before he kissed her.

          “Hmmm . . . I like,” she murmured when their lips parted.

          “A bad morning?” David asked as he brushed the black hair, with a few strands of white, back from her face.

          “Our son is determined to separate Deidra and Joe.” Marion cupped the side of his face. “Roger is so unlike you.”

          “If I didn’t trust you completely, I would wonder who his father is.” David frowned. “Makes me wonder what we did wrong.”

          “Ah, Honey, we didn’t do anything except love him and rear him the best we could.” Marion wrapped her arms around his neck. “He just, I don’t know, maybe wanted to be more than we are. He wanted the limelight, sophistication, and glory of your parents.”

          David sighed. “He never knew them.”

          “No, but he’s heard about them and read about them. Parts of town are named for them. People tend to make heroes of your father especially.” She nibbled her lower lip before adding, “And all the stories make your mother one of the most glamorous women ever.” Marion leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “He has always been rather ashamed of me, you know.”

          David drew her closer. “He’s more ignorant than I thought, if he is.” He kissed the top of her head. “I think I should take back the ranch.”

          Marion’s head snapped up. “That would devastate Roger.” She frowned. “But . . . but. . . can you do that?”

          “Yes, I can do it. There’s nothing legal standing in the way. I just allowed him to take over more and more until I was nothing but. . . a bystander.”

          “Oh, my dear. When we first met, and you were so sure we should marry, I knew we faced problems, but I never thought they would last this long.” She laid her head back against her husband’s shoulder. “I had no idea that we would overcome all that in the past to face something worse.”

          “I’ll never forget the first time I saw you. You were so beautiful and still are.”

* * *

         David had gone to town to pick up a load of barbed wire and posts. The fencing around the north pasture had to be replaced, but David hadn’t wanted to take the long trip to town. The wagon had to stay on the road that meandered another ten miles farther than the route a horse could take.

          “A wasted day,” he muttered as he flicked the reins over the backs of the horses. “The old man could have sent one of the hands. No! He wants me to go.” He pounded a gloved fist on the seat beside him. “Had to leave before dawn, drive all day, load the stuff, and not get home until after dark. Wasted day.”

          As he wove the horses and wagon through the crowded streets of Guthrie, he cursed the job, the crowds, the need to be in town. Then he spied the tall, slender woman standing on the wooden walk beside the dirt street. The breeze stirred her blue skirts, teasingly showing the tops of her laced shoes. Strands of black hair slipped from the bun at the back of her head. One hand gathered the wayward streams and tried to force them back into place, but the wind just whipped them away. A wizened woman stood beside the younger one. Piles of bundles occupied space around both women.

          David pulled the wagon to the side of the street, stopping beside the women. “Howdy, Ma’am, Miss.” He tipped his hat. “May I help you ladies?”

          The younger woman blinked in surprise, her eyes a startling blue in the pale tan of her face. “I think perhaps you . . .” She turned to her companion in confusion.

          “Thank you, Sir, for offering your help,” the old woman began, “but you will be better off if you aren’t seen speaking to us.”

          David frowned. “And why is that? You both appear to be decent, polite.”

          A tall, grizzled man in buckskins joined the two women. “You are right, Sir.” A southern drawl tinged his speech. “My mother and daughter are good, moral women, but the people of this town hold it against them that my father was half Cherokee.”

          “So what?” David replied. “Most of us around here have some Indian in us.”

          The man laughed. “You are rather naive, Sir. I know who you are, and your parents would be shocked to know you even spoke to us.”

          “My parents do not tell me who I can talk with. They don’t choose my friends.” David’s eyes narrowed. “I am my own man and make my own decisions.”

          The older man studied the younger for a few seconds. “I do believe you.” He stuck out his right hand. “I am Henry Thunderhawk. This is my mother Margaret and my daughter Marion.”

          David grabbed the other man’s hand, feeling the sinewy strength. “Glad to meet you, Sir. May I help you load your things?” He motioned toward the bundles on the walk.

          “I just discovered that the wheelwright can’t get to my wagon.” He shrugged. “The wheel rim broke. And oddly there isn’t a wagon to buy, rent, or steal in town.”

          “Well, if you will let me get my load on first, I would be glad to come back and pick you and your things up.” David glanced toward Marion. “It might be a bit tight fit, but if you don’t mind. . .”

          “Perhaps I should refuse your offer for your sake,” Henry suggested, “but I don’t want my mother and daughter exposed to any more hate.” He shook his head, his longish hair flapping against his neck. “At least you won’t have to go but about a mile out of your way.”

          After that, David insisted on making trips to town for supplies. Each trip, he stopped at the Thunderhawk homestead, where he managed to spend at least a few minutes alone with Marion. One evening, as she walked to the wagon with him, David took her hand, pulling her to a stop.

          “Marion, I, uh, I wonder if you would mind if I talked to your dad about us?” He studied her face in the darkening light. “Or have I spoken too soon?”

          The white of her smile shone through the twilight. “No, not too soon. I just hope you know what you are asking.” She lightly brushed the side of his face with cool fingers.

          “I know I want you for my wife. That’s all I need to know.” He ducked his head and brushed his lips across hers.

          “Don’t promise something you can't keep, David. I couldn’t stand that.” Marion had tried to smile again, but quivering lips hadn't allowed the smile to form. “If you promise never to leave me, and then you did. . . I couldn’t stand that.” She had lowered her head. “I would prefer that you never promised.”

* * *

          Her thoughts returning to the present, Marion asked, “Remember when you promised you would never leave me? Remember how hard your parents made it for you to keep that promise?”

          “Yes, but they soon respected you.” David brushed her hair back to the bun at the back of her head. “Before they died, they loved you.”

          “Roger never saw that, though. All he knows is the talk in town about his grandparents being the ‘royalty’ of the area and how they protested our marriage.” Marion moved from his arms. “That’s all he knows.”

          The door to the hall burst open, banging hard against the wall. “Mother, Dad!” Roger skidded to a stop, waving a dirty sheet of paper in their direction. “Deidra’s been kidnapped.” He gave the paper to his father. “Read this.”

          Marion stood at her husband’s shoulder, reading the note as he did. “Rather crudely written,” she mumbled.

          Roger read aloud, “U must not a wanted ur wif but mayb u might a want ur datter. We want 10 thou in gold coin. U don’t pay this time ur datter joins hur ma in Mexco. Take case of gold to Big Butte before noon tamarraw. Leav money in clearing at base.”

          Turning to face her son, Marion whispered, “Abby was kidnapped, too? We thought she ran away. We thought . . .” She swallowed. “We have to get Deidra back and then find Abby.”

          Roger raked quivering fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what . . .” He whirled toward the door. “I bet that Joe is behind this! Wait until I get my hands on him.”

          David grabbed his arm, pulling back. “Roger, get hold of yourself. Yes, we need to find Joe, but to get his help.”

          “His help? What are you talking about? Are you mad?” The son gaped at his dad.

          “He spent summers with his mother’s people. He is one of the best trackers around. Now, has he left yet?”

          Roger wiped his hand over his face. “I don’t know. I told him to pack up and get out about an hour ago.”

          David strode through the door. “Let’s go. Maybe we can catch him.”

          At a brisk run, David and Roger outdistanced Marion, who was hampered by full skirts tangling around her ankles. She grasped handfuls of material and hiked her shirt high enough that she could run. The three entered the barn nearly the same time to find Joe clinching the saddle on his horse.

          “Joe! What do you know about Deidra’s kidnapping?” Roger demanded as he reached for the younger man’s shoulder, missing as Joe whirled and crouched.

          “Roger. . . control yourself,” Marion gasped as she stepped between her son and Joe. She took the note from her husband and handed it to the dark-haired cowboy. “Read this, Joe.”

          “He probably already knows what it says without reading it ‘cause he wrote it.” Roger stomped a few steps away.

          “You may be my son, but you are dense as a post!” David shouted. “Joe has more education than you and me put together, has one of the top college degrees.”

          Roger let out a whoosh of air from between pursed lips. “Didn’t know that.”

          “Can you get this much gold coin together before noon tomorrow?” Joe asked, his voice calm and controlled.

          “If I start for town right now and take it directly from the bank to the butte,” Roger answered.

          “Then tell the sheriff. Have him follow close behind you.” Joe swung into the saddle. “I’ll be waiting for the kidnappers to show.”

          “What if they see you?” Roger grabbed Joe’s knee. “We can’t take a chance.”

          Cold eyes stared into Roger’s eyes. “No one will know I’m there. I won’t let them hurt her.” His eyes squinted under a frown. “Too bad you didn’t care enough not to hurt her.” Joe slapped reins against the horse’s neck. Horse and rider as one streaked from the shadows of the barn in to the sunlight and disappeared around the side of the building.

          “Roger, you need to go, too. You don’t have much time. Let me write a letter to the bank while you saddle up.” David glanced at his wife’s pale face. “Come pack him some food. He won’t have time to stop anywhere.”

          “Dad, Ma, do you think the note is true, that Abby was kidnapped three years ago?” Roger turned to search the faces of his parents. “Did I make a terrible mistake? I never got a note, nothing. She was gone, and Hank was gone. I just thought since he had been paying so much attention to her . . .” He pivoted to the stall behind him, yanking the half-door open. “Yes, I need to hurry, but when Deidre is safe, I am going do everything possible to find Abby.” A shudder ran over his body. “I will find her.” The promise whispered into the horse’s ear caused the gelding to shake his head.

          By the time Roger reached the main road from the ranch, Joe had tethered his stallion in a box canyon over a mile from the butte. He made his way to the up-cropping of rock that rose above the rough and rolling hills. He carried saddlebags across one shoulder; his bedroll and a rifle tucked under the other arm. Quietly moving through the trees and underbrush that covered nearly two-thirds of the vertical slopes, the man slipped to the top of the butte. He lay on the red rocky surface and peered over the edge. He could see the trails that meandered through the trees as well as the clearing at the base noted in the ransom message.

          Joe searched the top of the butte and along the sides until he found a crevasse directly above the clearing. Clambering down from the bare top, he followed the crack in the rock cliff until he was below the tree and brush line. Peeking around a tree blocking the indentation, Joe had an unobstructed view of the clearing below. Leaving his burdens behind the tree, he climbed around the tree and worked his way to the space at the base of the butte. He paused to look around every few feet. At the bottom, he couldn’t see any sign of the crevasse.

         Nodding, he slipped back to the saddlebags and bedroll hidden by the tree. He scooped a shallow, body-sized hole next to the roots, spread his blanket over the hollowed area, and lowered himself to sit with his back to the tree trunk. Opening one side of the saddlebag, Joe removed some jerky, which he chewed as he drank from the canteen taken from the other bag. When darkness fell, he scooted down until his head rested on the saddlebags and pulled his hat over his eyes. Although he slept, his ears caught every sound throughout the night.

          Sunrise found Joe awake. He ate some more jerky and drank more water before rolling up the blanket and returning everything except the canteen to the saddlebags. He stood, stretched, and did a few knee bends before pushing the bags and bedroll onto limbs of the tree. He hung the canteen on a branch on the side next to the rocky side of the butte. Then he squatted to watch the pathways leading to the clearing. Two hours later, he stood, again stretched and did knee bends before lying on the ground, the rifle braced on tree roots.

          Hoofbeats echoed off the trees and cliff sides. Joe squinted into the sunlight from his shadowy hiding place. Three men rode into the clearing, all dirty and unshaven.

          The largest and roughest-looking swung from his horse. “Hide these horses and your mangy selves.” As the other two hurried among the trees, he turned toward the woods. “Git her on in here.”

          Another man rode into the clearing, leading a horse with Deidra on its back, her hands tied to the saddle horn, her back stiff and straight. Joe clamped his teeth together. Save it. You need her safe. Even from a distance he could see that her eyes snapped with anger and that her lips pressed tightly together. Easy, sweetheart, it won’t be long now.

          “You won’t get away with this.” No fear sounded in Deidra’s voice.

          The man leading her horse snorted before answering, “We done did with your ma. Yur pa didn’t even care, thunk she runned off with some cowpoke. If’n he don’t pay for you, we kin sell you below the border for plenty, like we done her.”

          The biggest man told the other man, “Jest shut your trap, Clyde. Gag her and put her over there.” He pointed toward the base of the butte. “Make sure she won’t be seen when they ride up with the gold.” He walked over to Deidra and ran his hand up her leg. “I kinda hope your pa don’t show up. We kin have some fun fore we sell ya.”

          Deidra jerked away, nearly falling off the horse, while Joe’s finger tightened on the rifle trigger. He gritted his teeth tighter before relaxing his trigger finger. Joe watched the man called Clyde untie the struggling woman from the saddle horn and pull her from the horse. The grungy man brought a dirty bandanna from his pocket. Deidra whipped her head from side to side, avoiding the cloth, until the man yanked her hair to hold her head still. He crammed the bandanna in her mouth before pushing her toward the brush at the bottom of the butte. A few minutes later, he rejoined the apparent leader.

          “She ain’t goin’ nowhere, Jack. Can’t see her from here neither.” Clyde grabbed the reins of the horse he rode and the one Deidre had been on. “I’ll go hide these here horses.”

          “You stay hidden, too. Don’t want nothin’ to go wrong now.” The leader led his own horse into the trees.

          Noting from the angle of the sun that the gold wouldn’t arrive for maybe another two hours, Joe held the rifle in one hand as he crept down the side of the cliff area. He paused often, listened before continuing toward the spot where Deidre lay trussed. Reaching her side, he put a finger to his lips before removing the rag from her mouth. When she opened her mouth as if to speak, he shook his head. He quickly untied her hands and feet and tugged her to her feet and into his arms. She threw her arms around his neck as she struggled to swallow sobs.

          “Hush, sweetheart, please don’t,” he whispered close to her ear. “Come on, now, we have to get out of here. Shhh, you can cry later, after I kill them.”

          Deidra drew back enough to see his face. “Joe, no.” Leaning close to him, she whispered in return. She touched his face with cool fingers. “Let’s go.” She twisted her head to see where they could go.

          Joe smiled and motioned for her to follow him. He bent his head close to her ear. “Be as quiet as possible.”

          The couple crept up the crevasse, taking rests when Joe saw that Deidra tired. They paused at the tree where Joe spent the night long enough to pick up his bedroll and saddlebags. After offering her a drink from the canteen and taking one himself, Joe slid it into one side of the bags.

          Still speaking quietly so no one could hear below, he told her, “Now, if you can manage, you can be hidden away before the kidnappers know you’re gone.” Joe’s hand cupped her cheek. “Oh, Lord, I am so thankful you are okay.” He brushed his lips across hers, then deepened the kiss.

          With a sigh, Deidrea leaned back in his arms. “All right, I can manage now.”

          Joe kissed the tip of her nose. “Good, let’s go. I want you completely safe.” He paused. “Then I will get them. We need them alive so that we can find out what happened to your mother.”

          “I heard them say something about her, but what . . .”

          “I will tell you everything I know when you are safe. Come on, sweetheart, let’s go.” They began the trek around the side of the butte to the other side before slipping to the place where Joe’s horse waited.

          “I want you to take my horse back to the ranch. Take the back way so you won’t go near where they’re hiding.” He packed everything on the back of the horse except his rifle and extra bullets. “I need to go back to help your dad and the posse he brings. They should know to keep the bustards alive.”

          “Did they really kidnap my mother? Didn’t my father even care enough to pay to get her back?” Deidre turned worried eyes to peer into his deep blue ones.

          “I don’t think he ever knew she was taken by them. He really thought she ran away.” Joe caressed her cheek with his knuckles. “He acted too crazy for me to believe anything else.” He swung her into the saddle. “Now, get home and lock yourself in with your grandmother until I get back, you hear?”

          “I’d rather stay here with you.”

          “It isn't going to be nice, sweetheart, and if we have to worry about you, it will just be harder.” Joe kissed her hand. “So please go home.”

          “I will, but you better come for me. You better not leave me, ever.” She grabbed his hand. “Promise me. I love you.”

          “I promise. I love you, too. Now, get.” Joe gently slapped the hindquarters of the horse and watched it carry Deidre through the woods toward safety. When he no longer heard the sounds of the horse, Joe slipped through the woods toward the butte, his rifle in hand. Before the sun hit the noon mark in the sky, he once more huddled behind the tree in the crevasse. The clearing remained empty below for a few minutes before Roger rode in, a box strapped behind his saddle.

          Roger swung from the horse, untied the box, and lifted it to the ground. “All right, here it is! Where is my daughter?” he yelled into the silence.

          “Move away from the box,” a voice called from the trees to one side. “Put yur hands in yur pockets.”

          Roger moved away, his hands in his pockets. His horse followed him, bumping Roger’s back with his nose. “Fancy, stop,” Roger muttered to the horse.

          “Move towards the butte, into the bushes,” the voice instructed.

          Roger stumbled into the tall brush. A few steps out of sight of the clearing, he bumped into Joe, who motioned for quiet. Leaning close to the older man, the cowboy whispered, “Deidre is on her way home. Now let’s get these guys. There are four. Any help coming?”

          Nodding his head, Roger answered, “Six men with the sheriff, should be surrounding the area by now.”

          Motioning for Roger to follow, Joe moved back up the crack in the butte side, Roger right behind him. They paused for a minute at the tree before continuing to the top, where they climbed out to lie watching over the edge. The box with the gold still sat in the clearing.

          “Why haven’t they picked up the gold?” Roger wondered aloud as he drew his six-shooter from the holster by his side.

          “They’re waiting to see what you do, probably.” Joe blew a breath loudly through his mouth. “Where’s the sheriff and his men?”

          Jake broke from the trees around the clearing, hobbling to the chest with the gold. When he flipped the lid open, he picked up some of the coins, allowing them to slip through his fingers. Clyde and the other two men approached from different directions.

          “It really arn, ain’t it?” Clyde asked as he knelt next to the box. “Let’s git our horses and git out o’ here.”

          A shot rang out as one of the unnamed men stood, spinning him around. The other three men pulled their guns, blazing in all directions. Shots continued to plug the men huddled around the box. On the top of butte, Roger jumped to his feet screaming, his words lost in the distance and roar of gunfire. In seconds, nothing remained but four dead bodies bleeding over spilled coins.

          By the time Roger and Joe scrambled down the butte, the sheriff and his men stood in a circle around the remains. Roger streaked across the bare ground, clutched the sheriff’s arm, and shouted, “Who killed them! Who starting shooting? You know we needed them alive. You know we had to talk to them.” He spun the lawman around. "Damn, why did you do that? You didn't even know if Deidra could have been hit."

          The sheriff jerked his arm away. “Look, Roger, I’ll overlook this because I know you’re upset, but don’t ever lay a hand on me again.” He walked a few steps away. “I don’t know who shot first. I’m sorry we can’t question any of them. I’m sorry, but. . .” He shrugged.

          Roger’s shoulders slumped. “I will never know. I will never know.”

          Joe laid his arm across the older man’s shoulders. “Yes, we will, Roger. We’ll track ‘em, and we will find Abby. Just hold on. We will find her.” He stepped back. "At least Deidra is safe, no thanks to them." He jerked a thumb toward the men scooping up the gold.

          “I was such a fool, such a fool.” The defeated man slouched toward his horse standing inside the bushes at the bottom of the butte. "But this is not over, not by a long shot."

          Two weeks later, Deidre walked down the aisle of the white church in Guthrie, her father by her side. At the front, Joe stood waiting for his bride. Marion wiped the tears that kept slipping down her cheeks while David held her free hand in his.

          After the young couple said their vows, as Joe bent his head to kiss Deidre, she whispered, “Never leave me.”

          Joe whispered back, “Never.”

*** Third Place in Western Short Story, Art Affair Literary Contests (a national writing contest), 2006***