The Cowboy Comes Home

“How did your day go at the Finleys’?” Mother glanced up from sewing a button on a sweater.

Sally didn’t want to trouble her mother with tales of her struggles with Robbie and news of a ruined meal. “There was a man at Mrs. Shaw’s.”

“Really? How do you know that?”

“I saw him out in the corrals. He showed Robbie his horse. Big Red, he’s called.”

Mother studied her with watchful eyes.

Fearing her expression would reveal more than she wanted, Sally shaped more cookies.

“So you met this man?”

Sally nodded. “When I went to bring Robbie back. His name is Linc McCoy. I thought I’d heard the name before but can’t place it.”

“The McCoys are back?” Mother sounded as if a murderer had escaped into their presence.

“I only saw the one. Are there more?”

Mother pushed to her feet and strode to the window. “I don’t suppose you know the story. It was fresh when we first moved but died down shortly after.”

Sally stared at her mother’s back. “What did they do?”

Mother faced her and sighed. “Mrs. Ogilvy kept some expensive jewelry in her home.”

Sally waited for more. Everyone knew Mrs. Ogilvy to be the richest lady in town. She lived in a big house at the opposite end of the street from where Mr. Finley lived. She lived alone except for a woman who came in to help care for the house. Mrs. Ogilvy had once ruled Golden Prairie society but had been ill for the past couple years. She was on the mend now and again dominating social activities. Why, at Christmas she’d instigated a town party for everyone, including hobos from their shelter down by the tracks. Sally had even heard Mrs. Ogilvy allowed some of them to live in the old coach house she no longer used. Sally liked the woman who used her worldly goods to help others.

Mother sighed and continued with her story. “Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels went missing. It was never proven, but all the evidence pointed toward the McCoys. They were known as the kind of people who—” Mother stopped. “I don’t like to speak ill of others, but from what I understand they had sticky fingers.”

“The McCoys?” This news didn’t fit with the relaxed, smiling man she’d met. “How many were there?”

“A father and two sons—the younger several years younger than the older.”

“What do they have to do with Mrs. Shaw?”

“Mrs. McCoy was Mrs. Shaw’s daughter. Her only child. She came home to die of cancer.” Mother shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine how she must feel to lose her daughter, then have her grandsons and son-in-law branded criminals.”

“But you said they were never convicted.”

“No, they weren’t, but people believed it was only because of poor police work. They left town to avoid the censure of the community.”

Sally pulled out another tray of baked cookies and put them to cool, then slipped a tray of unbaked ones into the oven, welcoming the chance to contemplate all her mother said.

“You say you met Linc McCoy? I’m not certain but I think he was the youngest son. From what I recall, about fifteen or sixteen when they left town.”

“They might be innocent. You know what gossip is like.”

Mother crossed to Sally’s side. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I don’t want you feeling sorry for this man. It would not serve your purpose to get involved with him. Whether or not they’ve stolen the jewels, their name carries trouble.”

Sally met her mother’s eyes without flinching. She understood what Mother meant. People would likely feel the same way about the McCoys now as they had back then. She shifted her gaze. The lowering sun shone through the west window, highlighting the ever present dust in the air. Through the window, she studied the struggling garden. “I need to take water to the garden.” She’d saved the dishwashing water. “I’ll feed the chickens as soon as I finish the cookies.”

Mother returned to her sewing, knowing they were in agreement. Sally would do nothing to besmirch her reputation or put her security at risk. She’d avoid Linc McCoy, which shouldn’t be hard.

Mother paused. “I wonder what brought them back.”

Sally wondered if all of them had returned. She’d seen only Linc—the man who seemed to think life was for enjoyment.

Well, so did she, only she liked to enjoy it on her terms. She recalled one of her memory verses. A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches, and loving favour rather than silver and gold.

She could well say, rather than Mrs. Ogilvy’s jewels.

She wanted nothing more to do with Linc McCoy and the shady doings associated with his family.

Sally slipped into the Finley kitchen and began breakfast preparations. Overhead, she heard the family rising. They would soon descend—Carol ready for school, Abe dressed and groomed for his job and Robbie with his eyes silently challenging her.

She sighed. She and Robbie would become friends sooner or later. She just wished it would be sooner.

A short while later, the children descended, Abe’s hand firmly on Robbie’s stubborn shoulder. Carol was dressed for school, not a seam out of place. From the beginning she insisted she could manage her hair on her own and did a fine job. Robbie wore wrinkled overalls with threadbare knees. If she didn’t miss her guess, his shirt was buttoned crookedly, but she would ignore it unless Abe insisted it be corrected. Abe was even neater than Carol, as if he’d pressed his suit while on his body so not a crease was out of place. Freshly shaven, smelling of bay rum with his dark brown hair brushed back. One thing about Abe: he knew how to make the most of his looks, and there was no denying he was a good-looking man and well respected—a good Christian, a devout churchgoer, a man of honor.

Sally recited his attributes as she dished up porridge and poured Abe a cup of coffee. She hated the stuff, preferring a pot of well-steeped tea, but had learned to make a brew to satisfy his requirements. She’d eaten with Mother before leaving home but sat with the family and drank tea as they ate.

Abe left as soon as he finished. He spared them all a hurried goodbye.

Sally found it easier to smile once he’d gone, even though she still found his rushed exits strange. Her father had hugged each of the girls and kissed Mother when he left the house. He always had a kind word for them. She’d told herself several times it wasn’t fair to any man to compare him to Father, and yet she wished Abe would at least read a chapter from the Bible and pray with the children before he left for the day.

At first, she’d debated with herself as to whether she should take on the responsibility. The deciding factor had been that she should begin as she expected to go on, and if she were to become a permanent part of this home, Bible reading and prayer were what she wanted.

But rather than read from the family Bible, she brought a series of Bible stories on cards with pictures on one side and text on the other that she’d collected in her Sunday school days. She chose the next in the stack to read.

Carol listened intently. Robbie fidgeted, wanting to leave but knowing Sally would insist he stay. They’d fought that battle the first day and Sally had won, knowing she must.

She made her prayer short, asking for the children and their father to be safe. In her heart, she prayed she could live up to expectations and not let foolish thoughts distract her. And why the thought shaped into a grinning man in a cowboy hat, she wouldn’t let herself consider.

Carol departed a short time later then Sally turned to Robbie. “Play out back where I can see you.”

She washed dishes and put together soup for dinner when both Abe and Carol would come home. Every few minutes she glanced out the window to check on Robbie. He’d dug a hole in the end of the garden and used the dirt to construct a barrier, no doubt hoping to build a place where he could hide from his troublesome world.

Sally grinned. After Father died she’d done the same, only she’d had the loft of the barn where she used loose hay to encircle a little patch where she took her books and an old school notebook, in which she wrote copious amounts of purple prose full of emotionally charged words like hopelessness, emptiness and loneliness. She had felt safe and secure in that little place.

Forbidden, her gaze sought the area across the alley. Quickly, telling herself she was only allowing her eyes a chance to look into the distance, she glanced to the corrals, past them to the bit of yard within her view. Maybe he had left again. No reason such a thought should make her sad. She snorted as several of the words she’d used in her loft hiding place resurrected.

The soup simmered on the stove. She mixed up baking powder biscuits to go with it.

Another glance out the window showed the Shaw yard still empty and Robbie struggling to build his dirt walls higher. The soil was so dry it sifted into a slack pile.

Remembering her own efforts to create a safe place, she ached for the little boy. Hoping he wouldn’t be angry at her interruption, she hurried outside. “I can show you how to build higher walls if you like.”

He didn’t move for a full three seconds.