A Texas Family

“Once they verify Ms. Brooks’s baby was stolen by Pa, and there’s no doubt they will since Pa freely admits it, they’ll book him and probably put him under house arrest until the trial. If he’s convicted, they’ll put him in an institution for the rest of his life.”

“Oh, Carson.” Aunt Fran touched his arm in distress. “You can’t let that happen.”

“I don’t have any choice, Aunt Fran.” He set the bottle on the kitchen island. “I just have this bad feeling.”

“About what?”

“Pa’s been waiting for this.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been waiting for Jena to come back. I could see it in his eyes. He keeps saying ‘a life for a life,’ and I’m so afraid he’s been waiting to tell Jena that her baby is dead—just like Jared is dead.”

“Oh, no, Carson.” Aunt Fran covered her mouth in horror. “My brother would not kill an innocent baby.”

Carson reached for the water and took a swig, wishing it was hundred-proof alcohol. He wanted to agree with her or say something to get rid of the hollow feeling in his gut. Instead, he spun toward the door. “I have some thinking to do. If Pa wants to talk, call me.”

At his car he heaved a sigh and glanced toward the barns and corrals—a peaceful ranch scene with live oaks, scrub oaks, yaupons and a hilly prairie that stretched to the beautiful Texas Hill Country. Cows munched on grass, and a windmill whirled in the distance, pumping water into a trough. Peaceful—though there was nothing peaceful about the Corbett family.

With long strides he made his way to the barn. The horse stalls were empty compared to the heyday of the Bar C, when they’d been filled with thoroughbreds. He walked through the large barn to the other end and pushed open the double doors that were an entrance to a corral and then the horse pasture.

He whistled. A black horse with three white stocking feet cantered to the fence. Carson undid the gate, and the horse pranced through and into the barn to a feed trough. Within minutes, Carson had a saddle on his quarter horse, Jet, and they galloped away into a bright sunny day. He had no idea where he was going. He had to clear his head, to get his thoughts straight.

He rode through his herd, but he barely noticed them. All his thoughts were on what he had to do in the next few hours. He dismounted at Willow Creek and sat in the grass.

Two years ago the creek had dried up from a severe drought. Due to heavy rains it was flowing again. Large willows hugged the creek, and the tips of their slender branches played with the water. He picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the surface. After three skips, it landed on the other side. He and Jared had done this so many times, each trying to outdo the other.

Back then, they were kids and happy in their own way. They had Aunt Fran, their friends and each other. Their father was someone who yelled at them and, when they displeased him, gave them a sharp lash from his belt.

Asa had a softer side, too, but he rarely showed it. He’d brought a puppy home one time for Jared and let him keep it in his room. Asa had fed it on occasion. Then there were times he’d take them to horse and cattle auctions, and he’d proudly tell people, “These are my boys.” He gave them money, trucks, anything they wanted. But he never gave them his love. At least, Carson never felt it. He was pretty sure Jared hadn’t, either.

There was something about DNA, though. It bound people together, overlooked faults, accepted imperfections, and even if those three words were never spoken, instinctively they were understood.

Carson skimmed another pebble across the creek. How did the Corbett family get so messed up? There wasn’t an answer.

Glancing at his watch, he rose to his feet. He had to get his kids from school. They were the bright spot in his life. He would never let them down, and he made sure they felt his love every day.

With one foot in the stirrup, he swung into the saddle and turned Jet toward home. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Jena. He’d rather take another lash from Pa’s belt than tell her she would never know what had happened to her baby.

* * *

JENA WAS RESTLESS and had to do something to let off some steam. She pulled the mower out of the shed and finished mowing the yard. After that, she used the Weedwacker to trim around the edges. There wasn’t a single blade of grass peeping up its head. The yard looked better. But it would look even better with flower beds.

In the shed she found a hoe and started digging. She didn’t stop until she had a bed on each side of the porch. Her back and shoulders ached, so she thought she’d stop for the day. After the house was painted, she’d buy mulch and finish the beds.

All day she’d forced herself not to think of Carson and their talk, but she’d looked at her watch about a hundred times. She’d given him until eight o’clock, and she intended to keep her word on that. Wiping sweat from her brow, she decided to take a break and sat on the porch. A light breeze fanned her heated skin.

Carson had wanted to know why it had taken her so long to come back. Her reason was personal and private, and she would not share her life with him. Hilary and cousin Nan knew, but other than them she hadn’t told a soul, not even Blake.

Realizing it was six o’clock, she went inside to fix supper for her mother. At least Hilary didn’t have to rush home for that. She made ham-and-cheese sandwiches, and her mother ate very little. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she picked the cheese off her sandwich.

“Is Hilary still at school?” Norma asked.

Jena was taken aback. Her mother had been fine all day. Now she seemed to be in another place.

“Um...yes.” She followed Hil’s example and agreed with her.

“I don’t like her walking home in the dark.”

“Hilary’s fine, Mama. I’ll check on her later.”

Her mother touched her arm. “You’re a good sister. Have you finished your homework?”

“Um...yes.”

Norma suddenly sat up straight, her head cocked to one side. “Did you hear that? Is that the sound of your dad’s truck?”

“No, Mama. It’s just a noise on the highway.”

“I don’t know.” Norma jumped up and went into the living room, peering out the window. “I don’t see anything.”

Jena followed her. “It’s nothing.”

“I’ll sit in my chair and wait.” Norma sank into her recliner. “If I holler, you get out of the house. I don’t want him beating on you again.”

How many times had she heard those words? More than she wanted to remember. In that moment she realized her mother had spent most of her life listening for the sound of her husband’s truck. No wonder she was losing her mind. Without any happiness, the mind had found its own kind of peace.

After putting ham and cheese back into the refrigerator, she slammed the door just a little too hard. Why did life have to be like this? As a kid she used to dream of a happy family with loving parents. She’d tell her dad about her day and he’d smile and encourage her. Reality was far removed from the fantasy. But when their grandmother had been alive, their life had been almost normal. Their dad had supper with them every night and he didn’t drink. At least not in Grandmother’s presence.

After her death, life became a nightmare. Her father lost his job, and he was angry all the time. The drinking, arguing and fighting started. Life was never the same again.

She cleaned the kitchen counter with a deep sigh. There had to be happy families somewhere. Maybe they only existed beyond the clouds in Hilary’s mural.

To stop the depressing thoughts she went to take a bath. Afterward, she slipped on clean shorts and a tank top. She hadn’t brought many clothes, and it was a good thing Hilary had the washing machine. After putting a load on to wash, she checked on her mother. She was sound asleep in her chair. At peace.

She went outside and sat on the porch, swinging her legs off the side the way she had as a child. It was after seven and Carson hadn’t come by or called. She’d wait until after eight and take it from there. She hadn’t called Blake today, and she’d wait on that, too. Right now her thoughts were on her child. Carson would come, she kept telling herself. He’d have news. But they’d parted on an angry note, so she shouldn’t expect much. Still, she kept hoping.

The white constable car turned into the driveway and her heart raced. He was here. She ran her sweaty palms down her bare thighs and waited.

He strolled toward her, and there was something in the way he moved. Was it dejection? Despair? She couldn’t decide. Either way, it wasn’t good.

“Good evening, Ms. Brooks,” he said, his voice cordial yet hesitant.

“Good evening,” she replied. “Have you talked to your father?” The words rushed out before she could stop them.

“Yes.”

“And?”