“Are you having trouble sleeping, Miss Alice?”
“Only sometimes now, not so much as before. And the music takes away the bad dreams. Even in the bad dreams I can’t see him like he was when I got in the truck. I can’t see him clear that way anymore. Was the truck blue, or was it red? I shouldn’t have gotten in. I saw the snakes.”
“In the truck? He had snakes in the truck?”
“Not real ones. The picture. The sticker thing. He’s a sovereign citizen, a true patriot, and true patriots will rise up and overthrow the corrupt federalists. They’ll take our country back.”
“Did you tell the sheriff about the sticker?”
“Did I? I think. Maybe. True patriots will revolt because the tree of liberty needs to be watered with blood to bring the country back to the people, under God. A man needs sons to protect the land. I only gave him one that lived. One’s not enough to fight and work and protect. I think he had more.”
“More sons?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. More wives. Do you think I can sit on Sundown soon?”
“We’ll ask Doc Bickers. Miss Alice, can you tell me why you think he had more wives?”
He prepared to back off. He could see the jerky way her hands moved, hear the anxiety in her voice. But she pressed her face to Sundown’s.
“He said I didn’t hear anything but the wind. I didn’t hear calling or crying or yelling. I imagined it, and shut up about it.”
“It’s okay.”
“Sundown’s almost better. You’re almost better, too. You didn’t limp today. Some things get better.”
“You’re a lot better yourself, Miss Alice.”
“I’m better, things are better. I can go outside whenever I want to. Ma’s teaching me how to crochet a sweater now. I heard his truck that night, I heard it. I wasn’t sleeping. He took the baby away, he took my next baby away and the next. He took poor little Benjamin who went to heaven away, and I wasn’t sleeping because I hurt inside and outside and in my head and in my heart.”
Desperately sorry, Callen brushed a hand over her hand, laid it on her shoulder. She reached up, gripped it hard. “I heard the truck come back, and I was afraid, so afraid he’d come in and take his marital rights. And I heard the scream. It wasn’t the wind, it wasn’t an owl or a coyote. It wasn’t the first time, but I heard it so clear that time, once, twice. I did. And I heard him, too. Shouting, cursing. And he didn’t come for his marital rights that night or the next or the next.”
“Were you in the house or the cellar?”
“The house. It was night, it was dark out my window. And once after, not the next or the next, but after, in the day. In the light, I heard calling. Help, help, help! I think. I couldn’t hear it very well, but I heard. Then I didn’t hear it anymore. But the crying once. I heard crying sometimes when I worked in the garden. Maybe it was the babies crying for me. I had to stop hearing the crying because I couldn’t get to the babies. It’s how I went crazy, I guess.”
“You’re not crazy.”
She stepped back, smiled. “A little bit. I think I was more crazy then. I had to be or I’d have killed myself.”
He went with his heart, with his gut, and framed her face with his hands, kissed her softly on the mouth. “You may be a little bit crazy, but you’re still the sanest person I know.”
Her eyes teared up even as she laughed. “You must know a lot of crazy people.”
“Maybe I do.”
When she left him, singing to herself, he pulled out his phone to call the sheriff. There might be more women locked up in some cellar being driven mad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It took the best part of a week, with a delay of a solid day of soaking rain, but on a soft April evening, Callen saddled Sundown for what he billed as the Big Reveal.
“Maybe everybody shouldn’t watch yet.”
He turned, studied Alice in her new boots and buff-colored hat, her jeans and bright pink shirt. She’d added a brown leather vest he suspected was Bodine’s.
“You sure look a picture.”
She ducked her head, but he caught the smile.
“I’m going to be right with you,” he reminded her. “But if you want to wait—”
“No, it’s silly. I make myself silly. But you’ll be with me.”
“Every step. You ready?”
She gave a nod, put her foot in his hands for the boost. When she settled in the saddle, she let out a long, happy sigh. “It feels so good, like it did the first time. Not the first time ever, but since. Since you helped me sit on Sundown.”
“Do you want the reins?”
“Not yet. Not yet. Most everybody’s seen me sit on him now, and you walk me on him. You can just walk me on him, okay?”
He led her at a slow clip-clop toward the doors of the stables. “I used to ride so fast, so far.”
“You will again when you want.”
He led her out after a long workday where the Big Reveal included steaks on the grill, cornbread and beer, and a family who’d come together for something as simple, and as monumental, as a middle-aged woman sitting on the back of a horse.
Most of the ranch hands had gathered as well, and broke into applause.
Chase held the paddock gate open, closed it again behind them. Callen led them around in a full circle.
“We can just walk like this,” he said to Alice. “You tell me if you’re ready or you’re not. It’s all up to you.”
“I’m not used to everybody looking at me,” she confided. “My chest hurts some.”
“That could be you feeling the pride in mine.”
“You say nice things. I feel good when you talk to me. My Benjamin went to heaven, but maybe if he didn’t he’d be like you.”
The onlookers sat on the fence, or stood with a boot perched on a rung. She knew the faces, knew the names. But still, they all watched her.
“They’re proud of you, too.”
“Proud of me.” She murmured that as well, as if letting it slide into her mind. “And happy to see Sundown’s well again.”
“That’s right. You helped him get better.”
“I helped. I can do it. I can do it, but you’ll stay with me?”
“You know I will.” He handed her the reins. “You go on and take a ride, Miss Alice.”
She felt the leather in her hands, old memories and new ones, the feel of a good horse under her, the frisky spring breeze over her face. Sundown stood absolutely still until she nudged him into a walk.
Callen stayed close, but she rode. And it made her proud. It made her remember being young and safe and free. It brought that bubbling up inside her she knew now was happiness.
She looked down at Callen. “Can I?”
“Just let him know.”
When she moved into a trot, all on her own, she heard the clapping, even some cheers. But she paid little attention to that. She was free.
“You didn’t say anything about her learning to trot,” Bodine said.