was yell and he’d be trapped, he’d bargained for his uncles’ lives. He’d also handled her setting all the rules with more class than she might have in his place. She’d made it plain that he’d play the part of master over all he saw, but she’d make the final decisions on anything pertaining to the ranch. She’d hold all the power. As her father slipped farther and farther from the world, she’d take her place.
One of the ranch hands fell into step with Michael as he walked back to the house. She saw them talking and wished she could hear what they were saying. The ranch hand tipped his hat in salute when he veered off at the garden gate.
Cozette put one of the guns in the pillows by the alcove and noticed he hadn’t touched his tea again. Next time they talked, she’d have coffee for him even though he hadn’t complained or asked. The least she could do was make him comfortable in his cage.
Chapter 5
Michael walked slowly back onto the house grounds. He was supposed to join her at dinner, but he had no idea when dinner would be. At the prison there were only two meals. One served at dawn, the other an hour before dark. That way men could use daylight to work and everyone would be shackled in by dark and no extra light was needed.
He’d hated those nights. A boy sleeping in among men who yelled and swore and cried. The silence of the classroom was a welcome change. He hadn’t minded that he slept on the floor with a single blanket at night. The warden’s wife gave him clean clothes every Monday and made him bathe once a week. When he’d finished and dressed, she’d always inspect for dirt under his nails or ears that weren’t scrubbed.
If she found nothing, she’d say, “You’ll do” and walk away without another word.
He ate his meals on the back porch of the warden’s house. Their cook gave him scraps at first. No matter what or how little was on the plate, Michael thanked her every morning and night. Eventually, the meals got better. After a few months, she even gave him a tin with leftover biscuits in it. “You ain’t much older than the kids in that school. It ain’t fair you don’t have no lunch.”
Michael thanked her and that night he tasted his first dessert. One scoop of apple cobbler.
When he was growing up with his uncles nothing had an order. Supper or any meal, for that matter, came when the food was done. If nothing was caught and cooked, they ate like chickens scratching around for bits of food.
He passed through the pasture gate and into the courtyard wondering if the San Louise Ranch ever had cobbler.
He saw Abe and Joseph walking out of their small rooms along the row of cabins Cozette had called guesthouses. His uncles were dressed in wool trousers without a single patch and well-made broadcloth shirts.
“Hold up, Mickey!” Abe yelled. “You get a look at our quarters? Real sheets and two blankets each. One of the maids came by to tell us she’d pick up our laundry and sheets every Monday to wash. Imagine that.”
Joseph shook his head and stuttered, “They’ll w-wear them out w-washing them that often.”
Abe took his time chewing his words before he spoke, as he always did when he wasn’t sure of something. “How long do you figure we’re staying?”
Michael wished he could tell them the bargain, but he’d given his word. “Behave yourselves and you can stay as long as I do.”
Abe tried again. “When your pa married our sister, he took her away. The marriage didn’t take, I guess, ’cause she was back before all the seasons changed with you in her belly. When she left us she kept saying it was forever. Mickey, you ain’t never used that word once.”
Michael had heard the story of how his mother left them a hundred times. They did all they could when she went into labor, but she died giving birth to him. Then his uncles stole a goat and somehow kept him alive. He was about seven when he realized his uncles barely had a brain among them.
He tried to make one detail clear to them. “I’ll stay awhile but we’ll have to leave eventually. This is Cozette’s ranch, her land, not mine. Never forget that.”