“No, Papa!” Rebecca said, interrupting him with impassioned shout. “It isn’t George Posey,” she said. “I never even see him except in church from time to time.”
“Well then, who is it?” Big Ben asked.
“It’s Tom Whitman.”
Big Ben blinked a couple of times, as if he didn’t understand her.
“Tom Whitman? You mean the cowboy who works for me? What on earth would make you say something like that?”
“I love him, Papa,” Rebecca said, fighting hard to keep the words from breaking in her throat.
Big Ben walked over to the front of the fireplace and stood there for a long moment, looking down at the shining brass andirons. Finally, he responded.
“Have you told him this?” Big Ben asked. He did not turn away from the fireplace as he spoke.
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he wasn’t—worthy of me.”
“He’s right about that,” Big Ben said. “His kind isn’t worthy of you.”
“What do you mean by ‘his kind’?”
“I mean his kind,” Big Ben repeated. “Where did he come from? What is he doing here?”
“He came from Boston,” Rebecca said. “You know that. He told us that the first day he came here.”
“That’s the next question. What is he doing here?”
“He said he wanted to see the West.”
“How do we know that he isn’t running from the law?” Big Ben asked.
“He isn’t. I just know he isn’t.”
“Look here, Rebecca, I don’t know how to ask you this but, has he compromised you in any way?”
“Compromised me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Papa, he has not compromised me. God help me, I wish that he would.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, Papa, I do mean it.”
“That isn’t something you will have to worry about, because you won’t be seeing him anymore.”
“How can I help seeing him? He works here. He lives here. I see him every day,” Rebecca said. “What am I supposed to do? Should I just close my eyes every time he comes into view?”
“Don’t be snippy with your father, young lady. You know exactly what I am talking about. When I say you can’t see him, I mean you can’t—see—him in a ... ,” he rolled his hands as he looked for the right word, “romantic way. He is not for you. I want something much better for you than an ordinary cowboy. Listen to me, girl, because I know what I’m talking about.”
“Papa. He is not, in any way you can imagine, an ordinary cowboy. He is so much more than you think he is.”
“He could be three times more than I think he is, and still not be worthy of you,” Big Ben said. “Rebecca, I know what it is like when a man and a woman of different—well, I don’t want to say class, so I’ll just say different backgrounds—fall in love. You may think that the love is stronger than any difference, but it isn’t. You only wind up getting hurt.”
“You mean like with my real mother?”
“I ... ,” Big Ben started. It was obvious that he was surprised by Rebecca’s response. “All right, yes, I don’t mind saying it, because that is a perfect example of how two people from totally different cultures can destroy each other. That’s why I know what I’m talking about when I say that you cannot see him anymore.”
“Papa, please,” Rebecca said.
“I know you think I’m being unfair, but please understand that your mother and I want only the best for you.”
“Which mother would that be?” Rebecca asked bluntly. “Would that be the one you are married to? Or the one who abandoned me?”
“That isn’t fair, Rebecca. Julia has been as much a mother to you as she has to Dalton. And you know it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” Rebecca said. “I call her mother because she has been the only mother I have ever known. I had no right to say such a thing. But, Papa, I am twenty-one years old. I have feelings and emotions just as any woman has. You have no right to tell me who I can love, and who I can’t love.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Rebecca. As long as you live under my roof, I have every right,” Big Ben said. “And you forget, I can fire him, and then it won’t be a problem anymore.”
“No, I beg of you, don’t punish him. He hasn’t done anything wrong,” Rebecca said. “I—I won’t see him anymore.”
Big Ben put his arms around his daughter and pulled her to him. “Now you are being reasonable,” he said. “Trust me, Rebecca, this is for your own good.”
As they stood together in the parlor of the oversized house, Rebecca could see her reflection in the oval mirror that was on the wall above the fireplace behind her father. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing the tears.
That night Rebecca lay in bed replaying the words Tom had said to her.
“You don’t understand, Rebecca. I’m not worthy of your love. I’m not worthy of any woman’s love, ever again.”
Why didn’t he consider himself worthy of her love? And what did he mean, when said he was “not worthy of any woman’s love ever again?”
Had he been hurt by a woman? He was the strongest man she had ever known. Could he really be so fragile that being spurned by one woman could cause him to never have the courage to love again?
Her father had told her that she couldn’t see him again, and she had argued with him, but she knew, down inside, that her father was right. She couldn’t see him again but not for the reason her father said. She couldn’t see him again because she couldn’t trust herself not to debase herself by pleading for his love.
Getting out of bed, Rebecca went over to her vanity and pulled out the letter she had received from her biological mother just before she went to Marshall. Lighting the lantern on her dresser, she re-read the letter that was the only tangible connection between her and the woman who had given her life. She hadn’t paid too much attention to the invitation in the letter, because the proposal her mother had made seemed too far-fetched to consider. But now her mother’s unexpected offer seemed to offer the best solution to her current problem.
After re-reading that letter, Rebecca knew exactly what she was going to do. Her mother was in Dodge City, and the Rocking H was driving a herd to Dodge City. She would go with the herd—though she would have to be careful that nobody, especially the Rocking H cowboys, knew about it. When her father discovered her gone, he would check the train depot and the stagecoach station. He would never think that she was going north with a trail drive.
Much later that same night, when she was certain that everyone was asleep, Rebecca cut her hair, which hung down to the middle of her back, to shoulder-length. She gathered the long auburn tresses she sheared off so they wouldn’t be found and stuck them in a knapsack, along with two extra changes of clothes she had taken from her brother. Pulling on a pair of denim trousers and an ecru linen shirt, she started down the stairway, walking carefully to avoid any creaking steps. It was dark, but she was able to feel her way by holding carefully to the banister. Also, a full moon sent a splash of muted silver light to form a gleaming pool at the foot of the stairs.
As she reached the bottom step, the grandfather’s clock that stood in the foyer suddenly whirred, then came to life with two loud gongs. Although she had grown up listening to the clock, its unexpected loudness made her jump with a quick fear. Grabbing harder onto the banister, she stood there for a moment until her racing heart stilled again.
Outside, she could still smell the residual aroma of the side of beef that had been cooked that day. She thought of the celebration, the joy shared by everyone, not only those of Live Oaks, but the people from the Rocking H as well. Did she really want to leave this? Couldn’t she just stay, and leave things as they were?