Beloved Outcast Read online

  Beloved Outcast

  Victoria Thompson

  COPYRIGHT

  This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Beloved Outcast

  Copyright © 1989 by Victoria Thompson

  Ebook ISBN: 9781625179364

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  NYLA Publishing

  350 7th Avenue, Suite 2003, NY 10001, New York.

  http://www.nyliterary.com

  DEDICATION

  With thanks to the counselors at Family and Children’s Services of Blair County:

  Executive Director Jacquelyn Sutton, Domestic Abuse Project Coordinator Ioanna Watts, and Domestic Abuse Project Caseworker Beverly Moss-Oswalt, and to my agent, Cherry Weiner, for convincing me I could do it.

  PROLOGUE

  MIRIAM RODE LIKE the wind, heedless that her long black hair had pulled loose and was whipping across her face, conscious only of the warm, sensuous feel of the pony’s bare back between her legs and her fingers curled tightly in the animal’s thick mane. The pounding of the pony’s hooves as he galloped fearlessly into the night beat through her, and she remembered other wild rides long ago. As a child she had always ridden bareback, her family too poor to spare her a saddle. A bitter smile curved her lips as she realized she would never be poor again.

  Using her hands and her voice, she just barely managed to get her “borrowed” pony to pull up at the crest of the next hill. While he blew and snorted, Miriam stared down into the small valley at the ranch buildings huddled there.

  Hardly more than shadows in the darkness, the buildings were nevertheless as clear as day to the girl who saw them more with her heart than with her eyes. The hulking barn; the bunkhouse, empty now but that would shelter the hired hands at a busier time of year; the ranch house, actually nothing more than a one-room cabin where the man lived with his son. Not an impressive layout, yet Miriam gazed down at it with a longing that made her weak. Stifling a sob, she kicked the pony into motion and rode slowly into the ranch yard.

  Tying the poor beast to the corral fence with a piece of rope, she stole silently up to the door of the house. She paused only a moment before knocking, tentatively at first and then more boldly.

  “Sam! Sam, it’s me,” she called, a note of urgency in her voice.

  She heard movement inside, and she pictured the man rising, half-awake, and clumsily pulling on his clothes. A voice asked, “Pa? What’s she doing here?” and the man called Sam answered, “I’ll take care of it, Ben. Stay in the house.” Then the door opened, and Sam was there.

  He was a tall man, his sun-bleached hair lightly touched with silver and sleep-tousled. He was still buttoning his shirt, a look of bewildered alarm on his bronzed face. The face was still handsome, even after thirty-five years spent working out of doors. The lines time and weather had etched around his eyes and mouth only added character, and the bright blue eyes looking down at her were those of a man who was still a boy at heart.

  “Miriam, what is it? What are you doing here at this time of night?”

  “I had to see you, talk to you. Please, Sam,” she entreated, grasping his arm.

  “Sure, honey, sure,” he soothed, as he closed the cabin door behind him. “Let’s go over to the bunkhouse so we won’t disturb Ben.” He reached out and caught the girl protectively to his side as they made their way across the darkened yard.

  Just inside the bunkhouse door he stopped and turned her toward him until the moonlight fell full on her lovely face. “Now tell me, darlin’, what is it that’s so urgent?” he asked, faintly amused at her serious expression. She was so young, he thought. Nothing could be as serious as all that.

  “You love me, don’t you, Sam?”

  “You know I do, sweet girl, more than anything in the world,” he assured her, a tender smile curving his lips. Her eyes, almost black in the moonlight, looked enormous in her fragile face, and he wondered what could have happened to frighten her so.

  Suddenly, with something like desperation, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. Caught off guard, he hesitated only a moment before responding to her kiss. They clung together for a long time, his strong arms molding her willing body close to his. Her restless hands found their way under his dangling shirttail and began to explore the sinewy strength of his back and sides, sending a shudder of desire through him.

  “Love me, Sam, love me,” she begged, drawing him toward the nearest bunk.

  “No darlin’, no,” he said hoarsely, his regret obvious. “Not like this. It isn’t right. When we’re married...”

  “It wasn’t right the other time, either,” she said, her voice sharp with frustration, “but that didn’t stop you then. Is it only all right when you want it but not when I do?”

  Sam groaned, caught between reason and desire, but Miriam kissed him again. This time she used her tongue, as he had taught her, and sank her small, white teeth into his lower lip while her hands moved deftly over the buttons on his pants. This time he did not resist when she drew him toward the bunk, and he tumbled down with her willingly.

  With trembling hands, he bared her small, firm breasts to his feverish exploration and, at her urging, lifted her skirts, gasping when he found her naked beneath her petticoat. They came together in a frenzy of need, clinging to each other as the wave of passion lifted them higher and higher and then brought them crashing down again.

  It was a long time before either of them stirred. At last Sam’s rasping breath slowed to normal, his heart quieted in his chest, and he found the energy to lever himself up onto his elbows. Looking down at the girl’s sweet face, so content now, he smiled and gently smoothed back the damp hair from her forehead. “Now do you believe I love you, little one?” he teased.

  Her passion-glazed eyes suddenly cleared, and he saw something very akin to fear in them. “Oh, Sam, will you always love me?”

  “Of course I will,” he promised, a little puzzled and even worried now. Why was she still so upset?

  “Even if I did something bad? Something terrible?”

  “You could never do anything very bad,” he said, stroking his callused fingers across the satin of her cheek.

  “Oh, but I could! I did!” she replied, tears sparkling in her eyes. “I promised to marry Franklin Hoskins.”

  Sam’s whole body went rigid with shock and with the tidal wave of anger that followed. “Well, you can just unpromise him, then. What in God’s name possessed you to do a damn-fool thing like that?”

  Wincing under the force of his rage, Miriam squeezed out two tears, but she could not give in to his pain or her own. Resolutely, she opened her eyes again. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t? Can’t or won’t?” He scrambled to his feet, hastily rearranging his clothes.

  “Sam,” she pleaded, the silver tears rolling down her face. “I can’t be poor. I told you that before. I just can’t be poor anymore.”

  “So you’ll sell yourself to Hoskins? You’re no better than a whore!” His eyes raked her body, still wantonly exposed. “Cover yourself,” he snapped, jerking her skirt contemptuously over the long, shapely legs she had so recently wrapped around
his own. “What in the hell did you come here for, anyway?”

  Grasping the front of her blouse together with trembling hands, she sat up. “I had to see you, to tell you...”

  “And what was all this about?” he demanded, gesturing toward the bunk where she still sat, his pain now overtaking anger as the reality of her betrayal began to set in.

  “I needed you.”

  “Needed me?”

  “I love you, Sam. I can’t give you up!”

  He stared at her, wondering how she could say these things to him. “Well, if you think you can ride out here every time you need me after you’re married, you can think again. I’m not some stud who’ll service you whenever you get an itch between your legs. You marry Hoskins, you’ll never see me again.”

  “Sam, please...”

  “Miriam, darlin’,” he tried, softer now, more reasonable, controlling his anger with a mighty effort, remembering she was only eighteen. “You’re young, too young to have good sense, I reckon. Think this over. Go back to Hoskins, tell him you changed your mind. We’ll forget this ever happened. You’ll see, I’ll make you happy.”

  But she could not believe him. She knew only one thing brought happiness, and Sam Cantrell did not have it. Rich Franklin Hoskins did. Shaking with the force of her emotions, Miriam turned her dark eyes up to the man she loved, the man she would always love. “I can’t!” she replied in an agony of despair.

  Sam looked down at her for a long moment, trembling with an agony of his own. “Then to hell with you,” he said.

  CHAPTER ONE

  MOLLY HAD NEVER seen a hanged man before, and she didn’t want to go see one now. Unfortunately, she did not have a choice. Rattling along in the back of the wagon, she straightened her shoulders and tried valiantly not to cry. She had to set a good example for her little sister, Julie, who was only ten and scared stiff. Twelve-year-old Molly put a comforting arm around Julie’s shoulders and swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

  It was bad enough seeing a dead person at a funeral, all laid out in nice clothes in a pine box. But to see somebody dead, just hanging from a tree with a rope around his neck and his face all black and... Molly shuddered. It was especially bad because she knew Mr. Cantrell. Nice Mr. Cantrell. Not that she knew him well, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who would kill a man or burn down somebody’s barn for no good reason. Molly didn’t know for sure, though. Maybe Sam Cantrell was only nice to children.

  She did know about his son, Ben. Ben didn’t deserve to be an orphan. She would never forget the time mean old Harry Hoskins had dipped her pigtails in the inkwell at school. She had been much younger then, and her hair had been bright yellow. Not only had her mother had to cut her hair, but the ink had ruined the only decent dress she’d owned. Since her father refused to buy her a new one, she’d had to wear the stained one for half a year until she had finally outgrown it.

  The teacher had been afraid to punish Harry because Harry’s father was the richest man in town. Franklin Hoskins owned the bank and a ranch, and he was chairman of the school board, so Harry had gotten off scot free. Except for Ben Cantrell.

  Ben was four years older than Molly. When he found out what Harry had done, he fought him. Harry was a year older than Ben and bigger, but it had been a pretty even match, all things considered. Although Molly hated fighting, she had gotten some satisfaction out of Harry Hoskins’s black eye.

  No, Molly decided, Ben didn’t deserve to be an orphan, and he certainly didn’t deserve to have his father hanged.

  “I don’t know why we have to see this,” Molly’s mother was saying to her husband from where she sat beside him on the wagon seat. She was a small-boned woman, gaunt and aged beyond her years by hard work and the secret shame of her marriage. She spoke in the soft voice she used when she wanted to reason with her husband without incurring his wrath.

  “I told you before, woman, these young-uns got to see what happens to sinners. They got to see God’s judgment on those who work iniquity,” Elijah Wade explained impatiently. Then he chuckled, a sound that sent shivers up Molly’s spine. “You should have been there, Hannah. Sam Cantrell sure put up a fight. Took four men to hold him while we got the noose around his neck. He cursed us all, too. Might’ve scared me if I didn’t know he was a low-down murdering barn burner. Reckon he wouldn’t have come with us so peaceable if he’d known he wasn’t never gonna make it to jail. His boy was ready to shoot us all, swore his pa hadn’t been out of the house all night, couldn’t have burned that barn. Cantrell just patted the boy on the shoulder and told him not to worry, the law would take care of everything.”

  “Why didn’t you let the law take care of it, Elijah?” Hannah Wade asked her husband plaintively. It was the closest she could come to openly criticizing his taking part in a lynching.

  Wade, a scrawny, banty rooster of a man, bristled at the implied criticism. “Hell, the sheriff was in San Antone. No telling when he’d be back. Cantrell could’ve broke out by then and been long gone. We all knew he was the one shot Fletcher and burned his barn. Who else could it’ve been? Everybody knows how Cantrell and Fletcher fought the other day. Cantrell sneaked out last night to burn Fletcher’s barn, wanting to get even. Fletcher caught him and ended up dead. Don’t take a judge and jury to figure that out.”

  “It’s just so hard to believe,” Hannah said. “Sam Cantrell has always been such a gentleman. Never once knew him to get in a fight.”

  Elijah’s eyes narrowed. “You talk like you knew him pretty well.”

  “No better than you did,” Hannah assured him hastily. “I saw him at church and in town a time or two.”

  “He lived pretty close. Maybe you saw him more often. Maybe he came by when I wasn’t home—”

  “Pa,” Molly said in a frantic effort to distract him, “why was it you thought Mr. Cantrell burned the barn?”

  Wade glared over his shoulder at his older daughter. “I told you before, don’t interrupt.”

  “I’m sorry, Pa, but I’ve been so curious about Mr. Cantrell. What made him change?”

  “Don’t nobody know for sure. Past couple months he’s been taken by the devil, though. Drinking like a man possessed and fighting with anyone didn’t have the sense to get outa his way. Always did know those Cantrells would come to no good.” He paused thoughtfully. “Reckon the boy’ll pull up stakes now. Sure wouldn’t mind having use of Cantrell’s land. No, sir, wouldn’t mind at all,” he mused.

  Molly winced. She had often heard her father curse Sam Cantrell for having a better piece of ranch land than he did. She didn’t dare point out that Elijah had come first and taken first choice but had simply chosen poorly. Or that Sam Cantrell was a better rancher, so his small herd increased while Wade’s herd scattered and died.

  Cantrell had even been planning to take cattle north to Kansas this spring and sell it for cash money, something her father couldn’t do. Her father had always been jealous of Sam Cantrell’s “luck.” Molly sighed. Now he didn’t have to be jealous anymore.

  “What the hell?” her father said fiercely, and slapped the reins, urging the horses faster. Jolting in the back of the wagon, Molly could not see what had alarmed him until he finally brought the team to a lurching halt. Cautiously, she and Julie rose up on their knees and peered over the side.

  They had arrived at the scene of Sam Cantrell’s execution, but nobody was hanging from the huge live oak tree. Instead, a wagon was parked beneath its spreading branches. Lying in the wagon was a blanket-shrouded bundle that could only be Sam Cantrell. Standing beside the wagon were Ben Cantrell and Nathan, the Negro man who worked for the Cantrells.

  “What do you think you’re doing, boy?” shouted Wade.

  Ben Cantrell squared his shoulders and threw back his head defiantly. He had grown almost a foot in the six months since school ended. In those months, doing a man’s work had put a man’s muscles on Ben’s lanky frame.

  “I’m giving my pa a decent burial,” Ben re
plied, his voice deeper now than Molly remembered, his tone sure and firm.

  Elijah Wade sputtered in his rage, rising up to stand in the wagon box. “We left that body hanging for a reason, for an example—”

  “You lied about my pa, and you killed him for that lie, but you won’t shame him anymore. I’m going to take him home now. You want to stop me, you’re gonna have to murder me, too.”

  Wade stood for a moment, literally shaking with fury, but he made no move to stop the boy. Ben watched him for a few minutes, as if judging the man’s potential danger, and then, deciding he had none, turned and climbed up into his wagon seat. Nathan joined him, and when Ben flicked the team into motion, Elijah seemed to come to life.

  “You’ll be sorry for this, boy!” he shouted, shaking his fist at Ben Cantrell’s back. “The sins of the fathers are visited on the children! The Cantrell name is no good around here anymore! You’d best hightail it out of these parts where no one knows you’re the son of a murderer!”

  There was more, but Molly was no longer listening. This was the first time she could remember seeing anyone defy her father, and she watched, mesmerized, as the Cantrell wagon with its sad burden drove out of sight.

  Molly had read all the fairy tales and knew all about the knights in shining armor who rescued fair maidens and about the princes who married poor girls. Ben Cantrell hardly qualified as either a knight or a prince, except that today he had stood tall and straight, incredibly handsome in his patched range clothes, his beautiful blond hair curling out from under his hat, his sky-blue eyes flashing in the sunlight, and he had faced down the fire-breathing dragon and won!

  Molly could love a man like Ben Cantrell. A man like Ben Cantrell could rescue her from the home of that very dragon. A man like Ben could keep her safe all the days of her life. Something—she thought it must be her heart— quivered in her chest, and she knew she was in love. She loved Ben Cantrell with every bit of her twelve-year-old being, and she swore no matter what might happen, she would love him until the day she died.