Linda Warren - Son of Texas

“Dammit. Dammit. Tell me.” She gripped her head with both hands.

“Are you okay?”

Caleb’s concerned voice reached her. She blinked, realizing she’d been talking out loud. “Sorry. I was having an insane moment trying to remember something.”

“What?”

“When my parents died, Boone came to Corpus, wanting to take my father’s body back to the Silver Spur Ranch. He demanded that I sign the papers to release the body. I refused and we had words.” She swallowed. “You see, he wanted my father to be buried at Silver Spur, but not my mother. I told him to leave and never come back.”

She paused. “I couldn’t bear the thought of separating my parents. They were so much in love, yet at times there was a sadness in my father that neither my mom nor I could assuage. He loved the Silver Spur and he missed it every day of his life, but Boone made it intolerable for him to live there. My mother was a Mexican and not good enough for a Beckett.”

“Evidently Boone came back.”

“I guess. That’s what I was trying to recall—if he had my father’s body moved away from my mother. I couldn’t live with that.”

“Do you know how you came to live in Beckett?”

Her head felt heavy with all the memories rushing in. “Yes. I was at loose ends after losing my parents. I needed to get away. Boone kept at me about my dad’s body, but I never gave in. Finally he said he’d make a deal with me. He wanted me to come to Silver Spur to see the heritage my father had left behind. If I came and stayed for a while, he’d stop his efforts to move the body. So I went. I wanted to see this place my father talked about all my life.” She took a ragged breath. “Boone didn’t separate my parents, but we were still arguing about it. Boone and I didn’t have the best relationship, and Lorna and Mason seemed to hate me. But I stayed. I’m not sure why.”

“Did you live on the Silver Spur?”

“No. I lived in town with a friend of my mom’s, Lencha Peabody. My mother’s mother died when she was five and Lencha helped raise her. Lencha and her family lived next door. Oh.” She rested her head against the seat with a slight smile. “It’s so nice to remember Lencha. She’s Mexican with a bit of Karankawas Indian. She’s known as a healer and sometimes a witch, but to my mom she was like a mother and I grew up hearing stories about Lencha and her colorful personality. Lencha married a white man, as she called him, Henry Peabody, who was twelve years older and worked on the Silver Spur. He died a few years ago and Lencha was glad to have Marie’s child to fuss over and I felt at home with her.” She lifted her head. “I’m sure she was worried about me. I wonder why she never reported me missing.”

“A lot of this isn’t adding up.”

She frowned. “Do you think I’m remembering it wrong?”

“No. I think you just have a lot more to remember.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist. “The unknown is so scary.”

“But it’s what we’ve been waiting for—to identify the unknown. Then it won’t be so scary.”

She looked at him. “I’m so glad you’re with me.”

His eyes met hers. “You can count on that.”

“You’re so nice, Caleb McCain, and I’m sure a Texas Ranger isn’t supposed to spend this much time on one case.”

“We don’t stop until the bad guys are caught and in jail and soon the person who shot you will be in jail.”

“Oh. This is Beckett,” she said, glancing back at the city limit sign. “Barely fourteen hundred people live here.”

Caleb turned toward the business area. The town was small, with one main street where all the businesses were located. There were no fancy retail stores, just old-fashioned storefronts that had been there for years. It was like a scene from the 1950s with parking in front of stores and parking meters. A blacksmith shop, feed store and beer joint had weatherworn boards that had stood the test of time. The only new building was the post office.

“Until I can do some checking it’s probably not wise to let people know you’re alive.”

“I agree. We can go to Lencha’s. I trust her.”

“Which direction?”

“Turn left then take Tumbleweed. Lencha’s is about a mile on the right.”

Caleb followed her directions to a small white frame house with a chain-link fence around it.

“Go around back to the garage,” Belle instructed.

Caleb stopped in front of the double garage that had a small truck parked inside. Belle gasped.

“What is it?” Caleb asked.

She pointed to the garage. “That’s my parking spot and my car’s not there.”

Caleb looked at her pale face.

“Evidently I drove away from Beckett.”

“Seems like it.”

“I need to see Lencha.” She opened the door and got out. Caleb followed.

The yard was well kept, but the house needed painting and some outside boards were rotten. There were no close neighbors. Lencha lived on several acres. Farther down were some brick homes then a trailer park.

It was noon, but no one was about. Belle opened the gate and they walked up the back steps. A pleasant scent greeted Caleb and he noticed all the flowering bushes and plants in the flower beds. A huge greenhouse was in back and he glimpsed a large garden filled with all sorts of vegetables and more plants.

Belle knocked but no one answered. “Lencha sometimes gets lost in her own little world,” she said, and opened the door. They went into a utility room that held more plants in pots, then into the kitchen. A birdlike woman in jeans and a chambray shirt was at the sink washing dishes. Long gray hair hung down her back. A squirrel climbed down her back then up again to rest on her shoulder. Caleb blinked, wondering if he was seeing things.

When the squirrel noticed them, she scurried down Lencha’s back to the floor, standing on her hind legs making funny noises.

“What’s wrong with you, Chula?” Lencha asked, looking down at the squirrel. “You’ve had your lunch, so be quiet. I’m not giving you any more corn. You’re fat as a pig now.”

Belle smiled at Chula, Lencha’s pet squirrel. As she stood in the room, soaking up the familiarity, that sense of belonging that she hadn’t had until now—Chula, the hardwood floor, the Formica table and chairs, the sunflower curtains and the scent of herbs and lavender—all were familiar. Lencha grew lavender in the yard and it drifted to her nostrils and saturated her body. A metamorphosis began to happen. She could feel it. It was like shedding a skin and letting new life in. For so long she’d felt like a mismatched piece of furniture that she’d been trying to fit into rooms where she didn’t belong. But this was a part of her and a part of her family.

“Lencha,” she said quietly, almost afraid to speak.

“Lawdy, lawdy, will it never stop?” Lencha dried a dish. “People call me a witch and I’m beginning to believe them. How else could I conjure up her spirit and hear her voice so clearly?”

Lencha didn’t turn around or acknowledge her presence. She put the dish in the cabinet as if Belle wasn’t even standing there.

“Lencha.” She tried again.

Chula scratched at Lencha’s legs.

Glancing down at Chula, Lencha caught sight of Belle, taking in Caleb behind her. “Lawdy, now she’s got a man with her.” Lencha shook her head as to rid herself of the image. “How long will I continue to see her? I’m too old for my mind to be this active.”

Belle finally understood. Lencha thought she was seeing things. She walked closer. “Lencha, it’s me. I’m real and I’m alive.”

Lencha shook her head. “Go away, Josie, and stop torturing an old woman.”

Belle touched her and Lencha jumped back, her eyes big, then in a trembling voice, she asked, “Josie? Josie Marie?”