Journey of the Heart by Marjorie Farrell

appetite for breakfast. When she had settled her horse in the barn and joined her parents at the table, Michael turned to her and said: “I meant to talk to you last night, Cait, about your morning ride.”
    “So you were going to tell me about Chavez?” she responded tartly.
    “Your father hardly had a chance, Cait, we were so taken up with your plans,” said her mother with a touch of quiet anger. “Who told you about him?”
    “I met Mr. Hart on my way back and he warned me,” Cait responded in a softer voice. “He said Chavez is Mackie’s hired gun, Da. That he uses him as a ‘persuader.’ ”
    Elizabeth was glad to hear the change in Caitlin’s voice. Her hand had been itching to slap her daughter for talking to Michael that way, and she had never touched her daughter in anger in her life. She was horrified by her reaction, but she felt herself wanting to say, “You can’t have it both ways, Cait. You can’t tell us you are leaving and at the same time expect to be a part of things like you always were.” She knew her anger was unreasonable and came from her grief over Cait’s news, so she held her tongue and let Michael handle it.
    “I told Chavez to let Mackie know we wouldn’t either be bought or persuaded, Cait. And we won’t, will we, Elizabeth?” he added, looking over at his wife and giving her a warm smile. “We’re damned lucky to have Gabe Hart here,” he added. “I’m glad he gave you the warning.”
    “I won’t ride off our property alone, Da. And like I told Mr. Hart, I won’t go anywhere without my rifle.”
    “Good girl.”
    “It is my bread-baking day, Cait,” said Elizabeth. “Could you help with the wash? And water the flowers with the leftover water for me,” she added. For some reason, the thought of that bucket bumping against her leg brought back all the feelings of panic from the nightmare.
    “Of course, Ma.”
    “ ‘Tis good ye’re here to help yer ma, Cait,” said Michael after Elizabeth left to gather up the laundry. “She didn’t sleep well the other night. Chavez’s visit seems to have stirred up memories of her parents’ deaths.”
    When Cait was five, she had asked why she didn’t have a grandma or a grandpa. Michael had sat her on his knee and told her that she indeed did have a grandpa far away in Ireland. “That’s my Da, Cait,” he said, “But yer ma…well, she lost her mama and papa many years ago when she was only fourteen. Some bad men killed them.”
    Cait’s eyes had filled and her lip had trembled. “You mean Ma has no ma and da at all?”
    “No, Cait, she had them for a while. And those bad men are all dead and gone. You will always have your ma and da.”
    Cait had put her arms around her mother that night and said, “I’m sorry, Ma.”
    “For what, Cait?”
    “ ‘Cause you don’t have your mama or your papa.”
    Elizabeth had hugged her close. “Oh, but I have you and your Da and that is all I need.”
    Elizabeth had mentioned her parents occasionally and Cait knew that the little sewing box her mother used had been Cait’s grandmother’s. It had all happened such a long time ago that Caitlin supposed her mother had forgotten it all. She was a grown woman, after all, with a grown daughter, so she was surprised to hear that her mother’s reaction went beyond her immediate fear of Chavez.
    “But that was so long ago, Da,” she said slowly.
    “Some things ye can bury deep, Cait, but ye never really forget them. Yer ma rarely talks about them, I know. And only thinks about it once in a while. But she lost her parents and her brother in a terrible way and Chavez brought it all back, damn him. For that alone, I’d kill him,” Michael continued, almost to himself.
    * * * *
    Cait was happy to be struggling with heavy wet sheets and clothes that had red dust stains that were impossible to wash out. The activity kept her from thinking too much.
    She had expected that she would come home and although she had changed,