Spanish Gold by Kevin Randle Read Free Book Online

somewhere calling, but Travis couldn’t see it. He knew that he was delaying, as long as possible, telling her the bad news.
    â€œWould you care for something to drink?” she asked, wiping her face with her apron. “Going to be real hot.”
    â€œNo ma’am.” He stood looking up at her framed in the doorway. She was a pretty woman with a narrow face and delicate features. As she wiped the back of her hand over her lips he wished that he hadn’t brought the news. He didn’t want to hurt her and was suddenly afraid that she would blame him for her father’s death.
    â€œI’ve some bad news,” he said finally, quietly.
    â€œI know,” she said, looking past him. “He’s not coming home this time.”
    â€œI’m afraid not ma’am. How did you know?”
    She didn’t answer. She turned and walked back into the house. She left the door open but said nothing to him.
    Travis stood out there for a moment wondering what to do, and then moved to the door. He looked in. She was sitting in a rocker that faced the fireplace. There was a table to one side, two chairs near it, and then a huge bed opposite the fireplace. A cedar trunk sat at the foot of it. He wondered if the bed was hers.
    â€œMiss Crockett?” he said.
    She didn’t look at him. “I knew he wouldn’t be coming home this time. I knew. And then I saw you with his mule. He’d never have given it up if he was still alive. That’s all I had to see to know.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” He turned and pointed back toward the mule. “I have his things here. I brought them . . . ”
    She stood suddenly, blinking rapidly. “Yes,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m being rude. Please come in. Can I get you something? I was just going to make my lunch and you’re welcome to join me.”
    She was beginning to talk faster and faster. She was keeping her mouth going so that she wouldn’t think about what he had just told her. Anything to fill her mind so that she wouldn’t have to think. He’d seen the same thing on battlefields when the fighting had ended.
    Travis didn’t know what to do. He wanted to give her the mule and her father’s possessions and leave. And he wanted to stay to comfort her and to help her. He turned away from her and said, “There are some things that I could bring in for you. Your father’s things.”
    â€œPlease,” she said.
    Travis didn’t wait for more. He walked out the door and to the mule. He untied the pack and dropped it to the ground. For a moment he sifted through it to make sure there was nothing in it that she shouldn’t see. He crouched there, thinking about all the men who had died at Gettysburg and all the other men who had to ride out to inform the families. Thousands had been told that fathers or brothers or husbands would not be coming home. The difference was that Travis hadn’t been among those who had to do it until now.
    He glanced up at the door of the house. It was still open, waiting for him to return. He stood, brushed the dust from his knees, and picked up the saddlebags.
    Inside he found her hunched over the sink, a hand to her face and her shoulders shaking. On the cutting board near her were vegetables and a knife.
    â€œWhere should I put these things?” he asked quietly, not sure of what to do.
    She pointed at the table. A moment later she sniffed and said, “I’m sorry. This is really no surprise. He was getting old and he was pushing too hard.”
    Travis stood quietly for a moment, and when he could think of nothing else, said, “I’ll be going now.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “You must stay. You’ll have lunch before you go.”
    â€œNo ma’am, I couldn’t impose. Not now.”
    â€œYou went out of your way to bring those things to me. The least I can do is feed you.”
    Travis was about to