This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

A Calder through.

Chapter XV

There was a great deal about her aunt that reminded Maggie of her mother. Their coloring was the same, except that gray strands had begun to silver her aunt’s black hair, and her eyes were a darker shade of green. Cathleen was taller than her mother had been, and plumper, but during those last years of her life, her mother had worked herself thin. Most important, though, her aunt had the same sweet, caring disposition. She had welcomed Maggie into her home with open arms.

Maggie stared at the hands wrapped so warmly around her tightly clasped fingers. It hadn’t been easy to inform her aunt that she was going to have a baby. Despite this gesture of affection and understanding, Maggie braced herself for the words of reproach.

But they didn’t come. “It’s possible that this might be a blessing in disguise,” Cathleen Hogan suggested.

Maggie lifted her head, wary and skeptical. “How?” She had glossed over the circumstances of her relationship with Chase Calder, just as she had been uncommunicative about her father’s death, relating only that his neck had been broken and he’d died instantly, and letting her aunt assume it had been an accident. She took advantage of the fact Cathleen expected her to be too upset to discuss it.

“I’ve been worried about leaving Mother and Dad Hogan alone all day while I’m working,” Cathleen explained, referring to her late husband’s parents, who presently lived with her, too. “There are days when Mother Hogan is so crippled by her arthritis that she can’t get around at all. With Dad Hogan’s hearing growing worse every day, I worry that if she fell, he might not hear her cry out for help. My neighbor, Mrs. Houston, looks in on them once or twice a day, but I can’t afford to hire someone to stay with them all the time. With you here, Mary Frances—” Sh

e used Maggie’s given name and paused.

“I’ll look after them and fix their meals,” Maggie volunteered, relieved that she could help her aunt and not be a burden. It was more than her iron streak of independence could have tolerated—to be pregnant and dependent on a relative stranger.

“It would certainly ease my mind if you did.” Cathleen smiled warmly. “I was afraid I was going to have to quit my job, and the Gordons have been so good and understanding.” She squeezed Maggie’s hands in a reassuring manner. “I’ll have to ask Dr. Gordon to recommend an obstetrician for you. I want you and your baby to stay healthy.”

Since she had arrived in the Chatsworth area of California’s San Fernando Valley three days ago, Maggie had learned that her aunt was employed by a family named Gordon. She had been hired as a housekeeper for the brother-sister pair, but her duties had gradually evolved to include taking personal care of the sister, Pamela Gordon, who had been partially paralyzed after a fall from a horse. Naturally, it was Pamela that her aunt mentioned most often. She knew little about the brother.

“What kind of doctor is your employer?” Her curiosity was aroused by the comment.

“He’s a plastic surgeon, extremely well known, too.” Cathleen seemed to take a personal pride in the fact. “People scarred in fires or accidents are always being recommended to him. He has his office and clinic in Los Angeles which is about a forty-minute drive from his home, so he commutes daily.”

Maggie didn’t envy him the drive back and forth every day. The streets and highways were clogged with vehicles. She’d heard about the traffic in Los Angeles, but seeing it was quite another thing.

“I’m glad you’re here with me, Mary Frances.” Her aunt filled the brief silence that followed her remark. “I know it’s what your mother would want.”

Which prompted Maggie to say, “Momma was always determined that Culley and I were going to have a good education. Even though I’m going to have a baby, I’m still going to get my diploma.”

“That won’t be any problem. The schools here have night classes three evenings a week. Also, there are correspondence courses available that enable you to learn at home,” her aunt replied. “We’ll check into both and see which works best. Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”

As her aunt left the small bedroom that was Maggie’s to return to the living room, where her in-laws were watching television, Maggie was more optimistic about her future than she had been in many days. At least now she had something definite about which she could write to Culley.

Nearly a month went by before she received a letter back from her brother. In the meantime, she had started taking correspondence courses and her life had settled into an undemanding routine of keeping house and looking after Grandma and Grandpa Hogan, as she had begun to call them. Culley’s letter arrived just as she was putting lunch on the table. She let her bowl of soup cool while she read it.

September 28

Dear Maggie,

How are you? I am fine. The weather is starting to turn cool here. How is it in California? I am glad you like it there.

Tucker’s café burned down last week. Jake saw it from his window when he was closing up and turned in the alarm. The whole building was in flames by the time the county fire truck got there. They let the café burn and pumped all the water on Jake’s place to keep the fire from spreading to his building. There’s nothing left of Tucker’s café but the burned-out shell. He lost everything, even the money he had in a metal box in the back room. The fire was so hot I guess it just turned the bills to ashes. He didn’t have any insurance, either.

They said the fire started in the kitchen. They claimed it was caused by grease. But I’ll bet it was Calder who started it. Tucker thinks so, too, but he can’t say nothing any more than we could.

I had a man hired to help me on the ranch, but he quit yesterday. Nobody will convince me that Calder didn’t have something to do with him leaving. He’ll never drive me out. I’ll get even with them for what they’ve done. It may take me a while, but I’ll do it.

There isn’t any more news, so I will close for now. Take care of yourself.

Your brother,

Culley

Maggie read it through again, then slowly folded it and slipped the letter back into its envelope. A moodiness settled over her, raw memories freshened.

“Who is the letter from, Mary Frances?” Grandpa Hogan inquired in a loud voice so he could hear himself. He always used Maggie’s given name, as Cathleen did.