This Calder Sky (Calder Saga 3)

“Culley.” Her voice was dull and flat.

“Who?” He frowned and cupped a hand to his ear.

“My brother!” This time Maggie answered loud enough for him to hear.

The following Sunday, Cathleen packed a picnic basket and surprised Maggie with a drive to the beach after Mass. It was her first sight of the ocean. The minute Cathleen assured her that she and Mother Hogan could cope with setting out the picnic lunch, Maggie slipped off her sandals and walked barefoot across the sun-warmed sands to the water.

Stopping short of the beach-licking waves, she gazed out over the vast expanse of ocean swells, dark green beneath an enveloping sky of blue. For an instant, she was spun away on a memory of Montana, a sea of grass under a stretching sky.

A fingerlet of sea water curled around her toes, drawing her back to the present. It felt cool after the heat of the sand. Wading a little ways in, she turned and walked parallel with the tide mark as the waves broke gently over her ankles. The air had a tang to it. Suddenly curious, Maggie bent down and scooped up some water in the cup of her hand. She touched the wetness with the tip of her tongue and wrinkled her nose at its salty, fishy taste, shaking the moisture from her hand.

The beach began to fill up with the swimsuited crowd, making Maggie conscious that her summery cotton dress was out of place. It was an old one of her aunt’s, made over to fit Maggie’s burgeoning figure … not that she was actually showing so much yet. It was only when she looked sideways in the mirror that the protrusion of her stomach was noticeable.

Sharing the beach and ocean with others didn’t diminish her enjoyment of the experience, but Maggie did retrace her steps to rejoin her aunt and the elderly couple. Cathleen smiled when she saw Maggie approach.

“What do you think of the Pacific?”

“It’s wonderful,” Maggie admitted, sinking onto her knees on the blanket her aunt had spread on the ground. “I’ll have to write Culley tonight and tell him the ocean really does taste salty.”

“Are you hungry? We have cold cuts, avocado salad, cheese, and fruit.” Cathleen passed her a plate.

“It all looks good.” She started filling her plate by taking a little of each.

“What would you like to drink, Mother Hogan?” Cathleen asked her mother-in-law. “I have cold water or lemonade.”

“Lemonade.” She turned to her husband. “What do you want to drink, John?”

“Hasn’t Art come back with the beer?” he asked, referring to Cathleen’s late husband, his son.

“John, you are getting old,” his wife reproved him sharply. “Your mind is wandering. Our son has been dead for twelve years now.” She cast a sad, apologetic glance at Cathleen.

“Don’t worry, Mother Hogan. It’s all right.” She smiled.

Maggie guessed she was more aware than her aunt was about the frequency of these memory lapses by Cathleen’s father-in-law. She’d run into it often during the week. As much as she’d grown to like the aging couple, it made conversation difficult. She didn’t mention that to her aunt, but she did write about it to Culley in a letter.

A few days after Thanksgiving, there was a letter in the mailbox from him.

November 30

Dear Maggie,

I’m sorry I haven’t had time to write to you, but I’ve been real busy.

What did you do for Thanksgiving? Tucker came over. He brought food to fix dinner. He’s working for Calder now as a cook. I couldn’t believe it when I hear

d it in town. He said it was the only place he could get a job. I told him he could have stayed here, but he said he was a cook, not a cowboy. But he still hates Calder the same as we do.

There was a big fight at Jake’s last weekend. Some new guy accused Buck Haskell of stealing money out of his wallet. They argued and it turned into a free-for-all, with Chase Calder and the Triple C against the others. The sheriff had to break it up. I always knew they were a bunch of crooks at the Triple C.

It’s starting to snow. I have to go check the cattle.

Your brother,

Culley

Two weeks before Christmas, Maggie sat cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor wrapping the shirts she’d bought for Culley so she could mail them to him. An artificial Christmas tree stood in front of the picture window, a Nativity scene displayed at the base of its cotton-swaddled feet. Outside, the grass and trees were still green, the air warm.

“It’s hard to believe it’s almost Christmas,” Maggie declared with a glance at her aunt, busy addressing her Christmas cards. “I’ll bet Culley is snowed in.”