The Ranch She Left Behind. Kathleen O'BrienЧитать онлайн книгу.
Everyone knew, but Ruth hadnât allowed anyone to speak of it to Penny. She thought it would be too traumatic. Having a mother die tragically was bad enough for any child. But having your mother killed by your father...and your father hauled away to prison...
And then being ripped from the only home youâd ever known, split from your sisters and asked to live in another state, with a woman you barely knew...
Traumatic was an understatement. But, though Ruth had meant well, never being allowed to talk about what had happenedâthat might have been the hardest of all. Never to be given the chance to sort her emotions into words, to put the events into some larger perspective. Never to let them lose power through familiarity.
Sometimes Penny thought it was a miracle she hadnât suffered a psychotic break.
âSweet pea, Iâm sorry. But I need to say this.â Ben still held the cup and dishrag, and was still rubbing the surface in circles, as if it were a worry stone.
âOf course,â she said. âItâs okay, Ben. Whatever it is.â
âGood.â He put down the cup and rag, then cleared his throat. âRuth did mean well. I know that. You needed to heal, and at first it was probably better to heal quietly, in private. But youâve been ready to move on for a long time.â
âHow could I? Ruth was so sick, andââ
âI know. It was loyal of you to stay, to take care of her when she needed you. But she doesnât need you anymore, honey. Itâs time to move on.â
At first Penny didnât answer. She recognized a disturbing truth in his words. That truth made her so uncomfortable she wanted to run away. But she respected him too much to brush him off. Theyâd been friends a long time. He was as close to a father as sheâd ever had.
âI know,â she admitted finally. âBut moving on...itâs not that easy, Ben.â
âOf course it is!â With a grin, he stomped to the refrigerator and yanked down the piece of paper that always hung there, attached by a magnet shaped like Betty Boop. âJust do it! Walk out the door! Grab your bucket list and start checking things off!â
She laughed. âI donât have a bucket list.â
âYou donât?â Ben looked shocked. He stared at his own. âNot even in your head? In your heart of hearts? You donât have a list of things you want to do before you die?â
She shook her head.
âWhy? You think bucket lists are just for geezers like me?â
âOf course not. Iâve never had any reason toââ
âWell, you do now. You canât hide forever, Pea. For better or worse, you arenât like the nun in Ruthâs parlor. You were never meant for that.â
Ruthâs parlor overflowed with lace doilies and antimacassars, Edwardian furniture and Meissen shepherdesses. Ruth had covered every inch of wall space with framed, elaborate cross-stitch samplers offering snippets of poetry, advice and warningsâso many it was hard to tell where one maxim ended and the next one began.
Penny had loved them all, but her favorite had been a picture of a woman putting on a white veil. When Penny moved in, at eleven, sheâd assumed the woman was getting married, but Ruth had explained that the poem was really about a woman preparing to become a nun.
The line of poetry beneath the veil read, âAnd I have asked to be where no storms come.â Penny had adored the quoteâespecially the way it began with and, as if it picked up the story in the middle. As if the woman had already explained the troubles that had driven her to seek safety in a convent.
âMy father murdered my mother,â Penny always imagined the poem might have begun. âAnd so I have asked to be where no storms come.â
Sheâd mentioned it to Ben only one time. He gave her a camera for her twelfth birthday, and she took a picture of the sampler, among her other favorite things. When she showed it to him, he had frowned, as if it displeased him to see how much she liked it.
He was frowning now, too. âI hope youâre not still toying with the idea of taking the veil.â
Penny chuckled. âOf course not.â She remembered what Ruth had said when Penny had asked if she was too young to become a nun.
âFar too young,â Ruth had responded with a grim smile, âand far too Methodist.â
âGood.â Ben waved his hand, chasing the idea away like a gnat. âYouâd make a horrible nun. You were made for marriage, and children, and love.â
âNo.â She shook her head instinctively. No, she definitely wasnât.
âOf course you are. How could you not know it? The men know it. Every male who sees you falls in love with you on the spot. You make them want to be heroes. Think of poor Officer McGregor out there.â
It was her turn to blush. Penny knew she wasnât glamorous. She had two beautiful sisters, one as dark and dramatic as a stormy midnight, the other as pale and cool as a snow queen. Penny was the boring one. And if she hadnât been boring to begin with, these years with Ruth, who didnât believe in wearing bright clothing or making loud noises, had certainly washed her out to a faded, sepia watercolor of a woman.
The only beauty she had any claim to showed up in her art.
Benâs affection made him partial. As if to offset Ruthâs crisp, undemonstrative manner, he had always handed out extravagant compliments like candy.
âDonât be silly, Ben.â
âIâm not. You are. Youâve got that quiet, innocent kind of beauty, which, believe me, is the most dangerous. Plus, youâre talented, and youâre smart, and youâre far too gutsy to spend the rest of your life hiding in that town house.â
She had to smile. She was the typical youngest childâmeek, a pleaser, bossed around by everyone, always trying to broker peace. âCome on. Gutsy?â
âAbsolutely. Youâve conquered more demons at your young age than most people face in a lifetime. Starting with your devil of a father, and going up through tonight.â
âI havenât been brave. Iâve simply endured. Iâve done whatever I had to do.â
âWell, what do you think courage is?â He smiled. âItâs surviving, kiddo. Itâs doing what you must. Itâs grabbing a can of wasp spray and aiming it at the monsterâs ugly face.â
She laughed, and shook her head. âAnd then shaking like a leaf for four hours straight?â
âSure. For a while youâll shake. But trust me, by tomorrow, youâll realize tonight taught you two very important things. One, you canât hide from troubleânot in a nunnery, and certainly not in a San Francisco town house.â
The truth of that sizzled in the pit of her stomach. She might want to be where no storms comeâbut was there any such place?
She nodded slowly. âAnd two?â
âAnd two...â He took her hand in his and squeezed. âTwo...so trouble finds you. So what? Youâre a warrior, Penelope Wright. Thereâs no trouble out there that you canât handle.â
* * *
MAX THORPE HADNâT been on a date in ten months, not since his wife died. Apparently, ten months wasnât long enough. Everything about the woman heâd taken to dinner annoyed him, from her perfume to her conversation.