The Measure of a Man Read online

  The Measure of the Man

  Carol Cox

  Copyright

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the Authorized King James Version of the Bible.

  © 1999 by Barbour Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Truly Yours, PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  one

  Scattered clouds moved slowly across the sky, casting broad shadows on the grassland below. Occasional gusts of wind tugged at the red-checked cloths covering the tables set up end-to-end in front of the sprawling ranch house, but the weather didn’t seem to dampen the spirits of the crowd gathered around the tables.

  Hearty laughter burst forth from one end of the line of tables, where a group of weather-beaten cowboys sat. The high-pitched voices of children punctuated the buzz of conversation. Everyone seemed perfectly in tune with the lighthearted spirit of the day.

  Everyone but the young girl seated near the head of the first table.

  Lizzie Bradley toyed with her food, pushing bits of mashed potatoes, baked beans, and shredded beef around her plate with her fork. It didn’t make an appetizing combination, but if the food was disturbed enough, she reasoned, maybe no one would notice that she had barely touched her dinner on this special day.

  Overhead, the clouds gathered and thickened, marching in formation across the sapphire sky. The same procession had occurred daily for over a week now, but so far the summer rains had not materialized. Lizzie glanced up, trying to decide if these clouds meant business. She sighed inwardly. It’s hard to know about so many things, she thought.

  All around her she could hear the happy chatter of her family—her parents, her brother, her young cousins and their parents—and, in deeper tones, the good-natured banter of the ranch hands, who were always an important part of the annual barbecue at the Double B. Usually this cookout was a high point of Lizzie’s existence; it reinforced a sense of security in their way of life on the ranch that her father and uncle had built. This year, though, try as she might, she couldn’t force herself to get into a festive mood.

  What’s the matter with me? she wondered. But she had no answer.

  Her father rose to his feet and the buzz of conversation gradually stilled. Charles Bradley’s gaze swept over the gathering, and Lizzie felt a familiar twinge of pride at his ability to speak to a large group while making each person present feel that Charles was speaking directly to him or her.

  “Folks,” he began in a strong, clear voice, “we’ve come a long way since we first set foot on this land eleven years ago. We came here with three thousand cattle and our hearts full of dreams. God has been faithful beyond our hopes. The Double B is now running more than twenty thousand head of cattle on some of the finest range in New Mexico Territory. And we have working for us, without question, the best ranch hands in the country.”

  Hearty whoops of approval from the cowboys greeted that statement, and Charles, grinning now, waited for the roar to subside before he continued. “Abby and I have been blessed to watch our two children grow strong and healthy in this land.”

  Lizzie shot a quick glance at Willie, wondering if her younger brother felt as embarrassed as she suddenly did. Probably not, she concluded wryly. It took a lot to disturb Willie’s sunny equanimity.

  Her father was still speaking. “We’ve also been blessed to have my brother, Jeff, and his wife, Judith, as our partners, and to watch their family expand.” Lizzie covered a quick smile with her hand as she saw her aunt Judith blush at this reference to her obviously pregnant figure. True to form, her father went on smoothly, only a twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement at Judith’s discomfort.

  “All in all, God has blessed us richly over the years, and we thank Him for His goodness. This fellowship meal is a very small way to express our gratitude for all of you who have worked so hard this past year.”

  Jeff rose to stand beside his brother. “I’m not the speaker Charles is,” he said, “but then, few people are.” He grinned as laughter quietly rippled among the tables. “But I want to add my appreciation to his for what you’ve done, all of you. The success of the Double B wouldn’t have been possible without your help and loyalty, and we thank you.” The brothers raised tall glasses of cider in salute just as a rumble of thunder clapped overhead loudly enough to rattle the silverware, and huge drops of rain spattered on the table.

  Excited squeals from the children added to the commotion as chairs were quickly scooted back and everyone scrambled to lend a hand grabbing dishes, bowls, and utensils and hurrying them into the house.

  The shock of the cool drops snapped Lizzie to attention, and she hastened to stack the dishes closest to her into two large serving bowls and gathered the whole load in her arms. Willie, enjoying the unexpected excitement, grinned broadly as he approached her, swiftly rolling up the tablecloths and whatever utensils that remained on them.

  “Look out, Sis!” he called as he hurried past her. “You almost wound up in there with the forks and spoons!”

  They dashed together onto the broad porch and into the kitchen where Vera, the Bradleys’ long-time housekeeper, directed the sudden rush of volunteers. “Willie,” she cried, “I hear something clinking in those cloths. Don’t you dare walk off and leave them all balled up in the corner that way.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Willie responded, giving her a cheeky grin and a wink as he moved to obey.

  Lizzie set down the bowls on the countertop, carefully removing the dishes and stacking them neatly next to the sink. Vera declined offers to help clean up and shooed everyone outside to continue visiting, giving Lizzie a sharp look as she went by.

  The flush of excitement ebbed away, and Lizzie felt as listless as before. She joined the rest of her family and some of the ranch hands out on the porch. Eddies of conversation swirled around her as she passed by happily chattering clusters of people and stood alone at the end of the porch, her head resting against the corner post.

  The much-awaited rain was coming down in earnest now, the large drops pelting the dusty ground as if eager to make up for their long absence. Lizzie closed her eyes and sniffed, enjoying the pungent smell of rain-dampened earth. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind whipped some of the drops toward her, splashing her cheeks.

  Instead of drawing away, she remained pressed against the post, enjoying the sensation of the wind tumbling her hair and tugging at her skirt. She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter, willing the wind to blow away the confusing thoughts that had beset her lately, so that she might feel like herself once more.

  A tug on her arm roused her from her reverie. She looked down to see her cousin Rose, her face smudged and hair ribbons dangling limply. “Lizzie, aren’t you listening? I’ve been talkin’ and talkin’, and you won’t answer me.”

  “I’m sorry, Rose. I guess I was daydreaming.”

  “You must always be daydreaming anymore,” the little girl complained. “Half the time when someone talks to you, you don’t even hear ’em.”

  Stung by the justice of Rose’s remark, Lizzie made an effort to pull herself together. She knelt in front of the eight-year-old. “I’m listening now,” she assured her. “What’s the trouble?”

  Rose’s lower lip jutted out belligerently. “It’s Sammy,” she said, referring to her twin brother. “He and Travis are being mean to me.”

  Lizzie tried to smother a smile. The squa
bbling of the three siblings was legendary. “You know who you and your brothers remind me of?” she asked. Rose shook her head solemnly. “You remind me of what Willie and I were like when we were your age.”

  Rose’s eyes grew round with wonder. “You and Willie?” she asked suspiciously, as if doubting whether anyone who had reached the advanced age of nineteen could once have been eight herself.

  Lizzie nodded emphatically. “We were either the best of friends or at each other’s throat,” she said. “Either way, it seemed like we were always getting into trouble.”

  “Willie’s still in trouble a lot of the time,” Rose said solemnly.

  Lizzie managed a small smile. “Not as much as he used to be,” she told her cousin. “And he’s only sixteen. He’s still growing up.”

  Rose eyed her gravely. “But you’re all growed up, aren’t you?” she asked. “You hardly ever get in trouble.” She sighed. “I hope I grow up real fast, so I don’t have any more problems.”

  Lizzie winced. How could she tell the little girl that growing up brought more problems than she had ever dreamt of? She couldn’t, she decided. She didn’t even know specifically what her problems were—only the vague unsettled feeling she’d had lately that things were changing faster than she could keep up with them.

  “Tell you what,” she said, scrubbing at the little girl’s cheek with her handkerchief. “Let’s get your ribbons tied and your face and hands washed, and then you can go back and play with Sam and Travis some more.” When Rose seemed ready to protest, she added, “It really will get better someday. I promise. Boys go through stages like this.”

  “Okay,” Rose agreed. She reached out to give Lizzie an enormous hug. “Thanks, Lizzie. I’ll be glad when I’m grown and know all the right things to do, like you.”

  Like me? Lizzie watched the little girl scamper off and felt a wave of despair twist at her heart. Honey, if you only knew! Half the time, I don’t even feel like I know who I am anymore.

  Willie appeared at the front door and scanned the crowd on the porch until he spotted Lizzie. He made his way smoothly through the small knots of people, grinning and making lighthearted comments as he passed. He paused for a moment to give his aunt a hug and bent to peck a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek. Both women shook their heads and smiled indulgently as he moved past.

  His lively blue eyes lit up as he reached Lizzie, showing a familiar mischievous twinkle. He lounged against the porch rail, trying his best to look nonchalant. “Have I got a great idea!” He spoke softly from the corner of his mouth. A slight frown crossed his face when Lizzie didn’t respond immediately. “I said I’ve got a great idea, Sis—one of my best. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

  Lizzie stirred uneasily. Willie’s “great ideas” had gotten them into a ton of trouble during their growing-up years. Well, to be honest, she’d had just as many ornery ideas as Willie, maybe more. Only last summer, in fact, it had been her notion for them to sneak into the bunkhouse when the cowboys were absent and move all the mattresses up into the rafters. Now, though, the prospect of mischief didn’t even begin to appeal to her.

  “I don’t think I feel up to pulling any pranks today, Willie.”

  Willie’s brow furrowed. “What’s the matter, Sis, you sick?”

  “No, I’m not sick,” she answered impatiently. Then, seeing his dejected look, she gave in. “Okay, what’s your brilliant idea?”

  Willie’s face lit up at the chance to share his stroke of genius. Casting a sidelong glance at the chattering crowd on the porch to make sure no one was paying attention, he slid one hand under his vest and pulled out a stout stick that had been cut in half. One end of each piece had the point of a hat pin protruding from it.

  “You know that new gray Stetson Bert’s so proud of?” he asked, referring to the favorite headgear of one of the cowboys. Willie’s eyes gleamed. “Well, all we have to do is stick these pins in his hat, one through each side, and it’ll look like someone jammed the whole stick through. It won’t hurt the hat any, but Bert will have a fit!” He stopped, looking immensely proud of himself. “What do you think?” he asked.

  A cold weight seemed to settle in Lizzie’s stomach. “I don’t think so, Willie. It just doesn’t seem. . .right.”

  “Not right? What do you mean, not right?” Even Willie’s crestfallen expression couldn’t motivate her to give in and get involved, as it surely would have only a few months ago. She shrugged in irritation.

  “It just seems. . .I don’t know. . .childish, I guess. Go ahead if you want to. I just don’t feel like doing it, that’s all.”

  Willie’s disappointment turned to vexation. “I don’t get it, Lizzie. We’ve always done everything together. You’ve always been my best friend. But lately, you don’t want to do anything but moon around all over the place. You go around like you’re walking in your sleep, and you don’t hear half the things people say to you. If you’re not sick, then what’s wrong with you?” He turned on his heel and stomped away in disgust.

  Lizzie watched his retreating figure as he wove through the crowd. “I don’t know, Willie,” she murmured softly. “I just don’t know.”

  Returning to her previous position at the post, she closed her eyes and let the breeze tug at her hair, savoring the welcome chill of the raindrops that made their way past the eaves to splatter on her skin.

  ❧

  From the opposite end of the porch, Adam McKenzie watched the loosened tendrils of hair play around Lizzie’s face, feeling the familiar longing stir within him. She looks like an angel, he thought. A dreamy, gray-eyed angel.

  Adam leaned back, bracing his hands against the porch railing. Charles and Jeff had declared this a ranch holiday, with only absolutely essential work to be done. Today he could take a guilt-free break and indulge himself in feasting his eyes on the most beautiful sight in northern New Mexico.

  Lizzie swept a finger across one cheek, capturing a lock of golden hair and tucking it behind an ear. Adam wished he could caress that cheek, stroke that hair, whisper his feelings into that ear.

  He swallowed, trying to dislodge the lump in his throat. Unable to do it, he cleared his throat loudly and turned resignedly toward the barn. No matter how pleasant the distractions, the horses still needed to be fed.

  two

  “Mama! Lizzie’s comin’!”

  Lizzie heard Rose’s shrill yell long before her horse reached the barn at her aunt and uncle’s home. She rounded the corner of the building to see her little cousin skipping to meet her.

  “Can I take Dancer, Lizzie? Can I tie him up for you?”

  Lizzie dismounted with an easy grace born of countless hours in the saddle and had started to hand the reins to Rose when another high voice broke in.

  “Don’t you touch Dancer, Rosie! It’s my turn!” An eight-year-old whirlwind with Rose’s chestnut hair and blue eyes burst through the front door of the white frame house and into the yard.

  “Is not!” Rose countered.

  “Is too! You got him last time.”

  Lizzie tried to suppress a smile as Rose’s eyes narrowed at her twin and her foot began tapping an ominous tattoo in the dust.

  “Samuel Austin Bradley, you know that’s not true,” she accused. “Last time Lizzie was here, you got to brush Dancer and feed him and water him and everything, ’cause I was in the house helping Lizzie and Mama. You’re just trying to sneak an extra turn.”

  Young Sam’s eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to make a hot retort. Lizzie decided she’d better step in before fists started flying.

  “All right, Sam, that’s enough,” she said, trying to sound stern. “Rose is right. You did get to take care of Dancer last time, so it’s her turn today.” Noting his mutinous expression, she went on. “My saddle got awfully dusty on the ride over today. Do you think you could unsaddle Dancer and wipe it down for me?”

  Sam puffed out his chest and answered, “Sure, Lizzie. I’ll polish it up real nice!”

 
She watched the two walk away—Rose leading Dancer, Sam following along and keeping a proprietary eye on the saddle—with a sigh a relief, hoping the uneasy truce would last. Tapping on the partly open front door, she let herself in at Judith’s call. “You saw?” she asked Judith, who was seated at the quilting frame near the large window.

  Judith nodded. “And heard. That was a nice touch, making Sammy feel useful.”

  Lizzie sagged into a chair across from Judith. “Do they ever let up? How do you manage it?”

  “Well, in addition to relying on a lot of prayer and the Lord’s wisdom, I have one secret weapon.”

  Lizzie’s eyes widened. “You do? What is it?”

  Judith’s eyes twinkled as she leaned toward Lizzie and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I had a lot of prior experience with some rambunctious Bradley children,” she confided.

  Lizzie stared blankly for a moment, then felt her face redden as she realized her aunt was referring to her and her brother in their younger days.

  “Oh, no!” she protested. “Willie and I may have been a handful, but we were never. . .” Her voice trailed off at Judith’s look of amusement. “All right,” she conceded. “I guess we were every bit as rowdy as those two.”

  “At least!” Judith laughed in remembrance. “If you weren’t pretending to be outlaws plundering the West, you were plotting to nail the outhouse door shut. Sometimes I used to wonder what was more dangerous—a full-scale Indian raid, or the two young Bradleys.”

  “But you did say it gave you experience,” Lizzie reminded her with an impish grin.

  “That’s true,” Judith replied. “So count your blessings, Lizzie.” At the younger girl’s puzzled expression, she continued, making an obvious effort to maintain a straight face. “The experience you’re gaining now with Rose and Sam will be excellent training for you when you’re trying to deal with your own children.”

  “My own?” Lizzie sputtered. “Oh, no. I’m not having any like that!” She clapped both hands across her mouth, appalled at what she had just said. Then, seeing one corner of her aunt’s mouth twitch upward despite her best efforts, she amended sheepishly, “I guess I won’t have much choice in the matter, will I? Is that one of those cases of ‘sowing and reaping’ do you think?”