Free Aly's House by Leila Meacham Page A

morning and find that my horses haven’t been properly cared for, I’ll give you a thrashing you’ll never forget. I don’t give a damn if you are a Kingston. I’ll take my chances with your old man when I get through with you. You got that?”
    “I got it,” said Aly. “Now we better check on—” she glanced down at the name printed on the white card in the nameplate. “Old MacDonald here. He has a runny nose. Isn’t that a sign of congestion?”
    At six o’clock when her day was finished, Aly’s fatigue was matched only by her elation. I could really get into this! she decided on the way out to Cedar Hill. Tonight when she returned home, she would stop by the public library before closing time and check out some books on the breeding of horses.
    Elizabeth, to stave off the loneliness of Marshall’s departure, had asked that she have supper with them again, and Aly, her mouth watering from the smell of roast pork and dressing, was ready to faint from hunger by the time she sat down at the sumptuously laden table on the screened-in back porch.
    “Aly,” Elizabeth said firmly as she heaped a plate for her guest, “you’ll have to start eating more if you’re to do a man’s work for Matt Taylor.”
    “I know,” said Aly, her mouth full of the succulent tender meat, “but I can’t seem to get down anybody’s food but yours.”
    “Then you’ll just have to start taking your meals with us.”
    Aly stared at Elizabeth. Willy and Sy looked up, too, and all eating momentarily halted. “Why don’t you stay with us until the farm is sold?” Elizabeth suggested. “I’ve talked Sy into staying until then. No point in leaving my garden to die. We’ll stay until someone else takes over. You’re welcome to live with us until then.” She passed some more gravy down to Aly, pretending not to notice the surprise of her listeners. “You’ve always loved this house. There isn’t too much time left to enjoy it. I’d like for you stay with us, Aly. Besides,” she added, her smile fond, “how else can I teach you how to cook?”
    “Elizabeth…Sy…,” Aly looked from one to the other, reading the hope of her acceptance on both their faces. Willy winked at her, the black eyes hopeful. “I’d love to,” she said. “Oh, how much I’d love to.”
    Over her parents’ indignant protests, Aly moved out of the family home on Elm Drive out to Cedar Hill, where she was given a simple, spare, but immaculate room next to Marshall’s. At the end of the first week, weary but contented, Aly lay awake in her room thinking of the new direction her life was taking. She was finding to her great amazement that she loved being around horses and the men who worked with them. It was a frank, forthright kind of labor that suited her own direct manner and straightforward nature. She had made mistakes this week, but they had been forgiven as honest ones, and she was certain that at the end of the month, Sampson could be declared rightfully hers.
    By then, both Marshall and Victoria would be home—Marshall for the auction and Victoria for the summer. Her older sister had already accepted a teaching job in Oklahoma City. Aly thought of the pictures hanging on the wall in the next room. Did Marshall care for Victoria? Had all these years of indifference toward her been a façade to protect his pride from the ruthlessness of her beauty. Had he deliberately avoided the trap into which poor Joe Handlin had fallen? She knew Victoria had always had a hankering for Marshall. But for what, for how long, was anybody’s guess.
    In the following days, Sy looked for work at the surrounding ranches and farms. Nobody was hiring except the oil companies, and Elizabeth drew the line at her husband going near a dangerous drilling rig, even if he’d been qualified. Each night at the supper table, he seemed more drawn and depressed, his spirits not lifting even when he and Willy sat down to play dominoes.
    Aly went with Elizabeth in search