The Wineberg

By S.D. Hill

"A murderer!" Lorenzo interjected, asserting the words she couldn't bring herself to say,
watching her closely, noting the offended expression on her face.
"Yes! You see him in that light, I don't. I-didn't witness that side of him, I know my dad
to be a giving, gentle man. I loved him, Lorenzo, he's the only father I had and I know, deep
down, I know he killed your father and he regretted it."
"Regret, my ass! He didn't regret damned thing he did until he burned down the Double
C farm and you survived the fire. He witnessed your suffering and you became his conscience!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479766222

S.D. Hill

After having T.I.A's that couldn't be explained, it was discovered that I had an enraptured aneurysm, which was recently coiled. Forced to realize that time is fleeting, that you can't and shouldn't put things off, that every day is a blessing and a gift. As a wife, mother, and grandmother, I am thankful for whatever each morning brings. Writing has always been a passion, a dream, and something that I would have time for, later. When all of life's day to day problems were solved... There's no time like the present and problems will always be there.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Texas, 1886

Rebecca stood on the balcony outside of her bedroom staring down at the dry, cracked earth beneath it. The ground was so parched, it appeared to be dying of thirst and void of any sign of life, much like how she felt. Not in the sense that she was arid, but she could certainly relate to the chasm she was positive the good earth must feel on days like this—empty and barren, just waiting for something to happen, anything that would cause it to spring back to life. The dirt beneath her had hope on its side, for the rains would eventually come and fill its void, but the same was not so for her. Hope was something that was taken from her a long time ago. There was a time when she believed that she had some control over her life, over her destiny, but she didn’t. Accepting that cold hard fact had been very difficult, but somehow, somewhere in time, Rebecca gave up such notions, though she wasn’t quite sure when. Everything that once mattered no longer seemed to exist. She was as depleted and as broken as the dirt she stared down at.

Rebecca lived in the biggest house in town. From her balcony, she could see the barn, the bunkhouse, and a portion of the corral. When she was a little girl, she felt such pride looking out at it, knowing that she was part of it. She would tell herself, Count yer blessin’s, girl, ’cause yer awfully lucky to have so much. The sad thing is that she could no longer think it or believe it. Her existence was an empty one—without purpose, without reason. Some would think that she had life made; once upon a time, she believed that, too. For the life of her, she didn’t know what she should do. How do you regain control of something that’s been lost to you for so many years? What do you hold on to when there’s nothing left?

That old familiar feeling ran through her, that foreboding of helpless pity. Rebecca hated feeling sorry for herself. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath. She would not allow that to happen. It wouldn’t do any good.

Days pass, years go by; in one big smear, nothing changes. Life goes on with its little surprises. In more than six years of being married to Holt Wineberg, he had never once taken her to town for socializing. Suddenly, it was pertinent that she accompany him to the Cattlemen’s Ball. Every year, the town threw two large celebrations: one, the Saturday night before beginning the cattle drive; and another, after all the men returned.

The who’s who of Culgatta would all be in attendance. Holt told her that she had no choice in the matter. He even purchased the gown she would be wearing. Holt was up to something—but what? When she pressed for a reason behind the invite, he had lost his temper. So, here she was giving in, once more, another small piece of her will being chipped away. She would go with him, act her part, and wear the hideous dress he said she had to wear.

Yes, life goes on. With that thought and with a shrug of her shoulders, she entered her bedroom to start preparing herself for her first real dance.

After bathing and primping, brushing her hair until her arm was tired, wishing she could get out of going, she slipped the dress on over her petticoat. She went to stand in front of the looking glass. The image that stared back at her was unbelievable. The black lace from her petticoat was in plain sight, as well as a cleavage she wasn’t even aware of. Rebecca had never seen a dress cut so low, it offered virtually no protection from prying eyes, even women that worked in saloons wore dresses that covered more bosom than this one. She looked like a trollop dressed in bright red satin—the rounded neckline bared much of her back, inch-wide shoulder straps that fell just off the shoulders connected the bodice, a gathered skirt hung loosely from her waist to the floor, covering her laced-up boots. She shook her head in abhorrence.

Juanita entered the room of her patroña without knocking. "Ju husband says to hurree. Madre de Dios! Is he crazee to make ju wear dat… dat cosa? she gawked at the woman in shock. Pobrecita." Her heart went out to poor Rebecca. She had lived a hard life for one so young and pretty. To be tied to that evil man, it hurt her to see the girl she practically raised this unhappy. As a child, she was full of life and energy.

Juanita, do I look that terrible? Rebecca saw the disapproval in her friend’s eyes.

"No. Tu mirar mui lindo, but de dress does no suit ju… a lady does no wear such a dress." Rebecca was very beautiful—but that dress!

Rebecca smiled at Juanita; she understood exactly what she was saying. The dress was meant to embarrass her, make her look cheap in front of the upstanding residents that would be in town tonight, but why?

What choice do I have, Juanita? Rebecca sighed. I tried to refuse to put this thing on, to no avail of course, but I did try. God, I’m so tired of feeling trapped, obligated, and powerless. It’s one compromise after another. When does it stop? Her crystal blue eyes revealed the dormant anger that was always inside of her.

"I have no answers, Patroña. We all do what we have to. Sit. The rounded, full-figured Juanita commanded. I will pin ju hair wid dat pretty Spanish comb and drape de black lace shawl to cover some of jor chest." Juanita set about her duties; she wanted Rebecca to look and feel beautiful. That scruff of a man the poor girl was married to was no good. What does a man like him gain from trying to destroy such a fine person?

Keep still. I’m almost finished! She smiled at Rebecca’s impatience to see if there was any improvement. Juanita clasped the broach firmly in place. Now, better, no?

Rebecca looked at herself in the mirror and smiled contentedly at her reflection. Her light sandy brown hair was twisted in a bun and held in place with a large gold comb, shortening the length of her hair, which fell in a tail just beneath her shoulders. Without the comb, her hair hung almost to her hips. The black lace shawl was draped around her back and shoulders. It was pinned right above the low neckline of the dress, concealing a great deal more of her bosom.

She hugged Juanita. The dress was, now, more tolerable. Her eyes sparkled with laughter and gratitude; her smile said it all.

Dis is how I like to see ju, happy wid a smile on ju beautiful face.

Thank you, what would I ever do without you, my dear Juanita?

I don’t know. Juanita laughed, shaking her head. "Better hurree before la osa comes up here looking for ju." She referred to Holt as a bear, but to her, he was much worse than any animal.

Rebecca went down the stairs feeling lighthearted and, in a way, looking forward to her night out. I’m ready, she announced when she entered the parlor.

Holt peered at his wife; no smile on his face. You take too damned long! I see ya managed to ruin the dress. Look at yer hair all fixed up like some Spanish Sin-yo-rida, he mocked. You look foolish.

Like I said, I’m ready. If you’ve changed your mind about my going, that’s fine by me, Holt. I’d prefer to stay.

No! We’re leavin’ now. Pedro get the surrey. He stared long and hard at Rebecca, his eyes narrowing with invidiousness. He resented everything about her, despite her many attributes. Have any idea why I’m takin’ ya? he asked, still staring at her.

None. Holt, you can go without me, I—

Hell! Woman, I know that. If ya wanted t’come, I’d make ya stay.

Rebecca looked away, anxious for Pedro to return. It was best not to say any more to Holt. He was a cruel and vindictive man, always has been.

I expect ya to act befittingly, dance if ya want, but don’t rankle me, he charged.

When Pedro came in to say the surrey was ready, he glanced timidly at the señora for a brief moment, startled by her appearance. His eyes then went to Holt.

What’s yer problem, Pedro? Holt asked, knowing he was the one being judged, not Becky.

"Patroñ, she should no be displayed." Pedro voiced his opinion carefully, not wanting to offend his boss.

Rebecca was surprised at Pedro’s directness. He worked solely for Holt, never questioning Holt’s orders. She was flattered that he would speak out on her behalf.

She’s not yer wife, is she? Holt snapped, thwartly, before reconsidering Pedro’s words. Ya made yer point, Pedro. Let’s go. Holt entered the surrey, leaving him to assist Rebecca. Sometimes he just didn’t understand his boss.

Juanita watched as they drove off, raising a cloud of dust, trailing the long ride into town. She would pray that all goes well for Rebecca, but something in the pit of her stomach warned differently.

A light evening breeze cooled the air, making the ride more enjoyable. Rebecca closed her eyes, she thought about her first buggy ride into town as a little girl. The day was dry and hot, much like this one, only back then it was Stub Wineberg in the seat across from her. Stub—a kind, straightforward man. She remembered the day Stub and Charlie Haden rescued her from the fire, a fire that took her entire family. The only memory she had of them was that of her father scooting her out of a window and yelling at her to run. She was five at the time.

Stub and Charlie arrived after the fire and found her screaming. Both tried extremely hard to comfort her and make up for the loss that she had suffered. At first, neither one of them could get through to her, but Charlie found a way to calm her. Then, when Stub sat her on the horse in front of him and held her protectively, she felt safe in her daddy’s arms. The two men fussed over her and pampered her from that day on.

Stub carried her back to his ranch. Though his wife Thea protested, he made her part of his family. Rebecca recalled how wonderful she felt the day he adopted her. She never thought it possible that she would find herself married to Stub’s son. What a nightmare!

Rebecca glanced at Holt, who was nothing like his father. Stub, a man whom, for as long as she could remember, she considered to be her daddy. Holt was full of spite and anger. As children, she believed him to be dangerous. As they grew up, she knew her instincts were right. She always avoided him as much as she could. Thea hated her, but she could overlook that because Stub Wineberg was her daddy and treated her as such. Somehow, Thea, in the end, discovered a way to make her pay for her obtrusion. Thea had threatened often enough, but Rebecca believed in Stub. She just knew he would never allow anything bad to happen to her.

Holt shot his wife a cold glare; he could feel her looking at him. He smiled as her expression saddened. Thinkin’ about him, again? he asked intuitively.

Pardon.

Our father. Whenever you get that ‘lost little girl’ look, he’s usually on yer mind.

I was remembering when he brought me to town a few days after he found me. He told me to pick out as many dresses and shoes as I wanted. He bought me every ribbon that was in the store that day. He was a unique man.

That’s yer opinion, and yer opinion doesn’t count fer nothin’, Holt informed her, opening his eyes widely to emphasize his point.

Agreeing to come into town with him was a mistake. She looked out at the prairie, nervously biting down on her lip. Holt, what’s this about? My going with you tonight, what’s so different about tonight? she asked, wishing he would, for once, give her a straight answer.

Feelin’ a bit uneasy? That’s good. We’ll soon be there.

Holt, let Pedro take me back home, please. She was suddenly gripped with fear. He laughed aloud—a strange, twisted laugh. She hated when he got like this. There would be no reasoning with him. To ask Pedro to disobey Holt would be like sentencing the man to die. There was nothing else she could do.

Will Charlie be there? she asked, hoping he would. He could shield her from Holt’s wrath.

Might. Might not. He smirked. Tell me, Becky, how’s yer hero Stub gonna help ya, now? Think maybe his spirit will rise up and come to yer defense? He laughed again.

He was gloating at Rebecca’s displeasure. How can you talk like that? He was your father! He’s dead and gone, yet you still lash out at him, mocking his memory, his name!

Ya talkin’ to me as a wife or as a sister? If as a wife, don’t ever try to tell me what to think or to feel. If as a sister, mind yer own business. He found what he said to be hilarious, pointing a finger deridingly at the solemn look on Rebecca’s face.

Ya really loved him, didn’t ya? he said with a calmness in his voice.

Yes, I did.

Rebecca shook her head. She would never feel comfortable around the man; he made it impossible. She didn’t like this game he was playing. His taunts and laughter reminded her of when they were first married. A marriage both were forced into.

Rebecca recalled how anxious she was to return home that year. She couldn’t wait to get back. She was returning to Culgatta via train and stagecoach; her heart was full of love, and her purse filled with letters from the man she loved. She was coming back to marry him, Lorenzo Jenkins, the man of her dreams—her past and her future. He was her best friend.

They had played together as children, practicing their shooting, roping, racing head long through the wind—so many wonderful countless games. Their imagination, limitless. He was everything to her.

Rebecca returned home with every intention of making their marriage a real one. On her last visit home just a year earlier, they spoke of their feelings as young adults. She could hear his voice, the way her name rolled from his tongue R-r-rebecca. When he said it, her name was given a whole new life. That R at the beginning caused all sorts of feelings to stir deep within.

They had jumped over a broomstick, pledging their love to one another. ‘Te quiro por siempre, hasta la muerte y màs allà y nada lo cambiarà, mi amor.’ His words were echoing in her mind. He vowed to love her forever, through death and beyond ‘. . . and nothing will ever change that, my love.’ She could hear his voice whispering the words to her.

Old Thea had plans of her own, and she managed to talk Stub into agreeing with her. Rebecca returned home to marry, and marry she did, only it was to a man she loathed, not the man she loved.

They told her, Holt needs a wife, someone brought up as his equal, not the low-bred women around here. We took you in through the goodness of our hearts. We put a roof over yer head, clothed you, fed you, even saw fit to educate you, never asking you fer anythin’ in return ’cept this one tiny request. And if you refuse us this one small favor, you’ll find yerself alone, penniless, and friendless in our town.

Rebecca felt as if her life had ended. She went to Cristina Martinez, Lorenzo’s mother for help, but she couldn’t offer any refuge. Lorenzo had gone off to find some sort of work to make enough money for the two of them to start their lives together. Cristina offered her prayers, but she could not fight the Winebergs.

Even Charlie let her down. Stub talked him into it. He was full of objections at first, but eventually, he came around to Stub’s way of thinking, leaving Rebecca deserted and helplessly alone. She’d been alone ever since, though she still had Charlie. And Stub came to realize his mistake; he regretted what he had done. She had to endure the man across from her, which was no paltry task. Stub eased her burden when before his death, he made Holt swear that he would never touch her or try to enter her bedroom again, and Holt, so far, was in keeping with that promise.

Alone is a sorrowful way to spend your life—unable to trust, afraid to. The people she did trust could be counted on one hand, with a couple of fingers to spare. Holt was the man with the money, so he owned most everyone’s loyalty; and as long as he continued buying, paying, and bullying people the way he does, he always would.

Land is money, and money is power, Holt always says, and when you have both, you command respect.

Respect was important to Holt, whether or not it was deserved didn’t matter, just as long as everyone treated him accordingly. Her feelings were not important to him, her opinion didn’t count, and Holt took great pleasure in reminding her of how insignificant she was to him. That’s why this evening’s outing bothered her. It wasn’t like Holt to ask her to be a party to any aspect of his life.

Oh god, the ride seemed endless. She felt his eyes on her and turned her head slightly to glance at him. Sometimes she believed he was as unhappy as she was, but then he’d say something hateful, and whatever sympathetic thought she had disappeared.

Still thinkin’ bout our daddy?

No, actually, I was thinking about you.

Don’t waste yer thoughts on me. I don’t want ’em, and I damn sure don’t need ’em, he said stoically.

Rebecca shook her head. It was impossible to have a kind thought for such a lout. He was right, though. Any thought of him, kind or otherwise, was wasted.

At last, Pedro pulled the horses to a halt in front of the Wineberg Hotel, owned in part by her husband, named after Stub. She recalled a story she had been told when she was very young. Stub had gone to New Orleans once, before the war and fell in love, he said, with a hotel. He came home raving about this hotel with large spacious rooms, its elegant decor of marble and fancy woodwork. He said, Our little town should be able to offer big city luxury. Of course, everyone agreed with him. Knowing Stub, she was sure there was more to the story, but he didn’t once mention any name; he just went on and on about this beautiful hotel.

Becky! The sound of Holt’s voice snapped her thoughts back to the present. You remember what I said, he warned as he escorted her toward the lobby of the Wineberg.

Trepidation filled her. She dreaded walking into that big hotel so meagerly dressed. She paused, taking a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Rebecca didn’t want to go to this function.

Becky, it ain’t no time for ya to start acting like some backwoods lag. Stub saved ya from that years ago! Damn it, walk through them doors and let those nice folks have a look at ya. His smile was wicked, his sage green eyes glazed with delight.

Chapter 2

Filled with apprehension, Rebecca allowed Holt to lead the way. All eyes were on them as they made their way to the entrance. It was strange walking arm in arm with Holt—downright unnatural. She wished she was back at the ranch; she’d rather be anywhere but here, pretending that she and Holt were something they’re not. Who were they fooling? There wasn’t a person in town who didn’t know the truth about their situation. It was no secret that Holt had a woman that lived at this very hotel, and they all knew that Rebecca was quite pleased with that fact. So, why attend this dance together? This made absolutely no sense to her, unless Holt’s ego needed a boost, then she could understand why he was parading her around like a cull.

She looked around at the groups of people dressed in their Sunday best. She knew most of them, but not all. These were Holt’s friends, his people. She only hoped her discomfiture wasn’t apparent to those who continued to stare openly. The feeling of searing looks toward her caused her to reach for the lace shawl self-consciously.

Put yer hand down and hold yer head up!

At Holt’s abrasive whisper, she lifted her head, her eyes scanning the crowd as she endeavored to locate the cause of her uneasiness. At first, she believed it had to be the dress causing her to feel queasy and uncertain, until she saw the man a few feet in front of her. Vic, a man Holt had recently hired, his eyes were lustfully fixed on her.

He walked right up to her, too close. Rebecca stepped back to avoid making any contact with him. He looked to be dangerous. She didn’t like him or the way he was looking at her.

Vic, ya have a job to do, oglin’ my wife is not a part of it! Move on. Holt cautioned. He despised people who didn’t know their place.

Holt, honey, aren’t you going to introduce me to yer wife?

A pretty woman with red hair asked. Rebecca knew who she was, although they hadn’t been formally introduced. The woman tugging on Holt’s sleeve was his mistress.

Nope. She knows who ya are and what ya are. Go mingle, and I’ll catch up with ya, later. He kissed her lightly on the mouth and caressed her bottom, not concerned with being discreet.

They were near the vicinity of the doorway when Gertie and Willem Finley came to greet them. Willem, part owner of the hotel, offered his hand to Holt and bowed his head to Rebecca. He then grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips, appearing to be every bit the gentleman while getting his eye full of the lovely woman before him.

When he continued squeezing her hand, Rebecca jerked it out of his grasp, appalled by the overture, her hand wet from his kisses.

Allow me to apologize for my husband’s rudeness. Come on, I’ll show ya around. Help ya get reacquainted with all your friends, Gertie offered.

Rebecca eyed Gertie, knowing full well that her offer was anything but friendly. These people were either Holt’s friends or his business partners. Gertie had a reputation of being a very friendly woman, but not with Rebecca. It was usually just the opposite. Rebecca knew her to be one of Holt’s many snoops. Gertie made sure to fill Holt in, whenever she thought Rebecca was overspending or simply buying something that in her opinion was unnecessary. No, this definitely was not a friendly gesture.

Run along, Becky, Holt mumbled, eager to discuss matters with Willem.

Rebecca went with Gertie, nodding pleasantly at men who tipped their hats, smiling with wives, who quickly turned their attention to their husbands. She felt out of place and uncomfortable with the surroundings and the people.

There was no sign of Charlie—that alone was a cause to worry. He should’ve been back from Austin, by now. She continued smiling. Gertie, too, smiled brightly, laughing at things being said, but the woman was tense, unnerved. It wasn’t anything in Gertie’s actions; it was more her rigid demeanor. Her smile looked like a permanent fixture, nothing genuine or sincere—it was just there.

Have a glass of punch, Miss Rebecca.

Thank you, Mr. Buford. He was one of few people that Rebecca liked and respected. She considered him a friend. She glanced down shyly, aware of how she looked in the rig she was wearing.

Miss Rebecca, don’t let that dress bother ya none. You’d look beautiful in anything. There ain’t no mistaken yer decency.

Thanks. How’s your wife doing? she inquired, starting to feel more at ease.

I wish I could say she was fine. The truth is she’s ailing. I see that woman of Holt’s eyeing you, I’d say she’s a good one to keep away from.

Don’t worry. I intend to keep a distance from her.

The musicians started playing a lively tune. She didn’t want to circle the lobby again. She decided to enjoy herself, forget about Holt and the reason behind the invite. She didn’t have to dance; she could watch the others, listen to their laughter, listen to the music and the shuffling of feet across the hardwood floor. Everyone was beginning to enjoy themselves. Rebecca intended to do the same.

Gertie, I believe I’ve met everyone.

Not everyone, I assure you. I’d like ya to meet your husband’s new partner in the hotel bizness, she jeered through gritted teeth, the hostility she felt surfacing. The woman walked briskly to a closed door in a hall just off the lobby.

I didn’t know you and Willem wanted to sell your portion. Rebecca was stunned that they would sell after all this time. Willem and Holt had been partners for close to five years.

Sell! Gertie exclaimed, eyeing Rebecca harshly, hell, that bastard lost it in a poker game. He was so damn sure he would win, he didn’t know how to quit while he was ahead. She frowned bitterly as she neared the door.

I’m sorry, Gertie, I can imagine how you must feel. No wonder the poor woman seemed so tensed.

You think so? She glared at Rebecca before opening the door. This is the new partner. I believe you two know each other. Gertie sneered wickedly, feeling slightly appeased.

The shocked expression on Rebecca Wineberg’s face brought some gratification,. You hold on to your sympathy, I don’t want it. You’ll be needing it far more than me. The many times in my life I’ve cursed you for making my life a misery. Hell, I do believe this makes up for some of it. Before walking away, she remarked, "I can’t imagine how you feel!"

Rebecca couldn’t believe her eyes. Astonished, she could do nothing but gape. It had been seven years since she had seen him—seven long, tormenting years. He was back. There was so much she wanted to say, so much to explain, and so many questions to ask, yet she remained speechless.

The pounding of her heart was almost painful. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Rebecca glanced into the room, shocked by the sight of Lorenzo sitting behind the desk. His ash gray eyes were looking back at her, his lips together—not smiling, not frowning. His face was tanned by the sun, fine lines etched into his skin around the outer corner of his eyes, his black hair cut neatly, hanging just above the roll collar of his white starched shirt. He looked every bit the business man, every bit a man—her man. He was virile, well dressed, his shoulders wide, narrowing symmetrically to his waist. Lorenzo was Holt’s new business partner. She didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad.

God, he was handsome, more so than she remembered. Lorenzo was here, in the flesh. How many times had she imagined seeing him, again. She couldn’t move; she just stood there. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and his penetrated to the depth of her soul. She watched him push his seat back and stand, never taking his eyes off of her. She just stood there, stock-still.

He was, to her, a man like no other, perfect in every way—tall, handsome, masculine. His beautiful gray eyes danced with roguishness as he walked toward her, and she remained there waiting for him. Anticipation building, Rebecca didn’t know what to expect. She only knew that at that precise moment, she was happy, delightfully happy.

May I?

The potent sound of his voice lured her to the dance floor; the touch of his hand on hers impelled her, moving her through the crowd. The thought of refusing him never entered her mind. Rebecca allowed herself to be swept away in his arms, following his steps on to the dance floor. She felt as if she was gliding, her heart pounding, and her body trembling. Being held in his arms after so many years was heaven to her. She responded to his every touch, the mere feel of him. Suddenly, she felt vital, full of hope. She closed her eyes, laying her head on his shoulder, wanting the music to last forever; but all too quickly, it came to an end. He curtsied, thanked her for the dance, and disappeared into the crowd.

She looked at the people around her, their startled expressions evident. She stood for a second feeling dumbfounded as they watched her curiously. Rebecca didn’t care what they thought of her, and she wouldn’t do what she was confident they wanted her to do: Run after Lorenzo,