Bittner, Rosanne (32 page)

The children's tutor also lived on the third floor. Lettie had written to a school in Boston to inquire about having someone sent out, and the result had been Elsie Bansen, a lovely, blond twenty-year-old, who came from an orphanage. Elsie could not only teach reading and writing, but also knew how to play the piano. She was giving lessons to Pearl, who sat downstairs in the parlor right now plunking away at a lesson. Lettie loved the sound of the grand piano they had ordered out of Chicago. It filled the whole house with music, and sometimes she felt like crying at the sound of it, remembering when the constant wind was all there was to listen to.

Elsie had seemed uncertain at first that she wanted to live in such a remote area. But then she had fallen head over heels in love with one of Luke's new hired hands, Peter Yost, a handsome young cowboy who had come to the Double L because he "wanted to work for the biggest rancher in Montana Territory." It seemed that out here, if a man couldn't be a big-time rancher himself, the next best thing was to work for one, and at least if Elsie and Peter got married, they were almost sure to stay on at the ranch. With all the hired help, some with wives, the Double L was becoming its own little settlement, and there were no more horribly lonely winters.

Lettie rose and walked over to smooth the colorful quilt on the bed, a quilt she had made herself. She moved to the separate washroom then, just off the bedroom for Luke's and her private use. She cleaned up Luke's shaving table, poured water from a porcelain pitcher into a marble sink to wash it out. Luke had rigged the sink and a porcelain bathtub so that water ran outside through pipes. Old wash water would never again have to be carried out and dumped. Supplies of fresh water were kept in holding tanks built into a special room on the third floor, so that the rest of the house had running water through simple gravity, and a coal-fired boiler in the basement heated the whole house, as well as providing hot water for bathing.

She felt like the most modern woman who ever lived, although she knew there were even more advanced plumbing systems for people in places like Denver. For now, and for this part of the country, this was the height of elegance. Everything was still so new that she had not tired yet of looking at her grand home. The rooms were big and airy, cool in summers because of the wonderful cross-ventilation of the home's many windows. A veranda ran the entire circumference of the house, supported by white pillars that stood out beautifully against the red brick of the outside walls. The porch had not been part of the original design, but Lettie had insisted on having one, so the builder had obliged, and every window was graced with white shutters. Green grass surrounded the house, watered by ranch hands who sprinkled it by means of a hydraulic system from a creek higher in the mountains.

Fine mahogany and walnut furniture decorated the home throughout, from the elegant highboy in Luke's and her room to the magnificent buffet and the huge dining table and chairs that matched it in the dining room downstairs. The library was fast filling with books, works by great writers of the time, books for teaching the children, even books on banking and investments for Luke.

She walked downstairs, running her hand along the rich mahogany stair rail, stopping at a wide landing to rearrange a few knicknacks in a corner cupboard before descending the carpeted stairs to the lower level. The stairs ended at the back of the grand front entry hall, its walls, ceiling, and arched entry into the rest of the house made entirely of the same rich mahogany that graced the rest of the house, the woodwork beautifully detailed along the edges with a scroll design. She made her way down a hallway then, past the library and a drawing room, through the large dining room and into the kitchen, where beside her old coal-burning cookstove sat a newer stove heated with kerosene. Above a working island in the center of the kitchen hung several copper cooking pots and pans, made especially for Luke by Shane Copper Mills in Denver with copper taken from the Double L.

She had been right to suggest to Luke that they allow Jeremy Shane to send his geologists to the Double L. There had indeed been a valuable mineral on their land, copper, not as rich as gold, but certainly rich enough to continue a very comfortable life in case some disaster should wipe out their beef market. For now, beef remained their primary source of income, a new army contract bringing them seven dollars a head this summer, another contract with Patterson's Meat Supply in Omaha ensuring that they would take any excess beef the army couldn't use, at the same price.

She reached the kitchen, where Katie and Pearl were helping Mae knead bread dough. The girls were giggling at the feel of the dough between their fingers and occasionally flicking flour into each other's faces. Five-year-old Paul sat on the floor playing with wooden blocks.

"Where is Robbie?" Lettie asked the girls.

"He's in the garden shed out back, sitting with Pancake," Katie answered. "Ever since Pancake got bit by that rattler, the dog just lays there. Pa says he'll live, but you know how Robbie hates to see anything hurting. He still thinks Pancake will die if he doesn't stay right by him and talk to him."

Lettie sighed, feeling sorry for Robbie. Big, old, yellow Pancake was his favorite of all the dogs. Robbie would not go near horses ever since being kicked by one when he was little, but he loved dogs. He had a penchant for nursing things, from birds with broken wings to his own brothers and sisters whenever they took sick. Now it was Pancake who needed his tender, loving care. He was such a good boy. She wished Luke would be a little more patient with him. Luke expected the boy to be just like Ty, eager to learn about the ranch and learn to ride. It had upset Luke that Robbie would no longer come out to watch the branding. He had cried every time he watched, and this year he had refused to go out at all. It was a source of great frustration to Luke.

"Mommy, read to me," Paul asked, abandoning his blocks and reaching up for her. She picked him up, knowing that of all the children she had spoiled little Paul the most. After all, he was the baby of the family, her last "little one." She didn't want him to be five already. Somehow she had thought perhaps he would always stay a baby. She still ached to give birth again, but that would never be. She gave Paul a hug. There was so much about his personality that reminded her of the way Nathan was when he was small, full of energy and mischief, yet often wanting to be coddled.

She stood there torn between obliging Paul's request to read to him, and going out to the shed to poor, sad Robbie. "Let's go see how Pancake is doing first," she told Paul. She carried him out to the back porch, smiling when she heard Mae chiding Pearl for poking her finger into the rising bread dough.

Lettie walked down a path lined with roses just beginning to show some buds. Soon they would bloom in a splendor of red, white, and yellow. They led to a lovely flower garden of which she was very proud. Green grass, bright flowers, all things she thought she'd never have during that first awful winter spent here. She wished her mother could see all of this, but Katie MacBride had died only one year after her visit. Lettie still had not quite gotten over the fact that her mother was gone from this earth and she would never see her again.

Before she could reach the shed, Robbie came running out of it, smacking into her before he realized she was there. "Mom! Come and see! Pancake got up. I rubbed his head all morning with cool water, and he's better! Ain't I a good doctor, Mom! Ain't I?"

Lettie laughed. "'Aren't' is the word, Robbie, not 'ain't,'" she reminded him, following him into the garden shed, where Pancake had lain on an old blanket being nursed by "Dr." Fontaine. The big dog stood panting, his eyes brighter than they had been since his run-in with a rattler out by the barn three days ago. "Well, look, Paul! Old Pancake
is
better!"

After Lettie set Paul down, he hugged Pancake around the neck, and the dog licked his face. "Come on, Pancake!" Robbie called. "Come outside and go for a walk with us!"

Paul followed after them forgetting he had wanted his mother to read to him. Lettie, relieved Pancake had gotten better, returned to the house and walked around the veranda to the front steps. She had just decided to walk to the corral and ask Luke when he would come in for lunch when she noticed someone riding hard up the long drive from the gate below the hill. She recognized Will Doolan, and Runner was with him. They both charged past her to the corral to find Luke.

Lettie shaded her eyes, her heartbeat quickening at the apparent urgency of Will's visit. Had something happened in town? She watched him speak excitedly to Luke without dismounting. She couldn't hear what was being said. Then every man working in the corral, as well as Tyler and all the man sitting on the corral fence, turned to look her way. What on earth was going on? She watched Luke, who seemed to be arguing with Will. Luke also looked her way. He brushed himself off and mounted his horse, shouting some kind of order to Tyler and the rest of the men. He had apparently told them to stay put, as they all remained behind, even Will, while Luke rode up to the house. When he reached her, Lettie noticed his face was ashen, his eyes full of sorrow, the eyes of someone about to give a person terrible news.

"Luke, what is it?"

He slowly dismounted, sighing heavily. He tied the horse, then limped up the steps. His leg never had healed quite right, but he refused to allow the pain to keep him from his work, and he could rope and wrestle a steer as well as any of his men. He was covered with dust and perspiration from a long morning of hard work. He took her arm and led her around the side of the house where the men could not see them.

"Some Sioux attacked James Woodward's place day before yesterday," he told her, "stole some of his beef, all of his horses. Killed Jim, his wife, and his son."

Lettie closed her eyes. "Dear God. What about his daughters?"

"They survived—hid in a root cellar. A few of Jim's men were killed, too, but they managed to down some of the Indians. Those who were just wounded, they shot dead... all but one. They saved him, brought him to town. People are talking about hanging him, but Sheriff Tracy talked them into waiting."

Lettie frowned. "Waiting for what? If they left him alive, why not turn him over to the army at Fort Ellis or Fort Robinson?"

Luke took off his hat and wiped at the sweat on his face with the sleeve of his red shirt. He turned away for a moment, threw his head back as though weighing what he had to say. "Because he's white," he finally answered, "with light hair and blue eyes. Will says he looks about the age Nathan would be... if he would happen to be still alive."

Suddenly, for Lettie, the sun was not shining, the roses were not budding, the birds were not singing. For a moment she could not find her voice. She turned away, not sure she could even breathe. She grasped a wicker rocker, telling herself to stay calm. In the next moment a big hand was squeezing her shoulder.

"It might not even be him, Lettie, and if it is, you've got to realize he's not the innocent little Nathan who was stolen away ten years ago. Will says he's a painted warrior, wild, can't even speak English. He could even be the one who killed Jim and his wife."

"No!"

"You've got to face this, Lettie. It's your decision what we should do about this. Will talked the townspeople into not harming him until you get a chance to go into town and see if you think it's Nathan. You know where he might have had scars or birthmarks. If anybody can tell it's him, you're the one; but I'm afraid of what it will do to you to see him that way—maybe to have to let him go again. You can't just go there and expect him to greet us with open arms and come home with us. He might not even remember you. I know what that will do to you."

She turned to face him, and the agony in her eyes tore at Luke's heart. Should he have told her he'd seen that same boy three years ago after he'd been wounded? What good would it have done then? What good did it do now, even though he'd been captured? His own piercing guilt for being responsible for all of this returned full force. He'd give his life to erase the look in her eyes right now.

"We have to go and see, Luke. We have no choice."

He sighed deeply and pulled her close. "I know." Seeing Nathan like this would be harder on her than if he'd been found dead. "I'll loan Will a fresh horse so he can ride back with us."

Lettie shivered, pressing against him for strength, wanting to scream. It all came back just that quickly, as though her little Nathan had been stolen away only yesterday.

"There they are!" A man standing in front of the jail shouted the words, pointing at Luke and Lettie as they rode into town at a near gallop. Will and three of Luke's men accompanied them.

Lettie paid no heed to anyone in the crowd as she guided her buckskin mare in front of the jail. She had chosen to change into a riding skirt and go by horse because it would be much quicker than a wagon or carriage. It was already nearly dusk, and their horses were lathered from the hard ride. People backed away as she and Luke dismounted and tied their horses.

"What are you going to do, Fontaine? That boy in there is a killer, white or not!" one man shouted.

"You don't know he's the one who actually killed Woodward and his family," Luke shot back. "It could have been some of those who got away!"

"He was with them. That's all we
need
to know!" another man put in.

The crowd agreed, holding up fists, one man holding up a rope. Lettie had already rushed past everyone to go inside. Luke yanked his rifle from its boot and stepped up to the jailhouse door. He
cocked
the rifle, leveled it at the crowd. "The first person who touches that boy in there before my wife decides what to do,
dies!
I don't give a damn if you hang
me
for it!"

The crowd quieted. Will took out his own rifle, riding around behind the crowd. "Same goes for me," he spoke up. People turned to look. "You folks agreed with Sheriff Tracy to wait till Mrs. Fontaine could come in and have a look at the boy. She'll know if it's her son, and if it is, it's up to her what we do next! You women in the crowd—men, too— how would you feel if one of
your
sons had been ripped out of your arms by wild Indians when he was hardly more than a baby! Wouldn't you want to find him again? And wouldn't you want to try to bring him back into the fold?"