Lauraine Snelling (6 page)

M
avis, Gretchen, and Cassie kept the conversation going at the supper table. Cassie could see Micah was beginning to relax, as he had second helpings at Mavis’s request, but he, Chief, and Runs Like a Deer were their normal taciturn selves. The sons were very quiet. Were they always like this at the table, or had Cassie’s appearance changed things that much?

“Thank you, ma’am. This is delicious.” Micah caught Cassie’s glance, and one corner of his mouth twitched.

Chief only answered with a nod or shake of his head when spoken to directly, as in “Would you like more gravy?” Finally he raised his hand, palm out, and said, “No more, thank you.” Runs Like a Deer just shook her head.

Lucas seemed about ready to laugh, and Ransom passed things without a word, but at least he didn’t seem quite as dark and forbidding as before.

“So how old were you when your father gave you Wind Dancer?” Gretchen was full of questions.

“About twelve, maybe eleven. No wait, Dancer is ten, so I guess I was a couple years younger than you are.” Cassie smiled at the eager girl. “He was newly weaned and not happy to be taken from his mother. I thought he was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. He fit right in with George and me. The two of them would follow me around the corral. I was about your size, and strangers would be horrified to see that big bull buffalo taking carrots or hay from my hand. He has a place right above his eyes that he loves to have scratched. He does not like to get a bath. Wind Dancer does, though, unless the water is too cold.”

“I had a pony for a while, but he got old and the wolves got him one winter.” Gretchen spoke matter-of-factly, as if everyone lost a friend like that.

Mavis turned to Chief. “I have a question for you. Do you want me to call you Chief or John Birdwing?”

Cassie stared from her to her friend. “She called you that the first time we met. John Birdwing really is your name?”

He nodded. “Most everyone knows me as Chief.”

“John Birdwing. That is a great name. Would those on the reservation remember you by that name?”

He nodded again.

Then this is your new life. Take whatever name you want. We can adjust.
But Cassie kept her thought to herself to bring up to him when they were alone sometime.

“Mr. Chief?” Gretchen asked.

“Just Chief.”

“But . . .” She glanced at her mother, who nodded.

With a shrug she continued. “You were friends with my father. Right?”

He nodded again.

“How did you meet him?”

“I heard that he and his friend were looking for a guide into the Black Hills, so I went to talk to them.”

Cassie smiled at Gretchen and nodded to encourage her. Maybe he’d continue answering her instead of only grunting or ignoring the question.

“They were looking for our ranch?”

“No, they were looking for gold.”

“And you helped them find it?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know where to look?”

“I had found some shiny stones in a creek, and I took them there.”

“I thought the Indians were trying to keep the prospectors out,” Ransom said, finally joining the conversation.

“Most were and so was the army, but my family was starving.”

“Oh.” Cassie caught herself from saying more.

Gretchen ignored the look her mother gave her and asked what Cassie wanted to know. “What happened to your family?”

“Died. Sickness one winter. I stayed with Lockwood when he joined with Talbot.”

“The Wild West Show.”

“But you were there when the mine caved in?”

He simply nodded.

“Yes.” Mavis added to the story. “John Birdwing nearly gave his life to save those two crazy white men who had insisted on digging deeper when the vein they found quit on them and they should have stopped. It took that to convince your father to close the mine.”

Gretchen used the ensuing silence to change the subject. “The Wild West Show. Are all of you from the Wild West Show? I mean, the cattle and buffalo and . . .” She hesitated. “The Indians and all?”

Cassie laughed. “Even the dog. You see, people back east just love western things, and most of them have never seen a buffalo or an Indian. They would ooh and aah over George. If we wanted to really impress some important person, we’d let him feed George a carrot.”

“So all he had to do was stand there?” Gretchen flushed slightly and looked from face to face across the table. “What did the Indians do?”

Chief shrugged. “Put on some costumes and gallop around the arena.”

Cassie added, “And Chief was quick to explain to me that they were costumes, not real regalia. The costumes they wore usually weren’t even from their own tribe.”

Cassie realized she’d better change the subject. “Mrs. Engstrom—Mavis—this is delicious, and I am so grateful to be here. I’ve never been on a ranch before.”

Lucas gave her a surprised look. “I thought you were from out west.”

She smiled. “Wild West shows don’t play well out west. We traveled around the East. I lived in the wagon and on the trains with the show all my life. I’ve never lived in a house before.”

Even Ransom looked surprised, a nice change from that scowl.

She explained. “Usually right after the shows at Dickinson, we would travel south for the winter season, getting ahead of the winter storms. We’d be invited out to visit a farm sometimes, or a shooting match would be held on some big spread, but then we’d return to the wagons right away. We never stayed where the matches were held.”

Lucas looked fascinated. “You really took part in shooting matches?”

“My father used to be a big name in the matches, and he took me along too. People were always amazed at how well I shot. You’d think that after Annie Oakley became so famous, and other female shooters too, that I’d be taken for granted, but I started out in my younger years, and that’s what surprised people, I guess. Men don’t like to be outshot by a fifteen-year-old girl.”

“You won?”

“Not always, but usually, and I improved through the years. You don’t know of any such events going on out here in the West, do you?” There, she’d asked one of the questions she really wanted, no, needed, an answer to.

“No, but I could look into it. Not to be nosy, but how do you get paid for performing?” Leaning forward, Lucas looked a lot more interested in the change of topic.

“The organizers or sponsors offer a pot to be given to the winner. Sometimes there is money for second place or even third too, if there are a lot of shooters. But if there are only two, then the winner takes it all.”

Mavis rose. “Let’s move into the other room. Gretchen, help me clear the table please. We’ll bring dessert in there.”

Cassie stood too. “I would like to help.”

Mavis waved toward the door. “You just go sit. We have it taken care of.”

Cassie glanced at Chief, and he motioned slightly toward the back door. She ignored him and led the way into the other room. She was afraid the other three would head back to the wagon, and it was time they learned to be part of the rest of the world—all of them, including her.

That night Cassie tossed and turned in her hammock in the wagon. Finally she threw back the covers and, wrapping in her coat, added more wood to the embers that had not had time yet to burn away.

“You all right?” Runs Like a Deer asked from the bunk bed.

“Just can’t sleep. Do you mind if I go back to searching through the paper work? I need to locate people I can contact about shooting matches. Will it keep you awake?”

Runs Like a Deer gave a gentle snort. “No, don’t worry. Now that I know you are all right, I’ll go back to sleep.”

“Thank you.”

Within moments the woman’s breathing signified she had done just as she said. After lighting the lamp, Cassie pulled more stacks of paper from the remaining drawers and cubbyholes with doors.

The pile was dwindling, with only a few sheets added to the pile of letters with contacts. She gave a deep sigh and rose to add more wood to the fire. Her eyes had begun to feel the gritty sand of sleep, but she returned to the sorting. There wasn’t that much left to go.

How would she ever let enough people know where she was so that she could get invited to shooting matches? Why hadn’t Jason Talbot kept better records, or at least kept her father’s correspondence? Could there be anywhere else he might have put it all? She had washed out all the storage places. Or had she? She studied the wall behind her, but nothing snagged her attention. Had she pulled all the drawers out? As far as she could tell, she had.

She looked up, studying the ceiling, praying for some kind of wisdom. She could hear Mavis’s voice.
“God always hears our prayers, and He always answers. Just sometimes we don’t like His answers.” So very true,
Cassie thought.
I prayed my mother and then my father wouldn’t die, but here I am. Maybe I just didn’t pray hard enough.

In the circle of light reflected on the ceiling from the lamp, she saw a board that looked like it had warped. Great. Now the roof would probably start leaking. She pulled out the chair and climbed up on it to see if she could push the board back in place. Poor old wagon. No one had really taken care of it since her mother died. She pushed on the board, and instead of tightening, it loosened, hanging down even further.

Something glinted in the light. So she dug in with her fingertips, trying not to dislodge the entire board. The chair wiggled, and she jerked. Now she could see a piece of chain. She tugged on the chain, and a locket—her mother’s gold locket that she always wore—dangled from the chain clamped in her fingers.

Her breath stopped. Her mother’s locket! Why was it stuffed in the ceiling? She’d not seen it since her mother wore it last. At least she didn’t remember seeing it. Who hid it in the ceiling? Why? She sank down on the chair, memories flooding like a rain-swollen river. Tears burned and then trickled down her face. Her mother’s locket. She started to put it on but realized one part of the clasp was missing. Instead she wiped her face and began putting the papers all back, placing the locket in the front of the drawer with the small stack of papers she would study soon. Her mother’s locket. Who would she find that could mend the chain?

When she climbed back in her hammock, she lay for a few moments, thanking God for this treasure. Part of her mother. Could this be classified as a miracle? She hugged the secret to herself, deciding not to show it to anyone until she could get it fixed. And then she would wear it proudly.

T
hat went better than I thought it would.” Lucas leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “They sure seemed anxious to leave, though.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Ransom dumped another load of wood into the box.

Mavis wiped the table clean, not that it wasn’t clean already. “So you’ll both go up to the cabin with me in the morning?”

Ransom glanced at his mother after putting the canvas wood-hauling bag on the hook behind the woodbox. “Do you leave us any choice?”

“No. I could be a big help too, you know.” Gretchen hung up her dish towel.

“You will be. Going to school is your job, and you will do it well.”

“You know what I mean.” Her eyebrows came together in the frown that she’d inherited from their father.

Ransom tweaked her single braid as she walked past him. “You know that you can’t get out of school unless you’re deathly sick.”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “I miss out on all the fun.”

“You think it will be fun working on the cabin? Why don’t we wait until Saturday, and you can take my place.” Lucas grinned at her. “Mor has never let her children skip school for any reason. Ransom and I can attest to that.”

Gretchen glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Did you ever skip?”

“How could I with my big brother always around?”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Her chin squared. “You did, didn’t you!” She paused, counting briefly on her fingers. “It had to be after Ransom graduated. You were still in school after that.”

“All right, so Hudson and I went fishing one time.” He made a disgusted noise. “And we didn’t even catch anything.”

Mavis studied her younger son. “And that was the only time?”

“Yes. We knew if we got caught, there would be fireworks for sure, so we thought about it sometimes but never did it again.”

“What did you use for an excuse the next day?”

“Mor, that was a long time ago.” When she persisted in staring at him, he shrugged and shook his head. “I wrote one for him, and he wrote mine for me.”

“And you signed my name?” Now Mavis crossed her arms and glared steely eyed at her younger son.

“Well, no, not exactly. I scribbled his mother’s name, and Hudson scribbled yours. But the teacher didn’t ask for our notes, so we threw them away. What is this? The inquisition? It was a long time ago. I was just a kid, and I learned my lesson.” He glared at Gretchen. “See what you started?”

She shrugged. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t skip.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it was a one-time thing. So what time will you be ready in the morning?”

“As if we have a choice.”

“Right after breakfast, then. We’ll load the cleaning supplies into the wagon—oh, and bring some firewood so we can heat water. Ransom, you’ll see to all the tools?”

He nodded.

“Good, then. If anyone wants coffee, I’ll bring it into the other room.” Mavis raised a finger. “Oh, and we’ll take food along for dinner too.”

“’Night, everybody.” Gretchen hugged her mother and headed down the hallway to her room. “At least I don’t have to milk a cow in the morning.”

Ransom muttered, “It don’t take long to milk out a quart or less.” But no one was listening.

A minute later Gretchen returned, a letter in her hand. “Sorry, Mor, I was so excited I forgot to give this to you. From Jesse.”

“Oh, well. Glad to have it now.” She smiled at her daughter, pulled out the paper, and read aloud.

“Dear Mor and all,

I am sorry that I do not write more often, but all of you are always with me in my mind. Thank you for writing even when I don’t.

School is going well. I am grateful for all that I learned before coming here. Ranch living is a far better training ground for life than living in the cities, or at least it seems that way to me. I was so hoping to come home during the summer for a few days, but my job made that impossible. Jobs aren’t real plentiful for part time, so I knew better than to even ask.

I know the matter of the mine is causing difficulties, like you said, but I think I agree with Ransom. Something about that hole in the ground intrigues me also. I have no idea why, but I am glad to hear Ransom is hanging on to that idea. Perhaps it is not gold to be found, but maybe something else. Times are changing and new minerals are being discovered and found uses for. Wouldn’t it be a cosmic joke if that were the case, and Pa was sitting on another kind of gold mine?

I better get back to my studies. I am hoping to graduate in May, so have already been investigating medical schools. My professors assure me that since I am in the top three of my class—we keep taking turns as to who is first—I will have my choice of where to go from here. May graduation depends on several things, so I will let you know when I know for sure.

My love to you all, and thank you for the money. Every little bit helps.

Your son,
Jesse”

Mavis sighed. “What a perfect ending to a rather exciting day.”

“Wait till Jesse hears about all this,” Ransom muttered, his hand sweeping to encompass the wagon too.

Cassie hardly slept, she was so excited. Any dread she had felt about approaching the Engstroms with her deed had disappeared. This place was hers, and she was becoming part of it. An actual home. The next morning she was up early. Breakfast completed, she and her traveling companions sat around the fire drinking coffee and watching embers dance. Waiting. She’d often waited, but this time was different.

Lucas and Mrs. Engstrom walked up to the four. “You about ready?” Lucas asked.

Cassie leaped to her feet. “We are. Can Runs Like a Deer ride in the wagon?” She pulled on her gloves.

“Of course,” Lucas said. “I take it the rest of you are riding?”

“Unless you want Chief to drive the wagon.”

“He can do that. We’ve got the bed pretty full of supplies. Mor found some furniture that she thought you might be able to use.”

Perhaps Chief was as eager as she, for he was already on his feet and smothering the fire.

In a few minutes, with all the people loaded or mounted, they headed out across the pasture toward the hills lining the west side of the valley. Micah rode on one side of Cassie, and Lucas reined in next to her.

“I thought I could point out the landmarks as we go. I’ll give you a bit more information about the ranch.”

“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

“Have you really always lived in that wagon?”

She nodded. “Except for on the trains when we hauled our show to a town far away.”

While she answered his questions, she kept looking ahead at the trees with silver bark that wore gold and brass leaves, only a few on the branches and the rest painting the ground in drifts of color.

“What kind of trees are those ahead?”

“Those losing their leaves are aspen. The tall evergreens behind them are pine trees. You can see the cabin partway up the hill now.”

Cassie looked to where Lucas was pointing. The cabin seemed to blend right in with the land, as if it had grown up there. Come to think of it, it had. She twisted to look back the way they had come. The barn and ranch house gave her that same feeling from a distance, a oneness with the land. It all fit together: the fences, the buildings, the cattle in some of the pastures. She could see George and their other animals in another enclosure, all grazing peacefully, as if they knew they had come home.

At the southern end of the valley, the three monolithic rocks that looked like fingers pointing to heaven kept guard. No wonder her father had fallen in love with this valley. How could he bear to leave it? But she remembered his love of adventure. The romantic, larger-than-life Wild West Show had surely appealed to that love. And if he’d not done that, he’d not have met her mother, and she would not be here. She wished he were the one showing off the land to her now, returning triumphantly to live out his dreams of flashy horses and grazing cattle.

She saw Ransom in the distance cantering his horse away from them. “Where is your brother going?”

“Over to check real quick on the pine trees we felled to make into support posts for the mine. He has the harebrained idea that there is still gold in there.”

“And that machinery?”

“The sawmill we borrowed to cut the logs into the right sizes.”

“Oh.” So much to learn.

“You and I need to talk more about the shooting matches. I have an idea.”

She could feel her eyebrows rise. “You do?”

“I’m going to talk to a man I know in Hill City. He likes sponsoring events.”

“That would be interesting.”

As they rode farther up the hill, she studied the cabin. Made of logs, it had a door and a window facing down the hill. A chimney that reminded her of the fireplace wall in the ranch house rose along the left wall. They would probably park the wagon along the right wall. Chief had been correct. It was a lot bigger than the wagon. A huge oak tree behind it seemed to shelter the back of the cabin. There were other trees farther up the hill that were neither pine nor aspen. She wanted to know about them all.

There were no fences up here, no corrals or paddocks. Where would they keep their riding horses? Wind Dancer would come when she whistled for him, but the other horses were not so well trained. She saw no shelter for them either.

She asked, “What do your animals do in the winter?”

“None of them live in the barn, if that is what you are asking. We take hay to them out in the pastures. Load it in a wagon and then pitch it off. You’ll see us doing that every day. We keep the herd in one of the closer pastures.”

“But . . .” What should she ask, or rather, how should she ask it?

“They grow thick, heavy winter coats. Once it snaps cold and stays cold, they do fine.”

They were entering the yard in front of the cabin now. She stopped Wind Dancer and waited for the wagon to join them. Up close, she saw how tightly the logs fit together. Some of the shingles on the roof, or shakes—whatever roof pieces were called—had broken away, exposing the underlying boards. No doubt that would have to be fixed. Tree leaves and broken branches had fallen on the roof, and others lay around the area.

The window was dark; the place looked abandoned. She chided herself. Of course it was abandoned. Everyone on this ranch lived in a warm, inviting house now, a real home. This cabin was leftover from the past, and now it was Cassie’s immediate future. And to think her father helped build this, had actually lived in it.

She had so much to figure out and so much to learn. And everything she did that was new, everywhere she went, more questions were generated, lots of questions and few answers. Almost too many questions, it felt like.

One of the biggest: When would her new home here really come to feel like home?

That night after the house quieted down, Mavis sat down at the kitchen table in the pool of lamplight, but before applying pen to paper she stopped and prayed for wisdom. Tonight she surely needed it. If only she could explain things in a way that Jesse would not join with the anger of his brothers.

Dear Jesse,

So good to hear from you. Since the letter I sent you was in September, I have some astonishing news for you. And something to confess. Back in the early days here on the ranch, your father was engaged in a partnership for the ranch. He and a close friend, Adam Lockwood, discovered the gold, thanks to their Indian guide, John Birdwing, and bought the four hundred acres of ranchland. Adam won half interest in a Wild West show and left here, promising to return one day. After a time we no longer heard from him, so your pa and I decided not to bother mentioning the agreement.