Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] (14 page)

There was no food anywhere, other than what they had bought and brought. She used the lower drawers for clothing and the cupboards for foodstuffs, so they would be out of the way if any mice found their way inside. If she could get her trunk emptied, they could tie it to the back of the wagon.

She lost track of time as she moved some things and sorted others. One drawer was stuffed with papers and envelopes, letters, and what looked to be bills. She heaved a sigh. If all of these were unpaid, no wonder the show went belly-up. She pulled the drawer out of the wall and set it on the table so she could see better. The farther down in the drawer she dug, the farther back she went in time.

Micah knocked on the doorframe. “Supper’s ready.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right there. It sure smells good.”

When Cassie finally went outside, Runs Like a Deer handed her a full plate, with steam rising off of it. “Thank you. These fresh biscuits look so good.”

Cassie sat down on a low rock near the campfire. Chief and Micah were already chewing the meat off the bird bones.

Micah raised the carcass he’d been eating. “Really good. Start in.”

“Thanks, I will.” The first bite made her close her eyes in bliss. Good did not begin to cover it. “And I thought chicken was good. This is delicious. Why have we not done this before?”

“Didn’t see any birds roosting like that. Some sleep on the ground, harder to find.” Chief slid a bird off a stick and onto the Indian woman’s plate, then handed it to her.

“Well, I hope we find plenty more such trees.”

“Different than shooting deer?”

Cassie knew he was teasing her, so she just nodded and kept on eating. It was different, a lot different. She’d shot birds for years, and while she’d never eaten pigeons, maybe someone had. Shame to waste all the meat if pigeons were as good as these. She cleaned up the juices on her plate with her biscuit. Now this was some supper.

“Will we have birds like this at Pa’s valley?”

“Lots of deer and elk.”

Cassie groaned. “That’s not what I asked.” She tossed the bones to Othello, scrubbed her tin plate, and went back inside. The lamp was nearly empty. She blew that one out and shook the lantern. Plenty of kerosene in that one, so she lit it and went back to her sorting, making sure she opened every envelope and read every piece of paper.

She opened one envelope and found a five-dollar bill in it. Who had left it there? Surely this wasn’t far enough back to be her father. What a gift! First God gave them quail and now cash. This was easy to be thankful for. Besides, if there was one envelope with money in it, there just might be another.

After adjusting the wick in the lantern so she could have more light and tucking what she now called
the money envelope
under the drawer for safekeeping, she dug in again. Now it seemed more like a treasure hunt than a duty. Unpaid bills went in a pile for trash, receipts in the same pile. This envelope was heavy. She opened it. A gold piece. She just found a gold piece!
Thank you, Lord.
She held the coin up to the light.
A gold piece
.

“I’ll bet Jason never looked in here, or that would be gone for sure.” She rubbed it on her pants to bring up the shine and then tucked it into her pocket for now. “Back to digging.”

Someone was laughing outside. Was that Micah? What was going on out there? She debated stopping what she was doing, but the lure was too great.

Supply lists for the show, letters regarding booking shows. Did Jason not keep a record of expenses and receipts? She stopped and glanced around the wagon. A row of small cupboards surrounded the interior of the wagon right under the ceiling. She had never gone through those either.

“You want coffee?” Micah asked from the doorway.

“No, thank you. I want to see what’s in this drawer.”

“More bird ready.”

“Save it for the morning.” She was nearing the bottom of the drawer. She pulled out the final handful of papers and found another envelope, this one with her father’s handwriting on it. Out came what looked to be a legal document with the word
DEED
printed at the top. She leaned closer to the lantern so she could read the faded ink. If only there were someone she could ask about this. She read the paper, not understanding the numbers but realizing this was the deed to the valley.

Her father’s valley, his valley of dreams. He owned it. He didn’t just dream of it. Four hundred acres in a valley near Hill City, South Dakota.

Was this truly the legal deed? Would Chief know anything about this? Four hundred acres. How much land was that? A lot for a ranch or a little?

Deed in hand, she opened the door and stepped down. Othello greeted her with his usual delight. The dog under the wagon growled, as was also his usual response. Trying to appear nonchalant when she was about to burst with good news took some doing.

“Chief, do you remember my father signing a deed to land in his valley?”

The man turned to her, the dancing fire reflecting off his lined face. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Well, he did, because here it is.” She held up the paper. “We—I own the valley.” She paused. “How big is four hundred acres?”

Chief shook his head. “I do not know. Come, Runs Like a Deer. I help you into wagon before you fall into fire sound asleep.”

Cassie went ahead of them, needing to clean up her mess before they could turn out the light. She might not know how big four hundred acres was, but she understood one thing clearly. Her father had indeed set his dream into motion. What a shame he never went back.

Bar E Ranch

I
told you I’m not going, and that’s final!”

“All right, if you insist.” Mavis tucked the dish towel around the loaves of bread she’d baked for the party. “It’s not like we have dances all the time. I just thought we could all go together and have a good time.”

Gretchen stared at her oldest brother. “You said you’d teach me to dance at the next dance. I’ve been looking forward to that.” Tears trembled on her lashes as she spun around and pelted down the hall to her bedroom. “Then I’m not going either,” she threw over her shoulder.

Mavis heaved a sigh.

The reproachful look she sent Ransom made him feel about two inches tall. He glared at his mother, glared down the hall after his sister, and slammed the palm of his hand against the doorframe. “All right, I’ll go, just to keep peace in the family.” Guilt forced his feet down the hall lined by cedar boards cut on the diagonal, another example of his pa’s fine woodwork. He rapped on Gretchen’s bedroom door.

“Go away.”

“I’m here to say I’ll go. And yes, I will teach you to dance.” He waited for an answer. When none came, he rapped again. “You better be getting ready.”

“I will.”

When she opened her door, her tear-stained face made his heart clench.

“You sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.” But inside he felt the old familiar churning. He liked to dance, but it was talking with his dance partners that spoiled the evening. And even though all the young ladies knew he didn’t enjoy chatting while he danced, for some reason, they couldn’t just dance and not expect conversation. When he tried to pay attention to their chattering, his feet ignored the prescribed steps and went their own way. He’d stepped on more than one pair of toes that way, much to both his own dismay and that of his partners.

He made his way to his room, stopping by the reservoir in the kitchen to get a pitcher of hot water to wash with. He’d much rather be staying home in the quiet house and studying the old maps that showed the sites of the local mines, especially the two located on their own ranch. He’d already marked what trees to fell and had sharpened up the crosscut saw so he and Lucas could saw the trees into six-by-six timbers for shoring up the mine.

Why he was so convinced there was more gold ore in that hill, he wasn’t sure, but it was as if a voice from the past kept whispering in his ear. He’d not mentioned this to anyone. They’d all think his brain had gotten addled the last time a horse he was breaking threw him. He’d heard that someone had located a vein fairly recently, but he didn’t know if that was true or just hearsay.

The others were all ready and waiting for him, Lucas tapping his foot.

“We’d better ride rather than take the wagon,” he said with a glare. “Now that we’re so late in leaving.”

Gretchen tugged on his arm, staring up at him, pleading with her eyes for them not to argue.

“The team is all hitched. We’ll make it in plenty of time.” Ransom lifted his sheepskin jacket from the coat-tree by the door.

“I’m going to ride.”

“Suit yourself.” Settling his hat on his head with undue precision, he turned to his mother. “Is that basket all that you have?”

“Yes, other than those quilts and hides in case it gets cold.”

Ransom swooped up the quilts and shut the door behind them as they trooped out onto the front porch. “Did you bank the stove?”

“And the fireplace.” Mavis set her basket in the rear of the wagon behind the seat and waited while Gretchen climbed up, using the wagon spokes for steps, and then followed her daughter. “What a glorious night.”

Ransom found his place on the wagon seat and took a moment to study the sky. The moon was just cresting the horizon, all brassy gold and shimmery. “A harvest moon for certain.”

“Jenna said the harvest moon is a good time to go sparkin’.” Gretchen glanced up at her brother’s face. “You think so?”

“I think that Jenna is getting too big for her britches. She’s too young, and so are you, to be filling your heads with such talk.”

“Ransom, I am twelve, goin’ on thirteen. Other girls learned to dance years ago. I’m way behind.”

“That’s ’cause you have more sense.”

“How does sense have anything to do with dancing?” Mavis asked.

“Well, dancing has to do with boys and . . .” Ransom knew he was getting in over his head, but since he was the oldest, he felt a certain responsibility for his little sister. And she was too young to be thinking about boys. “Just trust me on this.”

Mavis chuckled first and then burst out laughing. “Oh, Ransom, you are so far behind the times. Not too long ago, and in fact in some places it still happens, girls were getting married at fourteen and having babies.”

“While still children themselves.”

The clatter of iron shoes on the rocks told them Lucas had almost caught up with them. He slowed to a trot beside the wagon. “I’m going on ahead.”

“Tell Alvira that I’m on the way. I’m supposed to help with the punch tonight.”

“I will. Sure you don’t want to ride up behind me, Gretchen?”

“No thanks. I’ll get horsehair all over my skirt.”

Ransom flinched. Gretchen loved to ride almost as much as she loved to read, although it was probably a toss-up, depending on the season.

He’d better keep an eye on her. Admitting that his baby sister was turning into a real beauty with her wide-set blue eyes, the color almost turquoise, turned-up nose, and heart-shaped face took some serious talking with himself. While she usually kept her hair in braids, when it was down, it fell in deep waves to her waist. One of these days she’d probably decide to fuss with her hair; and fussing with her hair would only lead to all the other things girls did, not that he’d had a whole lot of experience with those of the feminine sex.

Ransom flicked his reins to bring the team to a trot. Lucas was right. They were running late. And they would say it was his fault. Why couldn’t they just have left him at home in peace? He could have taught Gretchen to dance at home. But he was the first to admit it was hard to learn to dance without music. He glanced at his little sister.

She must have felt his gaze because she looked up at him with a smile that near to broke his heart. “I’m glad you came,” she said.

“Me too.” Mavis wrapped an arm around her daughter. “You warm enough?”

Gretchen nodded. “I’m hungry.”

Mavis reached over the board that made up the seat back. “I just happen to have some cookies. We should have had a bite before we left. They won’t be serving food until the musicians take a break.”

“Why do they wait so long?”

“I have no idea. And I also have no idea why the musicians need so many breaks. Playing an instrument doesn’t look all that wearing to me.”

When they arrived at the granary in town, Ransom helped the womenfolk down before driving the team over to the long line of wagons and horses. A few buggies with a single horse broke up the line. He removed the bridles and slipped halters with lead lines in place to tie them before heading back to the granary, which was empty again, since all the gunnysacks of wheat had been loaded on the train and hauled off to Minneapolis.

The music invited him in. Couples were spinning around the room, feet stomping out the rhythm, laughter making the rafters ring. He stepped inside and leaned against the wall, his gaze traveling around the room to see who all was present. He knew everyone and nodded to those who called a greeting or waved as they danced by. Lucas waved and nodded toward the group of young women gathered off to the side.

As if he didn’t know they were there. And waiting. Ready to pounce.

After heaving a sigh that followed his frustration at being coerced into something he did not want to do, Ransom made his way over to the circle and tapped one of the girls on the shoulder. “Care to dance, Miss Lissa?” The other girls giggled and batted their eyelashes at him, but he ignored the flirting and smiled only at the young woman he’d chosen. Besides being attractive, with her dark hair in curls down her back and a dimple in her cheek, she managed to dance without the chatter of the others.

She smiled and nodded, slipping her hand in his as they moved onto the floor. They’d made only one circuit of the room before the final chords of the song. Everyone clapped, some folks patting their chests at the exertion.

“You want to wait for the next one?” he asked.

“Fine with me. How’ve you been?”

“Good.”

“Getting ready for winter?”

He nodded. Why couldn’t he think of anything to say?

“I saw Lucas in town the other day.”

“Lucas likes to go to town.” Grateful that the music had started up again, he took her hand and they joined one of the squares of four couples. The caller announced the name of the song, and they all followed his directions as he called out the patterns.

“Swing your partner, do-si-do.”

Since they’d all been square dancing since grade school and some even earlier, they knew the steps, exchanging partners as called. At least with a square dance one didn’t need to talk to either the partner or the other dancers in the square. At the end of the dance, he walked his partner back to the group, thanked her, smiled, and headed for the punch table. When they announced that the next dance would be a waltz, he looked around for Gretchen. This was the dance he had promised to teach her. She was purposely threading her way through the crowd to get to his side.

“Hey, Gretchen, I saw you in that square. You did real well.”

She grinned up at him and slid her hand in his. “Remember when I used to stand on your feet and you would swing me around the kitchen? We could do that again.”

“And mash my toes. You’ve grown a bit since then, you know.”

“I know.”

“Okay, just follow me. I’ll guide you with my hand at your back. Just don’t look at your feet.”

“But how will I know what they are doing?”

“Like I said, just follow me.”

The music floated across the floor, encouraging couples to enjoy a slow dance so they could catch their breath.

“Now think like this: step, slide, together.” He took her hand in his, with his other at her back. “I won’t let you slip or fall.”

“Okay.” Her jaw tightened.

“Relax. Like when you’re riding. Go with me like you do with your horse.”

“But I’m on his back.”

He guided her more firmly than he would anyone else, and within a couple of steps, her feet were following his. “See? What did I tell you? Now, I’m going to turn us around, easy and free.”

Her eyes took on a sparkle that made him smile. “I’m really dancing a waltz.”

He glanced up to see their mother smiling at them, nodding in time to the music. Next thing he knew, she was waltzing by in the arms of Jay Slatfield, one of the local ranchers, a widower who’d been trying to get her attention for the last few months. He had purchased their feeder steers. Jay’s wife had died several years earlier, and one of his daughters had stayed home to take care of the house while two of the sons helped run the ranch. Jay had aged a lot since his wife’s death and only recently started taking part in church and community events again. While he was slightly taller than Mavis, he somehow looked kind of shrunk.

“Ma is having fun,” Gretchen said, looking up at her brother. “But I don’t particularly care for Mr. Slatfield.”

“Why not?”

“He thinks he owns the whole county.”

“Is that so?” Gretchen had indeed given him something to think about. Slatfield seemed to have plenty of money for ranching, that was for sure. As the music drew to a close, Ransom bowed to Gretchen and led her off the dance floor.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Can we do it again?”

“Most assuredly.”
Then I don’t have to ask another one of that gaggle of young ladies.
He figured he knew what a rabbit felt like when zeroed in on by a hawk. If only he could find a woman who didn’t require conversation and courting and . . . He wasn’t sure what else at this point. All of his friends were married, at least all the ones near his age. Sometimes he felt like an old man compared to Lucas, who flirted with every female and made them go all twittery. He shook his head.

“What’s bothering you, son?” His mother held out her arms and indicated they should dance.

He shook his head again and led her out for a schottische, a patterned circle dance that left little time for talking. Folks of all ages took to the floor, including mothers who were teaching their sons social graces, fathers paired with their daughters, white-haired couples, and even some women partnering together. Ransom remembered when his mother had taught him this dance. He’d had three left feet and was sweating like a racehorse by the time the music ended. Now he enjoyed this dance about the best. Other than the waltz.

Lucas was dancing with one of the neighbor girls, who was laughing at something he’d said. Gretchen, partnered with Mr. Stenerson, a gentle old soul who had trouble hearing anything softer than a trumpet, danced by. He could tell she was counting the beat for the steps so she wouldn’t make a mistake. He raised his arm for his mother to duck under and grasped her other hand again. At the end he bowed to her and caught a soft look in her eyes. His coming was a good thing, if for no other reason than to please his mother, who asked for so little from any of them.