Opal (27 page)
He clucked the team forward again, and this time the cycle bar clamped upright. He’d need to spend the afternoon sharpening the triangular blades, greasing the gears, and checking for loose parts.
He stopped the team in the shade of the barn, and as soon as silence fell, he could hear Miss Torvald drilling her not-quite-so-willing students.
To her ‘‘No, you can do better,’’ he unhitched the team and stripped off the harnesses to hang on the barn wall pegs. Those needed cleaning too. Perhaps Joel would do it. He had yet to order his son to do anything other than to stay close to the farm, or rather the ranch, buildings. He still struggled to remember ranch, not farm. Farmers, or as the ranchers dubbed them, squatters or sodbusters, were not popular out here on the range.
Joel dropped the loop over the post in the center of the corral just as Jacob arrived at the gate.
The girls all clapped. Joel’s face lit up like the sun came from within until he saw his father. The smile didn’t fade. It stopped. Without another glance in Jacob’s direction, Joel retrieved his rope and turned his back.
Opal seemed to notice the brief exchange, gave Jacob an assessing look, and went on with her charges.
‘‘All right, everyone pick out a corral post and practice until you can rope it three times in a row. Then we’ll start with moving targets.’’
Jacob watched a moment more.
Wish I had time for that
. He’d tried to throw a rope the night before, but the fool thing had a tendency to twist. Tendency, ha! It lived to twist. Even his seven-year-old son was better than he.
He turned away. Too much to do to stand gawking. He shook his head. Girls in britches. It still didn’t seem proper, but he could sure see the reason behind it. And Joel, wasn’t it about time he—
He what? What do you expect from him?
‘‘No, come on, Ada Mae. Remember the wrist. And keep your eye on the rope. You’ll make it.’’
What was the sadness he saw in Opal’s eyes when she thought no one was looking? What brought it on? He bent over the mower. The first day’s cutting was ready to turn. Mr. Harrison said he’d do the raking. Jacob had asked Opal to let Rand know. Had she forgotten?
Heading for the pump, he glanced over at the corral again.
Now she had them roping one another. No wonder the laughter had escalated.
On his way back from the drink he stopped at the corral.
‘‘Miss Torvald.’’
She spun around from showing Ada Mae how to lift the loop again. ‘‘Yes?’’
‘‘Did you tell Rand we’d be ready to rake this afternoon?’’
‘‘Sure did. He said he’d be over after dinner.’’
‘‘Good. Thanks. I’ll start cutting there tomorrow.’’ He waved and returned to his mower. Picking up another stack of blades, he set them on the shelf by the grindstone. He sat on the wooden seat and pushed down on the foot pedal attached to the turning gear of the grindstone, setting the wheel to spinning. After dropping water on the rim, he held the blade against the stone. Sparks flew, and the metal screamed in distress.
He had worked a third of his way through the stack of mower blades when he sensed someone approaching.
‘‘Thought you might like a cold drink about now.’’ Edith Robertson wore a clean apron over her faded calico dress and a wide smile.
‘‘Why, thank you, but I came back from the pump not long ago.’’ He indicated the dark streaks on his shirt. ‘‘Sure helps one cool off too.’’
He’d seen that kind of smile before. Too many times. And usually from marriageable-aged young women.
Lord, please, can’t I just
do my work here and not have to hurt her feelings?
Innocent as a baby bird, her smile would catch some man’s fancy, just not his.
However, if he were looking for a wife, which he wasn’t, she would have been a good candidate. Tall and slender, graceful, and already an excellent cook. Mrs. Robertson was training her daughters well. With a dimple in her right cheek that joined readily with laughter, Edith would make a fine and engaging wife.
Why not for me?
He had no answer to that question. That’s just the way it was.
‘‘Oh, well, then I’ll leave this jug in the shade by the barn wall for later.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’ He bent to the next blade, but when he looked up again, she was still there in the shadows watching him. ‘‘Is there something else?’’
‘‘No. I’m just enjoying being out of that hot kitchen for a bit. We’re canning beans today.’’
‘‘I see.’’ He picked up another blade and eyed it against the light. Sure enough, there was a nick big enough to see through. He’d walked the field to look for rocks but had missed at least one.
The next time he glanced up, Rand was driving a team with a rake into the yard. ‘‘That field looks mighty good,’’ he said after the greeting.
‘‘Thanks. I started mowing at the southwest corner. First third is ready for turning.’’
‘‘So far no rain. A good thing for hay, but bad for gardens.’’ Rand climbed down from the seat. ‘‘Where’s your grease pot?’’
‘‘Right inside the barn door on the left.’’
After Rand greased the rake axles and left to begin raking, Jacob heard Opal again.
‘‘All right, everyone mount up. We’re going to drive cattle, maybe even cut a few.’’
Cut a few. Had he heard right? Jacob watched as Opal rode out, her three students in a line behind her like goslings following a goose. Joel now sat as comfortably as the girls, swinging his coiled rope with one hand, reins in the other.
Perhaps he could take time tonight to work with that stubborn rope and ride some. Otherwise how would he ever be ready for fall roundup? And from what Mrs. Robertson said, getting those beeves to Medora for sale would get them money for the entire next year.
Supper was a silent affair, as everyone was too tired to talk. Lines of jars on the counter told the story of the kitchen work, along with the good food served, enough to feed twice as many people. The first section of hay was turned, and they might bring in the first load tomorrow afternoon, the next day for sure.
‘‘You want to take the mower home with you?’’ he asked Rand, who sat across the table.
‘‘I’d rather you did the mowing. You’re better at it than I am. If it’s dry enough, my men will come to haul and stack what’s here. We’ll just go from place to place like we talked about.’’
‘‘And up on the buttes?’’
‘‘We’ll split it up even. One load here, one to my place.’’ He turned to Opal. ‘‘How’d your chicks do with the cattle?’’
Before Opal could answer, Ada Mae jumped in. ‘‘Some of those old cows got no thought to minding.’’ She thumped her fork on the table. ‘‘Pa said some were meaner’n sin, and he was right.’’
‘‘But you got them going?’’
‘‘Finally. They like hiding in the brush better than being driven.’’
‘‘But you made them come out.’’ Opal nodded her approbation to each of them.
‘‘I almost got knocked off by a branch.’’ Joel reached for another slice of bread. ‘‘I was watching that cow, and my horse went after her, and I grabbed that saddle horn like to pulled it right out.’’
Jacob stared at his son. He’d not said that many words at once since his mother dumped him on the parsonage stoop.
‘‘You did real good. Tomorrow we’ll bring in a couple of calves to practice roping.’’ Opal smiled at each of her charges.
‘‘You better warn their mamas. Might make them a bit peevish.’’ Rand nodded at Opal, his smile bringing a return one from her.
‘‘Would you care for more beans, Mr. Chandler?’’ Edith picked up the bowl to hand it to him.
‘‘No, thank you, Miss Robertson. I’ve had about all I can eat.’’ Jacob glanced over the table to catch Opal in a knowing look. She arched her right eyebrow at him and returned to finishing the meat on her plate. Now, what was that all about?
After supper Jacob found Joel in the corral swinging his rope, but it missed the horse’s head twice. He’d pull it back, loop it carefully in his left hand, loosen the loop with his right, dog the horse, throw, and start again.
‘‘You were close that time.’’
Joel threw him an over-the-shoulder look that clearly stated the importance of close. He readied his rope again and dropped it over the snubbing post nice as you please.
‘‘If you could teach me to do that, I’d be much obliged.’’
Joel shrugged. ‘‘There’s a rope in the barn on the right wall. Make sure you coil it right before you put it back.’’
Jacob fetched the rope and joined his son in the corral. The two horses hugged the far side.
‘‘You got to learn to hold it first.’’ Joel demonstrated holding the loop and the remainder of the coiled rope.
Jacob shook out his rope like his son, and immediately the loop twisted into a figure eight. ‘‘See, this happens all the time.’’
A slight smile touched his boy’s face. ‘‘Opal says it’s all in the wrist.’’
‘‘Miss Torvald.’’
‘‘She said to call her Opal.’’ Joel’s shoulders stiffened, and he turned away, whipped the loop around his head, and settled it over the snubbing post. He walked over, flipped it off, and looped it back in the coil.
‘‘So what am I doing wrong?’’
Joel shrugged. ‘‘You better ask Miss Torvald.’’ He trailed after the horse, whirled the rope, and it fell cleanly over the horse’s head. The animal turned to face him, and Joel walked up to the critter. He stroked its neck and rubbed the ears. He slipped a hand through the loop to keep it from tightening and, with a slight tug, led the horse away from the other.
What a difference in such a short time. Only three days Miss Torvald been working with the children, and look at Joel.
Jacob shook the loop out on his rope again, and this time it stayed open.
‘‘What did I do different?’’ He looked from the rope to his son, the twilight softening the edges of both sight and sound. He played the loop in and out, the light-colored rope a thing alive in the gloaming.
Joel let the horse go and came to stand beside his father. ‘‘Now you drop it over that post like this.’’ His arm formed a graceful curve as the rope left his fingers and settled over the post.
‘‘When we go to town we need to buy you a proper hat.’’
Joel glanced up at his father’s fedora. ‘‘You too.’’
Later that evening Jacob worked by lantern light, adding a hay rack to the wagon bed. He extended the sides by mounting braces on the wagon frame, then nailed together the two frames for the ends and bolted them to the wagon and wing frame. Now they’d be able to haul a decent amount of hay per wagon. He should have suggested the same to Rand.
When he stumbled into the bunkhouse to bed he knew it was past midnight, but getting the wagon done was of utmost importance. Good thing he’d started it earlier. He shucked his clothes and lay down under the sheet. Life in the badlands was as different from life in his parish in Pennsylvania as red was from black. He’d not had time to read his Bible in days, let alone write a letter to tell his family where he’d ended up. They must be thinking he fell off the face of the earth.
Lord, please understand that I’m not
deliberately trying to ignore you. I thank you for . . .
He fell into a well of sleep so deep he didn’t hear the rooster crow.
‘‘Pa!’’
Jacob could hear the voice but for a moment thought he was dreaming.
‘‘Pa, we overslept.’’ Joel touched his shoulder.
Jacob rolled over, his feet hitting the floor in one motion.
‘‘Thanks for waking me.’’
Joel buttoned his shirt. ‘‘Someone banged on the wall and called your name. You didn’t hear it?’’
‘‘No, guess not.’’ Shrugging his galluses up over his shoulders, Jacob sat back down to pull on his boots. How could he have slept so hard? He blinked to get the sleep out of his eyes. A quick dunk under the pump spout would have to do for washing this morning. Right after breakfast he was supposed to be on his way to the Harrison ranch, and he’d not brought the horses up to be grained or harnessed. As they headed for the house, it dawned on him. Joel had called him Pa. A fine name—Pa.
Everyone else was already seated and grace said when he and Joel walked into the ranch house.
‘‘Sorry.’’
‘‘Young man, you can’t work all night and all day too.’’ Mrs. Robertson set a platter of meat in front of him.
‘‘I had to get that hay rack done. They’ll need it this afternoon.’’ ‘‘Hay rack?’’ She stopped on her way around the table and laid her hands on Ada Mae’s shoulders.
‘‘I added a frame to the wagon bed so we can haul a larger load. We used them all the time on my father’s farm.’’
‘‘Oh, I see. Well, thank you. You’re heading on over to Harrisons’ right after breakfast, then?’’
‘‘That’s the other reason why I had to get it done.’’ He bowed his head for a quick grace and glanced up to see Edith smiling at him.
‘‘Anyone here ever stacked hay before?’’
‘‘Last year.’’
‘‘You know to pack it down good? The tighter the pack, the better the topping of a stack will keep the weather out.’’
Mrs. Robertson exchanged questioning looks with her girls. ‘‘The men took care of all that.’’
‘‘When I was young, it was the children’s job to tramp the hay on the loads and then on the stack. Pa would spread it with the pitchfork, but we would drive the wagon and pack the loads. Any of you ever driven a team before?’’
‘‘Just on the wagon into town.’’ Mrs. Robertson took her seat. ‘‘I guess that’s something else you girls better get to know how to do. Harnessing the team too.’’ She cleared her throat. ‘‘Thank you, Mr. Chandler. Life is some different lately.’’
Jacob buttered his bread and sopped up the yolks of his fried eggs. He couldn’t help much with the cattle yet, but he could help a heap with the home chores. Thank God, Mrs. Robertson had good neighbors.
‘‘So how are your pupils doing?’’
Opal looked up from buttering her bread. She shook her head, shrugged, and half smiled all at the same time. ‘‘Takes a good while to learn to spin a rope. Joel catches on real quick, but I think he spends all evening practicing. That pa of his, Mr. Chandler, he’s mighty good with the haying, but he and a rope, why, it’s like they’re enemies.’’
‘‘He’ll get it.’’ Rand exchanged a smile with Ruby. ‘‘He has a good teacher.’’