Opal (41 page)

‘‘It don’t look good, Boss,’’ Chaps said one evening after supper. He’d just returned from several days of checking on the grazing herds. ‘‘The grass is down to the ground already in too many places.’’

Rand slowly shook his head. ‘‘Sometimes fences don’t sound like a bad idea. Would keep our own cattle closer to home and they wouldn’t overgraze the land. Too many head have been brought in.’’

‘‘Won’t be a problem next year. Mark my words, many are going to die.’’

‘‘We’ll see how bad the snow gets, then cut down cottonwood trees if we must.’’

Opal sat at the table supposedly doing her lessons but instead listening to the men. The Indians had taught them to bring down the trees so the stock could feed on the tender branches. They’d not started feeding out the hay yet, but the stacks that looked so large in the summer now appeared pitifully small.

‘‘Opal, how about stopping by the Robertsons’ on your way to Pearl’s in the morning? I’ll have a sack ready for you.’’

‘‘Sure.’’ Opal knew the two women exchanged fabric pieces for quilts and clothing, along with yarn for knitting, especially the yarn that Little Squirrel had dyed during the summer. She’d used onion skins for a soft yellow, bark for a brown, and ground red rock for a shy red. While cattlemen hated sheep, they all appreciated the wool carded and spun to be knit into stockings, hats, scarves, and mittens or gloves. While knitting wasn’t her favorite occupation, Opal could turn a heel with the best of them if she could sit still long enough.

The sun just topped the eastern buttes as she rode Bay out of the cut, nudging her into an easy lope that ate up the mile to the Robertsons’.

‘‘You just missed the girls,’’ Mrs. Robertson said after greeting Opal and taking the sack from her. ‘‘Oh, good. More quilt pieces.’’

‘‘Where’s Edith?’’

‘‘She went to visit Mary. She really needs a couple of extra hands, what with her two little ones.’’

‘‘Oh. I didn’t know she was leaving.’’

‘‘We thought it better this way.’’ Cora nodded toward the stove. ‘‘You want a cup of coffee?’’

‘‘No, thanks. I need to be going.’’

‘‘Thank Ruby for me.’’

‘‘I will.’’ Opal waved after mounting Bay.
Wonder what that was
all about?
Loping in to Pearl’s gave her plenty of time to ponder. No one had said anything about Edith’s leaving. Was it because she was so sweet on Mr. Chandler? Virginia would tell her if they ever had time to talk again.

She dismounted and led Bay into the three-sided shelter behind Pearl’s house. The framework of a barn rose right behind it so it would eventually become one building. Carl had nearly finished the addition to the house too.

As Rand often said,
‘‘That man never lets any moss grow between
his toes.’’

Opal unsaddled her horse and tied her to a manger where Carl had left some dried cornstalks for the horse to eat. ‘‘I’ll come out and water you later.’’ Flipping her book-laden saddlebags over one shoulder, she headed into the house.

Music met her at the door. A piano. ‘‘I’m here,’’ she called as she shut the kitchen door behind her.

‘‘Come see what Carl brought home.’’ Pearl’s voice floated back from the front parlor.

‘‘I can hear it.’’ Opal hung up her outdoor things and followed the lovely notes, as pleasant to the ear as the fragrance of fresh bread was to the nose.

Pearl turned on the bench, her smile rivaling the sunshine coming in the windows. ‘‘Can you believe it? My father had this shipped out to us. In one of my letters I mentioned how I missed my music, and here it is, an early Christmas present.’’ Her long fingers flew up and down the keyboard, bringing forth crashing waves, a tinkling brook, a lullaby, and a call to adventure.

‘‘You want to try it?’’ Pearl let her hands fall in her lap.

‘‘I’ve not played since Dove House.’’

‘‘Perhaps we could do a duet for the Christmas program.’’

Opal sat down on the bench. ‘‘Where are the kids?’’

‘‘Over to Cimarron’s. Carl dropped them off. You know how nice it is to have close neighbors like that?’’

Opal settled her hands on the keys. Cool to the touch. She played a series of chords, then several scales. Her grin said it all.

‘‘See, I told you you wouldn’t forget.’’

Opal played a simple song, missing a couple of notes and slower than she’d have liked. ‘‘Need practice all right.’’ She turned to look at Pearl beside her. ‘‘Sure makes me think of Belle. You ever wonder what happened to her?’’

‘‘Not really. She and I weren’t much of friends.’’

‘‘She was a terror at times, but she was good to me.’’

‘‘Well, we better get busy. You have all your homework done?’’

‘‘Even the essay. I’m not much fond of the Greek tragedies.

Not of Greek anything.’’ Opal wrinkled her nose.

‘‘You’d rather not study that?’’

‘‘Do I have a choice?’’

‘‘Latin is more important as a language, but the Greek philosophers and sages are well worth learning from.’’

Opal made a face.

‘‘Besides, it’s good discipline.’’

‘‘Like calculus?’’

‘‘Yes. The more you develop your reasoning powers, the easier college will be for you.’’

Opal shook her head. ‘‘Pearl, I am not going to college or some finishing school for young ladies. That’s not what I need to make a life here in the badlands.’’

Pearl studied her young charge. ‘‘But the more intelligent and educated you are, the more you will be an interesting woman to talk with and the more you will give your children and your husband. In spite of what men say and think, women have fine minds that need education just as the prairie needs sun and rain.’’ She rose and moved to the bookshelves that lined the north wall. Pulling off a book, she brought it to Opal. ‘‘Here’s Plato’s
The Republic
. Look for what it says about the value of a good mind. Read Proverbs also, keeping in mind that when the Bible talks of man and men, it frequently means humankind, but then, you would know that if you were studying Greek more closely.’’

Opal nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘‘I’d rather read Mr. Roosevelt. He, at least, speaks my language.’’

‘‘You mean English or Western?’’

Opal cocked her head, a grin lighting both eyes and cheeks.

‘‘Yes.’’

Later, as she and Bay loped on home, Opal veered off the trail to check on a place where she often saw deer. It wasn’t long before, with a gutted deer slung over the back of her saddle, she trotted up to the springhouse and dismounted. The kitchen windows glowed a lamplit welcome.

Ruby stepped out on the porch. ‘‘I was getting worried.’’

‘‘I know, but when this spike stood right there and stared at me, I couldn’t resist.’’

‘‘Supper’s nearly ready. We have company.’’

‘‘Who?’’

‘‘Mr. Chandler.’’

‘‘Ah. I’ll be in soon as I hang this.’’

‘‘Let the men do that. I think you should put on a real skirt.’’

‘‘Aww, Ruby.’’

‘‘Don’t give me any trouble. It’s about time you started dressing like a young lady when we have guests.’’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

‘‘So what will life be like in a line shack?’’ Jacob pushed back his plate.

‘‘Would you care for another piece of cake?’’ Ruby refilled his coffee cup.

‘‘No, thank you. I won’t be able to get back on that horse as it is.’’ He patted his middle. ‘‘Delicious meal.’’

‘‘You’re planning on manning one of the line shacks?’’ Rand leaned back in his chair, studying the younger man.

‘‘Yes, sir. Mrs. Robertson says it must be done, and the girls surely cannot do it.’’

‘‘I heard of one woman who did. But she was mighty tough.

It gets real lonely out there. What about your boy?’’

‘‘He will move into the house. I hate to leave them with no man on hand, but what else can we do?’’

‘‘Hire another hand.’’

‘‘I don’t think she has the finances for that. We haven’t discussed her money situation, but I know that, though they trade butter and eggs at the store, the beeves sold this fall were her mainstay.’’

‘‘We’ll send one of our men out to spell you. Chaps, tell him about life in a line shack.’’

Chaps creaked his chair back on two legs. ‘‘That wind is what gets to you. That and the cold. Your job is to ride out each day halfway to the other shack and make sure you head any cattle you find back toward the river. Cattle drift before the wind, a dangerous thing. If they get out on the open prairie they won’t have any protection. Most likely we’ll never find them—at least not alive. Winter is a lot different here than where you came from.’’

Jacob glanced up, hoping to catch Opal’s gaze. The firelight sent lights and shadows dancing across her face, highlighting her cheekbones, shrouding her eyes in mystery.

He brought his attention back to what one of the other men was saying. When he looked up again, she’d moved to a chair in the other room, where a lamp lighted the pages of her book.

Why could he talk with her so freely out on the range, but here she withdrew like she’d never helped him, broken and bleeding, up on a horse and gotten him back to the house with utmost caution?

‘‘I don’t think I ever thanked you, Miss Torvald, for taking such good care of me that day I hit the ground.’’ He raised his voice slightly so she would hear. He was still careful about jerking his head or standing up too quickly.

‘‘You’re welcome.’’ She marked her place with one finger. ‘‘At least out on the prairie you won’t have to worry about tree branches.’’

One of the men choked on a snicker. Another buried his grin behind a coffee cup.

‘‘It happens to the best of us, Jacob.’’ Rand raised his cup in salute. ‘‘In fact, every man here has hit the ground more than once, usually in rather undignified circumstances. Welcome to ranch life.’’

‘‘Thank you. Miss Torvald tried her best to train me, er, all of us, in ranching skills.’’

‘‘Have you been practicing?’’ Opal asked.

‘‘Every chance I get.’’
Not that there are many.
‘‘What is that you are reading?’’

‘‘Plato’s
Republic
.’’

‘‘In Latin?’’

‘‘No, English. My Latin isn’t that proficient.’’

‘‘I used to have a copy of Plato’s works in Latin.’’

‘‘Pearl—Mrs. Hegland—has one if you would like to borrow it.’’

For Jacob the rest of the room seemed to disappear, and all the focus turned toward the pool of light around her, the chair, and the braided rug at her feet where a fluffy orange-and-white cat lay curled with tail covering its nose.

He sighed and pushed back the chair he sat in. ‘‘I need to be heading back. Joel will have his homework done by now. Ada Mae will make certain of that. Thank you for the coffee and cake, Mrs. Harrison. And the advice, Rand. I’ll see you all in church some Sunday?’’

‘‘That you will, and I’m certain you can take over our pulpit any time you feel ready.’’

‘‘Thank you. I’m praying about that.’’ He smiled at Opal.

‘‘Since you coached me in riding and roping, perhaps I could return the favor if you’d like help with Latin and Greek.’’

Opal shrugged. ‘‘Perhaps. I don’t much care for them.’’

Talk about a straightforward gaze. Jacob quelled the urge to sit back down. Now he knew more than ever what he wanted to talk with Rand about, only by himself, in the proper way.

‘‘Hear you tell a good story,’’ Opal added. ‘‘Perhaps you’d all come over for a get-together on Saturday. Beans tells good stories too.’’ She glanced over at Ruby. ‘‘All right?’’

‘‘Of course. We’ll pull taffy and roast pumpkin seeds.’’ Ruby smiled at her husband. ‘‘That sounds like fun, doesn’t it?’’

‘‘Indeed. You want to write Mrs. Robertson a note?’’

‘‘Of course.’’ Ruby started to stand, but Opal beat her to it.

‘‘Here’s paper and pencil.’’ She crossed the room, supplies in hand.

Jacob felt his heart kick up a pace when she drew near. His arms remembered the dance, holding her so properly. Perhaps they could dance again on Saturday. ‘‘Could I talk with you a moment, Rand?’’

‘‘Sure.’’ Rand studied him for a moment. ‘‘Soon as that invite is done, I’ll walk you to your horse.’’

The good-nights were said, and Rand followed him out the door.

‘‘I was going to wait for a better place and time.’’

‘‘No time like the present.’’ The two men faced each other in the dimness lit by the square of light from the window.

Lord, help me. Why is this so difficult?
‘‘I . . . I . . .’’
Oh, just say it
.

‘‘I want your permission to call on Opal, er, Miss Torvald.’’

‘‘Call on, as in court?’’

‘‘Yes, sir.’’

‘‘Good grief, man, she’s far too young for that.’’ Rand took a step forward.

‘‘Really?’’ Jacob could hear Rand sucking in his breath, exploding his answer.

‘‘She’s only fourteen.’’

‘‘Oh! Sorry. I mean, I assumed she was at least seventeen or eighteen. I mean, she is so capable and . . .’’
Good grief is right. She’s
still a child
.

‘‘That she is, but nevertheless, she’s too young to be thinking of marriage. Besides, you have a son who is half her age.’’

Jacob sucked in a deep and calming breath. ‘‘She is worth waiting for.’’

Rand was silent for a moment and then spoke firmly, as though forcing his voice to be reasonable. ‘‘You cannot mention this to her until her sixteenth birthday, if you are so inclined then. I believe you are a man of honor, and—’’

‘‘And yes, I will obey your instructions. When is her birthday?’’

‘‘May sixteenth.’’

‘‘Pretty much a year and a half.’’

‘‘Pretty much.’’

Had Rand stepped back, or was it his imagination? ‘‘You have my word, Rand.’’ Jacob extended his right hand.

Without hesitation Rand took his hand, and they sealed the pact.

But what if someone else comes along and . . .

‘‘Good night.’’ Rand nodded.

‘‘Good night.’’ The ride home gave Jacob plenty of time to think. Good thing he’d talked with Mrs. Robertson when he did, no matter how difficult that had been. He thought back to their conversation. He’d found her on the back porch sorting through the dried beans. Edith and Emily had taken the wagon into town for supplies.