The Blacksmith’s Bravery (21 page)

“Every word.” She rubbed harder. She had no reason to feel guilty. God had forgiven all her past transgressions. He'd sanded away every scratch and repainted her soul a pure, sparkling white.

“You still want a driving rig to practice on?” Johnny asked.

“Bill's going to make me one.”

Johnny blinked at her. “He is?”

“Yes. He thinks I'm tenacious enough to master the art.”

“I reckon maybe you are.”

Vashti and Apphia Benton watched as Bill Stout threaded the six long reins through the wooden rack he'd constructed in the Bentons' stable. He gathered the ends and backed up, letting the leathers slide through his hands until he'd reached a wagon seat he'd mounted on two big rounds of a log.

“All right, missy, you come over here and sit on this wagon seat.”

Vashti shot Apphia a smile and walked over to the seat. She eased down and smoothed her full skirt.

“Here you go.” Bill handed her the lines.

She laced them between her fingers and took up the slack.

“It's got a weight hanging from each line, to keep some tension. If you let off, it will fall down a few inches.” Bill stood back and cocked his head to one side.

Vashti tried to feel each weight through the lines.

“The off leader's too tight,” Bill said. “Let it out just a hair.” Vashti painstakingly pushed the rein for the imaginary front right horse forward with her thumb.

“Oops,” Bill said. “Now the swing is too loose.”

She frowned in concentration, trying to catch the rein to the middle horse on the right side of her “coach” with her third finger and inch it up.

“Better.” Bill nodded. “You look fine. I should have put the seat up higher, though.”

“Vashti, how did you learn to hold the reins?” Apphia asked. “I'd get confused first thing. And you only have one line for each horse. I don't see how you can keep them under control.”

Vashti glanced over at her and smiled. “When my daddy was still alive, he used to let me drive his team.”

“Uh-uh.” Bill shook his head. “You relaxed your hands when you spoke to Miz Benton, and you let the reins go slack. Your team just
ran away with you and tipped the stage over on its side.”

Vashti frowned and looked down at her hands. Bill was right. She firmed up her wrists and put a light tension on each of the six lines. The one for the near wheeler had slipped, and she worked it up until the rein ran straight from her hand to the rack again, but not too tight.

“That's better,” Bill said.

“How do you use your whip, if you need both hands to drive?” Apphia asked.

Vashti determined not to look at her again so Bill wouldn't scold her. “You answer that, Bill.”

He chuckled. “Good stage drivers don't use the whip much. It's more for show when you're setting out or for times when the horses need to be reminded to keep the pace up. If you're driving through mud, for instance, or if you see outlaws coming up on you. Then you take the reins in one hand, loose enough so the horses can get their heads down and run, and you crack the whip with the other.”

“Oh my.”

Vashti figured she'd get a talking-to about outlaws later from Apphia.

Bill watched Vashti in silence for several seconds as she moved her hands and let the weights in and out slowly. “You practice for two hours every day, and by snow melt, mebbe you'll be ready to drive one of Griff's sixes.”

“Two hours a day?” Apphia stared at him. “She'd get charley horses in her hands.”

“When I'm driving, I'll hold the lines longer than that at a stretch,” Vashti said.

Bill nodded. “Yes, ma'am. She needs strong fingers and springy wrists. Can't have those without working 'em.”

Vashti smiled up at her mentor. “Thank you so much, Bill. I'll practice every day, and I promise that next spring I won't embarrass you and overset my coach.”

His eyes twinkled. “I expect you'll make me proud. You've got a sight of determination, young lady.”

“She can come over and practice anytime she wants,” Apphia
said, “but I'm afraid she'll get cold.”

“I'll be fine.” In her mind, Vashti was dashing along the Nampa road behind a team of six matched bays. She moved her hands slightly as they galloped, and tucked up the near leader's rein a bit.

“I heard the boss is moving,” Bill said.

“What?” She lowered her hands and swung around to stare at him. “Your team's running away.”

“Very funny. What's that you said about Mr. Bane?”

“He's going to rent the old Dooley place, next to the jailhouse.”

“Really?” Vashti looked over at Apphia.

Bill gathered up his tools. “Reckon I'd better get over to the boardinghouse. If you're late for supper there, you're apt to miss out on the pudding.”

When he'd left the stable, Vashti carefully wound the lines around a stick Bill had attached to her wagon seat for a brake handle. She gathered her skirts and climbed down. “Miz Benton, do you know anything about why Mr. Bane is moving?”

“I expect it's for the boy.”

“Then all the work the ladies did at his little house was wasted.”

“Why do you say that?” Apphia put her arm around Vashti.

“My dear, what you and the other women did was a nice gesture. I understand why you didn't tell me until it was over.”

Vashti hung her head. “We figured you'd say we oughtn't to do it without his permission.”

“I probably would have. Griffin is a very private man, and if his room was as filthy as you say it was, then I suspect he was embarrassed to know a group of ladies had been in there.”

“He never said anything to me about it afterward.”

“No, but the whole plan could have gone awry. It might have made him angry.”

Vashti nodded slowly.

Apphia smiled. “You should rejoice and thank the Lord that Griffin accepted your gesture for what it was—an honest effort by a group of friends to help him. And it accomplished just what you hoped—he's got the boy living with him now.”

“Yes.” Vashti frowned. “I suppose moving over to Mr. Dooley's
would be good for them. They'd have more space.”

“That's right. Justin can have his own chamber.”

“And that little room behind the smithy was drafty and cold the day we were there. The nearest water is over beyond the livery, at the well where they draw it for the horses—”

Apphia pulled her toward the door. “Come, dear. I'm cold. Let's have a cup of tea together. I think what you did was admirable, and it made Griffin consider how he could better take care of Justin. That's what you hoped, isn't it?”

“Yes. I suppose they'll be much more comfortable at the Dooleys' old place.” Vashti looked back at her new rack. “God is good, isn't He,

Miz Benton?”

“Yes, dear. He's very good.”

CHAPTER 14

W
ith the first heavy snow in December, Griffin quit sending the stagecoach to Silver City. Enough mines were operating that their outfits kept the road from Fergus to Nampa rolled and packed down, which made for good sleighing, and the stages kept running through to Boise. Vashti, however, was out of a job until spring.

It was just as well. Griffin spent entirely too much time fretting when she took to the road with Johnny. He told himself it was the responsibility weighing on him, not her determination or her sparkling eyes.

On Christmas Eve, he and Justin fed the horses and buttoned down the livery for the night. In the morning, they could feed the stock and ride on out to Ethan's without having to worry about keeping a stage schedule or shoeing mules.

They'd developed an evening routine where Justin measured out the oats and Griffin threw the hay down from the loft. When the snow was deep, most of the horses stayed in the barn, though Griffin had taken four stagecoach teams to Nampa and left them there with Jeremiah Gayle for the winter. Come spring, he'd bring them back up to Fergus. He'd given Marty a month off, but even so, his workload seemed a lot easier. Part of that was due to Justin's help. The boy had lost some of his sullenness, especially while working around the horses.

Ethan's invitation to the ranch for the holiday had surprised Griffin, considering Ethan and Trudy had family close by. Hiram
and Libby would join them for dinner as well. In response to the gesture, he'd stopped at the emporium the day before and picked up a box of ribbon candy to take to Trudy.

“Are we picking up Mrs. Adams in the morning?” Justin asked as he shut the grain bin.

“Yes. I'll harness two of the horses to the sled.”

“Can I ride Red?”

Griffin eyed him in surprise. “I guess so.” He walked over to the wall where he kept brushes and hoof picks. “How'd you like to brush the colt tonight?”

“You mean it?” Justin's eyes fairly glowed in the lantern light.

“Sure. Just speak to him soft-like, and don't do anything sudden.”

Justin took the brush from him and went to the colt's stall. “Hey, fella. I'm coming in.” He touched the colt's flank while standing to the side, as Griffin had taught him to.

Griffin smiled to himself. That boy could make a good hand with horses by next summer. He strolled over and leaned on the divider between the colt and Red. “That's right. Everything nice and easy. And remember, I still don't want you going in the stall with him when I'm not around.”

“I won't. I promise.”

“You brush him all over every night, and next week I'll have you picking up his feet.”

“What for?”

Griffin chuckled. “So he'll let you.”

Justin looked quizzically over his shoulder.

“You have to get a colt used to everything,” Griffin said. “If you rub him all over, he gets used to being touched. Then he won't jump when a rein or a piece of rope touches him. You want him to be calm. And you practice picking up his feet and putting them down easy, so he won't mind you doing it when you need to.”

“Think he'll ever be calm?” Justin asked, stroking the colt's spotted withers with the soft brush. “He's always jumping around and kicking and bucking in the corral.”

“That's because he's young. He needs to learn that it's all right to play around when he's out to pasture, but when it's time for work, we
get down to business.”

Justin paused his strokes. “I never thought about horses needing to learn to work.”

“They do, just like people. They learn that when the bridle goes on, that means you don't run and jump however you feel like it. You stay quiet and do what your master tells you. And you have fun together.”

Justin began brushing the colt's mane. “You think they like it when people ride them?”

“Some of them do. When I get on Pepper, I can feel him pulling, ready to go.”

Justin nodded. “I think Champ will make a good saddle horse.”

“Champ?” Griffin asked.