Ruby
Authors: Lauraine Snelling,Alexandra O'Karm
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Historical, #Religious, #Christian, #ebook, #book
Ruby
Books by Lauraine Snelling
A S
ECRET
R
EFUGE
Daughter of Twin Oaks Sisters of the Confederacy
The Long Way Home
D
AKOTAH
T
REASURES
Ruby Pearl
Opal Amethyst
D
AUGHTERS OF
B
LESSING
A Promise for Ellie
Sophie’s Dilemma
A Touch of Grace
Rebecca’s Reward
R
ED
R
IVER OF THE
N
ORTH
An Untamed Land The Reapers’ Song
A New Day Rising Tender Mercies
A Land to Call Home Blessing in Disguise
R
ETURN TO
R
ED
R
IVER
A Dream to Follow Believing the Dream
More Than a Dream
Ruby
L
AURAINE
S
NELLING
Ruby
Copyright © 2003
Lauraine Snelling
Cover design by Dan Thornberg
Cover building photo: Nebraska State Historical Society Photograph Collections
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978–0–7642–2222–1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Snelling, Lauraine.
Ruby / by Lauraine Snelling.
p. cm. — (Dakotah treasures ; 1)
ISBN 0-7642-2222-8
1. Inheritance and succession—Fiction. 2. Fathers and daughters—Fiction.
3. Women pioneers—Fiction. 4. Medora (N.D.)—Fiction. 5. Sisters—Fiction.
I. Title. II. Series: Snelling, Lauraine. Dakotah treasures ; v 1.
PS3569.N39R83 2003
813'.54—dc21
2003002571
Dedication
Friends can make a life richer, push one to higher accomplishments, keep one from making mistakes, and pick up the pieces when one does make errors in judgment. Friends can also trigger books. Ruby is dedicated to my writer-friends, the Round Robins, Chelley, Kathleen and Kitty.
Thanks in bunches.
LAURAINE SNELLING is an award-winning author of over forty books, fiction and nonfiction, for adults and young adults. Besides writing books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband, Wayne, have two grown sons and four granddogs, and make their home in California.
Contents
Historical societies are great research places for historical writers, and for this new series I thank the North Dakota Historical Society at Bismarck and Diane Rogness, the curator at the Chateau de Mores in Medora, for information and early pictures, of which there are few, of Little Missouri. Doug and Mary at the Western Edge Bookstore in Medora added bits and pieces to this series and directed me to the most helpful books and maps.
I am blessed with the most able and helpful assistant in Cecile, who has learned she is part brainstormer, part editor, part encourager, and part researcher. When she came to work for me, she didn’t realize she would lose sleep over the characters in these books.
Thanks to husband Wayne for becoming more expert in the care and feeding of a writer under deadline and for all the research, reading, and remembering he contributed. It sure helps to be married to a man who can pull historical dates out of his mind without looking them up and who enjoys being a partner of this writing life of ours.
My editor, Sharon Asmus, and all the staff at Bethany House Publishers did their usual fine work, for which I am extremely grateful. I waited a long time for an agent, and Deidre Knight has helped make my writing life both simpler and more diverse. Thanks all of you.
New York , April 1882
Scolding never did any good.
Ruby Torvald, hands on her hips, glared at her nine-year-old sister. No, of course Opal had not meant to break the Dresden shepherdess. Of course she had only been looking at it.
But how often had she been told to look, not touch?
“Opal, you knew better.”
Strawberry curls flying rampant about her freckled cheeks in spite of the French braids Ruby had plaited so carefully that morning, Opal refused to meet her sister’s frowning gaze.
“Uff da! What am I going to do with you?”
What am I going to tell Mrs. Brandon, and more importantly, how am I going to pay for that?
Ruby picked up the pieces, halfheartedly fitting the full skirt onto the upper body, along with the head. As if any shepherdess would really wear a flouncy skirt like that and full petticoats too. Only the lamb at her side and the shepherd’s crook gave an inkling of the purpose of the figurine.
“I . . . I’m sorry.”
Ruby tried but failed to trap the sigh that seemed a continuation of many others.
“I really am.” With the toe of her shoe, Opal traced the rose blossom woven into the Aubusson rug on which she stood.
“I know you are. But you need to think of how sorry you might be before . . .” Ruby laid the broken pieces in the trash basket at her feet. Perhaps if she rearranged the bric-a-brac on the whatnot table, Mrs. Brandon would never notice the shepherdess was missing. “Go back to the schoolroom and write fifty times on the board, ‘I will not touch other people’s things.”’
“But, Ruby, I already did all my lessons, and you said we would go to the park after Bernie’s nap.”
Ruby closed her eyes to steel herself against the beseeching looks from the young girl in front of her. She’d had to be more mother than sister in the five years since Bestemor died. How much easier life had been when they had lived with their grandmother.
You mustn’t go around feeling sorry for yourself,
she scolded.
No one wants to attend a pity party, even though you’d be the guest of honor
. She pointed in the direction of the stairs, ignoring the last pleading look thrown over Opal’s sturdy shoulder.
Ruby took the basket back to the kitchen and dropped the pieces in the garbage.
“Not another one.” Mrs. Fleish, the head housekeeper of the Brandon mansion, gave Ruby a pitying glance.
“Ja, and now I have to tell the missus.”
“That shepherdess was one of her favorites.”
“I know.” Ruby exchanged a look with the woman who had taken her under her wing those five years ago when Ruby and her small sister, Opal, had joined the staff at the Brandon house. Ruby had started out as a maid but, because of her love for children, had moved up to nanny’s helper and had often filled in when one of the many governesses parading through had left—or been dismissed.
She was the only one who could handle twelve-year-old Miss Alicia, the eldest of the Brandon children, who was far too bright for her age. Penelope, at ten, was a willing pupil, until she and Opal got their heads together, a sure sign that mischief would soon show a face. Jason had spent much of his eight years with his nose in a book but had little regard for the demands of a teacher, unless she was presenting a topic of interest to him. Ruby knew how to charm him into being interested in anything he needed to learn, so Mr. and Mrs. Brandon had finally given up looking for a new governess.
“Don’t worry, miss, she won’t fire you, not even for that bit of fancy clay.” Mrs. Klaus, the cook, looked up from peeling potatoes, the skins curling into the bucket kept for compost in the garden. “She knows you are the only one who can manage her children.”
“She won’t think I’m managing very well today. She caught Jason sliding down the banister. He said he was studying the properties of friction between wood and cloth at high rates of speed.”
Cook coughed to cover a chuckle. Her favoritism of the eldest son was a well-documented fact. Ask any of the children who it was that always got the biggest cookie or the choice of puddings.
Might as well get this over with so it isn’t hanging over my head like the scimitar in the story we read this morning
. Ruby dusted her hands off on her apron, raising a slight cloud of chalk dust since this was her schoolroom apron, then hung it on the hook. “Is she in her sitting room or the sunroom?”
Mrs. Klaus glanced at the carved walnut clock on the wall. “Most likely the sunroom now. She’ll be calling for tea any minute. If you want to wait and take the tray with you, might be a good time for you to talk with her.”
“I promised to take the children to the park, so I need to get this over with.”
A bell chimed three times as they spoke.
“The sunroom.” Cook set a plate of lemon bars on the silver tray already waiting on the table, along with bone china cups, a pitcher of milk, a sugar bowl with tongs for the sugar cubes, and slices of lemon on another plate. Napkins lay folded on the side and teaspoons gleamed on the white damask. Three golden daffodils made a splash of color in a crystal bud vase.
“Here ’tis.” Cook set the cream-toned teapot on the tray. With hands across her ample front, she studied the tray to make sure all was in perfect order. Mrs. Brandon loved to have her afternoon tea just so. But then Mrs. Brandon liked to have most things just so. She would have liked ‘just so’ to have included her children, but they constantly disabused her of that notion.
Ruby picked up the tray and, turning, backed out the swinging door that led from the kitchen to the butler’s pantry and thence to the walnut-paneled hall leading to the living quarters.
“Is it teatime?” Alicia, the eldest Brandon daughter, leaned over the regal carved banister and stage-whispered down to Ruby.
“Yes. But isn’t it Penelope’s turn today?”
Alicia shook her head and, with shoulders back, paraded down the stairs. “I traded with her.”
“And who might you be this time?”
“Queen Victoria.” The girl held out a limp hand. “You may kiss my ring if you like.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. “Nay, and I shan’t curtsy either. Sorry, Your Highness. Please follow me or lead the way, as you prefer.” She took a few steps and paused. “Why did Penelope agree to exchange tea days with you?”
“She was indisposed.” Again the regal tone.
“Oh.”
I have a feeling I should ask what she means by that, but . . .
They entered the sunroom, its rich gold tones burnished by the westering sun. Pots of palms, schefflera plants, and ivy topiaries brought in touches of green, and a pudgy pot covered with waxy gardenia blossoms leant a fragrance all its own. Ruby set the tray on the low glass table in front of the rattan sofa where Mrs. Brandon leaned against the gold-and-orange-flowered cushions.
“Thank you, my dear, that looks lovely. Alicia, you may pour today. Ruby, you will join us, will you not?”
Now I won’t be able to make my announcement and a hasty retreat
. Dutifully she responded in the affirmative and took the chair indicated.
“Milk or lemon, Mother?” Alicia looked up from pouring steaming tea into one of the cups.
“Milk today, please, and one lump.”
Alicia added the milk and a cube of sugar before passing the cup and saucer to her mother.
“Thank you, well done.” Lydia Brandon, her hair the same rich sealskin brown as her daughter’s, only knotted loosely on top of her head instead of flowing in ringlets down her back, smiled at her daughter.
“So, tell me, what has gone on behind my back today?”
Ruby swallowed a gulp.
“Milk or lemon?” Alicia asked with a smile for Ruby.
“Lemon, please, and two lumps.”
I need to be extra sweet, or I shall banish my recalcitrant sister to the attic to dine on bread and water
. How she hated having to apologize for her sister’s antics. Ruby accepted her cup of tea with thanks and lifted it to her lips. Perhaps tea and cookies would sweeten Mrs. Brandon too. Or leave a mellow glow that would be dashed to smithereens like the mortally wounded shepherdess.
“Lemon bar?” Alicia waited in front of her offering the cookie plate.
“Thank you.”
“Now, my dears, back to my question, which you have both so assiduously avoided.”
Ruby started to confess but stopped when Alicia began.
“Penelope had an accident.”
“Is she injured?” The calm tone said this was nothing new.
“N-o-o, but . . .”
“But?” Mrs. Brandon watched her daughter over the rim of her cup.
“But Benson, her favorite bear, is.”
“And. . . ?” The pause lengthened.
“And Jason was conducting an experiment.”
“With the bear, I take it?”
“Yes, Benson was captain of the raft that Jason built and floated on the goldfish pond. He was adding rocks for ballast and . . . well . . .”
Her mother took another sip of tea. “And . . .”
“And Benson fell into the pond, and Penelope jumped in after it, and she came up all muddy with a lily pad hanging from her hair, so Nanny put her and the bear in the bath, and they had to run the water out twice.” Alicia grimaced in disgust. “She was filthy.”
“I see.” Mrs. Brandon put her cup down and took a bite of the powdered-sugar-covered bar.
“And Jason?”
“Mr. Klaus said he could help clean out the goldfish pond since his experiment got Penelope in trouble.”
“Very good of Mr. Klaus.”
“You won’t tell Father, will you?”
“No, Jason shall.”
“Oh, he won’t like that.”
“No, but confessing one’s sins builds character.”
“But building a raft wasn’t a sin, was it?”
“No, but putting Penelope’s favorite bear on the raft when he knew it would upset her was not an act of love, was it?”
“N-o-o. But . . .”
Ruby could tell that Alicia was feeling a bit confused. She nibbled her lemon bar.Was this a good time to tell Mrs. Brandon about the shepherdess? Wasn’t Opal in the same fix as Jason?
“The wise man thinks ahead about the consequences of his actions. Will what he does injure someone or cause someone grief?” Mrs. Brandon carefully watched her daughter and smiled at Ruby to include her in the conversation. “We must all consider our actions. The Bible says we should do to others as we would have them do to us, does it not?”
“Yes.”
“An excellent precept to live by.”
Ruby sucked in a lungful of air and sighed it out. “I have something to confess.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Brandon turned so she faced toward Ruby. “And what has Opal been up to now?”
Ruby knew how Jason would be feeling when he spoke to his father. “The Dresden shepherdess is no longer.”
“Aah.” Mrs. Brandon closed her eyes for a moment. “My mother gave me that.”
“I am so sorry. I . . . I will pay for it. Can it be replaced?”
“It could be, but that is not what will help Opal to be more careful.” Lydia brought a hand up to her throat. “I think she must come tell me this herself, and I will decide what must be done.” She looked to Alicia. “When we have finished our tea, you will go tell Opal to join me in the library.”
She held out her hand to forestall Ruby both in speech and action. “Enjoy your tea, and then you may take the children to the park as you had planned. I heard Bernie laugh, so I know he is up from his nap. Jason will wait on the bench in the foyer for his father to come home. Waiting, like confession, is good for the soul.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Opal cast a worried glance over her shoulder as Ruby ushered the others to the front door.
“But, Ruby, aren’t you going to wait for me?”
“No. We will be back soon.” She steeled her heart against the imploring look from her young sister. Perhaps if she had been more stern Opal would not be in this position now. Surely she could better learn how to discipline her charges in ways to make them think before acting.
Once out the door Penelope walked close beside Ruby. “You want me to push the pram?”
“No, I’ll do that. I thought you were going to bring your hoop.”
“No fun without Jason. I wish he didn’t get in trouble.” Her lower lip quivered.
Alicia took her sister by the hand. “Come, I’ll push you on the swings.”
They crossed the street to the park, where spring had splashed bright greens, yellows, pinks, and reds of tulips, daffodils, and primroses around the grounds. Robins dug for worms in the grass, and squirrels chattered from newly leafing branches.
Ruby followed behind the two girls with the pram, then lifted Bernie out to sit on the swing with her. At two and a half he longed to run after his older brother and sisters and frequently ended up with bruises for his efforts.
“More,” he squealed as she walked back as far as she could go before lifting her feet to swoop forward. She kept both arms around the ropes and her hands locked around his chubby belly to keep him from flying away from her.
Penelope’s laughter reminded her how infectious was Opal’s. If Opal were here, she would be pumping as high as the sky, challenging Jason to go higher than she.
Ruby leaned back and pumped enough to make Bernie squeal again in delight.
“More. More.”
When they finally left the swings, lights were beginning to show in the windows of houses bordering the park.
“You think Papa is home now?”
“Papa home,” Bernie echoed, clapping his hands.
“That might be his carriage now.” Ruby nodded toward the equipage trotting toward them as they crossed the street.
“Perhaps we better go round to the back then.” Alicia took her sister’s hand. “Come, I’ll race you.”
Ruby bit back her admonition that young ladies shouldn’t be running foot races and followed the two girls, the pram wheels bumping over the crushed gravel.
“A letter came for you,” Mrs. Fleish said when Ruby set Bernie down inside the kitchen door. “It’s on the hall table.” She bent down to swoop up the small child. “How’s my Bernie today?”
“Swing. Ruby, swing me high.”
“Have you seen Opal?” Ruby asked.
“She’s up in the schoolroom.” Mrs. Fleish handed Bernie back to her. “Supper will be ready whenever Mr. Brandon is finished with Master Jason. I sent the girls to wash up.”