Ruby (24 page)

Milly turned fourteen shades of red, and the others laughed and teased her as they made their way up the steep stairs.

Opal was sound asleep, toppled over on the top of her pallet wearing all but her shoes, when Ruby entered their room.

Ruby drew the sheet over her sister and undressed in the moonlight silvering a square on the floor. She pulled her sheet up and listened to the others settle down. All in all the day went better than she had hoped, not that she’d really had any idea what to expect. And as Daisy had commented, the captain surely had been attentive. There was something to be said for an attentive man who treated one like a lady.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“We got the last section cut.” Joe leaned against the doorframe.

“Good. That first cut is ready to turn.” Rand pulled his leather gloves back on. Haying at the Double H could have used a couple more hands, but other than the riffraff that hung around town, he knew of no one to ask. So they’d been trading off on using scythes to cut the field and wooden rakes to turn the drying grass. Up to now Rand had pastured the horses near the cabin during the winter, but putting up hay would keep them in better shape in case of deep snow. The cattle ranged all winter, using the draws and small meadows as protection when the wind and storms grew too fierce. He planned to build a shed and corral for the bull, so he’d need hay too.

If he wasn’t careful, he might turn into a farmer like his family back in Missouri. Ranching appealed to him far more, but cattle needed to be fed.

He followed Joe on out to the corral where Beans was working on a new bed for the wagon, one with a tall frame in front for hauling hay. “Lookin’ good there, old man.”

“Now don’t you go old mannin’ me.” Beans drove another nail home before looking up. “Goin’ to get this done just in time, you’ll see. If’n the rain holds off, that is.”

Rand glanced up to see only cerulean blue above them. “Sun addling your brains? There’s no rain in sight.”

“You just get that hay dry fast as you can. My right knee ain’t never wrong. Says it’s gonna rain, so you better dig out your slicker.”

Rand settled his hat lower to shade his eyes and shook his head. “Contrary old man.”

“But, Boss, he’s always right.” Joe kept his voice low so that Beans couldn’t hear, not that he’d hear anything above the pounding of the hammer.

“I know, but he’ll be on us from now till the first snow if we give him a chance.”

The two men laughed as they headed back to the field where Chaps was swigging from his canteen. “Better put your shirt back on, we’re turnin’ that first cut.” Joe took a sneak peek at the sky, arching his back like he wasn’t checking for rain clouds.

Rand chuckled to himself. Those two hated to admit an old guy like Beans might know more than they did. “Best we get at it.”

The bats were out on their nightly insect foray by the time the men turned the last fork. The hay lay in rows, snaking across the field like long strings of giant proportions. “Two days and we can haul it in. I marked out the new corral and shed for the bull. We’ll stack it right to the north, give him some extra protection.”

“And close so we don’t have to pitch it so far.” Chaps was always one for saving on labor, but he’d ride a horse dawn to dark with nary a complaint.

“Thought I was gonna have to come lookin’ fer ya,” Beans muttered when they slumped through the door after washing up. He took the lid off the pot on the back of the stove, and the aroma of stewed grouse perked up all three of the men.

“Fresh bread too?” Joe took a chair and propped his elbows on the table. “I used muscles I didn’t even know I had, and now every one of them is yellin’ at me.”

“You young pups don’t hardly know a real day’s work. You oughta try settin’ train rails. Now, poundin’ spikes, that’ll wear you out some.”

“How’s the wagon bed coming?” Rand dished up a plateful from the kettle Beans set in the middle of the slab table. Like most of the other furniture in the cabin, Rand had fashioned it from cottonwood logs he felled during the winter and whipsawed into planks. He’d laid them for flooring and the interior wall that separated the living quarters from his bedroom. The hands bunked in the other cabin he’d built. Shelves of cottonwood held books, baskets he’d learned to make from an old Indian woman, and extra clothing. He’d built the cupboards on the wall near the stove this last winter. A wolf pelt in winter prime lay thrown across the chair he’d fashioned and put in front of the fireplace, his only heat source and place for cooking until he had brought home the cast-iron stove with an oven.

By local standards, he had a fine home and was known as a man who did things well.

Conversation not only lagged but was nonexistent while the men ate, shoveling the food in quickly so they could sleep long enough to repair their bodies for the next day. After the others left, Rand banked the stove and, taking the kerosene lamp with him, headed for bed, hoping to read for a bit. If he could keep his eyes open.

The rain held off until they had the first section stacked where Rand had indicated and the final section windrowed.

“Now we’re gonna have to turn that section again.” The four of them sat on the cabin porch and listened to the rain drumming on the shake roof. Water running off the eaves sang its own tune as it bounced on the gravel below.

“Quit yer grousin’, Chaps, and go find us a deer. I got a hankerin’ for liver tonight.” Beans took up his carving knife and the piece of dry wood he was turning into a spoon or fork. One couldn’t tell since he was still working on the handle.

“I’ll do just that.” Chaps rose and stretched, then reached inside the door for the rifle and deerskin bag that held the bullets, both hung on pegs over the doorframe. As he headed for the horses, Rand nudged Joe.

“Come on, we can sink some of those corral posts, holes are easier to dig with the ground soaked.”

“And here I thought I might go on into town.” Joe yawned and, arms over his head, pushed against the slanted porch beams.

“Guess you thought wrong.” Beans held his carving up to the gray light. As usual, an intricate design was taking shape under the sharp point of his knife.

“We’ll all be goin’ into town once the hay is up.”

Five days later Beans drove the wagon to haul back supplies, and the other three rode alongside.

Rand nudged Buck into an easy jog. “You guys playing cards tonight?”

“Well, we sure as fire ain’t goin’ home before dark.” Chaps patted his pocket where he’d stuck his monthly pay. “I’m feelin’ real lucky. Belle better be lookin’ out.”

“Anyone hear of a dog for sale? I’m thinkin’ on getting one.”

“Cow dog would be good,” Beans said.

“Yeah, take Joe’s place.” Chaps slapped his thigh and hooted as if he’d just made the funniest joke of all time.

“I wasn’t the one tied to a tree.” Joe eased over and shoved Chaps’ shoulder, nearly knocking him off his horse.

The two galloped off, their laughter floating back on the breeze.

“Them two ever grow up, be an outright miracle.”

Rand chuckled and nodded. “But you got to admit they’re entertaining.”

Rand was still smiling when he flipped the reins over the hitching rail on the east side of Dove House.

“Hey, Mr. Harrison.”

“Hey, yourself, Miss Torvald.”

Opal scrunched up her face. “That’s my sister, not me.”

“All right, then, Opal. But you’re growin’ up mighty fast. Why I heard tell that you can ride right well now, and so I thought maybe you’d like to try out Buck.”

Opal leaped down the steps. “You really mean it?”

“Cross my heart.”

“I’ll be right back.” The girl dashed out toward the garden.

Rand shook his head. “She never walks when a run will do.”

“That’s our Opal, all right.” Daisy leaned on the porch railing. “How ya doin’, Mr. Harrison?”

Opal leaped over the rows of beans, waving two carrots. “Does Buck like carrots?”

“Buck likes anything that smells like food. He’s even been known to eat leftovers.” Rand glanced back at Daisy. “I’m doin’ good, Miss Daisy. Things sure look different around here.” He tipped his hat back. “By the way, I’m sure you have a last name.”

“Daisy Whitaker.”

“Fine, Miss Whitaker.”

Daisy ducked her head, and he was sure he saw a tear amble down her cheek.
Now what did I do?

Daisy sniffed and looked back at him, the tears making her eyes glitter like sapphires in the sun. “Thank you, Mr. Harrison. No one ever called me that before.”

Opal skidded to a walk before getting close to Buck.

“You are most welcome. Good girl, Opal. You didn’t spook him at all.”
You’d think she’d been around horses all her life, when I know for a fact that she hasn’t, and if her sister has her way, most likely won’t
.

Opal broke off the carrot tops and palmed the orange treat for Buck, who whiskered her palm as he lipped the carrot. She giggled and scratched her palm before offering him the other.

“He’ll take the tops too. He’s not choosy.” The green feathery tops disappeared as fast as the bottoms, and Buck sniffed Opal’s hair, down her arm, and her hands again.

“He wants more.”

“Buck always wants more. Here, I’ll give you a boost up.” He cupped his hands and nodded for her to put her foot in them.

With a question on her face, she paused. “My foot’s awful dirty.”

“So are my hands. Come on.”

Opal reached up for the latigos that hung from the leather conches on the saddle, put her left foot in Rand’s cupped hands, and giggled as she slapped into the saddle. “You almost threw me right on over.”

“Shortening my stirrups would take too long. You’re all right without them?”

Opal shrugged. “Guess so.”

“You’ll have to squeeze your legs harder to be felt through the leathers.”

“I will. Can I go now?”

“Yep. Rein him around and ride on down to the ford and back.”

Rand and Daisy watched as Opal did exactly as he told her.

“What’s Opal doing on—” Ruby came through the door in a rush, stopping when she saw Rand. “Oh. It’s
your
horse.”

“Yup. Buck’s been mine for nigh on to four years.”
Why was teasing her so much fun?
He smiled as he watched her dither between good manners and telling him off. He hadn’t found her good side yet, that was for certain. And the way other folks talked about her, she was all good. Not prickly at all.

“Oh.” Ruby nibbled her bottom lip. “I don’t suppose you’d like a drink of ginger fizz.”

“Why that sounds right good. Thank you, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat.

“I’ll get it.” Daisy brushed past Ruby, the screen door slamming behind her.

Rand checked to see how Opal was doing before returning his attention to Ruby.

She was still fidgeting. “I haven’t thanked you yet for playing your guitar at the Fourth of July celebration.”

“Everyone had a fine time—that they did. I heard tell the whole thing was your idea.”

“Yes, well, Captain McHenry got things in motion.”

“Here, I’ll set the tray on this bench, and we can sit in the shade.” Daisy kept the door from slamming this time with her hip, earning an approving smile from Ruby.

Now why can she smile so easily at everyone but me?
Rand pondered the thought as he took the step indicated. “You’ve done a lot of work around here.”

“In spite of your bad advice?” An eyebrow arched, the tone tinged with frost.

“My bad advice?” Rand shook his head. “I never gave you . . .”
Oh yes, when I told her off for changing Dove House. I’m afraid I did not make a good impression. Fact, if I remember right, I read her the riot act. My mama would have had conniptions six times from Sunday
.

He caught Ruby watching him over the top of her glass. He was about to make a comment he would probably regret when Opal came thundering to a stop in front of them.

“Hey, Mr. Harrison, you want I should tie Buck to the hitching post?”

“Unless you want to ride more.”

“I think that is quite enough. Mr. Harrison no doubt has business elsewhere.” Ruby’s right eyebrow arched again.

I’d say I’ve been dismissed. Whatever happened to forgive and forget?
He thought of staying just to get her dander up again but instead rose and handed the glass back to Daisy. “Thank you, Miss Whi-taker, that was most delicious. I’ll be back in time for supper.”

By the time he headed home that night, several dollars lighter, he’d not seen Ruby again. And he was sure he’d caught Belle skimming the take.
Should I tell Miss Torvald or not?
The question nagged him all the way back to the ranch.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

July sweltered into August. The garden grew, the weeds were hoed out, fish were caught, rabbits were chased out of the garden, trapped, and eaten, and August eased into September.

“Wait until you see who is coming down the street.” Opal stormed through the back door like she’d been riding the wind.

“Who?” Ruby turned from checking the meat pies baking for dinner. She wiped the perspiration from her face with her apron.

“Someone from France. He and his entourage”—Opal decorated the word with fluttering hands and rolling eyes—“asked the conductor where they should stay and he said Dove House. There are four of them, and they weren’t too happy that no one was there to take their trunks, so I told them to leave them there and someone would bring a wagon.” She paused long enough to suck in a deep breath. The bell over the front door announced visitors. “And here they are.”

“Anyone here speak French?” Charlie set a basket of fresh carrots down on the table.

“I do.” Ruby whipped off her apron, wiped her face again, and smoothed back her drooping hair. She headed out the swinging door.

“Bienvenue á Dove House. Merci beaucoup pour venir. Pardonnez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Je parle seulement un peu fran
ais.”

“That woman never ceases to amaze me.” Cimarron used the back of her hand to wipe her forehead.

“I was just making a joke.” Charlie stared after Ruby. “I had me no idea . . .”

“She speaks Norwegian too,” Opal added from her place on the floor dragging a bit of deer hide on a string for Cat to play with. “But she’d tell you her French isn’t very good. In fact, if I know my sister, right now she is apologizing for her poorly spoken French. She reads and understands pretty good . . . er . . . well, though.” She flashed a look at Daisy, who grinned at her. They’d both been corrected more than once on the uses of well and good.

When Ruby returned to the kitchen, she’d shown their French guests to their rooms and promised to have water sent up for washing.

“How did you know all the right words?” Daisy asked.

“I didn’t. They had a man along who also spoke English, although his French accent on English was about as bad as my American one on French. They want to go hunting, so I said you would be up with water and help them make arrangements.”

Charlie nodded. “They didn’t want the hip bath?”

Ruby shook her head.

“Good thing—carrying up enough water for four would be awful in this heat.”

“Ah, Charlie, you gettin’ soft or something?” Cimarron looked up from the tablecloth she was mending. Some oaf had set his burning cigar down on the cloth instead of in the ash trays they provided. Daisy had doused the smoking cigar with a glass of water and accidentally splashed some on the man. He’d called her names until Charlie strolled up.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if we shouldn’t say no smoking or spitting in the dining room. We already trained ’em that they can’t drink here.” Cimarron held the patch up to the light. “Or else we should quit putting tablecloths on—white ones, anyway. I once saw an eating place that used red-and-white-checked oilcloth. That looked real nice too. Kind of homey.”

“That’s a thought.”
Right now I can’t afford to buy anything but food—and hardly that
. Ruby hated to admit she was squeezing every nickel and dime to screaming. While business had been pretty steady, since the army went on extended patrol in August, they’d served far fewer meals.

Everyone said that things would pick up in the fall with more easterners coming west for hunting. If their French guests were any indication, Ruby figured that now there was room for hope. Adequate income was especially needed now since another quarterly payment was due at the bank. No matter how hard she searched, she still hadn’t found the buksbom or the money box. At night she dreamed about finding them, but she always woke up before seeing where they were hidden.

“Someone want to come help me twist these sheets?” Daisy poked her head in the door. They’d taken to doing the wash over a fire in the backyard rather than in the kitchen, where there was never room for the boiler on the stove. Another stove was on Ruby’s dream list.

“I will.” Opal tied the string over the back of a chair, left Cat to bat at her toy, and headed out the door.

After serving dinner, Cimarron came back through the swinging door. “That creepy fellow is out there again. He watches me like Cat watches at a mousehole.”

“When his meal is ready, someone else can serve him.” Ruby turned to see how Cimarron really was. “In fact, I will.”

“Or we could ask Charlie to tell him not to come back,” Daisy suggested.

“No, he’s not really done nothin’. I got to get over this or else remain here in the kitchen. But since the dance everyone knows I’m still here, so I’d rather take my turn serving. I kinda missed the—” she cocked her head with a slight shrug—“you know, the back and forth talk.”

“Just be careful who you smile at,” Daisy cautioned. “Your smile could make a man rise up and follow like that Pied Piper fellow Opal read us about.”

Cimarron whipped around, hands on hips. “I did not flirt with him.”

“I know that.” Daisy rolled her eyes, shaking her head all the while. “It’s just . . . just . . .”

“Say what you’re thinkin’.”

“I’m tryin’ to. Cimarron, you just don’t know how beautiful you are. Why, I see men panting when you give ’em one of your smiles—like a gift they are.”

A slow smile brightened Cimarron’s face. “Why, Daisy, you are a poet. Such a beautiful thing to say.”

“Well, it’s true.” Daisy turned back to her bread kneading.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

Ruby watched the exchange, pleasure and concern pushing and shoving for the same space. She too had noticed the way Ezekiel Damish watched Cimarron. He’d apologized after strong-arming her at the dance, saying he was drunk, but she had a feeling the captain had applied pressure in that arena. Apologizing didn’t seem to go along with the mean look of the man. Of course, if he cleaned up, he might look more friendly. But some people seemed born mean or else life taught them to be that way.

She’d already realized that bathing didn’t seem important or even necessary to some of the hunters and drifters who passed through Little Misery, as the locals often referred to the town. Little Missouri, Little Muddy, Little Misery, all interchangeable names—the most accurate being little.

A knock moved her gaze to the back door. Private Adam Stone stood at attention.

Ruby opened the screen door. “Won’t you come in?”

“A message from the captain, Miss Torvald.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

“Thank you. When did you all get back?”

“About an hour ago.”

“I see. Would you like some refreshment?”

“No, thank you, not right now. I need to get back with an answer.” He indicated the paper. “But I could do with some refreshment later, after supper at the mess.”

“Perhaps Milly would like to go for a walk then.” Ruby loved to watch the young man’s neck get red and his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “You might ask her on your way out.”

“Thank you.” He kept his eyes straight forward as if she were his commanding officer. She was tempted to say, “At ease, soldier,” but refrained from embarrassing him even more. She quickly read the note and nodded. “Tell the captain that will be fine.”

When he exited, closing the door gently so it didn’t slam, Cimarron chuckled. “It’s hard to resist the urge to tease him, isn’t it?”

“You’re saying I didn’t? Resist the urge, that is?” Ruby tried to look innocent, but the others laughed anyway. “He is so young.”

“It’s that baby face. And he blushes so charmingly.” Cimarron put away the last of the dinner dishes, then paused as they heard the men coming down the stairs and then going out the front door.

Ruby wished she had time for a cooling bath, but a quick wash after supper would have to do. At least she had a clean dress to put on.

Later that evening she and Captain McHenry strolled down toward the now meandering river. They’d discussed the uneventful patrol, the few things happening in town, and the French visitors, but Ruby could tell something was bothering him. They stopped under a cottonwood where the river chatted with the rustling leaves—not big secrets but friendly banter. The breeze lifted the tendrils of hair from her face and caressed her skin.

“Ah, this feels so wonderful. Thank you for the invitation.”

“I . . . I have something to ask you.”

“Yes?”

He turned from studying the river. “Is there any chance that someday you could think of me as more than a friend?” He picked at the corrugated bark of the tree as if afraid to look at her.

“What are you asking me?”

“I have my orders. I am being transferred to Fort Bowie in Arizona Territory.”

“When?”

“Immediately. Lieutenant Wilson will be in charge here.”

Oh, I shall miss you
. “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend. I mean a man friend like you before.”

“If I write, will you answer?”

“Of course.”
That’s Indian territory down there
. The thought sent shivers up her back. She’d heard the Apache were fierce warriors.

“Have you ever thought of living elsewhere?”

Yes, back home in New York, but I promised my father
. “I have commitments here.”

“I know. But that could change.”

“Yes.” She glanced up, catching the full intensity of his gaze.
What are you asking me?

“And you will write?”

“Yes. And you must promise to keep safe.”

“I’ll do my best.” He offered her his arm. “I cannot tell you how much I shall miss you.”

“And I you.” When he closed his other hand over hers, she remembered the pleasure of dancing with him. What was that she saw in his eyes? Hard to tell in the dusk but close to him felt like a good place to be.

“You mean that?”

“Of course.”

“Good, then there is hope.”

She cleared her throat. “Won’t you stop for a glass of tea?”

“No, I need to get my papers in order and talk with my men. Thank you.”

“God bless.”

He gently squeezed her hand, touched the brim of his hat, and marched off down the street toward the cantonment.

“Good-bye,” she whispered as his broad back shimmered in the twilight. She dashed away the offending moisture and made her way around the building on the porch.
Why couldn’t I have said yes, that there could be more? Why does my life seem all of a muddle?
And now one of her few pleasures was being taken away.

Few pleasures? Think again, my girl
. The inner voice sounded amazingly like Bestemor’s. Bestemor, who always saw the bright side of life, who always spoke of the things she was thankful for, who not only said and believed but lived her gratitude. Every day she looked for something new to thank God for. And insisted Ruby do the same.

But how can I be thankful when one more thing is being taken away?

Ruby sank into the rocker that gave her a view of the rocks and buttes north of town. Dusk had grayed the colors that flamed in the setting sun. But though dark now, the color was there, waiting for the light again.

I can be thankful for the light that returns. I can be thankful he has become my friend. I can be thankful I can write and read and that letters can come from far places
. She let her head rest against the back of the rocker.
Lord, forgive me for my lack of gratitude
. Mosquitoes whined about her ears. After slapping one on her arm, she rose and went inside.

“What did he want?” Cimarron sat in the lamplight, her mending on her lap.

“He’s been transferred to Fort Bowie where the Indians are uprising again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. And so will Opal be, because this means no more riding.” Ruby sat down at the table. “Every night she prays for a horse of her own, but there is no way I can buy her a horse.”

“No, but then you are not God. She’s not asking you for a horse.”

“True.”

“When I was her age, I rode all over the country.”

“Did you have a horse of your own?”

“Not really. I took care of all the horses. Pa had a team, and we had two riding horses. The four of us rode to school on them until the winters got bad, then Pa took us in the sleigh.”

“How did you end up out here?”

“My man run off and left me when he thought I was dying.”

“How could he?”

“Same as he could smack me around without a lick of remorse. He was a real charmer, who turned meaner ’n a cornered badger when he’d had too much to drink. Belle found me, nursed me back to health, and I been with her ever since.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. You wonder how I could do what I did. You got to understand that, when you’re hungry enough, you’ll do anything to eat. And after a while you grow a real thick scab over your heart and mind and dream of something else while . . .” Cimarron closed her eyes and swallowed. “Like some wonderful man is going to come in on a white horse and carry you away. Only in my case it wasn’t a handsome man on a white horse but a young innocent woman with blond hair and a little sister who looks up to me and makes me feel ten feet tall.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Like I’m worth something after all.”