Lauraine Snelling (16 page)

Mavis took a bite of cake and then sat back. “For some reason, during the next game Talbot kept on drinking. And Adam kept on winning. Ivar backed out and the other player finally did too. Adam said they should quit, but Talbot would have none of that. He’d gotten a bit on the mean side, didn’t like losing all his money, but he was so sure his luck was going to turn that he insisted the game continue. He finally wrote a note offering half of his Wild West Show as his bid.

“Adam won. I don’t recall what the hand was, but I know Ivar had his gun at the ready. Talbot leaned over the table. ‘Well, now you’re my partner,’ he said and shook Adam’s hand. So Adam now owned half the show. After spending some time with the cast and crew and making sure he could have an act of his own, Adam agreed to go on the road with the Wild West Show. They changed the name to the Lockwood and Talbot Wild West Show and headed east.”

“Mr. Engstrom must have been really angry.”

“He was, for a while. We were married shortly after that.”

“And my father never returned?”

“Nope, never. We corresponded for a few years, and he’d send us posters or newspaper articles, but when Ivar would ask when Adam was coming back, he’d say, ‘Someday. When I get this show out of my system.’”

“I thought he might quit when my mother died,” Cassie said, “but then he got to working up some changes to the routine, and away we went again.” She heaved a sigh. “I still miss him some days something fierce. Thank you for telling me.”

“You are welcome. I have a feeling Chief has plenty of stories he could tell.”

“If only he would. I better get up to the cabin. May I please take a couple of carrots for Wind Dancer and George?”

“Of course. Help yourself to whatever you’d like out there. You’ll take one of the livers, right?”

Runs Like a Deer nodded. “Fry it for supper. Do you know where any wild onions grow around here?”

“I’m not sure. When you go out foraging, I’d like to go along. I’ve always been interested in using wild greens and things. We could ride up or walk, whatever would be best. Meanwhile, you’re welcome to take some of our onions. We still have quite a few left from the garden.”

Runs Like a Deer hesitated then nodded. “I’ll take one today. And let’s look before the snow comes.”

“All right. Perhaps a day next week.” Mavis smiled at the nod. “Good. Oh, and do you want to dry some of the squash? There’s no hurry on that. It’ll keep for a while before it goes moldy.”

Cassie and Runs Like a Deer took their leave and started the pleasant walk back home. Home.

“What will we keep the dried meat in and the squash once they are dry?” Cassie asked on the walk back up the hill to the cabin.

“Burlap bags work well. We used to weave loose baskets to keep things like that.”

“So you know how to make baskets too?” When the woman nodded, Cassie paused before asking, “Is there anything you don’t know how to do?”

“I don’t know how to knit or train a horse or trick shoot and ride. Or keep books. I can read some but not well.”

Cassie looked at her in astonishment. Never had Runs Like a Deer talked so freely. Maybe one of these days she’d be able to ask her questions about the woman’s life before they found her lying in that hollow with her leg at an impossible angle. She knew Chief had learned more of the story, but he wouldn’t say anything. Sometimes the two of them talked in Sioux, making Cassie wish she could speak that language they were so comfortable in.

She whistled for Wind Dancer, and when he trotted over to the fence, George came too, just like they used to in the corral at the show. She broke the carrots into smaller pieces to make them last longer and fed both of them. When they finished, she swung aboard Wind Dancer.

“Hand me those two baskets, and I’ll meet you at the gate.” Riding her horse without saddle or bridle was nothing new, but riding in an open pasture like this was. There were still traces of red and gold in the trees going up the hill behind the cabin. Smoke trailed out of the cabin chimney, and the ring of an ax told her the fellows were there. She dismounted at the gate by swinging one leg over her horse’s neck and shoulders and sliding to the ground with a basket in each hand.

Wind Dancer sniffed the basket contents while she opened the gate. “Hey, get out of there.”

But he raised his head and backed off at the smell of the liver and raw meat. He did manage to grab a potato and stood crunching that while they waited for Runs Like a Deer, and then he followed them up the trail to the cabin.

Cassie led him to the corral gate. “Brand new corral, just for you, Wind Dancer.” The gate was made of three parallel poles that were slid back to create the opening. Cassie closed the poles again and watched her horse for a few moments. He trotted around the newly built enclosure, snuffling the posts and spooking sideways at whatever he noticed that he didn’t like.

Cassie picked up her baskets again and set them on the table inside the cabin.

“Have fried potatoes with the liver?”

“And the onion and squash.”

Cassie pulled out a string of sausages and held them up. “For breakfast tomorrow?”

Runs Like a Deer nodded. “We have eggs.”

“And some of that bread that Mrs. Brandenburg sent.” Seeing all the food they had reminded Cassie of the times on the road when they had beans—beans with roasted rabbit, beans with wild onions, and the rare treat of biscuits. Now they had good choices, and none of them had to be beans.

“I’m going to practice with Wind Dancer. Do you need me to do anything?” When the other woman shook her head, Cassie hoisted her saddle off the rack by the door and the bridle from a peg and carried them out to the corral. Once she had him ready to go, she did a few stretches, using the post and rails of the fence.

“Tight. My word, I’m tighter than a fiddle.” How would she ever be able to do all those things she did before? One practice would not be nearly enough. She needed to work on this every day if she was going to be able to perform again. And if she was out of shape, so was her horse. She mounted and rode around the corral a few times before turning tighter circles and backing. When she finally tried spinning in place, she got dizzy before she stopped. She’d not been dizzy in these routines for years. When they were both warmed up, she started her simplest routine of swinging off, hitting the ground, and swinging back into the saddle. Then the side to side act.

The sun was getting low and the pine trees were throwing long shadows across the valley before she slowed down and walked her horse around the corral nice and easy. She whistled for Othello, and he leaped up behind her, a happy bark making her smile. Wind Dancer no longer tugged at the bit or danced along. “I know, you’re tired too. When you cool down I’ll take you back to the pasture. We’re going to be doing this every day. Sunday is only three days away. This isn’t going to be much of an exhibition.”

Tomorrow they’d be cutting up the other elk. She’d just have to quit earlier. Of course she could take horse and gear over to the corral by the barn and practice there, but here no one was watching.

“Will you do any of the shooting stunts?” Micah asked from the other side of the fence.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Surely not the fancy stuff. We’re not ready for that. We’ll throw things in the air to shoot down, shoot at targets, and things like that. If I can’t outshoot the locals, I surely can’t handle a real match.”

“What guns will you need?”

“Pistols, shotgun for clay pigeons, or something like that, and the Winchester for distance targets. Maybe tomorrow we can set up something here to practice with, now that I have shells again.”

“We will. They felled some trees up the hill today, but Ransom said they would do more tomorrow. Next week we might be working at the sawmill again. Drag the trees down first.”

Cassie dismounted and uncinched the saddle. Her tack needed a good cleaning, and polishing too. Micah carried the gear into the cabin, and she swung aboard Wind Dancer again and rode down to let him loose in the pasture. He trotted out, lay down, and rolled, kicking his feet in the air and grunting in pleasure. When he stood and shook himself all over, she smiled. What a sight to see her animals loose on acres of pasture, with room to roam, plenty to eat, and water available when they wanted it.

A far cry from life on the Wild West show circuit. All their lives had changed, and it was up to her to provide the wherewithal to keep them alive and healthy. Impressing that man from Hill City might well be the first step on a new journey. But she was nowhere near ready. What would it take?

T
aking time out of preparing for the party in order to go to church on Sunday set Ransom’s teeth to clenching. However, the inviolable rule was, come hell or high water, one attends church every Sunday. So there he sat in their usual pew. Of course he understood his mother, and of course he understood God’s Word, but . . . He kept a sort of smile in place with difficulty.

He glanced down the row. Oh-oh. Trouble ahead. Lucas was again sitting next to Miss Lockwood, smiling at her, gesturing at the hymnal. Sometimes his brother displayed a decided lack of common sense, or else he was so sure he was right that he wasn’t thinking of anyone else. Ransom had already looked around the congregation before he took his seat. The Hudsons were all in their usual pew, but Betsy was not present. Her brother Harry, Lucas’s best friend, looked like a statue carved in stone. Granite. Unless there was some kind of stone even harder than granite, then it was that kind of stone. Betsy’s younger sister’s eyes sent out sparks. She often overdramatized a situation, but this hostility didn’t look like that. This was real. The amazing thing was that, so far as Ransom knew, the tinderbox, if there was one, was still being kept under wraps.

The organ music swelled and the congregation stood for the opening hymn.
Pay attention,
he ordered himself.
There’s nothing more you can do at home anyway. But what about the Hudsons? This would not be a problem if Miss Lockwood had not arrived with her wild tale and my mother had not instantly taken her in like a long-lost daughter. If Lucas had not decided this young woman was destined to be his wife, they could have worked through the rest of it without causing problems for other people—people who now were beginning to look not like friends but like former friends.

When Pastor Brandenburg pronounced the benediction and they stood for the closing hymn, Ransom realized he had not heard any of the service. Surely the pastor had delivered a sermon, but it had whistled right past him. His mind, his thoughts, his dreads had wandered down all manner of bumpy trails. And nothing had come of those excursions. The only thing he could think of to do to diffuse the situation was to hustle the family out and get home as quickly as possible. Perhaps they should leave through the back. But Mor was already headed out the front door, chatting with friends, shaking the pastor’s hand.

When Lucas and Ransom stepped out the front door, Harry Hudson was waiting at the bottom of the steps. From the look on his face, this was not going to be a friendly discussion.

“Good morning,” Mor greeted them with her normal good manners as she descended the steps. “Have you met—?”

Ransom clutched her elbow, a no-nonsense grip, and almost dragged her forward. “Sorry, Mor, but we have to get home before—”

Harry grabbed Lucas by the arm and turned him. “We need to talk, my friend.” The last was more a snarl than the beginning of a conversation with a friend.

Here we go.
Ransom hated this hostility, hated that it was his friend.

“Mor, please take Miss Lockwood and wait in the wagon.” It was more an order than a request. Ransom turned back toward those two just in time to see Harry slug Lucas and both of them stagger backwards. Good grief! Hostility, yes, but he hadn’t expected this. He grabbed Harry’s shoulders from behind and dragged him back. “That’s enough! Come on, boys. You’re supposed to be friends.”

Lucas wagged his head. Blood, lots of blood, spattered from his nose in red spots all down the front of him. “Harry, are you crazy?”

“I’m not the one leading your sister on. Some friend you are!”

“I never promised Betsy anything!”

“You led her on. She was true to you, and she was expecting you to be true to her!”

Half the congregation stood around, staring at the ruckus, murmuring. The women looked shocked, and the men—did the men appear bemused, some almost smiling?

“That’s enough, boys.” Reverend Brandenburg stepped in beside Ransom. “Go on home and cool off.” He turned to his flock. “All right, folks. Show’s over. Let’s go on home and forget this ever happened.”

Ransom grabbed his brother’s arm and half pushed, half dragged him to his horse. “Can you ride, or should we tie your horse to the wagon?”

“I can ride. What got into him?” Lucas crawled up into the saddle, a lot shakier than he pretended to be.

“Your sitting in church with Miss Lockwood.” In his mind he called his brother several uncomplimentary names, but in a beautiful gesture of restraint that his brother was never going to notice as a good example, he did not say them out loud. He climbed up into the wagon seat and flicked the lines. The wagon lurched forward toward home, away from the mayhem.

“Hand him this to stop the bleeding.” Mavis pressed a dish towel from the basket behind the seat into Ransom’s hand.

“Here.” Ransom gathered his lines into one hand and held out the cloth. Was his voice sounding terse? A little angry? So be it.

Lucas leaned over to get it. “I can’t believe he did this.” The cloth muffled the words, but Ransom heard. He felt like finishing off the job that Harry had started, but instead, he clucked the team to a trot. They didn’t seem to mind. They were always happier to break into a trot going toward home than going away from it.

Was there any way he could get out of town faster than the rumors flew? Hardly.

By halfway home, the nosebleed had dried up, but the swelling and the dark purple mouse under his eye announced to the world that Lucas had been in a fight.

Mor looked at Cassie and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder . . .”

“It’s all my fault,” Cassie whispered.

“No, this is all to be laid at Lucas’s doorstep. He often forgets to take other people’s feelings into consideration at times. Too often.”

“But if I weren’t here . . .”

“Then none of us would know the joys we’ve had the last few days. We can flow with God’s plans, or we can go out on our own and reap the harvest of what we sowed. This too shall pass.”

“Is that why you can remain so calm?”

“It is. Takes years of practice but it’s well worth the time and effort.”

Ransom knew what Mor had dealt with. So many years enduring his father’s drinking, his anger, but he could see that her endurance was paying off. And as he knew Mor, he realized she would be thanking the Lord now for the wisdom and steadfastness she had prayed for then.

They were lessons he too would have to learn, and he had not really done so yet. Learning such lessons was not easy.

Gretchen hopped down and swung the gate open wide. They rolled into the yard and up to the door.

Cassie announced, “I need to go up to the cabin and change clothes before that man from Hill City arrives. I’m going to wear one of the outfits I used to wear for the shows.”

Mor nodded as she climbed down. “Good idea. I have a big pot of beans in the oven, and I’ll warm up the roast I fixed yesterday. Others will be bringing food too. That’s the way we do things around here.”

“I don’t have anything to bring.”

“No, you’re a guest.”

Cassie slanted her a look of disbelief.

Mor chuckled. “Just you wait. You’ll get the hang of socializing in the Black Hills soon enough.”

“I hope so.”

“Here. You take the wagon up and bring down the others too. If they try to beg off, tell them we are counting on them. It is important for them to be part of this. Just leave the gate open.”

“All right.” Cassie climbed up and picked up the lines. Ransom noticed she was being careful not to meet his gaze. She knew his disapproval; she had to.

Dark clouds were scudding across the sky, the fitful wind nipping noses.

“We might want to see her riding exhibit before serving the food,” Ransom suggested, looking skyward. “We can shoot from the back porch if the rain doesn’t hold off, but the riding has to be out in the corral.”

Mor looked up at Cassie. “Would that be all right with you?”

“But the man from Hill City isn’t here yet.”

“He’ll be coming up the road any time now. We’ll start people toward the corral. Is Wind Dancer all ready?”

“Yes. He’s saddled and waiting in the barn. Maybe we should bring the guns up to the house?”

“Good idea. Yes.”

Gretchen asked, “Are you going to bring Othello along with you?”

“Oh yes! He’s part of it.”

Cassie steered the wagon back out the lane.

Mor paused before going to the house. Her voice had its scolding tone. “This isn’t her fault, you know, so you both be very careful not to lay the blame on her. That’s the sad side of carelessness. Innocent bystanders get hurt.” She looked at each of them directly. “Lucas, if I were you, I’d just ignore it when someone comments.”

“Easier said than done.” He rode toward the barn to put his horse away.

“Maybe he should just stay in his room or the bunkhouse.” Gretchen shook her head. “This makes me so sad.”

“Me too.” Mor heaved a sigh. “Let’s go get the food together. We’ll set the table for fourteen. Any others will have to hold their plates.” The women headed for the back door.

“Gretchen?” Ransom called. “Can you take a clean shirt down to Lucas?”

She nodded and disappeared around the corner of the house.

A low cloud of dust out by the road told Ransom that at least one buggy was coming. More people would soon arrive. He brushed the dust off his coat and checked the water in the trough by the rail. Two thirds full; that would be plenty.

And then Ransom went out front to greet their guests.