Opal (31 page)
Training a horse never seemed like work to Opal. Neither did training her young charges. Perhaps she’d ride . . .
Cinnamon—
that’s the name
.
‘‘Perfect. Cinnamon.’’ She stroked the filly’s neck. ‘‘Cinnamon.
That’s you.’’ She roped the snubbing post from the horse’s back, practiced keeping the rope taut, backed her, moved forward again to release the tension, and ran sliding stops and side-to-side spins.
‘‘She’s looking mighty good.’’ Rand leaned on the corral fence.
‘‘Thanks. She learns fast. How about we call her Cinnamon?’’ Opal rode the horse over to the fence. ‘‘Thought I’d try her with the cows tomorrow.’’
‘‘If she’s got as much sense as she has flash, she’ll be an easy sale.’’
‘‘She will.’’
‘‘You’ve been working her what, two weeks now?’’
‘‘About that.’’
‘‘We’ve got two geldings coming from the Triple Seven.’’
‘‘When?’’
‘‘In a week or two. They want them ready for fall roundup.’’
‘‘Nothing like waiting until the last minute.’’
‘‘You’re right about that. As a matter of fact, I talked with Ramsey at the abattoir, and he asked if we couldn’t bring some beeves in early. Think we’ll round up the fattest and take them in.’’
‘‘When?’’
‘‘Starting Monday.’’
‘‘Be good training for the kids.’’
‘‘True. Thanks for the time off for Ruby today.’’
Opal dismounted and hooked her stirrup over the saddle horn to unwrap the cinch straps. ‘‘You’re welcome. Ruby’s not real happy with the school idea, is she?’’
‘‘Nope. You better have a good plan to present.’’
‘‘I wanted to talk with Pearl first.’’
‘‘You hatching something?’’
‘‘I hope so. Guess I’ll just tell Ruby that it would be better to talk about it tomorrow, and I’ll go see Pearl first.’’
‘‘Good idea.’’ He pulled her saddle off and carried it to the barn.
‘‘Thanks, Rand.’’
‘‘You’re most welcome. That’s what family is for.’’
The next morning Opal took her charges out to rope and bring in a couple of steers to practice on; then she headed on over to Pearl’s house, closer to town.
Even after all this time, she still glanced up at times, expecting to see Atticus come whistling over the rise after working for the Robertsons or perhaps for Daisy or Pearl. Even the thought brought the heat of incipient tears.
‘‘Oh, Atticus, I miss you.’’ The thought that he’d never written chased the tears as her teeth clamped on the words she often wished she could tell him. Something about being a coward and not living up to his word. So what if he had a problem? Running away wasn’t the answer.
At least that’s what he’d told her more than once when she was ready to flee the frustrations of the schoolteacher, who was now back to bedevil her.
She kept her horse at a lope and stopped in front of the white house set on a neat acre or so on the flat just south of the train tracks in Medora.
‘‘Why, Opal, how wonderful to see you. Glad you are home again.’’ Pearl, with one child clutching her skirts and another in her arms, met her on the porch. ‘‘Would you like something to drink?’’
‘‘That would be right fine.’’ Opal flipped her reins over the hitching rail on the outside of a white picket fence. ‘‘Your place looks so pretty.’’
‘‘Carl is a good builder. He’ll be adding on another wing, hopefully before winter. We’re hoping to take in a couple more boarders.’’
Opal leaned over to smell one of the roses blooming up the porch post and across the front of the roof. ‘‘Ah.’’
‘‘Have a seat. I’ll bring out a tray.’’
‘‘I can help. You look to have your hands full.’’
‘‘Come on, Carly. You know Opal.’’
The little girl hung back, her tiny hands twisting the front of her shift. She peeped out from lowered eyelids, as if too much of a good thing might send her into hiding.
Opal scooped her up and followed Pearl into the cool dimness of the front room that extended the length of the building. ‘‘Do you have a doll to show me?’’
With a small nod the little one slid down to the floor and darted out of the room, returning in an instant with a rag doll, yarn hair in braids and a permanent smile embroidered on the flat face.
‘‘This is some doll. What is her name?’’
‘‘Libby.’’ Now a finger took up a place between the rosebud lips.
‘‘Libby is a good name.’’ Opal hunkered down on her haunches. Carly was a few months older than Per, the first small child in her life since she’d left the Brandons when Bernie was a baby.
‘‘Come, Carly,’’ Pearl said. She handed the baby to Opal and took a tray with two glasses out to the porch. ‘‘Bring your basket.’’
‘‘Her basket?’’ Opal glanced around the room. Carl not only built houses but created furniture for his family. The desk he’d made for Pearl to replace the one burned in the fire when they were still at Dove House occupied a place of pride in one corner with a six-foot-tall bookshelf behind it, the shelves full of books read by both him and Pearl. Their mutual love of books had started their friendship back at Dove House.
‘‘Did Carl make the sofa too?’’
‘‘Yes. Isn’t he an amazing craftsman? I helped upholster it. He’s working on a dressing table now. He found a dead oak tree down the river and dragged it home. He doesn’t waste an inch of wood.’’
She set the tray on a small table and took the baby from Opal. Indicating a seat on the porch, she handed Opal a glass of red liquid.
Carly sat on the floor, removing a bonnet for her doll from a small willow basket.
‘‘Raspberry swizzle. Our berries went overboard this year.’’ A sigh of relief accompanied her sitting down, then she handed the now-seated Carly a small glass. ‘‘You be careful now.’’
‘‘I sure wish you were teaching school this fall,’’ Opal said.
‘‘Mr. Finch is back. I saw him getting the schoolroom ready.’’
‘‘I know.’’ Opal shook her head. ‘‘That man.’’
‘‘I know you don’t like him, but he seems to do well with the younger children.’’
‘‘They don’t know any better.’’
‘‘He’s been fortunate to have you and Virginia to help him.’’
Opal took another sip of her drink. ‘‘I’m not going back.’’ She might as well lay it right out there.
‘‘I thought Ruby wanted you to finish your education.’’
‘‘She does. But I’m not going away again, and Mr. Finch doesn’t know enough.’’
Or care enough
. ‘‘I don’t think he likes me any more than I like him.’’
‘‘Not that you caused any problems in the classroom or any such thing, I’m sure.’’ Pearl smiled at Opal as she helped Carly put the bonnet on her doll.
Opal lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘Do frogs, mice, or snakes in a desk drawer count as problems?’’
Pearl shuddered. ‘‘I’m certainly glad I never had such surprising visitors.’’
‘‘You made learning exciting. I loved school when you were teaching.’’
‘‘I miss it too, but I have more than enough here to keep two women busy. I’m hoping some young woman will come west looking for a job.’’
‘‘I’ve been thinking. I could help you for a couple hours a day in exchange for tutoring.’’
‘‘I’d teach you for free.’’
‘‘But this way Ruby might be more inclined to think I mean to live up to getting more schooling.’’ She started to say more, then paused to give Pearl time to think.
Pearl chewed the inside of her lip while rocking the baby.
‘‘More, Ma?’’ Carly held up her glass.
‘‘That’s enough for now.’’ Pearl looked back to Opal. ‘‘Even if I get someone to help, I will gladly teach you in exchange for things like cleaning the boarders’ rooms or whatever else I need.’’
‘‘That would be wonderful.’’ Opal grinned. ‘‘You sure you don’t have a horse that needs training? That’s what I do best.’’
‘‘Sorry. I hear you’re teaching the Robertson girls to handle cattle.’’
‘‘Yes. Them and Joel. He’s the quickest of them all.’’
‘‘I don’t know how Cora is going to manage through the winter.’’
‘‘Mr. Chandler is a good worker. Not much on a horse yet, but he’s learning.’’ Opal set her glass down on the tray. ‘‘I better get back to my charges. I left them roping steers. Or rather one steer. I brought a yearling in for them to practice on. The milk cows got tired of being roped.’’
‘‘Tell Ruby I’m having everyone here after church on Sunday.’’
‘‘I will, and, Pearl, thank you more than I can say.’’
‘‘You’ll earn your schooling.’’ Pearl patted her shoulder. ‘‘This fall I’m hoping to get a quilting group going. The women out here need to get together more often. And my house is pretty central.’’
‘‘I’ll tell her.’’ Opal jumped down the steps. ‘‘Bye, Carly.’’
The little girl clutched her doll by one arm. ‘‘Bye,’’ she said and waggled the fingers on her other hand.
The wranglers in training were sitting on the corral railing when Opal trotted Bay back to the Robertson homeplace. The steer lay on the opposite side of the dirt enclosure, chewing his cud and keeping a wary eye on the three ropers.
‘‘How’d you all do?’’
‘‘He’s the only one who got more than one rope on him.’’ Ada Mae nodded toward Joel.
‘‘Mean old thing. He shakes us off. Those horns . . .’’ Virginia shuddered.
‘‘His horns aren’t too bad yet,’’ Opal said.
‘‘Bad enough.’’
‘‘Make your loop bigger.’’ Opal rested her crossed arms on the saddle horn. ‘‘Were you roping from horseback or the ground?’’
‘‘Both.’’ Joel shook out his loop, then recoiled the rope.
‘‘He got dragged around the corral before we could get that stupid animal snubbed to the post.’’ Virginia looked like she’d been dragged through the dirt too.
‘‘Well, since you’ve had a rest, why don’t you get your horses out again? We’ll go find us some calves to cut out, and then maybe we should head on over to the river and cool off.’’
‘‘You mean it?’’ Ada Mae perked right up.
‘‘Sure. Bring your corks too.’’ They each had a cork with a hook or two stuck in it, along with enough line to fish with.
‘‘I’ll go ask Ma.’’ Ada Mae bailed off the rail and ran for the house while the others headed for the small pasture where the horses had been let loose.
Some time later, with their clothes nearly dry again and strings of fish for both families, they all rode home. The Robert-sons and Joel loped on past the Harrison ranch house while Opal stopped to hand Little Squirrel her string of fish.
‘‘I’m going to milk.’’
Little Squirrel nodded.
‘‘Opa!’’ Per waved his arms from the back porch.
Opal let Bay loose in the pasture and waved Ghost on out to bring in the milk cow. If only every day could be like this one. Now if only Ruby would go along with her plan.
Was it a sin to be jealous of his son?
Jacob watched Joel from the shadows of the barn. The boy worked his rope like it had become a permanent extension of his arm. He flipped loops sideways, spun others over his head, the loop settling over the snubbing post, the milk cow, the small herd of weaned calves being kept in the fence for just this practice, his horse, a tree stump from the back of the horse. While he hadn’t as much success over the long horns of cows and near-to-market steers, he’d gained the skill quickly. For a youngster he did better than most young men. Perhaps all the hours spent practicing had something to do with that.
Jacob took his rope from the wall and tried to duplicate the finesse of his son. He could now rope the post three times in a row, the minimum required by Miss Torvald.
He had yet to lasso a live animal, either on foot or from the back of a horse, although he had roped the post from a horse—a horse standing still.
He glanced over at the haystacks to remind himself that he had accomplished something of importance for all his hard work. That and the new corral they’d be using to contain the rest of the weaned calves.
He took his lariat out to the fenced pasture and ambled out toward the milk cow. She seemed the most amenable to getting a rope thrown over her withers or rump or to a bumping of her nose, as his did instead of falling neatly over her head and tightening around her neck.
I should just quit. I could get a job in town.
But you’re not a quitter
. The voice brought a mantle of comfort. On the third try he roped the cow over her head. ‘‘Finally.’’ He walked toward her, recoiling his rope as he came. ‘‘Good girl. Thank you.’’ He slipped the noose off her head and stroked her under the jawline and along her neck, a favorite place. She stretched out her head, a visible reminder of her appreciation, making it easier for him to pet her. ‘‘Hope you don’t mind if I try again.’’
After two more successful throws, he left her and ambled toward the horses.
The dark bay he usually rode tolerated his throws, twice shaking off the loop before one settled cleanly.
A sound of clapping from behind him made Jacob turn. There at the gate waited Joel, Miss Edith Robertson, and two of her younger sisters, both of whom were far more adept than he.
‘‘Very good, Mr. Chandler.’’ Edith clapped again.
Jacob felt like ignoring them, desiring to fail in private, but instead he smiled and waved. He glanced to his son, who applauded with the rest. Was that a smile he saw on the boy’s face?
‘‘I’m finally getting it.’’
‘‘You’ll make a cowboy yet.’’ Ada Mae slipped between the rails and crossed the field, now followed by the others.
Automatically his gaze went to his son’s face to catch a half smile and slight nod, all of which would have been missed, as he said nothing.
That meant more than all the effusiveness of the Robertson girls combined.
You’ve got it backward,
a voice sneered from his left shoulder, sounding so real he almost turned to see who was talking.
Doesn’t matter what that child thinks. You’re the father, the man.
You know the Bible says, ‘‘Honor thy father.’’
Jacob straightened his shoulders, almost said something, then stopped.
I’m the father all right, through an incident of passion, but
someday I’d like to be Pa
.
‘‘Show me how to lasso a moving animal, please.’’
Joel shrugged. ‘‘Sure, why not?’’
