Pearl (9 page)
‘‘Very good, Milly.’’ Ruby hid a sigh of relief.
‘‘Did God give dogs and people know-how too?’’
Ruby quickly set her empty coffee cup in the pan of hot soapy water on the cooler end of the stove. ‘‘Opal, you do the dishes while Milly sweeps out the dining room, and I’ll knead the bread. Looks like we’ll need to make a trip to Dickinson before long, so I better start the shopping list too.’’ She stared out the window for far too brief a moment. A chinook wind had moved in during the night, and all the world was a’glitter.
‘‘When we doing lessons?’’ Opal gently set Cat on the floor. ‘‘Now you be careful, you hear?’’ Cat answered with a purr and arched her back to rub against Opal’s skirt. Opal stroked from her head to the tip of her tail. ‘‘You sure are one beautiful cat.’’
‘‘We’ll do lessons after dinner cleanup. I’ve been thinking we should talk with some of the new folks and see about starting a real school here in Little Missouri.’’
Opal straightened up. ‘‘Who would teach us? You?’’
‘‘I could, but perhaps it is time to look for a real teacher.’’
Charlie dumped a load of wood in the box by the stove.
‘‘What do you think, Charlie, about a school here?’’
‘‘You better be talkin’ to those who have children. You think there are enough?’’
‘‘I don’t know about now, but the way things are going, there might be more by fall.’’
One thing I know for sure, I don’t have time
to teach and run Dove House too. I don’t have time to do half what I need
to do as it is
. Ruby scattered flour on the table and dumped out the rising bread dough. Kneading bread was always a good thinking time. Where could they have a school?
Chicago , one week after Easter
‘‘The shipment arrived today.’’
‘‘Pearl, that is wonderful. Libraries always need new books and especially that school. It seems to me that libraries should be built where people need them the most, not where they look the best.’’ Amalia laid down the paper she’d been studying, an application for one of the grants which the Hossfuss Company gave away at her instigation and approval.
‘‘What is that one for?’’
‘‘The new women’s hospital is in terrible need of an operating room. We have helped Dr. Morganstern before. If I had my way, we would help her a lot more, but this would take pretty much all the money I am allowed.’’
‘‘So the question is, do we put it all on this concern and not help so many others who are just as needy?’’
‘‘Yes. However, the cost of things like your books for the school are so minimal, don’t feel you have to hesitate to do things like that.’’
‘‘Thank you. Can I get you some tea?’’
Pearl had always loved her father’s study. She savored the big cherrywood desk where she used to hide in the knee cubby, the book-lined shelves, the smell of leather bindings synonymous with her father’s attention as he used to hold her in his arms and point out different books he wanted her to read. She’d been reading by five, thanks to his encouragement.
‘‘Far, listen.’’ Hair in ringlets tied with a blue bow, she popped up, book in hand. ‘‘I can read.’’
He picked her up, put her on his lap, and laid the book on the desktop. She opened the beginning McGuffey’s Reader and read the first lines. ‘‘The dog. The dog ran.’’
‘‘See?’’ She looked over her shoulder to catch his nod and the smile that warmed his eyes, eyes that glittered lake blue when he was pleased, like now, or became storm-tossed gray when he was upset.
‘‘She has been working so hard.’’ Anna, gently rocking the buggy where baby Micah lay gurgling and cooing, said with a smile for her precocious daughter.
‘‘See, I can read this too.’’ Pearl marked the line with a fingertip and read across, then the next one.
‘‘I believe a princess like this needs a present. What would you like, Princess Pearl?’’
Pearl scrunched her eyes to think better. If she said a doll, he would buy her one, but she had plenty of dolls, and while they were good for lining up to play school, she wanted something else, something far more important. ‘‘I want to go to school.’’
‘‘But you are so little.’’
‘‘I’m big, and I can read.’’ She turned imploring eyes on her father, to catch a teasing light in his eyes. She patted his cheek with her right hand. ‘‘Please?’’
‘‘My dear Anna, is there any school who would take a minx like this?’’
‘‘I’m certain we can find one.’’ Her gentle words always bore the Norwegian accent of one born in the old country but who had learned the English language too. Pearl always knew that if she were a princess, her mother was the queen.
She threw her arms around her father’s neck, squeezing him tight, inhaling the scent of good pipe tobacco, shaving soap, and the faint underlay of the sea.
She’d been a year or two younger than the others in her new school, but she quickly caught up. Until the accident.
‘‘Where have you been?’’ Amalia asked gently.
‘‘Back to when I was little and his princess.’’
‘‘When your mother was still alive?’’
‘‘And before the babies died. It took my mother years to recover from that double loss. And then Jorge was born, and she never regained her health.’’ Pearl spoke in that dream voice of seeing both worlds, the then and the now, and not being part of either.
‘‘The accident was my fault, you know.’’ Her fingertips found the scar in unconscious protection.
‘‘Tell me what you remember.’’
‘‘Not a lot. Just that I was about six years old and trying to help with something. I reached for the pan. It tipped and poured boiling water on my neck and shoulder.’’
‘‘Your father blames himself.’’
Pearl jerked fully back to the now. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘He feels he should have kept you away from the stove.’’
‘‘I’ve always felt he blamed me. He grew so distant.’’
‘‘Guilt does strange things to one. He does love you, but I think he finds it difficult to show his affection for you. He’s so proper, you know.’’
Pearl stared at Amalia. ‘‘Why have we not had this discussion before?’’
‘‘We haven’t had much conversation through the years.’’
Because I didn’t trust you. You weren’t my mother
. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
Sorry for all those years of turning away
.
‘‘I am too. I was the adult, and I should have known how to help you.’’
But you were off doing your good deeds, and I wanted no part of
anything you did. Or he did. Not true
. ‘‘I would do anything to know for sure my father loves me.’’
She thought back to that conversation several evenings later when the entire family was gathered in the parlor for one of their rare times when both father and mother were at home at the same time.
Each of the children reported on their schoolwork and what they’d learned. Father gave Anna, named after his first wife, a hug and a kiss, shook hands with Arnet and patted his shoulder, gave Jorge Jr. a well done and slipped him a packet of something, coins most likely. Anna recited from
Hiawatha
and for that received a coin and another kiss.
Pearl felt as though she was part of the wallpaper or perhaps an aunt come to visit. She watched as the four of them laughed at something Far said, her fingertips stroking her jawline.
‘‘I have something I’d like to read,’’ Amalia said, taking a letter from her pocket.
‘‘Good. Read on.’’ Jorge Sr. settled back in his chair, Anna on his knee.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hossfuss,
I want to take this opportunity to express my gratitude and the future gratitude of all our pupils for the wonderful boxes of books you donated to our library. I know that Miss Pearl Hossfuss had a hand in this, and I want to thank her also. Helping to shape the minds of these young boys and girls will make more differences in their future lives than we can begin to dream of. Your generous sharing of the rewards God has given you for your hard work and astute business sense will be marked by results other than here on earth. I must thank you also for the many lads you have employed from our schools.
Sincerely,
Mrs. George Burnham, headmistress
Mr. Hossfuss nodded. He looked directly at Pearl. ‘‘Well done.’’ Her heart warmed at his words, and she smiled back. A real compliment. But when his gaze slipped to her neck, she kept her hands in her lap with a spurt of resentment. Why did he always check to see if the scar was showing?
Or was it as much a reflex action on his part as her smoothing her collars always higher? This thought brought forth an uncomfortable sensation, one that made her palm itch. Too many contradictory things to think about.
At least he’d not condemned her for her school donations, not that he ever had. Would that this ugly duckling could become a swan or a princess.
Dakotah Territory
Another dead cow.
Rand Harrison always knew there would be losses due to winter and predators, but he hated it just the same. Didn’t seem to bother the big ranchers much, but then that was the difference between running thousands of head instead of hundreds, and running your own stock rather than managing for some big shot back east. But all in all, his herd had fared pretty well by the looks of the cows about to calf. Since they’d put up hay last summer for the bull, he’d done well too.
Rand leaned on his saddle horn, staring out across the Little Missouri River Valley. April, 1883. He’d been here five years now, and what did he have to show for the long hours and the investment of every dime he had? Besides a beginning cow herd multiplied by four, he had feeder steers ready to ship in the fall, a snug log cabin, four permanent hands, possibly five, a herd bull, thirty head of horses, a pole barn, and a corral—not bad for a southern ex-soldier.
One of these days he ought to make a formal claim on the homeplace—he’d named it the Double H Ranch—before some sodbuster came in and took it away from him. He’d heard tales of that happening. But he’d have to go to Dickinson to make his claim. He tipped his hat back so the sun could reach his face.
Snowmelt had frothing full creeks feeding the river, sending it roaring through the canyons. The grass hardly waited for the snow to melt back, showing green shoots right at the verge. After the last snowfall on Easter Sunday, the chinook returned in force, and spring took over the badlands, with buttercups glowing golden orange against the receding snow.
Rand stepped out of his stirrup and leaned over to pull the new leaves off the dandelions that were already near to blooming. Beans, his chief cook and all-around ranch hand, would welcome some fresh greens to throw in the stewpot. Beans had come out of the Civil War with Rand, ready to head west and find a new life. Shame they, meaning Beans and his other hands, had set him to thinking about getting a wife. He’d been perfectly happy with things as they were until they put that thought in his head.
And then she’d turned him down.
But as his sister had reminded him, women liked to be courted. And if he was honest, springing a request on that unsuspecting young woman had been about as foolish as roping an ornery longhorn cow with a string.
