Sweetwater (27 page)

Ten minutes later, the teacher went to the outhouse, and Colleen came out of the shed with the pail of milk. Without even a glance in his direction, she went to the house.

Jenny had risen and dressed just as the light of dawn streaked the eastern sky. She had spent a restless, sleepless night worrying about Trell. Being careful not to waken her sisters, she went quietly from the room. Granny was in the kitchen.

“Morning, Granny.”

“Yore eyes look like two burnt holes in a blanket, child. Did ya get any sleep a’tall?”

“Some. Do you need anything?”

“Nothin’ that won’t wait. Go on out and do yore necessary. I been there. No need to fear snakes.”

Jenny went to the outhouse. Snakes … the word brought back her near miss with one when Trell had saved her and held her in his arms. She blinked back the tears. Where was Trell now? Ike had cut the grass and weeds from around the small building and cleared away any large pieces of bark or wood a rattler could crawl under. Oh, if all troubles could be as easily seen to!

When she came out she stood for a long moment listening to the birds chirping in the treetops and hoping that this day would bring news of Trell and that he would be all right. Dejectedly, she headed back toward the house.

“Ma’am—”

At the sound of the voice, so like Trell’s, Jenny’s heart jumped out of rhythm. First she saw the glow of a cigarette, then the man leaning against the wall of the bunkhouse.

“Mr. McCall?”

“Yes, ma’am. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I can’t say you didn’t. I’m not used to anyone being around—”

“Earlier a boy on a dun horse sat over there in the school yard and watched the house.”

“That would be Linus. He sometimes watches who comes and goes from here and reports to the Indian agent. I thought he’d stopped his spying. Is he still there?”

“He left about an hour ago. The agent’s got a poor spy. I got so close to him that I could’ve pulled him off the horse, and he didn’t know I was there.”

“He also watches to see if Whit Whitaker crosses the reservation line. Linus is harmless except for his tattling. I kind of feel sorry for him.”

“Why should he care if Whit comes here?”

“According to the agent, the Indians must stay on the reservation. He enforces that law to the letter. The line runs between the house and the school. If Whit comes even this far, he can be punished,” Jenny said bitterly.

“I hear a horse.” Travor dropped his cigarette and stepped on it.

Jenny strained her eyes toward the school. Out of the early-morning gloom she saw the shape of Whit on his pony.

“It’s Whit.” She started out away from the house.

“Wait until we’re sure he’s alone.” Travor moved protectively in front of her.

“Teacher—”

“Come on over, Whit,” Jenny called. “No one’s watching.”

“He’s the boy who went with the old man.”

“Yes. He’s very special. This was his father’s ranch. He’s not allowed on it because he’s half-Shoshoni.”

Whit came into the yard and slid from the back of his pony.

“I see you here, teacher.”

“You must have eyes like a hawk. Whit, this is Mr. McCall’s brother. Have you found any trace of Trell?”

“Crazy Swallow tell me about brother who look like Trell.”

“Is Ike with you?”

“He go to Pine City. We find Head-Gone-Bad who went down river three days ago to hunt rabbit. He see a hurt man put in strange wagon full of pots and pans. He tell Crazy Swallow. Crazy Swallow know of peddler man in Pine City with such a wagon. He tell me to come tell Trell’s brother.”

“Did the Indian think the man was my brother?” Travor asked anxiously.

“He don’t know who. He go to place when wagon is gone. He see signs that hurt man drag himself up from river.”

“I backtracked Trell’s horse to the high bluff above the river. If he went over the cliff he could have washed a mile or so down in that fast moving water. It could be Trell the peddler found.” Travor’s dark eyes scrutinized the boy. “Which way is Pine City?”

“South and west. I take you across reservation. Much faster.”

“Have breakfast first,” Jenny insisted. “Come in, Whit. Linus was here earlier. Mr. McCall said he left about an hour ago.”

Whit hesitated and looked to where the light spilled out the kitchen door.

“Please, Whit. You both need a meal under your belt,” Jenny added firmly.

Colleen came from the house with the water bucket. Travor went to meet her and took the bucket from her hand.

“I’ll get it.”

“Fine with me.” She turned to go back into the house. He took her arm. She jerked it free of his grasp.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Talk.”

She stared up at him through thick, dark lashes, all her nerve ends tingling under the scrutiny of his dark eyes. She fervently hoped that he didn’t notice how breathless she was.

“You took that wink serious, didn’t you?”

“Yo’re thinkin’ yo’re pretty special, if ya think that.”

“If it wasn’t the wink, why are you so hostile to me? You’ve been like a bear with a sore tail ever since I got here.”

“Is that what ya wanted to talk about?”

“No.”

“Then say it if ya’ve got somethin’ fit to say.”

Color tinged her cheeks as his gaze traveled over her face, taking in the freckles on her nose, the wisps of curly hair that had escaped her braid. She stared back at him, her blue eyes holding a definite shimmer of defiance against the effect he was having on her breathing. Her defenses were raised. She felt a desperate need to protect herself from the damage this man could do to her heart.

“The Indian boy—”

“He’s got a name. It’s Whit.”

“All right. Whit said a peddler picked up an injured man down river. Ike thinks the peddler is from Pine City. I’m going there. First I want to know if a man in a white duster has been by here the last week or so.” He let the well bucket fall to the waterline. It landed with a
PLOP
.

“No.”

“If he shows up, look out for him. He’s a hired gunman. I think he may have been looking for me and found Trell.”

“Is he a bounty hunter? Are you an outlaw?”

Travor pulled up the bucket and poured the water in the pail before he answered.

“He’s not a bounty hunter. I’m not an outlaw. I’ve known some pretty decent bounty hunters. This man is a hunter and he kills for money.”

“Someone must want you dead pretty bad to pay for it.”

“It’s a long story. I doubt you’d be interested.”

“Yo’re right. I ain’t.” She tried to pick up the bucket. Travor beat her to it. His hand touched hers and she let go of the bail on the pail as if it were red-hot.

“Another one you’d better look out for is a man named Hartog. He went down river with a Mexican the morning after he and I had a set-to in town. He’s crazy-mean.”

“I know it. I’m not wearin’ this gun ’cause I want to.”

“Don’t try to use it on him! If he didn’t get you, the Mexican would.”

“Don’t ya be tellin’ me what to do, ya slack-handed, flirtin’ jackass!”

“Christ on a horse!”

“Ya’d better not let Granny hear ya takin’ the Lord’s name in vain, either. She’s got old-timey religion, and she ain’t puttin’ up with no such talk.”

“Thanks for the advice,” he said dryly, then, “You women are like sittin’ ducks out here. Crocker and Hartog or any number of bush-bottom trail-scum could come here, and you women wouldn’t stand a chance against them.”

“I’d not be sittin’ on my hands. Jenny’d not roll over and play dead either. She looks ladylike but she’s got sand in her craw. She’s pulled that pistol she carries in her pocket more’n once. Me and Granny has been in a few tight spots, and we know a snake when we see one.”

They reached the house far too soon to suit Travor. He followed Colleen inside and set the water pail on the washstand.

“Ya sure ’nuff look like Trell,” Granny said. “Do ya eat like him?”

“I reckon I do, ma’am. Big eaters run in the McCall family.”

“Yore mama must’a had her hands full.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see I got me another youngun to feed,” Granny said as Whit and Jenny came in.

Whit stood just inside the door, his back straight, his head up. Jenny looked quickly to see if it offended him to be called a youngun. She could read nothing in his stoic expression but saw that his eyes were darting hungrily around the room.

“What can I do to help, Granny? Whit and I washed out at the well.”

“Nothin’. Sit. All of ya. Colleen, see if the biscuits is done.”

“Whit, you and Mr. McCall sit on the other side of the table. Colleen and I will be on this side. Granny sits at the head.”

“Good morning, everyone.” Cassandra came from the other room, closing the door softly behind her. Her eyes went directly to Whit.

An uncharacteristic groan came from the boy. As soft as it was, Jenny heard and prayed that for once Cassandra would be tactful and not mention that Whit had removed the feather from his headband or offer her usual sarcastic remarks.

“Sit there on the other side of Mr. McCall, Cassandra. I’ll get you a plate.”

Jenny breathed a sigh of relief when the child sat down. With Travor seated between her and Whit, she would be unable to look at him; therefore, she might not address her conversation to him.

Travor ate heartily, Whit sparingly, but Jenny could see that his table manners were passable. Travor seemed preoccupied and spoke only when he was spoken to. When he emptied his plate and refused a refill, Jenny stood.

“Please don’t stand on ceremony, Mr. McCall. We understand that you are anxious to be on your way to Pine City. Granny and I will prepare a package of food for you and Whit to take with you.”

“Thank you, ma’am. For the first time in several days, I’ve hope of finding my brother alive.” After thanking Granny for breakfast, Travor took his hat off the rack beside the door. “Finish your meal, Whit. I’ll saddle my horse and we’ll get whackin’.”

“I’m ready.” Whit left the table and as he passed Granny he parroted Travor’s words and murmured, “Thanks for the meal.” Then he scurried out the door.

It was daylight when Jenny stood beside Colleen and Cassandra, and watched Whit lead the way into the dense forest on the reservation.

“I told you Whit would find Trell.” Cassandra spoke when the riders were out of sight.

“He didn’t find him, honey,” Jenny said tiredly. “He found someone who thinks it may have been Trell the peddler picked up.”

“Same difference.” Cassandra took her sister’s hand. “Don’t worry, Jenny. Travor and Whit will find Trell. I think I like Travor almost as much as I like Trell. Do you like him, Colleen?”

“Who? Whit?”

“Travor, silly. Whit’s too young for you.”

“But just right for you, huh?”

“He’s the first boy I’ve met that’s almost as smart as I am.”

“Then why are you always needling him?” Jenny asked.

“Because he needs to talk, to argue. How do you think he’ll get along in college if he doesn’t improve his speech and stays stone-faced all the time,” Cassandra said with an impish grin. “And, Virginia, if you notice, I said nothing to him this morning. I knew that you were scared to death I would, and I knew that he was uncomfortable. He’s been squatting before a fire to eat for the past few years and was unsure of himself at a table. I understand that.”

“It’s commendable of you.” Jenny spoke dryly. “Now what in the world will we do to make this day go faster?”

“Wash.” Colleen spun on her heels and went to the shed where she had put the iron washpot.

“Doesn’t sound like much fun to me,” Cassandra grumbled.

“Ma used to wash when she was worried about somethin’. I’ll fill the pot and put a fire under it.” Colleen started drawing water from the well. “Gather up yore dirty clothes, Cassy, and tell Granny to get our bed sheets.”

Jenny welcomed the activity. Never in her life, until she had come to Stoney Creek, had she scrubbed clothes on a washboard. Today, she rolled up her sleeves and buried her arms in the soapy water and was grateful for the labor. Keeping thoughts of Trell at bay, she washed, rinsed and hung the bedding on the bushes that rimmed the yard.

Still the day dragged on. The grim-faced women didn’t talk about the anxiety they were feeling. Only little Beatrice played happily with the puppy, completely unaware of the tension that gripped her sisters, Granny and Colleen.

Evening came. After a supper of apple cobbler and cream, Jenny got out the sadiron and set it on the cook-stove to heat.

“Ya’ve worked all day, Jenny. Ain’t ya tired?” Granny sat in her rocking chair with Beatrice cuddled in her lap.

“I don’t know if I’m tired or not. I just know I’ve got to keep doing something.” Jenny brought out the ironing board and set it on the backs of two chairs. “Where’s Colleen?”

“Out prowlin’ ’round. She’s antsy, too.”

“I’ve no idea how far it is to Pine City.” Jenny placed the basket of dampened and rolled clothes on the chair seat.

“We come through it to get here. If I recollect right, it’s a little bitty place. ’Course it could’a growed by now.”

“I don’t expect them back today.” Jenny put her thoughts into words. “If they come back too soon, it’ll mean they didn’t find him.”

It was a moonlit night. Colleen circled the house. Walking softly and staying in the shadows, she tried to remember all her father had taught her about being alert to night sounds. Listen for the
absence
of familiar sounds, he had told her. If the frogs down at the creek stop croaking, or the cicadas suddenly cease their racket, it’s sure something unfamiliar is among them.

Tonight there were no cicada sounds because there were still more than six weeks until the first frost. Granny had told her that. She wasn’t sure it was true, she’d never put it to a test. There
were
frogs at the pond and a while back they had suddenly stopped croaking.

Colleen, silent as a shadow, moved from tree to tree until she was behind the schoolhouse. She stopped, listened, and heard little muttering sounds. Going along the side of the building to the front, she stopped again and looked around the corner. Just as she suspected, Linus, sitting on the ground with his back to the building, was holding and talking to his pet raccoon. His horse was behind the school cropping grass. It was when he watered the animal at the pond that the frogs had stopped croaking.