Maggie's Valley (Strong Hearts, Open Spirits Book 1)

by Danni Roan

  A hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, biscuits and hot coffee warmed her through and through and sliding an extra biscuit or two into her skirt pocket she walked out onto the main drag. The town was still quite at this early hour but many riders were moving along the sloppy streets. A few wagons bringing goods or loading up on supplies creaked their way through the squishing mud as Maggie moved toward the mercantile with a quick step.

  Climbing the stairs onto the boardwalk she walked into the store and quickly determined what she needed, but ever mindful of her dwindling cash stores she chose each item carefully. Soon a large pile of dry goods, work tools, cooking utensils, inexpensive fabrics, extra blankets, a stout tin of hard tack and a bunch of shriveled carrots sat on the shop counter.

  Maggie also bought a set of four heavy canvas panniers and an array of leather strapping. She gave instructions to pack everything into the panniers and have them delivered to the stable where they could await her departure. Then she returned to the hotel where she gathered her remaining belongings and headed for the stable. The old hostler was all smiles when he saw her coming.

  “Well missy, you still think you can move that old mule?” my boy’s tried to make him go three or four times but he just sets his heels and won’t move.

  “I think I’ll be able to manage.” Maggie replied smiling and walked to the back corner of the barn where the mule rolled his eyes at her.

  Quietly she slipped into the stall next to him and offered him a carrot. The large well-muscled beast gobbled it up like a child eats candy. She then untied his halter rope and holding the carrot just out of his reach asked him to move out. Head stretched and lips snapping after the carrot the red roan mule moved straight out into the center of the barn where Maggie allowed him to stop and gave him his reward.

  The old hostler stood scratching his whiskers and chuckling to himself. “Well that seems to work right good, missy, but what will you do when you’re all out of carrots?” He smiled at her and she smiled back while the mule contentedly munched away.

  Together the old man and Maggie slid an old, well used pack saddle onto the mules back then strapped on the panniers and settle Maggie's small trunks on top of that strapping them tight with the leather she had bought.

  “I’ll need to buy a saddle for the buckskin.” Maggie said to the hostler as she moved toward the mustangs stall.

  “No ma'am you won’t. You won that kayoos kit and caboodle in my eyes. You can have that no-goods saddle and all his gear too, you done earned it little lady.”

  Maggie's eyes grew wide at the intricately carved and inlaid black saddle the old man indicated, complete with chest strap, saddle bags, bed roll and coffee pot.

  “I don’t know what to say.” Maggie stuttered, then closed her eyes and thanked God for this new gift.

  Together she and the hostler saddled up the little horse as Maggie fed him biscuits then, silently she took the reins and walked out into the soft morning drizzle. The mule bulked for only a moment, then Maggie showed him the bunch of carrots and he too moved out into the misty morning.

  Once outside the stable, Maggie put a small booted foot into the wide leather tooled stirrup and swung up onto her new mount. The pony turned his head and sniffed her shoe for a moment then perked his ears to the far away hills in the distance and snorted his approval.

  “You goin’ far ma'am’? “ The hostler asked looking up at her.

  “Not too far.“ She said her eyes now on the far blue hills.

  “Well you might need this on your trip. It was part of that kit the fella left, ya see.” And he slid a long Winchester rifle into the scabbard on the side of her mount. “Will we see ya again?” he asked softly twinkling up at her.

  Maggie turned her eyes toward the wizen old man and smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be down for supplies before the snow flies.” She replied then reached down and took the old man’s hand.

  “I’m Maggie, by the way." She said “Maggie Westen”. Then she clicked her heels to the ponies flank and they moved off down the street, the big roan mule matching step just behind her.

  Outside of town the less traveled track was not nearly as muddy and her mount soon picked up his pace, obviously ready to be out in the world and away from the town. Bit by bit the flat plains and open farm land began to rise more and more into the foot hills of the surrounding mountains.

  By late-morning the sun had won its’ battle with the rain and the trees glistened in their early spring garb. Here and there flowers lifted their faces to the sky and the birds began to chirp merrily. Maggie paused for a moment and pulled the big mule up close to her mustang who laid his ears back at first but then decided this would be his new companion. She fed another carrot to the mule then moved on into the cool fresh air.

  Things had changed since she had last been here. There were more farms now and some areas had large herds of cattle grazing behind long barbed wire fences. Only twice did she see any other travelers and they greeted her warmly but kept moving toward town.

  Well after noon, the wagon trail veered off toward the west but Maggie turned her mount to a less used trail that began to wind its way through the low hills. The soft incline began to steepen after a few hours and then she was forced to pause and look for the old trail to the north that she knew was there but could no longer see.

  Finally, she spotted it where a storm had washed out the packed earth leaving exposed shale and rock. Carefully she guided her pony over the water course, through over hanging pines and found the ancient pathway.

  Two hours more and darkness was creeping in on her. She had not stopped at noon for a meal and her stomach growled its displeasure. Even her mount was beginning to tire of this constant climb, then just as the last rays of the sun were sliding behind a black horizon, a blaze of orange cast its way through a jagged opening in the rock face of the nearest mountain and Maggie dismounted.

  Carefully checking her gear, she tied the mule’s reins to her saddle then leading the mustang through the crack and down a sloped track just big enough for two abreast that veered hard to the right half way through she suddenly came out in a large valley ringed with mountains on all sides.

  Without knowing exactly where the opening in the rock led you would never have guessed what lay on the other side. The trail suddenly leveled out onto soft grass land and Maggie urged her tired steed into a trot, across the valley along the far eastern wall until quite suddenly two large heavy log cabins rose before her.

  Darkness fell like a blanket but the half sliver of moon gave her enough light to move to the first of the two buildings; the barn and unpack her horses, turning them into the somewhat dilapidated coral and hoping they would stay put. Exhaustion found her gnawing a piece of hard tack for her supper and then wrapping herself in the bed roll from her saddle she fell sound asleep.

  The sun streaming through the open door of the barn directly into Maggie's face woke her. The sun was fully up and for a moment added to Maggie's bewilderment. It was day, she was laying on a rough blanket on the dirt floor. Then it all came back, with a violent motion Maggie threw the blanket off of her, and stood shielding her eyes with her hand and scanning the corral by the barn. With a deep sigh she counted both animals still grazing contentedly on the soft green grass that had grown right up to the barn doors.

  Dragging the carrots from her pack, she walked to the ragged fence and waved them for the animals to see. The mule was the first one to come trotting and huffing to the fence for his morning treat, the little mustang right behind. Maggie gave them each a carrot and a gentle pat then began walking the perimeter of the fence line. The whole thing had collapsed in two places so she went back to the barn and retrieving twine she either tied up the fallen rails or simply strung rope across the gap, hoping it would be enough to keep the animals in while she set to putting things in order.

  For a long moment she stood once more in the open barn door looking out over a field of deep grass toward a copse of trees on the far side of the vall
ey. Antelope grazed lazily through the grassy field working their way slowly toward the gray shaded hills of the mountains as the sun began to warm the day.

  “Well, what first?” Maggie asked herself as she chewed a piece of jerky, then spun around to survey the barn. It was a long low structure, simply but sturdily built. A row of five stalls lined the left hand side of the barn, with a dividing wall made of hand hewn pine logs. Each log was squared off on the sides and chinked to fit into the next with no gaps. On top of each a half log fit snuggly over the wide planks and afforded a rounded space to hang tack. These were smooth with use but now their silvery forms were covered in a thick layer of dust and old hay. The hard packed dirt center aisle was wide enough for a wagon or piece of farm machinery and at the far back corner she could just make out several implements sticking out from under heavy, tattered tarps next to the open stall to her right. This long wide box took up the rest of the length of the right hand side of the barn and ended by the big double barn doors.

  A log wall, again smoothed on the sides separated this space from the rest of the barn. Two heavy plank doors, each about four-foot-tall, opened into the airy central space of the barn floor. They were placed on either end of the long box stall allowing more than one horse at a time to be led out into the interior. Both sat securely latched closed with iron rings and pegs. Maggie walked to the nearest entry gate of the stall and opened it on protesting hinges.

  “Well that will need oil." She muttered. Stepping into the musty straw on the earthen floor.

  On the far outer wall cut into the thick log walls were four double Dutch doors, all tightly latched and without any light able to creep under their heavy frames. Maggie moved to the closets one and tried it but the latch had rusted closed and she couldn’t budge it. The next door however opened relatively easily and she swung both top and bottom doors wide then hooked them open with the iron O rings and togs on the outer wall. At last there was shelter for the animals and they had plenty of food in the corral.

  Maggie turned to her right and wound her way back toward the wide open barn doors. There along the edge of the fence line next to a broad well set gate stood a large stone basin. It looked like a boulder that had been hallowed out over time, and that was exactly what it was.

  Maggie walked to the watering trough and looked in; the whole thing was full of mucky, green tinged water. Rolling up her sleeves she plunged her arms into the fridged water and carefully moving the algae from the surface, looked down into the depths. Layers of leaves and dried grass lay on the bottom of the basis so plunging her hands into the cold depths she pulled up handfuls of the years of deposited debris and scooped it out. Little by little the water got dirtier but there were less and less of the slimy wet leaves and eventually her hand found the small hand drilled holes where the spring water was allowed to bubble up. The water gurgled, then swirled and soon the trough began filling even more. Maggie removed as much of the algae as she could then watched as slowly the water rose and began to spill over the edge of the big tub and clear.

  She was watching intently the movement of the fresh water spilling into the basin when two sets of heavy hooves could be heard moving up behind her. She smiled, and still on her knees turned to see the outstretched muzzles of her two equine companions.

  “And they say curiosity killed the cat.” Maggie chortled as both animals came to investigate. Steadily they approached and as the water cleared they stepped up and plunged greedy muzzles into the cool water and began to slurp.

  Rising Maggie dusted off her now damp skirt. She could see the water spilling out into the barn yard but nothing could be done about that for now. Food, water, and even shelter was now sorted for the horses.

  Across from the gate and facing the barn at a right angle she could see the log house. It was short and square, and black with age. Each heavy log fitted snuggly on top of the other with a thick slate roof dripping over the steep sloping eves. Even from here she could see that much of the chinking at the front of the house had begun to crack and come loose, but the structure as a whole stood, tall and square.

  A low porch centered in the front and supported by massive logs, polished with time still held its structure without sagging although it looked like one or two of the planks on the floor had broken. Heaving a deep breath, Maggie squared her shoulders, walked to the corral gate, and swung it open.

  Briskly she walked to the barn entrance, leaned over her saddle and pulled the rifle from its scabbard then turned toward her new home. The solid wooden planks rang with her footsteps as she mounted the stairs to the bulky oak and iron strapped door. To the right and the left of the porch two windows, snuggly shuttered looked back at her like unseeing eyes.

  Trying the latch on the door Maggie leaned her shoulder into its planking and pushed. Sharp rays of sun light proceeded her into the cabin as the door inched inward. Bright white light that fell shimmering on the thick dust covering the floor. She pushed again and the door swung free on its old hinges settling with a soft bang on the inside wall. Carefully, leading with the muzzle of the rifle Maggie stepped into the silent depths of the cabin. Nothing moved, nothing even scurried: only silence greeted her.

  Relaxing a little she moved to the window on the right. One pane was broken where a small sapling had managed to push a branch through the carved hole of the shutter but the rest was intact. Maggie lowered the rifle to the floor, leaning it securely against the wall then went to unlatch the window.

  Long years of in use and the changes of seasons, made it hard to lift but bit by bit she raised it a little at a time until it stood half open in its runners. Reaching through the now open window she unclasped the shutters and pushed them open, then moved to the other window and did the same. The bright morning sun lay softly on the plank floor.

  Maggie retraced her foot steps outside then moved to each shutter and latched it open as she had done with the stall door. Returning to the house she could now see the interior clearly. A long rectangular room lay before her. To her right taking up half the space was a kitchen where a heavy cast iron cook stove pressed against the back wall.

  Next to that and facing a window that was not yet open stood a black stone sink with a rusted hand pump with the rest of the walls covered in hand built cupboards, and shelves. A wide square trestle table sat in the center of this space with six heavy chairs neatly tucked under its sides. The left wall was partially covered with a huge fire place surrounded by a log and slate mantel that stood at least five feet tall.

  Behind the kitchen stood another wall that looked strangely like a smaller box with in the rectangle, giving the whole room an almost L shaped appearance. This gray plank sided structure's walls, unlike the cabins interior walls did not reach the sloping ceiling above but stopped about four feet short of it and had a large hand bent wood railing around it creating a loft that could look down onto the rest of the living space. A slim rail ladder rose along the wall facing the kitchen area like the ladder of a ships cabin. A silent tear slid down Maggie's face as she looked at each part of the cabin. A place she had begun to feel was no more than a dream.

  Walking back out to the barn Maggie began carrying her gear into the house. There was much to do but she couldn’t get it all done in one day nor could she do it on and empty stomach. This time she unpacked some hard tack and a tin of milk. She poured the milk over the hard tack into one of her small metal bowls and let it steep while she set about checking the cook stove. A pack rat had made a nest in it but other than that it looked like it was in working order.

  Rummaging through her bags she found blacking and a small cloth and set about cleaning the stove. Soon her hard tack breakfast was ready and she sat down on a dusty chair to eat it. Everything was covered in dust and there would be no living here until she got rid of that.

  Bowing her head over her meager meal, she closed her eyes and thanked God for bringing her safely home. After her short meal Maggie went outside and gathered dry grass and twigs to form a make shif
t broom. As a child she had made these to play with and now she put it to good use as she moved back and forth across the floor pushing the steadily rising pile of dust toward the open front door.

  Then back out with her bucket to the horse trough for water. She filled the bucket and carried it two handed into the house. Whispering a prayer and lifting eyes skyward, she began priming the pump but it wouldn’t work. She tried again, but still it wouldn’t go. With persistence and patience, she wrestled the old handle into motion and a small trickle of rust colored water spilled into the soap stone sink.

  Dipping a rag into the water she began to scrub the surfaces. Starting at the highest point and working her way down. When she reached the window over the sink she pried it up and unlatched those shutters as well.

  Bit by bit, she worked her way around the cozy room, soon the gray shapes of the cupboard could be distinguished from that of dust. As the sun began to make its slow decline to the west Maggie sagged into a now dust free chair.

  She was exhausted but pleased with her day’s work. For tonight she would simply sleep on the floor by the cook stove and worry about everything else after that. The stove was now cleaned and polished, the soap stone counter tops dust free, and the majority of her goods were stored in the kitchen. For the time being she would pretend the rest of the place didn’t exist. Tomorrow was another day and now it was time to make some supper.

  Pulling down an enameled cooking pot and filling it with water Maggie chopped a few potatoes and an onion then set them to boiling, in another bowl she mixed together flour and salt then added some of her precious canned milk.

  “Oh what I’d give for some eggs”. She moaned, but then smiled as she watched her few vegetables simmering away. With her fingers she mixed the flour, salt and milk together until small, little noodle type pieces, that her father called ‘rivels’ formed. She then scraped her hands clean and went out to check on the horses while the potatoes finished cooking.