Wanted: Zookeeper (Silverpines Book 19)

by Lynn Donovan

  “What is it this time?” Impatience evident in Tonya’s tone as she picked her way toward Ellen, tugging the knitted wrap around her shoulders.

  “A fox attacked one of the Howard sisters’ roosters.” Ellen explained quickly before Tonya lost her temper and refused to let her gather the scraps. “He gave as good as he got, but neither of them would have survived the night if I hadn’t heard the ruckus. Poor things. Chantelle lost a leg afore I got to them and Copper’s ear was pecked clean through. I snipped it the rest of the way and cauterized it last night to stop the bleeding—”

  Tonya shook her head.

  “What?”

  “You know you shouldn’t name them. It’s harder to let go if you name them.”

  Ellen stared at Mrs. Watts. “Why would I need to let them go? Besides, the Howard sisters had already named the rooster. That Fox lost a lot of blood and has so many holes pecked in him, he’d be bait in the forest. Chantelle’s only got one leg now. I rightly think the spinsters won’t want him back in their chicken pen. Those hens would kill him for sure—”

  Tonya continued to shake her head.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Tonya perused the pieces in Ellen’s arms. “You need any help?”

  Ellen smiled. Tonya seemed like her old self in that moment. “No. I’ve got what I need.”

  “Holler if you do.” Tonya turned and made her way back into the lumberyard office.

  “I always do.” Ellen continued adding to her collection and soon moved on to the blacksmith’s shop.

  “Mr. Clayborne!” she called out. The smithy shop was sweltering hot from his forge. He laid something glowing hot across the anvil and slammed a huge hammer down on it. Sparks flew in all directions. She tried again. “Tobias Clayborne!”

  He paused with the hammer in midair, turned his head toward her, and yanked off his protective goggles. “Oh. Miss Myers. What can I do for you?”

  “I need some nails to make pens, Mr. Clayborne.” She shifted the load of scrap wood in her arms.

  “Here.” Tobias laid everything down and rushed behind his forge. “I’ve got a canvas sling that’ll help with that bundle.” He lifted a long piece of heavy cotton with woven jute rope sewn in the ends for handles. He scooped the wood scraps into it and handed it back to her like a large purse.

  “Oh. Thank you. I’ll return it later this morning.”

  He grinned. “I’m not worried about it. Elena might stop by later to be sure you don’t need help— with whatever you’re building that for.”

  Ellen lifted her chin a notch. Elena had never dropped by to see if she needed help before, why would she now? Especially now. She, like Tonya, was expanding her family. Mr. Clayborne was just being nice and Ellen appreciated it, but she would hold no expectations for company later today or any other day. “I’d love to have her visit. But please tell her I’ll be fine on my own. Don’t go to no trouble for me.” She paused, considered her words. “Being in a family way and all, she don’t need to go to no trouble.”

  “Well.” Tobias looked around, suddenly awkward with their conversation. “Here’s a pouch of nails.”

  She reached into her skirt pocket.

  “Don’t worry about that. These nails aren’t good for nothing but a small pen anyways. Too thin for shingles or side planks. You’re doing me a favor by taking them off my hands.”

  “No, Mr. Clayborne, I insist on paying.”

  He let out a deep sigh and ran his large meaty hand down his moist face. “Fine. Just put a few extra coins in the Widows’ and Orphans’ fund at church.”

  Tobias and Elena seldom took money from her. Perhaps her Grandpa’s shoeing the horses in the livery made up for the few nails she took from time to time to make cages. A smile came to her face. “Not many widows or orphans left, praise God.”

  He nodded with a curt smile. “True. The good Lord has blessed this town greatly, hasn’t He?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded. Tears clotted her voice. She held up the bag of nails as a thank you gesture and turned to go to her next stop.

  Dr. Hattie Childs would have what Ellen needed at the apothecary. She slung the bundle of wood over her shoulder and hurried to get across town. The canvas tote that the blacksmith loaned her was a big help. She slipped the bag of nails into her pocket and sighed contently as she walked through Central City Park. Even squirrels were enjoying the warmer temperatures. Did they have any idea that it was a new century? Ellen chuckled at their antics. Spiraling down one tree, scampering across the lawn, and scurrying— again in a spiral— up another. They were very entertaining as she crossed the park and climbed Hattie’s steps.

  “Ellen?” Hattie opened the door with a smile. “What brings you here on New Year’s Day?”

  Ellen returned her smile and tried not to look down at the doctor’s swollen middle. She was a lot farther along than Tonya. Or else her baby was a lot bigger. In fact, Dr. Hattie looked as though she’d be having that baby any day. “I’m in need of a mild pain reliever, perhaps something I can sprinkle in food or water—”

  “Is your grandfather alright?” Hattie’s pleasant expression melted into concern.

  “Oh, yes ma’am. Grandpa’s fine. It’s for Chantelle and Copper.” She proceeded to explain the tussle the two animals had gotten into last night and how she worried they were in pain.

  Hattie threw her head back and laughed. “Oh. I see. It’s for your menagerie of misfits. Well, let me figure out what I might have.” Ellen followed her into her shop. Bottles and boxes lined the shelves. The counter had several mortars and pestles pushed back against the wall. The room was spotlessly clean and smelled pleasantly of dried flowers and fragrant powders. Ellen drew in the aromas and sighed peacefully. “I love coming in here.”

  Hattie glanced over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Want to know a secret?”

  Ellen nodded.

  Hattie leaned close and wrinkled her nose. “I love it too.”

  They giggled and moved farther into the shop. Hattie lifted a bottle of something dry and woody, she took a piece out and put it in the mortar. She lifted a bottle of golden yellow blossoms and added one cluster to the mortar. She pulled a few more bottles and added the ingredients to the little bowl, then crushed it into a fine powder. “This should do the trick.”

  She poured the concoction into a waxed paper pouch and folded the open end. “Give them this, either in their food or mix it in their water, three times a day. Let me know if it helps. If not, we’ll figure out something else. I mixed some goldenrod in there. That should help their wounds heal as well.”

  Ellen marveled at the mixture before taking the pouch from Hattie. “Thank you, Dr. Hattie.”

  “My pleasure.” She touched Ellen’s arm. “Can you stay for tea?”

  Ellen smiled. Like Tobias Clayborne, Dr. Hattie was being polite, and Ellen knew it. Never in her life had she sat at the apothecary table to have tea. Not that she didn’t think of Miss Hattie as a friend, it was just that Ellen had grown accustomed to the townsfolk way of thinking. No one in town had the heart for abandoned or wounded animals like Ellen, except Grandpa, of course. She didn’t know why she was so different from the others or why they were so different from her. But it was what it was, and she had no desire to change her ways no matter how it separated her from the people in Silverpines. Her menagerie of animals were her friends. They satisfied her need for socializing. “No, but thank you. I’ve got this project to complete.”

  She shrugged the bundle over her shoulder to indicate the cages she needed to make. “And I should get this pain reliever into them as soon as possible. You’ve never seen such a pitiful sight as a feisty rooster who doesn’t even feel like crowing at sunlight.”

  Hattie gave Ellen a half smile. “I’m sure I haven’t. Oh, and take this.” She handed Ellen a small round tin.

  “What’s this?”

  “A salve I make. It’ll help the skin lacerations from getting infected. Smear it on genero
usly while they’re too weak to fight you. Once they are up and moving around, it will be impossible to treat their wounds, so get as much on now while they are lethargic.”

  “Lay thar-jeck?” Ellen worked the word around her tongue to understand.

  “It means they aren’t moving around and will let you treat their wounds.”

  Ellen tipped her head back. “Ah. Yes. Ol’ Copper just lays there. I don’t think he feels good at all. But he did lose a lot of blood.”

  Hattie touched Ellen’s shoulder as she walked with her to the door. “I can only imagine how bad he feels. It’s so good of you to take such good care of them, but I caution you to be careful. A wild fox could be very dangerous. He could have rabies or any number of ailments that could harm you.”

  Ellen pursed her lips and shrugged.

  Dr. Hattie chuckled. “Have you ever considered going to college to be a veterinarian?”

  It was Ellen who chuckled this time. “Oh, Miss Hattie, I mean Dr. Hattie, my grandpa couldn’t afford to send me to college.”

  Hattie smiled. “Well, I’ll be happy to show you what I know. But it looks to me like you’re well on your way to knowing exactly what you’re doing to help those critters.”

  Ellen smiled. Hattie’s words felt good. She didn’t act like she thought Ellen was crazy for taking care of hurt animals. Other people in town didn’t say it, but the way they looked at Ellen over the picket fence left little to her imagination about what they said behind her back. She couldn’t care what people thought about her or her menagerie. She had to do what she had to do. It was how God made her and who was she to question God’s decisions? Her only regret was that her grandpa’s house wasn’t on a larger lot. She could only dream about providing larger areas for the animals while keeping them safe from each other.

  As she walked out onto Hattie’s veranda, a cold wind swirled around her hem. A shiver traversed her spine and she pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. She needed to hurry home. There was another storm moving in and this one felt like it’d be a doozy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two weeks later.

  The only way to check on his menagerie was from the roof of the cargo cars. Not all of the animals would attack him if he were to walk through the modified livestock cars, but several would. The bongo antelope certainly wouldn’t try to eat him, but he’d been through enough losing an antler in the storm at sea. Niles preferred to stay out of the animals’ storage compartments as much as possible. An overly stressed animal was not a healthy animal.

  Being taken out of Africa was hard enough on them. Most had survived the horrible storm at sea. Then transferring from ship to cargo train and traveling across America by rail had kept the animals in an agitated state. He medicated the exotic’s food with an herb he had purchased in bales from a New York City apothecary to keep them mildly sedated. He chewed a few leaves himself daily, to keep from gnawing his fingernails into bloody stubs. Worry plagued his thoughts. Despite his not-yet-healed leg, and the bitter cold, he climbed to the top of the six cars to inspect the animals’ status every few hours.

  From the eastern port of New York to mid-America, a snowstorm hovered ominously to the north, keeping the outside air chilly. Another worry for Niles when he settled in his Pullman coach. From the large window, he helplessly watched the snowstorm plow through the northern landscape. They were nearly through Montana, just a few miles from Oregon when the train slowed to a crawl as it entered the next depot.

  An unwanted knock came to his cabin door. Reluctantly, he stood with a heavy sigh to receive the dreaded news.

  “I’m sorry sir.” The steward touched his gloved hand to his hat. “We can’t go any further until this storm passes. The engineer suggests all passengers disembark and take a hotel room until further notice.”

  Niles glanced toward the front of the train, as if he could catch the engineer’s eyes from his private car.

  “I, um, how long does the engineer anticipate our layover?” Niles forced himself to control his breathing in an effort to disguise his frustration.

  “There’s no telling, sir. These Montana storms can last for days, even weeks.”

  “Weeks!” Niles drew in a calming breath, to no avail. “I, I can’t— these animals can’t wait weeks!”

  What was he supposed to do with a man-eating lion and his lioness, a cheetah, and an Ethiopian wolf, not to mention the docile antelope, eland, and the other four skittish exotic animals stored in the livestock cars? As if the African elephant shrew sensed his frustration, the rodent scurried to his collar and leapt to a shelf, screeching his high-pitched chatter as if he were chewing the steward out for holding up the progression of this trip to Seattle, Washington.

  The steward’s eyes widened with angst. Not everyone was comfortable being around a rodent.

  Niles turned briefly to see the shrew was all right, then back to the steward.

  The attendant stepped back into what little room he had in the narrow hall. “I’m sorry sir. It can’t be helped. If the train should try to continue in this kind of storm, it’d… the rails are covered with ice, you see?” His cautious gaze remained on the African mouse. He stiffened as the wind’s whistling emphasized the storm’s intensity around the Pullman. “Th-the train’d derail. It’s just not safe.”

  Niles jammed his hand into his long hair. He pulled the strands back hard against his scalp. What could he do? Ice covered the rails… the train would derail. Ice… derail. He lifted hopeful eyes to meet the steward. “What if I hired someone to clear the tracks?” He leaned against the door facing. “Is that possible?”

  The steward pressed against the polished wood wall. He couldn’t get far enough away from Niles.

  Or was it the shrew?

  “I-I don’t know. Who would— How?” His eyes dropped to the floor, as if an answer were laying there somewhere among the paisley pattern in the carpet. He slowly lifted his head. “You might be able to talk the Chinese workers into doing such a thing. I’ve seen them do jobs no one in their right mind would do. This sounds like that kind of work… if you got enough coin to make it worth—“ He paused as if he were considering Niles.

  Here he stood in a private Pullman, with six livestock cars attached to the train that belonged to him personally. Of course he could afford to hire a crew to help clear the tracks, if it would keep the train moving.

  “It’d just be a matter of negotiations, I suppose, sir.”

  “Great!” Niles grabbed his hat and overcoat. “Show me where I can find these Chinese workers.”

  The Chinese workers could be found in the tent camp outside of town about a quarter of a mile from the train. The livery refused him a horse or a wagon. Not a buggy, or even a six-passenger carriage, was thought to be stout enough to make it through the blizzard. Exasperated, but determined, Niles bundled up in his overcoat, wrapped a newly purchased wool scarf over his hat to keep it on his head in the gale-force wind, and picked his way west of town. The mercantile owner, where he bought the wool scarf, indicated if he followed the train tracks west, he couldn’t miss Chinatown. The tracks were quickly covered by the driving snow, but Niles kept the town to his back while he used his cane to keep himself next to the rail through the contour covered snow. In this way, he picked a path toward what he hoped wouldn’t be the death of him.

  After what seemed like several hours of consuming hot tea and a strange smelling soup in the tent of Daquan Chang, the Chinese community’s leader, six men bundled up in what looked like full-length wolverine coats with hoods, gloves without fingers, like women’s mittens only larger, and knee-high boots made of the same animal hide. They seemed to be exchanging an emotional goodbye to respective older couples, perhaps their parents, and lined up to walk back to town with Niles.

  This was Niles’s first experience with the Chinese culture, he didn’t fully understand their ways. Why such an emotional farewell? Were they not expected to survive? Or were they expected to stay in Seattle when they ar
rived? Did Chang think these six men were permanently in Nile’s employment? Why wouldn’t they want to return to Montana?

  He had conducted the negotiation with Chang through broken English, arduous hand gestures, and dramatizations to make it clear what he needed the men to do. In the end, Chang agreed to six of his men going with Niles. Two would ride ahead of the train on a handcar, four would ride inside. Niles agreed they could ride in his Pullman. The four would alternate with the two outside in pairs. Should the handcar derail, it would follow that the train was at risk of derailing in that spot too. So the plan was for all six men to clear the ice and heave the car back on the lines.

  Niles had agreed to pay the crew a hefty fee and buy their tools and supplies, including tea, rice, and some strange dried foods from which they would make soup. He reluctantly agreed to let them stop every hour to prepare tea, and alternate the handcar crew. Chang had been firm in this and would not give at all in negotiations. Niles agreed to pay half the fee now and the balance when they arrived in Seattle. He witnessed what looked like the men dividing up the down payment and then handing it to their elder family members. With that final conciliation, they appeared to be ready to leave the community.

  When Niles returned with his crew members and their gear, he was pleased to see the train had been transformed. What now sat on the tracks, prepared to move ahead, looked a lot different than the one he had left an hour or so ago. All the public seating cars had been removed from the procession and switched to a side track. The passengers and stewards had disembarked and were assumed to be settled into the small town’s hotel. Niles’ Pullman and six livestock boxcars had been reattached at the coal car.

  With an incentive of coin in the engineers’ pocket as well, the train crawled west in the unrelenting blizzard toward Oregon. Niles settled into his Pullman with four Chinese men and the small companion who had become a familiar warmth under his shirt.