Springwater Seasons

by Linda Lael Miller

  Rachel couldn’t help laughing a little. June-bug had a pretty good handle on Granny Johnson and her environs, for someone who claimed not to know her well. Clearing up and sweeping was good therapy for Rachel, and she was humming under her breath by the time June-bug set out for the little shack tilting up there on the mountainside, like a climber hanging on for dear life.

  “Maybe I should have gone along to protect Miss June-bug from Injuns and the like,” Toby said, watching from the front window.

  Jacob had resumed his pipe-smoking on the opposite side of the room. “Don’t you fret,” he said, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. “If it comes down to a squabble, it’ll be the Indians that need protectin’, not Miss June-bug.”

  Jacob’s trust in his bride was well-placed, as it turned out. Four hours later, the buggy clattered back into the dooryard and there was Miss June-bug, safe and sound, with a wide-eyed Christabel bouncing on the seat beside her.

  CHAPTER

  6

  TOBY LOOKED Christabel up and down, squeezed his nostrils shut with a thumb and two fingers, and keened, “Phew! You stink bad as an outhouse!”

  “That will be enough,” Jacob said gravely, from behind the boy. They were all three standing outside the station entrance, Rachel and Jacob and Toby.

  Miss June-bug waggled a finger at the lad. “You jest git yourself into your room, Toby Houghton, and work out why it was wrong to say a thing like that. When you’ve got it clear in your head, you’ll be ready to apologize to Christabel.”

  Toby looked up at Jacob, as if expecting intercession, but the man only gestured toward the house and ground out, “Go.”

  Flushed and probably already repentant, if unprepared to say as much, Toby took his leave.

  “Who’s that?” Christabel inquired, looking to Rachel as though she might bolt and flee back into the hills. Her eyes accused, You said nobody would be mean to me. You promised.

  “His name is Toby Houghton,” Rachel said. “Don’t you worry about him. He’s a good boy, and he’ll turn out to be your friend, you just wait and see.”

  Christabel looked doubtful; she’d most likely never had a friend, unless you counted her grandmother. “I don’t reckon I do smell much like town-folk do,” she said sorrowfully.

  “We’ll attend to your bath straight away,” Miss June-bug said, as though proposing that a guest take a bath were the same as offering tea or a place in the shade on a hot day. “I believe I’ve got some things you could wear while Miss English here is stitching up a dress or two.”

  Rachel had not even begun the sewing project, as she hadn’t expected June-bug to succeed so quickly in her mission of bringing Christabel Johnson down from the mountainside. She was anxious, even excited, to proceed, despite her dubious abilities as a seamstress. Her heart swelled as she put an arm around the young girl; she knew well what courage it had taken for her to break away from familiar miseries and step into an uncertain future.

  They set up the big washtub out in the high grass behind the station, and Jacob, June-bug, and Rachel all carried hot water until it was brimming. The job of scrubbing Christabel from head to foot fell to the women, of course, and when it was over, both Rachel and June-bug were as wet as their beaming charge.

  When at last Christabel’s hair was clean enough to suit June-bug—a tendril of it had to “squeak” between her fingers at a gentle tug—they helped her out of the big tub and wrapped her in a blanket, to keep her from taking a chill. It was sunset by then, and everyone was thinking in terms of supper, a pot of baked beans Rachel had put into the oven earlier that day, to be accompanied by slices of leftover cornbread and some canned carrots from the pantry.

  Christabel ate as though she’d never tasted such food before; maybe she hadn’t, given the poverty she and her grandmother lived in. Toby came out of his room behind the stove, looking chagrined, in the middle of the meal.

  “I reckon I’m sorry for what I said,” he told Christabel, in staunch tones. “It weren’t mannerly.” He rustled up a game smile, even as his stomach rumbled for all to hear. “’Sides, you cleaned up right nice.”

  Jacob, June-bug, and Rachel all made a shared effort not to show their amusement, but the sternness of their expressions lacked some element of true conviction.

  “Thanks,” Christabel said. Her eyes were watchful. Her fine, thin hair, which had turned out to be a pretty shade of brown, gleamed in the lamplight, still moist from washing and ridged from June-bug’s comb. Her borrowed dress, oversized but clean, was worn with a certain wary pride. “You better set down and have yourself some of these here beans. They ain’t as bad as they look.”

  Rachel bit her lower lip and did not dare to look at Jacob or June-bug, lest she burst out laughing after all.

  Toby peered over the girl’s shoulder to inspect Rachel’s baked beans. “I reckon you’re right,” he said, and took the place that had been laid for him, on the other side of the table, next to Jacob. Both children consumed second and then third helpings of the main course, and together they finished off the cornbread.

  All and all, it was a companionable meal, though mostly passed in silence.

  Christabel’s eyes were especially large as she got up from the table at last and reached for her empty plate. “I’ll wash up the dishes,” she said. “Then I suppose I ought to lay myself down and sleep, since I’m plum tuckered out.”

  June-bug rose gracefully from her own seat and took the plate out of Christabel’s hands. “You’ll have your chores to do, that’s for sure and certain. But you can start in on them tomorrow.”

  “I guess I don’t know where you mean to put me,” Christabel confided, with painful shyness. “I don’t see no loft nor pallet nor anything like that.”

  “Fact is, we do rent out what rooms we’ve got to travelers, whenever the need arises, but in the meantime, you’re welcome to whichever bed you want,” June-bug said, laying a hand to the child’s thin shoulder. “And don’t you fret, neither. We’ll make a place where you can stay, permanent-like, if that’s what you want to do.”

  Christabel looked amazed. “A whole room? All to myself?”

  June-bug smiled. “Come along, and we’ll make up the bed with fresh linens and all.” With that, they left the dining room together, June-bug slowing her steps to match Christabel’s more labored pace.

  Rachel, long since finished eating, got up to clear away and wash dishes, while Jacob and Toby went out to attend to the evening chores. Standing at the work table in the kitchen, gazing out the darkened window, Rachel could see the lights of the Brimstone Saloon, glowing in the darkness. Her thoughts traipsed in that direction, seeking Trey. Finding him all too easily.

  *

  Sunday morning, after breakfast and chores, Jacob announced that he felt called to preach a rousing sermon. He put on his good black suit and string tie for the occasion, once the barn work was done, and got out his ancient Bible. It seemed that his very decision to conduct a service had stirred the surrounding countryside to life, though of course Rachel knew that the day had been planned for some time.

  The spring sun shone extra-bright, the breeze was fresh, and the wildflowers covered the fields like threads in a colorful patchwork quilt.

  With help from Toby and Christabel, Rachel moved the tables to one side of the room and set all the benches in tidy rows, facing the fireplace, for June-bug said that Jacob liked to do his preaching in front of the hearth. He’d acquired the habit over the course of several Montana winters, she confided, when the whole territory turned to ice and crystal. June-bug herself was occupied with frying up chicken and boiling potatoes and eggs for a massive salad.

  Slowly, as noon approached, Jacob’s parishioners began to appear—Landry Kildare and his two boys, both void of war paint and with their hair combed down, were the first to arrive, then came the Bellweathers, followed by a few old bachelor traders, all of whom looked as though they hadn’t been out of the woods in twenty years. They were all shy, these mountain me
n, but their eagerness to be part of the gathering showed plainly in their eyes. There were cowboys, too, spruced up and on their best behavior, passing through Springwater in advance of one of several large herds of cattle being driven up from Denver and points further south. Rachel recognized some of them from the arm-wrestling contest at Brimstone Saloon, though she had to admit they didn’t look like the same fellows at all, with their clean hair and stiffly new dungarees.

  Emma Hargreaves came in, somewhat timidly, wearing a bright yellow Sunday-go-to-meeting dress that fit her, unlike the borrowed garb Christabel had on, and the Kildare boys’ of nearly outgrown trousers and button-stretched shirts. Kathleen Bellweather ran to greet Emma, being about the same age, though she had given Christabel a wide berth, and Rachel held herself back from stepping in. If she pressed the children to be friends, she knew, she might well create a permanent breach between them, but it was hard not to intercede all the same.

  The noisy arrival of a buckboard drew her attention away from the children, and she gave a gasp of joy when she looked through a front window and saw the Wainwright family, all dressed up and ready for preaching and a party. Rachel ran outside to greet them, and embraced first Abigail, then Evangeline. Scully was holding the baby in the crook of one arm and little J.J. in the other, grinning at his wife’s delight.

  “I didn’t dare to hope you would come all this way!” Rachel cried, holding Evangeline by the shoulders.

  Evangeline smiled. “We wouldn’t have missed it. Besides, Scully wants to see the horse race.”

  Rachel was reminded of Trey Hargreaves, and she felt a mild ache in the depths of her heart. There was no sign of him, and if they met, they were likely to have words, but still she kept watching for him, at the edge of her vision. “You don’t plan to enter?” she asked Scully, reaching out for the well-bundled baby. He surrendered the child and used both arms to keep a fidgety J.J. in check. “I should think that Appaloosa of yours could run like the wind.”

  “He can,” Scully said, with a mischievous light in his eyes, “but I’m an old married man now, and henpecked into the bargain. My dear wife is of the opinion that I spend enough time in the saddle as it is, owing to my profession, without making a sport of it.”

  Before Rachel could shape a reply, June-bug erupted from the station doorway, both arms extended.

  “Let me see that baby this minute!” she demanded joyously.

  Evangeline laughed, as did Rachel, who surrendered little Rachel Louisa into her friend’s embrace. The blue sky seemed to cast a blessing over them all, and there was laughter and conviviality spilling out of the station itself, ambrosia to the spirit.

  “Oh,” cried June-bug, having unveiled the baby from her blanket, “she is the loveliest little thing—fair as an angel!”

  It was merely what people routinely said about new babies, but in this case, it was also the purest truth. The Wainwright infant was pretty as the cherubs in the paintings of the Old Masters, and Rachel was certain she would grow up to be a legendary beauty. Evangeline thanked June-bug for the compliment with a certain pleased modesty, and they all went inside to settle down for Jacob’s sermon.

  He’d chosen the 91st Psalm as his text, and he was indeed a gifted orator, but Rachel only heard about half of his message because Trey Hargreaves slipped in, midway through the rustic service, to take a chair at the back of the room, next to the door, the benches being full.

  Rachel had glanced back when she heard the hinges creak and caught sight of him. From that moment on, her concentration was shattered and she could think of nothing but Trey. In the brief look she’d taken, she’d seen that he was wearing a nicely fitted suit of clothes, with one of his white ruffled shirts and a well-shined pair of boots; his dark hair was clean and brushed, and he’d shaved for the occasion as well.

  When the preaching ended, after some two hours, everyone was ready to stand outside under the two shade trees, the women fanning themselves, the men talking of horses and cattle and the weather. All the ladies had brought food to contribute, and there was plenty to set out on the long tables inside, now moved back to their proper places. June-bug was in her element, overseeing it all, just as her husband had been earlier, when he stood before his motley congregation, Bible in hand, deep voice ringing with conviction.

  The children, relieved to be released from their injunction to sit quietly, raced all around the station, shouting and laughing. Only Christabel was left out, perched quietly on the edge of a chair someone had brought out and set in the shade of the building, watching the happy foolery with carefully expressionless eyes.

  Rachel was about to break her own rule and have a word with the others about including Christabel in their games, when she saw Trey, standing in a circle of men, reach out and snag his daughter as she ran past. He bent and spoke to her, nodding subtly in Christabel’s direction.

  Rachel stood still, watching, as Emma walked slowly over to Christabel’s chair and spoke to her. Christabel smiled, then shook her head and ducked her face shyly.

  Emma took hold of her arm and tugged, and soon, miraculously, Christabel was a part of things, if still somewhat on the fringe of it all. Given her crippled foot, it was nearly impossible for her to keep up, but she tried valiantly, and Emma often stopped and came back to encourage her.

  Rachel closed her eyes for a moment, so moved that she did not think she could have spoken, had there been anyone at hand to speak to, that is.

  As it happened, there was someone close by. Trey Hargreaves had materialized at her elbow, hat in hand.

  Rachel blinked, taken by surprise. “Mr. Hargreaves,” she said, somewhat squeakily, by way of a greeting.

  He nodded. “Afternoon,” he said. There was a grin lurking behind that serious expression of his, and though he was making a fine job of holding it in restraint, now and again it peeked out of his eyes. “There’ll be dancing tonight,” he informed her. “Old Zeb Prudham brought his fiddle.”

  Rachel’s heart beat a little faster, though she couldn’t think why that should happen. Heaven knew, she’d certainly danced—though not since Langdon went away to war, of course. If she were called upon to participate in the festivities, she’d manage to keep from tangling her feet. “Yes?” she said.

  She thought she saw the faintest flush of color under Trey’s tan, but she couldn’t be sure. “I reckon every man here is going to want a whirl around the floor with you,” he said, and it looked as though every word was costing him dearly. “For the sake of peace between us, you understand, well—” He looked away, looked back determinedly. “I’d like to be the first. To dance with you, I mean.”

  Rachel was taken aback by the request, mightily so. Of all the men in and around Springwater, Trey was the last one she would have expected to approach her with such a request. She wasn’t exactly his kind of woman, was she? Her heartbeat stepped up again.

  “I’d like that,” she said, with no more grace than the average smitten schoolgirl.

  Trey tilted his head toward her and spoke in a confidential fashion. “Just between you and me, I think that Kildare feller means to court you for a wife. He’s good-looking, I guess, and he’s got himself a good piece of land and some fine horseflesh. Solvent, too—he’s been trying to buy my old homestead up behind his place for a year. Offering cash, too.” He paused and frowned, as though aware that he might be making his friend look too good. “You hitch up with him, though, and those kids of his will have you in an asylum before a year’s out.”

  Rachel wanted to laugh, out of nervousness and exultation, but she controlled the urge. “I see,” she said. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “Good,” Trey replied, in earnest satisfaction and what appeared to be a measure of relief.

  Before the conversation could proceed, June-bug informed the gathering that the midday meal was awasting and they’d better come inside and help themselves before the flies got it all. The response was enthusiastic, but Jacob lead a short, rumbling prayer before
the first fork was raised.

  Rachel had the fanciful feeling that she was in the midst of a homecoming; it was as if she’d belonged in Springwater all along, without knowing of its existence, and had at last found her way there, having traveled over a long and winding path.

  The meal was delicious, a rousing affair, during which Granny Johnson caused a stir by arriving on the back of a brown mule, wearing a calico bonnet with her old dress and carrying the ever-present shotgun across her lap. “Did I miss the preachin’?” she asked, when Jacob helped her down off the animal’s back.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Jacob answered soberly, “you did at that.”

  “Dern it,” Granny said. “I ain’t heard a good sermon in twenty years. I had my brain all set for fire and brimstone.”

  Jacob’s mouth twitched, but he had the good grace not to smile. While he’d certainly driven home the power of the Lord in his message, he hadn’t stirred the embers of hell into a roaring blaze, the way a lot of preachers did. Privately, Rachel thought better of him for it, although she knew that many people didn’t count themselves forgiven if they hadn’t felt the sharp prongs of the devil’s pitchfork.

  Now, he stood with his hand resting lightly, in a gentlemanly fashion, on the small of Granny’s back. “There’s still a good bit of food left, Mrs. Johnson,” he said. “You go right on in there and fill yourself a plate.”

  Granny nodded and handed him the shotgun. “If you’ll look after that for me, young feller, I’ll be obliged,” she said. Then she tottered toward the door of the station, stopping briefly to speak to Rachel. “I jest came here to see how you’re treatin’ my gal,” she announced. “If she ain’t happy, I’m takin’ her right home agin.”

  Rachel smiled. She was pleased to see Granny attending the festivities, testy though she was. It had troubled her not a little to think of the old woman out there in that shack, all alone, and she dared to hope Granny might actually become a part of the community. Not only would that make the elderly lady’s life easier, but it would be a boon to Christabel, too.