Sweetwater

by Dorothy Garlock

  “Even if she could control the stove, she couldn’t cook.”

  “Cass,” Jenny chided. “Why do you always have to be so frank?”

  “I’m being honest. And don’t call me Cass.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  “You don’t like the name?” Trell asked. “I’ve always liked it.”

  “Why? Did you have a horse named Cass?”

  “No. I knew a woman who was the prettiest little thing I ever did see. She was sweet as sugar and … smart. Lordy, she was smart! And she could sing like a bird. Her name was Cass. The name’s been a favorite of mine because of her.”

  “Really? Did you love her?”

  “Like a sister.”

  “Well. In that case, you can call me Cass. But no one else can.” With the air of a queen, Cassandra walked into the house.

  Jenny watched her with a proud smile. She lifted her brows in question when she turned back to Trell.

  “It’s true.”

  He couldn’t stop looking at her. She didn’t seem to care at all that her face was smudged with black smoke and her hair hung in strands down her back. A sudden burst of happiness sent his heart galloping like a runaway horse.

  “I’ve met Irishmen before, Mr. McCall. You’re full of blarney, But I forgive you. You made Cassandra happy.”

  Trell took the water bucket and went to the pond. His observant eyes had spotted a well without a rope and a pulley. Had it been deliberately put out of use in order to make things here difficult for the teacher? He washed at the pond and ran his fingers through his hair before he put his hat back on his head. On the way back to the house he passed the woodpile where an axe lay on the ground. He picked it up, wiped it off and sank the blade in a stump.

  “I can bring over a rope and pulley so you can use the well,” he said when he returned to the house with a full bucket of water.

  “I would appreciate it. It would be easier than carrying it from the pond.”

  Jenny had washed and pinned up her hair. She introduced her younger sister, who was so bashful that she hid behind Jenny’s skirt.

  “You are our first visitor. Whit, Mr. Whitaker’s son, comes at night and brings grass for the horses. He’s Shoshoni and isn’t allowed off the reservation.”

  “Not even to come here and help with chores?”

  “I was told by the man who drove us out here that the agent would take a whip to him if he caught him. He’d better not touch that boy while I’m here! It is the silliest rule I ever heard. I intend to write to the Indian Bureau in Washington about it.” Jenny motioned for Trell to sit down. Cassandra and Beatrice took their places.

  “Jenny!” Beatrice whined. “I want bread and jam.”

  “We don’t have bread and jam, honey. Eat a cookie.” Then to Trell, “Cassandra made the cookies. They are really good.”

  “Too bad Tululla didn’t teach me to make biscuits.”

  “Help yourself to the beans. I’ll pour you a cup of tea. I do make a decent cup of tea.”

  “A person can’t live on tea, Virginia.” Cassandra passed Trell the plate of cookies. “I think you’ll find that these will go down much easier than Virginia’s biscuits. Tululla, our cook back home, said that the route to a man’s heart was through his stomach. I’m afraid Virginia will never get a man.”

  “I’m not looking for one, Cassandra.” For the first time Trell heard impatience in Jenny’s tone. “I admit that cooking isn’t something I know a lot about. Thank goodness you spent time in the kitchen at home, or we’d starve.”

  “You need some hired help if you’re going to stay here.”

  “We’re staying. That disgusting man hopes to run us off, but we’re staying,” she said again. “As soon as I can get to town, I’ll hire a cook. The children need better meals than I’m capable of making.”

  “What makes you think Havelshell doesn’t want you here?”

  “It’s obvious. Oh, I don’t think it’s me … personally. For some reason, he doesn’t want a teacher to occupy this ranch. Why else would the school be torn up, the books and slates destroyed? Why else would he dam up the stream so the horses can’t get to water, or take the rope and pulley from the well? Why else would he tell us there were chickens when there never have been chickens here? He wanted us to think the Indians had stolen them.” Her eyes flared with indignation. “It’s clear to me that he’s trying to discourage and frighten me so I’ll back out of my contract with the Bureau.”

  “Has he succeeded?”

  “He’s only made me angry and more determined than ever to stay here.” Jenny’s face relaxed and she laughed. It was the loveliest sound Trell had ever heard. “I realize that I’m ill equipped for this life, but I will learn. The girls and I are going to stay and claim Stoney Creek Ranch when the terms of the will are met.”

  “You’ll need help.”

  “Yes, I know. Will you be our friend?” she asked on a sudden impulse.

  “You can bank on it.”

  “Jen … ny. I don’t like these old beans.” Beatrice put her spoon down hard on the table.

  “Are you married, Mr. McCall?” Cassandra moved the plate of cookies to within Beatrice’s reach. “Take one,” she ordered. The younger girl swallowed her mouthful of cookie and stuck her tongue out at her sister. Cassandra ignored her, and said to Trell, “Well, are you?”

  “No, Cass. I’ve not found a woman who’d have me.”

  “Well. Virginia isn’t married either and, of course, I’m too young. She may get desperate enough to take you.”

  “Cassandra! If you’re not the limit!”

  Trell observed Jenny’s rosy cheeks. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement, and he thought for a brief moment of how soft those cheeks would be if he stroked them.

  “I’d not be that lucky, Cass.”

  Jenny and Cass cleared the table. Trell watched. His mind was filled with impressions filed away to bring out and think about later. The past hour had been the most pleasant he could remember. He’d not even minded that he’d had to swallow a couple of times after every bite he took. He liked the way Jenny admitted her shortcomings. He admired her spunk for refusing to let Havelshell frighten her and for taking up for Whit Whitaker, the Indian boy. He liked the way she treated her sisters.

  With that reddish brown hair and green eyes, she was a sight to see. When she got off the stage, she had been all dressed up in fancy clothes and he’d thought her a beautiful haughty woman. She was prettier now with her face reddened by the heat from the fire, her dress dirty and wetly clinging to her slender, young figure. Uncomfortable at his observation, Trell averted his eyes.

  He was not sure that she realized how dangerous it was for her and the girls to be here alone. He fully intended, before he left, to bring up an idea that had begun floating around in his mind.

  With the dishes in the big pan, Jenny poured cups of tea for herself and Trell, then spoke to Cassandra.

  “Honey, would you take Beatrice outside while I talk with Mr. McCall?”

  “I’ll let her look at my picture book. Whatever you have to say to Mr. McCall will affect me and Beatrice, and I want to hear it.”

  Trell was surprised to hear Jenny say, “Very well. Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you.”

  After getting Beatrice settled, Cassandra sat down at the table and waited for the conversation to begin.

  “Mr. McCall, we’ve been here four days—almost five now. I would be a fool not to know that I’m fighting an uphill battle. Frankly, I’ve never had to cook, clean, wash or care for animals. It is not something I’m proud to admit, but I’m not ashamed either. Our father provided for us very well. He never believed his daughters would be required to do those things. He is gone now, and it is up to me to provide for my sisters.

  “I can teach. I came here to teach the Indian children. I know that I must have more wood than I can scrounge from that pile out there. I need it for the cookstove as well as for this plac
e and the schoolroom when winter comes. I can go to town and lay in a supply of food, but we need fresh meat and the children need milk … and—” Jenny’s voice trailed and Cassandra’s voice filled the void.

  “After meeting that disgusting boy with the raccoon and the man who drove us out here, we have come to the conclusion that we are not going to get help from anyone in that miserable town of Sweetwater.” The little girl spoke with her hands clasped on the table. Her serious blue eyes were focused on Trell’s face.

  “Very well put, honey.” Jenny reached out and squeezed her sister’s hand then looked back and met Trell’s eyes squarely. “We welcome any suggestions, Mr. McCall.”

  “I have one you may want to consider.”

  Trell told about stopping at the Murphys and learning about Miles Murphy’s being killed. He explained that the girl and her grandmother had been warned to leave within two days’ time or the men who killed Murphy would be back to burn them out.

  “That’s terrible!” Jenny exclaimed. “Frank Wilson, the man who drove us out here said something about squatters on Whitaker land. The Indian agent doesn’t own this land. How can he do this?”

  “It’s a matter of who is in possession at the moment. The girl had started digging her father’s grave when I got there. She can use a rifle. At least she was dead set on using one on me when I first rode up to their shack. But she can’t stand up to Havelshell’s men. I think she and her grandmother would be of help here.”

  “Are they … ah … decent women? You understand I couldn’t have someone here with the girls who was … loose.”

  “I’d stake my life on it. The grandma is elderly and I’d say the girl is nineteen or twenty.” He grinned to Cassandra. “I’m sure they know all about a cookstove.” Then to Jenny, “If they could come here, it would give them time to decide what to do, and who knows, it may work out that you’d want them to stay.”

  “Is the girl pretty?” Cassandra asked.

  “Well …” Trell frowned as he studied the question. “She isn’t ugly.”

  “I do need help with Beatrice, Virginia. Maybe the granny could keep her amused while the girl cooked. It would be heavenly to have a decent meal.”

  “They could sleep in the little room. I’d have to sleep with you and Bea.”

  “I can stand it if you can.”

  “It wouldn’t take much to put in another bunk, if you need one,” Trell said.

  “Does that mean you’ll come back?” Cassandra asked.

  “Do I have an invite?”

  “As far as I’m concerned you can move in and stay.”

  “I swear, Cassandra,” Jenny exclaimed. “You never cease to amaze me.” She dismissed her sister with a frown, then spoke to Trell. “Do you think the Murphys will be agreeable to coming and staying on a trial basis?”

  “I can ask them. It might not sit well with Havelshell if they come here.”

  “He has nothing to say about who lives with us. We will still need a man to do chores.”

  “You may find that the girl will do that. I’ll see about getting a crew to come out and cut a supply of wood.” He stood and reached for his hat “I’ve got to be going. It’ll be almost dark by the time I get back to the Murphys.”

  Jenny and the two girls walked out into the yard and watched as he mounted his horse.

  “Thank you for helping to put out the fire.”

  “You’re very welcome. Thanks for the meal.”

  “Ha!” A snort came from Cassandra. “You could hardly choke it down.”

  “If the Murphys are willing to consider your offer, I’ll bring them over in the morning. Is that rifle I saw in there loaded?”

  “It is and I know how to use it.”

  “Glad to hear it. It eases my mind some. ’Bye, girls. ’Bye … Miss Gray.” He tipped his hat and put his heels to his horse.

  “Call her Jenny,” Cassandra yelled.

  He turned in the saddle and waved.

  “Do you like him, Virginia?”

  “I do,” Beatrice said. “He’s not fat like Charles.”

  “Whit’s over by the schoolhouse.” Jenny saw the boy squatting beside the building, holding the reins of his pony. She waved. As usual, no response. “Let’s walk over and talk to him.” Holding Beatrice’s hand, she headed for the school. Cassandra lagged behind.

  “Hello, Whit,” she called as they neared. “We’ve had a lot of excitement today. First a grass fire, then a neighbor came to help us put it out”

  “Girl-Who-Squawk is stupid to make fire in the grass.”

  “I am not stupid, Boy-With-Chicken-Feather-Growing-Out-Of-Head!” Cassandra’s voice was shrill. “How was I to know there were hot coals in the ashes? And how come you didn’t come help?”

  “You want me to feel the lash?” he spit. “Three Wasicun watch. But I would have come if McCall had not.”

  “You know Mr. McCall?” Jenny asked.

  “Have heard talk of him. He is not one of them.”

  “Men were watching us and didn’t come help? Did you know them?”

  “They come to store with agent.”

  “Did they stay after Mr. McCall arrived?”

  “They go first to see where dam was broke. Then go toward river. I have grass for the horses. I’ll bring when dark comes.”

  “Where is it? We can carry it over.”

  “I bring when dark comes,” he said stubbornly. His beautiful face was expressionless, but his dark eyes darted back and forth along the edge of the forest that surrounded the ranch buildings.

  On the way back to the house, Cassandra walked ahead. Once she looked back at the boy still squatting beside the building.

  “I could like him if he wasn’t so smarty. I know how he must feel not being allowed on his own father’s land. It was almost like that back home. I wonder what he’ll do when he grows up. I sure know what I’m going to do.”

  “You do? What’s that?”

  “Well. I’m going to hire some men, the meanest men I can find. I’ll have a fine carriage and the men will ride alongside as I go up the drive to the house. Margaret and Charles will think they’re getting a fine visitor, but it’ll be little old Cass. I’ll walk right in and slap Margaret so hard and so many times her eyes will cross. Then I’ll take over the house and demand that she clean and do the washing … naked. The men will laugh and pinch her butt when she walks by. She’ll sleep on the floor without a blanket and Charles will spend his nights sleeping in the barn with the rats. I’ll put my fingers in his eyes and pull on his thing!” Cassandra’s voice became almost a whisper. “I’ll whip him with the razor strop like he whipped us and make him say the Lord’s Prayer a million times. I’ll tell him how ugly he is and that his mother was a whore. Then … I will kill him!”

  Jenny had put her hand to her mouth to keep back the sobs while her sister was speaking. With tears running down her cheeks she put her arm around the little girl.

  “I’m sorry, darling. Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Trell felt an urgency about getting back to the girl and her grandma. He hadn’t mentioned it to Jenny, but he had seen three riders on the reservation land while they were fighting the fire, and they were not Indians. He rode the roan hard and arrived at the Murphy’s just as it was getting dark. He pulled up and shouted his name. There was not a light and no answer to his call.

  He rode around to the back of the house to see if the wagon was there. There was no sign of it or the mules. He bent low from the saddle to see if he could tell from the tracks if the wagon was loaded when he left the cabin.

  “Yo’re mighty careless a-ridin’ in like that. Ya could’a got yore head blowd off.”

  Trell recognized Colleen’s voice and turned to see a dim form emerge from a clump of bushes.

  “I called out.”

  “I heard ya, or I’d’a been twitchin’ my finger on this here trigger. I had ya in my sights.”

  “Where’s your grandma and the wagon?”

  “Hid.
I come back to see if them skunks was out tonight.”

  “Do you have everything out of the house that you want?”

  “Ever’thin’ but the cookstove Pa bought. There was no way Granny and I could get it on the wagon.”

  “I’ll help you get it out if you want. We can hide it in the bushes and come back for it.”

  “Pa worked hard for the money to buy that stove.”

  Trell stepped off his horse. “Let’s get it out.”

  The stove was not large and the girl was strong. Fifteen minutes later they had carried it a hundred yards from the house and covered it with brush.

  “Now,” Trell said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “What do you think about firing the house? It could be that when they discover you’re gone, they’ll decide to use it.”

  “I’d thought of it.”

  “We’d better do it if we’re going to. If they plan on coming back tonight, they’ll be here soon.”

  “I’ve got a can of lamp oil in the wagon.”

  “Take my horse. We’ve got no time to waste.”

  It took only a few minutes to splash the cabin with the oil. Trell lit a swatch of dry grass with a match, threw it in the door and backed away as the cabin burst into flames. He took his rifle from the saddle scabbard and urged Colleen back out of the light made by the fire.

  “Go back to your granny. I’ll wait and see if the flames bring out the skunks.”

  “It’s not yore fight. I’ll wait.”

  Trell knew that it would be a waste of time to argue and hunkered down beside her in the bushes.

  While they waited Colleen told him that after her mother died, her father couldn’t bear to stay in the house where they had lived when they first married and where she was born. Miles Murphy sought to build a new life for himself, his daughter, and his mother in the territory. He had been told the land was in an estate that would soon be auctioned off. With his meager savings, he’d hoped to buy a bit of it and eke out a living. First the Indian agent had come and told them to leave, then the men had come who had gunned her father down.

  “Where did you live before coming here?”

  “Missouri. Then we went to Timbertown, but Papa would rather farm or raise cattle than work in the sawmills.”