Sweetwater

by Dorothy Garlock

  “He’ll come. A man’d be out of his mind not to want you, baby girl. Ain’t that right?” The grizzled rancher looked over the girl’s head at the man in the long, dirty white duster who stood beside the chair he had not been invited to take.

  “It’s the gospel truth, Miss Clara. Ain’t a man alive what wouldn’t charge hell with a bucket of water to get to ya, if he thought he had a chance in a million of havin’ ya.”

  Hell! He’d say whatever the old bastard wanted him to say to his weasel-faced spoiled brat. She looked at him from the safe haven of her father’s arms, her eyes tear-bright, but with a smile that showed her small white teeth. The man in the duster couldn’t help but think that he didn’t blame McCall for skipping out rather than staying and being devoured by this spiderlike woman. Still he’d find McCall … it was a job and the old man paid well.

  “Ah … you’re just sayin’ that,” the girl said and hid her face against her father’s chest.

  “It’s the pure-dee truth, miss.”

  “Go on back to bed, baby. We’ll get him back. You’re not to worry, now. Hear?”

  “Yes, Papa.” Clara put her arms around her father’s neck and kissed him beneath his chin, the only place she could reach. “You’re the sweetest papa in the whole world.”

  “That’s ’cause you’re getting your way.” His scowl was replaced by a pleased smile.

  “Isn’t either.” She skipped to the door. “Dear, sweet, wonderful Papa! I’m so happy. Oh, I’ve so much to do. When will he be here?”

  “It’ll take at least a month.”

  “Oh, no!” Her face puckered in a frown.

  “Honey, it’s a long way over there. But I promise he’ll be here as soon as possible. Go on, now. Your papa’s got plans to make.”

  “All right. ’Night, Papa. ’Night, mister. And … thanks.”

  Ashley stood in the doorway and watched his daughter run lightly up the stairs. Clara Ashley was the only thing in the world he cared about. She was the moon and the stars as far as he was concerned. He didn’t notice her whiny voice, her small pinched features or the fine, limp hair. To him she was a golden goddess; and from the day she was born, he had spoiled her shamelessly.

  He waited until he heard the door to her room close before he shut the study door and went to his desk. Opening a lower drawer with a key he took from his pocket, he lifted out a stack of bills and placed half of them on the desk. He didn’t speak until the drawer was locked again and the key in his pocket.

  “Find that son of a bitch and kill him.” He looked with hard flat eyes at the man standing before him and pushed the stack of money across the desk. “Bring his body back. I don’t care if it’s rotten when you get it here. Bring it, so she can see it and bury it. The other half of the money will be yours.”

  The man moved forward and reached for the bills.

  “What’ll you tell Miss Clara?”

  “I’ll think of somethin’. When she sees him dead, she’ll get over him. The dirty, lyin’ bastard!” Ashley growled angrily. “He made calf eyes at her, let her think he was courtin’ her, then took off. He broke her heart is what he done. He’ll pay for it. No man treats my baby that way and lives to tell it.”

  At the door, the man turned and looked at the gray-haired rancher. He understood the vanity of men like Silas Ashley. A deep fire of hatred for anything or anybody who slighted him or his smoldered in him until he was avenged. That McCall did not want his spoiled daughter Ashley took as a personal affront, enough reason to want him dead.

  The hired gunman left the ranch house. Why Ashley wanted McCall dead mattered not to him.

  Killing was his business.

  Chapter Seven

  Jenny came from the bedroom at the same time a figure appeared in the kitchen door. Her heart stopped with fright until she realized it was Whit. Without a word he ran to the cookstove, grabbed the poker and slammed shut the vents in the firebox. He reached to turn the damper handle and uttered what Jenny assumed to be an Indian obscenity.

  “You crazy woman! You burn down house!”

  “What did I do wrong?”

  “You leave vents all way open.” He banged on the iron door of the firebox. “Damper all way open. Wind come in door”—he gestured toward the doorway—“and sparks go up chimney to roof. Start fire.”

  “Oh, my goodness! I thought I had done exactly as Cass told me.”

  Whit snorted at the mention of her sister. “What she know.”

  “Apparently more than I do. Whit,” she said when the boy moved toward the door. “Stay a while.”

  “I stay. Agent’s weasel too lazy to come so early.”

  He looked around the room, and an expression of longing came over his usually stoical features as if he were remembering times he had been here with his father.

  “Were you allowed to come here when your father was alive?”

  “No Havelshell. I live here. After father die I no can come.”

  “Your father knew that they would not let you keep the ranch. He made provisions in his will for you to get an education so that you can fight for your rights and those of your people. I wish I had known him.”

  “He had books. Havelshell take them.”

  “Maybe someday we can get them back. Whit, what do you know about the people named Murphy who lived over on the edge of Stoney Creek?”

  “Three Wasicun at store have bad talk, then go kill Murphy. McCall help woman bury him. McCall and woman burn house last night and shoot at Wasicun when they come.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I keep eyes and ears open.”

  “What kind of people are the Murphys?”

  He frowned. “Old woman and young woman.”

  “I know that, but are they”—she strove to find the right word—“clean?”

  “Why you want to know that?”

  “Mr. McCall is bringing them here today to help me.”

  “That is good. Old lady cook and not burn house down. Young lady chop wood, hunt, and cut grass for horses. You teach then?”

  “After I clean out the schoolhouse. When I’m ready will you take me to your chief so that I can tell him about the school?”

  “His tongue not good with English.”

  “You could translate,” she argued.

  “He know about school, think it foolish.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Will he let the children come?”

  “No honored son will come. Only those who do not belong to someone important and those who do not have parents to care for will come.”

  “I don’t understand that at all.”

  “There is much you do not understand. I have not had my dream. I am not a man. I am not needed and will come.”

  “You said you took care of your father’s second wife.”

  “She will go be second wife to brave and help his young wife. She no longer need me.”

  “I need you,” Jenny declared quickly. “Whit, if you no longer have a home with your father’s second wife, where will you live?”

  “With my people. They will not turn me out. I go now.”

  “You could stay in the schoolhouse. It’s on the reservation … and your father built it … mainly for you.”

  Whit turned. “He do it for all Shoshoni.”

  “I think he loved you … very much.”

  “Then why he die … and leave me?”

  Jenny was taken aback, not only by the words, but by the anguish in the boy’s voice. She had never seen him anything but sullen and angry. The words made him seem younger and more vulnerable. From the doorway she watched him run toward the school and disappear behind the dense hedge of mountain lilac.

  * * *

  “Jenny! Jenny! Somebody comin’.”

  Beatrice’s shout came from the doorway. The child had been disturbed about the possibility of someone coming to stay with them. Will they be nice? Will they hit me? The questions her little sister asked tore at Jenny’s heart.
<
br />   In the smaller of the two sleeping rooms, Jenny looked around to be sure she had transferred all her possessions to the room she would share with the girls. Of course she wasn’t sure the Murphys would come, or if they would stay, or if she would want them to stay. After the near disaster this morning, she realized more than before that she had to have help, and that would mean sharing the cabin with strangers.

  Jenny and the two girls stood in the yard and watched the wagon and the rider approach. Trellis McCall came on ahead, stopped and dismounted beside the corral.

  “Morning.” Trell put his fingers to his hat brim.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hello, girls.”

  “We weren’t sure if you’d be back,” Cassandra said with her usual frankness. “Jenny’s been on edge. She almost burned the house down this morning. Whit came to our rescue this time.”

  “Sparks going up the chimney doesn’t necessarily mean the house would burn,” Jenny countered.

  Her eyes shifted to the two women on the wagon seat. The older one wore a sunbonnet with a tunnel-like brim that shaded her face. A dark shawl covered her shoulders. The only way Jenny could tell that the one driving the team was a woman was because her long black curly hair swirled about her head in the light breeze. She was dressed in men’s overalls and a faded checked shirt.

  Trell walked out and held the cheek-strap on the harness to still the team when the wagon stopped. The driver wrapped the reins around the brake handle and jumped to the ground. Without as much as a glance toward those who waited, she turned her back and guided her grandmother’s feet as the older woman backed off the wagon. When both women stood on the ground, they faced Jenny and the girls who waited beside Trell.

  Trell made the introductions, adding, “These young ladies are Cassandra and Beatrice.”

  “How do, ma’am?”

  “How do you do?” Jenny started to hold out her hand, then pulled it back and laughed nervously. “I don’t usually wear gloves. I smeared salve on my palms and the gloves are … sort of a bandage.”

  Colleen said not a word.

  “Come in. I’ll make tea. Cassandra,—” Jenny smiled down at her little sister—“made cookies.”

  “They ain’t good.” Beatrice blurted the information while looking up at Trell.

  “Well, what do you expect without eggs or butter or milk.” Cassandra’s tone was defensive. “They’re strips of piecrust with sugar and cinnamon. I called them cookies so Beatrice would eat them.”

  “But they ain’t good!” Beatrice insisted.

  “Honey, don’t make a fuss about it now. Let’s go have tea.”

  “Wait a minute.” Colleen put her hand on her grandmother’s arm when the older woman made to follow Jenny into the house. “We don’t need tea to decide if we’re goin’ to stay.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Jenny smiled, although she was afraid her face would crack from the blistering it had taken the day before. “Whether you go or stay, a cup of tea would be refreshing; and we would be more comfortable sitting down while we talk about it.”

  Trell had thought that Colleen would have made some effort to make herself presentable. Instead, the overalls she wore appeared to be even larger and more worn than the ones she had on the day before. He had heard Granny Murphy chide her gently. Her whispered reply had not reached him because they had moved away.

  “Let’s water the horses, girls.” Trell reached for Beatrice’s hand. “You coming, Cass?”

  The girl tilted her serious little face to look up at him.

  “’Fraid not, Trell. You’ll have to make do with Beatrice. This is a very important interview, and I’ve got to be sure Virginia doesn’t put her foot in her mouth and mess things up.”

  “I’ll help, Mr. McCall.”

  “All right, pretty little girl.” Trell swung the child up in his arms and set her on the wagon seat. “We’ll drive the team to the pond.”

  At the door Jenny stepped aside so that her guest could enter. After they were seated at the table, she poured tea in the thick mugs she had found in the cupboard.

  “I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Murphy,” she said quietly. “I know what it means to lose a loved one.”

  “Was yore pa gunned down right before your eyes by a cold-eyed, no-good warthog?” There was hurt and bitterness in Colleen’s voice.

  “No. Both of my parents were sick for a while.”

  “Then ya … don’t know.”

  “You’re right again. It must have been terrible.”

  “I’ve never seen a warthog,” Cassandra said quietly. “Someday will you tell me about them?”

  Colleen’s eyes flashed to the small girl, then back to Jenny.

  “McCall said you needed someone to stay here, keep the house, tend to the younguns while you teach the Indian kids.”

  “You don’t have to tend me, Colleen,” Cassandra said. “I’m old enough to tend myself. Beatrice is four and, well, she needs tending.”

  Both women looked at the youngster, who sat with her elbows on the table. Jenny started to correct her sister for calling Miss Murphy by her first name but changed her mind. If they stayed, they might as well get used to Cass.

  Jenny’s eyes moved over Colleen and away. She didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Trell had said that she wasn’t ugly. She was really very pretty. Her flawless skin, tanned by the sun, would not be considered pretty back East where milk white skin was what most women desired, but the soft tan complemented her light blue eyes and dark lashes. Her hair, black as Whit’s, was thick and curly and hung down her back without benefit of clasp or ribbon.

  “I think you should know something about my situation here. It will help you decide whether or not to accept my offer.”

  “Don’t tell them too much, Virginia. They might leave and, frankly, I don’t think my stomach can endure another one of your meals.”

  Her complaint brought a small smile to Colleen’s lips, but she wiped it from her face quickly as if it were disrespectful so soon after her father’s death.

  Jenny spoke of learning of Walt Whitaker’s will and that being a teacher, she decided to come here. She told them she was unaware that Stoney Creek Ranch was so isolated and that so much, other than teaching, would be required.

  “McCall said the agent was tryin’ to run ya off. Why’er ya stayin’?” Colleen’s clear eyes looked directly into Jenny’s.

  “Because I want something for myself and my sisters that I have earned with my own two hands.”

  “And mine,” Cassandra added and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “And yours.” Jenny smiled proudly down at her sister. “Thank goodness Cassandra soaked up information back home about how to unhitch the team or they would have been standing there yet.”

  “What you’re sayin’ is that you want me’n Granny to stay here and work for eats and a roof over our heads. The agent that sent the men out to kill Pa won’t want us here.”

  “I was employed by the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Washington. The agent has nothing to say about who stays with me here on the ranch. As soon as I can get a letter to the Bureau, he will have less say about anything here. The man is a crook!”

  “Seems not many folks ’round here know that.” At Jenny’s forthrightness, Colleen’s resistance softened a bit. “Granny was the best cook in the county back in Missouri when she had the fixin’s to work with. What did ya have in mind for me to do?”

  “Help me do whatever has to be done. Mr. McCall said he would bring a rope and pulley and fix the well, so that’ll be taken care of. I’ve got the schoolhouse to clean out and get ready for classes. We need a cow and chickens, and … I suppose it’s too late to put in a garden. There’s a root cellar out there that I’m afraid to go into—”

  “Suppose ya get tired of me and Granny. Would ya send us off in the dead of winter?”

  “Suppose you get tired of us. Would you pull out, desert us, leave us here alone without a hope of finding s
omeone else to stay with us?”

  Cassandra made a face, waving her hand in front of it like a fan.

  “You’re being dramatic, Virginia. If you say something that makes them leave, I’ll never forgive you.” She moved around the table to be closer to Mrs. Murphy. “I always wanted a granny. If you stay, can I call you Granny like Colleen does?”

  “Of course, child.” Granny’s work-worn hand cupped Cassandra’s cheek, and a pleased smile brightened her weathered face.

  “I can offer you a small salary in addition to your room and board.” Jenny continued the conversation as if her sister hadn’t spoken.

  “We’re not fancy folk, ma’am,” Mrs. Murphy put her arm around Cassandra who leaned against her knee. “But we always had our own place. We ain’t never lived in the house with other folks.”

  “I’ll tell ya right up front, I won’t have my granny bossed around and treated like a slave.” Colleen’s eyes were hard as they looked into Jenny’s.

  “She’ll never be treated as such. We will share the work. Cass and Beatrice will do what they can. You can have one room, the girls and I the other. Mr. McCall said he would come and build in a bunk—”

  “Colleen, do you like Trell?” Cassandra asked from close beside Granny Murphy. “His name is Trellis, but he said that I could call him Trell.”

  “Honey, must you ask such personal questions?” Jenny’s voice was calm, but her face showed her exasperation with her sister.

  “Why not? I asked him if she was pretty, and he said she wasn’t ugly. I couldn’t tell if he was sweet on her or not. I want to know if she’s sweet on him.”

  Jenny looked quickly at Colleen to see if she was offended. She wasn’t smiling, but there was an amused gleam in her eyes.

  “Ya think I’m goin’ to take him away from ya?”

  “I’m too young for Trell. If I was older I’d set my cap for him.”

  “Ya’d probably land him, too.”

  “I don’t know about that. Men don’t like me much.”

  “They will when yo’re older.”