Sweetwater

by Dorothy Garlock

  Cassandra shrugged. “I can wait. Well … are you setting your cap for him?”

  “I’ve not give it any thought.”

  “If you decide to, I can help you spruce up. I’m not sure a man like Trell would go for a woman in overalls.”

  “Cassandra! Enough of that talk!” Jenny’s face was flushed with embarrassment. “At times you try my patience.”

  “Don’t fault her, ma’am.” Colleen pushed back her chair and stood. Jenny noticed that her eyes changed easily; warm one second, cold as a blizzard the next. “I like folks that come right out and say what they think. Right now I’m thinkin’ we’ll stay a while. But, mind you, me and Granny can go on down the road if we start to get in each other’s hair.”

  Jenny got to her feet. “I accept your terms. And, please don’t call me ma’am. Call me Virginia or Jenny, whichever you prefer.”

  “We got to tend the mules and find a place out of the weather to put the things in our wagon.” Colleen went to the door and out into the yard.

  The next thing Jenny heard was the ring of an axe. Trell, hatless, sleeves rolled up, was working at the woodpile. He had pulled a deadfall up using the Murphys’ mules and was chopping off branches to cut into lengths for the stove or fireplace. Beatrice sat a safe distance away watching something on the ground.

  “Jenny! Cass! Looky what Trell finded for me.” She scooped something up, placed it in the palm of her hand. “It’s a baby frog!”

  “Oh! Ugh!” Cassandra, curious at first, turned away in disgust.

  Jenny bent over the small extended hand and with a gentle finger stroked the little creature’s head.

  “Ah, it’s a baby! It’s scared, honey. Its little heart is beating fast. You must let it go soon so it can find its mama.”

  Trell had stopped chopping the branches and watched Jenny come toward him. How gracefully her body moved under the soft linsey dress! A row of pearl buttons from neck to waist accented her high, firm breasts. Her smile, her nearness brought a funny tightening to his chest. Trell took a shallow breath and hoped to God she didn’t know the effect her magnificent eyes had on him.

  “They’re going to stay. Thank you, Trell. Oh, thank you!”

  Trell nodded and cursed himself for being so tongue-tied when he was near the woman. He sank the blade of the axe into the chopping block.

  “I sharpened the blade on Murphy’s grindstone. It’s best to keep it up off the ground.”

  He walked beside Jenny to the wagon, where Colleen was handing down bundles to her grandmother.

  “Is the room by the shed a good place for the things they don’t want to take into the house?” Jenny asked.

  “It’s the only place.” Trell propped open the door, and he and Colleen carried the heavy stove inside.

  Cassandra was more than willing to help Granny Murphy. She danced alongside her, chattering, as they made trips from the wagon to the house.

  The wagon was almost empty when Jenny’s eye caught movement. A buggy and a rider were approaching. She began to get a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Colleen took her rifle out from under the wagon seat and leaned it against the wheel.

  “Is it Mr. Havelshell?” Jenny asked Trell.

  “I can’t tell from this distance.” He squinted and stared. “But I don’t think so—”

  The buggy, pulled by a handsome high-stepping dapple gray came quickly into the yard. The escort riders stayed a distance away. After winding the reins about the brake handle, a pudgy little man with silvery white hair stepped down. Jenny went forward to greet him.

  “Good morning.”

  “Morning, my dear. I’m the Reverend Henry Longfellow.”

  “How do you do? Virginia Gray.”

  “And before you ask, yes, I am distantly related to the poet Henry W. Longfellow.”

  “You must be very proud of your famous ancestor.”

  “I am. Although it’s an honor to carry his name, at times it becomes a burden. Some folk expect me to quote long narratives from his Evangeline or The Song of Hiawatha.” When the little man laughed, his stomach jiggled. His eyes were a bright blue and merry, his clean-shaven cheeks rosy. “Frankly I can’t remember but a verse or two of each.”

  Jenny introduced him to the others and then invited him into the house.

  “Some other time, my dear. I’m expected at the agency. I could not come this close and not stop by to welcome you to our community and to invite you to attend church. We are exceedingly proud of our church in Sweetwater.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  The preacher looked at Colleen and Mrs. Murphy. “The invitation includes you ladies. I’m sure you understood that. Are you staying on here, Mr. McCall?”

  “No. My place is across the river, but I plan to come back from time to time.”

  “I can’t blame you. Two lovely ladies on one ranch. Ah … to be young again.” The Reverend Longfellow climbed back into the buggy. “I must go. It was nice meeting you … all of you. Come to church. It’s good for the soul.”

  The escort rider fell in behind the buggy as it left the ranch house.

  “At least there’s one friendly person in Sweetwater,” Jenny remarked.

  “Granny and I are cooking dinner,” Cassandra announced. “Are you staying, Trell?”

  “You betcha. You couldn’t pull me away with a team of mules.”

  Trell grinned; and when he did, Jenny realized that not only was he one of the nicest men she’d ever met, but that he really was quite handsome.

  Since he had met Jenny Gray, she had not been far from Trell’s mind. He admitted that he was rather pleased with himself for bringing the women together. It had worked out better and more quickly than he thought it would. After dinner of grouse and dumplings, cooked by Granny Murphy, (the grouse having been caught early that morning by Colleen), the women seemed to be more comfortable with one another.

  Jenny, very much a lady in her dress and clean apron, her hair pinned to the top of her head, took Colleen, in her pa’s overalls, hair hanging down her back, over to show her the destruction in the schoolroom. Colleen had been quiet, almost suspicious, at first. Trell could almost read her thoughts. Why is she doing this—giving us a place to stay, feeding us? How can we repay? Then she must have realized that a city woman like Jenny, alone on a ranch, was like a lamb in a pen with a coyote.

  What worried Trell was the gunmen who worked for Havelshell. He was reasonably sure the agent would see that they didn’t openly terrorize Jenny and the girls. He wouldn’t allow it for fear of the reaction of the Indian Bureau. However, this would not prevent his arranging a very clever accident that would rid him of the teacher. Havelshell valued his job. Trell suspected that he had more at stake and that it was tied to his job as agent.

  Colleen was another matter.

  Trell felt that as long as he was responsible for Colleen and her grandmother’s being here, it was only fair that he alert Jenny to the possible danger. He got his chance in the middle of the afternoon when she came to the woods that edged the homestead where he was tying a chain around a deadfall in preparation for dragging it to the woodpile.

  “Mr. McCall, may I ask you something?”

  “Only if you call me Trell.” He straightened up and grinned at her. “Folks out here don’t pay much mind to what’s proper.”

  She laughed at that, her eyes sparkling like a fresh green meadow covered with morning dew. He was so fascinated that he couldn’t look away.

  “Then you must call me Jenny.”

  Jenny! Jenny! I’ve been doing that in my mind since the day I saw you in Sweetwater.

  “Trell, do you know if the agent has the authority to whip a boy for stepping off the reservation?”

  “I’m not familiar with all the duties of an agent, but it doesn’t sound likely to me that he’d have that power.”

  “Whit’s in danger of suffering Havelshell’s wrath for taking out the dam his men had put in to divert the water from the
ranch buildings. I’m writing a letter to the Indian Bureau in Washington; but I’m afraid that if I post it in Sweetwater, Mr. Havelshell will intercept it.”

  “I’ll post it for you in Forest City.”

  “Will you?” Her shoulders relaxed in relief. “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll pick up your mail there if you want me to. Now, there’s something I want to tell you. Havelshell’s gunman may come after Colleen. He’ll try and get her away from the homestead and eliminate her as a witness to Murphy’s killing—” His voice trailed. Jenny glanced at him and saw that he was staring at something beyond her. “Stand still, Jenny,” he warned in a low voice. “Stand very still.”

  Jenny froze in place, moving nothing but her eyes. She watched Trell’s hand slide down to the scabbard that held his knife. He grasped the handle and brought it up slowly. Behind her she heard the rustle of dead leaves, then in a lightning move, Trell sent the knife flying past her. She gasped as he shoved her out of the way and grabbed a thick stake he’d been using on the deadfall.

  Jenny turned to see a large snake pinned to the ground by the knife. Its flat head and six inches of its body reared and swayed. Trell struck quickly, pinned the head to the ground with the club, pulled out his knife and cut the head from the body. The serpent in its dying throes tried to wrap itself about Trell’s arm. Jenny shuddered and turned away.

  After Trell had picked up the snake by the tail and thrown it into the bushes, he came to Jenny and put his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling.

  “Are you all right?”

  To his surprise she turned and wrapped her arms about his waist.

  “Oh, oh, oh—”

  “It might have crawled on off. I didn’t want to chance it.” He lied to comfort her. The snake had been coiling to strike.

  Jenny was a tall woman. Her head lay nicely on his shoulder and her face fitted into the curve of his neck. Her body, from shoulders to knees fitted tightly to his. Suddenly she realized that she was holding on to him and that his arms were locked about her. Although she had no memory of rushing into his embrace, she had an overwhelming sense of belonging there. She felt him in every nerve, every bone.

  Trell felt that heaven had been handed to him. His body heated and his blood surged. Here in his arms was the woman of his dreams. He closed his eyes and let his lips caress the wisps of her hair that blew across his face. Just a little longer! A little more to remember—

  “Are you all right … now?” His breath was warm on her forehead.

  Jenny moved back and looked at him. Her auburn hair framed her white face. Her eyes were large and bleak.

  “Will I ever get used to … this country?” She gripped his upper arms.

  “Of course, you will. You’ve done fine so far.”

  “I don’t know, Trell. I may have bitten off more than I can chew.”

  “You’re not thinking about giving up?” His gut tightened.

  “No. I can’t give up. I just wish I were as strong as Colleen.”

  “You’re stronger in some ways than she is. You’ll do fine.” He smiled down at her, and both of them were suddenly embarrassed. He dropped his arms from around her and stepped back.

  “Trell? You will come back?”

  “You can count on it. You’re not alone here, Jenny,” he said, his promise steadier than his voice.

  Chapter Eight

  “Sure ya can handle this team?”

  Colleen stood beside the wagon. She had hitched the two big sorrels to the wagon so that Jenny could ride to the reservation store. Whit was going along to show her the way.

  “I’m sure I can, although I’ve never driven a team. Whit will be nearby should I get in trouble.”

  “Ya ort to take my six-gun. That little peashooter ya got ain’t worth doodle-dee-squat.”

  Jenny laughed. “Not against a grizzly. Uncle Noah told me where to aim to cripple a man as effectively as if I shot him with a cannon.”

  “What if ya can’t get a line on their dicky-doo?”

  “Well … I’ll think of something. Oh, Colleen, I’m so glad you and Granny are here. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  “Reckon that store’s got dress goods?”

  “Whit says they don’t have much the Indians can trade their pelts for except knives and blankets. Are you wanting—”

  “—Not for me,” Colleen was quick to reply. “For Granny.”

  The girls and the Murphys stood in the yard and waved as Jenny put the team in motion and crossed over onto the reservation where Whit waited. She had dressed to intimidate if it became necessary. She chose to wear a dark green suit-dress with a white blouse, ruffled to her chin, and a matching brimmed hat with a dark red plume.

  Cassandra had approved when she saw her. “Playing the princess and the peasant? Good thinking, Virginia.”

  Not much could be put over on her sister. Jenny was sure that when she was gone, Cassandra would explain to the Murphys that by dressing in her finest, she would be viewed as someone of importance and would likely be treated as such.

  The wagon track was a narrow, deeply rutted swath cut through the dense, dark, cool forest. It was quiet and eerie. At intervals there were breaks in the interlapping branches overhead that allowed scattered patches of sunlight to shine through. Jenny would have been frightened if not for the presence of Whit on his pony. The team behaved beautifully. Whether it was due to Whit riding ahead or her hands on the reins, Jenny was not sure, but her confidence grew because of it.

  When Whit turned and held up his hand, Jenny pulled up on the reins to stop the team.

  “I leave you. Store not far.”

  “I was hoping you would go with me.”

  “I come, but not with you.” He gigged his horse and trotted back down the trail before she could reply.

  The agency headquarters was a group of unpainted plank buildings set in a clearing. A large heavy-pole corral held fifty or more head of cattle. A group of Indians on ponies waited outside the corral. At a hitching rail in front of the main building, a saddled horse stood patiently, head down, only occasionally stamping its feet to rid its legs of pesky flies.

  A man came out and leaned against a porch post to watch Jenny approach. As she neared, she recognized the boy, Linus, who had been at the Stoney Creek ranch house the day she and the girls arrived. She pulled the team to a halt in front of the store and backed down over the wheel to the ground. Linus stood chewing on a stick, not offering to assist, as a man would do if he had an ounce of manners.

  Jenny hooked a lead rope to the harness as Colleen had showed her how to do and tied the end to the hitching rail. Completely ignoring Linus, she tilted her nose and walked past him into the agency store. The interior was smaller than she had anticipated—cramped, dark and terribly dirty. Even at a glance, Jenny could tell that the sparse merchandise on the shelves was of poor quality.

  “What’a ya want?” Linus had followed her into the store.

  “Are you in charge?” Jenny gave him a haughty stare.

  “Nah.”

  “Get the person in charge, please.” She spoke crisply, turned her back and began to remove her gloves.

  A door opened at the back of the room. A short, immensely obese woman waddled in. A loose calico garment hung from her shoulders to the tops of beaded moccasins. Her light hair was pulled back into a knot at the back of her head. She didn’t speak, so Jenny did.

  “Hello. I’m Virginia Gray, the teacher at the school.”

  “I know who you are.” The small mouth above the triple chins seemed scarcely to move when she spoke.

  “And you are—?”

  “Mrs. Havelshell.”

  “How do you do? I’d like a word with Mr. Havelshell.”

  “He’s in Sweetwater.” Linus said from behind her.

  Jenny gave him an icy stare. “I was not speaking to you.”

  “La … dee … dah!” He grinned, showing wide-spaced teeth that appeared to be green near the gums.<
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  Mrs. Havelshell wedged herself behind the counter as if seeking protection. She made no move to offer assistance or extend any courtesy. She merely watched as Jenny looked around the store.

  When she returned to the counter, she opened her drawstring purse and took out the list prepared by Cassandra and Granny Murphy.

  “This is what I need.” She handed the paper to Mrs. Havelshell, who, without a word, held it out to Linus. The boy took the paper and scowled.

  “Ya know I can’t read this kinda writin’.”

  “What kind of writing do you read?” Jenny asked sweetly. “Shall I print it on a slate for you?”

  “Just say what ya want.”

  “So you can’t read. The school will be open in a few weeks. Come and I will teach you.”

  “I ain’t sunk so low I’d go to school with a bunch of red-ass Indians!” he bellowed.

  Jenny raised her brows. “No? Well. Remain ignorant; it’s your choice.” She turned and began to read her order to Mrs. Havelshell. “I would like a jug of vinegar, a can of baking powder and one of soda. Oh, by the way, do you know where I can purchase a milch cow?”

  “No.”

  “Chickens? I’d like a dozen laying hens.”

  “No.” The fat lady set two cans on the counter. “Linus, get the vinegar.”

  “While you’re at it, Linus,” Jenny said in a commanding tone. “Put a barrel of lamp oil in my wagon.”

  “A barrel?”

  “You heard me. Are you deaf as well as dirty?”

  “High-toned bitch—” he muttered as he stomped out.

  Jenny continued reading her list, aware that many of the items on it were probably not in the store. When she came to any such item, Mrs. Havelshell would shake her head.

  As she watched the woman waddle from one end of the small store to the other, Jenny had a hard time imagining her married to the well-dressed Indian agent she had met in Sweetwater.

  Mrs. Havelshell’s neck was enlarged by rolls of fat. She had been pretty … once. Now her cornflower eyes were made small by her fat cheeks. Jenny could not help but feel a twinge of compassion for the woman and tried to lighten the mood and make pleasant conversation.