Sweetwater

by Dorothy Garlock

  Linus sat on a chair with one foot propped up on the table. The kid was like a boil on his butt.

  “Get your feet off the table!”

  Linus’s foot came down with a loud plop. He glanced at Moonrock, who was hanging wet cloths on the line over the cookstove.

  “The next time I come out here and find horseshit a foot deep under the hitching rail and dirt and mud all over the store I’m going to kick your ass from here to yonder. Understand?”

  “What’s got you all het up? Ya ain’t said nothin’ before.”

  “I’ve said it. You just didn’t hear it. Now get the hell out of here. Linus,” he called as the boy started out the door. “I understand you had a set-to with the teacher. Stay away from her. Just let me know about every person that comes to Stoney Creek, and I want to know if that Whitaker kid crosses the line as much as a foot.”

  “She’s a snooty bitch. She was goin’ to blow my balls off.”

  “That would have been a great loss, I’m sure,” Alvin said dryly. Then, in a commanding tone. “Stay away from her.”

  “Old Ike’s been there three days.” Linus thought to throw in a little information to put Alvin in a better mood.

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “Helpin’. Him and that Murphy bitch fixed the well. Been workin’ on the smokehouse—”

  Hmm … Ike stayed out of sight while I was there.

  “Get on out. Moonrock’s waiting to blow out the lamp.”

  Alvin stepped through the door and into the other room. After the boy left, the Indian girl put out the lamp. When she passed him to go to her bed in the back of the store, Alvin grabbed her arm.

  “You’ve gotten to be a real pretty girl,” he murmured. She tried to pull her arm free, but Alvin drew her close. “Don’t make any noise,” he warned. She twisted until her back was pressed to his chest and muted frightened sounds came from her throat. “Shhh … I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see what you’re hiding here.” He wrapped his arms about the small struggling girl, nuzzled his face in the curve of her neck, and cupped a breast in each hand.

  “Be still, honey. You feel and smell like a woman. Have you been broken into yet?”

  His hands moved over her small firm breasts and squeezed, then one lowered, cupped her crotch, and pressed her hips against him. He worked his sex organ into the crack between her firm hips and it began to harden. He forced his hand into the front of her dress sending buttons flying. His fingers fondled her naked breast, stroked and pulled at her small nipple.

  “Sweet little thing. Pretty little gal,” he murmured. “Someday I’m going to suck these titties.”

  He found himself thinking about a slim auburn-haired woman with clear green eyes. His arousal grew. In the heat of his excitement, his mouth fastened onto Moonrock’s neck and he sucked vigorously.

  Finally, the sounds coming from her throat and the wetness of her tears caught his attention. He jabbed his rockhard sex viciously against her several more times and whispered a string of vulgar words in her ear. Then he roughly pushed her from him.

  His trembling fingers fumbled at the buttons on his britches as he hurried into the pitch-dark room where his wife waited.

  Chapter Eleven

  This morning after her visit to the outhouse that had been moved and made usable, Jenny stood outside the back door and brushed her hair. She loved this time of day. She had brought a fresh bucket of water to the kitchen as Colleen carried an armload of wood for the stove. Granny was cooking breakfast.

  As Jenny ran the stiff bristles of the brush through her long thick hair, she scheduled her work. By evening the schoolroom should be ready. She would ask Whit, once again, to take her to the tribal elders. Should he refuse, she would ask Ike. Between now and the time her pupils arrived, she wanted to make a trip to Sweetwater.

  A week had passed since Trell McCall had come to Stoney Creek. Every night she had added to the report she would send to the Bureau. Last night she had written about the visit from Havelshell. She had ended the report with the request that all her mail be sent to Forest City. She had also written to Uncle Noah asking him to inquire about a fund set up for Whit Whitaker’s college education, and to speak to his influential friends about having Havelshell removed as Indian agent of the Shoshoni reservation.

  She had not expected to like this wild beautiful land; but if something should happen that prevented her from fulfilling her contract and the land came up for auction, she would buy it. She had no idea what it would cost, but her inheritance was sizable; and if it was not enough, she was sure Uncle Noah would invest.

  She heard the whinny of a horse before she saw the rider slowly emerge from the fog. Jenny was aware that he was leading something, but she had eyes only for the man on the horse. He sat tall in the saddle and wore a hat with the brim rolled at the sides.

  Her heart began to flutter like a caged bird. She held the brush in both hands and pressed them tightly to her chest as Trell McCall rode into the yard leading a plodding white-faced cow.

  “Morning.” The dark gaze that fastened on Jenny’s face became soft and searching.

  “Morning,” she murmured. Her gaze met and held his in a moment of sparkling sweetness.

  “Found a cow along the way. Thought maybe she was yours.”

  “You know we don’t have a cow, Trell McCall! Where did you find her?”

  Trell dismounted. Winding the lead rope about his hand, he pulled the bawling cow forward.

  “Rancher between my place and Forest City had her. He already had one milch cow and the calf of this one. He didn’t need her so I took her off his hands.” He didn’t mention that he had traded a halter-broken mustang and a good iron-rimmed wagon wheel for her. The cow mooed again. “She needs milking.”

  “Whatever he charged I’ll be happy to pay.”

  “No money changed hands. I traded a broomtail I was going to turn loose on the range anyway.”

  “Thank you. It will be wonderful having milk again.”

  Colleen and the girls came from the house. Beatrice ran straight for Trell. He handed the rope to Jenny and scooped the child up in his arms.

  “My frog went to his mama and didn’t come back.”

  “We’ll have to find another one.”

  “It’s about time you got here, Trell. We’ve been looking for you every day.” Cassandra walked around the cow and jumped back when the cow began to let water. “Ugh! Who’s she for?”

  “She’s for all of you.” Trell greeted Colleen and then set Beatrice on her feet, all the while conscious of a pair of green eyes watching him. “But I got something for you and Beatrice.”

  Trell opened a cloth bag hanging on his saddlehorn and took out a brown-and-black bundle of fur. He held the puppy close to his chest. It whined and licked his face. He squatted down on his haunches. Cassandra came close and he shoved the little animal into her arms.

  “Every kid should have a dog.” He looked up at Jenny with a broad grin.

  “Oh, my.” For once Cassandra was too surprised to say more than, “Can … we keep him, Jenny?”

  “Of course. Every kid should have a dog.” Jenny echoed Trell’s words and her sparkling eyes caught his.

  “I … always wanted a dog. Margaret and Charles hated them.” The little girl hugged the puppy and rubbed her cheek against the soft, furry head.

  “Can I hold her?” Beatrice stroked whatever part of the puppy she could reach.

  “It’s a him,” Cassandra explained to her younger sister. “I noticed that right away.”

  The cow mooed. She was clearly in distress and needed milking.

  “Where shall we put her, Colleen?” Jenny said, suddenly remembering that her hair was hanging down her back. She handed the cow’s rope to Colleen, gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and tied it with a ribbon she took from her pocket.

  “In the shed, for now. I’ll get a pail and we’ll milk her.”

  “I got the pail.” Granny came
out followed by Ike. “From the looks of that full bag, she’s a good milker. Ain’t she, Ike?”

  “How in tarnation would I know? I’m a tellin’ ya straight and pure-dee, Miz. Murphy. I ain’t milkin’ no dad-blasted cow.”

  “I ain’t hearin’ nobody askin’ ya to, Mister Klein,” Granny retorted, then to Colleen, “Get me a box to sit on, child.”

  Colleen brought the box. “Careful, Granny. Way she’s fidgetin’ around, she may be a kicker.”

  “She ain’t no kicker.” Granny patted the cow’s sides. “She’s hurtin’ with that full bag. I allus was fond of a good milch cow.” Her bright eyes settled on Ike. “Ya ain’t too persnickety to clean out that cellar, air ye?”

  “Yer goin’ to put her in the cellar?”

  “Don’t be a clabberhead! We got to have a good cool place to store milk if I’m goin’ to be makin’ the milk gravy and buttermilk biscuits ya been hintin’ for.”

  * * *

  If Trell had thought about it, he would have been absolutely sure he had never been happier in his life. He sat with the family at the breakfast table and was the center of attention as he told about leaving his ranch during the early morning hours and leading the balky cow across the river.

  “She’s got a mind of her own. When she wanted to rest, she dug in her feet and stopped. I put her on a long rope. My horse didn’t like her much. She made too much racket to suit him.”

  “Some males are not at all tolerant of female discomfort.”

  Cassandra made the statement, then looked around the table with raised brows expecting a comment, but none came forth. By now, all were able to hide the amusement they felt when the child offered “words of wisdom.”

  What to name the cow and the puppy was discussed at length. It was decided to call the cow Sweet Betsy, in honor of the song that gave Ike his nickname. Cassandra was determined to give the puppy a dignified name. “Blackie” and “Spot” were scornfully rejected when they were suggested.

  “We should name him after a president. Ulysses S. Grant was our eighteenth president. We should name him Hiram.”

  “Why Hiram if you’re naming him after President Grant?” Jenny asked.

  “The president’s original name was Hiram Ulysses Grant. He evidently didn’t like Hiram. I prefer it to Ulysses. Everybody knows how to spell Hiram. Hardly anyone knows how to spell Ulysses. I don’t like him. He may have been all right as a general of the army because he had a lot of help from experienced military men. But he was a sorry president.”

  “I never knew his real name was Hiram.”

  “He was born in Ohio and christened Hiram Ulysses Grant. Later he changed his name to Ulysses Simpson Grant. Why, I don’t know.”

  The adults at the table were relieved to learn that there was something this child didn’t know.

  “If you don’t like him, why honor him by giving the puppy his name?”

  “The way I see it, Virginia, he should be honored that the puppy has his name after the mess he made of the government while he was in office. Besides he’s a Republican.”

  “Oh, dear,” Jenny said in mock horror.

  Later in the morning, Trell fastened the pulley he had brought from his ranch to the crosspiece over the well, ran the rope through it and attached a bucket. Ike was working on the smokehouse. When Trell needed help holding the crosspiece, he called for Colleen. Jenny and Cassandra were at the schoolhouse. Beatrice sat on the doorstone holding Hiram.

  “Are you and your granny gettin’ along all right here?” Trell asked Colleen.

  “We’re doin’ fine. We miss Papa—”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “I want to thank ya for bringin’ us here. Jenny and the girls has made us welcome. Granny’s in heaven havin’ the girls to fuss over.”

  From the door of the school, Jenny saw Trell and Colleen talking and laughing as they worked. They looked good together—like a team. Colleen still wore her overalls. Jenny had never imagined a woman could look feminine in men’s attire, but Colleen did. Ike was right; she was the kind of woman Trell should have.

  “Do you like him, Virginia?”

  “Mr. McCall?” Jenny answered quickly and whirled away from the door.

  “Who else?” Cassandra signed.

  “Of course.”

  “Would you consider marrying him?”

  “Flitter! I hardly know the man.”

  “You wouldn’t say so if you did. I think he likes you more than he likes Colleen. He looks at you a lot. Poor Colleen. It’s possible that she’s in love with him. I can’t tell … yet.”

  “Cassandra! Don’t say anything like that to Colleen or Trell. Promise me.”

  “Virginia!” the child replied in the same shocked tone. “I’ve not completely lost my mind. But at times I think you have. If you like Trell, set your cap for him. You’ll not find many men who would put up with me and Beatrice. I’ll not do anything to scare him off.”

  Jenny looked at the ceiling. “Lord, help me.”

  Later when Cassandra had gone to the house, Whit slipped silently in the door and stood looking around.

  “Whit, I was hoping you would come today.”

  “I not come till squawker go.”

  “Oh, my. I wish you and Cassandra got along better.”

  “Sneaking Weasel hides in the bushes and watches to see who comes here and if I cross over the line.”

  “Is he out there now?”

  “Under the bushes with white flowers.”

  “I know the place. From there he can watch the door of the school as well as the house and report to Mrs. Havelshell.”

  “She does not care who comes here. Havelshell cares.”

  “Does Linus have family around here?”

  Whit shrugged. “He come about time Havelshell come. He tell everything to him.”

  “Granny gave me a bar of lye soap so I could scrub the floor.” Jenny picked up a heavy bucket. “Excuse me, Whit. I must empty this water.”

  Jenny marched out the door, leaning to one side because the bucket she was carrying was so heavy. She went straight to where Whit said Linus was hiding and threw the dirty, soapy water into the bushes.

  Linus came out of the bush as if he were shot from a cannon, rubbing his eyes and swearing. His head and face were wet and he was trying to wipe the water from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Forevermore!” Jenny exclaimed. “What in the world were you doing under that bush?”

  “Ya goddamn bitch! Ya tryin’ to put my eyes out?”

  “Call me that name again and I’ll … smash your face with this bucket.” The humor suddenly went out of the situation and Jenny shouted. “You lowlife, sneaking … little weasel! Don’t you have anything better to do than crawl on your belly in the bushes and spy on people?”

  “I’ll wring yore neck—”

  “No!”

  Jenny heard Whit’s voice behind her and held her arm out to prevent him from passing her.

  “Don’t dirty your hands with him, Whit. He’s not worth it. He’s a poor excuse for a human being.”

  Jenny’s scorn lashed Linus like a slap across the face.

  “I ain’t no goddamn red-ass Indian lover!” he shouted.

  “You’re pitiful. I feel sorry for you.”

  Linus was fairly dancing with anger. Nothing had gone right since this prissy woman had come here. Alvin, in a sour mood, had left at dawn, and Arvella was like a bear with a sore tail. This morning Moonrock had disappeared. He had looked all over for her and wanted to go to her camp, but instead he had to come spy on the teacher.

  “Ya ain’t goin’ to stay here. Alvin ain’t goin’ to let ya. Ya ain’t nothin, but a town-but—”

  “Watch your mouth!” Trell’s voice came from beside Jenny.

  “What’er ya buttin’ in? Air ya hopin’ ter get ya—”

  “Shut up! If you wasn’t just a wet-eared kid, I’d give you the thrashing you deserve.”

  “Ya ain’t g
ot no say-so here.” Linus was as defiant as a cornered wildcat.

  “And you’ve got no manners. But I’ll not argue with you, boy. Stay away from the school. Next time you may get something a little stronger than a pail of water.”

  “She’s ain’t goin’ to be learnin’ them heathens nothin’. They ain’t comin’ to no damn school.” His hate-filled eyes settled on Whit.

  “You’re wrong,” Jenny said kindly. “They’ll come and I’ll teach them to read. I would teach you, too, if you’d come to school.”

  It was as if Jenny had handed him the ultimate insult. He spit in the grass at her feet.

  “I ain’t hobnobbin’ with no red-asses!”

  “You’d better go before I brand your butt with the sole of my boot.” It infuriated Trell that the stupid kid would throw Jenny’s offer back in her face.

  Linus found his hat under the bush and slammed it down on his head. He turned his angry eyes on Trell.

  “Ya’d better watch out, is what ya’d better do. I ain’t forgettin’ this.” It was his parting shot as he disappeared behind the thick screening of bushes.

  “I get angry at him, but I can’t help but feel sorry for him, too.”

  “Ahhh—” The sound came from Whit. “Offer him a hand and he bite you!”

  “I know. Whit, this is Mr. McCall. He has a ranch across the river and is a friend of ours.”

  Trell smiled and offered his hand. “Hello, Whit.”

  The boy hesitated, then stuck out his hand.

  “You helped bury Murphy. I watch … from reservation land.”

  “You’ve been a help to Miss Gray. It took guts to take out Havelshell’s dam.”

  “Guts? Took strong back.”

  “That too.”

  They walked back to the schoolhouse. Whit hesitated until Jenny put her hand on his back and gave him a gentle nudge. The boy needed a friend like Trell.

  “Did Linus have a horse? I didn’t see one.”

  “He have one. I untie and set on trail to agency. Sneaking Weasel walk.”

  “You did good, boy.” Trell put his hand on Whit’s shoulder.

  Jenny saw Whit flinch when Trell touched him. Trell appeared not to notice. He looked around the schoolroom. A map of the world and a picture of George Washington were on the wall. The room was clean … and bare except for a couple of broken benches.