The Dolan Girls

by S. R. Mallery

  “Why in the world not?”

  The madam looked down into the confused girl’s face and gently stroked her hair. “You’re too young now, kotik. I vill tell you ven you’re older…”

  * *

  That night in the parlor, the pace was slow; the mood, curiously somber. All in all, it had been a sluggish day and night. A lot of the cowboys had wandered over to a local horse auction, several of the ‘regulars’ had chosen to stay home with their wives and children, and the few ‘potentials’ had fallen flat. The girls, bored and frustrated, had taken to playing cards and lapping up real whiskey, not the usual sugared tea they used with clients, while Minnie stayed in the kitchen amongst the pots and pans, thinking up menus for the following week.

  “Is Ellie already in bed?” Cora asked Pete as she straightened up.

  “I do believe she said she wanted to retire extra early so she could get up at the crack of dawn. The early bird catches the worm, so to speak.”

  “But why so early? Perhaps she has papers to correct.”

  “What is it, Cora? Between you and me, you seem a bit long in the mouth. Such a blue inner light from her eyelids outbroke, You looked at her silence and fancied she spoke.”

  She looked over at him. “And who wrote that?”

  He patted the settee pillows and motioned her over. “Elizabeth Barret Browning. Now, sit, and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  She took a seat beside him and gave out a long sigh. “I’ve been thinking recently.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Well, no, not really. I’ve been thinking about Thomas. I mean, I sometimes still wonder why…I mean, I wonder what he’s up to now,” she finished, unable to ask her real question out loud. Why had he abandoned her right when she needed him so badly?

  “Ah, Cora, my dear, dear girl. You know, after you had your, well, you know.” He started to sniff.

  “Oh, Pete. I’ve never blamed you for what happened.”

  He looked at her for a second and sighed. “You’re a truly good girl, then. Better than most. As I was saying, I heard somewhere that when Thomas signed up, he was assigned to an outfit that ended up fighting the Texas Rangers. Now, to me, there’s no fiercer group than those fellows. Word came out Thomas’ troop got wiped out. In other words, I’m certain he never made it, Cora.” He paused. “I’m truly sorry.”

  She dabbed at one eye with her embroidered handkerchief.

  Putting his arm around her, he gave her a light peck on her cheek.

  “Time to move on, Cora, honey,” Minnie said softly from the doorjamb. “Time to move on from ghosts.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  1883: Different Encounters

  By the time Ellie made her way over to the stables, the sun was well above the horizon. That morning, a couple of the doves had remarked how the chilly air signaled their summer might be ending sooner rather than later, but she firmly believed in the age-old adage, “only time will tell.” With that phrase in mind, she approached the complex of barns. A horse whinnied nearby, and from its loud presence, she figured it must be stationed in the main corral, not holed up in one of the warm, snug barns.

  Leaning against the main corral’s fence, a lone male figure stood with his back to her. Immediately, she recognized Brett from his broad stance and the same hat he had worn the day before, but within seconds, the horse he was observing also captured her full attention. A magnificent looking palomino, it was one of the prettiest she’d ever seen. Its movements were jerky, almost frenzied, as it shook his head and pawed the dirt with its right front hoof, and when Brett climbed up onto the corral’s fence, she leaned in, eyeing both man and beast carefully. For the longest time, the broncobuster sat there on top of the wood railing, and she wondered if he was even aware of her presence, but he never turned around, so she stayed put and watched, curious.

  All of a sudden, Brett dropped down into the corral and the Palomino backed up with a loud snort, its ears twitching slightly and pointed so far back, they almost lay flat against his head. Ellie waited to see what the trainer’s first move would be as he leaned against the fence assessing the horse, his hat cocked off to one side, his right hand cupping his eyes against the rising sun.

  Her only memory of someone breaking a horse had not been pleasant. Ropes, whips, and a wide sycamore stick had been integral parts of the trainer’s equipment, as he lashed out at a wild mustang. To this day, she could still remember the bronc fighter’s red, blustery face, the horse’s wide-eyed terror, and how, at the time, she had let out a sharp cry.

  Her stomach now in knots, she steeled herself against what was sure to follow and waited for the worst. But Brett surprised her. Approaching the golden horse bare handed, he alternated between soft clicking sounds and “hey fella, hey fella” with long pauses in-between. Every time he saw the horse’s ears curl forward, he would take another step. If they flipped backward, he would pause his stride. Forward. Stop. Forward. Stop. He advanced, adjusting his pace as if there were at least forty-eight hours in a day.

  Finally, he simply stood next to the horse, humming some song in a low, seductive timbre. When the horse snickered, he did the unthinkable. He leaned against the palomino’s side. No commands, no hits, not even a rolled-tongue clicking sound, just the gentle pressure of his body on the horse’s belly. Slowly, he placed both his palms on its side, then inched them up toward its neck. The horse’s ears stayed vertical, so he ventured further. He stroked its neck repeatedly, until the horse tossed out a big sigh. With that, Brett slowly heaved his body perpendicularly across the horse’s back. Then, although there was no protest, he slipped back down again to wait for any negative reactions. When none came, he hoisted himself up again, only this time, he used some clicks and grabbed a hold of the mane. When the horse’s ears shifted backwards, he lowered himself onto the ground again and waited. But the horse tried to nudge him tentatively, so he hoisted himself onto the horse’s back again and held onto the mane.

  “That’s why Buffalo Bill Cody hired him, you know,” came a soft, feminine voice from behind Ellie.

  “I beg your pardon?” Ellie turned to face a pretty young woman dressed in a plain, no-frills beige dress topped off by a cowboy hat.

  “He sure is bone-seasoned,” the woman added. “Why, everyone knows he’s the best in the business.” Her smile was as infectious as her smooth, ladylike voice.

  “Business?”

  Her chuckle was reminiscent of delicate chimes. “Why, the horse wrangling business. I wouldn’t have any other feller take care of my horses, I can tell you that.”

  “Interesting. Are you part of the new Wild West show?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”

  “How about that! What do you do for the show, might I ask?”

  “I guess I do a little target shooting.” Her little, genteel wink was even more infectious, and as Ellie extended her hand, Brett came over.

  “Done for the day, Brett?” the woman asked.

  “Yes, no need to push him any further,” he answered, his eyes locked on Ellie as he tipped his hat.

  The woman noticed his new focus. “Planning on using that big corral up on the ridge Bill got for you?”

  “Yes,” he answered, nodding. “As soon as the horses are ready to walk around and try some tricks, I’ll take ‘em up there. That’s where I’ll do the heavy trainin’ while we’re here.”

  “What big corral? Where?” Ellie asked.

  The woman and Brett pointed collectively toward a ridge in the distance.

  “That’s the Ambrose place,” Ellie said. “Folks say they got the best spread during the 1856 Land Rush, but frankly, I’m surprised they offered it to you, even for an hour, much less a week or two.”

  “Some money did exchange hands. That always helps, doesn’t it?” the woman laughed and extended her hand. “Annie’s the name. Annie Oakley.”

  Ellie gaped at the woman. “The Annie Oakley? My mother is your biggest fan! Isn’t that a coincidence?�
�

  “Well, ladies, I do have to get this horse fed.” Brett again tipped his hat, his eyes still centered on Ellie.

  “His patience is remarkable, I must say,” Ellie said casually as he walked away. Inside, she wasn’t so calm. Goodness gracious. Those eyes. That face. Those shoulders.

  “This is nothing,” Annie said. “Just wait and see what else he does. Every morning he’ll be out here, getting that horse ready to be one of our best.”

  “I don’t think I will be able to be here to see it,” Ellie replied, her breath still a little shaky.

  “Oh?”

  “Teaching. I teach every morning.”

  Annie laughed. “At five or six in the morning? My goodness, your school starts earlier here than where I come from. All I can say is, don’t miss him; it’s a sight to see, it truly is.”

  “Perhaps,” Ellie murmured glancing off toward the barn before she wandered off.

  * *

  Sure enough, the next morning as Ellie nestled into a secret spot behind a hollowed out peephole, Brett had already begun his training. Hitched under his arm was some sort of roped bridle, so crude it looked more like a child’s toy. When he approached the horse, he made a different sound from the day before, but she knew he had earned the horse’s trust because it remained tranquil.

  Ellie expected him to toss the bridle over the horse’s neck next. That’s what she would do, but it didn’t happen. Instead, he looked up toward the sky, clicking and muttering, with a slight hold on the horse’s mane.

  The horse angled back toward him, but he ignored the move. He simply patted the horse’s neck and began cooing, as the horse blew air out of its nostrils and eyeballed him, as docile as a branded cow. Again, Brett looked skywards, this time raising his left hand, and while the animal stood idle, waiting, he quickly pitched the bridle over the horse’s head and clamped the roped bit around his mouth.

  “There, boy; there, boy,” he coaxed, still gentle, still soothing.

  Ellie grinned. A little psychological distraction goes a long way. He fascinated her.

  Once the rope was on, Brett had some control. If the horse turned away from him, he softly guided him back toward him by pulling the rope in the opposite direction. Over and over again, the broncobuster repeated this move, still patient, but more and more in charge. With the sun now well settled in the sky, she quietly turned and tiptoed away, her mind filled not with lesson plans or students, but with the unique techniques she had just witnessed. And who performed them.

  The next morning, he put the bridle over the horse’s neck in no time and within seconds the horse was being led around the corral as if he were the wrangler’s well-seasoned stud. Having learned Brett’s slow patterns, her eyes now strayed over to the rider’s movements––strong, confident, yet always low-key. He stroked the horse’s neck as he slowly hoisted himself onto its bare back, humming his songs. The horse gave a loud snort, and Ellie froze, but the ears were still forward, so she figured all was well.

  By the fourth morning, a full saddle and bridle were in place along with plenty of “Good fella, good boy.” She was tempted to lean out from her hiding place, but didn’t. Better not to let him know she was there, she reasoned. But when she took out Pete’s old watch and read six forty-five, she quickly gathered her wrap and stepped out of the barn to hurry away.

  “Miss Dolan. Hope after all this, you’ll at least see this horse at the show,” he called out, getting down from the horse.

  She pivoted slowly around and faced him. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”

  He sauntered over, removed his hat, and stood a mere two feet from her. “No need to explain. You watching me’s all right. More than all right,” he added, his blue eyes drawing her in.

  Fiddling with her collar, she cleared her throat. “Your patience is admirable, Mr. Parker. Pray tell, how do you manage it when other bronco busters don’t seem to be able to?”

  “I suppose to me, it’s all about the horse figuring out if and when I can ride him or not. Some things are just not meant to be pushed. Kind of like people, you know?”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Like people? Which people would you be referring to?”

  His hat replaced, he tipped two fingers to it and before he turned away, his wink instantly lodged itself under her skin.

  The audacity! How cocky he is with women! Then, without warning, “Oh, dear Lord,” escaped her lips.

  * *

  The next morning she decided a solo ride by herself would be just the right thing. No need to give him the impression of being so available.

  The sorrel knew her signals by heart, and as they galloped through the countryside, she soon forgot about the horseman. She had so many things to be grateful for: the students, Minnie, Pete, the ladies, and most of all, as difficult as she was sometimes, her mother, Cora.

  Riding full force, the wind biting her cheeks and lips, she was suddenly transported back in time:

  Oh, please, Mama.” She tried one last time as the driver climbed aboard the stagecoach and grabbed the reins. “Please don’t send me away!”

  The last three words were swallowed up by the click-click of the driver, the coach shifting, the team of horses snorting, and the wheels starting their slow grind out of town.

  Confused by its rider’s lack of guidance, the sorrel slowed to a light canter. Ellie, her face streaked with tears and paying little attention to their path, didn’t notice the upcoming low tree branches directly in their path. Before she knew what was happening, she was swiped off the horse, and her mount, catching its hoof in a slight hole, fell headlong onto the ground.

  She lay still in the dirt, dizzy and disoriented, as she listened to the high-pitched squeal of the horse. Turning her head, she could see it lying on its side, groaning, its right leg crumpled under its left, making her instantly fear the worst––a broken limb.

  Distant galloping hooves grew louder, becoming thunderous as it neared. Someone called out in a worried voice, “Miss Dolan! Are you all right?”

  Looking up, she saw Brett jump down from his steed and race over to her. As he knelt down on the ground beside her, she was surprised to see such concern painted across his face as he examined her.

  “Are you hurt? Can you move?” he uttered so tenderly, it made her blush.

  “I’m all right but my horse…” she choked, her eyes welling up.

  “I’ll see to him, but first, you. Can you sit up?”

  She took his outstretched hands, and when she let him pull her into a sitting position, their roughness felt surprisingly warm and comforting.

  “My horse. Please, my horse,” she whispered.

  “All right. Stay where you are,” he directed, before heading toward the half snorting, half neighing, red mount.

  The sorrel was quiet now, its eyes half-closed, its nostrils flaring with labored, uneven breaths. As Brett ran his hand over its legs to check for damage, it tried to nuzzle him until he touched the right leg. Then it let out another screech of pain. “There, fella, there, there,” he soothed.

  “Are you going to shoot it?” Ellie asked.

  “Of course not! Why would you even say that?”

  “Isn’t that what people do when horses’ legs get broken?”

  He nodded. “Yep, they do. But look here,” he said, pointing to the horse’s rapidly swelling leg. “See? It’s not broke, it’s only sprained.”

  From out of his back pants’ pocket he withdrew a bandana, and fetching his saddle canteen, first poured water over the cloth until it was fully soaked, then firmly tied it around the wounded leg.

  He continued to stroke the horse for a few minutes before standing up. “That oughta stop the inflammation. We’ll take this fella back with us to Mr. Hanson’s stable where I can keep an eye on him. I’m also gettin’ you into town to see a doctor.”

  “All right, thank you. And thanks about the horse.”

  “Well, we can’t leave him here.”

  Visualizing her s
tudents waiting for her, she started to protest about not letting them know about her, but one look at his determined face, and she kept quiet. Her students would just have to wait. Drained, she allowed him to lift her up and cradle her for a couple of seconds before placing her carefully onto his horse’s saddle and handing her the reins. Then, coaxing the sorrel up, he took those reins and slowly, slowly walked them all to town.

  On the way back, every few minutes he’d pause and ask the same question. “How you doin’?” Then check the sorrel’s leg.

  She’d nod or hold her thumb up, but her mind was busy, thinking about how wonderful he was to the sorrel, and wondering if her unsupervised students would behave. She also thought about being snuggled up against his chest, and how sturdy his arms felt as he hoisted her atop of his horse.

  “By the way, how did you know I was in trouble?”

  He took his hat off and combed through his long hair with his fingers. “I was up on the ridge taking a short break when I happened to look down and see you. Thank goodness.”

  “Yes, thank goodness, and thank Mr. Ambrose for being greedy enough to rent his property to your boss.”

  They both laughed.

  She commanded herself to speak, trying not to stare into his eyes for too long. “Can we at least go past the school so I can tell them there won’t be any classes today?” she managed.

  “Can I trust you not to change your mind and teach?”

  “Yes, sir!” She gave him a slight soldier’s salute.

  No longer jovial, he stopped and placed his hand gently on her right boot. “Ellie, this is for your own good, and the good of your horse.”

  She hung her head. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. We’ll head for the doctor and the stable. Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

  “Brett, please.”

  “Thank you, Brett. You’ve been very kind.” She chuckled when he give her a thumbs up and extended a tiny smile.

  That night was filled with bed rest and sharing compliments for her rescuer. As she lay under the covers, exhausted, Minnie and Pete gathered around, hailing the wrangler as a conquering hero.