“What do you know how to make?”
“I can make Johnny Cake, cornpone, or coffee, and lots of other things but I don't think you have the ingredients for them.”
“I suppose you can make up the cornpone, while I make the coffee and beans.”
“Aw, let her have a chance, Jip. What could be worse than your cooking?”
Jip glared at Hank.
“Just sayin’!” he answered nonchalantly as he went to check on his horse.
Jip was muttering under his breath. “They make me do the cooking and then complain about it. Just because I am the only one with experience. Duty shirkers. I guess you can make the cornpone if you want."
Grace hid a smile as she concentrated on mixing the cornpone. When Jip turned his back to mess with the cantankerous coffee pot, Grace took a few pieces of salted bacon and borrowing the knife he had left out, cut it into little bits, dumping it in the bean pot and stirring them well in with a spoon.
“Hey, those are mine. You mind that cornpone there, or I won’t let you finish.”
“Sorry,” Grace replied, keeping her amused eyes on the task at hand.
As the meal was nearly done, the other girls began to rouse from dreamland and look about them puzzled.
Look who are the lazy bones today? There so many insults I could lay at your door thought Grace. Ha, wouldn’t the lot of you love it if I threw that Sleeping Beauty insult at you now. I should like to see you blush, the whole lot of you, but that would be unnecessarily cruel, just like you.
“My, my, isn’t it a surprise to see you up early,” said Crystal with a sniff.
I could say the same thing about you, thought Grace, but kept a steady eye on her cornpone instead.
“You are helping make breakfast?” asked Harriett, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.
“Make sure you don’t burn yourself or anything else,” chided Francine.
Great now I am bound to burn myself. Are you sure you don’t want burned cornpone? It tastes great. Good thing you can’t read my thoughts; you would be so mad at me. Why can’t you ever just be kind! Would it really hurt your pride or whatever it is that much?
“Keep your skirt far away from the flame; that is the most dangerous part of cooking I have heard,” said Crystal.
You must really want to see me go up in flames, thought Grace. She noticed Jip looking at her.
“I can finish; you take a break. You have helped me more than enough,” interrupted Jip.
Now you talked me out of a job, and I have nothing to do but listen to your pointless babble.
“How does my hair look?” asked Francine, leaning over to Crystal.
“Like you really need to do it. How does mine look?”
“Bad as mine I am guessing.”
“How are we supposed to do out hair in front of the men?” asked Harriett leaning into their conversation.
“I don’t know! I mean…it is just embarrassing.”
Embarrassing? Hmm, interesting I suppose you don’t want to show them how vain you are about your hair or how much you care about looking pretty for them and not having a looking glass?
A smile twitched over her lips as Grace turned to face the prairie and not the men; she unbraided her hair running her hands over and through her hair it to smooth out the few snares.
“Uh! That is so vulgar!” said Crystal with a shake of her head.
Vulgar? Really. I doubt the two minutes that I am going to have my hair down is going to make them think ill of me. Besides, when it is done I will be more comfortable than you; and all of your fine fashion plate look that lets loose hairs fly about in your face. In a minute her hair was pulled back in a braid.
Just then Jip called out that breakfast was ready. The four girls stayed to themselves, having been given extra provisions from Betsey, which they considered far more edible than whatever Jip was serving for breakfast.
Sitting around the fire, the men ate the meal appreciatively.
“What did you do to my beans?” Jip asked turning sharply at Grace.
Uh, oh. I might have just burned a bridge. “Bacon?” she replied with more of a question than an answer in her voice.
“Hmm…I see.”
“You should let her cook more often,” piped Clancy.
Jip flashed a glare that hushed him.
Though Grace had made enough cornpone, there didn’t seem to be enough to go around as seconds and thirds were asked for.
~~~~~
As they packed up, camp Jip walked up to Mitch. “Don’t suppose you mind taking a girl behind you again today? I just looked at Reno. He still seems to be favoring his right foreleg just a little.”
“I completely understand.”
“Besides, I don’t need any of her cooking tips. Bacon in your beans…” he grumbled, stalking off.
When Mitch mounted, he noticed none of the girls came near him but gravitated towards the other men. Well, I guess pouring water over her face wasn’t such a bad idea after all. It was a bit cruel of me, but I knew she was faking it; I couldn’t think of an easier way to break it to her.
Grace sort of stood on the sidelines timidly looking between Jip and him. Mitch answered her question. “Grace, you are with me.”
She neither hurried nor dragged her feet to his side and took his hand without looking up into his face.
Mitch noted how she took his help with no acknowledgment that it came from him, no thank you. Nothing. His mind raced back. Grace had never said thank you to him, ever. She ignored his existence as much as possible. She must hate me or at least men. Why? What happened?
As they got under way, Grace’s voice whispered in his ear, “Did I hurt Jip?”
Hurt? Not offend. Hurt. Of all the times to care, why now? “I figure he’ll get over it.”
“That’s what they all say.”
The bitterness and pain in her voice shocked him. What hurt festers in your soul?
Chapter 9
Mitch rode on in silence his mind racing. Keeping his voice to a low whisper, he asked, “What happened, Grace? What hurt you?” He felt her push away from him a little bit. Distancing herself from him. She can’t go very far, or she’ll fall off. He realized he had her in the perfect spot, alone yet surrounded by people; it was a safe environment. The pounding of the horse’s hooves would tromp out their whispers.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she whispered.
“Something has hurt you. What is it? I know it is more than just the girls at school.”
Mitch felt Grace’s body reverberate with shock at the question. Her hands loosened on his belt, pulling away from him. He caught one of her hands and pulled her closer. I can’t let you fall off just because you want to get away from me. Her hand was limp and cold in his. Mitch ran his thumb along her knuckles; she pulled away once again, resting her hand on his gun belt. His gun belt. The girls’ say she knows how to shoot. The last thing I need is for her to get upset enough to use one. Mitch wondered how he had reached such a conclusion. She is just a girl. A hurt and wounded girl.
Casually, he let his hand drift near her hand resting on his gun belt. Grace’s hand dropped, brushing the handle of his pistol then rose to his belt, away from his gun belt and pistols. At least now I will have a warning, he thought. What would she do once she got one, though? It made no sense but still he felt more secure. He asked the question again.
“What’s hurtin’ you, Grace?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Her voice was sterile in its calmness. He had touched on something forbidden. Mitch noticed the way she had contradicted herself. Nothing was the matter, and the nothing was so bad she didn’t want to talk about it. There was something.
“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
An emotional wall was built between them shutting him out. Mitch, you are walking yourself in circles trying to find her. She doesn’t want you to be found, God help me, guide me through the forest of her he
art.
A half hour passed. Her hand left his belt. Mitch’s body stiffened. Nothing happened. A small moan came from behind him. He turned to see Grace rubbing her temple. Pain was in her eyes. Physical, not emotional.
“You all right?” he asked, turning around.
“Fine,” she muttered, not seeming to really care what she answered.
Mitch handed her the canteen. “See if this helps.”
“Thanks,” she barely murmured.
Not characteristic…something is up, she must not be feeling well that, or she is playing. He felt that she was capable of faking most anything after the French episode.
In a little, while her head came to rest between his shoulder blades with a whimper. Something’s wrong, she avoids contact if at all possible. His fingers brushed her hand; it was cool and damp.
“What is up, Grace?”
Seeming to recollect where she was and exactly what she was doing she pulled away. “Nothing.” With a groan, she rested her head against him once again. “I don’t feel well.”
“What kind of not well? It doesn’t have anything to do with Jip’s coffee does it?” He had noticed that she barely touched that and it had been particularly bitter today.
Grace laughed and then moaned again. “No, I don’t think so.”
That is the first time I have heard her laugh. It was pleasant, she should laugh more often. “Do you think you could drink some more water?”
“I think that might make me sick. My head is dizzy. I don’t know if I can see straight.”
“There should be some sort of stream coming up here soon, we’ll stop there.”
Sure enough, in fifteen minutes they had reached a trickling stream. In a moment the men had dismounted. However, Grace waited with the rest of the girls for assistance this time. Grace wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but the next moment she was leaning against a tree, and Mitch was fanning her with his hat. She blushed and pulled her knees in, resting her head on her them. Closing her eyes, she wished the world would stop spinning.
“What is the matter, Mitch?” asked Clancy coming to Mitch’s side.
“She is tired, and the sun is getting to her. Would you mind being the breeze while I water Danny?”
“Sounds good to me,” said Clancy sitting beside her fanning the both of them with his hat.
When Mitch came back, he handed Grace his bed roll “Put your head on this. We are going to stop here a while. Jip is going to make us a little something fresh to eat, so you just rest, all right? Keep an eye on her Clancy? I will be right back.”
Grace nodded resting her pounding head on the bedroll. At first, it ached worse, then the pounding slowly subsided to a dull roar, and she eclipsed into a restful sleep.
In an hour Mitch woke Grace with a gentle shake. “Do you think you could eat something?”
Grace nodded; food sounded good. She noticed how quiet the camp was. “Where are the girls?”
Mitch smiled. “Well, there is a quiet spot upstream that looks like it could be a looking glass. It is far enough away to give them privacy but not so far they’ll get themselves into trouble. I hope. They have been up there for nearly an hour. I am going up to get them now.”
“You better whistle, to let them know you are coming.”
“Will do.”
The girls returned and their babble with them. Grace laid back down to rest and shut out the sound. In what seemed like no time, everything was packed up, and Mitch was telling her it was time to keep moving. As she sat up, he lightly clapped his hat on her head.
“We don’t have any parasols, so I am afraid this is going have to do. Hopefully, it will keep your headache from getting any worse.”
“I can’t take your hat.” She said, pulling it off her head.
“Sheriff’s orders.”
Grace sat there puzzled, looking up into his face, wondering if she should protest. His face said there would be no further objections. Her gaze dropped. Mitch offered her his hands to help her up. Instead, Grace put his bedroll in his hands and pushed herself to her feet. Just because you are the sheriff doesn’t mean I have to obey everything you say; after all, being an independent girl isn’t a crime. Well, depending on who you talk to. At least, it isn’t one you can arrest me for. A second later her conscience smote her. He had been so kind and thoughtful shouldn’t she—No. I can’t. It will only lead to someone getting hurt. Keeping him at a distance can’t hurt him or me no matter what kind of person he is.
Chapter 10
Mitch mounted and offered Grace, his hand. Now, there is one form of assistance you can’t ignore, can you? It is going to take time. Time I don’t have, but maybe I can be the door to someone else helping you.
Grace ignored the comments about Mitch’s hat rudely made by the girls. So what if it looks masculine? I mean it is a man’s hat; what else is supposed to look like? A sunbonnet? Can you see him walking around in that can you? He couldn’t doff that very well to the ladies, now could he? Grace glared daggers at them via the back of Mitch’s shirt; that couldn’t see and report exactly what she thought about things at least.
The day grew long and towards evening a thunderhead swept up in the west. A search for shelter immediately went into action, and an abandoned shack was found to wait out the storm. The storm raged on well into the night, and nine people found the cabin a very snug place to sleep. In the morning the prairie seemed fresh, and greener than the day before.
Mitch moved his men into action after a short inspection of the sky convinced him there wouldn’t be any more weather like that in the near future. Mitch smiled as he tasted Jip’s beans; they had bacon in them. Maybe he is coming around to a few new ideas. It wouldn’t hurt any of us if he did. He glanced at Grace, there was a subtle smile on her face. As the men started to take their dishes out, Jip complained. “You try something new, and no one appreciates you. I guess the beans were better the old way.”
A chorus of appreciations flooded him, and Jip smiled. Mitch shook his head. However, as they were readying to leave, Jip once again slipped beside Mitch.
“I am still not so sure how Reno is doing…I mean.”
“You don’t want her getting any ideas about breakfast this morning?” Mitch asked with eyebrows raised.
Jip looked at him puzzled.
“I have her. Don’t worry Jip.”
“Thank you,” and Jip stalked away.
“He’s still not over what I did, is he?” Grace asked coming up to Mitch.
Mitch thought a minute before speaking as he checked Danny’s saddle straps. What he had said yesterday about Jip getting over it had been volatile to her. Maybe she likes Jip. Then he looked at Grace. She was looking at him, not Jip who was only a few feet away saddling Reno. “He doesn’t take well to new ideas. Especially, if they are improvements on him.”
“I see.” said Grace with a flash of almost mischief running through her eyes.
What is she up to? Mitch wondered mounting.
~~~~~
Grace stood there patiently waiting. She wanted this trip to be over and done with. Once I get to Esperanza Springs, I’ll pick up my letter, and buy my ticket for the next coach out. Anywhere it is going, I am taking it, I am gone. Then I will meet Mother and Father, whom I haven’t seen in three and a half years. Well, a little more than that but that doesn’t really matter. Twenty-four letters from them, a dozen from Ryan, so thirty-six letters in all of those years. Seventy-two from me to them; that was just my first year and one for every month of the year after that. Progress reports. I really don’t know much about them anymore. Will they be like strangers?
“Grace.”
Mitch broke into her thoughts, and she looked up at him startled. “Yes, sir?”
Yes, sir? “Here,” He was offering her his hat.
“Oh,” a smile played for a bare second at the corner of her mouth as she put it on her head. Her smile died as she took his hand and mounted behind him.
~~~~~
&
nbsp; Where was she? Mitch wondered, glancing over his shoulder to catch her expression. It wasn’t there now. That look was so far away, but she snapped out of it so quickly; I said her name once, and she was there.
“So where did you learn to cook? I guess they didn't teach you anything like that at school,” said Mitch.
“I used to cook with my mother, and sometimes I’d spend time with the cook at boarding school when I was having a bad day.”
I wonder how often that was.
“How much further to Esperanza Springs?” she asked him, startling Mitch just slightly.
“We might be able to reach there today.”
Almost an hour after they had started out. Grace unexpectedly turned to Jip.
“Jip, I was wondering.”
He looked at her, a little leery. “Yes.”
“When I made the cornpone a few days ago. Do you think I added to much water? I mean…” and she ran on to give him the recipe in exact detail. “What do you think?”
“You might have used too much water, maybe a little too much lard too. I am not sure.”
“Well, I guess we’ll never know,” she said with a sigh.
Mitch tried to hide his smile though it was reaching near impossible. Someone has tact he thought. Maybe we’ll get a good cornpone out of him yet. I wonder if that was the mischievous thought that sparked in her eyes. If it was, it was worth her while.
As the day spiraled on towards noon they reached a river; it was swollen, turbulent but not angry.
“Can we cross?” asked Clancy.
“Not sure. It would be best to see if there is a smoother spot up or down stream. I would be willing to ride a bit to see if it is possible. Jip, why don’t you stay here and cook up some of what we have left. The fewer supplies we have to try to keep dry the better.”
Jip will stay here and keep the girls safe; Hank, you come with me; Clancy, Clem head upstream. Be back here in an hour.
“You mean there aren’t any bridges around here?” asked Francine dismounting.
“Not in this country there ain’t,” laughed Hank, as he steered his horse towards Mitch, and they headed downstream.
Sufficient Grace Page 5