Toby walked a little closer. “How do you do, Ma’am? I’m Toby, Whip’s boy.” He held a small hand out to Molly.
There was some throat clearing and averted eyes at this pronouncement. Whip inched closer to Heather and rested his hand on her shoulder.
Molly took the small hand in her oversized one. She could feel the thin bones in his, and he could feel the calluses on hers.
She held the hand while looking him squarely in the eye. “I’m Molly. Not Ma’am, not Mrs., not nothing but Molly.” She dropped his hand and waited for his response.
He wrinkled his small face, eyes narrowed suspiciously. He pursed his lips and squared his shoulders.
“If you’re from the orphanage, you can’t take us away. We’re Whip’s kids. He said so and he don’t lie. He tole me so. And Miss Heather promised me she wouldn’t let anyone hurt Jesse. You take us, and we’ll just run away again. We ain’t going back. I got me a horse and Jesse, why just look at Jesse. She’s lookin’ pretty. We got plenty to eat here. An there’s hay in the barn for our beds. An’ we’re no trouble. An’ I can work for Whip if I have to, but I’m supposed to be a boy, but I don’t need to be one, that is, I can take care of me an Jesse just fine.”
“Lord love a duck, take a breath young’un fore you pass out. Now you listen here. I ain’t from no orphanage.” Each word was emphasized and spoken so loud Cola raised his head from a particularly succulent blade of grass, and with ears up and big brown eyes at alert, gave full attention to the woman. A muscle flickered in his haunch.
“You ain’t?”
“Nope. I ain’t. I’m here because Miss Heather asked me to be here. I’m here to help you take care of Jesse if you’ll let me.”
“I don’t need no help. I been taken care of her real well. We don’t need anyone.”
“Couldn’t agree more.” And with those words Molly turned her back and took a step. “Darn shame, though.” She took another step. “Real darn shame. Guess I was wrong. I ain’t wrong too often, but guess I was. Well, I’ll just have to go lookin’ for another boy. Yep. That’s what I’ll have to do.”
Toby turned his head to the side. His ears were practically twitching as they quivered to hear every word Molly was uttering.
“What’s a darn shame, Ma’am?”
“Molly.”
“Molly,” he repeated, waiting for an answer.
“Molly, Ma’am. What’s a darn shame?” he asked louder.
“Why, the chocolate cake.”
“Cho-chocolate cake? You said chocolate cake?”
“That’s right, I did.”
“Uh, Molly Ma’am, there ain’t nothing that’s a shame about chocolate cake. I don’t mean no disrespect, but there couldn’t be a darn shame about cake, especially chocolate.”
Slowly, as if weighted by thought, Molly turned her ponderous body around until she faced the boy.
“Well, begging your pardon, Toby, but I call it a darn shame when I bake the best durn chocolate cake this side of the Rocky Mountains. Why, bears stop eating berries when they smell my cake cookin’. Snakes slither on their bellies just a beggin’ for a piece, a crumb. Fish jump outta the river and lay there flopping on the bank, their mouths opening and closing waiting for just one bite. Did I tell you I put chocolate icing on it? Yep, and lots of it.”
“Icing? Chocolate?”
“Yep. Well, it’s no never mind now. I’ll just be going. Got me no one here to bake for. No boy. I’m real partial to baking for boys. Like girls too, but I usually save the icing spoon for the boy. Darn shame. Real darn shame. And after that chocolate cake I was gonna stir up a batch of sugar cookies. Nothin’ like a warm sugar cookie to start a day out right.”
Molly turned again, and this time moved a mite faster in the direction of the wagon.
“Uh, Ma’am.” No response. “Uh, Molly.”
“Yes?” She turned around.
“I’m a boy.”
“That you are. That you are.”
He wrinkled his brow. The woman wasn’t making this any easier.
“I’m real partial to chocolate cake and, and icing.”
“Oh?”
“Well, I do like a sugar cookie every now and again. Just to start the day out right, you know.”
“I do. I do.” And she nodded her head.
“If you was to stay, I suppose I could be the boy. You know, the boy you save the spoon for. I could give it a good lickin’. You could bake those cookies too. Jesse, she ain’t never had a sugar cookie. I had me one once. Took it when the baker had his back turned.” He gulped back the words and cast a worried look at Whip. “It weren’t a whole one, just a piece,” he quickly explained, looking for forgiveness from the man standing so quietly by Heather.
“Hmmm.” Molly laid a plump finger against her lips, her face reflecting some serious thinking. “No, no. Thanks anyhow, but it wouldn’t work.”
“Wait,” Toby cried out anxiously. “Why wouldn’t it work?”
“Well, if I had me a boy. Now understand I ain’t saying I do, just if, then I’d expect him to live where I was living so’s he’d be around whenever I was stirring up something special, like chocolate cake. And if that boy had a sister, why that would just be icing on the cake.” With that, she bellowed out a chuckle. “Made a joke there, but it’s true, she’d be the icing all right. Nope, couldn’t have my two kids sleeping in a barn. Nope.”
“Wher-where would they sleep?” Toby’s voice was low.
“Why, with me at Miss Heather’s. She tells me she’s got a couple of extra bedrooms just waiting for me and a couple of kids.”
“Well, it ain’t us. We’re Whip’s kids.” Then he risked a glance at Heather.
“Oh, that’s okay, Toby. I understand. I really do. You can stay in Whip’s barn. Isn’t that right, Whip?”
“Huh?” He threw Heather a perplexed look. And then feeling a nudge in his ribs, responded, “Yeah. Barn’s fine. Course there’s mice. Not too many, but a few. You’ll need to pile on lots of hay. It’s scratchy, but Wyoming winters dip to twenty, thirty below. Still, you shouldn’t freeze. Maybe a finger or two would fall off but—” Whip was warming to the story.
“Whip,” Heather whispered a warning.
He grinned at her. “Well now, Heather, could happen. Ain’t saying it would, but it could.”
“Stop it. You’re scaring him to death.”
“Fingers?” Toby gulped.
“Fingers,” Whip affirmed.
“But-but—” Toby’s face was a stage of emotions. Each one, an actor flitting across it.
“Toby.” Heather jumped in to the rescue. “What I had in mind was you and Jesse would stay at my ranch and then you would ride Cola over every day so you could be of help to Whip, you know, be his boy. Jesse could come whenever she wanted. Until you got to be a better rider, though, someone would have to accompany you. But I think Whip and I could work that out. Right, Whip?”
“How, Heather?” It was Whip’s turn to look puzzled.
“I don’t know, Whip. We just will.” Each word was bitten off through clinched teeth.
Whip rubbed a hand over his face. Heather had the bit in her mouth and was running with it.
“Miss Heather,” Toby interrupted the byplay. “If I was to stay at your house, Jesse could stay too?”
“Of course, Toby. I’m sorry, I didn’t make that clear. That’s why we have Molly. She’d be like a, well like a mother?” she threw out the word questioningly to the listening boy.
“A mother?” His voice was low and barely carried to the waiting adults. “I heard me once a mother bakes cookies.” He looked up at Molly, her face a map of emotions, tears threatening to fall down her rough cheeks. “Probly sugar cookies.”
“Probably,” Molly said in what would have to stand as a soft voice for her.
A warm, sunny stillness hung in the air. A lazy bee buzzed. Cola switched his tail at a fly. The sound as it hit his sun-warmed back added to the concert of summer.
“Well.�
�� Toby broke the silence. “’Pears to me, Miss Heather and Molly Ma’am, you need a boy, too.”
Heather nodded, a sad yet warm smile on her face. Her arms ached to gather this boy/man to her. Little Big Man. Buster was right.
Molly cleared her throat. “‘Pears that way.”
Whip broke the spell. “You do understand, Toby, I’ll still need you here on the Powder River Ranch. I’ll still need you as my boy.” Whip had seen through to the boy’s heart and recognized the need. He’d been such a boy, desperate for someone to want him. For someone to need him. Buster Walking Tall’s family had done just that. The Lakota tribe had needed him.
“You will?” Sunshine washed over Toby’s face. “Well, then, Miss Heather, Molly Ma’am, I’d be real pleased to lend a hand with that spoon licking and staying in your house, sleeping on your real bed.”
It was settled. Well, maybe.
Toby spoke up again. “Course, Molly Ma’am, there’d have to be a spoon for my sister. She don’t need a big one ‘cause she’s little, but I do ‘cause I’m big.”
Chapter 31
It was as if Molly had been a part of the Circle C forever. She’d taken one look at the farmhouse, rolled up her sleeves, and made herself at home. In the process, she made a home for Jesse and Toby and a welcoming haven for Heather at the end of a long day.
Heather felt as if someone had reached down and plucked a 100-pound feed sack from her shoulders. She still had the responsibility of the ranch, but now, instead of feeling guilty because the house was neglected, she had a sense of freedom. She spent time, as it was needed, with her animals. She was free to work late into the summer evenings, taking advantage of every drop of daylight the long days provided. The fact that she was working harder than ever escaped her. She was doing what she loved, and Molly was more than keeping up the other end.
The problem of how to get Toby from one ranch to the other on a daily basis proved to be no problem at all. Every day, someone from the Powder River Ranch rode over to fetch the small boy and every evening someone accompanied him back. It was nothing short of amazing. The hands seemed eager to take on the chore. Even Buster Walking Tall vied for the duty and, more often than not, he took the early morning shift.
Then one morning, the reason for all this willingness became apparent. Heather had gotten up earlier than usual, and with the last stars of the wakening sky guiding her, headed out to the barn determined to get an early start on the day’s work. The sky turned from gray night to shadowed morn when she leaned the pitch fork against a wall, took off her gloves, and headed to the house for a second cup of coffee. A soft pink, like the inside of a seashell, graced the top of one mountain. The summer sweetness on the air lifted her heart with quiet happiness at how good her life was.
She quietly entered the kitchen through the back door, preoccupied over the latest addition to her menagerie of sick animals. A neighboring farmer had dropped off a milk scoured calf hoping she could save what was a security against a lean winter. The farmer had several mouths to feed, and two of them sat in the back of the wagon steadying the calf as the wagon jounced over ruts and rocks, coming to rest in her barnyard.
Two boys were in the wagon. One was Toby’s age. A quick friendship struck up and, when the farmer left, Toby took the calf’s place in the back of the wagon. He’d been invited home with them, and after much pleading and promising to behave, Heather had said, “Yes.” The three boys left with grins and plans for the day. The farmer brought him back that night exhausted by a day spent wading the creek catching tadpoles. His efforts had been successful, if you counted a lard can full of water and odd-shaped creatures. He immediately started selling Heather on the importance of adding them to the pond.
Leaned up against the kitchen wall was the imposing figure of Buster Walking Tall. At this moment, he wasn’t imposing at all. His hand was halfway to his mouth, and he was getting ready to take another bite of a sticky bun still warm from the oven. Icing dripped between his fingers, patches of snow against bronze skin. One trickle of icing had made a trail as far as the man’s wrist. Seeing it, he raised his arm and quickly licked the sweetness. He was so immersed in this morning delicacy, his senses on sweet overload, that he wasn’t aware of Heather standing quietly inside the door, a half smile on her face as she took in the homey scene.
The warmth of the range chased away the chill of the night. Molly baked early knowing that, before long, the summer sun beaming through the window would heat the place up. The lingering smell of bacon sizzling and oven fresh bread tantalized Heather’s nose and taste buds. Her stomach awakened and protested that one cup of coffee wasn’t going to be enough. She inhaled deeply, wanting to capture the moment in a mason jar and store it away against a time when life might bring a winter to her heart.
Molly, her back to the door and Buster, was standing at the kitchen range, fork in hand, intent on the contents of the black, cast iron frying pan. Her hand curled around the heavy handle. Heather knew from experience how heavy it was yet she’d seen Molly grab up the spider from the hearth, and bring the legged pan to the table with the ease and grace of a pirouetting ballerina.
Molly’s shoulders shook with merriment at something Buster had said. A checked apron surrounded her ample girth, the ties hanging down from a waist a man would have trouble spanning with both arms.
“And then whud he do?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Got back up, grabbed his hat outta the dirt, whacked it against his leg, and got back on.”
Molly’s chuckle danced on the warm kitchen air.
Buster’s tongue flicked up another errant drop of icing. “He rode that dun around the corral until it was dizzy, then he got off, handed the reins to one of the hands, and headed to the cabin. He was walking mighty slow and stiff legged.”
Molly gave a snort of delight.
“It was sometime later fore we saw Whip again, and when he came back, he was still walking easy and phew.” Buster’s nose wrinkled at the memory. “He was stinking of horse liniment.”
“You say anything?” Molly’s words were choked as they wrapped around a laugh.
“Started to. Then took one look at his face. Thundercloud.”
“Don’t know as to how I’d been able to hold a rein on my mouth.” She chuckled. “Bet that’s one of the few times Mr. Whip’s picked his bottom up from the dust.”
“Horse liniment.” She laughed again. “Whooee! You got that sweet bun ate yet, Buster? This bacon’s fried nice and crispy. I’ll put it between one of those biscuits in the warming oven, and you and Toby can gnaw on them on your way back to the ranch.”
“I probably could handle that, Molly. If you got an extra biscuit or two, might throw it in for Whip. I snuck outta there before he could beat me to it. I might need a peace offering. Still, good as your cooking is, Molly, I don’t think he was planning on riding over for that reason.”
“No, I don’t ‘spect he would be.” A smile wreathed her face as she turned toward Buster. Then, seeing Heather, the smile grew even wider. In the few short days she’d been a part of Heather’s life, she’d developed a strong affection for the independent young woman. She worried about her, running the ranch alone, without a man.
“Well, now, look who’s here. Decided to come in outta the dark, didja?”
“Good thing I did,” Heather quipped. “Seems I’m just in time. A few more minutes and Buster here would have eaten not only all the sweet buns, but the biscuits, too.” She paused in front of the embarrassed man. “Got a little icing on your chin there, Buster.”
His hand flew up, wiping at what wasn’t. Then his eyes narrowed. “Not a good thing to fool a starving man, Heather.”
“Hummpf, starving my foot. Now I know why everyone’s so anxious to ride over to the Circle C and nursemaid a little boy back to the Powder River Ranch. You tell Whip he owes me fifty pounds of flour for feeding all his hands.”
“You go on with you, Miss Heather,” Molly said. “Those boy’s do
n’t eat all that much, and it gives me someone to cook for. Why, you don’t eat more’n a grasshopper on a diet. I’d be throwing it out if I depended on you to eat up all the victuals.”
“Seems like we’re doing you a favor, Heather,” Buster said solemnly.
“Buster Walking Tall, you’d better gather up Toby and head back to where your tall tales are appreciated.” She started down the hallway to her room. “And Molly, throw in a jar of those preserves you put up the other day. Whip probably could use something to get his mind off his sore behind.”
Heather shut the door to the sound of laughter. She smiled again at the happiness that filled the house now that Molly was here. The three of them—Toby, Jesse, and Molly had chased the emptiness that had haunted all the rooms and corners of her home.
She had just changed her shirt when she heard a noise out front and the sound of boots crossing the porch. In moments, Molly was tapping on her bedroom door.
“Heather.” Her voice carried through the wood. “There’s someone here to see you. It’s Mr. Pease that brought you the sick calf.”
“I’ll be right there, Molly.” She hurried with the last button, allowing herself a quick glance in the mirror on the back of the highboy. Through the clouded, spider-webbed glass, she saw that her hair was mussed, but there wasn’t time to do anything about it. She raised her arms, smoothing down the wild strands, pulling away a trapped piece of hay. Giving a sigh of resignation, she stepped out of the room and softly closed the door behind her.
The man was clearly uncomfortable as he stood with his back against the front door, battered hat in hand.
“Early to be calling, Ma’am, but we’ve got another problem, Beth and me.” He took a deep breath. “Beth and me wondered if you’d mind coming to take a look at our milk cow. She’s mighty important to us, what with kids needing milk like they do. I realize I’ve been taking advantage of your neighborliness, first bringing you that calf then askin’ this.”
Wyoming Heather Page 16