Pa grunted. “With the state of Jonathan’s affairs, that could be bad.”
Hiram stared out the window at the jagged row of icicles. “The girls are not doing well either. Especially Noela. The deeper the snow gets, the lower her spirits dive.”
He pulled out his chair and sat down. “She’s working too hard. It’s draining the life out of her.”
Pa’s troubled gaze mirrored Hiram’s dire thoughts of his ma. Forking a slice of ham, he shook his head. “Jonathan can’t let that happen.”
“I can’t let that happen.”
Pa put down his fork, the bite of food uneaten. “You’ve decided that’s your responsibility?”
Hiram squirmed under his direct stare. “It feels that way.”
Reaching across the table, Pa gripped his hand. “Because you’re a good man. You’re a credit to me, Son.”
The words spread pleasant warmth through Hiram. “You’d do the same if you were able. I just need to see them through the winter. Whatever they decide come spring will be up to them.”
Pa shook his head. “Up to God, whichever way it goes.”
He patted Hiram’s wrist and went back to the business of eating. “I won’t stand in your way, Son. Just don’t neglect your chores. And don’t shirk your duties on Mr. Roosevelt’s ranch. He’s counting on you men to keep his herd alive until spring.”
Releasing a determined breath, Hiram nodded. “I won’t let him down. And you can count on me, too.”
Pa stuffed his mouth with buttered pancake. “I always could. By the way, how is that new ranch hand working out?”
Hiram flashed a wry grin. “Roy? That tenderfoot headed south at the first snowfall.”
Pa chuckled. “I’m not surprised. Not many Texans can handle this harsh climate.”
The dishes washed and dripping on the rack, Hiram saddled a horse and turned up the lane for the ride to Vine House.
His saddlebag held a sack of tenpenny nails he’d picked up for Jonathan and the spool of blue thread Beatrice asked for. He had a surprise for Noela tucked away in the bottom. He hoped the rock candy, sweet brown crystals dotting a length of string like a beaded necklace, might cheer her up.
The sky held the promise of a good day. Despite a foot of snow on the ground, the sun shone brightly, and the breeze at his back had lost its chill.
Two hundred yards from the Nancarrow house, piercing screams gripped his gut. Burying his heel in the horse’s flank, he thundered toward the frenzied shrieks. Spinning around the windbreak, he leaped out of the saddle before his mount fully stopped, hitting the ground in a run.
The incredible sight in the yard dragged him to a stop.
Noela, in nightdress and slippers, danced in circles in the melting snow, beating the top of her head with both hands.
Beatrice kept time on the side, one hand over her laughing mouth, the other reaching for her sister each time she swept past. “Noela, be still!” she cried, giggling so hard she could barely speak. “How can I get him out with you bouncing like that?”
Hiram reached them in two strides. Gripping Noela’s arm with one hand, he latched onto the mouse with the other and pulled him from the tangle of matted hair.
The small gray creature cowered in the folds of his glove, his sides heaving, his beady eyes wild with fright. “Look, he’s harmless. You’ve frightened him nearly to death.”
Hugging herself, Noela took one look and wheeled away. “Get that horrid thing away from me. I can’t abide sharing a home with snakes, insects, and rodents. If it’s not mice in my hair, it’s muddy rainwater dripping into my skillet.”
Biting back a smile, Hiram stepped aside and knelt to the ground. The mouse sailed off his hand and scurried for the barn.
“There he goes!” Beatrice called. “He’s gone, Noela. You can open your eyes.”
She peeked then gasped. “You let it go? For pity’s sake, Hiram. He’ll be back in the larder before nightfall.” She punctuated her words with a violent shudder.
“Hold still,” Hiram said. “The little fellow left you a gift.” Reaching into the untidy mane draped over her shoulder, he pinched a tiny black pellet between his fingers and flung it away.
“Ew!” she shrieked. The war dance recommenced while she furiously shook out her hair.
Beatrice howled with glee. “You should’ve been here, Hiram. The poor little mouse fell out of the ceiling while Noela was washing dishes. I haven’t seen her trip so lightly since dancing the Virginia reel with horrid old Julian Van der Berg.”
Noela whirled. “You leave him out of this.”
The fury in her eyes and the glint of sudden tears seared a hole in Hiram’s stomach. Could this man be a beau from back home? He clamped his mouth shut to keep from asking the question burning in his chest.
A sound akin to a horse’s whinny, ending in a shrill bray, came from behind the windbreak. Jonathan rode into sight sitting astride a big red mule. “G’day, Hiram. You’re a welcome sight.”
Hiram took off his hat. “Morning, sir. I came to see how you folks were getting on.”
Jonathan’s gaze slid to his daughters. “I heard those two yowling from a mile away.”
Hiram grinned. “They gave me quite a turn. I guess you’re relieved to see they’re all right.”
“Never doubted it, mate. When you share a roof with two high-strung gals, you grow accustomed to yowling.”
A startled glance at Noela and his amusement turned to outrage. “Go find your clothes, young lady. What in blazes are you thinkin’?”
Her eyes rounded. She held her flowing nightdress out to the sides and stared in disbelief. Spinning on her heels, she dashed for the door, slamming it behind her.
Beatrice threw back her head and brayed like Jonathan’s mule.
Her pa swung down off his mount and tied the reins. “Restrain yourself, Daughter. That isn’t how a lady behaves.”
With a gasp like the last breath of a drowning man, her laughter shifted to a higher gear. She whirled for the house with a loud snort and bounded inside.
Jonathan stared after her for several seconds, a deep furrow growing between his brows. “Did you ever see the like?”
Dangerously close to braying himself, Hiram shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
The humor of the situation struck Jonathan at last. A grin spread over his face and his generous belly shook. “I sure need their mum. I’ve done a poor job thus far. One parades half clothed in the blessed light of day. The other cackles like a chook and grunts like a pig in the mud.”
Hiram couldn’t contain his laughter. “You’ve got your hands full, sir. That you do.” Wiping his eyes, he ran his hand along the mule’s muzzle. “You’ve got yourself a fine animal here.”
Beaming with pride, Jonathan patted her back. “She’s a fat, cheeky girl, all right. A fine little hinny. I’ve dubbed her Mollie.”
“You got her from Mr. Evart in town, didn’t you? He bred his stallion with a little jenny last year.”
Jonathan nodded. “He’s promised us a milk cow, too. The bloke struck a fair bargain. He’s letting us work off the debt.”
“Work it off ?”
“That’s right. I’ll help him tend his cattle, and the girls will keep his house.”
A dull ache struck the pit of Hiram’s stomach. “Are you sure that’s a wise decision?”
Jonathan glanced up. “It’s a fine arrangement. Mr. Evart is aging and all alone. We’re able-bodied and in need of a plow animal. We made a gentleman’s agreement and shook on it.”
Hiram struggled to contain his frustration. “I don’t know, Jonathan…”
“I can’t see what you’re getting so worked up about.”
“I’m wondering if you can do what you’ve agreed to, that’s all. Even a small herd like Evart’s is a full-time job.”
“I’ll have you know, I spent ten years droving cattle through the bush country.”
Frowning, Hiram shifted his weight. “That was a few year
s back, and you didn’t have a struggling farm to think of. Forgive me, but I don’t think you can do it.”
Mottled splotches rose on Jonathan’s cheeks, and a white line rimmed his mouth. “I don’t mean to rub you the wrong way, mate. I reckon I’m grateful for all you’ve done. But in matters concerning this farm, you’d best leave me to do the thinkin’.”
Tense silence settled between them. Hiram gnawed his bottom lip while Jonathan fiddled with the mule’s harness. Their eyes met across the top of Mollie’s back.
“I apologize, sir,” he said to Jonathan. “I stepped out of line.”
A bit of sparkle returned to the man’s eyes. “Apology accepted.”
“But as your friend, I have to tell you I still have concerns. May I speak frankly?”
Jonathan raised one brow. “You haven’t already?”
“To be honest, I’m worried about your daughter.”
Jonathan’s bottom lip jutted. “Noela? She’s bushed, but she’ll be all right.”
“I disagree,” Hiram said. “Haven’t you noticed the state of her? This time of the morning, and she’s still not dressed. Her skin is pale, and her eyes are tired. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
Nibbling on his thumbnail, Jonathan stared across the plain. “Now that you mention it, I’ve never seen her hair in such a mess. My girls have always minded their appearance.” He nodded. “She can do better. Don’t worry, I’ll speak to her.”
Hiram’s hand shot up. “That’s the worst you could do. Noela’s doing her best, but the burden of running the farm is draining her. Do you really think pressing her to spruce up or sending her to clean Mr. Evart’s house is the answer? You’ll be the death of her.”
Jonathan regarded Hiram as if he’d sprouted extra ears. “Rubbish. The Nancarrows are hearty stock.”
Hiram sighed. “So I’ve heard. But you have young daughters, sir. Not sons.”
Jonathan waved a dismissive hand. “No worries, young Hiram. In the end, you’ll see what my girl’s made of. Now stop all your blather and go inside. I’ll be along once I tend to Mollie.”
Whistling a carefree tune, he strolled toward the barn with the mule in tow.
Hiram massaged his throbbing temples. If ever a parent had lost touch with his offspring, Jonathan Nancarrow was that man. He seemed more aware of his mule’s needs than those of his own daughter.
Chapter 9
Noela swung her feet to the floor then jerked them up and felt for her slippers. Shivering, she pushed aside the makeshift curtain surrounding her bed and winced at the rush of cold air. Half asleep, she squinted at the hearth. Only embers glowed in the ashes.
It was Father’s job to tend the fire at night. Noela and Beatrice kept it during the daylight hours. Casting a resentful glance as she passed his sleeping mat, she rushed to add logs and kindling to the coals, holding her breath until they ignited into welcome flames.
The unseasonal warmth on what Hiram teasingly called “the day of the mouse” changed the next day to an ice storm. The rest of November and into December had brought sleet and heavy snow.
Despite her father’s promise to improve on the meager life he’d provided, their plight had only worsened. Noela feared she’d reached the end of her endurance.
He muttered fitfully in his sleep and rolled toward the warmth of the hearth. Deep shadows lined his face, darkening the bags under his eyes to hollows. His body sagged heavily on the bed as if he’d lost the fight with gravity.
White-hot shame pricked her conscience. How could she be angry with him? He worked in the early morning darkness until long past sundown, trying to make a go of the farm—a mulish, unappreciative farm buried beneath a blanket of ice.
He moaned as if in pain, and she turned away. The sight of him so frail was unbearable. She longed to pull the cover up over his shoulders but didn’t dare wake him. Placing another log on the fire, she inched closer and held out her hands to the heat.
The calendar hanging over the mantelpiece caught her eye. Idly, she studied the marked-off days until a startling realization hit.
One week until Christmas? Impossible!
“Isn’t it exciting?” Beatrice slid up beside her, pulling her nightdress tight against her body to warm her behind.
Nodding at their sleeping father, Noela held a finger to her lips. “You shouldn’t creep up on people,” she whispered
“I saw you looking at the calendar,” Beatrice whispered back. “Only one more week. I can hardly wait.”
New York’s bright lights, cheery carols, and joyful greetings swam in Noela’s head. Fifth Avenue would overflow with holiday shoppers, their arms loaded down with bundles of presents or children wrapped in muffs and gloves, clutching candy canes and holly. Laughing couples arm-in-arm would make their way down busy streets on their way to festive parties.
She compared the picture in her head with the dismal soddie, and hot tears stung her eyes. “There’s very little to look forward to stuck way out here.”
Confusion etched her sister’s brow. “Christmas is Christmas wherever you are. We’ll just get busy and make it nice. We have a whole week to weave garlands, make presents, and plan the meal.”
“What shall we weave into garlands, my balmy girl?” Noela said, not bothering to lower her voice. “Dead grass? Go on, make Christmas pies out of dried beans and carve gifts from icicles. I plan to skip Christmas this year.”
Father growled and pulled a pillow over his head. “Kindly stop yammerin’ like a couple of scrub jays. It’s not yet daylight.”
“Sorry, Daddy,” Beatrice called.
Noela’s cheeks flamed hotter than the hearth. He must have heard her harsh tirade. “It’s time to be up and about anyway. I need to light the lanterns and start breakfast.”
Father rolled up with a mournful sigh. He scrubbed his face with both hands then shook his head like a cattle dog, his cheeks flapping. Squinting up at her, he blinked to focus. “Hiram came home from the ranch yesterday. I reckon he’ll be out this morning.”
A flicker of joy surged in her chest. The day might be bearable after all.
Father peered from under bushy brows. “What say we put on our clothes before he arrives? No need in showing off another nightgown.”
Beatrice ducked her head and giggled.
Noela bristled, crossing her arms self-consciously. “I don’t need to be told to dress for company.”
A warning flashed in his eyes. “If memory serves, you do.” He gestured at her hair. “While you’re at it, run a comb through your rat’s nest and pin it up.”
“Not rat’s nest, Father.” Beatrice teased. “It’s a mouse nest.”
Clenching her fists, Noela stalked across the room to heat the stove.
She prepared the morning meal—making more noise than usual with her pots and pans—while Father and Beatrice washed and dressed. Before sitting down to the table, she slipped on her clothes and tidied her hair.
Hiram arrived, bringing laughter and warmth to the dismal house. He stood on the threshold, stamping snow from his boots and peeling a scarf from around his neck. Noela’s heart lifted at the sight of him.
She reached to relieve him of his coat, and their fingers tangled beneath the bundle of cloth. Hiram held on, and her breath caught.
He smiled, and his soulful brown eyes conveyed more than a simple greeting.
“You were gone longer this time,” she told him.
“Couldn’t be helped, I assure you.”
“How are things at the Elkhorn?” Father blurted, oblivious to the tender reunion. Or pretending to be.
Releasing her hand, Hiram plucked off his hat and dropped it on a hook by the door. “The usual struggle to keep the cattle alive.” He laughed. “And their owner. Last week, Mr. Roosevelt rode a storm home from a hunting trip in the Badlands. Things are always lively when he’s around.”
“The man does like to hunt.”
Hiram nodded. “He claims to have killed every kind of plains game ther
e is, and he has most of the trophies to prove it.”
“Sit down and tell me while we eat a bite.”
“Thank you, but I had breakfast with Pa this morning.”
Father waved at the coffeepot on the stove. “Have a cuppa at least to warm your bones. Pour him a mug full, Noela.”
After a pleasant time around the table, Father stood up, patting his belly. “There are a couple of things in the barn I could use a hand with.”
“Sure thing, sir,” Hiram said. Draining the last of his coffee, he followed him to the door.
Noela cleared her throat. “Can you stay for tea?”
His brow creased. “I’m not much for tea, but I wouldn’t mind another cup of coffee later on.”
She laughed. “Tea is what we call the evening meal.”
He screwed up his face. “So…you eat your tea?”
Covering her mouth to suppress a giggle, she nodded.
Smiling, he dropped his hat on his head and winked. “In that case, count me in.”
Watching him go, Noela seethed with disappointment. Hiram had just arrived. Why had Father pulled him away so soon? She set about her chores but spent an unreasonable amount of time checking the front window for sight of them.
Morning stretched into late afternoon. Noela prepared the meal, more anxious than ever to have them return.
After setting the table, she sliced a fresh hot loaf of bread. She had just turned out a pan of potatoes still in their jackets when the clatter of boots on the porch gave her a start. Smoothing her hair, she hurried to the stove to start a fresh pot of coffee for Hiram.
He ducked inside after Father, caught sight of her, and smiled. “It smells good in here.”
Flushing with pleasure, she placed a tray of roast venison on the table. “The water’s fresh in the pitcher. You can wash up.”
Beatrice sat cross-legged by the fire brushing Rowland’s Macassar Oil into her hair. Nimble as a cricket, she sprang up and rushed to the washbowl. “Me first.”
An angry red flush dotted Father’s cheeks. “Show some manners, girl, and back out of Hiram’s way.”
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