Montana Courage (McCutcheon Family Series Book 9)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Hello,” Poppy gushed in relief. “I’m glad to see you.”

  The hotel clerk tipped her head. “Checking on the Grants,” she said in explanation. “What’re you doing with that? Where’s Lenore?”

  Poppy’s arms strained, and the tray wobbled. “In the kitchen. With dishes to do. I volunteered. Would you mind getting the door for me?”

  Hildy sprang forward. “Oh, not at all.”

  She opened the door to a rush of warmth. Poppy followed her in and glanced about.

  The man slept on his pallet by the fire. Perhaps he was used to sleeping on the floor. The woman was huddled in bed with the children. Her eyes, still wary, clamped on the tray of food.

  “Miss Ford brought you some lunch,” Hildy said. “How’re you feeling?”

  The woman nodded.

  Poppy realized they’d yet to learn their names, or why they’d been caught off guard in such a storm.

  The children scrambled up into a sitting position, their eyes large and shining.

  “Bread,” the little boy whispered, glancing guardedly to where the man snored. “C-can I have some?”

  “Yes, of course,” Poppy replied. “That’s why I’ve brought it. I’m sure you all must be ravenous.”

  The boy’s head bobbed up and down, and the twin girls mimicked his movement. Placing the tray on the end of the bed was a great relief.

  “Now, be very still until I can distribute this food.”

  Poppy handed the woman her plate and utensils, and gave the boy a slice of toast, and a half each to the girls.

  “Eat this while I cut the meat.” She glanced at the woman. “How old is he?”

  The woman’s gaze darted to the sleeping man and then back at the boy. “’Bout six,” she finally mumbled. She forked in a chunk of beef and fried potatoes. A heavy sigh moved her chest. Her face was weather-beaten and her hair disheveled.

  Poppy moved her gaze back to the two little waifs that were her daughters.

  Strange how the mother stumbled over such an easy question, but perhaps the cold still had her befuddled. If the boy was six, the girls must be one and a half, or perhaps two. They watched the proceedings but made no move to get any of the food themselves.

  Poppy handed the woman her cup of tea and set the man’s on the dresser with his plate. “Do you want to feed them, or shall I?”

  The woman shrugged. “I don’t mind if you do the feeding.”

  Again, strange. Well, maybe not for what she’s been through.

  Determined to be friendly, Poppy smiled at the woman. “I’m Miss Ford, of the Boston Fords. May I ask your name?”

  “Sanger,” she muttered, looking away.

  Well. That hadn’t gone so well. Poppy began cutting the children’s meat. She handed a couple of pieces to the boy, who’d finished his toast but waited patiently, even though she’d heard his stomach grumble loudly.

  “Here you go,” Poppy whispered, placing another piece into his hand. “And what’s your name?”

  His chewing sped up, and then he swallowed. “July, ma’am.” His lips curled into a small smile.

  “And your sisters?”

  “April and May.”

  Poppy gave a small laugh. “I should have seen that coming.”

  His steady voice was much too composed for someone so young. He impressed her. She glanced again at their mother, who seemed to be lost in thought.

  “Can the girls eat this, July?” she asked, feeling a fool for knowing so little about young children. “Did I cut the meat small enough?”

  July nodded. “Sure. They eat most anythin’. They’re not persnickety.”

  Poppy set the plate of diced food, along with a fork for July if he was interested, between the three.

  The girls, who were still working on their toast, looked at her for several seconds. With a start, Poppy realized they waited for permission, so she nodded. They reached out and each stuffed a handful of the meat into their mouths.

  They did have teeth, thank goodness, and quite a few, so Poppy felt certain they wouldn’t choke.

  The woman had wolfed down her portion and eyed her husband’s plate on the tray.

  “Would you like that? I can get more when your husband wakes up.”

  “Yes’m,” the woman answered. “Richard won’t come ’round for a while—hours maybe. No use letting good food go ta waste.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Poppy retrieved the plate and swapped it for the empty one. Something was suspicious about this poor, ragtag family but she didn’t know what. She couldn’t put her finger on it, just something peculiar. When Mr. Petty was back, she’d be sure and mention her qualms to him.

  Now that they had some sustenance in their tummies, April and May were bouncing slightly on their knees as they chewed another handful of food. Their golden curls moved in the light of the fire and lamp, and their eyes twinkled.

  Poppy reached out to gently push up the cotton fabric of their undershirt sleeves, and felt each little arm with the back of her wrist. They weren’t warm yet, but their bodies were much warmer than they’d been when the sheriff brought them in. She thought they were out of danger of frostbite, but she was no doctor.

  “I’d like you to eat this soup before it cools too much. I’ll help.”

  They swallowed what they had in their mouths and then let her spoon in a portion for each, just like little birds. How sweet.

  When was the last time they had a hot meal? Or a bath? Or some attention?

  Their mother didn’t seem to be interested. She was more concerned with consuming everything within reach.

  Poppy tried not to judge. Perhaps she’d act the same if faced with similar circumstances. Maybe she would, but she didn’t think so.

  “There, that’s everything,” she said, scooping the last spoonful of soup and giving a little to each. With the napkin, she wiped April and May’s tiny lips, noticing the girls looked sated now that they were full. She handed the napkin to July.

  “Can we come with you, ma’am?” he asked, gesturing to his sisters before glancing at the door.

  “Oh no. Your room is the warmest in the hotel, and you all still need to bring up your temperatures.”

  Mrs. Sanger’s face tightened. “Don’t you be bothering this fine woman, July,” she snapped. “You know better than that. Your pa would be angry if he heard you pestering.”

  July’s gaze darted to his still-sleeping father, and he slowly nodded.

  “He’s not a pest,” Poppy heard herself say before she thought better of her interference. “As a matter of fact, as soon as you’re able, July, I’ll take you out to the lobby, and we can play a game of checkers by the woodstove. Would you like that?”

  She slid a secretive glance at Mrs. Sanger to see a scowl on the woman’s face, just as she suspected. Some people were very protective, but that didn’t feel like the case here.

  “Yes’m. As long as my sisters can come too.”

  “Of course they can. Now, you all snuggle back in bed and stay under the covers. I’ll return a little later to check on you.”

  The woman nodded but kept her comments to herself.

  For some odd reason, Poppy had taken a disliking to the mother. She shouldn’t have. Mrs. Sanger was a victim, just as the children were. All five family members had almost died.

  After putting all the dirty dishes on the tray, she stood and tucked April, May, and July in tight, making sure the blankets were up to their chins. She placed a kiss on each forehead with the tip of her finger. They reminded her of the baby bunnies out at Kathryn’s farm. She took one last look at their snoring father, trying not to feel disgust.

  “Sleep tight. I’ll be back soon.”

  Poppy stepped out into the chilly hallway, wishing her room were a bit closer to the children. As silly as that sounded, it was true.

  I must be going through some sort of transformation here in Montana. She carefully descended the stairs with the cumbersome tray. As soon as I�
�m on that ship to France, I’ll be back to normal—won’t I?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Biscuit Barrel was locked up tight, as was the church and Morgan’s woodworking shop, Stanford Fittings. As June had predicted, Dr. Handerhoosen’s place was dark when Shad looked in the windows and tried the locked door.

  Each step he took was more difficult than his last. He could no longer feel his fingers except for the shooting pains that had replaced the chill, and his toes felt as if ice was wedged between each one. In his right fist, he gripped his coat collar around his neck in an attempt to keep out the snow.

  Only two more stops and then he’d cross over and fetch Fancy back to the hotel. Brandon and the rest must have taken shelter at the mill or someplace else. They were too smart to get stuck out in such a storm.

  Stumbling onto the boardwalk in front of the mercantile, Shad tried to ignore the pricks of stinging ice on his face. He shouldered his way into the front door of Lichtenstein’s, thankful the place was unlocked and a lantern burned a welcome. He could barely hear the voices in the back room over the inexorable clattering of his teeth.

  “Hello?” he called, feeling like a snowman that had just tumbled down a hill. “Lichtenstein? Mr. Simpson? Who’s back there?” Unmindful of the snow falling from his clothes and boots, he trudged over to the woodstove and got as close as he dared.

  “Shadrack.”

  Finally. He recognized Brandon’s voice. That was one worry gone.

  Boots on wooden floor tromped toward him, and soon all his friends, as well as Mr. Lichtenstein and Mr. Simpson, were gathered around the stove.

  Francis looked as if he’d been dragged through a snowbank by a team of horses, and Smokey didn’t look much better. Brandon’s hat was gone, and his wet hair stuck to his head. He wrestled a kerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose. Morgan’s coat looked soaked through, and his face was cherry red. Lichtenstein and Mr. Simpson appeared almost ready for bed in layers of nightclothes, several pairs of thick socks, and stocking caps on their heads.

  Shad held back a chuckle at the sight.

  Brandon took hold of Shad’s shivering shoulder. “Has something happened at the hotel? How long have you been out?”

  “Long enough to know better,” he said through rattling teeth. “Got worried about you not coming back. Didn’t want to discover you all as clumps of ice tomorrow. You find anything new? Any signs of more people like that fella said? Where’re your horses?”

  “In the back alley where they’d have a little protection. Didn’t find any people. No tracks either, of course. No wagons. I think his words were just drunken ramblings.”

  “Thieves hit us here, though,” Mr. Lichtenstein barked, pointing to the back room from where they’d all come. “I did not discover until one hour ago, but someone jimmied the back lock during the night. The thieves stole the last of my lamp oil, all of the staples such as flour and sugar, dried fruit, and canned food. Already my supplies were low, since the stage has not been coming regular for reasons of weather or sickness in other towns.” The portly German’s eyes flashed with anger. “Those robbers, they do not leave one clue behind. Maybe those greenhorns you found this morning are responsible.” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “They didn’t have much in the way of food, and certainly not your supplies,” Brandon said to the proprietor.

  Morgan started for the front door. “I’m headed back to the livery. Don’t want to leave June alone longer than need be.”

  “Wait up,” Smokey said, striding with Morgan. He glanced at Shad. “You ready to ride, Petty? We need to head back to the ranch before we lose our chance.”

  Still heating his hands an inch from the stove, Shad shook his head. “I’m staying behind. Watching over the hotel. You two’ll be fine if you go now. Just watch your back trail. Lou said Drit saw wolf sign too, and close to town, out by the sawmill.”

  He thought of Miss Ford, Fancy, Lenore, Miss Hildy, and the others. Oscar Scott, one elderly man, and the drunk Sanger wouldn’t be much help if this storm went on longer than they expected. They couldn’t count on Brandon. He had the whole town to look after.

  “I appreciate the help, Shadrack,” Brandon said. “Justin and me both. One less place to worry about. I’m sure my father-in-law will understand.”

  Smokey nodded. “We’ll make sure he does.”

  “Where’s Justin?” Shad asked, just now realizing the young deputy wasn’t with the bunch gathered in the mercantile.

  “We left him out at the Klinkners’. Ina was on edge that Norman wasn’t feeling well. They have Hayden, but that’s a big place.”

  “What about my property?” Mr. Lichtenstein demanded. “The town will need the lamp oil now more than ever. The food too. I keep the surplus locked away in a cabinet in the back for the lean months of winter. Now that it’s gone, I won’t be able to open my doors.”

  “Ain’t good a’tall,” Mr. Simpson mumbled under his breath. “Who’d do a blame thing like that? I don’t like ta think of the children going hungry.”

  Brandon glanced out the front window at the wall of white. “We’re not quite there yet, Mr. Simpson. I’ll do my best to find the missing supplies.”

  Seemed Old Man Simpson had aged a hundred years. The elderly man looked beaten and bewildered.

  “Until we do,” Brandon went on, glancing around the group, “everyone will have to conserve. Use candles instead of lanterns whenever possible. One meal a day, plus one snack. We can’t hunt in conditions like this for some time.” He glanced at Smokey and Francis. “You best get moving, boys, the light’s dwindlin’ fast.” His cautious tone reminded them all this wasn’t a laughing matter. “Like Shad said, keep an eye on your back trail . . . and your front.”

  Shad needed to get moving, as well. He had Fancy to pick up and deliver. With a heavy heart, he watched the men leave, staving off the impulse to shake each of their hands and tell them they’d been a good friend. In conditions like these, one never knew if that was the last time in this world you’d see your comrade.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Unable to stay her ragged nerves any longer, Poppy took her book to the lobby and dropped into the vacant chair across from Oscar. Mr. Petty still hadn’t returned. Had the tall cowboy lost his way, sat exhausted by the cold and gone to sleep for the last time in his life? The horrible thought sent a chill up her already-cold backbone.

  Oscar stared out the window straight-faced, his blank expression mirroring his foul mood.

  She knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking about. Taking the lap throw from the back of the chair, she wrapped it around her legs and tried to ignore the shooting pains tormenting her freezing fingertips.

  When she felt Oscar’s stare, she turned to look at him. “What?”

  “I was just thinking this situation could be really bad,” he said. “Much worse than anyone thinks.”

  “Don’t be silly. Snow like this happens every year. Hildy said as much to me not an hour ago. We just have to sit back and be patient.”

  His lazy gaze dared to sweep her countenance.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Ossy! I didn’t ask you to come along.”

  “That may be so, but I’m glad I’m here.” He leaned forward in his chair, and she pulled back. “To look after you. I know the trouble you tend to find without even trying. You should thank me for coming along. I could have gone to England with my father, but I gave that up for you.”

  The audacity of him. Was there no end to his arrogance? No wonder Kathryn couldn’t bring herself to marry him. Poppy surely wouldn’t.

  “I wish you had gone to England. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about you offending everyone here. Would you please think before you speak?”

  “Are you referring to that horse-faced woman, Lenore Saffelberg?” He gave her a dismissive scowl. “She’s just a waitress in this no-name hotel in this godforsaken town. And she always will be. She means nothing to us. You shouldn’t wor
ry yourself over her, or what she thinks.”

  “Oscar!” Poppy quickly glanced around to be sure no one was within hearing distance. “Lower your voice. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. My gosh, have you no heart, sense, or manners? I used to think Kathryn was making up things about you. I stuck up for you, always came to your defense.” I brought you to her home without asking. Shame filled her anew for her thoughtlessness. What must Kathryn think? And Tobit? “I thought of you as someone special, a brother, a confidant to all my secrets. This trip has opened my eyes.”

  Jerking back, he hit his head on the back of the chair. “A brother! Surely you don’t think of me like that. I’ve always loved you, Poppy. Right from the very start. Since we were old enough to know there was a difference between us.”

  The way his eyes alighted on her person, filled with some sort of suggestive invitation, made her stomach squeeze with revulsion. Had he been fantasizing about her all these years? Her skin prickled with disgust.

  He put out a hand in supplication. “I was only going along with our fathers’ wishes to marry Kathryn to make them happy and keep the peace. Given a choice, I’d have picked you. I still plan to make you my wife.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” she spat back.

  Anger warmed her for the first time since the snowstorm had begun. She’d use no kid gloves here. She needed to quash his crazy idea right now. Make sure he knew exactly where he stood with her. Nowhere!

  “We will never marry! Ever. Read my lips. Engrave the words on your heart. Never, Oscar. Ever, ever, ever—”

  “All right. I hear you loud and clear.” He sprang to his feet and stood there, glaring down into her face.

  Poppy was so incensed by what Oscar had presumed about them, she hadn’t heard anything over the pounding of her heart. When the front glass door opened and a gush of frigid air rushed into the room, she stood and whirled around. She took a moment to recognize the tall, snow-covered Mr. Petty. She didn’t know the smaller person standing by his side and clutching his gloved hand. Whoever it was, she was greatly relieved to see the cowhand back and still alive.