Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2)

by Mari Collier

  The horseshoe contest went as Lorenz expected. Once he learned the object of the game, he wasn't too bad, but no one, not even MacDonald could put a ringer in there every time like the elder Rolfe. Uncle Kasper's playing was erratic. He would score and then become distracted, the next shoe landing nowhere near the stake. Young James soon tired of losing and wandered off. It was a relief to hear the dinner bell. Lorenz did not like losing for any reason.

  Chapter 8: Bear Cub

  After the meal, the men and women excused the two younger children and brought out the sherry and brandy. Martin stood and said, “Will you all excuse me? I think I'll stretch my legs.” He nodded at Lorenz.

  Lorenz jumped to his feet, glad for any excuse to be away. The table had been laden with the culinary efforts of three women, and he felt he had handled that part all right. He remembered Rity's instructions about napkins and had received an approving smile from Mama. Everything seemed to go all right until the deserts. Now all he could think of was the cold, baleful look in three pairs of eyes fastened on him while being urged to select one of the deserts.

  Tante GretGerdehad stood after the meal and announced, “We have a fruit pie fixed by Anna, an angel food cake by Olga, and, of course, my burnt sugar cake, Kasper's favorite.” She simpered over the words burnt sugar cake.

  “That's vunderbar, GreGerde. I'll have the burnt sugar cake,” said Kasper.

  “You must wait your turn, Kasper,” GreGerde simpered back. “We want to serve the children first. Mina and James, what would you like?”

  Mina looked up, gravy still clinging to one side of her mouth. “I like eine fruit art backwerk.” She pointed to her mother's pie with her fork.

  “She says that perfectly for a three-year-old,” GreGerde ground out through lips that looked like she was attempting to smile.

  Young James chimed in, “I'll have your burnt sugar cake, Tante GreGerde. I can eat Olga's cake at home any old time.”

  Olga glared at her younger sibling while GreGerde gave James a huge slice of cake and patted him on the head. Anna's face had become a study in stonework.

  MacDonald sat back and sighed. “I twill have Anna's pie first. She kens the way to my heart. Then if there tis room, I twill have a slice of the others.” He smiled at everyone.

  Rolfe eyed the women. “I'll have some of each. Du can cut them smaller. Dot vay I get to finish my meal in peace.”

  GreGerde, Olga, and Anna busily filled their orders. Lorenz wondered how the two older men were going to hold all that food, but they fell to with relish when handed their plates. Kasper smiled happily when his cake was served. Martin made a show of wiping his lips with his napkin and like MacDonald, he smiled broadly.

  “I think I'll have a piece of Olga's angel food cake now, and then come back for the other two later. James might be wrong about how much is left over when we get home. 'Sides, no one makes an angel food cake like Olga.” Olga's face turned a brilliant scarlet, but she smiled at Martin.

  “And now, vhat vould you like, Lorenz?” asked Tante GreGerte, her voice suddenly sugary sweet, and in her agitation, slipping into the German v for w.

  It was then that all three pairs of eyes fastened on him. It was like he was being challenged to fight, but he had no idea what he was fighting, let alone how all three women could have the same stony look on their face as though no matter what he said it would be wrong. He looked at MacDonald, then Martin for some cue, but none came. He looked again at his mother, and this time she gave him a quick smile.

  He took a deep breath and said, “Ah guess ah'll have some of Mama's pie. Hit sure smelled good last night.”

  Mama's smile was radiant and just for him. Somehow he must have made the right choice, but Tante GreGerde had tightened her lips, and Olga seemed resigned about something.

  Out on the porch, Lorenz took a deep breath and began to try to figure out just exactly what had happened during the selection of a desert. He lit his cigarette, glancing at the diminishing supply of tobacco, and asked, “What the hell happened in there? Why were they all glarin' at me?”

  Martin started to laugh. He had enjoyed watching Lorenz be the one squirming under the pressure of not offending one of the three women. “Those three are proud of their baking, more proud of that than their cooking. They pretty well know who's going to eat which dessert. Since y'all didn't grow up eating their desserts, your pick would say that one of them was the best. For them, it's like winning a horse race. I took Olga's cake because I want to stay on her good side when she's cooking for us at home.”

  Lorenz looked at Martin and shook his head. It made no sense to him. The three had given him the same type of look some of the mule skinners had been throwing at them all morning during the horseshoe game. One of the skinners went staggering back from the saloon's outhouse now, throwing a baleful glance and muttering about, “Damn Yankees.”

  “They sure ain't got any liken for you all,” he said to Martin.

  “Naw, they figure themselves Rebs. It don't make no difference here. They've just drank a lot while waiting for Tom to fix their wagon wheels. They're going on up towards the German settlements, and they need the spares to be in good order. Usually Blue Diamond does a better job of keeping their equipment in order. Uncle Kasper said they ran into a rainsquall about three days out of Arles and it was better to just keep coming here for the repairs. Tom works cheaper and there ain't any wait. He don't get too many customers anymore.”

  Lorenz drew in smoke and asked. “What happens now? More horseshoes?”

  “Naw, they're going to sit around and talk and drink. Then everybody will have another piece of dessert, and we'll all head home. Let's go get us a beer.”

  Lorenz straightened and looked at Martin. “Ah don't think that's a good idea, Martin. Those men in there have been drinkin', and they don't like us. Besides, I ain't supposed to go in there without MacDonald.”

  Martin gave a half-smile. “Suit yourself. Me, I'm going to have a beer.” He swung over the porch rail and started walking.

  “Aw shit, muttered Lorenz, swung over the railing, and ground out his cigarette before catching up with Martin. “Y'all are loco. When we go in, make sure y'all pick a spot as far away from those skinners as we can find.”

  “They ain't gonna cause any trouble, Lorenz,” Martin stated with confidence. Neither of them saw the small figure crawl out from beneath the porch, brush himself off, and dash into the house with a satisfied smirk on his face.

  He burst into the kitchen shouting, “Lorenz is using all sorts of bad words 'cause Martin's going to the saloon, and Lorenz says the skinners are waiting to jump them. So Lorenz went with him.”

  Anna's face whitened and she spun to face MacDonald. He stood and asked, “Friend Rolfe, twill ye accompany me?”

  Rolfe eyed the contents of his glass, sighed, and stood. “Ja, dumm kopfs,” he snorted.

  As they walked into the small saloon, Lorenz knew his assumption was correct. The ten men scattered at the small tables and bar fell silent and then started muttering, the laughter and raucous jabbering ended. Lorenz walked straight, his hands dangling at his sides, his grey eyes flickering from man to man, gauging each one's strength, agility, and ability.

  Martin was still in his good mood, oblivious to the glares directed at them. “Hello, Owens,” he said to the stocky, dark-haired man behind the bar. “My friend and I will have a beer.”

  Lorenz was about to refuse when he saw that Owens used kegs to dispense his beer and was filling heavy, glass mugs with the dark liquid. He could use the mug as a weapon. His lips tightened.

  The two men at the end of the bar were shooting quick, short glances at them while they talked in low tones. He sipped at his beer as two men approached the ones at the table and began speaking in the same low tones. Martin and Owens were talking.

  “Saw you folks come in. These men say this one is one of Mrs. MacDonald's lost kids. That right?”

  “Ja, this is Lorenz. Lorenz, this is Jesse Owens.
He's been at Schmidt's Corner since the beginning.

  “How do, young feller. It's a pleasure. If I'd a been here three months sooner, this would be Owens Corner, not Schmidt's, but your Uncle had his store up when I got here. He and his missus were glad enough to turn the liquor trade over to me.”

  Lorenz barely clasped the man's hand. He was too intent on keeping a grip on the mug handle as the two men standing at the table started towards them. Both were about thirty or thirty-five, not too tall, and a bit rangy as skinners tended to be. The one on his side was bunching his fists, but the other one was drawing a long, bowie knife. Damn, that wasn't good. He kept his eyes forward, almost as if he hadn't noticed them and spoke out of the side of his mouth to Martin.

  “Get ready to start backing towards the other door when ah do.”

  Martin looked up, puzzlement in his eyes, and the men were in front of them. They both reeked of the beer and chili they'd been ingesting all day.

  “Well, lookie here,” sneered the one in front of Lorenz. “We got us a bear cub and a wolf cub trying to drink like their daddies. Let's see if they've learned to bite.” He sent his fist smashing at Lorenz.

  With one swift motion, Lorenz swung the mug crashing it into the side of the man's fist, and then brought the mug up and slammed it down on top of the man's head, grabbed the man's shoulder and swung him down to the bar where he proceeded to ram the man's head up and down. He didn't bother to watch him drop to the floor; instead his flat, grey eyes watched the next man coming towards him as he started backing towards the propped, open front door. Unfortunately, Martin was standing rock still, watching the grinning man with the knife.

  The man with the knife stopped long enough to make certain the other man was down and another taking his place. Then he turned back to Martin and asked, “Ain't y'all got a knife, boy? Seem's like y'all could lose a body part if y'all ain't careful.”

  Lorenz felt his stomach tightened as he realized the man coming towards him had pulled out a dragoon's old, long barreled Colt. Suddenly his eyes lighted as he saw the watching crowd of men in front of him being tossed aside like dried weeds in a wind storm.

  The man with the gun must have heard something through his drink-addled head as he started to turn when a long arm shot out and grasped his wrist, and another huge hand clamped down on his shoulder. Then MacDonald did something that Lorenz had never seen. He somehow pulled the man towards him and then swung him away with a twisting, snapping force, dislocating the man's shoulder. Agonized screams filled the small space. MacDonald, holding the gun by the muzzle, gave Lorenz a quick glance as if to assure himself that Lorenz was okay, and stepped back towards the bar to watch Rolfe and Rolfe's back.

  Rolfe had his own Bowie out and his blue eyes glinted with glee. He was smiling; the knife gripped firmly in his hand, his body crouching in a knife fighter's stance. “Du vant to do some carving? Try me.”

  The other man's face had gone white, but he was game, and he too went into a circling crouch and then leaped forward. The stocky body of Rolfe moved with astonishing speed for an older man, and his knife swept upward, effectively severing the man's left ear from his head. The man's screams suddenly joined the other man's, and he clapped both hands to his head, blood cascading through his fingers and spilling downward to the dirt floor.

  Rolfe's eyes were still glinting, but his smile was gone as he grabbed the wounded man's shirt and cut away a swath, not caring that a line of blood appeared on the dirty skin. Rolfe then used the cloth to wipe his knife while the man looked about wild eyed and then dropped to the floor, screaming about his ear and frantically reaching around the floor trying to find his ear. Rolfe kicked the ear across the floor as the blood began running over the man's face and eyes blinding him. His screaming curses descended into moans as he tried to wipe the blood from his eyes.

  Rolfe spoke to MacDonald, but his eyes looked straight at the rest of the freighting crew. “For du and your poy, I buy a drink, friend Mac.” His voice was hard and steady.

  Lorenz swung his eyes back to MacDonald and sucked in his breath. If there was ever any doubt of the power in the man's hands, it was gone now. MacDonald had the revolver's grip in one hand and the long muzzle in the other, his body looked relaxed, but his hands were exerting enough force to bend the muzzle.

  MacDonald laid the bent firearm on the bar and seemed to eye each man standing there. “Friend Rolfe, I believe I am ready for a brew. I thank ye.”

  A medium built man with thinning hair pushed his way through his crew. “God damn it, MacDonald, Jackson just finished putting the wagon back into commission. What are you and Rolfe trying to do? Leave me shorthanded?” His voice was as exasperated as the look in his eyes.

  MacDonald turned his head. “Do? We have done nay but finish a fight yere crew started with two laddies. As twas, two full grown men were nay enough. They had to resort to weapons. Mayhap ye should hire men that twill nay try to kill yere customers along the line.”

  McGregor pushed his hat back in frustration. “Hell, you all know what I mean.” He turned to his crew of skinners. “Get those two back to the wagons, and I'll look after them. Then start harnessing those mules. We got miles to go.”

  He turned back to Rolfe and MacDonald. “No hard feelings?” he asked. “They just drank too much.” He eyed Lorenz and Martin. “Laddies, huh? They both look full-grown to me.” With that he stalked off.

  “Dinna let such talk go to yere head,” MacDonald advised Lorenz, and picked up his mug among the four that Owens had set on the bar.

  Owens eyed the bent revolver. “Uh, y'all got any use for that, Mac?'

  “Nay.”

  Owens grinned. “What about y'all, Rolfe? Y'all aim to keep that ear?” He pointed to the dismembered organ on the floor.

  “No, vhat I vant that for?” asked Rolfe.

  Owens came out from behind the bar and picked up the ear. “Both of them will make a nice conversation piece. I can't afford those fancy mirrors the town places have, but this will let folks know things can happen here. It'll keep folks talking and coming in to see them.”

  MacDonald snorted. “That ear is going to putrefy. Nay twill be able to stand the stink.”

  “Maybe, but I'm going to tack them both on the wall.” He saw Lorenz just standing there not drinking. “Something wrong with your beer?”

  Lorenz shook his head. “Naw, ah jest ain't fond of the taste.”

  MacDonald looked at him. “Ye had a mug before.”

  “Ah didn't want the beer. Ah jest wanted the mug. Ah figured ah could use it as a weapon since ah didn't have anythin' else.” He stared straight ahead. He knew the big man was angry, and didn't want to give him an excuse to start on him with everyone else standing around.

  MacDonald downed the contents of his mug and pushed Lorenz's beer towards Rolfe. “Here, my friend, tis best nay to waste it. The laddie and I are going for a walk now. Aren't we, Lorenz?” His voice sounded even and reasonable, but Lorenz figured it was just an act.

  “Yes, suh.”

  Rolfe snagged the beer and drew it to him. “Mac, I'll be checking on vhere the vild horses are tomorrow.” He glanced at Lorenz and added, “Du vill need to teach that poy that du don't vant to rein the vild ones too hard.” He turned his attention back to his beer.

  “Aye, friend Rolfe,” replied MacDonald thoughtfully. He looked at Lorenz. “Are ye ready?” He nodded at the door.

  Lorenz kept his back straight and his head up. No way was he going to show any signs of cringing. Clouds were scudding overhead, briefly obscuring the sunlight of earlier hours. The weather itself had cooled by several degrees, but any moisture that had been in them must have been dumped on the freighters earlier. He noticed the idle men were no longer idle, but working like fury around the three wagons. Damn, where would MacDonald unleash his punishment? He'd figured the stables, but there were men all around them. Worse, his ma was standing on Uncle Kap's porch and seemed to be tapping her foot. They'd be abreast of her all too so
on.

  Anna's face was almost as set as Lorenz's and her lips almost as tight. She drew her breath in after studying them both. “So, du are not hurt?” she asked.

  “Nay, twas the others that were damaged.” MacDonald gave a quick, soft smile to his wife.

  She turned her attention back to Lorenz. “I told du to stay avay from that place! Vhy didn't du listen?”

  Lorenz looked at her, his face blank. How could he explain it was to protect Martin? That didn't sound right even to him. Martin was supposed to be the oldest one.

  “Vell, aren't du going to answer me?” Anna's foot had not ceased tapping, and she swung back to MacDonald. “Vhat took du so long? They carried those two men by here not long after the screams.”

  “Herman bought us all a round of beer. Under the circumstances, I felt it would be best to bide a bit.”

  Unbelief flooded over Anna's face, and she stamped her foot one more time. “Bah, men! Mr. MacDonald, du vill take care of Lorenz for being disobedient.” She swept around and entered the house, slamming the door behind her.

  MacDonald had lost his smile and was rubbing his tongue against the inside of his mouth. “It would seem we are both in yere mither's ill graces.” He shrugged. “We twill continue our walk.”

  Lorenz figured he was really in for it. His mother had given her stamp of approval to whatever MacDonald decided to do, and right now he couldn't be in a good mood. He stalked alongside of the ambling man wondering why MacDonald hadn't slapped his mother.

  MacDonald led the way to the storage portion of the general store, opened the backdoor, and motioned Lorenz inside. “Tis quieter in here,” he said as he closed the door behind them. A high placed window on the opposite side spilled light into the mostly empty place. “Yere uncle has nay been able to stock the merchandise he once did. Nay are there the people to purchase it as they once did.”

  Lorenz took a deep breath and waited.

  “Mayhap ye can tell me why ye went into the saloon when ye were told nay, and according to young James, ye were quite aware of what those men might do.”