Herd the Music

by Lynn Donovan

  Myrakle smiled bigger. "You are called Beans."

  He nodded and she could tell he smiled, although there were not a lot of teeth to show when he did. She imitated his gesturing and pointed at herself. "Myrakle." She watched him nod appreciatively. "My momma said I was named right because of when I survived the scarlet fever, it was a miracle."

  Beans's eyes filled with tears. He nodded as his mouth moved and patted her shoulder, then pointed to the ceiling with a nod.

  Myrakle blinked several times to clear her eyes. "Yes. The Lord has been good to me." Even though he took away everyone and everything dear to me. "Can I help with lunch?"

  He nodded and handed her a warm loaf of bread and a knife. He gestured for her to cut it and held out a slice of ham, showing her that he planned to put ham and bread together for sandwiches.

  She smiled with a nod. "You're making sandwiches."

  He jerked an affirmative, his hair fell down over his eyes. Then he turned to a big enamel pot of boiling beans. He pointed at the beans. His eyebrows rose on his forehead, asking the question. Myrakle laughed. "Maybe not for lunch."

  He nodded sadly, and turned to a big shank ham. Myrakle touched his shoulder. He turned around. "Maybe with a pan of corn bread for supper?"

  He grinned and turned back to the ham shank. Slicing thick pieces, he piled them on a cobalt blue platter. He dropped the tasty bone in the boiling pot. Myrakle sliced the bread, using the whole loaf, and stacked the slices beside the ham. Beans pulled out a tall stack of dinner plates and handed them to her. She carried them to the dining room and put one at each lady's place. She laid a linen napkin beside each plate and arranged forks, knives, and spoons beside the place setting, like Momma had taught her. Beans walked in with the platter and a bowl of shredded carrot salad with raisins. He went back to the kitchen and brought in a wooden crock with a large slice of pressed butter and a baking dish with some sort of creamy pudding for dessert. It looked delicious.

  Myrakle rubbed her tummy and licked her lips, continuing their communication with gestures.

  She liked Mr. McGruder. Even though she couldn't see what he was saying. He was kind and cared about relating to her. Few people back home made such an effort. McGruder went back into the kitchen. Dumpling sat up on his hind-end and jabbed one paw into her skirt. A moment later the girls filed into the dining room. Beans must have rung that dinner triangle Jasmine told her about. That was why Dumpling had alerted her. She waited behind her chair until everyone was present and then pulled the chair out to sit. They said grace and passed the food around. Myrakle took an extra slice of ham for Dumpling to have later.

  Helena and Abigail cleared the dishes from the table and Alice and Violet stayed in the kitchen with Beans to wash up. Myrakle smiled inside, Mr. Redburn might not need to write out a schedule. It seemed the sister brides were taking it upon themselves to work that out. Hopefully, Mr. Redburn would be pleased there was one less thing for him to be concerned about. He seemed to be heavy laden with concerns.

  Perhaps taking over his aunt's business of matchmaker was more challenging than he first thought it would be. It was a far cry different than cattle ranching.

  Myrakle went to her room and fed Dumpling, then the two of them walked outside to let Dumpling relieve himself. She wandered to the chicken coop and leaned over the scrap-wood fence. The chickens scratched the ground and waddled about, busy as chickens always are. The coop had a door on the side where the fence met the little house. Myrakle opened it and found ten eggs. She gathered the front of her skirt to make an impromptu basket and gathered the eggs. She'd take these to Beans. Dumpling leapt up on his hind legs and fell back onto all four. Myrakle looked in the direction her companion was facing. A goat leaned her head over a pen fence, her mouth gapped open and trembled. Her tongue protruded. She must be baaing.

  "It's just a nanny goat, Dumpling." She laughed at him. "Come on let's go inside and give Beans these eggs."

  But Dumpling crossed in front of her, blocking her from moving.

  "It's just—" She giggled. Wait this was his protective stance. She'd only seen him do this when she nearly crossed the street in front of a fast-moving carriage. "What—?" She lifted her eyes to see what Dumpling was warning her about.

  "Maybe-Joseph!" The handsome man from the train depot approached on a beautiful black horse. He reigned in the horse near where she stood and tipped his hat, the way he had before departing last night. Her heart slammed against her chest. She could hardly breathe.

  "What'd you call me?" He sputtered amusement as he pulled his hat from his head.

  Heat flooded her face. Had she actually called him Maybe-Joseph? "I'm sorry. I was having trouble seeing what was said last night, 'tween you and Mr. Redburn. I thought I saw him call you Joseph, or you were talking about Joseph, I wasn't sure." She shrugged, still pinching her skirt to keep the ten eggs safe. "I just started thinking of you as Maybe-Joseph."

  "I see." He threw one leg over the horn of his saddle and slid to the ground. "Let me introduce myself— proper like." He shoved out a hand. "My name is Joseph Penella."

  She stared at his proffered greeting. "Oh! I'm Myrakle Estes." She reached to shake his hand but he jumped back. His eyes dropped to the ground, shock flashed across his face, then he laughed. Myrakle's heart shattered like a glass vase dropped on a hardwood floor. Why was he repulsed by her? Why now? He'd heard her speak several times already.

  Dumpling rushed to her feet bumping against her skirt and stepping on her boots. She lowered her gaze to her dog. He licked broken eggs on the ground, across her boots, and splattered on the hem of her skirt. "Oh my gosh! I forgot I was holding eggs!"

  Joseph threw his head back and laughed. Myrakle felt the humor of what she'd done bubble up and spill out of her mouth. She laughed, too. "Dumpling! That's enough."

  Joseph's mirth slowly waned. "I just came by to be sure you ladies were getting along alright... of course you're alright... what I mean to say is that you’re settling in alright?”

  Myrakle chuckled. "Yes. We are... would you like to come inside and meet the girls?"

  "Well, actually I've met you, and, well, what I mean to say is. My pa had talked to Miss Viola about finding me and my brothers a bride. But, since, well what I mean to say is, since she's no longer with us, I was thinking I should... come by... and—"

  "Mr. Redburn told us Miss Viola didn't leave very good records... and he's working on figuring out who our intended grooms might be."

  "So... there's a chance you and I—"

  "I don't know. But I— wouldn't mind if that were the case."

  Joseph smiled. "Really? Uh, what I mean to say is... Well alright... good. Well, is Chance here? I'd like to go talk to him right away."

  "Yeah. No, he's gone to the mercantile. He should be back 'fore long."

  Joseph nodded. "Very good. I'll go take care of some things in town and I'll be back." He stepped sideways, nearly skipping along to take his horse's reins. He gathered the leather straps and leapt into the saddle. He placed his hat on his head and touched the tip with two fingers. "I'll be back, Miss Myrakle Estes."

  "I'm counting on it, Mr. Jospeh Penella."

  He rode away and Myrakle spun around and around, clutching her hands over her heart. He wanted to be her intended! Her heart took flight and she ran into the house.

  Beans was nowhere to be found, so she and Dumpling strolled through the house. She felt she was walking on air, about a foot off the ground. Suddenly she felt like exploring. She had not seen every room. There was the kitchen, the dining room, Mr. Redburn's office, the parlor, the bedrooms were upstairs. She stood in the parlor, twirling between the three directions she had already been. The fourth wall had two wooden pocket-doors. She had not noticed this before. Where did these doors go? She slid the doors apart and gasped.

  It was the most wonderful room, walls were lined with shelf after shelf filled with books, individual chairs and small divans scattered around the room, lamp stands near
each one for reading light, a small table with a chess board and another with checkers set up ready to be played... and an upright piano! Her hands involuntarily clasped and swung up to her chest. A squeal escaped her lips. "How delightful!"

  She rushed to the piano and gingerly lifted the cover. Delicately, she touched the slightly yellowed ivory keys as if they were precious jewels. Moving to sit on the bench, she placed her feet on the pedals and laid her hands on the keys. Her fingers pressed down and ribbons of vibrant colors rose from the top of the piano body, serpentined in the air, and floated over her head. She leaned back to watch the colors blend and twirl as she played a tune she made up on the spot because it looked beautiful. Absorbed in her playing, she barely realized Dumpling had placed both front paws on the bench and had nudged her several time. She stopped and turned to find all the sister brides standing at the open doors. Their mouths hung open in disbelief. Myrakle smiled. She had grown very accustomed to this reaction the first time anyone learned that she had this gift.

  "Do you like?"

  The girls rushed into the room, each exclaiming various versions of yes and surprise. Jasmine especially beamed with pride or was it simply joy. Myrakle swiveled back around and spread her fingers out on the keys. She looked up and let her fingers run across the keyboard. The colors rose and twirled with each depression of the keys. Myrakle drew in a deep breath and let the music flow from her hands. The girls gathered around behind her. At last, she had made nine lifelong friends.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Chance Redburn set the brake on his supply wagon but didn't climb down. He scanned the men milling about the shops along the multi-block business section of town. Back home, he had written down the names of men he knew to be single. Now he observed several he had not thought of. He pulled out his records book and added their names to his list. His Aunt Viola Redburn had left him everything she possessed— including a big mess.

  With his ranch financially ruined and taken over by the bank, he figured he had nothing else to lose except try a go at Aunt Viola's business. How hard could it be?

  He soon found that Viola had taken all the important information with her to the grave. He couldn't find any paper trail, or record book, or even a journal to tell him what she intended to do with nine of the ten brides. Unfortunately, he knew her plans for the one, but he would fix that immediately. There were a few letters of inquiry from other matchmakers on her desk but nothing that led him to how she planned to answer those inquiries. Who runs a business like that?

  When word came to him through a messenger boy late last night that Viola had a delivery at the train depot, he thought his spinster aunt had ordered some furniture or bulk supplies of some sort. It wasn't until he pulled up to the depot that he learned the cargo was ten living, breathing brides-in-waiting.

  He scoured her office all night long for any clue as to what she was thinking. The only thing he found was one of the girls was intended for him. Violet. He nearly leapt to his feet and yelled at his Aunt Viola. But the women were asleep and he didn't want to wake any of them.

  He'd had no sleep and was in no mood for such a surprise. It was a huge mistake! He prayed Violet had no idea either. That way he could keep it a secret and just find her another husband. And if she did know, then she was going to be sorely disappointed. He was in no position to take on a permanent liability. He'd simply explain his aunt had made the arrangements without consulting with him and it was all a big mistake. Huge mistake! One that he'd fix as soon as possible. Surely she'd understand.

  Of course, he'd thought about getting married— someday. But he had just lost his ranch and the only way of life he had ever known or wanted. All his ranch hands depended on him and because he could not fix this, they had lost their jobs and housing.

  Far as he knew, they had scattered to the four winds. Except for the few he was able to get on with the Rocking P horse ranch and a few more he was able to get jobs in town. Sebastian could only afford to take on two or three of Chance's men. The blacksmith and the tanner could manage an apprentice. There was always Fort Bent. The army usually needed more soldiers. Too bad he couldn't get all of them hired on someplace else.

  None of them were too happy about being uprooted like they were. The heavy burden of his ranch hands' well-being rested squarely on his shoulders. But there was nothing more he could do. Except pray for them. The banks were not cooperating.

  The only man he took with him when he moved into Aunt Viola's house was Beans. He figured he and the cook went so far back that he'd find a way to support them both.

  He had learned his aunt had died on the same day he learned his ranch was being taken from him. So much had changed in such a short period of time. His head and his heart were in no shape to take on a wife right now. He and Beans were barely settled in Viola's house. He knew she ran a matchmaking business. She had seemed to do alright for herself with the frivolous little business. How much different could matching women to men be from cows to bulls? The principles were probably the same.

  He lifted his records booklet and listed a column of category numbers and the name of every unmarried man he could think of off the top of his head, and those he spotted in town but hadn't remembered. He had kept record of his livestock in this same way, minus names of course. He made column headings and notated their approximate height, probable weight, where they worked, and their general temperament. He immediately crossed through the men who were not working and those who were known to drink too much. Somewhere down the road, he resolved in his mind, if he noticed these men had straightened out, he'd add them back on his list.

  A shiver of realization trickled down his spine. Was this why his aunt kept so tuned into town gossip? For the first time in his life, he could understand the benefit of it. Dread swept over him. He couldn't abide by gossip, but the information could be important to the success of his new business. Maybe he could talk Beans into being his ears around town. That made him chuckle.

  He tucked the booklet under his arm and climbed down from the bench. Beans had given him a list of supplies he needed to feed ten extra mouths, and some toiletries he anticipated the girls might need. Chance reckoned he'd just give the list to Newt Jacobson, the store owner, and let him, or his wife, gather the fancy soaps, lotions, and what-nots. He wouldn't know where to find the what-nots anyway.

  Meanwhile, he'd pick up the coffee beans, twenty-five pound sack of flour, pound of baking soda, and gallon can of lard. He tapped a finger on that portion of the list. Those things he was familiar with and didn't mind dragging to the counter. The girls were on their own if they needed anything else of a— he cleared his throat— womanly nature. He shuttered. He'd escort them to town and let them find their own... personal supplies.

  A level of heat filled his face at the thought. But he'd do it. If they needed other things from Newt's store that Beans wasn't aware of, Chance would see to it they got it. Happy cows were calm cows and calm cows sold well at market. So it had to be: happy brides would be calm brides and calm brides would be easier to marry off. Thus fulfilling his aunt's obligation to these ten women.

  Just— he wouldn't walk in here and buy those things without them present. He hurried in and handed Newt the list, explaining the shipment he'd received last night had turned out to be ten brides that his aunt had sent for. He kept the part about the distinctive one to himself.

  Newt grabbed his belly and laughed so loud, Chance wanted to punch him in the jaw. But he held his temper in check. "Yeah, I supposed if the boot were on the other foot—"

  He tried to appear like his friend's humor didn't affect him, but the dead-pan glare on his face must have exposed the truth. Newt settled his laughter with a clearing of his throat and scurried to the front of the store to gather the items Redburn had pointed out on the list.

  Chance blew out frustration and rubbed his forehead, shoving the hat back on his head. He might have underestimated how complex this matchmaking thing might be.

  He toss
ed the supplies into the bed of his wagon and lifted his eyes to some cowpokes crossing the street. They were his former hands, but none of them acknowledged him. Had they gotten work with another rancher? From the looks of their dirty clothes and unkempt hair, he'd say they had not. "Idle hands are the devil's tool." Aunt Viola's words came to him as if she were standing right beside him.

  A sick feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. There were good people in this town who would hire them. But he knew there were not-so-good people from up north who came here to prey on naïve young men to do their evil bidding. Then slink back to their northern state with ill-gotten profits and clean hands, while the boys either went to jail or lived a life on the run from the law the rest of their days.

  Chance pulled his gaze from his former hands to Rafe Adams, the town carpenter and furniture builder. One thought wrapped around the other, like a dust devil in a freshly plowed field. If size and breeding worked so successfully for cattle— why not his aunt's business. "Say, Rafe!"

  The man looked his way. "Can I talk to you a minute?"

  Rafe nodded and wandered toward him.

  "I'm trying to sort out Aunt Viola's matchmaking business." Redburn shoved his hat back and rubbed his forehead. "I reckon you might be on her list of potential grooms."

  "Y-yes s-sir. I-I heard s-some girls c-came in l-last n-n-n—" The man just gave up trying to say night.

  Rafe had a stutter that limited how much he talked to people. Chance couldn't fault the man for that. Made Rafe a very quiet man. He never wasted a single word when he did speak. He looked to be a few years older and a few inches taller than that one deaf girl. Her being deaf, Rafe being a quiet man, they probably were a perfect match. "Well, listen. I don't know if you had talked to Aunt Viola about getting a wife, but I think one of them is right for you."