“Lucas won’t write. He’s too afraid I’ll come and find him. If we ever get an elk, I’ll see if he is in Hill City.”
Mavis straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Come on, Cassie, let’s make cinnamon rolls.”
Ransom nodded. “See you for dinner.”
Mavis and Ransom had read the clouds well. The storm came roaring back soon after the men returned to the barn. The windows rattled and the kitchen darkened. Cassie decided she didn’t want to think about the mournful howling and frigid drafts. She’d think about other things.
“I’ve been thinking,” Cassie announced after they slid the pans of cinnamon rolls into the oven. “Would you like to help me write a bunch of letters? Well, write the first one and then I’ll just copy it as soon as I get addresses.”
“For shooting matches?”
Cassie nodded. “I need to get started on this.”
“Sure. Be glad to.” They sat down at the table with a tablet and pencil. “We’ll write the body of the letter and leave the address and salutation to be added later.”
“Right. It won’t look funny, do you think?”
“Not if we do it right.”
Cassie tapped her chin with the end of the pencil and started writing.
Greetings.
My name is Cassie Lockwood, and I am the daughter of Adam Lockwood. You might have heard that he passed away five years ago and I stayed with the Wild West Show of Lockwood and Talbot that is no longer around.
“Change that to in business,” Mavis suggested.
“Good.” In business. I am looking for shooting matches to shoot in.
“How about to participate in?”
Cassie made the change. If you know of any, I would like to . . .
She looked up to see Mavis squinting hard to think better.
“I know.” Cassie jotted quickly, I would appreciate your assistance in ways to contact them.
She nodded. “All right. Add our address—The Engstrom Ranch, Argus, South Dakota—and then you’ll sign them when you have contact information.”
Cassie read the letter again. They made one other change, and Mavis went to put more wood in the fireplace and bring good paper and pens back to the kitchen. “Got to get the rolls out.”
She pulled the two pans from the oven and immediately tipped each over onto the racks and then lifted the baking pans off. The cinnamon fragrance wafted around the kitchen, and steam rose from the rolls.
“Does anything in the whole world smell better than that?” Cassie inhaled with a blissful sigh.
“Mm, lilacs in the spring?” Mavis shook her head. “Maybe not. I expect Ransom will say he could smell them clear to the barn and show up anytime to make sure.”
“The way it is storming out there?”
“Maybe not. But either he has a better sense of smell than most dogs, or he has a sixth sense time-wise as to when rolls should be ready.” She pulled the coffeepot to the hotter part of the stove. “We can write while that heats.”
They each copied one letter and wiped off the pen nibs.
“It’s hard to believe it is only three o’clock, dark as it’s gotten.” Mavis set a plate with rolls on the table and poured them each a cup of coffee. She poured two more mugs as well and set them on the rack above the stove.
“They won’t let the kids come home in this, will they?”
“No. Some people in town will take them in. One of these years when the telephone lines come clear out here to Argus, we’ll be able to keep in touch. Doesn’t that sound amazing?” She turned at the sound of stomping feet on the back porch. “What did I tell you?”
Arnett came in first, crystalline snow frosting the scarf that covered his face and tied his hat down. “You’ll have to sweep us off.”
Mavis fetched the broom and had started on him when Ransom entered, the full milk pail over his arm.
He set it in the sink. “I’m next. The milk is already cold.” He sniffed. “I knew it.”
Mavis swept him off too. “I told Cassie you’d be here, and she didn’t believe me.” Hearing a bark at the door, she let both dogs in. “Where’s your dog, Arnett?”
“Inside the bunkhouse. He didn’t figure it was worth going out today. I stopped there and restoked the fire.”
The men took their coffee and rolls in to sit by the fireplace, and Cassie and Mavis returned to copying letters.
“Seems a waste to be lighting the lamps in the middle of the afternoon, but . . .” They both paused to listen to the wind tear at the eaves. “Sounds almost like a hungry beast, doesn’t it?”
“On a day like this, there’s only one thing to do. I think I’ll bake some gingerbread.” Mavis got out the ingredients and the utensils. “Put some more wood in that stove, would you, please? I need to get that oven hotter.”
Cassie did as asked and then went ahead and strained the milk, setting flat pans in the pantry for the cream to rise. She shut the door on the pantry and tucked the rolled rug against the bottom of the door to keep the draft out of the kitchen. “Do you mind if I make cocoa? A cup of that sounds so comfortable.”
“Make plenty. You won’t be the only one who wants some.”
Cassie measured cocoa and sugar into a pan and added enough water to make liquid, then added milk, stirring as she did. She slid the pan away from the hottest part of the stove and went to the big room. “Do either of you want cocoa and possibly another cinnamon roll?”
“Is it snowing outside?” Ransom asked.
Cassie frowned, rather confused. “Well, yes.”
Arnett cackled. “He’s teasing you, missy. What he means is, ‘Why, yes of course, thank you.’ And me too.”
Cassie glanced at Ransom, who gave a slight shrug, his face impassive. He nodded. “Thank you.”
What was happening with her? When he looked directly at her, her heart tripped or something. “I-I’ll bring in a plate of rolls.”
“You could bring your cocoa in here too and help us enjoy the fire.” Arnett’s invitation made her smile.
“Thank you.” She stopped at the window on her way back. It was black as night out there but the sun was not down yet, and the wind still clawed at the roof. It seemed strange for Gretchen not to be galloping in about now and the dogs barking their greeting. Instead, both dogs lay curled up on the rugs in front of the fireplace. She turned to the men. “They should be all right up there, shouldn’t they? At the cabin?”
Ransom gave a slight nod. “They have plenty of wood and water. Although they could melt snow for water if they needed to. The cattle and horses will be crowding together in the lee of the barn or by the haystack. This is not a terrible storm, just lasting longer than usual. You needn’t worry about any of them.”
Easier said than done. He might be used to being shut up in the house, but this was all new to her. Her winters had never included a raging beast trying to rip its way into the house and devour the occupants. And when it was cold enough to cool the bucket of milk between the barn and house, it was some cold. If it was this bad from inside the house, what was it like outside for Wind Dancer? George and his kind were well prepared, but her horse had never experienced such weather.
“Do you think Wind Dancer is all right?”
“He’s been feeding at the haystack with the rest of the horses and cattle. The buffalo come up sometimes, but I guess they like digging for frozen grass better than sharing.”
Cassie nodded. “Thank you. I was hoping to ride him one of these days.”
“Once this blows over, we’ll have good weather again. That’s South Dakota for you.”
Cassie went to see if the cocoa was hot enough. Mavis was just sliding the pan of gingerbread into the oven. “There now. That will taste mighty good after supper.” She turned to Cassie. “You’re worrying about something?”
Cassie felt her shoulders and upper back twitch and her face take on a frown. “I’m not sure it’s worry so much, but—”
“But if that wind would
stop screaming and shrieking, you’d feel a whole lot better?”
Cassie thought a moment. “How did you know? I didn’t.”
“Oh, my dear, I’ve lived here a long time. Others have felt that way too. I read a letter one time from a woman who was homesteading out on the prairie, and she talked about the wind driving people insane. That some actually ran out of their houses and died because they couldn’t stand it any longer.”
Cassie turned to see that Ransom had come into the kitchen.
He nodded. “I’ve heard that same thing about wolves howling and prowling around the sod houses and shanties. Life out on the prairie is hard. We have it much easier here.” He inhaled the mingled fragrances. “Mor, your kitchen always smells so good. Think I’ll have another cinnamon roll if it is long until supper.”
“Is fifteen or twenty minutes long?”
“Well, I better have one just in case.”
“Just in case?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Why, just in case the house blows away.”
Mavis laughed, and sure enough, there was that twinkle back in his eyes. Matching his mother’s.
So that’s where he got it, Cassie thought, fighting a grin herself. Is he different since Lucas left, or am I just paying more attention? “I’ll fix you one,” she told him. “Do you want it heated?”
Sure enough there was a twinkle in his eye.
22
Cassie jerked upright in the middle of the night. What had she heard? She listened hard, not breathing. Nothing. That’s what she heard. Nothing. The wind had stopped. She flopped back on her pillows, almost giggling in relief. She drifted back to sleep, feeling the smile her mouth insisted upon.
Surely the storm was no more, because after breakfast and chores, the men all rode out through the new snow to Arnett’s place. They would not have done that if there were any chance of more snow pending.
That afternoon when Gretchen came home from school she brought not only stories of the storm but also mail. Mavis smiled at the envelope from her son Jesse. Cassie stared at the two envelopes addressed to her. One was from Tyrone Fuller, the man who’d won the Hill City shoot, and the other was from Mr. Porter.
“So open them.” Gretchen returned from hanging up her things. “Oh, it feels so good to be home.”
“Where did you stay?” Mavis asked, slitting an envelope with a table knife and handing it to Cassie.
“With the Brandenburgs. Both me and Jenna. We had the best time, but it was scary, even just walking to their house, the snow and wind was so bad. But our teacher told us all where we would be going and let us out a bit early. Before it turned pitch black. Did you ever see anything like that, Mor? So dark, I mean?”
“I agree, it was bad.”
Cassie opened the letter from Mr. Porter first. After a quick skim through, she went back to the beginning and read it aloud.
“Dear Miss Lockwood,
“I’m sure by now you’ve received your invitation to the shooting match in St. Louis. My wife and I plan to attend, and we hope you would like to travel with us. You could join us on the eastbound train in Argus on February 22. We will provide your ticket and look forward to getting to know you better as we travel the rails. I know trains are not new to you, but we are looking forward to seeing new country.
“Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Porter”
“That’s not far off.” Gretchen stared at her in wide-eyed wonder.
So true! Cassie slit open the second. “The shoot is in St. Louis on February 25, and it lasts two days.” Can I be ready by then? The question knifed her, making her hands shake. Before, her shooting depended on her arm healing. Now her practicing depended both on her arm and on the weather. At least she had shot that morning. Not for long, though, because the cold had seeped right into her hands to the very core, making them stiff in spite of the gloves.
“But you’ll go?” Gretchen’s brows furrowed.
Cassie nodded. “I guess I better answer them both.” She fetched the good paper from Ransom’s desk, along with ink and pen. What would it be like to sit at that desk and write her letters? She almost smiled at the thought, how mature and dignified she would be, sitting there and writing.
Once upon a time she’d had no doubts about her shooting ability. Her father pointed her toward the targets, and she took them out. Now she couldn’t help wonder what if she wasn’t good enough anymore? Mr. Porter would be throwing his money away on her again, as would JD at the store.
“All you can do is your best.” The voice of her father came as if he were standing right behind her. If she thought about it, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. She nodded, blew out a breath, and headed back to the kitchen. But what if her best wasn’t good enough?
“You look worried. About the shoot? We’ll be praying for you, Cassie.” Mavis turned from the stove. “God says we can do all things through Him, who strengthens us.”
“Then I sure hope He makes my arm strong again too. Do you think winning a shooting contest is important to Him?”
“Good question. But somewhere in Psalms, I think, there’s a verse that says something along the line that whatever concerns us, concerns Him. I’ll have to find that again. That’s not it exactly. But He can use your shooting for His glory too. I’m not sure how, but He’ll find a way.”
Gretchen prompted, “Mor, read the letter from Jesse.”
“I will, after supper.”
“Since they are all over to Arnett’s, I suppose I better go milk.” Gretchen peered out the kitchen window. “Sun’s down behind the hill. ’Course it was nearly there when I got home.” She did not look at all excited by the prospect.
If Mavis noticed, she made no sign. “Take this bucket of scraps for the chickens. Oh, and check to make sure the stock tank didn’t freeze over again. I know Ransom took an ax to it this morning.”
With a dramatically heavy sigh, Gretchen did as her mother said, even to throwing a look of despair over her shoulder.
“I should learn to milk,” Cassie suggested.
“In due time. You’re learning new things every day.” Mavis fetched a slab of beef from the pantry.
Cassie frowned. “I thought we were having chicken and dumplings tonight.”
“We are. I’m cutting this beef up into three or four smaller pieces so that it cooks through better,” Mavis explained. “It’s the brisket, a pretty tough piece, so it will need extra cooking. I’ll let it simmer through the evening, and by tomorrow it should be nice and tender, ready to serve.”
Mavis was right, of course. Cassie just learned something else. When you have a tough piece of meat, cook it longer.
One thing Cassie now knew how to do was peel potatoes and scrape carrots. She busied herself preparing the vegetables for supper. Finally Gretchen returned. There seemed to be less milk in the pail than when Ransom milked.
Someone was knocking at the front door. Gretchen hustled out to answer. She called, “Come in! Mor! Chief’s here and Runs Like a Deer.” Gretchen herded them all into the kitchen.
Runs Like a Deer untied her headscarf and scrunched it together in her hands. “Micah and I thank you for the cookies.”
“You’re certainly welcome. Please sit! Have some gingerbread. I’m afraid it’s from yesterday, but I just put another pan to the oven. We’ll have fresh gingerbread soon.” Mavis set the plate in the middle of the table and settled down on a chair across from their guests. Leaning forward, her smile was as warm as a summer sun. “Now first, I am so glad to see you. Second, what can we do for you?”
Chief sat for a moment, apparently thinking what to say. “First, make sure I’m welcome. If not, please say and no hard feelings.”
“John. Cassie and I and the boys too have been praying that you were safe and that you would come back. We want you to consider this your home. You mean so much to Cassie and to us—you have ever since the beginning.”
He considered this a moment and nodded. “Than
k you. That’s that one. Next, Micah says why don’t we use that slab siding up there to build a lean-to onto the cabin. Rock up a second chimney against the first. Depending on weather, we could have it done in a couple months. They have cabin, and I live in lean-to.”
Mavis was beaming, just beaming. And Cassie was sure she must be too. Chief was making plans to stay—just what she’d asked God for.
Cassie sat down beside Runs Like a Deer. “Chief, are you sure you’re going to be all right? You seem so tired.”
The corners of his mouth moved up a bit in an almost smile. “I’m good, Cassie. I’m good.”
He didn’t look good, but Cassie was not going to say that and contradict her old friend. His cheeks were pinched in, and he appeared almost gaunt, and his hair was thinner.
“No.” Mavis was saying no to Chief? “You are welcome here under any circumstance, John. We’ve made that clear, but I want you to know you are being cruel.”
His mouth dropped open. “Cruel?”
“You are loved. You know that. Love also means caring about. You are not well. You know it. We all can see it. And yet you are keeping secrets from the people who care about you most. That is cruel.”
He stared at her for long, long moments. His voice then was quiet, nearly a whisper. “Loved.” He nodded, paused again. “When I went back, I sought my son. He was gone, no one knew where. The elders, the old people, nearly all dead. No one knew me anymore. No one wanted me to be there, to eat their food. I got sick; no one cared. They said, ‘Go somewhere else.’ What they meant was, ‘Go off and die. We can’t feed you.’”
“That’s terrible!” Mavis looked aghast.
He shrugged. “That is how it is on reservation. If you are no use, you leave and go die. So I left. Come here. Still sick but not as much. Summer will be good.” Suddenly he pointed at Cassie’s arm. “Getting better?”
So that was all he would say. It was enough. Cassie said, “You saw when you were throwing birds for me. It still gets tired and trembly real fast, especially when I’m shooting high. I need a lot of practice to strengthen it, but with this weather it’s hard to get the time in.”
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