He slogged up to the house. He should go through their books tonight, see if there was something he could do, or sell, or make, to stretch their money just a little farther. All these expenses were looming with only faint signs of income. If the furniture sold? If they had a good calf crop, which of course did not pay out in cash money. If the guest idea paid off? Ranching was always a big if. But he’d gone over these and all other ideas countless times already. It only made him angrier and more depressed.
So instead, he spent the evening designing a bedstead that would be the centerpiece of a bedroom suite. Turned out to be a pretty elegant piece. And when Mor was reading Tom Sawyer, he couldn’t concentrate on numbers in a ledger anyway; the words distracted him. When he was drawing a design, he could ignore her voice. Ignore his mother. That wasn’t difficult when she was droning her way through a book he’d already read a couple of times.
He went to bed that night very tired, but not at all sleepy. He lay in the darkness staring at the black ceiling. Outside his window the overcast sky hid whatever phase the moon was in just now. Then it brightened out there, darkened, brightened again. Broken cloud cover, gibbous moon rising. His mind registered that without really registering. Moon phase had nothing to do with the fears and worries that plagued his mind.
His thoughts churned. He rolled to his side. To his other side. He had to keep his knees drawn up because the foot of his bed was so cold. Irresponsible Lucas. Strange, unusual Cassie. He could not quiet his whirlwind of thinking.
He started out of an almost doze. Benny was barking. Othello was going crazy. Now what could be going on? Mor shouldn’t have let those two mutts stay in the house for the night; their clamor was going to loosen the rafters. He pulled on his trousers and strode to the front room grumbling. He pushed his way through the frantic dogs to the door and threw it open. They tore out into the blackness, barking frenetically.
He stepped out on the porch, trying to see something, anything. The baying dogs were tearing toward the near pasture. His heart kicked into triple time, as he turned back to the house to get his boots, slamming into Cassie.
“No!” Cassie, in her nightgown and bare feet, grabbed his arms to keep her balance and fought to get around him. “What’s happening?” She gripped her shotgun at ready, the cold steel slamming against his upper arm.
“Can’t see.” He stepped around her.
“I know Othello’s barks. There’s something really bad out there!” She leapt off the porch and tore after the sound of the frenzied dogs.
“Cassie!” All he could think to yell was, “You’re barefoot! Cassie!” That fool girl! He recognized now that Benny’s bark said far more than just “There’s a stranger here.” Benny had detected something dangerous. The moon cleared just enough to show Cassie climbing the pasture fence already, headed right into the thick of that danger, whatever it was!
Frantic himself now, he ran back inside and snatched his own shotgun off the pegs.
Mor met him at the door, hugging a shawl around her shoulders. “Ransom, what is it?”
“I don’t know. That crazy girl!” He charged off the porch and across the lane to the fence, climbed over it, not nearly as agile as Cassie, and ran out into the pasture. He could just barely make out Cassie’s nightgown up ahead, a gray ghost bobbing in the darkness of the moon again disappearing behind clouds.
As if on cue, the moon emerged again and he could see a little better. Maybe it was a bear going after the calves. Bears came around now and then, though not lately. What if Cassie shot at a bear? Her puny little twenty-gauge couldn’t kill a bear. It would just make the thing roaring angry, furious enough to charge her. Did she know that? Probably not—and that ignorance just might be the death of her!
He ran faster, suddenly winded, gasping for air, stumbling on the wet grass tufts. He slipped and fell, yanked himself back to his feet, kept running.
Another dog was out there yipping. No . . . not a dog. A coyote! He could see the buffaloes and longhorns all bunched together in a knot, and a white flash in the moonlight told him Wind Dancer was in the middle of the bunch. No, it wasn’t coyotes. Coyotes ran with their tails angled down. These animals ran with their tails straight out. Wolves!
Wolves, at least four, maybe six, circling the herd, yipping, harrying.
Cassie had stopped within a hundred feet of the buffalo herd, and Ransom pulled up beside her, gulping for air.
She was sobbing. “I can’t shoot! Wind Dancer . . . George! And the dogs . . . Othello! I can’t fire into that!”
Suddenly, with a pained yelp, a wolf sailed straight up and arced to a plop on the ground. George with his mighty horns shook his head, lowered it, and went after the next one. A wolf foolishly moved in too close, trying to get around behind him. George wheeled and hooked that one and sent it flying as well.
Benny! No! The mutt was running right after a wolf, challenging it. The animal turned on him viciously, twisting, snarling, drove him yelping to the ground. Benny!
The wolves were suddenly breaking off their attack, running toward the hill. George took after them briefly but pulled up short, staying close to his herd. From the other side of the bunch Othello ran after the pack for a few yards and stopped, still barking his head off.
Cassie swung her shotgun up and fired. A wolf went down. She fired again. The lead wolf stumbled, fell, squirmed to its feet again and tried to run, but now it had fallen behind to the rear of the pack. Ransom fired and dropped it.
Breathing heavily, Mor came stumbling up beside them, gripping her rifle.
The wolves were out of shotgun range.
Mor swung her rifle up but then lowered it. “I can’t see them well enough for a clean hit.”
Benny came limping toward them. Ransom dropped to one knee and greeted his old friend. Benny’s shoulder was torn up near his neck, but he seemed to have escaped any other injuries. Ransom gathered his dog close and muttered praise.
Arnett, rifle in hand, came puffing up. “Well, I see I missed the excitement. Is everyone all right?”
Cassie left them and jogged over to George, where she scratched that huge dangerous head, affectionately rubbing the ears of a ton of beast that had just dispatched two wolves.
Ransom patted his dog, but it was Cassie he watched. Why did he find himself so attracted to her? He certainly didn’t want to be. It was probably just a reaction to Lucas’s leaving or something. In other words, not really attraction at all. He told himself that, and he agreed.
Kind of.
24
So it’s going to snow again.” Cassie watched out the window as Ransom and Arnett drove their wagon out the lane to build more furniture. She could hear the horses slopping through the mud clear into the kitchen. No wonder Mavis had said she couldn’t canter a horse in a corral, not with all this muck. “Mavis, it’s the first of April!”
“Oh, it’ll snow at least two or three times yet,” Mavis added cheerily, “but spring snow never lasts long. It melts off quickly.” She paused. “Well, rarely lasts more than a few days. You never can be sure about South Dakota weather.”
Making still more puddles and mud. But Cassie didn’t say that out loud.
In the near pasture, the longhorns and buffalo grazed as casually as if there had never been wolves last night. And there was the first buffalo baby of the season, a light-brown girl. She stood spraddle-legged near her mother, staring off into space. Wind Dancer didn’t seem too upset either, as if wolves were just another part of his new pasture experiences. It occurred to Cassie that when he and she lived with the show, he never grazed out on pastures. Grazing itself was a new experience to him.
She turned away from the window and finished clearing the breakfast table. Her mind stayed troubled, and it wasn’t just wolves. Micah had taken the wolf carcasses up to the cabin so that Runs Like a Deer could skin them and tan the pelts. She already had a stack of coyote hides with the fur on that she was sewing together into a wonderful blanket. Cassie caught he
rself wishing for the finished quilt to put on her bed. The softness of the fur always amazed her.
Mavis was examining a basket of apples beside the stove. “We’ll make these into applesauce today. They’re starting to go.” Apparently realizing she was teacher as well as matriarch, she held up an apple in each hand. “See? They’re getting a little soft, and two of them have brown spots. They’ll rot pretty quickly if we don’t use them before they make all the apples around them rot too.”
Cassie had made applesauce with Mavis before. “So first we quarter them and cook them.”
“You are so right.” Mavis pulled the big pot to the front of the stovetop so that it would heat more quickly. Cassie dipped water from the reservoir to make it about a third full. Together they cut the apples in half and the halves into quarters, cored them, and tossed them into the pot. It was pretty much mindless work, except when they had to pause to cut away a brown spot or flick out a worm.
Presently Mavis said, “I know you pretty well now. You’re usually not silent like this. What’s wrong?”
Cassie forced a smile. “I’m working on it. What will we do while the apples cook?”
“Start the early seed for the garden. We can plant peas outside directly, as soon as the ground thaws, along with lettuce and spinach; they don’t seem to mind snow. But the cabbage and tomatoes and a few others can do with a head start inside.” She smiled too, and it wasn’t forced. “I know you’ve been looking forward to planting a garden. This is the first step.”
“At the show kitchen, I think a lot of the vegetables came in cans.”
“I have always loved the fresh vegetables from my garden, and I think you’ll enjoy gardening too. First, we have to make the dirt.”
Cassie’s mouth dropped open. Make dirt. She thought of all the vegetable gardens she’d seen as trains passed through farmland, and Mavis’s own garden here. Make dirt?
While the apples simmered merrily at the back of the stove, the two women put on coats and slipped and skidded their way to the barn. “Bring this bag, if you will, please.” Mavis pointed to a large burlap sack of . . . Cassie peeked inside. Dirt. She picked it up and carried it back to the house. Mavis followed with another burlap bag.
“We’ll do this part outside.” Mavis donned leather gloves, handed a pair to Cassie, and opened her bag. It was dried cow flops. Cassie could feel her jaw drop. But as Mavis began crumbling them, Cassie gritted her teeth and joined in. If she hadn’t known where these came from, she’d not have been squeamish at all. They didn’t smell bad, they were so dry. Mavis dipped into the barrel of wood ashes for a scoopful. She poured the burlap bag of dirt into the wheelbarrow, dumped the crumbled manure on top, and tossed on the ashes. “Now we mix it up very thoroughly.”
Mavis was right about this being rather fun, but it did nothing to ease Cassie’s thoughts as she pushed the shovel into the dry pile and turned it over again and again. She’d read a passage in the Bible just that morning about taking every thought captive unto Jesus Christ. How come the Bible would say to do something but not give detailed instructions so one could actually do it? She could no more stop her rampaging thoughts than she’d been able to frighten the wolves away by shouting. Thinking about what could have happened still made her choke up. She jerked herself back to the moment and making dirt.
“We’ll keep this out and bag the rest for later.” Mavis shoveled their mixed-up soil into a burlap bag as Cassie held it open. She carried in the big bucket of dirt that was made from dirt and set it beside the stove, having no idea where Mavis would want it next.
Mavis began mixing water into her dirt a little at a time. “It should be moist but not muddy.”
Cassie sat down and watched. “Mavis, I’ve been thinking.” How should she say this? “Since no one is living in Arnett’s house, I thought maybe I could move over there. Gretchen could have her room back, and Arnett would feel better about the house. He says if no one lives there, it tends to deteriorate.”
“You might want to think about this a while. You don’t have to worry about the house. Apparently Chief is in there every day heating up dinner, and the furniture builders are in and out too. The house isn’t going to deteriorate. They’re keeping an eye on it.” She paused and stared at nothing a moment. “Have you ever lived alone before?”
“No.”
“I’m not sure you could handle that yet. I don’t think you realize how heavy loneliness can be.”
“I’d work Wind Dancer, of course, spend several hours a day putting our act back together. What with shooting practice, I’d have plenty to do.”
“Doing doesn’t ease loneliness. And it’s extremely unwise for a young woman to live alone out on a spread away from everyone and everything.”
“Why?”
Mavis licked her lips. “It just is, that’s all.”
Cassie narrowed her eyes. Memories of screaming and shooting and fire and searing pain made her catch her breath. “Surely—” She cut off her words. Her right arm tingled at the memory.
Mavis abandoned her dirt, pulled a chair around, and sat down right in front of her. Cassie felt trapped and didn’t know how to gracefully get away. “Now, Cassie, explain to me exactly what’s going on.”
Cassie’s heart went thud. Mavis knew things about Cassie that not even Cassie knew, when you started talking about relationships, and love, and all the things that tear people apart and put them back together. Mavis probably knew exactly what Cassie was thinking this very minute.
So she took a deep breath and blurted, “Ransom hates me. I want to be someplace where he doesn’t have to look at me all the time.”
“Why does he hate you?”
“Because it’s my fault that Lucas left, and he knows that. He’s hated me ever since I showed up. I can feel it. I’ve always felt it. He’s been miserable for months, and I don’t want to add to his misery.”
Mavis’s voice was soft, even. “Why does it bother you so much that he’s miserable? Do you care for him? I mean, of course, beyond simple friendship.”
Cassie shrugged. “I care about him, yes. I didn’t think I would, but I do.” Like she had for Lucas, like a brother. The snort started down about her ankle region, but she caught it before it became audible. Cassie Lockwood, while you have many faults, lying is not one of them. Like a brother? Ha! She forced herself to study Mavis’s lined and caring face.
“Well, dear Cassie, I’ve been watching you two, and I don’t think he hates you at all. There are other things preying on his mind right now.”
“Mavis, I know he does. And I want to put some space between us so he’s not so troubled.”
“Let me think about this a little. There is more here than it appears.” She got up and walked out back, returned with two large, deep trays. “I keep these just for starting seeds.” She smoothed her special dirt into a tray and began arranging seeds on top. “I’ll only start some of my seeds early, save the rest for planting outside directly later. We’ll cover these with more dirt and keep the trays warm and moist. When the seeds sprout, we’ll put them out during the day and bring them in at night.”
Now what should Cassie do? She helped with the trays, of course, but what should she do about these larger questions? She was certain that as wise as Mavis was, she had missed the obvious on this one. Ransom had made his feelings clearly known. Oh, he was polite to Cassie and all that, but she could feel the resentment, the dislike. Why could Mavis not see it? Because Ransom was her son, and mothers don’t see that in their sons. But what if Mavis was right?
The perfect answer came home with Gretchen that afternoon when she brought the mail.
“From Mr. Porter.” Cassie waved the letter she had just received and beamed. “Mavis, there’s a shoot in three weeks down in Louisville, Kentucky, organized by the man who won this last one and the one before, Ty Fuller. Mr. Porter says neither he nor Abigail can make it to this one, but perhaps you or Ransom could take me.” She looked up from the letter. “But yo
u don’t have to. I’ve been there four or five times. I know my way around in Louisville. Frankfort too.”
“Go alone? That’s not wise, Cassie.”
“Ransom has far too much to do, and he’s finishing up his furniture. You have a lot too. I’m sorry to run off with so much work to be done, but I should be able to bring home some nice winnings.”
Mavis shook her head. “Bad idea.”
“I could go with her!” Gretchen suggested eagerly.
“Worse idea. Perhaps Elouisa Brandenburg can accompany you. But you shouldn’t be traveling alone.”
This was not the time to argue. “In any case, I will prepare for this one. It’s an excellent opportunity to earn some money.” And maybe, just maybe, Ransom won’t think quite so poorly of me if I start bringing in some income. Cassie folded the letter and put it in her drawer in the bedroom.
Mrs. Brandenburg was out of town assisting a sister who was ill. Mrs. Stevens could not possibly go. She was entertaining guests from Rapid City that week. Mrs. Hudson had the vapors and a peculiar cough, or she would love to accompany Cassie. Runs Like a Deer? Out of the question. She had never been in a city; she’d be more bother than help. Micah was fixing that broken fence.
Just over two weeks later, when Cassie boarded the train for Joplin, Missouri, where she would transfer to the Louisville train, she stepped from the platform to the car alone.
She stuffed her carpetbag into the overhead bin by herself. She laid her guns, her only companions, across the seat in front of her. Why did Mavis think this such a bad idea? Did the woman not forget that Cassie was an adult, for pity’s sake, responsible for a herd of livestock and her traveling companions who had accompanied her many miles when they were seeking the Engstroms’ place? She reveled in the new freedom of being on her own for the first time ever, responsible for no one but herself.
Mavis had given her a book to keep her occupied, but she enjoyed too much simply watching the countryside go by. Home, what it meant to people, what she saw passing by, occupied her thoughts a great deal.
Place to Belong, a Page 24