Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01]

by Valley of Dreams

  “He sputtered and stomped back to the table, grabbed up that piece of paper, and read it through before laying it down on the table. ‘You can’t do this,’ Pa said again.”

  “What did the letter say?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never seen it again.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “Pa sat down at the table and stared at his hands. He sat there for the longest time. I think he was stone sober by then, the way he acted.” Ransom could see his father sitting at that table, plain as if it had happened the night before. “Then he picked up that paper, folded it, and handed it to Ma. ‘We’ll never speak of this again,’ he said. His voice was so soft, I could hardly hear him.

  “Ma nodded and took the paper. ‘I pray we never have to,’ she answered. Then she asked him if he wanted a piece of pie. She fixed him the pie and poured him some coffee, and when she turned back to the stove, I heard her give a sigh that came clear from her toes. I could tell she was praying. I’m sure she had done a lot of praying over this.”

  “And he never drank again?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “And you really don’t know what was on the paper?”

  “Nope. But he changed after that. It was like a lot of the mean drained out of him that night.”

  “He was still mighty strict.”

  “Yes, he was. But he wasn’t mean.” Ransom clucked the horses to pick up the pace, and they turned into the lane to the ranch house at the same time as the moon rose over the eastern hills, bathing the valley in light and shadow as it rose higher in the sky.

  “The elk are back.”

  Ransom gazed across the pasture to where the elk had mingled with the cattle, many of them grazing, some lying down. What a beautiful sight. His breath formed a white cloud in front of him. The moon was bright, but it shed no warmth to the dropping temperature. “Freeze tonight.”

  “Good thing for that hanging meat.”

  “It’s only been up for a day.”

  “Let it go two or three more. There’s that old apple tree that came down in that storm last spring. We can use some of that for smoking.”

  “Is it dry enough?”

  “Parts are.”

  Ransom didn’t say anything for a time, and then put it out. “Now you know why it bothers Ma so much when you stop at the saloon. Gambling and drinking are two things she just can’t abide.”

  Lucas didn’t answer.

  “You think on it, and you think real good.” He drove the wagon up to the corral fence by the barn and stopped. “Tell Ma we’re here, and I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  “You tell her. I’ll put away the team.”

  Ransom stepped down and headed for the house. Please, Lord, let him pay attention.

  “Ransom!”

  He turned and stared at his brother, who was beckoning him back to the barn. He looked to the house and back to his brother. “Coming,” he called. “This better be important,” he muttered on the way. “I’m hungry.”

  Lucas was hanging up the harness. He paused, heaved a sigh, and turned. “I never came home real drunk.”

  I’d rather you said you never got real drunk, but this isn’t my story. He shrugged. “Seemed you were a couple of times. Remember when you fell over the coffee table and knocked yourself out?”

  “I remember the falling part.”

  “And the time you fell asleep in the wagon in the barn?”

  “Okay, I get the picture. At least I’m not mean when I’ve been drinking.”

  “No, you’re the life of the party.”

  The team stomped and snorted, wanting to be let out.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a drink or two. Even the Bible says drink some wine.”

  “For your stomach is what Paul was referring to. It also says some stern stuff against drunkenness. Ma made me look all those passages up the time I came home with a couple under my belt.”

  “Why’d you quit?”

  “Can’t stand the hurt in her eyes. I know I’m a lot like Pa, but I sure didn’t want to be like him in that respect.” Now if I could just get this ranch back to the successes of his day. The thought sneaked in and bit. He watched Lucas check the sheeting wrapped around the elk carcass.

  Finally Lucas nodded, his eyes narrowed, mouth straight. He nodded again and heaved a sigh. “I’ll put the horses out. Be up to the house shortly.”

  “Okay.” Ransom stared into the dark shadowed holes where his brother’s eyes were. Could he? Would he do it? Time alone would tell. Lord, it’s in your hands. At least I hope he puts this in your hands. He glanced up at the moon as he strode to the house, windows brightly lit, welcoming them home. How he loved this place. Guess that’s in your hands too—whether we can keep this or lose it. But I sure want to keep it.

  18

  SOUTH DAKOTA

  Let’s head out after we eat.”

  Chief went for the team while Cassie tied his horse to a wagon wheel.

  “Micah is with the cattle?” she asked Runs Like a Deer, who was stirring something that smelled good at the campfire.

  She nodded and pointed to the steaming kettle. “Rabbit and wild turnip.”

  “What is wild turnip?”

  “A root good for eating.”

  “Like potatoes?”

  The Indian woman nodded and raised another plant. “Wild onion.”

  Cassie grinned at her. Sounded like they’d be eating better with Runs Like a Deer in charge.

  That evening around the campfire, she told them all that had happened in town. “The people there were very nice to me—not what I thought it would be.”

  Micah flicked the prairie chicken bone he was gnawing on over to Othello. The other dog was sitting beside Othello, watching for his turn. He had come out from under the wagon when Runs Like a Deer came out. Now she hobbled around with her crutch under one arm, keeping the splinted leg off the ground. And taking care of the cooking.

  “You got some money back?”

  “Sixty dollars. I was going to cash the fifty at the bank, but then I decided I can do that in Belle Fourche. How many days until we get there?”

  “Tomorrow night, if we press hard.”

  Cassie stared into the fire. Flames of red, white, and gold devoured the wood. Two spits of prairie chicken were still roasting on the rim of the fire pit, sending a mouthwatering fragrance to tease her nose. For a change she knew she could have more, but she was full. Memories of the fresh-baked pie made her close her eyes. Was there any chance that someday she could make a pie like that?

  And what about Sheriff Timmons? Might she see him again sometime?

  The next evening as they neared Belle Fourche, the road grew rutted from wagons hauling supplies into town and all the normal traffic of a town. Chief located a place for them to camp on the banks of a creek, and the morning after they set up, Cassie mounted Wind Dancer.

  “I’m going to see what kind of place this is and maybe pick up some supplies.”

  “Big changes since I was here,” Chief said.

  “When was that?”

  “When your father bought that valley.”

  Cassie studied the man. She had no idea how old he was, and he’d never talked about his people. It was like he stepped from behind a curtain and never looked back. “I found the deed in with a drawer full of papers.”

  “Good.”

  “Chief, are there some things I need to know that you’re not telling me?” She watched him shrug and then his face turned inscrutable. One of these days she had to get him talking. “Anything else, anybody?” she asked Micah and Runs Like a Deer.

  The three shook their heads, so she rode out of camp and down the road toward Belle Fourche. She knew they had supplies enough for at least a few more days. Cassie was constantly amazed at the way Runs Like a Deer was stretching things. They didn’t need anything so desperately that they couldn’t do without it. Other than news.

  She didn’t want to mention anything to
Chief, but she was afraid to trust his memory to get them straight to the valley. After all, it had been many years since he’d been there. With the weather getting colder by the day, she didn’t want to waste any time. Hopefully there would be a gathering place that was not a saloon. She rode into town looking for the general store first. If she couldn’t find anyone else to ask about the valley, she would look for the sheriff.

  What about a pastor? Surely there was a church. She could feel folks studying her as they walked along the sides of the street. Wind Dancer always caught people’s attention. She noticed two women who looked safe to ask. She rode up to them and stopped.

  “Could you please tell me where the local church is?”

  The younger one smiled at her. “You go two more blocks, turn right, and you’ll see it. What a gorgeous horse you have.”

  “Thank you. His name is Wind Dancer.” Cassie caught the frown levered her way by the older woman. What was wrong? Her pants were causing consternation—that’s what. Of course. “Thanks for the information.” She turned her horse and headed up the street. She’d worn pants for so long, she’d forgotten how those outside the show might view them.

  The church wore the traditional white paint and sported a steeple with a bell in it and a cross on top. A hitching post off to the side of the front entry invited her to tie up her horse.

  Dismounting, she stood looking around. Houses bordered a grassy elm-tree-studded area that seemed to belong to the church. She took the three steps and opened the door. The dim interior made her blink after the sunshine.

  “Anyone here?”

  “I’m back here. Come on in.” The voice echoed from behind the altar, so she followed the side aisle and approached a door that opened as she reached it. The man standing in the doorway wore a smile as big as all outdoors, and his eyes matched in their warmth. “Come in, come in.” He motioned her to join him and closed the door again. “Need to keep the heat in here or it would be too cold to work. My name is Reverend Obediah Hornsmith. And you are?”

  “Cassie Lockwood.”

  “And what brings you to our fair town?” He moved to the small round stove, with a steaming pot of coffee on the top. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” Cassie took the seat he pointed her to and gazed around the room, admiring all the bookshelves and the desk. It bore the look of a pastor’s study, according to the books she’d read. “What a comfortable place.”

  “Ah, my dear, thank you. I can already tell we are going to get on famously. I do hope you are moving here.” He handed her a steaming cup and held out a plate of cookies. “My wife made these fresh this morning. Oh, have more than one. You wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  “Thank you.” Cassie sat back in her chair. Coffee, fresh cookies, a warm welcome. What a haven within these walls. “I’ve never been in a place quite like this.”

  “Oh, really?” He set his refilled cup on the desk and leaned against the wooden top, dislodging some papers as he made himself comfortable. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I can always pick up papers, but I can’t always entertain a stranger to town. How did you hear about us?”

  “I stopped to ask two ladies who were walking toward the store. The younger one was nice and friendly and told me the way. The older one glared and sniffed.”

  “Why, what a pity. I apologize for her rude behavior.”

  “I think she didn’t like that I’m wearing pants and was riding astride.”

  “Mercy. Now, how can I help you?”

  “I am heading for a valley that is south of Rapid City and east of Hill City. By a little town called Argus. At least when my father was there, it was not much of a settlement. Perhaps it grew. I don’t know.”

  “So you’ve never been there?”

  “No.”

  “I hate to be nosy, but what is there that draws you?”

  She smiled at him, enjoying the way he put words together. Taking another bite of cookie, she closed her eyes in delight. “Please tell your wife that these cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Ah, these are her famous sour cream lemon cookies. She’ll be pleased.” He picked up his coffee cup and came over to sit in a chair that he pulled around to face hers. “There. Now we can chat in comfort. More coffee?”

  She shook her head and, totally to her own surprise, told him the whole story, or at least what she knew of it.

  “So you are indeed the famous Cassie Lockwood? I remember attending a Wild West show in Fargo a few years ago. An act there had a mother and father with their darling little girl on a pony. That had to have been you.”

  “Most likely. I don’t know of any other show that had a headline act like that.”

  “And your mother and father have both since died?”

  “Yes. And now the show is no more.” Cassie sniffed. What was there about this man that made her want to tell him everything? “And then a couple nights ago we were robbed, all because I was so foolish as to take my roll of cash into a store and . . .” She sniffed again and was afraid she was about to cry. She couldn’t believe it. Wiping under her eyes with her fingertips, she said, “What is the matter with me?”

  “I’d say you are a young woman who has been thrown out of the life she knew and into one she has no idea how to manage. All the training she knows is no longer relevant.”

  “All I can think is that I want my mother. And my father, and they can’t come back.”

  “No, they can’t.”

  Cassie huddled into the comfort of the chair and then took the proffered handkerchief and wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes again. “I’ve never missed them as much as right now.” Her whisper fell gently in the silence. A piece of wood fell in the stove, snapping and popping.

  “You do know that you are being held safe in God’s mighty hands.”

  “I guess so. Mor always said that.”

  “I remember meeting your father after the show. He asked me what I planned to do with my life. I was a young man in search of a dream. He said something to me I’ve never forgotten: ‘Never let your dreams die.’ ”

  Cassie nodded. “He said that a lot. That is why I’m on my way to find his valley of dreams.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Just tell me how to get there, at least to Rapid City. The Indian chief I’m traveling with says he knows how to get there, but I want to make sure we’re taking the most direct route possible.”

  “That I can do. I can also invite you to come home with me for dinner, and we will put together a basket for you to take to your people. Now, I don’t know about Argus, but I have a pastor friend in Hill City, and he will be a help for you. I’ll write him a letter and mail it in the hopes it gets there before you do. I’ll send a note with you also, just in case. There is a fine group of Norwegians in Rapid City, and I’m sure they would be pleased to help you too.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I had no idea when I rode in here that—”

  “That God would provide?”

  “I guess so. I thought some general instructions would be sufficient.”

  “Glad to be of service. Let’s go to my house, and I’ll write those letters while Mrs. Hornsmith can have a chance to help you in her ways.” He banked the stove and closed the lid on the tin of cookies. “Shame you didn’t bring the others along. They might have enjoyed a good home-cooked meal for a change too.”

  Cassie preceded him out the door and through a side door to step out into the sunshine.

  Why did it feel like a huge load had been lifted from her shoulders? Could it be that the worst of their trip was over?

  The map in her pocket made Cassie feel far more confident about the rest of the trip. She signaled Wind Dancer to settle into his rocking-chair lope as they returned to the camp outside of Belle Fourche. Runs Like a Deer looked up from the rock she was sitting on with her splinted leg straight out in front of her and nodded a greeting.

  “Where are the others?”

  “Grazi
ng cattle and horses.”

  “Good.” Cassie dismounted and untied the basket Mrs. Hornsmith had sent with her. “I brought supper.” She set the basket on a rock and took Wind Dancer to the wagon to strip off the tack. After finding him a patch of grass, she hobbled his front legs and left him to graze. Pastor Hornsmith had fed him a scoop of oats and hay back in town. What a good man, she thought, continuing her train of thought from the ride home. Both he and his wife, so friendly and caring. She patted her pocket, where not only the map resided but a letter to a pastor in Hill City and another to one in Rapid City. Back in camp she decided to go through more of the drawers and cupboards in the wagon, this time with a bucket of soapy water to clean as she went.

  “What are you working on?” she asked Runs Like a Deer.

  “Mittens for winter.” She held up the rabbit skins Chief had been tanning. “Cold in Paha Sape, Lakota name for the Black Hills.”

  “Did you used to live there?”

  She shook her head. “No, from Rosebud tribe south of here. Cold there too in winter.”

  “Do you want to go back?”

  Another shake of her head.

  Cassie wished she could get the woman talking about her past. She’d heard her and Chief talking in their language and wanted someone to translate, but they didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. Having someone to talk with was such a delight today. She’d not realized how much she missed the other performers from the show and their conversations when they would sit around after a meal and share stories of their lives. Sometimes on the trains they talked far into the night. Her father had been one of the better storytellers. While he had talked about his valley of dreams, he’d not talked a lot about his life before the Wild West Show, other than his childhood, touring, and then meeting his Norwegian princess. Her mother wasn’t really a princess, but she was of the royal family. She had told stories of growing up in Norway and her love of riding as a girl.

  She made Cassie dream of mountains, so when the show train traveled through the Rocky Mountains, both mother and daughter were always at the windows, enjoying the wonder of it all.