“I always loved the badlands. It’s good to be home.” He opened his eye and smiled at her. “You’re a quiet and gentle presence; do you know that?”
Amethyst shrugged, ducking her chin. She was quiet because she had nothing to say. Her father would not call her gentle, not after she had left him in the wagon in the barn overnight. “Worthless” was the only word she’d ever heard—from men anyway. How to tell this man that he was the first to ever talk with her like this.
“Can I get you anything before…” She couldn’t mention bed. That would be improper.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you for your time. I’m sure you’re tired after all the work you’ve done today.” He smiled, the movement of his mouth causing deep brackets in his cheeks. “I’d like it if you told me something about yourself.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I lived on my father’s farm all my life. He sent me here to bring Joel back because he thought Joel was his grandson. He wanted him to live on the land he would inherit.” Was there a touch of bitterness in her tone? She hoped not.
“Where?”
“Eastern Pennsylvania.”
“And I take it Joel is not your nephew?”
“I always thought he was.” A sigh caught her unaware. Now I have no one. The thought brought on another sigh. You haven’t written to your father again. That thought plagued her every day as if it were a vengeful creature out to make her miserable. All I want to do is forget. Forget all the work I did for a place that would never be mine, no matter how often I wished it so. Forget the man who, even though he is my father, thinks me worth less than the dog that lived under our porch. So, Father, how are you faring on your own? And since I am not there, who are you browbeating now, as you did my mother before me?
Just write the letter and get it off your conscience. The voice of reason was never as strident as the one seeking her misery.
Amethyst had listened to Jacob Chandler’s preaching on Sunday. He’d said God the Father loved all of His children, which must include her. Hard to think of a loving heavenly Father when the one who, as he said, provided all her needs was no earthly good.
She glanced up from studying her chapped fingers when she felt Jeremiah’s gaze upon her.
“So what will you do?”
“I’m not going back.” There. She’d declared her intentions aloud again. Mrs. Grant had said she had a good head, the first compliment from anyone other than her mother, and she’d believed her. Working here for Pearl was nowhere near as arduous as doing both the man’s work and the woman’s work on her father’s farm. And Pearl so often expressed her gratitude.
“I know Pearl is grateful for your help here. I’ve heard her say so.”
Was she just being polite? Amethyst often wondered. Pearl wore graciousness like a fine knit shawl and shared it with all around her. Especially with Amethyst. Never before had she heard “please” or “thank you” spoken with a smile rather than a grudge.
Amethyst gathered the compliments and stored them against a day when she might indeed be forced to return to her father’s house.
Getting to her feet, she had been surprised to see him stand also. “I bid you good night, then, and thank you for a pleasant evening.”
He had sketched a bow and nodded. “We must do this again.”
He had acted the perfect gentleman that night, had been rude only that one time. But now the flask. What was she to make of it all? Well, it was no business of hers.
Several mornings later she woke long before the rooster. She lit her kerosene lamp, took out paper and pencil that she’d borrowed from Pearl some time earlier, and sat down to write to her father.
Dear Pa,
She printed in slightly large block letters so that he could read it more easily.
Since I have not heard from you, I think that you may not have received my earlier letter. I have news for you that will not make you pleased. Upon arriving in Medora, I learned that Joel is truly not your grandson. I do not know all the particulars, but he is with his real father. One only need to see them together to know this is so. He and his pa live at the Robertson ranch, and his father is becoming the pastor for the church here.
I am doing housework at the boardinghouse where I first came to stay. I do not plan to return to Pennsylvania. I like it here in the West.
I was very ill on the trip here, and a wonderful woman named Mrs. Grant from Chicago made sure I received medical treatment, or I might not be here now.
I hope all is well with you.
Your daughter,
Amethyst Colleen O’Shaunasy
She thought of writing loving daughter but was not able to force the pen into the proper configuration. She addressed the envelope, including a return address in case he ever wanted to contact her, and placed her folded letter inside. Tomorrow she would walk into town and mail this letter, to finally get it off her conscience. She had thought about asking him to send her a box of her things but knew that would be useless.
At the rooster crowing she made her way downstairs, dipped warm water from the reservoir, and returned to her room to wash and dress.
Back down in the kitchen she sliced the cornmeal mush in preparation for frying, having set it the night before with bits of venison sausage worked into it. The hens were laying better again, so they could have fried eggs too; such a treat after the oatmeal, cornmeal mush, and pancakes they’d been having for breakfast. Surely Pearl wouldn’t mind if she let several of the broody hens hatch their eggs to replace the hens lost in the winter and to have young fryers to eat. If the Heglands could afford another cow, she would love to begin making cottage cheese to sell at the store in town, and perhaps they could build up a milk route, something she’d thought of doing at home—or rather, in Pennsylvania. No longer would she refer to that place as home.
“Good morning, Amethyst. You are up early.” Pearl set Joseph in the high chair his father had made for him so he could sit at the table.
“You’ve already fed him?”
“Yes, the little piglet nursed twice during the night.” Pearl hid her yawn behind her hand. “Carl is already out in the shop. One certainly can’t sleep through a fussing child, at least not this one. I saw light under your door in the wee hours. Are you all right?”
“Never better. I finally wrote to my father again after putting it off so long. This time I said I was not returning to Pennsylvania.”
“Congratulations.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll walk in to town this morning to mail the letter and anything you want to send. Then I can stop by the general store. I’d like to sew Carly a new pinafore and some shifts for summer.”
“How nice. I’ll give you the money for sewing supplies and the cotton. I’ll make a list of things we need. I think you should take the horse and wagon.”
“I don’t want to get stuck. I’d rather walk. I have a question.”
Pearl smiled and nodded. “Go ahead.” She smiled even more broadly after Amethyst laid out her dreams to sell cottage cheese again and maybe even deliver milk. “Wonderful. I’ll ask Carl.”
Later, as Amethyst served breakfast, she caught Mr. McHenry watching her. The heat started right about her heart, and she hoped it didn’t shine like a beacon on her face. She’d been surprised at how pleased she’d been to see him on his return from Deadwood.
“Would you care for more?” she asked.
“No, thank you.”
She held the platter for Mr. Hegland. “And you, sir?”
“Thank you.” Carl waited while she slid several slices onto his plate. “Amethyst, I would appreciate it if you did not call me sir.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled at him with a slight shrug. “It just comes out.” That annoying heat, again setting her cheeks afire.
Pearl laughed, which set Carly to giggling, and soon they were all chuckling. “Please, Amethyst, we are not laughing at you.”
“I know, but it is so good to hear and see laughter in a house.” Amethyst p
icked up a cloth to wipe the syrup from Carly’s hands and face. “There you go, little one.” She swooped her up and planted a kiss on the little cheek before setting her on the floor. I shall make her a rag ball from the bits and pieces left over. If I could find a jingle bell to put in it, that would make her smile more.
Sometime later when she handed her letter in at the post office, she almost looked up to see what took the weight off her shoulders.
“Here is some mail that has come in. Would you be willing to drop this off at the Blacks’ on your way home?”
“Of course.” Home, on her way home. Another bit to take in and let it warm her heart.
She chose a calico with flowers on a green background that wouldn’t show the dirt too much for Carly’s pinafore and a red-andwhite gingham for the little girl’s shifts. With a clean waist, that would do for church. For herself, she fingered a fine white lawn with sprigs of green leaf that would look lovely in a high-necked blouse with leg-of-mutton sleeves and lace set in tucks down the front and gathered around the neck and cuffs. Never had she worn such a fine garment. But she’d seen other women dressed in similar fashion. Be satisfied with the dresses Pearl has given you, she told herself, glancing down at the green cotton skirt she’d altered to fit her.
Would Mr. McHenry—? She cut off that thought with a snort. No matter what she wore, no man would look at her that way. Her father had told her so often enough. “Colleen, you are good enough to cook and plow, but don’t get any highfalutin ideas out of your station. God put you where you are for a reason.” And while Mr. McHenry said nice things to her, he had a temper and he drank. Mix the two together, and she well knew what could happen. She wanted no part of it. As if he cared anyway.
Amethyst, no longer Colleen, fingered the half-inch lace one more time and carried it with her other choices up to the counter to be cut. One yard for now for Carly. One day the fine lawn for herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Whoever heard of playing a harmonica in church?
Jeremiah shook his head at Rand’s suggestion. “If you say so,” he answered, chuckling inside. If his mother could only see him now. All those years she’d wanted him to sing in the choir and he had run the other way like the Indians he chased for so long. Now, here in this end-of-the-world town, he was joining the choir, on a mouth organ no less. Surely God had a marvelous sense of humor.
Of course, when you thought of it, his mother had most likely gathered her friends around, and they were all looking down laughing.
“I’ll need more practice time than that brief bit you all do on Sunday morning.”
“Come on out on Saturday, spend the day, and we’ll work it in. Maybe we’ll get Opal singing again that way.” Rand rubbed a raw place on his jaw, a close encounter with an angry mama. The few cows that were calving he’d kept close to home to be there if any needed help. While the cow needed help, she’d not been a bit polite about accepting it.
“Good. How many calves do you have?”
“Ten.”
McHenry swallowed. God above, help my friend. “More still to come?” The two men were riding the range, taking it slow and easy so that Kentucky wouldn’t wear out. The Dresden blue sky wore whipped-cream clouds kissed by the golden sun—a spring day all the more glorious after the terrible winter. A song sparrow invited a mate to come see the territory he’d picked out. The earliest butterflies tasted from gold flower to blue, a smorgasbord of choices.
“Hope so. We found a few wandering the plain a couple days ago. The steers seemed to have fared better than the cows.”
“Sure. They were only eatin’ for one.”
“How many logs you got cut? Enough to start the walls?”
“Not really. And I’ve not got the logs rounded up in one place yet.” McHenry crossed his arms on the saddle horn. It seemed strange, after all his years riding a military saddle, to be using a western saddle, but the heavy pommel and horn were necessary for roping and the daily business of ranching. He intended to do it right—ranching, that is.
Right now the twenty head he’d bought, from someone who wanted out, grazed with Rand’s herd. Jeremiah hadn’t a cow in the bunch, and the steers looked like moving bones with skin on. Their horns weighed more than the rest of the body.
“You going to file on the land around your house?”
“Ruby’s been after me to do that. Just seems to stick in my craw. The land should be free for all to use, just the way God made it. The Indians have the right attitude there. You use and take what you need and leave plenty for the next that come along.” Rand blew out a sigh. “I know times are changing, but the thought of fences all over these plains makes me want to choke.”
“De Mores had a bad time with the ones he put up, but you already have that one plot fenced.”
“Right. And if I plant grain, I’ll have to fence to keep the cattle out rather than in.”
“You seriously thinking of seeding? Oats or wheat?” Jeremiah looked up when he heard a hawk scree, the sound so wild and free his heart leaped as if to join the dark wings lifting the bird on the air currents. He’d been reading a book by Theodore Roosevelt about his times here on the prairie, hunting and ranching both. The man had a love of the western lands, that was for sure, along with a keen eye.
“You know when Roosevelt is coming back?”
“Nope. He was just here for the cattlemen’s meeting—that one in Miles City.”
“Why didn’t you go?”
“Didn’t want to be away. And besides, it’s bad enough seeing what happened here, let alone listening to the horror stories from the big ranchers.” Rand nudged his horse forward and shook out his rope. The two men had been riding the prairie, searching out living stock, pulling some from mudholes, putting a bullet in the head of one too far gone, ending its misery.
McHenry followed suit, not yet seeing what Rand had seen. Times like this he wanted to rip the patch from his face and have the sight of both eyes again. He’d been known as an eagle eye, the greatest compliment anyone could give him, and look at him now. One-eyed, a gimpy leg that clung to its pain, and the stamina of a girl in a tight corset.
Rand pointed to a recently dead cow lying in the mud of a water hole. She’d been too weak to pull her feet out of the mud. A calf tottered along the edge, bawling for her to come and feed him.
“We’ll take him on home with us.” He settled the loop over the baby’s head and stepped to the ground, Buck taking up the slack, as any well-trained cow horse would.
“Your cow has enough milk for hers, the house, and this one?” McHenry nudged Kentucky over to give the bawling calf some shade. The sun shone hot as if to make up for lost time.
“I think so. You want him in front of you?”
“Sure, why not?”
Rand threw the calf on its side, tied front legs together and then the rear, then hoisted the struggling baby up to his chest and up to McHenry’s arms. “This’ll give Opal something to care for. Now, if we could trap some wild horses, maybe she’d come back to herself.”
“You’re that worried about her?” McHenry settled the calf in the saddle in front of him and stroked the mottled hide. “Hey, little one, easy now. We’ll get you fed.”
“I am.” Rand swung back on Buck and recoiled his rope. “Let’s head on home. Tomorrow, if you want to come along and file on that piece you decided on, we’ll take the train to Dickinson and get the deed done. I’ll ask Cora Robertson if she wants to go too. Might as well make a day of it.”
“What about Charlie, Carl, and the others?”
Rand shrugged. “Near as they are to town, I think it’s different. We’re looking at a quarter to half a section. Should think more, but I’m hoping the range can stay free. I thought to have Opal file on a piece too, but—”
“Where?”
“Next to me.” Rand shrugged and stood in his stirrups, peering off to the east. “Someone’s coming.”
“Opal?”
“No, I think it
’s Beans. I told Opal not to come out here. Seeing all the carcasses is just too much for her.”
“Opal is stronger than you think.”
Rand shot him a warning look over his shoulder.
Okay, my friend, I won’t go there, but women are stronger than you think, and Opal is one of the stronger. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but he did. When she first came to Little Missouri she learned to fish faster than anyone he’d seen, gave her all to learn to ride, getting back on when she fell off, listening to what he taught her, and making herself do it. Opal had more spunk than three ordinary kids. And a sense of humor that took life on the chin and came back punching.
The calf bawled and bopped him in the sore thigh with his head.
Jeremiah grunted and wished he’d slung the animal the opposite direction.
Beans waved to them before they were close enough to shout.
Rand nudged his horse to a lope, leaving McHenry and his burden to catch up at their own pace. When he caught up to them, Rand turned in the saddle. “How about you take the calf back to the barn and give him to Opal. I’m going to help round up the bunch Beans found. Tell Ruby I’ll be late for supper.”
“Will do.” How strange not to be the one giving the orders. Not that Rand ordered, but he was obviously the one in charge. As he should be. Jeremiah felt a warmth run down his pant leg. He looked down to see that the calf had let loose, and the odor was less than pleasant. He waved Rand and Beans off and stroked Kentucky’s sweat-dotted shoulder. “Just us, old son, and we can take our time.”
“Opal, you there? I brought you a present,” he called from the hitching rail some time later.
Opal came through the door, no bounce in her step and a smile that didn’t quite make it. “Hey, Mr. McHenry.”
“You want to heat some milk and bring it on down to the barn? Teaching this little feller to use a bucket is going to take some doin’.”
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