With the hayrack loaded, Opal drove the team up to the stack where she could admire Jacob’s new invention. Since the Robertsons didn’t have a haymow in their barn, he had rigged ropes along the floor from the rack in front of the wagon. At the appointed place for the stack, they attached the ends of the ropes to a doubletree harnessed to another team. The team started forward, and the load of hay was pulled off the hay wagon and made a stack of its own. They’d pitch hay from the other wagon to build the stack higher, but this saved time and the arms of those pitching the hay. As Rand had said, Jacob was the most inventive man around.
The ride-on plow that McHenry ordered had arrived the day before. If only they’d had that in the spring when they were breaking the sod on the field to sow the grain.
When the dinner bell clanged at noon, Opal gladly unharnessed the team and followed the others to the wash bench. Tomorrow they would work in the morning and go downriver in the afternoon. There hadn’t been time for play since haying started, for all the men were desperate to cut enough to keep their animals alive if they had another winter like the last one.
Ruby was already frying chicken to take for tomorrow’s supper.
“As soon as I’m done with this, I’m going hunting,” Opal said. “Fried grouse is good as fried chicken any day.”
“What’d you say?” Rand gave her a nudge in the side.
“I need to bag some grouse for the party.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me.” Rand shook his head. “I was hoping to get a deer, but the only one I saw was a doe with two fawns, so I gave that idea up. Game is scarce.”
“The birds have come back. Grouse on a spit over the fire would be good. Mrs. Grant has probably never had that.”
“Opal Torvald, I am so glad to hear that tone in your voice again that I could—” Rand cut off his sentence as his voice roughened.
Opal looked up to see—was that the sheen of tears in his eyes? Her nose clogged instantly. How come she could cry at a mouse squeak? The cloud was gone, but now the tears were like spring rain, watering the earth to bring up the grass and flowers. No longer hail and fog.
“Different, huh?”
“I’d say so. I’m thanking God every day for this.” He laid his hands on her shoulders. “You scared us.”
“You? It scared me.” She paused, glanced around to see that the others had all gone into the house to eat. “Rand, how could you ignore all the cattle dying? You acted like it wasn’t important, like…oh well.” She shrugged, indicating how she saw him responding.
“I didn’t ignore it. It near to tore me apart inside. Seemed I was screaming to the Lord the whole time.” He tipped her chin up with a loving finger. “But, Opal darlin’, I believe with everything that I am that God is in charge, and He knows what He is doing. Remember when Jacob preached about how much God loves us?”
She nodded.
“Well, I believe that. I know He can restore all our losses. Go read Deuteronomy 30. Powerful promises there. I read that over and over during the winter. The darker things get, the more I have to depend on His Word.”
Opal sniffed and rolled her eyes, still feeling the moisture gather. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re most welcome.” He put an arm around her waist as she did his, and the two walked side by side to the house.
Another lesson, huh, God? And I flunked. She looked at Rand. But I’m learning.
That night she read Deuteronomy 30 as he’d suggested. And reread it. All were promises to Israel, and if she understood what Rand had said, all were promises for them too. “The Lord, thy God shall bless thee…” I must love the Lord my God with all my heart and keep His commandments…that I may live. Lord, I do want to live again. I want to be like Rand. The phrase “the Lord, thy God” beat over and over in her brain.
Everyone stopped work at noon on Saturday, ate, and headed for the river. Wagon after wagon pulled up, the drivers unharnessing their horses and hobbling or long-lining them in the rich grass. The children scattered to gather wood. Opal, Joel, and Ada Mae took their corks out of their pockets, cut willow sticks, tied the string to them, and caught enough grasshoppers in a handkerchief to start fishing.
“First fish gets a prize,” Opal sang out as she tossed her cork and baited hook out into the eddy.
“Ouch.” Ada Mae sucked on her finger.
“You’re supposed to stick the hook in the grasshopper, not your hand.” Joel gave a jerk on his line, and his hook came up empty. “Would you look at that.” He shook his head at Opal’s laugh and baited his hook again.
Opal caught herself looking around for Linc and Little Squirrel. They should be jerking fish right out of the water with Linc’s teasing, his warm laughter inviting them all to laugh. She sighed. So much gone.
Some time later they trooped back to the party, all of them hauling lines of fish. The men had two fires going, one with the coals low and three racks of grouse sizzling away. Obviously Opal hadn’t been the only one hunting in the twilight.
“We caught them. Who’s cleaning them?” Opal, Joel, and Ada Mae held their strings up.
“We’ll clean,” Cora Robertson called, sharpening a narrowbladed knife on a whetstone. “Just lay them on that log.”
Opal looked around. Jacob hadn’t arrived yet. He wasn’t still mowing, was he? She turned at the sound of horses’ hooves. Mr. McHenry rode beside a woman riding sidesaddle, her dark green skirt swooping down over her stirrup. But instead of a fancy hat or bowler like Opal had seen in New York, she wore someone’s flat felt hat that shaded her face. That must be Mrs. Grant, Miss O’Shaunasy’s friend from Chicago. If it hadn’t been for her white hair when she tipped her hat back, one would have thought her a young woman.
“Everyone, I want you to meet Mrs. Grant. She stopped her trip back to Chicago to visit us here in Medora. This party is in her honor, and it is nothing short of a miracle that all of you left off haying to join us. I suggest that Rand over there bring out his guitar, and I’ve got my trusty mouth organ, so let the dancing begin.” McHenry dismounted and assisted the woman down from her horse.
“To think I went riding in the badlands.” Mrs. Grant reached up and patted his cheek, then took his arm. “I want to meet all of my dear Amethyst’s friends.” She reached out and slid her arm through Amethyst’s. “Let us begin.”
Opal watched as they made their way from group to group.
“You going swimming?” Joel asked.
Opal shook her head. Ever since last summer and her encounter with the drifter, she’d not gone swimming. “You all go ahead. I need to find out what happened to your pa.”
“He said he’d be late.”
“Why?”
Joel shrugged. “Don’t know. See ya.”
“Opa?”
Opal stooped down and grabbed Per in both arms. “Did you go into the water?”
“Wet.”
“You sure are. And you smell like the river.”
“Go mo.”
Opal looked around to find Ruby. She was sitting in the shade of a cottonwood visiting with several of the women and Mrs. Grant. “Who was watching you?”
Per looked around as if searching for someone. “Pa.”
Was Rand supposed to be watching his son and got involved in talking with the men and forgot? Opal swung Per up on her shoulders and went to find out. “Ugh. You’re dripping down my back.”
He clamped one fist into her hair and waved his other arm.
“Per, sit still.”
“Per!” Rand’s voice rang across the clearing.
“He’s over here.” Opal waved her arm so he could see her. Per had gotten away from him. At one time or another, Per managed to get away from most everyone, which was why the porches at the ranch had sturdy gates.
Rand whooshed out a breath. “Scared me outta a month of Sundays.” He reached for his son. “I swear I’m going to tie a rope around your middle and the other end around my wrist.”
“I’ll take him
. Did you know he’d been in the water?”
“Yes, I was with him. We started back, I got to talking with Charlie, and when I looked down, Per was gone. Thank the good Lord he went hunting for you.”
“You going to start the music pretty soon?”
“Right away.”
“Think I’ll go change into a skirt, then.” Somehow dancing in britches just didn’t seem appropriate. She left Per with his mother, fetched her skirt out of the wagon, and headed for some brush to hide behind to change. When she emerged, she saw Jacob riding into camp.
Instantly the sun seemed brighter and the birdsong sweeter. The breeze tickled the wisps of hair that refused to stay in her braid and curved around her cheek instead. As if drawn by a fine thread, his gaze found hers and a smile sketched commas around his mouth. Opal rolled her britches up and stuffed them in the corner of the wagon while Rand lifted his guitar from under the seat.
“Ready to dance?”
“Do ducks swim?”
“That’s my girl.” They headed for the flat area where people were gathering.
Rand plucked the strings, tuning his guitar, and McHenry blew a few notes on his harmonica. Opal turned at the sound of someone else tuning strings.
Jacob stood frowning at the fiddle in his hands, sawing one note after another and tightening the pegs. When he glanced up, he grinned at her.
“I didn’t know you played the fiddle.”
“Had to do something through all those blizzards. Mrs. Robertson had this, and I’d played some years ago. Had a good time practicing.”
“And no one told me.”
“Made them promise not to. Just in case I couldn’t manage it.” He put the fiddle to his shoulder and bowed across all the strings. “There, we all match.”
But now I can’t dance with you. The thought made her nibble her bottom lip. Stop it, you ninny. He can take a break like Rand does to dance with Ruby. Besides, there are plenty of men here. And since when do you like to dance that much anyway?
Per giggled all the way through the time she waltzed him around the circle. Joel blushed redder than his neckerchief when she made him dance with her, his father grinning over the bowing of the fiddle. She danced the polka with Beans and the Texas Star with Jeremiah McHenry.
“You sure made a fine picture with Mrs. Grant.”
When he met her again, he answered, “She’s a fine woman.”
Back around and together. “Did you get the roof on?”
“Not yet.”
“We made him enough shingles.” Joel was her next partner as the square dance continued. “Ada Mae and me are pretty good splitters.”
“You and Ada Mae are good at whatever you decide to do.”
It wasn’t exertion that made the boy’s face red this time. Any little compliment would do.
They finished that dance, and the music slowed for a waltz. The mouth organ sang the melody above the chords of the guitar, then Rand took a turn fingering the melody.
Opal looked around to see no one fiddling.
Jacob appeared at her elbow. “May I have this dance?”
At the look in his eyes, she swallowed her smart reply and just nodded. Butterflies exploded in her middle as her feet matched the pattern with his. The music swirled them around, her hand held firmly in his, his shoulder corded beneath her fingers.
Her heart kept on singing after the music stopped.
“Thank you.”
Think of something to say. “You play real well.”
“Joel wants to learn too.” He squeezed her hand and let it go. “I need to get back up there so Rand can dance with Ruby.”
“Sure.” Lonely made her hand want to reach for his. Instead, she went to find Ruby and take Mary. “Go dance with your husband.”
Ruby kissed her cheek. “Thank you. I will.”
“That was the grandest party ever,” Mrs. Grant said as they rode home in the wagon.
“Far different from the Chicago variety.” Pearl looked up from her seat in the wagon bed behind Carl and Mrs. Grant.
“I got bored with those long ago. Your McHenry is quite the gentleman. It’s not hard to picture him in full dress uniform commanding his men.”
“He didn’t even keep his uniforms. Said he wanted nothing more than to have a home here in the badlands.” Pearl shook her head. “I think you shocked him when you asked for a sidesaddle.”
“Men need to be shocked. It’s good for them. My John never knew what to expect. It made our life interesting—that was for sure. Of course, I have shocked my share of people in my time. If I were younger, I’d want to live in this country too.” She turned farther so she could see Amethyst, who had Carly snuggled in her lap. “You made a good choice, Amethyst dear, to stay here, but I still want you to come to Chicago with me.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re not thinking of leaving me, are you?”
Amethyst smiled at the shock in Pearl’s voice. How good it felt to be wanted. How much she had wanted Mr. McHenry to ask her to dance. She sighed. But he didn’t. Why was she surprised? Other than those pleasant evenings when they visited in the parlor, he never saw her for anything other than the one who cooked and served.
Maid material, not wife material. Could she stay here in Medora and see him at church and socials and not care? The ugly thought came again, and this time she gave it a name before slamming it away. Jealousy—plain and simple. But oh, so painful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Shame that Mrs. Grant wasn’t a bit younger.
Jeremiah stared into the purpling dusk. While his porch still lacked a roof, a chair tipped back against the solid wall gave him the view he’d dreamed of. A U-shaped bend in the river, cottonwoods sheltering the banks, and the buttes fading to bands of gray beyond the far shore. His cattle grazed on the bottom land where the hay had already been cut and stacked like bread loaves near the future barn site. Two deer wandered down to the river’s edge to drink, alert to every movement.
Flycatchers dipped and dove; bats joined them in their nightly forage for flying insects.
He thought back to the celebration, the ride to show Mrs. Grant the phantasmal shapes of the land, the colors, the wildness. What an entertaining companion.
A companion. That’s what he wanted and needed. All his life he’d been a loner, rising through the ranks of the army through sheer force and tenacity beyond a bulldog. He could get along with anyone—coerce or cajole or flat-out scare men into doing their duty or even the impossible. He had his house, his land, a few cattle, and silence. He could get a dog, hire a hand. The chair creaking sounded loud in the stillness. But he wanted his companion to be female, and he wanted to be married. Was that asking too much? Being around the other couples made him realize what he was missing. He rubbed his thigh to ease the ache. Sometimes, like tonight, when he’d been on his feet most of the day, the ache became only a small part of the unheard scream from muscles that refused to return to their earlier strength. He got up, fetched his flask, and took a swig. The last swallow. He had no more. He’d planned on stopping by Williams’ to buy a bottle, but in all the business of haying and with the picnic, he’d forgotten. Until now.
He’d tried willow-bark tea, chewing willow bark—vile stuff— and laudanum, but none worked as well as whiskey. Or at least were as pleasurable.
He thought of riding into town and claiming his still-paid-for room at the boardinghouse. He could stop by and refill his flask on the way. Instead, he grunted himself upright and went on into the house to light a lamp and read. Anything to get his mind off the pain. But with no glass in the windows and no screen doors, the mosquitoes serenading him and feasting on all visible skin made him blow out the light and crawl into the pallet on the floor. He’d not had time to string the ropes for a bed yet, or fill a tick with hay, or sew a seam for that matter.
It promised to be a long night.
In the brief moments just before he fell asleep, he saw Miss O’Shaunasy on the backs of
his eyelids. Amethyst. Amethyst, ah, that was better.
They finished up the haying with only one rainstorm to slow them down but with stacks for everyone. Then the rains came and soaked the earth, sending the water to bring the prairie grass sprouting back up again to refill what they’d taken.
His roof let in nary a drop.
He kept a store to suffer the nights no more. Since his field had been hayed off, the plow took up his days. He broke an acre of sod to start with, then another, the furrows turning over straight and smooth. He’d leave it to deteriorate during the fall and winter, then after another plowing in the spring, the land would be ready for seeding. Finished with his own sod breaking, he did the same for Rand, a good thing since he was using Rand’s team to plow with. He learned to sharpen the plowshare and keep the rows straight.
A farmer is what I’m becoming. I thought to range cattle and ship fat steers in the fall. Roundup time had seemed more like a huge party than grinding work. When he wasn’t plowing to pay back all the debts he felt he owed for his neighbors’ help, he was cutting trees so he could get a barn up to shelter Kentucky during the winter. The big horse was not used to ranging like the local ponies.
More than once he stopped by Williams’.
“Come for supper tonight,” Pearl invited one day when he’d dropped by.
“Thanks. Where’s Miss O’Shaunasy? I haven’t seen her lately.” He held his coffee cup up for a refill.
“She left for Chicago yesterday.”
“Chicago?”
“Yes. Mrs. Grant invited her, encouraged her actually, to go and help start up a new business, and since we have so few guests here, she felt she was an imposition and left.” Pearl swallowed and sniffed. “The house is so empty without her.”
“I can’t believe she left.” Shock never had felt good, but this news hit like a fist in the belly.
“Me neither.” Pearl sank down in a chair, propping her elbows on the table. “I tried to convince her to stay, but this was a really good offer.”
McHenry drained his coffee. “I didn’t see that coming.” He set the cup back in the saucer with a clink and rose. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
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