[Dakotah Treasures 01] - Ruby

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Yes, well, Captain McHenry got things in motion.”

  “Here, I’ll set the tray on this bench, and we can sit in the shade.” Daisy kept the door from slamming this time with her hip, earning an approving smile from Ruby.

  Now why can she smile so easily at everyone but me? Rand pondered the thought as he took the step indicated. “You’ve done a lot of work around here.”

  “In spite of your bad advice?” An eyebrow arched, the tone tinged with frost.

  “My bad advice?” Rand shook his head. “I never gave you . . .” Oh yes, when I told her off for changing Dove House. I’m afraid I did not make a good impression. Fact, if I remember right, I read her the riot act. My mama would have had conniptions six times from Sunday.

  He caught Ruby watching him over the top of her glass. He was about to make a comment he would probably regret when Opal came thundering to a stop in front of them.

  “Hey, Mr. Harrison, you want I should tie Buck to the hitching post?”

  “Unless you want to ride more.”

  “I think that is quite enough. Mr. Harrison no doubt has business elsewhere.” Ruby’s right eyebrow arched again.

  I’d say I’ve been dismissed. Whatever happened to forgive and forget? He thought of staying just to get her dander up again but instead rose and handed the glass back to Daisy. “Thank you, Miss Whi-taker, that was most delicious. I’ll be back in time for supper.”

  By the time he headed home that night, several dollars lighter, he’d not seen Ruby again. And he was sure he’d caught Belle skimming the take. Should I tell Miss Torvald or not? The question nagged him all the way back to the ranch.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  July sweltered into August. The garden grew, the weeds were hoed out, fish were caught, rabbits were chased out of the garden, trapped, and eaten, and August eased into September.

  “Wait until you see who is coming down the street.” Opal stormed through the back door like she’d been riding the wind.

  “Who?” Ruby turned from checking the meat pies baking for dinner. She wiped the perspiration from her face with her apron.

  “Someone from France. He and his entourage”—Opal decorated the word with fluttering hands and rolling eyes—“asked the conductor where they should stay and he said Dove House. There are four of them, and they weren’t too happy that no one was there to take their trunks, so I told them to leave them there and someone would bring a wagon.” She paused long enough to suck in a deep breath. The bell over the front door announced visitors. “And here they are.”

  “Anyone here speak French?” Charlie set a basket of fresh carrots down on the table.

  “I do.” Ruby whipped off her apron, wiped her face again, and smoothed back her drooping hair. She headed out the swinging door.

  “Bienvenue á Dove House. Merci beaucoup pour venir. Pardonnez-moi, s’il vous plaît. Je parle seulement un peu franais.”

  “That woman never ceases to amaze me.” Cimarron used the back of her hand to wipe her forehead.

  “I was just making a joke.” Charlie stared after Ruby. “I had me no idea . . .”

  “She speaks Norwegian too,” Opal added from her place on the floor dragging a bit of deer hide on a string for Cat to play with. “But she’d tell you her French isn’t very good. In fact, if I know my sister, right now she is apologizing for her poorly spoken French. She reads and understands pretty good . . . er . . . well, though.” She flashed a look at Daisy, who grinned at her. They’d both been corrected more than once on the uses of well and good.

  When Ruby returned to the kitchen, she’d shown their French guests to their rooms and promised to have water sent up for washing.

  “How did you know all the right words?” Daisy asked.

  “I didn’t. They had a man along who also spoke English, although his French accent on English was about as bad as my American one on French. They want to go hunting, so I said you would be up with water and help them make arrangements.”

  Charlie nodded. “They didn’t want the hip bath?”

  Ruby shook her head.

  “Good thing—carrying up enough water for four would be awful in this heat.”

  “Ah, Charlie, you gettin’ soft or something?” Cimarron looked up from the tablecloth she was mending. Some oaf had set his burning cigar down on the cloth instead of in the ash trays they provided. Daisy had doused the smoking cigar with a glass of water and accidentally splashed some on the man. He’d called her names until Charlie strolled up.

  “You know, sometimes I wonder if we shouldn’t say no smoking or spitting in the dining room. We already trained ’em that they can’t drink here.” Cimarron held the patch up to the light. “Or else we should quit putting tablecloths on—white ones, anyway. I once saw an eating place that used red-and-white-checked oilcloth. That looked real nice too. Kind of homey.”

  “That’s a thought.” Right now I can’t afford to buy anything but food—and hardly that. Ruby hated to admit she was squeezing every nickel and dime to screaming. While business had been pretty steady, since the army went on extended patrol in August, they’d served far fewer meals.

  Everyone said that things would pick up in the fall with more easterners coming west for hunting. If their French guests were any indication, Ruby figured that now there was room for hope. Adequate income was especially needed now since another quarterly payment was due at the bank. No matter how hard she searched, she still hadn’t found the buksbom or the money box. At night she dreamed about finding them, but she always woke up before seeing where they were hidden.

  “Someone want to come help me twist these sheets?” Daisy poked her head in the door. They’d taken to doing the wash over a fire in the backyard rather than in the kitchen, where there was never room for the boiler on the stove. Another stove was on Ruby’s dream list.

  “I will.” Opal tied the string over the back of a chair, left Cat to bat at her toy, and headed out the door.

  After serving dinner, Cimarron came back through the swinging door. “That creepy fellow is out there again. He watches me like Cat watches at a mousehole.”

  “When his meal is ready, someone else can serve him.” Ruby turned to see how Cimarron really was. “In fact, I will.”

  “Or we could ask Charlie to tell him not to come back,” Daisy suggested.

  “No, he’s not really done nothin’. I got to get over this or else remain here in the kitchen. But since the dance everyone knows I’m still here, so I’d rather take my turn serving. I kinda missed the—” she cocked her head with a slight shrug—“you know, the back and forth talk.”

  “Just be careful who you smile at,” Daisy cautioned. “Your smile could make a man rise up and follow like that Pied Piper fellow Opal read us about.”

  Cimarron whipped around, hands on hips. “I did not flirt with him.”

  “I know that.” Daisy rolled her eyes, shaking her head all the while. “It’s just . . . just . . .”

  “Say what you’re thinkin’.”

  “I’m tryin’ to. Cimarron, you just don’t know how beautiful you are. Why, I see men panting when you give ’em one of your smiles—like a gift they are.”

  A slow smile brightened Cimarron’s face. “Why, Daisy, you are a poet. Such a beautiful thing to say.”

  “Well, it’s true.” Daisy turned back to her bread kneading.

  “Thank you.”

  “Welcome.”

  Ruby watched the exchange, pleasure and concern pushing and shoving for the same space. She too had noticed the way Ezekiel Damish watched Cimarron. He’d apologized after strong-arming her at the dance, saying he was drunk, but she had a feeling the captain had applied pressure in that arena. Apologizing didn’t seem to go along with the mean look of the man. Of course, if he cleaned up, he might look more friendly. But some people seemed born mean or else life taught them to be that way.

  She’d already realized that bathing didn’t seem important or even necessary to some of th
e hunters and drifters who passed through Little Misery, as the locals often referred to the town. Little Missouri, Little Muddy, Little Misery, all interchangeable names—the most accurate being little.

  A knock moved her gaze to the back door. Private Adam Stone stood at attention.

  Ruby opened the screen door. “Won’t you come in?”

  “A message from the captain, Miss Torvald.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

  “Thank you. When did you all get back?”

  “About an hour ago.”

  “I see. Would you like some refreshment?”

  “No, thank you, not right now. I need to get back with an answer.” He indicated the paper. “But I could do with some refreshment later, after supper at the mess.”

  “Perhaps Milly would like to go for a walk then.” Ruby loved to watch the young man’s neck get red and his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “You might ask her on your way out.”

  “Thank you.” He kept his eyes straight forward as if she were his commanding officer. She was tempted to say, “At ease, soldier,” but refrained from embarrassing him even more. She quickly read the note and nodded. “Tell the captain that will be fine.”

  When he exited, closing the door gently so it didn’t slam, Cimarron chuckled. “It’s hard to resist the urge to tease him, isn’t it?”

  “You’re saying I didn’t? Resist the urge, that is?” Ruby tried to look innocent, but the others laughed anyway. “He is so young.”

  “It’s that baby face. And he blushes so charmingly.” Cimarron put away the last of the dinner dishes, then paused as they heard the men coming down the stairs and then going out the front door.

  Ruby wished she had time for a cooling bath, but a quick wash after supper would have to do. At least she had a clean dress to put on.

  Later that evening she and Captain McHenry strolled down toward the now meandering river. They’d discussed the uneventful patrol, the few things happening in town, and the French visitors, but Ruby could tell something was bothering him. They stopped under a cottonwood where the river chatted with the rustling leaves—not big secrets but friendly banter. The breeze lifted the tendrils of hair from her face and caressed her skin.

  “Ah, this feels so wonderful. Thank you for the invitation.”

  “I . . . I have something to ask you.”

  “Yes?”

  He turned from studying the river. “Is there any chance that someday you could think of me as more than a friend?” He picked at the corrugated bark of the tree as if afraid to look at her.

  “What are you asking me?”

  “I have my orders. I am being transferred to Fort Bowie in Arizona Territory.”

  “When?”

  “Immediately. Lieutenant Wilson will be in charge here.”

  Oh, I shall miss you. “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend. I mean a man friend like you before.”

  “If I write, will you answer?”

  “Of course.” That’s Indian territory down there. The thought sent shivers up her back. She’d heard the Apache were fierce warriors.

  “Have you ever thought of living elsewhere?”

  Yes, back home in New York, but I promised my father. “I have commitments here.”

  “I know. But that could change.”

  “Yes.” She glanced up, catching the full intensity of his gaze. What are you asking me?

  “And you will write?”

  “Yes. And you must promise to keep safe.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He offered her his arm. “I cannot tell you how much I shall miss you.”

  “And I you.” When he closed his other hand over hers, she remembered the pleasure of dancing with him. What was that she saw in his eyes? Hard to tell in the dusk but close to him felt like a good place to be.

  “You mean that?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good, then there is hope.”

  She cleared her throat. “Won’t you stop for a glass of tea?”

  “No, I need to get my papers in order and talk with my men. Thank you.”

  “God bless.”

  He gently squeezed her hand, touched the brim of his hat, and marched off down the street toward the cantonment.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered as his broad back shimmered in the twilight. She dashed away the offending moisture and made her way around the building on the porch. Why couldn’t I have said yes, that there could be more? Why does my life seem all of a muddle? And now one of her few pleasures was being taken away.

  Few pleasures? Think again, my girl. The inner voice sounded amazingly like Bestemor’s. Bestemor, who always saw the bright side of life, who always spoke of the things she was thankful for, who not only said and believed but lived her gratitude. Every day she looked for something new to thank God for. And insisted Ruby do the same.

  But how can I be thankful when one more thing is being taken away?

  Ruby sank into the rocker that gave her a view of the rocks and buttes north of town. Dusk had grayed the colors that flamed in the setting sun. But though dark now, the color was there, waiting for the light again.

  I can be thankful for the light that returns. I can be thankful he has become my friend. I can be thankful I can write and read and that letters can come from far places. She let her head rest against the back of the rocker. Lord, forgive me for my lack of gratitude. Mosquitoes whined about her ears. After slapping one on her arm, she rose and went inside.

  “What did he want?” Cimarron sat in the lamplight, her mending on her lap.

  “He’s been transferred to Fort Bowie where the Indians are uprising again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too. And so will Opal be, because this means no more riding.” Ruby sat down at the table. “Every night she prays for a horse of her own, but there is no way I can buy her a horse.”

  “No, but then you are not God. She’s not asking you for a horse.”

  “True.”

  “When I was her age, I rode all over the country.”

  “Did you have a horse of your own?”

  “Not really. I took care of all the horses. Pa had a team, and we had two riding horses. The four of us rode to school on them until the winters got bad, then Pa took us in the sleigh.”

  “How did you end up out here?”

  “My man run off and left me when he thought I was dying.”

  “How could he?”

  “Same as he could smack me around without a lick of remorse. He was a real charmer, who turned meaner ’n a cornered badger when he’d had too much to drink. Belle found me, nursed me back to health, and I been with her ever since.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t. You wonder how I could do what I did. You got to understand that, when you’re hungry enough, you’ll do anything to eat. And after a while you grow a real thick scab over your heart and mind and dream of something else while . . .” Cimarron closed her eyes and swallowed. “Like some wonderful man is going to come in on a white horse and carry you away. Only in my case it wasn’t a handsome man on a white horse but a young innocent woman with blond hair and a little sister who looks up to me and makes me feel ten feet tall.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Like I’m worth something after all.”

  “Thank you, Cimarron, oh thank you.” It has all been worth it. There really is a reason for all this. Ruby thought awhile before asking, “Would you go back?”

  “Not on your life. I know now that I’ve got some other choices.” Cimarron held up her needle. “I can sew about anything, and while the pay isn’t as good, at least it would be money made through honest work. Belle thinks we’d go back, but she ain’t never asked us, just figured she knows best. Like she always has. But she ain’t earned her living on her back in a long time.”

  Ruby flinched at the plain language, but she’d asked. “Do you want to get married?”

  “Yes, I do. But finding a good man isn’t the easiest, even with all the men around here
. Think about it. There’s your captain, and he’s leaving.”

  “He’s not my captain.”

  “He would be if you gave him any encouragement. And then there’s Rand Harrison.”

  “You call him a good man?”

  “Most certainly. And some of the guys over in the barracks are all right, but they’d just as soon pay for their pleasure as marry us soiled doves. That’s why Daisy and me, most likely we got to get out of here and start over someplace else—where no one knows our past.”

  “You are welcome to stay here.”

  “I know. We’ll just have to see what happens.”

  Opal and Milly came through the door from the dining room. “I’m hungry. Can I—” Opal stopped, made a face, and sighed as if she was the most put upon girl in the West. “I know—may we have a couple of cookies? Milly is reading better and better. You want to hear her?”

  “Of course. Why don’t you put cookies on the plate for all of us? Milly, sit by the lamp so you can see better.”

  Opal passed around the cookie plate. “Do any of you want a glass of milk?”

  The others shook their heads, so Opal poured one for herself and sat down at the table. “Go ahead, Milly, read some of that chapter in Matthew.”

  Milly found her place. “‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me.”’

  Opal dunked her cookie in her milk. “What’s a yoke?”

  “A yoke is carved out of real solid wood and laid across the necks of oxen so they pull together. You hook the wagon tongue to the yoke between them.” Cimarron drew a picture of a yoke in the air with her hands.

  “So why would God say, ‘take my yoke’?”

  “Perhaps He is saying that when we yoke with Him, He will pull harder so we don’t have to work so hard.” Cimarron looked toward Ruby. “You think?”

  “Could be. I could use some of His rest right now. Thank you all. I’m going to bed. Are you coming, Opal?”

  “Soon as I finish this.” Opal took another cookie.

  Each step seemed three feet higher than the one below, or was it just the heavy yoke she carried all by herself? As she folded back the sheets, she thought of the verse again. “‘Come unto me . . .”’ Lord, I’m just too tired to even look for my Bible. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll look.