by Merry Farmer
Mr. Haskell reached the bottom of the porch stairs as Franklin did. Franklin turned and held out a hand to Alice and Jarvis as they closed the gap.
“Father, may I present Mrs. Alice Porter,” he lingered over her name as though each syllable tasted of honey, “and Mr. Flint.”
Jarvis exchanged a quick, amused glance with Alice. Alice started off fighting not to laugh, then cleared her throat and remembered herself.
“Alice, this is my father, Mr. Howard Haskell, owner of Green Stream Ranch,” Franklin finished.
“How do you do?” Alice approached Mr. Haskell, remembering her city manners and holding out her hand to him with a modest curtsy.
Howard Haskell’s bluster melted to a pleased smile. “I do quite well, my dear,” he said.
Jarvis stepped forward, hand extended. “Jarvis Flint,” he completed his introduction. “Of the California Volunteer Militia under Colonel Patrick Edward Connor.”
Mr. Haskell shook his hand, but his polite smile fell into a confused frown. “California? What the devil, Franklin? Did you ride all the way to the coast and back in four days?”
“No, Father,” Franklin rushed to say. “To Ft. Bridger. I thought the militia could help—”
“Howard!”
A furious shout cut through introductions. It was accompanied by hoof beats. The party of introductions turned to see a lone woman charging toward them on the back of a nimble black horse. Alice’s breath caught in her throat. The woman looked like everything she had felt whooshing through her when Thunder had galloped off with her, except that this woman had steel-grey hair and a dress of deep purple that looked as though it had been designed for her to ride astride. Sunlight glinted off the revolver at her side.
“Howard,” the woman repeated in a rage as she galloped her horse right up to the lawn in front of the porch and pulled it to stop. The glorious beast reared onto its hind legs, and Alice gasped in amazement. “What in blazes are your lazy, vermin-ridden cattle doing drinking out of my stream?” she finished.
Her horse shifted as though it were restless and wanted to go on running, but the woman sat, tall and proud, and startlingly handsome for a woman of her advanced age.
“Ginny, how dare you interrupt my business here by prattling on about my cattle drinking out of my stream?” Howard boomed back at her.
“Why you old shyster.” The woman, Ginny, narrowed her eyes at Howard, her hand inching toward her revolver. “I ought to—”
“Aunt Virginia,” Franklin interrupted her. He marched from his father’s side over to his aunt’s horse, his steps nervous and jerky, his face flushed, looking far younger than he was. “I’d like you to meet our guests.”
“What guests?” Ginny snapped. She wheeled her horse about to stop him from stamping and huffing. Her gaze rested on Jarvis, and she burst into a smile.
A shot of something sharp and wary cut through Alice’s chest. She refused to give it a name, although jealousy wouldn’t be too far off the mark. A second later, Ginny’s glance shifted to her. The woman’s smile stayed in place, but her eyebrows rose.
“Did you blow here on the afternoon breeze?” she asked, looking Alice up and down.
Alice’s split-second of indignation was quelled by the knowledge that with her hair a mess and her skirts rumpled, it probably did look that way.
“I rode,” she said.
She was convinced she sounded like a ninny, but when Ginny said, “Oh, I see,” with more than a little respect, Alice smiled.
“Aunt Virginia, this is Mrs. Alice Porter,” Franklin introduced her, much the same way he had before.
Ginny dismounted in one smooth movement, then crossed to take Alice’s hand with an athletic grace that surprised Alice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She turned to Jarvis and held out her hand. “And who’s this fine specimen of masculinity?”
Franklin cleared his throat. “That’s Jarvis Flint.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jarvis greeted Ginny, almost laughing. Alice’s tension uncoiled by a fraction. Jarvis didn’t seem to be taking the older woman’s admiration seriously, at least.
“Mr. Flint is here to help solve the land dispute, Aunt Ginny,” Franklin poked in. Alice had the impression it was a deliberate attempt to turn his aunt’s wrath against Jarvis.
“Dispute? What dispute?” Ginny snapped. Her ire was almost exactly the same as Howard’s, but she didn’t direct it at Jarvis. She pivoted to direct it straight at Howard. “We don’t have any dispute. We just have a bull-headed thief and claim-jumper who refuses to keep his cattle on his side of the property line.”
“The stream is on my side,” Howard insisted, his voice booming as he pulled himself up to his full height. “It’s your blasted herd that keeps wandering down to my stream and drinking up all my water.”
“What a load of trifle-headed nonsense,” Ginny exploded. “You know as well as I do that you’re crossing the line. Several lines.” She marched toward him, taking her revolver out of its holster.
Alice gasped and stepped back, but Howard met his sister fury for fury, balling his fists, his face red. “I’ve had enough of this from you, young miss. You will do as you’re told and relinquish the land that you have no right to—”
“I have every right to my own land, and if you keep calling me names, I’ll—”
“I’ll call the law on you,” Howard growled. “I’ll hire my own militia to come out here and—”
Ginny raised her gun, but didn’t aim it at anything. “I’m not afraid of your threats. I’ve got two dozen men working my land who would be more than happy to put that shipment of Winchesters I just got in to good use and—”
“I’ll not have you threatening me with your—”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
“Please,” Franklin shouted, daring to step into the fray to break things up. “Stop shouting.”
Alice closed her mouth. It had dropped open as Howard and Ginny railed on and threatened each other. She couldn’t do much to hide her stunned expression, though. She peeked at Jarvis, but he was just as shocked as her. Never in a million years would she have guessed that Franklin was actually right about the seriousness of the argument. If Ginny had just purchased Winchesters to arm her men, it really could be a war. Though a close look at her revolver led Alice to believe it wasn’t loaded.
“I brought Mr. Flint and Mrs. Porter here to see if they can resolve this,” Franklin said. His voice shook, whether from emotion or fear, it wasn’t clear. “Can we at least talk?”
Howard and Ginny both huffed in indignation and straightened their shoulders, standing tall. Ginny holstered her gun. The two of them looked so much alike—similar features, similar coloring, the same steely glint in their eyes—that anyone who saw them would know in an instant they were related. That alone lit a fire in Alice’s chest. They needed to solve this dispute, and solve it as fast as they could.
“We don’t need outsiders messing in our business,” Howard grumbled.
Ginny’s eyes flared wide as she watched him, then they narrowed. “And I say that we do need their help.”
Howard hissed and dropped his shoulder. “You’re only saying that to disagree with me.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Why you jumped-up, two-bit—”
“Aunt Virginia, please,” Franklin said. His voice was weary now.
“What exactly is the nature of this dispute?” Jarvis cut in. he made a show of crossing his arms and rubbing his chin and looking like a judge at a county fair, debating over a selection of apple pies. “I take it there’s a stream involved.”
Howard and Ginny stopped their bristling and posturing long enough to turn to him. Both wore calculating looks, as if working to figure out if Jarvis could actually be a solution to their problems.
“The stream is on my property, plain and simple,” Howard said. “It always has been and it always will be.”
&
nbsp; “The stream is on my property,” Ginny contradicted him. “It was part of the allotment given to me and my dear, departed husband, Cyrus Piedmont, by this great lout for our wedding.”
Howard opened his mouth to protest, but Alice cut him off with, “Is the stream so important?”
She checked with Jarvis. He gave her an approving nod. Between her and Jarvis, they might just be able to manage it.
“The stream is vital,” Howard explained, suddenly polite as he addressed her. “There are precious few sources of water in the vast area where the cattle graze. Without a natural source of water, the cattle would have to be kept closer to troughs or some area where they could be manually watered.”
“That’s a colossal expense and an even more colossal pain in the rear,” Ginny added.
“And there’s only the one stream?” Alice asked. She buzzed with the excitement of actually getting somewhere.
“There are others,” Howard said. “A few smaller streams and springs.”
“But the one on my property,” Ginny began.
“My property,” Howard inserted.
“Is by far the biggest and most efficient water source,” Ginny finished, staring daggers at her brother.
“So basically, we just need to determine which property the stream lies on,” Jarvis said.
“Yes,” Howard and Ginny answered in unison.
As soon as they heard themselves, they stared at each other with wide, angry eyes, then huffed and snorted and looked away.
“All right,” Jarvis said, uncrossing his arms and planting his hands on his hips. “I only need to know one other thing.”
“What?” Ginny asked.
“Will you agree to let Mrs. Porter and I attempt to solve this dispute?”
Howard and Ginny exchanged dubious glances, each as angry as the other. Neither seemed to want to be the one to answer first either, until at last Howard grumbled, “You can try, but I doubt anything will be solved.”
“It might,” Ginny contradicted him.
Howard opened his mouth to argue, but closed it and shook his head.
“I’m hungry,” he switched the conversation entirely. “Let’s let out two visitors take care of their horses and come in out of the sun. Hattie’s cooking supper right now. We’ll deal with this better if we deal with it on a full stomach.” He paused, then said, “Even you, Ginny.”
“You’re probably trying to poison me with your second-rate grub,” Ginny complained, “but I suppose I could get Midnight settled in the stables and eat with you anyhow.”
She marched back to her horse before Howard could get another word in.
Alice’s brow rose as she watched the older woman march off with her horse. She exchanged a wary glance with Jarvis. The look he returned to her said they had their work cut out for them. Then again, if Ginny was so quick to stay for supper, perhaps she really did want to find a resolution after all.
Supper at Howard Haskell’s house turned out to be far more than Jarvis had bargained for. The house itself was surprisingly large and solid for the frontier, with two stories and an attic, and at least five bedrooms. The dining room, where supper was held, contained a table long enough to seat Howard, Franklin, Ginny, Alice, and Jarvis, along with more than half a dozen of Howard’s ranch hands. Even the cook, Hattie, sat down to eat with them once she’d brought out their feast.
“It reminds me of Christmas dinner back home,” Jarvis commented to Ginny as he dug into his mashed potatoes.
He’d been seated at the foot of the table, about twelve feet away from Howard at the far end. Ginny sat to Jarvis’s right. He’d tried to make her sit in the place of honor, but Ginny had made clear, in no uncertain terms, that she’d rather eat a raw skunk than sit with Howard directly in her line of site.
“If this is what your family’s celebrations are like,” Ginny laughed, raising her voice to be heard over the din of a dozen other people talking at once, “then I pity your kin.” She sawed away at her steak as if cutting out Howard’s heart.
“Well, I suppose things are a bit more civil at my father’s table,” Jarvis conceded with a grim chuckle, “but not by much.”
Jarvis glanced to the far end of the table. Howard sat at the head, of course, and Alice had been given the spot at his right-hand. Franklin sat directly across from her, on his father’s left, and leaned so far across the table to talk to Alice that the lapels of his coat were splattered with gravy from his plate. Jarvis had tried to keep Alice by his side, to make sure she was seated next to him, but Franklin had swept in like a vulture and snapped her up. It didn’t help matters that since they’d entered the house, Alice was trying to avoid him.
He couldn’t shake the memory of how she’d kissed him, fast and hard, out in the wilderness. She could protest all she wanted, but she was more than ready to come out of mourning and taste life to the fullest again. If only he could make her see that.
“Look at the way that fool fawns all over her,” Ginny snorted, reaching for the glass of beer beside her plate. “Like he’s never seen a pretty woman before.”
Jarvis tried his best to remain polite and not glare at Franklin as he said, “Well, he’s young, and if he was raised on this ranch, how many pretty girls could he have seen?”
Ginny paused, her glass of beer halfway to her lips, then guffawed. “I meant that oaf, my brother,” she said, nudging Jarvis’s arm with her free hand. “Looks like you were talking about someone else.”
He was caught red-handed, there was no denying it. Jarvis reached for his own beer and tapped glasses in a salute with Ginny.
“I’m not too worried about your young nephew in the end,” he said, taking a drink, then setting his mug down. “I’m reasonably sure I know where Alice’s affections lie,” he said grimly.
“With her dead husband?” Ginny asked. “She is a widow, isn’t she? I would know.”
Jarvis conceded with a nod. “I’m working on convincing her to declare an end to her mourning.”
Ginny shook her head and laughed with the understanding of experience. “Don’t rush her or you’ll regret it.” She took a long drag of her beer.
The subject needed to be changed, and it needed to be changed fast.
“So what is this whole land dispute really about?” he asked, using whatever charm he had as he leaned closer to Ginny.
She arched an eyebrow as if she was on to his charm game before it started.
“It is what it is,” she said. “Howard gave Cyrus and me a fair chunk of land when we married. That was nearly ten years ago, mind you, when we all first moved out here. You think there’s nothing here now? You should have seen it then. We had to work our hands bloody and our backs broken to build the houses, the barns. Howard and Cyrus and me built this place from nothing with the sweat of our brows.”
“That’s admirable of you,” Jarvis said. He smiled at the thought of that first, intrepid generation of pioneers, like his father, who had risked everything to tame the wilderness. The frontier was still wild, but back then it was all new. “So what went wrong?”
“You tell me,” Ginny snorted. “Years we worked. Cyrus and I made it official. Back in those days, it could take a justice of the peace ages to get to where you were, so folks just assumed you were wed, even before you actually were.”
“Why, Mrs. Piedmont, you rebel.” Jarvis winked at her. She nudged him again in reply.
Hattie got up from her seat in the middle of the table and walked around, doling out thick slices of apple pie to everyone’s plates. The roar of conversation settled.
“So why then, after all those years, would the dispute over the land just be popping up now?” Jarvis asked.
Several sets of eyes snapped to his end of the table, and the conversations that had gone on when everyone dug into their pie dried up.
“Because somebody is a dunderheaded fool who can’t remember a lick of the history he was a part of,” Ginny boomed, making sure that everyone, all the way down to Howa
rd, heard her.
“Shut your trap, you old hellcat,” Howard grumbled.
Jarvis sensed the balance at the table shifting into darker, useless territory, and jumped to right it.
“Howard, did you give Ginny and Cyrus land for their wedding?” he asked.
All eyes at the table shifted to his end.
Howard cleared his throat. “I did. But only as far as the old sycamore tree as it stretches out to the standing rock formation.”
Jarvis blinked. Alice looked as lost as he was. Everyone else at the table suddenly found their pie far more interesting than the conversation.
“That’s a lie and you know it,” Ginny snapped. “You gave it as far as the red maple down to the old stone fence you and Cyrus started then abandoned. Cyrus said so until the day he died.”
“I don’t understand,” Alice stepped in as Howard opened his mouth to reply. “Where does that make the boundary?”
Neither Howard nor Ginny was quick to answer. After too long of a pause, Franklin said, “It’s the difference of about ten to twenty yards on either side of the stream.”
“Ten to twenty yards?” Jarvis balked. “That’s nothing.”
“It’s the difference between the stream being on one property or the other,” Alice corrected him. Her cheeks had gone pink, as though she’d picked up on some truth of the situation before he had.
Jarvis frowned and sunk his fork into his pie. “So the fight is really about the stream and who can use it, right?”
“It’s about land rights,” Howard protested.
“It’s about me keeping what’s mine instead of handing it over to some Indian-giver,” Ginny protested.
“I’ve let you get away with trespassing for years,” Howard railed on. “Enough is enough.”
“You’ve lost your mind over nothing,” Ginny cut in.
“Wait a moment.” Alice held up her hands. She looked from Ginny to Howard. “Are you saying that you’ve managed to share this stream for years, and that it’s only become a problem recently?”
Another heavy silence settled over the table.