Opal

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘I’d suggest you take up knitting or some such. A lot safer.’’

  ‘‘St. Paul coming up.’’ He nodded toward Hank Waters.

  Opal sat back in her seat, trying not to laugh out loud, ignoring the voice trying to remind her she’d brought on trouble again. She should write Belle and let her know what had happened. Belle had taught her well.

  After changing trains in St. Paul, Opal splurged with a good meal in the dining car, then snuggled under her quilt for some much needed sleep. For safety’s sake she tucked all her paper money down into her chemise, another lesson learned from the mistress of gambling. Good thing Ruby couldn’t see her now.

  Opal woke shivering in the night. Brushface, Goldtooth, and the drifter had melded into one man in her dream and had pursued her across the country. No matter how hard she pushed her horse, her pursuer stayed right on her heels. Each time she looked back, he’d grown larger, till the arms reaching out to grab her seemed to brush her skin.

  She sat up, struggling to catch her breath. She’d done it again. She’d caused someone else harm because she didn’t think things through. Mr. Waters had worn a cut lip and a blackened eye when he left the train, and although he’d told her more than once it wasn’t her fault, she knew it was. When am I going to learn? No wonder Ruby worries I’ll never be a gentlewoman. She’d never play cards like that. She blew out a breath. But Belle would.

  She dozed off again sometime later but woke at each noise. When dawn lightened the windows, she finally felt free from the night demons. From now on, you play only whist. And this time she meant it.

  ‘‘I heard you had yourself quite a time, young lady.’’ The conductor stopped by her seat when she woke up. ‘‘You didn’t really cheat, did you?’’

  ‘‘Of course not.’’ Opal stared at him as if he’d sprouted scales. ‘‘I don’t need to cheat. They just underestimated me because I’m a girl. Serves them right. Where are we?’’ She stretched her neck from side to side to banish the crick that had settled in due to the way she’d slept.

  ‘‘Coming up on Chicago. Where’d you learn to play cards like that?’’

  ‘‘From a friend. Are they still serving in the dining car?’’

  ‘‘You can get something to eat there most all day long. Good part of the night too.’’

  ‘‘Thank you. Could you please watch out for my things here?’’

  ‘‘Tuck them under the seat. I’ll put up a Taken sign.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’ Opal stopped by the necessary and smoothed her hair back with dampened hands. She should brush the snarls out and rebraid it, but her growling stomach sounded about like two dogs going at each other.

  Once resettled after Chicago, she read a book, got bored with the scenery, ate her meals in the dining car, read some more, chatted with an older woman who took the seat across from her, and was thoroughly bored by the time the train finally went underground to pull into New York.

  She gathered her things, grateful that she’d taken time to wash up and do her hair, and followed the passengers down the steps.

  ‘‘Opal. Opal, over here.’’

  She stood on her tiptoes to see who was calling her name. A waving hand caught her attention. That slender, fashionable young woman coming toward her couldn’t be Alicia, could it? Of course it was. She looked enough like her mother for them to be sisters. Same sealskin brown hair, the same welcoming smile, gracious to a fault. It was Alicia, all right.

  ‘‘Opal.’’ Even the younger fashion plate strolling beside the elder had her hair up. No long thick braid hanging down her back. It must be Penelope, but it couldn’t be. Penelope was the same age as Opal. ‘‘Opal, is it really you?’’

  ‘‘Last time I looked.’’ Opal could feel her cheeks burning. The last time she’d looked, she was dressed in a well-used dark skirt, and while it was clean, it had never even made an acquaintance with style. Her waist too had seen better days. If only she’d been allowed to wear her divided leather skirt and the soft fringed jacket she’d grown into, the one that had belonged to Belle. Opal sucked in a deep breath. It was all Ruby’s fault for hustling her off like that. Plastering a smile on a face that would rather frown, she squared her shoulders.

  ‘‘Yep, it’s me. But whatever happened to all of you?’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘Why, you’re all grown up.’’

  Alicia and Penelope laughed and hugged her. Jason gave her a wide smile, touching his hat brim in a one-fingered salute. ‘‘Wait until you see Bernie. He’s in school now too. Mother says she has the first peace she’s had in seventeen years.’’

  ‘‘They’d be here too, but Bernie fell out of the oak tree this morning and cracked his head a good one, so Mother had to stay home with him. She said to tell you she can’t wait to see you.’’ Alicia took her arm on one side and Penelope the other, leaving Jason to deal with the baggage.

  ‘‘Not fair.’’ But his grumble was accompanied by a wink.

  ‘‘We need to locate your trunk.’’ Alicia stopped her with a hand on her arm.

  ‘‘I didn’t bring one.’’ Not that she’d had enough clothes to even fill the bag she brought, since britches were impossible to bring along. That would have really shocked her friends.

  Only the slightest pause betrayed their astonishment. ‘‘Good. Then we shall have to do lots of shopping.’’

  ‘‘Come along. The carriage is waiting. And Mrs. Fleish can’t wait to see you either.’’

  Feeling she was caught in a hurricane, Opal let herself be guided through the crowd, one or the other of her captors pointing out people and places, a dress, a hat, until she wanted to stand still and scream.

  But screaming had never been her way of dealing with things. Instead, she finally planted her feet and let their hands slide off her.

  ‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Alicia turned a baffled gaze on her.

  ‘‘Too much. This is too much. I’m used to air and sun and a wind that blows where it will. Give me a moment to catch my breath.’’ As if I want to breathe in these obnoxious odors. She felt her nose pinch in protest.

  Jason stopped beside her and plunked her valise down on the floor. ‘‘So what’s the difficulty here?’’ Even though his voice cracked, he already sounded like his father.

  I’m the difficulty, and I cannot go on any longer. Opal swallowed the tears that burned behind her eyes. I want to go home. Please, Lord, I want to go home.

  ‘‘It’ll be all right, Opal. Truly it will.’’ Jason spoke softly while both the girls studied Opal as if she were some strange kind of creature. ‘‘You don’t have to hurry if you don’t want to. I hate to shop too.’’

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry, Opal. I’m just so excited to have you back with us.’’ Penelope stepped closer to Opal. ‘‘I want to show you everything. Life is terribly exciting here, and I thought you’d want to see it all.’’ Her grin had remained in spite of the fancy clothes. ‘‘Besides, I haven’t had half as much fun since you left.’’

  But you don’t understand. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home on the ranch, back to the time before the drifter. I want to be working with the horses, playing with Per, riding the ridges, and seeing the fantastical forms and shapes of the badlands.

  ‘‘I was hoping you would come to visit us out West.’’

  ‘‘You don’t want to be here?’’ Alicia’s eyes grew round.

  Wonderful, Opal, now you’ve hurt their feelings. ‘‘Oh no, it’s not that at all.’’ And now you’re a liar too. ‘‘I just need some time to adjust. Even a little bit of time.’’ She stepped forward and hooked arms with the two again. ‘‘Lead on. I’ll be all right.’’ Please God, I’ll be all right. As soon as I no longer look like a poor relation, I’ll be better.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘‘Why did you say that about your pa?’’

  Joel stared down at his loosely clasped fingers. Sullenness rode his
eyebrows and molded his chin.

  ‘‘Joel, I’m speaking to you. I know your ma taught you good manners.’’ Jacob waited, but the boy refused to answer. What was he to do with him? Mr. Robertson had given him a strange look at the boy’s comments.

  ‘‘My name is Joel O’Shaunasy.’’ The mutter could scarcely be heard.

  Jacob blinked. His name. Of course that was his name. Did he need to go explain their sad tale? How could he do that without giving away more than he desired? He thought longingly of the comfort of his little house and the foibles of his parishioners back home. There, he’d finally been making headway with Mr. Dumfarthing, and now a new pastor would need to start all over again—if he’d have the patience to try, or even the desire.

  He glanced around the ten-by-ten room with dirt walls that gave off a dank odor. Maybe it smelled good to gophers and moles, but the aroma did nothing for his sensitive nose.

  Tell him.

  The voice came so clear he almost turned around to see who had spoken. I can’t.

  Tell him.

  Jacob rammed his fingers through his hair. How do you tell a boy his mother is not only dead but might have hastened her own death?

  A sigh escaped before he could swallow it. ‘‘Joel, I need to tell you something.’’ Look at me, show me you are listening. The boy sat on the lower bunk only two feet away, but the walls he’d raised between them were so strong as to be nearly visible.

  Jacob swallowed the next sigh. ‘‘Something about your mother.’’

  Not even a muscle twitched. Had the boy. . . ? He had to quit thinking of him as the boy. Joel was his son. ‘‘We won’t be looking for her anymore. I am fairly certain she died before we left the valley.’’

  Joel’s slitted gaze nailed him to the wall. ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Remember the man from the livery coming?’’

  He gave a nod so brief as to be almost nonexistent.

  ‘‘He said he thought Melody, er, your ma, fell into the river. The horse and buggy were tied up at the bridge.’’

  ‘‘You said we were going looking for her.’’

  ‘‘I know. I didn’t want to tell you, but . . .’’ Jacob knelt in front of his son. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’

  ‘‘You told a lie.’’ Only the tightly clamped jaw kept the tears at bay. He swiped his sleeved arm under his nose.

  ‘‘I know.’’ I’ve told many lies lately, and like this one, they all want to return to haunt me. ‘‘I was trying to make it easier for you.’’ Jacob reached out to smooth Joel’s hair back, but the boy scooted against the wall.

  Jacob sighed again. So much for trying to make things right. He rose and leaned against the bunk-bed frame. Mrs. Robertson had brought out quilts for them to use for mattresses and sheets to cover them. She’d promised to sew tickings to fill with hay as soon as the grass was tall enough to cut.

  ‘‘Joel, son, I’m sorry.’’ The words hung in the dimness, broken only by the twilight coming in through the open door. ‘‘I’m going to the outhouse. You go ahead and get ready for bed. The top bunk is yours.’’ He waited a long moment, but when there was no response, he left, sucking in a deep breath of clean air as soon as he cleared the doorway.

  The evening star hung in the west as he strolled out the path. A cow bellowed in the distance. Birds twittered in the branches of the cottonwood trees, settling for the night. He’d not fared at all well with the riding, let alone the roping and working with the cattle. Why would Mr. Robertson even keep him around?

  When he returned he heard Joel breathing in the top bunk, an errant sob causing a hitch in the rhythm. He should have asked for a candle, but knowing the early time work would start, he needn’t spend time reading anyway. He hung his clothes on the bed frame and slid under the covers. What a day they’d had.

  ‘‘Don’t you have any work clothes?’’ Mr. Robertson stared at Jacob’s pants and shirt in the dim morning light.

  Jacob shook his head. ‘‘These are my work clothes.’’ At least, he’d cut and split wood in them and dug up his garden.

  ‘‘You’re going to need something tougher than that.’’

  ‘‘These will have to do for now.’’

  ‘‘Can you milk a cow?’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’

  ‘‘Buckets are up to the springhouse. We have two milk cows. Ada Mae is bringing them up now. You take the Guernsey. Gotta watch her. She kicks some.’’

  ‘‘You have any kickers?’’ Jacob asked.

  ‘‘Kickers?’’

  ‘‘Guess not. I can make some if you want. The ones on our farm were a piece of chain to hook around each hock. A short chain connects the two.’’

  ‘‘Maybe later. Tried hobbling her. You just need to grab that bucket as soon as you’ve finished. She puts her foot in real quick-like.’’ Jacob nodded.

  ‘‘We eat after chores.’’

  Jacob nodded again and headed for the rock building indicated. He brought both buckets and joined Ada Mae in the barn. She’d already poured a small mound of grain in front of each of the stanchioned cows.

  ‘‘You sure you know how to milk?’’ She peered around her cow’s haunches.

  ‘‘Haven’t for a long time, but I’m sure it will come back real quick.’’ He took a three-legged stool from the peg on the wall and stopped behind the tan and white cow that stood with her udder bulging.

  ‘‘Easy, boss.’’ He patted her on the rump and set his stool in place. Ada Mae already had milk singing into the other bucket. As soon as he sat down, the cow shifted her back feet, her tail catching him on the ear. He set the pail between his knees and clasped the two far teats, squeezing and pulling in the age-old motion of cow milkers. Milk streamed into the bucket, playing counterpoint to the slosh of the other milker.

  He nestled his forehead into her flank and inhaled the rich fragrance of fresh warm milk, cowhide, and barn.

  ‘‘Remember to watch her. She twitches her tail just before trying to kick the bucket.’’ The voice came from behind him.

  ‘‘Thanks.’’ He switched to the near teats, his hands remembering the drill without conscious thought. Surely there would have been a better way to tell Joel about his mother. He’d heard the boy crying during the night.

  The cow’s tail caught him across the back of his head at the same moment her near back foot caught the bucket and, in spite of his quick grab, sent it toppling. The barn cats leaped to get what they could. Jacob stifled the words he’d like to have used. They’d warned him. He heard a snicker from the other milker.

  ‘‘She’s quicker than a snake striking.’’

  Jacob picked up the stool and hung it again on the peg. About a pint of milk, perhaps a quart, remained in the pail.

  ‘‘Pour it in here, and I’ll take them up.’’ Ada Mae gave him a commiserating shrug. ‘‘She’s done it to all of us.’’

  Why would anyone keep a sly, sneaky cow like that? They should have turned her into stew meat. She’d be too tough for roasts. ‘‘She won’t catch me again.’’

  ‘‘Hope not.’’

  Jacob went by the bunkhouse and rousted Joel up for breakfast. The boy’s swollen eyes told their own tale, but when Jacob laid a hand on his shoulder, the boy flinched away. He walked behind Jacob up to the house.

  ‘‘Joel, you can sit here.’’ Virginia patted the chair between her and Ada Mae.

  ‘‘Hear she got you,’’ Mr. Robertson commented as he pulled his chair out.

  ‘‘I’m sorry, I—’’ ‘‘You’ll be ready next time.’’ That sounded like he’d be on the milking detail permanently in spite of the fiasco in the barn.

  After grace not much was said, as everyone ate swiftly, passing the platters of ham and eggs and pancakes when asked.

  One good thing, Jacob thought as he forked in sustenance, we’ll eat well here. He hoped time would ease Joel’s grief, and in the meantime he had the younger girls for company. All in all, perhaps coming west wasn’t a bad move after all.
r />   Or so he thought until he tumbled off the horse two hours later. He dusted himself off and watched the creature run back to the herd, stirrups banging his sides, spooking him further. What on earth had startled him, anyway? Or did horses in the West jump straight up in the air and buck on the way down just for pure ornery spite? Jacob glanced around to see who had witnessed his fall and caught Virginia turning away to hide what he knew was laughter.

  ‘‘Go ahead. Laugh!’’ He dusted off his rear.

  ‘‘You want me to go rope him again?’’

  I would rather bash him about the ears with a sturdy pole, but until I have my hands on those reins again, I have no alternative but to humiliate myself further. But he answered, ‘‘Yes, please.’’ Robertson had given strict instructions that he was to learn to ride and rope and Virginia was to help him. The rope too was banging against the sides of the disappearing horse.

  The young lady sighed. ‘‘I’ll saddle up, then.’’ She put two fingers in her mouth, and a piercing whistle floated across the meadow. A black-and-white horse raised its head and came trotting toward them. She whistled again, and the horse broke into a run.

  ‘‘Opal taught me how to do that.’’

  ‘‘Opal?’’

  ‘‘Opal Torvald. My best friend. The Harrisons are our nearest neighbors. She went to New York for a while, but she’ll be back.

  She can train a horse better than anyone around here.’’

  The pinto trotted up to them and nosed Virginia’s pockets until the girl pulled out a cookie and rewarded her mount. She grabbed the horse’s mane and led it over to the corral.

  Jacob watched as she bridled and saddled her horse with a minimum of fuss, took a rope off the barn wall, mounted, and loped off toward the herd.

  While he waited he wandered over to the well and pumped full the bucket that hung on the spout, then dipped out a drink, using the tin cup hanging on a hook attached to the pump side.

  Since Mr. Robertson had included splitting wood on Jacob’s list of duties, he headed for the chopping block and set to. At least he knew how to do this well.