Opal

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘Don’t forget to check the cake and put the rolls in,’’ she said to Ruby as she headed to her room.

  Even school might be better than all this housework. The thought made her hustle to change clothes. Working in the heat had been cooler in a dress, something she was rarely willing to admit, but out with the horses she’d never wear skirts or a dress. Although riding sidesaddle in the park in New York, wearing a riding dress of Alicia’s, had been a different story. Several young men had come to ride with them. Penelope had teased her about them afterward.

  ‘‘They never showed up before you came,’’ she’d said.

  Opal had made a derogatory sound.

  ‘‘Opal, you have no idea how fetching you look. That blue makes your eyes sparkle, and you’re as graceful on that horse as any woman I’ve ever seen ride.’’

  ‘‘You come west, and I’ll show you how to really ride.’’ She nudged the horse forward. ‘‘Come on, let’s take that trail over there by the lake.’’

  Penelope rode beside her, Alicia trailing. ‘‘Do you really ride astride—in britches?’’

  ‘‘Yes. You can’t work cattle with all this stuff on.’’ She gestured to her skirts and petticoats. ‘‘Why, it would shred in minutes riding through the trees and brush. We all wear chaps to protect our legs.’’

  ‘‘Chaps?’’

  ‘‘Leather leggings that cover the fronts of your legs, kind of like an apron that attaches to a leather belt. You tie them behind your legs with leather strings.’’

  ‘‘I saw a picture of a cowboy who had furry coverings on his legs.’’

  ‘‘Most likely some tenderfoot who wanted to look like a cowboy. Look over there.’’ Opal pointed to two black swans being followed by their half-grown young. They’d looked up the name in the dictionary. Cygnets. French.

  ‘‘Aren’t they lovely?’’ Alicia said with a sigh. ‘‘So graceful. I’m sure they never had to take lessons from Miss Claudette.’’

  ‘‘Are they that bad?’’ Opal could barely repress a shudder.

  ‘‘Walk with a book on your head, and if you drop it—’’ ‘‘You can never let your spine touch the back of a chair. What are chairbacks for if not to lean against?’’ Penelope rode on the other side. For a change the three were alone, the brothers off on a different outing.

  Even though she knew the answer, Opal asked the next question. ‘‘Why go if you hate it so?’’

  Penelope rolled her eyes, another of the many things she was not supposed to do. ‘‘Mother acts so gentle and patient, but you don’t want to cross her on certain things. ‘Now that you are young ladies, you must put off the things of childhood and learn to deport yourselves in the manner of your station.’’’

  ‘‘That’s a direct quote.’’ Alicia smiled, a serene smile that looked more like her mother’s than Opal could believe. ‘‘But it’s really not so bad once you decide that Miss Claudette is doing her best to help you. I’d be mortified if I made a faux pas in public.’’

  Opal had glanced over to see Penelope make a face.

  She shuddered now as she stamped her foot securely into her boot. To live like that, corseted until you could barely breathe, restricted from all things enjoyable, buildings all around until you felt you were in a canyon closing in from the top. Not like here with sky that went on forever, painted canyons that glowed in the sun—even the shadows teemed with life. How could Ruby have even dreamed she would rather stay in New York to go to school?

  She grabbed her hat off the hall tree and headed out the door, smiling to herself at the sound of Per laughing out on the back porch. Being with him all day had not been a bad thing. He was fun and funny and learned so fast. And almost as cute as a half-grown colt.

  She glanced up at the screech of a hawk overhead. Good thing they had put wire over the chicken run, or he’d have dined at their expense. ‘‘Go get those gophers that are tearing up the pasture,’’ she told him.

  The bird ignored her. The horses ignored her whistle too, peacefully grazing at the far side of the fenced pasture. The filly had not learned to respond to a whistle yet, but Buck lifted his head and whinnied.

  ‘‘Bring them all on up here,’’ she called to him. Even now she missed Firelight, the filly she’d trained and Rand had sold. Even though that was the way of ranching and she’d known it would happen, inside she had dreamed that maybe Rand would surprise her and let the filly be hers.

  Too many things had changed in the last couple of months. She whistled again, and Bay broke into a trot. While the old mare was rarely used for roping cattle any longer, she still loved attention. ‘‘Good girl.’’ She let Bay snuffle her hair and leaned into the warm, firm shoulder. Bay might be up there in years, but she’d make a good horse to teach Per to ride. Opal swung aboard, her rope looped over her shoulder. Bareback, no bridle, one with her horse. Now, this was the way to ride, not like a dolled-up stick on the trails of a city park. ‘‘But I need to get a letter off to them. Wouldn’t we have fun if they would come here to visit?’’

  Bay broke into a lope at the slight squeeze of Opal’s legs, the wind lifting her mane and tugging at her rider’s hat. Leaning slightly in the direction she wanted the horse to go, Opal singled out the young filly and lassoed her with one try.

  ‘‘It’s about time you learn to come when you’re called.’’ She looped the rope over the horse’s nose and led her back to the gate. Dismounting, she let Bay go and took the filly up to the barn. ‘‘You need a name, little girl, but I’ve not come up with a good one yet.’’

  After brushing the sorrel’s coat and mane and picking up her feet, checking for thrush or a stone in the frog, she saddled the horse and mounted easily in spite of a bit of sidestepping. By the time she’d dismounted and mounted again three times, the horse stood quietly.

  Training a horse never seemed like work to Opal. Neither did training her young charges. Perhaps she’d ride . . . Cinnamon— that’s the name.

  ‘‘Perfect. Cinnamon.’’ She stroked the filly’s neck. ‘‘Cinnamon.

  That’s you.’’ She roped the snubbing post from the horse’s back, practiced keeping the rope taut, backed her, moved forward again to release the tension, and ran sliding stops and side-to-side spins.

  ‘‘She’s looking mighty good.’’ Rand leaned on the corral fence.

  ‘‘Thanks. She learns fast. How about we call her Cinnamon?’’ Opal rode the horse over to the fence. ‘‘Thought I’d try her with the cows tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘If she’s got as much sense as she has flash, she’ll be an easy sale.’’

  ‘‘She will.’’

  ‘‘You’ve been working her what, two weeks now?’’

  ‘‘About that.’’

  ‘‘We’ve got two geldings coming from the Triple Seven.’’

  ‘‘When?’’

  ‘‘In a week or two. They want them ready for fall roundup.’’

  ‘‘Nothing like waiting until the last minute.’’

  ‘‘You’re right about that. As a matter of fact, I talked with Ramsey at the abattoir, and he asked if we couldn’t bring some beeves in early. Think we’ll round up the fattest and take them in.’’

  ‘‘When?’’

  ‘‘Starting Monday.’’

  ‘‘Be good training for the kids.’’

  ‘‘True. Thanks for the time off for Ruby today.’’

  Opal dismounted and hooked her stirrup over the saddle horn to unwrap the cinch straps. ‘‘You’re welcome. Ruby’s not real happy with the school idea, is she?’’

  ‘‘Nope. You better have a good plan to present.’’

  ‘‘I wanted to talk with Pearl first.’’

  ‘‘You hatching something?’’

  ‘‘I hope so. Guess I’ll just tell Ruby that it would be better to talk about it tomorrow, and I’ll go see Pearl first.’’

  ‘‘Good idea.’’ He pulled her saddle off and carried it to the barn.

  ‘‘Thanks, Rand.’�
�

  ‘‘You’re most welcome. That’s what family is for.’’

  The next morning Opal took her charges out to rope and bring in a couple of steers to practice on; then she headed on over to Pearl’s house, closer to town.

  Even after all this time, she still glanced up at times, expecting to see Atticus come whistling over the rise after working for the Robertsons or perhaps for Daisy or Pearl. Even the thought brought the heat of incipient tears.

  ‘‘Oh, Atticus, I miss you.’’ The thought that he’d never written chased the tears as her teeth clamped on the words she often wished she could tell him. Something about being a coward and not living up to his word. So what if he had a problem? Running away wasn’t the answer.

  At least that’s what he’d told her more than once when she was ready to flee the frustrations of the schoolteacher, who was now back to bedevil her.

  She kept her horse at a lope and stopped in front of the white house set on a neat acre or so on the flat just south of the train tracks in Medora.

  ‘‘Why, Opal, how wonderful to see you. Glad you are home again.’’ Pearl, with one child clutching her skirts and another in her arms, met her on the porch. ‘‘Would you like something to drink?’’

  ‘‘That would be right fine.’’ Opal flipped her reins over the hitching rail on the outside of a white picket fence. ‘‘Your place looks so pretty.’’

  ‘‘Carl is a good builder. He’ll be adding on another wing, hopefully before winter. We’re hoping to take in a couple more boarders.’’

  Opal leaned over to smell one of the roses blooming up the porch post and across the front of the roof. ‘‘Ah.’’

  ‘‘Have a seat. I’ll bring out a tray.’’

  ‘‘I can help. You look to have your hands full.’’

  ‘‘Come on, Carly. You know Opal.’’

  The little girl hung back, her tiny hands twisting the front of her shift. She peeped out from lowered eyelids, as if too much of a good thing might send her into hiding.

  Opal scooped her up and followed Pearl into the cool dimness of the front room that extended the length of the building. ‘‘Do you have a doll to show me?’’

  With a small nod the little one slid down to the floor and darted out of the room, returning in an instant with a rag doll, yarn hair in braids and a permanent smile embroidered on the flat face.

  ‘‘This is some doll. What is her name?’’

  ‘‘Libby.’’ Now a finger took up a place between the rosebud lips.

  ‘‘Libby is a good name.’’ Opal hunkered down on her haunches. Carly was a few months older than Per, the first small child in her life since she’d left the Brandons when Bernie was a baby.

  ‘‘Come, Carly,’’ Pearl said. She handed the baby to Opal and took a tray with two glasses out to the porch. ‘‘Bring your basket.’’

  ‘‘Her basket?’’ Opal glanced around the room. Carl not only built houses but created furniture for his family. The desk he’d made for Pearl to replace the one burned in the fire when they were still at Dove House occupied a place of pride in one corner with a six-foot-tall bookshelf behind it, the shelves full of books read by both him and Pearl. Their mutual love of books had started their friendship back at Dove House.

  ‘‘Did Carl make the sofa too?’’

  ‘‘Yes. Isn’t he an amazing craftsman? I helped upholster it. He’s working on a dressing table now. He found a dead oak tree down the river and dragged it home. He doesn’t waste an inch of wood.’’

  She set the tray on a small table and took the baby from Opal. Indicating a seat on the porch, she handed Opal a glass of red liquid.

  Carly sat on the floor, removing a bonnet for her doll from a small willow basket.

  ‘‘Raspberry swizzle. Our berries went overboard this year.’’ A sigh of relief accompanied her sitting down, then she handed the now-seated Carly a small glass. ‘‘You be careful now.’’

  ‘‘I sure wish you were teaching school this fall,’’ Opal said.

  ‘‘Mr. Finch is back. I saw him getting the schoolroom ready.’’

  ‘‘I know.’’ Opal shook her head. ‘‘That man.’’

  ‘‘I know you don’t like him, but he seems to do well with the younger children.’’

  ‘‘They don’t know any better.’’

  ‘‘He’s been fortunate to have you and Virginia to help him.’’

  Opal took another sip of her drink. ‘‘I’m not going back.’’ She might as well lay it right out there.

  ‘‘I thought Ruby wanted you to finish your education.’’

  ‘‘She does. But I’m not going away again, and Mr. Finch doesn’t know enough.’’ Or care enough. ‘‘I don’t think he likes me any more than I like him.’’

  ‘‘Not that you caused any problems in the classroom or any such thing, I’m sure.’’ Pearl smiled at Opal as she helped Carly put the bonnet on her doll.

  Opal lifted an eyebrow. ‘‘Do frogs, mice, or snakes in a desk drawer count as problems?’’

  Pearl shuddered. ‘‘I’m certainly glad I never had such surprising visitors.’’

  ‘‘You made learning exciting. I loved school when you were teaching.’’

  ‘‘I miss it too, but I have more than enough here to keep two women busy. I’m hoping some young woman will come west looking for a job.’’

  ‘‘I’ve been thinking. I could help you for a couple hours a day in exchange for tutoring.’’

  ‘‘I’d teach you for free.’’

  ‘‘But this way Ruby might be more inclined to think I mean to live up to getting more schooling.’’ She started to say more, then paused to give Pearl time to think.

  Pearl chewed the inside of her lip while rocking the baby.

  ‘‘More, Ma?’’ Carly held up her glass.

  ‘‘That’s enough for now.’’ Pearl looked back to Opal. ‘‘Even if I get someone to help, I will gladly teach you in exchange for things like cleaning the boarders’ rooms or whatever else I need.’’

  ‘‘That would be wonderful.’’ Opal grinned. ‘‘You sure you don’t have a horse that needs training? That’s what I do best.’’

  ‘‘Sorry. I hear you’re teaching the Robertson girls to handle cattle.’’

  ‘‘Yes. Them and Joel. He’s the quickest of them all.’’

  ‘‘I don’t know how Cora is going to manage through the winter.’’

  ‘‘Mr. Chandler is a good worker. Not much on a horse yet, but he’s learning.’’ Opal set her glass down on the tray. ‘‘I better get back to my charges. I left them roping steers. Or rather one steer. I brought a yearling in for them to practice on. The milk cows got tired of being roped.’’

  ‘‘Tell Ruby I’m having everyone here after church on Sunday.’’

  ‘‘I will, and, Pearl, thank you more than I can say.’’

  ‘‘You’ll earn your schooling.’’ Pearl patted her shoulder. ‘‘This fall I’m hoping to get a quilting group going. The women out here need to get together more often. And my house is pretty central.’’

  ‘‘I’ll tell her.’’ Opal jumped down the steps. ‘‘Bye, Carly.’’

  The little girl clutched her doll by one arm. ‘‘Bye,’’ she said and waggled the fingers on her other hand.

  The wranglers in training were sitting on the corral railing when Opal trotted Bay back to the Robertson homeplace. The steer lay on the opposite side of the dirt enclosure, chewing his cud and keeping a wary eye on the three ropers.

  ‘‘How’d you all do?’’

  ‘‘He’s the only one who got more than one rope on him.’’ Ada Mae nodded toward Joel.

  ‘‘Mean old thing. He shakes us off. Those horns . . .’’ Virginia shuddered.

  ‘‘His horns aren’t too bad yet,’’ Opal said.

  ‘‘Bad enough.’’

  ‘‘Make your loop bigger.’’ Opal rested her crossed arms on the saddle horn. ‘‘Were you roping from horseback or the ground?’’
r />   ‘‘Both.’’ Joel shook out his loop, then recoiled the rope.

  ‘‘He got dragged around the corral before we could get that stupid animal snubbed to the post.’’ Virginia looked like she’d been dragged through the dirt too.

  ‘‘Well, since you’ve had a rest, why don’t you get your horses out again? We’ll go find us some calves to cut out, and then maybe we should head on over to the river and cool off.’’

  ‘‘You mean it?’’ Ada Mae perked right up.

  ‘‘Sure. Bring your corks too.’’ They each had a cork with a hook or two stuck in it, along with enough line to fish with.

  ‘‘I’ll go ask Ma.’’ Ada Mae bailed off the rail and ran for the house while the others headed for the small pasture where the horses had been let loose.

  Some time later, with their clothes nearly dry again and strings of fish for both families, they all rode home. The Robert-sons and Joel loped on past the Harrison ranch house while Opal stopped to hand Little Squirrel her string of fish.

  ‘‘I’m going to milk.’’

  Little Squirrel nodded.

  ‘‘Opa!’’ Per waved his arms from the back porch.

  Opal let Bay loose in the pasture and waved Ghost on out to bring in the milk cow. If only every day could be like this one. Now if only Ruby would go along with her plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Was it a sin to be jealous of his son?

  Jacob watched Joel from the shadows of the barn. The boy worked his rope like it had become a permanent extension of his arm. He flipped loops sideways, spun others over his head, the loop settling over the snubbing post, the milk cow, the small herd of weaned calves being kept in the fence for just this practice, his horse, a tree stump from the back of the horse. While he hadn’t as much success over the long horns of cows and near-to-market steers, he’d gained the skill quickly. For a youngster he did better than most young men. Perhaps all the hours spent practicing had something to do with that.