by Sadie Conall
He rang the bell and within moments a slim man of about forty entered the room. Well-groomed and dressed in an expensive suit, he glanced at Ella before looking across at Jebediah who waved his hand in a disrespectful way to introduce him.
“My lawyer, Red Nevons.” Jebediah muttered before stumbling back to his desk. “Get some papers drawn up for the purchase of this woman’s ranch. I believe the other party to the agreement can be found in one of the saloons in Chesterfield, although this young woman will take all the funds. We’ve agreed on $2.60 an acre. Get the paperwork done as soon as you can,” he sat down at his desk and glanced once more at Ella before turning away. “Now, get her out of my sight.”
*
Ella felt the weight of the money bag on her hip as they rode across Jebediah’s land. Marrok rode just behind her, happy to play the part of the disgruntled buyer. But they didn’t speak until they were in sight of Ella’s home, or what now belonged to Jebediah, when she finally reined her horse in. Marrok rode up beside her and she reached over to shake his hand, her face jubilant.
“We did it!” she yelled, ecstatic. “I’m free of both of them! Can you believe it? And the deal breaker was you moving sheep onto this land,” she burst out laughing, overwhelmed. “However do I thank you, Marrok! I took Jebediah Crawley on and won! You were right, he wanted the land to build a road! How did I not see that? Lord above, I won’t forget this day. At $2.60 an acre! My father would be overjoyed!”
Marrok smiled. “You did well Ella, you got the best possible price. You should be very proud. Now can we get moving? So you can start packing?”
They rode those last few miles and Ella allowed herself the luxury of looking back, of seeing the trees her father had planted when he came here as a young man, the fields where he had ploughed with Bear, before Jasper came to live here all those years ago. The barn he raised with the help of men from neighboring ranches, the shelter belts for cattle, the wells he had dug.
But there was something that played on Ella’s mind and just before they pulled up at the house, she turned to Marrok. “Jebediah said you were a halfbreed.”
Marrok shrugged. “Then clearly he’s no fool, although that might bother some people,” he paused as he looked across at her. “Does it bother you?”
Ella thought about it, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Although I’ve never met a halfbreed. Should it bother me?”
Marrok laughed, that lovely sound as lush and deep as his voice. “Well, I have no plans to cause you any worry.”
They rode their horses on at a walk into the yard and Ella looked over at him. “I was raised to take people at face value, Marrok. If I didn’t trust you, I would never have gone to Jebediah’s with you. And it was you who gave me the courage to negotiate with him. Besides, I knew from the moment we all shared breakfast together this morning that you had our best interests at heart, for what man goes to the trouble of buying food to share with people he’s never met, even though another man paid for it!”
She dismounted and stepped towards him. “I know you’re in a desperate hurry to get back to Independence but I need to stop off in Chesterfield to find Milton and give him his share of the money. If I leave it here, one of Jebediah’s men might find it and take it, and I don’t want Milton coming after me saying he never received it and that I still owe him his share. Besides, I want to pack up his things and give them to him, so he never steps foot on this land again, even though I no longer own it,” she paused before adding softly. “But more than anything, I want Billy, my father’s horse.”
Marrok dismounted and they both turned as Jasper come out of the barn, ready to take Bear from Ella like he had always done.
“I’ll go and help him pack up the barn,” Marrok said. “As for going to Chesterfield, of course I’d prefer it if we didn’t have to go there. But I understand your reasoning for it. Besides, from what I understand of your uncle, he’ll be easy enough to find.”
“Thank you,” she said, then turned to tell Martha the news that would change all their lives.
9
After watering the horses at the trough, Marrok and Jasper unsaddled them then left them to graze in the field behind the barn. Then Jasper showed Marrok how much he’d packed away. The wagon was half full. Marrok was impressed by how much the man had done in the few hours he and Ella had been at Jebediah’s.
“Well, I ain’t never seen the point in slackin’ around,” Jasper said. “If a job’s got to be done, better it be done quick and as best you can.”
The wagon contained three water barrels, a feedbox for the horses and a large chest of tools. Marrok lifted the lid on the toolbox and saw a couple of old hammers in there, a good hand saw, an axe and two shovels.
As he helped Jasper pull bridles and other horse tack off hooks and shelves, he asked him how he felt about heading out to California.
“Don’t rightly know how I feel to be honest with you. I guess I’ll know once we get there. But I got my manumission papers packed away, safe and sound.” He paused when he saw the surprise on Marrok’s face.
“You were a slave here?”
“Yessir. Mr Quentin done bought me and Violet down in New Orleans, a long time ago now, although we was never treated as slaves here. Every month me and Violet got taken up to Chesterfield where Mr Quentin spent money on us, not much for he never did have much, but it was somethin’. He never did that for Miss Martha.”
“Where’s Violet?” Marrok asked, unable to hide his shock that Ella’s father had slaves.
“Oh she’s been dead a good many years. Buried up in the top field behind the house alongside Mr Quentin and Miss Adeline, Ella’s mama. But Mr Quentin was as determined as any man can be about gettin’ my papers sorted before he died. He always spoke about it, just never got around to it. So if Miss Ella changes her mind and doan’t want me to go west with her, I guess I’ll head north, although I ain’t been nowhere but this ranch and Chesterfield since I was a boy of fifteen.”
“Were you born in New Orleans?” Marrok asked, curious.
“Doan’t rightly know where I’s born. I reckon I’s just blocked it out, although if I chance to think on it at all, I reckon New Orleans might have been bad times for me. But I do remember Mr Quentin buyin’ me and Violet. I do remember that. Although even that time is a blur of nothing much at all.”
Marrok glanced down at the man’s left hand as Jasper packed an old saddle away in the back of the wagon. The little finger was gone, along with the two fingers next to it, leaving only the thumb and index finger. Yet the man used his hand easily enough as though born with this disfigurement. Although Marrok knew he had not. The stumps were cut clean through for they had healed badly with some disfigurement. He would bet everything he owned that those fingers had been taken off by an axe. And that made Marrok wonder about Jasper’s legs. Had they been broken during an act of violence?
“Anyways, Miss Ella’s been payin’ me wages since I was freed by her daddy, so I’ve got a bit of savings tucked away. I’ll be alright. No-one needs worry about me.”
“Did you like living here?” Marrok asked, feeling some disloyalty towards Ella by asking the question, but he needed to know.
“Yessir, I reckon I mostly was. Mr Quentin and me worked together real well. He ain’t never once treated me bad, even if I worked a bit slower than him. But I liked workin’ the land. And I liked workin’ with the horses. We had cattle and pigs for a long time, as long as I can remember, and a big old henhouse full of chickens but after Mr Quentin died and Mr Milton came here, Miss Ella sold most of the stock,” he shook his head, frowning.
“Now I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to wrong anyone here, but I think things got a little tight for Miss Ella around that time. Although I aren’t complainin’. That girl always did right by me. And I like where I live. Out back there,” he nodded his head towards the back of the barn.
“I’ve my own room. Nice and warm in the winter, nice and cool in the summer. And I’m n
ear the horses if they need me. I sing to them on the nights they doan’t settle, durin’ a storm or when we get high winds and after all these years, I reckon Bear and Billy are just as much a part of me as I am them.”
Marrok said nothing for a moment, just watched the man work. Then he stepped towards him. “I like that you’re an honest, hardworking man Jasper so if you decide not to join Ella and Martha in California, you’re welcome to come and work for me. I’m heading to Oregon where I plan to build a ranch of my own, breeding horses, but I’ll need good men who aren’t afraid of hard work. Although it’ll be quite different to what you know here. The country is mountainous so it’s a lot colder, but the land is rich and fertile. And although it’ll be tough, I’m a fair man and I’ll give you a fair wage.”
He paused as Jasper stared at him incredulous.
“I don’t expect an answer now. Just think on it awhile, you’ve got months to make a decision,” he paused, frowning. “Any chance you can cook?”
Jasper shook his head. “No sir, I doan’t cook. That’s always been Miss Martha’s job. Although I can clean real good. But it’s the horses and cattle I care about most. And tillin’ the land. I liked that just fine workin’ alongside Mr Quentin. So if Miss Ella doan’t want me, then I guess I’ll accept your offer and be grateful for it.”
Marrok smiled at him then reached out to shake the man’s hand. For a moment, Jasper looked at him in bewilderment, then took his hand.
10
Ella stood at the door of her father’s study, unwilling to enter. For unlike when her father was alive, the room was now untidy, with the lingering stench of Milton and the tobacco he chewed leaving a rank staleness which seemed to hang in the air.
This room had been Quentin’s sanctuary for as long as Ella could remember, even back to the days when her mother was alive. He would sit at that battered old desk every night and go over their accounts, trying to find different ways to make the ranch work. Or he’d come in here after supper and close the door and read a book, or a broadsheet from St Louis even if it was a few weeks old, just to get away from all the talking of the women in the kitchen.
So it was her memory of him and not her uncle which pushed Ella to step across the threshold and enter the room, although she curled her lips in distaste when she saw the dirty glass sitting on her father’s desk next to the empty bottle of whisky. She didn’t bother to pick them up and take them back to the kitchen. Let Jebediah do with them what he wanted. Although she doubted Jebediah would ever bother coming here. He’d build his road through the property and graze his cattle here, but the buildings would probably be left to rot. Unless one of his foremen moved in and made the place his own.
She glanced up at the wooden shelf behind the desk and saw the half dozen books there which Quentin had owned. Ella took them down and glanced through the titles. Half of them were about farming, the others were short novels about the wild west. That made her smile, for if her father had read these books, then perhaps he might agree with her decision to head west. She liked that idea and put the books aside, deciding to take them with her.
She moved to open the drawers in the desk, looking for anything of her father’s that she might keep for she had no desire to leave anything behind that might fall into the hands of Jebediah or his men.
She found a few letters written to her father from long ago friends, along with a poem written by her mother. There was no date on the poem, but Ella thought it must have been sent during their courting days.
And then she found a legal document, an agreement for the purchase of the ranch. It was dated almost thirty years ago. Ella thought her parents would be well pleased she’d got $2.60 an acre, for that gave her a substantial inheritance, despite having to share it with Milton.
She knew her parents had been happy here. And those memories would be what she took away with her, when she left in a few hours. For even after her mother’s death, with Violet and Jasper here and then Martha and Willard, they had known a lot of happy years.
She put the agreement, the letters and the poem on top of the books then turned back to open the bottom drawer. She was startled to find a pistol in there. She reached down and picked it up. It was her father’s gun, but Ella had rarely seen her father use it. Besides, it was considered old fashioned now.
Ella knew all about guns, for Quentin had wanted her to be competent with them. He had taught her how to fire, reload and clean them, so Ella had never been afraid of shotguns or pistols, although she was wary of them. She looked through another drawer and found several boxes of ammunition, although these weren’t for the pistol. They were for the gun leaning up against the wall in the corner of the room.
It was a Colt 1839 shotgun, with a 24-inch barrel and six-shot cylinder, Quentin’s pride and joy, a gun which had taken him more than a year to save for. Ella reached for it. She would take it with her, along with the pistol and all the ammunition.
Then she left the room and hurried upstairs to her parents’ bedroom but as she stepped inside she was reminded once again of Milton, for the room smelled bad from tobacco and unwashed clothes. Ella looked with distaste at the unmade bed and the used chamber pot sitting in the corner of the room, which he’d left for her or Martha to clean up, and suddenly the anger almost overwhelmed Ella. This man had brought so much unhappiness into their lives over the past six months. And now because of him, she couldn’t wait to be gone from here and be rid of him forever.
She quickly searched the dresser, ignoring Milton’s few possessions. He owned a brush and comb set, a razor in a leather pouch, a few coins, but little else.
In the drawers she found some evidence of her parents. Her mother’s corsets and petticoats and other undergarments. Her father’s shirts. A few bits of cheap jewellery, including an inexpensive ring that might have belonged to one of her grandparents, for she’d never seen her mother wear it. She tried it on and it fitted her perfectly. Ella like to think a woman close to her had worn and loved this ring. She put it aside and reached for a tiny portrait of her parents on their wedding day, along with her mother’s wedding ring, a brooch, a pair of cufflinks. In another drawer she found her father’s harmonica, although he’d rarely played it after her mother’s death. And then some of their clothes, neatly folded.
In another drawer she found more letters and legal documents, including her parents’ marriage certificate. Ella bundled everything up she wanted to take but as she turned to leave the room she heard someone working the pump in the yard below. She went across to the window and peered through the lace curtains.
It was Marrok. He had taken off his shirt and stood half naked, wearing only his moccasins and buckskin pants as he worked the pump. And as the surge of water came rushing through the pipe, he pulled the leather tie from his hair, allowing it to fall free, then ducked under the sprout of water. Although it wasn’t much of a sprout because the water table under their land was so low. So as he continued to work the pump to bring more water up, Ella saw the well-defined muscles on his arms and shoulders and back, as he washed dirt and debris from his body. Without doubt he was a fine looking man yet watching him under that spurt of water made her wonder about this strange day.
She had woken this morning wondering how to escape the grasp of Milton and Jebediah. Now she was packing to move to California.
Marrok had changed her life in a matter of hours, yet who was he? She knew nothing about him, other than he came here on behalf of Martha’s son and that he worked as a scout for a wagon train company. Yet he must be exhausted, for not only had he been travelling for hours to get here by sun-up, he had gone to Jebediah’s with her and now he was helping to pack up the ranch.
She watched as he stepped away from the pump and shook his hair free of water, his body powerful, a beautiful thing, then he turned and walked back across to the barn.
“Hurry up girl, there’s work to be done down here!” Martha’s voice came from the bottom of the stairs and Ella heard a touch of impatience i
n it, along with panic.
She stepped away from the window and hurried to her own room. She’d slept in here since she was a babe and even after all these years it was nothing fancy, just a single room that held a narrow bed, a wall of shelves and a bedside cabinet made by Quentin when she was a small girl. But she’d been happy here. Until Milton took her parents’ bedroom for his own. But she didn’t want to think of him so she turned and reached for two old travelling cases off a high shelf and began to pack away her few worn dresses, drawers, petticoats, corsets, chemises, boots and stockings. She added a few little trinkets her father had made for her over the years, along with what she wanted to keep of her parents, then she closed the case and stepped back. She had everything she needed. Jasper and Marrok could help carry down her mattress before they left, along with Martha’s, and put them in the wagon.
As she headed for the stairs Ella didn’t dare look back at the rooms behind her. Because this part of her life was over and there was little point in lingering on what had been, or what might have been.
Martha was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, holding something in her arms. Ella knew what it was. A crocheted blanket Martha had made with Ella’s mother when they were just girls.
“I want you to have this. I’ve enough things of my own to pack away so it’s time I passed it on. And I think Adeline would want you to have it. You’ll see it’s been mended over the years, but it’s kept me warm enough on cold nights, so I reckon it’ll go some way to keeping you warm when you’re sleeping in that wagon.”
Ella set down the two travelling cases and held the blanket to her face, smelling the age of it. She didn’t mean to cry again, but she did, and Martha took her in her arms, comforting her as she had done for the past fifteen years.
“I know this is hard for you girl, but I think your folks would be happy you’re getting out of here. You know as well as I do that this ranch ain’t worth much of anything now. Even your father was coming to the end of it. There’s been too many droughts and never enough water and we both know how your father struggled with the soil.”