Opal Read online

  ‘‘Until fall.’’

  ‘‘I think I’ve had enough schooling.’’ There, she’d said it again. Perhaps the more it was said, the more it could become real.

  ‘‘Ruby wants you to go on longer.’’

  ‘‘I know, but what for? I don’t want to be a schoolteacher, and half the time that’s what I do, help with the little kids.’’

  ‘‘You could go to high school in Bismarck.’’

  ‘‘And leave the ranch?’’ Horror struck like a ravaging wolf.

  Rand leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘‘You know Ruby wants the best for you.’’

  ‘‘Ruby wants what she thinks is the best for me.’’

  ‘‘Many kids your age would be jealous that you can go to school.’’

  ‘‘That’s not my concern.’’ She leaned her head against Per’s head as he rested against her shoulder. He was so little and sweet. ‘‘I better put you to bed, little guy.’’ She looked up at Rand. ‘‘There’s plenty of work for me here on the ranch, and I could start training horses for some of the other ranchers around here.’’

  ‘‘You’re right, we have plenty to do, and you could do worse than apprenticing to Linc.’’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger. ‘‘It’s just that you should take every advantage to better yourself.’’

  ‘‘You want I should apply to be a maid over at the big house or in town?’’

  ‘‘No. That’s not going to help you out.’’

  ‘‘I could get married, I suppose.’’ But she shuddered inside. While that might be what would happen down the road, least if Atticus had his way, she knew she wasn’t ready for that yet. Being cooped up in a house sounded worse than Indian torture. She rose without uncrossing her legs, Per in one arm.

  ‘‘Say good-night to your pa, little guy.’’ She held him out for a kiss and took him back to change his diaper and pull his nightshirt over his head. Sitting down in the rocker, she set it to singing and hummed a little tune while she patted his back. Moonlight painted squares on the pine flooring. A nighthawk called. Coyotes yipped far enough away to be faint as a whisper.

  ‘‘Oh no.’’ She laid the drowsy baby down in his bed, tucked the covers around him, and headed back to the living room and the door.

  ‘‘Where you going?’’

  ‘‘I forgot to lock the chickens in.’’

  ‘‘Check on the sow then too, would you? She’s going to farrow any night now.’’

  ‘‘Sure.’’

  Opal stopped on the porch and looked up at the sky, easily finding the Big Dipper and smiling at the density of the Milky Way that arched directly overhead. An owl hooted, and she heard the rush of its flapping wings as it hunted for careless rodents. Tonight would have been perfect for lying out to watch the stars.

  Moonlight drew the shadows dense black, the barn, house, even the blades of grass etched around by silver light.

  She inhaled and held the breath, savoring the fragrance of pine, a hint of woodsmoke, green growing grass, and a slight tinge of horse and cow. The slightest breeze floated from the west, carrying the moo of a cow and the whisper of cottonwood leaves sharing secrets. The sounds of her feet swishing through the grass and of her own breathing glided in the air as she made her way to her charges. To ride across the plains, to run and throw herself into the river, to fly like the owl, to stride the Milky Way bridged across the heavens—anything seemed possible on this most perfect night.

  Instead, she closed the door to the chicken house, hearing the flock inside rustle and peep, aware of her intrusion into their rest. The sow lay on her side, back against the fence.

  ‘‘You all right, girl?’’

  The pig grunted in answer. One flapping ear caught an edge of moonlight. The smell of the pigpen melded with the others, all inherent elements of ranch living.

  Opal headed back to the house. The rooster would crow far sooner than her eyes would want to open.

  ‘‘Some night, isn’t it?’’ Rand was leaning against a porch post.

  ‘‘Wish I could go riding.’’

  ‘‘Me too.’’

  ‘‘Maybe tomorrow night?’’

  He dropped an arm across her shoulders. ‘‘We’ll see.’’

  ‘‘Sow’s outside, sleeping against the fence.’’

  ‘‘She’s not started a nest yet?’’

  ‘‘I threw some of the old hay in for her this evening.’’

  ‘‘Good girl.’’

  Later Opal stared out her bedroom window. Ruby thinks I’d want to trade this for a visit to New York? You could hardly see the stars there. Not like here. The sky is so huge, like a bowl with pinprick holes in it for the stars to shine through. Even when she crawled under her covers, she turned to see the sky. A shooting star bisected her window.

  Ah. Make a wish. She closed her eyes. I wish . . . I wish I was the best horse trainer in Dakotah Territory. No, in the whole West.

  She returned from milking in the morning to find Ruby puking into the bushes again. Opal set the milk pail down so fast it sloshed and went to wrap her arms around her sister’s midsection.

  ‘‘Ruby.’’

  ‘‘I-I’m fine.’’ She slumped against Opal, eyes closed, wiping her mouth with the hem of her apron.

  ‘‘Sit down. I’ll get you some water.’’ Opal eased her over to the porch and kept a hand on her shoulder as she sank to sitting and leaned against the post.

  ‘‘I thought I was better this morning, but now at least I’m sure what is wrong.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Opal laid a hand against her sister’s sweaty forehead. ‘‘You don’t have a fever.’’

  ‘‘No, but I think I have a little brother or sister for Per.’’

  Opal paused, her smile widening by the moment. ‘‘Another baby?’’

  Ruby nodded. ‘‘All the signs are here.’’

  ‘‘When do you think it will be born?’’

  ‘‘Might be a Christmas baby.’’

  ‘‘Ohh.’’ Opal sat down beside her sister, glanced out to where she’d left the milk bucket, and leaped to her feet. ‘‘Get out of there, Cat.’’ She ran over, scooped up the bucket, and took it into the springhouse so she could run it through the strainer, a clean cloth clamped to a square frame that fit over a jug that Little Squirrel had set up.

  She poured the milk slowly so as not to run it over, all the while thinking, Baby, a new baby in our house. She remembered when Ruby had been with child before. She’d been tired then too, and yes, she’d been crabby. Not as bad as she’d been lately, but that must be what was causing it. As soon as the milk had run through, she dipped water out of the cooling tank to scrub the bucket, rinsed out the cloth, and dumped the used water into the slop bucket. Like the whey from cheese making and milk that turned sour, all was fed to the pig and the chickens.

  Whistling, she headed for the house, grateful Ruby was no longer sitting on the step. She must be feeling better.

  After chores and breakfast Opal met the Robertson girls at the road, if one could call the track a real road, and they whooped and hollered their delight as they loped the horses into town.

  Most everyone got to school early and were lined up to go in before the ringing of the first bell.

  ‘‘My goodness, you must all be excited to study today.’’ Even Mr. Finch wore a smile.

  Once they were seated, he announced, ‘‘We will start with the spelling bee. There will be a prize for the two finalists. Line up on both sides of the room, please, young ones closest to the front. I will give you words according to your reading level.’’ He waved his hand, and the room whooshed into two lines like the parting of the Red Sea.

  ‘‘There will be no prompting.’’ He stared at them until they all agreed.

  Opal and Virginia Robertson were the last two standing.

  Mr. Finch nodded to them both and read the next word. ‘‘Fugacious.’’

  Opal listened hard. ‘‘Would you use that in a sentence,
please?’’

  The teacher did so. ‘‘The fugacious boy disappeared in the woods.’’

  Opal scrunched her eyes half shut. She locked her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘‘F-u-g-a . . .’’ Which one—c or sh? ‘‘F-u-g-a-c-i-o-u-s. Fugacious.’’

  ‘‘Correct.’’

  They could most likely hear her sigh of relief clear to the ranch.

  He gave the next word to Virginia, who spelled granivorous promptly.

  ‘‘Miss Harrison, leucoderma.’’

  Opal smiled. She knew that one and spelled it.

  ‘‘Miss Robertson, nihilistic.’’

  This time it was Virginia’s turn to fidget. She rolled her eyes, chewed her lip, started, stopped, started again. ‘‘N-e-h-i-l-i-s-t-i-c.’’

  ‘‘I’m sorry, that was incorrect. Miss Torvald.’’

  Opal spelled the word correctly.

  Mr. Finch’s smile didn’t look anywhere near as warm as it had to the others, but Opal collected her prize, a book of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

  ‘‘Thank you.’’

  ‘‘You must thank Mrs. de Mores. She donated all the prizes for today.’’

  ‘‘Congratulations. You did well,’’ Virginia whispered as they returned to their seats.

  ‘‘We will now have an arithmetic spelldown. Take sides again.’’

  This time Robert Grady won the prize. The smile on his face made Opal wish Atticus had been there to see him.

  The red team won the geography contest, and everyone received a tablet and a pencil.

  ‘‘Now for our attendance awards.’’ He called out the names according to age, with the Robertson girls and Opal all getting perfect attendance awards. Each received another book and a certificate. ‘‘How many years does that make it for you?’’ Mr. Finch asked Opal.

  ‘‘Two. I had the measles the first year.’’ Opal took her seat again.

  ‘‘We will now adjourn to the outside for the races.’’

  By the end of the day Opal had two blue ribbons to add to her stack of books. She put all her treasures in her saddlebags and mounted Bay.

  ‘‘Am I glad that’s over,’’ she muttered when they were out of earshot.

  ‘‘Why, I thought you had fun. I did,’’ Virginia said from behind her.

  ‘‘I did. Today. I meant I’m glad school is over.’’

  ‘‘Oh, me too.’’

  Opal stared up the street. A man riding into town looked familiar. No, it couldn’t be. She reined Bay off between two buildings. ‘‘What are you doing?’’

  ‘‘Did you see that man up the street?’’

  ‘‘No. I didn’t pay any attention.’’

  ‘‘He’s the one Atticus and I strung up.’’

  ‘‘Oh no.’’

  ‘‘Oh yes. What am I going to tell Rand?’’

  ‘‘Well, it’s not your fault.’’

  ‘‘Maybe I won’t say anything.’’

  Emily and Ada Mae met them as they came out the alley.

  ‘‘What happened to you?’’

  Opal told them and finished with ‘‘Let’s get on home.’’

  Do I tell him? Do I not tell him? The words kept beat with Bay’s easy lope. A covey of prairie chickens thundered up from their right. ‘‘Wish I had the shotgun along.’’

  ‘‘I don’t ever want to shoot anything.’’ Virginia raised her voice to be heard above the thudding hooves.

  ‘‘You help butcher chickens. What’s the difference? We need to eat.’’

  ‘‘I know. But wild things like the grouse and the antelope are so beautiful out where they belong.’’

  Opal heard her, but her inner voice was louder. That man is back, and he was riding with another guy. It’s a free country. He can go wherever he wants. He’s either pretty brave or stupid dumb to come back after the men warned him away. What will Rand do?

  I hate to have to tell him. She clamped her teeth on the argument. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I’m not. I’m not.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  How could his life go to the dogs so quickly? Jacob wondered as the train clacked westward. He stared at the small body sleeping huddled under a quilt in the seat opposite him. My son. Part of me. And his mother committed suicide. All my fault.

  He’d not allowed his mind to even speak the word up until now. There was always the hope Melody did not throw herself off the bridge, but that bit of fabric snagged on the railing was pretty conclusive evidence.

  I should have stayed in the valley and helped search the river for her body. He turned his attention to the land passing outside the window. Small farms, woods, small towns. Newly planted fields. New life everywhere but here on the train heading west and taking him from all he’d known.

  He’d seen no alternative. He couldn’t face the lie. All his careful planning gone.

  Coward! Coward! Coward!

  Lord, what am I going to do? I cannot be a pastor again. I thought I was following your plan for me. My church will wash their hands of me. I should have gone to see the bishop. I wish I’d gone to Mr. Dumfarthing. All my life I’ve been so circumspect. All but that one time, and it has come back to haunt me, nay, not just haunt me but to tear my life limb from limb. Drawn and quartered and all but my head stuck on a spike in the town square.

  And look who is suffering for my sin. Joel’s dark eyes haunted him. My son. The words still felt foreign to Jacob.

  How will I care for him? Where will we go? Surely he could get a job somewhere.

  The train’s clackety-clack lulled him to a half sleep.

  ‘‘Sir.’’

  The small voice snapped him alert. ‘‘Yes, Joel.’’

  ‘‘I gotta go.’’

  ‘‘You know where it is. Do you need me to open the door for you?’’

  ‘‘Yes, please.’’

  Jacob stood, picked up the quilt, and folded it in half and then half again to lay it on the seat. ‘‘Come on.’’

  He opened the door to the necessary and waited until he heard his son call again from the other side. He’s so little. Is he small for his age? He’d counted the months. He just turned seven. Jacob led the way back to their seats.

  ‘‘Are you hungry?’’

  Joel nodded.

  Jacob dug down in their satchel and handed him a sandwich, their last. They’d have to eat in the dining car or buy food at one of the stops, both outrageously expensive.

  He could see his small hoard of cash disappearing like mist in the sun. His own stomach grumbled from lack of food. They’d already been on the train twenty-four hours. Should they get off in Chicago and he go look for work there?

  The thought brought on a shudder of revulsion. Country was what he needed. Country where he could find work on a farm or a ranch until he could get enough of a stake to homestead. Dakotah Territory had opened more land for homesteading. The Sanders family had left Pennsylvania and gone west to homestead. He’d had one letter from them saying they’d found a good place, that God had led them to a place where someone else had already broken the sod and then left.

  Jacob stared at his hands, calloused from chopping wood but not tough enough to guide a hand plow behind a horse. And where would he get enough money to buy a horse?

  It all came back to money. While he’d never had extra, at least up until now he’d known where his next meal was coming from.

  I should have gone home. That thought brought on another wince. To bring Joel there would have been an admittance of his former lack of character.

  ‘‘I’m thirsty.’’

  ‘‘Oh, sorry. You know where the water is. Do you need help?’’

  Joel shook his head.

  ‘‘Go on.’’

  He watched the boy sway back down the aisle, a small hand seeking safety by hanging on to the seat armrests.

  ‘‘Hiram, did you read about Medora in that paper?’’ The voice came from the seat behind him.

  ‘‘Hmm.’’

  ‘‘That marquis sure drea
ms big dreams, don’t he?’’

  ‘‘You mean with shipping all that beef and such on refrigerated cars?’’

  ‘‘Yes, I find it fascinating.’’

  ‘‘He’ll never make it. Mark my words, the big packing houses will never give him a chance.’’

  ‘‘I heard he shipped salmon clear from the West Coast.’’

  ‘‘Hmm.’’

  ‘‘We might have eaten some of it at the Stanleys’.’’ The woman’s voice carried well.

  Jacob knew better than to eavesdrop, but perhaps this was a gift from God. Medora. He liked the sound of the name. A woman’s name for a town. How had that come about?

  Joel returned and rolled up the quilt so he could sit on it to see out the window.

  Where was this Medora? Dared he ask?

  ‘‘He has no chance, a Frenchie like that taking on the establishment.’’ ‘‘From what I’ve read, he has plenty of backing.’’ The woman seemed insistent on keeping the conversation going.

  How can I find out more about this place?

  ‘‘There was that scandal about him killing a man, gunned him down without a qualm.’’

  ‘‘I don’t believe that what we read was the whole story.’’ She rattled the paper she was reading. ‘‘You know those reporters, always going for the sensational.’’

  ‘‘Now, don’t you go making disparaging remarks about reporters. Remember, I was one for a time.’’

  ‘‘I know, but owning the paper is so much more satisfying.’’

  What paper? Who were these people? Jacob took a huge bite of courage, put his most charming smile in place, and stood. He motioned for Joel to stay where he was and took the three steps that brought him even with the seat behind him.

  ‘‘Sorry to bother you folks, but I couldn’t help overhearing your talk of Medora. I was wondering if you could tell me more of this place.’’

  ‘‘And you would be?’’

  ‘‘Jacob Chandler, ma’am.’’ Had he a hat on, he would have doffed it. His name sounded naked without the title in front of it.

  They both laid down their newspapers, the man folding his just so, leaving the headlines showing. ‘‘What is it you want to know?’’