Place to Belong, a Page 19

  “What’d you do? Move all your livestock over there too?”

  “Yep. Better for all of us.”

  Cal nodded and turned to his wife. “Now you can just quit worryin’ about Arnett here. We’ll go on over. I take it you got a letter too?”

  “We did, and Mor can fill you in on all our decisions.” Ransom was rather surprised how cold the inside of this house had become. And for some reason he felt he wanted to leave it. Why would that be? He half grew up there, since the Arnetts and Engstroms were such good friends. “We’ll get that load of hay and go straight back. I know Mor is going to insist you stay for dinner, and we do too.”

  “I hate to keep you from your work.”

  “Getting the hay is the most of it. Everything else can wait.”

  “See you over there, then.” The couple walked ahead of them out to the sleigh.

  Arnett reached high over the door and pulled down a key. “Might’s well lock this, it seems.” He drew the front door shut and twisted the long key. “So much for workin’ here.”

  He was wagging his head as he walked back toward the sledge. “Never thought someone would come to check up on me. Guess it musta given them a fright, all right. That’d be something, to walk in and find somebody froze solid in their bed.”

  Ransom grunted. “Yeah, well that’s what we wanted to make sure didn’t happen to you. Let’s load the hay.”

  With three able hands, loading went fast. Ransom explained to Micah that Cal and Lucretia Haggard owned a fairly large spread in the next valley over. If Micah was going to be living here, he ought to know everyone. They drove back into the Engstrom yard with their load, and Micah volunteered to take it down to the barn and put the team away.

  Ransom handed Micah the lines. “You come back up to the house for dinner then, get to know the Haggards, and we’ll plan on going back out there to work tomorrow.”

  Arnett suggested, “Why don’t I go through that stack of lumber in the barn? Sort it out to see what we can use?”

  “We’ll do that after they leave. I want you to hear about the plans for the guest ranches, since you’ll be part of our plan for here.”

  “If you want.” But Arnett sure didn’t sound real enthusiastic about sitting around the table with the Haggards. Why would that be?

  Arnett and Ransom walked on around the house to go in the back door. They could hear laughter as they were brushing the snow off their boots.

  “Sounds like ol’ Cal is in high entertainment mode,” Arnett said with a grin.

  “Well, I know Mor is glad to know we weren’t the only ones concerned about you being alone over there all winter.”

  Arnett sobered. “He offered to buy me out after Hazel died—sort of insisted on it even, but I said I wasn’t selling.”

  Ransom looked at him. “And yet you were set on giving us your place for free.”

  Arnett shrugged. “He’s got enough land already. Besides, I like our arrangement far better.” And he led the way inside.

  “So how many do you think you can host?” Mavis asked after they’d finished eating and were enjoying another cup of coffee.

  “Well, like you we got a bunkhouse and a spare bedroom,” Cal replied. “A family could stay in the bunkhouse and a couple or a single in the bedroom. You say ten letters went out?”

  Ransom explained, as if Lucas had not disappeared, and his anger boiled up all over again. “Lucas is working with Mr. Porter, and that’s what he told us. Kind of like a trial run to see if something like this has any chance of success. If people really like it, they’ll tell their friends, and next year could be even bigger.”

  Lucretia didn’t look very convinced. “Have you ever heard of anything like this?”

  “I guess some folks down in Texas and Oklahoma have tried it.”

  “With what kind of success?”

  Ransom shared more of her reluctance than he would like to admit. “We don’t know. But with Porter taking care of the advertising, how can we go wrong?” He leaned forward. “As we see it, it isn’t like we’d have a huge outlay in expenses. I don’t know about you, but we could always use some extra cash money.”

  “It would be a lot of work what with all the ranch chores going on. It would be like cooking for a threshing or haying crew.” Mrs. Haggard puffed out her cheeks. “Me and the girls have been talking about that part. I mean, what if the guests are real snobby and don’t like what we offer?”

  Mavis shrugged. “I guess that would be their loss. They could always leave and go back to Hill City to the hotel.”

  “So you think someone will really pay money to come work on a ranch?” Cal leaned back in his chair. “I can’t find enough good hands when I offer to pay them.”

  “Promise to take ’em fishing on your lake. That’ll go over big.”

  “Sure, if they catch something. Can’t tie the fish up to make sure they catch ’em.”

  Ransom almost laughed at the forlorn look on Cal’s face. “Come on, you don’t have to do it, you know. It was an invitation, not an order.”

  “True. You know anyone else that got an invitation? About the guest ranch business, I mean. A letter?”

  “Nope.” Ransom sat back. “Lucas did agree that if enough ranches say they don’t want to try it, it wouldn’t be worth the advertising. Porter’s whole plan is to get folks here for the rodeo and Wild West show, to fill up his hotel and put Hill City on the map as a place for Easterners to come visit. You got to admit we live in real pretty country. Not that I know what it’s like back east, but . . .” Cassie knows whether it’s pretty back east. Her show performed there. Now, why did that pop into his head?

  “Well, we’ll give it a try. Same as you.” He pushed his chair back. “Come on, Lucretia, we best be heading home. Oh, Arnett, we brought you a basket of things. Guess we should bring it in.”

  With multiple rounds of good-byes, the Haggards climbed into their sleigh and it glided out the lane.

  As soon as they left, Ransom and Arnett went down to the barn with Micah. They lit a couple of lanterns and hung them overhead. Together they sorted through the jumbled stack of lumber and trash and odd things, cleaning off metal pieces and stacking any wood that might be usable. Down at the bottom, Ransom found his old farrier’s nippers. “Will you look at this! Been searching for these nippers for years. Wonder how it got thrown in here.”

  Arnett snorted. “How’d anything get thrown in here? Quite a mess.”

  Gretchen came in to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. She leaned over the pen wall and called to the calf. “We need to give him a name. Poor baby, all alone in here.” He sniffed her hand and then backed away. “I know. I don’t have anything to feed you. You gotta wait until we milk. Is he eating grain yet?”

  “I mix some rolled oats into the milk once in a while.” Ransom looked up from the pile of stuff. “Bring those wood carriers down, and we can use some of this for kindling.” He stepped back and looked around. The usable lumber lay in an orderly stack. Small tools, including the nippers, were placed on a nearby shelf. The trash to be discarded waited in a pile by the door. “Well, this sure looks better. Thanks Arnett, Micah.”

  Micah smiled. “You’re welcome. I’ll clean that cow’s stall and the pen here before I go back up to the cabin. Gretchen, did Cassie do any shooting today?”

  “Yes, and she plans to again tomorrow if the weather holds. She sure goes through the shells. Maybe you could load some for her, Ransom.”

  “I can do that.” Arnett set the bow saw blade he’d been working on up on the shelf. “Tell her I’ll bring my mold and press back with me tomorrow. And my lead. Might as well put them to use. All I got is black powder, though.”

  Ransom removed his leather gloves and slapped the dust off them against his thigh. It was amazing how much they could accomplish with three sets of willing hands. Maybe he wouldn’t be missing Lucas so much after all. But then, Lucas almost always wangled out of tedious jobs like this. He was rarely willing to t
ake part in work unless it was for hunting. Still, Ransom would like to talk with Hudson, see what he had to say. It might be interesting.

  20

  This was supposed to be my wedding day.” Cassie stared at the ceiling she could just barely see, thanks to the moon reflecting off the snow outside her frost-painted window. Talking to the darkness like this probably wasn’t a big help, but somehow saying the words aloud made them so. Today she was supposed to have become Mrs. Lucas Engstrom. Most people would think she’d be heartbroken. Perhaps if she’d really loved him, like she’d wanted to love the man she would marry, she’d be feeling differently.

  So what was she feeling? She let her mind sort through the question. What were some words that might apply? Anger? No. Hurt? No. Sad? Not really. Relieved? That was it. What she really felt was relief. Relief that she didn’t have to leave this place she’d begun to think of as home and go live in the other house with a man she liked well enough but didn’t love. Besides, now she’d have more time to get ready to be married someday to a man she really loved.

  She closed her eyes to think about that. Had she met the man yet? A picture of Ransom setting the targets for her the morning before floated into her mind. Her eyes flew open and she shook her head. There was absolutely no chance of that happening. He didn’t even like her. But every once in a while he would do something really nice, like setting the targets. Or making her the lovely little table. And a matching one for Lucas. That thought almost made her laugh. Those two tables would not be living in the same house, that was for certain. She looked across the room to the corner where it sat, waiting for Ransom to have time to finish it.

  It was far too early to be getting up, but she didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. And if she lit a lamp, no matter how quiet she was, Othello out on the front porch would hear her and bark at least once, thus waking either Ransom or Mavis or both. If they saw the light coming from her window, they would come check on her. Mavis had said that when she couldn’t sleep, she used that time to pray.

  Now, that was an interesting thought. What did she need to pray for? Or probably more important, whom did she need to pray for? God’s Word said to praise Him, to come into His presence with thanksgiving and enter His courts with praise. She could thank Him for things, but she didn’t have enough Bible verses memorized to think on without her Bible open.

  Hmm. So I thank you for your Word, for sending Jesus to die for my sins, for raising Him from the dead, for giving me a home here, a place to belong. Thank you for my new family, for Mavis, Ransom, Gretchen, and Arnett. And thank you that I am not marrying Lucas. What would it take to thank God for Lucas and Betsy? She pondered that. Shrugging, she just did it. Thank you for Lucas and all he has done for me. And for Betsy, and, Lord, I ask that you bless them and heal the hurts that their leaving has caused.

  Where did that come from? But it fit.

  More pondering. She had read that the Holy Spirit would pray for us when we didn’t know what or how to pray. Was that what just happened? A giggle started down in her middle, and she clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle it. Was she really praising God like He said? What else could she be thankful for? The warm and comfortable bed, the beautiful moon on the snow, the frost on her window, Othello, Wind Dancer, and George, Micah, and Runs Like a Deer.

  And dear Lord, take care of Chief. If you could only bring him back here . . .

  Was it good or wise to pray something like that?

  Her eyes grew heavy and she caught a yawn. Thank you for sleep and . . .

  The next thing she knew, the fragrance of frying bacon tickled her nose. “Oh no!” She threw back the covers and dressed as fast as she could pull her clothes on. All the petticoats of winter and the wool stockings and vest were not cooperating, but she finally bundled her hair into a snood and tied on her apron as she strode down the hall.

  “I’m sorry. I slept right through . . .”

  Mavis and Gretchen smiled at her, Gretchen setting the table and Mavis checking the biscuits in the oven. “We figured you needed some extra sleep after all the folderol around here.”

  Gretchen handed her a cup. “Go pour yourself some coffee and let us wait on you for a change.”

  “But, I . . .”

  Mavis pointed to a chair. “Sit. The men will be in any minute.”

  “Can’t I do something?”

  “Sure, you can drink your coffee and enjoy every sip.”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes. “You know better than to argue with Mor. You never win.”

  “Then I’m washing the dishes.”

  “We’ll see.”

  One thing Cassie had learned in this family: We’ll see quite often meant No, but I don’t want to dash your hopes right away.

  What else about this family? She pondered as she ate. For one thing, she realized she was an odd person here. Most of the time the men, seated around the table at breakfast now, did outside work. And here were the women, who did the inside work. Only very occasionally did they switch roles. But Cassie worked inside and outside both, although she was a bare beginner at women’s work. This was the kind of home she wanted to make someday, glued together with love and respect, and with everyone gathered at the table before scattering to their duties.

  By the time they’d all finished the bacon, eggs, biscuits, fried potatoes, and applesauce, Cassie had gathered the plates and set them in the dishpan on the reservoir. She returned to the table with the coffeepot and refilled cups.

  “I’d sure like some of that julekake if there is any left,” Ransom said.

  “Sorry, it’s gone,” Mavis answered, “but we do have a few doughnuts left. We can warm those up.”

  “They’ll warm up dunked in the coffee.”

  Gretchen returned from the pantry with a round tin and passed it around.

  Ransom grabbed two doughnuts. “We’re going back over to the other place again. Micah should be here any time to go over with us. Okay?”

  “Of course. Between churning butter and baking bread—”

  “And hemming my skirt.”

  “And target practice.”

  “We’ve got plenty to do.”

  “The elk were down in the pasture. Do you want me to go hunting? I could probably take it in to the hotel.” Ransom looked at Cassie. “Unless you and Mor want to go out.”

  Mavis nodded, obviously in her thinking mode. “When do you want to go to Hill City?”

  Ransom heaved a sigh. “What you mean is, do I want to take the chance on seeing Lucas?”

  “I guess that is what I do mean. But that cook pays good money for an elk carcass, and I know Runs Like a Deer would like the hide. We have plenty of meat here for us—for now at least.”

  Ransom slapped his palms on the table and pushed back his chair. “Don’t need to decide that right now. Come on, Arnett, the dogs are barking.”

  Cassie knew he meant that Micah was near. Othello’s bark had already told her that. He had a special bark for Micah and other friends, while only Cassie got the wiggle yip. Dogs know far more than people give them credit for.

  Cassie mixed and kneaded the bread dough—she was getting pretty good at bread—while Gretchen and Mavis swapped off plunging the wooden churn dasher up and down. Finally the three of them paused for a coffee-and-cookie break before washing the butter in cold water. Once all the liquid was washed away and the thickest buttermilk set in the pantry, the wash water went into the bucket for the pigs. Nothing was wasted. Mavis kept slapping the butter with a wooden paddle until all the liquid had left, then salted it until it was just right and patted it into the two wooden butter molds with a carved flower in the bottom.

  “One to sell to the store, the other to keep, although we’ll have plenty of butter in the weeks ahead.”

  Cassie was accustomed to yellow butter. Buttercup yellow. “How come it is so pale?”

  “You watch, come spring when the grass is growing again, we’ll have golden butter. The egg yolks will be a darker gold too when th
e chickens can be out on the grass.”

  “Really?”

  Mavis nodded with a smile. “Wait until you’ve been here a full year and gone through all the seasons. Each is so different.”

  “And this summer with guests here, it’ll be even more different.” Gretchen looked up from hemming her skirt. “I wonder if we’ll have a family with children.”

  “I guess we could make a request for that if we want.”

  Cassie was just shrugging into her coat, her gun bag beside her, when Othello gave an unusually enthusiastic friend bark. She frowned. “Runs Like a Deer must have decided to come down for a visit.” But it didn’t sound like Othello’s Runs-Like-a-Deer bark.

  She pulled open the front door, saw who was petting Othello, and was stunned yet again.

  Chief.

  She meant to laugh with joy, she really did, but instead came a sob and tears of joy. She leapt down the step and threw her arms around the man who looked like he’d aged ten years. She clung to him. “You came home!” He was home. He was here.

  He hugged her in return and stepped back. “If I am still welcome.”

  Her wits were more or less returning, and it was high time. Chief. She took a deep shuddering breath. “You are always welcome. Where have you been? Did you go back to the reservation? Are you all right?” Stop, Cassie! She took his arm and led him inside. “Please come in. I’ll take care of your horse, then.”

  Gretchen stood in the kitchen doorway, and Mavis came hustling over as Cassie closed the front door. “John Birdwing, you are indeed a welcome sight! I’ve thought of you so often, but we never knew if the letter we sent got to you. Come in, come in! How long since you’ve eaten? You are planning to stay, aren’t you? Oh, we have such news for you.”

  Cassie was finally getting back some composure. Chief. She took his elk-hide jacket and hung it on the coat-tree. “How long did it take you to get here?”

  “Three days.”