Place to Belong, a Page 5

  Runs Like a Deer asked, “Is it like fry bread? My grandma made fry bread.”

  “No. These dumplings will be steam cooked in boiling broth. Fry bread is cooked in hot oil. They are both very good, but they taste a little different.”

  With the dumpling dough ready for the soup to heat to boiling, Mavis took out another bowl. “Now we’ll make chocolate pudding. If we had a baked pie crust we’d turn this into chocolate cream pie, but pudding sounds mighty good tonight.”

  After they’d finished supper and were passing the dishes of pudding around the table along with a plate of sour-cream cookies, Gretchen announced, “Cassie made the pudding.” Cassie felt her cheeks flush.

  “And both Cassie and Runs Like a Deer made the dumplings,” Mavis added.

  Later, when they were all arranged around the big room, Cassie picked up her knitting again and glared at what should have been neat rows. There was a hole two rows back—again. She sighed and started returning the stitches to the opposite needle to go back and pick up the dropped stitch. At least she was getting good at the tearing-back part. She understood the principle that practice makes perfect, but she also knew that practicing something wrong never made it right.

  Why did she have such a hard time concentrating on what others made look so simple? Gretchen had learned to knit when she was five. Her fingers flew with the yarn and needles much like her mother’s did. Cassie’s mother had taught her how to sew and mend and stitch beautiful embroidery. She’d been thinking of creating a sampler for Mavis, but it would take a long time and wouldn’t be done for Christmas, at least not this Christmas. She picked up the dropped stitch, making sure the yarn was turned the correct way on the needle, and went back to finishing the knit row. Then she would do the purl row. And then the knit row.

  She felt someone’s gaze on her and looked up to catch Lucas’s smile. She returned the smile, and her thoughts scampered back to his proposal, or rather to his vow to make her love him. Was there any reason for her not to love him? He was certainly good-looking, with his boyish face and short curly hair. Many marriages started on friendship and some with just a letter in the mail—mail-order brides. Of course some of them were never happy, yet others were. But then, marriages based on love alone sometimes turned out happily, when others did not. So confusing, life. In the Wild West Show, she’d had few choices to make. Now it seemed that everything involved making a choice—every single thing.

  Oh no! Do not think on anything but knitting. She rammed the needles into the ball of yarn and bit her bottom lip. What a waste of time this was. She could be filling shells for her practice shooting. At least she could do that right. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for all this homemaking stuff, although she did enjoy the cooking and learning new things in the kitchen.

  After the others went on up the hill to the cabin and the brothers headed down the hallway to their rooms, she joined Mavis in the kitchen. “What are you doing now?”

  “I decided to make sourdough pancakes for breakfast, so I am feeding the sourdough.”

  “’Night, Mor,” Gretchen said after a yawn. “’Night, Cassie.”

  With just the two of them left in the kitchen, Cassie stirred the milk and flour as Mavis told her. They measured out two cups of sourdough starter for the pancakes and added two of the fresh mix into the dough and set the crock back up on the shelf behind the stove. Then Mavis beat the starter into the dough that was left and set that on the warming shelf of the stove.

  Mavis wiped off her hands. “This is what we used all the years before we could buy soda and baking powder at the store. Sourdough was good yeast. Leavening. I got my original starter from an old woman who came out here with her son and his wife. She died several years later, but she made sure that her starter lived on. She told me then that it was already fifty years old. So when my family starts homes of their own, this starter will go with them.”

  Cassie inhaled the faint perfume of her dough. She knew it would be stronger by morning when she’d add the beaten eggs and bacon grease and more flour. Somehow the thought of passing on dough like this made her feel like crying. Was having starter passed on part of becoming a member of the family?

  The next morning they were just sitting down for breakfast when a knock on the back door caught them by surprise. Ransom answered the door.

  “Come in, Chief! You’re just in time for Mor’s sourdough pancakes.”

  Cassie smiled at her longtime friend. “Please sit down.”

  Chief sat, but he waved away the plate she set in front of him. “I come to say good-bye, like I say before.”

  “Good-bye? What . . . ?”

  He glanced around the table at all the looks of shock. “I go back to reservation now, before snow starts. I told you from beginning I would do that.”

  Cassie had trouble finding words. “I know. But . . . I thought you liked it here. I was hoping and trusting that you had changed your mind.”

  “Chief, John, w-we . . .” Mavis stuttered to a stop. “I hoped you would make your home here. You are part of our family.”

  He shook his head. “Thank you, but I need to go home.”

  “Home on the reservation is not what it used to be.” Ransom too was shaking his head. “You know we have plenty here for you to do, and by spring, perhaps we’ll even be able to pay wages.”

  “I know all that. I thought about this a long time.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Mavis heaved a sigh. “You know you will always have a home here, should you decide to visit or return.”

  Cassie tried to talk around the lump in her throat, but she couldn’t. She tried not to cry, but tears trickled down her cheeks in spite of her. Chief was part of her life, all of her life, like a piece of her mother and father, the sole remaining piece.

  “This does not have to be good-bye. You know we want Indians to be part of the Wild West show, the rodeo, next summer.” Lucas leaned forward. “We’ll be coming to look for you and hope you will bring us others to be part of the show. Especially those who know the old ways of doing things, some good riders, some who want a job, not for a long time, though who knows where this one show will lead.”

  “You sound like Adam Lockwood, so long ago,” Chief said. “I went along for one season and look what happened.”

  Mavis wiped her eyes too. “I’m so glad you brought Cassie to us. We will never be able to thank you enough for that.” She blew out a breath. “No matter what you say, this ranch is your homestead too. Both Adam and Ivar would say the same thing. You are the only one left, and if nothing else, we need to hear the rest of your stories of those early days. I know Cassie wants to know more too.”

  Stop this, Cassie ordered herself. Stop sniveling! You will see Chief again. This is not the good-bye he says it is. The reservation isn’t across the country, only somewhere out beyond Rapid City.

  A short time later she stood on the front porch and watched her friend and teacher ride off. Another piece of her heart gone. How she hated the idea of his leaving!

  Her whisper to herself accompanied her waving hand. “Thank you.”

  6

  Tuesday morning the clouds hung low.

  Cassie woke from a restless sleep in which she kept dreaming that Chief was in trouble. She was never sure what had been the problem, but the urge to go to him tore at her.

  He had made the choice, but what if no one wanted him to be there? True, the townspeople here didn’t want Indians around either, or at least some of them didn’t. What difference did it make that Chief was a Sioux Indian? He was just like any of her other friends, only closer because they’d been together a long time, thanks to their years in the show. Since he’d been her father’s good friend, she’d known him since she was born. And what about his eyesight? How would he hunt? Where would he live? Did he still have relatives there? What was life like on the reservation?

  She fought the tears again. Today was supposed to be a happy day, a wedding day.

  But some people would cas
tigate Micah for marrying an Indian woman. All this bigotry made her angry deep inside. She pulled on her woolen petticoats and waist, slipped her wool skirt on over her head, and pulled on her long wool stockings. With a sweater added for good measure, she jerked the hairbrush through the ripples left by her nighttime braid.

  Life just wasn’t fair. That was all there was to it. If God loved everyone like the Bible said, how come the Indians didn’t have that love too? Maybe one of these days she’d sit down with Reverend Brandenburg and ask him. He was a pastor, and she knew he and his wife didn’t hold anything against the Indians. After all, they’d invited them all for supper at their house and made sure they had more food for the next days.

  And he was coming out here to perform the wedding ceremony that afternoon. She bundled her hair into a snood, hearing the rattle of stove lids that said Mavis was up and preparing breakfast. Cassie had gone to sleep thinking maybe she should learn to milk the cow and take care of the barn chores. After all, if she was indeed a member of the family as Mavis said, then she needed to do more of the day-to-day work. She made her bed and headed for the kitchen. She knew Mavis had a lot planned. Not often did one host a wedding at their house.

  “Are you warm enough?” Mavis asked. “The temperature really dropped last night, but Ransom said it was warming, which possibly meant snow. And here we are this morning with new snow.”

  “You think Chief made it to the reservation yesterday?”

  “I doubt it, but then I don’t know how far it actually is. Sure wish he had stayed a few more days at least.”

  “How about until spring, and then I’d say, ‘Oh, please stay through the summer,’ and . . .”

  “I know.” Mavis chuckled. “How about slicing that ham and getting it fried up. I’m mixing cornmeal mush today. Then we can have it fried tomorrow.”

  Cassie stepped into the pantry and brought the ham in from the meat safe. This time of year, outside cold took the place of the ice that kept the icebox cool during the summer, and the pantry, because it was warmed indirectly off the kitchen, kept things from freezing solid in the long winter. What a delicate balance. Much of what Cassie must learn about this place was logical in its own way, but still it must be learned.

  She savaged the ham more than slicing it neatly like she’d seen Mavis or Ransom do. She couldn’t even slice ham right. Where was Chief, and more important, how was he? Her mind screamed that he was buried in the snow. Another picture flashed of him on his horse, plodding through the snow, his elk robe over his head. Where was all this coming from? He’d been the one to know what to do when they’d been stopped by the blizzard in October.

  “Cassie, what is it?” Mavis laid a hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m worried about Chief. Would someone take him in?”

  “Most likely he would not ask. This isn’t a blizzard, just snow falling and cold. He knows how to take care of himself.”

  They turned at the stamping of boots on the back porch, and Mr. Arnett pushed open the door. “Sure is pretty out there.”

  Cassie stared at the old man. All she could see was danger, and he saw how beautiful it was.

  “That ham smells mighty good. You want me to turn it? I can do that, you know.”

  Cassie handed him the long-handled fork. “I’ll set the table.”

  “Makes ya think of Christmas, don’t it?” He moved the pan off the hotter part of the stove and looked around.

  “What do you need, Mr. Arnett?” Cassie studied his grizzled beard and wondered if he’d trimmed it last night. Somehow it seemed less scraggly.

  “No ‘Mr.’ I’m Arnett. There’s lotsa Dans out there. Only one Arnett. How about a platter to put in the warming oven?”

  Cassie dug one out from under the counter where the kettles and baking things were kept and handed it to him.

  He set it down on the back of the stove. “Ya need to warm it up first.”

  Cassie and Mavis shared a smile. Obviously something had happened to make him decide that this was really home now and he wasn’t a mere guest any longer.

  “So, we’re havin’ a wedding here today. Right?”

  “This afternoon, when the Brandenburgs get here.” Mavis turned at the boot stomping again, two pairs this time. “I’m setting the mush on the table. Cassie, bring that cream pitcher—oh, and the milk too.” She slid the platter of pancakes into the oven to keep warm.

  Gretchen blew in from down the hall, where she had been getting ready for school. “Thanks, Cassie, for helping in my place. Mor, I can’t find my school notebook.”

  “Did you look under my knitting basket?”

  “How did it get there?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Nope, anyone in general.” She flew into the big room and came back waving her notebook in the air, triumphant.

  With everyone seated at the table and grace said, Cassie returned to the stove and began breaking eggs into the skillet as the men ate their cornmeal mush. Mavis had turned the job of frying eggs over to her. She slid the fried eggs onto another warmed platter, retrieved the platter of ham from the warming oven, the pancakes from the oven, and set them all on the table. Arnett waved Mavis to stay seated and brought around the coffeepot.

  “You sure there will be school today?” Ransom asked.

  “I’m riding over to Jenna’s house, and her brother is driving. Biscuit will stay in their barn all day.”

  Cassie knew that Biscuit had become Gretchen’s horse after she graduated from the pony. They had then passed the pony along to a family with small children. Gretchen kissed her mother’s cheek, waved at the rest of them, and bounded out the door to where Ransom had tied her horse. Another part of family life Cassie must firmly plant in mind: Ransom got Gretchen’s horse ready for her each school day before he came in from chores.

  Looking out the window over the sink, Cassie realized the snow had let up to just a flake here and there. And it wasn’t knee-deep, as she’d first thought.

  “George acted like my best friend this morning,” Lucas said when the conversation lagged. “That old bull sure has a mind of his own.”

  “He grew up that way,” Cassie told him. “Chief said buffalo are like that but never to trust them. He didn’t trust George until he’d known him for years. But then George will do things with Wind Dancer and me that he won’t do for anyone else. After all, he has to remind people he is a wild bull buffalo. That’s the way they billed him at the show.”

  Lucas grinned. “Well, the others aren’t tame, that’s for sure. There was quite a rattling of horns out there when we opened the fence around the haystack. That’s longhorn talk for ‘Stay out of my way.’”

  Ransom rolled his eyes. “Even those young ones you brought didn’t argue with the buffs this morning. That is the greatest thing to see, the piles of snow on the buffalo backs, like they’re wearing a white robe on top.”

  Cassie had seen that on the trip south. The show had never wintered in snow country, and so much of this was new to her. Chief had explained it all to her, as part of her training.

  Chief. She already missed him.

  When they were done eating, Cassie cleared the table, tossed the three round ham bones to the dogs lying by the back door, and listened while Mavis gave out the instructions for the day. She and Mavis would do the baking first while the Engstrom men shoveled paths to the door. Arnett said he’d take care of the woodboxes.

  Cassie’s hands broke up bread for stuffing, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere. Then she got an idea. “Mavis, I’ve been thinking. Not only do I not have Christmas presents, I don’t have a wedding gift for Micah and Runs Like a Deer either. But then I thought, Micah likes that rifle, and he really knows how to use it. I can give him that. What do you think?”

  “I think that would be perfect.”

  Grinning, Cassie tackled the stuffing with renewed vigor. One problem solved.

  The smoked geese and a wild turkey that Lucas, the adept hunter, had brought home
were stuffed and ready for the oven when the cake came out. The rolls would bake last and the bread would go in, in between.

  “Dan, if you’d like, peel the potatoes. Lucas, take an ax to that big squash in the cellar. We’ll send pieces home with both—” She stopped and stared at Cassie. “What is Micah’s last name?”

  Cassie shrugged and sort of snorted. “I have no idea. He’s always been Micah. You’ll have to ask him.”

  “Well, he’ll need one for the wedding certificate, I’m sure. I know you want this to be all legal and such.” Mavis frowned. “And Runs Like a Deer?”

  Again Cassie shrugged. Why had she never asked this question? She thought Runs Like a Deer had been married before, or maybe not. How did one know? “Well, Micah can sure use the name Lockwood if he wants to. I’d be proud to have him share my name. I always wanted a brother.” She glanced at Lucas. That’s what she felt like when she was with him. His little sister. Or maybe not so little but younger, at least. If she felt that way with him, why did she not feel the same way about Ransom?

  This would take some thinking on, but later. Right now they had to get ready for a wedding.

  Sun diamonds spangled the white fields and the puffy hats on the fence posts and railings. Around noon the clouds started to break up, separated, and finally disappeared, leaving behind a clear blue sky. By the time the buggy arrived with the Brandenburgs, icicles coming off the roof were dripping and singing of sunshine. Micah and Runs Like a Deer rode in double on his horse. Micah turned him loose in the corral at the barn. Lucas unhitched the Brandenburgs’ team. Because they were pretty warm, he took them to the barn to wait out of the cold. Cassie did not doubt they would spend much of the day munching contentedly on hay.

  “Welcome, Reverend! Hello, Elouisa!” Mavis greeted her friends and held the door open wide.

  “Sure is beautiful out here,” Reverend Brandenburg said, turning to look out over the valley. “Seeing buffalo in your pastures just tickles my funny bone. Nothing boring about the Bar E, you can bank on that.”