by Barbara Goss
"No, Dawn," Sarah corrected, "a friend."
Dawn rose and embraced Sarah. "Storm is wrong to marry Little Bird. We must stop him."
"But how? I've tried everything." Sarah pouted.
Dawn patted Sarah's arm. "We'll find the other will!"
Sarah bit her lip. "Is there another will?"
"Yes!" Dawn exclaimed. "Wilson and I decided on it long before he died. Wilson claimed he'd drawn up another will with his lawyer, but it couldn't have been Mr. Lewis, for Lewis vows Wilson never mentioned a second will. Storm says Wilson actually showed it to him once. We must find it!"
"But what good will that do?" asked Sarah. "Then he'll marry Little Bird, and I'll be on my way to Chicago."
"We'll find it, but not for him, for us. We'll hide or destroy it so Storm will never find it," Dawn said. "It's in this house somewhere."
Sarah jumped up excitedly. "We'll start today! One of us will begin at the top of the house, the other at the bottom."
"Good." Dawn smiled warmly at Sarah. "I'll take the bottom."
The attic surprised Sarah by being clean and recently dusted, which probably meant it had already been searched. But having given Dawn her word, she began her quest for the will the very next afternoon.
Full of broken furniture, worn mattresses, and old trunks, the attic felt hot and stuffy, but Sarah searched every piece of
furniture, fingered every mattress lump, and rummaged through all the clothing in every trunk.
The clothes, she noted, must have been her grandmother's—they were of that era. They intrigued her. In a spotted mirror atop an old dresser, she held dress after dress up to herself, posing prettily for each.
As she picked up a blue silk, something rolled out of the bodice, thumping to the floor. Sarah stooped to retrieve it. Just an old book! She cast it aside. Modeling dresses until the light began to fade, she decided to conclude her search for the day. Prepared to leave, she spotted the old book, shrugged, and then pocketed it. One never knew when a good book might come in handy.
Over the dinner table Dawn and Sarah shared secret looks, for they were conspirators. They had something else in common—they both loved Storm and plotted against him for his own good.
Sarah wondered if it was God's Spirit within her that changed her outlook. Despite her problems, she felt happy and often found herself humming and whistling. She found herself full of love for everyone, including Little Bird.
Sarah smiled often at Little Bird, offering to do things for her, but no matter how well meaning Sarah's gestures were, they only served to further infuriate the Indian girl.
After Sarah had been at the ranch a week, Storm announced it was high time she made an inspection of her ranch.
"The crew is disappointed that you haven't come to inspect their work. For days they've been excited and buzzing like bees, seeing that everything is perfect."
"I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah asked.
He smiled lazily, "I just did."
Later, on horseback, Sarah and Storm approached the far side of the stable, where a large fenced area was attached to the barn. Broken Wing greeted them with a wave. "I breaking Black; you watch?"
After dismounting, Storm plucked Sarah from her horse and placed her on the fencepost. Standing close beside her, he rested his elbows on the fence.
From the barn, Broken Wing led out a frisky, oversized, ebony stallion. The horse's shiny skin rippled with excitement as it pranced in place, scuffing the ground and whinnying furiously with wide, flaring nostrils.
"Oh, Storm, he's not going to try riding him, is he?"
"Not yet. Watch."
Broken Wing walked the horse around the pen several times, talking softly. When he tried to stroke Black's mane, the horse shook convulsively, bucking and snorting wildly at his touch.
They sat for almost an hour, watching Broken Wing's advances being thwarted by Black before he finally tolerated the Indian's gentle touch.
"Broken Wing, I'm impressed," praised Sarah.
Broken Wing smiled with pride. "Riding him next step. Will try in few days."
Broken Wing had been filled with pleasure at the few words of praise from her. Storm was right, she thought, the Indians are warm, sensitive people.
Next, Storm led her to the bunkhouse, where she was led on a complete tour.
The sleeping quarters appeared tidy and immaculate. Lazy Dog stood leaning against a broom handle, smiling proudly as Sarah commented on the room's cleanliness.
Next they moved to the large kitchen behind the bunkhouse. Manny, Emily, and Snakebite chopped vegetables for stew, while a large black caldron steamed over the fire.
Sarah commented on their efficiency, noting to herself how perfectly Aunt Emily fit in, spending more time here with Manny than at the ranch house.
Next Storm showed her the large garden behind the bunkhouse. Eagle Eyes, Leo, Little Hawk, Bent Arrow, and Red Moon waved from various positions of planting, hoeing, weeding, and watering the spacious, neatly-rowed garden.
"This is where all our vegetables and herbs come from," Storm explained.
Sarah knew the gardeners waited expectantly for her comment.
"I can't believe it!" Sarah proclaimed, shaking her head. "The rows are so neat and straight! I can't see even one weed! It's the most wonderful garden I've ever seen!"
Trying to act nonchalant over her praise, the men shifted their feet nervously, eyes downcast. Sarah caught some wide smiles before heads turned bashfully.
Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. Making them happy had been easy. As proud people, the recognition and praise made them feel appreciated and important.
Glancing quickly at Storm, Sarah caught his look of pride, but not for the men, for her. "Thank you, Sarah. That meant a great deal to them," he said sincerely.
"I only say what I mean. You should know that by now."
He smiled broadly, "Yes, but I haven't decided yet whether it's an asset or liability!"
Waving to the men, they rode on toward the cattle-grazing lands. They rode in silence until it dawned on Sarah that someone had been missing.
"Where's Black Feather?"
"Gone."
"What happened?"
"I had to let him go because of what happened with your saddle that day."
"You're sure then that he cut the strap?"
"He practically admitted it. Not at first, but after I persisted with the questioning he lost his temper and gave me what I needed, a motive. After that I had to fire him—you wouldn't have been safe here."
"What did he say? I have a right to know!" she demanded, seeing the closed look on his face.
"He feels you're a threat to Little Bird's happiness."
She spoke in a small, almost inaudible voice. "Oh, dear!"
"I had to fire him."
"Where did he go?" she asked.
"Back to the reservation, just over the river into Oklahoma."
"Are there many of your people there?"
"All that aren't here."
"What's the reservation like?" she asked as they approached an open area where hundreds of scattered cattle grazed leisurely.
"It's getting better. It was terrible at first. The government promised much but delivered little. They didn't know enough about Indians to help them. For instance, they insisted the Indians quit their teepees and live in huts and shacks. The Indians had to obey to get the much-needed food and supplies."
They stopped and Storm continued, leaning casually on his saddle horn. "Then, the Indians began falling sick, dropping like flies. Tuberculosis. We complained, until finally they came up with a solution. The government ordered them to move back into their teepees, realizing they needed the fresh air. So now they're back to the teepees.
"Next, they insisted Indians learn farming, but the Indians rebelled, especially the fierce warriors. You see, gardening had always been the work of Indian women, therefore, the men felt degraded. Our Indian agent, Tatum, a good Christian man,
helped them get over that. Some he gave jobs raising cattle, like our crew here. Some more restless warriors were given jobs riding guard over the government supply wagons. It all worked out, but it took time."
"Can we do anything to help?" she asked.
"Sarah, I'm glad you asked that!" he exclaimed with a twinkle in his silvery eyes.
~ C H A P T E R 7 ~
“Now that you're the owner,” he gave her a sideways glance, "at least for now, I hope you'll continue with what your grandfather and I have done.
"We not only hire as many Indians from the reservation as we can, but give them cattle when we slaughter. We refuse them vegetables from our garden, though, because then they wouldn't work at their own. It's important that they try to be self-sufficient, but beef is difficult for them to acquire. The government allots some, but it never lasts the whole winter. Sometimes the shipments are up to six months late, and they practically starve. That's why we started helping them."
"My grandfather must have been a generous man."
"Yes, but he had other motives as well. During the first few years after the Indians were forced onto the reservation, every time the government went back on a promise or communications became mixed between here and Washington, the Indians would get angry and attack neighboring ranches. By befriending and hiring them, our ranch became a kind of sanctuary or neutral ground. They seldom bothered us, except to steal an occasional head of cattle or a few horses. Nothing like what was done to our neighbors!
"Things improved when the government sent us Lawrie Tatum. He came to Fort Sill in sixty-nine as agent for the Kiowa and Comanche tribes. He not only worked hard at pacifying and getting to know the Indians, he brought them the Word of God. A good man, Tatum brought them what they needed most, God. I'd ride over once a month and help with Bible lessons and Sunday school. Some mighty fine Indians turned out after Tatum gave them the Gospel. But it took him years to disband the Quahadas."
"Quahadas?" she asked.
"A small band of Comanches who refused to live on the reservation. They killed, pillaged, and kidnapped in this area for many years. Even we feared them. Fierce and ruthless, they wouldn't have hesitated to attack Arrow C; they were angry with the Indians who made peace with white men, as well as with the white men themselves."
"Are they still around?" she asked uncomfortably.
"Most have either died or moved to the reservation, but what they did to this community will never be forgotten, and every Indian is paying the penalty for it."
It rained the next morning. Sarah lazed around her room after breakfasting with a pouting Little Bird and a lovely but doting Dawn.
Pacing the floor nervously, she began straightening the dresser tops, for lack of something better to do, and found the book she'd brought down from the attic. This is as good a time as any to read, she thought, settling herself comfortably in one of the armchairs.
She opened the book to find not a printed novel, but a handwritten log of some sort. The name on the inside cover read Elizabeth Epsom Greenly Clarke. The first three names were written in faded ink, the last dark ink, as if added later.
She read the first page. Why, this was Elizabeth's diary! She looked at the dates. This Elizabeth was her grandmother! Interest renewed, she delved into the handwritten accounts of Elizabeth's journey from Louisiana to Texas, led by Stephen Austin. They left New Orleans by way of the Natchitochees in 1824, according to Elizabeth.
The travelers, all traders, had banded together for the mutual protection of their $35,000 worth of hardware, cutlery, hats, shirting, linen, hosiery, and other dry goods. There were eighty of them, Sarah read: two wagons, two carts, and twenty Dearborns. Sarah wondered what a Dearborn was, but on the next page Elizabeth described it as a light, four-wheeled covered wagon. This is what Elizabeth traveled in, with someone named Henry. Her brother perhaps?
Sarah reluctantly put the book down when Aunt Emily came bouncing in.
"Hello, my dear." She looked cheerful, with cheeks rosy and eyes bright.
"Don't you look chipper on such a dreary day?" Sarah greeted.
Emily sat daintily in the other chair, folded hands in her lap. "I've got news, and I figure you should be the first I tell, although Manny has already told Storm."
"I think I know." Sarah tried to suppress her delight.
"How could you?"
"How could I not? You and Manny have been together since the day we left Dodge City."
"It was that obvious?" she asked.
"It was. Shall I have Storm demand that Manny state his intentions?"
"That won't be necessary. Manny proposed last night, and I said yes."
"Aunt Emily! How wonderful! Wait until Mother hears! She’ll think us mad; you marrying a Mexican who was raised Comanche, and me in love with a half-breed!"
"Don't forget to add, Sarah, dear—an uncle to boot."
Sarah frowned. "Hogwash. We're all related somewhere, aren't we?"
"They say your children could be deformed or worse," Emily warned.
"Well, then we won't have any," she pouted. "It doesn't appear we'll ever have to worry about that. He's still determined to marry Little Bird."
"Perhaps it's better in the long run, Sarah."
"How can you say that? I love him!"
"Well, we'll continue to pray for you both," Emily soothed. "And we want you and Storm at our wedding. In fact, Storm will perform the ceremony. We want no fuss, but Rosa will probably make a feast out of it."
"I'm so happy for you." Sarah embraced her aunt. "Will you live here with us?"
"No. Storm offered us the use of the hunting lodge in the woods, about a mile away. We walked over there this morning, in the rain; we were that excited! It's rustic, but I'm sure I can make a wonderful home for Manny there."
Sarah embraced her aunt again. "It was kind of Storm to let you use the lodge, but since this is my ranch, I veto the offer." When Emily cocked her head curiously, Sarah continued, "The lodge is my wedding gift to you and Manny."
Later, alone in the study, browsing through the bookkeeping records, Sarah felt close to Storm. His presence filled the room. His coat hung on the doorknob, and his watch lay propped on the desk so he could see the time as he worked. She recalled Dawn's words, that first day, when she'd asked where Storm slept: "Storm sleeps in the bunkhouse usually, although sometimes I find him on the couch in the study after a long night working on the books."
Poor Storm! How hard he worked making the ranch run smoothly. Shouldn't she be doing something, contributing to the ranch in some way?
Suddenly an idea took root in Sarah's mind. If she could learn to keep the books, she would not only be helping the ranch, but Storm, who worked too hard already.
She picked up Storm's watch and rubbed it against her cheek, smiling.
Dawn entered with a tray. "I brought tea. May I join you?"
"Of course. Had any luck searching for the will?"
"No. Have you?" asked Dawn.
"An old book and plenty of old clothes were all I found."
Dawn took a seat on a nearby chair, frowned, and jumped up. Grabbing a paper from the desk, she hastily folded it to place under the chair leg.
"Dawn, that paper was the receipt from the cattle purchase in Dodge City; Storm will need it!"
"Oh," Dawn straightened it somewhat and handed it back. "Sorry. It's a terrible habit, grabbing paper without thinking. Storm gets so angry with me."
"Here, take this." Sarah offered her scrap paper.
"Thank you. I have an aversion to wobbly furniture."
They laughed over the incident and excitedly made plans for the upcoming wedding, like two young schoolgirls.
Afterwards, Sarah returned to her room to dress for dinner but found herself absorbed in the diary instead.
Elizabeth wrote about the people with whom she traveled. Confusingly, she named Wilson Clarke as a fellow trader traveling with a load of hardware, while she and Henry had linens.
But th
at didn't make sense! Unless, Sarah mused, they were both unwed. She concluded they probably met on this journey. How romantic! Realizing she would soon be late for dinner, she finally put the book down to dress, thinking the whole time of the romantic way her grandparents had met.
That night at supper, Dawn noticed the table was shaky and reached for a scrap of paper. This time she grabbed Storm's notes lying near his plate and prepared to place them under the table leg.
"Hey!" Storm yelled. "I need those! They're lists of seeds to purchase!"
"Oh. Sorry," she said simply, returning the paper.
"We must teach her to read,' growled Storm. “Mother, you must have moved the table while you were cleaning," he said, pushing the table a few inches. "See, now it doesn't wobble."
Early the next morning Sarah helped Dawn prepare the living room for the wedding. Joseph and Rosa had picked colorful flowers that Sarah and Dawn put into large vases and placed in strategic places.
"How's this, Dawn?" Sarah asked, setting down a large pot of dew-tipped red roses near the stairway. "Oh, the vase wobbles here. The floor is uneven."
"They look perfect there. Let me fix them." She grabbed the nearest paper, which happened to be Manny and Emily's wedding-party menu, left on the fireplace mantel for Sarah to approve.
"No! Dawn!" Sarah screamed, running to rescue the paper. "This is important," she said softly, seeing the hurt in Dawn's large brown eyes.
An idea that had been growing in Sarah's mind finally matured. Excitedly, she grabbed Dawn's arm. "Dawn, did you fix any furniture in the study or my bedroom since Wilson took sick or died?"
"Probably, I do it all the time. The floors in this house are uneven, and it drives me crazy when the furniture rocks."
"Let's go into the study; show me everything you fixed like that." Sarah led her by the hand.
"I fixed the cabinet, there." She pointed.
