The Rancher Inherits a Family

by Cheryl St. John

  “Seth! Marigold! There’s little fishes! Come see!”

  Little John was in the water with his boots on, hunkered down and leaning forward, attempting to catch the tiny fish that darted in the shallow water. Seth gave a hearty laugh at the child’s splashing attempts. Getting his own boots and pant legs soaked, he leaned over and, with his good arm, joined the challenge. Tate and Harper were next, trudging in beside them and scooping handfuls of water.

  The sight of the four of them heedlessly splashing and giggling lightened Marigold’s heart and she laughed at their antics. Seth’s big spotted gray gelding, shied and moved several feet from the bank. Marigold followed him and spoke soothingly. “Those fellas are making a lot of commotion, aren’t they? You stay put, all right?”

  The horse nickered a reply. She patted its neck and rubbed its bony forehead. It snorted and bobbed its head.

  Seth and the boys approached, leading the other horses. “What’s Hank saying to you?” he asked her.

  “I’m not sure. I think he likes me.”

  “Maybe he just likes poems.”

  She reached for Bright Star’s reins. “For your information, I didn’t recite him a poem.” Grabbing the pommel, she placed her foot in the stirrup. “Are you poking fun at me?”

  Squinting, he used his thumb and forefinger to show her a half inch of space.

  She pulled herself up onto the saddle. “You’re the one who told me to talk to Bright Star. I couldn’t think of anything to say the first time. And she liked the poetry.”

  With one strong arm, he helped the boys onto their horses’ backs and mounted Hank. When he glanced back at her he was grinning.

  The expression disarmed her. “What do you say to the horses?”

  “That’s between me and them.” He nudged his horse forward with a heel and the others followed obediently.

  * * *

  Michael’s mother didn’t show up the next day. When Marigold questioned him, he claimed his mother had too much work to do. At day’s end, she informed Dewey that she wanted to follow one of her students home after school, and asked him to let her down and to follow her at a distance. He agreed and stopped the wagon outside town to let her climb down, and he and the boys stayed well behind as she trudged through a field and came to a sod house with a small barn and a few raggedy tents. Animal skins hung on stretchers made of tree limbs.

  Marigold had seen Michael run ahead and dart into one of the tents. She followed, and her heart leaped into her throat when a dirty black-and-brown dog ran toward her, barking and snarling. She stood in her tracks and stared at the animal.

  Michael came out of the tent and took only a couple of steps toward her. “What are you doin’ here?”

  “I came to speak to your mother.”

  “I told you my pa don’t take kindly to strangers.”

  “If I could just speak with her for a moment.”

  “Hush up, Dutch!”

  A man’s gruff voice startled her as much as the barking had, and she swung to see the man standing in the doorway of the soddy. He had an unkempt beard and wore trousers with suspenders and one empty pant leg folded back. He stood on his one leg with the aid of a crutch. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Miss Brewster, Mr. Higgins. I’m Michael’s teacher. I didn’t want to bother you, but Michael said his mother was too busy to come speak to me at school, so I thought it might be more convenient if I came here.”

  The man’s scowl swung to Michael, whose face had grown pale. “He said that, did he?”

  “I don’t want to cause a problem. I just wanted to speak to Michael’s family about his placement and lessons.”

  The man had no problem using the crutch to navigate across the doorway and toward where she stood. “Did he tell ya his ol’ man was a cripple?”

  “No, sir. He said you didn’t like visitors.”

  “Did he tell ya his ma was dead nigh on two years?”

  Marigold’s stare moved to Michael. He dropped his gaze to the ground.

  “No, sir. He didn’t.”

  “He’s got no time for book learnin’ when there’s work to be done here.” He turned a contemptuous eye on his son. “So that’s where you been runnin’ off to when I cain’t find ya. Why they ain’t no skins or stew to show for a day’s trappin’. Our bellies are rubbin’ our backbones an’ you ain’t got the sense God gave a chicken. Ain’t no rabbits to be caught in that schoolhouse.”

  Michael’s neck and face flushed red, and his gaze darted from Marigold back to his father. “No, sir. But Ma wanted me to get learnin’. She made me promise I’d learn to read.”

  The situation became crystal-clear. Michael had made a promise to his mother. The gruff man’s expression crumpled and he jerked his gaze away from both of them.

  “What if Michael attends half a day, Mr. Higgins? I could teach him to read in half days.”

  The man pursed his lips and shook his head. “Waste o’ time.”

  “What if I come here and teach him? In the evenings?”

  “He was right about one thing. I don’t like no strangers comin’ ’round.”

  “All right.”

  “I found a book of Ma’s,” Michael said. “I wanna read it.”

  His father’s gaze moved across the dirt yard, toward the west where the sky was ablaze with color. The dog sat and whined. A bee buzzed around a single clover near a well.

  “He’s a bright boy,” she told him. “He’ll learn quickly, given the chance.”

  “He can come half a day. That’s it.”

  Michael was so surprised his jaw dropped. “I can? I can go?”

  “How’d you get ’ere?” Mr. Higgins asked Marigold.

  “Wagon, part of the way. Walked the rest. Mr. Dewey is out there waiting for me.”

  “Why?” the man asked.

  “I became a teacher because I care about children, and I think education is one of the most important things we can give them, besides love, and food, water and sharing our faith in God.”

  “Where you from?”

  “Ohio,” she replied.

  “You came all the way to Kansas in your fancy clothes to teach people to read and write?”

  “And appreciate music and history and learn to figure numbers and think for themselves.”

  “Girls do all them things too?”

  “Girls just like me,” she answered.

  He looked at her for a long time, then he rubbed his nose with one finger and spat in the dirt. “Michael’s ma would’ve liked you.”

  She nodded. “I’m sure I would have liked her, too.”

  He looked toward Michael. “You still have to set your traps in the mornin’.”

  “I will, Pa. Every day.”

  “Very well.” Marigold glanced at her student. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.”

  He actually grinned. “Yes’m.”

  * * *

  The following day Michael arrived midmorning and took his seat without disrupting the class. He paid attention when she spoke, and he took one of the primers and followed along with Dwight Simms’s unobtrusive help. She didn’t want to single him out or embarrass him, so she waited until everyone had left the schoolroom before she praised him. “You did a fine job today, Michael.”

  “Thank you, Miss Brewster. Thanks for talkin’ to my pa.”

  “You’re the one who convinced him. He knows what you’re capable of.”

  Instead of Dewey coming for them after school, Evelyn brought the team and wagon. “I thought we’d do some shopping for furniture today.”

  Marigold settled the boys in back and climbed up to the seat. “Where will we go?”

  “Over on First Street, Mr. Irving has a fine furniture store. Makes most of it himself, but purchases pieces as well. What we don’t find, we can order—and we ca
n look through the catalogs at the mercantile as well.”

  “Do you think the boys need a few toys?” Marigold asked. “After seeing how they enjoyed the soldiers, I realized they must have left most everything behind when they came here. I have plenty of books for them, but perhaps we can purchase some things boys like.” She glanced at Evelyn. “What do boys like?”

  “Horses, animals of all sort, marbles.”

  Irving Furniture was a well-stocked store on the northeast corner of Grant and First. There they agreed on a bed for Harper and Little John to share and a narrower bed for Tate, as well as bureaus and a washstand. Marigold paused in front of a desk.

  “Do you think they need a desk?” Evelyn asked. “We could make do with a table.”

  “I’d like to buy them one,” she replied.

  Evelyn cast her a curious glance.

  “I’m not impoverished,” she told the older woman. “It’s something I’d like to do.”

  “We certainly have room,” Evelyn replied. “The rancher who built the house before Seth bought the land was well-to-do. He and his wife had several children.”

  “Are we set?”

  “I think so. Let’s talk to Mr. Irving about delivery. We’ll have to go over to Hagermann’s for bedding.”

  They rode to the mercantile a few blocks east, and selected bedding and pillows from one catalog. “We can make curtains,” she told Evelyn.

  “Remmy has a better selection of cloth than Abram, so we’ll buy it here.” Evelyn led the way to the bolts, and they selected cloth for two bedrooms.

  While Evelyn chose thread, she browsed through another catalog and found a set of miniature horses and building blocks to make a fort. She added it to their order. Remmy had marbles inside a glass case, so she selected a bag full.

  * * *

  After the past two days Marigold couldn’t help thinking how fortunate they were. Ever since she’d seen where Michael and his father lived, she’d thought of it often, wondered about their circumstances. She didn’t know how she might help, or if she should, but the boy and his father were in her heart.

  She was determined to think of ways she might make a difference for them.

  Rather than embarrass Michael by putting him in a lesson group with the youngest children, she made a group for him alone. As much as possible, she worked with him privately, so as not to draw attention to the fact that he was learning basic skills, but the others didn’t seem to think anything of his elementary training.

  Beatrix ingeniously suggested they group the German children with Michael, since they were all learning to read and write the alphabet and simple words. The plan worked beautifully, and by the end of that week Michael even knew several German words.

  * * *

  Bright and early on Saturday morning, she and Evelyn fried chicken and baked cookies for the church picnic before scrubbing the boys in the tub, dressing them in new shirts and trousers and telling them to stay put on the porch while they washed their own hair and got dressed for the picnic. She dressed in a cheerful blue skirt and matching checked shirtwaist, and found her small-brimmed straw hat and added a cluster of paper flowers to the ribbon band. Dewey helped them load the food into the back of the wagon, and Evelyn and Seth rode on the seat with Little John between them while Dewey and Marigold sat with the older boys in the back.

  She’d kept busy all week, but she hadn’t forgotten Buck’s question. She’d given it some thought. Courting him would take her mind away from the boys and the ranch, but it was a commitment as well, and one she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  It became apparent she’d already made a lot of friends in Cowboy Creek. The minute they arrived at the church grounds, she was drawn into the circle of women clustered around the tables, as they set out and arranged the food, but soon discovered she didn’t have an opinion on where the pickled beets should go, so she eased away from the tables.

  Beatrix and Marlys Mason stood off to one side, not venturing into the throng. Marigold joined them. “Where is Joseph?”

  Beatrix pointed to a row of folding chairs and baskets along the side of the church in the shade. “Napping. Ludivine is keeping an eye on him for me.”

  “She’s a sweet girl. She spoke to me in English yesterday.”

  It wasn’t long until Tomasina Canfield produced a bell and asked one of the cowboys to ring it. “Mothers with children first!” she called.

  Lines formed on either side of the tables. A young fellow in a pressed chambray shirt with a red bandana around his neck approached Marigold. “Would you do me the pleasure of sharin’ dinner with me, Miss Brewster?”

  She glanced from his neatly parted and combed hair to the two smiling women beside her and back. “I’d be delighted, Mr....”

  “Lawson. Kip Lawson. I barber with my pa. You’ve probably seen our place.” He smiled as though she’d gifted him with a pair of diamond-studded shears, and gestured for her to go ahead of him. “What did you bring, Miss Brewster?”

  “I fried chicken with Mrs. Halloway. And I helped bake cookies.”

  “Show me which ones. I’ll be sure to try them.”

  They filled their plates and he led her across the grass, where their neighbors had spread out blankets and tablecloths.

  “My mama sent me with this blue-and-white cloth and her lemonade in jars.”

  “It’s very nice. Thank you.” She settled on the corner of the spread and tried a flaky biscuit.

  “Have you been a teacher long?”

  “For the past five years,” she replied.

  “I went to school in Illinois,” he said. “That’s where we came from. I sure never had a teacher as pretty as you.”

  “Thank you. Your father taught you to cut hair?”

  “Yes’m. When we’re slow, I help Sam Mason at the Webster County Daily News office. At first I just cleaned up, but now I set type. Sometimes, when I hear something interesting, I let him know and he looks into it for a piece in the paper.”

  “Which job do you prefer?”

  “Barberin’ is a sure way to earn a living. Men constantly grow hair and beards. But the paper is a lot more interestin’.”

  “Newspapers will always be needed as well. You’re certain of a job in either case.”

  “You heard Will Canfield is running for congress?” he asked. “He had his hopes set on the governorship, but the party leaders thought he’d be better in congress. He built that big house and all. But this will be even better for him—for us. He’s a fine leader.”

  “If he wins, he and Tomasina won’t live here year-round, I heard.”

  “No.” He pointed north behind the church. “That’s the back of their house, right there.”

  Even from the back, the grand house was impressive.

  “I hear they’ll build a smaller home,” he said.

  “Wonder who will buy a house that big?” she mused.

  They finished their meal and Kip complimented her cookies. Marigold shook out the tablecloth and folded it up. She handed it to him just as Buck approached.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Brewster. Kip.”

  Kip greeted him, but didn’t look pleased with the interruption.

  “I’ve signed up, but I still don’t have a partner for the horseshoe competition.” Buck’s hat shaded his eyes, but they still appeared bright blue and friendly. “I know you said you’ve never played, but I’ll help you. It will be fun. What d’you say?”

  “If you don’t mind losing,” she answered with a cheerful shrug. She turned to Kip. “I enjoyed sharing lunch with you.”

  “The pleasure was all mine,” he replied.

  He and Buck exchanged a look before Buck offered his arm and Marigold tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  “It’s not time yet, so I can show you how the game is played and let you take a few pr
actice throws.”

  Two pits were obvious. Wide, flat boards had been set ground level to form rectangles from end to end, opposite each other, and inside them the ground wasn’t simply dirt. “What is that? Not just dirt?”

  “It’s sand, gravel and dirt. We keep the ground inside the pit loose.”

  “Why it that?”

  “So the shoes don’t bounce.”

  “Bouncing isn’t good?”

  “No, you want the shoe to land where you throw it.”

  “Okay.” She removed her hat and set it on a folded blanket. “Show me how.”

  He picked up two iron horseshoes with red paint on the tips. “There are a few ways to pitch, and you do it however it feels right. You can hold it right back here at the curve and toss with a bit of a lift, so you get the shoe to spin, or you can hold it more from the side and throw it so it hooks around the pin.”

  “Around the stake there?”

  “Yes. It’s a pin.”

  “How do you do it?”

  He stood clear back at the opposite pit and swung a shoe a couple of times before getting it go. It flipped in the air and landed with a clang beside the pin.

  “That was good, right?” she asked.

  “It was one point unless someone gets closer or gets a ringer. Here, try a few throws to get the feel of it.”

  She took the shoe and tested its weight, then stood the way he had, swung and let go. It didn’t reach all the way inside the pit.

  “That’s all right,” Buck said. “Now you know you have to pitch a little harder.”

  She nodded and took another shoe. She swung it, keeping her eye on the stake, and let it go. This time it went inside the pit and landed up against the wood.

  “Better,” he said. “Keep your arm straight as you release it.” He handed her another and this time he stood behind her, his arm along the length of hers, showing her how to swing, how to extend the shoe straight and not let her arm turn to the side. “Try it again.”

  She’d let him coax her into this, so she was going to give it her best.

  Chapter Ten

  Leah got Seth’s attention and led him to where a few people stood watching Buck Hanley coach the new schoolteacher in pitching horseshoes. “She seems to be doing pretty well. I wouldn’t be able to get that close.”