“Come on.”
They walked beyond the barn, over to the far side of the yard to a pen that held breeding rams. The pen was, unfortunately, next to the one holding the ewes in heat. The groups were intensely aware of one another. The bleats of the ewes filled the air, like a symphony gone wrong. The anxious rams kept butting horns. Some attempted to slip between the rails to get into the ewes’ pen. One who’d tried that stunt was now stuck neatly between the rails.
Millicent rolled her eyes at Cassie. “Well, it’s easy to see which of the sexes has the brains.”
“One of the easier problems to fix,” Cassie replied nonchalantly. She walked up to the ram, grabbed his back leg, and pulled. He popped out as though she’d greased him with lard.
Millicent clapped her hands appreciatively. “Got any more tricks up your sleeve?” she asked, pointing toward the pen. Cassie’s glance followed in the direction Millicent indicated.
One randy male was sniffing at one of the ewes, much like a wine lover inhaling a fragrant cork. The other two were in a fight that was threatening to become dangerous. If they were injured seriously, they would be useless for the coming season.
The one ram stopped sniffing and began to “talk” to the ewe, making throaty sounds of enticement. Cassie and Millicent watched in amusement as the poor beast gargled at the ewe, his tongue hanging out in desperation.
Startled, their glances were drawn toward the other pen as one of the ewes started calling out with exceptionally loud bleats. A moment later, the same ewe started running wildly about as though in intense pain. Her loud, pitiful baas filled the air.
“I think I know just how she feels,” Millicent muttered.
Cassie stared at Millicent in surprise and then clapped one hand over her mouth to stop the laugh threatening to erupt.
“Well, I do,” Millicent reiterated belligerently.
At that moment, the barn cat wandered into the ewes’ pen. The agitated ewe followed the cat, bleating frantically when the cat jumped up on the railing.
“The book did say a desperate ewe will follow most anything or anybody,” Cassie whispered in a horrified tone.
“And you want us to go into that pen?”
“We could try to bring the ram into the ewes’ pen.” Cassie glanced over at the amorous ram. “I have a feeling he’ll be glad to go.”
“I’d say his dance card was full,” Millicent answered, her eyes widening in fascination as the “talk” between the ewe and the ram escalated.
“It does beat all, doesn’t it?” Cassie commented, equally uneasy about cutting the ram from his pen.
The desperate-sounding ewe cried more piteously. “Maybe people would be better off if they could be as honest,” Millicent replied.
“Let’s get her fella in the chute. I’ll herd him. You pull the gate shut behind him.”
Working together, they herded the eager ram into the waiting chute. Cassie peered down first at him and then at Millicent. “Here goes.” Releasing the chute latch, the ram burst into the pen of ewes.
As soon as the male entered the ewes’ pen, all of the females crowded around him, scarcely allowing him to move. Each time he changed direction, the females followed him in a pack, refusing to let him move more than a foot at a time.
“Looks like a church social,” Millicent commented.
“The ratio of men to women is about right,” Cassie agreed, still staring.
When the ram finally broke through the group of ewes, he ran from female to female. He tried to mount one. Failing, he ran to the next. And the next. And the next.
Cassie and Millicent gave in to the hilarity of the situation. Finally, wiping her eyes, Cassie turned to Millicent. “And back home we thought old Mr. Gandy was bad. Remember how he chased anything in skirts? And he must have been about ninety years old!”
Millicent gasped out, “Randy Gandy.”
They were both lost to laughter again. The ram finally settled on one ewe, but neither woman noticed. Laughing until they were weak, each looked to the other for a measure of propriety. Finding none, they escaped instead into trills of laughter. Somehow, it seemed a fitting release for all.
13
Cassie tossed the wicking to Millicent, eyes widening as she watched a wagon come into clear view. Since the slaughter of their lambs, they’d been suspicious of anything out of the ordinary. And visitors were glaringly out of the ordinary. When the wagon neared the barnyard, the squawking and smell of chickens filled the air.
Millicent and Cassie cautiously stepped closer as the rattletrap conveyance shuddered to a stop, raining a scraggly cloud of feathers and dust in its wake. They looked up simultaneously as the broad-featured, heavy set woman driver yelled “Whoa!” in a voice loud enough to be heard in the south pasture.
She jumped down from the rickety seat, landing on her heavy leather men’s boots while her drab brown skirt billowed with a will of its own. The bonnet, looped around her neck and pushed back on her shoulders, jiggled as well. Cassie and Millicent regarded the woman wordlessly.
“You must be the Dalton gal,” the woman announced.
Cassie nodded in acknowledgment as the woman turned and marched toward the rear of the wagon, not giving Cassie time to answer. The woman’s masculine stride didn’t break until she reached the rear board, which she unfastened with ease. Leaning her burly arms forward, the woman grasped one of the makeshift cages filled with protesting chickens and pulled it forward.
“Want to give me a hand?” It was more of an order than a request.
“Why, yes. Of course.” Cassie and Millicent hurried toward the wagon, exchanging questioning glances. The crusty woman continued unloading the chickens, handing each close-to-bursting cage to either Cassie or Millicent without benefit of explanation. When the wagon was empty, and the barnyard littered with chicken wire and flying feathers, the woman stood back, hands on hips, and surveyed Cassie and Millicent.
“You don’t look crazy,” she finally allowed.
Cassie and Millicent swung their heads toward one another simultaneously as their eyebrows rose in surprise and bewilderment.
“Hold on,” the woman continued, not allowing them to answer as she lifted one of her beefy hands from her ample hips. “I’m Belva O’Leary. I live a few miles over thataway.” She pointed a bulky arm to the south. “These here are your chickens, and I don’t give a hoot if you are crazy.”
“Well, thank you, I guess,” Cassie managed, trying to decide what to make of their visitor.
Belva’s eyes flicked over Millicent and then traveled down Cassie’s trouser-clad legs. “Meant to get over here sooner with them chickens, but the young’uns has been laid up with croup. ’Course, I never really ’spected another Dalton back in these parts—that’s how come I took the chickens. I ain’t no thief, but I couldn’t see lettin’ them good layers go to waste.”
“Won’t…” Cassie tried to gather her voice and manners, both of which seemed to have disappeared. “Won’t you come in and have some refreshment?”
“Never was one to turn down an invite,” Belva answered. She stomped up the porch steps behind Cassie and Millicent.
“Won’t you have a seat, Mrs. O’Leary?” Millicent offered, gesturing to the chairs flanking the settee.
“Belva, just plain Belva. Never get to sit in my own chairs. Young’uns,” she explained succinctly, her eyes roaming around the pleasant room.
“I see. Please make yourself comfortable,” Millicent replied, moving toward the cookstove.
“How many children do you have?” Cassie asked, gathering cups as Millicent sliced the fresh strudel she’d baked early that morning.
“Nine.”
Cassie gasped before she could catch herself, then started to apologize. Belva interrupted before she could speak, waving a hand in dismissal. “Sight more than I counted on myself. Just can’t resist havin’ a new baby in the house.”
“Babies are wonderful,” Millicent agreed, bringing in the strudel.<
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“Don’t that look tasty.” Belva almost licked her lips when she eyed the dessert. Cassie and Millicent exchanged amused glances as they settled into the settee opposite Belva.
Three slices of strudel later, Belva leaned back in her chair with a look of contentment. “Didn’t mean to make a pig of myself,” she stated, not looking especially remorseful.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Millicent answered, glancing at the demolished strudel.
“Young’uns eat up all the sweets at home. Does a body good to go visiting. I don’t ’spect you get too many visitors,” she remarked sagely.
Cassie caught her eye and answered truthfully. “Not too many.”
“Yer not missin’ much. There’s some good folks. But there’s plenty of no good, too. Carry grudges too far apiece. Me, I don’t got no ax to grind. Can’t say the same for most everybody else.”
Cassie and Millicent remained silent, uncertain how to answer her plainspoken observation.
“Thanks for the strudel and the loan of the chickens. I ’spect I’ll see you again Saturday night.” At their blank expressions she continued. “Barn dance in town Saturday night. Be good for you to get out. Your boy can meet the other young’uns.” She rose heavily to her feet. “Have to head home. It’s pert time to get the feedbag on for my clan.” She stared down her broad nose at them. “I’ll expect to see you both at the dance. If not I’ll have to come round you up.”
Cassie and Millicent walked Belva to her wagon, both protesting—Millicent because of her natural shyness, and Cassie because she wasn’t ready to face the townspeople again.
“Won’t do no good to make no excuses. I’ll see ya Saturday.” Belva heaved herself up and shouted a command to the horses. Cassie and Millicent glanced at one another helplessly and stepped back, nearly deafened by Belva’s shouting as she guided the lurching wagon out of the barnyard.
Cassie and Millicent waved good-bye, finally dropping their arms limply to their sides.
“Whew! I feel like a storm just blew in, stirred us around, and blew back out,” Millicent said, still staring at the disappearing wagon.
Cassie murmured her agreement, puzzling over Belva’s odd choice of words. What grudge was she having to pay for?
Cassie, Millicent, and Andrew hesitantly entered the decorated barn, pausing to watch the dancers whirling by. Andrew spotted some boys his own age and disappeared, while the women stood uneasily near the entrance. Cassie tugged nervously at her taffeta dress, hoping she’d chosen the right clothing. Everything out West was so different from Boston.
Relieved, she noticed the other women were wearing their Sunday best too. Millicent’s brown dress was properly starched, but tonight she’d added a cascade of wildflowers to the lapel. Repressing a grin, Cassie wondered if the flowers were for Ringer’s benefit. The beginning of her smile faded, though, as she faced the crowd. Cassie had reluctantly told Millicent what to expect tonight. Millicent had been horrified when Cassie told her she’d been refused supplies, though neither of them believed Luke Dalton had caused as much damage as Jensen claimed.
Cassie had sounded confident when telling Millicent she was sure they’d find a solution. But she wasn’t sure at all. While she was convinced the townspeople were overreacting to her uncle’s actions, Cassie also knew she had no other source for supplies.
By its own volition, Cassie’s toe started to tap to the music. A tentative smile formed on her face as she searched the crowd. Abruptly the music stopped, the fiddle screeching to a squeaky halt. Simultaneously the heads of the dancers swung in their direction. Each closed face, each hostile glare, split the eerie silence. Cassie swallowed and almost stepped back. Pride alone kept her in place. The hostility was a palpable force, rippling through the people, filling the air. The silence seemed to shimmer in the enclosed space.
“What the hell happened to the music?” Belva’s booming voice seemed to ricochet off the rafters and bellow through the crowd. Followed by her noisy brood of children and a small skinny man Cassie assumed was her husband, Belva stomped into the room.
“Best get to playin’ before my young’uns start hollerin’,” she ordered the fiddler.
Hesitantly he picked up the instrument and laid the bow against the strings. A weak tune emerged as better than half the crowd swept their spouses and children to the far side of the room, glaring at Cassie as they passed.
Belva watched their rude behavior, her good cheer never wavering. “Good riddance. More room over here for us,” she announced without concern. She moved onto the dance floor, her family straggling noisily in her wake.
Cassie stared at the people, unable to believe that an old grudge could still bear so much hostility.
“Evenin’, ladies.” Ringer’s greeting was directed to them both, but his eyes were on Millicent.
“Mr. Bond,” Cassie answered, watching in surprise as Millicent blushed prettily when Ringer moved to her side. Cassie realized with a start that she’d never known how lovely Milly could look when they’d lived in the harsh tenements of Boston.
Ringer claimed Millicent for that dance, leaving Cassie on the sidelines where she continued to collect hostile stares.
Trying to blend into the background, Cassie walked over to the punch bowl, but as soon as she neared the table, the ladle was deliberately dropped into the middle of the bowl with a loud clang. The people standing nearby turned their backs. With a sigh, Cassie took a glass of punch and walked over to a bale of hay, hoping to appear inconspicuous. Belva whirled by, offering encouragement. Once she enthusiastically clapped Cassie on the back, nearly knocking the glass out of her hand.
Cassie found herself shrinking further into the background, hoping to avoid the open hostility. After the first set, Ringer had delivered a breathless Millicent and brought them both glasses of punch. Millicent wanted to stay and keep her company, but Cassie had insisted she enjoy the dance with Ringer. Occasionally Cassie spotted Belva squiring her pint-sized husband around the floor and waved when Belva aimed them in her direction.
Unable to cling to the timber wall any longer, Cassie decided to brave the punch table once again. It was deserted as she reached for the ladle.
“Allow me,” Albert Fredericks’s smoothly modulated voice spoke next to her ear. She drew back, feeling the warmth of his breath close to her neck. Swallowing an unreasonable feeling of distaste, Cassie backed away slightly as she held out her punch glass. His cool fingers brushed hers as he took the glass, and Cassie noted with an almost detached interest that his touch had no effect upon her.
Not sure what to say to him, Cassie stalled by sipping her punch and studying him over the rim of her glass.
Fredericks took control of the conversation. “I hope Mr. Jensen is working out to your satisfaction, my dear.”
Cassie paused, not wanting to sound ungracious. Jensen really hadn’t given her any reason to complain. “He is, thank you.”
“Excellent. I understand things are still difficult for you.” At her puzzlement he continued, “Financially, that is.”
“What?” Cassie blinked in astonishment.
He went on smoothly, “This is a very isolated community, Miss Dalton. News travels incredibly fast. A word here, a word there.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Cassie remembered Victoria saying the same thing.
“If you’ll allow me to suggest something that could help your solvency problem…” He paused, and she nodded silently, listening. “You have a large parcel of land—much larger than you need to graze your flock. I know your uncle never fully utilized the entire amount. If you’d consider selling a portion of it, you could still remain in business yet have the cash you’ll need for winter feed. I don’t really need the entire piece—just enough for extra grazing area.”
She mulled over his proposition. It sounded logical on the surface. But why did he want to help her? Cassie studied him, but his cool gray eyes hid any revealing emotion. Whatever she decided, it wouldn’t be tonight.
Putting on her best party smile, Cassie replied, “I appreciate your offer, but I’ll have to think it over. We’re not quite in the poorhouse yet.”
Fredericks bowed over her hand, but not before Cassie caught the disappointment crossing his face.
“Of course, you may call on me anytime, my dear.” As he straightened up, Cassie saw that his face had changed. She read an unmistakable invitation in his eyes and speculated on why it left her so unmoved. He offered her a courtly bow. “Perhaps you’ll save me a dance?”
She nodded and he moved away. Gazing around the lantern-lit dance area, Cassie sensed a stirring among the females. Mothers leaned over to pinch their daughters’ cheeks, and lips were pressed together and bitten to redden in the lamplight. Countless hands ran over newly coiffed hairstyles while a sudden nervous energy permeated the air. Cassie followed all those female glances toward the entrance to the barn.
Shane, followed by Evan, stepped through the tall, wide double doors and into the soft lantern light. Cassie could see why the unattached females were striving to look their best. Shane had replaced his denims with a well-fitting woolen suit, neatly arranged string tie, and a stiffly starched white shirt that set off his bronze skin and rugged features. He held an uncreased felt Stetson in his hand as he appraised the gathering. Evan, a younger blond version of his brother, garnered his share of feminine attention too.
Cassie watched Shane’s eyes skip over the crowd as hopeful mothers eagerly pushed their daughters forward. She noted with amusement that almost all the unattached females managed to direct their glances his way, their invitations easily read. And easily ignored, she saw, as he bypassed pasty-faced, overeager young women. Glancing up, she saw his eyes move in her direction.
Cassie felt suddenly conspicuous as he avoided the rush of girls straining toward him. Absently he returned their greetings, adroitly sidestepping their invitations while heading straight for her. Her throat tightened when he neared, and she felt a visible wave of wrath from those he’d passed by.
“Miss Cassie,” he greeted her.
Summer Rose Page 9
