Beatrice swiveled on the seat. “Coulee? That’s a curious word. What’s it mean?”
“A French term, I believe. I don’t know the exact translation. Around here, it refers to the low spots carved out by glaciers. An area too small to be a valley, too wide and shallow to be a ravine.”
Father considered him carefully. “Your cowhand veneer is deceptive, Hiram. You’re an educated man—am I right?”
Hiram’s cheeks flamed beneath his tan. “Just an only child reared by an intelligent woman. Ma passed on her love of reading to me.”
He circled behind the sloping hill and stopped. “Here we are, folks. Welcome to Vine House.”
Noela’s mouth parted, but no sound escaped her lips. The atrocity Father referred to as home leered at her from across the yard, its crooked windows staring like glazed, hopeless eyes.
Short, squatty walls. A roof that dipped and leaned as if a large thumb descended out of heaven to squash it. A narrow structure so small it would fit three times on Mrs. Baumann’s ballroom floor.
Noela’s fanciful musing had been of a moss-covered roof, not moldy straw. Of trailing plants on the walls, not ugly, exposed roots. Hysteria rose like bile in her throat.
Beside her, Beatrice whimpered. Little sister’s indomitable spirit had met its match. “We live here?” Her chin quivered and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Why, this isn’t pretty at all!”
Pale as a ghoul, Father absently patted her hand. “Now, now. Let’s have a look around first.” Casting a grim look at Hiram, he hauled himself over the side with a grunt.
Noela’s legs had turned to mush. She kept to her seat and tracked her father’s grave, studied walk about the grounds.
He started with the barn, part wood and part sod. The latter construction hadn’t fared as well as the first. A large portion of the back half of the barn, roof and all, lay on the ground.
Crossing to another building, this one comprised all of wood, he gave it a shake to test for soundness. Whatever its purpose, the small edifice held.
“It’s the privy,” Father called.
Beatrice giggled through her tears.
Noela blushed to her toes.
His gait slowed as he turned and approached the shoddy dwelling. One hand at his hip, the other cupping his chin, he watched as if waiting for the house to speak.
He was wasting his time. If the dilapidated ruin had the capacity of speech, it wouldn’t have one good thing to say.
Hiram climbed out and strolled to Father’s side. Noela forced herself down from the rig and fell in behind him. Beatrice followed, grasping her hand.
“Why isn’t it built on high ground?” Father asked. “Why hidden behind these mounds?”
“In the plains there are few windbreaks, so the gusts are fierce. In the winter, it cuts you to the marrow. We find whatever we can to shield us.”
Nodding, Father took a few halting steps closer. Leaning over the threshold, he gazed at the ceiling. “What’s holding it up?”
Hiram joined him, stepping carefully into the room. “Very little, I’m afraid. A few tangled roots.” He pointed. “I see the problem now. Notice how small those sod bricks are and how the light filters between them? They’re supposed to be three foot squares at least four inches thick, with layers to form walls two or three bricks deep.”
“Then it’s a poor job of building like you said. A poor job indeed.”
Hiram grunted. “I suppose that’s why the last man left, most likely at the first freeze.”
Father puffed his cheeks then exhaled. “And the first freeze is upon us. What will it take to begin repairs?”
Hiram glanced at Noela and Beatrice. “To start, it needs bracing before you can go inside. It’s not safe in this condition.”
Father flexed his jaw. “Then I’d better start making her safe. We have nowhere else to sleep tonight.”
Hiram ached for the spirited man. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jonathan. My pa would disown me if I didn’t bring you folks home.” He smiled. “He’s getting on in years a bit, but he’s still a lively dinner companion. You might not feel the warmth of hospitality we offered when Ma was alive, but we get by.”
Noela’s chin came up. Grief flickered in her eyes, and she gave him a sympathetic smile. Her reaction explained why no Mrs. Nancarrow traveled with the family.
He returned her smile and patted her father’s back. “Let’s get you settled at my place so the ladies can rest and have a bite to eat. I have an early cattle drive tomorrow, but very soon we’ll ride out here and shore this place up.”
“You’d do that, son?”
“My pleasure. I’ll even round up a few men in town. With extra hands, it won’t be long before you’ll have a suitable place to live.”
Beaming, Jonathan spun on the ball of his foot. “We’ve been thrown a lifeline, girls. What do you think?”
Noela’s dark lashes swept her cheeks. Standing meekly, she gave the impression of calm, but her chest rose and fell too fast, and a pulse raced in her delicate throat. “I appreciate the wonderful gesture”—she lifted her eyes and gave her father a pointed look—“but we don’t want to impose, do we? I believe I saw a hotel back in town.”
Blushing, Hiram tucked his chin. “You saw the Metropolitan. It’s a brandnew hotel and clean as a fresh dollar bill. Of course you’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Noela!” Jonathan’s stern tone made both his daughters jump. “You’ve offended our new friend. We’ll accept his hospitality and be grateful.”
Hiram read a clear message in Jonathan’s harsh reaction. The man couldn’t afford a hotel.
“Well, that’s fine, sir,” he said. “When you taste your meal tonight, you’ll realize you made a wise decision. The overpriced fare at the Metropolitan can’t compete with our cook’s beef stew.” With a tight smile, he herded them to the buckboard for a somber ride home.
Hiram turned off the main road onto his lane and scattered a parading flock of prairie chickens. Several male birds, puffed and strutting, had declared the grassy field a breeding ground. Long, dark feathers stuck out behind their heads, and yellow sacs inflated on each side of their necks as they pranced and sparred for the females’ attention.
“Look at the funny chooks,” Beatrice called. “Whose are they?”
Father chuckled. “Those aren’t barnyard chickens, darlin’. They’re wild creatures.”
“Why are they fighting?”
He shot Hiram an amused wink. “They’re waltzing for the ladies, love. The old boys are showing out a little, that’s all.”
Grinning, Hiram watched the silly birds as they passed. “A legend among the Apsáalooke—the Crow Indians—says that Old Man Coyote made the prairie chicken to teach the other animals how to dance.”
“Is Old Man Coyote their name for God?” Noela asked.
“No.” He craned his neck to see her better. “I believe it’s something they came up with in their search for God.”
She slumped against the seat and stared into the distance. “How sad.”
Hiram nodded. “How sad, indeed.”
He followed the rutted lane until it curved in front of his modest cabin. As predicted, Pa seemed delighted to have company.
Leaning on his knobby cane, his face lit by a broad smile, he hobbled onto the porch to greet them. “I was just complaining to the Almighty about the solitude, and look—He’s answered my prayer.” His dim gaze swept the inhabitants of the rig. “Who’s this you’ve brought me, boy?”
Hiram slid off the seat. “Pa, I’d like you to meet the Nancarrows. Jonathan, Noela, and Bea,” he said, pointing to each one. “I’ve invited them to stay with us for a few days.”
Pa grinned up at him. “You don’t say? Well, that’s mighty fine news.”
He leaned across the buckboard and extended his hand to Jonathan. “God exacts a stiff penalty of loneliness in exchange for living in this beautiful land. It’s a rare treat when He blesses us with company. I’m gla
d to meet you, sir.”
“Likewise,” Jonathan said, pumping his hand. “We’re grateful for the offer.”
Pa drew back in surprise. “I know that accent. You folks came from Australia.”
Noela’s shoulders relaxed. “You’re familiar with our country, Mr. McGregor?”
“Quite familiar, pretty lady.” He took her hand and helped her down from the wagon. “I journeyed there in my impetuous youth. Liked it so much, I lingered for a spell.”
Hiram reached for Beatrice’s hand and guided her to the ground. “I’m sure they’re travel-weary, Pa. Let’s take them inside and get them settled.”
Chapter 5
Hiram McGregor and his father lived simply. There were no ballrooms inside the modest log cabin, no spacious drawing rooms or libraries like those in the brownstones back East. But each night, Noela washed in a clean porcelain bowl and slept in a downy, soft bed.
For several days, while her father, Hiram, and his men worked at making Vine House habitable, she’d enjoyed Mr. McGregor’s generous hospitality, relished the tales of his travels, and laughed at his jokes.
In the evenings, while sharing food and conversation around the dining table, she’d grown to respect and admire Hiram—a moral man and dutiful son, not to mention witty, intelligent, and of striking good looks. In a very short time, they’d become friends.
Every night after tea, the two of them retired to the corner where Hiram taught her to play chess. She had a real knack for the game, improving at a rapid pace under his gifted tutelage.
Squirming, she jerked her thoughts to Julian Van der Berg, heretofore the brightest and handsomest man she’d ever known. Hadn’t fate destined them to marry? Ordained her to a life of status and ease as the mistress of Van der Berg Manor?
Instead, her father tricked her and brought her to Medora, never to see Julian again. As if that dismal prospect was not dreadful enough, tomorrow she would move into a house made entirely of mud.
Groaning, she sat up in bed, wondering at the time. Dusky light framed the curtains, and a rooster crowed in the yard.
Her bedmate grumbled disagreeably and flipped to face the wall. Noela smiled and tucked the cover around her sister’s shoulder. “All right, sleepy girl. Take a few more minutes.”
A rumble deep in her stomach inspired her to hurry and dress for the day. The aroma of frying pork wafting beneath the door drew her into the hallway, eager to trace the source.
She entered the kitchen still pinning her hair, expecting to see the McGregors’ German cook. Instead, Hiram stood at the stove, a comical sight in Ursula’s cotton apron.
He peered over his shoulder and smiled. “Good morning. I hope you’re hungry. Where’s Bea?”
Noela pointed behind her. “She can’t find the floor this morning. The poor girl is knackered, but I reckon she’ll be along soon.”
Nibbling hard on her lip to hide a grin, she took the pitcher of milk he held out and placed it on the table. “More to the point, where’s the cook?”
He jerked his thumb at his chest. “You’re looking at him. When Ma died, I realized Pa couldn’t heat a kettle, so I took on the kitchen duties. We found Ursula so Pa wouldn’t starve after I hired on at the Maltese Cross.”
He jerked his hand away from a sizzling spatter of grease. “Looks like I’m a bit out of practice. Ursula’s feeling poorly today, so I’m manning the stove.”
“I’m glad.”
Hiram frowned and tilted his head.
“Not glad the poor thing is ill,” she amended. “But for the chance to spend time with you.” She would never speak so boldly to Julian. With Hiram, she felt comfortable being herself.
His cheeks glowing a little brighter, he nodded at the table. “Sit down and help yourself. I’ll have this bacon ready in a jiffy.”
By the time Noela had buttered a steaming slice of fragrant bread and ladled a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate, Hiram had served two slices of bacon alongside them and pulled out a chair to join her. Under the spell of his charm, she took a moment to realize they were eating alone.
“Where’s my father? And yours for that matter?”
Hiram shot her a playful wink. “Not everyone can sleep all day.”
He explained while pouring them each a mug of coffee. “I fed them early, and they left. Your father was eager to get started, and Pa rode along to judge our progress. He won’t rest if the house isn’t comfortable for you and Bea.”
Noela scowled and placed a napkin in her lap. “Is such a thing possible?”
Hiram sobered and slid his chair closer. “May I ask you something? If it’s none of my business, you don’t have to answer.”
Intrigued, she watched him over the rim of her cup. “I’ve come to know a little something about your character. A man like you would never ask an inappropriate question of a lady.”
He pretended to leer. “Maybe there’s a side to me you don’t know.”
“Oh stop!” Her laughter echoed in the high ceiling. “The last thing you are is a rogue.”
He’s a rogue, and you know it. Her sister’s estimation of Julian Van der Berg rang in her head. She’d never once considered Julian in a bad light, but she had to admit he didn’t compare well to the man seated across the table.
Noela pushed her disloyal thoughts aside. Tucking both fists under her chin, she propped her arms on the table. “Go ahead. Ask your question.”
“Do any of you know the first thing about farming?” His finger shot up. “More to the point, do you know about farming a harsh, unforgiving land where one careless mistake may be your last?”
He leaned in. “Do you understand that the wind will freeze your teardrops, the mist of your breath?” His stern gaze roamed her face. “This brand of cold freezes sweat on a man’s brow, drool on a baby’s cheek. Is your father prepared for the challenge he’s undertaken?”
Choking fear crowded out her playful mood. “That’s more than one question, and the answer is no to them all.”
She pressed her eyes with the heel of her hands, trying to block the dismal picture he’d painted. “What am I to do, Hiram? How can I convince him to abandon this dreadful plan?”
He pulled her hands from her face and held them, his gentle fingers cool on her flesh. “It’s more than a plan to him now. In his mind, Vine House is the last hope. You should see him out there, Noela, his hands blistered and bleeding, his back bent over the task. I’ve never seen a man so driven by courage and determination.”
Noela’s throat swelled with pride. “He’s a Nancarrow, and he’s acting like one.”
Hiram smiled. “You Nancarrows are proving to be a hearty breed, all right.” He shrugged. “By himself, I’d bet on Jonathan to make it, but…”
She stilled. “With me and Beatrice, he won’t?”
“He’s running himself aground to make it work for you girls. At the pace he’s going, he’ll be too spent to make the winter.”
Fighting tears, Noela lifted her chin. “He’ll make it just fine. Beatrice and I will help him.”
Hiram’s smile threatened her resolve. If she succumbed to his comforting warmth, her courage would puddle at his feet.
He pursed his lips and shrugged. “Then I’ll help, too.”
She searched his face across their uneaten breakfast. “I can’t allow it.”
He cocked one brow. “It’s not up to you.”
“But why? You’ve done too much already.”
“For the chance to spend time with you,” he said softly, repeating her earlier words. “And because your father is going to need another man on the place.”
The depth of her gratitude brimmed in her eyes.
Bracing his elbow on the table, Hiram stroked her chin and swiped the moisture from her cheek with his finger. “Here now, we can’t have tears with our eggs. Too salty.”
Breaking the heady spell, he leaned to peer down the hall. “We may need to wake Bea. I have orders to bring you two to Vine House this morning.”
Nodding, Noela folded her napkin next to her plate. “Your men were called back to the ranch last night, weren’t they? Which means Father is rather shorthanded this morning.” She sighed. “If we’re going to rally ’round him, I reckon it’s time we start to pitch in.”
She pushed back her chair. “I’ll go rouse the lazy girl.”
Hiram stood and pulled her to her feet. “Noela, I put off telling you as long as I could.” Grim lines creased his brow. “Your father said to bring your things.”
Her heart plunged. “We’re not scheduled to move until tomorrow.”
With a tight smile, he shook his head. “Schedules are another thing you’ve left behind for good.”
She slumped against the table, massaging her temple. “I stayed awake last night plotting my next move on the chessboard. I had hoped to finish our game after the evening meal.”
He curled his finger and lifted her chin. Compassion and regret shone in his eyes. “Best save your fancy move for later. I don’t expect we’ll be playing chess tonight.”
Chapter 6
Withered grass crunched beneath the wheels as Hiram drove the buggy into the yard at Vine House. A blast of air lifted the back of his coat, raising goose flesh along his arms. Shading his eyes against the late morning sun, he scowled across the field.
A rogue scatter of pronghorn antelope grazed across the distant plains. Confused by the mild weather, they’d missed the October migration, but they wouldn’t stay around for long.
Noela touched his arm. “What’s the matter?”
“The wind has shifted. It’s coming out of the north. The snow will be right behind it. I can already smell it.”
Bea crowded up between them. “Smell snow? What a silly notion.”
Hiram raised his face to the sky and drew in deeply through his nose. “Close your eyes and take a whiff. You’ll see.”
A Pioneer Christmas Collection Page 39
