by Danni Roan
Chapter 5
The heavy thunk, thunk of hammers falling on wood directed Clayton easily to where the men of the Broken J worked. The cabin was shaping up well, its frame set and wood planking wrapping the walls. Perched on the top of the roof, the lean form of Isadoro sat carefully placing the ridge caps of galvanized steel, balancing it in overlapping rows to keep the rain and bad weather out of the small but snug home. Men were busy at various stations, sawing planking, nailing the new and slightly weathered siding in place, or starting to lay wide boards across the newly framed front porch. The oversized Hank, lifted a heavy plank door into place single handedly setting it on its hinges. Clayton marveled at the big man’s sheer bulk and strength and hoped he’d never find himself on the receiving end of the builder’s ire.
Sizing up the situation, he meandered to where the old blacksmith hunched over a small stack of graying siding, a long ruler and pencil in hand, as he carefully measured the pieces to length then hefted his saw in hand and cut them to the right dimensions.
“Howdy, old timer.” Clayton said stepping up as the older man laid his hand saw on the bench. “How about you measure and I’ll cut? Looks to me like the rest of these fellas have that hammerin’ well in hand.”
The older man raised his bent back as far as he could and smiled, soft blue eyes twinkling at Clayton. “Sounds perty good ta’ me.” He said lifting the saw and offering it to the young man. “Should make the work go a good bit faster an’ maybe spare this old back o’ mine at the same time. Seems it gets worse eve’y year.” With a grunt he turned back to his work, sliding a smooth piece of wood into place and laying his ruler along its length.
Throughout the afternoon, Clayton worked with the man called Deeks. Early on he had to ask the man to introduce himself again and soon they were working well as a team. He could see the tired, pinched look around the thick heavy shouldered man’s eyes even doing the lightest work and wondered about the injury to his spine. A blacksmith’s life could be difficult and years of bearing the weight of horse after horse as shoes were replaced again and again seemed to have put a permanent crimp in the man’s back.
A cool breeze picked up, blowing across the prairie and stirring the new buds on the cotton woods and oaks that grew at the back of the site, causing the young man to shiver.
In his home he’d be dripping sweat by now as the hot humid air would offer little to no relief from a burning sun. Even at this time of year when the weather was relatively cool the humidity levels could spike, coating everything in a shimmer of damp.
As he worked cutting the siding to length he’d pause taking the time to study the men around him. Aside from Will and Hank he was the only other man under fifty and he understood why Mr. James needed more young men to come and work the ranch. Mr. Jude had explained that the ranch had been doing well for some time and had even escaped the worse devastation of the blizzards of 1886-87.
At one point he watched in wonder, work piece forgotten as Hank came trotting down a grassy path driving a team of two of the largest horses he’d ever seen, their bright red coats gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Each horse had a wide white blaze down its big head, and their long legs, covered from knee to fetlock in long flowing white hair ended in massive hooves the size of dinner plates. Black mane and tails swayed as the animals came to a halt, pulling the freight wagon as if it were a toy.
A soft chuckle to his right snapped the Florida boy out of his shock. “’Em is sompin’ else ain’t they.” Deeks said chortling. “Hank done brought that team and wagon all the way from Chicago last November. They sure do make things go faster now a day an instead of waiting for deliveries to come along from Casper we just all load up and drive all the way in to town and get what we need; makes for a nice change when we has the time.” He smiled again at the big animals. “Best thing is he done learned to shoe ‘em his self.”
Still mesmerized by the huge team of horses and the high seated, tall red wagon they pulled Clayton continued to watch as Hank and Will unloaded two fully set paned glass windows and carefully slipped them into their places at the front of the little house. With several men holding them in place, as they were being leveled before fastening them firmly with nails.
“I can’t wait for Katie to see it” Will said excitedly as they placed the last window, securing it carefully then testing to see that the bottom mullion would raise and lower smoothly.
The clip clop of hooves approaching at a quick trot, pulled Clayton’s attention away from the house and he smiled as they fell on the small form of Eric perched on the back of his minuscule mule trotting toward them. The animal didn’t look any better than it had the first time he’d seen it but the smile of pride on the boy’s face made the creature seem like a real prize.
“Nona says supper’s in half an hour.” The boy sang out as he bounced his way toward them. “We’re havin’ chicken and dumplings.” He finished beaming.
“That sounds just fine.” Hanks deep rumbling voice called back over the short distance. “I think we were just about ready to call it a day.” He cut his eyes toward Joshua, who then looked at Isadoro who was climbing down a tall ladder from the roof.
“The place is weather tight now.” The wiry man called.
Deeks elbowing him in the ribs made Clayton turn with a grunt. “. Isadoro. He’s a master builder from Italy so’s when we’re a doin’ work like this Josh al’ays listens to him. He done built most this place with his own hands.” He chuckled again. “Well, ours too but he’s the brains behind it.”
The young puncher ran a hand along the back of his neck, lifting the long strands of hair away from his collar, he needed a haircut. He hadn’t thought about how the ranch had been built. For too long he’d been wrapped up in the anger and bitterness of his own past and hadn’t given thought to that of those around him.
“How long’s the Broken J been around?” He asked genuinely interested, as he began packing up the tools and items they’d been using throughout the afternoon.
“We been here twenty years now.” Deeks began. “All the older fellas ya see come along the Oregon trail just south of’ here with Josh. He’s always been a man of vision, looking for something new to call his own. We was a big train back in ’68 ever ‘one headed out to Oregon with dreams in their head.” He paused rubbing his back.
“Josh and Bridgette were gonna have a farm, something to leave their girls. They had Katie then and Meg too. Bridgette was carryin’ Fiona and day by day she got sicker and weaker. Josh’s quick thinkin’ and willingness to stick up for a fella got our tails out of a bind a time or two so when he said he was stoppin’ here me and the rest o’ the boys decided we’d stop to. Ain’t ever ‘one we started with but most o’ us.”
Squinting Deeks looked around him at the little home stead, the babbling creek only yards away, the tall trees and open grass lands, as if seeing them again for the first time. “We built that little sod shack up by the house first for Bridgette and the girls; Hank and Fiona live there now. Then one by one, we fella’s all threw up our own. We was just farmers then and we had enough provisions to get us through the long winter before plantin’ time.” He dropped his eyes as a shadow of deep sorrow passing over his lined face.
“Bridgette didn’t make it to see that first spring. She died given Fiona to us. Like to broke Josh’s heart but he had them three girls to tend to an’ we all made a promise to see they had a place to call their own.”
Clayton looked around the small yard of the new house, taking the time to really see each of the other men now stowing their tools and gear in the big wagon. The man called Billy, snapped his suspenders, then crawled monkey like up to the high bench seat of the wagon, while others began climbing into the back of the large conveyance.
“Turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made, and the others to. None of us had no family and nothin’ back East ‘sept, death and bad memories. Them girls and Josh, they became our family.” To punctuate his statement, he s
lapped Clayton on the back with more strength than he thought would ever be possible from a man with a crooked spine. “Now what say we go get us some of them vitals?” he added and headed toward the wagon.
“You wanna walk along with me and Scooter?” Eric’s little voice reached him from the other side of the workbench. “He don’t, doesn’t, go very fast.” The raven-haired puncher smiled and turning fell into step with the boy on his blue roan mule.
“How did you’d ever come by a mule like this?” He asked the boy as they trudged their way along the worn grass path.
“Uncle Brion gave him to me when Ma married Pa.” The boy offered, stroking the animals neck affectionately. “He said winter in the mountains was just too hard on a little critter like Scooter.”
“So you have another uncle do you? I mean other than Will.”
“Brion’s, grandpa Josh’s brother-in-law or something. I can’t keep everyone right in my head sometimes. He and his family mostly come down for holidays to visit. We haven’t seen ‘em since Christmas when Ma and Pa got married.”
Clayton removed his hat as he walked and ran a hand through his thick ebony hair. He could see that sorting out this family wasn’t going to get any easier.
“Anyone else I don’t know about?” He asked as they rounded the last corner of the rail fence that enclosed the ranch buildings and headed for the high arched sign over the gates.
“Mm.” The boy thought a minute, his sapphire eyes serious while the mule plodded on without guidance. “Oh yeah!” Eric said excitedly, making Scooter twitch his long fuzzy ears. “There’s Uncle Benji and Aunt Cathleen. They live over that way past the creek.”
He turned in his saddle and pointed toward a low rise covered in dark trees in the distance about two or three miles away. “I ain’t allowed to ride that far by myself yet though.” He said, disappointment evident in his voice.
Clayton smiled at the lad. “I’m sure in time you’ll be out there ropin’ cows and roundin’ up calves with the rest of us, you just have to grow up a little first.” They approached the barn, the little mule’s feet kicking up puffs of dust as he headed home. Clayton could see the wagon now parked along the side of the barn and one or two hands washing up along the side of the house.
Together they entered the big wooden structure; Eric still mounted as he was small enough to ride through the large double doors that stood open. Hank, stood next to his big team, checking them over, but Clayton caught him eyeing his son carefully, and was sure the man had been waiting for them.
“Put Scooter in the box stall with the colt son.” He called carrying the last bridle toward the tack room at the front of the barn. “And make sure you tie a good knot around the gate so he can’t get out again.”
“Alright Pa, but he’ll do it anyway.” The boy said resigned to his task.
“How was your first day.” Hank rumbled as he stepped out of the small wooden door of the tack room. “It can be a bit confusing to anyone new, trust me I remember.” His smile brightened his whole face as he slouched against the wall holding his hat in his hands. The sun was slipping into the west and long shadows stretched from the ranch yard into the barn.
“All done Pa.” Eric finally called, skipping toward his father. “Come on Clayton and git washed up so’s we can eat.”
Leaving the barn, they walked across the dusty, hard packed yard and around the south end of the house where two large galvanized tubs sat on a table. Hank strode to the big tubs, stripped off his shirt exposing ropes of muscle that rippled on his oversized frame, then dunked his whole head into the tub. He came up again, his dark blond hair plastered over his face, and grabbed for a bar of rough soap on the table top, scrubbed his face, neck, and arms, then plunged his head back in a second time, before pulling a sheet of toweling down and drying himself fully.
Clayton shivered. In this weather he was going to feel that cool breeze on his wet skin. Taking a steading breath, he stepped up to the tub, shucked off his shirt and in imitation of the monstrous builder plunged his head into the tub. The water was warm, which surprised him and it felt good as it trickled from his hair down his back across the old scar that crisscrossed the space between his shoulder blades. Quickly grabbing up a clean sheet of towel he dried himself then squeezed most of the moisture out of his hair and donned his shirt and vest once more then walked around the house, across the porch and into the kitchen.
“Bout time you boys got here.” Joshua grumbled good-naturedly. “We thought we’d starve to death waiting for you.”
The two latest arrivals slipped onto the bench. Clayton to the immediate left of Joshua and Hank the one across from him. He watched as Fiona, her dark curly hair straining to free itself from its pins, helped Eric wash up at the kitchen sink then turn to join the others at the table. The sun was nearly gone and several oil lamps had been lit to brighten the kitchen.
Joshua James blessed the food and everyone began to eat.
The soft glow of the oil lamps illuminated the table as the vocal group of people began their meal. They talked about plans for the next few days. In just a couple of weeks as more and more of the cows birthed their calves the men would start working their way through the area pushing the herd down for the round up. They'd start branding and culling and then preparing the beef they wanted to take to market. In the meantime, plans for Katie and Will's house were laid out. Katie's eyes sparkled as they talked about preparing the interior for habitation.
Clayton Allen had never been anywhere that so many people all seemed to be talking all at once. Even dances back home had been quieter as there was usually more room for the merry makers to spread out or collect in small groups for conversation.
There had only ever been the three of them at their table back home. His mother and father as well as himself. He had no siblings and any hands who worked with them ate at home. His mind drifted back to the lush green vistas of home. The fat black scrub oaks and tall green palms of Florida. The sound of mocking birds and cranes in a bright blue sky. He could picture his mother's sad narrow face, her dark eyes gleaming as she sat primly at the table. She was a slender woman with coal black hair and dark shimmering eyes. Her olive complexion became sallow as she aged but to him she was beautiful.
"Eat your collards, Clay." her voice was soft unassuming, but carried authority without effort.
"Ma, I'm not a boy anymore." He'd replied. "I don't need to be reminded."
She smiled, that slow even smile that he knew so well. "That doesn't mean you'll do what you need to and right now you need to eat your greens." Her eyes twinkled up at him.
He'd been twenty-one at the time and couldn't see the devastation just before him.
"I met with Mr. Rochester today Lydia." his father said. Clayton could tell he was excited about the business proposal. Mr. Rochester was an investor from South Carolina and wanted to buy into the cattle business. He'd been talking about a partnership with Clay's father.
"Theo are you sure about this?" His mother's voice betrayed her concern as she laid a hand on her husband’s arm.
"Lydia, it's a good offer. We'll double or triple our profits in just two or three years." His eyes softened as he looked at her. "I don't want you to be only a rancher's wife the rest of your life." he added placing his hand over hers.
Still Clayton could see the worry around his mother's eyes. As far as he could see the deal looked legitimate and all above board but there was just something that felt wrong about it.
"Pa, we've done just fine these past years." He drawled. "I don't see why you’re in such a hurry to move things forward."
"I want to leave something behind, the older man replied." In the past few years his hair had gone from dark to nearly white and although not an old man working outdoors in the blazing sun had caused fine lines to form around his dark eyes. "This deal is just too good to pass up. I retain control and ownership of the ranch and Mr. Rochester provides more money for improvements and stock. With that kind of money, the he
rd will grow and we'll be selling more beef further North and to Cuba in two years. That means a nifty profit and I can build your ma a nice house along the beach." He smiled affectionately at his wife.
Clayton and his mother had been over and over the contract and the proposal trying to understand each detail. On paper it all looked good. Mr. Rochester would be a silent partner and would simply share in the proceeds of the beef sales in return for his initial investment. The problem was that over the years Clayton had watched his father lose money on deal after deal. He wasn't a bad man, as a matter of fact he was kind and generous. He wasn't afraid of hard work and had taught his son all he needed to know about working cows in the sweltering semi-tropics of their inland ranch. The problem was the Theodore Allen was always looking for the next best thing. That one deal that would make him rich and too often a deal that sounded too good to be true usually was.
His eyes traveled to his mother's face. He knew she loved her husband but she also had learned over long years of loss that these deals usually meant a reversal instead of a gain. She sighed in resignation of the inevitable and raised an eye brow with a significant look at his plate.
Completely absorbed in his own thoughts he missed the scathing look from a set of azure eyes on the other side of the table.
"Some people don't seem to be as sociable as others though." Meg's voice finally caught his attention. "Perhaps they feel that our conversation isn't interesting enough for them to participate in." She smiled belaying the bite in her words, but her eyes glimmered with contempt.
Finally drawn back to his surroundings Clayton looked around him. Thoughts of home always left him feeling out of sorts and discontent.
"Now what were you saying' little lady he asked?" Looking across the table his voice soft but his eyes hard. "Seems that a wise person takes the time to listen and take in the lay of the land before they say something they'll regret. I sure wouldn't want to find myself with my own boot in my mouth."
