Gingham Mountain

by Mary Connealy

  “I can see you’ll like that. I’ll start giving you riding lessons as soon as the snow lets up.” Grant ran his hand over his grizzled face. “I should have shaved and made myself more presentable for you young’uns. I reckon I’m a scary sight. But the cattle were acting up this morning. There’s a storm coming, and it makes ’em skittish. By the time I could get away, I was afraid I’d miss the train.”

  Grant took Libby’s little hand, careful not to move suddenly and frighten her, and rubbed her fingers on his whiskery face.

  She snatched her hand away, but she grinned.

  The smile transformed Libby’s face. She had eyes that had seen too much and square shoulders that had borne a lifetime of trouble. Grant vowed to himself that he’d devote himself to making her smile.

  “I’ll shave it off before I give you your first good night kiss.”

  The smile faded, and Libby looked at him with such longing Grant’s heart turned over with a father’s love for his new daughter. She’d gotten to him even faster than they usually did.

  Martha reached past Libby to rest her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And Charlie is eleven.”

  Grant pivoted a bit on his toes and looked at Charlie again. A good-looking boy, but so skinny he looked like he’d blow over in a hard wind. Grant could fix that. The boy had flyaway blond hair that needed a wash and a trim. It was the hostility in his eyes that explained why he hadn’t found a home. Grant had seen that look before many times, including in a mirror.

  As if he spoke to another man, Grant said, “Charlie, welcome to the family.”

  Charlie shrugged as if being adopted meant nothing to him. “Are we supposed to call you pa?”

  “That’d be just fine.” Grant looked back at the little girl. “Does that suit you, Libby?”

  Libby didn’t take her lonesome eyes off Grant, but she pressed herself against Martha’s leg as if she wanted to disappear into Martha’s long wool coat.

  The engineer shouted, “All aboard!” The train whistle sounded. A blast of steam shot across the platform a few feet ahead of them.

  Libby jumped and let out a little squeak of surprise. Grant noted that the little girl’s voice worked, so most likely she didn’t talk for reasons of her own, not because of an injury. He wondered if she’d seen something so terrible she couldn’t bear to speak of it.

  The boy reached his hand out for Libby. “We’ve been together for a long time, Libby. We can go together to the ranch. I’ll take care of you.”

  Libby looked at Charlie as if he were a knight in shining armor. After some hesitation, she released her death grip on Martha and caught Charlie’s hand with both of hers.

  “Did I hear you correctly?” A sharp voice asked from over Grant’s shoulder. “Are you allowing this man to adopt these children?”

  Startled, Grant stood, turned, and bumped against a soft, cranky woman. He almost knocked her onto her backside—the lady who’d been waiting at the depot. He grabbed her or she’d have fallen on the slippery wood. Grant steadied her, warm and alive in his hands.

  TWO

  Excuse me.” He said it even though it was all her fault he bumped into her. She’d obviously been eavesdropping. He’d thought she was pretty before. Now she just looked snippy.

  The woman looked past Grant like he was dirt under her feet and said to Martha, “You can’t put these children into a home without a mother.”

  “Don’t worry, Miss. . . Miss. . . ” Martha came to stand like a bulwark beside Grant.

  He appreciated her siding with him, especially when common sense would tell anyone that, in the normal course of things, this busybody was right.

  “I’m Hannah. . . uh. . . Cartwright. Surely there are laws against a man simply sweeping up children to take them home for laborers. If there aren’t, there should be.”

  “Laborers?” Grant went from annoyed to furious in one fell swoop.

  He had the sudden desire to wipe the superior expression off Hannah Cartwright’s face. “This isn’t any business of yours.”

  “Now, Miss Cartwright, that’s not—”

  The train whistle blasted again, drowning out Martha’s words even though her lips kept moving.

  “It’s very much my business if children are being exploited.”

  “Exploited?” Grant erupted, but then he caught hold of his temper. He didn’t calm down for the prissy female. He did it for the children. They didn’t need to start out their life watching their new pa throw a pitched fit at a young woman, no matter how bad-mannered and misinformed that woman might be.

  With exaggerated politeness, he said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, so I’ll forgive your rudeness.”

  He turned to Libby and Charlie. “Let’s go. We need to get back to the ranch in time for the noon meal.”

  Libby backed away from him a step and peeked up at the nagging woman behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Priss take a step forward—to keep an eagle eye on him, no doubt.

  “Why don’t the children stay with me until we can find a suitable home for them?” Her voice had a nice quality to it, all smooth and sweet. At the same time, it rubbed on him like a rasp, burning him until he felt all raw and tender inside. He wished for just one second she’d use it for something besides giving him a hard time.

  “Oh no, that would never do,” Martha said. “We can’t let an unmarried woman have a child. That’s out of the question.”

  “Why is it out of the question for a single woman but not a single man?”

  Grant glanced over his shoulder. “You really want to adopt these children?”

  Dismay crossed Miss Cartwright’s face, as if she’d spoken without thinking. Grant decided the look was fear that she’d be saddled with two kids when all she wanted was to be a troublemaker.

  “Well, a single man probably would be out of the question most of the time,” Martha said in her brisk, stern voice that concealed a heart as big as Texas. “I know orphanages sometimes place their children with bachelors or spinsters, but I’ve never approved of it. Children need a family, a mother and a father. Grant is a special case. We make an exception for him.”

  The pest pushed past Grant to face Martha directly. “Mrs. Norris, you know I’ve been on the train with you for a while now. I’ve taken a liking to the children. I don’t want them. . . that is. . . can’t they. . . ” The lady frowned at Martha, her blue eyes shining in the swirling snow, her dirty face going pink under the grime. “Can I at least talk to the children before you decide? I want to make sure they really want to go with him. They might be so tired from the train that they’re desperate. And they might still find families elsewhere if we—”

  “Miss Cartwright, please,” Martha cut her off. “This is the last town we have appointments in. No, if they don’t find a home at this stop, Charlie and Libby will have to ride all the way back to New York. The children will be better off with Grant.”

  Grant and Martha exchanged a look. He reached for the children’s hands and felt a small but firm grip on his arm. Exasperated, he wheeled around and faced Miss Cartwright.

  “I’m not allowing you to leave with these children. I know how this works. You take them out to your ranch, virtually stack them in inadequate space, and press them into being little more than slaves. I’m not going to allow—”

  Libby made a little sound that sounded like pure fear. She started crying, dry sobs escaping her otherwise silent lips. She hurled herself into Charlie’s arms, and Charlie staggered backward a step but held on and looked angry, his eyes darting between Grant and Miss Cartwright.

  Grant gave Miss Cartwright a furious look, which she returned in full measure, shooting flaming arrows from her blue eyes that liked to stab him to death on the spot.

  The whistle blasted and the train began inching out of the station.

  Grant turned away from the nag, feeling like a spinning top going round and round from Martha to Hannah to the children. Speaking louder to be heard over
the chugging engine, he said, “Hurry up, Martha. You’re going to miss your train.”

  “Grant, I don’t want to leave this woman with the impression that—”

  Grant caught Martha’s arm and firmly guided her to the platform, leaving the children and the irritating meddler behind. “If you miss your train there won’t be another one along for days. You’ve no doubt got appointments scheduled for the return trip and you’ll have to cancel them. We’ll be fine. I’ll handle that little pest back there.”

  Martha smiled at him through the soot on her face. “Now Grant, be nice.”

  “Nice?” Grant yelled as the train started moving faster. “I’ll be nicer’n she deserves.”

  Martha quit protesting and hurried toward the nearest car. She jumped on board like the seasoned traveler she was and turned to yell over her shoulder. “I’ll send the paperwork for the adoptions through the mail just like always.”

  Grant waved good-bye and turned to see Miss Cartwright fuming. He wondered how mad she had to be before she’d melt all that snow off her bonnet. Her temper didn’t bother him much. What upset him was Libby’s fear as she clung to Charlie.

  Grant strode over to the children and, ignoring the cranky little woman who stood there looking at him like he was 180 pounds of stinking polecat, he hunkered down again. With a gentle chuck under Libby’s chin, he said, “Don’t worry about what she said about slaves. She is shaping up to be a very silly woman who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. My home is a nice place.”

  “Mr. Grant”—Hannah’s hand closed on his shoulder so tight he wished for his coat back for protection from her fingernails—“how dare you call me names?”

  Grant stood up, stretching to his full six feet as he turned, making it a point to look down on her. “You call me a slave owner.”

  Trying to keep his voice down so the children couldn’t hear every word, he narrowed his eyes at her and spoke through his clenched teeth. “You frighten these innocent children who are already going through such a tough time.”

  He leaned closer. “You insult me with every word that comes out of your mouth.” Their noses almost touched. “And then you have the nerve to take offense when I call you silly?”

  With a snort he didn’t even try to make sound friendly, he said, “I’d think, tossing out insults the way you do, you’d have grown a hide as thick as a buffalo by now.” He leaned even closer. “I’d think you’d’ve been called silly a thousand times in your life and be used to it.”

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’d think the only single, solitary chance you have of getting through a day without someone calling you silly is if the world plumb goes and turns flat and the rest of us fall off the edge.”

  Grant glared at her for a long moment. She glared right back. He had one tiny flash of admiration for her guts. She might insult the stuffing out of him, but she didn’t back down when she thought she was right. Too bad she was wrong.

  Sick of the staring match, he turned back to the children. “You’ll have some chores to do, but there’ll be a lot of time for fun.”

  Libby stared at him. The only sound she made was her teeth chattering.

  Grant saw the hurt in the little girl. He knew having a mother was the dearest dream of every orphaned child’s heart. A father came in a poor second. But a poor second still beat having nothing, which was what Libby had now. He rested a hand on her too-thin arm and answered the question he knew she wanted to ask. “No, little one, there’s no ma. But I’ve got a couple of nearly grown daughters who will love you like you were their very own. I think you’ll like ’em.”

  Libby watched him in silence for a moment then stared forlornly after the rapidly disappearing train. She looked at Miss Cartwright again, and Grant decided the two must have struck up a friendship on the trip because so much passed between them with that look. At last Libby squared her tiny shoulders, as he could tell she’d done a thousand times before in a life that didn’t offer much good news.

  That was the best Grant could hope for—for now.

  “Mr. Grant,” Hannah repeated.

  He stood. He needed a few more moments to reassure the boy, but he had to get this nagging woman off his back. “What is it, Hannah?”

  “Well, first of all”—her eyes flashed like summer lightning—“it’s Miss Cartwright to you.”

  Grant noticed they were very pretty blue eyes. Too bad they were attached to a snippy woman who seemed bent on freezing him to death or nagging him to death, whichever came last, because he had no doubt, if he froze here, solid in his boots, Hannah would go on snipping at him long after he’d turned to an icicle.

  Grant crossed his arms over his chest. He knew it made him look stubborn, which he wasn’t. He was a reasonable man. But the truth was he was cold. He tried to look casual about it. Charlie hadn’t wanted to take his coat in the first place. It wasn’t right to suffer visibly right in front of the boy. “All right, Miss Cartwright, what awful thing do you want to accuse me of now?”

  Hannah seemed prepared to launch into a list of his shortcomings.

  Grant braced himself for a blizzard of cold, critical words to go with the weather.

  Libby tugged on Grant’s arm. He turned to her and waited to see what she wanted to tell him. All she did was tug and squirm around, doing a little dance Grant had seen thousands of times before.

  Bending close to her, he whispered, “There’s an outhouse behind the depot. Let’s go. Then we’ll head on out to the ranch and get you two out of this cold weather.”

  Libby nodded frantically and hopped around a bit.

  “Come on, Charlie.” Grant swooped Libby up in his arms.

  “Now wait just a minute, Mr. Grant.” Hannah jammed her fists onto her waist.

  Grant noticed she wasn’t wearing gloves and her teeth were chattering from the cold, just like Libby’s. She was skin and bones, too, and her coat was worn paper thin. He had a moment of compassion for the little pest. She didn’t deserve the compassion, but Grant knew she had to be suffering.

  Libby looked back at Hannah.

  Deciding he was right about Libby and her friendship with Hannah, Grant, spurs clinking, headed for the edge of the platform. He glanced over his shoulder. “It isn’t Mr. Grant. It’s just Grant.”

  “Well, what is your last name?” The woman kept nagging even as he left her behind.

  Grant wondered who was supposed to come get her. “I don’t have a last name.”

  “No last name?” She seemed frozen with shock, but Grant considered the possibility that she was actually frozen. The temperature was dropping as fast as the snow.

  Grant and the children started down the clattering wooden steps of the train station. “Libby, what’s your last name?”

  Libby shrugged then clung to his shoulders as they bounced down the stairs.

  “Charlie, what’s yours?”

  “I don’t have one.” Charlie waved good-bye to Hannah.

  “Me neither.” Grant glanced back at Hannah as he got to the ground. “It’s just one of the facts of being an orphan, often as not. I did finally get adopted when I was almost grown, but after my folks died, I decided I’d live my life without one so I’d never forget what it feels like to need a family. I don’t expect you to understand, Hannah Cartwright. No one can who isn’t an orphan.”

  He jerked his chin down in a terse nod at Hannah that said good-bye more clearly than words. He disappeared around the corner, leaving her with her mouth hanging open.

  THREE

  It cut like a razor to be left standing in the bitter January cold wondering what her last name might be.

  The wind whipped Hannah, lashing her like Parrish’s belt. She understood exactly what it felt like to be an orphan. And she knew exactly what Libby and Charlie faced now that they’d fallen into Grant’s clutches. Fists clenched, she wanted to scream at the unfairness that forced her and Libby to pretend that they didn’t know each other. They were sisters, of the heart if not t
he flesh. They belonged together.

  Hannah stared into the cruel blizzard winds, fighting tears that would only freeze on her cheeks if she let them fall. Libby—she had to save Libby. She’d never considered the possibility that Libby would be adopted. No family stepped forward to accept a child who wasn’t perfect.

  No one had wanted her in Omaha when they’d stowed away on the orphan train the first time. Of course no one would want her now. So why had that awful man taken her?

  Had Libby limped in front of Grant? Libby had walked off the train, so of course she’d limped. But he hadn’t been here yet. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Or maybe the work he had in mind for her might be done by a girl with one badly broken foot. Maybe, once he got her home, he’d realize what he’d done and throw her out, maybe this very night in the middle of a blizzard.

  Libby had been thrown out before. She’d been around three, living in a Chicago alley, fighting the rats for bits of food, when one of the boys who made up Hannah’s ragtag family had found her and brought her home to the abandoned shed they slept in.

  Hannah and Libby had been sisters for nearly four years now, and Hannah had yet to hear Libby speak a word.

  There were no limits to how cruel people could be. Someone had thrown Libby away as if she were trash. The scars on Hannah’s back attested to the lengths to which her own adoptive father had gone to wrest obedience from his daughters.

  The instant Grant knew Libby wasn’t perfect he’d get rid of her. Throw her out or keep her for hard labor, starving and beating her. Either was a disaster for frail, little Libby.

  She rushed after Grant, but she stopped, almost skidding off the slippery station platform. The snow slashed at her face and the wind howled around her as she tried to decide what to do.

  Hannah had to stop Grant. But what could she do alone against him? It was more than obvious that he had no intention of letting her stop him. Making off with two more indentured servants put speed in his step.

  She thought of how awful he looked, like an outlaw. Long stringy hair and a smell that Hannah thought belonged to an animal and not a man. Eyes flashing gold at her like a hungry eagle swooping down to snatch away youngsters and carry them off to his nest. Captivating eyes that sent a shiver through her when she thought of how they shined out of his grimy, whiskered face.