“Gretchen is right. That’s exciting.”
Cassie was only half listening because she was already planning. The shoot was less than a month away. This time Cassie must take Micah along to handle the guns. But no. Micah had a new life now, one no longer tied to hers. He was a bridegroom, a furniture builder, an industrious provider for his equally industrious wife. He seemed to relish his new roles, and Ransom praised his work highly. She could not ask him to leave this.
Then Cassie got a grand idea. “School will be out then. Can Gretchen go along and handle my guns for me? I need someone to have the next gun ready. I had a terrible time in Louisville, trying to do it myself.”
“I’ll have to think about that. Cassie, she isn’t thirteen yet.”
Cassie smiled. “By thinking about it you mean you’ll be praying about it.” And they both laughed.
At supper Ransom was his usual quiet self, and Arnett chirped. Arnett was a curious case, Cassie decided. He acted younger and younger in spirit, but his body moved older and older. He had slowed up since she’d first met him. And Chief. Poor Chief was not nearly as fine as he tried to lead them all to believe. He was ill, he admitted that much, but in what way she had no idea.
That evening beside the fireplace, Cassie carefully cleaned and oiled each of her guns. The shotgun needed bluing, but she didn’t have the time or the proper chemicals. She would ask about gun blue at the store when next they went into town. She painstakingly removed the tiny flecks of rust that were starting and oiled it well.
Ransom closed the ranch’s ledger, laid down his pencil, and stretched mightily. “I’m about ready to call it a day.”
He only half rose because Mavis said, “Before you go . . .” He sat down again.
Cassie watched Mavis. Had her prayer borne fruit? Apparently.
Mavis set aside her mending. “I’ve been thinking about Cassie’s next shoot. Ransom, you and I privately agreed that she is not to go alone. Not only is it dangerous for a woman that age, but before this last fiasco, she’d never traveled alone, and that trip was not a good training event. Besides, she cannot do her best when she’s distracted.”
Cassie had no idea they’d been talking about her.
Mavis went on. “Gretchen will manage the ranch, doing my jobs and taking my responsibilities, and I will go with Cassie to Denver.”
“I think that’s an excellent idea.” Ransom nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as if still considering the idea.
“Well, I don’t!” Gretchen snorted.
Arnett was nodding too. “That’d be good for Cassie and good for Gretchen. Only way to learn responsibility is to take on some. Wish I’d done more of that with my kids. And it’ll be good for you too, Mavis. Get you away from here for a week or so. A vacation sort of, but with a purpose. When’s the last time you took off from working?”
After sending Arnett a rolled-eyes look, Mavis continued. “It seems everyone agrees, so it’s settled.” She looked pleased. “Gretchen, if you wish, you may invite Jenna over to help you.”
“Can I? I mean, I can?” Gretchen brightened.
No one mentioned it, but Cassie figured that if a man accompanied her, she would have to take two hotel rooms. Two women would need only one room, a fifty percent savings. And to travel with Mavis! Two and a half days each way on the train, call it three, two days at the shoot, perhaps a few days to tour around Denver to see the sights, to see the expo—what a great time they would have together! She was more excited than ever about this next shoot coming up.
Life would be perfect if only Ransom didn’t hate her.
Getting into show-shape took a lot longer than she expected or wanted. For one thing, she was riding Wind Dancer for several hours each day, polishing their routine, practicing the simpler tricks. Could she trust her arm to support her without collapsing when she tried the harder ones? She couldn’t bring herself to try. She had not done a handstand on Wind Dancer’s back in over a year. Could she even do it again?
Shooting practice, though, pleased her. She instructed Mavis on how to handle the guns in a shoot and promised to write down exactly which gun she would be using in which order.
When the day came that they stepped from the platform into the railway car, headed for Denver, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Thrilled fit better. It was the first time she’d truly felt prepared since that night when her wagon burned. A long, long time ago.
And wasn’t the journey south fun! They laughed, they watched the land glide by, they marveled at the mountains and talked about the passing farms and ranches. Cassie most enjoyed talking about homes. The whole idea of creating a home was so new to her. Mavis had made a splendid home that produced wonderful men and women—well, Gretchen would be a woman in a few years. Cassie had much to learn.
To no one’s surprise, they talked about Ransom. Mavis remained convinced that he liked her. Cassie could not shake the fact that he hadn’t wanted her with him when he went out for those missing cattle during the blizzard. Even worse was when they got back to the safety of the barn and he said nothing to her. Not a word. No thanks, not even criticism. Mavis tried to excuse it away. Cassie wasn’t buying that, not at all.
Denver at last. Nice as railway travel was, Cassie was glad to get her stiff body off. The letter that came with her registration said to go to the Cattlemen’s Hotel and Restaurant. She was pleased about that. With the restaurant and hotel under the same roof, they could eat without leaving the building.
At the railroad station they were about to hail a hansom when the stationmaster said, “You know, the Cattlemen’s is right on the trolley line. You can take an electric trolley for two cents and save the price of a hansom cab.”
Mavis smiled. “A trolley. That would be a new experience.”
The stationmaster pointed. “Down that street a block. It’s a short block. Don’t forget to pull on the cord to tell the conductor to stop when you want to get off.”
Cassie and Mavis looked at each other, thanked the gentleman, and picked up their bags.
Mavis shifted her bags halfway down the block. “A new experience. Actually, if we’re trying to keep you away from nasty surprises, we might not want to court new experiences too much.”
“Just don’t get into a loud argument with desk clerks, and I think we’ll be all right.”
“When you become a mother, you’ll recognize the value of cajoling instead of arguing. Ah. I think we’re here; see that little sign on the light pole?”
“And the tracks.” Cassie pointed to them, in the middle of the street.
They waited for less than five minutes before it came, rattling worse than their old wagon on a rough trail. Its wheels were set in the tracks, but it was connected to overhead wires by a long bar that stuck out of the roof. The trolley stopped. Cassie led the way aboard, not at all certain a new experience was the thing to do. Hansoms were much less noisy.
Mavis followed. She sat down with her bag on her lap and pointed above the windows. “That cord right there, I presume.”
Cassie twisted. Yes, there was a cord on their side as well. “Now. How do we know when to pull it?”
Mavis asked the lady next to her, “We want to stop at the Cattlemen’s. How do we know when to pull the cord, please?”
The lady smiled. “I’m going on past it, so I’ll let you know.”
Why didn’t Cassie think to ask someone? It was the sensible thing to do. She was beginning to wonder how many sensible things she simply didn’t think of.
The lady beside them reached up without looking and yanked the cord. The trolley rattled to a jerky halt. Cassie followed Mavis off the car. They were standing directly before the Cattlemen’s Hotel. Their trolley went rattling away.
The lobby was absolutely cavernous, at least three stories high, with the largest, most lustrous chandelier Cassie had ever seen hanging in the middle of it. They crossed to the desk. She now knew about blocks of rooms set aside, so she whipped out her registration papers for the
shoot to assure the desk clerk that indeed, she was a participant. He immediately signed her in. She was learning; lessons were sometimes painful, but she was learning. They were escorted to the second floor and a very nice little room with two beds. The bellhop carried their bags. Thanks to the service, she felt far more secure and perhaps even elegant. The thought made her swallow a chuckle, which made her cough, effectively canceling the idea of elegant.
Mavis shook out her own dress for the next day, and Cassie hung her skirt and blouse. The leg-o’-mutton sleeves looked flat and limp.
“We’ll buy a newspaper when we go to supper,” Mavis announced.
Cassie had not seen Mavis read newspapers. But then, this was the big city.
Cassie opened the curtains of their small window. It provided a clear view of another small window a hundred feet away in a building as tall as this one. “This is amazing.”
Mavis came over beside her and studied the other building. She frowned. “What is so amazing?”
“A few weeks ago I was riding around in a blinding snowstorm driving cattle, not a building for miles, and now I’m in a huge city with thousands of people. It’s just . . . strange, I suppose. I never thought about it before. Shall we go to supper?”
“It’s early, but I’m certainly hungry enough.” Mavis bought a newspaper at the front desk on their way to the restaurant and tucked it under her arm.
The waiter, a stylishly dressed young man, seated them at a small table for two, deftly swept up Mavis’s napkin and settled it in her lap, and then did the same for Cassie. He presented them with the menus. “The chef recommends the prime rib with shallots and horseradish and the steamed asparagus. What drinks may I bring you?”
Cassie replied, “Tea. With sugar, please.”
“And for me as well. Thank you.” Mavis smiled.
He dipped his head and walked off.
Cassie pointed to the menu. “Here’s chicken and dumplings and you don’t have to kill the chicken.”
“Prime rib and I don’t have to grate the horseradish.” Mavis lowered her menu. “You know? Arnett was right. It’s been too long since I went anywhere farther than Hill City. This is a rare treat for me.” She laid a hand on Cassie’s. “Thank you, Cassie, for coming into my life. In so many ways you make me happy, and this is just one of the ways, opening up my horizons.”
Cassie’s eyes burned. “How can I thank you for accepting me?” And Ransom popped into her head uninvited. Again.
A booming voice made them both jump. “Mavis! Mavis Jensen! And Cassie Lockwood! Well, I declare!”
Jason Talbot! Surely not! Yes. He stepped up right next to Cassie’s elbow. “Cassie, dear, stand up here. Don’t you have a hug for your old Uncle Jason?”
Cassie stuttered. She sputtered, totally stunned. Jason Talbot. And he wanted her to—
She finally found her voice. “Mr. Talbot, I don’t think that would be appropriate here.”
“Eh, you’re probably right. Mavis, how are you doing? It’s been so long! Say, did you ever marry Ivar? Is it Mavis Engstrom now?”
“It has been Mavis Engstrom for nearly thirty years.”
“Thirty years. It’s been that long.” He nodded. “I suppose so. And how’s Ivar? I recall he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor but is a sterling gentleman.”
“Ivar died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. His sons and daughter are doing well. I’ll tell them I saw you.”
He waved a hand. “Say, would you two ladies mind if I joined you?”
Again Cassie was speechless. Mavis was not. “It is a table for only two, Jason, quite small. Perhaps another time. We can catch up on old times then.”
“You’re here for the shoot, Cassie?”
“I am.”
“Then I’ll see you there. Ladies, my pleasure!” And Jason Talbot walked out of their view as suddenly as he had just stepped in.
Cassie found herself breathing heavily. “That was a—it was more than just a surprise. Jason Talbot.” She wagged her head. “After all he . . .”
Mavis looked just as nonplussed. “I realize I’m no spring chicken, but he looks so old.”
The waiter arrived with their tea and silently poured.
“He certainly looks older now than he did a year ago. No, it’s not even been a year yet.” Cassie took a deep breath to try and slow her thundering heart down. “A little less hair, more weight, and, well, wrinkles. As if he’s had a hard life since I last saw him.”
“Hmm. Perhaps he has. I must be careful not to be judgmental.”
Cassie stirred sugar into her tea. Jason Talbot. A little less than a year ago, a lifetime ago at least, Jason declared the Lockwood and Talbot Wild West Show bankrupt and closed it without warning. Everyone who worked there was suddenly cast out jobless, with winter coming on. She, Micah, and Chief had set out in the wagon she’d grown up in, seeking the valley her father had always talked and dreamed about. On the way south, she’d discovered the deed that showed she was now half owner of a ranch. They found the land with Chief’s help, what turned out to be the Engstroms’ Bar E Ranch, and oh so much had happened since then!
She remembered that she had seen a man at the St. Louis shoot who, she thought then, looked rather like Jason Talbot. Now that she saw him here, she realized she’d been right. That had been he. What was he doing there, then here, so far from there? Did he follow shoots now? Perhaps he was looking for talent to build a new show.
It occurred to Cassie that when Jason disbanded the show he was disbanding his own livelihood as well. Her anger and dismay at his brutal lack of interest in his employees gave way, at least a little, to her curiosity. Perhaps she and Mavis ought to dine with him just to learn what he’d been doing for this past year. One thing was sure: Cassie held him responsible for the show’s misfortune. That was a wound not easily healed.
The waiter appeared with a pad and pencil.
“I’ll have the prime rib, if I may.” Cassie handed him her menu.
Mavis told him, “And I would like the chicken and dumplings, please.” She grinned at Cassie. “See if I can learn something about making dumplings.”
The waiter, of course, had no idea why they were giggling. “Very good choices. Thank you.” And he marched off.
“Jason just commented about your husband’s lack of a sense of humor. Ransom is much like his father, isn’t he?”
“Very much. But softened, if you will. Ivar did not know how to relax and enjoy life. Ransom can do that when he has to. And yet he has as strong a sense of personal responsibility. I couldn’t be more pleased with him.”
“And that is why you insist he doesn’t hate me.”
“Sooner or later, Cassie, you’ll learn that I’m right about that.”
Cassie was not convinced.
The chicken and dumplings Mavis had ordered were very good—Mavis gave Cassie a taste—but they certainly weren’t any better than what Mavis put on the table on a regular basis. Cassie’s prime rib was very tasty, but the horseradish was mild, even bland compared to what Mavis made. It did not make her eyes water like Mavis’s did. Cassie decided she would spend the rest of her life comparing every food she tasted to Mavis’s cooking.
After dinner they returned to their room, and Mavis read her newspaper. But that, Cassie learned, was not why she had purchased it. “Your sleeves,” she explained. She crumpled newspaper and stuffed it up inside the limp leg-o’-mutton sleeves. “Now we let them sit overnight. If it were plain white paper we could dampen them, but we don’t dare with newsprint. The ink would run and ruin the blouse.”
The next morning the blouse did indeed look much better. Mavis could teach Cassie so much. But now, today, Mavis was going to have to learn from Cassie how to handle a shooter’s guns in a major national-level contest. Yes, they had run through a shoot on a practice basis, but in a real shoot, anything could go wrong. Please, dear Lord, give us success, and while you are at it, keep us safe. Cassie wasn
’t sure why she included that last petition, but she knew Mavis would be praying throughout the day. Just that knowledge brought her a degree of comfort. At least for a moment.
27
And here’s MISS CASSIE LOCKWOOD!” the announcer boomed out through his bullhorn.
Cassie stepped forward smiling and raised her arm high, her greeting to the spectators in the grandstand. People in Denver obviously appreciated shooting contests; the grandstand was about three-fourths full, and that was a lot of folks. Was Jason Talbot one of those people?
As that old tingle raced up her spine, Cassie welcomed it. These spectators came for a show, and they would get a show! She stepped back, turned, and strode to her table.
Mavis consulted her list. “Rifle.” And handed it to Cassie. “I’m almost sorry I didn’t let Gretchen come. She would so love this!”
From two stations down, Ty Fuller called, “Luck, Cassie!”
“Luck, Mr. Fuller!” And luck to us, please, God. “Perhaps next time.” She shouldered her rifle and stepped out to the line.
Mr. Fuller and two others shot before she did and came away with perfect scores. One of those others, Cassie noted, was George Sands.
Cassie stepped forward for her turn. One down. Two down. Three down. Four down.
Click. Her fifth shell failed to fire.
Quickly she swung her rifle barrel to the ground, hoping the shell wasn’t in there hanging fire. An official stepped in beside her, watching. Carefully, she pulled the bolt. Four empty casings popped out. She broke the breech and peered down the barrel. There had been no fifth shell. Cassie smiled at the official. “Safe.”
The official smiled back and nodded. The announcer called it a misfire. The shoot continued.
“I’m terribly sorry, Cassie!” Mavis looked near tears. “That was my fault! I failed to load that fifth round. Oh, Cassie, I’m so sorry!”
Place to Belong, a Page 27
