by Karen Noland
“Jolene Rose Shaughnessey!” rang out a stern warning from the back porch.
Jo and the pup both froze instinctively, and turned toward the voice. Jo’s face broke into a dazzling smile as she held up her new-found treasure. “Oh, Nana, look! Isn’t she wonderful? Jon brought her for me.” The sheer delight shining from the girl’s eyes was enough to melt a heart of ice.
“Well, I s’pose it can stay then. But on the porch, not in the house.”
“Oh, Nana, you’re going to love her. She’s the most wonderful gift ever.” With that Jo scooped up the pup and headed directly to her room in the loft followed closely by Jonathan and Smokey, leaving Mrs. Insley shaking her head and muttering under her breath about dogs in the house.
***
“It’s most all here, ma’am. What with prices risin’ like they are in Guthrie, and such, I had to do some sure bargaining and all to get what we did.” Jake spoke without apology, though his eyes held hers.
“I know you did right, Jake. You know I trust you.” Kate sighed as she looked over the meager supply of stores that would have to see them through the seasons ahead until they could send the steers to market properly this year.
“Did you get the seed you’ll need for planting this spring?”
“Yes’m. Me and Jon, we figgered we could do that same forty in wheat again, produced pretty well last time. And I was going to do ten acres in corn, and at least ten in oats again this year. You think we did all right on the oats this last time?”
“I do. There’s still a few bushels left in the granary.”
“Um-hmm, I thought so as well.”
Kate hesitated, then asked the question that had been on her mind since they left, “Did Mr. Johnson give you the rest of the money from last fall’s steers?”
The older man looked at the ground, standing silent for a moment in the warm Oklahoma sunshine. A light breeze stirred his silver hair; a bird chirruped in the stillness. Kate stared at him intently and swallowed hard. Finally looking up, he reached into his inner breast pocket and withdrew a yellowed envelope. He handed it to her without comment, his flinty eyes saying far more than words ever could.
She took the envelope, and opened it, withdrawing eight twenty-dollar bills and a receipt. She looked at the collection of papers in disbelief. “A hundred and sixty dollars? But there should have been at least six hundred dollars here!” Her heart sinking, she leaned against the buckboard for support.
“The fine gentleman says that prices are down for beef, and what with losses along the way, and his ‘expenses,’ and all, why, what he has given you is more than fair. Oh, and he’ll be very happy to oblige you with this fall’s steers as well.” Jake’s mocking tone left no doubt as to his feelings toward the offer.
“I’ll bet he would!” Kate seethed.
Matthew Johnson was one of the largest ranchers in the territory. He had helped Will improve the herd by introducing him to selective breeding practices, and Will had sold him one of the Angus bull calves that had been born that first spring. Matt made no secret of his desire to buy their claim when she and Will were struggling through the early years, but Will was determined to make their dreams come true, and the Lord had provided for them during those hard times.
“Providence,” Will always said, “the Lord will provide our needs.”
He truly did provide for their needs, and so much more. Through careful management, they were able to buy and acquire land, until the ranch was expanded from their initial homestead claim of 160 acres to 640. The cattle prospered, and they began to raise quality working horses as well. And so they had begun to call the place Providence. It was a secret name between Will and Kate, until one day she had the sign maker in Guthrie carve a beautiful wooden sign with the word Providence intertwined with vines, leaves and small clusters of grapes.
Tears flooded Will’s deep blue eyes the evening she presented it to him. He tenderly caressed her cheek. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her sweetly, professing his undying love for her. She surrendered her heart to him completely that night, finally shuffling off the last of her scars, and pain, accepting his love as unconditional; at last she was truly home and safe. He hung the sign between two rough timbers, spanning the road leading into their ranch the very next morning, the morning of the accident. Providence.
The old man and the young women stood together quietly, each wondering what the future would hold. Kate swallowed hard again, “What about the colts I sent with you?”
Jake’s face brightened considerably at that and a sly twinkle came into his eyes. “Well, now I couldn’t very well give those fine beasts to such a man as Johnson, could I?”
“So?”
“Oh, he saw them all right, and said what fine animals they were. Asked did they come out of your black stud there. For all his faults, that man has a fine eye for the horseflesh, he does. ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘and some of the finest mares in Oklahoma Territory, too. But Mrs. Shaughnessey has promised these three to Mr. Van Buren up yonder.’”
“I did no such thing!”
“Well, now Mr. Johnson didn’t know that now, did he?” Jake’s eyes twinkled all the more.
“Jake....”
“He paid one hundred fifty for that bay colt, and fifty dollars apiece for the fillies,” smiled Jake, holding out a second envelope. “I probably could have got a bit more had they been broke to saddle.” He said raising an eyebrow at her quizzically.
Kate took the envelope shaking her head helplessly as tears of mirth and relief streamed down her cheeks. She had intended those colts to be sold at the local blacksmith shop for twenty dollars each, the going rate that most cattle punchers of the Territory would pay for unbroke stock
“It isn’t all you had expected to get, but we come a might closer this way.” Jake laid a comforting hand on her arm and smiled. “We will make it, Kate.”
She smiled up at him, and mutely nodded her agreement.
“Now, let me round up Jon, and we’ll get these stores put up right.” Jake stepped off to call his grandson, but Kate reached out a hand to stop him.
“Jake, I just want you to know how grateful I am for...”
“Hush now.”
“Well, at least go in and see your wife; you and Jon get some decent food in your stomachs. You know Nana Insley won’t let you go to work without it!” She waved him toward the porch, “Now go.”
***
The oil lamp cast its golden glow across the open ledger on Kate’s desk where her fountain pen scratched quietly over the pages. Shadows danced eerily across the dark walls behind her keeping time to the booming of distant thunder. The rest of the house was still and silent. The four hundred and thirty dollars that Jake had given her that morning was safely locked in her desk until a trip to the bank in Fallis could be planned.
“April 12th, 1897, born one black, polled bull calf. Received $160 as balance of payment due on sale of steers. Received $150 in payment for one bay stud colt, aged two years. Received $100 in payment for two sorrel fillies, aged two years each.” She dutifully recorded the sale of the colts, the birth of the calf, and the income, limited though it was. Next she enumerated the many purchases and their costs.
With a deep sigh she laid down the pen and ran a hand across her weary brow, flinching at the roughness. Looking at her work-hardened hands in the flickering light, tears spilled down her cheeks. The money was barely enough to keep the small family through the next few months, and if she wasn’t able to find some hired help soon, she would have to seriously consider Matt Johnson’s offer to buy the ranch.
Closing the worn green ledger book she placed it in the bottom drawer of the old oak desk. Reaching beneath it, Kate pulled out a small leather bound volume and placed it on the desk before her. Opening the front cover, she read the words that were a constant source of comfort to her soul, especially in such troubled times.
“To our beautiful daughter, Kathleen Rose Dover,
from your loving parents, D
avid and Amanda Dover,
on the day of your birth March 12th, 1870.”
She ran a finger lightly over the words so beautifully inscribed in her mother’s flowing script, as though in caressing the words, she could once again feel her mother’s healing touch. Below that in the same loving hand her mother had set out a biblical promise that had sustained Kate through the years....
But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint. Isaiah 40:31
“Lord, I could sure use some of that renewing strength right now,” she whispered into the still night. Reaching out a tired hand, she turned down the wick of the lamp until darkness enveloped her. Standing and stretching her weary body she walked to the window on the far wall. Lace curtains blew gently in the evening breeze that drifted through the open pane. The air was tinged with the faint scent of honeysuckle blossoms. She lifted her eyes to a black velvet heaven in which a thousand points of light twinkled merrily. The distant rolling boom was growing fainter, there would be replenishing rain here tonight. Perhaps tomorrow would bring the renewing strength they all longed for.
Chapter Two
As the last of the cattle were sorted, counted and loaded into the holding pens of the Rock Island rail yard, the cowboys turned toward the small town of Addington. “I’m going to the post office, see if any letters came. Where will I meet you?” Joe asked.
“Try the Hotel. You go get your letters; I’m going for a hot meal.” Luke suppressed a grin, but the mirth in his eyes was surely evident.
“Aw, you educated city boys are all alike. Proper meals, heck, you’ll probably be in a bath tub by the time I git there!” Joe taunted.
“Yeah, and you’ll be all doe-eyed over some love letter!” Luke retorted with a grin.
“You wait, Luke, someday you’re gonna meet someone and be lookin’ for those letters from home like a lovesick puppy dog, too!” Joe strode off whistling happily toward the gray frame building that housed the post office. Luke shook his head with an indulgent smile and turned to the new brick hotel that advertised good hot meals for fifty cents.
A city boy he may be, but this life suited him far better than the schools and seminary that his father had selected for him. It was less than a week after his mother died that he had struck out for the Indian Territory and a new life away from the yoke of oppression he felt under his father’s stern bearing. It had been four years now, four long years, and still he wasn’t certain he had found what he was searching for.
The sun was already lowering in the western sky. They had been on the trail for the better part of the last month moving over four hundred head of fractious cows and steers to the new railhead here in Addington. It was a far cry from the herds that had moved across the Chisholm Trail less than a decade ago, but it still provided gainful employ for men that were game to try it. Luke Josey was one of those men.
The last month had proven a true test of the men on this drive. They were a small band to start with, only five punchers; the trail boss, Joe; and a cook. They faced a snowstorm less than two days out. One of the men had taken sick and had been laid in the back of the cook wagon. He died three days later, and was laid to rest beneath the broken sod of the prairie. “How many men lay in unmarked graves,” wondered Luke, “without so much as a prayer nor even a memory? Is that my destiny?”
The remaining men had been pressed into even greater service over the next few weeks. Freezing winds buffeted them from the north. Every hour in the saddle seemed an eternity. They hunkered down in their coats, wild rags drawn up over their faces and hats tilted low against the onslaught of the bitter wind. The cattle were nervous, milling and lowing, trying to break at every opportunity. It was all they could do to keep them moving on. Then just as suddenly, the temperatures rose, the snows melted as fast as they had come, and the run off swelled the rivers to overflowing.
By the time they reached the ford on the Red River, it was a madly rushing torrent. They all knew that once the herd started across they had to keep moving. This ford was notorious for the quicksand that lay all around. They made camp, and waited two days for the river to subside enough to make a relatively safe crossing. On the morning of the third day, the sun shone forth from the east in a blaze of red and gold, the river shining in the light. Joe decided that it was now or never. Luke rode ahead with the cook wagon to meet the first of the herd as they emerged.
The rest of the men gathered the cattle into a tight bunch and with loud shouts and cries from all around they ran them into the swiftly flowing waters. At first, the herd stayed together, moving through the water to the far bank. The lead cow found her footing on the far side and mounted the steep bank with little trouble. With more and more cattle dragging themselves from the water and clambering up the far bank, it was soon a hopeless mire of churned mud. A large brown and white cow started up but slipped down, buried to the chest in the sticky black ooze. Others tried to go over and around, cowboys shouted a warning as the cattle began to split into two columns around the struggling cow. Others become entrenched in hidden bogs. Luke, joined by Joe, circled the portion of the herd that made it to the far side, trying to keep them calm and in one place. The old lead cow, far enough from the commotion at the ford, calmly dropped her head and started to graze on the lush spring grass. The others, though nervous, followed suit.
“Stay with the herd, Joe, I’m going back.” Luke decided.
Joe began to protest, but realized that his first responsibility was the safety of the herd, and most of them were now here. He reluctantly agreed and watched as Luke rode off on the large gray gelding.
Arriving at the ford, Luke assessed the situation. Two of the men had followed the cattle up the far bank and were each working the remnants of the herd, gathering them methodically back toward the main herd. Glancing at the river, he saw the cow still struggling feebly in the mud.
“Phillip?” He called. There was no sign of the young, fresh faced cowboy that had started out with them that morning. “Where the devil is that blasted boy?” He looked down the river and saw a hat caught among the branches in a small eddy under the bank where a grove of trees overhung the muddy water. Fear gripping his heart, he turned his gelding and galloped to the spot. Swinging down and dropping the reins he scrambled down the bank and into the swirling torrent. Reaching down into the icy water, groping frantically, he prayed to a God he wasn’t sure existed, “Please, Lord, let me find him.” Wading a bit further out, one hand anchored to a low hanging branch, the other still searching blindly below the water. His fingers passed over rough boulders, while from all around he was struck by limbs and debris carried by in the wildly rushing deluge. His arm ached from trying to maintain a desperate grip on the anchoring branch. He knew that if he lost his grasp, they would both be done for.
There! At last he felt what could only be Phillip’s head. Grasping a handful of hair he pulled. Muscles straining, heart pounding, still praying, he pulled. At last Phillip’s head rose above the level of the brown swirling waters. With a last mighty effort he heaved the unconscious boy to dry ground, following as quickly as he could.
A fallen tree lay nearby. Draping the limp body face down over the trunk he pushed against his back over and over. “Come on, man, get it out, come on.” Until the water came flowing from the boy’s lungs in a muddy rush, he gasped, and sputtered, coughing, finally taking a ragged breath on his own. Luke fell back, drained, breathing heavily, as Phillip fought for breath and life.
***
Coming out of his reverie, Luke found himself standing before the door of the Hotel. A sign in the window to the right proclaimed,
“Hot bath and shave, twenty-five cents;
Good home cooking, fifty cents;
Rooms one dollar a night.”
He opened the door and stepped into the dim light of the lobby. His food on the trail had been free, but the smell of bubbling stew, hot b
read, and fresh coffee made it seem almost worth the fifty cents. A tall gaunt man sat behind the desk surveying the activity in the busy lobby. A pretty blonde girl, not more than sixteen scurried between tables. She carried a blue ironware coffee pot in one hand, her fingers protected from the heat by a dingy white cloth. A stack of dirty pewter bowls and spoons in the other hand tottered precariously, threatening to tumble to the floor at any moment.
Just then a rough hand reached out from one of the tables attempting to grab the girl by the waist. She deftly side stepped the unwanted attention, but the bowls lost their fight with balance and crashed to the floor in a jumbled mess, eliciting a coarse laugh from the offender.
“Sarah, what have you done now?” called a terse voice from the open kitchen door.
“But, mother, I...” Sarah started, tears welling up in her bright blue eyes.
Luke strode quickly to the girl, scooped up the errant dishes from their resting place on the wooden floor. With a quick wink and a conspiratorial shake of his head at the frightened girl, he called out as he made his way toward the open door, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I must have knocked these from the table. I am such a clumsy oaf. I hope you can forgive me.”
The rest of the conversation was lost to the grateful girl’s ears as Luke disappeared into the kitchen. He emerged a short time later, somewhat cleaner, and very hungry. Sarah’s mother had indeed forgiven him, and provided him a towel, soap and wash basin. Sarah stared openly at her sometime savior, wondering how on earth he had charmed her stern mother into those niceties, then hurried to find him a seat and provide him with a well-deserved meal.
The steaming stew wafted a rich meaty aroma; the bread was soft and fresh, the butter creamy. Luke was certain that heaven couldn’t be any sweeter than this. He ate heartily and well, being constantly attended by the grateful Sarah.
***
The hotel door opened; Luke looked up expectantly as Joseph entered the lobby. His warm smile of welcome faded slowly to be replaced by a frown of concern as Joe made his way to the table.
