Open Road

by M. M. Holaday

  “I must leave,” he said, “so people will not shun you. I only bring you trouble. I will chop enough wood to last a long time, and then—”

  “No! You can’t leave, Wash. Please don’t go.”

  “People saw only Running Elk the Arapaho, not the rancher, and they killed him. I stay here, and those same people come after me. You will get in the way and get hurt. You gave me much. Leaving is what I can give to you . . . and firewood.”

  “If you leave, not only will we lose our friend, but those horrible people will have won. We can’t ranch without you, and you will let small-minded people dictate how we live. What’s the point of any of this? Jeb will have died for nothing. This ranch has to work. I’m never going to leave it . . . not ever. I am connected to this place by love. It is in the air I breathe. I will suffocate if forced to live anywhere else.”

  Wash leaned on the axe handle. “You sound like an Indian.”

  She stood a little taller and stuck out her chin. “I consider that a compliment.”

  “You sound like a stubborn one, and most of those are dead.”

  She dropped her shoulders and sighed. “I need you. James and Charlie need you.”

  “If I leave, you can hire white ranch hands and white men will do business with you.”

  Meg shuddered and held her arms, cold with fear over Wash leaving. They argued back and forth. She wouldn’t relent until he promised to stay.

  The barn was rebuilt. Blackie put his grief over losing his three friends into hewing logs and built the new structure almost single-handedly. Mick and Georgia assisted, however, as did Gray Wolf and Standing Horse. Etta arrived wearing a new pair of leather work gloves and a scarf tied around her head. She said nothing about her attachment to the old barn, where she’d lovingly felt the well-cared-for tack hanging on the wall and remarked how the smell of fresh hay reminded her of Gus. She faced each day boldly. Meg tried to emulate her, but the responsibility of the ranch weighed heavily on her. When she felt especially burdened and alone, she walked up the hill to Jeb’s grave and talked to him. She heard him speak to her in the breeze.

  Meg and James took a gamble and drove a small herd of horses to the military fort before winter. They needed to reduce their herd in order to have enough food for the rest of them. Meg wouldn’t sell a horse younger than four, but that meant giving up two good broodmares. Their herd would be thin for a couple of years.

  Negotiating with a sergeant at the fort, Meg discovered that James handled business affairs with the same quiet confidence Jeb had. She heard Jeb’s voice inside her head say, Good for you, James. Don’t take less than they’re worth. No one will respect you if you do that. She felt Jeb next to her; his presence comforted her.

  The weather had already begun to turn cold as they headed home with cash in pocket. Meg turned up the collar of her big wool coat. “I’m so proud of you. You handled that just like your pa. Oh, James, I miss him so much.”

  James reached over and touched her arm. “I think he’d be pleased with how we’re managing. You aren’t alone, Ma. I can wait to finish school . . .”

  “No, no. Wash is staying. Miss Sinclair says you are almost finished. I don’t want you to delay your education.”

  The worried lines on his face softened. He loved school and had mentioned once how he’d like to go to college. “For now, let’s just get home. It’s starting to snow.”

  They spurred the horses into a lope.

  The winter brought the harshest storms and coldest temperatures Paradise had ever seen. The first storm caught everyone by surprise, so the second time temperatures began to plummet, folks scurried into action. Anne was given a choice whether to stay at the ranch or remain in town, since traveling back and forth was too dangerous. She chose to stay in town so she could be close to Georgia. Etta accepted an invitation from James and Charlie to stay with the Dawsons, saying the walls of her tiny cottage closed in around her the last time, and she would love the company. No one knew how long this next storm would last.

  James and Charlie left school with their teacher and waited outside her home while she quickly packed a bag. She handed them bundles of flour, sugar, and coffee to tie on the mules’ backs, not knowing if Meg would be caught short of supplies with an extra mouth to feed. Snow was already blowing into drifts as they helped Etta climb on to the back of their mule. They made it back to the ranch just in time. Wash and Meg were standing in the yard wrapped in buffalo robes, watching for them and swinging lanterns to guide them home. A half hour later, they couldn’t see the barn from the house. Wash moved into the big house at Meg’s insistence.

  It made for an odd arrangement for Meg to have the boys, Wash, and Etta all snowbound together under one roof. Unable to get outside because of the sub-zero temperatures, Etta read nightly to the cooped-up, attentive audience. Daytime activities included Etta giving dance instruction to the boys in the front-room library. She counted out beats as their heavy feet moved out of rhythm. When they were babies, Meg had bathed them in a washtub in that same spot next to the stone fireplace. Years ago, Jeb attached the kitchen to the rest of the house and had added a washroom, so now the front room was a cozy reading room. Wash kept the fireplace blazing while the wind howled outside. He sat hunched over an adventure book he’d pulled from the shelf, his finger moving across the page as he read each word. In the room together, they looked like a happy little family. Meg couldn’t bear it and retreated to the kitchen.

  She stared out the window at a scrub oak anchored to a bare rock outcropping, its twisted black branches reaching into the gray winter sky like witch’s fingers. She shuddered and gasped for breath, her soul underwater, the weight of her sadness pulling her down, drowning her.

  Left with too much time to think, she couldn’t even get up the hill to talk things through with Jeb. She hated feeling afraid, but everything seemed to frighten her. The world had turned cold and cruel. When everyone said good night and the house was quiet, Meg cried quietly in her room. Even with a house full of people, she had never felt so alone or so lonely.

  Wolves bawled in the darkness just beyond the edge of the meadow. Billy and Buddy, two young pups Jeb brought home after the original Billy and Buddy died, were normally outside in all kinds of weather, but now were granted permission to stay inside. The horses in the corral snorted and danced about nervously. Wash and James worried the wolves would attack their livestock, or, at the very least, cause a stampede. James said they couldn’t afford to lose any livestock and lifted his rifle from the rack by the back door.

  “No!” Charlie protested with ferocity that surprised Meg. Protecting their livestock from predators was part of ranching, and not new to Charlie.

  James looked puzzled, too. “What is it, Charlie? You know it’s our job to protect the horses.”

  Charlie squared himself opposite James and said, “Gray Wolf and Uncle Win told me about the wolf spirit. The wolf is smart and loyal. Gray Wolf has the spirit of the wolf. I know we have to protect the herd, but we can’t kill the wolf.”

  “What do you have in mind, then?” James asked.

  “What if we kept the horses in the barn? If the wolves can’t get to them, maybe they will give up and go away. Then we wouldn’t have to shoot them.” He spoke quietly.

  Charlie has seen so much death in his young life, Meg thought. Surely his idea was worth a try.

  They crowded the animals into the barn every night for safety. During the day, they built a fire in an old barrel so one member of the family could stand guard at the corral while the horses got out for some exercise, and while the others quickly cleaned the barn. The wolves didn’t attack. One night, someone noticed the wolves had stopped howling. The pack had moved on. They continued to crowd the horses into the barn at night, however. Meg wanted everyone and everything safely inside by the time the sun went down.

  Spring finally arrived. The longer, warmer days brought hope and pulled Meg out of her darkness. Win’s lilac bushes bloomed, as they had ev
ery year since he’d brought them to her. Their soft scent wafted through the house and yard, lifting her spirits.

  Meg was in the barn mucking the stalls when Quinn Parker, a rancher with a large spread to the south, rode up. He and his wife were new to the area and were decent people; they went about their business quietly. They had several children, all younger than Charlie. A couple of the older ones attended school. Mr. Parker stood in the doorway of the barn.

  “Mr. Parker! You startled me.” Meg felt self-conscious in work pants and Jeb’s old barn coat, even though it was far more practical than wearing a skirt.

  “Pardon the intrusion, ma’am,” he said. “I wonder if I might have a word with you.” He removed his hat.

  Meg stopped her work and leaned the hayfork against a support beam. “Of course. What can I do for you? How’s Mrs. Parker?”

  “Well, that’s what I’ve come about.” He shifted his weight and looked uneasy. He rubbed the rim of his hat with his fingers. His hands looked quite clean, as if he had spent a lot of time scrubbing them. “Nora died last winter; caught a fever.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Meg said. She studied him. He looked as uncomfortable and sad and overwhelmed as she felt.

  Mr. Parker cleared his throat. “I guess I might as well get right to the point. I heard that you are a widow—my sympathies—and now with my Nora passing, it appears we are both in a similar bind. No disrespect, but it looks like you could use some extra help, and I sure could use a hand with my young ones. By combining our ranches, there might be considerable benefit to both.”

  “What do you mean by that exactly?”

  “Well, I know this may be sudden, and it is certainly very forward of me, but my children need a mother, and you could probably use some dependable help with the horses.”

  Still confused, Meg asked, “Mr. Parker, are you proposing marriage?”

  He looked uneasy, but straightened up as if to rally his courage. “Yes, ma’am. With all due respect to your late husband and my Nora, I am proposing marriage . . . for our mutual economic survival. I don’t get to town much, but Nora expressed admiration for the way your boys conduct themselves. I figure she’d approve of you taking over the raising of our youngsters, seeing how she approved of yours.”

  Meg was stunned. It was not at all uncommon for women to marry men for security—men they barely knew. It happened all the time. He had said nothing that should offend her; in fact, he was very straightforward and polite. “Mr. Parker, thank you for the compliment about my sons. You’ve caught me quite off guard, however. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I apologize if I have made you uncomfortable. I just saw no point in beating around the bush. I don’t expect an answer right away. If I may make some arguments in my favor, I’d like to say that I would take care of you and your boys, although they are pretty-well grown already. I have a good cattle business, and I am a God-fearing man. I would see to it that my children treat you with respect, as would I.”

  Meg wasn’t sure what the last part meant, exactly, but didn’t ask for clarification.

  “I don’t expect an answer right now,” he repeated. “Pray about it, and God will lead you to the right answer.”

  He did have a nice family and a good cattle operation, and he would bring financial security to their struggling horse business. He was polite and kind, and his children always behaved wherever she saw them. Nora had seemed happy.

  Meg nodded, agreeing to think about it. He put on his hat, tipped it respectfully, and left. She stood in the barn for a long time, lost in thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX: WIN

  Alaska, May 1887

  Mail arrived on the first ship to break through the ice at Sitka. Win was among a handful of white people standing outside the post office, hoping for another letter from Meg. Finally, the postmaster called his name. He tore open the letter—two months old.

  March 2, 1887

  Dear Uncle Win,

  We have had a bad time lately, and we need your help. We had a mighty cold winter. We made it through all right, but Mr. Parker lost his wife and wants Ma to marry him. I know you are far away, but you’ve got to come home and marry Ma instead. Please come home.

  Charlie

  “Winston Avery!” He looked up. The postmaster was waving two more letters. He grabbed them and ripped open the one with Meg’s handwriting.

  April 6, 1887

  Dearest Win,

  We had quite an adventure this winter; nothing equal to the kind you’re having, but it was all the excitement we require. A cold snap shut down some of the cattle ranches. We, however, were lucky and fared extremely well. Wash predicted a cold season, so James and I sold half the herd to the fort in order to properly feed the rest of them. You would have been pleased to see how well James handled the negotiations. As a result, we snuggled in for a very cozy few weeks here in the big house, joined by our dear Miss Sinclair and our faithful Wash. With a nice buck to add to the pantry, Wash saved us from a dull diet of potatoes and gingerbread.

  The boys are doing very well in school. Miss Sinclair suggested James take his exams early. I am so proud of them both.

  Although we miss Jeb more than words can express, we are persevering and are fine. We hope you are faring as well as we are. Just as your lovely lilacs bloom every spring, we, too, continue on.

  Love, Meg

  No mention of the struggles Charlie wrote of, but that didn’t surprise Win. Meg hated looking weak. He opened the second letter.

  April 6, 1887

  Dear Uncle Win,

  I wasn’t supposed to ask you to come home in my last letter. You’re supposed to think that we’re all doing fine. Mr. Parker really did ask Ma to marry him, just like I said, but I wasn’t supposed to tell you about it because Ma doesn’t want you to come back on account of any obligation to us. She says we’re going to figure something out, but James and I don’t rightly know what she means by that. I can’t tell if Mr. Parker still wants to marry Ma. I saw him riding out to talk with her, but then he rode off and Ma was in a bad mood when she came home.

  We’ve got a few mares expecting to foal and just as many three-year-olds to train. So, if you can, I still think it would be really great if you came home. Please don’t tell Ma that I wrote to you, though, because she’d be mighty angry with me.

  Charlie

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: MEG

  Dawson ranch, Spring 1887

  Meg stood over Jeb’s grave, a gentle breeze circling around. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, certain that Jeb stirred the air around her.

  “I feel like a fool,” she said to him. “Quinn Parker just retracted his proposal of marriage, and I feel insulted. Just my bruised ego, I suppose. I never would have married him. I’m actually relieved. He just went about it so awfully, and I was embarrassed.” She laughed suddenly through the tears that welled up in her eyes. “He said that once we married, I wouldn’t have to muck stalls or rely on Indians. I said I liked mucking stalls, and that Wash was part of our family.” Meg shook her head. “The conversation became heated after that. He said he might have been too hasty when he proposed, but that desperation had driven him to it. Of course, I agreed. It was the only thing we agreed on.” She crossed her arms and sighed.

  We figured things out together.

  “Yes, we did. And will continue to. You and I, Jeb. We aren’t in such bad shape. No one will hire on with us, but Etta says James can graduate early, and then he can take over selling our stock to the liveries. A lot of liverymen don’t like dealing with women, and won’t deal with Indians. But, no matter. We’ll be fine.”

  James will still be able to go to college someday.

  “Yes, of course he will.”

  The boys were waiting for Meg when she finally pulled herself away from the hill and Jeb.

  “You OK, Ma?” James asked.

  She dragged a chair over to the warm side of the house near the lilacs and sat down. “Boys, come over here. I wa
nt to talk over something with you.” She leaned forward. “We’re going to have to do things differently around here if we want to stay in business. We own the land outright, but we still have expenses, and we need money.” She sighed. “I’ll never leave this place. I won’t sell it; I promise you. But if we don’t make any money, life could get pretty grim.”

  “I could find work in Denver, Ma,” James said.

  “I’ll work, too, Ma. Just don’t marry Mr. Parker!” Charlie blurted out the words.

  “What are you talking about?” Meg was shocked that her boys knew of Mr. Parker’s proposal. “Hold on. First, James, you are not going to Denver to work. And second, how do you know about Mr. Parker?”

  James threw Charlie a scowl.

  Meg folded her arms. “I know how you know,” she said. “You shouldn’t listen in on private conversations. They can be very misleading.”

  “So, you aren’t gonna marry him?” James asked.

  “Don’t marry Mr. Parker, Ma. You should marry Uncle Win!”

  Meg groaned and put her hands to her face. “Charlie! Now, listen, we are getting way off track here.”

  “Just write him and tell him we need him.” Charlie spread his arms, a gesture he’d learned from Win. “He’ll come.”

  “We’ll do no such thing!” Meg barked. She jumped from her seat and stood in front of the boys with hands on her hips. “I will not have him think we are his responsibility! Is that clear?”

  “Yes’m.”

  Meg stared at Charlie for a moment while she measured his sincerity and gathered her thoughts. “Now, back to the issue at hand.” She sat down. “Miss Sinclair has agreed to let you take your exams early, James, so you can graduate. I need you to do business with the liveries in the area, at least temporarily. Your pa was able to work with some of them, but a lot of folks turned their backs on us. I can’t send Wash, and they may not want to deal with me, either.”

  “James gets to finish school early?” Charlie rolled his eyes and sighed.