****
“Look at that, Tom!” Faith had been bringing the coffeepot to refill her husband’s cup. When she stopped abruptly in front of the kitchen window, Winslow rose and came to look over her shoulder. He smiled at the sight of Laurie standing upright on Star’s back, arms held up over her head, her long raven hair fluttering back in the breeze. They could hear her clear voice as she called to the children.
Placing his big hands on Faith’s shoulders, Tom gently pulled her against him. The clean smell of her hair and the firm pressure of her body pleased him, and he whispered in her ear, “Mrs. Winslow, you’re tempting me beyond that which I am able!”
Faith turned and put her arms around his neck. She was, to him, as lovely at twenty-eight as she’d been when he had married her. “You look about sixteen years old,” he murmured, bending to kiss her. She clung to him, pleased with the strength of his arms and the ardor of his caress. Then she pushed him back, a glint of humor in her gray eyes. “You get to your soldiering, Major Winslow!” She nodded, then smiled. “We’ll continue this conversation at a more suitable time.”
Tom continued looking out the window at Laurie. A troubled light touched his dark eyes, and he sighed. He sat back down at the table as Faith first filled his coffee cup, then her own. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you, Tom?”
He didn’t answer at once, but he moved the white coffee mug around in his bronzed hands. The sound of the children’s voices floated to him from outside, and his brow creased as he nodded. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I am.”
“About the Indians who attacked her?”
“Not so much that—though it’s serious enough. No more riding without an escort, I’ve made that plain.” He lifted his eyes, studying her thoughtfully, then shrugged his heavy shoulders. “She’s not happy here, Faith.”
“She doesn’t complain.”
“We know it’s true though.”
Faith stirred her coffee with a spoon, thinking of Laurie. She loved Laurie as if she were her own, and for some time had been aware that the girl was going through a rough time. But there had been no remedy, for it was their way of life itself that made Laurie unhappy.
“Do you think this writing thing is good for her?” Tom spoke suddenly, and Faith realized he was not entirely pleased with Laurie’s burning desire to become a writer. He saw writing as something that people did who had nothing important to do. He admired Laurie’s expert horsemanship more than the pieces she wrote. “What could come of a thing like that?”
“I don’t know, Tom.” Faith glanced out the window and wondered how much she dared say to this husband of hers. She was a strong-willed woman, but she respected his judgment. He’d given his life to raising Laurie, but now he was troubled and confused by this side of her. He’s afraid for her, Faith thought, and abruptly she knew she had to speak her own thoughts. “I think it might turn out very well, her writing.”
“But—it’s not much of a life for a woman, is it?”
“It wouldn’t have to be her whole life. She’ll meet someone and marry—but this thing is in her, Tom. I’ve been thinking and praying about it a great deal.” Leaning across the table, she put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. “It’s a gift from God, I think. And any gift from God can be used to bless others, can’t it?”
Tom nodded slowly, absorbing her words. He trusted her judgment, and now recalled the first time he’d met her. She’d been on her way to serve as a missionary to the Indians—with no training at all. But he’d watched her win the respect of the Apaches, and any person who could do that deserved to be heard!
“What should we do?” he asked bluntly.
“She wants to go to school, someplace where she can learn to write,” Faith said without hesitation. She had known this for a long time, but there had been no money—and there was none now.
“Wish I were a general,” Tom said ruefully. “A major’s pay doesn’t stretch very far.”
Faith was very much aware of this, for she’d learned to get by on the meager earnings of an army officer. She hated to see him depressed, so she said briskly, “Well, God owns everything. If He intends for Laurie to go to school, He can afford it!”
Tom smiled, his teeth very white against his bronzed skin. “Pretty free with the Lord’s money, I’m thinking.” Then he grew serious. “I’ll talk to her about it.”
And he did, three days later. Tom was a slow-moving man—except when the situation demanded otherwise, and he’d formed the habit of praying and waiting over important things—something he’d learned from Faith. But late on Friday afternoon, he saw Laurie practicing her trick riding and decided to voice his concern. “You aiming to join a circus?” he grinned.
Laurie touched Star’s right foreleg, and the gelding immediately made a one-legged bow to Tom. “I might just do that,” she said, sliding to the ground. “Are we going to Prescott soon?”
“Did you forget we’re going to visit your Uncle Dan in Wyoming?”
“No! I haven’t forgotten!” There was no chance of her forgetting, for the anticipation of going for a visit to Wyoming had been the brightest expectation of her life.
He smiled, adding, “Maybe Dan’ll hire you to herd some of those cows of his.”
“I could do it!” Laurie grinned impudently. “I can ride better than any old cowboy I ever saw!”
“Not very humble, are you? But I guess you can, at that.” He walked beside her toward the corral where the mounts were kept. When she’d unsaddled Star and stepped outside the gate, he said, “Laurie, I’ve been worried about you.” He saw surprise on her face and said quickly, “About this writing thing. You’re pretty serious about it, I guess.”
Laurie had known for a long time that her father was not convinced about this desire of hers, so she’d said little. But now her eyes flashed with excitement, and she nodded, “Yes, Daddy, I want it more than anything.”
Tom Winslow was a determined man, and as he looked into the face of his daughter, so eager and so alive, he came to a decision. “Well, I don’t know how—or when, Laurie—but you’re going to get your chance at this thing.”
“Oh, Daddy!” she squealed and threw her arms around Tom, holding to him almost desperately.
He knew he’d made the right choice and said, “Better start praying. As soon as we get back from Wyoming, we’ll start looking around for a school—and the money to pay for it.”
As they entered the house, Faith took one look at Laurie’s excited face and said, “Well, now, I can see you two have been plotting something. Sit down and tell me all about it.”
CHAPTER TWO
Visit to Wyoming
Laurie stared out the open window of the train, blinking as tiny cinders flew against her face. “Look, there’s a herd of antelope!”
At her words, a burly man sitting in the seat ahead of them lifted his head from the newspaper he was reading. Dropping the paper, he picked up a Henry rifle from under his feet, shoved it out the window, and emptied it. He missed with every shot, and the fleet, graceful animals bounded away and out of sight.
Tom Winslow hated to see game wasted and said loudly enough for the man to hear, “Good thing that fellow’s such a rotten shot, Laurie. Hate to see meat go to waste.”
The man with the rifle swung around, his face red with anger. He opened his lips to challenge the speaker, but one look into the somber eyes of the broad-shouldered officer made him pause. “Man’s got a right to shoot wild antelope,” he muttered, then turned and ignored Winslow.
Faith had watched the scene carefully, but without fear. She had seen her husband deal with many rough, violent men, and never once had he failed to handle the situation well. She shifted Ruth, who was sleeping on her lap, and asked, “How much longer will it be?”
“Almost there,” Tom answered. He looked down at Jubal sitting beside him staring out the window. “Getting tired, son?” he asked, ruffling the boy’s auburn hair.
“I wanna see the ranch, Dad.”
Jubal had watched with interest as the man had shot at the antelopes, and now asked, “Can I shoot your gun when we get there?”
Tom winked at Faith over the boy’s head. “He never gives up, does he?”
“Like someone else sitting on this seat,” Faith nodded emphatically. “Stubborn as a blue-nosed mule, just like his father!” She stretched her back, made a face, and rearranged the child’s position. “It’s a long trip—but it’ll be good for us all.”
“It was nice of Uncle Mark to get us free tickets, since he’s a railroad official,” Laurie observed. “We’d never have saved enough for all of us to come.” She was accustomed, Tom realized, to the stringent economy necessary for a soldier’s family. She would have said more, but the train whistle blew its hoarse bellow in the air, and she glanced out the window. “Maybe this is it,” she murmured.
The conductor entered the car, calling out, “All out for War Paint—next stop!”
The Winslow family eagerly gathered their belongings, weary after the monotonous days of travel. As the train slowed to a stop, Tom stepped off first, gave Faith a hand with the children, then quickly piled all their luggage on the platform. Laurie kept a tight hold on Jubal’s chubby hand while taking a good look at the shabby little town before them. It was just like all the other small towns they’d passed through on the trip. And as always, townspeople strolled up to break the day’s tedium and to touch again for an instant the life they had left behind; to catch, in the train’s steamy bustle, the feeling of excitement and freedom that had impelled most of them to come to the West, but which had died as soon as they had taken roots there. The railroad provided the town a single pulsebeat once a day—emerging as a black ribbon out of the emptiness, touching War Paint, then moving on toward the desolate horizon.
“Tom!” The man coming toward them was dressed in a pair of brown trousers, a blue shirt and vest, and a low-crowned black hat. Although Laurie had seen him only once when she was six, she knew at once this was her uncle, Dan Winslow. As he reached her father, gripping his hand and slapping his back, she saw he had the same build, tall and broad-shouldered, and the same dark hair and light blue eyes as her father. “And this is your crew, is it?” Dan Winslow said, turning from Tom. He removed his hat, took Faith’s hand, and smiled. “I’m glad to meet you. My wife would have come, but she’s home getting the house ready.”
“We’ll be trouble, I’m afraid,” Faith said. “I know what it’s like to have a bunch like this descend on you.”
Dan laughed this off at once. “Hope’s been looking forward to your visit more than anything I can remember. Gets lonesome out on a ranch.” Then he turned to Laurie. “And this is Laurie—” Laurie put her hand out, but he smiled. “Nope, I have to have more than a handshake from my niece,” whereupon he gave her a hug and a firm kiss on the cheek. He then stepped back and studied her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I think we better leave you in town, Laurie.”
Laurie’s eyes widened in surprise. “But—why, Uncle Dan?”
“You’ll be too much trouble at the ranch.” Dan winked broadly at Tom, adding, “You’ll have every cowboy on the place fighting over you.” He laughed at the sudden blush that touched her cheek. “Your father will have his hands full, I reckon.”
“Already been through all that, Dan,” Tom broke in. He put his hand on Laurie’s shoulder and smiled. “You have to remember she’s been the only girl on an army post with two hundred solders fighting over her. Spoiled rotten, that’s Laurie.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Laurie protested, but then the men turned and picked up the baggage. Dan Winslow led the way to a wagon fitted with a canvas to shield its passengers from the sun’s rays. As they approached, a young man leaped from the seat and yanked his hat off.
“Want you to meet my boy Cody Rogers,” Dan Winslow said. Laurie inspected the young man covertly, remembering that this was her uncle’s stepson. His father had been killed at Bull Run before Cody was born. He was around twenty, she estimated, and a little under six feet tall. He was lean, but with the heavy shoulders and arms of a good roper, and there was a certain grace in the way he moved. He had a wide mouth, very dark blue eyes, and light blond hair that fell over his forehead. And then she heard Dan Winslow remark, “You don’t have to worry about this one pestering you, Laurie. He’s so much in love he gets on his horse backward.”
Cody shook his head. “Don’t mind what he says, Miss Laurie. I’ll see to it that none of those bowlegged galoots on the ranch bother you.”
“That’s like putting the fox to guard the chickens!” Dan grinned. “Well, let’s get started. I know you’re worn out from that long ride.” He helped Faith into the backseat of the wagon, then said, “Cody, you drive. Laurie, you take Jubal and keep an eye on Cody as well—he thinks he’s the best driver in the county!”
Dan got into the back with Faith and Tom, who took Ruth onto his lap. As Cody pulled out with a sharp word to the horses, Dan said, “Now tell me about this Indian situation, Tom. Are they going to break out this year?”
As the wagon rolled along with the wheels lifting and dripping an acrid dust, Laurie tried to listen to the two men talk, but Jubal was full of questions and wiggled like a worm. She kept him pinned down with much effort, until about half an hour later, she’d had enough and said, “Go get in the back, Jubal,” and the active five-year-old was passed back, her father depositing him in the open compartment of the wagon.
“Ever been in Wyoming, Miss Winslow?” Cody asked.
“Oh, just call me Laurie.” She glanced at the bronzed features of the young man who sat loosely beside her, then went on. “No, but we lived in Dakota for a few years. My father was with the Seventh Cavalry when Custer died.”
This caught Cody’s attention, for everyone in the country had read of the tragedy she mentioned. The question as to who was responsible for the defeat was still being argued. “You ever meet General Custer?”
“Oh yes, many times.” Laurie thought back to those early days, remembering the tawny-haired general and said, “He used to take me up in front of him on his horse after the drills, and he’d race around as fast as the horse would run!” She reminisced about her days at Fort Abraham Lincoln, then halted abruptly. Glancing at him, she said shyly, “I’m not usually given to so much talk.”
“Well, you’ve got a lot to talk about,” Cody answered. “Not many people had a chance to ride on General Custer’s horse. How come your father didn’t get killed with the rest of the men?”
“He was with the detachment Custer sent out under Reno. They were the only ones who didn’t die that day.” She hesitated, then said softly, “It’s still sad to me—all those men dying. I knew some of them, just young boys no older than you, Cody.”
The wagon swayed and shuddered as it struck a deep depression in the road, sending the impact through the passengers. The sharp scent of dust rose beneath their feet, mixed with the strong fragrance of the earth—the harsh and vigorous emanations of the earth itself. One of the jolts was so violent that it threw Laurie against Cody. “Oh—I’m sorry!” she exclaimed and quickly moved back to her own place.
Cody gave her a crooked smile, his eyes filling with humor. “Why, that’s all right, Laurie. You can do that anytime.” He was laughing at her, Laurie knew, and suddenly she felt that she could like this lean rider very much. He might be courting some girl, she thought, but he’s willing enough to flirt with me. By the time they pulled up at the Circle W Ranch, the two were chatting freely, and as he helped her to the ground, she said, “Don’t forget, Cody, you promised to take me riding.”
“He might forget to work,” Dan Winslow said, having overheard Laurie’s words, “but Cody Rogers never forgets when it comes to taking a pretty girl for a ride!”
****
Hope and Faith immediately took to each other, and the large dining room was soon filled with the smells of good food as the two women prepared the supper. It was a fun time, and when they all finally sat down, Dan looked aro
und the table and shook his head. “What a bunch of Winslows!” The table was barely big enough for them. Hope held three-year-old Priscilla and five-year-old Cassidy, while four-year-old Pete sat squeezed up against her. Tom and his family occupied the other side. Dan and Cody sat at the ends.
“Wish Dad could have seen this, Tom,” Dan said, regret shading his voice. “He loved kids so much.”
Tom thought of their father, Sky Winslow, and said slowly, “He sure did, Dan. And Mother would have loved this bunch, wouldn’t she?”
Dan said, “Let’s have the blessing, and then we can light into this grub. My wife’s a poor cook, but do the best you can.”
The meal by the “poor cook” consisted of tender beef steaks, a bowl of thick gravy, hot potatoes boiled in their jackets, steaming beans liberally laced with onions and peppers, tender corn on the cob dripping with butter, and fluffy biscuits with golden brown tops. This was followed by apple and peach pies, which melted in their mouths.
Afterward, the children played noisily while the women washed the dishes. Finally, they put the children to bed, and just before Tom and Faith went to their own room, Dan said, “It’s good to have you here—all of you. I miss having a big family like we had back in Virginia.”
“So do I, Dan.” Tom shook his head, adding regretfully, “Those days are gone, though. Can’t go back.”
Dan Winslow gave his brother a strange look, glanced at Hope, then said mildly, “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Tom.”
Later, when Tom and Faith were in bed, Faith said, “They’re so nice, aren’t they? Hope is the finest woman!”
“Yes—but I know a finer one.” He pulled her close and thought about Dan’s words. “Wonder what Dan meant by that—what he said about the old days not being over? We’re scattered all over the country.” He named off the children of Sky and Rebekah Winslow—“We’re in Arizona, Dan’s here in Wyoming, Mark’s in New York, Belle and Davis are in Washington. Only Pet and Thad are still living at Belle Maison—the old home place.”
The Jeweled Spur Page 2
