Amethyst

by Lauraine Snelling

  “You mean the sheep are already having their lambs during this cold and miserable weather?”

  “I guess so. I don’t know anything about sheep, but we have one.”

  Jacob lifted the lids off the stove and set them to the side. The ashes needed to be hauled out. “You take care of the horse and come on back. We need the woodbox filled and a bucket of water brought in.”

  Joel flipped the reins around the horse’s neck and mounted with a bit of difficulty since his legs weren’t anywhere near as long as his father’s. He turned the horse away and trotted off to the barn.

  Jacob watched his son handle a horse as if he’d been doing so all his life instead of less than a year. He’d stretched not only in height since they arrived but in experience. The only one he knew who worked harder on learning and perfecting ranching skills was Opal, and she’d done her best to teach them and the Robertson girls how to ride, rope, and round up cattle since Ward Robertson died in the shootout. Opal, when will I see you?

  Loading his arm with cut wood, Jacob returned to the soddy, blinking in the dimness. He dumped the wood in the box and picked out a piece with plenty of oozed pitch. Using a bit of dried pine needles for fire starter, he shaved off slivers to lay over the broken needles, and then picking the flint and a granite rock from the shelf, he held the two pieces together right near the starter and struck to get a spark. The third one continued to glow, and a minute spiral of smoke rose. Blowing gently, he encouraged the spark to spread and smiled when a flame licked the pitch and burst into flame. Bit by bit he added larger pieces, and once the fire was consuming them all, he set the lids back in place and adjusted the damper to full open. It would take some doing to get this small house warm.

  At least he had kerosene for the lamp again, even if the chimney did need washing. Ah, the things one took for granted.

  “Welcome home, Mr. Chandler.” Cora Robertson looked up from the batter she was beating in a large crockery bowl. Dough dots marred the white apron that covered her from neck to foot, and when she brushed back a lock of hair falling from the knot she always wore on the back of her head, flour dusted her cheek.

  “Thank you.” Jacob inhaled. “I don’t know how you do it, but this house always smells of good food and a warm welcome.”

  “See my lamb?” Ada Mae held up the wooly creature with pipestem legs, black face, and a long tail.

  “I sure do. I thought sheep had short tails.”

  “We have to dock it, but I can’t bear to do that.” Ada Mae cuddled the creature under her chin.

  “Cut it off?”

  “Yes, and the sooner the better.” Mrs. Robertson pulled a full plate out of the oven. “Before it gets a lot of feeling in the tail. Take your place there. Ada Mae, put that lamb down and get Mr. Chandler some bread and butter. Coffee will be ready in a minute.”

  Jacob sat down as instructed and admired the plate put before him. “Sure beats beans.”

  “Had you run out of food?”

  “Nope, still had beans, flour, lard, and cornmeal.” He picked up the piece of bread Ada Mae set in front of him and smiled as he sniffed that too. “I did learn how not to burn cornmeal cakes in the frying pan.”

  “Uff da. I’m sorry about that. Should have tried harder to get more supplies up there.”

  “What? And lose someone’s life in the process? No. I managed, and I know Chaps did too. But I tell you, this was the most unusual winter I ever spent.” And the worst.

  “You can say that again, for all of us.”

  “Where are Emily and Virginia?”

  “They stopped by the Heglands. Pearl is teaching them to play the piano.”

  “I didn’t want to learn. I’d rather play the guitar like Rand.” Ada Mae turned to Joel. “You done your homework yet?”

  He shook his head. “I hate memorizing poems.”

  “Me too.”

  “So get on it and get it done.” Cora rolled her eyes. “You’d think they had to learn the complete works of Shakespeare.”

  “You could always memorize Bible verses. The psalms are ancient Hebrew poems,” Jacob commented.

  “Ma made us do that during the blizzards.” Ada Mae brought a book out and laid it on the table.

  “Not there. You’ll get flour on it.”

  “Sorry.” Ada Mae sat down and opened the book at the marker. “Do you want to do ‘The Song of Hiawatha’ or ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’?”

  Joel heaved a sigh. “I’d rather rope a steer any day.”

  “Too bad. Begin.”

  Jacob watched his son close his eyes, scrunch up his face, and swallow hard. “Surely it can’t be that bad.” He fought to keep a straight face. “Come on…. ‘Listen my children and you shall hear / Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, / On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five; / Hardly a man is now alive / Who remembers that famous day and year…”’

  The three of them chanted their way through that famous ride. “‘One if by land, and two if by sea…”’ When one stumbled, the others kept going, and they finished with a flourish.

  Joel looked to his father, admiration shining in his eyes. “You knew the whole thing.”

  “I learned it long, long ago. Things like that stay with you.” Jacob finished off his plate. “Thank you, Mrs. Robertson. I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate your good cooking.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Not if I want to do justice to supper.” He turned to Joel and Ada Mae. “I’ll go on down to the barn and feed so you two can get through ‘Hiawatha’ too. Be ready to recite when I get back.”

  Jacob shrugged into his coat again. “Do I need to milk the cow too?”

  “No,” Cora said, “she dried up during the blizzards. We are rationing the hay so the cow doesn’t lose her calf. It’s thanks to Mr. McHenry that we have any at all. He brought out a load on the train for his horse.” Her eyes darkened. “So much loss around here.”

  “I know.” Jacob pulled on his gloves. “Joel, you need to bring in water.”

  Joel nodded. “Right now?”

  “After ‘Hiawatha.”’

  Both Joel and Ada Mae groaned, setting Cora to laughing.

  What was Opal doing now? Strange how being closer to the Harrison ranch brought her to mind so much more often. As if he hadn’t been thinking about her half the time anyway.

  But most important, was there a way he could help her in her sorrow?

  It might be easier when the ground thawed enough so they could dig the graves and have the funerals.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Neither do I, but for Linc’s sake, we need to do this.” Ruby sighed. “I’m sorry, Opal, this is a terrible time for all of us.”

  Opal tried to fight the tears, but as usual, her efforts failed. She didn’t bother mopping the stream running down her face. “How can this help him?”

  “You ask such hard questions. But something about a funeral helps with the grieving. All of us together calling on our heavenly Father to bring us and Linc comfort. This is the final act one can do for someone they love.”

  “Some of the Indian tribes burn their dead or put them up in trees.”

  “But Linc asked for a funeral.”

  “Do you believe Little Squirrel believed in Jesus?” Opal sniffed and finally wiped her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “So she’s in heaven now?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And the baby.”

  “Oh yes. God makes special provisions for babies.” Ruby glanced down at her infant daughter nursing under the blanket. She looked up to Opal. “I know you don’t understand, and I have to tell you, I don’t either. All this death around us doesn’t make any sense, but I believe that God makes sense and He has not left us. He loves us and is right here, crying with us.”

  Opal snorted. “But He could have fixed it. All He needed to do was make the blizzards stop.”

  “I know
.” Ruby held Mary to her shoulder and patted her back. “But some things we have to take on faith, no matter how hard that faith is to come by.” She sighed. “This is one of those times.”

  “I don’t think he’ll stay here—Linc, I mean.” Not God. Do I believe you are still here? Yes, and I know you are listening. But… Sometimes she wished He couldn’t read her thoughts. Like now, when she wanted to scream at Him and say bad things. And climb up in His lap and be held close no matter how mad she was.

  “It’s too much.”

  The men had built a fire to melt the ground enough to dig the grave. Even so, they still had to use pickaxes to break through the frozen ground. Rand and Linc had built the box that now sat beside the hole.

  Jacob stood at the head of the grave, his Bible open, looking as sad as the rest of them. When silence fell, he raised his voice. “Dear friends, family, for we are all God’s family, let us pray. Father in heaven, look down on us with compassion, for times are hard, and this is the hardest. We give thee Little Squirrel and her baby, and we thank thee for the time she was with us here on earth. We thank thee for keeping her safe. Thou sayest that our days are numbered, but thou knowest even the numbers of the hairs on our heads. We matter to thee—thou hast called us by name. Bring comfort to Linc and be thou his staff and his guide. Amen.”

  He looked out to them all. “The Bible says there is a time for everything under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to sing. It also says that weeping tarries for the night, but joy cometh with the morning.” He bent down and picked up some of the earth. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Little Squirrel and your child, we commit you to the earth from which you will be raised again on that last day.

  “Join me in the prayer our Lord taught us. Our Father…”

  The mourners joined in, some voices wavering, some with tears, but all growing stronger as they prayed together. Four men lowered the box into the hole, and Linc tossed in a handful of dirt.

  “You are all welcome to come to our house for dinner.” Pearl nodded to those gathered. Jeremiah McHenry drew his harmonica from his pocket and played the opening bars of “Amazing Grace.” The notes rose clear like an offering to heaven, and the mourners’ voices joined in.

  As they walked away, Opal wanted to plug her ears against the thuds of dirt on the lid of that box.

  Jacob walked beside her, stopping only when someone thanked him for such a good service.

  Opal slowed down. She wasn’t waiting for him, not really, but somehow she felt better when he was there, as though he took part of the load away that was trying to drive her right into the ground.

  The next morning Linc and his bedroll were gone from the bunkhouse. No one had heard him leave. On a piece of wood, he’d written in charcoal, Thank You.

  Two days later the nightmare woke her again, but this time since the sky was lightening toward day, Opal dressed and headed down to the corral. According to the verse Mr. Chandler read about time, mourning should be over and a new day of joy rising. If that was so, why was it so hard for her to pick up her feet? Put this behind you and think of something else. No matter how many times she told herself that, it wasn’t getting any easier. Out in the pasture she whistled for Bay, and when the old mare nuzzled her shoulder, Opal swung aboard and rode her to the barn. Think on something else.

  “Is Atticus still in Oregon or on his way back to Ohio, old girl?”

  Bay’s ears swiveled to listen. When Opal dismounted inside the barn, the horse shook all over.

  “No idea, huh? You’d think he could let me know how he’s doing.” Opal used the currycomb on Bay’s mane and tail. Talking to the horse made more sense than talking to herself. She got about the same number of answers.

  You know he can’t write very well.

  “Whose side are you on?” Now she was arguing with herself. He could ask someone to write for him. Even she snorted at the absurdity of Atticus asking for help. That would be about as likely as Rand moving to New York.

  New York. The Brandons. Would they come to visit this summer? They’d said they would if it could be worked out. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Mr. Roosevelt was in the area at the same time and Bernie Brandon could meet him or go hunting with him? Her thoughts took off on all kinds of possibilities.

  Bay flicked her ears and turned to look over her shoulder.

  Opal stopped with the currycomb and rubbed the old mare’s ears and down her neck. “You are so thin, girl. A walking rack of bones.” Even though she’d snuck some of the chickens’ grain for her horse, there was no hay left—not even any of what McHenry had brought them. Would the grass come back soon enough to keep the rest of the stock from starving to death?

  She leaned against the horse. “What else can I feed you?”

  Rand and the men had been cutting cottonwood trees and dragging them closer to the barn for the cattle that had hung around the homeplace instead of dying out on the plains. With the snow melting so swiftly, the carnage left by the blizzards became more obvious every day. Dead animals stacked in the draws, scattered across the land, food for the scavengers and death to the ranchers. Rand had returned from town where he’d talked with some of the other ranchers, the look in his eyes so close to defeat that even Ruby had nothing to say. She just hugged him.

  He had yet to talk about what he’d learned, at least to Opal. Every time the men came in from range riding, they just shook their heads.

  For the first time in her life, Opal did not want to go riding. Grateful that Bay had made it through the winter, she went back to brushing the long rough coat.

  That night around the supper table, she asked, “Can’t you go on the train and buy grain or hay somewhere else and bring it back?” She knew the answer before she asked the question. Where would they get the money to do such a venture? They’d need everything they had to make it through till fall. Maybe she and Ruby could sell the jewels their pa had left them.

  She tuned back into the conversation. “No fall roundup?”

  “Not for sure yet, but if the steers recover, they’d have to gain twice as much as usual. The cattle brought in from Texas and points east fared the worst. I’m hearing eighty and ninety percent loss.”

  She was afraid to ask but did. “Was ours that bad?”

  “No, because we sold that lot of steers in the fall. Thank God for leading us to do that. I shipped some that I would have kept over another year. They were a bit small, but they’re not coyote food out on the prairie. I have no idea how many we have left, other than that fifty head or so around here. And some of the brands aren’t ours.”

  “No one’s seen the horse herds either.” Chaps took another swig of coffee. “They should be moseying back north sometime soon.” His unspoken “if they come” lay there as loud as if he’d shouted it. Every fall the ranchers let most of their remudas loose to fend for themselves over the winter, keeping only enough horses to pull the sleighs, provide rides to town, and to round up the wild bunch. The horses banded together and drifted in search of feed, pawing down to the dried grass under the snow. But this year the range had been overgrazed and, with the drought, winter feed was scarce to none.

  “Going to be a lot of dead trees this summer, the way the animals stripped off all the bark.” Beans tipped back his chair. “We ain’t seen the worst of this yet.”

  Opal pushed back her chair and headed for her room. She couldn’t let them see her cry again. All she’d done lately was cry. Why, God? Why all this destruction? All the cattle dying. Little Squirrel and the baby. You could have changed the weather. You calmed the wind for the disciples.

  Don’t think about it.

  She threw herself on the coyote pelt quilt, the deep fur against her cheek. Why not calm the wind and lessen the cold here?

  Perhaps they should head west like Atticus. She cried until the tears dried, blew her nose, and then meandered back to the table. The men had gone to the bunkhouse, and Rand sat in his rocking chair near the lamp wit
h his Bible on his lap.

  Opal sat on the stool at his feet. “Will we make it?”

  “Are you asking if we’ll be leaving like so many of the others?”

  “Guess I am.”

  He shook his head. “No. We’ll stay. The grass will come back, the cows will have calves again; our bull might be one of my better investments. We may not have any money coming in to speak of, but we will have food on the table and a roof over our heads. I imagine this will be the end of the abattoir, so we’ll go back to shipping cattle to Chicago on the train. Shame de Mores is going to lose it all. He had good ideas.”

  “And the horses?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see.” He shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid there won’t be many to train and fewer to buy.”

  “I figured that.”

  “I don’t want you out riding the range.”

  Opal stared down at her boots. While the mud was drying somewhat, she still managed to find some to slop in. When she looked up at Rand, he shook his head. A sigh escaped the clamp her teeth had on her lip.

  “Besides, Bay isn’t strong enough.”

  “I could ride one of the team.”

  Again Rand shook his head. “Opal, you don’t need to see the carnage. I heard you crying in the night.”

  She made a face and stared off to the pines on the ridge south of the house. She’d awakened to the sound of sobbing and then realized it was her sobs. The clouds that stood on her shoulders pressed her into the ground, wore black linings with no touch of light or silver, ever since she’d started toward Pearl’s and seen the heap of decaying cattle carcasses that half filled the draw, their long horns locked among the tree branches, their bloated bodies with the hides sloughing way. The smell made her gag, and the sight of buzzards ripping at the bodies was branded on her inner eyes. Instead of going on, she’d turned and come home, still white and green from throwing up when the wind wrapped the smell around her and wouldn’t let loose.