“We did. If you want more let me know.” McHenry turned to Pearl. “I’ve decided to ride down to Deadwood. Should be gone a week or so.”
“De Mores had a stagecoach and hauling route down that way for a short time. He might have made it if he’d gotten the mail contract.” Carl took another bite of meat. “Nothing worked right for him. Downright shame.”
“Would you like to take food supplies along?” Pearl asked. “I can pack some things.”
“Thank you.” Jeremiah glanced at Amethyst, waiting until she looked up. “Thank you both for such a delicious meal. I’ll miss your cooking.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The quilters’ conversation chattered around her like a creek tumbling over rocks, sometimes music, sometimes a torrent. Opal heard none of it. While she felt Ruby’s gaze linger on her every so often, she ignored it. She left off her stitching and sat on the floor to play with Per.
“Opa?” He stood next to her and patted her cheek.
Opal nodded, then reached into her pocket to pull out a rag to wipe his nose. “Wait.”
He jerked back and stared at her out of wounded eyes.
“Come on, Per, blow.” He turned his face away, whimpering like an abused puppy.
You look like I feel. Opal wished she could whimper and have someone wrap his arms around her as she did Per. Atticus. But with each day his face faded like a stain washed out of a garment. His voice, too, seemed to be receding to the point that at times she wondered if she had made him up. He’d never returned to Medora at Christmastime. She’d dreamed it all.
“Mr. Chandler will be in to eat dinner with us. It’s a shame we didn’t invite Rand too.” Cora Robertson pushed her chair back from the quilting frame that took up a corner of the room. “Virginia wanted to stay home and help us today, but they have so much work to make up at school after all those days they missed this winter.” She opened her oven door, and the fragrance of baking pie, of cinnamon and apples, filled the room. “Used the last of the apples. They still cook up good even if they’re shriveled to nubbins.”
“I made applesauce out of the last of ours.” Ruby cut her thread and smoothed out the section she’d been stitching. “I forget how comforting quilting can be.”
Opal choked back a rude noise. Forcing herself to take such minute and even stitches made her shoulders, elbow, wrist, and fingers ache. She’d rather do a full day of roundup. Don’t think about it. No roundup this year. Don’t think about it!
“Opa.” Per climbed into the haven made by her legs crossed Indian fashion. Today she’d worn her britches, hoping that would make her feel like her real self and not like something slimy one found under a rock. If the rock hadn’t already smashed it. She rested her cheek on top of Per’s head as he leaned against her chest and rocked them both.
It was another example of God’s not listening. She’d prayed, and she knew Ruby and Rand had too, that God would heal Per, would bring back the sunny little boy who loved nothing more than running rather than walking, laughing rather than talking, rolling on the floor with Ghost licking his face and making him giggle. This pale shadow who coughed and sat without moving—who was he?
“Opal, would you please set the table?” Cora Robertson set her pies on the counter and returned to the stove to stir the pot of stew she’d had simmering all morning.
“Of course.” Standing from cross-legged was usually easy, but with Per clutching her shoulders, she grabbed at a chair, one hand securely clutching his bottom, his legs wrapped around her waist. He’d been carried more since he got sick than in his whole first year of life.
“You want to give him to me?” Ruby asked.
“No. We’re fine.” Opal realized she was getting pretty good at working with one hand.
Per looked up at her with sad eyes. “Hungry.”
“I know. We’ll eat soon.”
“Now?”
“Soon.”
“Why don’t you set him on that chair, and he can start with bread and jam.” Cora patted his head as she walked by.
Opal pulled out the chair. “Come on, Per, you have to let go.”
“No.”
“Bread and jam.” Bribery.
He shook his head, rubbing his face and runny nose into her shirtfront. “Opa.”
“No bread, then.” Per loved bread and jam above all else.
He loosened his grip and let her lower him to the chair seat. She took the towel Cora offered her and tied it around his waist and to the chair. Cora handed him a quarter of a slice of bread with wild strawberry jam spread on it. She set a plate with the other three pieces in front of him.
Freed of her burden, or at least one of them, Opal put plates, silverware, and coffee cups at the rest of the places. She could hear boots stamping off mud on the back porch. The house seemed so empty without the girls and Joel here. They’d all worked so hard last summer to learn to handle cattle, and now there were none to rope or drive bellering into the corral.
Pounding her fists against the wall only made her hands hurt. It did nothing to lift the weight or bring life back to her heart. Sometimes she wished she’d died in the winter too.
But not often and not for long. Those thoughts had darted past like small birds after a raiding crow. She’d not dared to admit to such thoughts to anyone.
“Howdy, Miss Torvald.” Jacob Chandler smiled at her as he hung his hat on the wall peg.
She ignored the quiver in her middle that happened every time she saw him or heard his voice. There was something about the man that managed to get to her. “Howdy,” she answered back. Ruby had always insisted on good manners, and ignoring his greeting was not good manners. He smoothed back the lock of blond hair that fell over his forehead as soon as the restraining hat left. Just like his son. Joel had learned roping skills faster than anyone she ever knew, but then, he’d worked at them about as hard as she had when she had first moved to the ranch.
“Dinner is ready.” Cora set a large bowl of stew at one end of the table. “Opal, would you bring the bread plate, please?”
“Mo bread?” Per quit licking his fingers long enough to ask.
“In a minute,” Opal replied.
“Mr. Chandler, would you say the grace, please?” Cora asked after they’d all taken their places.
“Of course. Father God, we come to you with thanksgiving for the food you have provided and for the hands that prepared it. Bless this house, those who dwell here, and those who visit. In the name of your precious son, Jesus. Amen.”
Opal kept herself from shaking her head. Nope, no thanksgiving. And the God he prayed to did what all the men in her life had done—they left. And when they left, they left things in a mess.
Opal Torvald, that’s what your pa did, but Mr. Brandon took good care of his family and of you. Besides, look at Rand. He’s not leaving.
But Atticus did, and I loved him. I loved my pa too, and what good did it do me? And Linc. All the while she passed the plates that Cora filled, her thoughts ran after one another. A miracle she could hear anything else, her mind was screaming so loud.
“Opal.”
She blinked and turned to face Ruby. From the frown that etched her forehead, she must have said something more than once.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked if you would pass the butter.”
“Sure.” She glanced up to find Mr. Chandler watching her. What kind of look was that in his eyes? Her neck warmed up.
“I was sorry you couldn’t sing on Sunday, Miss Torvald,” he said.
“Nothing to sing about.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.
She knew Ruby was glaring at her again. She could feel it in her bones, no need to look. But she did and sure enough.
“Ah, I see.”
Do you really? She looked down the table to where Mr. Chandler sat—where Ward Robertson used to sit. The look of compassion in his deep blue eyes made her eyes smart and tears plug her nose. You will not cry! S
he pinched the skin on her wrist to keep the tears at bay. Beside her Per coughed, and she dug out the handkerchief to wipe his nose. Baby Mary could be heard stirring in her basket.
Opal sniffed and stared at the ceiling, then at Per as he tried to wiggle away from having his nose wiped. “Blow, Per, it will be easier.”
“Poor little guy,” Cora said. “Good thing spring is here so the sun can drive out the winter ills.”
Opal felt like shaking her head. What good would the sun do?
“It was that way with Ada Mae. She’d get all plugged up in the winter, coughing and hacking, but when spring came, she’d be running outside and pretty soon no longer feeling peaked. I’d dose her with castor oil and molasses too. Helped every time.”
“Castor oil? Really?” Ruby rose and took Per on her lap.
“And molasses. The darker the better. Give him a tablespoon— no, he’s small, make it a teaspoon every day for a week. You’ll see a difference.”
Opal pushed chunks of potato around on her plate. Food just didn’t taste good anymore, but when Ruby cleared her throat, she knew she better not leave any. She ate the last bite and stood to clear the table since everyone else was finished.
“Thank you, Opal, such a nice thing to do.” Cora handed up her plate.
“You’re welcome.” Anything was better than sitting still. Since her mind wouldn’t pay attention to the conversation, moving was far preferable.
“Any chance you’d like to give a refresher course in roping and throwing, Miss Torvald?” Mr. Chandler asked. “I tried working with that rope the other day, and all it did was twist.”
“Why?”
“Because I need some more coaching?”
“Why bother? There’s not enough animals out there to need branding or castrating or anything. They’re all dead.”
“Opal.” Ruby’s eyebrows drew sharply together.
“Rand said there would be no roundup.” Opal fought to keep her tone low. If she raised her voice, she might start screaming, and once she started, she might never stop.
“Opal!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ruby just didn’t understand. She wasn’t the one who cared for the cattle. Rand was. And she was. The black cloud clamped back down, and she fought to even be able to breathe. “Excuse me.” She headed for the door.
Once she was off the porch, the tears came and with them great gulping sobs, another thing she had feared. She broke into a run and, arms pumping, headed beyond the house to the rise. A familiar stench came on the breeze, further clogging her throat and nose. She reached an oak tree and leaned against the trunk, gasping and choking. Pain speared her lungs and cramped her side.
Her dinner came up, and after it left, she stood with her eyes closed, swallowing against the bitter gall.
“Miss Torvald.”
“Go away.” How dare he follow her? She brushed back the strands that insisted they should not be confined to the braid she wore.
“I thought maybe you needed someone to talk to.”
She shook her head.
“Sometimes talking things out stops all the shouting going on in your head.”
“How—?” She cut off the question.
“How do I know there are voices screaming at you and arguing back and forth till you feel like a battlefield?” He chuckled softly. “Because I’ve been there too. I suspect most everyone gets there at one time or another.”
“Not Ruby!” Not my perfect sister who trusts God for everything. I don’t even like God.
“Oh, I’d bet if you could talk with her without getting mad, she’d admit to feeling like that.”
“Go away.”
“I thought we were friends.”
“I did too.” She spun around and stabbed him through squinted eyes. “But you’ve been about as friendly lately as a porcupine caught in a trap.” She waited for an answer and heard only a sigh.
“I-I’m sorry. I’ve had some things to work out.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.” His voice came gentle, tiptoed into her heart, and planted a little seed of peace.
“You said that God loves us.”
“In my sermon?”
She nodded and dug in her pocket, but her handkerchief was soiled from Per. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “I don’t believe it.”
“Why?”
Opal rolled her lips and blinked several times. I will not cry any more! “How can you look at all that has gone on and say God loves us? Ruby does the same. Can’t you see?” She swept a wide arc with her arm. “All the dead cows, the dead ranches. People died too— Little Squirrel and the baby. If God did this, how can you say He loves us?” Her voice dropped, and one tear forced past her control and slid down her cheek. She dashed it away with the back of her hand. “If that is what His love looks like, He can keep it.”
“You ask hard questions.”
“I never thought love smelled like dead critters.” She shuddered.
“The Old Testament speaks of animal sacrifices God required to atone for the sins of the people. The animals were burned on altars, and the blood was sprinkled to purify. These burnt offerings were called a pleasing aroma to God. I’ve often thought the area of the temple where they did this must have smelled pretty strong. Burned meat isn’t pleasing to my nose.”
“I never thought about that.” Opal squatted down and picked a blade of grass, thin, new grown, not the rich green it would become. “But that’s not answering my question.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “The answer I had to come to, and have to return to over and over when terrible things happen, is that God knows everything, and He has said He will be with us in times of trouble.”
“But He could take it away—like the storms this winter. He could have stopped them.”
“Yes, He could have.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Then why didn’t He?”
“I don’t know. But in order to get strong, you have to push against things stronger than you are. Bad things happen in this world because Adam and Eve sinned and were thrown out of the Garden of Eden. Ever since then, humans and the whole world have suffered. But God says He will walk beside us and get us through it all. All the struggle helps us and our faith grow stronger.”
“And you believe that?”
“That’s what faith is. Believing that God’s word is true.”
Opal shredded the bit of grass and dropped it on the ground. “Well, I think…” She paused and shook her head. “I don’t know what I think.” She stood. “I better get back and help with the dishes. The others will be home soon.”
“Do you miss school?”
“Not usually. Pearl is a great teacher.” She started down the hill, and Jacob fell in beside her. She glanced up at him. “Thanks.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Atticus and I used to talk about most anything.” She shook her head slowly. “And look what happened to him.”
“Makes no sense, does it?”
“Nope.”
“Opal, I hope the music comes back for you soon.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amethyst stared at the flask on the table McHenry was using as a desk.
He’s a drinking man. Why did the thought make her want to sweep it away? After all, it was no business of hers. All she had to do was clean his room. She turned her back and pulled the sheet and one quilt tight. They’d put away the heavier woolen quilts of winter. She plumped the pillows, checked the chamber pot, cleaned and dusted the flat surfaces. Without picking up the flask.
She could hear her father’s voice. “There’s nothing wrong with a good belt once in a while.” But for the him the good belt was never enough, and once in a while came far too often. Along with a sodden ride home and time to sleep it off. He’d called it medicinal.
She noticed that McHenry limped sometimes. Was that in the flask medicinal for him? If so, then it w
as no business of hers. Not that what he did was ever any business of hers.
She thought back to the night before. The two of them had remained sitting in the parlor for some time after the Heglands had gone on to bed. She’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him a question.
“What was it like in Arizona Territory?”
He had smiled and nodded, a faraway look drifting into his eyes. “About as different from here as could ever be. Have you seen pictures of cactuses?”
“In a book one time. I think there are many kinds.”
“That is true. Some are huge, like the saguaros that can weigh several tons, and some are much smaller, like the cholla that look soft and fluffy but will fill your or your horse’s legs with spines if you even go near them. They earned the name jumping cholla because the spines seem to jump out at anything that nears them. The desert can be a fierce and unforgiving land in the summer, yet a place of incredible beauty in the spring when it blooms.”
“It is not all sand?” She thought to a picture she’d seen of the Sahara Desert in Africa.
“Oh no. There are rocks and gullies, mountains and arroyos, where the water can run deep and swift—they call them flash floods. If it rains in the mountains, water can come roaring down rapidly. People need to stay out of the low places. The land isn’t good for much unless you’re by a river and can get water. There’s not even enough grass in most places to raise cattle, just sagebrush and creosote bush, which burns hotter’n any regular wood.” He paused and let his eye drift closed, nodding a bit. “But you watch, settlers will come more and more for the fine winters. After we captured Geronimo and I lost my eye and Kentucky and I were both wounded in an ambush, I lost my taste for military life. There’s something about Geronimo…. It was kind of like capturing a wild and proud stallion and breaking him to the plow.” He half snorted. “Poor analogy, but…” He paused, lost in thought.
Amethyst had watched the lamplight play over the planes of his face, corrugating his cheekbones, squaring his jaw, tossing lights into his silvered hair. The black patch seemed to fit, as if he’d worn it forever instead of only a few months. While it might look daring on some, on him it added to the sense of tired. Weary. Worn down.
Amethyst Page 19
