[Dakotah Treasures 01] - Ruby

by Lauraine Snelling

  Ruby climbed the back two sets of narrow stairs to the attic to fetch clean undergarments. While she had a new skirt cut out, she’d not had time to sew it yet.

  Daisy and Cimarron were sitting in the light from the window and stitching new aprons. They had finished their new navy-blue skirts, a white shirtwaist for each, and two aprons that pretty much covered their clothes. The cost of their fabric had been part of the drain on the money.

  “You want I should start on your skirt?” Cimarron, much quicker with the needle than Daisy, asked. “I’m nearly done with these.”

  “That would be good of you.” Ruby leaned over the trunk in the small space she shared with Opal and retrieved her undergarments. “We’ve moved the hip bath into the pantry, and right now I’m going to take a bath. You are welcome to do the same if you like.”

  “Ah, a real soak in the tub?” Cimarron waved her hands above her head. “In the pantry—what a perfect idea.”

  “How close to done are you on the table linens?” Ruby asked the two girls.

  “If we all work on them, we should be able to finish hemming the tablecloths tonight. The napkins . . .” Cimarron shrugged. “You know, Opal is real handy with a needle too.”

  “Opal is real handy with a lot of things. She fixed my window when it was stuck.” Daisy looked up from her stitching, and immediately the wrinkles left her brow. “She’s smart, that one, and not afraid of hard work.”

  Ruby felt as though she’d just been handed a gift, all opened and ready to enjoy. “I’ll tell her you said so.” Treading quickly back down the stairs, she couldn’t wait to talk with her younger sister.

  “Ruby, guess what?” Opal met her on the bottom stair.

  “What?”

  “Charlie found us a cat, only half grown but real pretty.” She grabbed Ruby’s hand and pulled her along. “Come see. We have her in a box. Charlie said female cats make the best mousers. He said her mother is a real good hunter.” Her words tripped over each other in her rush to get them all out. She knelt by a wooden box with the lid held down by a rock. “She’s so scared, being hauled around like this.”

  “Where did he find her?”

  Opal looked up, questions marking her eyes. “I don’t know. I forgot to ask. You think she will like it here?”

  “She will if you get her a saucer of milk and some of that venison roast left from last night.”

  “Good. I will.” She motioned Ruby to kneel down beside her. “I’ll lift the lid, and you peek quick before she jumps out.”

  Ruby did as ordered and peeked in the box. A fluffy gray cat with a white spot on her head that took in part of one ear hissed back at her. Crouching in the corner, the cat glared back out of slitted green eyes.

  “Oh, Opal, she is really pretty.”

  “See, I told you. Now we got to tame her. Wish we had a cage or something so she wouldn’t run off.”

  “We could keep her in the pantry, soon as we get done with our baths.”

  “I don’t want no bath.”

  “Any.”

  “Any bath.”

  “I know you don’t, but sometimes we . . .”

  “ . . . have to do things we don’t like.”

  Ruby cocked an eyebrow and stared at her sister. “I’ve said the same thing too many times, I take it. You even sound like me.”

  Opal scuffed the floor with the toe of her shoe. “Sorry.”

  “Bath after Cimarron.”

  Opal heaved a sigh, the kind of sigh that said she was only doing this terrible duty out of love for her sister. “All right.”

  Ruby tugged gently on one of Opal’s braids. “And we’ll wash your hair too.” Chuckling at the woebegone look on her sister’s face, Ruby headed for the pantry and the bliss of a bath.

  That evening, with Charlie baking a cake to serve for dinner the next day, they all gathered in the dining room to spread the tablecloths on the tables and set them for the morning. Opal laid the last knife and fork in place and stepped back to see that all was straight. Ruby had given strict instructions on how the tables were to be set, how those who came to eat should be served, and who was in charge of what.

  Daisy pulled at the high neck of the waist she now wore. “Can’t hardly breathe, this is so tight.”

  “Won’t nobody come without booze behind that bar.” Cimarron shook her head. “While I sure do hope this works, I don’t have me a good feeling about it a’tall.” She nodded toward the pounding that had started on the front door. “I’ll get it.” She crossed to the door and yelled back. “We’re closed until six in the morning when we open for breakfast.”

  “Breakfast! I want a drink, and I want it now.”

  “Sorry, we will no longer be serving liquor. The cardroom will open at three.”

  “Cimarron, that you?”

  “Yes, Johnny, it’s me.”

  “I heard there ain’t anymore . . . you know.”

  “You heard right.”

  “Well, whatever’s a man to do?”

  “See you at breakfast from six to eight.”

  They all listened as he stomped off, the words he threw over his shoulder none too complimentary, nor were they fit for young ears. Or any woman’s ears, for that matter.

  “Told you so,” Belle called down from halfway up the stairs, where she’d been sitting and watching the goings on.

  “Have you decided to run the cardroom yet?” Ruby asked.

  “For now. But I ain’t sleeping up in the attic.”

  “Suit yourself. You know the rate for the room.” Ruby glanced around one more time. Hard to believe this had really been a saloon. It cleaned up mighty fine, just like the girls did. White cotton curtains were looped off the long windows with red tiebacks to match the red papered walls. The floor took two coats of blue-gray paint that set off the dark chairs amid the white-clothed tables. All the woodwork shone from scrubbing and a fresh coat of beeswax. The former bar now gleamed like the rest of the woodwork, ready for its new life as a desk for checking guests into the hotel. A shiny bell sat next to the box for cigars. Thinking the carved and inlaid box might be the buksbom her father had referred to, Ruby had cleaned and polished it herself, finding nothing but cigar dust and disappointment. She knew both Cimarron and Daisy had applied a little kohl, some rouge, and some powder to their faces, but she decided to let it go for now. Their suffering in the new garments was bad enough to hear about without having them grouse about looking like ghosts.

  They were all set for their new customers. Now if only some would show up.

  That night, after the lights were all out and her stomach was knotted like the ball of yarn the cat had found to play with, Ruby realized how long it had been since she’d read in her Bible, how long since she’d really prayed. Lord, how easy it is to fall away, please forgive . . . Sleep claimed her.

  6:00 A.M. No one.

  6:30 A.M. No one.

  7:00 A.M. Ruby went outside to make sure the open sign was still in place. Two of them, in fact. One nailed to the right front post read:

  Breakfast 6–8, 35 cents.

  Dinner 11–2, 75 cents.

  Supper 5–7, 50 cents.

  Cardroom 3 P.M.–1 A.M.

  She had changed the cardroom hours from 10:00 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. at Belle’s insistence. Was she charging too much? Wrong hours? She returned to the kitchen to join the others in eating their own breakfasts.

  “Word just hasn’t gotten around yet.” Charlie set a plate of ham and eggs in front of her. “I’ll go out later and call on every building in Little Missouri.”

  “What if you put up a sign at the railroad stop? For the people on the train, you know.” Cimarron took a bite out of a cinnamon roll that looked and tasted both sinful and delicious.

  Charlie continued to surprise Ruby with his cooking talents. If only everyone would realize what they were missing.

  “Good idea. We’ll paint one this morning.”

  “Milly and me could take samples around,” Opal offered.r />
  Ruby looked a question at her little sister. “Samples?”

  “You know, like the man in the park used to do. ‘Get your free samples here!”’ She imitated the barker’s call to the chuckles of the others at the table. “We could do that, huh, Milly?”

  Ruby glanced at Milly too, hoping that she would agree. At her nod of agreement, Ruby smiled at Opal. “That’s a good idea too. Anyone else?”

  “Oh!” Charlie shut the door to the pantry a second too late. Cat, as the young kitten was called since she had no name yet, streaked across the kitchen and into the storage room. Milly and Opal lunged off their chairs, too late to dive for the cat but quick enough to see which stack of boxes, barrels, and buckets the gray fluffy tail disappeared behind.

  “Here, kitty kitty.” Opal had already perfected the right tone of pleading. She’d spent a good part of the evening before sitting in a corner of the pantry trying to entice the cat to take a bit of venison from her fingers, all to no avail. However, anything put in the dish had been devoured. Their cat would not starve to death. Of course, with all that food available, she might not bother with the mice either.

  “There are mice in the storeroom too.” Charlie poured more coffee all around.

  “True, but it will be more difficult to tame her if Opal can’t find her.”

  “She’ll come out for food.”

  “Now if that was a male cat, food would work, but for a female? Don’t count on it.” Cimarron stared at Charlie over the top of her coffee cup, one eyebrow raised.

  “You saying males can be bribed with food?”

  “If the shoe fits . . .”

  At the man’s guffaw, Ruby happened to glance at Daisy and saw a look of adoration aimed at the man teasing Cimarron. Oh my, I hope that’s not what I think I’m seeing. Though inexperienced in the ways of men and women, she’d read enough books to recognize the situation. Daisy had a thing going for Charlie, and Charlie always treated her like his kid sister—if he paid any attention to her at all, other than being polite.

  A bell tinkled. Ruby leaped to her feet and headed to the dining room. Someone had come in. She pushed the newly painted swinging door open.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning, ma’am.” The soldier who spoke removed a gray broad-brimmed felt hat. “Is Charlie here?”

  “Yes. I’ll get him. Would you like to have breakfast?” At the shake of his head, she added, “Coffee?”

  “Sorry, I just need to talk with Charlie.”

  “All right.” Ruby returned to the kitchen and sent Charlie out. She’d hoped for at least one customer.

  By evening they’d served no one in the dining room, but four men had gathered in the cardroom where Belle could be heard laughing as she dealt.

  “Hey, Charlie, bring on the whiskey!”

  Ruby looked up from the table where she sat going over the ledger and caught the look on Charlie’s face.

  He believes we should be serving whiskey. And if we were, we would have some money coming in today. I know that’s what my father would have been doing, along with providing plenty of “hospitality.” And he made money. Now here I am trying to turn this establishment into a place I needn’t be ashamed to work in and where I can have my sister with me. God, I figured this is what you wanted me to do. If I’m wrong, I’d sure appreciate it if you would let me know before I lose every cent I have and this place, our inheritance, too.

  “Don’t you go gettin’ discouraged now.” Charlie stopped by the table on his way back to the kitchen. “It’s just the first day. Tomorrow I’m going to take rolls and coffee over to sell when the train comes in. No one is used to getting food here, but we’ll see how it goes. I baked cookies this afternoon too. If it goes well, this is another something that Opal and Milly can do.”

  “You think so?”

  “Well, how often did you have to get off the train for food on your way west?”

  “You’re right.” She thought a moment. “We could make up some handbills to hand out to the drummers.” She flinched at the thought of the man she’d had the altercation with on the train. What if he came by? Not that there were many people in the town to buy anything from a drummer. Whatever possessed her to think she could. . . ?

  “Now, Miss Ruby, there you go again.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “ ’Fraid so.”

  Belle’s laugh from the cardroom stung like lemon on Ruby’s nerves. Here all the rest of them had worked themselves to the bone, and Belle lay around complaining. Now she was having a great time while the rest of them were still working dawn to dark and later.

  Ruby slammed the ledger shut, stuffed it on the shelf behind the former bar, and stomped off into the kitchen.

  The three around the table looked up, guilt like red paint all over their faces.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m learning how to play poker, Ruby, want to join us?” Opal held up her hand of five cards. “Five card draw, and I won twice already.”

  Ruby closed her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and unclenched her teeth.

  Cimarron snatched the cards back. “I think we’ll play hearts instead. You ever played hearts, honey?”

  That’s all I need. My little sister a cardsharp.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Fool woman. Why’d she have to go messin’ around with things?”

  Thoughts of Dove House’s new proprietress had plagued him day and night for the two weeks since he’d been to town. Buck’s ears swiveled as he kept track of the terrain, his rider’s muttering, the whisper of the wind in the sagebrush, and the tumbling creek.

  Pretty little heifer, isn’t she? Rand thought back to the spitfire he’d stepped in to protect on the train. In spite of having spent days on the train, she’d backed that fool drummer right up the aisle. Rand’s own warnings had been helpful but not necessary. Still, it must have been a shock to wake up to a little girl staring you in the face.

  He chuckled, then right out laughed when he put himself in the man’s place. No wonder the drummer had been fit to be tied. And Rand was tied too, tied up in knots by a bitty young woman who’d most likely take on the world in defense of her little sister. On the train he’d thought the young girl might be her daughter, but Miss Torvald, as he now knew her to be, didn’t look old enough to have a child that age.

  While she didn’t look so fancy in a dark skirt and white shirt, blouse, waist, whatever women called it, her backbone hadn’t softened any. You had to respect her for that, even though she was totally foolish in making changes at Dove House. The odds on her making a living in Little Misery without the girls’ services and the booze were slim to none.

  Of course, that’s what his family had told him about running cattle out here in the middle of nowhere. But then they hadn’t seen the lush grass that grew so fast in the spring you could measure it each day, the rivers and creeks that provided water, and the breaks and valleys that provided protection from the cold in the winter and the heat of the summer. One needn’t worry about neighbors getting in your way either.

  And now that he had a snug cabin, steady help, and two hundred cows calving this spring, he’d decided one winter night that if he didn’t start thinking of a family pretty soon, he might as well not think of it at all. Thoughts of sharing his bed and house with a warm and willing woman kept returning to him like butterflies to a patch of flowers.

  He tightened the reins only a twitch, but Buck stopped immediately. Rand stared out over the greening plains that rippled and rolled far as the eye could see. If you didn’t know the badlands were out there, one would think the plains went on forever until you rode up to the edge of the cliff and looked down and across the most incredible shapes and colors, unimaginable until you saw them yourself. Near as he could figure, God went on a carving and painting spree when He laid down the Missouri and the Little Missouri Rivers. He must have been having a right good time. After the horror of war, the wildness of the badlands
— or Mako Sica, as the Indians called it—was a good antidote. Rand had not had time nor energy for feeling lonely up until this past winter.

  The trip home to Missouri hadn’t helped.

  “Why don’t you stay, Rand?” His sister Abigail had pleaded. “We could sure use some help around here.”

  “I know you could, but I got cows of my own to take care of. Spring roundup will start not long after I get back, and I gotta be there for that.”

  “Roundup?”

  “We have free range. That means those cows can cover half a county or more.”

  “No fences? You must lose a lot of stock that way.” Abigail paced the kitchen, alternately patting the baby she carried against her shoulder and stirring the squirrel stew she’d made for supper. She handed Rand the baby and set about beating an egg and adding the flour and milk for dumplings. After dropping the spoonfuls of dough into the simmering stew, she retrieved the now sleeping infant.

  “How bad has it been?” he asked her.

  “Well, we still have the place. As you can see, Mark Allen works dawn to dark in the fields, and most of what we make goes for taxes. If we could pay some of the Negroes to come back and work, it sure would help. This place is too big for one man. Though Benjamin helps as much as he can, he’s only ten.” She laid the baby down in the cradle near the stove. “But it’s not big enough to support the two or three families needed to work it.”

  “I understand, but . . .”

  He watched her. She’d aged far more than her letters had let on. They had three children now, and several small markers over in the family graveyard told of losses alongside of his mother and father. While his father died not long after the end of the war from wounds suffered in the battle at Sayer’s Creek, his mother lived on until after Rand had left for the West.

  “How are Jefferson and Sue Gail doing?”

  “Hanging on like the rest of us. Too many women and not enough men to support them or keep the farms going.”

  Rand thought of all the land in the West, the free homesteading. But in the West one didn’t have two-story houses with curtains and rugs or barns with stalls and neighbors within hollering distance. You didn’t have churches and schools and roads, but then you didn’t have taxes and the law breathing down your neck either.