The Goose_The Sixth Day

by Peggy L Henderson

“I’ll get the broom and sweep away the mess I made,” Storm grumbled. He stood and headed outside to get the broom he’d seen leaning against the wall by the door.

  Kunu nodded, a pleased smile spreading over his face. “I’m done here. Once you’ve cleaned that up, you can hitch up the team and we can head into town.”

  Storm stopped in his tracks before he reached the door and turned to face his grandfather. His eyes narrowed. “What for? I don’t think going into Noelle is such a good idea today. Have you looked outside at the sky?”

  Kunu waved a dismissive hand in front of his face. “Don’t look like much of anything. We need to get to town for, uh . . . for some supplies, and there’s a . . . special delivery comin’ in today, too.”

  Storm scoffed. “Supplies? We were in town last week and got more than enough dry goods to last for the rest of the year.” His look of astonishment turned into a glare. “You’re getting about as feeble-minded as old Gus Peregrine. Maybe you oughta spend less time with him. What sort of special delivery did you let him talk you into this time?”

  Kunu cackled. “There’s nothing wrong with my mind, boy. We got to have some supplies to fix a nice Christmas Day dinner tomorrow. Might be a good idea for you to see if there are any geese at the pond.” He smacked his lips. “I’ve got a hankering for a roasted Christmas goose. Doesn’t that sound like a fine dinner?” His eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together. He was practically salivating like Wolf when he caught the scent of fresh game. An almost pleading look passed over Kunu’s face. “You used to make it for the miners all the time.”

  The old man’s smile faded and his features turned serious. Storm turned away from him. That was one memory that could stay buried, just like he’d nearly been buried in a mining accident several years ago. His back and left shoulder began to tingle, and he rubbed at it with his right hand.

  Kunu coughed to clear his throat, no doubt wishing he could swallow the words. “In any case, I want to get to town. I’m gonna have a nice Christmas dinner tomorrow, with or without ya. Ya never know if I’m gonna be around to see the next Christmas.” He stopped to swipe at his nose, then shot a challenging look at Storm. “And if ya don’t want to drive the team, I’ll do it myself.”

  With those words, he rushed to the front door and grabbed his coat and hat off the hook on the wall. Storm cursed under his breath. He gulped the rest of his coffee and followed his grandfather. The old coot was just crazy enough to head into town by himself.

  Not that he wasn’t capable, but driving a team of horses over a road that was snowed over and slick with ice in spots was not something his grandfather should be doing at his age. On top of that, a blizzard was blowing into the area. No telling when it would hit, but he sure didn’t want Kunu out in it on his own. If the old man was so set on a Christmas dinner tomorrow, Storm might as well oblige him and help get the needed supplies.

  The quicker they went to town, the faster they could get back home, and with any luck, he might even have time to stop at the pond to bring home a goose like Kunu wanted. There were always geese on the pond, ever since Kunu had decided to feed the nasty things. A flock had moved in several years ago, and their number seemed to increase each season. Again, probably due to his grandfather treating them like pets. The last time he’d shot one for supper had been three months ago.

  An hour later, Storm sat in the driver’s seat of his old buckboard that had sled runners attached instead of wheels. His grandfather sat contentedly next to him. The team of bay geldings trotted at an easy clip, safe enough to get through some of the muddy spots on the road into town.

  Gray swirls of air surrounded the horses as they breathed through flared nostrils. In the crisp air, the dull, cadenced clopping of hooves on the soft ground and the jingle of harnesses brought a sense of peace and contentment to Storm’s insides.

  He casually leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his thighs while staring at his gloved hands. His fingers played with the leather lines, allowing the team to set their own pace. Wolf was in the bed of the buckboard, but stood with his front paws on the driver’s seat, panting happily with his head between Storm and Ezra, and looking down the snowy road with alert eyes.

  Storm’s grandfather hadn’t said much since leaving the ranch. Now that the first buildings of Noelle came into view, the old man wore a nervous smile, and cast sideways glances at Storm every now and then. He even wrung his hands in front of him and shifted in his seat every few seconds.

  Storm frowned. What the hell was going on with the old man? He seemed apprehensive about something all of a sudden. Ezra Thornton cleared his throat.

  “Maybe you oughta think about getting your hair cut while you’re in town.”

  Storm straightened in his seat at Kunu’s words. He nearly laughed out loud. His head turned to stare at his grandfather’s profile next to him. Had he been serious?

  “Get my hair cut? What the hell for?”

  Storm let go of the reins with one hand and adjusted his hat on his head. He hadn’t cut his hair in years. It reached nearly to his shoulders, and he liked it that way. While some of the men in town frowned at him and his appearance, and others acted as if he was a second-class citizen, Storm had never hidden his obviously mixed heritage. It kept people at a distance, and that’s exactly how he liked it.

  Despite having been raised by his grandfather, his darker skin and raven hair made it obvious that he wasn’t a white man. His father’s blood ran too thick in his veins, and even if he dressed and behaved as a white man, in many folks’ eyes, he was nothing but an Injun, or a half-breed, which was even worse.

  He shrugged. Folks could think about him what they wanted. He’d given up trying to fit in a long time ago. At the end of the day, when they needed to buy a reliable and well-trained saddle horse, they came to see him.

  Ezra shrugged. “Might be nice to have you cleaned up for a change rather than looking like an Injun all the time.”

  Storm’s eyes narrowed. “You never cared how I looked before. In fact, you always told me to be proud of who I am.” He slowed the team as he guided the horses to the left when the road forked. The improvised sleigh made its way down the main street of town. The place seemed eerily quiet, with not much activity going on.

  “I just figgered, it being Christmas and all . . .” Ezra let the rest of his sentence hang in the air as he continued to rub at his unshaven chin.

  Speaking of needing to get cleaned up, Kunu could use a good shave. Hell, they could both use a good bath, but not today.

  “Whoa.” Storm reined the horses to a stop in front of Cobb’s Penn, the dry goods store, and applied the brake. He shifted in his seat to face his grandfather, his eyes narrowed in a suspicious glare.

  “Would you mind telling me what’s going on with you? You’re acting mighty peculiar today.”

  Kunu pulled his hat from his head and scratched at his scalp. His face took on a sheepish look, as if he’d been caught red-handed sneaking too much whiskey with his friend, Gus.

  “How about we go to the Golden Nugget for a drink?” Was that sweat on the old man’s forehead?

  “It might be a better idea to get Doc Deane to take a look at you, Kunu. You’re not looking or acting well.”

  Storm’s eyes roamed over the old man. A sudden twinge of worry swept through him. Maybe it had been a good idea to come to town if his grandfather was sick. At least they were close to a doctor this way. Kunu’s talk earlier that he might not be around to see another Christmas struck him as odd, and rather worrisome.

  The only person alive who’d ever cared about Storm was Ezra Thornton, and other than Kunu, his horses, and his dog, Storm cared little about anything or anyone else. If his grandfather was ill, it would be best to get him seen by the doc in town.

  “I’m fit as a fiddle, boy. I don’t need that sawbones looking at me. He’s liable to make me sick,” Kunu grumbled.

  Storm narrowed his eyes. “Then why are you acting so peculiar? Beside
s, you like Doc Deane. You’ve never hesitated going to him for any of your other complaints.”

  Neither would Storm. If it hadn’t been for Noelle’s doctor several years ago, when . . . Storm shook his head to halt the direction his mind wandered, and rubbed at his shoulder.

  Kunu glanced at him, then his eyes moved to the saloon across the street. Judging from all the voices coming from inside, the citizens of Noelle were getting the Christmas celebration started early. With a groan, the old man stepped down from the buckboard. Storm sat still, glaring at his grandfather. Wolf whined next to him. The dog no doubt wondered why he wasn’t getting out, since the rig wasn’t moving.

  “Well, you see, Storm . . . do you remember the town talking about bringing women here for the men to marry?” Kunu lifted his head to stare up at him.

  Storm smirked. Who hadn’t heard about the crazy idea concocted by Preacher Hammond? Men were tripping all over themselves with the notion of getting married. He glanced up the street to where the fancy whorehouse, the La Maison des Chats, was located. Madame Bonheur, the woman running the establishment, should either be worried that her business would dry up, or maybe she was glad and assumed that the men would frequent her place even more after they were married, to get away from their nagging wives.

  Other than just now since his grandfather had brought it up, Storm hadn’t given much thought to mail-order brides arriving in Noelle. It was none of his business what the men of this town planned to do. They wanted the railroad to come here in order to revive the place since the mine wasn’t producing the way Charles Hardt, self-proclaimed mayor of Noelle and the mine’s owner, had hoped. What that had to do with women and the men getting married was lost to Storm.

  He nodded to acknowledge his grandfather’s question. “Draven might have mentioned it to me.”

  “Well, you see, they’re supposed to be arriving today, on Christmas Eve.” Kunu smiled, but it was forced, as if something pained him.

  Storm shrugged. He looped the leather lines around the brake handle, then jumped from the buckboard’s seat. Wolf barked once, as if to say that it was about time. The dog followed on his heels as Storm strode up to the door of Cobb’s Penn. The place looked closed. Storm frowned. Why would Liam Fulton close early today?

  He shook his head. The Cobb’s Penn was the only place in town to get dry goods and other supplies like grain for the horses, but it was more than a mercantile. If the men weren’t at the Golden Nugget or at the whorehouse, they spent their time away from work sitting around and gossiping at the Cobb’s Penn.

  Liam was one of only a handful of men in town who didn’t give him a wide berth or look at him with disdain in his eyes. Like his Kunu, Liam Fulton saw past the color of his skin or the fact that he was of mixed blood. Other than Draven, the town’s sheriff, Liam was someone whose company Storm didn’t mind.

  “I suppose there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Storm.” Ezra came up to him and placed a hand on his arm. “And I want you to know I only done it because I’m trying to look out for you and do what’s best.”

  Storm’s forehead scrunched. Kunu was doing it again – saying stuff that didn’t make any sense. He ran a hand over his face, then glanced up the street toward the doc’s office. With any luck, Doc Deane would be there and could take a look at Kunu and put his mind at ease that everything was all right with the old man.

  “You’d best explain yourself, Kunu.”

  Ezra Thornton cleared his throat. His eyes again darted to the saloon across the street, then back to Storm.

  “Well, here’s the thing, Storm. About three months ago, when Reverend Hammond was talking about the mail-order brides, I sat in on the meeting.”

  Storm’s brows rose. He smiled and held back a laugh. His grandfather had been alluding to dying earlier, yet he was interested in a mail-order bride? The idea was almost comical.

  Ezra shifted weight from one foot to the other. It was getting rather cold out, and the blizzard was moving in fast, judging by the darkening sky.

  “At the meeting, Hammond said there were only twelve women coming, and the men had to pick straws to see who would get a bride.” His eyes went round and pleading as he stared up to meet Storm’s gaze. “I . . . ah . . . picked a winning straw.”

  Storm blinked. He leaned forward to look more closely at his grandfather. “You’re getting married?”

  Kunu shook his head with a frown. “No. What a foolish idea. I picked the straw for you, boy. You’re the one who’s getting married, and if you ask me, it’s about time.”

  Chapter 2

  Christmas Eve, December 24, 1876 … a few miles outside of Noelle

  “It’s going to be all right, Daniel. Not much longer.”

  Molly Norris wrapped the wool shawl more firmly around her squirming friend. She tucked him more securely under her cloak, pushing his head down to shield him from the cold and wind on this miserable day. One of the sleigh’s runners lurched over yet another jarring bump in the road – if it could even be called a road – as the driver shouted encouraging words at his team of mules that leaned into their traces and pushed through the wind and snow.

  The canvas that had been pulled over the bed of the wagon flapped in the gale, doing little to keep the cold out. At least it prevented most of the snow from getting in, saving everyone from being completely drenched by the end of this miserable journey. Freezing to death was a real possibility.

  Molly glanced around. The other ladies in the wagon with her wore expressions of pure misery. Some huddled together for warmth. Many were complaining about how unbearable it was. Most of them had probably never endured these kinds of conditions, and were no doubt wondering how this was all going to end. Their grand notions of leaving Denver for a better life, to be married and well taken care of by their new husbands seemed to shatter with each bounce of the wagon.

  None of that mattered. Although conditions were certainly miserable at the moment, once they reached Noelle - a little mining town high up in the Rocky Mountains in the new state of Colorado - Molly could slip into her new role as wife to the horse rancher she’d agreed to marry, and she could forget all about the horrible events that had led her to this point in her life.

  She laughed silently. She was used to harsh weather and less than favorable conditions. Montana was just as rough as it was here in Colorado. The winters there had been brutal. High in the Colorado Rockies, she wasn’t expecting to go to some fancy town. Besides, the further out and more remote it was, the less likely it was that anyone would come looking for her.

  As the blizzard howled outside the confines of the wagon’s canvas, her thoughts wandered to the man she had agreed to marry. Living on a horse ranch sounded amazing. It would be better than living in town, and it was certainly better than anything she’d ever had in her life. Socializing with others had never been at the top of her list of priorities. It would be perfect.

  Hopefully her future husband didn’t live up to his name. Storm Thornton. He hadn’t elaborated in his letter how he had come to have such an unusual name, but it did sound intriguing. She’d often imagined what he might look like. Was he short? Pudgy? Did he have bad teeth? Did any of it matter? Molly ran a self-conscious hand along her cheek by her nose.

  Shivering, she huddled into her cloak, but the flimsy material wasn’t nearly as warm as the one Birdie Bell wore. Out of all the women in this wagon, she looked to be the warmest and most comfortable. An accomplished seamstress, she’d fashioned her coat to fit her well. She’d graciously handed out shawls and cloaks, and anything else she could lend the rest of the women from her sacks of sewing supplies, and everyone seemed grateful for it.

  Molly had accepted the extra shawl Birdie had offered to wrap up Daniel, but the determined beast kept trying to escape. If only she had something to cover Daniel’s head, but all she could do was tuck him under her cloak for now. He was already swaddled to make it appear as if she was carrying a newborn, much like Kezia Mirga’s little gi
rl, Jemimah. The only difference was that the baby was definitely better behaved than Molly’s feathered friend. No matter how much Molly shushed him, Daniel would not be kept quiet when he had something to protest about.

  Mrs. Walters had pulled her aside before leaving Denver to say that, if the goose kept biting the women and people who got too close, someone might insist that it had to go. The woman was short on brides who’d agreed to journey to Noelle, and Molly had been one of the last she’d recruited to come to this mining town to marry men they’d never met.

  By the looks of it, if most of the women had known where they were going, Mrs. Walters would have been short a whole lot more brides than the dozen she’d managed to round up.

  It didn’t matter. Noelle sounded like the perfect place, remote and nestled high up in the Rockies. The perfect location to make a fresh start. A voice from the past echoed in Molly’s head.

  “It sounds like a wonderful adventure. You should do it, Molly. No use wasting your life away in Virginia City when there’s a whole world out there for you to explore.”

  If her good friend, Danica Jensen, were still alive, those were the words of advice she would have uttered. Molly smiled despite gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering. She blinked away a tear at the same time. Memories of how wild and daring Danica had been, and how every girl in Virginia City had secretly wished they could be like her, warmed her insides but brought a sudden ache to her heart.

  Since the news of Danica’s death in an Indian raiding party this past summer, Molly had been determined to follow her friend’s advice. In a way, it was thanks to Danica that she was here, in this wagon, heading for an unknown destination. She glanced down at the small, dark head that emerged from beneath her cloak.

  “Danica always said she’d never let anyone hurt her, and if they tried, she’d hurt them back,” she whispered to the goose. No one else would hear her over the howling of the wind.

  No doubt Danica had put up a valiant fight against the Indians. Molly patted the gander’s head. “And that goes for you, too, Daniel. No one’s going to hurt you while you’ve got me to look after you.” Hadn’t she already proven those words to be true?