He offered her the reins.
She let go with one hand long enough to take them from him.
He placed a moccasined foot into his stirrup and, with a creak of leather, effortlessly lifted himself astride the massive gelding.
"Tap your heels against her flanks," he said.
Flanks? She glanced over, saw how Cooper nudged his horse and did the same. The mare started forward. Hallie stifled a squeak, immediately caught up in trying to stay seated for the jostling ride. Her teeth jarred and her buttocks slammed repeatedly against the hard saddle, and instinctively she tried to steady herself with the reins.
The horse drew up short, flinging its head back and snorting.
"Hang on to the pommel, Hallie, not the reins!" Cooper ordered.
Sorting out his instruction and swallowing her panic, she let loose of the reins. The animal turned in a tight circle.
Cooper sidled his mount up beside hers and steadied the mare.
"Thanks," she said.
"My horses are touchy," he said. "If you pull on the reins they stop. If you pull to the right, they turn right. If you pull to the left, they turn left. I should have told you."
"That's okay."
He put some distance between them and they moved out once again. She'd never imagined riding a horse would be this difficult! However did men do it for days and days? She was already praying the Hallstroms' place was only a few more feet.
Cooper didn't seem to have any difficulty, and she observed the casual way he sat the animal. She discovered that bracing some of her weight against the stirrups as they crossed gullies helped ease the jarring.
They traveled at a moderate pace, Cooper riding close. Finally, assured she wouldn't be flung to the ground and trampled at any moment, she relaxed and beheld the countryside.
As they traveled west, the landscape was more picturesque than the endless sky, unbroken by cliffs or conifers, meeting the horizon in all directions. Here the erosive power of nature had eaten away the outer skin of the prairie, exposing a panorama of color and clay forms.
A deer darted from a cottonwood gully and Hallie pointed in fascination.
"Whitetail," Cooper said.
"Isn't this just the most breathtaking scenery? Oh, look! What are those?"
"Pronghorn," he replied. "Antelope to you."
"Antelope starts with an a," she said.
He ignored her.
"So does Angus."
No reply. The small herd grazed until one of the antelope caught sight of the horses, and gracefully, like dancers in a synchronized ballet, the animals turned, revealing bright rings around their rumps, and ran out of sight. Disappointed, Hallie sighed.
"The cabin's just ahead," Cooper said.
"Why isn't Angus at the station?"
"He doesn't work for me all the time," Cooper answered. "He farms this land, too."
They passed a field of stubble, then the cabin and a low, slant-roofed structure for housing animals came into view. Several chickens pecked in the dirt beside the door. Angus came from the animal shelter and met them. "Coop! Miss Wainwright! You came!"
Cooper slid from his horse in a graceful dismount and turned to Hallie. Thighs trembling, she stood in the stirrups, freed one foot and swung the leg over the horse's rump. Cooper caught her before she fell in a heap in the dirt. "These Dakota horses must be taller than the ones back home, eh?" he asked, settling her and stepping back.
"Much," she replied. "Must be all this fresh air that grows them so big."
Evelyn, a calico apron covering her gray dress, appeared in the doorway with a hesitant smile. "Miss Wainwright?"
"It's Hallie," she said, moving around Cooper on wobbly legs.
"Hallie." Evelyn gave her an awkward hug and immediately stepped back. "Mr. DeWitt."
"Ma'am." Cooper tipped his hat. Pulling a tin from a saddlebag, he pushed it into Hallie's hands without ceremony and turned with Angus, walking the horses away.
Carrying the tin she recognized as tea, Hallie followed Evelyn into the dim interior of the tiny cabin.
"For you," she said, and placed the metal container on the plank table.
"Tea?" Evelyn's plain face lit up momentarily. "How thoughtful." She frowned immediately and her glance darted around the rustic little room. "I don't have a teapot."
"No worry," Hallie said. "Just boil water in your coffeepot. That's what we do." She found the word we disturbing in some betraying manner she chose to ignore.
While Evelyn fumbled with the water bucket and metal coffeepot, Hallie glanced around the room. Open shelving held tins and dishes. Pans and utensils hung from the low ceiling. At the other end of the room, a lumpy bed covered with a patchwork quilt took up more room than anything else. Hallie glanced back and met Evelyn's timorous gray eyes.
Evelyn's pale complexion reddened, giving Hallie cause to wonder. None of the women who'd come west with her had been prepared for the fates that awaited them. The brief descriptions in the advertisements and letters had painted only a sketchy picture, leaving their imaginations to fill in the details. Their own limited experiences had colored the vista with inaccuracies and wishful thinking.
"Will you answer questions for my story?" Hallie asked.
Evelyn placed a few sticks in the stove and ineffectively tried to light them. "I'd probably talk to the devil right about now, just to have some company." She jerked her head around and blanched. "I didn't mean that you're— that—"
Hallie waved off Evelyn's embarrassment. "Here, let me show you how."
"Angus keeps trying to show me, but I just can't seem to get it right."
Hallie brushed her aside, built the fire and placed the pot on the stove. "What were your first reactions to the Dakotas when you got here?" she asked.
"Pretty much what they are now," the woman said, sinking tiredly onto a chair. "I wondered what I was doing here. I didn't know how to do anything. Everything I learned at Miss Abernathy's is useless."
Hallie nodded with growing understanding. "What are your days like?"
Evelyn's thinly lidded eyes turned to her. "I've ruined most of my clothing trying to do my own laundry. The rest gets torn on nails or ripped on bushes. I mend a lot. I read. Angus, well, he tries to help me with things as much as he can, but he's awfully busy with the farm. Everything has to be ready for winter."
Hallie had been having such a grand adventure herself, she finally stopped to recognize what a hardship this life was for the women who'd come west. "Are you lonely?" Hallie ventured to ask.
Evelyn's pained expression was one of guilt. Tears formed in her eyes and her lower lip trembled. "You're the first person I've talked to besides Angus." She blinked and straightened. "Tell me what your life has been like."
"Well!" Hallie launched into detailed accounts of the Indians, the bear, and her teaching and accounting experiences. Evelyn actually laughed and asked her to go on. They'd drunk several cups of tea by the time the men walked through the doorway.
Evelyn started at their arrival.
"Did you ladies have a good morning?" Angus asked.
His wife smiled nervously and nodded. And then as if realizing he'd mentioned the morning was gone, she stood and looked around with a lost expression. "We need something to eat," she said.
Cooper watched the woman flutter uselessly. He glanced at Hallie and she, too, watched her with a frown. Evelyn looked in a few canisters, took a pan down and opened the stove door, forgetting a rag and burning her fingers. Without prelude, the woman burst into tears.
Chapter Ten
Cooper, having no experience with crying women, had the singular urge to get up and run. He and Angus exchanged looks of embarrassment and confusion.
Hallie moved to Evelyn's side and tenderly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She handed her a square piece of rough toweling to dry her tears and fed a log into the fire. "Do you have some salve?" she asked Angus.
He handed her a tiny round tin and
she dabbed a little of the substance on Evelyn's palm. "There, now. Do you have salt pork? Flour? Here, find me a bowl."
Within minutes Hallie had organized ingredients and was showing Evelyn how to prepare a simple meal.
Cooper hated to see this happening to his friend. Angus had burdened himself with a useless city woman and worse, if the look on his face was any sign, he cared about her. He'd looked relieved to see them arrive that morning. He'd come up with chores for Cooper to help him with just to stay away from the cabin. Cooper had seen through his ruse, but had gone along. Maybe the women needed some time alone. They'd probably commiserated together.
Would visiting the brides satisfy Hallie? Or would being around women raised as she was point out how crude her surroundings were? Would she regret not taking advantage of her last opportunity to go east before winter set in?
"I got a good wheat crop in just before the rain started," Angus mentioned, drawing Cooper's attention. They discussed the fishing that year, and before he knew it, Evelyn set the table and Hallie served the food.
Angus ate the meal appreciatively and encouraged Hallie to talk about her article. As soon as they'd finished eating, she scraped the plates and heated wash water. She bustled about efficiently, and Angus turned to Cooper with a raised brow.
Cooper glanced from the station manager to Evelyn. She stared at Hallie with a lost expression, from time to time glancing at Angus as if she hoped he didn't notice her inadequacy.
Cooper couldn't wait to leave. By early afternoon he had the horses ready and called Hallie from the cabin. She wished Evelyn and Angus a gracious goodbye, thanking them for their hospitality, and this time mounted the gray a little more gracefully.
Why hadn't she just told him she'd never ridden before? He suppressed a grin every time he remembered her approaching the beast with apprehension in her wide, expressive eyes. She wasn't a very good liar. By that night her heedless pride would earn her the sore backside she deserved.
Was he pushing her to make himself feel superior because she'd made him feel like a child the night before?
"Oh! What are those?" She pointed to a bank of cascading red and white wildflowers.
"Wild rose. Prickly pear over there."
"Aren't they beautiful?"
He'd always thought so. Hearing her agree surprised him for some reason. "The first flowers had no seeds and couldn't reproduce themselves," he said.
"How do you know?"
"Do you want to hear or not?"
She nodded silently.
"The first plants had only stems and green leaves," he said, relating the ancient tale. "But Unk, the god of passion and rain, was jealous of their beauty. Gnas, the demon of schemes and plots, taunted her about their beauty until she breathed on the plants and withered them and they all died."
"What happened then?"
"Skan, The Most Holy, saw the destruction and made plants with buds to bear seeds so the plants could make more of themselves. Wohpe, the goddess of beauty and happiness, gave the plants flowers to cover them and colors to make them beautiful."
"That's a wonderful story," she said.
They rode a few miles in silence.
A thundering sound reached them. Beside him, Hallie glanced up at the sky.
Cooper reached an arm out. She reined her horse in and they sat side by side. "It's not thunder," he said. "Wait."
The sound grew louder.
He motioned for her to follow, and walked their mounts to a small rise. On the plain to the west ran a herd of wild horses, their manes and tails streaking in the wind.
Hallie wore an expression of fascination and he turned to see the herd through her eyes. The animals were magnificent, wild and beautiful. He would come back for a few to replenish his stock.
"I was wrong," Hallie said at last.
He glanced at her in surprise. The golden centers of her irises were bright rays in the sunlight. "About what?"
"When I said all the things the whites brought made it better out here."
He remembered her optimism on the subject. And his sarcasm.
"It's lovely just the way it is," she said. "I wish it didn't have to change."
"It will."
She nodded sadly. "Yes, it will. But with men like you…and Yellow Eagle…the change won't all be bad."
Absorbing her words, he led them down the rise and toward Stone Creek. She understood. Somehow, she understood his intent for The People and his nephew. He couldn't have put it into words, but with her he didn't have to.
The more he learned of her, the more time they spent together, the harder it was to accept that he wasn't good enough for her. She recognized that he was a man of the land, a brother to The People. But even though she didn't necessarily look down her nose at him, there was a significant difference between them.
And she would be going back.
Cooper hadn't known much fear in his life. Enemies didn't frighten him. Animals and snakebites and bad weather didn't frighten him.
Death didn't frighten him.
"I think I'll call her Wild Rose."
He turned from the dramatic fall grasses and clay formations to observe the young woman riding beside him. "Who?"
"The horse. You said I could call her anything. I like Wild Rose."
Her silly bonnet, buffeted by the wind, was not doing a thing to protect her from sun or wind, and the afternoon sun shot rays of fire through her disheveled hair. Hallie Claire Wainwright, small and naive and too proud and stubborn for her own good, who talked too much and thought too quickly and had been to school. This unfamiliar creature with pale white skin and delicate bone structure, this city girl who named horses after flowers and had dreams and expectations as big as his own, scared him to death.
And he didn't have the first idea how to handle the fear.
Or the woman.
* * *
The next day a commotion from the other side of the freight building snatched Hallie's and Yellow Eagle's attention from their studies. Wincing, Hallie grabbed a coat and limped behind Yellow Eagle across the distance to the corrals.
"Wild horses!" he shouted with excitement.
Several lathered horses ran in a pack around and around the inside of the corral. Most were white with large patterns of color. Cooper lashed the gate closed and led his panting, copper-speckled gelding toward the barn.
"You gonna break 'em for riding?" the boy asked as Cooper neared.
Cooper's face and hair glistened with perspiration. "Yes." He drew his leather sleeve across his eyes. "And for the teams. I have enough now to breed and sell."
"Do they bring good money?" Hallie asked.
He glanced at her.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "That was none of my business."
"They bring excellent money," he answered. "Enough for a big profit next year."
They stood alongside the fence and watched the tiring animals. The horses blew through their noses and slowed their run. A few fell behind and walked.
"They're beautiful," Hallie breathed in admiration.
"They're tobinos," Cooper said.
She turned her face up.
"Like he's roan or red speckled," he explained, nodding at his gelding. "Wild Rose is a dapple gray."
Hallie grinned at his use of the name she'd given the horse.
"That's a dun or a claybank." He nodded to the animal the color of dirty canvas that Jack led toward the barn.
"Did you know all that?" she asked Yellow Eagle.
He nodded.
"No studies for a few days," Cooper said.
Hallie drew her brows up in question. "What do you mean?"
"We'll be working on Kincaid's building from sunup on.
You and Yellow Eagle will be needed."
"What can I do?"
"Our neighbors will be there. You can either help the women cook or help with another job."
"You mean the brides? The brides will be there?" she asked eager
ly.
"I knew that would interest you."
"Of course! I can get the rest of my interviews for my articles."
He leaned toward her. "I could swear I smell horse liniment."
She drew her jacket around her protectively and looked away.
He led his horse toward the barn.
The next morning Hallie chose to ride with Chumani in the wagon Jack drove. Her sit-down-upon muscles still hadn't recovered from her horseback riding, but she refused to use the liniment Chumani had given her if Cooper thought it made her smell like a horse. Cooper and Yellow Eagle rode ahead and led them to Wiley's tent, which flapped in the wind. Beside it, an enormous pile of wood had been stacked, and a short distance away, a mound of rocks had been gathered.
Hallie helped Chumani establish a cooking area, constructing an open-fronted canvas tent to break the wind, and collecting stones for the fires. Before long more wagons arrived. Vernon Forbes, wearing a freshly pressed shirt beneath his overalls, assisted Zinnia down from a wagon.
Hallie waved.
"Miss Wainwright?" The wind struck Zinnia in the face and she pressed her hat to her head, grasped her basket and lumbered toward the shelter, her enormous bosom jostling beneath her shiny green dress. Without stopping to set the basket down, she enfolded Hallie in a fleshy, sachet-scented hug. "Oh, Lord, it's so good to see a familiar face!" she said, and tears leaked from the corners of her wind-reddened eyes.
"Zinnia, this is Chumani," Hallie said, prying the basket from her side and introducing the women.
Chumani smiled and made the sign for good morning.
Zinnia looked her over and turned back dismissively. "I'm surprised you're still here."
Hallie glanced from Zinnia to Chumani. Expressionless, the Indian woman unpacked a crate. "I haven't interviewed all of you brides yet. And I made a deal with Mr. DeWitt."
"Oh?" Zinnia's eyes flashed curiously.
"I'm teaching his nephew to read and write. He hired me to put his accounts in order, as well. It'll probably take me most of the winter. I'll head back to Boston in the spring."
Badlands Bride Page 15
