Montana Sky: Baling Wire Promises (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Entertainers of The West Book 4)

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  Chapter Five

  “Come along, children.” Fantine trudged across the meadow, keeping her gaze on the line of tree canopies that had to indicate the creek they’d followed earlier. At least, she hoped so. When they’d first left the camp, she’d been so focused on making the hike a fun experience, she hadn’t watched carefully for landmarks.

  Was that the bush that frightened Nara when she mistook it for a bear? She squinted and tilted her head. No, maybe not. Their foraging adventure was a success, and the strap of the crocheted bag pulled on her neck and bumped against her hip. On their hunt for food, they walked along the creek for quite a way before heading up the sloped bank and into a meadow. Then they’d scampered from bush to bush collecting berries and greens. But was this the same meadow?

  “I’m thirsty.” Erin tromped close behind, her shoes crunching dried grass with each step.

  “We all are, sweetie. Just a little more hiking, and we’ll reach the creek.” Fantine stepped out of the path to look over her shoulder. The little girls walked about ten feet behind, heads drooping, hands clasped tight. Ander brought up the rear, balancing the soup pot full of berries on his head.

  A sharp note split the air.

  What was that? A bird call? A goose honk? Fantine turned her head to seek its location, but the sound bounced around the narrow canyon. She needed to hear it again.

  Three short blasts.

  Frowning, she glanced to her right. The sound came from the direction they’d just walked. But that couldn’t be right. She looked toward Ander. “Can you tell where the sound came from?”

  “That way.” He jerked his chin toward the right.

  Did she dare call out? Would doing so put them in danger?

  The notes repeated.

  The sounds must be a signal from Mister Andrews. “Head in that direction, Ander. I’ll be right behind.” She caught Erin’s hand and swung it in a wide arc as she urged the child to change direction. Then she squatted in front of Kittie and Nara. “Let’s go the other way now, my girlies.”

  Kittie stopped and thrust both hands outward. Her lower lip pouted.

  A split second later, Nara imitated the pose. “Carry me.”

  Fantine looked between the little girls and saw exhaustion lines surrounding their berry-stained mouths and their stooped posture. Guilt stabbed her chest. She’d been so intent on gathering as much food as possible, she hadn’t considered the youngsters’ limited energy. Could she carry both of them? She had to try. “Erin, will you take the bag? Camp must not be too far away.” She pulled the strap over her head and held out the bag until the girl collected it and hung it on a shoulder. “All right. Nara, grab my shoulders, climb on my back, and wrap your legs around my middle.”

  Clumsily, the girl did as instructed.

  Fantine lifted and cradled Kittie against her chest, and then stood and staggered a step or two to the side. The additional weight was more than she expected. But with small steps, she could manage it. “What shall we sing, Nara?”

  “Too tired to sing.”

  “All right, mon petit. Just listen. Frère Jacques, Frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous? Sonnez les matines, Sonnez les matines. Ding, dang, dong. Ding, dang, dong.”

  “I like your special words, Miss Fantine.”

  Kittie wiggled in her arms.

  Fantine glanced down. “Again?” Seeing the little girl’s nod, she smiled. At least, singing kept her mind off her aching muscles. She was in the middle of the second repeat when Mister Andrews stepped out of a bush ahead, crossed his arms over his chest, and scowled. Stuttering for only a moment, she kept singing and smiled at the same time. When his expression didn’t change, she brushed past him and walked several more steps until she reached the lowered tailgate of the wagon. “Here’s where you hop off, Nara.”

  “I was worried, Miss Fantine.” Julian frowned. “You were gone so long.” He held up a stick with a tapered end that had the bark removed. “Look, Mister Andrews let me whittle.”

  The image of this active and impulsive boy wielding a knife made her stiffen. “He watched as you used the knife, right?” As soon as she saw him nod, she lowered her gaze to the stick. “Very good work, Julian.” Turning, she waited until she felt the weight lift off her back. Then she leaned to the side and eased Kittie to a stand. Knowing she owed Mister Andrews an explanation, she sucked in a fortifying breath.

  “Do you know—”

  “Let me go first. Please.” His tone was demanding, and she didn’t want the children to hear it. She held up a hand and motioned for the older children to come close. “Did you see what all we collected?” She infused a happier tone into her voice than she felt. “Ander, show Mister Andrews.”

  The shy boy stepped close and held out the pot. “Hawthorn berries and chokecherries.”

  “Uh huh.” His stance didn’t change, although he’d stepped up next to the wagon’s back wheel.

  Tiredness threatened to swamp her. But to offset the tall man’s glower, she smiled at Ander, took the pot from his hands, and settled it on the tailgate. “We’ll save half to eat fresh, and the rest I’ll cook into syrup.” If only she’d come across a bee hive with some honey. Fantine moved to the water bucket, scooped up a cupful, and carried it to the little girls. “And, Erin, do you remember what’s in that bag?”

  “Not everything.” She rested it on the tailgate and spread out the items. “I think this is sals-um…”

  “Salsify, that’s right.” Fantine drank what the girls didn’t finish, grateful for the cool liquid on her dry throat, and walked back to the bucket for more. “What’s the long skinny one?”

  Erin crinkled her nose then shook her head. “Something that will taste yummy is all I remember.”

  “Biscuitroot. I’ll slice them and cook them in the skillet, and they’ll taste like parsnips.” Fantine separated the roots from the greens. More sheep’s sorrel for cheese-making. She’d spotted a patch of bull thistle but had passed it by. Harvesting and transporting that plant needed a better container. And gloves.

  “Miss Pomeroy, I wish to speak with you…privately.”

  Frowning, she shook her head. “Ander, you rest. Or maybe challenge Julian to that target game I saw marked in the dirt. I’ll take the animals to the creek and water them.” Then she connected with Mister Andrews’ gaze and jerked her head toward the rope corral. Doing more than one thing at a time was the only way she knew how to get everything accomplished during the day. From the limb of the tree where they hung, she reached for the hackamores for Misty and Cocoa.

  Mister Andrews’ boots scuffed the dirt behind her. “I’ll handle the horses. You get the goats.”

  The heat from his disapproval pierced the spot on her back where he must be staring. She affected an indifferent shrug. “I appreciate your help.” Even though she hadn’t been bumped and jostled in a wagon all day, she was still sore from the hike. What she really wanted was to stretch out and read for just half an hour. But, that could not be. Instead, she lifted down the braided rawhide for the nannies and approached, cooing, “Viens ici.” As soon as the goats came close, she slipped on the tethers and set off for the creek. One last glance at the campsite showed the boys sitting on the tailgate. Fantine drew close enough to the wagon to spot the three girls curled together like a litter of napping kittens.

  Like she’d always done, she removed her moccasins, pulled the back hem of her skirt through her legs, and tucked it into the front of her waistband. While keeping the goat herd in sight, she waded into the sandy-bottomed creek until the refreshing water covered her calves. A deep sigh escaped her lips.

  Dirt and rocks tumbling down the creek bank announced the arrival of the animals and Mister Andrews.

  From the corner of her eye, she watched the bearded man guide four horses, the leads for two in each hand, to the water’s edge. She admired his easy manner and the way the horses pricked their ears forward at his murmured words.

  “You were gone for hours.”

/>   Simple words, but she noted his clipped tone. “We collected a lot of food.”

  “Did you know the collecting would take that long before you left?” He ducked under the necks of two horses and moved within a few feet. His brows wrinkled for a moment as he took in her appearance then he speared her with a stare. “Because my answer about tending the boy might have been different.”

  On reflex, she glanced over her shoulder toward the campsite and then stepped closer. “Mister Andrews, please keep your voice low. The children have been through enough, and I don’t want them hearing harsh words.”

  “Not a realistic attitude.” He pressed his lips into a straight line.

  “For where we are now, doing so is within my control.” She angled enough to look him square in the face. A muscle ticked in the corner of his left eye, and his knuckles showed white where they grasped the reins.

  “What the devil was I supposed to do with the boy if you hadn’t come back?” He stared down at the ground. “The kid darn near talked my ear off with his non-stop questions. Had a hard enough time keeping him occupied and busy.”

  Conversations between her parents flashed through her thoughts. How Papa blustered about situations when he wasn’t in control. Mister Andrews was worried about her and the children. “Sir.” She settled a hand on his forearm.

  He stiffened but didn’t pull away. “What?”

  “I apologize.” She looked upward and met his deep blue gaze. “I didn’t mean to cause you worry.”

  “Well, you did.” After a glance at where her hand rested on his arm, he eased away.

  “My priority was first to the children, and then to the foraging. I was provided freedom to pursue my own tasks at the orphanage and wasn’t accountable to their routine.” She glanced to her left to make sure the goats were nearby. “But I ask that you temper any statements that might be construed as the children not being wanted. Such words serve no good purpose.”

  “Understood. Do you know Julian is waiting for his pa to return?”

  “No.” Pain stabbed her chest. She lifted a hand to cover her gaping mouth. “What makes you say that?”

  “The chatterbox told me, right before he busted out the waterworks about thinking you’re taking him so far his pa can’t ever find him.”

  “I had no idea.” Heeding her own advice, she moved to his side and whispered, “His pa was a miner who died in a cave-in a year after he dropped Julian at the orphanage.” Although she knew Julian wouldn’t be walking around on his own, she still glanced along the creek bed and at the bushes. “So far, only one family inquired about him, but that was years ago.”

  “Probably because he’s skin and bones. All of them are.”

  “The sisters did their best with what was provided.”

  Shaking his head, he raised a hand. “Look. I don’t mean to criticize. For as long as we’re a team, I need to pull my weight.”

  “Keeping Julian entertained was helpful.”

  He shot her a frown and started gathering the reins tighter. “I’m going hunting.”

  Today was for his rest and recuperation. “But, your ribs—”

  “Are fine. Just have some willow bark tea brewed for when I get back.” He stepped close and connected with her gaze. “I’ll return within a couple hours, definitely by dusk. You can count on that.”

  For a moment, she just stared into his stormy blue eyes, feeling trapped. His words rang in her ears as he led the horses away. What would having a partner like him be like?

  ****

  Since his pocket watch had been stolen, Pete relied on the angle of the sun to gauge time. As he rode toward the campsite, he was pleased to see the orange-red orb had just dipped below the crest of the mountain to the west. He would meet his self-imposed deadline. His hunting proved fruitful. Double the length of time had been spent in dressing out the birds than locating a clutch of sage grouse and killing four. Rather than subject the children to the scent of singed feathers or the sight of the bloody entrails, he’d lit a small fire downwind of the camp and dressed out the fowl.

  While he worked, he’d thought about Miss Pomeroy’s attitude toward the kids. Since he’d only be tied to the group for another few days, he figured he’d follow her lead. Not that he could ever be as smiley or upbeat. However, he could act like how he remembered his father treating him and his brothers. He’d figure the children could do a task until they proved incapable, and then he’d give instructions to teach them the step they didn’t know.

  If his ribs didn’t ache, he might have kicked Blaze into a trot to reach the campsite sooner. He was anxious to see the group’s reactions when he displayed what he’d brought for the night’s supper. At the point he was on the opposite bank from the campsite, he cupped a hand to the side of his mouth. “Miss Pomeroy, I’m approaching the camp.” He steering Blaze through the creek, wincing as the horse stumbled then regained his footing. The medicinal tea would be welcome again tonight.

  She looked up from the pot she stirred over the fire. “I see you are a man of your word.”

  “Whoa, Blaze.” Pete untied the burlap sack from the pommel and held it out.

  “What’s this?” Straightening, she stepped across the camp and accepted it.

  “Grouse to be roasted.”

  Her eyes widened then she smiled. “What a welcome treat.”

  Treat? More like normal fare. Keeping to his new policy, he didn’t argue but just dismounted.

  “Children, did you hear? Meat for supper.”

  Excited sounds and clapping came from the wagon.

  “Let me get Blaze settled, and I’ll make a spit to roast them on.”

  “Sir, I can tend your horse.” The dark-haired youth stood at Blaze’s head.

  “Appreciate that, son, but Blaze is a bit temperamental.” He spotted the boy drop his chin. “How about you gather some branches for the spits? I need four at least two feet long with forks on one end and two others without the forks. Can you do that?”

  “Sure can, Mister Andrews.” The youth turned and jogged toward the trees bordering the site.

  After settling Blaze, Pete met the kid at the campfire and looked over what he’d collected. The branches would do just fine. “Done any whittling, Ander? That’s your name, right?”

  “Some, and that’s my name.”

  “Good.” Pete dug into his front pocket, pulled out the small jackknife, and extended it. “Choose the two straightest branches and strip off the bark.” He squatted then leaned down and arranged the forked sticks side by side, checking their lengths.

  “Whatcha doing, mister?”

  Pete bit back a sigh and glanced to the side. A girl with reddish-brown braids and freckles stood to his left. “Comparing these sticks. Which one do you think is the shortest?” Only with great control did he keep from pointing out the one that actually was.

  She squatted then windmilled an arm and grabbed his shirt sleeve with a hand. “Oops.”

  He set a hand on her back and held her until she got her balance.

  “Umm.” She tilted her head and pointed to the closest stick she could reach. “This one?”

  “You think so?” He unclamped his jaw. “Pick it up and hold it between your hands. I’ll choose one, and we’ll check.” He grabbed the short stick and aligned it to show an extra two inches extended from hers.

  “No, yours is the shortest.”

  “Right, good eye.” He stood and moved toward his pack.

  “Where’re you going?” Her feet shuffled as she stood.

  Holding out his hand behind him, he kept walking. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.” Hatchet in hand, he returned to the wood pile and picked up one of the remaining sticks. “You get the last one and hold them while I cut these.” Working quickly, he set two on the flattest rock he could find, hacked off the extra on the longer one, then held out his hand for the next stick. And waited. When he looked to the side, he saw the girl using one of the sticks to draw a flower in the dirt next to t
he target. Ducking his chin, he huffed out a long breath. “Another stick, please.”

  Her head popped up. “You mean these?”

  Pete forced the best smile he could manage. “Yep.”

  “Okay.” She skipped across the distance, kicking up dirt with each step. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Stifling a cough, he cut these last two to the right length and then glanced around to check Ander’s progress.

  The kid stood at the end of the tailgate with Miss Pomeroy at his side. Julian balanced on his knees, looking over Ander’s shoulder.

  Pete approached. “Sticks almost ready?”

  Ander’s dark eyes flashed upward then gazed down at his hands. “This one is.”

  One? The birds would already be roasting if Pete completed the task on his own. He could feel Miss Pomeroy’s presence daring him to comment about the progress. After counting to five, he slanted a gaze in her direction. “Miss, do you have any herbs we can slip under the fowls’ skin?”

  “I believe the little girls picked some sweet clover blossoms. They thought the plants were the tansy mustard like I was collecting because both plants had yellow flowers.” She walked toward the front of the wagon and came back with a worn leather pouch.

  Working together, they tore off the petals and poked them in place. Pete opted for mustard for one, tucking in a couple of long leaves to mark his claimed bird. He couldn’t remember when he’d shared chores with a female before and appreciated Miss Pomeroy’s efficiency. When they were done, she held out a towel, but he waved it off. “Not until they’re spitted.”

  “All done, sir.” Ander held out his fist clamped around the sticks.

  Here and there, Pete spotted discoloration where bits of bark still clung. “Looks great. Thanks.” He held out his hand, palm up. “The knife?”

  Miss Pomeroy rubbed the towel on his right hand before Ander dropped it in.