As promised, Deputy Christopher Small was also in attendance. When Mary Rose entered the snug wooden church behind her grandmother and Hauer, she could not miss him, for he was seated in the back row next to the door. When he saw her, he smiled, all cheerful blue eyes and white teeth. She managed a quick smile in return before she was past him and following Jubilee to the O’Brien family pew. All through the service, Mary Rose had to fight not to turn around and see if he was looking her way. Alas, she did not retain much of the minister’s long and, presumably, instructive sermon.
After the service, Mary Rose stood in the meager shade of the church’s eaves while Jubilee introduced many people to her granddaughter. Mary Rose kept hoping to spot Deputy Small in the crowd. She had expected to find him easily, since he stood so much taller than everyone else in sight. When Jubilee left with Hauer to fetch the luncheon things they had brought along, Mary Rose looked around to see if she could find a shadier place to stand while she waited for them, and who should come around the corner of the church but Deputy Small.
“Good morning,” he said, removing his broad-brimmed white hat.
“Oh hello!” Her voice betrayed her with a vexing squeak, and she blushed.
“I hope I’m not too forward.” Stepping closer, he held out his hand. “I brought you this.” A small pink flower nestled in his palm.
“Why, thank you.” Mary Rose reached for the flower but then hesitated, wondering if he was indeed being too forward. No man had ever given her a flower before. She decided she did not mind if he was overstepping the boundaries of propriety. After all, Jubilee had called him kind-hearted. Surely it could do no harm.
“It’s a Woods’ rose,” he informed her. “I don’t often see them this early, but I know of a sheltered spot where they sometimes open around now.”
“I’ve never seen a rose like this before.” Mary Rose picked it up, marveling at the five bright pink petals clustered around a yellow center.
“You reminded me of them when we met yesterday.” Deputy Small looked down at her, his face serious.
Mary Rose blushed again and thought that her cheeks must almost match the flower she held. “I see.” She looked away shyly, off toward where the buggy was tied. To her surprise, Mr. Linden stood not far away, watching her as usual. She quickly looked back at Deputy Small. “I’m flattered.”
“I hoped you would be.” He smiled then, eyes merry once more.
When his seriousness left, so did Mary Rose’s shyness. “Deputy Small, I suspect I am not the first girl you have tried to charm this way.” She tucked the flower behind her ear, where she knew it would look fetching against her dark hair.
“I wouldn’t say that. Not a lot of girls around here I’d care to charm.”
“Is that so?”
Deputy Small was saved from answering by the arrival of Jubilee and Hauer with the picnic things. Mr. Linden trailed behind them.
Jubilee asked, “Won’t you join us for lunch, Christopher?”
“I would like that, but I’m afraid I’m on guard duty at the jail come noon. I’d best be going.”
“Well, we’ll see you at the dance on Friday, I’m sure,” Jubilee said.
“I wouldn’t miss it.” To Mary Rose, he added, “Until Friday.” He bowed a little, settled his hat back on his head, and strode away.
Mary Rose tried not to watch him leave. Instead, she looked around at the others. Hauer caught Mary Rose’s eye and gave her a kindly nod. Jubilee was smiling fondly after the deputy. But Mr. Linden stood a bit behind Jubilee, and he was watching Deputy Small leave with an expression that Mary Rose could only describe as suspicious. His eyes were narrowed, his lips pressed tight. Mary Rose wondered what on earth could have caused him to disapprove of such a nice young man. But she did not spend more than a few seconds guessing, for the flower fell to the ground, distracting her. She picked it up, and when she straightened, Mr. Linden was watching her instead. How tired she was of his gaze following her around! She almost wished he were still glaring at Deputy Small.
Mary Rose followed the others to where some of Jubilee’s friends had spread their own picnic blankets beneath a cluster of trees. So, Deputy Christopher Small was among those invited to the dance. Mary Rose wondered if he would ask to dance with her, perhaps even ask for the first dance. For the first time that she could remember, she did not want to imagine more.
The next day, the cleaning commenced.
Jubilee did not employ many servants. The widowed Mrs. Mills served as cook and housekeeper, and two girls from a neighboring farm came to clean once a week. Jubilee assured Mary Rose that, although the girls were to come every day this week, she and Mary Rose would be doing much of the preparation themselves.
Mary Rose had attended plenty of dances back home in Peoria. Her family had even hosted a few in their own home. There, such a party involved a variety of people spending a few hours dancing and conversing, with refreshments to nibble and sip. Here, she gathered, a dance was a much bigger affair. Mary Rose had given up trying to learn all the names of the people her grandmother had invited. All the rooms had to be ready, for the unoccupied guest rooms in the left wing of the house would fill with friends who lived too far away to make the trip home after the festivities ended.
But even with all the bustle, Mary Rose still made time for her riding lessons. On Monday afternoon, when Jubilee and Mrs. Mills released her from aiding their efforts to polish every metal object in the kitchen, she changed to her borrowed riding skirt and rushed out to the stable.
Leaning up against the small corral, Old Joe and Hauer watched a horse pacing inside it. Old Joe’s voice quavered with vehemence. “I say she ain’t ready. She ain’t been riding but for a week.”
“You can’t keep her on a hobbyhorse forever,” Hauer argued. “If you don’t teach her to ride a horse with some spirit, she’ll try it on her own. Then if she’s thrown—” He stopped and turned to greet Mary Rose. “There you are. I was just about to come see if Jubilee meant to keep you inside all day.”
“I was starting to wonder that too.” Mary Rose joined them in leaning on the fence, though she had to climb up onto the bottom rail to match their height. “Whose horse is that?” Instead of Patience, a pretty mare wandered about the corral. Most of the horse was dark brown, but her whole rump was white with brown splotches, as if someone had tied an apron around her hindquarters. “Is that an Indian pony?” she asked before anyone could answer her first question.
Old Joe cackled. “You can’t get anything past this girl,” he said with obvious pride.
“You could call her that,” said Hauer. “I bought her from a Cheyenne friend a couple years back.”
“She’s yours, then?” Mary Rose asked.
“She is.”
Mary Rose realized something. “I’ve never seen you ride a horse! You’ve driven the buggy, but you always walk off into the woods. Why don’t you ride there?”
“I like walking. If I took a horse up to where I’m clearing timber, I’d have to take the time to stake it out to grass or bring along grain, find a place to water it. Easier not to bother, that’s all.” Hauer ducked between two rails of the fence and entered the corral. He held his arms out at his sides and crooned softly in a language Mary Rose assumed must be the Cheyenne he’d grown up speaking.
When he reached the mare, she ducked her head and let him rub her face, scratch behind her ears, and pat her neck. She whickered and brushed her nose against Hauer’s shoulder. He laughed. Then he moved alongside her, grasped her mane at the bottom of her neck with his left hand and, with one swift motion, swung up onto the mare’s back.
Mary Rose gasped. She watched Hauer kick the horse into a walk, a trot, and then a lope. He rode around and around the little corral with no saddle, no reins, nothing she could see to guide the horse or even hang onto but one fistful of mane. And here she’d thought she was getting good at riding. Now she saw that all she really could do was stay on the horse and make it go where she
aimed it. Most of the time.
Hauer and the horse slowed and came to a stop near Mary Rose and Old Joe. “Mary Rose, meet Tlivdatsi.”
Mary Rose reached through the fence and patted the horse’s neck. “Hello.” She decided against trying to pronounce the horse’s name. “What does her name mean?”
“Shooting Star.” Hauer slid off the mare’s back. “Go get yourself a saddle and try her.”
“You mean it?” Mary Rose looked at Old Joe for confirmation.
Old Joe shook his head. “It’s his horse and your neck.”
“Is she dangerous?”
Hauer said, “Every horse is dangerous. Even Patience. Never forget that. But she’s a good horse, not given to tricks. And we’ll be here.”
Mary Rose glanced up at the house, hoping to see Jubilee. She would have liked her grandmother’s advice, maybe even her permission. But Jubilee was not there. Instead, Mr. Linden leaned against the house. Naturally. Well, if he wanted to watch her, let him. She was going to ride this beautiful animal, and no amount of his loitering around would dissuade her. “I’ll get a saddle,” she said.
If riding Patience had been a joy, riding Shooting Star was a dream. She moved so smoothly through her gaits that even trotting was almost enjoyable. Because this horse moved faster, Mary Rose wasn’t so much bounced up and down as propelled forward and back.
After a few times around the small corral, Old Joe opened the gate, and he and Hauer followed while she rode up past the house to the big pasture behind it. There, Mary Rose loped Shooting Star back and forth to her heart’s content. When they both had tired, she slowed the horse to a walk. Meeting Hauer and Old Joe at the gate, Mary Rose dismounted with an exhilaration that stayed with her all the way to the barn and all through the business of watering the horse, removing saddle and bridle, rubbing her down, and seeing her fed. Not even the fact that Mr. Linden had moved to the back porch to watch her ride could dampen her pleasure.
When Mary Rose returned to the house, hot and sweaty and glowing with joy, Jubilee met her inside the door. She said, “Before we know it, you’ll be riding the range with the best of us.” She reached out, almost shyly, to touch her granddaughter’s arm. “You’ve learned fast.”
“Thank you.” Mary Rose would not have believed she could feel happier at that moment, but found that she could. The words of praise and approval from her grandmother warmed her inside. Though Jubilee still acted distant and hesitant at times, they had found some common ground in their mutual love of reading books and riding horses. Mary Rose had never yet managed to work up the courage to tell her grandmother she also loved to run, but she would find time for that one day too. And besides, she had little time or desire for running, what with all the riding lessons and the sore muscles that resulted.
When Mary Rose emerged from her room after freshening up and changing out of her riding clothes, she came face to face with Mr. Linden. He had clearly waited in the hall for her. “I’m impressed with your riding,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone learn so much about it so fast.”
“Thank you.” Mary Rose tried to walk past, but he stepped to one side and blocked her way.
“If you ever want to go riding somewhere other than that same pasture, I’d be more than happy to take you.”
“Oh. I... thank you for the offer.” Mary Rose wished he would move aside. She disliked being forced to stand there at the end of the hallway. “If you’ll excuse me...” She waited for him to step away and let her pass.
He moved nearer to her instead of farther away, and she took a step backward. Something in her wanted to duck back inside her room and slam the door on him.
“Just say the word,” he told her with his too-wide smile. “I’m at your service any time.”
“Thank you,” Mary Rose said for the third time. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my grandmother needs me to scour her cake pans.” With that, she pushed past him, trying not to notice the way her arm had to touch his chest, her skirts brush against his knees. Then she was away from him and nearly to the kitchen. It took all her self-control not to run.
Mary Rose stopped inside the kitchen door and leaned against the wall. Her heart was pounding, and she felt dizzy. But why? Surely Mr. Linden had not been trying to frighten her. He had simply offered to escort her on a ride around the ranch. True, he had stood in her way, closer to her than she found comfortable. But once again he had said and done nothing improper. Then why did she react this way?
Jubilee set down the silver fork she was polishing and looked at Mary Rose with obvious concern. “Are you all right, child?”
“I—” Mary Rose tried to think of a way to explain what was troubling her. She could not. Her anxiety would sound foolish, childish. “I expect I rode a little too long.”
“That sun is hotter than it looks. Better take your lessons in the morning from now on. And be sure you wear your hat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mary Rose joined Jubilee at the worktable. She pushed aside all thoughts of Mr. Linden and concentrated on polishing a spoon. Nothing like a little work to cure an overactive imagination, her mother had always said.
Chapter Eight
On Wednesday, Mary Rose reported for her riding lesson directly after breakfast, under orders from Jubilee to stop riding if she got too hot or fatigued. Jubilee also reminded her not to loiter in the barn, but to come straight back to the house to continue cleaning. Mary Rose rejoiced to see Shooting Star in the stable. She did not rejoice to be accompanied there by a solicitous Mr. Linden, who was heading to town to discuss things with the banker again. He insisted on saddling the mare for her before tending to the big black he had borrowed a few days earlier. Mary Rose waited to lead Shooting Star outside until he was gone. She had no wish for him to decide to stay and ride with her instead.
Once she was sure he had left, Mary Rose led Shooting Star to the mounting block, where Old Joe waited for her. She gave him the reins, then checked the cinch straps the way he’d taught her always to do before mounting. She was a bit surprised to find both straps were two notches too loose, but then, Old Joe had warned her that many horses had a bad habit of holding their breath while getting saddled. Mary Rose tightened them, then mounted and took the reins.
“One more day in the back pasture, and then maybe we’ll see about letting you loose about the place.” Old Joe gave her one of his near-toothless smiles.
“Really? Oh, thank you!” Joy bubbled inside her at the idea of riding wherever she chose.
“Maybe,” Old Joe cautioned her. “Come on, then.” He headed up the road, and Mary Rose kicked the horse into a trot. She would beat him to the pasture and have to wait for him to catch up and open the gate for her, but no matter.
It was then that the chicken entered the scene. It came half-flying out from behind the stable, squawking, flapping its wings, and making the most unearthly racket.
Shooting Star bolted. She went from a well-mannered trot to panicked flight in an instant, and Mary Rose nearly fell off. Nearly. She lurched backward with a yelp, but managed to grab hold of the saddle horn with one hand and hang onto the reins with the other.
They raced up the road in front of the house, around the bunk houses, and on down past the larger pasture where several horses grazed. Not that Mary Rose took much note of where they were headed. She was too busy clinging to the runaway horse’s back, for she was certain that if she were to fall off, she would either break a limb in the fall or get trampled. She prayed over and over, silently, never managing more than the simple plea, “Help me!”
She tried pulling back on the reins, but it did no good, for the horse paid no attention to her puny efforts. Mary Rose found she could not even call for aid. The air rushed past her so fast that it snatched the breath out of her mouth. Her new hat flew off her head and hung down her back, the leather strings tight against her throat. She would have to hold on and endure until the horse decided to slow down.
Horse and rider neared the gate that led to the main road. To Mary Rose’s relief, it was safely closed. The runaway would not carry her off into the unknown, at least. As long as she remained on O’Brien land, someone could find her even if she fell. When they neared the fence, Shooting Star veered off the road to the right and pounded away over open ground. Mary Rose recalled the story of her grandmother’s broken leg. Jubilee had been thrown by a horse. Was that to be her fate too?
A moving shape caught her attention, and another rider materialized not far away, to her right. Mr. Linden, on that black gelding. In no time, he had pulled even with her. “Hang on!” he yelled.
Mary Rose had never expected to thank God for Mr. Linden, but she did right then.
Mr. Linden drew his horse as close to hers as he could, so close that Mary Rose expected them to crash against one another at any moment. Then he leaned over and grabbed for her horse’s bridle. He missed on the first try and fought to regain his own balance before attempting it again. This time he succeeded in seizing Shooting Star’s bridle. He pulled her head toward him and turned his own horse to the right, forcing the runaway horse to follow. Within seconds, their speed slackened from a dead run to a gallop. When they slowed to a lope, Mary Rose hauled on the reins, and this time her horse shifted to a trot, then a walk.
“What happened?” Mr. Linden asked when she had her horse under control.
“She spooked. There was a chicken.” Mary Rose could say no more. She was too busy silently thanking the Lord she had survived. When she had halted Shooting Star, she slid off the horse before Mr. Linden could assist her. The ground had never felt so solid, so dependable beneath her feet.
Mr. Linden dismounted too. “That was a close call,” he said, coming near to her. “I told you horses lack good sense. I’m glad I hadn’t gotten to the road yet. There’s no telling what might have happened...” He stopped talking and took her hand in his.
Cloaked (Once Upon a Western Book 1) Page 6
