She slid her card through the door lock and entered the room, half expecting to see Erika back in bed. “Hey, you’re ready.”
“You said I had to hurry.” Erika pulled out a toothed clip and twisted her wet hair into place. While Ragni watched, she stuffed her duffel bags full and swung them over her shoulder.
I was hoping for something other than black, but… “I sure hope you brought some shorts and tanks along. It’s going to be hot.” She lost Erika’s mutter as the girl strode out to the car.
They found the Cowboy Cafe located just beyond the Catholic church. Though Erika wrinkled her nose at the simple exterior, the cowboy pictures and memorabilia inside caught her attention immediately.
“You lucked out. We’ll have a table ready in a moment,” called the young woman taking orders.
Ragni glanced around. Brands were burned into wood, and old pictures of ranch scenes and rodeo events lined the walls. A group of men at a longer table toward the rear all wore Western shirts with snaps and long sleeves. These weren’t the fancy embroidered shirts one sees at a Western boutique. Worn and faded, these shirts had seen plenty of hours outside, just like the tanned faces of the men wearing them. Brimmed straw hats or baseball caps with farming logos hung on the chair backs.
“Here you go.” The ponytailed waitress beckoned them to a table for two among a line of tables near the front.
“Coffee?” She smiled at Ragni.
“Yes, for me.”
“Do you have espresso?” Erika asked.
“Sorry, no. Plain coffee or with sugar and cream.” The waitress didn’t look much older than Erika.
“I’ll have hot chocolate.”
“Coming right up.” She tipped the cup and filled it for Ragni. “Wait, this is leaded.”
“That’s what I need. Thanks.” Ragni smiled, then flipped open her menu. But before studying it, she sniffed the air. “Did you see that sign for caramel rolls?”
Erika shook her head.
“I can smell them baking. They weren’t fooling—homemade caramel rolls.”
“So.”
“So maybe we should take some with us. There’s only a little store at the gas station. We can get some things there, but the real shopping is twenty miles away. We could have stopped on our way in, had I known that.” So much for the diet. Maybe I should just put it on hiatus until I get home.
Erika looked up from her menu when the waitress set a cup of hot chocolate by her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, what’ll you have?” The waitress raised her order pad, ready to write.
Ragni nodded to Erika.
“Pancakes with a side of bacon.”
“One, two, or three?”
Erika glanced to Ragni, then up to the girl in jeans and a T-shirt that said, “Ask me, I live here.”
“They’re big.” She spread her fingers. “Almost plate-sized.”
“One.”
“Good choice. Only ones can finish three are growing boys and hard-working men.”
Ragni grinned up at her. “You say that like you know.”
“Been workin’ here almost a year. You learn a lot that way.” She grinned back. “And you?”
“I’ll have two eggs over easy, sausages, and burn the hash browns.”
“Toast or caramel roll?”
“Do you have rye toast?”
“Sure do.”
“Then rye toast, and four caramel rolls to go.”
Erika raised an eyebrow. “Four?”
“Good as they smell, you might have to fight for yours.” Ragni sipped her coffee. Definitely diet hiatus. “Your grandmother used to make the best caramel rolls. I have her recipe in my file at home. How she would have loved to come with us.”
“She always made pancakes for Sunday morning breakfast, then we’d have to hurry to make it to Sunday school on time,” Erika said.
“Back when you lived right across the street?”
“Uh-huh. When Mom went to work at Cook County, and we moved closer to her job, I hated not seeing Grammy and Poppa so much. And now Poppa can’t come get me anymore.” She traced the pattern in the wood table with her fingertip and looked up at Ragni. “I take the bus out there sometimes, but it isn’t the same.”
Hey, she’s talking. Three cheers. But Ragni made sure she didn’t show her jubilation. “I know.” Alzheimer’s takes away all kinds of living. She closed her mind at a memory of her dad’s look of frustration when words failed him. “How long since you spent the night at Grammy’s?”
Erika shrugged and stared down at her black-painted nails. “Don’t matter.”
Ah, but it does. “I sure miss him, the way he used to be.” Ragni’s voice broke on the words.
Erika shrugged again, and the sullen mask fell back in place.
So much for meaningful discussions.
The men laughing at the table in the rear caught Ragni’s attention. They obviously knew each other, calling comments to those at another table in the room. She’d heard of cafes where locals gathered. This looked to be the place for Medora. If only I could ask that older man if he knew my Uncle Einer. Actually he’d been her great-uncle, but he’d never married. Was there a story there too? How come her family didn’t talk about the earlier days? Didn’t her mother remember anything? Surely she must, but she’d been so concerned about Dad lately that Ragni had not wanted to bother her with questions before the trip. Guilt twinged at how hard she’d fought coming out here. Had her mother been paying the taxes? Surely she had title, or did the cabin belong to Harriet, her sister who’d died two years earlier? So many questions without answers.
“There you go.” The waitress set their plates in front of them. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Not that I can see. Thanks.” She realized that while she’d been thinking, someone had refilled her coffee cup and set water glasses on the table. Glancing up, she caught Erika’s wide-eyed stare at the fluffy pancake on her plate.
“Its huge.”
“She warned you.”
“I know, but…”
“But you thought perhaps she was exaggerating?”
“I guess.”
Ragni glanced up when she heard the men scraping back their chairs. As they filed past, one of the younger men caught her eye and smiled. He tipped his head slightly, like an old-fashioned bow. The older man brought up the rear, settling his hat on hair gone nearly white. He too nodded and smiled.
“Mornin’. Fine day we’re having.”
Ragni nodded and smiled back. “Sure is.” She reluctantly turned back to her food so she wouldn’t stare. As they paid their checks at the glassed-in counter, they swapped banter with the short, aproned man running the cash register. From the sounds of it, he might be the owner. She wished she could see what was going on. Her mother hadn’t called her nosy for nothing.
Erika continued eating without comment.
“Everything okay?” Their waitress stopped beside the table.
“The hash browns are perfect. Thank you.”
“Good, can I get you anything else?”
When Ragni shook her head, the young woman laid their check on the table. “Your caramel rolls will be ready when you are. We just took a new pan out of the oven.”
If none of them get as far as the cabin, it won’t be for want of trying.
“Come again,” the man operating the cash register said as they left.
Ragni waved. They most likely would be back. The fragrance rising from the foam box in her hands attested to that.
Back in the car, she turned to Erika. “Okay, we need to decide what we are having for lunch and dinner.”
“Now?” Erika shook her head. “I just ate enough for two days.”
“You’re not worrying about your weight, are you?”
Back to the shrug.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud. You’re not fat.”
“I’m not thin either, so don’t get started. You sound just like my mom.”
Heaven forbid. Of course I might sound like your mom. She’s my sister. Ragni decided silence was the better form of wisdom. “Be that as it may, we will not be running back to town every day, so we have to make some decisions.”
“Whatever.”
Ragni felt like slamming the steering wheel. She’d already come to hate that word, and they’d only been together two days. Well, a day and a half—sort of. And had teenagers turned shrugs into an alternate language? If so, she’d be bilingual before heading back to Chicago. “Okay, I’ll tell you this. I’m getting sandwich makings for lunch and hot dogs and beans for dinner. Easy to fix on the camp stove. I’ll buy milk and cereal for breakfast. And fruit if they have it. Anything else?”
Erika had her earphones back in place and was tapping the beat with one finger.
After getting groceries, they had to drive past the motel on their way out of town on the gravel road. Ragni almost swung in and made reservations for the night, but one glance at her niece and she kept on driving. A little roughing it might be good for you. They passed cattle grazing along the road, oil wells and storage tanks, the sign for the Bible camp turnoff, and several nice houses. After they left the main road and curved on down Plumely Draw, as the map called it, she saw dirty white cattle standing in a pond drinking. Finally, they dropped down to a flat valley with a ranch off to the right. The instructions said that was the former site of Teddy Roosevelt’s Maltese Cross Ranch. Ahead, tall trees lined what had to be the riverbank, since the rest of the flat was taken up with fenced fields.
Across the river loomed a pyramid-shaped formation, up among the other buttes and hills. The road angled south, grass on both sides, the hills off to the left more rounded than those across the river. They had yet to see the water.
“Oh, my, look at that.” Ragni slowed the car at the sight of several turkeys in the brush to the side of the road. She reached to tap Erika, but the girl was sound asleep again. Too bad, kid. Two years ago you’d have been on the edge of your seat, not missing a thing. She continued on the dirt road, driving slowly so as to keep the plume of dust behind them from reaching the sky.
Wild turkeys. Once she’d read that wild turkeys were wily and could easily disappear in tall grass and brush. But she’d gotten to see them. Was that a harbinger of good things to come?
Up ahead, several trees towered over the road. Were these the Cottonwood trees she’d heard of? A long, low building of logs off to the right must be the place. Looping her arms over the steering wheel, she drove even more slowly. Old was right. That tiny tipsy building must be the privy. Square-wire fencing with a drunken gate surrounded the house and privy. The huge trees shaded the house from the east. The door to the cabin was closed. Would it be locked? The window to the left of the door was solid, and from where she’d stopped, the roof looked to be in place. Since the gate was so close to the road, she drove on to the south side of the fence and pulled into the grass and weeds.
Looking at the house from this vantage point, she could see a missing windowpane, another door, and what must have been the yard. Part of the fencing had fallen down, but a climbing yellow rose still bloomed along a sloping wood rail.
Great-grandmother, you who once lived here, what do you have for me?
“Are we there?” Erika blinked and stared, her eyes rounding as she saw the house. “That’s it?”
“I believe so. We made it.”
Off to the left, various sheds and low buildings fought to remain standing. Rail fences made of branches must have been the corrals. Ragni recognized a loading chute—some sections were still intact, others were crumbling, the grass nearly as tall as the fences in places. Is this all that’s left of the Peterson place? Did they farm this entire valley way back when?
She forced her attention back to the house, wondering if there was any chance they could fix it up enough to stay in it for the next two weeks. Maybe rancher Paul was right about bulldozing it down.
Erika swung open her car door and got out. “I hate to say this, but I need to go to the John.”
“Choose your tree. I wouldn’t use that privy until we check it out.”
“But what if someone comes?”
“Who’s going to come, and how could they get here without us being aware of them?” Ragni swept her arm at the surrounding emptiness.
“But how will I wash my hands afterward? And what about toilet paper?”
Darlin’, that might be the least of your worries. “Watch out for snakes.”
Erika leaped back in the car without touching the ground. “I hate snakes. You can’t make me get out of this car.”
Ragni leaned against the door frame to study the house.
The logs were square cut and chinked with what must have been concrete, showing white against the dark wood. The trees rustled above her. Do they know the secrets I want to find? Who planted them? Who built the house and the other buildings? Was all this here when Great-grandmother arrived? She glanced across the slight rise with waving weeds and grass. The river. How far away? And how many snakes really live here?
She picked up a dead branch half-buried in the grass and broke off pieces to make a fairly straight stick. If she made enough noise, surely no self-respecting snake would stay around.
She started toward the rise, swishing the stick in the grass in front of her.
“Where are you going?” Erika hollered.
“To see the river.” Ragni kept on, waving the stick ahead of her and pushing through the deep grass. She glanced back over her shoulder. “You’re welcome to come with.”
“What if you see a snake?” Erika now stood beside the car, hiding behind the open door.
“I’m sure the snakes are more afraid of me than I am of them.” Please, Lord, let it be so. She caught herself. Interesting that she’d been praying more since this trip began than she had in a long time. At the top of the small rise she stopped in surprise. She’d pictured a river of blue or blue-green water, but this was a river the color of light sand. The thought of swimming was not appealing at the moment. She made her way around a dead tree trunk lying where the river had dumped it and stopped at the edge of the water.
Ragni vaguely remembered her mother telling of playing in this river when she went to see her grandma. Was it deep? How could you tell, other than wading out in it? She bent down and dabbled her hand in the water. Still mighty brisk for swimming, but after a few hours of working on that house, a dip might feel really good. Another memory drifted in—her mother talking about fishing at Grandma’s house. Funny how, all of a sudden, her mother’s stories were floating to the surface. Maybe I know more about this place than I think I do.
Hearing clumps and rustles, she looked back toward the house and smiled. Halfway across the bank, Erika no longer wore that sullen “I don’t give a rip” look. Eyes narrowed, she studied each shadow as if it might leap up and bite her. But she couldn’t resist the call of the river either.
She’d been a water baby since she was born. When other babies screamed at their first bath, Erika had wriggled like a fish; her first smiles came when she was kicking in the tub. She’d never minded getting her face wet, so learning to float facedown was a cinch.
“I took you swimming when you were only six months old. I think you were born with gills instead of lungs the way you never minded being underwater. Other babies screamed when they went under, and you always came up grinning from ear to ear.”
Erika sat down beside her aunt, her wrists draped over her knees. “I really do need to go to the bathroom, you know.”
“As I said…”
“You can’t be serious.”
“What do you expect, that we’ll drive back to town every time you need to pee?”
“Well, no, but…” Erika snorted. “Nobody told me it was going to be this rough.”
“I said we were going camping.”
“I know, but most camping places have public rest rooms.”
“True. I guess the first thing we need
to do is haul up a bucket of water and scrub the outhouse.” The thought didn’t make Ragni want to sing and dance either. “You get the bucket out of the trunk and bring up the water. I’ll dig out the bleach and a scrub brush. We have to get the tent set up this afternoon.”
“When are we goin’ through the house?”
“As soon as we fix a place where you can use the facilities. Can’t really call it a bathroom, now can we?”
Erika shuddered, then leaned forward to put her hand in the water. “It’s cold.”
Ragni almost made a sarcastic remark but thought better of it. “What did you expect?”
“Well, it’s warm out. Doesn’t the sun warm the water up too?”
“Think of Lake Michigan at this time of year.”
“Oh.”
Ragni stood and stretched. “Better get on it.” She reached down, and Erika let Ragni pull her to her feet. The two stood for a moment staring at the buttes rising from the screen of trees across the river. Pristine white clouds painted the sky an even deeper blue. I want to paint that. The thought caught her by surprise, almost shock. She turned in a circle. The falling-down corrals, those turkeys she’d seen, the cabin—they all cried out to be painted in watercolor, oil, or both. Her fingers itched to begin; her heart welled up and sprung leaks through her eyes. How long has it been since I actually painted, not on a computer, but on paper or canvas? Smelled the oils and turpentine? Can I even paint anymore? What if I just made a mess like I’ve done with the rest of my life?
Of course you can still paint, the other voice kicked in. One voice always tore down the other.
Forget it. You won’t have any time for painting and drawing. You have that house to get back in shape, remember? And less than two weeks to do it all.
“Did you bring a camera?” Ragni asked.
“Nope. You?”
“Nada.” Ragni sighed. It was a crazy thought anyway. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably not, unless you have to…”
“I know.” Ragni draped an arm over her niece’s shoulders and was surprised when Erika didn’t step away. “Let’s get on it.” She led the way back to the car, her stick swishing the grass with a friendly sound. The same bird song that she’d heard at the motel joined in.
The Brushstroke Legacy Page 5
