I’m the difficulty, and I cannot go on any longer
. Opal swallowed the tears that burned behind her eyes.
I want to go home. Please,
Lord, I want to go home
.
‘‘It’ll be all right, Opal. Truly it will.’’ Jason spoke softly while both the girls studied Opal as if she were some strange kind of creature. ‘‘You don’t have to hurry if you don’t want to. I hate to shop too.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’
‘‘I’m sorry, Opal. I’m just so excited to have you back with us.’’ Penelope stepped closer to Opal. ‘‘I want to show you everything. Life is terribly exciting here, and I thought you’d want to see it all.’’ Her grin had remained in spite of the fancy clothes. ‘‘Besides, I haven’t had half as much fun since you left.’’
But you don’t understand. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home
on the ranch, back to the time before the drifter. I want to be working with
the horses, playing with Per, riding the ridges, and seeing the fantastical
forms and shapes of the badlands
.
‘‘I was hoping you would come to visit us out West.’’
‘‘You don’t want to be here?’’ Alicia’s eyes grew round.
Wonderful, Opal, now you’ve hurt their feelings
. ‘‘Oh no, it’s not that at all.’’
And now you’re a liar too
. ‘‘I just need some time to adjust. Even a little bit of time.’’ She stepped forward and hooked arms with the two again. ‘‘Lead on. I’ll be all right.’’
Please God, I’ll be all
right. As soon as I no longer look like a poor relation, I’ll be better
.
‘‘Why did you say that about your pa?’’
Joel stared down at his loosely clasped fingers. Sullenness rode his eyebrows and molded his chin.
‘‘Joel, I’m speaking to you. I know your ma taught you good manners.’’ Jacob waited, but the boy refused to answer. What was he to do with him? Mr. Robertson had given him a strange look at the boy’s comments.
‘‘My name is Joel O’Shaunasy.’’ The mutter could scarcely be heard.
Jacob blinked. His name. Of course that was his name. Did he need to go explain their sad tale? How could he do that without giving away more than he desired? He thought longingly of the comfort of his little house and the foibles of his parishioners back home. There, he’d finally been making headway with Mr. Dumfarthing, and now a new pastor would need to start all over again—if he’d have the patience to try, or even the desire.
He glanced around the ten-by-ten room with dirt walls that gave off a dank odor. Maybe it smelled good to gophers and moles, but the aroma did nothing for his sensitive nose.
Tell him
.
The voice came so clear he almost turned around to see who had spoken.
I can’t
.
Tell him
.
Jacob rammed his fingers through his hair. How do you tell a boy his mother is not only dead but might have hastened her own death?
A sigh escaped before he could swallow it. ‘‘Joel, I need to tell you something.’’
Look at me, show me you are listening
. The boy sat on the lower bunk only two feet away, but the walls he’d raised between them were so strong as to be nearly visible.
Jacob swallowed the next sigh. ‘‘Something about your mother.’’
Not even a muscle twitched. Had the boy. . . ? He had to quit thinking of him as
the boy
. Joel was his son. ‘‘We won’t be looking for her anymore. I am fairly certain she died before we left the valley.’’
Joel’s slitted gaze nailed him to the wall. ‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Remember the man from the livery coming?’’
He gave a nod so brief as to be almost nonexistent.
‘‘He said he thought Melody, er, your ma, fell into the river. The horse and buggy were tied up at the bridge.’’
‘‘You said we were going looking for her.’’
‘‘I know. I didn’t want to tell you, but . . .’’ Jacob knelt in front of his son. ‘‘I’m sorry.’’
‘‘You told a lie.’’ Only the tightly clamped jaw kept the tears at bay. He swiped his sleeved arm under his nose.
‘‘I know.’’
I’ve told many lies lately, and like this one, they all want
to return to haunt me
. ‘‘I was trying to make it easier for you.’’ Jacob reached out to smooth Joel’s hair back, but the boy scooted against the wall.
Jacob sighed again. So much for trying to make things right. He rose and leaned against the bunk-bed frame. Mrs. Robertson had brought out quilts for them to use for mattresses and sheets to cover them. She’d promised to sew tickings to fill with hay as soon as the grass was tall enough to cut.
‘‘Joel, son, I’m sorry.’’ The words hung in the dimness, broken only by the twilight coming in through the open door. ‘‘I’m going to the outhouse. You go ahead and get ready for bed. The top bunk is yours.’’ He waited a long moment, but when there was no response, he left, sucking in a deep breath of clean air as soon as he cleared the doorway.
The evening star hung in the west as he strolled out the path. A cow bellowed in the distance. Birds twittered in the branches of the cottonwood trees, settling for the night. He’d not fared at all well with the riding, let alone the roping and working with the cattle. Why would Mr. Robertson even keep him around?
When he returned he heard Joel breathing in the top bunk, an errant sob causing a hitch in the rhythm. He should have asked for a candle, but knowing the early time work would start, he needn’t spend time reading anyway. He hung his clothes on the bed frame and slid under the covers. What a day they’d had.
‘‘Don’t you have any work clothes?’’ Mr. Robertson stared at Jacob’s pants and shirt in the dim morning light.
Jacob shook his head. ‘‘These are my work clothes.’’ At least, he’d cut and split wood in them and dug up his garden.
‘‘You’re going to need something tougher than that.’’
‘‘These will have to do for now.’’
‘‘Can you milk a cow?’’
‘‘Yes, sir.’’
‘‘Buckets are up to the springhouse. We have two milk cows. Ada Mae is bringing them up now. You take the Guernsey. Gotta watch her. She kicks some.’’
‘‘You have any kickers?’’ Jacob asked.
‘‘Kickers?’’
‘‘Guess not. I can make some if you want. The ones on our farm were a piece of chain to hook around each hock. A short chain connects the two.’’
‘‘Maybe later. Tried hobbling her. You just need to grab that bucket as soon as you’ve finished. She puts her foot in real quick-like.’’ Jacob nodded.
‘‘We eat after chores.’’
Jacob nodded again and headed for the rock building indicated. He brought both buckets and joined Ada Mae in the barn. She’d already poured a small mound of grain in front of each of the stanchioned cows.
‘‘You sure you know how to milk?’’ She peered around her cow’s haunches.
‘‘Haven’t for a long time, but I’m sure it will come back real quick.’’ He took a three-legged stool from the peg on the wall and stopped behind the tan and white cow that stood with her udder bulging.
‘‘Easy, boss.’’ He patted her on the rump and set his stool in place. Ada Mae already had milk singing into the other bucket. As soon as he sat down, the cow shifted her back feet, her tail catching him on the ear. He set the pail between his knees and clasped the two far teats, squeezing and pulling in the age-old motion of cow milkers. Milk streamed into the bucket, playing counterpoint to the slosh of the other milker.
He nestled his forehead into her flank and inhaled the rich fragrance of fresh warm milk, cowhide, and barn.
‘‘Remember to watch her. She twitches her tail just before trying to kick the bucket.’’ The voice came from behind him.
‘‘Thanks.’’ He switched to the near teats, his hands remembering the drill without conscious thought. Surely there would have been a better way to tell Joel about his mother. He’d heard the boy crying during the night.
The cow’s tail caught him across the back of his head at the same moment her near back foot caught the bucket and, in spite of his quick grab, sent it toppling. The barn cats leaped to get what they could. Jacob stifled the words he’d like to have used. They’d warned him. He heard a snicker from the other milker.
‘‘She’s quicker than a snake striking.’’
Jacob picked up the stool and hung it again on the peg. About a pint of milk, perhaps a quart, remained in the pail.
‘‘Pour it in here, and I’ll take them up.’’ Ada Mae gave him a commiserating shrug. ‘‘She’s done it to all of us.’’
Why would anyone keep a sly, sneaky cow like that? They should have turned her into stew meat. She’d be too tough for roasts. ‘‘She won’t catch me again.’’
‘‘Hope not.’’
Jacob went by the bunkhouse and rousted Joel up for breakfast. The boy’s swollen eyes told their own tale, but when Jacob laid a hand on his shoulder, the boy flinched away. He walked behind Jacob up to the house.
‘‘Joel, you can sit here.’’ Virginia patted the chair between her and Ada Mae.
‘‘Hear she got you,’’ Mr. Robertson commented as he pulled his chair out.
‘‘I’m sorry, I—’’ ‘‘You’ll be ready next time.’’ That sounded like he’d be on the milking detail permanently in spite of the fiasco in the barn.
After grace not much was said, as everyone ate swiftly, passing the platters of ham and eggs and pancakes when asked.
One good thing
, Jacob thought as he forked in sustenance,
we’ll
eat well here
. He hoped time would ease Joel’s grief, and in the meantime he had the younger girls for company. All in all, perhaps coming west wasn’t a bad move after all.
Or so he thought until he tumbled off the horse two hours later. He dusted himself off and watched the creature run back to the herd, stirrups banging his sides, spooking him further. What on earth had startled him, anyway? Or did horses in the West jump straight up in the air and buck on the way down just for pure ornery spite? Jacob glanced around to see who had witnessed his fall and caught Virginia turning away to hide what he knew was laughter.
‘‘Go ahead. Laugh!’’ He dusted off his rear.
‘‘You want me to go rope him again?’’
I would rather bash him about the ears with a sturdy pole, but until I
have my hands on those reins again, I have no alternative but to humiliate
myself further
. But he answered, ‘‘Yes, please.’’ Robertson had given strict instructions that he was to learn to ride and rope and Virginia was to help him. The rope too was banging against the sides of the disappearing horse.
The young lady sighed. ‘‘I’ll saddle up, then.’’ She put two fingers in her mouth, and a piercing whistle floated across the meadow. A black-and-white horse raised its head and came trotting toward them. She whistled again, and the horse broke into a run.
‘‘Opal taught me how to do that.’’
‘‘Opal?’’
‘‘Opal Torvald. My best friend. The Harrisons are our nearest neighbors. She went to New York for a while, but she’ll be back.
She can train a horse better than anyone around here.’’
The pinto trotted up to them and nosed Virginia’s pockets until the girl pulled out a cookie and rewarded her mount. She grabbed the horse’s mane and led it over to the corral.
Jacob watched as she bridled and saddled her horse with a minimum of fuss, took a rope off the barn wall, mounted, and loped off toward the herd.
While he waited he wandered over to the well and pumped full the bucket that hung on the spout, then dipped out a drink, using the tin cup hanging on a hook attached to the pump side.
Since Mr. Robertson had included splitting wood on Jacob’s list of duties, he headed for the chopping block and set to. At least he knew how to do this well.
He glanced over to see Joel and the two younger girls kneeling in the garden pulling weeds. A burst of laughter floated on the warming air. At least someone was having a good time.
Virginia led his horse up, and Jacob exchanged baleful looks with it.
‘‘You got to show him who’s boss.’’
I think he already knows
. Jacob nodded. ‘‘Thanks.’’ He mounted, gathered his reins, and with a little extra force, reined the brute around and headed back to the corral.
By the time the dinner bell rang, both he and the horse had worked up a fine sweat. But the horse now knew who was boss. At least for today.
While they ate, Mr. Robertson gave instructions for the afternoon work. ‘‘After we finish eating, we’ll take the wagon and go on up the draw to bring back those corral poles we cut last winter. You know how to dig postholes?’’
‘‘Yes, of course.’’
‘‘Good. I thought you could get started on the new corral. Got to sink the posts first. You’ll find an extra pair of leather gloves in that box on the front porch.’’
Jacob glanced up to see Edith by his side.
‘‘You want a refill on that coffee?’’
‘‘No thanks. I’ve had enough.’’ Was that a blush or were her cheeks always that bright? Turning back, Jacob caught a calculating look on Mr. Robertson’s face.
Don’t worry, sir, I am not in the
habit of falling for innocent young women. I can run faster than any of
them
.
He needed to start running sometime later when, due to the sweat pouring from his body, he’d removed his shirt and hung it on a pole. Digging postholes was hot work, in spite of the breeze.
‘‘Ah, Mr. Chandler.’’
Edith’s hesitant voice made him grab for his shirt.
Idiot, you’re
not behind your little house where no one would come without an invitation
. He rammed his arms into the sleeves, which stuck to his wet skin and refused to budge. He heard the sound of fabric ripping and realized his face was now hotter than before, and it wasn’t due to the sun. With his shirt finally in place, he turned to see her studying the ground, her cheeks shaded by the broad brim of her straw hat.
‘‘Sorry. It was hot and, ah . . . I . . .’’
‘‘I thought you might be in need of refreshment, some liquid, a d-drink.’’ She handed him the glass. He reached for it and bumped it instead, and the glass not only fell to the ground but shattered. She stared at him, down to the pieces, and back up.
‘‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’’ He knelt, she knelt, and their hands brushed in their haste to pick up the glass. ‘‘Please, let me do this.’’