‘‘Miss Torvald?’’
She looked up. ‘‘Yes, sir?’’
‘‘You are to be listening. You will be tested on this lecture material tomorrow.’’
‘‘Yes, sir. I was just working on our English lesson. I find metaphor and simile most fascinating, don’t you?’’
‘‘Oh, well, I see. But we are in history now, and I’d rather you paid attention to this.’’
‘‘Sorry, sir. Of course I will.’’
In a pig’s eye. And that’s a cliché too
. She knew she could look innocent if she made some kind of effort. For that look she received another ankle nudge. This time she nudged back.
By the time school was dismissed Opal felt as if she’d been dragged by a runaway cow. ‘‘You want to ride with me as far as the turnoff?’’ she asked Virginia.
‘‘Sure.’’ Virginia glanced at her sisters. ‘‘Beats riding dumb Blaze.’’ The Robertson girls had two horses on which they took turns riding double. Blaze was both hammer-headed and hammer-footed. Even his walk was a trial. And since they usually slow-jogged homeward, the two who suffered through riding him were ready for anything else. But horses were expensive, and Mr. Robertson said they were lucky to have horses to ride at all and they should quit complaining. Blaze did fine pulling the sleigh in the winter.
After letting Virginia off at their lane and riding on home, Opal dismounted at the corral and dropped Bay’s reins to the ground. She set her saddle over the rack braced on the wall and took off the bridle, freeing her horse to graze. She hung up her bridle and headed for the house and something to eat. Amazing how hungry one could get in a boring classroom and after a strenuous ride home.
They should have stopped to catch some fish for supper.
‘‘How did your day go?’’ Ruby asked when Opal came through the door.
‘‘Fine.’’
‘‘Really?’’
‘‘No, not really, but how did you know?’’
‘‘Your ‘fine’ wasn’t.’’ Ruby set a flatiron back on the stove.
‘‘There are fresh ginger cookies in the jar, and the buttermilk should be cool in the springhouse by now. Help yourself.’’ She attached the handle to a hot iron and returned to the ironing board. ‘‘Days like this I sure miss Daisy doing the ironing.’’ Daisy, who had married Charlie, was one of the ‘‘girls’’ from Dove House whom Ruby had agreed to care for when her dying father asked. Charlie had been the bartender.
‘‘Where’s Per?’’
‘‘Still asleep. He didn’t want to take a nap.’’
‘‘About as much as I wanted to sit in that stifling classroom and listen to a dull teacher. Why they ever hired him is beyond me.’’ Opal chomped into a cookie and, shaking her head, headed out the back door.
The springhouse was snugged up against the hill behind the house. Water trickled into a wooden trough and out a hollow wooden pipe at the other end to wend its way to the creek again. A peeper frog greeted the squeak of the opening door, and Opal paused to let her eyes adjust to the room lit only by the open door. Jugs of milk and cream sat in the cool water, and baskets of eggs lined the shelf above. Haunches of smoked meat hung from the low rafters, while clay crocks of salted sausage and pickles stood against the thick stone-and-mortar walls. No cooler place could be found during the hot summer days unless one floated under a wide-branched tree on the river.
Retrieving the jar of buttermilk from the water, she shook it before pouring herself a cup. After swigging half of it, she refilled the cup before returning the jar to the cold water.
Now that her stomach had calmed some, she nibbled the cookie and sipped her drink on the way back to the house. Perhaps this was not the best time to confront Ruby about not returning to school in the fall. But when was a good time?
At least she’d heard no more of the drifter, so perhaps he’d heeded the warnings and taken his sorry hide on west or north. Maybe he’d freeze to death if he went far enough north. She’d not let on to Ruby she’d had that kind of thought, just like she didn’t say she wished she’d shot him. If Christians shouldn’t have such thoughts, what did that make her? That wasn’t a good thought either.
She leaned against the south wall of the log house, letting the sun sink into her bones to drive out the cold and apathy of the long dark winter, playing the future discussion with Ruby out in her mind. . . .
‘‘If you weren’t going to school, what would you be doing?’’ Ruby would ask.
‘‘Training horses. Whatever Rand needed to have done on the ranch.’’
‘‘I see. And what if there are no horses to train?’’
‘‘Once I build a good enough reputation, people will bring me their horses to break and train.’’
‘‘What if they can’t afford your services?’’
‘‘I could take a colt or calf or something in exchange.’’
‘‘That’s true. But . . .’’
Opal heaved a sigh. The conversation would just go around in circles. With Ruby there would always be one more ‘‘but.’’
The heat felt good on her closed eyelids, soaking into her body. She listened to the sounds of spring. One of the hens was cackling. Must have laid an egg. A cow bawled somewhere off in the distance. A bee buzzed past her nose. The breeze tickling the cottonwood leaves set them giggling.
That same breeze brought a whiff of the outhouse. Most likely needed to dump lime down the holes again. Per called for his mother. Ghost stuck her nose into Opal’s palm and nudged her silent request for an ear scratching.
Opal tried to ignore all the sounds and smells so she could continue dreaming about rounding up wild horses to train.
Ghost whimpered.
‘‘Oh, all right. How come you’re with me instead of Per, anyhow?’’ She rubbed the dog’s ears, headed into the house to set her cup in the dishpan on the stove, and went down the hall to change into work clothes. Chores were calling her name. The discussion with Ruby would have to come at some other time.
‘‘Hey, Miss Opal, how about you goin’ out and findin’ Fawn? We let that fool cow out of the fence to graze with some of the others, and she done left. I got me a feelin’ she’s hidin’ out to have her calf.’’ Linc leaned over the corral fence.
‘‘Sure. Walk or ride?’’
‘‘Better take Bay.’’
Opal whistled, and Bay, who was grazing some distance away, threw up her head. Opal whistled again, and the mare broke into a jog, then a lope.
Linc, his black skin glistening in the sun like he’d been oiled, chuckled and shook his head. ‘‘That horse minds better’n most kids.’’
Opal fetched her bridle.
‘‘You might want to saddle up in case you need to rope that cow. She might be a bit testy when you try to drive her in.’’
‘‘I will.’’
Once she was mounted again, Opal rode up to the house and dismounted. ‘‘I’m heading out to look for Fawn. Linc said she took off, and he thinks she is calving somewhere. I’m taking the rifle in case I see a deer.’’
‘‘Get home before dark.’’
‘‘I will.’’ Opal paused. ‘‘Ghost! Hey, dog. Ghost, come on. Cows.’’
Ghost trotted around the corner of the house, tongue lolling. The word
cows
took precedence even over Per.
Opal nudged Bay into a lope and, with rifle secured in the scabbard, headed north across the meadow in the direction Linc had pointed. Farther up the draw oak trees, Juneberry bushes, and other brush offered good shelter for both calving cows and resting deer. The closer to dusk, the more likely the deer would take the trails down to the river to drink. On the edge of the wooded area she waved Ghost to go searching. Having a cow dog trained to hand signals was sure easier than beating her way through the brush in search of a cow that wanted to stay hidden. As she rode on up the game trail, glued to Bay’s neck to keep from being dragged off by low-hanging branches, she heard something crashing off to her left. She stopped Bay, but her own heart picked up speed. When two steers crossed the path in front of her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Rand had warned her that bears were out of hibernation now, and if riled, they didn’t go through the brush lightly.
She patted Bay’s neck. ‘‘You’d have told me if it was something to be afraid of, wouldn’t you, girl?’’ Bay snorted, ears pricked as Ghost took up her place just ahead of them.
‘‘Good dog, Ghost, but wrong cows. Go find.’’
Ghost headed out again, tongue lolling, eyes bright and eager. Ghost loved to find cows probably even more than Opal loved to train horses. She nudged Bay forward again.
A cow bellering, sounding full of panic, brought the hair up on her neck as she heard growls and yips at the same time.
Ghost barked once, imperatively.
Opal drove Bay through the brush. There’s more than one dog there. What else could it be? Coyote? Wild dog? She threw up her arm and ducked her head to keep branches from flaying her face. Bay snorted and plowed to a stop.
The wild-eyed cow stood in front of her still-wet calf. Three snarling coyotes, two in frontal attack position to the cow, one circling behind to get at the calf. Ghost lit into one with a growl.
Opal unsheathed her gun, held it to her shoulder, and fired. The coyote attacking the calf was lifted from the ground with the force of the bullet and crumpled. She pumped another shell into the breech, sighted on a second coyote, and dropped it.
‘‘Ghost!’’
The third coyote dodged away with Ghost after it.
‘‘Ghost. Drop!’’
With a confused look over her shoulder, the dog bellied to the ground, her whine pitiful in its beseeching.
The cow snorted, turned to nuzzle her calf while Opal dismounted and walked toward her. ‘‘Easy, girl. You’re all right now.’’ Opal spoke gently, all the while checking the cow for slash marks from the marauding attackers. Fawn spun like a longhorn and, head down, charged toward Opal.
‘‘No, girl, no!’’
Opal dodged behind a tree as Ghost lived up to her name, appearing between cow and girl as if by magic. With a nip to the cow’s nose, she drove her back to her calf.
‘‘Good dog.’’ Opal leaned against the tree trunk and patted her chest, willing her heart to settle back down and not leap out of her throat.
Ghost returned to sit right in front of her and wriggle from nose to the bit of fluff called a tail. Her whimper pleaded for attention, and Opal gave it wholeheartedly, sinking down to her knees to look the dog in the eyes as she rubbed the dog’s ears and down her shoulders.
‘‘What a good dog. Good dog.’’ When she pushed herself to her feet again, her knees felt like sodden river grass. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before turning to watch the calf nursing for the first time.
‘‘They’ve been busy while we caught up over here. Now how can we get cow, calf, and two coyotes home, preferably all in one trip?’’
She returned to Bay, slid the rifle in the scabbard, and took her knife out of the sheath hooked on her belt. After bleeding the coyotes, she dragged the carcasses back near the now skittish Bay.
‘‘Don’t like the idea of packing coyote, eh? Well, neither do I, but these pelts will look and feel mighty nice come winter.’’ They’d been collecting coyote pelts to make a blanket for her bed. The one she’d seen made up had been beautiful. And warm.
Fawn lowed, a gentle moo that comforted the calf but also let Opal know someone else was near. Bay had already pricked her ears and whinnied just as Opal walked in front of her.
‘‘Ahh.’’ She rubbed her left ear. ‘‘You didn’t have to make me deaf, you know.’’
‘‘Opal?’’ a welcome voice called.
‘‘Over here.’’ So Rand had come looking for her. While she’d not shot twice in the instant succession of the call for help, Linc must have told him where she’d gone.
Fawn licked her calf, all the while keeping a wary eye on Opal and Ghost.
‘‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’’ Rand came into sight and stopped, crossing his arms on the saddle horn.
‘‘Could have been bad. Three coyotes were after Fawn and her calf. Ghost chewed on the other one, then ran it off.’’
‘‘I see. And the two shots were for those?’’ He motioned toward the carcasses on the ground. ‘‘You did well, I’d say.’’
‘‘Thanks. Fawn was aiming to take out her ire on me, but thanks to Ghost and a big tree, I’m fine.’’
‘‘Mad mama, eh?’’
‘‘No gratitude.’’ Opal picked up one of the coyote carcasses. ‘‘You want to carry these or the calf?’’
‘‘Let’s skin them first. Leave the rest out here for the scavengers.’’ Between the two of them they skinned out the carcasses and, rolling the hides with fur side out, tied them behind Rand’s saddle. Buck sidestepped only once, but his ears spoke loudly of his displeasure.
‘‘I’ll put a rope around Fawn’s horns and tie her to a tree.
Then we can catch the calf and put it up in front of you. Okay?’’
‘‘Fine with me, but don’t go giving her the benefit of the doubt. She’d as soon hook you as look at you.’’
Rand roped and snubbed the cow up tight to the tree, ignoring the bawling fight the critter put up. ‘‘Good grief, Fawn, you aren’t a wild longhorn mama. You’re a tame milk cow.’’
‘‘She forgot to read that line on the bill of sale.’’ Opal reached for the calf and caught only air. ‘‘Feisty little thing, aren’t you?’’ She grabbed again and got an arm around its neck. Rand took it from her, and when she was mounted, he laid it across Opal’s lap.
‘‘You better hang on to him.’’
‘‘I will.’’
Together they made their way back to the trail and on homeward, Fawn trotting beside Bay, talking all the way.
‘‘Think we’ve been cussed out in cow language,’’ Opal said when she and Rand were riding side by side.
‘‘Probably a good thing we can’t understand cow talk.’’
‘‘Oh, I think she’s getting her point across.’’
‘‘Just so she doesn’t implant those points into one of us or the horses.’’
Back at the barn they ran Fawn into a box stall and slid her calf in through the door before slamming it in her face as she charged them.
‘‘She always going to act like this?’’
‘‘No. Once she’s in the stanchion, she’ll calm down. Think she’s been too long with the longhorns. They’ve been giving her lessons.’’
‘‘I’m going to work with Missy for a while before supper.’’ She’d not had time to work with the filly for three days.
‘‘Probably not. There’s the bell.’’