Opal (38 page)
‘‘Be hard winter.’’ Little Squirrel took her cup to the dishpan.
‘‘How do you know?’’
‘‘All the signs. Squirrels thick tail, coyote pelt thick.’’ She held her hands several inches apart. ‘‘Caterpillars too. Muskrats building extra big houses. Need more wood.’’
‘‘We need to haul more up to the line shacks too, then.’’ Ruby knew that the next big push was readying the place for winter— banking the house and chicken coop, cutting and splitting wood.
After the first deep snow Rand would string ropes to the barn, to the springhouse, and to the smokehouse, as well as to the outhouse, in case blizzards made it impossible to see.
Like Rand had said, it was a good thing Chandler was there to do these things for the Robertsons.
What would I do if something
happened to Rand?
The thought clogged her throat.
Would I be brave
enough to remain on the ranch like Cora is doing? But, then, what would
be my choices? I don’t have enough money in the bank to live on forever.
What would I do?
She opened her Bible to the Psalms, where she always went when she needed comfort. At the same time she scolded herself over worrying about tomorrow.
Let the day’s own troubles be sufficient
for the day
. While not from the Psalms, that truth always made her stop and think. After all, Jesus promised to care for even the sparrows, and she had no trouble believing she was of more value than the twittering little birds.
‘‘Ma?’’ Per charged into the kitchen and threw himself against her knees. ‘‘Where Opa, Pa?’’
‘‘Opal is out milking.’’
‘‘Me go.’’ He darted toward the back door, stopped only by his mother’s lightning grab for the back of his nightshirt.
‘‘Breakfast first.’’ She set him up in the seat Beans had built that sat on one of the regular chairs. ‘‘You sit there while I get you some oatmeal.’’
‘‘Egg?’’
‘‘All right.’’ She dished the remaining cereal out of the kettle and poured cream over it, along with a dollop of molasses, and set it in front of him. ‘‘Where’s your bib?’’
He stared around and shrugged as if he’d been searching for hours and could not find it. ‘‘Ma, eat.’’
‘‘I know.’’ She took the dish towel off the bar on the oven door and tied it around his neck. ‘‘We have to keep you clean somehow.’’ ‘‘Clean.’’ He started to dig in with his fingers, but Ruby caught him and put the spoon in his hand.
‘‘Use this.’’ She took the toaster rack from the hook on the wall and, opening the stove lid, laid the rack in place, a slice of bread between the layers. The bread toasted nicely, as the coals were hot. She turned it over for the other side. Once browned, she set it aside and laid two chunks of wood in the firebox.
He was down to the milk in the bottom of the bowl when the back door opened.
‘‘Opa.’’
‘‘Good morning to you too.’’ She set the jug of the oldest cream on the table. ‘‘Thought you might want to churn today. Or I can do it when I get home.’’
‘‘Good.’’ Ruby handed the butter-and-jam toast to her son.
‘‘Oh, I forgot, could you bring the salt pork in for the beans?’’
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘Opa!’’ Per tried pushing back from the table, but his mother stopped him.
‘‘You finish eating. She’ll be right back.’’ Ruby drained the soaking water off the beans, saving some for the beans and the rest for the chickens, and started chopping onion. Her eyes watered immediately, and she sniffed back the tears. ‘‘I hate chopping onions.’’
‘‘Down, Ma.’’
She caught him before he could scramble down, wiped hands and face, and gave him a pat on the bottom to send him on his way.
‘‘Ghos?’’
‘‘Gone on roundup with the men.’’
‘‘Pa?’’
‘‘Gone on roundup. Get your toys.’’
Opal returned and set the hunk of salt pork on the table. ‘‘You need anything from town?’’
‘‘Not that I can think of, but if you would, please dress that young man there before you go.’’
‘‘Come on, big boy.’’ Opal swung him up on her shoulders and trotted them back to the bedroom, her boots clomping out the beat.
Ruby stirred in molasses, the chopped salt pork, and the onions, and then set the covered iron pot in the oven to bake all day. With corn bread she’d bake later, supper would be ready.
After Opal left and Per settled down with his blocks, Ruby took out her paper and ink. A letter to the Brandons was long overdue.
Dear Lydia and family,
I’m sorry to be so negligent in answering your letter, but as usual, things around here are in turmoil as we work to get as much as possible put by for winter, along with roundup and sending the steers that are ready to the abattoir. Rand reminds me how much easier things are now than they used to be, so I don’t mind that I didn’t live out here in the early days. My friend Cora Robertson and her husband were some of the earliest settlers, and her tales make my hair stand right up on end—tales of wolves taking down cattle and snatching pigs and young stock right out of the pens at the barn. I have heard them howling and seen their tracks, but I have yet to see one. Little Squirrel is promising a hard winter, though I have a hard time believing the signs that she listed. I guess we shall see. I have not felt the last few winters particularly easy but am grateful for all our blessings. Plenty of food and firewood being two things at the top of my list.
Opal refused to go to school this fall, and if the truth be told, I can hardly blame her. The teacher here is not really qualified to teach the older students, and you can guess what the thought of going away to Bismarck or Fargo for school does to her. So she and Pearl, who used to be the teacher here, have made an agreement to exchange instruction for household assistance, since Pearl and her husband have opened their home to boarders. There just is not enough housing here in Medora.
Rand and the men have left for the final phase of fall roundup. You would be so proud of Opal, the way she took the Robertson girls and Joel Chandler under her tutelage to instruct them in matters of riding horses, driving cattle, and roping, which is an art all in itself. I am always amazed and delighted at Opal’s skill in all these things. As Rand says, she is a natural, especially in training horses, but I also know she has worked many long and hard hours to learn the skills.
While in my heart of hearts I wish she would go to finishing school and become the proper young woman I always dreamed of her becoming, I know that is my wish and not hers.
You would not recognize me, I have become so rounded. I don’t remember showing so much change when I was carrying Per, but Cora Robertson, my dearest friend here on the frontier, says that each of her girls were different from the time she realized she was in the family way. She is holding up well after the loss of her husband. I don’t know what I would do if I lost Rand, but I rest in the assurance that God would know and never fail us.
I do so treasure your letters. I take them out to read again and again. Opal said the children are looking forward to visiting next summer. What a wonderful treat that would be. Life on a ranch in Dakotah Territory is so different from life in New York, but then, if Mr. Roosevelt can find such joy in ranching, perhaps it behooves more easterners to come west. He says that the wide open skies and plains have made him look at all of life differently.
‘‘Ma?’’
‘‘What, dear?’’
‘‘Potty.’’
‘‘Oh my, yes.’’ Ruby took him back to the bedroom to the chamber pot they kept under the bed and sat him down. At the rate he was learning, he would be out of diapers before the new baby was born. What a boon that would be.
She set him to rights and returned to her letter, bringing Lydia Brandon up to date on Per and his accomplishments.
I must go stir the beans; their good fragrance is already floating through the house. I pray that you all continue in health and prosperity, and that all is well with your souls. I love the verse in Third John that I have varied a little here. What have you been reading that would be good for me also? Please write back soon, dear friend, for your letters bring us such joy, especially now that the nights are getting longer again and the outside work is slowing down. Perhaps I’ll get my mending caught up. I think of the sewing machine that burned in the fire and pray that one day I shall have one again.
Yours always,
Ruby
She read the letter again, addressed the envelope, and set it on the shelf that Rand had Carl build for her last Christmas. Opal could mail it on Friday when she returned to Pearl’s for school.
Not needing to make dinner for all the men gave her a sense of freedom, heady enough to grab up Per and whirl him around the kitchen in a half-time waltz.
‘‘More.’’ He clapped when she stopped. ‘‘More, Ma.’’
‘‘Let’s go find Little Squirrel, or perhaps we can take the churn out on the back porch.’’ She glanced out the window. Sure enough, the clouds had blown over and the sun was painting the yard and garden in that golden light that sparkled of fall. The number of choices of what to do next made her giddy, laughter bubbling up at the grin on Per’s round little face.
She carried him with her out to the back porch. ‘‘Little Squirrel, let’s go down to the river and have a picnic.’’
Little Squirrel looked up from where she fed more wood into the fire under the drying racks, hung with strips of pumpkin. ‘‘Go fishing? Could dry fish too.’’
‘‘If you want. Remember you said you would teach me to weave willow baskets?’’
Little Squirrel nodded, her dark eyes dancing. ‘‘Yes, need baskets. Cattail make good basket too. One day go dig cattail root. Good to eat.’’
‘‘Oh, really? You get worms, and I’ll fix our dinner.’’
‘‘Fry fish.’’
‘‘All right.’’
Oh, I wish Opal were home. She would love this
. Ruby returned to the house, gathered cookies and other supplies, including bacon grease and cornmeal and a frying pan, a blanket for Per to sleep on, and away they went.
Opal found them later in the afternoon. ‘‘I was getting worried when you weren’t around the house.’’ She swung off her horse and dropped the reins. ‘‘Any fish left?’’
‘‘Not fried. Little Squirrel has a long line down there. She’s going to dry them.’’ Ruby laced one more willow branch in and out of the basket ribs.
‘‘When did you learn to weave a basket?’’
‘‘Today.’’
‘‘And you made all of that?’’ Opal hunkered down and admired the half-woven basket.
‘‘Little Squirrel started it.’’
‘‘Where’s Per?’’
‘‘Fishing. He caught several.’’
‘‘He landed them?’’
‘‘I’m sure he had help.’’
A burst of laughter from both baby and woman floated back from the point of the sandbar that had arisen during the dropping of the river.
‘‘He’s having fun.’’
‘‘We’ve all been having fun.’’ Ruby tipped the brim of her flat leather hat back. ‘‘We didn’t have to cook dinner, so we ran away.’’
‘‘Ran?’’ Opal glanced at Ruby’s extending middle.
‘‘You know what I mean.’’
Opal glanced up at the honking V of geese. ‘‘If they’d set down around here, I could bag us some of those tonight.’’ She pointed to the saddle. ‘‘I have the gun.’’
‘‘If you want to go, Little Squirrel could milk for you. Roast goose sounds wonderful.’’
‘‘It’s a shame I didn’t bring Joel with me. He wants to learn to hunt.’’
‘‘Opal, are you sure you—?’’ Ruby flinched inside at the look in Opal’s eyes.
‘‘Not too many men will attack someone with a gun, even if she is female.’’
‘‘True. Be careful.’’
‘‘Ruby.’’ Opal stood and shook her head the slightest amount but enough to convey her sentiments.
Ruby watched her mount and turn the horse away from the riverbank, then head upriver.
Please, Lord, take care of her. And thank
you for this day to treasure
.
She heard the horse lope into the yard when dusk had just given up to dark.
‘‘Ruby.’’
She opened the door just as Opal called her name.
‘‘Look what I got.’’ Opal held up several geese, their feet knotted together with thongs. ‘‘And here.’’ A deer lay across the horse’s rump, antlers catching the light from the door.
‘‘I’ll take the geese. You going to hang the deer in the barn or the springhouse?’’
‘‘The tackle is in the springhouse. I’ll ask Little Squirrel if she’ll help me dress it out. It’s a three point.’’
They finally turned in around midnight, what with dressing out four geese and a deer. Ruby laid her hand over Rand’s side of the bed. ‘‘Keep him safe, dear Lord.’’ Her back ached, and she’d just about dozed off when a cramp in her leg threw her out of bed. ‘‘Argh.’’ She paused. What was that she heard? The chickens. Something was after the chickens.
‘‘Opal, get the gun!’’ she called. And Rand had told her to take it easy.
Some time later Ruby crawled back in bed again. She could hear Opal muttering about missing her shot. The weasel got away, but without his prey. Would that all weasels could be apprehended.
I wish Atticus were here
. Opal stared out across the dancers, patterns forming and changing as the whirling partners followed the singsong instructions of the caller. Since the roundup celebration was being held in the town square this time, ranchers and townspeople, farmers, even the army platoon and some of their families came out to the festivities. Rand and a crew had a fat steer turning slowly over the coals, the fragrance making her nose twitch.
‘‘Are you all right?’’ Ruby stopped beside her in the shade of the cottonwood tree.
‘‘Sure. Just catching my breath.’’
‘‘I’m hoping to find mine again.’’ Ruby patted the mound under her apron. ‘‘This one likes to push up against my lungs.
Must be a girl. She loves to dance.’’
‘‘How do you know?’’ Opal stared at her sister.
‘‘I started dancing, and she started too. She’s kicking up a storm.’’
Opal rolled her eyes. ‘‘Ruby.’’
‘‘Just you wait until you have one.’’
‘‘That’ll be a l-o-n-g time.’’
Might not have been so long had Atticus
stayed around.
‘‘Something’s bothering you.’’