Sixteen Brides (12 page)

“Mrs. Ransom was right smart,” Sally said, and crossed to where a collection of dry-goods boxes stacked atop one another served as a cupboard. “That’s a good way to get yerself a pantry.” She traced the scalloped edging tacked to the edge of each shelf. “And this here’s pretty. It must have taken a while to cut that outta papers.” She pointed down to the worn braided rug beneath the small table in the center of the room. “I could make us one of them,” she said. “I don’t know lace makin’ and that other fancy stuff, but I’m right smart at rag rugs and braids and such.”

“Martha was right,” Zita declared. “It’s all very cozy.”

Ella nodded agreement even as she pushed a tattered quilt aside and peered into the back room.

Ruth pointed to the quilt that formed the makeshift door. “That was beautiful once,” she said, running her hand over the surface of meandering vines and appliquéd flowers.

Sally moved from the cupboard toward a sewing machine sitting in front of one of the windows. “Don’t imagine Mr. Cooper has much call for this,” she said. “I wonder if he’d barter for it if I made him some shirts or new curtains or somethin’.”

“If you can sew,” Will said, “you’ll be as busy as you want to be as soon as word gets out.”

“Well, let’s see if Mr. Cooper wants it first,” Sally said. “And if he don’t, then you can get word out all around these parts.” She glanced over at Zita. “Chickens don’t need all that much tendin’, do they? I mean—I’ll have time for sewin’, too. Right?”

Zita nodded. “We’ll see to it.”

Hettie wondered aloud what use Mr. Cooper might make of the beautiful cradle.

“Well, I hope he don’t turn it into a grain bin or somethin’,” Sally said. “It’s too pretty for that.”

Sally was right. The cradle boasted graceful lines and a fine oiled finish. It made Caroline sad just to think about what it represented in the way of lost dreams. Something that well crafted was meant to be an heirloom, used and reused and then handed down to the next generation. As tears threatened, she looked away.

A framed bit of needlework hanging above the front door bore lettering stitched in deep red thread surrounded by clusters of pink and red roses. It advised the viewer to
Hope On
Hope Ever
. A good sentiment. At that moment Caroline’s hope was that sweet Linney Ransom would have a good life in spite of the way things had started out.

What was it Zita had said on the train . . . something about forgetting what was behind and pressing on to hope. As Caroline looked around at the group of women, she realized that each one had chosen hope in her own way, and—

Ruth screeched and pointed down at a black snake as big around as Caroline’s wrist emerging from the spot where the rough board floor met the wall.

“Wow!” Jackson exclaimed, and with a mixture of boyish curiosity, surprise, and what Caroline thought might be a bit of fear, he headed for the snake.

“Don’t you dare!” Ruth gasped as she grabbed his arm. “It could be poisonous!”

Mr. Haywood spoke up. “Naw, that’s just a big old bull snake. Probably spent the winter under the floor feasting on field mice. I imagine all the stomping above his head scared him out.”

“Can snakes hear stomping?” Jackson asked.

“Well, now . . .” Will frowned. “I don’t rightly know, I guess. But he probably
felt
it and decided to skedaddle.”

Caroline might not be afraid of mice, but gigantic snakes were another matter entirely. Feeling shaky, she plopped down in a chair. Hettie ordered her to put her head down and laid a cool hand on the back of her neck.

Ruth gave a nervous little laugh. “I suppose the poor thing is as terrified as me. Will it freeze outside?”

“Hard to say,” Will replied. “Weather can change fast this time of year—as you ladies have already seen.”

When Ruth told Jackson to take the creature “down to the dugout and let it go,” Caroline sat back up. “Are you serious? You’re gonna just let it go?”

“Well, if snakes eat mice . . . why not? I
hate
rodents,” Ruth said.

“I want to see the dugout too,” Ella said, and opened the door for Jackson.

When the two had left, Ruth glanced at Mr. Haywood. “Can I impose on you to give him a snake lecture on the way back to town?”

Haywood nodded. “At yer service. The worst snake out this way is the rattlers. Good thing about them is they generally let you know where they are and what they’re about to do.” Raising his index finger, he wiggled it back and forth as he mimicked the sound of a rattle.

“Maybe Jackson ought to be learnin’ to shoot,” Caroline said.

Haywood laughed. “Well, if Mrs. Dow wants the boy to learn, I’d be pleased to show him a thing or two one of these days.”

Caroline could show Jackson a thing or two about shooting, too. But she wasn’t certain that was something to boast about just now. The other women might expect her to go out and kill a buffalo or something, and while Caroline might have decided to try and redefine herself according to the western dictionary, she didn’t think she was ready to go that far. At least not yet. For now it was quite enough to work on things like
spring snow
and
near to town
and
cozy.
Perhaps even
hope.

Hettie spoke up for the first time. “It’s quiet in here,” she said. “I like that.”

Mr. Haywood smiled. “Soddies have their advantages. They’re quiet. Cool in summer, warm in winter. Matthew told me once this place cost him a grand total of twelve dollars. The truth is, you ladies would have been a lot more comfortable if you would have been here instead of at the Immigrant House the other night when that storm blew through. Three-foot-thick walls keep out the wind.”

Caroline stood up. “Well, then. I say it’s high time you show us your ideas for where Ella’s place ought to be.”

“Ella’s place
,
”
Zita repeated. “I like the way that sounds.”

Back outside, some of the ladies headed for the wagon while Caroline and Ruth went to look for Jackson and Ella. They found the two looking down at a weather-beaten cross marking a lone grave a short walk from the back of the house.

“ ‘Carissima,’ ” Jackson read aloud. “But there’s no date. No last name.” He frowned. “Why wouldn’t they put up a proper marker?”

“I imagine it was proper to whoever did it,” Ruth said as she came to stand beside them. “ ‘Carissima’ means
beloved
. It’s Latin.”

“How do you know that?” Jackson asked.

Ruth smiled at him. “Just another one of those mysterious things your mother knows.”

Mr. Haywood and the others came around the side of the house. “Well, I’ll be . . .” He stared at the ornate iron fence surrounding the grave. “Where do you suppose Matthew got this?” He ran his hand along a cluster of iron oak leaves and acorns. “I’ve never seen such fine work.” Before he could say any more, a booming baritone voice sounded from just the other side of the ridge running behind the house.

As Caroline and the others watched expectantly, first two oxen and then the hulking figure of a lone man came into view. He was singing at the top of his lungs, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness. I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.” After a brief pause filled by the lowing protest of oxen, the voice continued to sing, “On Christ the solid Rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand . . . all other ground is sinking sand.”

The singing stopped as Mr. Haywood raised his hand and hollered a greeting. While the ladies waited by the grave, Jeb Cooper drove the lumbering oxen down the hill and toward the sod enclosure beside the hovel he was using for a barn.

Leaving the oxen standing by the primitive corral, Cooper walked toward the group gathered by the grave. “I cannot seem to keep those beasts at home,” he said. “I truly meant to be here all day.” He turned toward the ladies. “I hope you went on in and saw the house. I apologize for the grime. I haven’t had time to clean much yet.” He looked around. “There’s a lot to do.”

“It’s a good house,” Ella said. “I hope I can do as well.”

Will spoke up. “I’m taking them to the cottonwood spring from here. You’ve seen it, I imagine.”

Jeb nodded. “Indeed. I even thought of buying it.” He glanced Ella’s way. “There’s no doubt you’ll want it.”

Ella hesitated. “But if you want to buy it, perhaps—”

The only way to tell that Jeb Cooper was smiling was the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Still, Caroline thought him a very pleasant-looking man if a lady concentrated on the eyes and forgot about his resemblance to a grizzly bear. His deep voice was gentle as he smiled at Ella and said, “Good neighbors are more important than amassing much land.”

A faint blush on Ella’s cheeks made Caroline smile. She looked back at Mr. Cooper to see if he’d noticed, but he was looking toward his broken corral gate.

“You got a right nice sewin’ machine . . . and such,” Sally said.

Cooper nodded. He studied Sally for a moment, then asked, “You wouldn’t know anyone who’d be interested in taking it off my hands, would you? I’m such an ox, and the way that front room is set up I keep bumping into it. I want to move the table over by the window. It’d be a shame for a machine like that to end up out in the barn, but I don’t have an inch of extra space in the back room, either.”

Sally scratched the back of her neck and tugged on a strand of red hair, twisting it around a finger as she said, “Might be I could earn it from ya. Make some new curtains and shirts and such.”

“We have a deal, Mrs. Grant. I’ll bring it over as soon as you’re settled.” He looked Ella’s way. “And I’ll hope that’s over at the cottonwood spring.”

Sally whooped with delight.

Jackson spoke up. “Mother said to be sure and tell you . . . a big bull snake crawled out from under the floor inside. I let it go down there.” He pointed toward the dugout barn.

“Thank you.” Cooper nodded. “Perhaps he’ll have the rat that’s been eating my seed corn for supper this evening.”

Will spoke of the fence again. “I’m wondering how Matthew got something like this into Plum Grove without the whole town talking about it.”

“I brought it.” Jeb nodded toward his wagon. “Beneath a false bottom in my wagon.” He ran his hand along the iron rope that formed a swag for each section of fence. His voice mellowed as one finger traced the outline of a leaf. “I had just enough to fence in the grave. It worked out well.” Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Jeb looked up with a smile. “Well, I really should get to repairing the corral gate. Again.” He pulled his glove back on with his teeth and, wishing them a good day, headed back toward the corral.

As Will drove the wagon across Jeb Cooper’s land toward what he was calling “the cottonwood spring,” Ella pointed at the dugout barn and a wooden stake jutting above a tuft of tall grass. “Is that the official surveyor’s stake?”

“Probably.”

Ella pondered that for a moment. “You said Mr. Ransom’s family started out in the dugout. If that stake marks the property line running north and south, doesn’t that mean the house and the dugout are on two different claims?”

Will smiled. “You don’t miss much, do you, Mrs. Barton?”