Sixteen Brides (21 page)

“I didn’t know she’d done that. Driven a carriage ahead of a war party. She doesn’t talk very much about her times with my father. Oh, she talks about
him
all the time, but—I never thought about the adventures she might have had
with
him before I was born. I mean, I knew she was always with him and that some of the posts weren’t very . . . luxurious, as Mother put it, but I never pictured her as . . .
tough.
She’s probably done some of the things I read about in
Texan Joe
. Or at least seen them. But she never let on. Not once.” He murmured, “I hope they can help Mr. Gray. I hope he’ll be all right.”

“So do I,” Caroline agreed.

“Back in St. Louis we had a doctor—three of them, in fact— just around the corner. And when it snowed the wind didn’t whistle through the walls. Aunt Margaret’s house had gas lighting.” Jackson paused. The quiet made the coyotes sound closer.
Or maybe they
are
closer.
Jackson nodded toward the north. “It would be really dark out there if the moon weren’t shining tonight.”

He’s trying to be brave, but the adventure is wearing thin.
Caroline forced a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt into her tone. “Martha says people tend to keep a lamp lit in the window. And she said soddies are warm and cozy.”

“But we’ll be a long way from . . . anyone else. Just like Mr. Gray.”

“Probably not for long. There’s Mr. Cooper. And Mr. Haywood seems to think people are going to be flooding into this area. Things are going to change fast. The town board is already trying to recruit a doctor and a blacksmith and a schoolteacher and more builders, and Linney’s pa is a carpenter and—”

“Linney says her pa is the best carpenter ever.” Jackson gave a little snort. “She thinks he’s the best
everything
.”

Caroline felt she should choose her words carefully when it came to Matthew Ransom. How grateful she’d been for the strength of the arm Matthew had offered last night after—after Lowell Day. He didn’t know how close she’d come to weeping in his arms. Thankfully Sally didn’t either, although Sally had teased Caroline a few times about how Matthew Ransom just seemed to appear whenever she—or her parasol—needed rescuing. Of course that was ridiculous. Sally had done the rescuing that night. And yet . . .
You think about Matthew Ransom far too much.

“He can’t be the best
everything,
” Jackson muttered.

“It is wonderful the way they’re getting along now, though, don’t you think? And wonderful that he’s moved to town.”

“Sure. Linney’s hard to understand, though. I mean, she was so
mad
at him. And then they drove off together in a carriage and when they came back everything was fine. Just like that.” Jackson sighed. “I guess that’s good, though. At least she
has
a father.”

“And you have a mother who loves you very much.”

“I know. But Linney has Martha. And lots of other ladies who care about her and teach her all the girl stuff.”

And you don’t have anyone stepping into your pa’s shoes.
Jackson was more than lonely. He was missing having a father. Matthew Ransom’s moving into town must have opened an old wound. Now that Caroline thought about it, it was no wonder Jackson had been so thrilled with Mr. Gray’s invitation to the ranch. After all, how often had he been around someone who exuded such masculine . . . masculinity? Caroline frowned. Handsome face, psalm singing, and testament toting aside, she didn’t think Lucas Gray was a good candidate to be a father figure for Jackson. Matthew Ransom, on the other hand . . .

“I’m glad Hettie’s going to live with us,” Jackson said abruptly. “What I mean is, it’s especially nice to have someone like her with us. In case anyone gets sick. Or hurt.” He paused. “I never thought about all the things that could happen out here. I guess it’s kind of . . . dangerous in a way.”

He turned to face Caroline. “I have to learn to ride, Caroline. I need to be able to do my part. I can’t be a little kid out here. If I could ride, then I could be like that wrangler who came for Hettie tonight. I could be the one going for help if something happened she couldn’t handle.”

Caroline wanted to hug him. She wanted to comfort him and tell him that everyone was going to be fine. To reassure him that nothing bad would happen to them . . . and that she would teach him to ride, not because he would need to rescue anyone, but because horses were wonderful animals and a boy should have a horse. But she couldn’t promise that nothing bad would happen. Look what had almost happened to her. And she’d heard her share of stories these past two weeks. Stories of violent storms and cattle stampedes, of prairie fires and blizzards. Jackson had likely heard his share of similar stories. People out here either liked to exaggerate, or they liked to celebrate survival. Part of her hoped it wouldn’t be as hard as it sounded to succeed on a homestead. Part of her knew it likely would.

Abruptly, she tore herself away from the idea of blizzards and prairie fires. Jackson was right about one thing. They all needed to be willing to learn and grow, and she could help him with one part of the process. She put her hand on his shoulder and forced a lighthearted tone. “I’ll tell you what. Before we leave for the homestead in the morning, I’ll ask Mr. Ransom if he meant it when he offered Patch for ridin’ lessons. Ella’s already hired him to do some of the carpentry out at the Four Corners, and while he’ll likely drive out with a wagonload of tools and such, maybe if we ask him, he’ll bring Patch along. Maybe you and I can manage us some ridin’ lessons. Why, if things go well, you just might be a regular cowboy before your mama and Hettie get back.”

From what Ruth could see in the predawn moonlight, Lucas Gray’s ranch was a random collection of small buildings nestled into a valley surrounded by sandhills. It was too dark to see details, and the instant she pulled the carriage up to the house, a figure appeared out of the shadows to take the little mare in hand. Two more wranglers appeared at either side of the carriage to help Ruth and Hettie down. Yet another one led the hard-riding messenger’s worn-out mount away. Ruth realized she didn’t even know the man’s name.

“I’ve got it, ma’am,” the wrangler on her side of the buggy said when she reached for her valise. He smelled of tobacco and sweat, but Ruth didn’t mind. In a way, it was one more detail calling her back to her old self as an organized, capable military wife. Woolen uniforms and desert sun created pungent cologne. As Ruth stepped back to let the man get her valise, she thanked him. “Oh no, ma’am,” he said. “Thank
you
. For coming all this way. Pete was mighty impressed with your drivin’.”

Ruth smiled to herself. A young cadet named George Dow had been impressed more than a time or two, as well. It was one of the things she’d used to get his attention in the long-ago days when she was a somewhat attractive young woman among a bevy of beauties.

The ranch house cast a much longer shadow than Ruth would have expected. Lamps glowed in four sets of double-hung windows set beneath the overhang of a long, low porch. Pale lines of chinking glimmered in the moonlight. Lucas Gray lived in a log house, not a soddy.

A slight figure waited just on the other side of a screen door.
He has screens.
At the ladies’ approach, the little man stepped outside and bowed. “My name is Wah Lo. Mr. Gray hurts very much. Thank you for coming.” He bowed again and looked at Ruth. “You doctor?”

“No,” Ruth said. “I am Mrs. Dow.” She turned toward Hettie. “Mrs. Raines is—”

“—
not
a doctor,” Hettie said. “My husband was. I assisted him. I’m only here to help until the
real
doctor gets here from the fort.”

Wah Lo nodded. “Very good. You help now. That’s very good.” A bellow erupted from a room toward the back of the house and Wah Lo waved them inside. “He hurts very bad. Hurry, please.”

Either Lucas Gray had landed in Nebraska with money, or he was a great deal more successful than Ruth had imagined. The house was large and the furnishings very near luxurious. Even a brief glance to the right as Ruth and Hettie hurried after Wah Lo revealed surprising details about Lucas Gray’s life as a rancher. A large rolltop desk opposite the front door was cluttered with papers and an open book. Beyond the desk in the corner of the room, a fainting couch and two overstuffed chairs encircled a heavily carved low wood table. The room seemed more suited to ladies’ sewing circle meetings than card playing and smoking. The hallway was a long one. It opened onto another large room, which was, again, a surprise because of the number and quality of the furnishings. Ruth couldn’t help but think that perhaps Lucas Gray had earned the right to a certain amount of strutting.

Once in the back bedroom, Ruth held back while Hettie went to where Mr. Gray lay atop crisp white sheets in a massive bed made from tree limbs someone had knocked together. He seemed to be unconscious, but he’d tossed back a considerable pile of blankets and quilts. Again, the obvious elegance was surprising. From where she stood just inside the doorway, Ruth noted wide lace trim on the pillows and heavy damask drapes at the windows across the room. The details were lost in shadows, but it appeared that Lucas Gray’s bedroom included another sitting area.

When Hettie demanded more light, Wah Lo retreated with a promise to bring more lamps. The instant she laid her hand on the seemingly unconscious man’s forehead, he grasped her wrist. With a little gasp, Hettie said, “It’s Mrs. Raines. You sent for me, remember? I’ve asked your man to get us more light.”

“I know who you are,” Gray said through clenched teeth. He pulled her close. “I’m keeping my leg.”

Ruth stepped up to the bedside. And that’s when she saw the gun.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all men,
especially unto them who are of the household of faith.

GALATIANS 6:10

W
ill Haywood had reassured the ladies of Four Corners that at least half a dozen homesteaders would turn up to help build their soddy. “That’s just how things work out here,” he said. “The ladies have quilting bees, and the menfolk have building bees. You’ll see. You’ll be moved out of those tents and into a snug soddy before you know it.”

Early Monday morning, Caroline and Ella hurried down to the livery to take a look at the two teams Caroline had singled out. It wasn’t a difficult choice. When one of the gray mares nudged Ella in the back and nibbled her shoulder, that was that. Laughing, Ella said, “Well, it seems this one has chosen me.” She nodded at a wagon that had been sitting in the same spot for the past two weeks and asked Mr. Ermisch about buying it.

He shook his head. “I can’t take money for that. It’s got rotten floorboards, and the running gear needs greasing. It’s not good for much more than parts for my new wagon builder.” He hesitated. “Of course Matthew can repair it—but he’ll be busy cutting shingles for a while. I suppose I could grease it up for you and you could use it today.” He shrugged. “But mind, it needs an overhaul.”

“You must name a price,” Ella said, but when she reached for the community purse, Ermisch waved it away. “We’ll work somethin’ out later. You can catch up with the trader at the dining hall about the mares. I’ll get the team harnessed and hitched up while you settle.” He tugged on his beard. “Now, you don’t need to say I told you this, but he’s overpriced those teams. You should be able to talk him down at least ten dollars.”

“Not for the grays,” Caroline said. “I think the one mare’s in foal.” She blushed. “At least there’s a good chance.” She wasn’t about to expound on how she knew that. Surely Otto Ermisch realized that old stallion he’d put “out to pasture” in the corral wasn’t completely . . . old.

It took a moment for Ermisch to realize how Caroline could possibly know—but then he grinned and glanced toward the corral. “You old devil, you,” he chuckled.

Whatever Will Haywood might have said about “the way things work out here,” none of the Four Corners ladies—least of all Caroline—had anticipated the sight they beheld as they brought the grays to a stop and looked down on their building site. Half a dozen wagons and two more coming from the opposite direction. A gathering of sun-bonneted women near the supply tents, and a dozen or more men scattered all across the place, inspecting the stakes by the house, yoking oxen, and watering teams.

Caroline joined the ladies in a collective gasp.

“Well, ain’t that somethin’?” Sally said.

“Linney came!” Jackson pointed toward the spot where she and her father stood waiting. “And Patch is already saddled! Can we do a lesson right away, Caroline? Can we?”

“We’ll have to see,” Caroline said. And oh, did she see. Folks heading over to greet the ladies. Zita nearly skipping with anticipation as she made her way to the supply tent. Ella greeting and thanking people for coming. Sally clucking to the hens as if they needed reassurance as Mr. Cooper lifted their crate down from the wagon. Linney, grabbing Jackson’s hand and hauling him over to where Patch waited. And Matthew, all six feet of him, walking this way with a smile God must have designed to melt a woman’s heart.

The farthest thing from Ella’s mind was to create a sensation. She didn’t even think about the ramifications, really. She just did what she naturally wanted to do and what she was gifted to do, which was
not
lingering near the supply tent pouring lemonade and coffee or sharing community gossip while the ladies sliced bread or opened jars of pickles or served up pie. Those things were part of Mama’s world, but not Ella’s. And so, after Mr. Cooper plowed the first furrow, and Will Haywood cut the curls of sod into three-foot lengths, and after Frank Darby drove his flatbed wagon up so the sod strips could be loaded and hauled to the building site, it was the most natural thing in the world for Ella to begin loading sod. The thing was, that didn’t seem natural to anyone else.

“Now, Miz Barton,” Mr. Darby protested, “there’s no call for you to do that. You just let the boys handle it.” He took a blue kerchief out of his rear pocket and swiped the back of his neck. “You ladies got much better things to do—”

“There’s nothing better for
me
,” Ella said, “than this.” She bent to lift another strip of sod and hoisted it onto the flatbed wagon.

“Please, ma’am,” Darby pleaded. “It ain’t right.”

“For who?” Ella said. She lifted a third strip of sod.

“The men won’t like it, ma’am.”

Ella put her hands on her hips. “Let’s ask them,” she said, and with that she strode toward where Jeb Cooper was plowing.

“Mr. Cooper. Mr. Darby here thinks the men will object to my helping build my own house. Do
you
object, Mr. Cooper?”

Cooper looked at Ella . . . the rancher . . . the homesite . . . and back to Ella.

“Well, Mr. Cooper. Do you object?”

“It is . . . unusual.”

“
I’m
unusual,” Ella snapped. She thought she saw a sudden flash of amusement in the man’s blue eyes. “Well, Mr. Cooper, are you going to refuse to plow for a woman who dares to venture into a man’s world of work?”

“No, ma’am.”

At least he said
that
with conviction. “And what do you say to Mr. Darby’s objections?”

Cooper took his hat off and swiped at his forehead. Finally, he spoke. “Well, Frank, to my mind, what a woman does or doesn’t do should be up to the woman. She should be who she is, not what others expect her to be.” He shrugged. “It’s her land. As far as I’m concerned, she’s the boss.”

It took a minute for Ella to believe what she’d just heard. For a moment she thought perhaps Jeb Cooper was mocking her. But he met her gaze honestly, and so she merely thanked him and then bent to pick up another slab of sod.

Frank Darby didn’t say another word about “women’s work.”

And as the afternoon wore on, Ella decided that Jeb Cooper was not only strong and clever in the way he’d overcome losing a hand. He was also a singularly wise man.

“I’m keeping my leg,” Gray repeated through clenched teeth, “and I’ll shoot the first person who tries to do anything against the idea.”

Hettie tried to pull away from his grip on her wrist. “Th-there’s n-no need t-t—”

“Yes. There is.” He raised the gun a little higher off the bed with his free hand. “I heard what the boys said when they were wrapping it up. They thought I was out cold, but I wasn’t. I know what they do when there’s bone stickin’ out of a man’s leg.” He released Hettie’s arm.

His gaze moved from Hettie to Ruth. Recognition flickered in his eyes. He swallowed. “You know what I did in the war?” When Ruth and Hettie both shook their heads, he said, “Well, while the officers pored over their battle maps and stood back and watched the rest of us die, I was burying legs. And arms. And hands and feet. Mountains of limbs piled high outside the surgeon’s tent.” He swallowed. “So believe me when I say that the only way my leg gets buried is if I’m attached to it.” He waved the gun in the air for emphasis.

It was a monstrous thing. The barrel looked a foot long. Did he really think he could bully them into— Poor Hettie. Ruth saw her hands tremble as she swept them over her frizzy hair. Saw her stance waver slightly. Was she going to faint? Ruth stepped forward and put a hand on Hettie’s shoulder. She could feel the poor woman trembling through her cloak. “Mr. Gray,” she said, her tone severe, her expression even more so. “Stop talking nonsense. No one is talking about cutting off anything. We haven’t even
seen
your leg.” She patted Hettie’s shoulder. “You are frightening the only doctor you’ve got for the next few hours, and that’s very unwise.” She held out her hand. “Now, hand me that gun and hush.”

Wah Lo came into the room, a lighted lamp in each hand. Without taking her eyes from Gray’s face, Ruth gave instructions. “We’ll need hot water, Mr. Loh. And clean bandages. And soap.” Still, she held Gray’s gaze. “I have dealt with tougher men than you, Lucas Gray. Hettie and I will help you, but I won’t countenance any more nonsense with guns.” She continued to hold out her hand. “Now, give me that thing.”

Gray hesitated. Ruth had the feeling she was being measured. She kept her gaze locked on his. Arched one eyebrow. Lifted her chin.

Gray looked from Ruth to Hettie and back again.

He handed Ruth the gun.

Gray had a daunting list of injuries. Under Ruth’s relentless questioning, he finally admitted he had lost consciousness for a while. He had a goose egg on the back of his head, but his pupils seemed to react normally to the light when Hettie moved a lamp close and then pulled it away. He had two nasty bruises on his right side that looked suspiciously like the outline of a very large horse’s hoof. “But,” Hettie whispered, “I don’t think he has any more than two ribs broken.” Amazingly, he seemed able to flex or move every joint in his body except the knee above and the ankle below the fractured bone in his left leg. Hettie didn’t want him to try moving those until she’d examined his leg in the full light of day.

The man’s dogged ability to endure pain was nearly miraculous. From what the wranglers said the stallion did to its owner, every fiber of Gray’s body had to be crying out in one way or the other. But other than a couple of bellows when Hettie wrapped his ribs, Gray hadn’t complained. When Wah Lo offered him whiskey, he waved it away with a mild curse—and an instant apology “to the ladies.” He even glanced Ruth’s way and joked, “I’ve been told they won’t tolerate any nonsense.”

Ruth spoke as soon as Wah Lo set their traveling cases on the low dresser across from the carved oak bed and slipped out, closing the door behind him. He’d insisted the two women retire and get some rest until daylight. “You do no good you too tired to think,” he said. “I’ll see to Mr. Gray now. Call you at dawn—or if he gets worse.”