A Hopeful Heart (2 page)

2

“Whoa.” Abel pulled back on the reins, drawing the horse to a halt. He leaped from the wagon seat and walked around to release Ed from his rigging. The smell of burnt hide and scorched metal carried on the wind. Branding must be well underway. In the past, Abel had waited until the calving season was complete before rounding up all the calves and branding in one fell swoop. But this year he couldn’t afford to wait.

“Hey, boss! Been watchin’ for ya.” Cole Jacobs, the youngest of the three hired hands who lived on Abel’s small ranch, trotted across the grounds. Catching the tailgate of the wagon, he peered into the empty bed and then shot Abel a startled look. “Ol’ Hank out of that new-fangled barbed wire already?”

Abel jolted. With the arrival of the train—and Aunt Hattie’s girls—he’d plumb forgot to ask the Feed and Seed owner about a roll of barbed wire. He tugged on the bridle, guiding Ed toward the barn. “I’ll have to check when I go in next.”

Cole trailed along beside Abel, swishing his hands against his dusty pant legs. “Might be just as well. I heard Mr. Hammond’s had to replace a string of fence three times already. Somebody keeps cuttin’ it. Gotta be costly, puttin’ it back up time and again.”

Abel led the big roan into a stall and reached for the curry brush. Feelings ran strong for and against barbed wire fencing. Local ranchers liked the idea of keeping their own beef penned in, but those who drove their herds to the new railroad to send the beef to market found the fences a nuisance. More than one fight had broken out when drovers cut a fence to shorten their distance to the railroad’s loading pens.

“Yep, suppose it is an aggravation.” Abel nodded toward Cole. “But how many head’ve we lost in the last couple of years ’cause they . . . wander?” Even though he couldn’t prove it, nothing would convince Abel those cattle didn’t have help leaving his land. He had no cash to spare, but he hoped a barbed wire fence might discourage more “wandering.”

“You’re prob’ly right. Fence’d decrease the losses. Well . . .” Cole backed toward the barn door. “I’ll tell the others you’re back and we won’t be puttin’ up wire fence tomorrow. Just about got the calves branded. Want us to put ’em back on the range with their mamas when we’re done or keep ’em in the corral overnight?”

“Keep ’em in.”

Cole grimaced. “You sure? They’re a-bawlin’ somethin’ fierce. Might keep us up tonight.”

Abel slipped the leather traces over Ed’s head. “Well, then pull the mamas in with ’em, but I want ’em kept in.”

“Yessir.” Cole shot out the door, his thudding footsteps receding quickly.

Abel stroked the brush across Ed’s withers, and the horse –nickered, nudging Abel’s shoulder with his nose. Normally Abel would laugh at the horse’s antics, but Cole’s comment about fence-cutting brought up a new worry. As if he needed a new worry. Between the increased ranching in Dakota, Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado lowering the price per head and the frustration of losing a significant portion of his herd in each of the past three years, he was barely keeping himself afloat.

As much as he hated to consider it, he might have to let one of his hired hands go. But being short-handed meant less supervision of the cattle, which could lead to greater losses. Besides, who would he cut loose? Releasing the newest hire, Cole, seemed the fairest, but the man knew the business; Abel didn’t want to fire a knowledgeable, willing worker. Made more sense to let Vince go. The weathered cowboy was fast approaching his fiftieth birthday and was slowing down considerably.

Abel’s hand paused in the brushing as his thoughts tumbled onward. If he cut Vince, his son Ethan would go, too, leaving only Abel and Cole to work the ranch. Two men couldn’t possibly see to everything that needed done. Besides that, Pa would turn over in his grave if Abel sent Vince from the ranch. The two men had worked side-by-side for nearly two decades. Pa considered Vince as close as a brother, and Ethan had grown up alongside Abel. The men were like family.

“Pa, sure wish you were here to give me some advice.” Seemed the older he got, the more he missed his father. Without conscious thought, he turned his head toward the northwest, where Pa and Ma, along with Abel’s newborn twin brothers, rested in the gravesite on the far corner of the property. If Abel had his way, he’d be buried right next to them when his time came to leave this earth. Of course, it would be nice to pass this ranch on to his son, just as his Pa had done for him, but that didn’t seem too likely seeing as how he wasn’t interested in taking a wife.

Immediately a face flashed in his memory—delicate cheekbones, upturned lips, sparkling eyes fringed by thick lashes . . . He shook his head hard, dismissing the image. Last thing this day needed was thoughts of Amanda!

He thumped the curry brush on the shelf and then stood facing the wall, worry making his throat dry. Ever since Pa’s death, the losses had outweighed the gains on the ranch. First that hard winter, then the mysterious disappearance of a good portion of his herd. Abel wasn’t sure how to turn it all around. If he didn’t get a good return on his beef this year, he might be forced to sell his spread to Mr. Hammond. The man was interested, and he’d give Abel a good price.

Abel swished his hand through the air, shooing away the thought. Selling out wasn’t an option. Pa and Ma had poured their sweat into this land. On his deathbed, Pa made Abel promise he’d hang on to the land, and Abel would honor that promise. He needed to stop this worrying. Ma always said worry never added a single hour to anybody’s life.

He gave a little jerk, setting his feet in motion. “Get to work, Abel. Standin’ around here stewin’ isn’t helping a thing.” He gave Ed a pat on the neck and headed toward the branding pen.

“Well, ladies, here we are.”

Tressa roused at Mrs. Wyatt’s announcement. The gently bouncing wagon ride across the rolling prairie had lulled her to sleep, but she sat up and yawned discreetly behind her hand. Squinting against the sun, she peered over the wood side of the wagon. A tall, square house sat on a smooth, grassy rise. Although plain with whitewashed clapboard siding, its neatly paired windows glinted in the sunlight and seemed to send a welcoming wink. Tressa struggled to her knees to get a better look.

“Now, now, gawkin’ can come later.” Mrs. Wyatt bustled to the back of the wagon and lowered the tailgate. “Grab your effects outta there an’ then follow me. It’s pret’ near suppertime, an’ my men’ll be comin’ in soon expectin’ to get their bellies filled.”

“Men?” Luella’s brows shot high as she shoved her bag to the end of the wagon bed.

“Yes, missy, my ranch hands.” The older woman went on conversationally. “But your path an’ theirs won’t be crossin’ for a good long while, not even at mealtime. Dinin’ room’ll only hold eight at a time, so we’ll be eatin’ in shifts. ’Sides that, the men’re here to work, an’ you’re here to learn, an’ that’ll keep all o’ you plenty occupied.”

Luella seemed to wilt momentarily, but then she lifted her chin and sent a saucy grin around the group. “But if we’re living on the same grounds, surely there will be time for—”

“There’ll be time for workin’ an’ learnin’.” Mrs. Wyatt cocked her head to the side and gave Luella a puzzled look. “You thinkin’ you’ll be pitchin’ woo right from the start?”

Luella held her hands outward. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Well, sure. Eventually.” Placing a hand on her hip, Mrs. Wyatt bounced a serious look from girl to girl. “But I don’t plan on lettin’ the men spend time with you till you’ve learnt all you need to be a good helpmeet to one o’ the fellers around here.”

“But why do we have to wait until
then
?” Luella’s tone turned petulant. A couple of others murmured their agreement.

A slight frown creased the older woman’s brow, but she replied patiently. “ ’Cause you come here to learn to be a herdsman—somebody who knows ranchin’ inside an’ out. There’s lots to learn, from cookin’ for a crowd to stampin’ a brand on the hindquarters of a wrigglin’ calf an’ drivin’ a wagon across roadless pasture. No sense in gettin’ a fella’s hopes up an’ then have you decide ranchin’ life ain’t for you an’ you skedaddle back to New York, leavin’ him empty-handed an’ sore-hearted.”

She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “Yep, it’s best you gals learn the skills first,
then
get to know the fellers.” Mrs. Wyatt shrugged, an impish grin rounding her full cheeks. “If you’re in a hurry to get hitched, you can either head on back to New York an’ seek out a likely prospect there, or you best set your mind to learnin’.”

Luella’s full lips formed a pout, but much to Tressa’s relief, she climbed out of the wagon without another word. Tressa found the girl’s ceaseless chatter and flirtatious ways disquieting. Had no one taught Luella the meaning of decorum?

Mrs. Wyatt stood to the side, her arms folded over her ample chest, and allowed the girls to heft everything out of the wagon bed. Once the trunks and bags stood in a disorganized tumble on the ground, she waved her hand. “We’ll carry things in after we’ve figured out your rooms. Come with me.”

Once again, Tressa fell into the last position as the six girls trailed Mrs. Wyatt over a walkway formed of flat stones. She released a little breath of relief as she stepped onto the wide, railed porch, where the roof provided protection from the harsh sun. Back at her aunt’s home in New York, tall trees and flowered trellises offered refreshing shade, but trees and manicured gardens were sorely lacking here on the prairie. Another twinge of homesickness attacked, but Tressa resolutely pushed the feeling away. New York held nothing of value for her anymore.

Inside, Mrs. Wyatt charged directly up a spindled staircase. The girls clattered up behind her. A long, wallpapered landing divided the upper floor down the middle, with two pairs of doors facing each other from across a narrow expanse of wood-planked floor.

Mrs. Wyatt pointed to the first door on the right. “This here is my room. The others’re up for grabs. You girls break into twos and choose a room.”

“We must
share
?” Evelyn stared at Mrs. Wyatt in dismay.

Mrs. Wyatt took in a deep breath, as if gathering patience. “Yes, you must share. That’s part o’ the learnin’.” She sent a firm glance around the circle of girls. “An’ please, no room-changin’ once you’ve settled in—too much fuss an’ feathers. So choose careful.”

Luella immediately looped arms with Evelyn. Although Evelyn appeared dubious about the pairing, Luella seemed disinclined to release her hold. With a sigh, Evelyn nodded her assent. Mabelle and Paralee exchanged a quick nod, sealing their agreement. That left Tressa and Sallie.

Sallie angled a hopeful look in Tressa’s direction. “Do ye mind sharin’ a room with me, Tressa?” Her lilting Irish brogue carried a note of timidity.

Even in her aunt and uncle’s home, a shelter provided dutifully albeit reluctantly, Tressa had enjoyed the pleasure of a room to herself. On the long journey by train, she had traveled in a private berth—her uncle’s parting gift to her. The idea of having no privacy held little appeal, yet Tressa wouldn’t complain. Mrs. Wyatt had apparently been unaffected by Tressa’s clumsiness at the depot; she dared not give the woman a reason to reject her now.

Tressa nodded. “Certainly we can share.”

Sallie’s freckled face split into a grin.

“Well then, that’s that.” Mrs. Wyatt clapped her thick palms together. “The rooms’re nothin’ fancy, but you won’t be in ’em overmuch.” She turned and clumped down the stairs, still talking. “Just claim one an’ get your things moved in an’ put away while I fix my hired hands their supper. I’ll call you when they’ve cleared out an’ I’m ready to feed you.” She disappeared around the bend at the base of the stairs.

With murmured comments, the girls plodded down the stairs and outside to retrieve their items. Tressa shielded her eyes with her hand as she walked across the yard and bent to grasp her carpetbag. Having brought, at her aunt’s insistence, only one small bag, she anticipated no difficulty carrying it up the stairs. But Evelyn grunted with the effort of lugging her heavy trunk across the sparse grass toward the porch.

Sallie dropped her satchel and trotted to Evelyn’s side. “Could ye be usin’ some help?”

Evelyn’s brows rose in a superior manner, but she nodded. With Sallie hoisting one end and Evelyn the other, the pair managed to cart the sizable trunk across the yard and into the house. Once inside, they faced the steeply angled stairway.

Sallie flashed a grin over her shoulder at Tressa. “I’m thinkin’ it will be best for ye to stand well back till we get this all the way up. If it drops, it’ll squash ye flat!”

Tressa stood to the side of the stairs while Evelyn and Sallie wrestled the trunk upward. Behind her, Luella held her breath, her lips sucked in and eyes wide. Mabelle and Paralee peered between carved posts, whispering to one another. Luella’s breath whooshed past Tressa’s ear when Evelyn dropped her end of the trunk on the upstairs landing with a resounding thud.

Sallie leaned over the railing, her smile bright. “Safe it is now, girls! Bring your own things.” She scuttled down the stairs and out the front door to reclaim her discarded bag.