Larkspur (19 page)

“Howdy.” Gilly took her hand and gave it one downward dip, then released it. If he was surprised by who she was, he didn’t show it.

“Where are the other Indians going? Are they staying here? Do I fix a meal for them?”

“No, ma’am. They’ll set up their own camp, and they’ve got their women to cook for ’em.”

Kristin took Moss’s hand. He had closed his fingers around her hairpins and refused to open them.

“You rascal! Give me my hairpins.”

“Milk early and shut up the calf with the cow,” Moss murmured, and he held his fist tightly closed.

“What in the world am I going to do with you?” Kristin exclaimed. She picked up the button and string he had dropped on the ground. “I’ll play with this if you’re not going to.”

She held on to each end of the loop and twirled the button until the strings were entwined before she pulled them back and forth. When the button was spinning at full speed, Moss dropped the hairpins and reached for the toy.

“Stage took the gold to Junction City,” he blurted.

Keeping the rhythm going, Kristin patiently slipped the ends of the loops over his outstretched fingers. Gilly stepped closer to watch the button whirl.

“Now don’t that beat all?”

“He catches on quickly to repetitive things he can do with his hands.”

“Always was handier than a pocket on a shirt.”

“Have you known him a long time?”

“Since I wandered in here four, five years back.”

“Then you knew him before he took sick?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Buck’s outstretched hand came between them. Kristin took the hairpins from him and put them in her apron pocket, leaving her braids to hang down her back. She knew he was watching her closely, but it would be a while before she’d be able to look him in the face after hearing him discuss her with the Indian. What in the world did he mean about being on the blanket like a dead sheep? Lord of Mercy! She hoped it didn’t mean—It surely didn’t mean that!

She picked up the bucket of wet clothes. With back straight, head high and flaming face, she crossed the yard to the line.

“Are you through with the washtub?” Buck called.

“I’m through washing, but don’t empty the water. I’ll use it to scrub the floor after the nooning.”

“Haven’t you done enough today?”

“A lazy, worthless woman would let all those good soapsuds go to waste. Is that what you’re thinking I’ll do? I’m not as lazy as you may think, Mr. Lenning. After I scrub the floor,
I’ll
throw the water out, then
I’ll
do the ironing.”

“I don’t have an iron.”

“I have a small one. It’ll do.”

Both men waited until she was at the far end of the rope line before they spoke.

“She’s got her back up good.” Gilly took his hat off and scratched his head. “That part ’bout her bein’ lazy hit a raw spot even more’n how she was on a blanket.”

“She may not have understood the part about the blanket.”

“Does she know about Moss?”

“No.”

“How’d she get out here?”

“Caught a ride out on a freight wagon. Forsythe was putting pressure on her to sell.”

“She’s a right sightly-lookin’ woman. ’Pears to be right strong-minded, too.”

“And prouder than a game rooster.”

Gilly chuckled. “And right now she’s madder than a hive of stirred-up hornets. Hope it don’t keep her from cookin’. I ain’t had my feet under a woman’s table since I went to town right after the thaw. I was so sick a eatin’ meat all winter, I’d a et a rotten turnip could I find one.” Gilly spat out a yellow stream of tobacco juice.

“I didn’t know that. I’d a swore you was in a hurry to get to town to the whorehouse.”

“That too, by gol!” Gilly’s eyes went to Kristin at the line. “She stayin’?”

“For a spell.”

“Moss likes her. Remember how he hated that Oglala squaw we got to watch him? First time we left him with her, he bit ’er.” Gilly’s chuckle was dry as cornshucks. “She got a hold a him and wouldn’t turn loose. She was madder than a stepped-on snake. After givin’ us both a cussin’, she hightailed it back to her tribe.”

“He’s going downhill fast, Gilly. Out a breath most of the time. Sleeps a lot, don’t eat much.”

“I could tell he’s lost flesh.”

“I got to decide soon—”

“Ya thinkin’ she’d leave if she knowed?”

“Not leave, but she’d be put out because I didn’t tell her right off.”

“Why didn’t ya?”

“I didn’t know if I could trust her . . . then.”

Gilly lifted his nose and sniffed the air like a hound dog.

“By gol, Buck. I’m thinkin’ I smell somethin’ mighty pretty. Jehoshaphat! It’s fresh bread! Ain’t it?”

“I thought you liked eatin’ burnt Indian bread, stewed gooseberries and boiled prairie onions.” Buck was fond of teasing Gilly, whose greatest pleasure in life was eating. They had spent many long winter evenings together and had weathered some rough times.

“It ain’t bad if ya ain’t et in a week and yore belly hole’s dancin’ up and down yore backbone.”

“Kristin’s a fine cook. I’d better warn you, though, she’s a stickler for manners and such. She likes things nice. We got a cloth on the table and all that. Don’t bring that stinking spit can in the house.”

“Well I’ll be dogfetched! Where’ll I spit?”

“Outside.”

“Ya mean get
up
and go
out?”

“That’s what I mean. And don’t spit out the door where she’ll step in it.”

“Time’s when womenfolks ain’t nothin’ but a ache in the arse, fer all their cookin’.”

“You need to get housebroke, Gilly.” Buck laughed at the sour look on the old mountain man’s face and gave him a sound clap on the back. “Get a woman and raise a herd of younguns to take care of you when you get . . . old.”

“Bullfoot!”

“It’s good to have you back, Gilly. I’ve not had a full night’s sleep since you’ve been gone.”

“I found another one of them oil holes back up in the hills ’bout five miles this side of Crazy Peak. This’n shallower than the other’n. No more’n a couple a barrels of it seeped out in a basin.”

“It’d be worth about twenty dollars a barrel if we could get it to a market. There’s no way of knowing if the hole would fill up again. It would be more trouble than it was worth. We should get a bucket or two to use to grease wheels. It’s not good for much else.”

“We ort to get out there and fence it off, is what we ort to do. Them stupid steers would’a walked right in it up to their arse if I hadn’t a spotted the sick-lookin’ grass around it and a headed ’em off.”

“I’ve had a chance to make a supply of fence posts while I hung around the place. We’ll load the wagon and go out tomorrow.”

“Had any trouble?”

“Two bushwhackers lay waiting for me yesterday. Had to kill one. Sent the other one packing with the body.”

“Ort to a killed ’em both. It’s what I’d a done.”

“I was relieved to see the women with the Sioux. It meant they were going to set up camp and stay.”

“Iron Jaw’ll expect pay. He’d take yore woman. He ain’t no young buck, but his bone is still hard enough to keep his womenfolk squealin’ half the night.”

Laughter left Buck’s face.

“Iron Jaw or any other man that makes a move toward her will find himself laid out . . . toes up.” He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Hummm . . .” Gilly spat again. “Things ’round here is a gettin’ t’be mighty interestin’.”

*  *  *

During the days that followed Kristin worked as hard as she ever had in her life. Every washday she scrubbed the floor; and while it was drying, she pressed the wrinkles from the clothes with the small sleeve iron she had brought from River Falls. Lately, after the noon meal, Moss had curled up on his bed like a child and had fallen asleep.

While she worked, Kristin had plenty of time to mull over in her mind the events of the past few weeks and had come to the conclusion that she had a lot to learn about this land and its people, including Buck Lenning.

She had no doubt that he would have killed the Indian that day if he’d cut her hair. Life and death in this wild and unpredictable land hung on such a trivial matter. She had felt like a bone being fought over by two dogs. Yet it had been comforting, she admired, having Buck’s big, solid body next to hers, his hand warm and firm on her shoulder while the Indian fondled her hair.

This woman is mine! The sons she makes will be my sons!

Even thinking the words caused an unexplainable quiver in the region of her heart. She shoved the remark about being on the blanket back into the corner of her mind, not really understanding it and not wanting to think about it. It was Buck’s way of protecting her, she reasoned calmly. Their deal was that she would cook, tend house and look after his father in exchange for his protection. He was just carrying out his part of the bargain, and that was all she must read into it.

Kristin decided that she liked Gilly Mullany, and would like him more if he would take a bath. He brought the odor of horse dung and woodsmoke into the house with him—not to mention stale sweat. It was a situation she’d have to work on very carefully. You couldn’t tell a man that he stank and needed a bath—that is if you wanted him for a friend.

One of the first things she had noticed about Buck was that he was very clean and had kept Moss clean, too. He had shaved twice since she’d been here. Without the dark stubble on his cheeks he looked less sinister. She wondered how long it had been since he’d had a real haircut. It had to be at least a year. From the looks of it, he had chopped it off himself or Gilly had. He hadn’t mentioned being in town since the posse had come for Uncle Yarby.

She wondered how Bonnie and Bernie had fared since her leaving Big Timber. Also Cletus and Mrs. Gaffney. She prayed that they hadn’t gotten into trouble for helping her. Thinking of town brought another worry to the forefront of her mind. Gustaf had said that he’d come out to Big Timber in a few weeks. What would happen to him if he arrived and went to Mark Lee’s office looking for her? Gustaf was used to dealing with rough men, but Forsythe’s men were the worst kind, or they’d never have framed an old man like her uncle for murder.

She would have to ask Buck how to get word to Bonnie and Bernie to be on the lookout for her cousin and to tell him where she was.

“Onyah.”
Moss had come silently into the room breaking into her thoughts of Gustaf.

“You’re awake. Did you have a good sleep?”

“I’m going far away,
Onyah.”

There was a note of awareness and also one of sadness in his voice that Kristin had not heard before. A feeling of unease came over her.

“Where do you plan to go?”

“Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”

His voice, quoting one of the Ten Commandments, his hands clasped in front of him; eyes, faded now, as her father’s had done after his long illness, brought back a sudden rush of memories of her father when he lay on his death bed quoting Scriptures.

“Ya did that,
Onyah.”

With misty eyes Kristin saw the old man turn wearily away and go back to his bed. Her heart thumped in sudden realization. Names Moss had mentioned came charging into her mind; Anna, her mother’s younger sister, Sean, her father’s brother. The breath she had been holding came out in a rush as another coincidence occurred to her. Buck had never called his father anything but Moss or old-timer. Never Pa or Papa—

“Oh, my goodness,” she murmured in a stricken whisper. Then, “Uncle Yarby?”

Chapter Twelve

T
he man Buck called Moss was her Uncle Yarby.

Kristin’s emotions ran from anger to sorrow to confusion. Why had he lied to her? What purpose did it serve? When she arrived, he had made it clear that he didn’t want her here. He could have told her then that her uncle wasn’t dead and that she had no claim to the land. She cringed inwardly when she thought back on the things she had said to him.

Don’t forget that you work for me now, Mr. Lenning.
She had made a complete fool of herself.

As she worked, Kristin went to the doorway from time to time to look at the frail old man sleeping on the bed. He had seemed completely lucid when he spoke to her. A few other times and only for an instant, she had believed him to be of sound mind. He was a small man as her father had been. Only the second generation of Andersons who emigrated from Sweden to Wisconsin were tall, and some, like Uncle Hansel’s sons, brawny. Her brother, Ferd, was short like his father, but over the years he had put on weight. She could see no resemblance in either size or features between her brother and her uncle.

Oh, Uncle Yarby, I would love to ask you why you made me your heir when you had so many others to choose from.

As she prepared the evening meal Kristin came to the conclusion that she would confront Buck Lenning and tell him that she knew the man he had passed off as his father was her uncle and that she had every right to stay here and take care of him, even if the house was not on his land. She was torn between her anger at Buck for not telling her Moss was her uncle and gratitude for the care the strange dark-haired man had given him.

It was dusk when she heard Sam’s welcoming bark and Buck and Gilly rode into the yard. Before leaving, Buck had assured her that the Sioux who had come to work for him were perfectly reliable and would let him know if a strange rider came within miles of the ranch house. She had no idea how that was to be accomplished, but it was comforting to know.

The light from the lamp on the table and the one in the bracket over the work counter cast a warm glow over the spotlessly clean kitchen. Before dishing up the meal, Kristin went to the bedroom where Moss was sleeping. His breathing was even. She touched his forehead. It was cool. She returned to the kitchen as Buck came in the door.

“Your
father
is still sleeping.”

“Is he sick?”

“Of course. You know that.”