Love's Rescue (14 page)

Jess lowered her eyes as she worked. Red Deer saw her as a friend, and for that, she felt honored, but she also intended to leave as soon as she could. Instead of looking at the kindly brown face, Jess turned to consider the ranch yard and the busy tasks that filled it.

The men from the line camps had returned with their cattle, and roundup had begun. They rode in, leading cows that had been injured or that were too sickly to survive without help. Others rushed to take the cows into the barn, where they could be fed and cared for. The previous summer had been long and hard; one of the men told Jess that many cows had died in the heat. Most of them had survived, but the terrible cold of the recent winter had weakened them. Jess observed the men closely. Each one knew his job, and each worked steadily as a fluid part of a whole. They were like spokes on a wheel, and, for a time, she was one of them. Part of her would miss that when she was gone.

She plunged the last bucket under the water. Cool ripples swirled over its edge, dampening the wood and giving off an earthy smell. Once the bucket was filled, Jess carried it to the bank, where Red Deer pulled down the back gate of the wagon and climbed in. As Jess passed the heavy buckets up to her, Red Deer emptied them into the giant barrels, then handed the buckets back down to Jess. When they had finished, they returned to the creek to refill them.

Finally, Jess spoke again. “I’ve never thanked you for helping me when I first came to the ranch. Not just with the burns, but seeing to it that I ate and regained my strength. When I was a child, my infant brother, Broderick, died. I did the same then as when I arrived here—I cried and slept for days.”

“It is nothing to be sorry for, Jessica. My people cry, too, when someone passes to the Spirit Land—the missionaries call that place ‘heaven.’ We feel better when we cry for them, because crying relieves our pain. I was glad to help you, and also I see that I am your friend because you tell me this.”

Jess sighed. She’d only wanted to thank the woman before she left, not make it harder for Red Deer when she was gone. But Red Deer didn’t seem to notice. She continued to work, singing a cheery song in her own language. Again, they poured water into the huge barrels, Jess growing more curious about her companion.

“You once asked me about the meaning of my name. Why are you called Red Deer? Most deer are brown.”

“I am named for a flower, not a doe. Paiute girls named for a flower are called flower-girls. Others we call rock-girls because they are named for rocks, or else they are named for something they like. I am named for a flower.”

“Aren’t deer flowers yellow?”

“I was born with very red skin, so the Paiutes called me Red Deer.” All at once, the dreaminess left her face. Her eyes cooled. “I am glad I will have a son, because it is no longer safe to have a daughter. Many white men are coyotes, very bad men,” she explained, “and we must always protect our daughters from them, even when they are very young.”

Jess shuddered. For these people, it seemed good always came with bad and happiness with sorrow…and she understood a little of how Red Deer felt.

“That’s why you don’t live on the reservation—because of the white men who run it?”

“Many of the white agents hurt our people. The Great White Father in Washington promised to give us supplies as long as we remain peaceful, but they gave us clothes and food only once, then no more. So our friend Jake Bennett told our men we could stay here and he would pay the men to work at the ranch. So we live here. He is an honorable man. All my people know this.”

Jess didn’t know what to say to that, so she asked to know more about flower-girls. Red Deer’s face brightened again.

“Oh, we all used to watch for spring to come with such eagerness! We looked for our flower to bloom, then, when we saw it, all the young women would walk out into the hills with the handsome young men and show them the flowers we were named for. We would make up flower songs about ourselves and dream of husbands to sing our flower songs with us. All our people have great love for one another, and the old people and the children would ask us each day if our flower was in bloom. We made wreaths for girls not named for flowers so that we could all dance together and be happy. I think the young men waited for the Festival of Flowers to choose their brides. It was a wonderful time for all.”

Again, was and used to. However did these people find joy among the sadness?

“I think this will be enough water.” Red Deer again climbed into the wagon, filling the barrels while Jess arranged the empty buckets for the short ride back.

When they were finished, Red Deer lifted out two of the buckets with an impish smile on her lips. “Come,” she said.

Curious, Jess followed, for the buckets now swung gaily from Red Deer’s hands. This time, Red Deer slipped off her own moccasins and waded out into the creek, the bottom fringe of her deerskin dress swaying softly as she moved. When she bent over to wet her hair, Jess did the same. Though the air was cool, they had felt the sun, and the chilly water rinsed away the sweat of their labors.

Jess rinsed her legs, then pushed back her sleeves to wash her arms. The ache in her back faded as the bathing refreshed her. Sounds of flowing water and breeze filled her with joy and contentment.

Gazing skyward, Jess saw a broad-winged peregrine falcon riding the wind, a wild creature free to go wherever it would. Watching the falcon, her own heart floated, but instead of feeling trapped at the ranch, she felt strangely like she, too, had been freed—freed from the noise, the restrictions, and the indulgences that drove the people of the mining towns into a frenzy to discover more, get more, have more. The lot of them seemed mad, desperate to latch onto the illusion of eventual freedom. Freedom, Jess realized, wasn’t to be found amid a mad frenzy, at least not for her. For her, this was freedom. The peregrine continued to glide, and Jess suddenly threw open her arms and greeted the gales.

“I’ve missed this, Red Deer! This is like Kentucky—home!” She spun around to face Red Deer, who was wringing out her hair. “I had forgotten. All those endless days spent in a corner with ledgers and numbers…I forgot how I was raised for this.”

“You did not grow up in a town?”

“No. My family owned a kind of a ranch, but we had only horses, not cattle. I practically lived outdoors. I was schooled, of course, and taught to care for a home, but…” She lifted her hands and looked all around her. “Three years I worked in a dark corner, at a desk buried under papers. Three years, and I’d almost forgotten.” She shook her head, then lifted it to take in the pine trees and the mountains. “This is not at all like Kentucky, and yet it is.”

“It was even more beautiful before anyone settled here.”

“This is certainly more beautiful than any city!” Jess passed her hands through the water, opening her fingers to let the cool current glide between them.

Red Deer smiled at her enthusiasm. “Where is this place that makes your face shine when you speak of it?”

“Kentucky?” Jess pointed excitedly to the east. “A decent Pony Express rider could have made it in ten or eleven days.” Jess turned back to Red Deer, suddenly sheepish as she realized that her wet arm had sprayed Red Deer when she pointed.

Red Deer said nothing but smiled slyly at Jess and lifted her brimming bucket.

“Oh, Red Deer, I’m sorr—oooof!”

Jess sputtered and laughed as the bucketful of water ran down her hair and over her face. Tossing back the soaking strands, she dove for her bucket and, with it, showered a giggling Red Deer.

***

In a stand of cottonwoods downstream, Jake stood beside his horse, watching the two women shriek and laugh as they drenched each other. Neither of them had noticed that he was quietly checking on them to be sure they were safe.

Jess had watched the falcon and opened her arms to the sky. She had discovered for herself what he had seen in her for some time—that this was where she belonged. The mountains and desert were as much a part of her as they were of him. Neither of them was suited to a life of busy boardwalks or large crowds.

Shaking off the persistence of such thoughts, Jake led his horse away from the creek. He was right to help Jess—it was what any decent man would do—but he was getting to know her well and to understand her more than he was ready to. He needed to protect her, and to do that effectively, he needed to keep his head clear. Skilled at doing just that, he stepped up into the saddle and nudged his horse on its way.

He glanced over his shoulder at Jess. She and Red Deer were ducking and whirling as they splashed waves of water at each other, their laughter resounding through the trees.

***

Back at the ranch, behind the bunkhouse, Jess and Red Deer hung two enormous iron pots over small stacks of wood, prompting four of the ranch hands to walk over. Hiram and Nate pulled their hats from disheveled heads of hair as Jess greeted them. Reese, the shy youth who had loaned her his scarf in Carson City, followed, and the Spaniard, Diaz, approached the tan mare, which kept nudging him for a pet. If any of them noticed that she and her friend were damp from the creek, they chose to withhold any comments.

When Jess realized that the four meant to lift down the heavy water barrels, she held out an arm in protest. “Each of those barrels weighs as much as a pony. Please let Red Deer and me take the water down by bucketfuls.”

Diaz grinned brightly as he patted the mare’s glistening neck. “No, we take the water down, señorita. Little Luina here, she don’ like the wagon much. We take the water down and unhitch her so she can run. You like to run, verdad, querida?” he murmured near her ear. “Eh, Sticks,” he called to Reese. “Get the buckets out of the wagon, sí?”

A pinkening Reese climbed aboard, muttering, “Yeah, I see.”

Doyle and Taggart rounded the corner in time to hear the exchange. Taggart lifted off his hat and gave the spindly lad a good-natured thwack on the shoulder. “Ha, ha! Sticks. I like that! Hand me a few of them buckets, Sticks.”

Reese’s eyes took on a vengeful gleam, and he began tossing the wooden buckets behind him like a dog digging up bones. One of them struck Taggart just above his ear, nearly knocking off his hat.

“Ow! Stoppit, Reese! Ye just banged my noggin!” In response, Reese sent the buckets flying faster.

Doyle shook his head and reached his powerful forearms over the side of the wagon, handing buckets out to Jess. “Never did see such foolery,” he said.

Jess set the buckets down, glad that Doyle was accepting her presence. Until now it seemed he could barely tolerate her, probably due to her Southern origin, she surmised.

Doyle and Diaz climbed into the wagon and together turned each of the barrels from side to side, rocking them to the rear of the wagon. Then the other four lowered the awesome weight of each barrel to the ground.

Thinking they were finished, Jess started to thank them, but they politely nudged her aside until they had brought both barrels within a few paces of the iron cauldrons. When they had finished, Reese nabbed Taggart’s hat and ran off with it. The stout Irishman hurled comical threats as he huffed after him. The others smiled in response to her thanks and then returned to their various chores. Diaz, however, cooed warmly to Luina as he led her to the barn to unhitch her.

Jess was still smiling over the man’s love for the horse when she and Red Deer dipped their buckets into the barrel and began to fill the giant kettles. When that task was done, Red Deer started a fire beneath the first pot while Jess gathered up as many buckets as she could carry and crossed the yard to the stable, where they were stored.

Doyle, who had returned to the smithy, glanced up from the hoof between his knees, a large file stilled in his hands. When Jess waved, he saluted with the file, then bent over again to continue leveling the hoof. As she passed the barn, she noticed Diaz rubbing down Luina. He casually watched her pass. Yes, they had accepted her and were happy to lend her a hand, but they were also loyal to their boss. How frustrating that Jake had told the men to watch her, as if she were a child in need of so many nannies! A few others noted her passing, and her annoyance flared to a good simmer.

Jess hung up the pails, slamming them against the wall and taking fiendish pleasure in the racket they made. Her ire somewhat diminished, she smoothed her hair and crossed the yard, ignoring the eyes that kept track of her whereabouts.

At the bunkhouse, she rapped on the door, then pushed it open when no one called out. A dank, musty odor rolled out, and she nearly gagged. The room was dim. Two dirt-crusted windows became visible at the ends, then the newspapered walls between. Thirty or more bunks stood in disarray along both sides of a fireplace where charred coffeepots were clustered around an ash-blacked hearth. Cobwebs dominated the ceiling, old boots and bits of harness leather littered the floor. There was an upended barrel stained with coffee circles to one side, sticky with flattened globs of dinners long past, around which stood chairs that had seen better days. Here and there were blankets, spurs, and stray playing cards.

“What filth!” Jess declared to no one. Her gaze dropped to the old flour sacks the men had left stuffed with their dirty clothes, and she gathered them up by the cords that secured them. With great effort, she dragged them out the door, one at a time, and dropped them in a growing pile beside Red Deer.

“Have you seen the bunkhouse?”

Red Deer sat up on her knees, having kindled a fire of already dancing flames. “Their clothing is just as bad. Look for yourself.”

Grimacing, Jess lifted a pair of trousers from the top of the closest sack. She dangled them away from her, shaking them to loosen the dried mud and who-knew-what-else. “Are they all like this?” she asked Red Deer, eyes wide in alarm.

“Most are. We will soak them today and scrub them tomorrow, but they do not stay clean long. It is hard work the men do.”

“I suppose. But if we soak them like this, all that water we drew will turn to mud. We really need to beat them first to get the worst of it off.”

From the woodpile, Red Deer chose split logs and added them to the small fire. “Find what you need, Jessica. I will help you while the water warms.”