Place to Belong, a (5 page)

“I'm perfectly content livin' in that bunkhouse—build a little house for my pup there on the porch, and we'll be right as rain. I can take care of the hogs and chickens and keep that smokehouse goin' when the rest of you are too busy. Still some good left in these old bones, but like Mavis knew, living alone was killin' me. Now I think of it, that Mr. Porter in Hill City might be a good one to talk with about all that furniture we'll make. He might have some ideas about marketin' it. You know, sellin' it.”

He raised his cup. “Think I'll take a refill on that now, missy.” Gretchen surged to her feet and pulled the coffeepot from the stand on the edge of the fire in the fireplace. She made the rounds refilling all the cups and still no one said a word.

“About that wedding . . .” Cassie said softly.

“After a pronouncement like that, why not talk about a wedding.” Ransom heaved a pent-up breath and shook his head again. “What did Reverend Brandenburg have to say?”

“He'll be out here Tuesday after dinner to perform the ceremony.” She looked to Micah. “If that is all right with you. And Runs Like a Deer.”

Micah nodded. “That will be good.” He looked to his soon-to-be wife, and she nodded also and then quickly ducked her chin, staring down at her lap.

Ransom looked to his mother and brother, then at Arnett. “You sure gave us a lot to think about, my friend.”

“No more thinkin' necessary. Let's just go ahead with the plannin'.”

“Arnett, you can't just—”

He raised his hand, palm out. “Don't go tellin' me what I can and can't do. I'm an old man, and I can do what I want with what I own.”

“But what if your daughter comes back?”

“I'll send her a letter if'n I can figure where to send it. Seems like I don't have too good a luck with my family folks. Something musta happened to her too, or you think I woulda heard from her by now.”

Mavis and the others knew how his sons had either died or left and not returned. His wife died, and years earlier two of his little girls had died of some strange illness. Children often died young. And here he was, soldiering on.

“Now, before you go to thinkin' on all the reasons not to do this, you think on this. What else can I do with what I got? Sell it all? And to who? I don't wanna give you no bad neighbors, you know. And besides, I'm not real good at takin' care of myself anymore, as you know.” He paused, squinted his eyes a bit, and raised one finger in the air. “I got it. I'll sell it all to you—lock, stock, and barrel. Give me a piece of that paper, Ransom, and I'll draw up the deed right now. From me to you for one dollar and lifetime care. There!” He grabbed a blank piece of paper and reached for the pencil.

D
umbfounded was now a figure of speech Cassie understood.

Glancing around, looking from under her eyelashes, she could see the others felt much the same. Ransom had shifted to his granite look; Lucas's eyes were wide and he was shaking his head slightly; Mavis wore straight-lined eyebrows, a sure sign she was thinking hard on how best to deal with this shock. Gretchen caught Cassie's glance and covered a giggle. Runs Like a Deer was studying her hands in her lap. Micah kept looking from Ransom to Mavis and back, as if he expected one of them to blow at any minute.

“I know. I dumped a big heap of my longtime thoughts in your laps, all sudden like. But I'm gettin' up there in years and if I wake up some morning in heaven next to my dear departed wife, I don't wanna be wishin' I'd taken care of this sooner.” He looked to Mavis for help. “Mayhap I should have come to you first.”

Mavis shook her head. “Dan, you've had time to think on this, and you just caught us all by surprise, shock rather. I mean, we've been trying to figure out how to buy the sawmill, and you come up with all this.”

“I ain't just givin' it to you, ya know. It's a trade-off. You give me a home—only God knows how long that might be—and I get to have the time of my life, workin' with these fine young men, dreamin' big dreams and runnin' more cattle on that spread of mine . . . er . . . ours. I couldn' do all that without you all. Don't you see? You'd be doin' me the biggest favor of my later life.”

Was this the way business was done in the West? A pencil and paper deed and a handshake? From the looks on the faces of those around the room, she had an idea this wasn't the usual way for any of them. Cassie tried to wrap her mind around all that was going on, but she had enough trouble trying to piece together enough cash money to cover the necessities for those living in the cabin. Not that they were asking for anything, but they were her responsibility. She took that on when they left the Wild West Show behind.

She glanced at Mavis again and realized she was praying. She kept telling Cassie that God was indeed in control and had a plan for her life. A plan that showed how much He loved her and all the rest of them.

Ransom cleared his throat. “Okay, Arnett, let's chew on this a while. I don't want you signing anything over to us yet.”

“How long, son? You know I'm living on borrowed time as it is.”

“How do you figure that? You're healthy as that mule in our back corral. I know you've slowed down some, but that is to be expected.” He held up a hand when Arnett started to say something. From the look on his face, Cassie was pretty sure he was all set to argue. “Let me finish. You know it takes me a while to get the words all together.”

The old man nodded and rolled his eyes. “You saying I'm old and you're slow of speech? Mayhap you're wrong on both counts.”

“Maybe.” Ransom looked to his mother, who gave a slight nod.

Lucas caught Cassie's gaze but she couldn't figure out what he wanted. Arnett's comment about Lucas getting married. She'd not said yes. And she no more felt like saying yes now than ever. Why couldn't she just agree? He would make a good husband. She was learning to be a good wife. He made her laugh. He wanted her to keep shooting and promised he would help make that possible.

And now there was even the possibility of a real house. But she loved the cabin up there, even for the short time she had lived in it. But Micah and Runs Like a Deer needed a home too, and the cabin had been home to newlyweds before—Mavis and her Ivar. And what about Chief? Perhaps . . . Perhaps what?

She realized that silence took up the room. It was so quiet that the popping of a log just thrown on the fire sounded gunshot loud. What had she missed? Why was Ransom looking at her and what did he want? He dropped his gaze back to the drawings in front of him. Arnett still had the pencil and paper.

A funny feeling tickled the back of her neck. What had she seen in Ransom's eyes?

Mavis stood and headed for the coffeepot. “Anyone want more pie?”

Runs Like a Deer rose too. “I'll take care of it.” At the nods from those around the room, she took the tray, but Mavis shook her head.

“Just bring the pie in here. Much easier.”

Eating pie seemed to break the conversation barrier, but it left everyone carefully not mentioning Arnett's offer. Something like if George were standing in the middle of the room and no one wanted to talk about the bull buffalo standing in there. Strange how people could be like that.

When they were seated again, Mavis picked up a thread of conversation that must have been going through her mind. Or she was grasping at anything to bridge the gap. “So if you don't
mind, Micah and Runs Like a Deer, we will have the ceremony right here as soon as Reverend Brandenburg arrives. I think his missus is coming too. I will bake a cake and we can celebrate with coffee and cake. Is there anything you need?”

Micah shook his head and smiled at his soon-to-be wife. “I haven't seen too many folks get married. The one time was at the show, and after the ceremony, there was a big party with music and dancing, and some people brought presents like it was Christmas. We have everything we need, thanks to all of you already.” Runs Like a Deer nodded her agreement.

“Do you have a ring for your bride?” Lucas asked.

Micah shook his head. “We need one?”

“No, probably not, but I've made you one. Let's hope it fits. It'll be ready for the ceremony.”

“Well, we need to get going on the chores,” Ransom announced when he'd drained his coffee cup. He tightened the thong holding back his long hair. “I'll take care of feeding the pigs and chickens. Gretchen, you milk and—”

“I'll milk and do the barn chores if you and Micah will pitch down a load of hay for the morning,” Lucas interrupted.

Ransom and Gretchen both stared at their brother, their mouths hanging open. Lucas was volunteering to milk and do chores?

“Are you sick—in the head, I mean?” Gretchen asked.

Lucas tried to look innocent but failed miserably. “Just take it for what it's worth. This way you can help Mor get the supper ready.”

“Right. It'll take four of us to warm up the soup.” Mavis smiled at her female forces. “I think this calls for a celebration. Come on, I have an idea.”

“What about me?” Arnett looked about from face to face.

Lucas cackled. “You keep the fires burning, and perhaps you and Chief can come up with more stories for the rest of us to enjoy.”

Arnett glanced over at Chief, who shrugged. He seemed as confused as Cassie.

“And maybe we'll let you be the taste testers.”

“Hey, not fair. I'm the best taste tester.” Lucas winked at Arnett. “Taking my job away, eh?”

Cassie followed the others to the kitchen, each of them picking up cups and plates on the way. She could at least wash dishes. That she knew how to do.

Ransom opened the back door and turned to his mother. “There are three mighty sad-looking hounds out here. I know they'd like a chance to warm up at the fire.”

“Well, let them in.”

Othello came and sat in front of Cassie, staring up at her with adoring eyes. She bent to smooth back the thick coat he'd grown, now that he was outside most of the time. He and Ransom's Benny shared the spacious doghouse on the front porch, and Arnett's dog stayed as close to him at the bunkhouse as possible.

“You know, Arnett, if you want your dog in the bunkhouse with you, I don't mind a bit.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course. That is your house now, and you do what you want. The door is always open to this house for you too. I don't want you holing up over there, and yet I know you are enjoying the reading time.”

Runs Like a Deer brought the soup kettle up from the cellar and set it on the back of the stove as Mavis asked her.

“Do you know how to make dumplings?”

Runs Like a Deer shook her head. “Like biscuits?”

“Sort of, but we drop the spoonfuls of dough into the boiling soup, or at times on stew.”

“Here, we'll have a cooking lesson for Cassie too. Dumplings are just biscuits with less flour. In fact, you can just beat an egg,
add salt and flour, and drop it into the soup. That works too. This time we'll put in some baking powder to make them lighter.”

Runs Like a Deer asked, “Is it like fry bread? My grandma made fry bread.”

“No. These dumplings will be steam cooked in boiling broth. Fry bread is cooked in hot oil. They are both very good, but they taste a little different.”

With the dumpling dough ready for the soup to heat to boiling, Mavis took out another bowl. “Now we'll make chocolate pudding. If we had a baked pie crust we'd turn this into chocolate cream pie, but pudding sounds mighty good tonight.”

After they'd finished supper and were passing the dishes of pudding around the table along with a plate of sour-cream cookies, Gretchen announced, “Cassie made the pudding.” Cassie felt her cheeks flush.

“And both Cassie and Runs Like a Deer made the dumplings,” Mavis added.

Later, when they were all arranged around the big room, Cassie picked up her knitting again and glared at what should have been neat rows. There was a hole two rows back—again. She sighed and started returning the stitches to the opposite needle to go back and pick up the dropped stitch. At least she was getting good at the tearing-back part. She understood the principle that practice makes perfect, but she also knew that practicing something wrong never made it right.

Why did she have such a hard time concentrating on what others made look so simple? Gretchen had learned to knit when she was five. Her fingers flew with the yarn and needles much like her mother's did. Cassie's mother had taught her how to sew and mend and stitch beautiful embroidery. She'd been thinking of creating a sampler for Mavis, but it would take a long time and wouldn't be done for Christmas, at least not this Christmas. She picked up the dropped stitch, making sure the yarn was turned
the correct way on the needle, and went back to finishing the knit row. Then she would do the purl row. And then the knit row.

She felt someone's gaze on her and looked up to catch Lucas's smile. She returned the smile, and her thoughts scampered back to his proposal, or rather to his vow to make her love him. Was there any reason for her not to love him? He was certainly good-looking, with his boyish face and short curly hair. Many marriages started on friendship and some with just a letter in the mail—mail-order brides. Of course some of them were never happy, yet others were. But then, marriages based on love alone sometimes turned out happily, when others did not. So confusing, life. In the Wild West Show, she'd had few choices to make. Now it seemed that everything involved making a choice—every single thing.

Oh no!
Do not think on anything but knitting
. She rammed the needles into the ball of yarn and bit her bottom lip. What a waste of time this was. She could be filling shells for her practice shooting. At least she could do that right. Maybe she wasn't cut out for all this homemaking stuff, although she did enjoy the cooking and learning new things in the kitchen.

After the others went on up the hill to the cabin and the brothers headed down the hallway to their rooms, she joined Mavis in the kitchen. “What are you doing now?”

“I decided to make sourdough pancakes for breakfast, so I am feeding the sourdough.”

“'Night, Mor,” Gretchen said after a yawn. “'Night, Cassie.”

With just the two of them left in the kitchen, Cassie stirred the milk and flour as Mavis told her. They measured out two cups of sourdough starter for the pancakes and added two of the fresh mix into the dough and set the crock back up on the shelf behind the stove. Then Mavis beat the starter into the dough that was left and set that on the warming shelf of the stove.

Mavis wiped off her hands. “This is what we used all the
years before we could buy soda and baking powder at the store. Sourdough was good yeast. Leavening. I got my original starter from an old woman who came out here with her son and his wife. She died several years later, but she made sure that her starter lived on. She told me then that it was already fifty years old. So when my family starts homes of their own, this starter will go with them.”

Cassie inhaled the faint perfume of her dough. She knew it would be stronger by morning when she'd add the beaten eggs and bacon grease and more flour. Somehow the thought of passing on dough like this made her feel like crying. Was having starter passed on part of becoming a member of the family?