Santa Fe Woman (11 page)

“What in the world is all this food for!” Jori exclaimed.

“It’s for the mule skinners and the men on the train.” Kate flipped over six pieces of bacon with a spatula expertly, and they sizzled on the frying pan, sending up the strong odor of meat cooking. “We couldn’t take all the groceries with us, so I thought we might as well fix a breakfast.”

Leland entered from the door and said nervously, “Is the breakfast about ready?”

“All ready,” Kate nodded. “Everybody lend a hand, and we’ll take it out and feed them.”

Mark and Leland helped Kate and Jori take the meal outside. A table was set up, and the men were sitting around smoking and laughing as Kate made the preparations. She lifted her voice and said, “All right, you men, line up here and get your breakfast.”

Kate watched as the men shuffled over and thought again of her earlier days. She had been accustomed to rough men then, but for the past years, since she had been Leland’s housekeeper and had watched over his children, that memory had faded. It came back strongly now along with the smells of tobacco, leather, and even alcohol from the mule skinners. “Pick up a plate and bring it to me.” Grat Herendeen was the first man, a huge man with his bull whip coiled and over his shoulder seeming almost a part of him. He grinned at her as she filled his plate with the eggs and motioned toward the bacon. “Help yourself, Grat.”

“Smells mighty good, Miss Kate,” Herendeen said. He moved down and picked up a cup that Jori had filled from the large coffee pot. He winked at her and said, “Going to be a nice trip. Not used to having ladies along on freighting trains.” He waited for her to respond, but she didn’t, and he moved on.

They loaded their plates, and finally the last man in line came to stand before Kate.

“Good morning,” Kate said. She had not met this man before. He was no more than average height but trim and strong looking. His curly brown hair escaped from the cap he was wearing, and he had warm brown eyes. She put an extra portion of eggs on his plate and said, “Help yourself to the bacon and the biscuits.”

“It looks mighty good, ma’am.” He hesitated and then stood before her, holding his plate in one hand and his cup in the other. “Are you born again by the blood of the Lamb, ma’am?”

Kate was surprised but suddenly she laughed. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, I reckon I knowed that before I asked. I could tell you’re a handmaiden of the Lord.”

“My name’s Kate Johnson.”

“I’m glad to know you, ma’am. My name’s Brown—Good News Brown.”

“Good News? That’s not your real name.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. My ma was a real Christian, ma’am, and she wanted to give me a name to let people know where I stood with God. So, she took part of that Scripture out. She’d been readin’ the story of the birth of the Savior in Luke the day after I was born, so she told me. You know, she read that verse that says when the angels said to the shepherds, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy.’ My ma always said that sounded like the angels are saying I’ve got good news for you. So she named me Good News. Fellows mostly call me News. That’s all right.”

“Are you a preacher?” Kate asked.

“Me? No, ma’am. Just a voice in the wilderness.”

Kate found herself liking the man. He did not have the roughness about him that some of the other men had. “Maybe we can have services on the trail.”

“I reckon I’d like that a lot, ma’am.”

“You’d better watch out for this fella, Miss Kate.”

Kate turned quickly to see one of the mule skinners that she had already met standing there. His name was Stuffy McGinnis. He was a short, spare, young man, wiry and tough, with the biggest mustache she had ever seen. She had already discovered he was a happy-go-lucky fellow and loved to play practical jokes. He was grinning at her now with fun dancing in his eyes. “I guess it’s my Christian duty to warn you about Good News here.”

“Is that right, Stuffy? What’s he done?”

“Oh, he’s the downfall of women, Miss Kate, I’m sorry to announce to you. It’s just terrible the way he leads young women into the ways of unrighteousness.”

“Stuffy, you couldn’t tell the truth if your life depended on it.”

“Oh, he’ll deny it,” Stuffy said, nodding wisely and winking at Kate. “But everybody knows that he’s a terrible fellow where women are concerned.”

Kate suddenly faced McGinnis squarely. “Are you born again yourself, Stuffy?”

McGinnis opened his mouth, started to speak, then suddenly found it necessary to clear his throat. “Well, not exactly.”

Good News was delighted. He laughed and clapped Stuffy on the shoulder. “No, he ain’t born again, but he’s gonna be before this here trip is over.” He winked and said, “You and me’ll gang up on him, Miss Kate. We’ll get him saved, baptized, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost before we get to Santa Fe.”

“I’ll be glad to cooperate with you on that, Good News.”

Stuffy was suddenly nervous, a most unusual thing for him. “I don’t reckon as how I need any help,” he said stiffly. He turned and walked away.

“You’re forgetting your eggs, Stuffy,” Good News called out. But then he turned and shook his head, his eyes warm. “Never knew Stuffy to turn down seconds, but good to have a fellow believer on the trail, Miss Kate.”

“I’ll look forward to having some meetings and talking about the Lord,” Kate smiled. She watched as Good News turned away and noticed that he walked over to where Stuffy was, sat down and began talking earnestly with him.
That’s a good man,
she thought.
We’ll probably need more like him on this journey.

* * *

BRODIE DONAHUE FINISHED HIS plate and drained the last of his coffee. He was a tall man with wide shoulders, a solid neck, and black hair and eyes. He was fine looking, clean shaven, and better dressed than most of the mule skinners. He turned to Charlie Reuschel and said, “Look at that filly, ain’t she a pippin?”

Charlie turned to look at the young woman who was standing alone at the table staring off into space. “A fine-lookin’ gal.”

“She’s a daisy, ain’t she? Better go make myself available.”

“You heard what Rocklin said about the women,” Charlie Reuschel said. He was no more than average height but very strongly built. He wore a hat always, for he was bald. He had light blue eyes and was the best shot of any of the men in the train. It seemed he could not miss with a rifle or a pistol.

“Ah, that’s just talk.”

“I don’t reckon Rocklin’s one for just talk. You better behave yourself.”

Indeed, Rocklin had given a talk to all of the men on the train. It had been a short talk in which he had informed them that they were to keep themselves on their best manners where the women on the train were concerned. He had ended by saying, “I’m not much of a one for rules, but anybody that breaks this one I’ll come down on him pretty hard.”

Donahue had paid little attention to the speech. He was a rough fellow and could handle himself in most any kind of fight. He knew that Chad Rocklin was a pretty tough man, or he would not have been chosen to lead this train. Donahue, however, was not one to worry about things like that.

He got to his feet, brushed his black hair back, and shoved his hat back on his head. “A man that won’t take a chance of a whippin’
to get next to a good-lookin’ one like that don’t amount to dried spit, Charlie.” He left and went over at once to where Jori was standing. “Ma’am, my name’s Brodie Donahue. Don’t think we’ve met.”

Jori turned and looked up into the face of the tall young man. “I’m Jori Anne Hayden.”

“Right pleased to know you. Guess you’re lookin’ forward to this trip.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, that’s speakin’ right out,” Brodie said with surprise. “You don’t like Santa Fe?”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“I haven’t either, but I always like to see new things.” He glanced over at the wagons and said, “Anything I can help you with, you just say.”

“As a matter of fact, there is one thing. I want to take a desk that my grandfather made. Would you help me get it into the wagon?”

“Sure enough, Miss Jori.”

Brodie followed Jori into the house and up the stairs. He was impressed with the ornate furniture and the wealth that the house bespoke. He followed her down the hall and into a room. She motioned toward a rather small, rosewood desk barely large enough to sit at. “My grandfather made that.”

“Mighty fine workmanship.” He walked over, picked it up easily, and said, “Anything else?”

“No. Just that.”

As Jori turned and walked out of the house, Brodie followed her, admiring her figure.
She’s a little bit snooty,
he thought,
but get
out on the trail and she’ll break down, I expect.

Jori stopped in front of the Conestoga wagon that she would be traveling in. “Just put it in wherever you can find room.”

“Sure enough, miss.”

The wagons were loaded, but Brodie was lifting the desk to put it in the back of the wagon when Rocklin suddenly appeared. “Take that back in the house, Brodie.”

Brodie turned, surprise washing across his face. “But the lady said she wanted to take it.”

“I am going to take it. It belonged to my grandfather.”

Rocklin stood to one side, loose jointed and looking hard and capable. “I’m sorry, Jori, but we can’t take anything else. We’ve talked about this before.”

Jori looked around and saw that her father and brother were watching. Beyond them, Kate had approached. Some of the mule skinners also had perked up and were grinning. She saw two of them grab Herendeen, lean over, and whisper something to Jake Fingers, and Fingers laughed quietly.

Jori Anne Hayden was accustomed to having her own way. It had molded her and made her, and now she felt a sudden urge to demonstrate the independence that had always been a part of her character. “This was one of our family pieces, the only one that I’m taking. I’m taking it with me, Rocklin.”

Rocklin did not hesitate. “Every pound counts. I’ve tried to point that out. We’re going across some bad rivers, and we’ll probably have to unload some of the wagons. We’ll probably even have to leave some of the gear.”

Grat Herendeen suddenly moved closer. “Aw, let her take the desk, Chad. Don’t weigh much.”

Every eye suddenly focused on Rocklin, at least among the mule skinners. It was a challenge lightly made but unmistakable. Grat was that kind of a man. He had to be first. Beside his bulk Rocklin looked almost small. He was as tall as Herendeen, but Herendeen’s bulk was impressive.

“There’s not room for the desk, Grat.” He turned to Jori and said briefly, “Sorry, miss, it can’t go.”

“And I say it will!” Jori cried, suddenly weak with anger.

Suddenly Leland Hayden was there. He was a soft-spoken man who had had an easy life. It had not been easy for him to throw himself into a wild venture such as this, but he understood clearly that Grat Herendeen had thrown down a challenge. He understood also that there must be no question as to who was the captain of this wagon train.

“We’ll leave it with the Nelsons, Jori.” He came over and put his hand on her shoulder and added softly, “We’ll come back and get it some day. I promise.”

Jori suddenly understood that there was no appeal to this. “All right, if that’s the way it has to be.”

Brodie had watched this little drama very carefully. He was standing next to Good News Brown and said, “If I’d had my say, I’d let her take the desk.”

“It ain’t your say,” Good News replied shortly. He watched Rocklin and shook his head. “He’s a pretty tough nut, ain’t he, Brodie?”

* * *

THE WAGONS WERE FINALLY loaded, which had taken some doing. Eddie Plank, a big overflowing man with brown eyes and brown hair, was in charge of most of this operation. He was capable though slow moving, but when the wagons were finally loaded, he nodded with satisfaction. “Reckon it’s all on. We’re ready to go.”

Rocklin nodded and moved over toward his horse. Mark stopped him and said, “You were pretty rude to my sister.” He was still upset by the scene.

“No, that’s wasn’t rude.” Chad suddenly smiled. “You’ll know it when I get rude, Mark.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to take one piece of furniture.”

“She put me in a bad spot. I had to make a choice.”

Mark started to argue, but Rocklin interrupted him. “Are you going to pull your weight on this trip?”

Mark flushed. He had already been drinking, and the smell of liquor was on him. He was soft physically and spoiled, but he had nothing to measure himself by. He had always been given what he wanted, and his friends had surrendered to his wishes. Now, looking into the tough face of Chad Rocklin, he felt a sudden spurt of anger. “I can handle my end of it!”

“You can’t handle the trail if you’re drunk.”

Mark Hayden’s face flushed. “Mind your own business,” he muttered, then turned and stalked away stiffly. He was aware that his father was watching him, and he stopped to say, “We should have got another man for the wagon master.”

“I don’t think so,” Leland said. “I think you need to pay attention to him. You don’t need to be drinking, especially in the morning.”

“A drink never hurt anybody, Father.”

Leland Hayden watched his son go, and a sudden fear touched him. “I haven’t done much to make a man out of him,” he said softly to himself. “Maybe this trip will help.”

Pedro Marichal, the head drover, had watched the confrontation between Rocklin and the Hayden woman. Pedro was a tall, lean man with dark eyes and black hair beginning to be sprinkled with gray. He was aware of the girl Callie who was seated on her mare beside him. “What did you think of that, Callie?”

“He was mean to her.”

“She’s spoiled. You can tell by looking.”

As Pedro studied her, he recalled how Rocklin had asked him to try her out to see if she would be able to help with the remuda. It was a tough job keeping the spare mules and horses together, and Pedro had been doubtful. He had tried her out and been pleased to discover that Callie Fortier was better than most young men her age.

Now he suddenly asked, “How’d you learn to ride and handle animals?”

“My father was a mule skinner.”