A Dream to Follow (28 page)

“I would have to leave Grand-mère.”

What could she say? The truth of it could not be argued.

“We cannot go without marriage.”

Manda sent him a sideways glance.
And who would marry us?
He’d said the word. Marry. Her insides turned to mush, mush cooking on a slow stove. The warmth spread to her fingertips. He really had been thinking some of the same things as she.

Manda settled back on her elbows, the woods’ duff an aromatic cushion. Her horse stamped, tail swatting the flies. A black fly settled on her arm and bit. No wonder horses and cows swished at flies. She smacked her arm so fast the fly had no chance. She flicked it off her skin with one finger and returned to studying the river.

“Flies make good bait.”

“Sorry.”

He turned and his shoulder brushed hers. Shocks ran clear to her toes. “I want to go to Montana, but I must talk with Grand-mère first.”

“She will tell you to go.”

“I know.” His sigh matched her own.

“Ingeborg and Haakan will take care of her.”

“Does she let anyone take care of her?” He shook his head, his long braid dividing his back. “Not even me.”

The urge to touch his braid, his back, brought Manda’s hand up in the air, only to drop to her thigh again—unrequited.

Baptiste returned to his fishing, jerking the rod when the tip twitched. A fat perch flew through the air and landed splat behind them. Hands grasping the string, he pulled the flopping fish toward him.

Manda watched his hands. Long fingers, sinews taut on the backs, sunbaked to a deep copper. Deftly he removed the hook from the fish’s lip, threaded a forked stick through gill and mouth, and poked it like the others back in the river mud. This way the fish would stay cool in the water. With a worm from the oldest part of the manure pile at the back of the Bjorklund barn wrapped back on the hook, he tossed the string, weighted by a small rock, out into the current.

“Not biting much today?” His hands, how would they feel on hers? Her face grew hot at the thought.

“Should have set trotlines instead.”

With mosquitoes zinging around their heads for background music, Manda returned to her propped-elbow position. She needed to get home. They’d be missing her and wondering where she went. Not that her taking off was an unusual occurrence. She rode the horses she trained for miles, getting them used to all kinds of terrain until they became fluid in obeying her commands. The horses she trained to harness, she drove instead of riding. Anyone who bought a horse from Manda MacCallister knew the animal would be dependable.

She slapped a mosquito and wiped away the spot of blood. Had he sucked hers and Baptiste’s? The thought of their blood mingling, even inside a mosquito, re-ignited the warmth within. “I need to be going.”

Baptiste leaned forward and jerked the line of fish from the river. He handed her the stick. “Tell your Ma this is from me.”

Manda nodded. She knew he would catch more for Metiz, but the generosity of this man always caught her unawares. She who tended to hoard was learning through him to give. She stood, the desire to touch him making her shake.

“I’ll come by tonight.”

“All right.” She trailed her hand along his shoulder. He bent his head to trap it with his cheek. A moment only, but one her fingers, let alone her heart, would always remember.

“Good thing you knew the way home,” she murmured to the filly as she slid off at the corral gate. Had they galloped? Loped? Her horse wasn’t blowing, so they must have taken it easy. How could she have been so lost in her head that she’d not paid attention? She propped the fish stick against the corral post, slid back the bars, and led her horse into the field bordering the corral. She wouldn’t be needing her again today. She had others to work.

“Manda, where did you go? Pa has been looking for you.” Deborah came walking toward her as she neared the house.

“Baptiste sent us fish for supper.” She hoisted the stick for Deborah to see, as if that had been the point of the ride.

“You could’ve taken me to play with Astrid.” Deborah plunked herself down on the steps to the porch.

“I didn’t go see Astrid.”

“I know. You went to see Baptiste.”

Manda sat down beside her sister. Deborah laid her cheek on her calico-clad knees, facing away.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Yes, you were. I looked all over for you, but then when I saw Cheyenne was gone, I knew.”

“Sorry. I should have told you, but I was in a hurry.”

“You’re going to Montana, ain’t you?”

“Don’t say ain’t.” Manda jiggled the fish stick. “I got to get these in water. What did you want?”

“Nothin’.”

Manda felt like groaning. Instead, she laid a hand on her sister’s head. “Look at me.” When Deborah turned tear-filled blue eyes her direction, Manda fought a lump in her throat. How could she leave this little sister, the only true relation she had in the whole world? And yet she couldn’t take her along either. “Why are you crying?”

“I ain’t.” Deborah used her skirt hem to wipe her eyes. “Got smoke in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Don’t say ain’t.” Manda sighed and sat up straight, her hands dangling between her knees. If she told anyone what she was thinking, they’d tell her no. If she didn’t tell them, she was being a cheat. Nothing she hated worse than a liar and a cheat. Lying came by not telling, much as by telling. She thought back to when their pa never returned from getting supplies. One moment she feared he’d left them, the next she knew he hadn’t. Something had happened to him.

She shook her head and stood. “I got to take care of the fish. You want to help me or keep on playing guessing games?”

Deborah peeked up. “Can I scale ’em?”

“Sure, why not?” Manda tugged on her sister’s braid instead of hugging her close as she wanted to.

“You all right?” Mary Martha looked up from the bread she was kneading as the girls came into the kitchen. She swiped a wisp of hair from her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving a floury trail on her forehead.

Manda held up the fish. “Baptiste sent us these.”

“Oh, fish for supper. How nice.” Mary Martha studied Manda before returning to her dough. “Anytime you figure on needing to talk, I’m here.”

“Yes’m. I know.”

“I can’t just cut and run. I can’t sneak out and not tell anyone. I just can’t.” Manda used the horse she was training for a sounding board.

The gelding flicked his ears and kept to the even lope she demanded.

They circled back toward the barn, but when he tried to pick up speed, she tightened the reins. Even pace, minding the rider, that’s all she demanded from the horses. And got.

She dismounted at the gate and, unlacing the cinch strap, pulled the saddle off with both hands. Turning, she slipped the headstall over the horse’s ears and let him loose. This was the last one of the day.

“We have buyers comin’ tomorrow.”

She jerked around at the sound of Zeb’s voice. “Why’d you sneak up on a body like that? Scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, I thought you saw me comin’.” Zeb slipped through the bars and picked up the saddle, then slung it up onto the top rail. “I’ll give them all a good brushin’ in the mornin’. Should get top dollar.”

“Not with the drought here. Be lucky to get half.”

“You watch. Got some fellows comin’ up from Grand Forks. They want two teams and some riding horses.”

“Umm.” Manda looped the braided reins over her arm. “You best ask for gold. Paper money might not be good in Montana.”

“It’s not the end of the world, you know. It became a state in ’89, just like North Dakota.”

“But you’re still homesteading.”

“Manda, you can still homestead in western North Dakota, though it’s nothing like this rich valley.”

“If it’s so rich, why don’t you stay here?”

“I can’t.”

She watched him shaking his head, shoulders curving in as if fending off a blow.

“We—Deborah and me and all the others—loved her too, and we had to stay here.” The words tripped over each other in their haste to be heard.

“You’re too young to understand. That’s all.” He spun away and headed for the far corral.

“That’s right. Run away. Runnin’s always easier than stayin’.” Her mutter carried no farther than the fence. Hoisting her saddle off the rail, she took it into the barn to hang on its tree.
Now he’ll probably never speak to me again. Manda MacCallister, when your mouth gets to goin’, you sure don’t have no way of stoppin’ it
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

At the knock on the door Manda glanced up from the rawhide she was braiding. Who could it be this late in the evening?

“You want to get that?” Mary Martha called from the kitchen.

“All right.” Manda untangled herself from the lengths of latigo and went to the door. “Baptiste!”

“May we come in?” At his
we
she realized Thorliff was with him.

“Ah . . . a’course.”
Ma would wonder where my manners went. But he’s never come to the door like this before. I usually just go out my win-dow when he whistles
. Her thoughts must have registered on her face because Baptiste motioned to the door again.

“Sorry.” Manda held the door open for them to enter. “Is . . . is anything wrong?” Someone hurt? What? Tell me what?

“Is Pastor here?”

“In the other room.”

Thorliff shifted from one foot to the other.

Something was wrong, Manda knew for certain. Both of them acted like cats on a hot stove. None of the normal laughing and funny pokes.

“Could you get him please?” Now it was Thorliff sounding all polite.

“What’s wrong?” Manda kept her voice low.

Baptiste shook his head so slightly she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been studying him.

“Who was it?” Mary Martha followed her bulging apron into the room. “Why, Baptiste, Thorliff, how good to see you. Is something wrong?”

“No, ma’am. I—we’d like to speak with Pastor, and Mr. MacCallister too, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Manda, your pa is out to the barn. John is . . .” She started to leave, then turned back, gesturing toward the sofa and chairs. “Please, make yourselves to home.”

“What is going on?” The words came out hissed because Manda couldn’t get her teeth to unclench.

“Just wait.” Baptiste’s voice wore the tone of command he used when they were out hunting and he’d seen the quarry long before she had.

Manda crossed to the chair where she had all her supplies and gathered up the yards of rawhide strips and the already braided latigo. “I was trying to get a new lariat done for Pa before he leaves in the mornin’. Thought he could use an extra.”

Both young men nodded.

Talk to me! What in tarnation is going on?

“Good evening. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” John Solberg gestured toward the chairs. “Sit down. The coffee will be hot in a few minutes, or would you rather have something cold?” Pastor Solberg’s entire face smiled.

“Neither right now, sir.” Baptiste glanced from the pastor to Manda.

“Please go get your pa.”

“Well, of all the—” While Manda rarely flounced, this time she managed with aplomb. The screen door closed behind her with a satisfactory clap. She leaped off the porch and charged down to the barn, where Zeb was checking the shoes on his horse and the two pack animals.