Blessing in Disguise (4 page)

“Okay, Dove, what is it? Where are you?”

“Here.” Her voice came from the bedroom on the north side of the great fireplace.

Kane followed the sound and found her stringing the ropes of the new four-poster bed he’d built from trees cut along the Little John River that bordered his nearly one-thousand-acre ranch. A year-round creek ran a hundred yards behind the house, providing water for both house and livestock, much of which was out on pasture now being herded by one of his ranch hands. One of these days he hoped to fence off the property, but so far, there’d never been the extra cash needed to buy that much barbed wire. Besides, fencing would cut off the trail the Mandan followed on their treks to hunt and return to their lodges along the James River.

He’d promised himself and Morning Dove that he’d always welcome her relatives to his home. Several of the tribe had become wranglers for him, and a younger girl helped sometimes with the garden and chickens and such.

“I told you I’d do this.” He took hold of the end of the rope and helped her snug the webbing tight so the bed would be well supported. With a corn-shuck mattress covered by a goose-down feather bed, he and his new wife would be very comfortable indeed.

“I know.”

He glanced up to see Morning Dove smiling at him, a knowing look in her eye. He’d always slept on a board not much softened by a pallet filled with either corn shucks or fresh hay. “Now, don’t you go getting any ideas.” He shook his finger at her, only to get a laugh in return.

“Missus like new bed.”

“I surely do hope so. I hope she likes everything out here.”

“What not to like?” Her dark eyebrows rose in question.

Oh, my friend, you have no idea what a world there is out there beyond our sandy hills. I don’t know much about it either, but from what I read . . .

For a man who had never attended school in his life, Kane had learned to look at the world through the eyes of the few books he inherited from his parents and others he purchased when he could. Money was dear, but his mind cried out for knowledge. Before his father went off to fight on the Yankee side of the war, his mother spent hours with him, teaching him his letters and numbers and making sure he became proficient in the three Rs. Beyond that, he’d grown up with the Bible,
Shakespeare’s Complete Works
, and
The Farmer’s Almanac
by Benjamin Franklin. He devoured newspapers whenever he could get them.

But living forty miles from the nearest town of any size made keeping current with the news next to impossible, so instead he kept a journal, recording life around him, the vagaries of cattle and horse raising, his income and expenses, his thoughts on statehood, his desires for a family, for a wife who would love him as his mother had loved his father. The leather-bound volumes stood beside the other books on the bookshelf next to the fireplace.

No one else knew how to read anyway.

Morning Dove had washed the sheets he’d taken from his mother’s trunk earlier, and now Kane watched as she put them on the bed, along with a quilt of the same vintage. He looked around the room one more time. He’d keep sleeping on his hard bunk until he brought her here.

Thoughts of what lay ahead in this room made his throat hot and his ears burn.

“Oh, Lord, do let her be comely. I know that is trivial in thy sight, and I promise to be grateful for the woman you have brought all this way.” He stifled the “but” and, after another glance around the room, went out, closing the door behind him.

“I’ll be down in the barn,” he said to Morning Dove as she headed for the kitchen.

“Dinner in an hour or so,” she replied.

“All right. Lone Pine brought in more horses.” With the hay cut and the grain not yet ready to harvest, this time was spent breaking and training the horses that were old enough and strong enough. Some of the better fillies he would keep for breeding, and one would be a wedding present for his new wife.

He’d already been working with her. The bright sorrel filly sported a star between her eyes and a tiny diamond between her nostrils. Two white socks flashed in the sun when she trotted. Her canter could eat up the miles at a smooth gait. Morning Dove had been working with the filly too, so she was already accustomed to a woman.

She nickered when she saw him coming and came to the fence, draping her head over the top rail so he would rub her ears. “Ah, little girl, we need to find you a name, but I been thinking that maybe we should let the missus name you after she gets here.” He still had a hard time referring to his future wife by her given name. After all, they hadn’t even met yet.

The filly rubbed her forehead on his chambray shirt, leaving both red and white hairs on the fabric. She nosed the leather vest he wore and sniffed his pockets. When he didn’t respond, she snuffled the hair curling just under his ears and tipped his flat-brimmed hat back, nearly off his head.

“Stop that now.” He leaned his chin on his crossed arms on the post. Where could he find a rosebush to plant by the front steps? Surely his wife would appreciate a sweet-smelling rosebush. He rubbed the filly’s neck again, then turned and looked toward the sandy hills to the north. Where had he seen roses blooming that spring? The elm tree his father planted at the southwest corner of the house now shaded the porch and half the roof. Several oaks had grown from the acorns tossed out in back, and willows grew along the spring. Off to one side the apple trees that had come across the country in his father’s mule pack hung low with a heavy apple crop. The garden lay close to the creek for when they had to carry water to keep it growing. Like this year.

But the rosebush his mother planted by the front steps had died a couple of years after she did. Roses were tender things compared to the native flowers and trees. They took some pruning, fertilizing with manure once in a while, and watering. He remembered his mother always saved the dishwater for her rosebush.

Kane rubbed a callused hand along his jaw and, lifting his hat, brushed walnut-toned hair with a touch of gray back off his forehead and secured his hat again. “I’m going in early to get new duds, a haircut, and a real honest shave before the train pulls in. What do you think of that?” He turned and nudged the filly’s nose. She blew in his face, then turned and trotted across the corral, twitching her tail and nickering to the horses in the other pen.

When a rangy sorrel whinnied, she perked up and pranced some more.

Kane figured right away they’d better get the knife out. The young colt giving her the eye wasn’t quality enough to keep for stud, but with some added weight, he’d be plenty strong enough to pull some settler’s plow. Gelding would settle him too.

Walking on around the filly’s corral to the larger one where the newly rounded-up horses were shaking off the dust of the run, some still inspecting the six-rail-high fencing for an escape route, Kane automatically judged the horses inside. They looked to be a good crop. Spring and summer pasture had fattened them right up after the lean winter. Lone Pine had told him they’d lost some due to the terrible blizzards.

“How do the mares and foals look?” Kane asked when Lone Pine joined him at the fence.

“Good. We got some without our brand, some with no brand.” He pointed to a heavy dark bay that stood looking over the fence. “Like him.”

“He’s been broke. Look at the harness scars. Someone didn’t take too good care of him.” Kane hawked and spat, a direct comment on a man who would abuse his livestock. “Guess we’ll have to keep him here till someone comes looking, but”—he shook his head—“I hate to send any animal back to be mistreated.”

After the fall work was finished, many of the farmers turned their horses loose to fend for themselves on the prairie. Most rounded them up again in the spring, which was not a hard job, for the released horses tended to band together instinctively. The men sorted them according to brands and took their own horses home for the spring fieldwork.

Several in this herd just hadn’t been claimed.

“Funny that no one’s come looking for them yet.”

Lone Pine nodded. Lean as the tree he was named after and as spare of words as fat, he shook out his lasso and climbed over the fence. Within minutes the bay was roped, a loop thrown over his nose and tied snug to the fence. He pulled against the restraint when Kane approached him, his eyes rolling white.

Kane stopped, the low murmur he used on spooked critters making the horse’s ears twitch. When the animal snorted and dropped his head a fraction, Kane approached again and laid a hand on the animal’s quivering neck. “Easy, boy, easy now. You got nothing to fear here.” As if trust were infused through the gentle hand on his neck, the animal dropped his head some more and blew out his fear in a rush. “That’s the way.” Kane continued stroking the summer-sleek hide, closely inspecting the animal all the while.

The hair had been rubbed off under the rump pad, on the neck from the collar, and along the shoulders from the harness straps. White scar lines still showed on the horse’s lips from where the bit had eaten into them. Kane was sure some of the smaller scars were from the tip of a whip laid on with a heavy hand.

“When someone comes looking, send ’em to talk with me.” The tone of his voice matched the smoldering fire of his eyes.

They sorted out several for gelding that they’d left uncut earlier in hopes they would make good breeding stallions, because they got a better price for those, but these didn’t measure up to Kane’s standards. Three of the fillies they ran into another corral. They’d be trained but kept for broodmares.

The remainder would be broke to both saddle and harness.

“Cut tonight?” Lone Pine slapped his flat-brimmed hat against his thigh to get the dust off. He glanced up to see his wife waving a towel. “Eat now.”

“Good. Call the others.”

Morning Dove set bowls of potatoes and gravy along with platters of roast beef before the six men around the table, and within minutes the platters and the room were emptied but for Kane, Lone Pine, and Morning Dove. They lapsed back into the easy rhythm of the Mandan language as Kane asked if they knew where any rosebushes grew.

“You know, they have pink flowers, smell sweet, have lots of thorns, and you grind the rose hips in pemmican.”

At that, Morning Dove nodded. “I show you.”

Lone Pine gave him a puzzled look. “Why you want flowers?”

Kane looked from one to the other. “Women like flowers by the house.”

Lone Pine looked at his wife.

She shook her head. “Must be white women.”

“All right, so Mandan women would rather plant corn than roses. I just want to bring one here, all right?”

“Can we eat roses?” Lone Pine still looked puzzled.

Kane sighed but caught a look between husband and wife. They were teasing him. “Some things are for beauty’s sake alone.”

“Beauty? Who is she?” Lone Pine leaned forward, looking more puzzled than ever. His wife nudged his shoulder and scolded him for giving Kane a hard time.

“I’ll help you dig roses,” she said.

“No, you take care of the baby. Lone Pine can dig roses and maybe get his hands full of stickers.” He shoved his chair back. “We’ll start on the horses tomorrow. Let’s get a wagon and go find those roses. Morning Dove, you and papoose can ride in the back. Bring a water jug and some of that corn bread.”

By evening they had two rosebushes planted, even though both husband and wife kept up a banter that let Kane know they thought he was slightly crazy. Kane stood back after pouring a bucket of water around each bush. One shrub on either side of the front steps did look mighty pretty.

“Just remember to dump all the dishwater on them,” he said to Morning Dove. “That’s what my mother always did.” He glanced at Lone Pine still digging thorns from the palm of his hand with his teeth.

“Better to break horses any day.”

Kane tried to keep the laughter inside, but it burst forth in spite of his good intentions.

Lone Pine made a rude hand motion and headed for the corrals, leaving Morning Dove and Kane laughing as he went.

“Is good to hear you laugh.” Morning Dove patted her baby’s back, after having nursed him while the men planted the bushes.

Kane thought about her comment later. She was right. Laughter had been lacking around the ranch for a long time. He wondered about his coming bride. Did she enjoy a chuckle, or would she be serious all the time? Would she fit in here?

“Oh, Lord, what have I gotten myself into?” He sent his prayer heavenward.

Chapter 4

Blessing
Mid-August

“Why don’t we ask Olaf to pull that tooth for you?” Penny said, shaking her head. “You look miserable.”

“I s’pose. I’ve tried about everything. You know if Metiz has anything good for the toothache?” Bridget held a hot wet cloth to her swollen face. Hot as it was outside, it seemed strange that a hot cloth would make it feel better, but she hated to waste the last remaining ice on her face. She had hoped to make ice cream Saturday for the harvesters. They planned a celebration for the beginning of wheat harvest. As usual, the wheat was ready at Baards’ first.