Larkspur (8 page)

Kristin placed her bag on the floor at her feet and watched the woman set platters of biscuits on each end of the table where the old man sat and then bring a smaller plate of biscuits and one of fried meat and flapjacks to her table.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please.” Kristin turned up the cup that sat beside her plate.

Bonnie smiled. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. Be right back with a fresh stack of pancakes and bacon. Or would you rather have oatmeal?”

“Pancakes would be fine.”

She returned immediately with a coffeepot and filled Kristin’s cup. The gray-eyed man pushed his cup across the table, his eyes on Bonnie’s face. She filled it without looking or speaking to him and went back to the serving counter.

Kristin ate heartily. The flapjacks were light, the butter fresh and sweet. She asked the man at the table to please pass the syrup pitcher. He did so without as much as a glance in her direction.

It was evident that Bonnie was popular with her customers. She took their teasing with a laugh and tossed their sallies back at them. Her reddish brown hair was thick, and curly wisps of it stuck to her damp forehead. Her sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, and an apron was tied about her small waist that emphasized her well-rounded breasts and hips. On one of her rounds of the tables she paused beside Kristin.

“Would you like some plum butter to go with your biscuits?”

“I would.” The quiet man at the table answered before Kristin had a chance.

When Bonnie brought the jar, she set it on the table and went back to the cooking area without a word. Kristin saw her speaking to the man standing before the large black cookstove. He was angry. She was trying to calm him.

The diners left two and three at a time. Finally Kristin, the man at her table, and Cletus, were all that remained. The only sound in the room was the rattle of pans and the clink of dishes as the cook washed them and passed them to Bonnie to dry and place on the shelves behind the counter.

To Kristin the silence was deep and somehow . . . threatening. Instinctively she knew the tension between Bonnie and the cook had something to do with the man who sat at her table. Each time she glanced at him, his eyes were on Bonnie. Kristin wanted to go and yet she wanted to stay and talk more with Cletus and maybe get to know Bonnie.

Just when her excuses to linger were running out, the man stood and went to the peg on the wall where he had left his hat. He was tall, slender and nearly dressed. He placed a coin on the counter, and when Bonnie did not turn to face him, he went to the door where, with hat in hand, he looked back at her.

“Good-bye, Bonnie,” he said just before he went out. He stood in front of the restaurant for a moment, then carefully put his hat on his head and walked down the walk toward the hotel.

The man behind the counter spun around. Kristin heard a loud
thump, thump, thump
just before he broke into a spate of angry words.

“That cold-eyed son of a bitch! He never took his eyes off you all the time he was in here.”

“So what?” Bonnie retorted. “Looks can’t hurt me.”

“He’ll hurt you! He’s not giving up. How long’s it been? Six months? Eight?”

When the cook came from behind the counter, Kristin realized that the thumping sound she had heard was the end of a peg on the wooden floor. The knee of the man’s left leg rested in the cradle of a peg held by straps wrapped about his thigh and the stump extended out behind. The thumps sounded again as he came around to pick up the money left by the cold-eyed man.

“Mother a Christ! A dollar for a fifteen-cent meal.” He dropped the coin back on the counter. “I wonder who he killed to get it.”

“Bernie, calm down.” Bonnie brought the coffeepot and refilled Cletus’s cup. “Would you like more coffee, miss?”

“No, thank you. I’m killing time. I hope you don’t mind. By the way, do you know where I can hire a buckboard and a driver to take me out to Larkspur?”

A deathly quiet followed her words as the woman and two men looked at one another. The one-legged man finally answered.

“You’ll just be asking for trouble if you try to go out there, ma’am. They’ll not let you keep the Larkspur!” Bernie spun around easily on the peg and dropped the dollar in a tin under the counter.

Bonnie looked pained. “No use trying to be polite, Miss Anderson. Everybody in town knows who you are and why you’re here. I’m Bonnie Gates and this hotheaded blabbermouth is my brother, my twin, Bernie Gates.”

“I’m happy to meet you. And please don’t apologize. I’m from a town not much larger than Big Timber. I’m used to everyone’s knowing everyone else’s business. Did you know my uncle?”

“We didn’t. We haven’t been here a year. Cletus knew him.”

“Nice a man as ya’d want to meet,” Cletus said. “I hadn’t seen him for a couple a years when all this happened. Never believed a bit of it.”

“Never believed . . . what?”

“Wal . . . that Yarby’d do anything . . . wrong.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing my uncle. But it was wonderfully kind of him to remember me in his will. I want to see Larkspur. I’ve never owned anything in my life and never dreamed that I would.” Her eyes shone and her full mouth tilted at the corners. “I want to walk on my own land and to know that I have a place on this earth that’s mine.”

Bonnie came and sat down beside Kristin. Pain and disappointment were stamped on her face as she looked at her brother, then turned to Kristin.

“It must be a grand feeling to own your own place with nobody to tell you to get out. Bernie and I always wanted a little place. Almost had one . . . once.”

“I hope Mr. and Mrs. Lenning won’t mind me staying for a while.”

“I ain’t heard of Buck gettin’ married. Might of. He ain’t been to town for quite a spell.” Cletus cleared his throat. “Miss, I ain’t got no business stickin’ my bill in, but”—he lowered his voice and glanced toward the door—“they ain’t goin’ to want you goin’ out there. They’ll want ya to sign and get outta town . . . fast.”

“Who’ll want me to . . . get out of town?” Kristin had a puzzled look on her face.

“Forsythe and his bunch. Bet they was in a snit when you showed up.”

“Will they try to stop me from going to the Larkspur?”

“I ain’t swearin’ they would. I ain’t swearin’ they wouldn’t.” Bernie snorted in disgust. “Cletus, you know as well as I do that they’ll . . . do whatever it takes to get Larkspur. Look what they’ve done so far. Why do you think that hired killer hangs around?”

Kristin looked from brother to sister. They both had reddish brown hair and soft brown eyes, but that was where the resemblance ended. Bernie was stocky, with broad shoulders and chest. Bonnie was soft and slim with hair curlier than her brother’s.

“You’ll scare her, Bernie,” Bonnie chided gently. She stood and wrapped her hands in her apron.

“Somebody’d better scare her, Sis. If I was you, Miss Anderson, I’d either take the piddling amount Forsythe will pay for Larkspur and catch the next train out, or I’d hightail it out there and hole up with Buck Lenning.”

“I’m not selling, and I’m not leaving. I’ve nothing to go back to.”

“They’ll see to it that you sign the papers. It’s what they did when they got the Samuels’ place. Took the woman out to near the Sioux camp. She thought it was where the ranch was. The Sioux run them off their hunting grounds just like they always do. Woman didn’t know that. As soon as they got back to town, she signed the papers and caught the eastbound train. I’m not sure how they got Silas Midland’s land, but when he left, he was walking with a cane.”

“My cousin told me not to sign anything until at least two lawyers have looked at it.”

“You’ll sign if your arm is twisted up behind your back, or they got your finger in a vise.”

“They’d . . . do that?”

“Or turn his hired thugs on you.”

“I’m meeting with Mr. Lee this morning. I’ll tell him straight out that I’m not selling—”

“Don’t do that!” Cletus spoke quickly. “Oh, ’scuse me, miss. I ain’t got no cause to be givin’ advice.”

“Oh, please. I’ll appreciate any advice I can get.”

“I’d stall ’em along. Tell ’em you’ll think about it. Meantime me’n Bernie’ll try to figure out a way to get ya out to Larkspur without them knowin’. I’m thinkin’ you’d be better off with Buck.”

“You’ll help me? Oh, thank you. Thank you. I must go. I’m so glad I ran into you. I didn’t quite trust that Mr. Lee. I felt he didn’t want me to like it here.”

“Yes, you’d better go. Here come the railroaders for their breakfast. Don’t forget . . . not a word about what we’ve said.” Bonnie glanced at her brother.

“Don’t worry. We only passed the time of day.”

“I’ve got me a idey,” Cletus said. “Go to Mrs. Gaffney’s and rent a room—anyone can tell you where she’s at. Get your stuff out of the hotel this afternoon. If we can arrange anything, I’ll get word to Mrs. Gaffney. Now you’d better get. They know I sit here for a spell after breakfast.”

“I . . . don’t know how to thank you. I’ll do my best to see that they never find out what you’ve told me.”

Kristin walked slowly back toward the hotel. She could not fully comprehend all she had learned the past hour. The good Lord must be watching over her and had brought her together with these folks who would help her at risk to themselves. They had taken a chance on her. She must not let them down.

Oh, Gustaf, I wish you were here.

*  *  *

“Sit down, my dear.”

Mark Lee had introduced Kyle Forsythe to Kristin as his business partner, and the polite phrases had been uttered.

“I trust you had a pleasant breakfast.”

“It was all right.”

“I stopped by the hotel, thinking we could become acquainted before this meeting and was surprised that you were not there.”

“I’m sorry. If I had known, I’d not have gone out walking while I waited for Mr. Lee. I saw people going into a place down the street and followed along, not knowing it was a place mostly for men.” Kristin laughed nervously. “After I went in, it was too late to back out the door.”

“You met Miss Gates. Lovely girl. I hear the food is good there. I’ve not tried it myself.”

“We don’t serve such large pancakes in Wisconsin, and the meat is not so greasy. I was surprised that potatoes are not served in some form for breakfast. Back home it’s standard fare.”

“Is that right? Come to think of it, they serve them in Tennessee, too.”

“Potato pancakes?”

Forsythe laughed. “No pan-fried.”

Kristin smiled. “We Swedes are also fond of potato dumplings.”
He really was charming. She was so thankful she
had been warned.
She turned to the young lawyer who had been sitting quietly. He was her lawyer, but it was Colonel Forsythe who was doing all the talking. “Mr. Lee, about my uncle’s will—”

“Show it to her, Mark. The young lady is anxious to get her affairs settled.”

Mr. Lee took a yellowed document from a leather case and placed it on the desk in front of her.

“It’s a standard will of the time. Witnessed, notarized and recorded at the territorial capital.”

I, Yarby Anderson, being of sound mind,

do bequeath to my niece, Kristin Anderson,

River Falls, Wisconsin, all my earthly

possessions at the time of my demise.

Yarby Anderson September 5, 1863

Witness: Judge James Williams

Roy R. Smothers

Kristin read the document twice. When she looked up she had tears in her eyes.

“Bless his heart. I never knew him. It was dear of him to think of me.”

“From what I hear he was a nice old man,” Forsythe said kindly. “He must have thought the world of you.”

“I hope he didn’t suffer.”

“He was found deep in the woods. I suspect his heart just gave out, and he sat down and died without fear or pain. A wonderful way to go.”

“I guess so.” Kristin dried her eyes.

“Now, young lady, I’m sure you want to get this business over with so you can get back home. I’m prepared to give you the best possible price you could get for that land.” He reached into a drawer and brought out a stack of bills.

“But, sir, I’ve no idea what the land is worth.”

“That’s understandable. That’s why I’m here. Land is my business. I’ve been buying and selling it for many years.”

“And my brother says there’s probably a herd of cows.”

“Cows? If he was referring to a herd of steer, my dear, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Indians and rustlers made off with your uncle’s small herd long ago.”

“Didn’t Mr. Lenning try to stop them?”

“Mr. Lenning.” He paused with a look of disgust on his face. “The man is a saddle bum who wandered off the trail and onto the Larkspur. Your uncle was kind enough to take him in. He probably worked hand in glove with the rustlers for a cut of the cash.”

“There is so much I don’t know—”

The Colonel thumbed through the stack of bills then placed them on the desk in front of her.

“Here’s two . . . THOUSAND . . . dollars. A fortune. I’m willing to pay this for your inheritance sight unseen because you’re a young woman of refinement. Many here in the West would take advantage of a young lady alone without family. I’d be grateful if someone would be as considerate of my daughter should she be put in your position.”

Kristin allowed her eyes to linger on the bills he was sliding through his fingers.

“It’s a lot of . . . money—”

“Yes, it is. If managed right, it will keep you comfortably in your
own
house for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” Kristin began to smile, and she called on all her acting abilities to keep the look of loathing out of her expression.

“It’s a simple process, my dear. All you have to do is sign the paper Mr. Lee has prepared, and you’re a rich woman.”

“Papa had certain rules about things.” Kristin called up what she hoped was a dreamy expression. “One of them was—don’t be impulsive. He used to say, ‘Always sleep on a
big
decision.’ My brother, Ferd, thinks I’ve no business sense at all, but when I go back with all that money, and tell him that I didn’t do anything impulsive, that I slept on the deal like Papa always said was the smart thing to do, he’ll sit up and take notice. I’ll see you in the morning, Colonel Forsythe.”