Sourdough Creek
Authors: Caroline Fyffe
SOURDOUGH CREEK
Caroline Fyffe
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2012 by Caroline Fyffe
Sourdough Creek is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is wholly coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, recording, by information storage and retrieval or photocopied, without permission in writing from Caroline Fyffe.
Cover art by Kim Killion
Proudly Published in the United States of America
ISBN# 978-0-9840146-5-1
For my dear nephew, Bryce Curtis Turner, who was taken from us too soon.
You are forever in our hearts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m grateful to so many incredible people for their help in creating Sam and Cassie’s story. Theresa Ragan and Kayla Westra for brainstorming and plotting. Jenny Meyer, Faith Williams, Matt Fyffe and Emily Turner for editing and proofing. My wonderful critique partners, Sandy Loyd and Leslie Lynch, who give so generously of their time each week. My beta readers, Jennie Armento, Mariellen Lillard and Michael Fyffe for spotting plot holes and typos. Prospect Jewelers for schooling me about gold. My support team, all of whom mean the world to me, Mary Turner, Sherry Harm and Lauren Roe. Thank you to all of you! Your help and enthusiasm have made this journey from Broken Branch to Coloma and beyond, a pure joy.
As always, thank you to my treasured readers. You’re the ultimate prize.
Chapter One
Broken Branch, Nevada Territory, June 1851
“I
don’t want to call you Cassidy,” Josephine announced boldly. Her eyes filled and her bottom lip wobbled. “You’re Cassie. My
sister
.”
Cassie almost winced at the distressed expression on her little sister’s face. But there was no changing what had to be done. Time had run out. “From now on, and until I say different,” she responded, looking into her sister’s eyes to make her point known, “I’m Cassidy, your brother. Remember that.”
Cassie smeared some dirt down Josephine’s cheek and a tad more across her forehead for good measure. She rubbed a little on her own neck, too, just enough to seem as if she hadn’t bathed in a good while.
Picking up shears, she lifted a handful of sun-colored locks from her sister’s head and, with a sound akin to cutting wool, wacked it off one inch from the roots, leaving only thick stubble behind. A cry tore from her sister’s throat as she pulled back.
“Sit still, Josephine. I’ve told you a hundred times this is only for a while.” She sectioned off another portion and cut, unmindful of the tears running down Josephine’s cheeks. “It’ll grow back, when this is all over.” The younger girl wiped her face with the back of her hand and nodded compliantly.
Forcing a smile, Cassie continued to cut. “I’ll call you Joey. That’s short for Joseph. It won’t be so bad. Think of it—as a boy you can get away with all sorts of shenanigans. Remember Clarence? How he’d tell his ma lies and make rude noises? Well, I don’t expect you to be fibbing, but being a boy does have some advantages.”
Her little sister chewed on her bottom lip, considering her sister’s words. “Can I spit and holler?”
“Sometimes.”
Love lifted Cassie’s chest. Josephine, only five, was strong and resilient. She was a survivor, a true testament to their ma’s goodness. How Cassie wished her ma was here with them now. Every fiber of her being ached with the unbearable sadness of the loss.
Prickly heat burned behind Cassie’s eyes but she willed the emotion away. She’d even appreciate the help of her Uncle Arvid, if he were around. Provided that he was sober. Despite being almost twenty years old, she wasn’t used to being the sole decision maker of the family.
Finished, she helped Josephine, who now resembled a moth-eaten little muskrat, off the pine cupboard and set her on the floor. She held her by the shoulders and looked into her face. “Go put on the dungarees I altered for you. Use the cord for a belt.”
Josephine’s face was resolute, her beautiful hair already forgotten. Her gaze held all the trust in the world.
I wish she wouldn’t do that
. A whirl of dread cramped Cassie’s insides and she looked away from her sister’s innocent blue eyes. “Go on now. Be quick. Make sure everything is in your satchel. There’s not much time to cut my own hair before those good-for-nothing Sherman brothers show up.”
She rubbed the top of Josephine’s fluffy head. “And don’t you go thinkin’ you’re the only special one, now, you hear?” Ignoring her request, Josephine stood rooted in place.
Cassie had no time to push her along. She propped the cracked mirror against the wall, angling it back and forth until she found her reflection. Gathering her waist length chestnut hair behind the nape of her neck, and before she could think twice, she cut it off just under her ears. The blunt remains swung loosely around her face. She swallowed, looking at her reflection. “There.”
Josephine’s eyes narrowed. “It ain’t as short as mine.”
Cassie picked up the mirror to get a closer look. “That’s because I’m older. I’m tying it with a cord, like the older boys do.” Replacing the mirror she took a thin strip of leather from her pocket and raked her hair back with her fingers, tying it in a knot, taut against her scalp.
Josephine scrunched her face. “It don’t look too good.”
“It’s not supposed to. Question is, do I look like a boy?”
“Sorta.”
Cassie plunked a tattered old hat on her head. “Now?”
Josephine nodded, wide-eyed.
“That’s good enough, then. Run, put your clothes on. Time’s short.”
Cassie was just finished binding her smallish breasts and pulling her chemise over her head when a loud pounding sounded on the front door. Josephine came dashing into the room and threw her arms around her waist with the strength of Samson. “They’re here!”
She peeled Josephine’s arms from her body and quickly threaded her own arms into the bulky, green plaid shirt of her boy costume. “Go into Miss Hawthorn’s bedroom and lock the door. Scoot under the bed and cover yourself with the quilt I put there, just like I showed you. Make sure nothing is sticking out. I’ll call when the coast is clear.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
The doorknob rattled violently, jiggling back and forth. Josephine’s eyes grew large and frightened.
Cassie wished she believed the words she was about to say. “Don’t you worry a smidge,” she whispered hurriedly. “We’ll be eating cherry pie before you know it. Bristol Sherman isn’t worth a barrel of monkeys. And neither is Klem. I’m way smarter than the two of ’em put together. Once I tell them Arvid Angel has moved on and took his nieces with him, they’ll go away.”
“What if they don’t believe you?” Josephine asked quietly. “I wish Uncle hadn’t made ’em mad by stealing Klem’s watch.”
“We’re not even sure he did,” Cassie replied, not wanting her sister to think their uncle was a thief. “You just stay put under the bed.” She gave Josephine a little shove. “Go on, now.”
When her sister’s bottom lip wobbled, Cassie knelt down and pulled her into a comforting hug. Her little body was shaking uncontrollably. In a moment of painful clarity it occurred to Cassie that this could be it.
This could be goodbye
!
Cassie put her face just inches from Josephine’s. “You know Psalm 23. I want you to say it to yourself over and over.” When Josephine didn’t move Cassie began, “‘The Lord is my shep—’”
A pounding on the door rattled the room. Trying to ignore it, Cassie took Josephine’s hands into her own and gave them a little shake. “Come on, sweetie, say it with me. ‘there is nothing I lack.’” As Josephine’s raspy little voice melded with her own, Cassie turned her sister’s body toward Miss Hawthorn’s room and gave an encouraging push. “Go on now and do as I say. Hurry.”
Josephine moved away, her whispered words scarcely audible.
“And remember, be quiet as a mouse.”
“I will, Cassie. I promise,” she called in a small voice over her shoulder.
Cassie snatched her ivory cameo off the dresser, and with fumbling fingers pinned it to the bodice of her chemise, hiding it beneath the heavy shirt. She heard her mother’s words as if she were standing here before her. “Take my guardian angel cameo. I pass it on to you.”
Boot steps moved across the porch toward the parlor window. She cinched up the rope around her waist, making sure the knot was securely tightened. The pounding sounded again, but this time on glass with a force so great Cassie was sure it would break the pane.
Cassie hefted her pa’s Colt 45 from the mantle and hooked it inside her pants on the rope belt, making sure her shirt concealed the bulge. “Hold your britches on,” she shouted back crossly, forcing the deepest voice she could muster. “
I’m comin’
!”
Chapter Two
T
he sign read: Broken Branch, population 432.
Sam Ridgeway dismounted and stretched his legs. Turning to his horse, he flipped the stirrup over the saddle horn and gave a firm tug to loosen the cinch. A gentle breeze ruffled the gray mare’s long black mane and stirred the leaves on the ground.
Sam ran his hand down her right foreleg and lifted it up. With his thumbs, he felt around the spongy frog at the center of her sole. Finding nothing suspicious, he covered her pastern with his palm and felt for warmth. Her shoe looked fine. On several occasions he’d felt Blu favor that foot, but nothing seemed amiss now, at least nothing he could discern. He’d have the blacksmith take a look as soon as he got a room and settled for the evening.
With the sun behind him, Sam tipped his hat back and took his first good look at Broken Branch. The town at the bottom of the hill was undistinguished. Consisting of several dusty streets with the usual commerce buildings and houses, it could be any of the half dozen places he’d ridden through of late. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“Hope there’s a smithy,” Sam said to his horse. His stomach let out a loud growl. “Not to mention a thick, juicy steak.”
Unbuckling his chaps, he pulled them off and slung them over the saddle, and then ambled ahead.
Just then loud voices erupted, drawing his attention to a house a block off the main street. Two figures skittered around the large front porch in some kind of scuffle.
It didn’t look life-threatening to Sam, so he decided to stick with his rule of keeping to himself. Appeared to be two kids, anyway.
Probably arguing over who had to clean out the chicken coop
, he thought with a lopsided smirk. The skinny one was fast as a jackrabbit, and all over the place. The taller of the two was cumbersome and slow, and would never in this life catch his quarry. What Skinny lacked in bulk he made up for in speed. Despite the fact it was actually quite entertaining, Sam looked away.
***
Cassie ducked under Klem’s fist and darted behind a rocking chair, thankful the scoundrel had shown up alone. She’d already taken several painful punches to her body and didn’t know how many more he’d land before bringing her down. She gasped for breath. This couldn’t go on much longer. She was spent, hurting. It took every ounce of her energy just to lift her arms in defense. The tinny taste of blood inside her mouth made her want to retch. Things had gone from bad to worse and she needed to draw Klem away from the house, away from Josephine hiding under the bed, before giving up the fight. The gun, hooked inside her pants, was cumbersome, but she was glad she had it for a last resort. Maybe he’d listen to reason if he were looking down its barrel.
Reaching for her shirt, Klem tripped over the spittoon Miss Hawthorn had out for her boarders’ convenience. His boot caught and he fell to his knees knocking his head against the porch railing with a crash.
Without thinking, Cassie leaped over him, trying to reach the porch stairs. In mid-air his hand shot up and gripped her ankle.
Too late
! He’d been playing possum. They rolled together towards the stairs and bumped down into the dirt.
Adrenalin kept her scratching, punching, and squirming to get free. With his overpowering weight, Klem rolled her to her back and sat on top of her, forcing the air out of her lungs. He pinned her arms up over her head as sweat from his face dripped onto her own, running down her neck.
If only the gun would go off
!
It would splatter his family jewels from here to kingdom come. Didn’t matter if it killed her too; it’d be worth it.
