A short time later, sweat trickled down her back as she drew water from the well and carried bucket after bucket to the tiny fenced-in area behind the house. Careful not to waste a drop, she watered only the vegetables, plucking out weeds as she made her way up and down the meager rows. The only thing producing were the bean plants. She’d have to pick them again today.
She should be happy about that. Six weeks ago, critters were eating anything that popped out of the ground. The fence had done wonders. No thanks to Cecil. He’d merely pointed out where there was some old lumber. Mr. Phalen had brought out the wire when coming to visit Emma Sue one day.
Too bad he hadn’t brought out jars. She wanted to can the beans so Emma Sue would have a few more reserves come snowfall. Mrs. Winters had taught her how to can practically anything several years ago when she’d stayed with the Winters family for an entire fall, but asking Mr. Phalen to provide jars was out of the question. Emma Sue refused to ask her father for things. Said Cecil didn’t approve of her doing so.
Therefore, despite Cecil’s complaint that he didn’t like green beans, there would be more on the table for lunch, and supper.
Bridgette had no idea what made her stand up and gaze southward, beyond Cecil’s scrawny and scraggly field of wheat. An irrigation ditch from the creek that flowed freely not too far past the line of barbed wire Cecil had erected to keep others off his property could turn that wheat into strong, flourishing stalks. Emma Sue said no one owned that land, but diverting the water would be too much work for Cecil.
To hear Cecil talk, walking was too much work for him. Bridgette hadn’t mentioned that to Emma Sue, or that the land next door was the piece Cecil should have bought, but she’d thought it. That creek flowed from the river and would provide plenty of water for people, animals and crops.
That’s what she wanted, and would have. Someday. A piece of land with plenty of water and good, fertile soil, and a solid house made of wood, with floors and windows and a real cookstove complete with an oven. And it would all be hers. Truly hers. A place to plant roots. She’d be the one having babies then, children she’d welcome and love with all her heart and never, ever, let out of her sight.
Bridgette continued to scan the horizon. The land was so flat a person could watch a bird fly away for days. New York hadn’t been like that, what she could remember of it, and the land between here and there had been decorated with rolling hills and trees. And houses, big ones surrounded by flowers and fences.
Her house would be surrounded by trees. Big leafy ones that would provide shade from the summer sun and protection from the cold winter winds.
She grinned at the thought, and how memories started to form. Those of playing games with the other children on the train, each guessing what they might see next.
Her heart fluttered slightly when she recalled how Garth had predicted he’d see an elephant. Everyone had laughed, but minutes later, they’d pulled into a train station, and sure enough, there, on another train, had stood an elephant.
She rarely thought of the other orphans who’d been shipped West with her all those years ago, except for one. A day hardly passed, even after all these years, when she didn’t think of him.
“Garth McCain,” she whispered. “Whatever happened to you? Do you even remember the promises we made?”
Bridgette let her mind roam and wondered if she’d recognize him when she did see him again. Not if. When. Garth would find her. He had to. Otherwise all her years of waiting, all their promises would be for naught, and she refused to believe that. His hair would surely still be brown, and his eyes. He’d be taller, but she couldn’t imagine he’d have grown fat. Not like Cecil.
She shook aside a shiver at comparing Garth to Cecil, and her gaze settled on a spot on the horizon. There was nothing distinguishable, but the gray haze said something was there. The cattle drive Cecil had mentioned, most likely. They traveled through this region each summer, on their way to Dodge City.
Unlike Cecil, the small town of Hosford welcomed the cattle drives. Dodge was still twenty miles north, and though the cowboys rarely entered town, the trail bosses often did, restocking supplies for the last leg of the long trip they’d embarked upon months before down in Texas.
She’d never been to Dodge, but she’d heard it was a wicked and wild town. Where soiled doves ran naked in the streets and men chased them, whooping and hollering when they caught one of the women.
It wasn’t for her to say if that was true or not, but she’d like to see if it was. Dr. Rodgers and his wife, Sofia, whom, even after nine years, Bridgette still referred to as Mrs. Rodgers, would be horrified to know she wondered about such things, therefore she never mentioned her curiosity. Not to anyone.
In the nine years since she’d left the Orphan Train, there hadn’t been anyone to share secrets with, not like she had Garth. He’d known all her secrets, and she’d known his.
Staring at the gray haze rising from the ground to faintly obscure the blueness of the sky, she sighed. “It’s been a long time, Garth,” she whispered. “And I’m getting tired of looking for rainbows.”
“Are you done out there?”
Bridgette breathed through the spine-crawling sensation of Cecil’s shout before grabbing the empty water bucket. Leaving the garden, she swiped aside the hair that had escaped her bun to tickle her cheek. “Baby Chaney,” she mumbled, “if you want to meet your father, you best hurry up. He’s getting close to being whacked by a frying pan.”
“Mr. McCain!”
Garth twisted in his saddle to watch a cowboy ride through the haze of dust. The herd was anxious to get moving this morning, butting into one another as they found their place to start marching north. Churned up by thousands of hooves, the dirt stung his eyes as it swirled in the wind. He used the back of one hand to wipe his lips before asking, “What?”
One of the drovers, Martie, Brad Martie, who should be riding drag, rode up beside him, and shifted the reins from his left hand to his right and back again.
Twisting the tension in his neck, Garth cursed beneath his breath. He hated men who fidgeted almost as much as he hated whiners. Calling Brad a man was stretching it. The red fuzz on Brad’s chin said he wasn’t much more than a kid. Having just completed a ride from the rear to the head of the herd, doing a final check before heading out, Garth had already eaten enough dust. He gestured for Brad to follow him a short distance away from the cattle before he repeated, “What?”
“A heifer let loose.”
Garth tipped back his hat and wiped away a band of sweat before it dripped into his eyes. The sun was hot today, and the cattle would need water come evening. Hence their excitement to get going. A cow could smell water miles away. “Which one?” he asked.
Switching hands on the reins again, Brad answered, “The big white-faced one.”
Garth cursed beneath his breath. He was hoping that one would make it to Dodge. In truth, he hoped they all would make it to Dodge. They couldn’t be more than four, maybe five days out. That heifer was a fine specimen and her calf would have brought good money. He’d hauled a calf in the chuck wagon before, for a day or two. Five was too long. The separation would be too much on the cow, and the calf could never keep up on its own. Not only would it slow down its mother, they both would easily become trampled by the others. He felt the loss of every cow, and didn’t like it, but there were plenty of things about a drive that weren’t easy. The loss of any life was the worst, but he couldn’t jeopardize the herd or a man’s life over one calf. His stomach clenched, but still he ordered, “Shoot the calf.”
The revulsion that rippled across the young man’s face pulled Garth’s jaw so tight his back teeth clenched.
“Couldn’t we find a sodbuster and give it to them like we did down south?”