CHAPTER
11

Adam took a packhorse. Trace had heard Deb ask for flannel, but that didn’t require a spare horse. And taking the packhorse slowed him down because no critter on this property was as fast as Adam’s stallion. But without the load of a rider it could keep up. Because of the early morning wake-up, thanks to Maddie Sue’s hollering, it was only just past sunup. Trace hoped Adam could get back not too far past midday.

Trace worried about him because the sky was overcast. There’d been heavy snow all day up in the peaks. Only a little fell down here on lower ground, but more would come, and soon.

He hated any man being on the trail this late in the season, and Trace’s turn was coming. He had some hunting to do.

“We’re going to be lucky to get a roof over the women’s heads,” Trace said to Utah as they passed each other. They’d chopped down trees all morning, and now Trace and Utah used the horses to drag logs up to the building site. They had enough to start the walls, and Utah wanted to get the framing done.

“Why here?” Trace asked. He knew nothing about building except some real basic things he’d learned as a youngster working with his pa.

His cabin stood as proof of that.

Utah started in talking about the direction of the wind in winter and how the rain came in during spring storms. He seemed stuck on morning sunlight as opposed to afternoon and pointed to trees that lost their leaves and compared them to pines that didn’t—as if that meant something important.

A spring bubbled out of a rock in one spot and created a little stream. He said a man who fights water always loses.

Trace heard every word, though it didn’t make a lot of sense. That’s why he’d wanted to wait until spring, so he could learn all this.

And then they started building and he did learn. He found out that if a man chinked out the corner of a log a hundred times, he started to get good at it. And Utah wouldn’t do it for him and wouldn’t put up with a poorly done corner. It wasn’t as if Utah was sitting around idle; he was working on the sides of the trees, getting rid of knots and branches, picking out logs straight as a lance, rejecting bent and warped trees. He said they’d be used for something else.

Trace saw the sun high in the sky and wondered where the morning had gone. But sure enough, his stomach told him it was mealtime and beyond.

Deb wanted neither to interrupt the commotion outside nor to run afoul of it. Add in the image of a tree falling on one of the children and she was firm in her course that all of them should stay to the house as much as possible.

The only times they dared go outside were for a few minutes to the privy, and a quick run Deb made to Trace’s root cellar.

“He’s got so much food, Gwen.” Deb heard the hungry excitement in her voice.

Gwen laughed. “Better than on the wagon train?”

“Well, considering we’ve had little but venison roasted in strips over a fire and hard biscuits for months, yes, better than the wagon train. By about a thousand miles.”

She lifted up one arm to present a ham.

Gwen’s gasp of excitement made Deb take her turn laughing. “I see you’re a bit tired of tough deer meat too, sister.”

“And you’ve got potatoes. When is the last time we ate a vegetable?” Gwen moved to the cupboard under the sink and swung open a door. “There is plenty of flour down here, and I added to the sourdough starter.”

“I found two bushels of apples, Gwen. We’ve got plenty of time to make pie.”

Gwen was the better baker of the two of them, though Deb wouldn’t be ashamed of what she could produce.

“I’ll make two of them,” Gwen declared. “We’ll have three hungry men to feed, and two pies will give everyone a generous slice for dinner and supper.”

The chopping had gone on steadily since it had begun.

“There was also yeast in the cellar. A cake of it that looks as if it’s never been touched. We can get a rising of bread started for the evening meal. I’ll put the ham on to boil, then get to the pies. I’ll stew potatoes to mash and make redeye gravy.”

The menu made Deb’s mouth water.

“The only thing he’s short on is pans.” Gwen’s brow furrowed, and she turned to study the meager contents of the cupboard.

“Wait.” Deb looked around and saw the pack she’d gathered from the wagon train. “I got a pan out for breakfast, one I salvaged from the wagon train. But there were others I didn’t get out earlier. No amount of burning is going to damage a cast-iron skillet, and the murdering thieves didn’t bother themselves with stealing such practical items.”

Ronnie was on his back, trying to put his toes in his mouth, with considerable success. Maddie Sue sat beside him, chattering away. Ronnie could say quite a few words back, though he wasn’t much fun to talk to, especially considering where his toes were. Fortunately, Maddie Sue preferred it if no one interrupted her, so they were getting along well.

Gwen whispered, “You found the Scotts’ gold?”

Deb nodded. “And some from the other four wagons. Abe was the one who told them how to conceal their coins, so I knew right where to look. There were a few more things I wished later I’d picked up. More pans. The hardware from the harnesses. Even the hubs from the wagons—they’d be a good start for someone wanting to build another wagon or a wheel for any use. They’re too thick to burn all the way through. But how was I to carry all that?”

“You should suggest going back for them to Trace and his men. Maybe they’d want some of those things enough to fetch them. It’s not that far a distance on a fast horse. Look at the way they sent Adam to a town far away with plans for him to be home soon.”

With a hard swallow, Deb said, “The money I sent with Adam this morning was the last I had. If there are other things to buy, I’ll have to use the Scotts’ money. I don’t feel right about spending other folks’ coins. I plan to find their families, their heirs, and send that money to them. I have the names of those who died, but I don’t know who to write to. For now, I won’t worry about it, but I do want to hold back the money. I’ll not steal from those who died being robbed just because the robbers weren’t thorough.”

“I agree completely. But using the Scotts’ money is different. We need to care for the children. And if there is some left, we can send it along with Cameron when he arrives to claim his daughter. I suppose he’ll want Ronnie, too.” Gwen gave the little ones a wistful look. She’d fallen very much in love with them during their journey.

Ronnie pulled his toes out of his mouth, jumped up, and rushed the fireplace. For no possible reason on the earth, he seemed fascinated by the deadly flames.

With quick, practiced skill, Gwen intercepted him and picked him up to tickle his tummy. She was very good at diverting the little ones.

“You watch them while I get on with the meal. The bread first, then the ham. I’ll let you make the piecrust—you do it in half the time I can. You keep Maddie Sue and Ronnie out of trouble. I’ll handle the food.”

Cooking in Trace’s fireplace was so much like what Deb had been doing for the wagon train that it wasn’t much trouble.

Gwen helped when she could, but the children kept her running.

A gust of wind blew through the cracks in the house walls.

Looking worried, Deb asked, “Does this cabin wobble a bit in the wind or am I imagining it?”

Looking around her, Gwen said, “I’m not sure, but I hope those men get a cabin built fast, and a second one for themselves.”

“I certainly hope we’re not too much trouble,” Deb said dryly.

Gwen snorted. Deb couldn’t help but laugh.

“Can you imagine three men living in here?” Gwen shook her head. “So small and so cold. I can’t see how they stood it.”

Deb worked and talked with Gwen and the children. She raked the burning wood forward in the fireplace and carefully nestled two pies into the back corners to bake. The ham was soon boiling in the covered Dutch oven. Deb put biscuits on to bake, along with another pan of water for the potatoes. There wasn’t room in Trace’s small hearth for everything, but soon the biscuits were done and set aside. She prepared a small mountain of potatoes and set them to cooking. They’d be done in time to give her space to make the gravy at the last minute.

She and Gwen were very busy seeing over the pans to keep everything from burning while keeping the children out of harm’s way.

“Call them in, Deb.” Back home, Gwen had run the household while Deb ran the newspaper. That arrangement kept Gwen in school, even though Pa thought it was a waste of time to educate girls.

As Gwen whipped the gravy into perfect smoothness, Deb took her turn corralling the children and knew they both had their hands very full.

“I’ll take the gravy up in a few minutes. By the time they wash and get in here, dinner will be ready.”

Deb went to the door, a child in each arm, and did some fumbling to get hold of the knob and swing the door open.

In her clear, pretty voice, she yelled, “Dinnertime!”