Cloaked (Once Upon a Western Book 1) Page 3

  Now, with the early light straining through the curtains, she wondered if anyone else was awake. When she threw back her covers, she gasped in surprise at how cold her room was. After splashing frigid water on her face, she gazed longingly out her window at the broad, gently sloping pasture behind the house. Beyond, a forest of pine trees stood like sentinels between the open land and the dark mountains.

  Mary Rose, at sixteen, was considered a young lady. Her mother and father reminded her of this more often than she would have wished. And proper young ladies do not engage in boisterous behavior. Not though they be fleet of foot and able to outrun most boys of their acquaintance. When they reach a certain age, they must put away childish things such as running races and climbing trees and going barefoot, and behave like the ladies they are.

  But Mary Rose dearly loved to run. The sensation of all her limbs working their utmost to take her as far and as fast as they could—this had been one of her chief delights. Had been, because the previous year her mother had informed her in no uncertain terms that it was no longer seemly for her to run, and the fact that she could beat every boy of her acquaintance in any fair footrace made no difference whatsoever.

  Mary Rose looked at that smooth stretch of grass, cropped short by horses or cattle, she supposed. All that stood between her and pure exhilaration was a wooden fence she could easily clamber over.

  It was early—she could not hear a single other person stirring in the house. And her grandmother had told her that all the ranch hands were away rounding up cattle. If she hurried out quietly, she might manage a good run with no one the wiser. Surely, thought Mary Rose, it is someone seeing you run that is improper, not the actual act of running.

  She couldn’t wear any petticoats if she were to run at all well. Thank goodness her mother had nothing against bloomers—with those beneath her dress, she would be decent, not to mention warm, even without her petticoats. Mary Rose pulled on the brown travelling dress she had tossed aside the previous evening. She laced up her boots, the old ones she had insisted on wearing for travel even though they lacked fashionably high heels and pointed toes. She had known those boots would remain comfortable while travelling for days and days, and her mother had consented in the end, comforted by knowing that Mary Rose’s skirts were long enough that most people would never see what she wore on her feet.

  Peoria had been warm when Mary Rose left, and she had not brought any sort of cloak or coat with her. She had a shawl, but it would fly off while she ran, so she left it behind. Soon enough, she would work off her chill. Mary Rose tiptoed down the hallway until she reached the entryway. The back door’s bolt slid back with nary a squeak, and she was off the porch (which matched the front porch exactly, just as she had suspected it would) and over the fence in no time at all.

  Then she was running. Free and light and filled with joy. Mary Rose ran until the sound of her heart replaced her thoughts. Her lungs ached with the cold air at first, but by the time she reached the far end of the pasture, where more fence separated the grass from the trees, she was warm enough to welcome the cool air rushing past her. She paused there and breathed a quick prayer of thanksgiving for such a glorious opportunity. Then she ran back down the gentle slope to the house, almost delirious with the joy of having a good run for the first time in so long. When she reached the fence again, her heart and lungs and legs were all protesting that they had grown unused to such behavior. But she thought she was not much slower than before her mother enforced the ban on running.

  She wondered if the summer might not be too short a time to spend at her grandmother’s ranch.

  But as Mary Rose approached the house, she saw movement at the window of a room in the guest wing. Her joy faded. Someone had seen her.

  Mary Rose slipped back inside the house and tiptoed to her room. She felt chilled not only from perspiration, but also from the worry that she had embarrassed herself, her grandmother, and in some awkward way, her parents. She pulled off the brown dress, sponged herself off hurriedly, and slipped into a prim dress of navy blue.

  Then she sat down on her bed to wait for her grandmother to come and reprimand her. Outside, she could hear horses whinnying, someone calling a greeting. So much for enjoying the morning. The smell of frying meat reached her, and she knew breakfast would soon be ready, but even that was of small comfort.

  Eventually the dreaded knock came. There stood her grandmother, clad in the same dark blue dress from the day before. But instead of rebuking Mary Rose, she inquired, “I trust you slept well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Mary Rose managed to say.

  “I’m sorry, but I forgot to tell you last night. No one will call you to breakfast—we eat whenever we’re ready and then go about the day’s business.”

  “Oh,” was all Mary Rose could think to reply.

  “Come along, then. We’re nearly through.” Jubilee walked back to the dining room.

  Mary Rose followed, wondering when her scolding would commence.

  In the dining room, Jubilee told Mary Rose to serve herself. Mary Rose did as she was told, though there was not much food left to take. Two fried eggs, half a slice of thick bacon, and a lonely biscuit were all she found. But, in her suspense of wondering when and how someone would bring up her behavior, she doubted she could eat even those.

  Hauer and Mr. Linden had risen from the table when the women entered, and now Mr. Linden hurried to pull out Mary Rose’s chair. Then both men sat down again. Mr. Linden pushed his chair away from the table a bit and leaned back in it, stretching his long legs before him while he sipped his coffee.

  Mary Rose concentrated on cutting up her fried eggs.

  Mr. Linden and Jubilee resumed discussion of an article in the Daily Boomerang, the Cheyenne newspaper that had arrived with the mail on the stage the day before. Cattle thievery was becoming such a problem that some ranchers were talking of hiring a detective to investigate the problem. Jubilee said she hoped there wouldn’t be trouble at the roundup. Mary Rose tried to listen, but she kept thinking about how she had probably disgraced herself with her running. Perhaps Jubilee would send her home before the week was out.

  Hauer leaned toward her and said quietly, “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  So he knew. Mary Rose thought she might cry. She tried to say yes, but all she could do was nod.

  Hauer smiled, those friendly lines and crinkles appearing around his eyes. “I’m an early riser too,” he confided.

  Mary Rose set down her knife and fork. “You must think me so… so unladylike,” she murmured.

  “I don’t see why I would.” Hauer shrugged. “Then again, I’m not the best judge. Why not ask your grandmother.”

  “What?” Mary Rose spoke much more loudly than she had intended, her exclamation ending with a most unbecoming squeak. If only she could break that habit!

  Jubilee set down her coffee cup. “What’s the matter, dear?”

  Hauer said, “I was just telling Miss Mary Rose that, seeing how I was not raised among civilized folks, I’m not the best judge of behavior. Tell me, what would you think of a lady who enjoyed running? Not races, you understand, but the simple activity of running.”

  Jubilee said tartly, “I’d say it’s rather bad manners to remind me of things I can’t do anymore. If that fool horse hadn’t blundered into that hole...”

  Hauer looked at Mary Rose. “Your grandmother broke her leg three years ago. Thrown by a horse. There was a time when she’d just as soon run as walk someplace, always in such a hurry, but now...” He shook his head and looked sorrowful. “Well, we all have to go sometime.”

  “Hauer!” Jubilee reprimanded him. “I’m not in my grave.” She almost succeeded in looking stern. “I barely limp anymore, and only when I’m wearied.”

  Mary Rose felt a great surge of hope. Her grandmother used to run places, even as an adult.

  Which meant she would likely not be shocked at all to learn Mary Rose enjoyed running.

  Mary Rose th
ought for the first time since arriving that she and her grandmother might get along quite well after all. While she swallowed a bite of egg, she realized what else Hauer had said. She cried, “You weren’t raised among civilized folks? Were you raised by… Indians?” And there went her voice again, squeaking in her excitement.

  Hauer chuckled. “I was indeed.”

  “Why?” Mary Rose abandoned tact altogether.

  “Because my mother was Cheyenne.”

  Mr. Linden set his coffee cup on his saucer with a louder clink than necessary.

  Mary Rose clasped her hands together in her lap. “Truly?” Her first day here, and already one of her wishes fulfilled! She had met a living, breathing Indian.

  “Truly. My pa came here from Germany to hunt. He’d read all about grizzlies and wolves and buffalo, and he wanted to try for some of them. I guess Germany had about run out of exciting game.” Hauer took a sip of coffee. “He always said that first he learned to love the wide, empty spaces here. Then he met my ma, and she was the West come to life in a single person, its beauty and strength and independence.” Hauer looked down, bashful to have said so much.

  “That’s lovely,” Mary Rose assured him.

  Hauer smiled. “I suppose it is. That’s how he always described her. But in German—his English wasn’t so good.”

  Mr. Linden made a noise that might have been a snort. Possibly a cough. He was looking at Hauer as if he had announced he was partial to keeping porcupines for pets.

  Mary Rose decided to ignore him. She asked Hauer, “Do you speak German too?”

  “Ja, natuerlich,” said Hauer. “Though not so much as I once did. I remember Cheyenne better, somehow.” He drained his coffee cup. “That six-month hunting trip stretched out to last the rest of his life. My ma’s tribe adopted him, and we lived with them until I was about twelve.”

  “How could you ever leave?”

  “My ma died, you see. And my pa... well, there were more white people coming every year. Trappers and hunters, at first, traders, not many all at once. Not yet. But relations between the Indians and whites weren’t always cordial. After my ma died, we would go out on longer and longer hunting trips. And one trip, we never went home.”

  “Did you ever wish you’d gone back?”

  “I did go back, after my pa died. Took me a while to find them—they’d moved some, making way for settlers. My cousins welcomed me, but I knew there were others who would not look kindly on my trying to rejoin them. And I found I did not want to, not right then. I was young and looking for fun and adventure, I suppose.”

  “So you left for good?” Mary Rose had rejoiced to leave her dull life behind in Illinois, but she knew she would return home again in a few months. The idea of permanently forsaking all that was familiar unsettled her.

  “I see some of my kinfolk now and then. I still travel around a good bit.“

  “And how did you meet my grandmother, then?”

  Jubilee interrupted, “Hauer has made such a long story out of his childhood that I shall make a short story out of my part in it. My family came out West when I was almost grown. We ran a trading post not far from here. Hauer and his folks and some of their kin used to bring their furs to us, trade them for victuals and clothes and such. He was such a little shaver back then. Had to climb on a box to see the jar of candy we kept on the counter.”

  Hauer chuckled. “I know you want to tell the story of the time I tried to trade you a baby skunk for a stick of peppermint, but the day’s not getting any younger, and neither are we.” He pointed to Mary Rose’s plate. “We’ll let you finish your breakfast in peace.” He rose to leave.

  “Yes,” Jubilee said. “I suppose I should show you the office, Mr. Linden. It’s where I keep my accounts, such as they are.” She stood.

  “By all means.” Mr. Linden followed her out of the dining room, giving Hauer a strange look when he left. Contempt? Disgust? His expression was too fleeting for easy interpretation.

  Her eggs were too cold and her tea too sweet, but Mary Rose had more interesting things to think about. For instance, her growing conviction that, while Mr. Linden was a man you needed to keep an eye on, Hauer was a man you could depend on to keep an eye on you. She wasn’t sure why. Was it the frank gray-green eyes that held her own gaze and didn’t go travelling all over the rest of her? Or the crinkles beside those eyes when he smiled? Or the way he had found a way to let her know that she would not earn a scolding for running? No matter the reason, she was glad he was kindly disposed toward her.

  Chapter Four

  Once she’d finished her breakfast, Mary Rose stayed in the dining room, dithering over what to do for the rest of the morning. Should she go back to her room and wait to be called? Go to the sitting room and see what books lived in the glass-fronted bookcase there? Find her grandmother in her office and ask if she wanted Mary Rose for anything?

  A door closed over in the guest wing and she heard Hauer say, “With all the hands gone on roundup, I don’t think I ought to leave you and Mary Rose unguarded. Especially at night.”

  Next came Jubilee’s voice. “Guard us from what?”

  Mary Rose knew better than to eavesdrop, so she ducked back inside the dining room. Still she had no choice but to hear what Hauer and her grandmother said.

  Hauer answered, “Oh, anything. What if someone broke in to rob you?”

  “No one has ever robbed this house.”

  “What about wolves? I hear them most every night. Never can tell what a wolf pack will do.”

  “Wolves!” Jubilee laughed. “Really, Hauer. I’m too old a hand to be scared of wolves. Not when I’m here in a house with good, solid walls around me and enough rifles and pistols to arm a war party.”

  “I’d feel easier staying down here.”

  “Mr. Linden is here now. Surely he can protect us, should the need arise.”

  “You won’t budge me. I’ll stay up at the cabin the night of the dance if you need the room. But you know the only way to keep me from doing what I think is right is to throw me off the place. And break my neck in the process.”

  “Very well.” Jubilee sounded annoyed, but she said nothing else, and Mary Rose heard the study door open and then close again.

  Mary Rose peeked out into the hall and saw Hauer standing in the central entryway.

  He raised his hat in a sort of friendly wave. “All finished?”

  “Yes.” She came out hesitantly, hoping he hadn’t realized she had overheard his conversation with her grandmother.

  “If you’re looking for something to do, I’m sure Mrs. Mills could find you some cheerful task like scouring pots.”

  Mary Rose blinked, wondering if he was serious. Not that she couldn’t scour a kettle if need be, but kitchen chores were not quite how she wanted to spend her first morning in Wyoming.

  Hauer laughed. “Or I could take you down to the stables and see if Old Joe would teach you to ride.”

  “Couldn’t you teach me?”

  “I’m afraid I need to get back to trimming lumber.”

  “Trimming? Is that what real lumberjacks call cutting down trees?”

  “I’m not exactly a lumberjack, but no, I call that felling trees. Trimming means I’m cutting off all the branches. Getting the trunks ready to drag down to the sawmill. No one’s around to work with me on felling trees right now. Safer to do that with a crew, you know.”

  “I see.”

  “But I’m sure Old Joe’ll be happy to help you out.”

  “Could I go dressed like this?”

  Hauer looked her up and down, not in the appraising way Mr. Linden had done, but strictly with an eye for the suitability of her clothing. “You’ll need a hat. And gloves. Good, thick ones. Leather, if you have them. Let me see your feet.”

  Mary Rose lifted her skirts enough to show one sturdy boot.

  “Hmm. Those will do for now, I expect—good heel on them, anyhow. You don’t happen to have any of those split riding skirts, do you?�
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  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Ask your grandmother. For now, change into an old skirt, the wider the better.”

  “Will you wait while I change?”

  “Come out on the front porch when you’re ready. I’ll be there.”

  “Thank you!” Mary Rose hurried back to her room. When she passed the study, she heard her grandmother and Mr. Linden talking in serious, grown-up voices, and she was glad she hadn’t disturbed them. Her grandmother seemed hesitant about her as it was—no sense annoying her right when they had found some common ground. But then, while she changed back to the travel-begrimed brown dress, Mary Rose recalled that she had not told her grandmother that they shared a love of running. Well, with a whole summer together, surely it would come up again.

  Mary Rose soon saw that Old Joe had earned his moniker, and then some. She took an instant liking to him, with his wispy white hair sticking out in all directions under his battered hat, and his eyes clear and lively. Though stubborn gray stubble coated his chin and cheeks, and his smile revealed more kindness than teeth, Mary Rose knew after they had exchanged simple greetings that she had found a friend.

  Having introduced them, Hauer told her, “What Old Joe here doesn’t know about horses isn’t worth the dirt under our boots. He’ll have you riding better than me in a day or two.”

  “Oh, get on about your business,” Old Joe grumbled at him, both pleased and embarrassed. “Ain’t you got a tree to chop or something?”

  “Indeed, I do.” Hauer tipped his hat to Mary Rose. “See you at supper.” He set off on foot along the dusty road that led around the house, back toward the trees that lurked beyond the meadow where Mary Rose had gone running.