Chapter Eight

 

THE RAIN BEATING down on the roof Sunday morning tickled Mayme’s conscious awake. She snuggled deeper into the covers, letting the sound lull her into a light doze. A low roll of thunder rumbled overhead. Her eyes flew open when she realized the significance of what she was hearing. She flung the blankets back and went to the window. Sure enough, heavy drops pelted the ground. A flash of lightning in the distance drew her eyes to the horizon, past the deep puddles already formed in the grass.

The skyline seemed brighter but she figured the chances of the weather clearing were slim. A harsh wind blew from the other side of the house, the direction from which she had no view.

She sighed with disappointment, knowing her plans were undoubtedly ruined. Since she was already up, she decided to get dressed and go downstairs. She might as well make breakfast for everybody.

There were still a few hot embers in the fireplace as she stirred the ashes. She added some thin pieces of pine timber and watched as the resin caught fire and snapped alive. She set a slightly larger slab of wood on and sparks rose sharply up the chimney. Soon the bitter smell of smoke and brewed coffee filled the room.

No sounds came from the floor above, so Mayme sat at the table and nursed a steaming cup of coffee. She’d wait a bit before adding bacon to the blackened frying pan hanging over the fire. No sense in serving cold food.

Since it was Sunday, everybody usually enjoyed a lazy morning of sleeping in. None of her housemates were churchgoers so they all were allowed to rise at their leisure. However, once the pungent aromas of breakfast wafted throughout the rest of the house, it wouldn’t be long before she had company.

Mayme’s stomach growled as she finished her coffee. She’d need more wood to get the fire hot enough to fry the bacon. The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time she opened the door to fetch the wood. The cord was piled beneath an overhang next to the steps so she only had to reach out to load two logs into her arms.

In less than ten minutes time, flames rose hot on the bottom of a skillet permanently blackened from years of use. She placed the bacon on the hot surface and within seconds it hissed and crackled, releasing its sweet nutty, caramel-like smell into the house.

When it came to breakfasts, there were few aromas better than bacon sizzling and crisping in a pan. Mayme wasn’t surprised to see Annie and Iris wander in, both yawning and rubbing their still sleep-filled eyes.

“You had to do it, didn’t you,” Iris said through a yawn.

Mayme smiled innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Worf gan a a-arm cock.” Annie walked to the sink and splashed water on her face. She rummaged through a drawer until she found a towel to scrub her face dry with.

Mayme had no idea what Annie had said. She raised her eyebrows and looked to Iris for clarification.

Iris chuckled. “Bacon is worse than an alarm clock.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “What are you doing up so early anyway?”

“The rain woke me. I was supposed to help Mr. Smart with something today, but the rain fouled up our plans. I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I decided to get up.” Mayme flipped the bacon with the point of a knife, creating a new round of hissing and snapping. “It’s almost ready. If someone wants to set the table, I’ll fry the eggs right after.”

Lalu and Mrs. Randall strolled in, one right after another and took seats at the table. They all thanked Mayme profusely for her impromptu morning meal.

By the time they finished eating, the rain had completely stopped. Renewed hope and excitement blossomed in Mayme’s chest. She bit down on a smile, not wanting to raise questions from the others. Mr. Smart had asked her to keep mum about their plans and she was intent on honoring his request.

“I’ll clean up,” Mayme said as she slid back from the table and gathered her plate and utensils.

“No, Lalu and I will take care of the dishes and Iris and Annie will clean up the kitchen.” Mrs. Randall sipped her coffee. “You’re off the hook for any more chores today. It’s our thanks for waking up to a wonderful breakfast.”

“I don’t mind.” Mayme put her dishes in the sink and leaned against the counter. She had nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs until it was time to meet Mr. Smart at the mercantile.

“We won’t take no for an answer, will we girls?”

A slight frown passed over Annie’s face but she eventually joined the others in agreement.

Mayme smiled hesitantly. She didn’t want to get on the wrong side of the girls. Annie especially had the ability to make her life miserable if she thought brownie points were being piled up with Mrs. Randall. She suddenly had a thought.

“In that case, I have to go to the mercantile today to help Mr. Smart anyway. I’ll bring a few candy sticks home for everyone.” Mayme knew she could win Annie over by appealing to her sweet tooth. The others smiled their thanks and that was the end of the discussion.

Mayme spent the next few hours biding time. She made her bed, straightened her room, changed the water in her washbasin, and refilled her oil lamp. Finally it was time to leave. She had changed into trousers and a long sleeved blouse. If anyone asked about her attire she’d fib and tell them she would be taking inventory and cleaning the mercantile before the new supplies arrived. Fortunately she was able to sneak out the back without notice. She retraced her steps through the field. The sun had come out and helped the wind dry the grasses through which she walked. The ground still squished beneath her feet, but it wasn’t as muddy as if she had taken the road. The water filled ruts from the constant use made it nearly un-navigable to those on foot. More than one customer had come limping into the store with a turned ankle.

Mayme sat on the back step of the mercantile. There was no one else around as the businesses were closed on Sundays and most people had gone home after church to have their afternoon meal. The saloon would open much later though. Then throngs of men would wander into town to have their grog or play cards.

She didn’t have to wait long before the jangle of a harness and creak of a wagon signaled her boss’s arrival. A heavily muscled, but obviously older horse harnessed to a four-wheeled buckboard rounded the corner. His once sleek bay hide had flecks of gray in it, especially around his hairy muzzle.

Mr. Smart brought the horse to a halt, tipped his hat, and smiled.

“I was afraid the rain would’ve put you off completely. I’m pleased to see you’re made of hardy stock.” He set the brake, wrapped the reins around it, and stood up.

“I used to ride in the rain. It doesn’t bother me. But I wondered how it would affect the guns if it rained.”

“Well,” Mr. Smart said as he stepped down. “While they’ll work, there’s no use in getting them wet and having to take them apart and oil them down. We’ll have to clean the barrels when we’re done, though that’s not a hard job.”

“Barrels?”

Mr. Smart laughed. “I guess I have my work cut out for me. This will be a lot of fun.” He pulled a key ring from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Mayme smiled. She wondered how long it’d been since he’d been this keen on doing something. In the short time she’d known him, he’d always come across as very serious and contemplative. Actually, other than the circumstances of losing his family, she knew very little about him at all. Of course the opposite was true as well. He’d never asked any personal questions nor had she offered anything. But in defense, they’d had little time to talk much about anything other than the goings-on of the mercantile.

She followed him into the store and waited as he selected a few boxes of bullets and slid them into a sack, which he handed to her.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the line of guns propped on end behind the counter. He chose another key from the ring and unlocked the padlock holding two ends of a chain together. The links were strung through the trigger guard of each gun, thereby securing them from sticky fingers. From the group, he lifted a short rifle and hefted it.

“This should do. Here you go,” he said, handing it to her. “You should be able to handle this one.”

While he reconnected the chain ends with the padlock, Mayme held the rifle gingerly, afraid that if she made the wrong move it might go off.

Mr. Smart must’ve seen her trepidation as he turned to her. “Don’t worry. It’s not loaded.”

She looked at him with a combination of dread and fear. Gone was the excitement she’d felt before. She had no idea where it went. It’d merely dissipated. The notion of learning how to shoot seemed better than actually holding the gun. And she hadn’t even fired it yet.

“Have you changed your mind about this?” Mr. Smart gave her a sympathetic look. “It’s all right. Handling a gun isn’t for everyone. Even some men can’t do it, so I don’t expect all women to be comfortable with one in their hands.”

Mayme narrowed her eyes at him. “That sounds more like a challenge than a way out.”

Mr. Smart shrugged. The twitch in the corner of his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes confirmed her suspicion. 

She handed him the sack of bullets. “A woman shouldn’t have to carry everything.” She turned quickly and headed toward the door, hoping she looked more confident than she felt.

Once settled into the wagon, Mr. Smart released the wagon brake and clucked to the horse. The bay tossed his head and leaned into the harness. They turned right and drove through the middle of the deserted town, carefully avoiding the biggest ruts. It was bumpy enough that they didn’t say anything. Mayme clenched her teeth to avoid clacking them when they hit the bumps. She could see Mr. Smart’s jaw muscles working likewise to do the same.

As soon as the road smoothed out, the horse moved into an easy trot with a slight slap of the reins on his back. Mr. Smart relaxed against the back of the seat.

“He’s beautiful,” Mayme commented more to herself.

“He’s a good old boy. He still likes his work pulling a wagon.”

“Have you had him long?”

“Yeah. He was my wife’s.”

“Oh.” Mayme was at a loss for words. 

“I had six oxen pulling the wagon coming out here. When one of them needed a break, I used to hitch him to the front for a while. He loved it. That’s why my daughter named him Ox. He’s the last of the stock that came west with me. I’m pretty fond of the old bugger.”

Mayme hid the surprise she felt at his admission. It warmed her that he felt comfortable enough to speak candidly, but also saddened her to think he probably didn’t have anyone to talk to. With that in mind, she decided to encourage conversation.

“Does he have draft blood in him?”

Mr. Smart looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Know something about horses, do you?”

“Yes, sir. I had one of my own and also did a lot of reading when I wasn’t at the stable.” Reading was one way she’d used to stay out from underfoot when her mother was in the drink and her father working.

The sweet smell of horse sweat wafted back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reveling in the familiar aroma. How she missed her daily visits to the stable. The stable was a place of refuge, even during nasty weather. On rainy days, or when the snow was too deep to ride through, she’d haul her saddle into Blaze’s stall and clean it while he munched his hay.

“Ox’s dam was a Clydesdale and his sire was some rangy quarter horse that broke through a fence one night.”

“That explains his big bones and heavy muscling.”

Ox snorted and tossed his head.

“I think he agrees with you.” Mr. Smart jiggled the reins over the horse’s back. “You quit eavesdropping up there, you hear?”

Ox flicked his tail and they both laughed.

“Do you have any other stock?” Mayme half turned in her seat.

“Sure do. I have a Hereford steer that’ll die of old age and a milk cow. As far as horses go, I’ve got a small herd of Appaloosas that roam the property.”

“Those are the ones the Nez Perce developed, right?”

“Yes indeed. My stud is a direct descendant from a band the army captured. He’s a cranky thing. Only responds to Indian words.”

“Wow. Did you teach him that?”

Mr. Smart grunted. “Not quite. I think it’s in his blood.”

The landscape had changed significantly while they chatted. The tan prairie grasses had been taken over by large stands of cottonwood trees under which grew lusher, green foliage. The sun reflected off the white bark of the trees. Mayme shaded her eyes with one hand, wishing she had a brimmed hat.

As if reading her thoughts, Mr. Smart reached under the seat and pulled out a black fedora. He handed it to her. “Here, try this on. If you like it, you can have it. It’s too small for my head.”

Mayme wordlessly accepted it and planted the hat onto her head. Amazingly it was a perfect fit. Which made it wonder who its previous owner was. It wasn’t worn hard, yet it appeared far from new. Regardless, it sufficed in shading her eyes from the glaring sun.

Mr. Smart glanced over and nodded. “It doesn’t look half bad on you. You’ll see it’ll help you aim.”

“Thank you.”

Hoof beats, the jangle of the harness, and the creaking of the wagon lulled her into a sense of belonging. It’d been ages since she’d been out in the company of a horse. A scent mixture of peppery cinnamon from the many ferns and the icy smell of water grew stronger as Mr. Smart directed Ox onto a well-used trail that angled into the cottonwoods. A hawk startled and took to the air from a high branch at woods edge. It screamed its annoyance as it circled overhead until it was a mere speck in the sky.

They entered a small meadow where a fast moving stream gurgled over rocks at the far end. The leaves of the cottonwoods high in the canopy sounded like rain as a soft breeze flowed through.

Mr. Smart pulled on the reins and halted Ox. He set the wagon brake and wound the leather straps around it.

“Here we are.” He jumped down and quickly unhooked Ox from the wagon and unfastened the harness from him. He led the horse over to a grassy patch and turned him loose to graze.

Meanwhile Mayme crawled down and looked around in wonder at a landscape so different from where she lived in town. Just beyond the tree tops, she could make out the peaks of a few of the mountains in the distance.

“Have you ever been up there?”

“Up in the sawbucks?” Mr. Smart walked to her side. She nodded. “I went up once for a few weeks to try my hand at gold panning. I decided it was too lonely a business so I came back to town and opened up the mercantile.”

“I heard you talking to a customer about the different types of pans and wondered how you knew so much about it.” She slid the hat off and straightened her hair. “It sure is beautiful. Do you come here often?”

Mr. Smart slid his hands into his pockets. “If I get my chores done early enough on Sundays, me and Ox try to sneak over. He gets his fill of grass and I get to do some target shooting.”

“The sound doesn’t bother him?” Mayme pointed at Ox with her chin.

“Not in the least. There was a time when I thought he was deaf. But he’s the one who gets the herd moving when I whistle.”

Ox rose his head and stared at them as he chewed; long strands of grass disappearing into his mouth as he worked his jaw. He pricked his ears, tossed his head, and lowered it once again.

“See? He heard every word I said. Dang horse. I can’t keep any secrets from him.”

Mayme laughed. “Mr. Smart, you are so unlike any man I’ve ever met. The men back in Chicago treat their animals like beasts of burden. They get rid of them whenever they want something newer or better. The sales yard is where I got my horse. He had a bowed tendon when I first saw him. Father said it would be a waste of time trying to heal him and that I should just let him go to slaughter. I made a deal with the seller while Father was off looking at some fancy thoroughbred. Boy, he sure was mad. But he let me keep him. I think he thought I’d give up on him in short time and send him off.”

“You miss your horse. I can hear it in your voice.”

“He was my best friend.” Mayme turned away quickly to hide the tears that prickled behind her eyes and welled.

“Why don’t you go visit with Ox for a bit while I get everything set up? I know for a fact he likes hugs.” Mr. Smart gave her a gentle push toward the horse.

She nodded and not wanting him to see her tears, she took a few steps before wiping her eyes.

Ox lifted his head and nickered softly as she approached him. He paused his chewing for a moment as if unsure of what was expected of him.

“Hey, big boy,” Mayme said as she extended her hand.

He inhaled twice fast before snorting, leaving splats of mucous on her hand.

“Gee thanks.” She wiped her hand on her pants and went to his side to stroke his neck.

Ox curled his neck around her, forcing her closer to his body.

Mayme put her forehead against his hide and luxuriated in the sweet smell of sweat and hay. She stood up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his muscular neck.

Ox didn’t move a muscle, continuing to keep her against him. She slid her arms free of him and he finally straightened his neck.

She stood back and gazed into his eyes. Soft brown liquid filled his eye sockets. He showed no white around his pupils, giving him a very placid appearance. Through his eyes she could tell something of his personality. While a hard worker, he showed none of the spirit of a hotter bred horse like the thoroughbreds she’d been around.

“Ready when you are.”

Mayme had been so wrapped up in Ox, she’d nearly forgotten about Mr. Smart. She gave Ox a few firm pats on his neck. “You’re a gem, aren’t you?”

She turned and walked away from him, but something made her stop and look back. Ox had started to follow her. He tossed his head and showed his teeth, but came no closer.

She laughed at his antics. “Caught you. You better stay here and fill your belly with this nice grass.”

Ox snorted, lowered his head, and continued his grazing.

“He’s a real character,” she said once she joined Mr. Smart.

“That he is.” Mr. Smart slid a bullet into the chamber of the small rifle and pushed the lever upward against the stock. “Okay. Let’s get started.” He held the rifle in the palms of his hand. “This is officially called an M1873, but most know it as a Winchester lever action. It holds fourteen bullets.”

Mayme widened her eyes. “Wow. That’s a lot.”

“Yes it is.”

She swallowed hard. “Does it have that many in it now?” Fourteen bullets. The number seemed daunting.

“Tell you what. We’ll get you acquainted with it empty first.” He pulled the lever down and the action opened, ejecting the bullet into the air. He skillfully caught it and slipped it into his shirt pocket. He then held the rifle out for her to take. “There’s nothing in it anymore, so it can’t hurt anything.”

She took the rifle from him and held it just as he had, flat in her palms. But she held it away from her body like it was a snake that might strike at any moment.

“Your arms are going to get tired from holding it like that.”

“I don’t know how.”

Mr. Smart nodded, went to the wagon, and returned with a second rifle, this one much longer. “Watch how I hold it and do as I do.”

He rested the barrel in the crook of his left elbow and held the other end in the pit of his right arm.

Mayme studied his stance for a moment before repeating his movements. The rifle felt very foreign in her arms. Its weight wasn’t uncomfortable. It just seemed awkward.

“Good. Now do this.” He flipped the barrel up, propped it on his shoulder near his neck, and held the butt in the palm of his hand.

Mayme assumed an identical position. Cold steel pressed against her neck. She smelled the oil that coated it.

“Good. Now the next thing I want you to do is work the action.”

“I beg your pardon. I have no idea what you just said.”

Mr. Smart smiled. “That means to pull the lever down and then push it back in again.”

“Oh.” Mayme had to think for a moment about how she would accomplish this next task. She brought the barrel down and clasped it in her left hand. Then she tucked the other end under her elbow and held it against her hip. That freed her hand up to wrap her fingers around the lever, which she then pulled out and then shoved it back into its locked position.

“You’re doing very well. I’m impressed. Are you beginning to feel more comfortable with it?”  

She shrugged and offered a shy smile. “Well, yeah, it’s not loaded.”

Mr. Smart shook his head and chuckled. “I’ll show you how to aim it first and then you do know we’ll have to add the bullets.”

Mayme took a deep breath and furrowed her brows. “I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. And once you learn how to use a gun, you’ll see you can do just about anything.”

“Really?” A vein of confidence wound its way into her. I can do this.

“I’m positive. Ready?”

Mayme nodded.

“The first thing you need to perfect is your stance. If you don’t have that, nothing will go right. With a bigger gun, you’d end up blown onto your bum.”

Mayme giggled. “Don’t want that.”

“No, you don’t. Especially if you’re standing in a field of cactus. So stand with your legs apart. Like the distance they’d be when you’re on a horse. Now point your toes in the direction you’re going to shoot.”

Mayme followed his instructions. She glanced down at her feet and then at Mr. Smart who nodded his approval.

“Now, this is the tricky part. You have to put the butt in the pocket of your shoulder. The recoil will be absorbed by your body.”

Mayme lifted the rifle up and settled it against her shoulder. With a few minor adjustments from Mr. Smart, she practiced raising the gun up and fitting it where it belonged. After a few times it fell comfortably into place.

“Relax your neck and let your cheek fall naturally to the stock. This will help you line up the sights and aim correctly. Put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it slowly. Your aim is dependent on both these things.”

Mr. Smart pulled two bullets from his pocket. “Watch me as I load mine and then you do the same.” He opened the action and slipped the bullet in, with the pointed end facing the end of the barrel. After locking it in, he handed her the other bullet and looked at her expectantly.

Amazed her hands weren’t shaking like before, with unhurried, relaxed movements, she loaded the gun. She adjusted her stance and aimed at the row of cans Mr. Smart had lined up on a fallen log. She rehearsed every step in her mind before executing it.

“When you’re ready to squeeze the trigger, exhale slowly. Your body is at its stillest when you’re at the bottom of that breath.”

Mayme lowered the gun and took a couple deep breaths.

“You can do this, Mayme. You’re handling the gun picture perfectly.”

She barely noticed the loud gun blast as the can she aimed at popped off the log. “Oh my God! I did it!”

“Yes, you did. That was wonderful shooting. Ready for another?”

Mayme answered him by holding her hand out for another bullet. She smiled mischievously as he handed her four.

In her excitement she missed the next two times. But redeemed herself when she figured out what she’d done wrong, corrected it, and shot the remaining bullets. Both resulted in the cans flying off the log from the impact of the bullets.

Mr. Smart clapped her on the back. “You, my dear, are a natural. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were Annie Oakley’s sister.”

Mayme beamed.

They took turns shooting and didn’t stop until they were both out of bullets.

The birds had long since fled after the first shot. The acrid sour smell of gunpowder lingered around them, masking the muskiness of the woods.

Mr. Smart looked to the sky with some concern. “It’s getting late. We should pack up. I want to get you home before dark.”

“Can we do this again?” Mayme leaned the gun against the wagon and bent to pick up the spent shells that littered the ground.

“I’ve had such a good time today, I think we should.” He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

Ox raised his head, revealing the long grass drooping down both sides of his mouth. He whinnied and trotted toward them.

They were on their way back to town in short order. Mayme’s shoulder was a tad sore, but she was sure it wasn’t too awfully bruised. The shooting had felt good, once she got over her fear, that is.