22

Cassie jerked upright in the middle of the night. What had she heard? She listened hard, not breathing. Nothing. That’s what she heard. Nothing. The wind had stopped. She flopped back on her pillows, almost giggling in relief. She drifted back to sleep, feeling the smile her mouth insisted upon.

Surely the storm was no more, because after breakfast and chores, the men all rode out through the new snow to Arnett’s place. They would not have done that if there were any chance of more snow pending.

That afternoon when Gretchen came home from school she brought not only stories of the storm but also mail. Mavis smiled at the envelope from her son Jesse. Cassie stared at the two envelopes addressed to her. One was from Tyrone Fuller, the man who’d won the Hill City shoot, and the other was from Mr. Porter.

“So open them.” Gretchen returned from hanging up her things. “Oh, it feels so good to be home.”

“Where did you stay?” Mavis asked, slitting an envelope with a table knife and handing it to Cassie.

“With the Brandenburgs. Both me and Jenna. We had the best time, but it was scary, even just walking to their house, the snow and wind was so bad. But our teacher told us all where we would be going and let us out a bit early. Before it turned pitch black. Did you ever see anything like that, Mor? So dark, I mean?”

“I agree, it was bad.”

Cassie opened the letter from Mr. Porter first. After a quick skim through, she went back to the beginning and read it aloud.

“Dear Miss Lockwood,

“I’m sure by now you’ve received your invitation to the shooting match in St. Louis. My wife and I plan to attend, and we hope you would like to travel with us. You could join us on the eastbound train in Argus on February 22. We will provide your ticket and look forward to getting to know you better as we travel the rails. I know trains are not new to you, but we are looking forward to seeing new country.

“Sincerely,
Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Porter”

“That’s not far off.” Gretchen stared at her in wide-eyed wonder.

So true! Cassie slit open the second. “The shoot is in St. Louis on February 25, and it lasts two days.” Can I be ready by then? The question knifed her, making her hands shake. Before, her shooting depended on her arm healing. Now her practicing depended both on her arm and on the weather. At least she had shot that morning. Not for long, though, because the cold had seeped right into her hands to the very core, making them stiff in spite of the gloves.

“But you’ll go?” Gretchen’s brows furrowed.

Cassie nodded. “I guess I better answer them both.” She fetched the good paper from Ransom’s desk, along with ink and pen. What would it be like to sit at that desk and write her letters? She almost smiled at the thought, how mature and dignified she would be, sitting there and writing.

Once upon a time she’d had no doubts about her shooting ability. Her father pointed her toward the targets, and she took them out. Now she couldn’t help wonder what if she wasn’t good enough anymore? Mr. Porter would be throwing his money away on her again, as would JD at the store.

“All you can do is your best.” The voice of her father came as if he were standing right behind her. If she thought about it, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. She nodded, blew out a breath, and headed back to the kitchen. But what if her best wasn’t good enough?

“You look worried. About the shoot? We’ll be praying for you, Cassie.” Mavis turned from the stove. “God says we can do all things through Him, who strengthens us.”

“Then I sure hope He makes my arm strong again too. Do you think winning a shooting contest is important to Him?”

“Good question. But somewhere in Psalms, I think, there’s a verse that says something along the line that whatever concerns us, concerns Him. I’ll have to find that again. That’s not it exactly. But He can use your shooting for His glory too. I’m not sure how, but He’ll find a way.”

Gretchen prompted, “Mor, read the letter from Jesse.”

“I will, after supper.”

“Since they are all over to Arnett’s, I suppose I better go milk.” Gretchen peered out the kitchen window. “Sun’s down behind the hill. ’Course it was nearly there when I got home.” She did not look at all excited by the prospect.

If Mavis noticed, she made no sign. “Take this bucket of scraps for the chickens. Oh, and check to make sure the stock tank didn’t freeze over again. I know Ransom took an ax to it this morning.”

With a dramatically heavy sigh, Gretchen did as her mother said, even to throwing a look of despair over her shoulder.

“I should learn to milk,” Cassie suggested.

“In due time. You’re learning new things every day.” Mavis fetched a slab of beef from the pantry.

Cassie frowned. “I thought we were having chicken and dumplings tonight.”

“We are. I’m cutting this beef up into three or four smaller pieces so that it cooks through better,” Mavis explained. “It’s the brisket, a pretty tough piece, so it will need extra cooking. I’ll let it simmer through the evening, and by tomorrow it should be nice and tender, ready to serve.”

Mavis was right, of course. Cassie just learned something else. When you have a tough piece of meat, cook it longer.

One thing Cassie now knew how to do was peel potatoes and scrape carrots. She busied herself preparing the vegetables for supper. Finally Gretchen returned. There seemed to be less milk in the pail than when Ransom milked.

Someone was knocking at the front door. Gretchen hustled out to answer. She called, “Come in! Mor! Chief’s here and Runs Like a Deer.” Gretchen herded them all into the kitchen.

Runs Like a Deer untied her headscarf and scrunched it together in her hands. “Micah and I thank you for the cookies.”

“You’re certainly welcome. Please sit! Have some gingerbread. I’m afraid it’s from yesterday, but I just put another pan to the oven. We’ll have fresh gingerbread soon.” Mavis set the plate in the middle of the table and settled down on a chair across from their guests. Leaning forward, her smile was as warm as a summer sun. “Now first, I am so glad to see you. Second, what can we do for you?”

Chief sat for a moment, apparently thinking what to say. “First, make sure I’m welcome. If not, please say and no hard feelings.”

“John. Cassie and I and the boys too have been praying that you were safe and that you would come back. We want you to consider this your home. You mean so much to Cassie and to us—you have ever since the beginning.”

He considered this a moment and nodded. “Thank you. That’s that one. Next, Micah says why don’t we use that slab siding up there to build a lean-to onto the cabin. Rock up a second chimney against the first. Depending on weather, we could have it done in a couple months. They have cabin, and I live in lean-to.”

Mavis was beaming, just beaming. And Cassie was sure she must be too. Chief was making plans to stay—just what she’d asked God for.

Cassie sat down beside Runs Like a Deer. “Chief, are you sure you’re going to be all right? You seem so tired.”

The corners of his mouth moved up a bit in an almost smile. “I’m good, Cassie. I’m good.”

He didn’t look good, but Cassie was not going to say that and contradict her old friend. His cheeks were pinched in, and he appeared almost gaunt, and his hair was thinner.

“No.” Mavis was saying no to Chief? “You are welcome here under any circumstance, John. We’ve made that clear, but I want you to know you are being cruel.”

His mouth dropped open. “Cruel?”

“You are loved. You know that. Love also means caring about. You are not well. You know it. We all can see it. And yet you are keeping secrets from the people who care about you most. That is cruel.”

He stared at her for long, long moments. His voice then was quiet, nearly a whisper. “Loved.” He nodded, paused again. “When I went back, I sought my son. He was gone, no one knew where. The elders, the old people, nearly all dead. No one knew me anymore. No one wanted me to be there, to eat their food. I got sick; no one cared. They said, ‘Go somewhere else.’ What they meant was, ‘Go off and die. We can’t feed you.’”

“That’s terrible!” Mavis looked aghast.

He shrugged. “That is how it is on reservation. If you are no use, you leave and go die. So I left. Come here. Still sick but not as much. Summer will be good.” Suddenly he pointed at Cassie’s arm. “Getting better?”

So that was all he would say. It was enough. Cassie said, “You saw when you were throwing birds for me. It still gets tired and trembly real fast, especially when I’m shooting high. I need a lot of practice to strengthen it, but with this weather it’s hard to get the time in.”

His head bobbed in a sort-of nod. Thoughtfully he stood up and went over to pick up the broom in the corner. He carefully eyed the hanging lamp over the table and moved well away, near the front room door. He held the broom as if it were a rifle, with the handle end to his shoulder and the broom-straw end out to where the muzzle would be.

He swung his makeshift rifle up and said, “Bang.” He lowered the “muzzle” to the ground, mimicked seeing the next bird high overhead to his left, and swung the broom up. “Bang.” He grasped a handful of the broom straw. “Put this heavy end out from you, more like a gun barrel, practice swinging anytime.” He almost smiled again. “Use less shells that way.”

Cassie laughed out loud. “Of course. What a great idea.”

But now boots were stomping on the porch. The furniture makers had returned.

Mavis hopped to her feet. “Oh good! Here are the boys. You two will stay for supper, I hope. Chicken and dumplings, and we turned out fresh bread this morning.” As the men entered, she grinned. “Very good! Here’s Micah too. Ransom, would you bring in more wood, please?”

So this was what a real home felt like. Cassie felt a sudden wash of joy. Friends and family gathered at the table, everyone . . . No, not quite everyone. She wondered about Lucas. Were he and Betsy doing all right? And how painful this must be for Mavis with her son absent from the family table. Being a family in a real home was far more complex than Cassie had ever imagined.

After supper, when everyone gathered around the fireplace for dessert and coffee, Mavis opened the letter from Jesse. Cassie knew this was her youngest son, and he was in college, hoping to one day become a doctor. That was all she knew. She had never seen a photograph. If Ransom, Lucas, and Gretchen had become like her own brothers and sister, this was Cassie’s other brother. What an odd thought.

The young man did write a nice letter and, as Cassie saw over Mavis’s shoulder, in a small, neat hand. He was sorry he wouldn’t be able to help with guests next summer. He thought it was a fine idea, but he was going to school right on through the summer. He was not happy with Lucas but happy for the union of the two ranches—he wrote fondly of his time spent as a boy at Hudsons’ and Arnetts’—and the furniture endeavors. He mentioned how good their father was at furniture building. He sounded just like the kind of man Mavis would have raised.

As soon as their guests-that-were-family left, Cassie hurried to her room with the broom to try Chief’s stratagem. She swung the “muzzle” high. Bang. Lowered it to the ground and then swung it high in another direction.

Over the next weeks, Cassie practiced in her room and out on the porch. When she very nearly broke a window on the porch, she went back to practicing in her room. Her arm still got overly tired, still began to tremble after a while, but the while stretched out longer and longer each day.

Chief set up targets for her, made suggestions, and sometimes just sat on the corral rail watching as she worked. He hammered three eight-penny nails halfway into a corral post, and she drove them home with three shots. It began to feel more and more like old times when Adam Lockwood had introduced his daughter to the audience and she’d drawn gasps and murmurs and oohs and aahs with her sharpshooting.

How she wished she could take Micah along to handle her guns. Then it would really be like old times. But she couldn’t possibly ask Mr. Porter to buy Micah’s ticket also, and she could not afford to bring him along with her own money. She did not have money; she owed money. She must win this shoot!

February 22 arrived long before Cassie felt she was truly ready. She packed what she needed in a carpetbag borrowed from Mavis, wrapped her guns, and nestled them in their bag. She was ready. Ransom bundled her and Mavis into the sleigh and drove off to the train station. Mavis and Cassie spent quite a bit of that travel time praying.

It was snowing lightly when Ransom tied their horse up behind the station. He offered his mother a hand, then Cassie. Even through their gloves she felt a jolt go up her arm. Rolling her lips together to stop the sensation, she sucked in a deep breath of icy air. What was going on? Unable to look him in the face lest he read her confusion, she muttered a thank-you as he lifted out her guns and carpetbag. When she reached for them, he shook his head, ignoring her confusion. Carrying her bags, he led the way to the platform.

“It’s all right,” Mavis whispered in her ear then tucked her arm through Cassie’s. Together they followed the man with the rigid back and the purposeful stride.

When Cassie walked out onto the long wooden platform, it felt like home. Many were the trains that had carried the show south and north again. She saw the engine’s puffs of smoke far beyond the trees, gray smoke against gray sky. Since the track curved away between the houses and through the surrounding woods, she could not see or hear the train. It wouldn’t be there for ten minutes yet, at least.

Ransom suddenly took her hand. “You’ll need this for meals and such.” He pressed a roll of something into her hand. A roll of what? She was afraid to look. It was money!

“Oh no! I can’t, really.” She stared from her hand into his face.

His jaw was set, the way it squared when he was arguing with Lucas. And always won. “You will. Really.”

“Please, Cassie,” Mavis added.

What could she say? “Thank you.” She slipped it into her reticule.

Of course, Ransom would be taciturn, but now not even Mavis had anything to say, it would seem. They stood about, waiting. Cassie shifted from one foot to the other. She tried breathing around the lump in her throat, and when she wet her lips, the cold reminded her of the folly of that.

The engine appeared from beyond the curve, huffing out extra steam as it slowed down approaching the station. It glistened black in the gentle snowfall. Cassie had forgotten how noisy an engine was and how massive. It thundered and loomed, monstrous, past the platform, rattled and screeched to a halt. A blast of steam roared out from under the wheels. Its bell clanged and a conductor in a black uniform swung down to the platform and placed an iron stepping stool in front of the door on the third car.

Josiah Porter came bouncing off the train with a lively step, beaming broadly and obviously delighted to see them. He swept off his top hat and executed a slight bow. “What a pleasure it is to see you all.”

Mavis looked just as happy. “Hello, Josiah! Have a safe journey. We’ll be praying for you all, that’s for sure.”

“Thank you, thank you. Here you are, Cassie.” Mr. Porter handed her a ticket.

“Thank you, Mr. Porter.”

Curious. In all her years of traveling on trains, she had never once seen a railway ticket. Always either her father or Jason Talbot took care of travel arrangements. She simply boarded the train with the rest of the troupe.

“Call me Josiah, please. We’re business colleagues here. Oh, and Ransom, Mavis, Lucas asked me to tell you both hello.”

Mavis gasped. “You know where Lucas is?”

“Why yes. He and Betsy work for me at the hotel. He does some handyman repairs now and then but mostly goes out hunting. He’s very good at providing elk for the restaurant. Brought in a bear recently too. Henri fumed at first until he tasted it with turnips and cauliflower in a mornay sauce. You have to special-order that dish. And Betsy works the front desk. She’s very good at welcoming people and keeping records straight. My former desk clerk couldn’t seem to do that consistently. I tell you, Mavis, it’s hard to get good help nowadays. Lovely girl, Betsy Engstrom.”

Betsy Engstrom. Not Cassie Engstrom. Cassie tried to digest that; her mind would not cooperate. Did she feel sad? She shut her mind on that, something to ponder later.

Mavis wrapped her in a warm hug. “Blessings, dear Cassie.” She stepped back.

“Blessings on you, Mavis.” The urge to flee back to the sleigh and the safety of the ranch nearly undid her.

Until Ransom pulled off a glove and extended his hand for a shake. “Shoot well.”

Shake hands with a woman? That was not done. Cautiously she accepted his hand. It was warm and firm. “Thank you. Blessings on you too.”

She reached down to pick up her bags, but Josiah scooped them up. She heard Ransom say, “Take good care of her, Josiah.”

Allowing the conductor to assist her, she started to ask where to go but heard instead Josiah’s instructions.

“About the middle, on the left.” He followed her to the car.

Then she took the extra-long step that carried her from Dakota’s good, solid earth onto the train that would bring her, eventually, to the city of St. Louis.

There sat Abigail Porter. She smiled brightly and scooted over to give Cassie room. A little potbelly stove at one end of the car was supposed to be keeping the car fairly warm, but the leather seat crackled with cold as she slid into it. “Cassie, I have not been to St. Louis for ages. This is going to be great fun!”

Josiah gave Cassie’s carpetbag an extra little shove into the overhead rack and settled himself across from her. She so wanted to ask about Lucas and Betsy, wanted to know everything about them since they’d eloped, but she kept her questions to herself. As the train pulled out of the station, she ordered herself to stop her woolgathering and attend to her hosts. After all, traveling like this was nothing new, and she had plenty to look forward to. Now if only she could convince her middle.

The Porters picked the subjects of conversation—well, usually Josiah did—often as questions, and she responded. But she longed to know how Lucas and Betsy were really doing and if Lucas harbored any regrets.

Abigail asked, “Have you been to St. Louis before?”

Cassie smiled. “Yes and no. Yes, the show played there several times. No, I only saw the street between the railway station and the field where we set up. That was all. I never actually saw the city.”

“Ah!” Josiah looked pleased. “Then I believe you will enjoy walking along the riverfront. A great deal of interesting barge traffic goes up and down out of St. Louis. You can stand on the very spot where Lewis and Clark stood more than a hundred years ago. Amazing how far this country has come since then, the West especially.”

During the rest of the long journey, Cassie learned a great deal about politics and the opening of the American West that she really had never thought about, nor did she care to. But Josiah’s political monologues filled the hours, and she could listen with half an ear while she enjoyed watching the lovely scenery pass. So many farms. Homes. Each of them was home to someone, just as the ranch was home to the Engstroms. Would that ever truly be Cassie’s home?

She did, however, learn some useful things as well, particularly about the business end of shooting matches. One thing, for instance, was that she would have to place at least third in the contest in order to meet expenses.

When they finally reached St. Louis after two long days on the train, she was given another nice surprise. Josiah and his wife took a room at the hotel and provided Cassie with a room of her own. She had never had a room of her own in a hotel before, and she thanked Josiah profusely. It would feel wonderful to sleep in a bed tonight. It had been all but impossible to get comfortable on the train seat last night. Of course, now if she failed to win the shoot, she would owe him more money than ever. She put that thought aside and simply enjoyed for the moment the lovely room and feeling grand.

That night, as she was returning from the bathroom, she saw the housekeeper’s closet standing open, with a broom right by the door. Feeling only a little twinge of guilt, she borrowed the broom and practiced in her room for several hours. Swing up, bang, lower the gun to the floor, swing up, bang, point to the floor, swing up, bang . . . She put the broom back and practiced the same movement for a while with her unloaded shotgun, which was much heavier than the broom. Her arm was still not what it once was, but she was pretty certain that it would hold up for the shoot. The boost of confidence that flowed through her felt welcome indeed. Thank you, Lord, seemed the only possible response.

The first morning of the meet, they ate a hearty breakfast in the hotel dining room. Josiah sure had a lot to say about how the quality of this meal compared with what his Henri prepared. As they were leaving, Cassie glanced toward the tall, well-draped windows. Wait; that man with the graying beard, sitting at breakfast by the window—he certainly looked like Jason Talbot. She sucked in a calming breath. No, it couldn’t be. This fellow was heavier, older, more worn-out looking than she remembered Jason to be. Then Josiah was ushering her out the door into a hansom. They were on their way to the match.

When the actual moment of the shoot arrived, she expected butterflies to be fighting to get out of her clenched stomach. They did not. Why was she not more nervous as she stepped forward to be introduced, the only young woman in the meet? She ought to be terrified. This was a shoot of national ranking with experienced participants from all over, like she used to participate in, not just a local contest in Hill City. She would take her sense of calm as an effect of Mavis’s prayer. For surely Mavis was praying this very minute.

Beaming like a new father, Mr. Porter served as her assistant and only made two minor mistakes. How he loved being near the center of attention, if not in it. Ty Fuller and George Sands, who had placed one and two in that shoot of Josiah’s, survived the first day, as did Cassie. Nine fellows dropped out, already too far back to place.

The second day of the shoot dawned cloudy and windy, but not windy enough to affect shooting. Cassie did not see the Jason Talbot look-alike in the dining room. She noted that Josiah ate heartily in spite of his opinion that this cuisine was not the equal of Henri’s.

As typical of a two-day shoot, the audience today was much larger than yesterday’s, and noisier too. Cassie felt herself blooming under their attention, just as she used to. Her father had always said their job as entertainers was to give the audience a good show. She breathed in a calming breath and let herself respond to their clapping and cheering for every good shot.

Many of the contestants remaining were effectively eliminated in the first round. Cassie was still standing, with a perfect score. Tyrone Fuller and George Sands, also with perfect scores, stood beside her. Ty Fuller was the person who had written to tell her of this contest. He turned and beamed at her, as if he were responsible for her being there.

Well, he was. As they prepared for round two, she stepped over to him. “Mr. Fuller, thank you for letting me know about this shoot. We deeply appreciate it.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s my pleasure. You’re a joy to shoot against; you always do your best, and you’re very, very good, but you’re never nasty. You’d be surprised how many of these fellows have a mean streak. You’re a fine challenger but a real lady. We need more women in the sport. You remind me of Annie Oakley.”

“That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” She didn’t have time to mention Annie Oakley had always been her hero.

All but five fell away by the end of the second round. Cassie, Mr. Fuller, and Mr. Sands were three of those five. So far she had not missed, including the overhead shooting.

This was it. These people would rank first, second, third, fourth, and fifth. Only the first three would walk away with prize money.

She didn’t miss any of the stationary targets. In fact, they were easier to see than her practice targets, because there was no glare from fresh snow. The other four contestants also shot perfect scores. She didn’t miss any of the distance targets and scored perfectly on the pendulum targets. Only Ty Fuller equaled that. George Sands missed one and the others missed two each. Now Cassie and Mr. Fuller would have to fail in the overhead shooting to give those two any chance to place.

This was not a shoot where someone tossed wood chips in the air. They released live pigeons, five for each contestant. Cassie was slightly better shooting right-handed, so she took the first three left-handed to save her arm. They tumbled from the sky one by one, with spectators clapping for her with each good shot. She switched to her right hand and fired on the fourth pigeon. It dropped, as gray feathers floated down behind it. Please, Lord, one more. The fifth pigeon fluttered into the air with the tiny whish-whish sound that flying pigeons make. She fired. Missed. Quickly fired again. The pigeon dropped. The audience applauded.

Mr. Fuller stepped forward. One. Two. Three. Four. So far he and Cassie were tied. His fifth pigeon flew up and he took it with his first shot. The audience applauded.

Cassie was now second.

The remaining contestants shot, but Cassie did not pay attention to who placed third. The shoot was over, the noisy audience standing up and milling around.

She had not won. Again.

“You did it! Wonderful!” Josiah seized her shoulders, swung her about to face him, and squeezed.

“Josiah, no! I placed second.”

“Cassie, second place pays more money than expenses. We made a profit—you made us a profit.”

“But meals, and the hotel room and train—”

“Paid for and more besides. Congratulations, young lady!”

Ty Fuller seized her hand as if she were a man. “Great shoot, Miss Lockwood! Congratulations.”

And now here was Mr. Sands pumping her hand and offering her the best, as if she were an equal. The others congratulated her and Mr. Fuller. All right. Maybe she did do well.

Next time, though, she would place first. No matter what it took, she would be first. Please, God, let it be so.