| |
After a hard winter, with more snow than anyone but Tommy remembered, spring came early and brought with it an incessant rain. As the snow in the high mountains melted, the river rose and overflowed its banks. White’s Station became a morass of mud even before its streets filled with water. Doc Barber and his sister Jane sought refuge with the Donovans, and they were only the first of those fleeing low ground. The doctor and Tommy braved the weather to visit the Navajo encampment and returned, soaked to the skin and shivering, with a load of bad news.
“Some o’ them renegades are back,” Tommy said in disgust, holding his hands out to the warmth of the kitchen fire. “Tribe won't turn ’em out in this weather.”
“That’s not the worst of it.” Barber took the coffee Molly offered with a nod of thanks. “They’ve taken to the caves, and I’m worried about the old ones and that boy, Blue Deer. There’s six or seven little ones, too. None of them are strong enough to fight off infection—influenza could wipe out the whole tribe. Not to mention cholera.”
“I talked t’ the elders, tried t’ explain the danger.” Tommy rubbed both hands over his face. “Runnin’ Wolf is willin’ to listen, even if some o’ the others ain’t. But we gotta show ’im a solid plan. They won't even talk about being broke up—they wanna stay together.”
“How many would you say they number?” John Patrick asked.
“Mebbe fifty, countin’ the kids.”
The old man lit his pipe and puffed in silence for a few minutes.
“We’ve six bunkhouses with eight bunks in each.” He waved a hand to cut off any protests, fully aware of the logistical problems. “Right now Flaherty has one with his family. We can double up here to make room for them.
“Geordie and Suzette have the foreman’s cabin. They can share Frank and Patricia’s rooms, if you and Alec take that. That leaves us with the Callendars and the ranchhands.” The widow Daisy Callendar had a grown son and four younger daughters who were lodged in another of the empty bunkhouses, while the half-dozen permanent hands shared a third. John Patrick’s frown deepened. They could make it work, he was sure, but he couldn’t quite see his way through to it. “Jake, go get your brother Daniel.”
They came downstairs moments later with Frank and Patricia, Daniel with pencil and paper in hand. Before he had a chance to sit, John Patrick had a question for him.
“Have Evelyn and Lowell any extra rooms?”
“No, sir. In addition to Owen and Annie and Carolyn, they’ve got the Entwerps and the new Chinese family. Oh, and the Santiagos. Benson’s got the Taylors, Rileys and Thatchers, all the single ranchers and farmhands from over that way, plus his cowboys. Everybody else from town is out at Cordell’s or on Miller’s farm.”
“What about the new man—the one who bought the Wilson place?”
Daniel shrugged, but Tommy answered, “Said ’e was goin’ down t’ Tuba City. Heard it wasn’ so bad there.”
“Well, let’s hope not.” John Patrick clapped his hands together. “So, how do we do this?”
It took Daniel a few moments to reply. He’d drawn boxes on the paper while he talked, and began to scribble names in each. He examined his work, then looked up at Molly. “Your room’s the biggest, Mother. I think it can work if we put Daisy and Moira and all the young ones in there.”
“Of course.”
“You and Dad could take the guest room. Then we split the rest up by gender. Men in Jake’s room and the front parlor. Women in Irene’s room, and in Frank and Patricia’s rooms. We’ll keep the back parlor open in case anyone gets sick. Plus it’s the only way to the bathroom. That leaves the dining room for the hands.”
“Wait a minnit,” Tommy said. “Why don’t ya put the hands in the foreman’s cabin? Me an’ Alec can bunk with the tribe. They might be more comf’table with us right there. The li’l ones won't need their own bunks—they can double up or sleep with their Mas.”
Daniel could see the relief on his mother’s face. She wouldn’t have objected, but to have men camped out in her dining room was the last thing she’d wish for. “OK? Then we’re set. Tommy, I guess we’ve got to go talk the tribe into moving.”
***
HAVING SETTLED THE Navajo into the bunkhouses, the Donovans fell into a new routine. A breakfast of ham and biscuits was served in the kitchen in three shifts. At noon, a platter of beef sandwiches appeared and everyone helped themselves whenever they were hungry.
Dinner was served at 6 o’clock, with kids in the kitchen, adults and babies in the dining room. Supplies might have become a problem, but everyone had brought their food stocks with them, including so many canned goods that some had to be stored on the back porch.
The logistics of dinner preparation were determined by Molly, who acted as overseer and assigned teams of four women on a rotating basis. As the days went on, Irene’s temper began to fray, and when old Mrs. Johnson again criticized her potato peeling, Irene threw down her paring knife and stormed from the kitchen, the swinging door crashing after her.
After a few moments in which all the women silently concentrated on their own tasks, Annie whispered to Molly, got a nod in return, and followed Irene out. The sound of sobbing led her to the small parlor behind the stairs, where Irene lay on her grandmother’s velvet couch. Sitting beside her, Annie waited for the storm to pass, then asked, “Are you really this upset about some potatoes?”
“Oh, Annie, it’s not just that!” Irene sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Mrs. Milligan’s in my room—she thinks she might be having a baby and she threw up all over my new boots.”
“I’ll help you clean them up after we eat.”
“Violet already did.” Violet was one of Irene’s school chums—a girl with a shy smile and eyes that matched her name. “But it still smells bad. Then Vi went out to the barn to tell Mr. Milligan to come in, and now there’s mud all over my rug. All my things are getting ruined!”
The weeping began again. Annie put an arm around Irene’s shoulders and stifled the urge to criticize.
With her temper once more under control, Annie asked, “Have you thought about what’s happening to Mrs. Milligan’s things?”
“What? No. Why?”
“Their ranch is downhill from the river, isn’t it? It’s going to be full of water and mud. They could lose all their livestock. Even if Mrs. Milligan is pregnant, she’s going to have to share the clean-up with her husband.” Irene tried to interrupt, but Annie went smoothly on. “Violet’s going home to a farmhouse south of the river. Her mother has rheumatism, and her brother and sister are too small to help very much. So Violet and her father will have to do most of the work.
“And Mrs. Johnson lives alone in town. She’s probably worried that the water’s going to soak everything she owns, and she’s going to have to ask for help. And you know how much she hates to ask for anything, don’t you?”
“Oh.” After a long silence, Irene added, “I guess I’m being a baby.”
“Just a little bit.” Annie smiled at her, all vestige of temper gone. “When times are hard, everyone suffers. It’s something to think about.”
Irene stood and smoothed down her skirts, tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “I’m going to go apologize to Mrs. Johnson.”
“That’s a good idea. Then we’ll finish the potatoes together, OK?”
“Yeah. I wonder if she’ll like your way of peeling.”