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Pipe in hand, John Patrick gazed out at the field he called “the north pasture”, though it lay east of the ranchhouse and had never been used for grazing. It was filled with dead stalks a foot or more high, many of them flattened by the rain. A few tiny buttercups had pushed their heads up through the detritus and shimmied in the breeze.
Donovan had added this parcel to his claim to prevent white people from bothering the Navajo tribe. It wasn’t just the missionaries—the merchant at the Trading Post had at one time decided to offer “summer tours” of the Navajo village to newcomers and visitors to the town. When violence threatened, John Patrick had interceded and offered the chief and his council a percentage of his yearly harvest for this five-acre plot. Now anyone approaching the encampment had to trespass on Donovan land first. Few indeed were those willing to risk the old man’s wrath.
John Patrick had learned a valuable lesson through that deal. The concept of land ownership was unknown to the Navajo—the elders agreed to leave the land unoccupied in return for Donovan’s promise to aid them in harsh winters. They wanted beef and produce—enough to see them through to spring. The first year, he’d offered several wagonloads of food, but the tribe took only what they needed and refused to take more. Or less. On one occasion, this had placed a hardship on the family, but John Patrick had held firm. They’d live up to their bargain and tighten their own belts accordingly.
The old man considered the land’s features again as the woodsman stood at his side. The wide bench on which they stood was level, but the field sloped down toward Geordie’s claim and the river in front of him, and up to the foothills behind. A small brook gurgled to his left.
“You’ve spoken to the tribe about this?”
“Of course,” Daniel replied. “Explained exactly what I want to do. As long as they have a right-of-way through to town, they’re fine with it.”
“I’ll give you the deed, lad, though why you’d be wanting this piece of land is beyond me. You’ll not be raising anything of value in that soil.”
With a short laugh and a gesture at his clothing, the woodsman asked, “Do I look like a farmer all of a sudden? I’m not planning to raise anything, Dad, except a cabin. And maybe some kids.”
“Hmmm. Well, the deed is yours. A wedding gift. And you’ll not be telling me no.” John Patrick looked into the dark blue eyes of his fourth son, and saw their edges crinkle.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And the book is yours, too,” the elder Donovan asserted, filling his pipe. “Maybe those kids you’re considering will be needing it.”
“Dad...”
Silence followed, as John Patrick lit his pipe and took a few deep puffs. He’d offered his son a passbook earlier in the day, representing the wages he felt Daniel had earned from the age of eighteen. The woodsman had handed it back with a smile.
“I appreciate it, Dad, but I really don’t need it.”
“It’s not a matter of need, boy-o. You’ve earned it.”
“How? By being part of the family? By hunting in the winter and slacking off in the summer? No, Dad. I’ve done maybe three months’ worth of real work around here every year. The rest of the time, I’ve lived my life the way I wanted to. I’ve got plenty of money in the bank from the mustangs I sold, and from hunting for the folks in town. I haven’t earned that money and I really don’t need it.”
John Patrick understood his son’s reluctance to take the money. The woodsman wouldn't take what he didn’t need—not from nature, not from his family. Not from anyone. But the land he wanted was worth only a few hundred dollars and the wages, his father still felt, had been earned.
“If you don’t want it now, I’ll be holding it for you. Maybe your Annie will know what to do with it.”
“And if she says no?”
“Then we leave it in the bank until the need is there.” John Patrick clapped his hands, indicating the subject was closed. His son knew better than to argue. “What else are you needing, lad? Aside from a worthless meadow?”
Daniel laughed once more. A worthless meadow, indeed.
“Just a little help when the time comes to build. But I’ve got to get Annie to name the date first.”
***
REBECCA INVITED THE family to Rocking Chair Ranch to celebrate Adam and Jesse’s second anniversary. It was a warm, sunny spring day, and Daniel could tell Annie was excited—her hands were constantly twisting in her lap as they rode along in her father’s buggy.
“What’s up, aroon?”
“Jesse’s pregnant.”
“You’re sure?”
Her only answer was to cock her head.
“Of course you’re sure.” He put his arm around her, gave her forehead a loud kiss. “Silly me for asking!”
The moment they arrived at the cabin, Annie jumped from the buggy and caught Jesse in a tender embrace. “Oh, I’m so happy for you!” She stepped back, caught Jesse’s hand, brushed the tawny hair away from her face and, in a voice of utter certainty, said, “Don’t worry, caraid. Everything will be fine.”
Jesse was in her arms again and Adam was holding them both. Daniel joined them, wrapping his arms around their shoulders, his face full of joy.
As Brian came out of the cabin, his twin held a hand out to him. He joined them, his great arms around the waists of his brothers, the women sheltered within the circle of their embrace. There was joy here and he felt it on his cheeks. He cleared his throat with difficulty.
“Why’m I cryin’?” he demanded in a voice as gruff as Daniel’s.
They laughed up at him, and Annie answered, “She’s having a baby.”
“Oh, Lord,” said Brian. “Lord love us all.” He took Jesse’s hand between his two great paws. “That’s the best news I ever heard.” In the next moment, he had them all locked in his arms again. “Lord, love us all.”