18

South Dakota

Let’s head out after we eat.”

Chief went for the team while Cassie tied his horse to a wagon wheel.

“Micah is with the cattle?” she asked Runs Like a Deer, who was stirring something that smelled good at the campfire.

She nodded and pointed to the steaming kettle. “Rabbit and wild turnip.”

“What is wild turnip?”

“A root good for eating.”

“Like potatoes?”

The Indian woman nodded and raised another plant. “Wild onion.”

Cassie grinned at her. Sounded like they’d be eating better with Runs Like a Deer in charge.

That evening around the campfire, she told them all that had happened in town. “The people there were very nice to me—not what I thought it would be.”

Micah flicked the prairie chicken bone he was gnawing on over to Othello. The other dog was sitting beside Othello, watching for his turn. He had come out from under the wagon when Runs Like a Deer came out. Now she hobbled around with her crutch under one arm, keeping the splinted leg off the ground. And taking care of the cooking.

“You got some money back?”

“Sixty dollars. I was going to cash the fifty at the bank, but then I decided I can do that in Belle Fourche. How many days until we get there?”

“Tomorrow night, if we press hard.”

Cassie stared into the fire. Flames of red, white, and gold devoured the wood. Two spits of prairie chicken were still roasting on the rim of the fire pit, sending a mouthwatering fragrance to tease her nose. For a change she knew she could have more, but she was full. Memories of the fresh-baked pie made her close her eyes. Was there any chance that someday she could make a pie like that?

And what about Sheriff Timmons? Might she see him again sometime?

The next evening as they neared Belle Fourche, the road grew rutted from wagons hauling supplies into town and all the normal traffic of a town. Chief located a place for them to camp on the banks of a creek, and the morning after they set up, Cassie mounted Wind Dancer.

“I’m going to see what kind of place this is and maybe pick up some supplies.”

“Big changes since I was here,” Chief said.

“When was that?”

“When your father bought that valley.”

Cassie studied the man. She had no idea how old he was, and he’d never talked about his people. It was like he stepped from behind a curtain and never looked back. “I found the deed in with a drawer full of papers.”

“Good.”

“Chief, are there some things I need to know that you’re not telling me?” She watched him shrug and then his face turned inscrutable. One of these days she had to get him talking. “Anything else, anybody?” she asked Micah and Runs Like a Deer.

The three shook their heads, so she rode out of camp and down the road toward Belle Fourche. She knew they had supplies enough for at least a few more days. Cassie was constantly amazed at the way Runs Like a Deer was stretching things. They didn’t need anything so desperately that they couldn’t do without it. Other than news.

She didn’t want to mention anything to Chief, but she was afraid to trust his memory to get them straight to the valley. After all, it had been many years since he’d been there. With the weather getting colder by the day, she didn’t want to waste any time. Hopefully there would be a gathering place that was not a saloon. She rode into town looking for the general store first. If she couldn’t find anyone else to ask about the valley, she would look for the sheriff.

What about a pastor? Surely there was a church. She could feel folks studying her as they walked along the sides of the street. Wind Dancer always caught people’s attention. She noticed two women who looked safe to ask. She rode up to them and stopped.

“Could you please tell me where the local church is?”

The younger one smiled at her. “You go two more blocks, turn right, and you’ll see it. What a gorgeous horse you have.”

“Thank you. His name is Wind Dancer.” Cassie caught the frown levered her way by the older woman. What was wrong? Her pants were causing consternation—that’s what. Of course. “Thanks for the information.” She turned her horse and headed up the street. She’d worn pants for so long, she’d forgotten how those outside the show might view them.

The church wore the traditional white paint and sported a steeple with a bell in it and a cross on top. A hitching post off to the side of the front entry invited her to tie up her horse.

Dismounting, she stood looking around. Houses bordered a grassy elm-tree-studded area that seemed to belong to the church. She took the three steps and opened the door. The dim interior made her blink after the sunshine.

“Anyone here?”

“I’m back here. Come on in.” The voice echoed from behind the altar, so she followed the side aisle and approached a door that opened as she reached it. The man standing in the doorway wore a smile as big as all outdoors, and his eyes matched in their warmth. “Come in, come in.” He motioned her to join him and closed the door again. “Need to keep the heat in here or it would be too cold to work. My name is Reverend Obediah Hornsmith. And you are?”

“Cassie Lockwood.”

“And what brings you to our fair town?” He moved to the small round stove, with a steaming pot of coffee on the top. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Cassie took the seat he pointed her to and gazed around the room, admiring all the bookshelves and the desk. It bore the look of a pastor’s study, according to the books she’d read. “What a comfortable place.”

“Ah, my dear, thank you. I can already tell we are going to get on famously. I do hope you are moving here.” He handed her a steaming cup and held out a plate of cookies. “My wife made these fresh this morning. Oh, have more than one. You wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“Thank you.” Cassie sat back in her chair. Coffee, fresh cookies, a warm welcome. What a haven within these walls. “I’ve never been in a place quite like this.”

“Oh, really?” He set his refilled cup on the desk and leaned against the wooden top, dislodging some papers as he made himself comfortable. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I can always pick up papers, but I can’t always entertain a stranger to town. How did you hear about us?”

“I stopped to ask two ladies who were walking toward the store. The younger one was nice and friendly and told me the way. The older one glared and sniffed.”

“Why, what a pity. I apologize for her rude behavior.”

“I think she didn’t like that I’m wearing pants and was riding astride.”

“Mercy. Now, how can I help you?”

“I am heading for a valley that is south of Rapid City and east of Hill City. By a little town called Argus. At least when my father was there, it was not much of a settlement. Perhaps it grew. I don’t know.”

“So you’ve never been there?”

“No.”

“I hate to be nosy, but what is there that draws you?”

She smiled at him, enjoying the way he put words together. Taking another bite of cookie, she closed her eyes in delight. “Please tell your wife that these cookies are the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Ah, these are her famous sour cream lemon cookies. She’ll be pleased.” He picked up his coffee cup and came over to sit in a chair that he pulled around to face hers. “There. Now we can chat in comfort. More coffee?”

She shook her head and, totally to her own surprise, told him the whole story, or at least what she knew of it.

“So you are indeed the famous Cassie Lockwood? I remember attending a Wild West show in Fargo a few years ago. An act there had a mother and father with their darling little girl on a pony. That had to have been you.”

“Most likely. I don’t know of any other show that had a headline act like that.”

“And your mother and father have both since died?”

“Yes. And now the show is no more.” Cassie sniffed. What was there about this man that made her want to tell him everything? “And then a couple nights ago we were robbed, all because I was so foolish as to take my roll of cash into a store and . . .” She sniffed again and was afraid she was about to cry. She couldn’t believe it. Wiping under her eyes with her fingertips, she said, “What is the matter with me?”

“I’d say you are a young woman who has been thrown out of the life she knew and into one she has no idea how to manage. All the training she knows is no longer relevant.”

“All I can think is that I want my mother. And my father, and they can’t come back.”

“No, they can’t.”

Cassie huddled into the comfort of the chair and then took the proffered handkerchief and wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and wiped her eyes again. “I’ve never missed them as much as right now.” Her whisper fell gently in the silence. A piece of wood fell in the stove, snapping and popping.

“You do know that you are being held safe in God’s mighty hands.”

“I guess so. Mor always said that.”

“I remember meeting your father after the show. He asked me what I planned to do with my life. I was a young man in search of a dream. He said something to me I’ve never forgotten: ‘Never let your dreams die.’ ”

Cassie nodded. “He said that a lot. That is why I’m on my way to find his valley of dreams.”

“How can I help you?”

“Just tell me how to get there, at least to Rapid City. The Indian chief I’m traveling with says he knows how to get there, but I want to make sure we’re taking the most direct route possible.”

“That I can do. I can also invite you to come home with me for dinner, and we will put together a basket for you to take to your people. Now, I don’t know about Argus, but I have a pastor friend in Hill City, and he will be a help for you. I’ll write him a letter and mail it in the hopes it gets there before you do. I’ll send a note with you also, just in case. There is a fine group of Norwegians in Rapid City, and I’m sure they would be pleased to help you too.”

Cassie shook her head. “I had no idea when I rode in here that—”

“That God would provide?”

“I guess so. I thought some general instructions would be sufficient.”

“Glad to be of service. Let’s go to my house, and I’ll write those letters while Mrs. Hornsmith can have a chance to help you in her ways.” He banked the stove and closed the lid on the tin of cookies. “Shame you didn’t bring the others along. They might have enjoyed a good home-cooked meal for a change too.”

Cassie preceded him out the door and through a side door to step out into the sunshine.

Why did it feel like a huge load had been lifted from her shoulders? Could it be that the worst of their trip was over?

The map in her pocket made Cassie feel far more confident about the rest of the trip. She signaled Wind Dancer to settle into his rocking-chair lope as they returned to the camp outside of Belle Fourche. Runs Like a Deer looked up from the rock she was sitting on with her splinted leg straight out in front of her and nodded a greeting.

“Where are the others?”

“Grazing cattle and horses.”

“Good.” Cassie dismounted and untied the basket Mrs. Hornsmith had sent with her. “I brought supper.” She set the basket on a rock and took Wind Dancer to the wagon to strip off the tack. After finding him a patch of grass, she hobbled his front legs and left him to graze. Pastor Hornsmith had fed him a scoop of oats and hay back in town. What a good man, she thought, continuing her train of thought from the ride home. Both he and his wife, so friendly and caring. She patted her pocket, where not only the map resided but a letter to a pastor in Hill City and another to one in Rapid City. Back in camp she decided to go through more of the drawers and cupboards in the wagon, this time with a bucket of soapy water to clean as she went.

“What are you working on?” she asked Runs Like a Deer.

“Mittens for winter.” She held up the rabbit skins Chief had been tanning. “Cold in Paha Sape, Lakota name for the Black Hills.”

“Did you used to live there?”

She shook her head. “No, from Rosebud tribe south of here. Cold there too in winter.”

“Do you want to go back?”

Another shake of her head.

Cassie wished she could get the woman talking about her past. She’d heard her and Chief talking in their language and wanted someone to translate, but they didn’t offer and she didn’t ask. Having someone to talk with was such a delight today. She’d not realized how much she missed the other performers from the show and their conversations when they would sit around after a meal and share stories of their lives. Sometimes on the trains they talked far into the night. Her father had been one of the better storytellers. While he had talked about his valley of dreams, he’d not talked a lot about his life before the Wild West Show, other than his childhood, touring, and then meeting his Norwegian princess. Her mother wasn’t really a princess, but she was of the royal family. She had told stories of growing up in Norway and her love of riding as a girl.

She made Cassie dream of mountains, so when the show train traveled through the Rocky Mountains, both mother and daughter were always at the windows, enjoying the wonder of it all.

Thoughts of her mother made her throat clench. How her life would have been different had her mother lived was something she dreamed about at times. But it did no good. And her father. Here she was on her way to his valley, the special place he had never been able to return to.

Instead of climbing into the wagon, she detoured around it and wandered out to where Wind Dancer was grazing. Her father had found this horse for her and helped her train him. To be honest, he had trained both her and the horse together, which was why they seemed able to read each other’s minds. She leaned against the black-and-white shoulder and let the tears flow.

Wind Dancer turned his head and snuffled her shoulder, holding her in a curve of comfort. When the tears finally dried up, she wiped her eyes and rubbed his ears, scratching down his cheek and under his mane. Heaving a sigh, she wandered over to the creek that chattered over rocks and sparkled in the sun that was beginning to head down in the west. What a pretty place to camp. It was a shame they would be pushing on in the morning. But now that she was confident they were heading the right way, she realized she was anxious to get on the road again.

Get back to work, she ordered herself. So she turned around and headed back to the wagon, mounting the steps and deciding which doors and drawers to start opening. She went back outside to pour some of the steaming water into a bucket and shave some of the precious soap bar into the hot water. She dug a rag out of the dwindling hoard and started with the cupboards at the front of the wagon. Some were empty, which made her wonder about Jason. It seemed that he had only slept there and had not really lived in the wagon, as she and her family had.

The next row down, she found more papers, a stack of aged white shirts, several ledgers, including ones that bore her father’s handwriting, and a stash of contracts. In one packet she found two twenty-dollar bills. Thank you, Lord. They could buy supplies. In another, more money, but when she looked at it, she almost laughed. Confederate money was not worth the paper it was printed on.

When she had to light the lamp to see into the cupboards, she finished up the row she was on. She’d do the drawers another time. Eyeing the piles of paper work, she wished she could just take it all out to the fire and watch it go up in smoke. But what if she found something else of value?

A knock at the door and Chief announced that supper was ready.

“Thank you.” She pulled out a drawer that she knew to be empty and shoved the stacks into it. Now she had two drawers of more stuff to sort through. But finding cash certainly was worth her time. She closed the door behind her and joined the others at the campfire.

A rabbit carcass was sizzling over the fire, and the soup Mrs. Hornsmith had sent was steaming in a kettle. The loaf of bread was on the rock that was their table, waiting to be sliced.

“You cut it.” Chief nodded to the loaf.

Cassie picked up the loaf of bread and inhaled the yeasty fragrance. Nothing smelled as good as fresh bread. She took up the long-bladed knife and sawed off the heel, then three more slices. Bread was worth savoring and saving for the next meal. Wrapping the loaf back up in the towel, she returned it to the basket and opened the jar of preserves.

“Do you all want jam on your bread?” At their nods, she spread jam on each slice and handed them around. She then dished up bowls of soup and sat down to eat. While the others wolfed their bread, Cassie nibbled at hers, savoring every bite. Chief broke the rabbit into pieces, and they devoured that too. All those years she had taken meals for granted. Food, good food, just appeared at the right times. Her only duty was to go to the dining tent, dish up her plate, sit down, and eat. Thinking back, she could not remember a single meal that her mother had cooked. They always ate with all the other performers and crew, just like a huge family.

No wonder she was lonely now.

And they would all still be there if Jason had done a decent job of keeping the show going. Anger flickered like a flame and caught hold to burn underneath her awareness. It was a good thing Jason was gone, probably never to be seen by them again. Did the others feel the same way she did? Or had they gone on to work for other shows? Most of them were most likely having a hard time too, since most Wild West shows shut down until spring. Lockwood and Talbot had continued through the winter by moving south to the warmer climates.

“More soup?” Micah asked.

“Yes, of course.” She picked up the ladle and refilled his bowl. “Anyone else?” As the kettle emptied, she dug into the basket to bring out half a gingerbread cake, which she split in four and handed out. She decided to save the pickles for another meal, along with the cookies and the hunk of cheese. Tomorrow they could have the leftovers. Thank you, Mrs. Hornsmith.