McShannon's Kin, Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

My sleep on the ship and on the train had been, as often as not, disturbed by dreams of what I had left behind me, but no dark shadows haunted my first night in Aunt Beth’s spare room. I slept later than I was accustomed to, and when I ventured out of my room only Aunt was in the house. She had set up her easel by the front window, created a still life from the bread, butter and knife on the table and was capturing it on paper with quick strokes. She put her brush down when she saw me.

“Sit down and have some breakfast, Sidonie. Everyone else has eaten. Trey and the boys are out in the barn and Chelle and Abby are pulling carrots for dinner. Did you sleep well?”

In the morning light I noticed a few strands of gray in her hair and the beginnings of laugh lines around her eyes as she smiled. The small changes were there, but she wore her forty years well. I sat at the table and buttered a slice of fresh bread. The aroma of its baking still filled the room.

“I must have. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve risen so late.”

“Well, you must have been tired. There’s coffee on the stove. Help yourself, but I’ll warn you, Trey made it and he likes it strong enough to stand up by itself. There’s plenty of cream.”

I poured myself a cup and as I added cream an image flashed into my mind, Trevor’s long fingers holding a teaspoon, swirling it gently, his other faultlessly manicured hand over mine on the tea table… I dropped the spoon on the table and closed my eyes for a moment.

“Sidonie…is something wrong?”

I blinked up at Aunt and gulped some coffee. She was right, it needed every bit of cream I’d added and could do with some sugar too
.
“Nay, nothing.” She was watching me sharply, but Matt, Ethan and Uncle luckily chose that moment to appear. Ethan pulled up a chair beside me.

“Morning, Sidonie. Abby and me –”

“Abby and I,” Aunt corrected automatically.

“Yeah, Abby and I were saying at breakfast that we’d take you for a ride this morning if you’d like to see the place. You do know how to ride, don’t you?”

“Aye, I do, but we’ve no Thoroughbreds on our farm at home, Ethan. I’ll take you up on your offer if you’ll choose me a horse that will go at my speed, not his own.”

“Sure.” Ethan flashed his father a grin. “Dad, can I take Dancer?”

Uncle poured himself some coffee and fixed a stern eye on the lad. “No, you can not.”

Ethan scowled. “You let Matt take him out last week. He’s no better a rider than I am.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I’m three years older than you and strong enough to handle him. Dancer’s as much of a handful as Cloud ever was, and then some.”

“But – ”

Uncle gave Ethan another look over the rim of his coffee cup. “I said no. Sidonie, are you used to riding astride?”

“Nay, I’m used to a side saddle.”

“Well, just go carefully until you get used to it. Ethan, you and Abby take your own horses and saddle Diamond for Sidonie. And keep to a civilized pace, you hear?”

Ethan obviously knew better than to argue. When Abby came in and I’d finished my coffee I borrowed a divided skirt from Aunt Beth and we set off, following the wagon road that ran past Uncle’s place, heading east over summer-dry rolling country until we came to the rim of a shallow river valley where a good-sized herd of cattle was pastured.

Abby pulled her horse to a stop and pointed. “The Reeves’ place is over on the other side of the river. Ben and Sarah – Mr. and Mrs. Reeves – are good friends of Mother’s and Dad’s, and Alice is my best friend. They bought the place from the Kinsleys when they moved into town three years ago.” I had no memory of Logan and Maddy Kinsley, but Uncle had mentioned them in his letters. They would be getting on in years now. Ben Reeves, I knew, was the son of another good friend of the family.

As I looked down at the river, a slender cairn of stones caught my eye. It stood beside a grove of aspens upstream from where we were.

“What’s that, Ethan?”

“Oh, that’s Flying Cloud’s marker. When he died Dad said he deserved a warrior’s send-off. They went through the War Between the States together. We brought Cloud here on an old wagon, piled wood under it, burned his body and scattered most of the ashes over the river, but we buried some there at his favorite grazing spot. Then Dad and I built the marker.”

I recalled how huge Uncle’s bay stallion had seemed to my five-year-old eyes. “I remember Cloud.”

Ethan looked thoughtful. “Yeah, so do I. That was just two years ago. Dancer – Cloud Dancer’s his real name – is his son. I’m glad we built the marker. Dad said Cloud already knew that we wouldn’t forget him and that this was for us, not him. I guess he was right. Come on, let’s go this way.”

Ethan led us downstream at a canter. Diamond, the black mare I was riding, was sixteen and fairly sedate, but the quicker pace stirred her blood and I had my hands full for a while. Finally we stopped at the edge of Uncle’s land where the river took another turn, leading back into woods again.

The still air carried the murmur of the water and the bark of a distant dog, but there was another sound, faint but unmistakable. Somewhere not too far off, hidden by the trees, someone was crying. A child, it seemed like to me. Abby turned to Ethan.

“That sounds like it’s coming from the Ramsey place.”

“Must be. We’d better go have a look.”

I thought so too. The sobs were almost screams, full of real fear, but Abby hung back.

“You know Mr. Ramsey doesn’t like people poking around his place. If Hunter’s hurt, he’ll look after him.”

Ethan shook his head. “He will if he’s in any shape to, but who knows? He won’t mind us, he gets along pretty well with Dad. Come on.”

“Just a minute, Ethan.” My mind was spinning with questions. “Is this man fit for you to be around? Does he have a wife?”

“She died three years ago. Mr. Ramsey drinks, but he’s harmless. Let’s go.”

We crossed the river and followed a well-worn path into the trees. The crying grew louder as we rode, until we came to the yard of a small homestead at the opposite end of the narrow wood. The place looked like it had been well-maintained once, but it was out-at-heels now. The house needed shingling, the barn needed repair, and young pine trees were taking hold in the yard in front of the house. There was definitely a child in there, sobbing its small heart out. We dismounted and hurried inside.

A little boy, four or five at the most, was crouching beside a bed at the far end of the cabin. He turned around when he heard us, and my heart lurched. His face was grimy and tear-streaked, his blond hair was unwashed and matted, and there was pure terror in his round gray eyes.

Before I could move Abby had the little fellow in her arms. “Hunter, what’s wrong?”
That was clear enough when I got to the bed. From his resemblance to the boy, the man on it had to be Hunter’s father. He was in a stupor with fever and he stank. Stale liquor, sweat and the odor from the stained bandage on his right ankle made a nauseating combination. Judging from state he was in, that bandage was hiding a nasty wound of some sort. This was no place for the children.

“Ethan, Abby, go home and take Hunter with you. Send someone for the doctor. I’ll stay here with…what’s Mr. Ramsey’s name?”

Ethan looked over his shoulder as they hurried out. “It’s Galen, but most people call him Gale. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

Once the children were gone the place was quiet enough for me to hear my pulse pounding in my ears. Galen Ramsey looked like a very sick man to me. I glanced around the cabin and decided not to bother looking for medical supplies. The place was so bare it hardly looked lived in. A small cot that must be Hunter’s stood at the foot of the bed, and there was a table with two chairs. A white-painted pantry cupboard, the only other piece of furniture, was next to the stove. The doors were open and the contents were strewn on the floor, as if little Hunter had been looking for something to eat. There were none of the small things that even a single man might have in his home, no books or pictures. Nothing indicated that a woman had ever lived there.

I got a fire on in the stove, filled the kettle and put it on to boil, then took a closer look at Mr. Ramsey. He looked to be perhaps five years older than me. His hair was a darker blond than his son’s, but Hunter had his round eyes and thick brows as well as his sharp chin and high cheekbones. He was fairly tall, and at the moment a bit bony. His soiled clothes hung loosely on him. It looked as if his illness had melted a fair amount of flesh off his bones. I dithered for a moment over what to do about his leg. I didn’t want to touch it, that was for sure and certain, but it could be hours before the doctor arrived. Finally I decided to have a look.

I found a knife, slit the bandage and was starting to ease it away from his leg when he grabbed my arm, so suddenly that I yelped and fell back on the floor. When I picked myself up he was glaring at me. His eyes were green, not gray like Hunter’s, and they were ice cold in spite of his fever.

“Who the hell are you? Where’s Hunt?”

I dropped the knife and backed out of reach. “Hunter is over at the McShannons’. I’m their niece. My name is Sidonie.”

He didn’t seem to be taking in a word I said. He tried to sit up, then fell back again.

“Get out of here. Go on, now!”

I got a grip on myself and moved closer. “Mr. Ramsey, you’re ill. I’ll stay with you until the doctor gets here.”

An empty liquor bottle lay beside the bed. He threw it at me. I dodged just in time and watched it shatter against the wall.

“I said get out!”

I would have run, but he seemed to have exhausted his strength. He slipped back into unconsciousness again and I gave up all thoughts of meddling with his leg. I went out and sat on the doorstep to wait for help.

All I could think of was the fear in Hunter’s eyes when we found him. What kind of a father could Galen Ramsey be? Of course I couldn’t judge the man when he was ill and not in his right mind, but there was nothing here to show that he was trying to do much for himself or his son. Yet, Ethan had said that Mr. Ramsey got along with Uncle Trey, and Mother had always said her brother was a sharp judge of character.

Any road, there was nothing I could do for him if he wouldn’t let me. I glanced around me again. What a bleak lookout for the child, and for his father. I’d certainly remember to count my blessings when I said my prayers that night.

By the time Uncle and the doctor arrived, I’d started feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself and gone back inside. Uncle introduced his companion.

“Sidonie, this is Dr. Tyler Franklin. How’s Gale?”

Dr. Franklin was a lanky red-headed fellow a few years younger than Uncle. He looked more like a farmer than a doctor, I thought. He gave me a brief nod and turned to his patient. I breathed a sigh of relief as Uncle and I stepped back outside.

“Well, he’s done something to his leg and it’s turned ugly. When I tried to take a look he threw a bottle at me. Does he have any manners when he’s well?”

Uncle gave me a wry smile. “Gale’s manners are all right when he bothers to use them.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Does he make a living here?”

“Yes, enough of a living for him and the boy. He makes as much hunting and trapping as he does off the farm, I’d say. Since Naomi died, he doesn’t spend any more time here than he has to, but he doesn’t owe anyone. It’s against his religion, I think. He’s made it clear that he wants to be left alone.”

Dr. Franklin joined us. “Well, the damned fool sliced his leg with an axe, it looks like, and sewed it up himself. If he’s lucky he won’t lose it. If he isn’t we could lose him. I think he’s sick as much from drink as from the infection. Of course he was too stubborn, or maybe too drunk at the time to come to town and get it looked after. Well, let’s get him in the wagon, Trey, I can’t do anything more for him here.”

Mr. Ramsey was conscious enough to glance at me as they carried him out. I wasn’t sure, but there might have been shame in his eyes. The doctor drove off with his patient and Uncle and I rode home. Aunt Beth met us at the door.

“What on earth happened out there?”

“Well, Gale has cut himself badly somehow and it’s a mess. Tyler took him into town. I’d say he’ll be there for a while. Where’s Hunter?”

“I cleaned him up, fed him and put him to bed in the boys’ room. He’s asleep.” She looked over her shoulder toward the table. “Chelle, did you get the rest of those old clothes of Ethan’s down from the loft like I asked you to? It looks like we’re going to need them.”

Rochelle glanced up from the bowl of peas she and Matt were shelling. “No, I forgot. Matt, you finish these, I’ll go find them now.”

“Forgot. All you ever think of is painting and Justin Munroe,” Matt muttered, and got pelted with pea pods for his trouble before Rochelle stalked over to the ladder.

The door to the boys’ room was open. I stepped in for a minute and watched Hunter as he slept. He was a handsome little lad. How could his father want nothing better for him than a bare living on that forlorn place? How could he want nothing more for himself? For a man who resented help from others, he had a difficult time ahead of him. Unless I missed my guess he was going to be laid up for a while. Well, that was his lookout. I had troubles of my own to think on. Still, I hoped this might teach him to bend a little, for Hunter’s sake.