November 1890
CHAPTER ONE
I must have been out of my mind when I offered to host Thanksgiving at Memory Creek ranch. At the time, it seemed like a wonderful idea. After all, Mother always hosts Thanksgiving and I thought it might be nice to offer to do it one years. Plus the fact that Thanksgiving would be small this year. Melinda and baby William would join Peter's family in Fresno; Justin and Lucy, along with Sammy and Gracie, were heading to San Francisco to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Hawkins family. Lucy's lawyer-brother, Michael, was home from spending the year abroad, and he wanted to catch up with his sister's family and the two children.
Kate and Troy were celebrating their first Thanksgiving together since he'd been released from prison last January. He'd promised the children a visit to a traveling circus that had set up near the city the day after Thanksgiving, and the two girls were wild with excitement. Levi probably was too but being nineteen with a job in the city, he probably didn't want to admit it. Besides, rumors were flying that Levi had found a nice girl he was courting and had invited her family to the mansion on Pacific Heights. Maybe he wants to show off? Hmm, maybe not. Not much to show off about an ex-convict and a house that used to be your spinster old aunt's. I hope Betsy and Hannah behave themselves.
Oh, and what about Chad and Ellie's growing family? Ellie is expecting baby number three come next May, but since she never feels ill at any time during her confinement, she talked Chad into answering the pleading letter from Jem and his wife in Goldtown to join their little family and his pa, Sheriff Coulter, for the Thanksgiving holiday.
That leaves Mitch, who at first agreed to come out to Memory Creek ranch for Thanksgiving. That was before he received an invitation to come to Merced, to celebrate the holiday with Emily McConnell and her family. I remember Mitch taking her around the dance floor any number of times at Chad's engagement party all those years ago, but nothing (so I thought) ever came of it. Then Emily's family moved to Merced, where her father took the job of sheriff, so I figured that was the end of that. Apparently not. She's back in Fresno, working hard to set up her dressmaking business. She also works at the new ice cream parlor in town, but there's not a lot of business for ice cream in the rainy season. Mitch accepted the McConnell's invitation, so that left just Riley and me, Jared, the twins, who are a handful at five months old, and Mother.
A nice, quiet Thanksgiving on Memory Creek ranch!
Until a week ago. Then I learned that Riley's folks are dying to see the babies and Jared, and what better time than right now, when Captain Prescott is on duty at the Presidio once again? "Why! (his mother wrote in a letter) San Francisco is no farther away then a swift (who would call an eight-hour ride swift?) railroad trip." It is no longer a nice, quiet Thanksgiving. My stomach swirled a bit after hearing that, but of course, we invited them to join us. The scariest part of this entire Thanksgiving is hosting Riley's mother and father. I hardly know their names, Robert and Carrie, and saw only glimpses of them at our wedding four years ago. The captain pecked my cheek in congratulations, and Mrs. Prescott squeezed me hard with tears in her eyes. "I only remember you as a little thing that Christmas Sid brought me to the Circle C. Who knew you would grow up to be Riley's wife!"
"Yes, that's true," I replied, jostling Lottie on my hip. She wailed, hungry for her lunch. Lilly was screaming in the background. "Jared!" I hollered, turning around. "Could you go talk to the baby for a minute?"
"Yes, Mama." Silence for one blessed moment.
"Well, Miss Andi," Sid went on, "I sure wouldn't mind if--"
I gasped on the inside. The Circle C foreman was fishing for an invitation to dinner. Of course, I couldn't act ignorant. "Sid!" I hollered over Lottie's cries. "Come for Thanksgiving, would you? You and your sister will have a merry time catching up."
Sid clapped his hat back on his head, all smiles. "Why, thank-you, Miss Andi. Tell Riley I'll be pleased as punch to help set up. And I'll let Joe and Sarah know right away." He grinned. "And Ellen will be arriving tomorrow from Des Moines."
Instead of vaulting up on his horse, Cochise, like Riley might do on Dakota, Sid climbed slowly into the saddle. His arthritis must be bothering him, I worried. But I worried only for a moment. Wait! Ellen? I knew she was Sid's grown daughter and Riley's cousin. I'd met her a time or two, but she's a little older than Melinda, so the few times Ellen visited the Circle C during boarding school breaks, she and Melinda visited. I was just the "baby sister" who tagged along behind them. And I didn't do it very often because both my sister and Ellen were "young ladies," or at least they tried to be. Dull.
But Joe? Sarah? Who in the world were--
My breath caught, and my mind spun in a thousand whirls. Riley's Uncle Joseph and his young cousin, Sarah! Sarah had lost her mother, Sophie (Sid's sister), back in October 1877, when Riley and his family had been stationed at Fort Laramie. Riley told me about it just a few hours after Jared was born, how his aunt had bled to death after birthing Sarah. Not an encouraging story to hear right after giving birth, but it explained why Riley was so insistent on going for Mother the night Jared was born.
I switched Lottie to my other hip and cast a glance upwards, thinking hard. How old would Sarah be now? She and Uncle Joseph had not attended our wedding, so I had never met the girl. Let's see . . . I did the arithmetic in my head and came up with the correct answer. Sarah had turned thirteen last month.
Juggling Lottie, I stumbled inside the house, shut the door, and collapsed onto the settee. Lottie quieted down as soon as I cuddled her and let her enjoy a little snack. One, two, three, four . . . seven guests, not including Jared and the twins, nor Riley and myself. If I counted us all, the number came out to an even dozen. A dozen people in the small Memory Creek house. Where would I put them all?
My first thought was to beg Mother to host Thanksgiving, after all. With Nila and Luisa to help serve, this crowd would be no larger than a Sunday dinner at the Circle C. But then, a nagging little voice whispered, "Always depending on Mother to bail you out of a tough spot?" I shook my head, rose slowly with a sleeping Lottie in my arms, and shuttled her off to her cradle. Then I hurried across the rag rug to pick up Lilly before she decided to yell and wake up her sister. Thank goodness, Jared was busily building a small town with all the different sized blocks his Uncle Mitch had carved and whittled for his third birthday in July. Lilly was lying on her back cooing and smiling while her big brother carried on a conversation with the baby as if she were helping him.
"Thank you, little man." I brushed a kiss on his sandy head and whisked Lilly to the rocking chair for some cuddling before she went down for her nap.
And I thought. Thanksgiving dinner. No cook. No servants. No Mother or big sisters to help cook. I am on my own . . .
CHAPTER TWO
November 1890, the Tuesday before Thanksgiving
I hadn't planned on breaking the news to Mother that our small Thanksgiving celebration of just her, Riley, me, and the children had ballooned to three times the size. I figured it was time for me to "buck up" and plan a menu, and the sooner the better. However, it didn't work out that way.
Mother rode Misty over on Tuesday morning. Chad, Ellie, and the kids had left for Goldtown that morning and she felt out of sorts with having no major Thanksgiving preparations on her hands. At least, that's what she said. She slipped off her tobiano mare as easily as if she were still a young girl and wrapped the reins around the hitching railing.
A minute later, she had a baby girl in each arm. "Now, which is Lilly and which is Lottie?" She lifted Lilly's wrist, saw her name, and brightened. "Our Luisa is clever, is she not?"
To be honest, Riley and I can still not tell the babies apart, so Luisa came up with a grand idea. She created the sweetest little beaded bracelets for the girls' tiny wrists. Blue for Lilly and pink for Lottie. And she says it's no trouble to add beads as the twins grow.
"Oh, goodness, Luisa," I protested when she told me that. "Surely by the time they outgrow these bracelets, I'll be able to tell them apart." But so far, Lillian and Charlotte are identical in every way: same wispy of black hair, same bright-blue eyes. Same watery smiles. For being born three weeks early, they are racing to catch up with big brother Jared and can already sit up (if something is propped up behind them). I bet they will be crawling in another month or two. Oh, dear!
Mother set Lilly and then Lottie down on a large quilt in the middle of the sitting room. Then she sat down on the settee. "So, sweetheart, what shall I bring for Thanksgiving on Thursday?" She cocked an ear toward the window, which hung wide open (with a screen) to let the warm November breeze air out the house. "I hear your flock out there, gobbling away. I assume one of them will be the main attraction this Thursday?"
"Riley is going to butcher Goliath tomorrow." I paused. Now or never. "His father wants to help, and I heard rumors that Sarah and Ellen want to--"
"Excuse me?" Mother looked up from watching the twins gurgle and roll around on the quilt. "Do you mean to say that Riley's family will be joining us for Thanksgiving, along with Sid and his daughter?" She beamed. "Why, that's marvelous. I haven't had a chance to visit with Carrie for . . . oh my goodness! For years." Then her blue eyes turned worried. "My dear daughter, that is"--she paused and counted in her head--"a dozen people if we include the twins, who are just as much work as if they were seated around the table with us."
I did like hearing the "us." It meant Mother was ready to pitch in so I didn't have all of those guests on my hands by myself. "What am I going to do?" I finally blurted. "I didn't want to ask you to take over and host Thanksgiving at the Circle C. I just learned about the extra arrivals yesterday. And they will be here this evening."
"Don't worry," Mother said, nodding. "The weather has been so warm that I believe two or three smoked turkeys would be delicious. Let's get those cowhands of yours to start digging the pits. Hmmm, maybe four turkeys. That way there is plenty to keep you through the weekend, until your houseguests return home." She wrinkled her forehead. "I assume the Prescotts are staying with you?"
"Yes," Andi said. "Riley's folks will have our room, and Riley and I will bed down on a straw tick in the children's room."
Mother nodded her approval. Guests always got the best in any situation. "If Sid needs a place for Ellen, and if Riley's Uncle Joseph needs lodging with his Sarah, I insist they stay on the Circle C." She smiled. "No arguments, Andrea."
The tight knot in my belly began to unravel. Now, if only Mother would suggest a simple Thanksgiving menu, nothing near as outrageous as the dinner Melinda planned and executed for our family last year.
Mother came to my rescue once again. She must be a mind reader! "Your house is much too small to accommodate nearly a dozen people. You don't even have enough chairs, and your table is too small. I believe if we host the meal outdoors, we can use sawhorses to support a long table, six or seven to a side. Riley and the hands can hammer a couple of long benches together. A long white sheet will serve as a tablecloth, and I'll have Sid haul plenty of table settings and silverware from the Circle C to serve plenty of guests. Carlos, Matt, and Joey are surely invited, are they not?"
I nodded. In the crush of adding up kinfolk, I had forgotten to include our three ranch hands. "What's three more, right?" I tried to smile, but the overwhelming number of Thanksgiving guests was beginning to pull me under again.
Mother clearly had no qualms. "Your task, young lady, is to bake a dozen pies. Apple, dried peach, pecan, and of course pumpkin." She winked at me. "You can do that today and tomorrow, correct?"
A warm glow spread from my fingers clear to my toes. Mother was organizing everything. "Yes, of course. Pie baking was easy and fun."
Mother was still planning. "None of those highfalutin' foods that nobody can even pronounce," she said, chuckling. "If all we have should be turkey and pie, why, I do believe everyone will go away stuffed and happy."
"But, Mother!" I cried, aghast. "Only turkey and pie?"
"Our forefathers, the Pilgrims, had much less that first November. The second year, they had a bounty, but nothing fancy, and no pates or lobsters or any such nonsense. We will plan a Thanksgiving in the spirit of the Pilgrims."
Oh, I liked this idea. "I've plenty of potatoes, squash, and carrots in the root cellar. We might as well use them up. I don't know how long they will store in this warm weather."
Mother nodded. "Excellent. Mounds and mounds of fluffy whipped potatoes, squash, and I'll see if I can get my hands on any late corn. Plus sweet rolls with plenty of butter and berry preserves. Pickles and olives--right from our olive trees--and nuts by the bushel basket--almonds and pistachios."
My mouth began watering when Mother listed this bounty, and except for the rolls, which took time and effort, nothing was any trouble at all. I rose and hurried over to Riley's rolltop desk. Snatching a tablet and the stub of a pencil, I sat down and began writing. "Let's put it all down on a list, Mother. and figure out who will do what."
- 4 smoked turkeys. Riley butchers them. Sarah, Ellen, and I pluck and dress the turkeys. They go into the pit Thursday morning at the crack of dawn. (No fighting the Black Beast and getting a scorched bird! Hurrah!)
- 12 pies. I bake 6 today and 6 tomorrow (Wednesday). 4 pumpkin, 4 apple, 2 dried peach, 1 pecan, and 1 lemon (Riley's favorite). The Black Beast and I have come to an understanding regarding pies.
- whipped potatoes. I will boil and smash these on Thursday. Mother will make the gravy because I want it smooth and tasting like turkey, not lumpy and tasting like flour. *shudder*
- baked squash with chopped nuts and maple syrup. I have lots of acorn squash. Riley will chop them in half. I will wrap them in foil and put them in the pit with the turkeys when the time comes.
- fluffy white rolls. Mother will make these and bring them over on Thanksgiving.
- pickles, olives, pistachios, almonds, and any other snacks. Mother will bring.
My eyes teared up when I finished the list. This was the simplest of simple Thanksgiving dinners and I nearly cried with joy. What had begun as a frightening task had turned upside down into something I could do with gladness and not wear myself out. Plus the fact that I'm not the valley's (or foothills') best cook, and I dreaded trying to think of a menu to honor the citified Joseph, Sarah, and Ellen.
But now? With Mother's enthusiastic help and guidance, this might turn out to be my favorite Thanksgiving of all.
Mother broke into my happy thoughts. "Do not forget to feed your family today and tomorrow. A dozen pies is quite a bit of work."
I was so happy about the rest of the menu that I threw my arms around Mother and laughed. "Jared likes to roll out his own little pieces of crust dough, and you can see for yourself that unless they're hungry, the twins entertain themselves. The girls were so difficult the first three months, but now? They roll around and coo at each other. They're best friends. And Jared watches over them very well. I will get the pies finished in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
Mother smiled back. "Who invented such a silly saying, anyway? I'm not a sheepherder, and even I know most sheepherders dock their lambs' tails down to a stub."
We both laughed. Then Mother gathered her riding gloves, kissed her grandchildren, and rode away on Misty to begin her Thanksgiving Day tasks. I headed to the kitchen to start rolling out crusts for two pies before I had to feed Jared and the twins their lunch.
Even the thought of plucking and dressing four giant turkeys did not quench the song of thanksgiving that rose in my heart. And why should it? I would have the help of two other girls and maybe even Riley's mother tomorrow. Oh, happy day!
How hard could it be?
CHAPTER THREE
November 1890, the day before Thanksgiving
Riley' parents, Robert and Carrie, trotted up to Memory Creek ranch right on time, just as the sun was going down on Tuesday. I held supper just in case the train was on time, and it was! Chicken pot pie is one of my better cooking triumphs, and I reckon they were so hungry that they enjoyed it. At least, they praised it up one side and down the other. Riley smiled, pleased as punch, since this was the first time his mother and father had come for an extended visit.
I love Mama Carrie so much! She took fussy Lilly and calmed her in no time, just like my own mother does. It is wonderful to have an extra set of arms for the twins over the holiday. Riley's pa made much over Jared and they are already fast friends.
As much as I would like to say that Wednesday went well, it did not. I think if Mama Carrie had offered to watch all three kids, Riley, his pa, and I could have had those four turkeys butchered, dressed, and hanging in the spring house in short order. But Riley's Uncle Sid showed up bright and early. I expected his daughter, Ellen, who is a little older than Melinda, to accompany her father. What I did not expect was her husband. I didn't even know Ellen was married (I'm not sure Sid knew it either). Riley sure didn't know. Her new name is Ellen Hill, and she married some city slicker named Harold. Ellen had no interest in helping with the turkeys. She came to Memory Creek dressed like she was going to the Governor's ball. However, she did take an interest in Lottie. At first I was happy to have that extra set of hands to watch the twins, but later in the day, it backfired.
Wednesday mid-morning
With Jared under the watchful eye of Mama Carrie, and Ellen hovering over the twins, Riley, his father Robert, Uncle Joseph, Sid, and I headed for the pen, where we were keeping the turkeys for two reasons. One, to fatten them up with scraps and another to keep them from running away or getting eaten by a coyote, bobcat, or worse, a mountain lion. When Sarah saw us, she hollered, "Oh, my! May I help? I've always wanted to be part of the Wild West adventure."
Wild West adventure? Really?
"Of course, dear," Joseph said, smiling at his daughter. I had the feeling that Sarah's father said, "Of course, dear," to everything his daughter asked. Riley and I looked at each other and grinned. Boy, were they in for a surprise.
"I have an extra pair of old work skirts," I offered. Sarah wasn't tiny, so I figured she could fit into one of my split skirts without too many adjustments.
She shuddered. "No, Andi. I never wear old clothes. It's just too, too rough, really."
"You'd better today," Riley warned. He checked the huge pot of water simmering on a tripod over an open fire. The turkeys would be plunged into the water to loosen their feathers so I could pluck them, not a pleasant job, by the way. But so long as Riley killed and gutted the turkeys, I could steel myself to pluck them. Then into the springhouse they would go to hang until bright and early tomorrow morning.
"I don't need to," Sarah insisted. "I don't plan on getting dirty. What could possibly be dirty about turkeys that we plan to eat?" She jammed her hands on her hips and lifted her chin in an I know better look.
I opened my mouth to tell her to change her clothes, but Riley shook his head and grinned at me. I reckon he figured she needed to learn a little lesson about the Wild West. "At least borrow an apron," I suggested, slipping a canvas apron over my head. I tied it around my waist. I have butchered chickens before, and it is not a pretty picture. This was my first time butchering turkeys, and I anticipated that they would be ten times the work of a chicken.
Sarah shook her head. "No, thank you."
Oh, well. This oughta be fun. The flock (six) was preening themselves, strutting around to impress the female, and gobbling . . . as usual. The four toms were destined for the ax, but we're keeping one hen and one tom so we can have pullets next year to grow up into turkeys.
So Goliath, Samson, Tommy, and Judah will fall under the ax. Then they will go into the roasting pit that Riley and the hands will start late tonight. The dense oak wood will burn down to coals all night in readiness for the turkeys. The pit is the only way I can roast even one turkey. The Black Beast inside is not quite big enough for Goliath, much less three other turkeys.
Sarah hurried over to the pen and leaned over the top of the white railing. "So, Riley, where do we start?" She swung the gate open wide. "I can't wait."
"Sarah, no!" Riley and Sid hollered at the same time. I was too shocked to do anything but stare. Riley was faster. He slammed the gate, nearly severing Goliath's head in the process. It was that close. The last thing Riley (and I) wanted was six turkeys on the loose. "We will go inside the pen and catch them one at a time," Riley said between clenched teeth. His face was red with suppressed annoyance.
"I'm sorry, Cousin," Sarah said meekly. But her eyes were sparkling with excitement. "Please, Riley, could I catch the first one?"
My eyebrows shot up when Riley shrugged and said, "Sure, Sarah." He pointed at Sir Tom-tom and the female, Lady Victoria (named for the queen of England). "Don't catch those two. They are the parents of next-year's turkeys."
Sarah nodded and slipped through the gate, skipping toward Goliath, the largest tom.
"Riley," I whispered, "do you really think this is a good idea--"
A shriek high-pitched enough to shatter an eardrum sliced the air and cut off my concern. Sarah was running away, or trying to, from Goliath. He headed for Sara's high-buttoned shoes, his neck outstretched and gobbling his fury (or excitement). Riley stood stock-still, as did Sid. Riley's Uncle Joseph gasped and dashed to the rescue. Soon, another turkey--Samson--went after Joseph.
"Don't run!" Riley, Sid, and I shouted at the same time.
"Stand your ground and chase the gobblers," I added. Even Jared, at only three and a half years old, knew how to handle a stick and keep the turkeys in line. Just last week, I caught my little man riding Goliath. He fell off, of course, but Goliath dumped Jared and ran. Howling, Jared went after him with his stick yelling, "Come back, come back!" And he tried to catch him again. But Goliath is too smart to fall for that a second time.
Disgusted, I pushed open the gate and headed for Goliath. I didn't even need a stick. I needed only a low, threatening voice and stomping feet. "Get outta here," I hollered, honing in on the giant bird. "Go on!" Goliath took two steps toward me (no doubt heartened by his success with terrorizing Sarah) and gave me those creepy, beady eyes. His red wattle vibrated as he gobbled. I paid him no mind and swung a foot in his direction. He backed off.
Sarah, completely overwhelmed with terror, ran for all she was worth toward the gate. Riley was laughing, but Uncle Joseph was not. His ashen face told me that this grown man was also afraid of the gobblers. I reckon the only turkey he's ever seen has lain on his plate as a slice of breast meat. I was just about to giggle, when tragedy struck. Sarah didn't make it to the gate. She tripped over Tommy and fell on top of Judah, who raised his wings and beat a swift retreat, but not before his wings became tangled in Sarah's hair. She lay on the ground in a heap, covering her head and screeching for all she was worth.
I waited for Joseph to rescue his daughter but he did not. Calmly, I reached down, snagged her arms, and hauled her to her feet. "Stop that!" I ordered. I spun her around to face the six gigantic birds. "Don't turn your back on them. Just kick your foot and yell, and back out at the same time."
In the end, I half-dragged, half-coaxed the traumatized girl out of the turkey pen. She flew into her father's arms. "There, there," Joseph comforted her. "We shall get the last laugh, my princess. That beastly bird will be lying on your plate tomorrow."
Peace descended. Riley and Sid got those four turkeys killed in about ten minutes. They plunged turkeys into the hot water for half a minute then hung them from their feet tied to a low-lying oak branch. Riley's mother appeared with Jared at her heels to help me pluck the four big birds. That took awhile and feathers flew everywhere, Then one, two, three, four. Four turkeys in the springhouse, and it was only noon. Things were looking up.
Until I went inside the house to nurse the twins. Lilly was in the crib, just stirring from her morning nap. However, Lottie was nowhere to be found. Neither was Ellen.
CHAPTER FOUR
November 1890, Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving
I picked up Lilly from her crib and strolled into the sitting room. "Where are Lottie and Ellen?" I asked Sarah, who sat in the straight-back chair, sewing a sampler.
Sarah looked up, a bemused expression on her face. She looked around in surprise. "Oh, I don't know," she answered, going back to her embroidery.
I frowned and stepped into the kitchen. Ellen was not there, but her husband, Harold, sat at the table. He was sipping a cup of coffee and glancing over a week-old edition of the Fresno Expositor newspaper. When he saw me, he glanced up. "Have you nothing more current than last Saturday's newspaper?" he asked. "After all, it does say the 'Fresno Daily Expositor.'"
"No," I told him. "Riley usually brings home Saturday's paper after Sunday dinner. If you'd like, you can ride over to the Circle C and find today's paper. Chad pays a boy to ride out with the paper about three times a week."
Harold stared at me blankly. Then he harrumphed and went back to the editorial. I shifted Lilly to my other hip. She was beginning to fuss. "Have you seen Ellen? Did she have Lottie with her?"
"I did see them," Harold said, not looking up. "Ellen said she was headed outside for a breath of fresh air."
"Thanks." I slipped through the back door and stepped off the porch. In the distance, I saw Riley, along with his father, Sid, and our ranch hands, digging four roasting pits. But Ellen and Lottie were nowhere in sight. When I checked the barn, Dakota was missing. My heart leaped to my throat. "No, she wouldn't take the baby for a ride. Surely not." Ellen was an accomplished rider, for all her city ways. Her father had made sure of that on her visits to the Circle C. He'd also paid for horseback riding lessons at her school, so she could ride both astride and sidesaddle. But still? Take the baby for a ride? Why?
I ran toward Memory Creek, bouncing Lilly along and gasping for breath. Where was Lottie? Tears stung my eyes. What was going on? When I couldn't run any farther, I collapsed to the fresh green grass that had sprouted up after a fall rainstorm a week ago. By now, Lilly was crying so I fed her, praying all the while that Lottie was all right.
When I stood up and rested Lilly on my shoulder, I saw a small speck of black round a hill, coming from the direction of town. As the speck grew closer, I heard wailing. Lottie! Was she hurt? Had Ellen slipped off the horse and spilled my baby to the ground? Oh, please, God, no! I took off running and met Ellen. She was riding Dakota one-handed and trying to shush and bounce the baby with her other arm. She rode bareback, slipping and sliding but keeping her seat.
"Oh, Ellen!" I cried, reaching out to snag the bridle. "Dakota, whoa." Riley's appaloosa stopped short. "Why did you take Lottie on a horseback ride, for pity's sake? You scared me half to death."
Hearing my voice, Lottie cried louder, which set Lilly to howling. I let go of Dakota and reached for my baby girl. Ellen kept her arm around the baby. Lottie wailed. "Give her to me," I ordered. I had to yell above the twins' crying.
Ellen shook her head and clutched Lottie tighter.
My stomach turned over, and I raised my voice. "Give me my baby!" By now, Lottie was red-faced and screaming. She must have been mighty hungry. Of the two girls, Lottie is much more insistent about having her needs met and not as patient as Lilly.
Just then, Ellen burst into tears. She squeezed Lottie one more time then released her. With a baby on each hip, I headed home. She's crazy. Down-right crazy, I thought.
Ellen trotted Dakota to my side and slowed him to a walk. "Can you ever forgive me?" she asked through rivers of tears.
Huh? I stopped. Dakota stopped. Ellen dismounted. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. "I'm s-sorry, Andi. I was half out of my mind with envy and desperation. The doctor back east just told me and Harold that we probably can't have children. I s-saw that you had two identical babies, as alike as two peas in a pod. Why should God give you two and me none? Then I thought that perhaps God had given you two babies so that you could share one of them with me. I decided to take Lottie and go home, back east. I had train fare and reasoned that by the time anyone figured out Lottie was missing, I'd be halfway to town and soon aboard the train. By the time Harold gave up looking for me here, he would return home and then I could tell him all about . . ." Her voice trailed off.
My mouth dropped open. I had no words to express, and for sure I wasn't ready to forgive her. I sat down on the grass right there and quieted Lottie with a quick snack. Lilly cooed on the grass beside me.
Ellen took a deep breath and finished. "Then Lottie started crying. I knew she was hungry and I didn't have anything to give her. No bottle. No sugar-tit, no nothing. I got so scared. I thought she would cry all the way to town and that would bring attention to myself. Nothing I did calmed her." She looked down at me and shook her head. "Only her mother would know what to do, and you did. She's awfully quiet now."
I nodded, too angry and frightened to respond.
"That's when God told me I'd best get back and not go through with what looks now to be a lamebrain scheme." She sighed. "It was my desperation and the recent news about my inability to have children. I guess I lost my mind for a moment. Will you forgive me?"
Maybe, I thought, but I sure wasn't going to trust her. Did she have a mental condition? No doubt. I nodded stiffly, rose, and walked home. "I think you'd better have a talk with your cousin Riley about all of this. He will know what to say and do better than I," I finally said.
She nodded, clearly ashamed. I squeezed my eyes shut and thanked God that Ellen had come to her senses before she took my baby away for good. It was so easy to "disappear" in the west or even back east.
Ellen reached out her arms. "Let me help you carry them. You look tired."
You bet I'm tired, I thought, but I shook my head and held the babies closer. "No. I can manage." And that was that. We walked back to the house in silence.
CHAPTER FIVE
THANKSGIVING DAY
I barely slept last night. I was still so upset about what Ellen had tried to do--kidnap Lottie! I kept waking up to check the twins every hour to make sure they were still in their crib. Riley tried to comfort me. He reminded me that Ellen and Harold, along with Uncle Sid and Sarah, had left to spend the night at the Circle C. Jared was safe. The babies were safe. I think I finally drifted off to sleep a few hours before dawn.
My heart wasn't in the early-dawn Thanksgiving turkey preparations. Mama Carrie, clearly sensing my mood, tried to cheer me up by telling funny stories about Riley when he was a little boy. Together, we stuffed the four turkeys, smeared them with oil and lots of herbs and salt, and then wrapped them securely in four layers of clean cheesecloth.
In the old days, Mother would have then wrapped the turkeys in damp burlap sacks to keep them moist and clean. But these are modern times. Mother had brought over a roll of the new-fangled "tin" foil (note: not to be confused with today's aluminum foil). "Try this," she suggested. "I think it will hold the heat better and keep the juices in far better than the old burlap bags."
I am always happy to try something new, so Carrie and I wrapped them in the tin foil and then bent chicken wire around them. I showed my mother-in-law how to fashion wire handles that attached to the chicken wire cage. "This is so we can lower the turkeys into the pits and then find them again when they're cooked," I explained.
When all four turkeys were wrapped and ready, Riley and his father hauled them out to the four pits they had dug, one for each roasting bird. The oak logs had been burning all night long. Carrie and I followed. I felt the heat when I was still a few feet away. The coals had burned down just right. Robert spread the coals apart and Riley lowered the wire-wrapped turkey into the pit. Then the two men heaped coals all around the bird, covering it completely. After that, they shoveled dirt to fill the pit. When all was said and done, only the wire handles peeked out above the surface. We would let the bird cook until the middle of the afternoon.
The rest of Thanksgiving Day passed pleasantly. Both Ellen and Sarah were eager helpers and aside from baking all those pies yesterday and the day before, I didn't have to do anything! Ellen's horrible act was out in the open by then, but nobody condemned her, and I found I couldn't either. I remembered how sad and sometimes angry Melinda had become when she could not have a baby. My heart melted enough to let Ellen take over the twins' care most of the afternoon. Then we women--Mother, Sarah, and Carrie--prayed over Ellen that God might bless her with a little one. She was in tears by the time Mother finished praying.
So, like Joseph in the Bible said when his brothers had wronged him, "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good," I think it all ended well, and I look forward to hearing someday that Ellen has her own baby.
The sun shone down warm and bright. We had our Thanksgiving dinner outside just like the Pilgrims, and the turkeys turned out perfectly. The meat fell off the bones and everyone stuffed themselves on all the good things Mother and I had prepared. Nobody wanted to leave, so we stayed up well past sunset (and it gets cold after the sun goes down), the men and children sitting on the rug in our only "sitting" room, and we women in the chairs and on the settee. Our ranch hands called it a day when our clock struck ten, but Mother, Sid, Joseph, Ellen, and Sarah didn't leave until midnight. The rest of us fell into bed a little later. I was very tired but happy that my first experience hosting a "small" Thanksgiving (ha-ha!) had turned out better than expected!
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