Hidden Trusts Page 10

  Wonderful. Rika pressed grass-stained fingers to her temples. Now she thinks I'm not fit to marry a rancher. She forced herself to hold Nattie's gaze. "Not yet, but I'll learn."

  "There's no shame in admitting you're not cut out for life on a ranch," Nattie said.

  "I'm a quick learner. If you give me a chance, I'll prove myself."

  Nattie sighed, but her gaze softened. "Where's everyone?"

  "The ranch hands rode out to capture the stallion, and Amy went to bring in the herd from the east pasture," Rika said.

  "Then they'll be gone for a while, and I better go muck the stalls." Nattie looked at the armchair, where a leather-bound book lay. "Seems the new book Phin brought me from his last visit from Portland will have to wait. And you better go change into something dry, or you'll catch your death."

  A damp strand of hair fell into Rika's eyes as she lowered her head. She realized she'd lost her bonnet. "This was my last clean skirt. Do you think your mother would lend me her scrubbing board?"

  "I'll give you one of Amy's skirts. She's only a bit taller than you."

  Rika hesitated. Better not try Amy's patience again. "Are you sure it's all right? Amy won't be angry if we just take it?"

  Nattie narrowed her eyes. "Amy yelled at you, didn't she?"

  "Oh, no. It's fine. I —"

  "Don't mind her. I love her to death, but sometimes, my sister is just too hotheaded for her own good. She gets along with horses better than with people." Nattie patted Rika's arm. "But she won't mind if you take one of her skirts. It's not like she's wearing them all that often anyway."

  She led Hendrika upstairs and opened the door to Amy's room. "Be careful not to step on anything."

  Rika looked around. The room resembled Phineas's cabin. Halters hung on the wall, and the metal parts of a bridle were strewn over the quilt on Amy's bed. A long shelf drew Rika's attention. She stepped closer and touched one of the carved figurines. On top of the shelf, a herd of Appaloosas galloped toward a miniature version of the Hamilton ranch. A shaggy dog was barking at a coyote to keep him away from the hens lined up around the henhouse. At the end of the shelf, a stagecoach with six prancing horses waited for its travelers to board.

  "These are amazing," Rika said. "Look at that detail. Did Amy make them?"

  Nattie laughed. "Amy sitting still and staying inside long enough to carve them? No. Papa made them when we were little. Everybody says I get my artistic talents from him."

  "So you carve too?"

  "No. I put the paint on them when I was older." Nattie slid a fingertip over the rich brown coat and the white splotches of one miniature horse.

  "You paint?" Rika thought of her mother's paint box. She'd traded it for a loaf of bread.

  "A little. Want to see?"

  When Rika nodded, Nattie handed her one of Amy's skirts and led her to the room next door. While the smell of leather and fresh air dominated Amy's room, Nattie's room smelled of old paper. In a way, everything in Nattie's room revolved around horses too. On a small desk in the corner, a book on horse anatomy sat next to sketches of Appaloosa coat patterns. A watercolor painting above the bed showed the view from the Hamiltons' porch during sunset, with white-crowned Mount Hood in the distance and a few horses grazing in the corral.

  "My mother painted too," Rika said before she could think about it.

  "She doesn't anymore?"

  Rika cursed herself. Had Jo ever mentioned her parents in her letters? She didn't think so. "She's dead."

  "Oh. I'm sorry." Nattie shuffled her feet. "You should try painting sometime. Maybe you have some talent for it too."

  "Maybe." Painting was for rich women and dreamers. It didn't feed hungry mouths and wouldn't prove her worth to the Hamiltons.

  "Oh, and this," Nattie nodded at one of the charcoal drawings above her bed, "is Phin."

  Rika studied the picture, took in the carefully drawn face, the strong jaw, and the boyish grin. "Do you know him well?"

  "I suppose."

  "So what's he like?"

  "He's a good man." Nattie sat on the bed and trailed a finger along the edge of the drawing, then jerked her hand away.

  She keeps a picture of him above her bed. Was Nattie her competition when it came to becoming Mrs. Phineas Sharpe? Was that why Nattie wanted her to return to Boston? Rika decided to ask. If Phineas's affections lay elsewhere, it was better if she learned about it now. "The two of you... are you... close?"

  Nattie stood and stepped away from the bed. "It's not like you think. Phin knew me when I was just a little girl, and I know he still sees me as a girl, an adopted sister, not a woman."

  It wasn't exactly an enthusiastic denial of any feelings she might have for Phineas, but it would have to do. "Then he has been working for your father for a long time?"

  "Ten years." Nattie glanced at Phineas's picture, then away. "He's part of the family now, and I wish he wouldn't leave."

  What could Rika say to that? Except for her mother, she'd never missed another person in her life, and even her mother was just the shadow of a memory by now. "I'm sorry —"

  "Oh, no." The corners of Nattie's lips moved up, but the smile didn't light up her eyes. "I understand that he wants to build his own place. He deserves it. And he deserves a wife who can make him happy. If that's you, then so be it." She turned toward the window, where the sun crept toward the horizon. "I better get started on cleaning the stalls and feeding the horses."

  "Can I help?" Rika asked.

  Nattie laughed. "If you had ever mucked stalls, you wouldn't volunteer."

  "I don't mind."

  "Come on, then."

  * * *

  Rika peeked into the first stall.

  A brown horse with a few white dots on its rump looked back at her.

  Nattie reached over the stall door and patted the horse's neck. "This beauty is Snowflake. She's mine." When the mare sniffed her hair, she laughed, then opened another stall door and maneuvered a wheelbarrow through it.

  That stall, like most others, was empty. Cinnamon's stall was empty too, and the sight of it made worry gnaw at Rika.

  "Grab a pitchfork," Nattie said.

  After watching for a moment, Rika joined her in raking horse apples into a pile and scooping up the soiled straw. Her muscles, still sore from riding for the first time and getting thrown off, protested fiercely and after the first stall, her hands burned, but Rika clenched her teeth and continued.

  She tightened her fists around the rough handle of the pitchfork and marched to the second stall, ignoring the protests from her body.

  While they worked, Nattie told her of her family's journey west. Unlike Amy, her sister seemed to like talking to people as much as keeping company with horses. "Shall I tell you the story of how Mama almost ended up an Indian bride?"

  "What?" On the stagecoach, Rika had heard a lot of gruesome stories from the other travelers about how Indians abducted white women.

  Laughing, Nattie swung another forkful of manure into the wheelbarrow. "When we were little, we used to beg Papa to tell it over and over again. It seems a few Lakota were fascinated with Mama's red hair and wanted to trade in a war pony for her. Mama says had the Lakota chief offered a spotted horse, she might be cooking for a bunch of Indian warriors now."

  If their father was anything like Amy, Rika could almost believe it. She eyed Nattie. "Surely you're joking?"

  "Of course I am." A grin brought out the green color in Nattie's eyes. "If you had ever seen my parents with each other, you wouldn't need to ask. I pray to God that I'll find someone I love as much as they love each other." Shadows of sadness flashed across Nattie's eyes, turning them gray. Then her smile returned. "Come on. We need to hurry. Seems Mama can't tear herself away from admiring the Buchanans' new baby, so I need to make supper."

  "If you want, I can finish the other stalls for you," Rika said. Since she had endangered Cinnamon and let the mustang escape, the Hamiltons had probably lost what little respect they held for Rika
, so she needed to prove her worth anew. Maybe mucking the stalls for Nattie was a good start.

  Nattie hesitated. "I don't want you to think I'm unloading the most unpleasant work onto you."

  "It's all right." Compared to working in the cotton mill, mucking stalls was harmless. At least she couldn't lose a finger or get scalped.

  Finally, Nattie nodded. "You saw the manure pile outside?" She turned and pointed to her left. "That's where you empty the wheelbarrow. And if it gets to be too much, just come over to the house and keep me company while I prepare supper. Amy or I can finish the stalls after supper."

  Rika's determination grew. She would finish this task, no matter what. Her well-meaning action had caused more work for Amy, so the least she could do was take over this simple task for the Hamiltons.

  Pain pulsed through her back as she cleaned two more stalls. Her arm muscles strained with every lift of the pitchfork. She bit her lip and pushed the wheelbarrow to the next stall.

  It was getting too heavy. A trip to the manure pile was in order. Slowly, she rolled the wheelbarrow down the center aisle. The wheelbarrow lurched from side to side. Rika tightened her grip and tried to hold it steady.

  The wheel bumped over the barn's threshold, and the wheelbarrow pitched sideways. A pile of soiled straw and horse apples splattered onto the ranch yard.

  "Oh, no." Groaning, Rika straightened the wheelbarrow and forked the manure back into it. This time, she was careful not to load the wheelbarrow up too high and safely emptied her load onto the manure pile.

  Now on to the next stall. This one wasn't empty, though. Rika recognized the gray horse that Amy had bought with Phineas's money. When the horse saw Rika, it hurried to the other end of the stall.

  Rika hesitated. "Guess you'll need to stay in a soiled stall for a little longer." The last thing she needed was another horse escaping because of her. She also stepped past Snowflake's stall.

  The last stall was empty, and Rika struggled with the heavy pitchfork as she cleaned it. After what seemed like an eternity, she spread fresh straw on the floor, making a soft layer for the horses.

  When she returned from her last trip to the manure pile, she noticed that stalks of straw and bits of manure littered the aisle. Her hands felt as if they were on fire, but she ignored the pain and swept the barn.

  Finally, she straightened and pressed her hands to her back. Despite her aching muscles, a smile crept onto her face. I bet the Hamiltons have never seen such a clean barn.

  She walked past the rows of stalls, eager to wash up and sit down for a while. Her stomach grumbled.

  A soft neigh stopped her. From a stall she had bypassed earlier, a spotted head appeared over the stall door. With its white coat and the reddish dots, the horse really did look like the circus horses Rika had seen as a child, even if Amy didn't want to hear that, and the red-brown patch around one eye made Rika smile.

  Slowly, as Amy had shown her, she lifted her hand and let the horse sniff it.

  Warm lips rasped over her hand in search of a hidden snack.

  "Are you hungry too?" Hadn't Nattie mentioned that she needed to feed the horses? Rika straightened. This was something else she could do to prove herself useful. She had seen Amy give oats to the horses this morning.

  At the end of the aisle stood a barrel with oats. Rika walked over, opened the lid, and scooped oats into a bucket.

  The horses started stamping and neighing. Even the shy gray mare peeked over her stall door.

  They must be hungry. I better give them enough.

  She grabbed the two feed buckets and carried them to the horse with the spots and the eye patch. Rika stretched her arm over the stall door as far as it would go but realized she couldn't pour the oats into the manger from outside of the stall. When she pulled back her groaning arm with the bucket, the spotted horse snorted in protest and surged forward to shove her nose into the oats.

  With a shriek, Hendrika jumped back.

  The bucket clattered to the floor, and the horse lowered its nose and gobbled up the oats.

  All right, this works too. Now that the horse was distracted, Rika found the courage to open the stall door and sneak past the horse. She filled the manger with oats from the barrel and then proceeded to the next horse.

  Finally, Snowflake and the mare with the eye patch had a manger full of oats. Rika didn't want to risk opening the gray mare's stall door, so she just lowered a bucket to the ground. With a nod of accomplishment, she hurried to the main house to help with supper.

  * * *

  The door slammed shut behind Amy, and she stormed into the kitchen. "Where is she?"

  Nattie turned away from the stove and sent her a startled gaze. "You mean Mama? She's still with the —"

  "Not Mama." Amy barely kept herself from shouting. "Hendrika!"

  "I sent her up to your room to —"

  Amy didn't stay to hear the rest of the explanation. The thought of Hendrika alone in her room added to her inner turmoil. She didn't like having her space invaded. The stairs creaked as she took them three at a time, and without stopping, Amy shoved open the door to her room.

  "What on God's green earth were you —" At the sight before her, Amy ran out of steam. The angry words died on her lips.

  Hendrika stood in front of the washstand, clad in a pair of long underdrawers and a flimsy chemise. Wide-eyed, she flinched away from Amy and jerked her hands up in front of her face instead of covering her body.

  Amy whirled around and closed the door behind her. Her body trembled, and her breath sounded like one of the steam locomotives the newspapers talked about. She counted to thirty, then named all the horses in their herd. As a child, she'd used the trick to calm herself, but now it failed to smooth the rough edges of her emotions.

  "What's going on?" Nattie called from the bottom of the stairs.

  "Stay out of this," Amy answered. Her anger flickered alive again. She turned around and called through the still closed door, "Are you decent?"

  "Yes," Hendrika answered, sounding as shaky as Amy felt.

  Focusing on her anger and nothing else, Amy inched open the door and marched into the room. A part of her registered that Hendrika was wearing one of her own dresses, but she shoved the thought away. Just one thing was important for now.

  "What were you thinking? You almost killed Pirate and Snowflake!" She wanted to grab Hendrika and shake her, but her instincts warned her not to touch Hendrika right now.

  "What?" Hendrika scuttled back and collided with the washstand. "I-I didn't kill anybody. What are you talking about?"

  The confusion in Hendrika's eyes seemed real.

  Amy rubbed her forehead. "Did you feed the horses?"

  "Y-yes. They were hungry, and I thought I'd help out."

  "You 'helped' more than enough. You almost killed two of our best mares by giving them oats."

  "But..." Hendrika wrung her hands. "But I saw you give them oats too."

  "A scoopful, not a whole manger! Horses can get colic or founder when you give them too much oats. If I hadn't come back in time, they could have died."

  Tears welled in Rika's eyes. "I didn't know that. I didn't know, really."

  Part of Amy wanted to say, "It's all right," wanted to wipe away the tears that trembled on Hendrika's lashes. Another part wanted to tell Hendrika to leave the ranch before she did even more damage and threw their lives into chaos. Caught between those two impulses, she whirled around and clattered down the stairs.

  * * *

  The cool air of the April evening felt good on Amy's flushed cheeks. She wrapped her hands around the porch railing and watched the twilight shapes of the horses move around in the corral.

  Just when she felt calm enough to return inside, two riders approached. A single horse trailed behind them.

  Hank and Adam are back. Amy stepped off the veranda and hurried over.

  When they pulled their horses to a stop in the ranch yard, Amy realized that the horse behind them was not the musta
ng stallion.

  Cinnamon! Thank God. She slid her hands over the gelding's flanks and legs, making sure he was all right. Still, if they brought back only Cinnamon, that meant the stallion had escaped and might be out there, trying to steal their mares.

  "You couldn't find the stallion?" Amy asked. "Did you at least find his tracks?" In the mud, his unshod hoofprints were easy to tell apart from those of their horses.

  The two men exchanged a glance. Hank dismounted and walked toward Amy.

  "We found him," Adam said. He leaned back in his saddle and bit off a piece of chewing tobacco.