today, maybe preparing food for the men to take on the trail if they were riding out very far.
At least something was happening. The days had fallen into a predictable order until the trail team had returned. Last night's supper had been a break in routine and now something was happening.
I met Sarah in the kitchen. "How can I help?"
She looked quizzical. "You heard?"
"Stream dried up? What are they going to do?"
Sarah smiled. "It's not quite an emergency, Kitty. They'll check out the cause and set the cattle grazing somewhere else. Can you help me with breakfast? They'll be back in an hour and I swear men get hungry crossing the dooryard, let alone riding a horse up a creek to look at something." She shook her head and checked in the pantry. "I'm going to need more eggs today, and we need to bake again, we're low on bread and this stuff "—she pulled out a soggy looking loaf wrapped in a checked cloth—"This we can give to the chickens, though it might insult them."
The men returned just past eight, still loud and every bit as hungry as Sarah had predicted. Over eggs and bacon, biscuits, gravy and coffee, decisions were made to send the cattle to graze in the eastern most pasture, and past that, into the open land if the creek problem wasn't set right by evening.
During meals, I watched Robert across the table. He was animated, serious, considerate and polite. Sometimes, when I wasn't paying attention, I'd look up to find him watching me and instantly find myself blushing. I'd hurry into conversation if possible, distracting myself.
I was getting to know the hands slightly. They were more comfortable with each other than they were with me, though they mostly talked with Sarah, except for Luke, who usually sat with me and sometimes commented on something his mother or sisters had said or done. His family lived in Sacramento and I thought I'd like his younger sister, a year or so older than me, and his mother, who sounded a lot like mine, all common sense and dictums until it came to her own flighty behavior.
In turn, I told Luke about Gold Hill and Virginia City, about the Nevada desert, the heat in summer, the winter snows, the pogonip freezing fog that sometimes stuck metal to metal and broke glass with the extreme cold. I told him about the sound of crows in the sage and the scent of it under the sun and about cottonwoods creek side, where I used to catch frogs, and came perilously close to talking about Johnny, but the lump in my throat prevented me.
Luke, in turn, talked about growing up in Sacramento and moving to Redding and watching the town grow, more businesses being built, more people moving in, and the convolutions of local governing bodies as they named and renamed Northern California towns. Sometimes, everything seemed rushed and complicated, with gold in San Francisco and silver in Virginia City and steam engines and railroads crossing the land.
Comfortable, friendly conversations. I thought that Luke's sister might be a friend, if only she lived close enough for me to meet her, I thought that Luke already had become a friend.
The men didn't come back for midday meal that day, but carried it with them. I missed seeing Robert and talking with Luke. The sight of Robert made my heart beat faster and breath become short.
Early afternoon, Sarah took me with her to see to a pair of new calves and their mothers. Inside the barn, sunlight fell in bands of chaff-scented, dusty sunlight. The wooly Hereford brown and white cows chewed contentedly.
Mid-August heat wrapped
Noreen Ayres
Marcos Chicot
Marcia Dickson
Elizabeth McCoy
Lisa Oliver
Donald E. Westlake
Judith Tamalynn
Katie Mac, Kathryn McNeill Crane
Sharon Green
Grace Draven