Finding Her Frontier Family
Autor:in
Louise M. Gouge
Gelesen
17,4K
Kapitel
16
Chapter One
No. No. Not that man, please, Lord.
Standing on the train platform, Viola Brinson clutched the hand of her tiny charge and searched the crowd for the rancher who was to meet her. Of the dozen or so men who milled about collecting baggage and greeting other newly arrived passengers, only one stared at her with any sense of purpose. Dusty from the crown of his battered, wide-brimmed hat to the poorly mended shirt and trousers to the toes of his badly scuffed boots, he had the look of an outlaw, not a successful rancher. Beside him stood a young boy, just as unkempt, another indication that this was the person to whom she had brought Lavinia.
Thumb stuck in her mouth, eyes round with fear, the dear little four-year-old even now tried to lose herself in Viola’s skirts, knocking her bonnet askew in the process. Viola forbade herself to tremble so as not to further alarm the child.
“Shh. It is all right.” The words tried to stick in her throat, but she forced them out. “That is your papa.” After righting the bonnet, Viola lifted her own chin and stared back at the man who held Lavinia’s future in his hands.
Beside her, Lavinia shivered.
Removing his hat, the man strode toward her. His young companion copied the gesture and followed. The gentlemanly gesture inspired a slightly improved opinion of him.
“Viola Brinson?” He spoke her name almost like an accusation. Her good opinion vanished.
Closer now, she could see his startling blue eyes set in a deeply tanned—and dirty—face. His strong jaw appeared clenched. In fact, anger seemed to radiate from every inch of his person. Worse, the smell of sweat and cattle permeated his clothing, even the air around him, and nearly knocked her over. Could he not have bathed before meeting his daughter?
She stiffened her spine, determined not to let him see her waver. “I am she. Are you Mr. Robert Mattson?”
He nodded toward the carpetbag she held. “Where’s the rest of your luggage?”
She narrowed her eyes. “I said, are you Mr. Robert Mattson?”
“Lady, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” He slapped his hat back on his head, took a step closer and loomed over her. “Now where’s your luggage?”
Despite his superior height, Viola refused to cringe. With three bossy older brothers, she wouldn’t let this ill-mannered brute frighten her. Of course, her brothers were all gentlemen, reared in polite society where ladies were treated with respect, not terrorized. She and her sisters had always been treated well, even cosseted. If this man truly was Lavinia’s father, such gentle treatment probably would not be in the child’s future.
“I believe our trunks are in the baggage car. Perhaps the porters have unloaded them by now.”
The words had not left her lips before he strode away toward the back of the train she and Lavinia had traveled in these past few days. Like a faithful puppy, the boy trotted after him. Viola noted he didn’t seem afraid of the man. But then, what did she know of children who grew up on ranches? As the youngest of seven, she’d seen each of her elder siblings marry and bear offspring, but the children had all been gently reared to take their places beside their parents in society.
A soft whimper came from Lavinia, and she clung to Viola’s hand. Did the dear child know Viola was supposed to leave her here? That even now, she had a return train ticket in her reticule? Had she overheard the plans made on her behalf by people who had seemed eager to be rid of the little girl whose mother had died nearly penniless?
How well Viola knew what that meant and how it felt. At twenty-five and lacking sufficient funds to secure a suitable match, she’d become her family’s redundant woman. Unmarried, unnecessary, unwanted.
Stop it. Such self-pitying thoughts could only drag her down. Besides, she had an important responsibility, making sure Lavinia had a safe and secure home before she traveled back East, where no responsibilities awaited her at all.
A sudden determination struck her. If Robert Mattson would not provide safety and security for his daughter, Viola would find a way to do it herself, even if it meant taking the child back to Charleston and scrubbing floors to provide for the both of them.
Mr. Mattson strode back their way, her trunk on his back as if it were as light as her carpetbag. Viola’s heart skittered about inside her. Goodness, the man was as strong as the biblical Samson. Behind him, his son helped a porter carry Lavinia’s baggage. They delivered it to the back of a nearby surrey. Then father and son climbed into the front seat of the conveyance. As if she and Lavinia were an afterthought, Mr. Mattson looked their way.
“You comin’?”
The nerve of the man! He hadn’t even offered to help them into the carriage. Without a word, she guided Lavinia to the surrey and lifted her onto the second bench. If she were one of her sisters, she would fuss and simper until Mr. Mattson got down and helped her. But a redundant woman quickly learned to fend for herself or get left behind. She gathered her skirt and petticoats and climbed aboard to sit beside her charge, barely settling before the man slapped the reins on the horses’ haunches and shouted, “Hyah!” The horses set off at a brisk pace, almost a canter.
With one hand, Viola grabbed the upright post that supported the fringed canopy. With the other, she held Lavinia to keep her from bouncing out onto the dusty roadway. Before she could voice a complaint or ask Mr. Mattson to slow down, the boy turned around and stared at Lavinia.
“Hello.” His bright blue eyes sparkled in the daylight like his father’s, and his sweet grin seemed to offer friendship.
Lavinia buried her face in Viola’s skirt, once again knocking her bonnet askew.
“It is all right, my darling.” Her heart twisting, Viola removed the bonnet and caressed Lavinia’s dark brown hair. They had warned her not to become attached to the child, but she couldn’t help herself. “This is your brother.” To the boy, she asked, “What is your name?”
“Robbie.”
Of course. Named for his father.
Determined not to let the surrey’s fast pace interfere with these all-important introductions, she smiled. “I am pleased to meet you, Robbie. I am Miss Brinson, and this is your sister, Lavinia.” She lifted Lavinia’s chin. “My darling, this is your brother. Remember? We talked about him.” Not that she’d known what to say about him, only that Lavinia had an older brother and, from her own experience, that some brothers could be very nice.
Fear ebbed from Lavinia’s eyes, and she offered a quivering smile before sticking her thumb into her mouth.
The surrey hit a bump, and everyone bounced in their seats. Lavinia looked frightened until Robbie giggled. “Whee!”
“Whee!” Lavinia giggled, too, a sound that brought tears to Viola’s eyes. She hadn’t heard the child laugh since before they had taken her kitten away, saying the creature couldn’t go with her to New Mexico Territory. Now, with every bump in the road that bounced them around in their seats, she and Robbie giggled and shouted “Whee!” The seat being only lightly padded, Viola couldn’t quite share their glee.
The road ran beside a winding river some thirty yards wide. She supposed this was the Rio Grande, but for the life of her, she would not ask Mr. Mattson if that was true.
The drive took perhaps a half hour, during which Viola studied the back of the man who had fathered such a sweet, delicate child. She hadn’t known Lavinia’s mother, Maybelle Mattson, although they were distant cousins. All she knew was that Maybelle had fled her marriage when Lavinia was an infant, leaving behind a young son and a heartless husband. Mr. Mattson’s hunched shoulders seemed to verify that description. He hadn’t even spoken to his daughter...or his son, for that matter.
They reached a turnoff and drove under an archway, then up a long hilly driveway that led to a two-story white clapboard house set on a rocky bluff above the river. Numerous outbuildings dotted the property, some clapboard and others pink adobe. With none of the architecture matching and no symmetry in the layout, it seemed somewhat of a hodgepodge to Viola. But then, no one had asked her opinion.
Behind the main house stood a large red barn with a network of corrals attached. Dust and the stink of burning leather filled the air, along with the shouts of men and the bawling of countless cattle.
For some odd reason, Mr. Mattson didn’t drive up to the attractive columned front porch. Instead, he drove around to the back of the house and jumped down from the driver’s bench. There he unloaded the trunks. “Robbie, take care of the horses, then go help your grandpa.” He strode away toward the barn.
“Yessir.” The boy hurried to take the lead rope.
“Mr. Mattson!” Viola burst out before she could stop herself.
He spun around and faced her, fists at his waist. “What?”
Viola clambered down from the surrey and lifted Lavinia to the ground. Taking the child by the hand, she stalked toward him, stopping short of meeting him nose to nose. “Mr. Mattson, may I introduce your daughter, Lavinia Maybelle Mattson?” She narrowed her eyes, silently daring him not to respond.
He blinked. Then looked at the child as if she were some strange creature.
Lavinia once again sucked her thumb and tried to hide in Viola’s skirt.
“A simple hello would suffice.”
The slightest softening crossed his face. “Hello.” He turned away.
“Mr. Mattson.” She should let him go but simply could not.
He spun back around. “There are six men around here who go by that name. My father is Mr. Mattson. I am Robert. And I have cattle to brand.” He strode away.
This time, she did not call him back.
Striding toward the corral where his brothers and ranch hands had continued to work after he left, Rob pressed his fingers to his chest, knowing he couldn’t massage away the pain. It was far too deep. He’d thought he’d forgotten Maybelle or at least stopped loving her. But when this morning’s mail brought the shocking news that she’d died six months ago, leaving behind their four-year-old daughter, his world seemed to crash around him. He had loved Maybelle. Had tried to make a life that pleased her, made her comfortable, gave her a place in society. She’d just never understood he couldn’t do that back in Charleston. As the oldest of five brothers, he’d needed to come with his family to New Mexico Territory to work the land Pop had bought. It hadn’t helped that Mother had abandoned them all after the first few years and fled back East. It gave Maybelle an excuse to do the same.
Of course, he’d been sending her money every month for the past three and a half years. If only he’d known she’d died, he would have arranged for Lavinia’s care back in Charleston, would have arranged for her to live at a boarding school.
But then this morning’s letter, followed by a telegram—both from one Miss Viola Brinson—announced the imminent arrival of his daughter, so he never had a chance to do that. Instead, right when he needed to be overseeing the cattle branding, he had to leave the work and go fetch her. Not that Will and Drew couldn’t manage the job themselves, but his two brothers who still lived here weren’t privy to Pop’s suspicions about a couple of their hands.
Someone was changing their brand to one that looked very similar, one that a rustler could easily change with a running brand, and when the work got hectic, a man had no time to look close to see the difference. Rob thought Pop should just tell his brothers, but Pop had only ever trusted him with secrets. Maybe it was because he was the oldest. Maybe it had to do with both of them being abandoned by their wives. Rob couldn’t figure it out, and with so much work to do, he didn’t have time to ponder it. He’d accept the weight of responsibility as long as necessary, especially since Pop seemed to be slowing down these past few months.
Taking his place back at work, he wrestled a calf to the ground and tied its legs, then held it while ranch hand Patrick Ahern applied the red-hot brand...the right brand. Eyes wide, the calf bawled its protest until Rob untied its legs and sent it to join its mama.
As he grabbed for the next calf, the fear in its wide brown eyes struck him in the chest. Lavinia had stared at him like that with her big brown eyes. Man, she was a pretty little thing. Just like Maybelle.
No wonder she’d been scared. He was big, he was ill-tempered, and he was a stinking mess. But branding took strength, and it wasn’t a dainty job. Maybe when they were through for the day, he could clean up and make amends to her.
As for that Miss Brinson, she couldn’t have stuck her nose any higher in the air. Just like with Maybelle, disapproval shone from those narrowed eyes. He wasn’t about to try to please this woman. He’d get matters sorted out and send her packing, along with Lavinia, as soon as possible. The arrival of her letter and wire this morning had shattered his safe world, knocking him plumb off balance right in the middle of branding. Why hadn’t she written sooner? If Maybelle had been gone six months, shouldn’t someone have notified him by telegram? He’d have to ask Miss—
“Okay, boss, this one’s ready to go.” Ahern plunged the iron back in the fire where four others were reheating and set the calf loose before Rob could check the brand.
The critter scampered away and got lost among the rest of the herd. Rob shook his head in disgust. This was why females had no business on a cattle ranch. Living or dead, they caused a man enough worry to keep him from concentrating on his work.
Once the branding was done for the day, Rob headed to the house with his brothers. An odd desire to see Miss Brinson again flared up inside him. What was that all about? He seemed to recall blond hair piled on top of her head and a little furry hat cocked to one side. Green eyes narrowed with haughtiness and indignation and...
“So, what’s she like?” Will took off his hat and wiped away sweat with his sleeve.
“Yeah, Rob.” Drew stepped up beside him. “Tell us all about her.”
“Well, she’s not bad to look at—”
Each of their faces, similar to all the Mattson men, registered shock.
“That’s what you have to say about your daughter?” Drew frowned. “She’s not bad to look at?”
“Don’t you get it?” Chortling, Will slapped his hat against his thigh. “He’s not talking about the little one. He’s talking about the lady who brought her.”
“Ooooeee!” Drew hooted so loud Rob came near to belting him. “I can’t wait to meet this lady.”
Only one way to get control of this situation. “My daughter is a pretty little thing like her mama.” He swung around in front of his brothers. “The next one to suggest anything about Miss Brinson and me will be picking himself up off the ground minus a couple of teeth.”
Despite their answering laughter, he stomped away and onto the back porch where washbasins and buckets of water awaited them, courtesy of their cook, Old Fuzzy. Rob observed both Will and Drew taking so much special care with their ablutions that they didn’t notice he was doing the same. What ailed the two of them? Since their two youngest brothers had married sisters and moved to the sheep ranch five miles away, these two had gotten downright ridiculous when it came to women. Well, they could do as they wished. As for him, he was cleaning up for his daughter.
They finished about the same time. Also at the same time, the aroma of cooked chicken wafted out through the screen door, and their eyes widened.
“Man, that can’t be Old Fuzzy’s cooking.” Will glanced down at his clothes. “I think I’ll go put on a clean shirt.”
“Me, too.” Drew followed Will into the house.
“Hey.” Rob spoke to thin air. He snorted. What nincompoops. On second thought, a clean shirt might go a long way to winning Lavinia’s trust.
He stepped into the mudroom and climbed the back stairs to change his shirt. All the while, his mouth watered from the aroma of stewed chicken that filled the house.
Drew and Will beat him back down to the kitchen. They sat at the table drinking coffee with Miss Brinson while Old Fuzzy regaled them all with stories of his many years of cooking for cattle drives.
“Yessiree-bob.” The old man chortled, then wheezed. “Nobody ever knew how often I served ’em rattlesnake or armadillo. One time I even served up a couple of prairie dogs in a stew. The drovers were always too tired at the end of the day to pay attention.”
“Either that,” Will said, “or all of your cooking tastes the same. I never notice any difference, do you, Drew?”
“Nope. Not a bit. Always tastes just like boot leather.”
Miss Brinson’s unquestionably pretty face wore a look of concern as she glanced at Old Fuzzy. When she saw him laughing loudest of all, she smiled...and became beautiful.
Uh-oh. What was he thinking? He didn’t have the time or inclination for women. Maybelle had been gone for almost four years, had been dead for six months. But for Rob, it wasn’t until today he’d actually become a widower. His heart ached at the thought, and he rubbed his chest, unable to make the pain stop.
He shook off his thoughts and cleared his throat.
Everyone turned to look at him.
He stared at Miss Brinson. “Where’s my daughter?”
Heat flooded Viola’s face, but not from the hot stove nearby where two chickens stewed in a pot. The nerve of this man. She should make plans right now to pack up Lavinia and leave tomorrow.
“Well?” Mr. Mattson—Robert—put his fists on his waist, probably to intimidate her.
She would have none of that. “Lavinia is sleeping on the divan in the parlor.”
He looked toward the inside kitchen door as if he would go there.
“Please let her rest.” It was an order, not a request. Viola didn’t want the child to have another fright from this man. No matter what he said, she would manage their first real meeting.
To her relief, he nodded. “Fine.” He ran a hand down his cheek—his clean cheek that sported dark stubble—and took a seat at the large round kitchen table.
My, these handsome brothers cleaned up nicely. Well, she’d not seen Andrew and William before but imagined they had looked as dirty as Robert had earlier.
“Tell you what, Miss Brinson.” Andrew gave her a dimpled smile. “If that chicken tastes as good as it smells, I’ll be hard-pressed to let you go back East. We’re in dire need of some good cooking around here.”
“That’s right,” Old Fuzzy said. “Women are scarce in these parts. I reckon one of us oughter marry you so you’ll stick around.” The twinkle in his eye showed he was teasing and that he was not offended by the insults to his cooking.
Andrew and William laughed.
Robert’s scowl deepened. Before Viola could respond in kind to the old man’s teasing, he snorted. “Where’s Pop?” He directed the question to Old Fuzzy.
Viola started. She’d forgotten Lavinia had a grandfather. Would he be ill-tempered like Robert or friendly like his other sons?
“Last I saw him, he and Robbie was goin’ out to check on that applewood branch to see if it’s ready to carve.” Old Fuzzy scratched his fuzzy chin. “They was gonna whittle me some new cooking spoons and such, but maybe Miss Viola would like one of them fancy metal ones from the dry goods store.” He winked at her. “That is, if you felt like cookin’ fer us again.”
“Wellll...” She drew out the word to return his teasing. “I’ll have to think about that.”
“Don’t bother. You won’t be here that long.” Robert stood and stepped toward the back hallway. “And Old Fuzzy’s cooking is good enough for us.” He walked out, and soon the screen door slammed shut.
Her face burning again, Viola stood and busied herself at the stove. The man was insufferable. At least these three men were kinder, more welcoming. Andrew and William had displayed manners nearly as fine as her own brothers. And Old Fuzzy had already endeared himself to Lavinia by giving her a sweet.
When she and the child had arrived at the back door, of all things, she hadn’t known what to expect. But the old cook had greeted them warmly and showed them upstairs to the small bedchamber they would share. Lavinia refused to nap by herself, so Viola took her down to the parlor, where she fell asleep under a soft patchwork quilt Old Fuzzy found for her. He then invited Viola to have a much-needed cup of coffee.
It was awful, but she managed to drink it...in a kitchen that looked as if a tornado had swept through. In fact, the entire house looked as if spring cleaning was a foreign concept. Tired of sitting idly on a train or in train stations for over a week, she secured Old Fuzzy’s permission to occupy herself. It had taken several hours for the two of them to clean and organize the kitchen and formal dining room, but afterward, they agreed it was a job well done. The kindly old man had been near to tears with gratitude, further endearing himself to her.
“Miss Brinson.” William refilled his cup from the pot on the stove. “This is the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. Is it something you brought with you?”
She glanced at Old Fuzzy, who chortled.
“No, sonny. She just washed the pot.”
They all shared another laugh.
What kind gentlemen they were. If not for Robert’s harsh pronouncement, she might consider staying here. But did he have the final say? Maybe the others could overrule him. After all, she didn’t feel right leaving Lavinia in the care of these busy ranchers with not a woman in sight. What would happen to the child? At the very least, she would be neglected and would grow up like a weed, all femininity stamped out. At the worst, she would never learn proper manners or obtain a suitable education.
No, Viola could not, would not permit that to happen. She would find a way to charm the patriarch, Mr. Mattson, into letting her stay, perhaps through her cooking. That cake she’d whipped up earlier should help. She would win them all over through their stomachs. And she would take care of Lavinia as if she were her own.
Rob found Pop and Robbie seated on a log outside the woodshed. “What’re you making there, son?” The boy was learning to whittle from the expert, as Rob and his brothers had done.
“A spoon.” He held up the applewood stick, which was already taking the shape of a usable utensil.
“Good job.” Rob ruffled his son’s hair. “How you doin’, Pop? You meet your granddaughter yet?”
“Huh!” Pop eyed him crossly. “Not with that female hovering around. I saw ’em inside and ran for cover. How soon before she leaves?” From the jerky way he moved his hands, Rob could see he was seriously out of sorts.
“Soon.” Rob sat beside them, pulled out his pocketknife and picked up a stick. “You feeling all right?”
“Fine.” His tone said he was anything but fine.
So the old man was having as much trouble as Rob over today’s shattering news. They needed to talk about it.
“Son.” He placed a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. “I want you to go inside and see how supper’s coming along.” Another thought struck. “Peek in the parlor and see if your sister’s waked up yet. From the way you made her laugh on the way home, I have a feeling you and she are going to be best friends.” Rob never had a sister, so maybe that wasn’t quite true. Besides, the girl would be gone soon. He’d have to be careful what he promised his son.
Robbie’s eyes brightened. “Yessir.” He folded his knife and stuck it in his pocket. “Thanks for the lesson, Pop.”
“Glad to. We’ll finish it tomorrow, then maybe work on those cradles for your cousins.”
After he left, Rob looked at his dad, and they both heaved out a weary sigh.
“So, what are we going to do with the girl?”
Rob winced at the way he referenced Lavinia. But then, he’d been thinking of her that way, too. “You got any ideas?”
“We could send her over to Jared and Cal. Their wives’ll know how to raise a girl.”
A sudden feeling of possessiveness overcame Rob. No! Nobody was going to take his baby girl away from him. But where did that thought come from?
“That wouldn’t be fair. Emma and Julia are both expecting.” He grunted. “And may I remind you how pleased you were to learn about that? Isn’t that why you told everybody you’d be the one making the cradles?” Against all of his and Pop’s efforts to keep women out of the family so they could build their ranch without the drama women brought, Jared and Cal had married two sweet sisters. Not one of the other Mattson men had objected. Probably because they’d be living on a different ranch, and the women wouldn’t be here to cause drama and disruptions.
“Yeah, well.” Pop snorted. “So, what are we going to do?”
Rob scratched his chin. “On the way back from the train, Robbie got Lavinia to giggle. Maybe he’s the key to helping her feel at home.” The idea of keeping his daughter here was growing on him all too fast.
“That’s all well and good, but girls need different training from boys. They need a woman to bring them up. I still say Julia and Emma or maybe even their ma could help out.”
Before Rob could object again, the dinner bell clanged noisily, so they made their way to the kitchen.
Instead of supper being laid out on the kitchen table as usual, the dining room table was now covered with the damask cloth Mother had left behind all those years ago. Her china and silver were set out to designate seven place settings, folded linen napkins beside each one. Filled with delicious-smelling chicken and dumplings, the large china tureen from above the china cabinet sat in the center of the table. A cloth-covered basket of biscuits and a steaming serving bowl of baby carrots added to the fare. Cut glass bowls held butter and jam. Crystal salt cellars sat before each place setting, and water had been served in crystal goblets.
Pop took one look at the feast, one look at Miss Brinson, and blinked. “You did all this?”
“Yes, I did, Mr. Mattson, with Old Fuzzy’s help.” She reached out to him. “I am Viola Brinson, and I am pleased to meet you.”
Pop chuckled as he shook her hand. “And I’m more than pleased to meet you, Miss Brinson. Would you like a job?”
