Chapter 5 #4
Morgan did not reply. He fixed his gaze on the fast-running stream that cut through the valley.
On a clear summer day when the sun was starting to lower, the water reflected all of the sky.
It put him in mind of a curling blue ribbon, the kind that a pretty woman might use to tie back her dark, bittersweet chocolate hair.
This morning the stream had a silver cast. The white water sparkled as it rushed over stones.
The white-faced Herefords ignored the stream; most of them favored the pool of water in the basin.
Here the water was more or less like the cattle it served—tranquil, wide, and shallow.
Come winter, it would freeze. When that happened it would be up to him and his men to chop holes in the ice.
If it froze solid, then they would drive the herd to water somewhere else.
Max Salter put his canteen away first. “I’m going to ride over to the next ridge and look around. I figure there’re about six, maybe seven strays. I’ll bring ‘em back.”
Morgan nodded. “You’ve got a good eye, Max.”
Max swung his wiry frame into the saddle and pulled his horse around. He clicked his tongue, and then he was moving on.
Jem watched him go. “Probably started to feel crowded what with the two of us standing beside him. He’s not one for company.”
“Ever think it was the company?”
“Me? It’s not me.”
Morgan shot him a pointed look.
“All right,” Jem said. “I suppose it could be me.”
“Damn straight. You haven’t shut up since we left the barn. Maybe you should say what’s on your mind instead of talking all around it. Or just talking.”
Jem shrugged.
Morgan blew out a long breath. “No parlor games, Jem. I’m not one for animal, vegetable, mineral. Out with it.”
“It’s animal,” said Jem. Before Morgan clubbed him with his canteen, he added quickly, “It’s about Jane.”
“You mean Mrs. Longstreet.”
“She give us leave at breakfast to call her Jane.” In response to Morgan’s arched eyebrow, he said, “But Mrs. Longstreet suits just fine.”
“Good. What about my wife?”
“Well, I guess I’ve been wondering what it’s like being married.”
“You guess? Have you been wondering or not?”
“Okay. I’ve been wondering. I reckon you know I’ve been fixin’ to marry Renee.
I’ve had the thought rattlin’ around in my head for about ten years now, since I was fourteen and she was twelve, but early on mostly what I thought about was just kissin’ her.
Haven’t changed my mind about that, and since she lets me have the chance now and again, I think we suit. For sure, we fit.”
Morgan used his index finger to tip back the brim of his hat and regard Jem dead on. “Wind it down, Jem.”
Jem shifted his weight. “It’s like this.
I’ve known Renee pretty much all my life, been in love with her near to half of it, but sometimes when I actually think about being married to her, I just sorta freeze up inside.
Maybe she knows it. Maybe that’s why she ain’t marched down the aisle to meet me yet.
How’d you know you’d be a good enough husband? ”
“Jesus, Jem. What the hell kind of question is that?”
“You think I should ask Jane? I mean Mrs. Longstreet?”
“You think I should stake you out here for the wolves to find?”
“No.”
“Right. There’s your answer.”
Jem shook his head. “C’mon, Morgan. You must have a notion or two about marriage since you went and did it.
I don’t pretend to know you like I know my own brothers—none of us do—but I’m not wrong about you bein’ real thoughtful about the way you do things.
Real particular, too. You put me a little in mind of the marshal that way. ”
“I’m not flattered,” Morgan said dryly.
“All right. Maybe you don’t like him much, so forget I said that. Just tell me about bein’ married. What made you sure that it was so right that you could convince a lady like Miss Middlebourne to take you up on it?”
“A lady like Miss Middlebourne wouldn’t have me any other way.”
“Is that it?” asked Jem.
“Part of it.”
Jem’s mobile mouth worked side to side as he chewed on that. “What’s the rest?” he asked finally.
Morgan shrugged. “Maybe the person you should be asking is Cobb Bridger. He’s been married a spell, and he’s real free with advice.”
Jem looked to his left, his right, off in the distance, and then back at Morgan. “D’you see him around? You’re the only married man in spittin’ distance.”
“Well, then ask him next time you can spit on him. Hell, Jem, I wasn’t married when I saw you yesterday afternoon. I’m not exactly flush with experience.”
Jem packed up his canteen. “You played your cards close there, letting me think she was hiring on. Seems like you could have said something about why she was really at Morning Star.”
“Seems like some things are still my business.”
“Sure, I get that. It’s just strange, is all. You knowin’ her about a minute compared to all the time I’ve known Renee. And here you are married, and I’m still wonderin’ what it’s like.”
“Have you thought about where you’ll live, Jem?”
“I’m savin’ money. She won’t live outside of town.”
“What about your brothers? You three are about as tight as a square knot and you come as a set. God knows, it took me better than a day to know who was who, and a week to tell you apart at a distance. If Renee is sensing your doubts, could be it has something to do with your brothers. You probably want to make some decisions about family.”
Jem nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right. Guess that wasn’t a consideration for you.”
“No,” Morgan said quietly. “It wasn’t a consideration.”
* * *
Jane was the last one to sit down for dinner.
When Morgan started to get up to hold a chair for her, she almost waved him back before caught herself.
Here, she thought, it felt right to observe convention.
She had already changed the routine by deciding this meal would be served in the dining room.
Crowding around the smaller kitchen table was fine for breakfast, especially if they continued to eat in shifts, but for the most substantial meal of the day, Jane wanted to enjoy it separate from where she had prepared it.
She explained that to Morgan when he asked her about it, owning that it was a selfish indulgence on her part.
Oddly enough, it was this last part that seemed to make him reconsider the objection she saw hovering on his lips.
Instead, what he said was, “As long as it suits you.”
How could it not? she wondered. This was an appreciative audience.
They were sufficiently well mannered so as not to fall on the food, but the speed with which the platters and bowls made the first pass around the table was nothing short of remarkable.
They layered their plates with slices of baked ham, boiled potatoes with butter and parsley, creamed peas, and apple fritters.
Jem had his fork poised to stab a fritter when he suddenly came to attention and jabbed the tines in his brother’s direction instead. “D’you do that?”
Jake frowned at him across the table. “Do what?”
“You know.”
“I asked, didn’t I? That means I don’t know. And stop pointing your fork at me.”
Jem looked sideways at Jessop. “You?”
Jessop held up his hands, palms out. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Then who kicked me?”
Across the table, on Jake’s right, Max Salter said, “I did.” If he was concerned that he took up half the shoulder space of any of the Davis brothers, it did not show.
“Didn’t expect you to fuss about it. Polite thing to do before you poke at your food is to say a prayer over it, or at least wait until the boss’s wife finishes hers. ”
Jem sat back. “Oh.” His gaze swiveled to Jane. “Sorry, ma’am.” He put down his fork, folded his hands, and bent his head.
Until Max spoke up, Jane was unaware that she had called attention to herself.
She looked to the other end of the table where Morgan sat.
He still had his hand around his fork and was closer to spearing a fritter than Jem had been.
She waited to see what he would do. There was all his talk about not being a godly man.
Morgan grunted softly, darted a narrow look at Max, and set his fork down slowly and deliberately. He did not follow Jem’s example and bow his head. He stared straight ahead at Jane as she bowed hers.
Jane did not hurry through her thanksgiving, but in deference to her company’s hunger, she kept it short.
When she closed with “Amen”, it was as if a pistol had been discharged on opening day at the races.
From Jane’s vantage point, it was difficult to tell who dug in first. It might have been Max who led the charge.
“Good fritters,” said Jem. “Damn if they aren’t the best I ever had. Ow!” This time he jabbed his fork in Max’s direction first. “What’d you kick me for now?”
“Didn’t.”
Jake held up a finger. “Me. Mind your language.”
Jem frowned as he reviewed what he’d said. “Oh. Sorry, Mrs. Longstreet. Just sorta slipped out.”
Jane smiled. “I heard the compliment, not the curse, but for the sake of your shins it might behoove you to temper your enthusiasm.”
“Consider me behooved.” Grinning, he returned his attention to his plate.
When Jane glanced at Morgan to gauge his reaction, he was simply shaking his head, but what remained of his faint smile struck her as indulgent.
It came to her then that he genuinely liked the men working the ranch with him, enjoyed their company, and probably only intervened when they failed to police themselves.
She had seen evidence of the men’s respect for Morgan, and here was evidence that it was returned.
Jessop smashed his potatoes with the back of fork and pushed cream peas onto the pile. “How’d you find things up at Blue? Herefords okay?”
Morgan said, “Mostly.”
“Wolves,” said Max. “A pack of seven or eight from what I could tell.”
Jem said, “Max set off to round up some strays and ended up following the pack’s trail.”
“I brought back five strays. Wolves cut out a calf.”