Chapter 6 #3
Griff had corrected her from the very beginning, even before her mother died when he’d cared for the family accounts.
Then, when he’d been put in charge of Cassie’s inheritance, he’d been even stricter.
She accepted that because he was so much older and wiser.
But Griff had always been kind, carefully explaining things to her and with incredible patience telling her he didn’t expect much from her until she’d had the proper training.
But that day, he had shaken her so violently, her neck stung and she could feel the bruises forming on her arms. She’d immediately apologized, and she’d begun the hard work of growing up so she could be worthy of a man as fine as Griff.
She’d never, never shouted again, and she hadn’t laughed out loud in three years.
Now Red was laughing, and she had laughed back. He didn’t seem upset at all. And truly…it wasn’t what the rules were that was important. It was finding them out and obeying them. She would have to learn a whole new set of rules, but she could do it. She could be the wife Red deserved.
“My name is Fitzgerald O’Neill Dawson. My mother was born in Ireland, and she landed all her love for the Old Country right smack on my head with a single name.”
“Fitzgerald O’Neill Dawson?”
“It’s a mouthful.” Red started cutting his ham.
“It’s a fine name. Do you want me to call you ‘Red’?” She’d always called Griff by his nickname because he had dictated that she should. Cassie carefully imitated Red’s motions, picking up her fork and knife seconds after he did.
“‘Red’ is all right. I doubt if I’d know to answer if anyone called me ‘Fitzgerald,’ of all things. Even my ma called me ‘Red.’”
“Tell me about your parents, Red.” Cassie was suddenly excited about the wealth of questions she could ask of a man she didn’t know at all. She could keep him talking for months.
“Well, let’s see. My pa was a parson. Ma had hair as red as mine, and there were ten children in all.”
“Ten children!” Cassie gasped.
“Yeah, I was the youngest. Six of the kids died of one thing and another, mostly before I was born. So there are four of us grown. Let’s see…
of the six that died, we lost one in the War Between the States.
Another fought and got home, but scarlet fever went through and killed him.
Another brother, the one that was next older than me, and the two sisters next older than him died of yellow fever before I was born.
And I had a sister who died having her first babe. I was old enough to remember that.”
A somber expression crossed Red’s face as he recited this litany of death, but he didn’t dwell on it. Cassie didn’t expect him to. Death was a part of living, and it made no sense to rail against it.
Red continued. “I’m a straggler, anyway.
Then losing those three that were next older, there’s a long spread of years between me and the rest of the family.
Pa did his preaching on Sundays and owned a feed store besides.
Ma and all us kids helped out. The whole bunch of them settled down young and started right in raising families.
Last count, I had five nieces and eight nephews.
I guess I’m the maverick of the family, but there was always something that called me to ranching.
Ma said it was the Irishman’s love of the land.
Pa said I was a dreamer. When they opened Montana for homesteading, I jumped at the chance.
They were old when I was born, near fifty, and they’ve both passed on now. ”
“If you’re a rancher, why do you dig graves?” Cassie asked.
“I turn my hand to a dozen jobs in town to make this place pay. The general store lets me work off my bill. The blacksmith keeps my horses shod. I bought a horse at the stable in town, and I’m paying that off with a pitchfork. Whatever it takes to get done what needs doing.”
“And how did you decide to live in this cave?”
Red grinned and shrugged. “I’ve got a better home for my chickens and pigs than I do for myself.”
“Oh, no! This is a wonderful home,” Cassie protested.
“Do you really like it? Because I didn’t want to build a house for a few more years.”
“If you do build a house, whenever you do it, could we just add it on to this one?” Cassie asked. “I’d never want to give up that cold spring.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s what I’ve always had planned. It may be a while.”
Cassie responded to the note of warning in his voice. “I like it just the way it is. When a house gets too big, it’s next to impossible to keep it warm. This is so cozy with only the fireplace burning.”
Cassie went back to her meal while Red talked. Asking questions was the perfect way to pass the rest of her life.
“Now tell me about your folks, Cass. You and Griff came from New York, right?”
Cassie was struck dumb. She had a mouthful of mashed potatoes, and she had to force herself to swallow them.
She hadn’t been asked to offer much to a conversation in years.
Suddenly, words wanted to rush out. She had so many things she wanted to say, the words jammed behind each other like piled-up logs at a narrow spot on a river.
She just looked at Red and shrugged silently, acting just as stupid as Griff had always said she was.