Chapter Five
Collins Ranch, near Bozeman, Montana Territory
The sourdough starter was named Lazarus.
“He has been alive for twenty-three years,” Sadie informed her gravely. “Grandma Mary brought him from Iowa in a covered wagon. Uncle George says she carried him on her lap the whole journey. Like a baby.”
“Like a baby,” Zoe repeated softly, peering down into the brown stoneware crock. The starter looked back at her, thick and bubbling, smelling of fresh-poured beer and old apples.
“He has personal feelings, Auntie Zoe. Grandma Mary said so. She used to say Lazarus, come forth every time she pulled him out. Then she would laugh. Uncle Wade used to laugh, too.”
Zoe kept her eyes on the crock.
“Used to?” she asked gently.
“Before,” Sadie said simply.
“I see,” Zoe replied softly. “Well. Lazarus and I are going to be great friends. What does he need?”
“Flour and water. Twice a day, or he gets cross.”
“Then we had better keep him content.”
Sadie planted both hands on her small hips.
“Not like that, Auntie Zoe.”
“Not like that?” Zoe asked, pausing mid-scoop.
“You are scooping. Grandma Mary said you sift. The flour goes in light, not heavy. Heavy flour makes Lazarus sad.”
“I am chastened, Sadie.”
“You are what?” Sadie demanded.
“Corrected. Embarrassed. Improved.”
Sadie considered this.
“All three?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“All three at once,” Zoe confirmed.
“All right, then.” Sadie lifted her chin. “Now, sift.”
Zoe sifted. Sadie watched with the gravity of a small priest at an altar.
A sudden affronted squawk came from under the kitchen table.
The wooden spoon jumped out of Zoe’s hand. It hit the floor with a clatter, bounced once, and skidded under the table, where Henrietta regarded it.
Both of them went very still at the same instant, Sadie with her flour tin half-tilted and Zoe with her hand still extended toward the empty space where the spoon had been.
Under the table, Henrietta gathered her dignity around her like skirts, stood up, and walked out of the kitchen at a stately pace.
A small sound escaped Sadie. Then another. Then she was laughing, a surprised, knocked-loose kind of laugh, hand over her mouth, eyes wide above it, and Zoe was laughing too, helplessly, holding the edge of the table.
Lord, Zoe thought, watching the child crumple onto her stool with her braids shaking, this child is going to be all right. I do not know about the rest of it. But she is going to be all right.
She bent and retrieved the spoon from under the table.
“Henrietta,” Zoe announced solemnly, holding the spoon aloft, “has registered a complaint.”
“She will write a letter,” Sadie agreed, wiping her eyes. “Grandma Mary said hens write letters.”
“Then we shall expect it by morning,” Zoe replied with equal gravity.
***
They were on their fifth stitch at Sadie’s sampler when the sound of voices came through the open kitchen window.
“She is lovely, brother.” George Collins. “When do you plan to marry her?”
A pause.
“There is a trial period first,” Wade said.
“A trial period.”
Zoe’s needle stopped mid-stitch.
“Wade Collins, you brought that woman two thousand miles.”
“She agreed to it.”
A small, incredulous laugh from George. “And what would you have done if she had refused, brother? Put her back on the stage?”
A long silence followed.
Zoe set her hoop on the table. Heat had risen along her cheekbones, and her hands wanted to do something they would regret later. She pressed her palms flat against the pine and counted, very carefully, to four.
The trial was an afterthought.
He had thought of it somewhere between the stage office and the boardwalk, looking at her.
She drew one breath, then two.
“Sadie,” she said pleasantly, rising to her feet, “I am going to step outside for a moment.”
“All right, Auntie Zoe.”
She smoothed her apron with the deliberate care of a woman who had been raised to keep her hands occupied while her heart caught up. She crossed to the back door, lifted the latch, and stepped out.
Wade and George stood three feet from the door, leaning against the side of the wagon with a wrench between them. Both heads came up.
Wade straightened sharply.
“Zoe,” he said.
“Wade,” she replied evenly.
“I—”
“Coffee,” she interrupted, with the most pleasant smile she could summon. “I am putting on coffee. I assume you both want some, since you are working so industriously this close to the kitchen window.”
The color crept up Wade’s neck above his collar.
George Collins, who had a sense of timing, became extremely interested in the wrench.
“Coffee would be welcome, Miss Preston,” George said with grave courtesy. “Thank you.”
“Zoe,” she corrected.
“Zoe.”
She held Wade’s eyes one beat longer than required.
“It will be ready in ten minutes,” she said, went back inside, and closed the door behind her with a deliberately gentle hand.
She put the coffee pot on. Her hands were steady, which was a small private victory.
All right, she thought, setting the lid on the pot with a firm click. All right, Wade Collins. You drafted yourself a trial because you thought I would disappoint. I will not. I will be more than you bargained for, in every measurable direction. I intend to be wanted here.
She drew a long breath.
She felt, for the first time since the iris bed in Albany, very awake.
“Auntie Zoe,” Sadie called from the table.
“Yes, sweet girl?” Zoe answered, turning.
“What were you doing outside?” Sadie asked curiously.
“I was putting Uncle Wade and Uncle George on notice.”
“On notice of what?”
“Of me, Sadie.”
Sadie considered this with great seriousness.
“That seems fair,” she pronounced at last, and returned to her sampler.
***
Alice arrived at half past ten with a basket of brown eggs over her arm.
She was small and freckled and red-haired, perhaps a year or two older than Zoe, and she came up the porch steps with the easy familiarity of a neighbor who had been running into this kitchen since she was Sadie’s age.
She kissed Sadie on the top of the head, set the eggs on the table, and held out both hands to Zoe.
“Alice Greene. From the place down the creek. Your nearest neighbor, your future bosom friend, and bringer of eggs. My mother sends her regards and an apology for staying home. She’s terrified of new people for the first hour. After the first hour, she’s unstoppable.”
“Zoe Preston,” Zoe replied warmly. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased indeed.” Alice’s hazel eyes went bright. “Into the parlor with you, Zoe. I have ten minutes before I have to head back to the chickens, and I intend to make a friend by the end of them.”
In the parlor, Alice settled on the horsehair settee and folded her hands in her lap.
“Now,” she said briskly. “Is Sadie being civilized?”
“Sadie is wonderful,” Zoe answered with feeling.
Alice pressed both hands to her chest.
“She has refused to show anyone her sampler since her mother died. She showed it to me on my way through the kitchen just now. She told me you were helping her finish it.”
Zoe held still for a moment.
“Nora started it,” she said softly.
“I know.” Alice’s bright eyes softened. “The spring before the accident. She was working on a verse for Sadie’s room. I am the resurrection and the life. She had only finished the first three words.” A pause. “I think she would be glad someone is finishing it.”
The parlor was quiet.
“Alice,” Zoe said. “Tell me about them. About Wade’s sister.”
Alice settled back against the settee.
“Nora Collins was the heart of that family. Two years younger than Wade, as different from him as light from shadow. She married Charlie Conrad seven years ago. They had Sadie. They lived on a small place on the other side of town.” She paused.
“Three years ago last October, their wagon overturned on the Helena road. The axle gave at the river bend. Nora and Charlie were thrown clear. Sadie was in the back, bundled in blankets. She was thrown, too. Into the soft grass at the side of the road.”
Zoe pressed her palm flat against the arm of the settee.
“Sadie saw?” she asked carefully.
“She remembers very little,” Alice replied. “The doctor said that was a mercy. She knows a man named Henson held her. She was screaming. The rest is gone to her.”
Through the parlor window, Zoe could just see the corner of the back yard. Sadie was crouched there in the grass with Henrietta tucked against her chest. The child was speaking to the hen in a low, confidential voice. Her braids were coming loose at the ends.
Zoe’s chest ached.
“Wade was there within the hour,” Alice continued softly. “He and George rode out together. I know because my father rode behind them. Wade stayed until the men came. His hand over Nora’s. He sat with her until they took her.”
Zoe blinked hard. Her eyes had gone hot, and a small trembling had started at the corner of her mouth. She pressed it still with the heel of her hand.
“Oh,” she whispered.
“He took Sadie home that same evening,” Alice went on gently.
“Walked into this ranch house with that small child in his arms, gave her his mother’s quilt, and slept in the chair outside her door the whole first night.
My father told me. He said Wade Collins is a man of very few words and very large actions, and if you can learn to read the actions, Zoe, you will fare well in this house. ”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“I thought you should know,” Alice replied gently. “My father also said Wade Collins has been carrying this house alone since the accident and doing it very badly in certain respects, and that whoever the Lord sent him ought to have a backbone.”
“Did he?”
“He did. He sends his regards.” Alice smiled with her whole face. “He said any woman who would come this far for an unknown ranch and an unknown child must have a backbone made of cottonwood, and the rest of the valley should respect it.”
Zoe gave a small, wet laugh.
“Alice Pratt,” she said, “I think we are going to be friends.”
“I told you. Under quota,” Alice replied with satisfaction.
***