Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“I pity those poor people,” Ruth murmured, drawing Webb’s eyes to her with the comment.

“They seem determined to make it,” he said.

But he was noticing the rose-colored dress Ruth was wearing and the smoothness of her skin, like a white pearl. A picture flashed in his mind of the homesteader girl, Lillian, in her cheap gingham dress and skin that was already browning from the sun. He’d passed right over her when he’d first seen the group of wagons around the well. This raw land was already having its effect on her.

It was strange how he hadn’t recognized her. He hadn’t caught the flash of red in her hair until the second time he looked. Something else had triggered his recognition. Maybe it had been the coiled eagerness of her—that vitality of body and spirit.

“It will take more than determination, I’m afraid,” his mother said. Her lips widened into a smile. “But I like seeing all these people in town, even if a certain Mr. Calder thinks that is a traitorous remark.” She boldly lifted her gaze to the man just joining them, teasing him in a loving fashion.

If anyone else had said that, they would have received a steely glare, but Benteen merely gave his wife an indulgent smile. “The train’s a half-hour late,?

?? he advised them. “The agent told Curly there’s two cars full of drylanders on it. I hope that makes you happy, Lorna.”

She took a breath and said nothing in reply. “Since we have to wait for the train, we might as well find a comfortable place to sit.” She looked to Ruth. “Would you like to come inside the depot with me, or stay out here on the platform with Webb?”

“I think—” Ruth paused and looked at Webb, reluctant to voice her approval of Lorna Calder’s maneuvering to put the two of them together.

This nonassertiveness was nothing new to Webb. She never presumed anything in their relationship, always letting it be his initiative and never showing dissatisfaction over his snail’s pace. Webb himself wasn’t sure why he held back and avoided courting her outright.

“Ruth needs some fresh air after being shut up in the schoolhouse so much.” He made the decision for her and noticed the pleased look in his mother’s eye.

“Are you coming with me, Benteen?” She tucked her hand under the inside curve of his arm, not waiting for his answer.

Webb reached into his shirt pocket for a tailor-made cigarette and watched his parents walk arm in arm to the depot office. Since Ruth had never objected to his smoking, he didn’t bother to ask her permission before lighting up. An Indian woman had her wares on display and approached Webb, offering a pair of moccasins for his inspection. He shook his head and she moved back to her blanket to wait for the train.

“I hope those primers I ordered for the children have arrived,” Ruth said, uncomfortable with the silence.

He squinted his eyes against the curling smoke. Maybe he was like Nate claimed to be, not the marrying kind. There were others on the ranch, his age or younger, with children in Ruth’s school. His life was too aimless. A wife and family meant settling down and becoming his father’s man, which Webb flatly rejected. Instead of just drifting along, it was time to decide whether he wanted to stay at the Triple C or strike out on his own.

“You should get married, Ruth,” he said abruptly. “You should be teaching your own children instead of someone else’s.”

“You sound just like your mother,” she replied. “Except she said I should be teaching her grandchildren.”

“That’s not likely.” The answer came out before Webb had considered it, but it was a true feeling. He realized it said something about his intentions toward Ruth—or the lack of them. “Have you ever been to Texas?” He changed the subject, aware that she was directing her attention elsewhere to avoid looking at him.

“No, I haven’t,” Her voice sounded small. She had been waiting for Webb to notice her for so long. It seemed he had. He’d come to see her once in a while, have dinner at her house, and he had kissed her at least a dozen times. Each year, she thought it would be the one when he’d ask her to marry him. He wasn’t seeing anyone else. Lorna Calder had assured her of that.

“I’ve only been there a couple of times myself. My grandparents are still living in Fort Worth, Mother keeps talking about visiting them, but . . .” He frowned and didn’t complete the sentence.

The lonely wall of a train whistle sounded in the distance. Those waiting on the platform stirred and began drifting to the trackside. It was the same in the street. The arrival of the train was an event that drew onlookers to the station. It was a link with civilization for the residents of this isolated community in the middle of nowhere.

When the train whistle blasted its approach signal again, three wagons came rattling down the street. The white-suited figure in the first wagon Webb recognized as that land promoter Wessel, but his eyes narrowed at the sight of the second man sitting on the wagon seat with him. It was Doyle Pettit from the TeePee Ranch. That day in the saloon, Doyle had talked about throwing in with the land promoter. As Webb had suspected, it hadn’t been just talk; but seeing the two of them together was another thing. When he glimpsed the drivers of the other two wagons, it was even more difficult to accept. They were longtime hands with the TeePee outfit, nearly as much parts of the ranch as Barnie Moore and Shorty Niles were at the Triple C. It didn’t set well when Webb considered these men—these cattlemen—would be driving wagonloads of nesters out to help them find land to homestead.

“Isn’t that Doyle Pettit?” His father spoke from Webb’s right as the train chugged and hissed to a stop at the station. “And Charlie—and Jingles?”

“Yeah.” Webb faced the train rather than watch the defection of his contemporary to the other side.

The first two passenger cars behind the freight cars were painted with signs proclaiming them to be the Northern Pacific Special. It didn’t matter where a person looked anymore. There was always a visible reminder of the drylanders. Families of them filled the special cars. Webb silently watched them pouring out to be greeted by Wessel striding into view in his eye-catching white suit. His father wore a tight-lipped expression and there was a hard gleam in his eyes.

“Look at that bunch of bohunks.” The muttered words of contempt came from one of the Triple C riders. It didn’t matter which one, since he voiced the sentiment of all.

“There’s Bull.” Lorna Calder was the first to spot the broad hulk of the man as he swung down from the train steps, relying heavily on his cane for support. A black porter followed with his satchel.

They lost sight of him behind the swelling tide of emigrants clustering around the land locater. Wessel hopped onto a wooden crate so all could see him.

“Welcome to the future wheat capital of Montana!” His voice carried like a preacher’s. “I hope you didn’t come here looking for dryland. All we’ve got is mud!”

Subdued laughter and wide smiles spread through the large group of new settlers. The only ones shaking their heads grimly were the members of the Triple C outfit. As Bull Giles limped into view, Webb pushed the voice of the locater extolling the virtues of this region into the background of his hearing.