Chapter 2 - The Woman Who Stepped Off the Train
Clementine Dawson did not step from the train like a nervous bride.
She stepped down like a woman arriving for work.
Her traveling dress was dark navy and far too heavy for the Wyoming heat. Four days aboard trains had reddened her cheeks and loosened small curls around her face, but her posture remained straight.
She was tall for a woman.
Broad.
Substantial.
And she knew exactly what everyone saw when they looked at her.
Clementine had been hearing comments about her size since childhood.
Some cruel.
Some disguised as concern.
Some delivered by women who believed politeness made cruelty invisible.
She had learned long ago that embarrassment was a gift people could only keep if she accepted it.
So when silence spread along the Cheyenne platform, Clementine merely adjusted her gloves.
She spotted Josiah immediately.
His letter had not described him, but he could only be the exhausted cowboy standing as though awaiting either a bride or a public execution.
She lifted her trunk.
Josiah hurried forward.
"Miss Dawson?"
"Mr. Caldwell?"
"Yes, ma'am."
He reached for the trunk.
She let him take one handle.
His arm dropped several inches beneath the unexpected weight.
Clementine noticed.
She politely pretended not to.
"Long trip?" he asked.
"Extremely."
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't build the railroad."
"No."
"Then I see little reason for you to apologize."
Josiah looked at her.
There was not even a hint of flirtation in her expression.
He almost smiled.
Then Gertrude Finch laughed.
It was not loud.
It did not need to be.
"Well," Gertrude said to the mercantile owner beside her, "at least Caldwell won't have to worry about strong winds carrying this one away."
Clementine heard.
Josiah's shoulders stiffened.
Before he could respond, Clementine turned.
"Good afternoon."
Gertrude blinked.
"Good afternoon."
"You must be Mrs. Finch."
Now Gertrude looked surprised.
"How would you know?"
"The conductor mentioned there was a woman in Cheyenne who knew everyone's business."
The mercantile owner coughed violently into his fist.
Josiah stared at the ground.
Gertrude's cheeks flushed.
Clementine smiled pleasantly.
"I assumed he meant you."
Then she turned back toward the wagon.
Josiah followed.
Once they were several yards away, he murmured, "You probably made an enemy."
"I had been in town four minutes."
"That's fast."
"Chicago made me efficient."
A laugh escaped Josiah before he could stop it.
He immediately seemed guilty.
Clementine climbed onto the wagon seat.
"Do you object to laughing, Mr. Caldwell?"
"No."
"You should practice."
That ended the conversation for nearly twenty minutes.
The wagon rolled away from Cheyenne into increasingly open land.
Clementine studied the country.
Wyoming seemed enormous.
Chicago had always pressed close around her.
Brick walls.
Smoke.
Wagons.
Streetcars.
People shouting from windows.
Children running between alleys.
Here there was sky in every direction.
It unsettled her.
And she loved it.
Josiah stole occasional glances.
She noticed each one.
Finally she said, "You may ask."
His head turned.
"What?"
"Whatever question you've been trying not to ask since the station."
Josiah hesitated.
"Why'd you answer my advertisement?"
Clementine looked back toward the mountains.
"Because you were honest."
"Honest?"
"You called your children devils."
He rubbed his beard.
"Maybe that wasn't kind."
"It was tired."
That answer silenced him.
After another mile, Clementine continued.
"I've read many advertisements written by lonely men. Most promised beautiful homes, prosperous farms, kind dispositions, and lives suspiciously close to paradise."
Josiah snorted.
"Mine didn't."
"No."
"I said the roof leaks."
"You did."
"And the children are difficult."
"You did."
"And the ranch isn't worth much."
"That was also mentioned."
He glanced toward her.
"So why come?"
She considered the question.
"Because men who lie badly usually lie often. Men who tell a stranger their roof leaks may at least be capable of telling the truth."
Josiah nodded slowly.
He liked the answer more than he expected.
They reached the Broken Spur in late afternoon.
Clementine saw the ranch house from half a mile away.
Broken fence.
Weathered barn.
A windmill that leaned slightly east.
Tools lying where someone had dropped them.
A wagon wheel without a wagon.
Laundry hanging from one tree branch for reasons she could not understand.
Josiah seemed embarrassed.
"I meant to clean up."
"When?"
He looked at her.
She raised one eyebrow.
He almost laughed again.
Then the children appeared.
Wyatt stood on the porch.
Sadi beside him.
The twins hung upside down from the low branch of an oak.
Mave and Pearl peered around a barrel.
Emmett sat directly in the dirt.
No shoes.
No shirt.
Chewing leather.
Clementine studied them.
The children studied her.
A chicken wandered between both sides.
Jasper dropped from the tree.
"She's enormous."
Cole whispered loudly, "Maybe Pa ordered two wives and they got stuck together."
Sadi elbowed him.
Josiah closed his eyes.
"Cole."
Clementine climbed down.
Wyatt twirled a small knife between his fingers.
That caught her attention.
She approached.
The boy raised his chin.
"You're the woman?"
"I am."
"You staying?"
"That's the intention."
"You won't."
"Possibly."
That answer confused him.
Clementine looked at his knife.
"Put that away."
"No."
"Then you may explain to your father why you're about to lose it."
Wyatt's expression sharpened.
"You ain't my mother."
"No."
She stepped closer.
"I am Clementine Dawson."
"Don't care."
"I suspect you will eventually."
He spat into the dirt near her boot.
Josiah moved.
"Wyatt!"
Clementine lifted one hand.
Josiah stopped.
She looked directly at the boy.
"I traveled four days," she said calmly. "I am tired. I am hungry. Your youngest brother appears to be eating a saddle. Your porch has not been swept since perhaps the presidency of Abraham Lincoln, and something died near that window."
Pearl whispered, "Mouse."
"Thank you."
Clementine continued.
"Now, I intend to cook supper. If you want supper, you may help carry water."
Wyatt folded his arms.
"No."
"Then you may watch the others eat."
His face changed.
Only slightly.
Clementine noticed.
Hunger.
Good.
Hunger was honest.
She turned.
"Which one is Sadi?"
The twelve-year-old stepped forward suspiciously.
"I am."
"Can you show me where your father keeps flour?"
"We ain't got much."
"Show me anyway."
Sadi hesitated, then entered the house.
Mave followed.
Pearl followed Mave.
Emmett stood and followed Pearl.
The twins exchanged looks.
Food was becoming relevant.
Only Wyatt remained outside.
Clementine picked up her trunk.
Josiah stared.
"That's heavy."
"Yes."
"I can—"
"So can I."
She carried it inside.
The smell struck first.
Old grease.
Damp wood.
Dirty clothing.
Smoke.
Clementine stopped in the kitchen.
Sadi watched her, waiting.
Waiting for disgust.
Waiting for judgment.
Waiting for the woman to decide she had made a terrible mistake.
Instead Clementine removed her gloves.
"Where are your cleaning rags?"
Sadi pointed.
"And soap?"
Another point.
"Good."
"What're you doing?"
"Making supper."
"You asked for soap."
"I prefer kitchens where supper and yesterday's supper are not attached to the same table."
Sadi almost smiled.
Almost.
Clementine tied on an apron.
She found potatoes.
Onions.
A heel of bacon.
Beans.
A jar of dried herbs so old the label had faded.
Not much.
Enough.
Within half an hour, the stove burned properly for the first time in weeks.
Within an hour, something rich and savory simmered in a black pot.
Children drifted toward the kitchen.
Wyatt entered last.
Clementine served everyone.
No speech.
No demand for gratitude.
She simply filled bowls.
The children ate.
Josiah ate two servings.
Then three.
Afterward, Clementine placed her spoon down.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we begin."
Cole looked alarmed.
"Begin what?"
"Everything."
Jasper leaned toward him.
"I don't like how she said that."
Neither did Wyatt.
That night, while Clementine slept in Abigail's old room, seven children held a council in the loft.
"We get rid of her," Wyatt whispered.
Pearl shook her head.
"She made good potatoes."
"Traitor," Jasper said.
"I like potatoes."
Sadi frowned.
"She's different."
Wyatt looked toward the floorboards.
"Different leaves too."
Sadi understood what he meant.
Her anger softened for half a second.
Then hardened again.
"What do we do?"
Cole grinned.
"We used the snake already."
"Miss Beatrice nearly died," Sadi said.
"She didn't."
"She fainted for twenty minutes."
Jasper smiled slowly.
"I have an idea."
Before dawn, the twins slipped outside.
They returned carrying a bucket.
By the time Clementine woke, they were back in the loft.
Seven pairs of eyes watched through gaps in the boards as she crossed the room toward her boots.
Cole covered his mouth to keep from laughing.
Jasper's shoulders shook.
Inside those boots waited creek mud, manure, cactus needles, and the combined hopes of seven children determined to send another woman running.
Clementine lifted the first boot.
Paused.
Looked inside.
No one upstairs breathed.
May you like
And what she did next was the moment Wyatt Caldwell began to understand that their new enemy was unlike anyone they had ever faced.
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