Saturday's Child Read online

  Quentin stepped back onto the platform and she rose to greet him, her smile warmer than any he'd seen since the wedding. He smiled back, reaching out to take her hand and tuck it into the crook of his arm.

  "I've got the wagon hitched up. If you're not too tired, I'd like to start for home as soon as we've loaded the supplies."

  His eagerness to get back to his ranch was palpable, though he was trying hard to conceal it.

  "I've no objection," she assured him and was rewarded by the way his smile widened.

  Sitting on the wagon seat next to Quentin, Katie took stock of Laramie, aware that Laramie was taking stock of her as well. Quentin drove the wagon at a brisk trot through the center of town, nodding here and there to acquaintances but not stopping to talk.

  Her family had trod the boards in many different towns but rarely anywhere west of the Mississippi. Her father had held firm to the belief that civilization stopped at that point, though he'd grudgingly admitted that San Francisco showed signs of embracing true culture.

  They'd traveled across the country by train the year she was fifteen and she'd marveled at the great expanse of plains that seemed to go on forever, spreading out from the railroad tracks like a great golden carpet. The west had seemed a vast emptiness, as if there were nothing between St. Joseph and the Pacific. Now she was to make her home in a portion of that vastness and she looked about curiously.

  The sun bathed everything in a crisp clean light, glinting off the windows of the stores. The road was rutted where wagon wheels had dug deep paths in the mud left behind by melting snow. Snow lingered in the shadows near the buildings. Winter had not relinquished its hold entirely.

  Delivery wagons clattered along behind horses that looked as if they'd rather have been home in a nice cozy stable. There were carriages and wagons much like the one Quentin drove, though Katie felt that the matched bays pulling their wagon were much the nicest she'd seen.

  "Look." Katie followed the direction of Quentin's nod, surprised to see an automobile approaching. "That's Mrs. Morrison's Stanley Steamer," Quentin said as the vehicle approached. "She lives near the edge of town, owns almost as much of Laramie as the Ivinsons and she's been here even longer. She and her husband moved west before the War Between the States and settled on land near the Big Laramie. When he died she moved into town."

  He nodded, tipping his hat as the automobile passed their wagon. Mrs. Morrison tipped her head and Katie thought she smiled, but it was difficult to tell beneath the layers of veiling that were draped from the brim of the motorist's hat, shielding her face from the dust and dirt of the road.

  "Here we are. This is Lawson's General Store." Quentin drew the team to a halt as he spoke, setting the brake against the wheel. "The ranch is bound to be low on supplies this time of year. We'll stock up here. You can buy the canned goods and whatever else you think we might need."

  "But how am I to know what you like? And how many am I buying for? And what can I spend?"

  Quentin jumped down from the wagon, looping the reins about the brake before turning to look back up at her.

  "I like everything. There are three hands plus the two of us. And I've an account here. You can spend whatever is necessary."

  "I must have a budget," Katie protested, looking down at him.

  "Why?" he asked simply.

  "How am I to know if I'm spending too much?"

  "If you spend too much, I'D tell you."

  "But—"

  "Katie Aileen Sterling, you worry too much. I doubt that you could break the bank just buying supplies."

  She returned his smile uncertainly. It was the first time anyone had used her new name since the wedding. He must have seen her middle name on the marriage license and it sounded surprisingly pretty when he said it.

  "If I'm spending too much, you'll stop me," she persisted, uneasy with the idea that he was giving her an open purse.

  "If you spend too much, I'll beat you thoroughly," he promised lightly. "Now, come down from there before I'm run over in the street."

  He set his hands about her waist as she leaned down. Katie rested her hands on his shoulders, her reticule dangling from her wrist as he lifted her easily from the high seat, making her feel light as a feather.

  He didn't release her immediately, though her feet were solidly on the ground. Katie left her hands on his shoulders, her head tilted back to look at his face. There was something in his eyes that brought a touch of warmth to her cheeks.

  "You know, it's easy to forget what a little bit of a thing you are," he said after a moment. He smiled, his eyes creasing at the corners in a way that made her heart bump.

  "I'm not likely to grow, so if it was an Amazon you wanted, I'm likely to be a disappointment." The sound of her own teasing words amazed her. Suddenly, here in this bright air, Quentin didn't seem so far above her. Here, there was no one to say that she was a seamstress who'd married above her station. She was starting fresh and clean as Mrs. Quentin Sterling, with no one to say she didn't deserve the position.

  Quentin laughed, a rich, free sound. His eyes sparkled at her, their color rivaling that of the sky above them. Still smiling, he took her hand and tucked it through his arm as he turned to lead her around the front of the wagon and up the three wooden steps that led to the walkway in front of Lawson's.

  Once inside the dim interior, Katie faced a new challenge. She'd never in all her life had to plan on the care and feeding of four men and herself. Just what would they eat? It was a safe bet that their appetites would be hearty, but how much to buy?

  She studied labels carefully, trying to look as if she knew what she was about. Quentin didn't seem to feel any uncertainty. He ordered supplies with a lavish hand, never asking the price. When Katie hesitated over the relative merits of canned peaches versus applesauce, he asked for a case of both.

  That this was his usual method of purchasing was clear by the way Lawson wrote the order, calling out instruction to the boy who was loading the wagon. Lawson was much more interested in the fact that Quentin had come home with a bride than with anything he was buying.

  Katie at last gave in to the tide that was Quentin's method of shopping and ordered what she hoped were essential household goods, closing her eyes to the total she was spending. Dredging up memories of the few times her family had settled into a house and to her mother's housekeeping, she tried to order what was necessary.

  Flour, sugar, dried apples, yeast, canned milk, several cases of Uneeda Biscuits, a case of pickles, bearing the Heinz 57 Varieties name, though no one could say just what the 57 varieties were. Jars of Beech-Nut Bacon, which promised to taste just as good as fresh; cartons of oats with the Quaker gentleman on the front.

  With memories of a negro woman who'd stayed with the McBride family one summer when her parents had been in a long running play in St. Louis, Katie suggested that it would be cheaper to buy oats in bulk and she could sift out the chaff before cooking it. But Quentin said she'd have better things to do with her time. Besides, he preferred the taste of the packaged sort.

  She bought cleaning products, suspecting that a bachelor's idea of a tidy house was not likely to agree with her ideas. Fels Naptha and Bon-Ami joined the list growing in Mr. Lawson's hand.

  "How about some of this?" Quentin suggested, sniffing at a finely wrapped bar of toilet soap. Katie took it from him, studying the picture of two little girls, in fancy dresses, each holding a bunch of violets. Fairy soap, the wrapper said.

  "I could make my own soap," she said hesitantly, more memories of Louisa filtering back.

  But Quentin shook his head. "I won't have you out stirring a kettle of lye just to save a few pennies. We'll take a case of this, Lawson," he tossed over Katie's shoulder.

  She surrendered without protest. If the truth were told, she was relieved, since she had very little idea of how to go about making soap. It seemed that Louisa had spent a great deal of time standing over a great black iron kettle in the backyard, stirring.


  With the wagon loaded and the bill paid, they made their farewells to Lawson. Quentin gave Katie a hand to help her into the wagon before stepping up into the seat himself. Releasing the brake, he slapped the reins lightly against the team's back and the heavily laden wagon rolled out of town.

  Katie breathed deeply, deciding that she'd never tasted finer air. With Quentin beside her and the whole future opening up in front of her, she was suddenly sure that she'd made the right decision in marrying Quentin Sterling.

  It didn't take long to leave the outskirts of Laramie behind. When the last building disappeared behind the wagon, the land opened up before them. The only indication that others had gone before was the road itself, little more than a wide track, full of ruts and scatterings of gravel.

  Katie clung to the side of the wagon as the wheels bumped in and out of the ruts. At this time of year, the ground was still damp with melted snow, but she guessed that in the summer, this must be a dusty ride.

  "The road won't be so rough once we get away from town," Quentin said, easing the horses through a particularly deep rut. "This close to town, it gets a lot of travel. Makes the ruts deeper."

  Since they'd seen no one else on the road since leaving town nearly an hour before and there was no other vehicle as far as the eye could see, which was a considerable distance, Katie found it hard to apply the term heavily traveled to the section they were traversing, but she supposed all things were relative.

  The land stretched out on either side of them, gray-green and empty. Though she'd seen much the same thing from the train, it felt different. Now that she was actually out beneath the pale blue arch of sky, the sheer vastness of it was overwhelming. Ahead was a jagged purple line of mountains. But there didn't seem to be anything in between.

  Just mile after mile of sagebrush. At first, it was exhilarating. After spending most of her life in towns where the view was blocked on every side by buildings, to be able to look forever and see nothing was a pleasure. But as the afternoon wore on, she began to get the odd sensation that the sky was pressing down on her. There was simply too much space to absorb.

  She was relieved when Quentin turned the team off the road and down a shallow incline. They stopped in a little meadow that had been invisible from the road. A stream wound through the center of it, and sagebrush gave way to the first green glow of grass. Snow lingered in the sheltered hollows beneath the trees, thickets of willow. A bird called nearby, a lilting melody that tugged at the heartstrings. Quentin said it was a meadowlark and Katie thought it a lovely name.

  The strain of the past week had taken its toll. Even Quentin seemed tired. He spoke little as he unhitched the horses and led them to the stream, letting them drink before picketing them where they could crop at the thin grass.

  Katie knelt upstream, splashing cool water on her face, opening the high neckline of her dress so that she could wash the day's dust from her throat. Standing up, she tucked a few strands of wayward hair back into place before shaking out the pale blue skirts of her dress.

  Her hat sat in regal splendor on the wagon seat and the setting sun caught her hair, turning it to fire. Glancing up, she caught Quentin's eyes on her. He turned away before she could read his expression, but the intensity of the look lingered with her.

  Quentin built a fire, the heat of it welcome as the sun set. Though Katie would have sworn she was too tired to have much appetite, the scent of food changed her mind. After the meal, Quentin washed the tin plates with gravel from the stream bottom.

  They retired almost immediately after the meal. Quentin had raised the wagon tongue and spread the wagon sheet over it, creating a sort of tent for Katie's use. She was grateful for the small privacy it offered, even if it did require some skilled maneuvering to undress in her cramped quarters.

  Despite the unfamiliar surroundings Katie fell asleep promptly, exhaustion winning out over the minimal comfort offered by her pallet of blankets spread over the hard ground. It seemed as if she'd been asleep only a short while when she was startled awake by a long, eerie wail. She started up, a blanket clutched to her chest as the cry sounded again. It was answered this time, from a distance.

  Her heart pounding, she inched over to the opening of her make-shift tent, sticking her head out cautiously. A full moon hung in the sky, looking close enough to touch. It cast a clear white light over their little camp, creating deep shadows where its thin illumination couldn't reach. The fire had burned down to a bed of coals.

  As she watched, she saw Quentin stir from the bedroll he'd laid on the ground, sitting up and reaching out one long arm to feed a few small sticks into the fire. The cry came again and Katie couldn't stop the little gasp that escaped her.

  Quentin's head came up, his eyes finding her in the darkness. "What's wrong?" he asked, pitching his voice low, though there was no one to hear but the two of them.

  "You didn't mention banshees when you were talking about this land of yours." She tried to keep her tone light, not wanting to reveal her fear.

  "That's not a banshee, though there are those who'd tell you it's a devil." She caught the gleam of his teeth as he smiled. The cry came again, ending this time in a series of yips.

  Katie couldn't restrain a gasp, a shiver running through her. There was something so lonely in the sound, like the cry of a lost soul.

  "Come here." Quentin held out his hand and she hesitated only a moment before scrambling from her little shelter. Wrapped in a blanket, she was modestly covered, though at the moment modesty was not her first concern. Quentin gestured for her to sit down on his bedroll and he added more wood to the fire until it danced up in a cheerful blaze, banishing some of the shadows.

  The wail came again, sounding so close Katie half expected to see the creature standing across the fire from them. Feeling her shiver, Quentin's arm settled over her shoulders, drawing her close.

  There was so much comfort in the gesture that Katie forgot to be nervous and let him draw her against his side.

  "It's just a coyote, Katie. Like a small wolf, though they don't run in packs. Which is just as well. They manage to do enough damage to the herds as it is. The sheepherders are particularly hard hit when the spring lambs are born. There are those that feel it's no more than they deserve."

  "Why would they think that?" Katie asked sleepily. With her eyes on the fire and Quentin's arm about her, not even the sound of another wail could disturb the peace creeping over her.

  "A lot of ranchers think sheep destroy the range. They say they graze too deep, making the range unfit for horses or cattle. There's been more than a bit of blood shed over the issue."

  "And do you think that way?"

  "I think there's room enough for everyone. If you put too many cattle on the range, they'll do as much damage as sheep could ever do. There's a market for wool, and those who want to supply it."

  The coyote howled again, farther away this time as if he had decided to continue his serenade elsewhere. "It's a lonesome sound," Katie murmured, feeling her eyelids drifting shut.

  "Maybe he's calling for a mate," Quentin said quietly. "Most creatures are lonely without someone to share their life."

  There was no response from Katie. She'd fallen fast asleep, her head against his shoulder. It seemed foolish to wake her only to send her back to a cold pallet to fall asleep again. Or so he told himself. The truth was, he rather liked the feel of her nestled so trustingly against him.

  She'd braided her hair for the night but a few rebellious tendrils had escaped to curl against her cheeks. She looked very young, very vulnerable and very desirable. .He settled her more comfortably. It wasn't going to be as easy as he'd thought to have a wife who wasn't yet a wife.

  Chapter 7

  It was barely daylight when Katie woke. But Quentin was already up. She could hear him talking to the horses as he fed them a ration of oats. She sat up, disoriented to find herself sleeping in the open when she'd gone to bed beneath the wagon sheet. It took only a moment to remember the
coyote's howling and Quentin's offer of companionship. She must have fallen asleep and he'd let her stay where she was rather than wake her to go back to her own bed. Had he shared this bed with her?

  She heard him returning and abandoned the question to scurry to the safety of her little tent. Scrambling into her clothes, she lectured herself on not making more out of last night than was necessary. After all, they were married.

  When she crawled out of the tent, it was to see Quentin crouched near the fire, feeding sticks into it.

  "Good morning." She hoped he'd attribute her breathlessness to the difficulties of dressing on her hands and knees. She wasn't anxious for him to know that it was his appearance that had stolen her breath.

  This was a Quentin she'd never seen before. Gone were the neatly pressed trousers, the perfectly tailored coat and the crisp shirt she'd always seen him wear. In their place was a pair of blue denim pants—jeans, they were called. He wore a thick flannel shirt and a pair of boots with pointed toes that bore little resemblance to the elegant shoes he'd worn in the city. The coat he wore owed little to the fine tailor. It was denim like his pants, lined with sheepskin.

  He looked rugged, just like the land. He also looked like a stranger. Even when he glanced up at her and smiled, it was hard to see the polished city gentleman she'd married in the man who crouched so comfortably in front of the fire.

  "Good morning." He stood up, dusting his hands off as he approached her. Katie was startled when he bent to kiss her mouth, though she supposed after sharing the intimacy of his bed the night before, it was foolish to be wary of a kiss. But there was nothing to be wary of after all, for it was only a simple kiss, over almost as soon as it had begun.

  "Did you sleep well?"

  "Yes." She flushed as she said it, remembering just where she'd slept.

  "I'm sorry to rush you but it looks like we'll have snow before long." Quentin nodded to the gray northern skies. "I'd like to make the ranch before it gets heavy. If you can manage breakfast, I'll hitch up the team."