This Loving Land - Dorothy Garlock [18]
They were going alongside the stream. The water gurgled darkly over the stones and swirled around a branch as it bent its way through the long grasses. Summer was scarcely aware of it, her eyes reluctant to leave the house.
“Is this where we’re gonna live, Summer?” John Austin held on to her shoulder to steady himself in the swaying wagon.
“Yes, John Austin. We’re home.”
The riders, except for Jack, abruptly turned, crossed the creek and disappeared down a well-worn trail.
“Did ya tell Raccoon to light a shuck up there and see to the stubborn mule?” Bulldog fired the question at Jack as soon as he rode up beside the wagon.
“Yes, I tol’ him.”
“ ’Times, he don’t use no gumption a’tall.”
“It’s his pride what makes him what he is. That ’n not wantin’ any coddlin’.”
“Might be prouder than a game rooster, but he bleeds anyhow,” Bulldog grumbled.
“Was someone . . . hurt back there?” Summer asked.
“Ya could say t’was back there or a long time ago.” Bulldog spit into the grass and screwed his hat down tighter on his gray head.
Closer to the house now, Summer could see a large pile of freshcut stove wood and a horse tied to the pole railing. Her pulses quickened. Perhaps Sam McLean was waiting to welcome them, after all.
In the back of the wagon, Sadie was shaking Mary awake. Summer looked back and met the girl’s dancing green eyes.
“This is the prettiest place I ever did see, Summer. This is the prettiest place in all of Texas. Look, there’s a sack swing tied up to that tree.”
Summer’s eyes followed the pointing finger and her heart lurched again with a distant, familiar memory.
She heard that voice: “Hold tight, summertime girl.” Happiness, such as she hadn’t known for a long time, swept over her. This was home, the place of the fleeting memories that had haunted her for years.
When she looked back toward the house, Pud was coming out the door. He stood by his horse and waited for the wagon to reach him.
“Put yore horse in the corral, Pud,” Jack called.
“Yo’re gonna stay and make yoreself useful to the women for the time bein’.”
The boy threw his dusty hat in the air. “Yaaa . . . hooo! Ain’t I gonna be the spite of every galoot on this here ranch?”
“Quit a shootin’ off yore bazoo, boy, and start unloadin’ this wagon. The womenfolk are all tuckered out.”
Summer stood in the yard, forgetting for once about her brother. Somehow, the fact that Sam McLean had not been there to welcome them didn’t matter at all. The homestead was so much more than she had hoped for. It was better, after all, to have a place of their own. Now, in her heart, she gave thanks to Sam McLean for bringing them here.
The house was divided into two rooms; one for cooking and eating and the other for sleeping. At the end of the room used for cooking, a ladder led to the loft and a good-sized room tucked under the roof. John Austin came in the door and went up the ladder, not bothering to look at the rest of the house.
“I’ll sleep here, Summer. There’s two bunks with ticks on them.”
On a double bunk nailed to the wall in the kitchen, Sadie placed her bundle of belongings.
“This here will do fine for me and Mary.”
Summer looked into the other room with its large rope bed and thick shuck mattress, clean bedclothes and faded quilt folded neatly at the foot. This was the bed where she was born! She felt a sharp pang of homesickness for her mother, who had suffered here so she might live.
“I don’t need this whole room to myself.”
“Well, you’ll just have to get yoreself a husband then.” Sadie laughed. “I don’t ’spect you’d have no trouble.”
To hide her blush, Summer went to help unload the wagon. She lifted a box, but had it taken out of her hands.
“Here, boy,” Jack called to John Austin. “This here’s man’s work.”
“I can take it,” Summer said. “He gets to thinking about things and doesn’t hear you call.”
Jack frowned. “Boy!” His voice was sharp and loud. John Austin turned and stared at the man, who had removed his dusty hat and slapped it against his thigh when he called. “Over here, boy.