Wild Rippling Water by snarkypants
Chapter 2
With hearts and thanks to jenbachand.
At length Lawyer Daggett stood. "Well, Mattie, I am wanted in town; may I convey you back to your lodgings, Mr. LaBoeuf?"
LaBoeuf appeared to be on the verge of accepting, but Mattie spoke up. "I cannot let him go back without a meal; he will have missed supper at Mrs. Hayden's."
Daggett paused long enough that Mattie heard the unspoken demur in it. "Very well, then. Send word if you hear anything further. Good evening to you."
Mattie walked Daggett to the door. "Take care, Mattie," he said, pinning her with his scrutiny. Mattie rarely saw the J. Noble Daggett that the steamboat owners saw when he excoriated them in court; the man she had known from her childhood had a jolly smile and a tolerant expression. She saw now how very flinty his eyes could be when he was delivering a warning.
"Do not worry, Mr. Daggett," she said, trying to soothe his ruffled feathers. "Mr. LaBoeuf is a gentleman, and my mother is just down the hall."
He worried at his lower lip with his teeth, causing his moustaches to undulate like a caterpillar wriggling across a leaf. "Mattie, with your father gone and your mother ill, it falls to me to advise you in this: it will do your reputation no good for you to go off into the wilderness alone with this man."
She sighed, impatient. "What other option is open to me, Mr. Daggett? And I trust Mr. LaBoeuf unreservedly; perhaps you can forget that he saved my life in the Winding Stair Mountains, but I cannot."
"You were a child to him then, but like any man he is only as good as the woman he is with."
"Since I am generally accounted 'good,' or at the very least 'off-putting,' I do not foresee a problem."
He shook his head, clearly still perturbed. "Take care," he said again, taking his hat from her.
"I will."
"Please convey my respects to your mother."
"Of course."
LaBoeuf was solemn when she returned to the parlor. "I do not mean to cause trouble for you," he said.
"You have not caused any trouble for me," she said. "I feel it keenly that you should be lured all the way out here on that train for such mean hospitality."
"I have endured worse, I assure you."
"Of that I have little doubt, but you are in Arkansas now and this is a point of pride." She paused, biting her lip. "Would you be so good as to join me in the kitchen? It is not quite proper, particularly since you are a guest, but I may need your assistance."
"I would be happy to, Miss Ross," he said, and followed her.
The kitchen was a large room, situated on the north side of the house where it might provide additional warmth during the winter. There was a stone fireplace that appeared to date to the time of the house's building, but the modern coal stove was probably the favored instrument; LaBoeuf's mother had much preferred the stove to the fire, despite her wood stove's finicky temperament.
The walls and ceiling were painted milky arsenic green to keep down flies, and the heart pine floors gleamed in the lamplight.
Mattie raised a long cotton apron over her head and spent a few moments lowering it and tugging it into place; LaBoeuf saw that it was already fastened in the back so she would not require assistance with it.
Her garments protected, she fed coal into the belly of the stove and arranged the coals with a poker, stirring the embers to glowing life.
"Would you care to do some chopping?" she asked. "Else you could be here all night waiting for your supper."
He agreed and she handed him a knife, and then a bowl containing a few potatoes and an onion. "Peel and cut the potatoes into cubes about the size of my thumbnail, and then cut the onion into pieces the size of my fingernail." She showed him the nails in question as she spoke. "Do you have any questions?" she asked.
"Miss Ross, I was in the army. I know how to process potatoes," he said in a long-suffering voice, and sat at the table to do just that.
"Very well, then," she said. She lit a lantern and went out the kitchen door, returning a few minutes later with a bunch of dark green leaves stuffed into the large pocket on the front of her apron. She rinsed the dirt off and set to stripping the spinach leaves from their tough stems. They worked in companionable silence. Every so often she would look across the kitchen table to gauge his progress, and nod her approval.
When the spinach was prepared she went outdoors again, bringing up an earthenware crock from the cellar; she set about spooning up lumps of sausage from the crock and forming them into patties. She dredged these in flour and set them aside while the pan heated.
By this time LaBoeuf's preparatory work was complete and he was at leisure to watch as she sprinkled water into the hot pan until the drops crackled and skated across the black iron. She transferred patties to the pan with a fork, balancing them with the forefinger of her remaining hand, with the ease of long practice.
While the sausages sizzled, releasing their rich fragrance of meat and sage and fennel, she poured cream into a saucepan, stirring as it heated on the stove. When she deemed it sufficiently thick she dropped in the spinach and stirred as it wilted and gave up its color to the cream. She paused to flip the sausages to their other sides with the fork, and then she moved the creamed spinach to the back of the stovetop to cool.
"Are the potatoes and onions ready?" she asked, and he answered in the affirmative. She removed the sausage patties from the pan and put them on a platter, and then heated some bacon drippings in the same pan, gradually adding the hash that LaBoeuf had chopped. She stirred the potatoes until they were golden brown and slightly crispy on the outside, and then she moved the pan off the burner.
It took some doing, but LaBoeuf was able to convince Mattie that he would be more comfortable eating in the kitchen than in the dining room, as it was just the two of them. "Let me check on Mama; she may wish to join us," she said, ducking out of the room.
LaBoeuf served plates for both of them and put them on the table, and waited for Mattie's return.
"She is fast asleep," Mattie said after a few moments; her skirts made a rustling noise against the door frame. She had removed her apron, and she hung it on a hook by the door.
It was a simple, wholesome meal, and LaBoeuf ate until his ribs creaked, sopping up the residue on his plate with pieces of sourdough bread slathered with sweet butter.
"Thank you, Miss Ross," he said, pushing away his plate. "I cannot remember the last time I had such a good supper. The food we get in camp is little better than bully beef, often salted to within an inch of its life, and there is little to no produce to be had."
"It is a pity that Victoria is not here; she is the true cook in the family," Mattie said, and then her expression darkened. The tin percolator on the stove wheezed and gasped, drawing her attention away from her thoughts.
"You are worried about her," he said, and she nodded. "Did you have any indication your sister was making plans with Babcock?"
"Not at all; Mama had invited him to dinner the night before, and nothing seemed amiss. Victoria admired him, but not in the silly way she has with the local boys; I thought it was a good thing, for the most part. Mr. Babcock and Mama sat in the parlor while we did the dishes and Frank tended the animals. Victoria sat with Mr. Babcock on the porch for a little while, and that was all. He left and we went to bed. The next morning Victoria was gone."
"In the note she said that you would not let them get married."
"That is a mystery; he never broached the subject with either of us, and neither did Victoria. I would have discouraged it since I had some doubts about him, but I never got the chance."
"Was there anything unusual about that night?"
"No. Frank was provoking me more than usual, but that was because—" she began, and then broke off, gaping at him and, oddly enough, blushing.
"Because…?" he prompted.
"Frank was teasing me about your visit, going on and on about my 'suitor,' the Texas Ranger." She winced. "That is just his way of provoking me; he also claims Marshal Cogburn for my suitor, so please do not take anything by it."
"Perhaps I flatter myself, but I should go a long way to be as inappropriate a suitor as Cogburn," he said, stung. "But that is neither here nor there; that was when Babcock learned I was coming to visit, was it?"
She nodded. "It was. The timing of the elopement, at least, makes sense."
"Miss Ross, I think that I will wire my company tomorrow, to see if I might learn more about this man Babcock."
"So you will be staying for a day or two longer?" she asked.
He could not tell by either her tone or her expression whether this was pleasing to her or not. "I believe I will."
"Oh, the coffee," she said. She went to fetch the percolator, returning to the table to pour both of them a cup. She set out a jug of cream and a small lidded bowl of white sugar.
"Well, I reckon this beats all," he said with a grin, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his cup.
"Do you care for gingerbread?" she asked, and he shook his head, groaning.
"No, thank you. I will make myself ill if I do not check my appetite here."
"I am glad you enjoyed it; it is the least I can do. You deserve much more of a fuss than we are able to make just now."
He tried to object, but his heart was not quite in it; he enjoyed her admiration more than he wanted to admit.
"Would you care to go sit on the porch and smoke your pipe while I clean the dishes?"
"I believe I will take you up on that," he said. "What about your stock, do you need help with them?"
"No, thank you; one of our tenants is looking after the animals until things settle down here."
"All right."
"Make yourself comfortable, and I will be out directly," she said.
LaBoeuf looked quite at home on the porch; her papa's last remaining old bird dog, Hector, was stretched out beside his chair, having clearly made a friend. His tail wagged lazily as Mattie joined them, and she gave the beast a scratch behind the ear.
"Whatever have you done with your buckskins, Mr. LaBoeuf?" she asked. Her hand was still damp from washing-up, and she tried surreptitiously to wipe it on the folds of her skirt. "I did not recognize you at first without all of your Texas trappings."
"This is my court suit." He looked at her through a haze of pipe smoke. "Do you approve?"
"Very appropriate for Arkansas, but I think it would not pass muster in Texas. Not enough fringes and furbelows for your state. They might stop you at the border and forbid you re-entry."
"Do not fear on that score; my buckskins are in my valise, back in town."
"You relieve my mind."
"Until I got to Fort Smith I was unaware that you had, ah, lost your arm," he said haltingly, ducking his head a little. "I am sorrier than I can express."
"What for?" She squinted at him, genuinely surprised. "You did more to save my life than anyone except perhaps Marshal Cogburn. You have nothing whatsoever to regret."
"Well. I call it a sorry turn of affairs, that a young girl was disfigured while under my protection."
"While I take issue with your use of the word 'protection' I fail to see how you could have prevented any of it; you did everything you could to stop me."
He grimaced. "Do you regret it?"
"Not at all," she said. "I achieved my goal and got justice for my father. Everything after that is of no importance."
"Losing an arm is of no importance?"
"What is lost will be restored in the hereafter; my defect means that I have a few more challenges in accomplishing my daily tasks, but I do accomplish them. What about you: have you recovered fully from our meeting with Tom Chaney?"
"I suffer from the head-ache and blurred vision from time to time, but that is the extent of it."
"Your shoulder and your mouth healed cleanly, I hope?"
"They did."
She nodded, approving. "I am glad to hear it. I would like to know how the marshal fares, but I cannot locate him."
"Aw, hel-," he began, and stopped, clearing his throat. "He came out of it better than either of us," LaBoeuf said. "A few pellets to the face, was all."
"Hm," Mattie said, not convinced. "I have heard that he married the widow Potter and moved to Texas, but that is all I can discover. I do hope that all is well with him."
Hector sighed noisily between them.
LaBoeuf hesitated, as though choosing his words carefully. "He is quite a character."
She darted a sidelong glance at him, taking his meaning, and changed the subject. "How did you come to testify for Judge Parker? Surely you have not left the Ranger troop."
"No, quite the opposite; I have earned a new posting, and am now the most senior sergeant in my company. I am now stationed in Wichita Falls, which is adjacent to the Comanche Nation."
"Congratulations. Do you like your new posting?"
He nodded his thanks, and then paused, considering his words. "I am not yet accustomed to the high prairie. I do not remember the wind in Ysleta ever being so relentless, and I miss the mountains. There are greater opportunities for command, however, so my duties are more varied."
"That sounds like a mixed blessing to me."
"It can be." He leaned back in his chair, and his demeanor, always somewhat professorial, became even more so; she bit her lip to keep from smiling. "You have seen for yourself that outlaws seldom stop at the state line and offer themselves up for surrender; this particular criminal killed a soldier at Fort Sill after we pursued him into the Nation, and he was brought to answer for it."
"Was the man convicted?"
"He was." He drew on his pipe.
"I presume he will be hanged."
"That was the sentence." He shook his head. "I still have no great love for the U.S. Army, but that young private did not deserve what Richards did to him. It was cold-blooded murder."
"It is a fine thing that he was convicted; good work, Mr. LaBoeuf."
"That is always my goal, thank you."
"When do you think you will hear back from your company about Babcock?"
"By Saturday at the latest, I think. Why?"
"We will set out on Saturday, or possibly Sunday, then. That gives me a few days to get our provisions ready."
His eyebrows went straight up, nearly meeting his hairline. "We are not going to set out anywhere. I mean only to alert the marshals in Fort Smith to his presence and his known aliases, and then I am going to return to Texas."
"You will not go with me," she said.
"That is what I said."
She exhaled loudly through her nose. "Well then, I shall have to go on my own," she said in a tight voice. Hector sat up, alerted by her tone; he looked anxiously from Mattie to LaBoeuf.
"Do not be foolish, Mattie. I know you cannot go out on your own, and I will not go with you. Let that be an end to it."
"Who says that I cannot?"
"I do. You might be able to mount up in your own yard, but what about on the trail, where you cannot count on obliging mounting blocks or fences, or even fortuitously placed rocks?"
She was silent, trying to find an argument to this, when he spoke again.
"Put aside your vanity and your pride and leave your brother to it."
"Vanity!"
"Yes, vanity. You believe that you alone are capable; what would you call it?"
"Little Frank is seventeen; he knows nothing of being on the trail."
"Nor did you, but you learned, and so will he."
"What if he is—" she began loudly, and then lowered her voice. "—killed? What if he kills Babcock and ends up in prison? Mama would never recover."
"You cannot hide him behind your petticoats forever. I was younger when I went to war, and you were younger still when you killed Chelmsford."
The breath left her body as though she had been punched in the belly. "We did our duty. This is… this is merely a lark to a rash, heedless boy."
He gave her a long, level look. "If you wish him to remain rash and heedless, pray continue on your present course."
"Oh! Well, if you are so inclined to take his part you are at liberty to join him on the trail."
He laughed out loud, exasperated. "Haw haw! I had almost forgotten what a little martinet you are. Do you not see what he is up against? His own sister, when younger than he is now, avenged his father's murder, witnessed unspeakable violence, and survived the company of both vicious outlaws and rattlesnakes. How could he possibly hope to live up to that?"
"Who would expect him to do this? Not I and certainly not my mother."
"He expects it, depend on it."
"Well, that is arrant foolishness."
"Mattie, whether you like it or not, he is the man of the family—"
She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued over her.
"—and however much you may ride roughshod over your mother and Lawyer Daggett, you are doing Frank a disservice when you do the same with him. He will be a husband and a father someday; what sort will he be if he cannot take care of himself for a few days?"
That brought her up short, and it was a disconcerting experience; her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before she could summon the words to strike back. "I do not recall giving you permission to use my Christian name, Mr. LaBoeuf," she scolded.
He glared at her, annoyed. "Well, for that I apologize, Miss Ross."
"For that I accept."
"Good." He tapped the bowl of his pipe on the porch rail, knocking the spent tobacco to the dirt, and then he tucked the cooled pipe into his jacket.
"Good," she echoed, looking out across the yard.
All was silent between them for several minutes. LaBoeuf laced his fingers together over his waist and Mattie plucked at a loose thread on her skirt. One of Yarnell Poindexter's dogs barked and howled across the way, and Hector again sat at attention, whining a little as a prelude to barking, but Mattie hissed at him, shushing him, and he subsided again.
"That is a good dog," LaBoeuf said.
"He is. My father trained him." Hector wagged his tail and grinned at them both, happy to be the center of attention. He stuck his long snout under LaBoeuf's hand and nudged until LaBoeuf had no choice but to rub his ears.
Finally LaBoeuf rose to his feet and cleared his throat. "Thank you for a fine meal and your good company, Miss Ross."
She looked skeptically at him, but he appeared and sounded sincere. Shaking her head in wonderment, she replied in a mild tone, "If your life in Texas renders this a fine meal and me good company you may need to consider relocating, Mr. LaBoeuf."
"I believe the appropriate reply is 'you're welcome,' Miss Ross." Now he appeared smug.
She scowled at him. "You're welcome."
He grinned at her, and put on his hat. "Good night, Miss Ross."
"Good night, Mr. LaBoeuf."
The dog followed LaBoeuf until he got to the fence and Mattie called him back. She watched LaBoeuf walk away until he had passed the stand of pecan trees and was out of sight.
In the privacy of his room at Mrs. Hayden's boarding house, LaBoeuf withdrew a little leather-bound diary he kept in his pocket. Due perhaps to his advancing years, or perhaps to the blow to the head he sustained in apprehension of Chelmsford, he no longer cared to rely exclusively on memory for important facts. He saw no reason to advertise this.
His pencil was still sharp enough from his notations on the cost of his bed and board in Ft. Smith and his train ticket to Dardanelle. In neat, economical script he wrote:
"In Dardanelle, Ark. Stephen P. Babcock eloped into Choctaw Nation with Miss Victoria Ross. Possibly Stinky Pete Babbitt?