© Adina Nani | Dreamstime Stock Photos
Home on the Range
A Daughter of the Wildings Holiday Story
Windy Valley. About as far west in the Wildings as you could go without intruding on P'wagimet lands. Remote and sparsely populated, there was nothing there that would draw mage hunters -- at least, so Silas hoped. He looked at Lainie's face in the hard, heavy snow coming down. She was even paler now, her face thin, drawn in harsh, haggard lines that made her look far older than her nineteen years, her eyes circled by dark shadows. Even if there was someplace to go beyond Windy Valley, Silas knew they had come to the end of their trail, with hard winter settling in and Lainie as sick as she was.
The cabin that was his destination lay ahead, a dark smudge in the snowstorm. He had spotted it on their way east to Bentwood Gulch that fall, noted that it seemed to be abandoned, and filed the information away in his memories of things that might be useful to know sometime. Possible shelter definitely fell into the category of things that might be useful. Now, his initial impression that the cabin was unoccupied seemed to be confirmed; the window was dark, and no smudge of smoke rose from the chimney.
"This it?" Lainie asked, her voice worn thin and weak by ninedays of demonsalts illness ravaging her body.
"Yep," Silas answered. "Doesn't look like anyone's living there, so I doubt anyone will mind if we hole up here, at least long enough to wait out this storm."
Shivering hard, even in the thick, warm sheepskin coat he'd bought her back in Bentwood Gulch, she nodded.
The door of the cabin was closed, but, in the tradition of the Wildings, the latchstring was left out -- an invitation for anyone needing shelter to come on in. With one hand on his holstered revolver, Silas pulled the latchstring to lift the latch, then pushed the door open slowly. "Hello?" he said into the dark room before going in, not wanting to startle anyone who might already be there, and to make sure it wasn't a trap set by bandits.
No answer, no sound of breathing or movement; he cast out with his mage senses and found no signs of life force. It didn't necessarily mean no one was there; if Carden, the rogue mage he'd faced off against in Bitterbush Springs, could shield his life force, other mages might be able to as well. But his other senses, trained from six years of bounty-hunting in the Wildings, confirmed that no one was in the cabin. Still, he drew his gun and went in ahead of Lainie.
Nothing happened; he called up a mage light and looked around to see that the cabin was, indeed, deserted. "It's safe, darlin'," he said to Lainie behind him. "Come on in."
The one-room cabin was neat and cozy except for a layer of dust over everything. Silas closed the door, stirring up small puffs of dust in its wake; Lainie sneezed. In one corner stood a bedstead, just big enough for two, with a mattress and faded quilt. Across the room was an iron cookstove standing next to a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, and shelves built onto the wooden wall. Silas was a little surprised that the cookstove, a fairly expensive item in the Wildings, had been left behind when whoever had lived here left; perhaps it was too heavy, or perhaps they had acquired a better one and left that one here for whoever might move in.
This would do fine as a place to hole up in. First, though, as soon as the storm cleared out, he would see if he could figure out if anyone had claim to it.
Lainie was staring longingly at the bed. On the run, Silas hadn't dared let her use large amounts of magic, lest she send out a signal to any mage hunters who might be nearby. She hadn't come near depleting her power, but the demonsalts cravings kept coming back, enough to wear her down. She had devised a program of repeatedly draining herself of power then regenerating it through conventional means, with large amounts of food, sleep, and sex. Hopefully, that would purge the secondhand addiction she had picked up from the demonsalts-addicted mage hunter who had attacked Silas. In the meantime, though, things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.
"Tired?" Silas asked her.
She nodded again. "And cold."
"Don't want anything to eat?" Not that they had anything besides cold travel rations. If they were able to settle in here and get some supplies from the nearby town, she would be able to eat better.
She shook her head. "Just cold and tired. That bed looks right fine, even with the dust."
Silas shook the dust from the quilt and beat it out of the pillows, then helped Lainie strip off her boots and snow-wet clothing. Shivering even harder in just her drawers and camisole, she crawled into the bed and he tucked her in. "Will this do?" he asked.
"Feels heavenly," she said, though her teeth still chattered.
"I'll join you in a bit." He left her in the bed and went outside to settle the horses in the small stable next to the cabin. In just the few minutes that he'd been in the cabin, the storm had started to let up a little. Through a small gap in the clouds to the east, he saw the moon rising. Nearly full; tomorrow night would be the full moon, the first since the winter solstice about two ninedays ago. New Moon was the biggest festival of the year, when the gods turned their full gaze upon the earth and endowed it with blessings for the coming year; a festival celebrated with just as much fervor and at least as much gaiety in the Wildings as in Granadaia. The day would be spent in prayers, making offerings, and performing acts of charity; then, when the moon rose, there would be feasting and music and dancing and gifts.
His and Lainie's first New Moon together, and he didn't have a gift for her. They had had bigger things on their minds, like avoiding mage hunters and finding a safe place to shelter where Lainie could begin recovering from her demonsalts illness, but it still bothered him. It was her first New Moon away from home, after being run out of her hometown as a wizard and finding herself very unexpectedly married to him and on the run as renegade mages. This would be hard for her, and he had hoped to find her a small gift to make it a little easier.
Once the horses were settled with piles of oats and hay and buckets of snow that would melt into drinking water, he went back into the cabin, using a mage light to light his way. Lainie was already asleep, huddled up and shivering under the quilt. Even in sleep, her face was shadowed by pain and fear. Silas had had a friend in school who had died of demonsalts addiction; he vowed again he wouldn't let her die. Without access to the drug, her chances of recovering were better, but in the meantime, she would go through all the torments of all the hells whenever she used enough magic to drain herself a little. And he would go through all the torments watching her and worrying about her.
But that was what they were going to have to do to make her better again.
He slipped off his coat, gunbelt, and boots, and set his hat on the table, and crawled into the bed with Lainie, wrapping himself around her to try to warm her and shield her from all the hard times to come.
* * *
Lainie stirred and stretched, feeling better than she had in some time. It was good to wake up warm for a change, and in a real bed. Silas was already up and dressed, and had lit a fire in the fireplace and laid out a good part of what was left of their travel provisions on the table. Outside the cabin's one window, the sun was shining on a white world.
Silas looked up from buckling on his gunbelt and smiled at her. "How're you feeling, darlin'?"
"Not bad." She considered, assessing herself. "Not bad at all. I think the good night's sleep helped. I'm not feeling sick, just a bit weak."
"Good." He pulled on his sheepskin coat that he'd bought back in Bentwood Gulch. Normally, he favored his long brown duster, but this weather was far too cold for that.
"Where're you going?"
"I saw a ranch house a few leagues back, on our way here. Thought I'd ride over there and see if anyone there knows anything about this place. I'd rather make sure we can use it for as long as we need and not get thrown out as squatters."
"Good idea." While people in the Wildings took pride in their hospitality to strangers, they were also very protective of their homes, and squatters and freeloaders, who took from honest, hard-working folk, were not well tolerated. Lainie thought she would just about die of shame if anyone ever accused her of being a squatter or freeloader.
Silas dropped a pouch, heavy with some of their new-earned wealth, into the pocket of his coat, then put on his hat and came over and kissed her. "I'll put up a shield so you can sleep some more if you want and don't have to worry about anyone bothering you."
She kissed him back. "Thanks. And be careful."
"I will."
After he left, Lainie snuggled back under the quilt, basking in the warmth of the soft -- if somewhat dusty and musty-smelling -- bed. Then she sighed, sat up again, and reached for her clothes.
Silas hadn't said anything, but she knew what day it was -- New Moon. Their first New Moon festival together. But instead of friendly gatherings during the day to collect and distribute food and clothes to the poor -- in the Wildings, few people were rich, but everyone was happy to be able to give a little to someone worse off than they were -- and parties with music, dancing, feasting, and gifts in the evening, they were spending this day as outlaws, on the run from mage hunters, and dealing with the addiction she'd picked up. That would teach her to try to replace her own power by taking in someone else's, Lainie reflected again. But then, how could she have known before she did it? What she had done was supposed to be impossible; not to mention that it was illegal, just in case anyone did figure out how to do it.
Anyhow, that was how things stood, and there wasn't anything she could do to change it now. So if she and Silas were going to have a New Moon celebration, she would just have to do the best she could with what they had.
Dressed, she began investigating the cabin. The little stove was right nice; if she had a can of applesauce, some flour, sugar, butter, and eggs, and some whitesoda, she could bake an applesauce cake, but she didn't have any of those things. There was some dried meat and fruit and packets of hard flatbread on the pantry shelves, same as her and Silas's travel provisions, but there wasn't a whole lot you could cook with those.
So, unless he could get some provisions at that ranch house, there wasn't going to be a feast. That was okay; at least they weren't hungry, like they'd been often enough on the way from Ripgap to Bentwood Gulch. And Silas wasn't much of a singer, or so he claimed; she'd never heard him sing. Which left dancing and gifts. It was hard to dance without music, but not impossible. As for gifts, she didn't have anything for him. But...
She looked around the cabin again. A little cleaning, a little freshening up, a bath for herself in front of the stove -- a cat-bath only, with a washcloth, since there didn't appear to be a tub anywhere -- and she could treat Silas to a nice night in a real bed in a clean house that, at least for the night, was theirs.
Filled with resolve, she rolled up her shirt sleeves, dug a worn-out, shot-up shirt out of Silas's knapsack, filled a pail with snow from outside and set it by the fireplace to melt, and got to work.
* * *
Silas knocked on the door of the ranch house. From inside he could hear a happy bustle of women baking and preparing baskets to give away. The sweet, spicy smell of cakes and cookies made his mouth water. The door opened, and a man stood there, tall, lean, salt and pepper hair, dressed in shirt and pants that were cleaner and finer than the ones he likely wore for everyday. "Blessed New Moon to you, stranger," the man said. "What can I do for you?"
"Blessed New Moon to you, too," Silas replied. "I was wondering if you folks here know anything about that cabin out on the range a couple of leagues to the west."
"Why, I do," the man said. "It's ours, built it when we first set our claim here. We built this house and moved into it a few years ago, but left the cabin out there for the hands or if anyone needed a place to stay. I suppose that's why you're asking about it?"
"That's right," Silas said.
"Well, come on in, have a hot cup and some spice cookies -- my wife makes a fine one indeed -- and we'll talk about it."
Silas doffed his coat and, politely, his hat, as he followed the rancher inside to a seat in the front parlor, a plain wooden bench, but covered with a good, soft needlework cushion. The parlor was decorated with branches of scrub pine, strings of red and purple winter berries, and snowflakes cut out of paper. "We got a guest, Marva!" the rancher called out.
A moment later, a sturdy woman with faded gold braids wrapped around her head, wearing a big, embroidered white apron, bustled out from the kitchen filled with laughing, chatting women. She was carrying a tray with two hot cups of chickroot brew and a small plate of warm cookies. Silas took a cup and a cookie from her. "We've just about got the baskets ready to go out to the hands," she said to her husband.
"I'll join you, I've just got some business to conduct here first," the rancher replied. "This fella's inquiring about the cabin."
"Oh?" The ranch wife looked at Silas. "It's a nice little place, but we've already laid claim on the land --"
Silas sipped his chickroot brew; as promised, it was very good. "I'm not interested in the land. My wife's been very sick, and we've been traveling, no place of our own, and we just need a place to lay low for a while so she can recover. Maybe through the spring." He had no idea how long it would take her to shake off the demonsalts addiction; most addicts were only freed from the addiction when they died.
"I see," the rancher said. "So, what sort of deal are you thinking of?"
"We need privacy, and we need to be able to stay as long as it takes her to get better. I'd like to buy the cabin and the stable outright from you, and pay for the use of some land for grazing -- we have two horses -- and maybe some gardening."
The rancher and his wife looked at each other, and a silent signal passed between them, in the way of long-married couples who've developed their own unspoken language over the years. "I've never thought of selling," the rancher said. "We might have use for it in the future, and as my wife said, the land's already claimed."
Silas had already done some calculations in his head. He set his cup down and went to where his coat was hanging on a hook by the door. He reached into the money pouch in the pocket, felt for the coins he wanted, and pulled them out, then showed them to the rancher and his wife. "A hundred and forty gildings for the cabin and stable and grazing rights." The amount was about half again as much as similar property would normally sell for. "I own it free and clear, but it reverts to you when we're ready to move on. I won't expect the money back."
The man and woman stared at the coins. "Well," the rancher said, "I suppose that's a deal I can't say no to. I think we can even throw in a milk cow and some chickens for that price. Don't you think so, honey?"
Marva nodded. "I should say so."
"Let's get it in writing, then," Silas said, "and I'll get out of your way. Sounds like you folks are having a busy festival."
"Oh, yes," the wife said as her husband went to the desk and began writing up the agreement. "We're taking baskets to the hands, as we always do, with some treats and new shirts and socks, and extra food for the ones with their own families, and toys for the little ones. Then of course there's the party in town tonight. Will you and your wife be attending?"
Silas considered it. Lainie would love it, he was sure, and so would he, but her health was so fragile, and he would rather stay out of the way and keep his head down as much as possible. If one bounty hunter had come after him, there were sure to be others. "I'm sorry to say we can't. My wife is too ill."
"That's a shame. Won't you let me make up a bundle for the two of you, with some provisions? So at least you can have something special to eat."
"That'd be right kind of you, ma'am," Silas said. "My wife would appreciate it; we've had nothing but travel rations for some ninedays now."
While the wife went back into the kitchen to prepare the bundle, Silas finished his chickroot brew and cookie. A few moments later, the rancher said, "Take a look at this and tell me if it's agreeable."
Silas went over to the desk and read over the two copies of the agreement of sale for the cabin and stable and for grazing rights on the parcel of land the rancher had written out. "Looks fine to me," he said, and signed them, adding a name-slip charm to his signature. Then he rolled up his copy and tucked it in the pocket of his coat. "We'll let you know when we're ready to let the property revert back to you. Oh, and one more thing." He took five more ten-gilding pieces out of the money pouch. "We want to be left alone out there. This is for your trouble in not telling anyone who might come looking for us that we're here. And there'll be more when we leave." He handed the coins to the rancher.
The rancher looked at the money. "No need to pay for that, but the extra money will come indeed come in handy. We'll be happy to keep your business to ourselves." No surprise; most Wildings folk were happy to let folks alone who wanted it, but Silas had wanted to make sure.
They shook hands as the wife returned to the front room holding a burlap sack closed with a drawstring. "Here you are," she said, handing the bag to Silas. "You two enjoy it. And tell your wife if she ever wants company, to drop on by any time for a hot cup."
"Thank you, ma'am. She'll appreciate that." He and the rancher made arrangements for him to come back soon for the cow and the chickens, then he took his hat and coat and left, exchanging wishes for a blessed New Moon and new year. Excitement put a little spring in his step as he went out to Abenar; thanks to the contents of the sack and the ranch wife's generosity, his and Lainie's celebration was promising to be a little more festive than it had a while ago.
* * *
When Silas entered the cabin, he paused, looking around. Something seemed different... The single glass window was sparkling clean, he realized, and the floor and furniture had been dusted and wiped down until they gleamed. And Lainie was sitting in bed, looking equally clean --
And not wearing a stitch of clothing, as far as Silas could see. Which was pretty far.
"Blessed New Moon," she said, a bright smile on her wan face.
"Uh," was all Silas could think of to say.
"Welcome home. At least, as far as we can call this home..."
Silas's mind started working again, and he smiled back at her. "Let me show you something."
He set the burlap bag down on the table and took out its contents -- a small ham, a loaf of bread and a ball of butter wrapped in paper, a small round of cheese, a couple of cans of applesauce and tomatoes, and a paper packet of spice cookies. Then he sat down beside Lainie on the bed and pulled the sale agreement out of his pocket.
"What's all that?" she asked.
"Compliments of the wife of the rancher who owns this property. For our New Moon celebration. And this..." He unrolled the paper and put it in her hands.
She read it twice over, her eyes scanning over the paper, at first with a look of disbelief on her face, then she broke out in a huge smile. "It's ours? Really?"
"Bought, paid for, and signed. I wasn't sure what to give you for a New Moon gift, so I bought you a house."
She laughed a little, then looked away. "I don't have anything for you, so I decided to make it a little more homey here for you, and, well..." She blushed.
Silas set the agreement on the kitchen table and began shedding his hat, coat, and boots. "It's perfect. Best New Moon present ever." And it was, he thought as he joined her in the bed. He had bought her a house, but she made it a home, the best gift any man could ask for.
Copyright 2016 Kyra Halland. All Rights Reserved.
The cabin that was his destination lay ahead, a dark smudge in the snowstorm. He had spotted it on their way east to Bentwood Gulch that fall, noted that it seemed to be abandoned, and filed the information away in his memories of things that might be useful to know sometime. Possible shelter definitely fell into the category of things that might be useful. Now, his initial impression that the cabin was unoccupied seemed to be confirmed; the window was dark, and no smudge of smoke rose from the chimney.
"This it?" Lainie asked, her voice worn thin and weak by ninedays of demonsalts illness ravaging her body.
"Yep," Silas answered. "Doesn't look like anyone's living there, so I doubt anyone will mind if we hole up here, at least long enough to wait out this storm."
Shivering hard, even in the thick, warm sheepskin coat he'd bought her back in Bentwood Gulch, she nodded.
The door of the cabin was closed, but, in the tradition of the Wildings, the latchstring was left out -- an invitation for anyone needing shelter to come on in. With one hand on his holstered revolver, Silas pulled the latchstring to lift the latch, then pushed the door open slowly. "Hello?" he said into the dark room before going in, not wanting to startle anyone who might already be there, and to make sure it wasn't a trap set by bandits.
No answer, no sound of breathing or movement; he cast out with his mage senses and found no signs of life force. It didn't necessarily mean no one was there; if Carden, the rogue mage he'd faced off against in Bitterbush Springs, could shield his life force, other mages might be able to as well. But his other senses, trained from six years of bounty-hunting in the Wildings, confirmed that no one was in the cabin. Still, he drew his gun and went in ahead of Lainie.
Nothing happened; he called up a mage light and looked around to see that the cabin was, indeed, deserted. "It's safe, darlin'," he said to Lainie behind him. "Come on in."
The one-room cabin was neat and cozy except for a layer of dust over everything. Silas closed the door, stirring up small puffs of dust in its wake; Lainie sneezed. In one corner stood a bedstead, just big enough for two, with a mattress and faded quilt. Across the room was an iron cookstove standing next to a fireplace, a small table with two chairs, and shelves built onto the wooden wall. Silas was a little surprised that the cookstove, a fairly expensive item in the Wildings, had been left behind when whoever had lived here left; perhaps it was too heavy, or perhaps they had acquired a better one and left that one here for whoever might move in.
This would do fine as a place to hole up in. First, though, as soon as the storm cleared out, he would see if he could figure out if anyone had claim to it.
Lainie was staring longingly at the bed. On the run, Silas hadn't dared let her use large amounts of magic, lest she send out a signal to any mage hunters who might be nearby. She hadn't come near depleting her power, but the demonsalts cravings kept coming back, enough to wear her down. She had devised a program of repeatedly draining herself of power then regenerating it through conventional means, with large amounts of food, sleep, and sex. Hopefully, that would purge the secondhand addiction she had picked up from the demonsalts-addicted mage hunter who had attacked Silas. In the meantime, though, things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.
"Tired?" Silas asked her.
She nodded again. "And cold."
"Don't want anything to eat?" Not that they had anything besides cold travel rations. If they were able to settle in here and get some supplies from the nearby town, she would be able to eat better.
She shook her head. "Just cold and tired. That bed looks right fine, even with the dust."
Silas shook the dust from the quilt and beat it out of the pillows, then helped Lainie strip off her boots and snow-wet clothing. Shivering even harder in just her drawers and camisole, she crawled into the bed and he tucked her in. "Will this do?" he asked.
"Feels heavenly," she said, though her teeth still chattered.
"I'll join you in a bit." He left her in the bed and went outside to settle the horses in the small stable next to the cabin. In just the few minutes that he'd been in the cabin, the storm had started to let up a little. Through a small gap in the clouds to the east, he saw the moon rising. Nearly full; tomorrow night would be the full moon, the first since the winter solstice about two ninedays ago. New Moon was the biggest festival of the year, when the gods turned their full gaze upon the earth and endowed it with blessings for the coming year; a festival celebrated with just as much fervor and at least as much gaiety in the Wildings as in Granadaia. The day would be spent in prayers, making offerings, and performing acts of charity; then, when the moon rose, there would be feasting and music and dancing and gifts.
His and Lainie's first New Moon together, and he didn't have a gift for her. They had had bigger things on their minds, like avoiding mage hunters and finding a safe place to shelter where Lainie could begin recovering from her demonsalts illness, but it still bothered him. It was her first New Moon away from home, after being run out of her hometown as a wizard and finding herself very unexpectedly married to him and on the run as renegade mages. This would be hard for her, and he had hoped to find her a small gift to make it a little easier.
Once the horses were settled with piles of oats and hay and buckets of snow that would melt into drinking water, he went back into the cabin, using a mage light to light his way. Lainie was already asleep, huddled up and shivering under the quilt. Even in sleep, her face was shadowed by pain and fear. Silas had had a friend in school who had died of demonsalts addiction; he vowed again he wouldn't let her die. Without access to the drug, her chances of recovering were better, but in the meantime, she would go through all the torments of all the hells whenever she used enough magic to drain herself a little. And he would go through all the torments watching her and worrying about her.
But that was what they were going to have to do to make her better again.
He slipped off his coat, gunbelt, and boots, and set his hat on the table, and crawled into the bed with Lainie, wrapping himself around her to try to warm her and shield her from all the hard times to come.
* * *
Lainie stirred and stretched, feeling better than she had in some time. It was good to wake up warm for a change, and in a real bed. Silas was already up and dressed, and had lit a fire in the fireplace and laid out a good part of what was left of their travel provisions on the table. Outside the cabin's one window, the sun was shining on a white world.
Silas looked up from buckling on his gunbelt and smiled at her. "How're you feeling, darlin'?"
"Not bad." She considered, assessing herself. "Not bad at all. I think the good night's sleep helped. I'm not feeling sick, just a bit weak."
"Good." He pulled on his sheepskin coat that he'd bought back in Bentwood Gulch. Normally, he favored his long brown duster, but this weather was far too cold for that.
"Where're you going?"
"I saw a ranch house a few leagues back, on our way here. Thought I'd ride over there and see if anyone there knows anything about this place. I'd rather make sure we can use it for as long as we need and not get thrown out as squatters."
"Good idea." While people in the Wildings took pride in their hospitality to strangers, they were also very protective of their homes, and squatters and freeloaders, who took from honest, hard-working folk, were not well tolerated. Lainie thought she would just about die of shame if anyone ever accused her of being a squatter or freeloader.
Silas dropped a pouch, heavy with some of their new-earned wealth, into the pocket of his coat, then put on his hat and came over and kissed her. "I'll put up a shield so you can sleep some more if you want and don't have to worry about anyone bothering you."
She kissed him back. "Thanks. And be careful."
"I will."
After he left, Lainie snuggled back under the quilt, basking in the warmth of the soft -- if somewhat dusty and musty-smelling -- bed. Then she sighed, sat up again, and reached for her clothes.
Silas hadn't said anything, but she knew what day it was -- New Moon. Their first New Moon festival together. But instead of friendly gatherings during the day to collect and distribute food and clothes to the poor -- in the Wildings, few people were rich, but everyone was happy to be able to give a little to someone worse off than they were -- and parties with music, dancing, feasting, and gifts in the evening, they were spending this day as outlaws, on the run from mage hunters, and dealing with the addiction she'd picked up. That would teach her to try to replace her own power by taking in someone else's, Lainie reflected again. But then, how could she have known before she did it? What she had done was supposed to be impossible; not to mention that it was illegal, just in case anyone did figure out how to do it.
Anyhow, that was how things stood, and there wasn't anything she could do to change it now. So if she and Silas were going to have a New Moon celebration, she would just have to do the best she could with what they had.
Dressed, she began investigating the cabin. The little stove was right nice; if she had a can of applesauce, some flour, sugar, butter, and eggs, and some whitesoda, she could bake an applesauce cake, but she didn't have any of those things. There was some dried meat and fruit and packets of hard flatbread on the pantry shelves, same as her and Silas's travel provisions, but there wasn't a whole lot you could cook with those.
So, unless he could get some provisions at that ranch house, there wasn't going to be a feast. That was okay; at least they weren't hungry, like they'd been often enough on the way from Ripgap to Bentwood Gulch. And Silas wasn't much of a singer, or so he claimed; she'd never heard him sing. Which left dancing and gifts. It was hard to dance without music, but not impossible. As for gifts, she didn't have anything for him. But...
She looked around the cabin again. A little cleaning, a little freshening up, a bath for herself in front of the stove -- a cat-bath only, with a washcloth, since there didn't appear to be a tub anywhere -- and she could treat Silas to a nice night in a real bed in a clean house that, at least for the night, was theirs.
Filled with resolve, she rolled up her shirt sleeves, dug a worn-out, shot-up shirt out of Silas's knapsack, filled a pail with snow from outside and set it by the fireplace to melt, and got to work.
* * *
Silas knocked on the door of the ranch house. From inside he could hear a happy bustle of women baking and preparing baskets to give away. The sweet, spicy smell of cakes and cookies made his mouth water. The door opened, and a man stood there, tall, lean, salt and pepper hair, dressed in shirt and pants that were cleaner and finer than the ones he likely wore for everyday. "Blessed New Moon to you, stranger," the man said. "What can I do for you?"
"Blessed New Moon to you, too," Silas replied. "I was wondering if you folks here know anything about that cabin out on the range a couple of leagues to the west."
"Why, I do," the man said. "It's ours, built it when we first set our claim here. We built this house and moved into it a few years ago, but left the cabin out there for the hands or if anyone needed a place to stay. I suppose that's why you're asking about it?"
"That's right," Silas said.
"Well, come on in, have a hot cup and some spice cookies -- my wife makes a fine one indeed -- and we'll talk about it."
Silas doffed his coat and, politely, his hat, as he followed the rancher inside to a seat in the front parlor, a plain wooden bench, but covered with a good, soft needlework cushion. The parlor was decorated with branches of scrub pine, strings of red and purple winter berries, and snowflakes cut out of paper. "We got a guest, Marva!" the rancher called out.
A moment later, a sturdy woman with faded gold braids wrapped around her head, wearing a big, embroidered white apron, bustled out from the kitchen filled with laughing, chatting women. She was carrying a tray with two hot cups of chickroot brew and a small plate of warm cookies. Silas took a cup and a cookie from her. "We've just about got the baskets ready to go out to the hands," she said to her husband.
"I'll join you, I've just got some business to conduct here first," the rancher replied. "This fella's inquiring about the cabin."
"Oh?" The ranch wife looked at Silas. "It's a nice little place, but we've already laid claim on the land --"
Silas sipped his chickroot brew; as promised, it was very good. "I'm not interested in the land. My wife's been very sick, and we've been traveling, no place of our own, and we just need a place to lay low for a while so she can recover. Maybe through the spring." He had no idea how long it would take her to shake off the demonsalts addiction; most addicts were only freed from the addiction when they died.
"I see," the rancher said. "So, what sort of deal are you thinking of?"
"We need privacy, and we need to be able to stay as long as it takes her to get better. I'd like to buy the cabin and the stable outright from you, and pay for the use of some land for grazing -- we have two horses -- and maybe some gardening."
The rancher and his wife looked at each other, and a silent signal passed between them, in the way of long-married couples who've developed their own unspoken language over the years. "I've never thought of selling," the rancher said. "We might have use for it in the future, and as my wife said, the land's already claimed."
Silas had already done some calculations in his head. He set his cup down and went to where his coat was hanging on a hook by the door. He reached into the money pouch in the pocket, felt for the coins he wanted, and pulled them out, then showed them to the rancher and his wife. "A hundred and forty gildings for the cabin and stable and grazing rights." The amount was about half again as much as similar property would normally sell for. "I own it free and clear, but it reverts to you when we're ready to move on. I won't expect the money back."
The man and woman stared at the coins. "Well," the rancher said, "I suppose that's a deal I can't say no to. I think we can even throw in a milk cow and some chickens for that price. Don't you think so, honey?"
Marva nodded. "I should say so."
"Let's get it in writing, then," Silas said, "and I'll get out of your way. Sounds like you folks are having a busy festival."
"Oh, yes," the wife said as her husband went to the desk and began writing up the agreement. "We're taking baskets to the hands, as we always do, with some treats and new shirts and socks, and extra food for the ones with their own families, and toys for the little ones. Then of course there's the party in town tonight. Will you and your wife be attending?"
Silas considered it. Lainie would love it, he was sure, and so would he, but her health was so fragile, and he would rather stay out of the way and keep his head down as much as possible. If one bounty hunter had come after him, there were sure to be others. "I'm sorry to say we can't. My wife is too ill."
"That's a shame. Won't you let me make up a bundle for the two of you, with some provisions? So at least you can have something special to eat."
"That'd be right kind of you, ma'am," Silas said. "My wife would appreciate it; we've had nothing but travel rations for some ninedays now."
While the wife went back into the kitchen to prepare the bundle, Silas finished his chickroot brew and cookie. A few moments later, the rancher said, "Take a look at this and tell me if it's agreeable."
Silas went over to the desk and read over the two copies of the agreement of sale for the cabin and stable and for grazing rights on the parcel of land the rancher had written out. "Looks fine to me," he said, and signed them, adding a name-slip charm to his signature. Then he rolled up his copy and tucked it in the pocket of his coat. "We'll let you know when we're ready to let the property revert back to you. Oh, and one more thing." He took five more ten-gilding pieces out of the money pouch. "We want to be left alone out there. This is for your trouble in not telling anyone who might come looking for us that we're here. And there'll be more when we leave." He handed the coins to the rancher.
The rancher looked at the money. "No need to pay for that, but the extra money will come indeed come in handy. We'll be happy to keep your business to ourselves." No surprise; most Wildings folk were happy to let folks alone who wanted it, but Silas had wanted to make sure.
They shook hands as the wife returned to the front room holding a burlap sack closed with a drawstring. "Here you are," she said, handing the bag to Silas. "You two enjoy it. And tell your wife if she ever wants company, to drop on by any time for a hot cup."
"Thank you, ma'am. She'll appreciate that." He and the rancher made arrangements for him to come back soon for the cow and the chickens, then he took his hat and coat and left, exchanging wishes for a blessed New Moon and new year. Excitement put a little spring in his step as he went out to Abenar; thanks to the contents of the sack and the ranch wife's generosity, his and Lainie's celebration was promising to be a little more festive than it had a while ago.
* * *
When Silas entered the cabin, he paused, looking around. Something seemed different... The single glass window was sparkling clean, he realized, and the floor and furniture had been dusted and wiped down until they gleamed. And Lainie was sitting in bed, looking equally clean --
And not wearing a stitch of clothing, as far as Silas could see. Which was pretty far.
"Blessed New Moon," she said, a bright smile on her wan face.
"Uh," was all Silas could think of to say.
"Welcome home. At least, as far as we can call this home..."
Silas's mind started working again, and he smiled back at her. "Let me show you something."
He set the burlap bag down on the table and took out its contents -- a small ham, a loaf of bread and a ball of butter wrapped in paper, a small round of cheese, a couple of cans of applesauce and tomatoes, and a paper packet of spice cookies. Then he sat down beside Lainie on the bed and pulled the sale agreement out of his pocket.
"What's all that?" she asked.
"Compliments of the wife of the rancher who owns this property. For our New Moon celebration. And this..." He unrolled the paper and put it in her hands.
She read it twice over, her eyes scanning over the paper, at first with a look of disbelief on her face, then she broke out in a huge smile. "It's ours? Really?"
"Bought, paid for, and signed. I wasn't sure what to give you for a New Moon gift, so I bought you a house."
She laughed a little, then looked away. "I don't have anything for you, so I decided to make it a little more homey here for you, and, well..." She blushed.
Silas set the agreement on the kitchen table and began shedding his hat, coat, and boots. "It's perfect. Best New Moon present ever." And it was, he thought as he joined her in the bed. He had bought her a house, but she made it a home, the best gift any man could ask for.
Copyright 2016 Kyra Halland. All Rights Reserved.
