Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) Read online

  “How would she know to have enough food for all of us?” asked Lorenz. To him it was another puzzle.

  “Y'all would be surprised. Women whose men are gone out here always seem to know when they are coming back in. Besides, we've made the trip before. She knows how long it takes.”

  Morning slid by in a haze of dusty, jolting minutes. Martin ventured few subjects as Lorenz sat huddled with half-true memories and perceptions. At times, he felt an unbelievable elation and next he felt completely lost. He knew his homecoming would be a complete debacle. MacDonald, however, had won and he would soon see his mother. Lorenz harbored a grudging admiration for the man as they traveled over a land covered with prairie grass, some still green with new growth, some of it starting to yellow at the tips, and clumps of waving blue flowers nestled among the green. Gradually, the sun swung higher as it moved to a late morning position.

  MacDonald brought Zark alongside and signaled for Martin to rein in. Lorenz bailed over the seat and grabbed his saddle. He told himself that it was the excitement of actually riding again impelling his haste, not the possibility of seeing his mother after so many years. Within minutes he had cinched down his saddle and bolted into it. MacDonald nodded at him and waved at the others. Lorenz lifted his chin and even smiled at Young James ensconced on the wagon seat.

  Twenty minutes later, they topped the rise and looked down at the ranch quarters. To their left, about a quarter of a mile from the two-story ranch house, a rock formation jutted skyward creating a sculpture by nature. It flared upward and then about three quarters of the way to the top the rock flattened out in front of a small cave. Behind the cave, rocks reared again and flowed upward into a caricature of a monk's head. Below them, the prairie grass spread out towards the house, the springhouse, barn, washhouse, outhouse, and small shed. Corrals circled three-fourths of the barn and extended back by almost two acres. It looked like there were three sections to the corrals. The smallest fenced section held a lonely milch cow that lowed a greeting. The headquarter buildings of the Rearing Bear ranch, unlike most of the ranch buildings Lorenz had seen, were painted and not faded wood.

  “Ah didn't know yu'all was rich,” he said as they drew up to look.

  “Nay rich, laddie, but someday, mayhap. Look, there stands yere mither and the wee one. He took off his hat and waved at the two distant figures on the porch. “Let's ride.”

  “How'd she know?” asked Lorenz, keeping Dandy at the pace set by the larger horse.

  MacDonald barely glanced at him. “She tis a Kenning Woman. Oh, and ye are to remove yere hat when ye greet her.”

  Lorenz swallowed. More damn rules. He kept looking at the woman holding the small figure by the hand. She wore a simple, straight grey skirt and white blouse covered by an apron. The hand that had been guarding her eyes against the noon sun was now clutching at the hitching rail, the knuckles as white as her hair. As MacDonald had said her hair was completely white, parted in the middle and drawn back into a bun to better cover the missing ears, the severity softened by the escaped curls framing her face. The eyebrows were still dark, arched over grey eyes lighted by quick intelligence. Her body was no longer skinny as MacDonald had termed it, but filled out to match her tall frame. Her movements were decisive and controlled. The little girl at her side was jumping up and down, waving at them, and screaming, “Papa, papa.”

  As they reined in, MacDonald reached over and grabbed Dandy's reins and dismounted. He lapped the reins over the post and picked up the “Papa, papa,” screaming child. Lorenz found his face and body frozen, unable to smile or move. He stared straight ahead; afraid to look at his mother should she recognize him and reject him once she realized he was not Daniel.

  “Lorenz, dismount!”

  No help for it. He had to move or be pulled down. As he swung down, the woman was on him; her arms around his body, squeezing hard and then she removed one hand using it to touch his face, his hands, and his hair. “Mein sohn, mein sohn, mein liebe, mein herzen,” she kept repeating. Finally, she stopped long enough to touch the scar and he tried stepping back, but she retained her hold on him and her grey eyes opened wider, “They hurt du!” she exclaimed in English and turned to MacDonald.

  “Mr. MacDonald, they have hurt him. Who did this? Du must run them down!” Her English was almost as accented as Rolfe's, the German idioms and words as frequent.

  “Mrs. MacDonald, the man who did that tis nay longer with us.”

  “Good!” She turned her attention back to Lorenz. “Vhere is Margareatha? She vas mitt du vhen ve vere attacked. Vhy is she not mitt du?”

  Lorenz was staring at her, his mind reeling, the German words too much for him to process, but somehow he knew they were endearments. Then suddenly everything she was saying made sense; even the German and accented words he had not heard in eleven years; vhere became where and vhy became why. How could he tell her about Rity?

  MacDonald answered for him. “It seems she tis in Carson City, Nevada. We have sent yere lassie a telegram and told her a letter twill follow.”

  The grey eyes snapped at MacDonald. “Du did not tell her to home immediately come?”

  Lorenz took some satisfaction in watching MacDonald's face become a bit blank. “I did nay think to do so,” he admitted. “I did tell her that Lorenz was safe with us.”

  “Ach, gut,” she turned to Lorenz again, “have du seen Daniel or August?”

  Lorenz was still dazed from her greeting and shook his head, unable to form words. She was still touching him, stroking his hair, his face, his arm as though he would evaporate like smoke and suddenly she was holding him tight again, strange choking noises coming from her throat. The warm smells came up from her body, smells no longer just lingerings in his mind, but smells of vinegar, sugar, flour, vanilla, and her own individual scent. He couldn't stop his arms and they wrapped around her, his voice choking out, “Mama, Mama.” Now it was his turn to fear this was a dream and she would disappear and a world filled with hate and hurt would return.

  MacDonald watched them sway together for a moment as he explained to Mina that her brother was as happy as she would be if she had not seen Mama for a very long time, then he stepped closer and wrapped one arm around his wife. Gradually her choking sounds stopped and she lifted her head.

  “Mr. MacDonald, I thank du.”

  He smiled down at her. “Mrs. MacDonald, ye are welcome.”

  Lorenz and his mother stepped slightly apart, his breath coming in heavy, rapid gasps as he fought down the urge to cry. He couldn't let the big man see tears, not now. He set his teeth as he realized MacDonald had bent and kissed his wife.

  To his dismay, his mother did not protest, nor did she seem flustered as MacDonald lifted his head to smile down at her. Her face had grown pinker, but her eyes were sparkling as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed MacDonald on the cheek. “Velcome home, Mr. MacDonald.”

  MacDonald's smile grew wider, “'Tis good to be back,” he said. Then he turned to Lorenz. “And this wee mite tis yere sister, Wilhelmina LouElla MacDonald. We call her Mina as tis much easier.” He turned to the child riding on his arm; her arms were firmly clamped around his neck. “Can ye nay say 'hello' to yere brither?”

  Mina turned solemn, amber eyes on Lorenz and her face reddened. She looked back at her father. “Is he really mein bruder?” Like her mother and the Rolfes, she spoke a mixture of English and German, freely mixing the words and meanings.

  “Aye, that he tis, and he tis called Lorenz.”

  Mina turned back to Lorenz with puzzlement in her eyes. “But he is big,” she protested stressing the word big. She had heard the tale of children taken and could not understand how Lorenz could be the same height as her mother.

  Lorenz grinned. At least someone conceded he was not a child. “Hi, Mina.”

  In response, Mina leaned forward and put her arms around his neck and hugged. Once again Lorenz went into shock. The child was warm and smelled of youth and innocence. He waited for MacDonald or M
ama to scream at Mina not to get so close to him.

  Instead, MacDonald addressed his wife. “Anna, the Rolfe menfolk will soon be here with our purchases. Tis there enough for all?”

  “Ja, of course. Ach, the food!” She grabbed Mina and ran for the door.

  MacDonald stood with a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “She can become excited.” He looked at Lorenz. “We need to put up our beasties.” He took both of the lead reins and led the way to the barn. Lorenz still in a daze stumbled along. As usual nothing had gone the way he had said it would. Why had Mama made such a fuss over him?

  He stayed in his dazed world, scarcely able to breathe or think while they removed the saddles, turned the horses into the holding pen, and placed the saddles inside the barn. MacDonald's went on a saddletree while his was placed up on the shelf. “We twill build one for ye later.”

  Lorenz barely noticed the long area between the two sets of stalls running on either side of the barn. One set of three stalls was for horses with a high manger and separate grain box. The two mangers on the other side were lower and open, each with a moveable bar in the rear, and another up and down one that moved in front. Tools and saddles were stored against the entry wall and a work table set under a small window. Various tools for ranch and farm hung neatly on the wall. Lorenz decided that he was going to be a free hand for this ranch and his mind returned to reality. He heard the wagon roll into the yard, looked out, saw the Rolfes, and realized there was a fence with some sort of tree in front covered with small pellets of growing fruit.

  “Mr. Rolfe, du and your boys vill for dinner stay, ja?” his mother greeted the new arrivals. “There's fresh beer in the springhouse. Help yourself.”

  “Ja wohl, Frau MacDonald, ve'll be glad to eat here. Danke schon.” Rolfe dismounted and went through the side gate, heading for the springhouse and his beer. “Du vant one, Mac?” he yelled as Martin pulled up the team slightly pass the tree and applied the brake.

  “Aye, friend Rolfe,” boomed MacDonald's reply, “right after the laddie and I have unloaded our purchases.”

  The barrel of liquor was set in the washhouse with the parcels from the store on top, the lumber stacked alongside of the fence, and their camp gear set out by the back door. “We'll take it inside when Mrs. MacDonald is out of the kitchen,” explained MacDonald. “We'll nay be in her way while she tis setting the table.” Somehow he made it sound like a sin to be in Mama's way.

  Lorenz looked around. Young James had helped Martin with the horses and then both made a beeline for the outhouse. MacDonald accepted the bottle from Rolfe and sipped away with satisfaction. His mother emerged from the springhouse carrying a pitcher of milk.

  Rolfe then proceeded to wash his hands and face at the improvised stand near the back door. A wavy mirror was set over the enameled, white basin and a shelf with a dowel holding a towel underneath completed a place for a quick toiletry. Rolfe removed his hat and used the comb, and as they reappeared, his two male heirs followed his example. Then it was MacDonald's turn. He handed the bottle to Lorenz and generously splashed water on his face and hands before combing his hair. He reclaimed his bottle and said, “Now tis your turn.”

  Lorenz could not believe he was home and welcomed. This was contrary to the world he knew existed. Since he had not yet stepped into the house, freedom was still his. He knew once inside there would be no escape. Even if he escaped, his mother and her voice would imprison him forever. MacDonald's command made him blink his eyes and he shook his head, “Ah ain't dirty.”

  Martin guffawed. “Lorenz, Tante Anna ain't going to let y'all to the table unless y'all wash up.”

  Lorenz felt the blood rise in his face. Everyone was grinning at him now. It was no longer him against the big man. It was him against all of them and there was nowhere to run. His mother appeared at the door, smiling at them all.

  “Dinner is ready. Von't du come in?”

  “As soon as Lorenz washes his hands and face,” the words rumbled out of MacDonald, amusement flickering in his brown eyes.

  Anna moved outside and fixed her large, grey eyes on him. “Vash your face and hands, und use that comb.” Her words, simple and direct, burned into him. Weren't mothers supposed to be on your side? He stood looking at her.

  A puzzled look came into her eyes and MacDonald added an explanation. “I dinna think yere lassie had time to re-teach him the ways of civilized mankind during the brief time he twas with her. All that twill be explained later,” he added as a closing.

  His mother's eyes were still puzzled, but a more determined look came into them. “Lorenz, du are the food letting get cold. Vash now und use the comb.” Her voice was stern, broking no argument.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Lorenz remembered that look. This was not the time to defy her with everyone else standing around with smirks on their faces. He bent and hurriedly splashed water on his face and hands and used the towel. He heard the door close and he started to turn and realized MacDonald blocked his way, standing there with comb in hand. The big man didn't say anything. He was just smiling a closed mouth smile, but the eyes were hard and the amusement gone. Lorenz yanked his hat off and grabbed the comb. It stuck almost half way down when MacDonald caught his wrist.

  “Nay so hard, laddie, twill break the comb, and then yere mither twill fuss.”

  Rolfe laughed. “Dot's the last thing du vant. She is a formidable voman.” Still chuckling he led his sons into the house.

  Lorenz looked helplessly at MacDonald after trying twice more to run the comb through his tangled mass, MacDonald took the offensive implement and said, “For now, just tuck the hair behind the ears.” He opened the door and motioned Lorenz in.

  The humid heat from the black woodstove nearly knocked Lorenz to his knees. How did his mother stand it? MacDonald pointed to the hat rack inside the doorway. “Put yere's there with the rest.” He kept behind Lorenz and half pushed him towards the door at the far end. The smells from the food were now vying with the heat to win Lorenz's attention. “And remember, we say grace ere we eat.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tis a way of thanking the Maker for our food. Just do as the others do ere ye start to pile the food on your plate.” Mercifully they were through the narrow, stifling kitchen and into the dining room where the open front door and windows let in the breezes and flies, effectively taking most of the heat from the room.

  It clearly was the main room with a huge table in the middle, but Lorenz was back in his emotional daze and didn't see the sewing machine set by the east window looking out onto the porch, nor the dark wainscot underneath the flowery wallpaper. The blue curtains outlining the windows escaped his eyes. Everyone was seated, and Anna called gaily, “Du sit here at my right, mein sohn.”

  It looked like Martin would be in the chair next to him. Lorenz walked stiff legged to the table and collapsed in the seat. All the aromas mixed and settled into his stomach, and he stared straight ahead. He did not see Martin smile and nod his head in greeting. Mina sat in a higher chair at her mother's left. Young James was next to Mina and then Rolfe. MacDonald took the chair at the head of the table opposite his wife at the other end.

  “Mr. Rolfe, will you please ask the blessing?” Anna spoke in German.

  Lorenz watched in amazement as they all bowed their heads and evidently did something with their hands under the table. Then Rolfe began to speak, the guttural tones sweeping out with authority and ending with “Gott der Vater, Gott der Sohn, und Gott der Heilig Geist”.

  It was unbelievable. The man he watched slow-skin another human being was sitting there reverently asking a blessing and the rest complied silently. Were they all crazy? A booming, “Amen,” from MacDonald brought everyone's attention back to the table.

  His mother began by slicing the roast, placing a slab of meat on her plate, and then asking James for his. Once she had given James the meat, she passed the platter to Lorenz. “Take vhat du vant and then hand it to Martin. Everything vi
ll be passed to your right.”

  Lorenz grasped the heavy platter, the aroma from it bringing water into his mouth. He grabbed a slab with the large fork, flopped it on his plate while the juices ran in his mouth. After he passed the plate, he used his hand to raise the slab of meat to his mouth and the babble around the table ceased. Lorenz looked up and realized that six pairs of eyes were looking at him.

  Anna reached over and from the left side of his plate lifted a smaller fork than the one on the platter. “Du use the fork und knife to eat with here.”

  For the first time, Lorenz saw the eating utensils at the side of everyone's plate. Even little Mina had a mini fork in her fist. His face reddened, but he grasped the knife and tested the edge. “It ain't sharp,” he protested.

  “It does nay need to be.” MacDonald's eyes were laughing again, laughing at him, he thought bitterly.

  Lorenz slashed at the meat. To his surprise, the meat parted instantly, almost falling apart. His eyes widened. What sort of meat was this? It smelled like beef. He took a bite and the succulent, savory smell proved to be true. That food could be more than something to fuel his body was a new concept, and he savored the thought and the meat. “Hit's good, Mama.”

  Anna smiled and for a moment she became a woman transformed as her face and eyes lighted. Lorenz realized that many men would find her as beautiful as her cooking. It was disturbing. He lowered his head again as ordered confusion returned with every one passing a dish or asking for a platter or condiment to be passed to them.

  Anna and Martin both watched and assisted him as the dishes went around the table. Martin, puffing with importance, showed Lorenz the superiority of boiled potatoes being mashed with the fork before ladling the gravy over the top. Lorenz couldn't see the difference: they were still potatoes and they still had gravy over them.

  Somehow everyone was served: Potatoes, gravy, fresh pickled onions and cucumbers, fresh greens coated with some sort of sweet-sour dressing, dark bread, butter, homemade apple butter, with beer for the adults, and milk for the children. Martin, like the younger children, drank milk, grinning at Lorenz as he poured from the pitcher. Lorenz in his bewilderment forgot that he didn't drink milk, let Martin fill his glass. Rather than insult his mother, he drank it, almost choking on the amount of cream still in it.