“Can My Sister Stay Too?” the Orphan Asked. The Rancher Quietly Set Another Place

PART 2:

She was so still that Silas had mistaken her for baggage. “You left her at the gate?” “She couldn’t walk anymore.” Silas looked at the sky, then at the boy. “How old?” “Seven.” “Is she sick?” “Just cold.” The first snowflake struck the yard, hard and dry. Silas pulled the axe from the stump and carried it to the shed. He did not answer the boy.

 He walked past him, crossed the yard, and went down the road. The girl watched him approach. Her face was pale beneath a scattering of freckles. One boot was missing. Her sock had been wrapped in cloth and tied with string. Silas took the handle of the cart. “Hold the quilt tight.” She obeyed. Eli followed as Silas pulled the cart toward the house.

Inside, Silas added two pieces of cottonwood to the stove. He told the children to remove their wet things. Eli hesitated until Silas turned his back. The boy helped his sister with her coat, then crouched to unwrap the cloth around her foot. Her toes were blue with cold. Silas filled a basin with lukewarm water.

 He knew better than to heat frozen skin too quickly. He set the basin near the stove and lowered the girl’s feet into it. She gasped, but did not cry. “What is your name?” he asked. “Nora.” Silas found an old pair of wool socks in a drawer. They were far too large. He rolled them twice at the ankle and pulled them over her feet. Eli stood beside the table, still wearing his torn coat.

“You, too.” Silas said. “I’m all right.” “You are dripping on my floor.” The boy removed the coat. Under it, he wore a shirt patched at both elbows. His ribs showed when he lifted his arms. Silas opened the cupboard. He took down his tin plate and placed it on the table. Then he reached to the back of the shelf, where five more plates had gathered dust. He set one before Eli.

 He set another before Nora. The boy watched him. Silas cut bread, poured the remains of the morning coffee into the slop bucket, and put a pot of beans over the stove. He did not say the children could stay. He did not say they had to leave. He only set another place. The storm arrived before dark.

 Snow hissed against the windows and piled against the eastern wall. Silas could not have taken the children back to Bellweather even if he had decided to. He made beds for them in the loft above the kitchen using two straw mattresses and blankets from a cedar chest. Nora climbed the ladder slowly.

 Eli followed carrying both their belongings in the canvas sack. “There’s a chamber pot near the wall.” Silas said. “Do not come down the ladder in the dark.” “Yes, sir.” Eli answered. Silas extinguished the lamp. Long after the house had gone quiet, he heard whispering from the loft. “Do you think he’ll send us back?” “I don’t know.” “Is he mean?” “No.” “He looks mean.

” “He gave you socks.” There was silence. Then Nora whispered, “Can I keep them?” Silas lay on his narrow bed in the room beside the kitchen. He stared into the dark until the wind covered every sound. The storm lasted 2 days. On the first morning, Eli appeared beside the stove before Silas had finished dressing.

The boy’s hair stuck up at the crown. His face looked sharper in the pale light. “What needs doing?” “Breakfast.” “After.” “After you stay inside.” “You said I could work.” “I said no such thing.” Eli’s expression changed. It was not anger. It was fear. Silas poured batter into a skillet. “When the wind drops, you can carry kindling from the shed.” “I can carry logs.

” “You can carry kindling until I decide otherwise.” Eli looked toward the loft where Nora still slept. “All right.” He ate quickly and saved half his biscuit. Silas saw him wrap it in a scrap of cloth. “There’s more.” Eli’s hand stopped. “I’m saving it for Nora.” “She will have her own.” The boy did not unwrap the biscuit.

When Nora came down, Silas served her a full plate. She stared at the food before touching it. “You don’t like eggs?” he asked. “I like them.” “Then eat.” She looked at Eli. He nodded. Only then did she pick up her fork. After breakfast, Silas went to the barn. Eli followed without being told. The snow had softened to a steady fall and the wind no longer drove it sideways.

The boy carried an armful of kindling into the house, then another. On the third trip, Silas stopped him. That is enough. The box isn’t full. It will hold until morning. Eli looked at the remaining wood as if leaving it there were a kind of failure. Silas handed him a small brush. You can curry the bay. Keep clear of his hind legs.

Eli entered the stall. The gelding lowered his head and sniffed the boy’s shoulder. Eli stood still. After a moment, the old horse breathed against his chest. The boy’s face softened. What is his name? Bishop. Why? He thinks he knows better than everyone. For the first time, Eli smiled. It vanished quickly, but Silas had seen it.

Nora spent the day beside the stove with her wooden doll. The doll had no face, only two dark marks where eyes might have been. Its dress had been sewn from flour sack cloth. That evening, Silas found the girl standing before a closed door at the end of the hall. Her hand rested on the brass knob. That room stays shut, he said.

 She drew her hand back. I’m sorry. Your bed is in the loft. I know. She looked at the door once more, then returned to the kitchen. Silas waited until she climbed the ladder. He tested the knob, though he knew it was locked. The key remained in the top drawer of his dresser. Three days later, the road to Belleweather was still buried.

 The children settled into the house with the caution of animals waiting for a trap. Eli rose early. Nora folded her blankets each morning, though the corners never met. Neither child asked for anything. When Silas put stew on the table, they ate it. When he gave them chores, they completed them.

 When he told them to rest, they sat rigidly beside the stove as if rest were another task that had to be performed correctly. Eli watched Silas closely. If Silas frowned at a loose hinge, the boy tried to repair it. If Silas rubbed his shoulder after carrying feed, Eli appeared beside the next sack. If a tool went missing, Eli searched until he found it. Nora watched Eli.

 She did not enter a room until he had entered first. At night, Silas still heard them whispering. He never heard them laugh. When the road finally opened, Silas harnessed Bishop to the sleigh. Eli stood in the yard with the canvas sack over his shoulder. Nora wore the large wool socks inside a pair of Silas’s old boots stuffed with rags.

 Silas looked at them from the driver’s seat. You will freeze before town in those. We’ll be all right, Eli said. Silas climbed down. He took the sack from the boy and carried it back into the house. Eli followed him. What are you doing? Reverend Pike’s roof collapsed over his pantry. Tally said so in the message the rider brought yesterday.

The boy’s face remained guarded. Silas set the sack beside the stove. I need help through calving season. That spring. I know when it is. Eli glanced at Nora. Both of us? Silas removed his gloves. I have no use for half a pair. Nora’s mouth opened slightly. Silas went outside to unhitch the sleigh. By December, the children had learned the shape of his days.

 They knew he drank two cups of coffee before speaking more than a few words. They knew the barn lantern must be filled each evening. They knew Bishop bit at coat buttons, but never skin. Eli became responsible for the chickens and the kindling box. Nora gathered eggs when the snow was not too deep.

 She carried them in a basket lined with wool, walking with both hands beneath it. The first egg she broke, she stood over the yellow stain in the snow and began to shake. Silas came around the corner of the barn. “It slipped,” she whispered. “I can see that. I’m sorry.” He looked at the broken shell. “There are eight more in the basket.

” She nodded. “Then we lost one egg.” She waited. Silas took the basket from her and carried it toward the house. After a few steps, he noticed she was not following. “Nora.” She looked up. “Come inside. Your nose is turning blue.” That evening, she spoke without waiting for Eli. “Mr. Mercer.” Silas looked across the table.

 “Could I have more potatoes?” He passed the bowl. In January, the temperature fell so low that the nails in the roof cracked like pistol shots. Silas moved the children’s mattresses from the loft to the kitchen floor. They slept near the stove while he woke every 2 hours to add wood. One night, he found Eli sitting upright beneath his blanket.

 “What is it?” “Nora’s coughing.” Silas knelt beside the girl. Her forehead was cool. The cough was dry, caused by the air. He heated water and added honey from a jar he had been saving. Nora drank half the cup before falling asleep again. Eli remained awake. “She used to get sick after Pa died.” he said.

 Silas sat on the floor with his back against the stove. “What took your mother?” “Fever.” “Was there a doctor?” “Not close enough.” Silas stared at the stove door. A thin line of orange light showed around its edge. Eli pulled the blanket higher over Nora’s shoulder. “She told me to keep us together.” “You have.” “So far.” The words remained between them.

 Silas rose and added another piece of wood to the fire. The next morning he took the key from his dresser. He opened the room at the end of the hall. Dust covered the furniture. A narrow bed stood beneath the window still made with a faded blue quilt. On the shelf sat three carved horses and a wooden whistle. A woman’s sewing basket rested beside a small chair.

Silas opened the curtains. Sunlight entered the room for the first time in 8 years. He removed the wooden whistle and the carved horses. He placed them in a box and carried the box to his bedroom. Then he stripped the bed, beat the dust from the quilt, and opened the window for a few minutes despite the cold.

 Nora watched from the doorway. “Whose room was it?” Silas kept his back to her. “My son’s.” “Where is he?” “Gone.” She stood quietly. After a moment, she entered and touched one corner of the quilt. “Is it mine now?” Silas looked at the small hand resting on the faded cloth. “If you want it.” She nodded.

 That afternoon Eli helped him move one of the loft mattresses into the room. They placed it on the floor beside the bed. “I can stay upstairs.” Eli said. “The loft is too cold. I don’t mind. Nora might.” The boy understood. They slept in the blue room that night. Silas sat alone at the kitchen table after the lamps were out. Three washed plates stood on the shelf.

He had once believed an empty house was easier to keep. He had not understood how heavy quiet could become until it began to lift. Winter passed slowly. The children grew less careful. Nora began humming while she swept. Eli stopped saving bread in his pockets. Once, Silas found the boy asleep in the barn with his back against Bishop’s stall, a grooming brush still in his hand.

Silas covered him with a horse blanket and finished the work himself. On Sundays, they rode to Belle Weather in the wagon. Silas sat through church at the end of the last pew. Nora sat beside him in a dress Mrs. Vail, the school teacher, had altered from an old one. Eli wore a shirt Silas had bought without explaining why.

After the service, people gathered around the children. Silas remained close enough to hear every question. Mrs. Bell asked Nora whether she was being properly fed. Nora looked at Silas. “He makes too many beans.” Mrs. Bell laughed. Silas did not. Mr. Tally asked Eli whether the rancher paid him. “I get food and boots.

” “That is not wages.” “I broke a shovel handle.” Tally looked at Silas. “He did.” Silas said. In February, Silas enrolled both children in the small schoolhouse. Eli resisted. “I’m needed here.” “You are needed in school.” “I know numbers.” “You count cattle. That is not the same as knowing numbers.” “I can read.

” “Then you will have less trouble.” Nora stood beside the wagon holding a slate Mrs. Vale had given her. “Will you pick us up?” she asked. Silas looked at her. “Yes. When?” “When school is finished. You won’t forget?” “No.” She climbed into the wagon. Silas arrived an hour early that first afternoon.

 By March, the snow began to sink into the earth. Water ran beneath the drifts and filled the creek with brown ice. Calving began during a week of cold rain. Eli worked beside Silas in the barn carrying towels and keeping the lanterns filled. He followed instructions without panic. When a young cow struggled through a difficult birth, Eli held her head while Silas worked.

 The calf was born near midnight. It lay motionless in the straw. Nora watched from the doorway wrapped in a blanket. Silas cleared the calf’s nose and rubbed its ribs. Eli knelt beside him and worked the other side. The calf coughed. Its legs kicked weakly. Nora laughed. The sound startled all three of them.

 She clapped both hands over her mouth. Silas looked at Eli. The boy was smiling. This time the smile stayed. They named the calf Button because Nora said its dark eyes looked sewn onto its face. Spring came in pieces. The first meadowlark called from the fence. Green shoots pushed through the mud.

 The cattle spread across the lower pasture and the mountains released long white streams into the valley. Silas repaired the porch steps. Eli handed him nails. Nora sat nearby sewing a dress for her wooden doll with thread from the basket in the blue room. At supper, there were three plates on the table. They had stopped looking strange.

 The letter arrived on a warm morning in May. Mrs. Vail brought it to the ranch herself. Silas saw her wagon from the north pasture. He rode back at once, sensing trouble in the way she stood beside the hitching rail. Eli and Nora were at school. Mrs. Vail removed her gloves. I made an error. Silas dismounted. What kind? When I entered the children in the school register, I marked their parents deceased.

 That is true. I also wrote that they lived here. Silas waited. The county guardian saw the record. The wind moved softly through the new grass. What does he want? To know under what authority you are keeping them. Silas tied Bishop to the rail. They came. I fed them. I know. He did not feed them. No.

 What authority did Reverend Pike have to leave them in a storehouse waiting for a wagon? None that would help you. Silas looked toward the road. Mrs. Vail held out the envelope. There will be a hearing in Belle Fourche in 12 days. Silas opened the letter. The county guardian’s name was Amos Rusk. Silas had met him twice. Both times after men had died without leaving wills.

Rusk believed every problem could be corrected by placing the right paper beneath the right seal. The letter stated that Elias and Nora Carter were wards of the county until a lawful guardian could be appointed. It also stated that suitable placements had been located. Elias would be sent to a sheep ranch near Rawlins.

 Nora would be placed with a family in Cheyenne. Silas read the lines again. They are separating them. Mrs. Vail lowered her eyes. The family in Cheyenne asked for a young girl. The sheep ranch asked for a strong boy. They are not livestock. I told Rusk that. What did he say? That sentiment does not establish a household.

 Silas folded the paper so tightly that the edge cut his thumb. Mrs. Vail noticed the blood. You can petition to keep them. Can I? You have land, a house, a good name. I have a bank note due in September. Then pay it. I have no wife. That may matter to Rusk. It may not matter to the judge. Silas looked toward the school road. Do the children know? No.

 Do not tell them. Mrs. Vail’s expression hardened. They deserve to know what is happening. I said I will handle it. They are not a broken fence, Silas. He stepped closer. I know what they are. She held his gaze. Then tell them. Silas did not. For the next week, he left the ranch before sunrise and returned after dark.

 He rode to the bank and learned the full amount needed to clear the note. He met with Reverend Pike, Mr. Talley, the blacksmith, and the doctor who had examined Nora in February. He spoke with an attorney in a room above the saloon. The attorney read the county notice. Rusk will say you took them for labor. I sent them to school.

 He will say you are unmarried. I can cook. That may be your weakest argument. Silas placed both hands on the desk. What will the judge need? Proof that you can support them. Proof they are safe. Proof you intend something more permanent than a winter arrangement. Silas looked through the window toward the hitching rail.

 Bishop stood beside the wagon. Tied behind him was Silas’s red breeding bull, the finest animal on the ranch. The attorney followed his gaze. You planning to sell that bull? Yes. That bull could improve your herd for 10 years. I need to clear the bank note now. You could lose more than the children. Silas picked up the county notice. No.

The sale paid the debt with $14 remaining. Silas carried the bank receipt inside his coat. He returned to the ranch after sunset and found Eli waiting in the barn. The boy had grown since November. His shirt sleeves were too short. You sold the bull, Eli said. Yes. Why? Needed the money. Are we costing too much? Silas removed Bishop’s saddle.

No. Eli did not move. Mr. Tally asked if we were leaving. Silas hung the bridle on its peg. Tally asks too many questions. Mrs. Vail looks at us like someone died. Silas turned. I am handling it. Handling what? Go inside. Eli’s face closed. Yes, sir. The words sounded as formal as they had on the first morning.

 Two days before the hearing, Eli did not return from school. Mrs. Vail arrived near dusk with Nora beside her. I thought he came ahead, she said. Silas looked at Nora. Where is he? Her lower lip trembled. He heard Mr. Rusk talking. Silas felt the ground shift beneath him. What did he hear? That they are taking him to the sheep place. And me to Cheyenne.

Mrs. Vail touched Nora’s shoulder. He left the schoolyard before I could stop him. Silas saddled Bishop. He found Eli 3 miles east of town walking beside the railroad track. The boy carried the canvas sack over his shoulder. Silas rode beside him. Get on. Eli kept walking. Where are you going? Rollins, that is more than a hundred miles. I’ll get there.

 And Nora? I thought you might keep her. Silas dismounted. Eli stopped. The evening sun stretched their shadows across the track. You plan to leave without her? If I go to the sheep ranch myself, maybe they won’t come for her. That is not how it works. Then tell me how it works. Silas had no plain answer. Eli’s eyes filled, but he did not wipe them.

 You should keep Nora. She is little. She does not eat much and she can gather eggs. I’ll tell them you never wanted me. Silas took the sack from his shoulder. I did not say that. You didn’t say anything. The boy’s voice broke on the final word. Silas looked toward the distant mountains. All winter he had trusted food, boots, wood, and work to say what he could not.

He had believed the children understood because he needed them to understand. He saw now that silence could shelter a man while leaving everyone beside him in the cold. Come home, he said. Is it home? Silas looked at the boy. Yes. Eli stood very still. Both of us? Both. What if the judge says no? Then he will have to say it to me more than once.

Silas picked up the canvas sack. They returned after dark. Nora sat at the kitchen table, still wearing her school dress. Mrs. Vail had gone home, leaving a pot of stew on the stove. Silas removed three plates from the shelf. He set one at the head of the table. He set one before Nora. Then he placed the third before Eli.

The boy remained near the door. Silas pulled out the chair. I sold the bull to pay the bank. Eli looked at him. Why? Because Rusk trusts paid notes more than he trusts people. Are you trying to keep us? Yes. You never said. I should have. Nora looked between them. Will they still take us? Silas sat down. They may try.

Eli took his place at the table. Why do you want us? Silas rested his hands beside his plate. They were scarred from rope, wire, winter cracks, and years of work. He had used those hands to bury a wife and a child. He had used them to close the blue room and turn its key. Now two children waited for an answer.

The house was empty, he said. Eli watched him. Silas continued, then it wasn’t. That was all. It was enough. The hearing was held in the schoolhouse because the courthouse roof was being repaired. Judge Hale sat behind Mrs. Vail’s desk. Amos Rusk sat at a smaller table with three folders arranged before him.

 Silas entered with Eli on one side and Nora on the other. Half the town had come. Mr. Tally stood near the stove. Reverend Pike sat beside the doctor. The blacksmith filled an entire bench by himself. Rusk began with facts. Silas Mercer was unmarried. He had no blood relation to the children. He had accepted them without county approval.

 Elias had performed ranch work. The home stood 11 miles from town. Then Rusk described the placements he had arranged. The sheep ranch would provide Elias with food, lodging, and useful employment. The Cheyenne family would provide Nora with a respectable home and the guidance of a married woman. “They will be separated.” Judge Hale said. Rusk adjusted his collar.

“The available placements meet their individual needs.” Eli’s hand closed around the edge of his chair. Silas placed his palm over the boy’s knuckles. Judge Hale looked at Silas. “What do you offer?” Silas stood. “A house, food, school, work when it is proper, rest when it is proper.” “Your finances?” Silas handed the bank receipt to the judge. “The ranch is clear.

” Rusk examined the paper. “You sold valuable breeding stock 3 days before this hearing.” “Yes.” “That sale weakened your future income.” “Yes.” “Then why make it?” Silas looked at him. “Because the hearing was today.” A quiet sound moved through the room. Judge Hale lifted his eyes. “Do you intend to adopt these children?” Silas looked at Eli and Nora.

 The boy sat rigidly. Nora held the wooden doll in both hands. “Yes.” “Both?” Silas turned toward Rusk. “They came together.” “That does not answer the question.” Rusk said. Silas faced the judge again. “Both or neither?” Judge Hale leaned back. Rusk opened another folder. “A household with a young girl requires certain considerations.

Mr. Mercer cannot provide a mother’s instruction.” Mrs. Vale stood. “He brought Nora to me when she needed clothing altered. He brought both children to school. He arrived early every afternoon for 3 weeks because the girl feared he would forget her.” Rusk frowned. “This is not an open discussion.” The doctor rose next.

 “The children were underfed when they arrived. They are healthy now. Then Mr. Talley stood. He never asked for them. I sent the boy there because I thought Mercer might give him work. I did not know about the girl. Silas glanced at him. Talley cleared his throat. When he saw there were two, he kept two. Reverend Pike spoke from the rear bench.

I had no proper room for either child. Mr. Mercer gave them one. Judge Hale lifted a hand and the room became silent. He looked at Eli. Do you understand what is being decided? Yes, sir. Where do you wish to live? Eli looked at Silas. With Mr. Mercer. And your sister? With me. Judge Hale looked at Nora.

 Is that what you want? She nodded. You must speak. Yes, sir. I want to stay at the ranch. Why? Nora held the doll against her dress. Because my place is already set. The judge studied her for a long moment. He gathered the papers before him. The court grants Silas Mercer temporary guardianship of Elias and Nora Carter for 6 months. Mrs.

 Vale will visit the home once each month. The children will remain enrolled in school. At the end of 6 months, this court will review the arrangement. Rusk began to speak. Judge Hale raised a hand. The children will not be separated while this order remains in force. Eli released a breath. Nora reached beneath the table and took Silas’s hand.

He closed his fingers around hers. 6 months later, Judge Hale visited the ranch. He found Eli repairing a gate hinge while Silas watched from the fence. He found Nora in the kitchen reading aloud from a schoolbook while a pot of stew simmered on the stove. He examined the blue room. There were now two beds, two hooks for coats, school slates, a jar of meadow flowers, and three carved horses returned to the shelf.

The judge stayed for supper. Nora set four places. When the meal was finished, Judge Hale signed the permanent guardianship order at the kitchen table. The second winter arrived early. Snow covered the northern pasture before Thanksgiving. The wind returned to the eaves, searching every board and window frame.

Silas had repaired the roof and banked earth against the foundation. Eli had stacked wood nearly to the shed rafters. Nora had filled the pantry shelves with labeled jars under Mrs. Vale’s instruction. On the first night of the storm, they gathered around the table. Eli had grown tall enough that his feet touched the floor.

Nora wore the red wool cap indoors because she claimed it helped her think. Silas served the stew. Nora counted the plates. “One for me, one for Eli, one for you. That is three.” Eli said. “I know.” She looked toward the window, where the snow moved through the darkness. “What if someone else comes?” Silas glanced at the shelf.

 Three clean plates remained there. He reached back, took down another, and set it at the empty side of the table. “Then there will be a place.” Nora smiled and began to eat. Silas listened to the spoons against the bowls, the fire settling in the stove, and the children arguing quietly over who had fed Bishop that evening. Outside, the wind searched the house for a way in.

Inside, it found none.