fourth woman was coming as well. She weaved unsteadily across the road, thin graying hair falling around a heavy face mapped with age and broken blood vessels. A boy, scarcely two years old, was clutched under her arm and jounced against her fat middle uncomplainingly, his square dusky face grave, his straight black hair tumbled over his eyes. The woman rounded the end of the wagon and grabbed Nate’s arm.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, Weldrick.” She fell against the side of the wagon. The little boy wriggled free, landing on his round behind in the dirt. He didn’t cry, and as soon as the scuffle of feet permitted, he pulled himself up with the aid of a wheel and toddled off. “I ain’t been paid!” The woman jerked Nate’s arm like a pump handle until he pulled away.
“Hattie, get away from me. Go on. Git. You’re drunk. You been paid.”
“I ain’t. You want that half-breed kid of yours looked after, I got to have more money. He eats more’n any three white kids.”
“Wolf ain’t eating it, you’re drinking it, you old cow.”
“You watch who you’re callin’ a cow! I got better things to do than look after your half-breed brats.”
She was hanging on the front of his shirt as much from instability as from anger. He pushed her away and turned to Imogene and Lutie. “This ain’t no kind of scene to be having before you ladies, and I’m sure as hell- begging your pardon-sorry.” He turned viciously on the hag still plucking at his elbow. “Hattie, get that damned brat out of here!” He dropped his voice and shot another embarrassed look over his shoulder. “Get that kid out of here. What’re you thinking, bringing him here?”
Hattie hadn’t lost her head of steam. “I’ll bring him anywhere I want,” she retorted. “I got to spend my own money on that kid. You ain’t give me enough-”
A gurgling laugh, a rich, high sound Imogene hadn’t heard in a long time, turned her attention from the argument. Sarah was sitting on the porch steps, her skirts falling into the dirt on either side, laughing and playing pat-a-cake with the baby. Wolf lifted his pudgy little hands to mirror hers, playing the game with solemn intensity. The child was dirty, his hair and clothes ragged and unkempt, but his eyes and skin were clear and the flesh firm over his stocky frame.
“I’m sorry about this,” Nate said to Imogene’s back, and pulling out a leather purse, he turned on Hattie. “You get that kid away from these people,” he hissed. “I’ve told you before.”
Hattie eyed the closed purse blearily. “I want four dollars.”
“What you want ain’t necessarily what-”
“Mr. Weldrick,” Imogene cut in.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m holding you good folks up.”
“Is that your child?” She looked to where Sarah and Wolf played on the steps.
Nate’s face reddened. “Wolf! You get away from that lady, you hear me? Wolf!” Imogene shushed him as Sarah looked up. Wolf, ignoring his father’s orders, sat down promptly and began playing with the hem of Sarah’s long skirts.
“Never mind, Sarah,” Imogene called. “Mr. Weldrick, is that child yours?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he admitted.
“And this woman cares for him?”
He nodded.
“Four dollars-” Hattie began.
Imogene cut her off. “What do you pay her?”
Lutie looked shocked. Nate was taken aback as well, but the force of Imogene’s personality made it impossible not to answer.
“Three dollars a week.”
“We’ll take him, Mr. Weldrick. Sarah and I. Mrs. Ebbitt is home during the day. She has some experience with small children. Three dollars a week, with careful husbanding, will pay for his food and clothing. Is that acceptable to you, Mr. Weldrick?” It was more a statement than a question. Nate looked helpless in the face of her rapid-fire reasoning. “Then it’s settled.” She thrust out her hand and he pinched the ends of her fingers awkwardly.
“Hey! Hey, you, lady!” Hattie stumped belligerently after Imogene as she walked back to the yard. “What about me?”
Imogene stopped. “You are not fit to care for a child,” she reasoned. “I suggest you go home and sober up.” And she left Hattie sputtering at the gate. Nate Weldrick had to give her two dollars severance pay before she would leave.
Their new house was small, set behind an old Victorian home on the banks of the Truckee, in a yard planted around with elm trees. The cottage nestled amid a small grove at the end of the yard. At one time it had housed Chinese servants. The windows in the main room looked out across the lawn to the big house where the widow Addie Glass lived alone. She was small and white-haired, and as energetic as a woman half her age. Mrs. Glass had met Imogene, the last in a long line of prospective tenants, and finding her plain dress and forthright manner appealing, she had let Imogene have the place for fourteen dollars a month.
The cottage had two small bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. Thirty yards through the trees and out into the sage stood the outhouse. In the kitchen and the bedrooms, the ceilings were just over six feet high, and though Imogene would not have bumped her head, she stooped. “The Chinese,” Mrs. Glass had explained, “are a small people. Mr. Glass didn’t want to waste the lumber.”
The wagon came up the drive beside the big house, Nate Weldrick walking alongside, Imogene and Sarah sharing the seat with Mac. Wolf, perched on Sarah’s knees, her arms around his middle so he couldn’t fall, watched the proceedings with the same serious demeanor he’d worn while playing pat-a-cake. Mrs. Addie Glass waved to them from her parlor window but didn’t come out; she was sitting with a young woman draped in the black of mourning.
“Cora Ferguson,” Mac said, making the gossip sound like news. “Husband killed by Indians up Susanville way. Fella on watch deserted-fella named Fox-and the Indians snuck in and killed five soldiers. Sleeping. The whole patrol. Hear she’s going back to New Orleans.”
Wolf was unaware he was half Indian, but Nate wasn’t and looked disgusted as he lifted the child from Sarah’s lap to the ground. He handed Sarah down with gentlemanly deference, then spoke over her head to Imogene. “I don’t think I ought to be leaving Wolf. Mrs. Ebbitt here’s weak as a kitten, she can’t hardly lift that kid, and he’s about half-wild, according to Hattie.”
To everyone’s surprise, Sarah spoke up. “I can lift Wolf.”
“She’ll hurt herself trying, Miss Grelznik,” Nate insisted. He leaned down and put his hands on his knees. “Mrs. Ebbitt,” he said gently, “you’ll go hurting yourself, trying to lug that boy around, and I’d feel real responsible. Old Hattie’s fine for him. You look after yourself and get your strength back. He’s a dirty little beggar; you don’t want him all over you.”
“I can lift him,” Sarah said, but the fear that she could not care for a child clouded her face and she sounded uncertain. Imogene climbed down to stand between Sarah and Nate. Nate had to straighten up and step back to look her in the eye.
“Mr. Weldrick, we shook on it. I’ve heard a handshake is legal tender in a court of law out West. Sarah, why don’t you take Wolf inside?”
Sarah wavered a moment, vague and unsure. “It’ll be fine,” Imogene said, and Sarah led the child away.
Nate looked after them while Imogene busied herself with the unloading. “Mac,” he said, “somebody once gave me brandy in one of those long-legged glasses that ping when you flick them. I bit right through it, the glass was so fine. Just took a bite right out of the rim. Cut my lip. That little gal makes me think of that.”
To add to their small store of goods from Pennsylvania, Fred and Lutie had given them two cots, Addie Glass had brought several chairs and a small table down from the attic to put in their living room, and Mac had pressed an old Colt.45 on them. “Law here’s often as not settled by the authority of Judge Colt,” he said.
While Imogene opened her boxes of books, dishes, and household goods, Sarah made a soft bed of blankets for Wolf in the room that was to be hers. Often, with Wolf pattering at her heels like an affectionate puppy, Sarah sought Imogene out with questions. Did they have a washtub for the child? Was there enough money for a new suit of clothes? Where were the scissors to trim his hair? Had Imogene seen the soap dish? Imogene had to settle the two of them in a comfortable corner with a picture book lest Sarah wear herself out.
They were both napping when Imogene finished cleaning their new home. Wolf sucked his thumb as he slept, a fold of Sarah’s dress clutched in his fist. Imogene tiptoed past them, outside, to dump her washwater.
