Fiona pursed her lips disapprovingly. “You should not say things like that.” Then she qualified her disapproval. “Where people might hear.”
“I can barely hear myself,” Phoebe said, gesturing toward the pen where men were shouting, calves were bawling, and the cows, separated from their unweaned babies, were crying as if it were all happening to them. “But I take your point.”
“She was still in the kitchen when I left,” said Fiona. “She’s bringing jugs of beer and fresh water.”
“The men will appreciate that.” She slid one of the baskets toward her and thrust it at Fiona. She lifted another and hugged it to her. “Heavy.”
Fiona nodded and stepped aside to let Phoebe lead the way. “What is that stench?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Burnt hair and flesh. You understand what branding is, don’t you?”
“Thaddeus told me. He failed to mention the stink.”
Phoebe set down her basket. “I have a couple of scented handkerchiefs. I haven’t pulled one out yet. I didn’t want the men to snicker. Would you like one?”
“And have them snicker at me? I don’t think so. How did you know to bring a scented handkerchief?”
“Remington suggested it.”
“Mm. Thoughtful, but it appears he neglected to account for your pride.”
Phoebe grinned. “Let’s finish this and go and watch. You’ve never seen anything like it.”
Fiona was sure that was true.
In addition to the men who worked for Twin Star, there were a dozen volunteers from neighboring ranches and a few young men from town who wanted to try their hand at roping and wrestling. The experienced hands enjoyed ribbing the greenhorns, but it was all good-natured jibing since every one of them had started out barely knowing a head from a hoof.
No one was immune to the stench, but some bore it better than others. Young Johnny Sutton excused himself twice from the gathering to go off alone to puke. The stink got him once, but watching a calf lose its balls to a Bowie knife took him out the second time. A couple of men burned themselves wielding the hot iron and a couple more got kicked by understandably disgruntled two-hundred-pound calves, but no one complained. The shared sentiment was grin and bear it and don’t get careless again.
Pairs of men grabbed a calf, one by the head, the other by a rear leg or tail, and if they knew what they were doing, they could drop the calf in seconds. Once the animal was pinned, the red-hot Twin Star branding iron was applied for three seconds to the calf’s left shoulder. If the calf was male, Thaddeus performed the castration. Johnny Sutton, once his stomach settled, was charged with collecting the testicles.
The greenhorns chased the calves, whooping and hollering, tiring themselves out before they mostly scared one into submission. The seasoned ranch hands knew how to conserve their energy, but when they broke for supper, Phoebewatched them stretch, bend, shake out their joints, and check themselves somewhat surreptitiously for injuries.
Ellie’s arrival was greeted enthusiastically because she was well liked but mostly because she brought the beer. Phoebe expected her to claim the territory around the long tables as her own, but she allowed Fiona to help without any noticeable balking.
Women and girls and children arrived from ranches and town soon after, bringing more food, more beer, and more in the way of that good-natured ribbing. Phoebe had not understood until then what a social event this was, one that would be repeated in the days ahead as the branding chores moved from one ranch to another until all the calves were sent to graze in open pastures. It was like an after-opening-night theater party without the trepidation of critical reviews.
Phoebe shared this perspective with Remington when he joined her at the buckboard. She made room for him to sit with her on the bed of the wagon and eyed his heaping plate of food with appreciation for the hard work he’d been doing.
“I saw one of the calves kick you,” she said. “I don’t know how you’re walking without a limp.”
“And draw more attention to my carelessness? No. Anyway, it’s not so bad. I’ve been kicked worse.” He used a thumb to point over his shoulder in the direction of the table.“Did you know Fiona was going to show up dressed like that?”
Phoebe turned her head and saw Fiona was passing one of the town boys a plate of food. He thanked her, she beamed, and Phoebe thought the boy actually staggered backward. Another conquest. Phoebe was helpless to do anything but smile and shake her head. “I had no idea,” she told Remington. “But then she’s always known how to make an entrance.” She stole a cold medallion of roast beef from Remington’s plate before he could slap her hand away. “That’s not fair to her,” she said, reconsidering. “I think your father has already seen her in those clothes, so if there was a grand entrance, it was also a private one.”
“The same occurred to me.”
“Something’s different between them. Have you noticed, or is it wishful thinking?”
“I’ve noticed, and it’s not because I’ve had any wishful thinking about it.”
“What does that mean? Don’t you want them to get along?”
Remington forked a small boiled potato. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He opened his mouth and closed it around the potato.
Phoebe watched him. “You did say it, and you can’t shovel food in your mouth forever to keep from explaining yourself.”
Remington chewed, swallowed. “All right. The truth is I don’t trust her, Phoebe. I can’t see far enough into the future to a time when that will be different.”
