The Sun and Moon and Stars

Chapter XI

The sun shone down in full force the next afternoon. The yard grew brittle under the heat and the sky held no clouds. Dry wind blew through the long prairie grass that bordered the wagon track trail, the long stalks sweeping back and forth as if saluting farewell to a friend.

There was little to reprieve Frances from the unforgiving weather. Wherever there was shade, there was the stifling lack of wind. Wherever there was wind, the sun bore down in rays of burning heat.

Most of the afternoon had been spent with Helena, damp cloth in hand as she padded away drops of warm perspiration. But the missus had grown frustrated and had sent her away with orders to not disturb her until supper; she was banished to the oven of a kitchen, the sour-smelling parlor or the stiff-sunned outdoors. She had no choice in the matter: by the time the sun slipped down the horizon, Frances’ dress would be soaked in all corners and her hair would be sticking to her head like honey on a slice of bread.

At least Winnie and Jem were able to keep cool. Down by the creek, they splashed around barefoot, enjoying the water as best they could despite its lukewarm temperature.

Frances shaded her eyes and looked up at the sky. It would be hours before the sun relented but it was already time to give thought to supper.

Dried jerky, biscuits with gravy, and unsalted bread had been their staples for the past few weeks. It had been interesting at first, trying to figure out how to improve their meals with whatever Julian managed to scrounge up. Whenever he went fishing in the river to the West, they had fish. Whenever he had extra money to spend in town on market day, they had vegetables, whenever he had extra time and went trapping, they had rabbit. And of course, they always had milk from the cows, and butter whenever Frances had time to churn. She was hoping to learn how to make cheese, but between the ailing Helena, the teething Rebecca, and the rest of the household chores, there was little time to spare. Even the planned garden was put on hold. And now, when all she wanted to do was join the children in the water, she was stuck on the porch, sewing new curtains for the kitchen and trying to catch the paltry wind in her face.

The soft wind picked up and Frances lifted her head. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Trying to enjoy the rare respite, she almost didn’t hear the sound of an approaching horse.

She opened her eyes and looked over to the wagon tracks. A small black smudge appeared in the distance.

Julian.

She put the unfinished curtains aside and stepped down onto the grass. Holding a hand to her eyes, she squinted against the light. The horse cantered down the trail, dry dust billowing out behind it. The rider sat back comfortably in the saddle and as they approached he pulled the horse up to a trot and then a walk.

Frances walked up to meet him as he swung down from the saddle. His face was damp and his clothing grimy. His breathing was heavy and he leaned against the lathered neck of his black gelding.

“You’ve returned. Early,” Frances said carefully, placing a gentle hand on the horse’s nose. The gelding nickered and pushed against her palm. “Earlier than I was expecting, at least.”

“They refused to see me,” Julian growled, pulling the reins over his horse’s head. “Apparently, the butler was given orders not to let me in. And if I were to try anything, he was to call the city’s police.”