Caleb: A Western tale, circa 1880's

Chapter Six

Over the following few weeks, Caleb learned Kitty's routine and assisted as best he could while his side healed. He never did see 'Aunt Annie's boys', though the entire draft team and all four harnesses had disappeared from the barn the night after he'd greased the hay bine. A few days later, the team returned and Kitty gave them a day to rest before pulling the wagons out to the field to retrieve the hay and stack it in the barn.

After almost a week of daily dressing changes and inspections at dinner, Kitty pronounced the stitches ready to come out and clipped the threads that held his flesh together. Caleb thought they hurt a tad less coming out than going in, but not by much. At least he wasn't bleeding anymore though, and the stitches had allowed the bullet burn to heal far faster than he'd expected.

The wound was still hot and swollen but Miss Kitty was of the opinion that it was 'improving'. Despite having his side closed up, Caleb still tired sooner than he would have liked, although he did begin his regular duties unhampered by the stitches and with a tight bandage to support his broken ribs. 

As if by magic, a pair of wary, half-wild mustangs had appeared in the corral the day after Kitty removed Caleb's stitches. "You see?" Kitty laughed while he watered them. "Infinity has a way of taking care of me."

Caleb only shook his head and went to fetch his rope, meaning to ride the fire out of them. To his surprise, they took to the saddle readily and reacted as if they'd always been part of a remuda. The only thing left to do was to trim their hooves and shoe them.

Kitty kept an eye on him while he worked and only offered comment when he started a fire in the forge. "Caleb?" she asked, watching him hammer one shoe into the proper shape.

"Yes'm?" he replied, stopping his rhythm politely.  He'd removed his shirt and bandages to work near the intense heat of the forge, leaving the fresh, angry scar on his side unprotected.

"Are you sure you're up to that?"

"It's gotta' be done," he reminded her just before he went back to swinging the hammer, studiously ignoring the sharp pain that each hammer blow sent through his broken ribs. One of the things that had gotten him his first job was his knowledge of the forge and he'd continued on under the direction of the ranch stable master until he could do what needed to be done on his own.

Such a chore had left him with far more power in his chest and shoulders than any ordinary ranch hand, who tended to be rather lean and thin. Still, he was truly tired by the time she called him in for lunch. Caleb stopped at the well and sluiced himself off, letting the water run over his head and shoulders before drying off and dressing himself again. 

Inside the house, Kitty eyed him with concern as she loaded his plate with his lunch, slices of roast with fresh vegetables and buttered bread. She'd baked the bread that morning, he discovered, and she was a fair hand at baking bread, too. "Are the horses shod then?" she asked, spooning up a chunk of carrot.

He nodded around a mouthful of roast. "Then will you help me with canning this afternoon? The tomatoes came on faster than I thought they would. I finished the pickles and beans a couple of weeks ago, but the corn's almost ripe and I need the tomatoes out of the way; not only that, but the carrots are about due to be dug, the potatoes should have been hilled already and the beets are begging for attention too."

"At least the parsnips can wait for spring," he offered sympathetically, sensing that she was trying to get him to rest as well as asking for help. His broken ribs were beginning to heal but they ached terribly from his exertions at the forge. Caleb didn't think he'd mind sitting at the table, paring vegetables with his boss.

"There's that," she agreed, knowing as he did that parsnips are sweeter after a long winter in the ground. "Once the vegetables are in, we can think about branding. I know it's a little late in the year but I've been putting it off . . .