mean they’re all his. No one’s allowed to touch them without Judah’s permission, and he’s stingy with it.”
“He’s in jail. I don’t think he’ll know.”
“He’ll know. He always finds out.” Rhyne rolled the bottle of liniment between her palms as she considered the consequences of defying her father. “Nicholas Nickleby,” she said finally. Getting a switch across the back of her legs for Dickens was not the worst thing. “I’ve always liked that one.”
Cole nodded and left to get it. By the time he returned, Rhyne had applied the malodorous liniment and was setting the bottle on the washstand. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m going to leave you with Mr. Nickleby and lend Johnny a hand. I was thinking I’d like to get you up and moving around.” He saw by her hopeful expression that she would willingly abandon the book in favor of leaving the bed.
“Later,” he said firmly. “At lunch. I can help you to the table and maybe out to the porch after that.”
“We should do it now,” Rhyne said. But Cole had already turned away and she was talking to his back. He must have known she’d never throw the Dickens at him because he didn’t even try to hurry.
Cole found Johnny sitting on the corral fence. He had a saddle balanced on the rail beside him and saddle soap in one hand and a rag in the other. He was watching Dolly scratch her neck on a fence post. When Cole came up beside him, he pointed to the mare. “Did Joe Redmond suggest that you take Dolly or was that your idea?”
“Joe’s. Will told me that Dolly is familiar with the trails.”
“That’s because she’s about the same age as dirt. If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, she couldn’t pull an old whore off a piss pot.”
There was an expression he hadn’t heard before. “Colorful.”
“You take my meaning, though.”
“I certainly do.” He looked over the other horses. “Which one did you ride out here?”
“The spotted gray. That’s Sassafras. Sassy to those familiar with her temperament. She likes to toss her head and pretend she’s ignoring you.”
“A coquette, then.”
Johnny pulled a face. “Ain’t that one of those fried potato and lamb balls they serve at the Commodore?”
“That’s a croquette. A coquette is a flirt.”
“Huh.” He rolled that around in his mind for a moment, then gave Cole a suspicious, sideways look. “I thought you never ate at the hotel.”
“They have croquettes in New York, Johnny. Banana.
Oyster and macaroni. Salmon. Sweetbread. Chicken and mushroom.”
Johnny’s mouth watered in appreciation. He glanced up at the sun. “Still got some time before lunch, I reckon. Too bad about that. I’ve got a powerful taste for some fritters.”
Cole chuckled. He put one foot on the lower rail and hoisted himself up beside Johnny. “Do the other horses have names?”
“Probably do. I only know Twist–the cinnamon gelding by the trough. That’s Runt’s horse, leastways it’s the one he, I mean she, rides into town when she’s not coming for a season’s worth of supplies. She has to bring the wagon for that. The two mares pull that.”
“I was under the impression she only ever went to Reidsville when she needed supplies.”
Johnny shrugged. “Mostly that’s it, but I’ve known Runt to come in for powders from Caldwell’s or to pick up leather goods at Wickham’s.” He held up the saddle soap. “Or something like this at the emporium.” He folded his palm around the soap again and rested his forearm on his knee. “I suppose I took notice because Mrs. Longabach makes me sweep the walk in front of the restaurant three or four times a day. Right there in the center of town, I don’t miss much.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
“In and out like the wind,” Johnny said. “That’s the way Runt moved. I always thought it was because she didn’t want trouble, though Lord knows she never ran from it.”
“And what do you think now?”
“I reckon Runt just didn’t want to be found out.” Johnny shook his head slowly. “Peculiar, ain’t it? Her pretendin’ all the years to be Judah’s son, I mean. Can’t help but wonder how old she was when she found out different. I didn’t ask her; didn’t think it would be polite on account of she’s a girl now, but I did wonder it. I have three sisters and a brother and we got around to comparing parts eventually.” He felt his face go hot. “We didn’t do nuthin’,” he explained quickly. “Just looked. Got a lickin’ for it, too.”
Cole was hard-pressed not to grin. “Children are curious, and they usually get punished for it. Fortunately, it doesn’t make a lasting impression.”
“Maybe your mother wasn’t using the right switch.” Johnny had an urge to rub his posterior even now. “I can tell you, willow leaves an impression.”
“I meant that we don’t stop being curious,” Cole said. He stared across the corral at Twist.
“I guess that’s true. I got me a girl now. Mary Showalter, but folks call her Molly. I get powerful curious about her.”
Cole did smile now and kept his own counsel. There wasn’t much point in explaining that curiosity was the precursor to scientific inquiry or that it had a far broader application than discovering what was under a woman’s skirts.
Still, Cole found himself wondering how old Rhyne was when she learned it for herself. And even more important, what happened next.
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