Dawn's Early Light

[Grant Mason]

On the Range
May 5th
Very Early Morning

Last night had been an unexpectedly warm night, and as he was sometimes want to do when sleeping inside felt too confining for him, Grant had taken his horse, Stormdancer and camped out under the stars. It reminded him of his childhood, and allowed him to forget, if only ever so briefly that he was no longer Grey Wolf, a warrior of the people.

When the sun rose waking him, Grant rolled over onto his back, and opened his eyes, staring off into the distance, as if he could actually see past the many miles that separated him from the people he'd known in his youth. He rose slowly, clad only in his pants, lifting his face to the sky, and murmuring the the prayers he'd learned from the Cherokee.

Afterwards, he saddled Stormdancer, then packed the blankets he'd slept on behind the saddle. He pulled on his shirt, and finger combed his shoulder length dark hair, back from his face, clapping his hat on to keep it out of his eyes. He mounted smoothly, turning Stormdancer's head in the direction of the main house. It wasn't long before he was back, and with luck early enough that no one else would be up and about just yet.

[Mattie Barnett Davis]

The outbuildings of the Flying K Ranch were quiet in the early dawn light, except for the clucking of the hens still inside the fenced coop. Mattie Davis paused on the top step of the porch holding a tin cup of coffee and a pan of chicken feed, scanning the area again. Three horse thieves had been captured on the eastern outskirts of Golden Valley several days ago, and the sheriff reported that one or two more of the outlaws could still be at large. Mattie’s ranch was past the western side of the town – and thus closer to the reservation, the mines, and the distant Army fort – and its remoteness as well as its assets kept Mattie vigilant for trouble or outsiders.

Nothing appeared amiss, except for the barn door standing just slightly ajar. She set down the pan down on the porch without looking, her eyes fixed on the shadowy barn entrance, and quietly gathered her cotton skirts about her to minimize their rustling. Stealthily she crossed the yard, all senses on alert for danger, and pressed herself against the wall near the open door, listening. Only the sound of horses whickering and moving about in their stalls, restless but not uneasy. Horses were a valuable commodity. Only a select number of trusted ranch hands, the foreman, and Mattie herself were allowed in the barn, and strangers tended to make the stock restless.

Suddenly she heard the echo of footsteps from within and the murmuring of a low voice, interrupted by a startled neigh and the stamping of hooves. Mattie quickly slipped through the door and into the shadows, squinting to adjust to the darkness in the barn. A murky figure stood in the center aisle, eerie in its stillness, speaking quietly. The words were nearly unintelligible from this distance, but the little half-tamed mare in the third stall calmed at man’s soothing and melodic tone.

Mattie silently crept down the aisle, keeping her breathing light and even, trying to keep calm and steady.

The figure turned toward her, catching a wan ray of light from the partially open door.

“Mr. Mason,” Mattie said, trying to hide her relief. “Your skulking about the stable in the dark could get you into trouble. I could have attacked, believing you a horse-thief.”

Mattie saw the expression on his face as he silently regarded her. Her mouth tightened for the briefest of moments before she, too, gave into the apparent absurdity of coming in ‘armed’ with only a tin cup of steaming coffee. Grant had no reason to know that she’d scalded and killed a midnight attacker years ago, no more than Grant had reason to suspect now that Mattie had a bowie knife sheathed in her boot and a pepperbox derringer that could kill at short range tucked securely into a stocking holster. She had her secrets, but then, so did he. Mattie was pretty certain that Grant had not been soothing the horses in English – its cadence and lyricism was unlike any language she had heard before. But the less she asked, the less she risked revealing of herself.

Mattie only smiled easily and offered the fresh cup of coffee to Grant.

“Well, no reason not to be civilized,” Mattie said, a now-familiar comment amongst the ranch hands. Under her directive after taking ownership, things had changed at the Flying K Ranch: the long low bunkhouse where the ranch hands lived had been thoroughly deloused, scrubbed, and whitewashed; regular baths with soap and hot water were taken in a tin tub rather than occasional horse-trough dunkings; disagreements among the hands were inevitable but fighting and thievery were met with dismissal; 'please' and 'thank you' were staple phrases at every meal, not just out of respect to Mrs. Leary, the ranch cook, but also to demonstrate proper deportment to Mrs. Leary’s young children as well as the less cultured of the ranch workers. This was, after all, a proper ranch.

“When you are done with things," Mattie said, glancing from the mare to the stall at the end that belonged to Grant's horse, "would you mind taking breakfast with me in the kitchen? I have some news from town.”

[Grant Mason]

Grant kept Stormdancer to a walk as he returned from his night spent out on the range, not wishing to wake anyone was still sleeping. He managed to reach the barn, and put Dancer in his stall, murmuring to the horse as he unsaddled and groomed him.

With a final pat, Grant made his way from stall to stall, checking on the other horses, whispering to the animals in the language of his childhood.

Grant went still, his hand still rested on the mare’s neck when he heard the faint sound of Mattie’s footsteps behind him, the faintest smile ghosting over his lips, just before he turned slightly, his fingertips sliding over the horse’s satiny skin.

Humor glinted in Grant’s pale blue eyes for just an instant as he regarded her. Her slim figure was back lit by the light coming in through the open barn door. “Wouldn’t want that.” He murmured, stepping away from the half-tamed mare, to avoid giving her the chance to nip at him.

Grant’s gaze never wavered when her mouth tightened, it’s cause a puzzle to him. But then the ways of the whites were still so often a mystery to him. Though he was coming to learn Mattie’s mind, the way that she thought.

In the years, he’d been living with the people he’d learned young how to tell when someone was armed, and with what. But as he rather liked Mattie, he didn’t say anything about the weapons she had secreted around her person.

Like Mattie, Grant had secrets, secrets he was unwilling to share with her or anyone else on the Flying K ranch.

Grant didn’t smile much, but he did nod, reaching a hand to accept the steaming cup of coffee from her.

“Thank you.” He said easily enough now, knowing that such things mattered to her. He did admit that many of the changes she’d wrought in the last several months had made life nicer for the men. And the spirit behind it, was like what he’d been raised with, though the teepee that had been his boyhood home had never seen a coat of whitewash, it had always been keep scrupulously clean inside.

He had to admit that her efforts had the men bathing far more often than they used to, and the bunkhouse smelled much better now. The meals that were prepared by her Mrs. Leery were tastier than the old cook’s efforts, it was the children he was truly fond of, especially young Trevor.

Grant nodded, then cleared his throat before speaking quietly. “Of course.” He said, then took another small sip of the hot coffee. “Not bad news I hope.” He already knew about the horse thieves that had been arrested last week.

Mattie Barnett Davis

[Mattie Barnett Davis]

Mattie smiled. "Not necessarily bad news, but...things could get quite complicated." She stood in front of the half-tamed mare and blew gently into her nostrils, the short puffs of air the equivalent of a horse hello, rewarded when the mare nickered and her ears swiveled forward.

"You've done wonders with this pretty girl, Mr. Mason." Mattie said, putting a wedge of apple on the ledge of the stall door. "She'll be literally eating out of one of the children's hands before the summer is gone, if her training is consistent."

She sighed, and the mare snorted back, surprising a half-smile from Maddie before she turned back to Grant. "We need to discuss the future of the ranch and how far our resources and efforts can be stretched while remaining secure and functional. But perhaps it would be best to go over my notes and discuss them over a proper meal... unless you've already had a working breakfast?"

[Grant Mason]

“Complicated?” Grant arched an eyebrow at that, “Complicated how?” He kept his voice low and even, not wishing to spook the mare she stood in front of.

“She is sweet, and eager to please.” Grant acknowledged her praise with a shrug, “And you have discovered her weakness. She is very fond of apples.” The mare was on the small side, but she was sturdy. He expected she would make a good mount for young Linda, since she was old enough to handle a true horse.

Though Ravenna and Kit were nearly ready to be given horses too. They had ponies of course, but Grant intended to train the foals due in the summer for the girls. He intended that they help, to create a tighter bond between the girls and their mounts.

Affection for the mare and the woman before him warmed Grant’s eyes, though his lips stayed in a straight line, since he rarely smiled, and most of the few smiles he had were mainly for the children. When she spoke, Grant sipped again from the cup of coffee in his hand while he heard her out. Grant wasn’t able to read, something he had kept from her these last several months, but as she talked to him about that was on her notes he could manage well enough. “I haven’t eaten yet. So I do appreciate it.”

Mattie Barnett Davis

[Mattie Barnett Davis]

Although he was reserved and she knew virtually nothing about him personally, there was something about Grant that fostered Mattie's trust in him. It was more than the way in which he treated nearly everyone - from the brisk and organized Mrs. Leery to the most junior and inexperienced of the cowhands - with patience and fairness, along with the expectation that his words and deeds would be understood and respected; it was more than they way he took events in stride, embracing the balance of things. He would truly listen to and discuss things with Mattie in a way that not even her husband, Dr. Anthony Davis, who had endured the butchery of the Civil War with her, had. Grant did not always agree with Mattie, sometimes he withheld his opinions if he felt it would be of no purpose to share them; though he had wisdom and perspective he could admit to being wrong or to be persuaded to another's point of view. In this regard Grant and Dr. Davis were very much alike; unlike Dr. Davis, Grant was reserved nearly to the point of being inscrutable with only an occasional glimmer of humor surfacing.

Mattie did a mental headshake as she realized she was standing in the stable, wool-gathering, instead of focusing on the immediate matters at hand.

"Well, best we kill two birds then, and discuss matters over a meal." she said. It was still early enough that she expected that none of the rest of the household would be stirring, not even the early risers, which included Mrs. Leery and her eldest daughter. Mattie could put together a quick bite without interfering with the later breakfast preparations or delaying the consult she greatly needed from Grant. "I do believe there is some of last night's apple pie, and fresh coffee," she suggested.

Mattie opened the porch door quietly and slipped past the long dining table that had been laid the night before with plates, cups, and cutlery for the ranch hands' breakfast. In the empty kitchen, the table in the sunny corner that served as a secondary work station and dining table for the Leerys now sported a stack of neatly written notes and a map of the local area.

"Thank you, Mr. Mason. I appreciate your consult in these matters, given your understanding of ranch finances and how far we can stretch ourselves." Mattie said, taking the percolator from the big wood-burning stove and refreshing Grant's tin cup of coffee.

Linda, the adopted Chinese daughter of Mrs. Leery, stepped out of the walk-in pantry with some herbs in her hands. "Dah-jyeh," Linda said with a smile, addressing Mattie as her older sister (da jie), "I'm almost done preparing your breakfast. I saw your papers, you have so much to do."

"Thank you so much," Mattie said gratefully, giving the young woman a little hug. It was so characteristic of Linda, who looked like a delicate-featured princess but could work like a field hand, not just to be so kind and perceptive, but to underscore her feelings with her familial terms of affection in the privacy of the kitchen. In the dining room, Linda would say "Miss Mattie" or "Doc Mattie" to reinforce not only the hierarchy but the expectation of civility.

Linda laid down the green onions and other herbs as Mattie sat down at the table. Linda quickly claimed Grant's hat as well as his attention before the discussion started, murmuring "Da Ge," or elder brother, which sounded like 'dah guh'. He was the only man on the ranch that she had full trust in - he'd been teaching her sisters to ride, he'd rescued her little brother from more than one mortal risk, and further, both her mother and Mattie trusted him. Linda dusted off his hat automatically, even though it was already clean, and quietly asked, "Would you like to have eggs or Si Fan to eat? Or both?" with a twinkle in her eye. She gestured with a tip of her head toward the covered pan simmering on the top of the wood-burning stove. Inside was  a savory rice gruel, rich with shredded bits of meat and vegetables, delicious broth, and spices.  Linda didn't cook it often, as the authentic ingredients were dear, but it was a family favorite.   And both of these people were family. 

[Grant Mason]

Over the last decade Grant had been roaming from place to place, never staying in one location for very long, always feeling like he didn’t belong. He’d been sent from his home when he’d been only fifteen, young, but still a full-fledged warrior of his adoptive people. As Mattie was all too aware, Grant wasn’t one to be overly demonstrative when it came to his thoughts and emotions. That was a result of his upbringing among the Cherokee who were, as a whole, a stoic, reserved people. He often held his peace, all too aware that his outlook was most definitely not that of the average white man.

Grant didn’t pay any mind to Mattie’s brief silence, never having felt the need to fill the silence with chatter. He rather liked the quiet. The faintest hint of a smile ghosted over Grant’s lips when Mattie suggested a quick bite to eat, but he didn’t say anything. Instead he gave a single nod of his head. Perhaps his behavior would be considered rude by most white women, but he wasn’t really that worried since Mattie hadn’t seemed to mind it up until now.

The sight of the neatly stacked pile of papers covered with Mattie’s precise writing caused his heart to sink, since it meant that he would have to pretend an interest in them. Not that he didn’t care about the ranch of course, but the truth of the matter was that he didn’t know how to read, having never learned.

Grant didn’t hug the young Chinese girl, but his pale blue eyes warmed with genuine affection for Linda. “Morning.” He murmured, “Your brother isn’t awake yet is he?” The barest hint of wariness had crept into Grant’s tone when he made the inquiry. While he was fond of the child, Trevor was a bit of a handful, always getting into one scrape or another.

When Linda took his hat from his head, Grant graced her with one of his rare, all too brief smiles, then sat down at the table, tucking the loose strands of his hair behind his ears, then sipped carefully at his refilled cup of steaming coffee. Looking at Mattie, he waited to see what she had to show him first. Determined not to show the fact that he'd never learned to read the written word, sending a barely perceptible look at the papers covered with Mattie's neat hand.

Mattie Barnett Davis