Hattie Big Sky Read Online Free Page B

seemed strangely approving of these revelations. “Heir.
And
head of household.” He swiveled around in his chair and began to rummage through a wooden file cabinet. “Watson, Williams, Wyatt—too far. Here it is. Wright, Chester Hubert.” He held the paper closer. “This claim’s about thirty miles from here, about three from the nearest town, which is Vida.” He smiled. “
Town
is a pretty big word for Vida. You have a way to get out there?”
    I nodded. “Karl and Perilee Mueller.”
    â€œGood folks. They’ll watch over you.” He swiveled back to his desk. “Your uncle tell you that you need to cultivate one-eighth of this claim? That’s forty acres.” He squinted over his glasses at me. “And set four hundred eighty rods of fence?”
    My stomach flip-flopped and my mouth went dry as flannel. Forty acres! Uncle Holt’s garden was a postage stamp in comparison. And 480 rods of fence? I couldn’t even fathom how much that would be. Sounded like enough to build a fence from here back to Arlington. “He did mention the need to fulfill requirements….”
    â€œNot many but vital.” He ticked off his points. “One, you must build and fence. Chester’s done the building, I hear. Don’t know about the fencing.” He put up his forefinger. “Two, you got to cultivate. Most folks go for flax at first; easier to plant. As I said, one-eighth of the claim.” His middle finger stood at attention next to the first. “And three”—his ring finger joined the others—“it’s all gotta happen in three years. Chester staked his claim in November 1915, so that gives you—” He glanced at the Citizens National Bank of Wolf Point calendar behind his desk. “Ten months to finish proving up. And don’t forget the final fees.”
    I managed a wobbly smile. “I know. Thirty-seven seventy-five. For free land.”
    Mr. Ebgard stopped shuffling papers and looked up at me. He laughed. “Quick learner.” He scribbled something in his ledger book. “Miss Hattie Inez Brooks, I sure hope to see you here in this office in November.”
    â€œMe too, sir.” I stood up.
    He stood too and offered his hand. “Take good care of yourself, young lady. You need to lay in some supplies?”
    â€œThat was my next task,” I said.
    â€œHead over to Hanson’s Cash Grocery. Mr. Hanson will give you a fair deal.” Mr. Ebgard’s door opened again, and he turned his attention to the man coming in. I tried not to stare, but the newcomer was most eccentric. A thick, shoe-polish-black beard hung to his waist. Wire-brush eyebrows, dusted with snow, rested atop a pair of eyes that looked thirty years younger than the face in which they were set. An improbably long patchwork scarf was wrapped around his neck, and a fur hat perched askew on his large head.
    He wore no fewer than three coats, all of them of fabrics and colors I’d certainly never seen in Arlington.
    â€œMiss Hattie Inez Brooks, allow me to introduce another of your neighbors. This here’s Mr. Jim Fowler.”
    â€œEbgard, don’t you go confusing the girl.” Mr. Fowler peeled off a glove and stuck out a paw. “Ever’body calls me Rooster Jim. Shouldn’t be no different for you.”
    â€œHow do you do?” I took Mr. Fowler’s—Rooster Jim’s—hand and shook. Mr. Ebgard’s office was suddenly quite potent. It seemed Rooster Jim may have come by his nickname for his barnyard aroma.
    â€œI hope you play chess.” Rooster Jim let my hand drop. “I got mighty accustomed to whuppin’ Chester at the game.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” I fished a handkerchief from my pocketbook and held it to my nose. “I don’t play.”
    â€œIt won’t be no trouble to teach ya.” Rooster Jim chuckled. “Won’t mind a