Authors: Sara Petersen
Their eyes met and held, understanding creating a momentary truce between enemies. Annoyed to discover the similarity he shared with Jo, Mac nodded his head once and turned away.
Chapter Twelve
Laughter flowed from the back porch out into the cool evening and across the yard to the barn where Mac was busy building a cow shoot alongside the corral. Leif, Charlie, Kirby, Mattie, and Jo were all gathered on the porch playing a round of cards. Every five minutes or so, a cry would come from their direction followed by a merry round of laughter. Yesterday, they had finished the arduous corn pull, and today they had burnt the piles. Mac, using his new tractor, had plowed in between the piles of corn rows to prevent the spread of flames and had left Jo, Charlie, and Leif to tend the fires while he and Kirby rode out to check the cattle that were grazing high up on the ridge line. Puffs of gray smoke still rose from the field as the fire burnt itself out. In a few days, Mac could plough the rest of the field and plant the corn, only one week behind schedule. Hopefully, the frost would hold off this year, and he would be able to harvest later in the fall.
Mac was just hammering in his last nail when the sun disappeared behind the ridge, taking the light with it. Standing back to admire his work, Mac examined the shoot. It was narrow and solid, allowing only one single line of cows. Toward the end, a rope was tied to a piece of thick board, which when pulled caused the board to block the narrow alley, trapping the cow from going forward or backward. Next week, they would be able to try it out when they brought the cows in to be worked.
Mac hung up his tool belt on the nail hook in the barn and strode toward the house, feeling a sense of calm he hadn’t in a long time. The fields were ploughed and planted for the most part, the new tractor was parked in the barn, the fence posts in the pasture were up, the cattle were healthy, and he heard laughter coming from the house. A serene calm settled over Mac as he sank down on the porch steps. The smoky sweetness from the fires created a languid summer haze that soothed his weary body.
“What have you got there, Jo? A journal?” Leif asked as he scooted closer to her and peeked over her shoulder.
Jo quickly clutched the notebook to her chest, giving Leif a light shove with her elbow. “It’s not a journal. I’m writing a letter home,” she replied.
Leif looked at her suspiciously. “You’re being awful protective if it’s really just a letter.”
“Well maybe that’s because I’ve written of you, and I don’t want you to read the offensive description I gave. Let’s see,” she pondered, looking at Leif, “where did I leave off… oh, yes, incredibly nosey.”
“Hah,” Leif scoffed throwing his arms over his head and rocking back in his chair, “I bet it reads, ‘Leif Hawkins…the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Strong, charming, and…’” he paused, his roguish eyes dancing.
“And
narcissistic!” Jo laughed, playfully kicking his chair to rock it backward.
Mattie and Kirby chuckled while Charlie asked, “What does narcissistic mean?”
Casually lounging on the porch steps, Mac answered in his low voice, “Swollen-headed and cocky.”
Charlie’s animated eyes met Jo’s, “Did you really write that about Leif? Geesh, what did you write about me?”
Jo dropped her notebook to her lap. “I haven’t written anything yet, Charlie. It’s difficult to write with snoops interrupting me every few minutes,” she glared at Leif, “but…I think I will tell them that you remind me of my brother, Caleb. He always dreamed of being a cowboy too.”
Curious, Charlie asked “Well, what stopped him?”
Jo looked away to the fields, the sound of crickets chirping while she thought of an answer
. What stops any person from doing what they dream of
? After a moment she answered, “I suppose life got in the way.” Jo swallowed. “Our father…passed away six months ago.” The words when she said them still felt like sharp rocks in her throat, scraping painfully to the surface. “After he died,”—there was the scrape again—“Caleb and Travis were left with the farm to take care of, as well as Mama too.”
Mattie leaned toward Jo, giving her a comforting squeeze, “I’m sorry to hear that, Jo. It must have been difficult to leave your family so soon after your father passing away.”
The conversation was becoming uncomfortable for Jo. She wasn’t ready to open those parts of herself up to others yet. Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she deftly changed the subject. “I have a sister at home too, Krissy. She is the youngest out of the five of us and the most spoiled little sister a person could have. She’s engaged to be married soon…” Jo’s voice trailed off.
Still resting on the porch, Mac noted the quick change of subject and the muted ache as she mentioned her sister’s wedding. She was pretending to be happy; he knew the act well, having mastered it himself. Something about her sister’s wedding caused the tone in her voice to change; Mac was sure of it. Even at a young age he’d had the knack for hearing what wasn’t spoken out loud. He remembered the doctor patting him on the back when he was eight years old, saying, “It’s all right, son. Your Ma will be fine. She just needs a bit of rest.” Mac had run from the house, climbed up into his favorite tree, and cried uncontrollably; Mother was dying, an inflection in the doctor’s voice had told him so.
Jo rose from her chair, interrupting Mac’s thoughts, “I think I will head upstairs to finish my letter,” she announced, comically crossing her eyes at Leif as she passed him.
A grin broke across his face; it was nice to have someone to be playful with. “Retreating to your room, huh? Afraid Mac will read the awful things you’ve written about him?” he teased, attempting to drag Mac into the fray.
Jo lingered at the doorway, watching Mac and his indifference to Leif’s jibing. Opening the screen door, she replied, “Unlike you, Mac has no interest in my opinion of him.”
Jo’s comment went unnoticed by the rest of the group, as Charlie rose to say his goodnights too, but in the dimming light, without moving from his position in the slightest, Mac raised penetrating eyes to Jo’s—her veiled meaning not lost on him.
She’s right, he thought.
What she writes to her family is of no consequence to me
. The words
harsh, cruel
, and
unrelenting
filtered into his mind. He was all of those things and would continue to be as long as he thought it would benefit the ranch. She held his stare until the screen door slammed, breaking the intense friction between them.
In the tranquility of her bedroom, Jo slumped onto the bed, relieved to be free from Mac’s presence. She was constantly on edge around him. Before he had joined them on the porch, Jo was perfectly happy enjoying the companionship of Mattie, Kirby, Charlie, and Leif. The moment she’d heard Mac’s approach, she’d tensed, like prey sensing danger from its predator. Her cheery friendliness had never allowed her to feel this way before, always making friends and putting others at ease immediately. Confused by her own edgy and defensive behavior, she could only attribute it to Mac. He disliked her. Had insulted her not only for being a “woman,” but also not being “womanly” enough, and the few unfortunate times she’d bumped into him in the house had resulted in a silent but clear message that she was unwelcome.
Jo pulled the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows, rotating her palms up to examine them. A row of broken blisters in a half moon shape spread across each of her palms. The edges were raw with flaps of clear skin partially obscuring them. Jo pinched a small bubble of skin between her fingers and slowly peeled it off the blister, wincing in pain. She leaned over the stinging sore and blew a cool breath over it, trying to ease the fire. She had never experienced this kind of blistering before. It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to physical labor. She’d grown up on a farm, but during the last two years of teaching, her hands had become supple. Flipping her palms down and extending her thumb, she assessed the most painful of the blisters she had. It was an oblong clear bubble created by the friction from the swing of her rake. It was right in the middle of the loose stretchy skin between her thumb and index finger. She debated about poking it with a needle and letting the fluid ooze out, but worrying the pain would be worse that it was now, she left it alone. Jo had hid her injuries well, fearing ridicule from Mac and a scolding from Mattie. Her gloves had managed to keep them concealed during the day except for at lunch. At that time, she had separated herself from the others and eaten alone. Tonight on the porch, she wore a long sweater pulling the sleeves down to cover her palms. Hopefully, if she continued tending them, the blisters would heal in a few days. The work managing the fire today allowed her hands a slight rest, only having to rake when the flames spread. She didn’t know what the plan for tomorrow was but prayed that it wouldn’t involve anymore raking.
Through her open window Jo could hear the low mumble of Leif and Mac’s conversation. Deciding to take advantage of the water closet before either of them came upstairs was a good idea. She was vigilant with these opportunities since sharing a water closet with two non-related men was awkward. She hurriedly grabbed her brush, towel, toothbrush, and other personal items, carrying them to the bathroom. When she finished, she was just as careful to pack everything up and take it back to her room, hoping to be as unobtrusive as possible. Her actions were silly. Obviously, Mac knew she occupied the same bathroom as him, but leaving evidence of it would be embarrassing. Once back in her room, Jo curled up on her bed to finish her letter home.
Montana
June 6th 1923
Dear Mother,
I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I so miss you and the farm, but am finding that Montana seems to agree with me, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I agree with it.
I told you in my last letter that I accepted a position this summer as a ranch hand for Mr. Leif Hawkins. The ranch is owned by his brother Mac Hawkins. You have no need to worry over me, as Kirby and Mattie Smith also live here, along with a young man named Charlie. I’ve been settled in a little over a week, and in truth the work is tiring, but I love the land. Remember how I always pleaded with Pa to let me work on the farm like the boys? And how unfair I thought he was because he wouldn’t let me rake the hay? I wish I could go back and throttle myself. I’ve never worked so hard in my life and find myself weary but happy at the end of the day. It’s impossible to be unhappy in this beauty. The mountains jut up out of the ground, covered in trees and sunlight, and a wide river runs along the edge of the ranch, with the clearest water I’ve ever seen flowing in it.
I know that you worried about me being alone, but I have found people to share this new life with. Mattie has been particularly kind, befriending me and welcoming me. She makes the most amazing molasses cookies. I know Aunt Ellen thinks she does, but Mattie has her beat. At first, Kirby was stiff and surly, but I believe Mattie was right about him, and it’s just an act. I don’t want you to worry about what I write next, but the best way to describe Leif is to tell you, he is just like Johnny. He is seldom serious, always smiling, joking, and yes, flirting. I feel as though I’ve left two brothers behind only to find them again out west. Charlie is similar to Caleb, but much more lighthearted and carefree than Caleb ever was. Having three brothers was difficult; I like this arrangement, with two, much better.
Jo paused in her writing, pondering what to write about Mac. Mother used to say, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Supposing it was the same for writing, Jo decided to leave him unmentioned.
Well, Mother, I do truly miss you. Give everyone a hug for me and kiss my nephew. Write me when Johnny’s baby is born. How is Krissy? Are the wedding plans coming along? My plan to sew her a wedding quilt are on hold for the moment until I can find a spare minute. Tell her I wish her happiness. I know she’s upset with me for leaving this summer when she is set to marry Will.
Ugh
. Jo hated writing his name. She had accepted in her heart that Krissy and Will were getting married, but it was an entirely different sensation seeing it stamped across the page in black ink. Jo paused again, not sure how to word this particular part of her letter.
Mother and Krissy were distraught when she had announced her plans to travel west before the wedding date. For two months, she had endured bouts of pleading and badgering as they tried to convince her to delay her departure. Krissy even went so far as to stomp her foot and shout at Jo, “I don’t see why you won’t postpone your trip until after the wedding! It’s like you are purposely trying to avoid coming, and I don’t see why. You think there is something better for you out west, but this is your life here. This is where you belong!”
Jo was on the brink of screaming back at her, of telling her how selfish she was, how spoiled and self-centered she was being, but she had held her tongue. She wanted to shake her and shout in her face that marrying Will Morgan would be the biggest mistake of her life, but she didn’t do any of those things. She had sat down on the sofa and waited until Krissy’s tantrum passed, just like she did when they were girls.
Deep down, Jo felt that Krissy knew the answers to the questions she’d flung at her. Oh, Krissy probably didn’t know the extent to which Jo and Will had been involved. Certainly she didn’t know that he had proposed to Jo the summer before, but she did know—
she knew
—that Jo had loved him. Sisters can’t hide those feelings from each other. No amount of crying from Krissy could force Jo to delay her plans and attend that wedding. The girls were close when they were younger, but the relationship changed as they grew older. Jo no longer found Krissy’s fits amusing, as the damage she had done by spoiling her became evident. Krissy wanted to be the best, wanted to be praised and fawned over like a three-year-old. When Jo finally stopped giving in, everything turned sour. Krissy began trying to embarrass Jo or treat her like a bossy older sister. Once, Jo overheard Krissy mocking her to a gaggle of her fashionable friends, calling her a “drab old dishtowel.”