Authors: J. R. Biery
Hattie raced across the yard, quickly shaking out and
pinning diapers, gowns, booties and her own clothes. She shook her loosened
hair, letting the wind whip it around to cool her, already feeling her shirt
drying. She stood, just letting the breeze dry and cool her sweaty body, hoping
the dampness under her arms and down her back would not leave stains.
She was hanging the yellow gown at the high part of the line
when she heard the horses and wagon pull into the ranch yard. She heard the
squawk of chickens and the bray of her mules, Henry and Pepper. Horses in the
yard nickered in greeting.
Hattie yelled at the mules by name and they gave a second
bray and her old pet Nugget tugged at his rope tied to the back of the wagon.
Hattie swung the empty basket onto her hip with the leftover pins and moved to
touch each animal in welcome. Then she leaned close to hug Nugget. She turned toward
the house when Rubye appeared with a fussing J.D. and a huge scowl on her face.
Hattie gave the horse a last rub down his dusty head then
quickly bounded up to the porch, trading her basket for the baby and disappearing
inside.
Only when she had changed J.D. did she glance in the mirror.
She gasped in horror. Her hair was a tangled, stringy mess. She put the crying
baby into the crib for a few minutes and took time to wash her face, hands and
arms. Then she brushed and repinned her hair. Finally she used the damp
washcloth to wipe around her neck and clean both breasts before offering the
fussy baby either one.
She could hear Rubye warming food for the men, sympathizing
with their tales of chasing chickens.
“I hope Miss Stoddard isn’t too disappointed. We brought a
chest, rocker, one cane seat chair, the tools and harness from the shed, along
with three saddles and bridles from the barn. We couldn’t find but the one old
horse and two mules.”
“The boss will be ticked for sure. We have 32 head outside,
twelve are calves. If she had 50 head three weeks ago, we couldn’t find them.”
Hattie wasn’t sure if they thought she couldn’t count or
that she had lied. She sat up, her shoulders tightening as she grew angry. If
they doubted her, what would Jackson think?
J.D. leaned back and gave one sharp cry.
Hattie stared down at him. He seemed to be studying her,
quietly staring up at her with his misty blue eyes as though to say, “Hey pay
attention to me.” He made a soft bleat of sound and she leaned down to kiss
him.
His tiny hand touched her face and she felt her worry and
anger go, sinking into the pleasure of the moment. She moved her head enough to
catch the tiny fingers in her mouth and he turned back to nuzzling, hunting his
nipple. She relaxed and stretched out on the bed to feed him and rest.
She did not wake until much later. The bedroom was dark and
quiet and she realized that J.D. was winding up to cry again. Quickly she
tended him, then remained still in the dark while he fed, listening to the
conversation through the door.
Rubye must have been too busy tonight since there was no
food, no glass of water or milk. The more the baby nursed, the hungrier and
thirstier she felt. She was annoyed that there were lots of voices, but she
could not discern what anyone was saying.
As soon as the voices died down, she picked up the baby,
patted him on her shoulder, made sure he was still dry and clean and she was
neatly buttoned and pinned, then she opened the door to peek outside.
Two people remained at the table with Jackson, but he looked
up and motioned for her to come forward. She stopped at the chair where she had
eaten before but Jackson indicated the chair beside him. As she started to sit,
both men stood up and the cowboys bowed toward her and left.
Jackson reached out toward Hattie and though surprised, she
handed the child to him.
Jackson unwrapped the baby, touching the soft legs, cupping
the small feet, then putting a hand on the full rounded tummy. J.D. raised both
hands to put on top of the big hand, catching two fingers, one in each fist.
Slowly, lazily, he leaned his head back to reveal his soft throat, yawning
contentedly before managing to open one eye half-way.
Hattie hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until
Jackson smiled, setting the boy down on one long thigh, placing his free hand
beneath the wobbly head as J.D. turned his head, trying to pull a finger to his
mouth.
Jackson glanced up then and the look in his eyes made her
let out her breath in a single gasp. ‘Gratitude,’ if she had to label the look.
She waited to hear the words and realized they would not be coming. The man
seemed content to just bounce his knee and stare at the baby.
Rubye set the food down but Hattie barely noticed, draining
her milk instead and gladly accepting a refill. She whispered, “Thank you,”
when Rubye set the half-full pitcher beside her dish.
Next Rubye brought the basket of clothes she had pulled off
the line. Hattie started to say, “I’ll fold those,” but the housekeeper plopped
the basket in the chair beside her and it was obvious Hattie would be the one
doing it.
Hattie ate quickly, anxious to move to the next job. The
tension in the room was unsettling. While Rubye cleaned up - Hattie rose and
stood to fold clothes, item by item, Soft booties, embroidered diapers and baby
gowns, each tiny and precious like the boy mindlessly relaxed on his father’s
gently bouncing leg. Hattie was embarrassed at the flour-sack gown and diapers
she had dressed the baby in at the ranch, even more so by her own dingy, worn
clothes. She folded them quickly, tucking them into the bottom of the basket as
soon as she could. She was folding the yellow night gown, the last item, when
Rubye came out of the kitchen and moved the basket to the bedroom, then bustled
back to take the limp baby and cradle him as she carried him to bed as well.
Jackson waited as Rubye returned to collect the empty milk
pitcher and last dishes. They both listened to the sounds in the kitchen until
five minutes later, when Rubye blew out the light and breezed past them toward
her own bedroom.
Twice Hattie had started to rise but Jackson had signaled
her back to her seat. Each time she had felt another set of muscles tighten.
What now! By the time the housekeeper stopped puttering and disappeared,
Hattie’s legs were bouncing under the table from nerves.
She stared at him, wary and suddenly aware of him as a man
and the fact that they were alone. She tried to tamp down the fear that
suddenly roiled through her. She imagined he had heard about the men seeing her
in the yard hanging clothes. Perhaps he wasn’t pleased with how well J.D. was
keeping down her milk; after all he was always hungry. Maybe he had heard how
she petted the mules and Nugget, certainly unladylike, yelling hello to mules.
She gripped the edge of the table and waited for what he had
to say. The grandmother clock resting on the mantle gave a light musical chime
and they sat while it went through all eight counts. On the last chime she
spoke.
“What does J.D. stand for?”
“Jackson Dawson Harper, its Donna’s maiden name and my
name.”
At the reminder, he glimpsed Donna as she used to sit and
chatter about this time of night. Giving reasons why she knew it was a boy, the
way he kicked, the way she was carrying him in front, the fact that both
families always had boys first, although her brother Charles had died as a baby.
She would show him the clothes she had made that day, protesting when he would
ask if she hadn’t made enough, claiming you could never have too many things
for a baby.
Then slowly the image faded, with its head of glossy
chestnut curls and instead of the stout familiar figure he was staring at this
thin, nervous woman with her wispy blonde hair, huge blue eyes, and timid
manner. God, you would think she was afraid he was going to beat her as tensely
as she sat and as high-pitched as her voice had been. Carefully he began his
questions.
“Fifty head of cattle is far fewer than your 400 acre spread
should carry.”
“We had nearly two hundred last year about this time, too
many, and then Dad got the tax bill. After spring calving, he and our two hands
branded and treated the cattle, then we separated about a hundred head and
drove them to Abilene to sale. He let the hands go and they stayed in Abilene
to find work. The night we made it home, that’s when the robbers came. They
knocked Dad out in the barn, then tied him up. Then….” her voice trailed off.
He stared at her, not commenting. Hattie swallowed, then
continued.
“When they left, the cattle money and our two saddle horses
were gone.”
“Why didn’t you report it to Sheriff Tate?”
“It was a week before I felt Dad would be all right alone. I
wore his six guns and a pair of pants to ride old Nugget to town. The sheriff
laughed at me. Told me he’d heard a different story, the men had been bragging
about how I’d invited one or the other out every night, how I would slip out to
the barn to be with them.”
“I told him they were liars, and if he didn’t do something,
I’d shoot them myself.”
He came out to the ranch, but when he asked Dad, Dad said
nothing. He just teared up and looked ashamed when he looked at me.
“Outside, the sheriff told me that even my Dad wouldn’t
defend me. To him that meant that what the men said was true and if he saw me
dressed like a man again in town, he would arrest me for indecency.”
Jackson swore. “What did he say about the money and horses?”
“He told me he knew nothing about missing money or horses,
he hadn’t heard of us being in town to sell our cows.”
“Of course, Dad hadn’t wanted to sell them there. Everyone
knows the only buyer is Charles Dawson, and he only pays a fraction of what
they are worth.”
Jackson stared at her. He knew his father-in-law ran things,
but he had always paid more than a fair price for the cattle from the Harper
spread. Apparently, he hadn’t realized a lot of things about Dawson’s dealings
with others.
“Then what did you do?”
“With no hands and Dad laid up, I had my hands full tending
the stock, moving them to new pasture. That fall, we were only able to get part
of the feed crop put up, Dad was able to help by then, but I had figured out I
was pregnant and wasn’t as much help as we needed. After what the sheriff said,
I avoided town, only going in early when I had to go for supplies.”
“You had over a hundred animals last winter, but this spring
you only located 50 or so.”
“The round-up wore Dad down. It was too much for him. When
he had his attack, I was able to get him home and inside, then I rode into town
for the doctor. I’ve already told you what happened after that, the baby and
all.”
Jackson nodded, unwilling to give her the pity she was
asking for. “Fifty is a big loss for a mild winter. Any idea what happened to
them?”
“No, we never saw any carcasses or bones left by predators. Dad
and I felt they were being rustled.”
“It’s a possibility. We have the herd penned. There are a
lot of calves that need branded and cut, plus I want to make sure the herd’s
healthy before I let them loose with the other animals.”
She nodded. “Did your men bring Dad’s branding iron?”
“Yes, that’s what I wanted to go over with you, the list of
what they brought, compare it to the list you sent them with.”
He handed her both pieces of paper. Hattie noticed they had
brought her plow, her seeds, passed down from gardens her grandmother had
grown, through her mother, carefully saved and labeled for the next garden.
She stared at him, looking up hopefully. “They brought
Momma’s seeds. I wonder if you would let me add them to your garden.”
“I thought your mother died when you were a little girl?”
“She did. Dad and I always saved seed and labeled them,
Mom’s beans, Mom’s cucumbers, etc.”
“Rubye has a small garden out back. James helped her plant
it a couple of weeks ago. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind adding a few more rows of
whatever you want to plant. I can have one of the men plow it.”
“Thanks. If it’s all right with Rubye, I can use Pepper or
Henry to plow it. I always did the garden at home.”
He looked doubtful. “Its hard pack, I’m not sure if you ever
had to break soil before or just till up old garden space. But I’ll have one of
the men stand by to help if you need it.”
“I thought you would be angry, because I went out to hang
the clothes.”
“I can’t expect Rubye to handle all the extra work. It was
just chance, that you were outside when they came back.”
“About the laundry…”
“What?”
“It would be a lot easier to wash the clothes outside. It
made a lot of extra work for Rubye, my doing them in the pantry.”
“Maybe, if you wait until after the hands are out on the
range. The side yard would probably work since it’s fenced.”
He hesitated, then added. “I told the men they need to treat
you the way they’d want their sisters or mothers to be treated. I warned them
if they didn’t, they’d be looking for another job.”
She started to thank him, but he shook his head. “You still
need to be careful, stay near the house, and be sure Rubye is nearby.” He shook
his head, “It would be a lot easier if you weren’t so young and attractive, but
they’re only men.”
Hattie rose, suddenly wobbly again with nerves now that he
had reminded her of all there was to fear.
“Goodnight” she whispered stiffly, “Thank you, Mr. Harper.”
He rose to stare after her, answering just as formally.
“Goodnight and thank you Miss Stoddard.”
Hattie rose early, fed and dressed the baby before dawn,
then straightened the room and left him sleeping in the crib. She felt excited
about the day. Gardening and washing clothes outside would allow her to enjoy
the sunshine again. Crossing the empty house to the kitchen, she stirred the
fire, adding wood and emptying ashes. She was setting the table and had coffee and
a pot of water on to boil when Rubye entered the kitchen.
The housekeeper was clearly surprised but only gave her
usual harrumph and Hattie was glad she had not started to cook. Rubye walked
into the pantry and came out with a jar of jam, a slab of bacon and the tin of
grits.
“Do you need me to milk the cow?”
“No, James does that after he feeds the stock.”
“James?”
“James Boyd, the older man. He’s chuck cook during round-up,
stock wrangler every day.”
Hattie nodded and looked around. Rubye stirred the grits,
then pointed to the pantry. “Get three potatoes and an onion. If you’re so
antsy to work, hash ‘em up.”
Quickly Hattie peeled and diced the vegetables and when
Rubye lifted the last thick slabs of bacon out of the grease, she poured half
of the oil off into a crock, then took the bowl of potatoes from Hattie and
added them to the hot skillet.
A cowboy entered the warm kitchen, looking from one woman to
the other. He set the can on the floor by the sink and Hattie looked to Rubye. This
time she nodded and pointed to the left drawer of the tall cabinet on the left
wall. Hattie opened it and pulled out a clean square of cheesecloth and then
opened doors until she found the wooden churn. She removed the lid and paddle,
making sure it was clean and smelled sweet inside before stretching and
knotting the cheesecloth over the top. Slowly she lifted and filtered the fresh
milk into the churn.
The old cowhand nodded to her. “Morning, Miss Stoddard.”
“Morning, Mr. Boyd. “Do you know where the cold milk is?”
He grinned at her. “I’ll get it Miss, but if you need milk
or butter next time,” he lifted the trap door and pointed.
Hattie smiled as she watched his graying head disappear down
the stairs to the cellar. While he was gone, she walked over to watch Rubye
stirring up a slurry of flour and cold water for the gravy.
The older woman glanced up at her from the corner of her
eye.
“They brought our plow and my mother’s seeds. I wondered if
there might be room for them in your garden.”
Rubye snorted. ”If the boss said you could, it’s not my
place to say yea or nay.”
“It’s your garden. I want it to be all right with you.”
“You’re a funny girl. Nothing here is mine. I work for Mr.
Harper, same as you. The garden was Mrs. Harper’s, but I guess it would be hard
to ask her.”
Hattie looked chastised, then a voice said, “Here Miss.”
Hattie jumped at the head appearing through the floor and
accepted the heavy pitcher of milk and cold crock full of butter. He was
looking past her to Rubye, “You need me to fetch up grub for supper?”
“Yeah, a sack of red beans and a slab of ribs, cut one, no
cut three more onions from that braid.”
“You any good at making bread?” Rubye asked.
Hattie smiled, “Biscuits or corn bread?”
Rubye snorted. “No sense spoiling ’em. Just stir up some
meal for corn cakes. Skillet will be ready again, time you’re through.”
Hattie whirled across the kitchen, heading for the side
cupboard in the pantry where she had seen tins of meal and flour. It was the
second door she opened before she found a bowl, but she quickly added three big
handfuls of meal, then added two small handfuls of flour before using a spoon
to add baking powder. She used the pitcher of milk and some water and stirred
them even as she walked across the floor.
She heard boots and voices in the other room, but over it
all, the thin sweet warble of the baby’s waking cry.
She handed Rubye the batter, then turned back to the bedroom.
As the one or two voices said good morning, she nodded, the whole time looking
toward the floor. As she hurried past them to the baby, she was aware of the
tall man emerging from his room, scowling at her.
When she had bathed, changed, and redressed the baby, she
settled on top of the bed to feed him again. She listened to the quiet
conversation of Jackson and Rubye.
“I told her you wouldn’t mind if she added a few rows to the
garden. James, I’d like you to stay close to hand, once she’s laid out the
plot, move the end fence and add a length of posts to it.”
“Rubye, I also told her she can wash clothes outside, as
long as she keeps to the back of the house near the well and clothesline. I’ll
expect you to keep an eye on her and the baby anytime she’s outside.”
Hattie knew if she had been in the other room, she would
have seen resentment in the other woman’s eyes. She was requiring extra work for
everyone, of course they would get angry and argue.
She strained to listen but heard only a grunt of agreement
from Rubye. She realized James must have nodded. Bundling J.D. to her shoulder,
she decided to face the music.
All three sets of eyes followed her to the table. Before
sitting down, she walked to the kitchen and returned with her warm plate of
food. Then she poured a glass of milk and sat down.
She was surprised when the old cowhand asked, “Can I hold
the little fellow.”
She looked up to Jackson but it was Rubye who clucked.
“Nonsense, what do you know about babies?”
He made a face at her like soured milk. “Reckon I’ve held
every kind of baby critter without hurting nary one, even the human kind.”
Jackson nodded and smiled and Hattie rose and very carefully
placed the baby in his arms. He cooed and made faces at the baby, waggling his
mustache as he smiled.
J.D. yawned, turning his head in a long stretch, and then
made a small fussing sound.
Rubye scolded, “See there, that ugly face of yours has made
him cry.” Gingerly the old cowhand let her take the baby from his arms to pat
against her shoulder. J.D. made a few more fussing sounds, burped, then curved
into her shoulder. When Jackson rose to look over her shoulder, she leaned the
baby back, rocking and crooning while both men stared down at him.
Hattie smiled. The boy was a wonder and worth all the fuss,
but he was sure to be spoiled rotten. While they focused on him, she ate
greedily of the slab bacon and crispy potatoes smothered in gravy, using the
corn cake to mop up the thick white gravy, washing it all down with milk.
It was Jackson who poured coffee for her and passed the
plate with the last hoecake. She made a puddle of sorghum and mashed butter in
it, then slathered it on the cake. No matter how well she ate, she was always
ravenous. Sipping the warm coffee, she tried to eat the bread slowly. They all probably
thought she was a pig, the way she bolted her food.
“When you finish, I’d like you to look over the herd from
your ranch.”
Hattie stuffed the last half of the bread in her mouth,
nodded, and rose immediately. She downed the coffee as she walked, pausing at
the door to set down the empty cup.
“Ready,” she opened the door and sailed off the porch and
across the yard toward the corral, satisfied when he took long strides to catch
up.
“I worried all night about which animals were missing. The
herd often split up for grazing, the young cows with the bull, the yearlings and
older cows with Birdie. She’s a brindle coated cow, with a black circle around
one eye and very long straight horns. She climbed onto the bottom rail, leaning
forward to study the milling animals.
“See, that’s Birdie,” she pointed toward the reddish cow. “That’s
Suke and Blaze, Beverly, and Sunday.”
“You name all your cows?”
“Dad didn’t like me naming them, because it’s a beef herd,
but I always named a few of the calves. Especially, if we had to keep them up
and feed them.” One of the cows moved toward the girl perched on the fence and
Jackson made an involuntary move to pull her back but she reached down toward
the animal. He watched as the girl pulled an ear on the cow she’d called
Sunday.
He remembered the battle it had taken him and three hands to
catch, tie, and finally milk a beef cow the first night when J.D. kept bawling.
He bet she could have cornered anyone of these and sweet talked her into being
milked, beef cow or not.
If his father-in-law hadn’t bought a milk cow and sent it
out from town he’d decided to feed the baby on canned milk rather than have
someone stomped to death or gored by the wild animal.
“This is Birdie’s herd, right, 33 counting new calves. Oh,
there he is, I thought you said 32 last night, but that little ghost makes 33.”
He followed her pointing finger and saw the still damp white and dusty calf.
“At least they all seem healthy. Do you have any idea where
the bull and the other eighteen or so might be?”
“Blackie is a bull you can’t miss, black of course with
horns like Birdie, but one tips up and the other down, like he has it put on
backward. Dad got him for a great price, because the owner figured he might
throw some three headed calves or mistakes. He never did.” She looked at him
for confirmation of her Dad’s wisdom.
“No, they’re good looking animals.”
“Three cows that should be with him are Frenchie, Birdie’s
calf with a coat just like hers from two years back; Blondie, colored like
little Ghost, white and tan; and Pinto, a black and white spotted cow with a
coat like an Indian pony. They could be down where the spring burbles up and
the ground stays wet. That old bull loves the mud and the fresh water cress
that grows in the seep.”
“They looked there, but I’ll have them go back in a couple
of days, when they finish branding and get the bull calves cut, we’ll need to
move these animals into the herd and watch to make sure they work out together“
“We treated for worms and threw out two salt and mineral blocks
after the last snow. I reckon Blackie‘s calves are as good as any bull throws.”
He heard the defensive pride in her voice. “I‘m sure they
are, Miss Stoddard.”
She acknowledged his apology with a nod. “Hattie. I wanted
to see the chickens too; apparently five of them are missing.”
James Boyd had come out to the fence leaving Rubye standing
on the porch, rocking the baby.
“They’re in the barn, the mules and that old gelding are in
the back paddock.”
But Hattie was already gone, opening the barn door to
disappear inside. By the time the men caught up, she was outside the door with
a pan of grain. As she walked outside she clucked softly, shaking the grain in
the pan, “Here chick, chick, here chick,” she sang as she scattered grain. In
minutes eight red hens boiled around her feet, pecking at the grain as she
scattered it. One of the hounds stood on its haunches and barked, but Jackson
called him back down.
“Reckon you’ll need to put up a coop for these, if they’re
to last more than a day or two,” Boyd said.
“Probably easier if we just add some wire to the garden
fence. The chickens can work it and keep the bugs down. They’re used to
roosting in our barn, so that shouldn’t be a problem.” Hattie patted the flat
pan against her hip and added. “Dottie and her sisters are gone, along with
Gaylord, the rooster. The hens were setting so they may have stayed with their
nests. Gaylord should have been out cutting up to protect the hens.”
“No way could we miss a flogging rooster. Looked through
that barn pretty close too,” Boyd protested.
“Dad had a board just under the eaves where they roosted. We
used to have a yellow cat, Purdy, who liked to move through them at night
teasing them awake. So there are poles outside the barn where they can swoop up
in stages then fly into their nests. There are probably one or two eggs in the
nests of those that are not brooding.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to go back and wrangle chickens,
because that was the meanest job you ever gave me boss.”
“If they’re nesting, we’ll move nest and all for those four.
I’ll bet the roosters gone. Didn’t you leave any dog or cat behind?” Jackson
barked.
“Purdy died last year. Bert, our cow dog, was shot when the
yahoos rode in.”
Jackson shook his head. Had he really thought she was timid
and quiet?
<><><>
“I’ll ride out after we finish here and take Cliff. We need
to chase down that black bull and any heifers he’s guarding. James, you stick
close. See if you can help get the garden in.”
He turned back toward the corral as Hattie moved back to the
house when she heard her name called. She stepped up onto the porch to take
J.D., not surprised to feel a damp bottom.
James was walking toward the house, and Hattie waited until
he was in easy hearing. “Can you tell the boss I need to talk to him before
they leave?”
He tipped his hat in acknowledgement and Hattie took the
crying infant inside. It was an hour later when she carried the padded cradle
and sleeping boy to rock gently in the warm shaded breeze of the back porch.
Hattie smiled, happy for the first time in weeks. She heard the hens clucking
and scratching through the garden. She had lined up the seeds, each labeled and
saved in its packet made from old catalog pages.
In the distance she could hear the men working in the far
corral, smell the scent of singed hair and hear the painful bawls from the
calves. Even the yearlings needed branding and snipped, being changed to steers
before the men finished.
Ignoring the sounds, she went to the paddock for Henry. Although
Pepper could outlast the younger mule, Henry was quicker to obey her commands
and responded well to her lighter hand.
Harnessed to the plow, she entered through the gap in the
fence that James had made earlier. She backed the mule to the edge of the
current garden, set the plow blade then snapped the reins and yelled,
“Giddy-up”