The Milch Bride (6 page)

Exuberantly the mule leaned his head forward, putting his
chest muscles into the task, ripping down the yard and opening out a shallow
furrow. At the end of the thirty foot row, she yelled “whoa” and pulled on the
reins. Henry stopped like a dream.

She lifted the plow blade, turned Henry and plowed up to the
edge of the garden again. Quickly, she and Henry set a pattern.

Boyd came around the house to watch, marveling at the ease
with which the duo worked. “Setting you’re rows too close, ain’t you Miss?”

She finished the fifth sequence, then turned Henry again,
carefully setting the plow within six inches of the last furrow. ”We’re not
plowing yet, just breaking ground. When I finish this, we’ll need to cover the
ground with some of that aged manure, spread it out, maybe wait a day or two,
then run the plow through it deeper and set actual rows. But I‘ll harness
Pepper to a dray to haul it over here. Both these long-eared guys love to
work.”

“I can get to loading that, have it ready to spread when you
finish. I didn’t figure a little girl like you would know anything about this
work.”

“My mother was German. She loved to garden and to work. She
insisted Dad change the garden plot every two years. One year he didn’t get to
it in time, and I watched her dig one just like this. I’ve always wanted to try
it myself.”

He laughed and she laughed too, pushing herself and Henry,
trying to finish before J.D. grew fussy. She was on the last furrow when he
started crying.

Hattie wiped her face with her long sleeve, sure she was a
sight, sweaty and red faced, with the fine dust sticking to her skin with each
step she made over the roughly tilled ground.

She unhitched Henry and led him to the trough in front of
the paddock rail, loosely hitching him and patting the dark, dusty neck. James
was already driving the other mule and the load of manure toward the garden.

By the time Hattie reached the porch, Rubye had arrived with
a pail of fresh water and a towel. Hattie gratefully accepted both, stepping on
to the porch where she could reassure J.D. that she would pick him up in a
minute.

Rubye stepped between her and the baby. “Well, I never.”

Hattie looked down at her dusty skirt and red hands, her
pride of minutes ago vanishing. She reached for the fussing baby, but Rubye
picked him up. “I’ll change him, you get some of that dust and sweat off you so
you’re fit to feed him. The men will be in to eat soon, let’s not waste time.”

Hattie tapped her feet, knocking the dust off her boots,
then hurried after them to the bedroom.

It was later, the men fed and gone, before Hattie rose from
her nap. She pulled on her old skirt and the flannel shirt of her father’s over
her old chemise and petticoat, realizing that this was the outfit she should
have worn this morning. Once again she laid the sleeping baby in the cradle on
the back porch, taking time to make sure he was shaded with a protective cloth
spread over the top of the cradle, she hurried to drag washtubs, washboard and
soap into the side yard, drawing water to fill both. Then she brought out the
pan of dirty clothes and the basket and clothespins.

Satisfied, she made short work of washing out baby things,
hung them, then washed the soiled dress and under things, plus the baby’s crib
bedding to hang. Finally, she washed out towels and washcloths. With three
lines full, she took her time in carrying the dirty water to water Rubye’s rows.
When she had the tubs emptied and rinsed, she stacked them on the end of the
porch and stood to admire the darkened end of the new garden, already covered
with the manure spread by James and Pepper.

Rubye came out, then took the washtubs and proceeded to fill
them. She had two hampers of clothes, hers and Jackson’s, as well as household
linen.

“Do you need help?” Hattie asked.

“Nope, it’s Tuesday. I always do laundry on Tuesday. Besides,
James plowed that garden. You probably want to get busy and get it planted.”

She heard a snuffling sound from the cradle and peeked in,
patting the little raised bottom. “Such a mite for making work, little Jackie.”

He squirmed a little under the weight of her hand, rooting
around in his sleep until he found a fist and settled back down.

Quickly, she picked up the first bag of seeds and used the
hoe that James had left beside the plowed garden. She was surprised at how deep
the soil seemed. James must have plowed a lot deeper then she had, but she was
pleased to note he had avoided damaging the original garden. By the time she
was on the third type of seeds, Rubye was finished.

Hattie could hear the baby and dusted her hands, stopping to
pull up a bucket of sweet water to drink her fill, then wash her hands and
face. She walked up onto the porch and took the squalling baby that Rubye was
trying to calm.

The housekeeper scowled at her muddy feet and wrinkled her
nose. “Humph,” she said patting the wide awake and complaining J.D. “Might as
well run you through the tub as well. Hurry, if you want a chance to eat before
supper.”

“I didn’t finish all the plantings.”

“It’s called tomorrow,” the housekeeper said. “You can
finish it in the morning while I iron, then you can iron.”

Hattie raised her brows. “Right, ironing.” She didn’t want
to admit that she usually didn’t bother with her old clothes or her father’s,
there had been no one to see how they looked unless they were going into town.

Hattie relaxed in the tub, the baby naked and floating on
top of her, his little unbound belly button and stub of cord exposed. Rubye had
carried the cradle in to put him in, but Hattie had barely finished soaping and
rinsing before he had begun to fuss. She had been unable to resist the
opportunity to soap and rinse him, even the soft dark hair on top of his head.
In the high setting tub, she had easily been able to keep his belly dry. At
first he had been frightened, but like her, the warm lap of the water soon
relaxed him. Now he lay, completely clean and relaxed, gazing at her cooing
voice.

Rubye knocked on the door, then opened it to shake her head
at them. “The men are out cleaning up, you better hurry.”

Hattie stood up, surrendered the baby to the housekeeper
then slipped into the clean gown and robe that the housekeeper handed her. She
shook out a baby blanket and took the naked baby back from Rubye, then followed
her out of the door.

“Wait.” The voice was loud and commanding and Hattie froze
in horror. She was barefoot, her wet hair in a towel, and she clutched the top
of the robe closed and the baby even tighter against her.

The terror must have shown in her eyes and Jackson felt
confused. He nodded toward the bedroom and Rubye put her hands on her hips and
looked scandalized. He gave her a hard look, and she turned back to the kitchen
to get the food on the table, still keeping an eye on both of them.

Jackson made sure the door was open and remained there as
Hattie entered the bedroom and laid the baby in the middle of the bed before
reaching behind her for baby clothes. Even though he knew he should stay at the
door, Jackson was drawn into the room by the baby. It was the first time he had
seen him completely naked since the delivery. Hattie backed up, staring at both
of them.

Jackson uncovered the boy, just standing and staring down at
him. Nervously, Hattie pulled the collar up on the robe, moved one foot behind
the other, even though both the gown and robe drug the floor. “Is there
something wrong?”

He shook his head, stepped aside and moved back to the open
door. “He’s just so beautiful.”

She stared back at the baby and nodded. “Perfect, Donna,
gave you a perfect son.”

 The reminder of Donna made him straighten up and refocus.
“I needed to tell you that we didn’t finish in time to go to the ranch today. But
James said you needed to talk to me.”

For the first time he stared at her, taking in the towel
wrapped head, her red, embarrassed face, and the way she kept fidgeting with
the robe. Even in Donna’s clothes, she looked so strange. Earlier in the day he
had needed James, but the cowhand had protested that she had broken the ground
for the garden, and if he didn’t hustle, she would be back plowing it. Donna
would never have plowed a garden, never done anything to get all sweaty and
dirty. He shook his head and smiled in spite of himself.

J. D. made a sound and Hattie grabbed the blanket to block
the stream of pee that arced upward. Suddenly her nervousness was gone. Quickly,
she dried him, wrapped a clean band around his tummy, and then diapered him. Despite
his protest, she threaded his rubbery arms into the clean gown. She had moved
the damp blanket aside and checked the cover on the bed before sitting down
with the fussing boy.

Jackson coughed and she looked up, suddenly embarrassed
again to realize he was still there.

“I wondered if you could dig the herbs that are in the
garden and bring them for the new garden. They’ll be the only really green
plants, well, the marjoram, looks blue, but they‘re probably the only things
growing there.”

He nodded, smiling in spite of himself as the fussing baby
nuzzled the front of her robe, obviously upset that she wasn’t feeding him. He
wondered if he hadn’t coughed if she would have forgotten him and opened the
robe. Blushing, he knew it was time to leave. “We’ll try. Nesting hens, herbs,
and look for the cows. Anything else, let me know in the morning.”

He closed the door and Hattie sighed with relief.

<><><> 

The next day, Hattie finished the last row, planting the
seeds for tomatoes on the outside rows in little hills.  Then she dug four big
holes at the end of the new garden for the herbs, confident that Jackson would
bring them home.

James Boyd had Pepper harnessed and ready to haul new
pickets and rails for the garden. She enjoyed his expression when he pulled the
mule to a stop, “Girl, I don’t reckon I’ve ever worked with a better pair of
mules.”

“This garden is the best plowed land I’ve ever planted. You
must have gotten Henry to outdo himself.”

“I learned by watching you. That animal just about did it
all by himself. I swear he remembered each turn from when you worked him in the
morning.”

She laughed, and from the porch they heard Rubye’s strident
voice. “If you two are through bragging on each other, there’s a little stinker
up here calling your name.”

Hattie abandoned the shovel and stepped up on the porch.
Leaving her smelly boots outside, she used the bucket of water she had waiting
to wash her hands, arms, feet and face.

It took several minutes after she had him changed to calm
the baby enough to nurse. He was outraged at her for taking so long and Hattie
felt guilty. After all, helping in the kitchen, planting the garden, even doing
laundry was secondary. Her most important job was J.D. She kissed him and held
him close, crooning to get him calmed. Finally, he began nursing hungrily.

Still crooning, she rocked him back and forth, kissing the
pulsing spot on the top of his head. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry. Donna,
I’m sorry. I’ll stay closer, I promise little man. I promise.”

Leaning back and relaxing with the baby, she wondered at
herself. She had come to the ranch in rage and desperation, determined to save
her home and to regain her confidence and pride. Instead, she was lost in the
simple joy of holding this baby. Every day, her heart opened a little more. If
she weren’t careful, she would be more lost than ever.

<><><> 

After napping, eating, and feeding J.D., Hattie made quick
work of the laundry. At least today, there were only a few nappies, baby
clothes, and blankets.

  She finally managed to iron the clothes from yesterday. Rubye
scolded her when she was eating lunch that if she didn’t do them soon, she
would have to rewash and starch them. Since Hattie had never boiled starch she
was grateful that Rubye had starched and rolled them when she did her clothes
and Jackson’s. As soon as she finished hanging clothes and watering the newly
planted seeds, she carried the cradle and sleeping boy inside.

Fortunately, Rubye had a shoulder roast in the oven. Soon
the housekeeper would add potatoes, onions and turnips to roast as the meat
finished browning. It was quick work to heat the iron on the hot stovetop, but
a labor in frustration to get both shirtwaists and skirts ironed. Unfortunately,
Rubye had also starched her petticoats and she knew they would be scratchy and
stiff the next time she wore them. At least when she ironed them, she didn’t
worry about pressing in wrinkles like she had on the skirts and blouses. No one
would ever see the undergarments.

By the time she finished, she was burning up, the front and
back of the flannel shirt were soaked with sweat. When J. D. started fussing,
she dragged the cradle and boy outside. As soon as he felt the cool breeze
under the big porch, he settled back down. Hattie set the cradle to rocking and
hurried to collect the dry, clean clothes and set them inside. By the time she
reached the porch again, he was awake and winding up for a cry.

Quickly she removed the soaked diaper, wet gown and even
added the folded quilt from the bottom of the cradle to the diaper pail.
Relaxing, she smiled as she held the squirming baby, naked except for his belly
band and booties. Quickly she draped the lacy baby blanket over her shoulder
and the baby curled against her, snuggling into the crook of her arm to suckle.
Rocking and cooling them both in the bright sunshine, she let her hand cup the
small bottom, her other hand play across his soft naked skin beneath the blanket.
She felt great satisfaction in how rounded and full he was becoming, especially
the snug, rounded tummy. In minutes they were both dozing.

<><><> 

The wagon pulling into the yard startled them both. Her
first instinct was to grab the baby and run to hide. The next was just to bow
her head and become invisible.

“Oh my Charles, she’s feeding the baby on the porch!”

“I thought Jackson said he didn’t want to have an Indian
feed his son,” Dawson said.

Hattie’s face flamed even redder. When Rubye came out on the
porch to greet her visitors, she tried to signal her but didn’t catch her eyes.
Why hadn’t she gone in to change the baby where there were clothes? Then the
horror really hit. They would come over to see the baby and be scandalized.

Ignoring everyone, Hattie dashed past them into the house.

“What is that smell? Why are there clothes and washtubs on
the porch? Rubye, has my son-in-law gone mad? What was that girl wearing? They
looked like rags but I heard in town that he bought her clothes to wear?

The questions pelted after her as Hattie made it to the
bedroom. Quickly she cleaned and dressed the sleepy baby. Then she frantically
washed her own face and changed clothes for the third time in the same day. Dressed
in the starched black dress with its navy stripe, she felt armored. She parted,
then twisted her hair into a tight controlled bun and pinned it at the back of
her head. Staring in the mirror the only thing she could think was why had she
been so foolish to work in the sun all day without her bonnet?

Clicking her tongue at her reflection, she gathered the
beautifully dressed baby and carried him out to the waiting couple. The banker
and his wife were seated on the settee in the living room and Rubye had left
them to fetch some cold glasses of tea. Hattie sank primly into the chair
across from them, lowered her bundle and turned the blanket back.

“Oh, how precious,” the woman cooed and held out her arms. Hattie
surrendered the baby, aware of how critically the banker was staring at her.

“Rubye, where’s Jackson?” Dawson asked.

“He rode out to look for stock. We don’t expect him until
suppertime. Would you like to join us for dinner here?”

“And eat with his cow hands, no thanks,” Irene said.

Hattie pictured the hands sharing dinner with her father and
her. It had never occurred to them that one wouldn’t share food with the people
you worked with every day. Clearly Jackson worked with these men, led them, and
ate with them.

Of course, the banker and his wife would not sit down to eat
with their hired help. Had Donna, the perfect wife, complained about sharing
meals with the hands?

The woman was talking, asking her something. Hattie realized
it by the sharpness with which she repeated the question.

“He is nursing well?”

Hattie nodded, feeling a strange wave of protectiveness as
the woman prodded and peeked under the baby’s gown, at his feet, checking his
belly and examining his fingers. When she started to pull at the belly band,
Hattie wanted to take the boy back.

“He eats every two hours, day and night.”

“Is he always so sleepy? He’s not waking up at all. Look at
him Charles. He’s dead to the world.”

The baby protested the inspection by giving a soft cry, as
though to prove her a liar, scrunching his face and almost opening an eye.

Hattie moved her hands to the edge of the chair and sat on
them to fight the strong urge to grab the baby back.

“You buried your father and son on your ranch?” Dawson
asked.

Hattie sat up straighter, moving her hands to her lap and
folding them together. “No, there wasn’t time. They are buried here. When I go
back next year, we’ll move the bodies.”

“Go back?” There was something in the way he said it, like
the mere suggestion was ridiculous. It made her swallow hard. But those cold
blue eyes had moved off. He sat forward, studying the baby.

“Let’s go, Irene. You can see him at church Sunday.”

Hattie expected her to protest or resist giving up the baby,
but she let Rubye take the child so she could rise.

“Doesn’t he seem lighter to you?” She looked at Rubye.
“Maybe he is eating all day and night because there is no nutrition in what he
eats. Our wet nurse for Donna was a large woman with plenty of fat in her hips
and breasts. Our Donna was such a lovely, plump baby. You remember what a
chubby darling she was, Charles?”

Hattie rose to reach for the baby, but Irene Dawson turned. “You
seem awfully scrawny to me.” She stared accusingly at Hattie. ”Are you eating
enough? What does Dr. Padgett have to say about what you should eat and how
often you should nurse the baby?”

There was no chance to answer any of the rapid-fire
questions. But when she finally paused to breathe, Hattie asked. “Who is Dr.
Padgett?”

“Dr. Padgett is the author of
Advice for Young Mothers
.
His childhood manual is the standard. You have been reading and following the
child care manual? You must follow all his instructions, my dear. After all,
you are so young and have no experience with raising a baby.”

“I had a child.”

“He died,” Charles and Irene chimed in together.

Hattie felt the words like a physical blow. “He was born too
early. I’ve fed and kept calves and baby goats alive before. All of them ate
frequently, night and day, and slept between feedings.”

 “Cows and goats!” she shrieked. “I insist you find and read
Dr. Padgett and follow it to the letter. You can read?”

“I can read and write in English and in German. I promise
you I’m doing everything I can to care for this baby.”