The Milch Bride (7 page)

Irene Dawson moved past her, whispering to her husband as
they left. “We can wire Austin for suitable help, Charles.”

Hattie stood rooted, waves of emotion sweeping through her. The
baby sensed her turmoil and began to cry in earnest. Hattie raised the child to
her shoulder then moved backward toward the bedroom as Rubye escorted the angry
grandparents out the front door.

She could hear Charles Dawson firing questions at the
housekeeper standing in the door to glare back at her.

“She’s sleeping in our daughter’s bed!” Again Hattie heard
gasps and whispers as Mrs. Dawson’s voice rose louder. “That’s outrageous! 
Really Charles you need to talk to Jackson, that boy has no sense of
propriety.”

“Is he sharing her quarters?”  This time Charles voice was
the one rising in shock.

“No, no. His bed is in the study. I’m in the house at all
times. There have been no real improprieties, I can assure you.”

“See that there aren’t,” he said.

“What do you mean real improprieties? Why did he give her
Donna’s bed?”

Hattie sat on the edge of the high bed, the baby greedily
tugging at her breast.

“He wanted her to be next to the baby, to take care of his every
need. She has been diligent in taking care of him. I can assure you they are
both getting enough to eat.”

With Rubye’s defense she relaxed and so did the baby. In
minutes he was asleep, still fastened to her breast, but as his head started to
fall back, he jerked awake and suckled fiercely. Hattie smiled and rubbed his
silky head. She would find and read the baby manual, but she could not leave
yet.

Through the open door, she could hear the distant voices,
but no longer make out what they were saying. She pushed her fears away, it had
to turn out all right.

<><><> 

It was late and Hattie sat in the rocker on the porch,
folding the last of the clean baby clothes. Finished, she stood and looked out
at the ranch yard, picking out the barn, paddock and garden in the fading light.
Strangely, it felt as though she had lived here forever.

She was surprised when Jackson came outside and moved to sit
on the porch rail, sipping a last cup of coffee. As he too stared at the vista,
she wondered if he was aware that she was there. Then he spoke. “We brought
back your hens, even found some eggs for breakfast.”

“Really, you found Dottie and her sisters. Were you able to
save the eggs they were setting on?”

“Yeah, Cliff figured it out. He slipped the nests into
sacks, put food on the rail where they had been, then when the hens resettled
on the nests, he pulled the sacks up and tied them. I would never have had the
patience.”

“How long did it take?”

“Not that long. I was digging plants in the garden, bagging
them. We finished about the same time.”

“Did you find Blackie and the cows?”

He stared off into the distance. “You hear that young bull
bawling in the paddock.”

Hattie nodded, not sure if he could see her.

“He’s black and has the curved horns you described on your
bull, only they both point in the right direction. I figured if we found the
missing animals, we could castrate him and let him join the rest of the herd, if
not, you’d still have a bull.”

She smiled tightly, stunned by the unexpected kindness.

“You didn’t find them,” she said.

“No,” he stared down at her, surprised at how hard it was to
tell her bad news.

She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath. “No sign of
where they went, no bones, no carcasses.”

“No trace. Cliff and I figure rustlers.”

It was a bitter blow, but that was what she received these
days, blow after blow.

“Thank you for looking, for everything.”

“It’s not over. I figure if they would rustle your cows,
they could be taking others. I plan to do a count of our brand, compare it to
last year’s tally, now that the boy is safe and you’re settled.”

“Did Rubye tell you we had company?”

“My in-laws. I heard they gave you a hard time.”

“Your mother-in-law suggested they send to Austin for
another wet nurse.”

When he waited she forced the words out, “Because he seems
smaller and is eating and sleeping all the time.”

“That’s what babies do, never seen a critter that didn’t
start out that way, most lose a little at first, then start to gain.”

“They told me I should read Dr. Padgett’s
Advice for
Young Mothers
and follow it to the letter.”

“Not surprised. Irene had Donna reading it and fretting
about his advice for months. It’s in the study. I’ll get it for you.”

Harriet couldn’t tell if he agreed or disagreed with what
they thought. He hadn’t told her not to worry about the nurse from Austin.

She carried the basket of clothes to the bedroom, grateful
that J.D. was still asleep. She was standing, staring down at the baby when
Jackson tapped lightly at the door, then crossed the threshold to hand her the
book. He took her place, leaning over to listen to the baby’s chest, placing a
large hand on his soft head while he listened.

“Try to ignore them,” he whispered as he straightened. “That’s
what I always told Donna. Trouble is, she could never do it. Her mom and dad
ran her life, even picked me out for her husband. It surprised me, since
Charles never really seemed to think much of my opinions.”

Hattie stared up at him. “I don’t believe that. You were her
choice and they agreed to her wishes.”

He felt the tightness in his chest. For the first time he
considered their summer romance in a different light. What if it hadn’t been
the banker that threw them together, but Donna who had arranged all the
meetings, the dances, and events? Just the thought of it made him sigh. He
realized how much he wanted it to be all Donna’s doing.

Hattie stared up at the tall, handsome cowboy, noticing the
dark hair and light eyes that were the baby’s. She set the thick, small
handbook down on the dresser next to her family Bible. Running her fingers
along the edge of the pages, she sensed the trace of Donna’s fingers on the
smooth paper.

Jackson remained beside the crib but stared across at the
nervous girl, fingering the handbook as nervously as Donna had. So far she had
taken care of the boy by instinct, rushing to take care of his needs with calm
confidence. He hoped the book wouldn’t make her as nervous and indecisive as it
had Donna.

“Remember we have an agreement. I’ve paid your back taxes,
so I’m not paying someone else for the same work. You believe you can handle
him, don’t you?”

Hattie nodded, “I promised you I’d do my best. I do try my
best every day.”

Rubye stood in the doorway, staring at the couple beside the
crib.

“What’s all the jabber about? Something wrong with J.D.?

Jackson looked at her with a scowl at being interrupted. But
suddenly he felt as guilty as Hattie looked at being found together in her
bedroom.

“Just giving Miss Stoddard the copy of Dr. Padgett mother
Dawson told her to read.”

He walked past Rubye and murmured as he left, “Goodnight, ladies.”

The rest of the week passed without another word between
them. Hattie rose early, changed and fed the baby, then hurried to the kitchen
to start the fire and put on coffee and oatmeal or grits, whichever Rubye had
set out the night before. She also helped to put together the basket that James
Boyd took along each day for the men and their lunch. All six rode out
together, and then spread out over the area Jackson assigned. They joined James
at the spot set up for lunch. They would compare their tally, then move to the
next sector and work through it. The plan was to take the next two weeks to
finish the survey of the over two thousand acre ranch.

At night, the women worked up a bigger meal and added a
dessert. With the hens laying they had eggs. Hattie had only made one cake in
her life and it was a disaster. But Rubye stirred up one most nights after the
men had to be away from the house. Although each tasted different, they began
with the same recipe: two cups flour, one cup sugar, one half cup butter, two
eggs, one cup buttermilk, one teaspoon vanilla, two teaspoons baking soda, a
pinch of salt.

Rubye kept a pair of vanilla beans in a small bottle of
whiskey, and used the strong liquid to flavor the cake, replacing the whiskey
as needed but keeping the beans in the jar. Sometimes she used the vanilla, sometimes
cinnamon and brown sugar. To the next cake she might add chocolate powder and
pecans. All were baked in the largest iron skillet. If it was a plain yellow
cake, she glazed it with a caramel made of sugar browned in the big skillet and
thinned with rich cream then left to bubble and thicken before being poured
over the big round cake. After a couple of days, Hattie could help bake the cake,
but always waited for Rubye’s instructions.

After the hard days, working cattle and checking boundaries,
the men enjoyed the big meals, always with beef-- steak, stew, roast, braised
ribs, or chili. They seemed to enjoy getting even with the animals who had
worked them so hard during the day. Meals were quiet affairs, with everyone
hungry and too tired for anything but eating, eager to rest for the next day.

By the second Sunday they had finished the count so everyone
dressed, the men in black suit coats, the women in starched dresses and
petticoats. Hattie wore the black blouse striped with red and the solid black
skirt. She wore a stiff, black, poke-bonnet that had been her mothers. Now it
was starched and ironed with a big black bow tied beneath her chin. On her
hands she wore her mother’s gloves, bleached white, with a briar stitch along
every seam. She clenched her fingers inside the tight cloth of the gloves,
nervous as they approached the church.

 The Dawsons would be waiting. That woman would be waiting
to take J.D., to bounce him and show him off. To cluck over the sweet sleepy
face, to silently weigh him, and tell Jackson how wrong she was as a wet nurse.

Hattie stiffened on the hard bench beside Jackson, recalling
the first time she had ridden here nearly a month before. Two benches had been
added to the back of the buckboard. Rubye and James rode behind them, Cliff,
Hank and one of the young hands rode on the last bench. The remaining three
hands rode on horseback alongside.

Hattie looked over her shoulder, smiling at Rubye sitting
stiffly beside James Boyd. For the first time, she noticed him turn and smile
at Rubye. The woman looked forty, maybe forty-five, tall, homely, and strongly
opinionated. But that shy smile could have been given to a young girl. For the
first time that morning, Hattie smiled.

Jackson glanced at her and smiled too “Finally, you’ve had a
pleasant thought?”

She looked up at him, wondering if she dared to say it. “I
wondered, Rubye and James?” She whispered.

He laughed, “Anything is possible.”

She nodded, staring down at the baby, once again tucked into
the wagon toolbox for safety and riding at their feet. “I can’t help worrying,
whether mother Dawson will think he is growing fast enough.”

He glanced down at the baby. “Don’t worry about them. I know
what you’ve done for him.” He gripped the reins in his left hand, reaching down
to squeeze her hand. Even through the glove she felt the warmth of his fingers.
Nervously, she pulled her hand free and folded both hands primly in her lap.

He pulled the team in beside a shade tree, and then raised
the sleeping child onto her lap. Jackson dismounted and then reached up to
firmly grip her waist, lifting her and the baby to the ground.

Hattie stood, waiting until the taller woman could stand beside
her. Rubye wore a hat, a small blue bonnet studded with a white silk rose, a
trail of veil draped across her upper face. She too was gloved, her dress a
stiff blue bombazine. Hattie noticed Boyd had stepped down first, then walked
around to lift a hand to help Rubye down. Using a spoke of the wheel as a step,
she still weighed enough, for the man to make a woof of sound as she settled.

As they walked around the wagons near the church, Hattie
heard quick catches of breath and murmurs of disapproval. “I’ll take the baby,”
his strong voice startled her. “Rubye can show you where to sit.”

Hattie bit back the retort. I can sit where my father and I
always sat, midway back, on the left side. But she didn’t say it out loud
because with everyone pointing her out and whispering, she knew she would never
have the nerve to walk in and sit in that pew.

Suddenly, Hattie felt absolutely alone. The brief moment of
understanding was gone. As she watched, the tall cowboy climbed the steps of
the white frame church. She heard the kind murmurs: “Oh, Mr. Harper, he’s
beautiful; well done, Jackson; too pretty to be yours, old son.”

For a minute, she thought she saw a tall, young woman beside
Jackson, her hair pinned in an upsweep of brown curls, smiling at everyone. Hattie
imagined her tugging his arm to reveal the baby’s blue booties, perfect little
blue cap and blue sweater over the immaculate white gown. The lacy baby blanket
spilled over the black-sleeved arm holding the little miracle. It seemed everyone
had something to say until Mrs. Dawson swept back down the aisle to fuss.

“Cover him back up, Jackson; it’s a cool morning for a baby.
Here let me have him.” When she moved in closer, the ghostly shadow of his wife
disappeared. For a minute, Hattie felt her loss as acutely as the tall man who
looked totally bereft when his mother-in-law paraded down the aisle, showing
the baby, accepting the accolades and murmurs of sympathy for the daughter who
would miss the boy and man the child would become.

Hattie followed the ranch hands and Rubye to the last pew on
the right side and filed in first as Rubye indicated. This put her on the
inside wall and she knew if the baby fussed everyone would have to rise to let
her out. Then she realized they wouldn’t. She would use Rubye’s tall frame and
a blanket to hide what she was doing and she would nurse J.D. in pretended
privacy.

Hattie settled into her corner, aware of the couple in front
of her pew, arguing, until the woman stood and the man followed. The woman gave
her a scandalized look as she rose and Hattie felt her face flame with shame. Then
she reminded herself, she had nothing to apologize for, it was that trash that
hung around Thelma‘s in town, bragging and making up lies about her that should
be ashamed. Let God take care of those liars and these self-righteous people
who were so eager to believe gossip.

So she made herself sit straighter, raised her head higher,
and managed to lock eyes with the departing woman. “Fool,” she said without
speaking a word.

Hattie tried to relax, but the sermon seemed dry and
overlong, the emphasis was on prayer to stay away from temptation. Then
suddenly the preacher was in a thunder, warning that the rewards for sin were
damnation, with fire and brimstone awaiting all those who fell from the
straight and narrow. As one, the congregation turned to stare in her direction,
as though to add, “He means you, harlot.”

 Hattie felt a quiver of despair. Was there no way to remove
this stigma? True the town had seen her pregnant and unwed; she had borne a
child and lost it. But she had not surrendered to temptation but to force. Hattie’s
legs began to shake with nervousness. It was all she could do to sit quietly
and not scream in protest of her innocence. When the tension became unbearable,
she heard a high-pitched squall, and then a gasping, warbling cry.

In a minute, she knew J.D. would be in full cry. Fortunately
the preacher called everyone to their feet to sing a hymn. Moments later she
saw Jackson at the end of the row, passing the baby from hand to hand down to
her. When he arrived, she sank back into her seat, unbuttoned her dress and
draped the lacy blanket over the fussing baby and herself. By the time the hymn
ended and everyone was seated again, J. D. was happily nursing and Hattie
relaxed, shutting out all the scorn and judgment. She felt at peace just
holding the baby, the one person who did not label or judge her, only needed
and trusted her in the most basic of ways. She would have to be like this baby
and just accept and trust that life would be all right for her too.

Finally, the service ended and Hattie was relieved to have
her row exit first. She carried the satisfied baby out to the wagon, and then
changed him before tucking him back into the tool box under the seat. She
accepted a hand up from Boyd and settled on the buckboard seat to wait. Through
the trees, she watched Jackson standing on the top step of the church, talking
with his in-laws and exchanging words with others from the congregation. Please
don’t let them invite us all to dinner.

What was she thinking? They would never invite her to the
house for dinner.

Minutes later Jackson strode back to join them.

“If those eggs ever hatch, I could stand a pan of fried
chicken,” Cliff muttered.

“It takes three weeks to become a chicken. Everybody and
everything seems to be thinking of eating my poor chickens, even the ones still
in the eggs.”

Jackson laughed. “If my hounds don’t get them, I would be
happy to get a chance at them.”

Hattie scowled, sat forward in a huff, as they all laughed
softly.

<><><> 

Finally, the first clutch of chicks hatched. Cliff had put
the nests up in the loft, so when Hattie went to feed them, she always checked
for chicks. When the whole nest finished hatching, she scooped the first set of
chicks up and carried them down from the loft, placing them in an empty stall.

 It was three days later before the last clutch hatched. Jackson
and the men were once more riding the range. Hattie had managed to scoop up the
last fluffy chick and was resting on the top rung, her skirt swept up to ensure
her firm footing before carrying them down.

“Well, boys, look what we’ve found here. Our own sweet wild
girl, already in the hay loft waiting for her first caller,” said Rafe Hogue.

Hattie sat, her throat frozen with fear. Her rifle was still
on the porch, where she set it close to hand each morning before leaving the
house. When the men were gone, Jackson had made her promise to keep it ready
when she was outside.

  If only she had taken her daddy’s pistol. She looked about
for some sort of weapon and spotted the hand scythe hanging on a nail to the
right of the ladder.

Able rode into the barn and leered up at her. “First, I owe
her a bullet, let her feel how it is to be shot.” He raised his pistol and
Hattie flipped the hand scythe through the air. His scream came with the thud
of the bullet into the ladder below her feet. When the gun dropped, his finger
fell with it.

Silas swore and turned his mount to ride over to his
brother. “Damn you, you’ve cut off his finger. I’m going to cut you up bad for
that.”

They heard the ratcheting of a shotgun behind them and
Rubye’s hard voice, “Move and I’ll blow you in half.”

Rafe swore. “I thought you said she was here alone.”

Rubye let out her usual harrumph.  “Get your sorry carcasses
off this ranch. Jackson Harper will string you men up for this if you ever set
foot here again.”

“Let me get my finger, won’t you?” whined Able.

Hattie stepped down as soon as she heard Rubye’s voice,
racing to pick up the fallen gun, while managing the apron full of chicks.

Crouching she raised the pistol, cocked, and aimed it at
Rafe Hogue’s head. “The hens have already eaten it, move before I shoot off
some more food for them.”

She saw the fury in Able’s eyes, heard all three mutter
threats, but as quickly as they rode in, they were gone.

Hattie squatted and shook the little chicks from her apron. Then
she picked up the finger where it had dropped. She stuck the grisly trophy in
her apron pocket, hooked the scythe over the stall wall, and followed Rubye
across to the porch.

By the time she reached the steps her legs felt rubbery and
she sank on the bottom riser, letting Rubye move past her before collapsing on
the top step.

“Lord, girl, if the dog hadn’t started barking, I wouldn’t
have looked out to see them.”

Hattie looked up at her and then reached out to clutch her
hand. “You were so brave, Rubye, thank you.”

“Humph. I just didn’t like their mangy manners. Are they the
ones you were telling Jackson about?”

Hattie nodded as she gulped air, her heart still pounding in
her chest.

Rubye looked grim, still staring down at her. “Next time,
make sure you have a gun with you.”

 Hattie nodded. “I’ve got Dad’s old pistol, and now I’ve got
this one.”

She turned the barrel, looking at the five bullets in the
chamber, holding it at arm’s length as she released the hammer to uncock it.

“Let me see it.”

Hattie raised the gun but Rubye shook her head and Hattie
looked down to where Rubye was staring. There was a blood stain on the pocket. “Do
you have a box?”