House On Windridge

by Tracie Peterson

  “My father isn’t here,” Jessica reminded him. “And it appears that even when he was, he wasn’t much interested in what happened with the ranch. The place is mine now, and I intend to run it as such. I realize I have a lot to learn, but I’m offering one simple solution. People could come here and take their rest. We have miles of solitude to offer them. We could feature carriage rides, hunting, picnics, and horseback riding—we could show them how a ranch actually works, and we could fatten them up on Kate’s cooking.”

  “You forget,” Devon replied, “the place would have to be fixed up first. There’s a lot that needs to be done in order to make this a model working ranch. And that, my dear Jessica, takes money.”

  She frowned at him. “I realize it would take something of an investment to get things started. I didn’t say the plan was without challenges.”

  “A plan? So do you figure to just move forward with this plan? Didn’t you think it might be important to get the advice of those who know the place?” Devon questioned.

  Kate and Buck stared on as if helpless to interject a single word. Jessica slammed down her empty coffee cup and countered. “I am not stupid, Mr. Carter. I am simply offering the idea up as a possibility. That is all.” She glanced to Kate. “I also believe it would be nice to open the ranch up to hurting souls. People who need the quiet to escape and heal from whatever woe they have to face. As Christians we can minister to these people and share the gospel of Christ.”

  “Now you’re suggesting we turn this into some sort of revival grounds?” Devon asked.

  “And what if I am? Are you a heathen, Mr. Carter?”

  “No, Ma’am. I accepted Christ as my Savior a long time ago, but I never once felt called to be a minister.”

  “Neither have I called you to be one, Mr. Carter.” She stressed the formality of his name, and Devon cringed inwardly.

  Ryan pounded the tray with his hands and fussed for something more to eat or play with. Devon handed the baby a spoon without even realizing what he was doing. Jessica scowled at him and merely took the spoon out of Ryan’s hands. This caused the baby to pucker up, and as his bottom lip quivered, he began to cry.

  “Now, do you see what you’ve done?” she snapped at Devon.

  “I didn’t make him cry. You’re the one who took his spoon away.”

  “Ohhh,” she muttered and handed the spoon back to Ryan. “You and I are going to have to have a more private discussion of this matter, I can see.”

  “You name the time and place,” Devon countered, feeling completely up to any challenge Jessica could offer.

  “The point is,” Buck finally interjected, “Windridge is going to need some help. Arguing about it isn’t going to make improvements around here.”

  “I think if we sink our remaining capital into spring stock,” Devon replied, “we could have enough to sell off next year and make a good profit. Beef sales are doing just fine. The immediate need is for us to build back our capital—not to spend it on frivolous ideas that might never come to be worth anything.”

  “I disagree,” Jessica replied. “And since I now own Windridge and you are just the hired help, I believe I have the final say.”

  Gasps from Kate and Buck came at the words hired help, but Devon held his temper in check. “I may be the hired help, but I was hired because I knew ranching. Your father thought enough of my skills to honor me with his trust. I think that should say something for itself.”

  “It says plenty, and so does the rundown state of this ranch. If you are such a good foreman, Mr. Carter, why do I arrive to find the place in such a state?”

  Kate put a hand on Devon’s arm. “Jessie, you don’t understand all that has happened. Devon had little say about matters of finance. He is a good foreman for the ranch, knows cattle and horses, and is handy with repairs, but he didn’t have any say over the money. Your father was the one who made all the decisions—bad and good.”

  “And he’s gone,” Jessica said simply.

  “Not if you just pick up where he left off,” Devon proclaimed without thinking.

  Jessica stared at him for a moment. “I resent that implication, Mr. Carter. And I would further add that if you don’t like the way I intend to do things and if you think it impossible to take my orders seriously, then I’d suggest you find another place of employment.”

  “No, Jessie!” Kate declared. “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Now I want both of you to calm down and stop acting like children. A ranch takes a lot of people to see it through. We can work at this together and build it up, or we can destroy it. It’s pretty much up to us.”

  Jessica seemed to take heed of Kate’s words and fell silent.

  Devon threw down his napkin and got up from the table. “I have work to do,” he announced and stormed out of the room. Aggravating woman, he thought. Thinks she can just come in and solve the problems of the world by forcing us all into her mold. He slammed the kitchen door behind him as he made his way into the crisp October morning.

  Glancing skyward, he prayed. Lord, I don’t know why this has to be so difficult. I figured her visit would be trying, what with her being a city gal and all, but I didn’t figure on her turning this place into a dude ranch. I need some help here, Lord. He looked out across the broken-down ranch and sighed. And I need it real soon.

  Chapter 3

  Winter moved in with a harshness that Jessica had not expected. Living near the top of a high ridge caused them to feel every breeze and gale that came across the prairie. It also made them vulnerable to the effects of that wind.

  Jessica tried not to despair. She knew that any plans she had for the ranch would have to wait until spring, so she tried to busy herself around the house. Her friendship with Kate also blossomed as the women worked together. Kate gave Jessica her first lessons in canning, butchering, and quilting, and out of everything she learned, Jessica thought quilting to be the very best.

  “I think quilting is the only way to make it through the long, lonely winters,” Kate told her one afternoon. “I’ve passed many a winter this way.”

  Jessica stared at the quilt block in her lap and sighed. “I just wish I was a better seamstress. My stitches are so long and irregular. I’m sure I shall never be able to make anything useful.”

  “Nonsense. We all had to start somewhere. You do a fine job embroidering, and if you have a way with a needle, you can certainly learn to quilt.”

  “What do you do with all the quilts you make?” Jessica asked.

  “I give them to family, use them here, or just stack them up in the storage room.”

  “I’ll bet folks back East would pay good money to have a beautiful quilt like that one,” she said, pointing to the quilt frame where Kate worked.

  “This old flower-basket pattern isn’t that hard. Most folks could whip one up for themselves. Can’t imagine they’d pay much of anything for my work.”

  “But they would. I have several friends in New York who would be very happy to purchase something like this. They don’t sew—in fact, they’re worse than me when it comes to putting in a stitch. They love beautiful things, and your quilts would definitely fall into that category,” Jessica protested.

  Kate stopped in her tracks. “You honestly think folks would pay good money to buy my quilts?”

  “I do,” Jessica replied enthusiastically. “Kate, if you were willing to part with some of your quilts, I could ship them back to my friends and see what kind of money they could raise. They could send the money, as well as some additional materials, and maybe if they talked to their friends and families, they would have orders for additional quilts.”

  “That might be one way we could raise some money for the ranch,” Kate replied. “Of course, it wouldn’t be like selling off a steer, but every little bit would help. Especially after so many years of waste.”


  Jessica paused and grew thoughtful. “Kate, what happened with my father? I mean, what caused him to start drinking?”

  Kate stopped her work and looked sympathetically at Jessica. “I can’t really say. I know he was never the same after Naomi died. He loved that woman more than he loved life. Buck feared he’d kill himself just in order to be with her. He just lost all desire to go on, and we did our best to keep him among the living.”

  “But he seemed so capable whenever I came to visit. And the ranch, I mean, it never looked like this.”

  Kate’s expression took on a sorrow that immediately left Jessica feeling guilty.

  “Your father had a number of things happen to put him into despair. The losses were just too much for him to bear.”

  “What kinds of losses?” Jessica dared the question, fearful of what the answer might be.

  Kate pushed up her glasses and set her attention back on the quilting. “He lost a great deal of money, for one thing. I’m not really sure where it all went. I know he gave everyone a bonus, and when hard times came, we tried to give it back, but Gus wouldn’t hear of it. Buck and I just gradually added it back into the purchases we took on for the ranch. Gus was always helping one friend out or another—never thinking that the money might not be there in the future.

  “Then that summer, half the stock came down sick and died. That caused all kinds of problems. Drought came on us later that same summer, but we still had the fresh-water springs, so we didn’t suffer for water like most folks. Just when things seemed to be getting a little better, a late summer storm set the prairie on fire and burned most everything in its path. The bad thing was, it wasn’t just one fire, but a series of fires, and the cattle and wild critters had no place to run. For some reason we’d neglected plowing fire strips—those are wide breaks in the prairie where we don’t allow anything to grow. They can be very useful in containing fires because when they reach those places, the fires just sort of burn themselves out. But that year we just didn’t see to it properly.

  “The fire killed whole herds in some areas. We spent over forty-eight hours toting water up from the springs and watering down everything in sight and plowing wide strips around the main homestead. We were able to save the house and most all the outbuildings, but nothing else. The house smelled like smoke for months afterward. We lost so much that I thought Gus was going to up and sell it off for sure. But he wouldn’t sell—felt it was too important to stay on.”

  “Why?”

  Kate shook her head. She seemed reluctant to speak. “I think Gus worried about all of us. You, included.”

  “Worried? In what way?” Jessica couldn’t imagine that this powerful figure she’d always known as her father would be worried about anything.

  “He worried about whether we’d be cared for. He worried about Buck and me having a place to live. He worried about you back East with that money-grubbing social dandy.” Kate stopped and threw Jessica an apologetic look. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Jessica sighed and shook her head. “Why not? It’s the truth. Might as well tell it like it is.”

  Kate turned up the lantern a bit, then went back to work. “Well, he worried about you. He always feared that sending you back East wasn’t the right thing to do, but you must understand that he felt so inadequate to deal with you.”

  “Is that why he sent me in the first place?” Jessica asked flatly.

  Kate halted her work and pushed away from the quilt frame. “Jessie, I know we’ve never really talked about any of this, but with your father gone, I figure it’s all right to talk about it now.”

  “Then please do,” Jessica encouraged.

  “Your father intended to send you off to your aunt, then kill himself.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. He totally broke down with Buck and told him he had no desire to live. Buck had been your father’s friend long enough to realize that he would feel this way. He stayed with your father through the next months. Sometimes he even slept in the same room with Gus—on those nights that were particularly bad. Buck would make a pallet on the floor of Gus’s room and keep watch over him until he fell asleep. Those were usually anniversaries. You know, her birthday, her death day, their wedding day. Those were the worst for Gus.”

  Jessica nodded. It was easy to imagine the pain and suffering that those simple reminders must have put upon her father. It seemed funny that where Newman was concerned, Jessica felt only relief. Sometimes it made her feel guilty, but most of the time she was just glad to be rid of him. She tried not to hate him, because hating him seemed to make it impossible to love Ryan in full. And she wasn’t about to jeopardize her relationship with Ryan. He was all she had, and no one would take him from her.

  “When you married,” Kate began again, “your father feared for you. I remember him hiring a man back East to send him a report on Newman’s background and financial status.”

  “He did what?” Jessica questioned.

  “He hired a man to check into Newman Albright. The reports that came back weren’t at all flattering.”

  “He knew about Newman?” Jessica questioned, completely mortified that she’d not been able to hide the details of her married life from her father. She’d known that her father was aware of the gambling and the financial crisis Newman had heaped upon his family, but surely he didn’t know about the mistresses and other problems.

  “He knew it all. The women, the abuses, the baby. He made me promise to never say anything to you in my letters. It worried him sick sometimes. He used to talk to me about it—ask my advice. I told him if you felt like talking, you’d do it.”

  “But he never showed me any sign that he’d be open to my talking to him,” Jessica replied angrily. “Even when he knew me to be widowed, he never asked me to come home.”

  “But you never gave any indication that you would have wanted to come home. You stopped visiting, even though you were old enough to make your own decisions. You up and married without even asking him what he thought—”

  “Why should I have asked him?” Jessica interrupted. “He’d barely showed the slightest interest in my life.”

  “That’s not true, Jessica. Your father had detailed monthly reports from your aunt Harriet. It was her rule that you not be allowed to come to Windridge before you reached twelve years of age.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jessica replied, her anger somewhat abated. “I thought he didn’t want me here. I mean, he’s the one who sent me away.”

  “He sent you because he planned to end his life. Then when he finally had a reason to go on, you were well established with your aunt, and to force you to a life out here on the Kansas Flinthills seemed cruel. Besides, he’d signed an agreement with Harriet. Your father, if nothing else, was a man of his word.”

  “Would he have really asked me to come here? If Aunt Harriet would have been willing, would my father have brought me home?”

  Kate shrugged. “Who can say? We have no way of reliving the past to see what other choices we might have made. You have to stop worrying about what might have been and focus on what is. You have a fine son and a failing ranch. It’s the future that needs your attention.”

  “I realize that, but sometimes the choices for the future find their basis in the past,” Jessica replied.

  “True. I guess I can see the sense in that.”

  “Well, you ladies are gonna freeze to death if you don’t stoke up that fire,” Buck said, coming into the room with an armload of firewood. “I just put more wood on the fire in the baby’s room.”

  “Is Ryan still asleep?” Jessica questioned.

  “Yup. He didn’t even stir,” Buck replied. He put several thick logs into the massive stone fireplace and took the poker to it in order to help the wood catch.

  “He truly seems to
like Windridge. He’s slept through the night ever since our coming here,” Jessica said.

  “Well, he is a year old now,” Kate reminded them.

  “It’s so hard to believe,” Jessica said. “When I think we’ve been here at Windridge for almost four months, I can’t imagine where the time has gone. It seems like just yesterday we were sitting down to our first breakfast together.”

  “It only seems that way because you’ve hardly spoken two words to Devon since then,” Kate admonished.

  Buck chuckled but knew better than to join in the conversation. He quickly exited the room after replacing the poker against the wall. Kate watched him leave before turning her attention back to Jessica.

  “You really should work out your differences.”

  “He wants to run my life—and Ryan’s.”

  “He just cares about you and the boy. He’s good with Ryan, and Ryan really seems to love being with Devon. Why would you deprive the child of such a meaningful relationship? Devon’s a good man.”

  “Yes, I suppose he is, but I cannot have Ryan getting close to someone who may well be gone tomorrow.”

  “Why would Devon be gone tomorrow? He loves Windridge—loves it as his own.”

  “But it isn’t his. It’s mine!” Jessica protested, knowing she sounded like a spoiled child arguing over toys. “Devon has interfered in my son’s life, and he tries to manipulate and run mine. He tells me constantly how bad the finances are, but he never has suggestions as to how we could improve things. In fact, I’ll bet he’d even laugh at our idea to sell quilts back East.”

  Kate smiled. “I kind of laughed at that idea myself, so don’t hold that against Devon.”

  Jessica put her sewing aside and went to the fire. The warmth felt good to her. “I don’t want to hold anything against anyone, Kate. I just want to be given due respect. I want Devon to realize that I love this place too, and just because I didn’t get a chance to grow up here doesn’t mean I don’t have Windridge’s best interests in mind.”

  “So tell him that,” Katie urged. “He’s a reasonable man. He’ll listen.”