A Horsewoman for Harlan

by Barbara Goss

  A Horsewoman for Harlan

  Barbara Goss

  Copyright © 2021 Barbara Goss

  All rights reserved.

  Cover by V. McKevitt

  Editor: Elise Sherman Abram

  All Scripture is quoted from the King James version of the Holy Bible.

  All the characters described in this story are fictional. They are not based on any real persons, past or present. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, is coincidental and unintended.

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Russell, Kansas, 1875

  A crowd surrounded the orphan train, but Harlan Tanner pushed his way through. Once he'd made it to the front row, he saw a line of children of all ages. People were grabbing the ones they wanted. Most of the young lads had already been taken. Harlan looked at some of the men who had selected the lads and saw they were mostly farmers. He needed a lad to help on his horse ranch. He scanned the remaining boys, and stepped up to grab the last young lad’s arm.

  “I’ll take this one,” he said clutching the lad.

  A woman came forward wearing spectacles. “Come this way. We have paperwork for you to sign, and I’ll give you his file.”

  Harlan moved to pull the lad gently with him, when he heard a cry. He turned to see that, hanging onto the lad’s shirt, was a little girl. “Who’s this?” he asked the lad.

  “My sister. Can she come, too? She’s scared, mister.”

  “How old are you?” Harlan asked.

  “Thirteen,” the boy answered. “I’m all my sister has left in the world.”

  “I really hadn’t planned on two children.” Harlan looked at the little girl. She had brown hair and big watery blue eyes. Her little hands shook as they clung to her brother’s shirt.

  Harlan bent down and asked gently, “What’s your name?”

  The little girl buried her face into her brother’s shirt.

  Harlan stood and spoke to the lad. “What’s your name?”

  “Clay Emery, sir, and that’s my sister, Millie. She’s four.”

  The spectacled woman stood tapping her toe. “Please, sir. We have a lot of paperwork to give out.”

  Harlan sighed. “I’ll take them both, then.”

  The woman went through the paperwork with him. Other workers did the same for other people who’d chosen children from the orphan train.

  He needed help on his horse ranch, and the lad looked capable. He hadn’t wanted a girl. What would he do with her? He’d give her care over to his housekeeper. He didn’t feel right splitting them up. The little girl probably would have bawled her eyes out, ruining any chance of being chosen by a family, besides.

  The children rode in the back of the wagon between bales of straw. They were quiet, but Harlan noticed that the girl’s hands never left her brother’s shirt. When they'd reached Harlan’s house, he jumped down while Clay stepped down from the wagon, holding the girl in his arms.

  “Martha, I’d like you to meet Millie and Clay,” Harlan said. “Children, this is Mrs. Donovan, our housekeeper.”

  Martha Donovan looked from the children to Harlan with puzzlement. “You brought two?”

  Harlan nodded.

  He saw Martha’s eyes travel to the tiny female hands gripping her brother’s neck and nodded. “Two children will be twice the fun. I have cookies and milk in the kitchen—why don’t you two hurry in and find a seat, and I’ll be right in.”

  Clay put Millie down, and the children scurried into the kitchen.

  Martha put her finger to her lips and whispered loudly, “We have only one spare bed.”

  “Hmm.” Harlan scratched his head. “I think there’s a mattress in the attic. I’ll haul it down and put it in the spare room. In the meantime, I’ll build them a bunk bed.”

  “They should be in separate rooms eventually,” Martha said.

  “Right, again.” Harlan rubbed his chin. “Why can’t Clay use the bunkhouse? That is, once his sister lets go of him.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea. Will Pedro mind sharing it?”

  “I know he won’t since most nights he’s sleeping elsewhere and barely makes it in to work on time, but I can’t reprimand him—he’s the only horse breeder around.”

  “Good, then. I'd better get them cookies and milk, then I’ll show them around.”

  Chapter One

  Two years later.

  Millie, now almost six-years-old, climbed up beside Clay. He flicked the reins, and they barreled down the dirt road. When they reached the old clapboard schoolhouse, Clay helped her down from the wagon, then turned back toward the ranch. Their father had allowed him to go to school for two years, but now, Clay had wanted to work fulltime on the ranch.

  Millie’s school bench partner was Flora, a red-headed girl who always wore stylish dresses while Millie wore plain, premade dresses from the general store. “I like your dress,” Millie told Flora as she touched the delicately laced cuff.

  The girl grinned. “My mother made it. She makes all my clothes.”

  At lunchtime Millie sat beside Sarah who always chattered during lunch, and Millie chose to sit with her so she wouldn't have to talk much.

  “My mother is taking me to the opera house in Hays, Saturday. She made me the prettiest dress to wear. I’m so excited.” The girl rattled on and on, describing her dress while Millie listened. It seemed to her as if everyone had a mother except for her.

  Millie opened her lunch box.

  “What did your mother pack for you?” Sarah asked.

  Millie hated whenever someone asked her something like that. “I don’t have a mother.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot,” Sarah said. “Who packs your lunch, then?”

  “Our housekeeper,” Millie replied.

  “Do you have a father?”

  “Yes. He raises horses.”

  “I’m sorry you don’t have a mother. Mothers are neat because they kiss and hug more than fathers do. They make the best meals and desserts. My mother makes all my clothes, too. My father is strict, so if I do something bad, my mother covers for me. I love my mama.”

  Millie munched on her sandwich, simply nodding along with Sarah’s words, but they hurt her deep inside. She’d been in an orphanage since she was six-months-old, but Clay had been old enough to remember their parents before they were killed by renegade Indians in the middle of the night. Millie shuddered each time she saw an Indian, remembering what Clay had said happened to their parents and three of their siblings.

  According to Clay, after the Indians had killed their parents, they'd set the house on fire. By the time Clay had awoken, the fire had been so fierce, he couldn’t get to anyone except for her. Being the oldest, it had been his job to keep an eye out for his baby sister, so her basket had been placed beside his bed. When he awoke to furious flames, all he had time to do was grab the basket and run. He tried to go back in for the others, but it was too late. Clay had told her their names were Joey, Katherine, and Jesse.

  She loved her new father because he'd allowed her to be adopted with Clay. Their names were now Clayton and Millie Tanner. Her father had been cool toward her at first, but he'd slo
wly become a loving and even doting father. She smiled when she recalled their last fishing trip.

  “What are you smiling about?” Sarah stopped talking long enough to ask.

  “It’s nothing. Just remembering the fishing trip my Papa took me on last weekend.”

  “Is he strict like my father?” Sarah wanted to know.

  “He has rules, but I wouldn’t call him strict. I love my papa, and he gives me all the kisses and hugs I need.” It was true, but she still yearned for a mother. Martha was simply an efficient housekeeper who cared for her because it was part of her job.

  Millie finished her lunch, thinking about the possibility that her father might marry. He was good-looking and had a ranch that paid well enough. She didn’t think they were rich, but they always had good food, and her father always gave Martha money to buy her and Clay clothes. Clay got a weekly paycheck for his work on the ranch. He was saving up to travel one day. He’d always wanted to see the world. Surely, her father would be a good catch for someone.

  After school, she waited on the front steps for Clay to come for her. Sometimes, he was late if he was busy. She watched as the parents came for their children. Mostly, the parents were mothers, as the fathers were working. She saw Sarah’s mother greet her with a hug. Flora’s mother picked her up and swung her around while Flora laughed with glee. Millie wanted a mother, too. Her father didn’t court anyone, and he didn’t seem interested. All he cared about were his horses—and them, of course. Millie sighed.

  On Saturdays, Millie helped Martha with housework like shaking out the rugs and dusting. Millie daydreamed while working.

  Martha came up behind her. “You’ve dusted that same spot on the bureau ten times. What’s ailing you today? Aren’t you feeling well? Shall I call Doctor Grant?”

  Millie sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Martha, but I have a big problem.”

  Hands on hips, Martha said, “Now, what kind of problem could a six-year-old girl have?”

  “I wish I had a mother.”

  “Wishes are for fairy tales. I wish I had a lot of things. If the good Lord wants you to have them, He’ll bless you with them.”

  Millie thought on that for a moment. “That’s not always true. Papa wanted horses, and God didn’t give him the horses. He had to buy them. I wish I could buy a mother.”

  Martha sat on the settee and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit down, child.”

  Millie sat and looked up at the housekeeper, waiting for more words of wisdom.

  “You are so right, Millie. God doesn’t always give us things. Instead, he gave us brains to figure out how to get things, and then he helps us get them. We have to sort of meet Him half way. We can’t just sit around and wish for this or that. We have to apply ourselves.”

  “All right,” Millie said. “So, if I want a mother, I have to find one for Papa, and God will help me find the right one. Right?”

  “Exactly.” Martha rubbed her chin. “Now, let me think of a single woman in town for your pa.” She snapped her fingers. “There’s Mary Finch... oh, no—she’s got to be forty by now. Let me think.”

  “I looked around at church, Martha, and I didn’t see any young, single women for Papa.”

  “Most of the single women are in the East, and they don’t come out West unless someone invites them,” Martha said. “A lot of the cowboys are getting mail-order brides. We could get your father one of those, but you never know what you’re getting. James Tinker sent for one, and she stole all his money and ran off. Abe Foster got one that was pretty enough, but she took one look at him and got back on the stagecoach.” Martha laughed. “No one is letting him forget that.”

  “I want a mother, but Papa would never go for a mail-order bride. I heard him tell Pedro that he’d never marry because he liked his freedom.”

  “Yes, child, you’re right. I’ll keep thinking on it while you get back to work.” Martha stood. “Don’t forget the rugs that need a good shaking, and don’t forget to empty the chamber pots.”

  Millie had just finished setting the table for supper when Harlan and Clay came in. Martha was putting the hot dishes of food on the table.

  “I don’t know what we’ll do, Clay. Pedro is the only horse trainer around. I know how to train them, but it would take me months to tame just one colt or filly.”

  Clay added, “I wouldn’t know where to begin training a horse, Pa.”

  “What’s wrong with Pedro?” Martha asked.

  “His mother is sick, so he left for Texas this morning. I have at least twenty colts and fillies waiting to be trained. Untrained horses don’t bring in much money. I was planning a fall horse auction.”

  “I should have had Pedro teach me how to train them,” Clay said.

  Harlan clapped Clay’s back. “Training horses takes a long time to learn, and Pedro did it so well. I guess all we can do is put an ad in the newspaper and pray.”

  “Well,” Martha said, “you can’t figure out a problem on an empty stomach. Wash up and dig in. We’ll all pray for a horse trainer.”

  While Martha washed and Millie dried the dishes, Martha said in a whisper, “While your Pa and Clay were talking, I got a brilliant idea.”

  Millie looked at her. “You did?”

  “I came from a small town in Pennsylvania called Redstone Township. There’s a family there who owned a livery. Alf, and his wife, Florence, who was a horsewoman and even raced horses when she was young, are friends of mine. She and I have exchanged letters for years—but the best thing is, this couple has a daughter who is also a horsewoman. She’s been one since she was twelve-years-old. Flo says her daughter is a pretty woman, and to her chagrin, is still single because all she does is work with horses. I could write to Flo and find out if her daughter would accept a job here. Flo and Alf, are getting older and have slowed down, and the livery has been sold, so the only horses they have are their own personal stock. I'd bet their daughter would love to come here to work with Harlan’s colts and fillies.”

  “What’s her name?” Millie asked. She felt excitement for the idea. “If she came, it wouldn’t be like we were trying to marry her to Papa, but maybe they’d just fall for each other. If I were a grown woman, I’d fall for Papa. He’s handsome, kind, and goes to church every week.”

  Martha laughed. “I don’t recall the woman’s name, but she has stellar qualifications, child. I’ll write Flo tonight, and we can post it after church tomorrow.”

  Chapter Two

  It was a beautiful spring afternoon and another day when Elise Ansell felt lifeless and bored. She missed the livery and the large horse ranch they’d had since before she was born. Horses were her life. All they had now was a small home, a barn, and one horse for each of them. Her favorite horse, Buttercup, had died a few months ago, and her father had bought a beautiful appaloosa in her place. It was a nice horse, but it had already been trained, and it wasn’t Buttercup. How she missed training the young horses.

  “There you are,” Florence Ansell called as she walked across the lawn to where Elise sat beneath a large elm tree.

  “Hello, Mother.”

  “Smile,” her mother coaxed. “It’s a lovely day, and I thought you'd be riding your new horse. Have you named him yet?”

  “No, not yet.” Elise sighed.

  “What’s wrong with you lately?” Her mother frowned. “We want our cheerful daughter back.”

  Elise sighed. “I miss working with the horses is all. I’m afraid it was the only thing I really was good at. Now it seems like that nothing else matters.”

  “Elise! That sounds like melancholia. I’ll need to call Doctor Fredricks if you don’t shake it off.”

  “I’m fine. I’m simply bored. There just isn’t anything else in life I enjoy doing except working with horses.”

  “What about the two young lads who asked to take you for a Sunday drive? It would do you good to go and have some fun.”

  Elise grimaced.

  Florence clapped her hands. “I know: l
et’s go shopping. I know you love that.” Her mother held out her hand for Elise to take.

  Elise shrugged. She took her mother’s hand and got to her feet. “All right. I did order a new pair of riding boots. Maybe they’ve arrived.”

  “That’s my girl,” Florence said. “We’ll pick up the mail, too. We have not checked on our mail in a week.”

  “It’s warm today—why don’t I tie your hair up?”

  Elise stood while her mother fussed with her long, brown hair. “I have pins in my skirt pocket,” Elise said, handing them to her mother.

  “Why do you continue to wear a riding skirt when you aren’t riding?”

  “Ouch!” Elise cried.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stick that pin into your scalp, but you get me so angry.”

  “I’m not fond of dresses. I’d wear pants like men do if I could.”

  “Elise, you’re such a pretty girl—why don’t you let me buy you some frilly dresses and dainty slippers? There’s a barn dance next week at the Winfields’.”

  “And if I get the notion to ride a horse, I'd have to change out of the frilly dress,” Elise answered.

  “Mother, are we riding our horses or taking the buggy?”

  “Let’s ride,” her mother said cheerfully. “It will give you a chance to get used to your new horse and perhaps name him.”

  Elise picked up her new boots. She couldn’t wait to get home to try them on. They brightened her day somewhat. The new horse was faultless, she had to admit. The ride had been smooth, and he was easy to handle, but he wasn’t Buttercup. She named him Apache since he looked like a horse an Indian might ride.

  She carried the boots in one hand and strolled along the wooden walkway to meet her mother at the post office.

  Her mother met her halfway, waving a letter in her hand. “I’ve a letter from Martha! I haven’t heard from her in a few months. I can’t wait to open it." She looked down at the envelope. “Oh, dear. It’s addressed to you, Elise.”