by J. R. Biery
She wanted to answer back, he’s always hungry, but she bit her tongue. She sniffed the good smells that lingered on the empty plates. The table was set for eight and seven of the plates sat with only crumbs and smears of grease to indicate they had ever held food.
Rubye bustled into the kitchen with a tray of stacked dirty plates and glasses. Hattie draped the blanket higher on her shoulder, aware of the sharp tension in the room. The housekeeper bustled back for a second load of plates, wiping down the table this time, then carried the last load to the kitchen.
Hattie could feel the baby already slowing down in his feeding and automatically stroked his cheek to cause him to remember to eat, just as she had her own weak baby. But he had never suckled like this boy, never bawled from hunger, never drank so deeply. A wave of sadness swept over her again, a desolate sense of loss. Was it her fault he was sickly, that he died?
The sound of dishes being washed in the kitchen was very loud. Hattie raised the baby to examine when he whimpered. Even though his eyes were closed, his little face was scrunched into complaint and he made a small, whining sound.
Rubye bustled back from the kitchen, setting a small skillet of food along with a tall glass of milk down before Hattie. “Did you burble him?” she asked accusingly.
Hattie raised her eyes to the woman, “Burble?”
The older woman sat down on the chair beside her, took the clean cloth she had used to grip the skillet, shook it out, and then draped it over her shoulder.
“Got to burble a baby so he don’t get colicky.” She stretched him against her shoulder, and then very softly patted his back.
Hattie laughed, surprised at the loud burp from the tiny baby. Jackson smiled proudly as though the boy had just recited a poem.
The housekeeper gave him another couple of pats and a smaller noise and a splash of milk decorated her shoulder. Satisfied, she leaned the child down in her arms. “Now he’s ready for bed.”
Rubye dabbed at his pursed mouth with the clean end of the towel. “You’d best eat up, it won’t take another warming, probably dried out too much already.”
Hattie tried to find a smile for the brusque words but the woman was gone. Timidly she broke off a pone of bread, hard and dry, just like the cook said. But it tasted so good she leaned forward and grabbed a fork to get at the fried pork and potatoes, the thickened beans. Washing it down with the cold buttermilk, she enjoyed it all.
Then she heard the loud voices, whispering, but all the angrier because of the hissing low tones.
“Where do you plan for her to sleep, out with the hired men?”
“What’s wrong with in here, near the baby?”
“In your wife’s bed? You plan to put that tramp in your Donna’s bed and her not cold in the ground yet? If you do, I’m leaving.”
Hattie waited for Jackson’s voice, calming, pleading, but when he answered the whisper cut like a knife. “Then leave, but I’ll be damned if I’ll lose my son because of what people might say. I’ll get a cot set up in the study for me.”
Rubye’s shocked silence was all the angrier.
“The men will like that, seeing her when they come in to eat.”
“Hush. We’ll work all that out, it‘s the boy that matters.”
Rubye clearly wanted to argue more for she stomped past, glaring at Hattie. Minutes later she returned with the package of clothes and the sack holding Hattie’s few possessions from home. This time her chin jutted forward and she didn’t even bother to glance at the quiet girl.
Hattie felt the chill of resentment and swallowed the pride that made her want to leave this place where she was unwanted.
Jackson had remained at the door a minute then walked to the dresser. Slowly he pulled out one of his wife’s nightgowns, hesitating a moment to ball it up and bury his face in, breathing in Donna’s scent. He shook out the gown and draped it across the bed, then glanced around the room. He could still feel her presence and hear Donna’s voice. To the unasked question, he thought he heard her answer. “Take care of J.D., whatever it takes.”
Hattie carried her empty pan and glass to the kitchen, looking about at the big black stove, the full wood box. She had already marveled at the pantry, stocked with food yet still with room enough for her to bathe. When she stepped back into the main room, she again counted the eight chairs at the long table, and then stared at the other half of the long room to the big stone fireplace. Along the back of the house there were three rooms, the bedroom where she could hear more arguing and two other rooms. Curious, she stepped closer to the open door in the middle. The desk and book shelves made it clear it was Jackson’s office. The third door was closed, but she knew it had to hold Rubye’s bedroom.
Jackson’s voice made her jump, aware that she was guilty of snooping. He nodded toward the bedroom and she followed him to step inside. Weary though she was, she was aware of another presence in the room. According to Rubye, it was his wife’s room. Across the end of the bed hung a yellow nightgown, clearly the object of the argument she had overheard. She reached out to finger the soft thin cotton, aware of being watched.
“I could sleep in the front room on the settee,” she said.
He shook his head. “You need to be here with the baby; the gown is for you.” Then he closed the door.
A gas lamp sat on the bedside table, softly glowing. Hattie stood and stared in the mirror. Her hair had worked loose from the braid and looked neither combed nor as wild as when she had been in town. She unbuttoned the dark shirt waist and looked for a peg to hang it up.
The room contained a high bed with curved headboard and footboard, the dresser with its mirror, and a tall wardrobe. All were made out of the same dark, red stained wood. Hattie removed and folded her new clothes, pulling the soft gown over her head before removing the new undergarments. She folded them and stacked them on top of the other clothes. On one end of the dresser sat the paper bundle of store things and beside on the floor the canvas sack from the house. Maybe she should put away her clothes.
Looking over her shoulder, she slid a dresser drawer open. The top drawer was full of baby clothes. Each garment was soft, clean and new, little caps, sweaters, gowns, booties and blankets. The other end held diapers like the one she had first removed from the baby. She lifted the soft white cloth, noticing the neatly hemmed edges and the blue initials J.D.H. in the corner. Had his mother picked two names, a boy’s and a girl’s?
Suddenly her eyes were pooling with tears and she sank back onto the bed. She lay, pressing her hand against her mouth, willing herself not to sob. She felt icy cold suddenly, unwilling to crawl under the covers, helpless to move.
The sounds were soft, little hiccupping noises. Hattie rolled off the bed pausing to pull back the covers before approaching the crib. Tiptoeing she gazed down at the stirring baby. He was covered by a blanket so soft and white it seemed to glow, making his skin look very red and new in contrast. So tiny and helpless, he was totally dependent on her now.
Gently she gathered him into her arms, then laid him on the bed and made quick work of changing him. She moved a pillow to form a barrier on the side of the bed, then rolled the crib up against the pillow and bed, even as the baby continued to fuss. Satisfied that he wouldn’t roll out when she fell asleep, she walked around the bed and climbed into the other side.
Cuddling him close, she unbuttoned the loose gown and began nursing him. Even as he fed, she let the sorrow slip from her. So what if his mother had been rich, had time and means to make so many lovely things for him. The thing she had wanted to give him was her love. Now Hattie would have to be the one to hold him, feed him, and give him the love he needed to grow. Cocooned in the soft bed, she felt content, promising the shadows in the room that she would do just that.
CHAPTER FIVE
Voices woke them, although Hattie had been up and down with J.D. twice during the long night. Even though her own baby had not been as loud or demanding, he had taught her how to grab sleep between inter
ruptions. She felt rested but groggy-headed.
As soon as she had tended J.D. she dressed. This time she took the time to brush her hair and coil it atop her head in a loose bun secured by pins, pins that like the brush, still held dark hair that must have been Donna’s. Fed and dry, the baby fussed about being left behind. Hattie picked him back up realizing she would have to find a way to put him down or grow an extra set of arms.
Primly buttoned to the chin, she opened her door, surprised to be stared at by seven sets of eyes. One of the cowhands held out a chair, and Hattie took a seat, casting a questioning glance toward Jackson. He ignored her and the men turned back to eating and talking, but she could feel most of them peeking glances at her.
Rubye walked behind her, set a cup of coffee by her plate, then took her plate and filled it with grits, eggs, and salt pork. She set it down and when Hattie reached out for the last biscuit, one of the hands held the plate out to her, another moved the sorghum pitcher closer, and a third passed the butter dish.
The housekeeper grunted behind her, and Jackson made an echoing sound. In minutes he had assigned all the men tasks, including three he handed her list to. He ordered them to return to the Stoddard ranch to bring her cattle, as well as the chickens, two mules and saddle horse that were still in her barn. He told one to drive the buckboard with orders to load the rocker and crates for the chickens, as well as any feed left in the barn or any food left behind in the house.
Hattie interrupted. “We have a wagon and harness in the barn, you won’t need to take the buckboard.”
He arched a brow and glared at her. Obviously Jackson was a man who didn’t want to be corrected.
Hattie blushed, embarrassed at how little they would find to pack. She had already taken everything of value, her mom’s cook book, the family bible, and dad’s guns. While Jackson was loading her books and guns, she had removed the brick under the stove and pocketed the twenty-two dollars and change that was still hidden there. She had been tempted to pay for her clothes yesterday, a show of pride that seemed meaningless to a woman in her circumstances. Instead, she had kept quiet, taken the clothes as part of her compensation, and held the money for future emergencies.
Rubye set down the coffee pot and moved over into the chair beside Hattie as soon as one of the cowboys stood up. She held out her arms and Hattie was surprised at how reluctant she was to surrender the baby.
She worked on breakfast, aware that Jackson had come around the table, standing over the housekeeper to look at the baby, as though making sure he was still the same.
Hattie was glad she had taken the extra time to change his gown and add a pair of the soft blue booties. When Rubye unwrapped the tight blanket, they were not the only ones to smile at the waving fists and little booteed feet. A couple of the cowboys cooed and Jackson reached out a hand, delighted when a wet little fist grabbed a finger and tried to guide it toward his mouth.
“Hungry, boy?”
Hattie set down her coffee cup. “He ate all night, and has already had breakfast.”
Jackson nodded, still enjoying the wet gnawing of his son on his finger. “Well, you better eat up so you can keep up with him.”
One of the hands made a joke to one of the others and Jackson glowered at him, “You men wait outside for me.”
As soon as they left he turned on her. “My apologies for my men, but maybe it would be best for you to eat in your room or wait until they aren’t here to come out, especially if you intend to draw attention to your bosom when they are present.”
Hattie rose in a flourish. “I did nothing to warrant that comment from your men or from you. But if you want me to eat in my room and stay hidden, I’ll be glad to do it.”
“I think it would be for the best. Your reputation precedes you. There’s nothing you can do to change it. Men will be men. J. D. needs you to survive, but I don’t need to run interference between you and a bunch of randy cowhands.”
Hattie knew her face was on fire, since it always flamed when she lost her temper. She should just bite her tongue and storm into the bedroom, but she had never been one to run from a fight.
“I’ve done nothing to warrant my reputation. Watching my father be beaten nearly to death, robbed, then tied and forced to watch my rape by three drunken cowhands is not my fault. If you are like the rest of the gossips in town, then so be it. But if you cannot guarantee my safety here, you and your son had better find another wet nurse.”
The words were brave but she was trembling. Hattie felt the tears gathering and clenched her fists at her side, her nails digging into her palms.
Once again, Jackson doubted the gossips. He had seen the evidence of broken furniture and the damaged body of her father, the pathetic scrap of a baby. But what kind of town was Star if it would let a young woman be brutalized and do nothing to her attackers? It just couldn’t be true.
He stared at her small angry face, gritted teeth, and tear brightened eyes. She was a feisty little thing. He recalled the streaks on the face of Rafe Hogue, the limp of Silas Sweat and the ugly red spots on the cheek of Able Sweat. He had a feeling he knew who had given the marks to them. What was the truth? What had Able called to Silas, “Got you again, brother.”
Rubye held the baby who was emitting a half-hearted squall and moved to the other side of the table, staring from one to the other. “Hey, is this row necessary?”
Jackson lifted his hat, set it on his head. “I’ll set my men straight. It would still probably be easier for you if you ate before them or after they leave.”
He stopped at the door, tipped his hat at her. “One thing I can promise you Miss Harriett Stoddard, as long as you’re in my house, you will be safe. We made an agreement, and J.D. still needs you. I’ll make sure the men know that.”
The door slammed shut and Hattie sank into her chair. The baby gave a little whimper at the loud noise. Rubye walked over to the fireplace, then turned to pace back.
Hattie stared at the half-eaten plate of food and tried to make the knot in her stomach relax by breathing deeply. Slowly she raised the coffee cup to her mouth and drained the cold, bitter liquid. Determinedly she ate, swallowing anger, shame and frustration with each bite.
Hattie carried her dishes to the kitchen, standing to stare out the window for a minute. Three men rode out of the yard south, hopefully they were heading to her ranch. Then Jackson and the remaining three rode off in the opposite direction. She washed and rinsed her dishes, then dried them, looking around, she attacked the others waiting to be washed. The activity helped restore her calm.
Glad that Rubye was still happy to hold J. D., she finished clearing the table and washing up, then found the broom and swept out the kitchen and dining room. The hardest part of the agreement would be staying inside, out of sight of the men. She was used to tending the animals, riding fence, and spending most of her day out-of-doors. But she had also been her dad’s ‘little housekeeper’ from the time her mother died when she was nine. As long as she stayed busy, she could do this.
She scooted the chairs back, making sure she caught all the dirt that had fallen off boots under the long table. She was stooping to brush the last pile of dirt into the pan when the whimper changed in tone and Rubye stood, bouncing the babe on her ample shoulder.
Hattie said, “Just a minute. She returned the broom and pan and rinsed her hands, then came back to take the baby, but they were no longer in the main room.
Hattie walked to her bedroom, glad she had made the bed. Rubye was finishing with changing the baby who was in full squall. Hattie extended her hand, feeling a strange clutching in her chest with the tremulous sound of desperation in each cry. Without hesitation she leaned forward and put her face against his, kissing his cheek and crooning to him. Immediately, the pitch of his cry softened.
Rubye stepped back and Hattie gladly raised the baby to her full breast. Perhaps it was his constant nursing; perhaps the fact that she’d actually taken the time to eat three meals in a row, but she c
ould tell the difference in the amount of milk that was flowing at his ravenous suckling. She would be able to do this, this baby would live. She used her left hand to cup his little bottom and fit him into the curve of her right arm against her body.
“Go on, lay down with him. I’ll bring you something when the vittles are ready at noon. If you wait and eat after the men, there won’t be enough left to keep you fed.”
“Thank you, Rubye,” Hattie muttered, “Is there water in the pitcher?”
The other woman raised her hands to her hips as though ready to comment on people who wanted you to tote and fetch for them.
Hattie stood up and the baby pulled loose from the nipple and started to protest.
Rubye shook her head, “never mind. We’ve a pump in the kitchen, I’ll bring you some.”
Hattie settled back, bracing her back against the headboard and swung her legs up. “I’ll get it next time. I’m just thirsty. Also I need to wash out his clothes and hang them out to dry.”
Rubye stopped at the door, one hand again on her hip. She was going to make another protest, but mumbled under her breath, “I’d like to see that, missy.”
“When he’s finished,” Hattie added.
When J.D. finally quit, Hattie made sure to place a cloth over her shoulder before coaxing a burp from him, remembering the sour smell of milk on her gown this morning. No doubt about it, babies were smelly little creatures. She downed a glass of water, then filled it again. J.D. tried to raise his head up, his head wobbling on his weak neck. She cupped his head and before he could change from a fuss to a cry, went ahead and offered him the other breast.
This time he suckled only a few minutes before dropping into exhausted sleep. “You just wanted to know it was there, didn’t you little piggy,” she whispered stroking his cheek to make sure he was finished.
She ran her fingers over his scalp, playing with the soft dark hair there. She could probably put him in his bed and get back to helping Rubye. She knew the woman resented her, for reasons too numerous to list. Perhaps, if she helped her with her work, she wouldn’t resent her as much.
