The Milch Bride

by J. R. Biery

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 wou
ld 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.”

  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 directi
on. 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.”