The Milch Bride

by J. R. Biery

  Watching the eager boy, Hattie carefully walked the pony across the seat of the horsehair stuffed sofa, making each hoof ring and the ribbon mane and tail flutter. Finally, she raised it high and kissed its little painted nose.

  She held it out to J.D. and he clapped his hands and squealed in delight. As soon as he grabbed it, he bit it hard.

  “Dr. Padgett says babies grow teeth after six months, though some get one as early as three months or as late as nine months. I’m sure he’s getting his first tooth.”

  While Rubye was content to hold the baby, Hattie got up and folded all the clean clothes and hurried to put them away. She held the full basket when she heard a familiar buggy pulling into the yard.

  Hattie sighed, glad that Rubye was outside with the baby. She waved to the couple, then sped around clearing up the quilt, the sewing basket and scraps. She also stopped in front of the mirror to comb and neaten her hair and check that she was buttoned straight and neat.

  As Hattie hurried to the porch she saw Irene Dawson reach for the baby and saw him drop his new toy as she lifted him. Immediately he began to howl and tried to grab for it.

  “What on earth is the matter with him?” she asked Rubye as the boy twisted around in her arms, almost toppling to the ground.

  Charles Dawson stepped forward and grabbed the toy and put an arm around the squirming boy. He held out the toy, “Is this what you need, boy?”

  J.D. swallowed the tears that had filled his eyes and chortled as he grabbed the toy, clutching it against his belly.

  “Good Lord,” Irene Dawson fumed. “So much fuss over nothing.”

  They swept into the house, settling in the two leather chairs by the fire. Rubye excused herself. “I’ve got to fix some food, the men will be in soon, please excuse me.”

  For a few minutes, all were quiet. Hattie folded her hands, self-conscious of her pricked and dyed fingers. Finally Irene Dawson broke the silence when she tried to take the stuffed horse to examine it. J.D. howled in outrage.

  Hattie watched the contest until Irene finally gave up and released the little horse. J.D.’s triumph rang out as he shook the horse, making the mane and tail wave. When Charles Dawson tapped one of the little black hoofs, the pony jingled and the baby laughed.

  “Why is he drooling so much?” Irene demanded.

  Hattie hesitated, never having been spoken to directly before. “Dr. Padgett lists it as a sign that he’s teething.”

  “Nonsense, he’s much too young for that.”

  “Dr. Padgett says they can cut teeth as young as three months. He’s nearly four and a half months and he’s been fussier than usual, just like the book says.”

  “Well,” she rose, clearly annoyed. “At least you can read. Where did he get this disgusting toy?”

  Hattie bit her tongue, breathed deep until she could control her anger. “I made it.”

  “Of course you did. Here, take him, he needs changing.”

  “He’s getting stronger,” the banker added as he tugged at the horse and J.D. pulled it in closer.

  Hattie swept forward, again curtsied and took the baby, wrinkling her nose. “I’ll change him and bring him back in a few minutes.”

  “Did you ever get his weight?” Irene called after her.

  “Eighteen pounds, last week at Thompson’s store.”

  “So little,” she complained.

  “I’ll bring you the baby diary and the book so you can check the charts in the back.

  Hattie laid the baby in the crib, then carried out the books for them to read. Without a word, she returned to the baby, cleaned and dressed him, then nursed him a little before walking back to the grandparents, the baby riding on her hip.

  Charles Dawson smiled up and took the baby, letting him stand on his legs while his wife studied the baby advice book.

  “Very well,” she declared primly.

  Hattie knew he was two pounds more than Padgett predicted, strong and plump, but not fat. He grew stronger every day, playing with the cowhands and his Daddy every evening. She knew the woman would be bragging about his teething so soon. Donna’s child was more than perfect, even if Irene didn’t like to think he could have messy pants like a normal baby.

  At the sound of the men arriving, Hattie walked out to the kitchen, shrugging when Rubye raised her eyebrows at her. She took the bowls Rubye handed her, then counted out spoons and returned to the dining room to set the table.

  Rubye carried out the big pot of chili and Hattie scurried behind her with the cornbread and onions. Rubye invited the Dawsons to join them for supper as usual.

  Hattie didn’t wait for the refusal, just hurried back for the pitchers of cold water and sweet milk as Rubye hurried back for two more bowls and spoons. No sooner was the table set, then the men began to file in, faces still dripping from being dunked and splashed by cold well water to remove the worst of the dust from their hands and faces.

  Hattie added the crock of butter and the bowl of pickle relish and retreated toward the bedroom.

  Jackson took the baby from Charlie Dawson, smiling at the boy. “What you got there big fella?”

  Hattie turned and stared, trapped by curiosity, as J.D. raised his little horse up to his Daddy. Jackson held it, turning it around, studying the blue ribbon mane and tail, the little painted face. When he tilted it, he heard a bell, and J.D. reached out to pat it, making another hoof ring. When Jackson shook it, the baby chortled and the cowhands laughed.

  “That’s a pretty pony, fella.” J.D. pushed it back at him and Jackson raised his eyebrows.

  “He’s waiting for you to kiss it,” Hattie called. The Dawsons stared at her sternly. Jackson blushed, and then kissed the nose of the pony.

  Everyone laughed. J.D. took his pony back and bit it hard on the nose. The cowboys clapped.

  Rubye bustled about filling bowls and glasses, even as Hattie disappeared into the bedroom. When Rubye reached James Boyd’s chair, she paused. “He needs some toys. Maybe someone could whittle something for him, too.”

  James looked up at her. “Sure, I reckon I could, if you’re asking Miss White?”

  Rubye bustled on, ignoring the looks between the cowhands.

  <><><>

  Finally, the company was gone, and Hattie emerged to clear the table and sit down to her own bowl of chili and wedge of corn bread.

  She had heard all the talk as she glimpsed the table through her open door. The talk about rustlers and lean times for the settlers was hard to ignore. Dawson had confided that more than usual were coming in, asking for loans. She noticed that he didn’t say whether he granted any to the desperate men.

  Most of all, she was surprised to see Irene Dawson seated at a table of cowhands. She didn’t eat, merely took turns holding J.D., studying the boy and how much he was enjoying his toy. Hattie wondered what it must feel like to lose a daughter and only be able to touch her when you saw or held your grandson. So what if the woman was conceited and full of airs. She loved J.D. Even the stuffy banker came because he loved the little boy. If anything ever happened to Jackson, heaven forbid, at least she knew the couple would make sure J.D. grew up well cared for and loved.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was Saturday night when she first felt a wave of cramps. The first time in months, but she knew the morning would bring the return of her monthly flow. J.D. was so fussy, even the pony and the hand-carved lamb that James had made for the baby did nothing to soothe him. Hattie could see a little blister near the center of his lower gum. Instead of providing comfort, nursing irritated him. She had spooned some warm oatmeal in him that morning, to help fill his tummy, but he had wanted to nurse, at least until she gave him her breast. He would nurse a minute, give her a hard bite, and then cry in frustration. She had been near tears as well from the sharp little bites and the need to empty her full and achy breasts.

  Finally, she pumped some milk into a bottle and tried to feed him that way. But he bit the rubber nipple savagely and the milk dribbled out of h
is mouth, then came too fast and made him cough. Finally, only when they were both exhausted, had he relaxed and nursed briefly, wincing and stopping when his gum hurt too badly, but unwilling to give up long enough to cry. Eventually they both slept.

  Sunday morning, Hattie rose to cook some apples into sauce for the fussy baby. Balancing him on her lap, she alternated feeding his thin gruel and the still warm applesauce. Hungry, he ate it all as quickly as she could spoon it in, rake it off his chin, and spoon it in again.

  Rubye came in, tying an apron around her waist, stopping to enjoy the spectacle of J.D. eating. When he gave an ‘hmm’ sound, both women laughed.

  “Rubye, the baby is fussy, and I just started my monthly. J.D. and I will have to stay home.”

  <><><>

  The older woman stared at them both. It was true that the baby was eating and at the moment looked content, but there had been lots of tantrums the last few days, (something that was totally out of character for J.D.) with lots of crying and complaining. Rubye couldn’t imagine the preacher or congregation would be happy to have a squalling baby at the service. As for Hattie using her flow as an excuse, well it was a first since she had come to the ranch.

  “I thought your Dr. Padgett said you wouldn’t have a flow while you were breast-feeding the baby?” Rubye barked.

  Without realizing it, Hattie lowered her voice to a whisper. “He said most mothers wouldn’t. He said it was possible, just not likely to be regular and monthly. Mainly, it was advice that a woman was unlikely to be fertile and conceive again as long as she was still nursing the last baby. None of that relates to me.”

  She snorted, “Well I reckon everyone will understand, especially if they’ve heard all the fussing and hollering the last day or two. And they only have to look at you to know how bad you’re feeling.” She flung the last words as she pranced into the kitchen to prepare Sunday breakfast.

  Hattie wiped J.D.’s face and rose, shocked to see Jackson standing at the door to the study, staring across at them. Her face flushed, just at the thought of what he might have heard, praying their voices had been too low for him to hear the last of the conversation. Flustered, she grabbed J.D. and hurried into the kitchen. I can finish dinner if you want so it’s ready to serve when you get home.

  Rubye blew angrily, “Don’t worry yourself. I’ll put on that big rump roast before we leave. If you add potatoes and some vegetables to the big pot about ten, it should all be ready to eat when we get back.” Hattie nodded and took off for her bedroom, juggling J.D. on her hip again, a toy clutched in both hands.

  As she entered the room, she heard a loud wail. Frightened, she sank down into a chair and turned the baby so she could see his face, searching for blood or any sign of injury. When she checked his mouth, she could see the little blister had popped, probably when he bit down on the hard edge of his little carved lamb. When she stared in his eyes she saw him grin, then he turned to nuzzle her breast.

  She felt the milk start to flow from her heavy, swollen breasts, soaking her shirt before she could even open the buttons. As the baby relaxed against her, suckling contentedly, she felt so relieved. The tight pressure in her throbbing breast eased along with the frustration that had built the last two days when she had not been able to meet his needs. Almost in tears, she smiled down at the sweet baby in her arms. She looked up in shock to see Jackson standing there, staring and smiling down at them both.

  Horrified, she realized how exposed she was, and raised her hand to hide herself.

  Jackson continued to smile and walked over to the crib for a blanket to hand her.

  Hattie took it, blushing as she became aware she had revealed herself again in reaching for it.

  He looked sheepish. “I heard the baby scream, I was worried about him.”

  “The blister on his gum broke. He’s finally able to nurse again.”

  “Does that mean the tooth has come through? Will he …” He swallowed in embarrassment, had almost asked if the boy would bite her.

  Rubye came in with a plate of eggs and bacon, plopping it down on the dresser. “Eat it!” She turned and stared at Jackson. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I heard the baby scream.”

  “He heard the baby scream.”

  They answered at the same time.

  “Harrumph!” she snorted. “Are you ready for a plate of breakfast?” Rubye asked Jackson, but looked pointedly at Hattie, “Do you want coffee, or just milk?”

  “Both please.”

  “All right,”

  Jackson started to tell Rubye about having a backache, but it was Sunday and he couldn’t start the day with a lie. “Can I have coffee too?”

  Rubye headed out and as soon as she turned, Hattie looked up at him. “You were about to say?”

  He shook his head. He managed not to say anything, but then thought, what would it matter if she knew. “Some of the hands are staying home from church with me. We want to prepare for the rustlers, try to catch them if we can.”

  “Do you think you have a chance?”

  He shrugged. “They rustled a few head last week while folks were at church. We want to be ready in case they come again.”

  Rubye set coffee and milk on the dresser, handed Jackson a mug. “Your breakfast is getting cold. Get out of here.”

  As she herded him out, she asked. “You might what?”

  He repeated what he had told Hattie. “Some two-legged coyotes are dodging the cows with calves in the south pasture. Plan to keep a few of the boy’s home this morning to help exterminate them.”

  “So you’re staying home on a Sunday morning, not going to church?”

  He glared at her tone. “I just told you we are. I’ll have James Boyd drive you and the other men into church.”

  Men began filing in for breakfast and Rubye stormed back into the kitchen, banging pans in case Jackson didn’t know what she thought of his plans.

  Rubye left to get ready for church before the men finished eating and left James Boyd to clean up. The two of them and the newer hands finally left for church.

  Rubye cast a suspicious glance back at the house. It felt strange to be leaving so many behind. Especially since that girl had stayed home the same morning as Jackson. But even as they wheeled onto the track toward church, she saw Jackson and four of the men ride off south from the ranch. Satisfied she turned back around, wondering how she would satisfy Irene Dawson when her bundle of joy didn’t arrive.

  <><><>

  As soon as they were out of sight of the ranch, Jackson had the men split up to head for the four quadrants and look for signs of any intruders.

  Coming over a rise, Jackson saw the fleeting shadows of a rider and spurred his horse forward. To his left he heard the loud braying of a mule, quickly joined by another. Henry and Pepper for sure. He unsheathed his rifle and cocked it while riding along the ridge, reining at the end of it.

  He sighted at the end of the draw, holding his breath. The first to emerge were the two mules and Hattie’s old horse, Nugget. Alongside appeared two riders, who were both hazing the lead mules and a dozen cattle. Calmly Jackson took aim and fired. The lead rider dropped the reins and sagged forward but managed to grab the mane and pommel of the saddle to hang on. Jackson changed his aim, ejecting the shell and cocking as he swung to the left. The other rider screamed and pulled to the left, cursing as he whipped his horse into the woods. As he disappeared, Jackson fired, levered in another shell and fired again. He grinned as he heard a loud scream.

  Jackson shoved in more shells, yelled ‘whoa,’ and watched as Henry stopped on a dime. Pepper followed and the cows bunched up behind them and stopped. From behind, Jackson heard riders and waited, hoping it was Cliff or Hank. He breathed a deep sigh as he saw Cliff’s tan hat and buckskin pony.

  “Careful partner, I hit one, he rode off down the trail, but I only winged the one that rode into that brush thicket.”

  Cliff drew his rifle and gingerly rode around the cows.


  “Reckon we better get these animals back,” Jackson said as he rode around the other side of the herd.

  He reined up and stared around, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. He reached out and grabbed Cliff, pulling him down between their horses as shots rang out. They stood trapped between their horses, the cattle bawling. Jackson swept off his hat and slapped the flank of the nearest cow, yelling giddy-up in a loud voice.

  Henry spun around and charged back up the draw, the cattle following, the two men crouched down between their horses, hanging onto the stirrup as they ran. Two more shots snapped branches overhead and pinged off the rocks of the cliff.

  “Must be a third one. I thought I saw a rider before I came out on the ridge.”

  “Do you need to go after him?”

  Jackson climbed back in the saddle, Cliff looked around, then mounted too.

  “Let’s wait until the other men get back, then we’ll trail them. Let’s get these animals back to the ranch, first. I want to get the sheriff out and a couple of the neighbors.”

  “Damn rustlers. Why’d they take the mules?”

  “They couldn’t get the cows to move without them. Hey, where’s the horse?”

  Cliff pulled rein, waited until all the animals were past, then wheeled his horse back the way they’d come. A gun barked, and Cliff spun around again.

  “Let’s cut a blaze, boss.”

  Jackson rode, moving the cattle ahead of them.

  “I figure if we catch them, we’ve got enough evidence to string ‘em up. I want witnesses though.”

  “Sure, when we get back, I’ll send Tony to town, Hank to church, see who’s still there that might want to ride on the hunt.”

  Jackson had the stock back in the paddock and the rest of the men sent to neighboring ranches for more men to form a posse. He knew he had wounded two of the rustlers, maybe worse. Although all he could see were a dozen cows that should never have been hazed from their pasture, somewhere there were more missing Harper Creek cattle. Only when he found them and the rest of Hattie’s rustled animals, would he be satisfied. Seeing the men hung for it would be some comfort.