The Milch Bride

by J. R. Biery

  He held out the skirt and petticoat and she shook her head as she held them up in front of her. “I’ll need to hem the skirts.”

  She pulled on her plain cotton slip and the black skirt that was already faded to a soft charcoal gray. Finally, she tied a wide black grosgrain ribbon around her waist, unwilling to leave the house without any black on.

  She tied a large side bow on the lovely white bonnet he handed her, delighted when she tied the matching one on J.D. and he didn’t protest.

  Jackson hustled her through the door, even as she tried to delay to make the bed. The other men were already waiting by the buggy. James handed Jackson a large mug of coffee and a napkin with biscuits and salt pork inside as they quickly climbed into place on the buckboard.

  Hank leaned forward. “I can hold J.D. while you two eat. You sure look pretty, Mrs. Harper.”

  Hattie smiled and blushed, hiding beneath the brim of her bonnet as she turned and let the baby go into the waiting arms. Jackson opened the napkin and took a large bite out of the biscuit loaded with fried pork, then held it out for her to take a bite. He enjoyed her hesitation, but hunger won out and she leaned forward, placing her hand over his as she bit the biscuit. He noticed the exchange of knowing grins between the cowboys behind them. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel angry but strangely proud. He stared down at his pretty wife.”

  Although the blouse had been one of Donna’s favorites, it looked entirely different on Hattie. The high collar and lace edged sleeves helped to hide the rosy skin where his whiskered chin had scratched her delicate skin. Even J.D. bore rosy scratches on his tender cheek.

  Hattie leaned forward to swallow tepid coffee, and then accepted a second bite of biscuit. They ate, trading bites and sips until J.D. protested, and Jackson reached back to pull him forward. By the time they were finished, they were pulling into the church yard. Hattie brushed crumbs from the dark skirt, then when Jackson brushed her blouse, rubbed her mouth, she tilted her face up for his kiss. Instead of a kiss, Jackson sprang down, then held a hand to steady her as she stepped down. He handed her the baby, nodded at the men, then took her arm and walked up the stairs to the church. They were late.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  They were late, but services hadn’t started. Hattie thought he would drop her arm and leave her at the back pew where she had always sat with Rubye. But he didn’t leave her. Instead he kept her arm firmly locked with his and Hattie carried the baby, aware that his flowing lace trimmed gown and bonnet was mirrored by her own blouse and full bonnet. Her legs trembled as she heard the shocked whispers as people reacted to their passing.

  When they were at the front of the church, he indicated the center aisle and Hattie slid in, grateful for the feel of the solid oak pew at the back of her legs. When they were all in she sank down, and Jackson raised an arm to rest on the back of the pew behind her back.

  There were more angry whispers. From under the edge of the bonnet, Hattie glanced over at the Dawsons. They both faced forward as though unaware of the commotion around them. Hattie wondered what they must feel, having Jackson bring her in like this and set her in their daughter’s place. It must be horrible for them.

  J.D. tugged irritably at his bonnet, and Jackson leaned forward to tug the ribbon loose and remove the bonnet to reveal the soft brown curls of hair. The boy leaned forward and cooed at his grandparents.

  Both grandparents half-turned as the baby stretched to stand on his daddy’s legs, the bonnet hanging from a chubby fist. Hattie watched as they turned his way and smiled. She tried to see anger or resentment, but all she saw was the joy they felt in seeing their grandson. Maybe they were happy about the wedding, about her sitting here with Jackson. She smiled in their direction and both faces suddenly became rigid. Just as quickly, they changed back to smiles.

  Irene pulled a small red object from her drawstring bag and shook it lightly. J.D. bounced up and down and chortled, reaching out for it. Jackson passed the baby over to Charlie Dawson and Hattie relaxed as the grandparents held the happy boy.

  When the sermon began, J.D. stopped babbling and listened. Minutes later, every time the pastor paused, he would babble in the same sing-song pattern as the preacher. When Irene shook the rattle to distract him, he squealed with delight and tried to pull it into his mouth.

  Half-way through the sermon, J.D. had finished preaching and was busy teething on the gourd rattle when Irene Dawson blurted out, “Look Charlie, he has a tooth.” Unfortunately it was during a pause, and Irene covered her mouth in embarrassment as several people giggled.

  Before the closing prayer, the preacher paused meaningfully and everyone became still and quiet. “I would like to present to you for your congratulations, our newest couple. Please rise, Mrs. Harriet Stoddard Harper and Mr. Jackson Davis Harper.” The whispers intensified.

  When the murmurs died down, the preacher continued. “Congratulations too, to the young Reverend J.D. Harper, on his first tooth.” This time the response was laughter. “Now, bow your heads for the closing prayer,” the preacher added, sternly.

  Hattie managed to refasten J.D.’s bonnet on the way out, but there was no way he was going to release his new rattle. To her surprise, several people waited outside to congratulate them, mainly the small ranchers. She noticed the Dawsons, Thompsons, and other town’s people were avoiding them. A couple of the town ladies made a point of standing and waiting, only to turn away as they approached, in case they might miss the snub.

  But Jackson kept his arm around her and the baby and she held her head up, wanting him to be as proud of her as she was of him. He had presented her as his wife to the entire congregation, to all the people in town who mattered. If he could stand the whispers and snubs and still look proud and happy, then she could do it too. J.D. loved the attention. Used to being passed around at the ranch, he expected everyone to be eager to talk to him and want to play.

  She heard and savored the comments as people moved toward their buggies. “Such a beautiful baby, such a lovely family.” Each kind word buoyed her up and with Jackson as armor, she smiled and chatted and let the snubs and slurs bounce off.

  The only one she wanted to see was Rubye, who she realized was missing for some reason. Had the Dawsons told her to stay home, had she wanted to avoid them, was she sick?

  “I had expected to see Rubye.”

  “We’ll need to give her time to accept us. I’m sure if you can spare him, James can go by and find out why she’s not here. In the meantime,” he leaned closer and whispered, “Our little Bronco needs a change.”

  Hattie smiled and carrying the baby, walked to the buckboard. On the lowered tailgate, she changed him, then took the lacy blanket and baby and let James Boyd lift her up onto the seat. Jackson pulled James aside and after tipping his hat, the older cowhand took a horse from one of the men and rode into town.

  In minutes they were all loaded, Jackson climbing onto the seat beside Hattie who had covered the nursing baby with his lacy blanket, his bonnet once more hanging from his hand. In minutes, Jackson was able to snag the bonnet from the limp fingers of the sleeping boy.

  As they drove out of the church yard, she saw Charles and Irene finally emerge from the church. It was obvious the couple had not wanted to emerge and have to talk to them. Hattie again wondered what Donna would have wanted them to do. How could her parents feel differently when she sat beside their daughter’s husband, held her baby, wore her blouse and bonnet, even sat in her place at church? She knew it had to hurt them.

  <><><>

  The next morning it was nearly dawn when the baby finally woke. Jackson took the time to change him before carrying him to slip into the bed between them. He couldn’t remember being so happy, ever. His son was busily nursing, keeping one hand on Hattie’s breast, the other pushing Jackson away. Jackson laughed, nuzzling him and kissing his shoulder. “She’s all yours, is she partner.” J. D. lifted his defending hand to push at his jaw, moving away at the prickle of whiskers on his soft fingers.


  Jackson kissed his cheek, then kissed Hattie, tasting her joy on her lips.

  When J. D. finished and lay there cooing and laughing between them, they spent time, enjoying and playing with him. When Jackson smiled at his relaxed bride, he reached out to caress her cheek, wanting to capture her smile. J.D. reached up to grab his hand and keep him away. “I think he’s telling me you’re all his.”

  Hattie yawned sleepily, tired from the long day of cooking alone and feeding the hands. James had stayed in town. She reached across to touch Jackson’s face, cradling his jaw. “I thought you shaved.”

  “Hours ago,” he growled, leaning closer in to rub his jaw against her sensitive neck.

  J.D. kicked and Jackson reeled back, moaning. “Uh-oh, got me bronco!”

  Hattie surprised him by leaning down and kissing his hurt. Instantly, he rose to attention and she sat up and stared at him, her eyes widening. “Did I do that?”

  “Yeah, let’s see if the boy can go play in the crib so we can play in bed. Where’s his pretty pony when you need him?”

  Minutes later, the baby was contentedly playing with his favorite toys and Jackson and Hattie were quietly playing under the covers.

  <><><>

  Monday morning, she heard James talking to Jackson after breakfast. “The Dawsons asked her to stay home, they were afraid she would rush over and apologize and make an embarrassing scene.”

  “Does she plan to come back to us?”

  “Yeah,” he hesitated and Hattie strained to hear what was said, but when she saw and heard Jackson laugh she blushed and stayed busy in the kitchen washing dishes. Did everyone know what they were doing? It made her remember the night before and blush even more. No, that laugh had to mean something else.

  The big pot of water boiled over on the stove and she scooped some of the water out into the dishpan. James stood in the kitchen door. “I never pickled or seen it done – et a few at the store. Do you need help?”

  “Yes, I forgot to ask for a jar lifter. I just thought Rubye would have one. Do you think you can figure out something we can use? I need to dip the jars and lids first in the boiling water, pack and fill them with brine, then boil them filled for a few minutes – till the vinegar inside starts to boil, then fish the jars out to cool, and pray they seal.

  “What do you do if they don’t seal?”

  “Eat a lot of pickles for a few days.”

  He nodded. “I got just the tool.”

  While he was gone, she checked her fresh picked cucumbers and dill, carefully added the zinc lids and glass jars into the boiling water. Then she prepared the pot of brine, carefully measuring salt and vinegar and waiting for the second pot to reach a boil.

  James came in with a strange device, but when he looped it around a jar and tightened, he lifted the jar easily from the water. Hattie took the jar in a towel and set it at the end of the counter, while James fished the remaining jars out and added more jars. She dropped garlic, dill, and pepper into the jar, and then packed it with fresh cucumbers.

  J.D. started to fuss, and she hurried in to make sure he was all right, then came back to finish the jars. She cleaned her hands before topping the first jars with the boiling brine, then positioning the heavy zinc lids on the wiped mouth of the jars, she twisted to tighten them. James had removed the last of the clean jars and put the filled jars into the hot water bath while she packed the remaining jars.

  By the time the last jar was done, she was soaked with sweat, but the counter was filled with gleaming blue jars of pickles. Hattie smiled at James who was seated out at the dining room table, telling stories to a happy J.D.

  “I’ll take him for a while.”

  “What do you want me to do with the boiling water?”

  “As soon as I get this little man fed, I need to do the laundry. When it’s safe, I guess add it to the washtub. We’ll be out in minutes.”

  She burped and kissed the full baby, but J.D. was not in a mood to nap. Hattie was delighted with the fenced porch and put him down where he could watch and talk to her as she worked. Now he could sit up with only an occasional roll, it was possible to leave him propped up by pillows on his usual quilt. It seemed to take forever to finish the pile of clothes, bedding, and baby things, but finally she was able to sit down on the porch and hold the happy boy.

  When the first hands rode up, she realized she hadn’t made lunch and how messy she must look. James stepped out on the porch with a pitcher of cold water and a damp towel and Hattie stared up at him. “Thank you, but what are we going to feed them?”

  “Made beans and corn bread, won’t be as good as your feed, but they won’t starve.”

  “Bless you James. Let me get in and wash up before Jackson gets home. I know I must look a fright.”

  The older cowhand stared at her pretty flushed face and grinned. “Scare the man to death.”

  She bolted up and James took the full baby, just as Jackson rode into the yard and she raced into the house and the bedroom. Jackson dismounted at the porch and opened the gate, dropping the reins and bounding into the house after her. “Something wrong?” he asked James.

  The cowboy shrugged and J.D. called after his daddy. Hank stepped onto the porch and said, “Hey cowboy,” and the baby happily swung into his arms instead.

  “Where’s the calf?” Hank asked. “I see you got the castrator in here.”

  Jackson didn’t wait for an answer but crossed the house, pulling open the bedroom door, concerned only with making sure that Hattie was all right.

  Hattie stood by the dresser, her face flushed and her hair uncombed. The bowl full of cold water and her sweat-stained unbuttoned blouse revealed her intent. Hattie blushed even redder.

  Grinning, Jackson closed the door.

  As soon as he grinned her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, cowering, clutching her blouse together.

  His mood changed again. He rushed to her side, knelt down, eager to pull her into his arms. But he froze as he saw her shaking with tears running down her face. “Hattie,” he whispered, his voice soft and low as he balanced on the balls of his feet, his arms open, but afraid of what might happen if he touched her. “Sweetheart, look at me.”

  Finally she raised her head and stared at him. Groaning, she raised her arms to him and he pulled her into an embrace, kissing her cheek and tasting the salt of her tears. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just suddenly…”

  “Hush, no explanation needed. Let me get you something to eat while you finish what you were doing.”

  Outside, he quietly hurried. In minutes, he dished up two bowls of beans, buttered two slabs of cornbread and set it atop the bowls, only adding onion to the top of one. He let James hand him a full glass of milk and tuck the pitcher of additional milk under his arm.

  Without a word of explanation and only a quick wink at J.D., he disappeared back inside.

  Hattie finished the second braid and let if fall over her shoulder. She tucked and buttoned the throat button of the stained blouse.

  Jackson set both bowls on the dresser while she took the glass of milk and then rescued the pitcher from under his arm. “You want to have a different blouse?”

  “I don’t have anything ironed; they’re both on the line.”

  He opened the closet and rummaged through, pulling out a red checked shirt and skirt. Then opened the other side and pulled out a chemise and petticoat. He walked around to where she was perched on the side of the bed, noting the glass was half empty and she was eating the beans that had the slice of onion on top. He set the clothes down and sat in the rocker to eat his beans while they were still warm.

  She set her bowl down, shed the dirty clothes with her back to him, and quickly donned the chemise and blouse, turning around only when she had it nearly buttoned up. Smiling, she held up the petticoat and skirt. Both drug along the ground.

  “You need more clothes. The closet’s full. Sooner or later you’ll have to hem them all.”

  She sat
there, primly eating cornbread and beans, only pausing to wash it down with the milk. Jackson refilled her glass, then took a deep drink.

  She shook out the skirt again, noticing the wide ruffle at the hem. There was a similar ruffle on the bottom of the slip. She rolled across the bed and rooted through the sewing basket until she found the small pair of scissors. Carefully she used the tip to snip a thread on the petticoat, then slowly and carefully worked to detach the ruffle. This time she didn’t turn her back, but dropped the skirt and slip quickly before donning the clean petticoat. Standing up, she lifted a foot for his inspection.

  Jackson nodded. “Perfect.”

  She finished the petticoat, and then repeated the procedure on the checked skirt. When she slipped it over her head, she turned neatly so he could fasten the back buttons. He did slipping, an arm around and turning her to face him.

  “I’m sorry for frightening you.”

  “It was the look in your eye, and the voices of the men in the other room.”

  He tugged her onto his knee, the smile back. “I’ll try not to leer again.”

  She smiled, leaned closer to kiss his cheek, and then stood. “Do you think it’s too baggy?”

  He rose from the chair, putting the empty dish down inside hers. He tugged at the band of the skirt, pulling away more than six inches of excess fabric. The blouse was equally loose and baggy.

  “Maybe I can figure out how to take them up too.”

  “I’ll get Donna’s book. She learned all of it from the book, since Irene Dawson never did her own needlework.”

  She stared at the pretty blouse and skirt noticing the cross-stitch pattern on the skirt pockets for the first time. Jackson pointed at the top and Hattie turned to see the yoke.