by J. R. Biery
The older woman nodded. “Can’t say the same for the rest of the house. Took forever to clean up the spilled food and grease in the kitchen. The pantry is a real mess. James and I put up some of it, but they dumped your spice jars and we figured you would want to see to that tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I will. Did they mess up anything in the cellar?”
“No, I don’t believe they knew to look there. Don’t worry about rising early, James and I will see to breakfast and the men.”
“Thank you, Rubye, goodnight,” Hattie and Jackson said, smiling at each other because they had spoken the same words at the same time.
Hattie followed Jackson and J.D., holding the basket to her side as she leaned to blow out the lamp on the dinner table.
Wordlessly, Jackson blew out the lamp on the dresser and took her hand. In the dark bedroom, they undressed each other, and then soundlessly fell into each other’s arms. Afterward, they talked in whispers.
“I’m sorry about how I reacted, when we came home.”
“I thought you were going to faint again.”
She shook her head. “It was the vultures, the destruction, it reminded me of riding up to our ranch and finding the dog shot…” her voice cracked, “…and Dad bleeding, beaten unconscious. I just couldn’t bear reliving all of it.”
She realized she was weeping again when he pulled her into his arms, kissing her cheeks as he cooed to her, kissing her eyelids and finally her mouth. She felt as though he were drinking her sorrow with her tears.
Coming up for air, she shook her head. “I’m not usually an emotional or weepy woman. You must think me a real goose.” She turned so her back was to him. “I didn’t cry, after, after … I just couldn’t let go. I guess I knew if I fell apart, there would be no one to care for Dad, look after the animals that were left on the place. Then when I learned I was pregnant, I was so full of rage and hate.”
“Hattie, you don’t need to explain.”
“They came back to our place once, did I tell you that,” she added sitting up.
“No, I didn’t know.”
“I was ready with the rifle. I hit one of them; I figure it was Silas since he was walking with a limp at the store. Another I barked with splinters from the porch post. But I didn’t hit Rafe. He’s the one, the one I have to kill. He ….” Her voice trailed away.
Each word was like a knife to him but he knew it was like any festering wound, she needed to talk to let all the poisonous hurt drain away. God grant him the strength to hear it all. “You can tell me,” he whispered, his voice raw from swallowing back the rage and tears.
She shook her head, “I’ve wallowed in pity long enough Mr. Harper.” She relaxed back into his arms.
“Why, why do you think they did this?” Hattie asked.
He rubbed a hand lazily over her bare back, loving the soothing feel of her silky, damp skin. “I think someone sent them to do it. They did it because they wanted to punish us for the wedding.”
“Wedding?” she laughed. “You mean the shotgun wedding where we both were threatened with being expelled from church, pulled before the preacher, and forced to marry.”
Jackson shook his head, nuzzling her neck until she curved, spooning into his body. “Are you sorry to be Mrs. Harper?” he whispered, nibbling at her ear.
Hattie snuggled closer, trying to capture the hands that continued to skim over her skin, then boldly cupped her breasts and smoothed the softness of her stomach and lower.
She gasped as he entered her again. “No, Mr. Harper, I’m not sorry.”
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Hattie knew she should still feel sad, but it was a beautiful day and with Rubye and James both to help, all the chores were finished by mid-morning. She sat with the cracked spice jars and the swept up pile of spices on a newspaper. For the first time this morning, she felt the bitter frustration she had experienced yesterday. If there was one thing she didn’t cotton to, it was being a victim. After the night she was attacked, she had vowed not to be again. But if Jackson and all his men couldn’t prevent raiders from doing this, then neither could she, and being angry about something that couldn’t be changed was a waste of time. At least today she had her father’s belt and gun around her waist and the rifle loaded and above the fireplace. If they came today, she would be ready.
She listened to J.D. pounding on an empty pot with a wooden spoon in the space between the kitchen and dining table. Patiently Hattie fitted pieces together until she had two lids ready to glue and three bottles that had cracks or corners knocked off waiting for the porcelain sealer. She smiled as Rubye told J.D. he was a great drummer, only to hear him pound even louder. Carefully, she applied the glue and set each piece aside to carefully dry.
The spices were a different problem. After several minutes, she decided picking out dill or cinnamon might be doable, but it would definitely take more time than she had. She removed the three big nutmeg pieces and put them in their intact jar. J.D. was already getting restless. He had managed to turn the pot over and she rose to hand him his wooden toys so he could drop them in the pot and then pull them out to drop again. Quickly she moved to the kitchen where she found the tea sieve and then returned to sorting spices. She folded the corner of the paper, then poured them all through the sieve onto a new sheet of newspaper. With the ones remaining, Hattie shook the sieve for a few more minutes, then pulled the lighter dill from the top of the little basket. She next put the bark fragments into the newly glued cinnamon jar with the bigger bark curls, and finished by returning the cloves to their own jar. Three down.
J.D. was complaining loudly and it was Rubye who moved, this time dumping the pot and turning it back over. The tall, gaunt woman stood bent over the boy, then handed him his wooden spoon. When he did nothing, she gave it one good rap, then handed him the spoon again. Hattie smiled as he began to bang away.
This time she went for the flour sifter, removed it from the flour bin in the pantry and carried it to the table. Again she shook the remaining spices together and poured them through the finer screen. Once again she shook the sifter, holding the newspaper underneath. This time she collected star anise in the top layer, black peppercorns in the next, and red pepper flakes in the third layer.
Unfortunately the pile remaining was all powder. She hated to waste anything, but even the best cookbook in the world would probably not have powdered cumin, mustard, turmeric, mace, and cayenne, all in one recipe. She took a break to change and feed the tired baby, asking Rubye if she had any ideas.
Rubye smiled as she removed the cornbread from the skillet. “Nope, I can’t believe you were able to sort out so much with just two strainers.”
J.D. leaned back and stared up at her. Hattie smiled. “Did you just think what I did?” He smiled before going back to nursing.
As soon as he was full, Hattie put J.D. back to work with his toys and the pot and carefully put up all the refilled jars and strainers. After wiping down and setting the table, she folded the last newspaper with all the powder inside. She moved the remaining jars and dusted her hands. Finally she folded and tore six small squares of newspaper. Then she carefully folded a cone from the last newspaper sheet. Carefully she poured the spices in the cone. She pinched the tight end shut and slowly and carefully tapped on the side until she saw the top layer was uniform in color, then holding the cone over the first square, she released it until the color changed, pinched it, then moved to the next square, to repeat all the steps. Men began to filter in and Rubye set food on the table, but Hattie continued until the last layer was emptied onto its square. Jackson had entered and stood behind her as she finished up.
“Well, I’ll be.” Jackson said as he held a kicking J.D.
Hattie smiled and relaxed. “I think it’s as good as I can get it. Maybe the next apple pie will taste a little funny with mustard as part of its ginger, but it will save having to replace all these expensive spices.”
Quickly she smelled and tasted each square then put it in
the appropriate jar. Most were finished eating by the time Hattie joined them to eat and take J.D. on her lap to feed mashed up beans and potatoes, as well as crumbled cornbread in milk. While he ate, he happily kicked his legs and bounced. Jackson reached out a hand to grab one small foot and kicking leg. “Whoa, fella, easy there.”
J.D. looked up at him and grinned mischievously and kicked with the other foot. Jackson grabbed the other little foot and held it firmly.
“Slow down, bronco,” he said more firmly and J.D. stopped and gave him a scowl. Jackson ignored the look and leaned down to whisper to the boy. “You need to be gentle with the ladies, partner.”
As though he understood, J.D. stopped bouncing and Hattie finished feeding him and eating her own lunch.
“I think I can finish mending the sofa, then we’ll only have the office to clean up.”
Jackson nodded. “James is going to have to carve a new leg and rail, before I can finish the repair of the chair. The porch is done and the men have the coop back together. If it weren’t for the damaged clothes, and the lost animals, we’d be back to normal.”
Hattie nodded. The pause on the lost animals made her pause as well. She missed the big yellow dog, his grin of welcome and bounce of excitement when he would see her and the baby. There had been no reason to kill the sweet animal. But there had been no reason for them to shoot Shep, their old cow dog either. No reason for beating her father, robbing them, raping her. She shuddered, then straightened. “I think with Rubye’s help, we can use some of the fabric to make a quilt, especially with the rag bag from James.”
“Have you ever quilted before?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No, but I never repaired a sofa before or hemmed a dress until last week. With Rubye’s help, I’ll figure it out.”
Later, Hattie opened the door onto the office. The furniture was simple: a drop-leaf desk, a big desk chair, and a long book case. An empty, bare cot sat along one wall, the end legs knocked down. Only the desk had not been overturned. Unlike her bedroom, which had two, this room had no window.
Hattie left the door open for light. She pulled the mattress from the broken cot and set J.D. on it. His gown had been shed with its spatters of beans and applesauce, his bare body reassuringly soft and pink as he rolled, waving his fat legs in the air until he found a favorite toe to nibble. She loved the happy noises he made and she babbled along with him. “Let’s set the furniture straight first.”
She pushed the bookcase back upright and lifted the chair. She moved the leaf that formed the desk upright and was relieved that it wasn’t broken and would still fasten. She lowered it again to reveal the clutter of papers and objects pulled from the tiny cubbyholes inside. She set the inkpot upright, relieved that it had stayed corked and she wouldn’t have to try to remove spilled ink. Finally she carefully lifted and moved the frame for the cot and hollered to James. She left it outside in the sitting area near the chair so he could see if he could repair it too.
J. D. had abandoned his foot and watched her wrestle the awkward frame of the cot through the door before rolling over. He sat with his arms pushing down, his body raised, as though any minute he would push on up and help her. “Okay, son, what do you think, books next?”
At his complaint, she stepped through the door and returned minutes later with his pony, cowboy and rattle. He rolled back over and took the rattle. Eager to wave it and see if it would still make noise, he screeched loudly when it did. Hattie knelt for a second to kiss his bare belly and check that his diaper was still dry. “That’s right, you little rattlesnake, shake that thing.”
He did and she picked up a handful of books to set on the middle shelf. Tilting the cover to read them in the dim light, she arranged the books on ranching along the top shelf, sorting them by topic: animal husbandry, western cattle breeding, crop rotation, and the practical rancher’s handbook. She wished she had been in this room before, to know what order Jackson had shelved them before they were dumped on the floor. But the mattress and laughing baby reminded her why she had not. Before two weeks ago, this had been Jackson’s quarters and she would never have dared intrude.
On the second shelf, she arranged books that had clearly been Donna’s. A cookbook, apparently unread, Dr. Padgett’s Advice for Young Mothers, and several other textbooks from the Academy for Young Women in Dallas. Hattie stepped out to recover the book she had used last night. The encyclopedia of ladies needlework had dozens of pages that were dog-eared. The last section on embroidery had a scattering of patterns that had been traced from the pages, slipped back inside as markers. One was of a beautiful blue bird in flight.
Hattie tilted the page toward the lamp light, tracing the design with a finger as she recognized it from all the gowns and bonnets it had been embroidered on. The drawing in the book was labeled, “the blue bird of happiness.” Beside her, Hattie heard J.D. baby-talking to his toys, shaking the little red rattle. Softly she whispered into the silent room, “It worked, Donna, listen to him. You gave him the elusive bluebird of happiness.”
She closed the book lovingly and carefully placed it on Donna’s shelf. By the time J.D. began to whine and complain, Hattie had organized and returned all the books, even stacked on the bottom shelf the copies of Godey’s Lady Companion magazine and a stack of farm catalogs on Jackson’s side. It was difficult, because she wanted to read it all.
She was surprised by the number and variety of novels. At home, they had only had a Bible, her Mom’s cookbook, and a volume on western ranch land that had been her father’s favorite reading. Although she had told Rubye that her mother taught her everything, she realized she had gained a great deal of information from the old German cookbook that she had read and reread, looking for traces of her mother in the pages. For a minute she debated carrying her two books to add to these, but decided she should ask Jackson for permission first.
Finally, Hattie began stacking the scattered papers onto the desk. She had managed to gather all from the floor when J.D.’s whine became full-out crying. She found him sprawled across the mattress, obviously too tired to sit or roll any longer. He was wet, as she’d expected, and she quickly took care of him, kissing the tears away, cleaning him and picking up the toys before settling down in Jackson’s desk chair to nurse him.
In another hour, the men would be back for supper. Frustrated, she had wanted to finish straightening the study today. As the baby quieted, he became curious about his new surroundings. She watched him look around, before snagging a paper off the desk. Delighted with the noise, it took several minutes before she could wrestle it away and return it to the pile. Defeated, she cautiously closed the desk and carried the baby out to the dining table to finish nursing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It was two days later before she returned to the study. By then, she and Rubye had made a pattern and cut most of the pieces for a quilt. They had argued heatedly for a while, between the patterns of Blue Bonnet or Lone-Star. James had declared the war had been settled quicker than they were ever going to agree on a pattern. Rubye had argued that it was known by everyone that it was bad luck to sleep under a single star quilt. Hattie had argued that if they were going to do that much work, they ought to use the prettiest pattern they could find.
They had compromised. Their quilt would have a center, large sixteen-pointed star, formed from alternating triangles of the dark striped cotton from her dresses and lighter, brighter scraps from the backs and sleeves of several of the torn cowhand’s shirts. Apparently, the prettier a man’s shirt, the more likely it was to be ripped or tattered in a bar-room or bunkhouse brawl. They would alternate smaller squares of six-pointed stars made from scraps of her shirts and a single color from each cowboy’s one against the white from her ripped petticoats, alternating with plain squares of the dark fabric. The dark squares according to Rubye need to be quilted in the blue bonnet flower design. Although a single blossom, it looked impossible to Hattie.
It seemed to Hattie that the m
illion little pieces would never all be cut and organized, let alone sewn together again to make the quilt top. They were still arguing about whether to back it with a blanket and an old sheet, Hattie’s idea, or to use one of the new cotton batts and new muslin.
The baby grew heavier in her arms and she left the table, feeling outnumbered now that James and Rubye seemed to always be together in every argument. She again left the door to the office open and put the sleepy baby down on the mattress, making sure his arms were not caught underneath him. She kissed the warm soft cheek, satisfied that he would sleep for a while, then moved to the desk. Everything was as she had left it. She opened the drawers on the bottom side of the desk, removing empty folders that had held the documents now piled high in the center of the desk. She set them in a row, open to the top and ready to receive papers.
One was labeled invoices farming, another invoices house, a third invoices stock. Another group was labeled land records, payroll records, etc. Satisfied that she was ready, she began with the first paper, the one that J.D. had wanted to keep and shred the last time she sat here.
Frustrated by the task, she lit the lamp and tried again. It was the invoice from Thompson’s store. It had the clothes for her and food for the house – it took her back to that painful day that seemed years ago. The clothes were now tiny pieces of the soon to be quilt. Hattie put the slip into the folder marked invoices house and moved on. She quickly decided to shift everything, putting all the folders away except the three labeled invoices. Next she moved papers that weren’t invoices to the left side of the desk unread, those that were invoices she read and filed in the correct folder. One’s that were like the first bill and had more than one category, she filed in the folder that had the largest amount of expenditure. When she ran out of invoices, she took each folder, sorted the papers inside by date, most recent on top. After removing the remaining empty folders from the drawer, she put the sorted invoices away, propping them up with a ruler so they wouldn’t fall over and she would have to sort them again.
