Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Laney twittered in the background, and soon the flurried sound of petticoats joined the thrumming hoofbeats. Laney and Ruth dashed across the yard and arrived at the fence just as the rider skidded to a halt.

  “I’ll get the mail,” Galen said as Sam Hamilton dismounted.

  “Obliged.” Hamilton leaned over the fence. “Ah, ladies, that looks great!” He took a big wedge of pie from Laney and downed it in four huge bites.

  While he ate, Galen sweet-talked the lathered pony as he yanked off the large, square leather mochilla. The mail in the four corner pouches barely shifted as Galen tossed the carrier onto the fresh mare. Long, customized slits allowed the saddlehorn and cantle to serve as anchors when the blanket-like leather carrier draped over the saddle.

  Eager to work, the mare pranced in place. Galen untied her. “Ready to go.”

  The rider accepted the glass Ruth held out. He emptied it in a few quick gulps, passed it back, and mounted up. “Thanks!” With that, he was gone.

  “Wasn’t that exciting?” Laney looked up at Galen all brighteyed.

  “Absolutely,” Ruth agreed. “I read all about the Central Overland California and Pike’s Peak Express, but words on a page didn’t do that justice.”

  Laney’s smile melted into a look of utter confusion. “The Overland is the stage company.”

  “Overland Stage is what brought Ruth,” Josh said, “but Central Overland California and Pike’s Peak Express is the formal name for the Pony Express.”

  “Oh. I see.” Laney’s smile returned. “Galen, you were so quick changing out the mail.”

  Ruth twisted the empty cup she held and agreed, “You were. I’m surprised at a few things, though. It never occurred to me that the rider would sit on that whole mail pouch thing.”

  Galen shrugged. “His weight holds the mochilla in place and protects it. The four corner pouches distribute the weight so the horse carries it easily.”

  “But the horse …” Ruth cast a dubious look at the mustang. “I read that they were using the best-blooded horses money could buy. Back East, they have magnificent Morgans.”

  Galen chuckled and picked up the mustang’s reins. “No horse is sturdier or hardier for California terrain than these mustangs. They’re smart and tough. Whoever bought the horses paid attention to the task at hand and made a wise decision.”

  “I’m sorry.” Ruth winced. “I didn’t mean to insult your stock.”

  “No offense taken. You were merely thinkin’ aloud and asking a reasonable question. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I need to give this baby a cooldown.”

  The lasses went back into the house and Galen began to walk the beast around the yard.

  Josh took a few paces along with them. “I led the girls to believe I rode over to let you know about the horses and to make sure Ruth wouldn’t kill herself by falling off her mount.”

  “So why did you really come?”

  Josh grimaced. “I can’t swear to it, but I have an odd feeling that Toledo is following Ruth. I’ve caught him watching her the past two days.”

  “She’s comely. Lively too. Such a lass is bound to catch any man’s attention.”

  His friend shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Something doesn’t feel right. Do you mind if they stay awhile?”

  “Ma always wanted a daughter. Whenever Laney drops by, Ma’s the happiest woman in three counties. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled with Ruth, too. Hold no worries about it, Josh. They’re more than welcome to brighten Ma’s days.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “I’ll keep a look out for anything strange.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Trying to lighten the mood, Galen said, “Ruth looked capable in the saddle.”

  “She had to be.” Josh finally chuckled. “God knew I didn’t have the patience to teach a woman to ride.”

  After Josh left, Galen finished cooling down the Pony Express mount, then took it into the stable. Motes danced on the golden streams of light, turning the wooden structure into a haven. Galen loved the stable. A pleasant breeze blew through the doorway, helping cool the horse as Galen removed his saddle and tack.

  Nostrils still flared and skin hot, the horse showed how hard he’d run to perform his duty. He pushed toward the trough.

  “None of that for you, yet.” Galen pushed him into a stall. “Drink too soon, and you’ll founder. Here. This’ll suit you better.” He scooped water into an empty tin can and poured it over the horse’s head and neck, then repeated the kindness and included its legs. “Feels fine, doesn’t it? Cools you off.”

  The horse stood still and relished the attention. “You’re a fine beast, you are. We’ll cool you down, and later I’ll be sure you have a treat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Do you always talk to animals?”

  Galen turned around and looked at Ruth. “That, I do. To my way of reckonin’, Adam named them all. Why name something if you’re not planning to talk to it again?”

  She smiled. “You have a point. Your mother wanted to ask you something. Shall I lead the horse to water so he can have a drink?”

  “Nay, lass. He’ll sicken if he drinks too soon.” Satisfied the horse was cooling down sufficiently, Galen led him to a stall and latched him in.

  Ruth fell into step with him as he headed toward the house. “You’re right about your mother.”

  “Hmm?” He shot her a questioning look.

  “She’s beautiful in pink.”

  Galen nodded. “Aye. She’s a fine woman, and I don’t mind sayin’ so. ’Tisn’t my doin’, so it’s not pride speaking. God gave her a heart for others, and that shines through.”

  He stomped his boots clean before entering the cabin. “Sam Hamilton just came through. All four pouches on the mochilla felt full. I’m thinkin’ this Pony Express idea pleases folks even more than the organizers anticipated.”

  “The stage took just over three weeks to get here,” Ruth said from beside him. “If the news is important, that is a long time compared to ten days.”

  “I always said bad news can wait and good news only gets better.” Ma walked from Da’s bedside and over to the stove, where she stirred something in a pot. “Galen, I was hopin’ Josh was still here. Your da and I have been talkin’ about takin’ on another horse.”

  “Is that so?” Galen walked to the bedside and pulled up a chair. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Truth be told, Da, Josh just offered us first pick of the three horses he’s ready to sell.”

  Laney sidled over and handed Galen a tin cup of water. The tin felt cool to the touch, prompting thirst Galen hadn’t realized he felt until now; but he lifted Da’s head. “Here. Have a sip.”

  “Mmm. Thanks.”

  Laney didn’t move. In fact, she rested her hand on his shoulder. “You ought to get two of the three ponies. Really, you should. I heard Daddy and Josh talking, and the mustangs are the best ones yet. The other one—well, Josh calls him a headache on hooves.”

  Da looked at Galen. “Could be we’d go for two. You take a gander at them and use your best judgment.”

  “Laney,” Ma called, “would you be a dear and fetch me some butter from the springhouse?”

  “Sure. How much would you like?”

  “One block. Warm as the days are growin’, I don’t dare keep extra in the house.”

  Laney’s skirts whispered her departure, and Galen threw his mother a grateful look. She winked back at him.

  Heat crept up Galen’s neck when he caught Ruth’s wide eyes. She’d seen the exchange. “I suppose I’ll have to beg your discretion, Ruth Caldwell. Your friend Laney is a sweet lass, but that’s all she is—a wee lassie.”

  Da let out a rusty laugh, then coughed. Galen lifted his head and shoulders and offered him another sip of water. “Ach, son, a bald head on a man can be excused, but a bald tongue—that’s another matter.”

  “Da, I can’t have anyone—most of all, Laney—thinking I retu
rn her fancy.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t.” As soon as she spoke the words, Ruth clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “The less fuss we all make of it, the better.” Ma took a mixing bowl from a shelf and set it on the table. “There’s not a lass alive who didn’t set her cap for the wrong lad at some point in her tender years. Given time, our Laney’ll meet the lad the good Lord intends for her. We all know ’tis the truth. In the meantime, we’ll temper honesty with Christian love.”

  Galen looked to Ruth for some response. She slowly lowered her hand and moistened her lips. “I don’t imagine I’d be much of a friend if I encouraged Laney to pursue eventual heartbreak.”

  “That’s the truth of it.” Ma briskly rubbed her hands together. “Now, Galen, you get on back to your chores. I’m going to talk Laney and Ruth into staying the day. You just might find a nice treat on the table come dinnertime.”

  “Sure, Ma.” Galen gave his father one last sip of water and rose. To his surprise, Ruth slipped to the other side of the bed.

  “Mr. O’Sullivan, while your son’s here, why don’t we have him lift you into the rocking chair? By lunch, he’ll be back and can tuck you in for another rest, but I’m sure you’d enjoy being able to sit by the window for a while.”

  “I’m strong enough to make it on my own.”

  Ma shook her spoon at Da. “The only way I’ll let you up, old man, is if you promise not to boss me around in my kitchen.”

  “Kelly-mine,” Da said as he shifted in the bed, “you must think I’m a fool if you believe I’d tamper with perfection.”

  “He’s right, Ma. You’re the best cook I know.”

  “You’re the best cook I know, too,” Laney said as she reentered the cabin. “Are we going to use the butter to bake something?”

  “Aye.” Ma smiled.

  Ruth crossed the room, took the butter from Laney, and set it on the table. “But I’m sure we’ll need eggs. I don’t know where anything is. Why don’t you take me out to the coop, and we’ll gather eggs for Mrs. O’Sullivan?”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Ma handed her the egg basket.

  Galen waited until they left, then hovered as his father threw back the quilt and hobbled to the rocking chair. Ma dragged it over to the window and tied back the drapery so Da could see as much as possible. Galen left the house as his mother tucked a lap blanket around his father. It hurt to watch them care for one another, knowing that whatever time they had would soon be over.

  He headed back to the stable. There, he silently curried the horse. The repetitive action helped calm him. Afterward, he watered the pony and set him out to pasture.

  Plenty of work needed doing, but he stood by the fence and looked at the property. Until two months ago, it had taken both him and Da to get all the chores done. As Da began to weaken, Galen started getting up earlier and going to bed later. He’d also taken to awakening his brother Colin in the morning to help with more chores before he left for school. With summer coming, he’d be able to rely on all three of his brothers for more help—But, Lord, what will I do when the school year begins again? We can’t afford to hire a hand.

  Galen knew he’d need a lot more help by then. He’d have to keep the boys out of school when it came harvesting time—something that troubled him no end. But he couldn’t harvest the corn and do the haying alone.

  There was also the orchard. Ma hadn’t been able to decide what she wanted most, so Da gave her a little of everything. Their orchard boasted a variety of trees. Each corner of the lot held a half dozen nut trees—almonds in the east and west, pecans in the south, and walnuts in the north. A stripe of fruit trees drew a line between the nuts—apples on one side, orange on another, pears on a third, and sweet cherries on the last. In the middle of the plot, Mama grew her precious garden.

  With all that food, a milk cow, and the chicken coop, Galen knew they’d be able to barter for staples. His family wouldn’t go hungry. The money for the Pony Express would pay the mortgage. With God’s blessing on the crops and careful stewardship, he’d be able to provide for his family. Still, responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders.

  Galen turned to get back to work, but halted. There in the distance, a man sat on his horse. Due to the sun’s glare, Galen couldn’t identify who it was. From the direction he faced, the figure wasn’t looking at the stable, the fields, or the garden. He was staring directly at the clothesline, where Laney and Ruth were beating a rug.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What do you think?” Ruth leaned back so Laney could look at the paint she’d just mixed.

  “We can paint a flower here and there, then add more red to get a medium pink. After sprinkling more flowers around with it, we can add more red and have a rosy hue.”

  “This is so much fun!” Ruth straightened up and looked about her room. She and Laney had whitewashed the walls the day before. Ruth wore the same dress today. Careful as she’d been, she still got whitewash on the right sleeve and hem yesterday. As long as she might repeat that clumsiness, she figured to just make the damage worse instead of sacrificing another gown.

  Josh was right about how work creates a mess, but most of it can be cleaned up. Well, everything but me. He’s remarkably astute to have figured I need more dresses.

  “I’m afraid we’ll decide you need more pale pink after we’ve already darkened the mix,” Laney confessed.

  “Do you think Hilda has some empty jars? We could just pour each one half-full and not have to worry.”

  Several hours later, Ruth glanced across the wall and nodded. “This is turning out far better than I dared imagine. You’re so talented, Laney!”

  “I love flowers. I can’t grow them—my gardens always wither away—but I adore painting or arranging them.” Laney dabbed a little more paint on the wall to form one last petal. “Of all the things God created, I love flowers most. What about you?”

  Ruth thought for a moment. “Clouds. When I was a little girl, Mama and I used to sit on the seat in the garden and watch the clouds drift by.” The bittersweet memory washed over her. Ruth struggled to keep her voice light. “We’d decide what the clouds looked like.”

  “Clouds look like clouds.”

  “Only if you don’t pay attention.” Ruth scooted to a new section and started to paint another rose. “When you use your imagination, the shapes suddenly look like things. I’d see a puppy’s head or a boot.” The memories welled up. “Mama never pointed because it’s so rude, but she broke the rule when we played the cloud game. She’d point toward a formation and show me a sailing ship or a lamb.”

  “That sounds like a fun thing to do. Maybe we could teach that game to Mr. O’Sullivan so when he sits by his window, he can keep his mind busy. I used to sit with your daddy. He’d bask like a kitten in the sun by the window and read from the Bible to me.”

  “Did he have a favorite passage?”

  “The Psalms—all of the Psalms.” Laney closed one eye and dabbed a tiny speck more paint on a petal. “He knew lots of them by heart.”

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. It can’t be Josh. If it were, his spurs would be making that I-mean-business jangle.

  “I wonder what Hilda’s doing up here at this time of day,” Laney said.

  Ruth surveyed the beautiful wall and called out, “Hilda, come see what we’ve gotten done!”

  The housekeeper appeared in the doorway. “I’ll be—” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “A garland of roses,” Laney said. “We still need to mix some green for leaves and st—”

  “Those,” Hilda interrupted, “are my muffin tins!”

  “Isn’t it clever?” Laney hadn’t turned around, so she couldn’t see the housekeeper’s stern expression. “They make wonderful palettes.”

  “They aren’t for paint; they’re meant for food.”

  Ruth swallowed hard. “It’s my fault. It was my idea. I’m sorry. We’ll wash them out a dozen times bef
ore returning them to the kitchen.”

  “Hilda really doesn’t mind. Do you, Hilda?”

  The housekeeper stared at Laney, then heaved a theatrical sigh. “I’ll just make cornbread instead of muffins today. But you girls stay outta my kitchen from now on. I have enough to do around here without having to chase down my dishes and clean up your messes.”

  “I’m happy to help around the house, Hilda.” Ruth slowly set aside the muffin tin.

  “No, no. I need this job. The minute Mr. McCain sees you doing my work, he’ll show me the door.”

  “Daddy wouldn’t do that!”

  Hilda gave Laney an exasperated look. “Child, your father dotes on you, so you don’t see the forest for the trees. The man pinches pennies till they weep.” She straightened her apron. “Not that being thrifty is a sin. The Good Book tells us to be good stewards of what the Lord gives us. Some folks just take to the notion with more zeal than others.”

  Ruth didn’t want to argue with Hilda, but she’d found Mr. McCain to be generous and kind. She’d blundered in the past by voicing unwanted opinions, so instead she offered, “At most of the schools I attended, the headmistresses insisted upon our avoiding the kitchen and laundry. They said if we learned the social graces and feminine wiles, we’d marry wealthy men and never need to do a thing for ourselves.”

  “That’s right,” Laney chimed in.

  Ruth shook her head. “All of that seems like utter nonsense to me. Just because a man is rich and can afford servants doesn’t mean he’d be a good husband. The reverse of that is also true: just because a man doesn’t have deep pockets wouldn’t mean he’d be a bad mate.”

  Hilda huffed. “You’re talking in circles.”

  “Laney and I could assist you. In fact, I think we ought to.” Ruth beamed at her. “We’ll tell Mr. McCain that you’re being diligent to prepare us for the day when we marry.”

  “That’s right,” Laney agreed.

  Hilda looked dubious. “Elaine Louise McCain, your papa doesn’t want to think about your marryin’ up and leaving him. Burying your mama—that hit him hard. Real hard. He don’t wanna turn loose of you.”