Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “I know,” Laney said quietly.

  Hilda waddled off muttering about marriage and muffin tins.

  Ruth kept painting, but her heart wasn’t in it. Lord, why do I always do the wrong thing? I should have found Hilda and asked her permission.After the way the cook didn’t want the roasting pan back at school, I should have known Hilda would be upset. I wanted to make a fresh start here, and I’m already messing up.

  “Mama used to say Hilda crawled out of the wrong side of the bed every other day,” Laney whispered.

  “I didn’t realize she’d been with your family. I just pictured her as having taken care of my father when he was alone here.”

  Laney’s brow puckered as she put the finishing strokes on another flower. “When we came along, there were a few sad-looking saddle tramps in the bunkhouse and your father in the little house. Daddy sent me away to school the next day, but I always got the impression your father was a loner.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “Oh, things changed. That last year of his life, when I came home, your father was pleasant as could be. I used to play draughts with him. As I said, he’d read to me from the Bible.”

  “Thank you for keeping him company. I’m sure it comforted him.”

  “He would have liked you.” Laney continued to paint as she mused aloud, “He had the same spark for life that you do. I’ll bet he could have looked at the clouds and imagined all sorts of pictures in them.”

  “I’ve never had a friend say a sweeter thing to me.”

  “Speaking of sweet things, isn’t Galen the most wonderful man you’ve ever met?”

  “No!” After blurting out that response, Ruth scrambled to soften her answer. “Josh and your father are nice, too. And Josh is bigger and more handsome than Galen.” Oh, dear. What made me say that? Ruth hastened on to cover for that silly slip of the tongue. “I’ve been in the academy. I haven’t met many men. For that matter, you haven’t either, have you?” She didn’t wait for Laney to respond, but kept chattering, “Your father is right. We shouldn’t settle for the first man who sweeps us off our feet.”

  “Galen hasn’t tried to sweep me off my feet.”

  “I didn’t necessarily agree with many of the rules they drilled into us at school, but I do think there is wisdom in not pursuing a man.”

  “I’m not pursuing Galen.” Laney waved her paintbrush in the air. “I’m simply making myself available so he can make the first move.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  Tilting her head at a jaunty angle, Laney wore a satisfied smile. “I’ve been very discreet. Why, when the girl he was sweet on up and ran off with a butcher from Sacramento, a woman who pursued a man would have been on Galen’s doorstep with a pie in hand the very next day. I did no such thing.” She dabbed her brush in paint, then gave Ruth an inquiring look. “Besides, what do you know about chasing and catching a man? Have you had scores of suitors?”

  “Mercy, no!” Ruth recoiled. “I’m not even sure I want to marry.”

  “You’re playing with me, right?” Laney’s laughter died out. “You’re not teasing—you’re serious!”

  Nodding her head, Ruth asserted, “Yes, I’m serious. Men wed because they want namesakes and someone to manage their home. Women accept proposals because of social expectations or because they can’t financially support themselves. Very few marriages turn out to be the love bond that all of the romantics idealize.”

  “You’re cynical. I’m not, because Mama and Daddy positively adored one another. Trusted each other, too. A man’s going to have to earn your trust before you’ll ever give him your heart—I can see that.”

  “I’m not going to hold my breath until that day comes.” Ruth managed to tilt the muffin tin and slop dark pink onto her left sleeve. Whitewash on the right, pink on the left. “Oh, I can’t believe how clumsy I am. I’m a disaster.”

  “You are not!” Laney dabbed a little of the paint off Ruth’s sleeve with her brush and proceeded to use it to paint a flower. “Waste not, want not. Besides, we’ll keep that dress as your work dress. A little paint won’t matter, and this beautiful garland will last a lot longer than any old dress would, anyway.”

  “You make this sound economical.”

  “Economical? That was you asking Josh for barn paint. I wouldn’t have dreamed of mixing that ugly old red with the whitewash, but look at the results!”

  Ruth looked from the painted garland to the multicolored muffin tin and back. “I guess all of those art lessons we endured at school finally amounted to something.”

  “It’ll look much better when we add the leaves and stems.” Laney paused, then added, “You don’t have to worry about being economical. Hilda’s just being grumpy. Daddy’s always taken very good care of us.”

  “I’m sure he has.”

  “And as for the difference—with Galen, I mean—well, isn’t a man supposed to notice?”

  Ruth wrinkled her nose. “Laney, if I didn’t know the difference between your not pursuing him and just being available, how would he? From what I gather, men tend to be obtuse about the finer points like that.”

  “So far, he has been. It vexes me no end. I wish I were clever.

  I’d be able to say something witty to capture his attention.”

  “Who says you’re not clever?”

  “Everybody.” Laney’s chin began to quiver.

  “Well, how do you like that? I’m left out again, because I’m not part of ‘everybody.”’

  Tears filled Laney’s eyes. “See? That’s what I mean. I’d never think of anything that smart to say.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be smart, Laney. I was being honest. I never fit in. Everyone else at the schools and back home thought alike and acted so refined. I stuck out like a sore thumb. The last headmistress actually called me a misfit, and she was right.”

  “What a dreadful thing for her to say!” Laney sniffled. “But I think you fit in here just fine. Me? I’m never going to manage. My headmistress told me as a decoration for a rich man’s home and arm, I would be a grand success—but her canary was smarter.”

  “That’s an outrage!” Ruth wrapped her arms around Laney. “And she was wrong. I know it.”

  Laney shook her head. “It’s true. I’m good at all the proper conduct and social things, and I never gave my teachers a moment of grief. They told me it was good enough, but it’s not.” She sucked in a deep breath, then whispered, “The shameful truth is, I can barely read.”

  Her admission stunned Ruth. Ruth squeezed tighter.

  “I told you I’m stupid,” Laney wailed.

  “Nonsense!” Ruth declared briskly. “You just had the wrong teacher. If you can learn brushstrokes to paint, you can learn letters to read and write.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I know so.” Ruth winked at Laney. “I’m sinfully stubborn, and I’m going to teach you to read.”

  Laney bit her lip and looked away.

  “Don’t you give up.” Ruth shook her. “I’m not going to.”

  “I don’t want Daddy to find out. Josh knows, and he helps me. Daddy—well, he’s the only one who thinks I’m perfect. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

  “We already said we’d paint each morning. Part of that time, when we’re alone, we can use the tablet to paint words. I’ll keep your secret, Laney. You needn’t be ashamed around me. If anything, I envy you. You can learn to read. I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to keep my mouth shut and behave.”

  “I like you just the way you are.” Laney pulled away.

  Ruth groaned. “I don’t think you will once I confess that, when I hugged you, I got paint from my sleeve all over your shoulder.”

  Ruth scoured the muffin tins once more for good measure. Not a speck of paint remained on them, but she didn’t want to take a chance that she might have missed a spot. Hilda was outside, taking linens off the clothesline. By the time she returned, Ruth wanted to have the tins rinsed, dried, an
d able to pass the housekeeper’s inspection.

  Laney rummaged around in the hutch.

  “What are you doing?”

  Laney stood on tiptoe and reached for the top shelf. “I found my mother’s vase. Let’s go for a walk and find flowers. Just think of how beautiful your room will be with flowers painted on the walls and a real bouquet on the bedside table.”

  “I have plenty of flowers, thanks to your help. Let’s put the bouquet in your room.”

  Laney clutched the crystal vase to her chest. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I am.” Ruth turned her attention back to the suds so she wouldn’t start to cry. Seeing how Laney treasured her mama’s vase struck a chord. Ruth remembered doing the exact same thing after Mama went to be with the Lord and she helped Bernadette pack up all of the things in Mama’s room.

  “You’ve scrubbed that tin so hard, it’s a wonder you haven’t worn holes in it. Let’s go!”

  “I’ll be done in a minute.” Plunging the pan into the rinse bucket, Ruth said, “I’ve seen flowers growing all over the place. Did you seed them, or are they wild flowers?”

  “Wild flowers.” Laney grabbed a dishtowel and dried one tin as Ruth saw to the other. “I wasn’t home for the first two years, and the last year I was too busy to bother. Mrs. O’Sullivan’s garden always makes me think I ought to plant some, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “It won’t be hard at all to gather a huge bouquet. Let’s get enough that we can put some on the supper table and also give Hilda an arrangement for her room.”

  Laney tugged the muffin tin from her. “While I put these away, you get buckets or baskets for us.”

  Ruth vehemently shook her head from side to side. “I already earned Hilda’s wrath for swiping the muffin tins. I’m not about to dash off with her buckets or baskets.”

  Laney smiled as she looked out the window. “Here she comes. I’ll handle it.” Laney ran to the door and opened it just in time for the housekeeper to bustle in with an overflowing wicker basket.

  “Ruth and I can fold the linens, Hilda. Why don’t you go ahead and brew us all some tea? Oh—better still, why don’t you relax awhile. Ruth and I can make supper. Mrs. O’Sullivan taught us how to make stew.”

  Horror twisted the housekeepers face. “Oh no. No one’s standing in front of that stove but me. I’ve tasted your cooking, Elaine Louise. Like to thought I’d die from indigestion all three times. You couldn’t follow a recipe if your life depended on it. You girls go on and get out of my kitchen.”

  “Are you sure?” Laney plucked a pillowslip from the laundry basket, snapped it in the air, and began to fold it.

  “Positive.” Hilda snatched back the linen. “Can’t you girls find something else to do?”

  “We did discuss taking a walk and picking flowers,” Ruth said.

  “Now there’s a dandy idea. Out you go.”

  “Please don’t put Mama’s vase away. I want to use it for the flowers.”

  The sour puckers in Hilda’s face relaxed into a true smile. “Now there was a fine woman. She always kept that vase full of posies, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the parlor table. Used to be a game she played—she’d see him comin’ up the walk with flowers for her, and she’d dash in and yank out whatever she’d arranged that day from her flower garden. I took to keeping a big old jelly jar in the kitchen so’s she could hide ’em in plain sight. After all that hurrying and scurrying, she’d smooth her skirts and straighten her hair. Met him at the front door, looking like a page straight outta Godey’s Ladies’ Book.” Hilda set down the laundry basket. “Yup. She was quite a woman.”

  “I’d forgotten about that.” Laney pressed her hand over her heart. “It was so romantic!”

  Ruth plastered a smile on her face, though her heart ached. Mama loved flowers. I kept her room full of them, and she appreciated them so. If only things had been different and father cherished her and brought her bouquets… .

  Laney tugged on her sleeve. “Ruth, stop gathering wool and come on.”

  Ruth jolted out of her thoughts and stared at the bucket in Laney’s other hand. “I’ll carry that.”

  They wandered outside and soon stopped at a clump of daisy- faced asters. After gathering a generous supply of them, Laney pointed off in the distance. “Oh, poppies! I love those. Come on. We’ll get enough to make bouquets for everywhere!”

  “I recognize the lupine, wild lilac, and sage,” Ruth said a short time later. “But what are these?”

  “Your father called them baby blue eyes. I’m not sure that’s really the name or if he made it up, but I liked how it sounded.”

  Ruth blinked in surprise. “My father talked about flowers?”

  A winsome smile crossed Laney’s face. “I used to pick flowers for his room. Since he was stuck in bed, I liked to brighten his room.”

  “Oh, Laney.” Ruth embraced her. “Thank you for doing that for him.”

  “It was fun. Once, when I took a bunch of buckwheat into his room, a butterfly came through the window and landed on the arrangement. Alan was delighted. You’re like him that way—you appreciate the little things.”

  “It’s strange to think we are alike at all since I never met him.” Ruth looked off in the distance. McCain waved at them. He started striding their way, and Laney skipped toward him. Ruth carried the bucket and lagged behind.

  “So you girls are gathering flowers. What a charming sight.” He smiled at them. “I recall seeing some wild roses the other day.”

  Laney perked up even more. “Where?”

  McCain shook his head. “No, no. It’s too far for you to walk. Tell you what—I’ll dig up a bush or two and transplant them by the house. That way, you can enjoy them all of the time.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Laney went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. She then told Ruth, “California wild roses are simply beautiful. They have five petals, and they’re exactly the same shade of pink we used for the palest flowers in your room.”

  “I peeked in your room, Ruth. You girls did a magnificent job of decorating the walls.” McCain reached over and took the flower bucket from her. “I’ll carry this back to the house.” As they drew closer to the house, McCain cleared his throat. “Laney, honey, I wanted to speak with you about something.”

  Feeling the need to lend them privacy, Ruth murmured, “If you two will excuse me …”

  “But, Ruth, you don’t need to—”

  “Laney,” McCain interjected, “let’s take these flowers into the kitchen. I’m sure Ruth will meet you there in a few minutes, and the two of you will have fun arranging them.”

  Laney blushed and nodded.

  Thankful to make an escape, Ruth headed toward the necessary. Back home, Bernadette ordered Hadley to build a spacious outhouse so it could accommodate a woman’s voluminous skirts. Bless him, for Hadley even whitewashed the inside. Ruth felt certain the outhouse on the Broken P had to have been built years ago. After fighting with her skirts and petticoats to get through the narrow door, there wasn’t enough room to turn around. As a result, Ruth had learned to gather all of her voluminous clothing, open the door, and step in backward.

  “So much for being graceful,” she muttered, filling her left hand with layers of cloth. Since the door tended to be stubborn, she gave it a no-nonsense jerk. The door made an odd sound, and Ruth let out a yelp as it fell toward her. Tripping over her own feet, she landed flat on her back with the door on top of her. Ruth lay there and moaned, “How am I ever going to explain this?”

  Josh smacked his hat against his thigh and shook his head. “Dumb animal.” Then he headed around the far end of the hedge to see if he could flush the calf out. The cow stood just on the other side of the mud bog, bawling for her baby.

  Toledo roped the calf, tied the lariat around his saddle horn, and started to pull, but the calf slipped free and made twice as much noise as he sank up to his knees.

  Josh threw the ranch hand a frustrated look. Toledo wa
s one of their best hands, but Josh assigned the man to work alongside him today just to be sure he wasn’t lurking around the house and watching Ruth. He dismounted and tried to ignore the way the mud sucked at his boots. Using his own rope as well as Toledo’s to gain purchase of the calf, he muttered, “C’mon, you stupid hunk of veal. This’ll teach you not to leave your mama’s side.”

  When he remounted, only one boot came along. Josh looked down at the other and groaned. He’d yank it free and wear it, but the mud inside would make an already bad day worse. Last night’s storm left bogs like this and loosened the footings on some of the fence posts. Between reinforcing the fence and pulling calves free, Josh hadn’t caught his breath all day.

  They hauled the calf free, gave him back to his anxious mama, and carried on. Toledo didn’t say much. Most hands tended to be on the taciturn side, but they were downright talkative compared to Toledo. The only one Toledo ever unbent enough with to speak more than one sentence at a time was Dad. Then again, he did a fair day’s work for a fair day’s wage and didn’t stir up any trouble. Josh couldn’t fault him for being quiet. If he troubles Ruth, though, I’ll cut him loose.

  Come midday, Josh decided he’d worked his way close enough to home that he’d stop in for lunch. One of Hilda’s good meals might just turn his day around. He’d no more than set foot onto the back patio steps when Hilda filled the doorway.

  “I got a good look at you through the window. If you think you’re comin’ into my nice clean kitchen, you’ve got another think a’comin’, cowboy.”

  “I’ll scrape off my boots.” He trudged up the next two steps.

  “You’d have to shuck outta every stitch you’re wearing. What’ve you been doing? Wallowing in the mud with the hogs?”

  “I’ll go sluice off at the pump. How about having Laney bring me a plate?”

  “She’s busy.”

  Josh stared at the housekeeper. “Doing what?”

  “Helping Ruth.”