Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Something broke?” Toledo asked.

  “My heart.” Ruth turned toward him. “Josh doesn’t believe I can hang a few little pictures.”

  Toledo didn’t even pause. He kept walking on by and shook his head.

  “Don’t you think I could do it?” Ruth called after him.

  The hand turned, gave her an all-encompassing look, and snorted.

  Josh appreciated the wealth of meaning behind that wordless response. Toledo’s silence didn’t keep him from having registered an opinion. Looking at Ruth, Josh said, “The sign over the gate reads Broken P, not Bedlam.”

  “Are you implying he’d be insane to agree with me, or that he’d be insane to go against your dictates?”

  “I told you from the start, you’d have to submit to my decisions on this ranch. I don’t appreciate your trying to beguile my hands into disagreeing with me.”

  She blinked in shock. “I attempted no such thing!”

  Josh realized she really hadn’t intended to use her beauty and womanly charms to get her way. Ruth really doesn’t see herself as desirable.But I’m not about to let that turn my head. “Go on back to the house where you belong, Ruth. I don’t have time to argue with you.”

  “I’m not arguing. I just came to ask for a hammer.”

  “Well, you’re not getting one. I told you I’d take care of hanging the pictures later on.”

  “What ever gave you the impression that I’m helpless?”

  “You might not be helpless, but you’re definitely inept. I don’t want you pounding holes into the walls.”

  “I’d do no such thing!”

  “You’re right. You won’t. You’ll wait until I can get to the task.”

  “Shall I start a list for you? The chicken coop, the pictures …”

  “Ruth—”

  “Don’t you say my name in that tone of voice. This isn’t a school where you can send me back home if I vex you. Until we get my father’s will settled, you’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you.”

  “So far, I’ve done my level best to deal with the situation,” he gritted. Irritating woman. I’ve sweat and bled and put every penny I had into this ranch, and she’s done nothing but show up— Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Diplomatic words like ‘situation’ don’t hide your true feelings, Joshua McCain. You said it more clearly back at the attorney’s office when you blurted out that I’m taking half of your ranch.”

  “That has yet to be legally confirmed.”

  “You’re right. Waiting isn’t easy for either of us. Supposing I don’t get a single inch of land, you’ll be free of me; but if I do inherit a portion of the Broken P, even if I don’t decide to stay here, we’ll still have to deal with each other.”

  “You’ll stay here, regardless.”

  Ruth glowered at him. “I exasperate you, and life has taught me such reactions result in a parting of the ways.”

  He stared at her. Part of Josh wanted to reassure Ruth that he hadn’t been ready to pitch her out; the other part of him actually wanted to shake some sense into the silly woman. If only she were biddable and meek, this whole ridiculous conversation wouldn’t be necessary. “Your name sure doesn’t fit you. How about if you try saying what your biblical namesake said—you know, ‘Withersoever thou goest, I will go… .”’

  She bristled. “Ruth said that to her mother-in-law, not to a man she barely knew.”

  She had a point, but Josh didn’t want to concede it.

  “I’m not some china doll on a shelf, Joshua McCain. I have a mind and I use it; God gave me hands, and I aim to keep them busy. Don’t think for a single moment that I’ll just turn into a mealy-mouthed girl who agrees with you at every turn.”

  “You don’t have to agree. You do have to abide by my decisions, though. It’s a fact you’ll have to live with, like it or not.”

  “I’ll defer to your decisions regarding the ranch. That’s only right. I admit total ignorance about those matters.”

  Well, that was a step in the right direction.

  “But,” she went on, “that doesn’t mean you get the last word on anything else.”

  Josh smirked. “I doubt you let anyone else get the last word on anything.”

  “Well, far be it from me to disagree with you on the rare occasion that you’re right!” She turned and flounced off.

  Josh tightened the cinch strap on his saddle. Lord, when I prayed for patience, I didn’t expect you to test me with the likes of that woman.

  The mare swatted him in the face with a wicked twitch of her tail, and Josh straightened up. “You women always stick together, don’t you?”

  “Huh?” Toledo gave him a questioning look.

  “Adam had it easy until Eve came along. Since then, we’ve all been doomed.”

  Doomed. That about encapsulated it all. Josh stood in the open doorway to Ruth’s bedchamber and clutched the hammer in his fist. He needn’t have brought it; she’d managed to hang the pictures, just as she’d said she could.

  And they looked good. No, they looked great. The whole room did. Since her room was on the opposite side of the staircase, he hadn’t had cause to pass by and see what she and Laney had done.

  They’d done plenty. What had been a very spartan room now looked fresh and feminine. Airy curtains fluttered in the window. Who would have ever guessed the walls would look so good after getting a coat of whitewash? That, and a bunch of painted flowers that formed a rope-sort-of-thing about waist-high all around the room. The bed still needed a counterpane, but an elaborately embroidered pillowslip let him know Ruth would be equal to the task of sewing a beautiful one.

  “What’re you up to?” Hilda asked as she trudged by with an armful of folded clothes.

  Josh frowned. “Why doesn’t Ruth have a rug in her room yet?”

  “I’m sure she’ll get round to it. Laney and her—they’ve been diggin’ through all my empty flour sacks, deciding on what to use to make a quilt and rag rug. ’Course, they plan to finish those fancy Sunday-best dresses first.”

  “So she has plenty to keep her busy?”

  Hilda’s face scrunched into a weathered web of wrinkles. “Don’t know that some folks are ever too busy. Ruth strikes me as someone who’s always gotta stick a few more irons in the fire.”

  And then she fans the flames. Josh didn’t voice that opinion.

  Studying him, Hilda asked, “What’re you doin’ here, anyhow?”

  “I was going to hang some pictures.”

  “Ah. No need. Ruth got the job done already.”

  “With her boot?”

  “Nope.” Hilda shrugged. “I offered her my smallest skillet, but she ended up usin’ her hairbrush.”

  Josh turned and walked off. He couldn’t believe she’d used a hairbrush as a hammer. Why didn’t I see that coming? She already used the comb to hold the stupid needle.

  As he headed down the stairs, his dad rounded the corner. “Josh.”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “I talked with Toledo. We have some spare lumber, so he’s going to add a little to the coop.”

  Josh nodded an acknowledgment.

  “I reckon it’ll only cost us a few yards of chicken wire, but it’ll keep Hilda from nagging me. That woman’s sour as a pickle. If she weren’t such a good cook, I’d replace her.”

  “She doesn’t have anyone, Dad. She’d have no place to go.”

  “Well, neither does Ruth, but you don’t see her stirrin’ up trouble.”

  Josh let out a mirthless laugh. Compared to Ruth, Hilda was an absolute dream.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Laney dropped her sewing bag onto the O’Sullivans’ table and gave Mrs. O’Sullivan a hug. “It’s so kind of you to invite us over.”

  “You’re always welcome, and well you know it.”

  Ruth stood off to the side and held the bulging flour sack. She didn’t know where to set it because breakfast dishes still covered the table. She’d stand here all day and be happy, though. Anythi
ng to be away from Josh. Things back at the Broken P were strained. Oh, they were civil to one another; courteous. If he acted any more polite, he’d have to become a diplomat instead of a rancher. At breakfast each morning, he’d inquire if she needed his help with anything and asked what she and Laney had planned.

  Laney believed her brother was being thoughtful.

  Ruth knew better. He was trying his hardest to keep her in line.

  “Ah, Ruth, now don’t you be standin’ there, carryin’ that heavy thing,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “Plop it down by the window and give us a hug. You’ll have to pardon the mess about here, but I’ve gotten a slow start on the day.”

  Setting down the bag, Ruth wondered, “Where’s your husband?”

  Mrs. O’Sullivan grinned. “Out in the stable. Galen built him a throne of hay, and I covered it with a quilt. He’s having one of his better days, so we figured on his enjoyin’ a change of scenery.”

  “Praise the Lord for those good days.” Ruth gave the older woman a jubilant hug.

  “Indeed, I do.” Mrs. O’Sullivan patted Ruth’s back. “And I thank Him for all the years my dear Cullen and I have had together. I’ve been blessed.”

  “Daddy doesn’t feel that way,” Laney said quietly. “He says God cheated him when He took Mama. In fact, Daddy leaves the room when we talk about her.”

  Mrs. O’Sullivan let loose of Ruth and shook her head sadly. “Your father doesn’t walk with the Lord, Laney. He can’t find solace and consolation because of that sad fact.”

  Ruth turned to Laney. “Your father didn’t attend church on Sunday, but I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe he was under the weather a little. He’s such a good, decent man, I just assumed he was a Christian.”

  Laney’s head dipped and her voice went soft with hurt. “Josh and I keep praying for him. He’s so bitter at God for taking Mama.”

  “I’ll pray for him, too. It’s dreadful to lose someone you love.”

  Ruth felt tears well up. “I keep telling myself that Mama’s not sick anymore, and we’ll meet again in heaven. Even in my sorrow, I have that consolation. Your father doesn’t have that comfort to cling to.”

  “Cullen and I—we know we’re walking through the valley of the shadow of death.” Mrs. O’Sullivan started to clear the table. “The day’ll come when the precious Lord calls him home, and I’ll have to walk the rest of the way on my own. I’ll not pretend ’tis an easy journey. What I know is, I’ll not be livin’ with regrets on what I wish I would have said or done. My husband and I live each day together as a gift, and I’m thankful for what we have.”

  Ruth’s hand fisted around the silverware she’d begun to gather as guilt washed over her. I regret so much. I should have been with Mama all those months.

  “Another thing,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “It pleases me and Cullen to have you lasses come pay us visits. My man says ’tis like havin’ two sunbeams in the cabin. If you can, I’d ask you to help make glad the time he has left. The good Lord above never blessed us with daughters, and having chatter fill the house … Well, I’m not sure who’s happier about that, Cullen or me. If ’tis hard for you, then I’ll understand; but if you come, I’ll entertain no pity.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Laney promised.

  Ruth slowly unknotted her grip and dropped the silverware into the sink. “I remember when callers would sit at Mama’s bedside. They’d tsk and tut and sigh. I understand why you don’t want that in your home.”

  “Isn’t this just like a prayer meeting?” Mrs. O’Sullivan slid her skillet into the sudsy water. “It puts me in mind of the second chapter of Philippians: ‘If there be therefore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies, fulfill ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind.’ See? We’ll find joy and consolation together by being of one mind.”

  “I’m not very good at remembering Bible verses,” Laney said.

  “Neither am I,” Ruth confessed. “We could work on that together. Mrs. O’Sullivan, we’ll get the dishes done.”

  “I won’t turn away your offer. I need to make some bread, then I’ll scrub the table and we’ll start to sewing.”

  Laney pushed up her sleeves. “Just wait till you see what we’re making! I want to keep it a secret from Daddy and Josh, but Ruth and I want to stitch matching riding skirts.”

  “The both of you’ll look so grand together! You’ll have to leave the skirts here to work on so you can keep it as a surprise.”

  Laney cast a wistful look at the door. “Will Galen notice what we’re doing?”

  “My son has more on his mind than what the neighbor lasses are sewing.”

  Ruth pretended to concentrate on the plate she was scrubbing.

  Laney let out a hopeless little sigh.

  Searching for a way to change the topic, Ruth blurted out, “After I finish the dishes, why don’t I strip your bed?” Suddenly that sounded far too personal, so she stammered, “When we got Mama up, we’d put fresh sheets on the bed. She liked how crisp they felt.”

  “I’d been plannin’ on doin’ just that.” Mrs. O’Sullivan started wiping down the table with a damp rag. “Fact is, I have the washpot boilin’ out back.”

  “It’s a warm day. The sheets ought to dry quickly.” Laney rinsed a plate and wiped it with her dishtowel.

  “Laney and I can have things washed before you know it—hung out, too. That ought to help balance the time you’ll be spending with us,” Ruth interjected.

  “Well, ’tis blessed I am. The rain from the other day watered my garden. God’s smiling on His earth. Smiling on His children, too. I have one less job to do since the good Lord watered the land for me and you lasses are offering to ease my burdens all the more.”

  “We wanted to ask you about gardening,” Laney said. “The garden on the Broken P is …” She looked at Ruth for an adjective.

  “Abysmal.”

  “I never learned to garden, and Hilda says she’s too busy to bother with canning when we can trade a steer for plenty of what we need. She says everyone else preserves too many tomatoes, squash, and beans, so why should she put herself out?”

  “We’re all different. Me?” Mrs. O’Sullivan let out a merry laugh. “I love my time in the garden. There’s a special feelin’, bein’ on my knees under God’s great sky. ’Tis like He and I have a partnership, coaxin’ bounty from the soil.”

  “The fair’s supposed to be in Sacramento this year. You ought to enter some of your fruit and vegetables.”

  “We’ll see. Mayhap you lasses ought to make something and enter it. ’Twould be a worthy endeavor.”

  Putting a dry plate atop the stack on the shelf, Laney giggled. “I tried to make grape jelly last year. It was a disaster.”

  “What’s so funny about that?” Ruth stopped scrubbing the skillet.

  “I tried to hide my failure by dumping the results in with the hogs. You’ve never seen a funnier sight than pink hogs with purple splotches. Josh and Toledo were sure they’d contracted a terrible affliction until I confessed the wretched batch hadn’t gelled.”

  “You probably needed only to cook it down more,” Mrs.

  O’Sullivan suggested. “Still, purple and pink go well together.” She offered the girls a brilliant smile. Ruth had learned quickly that the older woman was rarely condemning.

  “That sounds like something I would have done.” Ruth laughed, then shook her head. “Poor Josh. He’s so diligent, I can just see him worrying over the animals.”

  “There’s a fact if e’er I heard one,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “’Tis the truth that Josh is diligent. Not just in his work, but in his walk with the Lord.”

  “I don’t think I’ve done a single useful thing since I came here,” Ruth said.

  “I can show you lasses how to make jelly. We can spend some days doing cooking.” Mrs. O’Sullivan set flour, salt, and a pitcher of water on her table. �
��You need to know how to do these things.”

  “I’m able to cook a few things, but my baking is horrid.” Ruth finished scouring the skillet and rinsed it for Laney. “My cookies could chip teeth, and my bread—well, I don’t know what’s wrong with it. The few times I tried, the dough rose just fine outside the oven, and I punched it down, but once the loaf went into the oven, it shrank into a brick.”

  “Mine too.” Laney blushed. “Josh calls them ‘runt loaves.”’

  Ruth burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly. She didn’t want Laney to feel bad—but Mrs. O’Sullivan tilted back her head and let out a hearty laugh. Relief flooded Ruth. She’d been the subject of titters and unkind sniggers more often than she cared to admit; but this was simple, honest mirth. Laney laughed along— and that made it all right.

  “Mercy me,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said after she caught her breath, “we can’t have you lasses making bricks and runt loaves. The Good Book says bread is the staff of life—you’ll end up widows soon as you’re brides if you serve your grooms that kind of food!”

  “Maybe we ought to bake instead of sew today so I can learn all of that.” Laney’s voice softened. “Ruth’s not sure she ever wants to marry, but I’d like to marry soon.”

  “Marriage is like bread.” Mrs. O’Sullivan walked over to a crock and pinched out a wad of starter to make her loaf. “You can have the right ingredients, but if you don’t work it right and give it time, it falls flat. Starter, it’s like the soul of the bread. You lasses need to be sure your men have hearts for the Almighty so as your days and family multiply, your spirit grows along with it. Starter has to be refreshed—if you don’t, nothing else you try will make the difference.”

  Ruth and Laney watched as she went back to the table and put the starter into a huge, brown earthenware bowl. She tossed in several cups of flour and some water. “Man and woman blend together to become one, but something’s still missing.”

  She added salt and stirred. “Love. If you rush to the altar, you can mistake infatuation for love.” She stirred more, then dumped the dough onto the floured tabletop and started to knead it. “Life’ll push you around, punch you down. Without spiritual leavening, you can’t rise up again. Without love, life loses its flavor. Many couples have respect and honor, but I pity them for the lack of love.”