Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “She’s more than that.” Laney glanced around to be sure they were alone, then whispered hotly, “Ruth is spending her mornings teaching me to read.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We don’t need your help… .”

  Josh’s words echoed in Ruth’s mind as she angrily reached for her right ankle-top boot. He treated his sister kindly and sang Kelly O’Sullivan’s praises, so it wasn’t that he disliked women.

  It’s me. The elastic gusset on the side of the boot stretched as she yanked the fashionable spool heel. Ruth didn’t have the patience to lace or button her boots. Elastic required no fuss—not only in donning and removing the footwear, but also in polishing, which she rarely remembered to do. Ruth scowled as she pitched her boot toward the armoire. It landed with a satisfying thump. Actually, maybe it’s not me Josh’s reacting to—maybe he’s angry at the situation. I suppose he has good cause. If a judge finds favor in my claim, I’ll receive a portion of what he’s expected to get.

  She yanked off her other boot and sent it sailing across the room, where it landed close to the other one. “It’s not my fault if he was counting his chickens before they hatched,” she muttered to herself. She twisted to lie on her tummy, propped her chin in her hands, and blew a stream of air upward to move a few wild curls that flopped down toward her eyes.

  “The answers are always in the Bible.” Her mother’s gentle words streamed through Ruth’s mind. She wiggled a little farther, grabbed her Bible from the bedside table, and clutched it to her bosom. “Lord, I don’t know what to do. I came here to start a new life, and all I’m doing is a whole lot of nothing. Surely you must have a purpose for me. Can’t you show me the way?”

  Someone tapped on her door. “Ruth?”

  Lifting her head, she gave serious thought to ignoring Josh.

  The tap grew louder. “Ruth?”

  Suspecting if she didn’t answer, he’d bang on the door and bellow her name as loudly as he’d called for Hilda on the day he brought her here, Ruth huffed, “What?”

  “I don’t want to talk to you through the door.”

  She set aside her Bible, walked to the door, and opened it as she observed, “You’ve been doing a fair job of it.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Her hand tightened around the ornate brass doorknob. He leaned to the side and propped his tall form against the doorframe, as if he could wait all night long for her to yield to his invitation. She, on the other hand, curled her stocking-covered toes under and rued the two inches she’d lost by taking off her boots.

  He tilted his head toward the stairs and cajoled, “Come back down to the parlor.”

  A small, tense laugh bubbled out of her.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was thinking of a rhyme.” His brows rose in silent inquiry, so she quoted the first line of the Mary Howitt poem, ““‘Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly… .”’

  Josh let out a short bark of a laugh. “Rest assured, I’m not going to pounce and murder you.”

  She shifted, then stopped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I took off my shoes.”

  “So what?” His arm snaked out and his hand hooked around her elbow. Drawing her into the hallway, he said, “We’re going down to hold a conversation, not a cotillion.”

  “Then I suppose one of the two of us ought to be pleased. I tend to put my foot in my mouth whenever I speak, so not having a shoe on will make it less awkward for me. If it were a cotillion— well, with my lack of grace, you’d be far safer with me unshod.”

  His mouth twitched.

  Ruth heaved a sigh. “Yes, I know. Unshod makes me sound like a horse. But ladies aren’t supposed to mention specific garments.”

  “Back to the rules, huh?”

  “I’d hoped I could abandon most of them, seeing as the West is reputed to be untamed.” She started down the stairs. “So far, the only things that have changed are Hilda uses less silver at each place setting and I didn’t need a calling card when we visited the O’Sullivans.”

  “That’s all?”

  “For me, it is. It’s far different for men. Many of you go about in your shirtsleeves and gloveless in public. Regardless of the normal dictates, men seem to wear whichever hat suits their fancy. Men address women to whom they’ve not been introduced, and they bellow to one another instead of closing the distance and speaking in moderate tones. I could dither on and on, but I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

  “All of those differences reflect simple practicality.”

  “I suppose they do.” Ruth wrinkled her nose. “But if practicality is valued, why don’t you allow me to pitch in and help? I’m strong and can put my hands to a task.”

  “Toledo will finish expanding the chicken coop by tomorrow. You can take over gathering eggs and feeding the chickens.”

  “That’s a start. What about—”

  He held up a hand to silence her, then cast a quick look over his shoulder. In a bare whisper, he ordered, “Wait till we’re in the parlor. I don’t want Dad to overhear this.”

  Ruth bobbed her head. Josh led her into the parlor, seated her on the settee, then proceeded to take the spot immediately beside her. Well, there’s another difference. Back home, a man didn’t share a woman’s settee unless they were courting. Josh is far more likely to kick me out than kiss me.

  “Ruth, Laney needs your help,” he said a muted tone. “She tells me you’re working with her, teaching her to read. Don’t you think that’s far more important than mucking a stall or pitching hay?”

  “I’m doing that because she’s my friend and I care about her. There’s a vast difference between assisting a friend and doing real work.”

  “I disagree. When you go visit Kelly O’Sullivan, you delve in and take over whatever chore she’s doing. Galen’s even told me so.”

  “That’s just assisting a friend.”

  “It’s a matter of perspective. Those tasks are her work, and I know she appreciates how you and Laney help shoulder her burdens. With Cullen’s health as tenuous as it is, when you and Laney help with tasks, Kelly’s load is lightened. Part of ranching is helping neighbors. I think you underestimated the importance of my asking you to lend a hand over at the O’Sullivans’.”

  “Josh, you don’t understand. Laney and I have a delightful time over there. If anything, Mrs. O’Sullivan has taken us under her wing. Just a breath ago, you praised practicality—well, the embarrassing fact is, Laney and I don’t have the vaguest notion about how to do the practical, everyday things most women do. Mrs. O’Sullivan is teaching us, and the value of what she’s sharing with us cannot be imagined.”

  Josh grinned. “I’m glad she’s teaching you those things. But, Ruth, don’t you see? If you value her lessons, why shouldn’t Laney and I find great worth in your teaching her to read?”

  “But it’s such a simple thing.”

  Josh shook his head. “What you’ve done for her is nothing short of astonishing. Never once, in all of her years of schooling, did anyone call her clever or tell her she would succeed. You build her up and boost her confidence. Whatever you need to work with her—just let me know, and I’ll obtain it. She actually believes you’re going to have her reading.”

  “As well she should. Josh, she can read. Truly, she can. Maybe not complicated treatises, but Laney can sound out words.”

  Josh broke into an enormous smile. “See? To my way of reckoning, between the lessons you’re giving her and the help you’re extending to the O’Sullivans, you are pulling your weight around the Broken P. I want you to stop searching for a backbreaking chore and recognize the value of what you are doing.”

  “It’s precious little.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Josh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a good thing your father does the books for the ranch. Your idea of accounting doesn’t add up.”

  “What doesn’t add up?” McC
ain rapped out from the parlor entryway.

  “Ruth and I were discussing her desire to help around here.”

  McCain snorted. “Girl, this is a man’s world. Laney understands how it is—you don’t see her wanting to rope calves. After a hard day’s work, a man wants to come home to a warm welcome and a cool drink.”

  Ruth flashed Josh a look.

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ve told Ruth that pitching in at the O’Sullivans’ is important.”

  “Of course it is.” McCain sauntered over to his customary chair, but he didn’t sit down. “Laney and you represent the Broken P when you go out. Relations with neighbors are important. They just bought two of our mustangs, and twice a year, they buy half a steer. One hand washes the other.”

  “See?” Josh gave her an I-told-you-so look.

  McCain’s brows furrowed. “Is this about money? Do you need me to buy you something?”

  “No. Oh, not at all.” Ruth shook her head. “You’ve already been remarkably generous. Laney and I haven’t finished sewing up all the material you bought for us.”

  McCain finally eased into the chair. “If you need something, you only have to ask.”

  “I appreciate the offer; it’s most kind of you. But I do have funds available to me.” Ruth felt confident the eighty dollars she’d brought with her would see her through quite adequately until her mother’s estate settled.

  “The Broken P accounts are all paid up,” McCain said slowly. “Our credit is good, but we run a lean operation. You should know that.”

  Ruth looked from father to son. “I’m sure with all of the hard work you men put into this ranch, you’ve been good stewards of what the Lord entrusted to you.”

  “It’s not the Bible that’s keeping the profit line. Brains, sweat, and blood are what it takes.” McCain drummed the fingers of his right hand on the arm of the chair. “Was there anything else you wanted to know about the finances?”

  “Dad, you came in on the tail end of the conversation. Ruth’s concern was that she contributed, not that there would be any hitches in the bookkeeping.”

  “Humpf.”

  Ruth figured she was better off to keep silent. Clearly Josh was right when he said his father’s pride stung that he couldn’t labor about the place and he needed to feel good about managing the finances. Unable to concoct anything diplomatic, she decided to escape to her room. “Well, then, I think I’ll retire.”

  She took three steps, then jerked back. “Ouch!”

  “What’s wrong?” Josh asked.

  Spying a needle on the carpet, Ruth stooped to pick it up. “I just found that needle I was missing.”

  “Are you okay?” Josh reached to take the needle from her.

  “Of course I am. Thank you.” She stuck the needle through her sleeve. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  As she mounted the stairs, Ruth overheard McCain tell his son, “I’ve never known a woman so bent on hurting herself. Did you know the first day we went to town, she fell off the boardwalk and about got herself killed?”

  Unwilling to eavesdrop and hear more about her flaws, Ruth trudged upstairs.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Ruth said as she wandered back and forth in the parlor.

  Josh eyed her with trepidation. Couldn’t she ever just sit down and be placid? After stepping on the needle last night, she ought to hold a tad more caution.

  “I noticed a sad lack of something vital around here.” Ruth’s skirts swished as she turned back around.

  Go peek in the mirror, Ruth. You’re vital. Look at you—you can’t even stand still, Josh thought.

  “What are we missing?” Laney continued to crochet a lacy edging around a pillowslip.

  “Nothing,” Josh said repressively. “We’ve gotten along just fine. I can’t think of a thing we lack.”

  Pulling to a halt, Ruth gave him an icy look. No wonder she got kicked out of ladies’ academies. The girl doesn’t have a scrap of charm or womanly wiles.

  “I’m sure once you hear my plan, you’ll agree it’s something I should set to at once.” Ruth started toward the far side of the parlor once again. She stopped at the shelf and gestured toward it. “Josh, how many of these books have you read?”

  He smothered a smile. She’d distracted herself. “All of them. You’re welcome to borrow whatever you’d like, Ruth.”

  She studied the spines of the dozen or so books, then gave him a woebegone look. “You don’t have one on physics.”

  “Do you need a physician?” McCain gave Ruth a guarded look.

  Her cheeks flushed to the same color as the stagecoach she’d ridden in on. “I appreciate your concern, but I assure you, I’m in the pink of health, sir. I was referring to the subject of the science of modern physics.”

  “Humph.” Dad levered himself out of his chair. “It’d be a waste of space. Boring, useless information. Farmer’s Almanac, Animal Husbandry—those have a place on a ranch. No use wasting time with fancy numbers that don’t change the water table or the head count of the livestock.” He sauntered over to the humidor and took out a cigar.

  “Oh, Daddy,” Laney sighed. “Those smell so awful.”

  He rolled the cigar between his hands. “You never complained about Alan’s smoking.”

  “His cigarettes didn’t stink even half as much as your cigars. Why don’t you roll yourself a cigarette like you used to make for him?”

  “They don’t last long enough to give me thinking time.” He stooped over and kissed Laney’s brow. “I’ll go outside with it.”

  “Thank you, Daddy.”

  After he left, Ruth turned back toward the books. “I disagree with your father. There must be several practical applications for physics on a ranch.”

  Josh nodded. He agreed, but he also wanted to let her ramble on. As long as she stayed distracted, she wouldn’t try to pitch whatever harebrained scheme she’d planned to spring on him.

  “Knowledge is never wasted,” Ruth continued.

  “Ruth’s read a lot.” Laney tied a knot and clipped the fragile crochet thread. “She’s quite clever, Josh.”

  “You’re clever, too,” Ruth said. “Look at what a thing of beauty you’ve made. Wouldn’t you like a book of different patterns to crochet and stitch?”

  “Why, yes.”

  “That’s a nice idea, Ruth.” Grinning, Josh rested his ankle on the opposite knee. Ruth never stopped thinking, but her mind wandered. Her conversation resembled a spray of buckshot—and in this instance, he’d encourage that flaw because he didn’t want to have to dissuade her from whatever else she’d set her mind to. “The next time someone goes to town, we could get a book for Laney.”

  Laney’s jaw dropped. “You’re doing this so I’ll read!”

  “You were my inspiration,” Ruth declared as she headed back to the settee. Her skirts billowed out with a complete lack of control as she half-flopped down. Belatedly smoothing them into a modicum of order, she smiled at Laney. “Truly, Laney, watching you made all my thoughts fall into line.”

  Doubting her thoughts were ever half that orderly, Josh still admired Ruth’s concept. Ruth’s practical way of coaxing Laney to read pleased him, so Josh figured, at least this once, her neverceasing habit of hatching up plans had proven to be beneficial. “I’m sure you and Ruth could share a book.”

  Ruth beamed at him. “Exactly! That’s what books are for— sharing.”

  Josh nodded.

  “I’m so glad you see it my way.” Ruth hopped up again. “I’ve already started a list of my favorite books.” She pulled two sheets of crumpled paper from her sleeve.

  Is there anything more she could possibly pull from her sleeves? A hanky or a fan is normal—but a knife and sheets of paper? This woman never ceases to amaze me.

  Ruth messed with the papers, trying to smooth them out. “You can tell me what your favorites are, so I can add them.”

  Josh chuckled. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ruth, but it’ll be a while befo
re Laney might want to tackle them, and I’m sure many won’t be to her liking. We hold vastly different interests.”

  “But we want to have a wide assortment. Having a good selection is essential to success.” Ruth slipped the papers into his hands.

  “Josh’s books are too hard. I’m sure yours will be, too,” Laney whispered.

  “We’re going to have a variety,” Ruth reassured her. “My list includes many of the more basic books I enjoyed as I started to read, not just more recent selections.”

  Josh glanced down at the first sheet of paper and nearly choked. Four columns snaked down the page in itty-bitty print. Ink blots marred several of the words. When he flipped it over to see if the second sheet was equally crammed, Josh discovered the back of that first sheet also bore top-to-bottom columns. “You must have two hundred books listed here.”

  “Three hundred twenty-three,” Ruth provided. “I know it’s just a start—” “A start!” He stared at her. “Variety is one thing, excess is another.”

  “That list is far from excessive. If you bother to look, you’ll notice some of the books are important references, such as a dictionary.”

  “A dictionary!” He’d praised her last night for working with Laney and told her he’d get the materials she required to do the job, but he hadn’t thought she’d take matters to such an extreme. “Ruth—”

  “Don’t worry. The dictionary and the books with dots beside them are ones I still own. Books are like old friends to me. Bernadette—she was our housekeeper back home—and I packed them. They’ll arrive by boat through Sacramento.”

  Josh studied the list with a mixture of surprise and dismay. She’d included everything from Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytales to Hawthorne and Thoreau. Jane Eyre was scribed beside Robinson Crusoe. The assortment rated as nothing less than astonishing, but much of it would be far beyond Laney’s abilities for a long while yet. How could he talk sense into Ruth without crushing his sister?

  Why didn’t she come to me privately? The answer flitted through his mind immediately. Because she’s Ruth. Ruth told me of her tendency to speak when she ought to hold her tongue.