Letter Perfect

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Ruth had been a subtle ally in keeping Laney’s infatuation reined in, a delightful visitor for Da, and managed to keep Ma’s mind diverted onto pleasant things in the midst of the looming sorrow. God provides… . The phrase echoed in his mind. Aye, God provided when He sent Ruth Caldwell here.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The smooth wooden handles felt good in her hands. Ruth gripped them and pushed the wheelbarrow along the path toward an enormous square of trees. The flour and sugar sacks in the bed didn’t begin to muffle the rattle of the hoes. All in all, it made for a merry racket.

  If ever there was a day she wanted to be away from the Broken P, surely this was it. Tension crackled at the breakfast table, and Josh had started in on listing any number of ridiculous reasons why she shouldn’t establish a library. His father was equally opinionated. They have no right to dictate what I do. Difficult as it had been, Ruth tried to remain silent—but she’d hit her limit.

  If Toledo hadn’t come to retrieve those meddlesome men and take them to the barn, I would have told them it’s none of their affair how I spend the inheritance I receive from Mama. Why, I even thought to name the library after her. I still will, too. They’re not going to stop me.

  “Oh, now, will you look there.” Kelly O’Sullivan stooped and picked a poppy. Tucking it in her hair, she said, “Nothing raises a woman’s spirits like flowers. I didn’t manage to plant any this year, but God’s good to strew my path with them.”

  “Ruth and I could ride to town tomorrow and get flower seeds,” Laney offered.

  And I could buy some books. I do have eighty dollars to start with.

  Completely unaware Ruth was hatching that plot, Laney said longingly, “I’d love to plant flowers at home. Daddy found a pair of wild rose bushes he dug up and planted out back, but there’s nothing else. We have that big new house and it looks so stark. Don’t you think so, too, Ruth?”

  “Uh, yes.” Ruth decided she’d better pay more attention to the conversation.

  “In Sacramento, just before Mama passed on, she bought a beautiful camellia. They were the rage. I’d adore having one on either side of the steps leading to our front veranda.”

  “Lester has a catalog from the New England Seed Company on his store counter. Despite their name, they happen to be located nearby. We could ask him to order a pair of potted camellias.” Ruth laughed. “I don’t know how to take them out of the pot and put them in the ground, but Mrs. O’Sullivan would tell us, wouldn’t you?”

  “Sure and enough, I would. Flowers do have a way of perking up a place. It’s as if a rainbow touches the earth whenever you look at a patch of flowers.”

  “I love the way you speak,” Ruth said. She smiled at Mrs. O’Sullivan. “Not just your accent, though it’s lilty and fun, but you choose wonderful words.”

  “I agree,” Laney said. “‘A rainbow touches the earth’ is such a picturesque way to describe it.”

  “Now aren’t the both of you kind as can be?”

  Ruth let out a relieved sigh. “I’m so glad you took what I said in the right way. I truly intended it as a compliment, but back at school, I’m sure someone would have misconstrued my meaning.”

  “I’m a firm believer in plain talking.” Mrs. O’Sullivan reached around and retied her apron strings as she spoke. “Folks who have to shade their meanings or look for the same in others vex me. Speaking from the heart and taking things at face value makes it easy to get along.”

  “It’s just that I don’t think before I open my mouth. I’m sure I wouldn’t have hurt feelings if I’d thought before I spoke.”

  “Ruth, you’d never say something mean,” Laney said. “Anyone who doesn’t know that can’t see past the nose on their face.”

  Mrs. O’Sullivan nodded. “You’ll find Westerners speak frankly. The bluntness cuts to the core of the matter, and folks appreciate you’re not wasting their time by beatin’ ’round the bush. Don’t e’er fear speakin’ amiss with me, lass. I’ll nab ye if I feel the need, but I’ve yet to see a need.”

  The hoes rattled sharply as Ruth turned into the garden. “I’ll take it in the loving spirit in which it would be given.”

  Mrs. O’Sullivan nodded. “A honest heart is a happy one. Oh, look. God’s been sproutin’ my garden whilst my back was turned.”

  “You have a lot of cabbage and lettuce.” Ruth settled the wheelbarrow on the soft earth.

  “More cabbage than lettuce,” Mrs. O’Sullivan said. “’Tis a more useful vegetable. It stores longer, and I can use it in several recipes.”

  Laney wrinkled her nose. “Hilda loves sauerkraut.”

  “Aye, you can make the cabbage into sauerkraut.”

  Ruth winked at Laney and whispered, “Sauerkraut is dreadful. It makes me feel like a liar to bow my head and listen to grace when I’m not in the least bit thankful to eat it!”

  “’Tisn’t my favorite dish, I confess, but I’m always grateful for it. Time was, back home, when the potatoes got blight. We had precious little to eat. I put up every last scrap I could from our garden and we prayed to the dear Lord to stretch it to last.”

  Laney exclaimed, “Galen must have been just a little boy!”

  “He was.” Mrs. O’Sullivan let out a sigh. “We had two other sons after him, but they were too frail. Cholera took them ere we came to America.”

  “I’m so sorry!” Laney threw her arms around Mrs. O’Sullivan in an ardent embrace.

  Looking at the woman in awe, Ruth couldn’t fathom her strength. She’s buried two sons and will soon lose her husband, yet she faces each day with joy. When I’m around others, I can set aside my grief, but when I’m alone, it nearly chokes me. How does she keep her serenity and joy?

  “I’m a blessed woman, I am. God let me keep my Galen and gave me three more sons to replace the two I sent back to Him.” Mrs. O’Sullivan patted Laney, then reached over and cupped Ruth’s cheek. “Your own grief is raw, Ruth Caldwell. Don’t be hard on yourself. Lean on God’s strength and mercy.”

  “‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”’ Ruth murmured hesitantly.

  “Ach, yes. That’s from the first chapter of Job. Now there was a man who lost everything. What did he do? He clung to his faith. When God grants us the love of a mate, a child, or a friend, ’tis a blessing. We have no right to tell Him how long to allow us the enjoyment of that blessing, so if He takes that loved one back to His bosom, we’re to thank Him for the time He granted us.”

  Tears filled Ruth’s eyes. “But I miss Mama so much!”

  “Of course you do.” Mrs. O’Sullivan enveloped her in an embrace and cupped Ruth’s head to her shoulder. “And you’ll weep, just as Our Savior did when He heard of His friend Lazarus’s passing. We weep for our own loss. There’s no shame in that.”

  “But you’re s-so h-h-happy.”

  “Time and grace soften the loss. For now with my Cullen, I’m cherishing every day we share. Once he hears the Lord’s voice and follows Him home, I’ll weep an ocean. In those days, you lasses will come comfort me with the certainty that my dear Cullen awaits me in paradise and will allow me the solace of talking about my sweet memories.”

  “Of course we will,” Laney pledged.

  Ruth squeezed Mrs. Sullivan but didn’t say a word. You’ll have those memories because you stayed by his side. I left Mama and went off to those dumb schools when I should have been by her side, helping and loving her.

  “It’s a good thing we brought our hats. Sunny as it is today, we’d suffer terribly otherwise.” Laney retied her bonnet’s ribbons into a jaunty bow.

  Taking her cue to set to work, Ruth turned loose of Mrs. O’Sullivan. “I know I’m supposed to cover up so I won’t get burned or baked by the sun. Lily white skin is fashionable, but I like the warmth of the sun on my face.”

  “You’ll put on your hat, lass.” Mrs. O’Sullivan covered her own bright hair with a sunbonnet. “The only things ripening in my garden are the fru
its and vegetables. The both o’ you are sweet as plums; I’ll not have you turnin’ into prunes!”

  “I think plums are the one and only thing you don’t grow,” Laney said as she took up a hoe.

  “Why is that?” Ruth wondered.

  “You can’t have everything in the world. My Cullen, he planted me more’n I ever dreamed to own. The trick in life is to be satisfied with whate’er you have and whate’er your lot is.”

  “Paul said that in the Bible, too.” Laney started to work.

  “That, he did.” Mrs. O’Sullivan went to the next row over. “I reckon if he could be content in a prison cell, certain as can be, I can find happiness in my home and garden.”

  Ruth picked up the last hoe and set to work.

  By midday, they’d accomplished a great deal. Cabbage, lettuce, and carrots filled the flour sacks. The women stacked them in the wheelbarrow, and Laney declared, “It’s my turn to push now!”

  Ruth held the hoes. “Okay. Then let’s go.”

  Mrs. O’Sullivan set her hands on her hips. “But what am I to carry?”

  “You can carry your head high, because you’re a daughter of the King,” Laney said.

  “Listen to her. She’s right.” Ruth set out walking. “I wish I were more like you, Laney. You have a talent for saying something that’s fitting. I’d call it a silver tongue, but that makes you sound glib, and you’re not.”

  “‘Words aptly spoken are like apples of gold,”’ Mrs. O’Sullivan quoted.

  Laney shoved the wheelbarrow over a rut. “I don’t want a golden apple in my mouth, because I know whatever we’re going to have for lunch will be far tastier!”

  “’Tis a humble meal we’ll be having—corned beef on this mornin’s leftover biscuits and coleslaw.” Mrs. O’Sullivan added a little jig between her steps. “Why, ye’d be thinkin’ I’m Irish or somethin’!”

  “To look at me, you’d think I’m a dirt clod.” Ruth stared at her skirt. “We all worked in the garden, but the two of you are still nearly spotless. Once you dust off your hems and wash your hands, you’ll be fine. Anyone spying me would think I wallowed with the hogs!”

  “Dirt washes,” Laney said.

  Mrs. O’Sullivan shook her head. “Lass, that riding skirt you’ve been workin’ on is all done, save the button at the waist. You can change and stop fretting.”

  “Laney and I wanted to wear them on the same day.”

  “And you still can. Just not today.”

  “You can switch into something else once we get home. No one will see you, so we can be alike tomorrow.” Laney set down the wheelbarrow by the house.

  As plans went, it all sounded good. Ruth dusted most of the dirt from her shirtwaist and changed into the brown paisley. Catching her reflection in a mirror as she came out from behind the screen, she groaned. The sunbonnet had slipped to and fro a little, and as a result her hairpins all worked loose. Ringlets sprang from her in wild profusion.

  Mr. O’Sullivan let out a rusty chuckle from the bed. “Oh, lass. You look like you suffered a terrible fright!”

  “Cullen O’Sullivan!” his wife chided.

  “He told the unvarnished truth.” Ruth started stabbing the pins back in. They escaped as quickly as she tried to anchor them.

  “Here. Let me help.” Laney stood on tiptoe and gathered Ruth’s hair. A twist here and a pin there, and in a matter of a few moments, she’d arranged the disorderly mass into something quite passable.

  “Thank you.” Ruth gave her a hug.

  “You lasses take this bag back home now. I’m sure Hilda can use some fresh vegetables.” Mrs. O’Sullivan set a bulging flour sack on the table. “Laney, I rolled your riding skirt up tight as can be and put it in this second bag. That way, no one’ll see it till you and Ruth traipse downstairs, matching like a chipper pair of wee sparrows.”

  For once, Ruth lagged behind as they returned to the Broken P.

  Lord, I know I’m supposed to have a humble spirit. I’m bad about that. You know I am. I don’t want to have Josh boss me around and ruin the library. It’s such a special notion. I’m sure you put it in my mind. Your Word says to honor my father and mother—well, I didn’t really know my father, but Mama … a library is such a perfect tribute to her.

  “Ruth?”

  “Yes, Laney?”

  “Did you see that paper at Galen’s house?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention. Why?”

  Laney turned in her saddle. Her eyes were wide and earnest.

  “There’s a novel that costs only a dime. I was thinking if it is only that much, it must be small and not so hard to read. What do you think?”

  “I think since you spotted the article and read it that well, we ought to buy the book for you at once.” Ruth smiled broadly. “In fact, to celebrate, we’re going to order it and have it come by Pony Express so it’ll get here right away.”

  “That’s too expensive!”

  “Ha! I’m so proud of you, I could shout. You deserve that book, and I’ll do whatever I need to in order for you to have it as quickly as possible. You can’t turn me down, Laney. It’s rude to refuse a gift.”

  “Every once in a while, someone’s given me a book, but I never appreciated them because I felt like a liar for saying I was thankful when I didn’t want it. It was embarrassing not to be able to read. This is the first time I’ll get a book and actually enjoy it.”

  Ruth laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I’m laughing with joy for your accomplishment, but I’m also thinking that we asked God to help you learn to read, even though you disliked it.”

  “God has been faithful, hasn’t He?”

  “Absolutely. And I’m thankful to Him for that … but here we are, taking home cabbage.” Ruth scrunched her face into a displeased pucker. “I’m not going to pray that Hilda makes sauerkraut, because it would take more than a miracle to make me enjoy a single mouthful.”

  Giggles spilled out of Laney. “Oh, Ruth, I’m so glad you’re here. I haven’t been this happy in a long, long time. I always wanted a sister, and having you here is like a dream come true.”

  “I wished I had a sister, too.”

  “Won’t it be fun to wear our matching riding skirts tomorrow? At school, there was a pair of sisters whose clothes sometimes matched. I thought they were darling.”

  “You’d look darling in a burlap bag,” Ruth said as they reached the stable. Felipe started unsaddling the horses as they headed back toward the house.

  Ruth fought the urge to drag her feet. Doing so wouldn’t change things. She’d still have to sit across the supper table from Josh, knowing full well from the thunderous expression on his face and terse responses that he was still angry about her planning the library.

  I’m in California. I can buy land and hire someone to build on it. I can handle money for myself. It’ll be months before my books arrive, and I don’t know when Mama’s estate will finish settling. Until then, I can start planning.Just making the list of books brought back so many memories of Mama reading to me or our sharing a book and discussing it together. I’d hoped Josh would be pleased. Working on the project together would have been a lot of fun. I didn’t realize how much I wanted his help. I need a man’s viewpoint, and Josh is a man’s man—he works harder than anyone I’ve ever met; yet as Mrs. O’Sullivan said, he walks close to the Lord. He’s intelligent and very well read, too. She sighed. But if he wants to turn his back on the library, I’ll do it on my own.

  “Oh, fiddlesticks!”

  Ruth snapped out of her thoughts and looked around. “What’s the matter?”

  Laney tilted her head toward the house. “Daddy’s talking to Josh and Toledo on the veranda.”

  “He’s smoking. I thought you wanted him to take his cigars outside.”

  Laney pouted, “But everyone will see your skirt.”

  Ruth shrugged. “So what? No one will know about yours until tomorrow.”

  “What’ve you
girls got there?” McCain called to them.

  “Vegetables,” Ruth called back.

  Josh curled his hands around the railing and leaned forward. Pasting on a ferocious look, he focused on Ruth. “You’re not planning to go feed one of my broodmares, are you?”

  Ruth skipped ahead. “Do we have another new baby?”

  “Any day now.” He straightened up and shook his finger at them. “But you stay out of the stable. I’ll take you out to see the foal when it’s safe.”

  McCain squinted at the burlap sack, then directed his attention to Laney. “If there’s cabbage in there, when you take it in to Hilda, you tell her I want coleslaw.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  As they opened the back door to the kitchen, Laney whispered, “He hates sauerkraut, too.”

  The girls went into the house, and Josh turned to Toledo. “Tell me more.”

  “Not much more to say. Butterfield Stage and the railroad are both nosing around. Railroad wants to cross the Sierras. Depends on who’s jawin’ as to whether Butterfield wants to go east-west or north-south.”

  “Pony Express runs straight through the O’Sullivans’ and cuts a swath through our land. I’d expect the railroad to do the same,” Josh said.

  Dad leaned forward. “And if they did?”

  “I’d have to think on it.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Dad sat back. He took a long draw off his cigar, then let out a steady stream of smoke. “Best thing that could happen to us. Land value goes up, and we’d have it easy getting the cattle to market.”

  “We’d lose cattle. Train would hit ’em. Either that, or it’ll be the end of free-ranging.”

  “It’d take miles of fences,” Toledo drawled.

  “A lot of money and man-hours, too.”

  Dad puffed again. “The money the railroad will pay would more than cover those costs.”

  Toledo shrugged. “Just thought you’d wanna know what I heard.”

  “Appreciate it,” Josh said.

  As the hand sauntered off, Josh said, “Dad, you’re making no sense. In one conversation, you think the Pony Express is a folly. Now you support a transcontinental railroad. You wanted California to stay out of the North-South fray, but a railroad would inevitably force our state to become involved.”