Copyright © 2010
Weathered Too Young by Marcia Lynn McClure
www.marcialynnmcclure.com
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, the contents of this book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any part or by any means without the prior written consent of the author and/or publisher.
Published by Distractions Ink
P.O. Box 15971
Rio Rancho, NM 87174
©Copyright 2010 by M. L. Meyers
A.K.A. Marcia Lynn McClure
Cover Photography by © Photography by Alan Poulson/www.poulsonsphotography.com
Cover Design by Sheri L. Brady/MightyPhoenixDesignStudio.com
First Printed Edition: 2010
All character names and personalities in this work of fiction
are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author.
Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
McClure, Marcia Lynn, 1965—
Weathered Too Young: a novel/by Marcia Lynn McClure.
ISBN: 978-0-9821921-1-5
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010921652
Printed in the United States of America
To Sandy,
Here’s to twenty-six years of “bosom” friendship,
Treasured memories of love and laughter.
To you…my cherished, beloved, forever friend.
CHAPTER ONE
“I sure could use the help,” the rather frail-looking, elderly woman began, “but I’m afraid I just can’t afford to pay ya…not just now with summer endin’ and winter just around the corner. Things slow to a crawl in my shop in winter.”
Lark couldn’t keep the breathy sigh of disappointment from escaping her lungs.
“I’m sorry, honey,” the woman said. “Truly.”
“Oh…no worries,” Lark said—though, in truth, her own worries were profound.
Still, she studied the older woman a moment—her silvery hair, the deep wrinkles life had carved upon her pretty face. She was a kind woman—Lark was certain she was. Kind and truthful.
The bell hanging on the door of the quaint little seamstress shop jingled, and the woman glanced up.
“Hey there, Hadley,” she greeted, smiling.
Lark turned to see a dusty cowboy remove his hat. She’d seen him before—earlier that morning when she’d been in the general store inquiring about the possibility of working there. He was young—perhaps only a year or two older than Lark—with light brown hair and blue eyes. Handsome too.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Jenkins,” the cowboy said. “I’m in need of a new Sunday shirt. Mrs. Jones says I ain’t fit to step one foot before the Lord in the one I been wearin’. And all us boys runnin’ cattle for Mr. Jones…well, Mrs. Jones insists on Sunday church-goin’.”
“Of course, Hadley,” Mrs. Jenkins giggled, her blue eyes transforming into half-moons as she smiled. “I’ll be right with ya.”
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lark said, forcing a grateful smile. “I’ll let you help this young man. We certainly can’t have him missing services.”
“Certainly not,” Mrs. Jenkins said, still smiling. “I really am sorry, honey,” she added.
“Oh, it’s nothing to concern yourself over,” Lark assured her, even despite the growing sense of panic that was rising within her.
“I’ve got a shirt in the back that’ll suit you just fine, Hadley,” Mrs. Jenkins said then. “You hold on there. I’ll just be a minute.”
As Mrs. Jenkins disappeared into the back room of her small seamstress shop, Lark exhaled a heavy sigh of discouragement. Time was running short. Summer was waning, and though the weather was still kind and the nights yet warm, autumn and winter were not far away. She had to find some means of earning a wage—had to find some place to wait out the winter.
Tucking a tired strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, she tried to remain calm. Yet the growling hunger in the pit of her stomach only added to her anxiety.
“Excuse me, miss,” the young cowboy said, startling her from her worrisome thoughts.
“Yes?” she asked, again forcing a smile.
“I…I couldn’t help but notice that yer lookin’ for work over at the general store…and I’m guessin’ here too,” he began. “And I wouldn’t want to stick my nose in where I shouldn’t, but…are ya only lookin’ for sewin’ and mendin’ and such? Or might somethin’ else do for ya?”
“I’m willing to do anything,” Lark answered. When she saw the young cowboy’s eyebrows rise in astonishment, however, she blushed, adding, “Anything honorable, that is.”
“Cookin’? Cleanin’ and warshin’?” the man asked.
“Of course,” Lark assured him, the tiny flicker of hope within fanning to a flame.
“Well,” the man began, glancing to the door through which Mrs. Jenkins had exited the room, “I might know of somethin’…though I doubt Mrs. Jenkins would approve. Otherwise she mighta mentioned it herself.”
But Lark was beyond worrying about what a woman she’d only just met might think. If the cowboy knew of work that might suit her, Lark was determined to consider it.
Lowering his voice, the young man said, “Well, ol’ Mrs. Simpson died and got planted last month…and I know them Evans brothers have been lookin’ for someone to come in and take her place. Ya know, do the warsh, the cookin’, and such.”
Lark felt a smile spread across her face. Hope! She was very adept at keeping house and cooking—at looking after others. Why, hadn’t she been doing it for near to four years now?
“That sounds perfect!” she exclaimed in a whisper.
“They’re hard-workin’ ol’ fellers,” the cowboy explained. “And…and not married…neither one of ’em.” He glanced up, obviously worried Mrs. Jenkins would return and hear him suggesting that a young, unmarried woman might find employment in the company of two unmarried men.
Lark likewise understood his concern—and the danger. “Are they good men?” she asked. “I mean…I mean, are their reputations sound?”
“They ain’t womanizers, if that’s what you mean,” he said in an even lower voice. “They run cattle on their ranch out west of town.” He shrugged and continued, “They keep maybe three or four hands out there. But the cowboys all live in the bunkhouse and do their own cookin’ and all, so Mrs. Simpson only took care of the Evans brothers. They’re hard-workin’ men, and I know they could use the help.”
Lark smiled and bit her lip with hopeful delight. “Where do I find them?” she asked. “Can you tell me how to find their property?”
The cowboy smiled. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. “In fact, I got the wagon in town with me today. I could take ya out there myself. It’s on my way back.” He nodded and added, “I’m Hadley, by the way…Hadley Jacobson. And I’m no rounder, miss. You can trust me.”
He offered her a rough, callused hand, and Lark gladly accepted it.
“Lark Lawrence,” she told him.
“Here ya go, Hadley,” Mrs. Jenkins said, entering from the back room. “Do ya think this will do?”
Lark watched as the older woman held up a new, pristinely white shirt. She wondered how long it would remain so pristinely white. Even if Hadley did only wear it on Sunday, Lark knew how hard cowboys were on clothes.
“I imagine that’ll be just fine, Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said. “Just fine. How much do I owe ya then?”
“Don’t ya wanna try it on and make sure it fits ya all right?” Mrs. Jenkins asked.
“No, ma’am. Everyone says you can fit anybody by just lookin’.”
Mrs. Jenkins smiled. “Well, then
…I’ll take two of your hard-earned dollars for the shirt, Hadley.” Retrieving a length of brown paper from beneath a counter, Mrs. Jenkins began to carefully wrap the shirt in it.
Hadley smiled. He shoved a hand into the front right pocket of his well-worn trousers and retrieved two silver dollars. He placed them on the counter as Mrs. Jenkins tied the parcel with twine and handed it to him.
“Thank ya, Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said. He plopped his hat back on his head and smiled. “You have a good day now.”
“You too, Hadley. I’ll see ya on Sunday,” the woman giggled.
“Thank you again, Mrs. Jenkins,” Lark said as Hadley opened the shop door, causing the bell to jingle again.
“Don’t you worry, honey,” Mrs. Jenkins said. “Somethin’ will turn up for ya.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lark picked up the old carpetbag protecting the few things she owned. Smiling at Hadley, she passed him, exiting the store as he held the door for her.
“Mrs. Jenkins,” Hadley said, touching the brim of his hat and nodding to the seamstress.
As Hadley helped Lark up onto the wagon seat, she glanced into the seamstress shop. Sure enough, Mrs. Jenkins stood at the window—a scowl of concern on her already wrinkled brow.
Lark knew the woman was disapproving of her riding off in a wagon with a cowboy she’d only just met. Therefore, she could just imagine what the sweet old seamstress would think if she knew Lark’s intention of seeking out the possibility of working for two unmarried men. Still, the ox was in the mire; the toe was in the trap. Lark needed work and shelter for the coming months, and every other venue she’d tried offered nothing.
So she simply straightened her posture as she settled next to Hadley on the seat of the wagon—simply did not glance back at the disapproving gaze of Mrs. Jenkins as Hadley slapped the lines at the back of the team of horses.
“Is it far?” Lark asked as Hadley drove the wagon out of town.
“Nope. About five miles is all,” he said.
The cowboy seemed nice enough—trustworthy. After all, hadn’t he just purchased a new shirt for Sunday church meetings? Still, as ever, Lark was wary. It was a difficult thing—to always be in the company of strangers—to try to sift out the ones that could be trusted from the ones that couldn’t. Still, Hadley seemed nice, and he was a church-going man. Therefore, Lark attempted to remain calm where Hadley Jacobson was concerned—tried not to worry about the fact she was about to ask two solitary men for employment.
The sky was beautiful in its cloudless blue. Lark inhaled, relishing the clean scent of dry air, High Plains grasses, and wildflowers. She felt a sharp pang pinch her heart—disappointment in knowing that soon the green and colorful things of summer would be gone. Autumn held its own unequaled beauty, and winter snow often glistened like stars. Yet summer was warm, warm enough to allow a traveler to sleep comfortably under a midnight sky.
Lark smiled as she gazed out across the plains, over the endless sea of prairie grass and flaming Indian paintbrush. She could hear the meadowlark’s echo, the music of lines and traces as the team pulled the wagon, the low rumble of the wagon wheels over the dusty road, and it soothed her.
“It’s beautiful out here,” she said.
“Yeah,” Hadley agreed, smiling. “It lets yer soul rest a bit.”
Lark inhaled once more. It was a beautiful day—a beautiful road to follow.
“I hear the Evans brothers have been pretty ornery to work for since Mrs. Simpson passed,” Hadley said. He shook his head and chuckled. “At least, I hear ol’ Slater’s been ornery. Ol’ Tom, he’s a good ol’ boy…always smilin’. But I seen Eldon Pickering in town last week—he cowboys for the Evanses—and he told me that if it weren’t for the time o’ year, he’d be movin’ on…lookin’ to ride for another brand. I guess ol’ Mrs. Simpson dyin’ tossed them Evans brothers right into a twister.”
Lark frowned. “Are…are you trying to encourage me…or discourage me?” she asked.
Hadley chuckled and shook his head. “Just thinkin’ out loud, I suppose. Mrs. Simpson, she was like a mama to them ol’ boys. I think she’d been with them for near to ten years. May be that they just miss her. Maybe that’s what’s makin’ ’em so ornery.”
Lark giggled. “Again…I can’t decide if you’re trying to give me hope or scare me.”
Hadley smiled. “Oh, they need the help. I just talk my thoughts too much. My mama always said I did.” He paused a moment and then asked, “Anyway…where ya from?”
“East,” Lark answered.
“East?”
Lark nodded.
“East where?”
Lark shrugged. “Just east.”
She was grateful Hadley didn’t press her further—that he accepted her simple response—accepted it or understood she did not want to offer him any further details.
Lark looked to the horizon—to the blue sky, green pastures, and approaching end of summer.
Ornery or not—bachelors or not—she needed to find some kind of employment. What choice did she have? She needed shelter, even more than she needed wages. Sleeping under trees and bathing in creeks was fine in summer. Even food could be scrounged for in winter—enough to exist, at least. But shelter—shelter was absolutely necessary, especially on the southeastern plains of Colorado. As the wagon rumbled along, Lark admitted it was shelter she needed most.
“Now, when we get to the Evanses’ place, don’t you let ol’ Slater scare ya off. He’s just a moth-eaten old bear hide. It’s his brother ya wanna be speakin’ with…Tom. He’s the younger of the two and a heap more friendly.” Hadley chuckled. “I doubt he’d have the heart to say no to ya, even if they were gettin’ along on their own…which they ain’t. So you talk with Tom. Ask for him if Slater gets to ya first. Tom will do right by ya. I’m sure of it.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jacobson. I do so appreciate it,” Lark said. She frowned and looked to the carpetbag she held in her lap. “You’ve been so kind…and to a stranger.” She smiled up at him, and he winked at her.
“Plenty are the times I’ve been a stranger, ma’am,” he said. “You know how us cowboys are. One brand quits suitin’ us…then we’re a stranger once more lookin’ for another brand to ride for.”
Lark smiled and nodded. It was true. In the towns Lark had known since traveling out west, it was often she would see cowboys doing exactly what she was doing—looking for work and a place to winter. Hadley smiled at her, his blue eyes bright with compassion. She fancied his eyes were the color of the sky—wished hers were such a color.
Still, in that moment, her mother’s voice echoed in her mind. Your eyes are as green as the summer grass, Lark’s mother had always told her. She liked to think it was true—though she knew it had simply been her mother’s love that thought her eyes so beautiful. The thought of her mother caused her to wince. She glanced down at the carpetbag, protectively squeezing it tighter still.
“Mind if’n I ask what yer doin’ out west, travelin’ all alone, ma’am? It’s a might unusual to see it—a woman by herself and all. ’Specially a young one…from the east.” He winked, unwilling to abandon his curiosity altogether.
Lark giggled. She bit her lip, considering whether she should reveal anything to him. Still, he’d been kind to her—helped her—cared for her in a manner.
“You don’t have to tell me nothin’,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have asked. Ain’t my place.”
“It’s not that,” Lark began, “It’s just that I’m a very private person. Will you be satisfied with knowing I just ended up here…life just led me here…and you’ve helped me?”
The cowboy chuckled. “I guess I will be…since you ain’t givin’ me a choice.”
Lark smiled. He was a kind cowboy. She liked him.
As the wagon rumbled along, Hadley ceased in trying to coax Lark into revealing the details of her life or how she’d come to be where she was. Simply he told her about the town, the people, the weather. Lark
found his conversation easy and interesting, and hope continued to burn in her heart. If Hadley Jacobson was so kind and helpful, perhaps there were others nearby who were as well.
As Hadley talked and drove the team, Lark listened. His voice was comforting—so comforting that she was almost sad when he pulled the team in before a sturdy-looking, two-story ranch house. There was a barn a short distance off and another building beyond that—perhaps the bunkhouse.
“Here we are. That there’s the Evanses’ place,” Hadley said, nodding toward the ranch house. He turned to Lark and grinned. The sudden frown of panic that Lark felt puckering her brow caused Hadley to chuckle. “Don’t worry,” he said, hopping down from the wagon. “I know Tom Evans. He couldn’t turn away a stray three-legged dog…let alone a purty little filly like yerself.”
Lark smoothed her worn skirt and gripped the weathered handle of the carpetbag. Hadley offered a hand and assisted her to climb down as well.
“Now, you just run on up there to that house and ask to talk to Tom. I’ll wait here for ya,” he said, “in case ya need a ride somewheres else.” He took the carpetbag from her, adding, “I’ll keep this safe for ya ’til yer sure you’ll be stayin’.”
Gulping down the large lump of trepidation in her throat, Lark nodded to Hadley and started toward the house. The nervous quivering in her stomach was almost unbearable! Still, she somehow managed to climb the squeaky steps leading to the porch and front door.
Lark drew a deep breath, tucked a limp strand of hair behind her ear, smoothed her skirt once more, and puffed out a frightened sigh. Raising a trembling hand, she knocked on the door. When no one opened the door or called to her from behind it, she glanced back to Hadley.
The handsome young cowboy stood leaning up against the wagon that had carried her to the place. He smiled and nodded to her. “Go on,” he mouthed, motioning for her to try again.
Biting her lip, Lark knocked again. She wasn’t at first certain whether to be relieved or terrified when she then heard heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. The pace of her already rapidly beating heart quickened. As the door swung open, a low, irritated grumble resonated out onto the soft late-summer breeze. Lark gulped again as she lifted her gaze to see a scowling, very angry-looking man glaring down at her. Obviously annoyed, the large man pulled up one suspender strap that had been hanging loosely from his waist, pushing it into place over a broad shoulder and bare torso. He repeated the action with his other suspender strap—all the while still glaring at Lark.
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