Dawn Comes Early

by Margaret Brownley

  In all the excitement Kate had almost forgotten that she’d been summoned by the ranch owner. “I hope she’s not going to send me packing,” she said, rinsing off the soap lather. “If that’s what she plans to do, I’d rather she tell me now and get it over with.”

  Ruckus lifted a bushy brow. “If she was gonna send you packin', she’d have told me first.” He wiped his hands dry and then tossed her the towel. “That’s not why she invited you to have supper with her. She just wants to get to know you better. Can’t blame her for that.”

  Kate hoped Ruckus was right. Miss Walker did make her nervous. She’d lost count of the number of times she caught Miss Walker watching from a distance. Kate was certain the woman could see more than humanly possible. Would anyone else have noticed that feeding times affected birthing? She doubted it, and it was Miss Walker’s uncanny insight that worried Kate.

  She finished drying her hands and hung the towel up on a hook to dry.

  “I reckon you don’t much like the boss lady.”

  What Ruckus said was true, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it even to herself.

  “I don’t really know her,” Kate said, hedging.

  Ruckus chuckled. “See that cactus over there?” He pointed to a barrel cactus that grew by the side of the barn. “Outside it’s covered in thorns. Inside it’s all soft and mushy.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying that Miss Walker has a soft spot somewhere?”

  It didn’t seem possible.

  “I’m saying that nothing is what it seems. Some people think God is harsh and cruel. That’s ’cause they don’t take the time to get to know him.”

  She let her gaze wander across the land all the way to the distant mountains. Even as she watched, the colors, shapes, and shadows of the desert shifted and changed, blended and blurred—a canvas at the whim of an artist’s brush.

  “Have supper and make it your business to get to know the boss lady. You may be surprised.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She started for the ranch house, then stopped. “Ruckus, about what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to give you a bad time and I had no intention of shooting you.”

  “I ain’t got no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” he said. He shooed her away with a wave of his hands. “Go!”

  She stared at him a moment, wishing she could be more like him. Ruckus saw only the good in people, saw only the good in God. She saw the good but looked for the bad. It was a survival skill that had served her well in the past and kept her from making mistakes she would later regret.

  She turned with a sigh and headed for the ranch house. Ruckus was right about a lot of things. She hoped he was right about Miss Walker.

  Chapter 12

  The villain banged on the door. She was doomed, doomed, doomed! Just when she thought her life over she heard Brandon call to her from outside. She ran to the balcony, hands clasped to her chest. “Quick, my love,” he beckoned. “Jump and I shall catch you.”

  Kate groaned at the balcony scene in her head. Shakespeare would surely turn over in his grave. Not that it mattered. Right now all she could think about was how exhausted she was, how every muscle in her body ached.

  Her calloused hands were sore and it took a hard scrubbing to rid her fingernails of dirt. Still, she was on shaky ground. Disobeying Miss Walker’s order—and Ruckus had made a point of telling her it was, indeed, an order—would be a mistake.

  Each day spent at the ranch had been tough, but this day had been especially difficult. Even so she felt a sense of exhilaration never before experienced. Not even her dread of having supper with Miss Walker could dampen her spirits. All the days and weeks of hard work were forgotten in light of watching the birth of a single baby cow.

  Smiling at the memory of the little fellow struggling to its feet, she brushed her hair and wound the unruly locks on top of her head, letting curls cascade down her back.

  She stared in the mirror and hardly recognized herself. She wore a blue skirt and white shirtwaist but, oddly enough, after wearing the divided skirts and shirts provided by Miss Walker these past couple of weeks, her own clothes felt awkward and confining. She’d lost weight, which was hard to believe. All that manual labor gave her a ravenous appetite, and she ate nearly as much as the ranch hands.

  Though she took care never to go outside without her wide-brimmed hat, it kept flying off. Consequently, her skin had lost its paleness and her pink cheeks glowed beneath a golden-brown tan. The Arizona sun had a unifying effect as it was almost impossible to tell Mexicans and whites apart from skin color alone. Only her hair gave her away. Having turned a few shades lighter, it was now more sunshine yellow than honey.

  No one in Boston would recognize her. Certainly no one at Miss Newcomb’s Academy for Young Women. With this thought came an onslaught of memories. She’d only been sixteen when the school hired her to clean the premises. The pay was small but it provided for her and her mama’s few meager needs. More importantly it opened doors that she never knew existed.

  The college held classes in social skills, morals, piano, and oil painting, but she had no interest in such feminine pursuits. Instead, she timed her chores so she could listen to lectures on science, history, and philosophy. As she polished brass railings and scrubbed floors, a whole new world opened up to her. It was two years before she grew brave enough to slip one of her short stories onto the English instructor Mr. Abbott’s desk.

  A short time later she was called into the school office. She naturally feared she’d lost her job. Instead, the headmistress offered her the opportunity to attend classes, based on Mr. Abbott’s recommendation, providing of course she didn’t let her duties slip. And she didn’t. It took her six years to do what most women did in four, but at last she graduated and it felt as if she’d conquered the world. People came and went but an education was forever. No one could take that away from her.

  Within six months of earning her diploma, she sold her first novel. She didn’t get much money, but sales increased with each subsequent book and eventually she was able to purchase a Remington typing machine and rent an apartment with heat. By then her mama’s lungs had deteriorated and she’d died soon after, but she lived her last few months in relative comfort, and for that Kate was grateful.

  If only she hadn’t written that last book. Her editor wanted to call the book The Hay Dilemma instead of Miss Hattie’s Dilemma. The term grass was given to works of minor value, which is why Walt Whitman titled his controversial book of poetry Leaves of Grass, which he meant as a pun. The word hay was her editor’s way of saying her work was less than trivial.

  Still, nothing prepared her for what happened once the book was published. She’d written a simple love story, revealing the inner longings of a woman’s heart. The Watch and Ward Society didn’t see it that way. Instead, they read between the lines and banned her book on immoral grounds. No one could have been more shocked than she was.

  Pushing the memories away, she stared at her image. What did Luke see when he looked at her? Startled by the unbidden thought, Kate ripped open the door and hurried out to the balcony. Trembling, she ran her hands up and down her arms, wishing the sudden pounding of her heart would stop. Mustn’t think of Luke. The ranch—that was all she could think about. All she wanted to think about.

  The sun dipped beneath the horizon in a blaze of red and orange, taking the heat of the day with it. Never had she witnessed such magnificent sunsets. It was the thing she liked best about the desert. That and the wide-open spaces.

  Along with the thought came another. What if Miss Walker sent her packing? The thought nearly crushed her. Where would she go? What would she do? How would she support herself? With the banning of her latest book, she doubted she could even get a tutoring job. She had an education, but what good was it if no one would hire her? She’d put her stock in her education only to find that it deserted her when she most needed it.

  She tried to recall what Miss Walker had said on that first d
ay. “Nothing in this world is permanent except for land. It will always be there for you.” Kate sighed. The question was, would it be there for her after tonight?

  A knock on her bedroom door chased away her thoughts.

  “Miss Tenney, supper is served,” Rosita called.

  “I’m coming,” Kate replied, stepping into her room and closing the balcony door. Pulling herself together, she mentally donned her protective armor and took one last look in the mirror. No one could ever guess her poverty-ridden background and failures by appearances alone, and she meant to keep it that way.

  With a bracing breath she exited her room and walked unhurriedly downstairs to the dining room, determined to prove to Miss Walker once and for all that she was serious about ranching.

  Eleanor Walker sat at the end of the dining table and greeted Kate with a businesslike nod.

  “There you are.” She pointed to the only other place setting on the opposite end of the long polished oak table and waited for Kate to be seated before ringing a bell.

  Kate clasped her hands tight in her lap. It never occurred to her there would only be two of them dining. She was more convinced than ever that Miss Walker planned to dismiss her. Ruckus insisted not, but what if he was wrong? She fought the panic that began to rise.

  Rosita appeared and Kate forced herself to breathe.

  “We’re ready,” Eleanor said.

  Rosita vanished again, and Eleanor picked up her linen napkin, flapped it open, and settled it on her lap. “So have you fully recovered from your unfortunate brush with the Devil’s Tongue?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Kate replied, hoping that her flaming cheeks were hidden by the flickering candlelight. The sheer size of the table intimidated her, and she had the strangest feeling she was on stage and expected to perform.

  Soft and mushy? Hardly. Miss Walker’s rigid exterior looked as formidable as Boston’s Deer Island Prison and just as difficult to penetrate.

  “Excellent.” After a beat she said, “I commend you for climbing Job. Those new steel windmills are more trouble than they’re worth. I much prefer the older wooden models. Now I’m going to have to hire a full-time windmiller just to take care of them.” She gave a sigh of disgust before leveling her gray eyes on Kate. “Obviously, you have no fear of heights.”

  “I believe everyone fears heights.” The truth was she had been terrified.

  “Hmmm. So tell me, what else did you do today?”

  “Ruckus and I helped deliver a calf.” Kate smiled at the memory.

  “Ah. I trust all went well.”

  Kate nodded. “Yes, perfect.” She didn’t want to think about her shooting or lariat mishaps. She’d learned to ride a horse and she was determined to learn the other skills too.

  “Good. We’ve lost more calves this year than we’ve gained. If we don’t get some rain soon, I fear things will get worse.”

  Rosita entered the dining room pushing a cart and set a dinner plate in front of Kate piled high with beef, gravy, potatoes, and string beans. The menu varied little from day to day, but the food was always cooked to perfection. Instead of bemoaning the size of the portions as she once did, she now welcomed it. She was famished.

  Miss Walker spread butter on a hot roll. “So, tell me, what do you think of ranching?”

  Kate placed the linen napkin on her lap. The meat was still sizzling and it smelled delicious.

  “Speak up, girl. Don’t be shy.”

  “The work is rather arduous,” she said, choosing her words with care. She stole a glance at the older woman while cutting her meat. “But I don’t think there’s anything else I’d rather do.”

  Miss Walker studied her. “You’ve lasted for three weeks.” She laid her butter knife across her bread plate. “That’s longer than any of the others.”

  “Ruckus is a good teacher,” Kate replied. “I’ve learned a lot from him.”

  “I daresay you have a lot more to learn.”

  “I can’t wait,” Kate said. She was especially eager to learn the business side of ranching, but it would probably be awhile before Miss Walker trusted her with the books.

  The ranch owner measured her for a moment. “Tell me about your family. Are your parents still alive?”

  Kate’s mouth went dry. The question caught her off guard and she immediately marshaled her defenses. Miss Walker didn’t strike her as someone to ask questions out of idle curiosity. For this reason Kate gave her answer full consideration. She could easily have concocted a story about her family, but writing fiction was one thing, lying quite another.

  “My mother died three years ago,” she said in a clipped voice.

  “And your father?”

  “He left when I was five.”

  Kate expected a word of sympathy—at the least a look of pity—but none came. Instead, Miss Walker shrugged and said, “He probably did you a kindness.”

  Kate stared at her, momentarily speechless. The woman was even more coldhearted than she’d thought. Mushy, indeed! Not knowing how to respond, Kate concentrated on her meal.

  “I’ve never tasted such tender meat,” she said after several bites. “Is it your beef?”

  “I wouldn’t eat any other,” Miss Walker replied. “I don’t like the way the other ranchers around here raise cattle. Some of them are too lazy to move their herds around and allow them to overgraze down to the nubs. That means the cattle are taking in more sand than nutrition. You can’t get a good steak from a gritty diet.”

  “You’ve been ranching a long time,” Kate said.

  “My family came here in the ’50s. I remember when Tucson was but a mud village and Tombstone a canvas city.”

  “I had no idea cattle ranches had been around that long in the territory.”

  “The Spanish established cattle ranches long before white men came, but the Indians pretty much ran them off. My family was on the way to the California gold mines when our wagon wheel broke. That was way back when this was still part of New Mexico Territory.”

  “Your whole family was going to California?” Kate had heard that the lure of gold pulled men away, but she thought women and children had stayed home.

  “Mother refused to be a California widow. She also didn’t trust that my father would come home.”

  Kate’s hand tightened around her fork. She understood all too well how a woman might distrust a man.

  “My father got a job with a Mexican hauling company, but by the time we’d saved enough money to continue our journey, the California gold rush was over—so we stayed.” Between bites Miss Walker continued.

  “We started out with a little land and a small adobe hut, and my mother planted vegetables and raised chickens. One day she found an injured Englishman on her property taking a small herd of cattle to California. Mother nursed him back to health. To show his gratitude he gave her one of his steers, which he claimed was sired by a bull belonging to Queen Victoria. He told her to slaughter it to feed her family, but Mother was too smart for that. Instead, she decided to go into the cattle business.”

  “With only one cow?”

  “Steer,” Miss Walker said. “Ah, but you see it had royal blood. Of course every Englishman claims nobility either for himself or his livestock. I guess it’s some sort of status symbol like the Mayflower. With the number of people claiming ancestors aboard, it’s a wonder the ship didn’t sink before it left the harbor.”

  Kate laughed, and for the first time since entering the dining room felt herself relaxing. If Miss Walker had intended to fire her, surely she would have done so by now.

  “By the time my father was killed in an Indian attack, we had a hundred cattle,” Miss Walker continued. “Some we bought from a Mexican rancher. Most were feral steer left over from the Spanish.”

  Kate lowered her fork. “Your father was killed by Indians?”

  “That was Mother’s version. He actually drank himself to death.”

  Kate’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly smacked her lips toget
her. People in Boston were so much more circumspect than they were out here in the West. Never would such words as drunk be heard in polite company.

  She searched for something to say to break the sudden silence that made the elongated table seem even longer.

  “It’s rather remarkable that she would think to start a cattle ranch here in the desert,” she said at last.

  “Mother could make pie out of thin air. Come to think of it, I believe she did. But enough about the past. Right now I’m concerned about the present. We’ll soon be ready for spring roundup. There’s something invigorating about putting my brand on a new generation of cattle.”

  “Isn’t . . . isn’t that painful?”

  “Oh, posh. Spoken like a true greenhorn. A cattle’s hide is many times thicker than human skin. Trust me, any pain is minimal.”

  Kate bit her lip and looked away. It seemed like everything she’d written about cattle and ranch life had been incorrect. Perhaps her last book had been banned for the wrong reason.

  She yawned and quickly drew her napkin to her mouth, hoping Miss Walker had not noticed.

  “I hope it’s not the company,” Miss Walker said in her usual forthright way.

  “Oh no! I . . . I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this.” She smiled. “What better way to celebrate a birth?”

  Miss Walker stiffened. “How did you know it was my birthday?” Her brusque voice snapped through the air like a whip. “No one knows that except for my banker.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know,” Kate stammered. Had she said something wrong? “I was referring to the calf we delivered.”

  “I see.” Miss Walker tapped her fingers on the table. “Now that you know, I trust you’ll keep the knowledge to yourself.”

  “If that’s what you wish.” Kate hesitated before holding her glass aloft. Surely Miss Walker wouldn’t fire her for showing common courtesy. “Happy birthday.”