Prairie Fire

by Kayt C Peck

  Kathleen put a fist on each hip and glared at Judy. “Well, get out there and tell her ‘mission’s accomplished.’ Dinner will be ready by the time you’ve both cleaned up.”

  Judy took a deep breath, recognizing the tantalizing odor of her wife’s chicken enchiladas. “All right, I’ll go.”

  Judy pulled her boots back on and made her way back across the yard to the corrals. There was still enough light that she could see some kind of order to the piles and lines of manure Pookie had arranged.

  “What you got going here?” Judy asked as she stepped up to the younger woman.

  Pookie pointed first at the largest pile of manure. “That’s going to be the buffalo.” The pointed along a line of manure to another large pile. “There’s the Longhorn,” Pookie explained. Another line of manure led to a third, slightly smaller pile. “What’s a good modern breed of cattle?”

  “My family started out with Herefords. Most folks around here did.”

  “Herefords then. I’ve got to figure out how to build the basic structure…maybe wood. Then, I don’t know, papier-mache?”

  “Adobe is a good filler, and it uses manure in its composition.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Pookie said. “What about the structure?”

  “You know how to weld?”

  “No, but I really want to learn.”

  “I can teach you.” Judy motioned with her chin toward the equipment yard across the county road. “There’s nearly a century’s worth of scrap metal collected out there. I bet we can find what you need.”

  They both looked at the piles of manure, suddenly sharing an artistic vision.

  “This could work. It could really work,” Judy said

  “Yeah, it could.”

  From across the yard, Judy could hear the back door to the house open and the sudden clang of the dinner bell that had hung from the porch roof for as long as she could remember.

  “Geeze, I nearly forgot. We better get inside or Kathleen’s going to stew us both for a whole new dinner.”

  They both walked rapidly across the yard.

  “Judy,” Pookie said.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really glad Kathleen finally found you.”

  “Not half as glad as I am that I found her.”

  aaAA

  Kathleen moved her bookmark to the page she was reading and closed the novel, laying it on the nightstand. She watched her lover enter their bedroom from the adjoining bathroom. Judy wore only an oversized t-shirt as she finished brushing her freshly dried hair. It was her favorite nightshirt, one Kathleen had given her for her birthday. Judy especially loved that it reflected Kathleen’s temporary lapse from her usual reserve. Judy was wonderfully surprised as she pulled the shirt from the box to see a large Smiley Face accompanied by the words, ‘Boobies make me smile.’ Kathleen was not so wonderfully surprised when Judy insisted on actually wearing the shirt almost every night.

  “You’re not going to let Pookie see that, are you?” Kathleen asked.

  “See what?”

  “That…shirt.”

  Judy grinned as she set the hairbrush on her own nightstand. She reached inside the bathroom to turn off the light switch and then crawled between the covers.

  “If she’s going to live here, she’s bound to see it sometime.”

  Kathleen raised an eyebrow even as she moved to a comfortable position, her head on Judy’s shoulder. Both women snaked their arms to familiar positions encircling the other woman. Kathleen let out a mild exclamation of surprise.

  “Your feet are cold!”

  “Not for long,” Judy responded. “I have a top notch foot warmer.”

  “A foot warmer who is considering a plan to mysteriously move that shirt from the laundry hamper to the trash burn barrel outside.”

  “Don’t you dare! I love this shirt. After all, you gave it to me.”

  Kathleen sighed and nuzzled at Judy’s neck. Her voice was muffled as she spoke against her lover’s skin. “Not one of my finer moments.”

  Judy laughed and lifted Kathleen’s chin so that they could kiss, unhurried and with tenderness. “I thought it was a fine gift.”

  “Sometimes I think embarrassing me by wearing it is part of your pleasure.”

  “Well…” Judy shrugged.

  “Judy Proctor!”

  “Darling, you don’t give me many good chances to tease you. It’s a sign of affection, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  Kathleen sighed and rested comfortably against Judy. “I’ll forgive you under one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You wait at least a week before you let Pookie see the shirt and make me confess that I’m the one who bought it.”

  “Deal.” Judy rested her head against the pillows, thinking. “That Pookie, she’s not what I expected.”

  “I knew you two would like each other, but I didn’t expect it to happen this quickly.”

  “I was damn glad for her help unloading the cattle feed.” She flexed the arm that wasn’t underneath Kathleen. “I’m a little sore as it is.”

  Kathleen raised herself on one elbow and gently pushed at her lover. “Roll over. I’ll massage your back and shoulders.”

  Judy did as she was instructed. “A foot warmer and so much more.” She moaned softly as Kathleen straddled her lower back and used strong fingers and hands to knead at Judy’s sore muscles.

  “This would be easier without your shirt.”

  Judy squirmed slightly as they worked together to pull the controversial nightshirt over her head. Her sigh of satisfaction as Kathleen renewed the kneading was loud enough that Kathleen glanced over her shoulder, toward the closed bedroom door.

  “Shhhhh…Pookie will hear,” Kathleen said.

  Judy’s voice was muffled against the pillow. “I think she already has an idea that her mother figure is a lesbian.”

  “Ha ha. Knowing and actually hearing are two different things.”

  Judy turned her head to the side so she could be heard. “Damn, I hadn’t thought about that part.”

  “What part?”

  “That…that we’re the ‘moms,’ and we’re not supposed to let the kid know we actually have sex. I mean, she knows, but she’s not supposed to know.”

  Kathleen stopped the massage and moved to lie beside Judy. They faced each other, and Judy reached up to gently stroke Kathleen’s hair.

  “Did you ever walk in on your parents?” Kathleen asked.

  “Once…I was ten. Backed out before they realized I was there. Was three days before I had the guts to talk with my mom about it.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked me if I knew how the cows got calves.”

  “You answered?”

  “Of course I knew how.”

  “Then?”

  “Mother asked me if I ever wondered how they got me.”

  “How did that conversation end?” Kathleen asked.

  “Abruptly.”

  They both laughed, then kissed, long and slow, their hands wandering with gentle familiarity. It might have turned into something more, but it had been a long day. They were tired, and they each drifted to sleep. Over time, the sex had decreased in frequency, but the love making…that was every night and even better over time.

  Chapter Seven

  Community Meeting

  The big folding table in the old one-room schoolhouse was full to overflowing. Juanda Jones’ green bean casserole dominated the vegetable portion of the servings, and three of Kathleen’s pumpkin empanadas had already mysteriously disappeared even though no one had officially served themselves from the potluck table. A huge brisket, prepared by Julie Kenton (in her mother-in-law’s massive slow cooker) was the main entrée. The beef filled the room with a wonderful aroma as it still simmered in the electric cooker, covered in Martha Kenton’s secret recipe barbeque sauce. Judy didn’t remember a time when either Martha or her own late mot
her hadn’t been the ones to prepare the main meat dish for the monthly Coldwater area community social.

  Brad lifted the cover of the cooker for every new arrival, insisting that they smell the contents and informing them that his young wife was standing in as chief cook while his mother was in Amber, awaiting his father’s release from the hospital. Judy smiled at his button-busting pride, not bothering to inform anyone of the morning she and Kathleen spent in the Kenton kitchen, providing moral support for Julie as, via the telephone, Martha Kenton walked her young daughter-in-law through every step of the process. Julie, Judy, and Kathleen all had to swear life-long secrecy before Martha would share her barbeque sauce recipe. Judy laughed so hard she nearly fell on the floor when she learned it was two parts ketchup to one part Worcestershire sauce. She figured her mama was rolling over in her grave. Judy remembered all the years her mother had pestered her best friend for that secret recipe.

  When Pookie learned of the potluck, she insisted on making her signature cauliflower hummus with green olives. Judy gently reminded Pookie that ranch folk tended to be meat and potatoes kind of people, but Judy’s doubts ended as soon as she tasted the concoction. Good was good, even if it was some new-fangled hummus with bagel chips.

  “What’s this?” Curley Thomas asked as Pookie set the dish on the table, opening the bag of bagel chips and scattering them on the plate around the bowl of hummus.

  “It’s hummus,” Pookie answered.

  Curley looked at the bowl from the left, the right, up, and down.

  “Ain’t that hippie food?” he asked.

  “Some folks think so,” Judy answered as she moved closer, ready to intercede if Pookie felt threatened.

  “Got any of that Mary Jane in it?”

  Pookie laughed. “No. No marijuana in it.”

  “Damn,” Curley said. “Always wanted to try me some of that stuff.”

  Pookie drew some interesting stares when they first arrived at the former schoolhouse. There was a noted moment of silence as the young woman walked into the room, dressed in her finest dog collar, all black clothes, and a crystal stud glinting from her eyebrow piercing. Purple, spikey hair topped off the outfit, and she was back in her ragged, black fashion jeans, her new Levis left at home.

  Judy stepped into the middle of the room, her hand on Pookie’s shoulder. Judy stood tall and spoke loud.

  “Hi, y’all,” she said. “This is Pookie Thompson, and she’ll be living with Kathleen and me for a while. Treat her right. She’s good folks and like a daughter to Kathleen.”

  Kathleen, holding her platter of empanadas, moved to Judy’s right and Brad stepped immediately to her left. The three formed a protective semi-circle around Pookie.

  The following silence was brief.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, child,” said old Mrs. Haskell. “Come in and make yourself at home.”

  The old woman was almost as small as Pookie and somewhat shorter than she’d been in her younger years, before the osteoporosis bowed her spine. She walked to Pookie, and put her hand gently on the young woman’s arm, leading Pookie toward the food table. The cacophony of laughter and conversation resumed, although curious glances continued toward the newcomer.

  Being summer time, dinner had to wait while the younger folks undertook a game of softball outside, a game with more enthusiasm than skill and more laughter than rules. Curley was already on his third beer before he assumed the role of scorekeeper. When the game was called for dinner after a couple of innings, he was pretty sure the score was five to three, but he couldn’t remember which team had which score. Pookie’s differences were largely forgotten after she hit a triple, causing Brad to dive for the ball and ending up in a patch of sand burrs. His team was short-handed for a while as he and Julie exited to the schoolhouse’s tiny bathroom so she could extract the ones lodged in his left butt-cheek. Nobody won. Nobody lost. Nobody cared. It was about time together, solitary ranchers and farmers remembering that their homes may be scattered and distant, but they were still a community.

  After the game, the gathering of nearly thirty country folk descended on the food table like a horde of locusts. Every woman and few of the men always brought their specialty dishes, and people generally knew their favorites from many times before. Rarely was there much left, and this evening would be no exception. Plates were filled and many still abided by Mrs. Haskell’s long-standing insistence that if you never emptied your plate, it wasn’t seconds. Judy was relieved to see that Pookie’s hummus was going along with all the other old favorites. At first, a few polite spoonfuls disappeared, but greater quantities went as folks came back for non-seconds. The hummus had passed the test, and Judy was beginning to hope that so had Pookie. Her good-naturedness at softball helped, but it was something more. Kathleen was still confused as to how local people could be so conservative and yet accept Judy and Kathleen, knowing they partook in the sin that dare not be named. Judy tried to explain, but somehow, it always fell short.

  aaAA

  “It’s…it’s like testing a horse,” Judy said one night late as they lie in bed, discussing the paradox for the thousandth time.

  Kathleen rose onto one elbow and looked at her lover, an eyebrow raised. “Not sure I like being compared to a mare.”

  “More like a filly,” Judy responded.

  “Aren’t I a little old for that?”

  “Oh hell, you’re missing the point. Just listen for a minute.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “My daddy loved Quarterhorses…all we ever had, all we ever rode, but no matter what the breed, what’s most important is the individual horse. Yes, confirmation and muscle tone, strength, and intelligence all enter into it, but in the end, the thing that matters most is what they have in their heart. The only way to know that is to handle ‘em, ride ‘em, see what they’re made of. Only then do you know if you can trust ‘em, rely on ‘em. If you can, well, who cares if it’s an Arab, or a Morgan instead of a Quarterhorse?”

  “I’m still not tracking, honey,” Kathleen said.

  “Sweetheart, these folks know they can count on us. We’re real to them. They know what we’re made of, and we’ve been found to be sound, worthy to run with the herd.”

  “But they think it’s a sin…that we’re sinners...even Martha and Harold…even Brad.”

  “Yes, they do. It’s a paradox.”

  “How do they resolve that within themselves?”

  Judy laughed, pulling Kathleen to her, nuzzling into her hair. “I guess it’s because we’re their sinners and they love us.”

  Kathleen laughed and moaned slightly as Judy nibbled at that special spot at the base of her skull. “You’re changing the subject.”

  “Yes, I am,” Judy responded. She continued the conversation with her hands and mouth, and Kathleen soon willingly accepted the new communication.

  aaAA

  Judy glanced toward Pookie, watching the young woman work with Kathleen gathering dirty dishes from around the room. When all the plates were scraped clean into the oversized trashcan, Pookie volunteered to carry the trash bag out to the bed of Judy’s truck so that she could throw it at the nearby county dump-station on their way home. Judy worked with Brad, sponging off and gathering vinyl table clothes and reconfiguring the room from meal time to game time. Pookie was proving she had what it took, and the local folks were already welcoming her to the herd. In a few short weeks, Judy had gone from skeptical to grateful that Kathleen allowed her to share a parenting role for this unusual young woman. Judy had assumed that, in time, both the Proctor and the Kenton Ranches would pass to Brad and Julie’s children. As she watched Pookie weave her way into the Coldwater community, while still maintaining her own somewhat rebellious persona, Judy wasn’t so sure that the future of her home rested entirely in Kenton hands. Time would tell.

  The community worked like a well-oiled machine. It didn’t take long for the dishes to be washed, dried, and put away, and the tables were set up for a smorgasbor
d of games from which to choose. Dominoes for regular dominoes and 42, a full over-sized set for those who wanted chicken foot, and decks of cards were on other tables for bridge, hearts, or gin rummy. Judy and Kathleen settled down to a game of chicken foot with Brad and Julie, and Pookie wandered the room, watching the different games, but not choosing to play.

  “Hey Judy, may I have the keys to the truck?” Pookie asked.

  “Sure, but why?” Judy started digging in her pocket.

  “I left my sketchpad, pencils, and pastels out there.”

  “It’s not locked. Just go get your stuff.”

  Pookie laughed. “I still forget we’re not in the city.”

  “Aren’t you having fun, Pook?” Kathleen asked.

  “Having a great time, but I want to finish something I was working on today.”

  Nobody paid much attention when Pookie came back inside and sat at an unoccupied card table, her back to the wall. She spread out her sketchpad and other art supplies and set to work. Although various people cast curious glances, it was hard to get a feel for the art while looking at it from a flattened angle and upside-down. Brad being Brad, as soon as they finished the game of chicken foot, he left the table and looked over Pookie’s shoulder.

  “Well, I’ll be!” he called. “Judy Proctor, you got some serious competition here as our resident artist.”

  “Tell me about it,” Judy replied. “Girl’s got talent.”

  “Come lookie here,” Brad said.

  Half the occupants of the room accepted Brad’s invitation, and numerous games were abandoned. Judy noticed Pookie’s blush as the group gathered. Judy looked at the picture and recognized it immediately as a visual rendition of Pookie’s vision for the sculpture she began planning the first night she arrived at the ranch. Judy was impressed. Pookie had obviously done her research. The buffalo, Longhorn, and Hereford were correct in every detail, although the Hereford was still a sketch with a few flashes of color, unfinished. Tying all three together was a line of shit, starting as flaming and progressing to golden shit, magical shit…Pookie had obviously taken to heart Judy’s lecture about the importance of prairie coal.