Hattie Big Sky (15 page)

These thoughts dropped on top of the hillock of crop worries in my heart. I'd been walking through the fields kicking up dust all day. Each dusty puff added to the all-too-familiar gnawing pain in my stomach. Every farmer I knew was dosing liberally with bicarbonate of soda to ease the same pain in their own stomachs. If we didn't get some rain soon…

I bent to yank up another bunch of cheatgrass. I'd been at it all day. Bushels full of that sneaky weed stood as testament to my labors. The jug of water I'd brought out had been drained dry hours before. Common sense told me to walk back and refill it at the pump. But the next patch of cheatgrass mocked me.
We'll beat you yet,
it seemed to say. I'd go in soon for a break and some water. I breathed deeply, stretched, and bent down again, ignoring the thumping under my skull. My bonnet was a feeble shield against this sun. Haloes of light glowed at the edges of my vision, and my hands began to shake. I breathed again to clear my head. Perhaps I should go back for a bit. Yes. Back to the house. Out of the sun. I staggered forward. My house wavered like a mirage across the field. Was I really headed toward it? My legs buckled, and I fell face first in a row of flax.

         

“Miss Brooks?” a male voice called from far away. “Hattie?” I felt a cool cloth being placed on my forehead.

“I'm…all right.” If I kept my eyes closed and lay perfectly still, that is.

“Sip this.” Strong arms tilted my head upward, and cool water slipped down my aching throat. I opened my eyes. And looked into Traft Martin's face.

“How…” I scrambled to sit up, but another wave of bile forced me down.

“I saw you fall.” He set the cup down. “Must have been heatstroke.”

I shook my head. Ouch. That hurt. “No. Stubbornness.”

He smiled. His nice smile. “I've made up some vinegar water here. It'll take the heat out of that burn.”

I looked at my arms, took the cloth he offered to me, and dabbed at my arms. “Thank you,” I said.

“I'm glad I saw you,” he said. “Hate to think of you passed out there all night.”

A shiver ran through me at the thought. “I'm glad you saw me, too.”

“Are you feeling better?”

I nodded.

“Can I fix you something to eat before I go?” He looked around the room. “Or some tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” I said, closing my eyes. Wait till Leafie and Perilee heard who had played nursemaid for me.

Traft let me rest—I may have dozed off—while the water boiled and he made tea. “Here you go.” I shifted up in the bed, leaned my back against the wall, and took the mug.

“Hope you don't mind me fixing a cup for myself,” he said.

“Of course not.” I was surprised. Not many of the men I knew drank tea. They mostly guzzled coffee. “What brought you out here, anyway?” I sipped the tea.

He smiled that movie star smile of his. “Besides rescuing damsels in distress?” he asked.

I felt my face color. It was no doubt as red as my arms.

“I was actually riding out to see you. With a business proposition.” He blew on his tea. “This is probably not the time….”

I rested the cup in my lap. “No time like the present, they say.”

He nodded, then took a careful sip of tea. “I'll get to the point.” He stared ahead with glazed eyes, as if looking out into the future. “I plan to grow the Tipped M Ranch into something big. Bigger than the Circle Ranch ever was.” He turned back to face me. “Maybe even bigger than that ranch they always talk about in Texas.”

His eyes did glow with some kind of vision of the future. “That sounds quite ambitious,” I said.

There must have been a question in my voice. “And you wonder why in tarnation I'm going on about this to you,” he said.

“Not in those words exactly.”

“Here's my proposition. Your three hundred twenty acres butt up against the southwest corner of the Triple M. Even if you get something out of your crops this year”—he jerked his head in indication of the parched fields outside—“what will it be like next year? And the year after?”

“I—” Truth was, I'd been so focused on making it to November, I hadn't allowed myself to think down the road much farther than that.

“I'm prepared to loan you eight hundred dollars so you can be done with the whole homestead headache.” He leaned toward me. “You take that eight hundred dollars and commute your claim. No more fences. No more backbreaking work.”

“I'm not much for borrowing money,” I said.

“Here's the beauty of it.” He set his cup down. “You don't have to! You take four hundred dollars to Ebgard and pay off the claim. It's yours, right and proper. Then you come back and I forgive the loan.”

“I don't understand.” I shook my head. The numbers were flying too fast and furious. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you'd turn over the land to me.” His eyes shone brightly. “You'd be free of this millstone around your neck and ahead four hundred bucks to boot.”

“I'd give you my land?”

“No, you'd sell it.”

“Why?” This was hard to follow with a throbbing head. “I mean, why do you want this land?”

“I told you.” He sounded impatient. “So I can run cattle here.”

“But my farm, my house…”

“For four hundred dollars, you could buy yourself a sweet little house in town. Any town, for that matter. You wouldn't have to work like a railroad man anymore.”

“Move off my claim?” The words were finally sinking in.

“You'd run cattle over my land?”

“Well, not to put too fine a point on it…” He cleared his throat. “It would be my land. The Tipped M's land.”

I fought down the hot anger boiling up in my stomach. There was something to consider in his offer, after all. This farm was hard work; I was whittled down at least two sizes what with all the chores and hauling and carrying. And not even the rosiest glasses could make my crop situation look good. There were harvest expenses staring me in the face, along with trying to finish repaying Uncle Chester's IOU. With Traft's offer, I could be done with it all and find somewhere else to live. A real house with curtains and proper shelves for my books and actual chairs to sit on, not old lard buckets. I could work for a newspaper, maybe even travel. Or I could settle down somewhere friendly, with neighbors close by on either side, and never move anywhere again. I'd been working so hard to prove up, I'd never even let myself dream about the kind of life I might really want to live. Traft's offer was fair, even generous. It made a lot of sense. “Your offer is reasonable,” I said.

“I think so.” He ran a hand through his wavy hair.

“But I must say no.”

“Why on earth?”

“I doubt I could explain it to you.” I shook my head. “I can barely explain it to myself.” A hot breeze carried the sweet scent of prairie grass through the open door. “But I do appreciate the offer.” I stuck out my hand to shake.

Traft stood up so fast the chair tipped over. He grabbed his hat and clomped it back on his head. “Hattie, you're making a very bad decision. Exactly like your decision to be so friendly with people you shouldn't.” A muscle twitched under his jawbone on the left side of his face. He was angry. How angry, I hoped I'd never find out. “Perhaps you will change your mind after harvest.”

I softened my voice. “Perhaps.”

He moved to the door.

“Thank you,” I said.

“What?”

“For bringing me inside.” I held up my burnt arms. “For taking care of me.”

He stormed out the door. I could hear the saddle squeak as he swung up onto Trouble and rode off.

I hugged my knees to my chest, praying I'd done the right thing. Praying I hadn't bitten off far more than I could chew.

         
CHAPTER 16         

JUNE
1918

THE ARLINGTON NEWS

Honyocker's Homily ~ A Stitch in Time

My high school teacher, Miss Simpson, would approve of the lessons this new life is teaching me, even if very few of them are from a book. My domestic skills are much improved—out of necessity. While I will never give my neighbor Perilee any competition in the baking department, my cooking is downright edible. And, if I may say so without boasting, I can handle a quilting needle with the best of them. The quiet nights here give a person space to think. And I love to think about new quilt patterns. When I first arrived, I thought this country flat and dull. Now, I see each roll and dip, each cutbank and coulee, through fond eyes. This landscape cries out to be captured in a quilt.

Before I tackle a new project, however, I must finish the quilt started for a soon-to-arrive new resident. Back home, in Arlington, women relied on Dr. Tupper; here they rely on Leafie Purvis.

“Did you read the paper?” I'd reached the end of my thread so took a few locking stitches. Aunt Ivy would finally be proud of me. No sloppy work here. No relying on knots to fasten my tiny quilt stitches into place. “What do you make of Wheatless June?” I trimmed off the excess thread.

Perilee took another stitch. “As if it hasn't been hard enough already, with all the other food rules.” She sighed. “Never thought I'd miss plain old bread.”

“You have such a knack with substitutions.” I paused to take a bite of the corn muffin on my plate. “I could eat these forever.”

Perilee looked up from the quilt and scrunched her face. “Ugh. I can't hardly stand the smell of cornbread anymore.”

I snipped a length of quilting thread from the spool. Perilee did look a little green. Talking about food probably wasn't the wisest. Leafie had taken me aside and told me about what it'd be like for Perilee right before the baby was born: “She'll be like a hen, wanting to nest but not much interested in food or drink.” I was to encourage Perilee to eat to keep up her strength. Leafie had also given me a few tips on what to do when the baby came, but I didn't listen very carefully. Didn't need to. Karl was going to go for Leafie at the first sign of a baby. I knew to put newspapers under the sheet and to tie off the cord with string. “No more lessons,” I'd finally begged Leafie. “Or I'll never want to go through this myself.” Leafie had clucked at me, sounding like Rose.

I decided to change the subject. “So, here I am working my fingers to the bone for this baby.” At that, Perilee patted her rounded belly. “Are you ever going to tell me what you're thinking about naming him?”

“Or her,” said Perilee with a smile.

“Or her,” I said.

Perilee shook her head. “We keep going back and forth. If it's a boy, I want to name it after Karl, and if it's a girl, after his mother, Charlotta.”

I nodded and rethreaded my needle.

“But she'd be Lottie for short,” added Perilee.

“That's real sweet.” I went back to quilting. Prick the fabric, tug the needle and thread through, and pull. Prick, tug, pull.

“Karl won't have it.” Perilee bit the thread between her teeth. “Says such names are asking for trouble these days.”

I thought about it. Folks were wound tighter than a roll of chicken wire lately. Besides the fuss with Elmer and others, Traft and his pals were going around pressing folks to join the Montana Loyalty League. “Good way to hunt the Huns right here at home,” I'd overheard Traft badgering Pa Schillinger. He didn't say anything to me, though. He knew I'd already received an invitation to join, delivered to me personally.

“Karl might have a point.” I tried to keep my voice even. “But maybe for middle names?”

“I suggested that, too. Karl still says no.” Perilee leaned back in the chair, hands rubbing the small of her back. “Oof. Too much sitting.” She reached for an old hat on the shelf over the stove. “So here's my solution. Everyone gets to put a name in the hat. The one we pull out is what we'll name the baby!”

“That's mighty brave of you,” I said.

She grinned. “Don't tell, but I've burned the ones I don't like.” She rolled her eyes. “Mattie suggested Mulie and Princess. Chase voted for Long John Silver.” She held the hat out to me. “You can put a name in, too,” she said.

“For you to toss in the stove?” I teased. “No, thanks.” I stretched too. “I better call it a day. I've still got some chores to do at home.”

Perilee held up the quilt. We'd bordered the squares with yellow calico. “It sure is pretty. Let's call it our Twinkle Star Quilt,” she said, running her hand over the pieced front. “I can't wait till this baby gets here.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “It can't come till this quilt's done. And I figure we've got a few more weeks.”

“Oh, all right.” Perilee pretended to pout. “If you say so, I'll wait a few more weeks.”

A Perilee promise is usually as solid as an oak, but this turned out to be one she couldn't keep.

I was sound asleep a few nights later when I heard someone banging around in my yard.

“Hattie!” Karl was calling. “Baby coming.”

I threw on some clothes. “Don't waste time here. Go get Leafie.” Karl nodded and urged Star on. Plug was cranky about taking a late night ride, but once we'd established that there was no going back to the barn, he trotted smartly toward Perilee's place.

Chase met me. “Mama's calling for you,” he said. I gave him the reins. Chase's elfin face was pinched with worry. A job might distract him. “How about if you fill up the chip bucket? That would be a help for Leafie, I'm sure.” He nodded at my suggestion and went solemnly about his work.

I hurried inside. Fern and Mattie—and Mulie, of course—were snuggled sound asleep in the little bed by the stove. No need to tiptoe around them. Those girls were blessed with the ability to sleep through the stormiest of sidewinders.

Perilee was abed in the back room.

“So, this baby couldn't wait for his quilt to be finished?” I'd brought in a damp cloth and wiped Perilee's brow with it. She took my hand in hers.

“It's coming so fast.” Pain crumpled her face, and she moaned softly. She waved for me to close the bedroom door.

“You'll be fine,” I assured her. “Leafie will be here pronto.”

She shook her head. “It's not like the other times.”

“I'm right here.” I stroked her hair.

“Karl wants this baby so bad.” A tear coursed down her cheek.

“And he'll spoil him rotten, we both know that.” At my words, she managed a weak smile. Then her smile twisted into a grimace.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked. Perilee struggled to a sitting position and pointed to the small of her back.

“It feels like someone's hammering away back there,” she said. “Could you rub it for a while?”

With one knee on the bed, I knelt close and began to knead her back through her flannel nightgown. “Does this help?” She answered with a nod. I rubbed till my arms burned with pain. Finally she said, “Gotta lay down again.” I helped her get situated.

“Leafie will want lots of hot water.” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “I'll be right back as soon as I get the kettle filled.”

Chase had filled not one but two buckets with chips and had the stove fire roaring. “That's better than I could do,” I told him. “Now, can you do one more thing?” I handed him an empty lard bucket. “I need to fill the kettle. I figure it'll take three or four buckets.” Before I'd even finished, he was out the door. Soon, the kettle was filled and warming quickly on the stove. When he emptied out the last bucket of water, Chase looked around.

“Now what should I do?” he asked.

I pointed toward the basket I'd brought. “You look in there. I bet you'll find something to keep you busy.”

I didn't stay to see his reaction to the copy of
David Copperfield
. Perilee was waiting. One look at her told me things were starting to happen.
Hurry up, Leafie,
I thought.

“Leafie—not coming,” Perilee panted out.

“Oh, yes. She's on her way right now.” I prayed my words were true.

“Won't…make…it.” Perilee looked up at me. “Get…newspapers.”

Right then my knees turned to jelly. I eased Perilee off the mattress and slipped several layers of newspapers under the sheets.

What next? Get ready for the baby. There was no fancy bassinet here on the homestead, like the girls fussed over back home in Iowa. I grabbed the willow laundry basket and lined it with some clean blankets. This baby's mattress would be an old feather pillow.

“Hattie!” Perilee cried out. “The baby!”

I ran to Perilee's side. She was panting and pushing, her face chalk white and drenched in sweat.

“Baby!” she repeated.

I had no choice. I stepped to the end of the bed and did the best I could. With a slickery swoosh, a tiny human being slid right into my arms.

“It's a girl!” I cried. Perilee closed her eyes and fell back against the pillows.

With the quilting thread, I tied off the cord and snipped. I knew babies sometimes needed a little whack to get them breathing, but I didn't think I could bring myself to thump this precious little life. Were newborns always this small? She must have been aware that I was all too new at this game, thank goodness.

“Waaah!”

“What a noise for such a tiny thing,” I exclaimed. Perilee's eyes were still closed, but she smiled. I wiped the baby down and handed her to her mother. While she and the baby studied each other for the first time, I cleaned up the bed and tended to Perilee as best I could, trying not to be alarmed at the amount of blood. I hoped Leafie would come soon and assure me it was normal.

Despite her size, the baby knew what to do when placed at her mother's breast. She looked even smaller there, next to Perilee.

The bedroom door shot open, and Leafie breezed in. She whacked me on the back. “Looks like you managed fine.” She shooed me out of the room and ministered to Perilee. A few minutes later, she called me and Karl back in.

She handed Karl the baby, all expertly swaddled in flannel blankets.

He held her tenderly, bringing her face close to his.
“Mein süsses Kind,”
he murmured. He kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Isn't she a sweet little thing?” Leafie's voice was light, but I saw worry behind her eyes.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Well, first thing,” said Leafie, “you could give new baby Charlotta a big kiss.”

I turned to Perilee. “I thought you were going to draw a name out of the hat.”

She smiled.

Karl handed the baby to me and went to Perilee.

“Hello, Lottie.” I kissed her waxy cheek.

Leafie leaned over the baby and gave me some quiet instructions. “We need to keep this angel warm. Put her in one of the bread pans. Pad it with a blanket first. Then set it on the oven door.”

I looked at Leafie. “Do you really mean it?”

She nodded. “I've kept more than one child alive that way.”

I followed instructions and kept vigil the whole night. As soon as baby Lottie awoke with her kitten cries, I hurried her in to Perilee. After nursing and a good burping, I'd hurry her right back to the oven. We followed this routine for one solid week. I'd run over after morning chores, then back before dusk. God bless Rooster Jim; he kept my garden weeded and chickens happy that whole week. Finally, Leafie's worried look faded completely.

“I think we're past the worst of it,” she said. “Little Miss Lottie seems to be doing just fine.”

Perilee perked up, too. “I'm sorry I was such a worrywart,” she said one day as I was doing her baking. “I was so frightened something would go wrong.” She patted the baby's back as she slept against her shoulder. “I know it's silly, but I thought, well, with the war and everything…” She held my gaze. “That Karl wouldn't be allowed his baby.”