The Women in Pants

by Stan Himes

  At evening camp two days after our latest river fiasco, the combination of Parker, girlish dreams, and just wanting to talk a little had Katie at the chuckwagon once again. From the way she hesitated, Clean Through didn’t need to lift his eyes from the brown sugar and butter he was heating to know that more than just biscuits were on her mind.

  “Can I ask you something, Clean Through?”

  “Sure. Can’t say I’ll have an answer ’til I know the question.”

  “Were you really married almost forty years?

  “Sure was. If my dear Rowena’s heart hadn’t failed her, it’d be pushing fifty years now.”

  “What makes a good wife?”

  He gave her a quick glance and a quick shake of his head. “Lord, child, you ask a hundred people that and you’ll get a hundred different answers.”

  “What was it your wife, Rowena… what was it she did right, especially at the beginning?”

  He raised the creamy sugar/butter mixture from the heat, but kept stirring. “You mean what can you do to make sure that young fella Parker falls all the way in love with you?”

  Katie smiled. “I guess I ain’t so good at hidin’ my questions.”

  “Here, keep stirring this.” He set the pan down in front of her and handed her the spoon. It was the first and only time any of us got to help him. Katie figured that must mean he had something serious to say. “You remember what you were doin’ when Parker first set eyes on you?”

  “I was walking around the side of the chuckwagon and he was just there.”

  “Right. You didn’t know he was there, so you were natural. You weren’t pretending or puttin’ on airs.” He sprinkled a powdery sugar into the mixture Katie was stirring. “Just keep mixing that together. Easy strokes. There you go.” He lifted up another pan that had been cooling in the wagon. “The best thing a young couple can do is relax, let yourselves see each other for who you are. Don’t be something you ain’t. Now set that pan down and let it cool a little more.”

  “It’s hard to relax when my heart’s beatin’ fierce just at the sight of him.”

  “If your heart’s pounding, let him know. That’s all I’m sayin’. Don’t expect any man to read a woman’s mind. Just come out and say what’s on your mind whether you’re happy or sad or mad, because a man don’t like to guess.” He flipped a two-inch thick cake out of a pan and onto a tin plate. “Now take that stuff you mixed up and spread it on top of this layer.”

  Katie was surprised by how much the mixture had thickened after cooling for just a minute. She picked up a wooden spatula and went to work. “So you’re saying I should talk to Parker as freely as I talk to my friends?”

  “He deserves it, don’t you think?” He popped out a second cake and placed it on top of the one Katie had frosted. “You want him to be more than a friend, so be more open with him than you are with your friends.” He twirled his finger over the cake. “Now spread the rest of that over the whole thing. And listen, what I’m sayin’ is don’t pretend. Let Parker see who you are, not just the good, but the stuff you want to hide. If you like to wear a crazy color, wear it. If you’re clumsy, fall down or drop something. He needs to know, because love isn’t built on all the good things. It’s built on all the little things that could be annoyin’ but finding them endearin’ instead.”

  “Like Pa saying Ma’s hands are always cold but still holdin’ them anyway?”

  “That’s a perfect example. Nobody wants cold hands touching ’em. I sure don’t. But your pa loves your ma so the cold hands are part of what makes her special. Now if she had started warming up her hands early on, then she’d have to keep doing it the rest of her life or risk surprisin’ him with frigid fingers. You learn from her. She didn’t pretend or hide any faults, and your pa loves her for it. They can relax around each other.” He gave her his near-toothless smile. “I know at the moment you don’t think that young man has any faults, but I ain’t seen a perfect person yet. He’s gonna have faults, and if you love him, really love him, you’ll love him for his faults, not in spite of them. Understand?”

  “I do. Thank you.”

  “All right, enough of this love talk. Ain’t fittin’ for a trail drive. Put down that spatula and follow me.”

  He picked up the cake and carried it to the center of camp where we all were. Prudence and Ernestine had been watching the herd, but Mary had called them in. Katie sat down with the rest of us and watched with curiosity as Clean Through pulled a candle out of his pocket, stuck it into the cake, and lit it with a match.

  “Your party from here, boss,” he said to Mary.

  Mary gave us all a nod and we joined in, facing Katie. “Happy birthday!”

  Katie’s eyes went wide with befuddlement, then recognition. “Is it August fourth?”

  “It is,” laughed Mary. “At least according to Laurie’s journal.”

  “I’m sure of it,” I added.

  Katie skewered a look at Clean Through with mock anger she couldn’t hold. “You had me make the frosting for my own birthday cake!”

  “That way you’ll know it’s fresh. And I’m gonna let you cut it, too,” he said while handing her a knife. He handed Mary some tin plates, then I helped him fill some cups with coffee. So we started the evening with dessert and a celebration, and we ended it with beef stew and biscuits. All made by a little old man with a talent for campfire cooking even bigger than his near-toothless grin.

  Still, I’m getting ahead of myself. All was not well that evening.

  As the cake was being served, Ruth was tight-lipped and distant. She took her piece of cake—even in a dark mood, she was smart enough not to turn down cake—and sat down on a good-sized stone that had found its way to the prairie long before us. I strolled over to her with a cup of coffee.

  “Get it while it’s hot, Ruth.”

  “Thanks.” Her mouth barely opened and I wondered how the cake and coffee were going to get in there.

  I sat down on the tall grass beside her, which pretty much made us eye to eye. “How are you feeling, Ruth?”

  “Fine.”

  Uh oh. Ruth has big ups and big downs. She doesn’t settle for fine. Another of her lows was settling on her.

  I figured I’d better get to the heart of it. “You don’t sound all that fine. What’s bothering you?” No response. “Still thinking about James?”

  “Nope.” I followed her eyes. She was staring directly at Katie, Sally and Pearl as they munched on cake and shared a laugh. Fire flared in Ruth’s eyes. “I’m thinkin’ about what tempted him.”

  Then like a lightning bolt she shot up and sprinted toward them shouting, “What right have you got to be eatin’ cake with decent women!” As the three startled women looked up, Ruth batted away Pearl’s fork and plate and then planted her little fist on the left side of Pearl’s cheek and mouth. Pearl fell backward off the log she was sitting on, stunned. Ruth was ready to leap on her and keep swinging, but I caught up and Sally and I snatched her by the shoulders and dragged her away, kicking and yelling things about leaving her man alone and how harlots should burn in hell and other terrible things before I held her down and Sally clamped a hand over Ruth’s mouth.

  Pearl cowered on the ground, not from pain or fear, but from the pit of shame she had fallen into again. Ruth may have slugged her face, but it was Pearl’s confidence that took the hit. Ruth was right, she thought. She had no business thinking she could have a future as a decent woman. Her past would never let go. There would always be lusty men who recognized her, angry wives and churchwomen who would despise her for what she had been. Maybe the Lord would forgive her on Judgment Day, but her earthly shame was too great, too oppressive. Could she find freedom from it? Could she find peace? She ran toward the herd, settling at the moment for finding escape.

  Mary loomed over Ruth with fury flaming from both eyes. “I wish we were by a river so I could throw you in it! As it is, we can’t spare the water so you start coolin’ off on your own right now, you he
ar me!” Ruth continued to wiggle in our grasp. Mary bent down, placing a knee on Ruth’s chest and waving a finger in her face. “You said you’d follow my orders and I’m orderin’ you to leave Pearl be.” Mary lowered her voice, perhaps to offer up a sense of calm or maybe to make the words harder for Prudence to overhear. “I was hopin’ this didn’t need to be said, but I guess I knew better. So now you listen. It ain’t Pearl’s fault that your man cats around. You said near as much yourself. He’s the one that goes out looking.” Ruth was still now, but Sally kept her hand tight over Ruth’s mouth. This was no time for interruptions. We all knew Mary was saying what Ruth needed to hear. “You married the man for better or worse, and I understand that his worse has caused you suffering. That’s his fault, not Pearl’s. You want to hit someone, he’s got it comin’ and I believe we’d all hold him for you while you wailed away”—true—“but you swat that bee you have in your bonnet for Pearl and bury it, ’cause I’ll have no more fightin’ on this trip, is that understood?”

  Ruth’s eyes were filled with water. Mary nodded to Sally to remove her hand. We were now cradling Ruth rather than holding her down. Her voice cracked. “Why’s he treat me like he does?” Mary eased down beside her and guided Ruth’s head onto her lap. “I always treated him right. Bore his children.”

  “I know.”

  “I love him. Always have.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m a good wife.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “Why ain’t that enough?”

  “I don’t know. It should be. That’s the only answer I have. For some men, it just ain’t. For some women, too, I expect.”

  “It ain’t right.”

  “It’s a hard way to live.”

  Ruth’s eyes steadied into focus. “It ain’t Pearl’s fault, is it?”

  “No, honey, it ain’t.”

  Sally and I exchanged glances and no words were needed to know that we were thinking the same thing. We were glad to be responsible for our own futures. We were glad we weren’t tied down. And somewhere deep inside ourselves, not really as a conscious thought, we were each glad we hadn’t been punched in the mouth.

  Closer to the fire, Katie and Prudence hadn’t moved at all. Katie had watched first in shock as Ruth flew past her with a waving fist and then watched with compassion as Ruth was dragged away to become a sobbing mess. Prudence had continued to eat her cake and sip her coffee. When her mother’s anger had turned to tears and she rested her head in Mary’s lap, Prudence leaned in to Katie and said, “Still ready to get hitched?”

  “It’ll be different with Parker.”

  “Just make sure before you say ‘I do,’ okay?”

  Katie couldn’t take her eyes off Ruth sobbing in Mary’s embrace. “Promise.”

  Clean Through, the veteran of trail drives, saw the brief fight in a different light. “Seems like the only one not cryin’ is the one that got hit,” he mumbled. “Strangest drive I ever been on.” He scooped up a bowl of stew and started walking it out to Pearl.

  Chapter 18

  “Ow!”

  The next morning was more painful than the night before for Pearl. Not because of the punch or the heartache, but because it was time for Sally to pull out the stitches in Pearl’s head. Unlike when they went in, Pearl was conscious.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sally. “I’m being as gentle as I can.”

  “I know you – ow! – are. I don’t mean to complain.”

  “It’s not complainin’ to say that something hurts when it hurts.” She paused a moment to give Pearl a hard look. “You know Ruth was out of line, right?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it. I’ll try to stay out of her way.”

  Sally frowned and went back to working on the stitches. “I suppose that’s best. You’d be in the right to give her a good wallop and see how she likes it, but Mary might not approve and she has enough on her mind right now. Sure be nice if Ruth apologized, but that’s likely asking too much.”

  A short while later we were riding out to take our places for the day’s drive. I paused to watch, expecting trouble, when Ruth stopped at Pearl’s usual place at the back of the herd. She just kept her horse there and faced the herd. No gun was visible. Her hands gripped only the reins.

  Pearl looked at me and Ernestine as if we knew what was going on, but we both offered shrugs and wary looks. Pearl approached slowly, not wanting a fight. Ernestine was closer than me and kept her eyes on them, ready to rush in if needed. But Ruth surprised us all. “Think I’ll ride drag today. Mind helping me out and taking point?”

  Pearl was astonished enough that she couldn’t speak at all. After a hesitation, she nodded and urged her chestnut mount forward to the pointer position opposite me, all the time wondering if she was hated or liked or if Ruth was just confused. Finally she realized what it was. She’s apologizing, Pearl thought. More than that, she’s releasing me from blame. It perked her up. She had a bruised face, a scabbed-over head wound that ached, a lingering fear of an unknown future, and a general feeling of fatigue, yet she hadn’t felt this good in a long time. She snapped the reins and her horse trotted forward.

  Leave it to Ernestine to lighten the mood for all of us. “Wish someone would pick a fight with me. I could use a day out of the dust!”

  At the time, I had no idea how fortunate I had been with the letters I’d sent. I was confident that both Dusty and Parker would post the letters for me at their trading post stops, but I had no idea how long the letters would be there before a rider or courier or trusted cowpoke would come along and be given the letters to deliver. The posts were too scattered and the letters too rare and the riders too few in the open range for any official schedule to be in place. So I didn’t know that my first letter had already been delivered and even taken out to Jonas, and I would never have wagered that my second letter would have left the post in such a short time. But the same day that Parker delivered his horses and posted the letter, a cautious army courier traveling from Fort Sill to Fort Elliott had been forced to circle far north due to what he thought was a loud band of marauding Wichitas (which turned out to be three bucks hunting an antelope). His wide loop had taken him to the trading post where he was entrusted to take my letter to Fort Elliott, where my luck continued because a grouchy sergeant was looking for an errand to send a clumsy private on to get him out of his hair for a day or two.

  So it was that my letter was delivered to Mickel’s General Store in Secluded Springs, where Edward, hoping for news about Ernestine, rushed it to my father at the bank. And so it was that on the same morning Ruth was riding drag, my father was bringing his wagon to a stop at the Bartlett Ranch. Jonas sat on a bench by the front door, his crutch leaning against the house.

  “Morning, Jonas.”

  “Lawrence. Ain’t foreclosure time yet, is it?”

  “Now don’t start off cranky. I’m here to share news and offer up an apology.” He got down from the wagon.

  “Start with the news.”

  My father, or I guess I should say Mr. Michaels, held out the letter I’d written. “Another letter from Laurie. Two in one month! Go on and read it. You’ll see why I want to apologize.”

  “I left my spectacles somewhere. Henhouse maybe. How about you just read it?”

  Mr. Michaels (no, you know what? I’m going to use “Dad” or “my father” from now on because it just sits better with me) sat down on the bench and read the beginning of the letter out loud. Since it was written after our first river crossing but before the second, they learned about the terrible storm and the difficulties we’d had crossing the Canadian, and that thanks to Mary’s leadership the bulk of the herd and all of us were still together and making progress. That’s where my father stopped for a moment.

  “When Mary returns, I’ll apologize to her, but I’m starting with you now. I told her I couldn’t extend the mortgage because I couldn’t bank on her like I’d banked on you. I felt even more strongly about it when I heard
of the women banding together to drive the herd, and I was angry, too, since I felt my daughter was being dragged into it. I’m here to say that I was flat out wrong.” (I’m a little jealous of Jonas because I’ve never heard my father utter such a phrase.) “I didn’t know what Mary is made of. Always liked her, mind you, but the resolve she’s shown is something I didn’t see coming. I also know from the tone of Laurie’s letters that she’s not only involved by her own free will, but that she feels part of something special. Please accept my most humble apology.”

  “Oh, hell, Lawrence, no one thought they could do it, not even them. I was against it myself.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “I’ll admit I wish you’d have extended the loan so that none of this would’ve happened, but even then I can’t blame you for it. And you didn’t start the silver strike and get my men held in Nogales and get the Byerlys headin’ home and you didn’t trample my leg.”

  “You sure had a streak.”

  “And it ain’t over yet unless that letter also says they arrived at Dodge and sold the cattle.”

  Dad perked up. “Say, that news isn’t in here, of course, but there’s more and it’s fine.” He combed through the letter to the spot where he had stopped. “Here we go. ‘The other news I want to pass along is that we were visited by a fine young man and he and Katie could not have fallen in love faster if Cupid had shot them both with the same arrow’ —”

  “Hold on now. I don’t – who’s shootin’ arrows at Katie?”

  “Now don’t get your dander up. Cupid is just an old-time god from ancient stories. He’d shoot people with a love arrow and they’d fall in love.”

  “That don’t make a lick of sense.”

  “Never mind about Cupid. What she’s saying is that Katie has a fine young man as her beau.”

  “She might have met a young man, but he ain’t her beau until I say so. That girl and her boy-crazy ways…”