“When did you become an artist?” asked Aunt Bess. “I don’t remember you drawing when you visited the ranch. You were how old? Six?”
“Seven,” I corrected. “I started drawing after we got back from visiting you. I wanted to draw the ranch while it was still fresh in my mind.”
She reached over and touched my cheek. “You and your father loved the ranch so. And your mother?” She laughed derisively. “Lord, she hated it.”
“I know,” I replied softly. “I wanted to see you the next summer after our visit. Mom enrolled me in summer camp instead.”
She smiled. “I know. Your dad told me.”
“The camp had an art program. Mom enrolled me in painting classes by then. She said I had real talent. All I wanted to do was draw and paint. That’s why I went to summer camp when Mom wouldn’t let me visit you.”
“Well, your mother usually got her way,” observed Aunt Bess.
“I got to stay with you,” I said. “Why did Mom agree to that? My nightmare was that I’d wind up with Mrs. Lawrence.”
My aunt smiled again. “It was the price for you going to summer camp. Your dad got her to agree that if anything happened to both of them, you’d come to Wyoming to live with me. Your mother never thought that would happen.”
“Neither did I.”
She hugged me again. “I’m sorry they’re gone. But I’m sure glad you’re here.”
The ice inside me began to melt. “So am I,” I whispered realizing I was an orphan and she was the only relative I had left.
Aunt Bess handed me the new clothes. “Why don’t you change? Then we’ll have lunch. You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat.”
My stomach growled and we both laughed at the sound.
I went into the bathroom, changed my clothes and washed my face.
The clothes fit. The blue jeans were uncomfortable because they were new. I rubbed my hands over the unfamiliar fabric.
“The blue jeans are stiff,” I said after I left the bathroom.
“They’ll get softer after a few washings,” my aunt assured me.
“I never wore jeans before,” I admitted.
“What did you wear?” she asked.
“Usually dresses or skirts. Mom liked me to look nice. We were always going to museums, concerts or art galleries. For school I wore a uniform.”
My aunt was going to say something else. She thought better of it. “Well everyone wears jeans on a horse ranch,” she reassured me. “Now you’ll fit right in.”
I wanted to believe her, even though I knew blue jeans weren’t going to make adjusting to ranch life any easier for me.
“Are they supposed to fit this tight?” I asked, looking down at the material that hugged my legs tighter than my slacks.
Aunt Bess turned me around and looked. “No, they fit just fine,” she replied.
I sat on the bed and pulled on the boots.
“I’ve never worn cowboy boots either,” I said, standing up and looking down at them.
“How are they? Did I get the right size?” she asked, anxiously.
I wiggled my toes. “They feel good.” A new outfit for my new life. I smiled even though I didn’t feel like it.
“Now you look like you belong on a ranch,” she said approvingly. She stood up. “I’ll let you get settled. Lunch in half an hour. After we eat, I’ll show you around the ranch.”
She paused at the door. “Russ is gonna join us.”
“Russ?”
“My foreman. He helps me run things.”
She left and I sat on the bed looking around the room. This was my new life. Suddenly I felt cold and rubbed my arms. I thought Wyoming would be different, that I’d feel better here with my aunt. Looking around the unfamiliar room I realized nothing had changed except my address.
I took a deep breath and let it out. I lifted the suitcase on to the bed and unpacked half of it. There were hangers in the closet. After I hung the clothes up, I wondered how many of these outfits I’d actually wear in Wyoming. The rest of my underwear and pajamas I put in the dresser.
Then with a huge sigh, I went downstairs.
Chapter 3
A tall, wiry man with short dark grey streaked hair got up from the table and came toward me. Dressed in a light shirt, jeans and well broken in boots, he looked like the other cowboys I’d seen on the ranch — until I looked in his eyes. They were an unusual shade of gold and held mine in a penetrating look that reminded me of a hawk. I got the impression his glance took in everything about me, yet his smile seemed reassuring and kind. His deeply tanned face indicated he worked outdoors. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Instead of aging him, it gave him character.
“Hi, I’m Russ,” he said simply. “You must be Maryann,”
I shook his rough hand and smiled shyly back.
“Hello.”
“I thought after lunch we’d show Maryann around the ranch,” said Aunt Bess. “That way she’ll know where everything is and kinda get a feeling for the place.”
“Sounds good,” said Russ.
“Then tomorrow we’ll get Maryann up in the saddle,” she continued.
“I…I don’t know anything about horses,” I hedged, unwilling to admit how much riding scared me.
“I thought you rode at that fancy summer camp you went to,” my aunt said.
“They had horses,” I admitted. “I took art classes. I never went riding.”
“Oh.” Aunt Bess paused. “Well, if you’re gonna live on a ranch, you’ve got to know how to ride. You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”
Russ noticed my unease.
“We’ll start you slow,” he explained. “You’ll be riding before you know it.”
I wanted to believe him, just like I wanted to believe my new life in Wyoming would work out.
“Maryann, do you want to say grace?”
“Grace?”
Russ saw my confusion. “I’ll say it, Bess.”
My aunt nodded and reached for my hand and Russ’s. He reached across the table for my other hand. Our joined hands formed a circle. They bowed their heads and closed their eyes. I followed their example.
“Lord, thank you for the food you’ve provided. Let it nourish our bodies to do your work. And thank you for bringing Maryann here. Help her, Lord, to ease her sorrow and find her way. Amen.”
I let go of their hands and opened my eyes. Saying grace was another difference between Boston and Wyoming.
“Your parents didn’t say grace?” asked Aunt Bess.
“We didn’t eat together,” I explained. “When I came home from school I ate in the kitchen. My parents had dinner later.”
“We always say grace before meals.”
“Okay.”
At least now I had an idea now of what to say.
She patted my hand. “You’ll do just fine.” I felt as if I passed some kind of test that my parents failed.
My head ached. I rubbed my forehead then took a sip of lemonade. The hamburgers Russ grilled were delicious. For the first time in days, I enjoyed food. Since Mom and Dad died, everything I ate tasted like sawdust.
“You have a week to settle in before school starts,” said Aunt Bess. “We’ll go through your clothes to see what we need to buy. We’ll shop at the mercantile in town.”
“There’s a couple of things you’ll need to learn living on the ranch,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“How to shoot a gun and drive the truck.”
“Shoot a gun? You’re kidding.”
‘No, I’m not. The ranch is in the middle of a thousand acres up against the mountains. Anything can happen. You need to be prepared. You’re not living in Boston anymore.”
You’re telling me, I thought.
“I’ll teach you how to shoot. Russ will teach you how to drive.”
“I’ve…I’ve never shot a gun before.” I paused.
She saw my unease. “Nothing to be afraid of. A gun is ju
st a tool, like a hammer or a knife.”
“You can kill someone with a gun.”
“We got bears, mountain lions and sometimes rabid animals. Now and then I’ve had to put an injured horse down. Got to know how to shoot. It may save your life — or someone else’s.”
I stared at her.
“Nothing to be afraid of,” she said.
Easy for you to say, I thought. You grew up on a ranch. I didn’t.
“Did you ever drive?” asked Russ.
“No.”
“We’ll start you out on Tony’s truck. It’s got an automatic transmission,” he said. “Once you’re used to that, we’ll teach you how to drive a stick.”
Stick? My head spun. What he was talking about?
“Do I have to?”
“Living out here you’ve got to know how to shoot a gun and drive a truck,” confirmed my aunt. “I’ll start your shooting lessons after lunch.”
I hadn’t even unpacked and my aunt was going to teach me how to shoot a gun. My head pounded and I closed my eyes. I felt like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.
“You know the altitude here takes some getting used to,” Russ said.
“It does?”
“You came from Boston, that’s almost sea level. Our ranch is over six thousand feet higher. You might have a headache or feel nauseous until you adjust.”
“Do you have a headache?” asked Aunt Bess, concerned.
“Yeah, a little bit of one. I can’t seem to get rid of it.” I rubbed my forehead again.
“You need to drink a lot of fluids,” advised Russ. “That helps.”
“Okay.” I felt relieved there was a reason for my headache.
Aunt Bess left the table and came back with two pills. “Here’s some aspirin. This will help.”
“Thanks.” I took the pills from her and swallowed them.
Was there a pill I could take to adjust to Wyoming? I wondered. Or maybe a pill so I didn’t miss Mom and Dad so much?
Yeah, didn’t I just wish.
A ranch to find my way around. Elevation to adjust to. Horses to learn how to ride. Grace to say before meals. Now I had to learn how to shoot a gun and drive a truck.
Everything in this new life was different from what I’d known back east.
I looked around the kitchen at Aunt Bess and Russ. Then, taking a deep breath, I forced a smile on my face and blinked back tears.
Chapter 4
Tuesday, April 18, 1961
I hit the ground hard, choking on a mouthful of dust. Snowy, the grey horse I was attempting to ride, stopped short. She stamped her hoof and rattled the bit in her mouth. Then she bent down and sniffed me. Exhaling loudly, she seemed confused why her rider was on the ground and not in the saddle. It wasn’t her fault. I couldn’t get the rhythm of her gait and I fell off.
I’m never going to learn to ride. Aunt Bess intended to teach me herself, but was needed unexpectedly on another part of the ranch. That’s why Russ Strokes was my instructor.
“Come on, let’s get you back on.”
Russ held out his hand and pulled me to my feet.
“Always get back on,” he said turning Snowy around for me to mount while I brushed my pants off.
“What’s the point? I’m only going to fall off again.”
“Everyone does when they’re learning. It’s whether you get back or not that determines whether you’ll be a rider.”
He helped me back in the saddle then patted my leg.
“You’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”
“Been a cowboy all my life,” Russ said adjusting a strap under the saddle. “Know horses a lot better than I know people. Worked for your Uncle Jacob for the last seventeen years.” He laughed. “Don’t know who was more stubborn — Jacob or Bess. Jacob died two years later and I’ve worked with your aunt ever since.”
“I’m not any good at riding,” I protested.
“Don’t worry. Snow’s real gentle.”
“She’s so big.” I tried to make him understand how uneasy horses made me. It was my first week here and it didn’t seem likely I was ever going to learn how to ride.
“Big? She’s only fifteen hands.”
“Hands?” What was he talking about?
“We measure horses in hands.” Russ held his broad palm against Snowy’s shoulder. “That’s a hand – four inches.”
“Oh.” Snowy still seemed huge.
The cool spring air smelled of horses and leather. Nervously, I grabbed the big horn on the large Western saddle. Being up so high felt weird. Snowy seemed tired, too, because she refused to step forward.
“She won’t move. What do I do?”
“Squeeze your legs.”
I pressed against the mare’s plump sides and she began walking forward. I grabbed the horn.
“Squeeze harder. I want you to make her jog”
I thumped my legs and Snowy went faster. I bounced uncomfortably around in the saddle.
“Sit still,” Russ yelled.
How could I? I kept bouncing. It was impossible to sit still. After circling the corral a couple of times, my teeth rattled and my butt hurt.
“Hang on. I’m going to make her lope,” Russ made a clicking sound. Snowy speeded up and I lurched forward. I still couldn’t get the rhythm right and I fell off again.
If Mom could see me now, I thought hitting the ground for the second time. I couldn’t get the hang of riding. Why was it so difficult? What was wrong with me? My rear hurt from landing on it. Snowy was bigger than the pony I rode as a child. No matter how many times I fell off, Mom wasn’t here to object. I’d never see her again. It took me longer to get up this time. I wiped the dust off my jeans and the tears from my eyes.
“I think we’ll stop here.” said Russ, watching me. “You’ve been working pretty hard.”
That’s when Aunt Bess rode up.
“Lord Sakes, Maryann Madigan. Don’t you know how to sit a horse yet?”
“Now Bess, I’m takin’ her slow. She’s just getting used to horses.”
Only Russ called my aunt ‘Bess.’ The other ranch hands called her Mrs. Perkins.
Aunt Bess dismounted, tied the reins of her horse to the fence, and then climbed through the wooden rails to join us in the corral.
Russ helped me back onto Snowy and my stomach churned.
“Now let’s see what we’ve got here,” she said stepping back as Snowy and I walked in a circle around her.
“Sit up. Straighter,” she barked. “Put your legs down. Sit deeper. Lean back a little. That’s right. Good. Now, you’re riding.”
My confidence grew. I smiled hesitantly. Then she made a clicking sound and Snowy sprang forward. I lost my balance, throwing my arms around the horse’s neck.
“No. No. Sit up. Good God girl, that’s not riding.”
The mare stopped and I slid awkwardly to the ground.
“Come on, get on again. We’ll get you riding in no time at all.”
“No,” I yelled, sore and discouraged. “I’ve had enough. I’m not any good at this.”
“You’ll never learn to ride if you quit after a few falls. You don’t want to be a quitter, do you?” She made it sound like the lowest form of life.
“I don’t care,” I said, tired of everyone making decisions for me.
Russ came over and helped me to my feet again. “Seems like you’re starting the girl at the wrong end. How can you expect her to ride when she doesn’t know anything about horses? Don’t forget she didn’t grow up on a ranch like you did, Bess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you let Maryann help in the barn until she gets used to being around horses? She can help me feed and groom. Later, she can help me halter break the foals. We never have enough help doing that.”
Aunt Bess paused, and then turned to me. “Maybe Russ is right. Would you like to help out in the barn?”
I would have agreed to anything to avoid another riding lesson.
; “Okay.”
When I passed Russ on my way back to the house, he winked. Suddenly I felt it would all work out somehow.
I thought that was the end of my riding lessons or even wanting to learn how to ride.
Then I met a horse named Shadow Dancer — and everything changed.
Wednesday, April 19, 1961
The next morning Russ showed me around the main barn.
“The ranch has three barns,” he explained. “The largest is the main barn where most of the horses live. That’s where you’ll be working. The mares’ barn holds our breeding stock, including four stalls for having foals. The stallion barn is the third one. Until you get more experienced, you’ll work in the main barn where I can keep an eye on you.”
We walked into a room with hay bales. “You’ll start out by helping to give the horses hay and water.”
I filled the large plastic water buckets from the faucet in the aisle. I couldn’t believe how many buckets of water one horse drank or how heavy the buckets got once they were filled.
Later, we entered a small room filled with metal bins.
“This is the feed room.” Russ removed a lid and took out a scoop of grain. I ran my fingers through the sticky food.
“They call it sweet feed,” he said, “because there’s molasses in it.”
“It smells good in here, like a bakery.”
Russ laughed. “I guess it does at that.”
“How do you know what to feed each horse?” I asked. Just trying to remember their names was confusing enough.
He pointed to the wall above the bins. “This feeding chart lists each horse, the stall number, and what mixture of grain they get. The horses get fed depending on their age and the work their doing. This chart shows what each one gets.”
It began to make sense to me.
“It’s about time to feed. Get those buckets and I’ll show you the routine.” Each bucket was numbered to match the stall. They were stacked on a metal cart to wheel down the aisle, since there were too many to carry.
As soon as the horses heard grain being poured, they started fidgeting in their stalls and nickering. I followed the metal cart, helping Russ distribute the food.
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