by Annie Boone
“I think you’ve delivered, Miss Hazel,” Gavin said.
Hazel noticed that he seemed very cheerful. She doubted that it was because of the supper that he was about to enjoy, but she was pleased she had been able to bring something to them in exchange for their hospitality. It would be rather nice, she thought, to spend time with Minnie and her husband in their cabin while she awaited the arrival of Harley Wyatt. She could adjust to Colorado gradually, rather than in haste.
When Minnie told Gavin that Hazel had made a berry pie for dessert, he immediately sat down in his chair. “Ladies,” he said, “Let’s sit down. The sooner we pray, the sooner we can eat and get to dessert. Not that there’s any reason to hasten through what you’ve prepared, Miss Hazel,” he added.
Hazel smiled. He really was a very nice man. How fortunate Minnie was, and the fortune was deserved, for she had been the trailblazer to this unknown region.
Gavin bowed his head. After a minute, Hazel did the same. They had not begun meals with grace at home, but she saw that Minnie had acclimated to the habit of her new husband.
As Gavin was praying, they were jolted by a single knock at the door, direct and forceful. Gavin looked up, surprised to have the devotions interrupted. “I don’t know who could be coming by now,” he said as he rose from his chair and went to the door.
“Harley,” he greeted.
Hazel’s head rose as a tall man with immense shoulders and long legs entered the kitchen, dwarfing the room with his height. He took off his hat to reveal blond hair, made even paler from the sun. It was cut close to his head, but not so close that the hint of curls was concealed. His right arm was wrapped in a sling.
“How’d that happen?” Gavin asked, motioning toward the injury.
“The snow hit,” Harley said. “I got trapped under it.” His eyes began to scan the table as if he were looking for an object he’d lost that belonged to him.
“Join us? We’re looking forward to sampling some of Miss Hazel’s cooking.”
“No time for that,” Harley said. “I’ve got the preacher on his way. I hear that my mail-order bride has arrived. We got caught in the snowstorm or I’d have been there at the station.” Despite his Western cadence, his speech had a brisk pace to it, one that seemed to herd the syllables along lest they dawdle too fast and not get out of his mouth in time.
“I am sorry to learn of your injury,” Hazel said with a sense of panic. His eyes — were they brown or green or hazel? — were intent upon her. Was he evaluating her? Was he disappointed that the woman before him was not the woman he expected from the advertisement?
A tread on the front porch alerted them that another guest had arrived.
“It’ll mend. That’ll be Rev. Mains now,” Harley said. “He didn’t waste any time. Miss Ellis, I’m pleased to meet you. We’ll be married momentarily and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Surely,” Minnie said in a silken tone of voice that moved with the lethal adroitness of a panther into the conversation, “you will not object if my sister finishes her dinner? She has traveled a long way.”
“Miss Ellis is welcome to finish eating,” Harley said after a brief pause during which he eyed his soon-to-be sister-in-law as if he were not sure why she was presenting her argument to him.
When Rev. Mains entered the cabin, his Bible in hand, Minnie was still seated at the table, finishing her meal as if there were no need for haste. Hazel continued to eat, but at a much faster pace, locked between her sister’s deliberate pace and Harley’s polite haste. Gavin was enjoying his meal and went on eating after offering the minister to join them.
But Rev. Mains, it seemed, had not expected to be summoned to perform the duties of his office with so little forewarning, and he declined.
When the meal was finished, Gavin placed his knife and fork on his empty plate. “Harley, you’re getting a fine wife,” he said. “That was an excellent meal.”
“I’ll be hiring a cook,” Harley said. “Mrs. Wyatt will have other matters to tend to. I haven’t been to the ranch yet, I came straight here after learning that my wife had arrived. Rev. Mains, if you’re ready, I’d like us to be on our way as soon as we can.”
4
Hazel promised Minnie that she would visit soon, and then she was seated in the wagon. Gavin, mindful of Harley’s injured arm, had loaded her hatboxes, trunks, and belongings into the back, while Harley, one-handed, had assisted his wife into the front seat. The horse trotted off at a brisk pace. Hazel refrained from succumbing to the desire to turn around and watch until Minnie was out of sight.
“You said that you want to hire a cook,” she said. “I am able to do the cooking.”
“Maybe so, but I didn’t marry a woman to make her the help. There’s a housemaid, by the name of Jane, who takes care of the place. She’s been doing the cooking, but she can’t do both. Now that you’re here, you can decide on a woman to do the cooking.”
Forlornly, Hazel thought of how diligently she had written down recipes during her journey, so that she would bring them to her new life as a rancher’s wife and prove that she could contribute to the household. It seemed that her efforts were in vain.
“Newton is a growing town,” Harley said. “I told you in my letters that we built a school last year. Now we’re building a theatre. The day will come when Newton will rival Denver.”
She didn’t say anything. How could she? She knew nothing of Denver except that, compared to Boston, it must be vastly inferior.
“We’re invited to lunch at the hotel on Sunday,” Harley went on. “A couple of investors for the theatre want to meet you.”
“Meet me? What on earth for? What do I know about investing in a theatre?”
“You’re my wife.”
Was she overly sensitive, or was there a rebuke in his answer? Had she insulted him by failing to recognize that her married status would elicit interest from the local leaders of the community? She hadn’t even been married an hour, Hazel fretted, and she was already doing everything wrong.
“I shall do my best,” she said humbly, “to do whatever it is that you would have me do. But I am unfamiliar with this sort of enterprise. My father is a businessman, but we, his daughters, were not engaged with his work.”
“I don’t expect you to make the business decisions. I’ll take care of that. I’ve been in charge of the ranch for the last five years.”
The last five years. “Before then, who took care of the ranch?”
“My father, the Colonel. He died five years ago.”
“Your mother?”
“Died when I was eighteen years of age.”
“I’m very sorry,” Hazel said, meaning it. She still had both parents, even if Mother wasn’t well, and they were two thousand miles away.
Harley didn’t respond.
So, she would not have to negotiate with in-laws who would object to her presence at the ranch. That was a relief. But that did not ameliorate the uncertainty which was occasioned by her husband, who seemed very distant and almost forbidding in his silence.
“Did you . . . I don’t know anything about cattle ranching,” she said apologetically. “Is there anything that I should be aware of in order to do my part?”
“You’ll manage the household,” he said. “Everyone knows their place.”
Everyone knows their place. Hazel could think of nothing else to say and the ride went on in silence. The horse, a spirited animal who was nonetheless kept under control by Harley, even if he only had the use of one hand, trotted on. Hazel was engulfed by a feeling of apprehension greater than the earlier bouts of panic that had assailed her before arriving in Colorado. What was her place? She was Mrs. Harley Wyatt. Hazel Ellis was submerged in that new, alien role of rancher’s wife without the slightest inkling of what that performance would entail.
She thought of Minnie, relaxed and happy with her husband. Minnie had not chosen for the promise of wealth or position; she had selected Gavin Clifford because he lived in th
e vicinity of the husbands she had selected for her sisters. There was no way she could have known that Peter Edwards did not own a house and Harley Wyatt was an aloof man who wanted a wife, it seemed, because he intended to become a man of note in his town and required a wife who was able to complete the presentation. She would have servants now, a housemaid, someone to clean, and a cook was to be hired. There was irony in the arrangement. Cooking was the only authentic, practical skill that she had, but her husband regarded it as superfluous.
Harley turned the wagon in to a long, tree-lined entrance; to the right was the ranch. The entrance continued lower to the barn and stables. Harley brought the horse to a halt in front of the ranch and as he did so, several men appeared as if they had been waiting for him.
“This is Mrs. Wyatt,” Harley introduced Hazel.
The men touched the brims of their hats, nodded and greeted her with diffidence, as if they were unsure of quite what they were to do. Harley quickly set them on their tasks.
“Carlos, you and Pablo can unload the wagon and bring Mrs. Wyatt’s belongings into the spare room. Jane will help you unpack tomorrow,” he said to Hazel. “Turk, you take care of Mollyanne.”
The men nodded and moved quickly.
“Boss,” called one of the men, “ain’t you gonna carry your bride over the threshold?”
Hazel looked at his bound arm in alarm.
“Don’t look like she weighs more than a porcelain doll,” agreed another of the hands.
Harley looked over the men, and then at Hazel. Before she knew what was going to happen, he had swooped her up, one-armed, and carried her into the ranch. Behind him, the men laughed appreciatively.
He put her down when they entered the house. They were in an entranceway with chairs arranged against the wall and a table pushed against the other wall. It looked like a waiting alcove where supplicants might sit until someone important could meet with them.
Everything in the rooms that Harley showed her was spotless and nothing was out of place. The rooms were well furnished with handsome rugs on the floor. The parlor was designed for comfort and coziness but even here, there was an atmosphere of elegance. This was a room where one would feel at home welcoming guests, but it was also where family would gather. It would have been perfect had there been a piano.
Speaking before she thought, Hazel spoke. “Is there a piano on the ranch?”
“A piano?” Harley sounded surprised. “No.”
If he was going to say anything more, the moment passed, as two females entered the room. One was a young girl who looked to be no more than sixteen years old. She was dressed in a plain blue skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse. The outfit seemed too matronly for a young person.
“This is Jane Hewitt,” Harley introduced the girl. “She’s the housemaid, and lately she’s turned her hand to cooking. She’ll be living in soon. The cooking will end soon, I’ve already started looking to hire a woman for the position of cook. Hilda does the cleaning, you’ll meet her tomorrow.”
The introductions seemed incomplete. The other female in the room was a young girl who was around nine or ten years old, Hazel judged. She had long, pale blonde hair tied in a single braid down her back. She was dressed in boy’s clothing: boots, a boy’s shirt, even trousers.
“This is Oakley,” Harley said, not expanding upon her name or her role. “She lives at the ranch.”
Both Jane and Oakley greeted Hazel with a nod. Hazel mustered a smile manufactured from her mother’s lessons on a lady’s manners. “I’m very pleased to meet you both. I shall count on you to help me in the future as I accustom myself to my new surroundings.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said. She was a bright-looking girl with brown hair pulled back in a bun.
“Do you have family hereabouts?” Hazel inquired.
“Yes, ma’am, but there’s no room at home, so Mr. Wyatt said I could move in here and I’ll be doing that soon. My folks have a small place in Darby.”
“Jane does the sewing and mending,” Harley explained, “in addition to the housemaid duties. She helps Hilda on laundry day and makes herself useful wherever she is needed. She will help you unpack your belongings tomorrow. Are there any particular items that you’ll need for the night that you would like Jane to fetch for you?’
Hazel blushed. “I — I’ll need my brush and my night things,” she said uncomfortably. “They are in the tapestry bag.”
“Jane,” Harley directed and the girl immediately left the room.
Oakley turned to go as well.
“Oakley,” Hazel called after her.
“Ma’am?” Oakley paused.
“I am pleased to meet you,” Hazel said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Oakley responded. “Welcome to the ranch.”
And she left the room.
Harley did not seem to find anything untoward in the exchange.
“You’ll want to freshen up before bedtime,” he said. “You’ll find a bath closet off from the bedroom.”
“Thank, you, I—” Hazel noticed a large portrait mounted over the fireplace. It was of a man dressed in the uniform of the Confederate Army. He had a sword at his waist and a hat on his head, and the stripes on his shoulders showed him to be an officer.
Harley followed her gaze. “My father,” he said. “The Colonel.”
“He was a Rebel?” It had never occurred to Hazel, whose father had fought in the war on the Union side, that her husband might have been loyal to the Confederacy. The war had been over for more than a decade now; Harley would have been a youth when it ended.
“He was an officer in the Confederate Army,” Harley said. “Colorado was a territory then, but he came from Virginia before settling here. When war broke out, he went back to serve. After the war, he came back.”
“Your mother? Was she also from Virginia?”
“She was from Colorado.” Harley paused, then went on. “The war doesn’t matter much out here, not now. It’s a different place. You’ll find Rebels and Yankees mixing without rancor here. The West is different from North and South. I hope you’ll be able to remember that.”
“Of course I will,” she said. “My sisters and I were very young when our father went to fight. He didn’t have to, he could have paid for a proxy to go, but he felt it was his duty.”
“Bostonians took the war seriously.”
“No more so than the Virginians.”
“I reckon that’s so. It’s over now.”
“Praise the good Lord!”
He nodded his head once. “Jane will bring your things to the bedroom. It’s the big room at the end of the corridor. She’ll show you where to find everything you need.”
He turned and left the parlor. She heard the noise that the front door made as he opened it and went out.
She felt as if she had been dismissed. Perhaps, she told herself, he was merely being thoughtful in allowing her the privacy to prepare for her wedding night without intruding upon her. All the same, she felt as if she had been treated in the same businesslike manner with which he had spoken to Jane.
Jane was waiting in the room. She had lit the fire in the fireplace so that the chill of the spring night would go away. The room was tastefully furnished with an armoire and lace curtains on the windows. On a table against the wall, a pitcher and bowl for washing, and, over the fireplace, a painting, this one of a woman with long, fair hair and a shy expression on her face as she smiled tentatively out of the frame.
“That was Mrs. Wyatt,” Jane said. “She was the mistress here. She died when Mr. Harley was just a young man. The Colonel, they say he never stopped missing her.”
“She was very pretty.”
“That’s what they say. Folks say the painting doesn’t do justice to her.”
“Are there other paintings in the rooms?”
“There’s one of Mr. Harley’s twin sister; she lives in California now; her husband is in the Army.”
“The Union Army.”
“
There’s only one army now,” Jane said with a wisdom which made her seem older than her age.
“Yes. Thank you, Jane, you have been most helpful and I am grateful. Perhaps tomorrow you can show me around the ranch so that I may learn what I will be doing.”
Jane looked confused. “You’ll be Mr. Harley’s wife,” she said, as if this encompassed a sufficient explanation of Hazel’s responsibilities.
“Yes . . .”
After Jane left, Hazel went to the pitcher and washed her face and hands. Then, with a nervous eye on the closed door, she began to undress, as quickly as possible, so that she could don the white lawn nightdress and get into the four-poster bed before Harley returned.
It was another half hour before the bedroom door opened and Harley returned. She noticed that, although he was still dressed, his boots were off his feet.
He doused the candles and the room was in darkness.
5
Jane knocked on the door the next morning to bring Hazel fresh water for bathing. By that time, Harley had already risen, dressed, and left. Hazel, awake after he was gone, remained in bed. It was a very comfortable bed, with a thick, firm mattress, soft, cool cotton sheets, and warm blankets beneath a comforter. She had been glad of the coverings during the night when the warmth of the day had faded.
“Ma’am, here’s water for your morning. Mr. Harley said to ask you if you want a breakfast tray brought to you in the future.”
“A breakfast tray?” Hazel recalled those days, when servants had brought the Ellis women their breakfast so that they need not rise early if they didn’t want to. She had not thought to find that indulgence here.
“Yes, ma’am. Shall I bring up a tray for you in the mornings?”
“No, I shall rise and eat,” she said. It seemed that she ought to do that. The leisure of Boston was behind her. She was quite sure that Minnie did not have the option of idling abed in the morning and it would be unjust to indulge in a habit which her sister could not claim.