by Annie Boone
“A camel?”
“A year or so back, Pete got it into his head that what he needed for a pack animal was a camel. He says they store water and they carry a lot. So he bought himself a camel. Jezebel. As ill-tempered a creature as you’d ever want to see. Nothing like Juno here, you can see how easily she takes direction.”
“A camel? Where did he find a camel to buy? Do you mean that they won’t have a horse?”
“That’s what I’m asking you. Pete has Jezebel and a mule. He doesn’t, so far as I know, have a horse. You’d best ask your sister if Pete will need a horse. I can send Pablo over with one from the stables. I can spare a horse. Maybe a wagon, too, if your sister thinks it would come in handy. Pete won’t think of it.”
Hazel didn’t respond. She was wondering how on earth Clara would react when she found that her modes of transportation would be a camel, a mule, or her own two feet.
8
Hazel was relieved when Mrs. de la Rosa said that, owing to the circumstances, she could, begin earlier. And she could make the wedding cake. Back in Italy, she made cakes all the time. Harley had no objection to providing the food for the wedding luncheon, he said they might as well find out if the new cook was what they hoped.
Minnie came by the ranch early in the morning. Hazel pulled herself into the wagon by gripping the seat and, once she was off the ground, turning and sitting.
“I wonder if anyone this way has thought of carriages,” she said as Nugget rode off.
“I’m sure it hasn’t occurred to Clara that she won’t have one,” Minnie said. “But at least she’ll have a house. It’s genuinely charming, too. It’s a littler version of something we’ve seen hundreds of times back home. But Hazel, there’s almost nothing inside. Gavin agreed that they can use the guest bed, but whatever will they do without a table, chairs—”
“Harley offered the use of some of the furniture from the ranch,” Hazel interrupted. “He already seemed to know that Mr. Edwards might be lacking in what’s needed.”
“God bless him!” Minnie said fervently. “Last night, I couldn’t sleep for worrying about what we’d do. I’ve brought the linens that came with me when I came West. You and I will need to make curtains; the windows have none. Pete was so pleased that he’d put in windows that I didn’t have the heart to douse his cheer by mentioning the absence of curtains. After we left his house, we went straight to the general store and got fabric. I don’t know if we can make all the curtains in time, but if we can at least make them for the downstairs. No one will see upstairs.”
“You said that’s where the bedroom is.”
“Yes, but—oh. Yes, of course. They’ll need curtains. I should have thought of that. Well, then, I suppose we’ll be sewing curtains for all the windows.”
“How many windows?”
“Two in the front, and two upstairs. Gavin is at the house now. He’ll be no help with the sewing, but he can put the curtains up.”
“He can help bring in the furniture and set it up, after Mr. Edwards decides what he needs. And Mrs. de la Rosa will cook the luncheon.”
“Clara will owe a debt of gratitude to you for all of this,” Minnie stated.
“Not to me, to Harley. But it’s best if she doesn’t know about this. I fear that she would be cross if she found out that the furniture in her house does not belong to her. Minnie, this Mr. Edwards. Will he do for Clara?”
Minnie herself was bothered by the same question. “I don’t know. He’s very cheerful and appealing. I like him,” she said, a trifle defiantly as if the admission cast doubt on her powers of reason. “He’s very unlike Clara.”
“Might that be a good thing?”
“We must hope so,” Minnie said darkly. “Otherwise, Mr. Edwards is about to marry into hell.”
The two sisters set to work as soon as they arrived at the Edwards house, where Gavin was already upstairs, assembling the bed. Hazel let him know that Harley had offered to lend some furniture and would send hands over with the items once he knew what was needed.
“Everything,” Gavin said. “I’ll just ride over to the ranch and let him know. We’ll bring back whatever Harley can spare.”
“Whatever is needed,” Hazel said with assurance. There’s a lot of furniture at the ranch that isn’t being used and it might as well come here.”
After Gavin left, Hazel and Minnie returned to their sewing. This was not the sort of sewing they had done back in Boston, where it was more fitting for a lady to do embroidery, not make curtains, but as Minnie expressed the matter, the windows needed to be dressed.
“I’m not the least bit sure of how Clara will take to all of this,” Hazel said. “Mr. Edwards has done a commendable job at building the house.”
“It makes me quite homesick to see it,” Minnie admitted.
“But Clara. How will she accustom herself to drawing water from a well? And cooking over a fireplace? And—”
“The two-holer?” Minnie tried not to laugh. It was a very well-constructed privy, and Pete Edwards was as proud of the effort he had put into it as if he had built a castle. Castles, she reminded herself, were devoid of sophisticated plumbing too.
Hazel had learned to be philosophical about the rudimentary plumbing in Colorado. The ranch was, in other ways, very up-to-date, considering its location. Facilities for bodily functions, however, were not inside the ranch and it would have seemed arrogant of her to suggest that they should be.
“At least she won’t have to depend upon the mule if she needs to ride into town,” Minnie went on. “Thanks to Harley, Pete will have a horse and a wagon. That’s very generous of him.”
Hazel nodded. “He made the offer without any hesitation.”
Minnie knew, while her sister admired her husband’s generous spirit, there was something missing in their marriage, something unformed. Why had she and Gavin blended together so quickly, Minnie wondered? Was it because the loss of cattle in the snowstorm meant that they had to rely upon one another, because there was no one else? But Harley, although established in the town and certainly self-sufficient in terms of money and land, had no other family close by either. His parents were dead, his sister lived in California, and if the girl, Oakley, was his, she was only a child.
Hazel had always been the hesitant sister, the one who, despite her great beauty and charm, doubted herself. Minnie wasn’t sure why. But she did sense that while Gavin strengthened Minnie’s self-confidence and lifted her sense of worth, Hazel did not feel that she herself was anything more than an adornment for her husband. It was her beauty and her innate graciousness that he valued, because they were of merit to him.
Hazel had told her sister about the luncheon with the theatre investors, mentioning Harley’s praise. But Hazel had taken no particular pleasure in his words. Beauty, Mother had taught them, was from God. It was the heart and soul, unseen treasures, that defined a woman’s grace.
But Mother would also have held that being able to hire satisfactory domestic help was a woman’s duty, and Hazel was pleased that the wedding luncheon which Mrs. de la Rosa had prepared validated Hazel’s decision, even though it was actually Harley who had proposed taking her on as the ranch for the cook.
Clara was pleased with the meal, even if it lacked the grandeur of what would have been served for a Boston wedding celebration. The guests joined in the communality of the occasion with cheer, even though it was the first time that the sisters and their husbands had all been assembled in what was a family event.
Peter rose to toast the occasion. He looked even taller than usual, dressed in his new suit, with his shaggy hair now trimmed neatly and his beard not the ragged bramble of whiskers that it had been before. What a blessing, Hazel thought, that their sister had not seen him as he had been before. The smile was just as mesmerizing, but now he almost looked as if he might be at home in a Boston drawing room.
He spoke eloquently of the day, impressing Hazel and Minnie with his words. Then he raised his glass to Clara. �
�Most of all,” his glass rose higher, “I toast my lovely, incomparable wife, Clara, truly a nonpareil. I hope that I may one day deserve her.”
Clara’s eyes misted as he spoke. Watching, Hazel felt a pang. Glad for her sister, yes, but wondered to herself if she would ever hear such a paean from Harley? Clara and Peter had barely had time to greet one another and he was already showering her with heartfelt praise. Harley’s praise came to her like shards of stone, chiseled off a cold, hard sculpture.
She glanced at her husband and was surprised to see that his gaze was intent upon her. Confused, Hazel looked away.
After they left the nuptial couple to enjoy the rest of the day in privacy, Hazel and Harley rode back to the ranch in their usual silence. In the wagon ahead, Minnie and Gavin were chattering away. At one point, Gavin put his arm around his wife and she leaned her head against his shoulder.
Would she ever feel that comfortable in Harley’s presence, Hazel wondered? Would she be at ease in displaying a simple gesture of affection? Or would it always be this way, the two of them joined by marriage and the mysterious commingling of intimacy at night, but not much more than strangers during the day? He was a puzzle to her, as she had no notion of what occupied his thoughts or affections. Was he satisfied with the marriage? Would he have preferred that one of her sisters had been his mail-order bride? She had no reason to think so, as his attentions to Minnie and to Clara were nothing more than polite.
She had left her home and her parents, the familiarity, culture, and history of Boston, to marry a man whose emotions were shielded. She lived in the finest house in the region, with servants to do the labor of the household. Under the roof was a child who might or might not be Harley’s illegitimate offspring, but she could not inquire as to the girl’s parentage, for Harley had walled that subject off from communication.
Hazel thought of her parents’ marriage when the family had been in better financial circumstances. She recalled Mother and Father sharing fond looks and secret smiles that had meaning only to them. Father had been so proud of Mother, and she of him. That remained, she was sure, even though the Ellis circumstances had sadly fallen with the financial crisis that had struck the country. They would have each other now that he was freed of the burden of the debts he could not pay and their marriage would not suffer; in fact, it might strengthen as Mother’s emotional health improved. Perhaps they would even be able to enjoy Christmas together, she thought, even though they would not have their daughters with them. Or a piano. The Ellis family Christmas had been one in which music played a prominent role, singing around the piano while Mother played. . .
All the sisters were trained in playing the piano; Hazel, so like her mother in appearance, had shared that talent. How silent Christmas would seem this year, without the music of the piano and the singing of the carols to bring home the sweet joy of the season. Of course, they could still sing, but it would not be the same without the piano. If they could not have Mother and Father with them, it would have helped had there been a piano to breach the miles in between and link the holidays which would be celebrated in distance.
“Harley,” she heard herself saying, “I would like a piano.”
9
Oakley was proving to be an adept student. Despite the fact that she didn’t like being confined in the house for the lessons that Hazel taught, she applied herself to them with the same calm diligence that she showed in every task put before her. She was as unreadable as Harley in her countenance. Hazel had no idea what the girl really thought of having her education made part of the daily schedule, but Oakley did not complain.
Summer was coming to an end, but Hazel was happy to see that the flowers she had planted were still blooming, making a vivid floral framework around the ranch. She and Jane were outside doing the weeding; it was a task that Jane enjoyed as much as Hazel did. For Hazel, it was an opportunity to actually apply her hands to a form of labor that she liked, and for Jane, it was a time to be outside in the fresh air, digging in the dirt, just as she had when she was a child.
“Ma’am,” Jane said as she smoothed the dirt that had been loosened around one of the plants. “I hope you don’t think me forward. . .”
Hazel looked up at Jane from beneath the wide brim of her hat. The sun was still beautiful and potent, remaining a threat to the ivory complexions of ladies who battled to keep the skin free from the effects of the rays. She had given Jane one of her hats so that the girl would have better protection from the sun, although she was not sure if Jane had been raised with the same cautionary instruction that the Ellis girls had received.
“Is something the matter, Jane?”
“No, ma’am, and you’ve been right kind to me now that I’m living in, and helping me sew a new dress, and all. But I’ve been thinking about things quite a bit. I don’t have much schooling. I can write my name all right, and I know my numbers. That’s what Ma says a woman needs. But I’d like to know more. If I took on an extra chore, do you think that would be payment enough for a lesson now and then? I wouldn’t impose on your time, ma’am,” the girl said in a rush of words, as if she feared that she’d lose the momentum of speech should she pause. “But I see how well Oakley is doing, and she’ll soon know more than I do. That’s fitting, I know, I’m only a servant here—”
“Of course you may learn,” Hazel said quickly. “There’s no need to take on extra work. I should be delighted to help you learn.” She had little enough else to do during the day. Hilda kept the inside of the ranch immaculate and Jane tended to the other household duties, and Constanza was a marvelous cook. It was, Hazel knew, up to her to accept that her role in the Wyatt ranch was to decorate her husband’s success, no more and no less.
“You would?” Jane’s face showed astonishment that her wish was to be so easily granted. “Mr. Harley, he won’t mind?”
“Why should he mind? Your learning will enhance your work. And Jane, this is Colorado. One day you will marry and have a home of your own, with a husband and a family, please God. You will be the better for what you know. And, when the piano arrives, I can teach you to play!” she added with enthusiasm.
Harley had been entirely agreeable to her request for a piano and he had ordered one to arrive from Chicago. It would come by train, of course. Exactly how the piano would be delivered to the ranch, Hazel did not know, but Harley did not seem unduly bothered by the dilemma. He had, in fact, been impressed to learn that she played.
Jane had another thought, one which was even more difficult to utter than her request for tutoring.
“Ma’am,” she said, now speaking slowly to form her words with care, “I’ve been thinking about Oakley.”
“Yes?”
“I’m thinking, ma’am, that it might be time for me to call her ‘Miss Oakley,’” Jane finished, looking abashed, then lowering her head to study the next plot of flowers in need of weeding.
“Why do you say that?” Hazel asked carefully. She knew from Mother’s instructions that the lady of the house never, ever, shared gossip with servants. Jane’s suggestion, devoid of gossip, seemed to confirm that it was likely that Oakley was Harley’s progeny. Such a speculation must never be uttered, of course. But by bringing it forth, Jane had, with all delicacy, presented Hazel with a quandary.
That night, at supper, over one of Constanza’s delicious chicken recipes, this one made with a sauce of mushrooms and wine, Hazel decided to bring up the idea, presenting it as her own rather than that of the servant Jane.
“Harley, I’ve been thinking,” she began.
Harley looked up from his plate, his face impassive. How much Oakley resembled him, Hazel thought with a surge of anger, not because he might be—must be—the girl’s father, but because he would not address the matter, preferring to keep the truth hidden away. His secret was maddening because the truth was almost as clear as the nose on his face.
Her anger gave her the impetus she needed. “Oakley is growing up. She is doing well in her studies. She i
s a quick learner and a lovely girl. The time will come when some young man will want to court her.”
Harley laughed, but to Hazel’s hears, it sounded forced.
“She’s only ten years old, Hazel,” he said. “I don’t think the boys will be knocking at the door just yet.”
“Girls mature quickly,” she said. “One day they are just little girls in braids, the next they are putting up their hair and being asked to dance. We must make certain that Oakley is courted by the right sort of young man.”
His eyes narrowed in thought. Hazel realized that he had never considered this aspect of the child’s development. But he grasped her meaning. Did he want Oakley to be the sweetheart of one of his hired hands, or of a rancher’s son? It was a brutal awakening, she knew, even in egalitarian Colorado, but it was a realistic scenario.
“What are you suggesting?” he inquired.
“I think that she should begin joining us at the evening meal,” Hazel said. This inspiration was her own as a way of bringing Oakley into the circle, small though it was, so that she would no longer live in-between. “And she should be called ‘Miss Oakley’ by Jane and Constanza. They can see that she is growing; they will understand the change. And the need for it.”
“I don’t know that Oakley will care for it,” he said. “She’s not much for frills.”
“I am not proposing that she leave behind your cast-off trousers and shirts,” Hazel said with a flash of spirit. “That will happen soon enough, when they no longer fit her. I noticed that the clothes in the nursery show signs of wear, as I would expect of attire worn by an active young boy.”
“Mother saved them,” he said. “I never knew why. Oakley found them and she’s been wearing them since.”
“Do you agree that Oakley needs to join us for meals and that she should be addressed as ‘Miss Oakley’?” Hazel pressed him.