by Janette Oke
Missie continued to sob softly until finally a deep sense of peace stole into her heart and gently stilled its wild beating.
She awakened much later to the thumping of hooves in the yard. She pulled herself up quickly and rushed to the window, expecting to see Willie’s wagons. Instead, it was several strange horsemen milling about in the bright moonlight. Cookie was approaching them.
“It’s happened,” Missie whispered, her heart feeling as though it were being squeezed. “Something’s happened to Willie.” Her weak knees buckled beneath her and she sank onto a stool. “Oh, God, help me now... help me to trust you.”
She laid her head on her arms on the table and steeled her-self for the news that Cookie would bring. No tears came—only a dull, empty feeling.
It was Cookie’s footsteps at her door. He called softly and she just as softly bid him enter. He stepped inside, with the moonlight washing over him. Missie knew he could not see her where she sat in the darkness.
“Mrs. LaHaye?”
“Yes.”
“Jest thought ya might hear and wonder ’bout all the ruckus in the yard. The new hands thet yer husband hired have jest arrived. The wagons will be in tomorra.”
Missie’s pounding heart caught in her throat. The new hands! The wagons were a short distance behind them! Willie would be home tomorrow!
It took a moment for it all to sink in. She wanted to shout. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to throw herself on her bed and cry in pure thankfulness. Instead she said in a choked voice, “Thank you, Cookie. I was wondering.”
When the door was closed and Cookie was gone, she put her head back down on her arms and sobbed out her pent-up feelings in great bursts of joy. “Thank you, God, thank you. Oh, thank you.”
Missie never told Willie of her anxious days of waiting or of her traumatic nighttime experience. She was sure he would not understand. When the wagons pulled into the yard in the heat and the dust the following day, a calm and smiling Missie greeted her man. He had brought supplies, letters, news that could hardly keep.
Willie turned from Missie to give orders to the ranch hands, then followed her into their small house.
He held her close. “Oh, I’ve missed ya. I thought thet trail would never end. It jest seemed forever.” He kissed her. “Did ya miss me—a little bit?” he teased.
“A little bit,” Missie said, smiling to herself. “Yeah, a little bit,” she repeated and returned his kiss.
Willie produced the letters, but even before Missie could read them, Willie had some news.
The preacher’s wife had fallen and was laid up with a broken hip. Missie’s heart went out to the poor woman.
Kathy Weiss had found herself a young man.
“Poor Henry!” cried Missie.
Willie smiled. “Poor Henry, nothin’. Do ya know, thet young rascal Henry had us all fooled? He wasn’t ever after Kathy—not a’tall. It was Melinda Emory, the young widow, right from the start. Only Henry had to wait fer a proper length of time before lettin’ her know his feelin’s.”
“You’re not fooling!” Missie spoke incredulously. “Melinda? Well, I’ll be!”
“And,” Willie went on, “Henry has gone so far as to get some land of his own right next to ours—and in a short while, we’ll have neighbors.”
Missie could hardly contain herself for joy. Melinda for a neighbor! Another woman she could see often and enjoy her company. She could scarcely wait.
But Willie also had some other big news. “And guess what? They’re gonna build a railroad. An’ they have it figured to put the main cattle-shippin’ station jest eighteen or twenty miles southwest of us... maybe even a little closer... who knows fer sure? Ya know what thet means? A railroad, a town, people movin’ in, connection with the East... before we know it, we’ll have so many neighbors we’ll be trippin’ over each other.”
Missie exclaimed, “Oh... oh,” over and over, while amazement and happiness filled her eyes with tears. “Willie, when? When?”
Willie spoke calmly. “Well, I’m sure it won’t be tomorra like. But they’re workin’ on the railroad fer sure... from the other end. It should git here within a couple years... maybe even next year, some say. An’ as soon as the line is in, the people will follow for certain. Always happens thet way. Jest think! A railroad an’ shipping station. What thet will mean to the ranchers! No more long cattle drives with heavy losses. Every beef thet gits safely to market means a lot of dollars in a cattleman’s pocket.” He picked her up and swung her around the room while Nathan watched from his bed, hoping to get in on the excitement, whatever it was.
“We’ve come at jest the right time, Missie,” he said, putting her down after bumping into the table and bed. “Things have never looked better. From now on, every available parcel of land will be snapped up at a big price, an’ the price of cattle is bound to go up, too.
“Silly little soddy,” he said. “We’re gonna git us thet house just as soon as we sell some of the herd next spring. Place ain’t fit to live in.”
“Oh, Willie,” Missie chided—though secretly and silently she agreed with Willie’s statement—“it’s a home. We can eat, sleep, and keep dry here. That’s not bad for starters.”
Willie laughed as he hugged her, then went over to swing Nathan up in his arms. “How’s the boy?”
“He’s been good.”
“No more onions?”
“Only a little now and then to flavor a meal.”
Willie gazed at his son in his arms. “Look at’im,” he said softly. “He’s gone an’ growed by inches.”
Willie cuddled him close and kissed the soft head of hair while Nathan squirmed. Missie blinked away happy tears.
“Got somethin’ fer ya, boy,” Willie said to his son. “An’ it weren’t near the trouble of yer mama’s confounded chickens.”
“My chickens!” Missie squealed. “Where are they?”
“Well, I hope by now the boys have ’em corralled inside thet wire fence. What a squawkin’, complainin’ lot they turned out to be!”
“How many?” Missie could barely control her excitement.
“Couple roosters an’ eleven hens—an’ I had me one awful time to gather up thet many. Folks out here seem to know better than to bother with chickens.”
Missie accepted the teasing and hurried out to see her flock. Willie followed behind her with Nathan.
The men had just finished tacking up the wire mesh to poles they had pounded into the ground. As Henry finished hanging the gate that had quickly been built for the enclosure, the other two men turned and left shrugging their shoulders. Let someone else do the fussing with the blamed chickens—they had done more than their share in building the pen.
Willie passed Nathan to Missie and went to lift down the large crate. The chickens squawked and flapped as they were released, not appearing the least bit grateful to be set free. They were a sorry-looking lot, not at all like Marty’s proud-strutting chickens back home. Missie wondered if she would ever be able to coax them to produce eggs for her family. One of the hens did not leave the crate. She had succumbed to the heat of the trail or the lice that inflicted her or perhaps some other malady. Willie said he would bury it later so it wouldn’t draw any flies.
“Seems to me,” he observed, “another good dose of louse powder might not hurt ’em any. I think we’ll jest leave ’em outside—shut ’em out of their coop until I treat ’em again. I gave ’em all one good dustin’ ’fore I loaded ’em. Left a trail of dead lice from Tettsford Junction to home.”
Missie laughed but agreed. They did look like they could stand another good treatment of something.
“I’ll do the dustin’,” Willie said, “but from then on, they’re all yers. Never was overfond of chickens, I must say.”
Poor Willie. To bring the chickens had been a real ordeal, Missie realized. She looked at him and love filled her heart. Before she could stop herself, the feeling burst forth into words. “Willie,” she said, “I love you...
so much.”
Willie dropped a chicken and turned to her, his expression full of his own feelings. “In thet case, Mrs. LaHaye, yer welcome to yer chickens.”
Willie’s surprise for his young son was a smart-looking halfgrown pup. Nathan seemed to instinctively know it was for him, and his chubby hands reached for the fur while the dog licked his face.
“He’ll be a big fella when he’s full-grown, an’ I thought him a good idea,” Willie said as he held Nathan in a standing position by the dog. “He’ll help to keep the coyotes away from yer chickens. An’ ya never know,” he said with a grin, “with thet railroad comin an’ all those folks pourin’ in, ya never know jest who might come callin’. I’d feel safer iffen ya had a good watchdog.” He let Nathan sit down beside the puppy and stood to his feet.
Missie looked at the empty miles stretching before her and smiled at Willie’s prediction of the crowded countryside. Suddenly she remembered she had not told Willie about her own news.
“Willie, I had a visitor—honest! A real live woman—though sometimes I feel I must have dreamed it. Oh, I wish she’d come back. We had the best visit, and we prayed together—”
“Where was she from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ya didn’t ask?”
Missie laughed. “I asked her lots of things that she didn’t answer—or maybe did answer—I don’t know... and then we just gave up and enjoyed each other.”
Willie looked perplexed.
“She couldn’t understand English... an’ I couldn’t understand whatever it was that she spoke,” Missie tried to explain.
“Yet ya had ya a good visit?”
“Oh yes.”
“And ya prayed together?”
Missie nodded in agreement.
“But ya couldn’t understand a word the other spoke?”
“Not the words... but we could understand the meaning. She was really nice, Willie. And young, too. And, oh, I wish so often that she’d come back... that we could have tea, and play with Nathan, and laugh and pray together again.”
Willie put a hand under her chin and gently lifted her face until he could look into her eyes.
“I didn’t know ya were so lonesome,” he said huskily. “Here I’ve been so busy an’ so taken up with the spread an’ the cows an’ all. I never noticed or gave thought to jest how lonesome it’d be fer a woman all alone, without another female nowhere near.
“I shoulda taken ya into town with me, Missie. Given ya a chance to see the outside world again, to visit an’ chat. I missed yer need, Missie, an’... an’ ya never complain... jest let me go on makin’ dumb mistakes right an’ left. A sorry-looking bunch of cowpokes, a work-crazy husband, an’ a baby who can’t say more than ‘goo’ ain’t much fer company. Yet ya never, never say a thing ’bout it. I love you, too, Missie... so very much.” They stood for a long moment, arms entwined, until Nathan started to crawl through the dirt after his new playmate.
TWENTY-TWO
Afternoon Tea
While Nathan slept Missie left the house early the next morning to fetch water from the spring for her chickens. She was determined to have eggs for the breakfast table as soon as possible. Already it felt as if it would be a hot day, and she thought of the staleness of the air in their small house on such a day. Perhaps she should take Nathan to the shade bushes near the spring for the most oppressive part of the early afternoon.
She felt lighthearted and hummed as she walked, swinging the empty pail to and fro. Willie was home, she had heard news from dear fr iends, her strange new world was being enhanced—first with fresh milk, then with her bountiful garden, and now with chickens. It would soon be easy to prepare good meals. She and her family would be able to enjoy many of the things they had been accustomed to back east.
As Missie walked she reviewed parts of the letters she had received. She again felt a pang of sympathy for the misfortune of the preacher’s wife. And Mrs. Taylorson! What a kind friend she had turned out to be. She had even sent a pair of tiny shoes to Nathan for when he began to walk—which wouldn’t be long at the rate he was growing. Kathy’s letter had been full of news of her young man. Seemed he was Samson, Solomon, and the apostle John all rolled into one. Missie smiled. But the letter she had read and reread was the one from Melinda. Knowing that Melinda would one day—soon, she hoped—be near enough to be called a neighbor, was very special for Missie. Oh, how she wished Melinda were already here. Another winter in the soddy would be far more bearable with such a friend nearby.
Melinda had written much about the town of Tettsford and her activities with the school and the church. She described the lessening of her pain since the death of her husband, even though his memory still brought tears oftentimes. She also spoke of Henry, of his thoughtfulness, his manliness, and his faith.
Yes, Missie thought, Henry truly is worthy of a woman like Melinda. They will make such delightful neighbors.
Missie returned from the spring with the water for her chickens. She talked to them as she poured it into the trough and then portioned out the feed.
“And you better start laying very quickly,” she threatened, “or you might find yourselves smothered in dumplings.” The chickens fought for rights at the watering trough, paying no mind to Missie’s speech.
“You’re a motley-looking bunch,” Missie said, laughing as she looked at the rather skinny, droopy birds, “but just you wait a week or two. We’ll get some meat on those bones and get those feathers smoothed out and back where they belong. Right now you look like you’re wearing half of them upside down.”
She picked up her pail to hurry back to the house before Nathan would awaken and miss her.
As she rounded the corner of the cook shack, she found Willie and his new hands gathered for a get-acquainted session. The men lounged around in various positions. Some leaned against the sod walls; others squatted on the ground or lay propped up on an elbow. Apparently Willie had let the men know this was a time for “at ease.” Cookie sat on his bench near his cook-shack door and was the first to notice Missie. Missie paused a moment to listen.
“... an’ as we’ll all be livin’ an’ workin’ together,” Willie was saying, “I hope we’ll feel free an’ easy with one another. By now I’m sure you’ve all met Scottie, our foreman. Scottie knows all thet there is to know ’bout ranchin’. He’ll be takin’ over the matters connected with the herd. You’ll take all orders from him, an’ he’ll be responsible to me. You are his concern, an’ any requests or complaints thet ya might have are directed to him. If he can’t take care of it, he’ll see thet I hear’bout it. He’ll assign the shifts an’ the jobs, accordin’ as he sees fit. Cookie, here, will feed ya. He’ll have yer chow waitin’ fer ya at the same time each day. There’ll always be fresh coffee on, fer those comin’ an’ goin’—even for those on the night shift.”
Willie must have noticed Cookie’s grin and turned to see Missie standing hesitantly. His eyes lit up.
“An’ now fer the bright spot on this here ranch,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “I want ya to meet my wife, Mrs. LaHaye.”
Missie stepped forward shyly.
“Missie,” Willie said, “here are the new riders. Scottie—the foreman.” Missie looked into two very kind blue eyes, a twinkle just barely daring to show itself. Scottie looked as weathered and western as the hills that stood behind him. His bowlegged stance spoke of many years in the saddle. Missie felt confidence in Willie’s choice of his second-in-command. Scottie, she felt sure, was one to be trusted.
He nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction, his expression conveying, “If you need me, I’m here.”
Missie’s brief smile was a silent Thank you.
Willie moved on. “This here is Rusty.” Missie’s eyes traveled over a freckled face and a mop of unruly red hair. A wide grin greeted her.
He’s no more than a kid, Missie thought. Her motherly heart wondered about this boy’s mama and if she was somewhere worryi
ng and praying for her son. She offered a warm smile.
“An’ Smith,” Willie continued. Missie turned to look into fierce black eyes in a sun-darkened face. His nod was barely perceptible, and his gaze dropped quickly to the ground. I wonder, Missie thought, what happened to put all that bitterness into your soul.
“An’ Brady,” Willie said. Missie looked into another pair of eyes. These were cold and calculating. They seemed too bold and even cruel, making her blush beneath the stare. She nodded quickly, then gave Willie an imploring glance to move on. She could still feel those unnerving eyes upon her.
“An’ over here,” Willie said, turning to the man who had risen from the ground to acknowledge the introduction, “is Lane.”
Lane looked as if he would gladly have willed the earth to open up and swallow him. He started to look at Missie, changed his mind, and looked at the toes of his boots instead, a dark flush spreading steadily over his face. His hands sought something to do or somewhere to go but ended up only rubbing against his sides.
Missie smiled gently, hoping to put him at ease. Never had she seen a man so shy.
Turning from him to the group, she said, “Glad to have you all here at the Hanging W,” addressing herself to Scottie in particular. “I know that I won’t really be seeing that much of you—you having your work to do and me having mine. But should there ever be a need that my husband and I can help with, we’d be most happy to oblige.” She shyly nodded to them all, a small smile crossing her lips. “Now I’d best get back to my baby,” she said and turned to the house.
Scottie took over the meeting, and Willie walked to the soddy with Missie.
“Think I found out ’bout yer mysterious neighbor.”
“Maria?”
“Yeah.”
“How did you find out?”