by Rita Hestand
"This all happened because I was early and wearing that dress… "
"I'd never seen a woman look more beautiful." He told her, his eyes searching hers.
"The lady on the train practically told me I was over dressed. I don't know what possessed me to buy it. It just kind of grabbed all my attention. I never had—"
He saw her flush. He knew what she was going to say. She'd never had a dress like that before. Damn a woman like that, so beautiful and so poor. His heart turned over in his chest.
"Well, I guess you know you had my full attention with it!" He smiled sexily at her. "I'll be in the north pasture, it's spring and that means branding time. The boys work extra hard during these days, we'll be out all day, lots of dust and heat from the branding."
"Sounds to me like you could use some lemonade about noon." She grinned.
"Well, that's something we haven't had much of, but you better check the supply of lemons first, if not, coffee will do."
"Alright. The boys said if I'd make them some biscuits and bacon for a mid-day snack, they'd appreciate it. Is that alright?"
"Honey, anything you want to do in this kitchen is fine with me. I can understand why; these biscuits are great. Thank your Aunt Betty for me."
How did he remember her aunt's name? But a man of his standing would do his best to remember details, she suspected.
There were a lot of things she was beginning to like about this cowboy, but she wouldn't be telling him about them.
"Have you considered the possibility of your real bride not wanting a cook? I mean, what if she wants to do things herself?" She asked.
He turned around to give her his full attention. Coming closer, he shook his head. "That wouldn't be the case. Priscilla has maids of her own, she isn't used to putting her delicate hands in dishwater. So, I'd say no matter what happens, your job is secure. She's from Boston, an old aristocratic family." He reached to dot her nose with his finger. "But through all this there is one thing I don’t want you to forget."
"Oh, what's that?"
"It's you I'm married to!"
"But it was a mistake!" she barely managed those words the way he was staring at her.
His smile widened, "Was it?"
Then he walked off leaving her to ponder that.
When he left, she went to the back-kitchen door, and watched him ride off. He was a man in his element. The way he rode a horse was like he'd been born on one. Third generation, he'd told her. And all cowboy!
Chico walked by and saw her staring after him. "The boss, he's a good man, no?"
"Yes, I think you are right, Chico, he's a good man. Oh, later I'm going to run some food out to the men, would you pick out a horse for me?"
"I'll be glad to Señora, the men they will be very happy."
"Thanks so much." She told him. "I've got work to do, see you in a bit."
"Yes, Señora in a bit. Oh," Chico paused to tell her, "the boss wanted me to tell you if you need anything, let me know. I will see to it, or if you need me, I'm usually close by. I see after the ranch when he goes to the pastures. I see after the ranch all the time."
"That's good to know, thanks Chico." She smiled, "I'll have you some more biscuits and bacon in a while."
"Thank you Señora. Rogers."
She turned and shot him a smile, "Call me Trudy."
She went to work, grabbing the last bite of egg and a biscuit, and then she finished up in the kitchen.
She'd never had the pleasure of working for so many thankful men before.
She wouldn't be telling her husband that back home in St. Louis, most of the men she worked around were not very nice, and they thought of her as a lowly employee, who deserved neither respect nor thought.
They'd laugh at her, taunt her and make fun of her dress she wore nearly every day. Why did men have to notice things like that. Before long, these men would too, and she wished she had a suitcase full of clothes.
It was refreshing to meet nice men, though.
Her father had been a good man. He drank, but it was just about his only vice. She cooked, cleaned and helped him when he came home drunk, and she considered it a pleasure as she loved him so. He was a man who spoke Irish poetry, who played games with her when she missed her Ma, who told stories that sent her to sleep. She had loved him so much. When she was down, he would dance an Irish jig with her. He'd tell her tales of the sea. He told her that happiness was the most important thing in the world.
She sighed happily. She walked out to the garden and looked to see what was planted, there was tomatoes, green onions, okra, peas, and beans, some squash and in the back, she found some mush-melons and watermelon. She even found some Irish potatoes. She watered the plants, and that took a while since it was a big garden. She went to collect the rest of the eggs from the hen house and came back, picked some tomatoes that were ripe, and a good size bowl of peas. She'd shell them and put them on the stove to cook.
She liked it here. This kitchen was the biggest she'd ever cooked in. She could be happy working here, except she was married to the boss and that would take some getting used to. Perhaps she shouldn't think too permanently on it, but it was a fact for now, and he wasn't letting her forget it either. It wasn't so much as getting used to it but keeping her heart safe from a man like Lance. Surely Priscilla would show up soon and he could get this taken care of.
But deep down, in some odd corner of her heart, she knew that the day Priscilla showed up, her heart might actually break. For a man that could sweep her off her feet with his kisses would be hard to forget. And how could she remain here after they married, and watch his new wife kiss him. No, she'd have to leave.
She knew she couldn't keep working here after Priscilla showed up. She only hoped she'd come in the next few days.
She certainly didn't feel married, but she did feel an attraction for her husband. He always surprised her with a kiss, and she enjoyed every one of them.
She enjoyed his kiss this morning, and it did make for a happier day, but she knew she couldn't get to liking him too much. She told herself this over and over. She was waiting for it to sink in.
She wondered what Priscilla might be like. And what still floored her was that he thought she was Priscilla at the train. Did they look that much alike? Or had it simply been like he said, a bad picture, and her being there on the train that day in that dress!
The one thing that didn't fit in her mind was why he hadn't married already, someone he knew. He was handsome, well to do and plenty smart. He didn't seem to fit the men she knew that would send for a mail order bride. Of course, he did say he worked all the time. She knew how that was, too. Scrubbing floor until late in the evening then going home to cook supper for her father or gather him from the saloon and take him home. There wasn't time to shop for a husband, she'd had offers, but none she took seriously. The one thing she wanted in a marriage was a good sense of humor. And love, lots of love, like her parents had. Money wasn't important, she'd work hard if she had the right man.
She shrugged, she didn't know enough about men to judge Lance though. Not that she blamed him for corresponding with a lady. And obviously, if she had maids, she wasn't some poor waif, like herself. So, she needed to get her head out of the clouds, she wasn't in the same category as Priscilla. Most wealthy men wanted a woman with a pedigree, and she certainly didn't fit that bill.
She just finished shelling the peas when a bit before noon, a man came to the door, more a boy than a man. He handed her a piece of paper, he seemed out of breath and flushed. "Telegram for Mr. Rogers."
"Thanks."
The boy waited for a tip, and when she realized why he hadn't left, she went into the kitchen and came back with two biscuits and bacon for him. "I'm sorry, my husband is working out in the pasture, and I don't have any change. Will this do?"
He looked at the biscuits and smiled, "Sure, I'm starved."
She smiled, "Good day," she told him
He tipped his hat and smiled, "Thanks.
"
Trudy imagined it was from Priscilla and it was important that he got it. So, she gathered her second big batch of biscuits and some bacon, and after asking Chico where the men were working and offering him some food again, she went to find her husband. She had found a big coffee can that looked as though it were made for a lot of people, she filled it with coffee and tied it on her horse that Chico picked out for her and she was off to find the men.
The horse he picked was a beautiful red mare and Trudy could feel the horse's excitement. She rode for some time admiring all that nature allowed. Wildflowers bloomed in the distance, a willow waved from the banks of a creek, the sun was shining, and it was nice weather for such a ride.
It felt good riding around the countryside, with the wind in her hair. It was a bit of an adventure for her, as she didn't know her way around this big a property. She enjoyed the sites though. It was a lush looking range, with good grasses and plenty of trees throughout too.
It took her a while, but she did find where the boys were working, as she saw the dust in the distance and Lance glanced up and smiled when he saw her coming.
"You had a telegram and I thought it might be important. And I brought everyone some food. You were right, there weren't enough lemons to make lemonade, I'll have to get some when I can."
He glanced at her, bent his head and kissed her tenderly and smiled, "Thanks darlin'."
He took the telegram and went to a tree to lean on it while he read it. He slumped down to the ground and Trudy suspicioned he was upset somehow. She couldn't tell by his facial expression if it was good or bad news.
He motioned her over after she gave the men the food.
He glanced up at her, "She says her mother is still sick and she doesn't know when she can get away"
"That's all she said?"
"Yep, no sorry, no nothing."
"Are you sure her mother is dead?"
"That's what she wrote in her letter. I guess she forgot about telling me."
"Maybe it's a step-mother or something." Trudy defended.
"Would you believe it? I find it hard to believe that she forgot, I mean a grown woman telling you her mother was dead?"
"I don't know. I'm sorry." Trudy said sitting down beside him now. "I'm sure you were hoping for a little more consideration than that."
"Yeah," he frowned. "I've about given up on her."
He stared at her now.
"Well, I guess I should get back."
"Ever seen a branding?" he asked out of the blue.
"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't." She smiled at him.
"Stick around," he smiled.
She got up and dusted herself off, as she walked around the area. The men were busy roping, then bringing the calves to the fire. The dust was flying but there was a lot of goings on. All the men knew their job and didn't need much ramrodding. Some gathered wood for the fire.
She watched and the smell of it like to have gagged her, but she did her best not to frown.
Lance handed her the branding iron, "Try it." He offered. The boys all gathered around to watch with smiles on their faces.
She did like they all had, and the brand came out nicely, she laughed. "I did it!" She almost jumped up.
"You sure did." Lance chuckled. "We might make a cowboy out of you yet."
"I better get back, I gotta to shell some peas for supper." She told them all. She'd already shelled the peas, but she couldn't hang around the men and him all day. That was not her job and certainly not proper.
She knew Lance was disappointed in Priscilla and she feared he might write and tell her not to come. But where would that leave her?
They should get an annulment, but why that thought bothered her she wasn't sure. Or was she?
All the boys waved and thanked her for the food.
Lance stared after her for a long while.
***
George came up to him. "Boss, I don't know how to tell you this, but well, did you notice her dress?"
Lance frowned, "I guess I didn't pay much attention to it. It doesn't matter what she wears, she looks good, doesn't she? What's your point?"
George stared at him a minute as though he should know what he was aiming at. "Well I might be out of line saying this, but that dress she had on today is the kind poor women wear to scrub floors in. And, she wore it last night to supper. Now, maybe it's just soft and comfortable on her, but I got a feeling—"
"Well, go on, speak you mind. You always do." Lance told him with a frown.
"You said she scrubbed floors for a living. You said she was poor. Lance, the girl don't have no clothes. That dress she has on is plain and simple, worn by a lot of women I've seen up north, women that worked for a living. I doubt she's got more than two dresses to her name. And she's your wife, you gonna let her dress poorly all the time? People will talk you know."
"My God, George!" he studied on what he was saying, and it hit him. "I hadn't even thought about it. Her valise was pretty light come to think of it. Good gosh, she had that riding outfit, the fancy dress she got off the train in, and this one. I guess because she's so beautiful, I didn't look at her dress. But you are right."
"She ain't like a lot of the ladies you know, Lance. It's not something others will overlook. She wasn't lying when she said she was poor. Kind of funny when you think about it."
"What?"
"Well, some girls have beautiful dresses and fancy hair dos and men come calling for them all the time, and they have teas. This girl, she's worked hard, Lance. She isn't used to having much at all, and yet, she seems— happy. I guess that's the word I'm looking for. Kind of hard to figure, isn't it?" George scratched his chin.
"You're right, she does. The dress she wore on the train and to get married in, she must have paid everything she had to get it. She had two reasons for buying it, she fell in love with it, and she wanted to impress me. Which, by golly, she did."
"Just try to be tactful when you offer to buy her some clothes."
"Yeah, I gotta figure how to talk about something like that. I'm glad you pointed it out. I just wasn't thinking straight, I guess. But I’m not well versed in women's conversations."
"She's kind of a new experience for all of us boss. She's beautiful, humble, and hardworking, and the best damn cook you ever hired."
Lance chuckled. "I guess I ought to tell you, I heard from Priscilla, a telegram came, and Trudy brought it out to me."
"Oh, well, was it good news or bad?"
Lance frowned, "I'm not sure. All she said was that her mother was still sick, and she didn't know when she's coming."
"The sooner you make up your mind, the better." George advised.
Lance sighed heavily. "It's not so much making up my mind, it's knowing how to tell her."
"Which one?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Lance smiled.
"Well, anyway, I just got to feeling sorry for Trudy about that dress. Everyone else will notice before long. And I guess she's too proud to ask you for money. When a poor woman marries a rich man the first thing people think is that she married for money."
"Not this one George. She just too damned proud to admit she needs a little help. Damn, thanks for calling it to my attention. I'll take care of that now! I'll give her an advance in pay, that way, she won't figure it's charity."
George eyed him a minute. "Lance," George barked.
"What?" Lance turned around to look at him.
"She's your wife, at least for now. Treat her like it."
Lance smiled, "Thanks, George."
"Good. She sure is a good cook, all the boys think a lot of her. And Lance, I understand why you couldn't send her packing. If it had been me, I wouldn't either." George smiled at him.
Lance nodded with a grin. "See they stay at this. I'll try to get back later. If not, I'll see you at supper."
George grinned, "See ya." Then he stopped him before he rode off. "Now look, you haven't dealt with this before, that's why I'm offering
you some advice. Poor people get offended easy Lance. This gal has a lot of pride, her not telling you tells you that. You can't just blurt it out, about the clothes. You gotta use some tact. Don't hurt her feelings, understand?"
Lance grinned, "Yes Pappy, I understand. I'll do my best."
"Well hells bells, we don’t want to run a good cook off, do we?"
Lance laughed, "Don't worry, she's not going anywhere. No matter what happens."
"Good!" George grinned, and slapped his horse's rump.
Chapter Seven
On his way in he tried to think what to say. He wasn't a man that minced his words well. Being tactful didn't come easy to him since he was used to barking orders rather than sparing anyone's feelings. Yet for some reason, he cared about Trudy. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. He supposed George felt sorry for her, but for some reason he didn't. She had things figured in her head right, she had a heart as big as Texas and the way she kept responding to his kisses, had him tied in knots.
It was for sure he wanted her, but for how long, he wasn't sure. She didn't seem like the kind of woman to have a romp in the hay with. Still, she was his wife.
It made little sense time wise. He hadn't known her long enough to care about her. And still, two years corresponding with Priscilla, he wasn't sure he knew her at all. Perhaps that was why he'd been in such a stew after he proposed to her. Pressure from others had made him act hastily.
He saw some beautiful pink and yellow wild flowers and stopped to pick some. He grinned, he'd put the cart before the horse, marrying her without benefit of a courtship, so he owed her some consideration. Little things, his mother told him long ago, go a long way in making a marriage a happy one. That might be a good start, he grinned when he had a bouquet of them. Didn't all women like flowers? His father had told him that. And his father was happily married for a long time.
When he arrived at the ranch, he didn't see anyone about. He put his horse away, then spoke to Chico who was working at cleaning out the stalls.
"So, you got the Señora some flowers? Women like flowers very much."