Once in a Blue Moon

by Diane Darcy

  “Fun. I see. This drudgery is supposed to be fun. Why didn’t you tell me that before? Here I’ve been wasting my time not having fun when I could have been having a blast! Silly you for withholding such vital information!”

  He paced away, then came back. Ignoring her words, he waved a hand in the air. “Think of it as one of those expensive western vacations people pay a fortune for. I’ve never seen you shirk hard work. You usually like a good challenge. I admire that about you. So deal with this, and help me make it fun for us. Haven’t I always been there for you? Be here for me this time. Don’t make me do this by myself.”

  Melissa turned away, stirred the dinner furiously, then grabbing a towel, moved the pan to the table. She slapped the skillet down hard, making the dishes jump. “I’m trying to get a job as a cook in town. I’m planning to help.” She gestured with a wooden spoon toward the food. “Don’t you see me learning to cook so I can get a job?”

  Richard made an impatient gesture. “Melissa, you asked if we’re happy. Well I’m going to tell you the truth as I see it. I’m happy, but you’re not, and I can’t make you happy. The kids can’t make you happy, and getting a job as a short-order cook surely isn’t going to make you happy! Only you can do that. I don’t need or want you to get a job in town. I need you here. I am more than willing to break my back making a living for us.”

  Melissa snorted. “For thirty dollars a month?”

  Richard gritted his teeth. “Yes Melissa, for thirty dollars. And what I need from you, is to make our lives worth living. I need to have someone here when I get home at the end of the day. I need you to have the chores mostly done, so I can come home and relax with you. I need someone here that I’m glad to come home to at night.”

  Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying? That you want someone else?”

  He slashed a hand through the air. “Don’t twist my words! I want you. But I need you to keep our family running smoothly. Be here for the kids and for me.”

  He ran both hands through his hair. “Look, just take a break, honey. Make some good friends. Have some fun while we’re here! It’s for less than three months.”

  Melissa’s jaw was stiff and tears stood out in her eyes.

  Richard groaned, and hugged Melissa to him.

  She resisted at first, then sighed and sank against him, sniffling.

  They stood locked together for several minutes.

  Richard tightened his hold. “So you made some friends today? I’m proud of you.”

  She sniffed again. “I didn’t do anything. They approached me. I think they just wanted someone to boss around while they did laundry.” She shrugged. “I have nothing in common with them. Besides, they’re all a decade younger than me. Well, except for Hannah.”

  “So, what about Hannah? Why don’t you become friends with her?”

  Melissa pushed away from his chest, looking horrified.

  “Are you serious? Have you seen her? She’s so...frumpy. Besides that, she hates me.”

  “Sounds like a challenge to me.”

  Slowly her expression turned thoughtful. “Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?”

  Richard grinned at her. “That-a-girl. Look at her like a client you need to win over.”

  Determination entered her eyes.

  Richard’s grin widened. It was going to be all right. They’d just needed to clear the air. He looked at the dinner on the table. Diced potatoes, onions, eggs and some kind of meat all scrambled together. His stomach rumbled.

  They both laughed.

  “Shall I go call the kids in for dinner?” asked Richard.

  Melissa glanced at the food on the table, then gave him a challenging look. “That depends.” She pinched the tender skin on the inside of his upper arm. “Am I a whiner?”

  “Ow, ow, ow! No! No, you’re not! Absolutely not! I must have confused you with the whiner who lives down the road. You have my sincerest and most humble apology.”

  Melissa let go of his arm.

  “All right then. Call the kids and we’ll eat.”

  Richard smiled as he turned away.

  “And wash your hands!”

  Richard turned back and saluted her. “Yes, ma’am!”

  He heard her chuckle as he bounded down the steps.

  Yep, everything was just fine.

  * * *

  Later that night, Melissa lay in bed and listened to the crickets chirping outside. Heck, they were probably inside.

  Richard was wrapped around her, dead to the world, breathing softly onto her neck.

  She envied him his ability to sleep.

  Shifting, she tried to get more comfortable on the hard mattress. What it was stuffed with, she didn’t even want to guess at.

  In an attempt to fall asleep, Melissa closed her eyes and started to design a new dress in her head. After a moment she realized it had a high-necked lace collar. Her eyes popped open. Even her creativity was being contaminated by the past!

  She pushed the horrible image aside and turned her thoughts toward Richard’s earlier comments. He was fed up with her, that was clear enough. She’d pretended at happiness all evening, trying to prove she wasn’t the discontented person Richard accused her of being. But now, lying in bed, she acknowledged it had simply been an act.

  Richard said she was the only one who could make herself happy. But how? How did she do that? Was there some magic formula that the rest of the world knew about that she didn’t?

  All she knew for certain was she was tired of being upset and feeling inadequate all the time. She wasn’t a good enough cook. She wasn’t a good enough wife. She wasn’t a good enough mother. She wasn’t a good enough anything.

  Except she was a great designer. Nix great, she was fantastic. But even back home, did her work make her happy? It could be exciting, exhilarating, fascinating, but ultimately did it make her happy? She’d thought so, but now she wasn’t so sure. She turned over with a jerk and wrenched the blanket from Richard. There was simply too much time to think. It was too quiet. In her office, focusing on designs and with the news blaring in the background, she’d never felt the need for introspection.

  She sighed. She wasn’t in her office. Things were different now whether she wanted them to be or not.

  Perhaps Richard was right. What if she simply went along with it all and became a ranch wife for a while? She could give herself some time to think. She could feed chickens, try to ‘enjoy her children,’ whatever that meant, and give herself a little vacation from real life.

  Not that there wasn’t a lot of work to be done, but it was all mindless. Besides, someone had to do it. If they both were off working at jobs all day long, they’d simply have to come home and work all evening too.

  Anyway, in the morning the women expected her to show up again for another full day of drudgery. Ironing and gardening or something.

  But she could do the housewife thing if their family could l

  live frugally on the salary Richard made. Of course, it would be boring; no question about that. But perhaps in a peaceful way? Maybe it would give her time to consider what would really make her happy?

  Melissa thought about Richard’s challenge to befriend Hannah. An impossible task. Yet, the attempt might help relieve some of the boredom. And it would give her something else to occupy her mind.

  Maybe she could give Hannah some beauty-related tips. Surely Hannah could look better if she tried. It would make Richard happy, and no doubt Hannah would be incredibly grateful.

  Decision made, Melissa felt more at peace. She smiled, and finally drifted off to sleep, only to dream of chickens wearing lace collars.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ironing day. Yippee.

  Balancing the hefty metal iron in one hand, Melissa carefully made her way down the three steps of her cabin to the dirt below. She turned and watched as Jessica latched the cabin door. Richard and Jeremy had already left for work.

  Melissa glanced toward the main house, saw Hannah
enter the front door, and made a quick decision. She’d go and talk to Hannah right now. Befriend her. If she was going to do this, she might as well get started. Besides, it beat ironing. “Jessie, take this iron and go on ahead. I’ll meet up with you in a little while.”

  Jessica took the heavy, clunky iron, holding it with both hands. “Where are you going?”

  “There’s just something I have to do first.”

  “I want to go too,” said Jessica.

  “No.” She didn’t need any spectators during her first attempt at befriending someone. She didn’t expect to screw it up, but there was no need for an audience. “Someone from our family needs to show up for ironing duty.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “Not this time. I’ll join you in a little while.”

  “Fine. You never want me with you anyway.” She hoisted the heavy iron and stomped off, heading toward Sarah’s cabin.

  Melissa shook her head in disbelief. She’d spent the entire day with Jessica yesterday. She would spend most of it with her today. Talk about ingratitude. “Look, I’ll catch up with you in a little while,” she called after her.

  “Whatever.”

  With a sigh, Melissa turned and walked in the opposite direction and once she reached the ranch house, knocked on the door.

  The widow answered, an unwelcome expression on her face and Melissa sighed. Why did the widow employ a housekeeper only to answer her own door all the time?

  The widow glanced at Melissa’s dress and something flickered in her eyes. Disgust? Melissa’s spine stiffened. The widow’s plain, navy dress wasn’t much to look at, either. Melissa allowed her gaze to roam up and down the ugly outfit and returned the look of contempt.

  “Yes? What do you want?”

  Melissa lifted a brow. “And a good morning to you too. I’m here to speak with Hannah.”

  The widow’s gaze narrowed, causing the wrinkles around her eyes to stand out. “Why?”

  Melissa lifted a brow, opened her mouth, then remembering her vow to be nice, shut it again. ‘None of your business,’ or ‘Are we all slaves to act upon your whim?’ might be construed as antagonistic.

  Melissa cleared her throat. Nice. Think nice. “Hannah is my friend.” Well, okay, so that was stretching the truth a bit. “And friends visit each other.”

  The widow stared at her for a long moment, then swung the door open.

  Surprised, since she’d expected more of a battle, Melissa crossed the threshold. “Thank you.”

  The widow continued to eye her with suspicion, but Melissa ignored her and glanced around. The front room was cheery and full of sunlight; fancy lace curtains decorated the windows, and tablecloths and knickknacks adorned the dark furniture. Light-colored wallpaper burst with barely-pink flowers, and a colorful weave rug covered the hardwood floor.

  A lace throw and fancy pillows decorated the couch and an elegant lampshade topped the lamp on an ornate stand. An array of black-and-white photos in fancy frames sat on a curve-legged table. A portrait of an old man and another of a landscape adorned the walls. The room smelled of fresh roses and beeswax. All in all, it was very tasteful--if you liked the Victorian sort of thing.

  Melissa’s lips tightened. No doubt the woman had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, unlike Melissa. Thinking of her own lackluster hovel, her chest started to burn. “Your home is beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She would keep her mouth shut, she really would. She was only here to talk to Hannah, and...

  The widow’s contemptuous gaze slid down Melissa’s dress once more and something inside her snapped. “It’s a shame my husband doesn’t make more money. Then we might be able to afford a few things too.”

  The widow’s lip curled. “You don’t value what you do have. Why should you be given more?”

  Melissa blinked. What did she mean by that? “Excuse me?”

  “Wait here.” The widow left the room.

  Melissa huffed out a breath. Witch. She glanced around assessing the value of the furniture. Even in 1887 some of the pieces must be worth a fortune. She took a step closer to the photographs.

  One was an elderly couple, another showed children sitting on a wicker bench, and there was a striking man in military uniform. Her eyes skimmed a few more photos, stopped, and backtracked. A photo of an incredibly beautiful young lady in a white dress, a lace scarf pinned to her throat with a cameo, looked familiar. Very familiar. A feeling not unlike deja vu swept over Melissa as she tried to place the face. Melissa picked up the photo and turned it over. Jane Taggert, Oregon Territory.

  “Making yourself at home?”

  Startled by the old bag’s return, Melissa jumped. “Uh, who is the woman in this photo?”

  “That was me, forty years ago.”

  “Oh,” said Melissa, feeling foolish. Of course the lady in the picture looked familiar, she was standing right in front of her. Melissa set the photo down.

  The widow dumped a bolt of material into Melissa’s arms. “Here.”

  Melissa stared at the pale-green jersey, then at the widow. “You’re giving me fabric?”

  “Consider it compensation for your husband’s poor wages.”

  Melissa didn’t know what to say. Her mouth opened, then shut again. She hadn’t expected the widow to give her anything and didn’t believe for a moment that she felt bad for Richard’s poor wages. “Why?”

  “Unlike some people, I don’t have to have a reason to be nice.”

  Melissa snorted before she could stop herself.

  The widow headed for the front door. “Just make yourself a new dress. That old rag looks like it’s about to fall off you. Hannah’s in the kitchen.”

  Confused, Melissa looked down. Her dress was ugly, to be sure, but the fabric was sturdy. She fingered the quality new material as she stared after the widow.

  What had just happened here?

  * * *

  Melissa stepped through the kitchen doorway and glanced around. There were crocks, pots, kettles, wooden implements, and a spice shelf with a decorative checkered drape that matched the material of the kitchen curtains. A pie safe, a china hutch, a couple of tables, chairs and stools, and of course the ever necessary cast-iron monstrosity complete with steaming kettle.

  The room was much bigger and nicer than anything Melissa had to work with, but was still primitive. It smelled good though, like homemade bread, cookies and something else. Cinnamon, perhaps?

  Hannah didn’t notice Melissa and continued laying items on the scarred worktable in the middle of the kitchen: flour, sugar, some things Melissa didn’t recognize. Hannah measured ingredients into a bowl.

  She wore a dull expression and Melissa questioned her decision to befriend the woman. Melissa reminded herself that it would give her something to do. She could count it as her good deed for the year, and it would prove to Richard, once and for all, that she was a good person. A happy person. “Hi.”

  Hannah was visibly startled. “Oh. Hello.” She stopped stirring and wiped her hands on her apron. “Can I help you with something?”

  “No, I’m just here to visit. We’re friends, right?” She nudged Hannah toward the conclusion she wanted her to accept.

  Hannah lowered her eyes. Her mouth opened, closed, opened. “Oh.” She didn’t look very impressed.

  Possibly Hannah wasn’t interested in friendship, but Melissa would soon convince her otherwise. What they needed was a common bond of some kind. Perhaps a dislike of the widow? After all, anyone who worked for the woman must hate her. Melissa could empathize and that ought to get the ball rolling. “It must be hard to work for the widow. From what I can tell, she’s not very good-natured.”

  Hannah’s eyes turned fierce. “Her name is Mrs. MacPherson and she’s a wonderful person.”

  Melissa stilled. She was going for camaraderie, not trying to cause offense. “So I keep hearing, but she doesn’t seem very nice to me,” she said, her tone softer.

  Hannah
resumed her stirring. “What’s that you’re holding in your arms?”

  Melissa glanced down. “The widow...er...Mrs. MacPherson gave me some material so I could make myself a dress.” Melissa set the bolt down on a nearby table.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. “How cruel and inhospitable of her.”

  Impatient, Melissa rolled her eyes. Hannah was missing the point. They were supposed to be bonding here. “You know what I mean. I bet you could tell me some hair-raising stories about working for her. She’s obviously a disturbed individual.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened in outrage. “I refuse to gossip with you about Mrs. MacPherson.”

  Melissa blinked. She refused to gossip? How strange. How did the widow inspire such loyalty? Melissa had never inspired allegiance of any kind in an employee, and yet she’d paid much better than the widow did. Melissa shrugged. It must be an 1800's thing; a leftover from the peasant mentality or something.

  Hannah glanced toward the door. “I think you need to leave now.”

  Melissa ignored her. She wouldn’t leave until she was good and ready. She glanced at the batter Hannah was stirring. Cake? She sat down on a stool across from Hannah. “So, what are you making?”

  Hannah didn’t answer.

  The silent treatment? Melissa smiled slightly. Part of her was amused and part of her just wanted to leave and forget the whole thing, but she wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. Besides, where would she go? To help with the ironing?

  Hannah poured batter into a couple of round, floured pans.

  “It was a fun laundry day yesterday, huh?”

  Hannah flashed her an uncertain glance.

  Melissa grinned, willing her to smile back. If she could just get her to smile, she’d have her. “Ironing day today should be pretty stimulating too, don’t you think?”

  Hannah actually looked like she was thawing a bit; like she wanted to smile at Melissa’s little joke.

  Yes. Come on, just one little smile. Perhaps she just needed a push, something to be grateful to Melissa for. Melissa studied Hannah’s homely features and the way she had her hair scraped back into a tight bun. “You know. I’ve been involved in the fashion industry in the...past. I could help you fix your hair so it would be more attractive.”