by Peggy Bird
The dirt road off the main highway went for a number of miles before dipping down into a small hollow where three hills came close to intersecting. On the crest of the hills, wind turbines presided over the scene below.
As Quanna drove down the hill, she saw the darker green of trees interspersed with buildings. One, a big red building, was obviously a barn, big enough to hold quite a few horses or head of cattle. There were several smaller red structures grouped around it where farm equipment was probably stored.
Set at some distance from the barn complex was the ranch house. Joan Anthony had told her it had been built over time by succeeding generations of Richardsons who renovated, rebuilt, and added to the small one-room cabin put up by the original rancher. After all those years, it had morphed into a two-story, stately looking residence with a deep-set porch running the entire front of the house. Painted white with sage green shutters on the upstairs windows, the house was protected from the weather by large junipers, cottonwoods, and pine trees, which, judging from their size, had been planted decades ago.
Parked outside the house was a dusty, white Ford pickup truck with an extended cab, the kind her brother had always wanted to own but could never afford. It didn’t look brand new, but it looked well cared for. Next to it was a Toyota sedan. Quanna parked the old Honda her brother had loaned her on a more or less permanent basis beside the sedan, steadied herself with a couple deep breaths, and went to meet what she hoped was her future.
An older woman answered her knock. “Oh, you’re early. I didn’t expect you yet.”
It wasn’t exactly the welcome she’d hoped for and only increased her nervousness. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to wait in the car until it’s time?”
“No, no. Come in. It’s fine.” She led Quanna into a large, light-filled living room. “I’m Anne Salazar, Jack’s mother-in-law.”
Quanna extended her hand. “I’m Quanna Morales.”
Anne seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before taking the outstretched hand. “Jack’s on the phone. Something about part of the irrigation system not working right. He’ll be with us in a minute.” She waved her hand toward a set of sofas covered in a beige fabric and two oversized leather armchairs. “Take a seat wherever you’re comfortable,” she said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
Quanna sat on the edge of the seat of one of the armchairs. “That would be nice, thank you.”
While the woman was in the kitchen, Quanna looked around the room. If she’d had a dream house, it would look a lot like this one. It was like something out of a magazine.
The room where she was sitting was probably the original part of the house if the floor-to-ceiling, freestanding stone fireplace dominating the middle of the room was any indication. On a rough-hewn wooden mantle was a display of what she assumed were family photos, most of them featuring the man she knew from Golden Years, a beautiful blonde woman, or two boys. To the right of the fireplace, a set of stairs led to the upper story. Behind it was a door open enough for her to see a room with more couches and chairs and the corner of what she suspected was a large television set.
To the left of the fireplace was a door leading to another room—a dining room, maybe? Another door at the far left, through which Mrs. Salazar had disappeared, was, she supposed, the kitchen. At the other end of the room, tucked under the staircase, was a baby grand piano, the lid down, the bench pushed under the keyboard.
On the walls were paintings depicting Eastern Oregon landscapes in all four seasons. Pillows covered in traditional striped Pendleton woolen fabrics were tossed on the sofas. No rugs obscured any part of the wide boards of the hardwood floors. The overall effect was casual, comfortable, and beautiful.
Mrs. Salazar returned with a glass full of ice, a bottle of mineral water, and Jack Richardson. He was holding a cell phone and frowning.
Quanna started to rise, but he waved her off, the frown disappearing as he acknowledged her.
“Please, don’t stand. You’ll make me feel like the old man I’m afraid I’m turning into.” He enveloped her hand in his. His handshake was a warm grip of a large, strong, slightly calloused hand. She liked the feel of it and was surprised to find how much she enjoyed touching him. She immediately dismissed her reaction as inappropriate.
“I recognize you now,” he said. “I couldn’t put a face to your name when we talked on the phone. All I remembered was how much Aunt Joan likes you. You’re one of her favorites. She’s always praising you.” He grinned, and the room seemed to get a bit brighter and warmer. “Actually, I’m not sure I should be interviewing you for this job. I don’t know what she’ll say if I steal you away from Golden Years.”
The panic Quanna felt at his comment must have shown on her face because he quickly added, “I’m joking. She called this morning to tell me she can’t think of anyone better suited to the job than you.”
“That was kind of her, Mr. Richardson. I didn’t ask her to.”
“Jack, please. And the first thing she told me was you didn’t know she was calling.” The smile got wider. “She also said you asked her about me.”
Quanna could feel her face heat up. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, I just...”
“You wanted to make sure of what you were getting into,” he interrupted. “I’d have done the same thing.”
Jack settled back into the couch. “Hope you don’t mind. I asked Anne to sit in on the interview. She’s been my kid wrangler for a couple years now. She can probably give you a better idea of what the job entails than I can. She can also warn you about working here. Apparently, it leads to the need to have your hip replaced.”
Anne slapped him lightly on the hand but didn’t make a comment on his joking reference to her ailment.
“Of course I don’t mind,” Quanna said.
“Okay, then let’s get started,” Jack said. “I’d like to get the formal part out of the way before the boys get home from school. Tell me why you want this job and how your experience makes you a good candidate for it.”
• • •
Maybe because his kids’ grandmother had been taking care of the boys, Jack had thought of a kid wrangler as middle-aged, at least. But only one of the handful of applicants he’d heard from was past forty. And she was older than Anne and even less able to get around.
Quanna, like the rest of the few who’d responded to his fliers, was young. Like the others, she was, to his forty-four-year-old eyes, almost a kid. Although she was not as young as the other two he’d interviewed. They were barely out of high school, with little experience in managing their own lives, let alone someone else’s. One of them admitted she’d be leaving for college as soon as she saved enough money, meaning he’d have to look for her replacement in the near future. He suspected both of them would leave in a heartbeat if they found anything more interesting to them.
Quanna, on the other hand, had real life experience holding a steady job. And he’d heard she was good. Not only from the manager of the Golden Years facility, her former boss in Portland, and her supervisor at the restaurant at the casino resort on the reservation but also from his aunt.
Seeing her close up now, he registered for the first time how pretty she was. She had dark brown eyes, copper brown skin, and thick, shiny black hair she wore in one long, loose braid that hung over her right shoulder. When he’d seen her before, she’d been in baggy scrubs. Now she was in jeans and a knit shirt and looked more like a teenager than a woman in her late twenties, which he guessed she was from the information about her work life on her résumé.
Obviously looks weren’t on his list of requirements for a kid wrangler, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing to have an attractive woman around the house again.
Now, as she spoke enthusiastically about her work experience in her jobs in Pendleton and Portland and how it had prepared her to take care of his kids, her calm, competent manner convinced him—she might be the answer to his problem. If she could figure out what to do about the foul-up i
n the irrigation system, he’d nominate her for sainthood.
His divergence to his other problem had taken his mind out of the interview. His inattention was apparently obvious. Anne was looking oddly at him, and Quanna seemed to be waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted all morning with a problem in the fields.” He leaned forward and picked up the papers she had placed on the coffee table. Rifling through them, he said, “I’ve talked to your references, which were even more glowing on the phone than they were in writing. You’re obviously qualified. So, why don’t you ask me—or Anne—what you want to know about the job?”
Quanna asked about hours, the probability of weekend work, how late she’d be expected to stay on school days, what the arrangements were for school holidays and vacations. She asked about his sons’ eating habits and if she’d be expected to provide transportation to and from afterschool activities.
She asked so many questions, they hadn’t gotten in a tour of the house when the front door flew open and two boys, all legs, arms, and energy, ran into the entryway. Both looked like carbon copies of Jack with sandy-colored hair and brown eyes. Both looked curiously at the woman sitting on the edge of her seat in the living room.
“Hey, guys,” Jack said. “Shoes off. Books on the bench. Then come meet someone.” When they had done as he asked, he introduced them. “Quanna, this is Daniel and his younger brother, Lucas. Daniel’s ten, and Lucas is eight. Boys, this is Quanna Morales. She’s applied for the job of keeping you two from living on junk food and wrecking the house.” He nodded at them, and as he’d taught them, they shook hands with her.
“Hello,” Daniel said, his expression guarded, as it always was when he was introduced to new people or situations.
“Hi,” Lucas said. He cocked his head to one side. “You have a funny name.”
“Don’t be rude,” Jack said at the same time Anne said, “Lucas!”
“It’s okay. I get that all the time,” Quanna said. “Yes, it’s unusual, isn’t it? It’s Indian. My mother is Umatilla and is an admirer of Quanah Parker, who was a famous Indian leader. She changed the spelling of his name a little, but that’s who I’m named for. His parents were white and Indian. I’m mixed culturally, too. My dad was born in Central America.”
“My teacher grew up on the reservation,” Lucas said.
“I did, too. Maybe I know her.”
“Her name’s Ms. Eagleman.”
“Mary? I know her and her family.” Quanna said. “So, what’s your favorite thing she teaches?”
In a rather theatrical fashion, using his body as he talked, Lucas explained his struggle with math and science and his love for words and the arts. When Quanna asked Daniel the same question, he answered less dramatically, saying that he did well in most subjects but, unlike his brother, liked science best.
“Good, then maybe you can help me with my homework when I’m having trouble,” Quanna said.
“Grown-ups don’t have homework,” Lucas said.
“This one does,” she answered. “I take classes sometimes at Blue Mountain, and I’ve been taking a lot of science classes lately.”
Jack watched the interchange between Quanna and his sons with growing pleasure. She wasn’t condescending or uptight. She talked to them with genuine interest and respect. She listened to what they said before she responded. Lucas appeared to be warming to her already, although Daniel, as he would have expected, looked like he was reserving judgment.
Her references had obviously not been an exaggeration. Her qualifications were perfect, even if her experience was working with adults, not kids. If the conversation she was having right now was any indication, she didn’t have any trouble connecting with children.
She was clearly the most qualified applicant he’d had, although that didn’t say much. It had puzzled him when so few people had called him for information about the job. Of course, after this interview, he realized Quanna was more than just the most qualified in a group of mostly marginal applicants—she would have been outstanding in any field of job seekers.
But what really sealed the deal was Aunt Joan’s recommendation. He didn’t know if Quanna appreciated it, but having his aunt vouch for her was pure gold.
Aunt Joan had saved his mental, if not physical, life when he’d had to take over running the ranch after his parents died. She helped him deal with the guilt he’d felt because his father had been piloting his plane over the Cascade Mountains so they could visit Jack at Oregon State when they crashed. She gave him guidance on how to cope with his teenaged brother, as well as manage the family’s wheat operation to keep it from slowly sinking into debt. She even referred him to the outfit looking for land on which to put their wind turbines. The company had saved them. He hated how their giant white monsters broke up the landscape but loved what they did to his bottom line.
After his aunt’s phone call, he’d been almost ready to hire Quanna Morales as soon as she walked in. Now, with her earnest explanation of why she wanted the job, some of which he’d actually heard, her careful prep for the interview, complete with relevant questions and menus, for God’s sake, and her immediate interest in Daniel and Lucas, he was sure.
“Sorry to interrupt, boys, but Quanna and I still have some things to discuss. Your grandmother left a snack in the kitchen for you. Then you better get to your homework. And don’t forget your chores in the barn before dinner.”
The two children politely said goodbye and disappeared into the kitchen. When they were gone, Jack said, “Quanna, before we talk more, maybe it would be a good idea for Anne to show you around the house and give you a chance to ask her questions about how she’s been handling things. I’ll get the boys settled in the dining room and meet you back here in, what, fifteen minutes?” He looked at Anne for confirmation. She nodded. “See you then.”
• • •
It was the most beautiful house Quanna had ever been in. The kitchen was well laid out with new-ish, stainless steel appliances, including twin ovens and an oversized refrigerator. There was a decent-sized eating island in the middle of the room. Off the back of the kitchen, a hall led to a mudroom, a small shower and powder room, and the door out to the barn complex.
Upstairs were four bedrooms, a small home office, and a laundry room. Each boy had a room with bunk beds. They shared a bath with each other and with the guest room. The master bedroom had an en suite bath with a large shower. Pendleton blankets were everywhere.
Anne answered all her questions, pointed out the oddities of each room, showed her where the boys hid things when they were supposed to have cleaned up their rooms. She asked a few questions of her own, too, seeming to be skeptical both about Quanna’s ability to manage two active boys and her interest in staying with the job over time. From the encouraging way the interview had gone downstairs, Quanna had thought she had a good shot at getting the job. Now she wondered if she had been too optimistic. If this woman had anything to say about it, her chances weren’t good.
Between Anne’s questions and Quanna’s, it was more like twenty-five minutes before they made it back to the living room.
“Well,” Jack began. “What do you think?”
“Your home is beautiful,” she answered.
“I appreciate the compliment, but I meant do you think you can manage the job?”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure I can.” She fought back the urge to ask if he’d please, please hire her.
As if he’d heard her plea, he said, “Then you’re hired.”
After her conversation upstairs with Anne Salazar, the offer of the job came with a feeling of relief. It also came with an urge to throw her arms around her new boss’s neck so she could hug him—an impulse wildly unsuitable at a job interview but somehow enticing. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me, to my family. When do you want me to start?”
“You’ll want to give notice at Golden Years, I imagine. And Anne’s not scheduled for surgery for tw
o weeks. How ’bout you start in a week? You’ll have a week to overlap with her to get used to the house before we leave you to wrangle my kids all by yourself. That work for you?”
She barely remembered saying yes, shaking hands with Anne and Mr. Richardson—ah, Jack—saying good-bye to Daniel and Lucas, and climbing into her car. She was out on the main highway before the reality of what had happened fully hit. She fist-pumped and screamed for at least a couple miles before pulling over to the side of the road and breaking into tears.
Finally, finally, something had gone right. Once she started at the Richardson Ranch, she’d be fully employed. She wouldn’t have to give up her apartment, would have money to help her mother, money for a class every semester. Plus, she was working in a beautiful setting for an employer who seemed as perfect as his home.
Life couldn’t get much better.
• • •
“Are you sure about what you just did, Jack?” Anne asked.
“Even without considering the other applicants, she seems perfect,” he replied.
“She’s certainly not who I had in mind for taking care of the boys. She’s young, for one thing.”
“The others I interviewed were younger. You weren’t here for the high-school-aged girls who interviewed with me earlier in the week. You only got to see Quanna and one other person.”
“All right. I’ll give you that. But this one has never taken care of kids before. And I doubt she’s ever taken care of a place as nice as this one.”
“From where I was sitting, she did just fine with Daniel and Lucas. And I’m not worried about her ability to do a little cleaning and cooking. Her references are impeccable. Look, Anne, I know you’re protective of the boys, and I know you want only the best for them. But it’s my call. And I think she’s perfect. So does my Aunt Joan, if this morning’s phone call is any indication.”