The Soured Earth

by Sophie Weeks

  “Don't get mad, Mom,” Jess said. “It's for girls.”

  Kate shook her head and pressed her lips tightly together, wiping her eyes. “I know. You look beautiful. Go inside and change so you don't get it dirty, okay?”

  Jess nodded, and the look of relief and gratitude on her face was sweet to see. Margaret watched her go, then turned to Kate. “Is it all right? I just thought … some girls have difficult body types …” she hedged.

  Kate sat down, unable to control her tears. “I'm sorry. You must think I'm the worst mom ever.” She gave a disgusted laugh. “My poor kid. These dumb shits around here don't understand kids like her.”

  “I know.” Margaret sat down next to Kate. “She's so special.”

  “She is,” Kate said quickly. “She's smart. Smarter than I ever was. They skipped her a grade because she learns so fast. I just … I'm so scared someone will hurt her. My dad thinks I should move to Edmonton. He says I'm hurting Jess, keeping her here.” She pushed back her hair. “I guess he's right. I always was a mess.”

  “You're not a mess,” Margaret said. “Jess loves you, and everyone knows how hard you work to take care of her. But … Jess knows who she is, Kate. She's a little cowboy, God help her. And I think the world's going to be enough of a challenge for her without having to fight you too.”

  “I know,” Kate said finally, wiping her eyes again. “Thank you for what you did. For letting me see her like that.” She spoke a little stiffly, now that she was coming back under control, but sincerely too.

  “You're welcome; I was happy to do it.” Margaret moved to the car, sensing that Kate wanted her to leave. It wasn't everything, what she had done, but it was something, and it made her feel good. Margaret was a firm believer in the power of the right clothes to make a difference, but after some reflection on the drive home, the whole thing made her feel worse. She wanted to go straight back to school, to work and learn and begin to live her life. But how could she, when the spring seed had to be bought?

  When Margaret got home, though, Sam and Emilie were out in the yard, getting roping lessons from Jon. “I forgot you had a letter yesterday,” Sam said, sighing as her lasso fell flat again. “It's in the office with the rest of the mail.”

  Inside, Margaret found the little pile of unopened mail on the desk, most of it bills, but she stopped short when she saw a fat letter from Fanshawe. She fumbled as she opened the envelope, and she read the letter twice. Then she glanced at her father's desk and slipped the letter into her pocket. Good news could always keep, she thought.

  Jon came in a moment after that. “They're getting the hang of it,” he chuckled.

  “Looked like you were having fun,” Margaret said.

  “Well, you never had much interest in that kind of thing growing up.”

  “I know,” Margaret said, a little pained at that fact, though it was neither here nor there anymore. “Sam likes it, though. Emilie too.”

  “All right, let's not start that argument again,” Jon sighed. “It may please you to know that while I have no intention of going anywhere, I am having my will redrawn.”

  Margaret was surprised and pleased. “Please, please, tell me you're cutting me off without a cent.”

  “Not quite,” he said. “Land may not answer well to what's fair, but families do. The ranch will be left to all three of you when the time comes. What you choose to do with your share is your business. I wash my hands of it,” he said gruffly.

  Touched, Margaret smiled at him. She could live with that—it wasn't a sword hanging over her head, waiting to pin her to the bitter earth here with no hope of escape. For the melody of escape, of other places and other people, filled her heart at present. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, and showed him the letter.

  “Full scholarship,” he said. His eyes were glad when he looked up at her. “Honey, that's fantastic.”

  Margaret gave him a hug. “We can go get the seed and stock as soon as the ground is treated. You won't miss another season.”

  “It's going to be okay,” Jon said, sounding dazed. He looked around him, as though awakening from a dream of death. He started to say something to Margaret, then shook his head and cleared his throat. “Honey, get me the phone numbers from that list of suppliers. I need to find out exactly what they're charging for seed, and then I'll go over the stockyard schedules,” he continued, rattling off a list of orders that Margaret, delighted, did her best to follow.

  But that night, Margaret was strange and restless with Gene. He had heard the news at dinner and had given her hand a squeeze of congratulation, but that was all. Half a dozen times, as they lay kissing on his bed, she thought of asking him to come with her back to London. But she couldn't find the words, and her kisses grew more and more ardent and desperate.

  Neither of them slept that night as they reached for each other again and again, hungry for what they knew would soon be gone. In the vivid morning light, Margaret watched him dreamily as he buckled his belt. He sat down to pull his boots on, and she curled herself around him. He was quiet and thoughtful, and Margaret lay quietly there, breathing together with him, letting herself take pleasure in the way their bodies felt, one against the other. “Is it time?” she whispered finally.

  “Yeah,” he said huskily. “It's time.” He reached over to cup the back of her head fondly in the palm of his hand.

  “You don't have to go—I don't have to leave yet. We could have all summer.” But Margaret knew those were empty words. The thing, whatever it had been, was done. Tears rose to her eyes. She didn't want him to go.

  But Gene only said, “I hear tell men settle down as they get older.”

  “Do you?” Margaret sniffed without much interest.

  “If I ever got to where I could stay somewhere for a stretch,” he said slowly, considering, “well, I guess I might look you up, Margaret Campbell.”

  “You always know where someone can reach me,” she smiled, and laced their fingers together one last time. Then she let him go and got up.

  Gene took a long look at her while she dressed and said, “I'm going to miss that.”

  “You're not bad yourself,” Margaret said. She hugged him tightly. “You know Dad'll always put you up, right?”

  Gene nodded, and together they stepped out into the bright morning air. She helped him hoist his bags into the back of the truck. A fresh breeze off the dewy grasses felt beautiful against Margaret's skin, and she turned to face the sunlight, closing her eyes. “Good-bye,” she whispered, because it was best like this. She didn't want to watch him go, didn't want to cry for something she could never have kept. It wasn't their time to be together. He had places to see, and Margaret had a career before her to build. “Good-bye.”

  THE END

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