by Danni Roan
He’d been forced to take on whatever work kept a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Recently that was getting harder by the day. The cooper he now worked for was mean and greedy and wanted Hank’s team. Bit by bit he was squeezing Hank until he’d have to sell. After having witnessed the death and destruction of the labor protests in ’86, he saw no hope of things improving in the near future.
“Why don’t you come in and we’ll have a talk about it,” The saloon man said “I might know a way to help.”
Hank looked from Mr. James' somber face, then back to his team. The big horses were lean and soon he’d not be able to feed them properly. How would he make ends meet then? What would become of Eric? He nodded, hefted his son in his arm and walked into the cool dark interior of the saloon.
The horse beneath Hanks hand shifted, bringing him back to the harsh light of a late autumn day and the ranch he now was to call home. Patting the big animal affectionately he took up the reins and led the mammoth team toward the warmth of the barn.
“Oh, there you are.” A soft voice called cheerfully from inside. “Is everything alright? I thought I might have to come fetch you,” Fiona said.
“No, ma’am. Every thing’s just fine. I was just wool gathering I guess and lost track of time.” To his surprise she smiled back at him knowingly.
“The Broken J can do that to you. It’s all a little overwhelming at first but you’ll be fine.” Her kind words warmed him more than a fire could. “You can put your stock up here,” she added, indicating two large standing stalls. “That’s the tack room just there at the front by the door. You should find a place for your harness in there as well.”
“Thank you,” Hank said, smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages and turned the horses toward the stalls. He thought the young woman would leave then, but instead she followed him and watched as he began stripping harness.
“Your team is beautiful,” she said “What are they? I’ve never seen horses like them.”
“They’re called Clydesdales, ma’am,” Hank replied. “They’re used a lot to move freight.”
“Is that what you do?” the girl persisted.
“I have,” Hank replied. “Didn’t anyone know I was coming? I thought Mr. James sent a letter.”
“Oh.” Fiona mused. “Which Mr. James is that? Where are you coming from?”
“Jonas. Jonas James from Chicago. He told me if I came out here to work for his brother I’d have a home and a clean safe place to raise my son. I hope there’s no mistake.” For a moment his voice quavered as panic threatened to overtake him.
Fiona watched as the big man’s hands trembled in their work. How could a giant of a man shake like that? She wondered. Can he truly be afraid? Something in her softened toward the man and for the second time that day she found herself laying a gentle hand on his arm.
“I’m sure it will all be fine,” she said reassuringly. “Pa’s out on the range right now but he’ll be back tonight and will get everything sorted then. Grandpa Chen Lou said something about you working with Grandpa Isadoro. We’ll talk to him when we go back inside.”
The soft touch of the young woman’s hand on his arm steadied Hank somehow and gently he laid his thick fingered hand over hers. She smiled at him and for some reason he suddenly did believe it would all be fine. “Thank you.” His voice came out a husky rasp, as the girl called Fiona smiled up at him.
Chapter 2
The heavy clomp of his boots accompanied Hank down the hall as he entered the ranch house. Warmth wrapped itself around him and began to chase away the chill of the day. He followed the slender form of the girl into the steamy heat of the kitchen. As he stepped through the door he could just see Eric sitting on a high stool at the tall work table rolling some dark brown dough between his hands.
A slight man with graying hair sat next to him taking each ball the boy made and rolling it in a bowl of sugar before placing them on a baking sheet. At the sound of their entrance the two at the table looked up. Eric’s bright blue eyes twinkled with delight at the chore, despite the dark circles under them.
“I’m makin’ cookies, Papa.” The boy piped up animatedly.
The man beside Eric smiled, turning sparkling brown eyes toward them as he patted the boy on the head. Then standing he walked across the kitchen and extended his hand to Hank.
He wasn’t a tall man but his grip was strong and firm despite his graying hair as he shook hands. “I am Isadoro.” The man looked up at Hank. “I understand you are a builder.”
“Yes sir” Hank returned the hand shake.
“Good, good,” The older man said. “We’ll have plenty to do this spring and I need a younger set of hands to help with the heavy work.”
Hank heaved a big sigh. Finally, someone who was expecting him. Maybe this wasn’t a mistake after all.
“Come over to the table and we’ll have a talk,” Isadoro said with a tilt of his head and turned toward the extra-large tables at the other end of the kitchen.
They had barely settled themselves when the woman, Nona, brought them coffee and cookies that were still warm from the oven. “This will have to do until lunch,” She said cheerfully then left them.
At the other end of the kitchen Hank noticed the pretty young woman who had already been so kind to him slide onto the stool next to his tiny son.
“What kind of cookies are we making today?” she asked the tow-headed urchin as she took up her grandfather’s job.
“Malassies” the little voice chimed “Nona calls them crinktles.”
“Oh, Molasses Crinkles,” Fiona said seriously. “One of my very favorite.”
Hank slowly drew his attention back to the man across the table from him, noticing as he did so how the keen eyes studied him. “Tell me a little about yourself then, Hank.” the man tilted his head toward him to listen.
Even as she began rolling the cookie dough in the sugar bowl on the table, her eyes drifted to the large man quietly talking to her grandfather. Over and over again her eyes were drawn to him as she wondered what possibly could have made him decide to pack up his whole life and move here. She looked at the little boy happily sitting next to her, his small hands carefully rolling each scoop of the soft brown mixture. As she watched her grandfather discussing building with Hank, Chen Lou came back into the kitchen, dusting snow from his shoulders.
“Fire all started in the sod shack,” he said, addressing Nona.
“Oh good. We’ll get them settled after lunch.” She glanced toward the men at the table. “You go and take bedding out there now.”
“Too bossy. Too bossy” Chen Lou moaned, stumping through the kitchen on his bowed legs, but he winked at Fiona as he passed her to fetch linens and quilts.
“Are they staying in the soddy, Nona?” Fiona asked her grandmother.
“Well dear, we can’t expect them to stay in the bunk house now, can we?” For a moment Nona’s eyes took on a faraway look, and she seemed almost flustered. A state that was rare for her.
She’d been the matron of the Broken J for as long as Fiona could remember and in all that time none of the shenanigans of this crazy miss-matched family had ever seemed to phase her.
The look gave Fiona pause. She noticed how Nona’s eyes drifted between Hank, and Eric and then lifted toward the upper floor. As fast as the look had come, it was gone and Nona was her brisk, assertive self once more.
“Nona?” Eric’s voice banished Fiona’s gloomy thoughts. “Cookies is ready.” Nona turned and picked up the full baking sheet and slipped it in the oven, then put a fresh one on the table for the process to begin again.
Soon the cookies were done and a big pan of corn bread had been shoved into the oven. Knowing the signs of lunch’s eminent arrival, Fiona scooted off of the stool and began preparing to set the table.
“Do you want to help?” she asked Eric. “Um hm.” he nodded enthusiastically. She helped him climb down off of his stool and pointed him toward the shelves wher
e the dishes were stacked.
Fiona knew she stood five foot six inches tall in her stocking feet and this tyke barely reached her hip. He was so tiny; his chubby cheeks bright in comparison to his pale yellow hair. She smiled down at him as he looked up at her.
“You carry the butter,” she said, carefully handing him a small bowl with a sunny ball of butter in it, then watched as he walked seriously to the table. She followed him, carrying bowls and then returned with cutlery.
She’d watched Nona making the hearty soup that day and knew what was needed. Corn chowder; thick and full of crisp fried bacon, potatoes, onions, and corn that they’d canned and preserved from the kitchen garden that year. The creamy soup would be filling on a chilly day like this. She glanced out the window, seeing the snow was coming down faster now and was thankful for her snug home.
Leaving the kitchen, Nona went to the stairwell and called up that lunch was ready. Then she walked back through the kitchen and stepped out onto the back porch to ring the bell, but saw the dark forms of the men already leaving the bunk house.
One by one the others began entering the kitchen. Hank stood as Meg arrived. Fiona’s older sister looked the man up and down appraisingly with her startling azure eyes, as Nona introduced them.
“Meg, this is Mr. Hank Ballard and this is his son Eric.”
“Why, hello there,” the older girl said. Fiona watched as Meg’s pretty face lit up as she took in the sweet little child, smiling brightly. Just then the other girls trotted in to the kitchen as well.
The twins were first, walking in with their heads together as usual and behind them came her baby sister Mae. Nona introduced each of them and Fiona couldn’t help but notice how Hanks eyes darted among them.
He must have been able see the differences between the girls at a glance. She smiled again, then taking the little boy by the hand, guided Eric to the table. Soon everyone was gathered for lunch, sitting on the wide benches that skirted the heavy wood tables.
Hank was introduced to Billy, the cantankerous old chuck wagon cook, who kept slipping out his false teeth to flash at the boy perched on the bench next to Fi, making Eric’s eyes grow wider each time. Isadoro made the introductions and explained to everyone that Hank had come here to work with him as a builder.
Directly after grace was said, Deeks, the ranch blacksmith, began peppering Hank with questions about his other skills and dredging out every bit of information he could about his skill with iron. He assumed a cooper would at least have helped make the steel rings for the barrels and was eager for some help in the forge.
Lunch was a subdued one for the Broken J, but even with only a handful of people around the tables there was plenty of chatter and Hank was kept busy answering questions while trying to get a bite in edgewise.
Fiona sat quietly beside her new little companion, making sure he got enough to eat and that he wasn’t overwhelmed by the noise. Small as he was he ate two bowls of the creamy soup and gobbled down a small wedge of corn bread, but soon she could see his eyes drooping as he leaned into her. She placed a steadying arm around his slender shoulders, then spoke up.
“I’m afraid this little mite is completely worn out.” She, turned her eyes toward her grandfather to insure that he at least would hear. Hank turned to look at his son, who sat bunched up against the young woman’s side, her hand holding him close.
“I’ll take him.” Hank rose.
“Oh, look at the little fella’” Billy said, “he’s plumb tuckered out.”
“You can take him to the soddy,” Nona chimed in, “and he can have a proper nap.”
Fiona gently stood from her place and lifted the tired child into her arms. He was so light and pliable as he settled his head on her shoulder. “I’ll take them,” she offered.
“No,” Nona said suddenly. “I need you to help with the dishes. Meg won’t you take Mr. Ballard and his son out to the soddy and see that they get settled?”
“Oh, alright,” Meg replied distractedly. “Just come this way.” She headed for the door and lifting her shawl from a peg.
Hank looked down at Fiona and smiled, reaching out for his son who was now sound asleep. Fiona lifted the boy toward him and the big man’s hands brushed against hers as she passed the sleeping child into his father’s outstretched arms. A soft warmth seemed to travel up her arms and settle in her chest at the touch as their eyes met and locked.
“You ready. Mr. Ballard?” Meg’s voice broke the spell and he turned away, walking out the back door behind her sister.
Hank laid his wide hand on his son’s small back, holding him close, and keeping him warm as they stepped out into the drifting snow. He followed the girl, her coppery hair shimmering in the dim light, out into the yard, past the privy and around to the left to a small sod shack.
Gray smoke puffed from the rusted steel pipe that jutted crookedly from the earthen roof. The roof itself was covered in late summer's brown grasses, now dusted with snow. A heavy door set in the front of the building between thick earthen, block walls beckoned them. Meg, the young lady was called Meg, he thought.
Meg opened the thick, age blackened door and led the way into the dark cave-like interior. To his right a small iron stove glowed from within, and a tiny square cut window let in some of the afternoon’s weak light. Meg moved to the little table and took a stick from a jar sitting in the center. She lit it from the stove then, lifting the globe of the oil lamp, set the wick alight.
The sudden flare of the flame danced before Hank’s eyes and he blinked to adjust to the relative glare. At the back of the small space and just to the side of the window he could see a wide double bed, made up with brightly colored quilts. Gingerly he moved around the table and chairs then gently laid his son down on the soft clean bed, pulling the quilt over him.
“Thank you.” He turned to face the young woman who was now putting more wood into the stove.
“Oh, no problem.” “Is there anything you need? I can bring you a coffee pot or whatever you’d like.”
Hank looked around the shelter once more. At best the whole space was probably twenty by twenty-foot square but its thick walls kept the cold out and it was clean. He was surprised to see a brightly colored circular rag rug on the dirt floor. He smiled at the homey touch, remembering how his mother had often sat making rugs just like it during the long winter nights of his childhood.
“How do you like it?” Meg’s voice brought his eyes back to her.
“It’ll do just fine.”
“Did you really come all the way out here from Chicago?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How could you bear to leave such a romantic place?” she gushed. “It must have been so exciting living somewhere like that,” she added, not giving him a chance to answer. “I’d love to go to the big city someday,” she continued. “What’s it like?” Meg finally paused and looked at him, this time expecting an answer.
“Well, ma’am,” he started. “I suppose it can be pretty exciting if you aren’t trying to eke out a living and look after a small boy all at the same time. What I saw of Chicago wasn’t always the best of it. Times were getting pretty tough when I left.”
“Uncle Jonas sent you, didn’t he?”
“Yes ma’am. Your uncle’s a fine man.”
“I hope you’ll like it here.” Meg finally changed the subject. “I’ll warn you though, it can be pretty confusing. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make us some tea and explain a few things?”
“That’d be right nice of you” Hank replied and pulling a chair away from the small square table, lowered his bulk onto it with care.
Meg pulled a small sauce pan down from a hook below a set of shelves and filled it from a jug of water that sat on a little bench next to the stove. She then lifted down a tin of tea from a shelf and scooped it into the water as she sat it on the stove.
“My uncle Benji and his wife were just living here a month ago.” She stated as she worked. “He’s not actua
lly my uncle but he came west with my pa and we’ve always called him uncle. It’s like that for most of the men here.”
She paused to stoke the fire a bit then took down two tin cups.
“He got married, Benji I mean, this summer and moved out to his cabin just after my sister Katie tied the knot with Will.” Meg sat, placed her elbow on the table then rested her chin in her upturned hand, a faraway look in her eyes.
“She’s out with pa and her husband Will be checking on cows today.” She looked behind her at the pot of tea checking to see if was boiling.
“Then there’s Nona and Isadoro. You already met them. Nona’s real name is Bianca but, we call her Nona instead of grandmother because that’s how you say it in Italy where they’re from.”
The tea began to boil and she turned to lift it from the stove with a thick dish towel. “Nona and Grans are actually the grandparents of Issy and Lexi, the twins. Their daughter Cammy was pa’s second wife. She took sick with a fever when I was little and died, but to Grans and Nona we’re all their girls. Sugar?” She looked at him holding another tin in her upraised hand.
“No, thank you,” he said, eyes wide as he tried to keep up. To settle himself he wrapped his hands firmly around the hot mug.
Meg added sugar to her tea. “I don’t see any milk, but I’ll have some brought out. I don’t like tea without milk but it will do for today.” She added a smile to show that she didn’t really care.
“Now where was I? Oh yes. There’s Chen Lou. He’s Mae’s great grandfather. We call him Yeye, I guess it’s Chinese. I’m not even sure if he knows how old he is but he’s about the oldest person on the ranch. Even Billy isn’t close to his age.”
She paused to gather her thoughts before starting again. “After Cammy died Pa took him, Yeye, and his granddaughter in when there was some sort of trouble on the railroad. I don’t understand the whole story, but Pa fell in love with Yeye’s granddaughter Lynn Sue and married her.” She smiled. “He’s tried to teach Mae to speak the language, Yeye I mean, but she can’t sit still long enough to learn.” Meg smiled as if she’d said something funny. “Mae’s only just fourteen and has more energy than anyone knows what to do with.” She sipped her tea and gazed toward the window.