by Danni Roan
“Lord, I pray that Meg will make them both very happy.” Again she paused, her heart in her throat. “I will be happy just to be Hank’s friend. Amen.” Feeling lighter than she had since she'd come to bed, she crawled back between the still warm sheets and finally drifted off to sleep.
A lamp burned low on the small table in the sod shack as Hank warmed milk in small pan on the stove. Somewhere along the way, a small crockery pot of milk had been placed in a pail of cool water and his tiny larder had been stocked with honey, cinnamon and a few cookies.
“Pa?” His son looked paler than ever in the weak light of the oil lamp.
“Yes,” Hank replied distractedly.
“Pa, when I grow up can I marry Fona?” Hank turned, the small tin pot in his hands almost sloshing milk all over the floor. “What?” he asked, struggling to recover from the question.
“Can I marry Fona, when I grow up?” the boy’s serious eyes glinted with reflected light as he gazed at his father.
Gathering his thoughts, Hank carefully poured the now warm milk into cups and sat them on the table. Swinging a leg over the top of one of the small chairs he settled himself on the seat and looked at his son.
“Well she is mighty pretty,” he began. “And she does like you.” Eric beamed up at him. “Of course there is the age difference.” Hank let his words sink in, sipping from his cup to allow himself some time. The milk was warm but that was about all he could say about it.
Eric looked at his father thoughtfully. “How old is Fona?” his soft clear voice whispered, as he leaned his elbows on the table.
“I don’t know for sure. That’s not the kind of question you ask a lady.”
“Why not?” the boy’s voice was pensive. “How ya supposed to find out ifn’ you don’t ask?”
Hank chuckled and reached across the table to muss his son’s hair. “I reckon I could guess,” he finally offered.
“Well?” The boy asked impatiently, causing Hank to laugh even harder.
“If I had to guess I’d say she’s between twenty and twenty-three.”
Eric squinted his eyes, as if studying something. “I’ll be five pretty soon.” He finally offered. “Will that be old enough?”
Hank downed his tepid milk in one swallow then rose and scooped up his son.
“I’m not sure she’ll be willing to wait that long for you, son,” he said kindly. “Now finish your milk and then it’s to bed.”
He noticed Eric’s wrinkled nose as he finished the milk in his mug. “Don’t like it, huh?” Hank offered, looking at him.
“It’s ok” The boy said, “Just not good like Fona makes.” Hank smiled, understanding completely.
After they’d brushed their teeth he blew out the light and bundled them both back into the large soft bed. The gentle hush of night settled like a blanket over the soddy; its cozy room warm from the glow of the wood burning stove. Hank, tired from a long day and expecting another the next, closed his eyes in anticipation of drifting into deep slumber.
Hank was warm and drowsy and comfortable.
“I guess you’ll just have to marry her then, Pa.” Eric’s sleepy voice shattered the night like a hammer on glass.
Hank’s eyes flew open. “What?” he mumbled in shock, trying to grasp what the boy had said.
“You’ll have to marry Fona.” Eric said again. “Then she can make us warm milk eve'y night.”
Hank was wide awake now. “It’s not quite that simple son,” he finally said. His husky voice softly echoing in the hut.
“But you said she’s pretty.” Eric protested. “You can marry her and she can be my ma.” The boy’s voice grew dreamy before he continued. "I never had a ma before.” A yawn cut his last words short and he shifted his small body on the bed then grew silent.
It was hours before Hank was finally able to sleep. His son’s words echoing round and around in his head kept him awake. It was true he did find Fiona attractive, he couldn’t deny that. In his mind’s eye he could see her smiling at him, her unruly hair falling around her face.
When sleep finally found him his dreams were disturbing. He dreamed of Fiona walking toward him with an enormous mug of warm milk that turned into a baby which sprouted wings before flying off, taking Fiona with it.
Hank woke to the pale light of an early dawn and rubbed his eyes trying to rid himself of the image of Fiona being swept away from him. He looked at his son, still curled peacefully beneath the warm quilts.
Quietly rising from the bed, Hank stretched until his hands lay flat against the roof of the small sod shack he now called home. Thinking about it, he was thankful the hut was tall enough that he could walk around without bumping his head. He felt tired and stiff from lack of sleep and the strange dream had put him on edge.
Pulling a battered pocket watch from his jacket he studied it by the glow of the stove. It was barely five-o’clock. He wondered if anyone would mind if he crawled back into the warm bed.
Chapter 6
For the next few days the weather held cool and crisp but clear with no flurries. The men continued working on the foundations of the house for Will and Katie, bit by bit mortaring in the stones that would hold the structure.
Hank worked alongside the others, getting to know and respect them while utilizing his big team to best effect. Naturally quiet, he took his time listening and learned about the Broken J and the James family through conversation.
He was amazed to discover that each man on the ranch not only worked it but owned some part of the place as a whole. Several of the other men had their own cabins as well.
Each had a share in the running of the Broken J and the profits. It was a good set up, insuring that every member of the group did their share to see that the ranch was successful, but there was more to it than that.
Over the days and hours digging heavy rocks from the creek bed, Hank could see how the men were not just partners but family. How being far from their original homes and loved ones had drawn them together creating a bond from both need and companionship. He understood why Joshua’s daughters referred to nearly every man as ‘uncle’.
Each day Meg would bring lunch and sit with the men, chatting and catching up on the day’s events, her cheerful personality adding to the feeling of camaraderie.
Meg was bright and pert and good company over all, so Hank found her open friendly, nature helpful. Each night after supper when he went to check on his stock he was pleased to have her accompany him, depending on her to fill him in on details about the Broken J. There was a comfortable friendship between them and he found it easy to ask questions without feeling forward. However, every evening he was more than happy to sit next to Fiona at dinner and each time he looked at her his son’s words, ‘you’ll have to marry Fona’ echoed in his head, reverberating like a longing in his soul.
Saturday brought an end to the work on the foundations of Will and Katie’s home. The creek rock was laid and mortared in with a clay and sand mixture, then covered with old burlap to let it set.
Isadoro, Iss as most of the men called him, had everyone finish up early and all headed back to the house while the sun was still high in the sky. Lunch hadn’t long been over and Hank thought about how nice it would be to see Eric before supper today.
He found it hard to believe that he’d been on the ranch for nearly a week. The time had flown by and he found that he was more than content with his situation. He had a snug home that was safe and free of vermin. He had three square meals a day for both himself and his son. It was starting to look like this move was going to work out just fine.
“Hold up there young fella’.” Old Billy’s voice called after him as he began striding toward the house, his horses keeping pace with his long steps.
Hank stopped, the horses coming to a halt behind him. “What’s up old timer?” he asked. Billy smiled.
“Just thought I'd keep ya company on the way up to the house.” Billy said, his wattely neck jiggling as he spoke. “Tonight’s Sat
urday ya know.”
Hank did some quick calculating and realized that indeed it was Saturday. It had been nearly three months since he’d started his long trek from Chicago.
His mind raced back. He’d made better time that he had expected traveling more than one thousand miles in just over seventy days. He was glad the load he’d carried with him was light and that he’d carried a good supply of feed for the first part of the trip. Jack and Scott were young and fit and had fared well on the late summer grasses.
He smiled remembering how Eric had never once complained and how he’d done his best to help look after both his father and their team.
“Bath night.” Billy’s words jarred against Hanks pleasant thoughts.
“Excuse me?” Hank asked, startled.
“Bath night” Billy repeated. “Saturday night is bath night. Well I reckon if you wanted one more often you could do that but mostly every Saturday is bath night. It’s something around here, it is.”
Hank still couldn’t seem to follow what the old man was saying.
“Oh yeah, you ain’t seen the bath house yet have ya?” Billy said as he noticed the younger man’s confusion.
“Few years ago, Iss come up with the idea to build us a place that all the fella’s could get a bath real easy. Like them places in some of the big towns. So we built a bath house. Now every Saturday we get back home and things are really cookin’.” He chuckled at his own joke but Billy’s words didn’t really explain much.
Hank was familiar with what a bath house was, having seen them in Chicago but this was something different. Old Billy has fallen silent now though so Hank decided to let it go. He was sure to find out soon what the bath house was all about.
As they approached the house Billy broke off, heading toward the bunk house while Hank continued on to the barn. Quickly he stripped the harness from his horses but instead of putting them into their stalls he turned them out into the large corral with the other stock.
He watched for a moment, a smile on his face, as the two oversized animals frisked a bit then took turns having a good roll in the dusty yard, before heading for a large pile of hay.
Still smiling at his team’s antics, Hank turned toward his new home. The little cook stove was puffing smoke as he approached and he was glad it would be warm inside.
He wondered if he’d decide to build his own place here at the Broken J someday, like so many others had. He had several pieces of furniture and a few of his own household items stored under the heavy tarp on his wagon and suddenly found himself dreaming of building more. Maybe a big solid bed that he could trust to hold his weight.
Reaching out he grasped the latch on the soddy door and pushed. The heavy wooden door opened to reveal a sight that took Hanks breath away. Standing next to the cook stove Fiona was scooping tea into a small pot of water, while in the distance on the large overstuffed bed, Eric slept peacefully.
Hank paused in the door, hand still on the latch as the pretty young woman turned smiling at him. Fiona’s bright eyes sparkling in the gloom of the hut, while swirls of hair fluttering around her soft face combined with her welcoming smile hit him hard just below his left shirt pocket and the little finger she raised and placed on her lips in a shushing motion seemed to beckon him.
Silent feet carried Hank across the hard packed dirt floor until he loomed over the curly head of the girl. The smile remained on her face as she looked up at him, her eyes dancing in the glow of the stove.
"Would you like a cup of tea," she whispered, the soft, shy words sliding down his spine with a shiver.
There was something appealing about her. Her gentle spirit, and quiet kindness radiated from her like heat from a fire. It glowed within her, drawing him like a moth to the flame.
His whole body leaned toward Fiona as if driven by a strong wind, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. He watched with anticipation as her lips parted in surprise at his closeness, but noted she didn't pull back. Turning his head slightly he began to lower his face toward hers.
The sudden sound of water sizzling on the stove as the pot of tea boiled over yanked their attention to the small cooker. Fiona grabbed a dish cloth, wrapping it around the handle and lifting the little pan, settling the dark brew into stillness.
Hank gathered his wits and quickly stepped around the table. His ears flamed now as he realized he had been only seconds away from kissing the young woman now pouring two cups of tea.
To his surprise she showed no embarrassment at all as she sat the cups on the little wooden table, then retrieving the milk and sugar, joined him.
"How was your day?" Fiona asked, making small talk as she added milk to her tea and offered the pitcher to him. Hank had to clear his throat before he could speak and even then he wasn't sure he could trust his voice.
"Fine." His answer was short; direct.
Lifting her eyes to him Fiona smiled and took a sip of her tea. His eyes were once more drawn to her rose petal pink lips.
"Katie is really pleased with the work that's been done this week" Fiona offered. She kept her voice pitched for his ears so she wouldn't wake Eric.
"We finished up with the foundation today." His voice seemed more stable now. "Iss says we will need to get timber soon but that requires a trip to the hills."
Their eyes met over the rim of their cups, and they sat suspended in time for the beat of a heart.
“Eric was very good today.” Fiona finally broke the spell with her words.
Hank swiveled his head to look at the peaceful figure on the bed. He smiled, affection for his son lighting his face.
“He even got a bath,” Fiona added, never taking her eyes from Hanks even features.
He smiled again. “He must have loved that.” He chuckled a deep buzzing rumble that spilled from his chest like a distant avalanche. “He never did like to get a bath.”
“Oh, he was fine.” Fiona said, her eyes round with wonder that the boy had ever been any trouble at all.
“Really?” Hank asked, putting his mug on the table and leaning in to listen to her reply.
“Yes. I took him over to the bath house and told him he was lucky because he was the first one to get a bath today and that he didn’t have to share the water or wait his turn. He was thrilled with the privilege.”
Hanks eyes twinkled at the young woman. How did she know just how to get the boy to be happy to take a bath? She was amazing with his son.
Unbidden the words from a few nights ago tumbled through his head. “You’ll have to marry Fona.” Was it such a foolish idea? She was young and pretty and certainly loved his son. She’d be a wonderful mother, but hadn’t he thought that of Sarah? And look what happened to her.
Fiona watched as emotions flickered over Hank’s handsome face like images in a stereoscope-surprise, wonder, worry, doubt.
She puzzled on what it was that disturbed him and wished she had the right to set his mind at ease. To hold his hand and tell him that everything would be alright. But she didn’t have that right. Perhaps Meg would be able to assure him, and take away his worry. At least she could help him by caring for his son when he was working.
She could let him know that the boy would be safe and loved no matter what. She smiled, trying to put into that one expression just how she felt, to infuse it with confidence. His sharp intake of breath caught her by surprise. Had she done something wrong?
Hank looked down at his cup, hoping Fiona hadn’t noticed how he’d reacted to her brilliant smile. A smile full or hope and promise and joy.
Together they sat in silence nursing their tea, thinking their own thoughts.
“Pa?” a sleepy voice echoed through the silence making both of them turn toward the boy, who was already scrabbling down off the bed and dashing to his father. “You’re home early.”
The boy started crawling into his father’s spacious lap. “I got my bath already,” Eric piped. “Fona let me use the big tub in the bathhouse and I had it all just for me.”
He smiled at Fiona, as he snuggled back into his father’s chest. “Eve’yone gets a bath on Saturday,” he added knowingly. “Though I guess you could have more’n one a week if ya wanted to.” He obviously was unsure as to why someone would want to do that.
“That sounds mighty nice if you ask me,” Hank said. “Now tell me what you did today then you can go up to the house with Ms. Fiona before supper and I’ll go check out this wonderful place you told me about.”
Fiona chuckled as the boy told of his day’s adventures, his father listening intently to every detail. She looked at the big man. His eyes bright with delight for his son, his strong jaw set in a grin, as he watched the boy.
She was mesmerized: taking in his handsome features, his large square shoulders and wide chest. She hoped he’d fit in one of the big copper tubs in the bath house. Then suddenly felt her face flush with heat as her mind tried to construct the image.
Standing to cover her blush, she turned to the stove and picked up the little pan she’d used to make tea.
“I’ll just take the things to the kitchen and wash them up,” she finally managed and scooping up the cups excused herself. “Just drop Eric off at the house on your way…” she felt the flush deepen and was barely able to squeak the last words “bath house.” As she made her escape.
Hank, unsure as to why the young woman had exited so quickly, ruffled his son’s hair. The boy smelled of some sweet soap, and that special smell that only little ones have. He breathed deeply of the scent and realized that it was the same soap that Fiona used. He smiled wistfully.