The Brushstroke Legacy

by Lauraine Snelling

  Following the cow, Nilda pulled the bar back in place to keep the cow out until milking time. No sense letting her mess in the barn more than necessary. After taking the milk to the house, she headed for the windmill to pump water for the chickens. If the men were going to be spending their time with the garden and a clothesline, she’d take over caring for the chickens along with the cow.

  Besides, it gave her another reason to be outside—dawn in Dakota ran a close second to the sunset if what she’d seen the night before was any indication. After filling the can that watered the chickens, she raised the small door that led from the henhouse outside to the wire-enclosed pen. Hank had explained that chicken hawks loved to raid the farm, so they covered the run with wire on all sides. Other critters raided the henhouse whenever hungry, so the chickens were locked in at night. Even so, one enterprising varmint had burrowed under the wall and snatched a few. Now the henhouse had a wood floor.

  Back in the house, she strained the milk and stirred the ground oats she’d left cooking all night. Humming, she set the boiler water to heating. Hank must have filled it for her before he went out. What a kind and thoughtful man he was. Nothing like Mr. Peterson, who seemed to keep his words in a locked box for safekeeping. By the time she’d dressed Eloise and returned to the kitchen, the men were pushing away from the table. One thing they never wasted time on was conversation. Eat, give the orders, and go about their business.

  “I’ll be disking the garden first thing,” Hank said before he went out the door. “Joseph’s bringing in a post. Soon as the garden’s done, I’ll be fencing it. Hate for the cattle to eat up all your hard work.”

  “So will the fence go all around the house?”

  “Did you want it to?”

  “I worry about Eloise wandering off.”

  “I see.” He nodded and headed on out the door.

  After setting Eloise at the table with a bowl of mush, Nilda walked through her bedroom into the men’s where two bunk beds took up one wall. She gathered up the dirty clothing that had been thrown in a corner and saw the empty pegs in the walls where clothing should be hanging. The beds were the only furniture; the floor had not been sanded or oiled in there either.

  The beds were like hers—tightly strung ropes covered with a hay-filled tick. Robes made of animal hides hung over the ends of the beds. As soon as they cut the hay, she would wash and refill all the ticks. They’d said there was an abundance of waterfowl. Her mother had told stories of using goose and duck down to make feather beds. Nilda supposed she could do the same, although it would mean eating a lot of birds. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the dirty clothes. Obviously the men saved soap and water like they did words.

  After carving curls of soap into the steaming boiler, she threw in the shirts and used the broom stick to push them down into the water. Perhaps in the afternoon, she and Eloise could walk over to the river and look for a sturdy limb to use for a couple of wash sticks. Boiling and stirring the shirts would free up much of the dirt before she attacked the washboard with them.

  “Done.” Eloise held up her bowl.

  “More?”

  The little girl shook her head. “I go outside?”

  “You can go with me to pump water.”

  “I want see the cow?”

  “Perhaps.” With the dishes set in another pan of water on the stove, Nilda picked up the two water buckets. She clasped the handles in one hand and took Eloise’s hand with the other. “You must walk fast so we can set up the washtub.”

  But Eloise had to stop at every flower, pick up a rock, point at a bird flying overhead. Nilda tried to hurry her along, but she finally gave up and went on ahead. As she pumped the handle, she watched her little girl enjoy the outdoors in ways she herself longed to do. But Nilda’s delight, besides studying each flower and weed, would be to draw them. The brown wrapping paper she’d saved so carefully whispered her name. Her fingers itched to pick up that pencil and copy the beauty that grew so rampantly around them.

  When the water gushed into the bucket hanging on the spout, Eloise climbed the two stairs to the platform and stuck her hand under the flowing water. When it splashed up her arm, her chortle rivaled that of the sparrows singing from the weeds growing along the road.

  “You’ll get wet,” Nilda told her.

  “Ja, get wet.” Her eyes sparkled, and the wind tossed her hair, gold-white feathers in the sunlight.

  The blades of the windmill creaked and groaned in the wind, playing tenor in the song of summer. A crow flew overhead, announcing his news as if everyone around should want to know his opinion. Eloise watched the flight, the sun kissing her upturned face in a benediction of warmth.

  Nilda switched buckets and kept pumping. When finished, she took the cup hooked to the frame and dipped out water cold from the earth and fresh as the morning. She handed it to Eloise, watching the drops that didn’t make it past her lips trickle down her chin to make dark dots on her blue shift.

  “Come, little one. I must do the wash.”

  After two more trips to the pump, one washtub was filled with cool water for rinsing and the other with hot water for scrubbing. Both sat on the bench she’d pulled slightly away from the house.

  Soaping and scrubbing the shirts turned them from dark brown to light tan—perhaps they’d once been white, but without bleaching they’d never be white again. She wrung the soap out of them and tossed them into the rinse water where she’d added a cap of blueing. Of course hanging in the sun would help too. The long Johns she’d not boil on the stove, or they’d be child-sized instead of man-sized.

  After adding wood to the firebox, she thought a moment about dinner. The rising bread dough, thanks to the yeast Mr. Peterson had brought from town, would be ready to punch down soon. Perhaps she’d fry some to go with the beans and rabbit stew from the night before.

  Hank and the horses went back and forth and crossways over the plowed ground. She could hear the jingling harness, the creak of metal, and the gentle thud of hooves on soft dirt. The sound of an ax ringing on wood came from the grove of trees bordering the riverbanks.

  “Look, Ma.” Eloise leaped to her feet and tugged on her mother’s skirts.

  Nilda brushed the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, along with the hair that sopped it up. “Ja, what?”

  Eloise tugged again and pointed up the road. “Cows.”

  Nilda stopped scrubbing to see what she meant. Sure enough, a line of cows, their calves alongside, were ambling down the road.

  “Where they go?”

  “I don’t know.” Three strands of barbed wire fencing kept them out of the hay field. She heard Daisy bellow. A red cow with a white face, one horn curled in toward the middle of her head, answered her.

  Eloise dove behind her mother and peeked around at the creatures that looked so much bigger up close than off in the pasture.

  Hank left the team standing and came to join them. “Don’t you worry none. They’re just heading for the water trough. Sometimes they drink from the river, and other times they parade on by. One thing about cattle. Once the lead cow decides to go somewhere, the others will take a hankering to go along.” He squatted down in front of Eloise. “You don’t be afraid of them, little missy, but you don’t go chasin’ after them neither.”

  Eloise tugged on Nilda’s apron and raised her arms in silent pleading. Safe in her mother’s arms, she stared at Hank, a tiny frown wrinkling her brow. But when he smiled at her, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She buried her face in her mother’s shoulder and peeked out from beneath eyelashes fine as a spider’s web.

  “Say good morning to Mr. Hank.”

  At the pained look on his face, Nilda gave a slight shake of her head. Propriety was propriety where children were concerned. And “mister” was proper.

  “G-morning, Mist…” She looked up at her mother, question marks all over her face.

  “Mis-ter Hank.” Nilda enunciated carefully.

 
“Mis-tah Hank.” Ever a mimic, Eloise grinned back at him.

  “Close enough. I better get back to my chores.”

  When Nilda finished rinsing and wringing out the shirts and long Johns, she dumped them in the two pails. “Come along, Eloise, we’re going to hang these up.”

  “Where?”

  “On the trees and bushes by the river.”

  “Oh.” She bounced along beside her mother, one hand on the edge of a bucket, the other carrying a stick that she used to swat the grass and weeds. Behind the house, the cattle had grazed the grass down as if it had been mowed.

  “Don’t step in the manure.”

  “What?”

  Nilda set the pails down and pointed to a drying splot of greenish brown manure. “Ishta.”

  “Stinky?”

  “Ja, stinky.” Together they avoided the cow pies and stopped in the shade of the rustling cottonwood trees. Nilda shook out the shirts and laid them over a thicket of brush, one at a time, then hung the long Johns on the lower branches that had been denuded of leaves. Now if only the breeze would leave the clothes alone—the way it set the long-handled legs to dancing made her wonder if she shouldn’t stay there to guard them. Or wait until she had a clothesline near the house and clothespins to hold things together.

  Since the cows often rested under the trees, cow pies pocked the sand, making Nilda watch her step and her daughter. Surely there was a better way to do this. She’d read of the women heading west in the wagon trains, pounding their wash on the rocks of a riverbed and drying things the same way she was.

  “Eeuw, stinky.” Eloise cried while she picked herself up from the dirt where she’d fallen. She held out her hands. “Ma, stinky.”

  “Uff da, I told you to be careful.” Nilda fought between annoyance and laughter. Poor little thing had managed to stumble into one of the more recent patties. “Ishta is right. Let’s go wash you in the river.”

  “Carry me.”

  “No, you walk. Come along.” She headed for the river, thinking of dunking the entire child, clothes and all. Perhaps she’d better spend some time sewing more garments for her daughter. She had a feeling she’d not stay as clean as she had in the city. But then they’d never had a river at their door either. Or cow pies. What other indignities must I put up with?

  But as they headed for the house after washing Eloise down, Nilda glanced over to see one of the young stock nosing a shirt.

  “Get away from there. Cows don’t eat shirts.” She flapped her apron, setting the yearling racing for the rest of the herd.

  “They do if you give ’em a chance,” Hank hollered from the garden.

  She was sure she’d heard him laughing. Or someone laughing. Guffawing actually. Could it be Mr. Peterson? And if it was, how dare he?

  “We need more caramel rolls.”

  Ragni smacked her niece on the rear. “Thought you didn’t care much for them.”

  “That was before.” Erika pulled open the door to the Cowboy Cafe and motioned Ragni to go ahead.

  “Before what?”

  “Before you starved me to death.”

  “Oh, sure. I starved you to death.” Ragni glanced around the room and caught a wave from the back table where Paul and Herb were already seated. “We’re joining them,” she told the waitress, who led the way and set menus at their places.

  Paul stood as Ragni and Erika arrived and Herb half rose. “You better bring a whole pot of coffee,” Paul said to the waitress. “They look like they need waking up.”

  What a difference, men who’ve been taught manners. “Thanks, guys.” Ragni smiled at both men as they all took their seats.

  “How did it feel to sleep in a real bed again?” Paul asked Erika.

  “A real hot water shower was the best part.” Erika poured cream and sugar in her coffee. “But we’re back at the cabin tonight.”

  “You make it sound like you’re being punished. Lots of kids would give their right arm for a chance to be in the country, camping out under the stars…” Ragni unwrapped the paper napkin from around the silverware and laid it in her lap.

  “Hauling buckets of water from the river, scrubbing until my knuckles bleed…”

  “Playing with a colt, riding along the river…”

  “No running water, using an outhouse…” Erika wrinkled her nose.

  The men laughed at their banter, but Ragni wondered if Erika was having such a terrible time. Oh well, only a little over a week until we head home. She turned to Herb after a sip of her coffee. “So how’s the estimate coming?”

  Herb laid a leather binder on the table and flipped it open to a clipboard that held his papers. He pulled one out and handed it to Ragni. “This is general information about the three types of roofing, comparisons as to cost, and estimates for each kind.” He pulled out glossy colored fliers. “Here’s more information about each type—lightweight concrete, metal, and shakes, which as you remember, I really don’t recommend due to fire hazard. I need to pick up whatever you choose in Dickinson. I don’t keep much on hand.” He paused. “Did you get a chance to talk things over with your family?”

  “Yes, we need to get the roof done.”

  Ragni laid out the three glossies and studied each. She looked up when the waitress stopped for their orders; when it came her turn, she gave up and ordered the same as before, this time with six caramel rolls to go. Back to the roofing project.

  “It looks to me like the metal is the easiest to put on. It’s fireproof, and although not historically correct, Mom and Susan told me to make the decision. So I am. Erika, which color do you like best?”

  “Blue.”

  “Then blue it is.” Even though she favored the green, anything would look better than what was on it. She nodded as she watched Herb write down the numbers, plug them into his calculator, and give her the cost.

  “And you’ll send the bill to the address I’ll give you?”

  “Yep.”

  “So the major question is—when?”

  “Like I said, I can’t get at it until after the fifth.”

  “And we leave on the sixth.” She shook her head. “I just feel I should be here.”

  “So stay.” Paul dropped the two simple words like a leaf left to bob alone on the surface of water.

  “I have a job that I have to get back to,” Ragni tried to cover her surprise.

  “Shame.”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “Wouldn’t take much to live on out here.” Paul shrugged.

  “Get real. No plumbing inside or out, no electricity…”

  “True, but those aren’t impossible to fix.”

  Ragni glanced up with a forced smile as the waitress slid their plates onto the table. “Thank you.”

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No thanks.” Ragni dug into her eggs like the little devil sitting on her shoulder dug into her insides. Where would he get an idea that I’d want to stay out here? She looked up to catch him watching her as he spread blackberry jam on his toast.

  While she wanted to glare at him, for some reason she caught herself grinning. The carved lines that bracketed his mouth deepened with a smile that sent warmth curling in her belly. Oh no you don’t. This is not the man for you. He lives in North Dakota, and you live in Chicago. You are not a country woman; you are an advertising executive with problems to solve and ads to produce. Sometimes she wanted to strangle that little voice and just enjoy what was happening. Like that smile.

  The conversation switched to Sparky and then the upcoming holiday celebration. It sounded like all of Medora and the surrounding area was invited.

  “You’re sure you can’t come any sooner?” she asked Herb as they were filing up to the counter.

  “Nope. Sorry. Had to put this customer off once already.”

  “All right, but is there something I can do to get the roof ready?” Ragni asked lamely, not sure what she’d be able to do from the ground anyway.

  “No, you sta
y off that roof,” Paul said, suddenly standing too close behind her.

  “What?” She could feel his breath on her face, so she took a step sideways.

  Paul leaned forward just enough to make her want to step back again. She was sure if she looked down, she’d see sparks ricocheting between them. “Trying to keep you safe.”

  It’s not your responsibility to keep me safe. If I want to work on the roof, I’m going to work on the roof. Her eyes slitted without her volition, and her jaw tightened. Now why in the world do I suddenly want to work on the roof?

  She shook her head and turned to pay her bill, the bill she’d already had to fight for. My, he is sexy— Now where did that thought come from? No wonder girls go crazy for rodeo riders. All right, Ragni, you are here for less than two weeks, so you can get along with the locals for that short time without letting them get to you. “Thanks.” She paid her check, picked up the two boxes of rolls, and followed Erika out the door.

  “See you this afternoon.” Paul touched the brim of his hat.

  “For what?”

  He ignored her and turned to Erika. “How about playing with Sparky later today?”

  “Good, what time?”

  “Oh, after three. I’ve got some chores I have to do, and then I’ll come get you.”

  “She does have feet, you know.” Ragni said. The look Erika lobbed her way would frizzle hair.

  “That’s okay, I was coming anyway.”

  “Oh, really?” Ragni tilted her head to the side.

  “See you then.”

  Ragni slid behind the steering wheel. Here she was, clear out in the Badlands of North Dakota to find a few days of simplicity, and all she was running into was complications. She glanced over at Erika, who stared out the side window. Ah, back to the silent treatment. Well, two can play that game.

  They drove into the yard by the cabin without either of them saying another word. Erika got out, slammed the car door, grabbed the two water buckets, and stomped off down to the river.