A Hopeful Heart (3 page)

Talking and jostling, the girls zipped around Tressa and scrambled up the stairs. The sound of their pounding footsteps created a slight ache at the base of her skull. Her own footsteps slowed. Sallie moved in unison with Tressa up the stair risers. She poked Tressa’s ribs lightly with her skinny elbow.

“ ’Tis relieved I am that Evelyn an’ me made it all the way up with that heavy box. I’m thinkin’ she must be cartin’ bricks of gold along with her fine dresses—maybe believin’ she’ll be able t’ buy herself a groom.” Sallie snickered and then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Why do ye suppose a well-to-do girl’s come to this school? Surely her da could’ve found her a husband, don’t ye think?”

Tressa chose not to answer. Her mother had frowned at gossiping. Furthermore, Sallie’s disparaging tone when uttering the words “well-to-do” seemed to affirm Aunt Gretchen’s warning. While packing Tressa’s bag with articles of clothing scavenged from a local church’s charity barrels, Aunt Gretchen had stated firmly,
“If you’re to find acceptance in that untamed western town, you must be one of them. The classes do not mix, Tressa. If they suspect you have breeding, they’ll disdain you as a suitable mate. So bury your affluent background and pretend it never existed.”

The question that had burned on her tongue but went unasked now fluttered through Tressa’s mind: Was it possible to forget one’s personal history? Wasn’t her past woven into her very being? If her past ceased to exist, then
she
did not exist.

Flopping the bag onto the quilt-covered mattress of the creaky iron bed, she glanced around at the simple, mismatched furnishings and faded floral wallpaper. Had she ever inhabited such a sad, tired-looking space? Despair overcame her, and she sank down next to her bag. For the first time since she’d set out on this adventure to become the wife of a Kansas rancher, she allowed tears of sorrow to pool in her eyes.

Her only hope lay in convincing Mrs. Wyatt that she was an adept worker and a desirable mate for a man she had yet to meet. Given her background of luxury, hope was fleeting at best.

3

“Amen.” Hattie Wyatt closed the prayer of gratitude for the meal, opened her eyes, and snatched up the bowl of steaming turnips. She scooped a sizable portion, clunking the wooden spoon against her tin plate to release every bit of the mashed buttery turnips, then plopped the bowl into the hands of the tall girl sitting on her right.

“Take some, then pass it on.” She bobbed her head toward the platters of food filling the center of the planked wood table. “If somethin’ is close to you, get it started goin’ ’round.” She chuckled. “The food won’t jump from those bowls an’ onto your plates on its own.”

A titter went around the table, and Hattie grinned. Maybe there was some life in these girls after all. When she’d called them down for supper, they’d stumbled into the dining room as if they’d been rounding up strays all day instead of sitting on a train. But then, maybe travel wore a body out. Hattie wouldn’t know—she hadn’t ventured more than fifteen miles from her ranch since she and Jed had settled this land.

“So did you get your bags emptied an’ everything put to right in your rooms?” Hattie asked around a bite of green beans. The beans, well seasoned with onion and bacon, pleased her tongue, and she eagerly forked another hearty bite.

The girl on her right—the one with yellow curly hair and the air of a princess—glanced down the length of the table before answering. “I would like to request the use of a wardrobe. I had to leave several items in my trunk. The bureau won’t accommodate all of my garments.”

“Um . . .” Hattie pressed her brain for the girl’s name. “Evelyn?”

The girl nodded.

“Well, Evelyn, if the things in your trunk are as high-falutin’ as the dress you’re wearin’ right now—” Hattie let her gaze sweep over the lacy bodice of the shiny red-brown dress—“you might be better off leavin’ it all in the trunk. Won’t be much need of fancy wear like that out here. You did bring work clothes, didn’t you? Something simple—calico or muslin?”

The girl’s eyebrows arched high. “I should say not.”

Hattie sighed. “That means a trip to Barnett’s general store, then, to order you a workin’ dress from the catalog. With me teachin’ you pupils, I won’t have time to stitch you up one. But you’ll need somethin’. You’ll ruin that fancy material in no time.” She pinched a bit of the glossy cloth between her fingers, releasing it when Evelyn threw her shoulders back and sucked in a sharp breath.

“In the meantime,” Hattie mused, “maybe one o’ the others could borrow you a dress to make do.” But if she remembered correctly from seeing the girls all lined up in a row, Evelyn stood a good two inches taller than any of the others. She released a low chuckle. “Or you can wear one o’ mine. We’re eye-to-eye from top to bottom, but it’ll be a loose fit side-to-side.” She gave her midsection a pat. “I got a bit more girth than you do.”

The girl sitting next to Evelyn—Luella—let out a giggle that ran the scales. Evelyn sent Luella a stern glare, and the giggle ended abruptly. With her face glowing, Luella leaned over her plate and spooned up a bite of stewed beef.

Hattie shook her head. That Evelyn would need to come down a peg or two or she’d be of no use to anyone. “What about the rest o’ you? All settled in your rooms?”

A chorus of assurances sounded, and Hattie smiled. “Good. ’Cause come tomorrow mornin’, bright an’ early, we’ll be startin’ your classes.”

Classes
. Hattie savored the word. Back in her early years, she’d fancied becoming a teacher. But Jed had won her heart, and she’d given up the idea of teaching to become his wife. Never regretted it, either. How could she lament even one minute of nearly forty years with a godly man like Jed? But getting the chance to teach these young ladies was like recapturing the long-ago dream. God was good to give her this gift so late in her life.

“W-what exactly will we be doin’ tomorrow?” The timorous question came from the one named Mabelle. Although buxom and with well-formed arms, the girl’s hunched shoulders and low-held head made her seem mousy.

“Well . . .” Hattie leaned back in her chair and tapped the edge of her plate with her fork. “Tomorrow mornin’, as the sun’s risin’, you’ll get your first taste of cow-milkin’. Any o’ you milked a cow before?”

The red-haired gal with the foreign brogue sat straight up. “Oh! I’ve milked me share o’ cows, Mrs. Wyatt.”

“Call me Aunt Hattie—everybody does.” Hattie nodded her approval at the girl. “Glad you got some experience. You lived on a farm, did you?”

“Indentured I was to a dairyman for three years.” For a moment, something akin to fear flashed in the girl’s eyes, but then a bright smile chased away the look. “ ’Tis able I am to milk, an’ churn, an’ even make cheese if it’d be pleasin’.”

“Cheese?” Hattie gave the tabletop a light smack. “That’d be a real good thing for all of us to learn. We’ll let you teach us . . .” She scrambled for the girl’s name. “Sallie.”

Sallie beamed as if she’d been handed a jeweled crown. “Yes’m!”

“Ya see—” Hattie pointed her finger at each girl by turn—“ ’round here, we make our livin’ from the livestock. Everybody’s got at least a milker or two. Everybody’s raisin’ a herd o’ beef, be it a big herd or only a dozen head. No matter where you wind up throwin’ out your bedroll, you’ll be dealin’ with cattle. So it’s important that you learn to handle yourself around those ornery critters.”

Her lips twitched as she recalled the conversation that had prompted her to open up the Wyatt Herdsman School. Bob Clemence had let loose a stream of tobacco on the street right next to her feet. She’d scolded him, admonishing that if he had a wife, he’d give up such ugly habits. He’d replied with tongue in cheek,
“Aunt Hattie, if you show me a woman who can milk a cow, cook somethin’ more’n beans with fatback, and knows which end of a horse to attach to a plow, I’ll snatch ’er up.”

Looking at the circle of faces around the table, Hattie speculated that sprightly little Sallie might make a good match for Bob—he’d need someone with a touch of sass. She’d do some praying on that. But the matching would come later.

She propped her elbows on the table. “Out in my barn, I got an even half dozen milkin’ cows. That means each o’ you’ll claim one an’ see to its milkin’ an’ care every day.”

She examined her pupils. No one fainted dead away, although Evelyn looked like she might have swallowed something bitter, and the girl with her brown hair pulled into a scraggly bun—what was her name?—clutched a quivering hand to her throat.

Keeping a brisk, confident tone, Hattie went on. “Just like I said in the letters I sent each of ya, there’ll be lots to learn—milkin’, gardenin’, cannin’, cookin’ an’ cleanin’, ropin’ an’ ridin’ . . . even some plowin’ and plantin’. But we’ll take it one step at a time. A person crawls before she walks, an’ walks before she runs. So don’t be frettin’ any.” She sent the brown-haired gal, who looked white around her mouth, a reassuring smile. “You’ll all be good strong runners by the time I’m finished with you.

“But now . . .” Pressing her palms to the table, she rose. “Supper’s done, the sun’s losin’ it’s battle with dark, an’ there’s dishes to wash. So everybody grab your own plates an’ such an’ take ’em to the kitchen— right this way.” She led them through the dining room doorway into the large kitchen. “Leave ’em on the dry sink there. We’ll be takin’ turns with cleanup, but it bein’ your first night, I’ll take care of it this time. You all go on up to bed an’ get a good night’s rest. You’ll need your energy come mornin’.”

Hattie shooed the cluster of girls to the base of the stairs and then watched as they climbed to the upper story. When the red-haired gal named Sallie reached the top, she turned back and waved. “G’night to ye, Aunt Hattie.” One by one, each girl added her good-night wish to Sallie’s.

Heat built from the center of Hattie’s chest. She fanned herself with her apron skirt. “Night, Sallie. Night Evelyn an’ Luella. Sleep well, Mabelle, Paralee, an’ . . . an’ . . .” The name of the remaining girl still escaped Hattie.

“Tressa,” the girl supplied in a near whisper.

Hattie met the girl’s eyes with a steady gaze. “Sleep well, Tressa. An’ sweet dreams to you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wyatt. You have a pleasant night, as well.”

Hattie chuckled softly to herself as she returned to the kitchen, replaying each girl’s good-night wish. A soft meow greeted her. She bent over and scooped up Isabella, the long-haired cat who spent most of her day snoozing beneath the stove. “You been hidin’ from all the strangers in the house? Better get used to it—they’re here to stay. Leastwise, for as long as it takes to learn to be good ranchers’ wives—an’ that might be quite a while for some of ’em.”

Nuzzling the cat’s warm fur, she said with wonder, “Didja hear ’em, ol’ Izzy-B? First time this house has had young ones lined up on the stairs, callin’ down good-nights to me.” Although she and Jed had built a big house to accommodate a sizable brood, God hadn’t seen fit to bless them with children. Hattie sighed. “Felt good to hear that chorus o’ voices wishin’ me a good night.”

Isabella purred in response, working her paws against Hattie’s shoulder. Hattie rubbed the cat’s chin with her knuckles, chuckling when the purr deepened. After a few moments she released a little huff. “Well now, I can’t be expected to pet you all night. I got work to do.”

She pulled a ladder-backed chair from the small worktable in the corner of the kitchen and placed the cat on the smooth seat. “You sit here out from under my feet an’ keep me company while I get these dishes washed.” The cat assumed a regal posture, folding her paws beneath her full white bib and staring at her mistress with round, yellow eyes.

Hattie ladled hot water from the stove’s reservoir into the wash pan and stirred in soap flakes to make suds. “Yes’m, Isabella, I think this school idea is goin’ to work just fine. Men in town sure showed interest! An’ already I feel myself growin’ attached to those girls—like they’re a little bit mine.” She furrowed her brow. “But there’s somethin’ odd about . . .” A detail tickled the back of her mind, hiding in shadow instead of making itself clear. Shaking her head, she set to work. Not until she finished scrubbing the last plate did she catch the illusive thought. Spinning toward the cat, she announced, “That’s it!”

Isabella leaped from the chair and dashed under the stove, her fur on end. Hattie crouched down and crooned to the startled animal, coaxing her out once again. Cradling the cat in her lap, she whispered, “Ain’t it odd that the one named Tressa wears clothes like a workin’-class girl, but her speech is all refined, like an educated lady?”

Hattie looked toward the ceiling, imagining the girls snug in their beds. The image of Tressa lingered. She gave the cat a final scratch behind her ears before releasing her. “Yes’m, Izzy-B, I’m thinkin’ we got ourselves a puzzle sleepin’ upstairs.”

Tressa stood at the window, peering across the moonlit ranch grounds. The girls hadn’t been allowed to explore when they arrived at Mrs. Wyatt’s ranch. Curiosity, combined with the unfamiliar silence that permeated the area, held sleep at bay. Sallie snored softly in the featherbed, her tangled red hair scattered across the white pillowcase. Tressa envied the girl’s ability to drift off to sleep, unencumbered by worries.

Before slipping between the sheets, Sallie had stretched her arms over her head and released a happy giggle. “What a grand place t’ be, with so much space an’ only Aunt Hattie givin’ orders. She’s a mite crusty, but I’m willin’ to wager she has a tender heart. So different from—” Her smile had dimmed momentarily, but then she’d spun herself in a little circle and clapped her hands, her grin wide. “ ’Tis happy I am to be here, an’ eager to be startin’ me new life. An’ ye, Tressa?”

Tressa had forced a smile and mumbled something about being happy, too. But her conscience pricked now as she examined the purplish shadowed landscape scattered with gray outbuildings. She wasn’t happy to be here. Not really.

Slipping to her knees, she propped her arm on the windowsill and rested her chin on the back of her wrist. Stars glittered overhead, beautiful against the velvety backdrop of black sky. How often had she sat in the window of her childhood home and made wishes on the stars?

Just as she had when she was six, Tressa scrunched her eyes tight. Her most frequent little-girl wish replayed in her heart.
I wish I could marry a man like Papa
. She opened her eyes, blinking out at the soft night scene. Though she was now a grown up twenty-two, the desire lingered.

Surely happiness would be hers if she could find someone like Papa—someone tall and strong, with a ready smile and gentle hands. Someone loving, with a boisterous laugh. A man who would adore her the way Papa adored Mama. Papa had adored Mama so much that when she died giving birth to Tressa’s baby brother, he lost much of his will to live.

He hadn’t even seemed to care when his cotton mill burned to the ground, leaving him without a means of income. His apathy when forced to sell Evan’s Glen, the home where Tressa had been born, had filled her with anguish, yet even as an eleven-year-old she understood the root of Papa’s lack of caring. Why would he fight to keep a home where his beloved wife no longer resided? Tressa was certain the pneumonia would not have claimed her dear papa if he hadn’t been so heartsick from mourning.