A Hopeful Heart (6 page)

Evelyn scooted sideways and tapped Tressa on the shoulder. “Ignore them. What do you expect from factory workers and household maids? They lack even the pretense of civility.”

Evelyn’s haughty tone was no easier to bear than the others’ flippancy, but Tressa simply nodded.

“To be perfectly frank, Tressa, if you must complete this school and be matched with a man from the community, the older rancher would be the best choice.” Evelyn glanced at the others, rolled her eyes in obvious distaste, and turned back to Tressa. “You
do
understand what I’m saying?”

Tressa licked her lips. Although the girls had worked side-by-side for the past several days at Mrs. Wyatt’s ranch, she and Evelyn had never exchanged more than a few words in passing. Confusion clouded her mind at having the girl offer advice. “No. I confess, I don’t understand.”

Evelyn released a long-suffering sigh. “Think about it, Tressa. You marry a man twice your age. He dies while you’re still young, leaving you his money. Then you’re free to take that money and leave this godforsaken territory and have a decent life somewhere else.”

Tressa reared back. How could Evelyn be so coldhearted? As if Tressa would marry someone merely to assume control of his possessions! Then something else occurred to her. “But if he’s the best prospect in town, why don’t you pursue him yourself?”

Evelyn’s gaze drifted to the prairie once more. “I have no intention of marrying any of these bumpkins, no matter how well established.” She pursed her lips. “I’m only here because my father is trying to teach me a lesson. I refused to wed the man he chose for me. He sent me away to give me an opportunity to regret my rebellion.” A wry smile curled her lips. “His plan was successful. Now that I’ve seen the alternative to accepting Father’s choice, I’m ready to concede defeat. Besides . . .” Her smile turned cunning. “The doddering old fool Father has selected can’t last more than a few more years. When he’s gone, I’ll be his heir. My father was right all along.”

Tressa turned away from Evelyn’s smug face. To her relief, Mrs. Wyatt’s house loomed in the distance. Pressing her palms to the floor of the rattling wagon, she battled the urge to leap over the side and run the remainder of the distance so she could be free of the present company. Luella’s flirtatious ways, Evelyn’s heartless conniving, and the others’ frivolous behavior made her wish to be anywhere but there.

But where would she go? The thought brought her up short. When she left Mrs. Wyatt’s for good, it would be to another ranch in the area. To be a rancher’s wife. Heat flooded her cheeks as the faces of the men from church paraded through her memory. She shuddered, remembering young Gage’s leering wink, and her skin prickled in memory of the elder Hammond’s hand on her arm. But when the image of the rancher named Abel crossed her mind, she relaxed.

Abel . . . the man with eyes like Papa. The man whose serious expression seemed to indicate he needed cheering as much as Tressa did. The man who had rescued her hat.

Lifting her eyes to the crystal blue sky overhead, Tressa wondered who Papa might choose as her beau if he were still alive.

6

“See there, Isabella?” Tressa tipped the pail slightly so the cat could peek over the brim. “A full bucket. And look.” She held her hands outward, flexing her fingers. The nails were chipped and calluses decorated her palms—such a change in appearance in a week and a half of labor— but the movement proved effortless. “They hardly hurt at all. That means I’m getting better at milking, wouldn’t you agree?”

The cat twitched the white tip of her tail and stared at Tressa with unblinking yellow eyes.

Tressa grimaced. “You’re right, I
am
the last one in the barn . . . again. But I didn’t need anyone else’s help, and the bucket
is
full. So I still assert I’m showing improvement.”

Isabella yawned and then lifted one paw to give it a thorough wash with her rough pink tongue.

Tressa laughed. “You aren’t very encouraging, puss, but I’m glad you’re here anyway.” She scratched the cat’s chin, raising an immediate rumbling purr. Over the past days, she and Isabella had become fast friends. Although puzzled by the cat’s fondness for her, she still found it flattering that Isabella preferred her company over that of the other girls on the ranch. She also welcomed the cat’s presence.

With Evelyn’s departure for New York two days ago, Luella had appropriated Sallie’s attention. Paralee and Mabelle remained very close, which left Tressa without a partner. During the years she lived in her uncle’s home, she had often felt alone, as her four younger girl cousins had never fully accepted her into their circle. She should be accustomed to being the odd person out, yet loneliness still created an empty ache in her chest.

“I’m glad you like me, Isabella. The others certainly don’t.” Isabella placed one front paw on Tressa’s knee and batted at her chin with her other paw. Tressa scooped the animal into her lap. “I can’t honestly fault them. I’m completely inept at most of the required tasks, so I make a mess of nearly everything I touch.”

She ran her hands through Isabella’s soft fur, enjoying the answering purr of appreciation. At least she could do something right. “I hear them whispering about me.” Her throat tightened, recalling the embarrassment of those moments when the others sent supercilious looks of disapproval her way. “I do the best I can, but . . .”

Her gaze fell to the bucket of milk waiting to be delivered to the house. She was already well behind the others. Sitting here petting the cat wouldn’t get the butter churned. “I need to get inside, kitty.”

With a sigh, Tressa put Isabella on the ground and pushed off of the stool. “Would you like to help me put old Rosie in her stall?” Isabella wove between her feet while Tressa saw to the cow’s needs. Then, with bucket in hand, she headed for the house. The cat trotted ahead, tail sticking up as straight as a poker. She glanced back now and then as if to ascertain Tressa was still following. Despite her momentary melancholy in the barn, Tressa released a laugh at the cat’s antics.

Just as she reached the back door, the sound of horses’ hooves caught her attention. Isabella’s tail puffed to twice its normal size, and she dashed under the short bench that sat below the kitchen window. Tressa turned to see a cowboy rein in next to the house. He grinned broadly when he spotted her, snatching off his hat to reveal a thick thatch of straw-colored hair.

“Howdy, miss. My name’s Ethan Rylin—I work for Abel Samms. Is Aunt Hattie in the house?”

Tressa nodded.

“Tell ’er Abel sent me to say we got a calf on the way.”

Tressa crinkled her brow. “A calf?”

“Yep. If you’re wantin’ to see a birthin’, head on over to the Lazy S.”

“Oh!” Tressa remembered Mrs. Wyatt’s desire for the girls to witness a birth. With so many activities packed into a day, she had forgotten the conversation at church. “I’ll tell her. Thank you.”

Ethan smacked his hat back on his head, tugged the reins, and galloped off without another word. Tressa hurried into the house, stumbling a bit to avoid stepping on Isabella, who darted between her feet. “Mrs. Wyatt! Mrs. Wyatt?”

The older woman bustled from the pantry, wiping her hands on her apron. A white streak of flour decorated her left cheek. “You got that milk ready to go? An’ call me Aunt Hattie. Land sakes, girl, I don’t rightly know how to answer to Mrs. Wyatt.”

“I . . . I’m sorry.” Tressa placed the bucket on the dry sink beside the door.

“Apology accepted. Now, soon as you get that milk separated an’ the cream churned to butter, you can mix up some biscuits for lunch. Reckon you’ve watched me enough times to do that on your own by now.” She jabbed her thumb toward the pantry. “I been siftin’ the flour to remove the weevils for ya—I know the sight o’ them bugs doesn’t set well with your stomach.” She shook her head. “But, Tressa-darlin’, you’re gonna hafta to set aside that weak tummy o’ yours or you’ll never make it around here. A person can find worse’n weevils hidin’ in a barrel.”

Tressa’s stomach rolled as she considered what else might lurk in a flour barrel. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do my best.” But she must tell Mrs. Wyatt about the cowboy. “Ma’am, a man just rode up. He said to tell you if we hurry to the Lazy S, we’ll have the opportunity to see a birthing today.”

Mrs. Wyatt clapped her palms together. “Oh, that’s good news.” She grimaced. “I hate leavin’ your bucket o’ milk sit out, though. Heaven only knows when we’ll be back.” She tapped her chin with one finger. “I tell you what, throw a piece of damp cheesecloth over the top o’ that bucket an’ take it down to the root cellar real quick. It’ll stay cool as the underside of a rock down there. I’ll gather up the others. Meet us in the barn an’ we’ll drive on over to Abel’s ranch.” She started toward the doorway, but then she turned back. A smile broke across her face. “You’re in for a real treat today. Ain’t nothin’ more special than a birthin’.”

Tressa pondered Mrs. Wyatt’s comment as she carried the bucket outside and headed toward the root cellar. Her only experience with birthing was the night her baby brother was born. She remembered little more than being sent to the kitchen with the old cook who sang songs and rocked her to distract her from the piercing cries coming from her mother’s bedroom. She’d fallen asleep, and the next morning her father had sorrowfully explained that Mama and the baby were in Heaven with Jesus.

By the time she returned from the cellar, the others were all waiting in the wagon. She climbed in, and even before she could sit, Mrs. Wyatt smacked the reins onto the horses’ backs. “Yah!” The wagon jolted forward, throwing Tressa flat onto her bottom with her feet in the air. Luella nudged Paralee’s arm, and the two snickered. She turned her head, clamping her lips tight to hide the quiver in her chin.

The ride to the Lazy S took them in the opposite direction of town, but the view still seemed familiar. The prairie rolled endlessly in all directions, knee-high grass gently waving in the wind. The sun shone bright overhead, glinting off the blades of grass and warming Tressa’s uncovered head. She hadn’t taken time to put on a bonnet before leaving the house, and the wind tore her hair loose from the unpretentious tail she had tied with a piece of ribbon. She held the side of the wagon with one hand and used the other to hold her hair and prevent it from blowing.

The wagon rolled onto the dirt yard of a simple one-story ranch house. Tressa wrinkled her nose at the sight of the unpainted, unappealing dwelling. This structure made Mrs. Wyatt’s modest house seem like a mansion. Mrs. Wyatt brought the team to a stop, then she grinned into the back of the wagon. “Barn’s straight ahead. If I know Abel Samms, he’ll have the stall all mucked out an’ ready for us, so head on over.”

Before the girls could climb from the back, a weathered cowboy emerged from the barn and trotted toward them. He waved his hand.

“Hold up there, Hattie, an’ let me help you down.” He offered Mrs. Wyatt his hand, and she allowed him to assist her from the seat.

“Thank you, Vince. I don’t believe you met my pupils in church last Sunday.” She led the man to the back of the wagon and released the hatch. “This here is Miss Mabelle, Miss Paralee, Miss Sallie, Miss Luella, an’ Miss Tressa.” She pointed to each girl in turn.

Vince nodded, offering a broad smile. “Welcome to the Lazy S, ladies. It’s been my home for nearly twenty years, an’ I’m right fond of the place.” He held out his hand to Tressa. “Let’s get you gals into the barn. I figure there won’t be a long wait—this mama’s just about ready to deliver.”

He caught Tressa around the waist and lifted her from the back of the wagon. She scurried to Mrs. Wyatt’s side as he helped the others. When he reached for Luella, she batted her eyelashes and tittered. The too-familiar sound set Tressa’s teeth on edge. Vince placed Luella on the ground, and her hands lingered on his shoulders. Vince grinned and offered Luella his elbow. With another high-pitched giggle, she slipped her hand into the curve of his arm and sashayed along beside him as they led the way to the barn.

Tressa shifted her gaze from Luella and the angular cowboy to the waiting barn. She found its massive size astounding. Constructed of rough-cut tan stones and towering two stories high, it dwarfed the barn on Mrs. Wyatt’s property. Doors yawned wide in the arched opening at the front as if offering an invitation to enter. Tressa released a little shiver as she stepped from the sun into the cool, shadowed interior of the huge structure. Although this barn was at least triple the size of the Mrs. Wyatt’s barn, the smells were the same—musty hay, musky animals, and moist soil. Tressa put her finger under her nose to stave off a sneeze.

Staying close to Mrs. Wyatt, she followed the others to a stall about halfway down on the east side. Vince removed Luella’s hand from his arm with a dapper bow and entered the stall. Mrs. Wyatt put her hand on Tressa’s back and propelled her to the edge of the stall. Tressa rested her fingertips on the highest rail and peered over the top at a tawny brown cow. It lay on its side with its neck arched and legs stretched straight out. Pieces of hay clung to its head and nose, tempting Tressa to climb over the rails and brush the bits away.

Vince hunkered beside the beast and placed his hand on the cow’s bulging stomach. He grinned up at the row of girls. “See how big her belly looks? That’s not all baby. She’s holdin’ her breath, which means she’s in the middle of a birthin’ pain.”

Tressa’s stomach muscles tightened in compassionate response to the cow’s discomfort.

Vince went on. “Her water bag ruptured right before you got here. Won’t be long now, an’ we’ll see some little feet come through the canal.”

“Feet?” Mabelle squeaked the word and then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Vince chuckled. “Yep, feet. We wanna see feet an’ then a nose. Sometimes calves’re born rump first, but that’s awful hard on the mama. So we need to be hopin’ for a nose instead.”

The cow huffed, lifting her head slightly. She released a low moo and pawed the air with her front hooves. Tressa took an involuntary step backward while the others pressed forward.

Vince propped one hand against the ground, tipping his head toward the cow’s rear quarters. “Uh-huh, here we go!”

Two tiny hooves appeared. Luella climbed onto the lowest rail and leaned into the stall, her eyes wide and mouth forming an O of wonder. Sallie sent a grin over her shoulder. “I seen my share of birthin’s when I worked for the dairyman, but it’s an amazin’ thing to watch. Are ye wantin’ to come up, Tressa?”

Tressa shook her head wildly, and Sallie shrugged. “Suit yourself.” She clambered up beside Luella. Paralee gasped, reaching for Mabelle’s hand. Mabelle caught hold, and the two clung. Tressa swallowed. She wished she could hold someone’s hand. Mrs. Wyatt stood near. Without turning her gaze from the laboring cow, Tressa reached blindly. Her fingers encountered a hand, and she grabbed hold.

At first the fingers lay loose within her grasp, but when the cow mooed again—louder and more panicked—Tressa squeezed, and the fingers curved securely around her hand. The touch offered a measure of comfort, and she clung hard while she watched the birth. A white nose followed the hooves. The cow moaned again, and the calf ’s head emerged.

Tressa held her breath, her fingers squeezing hard on Mrs. Wyatt’s hand while the cow bawled in complaint. Suddenly the calf ’s wet, slick body wriggled through the opening in a rush and sprawled in the hay. It thrashed its spindly legs, nosing the ground. The mother staggered to her feet and circled the baby. She began licking it, and the calf folded its legs underneath itself. It hiked its rump in the air first and then raised its wobbly head to stand on four shaky legs.

Vince laughed out loud. “We got ourselves a little bull.” He patted the cow’s side. “Good job, mama.”

Tressa’s breath whooshed from her lungs, her knees sagging with relief that the mother and baby were fine. She turned to thank Mrs. Wyatt for the comforting support of her hand, but to her shock, instead of Mrs. Wyatt, the brown-eyed rancher named Abel Samms stood beside her. And she held tight to his hand.