The next morning, Jo fixed the breakfast early and put it in the oven. With a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and an empty basket hooked in the crook of her elbow, she tended to the chickens and collected the eggs. Next, she milked the cows and tried not to think about Jack's body pressed against hers the day before. Then she fed and watered the animals in the nearby pasture, enjoying the clear morning air.
When the sun peeked above the horizon, Tommy joined her, skipping alongside. His mouth ran along the way, never stopping, but he was a good little assistant and knew the farm as well as his sister and father. And he was much more pleasant company than Ruby, who watched Jo with suspicion.
Jo's chemise under her cotton dress was soaked in sweat when she finally returned to the house. "Where's your father?" she asked Ruby, who was pulling vegetables from the garden and placing them with care in a long wicker basket.
"He went to town. He'll be back for dinner."
Jo stripped off her dress, hiked up her long skirt, and sat on a rocking chair. Ruby's jaw hit the floor.
"Oh, don't look so shocked. It's only Tommy and you."
"But what if James or Lucy and Will came by?"
"I'd step inside. I can see for miles from here."
Ruby furrowed her brow, but then she stripped down to her slip and sat next to Jo. "Wow, that feels good."
"What's the basket for? Do you sell the vegetables in town?" Jo asked.
"Sometimes."
Tommy pulled his shirt off and lay at their feet on the porch. "That basket is for Mr. Lucas. She brings him one every Friday. She even puts flowers in it now."
"He likes it," Ruby said, her head resting against the back of the chair. “But I didn’t put biscuits in today.”
Jo smiled. If Ruby was making a joke, she couldn’t be too angry with Jo.
"How can you look so pretty when you’ve been running around a farm all day?" Ruby touched Jo's hair, which was piled in a loose bun at the back of her head.
"You're just as pretty. All you need to do is lengthen your dresses so the hem reaches the ground and style your hair in a more fashionable way." Jo sat forward. "I think it's time to transition you from girl to lady."
Ruby's eyes were alight, and she jumped from her chair and followed Jo into her room. They picked out a yellow summer dress from Jo's wardrobe. It was lightweight and feminine, with a delicate white floral pattern. Jo would need to pin the bottom, but it worked.
They moved into the room Ruby shared with Tommy, and Ruby stood on a chair so Jo could pin the dress. It was a little tight, but Jo didn't think James would mind when Ruby brought her basket to him.
It was fun giggling with a girl her age again, and Jo wanted Ruby as her friend, she realized. Especially since Jo hoped Jack would keep her on indefinitely. The little farm was growing on her.
"Do you have a sewing kit? I forgot to bring mine," Jo said.
Ruby hopped down from the chair and moved to the hutch in the short hallway. She ruffled through some things and pulled out a small metal tin. "It was my mother's."
Jo knelt and moved around the chair, pinning the dress.
"My mother died when I was a few years younger than you," Jo said. It wasn't often Jo spoke of her parents, but she suddenly wanted Ruby to understand she'd experienced loss too. "I was thirteen. And then my father passed away shortly after. I think he died of a broken heart. He loved her so much."
"That's almost romantic. If it wasn't so tragic."
Jo sat back on her heels. "Sometimes I miss my mother so much I think the pain will kill me. But it doesn't, and I continue on."
"Daddy was so mad when Momma died," Ruby said. "He blamed himself. The doctor said she shouldn't have any more babies after me. But almost ten years later, she got pregnant. She died giving birth to Tommy. Daddy thinks it's his fault. But I don't know why. It's not his fault she was pregnant."
Jo realized Ruby may not fully understand Jack's roll in it, but she lived on a farm. Animals procreating were a part of life. Jack would never talk to Ruby about that subject, Jo was sure. But Lucy or an aunt must have talked to her about a wife's role in a marriage.
"And it's not his fault she died, either," Jo said instead.
"Daddy used to sing and dance all the time. He smiled and laughed. But now he's out in the fields all the time, and when he's home, he's angry. He loves Tommy and me, in his way, but when he looks at us . . . I think he only sees her."
"That’s heartbreaking,” Jo said, meaning it. “When my parents died, my brother didn't know what to do with his pain. He stuffed it down and worked. His whole life was work. It's too bad he wasn't any good at it. Otherwise, I wouldn't have to be here."
Ruby jumped down from the chair, barely missing Jo's toes. "You can leave any time you want."
"Sit down, Ruby." Jo nudged her onto the bed, the mattress sagging. Jo thought she was gaining Ruby’s trust, but the girl had a lot of anger coiled inside her. She was young and confused. Ruby probably longed for a mother figure, but she’d never admit it to Jo.
Using her fingers as a comb, Jo pulled Ruby's braids apart and smoothed her hair. "All I meant was, we're all finding this hard. Your daddy wants things to stay the same, but I have a feeling under that hard shell he has a big heart, which was why the loss of your mother hit him so hard. Hopefully he can find someone to love again. But I don't know if his shell will break."
"Do you like Daddy?"
"No!" Jo blushed. "One day your father may find another woman to marry, but I didn't mean me. I'm too young for him anyway."
"James is older than me," Ruby said.
Jo tucked the last pieces of hair into the bun with her hairpins and turned Ruby to face her. She was transformed. The loose bun accentuated her high cheekbones, and the dress brought out the olive tones in her skin and emphasized her womanly curves. Ruby was a beautiful young woman. It almost made Jo jealous.
"You look lovely."
There was a cloudy mirror in the kitchen, and Ruby dragged a chair in front of it and stood, looking at as much of her face and body as she could. "Oh, thank you, Jo. Thank you."
Jo gathered the items she'd brought into Ruby's room and put them back in her drawer. "Where does this tin go?"
"Here.” Ruby brought it to the hutch. Inside were scraps of fabric and yarn and lace and other odds and ends.
"Was this stuff your mothers?"
"Yes. Daddy stuffed everything in here when she died. He didn't want any reminders of her, I guess. I tried to put a few things out last year, but he yelled at me and I put them all back." Ruby's chin quivered, and Jo wanted to comfort her, but she didn't.
"Time to show James the new you."
"Thanks!" Ruby ran so fast across the pasture with her basket of goodies for James, Jo worried her hair would fall out before she arrived.
Several hours later, Ruby stormed through the house. Jo was eager to speak to her and find out how James reacted, but Ruby told her to go away. Whatever had occurred at James's house, Ruby was not happy. She stayed in her room for the rest of the night, not taking her dinner when Jo knocked on her door.
When things became unpleasant at home after her parents died, Jo would wander the city and sketch the people and places she saw. There were so many different worlds in Manhattan—the factory girls in the Village, the Italian migrants on Mulberry, the newly freed slaves making a new life in Harlem, and the society elite from Mrs. Astor’s 400 strolling down Fifth Avenue. Oklahoma wasn’t nearly as diverse, but it was new and fascinating to Jo.
Various worlds encompassed a farm; a mixture of animals—each unique and serving an important purpose for the survival of the farm—the different types of crops, the light that changed with the time of day, the inconstant weather, and the waning moon over the flat land.
The fields glowed under the moon, which cast a bluish hue over the tall grass that night. When everyone else was settled in their beds, Jo took her pad and sketched. Her hand flew over the paper, drawing the new lambs, Darla, Denver, and the other animals of the farm. A noise inside drew her attention, and she put her pencil down and closed her pad.
Ruby was huddled in front of the cabinet doors of the hutch. Jo hesitated, but Ruby looked like a lost little girl, and Jo was compelled to go to her.
"What's the matter?" Jo knelt beside her.
"I was dreaming about Momma. She used to have so many beautiful things around our house."
Jo unhitched the latch from one of the doors.
"Don't. Daddy will get mad."
Jo creaked the door open. Inside were folded pieces of lace, silver candlesticks, watercolors in wood frames, and knitted blankets. Ruby ran her hand over a pink shawl. "This was Momma’s." She held it to her face and inhaled.
Jo pulled out the items, one by one.
"But Daddy—"
"I'll take full responsibility. Now go to bed."
Clutching the shawl, Ruby skittered off to her room. Over the next hour, Jo carefully placed the items around the house; she hung the watercolors on the nails still in the walls, placed the candlesticks on the table, and laid the lace on different tables and nightstands. When she was done she stepped back, pleased with her work.
"What is this?"
Jo jumped at the booming voice. Down the short hallway, Jack glared at one of the watercolors hung on the wall across from his bedroom. With heavy footfalls, he stomped into the kitchen and took in the transformation.
"These aren't your things to touch. Put them back. Now! Put them back where you got them." Jack ripped a frame from the wall, the nail clattering to the floor. He snatched the candlesticks from the table and strangled them in his fist.
"But, Mr. Harrington—Jack—please. It's for Ruby. She may not show it to you, but she misses her mother and it hurts her that you've put her mother’s things away as if she never existed. The children need to remember her."
"Don't ever tell me what my children need." Jack shook the candlesticks at Jo.
"I'm sorry, but I have to. No one else is going to. Ruby won't. She's scared of what you'll do if she even mentions her mother. Let them remember her."
"Shut your mouth. Shut it. Don't say another word about my children. You're not their mother."
"I know that. But they need someone to guide them and show them love," Jo pleaded.
"I love my children!" Jack slammed the candlesticks back down.
"I know that!" Jo threw her hands up in frustration. "But they need to see it. To feel it. To know they once had two parents who loved them. For God's sake, Ruby has no example for what a marriage should be, what love should look like. She's set to marry a man who may not even love her."
"You mean a man you hope she doesn't marry. So you can have him."
"Oh, please. I've met James once. I have no claim on him. I don't even know him. Why would you even say that?"
Jack slammed his hands on the table and it shook. "Enough! I won't have you preaching to me about my own family."
He picked her up and pinned her arms to her side. Jo kicked her feet in protest, but he held her tight in his arms, and carried her down the short hallway to his bedroom. The mattress groaned under their weight as Jack sat on his bed and threw Jo over his knees. Was he joking? Was he seriously going to give her another childish punishment?
"Stop, Jack. I'm not a child. You can't spank me!" Jo laughed at the ridiculousness of this. Did he know no other way to get someone to listen to him?
Jack pulled her skirts over her head and he smacked her hard on her bare backside. Jo yelped. He ripped her drawers down and hit her again, the slap vibrating against her naked skin. Her hands gripped the hem of his pants, trying to find purchase. The blows grew in intensity, her bottom burning with each new crack, and Jo cried out from shame.
"Stop!" She bucked upward and heard a crack as her tailbone made contact with Jack’s face. Jack cried out and she tumbled to the floor. Above her Jack bent over his knees, his face in a grimace. A stream of blood trickled out where he clutched his nose.
Jo grabbed the scrap of towel that lay next to his washbasin, and Jack snatched it from her and pressed it against his nose.
“Is it broken?” Jo asked, adjusting her skirt and undergarments.
“I don’t know,” he grumbled.
Jo knelt in front of him and gingerly took his hand away from the wound, inspecting. Using her pointer fingers, she pressed his nose inward on either side, feeling the small bone for a break. Jack grimaced but made no other sound or movement.
“I don’t think it’s broken.” Jo took the cloth from him and rinsed it in the basin. “Lean forward.”
Jack hunched over and Jo knelt before him on the hard floorboards. The bleeding had nearly stopped and she gently wiped the blood from his nostrils and his upper lip. The room was so quiet Jo could hear the beat of their hearts. Her thumb swiped over the soft pad of Jack’s upper lip and he parted them, her finger slipping in. The shock of his velvety tongue on her thumb sent her heart into a gallop, and the inner workings of her body hummed to life.
Her breath left her lungs in short bursts, as a craving she couldn’t name swirled down her spine. Jack’s eyes drooped as she crawled her thumb out leaving a wet trail behind. She lifted her thumb from his face but he snatched it.
"Put the items back or I’ll smack you again," he growled, his brown eyes narrow. Whatever soft moment they’d shared, vanished with the blaze of his command.
Jo plucked her arm from his grip and stood. The humiliation of his earlier punishment reignited into an angry fire. “I won't."
"I can make you," he threatened.
"But you won't. You won't ever put your hands on me again." Then she added, "Unless I ask you to."
His dark eyes grew large at the implication, and she left.
What did she mean, Unless I ask you to? Jo lay in bed and stared at the ceiling as these new sensations coursed through her bloodstream. Her body buzzed as she remembered the trace of his tongue on her skin. Her breath picked up speed again, the now familiar sensations sending a fever between her legs, and she slipped her hand up her thigh. She’d seen a woman do this in that book of her mother’s, but she hadn’t understood it.
Her fingers slid over her sex and she gasped. The desire that vibrated between her legs scared her, and she pulled her hand back. Her body wasn’t her own. It wanted things she never knew existed. If this was a small taste of a wife's duty, she'd be happy to marry and perform it every day of the week.
And twice on Sunday.
She didn't know if Jack was the man she wanted to stoke her fire. But she wouldn't mind finding out.