By mid-June, Corra had settled into the rhythm of the ranch, not unlike that of a boardinghouse with meals to cook, milk to skim, breads and pies to bake, cleaning and laundry to keep up. Inventory of the Hanacker’s root cellar revealed precious little. But they had beef in the smokehouse and coffee, beans, and flour aplenty in the kitchen. A man’s larder.
Making progress with Jessica was much like cooking a good pot of beans: slow and dependent upon just the right seasoning in just the right amount. She involved the girl in everything that was done, surprised that she took most naturally to baking pies. Vinegar pies, since not one filled fruit jar was to be found on the place.
And Corra took naturally to easing into a rocker by the hearth each evening with her Bible. At Pop’s conspiratorial bidding, she had been reading aloud the story of Joseph—his struggles and victories as a young man. But Corra’s private reading fell by the wayside, for she was too busy by daylight and too weary at night, exhausted in both body and mind.
One morning, a faint rumble raised her head from a dress she was sizing down for Jessica. Distant, but growing, the sound drew her outside to the porch.
A dust cloud hovered beyond the far pasture, and a sharp whistle cut the air. Squinting, she searched the line where mountain and meadow joined. And then she saw them.
Magnificent. Manes and tails flying, surging out of a canyon and onto the flats in waves of brown and black and red. Josiah’s mares.
He’d mentioned them at breakfast, and Joe and Jessica had lit up like Christmas candles. Now Corra knew why. She gripped the porch railing, thrilling to the unleashed power, tasting the freedom. She looked for Josiah and the children and found them riding wide behind the herd. A different approach from moving their cattle through town. With good purpose, she concluded. Josiah Hanacker did nothing without good purpose.
Her stomach quivered, and she returned inside, intent on not imagining her fingers pushing through his hair. He’d not mentioned the haircut, and she refused to suggest it herself. She had enough to do just keeping his bold gaze from her thoughts during the day. She picked up the shears and focused on the dress she hoped to have ready for Jessica by next Sunday.
Her first day of worship with the Hanackers had found Letty waiting like a posted guard at the steps of the white clapboard church. Disappointment washed her sister’s face when the family climbed from the wagon and entered the sanctuary like civilized folk, in spite of Jessica wearing trousers because she wasn’t “no sissy girl.”
Corra had assured Letty that things were going just fine. Much finer, in fact, than the judgmental looks from several matronly members of the congregation would indicate. She held her head high against their whispers, bidding them each good morning, confident that she owed no explanation to anyone other than her Lord, who knew all was as it should be. And thankful that she was not chained to their staid, predictable way of life.
Since then, she’d found herself thanking Him at odd times throughout the day, grateful for things like Pop tending the kitchen garden and collecting the eggs, yet letting her have her way with the cooking. Josiah, too, had not interfered with her tutelage, even when Jessica bristled.
By suppertime that evening, the dress was pinned and ready, but Jessica’s demeanor precluded another fitting. Fatigue drooped the girl’s shoulders when she walked through the door with her father and brother. The men washed and slumped into their chairs, and without complaint Jessica set the table and added sliced bread and roast, butter, and honey in the center. Corra offered silent thanks again as she watched the dust-caked girl, her gold luster dulled to a dingy brown. Corra tucked her own loose strands behind her ears as she set the coffeepot on a folded pad. One day of driving the band of mares from the mountains had worn Jessica more than a week’s worth of regular chores. Tonight might be the perfect time for a review at the wash basin. A bath must wait until Saturday.
Corra had not worked half as hard as the others, but after the supper dishes were done, she longed to fall into bed and surrender to blissful sleep. However, her Bible stories could not be neglected. She took her evening seat next to the lamp, and Joe and Jess plopped onto the rug before the cold hearth. Josiah sat at the table with leatherwork that kept his hands busy and his head down.
Pop toed his rocker that, thank the Lord, did not squeak like the one on the porch. “Who you got picked out for tonight?”
Corra opened her Bible to the book of Esther, rested it against her stomach, her head against the chair back, and closed her eyes. She began the story in the words of the day, adding flesh and blood and color and sounds that might accompany a young girl whose life was suddenly turned upside down.
Moments later, she opened her eyes to find Jessica facing her and Pop leaning forward in his chair. Josiah sat like a statue watching her, his hands still, his eyes colorless in the dim light. Corra trailed her voice out on a whisper and softly closed the Bible.
Jessica rose, kissed her father’s cheek, and went to her room. Joe headed outside.
“Hold up, Son.” Josiah took the soap cake from the sink. “Carry this and some fresh clothes to the creek. We’ll wash off before we turn in.”
Amazed that Josiah cared about such matters, Corra laid her Bible on the small table beside her and trimmed the lamp. “A good plan. I’m sure you’ll both sleep better, but I’ll help Jess here at the house.”
Josiah snagged a length of toweling from a drawer. “No doubt.”
And what did he mean by that? Corra stiffened and went to the stove to heat water for the girl. Did he not approve of her efforts? He’d not said much in that regard. He left the door open on his way out.
Pop pushed out of his rocker. “I bless the day you came to us, Miss Corra. I haven’t et so good since Josiah’s ma passed on.”
Corra blinked several times. “Thank you, Pop. I’m glad to hear it.”
He rubbed his hand along his jaw and the white stubble reappearing there. “Don’t take it to heart.”
She looked at him.
“What Josiah says to ya. He’s got a big hurt. Been tucked down so deep for so long it’s festerin’ and hard to get at.” The old gentleman hobbled to his room and softly closed the door.
A big hurt. Now, there was a cowboy’s way of saying what was so. She chewed on the phrase while waiting for the water to heat then took the warm kettle to Jessica’s door and knocked gently. At no answer, she cracked it open. Jessica lay sprawled across her bed, fully clothed, boots and all. Corra crossed the room to the washstand and filled the bowl. Then she sat on the bed and lightly stroked the girl’s dirty hair.
“Wake up, Jess. You need to clean up a little and get into your nightclothes.”
“Mama?”
Corra’s eyes teared at the breathy question. She helped Jessica undress and slip on her shift, and the weary child revived enough to wash her hands and face and clean her teeth without complaint. She even allowed Corra to comb out her hair and rebraid it. Corra tucked her in and left a soft kiss on her brow. “Good night, dear.”
She clicked the door closed and started toward her room, but the night-cooled air drifted in, teasing around her skirt. Succumbing to its lure, she went out and sat down on the top porch step.
Evening lay close against the barn and outbuildings and drew a restful sigh from the pastures. Horses stood in loose groups, an occasional foot stomping or tail swishing. The cattle clustered to themselves, lying in the sweet grass. Such peace caught Corra by surprise. Nearly as much as the approaching man, silhouetted by the western rim of fading light.
Her stomach tightened as Josiah made his way up the porch steps and sat down beside her. For a long moment he stared at the mountains and the slice of sky not yet darkened above them.
“It’s almost as good as dawn.” His damp hair was slicked back, and the pinch of lye soap tickled her nose.
She pulled her attention from the rancher to his land. “‘Thou makest the outgoings of the morning and evening to rejoice.’” The words came easily, without conscious thought.
Josiah looked at her with shadowed eyes. “You know the Good Book.”
Another criticism? Pop’s comment flitted by, softening her defensiveness. “It’s been a comfort since my youth.” Crickets took up a chorus, congratulating her for giving Josiah the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m sorry I bit like I did back there.”
Surprised by his apology, she had no answer, other than to say she forgave him, but that seemed so trite. If she was doing something he didn’t like—
“You’re doing a fine job with Jess. Rubbin’ some of her rough edges off.”
Corra stole a sideways glance. “Thank you.”
“It’s just that sometimes I—” A heavy sigh escaped and he ran his hand through his hair. “You too tired to take a whack at this?”
Emboldened by his change in mood, she stood. “I suppose if I don’t, you won’t be able to see where you’re going and will likely run into something and crack your head. Then Pop and the children will be left to run this place without you.”
He grinned at her mock scolding, pushed to his feet, and stepped to the doorway, holding a hand out for her to precede him. “Then let’s be about it.”