ROOT-BOUND HOUSEPLANTS HAD BEEN MOVED to the front porch. The ficus and jade trees desperately needed larger pots. Baby spider plants begged for freedom from their mother and the sansevieria cried to be divided. Lee Ann carried big planters from the garden shed and sliced open bags of potting soil, donned gardening gloves, and filled the watering can.
“There,” she said, after placing the newly potted plants in the mudroom and sweeping up the mess. “If you aren’t happy now, you will be by next week. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
She had learned to cook from assisting Mother and watching Grace. Meat loaf, roasts, and pies from Mother. Mexican food from Grace, who claimed Lee Ann’s flour tortillas looked like maps of Australia. Mexicans, Grace said, had the gene for rolling perfectly round tortillas, estimating how hot the griddle should be to receive them, and knowing the exact moment to flip them to freckle the surface.
Manuel and Rudy, the sheriff’s ranch hands who would join Eugene and the boys for roundup, were raised in the Hispanic community of Alba and preferred New Mexican green chile stew, but Eugene and the boys preferred Texas-style chile and that’s what Lee Ann planned to serve for the mid-day meal at tomorrow’s roundup. In addition to tortillas, she’d add chopped green chile and cheddar cheese to a double batch of cornbread and bake a carrot cake with cream cheese icing for dessert.
From a sack in the pantry, she leveled off several cups of pinto beans into a big enamel pot and added enough water to soak them overnight. She’d already stopped by Walt’s after work and picked up onions and a few of his famous withered bell peppers, lemons, and a cabbage for coleslaw.
In the old days, when they ran three times the cattle and needed three times the men, Mother would request volunteers to help in the kitchen, roundup the excuse for a social event that gathered folks from far-off ranches. The following weeks would bring the same crew and the same women to another ranch. But the cattle industry in the southwest had taken a beating. Five or six hands (depending if Walker participated or not) could handle the work these days. Edgar was too old and arthritic. The Walker Ranch acreage was puny, hardly looked upon as a ranch at all by some, lush bottomland and national forest grazing allotments the only advantages keeping them in business. The men would start early and bring the cattle in from the range, move them through the canyons, across the highway, and through the creek toward the chute, separate mothers from calves, inoculate, brand, and castrate, and pen those ready for sale. The following morning they’d move the herd to winter pasture.
Walker might ride along, or not. As a kid, he’d been too excited the night before roundup to sleep. As an adult, the events of the previous night determined the hour he’d wake and whether a hangover prevented participating. She preferred he not show. Save Eugene getting worked up.
After adjusting Mother’s covers and whispering goodnight, she stopped in her old bedroom. Clothes still formed a mound at the foot of the bed and rhinestone jewelry, eye shadow, eyeliner, and every shade of lipstick covered the bureau. She opened a tube of Hot Stuff, raised the color to her nose and sniffed.
“There you are.”
Lee Ann stiffened.
“Seems we’re on opposite schedules,” Danielle said, filling the doorframe, one hand on her hip, the other patting her thigh.
“I didn’t mean to be snooping,” Lee Ann said, replacing the top on the lipstick. “Just wanted to make sure you were settled. I’ve been meaning to stop by the motel and get re-acquainted…”
“I’m going out in an hour, just came home to change clothes.”
Home. Lee Ann snatched the word, set it aside. Not yours. Mine. My kitchen waiting to be filled with men’s chatter, casseroles bubbling in the oven, today’s mail. Home. Mother waiting, clothes blowing on the line, elk passing through, birds nesting, dogs sleeping on the porch. My flowers, my orchard, my garden.
She said, “I’d like to sit down over a cup of coffee, catch up, and go over Mother’s schedule. Walker must have explained.”
“He did. Maybe this weekend,” Danielle said. “Where are my cats?”
Oh, dear. She’d forgotten to tell Edgar to feed them.
“They’re in the workshop. I’m afraid they’ll have to stay there. Mother’s allergic.” She stepped away from the dresser. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow afternoon after the men have eaten?”
Danielle entered the room and kicked off her shoes. “Sundays, I’m off at four.”
Lee Ann bolted toward the hall. “See you then. And congratulations on your remarriage!”