Sunday, April 16, 1961
It was still only April. My parents died nine days ago, though it seemed longer. Spring was supposed to be a time of hope and rebirth. This year it didn’t feel that way to me. When I left Boston, daffodils were blooming, the grass was tall enough to cut and the trees were budding out. I remembered the opening of T.S. Eliot’s poem, The Waste Land. We studied it in English class and I learned the poem through and through.
When I got to Wyoming, the weather was more than a month behind Boston. There was even snow on the ground in places. Everything looked brown and dead. Or maybe that’s just how I felt. It was colder, too. I’d left my coat in one of the suitcases. My sweater felt warm enough on the plane. Leaving the airport though, I shivered. I didn’t want to ask the driver to wait while I searched through the luggage for my coat. So I just got into the car, grateful the heater made it comfortable.
My aunt’s Table Top Ranch was a half hour from the small town of Edgemont. As the limo climbed higher and higher into the mountains, my head began to ache.
I’d forgotten how big the mountains were. They dwarfed everything around them and made me feel small. How had settlers made it through this country in wagon trains?
I couldn’t imagine. Even sitting safe in the car, the steep road we traveled made me dizzy as I looked out the window.
When I got out of the car the smell of horses and the tang of manure drifted toward me. A horse whinnied. I heard hoof beats and voices in the distance. There was no traffic noise, no car exhaust or buses like in Boston. Everything in Wyoming looked different, sounded different, and smelled different.
And the wind? It blew constantly. My blonde hair fell across my eyes, blinding me until I rummaged through my purse and found a rubber band to pull my hair back. There was barely enough to make a pony tail. I wanted to grow it long. Mom liked it short. It didn’t matter. Now I could do what I liked with my hair. Instead of cheering me, I felt depressed.
Aunt Bess hurried down the steps from the white clapboard house toward me.
Little had changed since I’d seen her eight years ago. Her face was tan from being outside in all weather. There were a few more lines in the corners of her eyes from squinting at the sun. I looked into the same blue-grey eyes as my own. She could evaluate a person or a horse in one shrewd glance.
“I never thought you’d get here,” she said pulling me into a back-breaking hug. She smelled of horses, fresh air and coffee. “Thank God you arrived safe and sound,” she said and released me.
Taking a step back, she looked me over.
“How you’ve grown,” she said. “And you turned out real pretty.”
I stared at her like she’d lost her mind. I knew my mother had been beautiful. Me? The mirror I looked in showed a plain girl — not a pretty one.
My aunt dressed as I remembered in blue jeans, a western shirt and scuffed boots. Only her cowboy hat was missing. She pulled her blonde hair into a thick braid that reached to her waist. The streaks of grey in it weren’t noticeable unless you got up close.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, searching my face.
Before I could say anything, I started to cry.
“It’s gonna be all right, honey,” she reassured me, patting my arm. “You’re home now.”
That’s just it. Wyoming didn’t feel like home. I wondered if it ever would.
“I’m sorry,” I said wiping my eyes. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” she said. “You just lost your momma and your daddy. You’ve flown halfway across the country. You must be exhausted. Let’s get you inside.”
She put her arm around me and we headed to the house.
While we talked, the driver opened the trunk, grabbed my two suitcases and set them on the porch. He returned and set the big black portfolio beside the other luggage. With a quick ‘goodbye’, he turned the car around and drove off. A cloud of dust followed him.
“Where’s your coat?” asked my aunt.
“I left it in my suitcase,” I explained. “It was much warmer in Boston.”
“Well it’s not spring here yet.” Aunt Bess. “We’ll probably get another snow. Let’s get you inside before you freeze.”
She brought my bags inside. I followed, carrying the portfolio that contained my drawings and art supplies.
The entryway had hooks for coats along one wall and a bench. Underneath the bench, boots peeked out. On the other wall was a large closet. Although I hadn’t been here for eight years, the house had that comfortable, lived-in feeling I remembered as a kid. That reassured me and I realized, with a pang, that Boston had never felt that way to me.
The kitchen had a big stove and a deep sink large enough to bathe a small child. An overhead rack put pots and pans within easy reach. To the right, a large pine table dominated the sun-filled room. Cheerful yellow cafe curtains framed the window. The kitchen was the heartbeat of the ranch, where everyone gathered. There was always a pot of coffee on the stove.
The big living room had a cathedral ceiling with unfinished wooden beams. The room was filled with photographs and statues of horses instead of antique furniture and the modern artwork my mother favored. Red and blue Navajo blankets added vibrant color and a distinct western flair. Wide plank floors seemed natural for cowboy boots. How different from my Boston house with its cream wall-to-wall carpets that hushed sound. A large stone fireplace dominated the room with an eight-point buck mounted above it. From every window you could see Table Top Mountain. The view looked like something off a calendar.
“Let’s get you to your room,” said my aunt carrying one of my suitcases. I could barely lift the bag. Aunt Bess carried it up the stairs with ease. “I’ll bring your other bag up later,” she said over her shoulder.
We climbed a wooden staircase to the second floor. She opened the first door on the right into a room with a double bed, a small desk, book case, dresser and oval blue braided rug. A large window showed the mountains, a view that took my breath away no matter how often I saw it.
“The bathroom’s through that door.” She gestured. “This was the guest room. Now it’s yours. You’ll have the bathroom to yourself. I have my own.”
“Thank you. It’s very nice.”
My room in Boston was three times the size and had double the amount of furniture. I looked around. Then it hit me. My parents stayed in this room when we visited. For some stupid reason that made me want to cry.
Blinking back tears, I noticed a pair of blue jeans on the bed and a red plaid shirt. On the floor stood a pair of brown cowboy boots.
“I didn’t think you’d have the right clothes for the ranch,” she explained. “So I got you a few things. Mrs. Lawrence gave me your sizes.”
I looked down at my Boston clothes: black knit slacks, a plain white blouse and a grey cashmere cardigan sweater. They were fine for traveling, but not for the ranch.
“Mr. Trowbridge called,” my aunt said. “He’ll have your trunk sent next week.”
“There isn’t much to send,” I said. “Just more clothes and a few books. I brought almost everything with me — and all of my art supplies.”
“When did you become an artist?” asked Aunt Bess. “I don’t remember you drawing when you visited the ranch. You were how old? Six?”
“Seven,” I corrected. “I started drawing after we got back from visiting you. I wanted to draw the ranch while it was still fresh in my mind.”
She reached over and touched my cheek. “You and your father loved the ranch so. And your mother?” She laughed derisively. “Lord, she hated it.”
“I know,” I replied softly. “I wanted to see you the next summer after our visit. Mom enrolled me in summer camp instead.”
She smiled. “I know. Your dad told me.”
“The camp had an art program. Mom enrolled me in painting classes by then. She said I had real talent. All I wanted to do was draw and paint. That’s why I went to summer camp when Mom wouldn’t let me visit you.”
“Well, your mother usually got her way,” observed Aunt Bess.
“I got to stay with you,” I said. “Why did Mom agree to that? My nightmare was that I’d wind up with Mrs. Lawrence.”
My aunt smiled again. “It was the price for you going to summer camp. Your dad got her to agree that if anything happened to both of them, you’d come to Wyoming to live with me. Your mother never thought that would happen.”
“Neither did I.”
She hugged me again. “I’m sorry they’re gone. But I’m sure glad you’re here.”
The ice inside me began to melt. “So am I,” I whispered realizing I was an orphan and she was the only relative I had left.
Aunt Bess handed me the new clothes. “Why don’t you change? Then we’ll have lunch. You’ll feel better after you’ve had something to eat.”
My stomach growled and we both laughed at the sound.
I went into the bathroom, changed my clothes and washed my face.
The clothes fit. The blue jeans were uncomfortable because they were new. I rubbed my hands over the unfamiliar fabric.
“The blue jeans are stiff,” I said after I left the bathroom.
“They’ll get softer after a few washings,” my aunt assured me.
“I never wore jeans before,” I admitted.
“What did you wear?” she asked.
“Usually dresses or skirts. Mom liked me to look nice. We were always going to museums, concerts or art galleries. For school I wore a uniform.”
My aunt was going to say something else. She thought better of it. “Well everyone wears jeans on a horse ranch,” she reassured me. “Now you’ll fit right in.”
I wanted to believe her, even though I knew blue jeans weren’t going to make adjusting to ranch life any easier for me.
“Are they supposed to fit this tight?” I asked, looking down at the material that hugged my legs tighter than my slacks.
Aunt Bess turned me around and looked. “No, they fit just fine,” she replied.
I sat on the bed and pulled on the boots.
“I’ve never worn cowboy boots either,” I said, standing up and looking down at them.
“How are they? Did I get the right size?” she asked, anxiously.
I wiggled my toes. “They feel good.” A new outfit for my new life. I smiled even though I didn’t feel like it.
“Now you look like you belong on a ranch,” she said approvingly. She stood up. “I’ll let you get settled. Lunch in half an hour. After we eat, I’ll show you around the ranch.”
She paused at the door. “Russ is gonna join us.”
“Russ?”
“My foreman. He helps me run things.”
She left and I sat on the bed looking around the room. This was my new life. Suddenly I felt cold and rubbed my arms. I thought Wyoming would be different, that I’d feel better here with my aunt. Looking around the unfamiliar room I realized nothing had changed except my address.
I took a deep breath and let it out. I lifted the suitcase on to the bed and unpacked half of it. There were hangers in the closet. After I hung the clothes up, I wondered how many of these outfits I’d actually wear in Wyoming. The rest of my underwear and pajamas I put in the dresser.
Then with a huge sigh, I went downstairs.