8
Murdock Ranch
SUNDAY, AUGUST 4, 1900
Something sharp stung Hattie’s neck and she slapped her hand against the spot. She thought she’d been stung by a bee. But the skin of her palm encountered a small, soggy lump of paper. Oh, for pity’s sake, it was a spit wad. Peeling it off her neck, she looked over her shoulder into the grinning face of the culprit. “Clever, Moses. Very mature.”
Moses shrugged unrepentantly and dropped to sit cross-legged beside her. His white-blond hair glinted in the brilliant sunlight. “We’re twelve. Ain’t s’posed to be mature.” He helped himself to a piece of her watermelon. “This is good. Wanna have a seed-spitting contest?”
Ordinarily she’d love to, but she felt less than chipper all of a sudden. She had no idea why. Until now, she’d been having a grand time. It was a hot summer day, and the Murdocks had opened their ranch for a church social. Hattie had eaten her share of sweets this afternoon. But she’d never suffered from overindulgence in the past, and it hadn’t slowed her down during the sack races or the penny hunt through the hay pile. She’d simply enjoyed running and laughing with the boys, relishing the heat beating down on her hatless head.
Then out of nowhere a band of pain had gripped her stomach and lower back, her head felt achy, and stranger still, her bosoms hurt. Suddenly the noise and laughter grated on her nerves, and most mysterious of all, she felt like crying.
So, she refused his offer. “I’m not feeling so good,” she said by way of explanation when he showed signs of persisting. “I think I’m gonna walk down by the creek.”
“You want company?”
Unaccountably, Hattie’s temper rose, tempting her to snap at him. “No, thanks,” she retorted with strained patience. “I just wanna be by myself for a little while.” Offering him the rest of her plate, she stood and walked away.
Once she had distanced herself from the festivities, her mood lightened. She followed the creek through a patch of woods and out the other side to a spot where the banks widened and the creek formed a shallow pool. This was one of her favorite spots in all of Mattawa. She’d discovered it last summer, shortly after coming to live with Aunt Augusta.
Hattie sat on the grassy bank and struggled with her shoes. They weren’t easy to unfasten without her buttonhook, but finally she freed her feet and quickly rolled down her stockings, grabbing their toes to pull them off. After carefully placing the thin stockings in her shoes, she gathered up her skirts and petticoat and stepped into the water.
Glacier fed somewhere in the Cascades, it was ice-cold even on the hottest days, and Hattie hissed in a breath at the shock of it. Its temporarily numbing chill, however, didn’t prevent her from edging across the pebbled creek bed until she was immersed to her knees.
Then, growing accustomed to the chill, she sighed with pleasure. She was tempted to strip down to her chemise and drawers so she could plunge into the depths of the pool where it deepened in the lee of a jutting outcrop of boulders. If the ranch wasn’t swarming with people, she’d have already done so. Thinking about the privacy she’d lost, she experienced a flash of resentment toward the church congregation for overrunning the ranch.
And promptly felt ashamed of herself. Criminy, the ranch wasn’t even hers; she didn’t understand her sudden possessiveness and grumpy mood at all. Climbing out of the creek, she collapsed on the grassy bank and sat with her legs thrust out in front of her, skirts cocked around her thighs to allow the sun access to her damp skin.
It wasn’t like her to give in to such mean-spirited moodiness. If she was happy, she generally smiled and laughed. If she was angry, she yelled. If she was sad, she cried—but in private, if possible, because she hated the defenseless, out-of-control feeling crying created. It was bad enough to find herself a helpless victim of tears. The last thing she needed was to have another person witness them.
So, her disposition was ordinarily straightforward. It wasn’t like her to be having a grand time at a church picnic one minute, then resenting the people who helped organize it the next.
Heavy cramping in her lower back and stomach struck suddenly, and Hattie’s knees pulled into her chest in an instinctive attempt to lessen the pain. Wrapping her arms around her shins, she hugged her legs tightly to her body and rolled into a fetal position on her side.
What in mercy’s name was the matter with her? She was getting scared and for the first time realized perhaps wandering away from the crowd hadn’t been in her best interests. When the pain lessened a little, she pushed to a sitting position and reached for her stockings.
She was just working her toes into the first one when she felt a warm, liquid rush between her legs. Skirts canted up around her hips, she stared in horror at the blood slowly spreading a darkening red stain across the pristine white crotch of her drawers.
“Hello, Moses.”
“Hiya, Mr. Murdock. This is some swell picnic.”
“It turned out pretty nice, didn’t it? Have you seen Hattie around?”
Moses swallowed the too-large bite of apple pie he’d just forked into his mouth. Knuckling the crumbs off his mouth, he replied, “She said she didn’t feel so hot. Last I saw of her, she was heading for the creek. Said she wanted to be alone when I offered t’go with her.”
“Okay, I’ll track her down from here. Thanks.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Murdock.” Moses scraped the last of the pie into his mouth and headed back to the dessert-laden table.
Jake struck out for the woods, glad to leave the festivities. In the ten months since his marriage, he’d had less and less reason to laugh, and it was exhausting pretending to be happy when he wasn’t. It didn’t help knowing he had no one to blame for his predicament but himself.
The signs had all been there, but he’d refused to read them. Jane-Ellen hadn’t changed overnight; she was still the sweet girl she’d always been. He couldn’t even fool himself into thinking she’d tricked him by pretending to be enamored of his physical advances before their marriage. The truth was, he’d been so eager to believe she was anticipating the intimacies of marriage as much as he was, he had willfully ignored every indication to the contrary.
If he hadn’t allowed himself to be so ruled by lust every time she was near, he might have noticed she disdained his tongue when they were kissing, that she knocked his hand away whenever it trespassed in the vicinity of her breasts.
He blew out a frustrated breath. He might have noticed they actually had very little in common. But, no. He had let his cock do his thinking and now he was reaping what he’d sown.
Yet . . . what twenty-three-year-old man didn’t? Jake bent to scoop up a few stones and furiously flung one at a felled tree. What the hell had he ever done to deserve being shackled for life to a woman who found his touch repulsive? He winged another rock, watching it hit the exact same spot. Repulsive, for Christ’s sake! He hammered the spot again with his last stone.
A caustic, humorless smile twisted Jake’s mouth. Well, how the mighty had fallen. The uncontested prince of the pleasure palaces not only couldn’t arouse his own wife; she found his touch repugnant. What a bitter joke. Too damn bad he’d forgotten how to laugh.
Impatient with his self-pity, Jake wondered what ailed Hattie. She’d looked the height of health when he’d noticed her earlier skipping rope, skirts flying, fat braid bouncing, its ribbon trailing untidily as usual into the explosion of curls beneath its constricting knot. If she’d been stuffing herself at the same rate as her friend Moses, she probably had a stomachache, although according to Mirabel she possessed a cast-iron constitution that was decidedly undeserved.
Stepping from dim woods to sunshine was momentarily blinding, but not to the extent that he couldn’t recognize Hattie down by the creek pool, naked as the day she was born, except for her chemise. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Hell, she’d just snuck off for a swim.
Then her frantic movements made a frown furrow his brow. Why was she splashing water up her legs like a dog spraying dirt digging up a bone? As Jake drew closer he was shocked to see tears pouring down her cheeks and realized her actions were tainted by hysteria.
He broke into a run. “Hattie?”
Hattie’s head snapped up. “Jake?” She scrambled out of the creek and threw herself into his arms. She was never so relieved to see anyone in her life. She’d torn off her dress, petticoat, and bloomers before wading knee-deep into the stream in a frantic attempt to rinse the blood away. But it kept trickling out of her despite her efforts to staunch it.
“Oh, Jake, there’s something the matter with me. My stomach and back hurt so bad and I’m bleeding and it won’t quit . . . uhh, jeez!” She bent double with a new cramp, her arms wrapped around her middle.
Jake scooped her up and carried her to a level spot on the grassy slope. Placing her on a patch, he sat beside her and whispered, “Shh, baby, it’s okay. Show me where you’re bleeding and I’ll fix you up. Did you crack yourself on something?”
She clutched his pastel suspender in a frantic fist. “No, you don’t understand. It just started for no reason at all, and it’s coming out of my private place and won’t stop. Please, we’ve got to stop it before I bleed to death. Please, Jake.”
“Your private . . . ?” Jake froze. His one brief, involuntary glance down showed him budding breasts beneath Hattie’s thin chemise—and wispy curls gracing her mound, lighter in color than the brilliant copper on her head. A bit of blood smeared her thighs. Oh.
Oh shit. He whipped his head in the other direction, staring determinedly through the trees as he kicked himself for being so wrapped up in his own life these past long months, he’d neglected to notice the changes she was undergoing. At the same time, he sagged with the relief of knowing she wasn’t seriously hurt. “Hattie, honey, I think you’re getting your first menses.”
Jesus, the poor kid must have had a million and one questions and no one to answer them. He was filled with a quiet fury. Neither his mother, nor Mirabel, nor his wife, apparently, had seen fit to prepare her, and consequently she’d been unnecessarily terrified. His fury raged hotter at the damned hypocritical system deliberately fostering ignorance in its young women in the name of purity and morality.
He wanted to hit something for the fright Hattie had received and for Jane-Ellen’s unnatural fear of sexual intimacy. Instead, he removed his handkerchief from his pocket, folded it into a pad, and, keeping his eyes averted, instructed her to press it between her legs. He gathered Hattie’s clothes together, rinsed her soiled drawers, and spread them in the sun to dry. He instructed her to dress and watched the leaves of a nearby aspen flutter gently in the breeze. Finally, he resumed his seat next to her. After a brief hesitation, Jake pulled her onto his lap.
And began to talk.
Hattie listened with growing relief as Jake explained about menstruation and all the other bodily changes she’d been experiencing. He stressed it was a natural element of growing up, explained the reasons for the changes, and briefly described how babies were made.
Hattie had been in a state before his arrival. When Jake finished furnishing her with information covering every single thing worrying her, she was almost giddy with relief. Her stomach still hurt dreadfully, but she could cope with the pain now she knew it wouldn’t kill her. Jake said there was medicine at the house to help ease her discomfort, collected her mostly dry knickers, and, back turned, handed them to her to pull on over the pad he’d made.
The medicine turned out to be a cordial glass filled nearly to the brim with straight whiskey, which burned her throat and made her cough. But it exploded warmly in her stomach and eased the awful pain gripping her innards. He assisted her slightly tipsy progress to her room and left her there, promising to send his mother.
A chastened Augusta entered Hattie’s room a short while later. Jacob had lit into her furiously, and quite deservedly, she admitted. She couldn’t help feeling, however, there was something else behind his unexpected tirade.
She hoped he wasn’t changing his mind about him and Jane-Ellen living with her for the next year while he established his practice. True, no one had to twist his arm to gain his acceptance to Augusta’s proposal, and his manner toward the family females was as it had always been.
Yet she couldn’t help but sense a new tension in him since his marriage. All newlyweds underwent a period of adjustment, of course, but Jake and Jane-Ellen had been married nearly a year. All Augusta knew for sure was that Jacob didn’t laugh as frequently as he used to, so perhaps his sudden dip in humor was because he was chafing beneath the lack of privacy.
She mentally shrugged as she gazed at the young girl she’d let down. She’d address Jacob’s mood swings later. A more immediate apology needed to be made.
One would never guess Augusta was in the throes of a dilemma the next day if they saw her sitting serenely in her parlor, her face tranquil as she sipped her tea. But what in heaven’s name was she going to do about Hattie’s friendship with Moses? It was quite improper, now Hattie was officially a young woman.
Augusta knew she should put an immediate stop to it before the child’s reputation was further damaged. As things stood, in the year Hattie had been here, she had yet to be fully accepted. A continuing friendship with the Marks boy now that Hattie was budding so rapidly into womanhood would only serve to alienate her further. Past a certain age, it was unheard of for a young man and woman to associate beyond a rigorously structured social setting. A setting that was carefully approved and chaperoned by responsible adults.
Quite rightly so, Augusta had always believed. And yet . . .
Moses was Hattie’s only friend. The other young women in their social circle avoided her assiduously and, worse, carried tales home to their parents. Just envisioning her young ward’s loneliness should Augusta insist on terminating Hattie’s one and only friendship made her heart ache. Upon reflection, it also made her angry. No, it wasn’t proper that a boy was Hattie’s only friend. But neither, in Augusta’s opinion, was total isolation. Hattie was gregarious and sweet, given half a chance. Unfortunately, that was something she hadn’t been given in this town, except by Moses and the ranching community. And unfortunately, the latter didn’t signify, if Hattie was to find a place in the society they moved in.
If Augusta did the proper thing, she knew perfectly well what Hattie’s reaction would ultimately be. She was a headstrong girl who could only practice piano so many hours, only take so many solitary horseback rides. Sooner or later she’d rebel.
Plus, Moses Marks was a likable, presentable young pup, far more agreeable than a good many young women in this town. Yes, better by far if Augusta allowed their friendship to continue in the open where she could maintain supervision. Better than risking driving it underground where ideas thus far not even considered had an opportunity to flourish.
But, Lord, it was easier raising a boy! How unfair that males could get away with worlds more than girls. God knew, it wouldn’t be Moses Marks the town whispered about if Augusta failed as a diligent overseer of the boy’s friendship with her ward. No, indeed. It was Hattie’s reputation that would tatter beyond repair. Yet Augusta felt she had to take that chance. She was quite sure having no one at all to call friend would destroy something vital in Hattie.
Please, God, help me guide that sweet child past the pitfalls of the next few years.
Then let her fondest wish be realized. Let Hattie someday find someone who would love her the way Augusta’s Luke had once loved her. The way Jacob loved his Jane-Ellen.
The way Jacob loved Jane-Ellen changed during the next several years. He had known the newly-in-love feeling couldn’t last forever. But he’d expected it to gradually grow into something deeper, like the relationship he’d witnessed between his parents.
When Jane-Ellen repudiated an entire aspect of him, his love for her changed in directions he’d never envisioned. He pitied her for harboring such fear. He also resented it. And it wasn’t always possible to rationalize away the pain her rejection caused or to take the sympathetic view. He was a man, dammit, a healthy, virile man. He hungered for a night with a woman who actually enjoyed that aspect, instead of fearing it. The best he could manage was accepting the fact he and Jane-Ellen had created false ideals of each other. Ideal mates who never existed outside their imaginations.
But Jake’s love, once given, wasn’t easily abandoned. He was hurt. He was sorry for Jane-Ellen’s terror of intimacy. And he was angry. None of his needs were being met, but how could they be when his wife had no concept of desire? But he was bullheaded—a fighter who refused to relinquish his feelings without first giving their marriage his all.
Most of his life he’d been spoiled by women. He genuinely appreciated them and learned early how easily they were pleased by simple kindnesses and honest praise, traits that fostered their appreciation in return. So, since his first full day as a husband, he’d attempted to make what had worked for him in the past work for him now. He courted Jane-Ellen as assiduously after the wedding as he had before it. She was affectionate, sweet, and appreciative of his efforts. But it didn’t change the fact that as each evening edged toward bedtime, her conversation grew forced, and she tensed up and suffered an inordinate number of headaches.
Jake thought buying their own home might make a difference, but his wife panicked at the mere suggestion. Jane-Ellen didn’t want to leave Augusta’s. With newfound cynicism, he decided she probably enjoyed the relative security of knowing he couldn’t bother her during the day there. He began to spend less time at home, putting long hours into first establishing, then growing his law practice or going out to the ranch to exhaust himself with hard physical activity.
For more than four years he remained faithful. But the day arrived when he relinquished his last hope of making his wife desire him in any physical sense. In the last two years, it had become increasingly apparent that sexual matters between them were never going to change. He’d nonetheless hoped that, as was the case of the new century—bombastically coined an era of peace, prosperity, and progress—his personal life would also miraculously flourish. But he finally grew tired of waiting for changes that were never going to happen. Hell, he was tired of it all. Tired of catering to Jane-Ellen’s fears; tired of denying his own needs; tired of feeling like a monster in his own bed. Until one night he finally said the hell with it and began frequenting Mamie Parker’s establishment again.
Shortly after that, he realized he was happiest at the ranch. For as long as he could remember, he’d prepared to be an attorney. It was what his father had wanted for him, and as the child of a rancher, Jake, too, had dreamed of a sophisticated career in town.
But the boyhood fancy held little satisfaction for the man he’d become. There were moments he still loved practicing the law. More often, however, he felt stifled by the confines of his office. Ultimately, the day came when he walked into his suite of offices, sat down in his leather chair, and, seeing the spring day beckoning outside the window, knew he didn’t want to do this for the next thirty years. He made arrangements to turn all except a few select clients over to the partner he’d taken on the previous year. He’d retain his license and practice in a limited capacity. But he’d do so from the ranch. He was going back to what he loved best.
He informed Jane-Ellen of his decision that evening and told her to pack her bags.
“Just like that?” she demanded. “No discussion?”
“Just like that,” he agreed coolly. Frequenting whores had satisfied his body for a brief time but left him feeling hollow to the core. His law practice still provided an occasional thrill, yet mostly left him feeling like a caged wild animal.
This, at least, was something he could arrange to suit his needs—and nothing was going to stop him. “If you don’t want to go with me, then stay here. If you’re ready to let go of Augusta’s apron strings, pack up. Either way, I’m moving out to the ranch tomorrow.”
He started to leave the room but paused in the doorway. “If you’re worried I’ll suddenly begin demanding my rights as a husband five times a day, rest easy. I’m not planning to approach you any more frequently than I do at this time. I’d happily leave you alone entirely, Jane-Ellen, except I’d like to have a kid someday.”
She flushed scarlet, manifestly mortified, humiliated, and relieved all at once. But gathering her dignity around her, she drew herself up proudly. “I am your wife,” she said primly, ignoring his cynical smile. “Of course, I go where you go. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to the arrangements.”
Jake and Jane-Ellen Murdock, married four years, five months, two weeks, and six days, left Augusta’s house the next day to establish their own home on the Murdock Ranch outside of town.