The Milch Bride (4 page)

Looking over her shoulder, she slid a dresser drawer open. The
top drawer was full of baby clothes. Each garment was soft, clean and new,
little caps, sweaters, gowns, booties and blankets. The other end held diapers
like the one she had first removed from the baby. She lifted the soft white
cloth, noticing the neatly hemmed edges and the blue initials J.D.H. in the
corner. Had his mother picked two names, a boy’s and a girl’s?

Suddenly her eyes were pooling with tears and she sank back
onto the bed. She lay, pressing her hand against her mouth, willing herself not
to sob. She felt icy cold suddenly, unwilling to crawl under the covers,
helpless to move.

The sounds were soft, little hiccupping noises. Hattie rolled
off the bed pausing to pull back the covers before approaching the crib. Tiptoeing
she gazed down at the stirring baby. He was covered by a blanket so soft and
white it seemed to glow, making his skin look very red and new in contrast. So
tiny and helpless, he was totally dependent on her now.

Gently she gathered him into her arms, then laid him on the
bed and made quick work of changing him. She moved a pillow to form a barrier
on the side of the bed, then rolled the crib up against the pillow and bed,
even as the baby continued to fuss. Satisfied that he wouldn’t roll out when
she fell asleep, she walked around the bed and climbed into the other side.

Cuddling him close, she unbuttoned the loose gown and began
nursing him. Even as he fed, she let the sorrow slip from her. So what if his mother
had been rich, had time and means to make so many lovely things for him. The
thing she had wanted to give him was her love. Now Hattie would have to be the
one to hold him, feed him, and give him the love he needed to grow. Cocooned in
the soft bed, she felt content, promising the shadows in the room that she
would do just that.

Voices woke them, although Hattie had been up and down with
J.D. twice during the long night. Even though her own baby had not been as loud
or demanding, he had taught her how to grab sleep between interruptions. She
felt rested but groggy-headed.

As soon as she had tended J.D. she dressed. This time she
took the time to brush her hair and coil it atop her head in a loose bun
secured by pins, pins that like the brush, still held dark hair that must have
been Donna’s. Fed and dry, the baby fussed about being left behind. Hattie
picked him back up realizing she would have to find a way to put him down or
grow an extra set of arms.

Primly buttoned to the chin, she opened her door, surprised
to be stared at by seven sets of eyes. One of the cowhands held out a chair,
and Hattie took a seat, casting a questioning glance toward Jackson. He ignored
her and the men turned back to eating and talking, but she could feel most of them
peeking glances at her.

Rubye walked behind her, set a cup of coffee by her plate,
then took her plate and filled it with grits, eggs, and salt pork. She set it
down and when Hattie reached out for the last biscuit, one of the hands held
the plate out to her, another moved the sorghum pitcher closer, and a third
passed the butter dish.

The housekeeper grunted behind her, and Jackson made an
echoing sound. In minutes he had assigned all the men tasks, including three he
handed her list to. He ordered them to return to the Stoddard ranch to bring
her cattle, as well as the chickens, two mules and saddle horse that were still
in her barn. He told one to drive the buckboard with orders to load the rocker
and crates for the chickens, as well as any feed left in the barn or any food
left behind in the house.

Hattie interrupted. “We have a wagon and harness in the barn,
you won’t need to take the buckboard.”

He arched a brow and glared at her. Obviously Jackson was a
man who didn’t want to be corrected.

Hattie blushed, embarrassed at how little they would find to
pack. She had already taken everything of value, her mom’s cook book, the family
bible, and dad’s guns. While Jackson was loading her books and guns, she had
removed the brick under the stove and pocketed the twenty-two dollars and
change that was still hidden there. She had been tempted to pay for her clothes
yesterday, a show of pride that seemed meaningless to a woman in her
circumstances. Instead, she had kept quiet, taken the clothes as part of her
compensation, and held the money for future emergencies.

Rubye set down the coffee pot and moved over into the chair
beside Hattie as soon as one of the cowboys stood up. She held out her arms and
Hattie was surprised at how reluctant she was to surrender the baby.

She worked on breakfast, aware that Jackson had come around
the table, standing over the housekeeper to look at the baby, as though making
sure he was still the same.

Hattie was glad she had taken the extra time to change his gown
and add a pair of the soft blue booties. When Rubye unwrapped the tight blanket,
they were not the only ones to smile at the waving fists and little booteed
feet. A couple of the cowboys cooed and Jackson reached out a hand, delighted
when a wet little fist grabbed a finger and tried to guide it toward his mouth.

“Hungry, boy?”

Hattie set down her coffee cup. “He ate all night, and has
already had breakfast.”

Jackson nodded, still enjoying the wet gnawing of his son on
his finger. “Well, you better eat up so you can keep up with him.”

One of the hands made a joke to one of the others and
Jackson glowered at him, “You men wait outside for me.”

As soon as they left he turned on her. “My apologies for my
men, but maybe it would be best for you to eat in your room or wait until they
aren’t here to come out, especially if you intend to draw attention to your
bosom when they are present.”

Hattie rose in a flourish. “I did nothing to warrant that
comment from your men or from you. But if you want me to eat in my room and
stay hidden, I’ll be glad to do it.”

“I think it would be for the best. Your reputation precedes
you. There’s nothing you can do to change it. Men will be men. J. D. needs you
to survive, but I don’t need to run interference between you and a bunch of
randy cowhands.”

Hattie knew her face was on fire, since it always flamed
when she lost her temper. She should just bite her tongue and storm into the
bedroom, but she had never been one to run from a fight.

“I’ve done nothing to warrant my reputation. Watching my
father be beaten nearly to death, robbed, then tied and forced to watch my rape
by three drunken cowhands is not my fault. If you are like the rest of the
gossips in town, then so be it. But if you cannot guarantee my safety here, you
and your son had better find another wet nurse.”

The words were brave but she was trembling. Hattie felt the
tears gathering and clenched her fists at her side, her nails digging into her
palms.

Once again, Jackson doubted the gossips. He had seen the
evidence of broken furniture and the damaged body of her father, the pathetic
scrap of a baby. But what kind of town was Star if it would let a young woman
be brutalized and do nothing to her attackers? It just couldn’t be true.

He stared at her small angry face, gritted teeth, and tear
brightened eyes. She was a feisty little thing. He recalled the streaks on the
face of Rafe Hogue, the limp of Silas Sweat and the ugly red spots on the cheek
of Able Sweat. He had a feeling he knew who had given the marks to them. What
was the truth? What had Able called to Silas, “Got you again, brother.”

Rubye held the baby who was emitting a half-hearted squall and
moved to the other side of the table, staring from one to the other. “Hey, is this
row necessary?”

Jackson lifted his hat, set it on his head. “I’ll set my men
straight. It would still probably be easier for you if you ate before them or
after they leave.”

He stopped at the door, tipped his hat at her. “One thing I
can promise you Miss Harriett Stoddard, as long as you’re in my house, you will
be safe. We made an agreement, and J.D. still needs you. I’ll make sure the men
know that.”

The door slammed shut and Hattie sank into her chair. The
baby gave a little whimper at the loud noise. Rubye walked over to the
fireplace, then turned to pace back.

Hattie stared at the half-eaten plate of food and tried to
make the knot in her stomach relax by breathing deeply. Slowly she raised the
coffee cup to her mouth and drained the cold, bitter liquid. Determinedly she
ate, swallowing anger, shame and frustration with each bite.

Hattie carried her dishes to the kitchen, standing to stare
out the window for a minute. Three men rode out of the yard south, hopefully
they were heading to her ranch. Then Jackson and the remaining three rode off
in the opposite direction. She washed and rinsed her dishes, then dried them,
looking around, she attacked the others waiting to be washed. The activity
helped restore her calm.

Glad that Rubye was still happy to hold J. D., she finished
clearing the table and washing up, then found the broom and swept out the
kitchen and dining room. The hardest part of the agreement would be staying
inside, out of sight of the men. She was used to tending the animals, riding
fence, and spending most of her day out-of-doors. But she had also been her
dad’s ‘little housekeeper’ from the time her mother died when she was nine. As
long as she stayed busy, she could do this.

She scooted the chairs back, making sure she caught all the
dirt that had fallen off boots under the long table. She was stooping to brush
the last pile of dirt into the pan when the whimper changed in tone and Rubye
stood, bouncing the babe on her ample shoulder.

Hattie said, “Just a minute. She returned the broom and pan
and rinsed her hands, then came back to take the baby, but they were no longer
in the main room.

Hattie walked to her bedroom, glad she had made the bed. Rubye
was finishing with changing the baby who was in full squall. Hattie extended
her hand, feeling a strange clutching in her chest with the tremulous sound of
desperation in each cry. Without hesitation she leaned forward and put her face
against his, kissing his cheek and crooning to him. Immediately, the pitch of
his cry softened.

Rubye stepped back and Hattie gladly raised the baby to her
full breast. Perhaps it was his constant nursing; perhaps the fact that she’d
actually taken the time to eat three meals in a row, but she could tell the
difference in the amount of milk that was flowing at his ravenous suckling. She
would be able to do this, this baby would live. She used her left hand to cup
his little bottom and fit him into the curve of her right arm against her body.

“Go on, lay down with him. I’ll bring you something when the
vittles are ready at noon. If you wait and eat after the men, there won’t be
enough left to keep you fed.”

“Thank you, Rubye,” Hattie muttered, “Is there water in the
pitcher?”

The other woman raised her hands to her hips as though ready
to comment on people who wanted you to tote and fetch for them.

Hattie stood up and the baby pulled loose from the nipple
and started to protest.

Rubye shook her head, “never mind. We’ve a pump in the
kitchen, I’ll bring you some.”

Hattie settled back, bracing her back against the headboard
and swung her legs up. “I’ll get it next time. I’m just thirsty. Also I need to
wash out his clothes and hang them out to dry.”

Rubye stopped at the door, one hand again on her hip. She
was going to make another protest, but mumbled under her breath, “I’d like to
see that, missy.”

“When he’s finished,” Hattie added.

When J.D. finally quit, Hattie made sure to place a cloth
over her shoulder before coaxing a burp from him, remembering the sour smell of
milk on her gown this morning. No doubt about it, babies were smelly little creatures.
She downed a glass of water, then filled it again. J.D. tried to raise his head
up, his head wobbling on his weak neck. She cupped his head and before he could
change from a fuss to a cry, went ahead and offered him the other breast.

This time he suckled only a few minutes before dropping into
exhausted sleep. “You just wanted to know it was there, didn’t you little
piggy,” she whispered stroking his cheek to make sure he was finished.

She ran her fingers over his scalp, playing with the soft
dark hair there. She could probably put him in his bed and get back to helping
Rubye. She knew the woman resented her, for reasons too numerous to list. Perhaps,
if she helped her with her work, she wouldn’t resent her as much.

Instead, she removed her shoes and scooted down to stretch
out beside the sleeping baby, again using the other pillow to hold him wedged
against her. Maybe she could just lie here a minute, then she could get up and
help.

<><><> 

Rubye stepped in with a plate of beans and a thick piece of
cornbread, already buttered, and then set a tall glass of cold milk beside it.

Hattie sat up slowly, then wrinkled her nose. The baby lay
looking sweetly up at her. Rubye stared down at him. “I believe J.D. has a
present for you too.”

Hattie smiled and for the first time, Rubye smiled back.

<><><> 

The first group of men, including Jackson, came and went
quickly. Jackson knocked at the bedroom door, and Hattie hurried to open it,
but he was already hurrying away. “Brought a present for you,” he called.

She held the baby in her arms and he stopped and walked
back, leaning to stare down at the sleeping boy a minute before reaching out to
rub his downy head. The baby was sleeping, a pink sausage in the snug blanket.
He stared at them a minute, looking confused, then hurried out.

Hattie looked around, not spotting anything. She looked over
at Rubye, who nodded toward the living room. A crude wooden cradle sat rocking
before the empty fireplace. Hattie smiled, noticing the still damp wood.

“Men found it out in our barn and cleaned it up. Missus
didn’t want it, preferred her fancy new contraption. But we thought you might
find it handy to have a place to set the baby down when you’re out here, if you
want to use it,” Rubye said.

Hattie smiled her thanks, “I’ll need something to dry it out
and then something to pad it. I don’t have a quilt left, or that would work.”

Rubye lifted a hand. A minute later she was back with a
towel and a folded quilt. Hattie walked over a few minutes later, keeping an
eye out for the other men. Relieved, she put the sleeping baby down on the soft
quilt. She held her breath, sighing when he stayed asleep as she set the cradle
to rocking.

Quietly she headed back to the bedroom to gather the basin
full of damp and smelly baby clothes. Rubye had already put water to heat on
the back of the stove and there were two washtubs set up in the pantry, one
with soap beside it and the wash board standing up. The second tub held cold,
clear water.

Hattie had grown used to washing smelly clothes during the
last two weeks, but she had washed them out in the sunlight, not in a closed
room.

Her eyes burned from the ammonia fumes and she felt
frustrated when she splashed both her shirt and dark skirt while rinsing the
garments. Finally she had a basket of clothes ready to hang, including the
yellow gown and her dirty clothes from home. All had been washed, rinsed and
wrung out by hand. Her knees and back ached.

Rubye picked up the clothespins and started to take the
basket. But J.D. slept on and Hattie held onto the clothes. “I need to dry out a
little. The sunshine will help me.”

Rubye harrumphed, but walked her to the end of the porch and
pointed out the clotheslines.