Prairie Cowboy

Rachael raced to his side, darting cautious glances at Virnie. “She’s going to do it?”

Conor nodded.

Virnie thought he looked like he regretted it already. She left them to say goodbye. But as she walked away she overhead him say, “Don’t expect her to stay when things get hard.”

Virnie grinned. If he thought she’d turn tail and run at the first challenge she encountered, he didn’t know the things she’d faced in the past.

Chapter Four

Virnie found lots of work to do in the house and enlisted Rachael’s help, hoping to teach her a few coping skills. Her first task was to wash dishes. It was a standard kind of job that occurred in every house across the nation every day. Only this was Conor’s kitchen and as she scraped the dirty dishes she got glimpses of what he ate, the meager sort of meals he endured and wondered how either he or Rachael survived. She felt his presence in every corner of the room. She wondered how he spent his evenings. Did he read? She saw little evidence of it though she didn’t venture into his room. She tried not to think of him sitting over a cup of tea, wanting to share his day with someone.

She pushed aside an increasingly familiar awareness of the empty areas of her life. It would be nice to share stories of her day with someone. She scoffed at her silliness. If she wanted to share she had only to sit down and pen a letter to Miss Price. But it wasn’t the same.

When Rachael complained they didn’t need to wash all the dishes, only what they needed, Virnie chuckled. “Sounds like something your pa says.”

“Yup.” Then thinking Virnie might expect better English from her, corrected herself. “Yes. ‘No need to waste time on needless chores,’ he says.”

Virnie tried to think of a way to show Rachael that house chores were as necessary as farm chores. “Why does your pa insist the pens are cleaned every day?”

“Easier to move a little manure than a lot.”

“Same with dishes. It’s easier to wash what you use every day than face the dirty stack when you run out.”

Rachael looked startled.

“So we’ll wash all these dishes and put them away and then every day you wash the ones you use. That way you don’t have to try and find something clean when you’re hungry.”

They finished the stack. Virnie scrubbed the cupboard and put everything away. “Doesn’t that look nice?” The tabletop was clean and scrubbed, the stove shiny black.

Rachael giggled. “Pa wouldn’t know it was the same place.”

They tackled the rest of the room. Virnie discovered beautiful wood floors that gleamed once she’d scrubbed and polished them. She saw Conor’s handwork in the hand-hewn window ledges and his craftsmanship in every detail of the house. The house revealed a pride that belied its current condition. There must have been a time he valued a nice home.

As Virnie polished a window, she wondered what had caused Conor to change his mind. Certainly the death of his wife formed a large part of it. Aching for his loss, she pressed her lips together to stop their trembling.

Friday afternoon, she followed Rachael into the cleaned house and stopped as a wave of sensations poured over her again, making her feel teary. She struggled to identify the cause of her reaction. The place felt like home. She felt she had a part in making it welcome. It wasn’t her home and never would be but a longing for such a home and welcome grabbed at her insides until she struggled to catch her breath.

She closed her eyes momentarily to stop the sensation.

This was not what she wanted. No. She had set her heart on being a teacher like Miss Price—helping many children, devoting herself to a worthy cause.

She gathered her thoughts and hung her hat on the nearby hook. Next to Conor’s coat. His scent filled her senses—masculine, and hinting of his work with animals, reminiscent of her days helping Miles. She rested her head against the wall and fought for control. This was Conor and Rachael’s home. Her home was a tiny room in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell. Miss Price had taught her to enjoy the privacy of her own room and to realize the rest of the house belonged to others. It was the way things were for teachers. Virnie knew it well and not only accepted it, she enjoyed it.

So why this sudden, overwhelming reaction to a house she had cleaned and polished, this blur of tears at the bouquet of scents from Conor’s coat—reminding her both of Miles and Conor?

Rachael ran out to gather eggs then returned for the milk pail.

“Pa says I’m the best little milker. I can milk the cow faster than he can. I think it’s ’cause she likes me.”

She was gone again, leaving Virnie struggling with her war of emotions. She touched Conor’s coat, fingering the woolen texture, freeing another waft of scents. Why did he treat Virnie like she couldn’t be counted on? Why did he try and make Rachael so tough? What had happened to his wife?

She jerked her fingers from the fabric and pushed herself from the wall, away from her silly meanderings. It was the weekend and she intended to tackle Rachael’s room today. Tomorrow she would wash clothes.

As soon as Rachael returned and the milk was tended to, Virnie led the way to the bedroom. “Rachael, remember what I say in school? A neat desk is an efficient desk. Same with your bedroom. Keep it clean and you’ll waste far less time looking for things.”

Before they could put anything away, it was necessary to clean out the drawers of the chiffonier. In the bottom one, under a collection of rocks and feathers and other little treasures, Virnie found a picture.

“This must be your mother. You look very much like her.” A beautiful woman with lovely hair.

Rachael grabbed the picture from Virnie’s hands. “Don’t tell Pa I got this. I’m supposed to forget her.”

Virnie struggled to hide her shock. It hurt to forget one’s mother. “Why is that?”

“Because she was weak. She was supposed to help him but Pa says she just lay down and quit living all because she missed the easy life of the city. Pa says we have to work hard to have a home no one can take from us.”

That explained so much. His insistence that Rachael be tough, his neglect of the house—no doubt the poor man had lost his dreams along with his wife. Or did men have dreams?

Rachael put the picture back in the drawer and covered it with an old shirt. “I don’t want to disobey Pa but I want to have a ma, too, even if it’s only her picture.”

“I understand. I won’t tell your pa.”

They worked together sorting out the room, but Virnie’s thoughts tended to stray. She identified with Rachael’s need for a mother. In Virnie’s case, Miss Price had proved an adequate substitute. But a person needed a pa, too. Hers hadn’t wanted her so she’d struggled to forget that need. But in spite of her sincerest attempts, she could not shake the desire for recognition from her father. Somehow, she had to make Rachael realize how fortunate she was to have that even if it carried a requirement to be tough.

“At least you have your pa and you know he cares about you.”

Rachael giggled. “He loves me but says it might make me soft if he tells me. So he saves it for special occasions.”

Virnie couldn’t help wondering what occasions constituted as special enough for the words so she asked.

“Christmas morning, the first thing he says is, ‘I love you, Rae.’ And my birthday.” Rachael giggled again. “He makes up special occasions, too—the first robin of spring, the first snowfall. Stuff like that.”

Virnie’s throat tightened and her teeth felt brittle. Tears threatened. As Miss Price often said, her eyes had a tendency to leak. But thinking of Conor’s tenderness hidden under the cloak of his toughness touched her in secret places that ached for something she didn’t dare identify. It so filled her with longing and wanting that she struggled to contain her emotions. If only she could have the same tenderness extended to her. Her imagination raced out of control. She saw herself standing in the living area she had recently cleaned, a savory meal simmering on the stove as she awaited Conor’s return and a taste of that tenderness.

Chastising herself for her inability to rein in her thoughts, she grabbed an armload of dirty clothes off the bed. “Tomorrow you can help me do the laundry.” Hooks on one wall burgeoned with more clothes. “Let’s sort these out.” She quickly determined many of the items were too small or needed serious repair. The last item on one hook was a pretty blue calico dress. Virnie held it out. “This looks new.”

“It is. My grandma from Philadelphia sent it.”

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“I’d only get it dirty.”

“It will wash.”

“Overalls make more sense.”

Virnie didn’t pursue the topic knowing Rachael quoted her father but she had an idea.

Sunday morning, she approached her plan. “I attend church Sunday. I’d like you to come with me.”