JUNE 3rd, 1885
Lily Seely came to see me today to ask me if I'd attend her when the baby comes. (Matt drove her out and made himself scarce while we talked. He knows how I feel about him.) I don't know why she thought I'd ever say no, but she nearly begged me and grabbed my hand so tight it hurt. Not to mention that she's been sickly since she came out from back East and Dr. Macy is all the way in Bozeman. It would take half a day for him to get out to the Seely place if something went wrong. With her constitution, I don't think things will go well. I guess I'm the closest thing to a midwife we have in the county. So, I said yes, and she wept a little and threw her arms around me like a long-lost sister. I couldn't help but hurt for her a little.
Before she left, she gave this little book to me to say thank you. She admitted she bought it for herself on her way through Bozeman when she first got here and was going to fill it with descriptions of her new Montana Territory prairie home and all her adventures, but her voice got real quiet and she said she just hadn't been able to think of anything to write in it. "You'll think of something, Jo," she said when she pressed it into my hand. "You always see the beauty that I don't. You're made for this place." Then her eyes got big and she blushed a little like she'd just said something ugly, but I knew what she had meant. I suppose she's right. I am made for this place. I can barely remember Boston anymore.
She said I should fill it with wonderful, secret things and then showed me the little lock on the front of the book and gave me the little key she had tied on the end of a ribbon. I had to laugh a little at that. I don't know who I am locking it against. There's the hired hands, but half of them can't even read. Well, I'm writing in it, anyway. We'll see how long I can keep it up.
Matt came around the side of the house about that time and said they had to be going. Lily said wistfully that she hoped they could stay a bit longer, but Matt got into the wagon without another word, and she had no choice but to climb in after him.
I told her I'd come by her place to check on her the next time I went into Sweet Grass to get the mail. I took her hand, and she squeezed it again. Then Matt pulled off, and her fingers uncurled from mine. She stayed that way, waving with her arm reached out until the wagon became just a dot in the distance.
I think we were all a little surprised when Matthew Seely brought her out from Pittsburgh. She looked like a little porcelain doll with those big, sad eyes. He had no business bringing her out here. Some people are made for this place. Lord help her, she is not. Here she is, though, stuck miles from the nearest living human depending on the likes of Matt Seely.
I hope I never get that way. Dependent on a man for my survival. Tied up to someone who never seems to pay me any mind. I won't be bartered away like some piece of furniture, dragged around to somewhere I don't want to be. I won't be a woman like that. Women like Lily Seely. Women like Mama.
And that's all the wonderful and secret things I have to say for one day.
JUNE 4th, 1885
This is my second day of writing, and that is two more days than I thought I would write! I have to admit, but I looked forward to it tonight. I waited until all the chores were done and then I ran and pulled the little book out of the trunk and sat by the fire.
I hired a new hand today. I can barely afford to pay and feed the ones I've already got, but I don't seem to be able to say "no" to people these days! It was late in the afternoon, and the weather was finer than it has been in weeks. I had the flaps on the windows open, and there was such a nice breeze while I heated up dinner. I could hear a horse coming up and went outside to see who it was.
There was a young man standing there, and he took his hat off as quick as he saw me. He was tall, with dark hair, and had eyes bluer than I think I've ever seen. Before I could ask who he was, he hurried over with his hat in his hands and said he'd been in Bozeman that morning looking for work and heard that they might be hiring out at the Cavanaugh place and then he asked if he could to talk to Mr. Cavanaugh. I told him Mr. Cavanaugh had been dead for years, and I was in charge and if he wanted work, he had to talk to me.
Well, that must have made him nervous, because he started to stammer and almost crushed his hat in his hands. "I'm sorry, m-m-m-a'am. They didn't tell me that in B-B-Bozeman! I'm sorry if I've offended you!"
He seemed so sincere I had to laugh, and that only made him blush more. "It's all right. But they've misled you in Bozeman. I'm not looking to hire anyone. I'm sorry you've wasted a trip."
He looked crestfallen and kind of shuffled his feet and turned around to look at the long road back to Bozeman before he faced me again, still crushing his hat in his hands. "Well, the thing is, ma'am." His voice was so quiet, I could barely hear. "I've spent just about the last penny I've got to my name. If you have some small job for me to do in exchange for a meal, I sure would be obliged."
I could see the little dark hollows in his cheeks, and how scared his eyes looked for just a second when he lifted them up off the ground and looked at me. That's a look of hunger, and I know it well. I nodded my head to where Dasher was corraled up. "How are you at roping?" I finally said to him.
"Best in three counties." He grinned so wide I thought his face might split in two.
"Just so long as Sweet Grass County is one of them." I couldn't help but smile back at him, and we walked down to the little corral. I threw my leg up over the fence and perched there while he jumped inside the ring.
I had always thought Pete was the best one I'd seen with horses, but I'd never seen anything quite like this. Dasher was spooked, but the next thing I knew, he had jumped bareback on Dasher. Dasher kicked and brayed for a few seconds, but then he was trotting around the ring while the new hand smoothed out his tangled mane.
I grinned over at him. "There's some wood around back that needs splitting. Then come around front, and I will see what I can find for you to eat."
He jumped from Dasher, and then he hurried around the back. I went inside and mixed up a few more biscuits and the last of the stew and listened while he chopped outside. It was nice not to do it myself or not to have to needle lazy Pete or Sid to do it.
And then, well - I'm not sure what happened or why it took me like it did. I went around to tell him supper was ready, and when I turned the corner, he stood there with his back to me, the axe lifted high over his head and then brought it down hard onto the stump. He had taken his shirt off, and his skin was damp with sweat. The muscles in his arms and back were hard and ropy. He was used to hard work. Then it was me who was blushing, and I turned around and hurried back into the house before he could see. I don't know why I did that, and I feel silly now that I am writing about it. I've seen the hands working in the field half-naked before. It would make some of the other ladies of the county have a fit of vapors, but I don't care about it. I don't know why I blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. I suppose it was sneaking up on him like that.
He came inside after making quick work of the firewood. He'd put his shirt back on and had smoothed down his hair and washed his face from the rain barrel. He kind of hovered nervously in the door until I invited him to come in to the table and eat.
"Thank you, ma'am," he said.
"Please. It's Jo or Miss Jo or Miss Cavanaugh, if you have to. But not ma'am," I said, and he smiled and nodded and sat down at the plate I'd set for him.
He wolfed it all down like a man who had barely eaten in days. Maybe he hasn't. He didn't seem to mind that the "orange marmalade" was really carrots boiled in sugar and ginger. That funny Englishman who runs the store in Sweet Grass cuts the corn meal with sawdust, I am certain of it, too, but my guest never seemed to notice or care.
We talked a little, when his mouth wasn't full. He told me he'd come from Wisconsin and both his parents were dead. He had tried to make a go of the farm himself, but they owed the bank too much money, so he headed west to try and make his own way. He'd made it to Bozeman the other day, and that is how he ended up at my table.
I looked at him for awhile as he sopped up the last of the stew with the wretched biscuits.
"Planting is coming up. Maybe I could use another hand after all."
He looked up at me, his mouth still full, and he swallowed hard. "Truly?"
"Come for supper on Sunday. I'll have one of the boys get you settled in. We'll start planting the next morning."
I took the empty plate from him, and he jumped up from the table so quick, he knocked his chair backwards.
"Thank you, ma'am! I mean, Miss Jo. You won't be sorry! Sunday for supper. I won't be late." He backed away and fumbled for the hat he'd left inside the door.
I followed him out, and he had gotten on his horse, still thanking me all the way.
"Wait! I don't know your name!' I said with a laugh and handing him up the biscuits and marmalade I'd wrapped up in some cheesecloth.
He touched the brim of his hat. "It's Woody, Miss Jo. Woody Hoyt." And then Woody Hoyt turned his horse around and rode off until Sunday night.
I like him. I think he'll do fine.
