JUNE 5th, 1885
The new hand started today.
The sun was starting to set, and the boys had come up for their supper. I had almost thought that Woody Hoyt had gotten a better offer, but as soon as I put the supper on the table, I heard him outside. I went to the door, and he was standing there, still rolling the brim of his hat around in his hands. I smiled a little at that and made a note to get him a new hat the next time I'm in Bozeman. It seems I make him nervous.
We all sat down to supper, and I think I made Pete jealous talking about how handy Woody had been with an axe. Pete is a little hotheaded sometimes, and I think he has an idea that he is in charge. I could see at the other end of the table that Woody was blushing while I was talking about him.
For dessert, I had made a pie with some boiled mashed beans and a little allspice and nutmeg that was so good it could have passed for pumpkin pie. The boys managed to finish it off before Pete grumbled, "He must be pretty special if you made a pie."
I said quickly that I make a pie for every new hand on the farm, but looking back on it, I don't think that's true.
It being Sunday, some of the boys wanted to hear some scripture. They passed Mama's old Bible around taking turns with the readings while I cleared up from dinner. Someone sang an old hymn, and I came in and sat with them. It reminded me of how Mama used to sing in the days when she still felt like singing. We still need a fire after supper to take of the chill, and it was quite cozy.
I told Pete to take Woody out to the bunkhouse and show him where to sleep. He grumbled some more, but gave him a hand with his rucksack. Woody turned to me before they all left, yawning and stretching all the way.
"Thanks for the chance, Miss Jo," he said and smiled.
I feel quite warm and content, and with that, I think I will say good night!
JUNE 6th, 1885
We managed to plant the spring garden today. There will be greens, radishes, beans, and peas this spring. I went in to get lunch ready, and I told Woody he was in charge while I was gone. Pete was none too pleased. It is not hard to see that Woody is the best worker I've got.
JUNE 10th, 1885
I knew my intentions of writing every day couldn't last too long. Most nights, I am too tired to write anything. Now that it stays light so much later, I can manage to write a few lines so I don't have to strain my eyes by lamplight. I will try to be more disciplined about writing, although I can hardly imagine that anyone would be interested in reading what I have to write in years to come.
I had a visitor today! Henry Slokum came by. He was wearing an old black suit and looked like nothing so much as an undertaker. It was comical, I will say. He went on and on about how lonely and hard my life must be here. I reminded him quickly that I had been running this place since Pa died 11 years ago, and I had been living alone since Mama died soon after.
"Still, it is unseemly for you to be living out here among the field hands without a man's protection," he said.
"Do you have some business with me, Mr. Slokum?" I interrupted him. I could see where he was getting.
He cleared his throat and put his black hat over his heart. "I have been alone since my dear wife passed away. As you know, I have the biggest claim in the county. What I do not have is female companionship. And you, Miss Cavanaugh...it isn't natural for a woman your age to be unwed."
I blinked at him a few times and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing! He was asking me to marry him! "Thank you, Mr. Slokum. I will have to consider your interesting offer."
"I certainly hope you will. You will not get a better one." And then he gave me the oiliest smile I have ever seen before riding off.
I laughed as he pulled away, but the more I thought about it all day, the angrier I got. I wanted to tell him what I really thought of him and run him off with a pitchfork. He's a powerful man, though. He's been taking advantage of some of the poor, starving farmers, and he's been buying them out cheap. He's got his eye on this place, too.
Well, he can't have it. Ever. I worked too hard to keep this place going after Pa died and left me to take care of it and Mama, too. I will not have it signed over to Henry Slokum or any man for that matter.
I killed two snakes this afternoon. One was curled up by the front door, and the other was sunning himself on the windowsill.
The weather is getting much warmer. I have always loved spring in Montana.
JUNE 12th, 1885
I had the boys all up for Sunday supper. They were tired and drowsy from a long day and were eager to shuffle off to bed as soon as it got dark. I remembered as they left that I needed someone to go to Sweet Grass in the morning to load some seed on the wagon. Woody was the last out the door, so I called out for him to stay until I could make up a list of things I'll need.
He seemed kind of wary and nervous at first, but I asked him to come sit by the fire (there is an unusual chill in the air) until I could finish the list. We talked a bit while I wrote. He doesn't say too much, but he is plain-spoken, a quality I appreciate in any person.
I turned my attention to my list, and the only sound for a while was the sound of the logs popping in the fire. And then I could hear him begin to snore softly, and he had drifted off in the chair. I smiled and then coughed rather loudly to wake him. He turned scarlet and raced out of the house with my list in hand, sputtering an apology all the way!
I didn't have time to warn him about Nigel at the store in Sweet Grass. He is an odd bird, but I like him, even if the bags of flour he sells me are half sawdust and plaster.
This will be a short entry, as I have stayed up entirely too late already.
JUNE 19th, 1885
As I promised, I went to see Lily Seely on my way into Sweet Grass. I had only planned to stop in, but she said Matt had gone to Bozeman overnight, and she craved company, so I stayed. She pulled out her good china and showed me the tea and the rum cake some relations had sent her from Pittsburgh. "This is a special occasion, I think!" she said and was positively giddy.
I hadn't been to the Seely place before. It's much smaller than ours. Matt Seely was a bachelor so long he didn't need much room. Lily has tried to make it nice. She had some furniture shipped in from back East, but you can't hide the fact that it is nothing but an old shack with a sod roof.
We sat quietly, neither one having much to say to the other. Maybe I'm used to drinking coffee and tea that tastes like it's been poured through a dirty sock, but I didn't think much of the expensive tea she'd had sent to her. 'You've fixed this place up real nice," I finally said, just to have something to say.
Her eyes lit up, and she looked around. "Do you think so? Well, I've tried." Then her face got cloudy, and there was only the ringing sound of her tea spoon against the side of her cup as she stirred. She glanced out the window, I guess to see if Matt was lurking around the corner.
She breathed out a sigh and then shuddered a little like she was breathing out a heavy burden. "I was in love back in Pittsburgh." At first I thought she was referring to Matt, but then when she looked at me and her eyes were teary, I knew that is not who she meant at all.
She brushed away her tears with the heel of her pale little hand and went on. "He was a Jew. Our families wouldn't let us marry. We weren't allowed to see each other or even speak once they found out. I thought we would find a way to be together, and then I heard he had gotten married to one of his own people."
She looked wistful for a second and gave me a little smile that had no humor in it. "Matt had come to Pittsburgh to do some business with my father. He would talk about the wide open prairie and how the sky gets so red before a thunderstorm. It just seemed so far away and so different than Pittsburgh. He came to me and said he needed a wife, and I might do if I didn't complain too much."
There was no need to tell the rest of her story. She had said yes to his proposal, if you could call it that. She sipped at her tea some more. "I haven't complained once," she said, and her voice was as bitter as the remains of my tea.
I thought about her all the way into Sweet Grass and back. She reminds me so much of Mama, both so gentle-born and delicate. They were both in love with men they shouldn't have loved. Mama defied her Beacon Hill family and married the tall, handsome Irish immigrant, and they tried in vain to scrape by in Boston after my grandparents cut her off without a cent. I can still remember the day Pa came home and said he'd decided we would go to Montana Territory and start all over again. Mama turned white as a ghost, but she just bowed her head, and that was the end of it.
It was hard for her, but I think she loved him until the heat and the cold and the dust drove her half-mad. She went the other half after he died, and I knew she wouldn't be much longer for the world. She gave up. That is the only way to explain it.
I hope Lily Seely has more of a fighting chance.
JUNE 20th, 1885
The weather was glorious today. The air was thick and sweet with the perfume of newly sprung flowers. The sun is coming up so much earlier, so I had finished all of my chores before lunchtime.
Lily's baby isn't due for some months, but I was feeling optimistic, so I decided to make a doll and hope the baby is a girl! The doll will be made out of a pair of Pa's old red long underwear. I hope Lily isn't too horrified by that, but Pa isn't going to be needing them, and they were just taking up space in the chest.
After a while, my hands were cramped from the sewing , and I was beginning to feel a bit restless, so I decided I would walk down to the pond to pick wildflowers for Mama and Pa's graves.
The sun was at its height, and it warmed my skin. I unplaited my hair so it tumbled down my back and swang loose while I walked, and I picked flowers all the way down the hill. The weeds have grown up around their graves (has it been so long since I last was here?), so I pulled them away and laid the flowers there. I miss them terribly some days, and some days, like today, there are too many blessings to feel anything but joy.
I wasn't keen to return to my chores, so I looked around to see if anyone was coming, and seeing no one, I hitched my dress up, kicked off my shoes, and undid my stockings. Others would be mortified at such behavior, I am sure. I lay on the grass there under the weeping willow, with my skirt pulled up to my bare knees and my face turned up to sky.
I think I had begun to drift when I heard the sound of whistling coming from up the hill. I propped myself up on my elbows and narrowed my eyes against the bright sun. It was Woody, coming cheerfully down the bank.
He didn't see me at first, and I watched as he stood at the pond's edge. He kneeled down and drew his hand through the water, sending a little splash into the air. Apparently finding the temperature to his liking, he sat down on the edge of the pond and began to unlace his boots.
He kicked away his boots and then stood, still whistling to himself, while he pulled one suspender and then the other from his shoulder. His shirt came over his head, and I could see how the June sun had already bronzed his skin. Knowing how nervous I seem to make him, I thought it only fair that I make my presence known before he lost his pants! I made a rustling noise in the grass.
When he saw me, he grabbed up his shirt and pulled it over his head as quick as he could, saying, "Miss Jo! I didn't know you were there!"
"I must have dozed off," I lied and rubbed at my eyes to cover the lie. "I didn't hear you coming down the hill. You startled me just now." I pointed over to the graves then. "I just came to put some flowers there."
He looked over and nodded sadly, and he must have been reminded of his own parents who had not been dead long. He was quiet for a bit and slowly came around to where I still sat on the other side of the pond. The sun had started its descent, and the spot under the tree was cool and shady.
Woody seemed to notice then that my legs were bare, and he looked away while I discreetly pulled down my skirt. After a bit he spoke. "This is beautiful country, Miss Jo."
"My mother used to say that she felt suffocated here. I never understood how someone could turn in a complete circle and see the horizon in all directions yet still feel suffocated," I said to him.
He sank down next to me on his knees and looked at me with a curious look that I still cannot quite decipher. He smiled then and reached a hand toward me. "You've got some..." he started to say, and then cut off his words. I could feel his fingers in my hair, and he pulled back a piece of hay that had gotten caught there.
He tossed it down next to me on the ground, and then he impulsively reached down and plucked a flower from the bank of the pond and tucked it behind my ear.
I didn't know what to say. It was such a familiar thing, and it caught me by surprise. Him too, by the looks of it. If he didn't regret it then, he certainly did when we both looked up to see Pete and Eddie standing on the bank looking down at us.
Woody scrambled to his feet and hurried off without another word. I don't know how much they saw but from the way Pete glowered at him, I think they saw quite enough.
