JULY 4th, 1885

Independence Day! I begin to look forward to this day every year starting on July 5th. Since my farm is the center point of the county, the picnic has always been here as long as I can remember. I was up early to roll out the crust for a huckleberry and a chokecherry pie, which would be my contribution to the picnic. It was a perfect day. The sky was blue and dotted with billowing white clouds.

The neighbors started to arrive before noon, and they came from all over the county, each with a food basket more elaborate than the one before. The boys must have smelled the food, and they all suddenly appeared looking so stiff and shiny in their best clothes and their hair combed down. Nigel Townsend closed the store for the day and rode out with some folks from Sweet Grass, and there were even a few from as far as Bozeman. The table was groaning under the weight of all the food they brought.

There were blankets spread all over the grass, and the afternoon started off, as usual, with Henry Slokum giving a dramatic recitation of the Declaration of Independence in stentorian tones. I sat next to Nigel, and we kicked each other's shins to keep from laughing until Dr. Macy gave us a disapproving look, although he couldn't help but laugh himself. Then we ate before the food could spoil in the sun, and my pies were declared the best there, which put quite a few noses out of joint.

All of the young men and boys played ball for awhile then, while the young unmarried ladies of the county shaded themselves and clapped appreciatively and giggled and tittered among themselves.

I knew that Henry Slokum would try and find me, so I did my best to avoid him. I sat with Dr. Macy for awhile, although he has grown more melancholy with each passing year since he lost his wife and daughter in the measles epidemic. He sipped at a flask of whiskey and sat in a chair with his head tilted back to the sky, saying very little, but I know he didn't find my company unwelcome. (I suppose after he left he headed over to the woman who runs the saloon, the one who took on that fancy French name. Renee! Whoever heard of a woman named Renee! Her real name must be Gertrude or Hortense, and she thinks a name like Renee makes her sound more exotic. I know most folks are scandalized by the two of them, but it seems to give him some comfort. I think he needs it.)

The afternoon was beginning to cool off, and the increasingly disorganized game had broken up. Someone called out that there would be games starting: blindman's buff and cat-in-the-corner and drop-the-handkerchief. I stood up to join in, when I felt Henry Slokum's hand on my arm.

"Let's leave the games to the young people," he said with emphasis just like that. "You and I have important matters to discuss."

He led me a few steps away before I could have a chance to protest. "I wondered if you had had an opportunity to think over my proposal, Miss Cavanaugh." He looked at me with a reptilian smile on his face.

Proposal? Ha! "Yes, Mr. Slokum. And as tempting an offer as it was, I must decline," I said as sweetly as I could manage.

"I think you will find that maidenhood is a prize that loses its value the longer it is kept. Look," he said pointing at to where the others were shrieking with laughter at a game of drop-the-handkerchief. "When was the last time any of the young men in the county came to court you?"

I didn't want any of those preening fools, but his words stung all the same. "The answer is no," I said firmly, and the smile melted from his mean old face.

"I see. That is most unfortunate."

"My misfortune or yours, Mr. Slokum?" I asked before I could bite my tongue.

And then the smile had crept back onto his face, and it made my blood run cold. He slapped his hat onto his head and took a few steps away before giving me a little bow, saying. "Good day, Miss Cavanaugh."

He got on his horse and rode away without another word. I watched the games out on the grass, and a black mood began to settle over me. The McGuire girl was there with her blonde ringlets all tied up with ribbons. She took a spill during blindman's bluff and pretended to twist her ankle so one of the boys had to pick her up and carry her and set her under the tree while the others followed behind like ducklings. I was glad when the dance music started and she was left there pouting under the tree with her "twisted ankle."

Dr. Macy played the fiddle and Nigel the Jew's harp, and there was a harmonica, too. My feet never touched the ground, I don't think! I never had a shortage of dance partners. I wish Henry Slokum had not left, since he thinks me such an old spinster. The McGuire girl healed quickly from her injury, apparently, because I saw her dancing with Woody at one point. He must have said something terribly witty, because she batted her eyes and covered her mouth daintily with her little hand.

The musicians struck up a reel, and there was a dash to find new partners. I felt a hand on my wrist then, and Woody and I danced that last dance together.

"You promised to save me a dance, Miss Jo," he said to me with a smile, and then he spun me round and round until everything was all a blur. He put his hand in the small of my back to steady me, and we started to fly! I have to say I was sorry when it was over.

The neighbors began to stream home as the sun set on the long day. I was exhausted and my feet were tired! It was, all in all, a wonderful day, and not even Henry Slokum could dampen my spirits.

JULY 5th, 1885

In the field this morning, I saw that Woody had a black eye and Pete a split lip. I can only wonder what happened, but I can guess.

After a pleasant day yesterday, it has become unbearably hot. I hope for a rain to cool things off.

JULY 10th, 1885

After supper, Pete dawdled at the house. He shuffled his feet and hemmed and hawed, until I said, "Is there something on your mind, Pete?"

His face turned red as if he were about to bust, and then he blurted out, "Have you been displeased with my work this past year. Miss Jo?"

I wanted to say I found him hot-tempered and stubborn, but I didn't. I said, "Well, no, Pete."

"Well, then why do you favor him? Leaving him in charge when we're in the field. Sending him to Sweet Grass or Bozeman to do your errands. Up here late at nights, just the two of you."

I knew who he was speaking about. "You do a fine job for me, Pete, but Woody has a good head, and I trust his judgment. We sit up late at night talking about crops and where to find the money to feed us all." I said truthfully.

He harumphed at that. "I bet that ain't all," he muttered. "People are starting to talk, Miss Jo."

"I don't care about those busybodies and their gossip, Pete. You know that. Woody and I are just friends. Same as me and you or me and Eddie or any of the other boys," I said.

He was quiet for a minute, and then he squared his shoulders and looked me in the eye. "I'm leaving, Miss Jo."

I blinked and looked up at him. "Where are you going?"

"California. They've opened up a new lode."

"Gold?" I wasn't surprised, it being Pete, who never did think anything through. I could have put up an argument, but I was just too tired. "I won't beg you to stay."

"It wouldn't do any good, Miss Jo. My mind's made up. I know when it is time to move on. I'll stay until the end of the week."

And that was all. He turned and left me to finish cleaning up from supper. So, one less hand. I'm sure we'll manage.

JULY 20th, 1885

We've been managing well without Pete, and there is less trouble, that's for sure. Today's news was not good, though.

Trey had gone into town, and when he came back, he could barely look me in the eye. I went to him while he was baling hay in the barn and asked him flat out to tell me what was going on. He looked very sheepish for a moment.

"I ran into Henry Slokum today in Sweet Grass."

I suddenly had a sinking feeling. "Go on," I said, although I knew exactly what he was going to tell me.

"He just bought the old Jeffers homestead. His place has almost doubled in size in the last year. He said he was looking for some new hands. I said I already had a job, but when he told me what he paid..." He knit his eyebrows together. "His wages are good, Miss Jo. Real good. And I'd like to buy my own place, someday."

There was nothing to say. I nodded, "I'd pay you more if I could, Trey."

"I know that," he said almost apologetically. We were quiet for a minute while he went back to his baling.

"So, what did you tell Henry Slokum?" I said, breaking the silence.

"I told him I'd think about it."

I sighed. "If you go now, you can make it to the Slokum place by supper."

He turned to me with his eyes wide, shaking his head. "Oh, no, Miss Jo, I didn't mean..."

I held up a hand to stop him. "It's all right, Trey. The sooner we get used to your leaving, the better off we'll be."

He nodded at me once, and I left him there. At least he waited until I was nearly back to the house before bolting out of the barn and fetching his things from the bunkhouse.

Another hand gone, although if it doesn't rain soon, it will scarcely matter. There won't be any crops to harvest.

JULY 23rd, 1885

Another blow. The afternoon sun had gone behind some clouds (not rain clouds, however), so I made supper for the boys, and they were eating on the long table by the barn. I could tell something was brewing from the way Eddie and Sid kept trading looks, and then the table rattled as Sid must have kicked Eddie in the shin, and he let out a hiss.

"Miss Jo, Henry Slokum offered me and Sid a job today." Just like that.

I looked over at Eddie and Sid. Sid was hanging his head in shame. "I see. So, I've gone from five hands to one in the space of a month." I gestured over to Woody, who only looked down at his place and continued eating. I had let the others go without a fight, and now I was angry. Henry Slokum means to ruin me, I think. If he can't get my land by way of marriage, he will do it this way, one hand at a time.

"He pays almost twice what you do, Miss Jo."

"He offers you a few more pennies, and all of a sudden, you've got stars in your eyes. Have you ever seen Henry Slokum's other hired hands? He works them no better than dogs. You work dawn until dusk and then you get fed slop I wouldn't even leave for the pigs. Is that what you want?"

The two of them sat gawping at me with their mouths hanging open.

"Go. Go now," I said to them. They both tried to mutter something, but I slapped my hand down on the table. "Go!" I said.

They both rose and stumbled away as quickly as they could leaving me to sit there alone with Woody. I looked up at him, and his eyes were full of sympathy. I shouldn't have taken things out on him. I shouldn't.

"What are you waiting for? Didn't you hear? Henry Slokum pays almost twice what I can." He didn't say anything. "You need to go into Sweet Grass more often," I spat. "You might run into Slokum, and he can offer you a job."

"He already has," he said softly, and I blinked at him in surprise. "I told him no."

I suppose that should have been of comfort to me, and it is now that I reflect on it, but all I could think then was that my crops were failing, and I had been left with one hired hand to do the work of five.

I put my elbows on the table and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes and cried a little. I heard Woody push the chair from the table, and I could feel the air move around me as he rose and came to stand next to me. I could hear his even breathing.

"Miss Jo..." he said quietly, but I shook my head. He stood there a moment, and then I could sense that he had turned and left me alone there.