Hutch had come over to the fence and was leaning upon it, continuing to watch the branding even as he talked to Angie. Wondering how to announce her presence, feeling high strung with nerves, Caroline heard her name spoken and stopped instead, stepping sideways so that the shadow of the bunkhouse engulfed her. The stink of burning hair and skin made her gag, and she put her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
“She’s none too friendly, is she?” Angie said, folding her arms. Hutch shrugged one shoulder.
“She’s trying her best, I reckon. Can’t be easy, with her brought up so soft. I don’t think she ever walked more than a quarter mile at a time before, and I hear from Corin that she surely never cooked before.”
“Shame he didn’t set up nearer town-she could have taught class or something. Made better use of those fine manners than she will out here,” Angie said, shaking her head as if in disapproval. “What do the boys make of her?”
“Hard to say, really. She doesn’t come out of the house much; she doesn’t ride out, sure as heck doesn’t bring us lemonade on a hot day,” Hutch grinned. “Feels the heat a bit strongly, I think.”
“What was Corin thinking, marrying such a green tenderfoot and leaving her out here by herself?”
“Well, I reckon he was thinking she was a fine-looking girl with a good head on her shoulders.”
“Hutchinson, one of these days I’ll hear you speak a hard word about someone or something and I will fall clean off my horse. Good head on her shoulders in the city maybe, but out here? Why, she’s even setting about the chores with corsets on so tight she can hardly breathe! Does that sound like good sense to you?” Angie exclaimed. Hutch said something that Caroline could not hear above the calves’ frightened bellows, and then he turned toward Angie. Fearing she would be seen, Caroline skirted the side of the bunkhouse and walked swiftly back to the house, angry tears smarting her eyes.
Later, at dinner, Caroline watched her husband as he ate the bland food she had given him without complaint. He had come in late from rounding up two stray beeves, arriving at the table ravenous and having performed no toilette but to splash his hands and face with water from the trough. In the lamplight he looked rough, older than he was. His hair stuck out at wild angles and there was prairie sand along his hairline. After a day outside he seemed to soak up the sun and then glow all night long, she thought. The sun loved him. It did not love her. It scorched her pale skin, burnt freckles into her cheeks and made her nose peel most unattractively. She watched him and felt a surge of love that was at once wonderful and somehow desperate. He was her husband, and yet she felt as though she might lose him. She had not known that she was failing until she met Angie Fosset and heard her verdict on Corin’s soft new wife. She swallowed her tears because she knew she would not be able to explain them to him.
“Evangeline Fosset came by here today,” she said, her voice a little constricted.
“Oh? That’s wonderful! She’s such a good neighbor, and always so friendly. Didn’t you find her so?” he asked. Caroline sipped from her water glass to forestall her reply. “If ever there was an example of how the West gives women freedoms that they’ve never had, and of how best a woman might make good on those freedoms, Angie is that example,” Corin went on.
“She didn’t leave a calling card before visiting. I wasn’t prepared for a guest,” Caroline said, hating the cold tone in her voice, but also hating to hear her husband praise another woman.
“No, well… when you’ve got to ride seven miles to say you’re going to call on a person, seems like sense to just go ahead and call on them once you get there, I suppose.”
“I heard her talking about me to Hutch. She called me tenderfoot. What does it mean?”
“Tenderfoot?” Corin smiled briefly, but stopped when he saw his wife’s tight expression, the glimmer in her eyes. “Oh, now, sweetheart-I’m sure she didn’t mean anything bad by it. Tenderfoot just means you’re not used to the West, that’s all. To the outdoor kind of life.”
“Well, how can I be used to it? Is it my fault, where I was born? Is that any reason to talk about a person, and use names? I’m trying to get along with life out here!”
“I know you are! I know.” Corin took Caroline’s hands and squeezed them. “Don’t fret about it. You’re doing great-”
“No, I’m not! I can’t cook! I can’t keep up with all the work! The plants aren’t growing… the house is full of sand!” she cried.
“You’re exaggerating-”
“Hutch knows I can’t cook, so you must have told him! I heard him say it!”
At this Corin paused, and a little color came into his cheeks. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have said it and I’m sorry that I did. But, my love, if you need some help just tell me, and we’ll find you some help!” he assured her, stroking her face where tears were wetting the skin.
“I need help,” she said, miserably; and as she admitted it she felt the weight of it lighten on her shoulders. Corin smiled.
“Then you shall have it,” he told her gently, and he murmured soft words to her until she smiled back at him and stopped her crying.
So Magpie was recruited to come into the house and share the housework, and although Caroline was not sure that she wanted the Ponca girl beside her all day long, Magpie came with a ready smile and an ease of doing things that came from being born to it. Happily, Caroline relinquished the cooking to her and watched as old bones and dried beans became thick, tasty soup; and bread dough rose willingly between damp cloths when left in the sun on the window sill; and handfuls of mysterious herbs picked from the prairie made sauces savoury and delicious. The washing took less than half the time it had previously taken, and came up cleaner; and Magpie did the heavier jobs, like fetching water and carrying the wet linens out to the line so that Caroline, for the first time since her arrival, found time in the day to sit and read, or to start some sewing. She never thought she would feel anything other than glad to have another person take on these tasks, but at the same time she envied the ease with which Magpie performed them. Magpie worked with good cheer, and she taught Caroline tactfully, never implying that she ought to know such things, and never making Caroline feel inadequate, so it was impossible to resent the girl.
But she did find it hard to concentrate with Magpie in the house. The girl drew the eye and she sang softly to herself as she worked-odd melodies like none Caroline had ever heard, as alien and eerie as the voices of the prairie wolves. And she moved softly, so softly that Caroline hardly heard her. She was sitting at her sewing one morning, stitching a tiny flower garland into the corner of a table runner, when she sensed a presence behind her and turned to find Magpie right by her shoulder, appraising the work.
“Very good, Mrs. Massey,” she smiled, nodding approvingly. “You stitch very well.”
“Oh… thank you, Magpie,” Caroline said breathlessly, startled by the girl’s sudden appearance. The sun, catching the long braid of the Ponca girl’s hair, showed no sign of red, or of brown. It was as black as a crow’s wing. Caroline noticed the thickness of it, and its inky sheen, and thought it coarse. With her round face and wide cheekbones, Magpie almost resembled the Celestial women Caroline had occasionally seen in New York, although Magpie’s skin was darker and redder. Caroline could not help shuddering slightly when their arms accidentally brushed. But she was fascinated by the girl, and caught herself watching her in whatever task she was performing. In the heat of the day, while sweat blistered Caroline’s brow and itched beneath her clothes, Magpie seemed unaffected. The sun had no power to discomfort her, and Caroline envied her this, too.