Whispers in the Wind: living in the desert
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Cynthia E. Bagley
Smashwords.com Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero
Whispers in the Wind
The sun beat down on the old corral as weather-beaten logs crossed the landscape of hard-packed dirt and thirsty sagebrush. Dust kicked up by horses' hooves obscured and softened the view as cowboys roped the calves, crying out to their mothers.
George Farrow was part of the scene. Resting his boot on the lower fence rail, he glanced down at his jeans and chaps which were thread-worn from one to many round-ups. Wiping his forehead with a bandanna, he tipped his cowboy hat to the back of his head and took a deep breath.
"Yes, I know your Ma," he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of chewing-tobacco and stuffed it in his mouth. He chewed it slowly and spit the excess near my expensive shoes.
"Yea," he drawled. "She was a wild one."
The laconic western way of slowly pronouncing a known fact made me impatient. I was used to the faster clipped rhythms of the city where the cars, the trucks, the police sirens were a constant thrum against the backdrop of life. I didn't understand the slow movements and speech of the ranchers and cowboys, who populated this strange landscape.
"She used to barrel race right here," he continued, unaware of my growing impatience. "Yea, I knew her."
"Just a minute," I said. "Is that all?"
"I reckon," he said. And before the "but" had fallen from my mouth, he sauntered away, slapping the dust from his chaps.
"Mommy," my daughter Amy called as she ran towards me. The dust scattered with each rapid step.
Stopping, her eyes brightened as she saw a calf being roped and wrestled down.
"Mommy," she yelled this time. "Did you find Grandma? Is she here?"
"She's been here," I said. Amy turned away to watch the excitement in the corral. I remember when I was her age, watching for my mother. I had wondered if she would come home. And when I realized that she was gone, I thought she had died. I had gone into the foster care system then. Eventually, I met Dave and had Amy, my lovely child.
I wanted to give her a grandmother. Dave was a stable man, but he also didn't have any parents. We had made our own parenting mistakes. It was kind of a relief in a way. We didn't have to compare our mistakes to people we didn't know.
I took Amy's hand and we walked to the corral. Some of the older men had set up a horseshoe tournament. They threw the horseshoes at nails embedded in the ground.
"Close," yelled one.
"Didn't count," yelled the other.
Picnic tables were set up beyond them covered in red-checked gingham table cloths. The tables were loaded with BBQ pork, potato salad, olives, bread, butter, green salads, and apple pie. Two women in skirts and scarves over their heads served up the food. Five dollars a plate said a sign near them.
Other tables were filled with homemade products like crocheted doilies and embroidered handkerchiefs. At the food tables an older woman introduced herself as Rose.
Amy shook herself loose from me. She ran to a small fish tank. That girl never stopped moving. She put in a fishing pole and pulled out a prize. I left her there.
"I knew your Ma," said Rose, as she dished up a plate. "She used to hold you so close so she could smell the baby in you. She loved that baby powder smell." Rose smiled, "It's too bad."
"Your Ma was so young and pretty," she continued. "Her pa was so strict. And she used to run around with the boys." She paused, nodding at the young cowboys in the corral. "She wouldn't tell who the father was. Her pa threw her out of the house. Poor thing."
"How old?" I asked.
"She was just 14."
"Now Rose," said the other woman. Her name-tag said Ms. Edith. "She was white trash. Plain and simple. No good girl would get themselves pregnant. It ain't Christian."
"Now see here Edith," said Rose. "No good man would throw out a young girl that's got troubles."
I felt Dave's hand on my shoulder, "What's up, Ellie?" he asked.
"My mother." I sighed. "Just as I thought she was just white trash." I handed Dave my plate of food. My stomach clenched. I couldn't eat.
Dave dug into the food. He rolled his eyes and hummed. "Good."
I laughed. He kissed me. Looking around I said, "Let's go get Amy."