will?”
“She’s smart.”
“Uh-huh. But is she tough?”
“She’s awfully pretty.”
He squeezed the reins until they dug into his palm. He’d endured enough pain and disappointment with pretty women. So had Rae. Best she face facts and deal with them. “Now, Rae, how many times have I told you what use is pretty?”
“Yeah, Pa. I know. A person has to be strong to survive.”
“Don’t you be forgetting it.” They turned toward their little house. This was where they belonged. He would fight to keep this place. He’d teach Rae to deal with the hardships. “You go on in while I unsaddle Noble.”
A few minutes later he returned to the house, intent on getting a drink of water before he resumed working. Rae stood peering into the cracked mirror over the washstand. She turned as she heard him enter and grinned, waiting for him to admire her hair.
He felt like someone whacked him alongside the head with a big old plank. Oh, how she looked like her mother. “Hair ribbons.” Pretty stuff. Useless stuff. The sort of thing that made women pine for a life that wasn’t possible out here. People—men and women alike and children, too—had to forget the ease of life back East where supplies were around the corner, help and company across the fence and being pretty and stylish mattered. Out here survival mattered and woe to anyone who forgot. Or pined for things to be different. His wife had done the latter. She’d willingly left the comfort of Kansas City to follow his dream of owning land but she’d been unprepared for the challenges. In the end, she’d let them defeat her. She got a cold that turned fatal because she didn’t have the will to live. “Where did you get them?” His mouth felt gritty.
“Miss White gave them to me. And Hilda did my hair.” Her eyes were awash with hope and longing.
He could allow this tiny bit of joy. But no. He must not allow weakness in himself any more than he could allow it in Rae. “Tomorrow we give them back.”
“Pa.” Pleading made her drag out the syllable.
“How many times have I told you? Only the strong survive out here. You want to survive or don’t you?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“You and me are going to make ourselves a home out here. Now aren’t we?”
“That’s right, Pa.”
“Then put the ribbons aside before they get dirty and tend to your chores.”
She nodded. In her eyes determination replaced hope. And how that hurt him. But he had to be strong for the both of them. She pulled off the ribbons, rolled them neatly and put them beside her lunch bucket.
“There’s hours of daylight left. I’ve got to get the crop cut and stooked. Uncle Gabe will be coming any day.” He and Gabe helped each other. “I won’t be back until dark. You know what to do. Think you can handle it?”
She tossed him a scoffing look. “I can handle it. You know it.”
He pulled her against his hip for a quick hug. “Proud of you, Rae.”
“You’ll come in and say good night when you get home? Even if I’m sleeping.”
“Always. You can see me from the yard. If you need me all you have to do is bang on the old barrel.”
“I know.”
He hated to leave her although he’d been doing so longer than he cared to think about. Since Irene had laid down and quit living more than two years ago, leaving him to raise Rae on his own. But he didn’t have much choice. The work did not do itself, contrary to the hopes of men such as Mr. Crome.
He turned and headed for the field as Rae went to gather eggs.
It was dark when he returned. He searched the kitchen for something to eat and settled for a jam sandwich. He wiped dried jam from a knife in order to use it. They were about out of dishes fit to eat from. He’d have to see if Rae would wash a few. He’d also have to find time to go see Mrs. Jones who sold him his weekly supply of bread.
Rae had dumped out her lunch bucket in preparation for tomorrow’s food. The hair ribbons lay on the lid.
Miss White would no doubt look all distressed when he returned the ribbons and set her straight about what was best for Rae. He could imagine her floundering as she tried to apologize. Best she learn life here was tough.
Maybe she could return to her safe home back wherever she’d come from. Before she had to endure the harshness of a Dakota winter.
Yet he felt no satisfaction at knowing he would be among those who drove Miss White away. And his regret made him want to kick himself seven ways to Sunday. He knew better than most the folly of subjecting a pretty woman to the barren pioneer life.
He checked on Rae. She slept in her shirt, her overalls bunched up on the floor beside the bed. Dirty clothes lay scattered across the floor. He didn’t have time to do laundry until after harvest.
He pulled the covers around Rae and stood watching her for a few minutes. He would never understand how Irene could give up on life. He thought she shared his goal. Having grown up in Kansas City with a father who went from one job to another and took the family from one poor hovel to the next, he’d vowed to provide for himself and his family a safe, permanent home even if he had to wrench it from this reluctant land with his bare fists. He would let nothing stand in his way. Not weakness. Certainly not a hankering after silly, useless, pretty things. Rae’s mother should have fought. For Rae if not other reasons. He renewed his daily vow to make sure Rae had a safe and permanent home.
Chapter Two
He took Rae to school the next day. “Run and tell Miss White I need to speak to her, then go play with your friends.” He didn’t want Rae hearing this conversation.
Miss White paused to speak to one of the Schmidt boys as she crossed the yard to where he waited. She smiled at him as she drew closer. Her lips were pressed together. No flash of white teeth like he’d seen as she spoke to the children. Perhaps Rae had said something to warn her of his displeasure.
He held out his hand. “Here’s your hair ribbons.”
She refused to lift her hand and take them. “I gave them to Rachael. They’re hers.”
“She has no need of them. This is pioneer country. One has to be strong to survive.”
“And how, sir, does a ribbon in one’s hair make for weakness. Does it somehow suck life blood out the roots of one’s hair?” She faced him squarely, her eyes bold and challenging.
What happened to the apologetic distressed female he’d imagined? “It’s what it signifies.”
“You mean self-respect?”
She was one argumentative woman. “Useless things. Things for looks.”
“Beauty is not a useless thing. It’s a refreshing thing. Like a rainbow, a sunset or a blossom.”
Conor wondered what use a blossom was. “Do any of those put food on the table or hay in the barn?”
“‘Man shall not live by bread alone.’”
“Might surprise you to know that I recognize that as a Bible verse and I’m pretty sure it refers to needing God’s word. It has nothing to do with things just for lookee see.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward. He uncurled her fingers and pushed the ribbons into her fist. “Don’t have no need for hair ribbons.”
My how her eyes did flash, as full of fire as a winter stove. Faint color brushed her cheeks, making her look like some kind of fine china. But the way she stood, her fists clenched at her side and her jaw jutted out as if about to challenge him to defend himself, he knew she was a little scrapper. He liked that in a person.
His