Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson Read Free Book Online Page B

I said. One of my stays had been with a second cousin dairy farmer.
    â€œViolet’s kind of cranky.” Chase patted the cow’s broad flank. “Watch out for her tail.”
    â€œWill do.”
    â€œChester gave us her calf. I named her Fawn ’cause she looks like a baby deer I saw once, over to Glendive.”
    â€œThat’s a wonderful name.” I gave Violet a pat, though more tentative than Chase’s.
    Chase gave me a few more instructions about Plug. “He’s a good old range horse and can practically take care of himself,” he said. “I better head on back, Miz Hattie, or Mama will fret.”
    I walked him back out to the yard, where’d he left his horse.
    â€œHow can I thank you?” I was so touched by how easily he and his family had taken me under their wing.
    â€œYou can give me a boost up.” He lifted up his foot.
    I cupped my hands, he stepped into them, and up he went. “Tell your mama hello from me.”
    â€œI will.” Chase wheeled his horse around. “Thanks for breakfast, Miz Hattie!”
    And with that, my eight-year-old knight in shining armor rode off.
    I went straight into the house, rummaged through my things, found an old mitten, and went back out and tied it to the pump handle.
    That night my prayers were full of thanks. “For Chase and Perilee and for lessons learned,” I said. “But Lord, if you could help me not learn every lesson the hard way, I’d sure appreciate it. Amen.”
    Mr. Whiskers meowed his amen to that, too.

          CHAPTER 5         
    February 5, 1918
Three miles north and west of Vida, Montana

    Dear Uncle Holt,
    You asked me to tell you more about my everyday doings. Such a life of glamour, you cannot imagine! Water must be fetched first thing each morning, and my breakfast is just a hope until I have fed and watered Plug and Violet. This is not such an easy task when the snowdrifts are piled high as a Chicago skyscraper! Now it is not so bad: Mr. Whiskers and I have beat a path to the barn. But the first day—it was over an hour before I had paddled my way through the snow. Sometimes I feel as if this Montana winter is Goliath and I am David. I only hope my ending is as victorious as his!
    After I milk Violet, I must also clean out the barn each day. You would think the cold weather might put a damper on the smells. Not so. Plug is self-sufficient; after a handful of oats, he is turned out to find his own grub. Thank goodness for such a smart range horse.
    I am eternally grateful for your old work boots. I know you worried that they would be too big, but they are a perfect fit after I’ve wrapped my stockinged feet in newspapers. If I didn’t do this, I don’t think I’d have any toes left come spring.
    Your niece,
Hattie Inez Brooks

    After I finished my letter to Uncle Holt, I added a postscript to Charlie’s:

    I read this in the
Wolf Point Herald.
I do not know the author, but it may give you and your comrades a laugh: “My Tuesdays are meatless, my Wednesdays are wheatless, I’m getting more eatless each day; my house it is heatless, my bed it is sheetless—they’ve gone to the Y.M.C.A. The barroom is treatless, my coffee is sweetless, each day I grow poorer and wiser. My stockings are feetless, my trousers are seatless, Jeroosh, how I hate the d——n Kaiser.” Though our sacrifices at home are small compared to yours, we make them with a sense of humor!
    Your wheatless, et cetera school chum, Hattie

    Sealing both envelopes, I hurried to my morning chores. I dressed in every stitch of clothing I could find, all the time knowing I’d be an ice block the minute I stepped out that door. Back in Iowa, my smooth hands and face had been my one vanity. No more. No amount of fancy Pond’s Cold Cream would soothe the chapped cheeks and nose that were now my badge of homestead