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  “I would think that arrangement would of worked well. Arthur liked the mill and Patrick liked the sheep. What happened?” I asked.

  “I think the beginning of the end came when we lost the mill. One spring the government didn’t renew our contract. The mill began losing money and we couldn’t keep it open anymore. I think that is what broke Arthur’s spirit, and I will never forget the horrible day when he closed the doors for the last time.

  “That evening he didn’t come home until late, and when he did get home, he took a cask of Scotch out of the cellar and locked himself in the barn. Three days later when he came out, he wasn’t the same man.”

  Mother Burgess stood and wiped a cool cloth over Arthur’s fevered brow. She rinsed the cloth and sat back down as she continued, “After he closed the mill, Arthur fired the field hands and expected Patrick to do everything that the men had done for pay. At first Patrick tried, but he wasn’t used to that kind of hard labor and Arthur was a tyrant.

  “No matter what Patrick did, he couldn’t please his father. I begged Arthur to lighten up on Patrick, but whenever I tried to intercede, Arthur would only make it harder on Patrick. I learned to leave well enough alone.”

  Mother Burgess spoke softly, with shame in her voice, “It was a cold day, and Arthur went to wake Patrick up for his chores. I usually went to get Patrick up in the mornings, but that day Arthur went up to wake him. He was mumbling to himself that Patrick wasn’t a child anymore and it was time for him to ‘get up and act like a man.’ I don’t know exactly what happened, but I heard Arthur yelling at Patrick.

  “Arthur had never physically punished Patrick, but on this morning he cuffed Patrick as they came down the stairs. I could see that it didn’t really hurt, but it made Patrick furious and Arthur seemed to enjoy tormenting the boy. I know I should have stopped it, but I was afraid of how much worse it could be for him if I intervened.”

  Tears built in her eyes. “I will never forget when Patrick came to me and asked me why his father hated him so much. His eyes were so full of confusion, and I will never forget the pain in his voice when he said, ‘Mother, what can I do to make Dad love me again?’

  “I couldn’t say anything. I mumbled some pathetic excuse and left him standing alone in the kitchen, but I knew that Patrick could not take much more. I felt I was choosing between my husband and my son, and I didn’t have the nerve to confront my husband.

  “Patrick left the kitchen and went upstairs. He must have realized I couldn’t, or worse yet wouldn’t keep him safe. I heard him pack a travel bag and slide it under his bed. I had put a little money away for a rainy day, and later that afternoon I slipped everything I saved into his bag.

  “One morning about two months later, Arthur was rougher than usual, and Patrick would not stand the abuse any more. I heard them arguing as they went to the barn. From the kitchen window, I watched Arthur raise his hand to cuff Patrick again, but this time Patrick ducked the blow and it threw Arthur off balance. Arthur stumbled and fell into a wet pile of sheep manure and mud. Patrick watched his father fall, but instead of trying to help, him he just stood and laughed.

  “Arthur was furious, and I saw him reach for something on the ground as Patrick turned his back and walked toward the sheep pens. As soon as I realized what was going to happen, I ran to the window and tried to warn Patrick. Arthur had picked up a good-sized stone, but I was too late. I watched as Arthur aimed carefully and hit Patrick in the back of the head.”

  Mother dabbed tears from her cheeks as she continued. “Patrick fell to the ground. I think he was more stunned than hurt, but I watched in horror as blood trickled down his neck. I watched him wipe the blood on his shirt and turn back toward the house. He didn’t show any emotion. I knew that Patrick’s anger was slower than his father’s, but it was just as deadly.

  “I hid in the pantry and just watched as he retrieved his bag and left the house. I didn’t have the nerve to help him. The day Patrick, left Arthur never asked about his son again.

  “I didn’t know if I would ever hear from Patrick again until one day when I got a brief note telling me was in the goldfields of California. Patrick worked hard in California, but said he didn’t make much money. He heard about Fort Collins from some of the other men at the gold fields. Luckily he stumbled on Sam’s ranch, and he used the money I gave him, along with what he had saved, to buy it. Patrick wrote to me often, and I tried to share the letters with his father, but he would have no part of them. I figured Arthur secretly read them, though, since he had talked about you and knew you were Patrick’s wife.” Arthur’s breathing became more sporadic as I watched Mother continue to dutifully tend to her husband.

  ***

  My odd upbringing now made sense as I realized I had never been taught to be a good woman. Instead of teaching me the strict moral code given to most girls my age, my family raised me to think clearly and make difficult decisions. Suddenly I understood. I had been given strength and power to do more than be good. I could make decisions on my own and not just follow a code imposed on me.

  A strange peace came over me and I began praying silently as I felt God’s presence, Dear God, thank you for everything I am. You have given me the knowledge to know right from wrong and the wisdom to apply it.

  My unusual childhood was a blessing and gave me the freedom to find my identity rather than to be given it. Lettie’s words are true, ‘through the evils of men, we receive blessings.’ Lord, I’m done with being ashamed of my past, and I gratefully accept the responsibility that comes with it. Thank you for giving Mother Burgess the strength to be honest with me and provide the right time and place for me to be honest with her. Amen.

  ***

  Arthur never did regain consciousness. Mother stayed with him until his tortured breathing ceased. As Scottish custom demanded when Arthur died, Mother threw open the windows and allowed his spirit to leave the house. Once sure of his spirit’s escape, she closed the windows, pulled all the drapes, and covered the mirrors, so that it would not become confused and find its way back to the house. His life, so full of tragic twists, had ended. Arthur could now go on to his reward.

  I watched as she said her final good-by to her husband of thirty-five years. “He wasn’t a bad man,” Mother said as she touched his hand. “He just couldn’t deal with the things life dealt him. I tried to tell him we had each other, but I think his guilt over having hurt his son was something he could never forgive himself for.”

  Realizing I was standing beside her, she took my hand. “I don’t think I could have done this alone, Ada. I am so glad you were here. Arthur is finally at peace, and I know God forgives him. I just hope that one day Patrick will forgive him too.” She took a breath and stood up. “I’ll let the neighbors know tomorrow that Arthur has died. Even though Arthur tried to make enemies of everyone after the mill failed, our Scottish community still stood by us. We will be expected to have a wake so I must get started,” she said, fussing with his collar.

  “What’s a wake?” I asked.

  “Scottish wakes are a celebration of life Ada. They’re quite different than a funeral. There will be food and drink, and stories told of Arthur’s life. Unfortunately, wakes often turn into drunken brawls so I will apologize, in advance, about the behavior you might see,” Mother Burgess said as she watched me for a reaction.

  I laughed loudly and her surprised expression made me remember that she didn’t know anything about my life yet. “We don’t have time for me to tell you everything now, but nothing that happens at the wake will surprise me,” I said as I controlled my laughter. “Someday I will tell you everything, but for now you just need to know that parties are kind of a specialty of mine. Arthur will have a wake that will make him proud,” I said.

  Turning to me she said, “Our custom requires that someone needs to stand watch over him until he is buried.

  “You sit with Arthur and keep him safe.” Mother sank back into her chair beside the deathbed. Her grateful eyes were all
the permission I needed as she settled herself at his side and resumed the watch.

  “I don’t know where anything is, but I would much rather be busy with an overwhelming task rather than sitting and keeping watch,” I said to myself as I began pulling out skillets, cauldrons, and dishes of all types from the cabinets.

  The old kitchen had everything needed for a large wake and soon meat was roasting, potatoes and carrots were boiling, and bread pudding was soaking in brandy. I tapped Arthur’s last cask of Scotch whisky, and everything sparkled as guests arrived from all over the community.

  Scots are proud people, and I made sure that Arthur’s wake was one that any Scotsman would be honored by. The house was filled with loud people eating, drinking, and telling stories about Arthur’s life in happier times.

  Mother Burgess sat beside Arthur and accepted the last respects and condolences extended by her neighbors. The next day, Arthur was placed in a pinewood coffin and loaded onto a wagon drawn by a big black draft horse. Everyone followed behind the coffin until the wagon passed through the cemetery gates.

  “Scottish custom requires that women stay outside the cemetery while the men bury him,” said Mother Burgess as we stopped at the cemetery gates. The women all watched from behind the white picket fence until the coffin was lowered into the cool damp earth and the men shoveled dark earth over the casket.

  “He would have been proud,” Mother said wiping her eyes. “Ada, you did a wonderful thing for an old man who didn’t deserve it. Thank you.”

  “Mother,” I said loudly, “he did deserve it. Just because he became bitter at the end of his life, doesn’t mean his whole life was bad or wrong. He may not have been able to deal with what life gave him, but I am very proud to celebrate his life and be part of his family.”

  Mother could no longer hold back the tears for the man she had loved and allowed the sadness to drain away from her soul. Drying her final tears, she straightened her shoulders and said, “Ada, we have a ranch to sell. Let’s get on with it.”

  Chapter 21

  Mother Burgess knew everything about taking care of sheep. The next day as she was examining the ewes, she excitedly called me out of the barn.

  “That old ram has done it again!” she said as she stood in the center of the huge flock of sheep. “I do believe that every ewe is pregnant.” She stood tall and tipped her bonnet against the sun so she could see the full depth of the flock.

  “Oh, how I will miss them,” she said with misty eyes. Turning toward me she pointed at the ewes. “Just look at their little faces.” Her eyes reflected the same golden glow that Patrick had when he talked about the heifers. “I’m so sorry they will all be killed,” she said as I watched the sadness on her face.

  “Mother Burgess,” I exclaimed. “I have an idea. Will you come to Colorado with us?”

  Without thinking, she said, “No, definitely not! I have never been west of the town gates, and I hear you have wild gunslingers that run all of your towns.”

  I couldn’t stifle my laughter. “Gunslingers! Mother, our sheriff in Fort Collins is the nicest law-abiding man you could ever meet. He has seven children, and I really doubt he has ever strapped a six-gun onto his hip.”

  She looked shocked and a bit confused. She really did believe that all of our lawmen were gunslinging outlaws that were running from justice. Her face changed, and she became thoughtful as she asked, “Why would I want to move all the way out there?”

  I smiled as I pointed to the sheep peacefully grazing in the pasture. “It seems to me that you have a lot of sheep, but you can’t keep them. We, on the other hand, have exactly the other problem. Our beautiful green pastures are empty and begging to give some hungry animals a good home. Patrick knows how to raise sheep. Let’s take the sheep to Fort Collins.”

  She bowed her head in thought for a moment and when she looked up again her radiant eyes met mine. “Duke!” Mother called out to the big old ram. “Duke, get your flock ready. We are moving to Colorado!”

  ***

  The decision to move rejuvenated Mother Burgess. Once again she stood straight and tall, and the work we had been doing outdoors seemed to bring color to her cheeks. Mother knew all the things that needed to be done in next few months and was determined to finish them all.

  “We are ready to fix the fences, but it is such hard work that we will have to wait for one of the neighbor men. I do wish we could get it done because I think a storm is settling in. If we don’t get the fences done tomorrow, I’m afraid we will be at least a week behind our schedule,” Mother said after dinner one night.

  “Fences aren’t really that hard,” I said, watching her quietly. “I think we can do it ourselves, but skirts and petticoats won’t be the dress of the day.”

  She shot a questioning glance at me as I went upstairs and brought the valued dungarees down from my bedroom.

  “Mother, you were honest about your life; now it’s time for me to be honest about mine,” I said as I laid my dungarees on the dark, polished wood of her dining room table. “I don’t know how much Patrick told you about me, but one very special thing I do is wear dungarees when I do heavy work outside.”

  The thought tickled mother, and she started laughing, but taking a second look at my serious expression, she realized I wasn’t kidding. I motioned to the dungarees on the table and she eyed them as though they were some kind of poisonous snake. “Go ahead. Touch them. They don’t bite,” I teased.

  Mother tested the legs and pulled on the ties. “You really have the nerve to wear these?” Mother laughed as she explored the pockets and seams of the sturdy clothing.

  “Patrick said he wrote you about the time I rode Sheba bareback to go help deliver little Nathaniel Teller. He doesn’t allow me to wear them in town, but after that he realized how much work we could do together when I had on dungarees instead of skirts,” I said.

  “Well,” Mother said with a slow nod of her head. “I hired you to get the work done, and I didn’t say that you had to wear petticoats while you were doing it. So if we are going to create a scandal, let’s do it and get those fences tight before it rains.”

  The next day, I donned my dungarees and straddled the fences as we wrestled the rails into position and hammered each one in place. The fence posts were solid, but the rails needed lots of hard work. Mother helped me as much as she could, but soon she was trying to tie her work dress between her legs and fashion makeshift pant legs.

  “Mother?” I asked her as we ate lunch beside the split rails. “Does it bother you that I wear dungarees?” Shyly, she tucked my dungaree leg down into my boot. Suddenly, a smile lit up her face.

  “Do you think I could get a pair for myself? I’m tired of working all day long and then spending my evenings mending dresses and petticoats. I have no intention to make you do all the heavy work without my help.” That afternoon, we ordered her a set of dungarees, heavy work boots, and a black Stetson with a silver hatband from Sears and Roebuck.

  January and February quickly slipped away as Mother and I painted and polished the old place back to its former glory. Many of Mother’s friends were appalled at her plans to move west. “They are heathens and ruffians. The frontier is no place for a civilized woman,” they admonished her.

  Mother laughed and said, “Ada is the most civilized woman I know, and she lives there.”

  ***

  March soon arrived with its usual bluster. “Mother, we’d better get to town,” I said. “Patrick will be expecting us in a few weeks and we need to re-negotiate the ranch sale and get the rail passage for the sheep.”

  “What do you mean re-negotiate the sale of the ranch? Mr. Johnson made it very clear that his offer was final. All that is left is to turn over the deed and collect the funds,” Mother said.

  “Mother, I have some negotiating skills. They are not exactly polite, but taking advantage of a widow is not polite either. Tomorrow we’ll go to the bank. By the way, I will be wearing my dungarees, and the sheriff will pro
bably throw me out of town, but Mr. Johnson will have to negotiate with someone wearing trousers,” I laughed.

  The next day, dressed in my dungarees, heavy work boots, and black Stetson with the silver and turquoise hatband, I was ready to go to town. Making sure my auburn hair would be visible so there would be no doubt of my gender, I checked my blouse and knotted a blue bandanna suggestively over my cleavage. Once the horse was hitched to the buggy, I called, “Ready, Mother?” I turned expecting her to be standing in her best church dress, waiting to be assisted into the buggy.

  “Holy Mother of God!” I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw Mother standing on the porch. A black felt Stetson held her long hair in place as it flowed down to her waist. She had a corset on under her open blouse that accentuated her already ample cleavage, and a red bandanna was knotted at her throat and tucked suggestively into her open blouse. The dark, substantial fabric of her dungarees fit snugly into her heavy, western-style boots, and her dark cocoa eyes flashed as she glided down the porch steps.

  “How do I look?” she said somewhat self-consciously.

  “Mother!” I exclaimed. “You look amazing! You are gorgeous, and those dungarees really show off your figure, but I don’t know if you really want to go to town wearing them. Speaking from experience, most people don’t appreciate women wearing them, and they aren’t shy about showing it.”

  Mother laughed. “Blessed are those women who are persecuted for wearing pants. It’s time that people take me seriously, and if I need to wear pants to make that happen, let it begin.”

  I swallowed hard and cautioned, “Are you sure? The men at the bank will really hate this, and the sheriff will probably throw both of us out of town.”

  “Ada, I’ve spent my life being a good little woman. I have allowed others to abuse my son and me. I see now that it doesn’t have to be this way. Men shouldn’t take advantage of women, just because they can. No, I’m moving to Colorado, and hopefully, I will never see those sons-of-bitches again. By the way dear, you look lovely—can we go now?”