Free The Milch Bride by J. R. Biery Page A

She backed the mule to the edge of the
current garden, set the plow blade then snapped the reins and yelled,
“Giddy-up”
    Exuberantly the mule leaned his head forward, putting his
chest muscles into the task, ripping down the yard and opening out a shallow
furrow. At the end of the thirty foot row, she yelled “whoa” and pulled on the
reins. Henry stopped like a dream.
    She lifted the plow blade, turned Henry and plowed up to the
edge of the garden again. Quickly, she and Henry set a pattern.
    Boyd came around the house to watch, marveling at the ease
with which the duo worked. “Setting you’re rows too close, ain’t you Miss?”
    She finished the fifth sequence, then turned Henry again,
carefully setting the plow within six inches of the last furrow. ”We’re not
plowing yet, just breaking ground. When I finish this, we’ll need to cover the
ground with some of that aged manure, spread it out, maybe wait a day or two,
then run the plow through it deeper and set actual rows. But I‘ll harness
Pepper to a dray to haul it over here. Both these long-eared guys love to
work.”
    “I can get to loading that, have it ready to spread when you
finish. I didn’t figure a little girl like you would know anything about this
work.”
    “My mother was German. She loved to garden and to work. She
insisted Dad change the garden plot every two years. One year he didn’t get to
it in time, and I watched her dig one just like this. I’ve always wanted to try
it myself.”
    He laughed and she laughed too, pushing herself and Henry,
trying to finish before J.D. grew fussy. She was on the last furrow when he
started crying.
    Hattie wiped her face with her long sleeve, sure she was a
sight, sweaty and red faced, with the fine dust sticking to her skin with each
step she made over the roughly tilled ground.
    She unhitched Henry and led him to the trough in front of
the paddock rail, loosely hitching him and patting the dark, dusty neck. James
was already driving the other mule and the load of manure toward the garden.
    By the time Hattie reached the porch, Rubye had arrived with
a pail of fresh water and a towel. Hattie gratefully accepted both, stepping on
to the porch where she could reassure J.D. that she would pick him up in a
minute.
    Rubye stepped between her and the baby. “Well, I never.”
    Hattie looked down at her dusty skirt and red hands, her
pride of minutes ago vanishing. She reached for the fussing baby, but Rubye
picked him up. “I’ll change him, you get some of that dust and sweat off you so
you’re fit to feed him. The men will be in to eat soon, let’s not waste time.”
    Hattie tapped her feet, knocking the dust off her boots,
then hurried after them to the bedroom.
    It was later, the men fed and gone, before Hattie rose from
her nap. She pulled on her old skirt and the flannel shirt of her father’s over
her old chemise and petticoat, realizing that this was the outfit she should
have worn this morning. Once again she laid the sleeping baby in the cradle on
the back porch, taking time to make sure he was shaded with a protective cloth
spread over the top of the cradle, she hurried to drag washtubs, washboard and
soap into the side yard, drawing water to fill both. Then she brought out the
pan of dirty clothes and the basket and clothespins.
    Satisfied, she made short work of washing out baby things,
hung them, then washed the soiled dress and under things, plus the baby’s crib
bedding to hang. Finally, she washed out towels and washcloths. With three
lines full, she took her time in carrying the dirty water to water Rubye’s rows.
When she had the tubs emptied and rinsed, she stacked them on the end of the
porch and stood to admire the darkened end of the new garden, already covered
with the manure spread by James and Pepper.
    Rubye came out, then took the washtubs and proceeded to fill
them. She had two hampers of clothes, hers and Jackson’s, as well as household
linen.
    “Do you need help?”