Life on the Homestead: Homesteader, #4

By Mary Jean Kelso

Charlie studied the baby. "Why's his eyes so slanted? And why's his skin so light? You and me's more deep brown. How come he's so much lighter, Effie Mae? You tol' me I was the first." "You was, Charlie." she lowered her eyes. "We was married. What'd you do, Effie Mae?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597054317

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

Life on the Homestead

Mary Jean Kelso’s historical romance, Life on the Homestead, was not only entertaining, but also informative about western life! Western fiction has been a passion of mine now for several years. I confess that Louis L’Amour is my favorite and I actually get a little bored with Zane Grey. Ms. Kelso’s book, while teaching me some new facts about life on the range, kept me in suspense the whole way through and I didn’t want to stop reading.

I fell in love with the Westerman family and agonized along with them as they dealt not only with the day-to-day chores and other tribulations that western pioneer families faced, but also with great adversities such as mental illness, cattle rustling, and severe childhood illness. Ms. Kelso dealt with racism as Charlie Cooper and his new wife, Effie Mae, a black couple settling onto the range, have to fear for their lives.

Despite all of the drama in the book, there are some wonderfully humorous portions, too, especially the marble game and a small matter about one boy who is not very good at handling guns. The book is action-packed and flows well, yet there is no blood or death—which is very refreshing. I’m ready for more!

Book Review By:

Claudia Valiquet,

Publicist/Literary Agent

Life On The Homestead

Mary Jean Kelso

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Historical Romance Novel

Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Elizabeth Struble

Senior Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Richard Stroud

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2009 by Mary Jean Kelso

ISBN 978-1-59705-431-7

Published by Wings ePress, Inc.

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS  67114

Dedication

To Byron Kelso III who thinks the books are all about romance and doesn’t realize yet that they are really about life.

One

Rosie Kling’s absence from the Westerman household was almost more than her step-mother, Molly, could bear. Every time Molly passed her step-daughter’s bedroom, she felt as if her heart would break. She found herself hesitating at the open door, studying the bright patchwork quilt that was neatly tucked around and under the corners of the goose-feather mattress she and Rosie had collected feathers for, sewn and stuffed shortly before the girl left their New Mexico homestead.

The mattress had been a gift for the girl when she turned fourteen. The two, mother and daughter, enjoyed their time together hand sewing the narrow mattress ticking. They measured the blue and white striped canvas-like material carefully so as not to waste an inch of fabric. They designed it to fit the one-person wooden bed frame Molly’s new husband, Trace, built as his part in Rosie’s birthday present.

Seth, Rosie’s younger brother and Andy, the eldest boy, rode double on Andy’s horse, Comet, from neighbor to neighbor asking them to save any excess feathers. Then, when enough time elapsed Andy felt there would be an accumulation of down available, they again repeated the routine, collecting the stuffing.

The neighbors happily complied and when the two boys returned to pick up the down, the neighbors oftentimes gave them flour sacks stuffed with the needed material.

They promised to return the sacks as soon as the feathers were transferred to Rosie’s mattress.

Andy carefully marked each one, knowing how many uses the homestead wives had for the sacks.

He had seen his Ma use them for bandages, dishtowels, strainers for the milk, diapers for the little ones and even seen her and Rosie hand sewing bloomers out of the material for themselves and tiny Emmy, Ma and Trace’s first born.

Then, when they were too thin for sturdier jobs, she tore them into smaller pieces to use for wash clothes, dish clothes and rags for scrubbing anything else she needed to.

He’d even seen her tie narrow strips of the scraps on the fence to keep birds and livestock out of the family’s garden plot.

Now, Molly reflected on the diminutive adolescent that no longer shared their home as she looked at the quilt they had sewn to cover the bed.

We’ll leave one block imperfect, she had told Rosie. Like the Amish back east do. I’m told they do that so people always remember only God is perfect.

She looked at her toddler Emmy’s face and saw it pucker up. The red-headed three-year-old scrunched her eyelids tight over her blue eyes and pushed her lower lip out as far as it would go. She waddled to the bed and patted the coverlet. Rosie, she whimpered and Molly felt her heart wrench inside her chest.

She reached down and lifted the child into her arms before resting her astraddle her right hip.

The happier memories of the friends and family’s efforts to make Rosie’s new bed faded.

Yes. Rosie. Never forget Rosie... Molly’s words tapered off. Her thoughts trailed to the last time she had seen her step-daughter curled inside the spotlight of a ray of sunshine in a small dismal room at the state mental institution.

She missed her terribly, too.

Let’s go find Jacob. Molly turned to leave the room and distract herself and Emmy from the melancholy.

Emmy wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck for the ride downstairs.

Molly!

The front door slammed loudly as Trace Westerman entered the house.

It was unlike Trace to let a door bang shut and Molly looked toward the living room in surprise.

What could have him so riled up?

We’re on our way down, Trace. What’s wrong?

Trace peered at Jacob taking his morning nap on his blanket on the living room floor.

Darn! Trace regretted letting the door slip from his fingers and close with a bang!

Molly had kept the house shut up for the morning. She had closed the doors and windows early in the day trying to contain the cool night air as long as possible before the day heated the house to an intolerable temperature. Later, she would need to open the windows and doors back up to let whatever wayward breeze she could catch come inside the house.

She hoped the plants beside the front porch would keep the flies away when she blocked the front door open and mentally added one more chore to her list of things for Seth to do. Beat the bushes so the scent the tansy plants emitted when their broken branches wept would discourage the pesky bugs from entering where a rip in the screen let the mesh gap.

Besides, although Trace had fashioned the screen doors for that purpose, she knew the kids were sometimes careless as they raced in and out of the house and neglected to see that the frame closed properly within the door opening to do the whole job.

Fortunately, the noise the door made when Trace entered had done nothing more than cause Jacob to jump and he settled back into a deep sleep. Trace bent down and ran his index finger lightly across Jacob’s pudgy calf muscle.

It felt soft to Trace’s calloused finger. He was the son Trace had thought he’d never have. He felt warmth well up inside him and his heart filled. He rose back to his feet and went to take Emmy from Molly’s arms.

Emmy reached for her father and happily switched positions.

Tom rode up. He wants me to go with him to help look for some of his cattle that wandered off. Can you and the boys do without me for a few hours?

I’m glad you asked. I don’t see why not. It sounds like Tom has a more urgent need than we do today, Molly said and Trace noted that the tone of her voice lacked its usual energy.

Was she still feeling the effects of her earlier illness or was this something else? He sensed her voice carried a tone of depression.

Molly looked out the window and saw Tom checking the cinch on Ranger while Andy stood by holding the reins and watching. She knew Andy would rather go with the two men than stay behind with her and the younger children.

What about Andy? Aren’t you taking him?

I thought you might need him here.

He’s nearly a man, Trace. Don’t you think he’d rather be with you?

What’s wrong, Molly? Trace asked the question, not willing to accept an answer of ‘nothing.’

Molly knew better than to try to deny it.

I was just thinking about Rosie. Maybe we should let Andy do more of the things he likes. God knows, Rosie sure didn’t get much chance.

All right, I’ll tell him he can ride with us, if that makes you happy. I’m sure it will please Andy.

Good. I can manage here with Seth and the babies if you’re not gone too long.

Hopefully, we’ll catch up with the cattle in short order and be back by dinnertime.

Be careful. Molly watched as Trace went back outside and walked toward their neighbor, Tom Jennings, where he stood talking to Andy. She saw Andy step quickly and grab Comet’s hackamore from a bent nail alongside the barn. The whole demeanor of his stride changed as he rushed to put the bridle on Comet and be ready to ride out when Trace gave the word.

Soon, Seth came up on the porch and Molly saw the three riders move their horses down the lane at a fast pace.

Seth dawdled on the porch in the shade. She knew he probably felt left out and wished he was going along with Andy and the men.

She sensed he might think it was unfair that the others would go and leave him behind.

Crazy Leg, the Westerman’s aging grey and white long-haired watch dog looked up at Seth from where he had crawled into a ball in the shade of the overhang of the porch. A soft breeze lifted tufts of his fur and ruffled a riffle of it up his spine.

The dog was getting old and Seth, even as a kid, noticed how his back bone stuck up like some horses he had straddled. It appeared as if the skin stretched too tight across the ridge. Without a fat padding it created deep crevasses in between the ribcage where the skin dipped between the bones to rise again on the next one.

Pug, the pup the family had acquired for Crazy Leg to train as his replacement when the time came was nearing adulthood now and he had learned to bark when needed and keep quiet when it wasn’t. He hadn’t learned not to jump on everybody that had the misfortune to dismount their horse anywhere near him. He’d learned his lessons pretty good when it came to Callie, Rosie’s Calico cat that had been on the homestead nearly as long as the family had.

Seth well remembered the day Andy had doused the pup good with buckets of water from the trough because he and Callie had gone at each other’s throats. Seth had thought Rosie was going to have a fit.

Rosie. He wondered now, had part of her problem been caused by the aggravation the dogs gave her stupid cat?

When he opened the door and went inside, he saw Callie curled up in the corner of the living room sleeping near Jacob’s blanket.

Well, if SHE missed Rosie she certainly didn’t show it. But Seth missed her terrible and the ache in his heart for the older sister that had cared for him and bossed him around made him sad at times. He wondered why the grownups had decided to send his sister away because of the strange things she did. Perhaps I better watch my own actions more closely. He knew Molly and Trace had been upset with his interest in guns. I’ll have to be more cautious if the opportunity comes again to check those things out.

In a way he didn’t blame them for being upset with him. But, he could count the number of times he’d messed with guns and gotten in trouble on one hand.

As he slid down against the wall and watched Jacob roll over and snuggle against Callie, he looked at his fist and did just that.

There was the time I accidentally caught my big toe in Ma’s rifle trigger. The bullet didn’t hit anybody but it sure did make the team run fast down the main street of town with the wagon. And it put a hole in a cracker barrel at the General Store.

He raised his index finger on his left hand and looked at it.

That’s one.

Then, the time I found Mr. Jennings’ pearl-handled pistol in the bottom of the buckboard after Ma and the Doc took him in to remove a bullet from his back. I only tried to see if I could hit a post in Josh’s Ma’s backyard with that.

He raised his middle finger next to his index finger while feeling his forehead with his right hand to see if there was still any telltale indication of where the gun had bucked and slammed into his head.

That’s two.

Then, there was Ma’s punchbowl... I put a rusty pistol Elias Jennings found and loaned to me together with a new bullet in its chamber. Unfortunately, it went off and shot a hole in Ma’s only punchbowl at the Jennings’ wedding party. Nobody was hurt. Red punch was splattered everywhere and Ma’s bowl couldn’t be repaired. I thought sure Sheriff Marley was going to put me in jail like he threatened to do.

Seth raised his ring finger beside the other two. That’s three.

And, last, there was the time I shot Leroy. That was probably the worst.

Seth raised his little finger next to the rest of his stubby dirt-stained digits.

The words rang in his mind.

I shot Leroy...

He remembered, vividly, the day he had raised the second gun he had gotten from Elias and pointed it at the older boy challenging Andy. It was a small derringer Elias had found in his Ma’s dresser drawer when they moved from town to the homestead where they now lived.

He had pulled the trigger, desperately praying to miss Andy and stop Leroy from killing him.

A lucky shot wounded Leroy, an outlaw’s kid, and stopped him from killing his brother.

Now, Seth spread his fingers apart and looked at them.

Since then Ma and Pa have really kept me busy. Guess that’s their way of seeing I don’t have time to play with another gun.

But, I’m older now. Pa taught Andy to use a rifle to shoot snakes. I’m old enough he should teach me, too.

Seth sat pouting a bit about the injustice of not having a gun and being left behind when the others rode out. His only consolation was that Elias had not been allowed to go either. Mr. Jennings said he couldn’t.

Maybe I can get Ma to let me ride over and play with him.

Seth, what are you moping about? Molly’s voice spoke quietly beside him. We have work to do.

ONCE TRACE, TOM AND Andy reached the trail that made a speedy shortcut between the Jennings and Westerman homesteads, they pushed their horses at an even faster pace. The day certainly wasn’t going to get any cooler and, if the cattle were nearby, they’d need to herd them to water before the heat damaged the animals due to dehydration or made them harder to round up.

When they neared the house, Tom rode up and hooted to his wife, Shelia.

She opened the door.

I’ve got Trace and Andy with me. We’re on our way to track the herd. I don’t know how they got out of that lower pasture, but I intend to find out, he informed her.

Shelia nodded and waved as she returned inside to tend to the newest addition to the Jennings family.

A baby boy had been born to Tom and Shelia while Tom was away in Waco tending to business as a witness at a murder trial a short time back.

Shelia now had her hands full with the several weeks old child along with the little girl, Eliza, she and Tom had taken upon themselves to raise. Eliza was beginning to walk, taking a few steps now and then when she could stay on an even floor and dropping to her bottom when her feet went off kilter on anything less than smooth.

Seth’s friend Elias, the Jennings’ boy, would go into third grade when school started in the fall. He ran from the barn to meet the riders and draw what excitement he could from their company.

Can I come, Pa? He looked up at Tom after having greeted Trace and Andy.

No. You get the same answer Seth got when he asked Trace that same question. I told him, then, you weren’t coming, either. Sorry, Elias, but I don’t think Red could keep up with us on this ride. We can’t mess around. If the cattle get too far away, we might never get them back, Tom told his step-son.

Tom didn’t want to worry the boy or Shelia but, the family’s livelihood depended on selling the cattle as they fattened. He didn’t intend on auctioning them all off at once. One or two at a time would keep them in supplies. If they didn’t get the cattle back, well—Tom didn’t want to think about what could happen if they lost the