The Milch Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

child to
suckle, her back to all the people on the porch.
    Rubye disappeared into the house with a disapproving cluck,
ready to heat water and set up the tub in the pantry off the kitchen.
    Hattie stared down at the small baby in her arms, grateful
for the fading light that helped to mask them from all the staring eyes. Jackson
handed out the last bundle, removing the Bible and putting it on the floor of
the buckboard beside her.
    “Hank, can you give me a hand to get the team on up the
hill.”
    Hank walked up to the head of the lead animal as Jackson
sprang up to the seat beside her.
    “Hold on to your hat, Miss Stoddard,” and he snapped the
reins.
    Hattie braced forward, hanging onto the baby who frantically
held onto her nipple. She managed to clasp one hand on the back of the seat as
they began the steep incline. Through it all, the babe continued to nurse.
    At the top of the hill, she continued to tend the baby,
grateful to be able to watch as Jackson shook out one of the oilcloths into the
bottom of each of the graves. At least here on the hill, the water had already
run through the soil and she was glad not to hear a splat.
    For the first time, he lifted the tiny scrap that had been
her son, pausing with the baby beside her. Hattie fought back tears at the
sight of the tiny bundle, dressed in his flour-sack gown. Unloved, unwanted, he
was about to be buried. He was about to be buried in an unhallowed grave
without even a name. Hattie choked back a sob as she nodded and Jackson lowered
the tiny babe as gently as though he were sleeping into the small hole in the
ground.
    She returned the sleeping boy in her arms into his box and
straightened her clothing yet again, wiping at her eyes even as Jackson and his
cowhand paused again beside her, waiting silently with her father’s body. This
time she had to bite her lip to swallow the sobs, wondering even as tears
streaked down her face if they were for her father, or for herself.
    Finally, both bodies had been moved, each one once again
covered with the quilts from the cabin. Although not wooden coffins, Hattie
felt that both were now wrapped protectively in love. The quilts made by her
mother had always been important to her father and herself. She was comforted
knowing they would cover them in their final sleep.
    Jackson reached up to help her down and Hattie accepted his
hand, feeling awkward in the twilight in this strange place. “Is the Bible
still in the wagon?”
    The tall cowboy reached around her and lifted the worn and
torn bible from the floor beneath the seat. “I grabbed it before they carried
your belongings inside. But I don’t think there’s enough light to read. Do you
know the words you want us to say?”
    She shook her head, clutching the old book close against her
chest. “Begin with Dad,” she whispered.
    Both men uncovered their heads and moved to the foot of the
grave, framing Hattie. Jackson placed a hand on her shoulder and she lowered
the Bible toward him. Taking it, he began to speak.
    “Tom Stoddard, beloved husband, father, and grandfather…”
    Hattie gasped. She clenched her jaw to keep from fresh sobs.
    Jackson continued as though she had not interrupted, holding
the Bible forward in both hands, the brim of his hat clutched beneath the book.
    “Never heard any man say a bad word against you, so I’m sure
God has welcomed you home, that your wife and parents have greeted you in their
loving embrace. Your daughter here is grieving, but she knows you are in a
better place. As the good book says, ’dust to dust, ashes to ashes.’” He knelt
down to drop a hand of dirt onto the soft quilt.
    Hattie followed his motion, scooping the pebbly soil into
both hands and sprinkling it over the quilt.
    Jackson extended a hand to her elbow to help her rise. “Tom,
as hard as it is to let you go, we rejoice knowing you are in a happier place,
Amen.”
    Hattie and the other man echoed, “Amen.”
    When he turned to the grave holding the