Blog #53 --Cowboy: Chapter One--

One

Thirteen days had passed, and still, there was little water in the well that stood in the midst of the town square, in Davendy Springs. The villagers rummaged the last of their storage to have merely something to hydrate their dry mouths. It did not help living in the middle of the desert, and that the next town was miles away. It was 1872, Nebraska, and the wind was restless. The sun shone brighter than could possibly be and for each passing cumulus, hope returned in the villagers. Hope, until the day got clear once more, and dry and hot.

The medical office was soon swamped with patients, especially elderly men and women suffering from hyperpyrexia and dizzy spells. They would wake up in the morning and line up before the doctor’s door before he could even put on his slippers. His name was Hamsfield, and he was renowned for many miles round to be an exceptional healer. He was nearing his fifties now, but was still lively, and always ready to learn a new technique to save a life. He was a religious man, and with the recent plight in the village, he had reduced his Lord’s time to give the most he could to his people.

Hamsfield also had two daughters, Mariette and Lucibelle. Mariette was a 19-year-old young woman who would help her father any day, at any hour with his medical affairs. She would also tend to the women who were too bashful to see the man himself, and they would appreciate her being there. Mariette knew a lot about medicine herself, and she had all learned it from their beloved father. It had taken her mind off the death of their mother a few years back, when a blight had stuck her in the middle of the night.

Lucibelle was barely 16, and she had their mother’s radiant sunshine hair, long locks of flaxen strands that would go flailing in the wind. Belle would always prance and play games with the village boys, and would only on occasions help Mariette with household chores.

Mariette though, enjoyed being with her father alone. It would be peaceful when Belle would be out. She was a determined young woman, proud of her femininity and still, restraint about the idea of marriage. Her father had never forced her and had no arranged marriage yet and she respected his wait. She had never been a frivolous girl like Lucibelle, who did was flirtatious with the town boys. They all knew she was a tease though that Belle, one who would only kiss the nicest boy, and only, if he became somewhat of a slave for her.

But the days had passed and Lucibelle had stayed inside and drank water when she was allowed to these last few days. She had even helped Mariette around the house, because she knew that this drought was affecting everyone. Both girls worried for their father and did all they could to support him in his work.

It was sunny, hot and dry and it was mid-June. This was the thirteenth day of drought, and the reserves of even the doctor’s office were getting scarce. Hamsfield was glad he still had enough alcohol to disinfect his instruments, but resorted to using it to wash his hands and everything else around his clinic. The clinic was the front-left room, and there was a smaller lounge in the front-right of the two-storey they lived in. It was a very small house for three people, with a water-closet and a kitchen including the two rooms downstairs and three small bedrooms upstairs. Mariette’s room was the smallest, Belle’s followed, and they did not mind leaving the largest to their father. After taking care of dehydrated patients all day, it would be his reward to relax in his bed, with the window open and cool air of the night entering his being to keep him sane. Mariette had always wondered if living in such a small space would finally get to her father, but she knew that he was a man who enjoyed the little things, and this house, was quite little.

She walked into the kitchen the early afternoon and saw her sister with a young man. She was feeding him milk-porridge by the spoonfuls and he sat close to her, his hand upon the frill of her light-blue dress. He gazed up at Mariette, with that look, as if he was better than every other daft farmer in the area.

He is free this early? Yeah, there is no watering to do and his crops are all dying. Why try to make something important survive, eh Wilhelm? she thought to herself, lifting an eyebrow at him and taking out from the cooler the jug of water. She did on purpose to pour her afternoon serving right in front of him. Belle noticed the arrogance and humphed, smiling at her young man.

“Belle, why is this young man here?” asked a male voice. Mariette felt relief as Hamsfield entered the kitchen, sweaty and now perplexed. Belle lowered her head and eyed the boy to leave. He did so hastily, and Hamsfield chuckled and looked at Mariette drink her water. He took himself some and poured some for Belle, knowing that she needed it. He knew his daughters, had always known them so well.

Belle looked at her father apologetically and finally sighed. He smiled and caressed the back of her ear, cajoling her locks delicately. “You’re cute, Belle, you know boys like your face, but you have to remember that the real man will look past all that. I know it’s difficult, but you can do it. You have beautiful handwriting.”

Belle nodded and blushed.

“I think we’re both honoured that you’ve taught us how to read and write,” said Mariette, “anyways, I am.” She stood up and wiped her glass before putting it back in the shelf. No water to wash things.... she thought, no wonder people are getting sick.

She turned and clutched the counter, her eyes staring down at the wooden planking below her bare feet.

“We need water,” she told them.

“Obviously,” responded Hamsfield. “But with no neighbouring town willing to help us...”

“They don’t help us because everyone’s in drought. They can’t spare some themselves, we’re all running on what we have left. We have to ask them... father... the Iowa live next to—”

“—everyone knows where they live, and what surrounds them,” responded Hamsfield calmly, despite his interruption. Belle sighed loudly and got up to cross her arms and turn away from Mariette. When she turned back, she waved her index side to side and signed the Indians.

“I know they don’t trust most of the towns around us,” responded Mariette, “but we’re a clean town. We haven’t been held-up. We never had any cock fights, bull fights, rodeos, savageries, nothing! We’ve had the regular town trouble, the normal bandit and murder, but that happens in nature.”

“Mariette, I know you’re strong, but the town won’t let a woman go to the reserve and ask for water.”

“I bet they would listen,” Mariette responded, looking outside of the window into the distance. She had heard stories of the Iowa tribe, located near a small lake, where there were beasts to hunt and plenty of fertile land. Over the decades, Davendy Springs had seen nothing but a few puddles to irrigate their lands. The food was getting bland, and the cattle were skinnier than their chicken’s legs.

“We need men to go there, but our Sheriff and his deputies are too scared of a little challenge. Anyways, I heard they were going to do anything to get a tank from Richmond.”

Belle exited the room and Mariette observed her father precariously.

“You’re lying...” she whispered.

“No. They planned to have a tank come in until any weather announces itself for rain. I don’t know what kind of water it’ll be, perhaps I could test it before we drink it, but it’ll be water. Darling I don’t want you to start drinking the water from the sheep troughs.”

“I won’t father, because I’ll go down there myself to the Sheriff’s office and try to talk some sense into them.”

“All right. I’m not going to stop you, you sound too determined. But first, there’s a client for you. She says she wants a woman to help her with her problems. She should be coming soon.”

Mariette nodded and went to the lounge, her own little clinic. Truly, it had been her mother’s drawing room, and it still smelled of the peach perfume she wore. There was some left in a beautiful crystal bottle by Mariette’s healing items. It always gave her a warm, comforting feeling to be in the room, as if her mother was still with her. And she was; her ashes were resting above the mantle in a black urn that shined in the setting sun.

Mariette watched the teenage girl walk up to the house and knock on the door. She read the sign to come in and she did. She saw Mariette and blushed.

“Come in,” Mariette told her, waving her over nicely.

She seemed to be no less than sixteen years old who cheeks were flaming tomatoes. She sat on the patient’s table and Mariette sat on the stool and smiled sweetly at her.

“What is wrong, my dear?” She spoke clearly and tried with all her might to avoid sounding too formal. Though her father had taught her to speak properly without the southern drawl, she did not want the girl to feel uncomfortable. She knew though, that it sounded professional to speak full words, and being in the medicine was a serious work; it would require a fair vocabulary and good pronunciation.

“Um... well... I have some... um... pain in my... here...” Between her timid stutters in her native southern drawl, she managed to point her hand near her abdomen. Mariette nodded and reached in her cabinet for a tablet of chocolate. She handed it to the young girl, who frowned.

“I know the pain, I know the feeling. Eating this, just a few pieces when the hurt comes, and you should feel better.”

“Really? It’ll work?”

Mariette nodded surely and the young lady smiled and asked her how much money it would cost her. Mariette froze. She did not want to charge the girl, but chocolate was expensive and the drought was hard on everyone.

“How about a trade?” she tried. “What does your father do?”

“He’s a butcher, the apprentice.”

“He is young, then.”

“No... he is daft, that is all, but he is my father and I love him.”

“Do you think we could trade the chocolate for some meat? I would be willing to come with you to the butchers so we can make a deal. By the way, your mother has told you about... the pains and the cycle...”

“Yes,” she added, flushed once more. She was adorable really, with soft fallow hair and grey eyes like the nimbus clouds they were all pining to see once more.

“Good. How about the deal then?”

“Yes, I think that would be fine. Meat is not lacking to us, that is sure.”

“But it will once the cattle water starts to run out. Good thing they don’t mind stagnant, stale liquids.” Mariette sighed heavily and flattened her flax dress. It was heavy and it was so hot. She wished she could simply wear her underwear out, but it was a crazy idea she shook her own head upon. Still, the men were allowed to remove their shirts, why couldn’t she wear something lighter?

“What is your name?” Mariette asked the girl as they walked in the spiralling sand toward the butcher’s.

“Seleria,” she responded. “My mother invented the name, she says. I think it’s quite original. I like it.”

“I do as well. It suits you.”

Seleria smiled and they walked in the butchers. It smelled strongly of smoked meat and salted meat at that. Mariette walked to the counter as Seleria passed by the cash and into the cooler area in the back where there were the workers. Soon, a man came out to the cash and Mariette smiled. Seleria explained the situation and the man nodded once at Mariette and gave her a large package of ham products.

“Bacon, ham, and some salted rinds. They’ll keep if they kept cool an’ dry. They’re not as fresh as we’d all want it to be, but I’m sure you’ll be able to have ‘nough for a while and let me tell ya that it’s salted to the perfection, by yurs truly.”

“Thank you, sir,” she responded. “Are you Seleria’s father?”

“I am, m’am, nice to meet you, I’m Wilfred.”

“Mariette,” she responded. “The doctor’s daughter.”

“Nice to meet you. You married, girl?”

Mariette shook her head and sighed, though it felt odd to do so. It was like she wanted to appeal to him, and sound sad about it. Was she? Was she disappointed that no man has really shown attention to her? Was it because they knew she was the doctor’s daughter, and she was more educated, and therefore, more aloof of everyone else. It did not help that her mother had been French and that none had really respected the rich French who would visit, and this was rare. They had loved her mother, but after her death, Mariette suspected that the town’s population had turned their heads away from her, out of disinterest.

“No,” she responded. “I’m not.” And that was all she had found to say. She did not want to explain her situation, her feelings. She couldn’t anyways, she was a woman and men did not care about woman troubles, only other women did. Mariette knew she had friends, knew that she could gossip to them, with them, but she also knew that those friends were nothing more than mere ravens on the wire. They observed, they cawed and they left. None would stay if she really needed their help. She had always turned to her father and never had he let her down.

“Thank you,” she told them both and left the store with her meat. She headed back toward her house when she heard a loud and familiar booming voice erupt from the Sheriff house. She got closer to the white wood-panelled building and heard:

“Damn them for not bringing the tanks! We need that water! This village ain’t gonna last three more days! The cattle’s getting dreary and we all need a break from this heat! Good Lord, baby Jesus!”

Mariette smiled and decided to sit on the wooden steps to try and decipher any information. It was so hot and she burned in her dress but the shade would keep her meat from fouling, at the least. 

“Sheriff, you know they ain’t gonna spare the water either. They hog it for themselves, it ain’t right, but they’s humans too. They’s wants to live too.”

“Rutt, you’re hopeless. All is hopeless. We need water and we need it now.”

“Let us raindance!” added another deputy. 

“Hogg, you leave the Indians alone. I don’t want their culture leaking in ours. I like the way we live and I don’t like it when we get mixed up in their affaires.”

“What if they give us water?” added Rutt’s shaky high-pitched voice. It cracked awkwardly as he spoke as well, proving that he was not out of his adolescent stages yet. “They can gives us what we need.”

Mariette was glad they were at least thinking about it. They would never have enough charisma to get anything important done, let alone try to take water from the Iowa.

“They’ll give us arrows, thass all they’ll give,” Sheriff responded. “We can’t rely on anyone...”

Mariette did not believe the village would die, but she could not refuse to think that some elderly would pass away because of this heat. It was unbearable and even as she swept the sweat off her brow, she could still feel the wetness under her arms and between her thighs. She had enough. They all had enough, but like the Sheriff had said, it was hopeless. The Iowa wouldn’t barter anything they had, not even their alcohol.

She stood up and walked home, very much in her head. She tried to make up a plan, but the fact that she was a woman brought everything down. She hated that she was a minority, that men were listened to and women’s roles were in the kitchen. Who had created this rule anyways? She was thankful her father had taught her a woman’s intelligence, had said to ignore the men who told her she was naught but female. And she knew she was better educated than most people in this village, but God forbid she would show it. Would a man ever want to marry a woman who had more brain than him?

Her father was with a patient as she entered and she said through the door:

“Father, I traded chocolate for salted pork meats. I’ll store them in the cooler, all right?”

“Good my dear. I’ll see you later. Go cool off, you must be hot.” His voice was gentle and caring. He knew her too well, and she smiled as she listened to his request and started undoing the lace of her muslin bustier. It was patterned and pale, like all the dresses the women wore. Even the widows would wear pale greys, as black would kill them in the sun.

She stored the meat and went up to her room. She opened her window and let the dry breeze enter. She removed her bustier and exhaled pleasantly as her breasts fell from their daily position. They were still high, full and round, but less sustained and more comfortable. Her father had told her to often loosen her corsets and let her breasts be free, as it would reduce her chance of later problems when feeding her child. It was like freeing herself, and she continued to feel the liberation as she removed her  dress and then her undergarments. She was completely nude and she lay down on her bed and arched her back to arrange herself in a comfortable position.

She had forgotten why she had started doing this. She had always enjoyed the soft feel of the material on her skin, or maybe it was because it was common sense to cool herself down like this.

It was a little cooler now, and she welcomed the wind on her sweaty skin. Gooseflesh appeared over her body and she shuddered, smiling all the while. Her golden-brown locks were curled near her tanned shoulders and she closed her cerulean eyes and waited for sleep to find her. She deserved the rest, and hoped she wouldn’t awaken with a migraine.

Chloe Flanagan