A Hopeful Heart by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

ranch. She also welcomed the cat’s presence.
    With Evelyn’s departure for New York two days ago, Luella had appropriated Sallie’s attention. Paralee and Mabelle remained very close, which left Tressa without a partner. During the years she lived in her uncle’s home, she had often felt alone, as her four younger girl cousins had never fully accepted her into their circle. She should be accustomed to being the odd person out, yet loneliness still created an empty ache in her chest.
    “I’m glad you like me, Isabella. The others certainly don’t.” Isabella placed one front paw on Tressa’s knee and batted at her chin with her other paw. Tressa scooped the animal into her lap. “I can’t honestly fault them. I’m completely inept at most of the required tasks, so I make a mess of nearly everything I touch.”
    She ran her hands through Isabella’s soft fur, enjoying the answering purr of appreciation. At least she could do something right. “I hear them whispering about me.” Her throat tightened, recalling the embarrassment of those moments when the others sent supercilious looks of disapproval her way. “I do the best I can, but . . .”
    Her gaze fell to the bucket of milk waiting to be delivered to the house. She was already well behind the others. Sitting here petting the cat wouldn’t get the butter churned. “I need to get inside, kitty.”
    With a sigh, Tressa put Isabella on the ground and pushed off of the stool. “Would you like to help me put old Rosie in her stall?” Isabella wove between her feet while Tressa saw to the cow’s needs. Then, with bucket in hand, she headed for the house. The cat trotted ahead, tail sticking up as straight as a poker. She glanced back now and then as if to ascertain Tressa was still following. Despite her momentary melancholy in the barn, Tressa released a laugh at the cat’s antics.
    Just as she reached the back door, the sound of horses’ hooves caught her attention. Isabella’s tail puffed to twice its normal size, and she dashed under the short bench that sat below the kitchen window. Tressa turned to see a cowboy rein in next to the house. He grinned broadly when he spotted her, snatching off his hat to reveal a thick thatch of straw-colored hair.
    “Howdy, miss. My name’s Ethan Rylin—I work for Abel Samms. Is Aunt Hattie in the house?”
    Tressa nodded.
    “Tell ’er Abel sent me to say we got a calf on the way.”
    Tressa crinkled her brow. “A calf?”
    “Yep. If you’re wantin’ to see a birthin’, head on over to the Lazy S.”
    “Oh!” Tressa remembered Mrs. Wyatt’s desire for the girls to witness a birth. With so many activities packed into a day, she had forgotten the conversation at church. “I’ll tell her. Thank you.”
    Ethan smacked his hat back on his head, tugged the reins, and galloped off without another word. Tressa hurried into the house, stumbling a bit to avoid stepping on Isabella, who darted between her feet. “Mrs. Wyatt! Mrs. Wyatt?”
    The older woman bustled from the pantry, wiping her hands on her apron. A white streak of flour decorated her left cheek. “You got that milk ready to go? An’ call me Aunt Hattie. Land sakes, girl, I don’t rightly know how to answer to Mrs. Wyatt.”
    “I . . . I’m sorry.” Tressa placed the bucket on the dry sink beside the door.
    “Apology accepted. Now, soon as you get that milk separated an’ the cream churned to butter, you can mix up some biscuits for lunch. Reckon you’ve watched me enough times to do that on your own by now.” She jabbed her thumb toward the pantry. “I been siftin’ the flour to remove the weevils for ya—I know the sight o’ them bugs doesn’t set well with your stomach.” She shook her head. “But, Tressa-darlin’, you’re gonna hafta to set aside that weak tummy o’ yours or you’ll never make it around here. A person can find worse’n weevils hidin’ in a barrel.”
    Tressa’s stomach rolled as she considered what else