but Jackson indicated the chair beside him. As she started to sit,
both men stood up and the cowboys bowed toward her and left.
Jackson reached out toward Hattie and though surprised, she
handed the child to him.
Jackson unwrapped the baby, touching the soft legs, cupping
the small feet, then putting a hand on the full rounded tummy. J.D. raised both
hands to put on top of the big hand, catching two fingers, one in each fist.
Slowly, lazily, he leaned his head back to reveal his soft throat, yawning
contentedly before managing to open one eye half-way.
Hattie hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until
Jackson smiled, setting the boy down on one long thigh, placing his free hand
beneath the wobbly head as J.D. turned his head, trying to pull a finger to his
mouth.
Jackson glanced up then and the look in his eyes made her
let out her breath in a single gasp. ‘Gratitude,’ if she had to label the look.
She waited to hear the words and realized they would not be coming. The man
seemed content to just bounce his knee and stare at the baby.
Rubye set the food down but Hattie barely noticed, draining
her milk instead and gladly accepting a refill. She whispered, “Thank you,”
when Rubye set the half-full pitcher beside her dish.
Next Rubye brought the basket of clothes she had pulled off
the line. Hattie started to say, “I’ll fold those,” but the housekeeper plopped
the basket in the chair beside her and it was obvious Hattie would be the one
doing it.
Hattie ate quickly, anxious to move to the next job. The
tension in the room was unsettling. While Rubye cleaned up - Hattie rose and
stood to fold clothes, item by item, Soft booties, embroidered diapers and baby
gowns, each tiny and precious like the boy mindlessly relaxed on his father’s
gently bouncing leg. Hattie was embarrassed at the flour-sack gown and diapers
she had dressed the baby in at the ranch, even more so by her own dingy, worn
clothes. She folded them quickly, tucking them into the bottom of the basket as
soon as she could. She was folding the yellow night gown, the last item, when
Rubye came out of the kitchen and moved the basket to the bedroom, then bustled
back to take the limp baby and cradle him as she carried him to bed as well.
Jackson waited as Rubye returned to collect the empty milk
pitcher and last dishes. They both listened to the sounds in the kitchen until
five minutes later, when Rubye blew out the light and breezed past them toward
her own bedroom.
Twice Hattie had started to rise but Jackson had signaled
her back to her seat. Each time she had felt another set of muscles tighten.
What now! By the time the housekeeper stopped puttering and disappeared,
Hattie’s legs were bouncing under the table from nerves.
She stared at him, wary and suddenly aware of him as a man
and the fact that they were alone. She tried to tamp down the fear that
suddenly roiled through her. She imagined he had heard about the men seeing her
in the yard hanging clothes. Perhaps he wasn’t pleased with how well J.D. was
keeping down her milk; after all he was always hungry. Maybe he had heard how
she petted the mules and Nugget, certainly unladylike, yelling hello to mules.
She gripped the edge of the table and waited for what he had
to say. The grandmother clock resting on the mantle gave a light musical chime
and they sat while it went through all eight counts. On the last chime she
spoke.
“What does J.D. stand for?”
“Jackson Dawson Harper, its Donna’s maiden name and my
name.”
At the reminder, he glimpsed Donna as she used to sit and
chatter about this time of night. Giving reasons why she knew it was a boy, the
way he kicked, the way she was carrying him in front, the fact that both
families always had boys first, although her brother Charles had died as a baby.
She would show him the clothes she had made that day, protesting when he would
ask if she hadn’t made enough, claiming you could never have too many things
for a
both men stood up and the cowboys bowed toward her and left.
Jackson reached out toward Hattie and though surprised, she
handed the child to him.
Jackson unwrapped the baby, touching the soft legs, cupping
the small feet, then putting a hand on the full rounded tummy. J.D. raised both
hands to put on top of the big hand, catching two fingers, one in each fist.
Slowly, lazily, he leaned his head back to reveal his soft throat, yawning
contentedly before managing to open one eye half-way.
Hattie hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until
Jackson smiled, setting the boy down on one long thigh, placing his free hand
beneath the wobbly head as J.D. turned his head, trying to pull a finger to his
mouth.
Jackson glanced up then and the look in his eyes made her
let out her breath in a single gasp. ‘Gratitude,’ if she had to label the look.
She waited to hear the words and realized they would not be coming. The man
seemed content to just bounce his knee and stare at the baby.
Rubye set the food down but Hattie barely noticed, draining
her milk instead and gladly accepting a refill. She whispered, “Thank you,”
when Rubye set the half-full pitcher beside her dish.
Next Rubye brought the basket of clothes she had pulled off
the line. Hattie started to say, “I’ll fold those,” but the housekeeper plopped
the basket in the chair beside her and it was obvious Hattie would be the one
doing it.
Hattie ate quickly, anxious to move to the next job. The
tension in the room was unsettling. While Rubye cleaned up - Hattie rose and
stood to fold clothes, item by item, Soft booties, embroidered diapers and baby
gowns, each tiny and precious like the boy mindlessly relaxed on his father’s
gently bouncing leg. Hattie was embarrassed at the flour-sack gown and diapers
she had dressed the baby in at the ranch, even more so by her own dingy, worn
clothes. She folded them quickly, tucking them into the bottom of the basket as
soon as she could. She was folding the yellow night gown, the last item, when
Rubye came out of the kitchen and moved the basket to the bedroom, then bustled
back to take the limp baby and cradle him as she carried him to bed as well.
Jackson waited as Rubye returned to collect the empty milk
pitcher and last dishes. They both listened to the sounds in the kitchen until
five minutes later, when Rubye blew out the light and breezed past them toward
her own bedroom.
Twice Hattie had started to rise but Jackson had signaled
her back to her seat. Each time she had felt another set of muscles tighten.
What now! By the time the housekeeper stopped puttering and disappeared,
Hattie’s legs were bouncing under the table from nerves.
She stared at him, wary and suddenly aware of him as a man
and the fact that they were alone. She tried to tamp down the fear that
suddenly roiled through her. She imagined he had heard about the men seeing her
in the yard hanging clothes. Perhaps he wasn’t pleased with how well J.D. was
keeping down her milk; after all he was always hungry. Maybe he had heard how
she petted the mules and Nugget, certainly unladylike, yelling hello to mules.
She gripped the edge of the table and waited for what he had
to say. The grandmother clock resting on the mantle gave a light musical chime
and they sat while it went through all eight counts. On the last chime she
spoke.
“What does J.D. stand for?”
“Jackson Dawson Harper, its Donna’s maiden name and my
name.”
At the reminder, he glimpsed Donna as she used to sit and
chatter about this time of night. Giving reasons why she knew it was a boy, the
way he kicked, the way she was carrying him in front, the fact that both
families always had boys first, although her brother Charles had died as a baby.
She would show him the clothes she had made that day, protesting when he would
ask if she hadn’t made enough, claiming you could never have too many things
for a
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