The heat was a shock this morning. Last night, I fell asleep in a tiny, freezing room in Belgium with blood staining the creases of my hands and blackening my fingernails. Today I woke up in the dry heat of a midsummer day in Kansas Territory, the Rocky Mountains looming just out the front door.
My name is Abigail Russell now. Then... I'm not really sure.
Of course, I'm not really sure about a lot of things. I'm not even really sure if I'm here or if this is some insane dream. Or maybe I was drugged somehow. Who knew I had such an imagination, right?
What I am sure about is if I don't go out to fetch some water, I'm not gonna have any coffee ready and waiting for me by the time I get my morning chores done.
Chores.
Because Abigail lives on a ranch in what will eventually be the eastern part of Colorado.
Her husband died six months ago.
I have a long day ahead of me.
~~*~~
Every inch of me is tired. The movies never really showed the work it took to run a place like this. It's not all riding horses and shooting at bandits.
The well's about twenty feet from the house, which doesn't seem like much until you realize how heavy water is. And I wasn't the only thing around the house that needed water. The chickens needed it as do the handful of hogs and the horses, and the two dairy cows we keep in the barn.
These animals are fed before I am, because ultimately, they keep me fed.
I've never been so glad to see a cup of coffee in my life. Abigail drinks it black. It was rich, but bitter and I didn't give a damn. I was already so tired and hungry by then that anything tasted good.
After breakfast, I knew I needed to take a look at the range. We...I lost a few of this spring's calves to what I think are wolves last week. I can't afford to lose many more. Not if I intend to hire men to make the drive to Dodge City, and I'll have to hire men. No single person can drive a herd.
I do not relish the idea of having to go looking for these men.
Most days I find myself cursing George for trusting such a green horse and getting his neck broke. Other days I find myself despairing that I won't be able to make this place run.
But I have to make it run. I've been out here since I was sixteen and Pa moved us to a little homestead in Nebraska. The land out there killed him and then the grief took Ma. I swore I'd never be a sodbuster again. I certainly can't go back East, and Denver's no place for a woman alone. The place is too raw. The only women there are the dancehall and Chinese laundry girls.
No, I have to make it work.
The herd looked good today. Fat and happy, grazing on the thick grass that grows down in the coulees. The snows we had in March have made the land green again, and the afternoon thunderstorms keep it that way. I don't have to do much. Cattle are lazy critters. If there is good grazing to be had, they won't have much inclination to wander.
And I don't have trouble with the Indians. George took pains to be friendly to them, cutting out a side of beef whenever the winters got too mean. They don't bother me, and I don't bother them.
I rode across the land—my land—until it was nearly sundown, hoping I might come across some wolf tracks. If I can find them, maybe I can manage to hunt one down. Kill one and the rest of the pack tends to get a little leery. I don't relish the idea, but with beef going for 11 cents a pound back East, I can't afford to feed all the wild things of this world. Especially if I intend to hire some hands on this summer.
Riding a horse was a strange experience. As Abby, I'd never even seen a horse up close. As Abigail, I'm an experienced horsewoman. What's more, I ride well. I know because it's a source of pride for Abigail to think she could hold her own riding with even the worst saddle tramp. I ride astride like a man. There's no one out here to see me dressed in my husband's old trousers and skirts are too troublesome out on the range.
Or, at least, there usually isn't anyone around to see such a sight.
YOU ARE READING
Old Soul Syndrome |ONC 2020|
Historical FictionIt's impossible to be two people at once. Unless you're Abby Kilken. At 27, Abby's life hasn't exactly been all she would have hoped. That college diploma wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and she spends most of her time regretting all that time s...
