An Unlikely Rancher. Roz Fox Denny
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“G’bye.” He again headed for his pickup and it was the first time Jenna noticed he walked with a limp. She wondered what his story was.
She watched as he got into his pickup and shoved the dog over. He closed the door and rolled down the window, waving as he made a slower turnaround than the one Winkleman had.
Beezer leaned around his master, stuck his big head out the window and barked, his ears flapping.
At the sound of her daughter’s joyous response, Jenna vowed to call Oscar Martin that night to ask if a dog might scare the birds.
“DO YOU THINK Beezer can have a sleepover with me sometime?” Andee sounded hopeful as she peered up at Jenna.
“Probably not, honey. I don’t think dogs understand what’s enjoyable about a sleepover. Not like kids do. Hey, we have groceries to take into the house.” Jenna went to the Cherokee and lifted out two bags. “Will you grab the milk, please?”
“Okay.” The girl kicked at the dust on the way to the vehicle.
“I know our new home doesn’t have kids nearby to play with. But I’m sure you’ll like helping out with the ostriches.”
“What can I do with them? They’re way bigger than me.”
Jenna glanced at her daughter’s long face as she set one bag down and unlocked the door. “It takes a few weeks for chicks to hatch in the incubator. Tonight I’ll study up on how many chicks it’s advisable to add to our flock.”
“I want lots.”
“We can’t add more than the land will support.” Jenna set her bags on the counter, took the milk jugs from Andee and placed them in the fridge. “Mr. Martin’s notes say chicks grow fast. He said it takes an eighth of an acre to sustain an adult bird. That’s why we’ll sell most of our eggs.”
“I’m hungry. Can I have a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich?”
“I’ll fix us both one right after I bring in the rest of the groceries.”
When she returned with the remaining bags, Andee was sitting at the kitchen table snuggling Cubby Bear. She’d gone back into her shell.
As Jenna stored the things she’d bought, she contemplated checking in town to see if the school or library offered summer classes for kids. Swimming, maybe, or little theater.
Before Andrew’s investigation, Andee and her former school friends had loved to dress up and play make-believe.
As if associating with Colonel Wood’s daughter would somehow rub off on their kids.
After she folded the last empty bag, Jenna got down plates and opened the bread. In the middle of spreading peanut butter, Andee suddenly said, “Can Daddy see us here in our new place?”
Jenna fumbled the knife and it clattered against the plate. “See us how?”
“My Sunday school teacher said Daddy could look down and see me from heaven. She said heaven is up above the clouds. Here, there aren’t many clouds.” Andee’s little face crinkled, worry plain in her eyes.
Jenna carried their plates and the jar of jam to the table. Sitting, she slowly spread strawberry jam on the slices of bread that weren’t covered with peanut butter. Still struggling in her own mind, she cut one sandwich in two and slid it across to Andee.
She’d had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that Andrew had flown extensively in war zones and returned in one piece, only to die practically in his own backyard in a senseless, controversial accident.
She couldn’t—wouldn’t burden Andee with her own uncertainties.
“Heaven is a huge place, and it’s...everywhere. Do you remember when we drove a long way from home to see a rocket launch?”
Andee nodded. “It went up and up and up, and disappeared.”
“That’s right, the rocket went all the way to the moon, but it still didn’t reach heaven. Do you remember how Grandma said he’s with you every time you think about him?”
“Uh-huh.” Andee stared at her sandwich a moment longer. “Do we get milk to drink?” she asked, placing her bear in an empty chair before she picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite.
More than happy to change the subject, Jenna jumped up, took down glasses and poured each of them a glass of milk.
“What was that bad man doing here before Beezer came to visit?”
Jenna swallowed what she was chewing, then chased it with milk. “I don’t think he’s bad, Andee. He wasn’t happy. He worked for the man I bought the ranch from, but he wanted me to pay him more for doing the job he’d been doing. I didn’t—don’t think that’s right. I told him no.”
“So is that why he got mad and left? What if he comes back?”
“Don’t you worry, okay? Mr. Winkleman thinks I can’t do without his help. Tomorrow, we’ll go into town and find someone else.
“If you’re finished with your sandwich, let’s stack these plates in the sink and go see what he was doing with the ostriches. I’ll bet it’s something you and I can handle.”
“Okay.” Andee slid off her chair and carried her plate to the counter. She went back and collected Cubby Bear, then waited for her mom by the kitchen door.
Jenna took off her earrings, tied back her hair, got out one of three pairs of work gloves she’d bought and led the way to the pens.
“I saw Mr. Winkleman set down this plastic bag when he came out of the shed. Shall we see what’s in it?”
Andee trudged not so enthusiastically after her mom. She held her bear tight to her chest.
“Oh,” Jenna exclaimed, “the bag is filled with ostrich feathers.”
Peering into the bag, Andee asked, “Do the feathers fall off?”
“Some do. Mr. Martin used to only take the feathers during molting season—when they fall off—so we don’t have to hurt the birds to get them. The sale of feathers is one thing that makes raising ostriches profitable. That means, what pays us money,” she added because she saw Andee open her mouth.
Instead the girl asked, “Who wants feathers? What good are they?” She picked one out of the bag and studied it. “It’s big.”
“Ostrich feathers are the only feathers that naturally absorb dust instead of pushing it away. Hmm, I wonder if my feather duster is ostrich... I remember an article I read said some car manufactures like ostrich feathers for the final dusting before they paint a car.
“Stay with the bag for a minute, Andee. I’ll go inside and get his notes.”
“Will you come right back?”
“Yes, silly. And I’ll leave the door open so you can see me.”
Andee nodded.
Because Andee acted so uneasy, Jenna whipped into the kitchen and grabbed up the folder of notes. She was out of breath after running back. “Okay, so that didn’t take long, did it? But, sweetheart, I can’t have you worrying any time I’m out of sight. You used to go out to play catch or to ride Brittany’s bike.”
“At our old house there wasn’t so much nothing,” Andee said, sweeping her arm in an arc that encompassed the desert land beyond the ranch.
“That’s the difference between city living and country living.” Jenna knelt and opened the folder of notes.
“What does it say about the feathers, Mommy?”
“It says the ostrich feathers are soft because the birds don’t fly. They use their feathers to