The Cowboy Tutor. Linda Ford
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for the past year. She hurried down the street as if chasing after something beyond her reach.
He shifted his stance to study the reason he stood here. The silent house. Obviously still empty. For how long? He’d searched for the man since he’d returned home, as soon as his brother had informed him of the details. This was the closest he’d come to locating him—a house he understood had been rented by the one he sought.
He glanced around. Someone stood at a front gate and called across to a fellow sauntering down the sidewalk. Called him by name. They both watched Judd—noting the stranger in their midst. Golden Prairie was small enough that a fellow hanging about for no apparent reason would attract attention. And speculation. Notice would make him conspicuous and likely alert his prey to his presence.
Not something he needed or wanted. But he intended to stay until he completed his business. Best, however, if he blended into the surroundings.
What he needed was a job allowing him to hang around without raising questions.
Turning, he headed back toward the main street. The storekeeper would know what work was available, preferably out of town yet close enough to allow him to watch this place.
He clumped along the wooden sidewalk and stepped into the store. Dust hung in the air. The scent of leather and coal stung his nostrils. The shelves carried a good array of canned and dry goods. But the whole place held an air of defeat—much like the land around him. And its occupants. “Afternoon.”
“Uh-huh.” The bespectacled man nodded and gave him a long, unblinking study. “You another of Mrs. Morgan’s prospects?”
Judd had no idea what the man meant, but it seemed a trail that might lead somewhere. He would follow it and see. “Could be.”
“Well, you ain’t the first. In fact—” He tipped his head and seemed to count something on the inside of his eyelids. “Lesse, a young fella went out just a bit ago. He was number four. I guess that makes you number five.”
“Seems a lot.” But he didn’t know what they were talking about, so he had no idea if it was or not. Perhaps, with a little leading, the storekeeper would spare the information.
“Mrs. Morgan is a mite particular, especially concerning her eldest daughter, Miss Louisa. Frail she is. Not like Miss Madge. There she goes now.” He nodded toward the window at a vehicle chugging along, coughing and complaining.
In the car sat the young woman who, a short while ago, had steamed into Judd. Madge, the man said. Madge Morgan. Somehow the name suited her. Determined despite disagreeable odds.
The storekeeper languidly continued. “Now, there’s a hard worker. Ain’t nothing goin’ to stop her. No, siree. That gal has been fighting for a decent livelihood since Mr. Morgan died. Doin’ mighty fine, too.”
Judd followed the car’s erratic passage past the store. A fighter. And pretty, too. He brought his attention back to the information the storekeeper had hinted at. “What’s Mrs. Morgan looking for in particular?”
“Just what it says in the advertisement. Here it is if you need to refresh your memory.” He pointed to a newspaper clipping tacked by the cash register. “Don’t think she wanted us to know what she was up to but my brother found the ad in the city paper and sent me a copy.”
Judd leaned over to read:
WANTED: A GOOD MAN TO TEACH INVALID LADY FINER ASPECTS OF LANGUAGES AND ARTS. ROOM AND BOARD IN EXCHANGE FOR LESSONS. MUST BE A TRUE GENTLEMAN.
“A tutor?” Never expected that.
“Miss Louisa’s interested in learning.”
“How old is Miss Louisa?”
“Well, lessee. I think Miss Madge must be eighteen now, though she has more smarts than many twice her age. I guess that would make Miss Louisa nineteen. The three girls are pretty close in age.”
“Three?”
“Yup. There’s Sally, too. Guessin’ she’s seventeen. Miss Louisa’s the prettiest, but in my opinion, Miss Madge, now she’s the one a man should consider. Why, if I was twenty years younger…”
Judd stared as the man’s voice trailed off and red crept up his neck before he cleared his throat and shifted away.
“You say there’s been plenty of interest in the job.”
“Mrs. Morgan is particular. Hey, lookee, there’s number four now. Maybe ask him how it went.”
“I guess I might.” In private. He left the store, strode toward the approaching car and signaled the man to stop. “Hear you were out to the Morgan place.”
“Indeed I was. A most promising situation. I didn’t meet Miss Morgan, but I understand she is frail but eager with a goodly desire to learn. I believe her interests lean toward art history and literature, though I’m certain with a little guidance she will develop an equal keenness for science and Latin.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “The mother is overprotective, which might pose a handicap, but I believe I could have success in overcoming that.” He sat up straighter, though he was small, so his effort to look important lacked impact.
“Well, good luck to you.” Judd stepped back and assessed the information as the man drove away. His years in university might prove productive after all, even if he hadn’t pursued being a teacher.
Yes, indeed, this job would serve his purposes very well.
A week later Madge sang as she hung another batch of laundry. Father had had no idea how the big room upstairs would be used, strung now with row after row of lines, providing a place to dry things away from the invading dust carried by the relentless winds buffeting the house and all God’s creatures.
It was her number one selling point in her offer to do laundry for others—the promise of sparkling white linens. The only way she could guarantee that was by hanging them indoors, out of the dust-laden wind.
She finished pegging the sheet on the line, removed the earlier items, now dry, and started ironing. Her pet cat, Macat, who kept her company as she worked, settled on the nearby stool and began a grooming ritual.
Doing laundry day after day was hard, relentless work, but it was satisfying to produce stacks of fresh sheets and crisp shirts she delivered in town to those people who still had money to pay for her services. Thank God for the few who seemed unaffected by the Depression. The coins she earned slowly collected in the old coffee can downstairs.
Through the open window she watched Sally dump the bucket of kitchen scraps to the chickens, then pause to look around. Her younger sister was quiet and content. Louisa, her older sister, seemed satisfied with her life, as well. Madge was the one with a restless drive to get things done. Without Madge’s constant prodding and working, the others might be lulled into complacency until the house was taken from them, never letting the specter of being homeless cross their minds. Even Mother’s concern didn’t match Madge’s determination that the family not end up in such a state.
Madge had managed to persuade one more lady to let her do part of her laundry—only the sheets and table linens, which she hesitated to hang out in the dust. Madge appreciated the job but it didn’t make up for the loss of wages her work for Mrs. Crebs had brought in.
As she folded items, she muttered to Macat, who watched her every move. “It’s going to be close.” In fact, too close for comfort after having been forced to buy a new tire for the car. She clattered down the stairs, Macat meowing at her heels. She ignored the cat’s demands, paused on her way through the kitchen to say hello to Sally, who sat surrounded by the mending, and Louisa in her lounge chair reading, with her little dog, Mouse, curled on her lap.
Madge hurried to the front room and Father’s desk. She opened the drop lid, scooped up the coffee can, sat down and slowly counted the change and few bills. Her cheeks grew taut, and she felt the heat seep from them. “It’s not all here.” She