Read Online Train From Marietta by Dorothy Garlock - Free Book Online
Authors: Dorothy Garlock
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meat and the bowl of gravy.
Yes, it was wonderful to be home.
The day was hot and windy. Tate spent most of the morning in the barn with Jorge. The mare, Lucy, didn’t foal until shortly before noon. The birth was a hard one; they were beginning to wonder if they might lose her. Jorge had to pull the foal. The filly was strong, and Jorge laughed with pleasure.
“Looky there, señor! Looky there! She strong and standing, looking for her dinner!” Jorge straddled the filly and guided her head toward her mother’s teat. The filly sucked lustily.
Tate went to get a large helping of oats for Lucy. The mare gobbled up the treat as Tate stroked her head. She had earned it.
When Tate came out of the barn, Emily was sitting on the edge of the porch. Old Bob lay on the ground at her feet.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Yelena says we don’t have any Post Toasties.”
“You didn’t get your Post Toasties this morning? I’m going to town today. Do you want to go with me and we’ll get some?”
Holding tightly on to the porch post, Emily pulled herself up so she could stand. Tate hurried over and scooped her up in his arms.
“Can I go? Can I really go?” she asked excitedly.
“We’ll go right after we eat.” He carried her into the kitchen and set her down on a chair.
“We’re going to town after a bit, Yelena. Make up a list of what you need. Put Post Toasties at the top.”
“Sí.”
Tate lathered his hands and washed. A fresh towel hung at the end of the wash bench. He carried his wash water to the porch and threw it out into the yard, barely missing Old Bob. Jorge came out of the barn.
“Better hurry, Jorge, if you want anything to eat. I’m hungry as a wolf.”
Jorge laughed. “You not like the mess they feed you at the fort?”
“I liked it all right, but it’s been three days since I was at the fort,” he growled.
Jorge followed Tate into the house. “How my
bella chica
?”
“Pretty girl?” Emily said with a big smile, pleased that she knew the Spanish words. “Jorge, you’re so funny!”
Still laughing, Jorge threw an arm around her little shoulders, gave her a gentle hug, and kissed her forehead.
“You Spanish is good, my
bella chica.”
“We both your pretty girl,” Yelena said, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. All three of them laughed.
They were as affectionate as the day they’d come to the ranch, over six years earlier. Tate felt a twinge of envy and wondered if he would ever find love like they shared.
When they sat down to eat, Emily ate everything Yelena put on her plate. She was excited about going to town. “Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!”
Emily was beside herself with excitement as they approached the town.
Muddy Creek was little more than a cluster of unpainted buildings that lined both sides of a dusty road. The town got its name from a thin ribbon of muddy water a half mile to the south. After a flash flood in 1917 that almost washed away the buildings on its bank, the town moved to higher ground and had enjoyed a bit of prosperity since the rail line had come through.
The stores, their fronts decorated with tin signs advertising everything from Copenhagen chewing tobacco to NeHi soda pop, lined a wide boardwalk. The street was empty except for a few dusty cars and several wagons. Saddled horses were tied to a rail, their tails swatting at biting flies. The high, midafternoon sun beat down. A pair of chickens pecked and scratched their way across the street. As in most small towns, groups of men were gathered about gossiping and talking politics. The United States flag fluttered from a tall flagpole in front of a small neat building at the far end of the street. Tate planned on stopping at the post office before he and Emily headed home, but first they needed to tend to the list that Yelena had given him. After parking the pickup truck, they crossed the street to Ful-bright Mercantile.
With Emily on his arm, Tate entered the
Yes, it was wonderful to be home.
The day was hot and windy. Tate spent most of the morning in the barn with Jorge. The mare, Lucy, didn’t foal until shortly before noon. The birth was a hard one; they were beginning to wonder if they might lose her. Jorge had to pull the foal. The filly was strong, and Jorge laughed with pleasure.
“Looky there, señor! Looky there! She strong and standing, looking for her dinner!” Jorge straddled the filly and guided her head toward her mother’s teat. The filly sucked lustily.
Tate went to get a large helping of oats for Lucy. The mare gobbled up the treat as Tate stroked her head. She had earned it.
When Tate came out of the barn, Emily was sitting on the edge of the porch. Old Bob lay on the ground at her feet.
“Hello, sweetheart. Are you ready for dinner?”
“Yelena says we don’t have any Post Toasties.”
“You didn’t get your Post Toasties this morning? I’m going to town today. Do you want to go with me and we’ll get some?”
Holding tightly on to the porch post, Emily pulled herself up so she could stand. Tate hurried over and scooped her up in his arms.
“Can I go? Can I really go?” she asked excitedly.
“We’ll go right after we eat.” He carried her into the kitchen and set her down on a chair.
“We’re going to town after a bit, Yelena. Make up a list of what you need. Put Post Toasties at the top.”
“Sí.”
Tate lathered his hands and washed. A fresh towel hung at the end of the wash bench. He carried his wash water to the porch and threw it out into the yard, barely missing Old Bob. Jorge came out of the barn.
“Better hurry, Jorge, if you want anything to eat. I’m hungry as a wolf.”
Jorge laughed. “You not like the mess they feed you at the fort?”
“I liked it all right, but it’s been three days since I was at the fort,” he growled.
Jorge followed Tate into the house. “How my
bella chica
?”
“Pretty girl?” Emily said with a big smile, pleased that she knew the Spanish words. “Jorge, you’re so funny!”
Still laughing, Jorge threw an arm around her little shoulders, gave her a gentle hug, and kissed her forehead.
“You Spanish is good, my
bella chica.”
“We both your pretty girl,” Yelena said, putting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. All three of them laughed.
They were as affectionate as the day they’d come to the ranch, over six years earlier. Tate felt a twinge of envy and wondered if he would ever find love like they shared.
When they sat down to eat, Emily ate everything Yelena put on her plate. She was excited about going to town. “Hurry, Daddy! Hurry!”
Emily was beside herself with excitement as they approached the town.
Muddy Creek was little more than a cluster of unpainted buildings that lined both sides of a dusty road. The town got its name from a thin ribbon of muddy water a half mile to the south. After a flash flood in 1917 that almost washed away the buildings on its bank, the town moved to higher ground and had enjoyed a bit of prosperity since the rail line had come through.
The stores, their fronts decorated with tin signs advertising everything from Copenhagen chewing tobacco to NeHi soda pop, lined a wide boardwalk. The street was empty except for a few dusty cars and several wagons. Saddled horses were tied to a rail, their tails swatting at biting flies. The high, midafternoon sun beat down. A pair of chickens pecked and scratched their way across the street. As in most small towns, groups of men were gathered about gossiping and talking politics. The United States flag fluttered from a tall flagpole in front of a small neat building at the far end of the street. Tate planned on stopping at the post office before he and Emily headed home, but first they needed to tend to the list that Yelena had given him. After parking the pickup truck, they crossed the street to Ful-bright Mercantile.
With Emily on his arm, Tate entered the
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