Introduction

Ranching is a life of extremes, perhaps even more so on the high plains near Laramie, Wyoming. And no one knows that better than Gwen Swan, who married both her husband Will and his family ranch where she works hard beside the men and struggles to raise her two children.

Meg Braeburn, who has broken away from her family's ranch, expects unrelenting hard work when she takes a job on the place neighboring the Swans'. She and her son face an uncertain future, but she is determined to leave the past behind and make a good life for them. Gwen, who understands the corrosive effects of isolation better than Meg, includes Meg in her family and community and wins Meg's gratitude and support.

But there is little time for reflection on anyone's part as the wheel of the seasons grinds relentlessly onward bringing disasters and triumphs and a a rough road for all concerned. The prodigal Swan son returns and relationships shift, old resentments resurface and friendships are strained and tested as everyone finds themselves struggling against the elements and each other to continue their way of life.

In this remarkable debut novel the author presents us with fully formed characters that ring as clear and true as the picture of ranch life she paints as a background for the universal struggles we all confront.

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Excerpt

I.

Gwen Swan stomped her feet on the porch mat. In the gray light, she fretted over the five eggs in her pail, ignoring the icy draft ruffling the dogs. Damnit—now she’d have to buy eggs in town. The door scraped the floor planks as she pushed it shut and the dogs hunkered back down on their beds with soft groans.

Inside, Will, still in his long underwear, drank coffee by the stove. “How cold is it?” he asked.

“Cold enough to stop the hens from laying. You’d better get your pants on. Your father’ll be here any minute.”

Will moved away, slurping his coffee.

Eggs and sausages sizzled in her skillet by the time John’s truck rumbled into the yard. In the pause that followed, she dreaded his every approaching step. Sure enough, the door flew open and his voice boomed across the kitchen. “Coffee hot?”

The same damn phrase every morning—as if he’d ever gotten it cold! She’d fed him three meals a day since her mother-in-law died, barely two months after she was married. Oh, she was so hopeful in those days, so eager to show her new family how much she could do! But after ten years of meals, with a handful of days off for childbirth, his voice at the crack of dawn zapped her like a cattle prod and just like a cow, she wanted to knock him down as she charged out the door.

“Here you go John,” she said as she placed the mug in his grasp.

He peered into the dining room. “Where’s Will?”

“Don’t know. I’ve been out to get the eggs and I’ve been here ever since.”

“Pretty soon the whole day’ll be gone.”

John plopped down with a deliberate sigh and before the mug reached his lips, Gwen had arranged the steaming breakfast platters around him. He sank the serving spoon into the fluffy eggs and Will appeared, his sparse hair slicked down on his head.

“I thought you were sick.”

Will didn’t look at his father. He sat down and grabbed a piece of toast.

“The thermometer says ten below.”

Will nodded.

“Want me to chop water holes today, son?”

Will looked up at him. “No. I’ll do it.”

“Did you check the cows yesterday?”

Will nodded.

“Do we have any early calves coming?”

“No one is showing yet,” Will answered.

“Well, you better check ’em again today. Things can change quick.” John yelled back to the kitchen. “Gwen, do we have oatmeal today?”

“I’m getting it.”

Before John could stimulate more breakfast conversation, his oatmeal and another cup of hot coffee were before him.

Gwen had the dishes cleared and soaking in the sink when she glanced up at the kitchen clock. 6:30. She dried her hands and started down the hall to the children’s rooms. She passed the shelves that Will had made to hold her Western pleasure trophies and her rodeo queen pictures, her cowboy hat set low over her brow and thick curls falling to her shoulders, her gloved hand raised. Smiling. Smiling. She passed the mirror where she glimpsed at herself. She’d chopped off those curls long ago.

She entered her son’s room. “Rory, get up.” Then her daughter’s room. “McKenna, get up.” She heard reluctant sighs and rustlings of bedclothes. By the hall light, she saw the flannel shirts and jeans on the beds where she had laid them the night before. “Get moving you two.”

Will was pulling on his coveralls in the kitchen as John talked to him. “This afternoon, better start moving hay to the calving sheds.”

“I don’t see why. We’ve got another month.”

“No point in leaving it to the last minute. What if we get a bad storm tomorra or the day after tomorra? Better move it while we don’t have to dig out haystacks, son.”

“I was going to service the tractor this afternoon.”

“That’s not going to take all afternoon, is it? You can at least get started.”

Will opened the door to the porch. John was about to follow him when Rory flew through the kitchen and tackled him.

John turned. “Well, young man, good morning to you.”

Will took the opportunity to close the porch door and escape.

“Grandpa, can you take us to school today?”

“No,” said Gwen, “He’s not taking you to school today.”

“Well, Gwen, I believe I have time to take them to school.”

“The last time you took them they were thirty minutes late because you stopped to talk to the neighbors.”

“It wasn’t no thirty minutes. All they missed was the Pledge of Allegiance.”

“I got a call from the teacher, John.”

“Mom, can’t we ride with Grandpa? Then we won’t have to walk to the bus.”

“Stop being so lazy. It doesn’t take but a few minutes.”

“But it’s cold out.”

“Cold doesn’t hurt. It’s good for you.” Gwen placed oatmeal and toast down on the kitchen table in front of him. “Eat.”

“Mom!” McKenna called from the bathroom.

“It’s all right, son,” said John. “You can come with me on Saturday morning. Do you want to?”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“All right. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

McKenna scowled in front of the bathroom mirror. “I need help.” Gwen picked up the brush and ran it slowly through her daughter’s hair, lingering over the silkiness of it.

“You’re hurting me!”

“It was just a knot.” Gwen swept her hair up into a long pony tail.

“Can’t I have it braided?”

“No. There’s not enough time. You still have to eat breakfast.” Gwen fixed a ribbon over the ponytail holder. “If you want your hair braided, you’re going to have to learn to get up earlier.” Gwen placed clips along the side of her daughter’s head. She pressed her daughter’s face between her two hands. “There. Beautiful.”

“It’s not beautiful. It’s ugly.”

“Come have breakfast.”

By 7:15, they all spilled out the door in their parkas and snow boots. Gwen tugged hats and hoods over the children’s heads against their protests. Rory trudged down the road first, followed by Gwen and McKenna. The sky was a pearl blue now and the sun inched over the horizon. Puffs of steam rose from their mouths. The children in their bulky clothes looked like marching snowmen.

“I don’t see why we can’t ride with Grandpa,” said Rory.

“Look at the sunrise,” said Gwen. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

Rory shifted so as to avoid noticing the sunrise. He kicked at the snow as he walked.

“What are we having for supper?” asked McKenna.

“McKenna, we’ve just had breakfast. Why are you worried about supper?”

“I just want to know what we’re going to have.”

“Fish sticks.”

“Fish sticks! Yum!”

“I hate fish sticks,” said Rory, “Why can’t we have something else?”

They were at the road now. They stomped their feet while the sun warmed their backs. They turned towards the sound of the approaching bus. It rounded the line of bare cottonwoods, bouncing over the dips in the road, and lurched to a halt.

Warm air mixed with children’s chatter rushed over them as the door swung open. McKenna and Rory clambered aboard, then the door shut and Gwen followed the bus’ departure until even the sound had dissipated. The cold closed around her again. She envied her children. They were swept up and carried off into a day full of things to do. Ahead of her: a house sunk deep in winter silence.

In the kitchen, she flipped the radio on to the morning talk show—the “Swap Shop.” First caller: “I got a Wards washing machine and dryer, a playpen, a couch and a lawn mower.”

She listened with half an ear as she started her piecrust. It was all a lot of junk—who’d want a lawn mower in January? But once in a while she’d hear an item they needed. And Will would never buy anything new. She rolled out three crusts, molded them to the tins and pinched the edges. Will came in just as she set them in the refrigerator. “Ready to feed?”

The sun was high now, glittery bright in the ice-blue sky. Diesel exhaust from the rumbling tractor filled the barnyard. “We’re lucky this morning,” said Will, raising his voice over the engine. “Not much wind.”

Gwen opened the gate while Will pulled through. Then she closed it and jumped on the haywagon. Will waited for her signal and with a jerk, they were off.

Will was right. There was no wind. But a quirk of this country was that the wind didn’t blow when the temperature dropped below zero. It felt as if they were submerged in ice. She swung her legs to keep her feet warm.

The cows heard the tractor and drifted out from the willows along the river. They followed it far out into the meadow. He stopped, set the tractor in first gear and aimed it where it wouldn’t run into a ditch or a stackyard. Then he joined Gwen on the haywagon. Both of them chopped the bales into sheaves and dropped them in a line. The cows were stampeding now, hungry, hungry. The leaders bumped others out of the line to snatch the greenest, choicest morsels.

After they’d fed a second line, Will stopped the tractor. “Let’s walk through and see if any are close.”

Gwen moved down one line and Will, down the other. The cows’ sides bulged and their udders were filling, but none showed the last signs of imminent labor and delivery. The cows didn’t mind Gwen or Will, they were too intent on filling their empty bellies. Will shouted to Gwen, “Anything?”

She shook her head.

Will turned the tractor homeward. Gwen tried to ignore the cold by closing her eyes and lifting her face straight to the sun. With that warmth, she could almost forget the numbness in her fingers and toes.

Back in the kitchen, the clock read 10:00 now. It had been a “Swap Shop” item—a large face with boy and girl figurines in blue gingham. Over time, the background had yellowed but the hands continued to creep over the little boy and girl. She flipped the radio back on and the last phrases of “I’m the Happiest Girl in the Whole USA” drifted through the room.

She put the pies in the oven and peeled potatoes and carrots for the potroast. Set the table for dinner. She dusted and vacuumed the bedrooms and right as the noon news began, she heard Will and John on the back porch.

Sunlight streamed through the dining room now. It was so bright and cheery that it was hard to believe it was cold outside. “Smells good,” said John as he sat down and speared a chunk of meat.

The news blared on, filling the silence between them, though Gwen couldn’t say if anyone was listening. But John could never last too long without spouting his own commentary on their daily events.

“Think that ol’ Mather is going to show up and feed them calves he just bought?” he said.

“He’s not going to let them starve,” said Will.

“Driving back and forth from town—that takes effort, more than he’s used to,” said John.

“He spent money on them and he watches his money pretty good.”

“He may watch it while it’s under the mattress,” John gestured with his fork, “but it don’t go too far from there.”

“He’ll hire someone to feed them,” said Will.

“And put them in that rat-trap trailer?”

“What are you so worried about this for?”

“I ain’t worried. Those calves are just bawling a lot. I can hear them a mile away. I feel sorry for them. Gwen, I know I smell that apple pie. Do we got any whipped cream?”

As she washed the lunch dishes, it began. A rattling in the highest branches of the cottonwoods. A hissing in the tall grass along the riverbank. And in seconds, the wind was in full roar, shaking the trees with a fury. Gusts smacked the house in waves. From somewhere—where did that sound come from?—came the high whistling shriek. Gwen dried her hands and went to the living room window. Out in the meadow where they’d fed cows that morning, the wind wasn’t driving much snow. Just the dry loose powder across the top. No more drifting snow—until the next storm.

But that sound. It could go on forever.

When the sunlight waned, she glanced at her clock—time to get the children. The air was warmer now, but the wind bit her cheeks. At the road, though she strained hard to listen for the bus, only the wind filled her ears. Even when the bus pulled up, she couldn’t hear it.

Rory and McKenna jumped off. Both their jackets were wide open. They were bareheaded and neither one wore mittens.

“Where’s your hoods? Get them on this minute!”

“Mom, Rory got in trouble today.”

“Don’t tattle,” Gwen said as she tightened the hood strings.

“McKenna lost her mittens.”

“McKenna! Did you?”

“I think I know where they are.”

“You don’t!” Rory snapped. “You’re just saying that so you won’t get in trouble.”

“Never mind that now,” Gwen sighed. “How was your day at school?”

Total silence. Gwen looked at Rory for a long moment. She wavered between ferreting out what had happened or waiting for the teacher’s call. “Livvy brought her guinea pigs to school and we got to play with them,” chattered McKenna. Gwen turned—she had to remember she had a daughter, too—but her worries over Rory hounded her.

“How many does she have?”

“A mom and three babies. And Mom, the babies just fit right in your hand. Can we have guinea pigs?”

“You don’t play with the dogs and the cats we have.”

“Yes I do.”

“When?”

“It’s hard to play outside with them in the winter. If I had guinea pigs, I could keep them indoors and play with them. Livvy would give me some of her babies.”

“McKenna, no, we have too many animals to take care of as it is,” Gwen said as she shouldered the porch door. Always—that damn door scraping. When would Will get it fixed? Her heart jumped as she heard the phone and she left the children behind to shed their parkas and boots.

The teacher’s voice over the receiver was clipped, cold. Gwen’s eyes stung as she watched Rory walk down the hall to his room while Ms. Hart described how he’d shoved the retarded boy on the playground. Another bullying incident. Again. Though she’d talked to him until she was blue in the face after the last time.

When she hung up the phone, the house was hushed. The children had been listening. Rory lay on his bed, fiddling with his GI-Joes. “That little retard wouldn’t let me alone,” he said as she stood over him.

“Stop speaking about him that way. You’re lucky not to be in his shoes.”

“He bugs me. He follows me around everywhere and drools. I want him to go away.”

“Knocking him down is not the right way to get him to stop.”

“I told him to stop! I said, ‘Stop, go away,’ but he just wouldn’t. It was the only way I could get rid of the retard.”

Her disappointment and anger broke loose and she slapped his face. “I told you to stop using that word!”

She left him sobbing. He was sorry he’d been punished, she thought bitterly, not sorry for what he had done.

Now in the kitchen, she could only hear the clock’s hum. She flipped on the overhead light. Still another meal to go before she could get out of this kitchen. Will came in. “There’s been trouble at school.”

“What?”

“Rory pushed Jonathan down and the boy’s hands got scraped.”

“Why?”

“Jonathan pesters him. Ms. Hart wants to keep him after school the rest of the week. And she wants to have a conference with us tomorrow.”

“I didn’t get the hay moved over to the calving sheds like Dad wanted. I gotta start that tomorrow afternoon.”

“Our son’s in trouble. It can wait one day!”

“I’ll go talk to him.”

Gwen yanked leftovers in Tupperware from the refrigerator. Why was her boy so mean and wild? What was wrong with her son? What was she doing wrong?

John came in. “Evening, Gwen.”

“Evening, John.”

“What’s for supper?”

“Fish sticks.”

She felt John’s eyes measuring her. He was wondering why he wasn’t drawing more conversation. She wished he would go away. She hated having him in the house when there was trouble.

McKenna ran into the kitchen. “Grandpa!” John swept her up in his arms. “How’s my honey doing?”

“Fine, Grandpa.”

“How was school today?”

“Fine, but Grandpa, can I have some guinea pigs?”

“Guinea pigs. They’re rodents, ain’t they?”

“No, they’re not. They’re cute.”

“No, she can’t have guinea pigs,” said Gwen. “She always goes to you when she wants something.”

Now John knew something was up. “Let’s go to the dining room and we can talk about it,” he said to the child.

For the first few minutes of supper, everyone was silent. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwen watched John glance from one face to another, trying to figure a way to weasel into the family’s troubles.

“More potatoes, John?” she said loudly. She knew her attempt to distract him would be fruitless.

“Why so quiet, Rory?” he asked. “Did you have trouble with the girls today?”

“No,” Gwen cut in. “He did not have trouble with the girls.”

Will spoke. “He knocked down Jonathan Tate.”

“Well,” said John, “The boy prob’ly started it first.”

Rory hesitated, glancing at Gwen. Then he said, “He was bothering me, Grandpa. He wouldn’t let me alone. He always follows me and I don’t want him to. He’s creepy.”

“Well, did you ask him to leave you alone?”

“I told him to go away. I yelled at him to go away and he just kept on.”

“See there, what’s the boy supposed to do if the other one won’t let him alone?”

Gwen spoke. “Jonathan Tate is a retarded child.”

“That don’t mean he can’t learn to leave other people alone when they ask him to, does it?” He turned to Rory. “Did you tell him you were sorry?”

“Yeah, after the teacher came.”

“See there, he said he was sorry! Does he have to stay after school?”

“Yes,” Gwen answered, “for the rest of the week.”

“I’ll pick him up then,” said John.

“No, you will not!” Gwen was shocked at her own vehemence. But wasn’t it John, always helping the boy to find excuses for himself, who had gotten them into this trouble in the first place.

McKenna crawled into John’s lap after supper. “We’ll see about your rats young lady,” he said.

“They’re not rats! They’re guinea pigs!”

John stood up and put his arm around Rory’s shoulder. Gwen meant to intervene—the child hardly deserved affection—then she relented and sagged back into her chair. The boy threw his arms around John’s waist and the old man bent over and hugged him tight.

“It’ll be all right, son,” he said. They stood there for a long moment.

Beyond the circle cast by the dining room light, the living room was dark and outside the wind still howled.

“Well, I’d better be getting to bed,” John said. And he let the boy go.

Everyone else was in bed before Gwen. She’d washed the dishes, checked the school work, kissed the children goodnight and packed their lunches for the next day. She watched the 10:00 p.m. news and the weather and then went to her bedroom. Will seemed to be sound asleep. She put on her nightgown and eased into bed beside him.

“I’m going to be getting Rory up early from now on,” Will said. “He can start chopping the water holes in the morning. Maybe if he’s got more to do around here, there’ll be less trouble at school.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Will reached over and squeezed her breast. Gwen turned her head to look out the bedroom window. The wind shrieked its long note of winter rage. And in the moonlight pouring down, she watched the tossing tree branches. And tried not to think of this final chore that awaited her before she could slip off to sleep beyond the sound of that wind. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Who are the readers’ favorite American literature heroines? Do Meg and Gwen fit the pattern of these heroines or do they represent a different statement about the lives of American women? For example, are these women extensions of Scarlett O’Hara?

2. Early in the novel, Meg chooses to remain with her employer, Mather, despite deplorable conditions. Later, Gwen, having left the Swan family ranch, chooses to return. Were these choices the “right” choices for each of these characters?

3. Nature in American literature is frequently escapist, that is, an escape and a refuge from a human world. Can it be said of the characters in this novel that they live “escapist” lives? Could any of these characters live in the “real” world?

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»	Author jamie Lisa Forbes' web site
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