Between Inca Walls by Evelyn Kohl LaTorre

Author:Evelyn Kohl LaTorre
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2020-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Working on Ranches

Twelve miles from Ismay at Polluck’s sheep and cattle ranch, a rooster’s crow woke me at 6 a.m. as it did every day the summer I was eleven. I splashed water on my face from the enamel bowl on the nightstand. No indoor plumbing here like at our house in Ismay. The cold liquid smacked me into reality. Another day caring for the Polluck’s two little girls and helping with household duties. From morning to night, I worked as a hired girl, doing what others needed, not what I wanted.

I pulled on my blue jeans, saddle shoes, and plaid cotton blouse ready for another day. Sunlight streamed through my second-story window. In daylight, a trip downstairs to the outhouse would be safe. I wouldn’t walk the path to the outdoor toilet at night. I feared a skunk, a badger, or some other wild animal might lurk in the dark waiting to pounce. If I had to pee, I used the empty baked bean can hidden under my bed. This morning the can was full. I opened the window and tossed the liquid through the screen, too embarrassed to carry it downstairs to the outhouse. The earth below drank in the yellow fluid. The patch of grass beneath my window was the greenest around.

I hurried downstairs. John Polluck had gotten up early to light the wood logs he’d placed in the bowels of the stove the night before. The black cast-iron cooking range along one wall of the large kitchen, warmed the room. I set about stirring up a batch of buttermilk pancakes from a powder mix. Then Edna Polluck fried eggs, bacon, and pancakes on the warmed griddle, which she did every morning. The big breakfast gave us fuel for the day’s work. Bits of pancake not eaten by the girls landed on the floor. The slurp-slurp sound of the family’s dog meant the dropped food had found an eager appetite. Then it was time to plan the day.

“As soon as the dishes are cleared and washed,” Mrs. Polluck said, her plump figure hurrying out to gather the eggs, “you can do the ironing.”

“The dishes will have to wait,” I said, placing the heavy flatiron where the griddle had been, “until the water in the stove is warmer.”

With the water in the stove’s side reservoir hot, I removed what I needed to two basins in the sink. I washed, rinsed, and drained the cups and plates, then checked the temperature of the flat iron. I removed a succession of damp cowboy shirts, denim jeans, and little girls’ cotton blouses from the ironing basket and pressed out the wrinkles. Oh, how much easier life would be with running water and an electric iron like at home.

At lunchtime, I served the family sandwiches and sliced apples. Then more dishes to wash before I put the little girls down for their naps. After lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Polluck saddled up their horses. I remained alone with the two little sleeping girls—the time of day I dreaded.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.