Drugstore Cowgirl by Patricia Joy MacKay

Author:Patricia Joy MacKay
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-927527-38-2
Publisher: Heritage House
Published: 2013-09-25T00:00:00+00:00

When school was out for the summer, Tex and Tony moved their families from Terrace to the TH. Tex and his pretty dark-haired wife, Marj, who had met and married in 1948, had four daughters. At thirteen, Jan was the eldest and close to her grandma. Next came their adopted daughter, Joy, who was eight, followed by bright and cheerful five-year-old Patti, and, finally, three-year-old Margot, the baby of the family. Tony and Betty had a seven-year-old daughter, Joanne, and a son, Lee, who was fourteen—old enough to help out on the ranch, but young enough not to be too enthusiastic about it. There had been an older boy, but, sadly, he had drowned in front of his family a few days after my arrival at the TH. This was their first summer at the ranch without him, and Betty’s face mirrored their grief. These six children brought life and laughter to the ranch. They revelled in the freedom and the sheer happiness of simply being at the TH and blossomed under the summer sun, which seemed to shine every day, often sending temperatures in the kitchen to one hundred degrees Fahrenheit.

Shortly after breakfast on the first morning after the family’s arrival, the screen door gave its usual squawk and then slammed shut as Betty entered the kitchen.

“Damn. I forgot about that dreadful door,” she said as she eyed the coffee pot, the aroma of its fresh brew permeating the air. “That smells good.”

“Help yourself—it’s on the house.”

“Want one too?”

“Please.”

“Marj will be along shortly. Would you mind if we took our coffee into the nook?”

“Of course not. I’ll join you in a moment.” And so began the summer ritual where the three of us and Eve shared a morning coffee and gossip session.

“Cigarette?” Marj, who had just arrived, held out an open pack.

I shook my head. “Thanks, but I don’t smoke. You go ahead, though.”

“It won’t bother you?”

“No, I like the smell of tobacco. It brings back childhood memories.”

Betty and Marj were good company and so were their children. All were free to come and go in the kitchen whenever they pleased, except when I was serving meals. During those summer days they took it in turns to choose a favourite goodie for me to bake especially for them and gave me the nickname “Nummie” after a decadent dessert I made as an extra-special treat, Yummie Nummie Cookie Cake.

One of the ranch activities that I participated in—and then wished I hadn’t—was the branding of Charlie Brown. So far he had escaped this and the indignity of castration. By mid-summer he was a typical young Hereford boy, stocky and strong. Being raised on a bottle had certainly not stunted his growth. When the time arrived, someone was needed to hold the rope taut around Charlie’s head while he was being worked on, and I volunteered for the job: payback time. Only vengeance was not sweet. I looked at Charlie’s face as he lay at my feet bawling; when I saw tears running down the sides of his nose, I began to cry as well.

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