<< Go Back

The Legacy of Rose Bodeen

By Faye Roberts

Order Now!

Rose


Tuesday, June 5, 1897
Denver Rio Grande Train bound for Denver


Yesterday I was a proud rancher in charge of the Silver Cross Ranch, a fine spread at the base of the Shining Mountains in southwest Colorado. Now I’m simply Rose Kathleen Bodeen, soon-to-be spinster on a train bound for Denver, with life’s cup dumped over sideways.
Mama handed me this blank book whilst I’d packed a few belongings. “Write your story. Get the words down on paper and out of your heart, and then face their hard truth head-on.”
Mama’s always been big on truth, like when I was fourteen and she caught me skipping school. I fibbed and we both knew it. She looked me square in the face and said, “the truth hurts for a moment, but a lie scars the heart. If you get too many scars, the heart stops working like it should. Not wanting to die, I confessed my transgression. She was right. I felt a whole lot better.
I’d disguised the truth about Jimmy with a lie. Once this gash heals, there will be a long, red scar to remind me to be more diligent, and truthful, concerning the affairs of my heart.
Mama’s a wise woman, so with wheels rumbling under my feet, I grip the pen and for what it’s worth, tell the truth to these pages.

I was coming out the door of the train station this morning to fetch Mama, who was returning to the Silver Cross after spending the winter with Papa at Fort Apache, when I saw Jimmy McCluskey standing next to the passenger car with an anxious look on his face.
Sybil Ross at the Five and Dime had told me last Friday Jimmy was back home from Pennsylvania where he’d learned how to be a certifiable doctor. I’d hurried home and waited for him to come to the ranch, donning clean clothes, wearing a pretty bow in my hair all the day long, and leaving the irrigation of the north field to Clem, though he can’t even make water run downhill. I baked a cobbler, heating the kitchen up as hot as Hades, but Jimmy had not showed his face that day.
Or Saturday, Sunday or Monday.
Then there he was this morning, standing on the train platform a mere pebble’s throw away, and me in old boots and dusty britches. No matter. I waved, but he didn’t see me, so I hurried his way.
About that time, Juliet DuboisDuBois descended the steps of the train. Dressed in a slickery pink getup, she raised her skirt and petticoats high enough to reveal her knees, and her bloated bosoms rose out of the front of her shirt like bread dough rising over a crock bowl. A ridiculous crimson feather plume flopped on the side of a matching hat, like the wing of a gut-shot sage hen.
“Dahling, how suweet of you to meet me!”
Jimmy drooled at the sight of her, then grinned wide and opened his arms.
I stopped dead in my tracks.
Then in front of God and everybody, Juliet coiled her arms around Jimmy and kissed him full on the mouth, oblivious to the scene she was making. Her spit must have had a mysterious Louisiana potion in it that cast a voodoo spell. Jimmy stood on the platform looking all starry-eyed and as weak as an orphana bastard calf.
I stepped behind a pile of baggage and determined to look away, but these stubborn eyes insisted on turning back. The pair still had their lips locked together. Two pair of lips in one single act of disloyalty.
The words Jimmy wrote in my autograph book four years ago played like a melodrama in my mind:
Yours until the moon stops shining. My passion for you is infinite and undying.
Four years is not long to wait; when I return we’ll seal our fate.
I’d shared those words with Juliet, my best friend. She’d giggled and said Jimmy McCluskey was the best catch in Union, and admitted she was surprised someone like Jimmy would love someone like me.
“I mean…well…you two don’t exactly go together like bread and jam, with him going to be a doctor and you a feisty ranch hand like you are, always half-cocked and loaded for bear.”
So much for friendship. I write the real truth now:
By the time you swear you’re his forever, shivering and sighing;
when he says his passion for you is infinite and undying.
Lady, make a note of this – One of you is lying.
As I watched them carry on, I realized Juliet was right on one account and wrong on another. Jimmy and I weren’t bread and jam. That was true fact. But I wasn’t the crusty rancher I make myself up to be. I was as limp as milk toast.
Mama appeared in the doorway of the passenger car, so I stepped from behind the baggage, hoping she would see me and thankful when she did. A sturdy leather valise with the S+ brand was in one hand and a round hatbox was in the other. I grabbed the valise and tried to hurry her to the buggy, but she seemed to stop and talk to everyone, friendly like she is.
I was just picking up the reins when a bright flash of pink came around to the front of the station. Jimmy walked behind Juliet, loaded down with baggage and even a lace parasol on his arm. I wanted to spew some of my favorite words in his direction but with Mama sitting beside me, the tirade stayed on my tongue. Lily Bodeen is as proud as a blooded thoroughbred and expects to be treated as such. Unlike Juliet, who tottered in front of Jimmy like a prancing pony in a circus sideshow.
The pair was living proof that it’s like the Bible says—don’t give what is holy to dogs or cast your pearls to pigs. Sooner or later, the animals will turn on you and trample you to pieces. Or something like that.
Mama wanted to visit on the ride home, commenting on wildflowers blooming beside the road, on the gray granite peaks still capped with snow and the white-faced Hereford calves in the south pasture with a fresh S+ brand.
“Oh, what a sight, Rose! This ranch is the prettiest place on God’s earth.”
Though the words tugged strong at my wounded heart, they weren’t enough to get me to change what deep down I knew I had to do.
When she asked me how Gus, our ranch foreman, was getting along, I told her he was mad as h – e – double matchsticks, when Doc Rowan told him he had to stay off a horse for at least another month. The word slipped out before I could catch it. Mama’s eyebrows shot up enough to let me know she disapproved.
Most of the time I act mature well beyond my almost twenty years, yet moments occur when I act like an unripe adolescent and curse like I did at age sixteen in an act of rebellion after Jimmy left, when salty words gave me power against the hard knocks of growing up.
Mama usually ignores the tantrums, knowing I carry the responsibilities of the ranch with dogged determination, and sometimes that burden is mighty heavy. Most times I try to respect her and let loose when she’s not within earshot. And I’ve tried to use more respectful words like Shizzle and Mama’s favorite goldarnit. Never again do I take the Lord’s name in vain. The time I did such after our ornery bull, Outlaw, stomped on Gus, Mama glared at me as if I’d stomped on Jesus himself. Both Gus and Mama were more upset about my words than they were about his busted leg.
“And Jimmy? I thought I saw him at the depot.”
“James, Mother. He hasn’t been called Jimmy since high school. Yes, he was there. Him and his medical certificate got home last week.”
“I suppose James is a more dignified name for a doctor, but to me he will always be little Jimmy McCluskey.”
And to me. Jimmy wasn’t the least bit dignified when a horse dumped him headfirst into a bog hole. The image of him at the station tugged at me. He was for sure now a man, and a handsome one at that, but he was carrying a pink parasol. Dr. James McCluskey may be full grown, but he was more of a man when, still as Jimmy, he chased the horse down and taught the animal some manners.
“I’m sure Doc Rowan will teach Jimmy much more than he ever learned in college. And was that Juliet DuBoisDuBois? If I remember right, her father sent her back east to finishing school. Or was it Atlanta?”
The mention of Juliet’s name was like a long-roweled spur jabbing into my craw. I tried to ignore the prod. “Baton Rouge.”
“Are you sure that was Juliet?”
Mama knew good and well it was. They’d been riding in the same passenger car since Denver. The continued jabbing finally set me off.
“Yep, that was her, all dolled up like one of Madame Maxine’s two-bit floozies on nickel night.”
“Rose Kathleen!” Mama gasped and used my middle name, so she was truly shocked. I slapped the horse on the rumpus with the buggy whip and he quickened into a fast trot.
Once home, Mama changed into boots and dungarees, and then headed to the barn where she learned the reason for my sullen demeanor from Gus. Him and the rest of the boys have cut a wide path around me since the day the letter came. I think the old man told the boys to go easy on me, and that made my mood even darker.
After the bull stomped Gus during the fall roundup he couldn’t do much other than play pinochle. I’d made him move into the main house after Mama left to nurse Papa. He had been too sick to come for Christmas due to bad lungs he’d got chasing renegades through the cold, dusty Arizona desert. For five months Gus watched me mark off days with a big black X until Jimmy was to be home.
In January, I made Gus give his opinion on dishes I cooked up whilst trying to learn the domestication skills a good doctor’s wife should have.
In February, he kept the coffee hot in the middle of the night when I’d check on the mother cows ready to drop calves. He sat with me at the kitchen table as I spent precious spare time planning a huge shindig to celebrate Jimmy’s graduation…and our wedding.
In March, the old man helped me pick out a dress from the Sears and Roebuck catalog
In April, we decided on cake. Vanilla, with wild strawberries and thick sweet cream.
On May 4th, Jimmy’s letter arrived. Gus and I had finished breakfast when Clem brought in the mail. I tore open the envelope I’d been hoping to get for weeks and read a short, businesslike note with words that sliced me open like a gutted sucker fish. I wadded up the paper and threw it in the stove, along with the calendar I yanked off the wall. I said a few choice words, then pulled on my boots and walked out the door. There was branding to be done.
I came in that night smelling like burnt hair and sweat. Not one tear had been shed, that is until I once again read the sweet words in my autograph book. When the sobbing subsided, I came to my senses and decided that my betrothed was just having a case of cold feet.
Yes, that was it. James McCluskey might be the doctor, but I had the right medicine to warm up his toes when he got home. So, I scrubbed myself clean and kept on making plans, not wanting to face the truth of what had been written in the letter.
At the depot, the kiss made the truth of his words feel like a hard, stinging slap across my face that woke me into reality. Jimmy had fallen in love with “Another”, and would be marrying “Another” when he returned home. I was cordially invited to the ceremony. The date he’d stated for the festive occasion also happened to be my birthday. What he hadn’t bothered to write was that “Another” was none other than my once friend Juliet. After seeing them entwined in each other’s arms, I knew I’d not be able to face the happy couple at church socials and barn raisings, nor face the whispers of a whole town of folks who would know I’d been jilted.
Mama walked into the bedroom as I was packing my valise. She sat on the bed and furrowed her eyebrows, something she does when putting puzzle pieces into place.
“Gus said you asked him to take you back to town. This isn’t how I planned on you leaving. Not alone. Not without some warning.”
She wiped at her face, and then said Gus told her he was darned proud of me. I’d done a mighty respectable job running the ranch while she was in Arizona. The words felt good, but not good enough to get me to change my mind. I stashed another shirt down in the bag.
Then Mama said that running away is not the answer to problems.
“You’ve always taught me that folks oversee their own lives. God gave all his children the right to make choices. Well, I’ve made my choice.” Truth be told, the kiss had made the choice for me, but I didn’t want to admit it to her or to myself.
“This is a big decision, Rose. One that will set your destiny in motion.”
Mama started repacking the bag I’d made such a mess of, saying that if I folded and then rolled the clothes, they would come out less wrinkled. She was buying time to get her thoughts together because her brow was still furrowed.
“Alright. You need to go. You’re too young to be saddled with such responsibility. See the world, Rose, so you will someday feel the same satisfaction of coming home that I felt earlier. You’ll not truly appreciate this land until your feet have been too long on unfamiliar soil.”
Then Mama said she’d always known the day would come when I’d feel the need to cut my own trail and form my own herd. “I honor your bravery in making the decision that you think is right.”
Brave? I’m terrified.
When she asked where I was going, I told her the cull cows were in a corral by the train station waiting to be sent to the Denver Stockyards for auction. I’d be going along with the cattle to be sure we get a fair price. “After that, I can’t say. I’ve heard there’s gold up in Alaska. Maybe I’ll head on up to the top of the world and pick up a few nuggets. Maybe even shoot me a polar bear.”
The furrow got deeper, and she suggested I visit my father in Denver. He would be there for a week conducting business with the Bureau of Indian Affairs before heading back to Fort Apache in Arizona. Said he would love to see me. I don’t know why she thinks that, since he’s never had time for me before.
I should have known better than to fall in love, after witnessing firsthand what loving my father did to Mama all these years. She’s spent her life waiting for Colonel Sam Bodeen to come home, all the while doing the work of three men on this ranch. And when his boots do cross the doorway, she dotes on him like a love-struck drudge. Yet all her caring and devotion isn’t enough to keep him at the Silver Cross. He sticks around for a month or two, and then is off again for yet another more important deed other than caring for the home place, or his family.
“I’m sure he has more important business to attend to than me,” I said.
“Maybe you two could have a nice dinner together at the Brown Palace to celebrate your birthday. Oh, your gifts.” She said something about presents as she left the room, and then returned with two packages.
“Happy birthday, sweet girl.”
I opened the lid to the hatbox she’d carried off the train. Inside was a bonnet like the one Juliet had worn, complete with what looked like the tail feathers of a magpie dyed a shade of green the color of calf scours. Also inside was a folded sheet of paper emblazoned with a United States Army logo. The words “Happy Birthday Pine Nut” were scrolled neatly across the top in my father’s bold script. The hat was as worthless to a woman rancher as puffed-up mutton sleeves on a blouse.
I wasn’t about to try on the dead rooster hat. I offered to let Mama use the thing to lure ducks to the pond. She placed the hat back in the box and handed me a parcel wrapped in brown paper. Inside was the book I write these words in. I fanned the pages. All were blank except for the first page.
Times that are hard to bear are sweet to remember.
May your memories bring you joy.
With love everlasting,
Mama

“Is this one of those Dearest Diary things?” I scoffed at the mere thought.
Juliet had a pink book when she was my friend, and wrote the silliest of notions, like which boy looked at her, and what she was wearing when he did. She locked the thing with a tiny silver key that she wore on a chain around her neck.
“Not a mundane accounting of simple daily happenings, but more of an adventurer’s book, like the journals written by Meriwether Lewis during the Corps of Discovery expedition. I started keeping a chronicle of my life when I moved to the ranch before you were born. I wrote about the land, the snow and the cattle. I wrote about my deepest fears and wildest longings.”
“You like writing?” Such a notion reminded me of crabby Mr. Abernathy making me diagram sentences on the chalkboard in front of the whole class. And the thought of Mama having wildest longings? Ridiculous. Not my Mama. No, not practical Lily Bodeen.
“I still do. Writing about myself felt awkward at first, but it would get frightfully lonely here, especially in winter. I had no one to tell my secrets to, so I wrote them in the ranch ledger and then tore out the pages. The pen chased away demons that lurked about when your father was away. Scribbling down a problem got it off my heart and into the light where I could look at it more objectively. What’s more, reading back over the pages is proof positive of what I’ve learned thus far on my journey. Seems if I write out a mistake made, I have less of a tendency to repeat it.”
She pulled out a Waterman fountain pen and bottle of indigo ink from her pocket. “You’ll need these, too. Writing does all that and much more, but you must write with truth and honesty. And remember, your words are not for a contest or for anyone else to see. Once I figured that out, I began to cherish quiet moments with pen and paper.”
She put the hatbox on a shelf in the wardrobe. “Your father doesn’t know about my writings. Some thoughts are better not shared, especially when life is hard. I hope this book will be as much of a savior to you as mine have been to me.”
“I have nothing to write about.” What I didn’t say was that without Jimmy, I had nothing at all.
“Oh, but you do, Rose! And you will. You have a whole life to discover. It does not seem so right now, but someday you will look back over your pages and be astounded at life’s amazing surprises that came your way.”
I thanked Mama and said the gifts were beautiful. I didn’t just mean the birthday presents, but also the riches of her sharing thoughts she so often keeps hidden. Mama rarely lets down her guard, and she’s passed that trait on to me. A good ranch woman never shows weakness, not if she wants to stay in business.
But since Mama did, I let mine down as well. Tears flowed in earnest when I confessed to her what Jimmy had written in the letter. His affections had changed. He would always care for me, but only as a friend. Four years is a long time, as if I didn’t know that. The final twist of the knife was when I saw who “Another” was.
“Jimmy and Juliet are to be married,” I said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“And for spite, Juliet has planned for the blessed event to take place on my birthday.”
“I can’t believe she would do that to you,” Mama said.
“I can’t believe he did.”
There. I’d finally said it out loud. Some of the steam released and eased the pressure that had been boiling inside. I unbuckled one side of the valise and tucked in the diary and bottle of ink. Mama added my Bible off the dresser. Guess she figured I needed all the help I could get, though unlike her, I don’t feel comfort from words I rarely understand.
Mama read the book to me at bedtime when I was still her “wee-bit child” and tried to explain the words, but I only paid attention to stories about animals, like the ark and whale and lions, and Solomon’s forty thousand horses. And I liked when she read what Jesus said. His words were easy for a country child to understand. Parables, she called them. Lessons about fields and seeds and weeds.
“When God closes a door…”
I cut her off. “More like slammed shut in my face.”
“Perhaps it was the only way for God to get you to stop rebelling against his plan for you.”
“Are you saying I’m stubborn?” I had to smile. The word has come up more than a few times.
“No, dear. Stubborn is for bad-tempered mules. I rather would use the word tenacious. Determined and not easily discouraged. Admirable trait, to be sure.” Mama looked me square in the face and added, “Yes, there are amazing adventures waiting for you, yet someday you will come home. The land will draw you back like the warm sun draws wildflowers from the ground in spring. Someday, when the season is right. Trust in the Good Lord’s plan, Rose.”
Trust. I’d trusted Jimmy only to be betrayed. Jilted. Yet Mama said the words with the same strong conviction I’d relied on throughout my childhood. When she spoke in that tone, I believed she was quoting directly from the High All Mighty himself.
Together we walked to the buckboard outside. I gave her a kiss and climbed up on the seat next to Gus. He released the brake and guided the horses down the lane and past the mailbox.
I glanced back as the wagon turned onto the main road. Lilac bushes bloomed by the house. Mitch, the one-eared tomcat, was curled up on the porch swing, overseeing his latest progeny. Ginger, who I’d raised from birth, nursed a new colt in the corral. Even the dog had a cute batch of pups.
All I had was an empty burlap sack of dreams and a valise. Mama was still watching. I waved, then turned and looked forward.

Order Now!

<< Go Back