GoT Writings

Week 1, Day 1: Story - Western genre

Kate’s eyes snapped open when a large hand spanked her rump.
“Ouch!”
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. Got chores to do and the crops are not going to tend themselves. Let’s go.”
Kate rolled over scanning the room in the predawn light. She did not recognize anything. “Who are you?”
“Just get up and get dressed.”
“Who am I?”
“Evangeline, I am not playing that game. We got hitched, it’s legal. Now let’s go.”
“What time is it?
“Evangeline, I’m not playing. Let’s go.”
“Where am I?”
“In the bed.”
“It’s lumpy!”
“Then tighten the ropes! I’m going to go get breakfast. If you ain’t dressed and ready to go by the time I’m done, I’ll do it for you.”
“Where’s the box spring?”
“What’s that?”
“It goes under the mattress and has springs.”
“Quit talking foolish and get dressed.”
“Where are my clothes? What is this?”
“You been complaining about that nightshirt for two days. I ain’t having it. Your work clothes are on the hook. Pick one and get dressed. I’m done talking.”
Kate hated this place already. The clothes had an odd scent and a dingy quality to them. She bobbed here and there so that she could get some semblance of what she looked like through the wavering lines in the mirror. Even the air in this place had a staleness that one would find in pre-decay dead things. She would attempt again.
“Bob. Tell me about me, this time and this place.”
“You loco?”
“No. I just – my memories are different from yours. My memories are of a place with automobiles, and airplanes and bathrooms. By the way, where is the bathroom?”
“The what?”
“Bathroom. Where you go – you know?”
“The privvie? It’s out back. Over there.” She followed the finger line to the window where she could see the outline of an outhouse.”
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“This ain’t no hotel where you get a personal honey pot. You gotta go, you use that.”
With pained reluctance, “Okay, I’ll be back.”
“Ain’t going nowhere.”
Kate had to bite her lip not to get into a verbal sparring match with this man. She remember a place near Roseberg, Oregon, a place with giant buildings and cars and airplanes, and this place was not that. Her last memory, or dream, was of her running through an apple orchard, tripping and falling, one day and the next waking up here.
On her way back to the house, she slowed her hurry to look around. The house was made of unpainted rough cut wood, the glass in the windows were not glazed for a clear view, the barn was run down where there were large chinks where the sun could shine through. The poor animals had a hard time to stand when it rained. At least the chink holes in the house were filled with mud putty. The latch on the door was a lift bar of wood and metal hinges and squeaked on its hinges as she tried to slip back into the house.
“Bob, where do I wash up?”
“Water pitcher there.”
“Where’s the microwave? Where’s the coffee? Where’s the fridge?”
“Woman, are you daft?”
“What year is this?”
“1858. Oregon territory. What year do you think it is?”
“It doesn’t matter. I just landed in a place unfamiliar to me.”
“Evangeline – you keep talking like that and I’ll have you locked up. I can put with your crazy talk for a little while, but you’re pushing your luck.”
“Bob. I’m stuck in a western movie –“
“A what?”
“Never mind, suffice it to say, I don’t know anything here. I have to start over like a kid.”
“A what?”
“A kid. You know? Start over and learn things like a child. I don’t know how to use any of this stuff. I don’t even know if my cooking will be any good.”
“It ain’t been so far.”
Kate resisted the urge to slap that smug expression off his face. Kate looked at her hands, the soft fingertips were not accustomed to physical labor, a slap would probably hurt her more than him. She did not even know how to walk in these crazy shoe boots, and these long skirts were cumbersome.
“My hands will be ruined.”
“Lord, woman, what in tarnation –“
“Next time we go to town, I want to get pants.”
“What?”
“You know? Pants like you have.”
“You want my britches? “
“Not yours, but pants, yes.”
“Why?”
“Won’t it make the work easier?”
“Nothing about working a farm is easy. Just do you bit and we will get along fine.”
Kate was running around opening drawers and cupboards during this rapid exchange. She now had the basic layout of the kitchen and cabin. She was pretty sure she did not want to know, but asked anyway. “How did we end up together anyway?”
“Sent away for you. That catalog. You are page 56.”
Each sentence brought an expression of “Oh, sweet heavenly days!” or “This is disgusting!”
“Lots of folks around here do it that way. Tweren’t nothin’.”
Kate settled into her chair and scraped the rough wooden legs into place at the table.
“Look what it says about me. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Better get over it right quick. The orphan train will be coming in coming to town soon. When it gets in, we’re gonna go get us one of them yung uns.”
“Where would you put it? There’s no room.”
“Don’t your worry about that none. Me and Ben and Pete will get rooms built on our houses. I spect it can stay in the barn until the room is finished.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Sure nuf can. The only reason I ain’t sent you back east is because you look like you are with child.”
“Oh, sweet heavenly days.”
“Quit your nattering. Let’s go. Straighten up or I will send you back –“
“I don’t know if that will be such a bad thing –“
“Or have you locked up.”
“Beast.”
“Trollop.”
Kate stared at this farmer trying to figure out what to do next. Bob decided the matter for her. “Get your hind quarters out to the barn. Now!”
Kate did as she was told. She learned the chores quickly. They were not as bad as she feared and worse than she expected. She would learn to answer to the name Evangeline Whitehead. She would have a bumpy time adjusting to this place and time as her home for the rest of her days. Her memories, or dreams that she called memories, would find their way onto paper. Her stories would be the only things that gave that part of her existence any meaning. She knew that Bob wanted to quit taking her to apple orchards because she would take off running looking for “it”. The kids would chase after her thinking it was grand to have a mother who would run and play like this. She could hear Bob grumbling over and over asking her what dang fool thing she was looking for. She never told him. As long as the kids were happy, he would begrudgingly give in to the whim of running through an orchard.
[word count: 1207]



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