Roadside Rest

For a Full Year on the Ranch She Didn't Raise a Finger

He was an old, old man when he decided to confess, just before he died 40 years ago. He nearly took his secret to his grave. Even so, he swore me to secrecy. He thought that the facts, starkly simple and true, would utterly ruin his reputation. I wonder if enough time has passed? What a proud, self-reliant hombre he had been in his prime. His father had staked a square of hardscrabble range in central Arizona, turned out a hundred imported Texas longhorns, and taught marauding Indians the effective range of a .45-90 rifle. The ranch drudgery wore on, endlessly. Paw was up riding at daylight and didn't unsaddle until dark. Two horizons removed from the county seat, he had to be his own blacksmith, veterinarian, carpenter, surveyor, and freighter. Maw put in a longer day. She ran her home without domestic help. She chopped wood, hauled water, canned fruit, mended clothing, cleaned house, slopped hogs, rustled up meals, and swabbed dishes. And if that weren't enough, when ranch work overwhelmed the hired hands, she mended fence and tended roundup fires. For 25 years, the son observed his uncomplaining mother's perpetual toil. "Someday, son," said Maw, "this ranch will be yours. Your father and I can't last forever." And soon her prophecy came to pass.The orphaned young man redoubled his own efforts. He daily pursued the diligent and resourceful ethic that in its most romantic interpretation would become the only universally recognized American character: the cowboy. He pitted his quick mind and strong body against disease and drought, rustler and predator, tight money and low market prices. For several years, he had time for little else. Fellow ranchers grew to respect his savvy, his ready fists, his skill with a 70-foot riata. His duties didn't diminish a bit until he was almost 30 years old. Then, tall, slim, handsome, his livelihood stable, he began to want for a wife. He saw a certain girl in town, and she smiled. She was a tiny blond thing from Back East, and she melted under the worshipful attention of this Arizona giant. "Marry me," he said one day. "Come with me to my ranch, where the moon is as big as the sky, and the sky is bigger than the world."

She accepted the proposal. A preacher tied the knot, and they enjoyed a three-day honeymoon in a town with one hotel, two stores, and seven saloons. Then, on to the ranch. Naturally, chores had piled up while the young rancher was courting, and before breakfast the first morning he told his bride: "Top hand and I have to ride out to patch a water tank. Firewood's in a pile out back, and over there's the ax. The ashes got to be cleaned out of the stove, and mind you don't break a finger on the well winch." He rode away. When he returned that night, his buggy, his best mare, and his bride were gone. Neighbors said all three had been seen heading for town. The bridegroom roped a fresh horse and followed, his heart a lump of ice. He found her and her baggage at the stage station.

There he made the shameful promise that became his lifelong secret: "If you'll come back, I'll cook all the meals and wash all the dishes and fetch all the water and scrub all the floors. You'll never have to work a day in your life." He was as good as his word. For a year, she sat on the porch and rocked in a chair while her husband minded the house. He waited on her. She didn't lift a finger to help. One day she picked up the ax and declared: "I'm going to split some wood. From now on, I'm the cook, maid, and laundress. You make the living, and I'll make our home. I'll work hard, but I'm going to rest, too." With that understanding, they shared the labor for 55 years. Together, also, they often put tasks aside and sat on the porch, holding hands, rocking, rocking.