Weathered Too Young
By Marcia Lynn McClure

Chapter 1

 “Well, I hear the Evans’ been havin’ an awful time since old Mrs. Simpson passed on last month. They might be lookin’ for some help, ma’am.”

Lark sighed heavily and asked, “What kind of help?”

“Old Mrs. Simpson was the cook, housekeeper, perty much all around mama to those old boys. Is that what you was havin’ in mind, ma’am?”

“I suppose so. Something similar. Where can I find their home? I guess it can’t hurt to talk to them, right?”

“No, ma’am. Ain’t no harm in the askin’. Um . . . if’n you wanna wait a minute, ma’am . . . I could hitch up the wagon and drive you out there myself.”

Lark hesitated.

“I ain’t no kinda rounder, ma’am. Just an honest cowboy, winterin’ in town. You’ll be safe enough with me.”

What choice did she have? She needed to find some kind of employment. Already, the autumn air was turning frigid in this small Colorado town. She’d need a place to wait out the winter. And she needed money. She’d been to the tailor and dressmaker’s establishments already and they were not in need of help. She’d also inquired at the general store and found that they were not in need either. Then, a pleasant looking fellow in worn out pants and boots had tipped his hat to her and told her of these Evans’ who had recently lost their housekeeper.

“You look like an honest, respectable young man. I suppose I would do well to ask you to drive me out there.”

The young cowboy smiled and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It can’t hurt to ask. I know they been plum aggravated without old Mrs. Simpson to look after ‘em.”

So, fifteen minutes later, Lark was sitting beside the young man, a total stranger, in a wagon, inching ever closer to the Evans’.

“Now, don’t you let old Slater scare you off. He’s just a scroungy old bear. It’s his brother, Tom, that you wanna ask to talk to. He’s the younger of ‘em and a heap more friendly. I’ll wait for you, ma’am.”

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Jacobson. I do so appreciate it,” Lark said sincerely.

“Mind if’n I ask what you’re doin’ out here in these parts, travelin’ all alone, ma’am? It’s a might unusual to see it. A woman by herself and all. ‘Specially a young one.”

Lark sighed and was silent for several moments, contemplating whether or not she should confide in the stranger.

“You don’t have to tell me, ma’am. I shouldn’t of asked. Ain’t my place.”

“It’s not that. I’m just a very private person. Thank you for your concern though, Mr. Jacobson.”

The cowboy smiled and nodded.

Sometime later, Lark could see the house, barn and other ranch buildings as they approached.

“Here we are. This here’s the Evans’ place. Now, you just run on up there and ask to talk to Sam. I’ll wait here for you,” the young man said, pulling his team to a halt.

Lark smoothed her very worn skirt and pulled her thin shawl tightly about her shoulders as she approached the large, rugged looking house. The butterflies that were abounding in her stomach were almost too unbearable, but she climbed the squeaky steps that led up to the porch and front door.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked loudly. There was no answer. She looked back at the young cowhand waiting in the wagon.

“Go on!” he mouthed and motioned for her to try again.

She knocked again. This time she heard heavy footsteps approaching. She could hear an angry voice mumbling as the door handle turned. The door opened and a man, looking very irritated at being disturbed, frowned angrily down at her as he pulled up his suspenders which had been hanging loosely from his waist.

“Who in tarnation are you?” the man growled. He was unshaven, yet clean looking. Lark judged him to be in his late twenties. Even with the deep frown that puckered his brows he was handsome. Tall, hair that was fair at first glance, but most likely bleached from hours in the sun for it was dark beneath the top layer. Eyes that were almost so deep a shade of brown that they teetered on being black, and a firm, square jaw that was clenched tightly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir . . . I was hoping to speak with Tom Evans. Is he at home?” she choked out, trying her hardest to sound confident.

The man’s frown intensified and he rolled his eyes in a gesture of annoyance. “Tom! Tom! Get your . . . get in here! There’s a . . . someone to see you.” With that, he turned and left Lark standing in the open doorway.

Lark watched him lumber away mumbling angrily to himself. Another man appeared almost instantly. This one looked quite similar to the first, but wore a happy expression and greeted her with an outstretched hand.

“Hello! To what do I owe this pleasure, ma’am?” he said and she involuntarily smiled at the friendliness in his voice.

“TomEvans?” she asked.

“That’s me! Handsome, too . . . ain’t I?” he chuckled.

“Yes . . . well . . . um . . .”

“What can I do for you, Miss . . .”

“Lark Lawrence .”

“Miss Lark Lawrence.”

“Well . . .” she cleared her throat which had become nervous and severely dry. “I heard that you’ve recently lost your housekeeper. I’m so sorry to hear that, by the way.”

“Thank you. We loved dear old Mrs. Simpson. Like our own mama, she was.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss. Well, someone in town thought that you may be in need of an individual to keep house and cook for you . . . and suggested that I inquire about it.”

Tom Evans’ smile broadened. “Why, we do indeed! We’ve been havin’ us a downright awful mess of a time ‘round here! Me and old Slater . . . he’s my charming brother . . . we’ve got too darn much to do . . . keepin’ the cattle and crops in line. Don’t leave much time for cookin’ . . . even if we did know how. And between you and me, ma’am . . . I’m plain sick and tired of eating jerky and hard biscuits every meal!”

Lark smiled as hope bloomed within her bosom. “Are you in need of someone then?” she asked.

“You bet your sweet . . . of course we are! But you ain’t quite what I was thinkin’ our next mama would look like.” He winked at her and she tried not to blush.

“I’m more than capable, Mr. Evans. I assure you that my youth does not denote incompetence.”

“Where you from, ma’am? I can’t find a trace of no accent when you talk.”

“East,” she said bluntly.

“Okey dokey. You go tell old Jack Jacobson to run along home now. We’ll let you give us a try for a while and see if you can tolerate two old bachelors.”

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and shook it excitedly. “Oh! Thank you, Mr. Evans! I promise you won’t regret accepting me into your employ!”

He smiled back at her and shook his head, chuckling. “Well, I’m sure I won’t if’n I can get used to the way you talk!”

She squealed as she ran back to the wagon. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobson! He’s going to let me try it out! I can’t thank you enough for your help!”

The young man handed her the old carpet bag that hid her only possessions, tipped his hat, and with a “Yer welcome, ma’am”, set his team in motion.

“Well, let’s get you settled in Miss . . .”

“Lawrence.”

“Miss Lawrence,” TomEvans said, as Lark entered the house.

“Call me, Lark . . . won’t you?”

“All right, Lark. And I’m Tom. Okay?”

Lark nodded. She felt like jumping up and down with elation, but concealed her utter delirium.

Looking around at the inside of the large house, she could see that it was definitely inhabited by men. The furniture was heavy and dark. Clothing and other clutter abounded. She credited the lovely draperies to the late Mrs. Simpson.

“Not much to look at . . . but we find it cozy enough,” Tom said.

“It’s wonderful! It’s sturdy and warm and ever so masculine,” she commented.

“We don’t always leave it such a pigsty . . . but we been bringin’ in the crops the past few days and just ain’t had a chance to tidy it up,” Tom said as he tried to conceal a pair of red flannels that were strewn across a nearby chair. He was a handsome fellow, looking much like his brother, only cheerful and friendly.

“There’s a room off the kitchen here that was Matilda’s. It’s one of the warmest in the house in the winter. I guess the heat from the oven helps warm it up. You’ll like it, I think. It’s more . . .”

“Feminine?”

“Yeah! That’s it! Couldn’t quite think of the word. Anyway, it’s right over here.”

He led her over to a door and opened it. It was a charming room. This room was small, cozy, with a comfortable looking bed covered in a bright quilt. Lace curtains hung at the window, and above the wash stand which sat next to the bed hung a lovely painting of an old southern mansion.

“Matilda was from Richmond . I think she always hankered for the life she remembered before the war,” Tom explained when he noticed Lark gazing at the painting.

“It’s a lovely painting. This is the most wonderful room I have ever seen!” Lark exclaimed in absolute truthfulness.

“Well, there’s a wardrobe just back here for your hangin’ up things. And, of course, that old trunk at the foot of the bed is yours as well. It’s empty.”

Lark looked around awkwardly. “Thank you.” She wouldn’t need much space for the few thing she had with her.

“Oh! Help us all!” came a growling sort of exclamation from behind them.

Lark turned to see the man who had answered her knock standing there frowning at the two of them.

“Don’t tell me you’ve actually let her in, Tom? Next I’ll find you out buryin’ dead mice and worms and such!” the man grumbled.

“And this, Miss Lark . . . is my charmin’ brother, Slater. Slater . . . this is Lark. She’s gonna cook me somethin’ to eat for dinner ‘sides yer leather hard jerky and nasty old biscuits.”

“Hello,” Lark said, offering her hand to the man. He ceremoniously wiped his hand on his pant leg and shook hers dutifully.

“I hate rabbit stew. Anything cooked with rabbit makes my stomach churn. We get up early ‘round here. ‘Fore the sun. We like to eat ‘fore we get to work. We’re ornery old men, set in our ways, and we don’t take to no change.”

Lark raised her eyebrows. “I’ve never made rabbit stew in my life.”

Slater Evans nodded. “Good. It makes me sick.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s made out a cute little bunnies. We used to have some pet rabbits when we was boys. Things got mighty desperate one winter and we had to have one for dinner. Old Slater ain’t eaten a rabbit since,” Tom chuckled.

Slater ignored his brother’s teasing and continued. “How old are you, girl? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

“Nineteen,” Lark lied. Well, she’d be eighteen in three months. That was close enough she assured herself.

“Don’t look no older than sixteen,” Slater mumbled, glaring at her. “You ain’t got no strange habits, do you?”

“Strange habits?”

“You know . . . strange things about you. You ain’t insane or got some crazy man chasin’ you all over tarnation, do you?”

“No, sir. No one’s looking for me,” Lark stated.

“Well, I guess if Tom’s dead set on havin’ a pet . . . I might as well enjoy a good meal now and again.” With that, he turned and strode away.

Oddly, Lark found him very intriguing. She viewed his hostility and gruffness as very exaggerated. And the way his brother teased him would indicate that he had some semblance of a sense of humor buried deep within him someplace.

“Just ignore Slater. He’s full of beans. That reminds me, let me show you where we keep the supplies and all. We usually like to eat about sundown this time of year. That all right?”

“Oh, yes! It sounds wonderful! I had better get started, then, if dinner’s to be served promptly.”

Lark could hardly contain herself! Real food! Perhaps even meat and sweets now and then! It had been so long since she had a real meat and potatoes meal! Her mouth watered with anticipation as Tom showed her where the vegetables and beef were stored.

“I’ll give you a hint ‘bout Slater . . . he loves sugar cookies! With icin’ ‘specially. If’n you wanna get on his good side . . . you get him some cookies baked tomorrow.” Tom winked at Lark and she nodded. “I gotta be gettin’ back to work. You go on ahead and fix whatever you’ve a mind to. We been eating nothin’ for so long that anythin’ would taste good by now!”

He made to leave, but Lark caught his shirt sleeve. “Thank you, Mr. Evans. You’ve no idea how much you’ve helped me.”

Tom was touched. He smiled down into the lovely face of the young woman. It was obvious that she didn’t have much at all in the world. Her dress, though clean and fresh looking, was very well worn. She looked a might too thin to him, too. Her dark brown hair was pinned up neatly and her green eyes flashed with enthusiasm. When she smiled it was like walking out in the middle of winter to find spring had snuck in and turned everything to blossoms. She was small, but sturdy looking, with a voice like music.

“Well, Miss Lark . . . you don’t have no idea yourself how much you’re gonna help us out. Now, you get to cookin’ and I’ll get to workin’.” With that he left her.

“I can’t believe you, Tom! Hirin’ that little runt of a thing! We been doin’ just fine on our own. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with jerky and biscuits!”

Lark listened intently as Slater Evans complained to his brother. They were still standing on the front porch.

“She’s mighty pretty, Slater. Even you gotta notice that!” Tom whispered.

“She’s a baby, Tom! It’s all too clear what she’s up to.”

“And what’s that?”

“Well . . . she’s . . . runnin’ from somethin’! You just don’t see women a travelin’ around the country by themselves. Somethin’ ain’t right about it. ‘Sides . . . you and me’s gonna get accused of all kinds of doin’s with that perty young girl livin’ under our roof with us! What’ll folks think?”

“Now, Slater . . . you ain’t never cared what other folks think in yer life! You’re just angered at me for not consultin’ you about it first. That’s all and I know it!”

“I ain’t just talkin’ to hear myself, Tom. She’s hidin’ somethin’. I can tell.”

“Is that so? Well, and what if she is? Ain’t we all hidin’ somethin’, big brother? I’d think you know that better than just about anybody.”

“Hhmmph,” Slater grumbled. “I feel trouble brewin’, Tom. You mark my words. It’s in the air.” And he stomped away.

“I know what you feel brewin’, brother Slater.” Chuckling to himself, Tom followed.

Lark quietly let out the breath she had been holding in. She needed a job so desperately! And it was obvious that if the older brother had his way, she’d be sent on her way immediately. She frowned, but began the task of starting an evening meal.

She thoroughly relished cooking that evening. She felt so thankful to have a place to spend the winter. Last winter had been so miserable. The Larsons were kind to let her sleep in the barn as payment for helping around the house and with meals. Mrs. Larson, being consumptive, wasn’t able to carry out many of her duties as wife and mother. When she had passed away early last Spring, Mr. Larson had divided the children among his sisters and set out for a new life somewhere.

Lark had been able to find work with Mrs. Jenkins, the seamstress in town. But she was elderly and had decided to close her business doors just last week. Mrs. Jenkins had begged Lark to stay with her, but Lark was unable to find work and knew that the aged widow couldn’t afford to have Lark living in her home. So, with that behind her, she had set out to find another situation to sustain herself.

It wasn’t a new lifestyle to Lark Lawrence. It’d been nearly two years since she’d left and began taking care of herself. She was strong, able bodied and confident that things would always work out for her. And it looked as if they had once again.

By the time the sky was pink and orange with sunset, a hearty beef stew and freshly baked rolls were waiting. She heard the Evans men clumping up the porch steps, conversing.

When they entered Tom inhaled deeply and exclaimed, “MMmmmm! Smell that, big brother! Heaven, that’s what. Simply Heaven.”

Slater Evans said nothing.

“Smells good enough to eat, Miss Lark,” Tom sighed, entering the kitchen and crossing the room to the wash basin.

Lark glanced at Slater Evans. He nodded in something resembling a greeting, and Lark smiled at him.

“Could be I’m a little tired of jerky and biscuits myself,” he muttered as he joined his brother in washing.

Lark let a sigh of relief escape. She’d been afraid that he’d overrule his younger brother and send her packing.

The two tired looking men sat down at the freshly polished table and Lark set two heaping plates of food before them.

Tom smiled up at her and said, “Sit down, Miss Lark. You must be starvin’ to death.”

Lark shook her head uncomfortably. “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I’ll wait until you’ve both finished.”

Both men looked at her in bewilderment. “You’re funnin’ us,” Slater muttered, glaring at her with a doubting expression.

“Well, no. I thought I should wait until you’ve finished and clear things away before . . .”

“For cryin’ in the bucket, Tom! Who’d you hire? Dad burned, Cinderella?” Slater chuckled.

It was the first time Lark had seen a smile break his face and it was fascinating. She’d thought him a very handsome man at first seeing him. But when a smile donned his face, he was truly extraordinary!

“Get yerself a plate and sit down and eat with us, girl! We ain’t no kings or nothin’.”

Lark looked at Tom for reassurance, but Slater continued speaking to her. “What are you lookin’ at him for? I live here, too.”

“Well, you scared her clean out a her corset, Slater! You make out you’re such an ol’ grump,” Tom scolded his brother.

“I am an old grump. I said, get a plate and eat, girl,” Slater repeated.

“My name is, Lark . . . Mr. Evans,” she said as she served herself some stew.

“And my name’s, Slater. Mr. Evans? They used to call our granddaddy Mr. Evans.”

“Well, you act like Granddaddy half the dang time, Slater,” Tom chuckled.

“That’s ‘cause I’m old, and tired.”

“Slater, you’re thirty-two! That ain’t old!” Tom chuckled. He turned to Lark. “That ain’t old, is it, Miss Lark?”

Slater answered for her. “Shoot, Tom . . . twenty-two is old to a young thing like Miss Lark. Ain’t that right, Miss Lark?”

Lark sat down at the table next to Tom and across from Slater. “You’re a baby, Mr. Mill . . . Slater. You’re not fooling me with your decrepit old man behavior.”

Tom hooted and hollered and broke into reels of laughter. “She’s got you pegged, brother Bill! Tarred, feathered and nailed to the barn door!”

Slater mumbled, “Least ways I’m outta diapers.”

Lark giggled quietly. She liked these two brothers. They were entertaining. And besides, she would be sleeping in a nice warm bed this winter. That in itself was worth celebrating.

The two men ate several helpings each of stew and rolls. Then, stretching in their chairs, they conversed as Lark cleared the dishes from the table.

“Old man Brown’s sellin’ that colt Montana sired,” Slater said yawning.

“The bay?” Tom yawned in return.

“Yep. I’d like to have him. He’s a good lookin’ colt. I think we’d be smart to buy him.”

“I think yer right. How much is he askin’?”

“Too much. But I’ll talk him down.”

Lark felt the long day starting to take hold and she stifled a yawn.

“I . . . um . . . I’m finished here. Would it be all right if I retired for the evening?” Lark asked nervously.

“Sure, Miss Lark! Though, I don’t see you in need of much beauty sleep,” Tom chuckled.

With a blush and a quick nod, she retreated to her room.

“You quit scarin’ our new cook, Slater,” she heard Tom chuckle.

“I ain’t scarin’ her. I just make her nervous ‘cause I’m so old,” Slater replied.

Lark shut the door behind her and exhaled. She hoped that she would begin to feel more comfortable around the elder brother. Something about him unsettled her greatly.

She opened her worn carpetbag and quickly found her very worn nightdress. She’d washed it in a creek just that morning and was happy to find that it was, indeed, completely dry.

Dressing quickly, she then snuggled under the warm quilt that covered her bed. The bed was soft as a cloud and she quickly drifted off to sleep.

“Good morning,” Lark said cheerily as Slater entered the kitchen next daybreak.

He looked startled and quickly adjusted his suspenders. “I didn’t think you’d be up and about yet, Miss Lark.”

She smiled. “Why ever not? Those were your instructions, were they not? Now, sit down . . . I’ve hot cakes and bacon ready.”

Raising his brows, Slater sat at the table and began devouring the breakfast that she had set before him. He muttered to himself as he ate, “Where is that . . . Tom better think like gettin’ himself out a bed. We gotta lot to do today.” He finished his breakfast quickly and in silence.

“Thank you, Miss Lark. But, I’m afraid yer gonna turn me into a flabby old man with cookin’ like this.”

Tom entered the kitchen then, yawning. “What do you mean, Bill? Yer already a flabby old man.” He chuckled and sat down at the table.

“Eat yer breakfast, boy. And then meet me in the barn and I’ll show you how a man shoes a horse.”

“Oh. You plannin’ on watchin’ me shoe, Slater?”

“Maybe. After I learn you how. Now, finish up yer breakfast and get yer lazy fanny out to work.”

“Who you think you are? My daddy?” Tom said, grinning and winking at Lark.

“Hhmmph.” Slater let the front door slam behind him.

Tom spoke with his mouth full of bacon. “See, he ain’t all that bad once you get to know him, is he?”

Lark smiled. “No. He just makes me a bit nervous.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s so good lookin’. All women are that way around him. The funny part of it is . . . he don’t even know it. He just thinks they all think he’s old. Ain’t that too much?”

Lark smiled. “Why does he always talk about being so old? He’s not old.”

Tom shoveled some more food into his mouth. “I don’t know. I expect it’s cause he’s been livin’ a man’s life for so long. Left home to cowboy when he was twelve, you know. So . . . that’s twenty years of man life. That’s about six years ahead of most of us.”

“Why did he leave home so early?”

“Restless. Fought with our pa somethin’ awful. They was too much alike, Ma always said. He couldn’t wait to be his own man. Now, me . . . I was content to help Pa run the ranch. Slater, came home three years ago after . . . when he was ready to. He’s content here now. But he wouldn’t a never been happy if’n he hadn’t a left first.”

“I’d have loved to grow up here,” Lark muttered wistfully.

“Where did you grow up, Miss Lark?”

“East,” is all she answered.

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