“Do you have a father?”
“Yes. He raises horses.”
“I’m sorry you don’t have a mother. Mothers are neat because they kiss and hug more than fathers do. They make the best meals and desserts. My mother makes all my clothes, too. My father is strict, so if I do something bad, my mother covers for me. I love my mama.”
Millie munched on her sandwich, simply nodding along with Sarah’s words, but they hurt her deep inside. She’d been in an orphanage since she was six-months-old, but Clay had been old enough to remember their parents before they were killed by renegade Indians in the middle of the night. Millie shuddered each time she saw an Indian, remembering what Clay had said happened to their parents and three of their siblings.
According to Clay, after the Indians had killed their parents, they'd set the house on fire. By the time Clay had awoken, the fire had been so fierce, he couldn’t get to anyone except for her. Being the oldest, it had been his job to keep an eye out for his baby sister, so her basket had been placed beside his bed. When he awoke to furious flames, all he had time to do was grab the basket and run. He tried to go back in for the others, but it was too late. Clay had told her their names were Joey, Katherine, and Jesse.
She loved her new father because he'd allowed her to be adopted with Clay. Their names were now Clayton and Millie Tanner. Her father had been cool toward her at first, but he'd slowly become a loving and even doting father. She smiled when she recalled their last fishing trip.
“What are you smiling about?” Sarah stopped talking long enough to ask.
“It’s nothing. Just remembering the fishing trip my Papa took me on last weekend.”
“Is he strict like my father?” Sarah wanted to know.
“He has rules, but I wouldn’t call him strict. I love my papa, and he gives me all the kisses and hugs I need.” It was true, but she still yearned for a mother. Martha was simply an efficient housekeeper who cared for her because it was part of her job.
Millie finished her lunch, thinking about the possibility that her father might marry. He was good-looking and had a ranch that paid well enough. She didn’t think they were rich, but they always had good food, and her father always gave Martha money to buy her and Clay clothes. Clay got a weekly paycheck for his work on the ranch. He was saving up to travel one day. He’d always wanted to see the world. Surely, her father would be a good catch for someone.
After school, she waited on the front steps for Clay to come for her. Sometimes, he was late if he was busy. She watched as the parents came for their children. Mostly, the parents were mothers, as the fathers were working. She saw Sarah’s mother greet her with a hug. Flora’s mother picked her up and swung her around while Flora laughed with glee. Millie wanted a mother, too. Her father didn’t court anyone, and he didn’t seem interested. All he cared about were his horses—and them, of course. Millie sighed.
On Saturdays, Millie helped Martha with housework like shaking out the rugs and dusting. Millie daydreamed while working.
Martha came up behind her. “You’ve dusted that same spot on the bureau ten times. What’s ailing you today? Aren’t you feeling well? Shall I call Doctor Grant?”
Millie sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Martha, but I have a big problem.”
Hands on hips, Martha said, “Now, what kind of problem could a six-year-old girl have?”
“I wish I had a mother.”
“Wishes are for fairy tales. I wish I had a lot of things. If the good Lord wants you to have them, He’ll bless you with them.”
Millie thought on that for a moment. “That’s not always true. Papa wanted horses, and God didn’t give him the horses. He had to buy them. I wish I could buy a mother.”
Martha sat on the settee and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit down, child.”
Millie sat and looked up at the housekeeper, waiting for more words of wisdom.
“You are so right, Millie. God doesn’t always give us things. Instead, he gave us brains to figure out how to get things, and then he helps us get them. We have to sort of meet Him half way. We can’t just sit around and wish for this or that. We have to apply ourselves.”
“All right,” Millie said. “So, if I want a mother, I have to find one for Papa, and God will help me find the right one. Right?”
“Exactly.” Martha rubbed her chin. “Now, let me think of a single woman in town for your pa.” She snapped her fingers. “There’s Mary Finch... oh, no—she’s got to be forty by now. Let me think.”
“I looked around at church, Martha, and I didn’t see any young, single women for Papa.”
“Most of the single women are in the East, and they don’t come out West unless someone invites them,” Martha said. “A lot of the cowboys are getting mail-order brides. We could get your father one of those, but you never know what you’re getting. James Tinker sent for one, and she stole all his money and ran off. Abe Foster got one that was pretty enough, but she took one look at him and got back on the stagecoach.” Martha laughed. “No one is letting him forget that.”
“I want a mother, but Papa would never go for a mail-order bride. I heard him tell Pedro that he’d never marry because he liked his freedom.”
“Yes, child, you’re right. I’ll keep thinking on it while you get back to work.” Martha stood. “Don’t forget the rugs that need a good shaking, and don’t forget to empty the
