Martha ruffled Millie’s hair. “You’ve a lot to learn, girl.”
“Tell me, Miss Martha.”
“Well, a lot of men think only a man can do tough jobs. If this young lady is anything like her mother, she will surprise everyone. Most men think women belong in the kitchen.”
Millie looked up at Martha with puzzlement. “And she isn’t allowed in the sitting room?”
Martha laughed. “Of course, she is. It’s just an expression meaning that women should cook and clean and not train horses or do any job that’s usually done by men.”
Millie shook her head vehemently. “That’s not fair at all.”
“You’re right, but that’s how it is. Now, I must go out and tell your father the news. You stay here and finish drying the dishes, and then I’ll cut you a piece of that chocolate cake we made together.”
Harlan worried as he ripped open a bale of hay. If they didn’t sell some horses soon, he’d have to start selling his breeding horses, which were the best stock and the hardest to replace. He’d run ads in every newspaper in Kansas without a single reply. He was thinking of where else he might run the ad next when someone tapped his shoulder, causing him a start.
“Martha! Do you always have to sneak up on me like that?”
“Considering the daze you seemed to be in, if I’d have called your name you would have been just as startled.”
He smiled. “True. What’s up?”
“I found you a horse trainer.”
“You what?” Harlan couldn’t believe his ears. “Don’t josh me, Martha.”
“She’ll be arriving on a stage sometime in the next week or so. She’ll send us a telegram from one of the stops along the way.”
Harlan had been so excited that he'd missed the gender reference at first. “Great!... Wait… what do you mean, she?
“I know her family, and they are the best horse people in Pennsylvania. Their daughter has been active in breeding and training since she was twelve. Trust me: she’s good,”
“A-a horsewoman?”
“Just give her a chance. You have no trainer now, so you have nothing to lose. Let her show you what she can do, at least.” Martha added firmly, “And don’t let Millie hear you putting down a woman’s ability. She loves horses and might want to be a horsewoman herself one day.”
Harlan sighed. “I’ll not only keep silent about the horse trainer being a woman, but I’ll give her a fair chance. You’re right, and I’m desperate.”
Harlan tried to picture the horsewoman in his head, a huge, muscular woman with a bun on top of her frizzy head. She probably chewed tobacco and drank beer at a saloon. Yet, if she could train his young horses, he didn’t give a hoot what she did or looked like. Martha was also right about putting women down in front of Millie. He loved that little girl as if she were his own child from birth. He didn’t ever want to think she’d be limited in what she could do because she was a female. Why, there was even a buzz going around about allowing women to vote someday. For Millie’s sake, he hoped that would happen.
He was equally fond of Clay, who’d turned out to be a hard worker. At first, he'd allowed him to go to school as he'd thought that learning to read and write was more important than anything else. Clay had pitched in with work in the stables after school and on weekends without any prompting at all, and Harlan had taught Clay to ride as he’d never ridden a horse before. He wanted to teach Millie, but he needed a trained filly. He’d promised her he’d teach her as soon as a one was saddle broken.
A thought suddenly stopped Harlan from spreading the hay: where would the woman sleep? Certainly not in the bunkhouse with Clay. His house had only three bedrooms: his, Martha’s, and Millie’s. Where would the woman sleep?
Harlan sat down for supper with Clay and Millie. Martha always ate with them too, as Harlan considered her a part of the family. When it was just the two of them, it had been foolish for both of them to eat alone. When Martha had all the food on the table and everyone was eating, Harlan brought up his question: “Where, pray tell, will this horsewoman sleep? Pedro always used the bunkhouse, as does Clay.”
Martha dropped her fork. “Oh, dear! I hadn’t thought of that.”
“She can sleep with me,” Millie said.
“Your bed is a single bed, but the room is big enough for another one.” Martha looked at Harlan. “How long would it take to make another bed?”
“I can make one in two days, but we'll need a mattress,” he said.
Everyone ate quietly, as if thinking of a solution. Finally, Martha said, “Mrs. O’Grady died a few months ago, and her children are selling up all her furnishings. There might even be a bed.”
“Can you find out?” Harlan asked.
“I’ll go out there right after we eat. Millie and Clay can clear up and do the dishes.”
“I’ll go with you. You can’t carry something that heavy, and I might see something else there I can use,” Harlan said.
When Harlan and Martha returned, Millie watched while Clay helped unload an oak headboard, a matching bureau, and a mattress. Harlan was glad Millie’s bedroom was large.
“Well,” Martha said after everything had been taken up to Millie’s bedroom and set up, “we’re ready for Miss Ansell. Tomorrow, I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed and round up some pillows.”
Millie was beyond excited. The very night Miss Ansell’s bed had been set up in her room, she prayed harder than she ever had before: “Dear God, please hear my prayer. Soon, we’ll
