Chapter Thirteen
Mirabelle stood by the table as the ranch hands walked in. She was taken by surprise as the first man entered. He looked like the quintessential cowpoke of yesteryear... or more accurately, of the common imagination. Appearing to be in his thirties, he was tall and had a lean, muscular build that showed through his clothes. Lengthy, curly brown hair rebelled from the confines of his black stetson to gambol around his head and shoulders. To add to the awesomeness of the sight, a full beard hid his face in its copious undergrowth. More than a mere cowhand, he appeared to be the essence of the wilderness itself: a wild man of nature dressed in cowboy garb. His outfit was completed by a green, checkered workshirt that sported various dark-coloured splotches here and there (best left undescribed), somewhat new Levi jeans, and very worn-looking brown cowboy boots. Expectedly, he was covered with dirt and dust. He greeted Mirabelle.
"Howdy," he said in a pleasant voice. "The name's Kirk," he added as he took off his hat.
"Hi. I'm Mirabelle," she replied, still a little stunned.
He smiled at her then headed out of the kitchen. "Gotta, wash up," he said, explaining and excusing himself at the same time.
Next to walk in was a young man who looked to still be in his teens. Unlike his counterpart who had entered first, this man's blonde hair was cut short and his face was as smooth as a baby's. His green eyes shone and mirrored the rambunctiousness of youth that his appearance permeated. Tall and thin, he looked rather like an overgrown choirboy. He wore a white cowboy hat, a once-white shirt, jeans (with a silver buckle belt) and boots. Upon seeing Mirabelle, he smiled a huge grin that revealed his pearly white teeth and then exclaimed, "Yes! You came!" He looked at the table--it was covered with food. He danced around happily by the entrance, devoid of embarassment, then said, "All right! Now we don't have to eat Michael's cooking!" He took off his hat politely to Mirabelle as he passed by her and headed out of the kitchen.
Finally, Michael walked in with the last of the ranch hands. It was... the guy from the river.
"Hey, I know you," Mirabelle said to him, pointing at him without realising it.
"Oh. Hello," he replied, surprised to see who the new housekeeper was.
Michael looked at the two of them then asked, "You two know each other?"
Joseph answered his question, "Yes. We met at the river a few weeks ago when I went with you to town."
"Oh," said Michael, having gotten the answer.
"What was your name again?" Joseph asked Mirabelle.
"Mirabelle," she responded, "and your's?"
"Joseph," he answered.
They were about to shake hands when Joseph realized that he was covered with dirt. "I'd better go clean up," he said as he took off his hat, bowed and walked away.
From the corridor where Joseph's figure disappeared, walked in Kirk. "Hi. Can I sit?" he asked Mirabelle and Michael as he reached the table.
"Go ahead," said Mirabelle.
"Thanks," he said as he sat himself down. "Maribelle?" he asked her, seeing if he heard her name right.
"Mirabelle," she corrected him. He nodded.
Next walked in the lanky teenager.
"You introduce yourself, Bobby?" asked Michael.
"No, I forgot. Sorry," he said as he turned his head from the table full of food. "I'm Bobby," he said smiling at Mirabelle, "and you are?"
"Mirabelle," she told him.
"Nice to meet you," he said as he shook her hand.
Michael, Bobby, and Mirabelle sat down at the table. Larger than the average kitchen table, it could fit five diners if they squeezed together.
"Where's Joseph?" asked Michael.
"He's still washing up," Bobby answered as he savouringly inhaled the food's aroma.
Kirk smiled. "Can't say I'm going to miss your cooking, Michael," he said to him as he was grinning.
"Hey, I helped cook some of this," Michael responded, defensively.
"Oh no," said Bobby. "Which?" he said as he closely examined the food.
As Bobby inspected the dishes, Joseph walked in, gave a slight nod and sat down next to Mirabelle.
"Finally," said Bobby as Joseph sat down, "I'm sooo hungry."
"All right," said Michael, "After we say grace."
After Michael had finished giving thanks for their blessings, the five of them ate. Mirabelle looked the ranchers over as the food on her plate steadily disappeared. "A pretty motley crew--the five of us", she thought to herself, "but at least they're friendly."
Dinner was eaten in silence and it was only after the table was cleared and Mirabelle had brought them coffee did they start to talk.
"So, where you from, Mirabelle?" asked Bobby as he drunk his coffee.
"I'm from Ponderosa," she replied. Bobby nodded in acknowlegement.
"Born there?" he asked her.
"No, I was born in Iowa," she answered.
"Iowa?" said Bobby, looking surprised, "What are you doing here?"
"My family moved here when I was younger," Mirabelle answered. Curious about the lad she asked him, "Where are you from Bobby?"
"Oh," he said, looking downcast. "I'm from a farm about forty miles east of here, near the river," he answered. Bobby, unhappily, didn't have a very interesting past.
"How about you, Kirk?" she asked the big-bearded man who sipped his coffee placidly beside her.
"Actually, I'm from Boston," he answered without batting an eyelash.
"You're kidding," said Mirabelle. She looked at him expecting him to capitulate his bluff. She thought he was pulling her leg, cowboy-style.
"No, it's true," he said to her, earnestly. "I came here years ago and just became part of the scenery, I guess," he added.
"And you, Joseph?" she asked him as he simultaneously turned to face her.
"I'm from a reservation southeast of here," he answered, "in Oklahoma."
She looked at him from the side, questioningly. For a guy from Oklahoma, he didn't have much of a mid-western accent.
The ranch hands continued drinking their coffee and as they finished, each one got up to leave.
"Well, I'm off to bed," said Kirk as he got up. It had been a long day and dinner wasn't till very late in the evening.
Bobby got up, too. "Yeah. I've got a letter to write," he told them. "Nice meeting you, Mirabelle," he said and nodded to her. "Great cooking," he added with a smile before he walked off.
Joseph helped Mirabelle bring the cups to the sink. "Thanks for dinner," he said as he smiled and patted his stomach. Mirabelle returned his smile as he walked away.
Michael stood as Mirabelle started washing the dishes. He walked up to a drawer and took out a towel.
"Here," he said, "I'll help you dry them."
"Oh, you shouldn't help me, Mr. Muller," Mirabelle replied.
"Please call me Michael," he said. "I didn't do very much work today so I feel a little guilty," he continued. "This will finish the dishes much quicker and," he looked at her and smiled, "It's nice to have some female company."
Mirabelle smiled back and together they finished the dishes. Michael was right, she did like the ranch hands and she found herself liking him, as well. They were an odd assortment of characters but there was a simple honesty about them that she found instantly attractive. They were a bunch of men who were at ease with themselves, who accepted who they were, and didn't waste their time projecting a false persona like some of the people she had known. For Mirabelle, it was like taking a breath of fresh air: She felt she could finally just be herself and not feel bad about it, either.
