Page 17 of The Rancher's Wedding

“Is there a problem with it?”

“No problem, just relax is all. You’re out here in the west—you talk like that and you’ll stand out like a sore thumb. People might think you’re looking down on them or something.”

“Oh,” Estelle said, “but I wouldn’t dare even dream of such things.”

“See? You just need to say, ‘I won’t do nothin’ like that.’”

She tried it out. “I won’t do… nothing?”

“Nothin’.”

“…nothin’ like that.”

It felt odd coming out of her mouth, as if she was committing a sin.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Try it again.”

“I won’t do nothin’ like that.”

“There you go,” he said. “Just relax. We’re out here working on the field, so we earned the right to not have to work so hard on the talking. No one’s gonna smack you with a ruler like they mighta done at the orphanage if you say the wrong word or leave off the ‘g’ at the end of one.”

“Very well, then,” Estelle said. Then, “I mean… okay.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it. I won’t be too hard on you, but so long as you’re gonna be here, may as well get used to talking the way we do.”

He patted her on the back. She liked it. She liked that she had done something right in his eyes.

“Now, let me introduce you to the hogs here.”

The smell caught her off-guard at first. Estelle had always liked animals, or at least the idea of animals, but out here on the farm, it wasn’t like it was in the pictures. Pigs were always very cute in pictures, but, in the flesh, they were big, brutish things that made grunting sounds. And even that she could manage, but the smell was overpowering—and that was something that books and paintings never quite captured.

She put her sleeve up to her nose to block it.

“Oh, the smell,” Michael said. “You’ll get used to that. It’s gotten to the point I don’t even notice.”

He handed her a bag of pig feed. The three pigs came up to the fencing and the grunting got louder and more excited.

“You just toss this here in the pen and they just love it, don’t y’all?”

The pigs squealed in delight.

“I can’t just dump it out?” Estelle asked.

“Nah. You dump it out and one of them will try and take it all for himself. They don’t call ‘em hogs for nothing. Go ahead. Get your hand in there and throw it all around the pen.”

Estelle stuck her hand in the bag, which was full of what looked to be food scraps. She saw apple cores, half-eaten vegetables, and some unidentifiable cold meat. Looking away, she pulled out the food and tossed it at the pigs, who eagerly ate it up and came back, eager for more.

“They’re hogs,” Michael said, “so they eat a lot. We got another couple of bags of this to give ‘em, so keep going.”

She kept on throwing the scraps at the pigs, trying to get it as far away from herself as possible, then watched as they waddled on over to it, their curly tails wagging.

“Look at that,” Michael said. “I think they like you.”

One came back and put its hooves on the fence, pushing its snout up towards Estelle, who backed away.

“No,” Michael said, “she’s trying to say thank you. She’s giving you a little snout kiss.”

He took Estelle’s hand and brought it up to the pig, who pushed her snout against it, squealing with delight.

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