The Cowboy Doll: Part one

Author's Note: This is only part one of three. This is for the post we had to do about the old photographs. The main character is inspired by the little boy on the left. Enjoy~

Lizabeth did not have a lot of time to play. She was the oldest of the five of us, so suitably she had more responsibilities. But after Pop passed, she became like a second parent to my three other sisters and myself. Mother tended to the house, laundry, our clothing and ourselves, while poor Lizabeth fell into the role of Pop. She took over the farm, abandoning her studies to tend to the livestock and plow.

Being the second youngest, as a child I did not fully understand the situation. I was only a toddler when Pop passed. I remember running barefoot across the dirt toward my sister many times over, as she bent to feed the chickens. I clutched my toy soldier to my chest, as I shielded my eyes from sunrays with a chubby hand.  I would ask Lizabeth if she would play with me. She always sighed and wiped her furrowed brow, sometimes a bit of chicken feed would stick to her sweaty forehead. She always gave me a stern “No” before turning back to her work, her ragged cowboy doll hanging out of the back pocket of her dress. I would always eyeball it before huffing and running back into the house, hopefully out of Mother’s notice.

Mother always spoiled me. I guess it was because I was her only boy. Margaret, the second oldest, born 2 years after Lizabeth, once told me that mother babied me because I was all she had left of Pop. I never got the chance to ask mother if that was true but I didn’t have to. Looking back on it now, it was evident in the way she treated me. She practically coddled me. As a young boy she wanted me to stay away from the farm and my sister. When she found dirt caked into the plastic crevices of Private Green, she would scold and whip me for playing outside. It may sound a little drastic but her fears, while extreme, were not ill placed.

Pop passed from a heat stroke.