They Said She Was Simple Because She Couldn’t Read, Cowboy Said She Was Wise Ways Books Don’t Teach

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Book learning is one kind of smart, but it is not the only kind.

That is a pretty thought, Delilah said, climbing up into her wagon seat.

But it does not change what I am.

Maybe you are not what you think you are, Nathan said.

Maybe you are exactly what you need to be.

She looked down at him from the wagon seat and something flickered in her eyes that might have been hope or might have been fear.

Then she clicked her tongue at the mayor and drove away, leaving Nathan standing in the street with his hat in his hands, watching her go and feeling like something important had just happened, though he could not have said exactly what.

Over the next week, Nathan found himself thinking about Delilah Armstrong more than he should have.

He was working at the Double Creek Ranch just outside Medicine Bow, breaking horses and mending fences, saving his pay to buy his own spread someday.

The work was hard and honest, the kind that left a man too tired to think come nightfall.

But still he found himself remembering the way she had looked at him, the quiet dignity in her voice when she admitted what others said about her.

He asked around town carefully, not wanting to seem like he was prying.

The Armstrong family had a small homestead about 5 mi north of Medicine Bow.

Delilah lived there with her father Thomas Armstrong who had lost his wife to Kalera 10 years back.

People said Thomas was a hard man, disappointed in his only daughter, wishing she had been born different or maybe not born at all.

They said Delilah had never been to school, that she could not learn letters no matter how many times her mother had tried to teach her before she died.

They said she spent her days tending the garden, caring for the chickens and keeping house, and that she would likely live and die on that homestead without ever amounting to much of anything.

Nathan thought about all the men he had known, who could read every word in the Bible, but could not read the sky before a storm, who could cipher numbers, but could not cipher whether another man was honest or planning to shoot them in the back.

He thought about the way Delilah had known to park her wagon in the shade for her horse, and he wondered what other kinds of wisdom she carried that people were too foolish to see.

The following Saturday, Nathan rode into town with the express purpose of being at the general store when he thought Delilah might be there.

He told himself he was being foolish, that he should leave well enough alone.

But his heart had its own ideas about what made sense.

Sure enough, around midm morning, he saw the small wagon with the gray mare pull up outside Henderson’s general store.

This time, when Delilah entered, Nathan was already inside, pretending to examine a display of bridles.

He watched as she approached the counter with a list.

someone had written for her, probably her father.

Mr.

Henderson was working today instead of his wife, and he took the list with barely a glance at Delilah.

“Give me about 10 minutes to pull all this together,” Mr.

Henderson said, not unkindly.

“He was a fair man, if somewhat oblivious to his wife’s cruelty.

” Delilah nodded and stepped aside to wait.

Nathan saw his chance and moved closer, pretending to suddenly recognize her.

“Miss Armstrong,” he said, touching the brim of his hat.

“We met last week, Nathan Hollister.

” She looked startled, then wary.

“I remember.

” “I wonder if I might ask your advice on something,” Nathan said, launching into the plan he had been forming all week.

“I’ve been trying to doctor a horse with a bad leg, and nothing I do seems to help.

My foreman says I should just shoot the animal and be done with it, but I hate to give up.

You seem like someone who knows about caring for things.

Delila’s eyes widened slightly.

You want my advice? If you are willing to give it? For a moment, she just stared at him as if he had spoken in a foreign language.

Then slowly she said, “What have you tried?” Nathan described the horse’s symptoms.

the swelling in the fore leg, the heat in the joint, the way the animal favored it when walking.

As he spoke, he watched Delilah’s face change.

The uncertainty fell away, replaced by concentration and thought.

Is the horse still eating? She asked.

“Yes, appetite is good.

And the swelling, does it go down overnight and come back during the day, or does it stay constant?” “It goes down some at night,” Nathan said.

Surprised by the specificity of her question, Delilah bit her lower lip, thinking, “It sounds like maybe strain rather than infection.

If it were infection, the swelling would be constant, and the horse would likely be off its feed.

” My mayor went lame two years back with something similar.

I made a pus with comfrey and wrapped the leg, kept her in the stall for two weeks with no work.

I also put witch hazel on it twice a day to bring down the inflammation.

She healed up fine.

Nathan felt a smile spread across his face.

That is exactly the kind of wisdom I needed, the kind that comes from watching and learning, not from reading it in some book.

A faint blush colored her cheeks.

Anyone who tends animals would know such things.

No, Nathan said firmly.

Not anyone.

You have to care enough to pay attention, to remember what works and what does not.

That takes intelligence, Miss Armstrong.

A different kind than book learning, maybe, but intelligence all the same.

Before Delilah could respond, Mr.

Henderson called out that her order was ready.

She went to collect her packages, and Nathan followed, helping her carry the heavier items out to her wagon.

Thank you, she said as he loaded a 50 lb sack of feed into the wagon bed.

For your help and for treating me like I have sense.

You do have sense, Nathan said.

More than most people I have met.

He hesitated, then took a chance.

Miss Armstrong, would you allow me to call on you sometime? I would like to get to know you better.

Her eyes went wide with shock.

Call on me? You mean court me? That is exactly what I mean.

But I cannot raid,” she said as if this explained everything.

“I cannot do figures.

I will never be any different than I am now.

” Nathan stepped closer, close enough to speak quietly so only she could hear.

“I do not want you to be different.

I want to know the person you are right now.

The woman who knows how to heal a lame horse and how to show kindness to an old mayor on a hot day.

That is the woman I would like to court if she will have me.

Delilah looked at him for a long moment, her green eyes searching his face for deception or mockery.

Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her because she said very softly, “My father will not like it.

He thinks no man will ever want me.

” “Then your father is wrong,” Nathan said.

“May I come by tomorrow afternoon? I could bring my horse, the lame one, and you could show me how to make that pus you mentioned.

A real smile broke across her face, then transforming it entirely, and Nathan felt his heart do something complicated in his chest.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, you may call on me.

” That night, Nathan lay in his bunk at the ranch house, listening to the other men snore and thinking about green eyes and quiet wisdom.

His bunkmate, a grizzled cowhand named Pete, had warned him that people would talk if he courted Delilah Armstrong.

That girl is not right in the head, Pete had said.

Everyone knows it, but Nathan had seen enough of the world to know that everyone was often wrong.

He had seen men die because they followed bad orders from officers who looked good on paper, but could not lead a horse to water.

He had seen women called hysterical for having opinions, children called lazy for learning differently, animals called vicious for being afraid.

He had learned to trust his own judgment, and his judgment told him that Delilah Armstrong was special in ways that mattered.

The next afternoon, Nathan rode out to the Armstrong homestead with his lame geling on a lead rope.

The property was small but well-maintained with a neat vegetable garden, a chicken coupe, and a barn that had seen better days, but was still standing square.

Delilah must have been watching for him because she came out of the house before he had even dismounted.

She wore a different dress today, still simple, but a prettier shade of blue that brought out the color of her eyes.

Her hair was braided and pinned up, and she looked nervous, but pleased.

You came, she said.

I said I would, Nathan replied.

I am a man of my word.

A man appeared in the doorway behind Delilah, tall and thin with iron gray hair and a face that looked like it had forgotten how to smile.

“Who is this?” Thomas Armstrong demanded.

“Father, this is Mr.

Hollister from the Double Creek Ranch,” Delilah said quickly.

He has come to ask my advice about a lame horse.

Thomas looked Nathan up and down with undisguised suspicion.

Since when does Delilah know anything about horses? Since she learned by doing, Nathan said evenly, meeting the older man’s gaze.

I heard she has a gift for healing animals.

Thomas snorted.

A gift that is rich.

Girl cannot read her own name, but supposedly she has gifts.

He turned and went back into the house, leaving the door open behind him in a way that suggested he would be watching.

Delilah’s face had gone pale.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“He is not always pleased with me.

” “That is his failing, not yours,” Nathan said.

He handed her the lead rope.

“Now tell me what you see when you look at this horse.

” He watched as Delilah approached the geling, her movements slow and calm.

She ran her hands down the horse’s leg, her touch gentle but firm, her fingers probing carefully around the swollen joint.

The horse, which had been skittish with the ranch veterinarian, stood quietly for her.

“He trusts you already,” Nathan observed.

“Animals can tell when you mean them no harm,” Delilah said.

She straightened up.

The swelling is not hot, which is good.

And see here the way he is standing.

He is still putting some weight on it.

That means it pains him, but not terribly.

We can help him.

For the next hour, Delilah showed Nathan how to make the pus, mixing comfrey leaves she had gathered from near the creek with a binding agent, explaining how often to change it and how to tell if the horse was improving.

She moved with confidence when talking about this, her usual hesitancy falling away.

This was her language, Nathan realized, not English letters on a page, but the language of growing things and healing, of patience and observation.

You could sell these puses, Nathan said.

People would pay good money for something that works this well.

Delilah shook her head.

No one would buy remedies from someone like me.

They would say I was trying to cheat them because I cannot read or write.

Then I will tell them it works.

Nathan said, “My word carries weight in these parts.

” She looked at him with such gratitude that it made his chest ache.

“Why are you being kind to me? What do you want?” “I want to court you properly,” Nathan said.

“I want to take you to the church social next month.

I want people to see what I see when I look at you.

And what is that? Someone remarkable, he said simply.

Delilah turned away, but not before he saw tears glimmer in her eyes.

You will change your mind.

Once you know me better, once you see how I struggle with things others find simple, you will realize I am not worth your time.

Nathan stepped around to face her.

Let me be the judge of what my time is worth.

And let me tell you something, Miss Armstrong.

I have known plenty of people who can read and cipher and quote Shakespeare and most of them do not have half your wisdom.

You see the world clearly.

You notice things others miss.

You have compassion.

Those are rare gifts.

My father says I am a burden.

Your father, Nathan said carefully, loves you but does not understand you.

There is a difference.

They stood there in the dusty yard, the September sun warm on their shoulders, and something passed between them that was deeper than words.

Nathan knew he was falling for this woman, falling fast and hard, and he did not care who thought him foolish for it.

Over the next few weeks, Nathan found every excuse to visit the Armstrong homestead.

He brought other horses that needed tending.

He asked Delilah’s advice about which vegetables would grow best in the rocky soil at the ranch.

He fixed the loose board on the Armstrong barn and repaired their chicken coupe door.

And slowly, gradually, Delilah began to open up to him.

She told him about her childhood, about how her mother had died when she was 13, about how she had tried so hard to learn reading, but the letters would swim on the page and refused to stay in order.

She told him about the children at the schoolhouse who had mocked her, about the teacher who had finally told her father that she was unteachable and should just stay home.

She told him about the loneliness of being different, of being the one people whispered about.

In turn, Nathan told her about his own life.

He told her about growing up in Ohio, about his father who drank himself to death, and his mother who worked herself into an early grave trying to hold the family together.

He told her about heading west at 18 with nothing but a horse and a saddle, about learning the cowboy trade on the brutal cattle drives where men died of thirst or stampedes or simple bad luck.

He told her about the dream he had of owning his own ranch someday, a place where he could build something lasting.

You will have that dream, Delilah said one afternoon as they sat on the porch of her house shelling peas from her garden.

Thomas was in town and they had the rare luxury of privacy.

You are the kind of man who makes things happen.

So are you, Nathan said.

You just do it quietly, she shook her head.

I keep a house and tend a garden.

That is not the same as building a ranch.

It is exactly the same, Nathan argued.

You are building something every day.

You are making life grow where there was nothing.

That is what ranching is, Delilah.

It is not about reading contracts or keeping ledgers.

It is about understanding the land and the animals, about knowing when to push and when to let things be.

You understand those things better than anyone I have ever met.

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers working the peas with practiced ease.

Then she said, “You make me feel like maybe I am not broken.

” Nathan reached over and took her hand, stilling her fingers.

You are not broken.

You are whole and perfect exactly as you are.

when he kissed her for the first time that afternoon, with the September breeze carrying the scent of prairie flowers and the distant sound of her chickens clucking contentedly, Nathan knew with absolute certainty that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman.

She kissed him back tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, and when they finally pulled apart, she was smiling.

I love you, Nathan said, because there was no point in pretending otherwise.

I know it is fast and I know people will say I am crazy, but I love you, Delilah Armstrong.

I love you, too, she whispered.

I have loved you since that first day when you told me I was wise.

The church social in October was the first time Nathan and Delilah appeared together publicly as a courting couple.

And the gossip spread through medicine bow like wildfire.

People talked.

Of course they talked.

They said Nathan was being charitable, that he felt sorry for poor, simple Delilah Armstrong.

They said he would tire of her soon enough once he realized what a burden she would be.

They said it was a shame to see a capable young man throw his life away on a woman who could not even raid.

Nathan heard the talk and did not care.

He walked into that social with Delilah on his arm, her hair done up pretty and wearing a new dress she had sewn herself, and he made sure everyone saw how proud he was to be with her.

When Mrs.

Henderson made a snide comment about hoping Delilah had not gotten confused and worn her night gown by mistake.

Nathan stepped forward and said in a voice that carried, “Miss Armstrong made that dress herself, and it is finer than anything you could buy in a store.

” “She has talents you could not comprehend if you tried.

” The room went silent.

Mrs.

Henderson’s face turned red and Delilah squeezed Nathan’s hand so hard he thought she might break his fingers.

Later, as they danced to the fiddle music, Delilah said, “You did not have to defend me like that.

” “Now people will talk even more.

Let them talk,” Nathan said, spinning her under his arm.

“I would defend you against an army if I had to.

” “Why?” she asked, looking up at him with those green eyes that had captured his heart.

Why do you care so much about what people think of me? Because you deserve to be seen, Nathan said.

Really seen for who you are.

And because I love you, and when you love someone, you stand beside them no matter what anyone else says.

That night, when Nathan drove Delilah home in her wagon with his horse tied to the back, they talked about the future.

Nathan had been saving money for years, and he was close to having enough to make an offer on a piece of land he had his eye on about 10 mi west of Medicine Bow.

It was good grazing land with a creek running through it, perfect for starting a small cattle operation.

“I will own that land by spring,” Nathan said.

“And when I do, I want to build a house on it, a real house, not just a line shack.

and I want you to be in that house with me as my wife.

” Delilah went very still beside him.

You want to marry me more than I have ever wanted anything.

But Nathan, think about what you would be taking on.

A wife who cannot read, who cannot help with correspondence or keep ledger books.

I would be a liability to you.

Nathan pulled the wagon to a stop and turned to face her.

Listen to me, Delilah.

I do not need someone who can keep ledgers.

I can do that myself or hire someone if need be.

What I need is a partner who understands the land and the animals.

Someone who can look at a sick cow and know what is wrong with it.

Someone who can grow food and make medicine and turn a house into a home.

Someone who will stand beside me when times are hard and help me remember what matters.

That is what you are.

That is what you give me.

You truly mean that,” she said, and it was not a question.

“With everything I am,” Nathan said.

She kissed him.

Then there in the stopped wagon under the Wyoming stars, and when she pulled back, she said, “Yes, yes, I will marry you, Nathan Hollister.

” The next hurdle was Thomas Armstrong.

Nathan rode out to the homestead the following Sunday, determined to ask for Delilah’s hand properly.

He found Thomas in the barn mucking out stalls and helped him finish the work before broaching the subject.

“Mr.

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