Virginia's Vocation

by Zina Abbott

  During a glance beyond the men, he spotted the yellow sunbonnet he had seen the day before. The woman, using a wheelbarrow to gather wood, pulled it back into the shelter of the trees and hid. Fortunately, she worked far enough to the north to be beyond the place where his people planned to cross the river.

  As he cautiously approached, raising one hand in the air in what he hoped the men understood to be a greeting, he recognized them as men he had seen and spoken to before. They had come to his father’s store two years earlier, more to seek information on where to stake a land claim than to buy goods. It was the same day he told his father he had chosen the way of the Kansa warrior over being a despised half-breed in the white American world. That day, he had been in full Kaw dress, wearing his breechcloth and beaded medallion necklace on an otherwise bare chest to show off his warrior tattoos to his father. Today, knowing he might need to speak with the white farmers, he dressed in leather trousers and a blue calico cotton shirt—a combination of both Kansa and European-style dress—like he dressed when he scouted for the freight train made up of mostly white men. He did not wear a roach in vermillion-tinted hair like he had that day two years before. His scalp lock, which he had allowed to grow out along the edges until his black hair covered the top and back of his head, he wore tied back and adorned only with two turkey feathers.

  Charlie studied the faces of the men as he walked his pony and approached. Although they each kept their hands near a weapon, none were pointed at him. Their faces revealed their concern, but he saw no sign of hostility. One of the men glanced back in the direction of where the woman worked, but except for part of her skirt that extended beyond the tree trunk she stood behind, she remained well-hidden. Charlie had to admit if he did not already know about her presence, both from seeing her the day before and as he broke away from the tribe, he would not have noticed her there.

  Charlie stopped once he was within speaking distance. He reminded himself of the counsel received from his white American father after these same three men had left the store in Bonner Springs two years ago. Although their values differed from those of the Kansa, as far as they were concerned, they had a right to this land the Kansa chiefs, at a time before his birth, had sold to the white Americans. Once the United States opened Kansas to white settlement, they were among the many who had flooded into this land looking for a better life for themselves and their families. These new settlers already numbered more than all of what remained of the Kansa tribe. It would be better to befriend these white Americans who did not hate the Kansa, for Charlie never knew when the time would come that he might require their help.

  Today, Charlie did not require their help. He only needed them to understand his people must cross this land to continue to their traditional hunting grounds. “Greetings. I come from the people you know as Kaw. We cross the river to travel to where we hunt buffalo.”

  The men looked in the direction Charlie pointed. The old one, whom Charlie recognized as not being one of two brothers, spoke. “Why there? Why not follow the southern bank of the Smokey Hill River?”

  “We used to go that way to our hunting grounds. However, the Cheyenne now claim a place along that river as their hunting camp. They gave the tribe great battle a few years ago. We have since agreed to not travel by or camp near that place. We choose the path closer to the river with salt in the water.”

  “Won’t that put you crossing lands being homesteaded to the west of the town of Salina?”

  “I know not how many people may have built farms west of the white man’s town since last autumn when I came with the tribe. Those who traveled west in the spring took the traditional Kaw Trail, which is only a few miles south of the Santa Fe Trail. Today, we go north to search for any bison that have not already moved south for winter. We avoid the white settlers as much as we can. The same thing cannot be said for the Cheyenne. They would do battle against any white men they find.”

  One of the brothers—the one Charlie suspected to be the elder—pointed to a dense stand of trees just north of where the people intended to cross. “That marks the southern border of the land I claim. My brother and his father-in-law have plotted out land north of mine, opposite the town of Salina. I have planted winter wheat on my northern boundary and will probably use this stretch for pastureland when I bring some cattle in next year. I would prefer your people not cross my land, but have no problem if you plan to cross to the south of it. Of course, if someone else comes later and claims the land on my southern border, I have no idea how they will feel about your people crossing his land.”

  “Then, you have bought this land from the American government?”

  Charlie watched the man hesitate before he answered. “Not officially. I have plotted it out and submitted my claim. I must wait for a surveyor to come out to measure it and put it on a map before I can make it official.”

  Charlie’s eyelid twitched, but otherwise, he kept his face expressionless. He knew more than the white men thought. The land was not paid for and the man did not own any title. These white Americans relied on a land law passed years earlier when Charlie was a small child, the Preemption Act of 1841. It allowed squatters to have first claim to purchase up to 160 acres of land they had lived on and cultivated once the government platted the parcels and sold them. It was the same law the squatters who stole land on the Kaw Reservation in Council Grove—the property purchased by the chiefs of his tribe to be their homeland—relied on to eventually claim that land officially once they persuaded the government to force the Kansa off their reservation and, preferably, out of the state of Kansas completely.

  At least these men were honest. They did not claim to already own the land. Unlike the squatters who stole the land on the Kaw Reservation, they did not try to claim for themselves land the American government had already given to the Kansa people.

  Charlie pointed to the break in the trees south of where the white man pointed. “We cross there. We will not travel over the land you have chosen. We do not wish trouble, only to hunt on the plains to provide for our families until the snow grows too deep and we must return to the reservation. Perhaps we will return this way. Perhaps we will return on the Kaw Trail farther south.”

  The older man nodded. “As long as your people continue to travel like you have been, I see no problem. If you don’t spread out, you won’t even come close to our land.”

  “It is as you say.” Charlie glanced towards the spot where he had last seen the yellow sunbonnet. His face broke out in a smile that revealed the teeth and wide jawbone he had inherited from his white father. “Perhaps one of you should find the woman who is with you to tell her she does not need to hide in fear. We will be gone by the time the sun goes down.”

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  Chapter 5

  ~o0o~

  Boonville, Missouri – December, 1858

  S truggling to hide the nervous energy that had been building in the weeks since her return from Kansas Territory, Virginia turned to face Jefferson sitting in one of the two kitchen chairs at the end of the table as she set the bowl of fried potatoes in front of him. “When will we be making a trip to Columbia? I know I’ve asked before, but I have yet to get a firm answer. With Christmas approaching, I had hoped we would go in time for me to make some purchases for the gifts I have planned for the children.”

  Carlotte, Jefferson’s wife, brought the platter with scrambled eggs and ham bits to the table. Born into a family that spoke German in the home, Virginia realized her sister-in-law’s English had improved greatly over the years she had been married to Jefferson. “Why to Columbia you need to go, Virginia? For the gifts, do we not enough in Boonville have?”

  Carlotte’s words, although spoken with wisdom concerning the family’s coming move west, Virginia fought down her rising apprehension. Did her family intend to skip a trip to Columbia and instead plan to wait until the following spring to go? She needed to check with the post office the
re to collect her pay draft for her latest article. She knew it had been accepted. She read all her issues of the Heartland Monthly journal that came while she was in Kansas Territory, grateful that neither Carlotte nor any of her nephews or nieces had grabbed some of the pages to use for fire kindling. She also had written a short piece about the Kaw tribe in Kansas Territory based on the family’s experiences this past summer, newspaper accounts she read from old issues she either owned or had borrowed, and speaking again with the owner of the outfitting store in Bonner Springs on their return trip. She wished to get that sent off before the snows of deep winter made travel between the two communities too difficult for her to persuade Jefferson to make the trip.

  After placing Jefferson’s cup of coffee next to his plate, Virginia turned to Carlotte and swallowed to relieve the tension in her throat. “We’ve always made the trip to Columbia in the autumn to buy supplies for the holidays. Did you find someone else to take you while I was gone?”

  Carlotte shook her head. “Nein. No. With what we have in Boonville, we make do. Too many things we own to take to Salina. Is best them we use up than give away for when we pack the wagons, ja?”

  Virginia licked her lips while she searched for the best response. She must win support for a trip to Columbia. “I…I understand your point, Carlotte. However, it is important to me that I journey within the next week or so, as long as the weather holds. Perhaps I’ll just take a horse and go myself. That way, I won’t keep Jefferson from any work he feels he needs to catch up on here as a result of us spending so much time in Salina preparing for your move.”

  Jefferson slapped his palm on the tabletop in what Virginia recognized as an expression of annoyance. “Don’t talk foolishness, Virginia. There are no circumstances, other than dire emergencies, that would convince me to allow a woman to ride horseback the twenty-five-mile trip alone. We usually take two days for the trip, but it is too late in the year to camp out along the way home. Do you really have no concept what could happen if the wrong people come across you on the road?”

  “Of course, I do, Jefferson. However, you must admit that in all the years we have gone to Columbia, not once have we run into undesirables who have accosted us. Besides, I’ll ask Sidney if I can borrow his pepperbox pistol. I won’t be without protection.”

  “It is almost the time of the year when the days are their shortest, Virginia. You would be traveling in the dark part of the time.”

  “That is why I wish to go by horse. I can travel faster. I do not need a lot of time to purchase what I need, Jefferson. I won’t be in town long. If I leave at four in the morning, although it will be dark, I doubt I’ll run into anyone who will give me trouble at that time. I can make it home by dusk, at the latest.”

  Jefferson mumbled under his breath. “If you run my horse into the ground.” He shook his head and raised his voice. “I don’t understand you, Virginia. I don’t know why a trip to Columbia cannot wait until just before we depart next spring for Salina.”

  Virginia’s shoulders trembled as her gaze met her brother’s. “Because I have matters I need to see to, Jefferson.” Because I have no intention of going to Salina with you. “Perhaps, if you are truly that uncomfortable about me making the journey by myself, you can spare Otto one day to accompany me. He is almost fifteen—old enough to serve as an escort. Or, perhaps I can just take the steamboat, although that will cost money.”

  “The children at the table now sit. The prayer on the food we say, ja?”

  At Carlotte’s prompt, Virginia turned to face the table, her gaze to the floor as she interlaced her fingers while her brother spoke one of the shortest prayers ever. She turned back to the sideboard and reached for the basket so she could pull the biscuits off the baking sheet to put on the table.

  Because Jefferson had not immediately given another objection but had shaken his head while he scooped a forkful of eggs and ham into his mouth, Virginia knew he now considered her request. She turned to wipe crumbs off the counter. Experience had taught her it was better for her to stay quiet and give him time to mull the matter over. Even if he did not agree with her suggestions about how she could travel safely to Columbia and back, he might agree to her going—under his conditions. Hopefully, his terms would be agreeable to her.

  As she heard Jefferson huff his frustration, Virginia turned in time to witness him massage his temples with the fingers and thumb of the hand not holding his fork. A quick glance around the table told Virginia the rest of the family shifted their gaze between her and her brother, waiting to discover what would happen next.

  Virginia bit her bottom lip in anticipation as her brother placed his fork on his plate and leaned back in his chair.

  “I will take you, Virginia. I do not want you and Otto riding the horses hard to make it to Columbia and back in one day and risking injuring one of you, or the horses. Otto and Carl can handle the animals while we are gone. As long as we must spend money for this trip, I’d rather spend it on a hotel room instead of a steamboat. We’ll take the wagon and stay the night.” Jefferson turned to his wife. “Carlotte, it is up to you if you wish to come along and bring the other children. I’m sure you realize, even if we don’t get rain or snow along the way, it will be a cold journey for those who make the trip.”

  Virginia focused on Carlotte, who shifted her gaze between her husband and her, before she glanced around the table. She shook her head. “Nein. Already Carl and Henry sniffle and cough. We stay home where warm and dry.”

  “I don’t show any signs of sickness, Papa. I want to go. Please?”

  Virginia smiled as she turned to watch ten-year-old Hannah, the oldest daughter, cajole her father with her winning smile and large blue eyes. She knew her golden-haired young niece would not pass up an opportunity to go shopping, even if she intended to mostly look at all the pretty merchandise. She loved to be around people and dream of future purchases. It did not surprise her when Jefferson gave in to Hannah’s request.

  “Yes, you may go, but don’t expect me to buy out the store for you. In spite of what your Aunt Virginia feels she must purchase in Columbia, I don’t intend to spend a lot of money this shopping trip unless your mother gives me a list of things she needs.”

  Her smile widened as Hannah clapped with glee. “Oh, thank you, Papa. What day are we going?”

  Virginia felt a rush of relief. With pretty, vivacious Hannah along, the girl would keep her father busy looking out for her. Perhaps he would be so intent on watching his daughter he would neglect to keep track of Virginia’s every move. That would make it easier for her to take care of her correspondence and banking.

  As Jefferson considered details of their trip, Virginia knew she better speak up, or he might decide to go on the weekend. That would interfere with the business she needed to see to. “Please, let’s go before Saturday. I don’t wish to be in town the same day as so many locals come in to shop. If we wait until after the weekend, I’m afraid another storm might move in.”

  “I don’t want to fight the crowds, either. We’ll leave tomorrow and spend the night at the hotel so we can come home Friday. Virginia, since this is your idea, I’ll expect you to gather the extra blankets, prepare the hot bricks, and fix the food we’ll need for traveling.”

  Virginia exhaled a breath she had not realized she had been holding as she smiled at her brother and moved to take her place on the bench to the trestle table. “Thank you, Jefferson. I’ll have everything ready tomorrow morning.”

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  Chapter 6

  ~o0o~

  Columbia, Missouri – early December, 1858

  S tanding at the teller cage of the bank where she kept the V. A. Wellington account, Virginia smiled as she unfolded the letter granting Virginia Atwell power of attorney to act on behalf of the bearer of the name on the draft from D. Porter Publishing, one V. A. Wellington. She accepted the pen already dipped in ink the teller handed her and began her en
dorsement. For deposit only into the account of….

  “Virginia. What are you doing?”

  Startled at the sound of Jefferson’s voice, full of curiosity as he stood directly behind her, Virginia twitched and the nib of the pen slid across the back of the draft, leaving an inch-long streak. She turned to her brother, a snap in her voice. “I’m taking care of business. I’ll be with you in a minute, Brother. Please, don’t crowd me.”

  “I think you need to tell me what is going on.”

  Virginia glanced back to see her niece sitting on the bench by the front bank of the window with her body twisted so the palms of her hands and her nose were pressed against the glass. “I think you need to tend to your daughter. We can discuss this later.” Virginia turned back to the ledge to finish endorsing the draft. She sighed with relief when she heard Jefferson cross the room to remind Hannah of the proper way for a young lady to sit and wait in a public place. Avoiding the curious expression on the teller’s face, she ducked her head as she handed the signed draft and her bank passbook to the man. Then, to discourage questions or comments, she pursed her lips and avoided eye contact while he recorded her deposit.

  Virginia tucked the passbook in her reticule and pulled the strings to cinch it closed before she turned to face her brother. She would have liked to have had a few minutes to herself to step to the corner of the bank lobby where she could retrieve her other letter that had awaited her in the post office—the one from Oberlin College—from her possibles bag. She wanted to open and read it, but the arrival of her brother had quashed that possibility. She must wait until later to learn the response to her query. With measured steps, she approached her brother who, if his disgruntled expression was an indicator, was not pleased with her.