With Endless Sight

by Allison Pittman

  “I know why you came.” I dried my face with the upper part of my sleeve. “Actually, I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone. Including Chester.”

  Phoebe wrung out a stocking, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

  “And it won’t matter one bit.” I wrung the last bit of water out of my skirt and headed for the drying bush. “There isn’t a thing you could ever do to make him love you.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Just what do you think is going to happen? He’s known you forever. Since you were a baby. Do you think one of these days the scales are going to fall off his eyes and some divine light is going to shine down on you?” I walked back to wait for the clean stockings. “That some angelic choir is going to sing down from heaven”—I summoned by best operatic falsetto—“Chester, here is the love of your life!”

  “It could happen,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.

  “No it won’t, Phoebe,” I said, keeping my tone light. “My brother has a penchant for beautiful girls with loose morals, and you, my cousin, will never be beautiful.”

  It took a minute for my joke to register, and when it did, she took the handful of clean, wet stockings and threw them in my face.

  “You’re terrible!” she said, but I could tell by her voice that she wasn’t angry in the least.

  “No, I’m smart.” I shook out each stocking from its wadded-up ball to rinse the soap out. “I’m not going to make my life decisions based on whether or not I love somebody.”

  “You don’t know that,” Phoebe said, once again solemn in her chore. “You won’t know until it happens.”

  We left the clothes to dry—Phoebe’s dress nestled between two of Chester’s shirts—and took to exploring. Our reward for the morning’s hard labor came in the form of a wild chokecherry bush, and Phoebe and I began to gorge ourselves on the dark, ripe fruit.

  “We need to take some back,” I said. “They’re Daddy’s favorite.”

  So Phoebe made a basket with the edge of her skirt, which I filled with clusters of our newfound treat. Every few steps I dropped a chokecherry into my mouth, then one into Phoebe’s, and we giggled at the faces we made whenever we bit down on a sour one. Our faces and hands were sticky with juice, Phoebe’s skirt irrevocably stained. We mused about how delicious the berries would be covered in cream, baked in a pie, or made into a jelly and slathered on a scone. But since we’d been living on a steady diet of salt pork, potatoes, biscuits, and beans, it was hard to imagine that any sort of tampering would make these berries any more delicious. I worried that we might not have any left for Daddy at all.

  “They’re good, aren’t they?” Del had once again managed to appear silently behind me, this time catching me in the act of stopping a meandering stream of chokecherry juice with my tongue.

  “Mm-hmm” was all I could say as I stumbled a bit in my effort to turn and address him.

  “And I don’t believe we’ve met.” Del extended a hand toward Phoebe—a ceremonial gesture at best, as she was occupied holding the berries in her skirt. “Name’s Del—Delano Saunders, but I just go by Del.”

  “That’s my cousin Phoebe,” I said, perturbed that he’d never introduced himself to me and wondering if he knew my name at all.

  “Good to meet you—both of you.” He fell into an easy step with us in spite of his limp. “I just got finished playing a few hands of cards with your brother.”

  “Is that right?” I said. “Well, you’d better be careful there. He’s likely to take you for all you’ve got.”

  “Wouldn’t be much to that,” Del said with a hint of throaty laughter. “And you might want to tell him to do the same. Not all of the guys here are as nice as me. I walked away with him owin’ me a few bucks.”

  When we came into the clearing, I could see that a certain bustle marked the onset of the late summer afternoon. Pockets of activity were everywhere: men chopping firewood, clearing brush, repairing a roof. In contrast to all this, Chester lounged in a hammock slung between two posts.

  “So, what is this place?” Phoebe asked in that tone she had perfected—not accusing, not demanding, but impossible to evade. “I mean was this an army camp? Are you a soldier? Or,” she inclined her head toward his wounded leg, “were you a soldier?”

  “Phoebe!” I said, but Del just laughed.

  “No harm in a question if all you’re lookin’ for is an answer. No, I wasn’t never a soldier. Some of these fellows were—like Marty, he was a cook. Others wandered off and ended up making camp here, hidin’ out from the war. But the rest of us come from all over. I was ridin’ for the Pony Express, like some of these other guys. But with the telegraph takin’ over, that’s about dried up. Now it’s more or less a mess of thieves and vagabonds.”

  “And which are you?” I asked.

  “Neither. God’s commandments taught me never to steal, and this foot keeps me from wanderin’ too far. I am here, Miss Belinda, merely to serve as your humble guide and host.”

  Phoebe and I exchanged a quick, knowing smile, then walked on, our eyes stoically forward. I wondered when he had learned my name.

  At the edge of the camp, a dozen horses roamed in an impressive corral under the scrutiny of three men perched on the surrounding fence. Under a large tree next to the barn, a shirtless man with a chest the breadth of a pickle barrel nailed a shoe to the back hoof of one of our coach horses. Just as Mother had said, Daddy stood close-by, as if inspecting each step. I remembered his stories of his early days at the forge, working amid the fires, pouring the molten metal into the molds. And since learning of the company’s demise, I’d often wondered if we all wouldn’t have been happier living out our lives in the cramped little apartment he once shared with my mother.

  “Come on, Phoebe. Let’s take these to Daddy.” I set a course for the smithing tree.

  “Nah, you’d better not.” Del reached for my arm to stop me in my tracks. “There’s sparks flyin’ and everythin’ else over there. You’d best take those to your ma.”

  Phoebe snickered as I wrenched my arm out of Del’s grip.

  “I think I’m quite capable of finding her, thank you. Come on, Phoebe.”

  I set a pace that I thought would leave Del behind, but he not only kept up with us, he spurred on ahead and took down a basket hanging on a nail just outside the cabin.

  “Here.” He offered the basket to Phoebe. “You might want to put your dress back down in front of all these fellows.”

  I was ready to die of embarrassment, but Phoebe took the remark in good humor and would have allowed Del himself to scoop the berries out of her skirt if I hadn’t wedged myself between them.

  This was the scene Mother came upon when she emerged from our little cabin, her arms full of our woolen coats and shawls.

  “The nights have been so cool lately,” she was saying. “I thought we might want to have these a little more handy. What on earth have you got there?”

  “Chokecherries, ma’am,” Del said. The basket was full by now, and he held it out to her with such deference it was almost a bow.

  “How lovely.” Mother shifted the coats to one arm and daintily picked up a few berries. “And yummy too.”

  “Well, if you like these,” Del said, “there’s a little grove of wild plums ’bout a quarter mile from here. Maybe close to this evening, when it’s a little cooler, I could show these young ladies, and they could pick some for supper.”

  “That would be delightful, I’m sure,” Mother said with the air of a matron whose spinster daughter had just been asked to a summer cotillion.

  “No, thanks,” Phoebe said, fairly winking with conspiracy. “The wash should be dry by then, and I’ll need to bring it in for pressing.”

  “Maybe we could ask Chester to come with us,” Del said, “in case we need to climb any trees.”

  I wondered if his suggestion was meant to appease Mother’s sense of propriety or my discomfort. In any case, it only managed to accompl
ish the first.

  “That would be perfect,” Mother said. “It’s always best when Chester has something to keep him occupied.”

  I spent the rest of the afternoon following my brother’s example, drifting in and out of exquisite afternoon sleep. Some generous soul had procured two more cots for our cabin, and the opened door and windows ensured a pleasant, cooling breeze. There was an odd sense of safety in being surrounded by so many men—rogues or otherwise—and an indescribable and perhaps undeserved sense of peace settled around me.

  Each time I opened my eyes, I had the distinct feeling that another hour had passed, although it may have been a mere fraction of that. When a raging thirst finally drove me to get up, I found that Mother and Phoebe had abandoned me, perhaps to go check on the wash. I made my way to the water barrel which, according to Marty, was filled fresh each morning from the camp’s well. I took one long dipperful after another, but my thirst seemed like it would never be quenched, although the collar and sleeves of my dress were drenched.

  “Are you ready to go plum pickin’ with me?”

  I jumped, snorted some water up my nose, and choked on my last mouthful. “Tell me,” I said once I’d regained most of my composure, “do you always sneak up on people?”

  “I guess I just worry that if you saw me, you’d up and run away”—Del reached out and tugged one of my braids—“and I’d never catch up.”

  “How about keeping your hands off my sister.”

  Chester had never been protective, but then again, there had never been anything to protect me from. And even this was mere good-natured banter. He put up his fists as if to fight, then smiled and reached out to shake Del’s hand.

  “I assure you I’m the picture of a perfect gentleman.” Del held a small, empty bucket and gestured with it toward a little path leading out of camp. “After you.”

  We made three long shadows as we left the clearing, Chester and Del strolling an easy pace in front of me. At first I coveted the opportunity to listen to a conversation between two young men but soon learned they didn’t have much to say that was radically different from the countless kitchen conversations I’d been subjected to. Someone had snared a rabbit, and Marty was preparing a stew. The last of the potatoes were going soft, so he figured he’d best mash the lot of them to make them stretch a little further—all of it so boring that I’d tuned most of it out and concentrated instead on my surroundings. Like how the clouded sky made everything seem like you were seeing the world through a veil. And the determined sound of Del’s dragging foot.

  So I wasn’t sure exactly when their conversation turned from the mundane to the point where Chester had Del pinned to a tree, this time brandishing a very real fist in his face.

  “Stop it!” I said, pulling Chester away.

  “Just what have you told him, Lindy? What have you been talking about?”

  “Nothing! I haven’t talked to him at all!”

  “Then how does he know?” He turned back to Del. “How do you know all of this?”

  “Been hearin’ about you all for weeks now.” Del’s voice was calm, even, as if hoping to bring Chester to the same temperament. “I know you’re thinkin’ that you’re out in the middle of nowhere, away from the world. But it ain’t like that. All these stations—we’re like one little town spread out over half the country. Drivers talk, switch off routes, stories spread. I knew two weeks ago there was some rich family ridin’ the continental, headed straight through to Oregon.”

  “That’s not all,” Chester said. “Tell her the rest.”

  “I said your dad’s a … a dang fool goin’ around with that kind of money. It’s just a matter of time before your coach gets robbed, and count it a blessin’ you’ve come this far without your own driver turn-in’ on you.”

  “God has blessed us because we trust Him,” I said. “He’ll always protect those who are faithful to Him.”

  Del held his hands up in surrender. “I ain’t goin’ to argue with you there. I know more about God’s protection than most anybody else I’ve met. I’m just tryin’ to warn you.”

  “Then consider us warned,” Chester said.

  He took the lead down the path; Del and I kept an easy pace behind him. I’d spent my life negotiating peace between my parents and Chester, between my parents themselves. This, however, had all the earmarks of two bucks in the fall. I wasn’t about to get in the middle.

  When we came upon a thicket of small trees, Del handed the empty bucket to me. “This is it.”

  My job was to stick close to one or the other as they picked the ripe fruit from the low-hanging branches.

  “See, this one here’s perfect.” Del held a plum out to me. “Dark orange color, just turnin’ red. Means it’ll still have a bit of a bite to it but not too sour. Go on. Try it.”

  “No, thanks.” I took it from his hand and dropped it in the bucket. “I’ll wait until supper.”

  “Too bad you’re headin’ out tomorrow. Marty makes a great plum butter.”

  “Could you quit chattering on like some old woman?” Chester, having pulled a branch down to make the fruit more accessible, let it fly and dumped a handful of plums in the bucket, saving one to eat himself. “Tell me, Saunders, you say you rode with the Pony Express?”

  “Yep.” Del strained to reach a high branch. “One of the first riders they had.”

  “For how long?”

  “ ’Bout a year.”

  Chester chewed thoughtfully. “So, how long do you figure it would take to ride from here to Oregon?”

  “Oregon’s a big idea there, Chester. Give me something more specific than that.”

  “We don’t even have to get all the way to the promised land. Let’s say to Fort Hall.”

  “Ridin’ flat out? I figure two weeks. Less if you could change horses instead of just restin’ ’em.”

  “And you know this route pretty well?”

  “Pretty good.” Del spoke slowly, cautiously, as if the next word might spring a trap.

  “You have horses here that would be up to it?”

  “Now just what are you gettin’ at?”

  “I’m suggesting that I rob my father.”

  “Oh, now, Chester.” I took a few cautious steps away from them. “That really is low, even for you.”

  “Relax, Lindy. It’s not what you think. Well, not exactly what you think.”

  “And just what would that be?” Del said.

  “She’s worried that I’m just going to abscond with it in the night. Grab the family fortune and ride off to parts unknown. Or to parts well known. To California, maybe. San Francisco. To find something a touch more exciting than a plot of dirt in the new Eden.”

  “Seems like she has a lot of ideas,” Del said. “Any truth to ’em?”

  “My soul may not be as lily white as yours, little sister,” Chester said, “but give me some credit.”

  “You can’t just take Daddy’s money,” I said. “You tried that once, remember?”

  “No, I asked you to try it once. And if I recall, you weren’t the least bit helpful.”

  “But Phoebe was.”

  “Ah, yes, Phoebe. But this is different.” Chester picked another plum out of the bucket and sat down under one of the trees. “Our new friend Del here has been kind enough to warn us of impending doom. That thieving bandits are on the lookout for a continental stagecoach toting a wealthy family. But none of them would think twice about a couple of old pals making their way to the Pacific coast.”

  “Yeah,” Del sat on a fallen log, “but I’m not your pal.”

  “Nor are you mine,” Chester continued. “But I need you, see? I’m just some Illinois tenderfoot who doesn’t know a canyon from a cliff.”

  “Let me ask you somethin’,” Del said. “This family fortune. Is it in cash? Or notes?”

  Chester cut his eyes toward me, as if seeking my approval to answer the question, but I gave him no response.

  “Most of it’s in Illinois script,�
� he said finally. “The rest is in gold. I figure I’d leave Dad with the cash. You come with me, and as soon as we hit someplace where we can change the gold into federal money, I’ll cut you a percentage and send you on your way.”

  I strode over to my brother and kicked him, hard, in the leg. “I can’t believe you! This is our father—our family!”

  “Yeah—if this is family,” Del said, “forget it.”

  “You’re missing the big picture.” Chester scowled at me as he rubbed his shin. “I’m not stealing it. I’m not even going to lose it. Mr. Pony and I will pick a place and wait for Dad and the rest of you to show. Then we pay off our little guide here and go on with the plan.”

  “Kinda makes sense,” Del said. “Notes are safer than gold any day.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about the preferences of thieves,” I said, hoping my brother would join me in my suspicion. But Chester remained undaunted.

  “I figured we could leave tonight, get at least half-a-day’s lead,” he said.

  “And if we’re on horseback, there’s no reason to stick to the trail,” Del added.

  “So if anybody’s following our family—”

  “They might meet up with the stagecoach—”

  “There’s a town just north of South Pass. It’s got an exchange bank. Be a nice place to hole up for a few days. See if it’s safe to meet up with your pa.”

  “And if it’s not,” Chester said, “we head out to meet them at Fort Hall. Got that, Lindy?”

  “You’re forgetting one very important thing, Chester,” I said. “Our father would never hand that money over to you.”

  “That’s why we’re not going to ask him.”

  “Now, wait a minute there …,” Del said.

  “Lindy knows where the cash is. She’ll get it tonight, hand it over, and explain everything in the morning.”

  “I can’t do that,” I said. “It’s stealing.”

  I should have known better than to try to reason with my brother when his mind was already made up, and especially in a matter of money. He turned his head, spit the plum pit a good ten yards, and scrambled to his feet.