LisBeth stared out the window of Mama’s room and said in a half-whisper, “Thank you, Joseph. You’ve always been such a good friend.”
Joseph took a step toward the door. “You need anything else right now, LisBeth?”
LisBeth shook her head. Silence filled the room, pressing in on the two friends, creating an awkward breach between them. LisBeth tried to close it. “I don’t know quite what to say, Joseph, . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “All I could think about was coming home, home to the Hathaway House Hotel. Mama would be here working, and she’d bring me here to her room, and . . .” LisBeth barely controlled her sobs.
His usually booming voice was gentle and quiet as he tried to ease her pain. “That’s all right, LisBeth. That’s all right. Nothin’ you need to say or do right now. Jus’ unpack and rest up. I’m still here for you. Just over at the livery. And Augusta—she’s not your mama, LisBeth, but she loves you like you was her own child. They’s plenty of time to think through it all. The Lord’ll help you.”
LisBeth cast a glance at her mother’s Bible. She answered miserably, “Oh, Joseph, I want to believe that. Really, I do. But there seems to be such a great space between the Lord and me. I don’t know how to get across it. When I was little and there was trouble, Mama always took up that book—she always knew just what to read, just what to say. When they told me Mac was dead, all I could think was, I’ll go home now, and Mama will know what to say. She’ll know what to do. Then I got off that train, and she wasn’t there. You brought me home and Aunt Augusta told me that Mama died last week. . . .” LisBeth stopped and bit her lip. She looked up at Joseph. “It’s hard, Joseph,” she whispered. “It’s real hard.”
As she talked, LisBeth’s hands gripped the edges of the photograph. Tighter and tighter she gripped until her whole body was trembling with the effort to control her emotions. Just at the moment Joseph prepared to run for help, Augusta entered the room.
Augusta Hathaway described herself as “all prickles and quills.” But the woman who quickly crossed the room to comfort the late Jesse King’s daughter showed none of that. Augusta took the photo from the trembling hands and placed it on the dresser. Settling LisBeth on the edge of the bed, Augusta said gently, “Now, honey, you just sit here while I get you a glass of water. Then I’ll help you take down your hair and you can rest.”
LisBeth gratefully allowed herself to be mothered. She obediently drank the water and sat still while Augusta unpinned and brushed her abundant dark hair. She watched numbly as Augusta unpacked the carpetbag and arranged its contents in the empty dresser drawers.
Where are Mama’s things? LisBeth wondered. But she was too weary to ask. Augusta spread LisBeth’s nightgown across the bed and patted LisBeth’s hand as she said, “Now, honey, I know you’re a grown woman. I’ll not be bossing you around like you was a child. But right now what you need is to rest. You’ve had a terrible shock, I know. You rest, and when you’re ready, Joseph and I will be here to tell you everything.”
While Augusta talked, she retrieved a button hook, undid LisBeth’s shoes, set them side by side near the rocker, and retreated toward the door. Joseph had long since disappeared. “Now you take a little rest, and when you waken, we’ll have a long, long talk.” Augusta’s blue eyes sparkled with love as she gave LisBeth one last encouraging smile. Before she closed the door, Augusta added, “LisBeth, honey, if you could have just seen your mama’s face when we found her. I don’t know what it was that carried her to heaven, but it surely was something that made her happy. I’ve never seen such a look of peace and love on a woman’s face.”
Augusta’s firm footsteps retreated down the hall toward the kitchen. LisBeth sat on the edge of the bed for a long while, fingering her dark hair, trying to sort through things. I came all this way . . . I just knew Mama could help me know what to do. Lifting her eyes to her wedding photo, LisBeth gave in to grief. She buried her face in her pillow and cried fiercely.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. The words echoed in her mind, and it was Mama’s voice saying them. Mama had read those words over and over again. Whenever they had faced a problem, she had read or recited those words. But now they brought LisBeth little comfort. But Mama . . . I do want, she thought bitterly. I want my husband back. . . . I want the life we were planning . . . and I want you! Angry tears stained the pillow as LisBeth spent the emotions she had stored up through the long train ride home from the west.
When the tears were finished, something replaced them. She did not realize it, but in rejecting the words that had always comforted her mother, LisBeth made way for a tiny root of bitterness in her young life.
Chapter 3
As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit . . . even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all.
Ecclesiastes 11:5
LisBeth woke from her afternoon rest feeling weary. Dragging herself out of bed, she settled into the rocker by the window and stared through the glass, remembering the empty, flat expanse of land that she and her mother had come to only a few years ago. Then, Lincoln, Nebraska, had been little more than a few dugouts and cabins, among them a small boardinghouse run by Augusta Hathaway. Augusta had taken in Jesse King and her daughter, LisBeth, had grown to love them as her own family, had included them in her plans to transform the boardinghouse into a prosperous hotel. Now the Centennial Opera House was just about completed. Beyond the Centennial several new houses dotted the landscape. A white picket fence had sprung from the prairie to protect a two-story abode from errant wildlife. I remember when Mama wouldn’t let me walk to Miss Griswall’s school alone for fear a coyote’d cross my path! She smiled briefly at the memory, but then fresh grief set in and she stood up abruptly, pulling the curtains across the window to shut out the view of the growing city.
LisBeth finished unpacking the large valise Augusta had left untouched. Familiar sounds filtered down the short hallway. Dinner was being readied for the hotel boarders. Taking a deep breath, LisBeth opened the door and headed for the kitchen. She hesitated at the door, watching as fifteen-year-old Sarah Biddle and her nine-year-old brother Tom moved about. They worked as a team, Tom limping about beside Sarah, often knowing what she needed without her having to say a word.
Sarah and Tom looked up from the open oven and quickly set aside the trays of fresh biscuits. Sarah took the lead. Wiping her hands on her muslin apron, she crossed the kitchen quickly and held out her hand to LisBeth.
“I’m awful sorry about your husband, Miz Baird. And your ma too.”
Tom added. “I’m sorry, too, Miz Baird.”
LisBeth had had almost too much sympathy that day. Controlling the urge to weep, she took the offered hand and grasped it momentarily before saying, “Yes. Well. Thank you.” There was an awkward silence until Augusta came in. Taking LisBeth by the hand she led her to the table where the July 12 edition of the Nebraska State Journal lay open.
“I thought you’d like to see it, LisBeth,” Augusta said. “Charles Gere did right by your ma.”
LisBeth read:
Born into the Spirit world at the Hathaway House Hotel in Lincoln on Sunday, July 10, Mrs. Jesse King, after a sojourn on this earth of 54 years.
She was born into the earth life in St. Clair County, Illinois, in 1822, was married in 1841 to her husband, Homer King, who predeceased her, was the mother of one daughter, LisBeth, who grew to womanhood, and one son, Jacob, who passed as an infant to that life where she has now joined him.
Mrs. King was a consistent Christian, having been baptized as a young woman and a faithful member of the Congregational Church until summoned by the Death Angel to enter on the enjoyment of the future life.
Mrs. King lived a full life of goodness and beauty, affording her child and friends an example well worthy of their imitation. Sustained by her confidence in God’s love and her expectation of a happy life to come, she calmly fell asleep to wake in that home where there are no more
separations.
On Tuesday her body was laid in the earth, the services conducted by Rev. W. E. Copeland.
As LisBeth read, Sarah and Tom returned to work. Joseph came in with another stash of firewood for the stove. Exchanging a concerned expression with Augusta, he helped himself to a cup of coffee and took an inordinate amount of time to stack the wood. When a log fell off the pile and hit the floor, LisBeth jumped. She wiped her tears and blew her nose and looked up at Augusta. Everyone in the kitchen appeared to be working furiously. In reality they were doing nothing, waiting for LisBeth to get through her mother’s obituary.
“I want to go to Wyuka, Augusta.” LisBeth took a deep breath. “I remember all the fuss when they chose those rolling hills so far from town. I thought it was all so silly, bothering over a cemetery. But then, I never thought about someone I loved being buried there. I wish Mac had a place like that—nearby—”
Joseph tried to rescue LisBeth from a new bout of tears. “You just say when, LisBeth. I’ll hitch up the carriage and take you out there any time you say.”
Augusta mumbled something about there being plenty of time for that, but LisBeth rose and said, “I think I’d like to go now, Joseph. Maybe,” her throat tightened, “maybe it will help.”
Joseph was already out the door.
LisBeth retreated to Jesse’s room. As she tied on her black bonnet, she studied her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her dark eyes were red and puffy, and thin lines had appeared at the corners of each eye. Once a warm, golden brown, her skin now looked almost sallow. She had lost weight, and her high cheekbones were more prominent, the slight dimple in her cheek more pronounced.
LisBeth remembered an evening less than a year ago when her mother Jesse had said wistfully, “You got that dimple from your pa, Rides the Wind, LisBeth. He was a handsome brave—at least I always thought so.” Then Jesse had laid her own fair-skinned hand next to LisBeth’s. “Fact is, LisBeth, you look mostly like your pa. His skin. His eyes.” She had sighed and added softly, “I sure wish you could have known him, LisBeth.”
LisBeth had reached out to take her mother’s hands in her own. “Do you wish we still lived among the Lakota, Mama?”
Jesse had thought carefully before answering. “No, LisBeth. The Lord brought us here. At least that’s how I’ve come to view it. With your pa dead, it would have been harder for us. I was Walks the Fire to the Lakota, but I wasn’t really Lakota. Except for Prairie Flower, I didn’t have many friends.” Smiling again, Jesse had said, “We’re where we belong now. I still wish sometimes for you to know Soaring Eagle. I’ll just leave that in God’s hands. He always does what’s best. If it’s to be, it will be.”
The memory of Jesse faded and was replaced by a feeling of aloneness so complete that it caused a physical hurt deep inside LisBeth. A soft knock sounded at the door. Sarah stood in the doorway, hands clasped tightly, her earnest blue eyes blinking rapidly.
“Miz Baird, I feel so bad about what’s happened to you. You don’t know me, ma’am, but your ma—”
Eager to block out the painful memories, LisBeth begged, “Sarah, please, come in. Sit here, in Mama’s rocker.”
Sarah settled nervously on the edge of the rocker while LisBeth talked. “Mama wrote all about you and Tom, Sarah. She went on and on about how hard you work and about how smart Tom is. She had great plans for Tom.”
“Yes, ma’am, Tom has always been the smart one.” Sarah said it proudly, but then she returned to her subject. “What I wanted to say, Miz Baird, was, I feel kinda bad about bein’ in your room, now that you’re back and all. I don’t have to be so near the living quarters. Maybe Miz Hathaway could give us another room—”
LisBeth interrupted. “Don’t be silly, Sarah.” Her next words won Sarah’s allegiance and something approaching love. LisBeth reached out and took both of Sarah’s hands. “Mama loved you and Tom, Sarah. I’ve always wanted a sister. I’ve lost two brothers in my life. Little Jacob died long before I was born, when he was only a baby, and the other brother—well, circumstances just tore us apart. I’ve never even met him—” LisBeth stopped short. “Please, Sarah, let’s be friends. And don’t even think about the room a second longer. It’s not my room anymore, Sarah. It’s your room.”
Sarah squeezed LisBeth’s hands, gratitude shining in her eyes. A year of living with Augusta Hathaway and Jesse King had prepared Sarah Biddle to open the door of friendship when the opportunity arose. Now, she quickly turned the handle and fairly flung it open as she began to share a bit of herself. “LisBeth, I know how it feels—to have people you love taken away. I know it’s awful for you right now. But it’ll get better. You’ll get through it.”
Something told LisBeth to let Sarah Biddle talk. “I had a sister once. Her name was Emma.” Sarah withdrew her hands from LisBeth’s and twisted the edge of her apron. She studied the floor as she continued. “Ma got sick and Pa wouldn’t bring the doctor. He just said, ‘We got no money to pay for a doctor.’ Well, one day, I was rockin’ by the wood stove, trying to soothe Baby Emma. Then Pa brought in some lady. Said she could help Baby Emma. Said she’d get her some milk, and that Tom and me could come see her whenever we wanted. Said when Ma got better, Emma could come home.”
Sarah looked desperately into LisBeth’s eyes. “So I let that lady take her. She said we could have her back just as soon as Ma got better. But Ma didn’t get better. Ma died the next day. Then Pa took Tom and me to the Home for the Friendless. He said he’d come back for us. But he never did.”
Sarah took a deep breath before concluding, “But what was even worse was our Baby Emma was gone. Somebody rich just took her to be theirs.”
LisBeth listened, breathing as soundlessly as possible, hoping that Sarah would stop, but knowing that she needed to go on.
Sarah smiled a tight, bitter smile. “ ’Course, nobody ever wanted Tom and me. I figured, I let go of Baby Emma, and they took her. I never let go of Tom. Plenty of folks wanted me to come work for them. But they wouldn’t take Tom. So we just stayed at the Home. Then we got put on that train. Nobody wanted us then, either—not in all the towns we stopped at. They’d look at Tom’s limp and just turn away. We’d get back on the train and ride to the next town. Tom and me finally ran away. I figured we could do better on our own. Nobody wanted us until your ma found us and took us in.”
Sarah stopped abruptly. She flushed with embarrassment. “Goodness—I rattled on and on. As if you don’t have enough troubles of your own.” Sarah was flustered. “What I wanted to say was I know how it hurts. But it gets better. It does. You’ll be all right. You got Joseph. You got Aunt Augusta. You got your Ma’s love inside you—and Mr. Baird’s love too. And, if you want, you got me for a friend,” Sarah’s voice lowered slightly as she timidly said the word friend. She was surprised to realize that sharing her past with LisBeth had come so easily. She felt strangely refreshed, as if the telling of the hurt had somehow cleaned out the last remnant of bitterness she had been nursing.
Impulsively, LisBeth reached out and stepped through the door of friendship that Sarah had opened so willingly. As she hugged Sarah, Lisbeth’s eyes filled with tears. Augusta’s voice rang down the hall and into the room. “LisBeth! Joseph has the carriage ready. . . .”
Joseph had been waiting patiently with his finest team and carriage for quite a few minutes when LisBeth finally stepped outside the hotel and climbed up beside him. As he urged the horses to a swift trot, the wind came up. It was a hot, dry wind, and before they had traveled a mile, LisBeth felt sweat trickle down her back and wished she had minded Augusta’s suggestion to make the journey early the next morning, before the afternoon sun had launched its assault.
Shading her eyes with one hand, LisBeth gripped the side of the carriage seat and stared to the northeast, along the banks of the Salt Creek. A few clumps of elms and cottonwood flourished along the creek beds, but no shade gave respite to the two travelers heading out O Street to the “place of rest” chosen by the legislatu
re.
“Why’d they have to pick a spot so far away?” LisBeth wondered aloud.
“They’s bad air around a cemetery, LisBeth. Leastways, white folks thinks they is,” Joseph offered. “They wanted it far out from the city.”
“Well, they certainly accomplished that,” LisBeth snapped.
“You want to turn back? We can do this in the mornin’ when it’s cooler.”
LisBeth shook her head. “No, Joseph. I need to do it now. I’ve been dreading it something awful. I just need to get it done.” LisBeth interrupted herself. “Stop. Just a moment—see those flowers? Mama loved those. Just wait a minute.” She was already jumping down from the carriage and hurrying to a clump of bushes covered with bright orange blossoms. LisBeth shooed away several butterflies and gathered an enormous bouquet before climbing back up beside Joseph.
“I recollect your Mama did like those—”
“Remember that time those men came in from Omaha, and Augusta was so worried about impressing them with Lincoln’s fare—and Mama ended up cooking a whole meal with wild things?”
Joseph smiled at the memory. “And them Omaha gents was surprised as could be. Your Mama had fun, too, teasin’ ’em about them eatin’ dog meat stew.”
LisBeth chuckled briefly before sighing, “We made soup from the roots of this plant and—” Her throat tightened. She stopped in midsentence. They had arrived at the entrance to Wyuka Cemetery.
Joseph eased the moment, “They gonna have winding lanes here, they said, jus’ like in a big city park. Got lots of plans for trees and flowers too. They gonna make it a real nice buryin’ place, LisBeth. It’s a good place to be laid to rest.”
LisBeth looked about as she asked, “Where?”
Joseph didn’t have to answer. They had turned left inside the entrance and wound around the base of a low hill. A few small headstones shone in the afternoon sun, and there was one new grave. LisBeth had to shade her eyes from the brilliant white to find the name. It was carved under a simple design of palm fronds.
Soaring Eagle Page 2
