“Why don’t you start the fire tonight? I need to go for a minute, but I’ll be right back.” Ida nodded, and Asher walked away into the darkness.
Quickly, she moved to the wagon bed in search of the matches and some kindling. Once she had them in hand, she set about grabbing enough wood to get the fire going. Asher had stacked some wood in the wagon in case they didn’t find any more, but they were running low.
In the five minutes it took for her husband to return, Ida had started a decently sized fire. Large enough to cook over, but small enough to sit close to. That was one thing she was reasonably good at.
“Good work, Ida,” Asher said, appearing in the darkness like a phantom, his smile practically glowing against the blackness of night.
“Thank you very much.” Turning away from the fire, she found the kettle and some ingredients for a soup. Anyone could make soup, even if they had the cooking skills of a child.
“Soup?” Ida nodded, her face red. She hoped against hope that she would prepare the soup properly. “Good, I think I’m starving.”
“I doubt that. You eat every time we stop.” He shrugged.
“It keeps the cooking to a twice daily thing.” Ida raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened. “I don’t mean that I don’t like your cooking. I do. I just meant -”
Ida laughed, dumping a few things into the dutch oven, barely paying attention. “I know what you meant. You should try relaxing. Not everything is so serious.”
She glanced up, just in time to see him look away, his face red. As much as she tried to hold it back, a smirk grew on her face. Asher really was a serious man. Nothing seemed to make him entirely happy.
“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered, then sat on the edge of the wagon. It saddened Ida to hear the melancholic tone of his voice.
Honestly, his constant sadness and that deep-seated anger made her want to scream at times. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shout, “It’s not easy for me, not in the slightest”, but it would have taken more courage than she had.
It wasn’t long before the soup was boiling inside the kettle. With a long stick, Ida pushed the coals around until they glowed. Then, taking out the two tin plates, she ladled a goodly portion into each, handing one to Asher.
“Thank you,” he said as Ida took out two spoons and a canteen of water. He took a tentative slurp from his spoon and nodded. “This is excellent. You’re getting quite good at this.”
Ida blush, taking a spoonful of her own supper. “Anyone can make soup. All that it requires is any vegetables and meat you have.”
“Well, whenever I make soup, it tastes like it came out of a rusted hand pump.” Asher grabbed the little tin cup they shared and poured himself some water. “I’m glad to have you along, Ida.”
“I could say the same of you.” He blushed, looking down at his plate. After gulping down half of the water in the cup, he offered her the rest. Ida quickly downed her half of the warm water. She’d have preferred for it to be cold, but it was still refreshing.
“I’d say you’ll be a fantastic cook by the time we get to Silver Bell.”
“How much longer do you think it will be before we get there?” Asher sighed, then took a bite of soup before answering.
“Two weeks? If we don’t have any unforeseen problems. Of course, if the axle breaks, and not for the first time, it would add time onto our journey. But don’t worry, it’s very unlikely that something will go wrong.”
Ida smiled wistfully, imagining what their life together could look like. “Just in time to get into the Christmas spirit.”
It could, but shall not, go without saying that Asher didn’t reply. He finished eating, the only sounds he made those of a general fashion. When he’d finished, he took his bedroll from the wagon and made his bed on the ground.
“Good night,” he said shortly, and laid down, his back to Ida.
When she was sure her husband was either asleep or feigning to be, Ida rose and cleaned up after their meal, putting everything in its right place. She laid a blanket down over an open space in the wagon, where she would spend the night.
Fortunately for her, she couldn’t see Asher, nor could she be seen by him. Because of this, Ida felt safely invisible as she let the tears fall down her face. Pressing a fist against her mouth, she managed to remain silent.
“God,” she whispered when her crying had subsided. “What can I do?”
Crystal New Mexico
November 1876
“We’ll be better off following the river past the town,” Asher said, rubbing his eyes.
“But the ground is so damp here! I keep getting my feet stuck in the mud.” He tried not to laugh at the stern expression Ida wore.
“Then you can ride in the wagon. It’s only for a day or so. You’ll be fine.” She crossed her arms, trying to look angry. Asher thought his wife was somewhat adorable when she attempted anger.
“I get bored just sitting around. I have to do something.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll just have to converse like most recently married people do.” She pushed him away with far more force than he’d have guessed her to be capable of. It nearly sent him falling.
“Fine.” She smiled in a way that made him believe that the situation was not, in fact, fine. “But you will be cooking supper this evening.”
With that, she turned away from him and climbed onto the wagon bench, leaving Asher to watch her, jaw dropped. What had her so cross? It didn’t seem possible for someone to be so angry simply because he didn’t want to go through a town of gawking people. It had to be something more.
When he was settled in beside his wife, Asher asked, “Are you this angry with me because of the path we’re taking or is it something else? I’d like to know.”
Ida sighed heavily. “No, I’m not angry about anything like that. I’m angry because every time I think we could be getting along I say something that you don’t wish to hear. Then, because you’re a man and ridiculously stubborn, you stop talking to me. I’m angry because you’re almost always silent when I want to speak with you, but when you want to speak, it’s fine.”
Asher blinked. He tried to speak, but no words came forth. So he decided that, perhaps, silence would be his ally. When his wife, usually so good-humored, sighed exasperatedly, he realized that he’d erred.
“I’m sorry, Ida.” She shook her head, scoffing. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to tell you everything I think. Besides that, would you rather have me tell you that I will never celebrate your silly Christmas?”
Ida gasped, scooting away from him. “It is not my Christmas. And I assure you, it’s far from silly. It’s one of the most important things out there. Everyone, whether their faith stands or not, takes a day to sit and remember. They remember that if God’s son can come into the world so humbly and save everyone who wants to be saved that there is always hope. They remember that someone loves them enough to die in their place.”
“Really? Do you truly believe that’s why people have Christmas?” She nodded, and Asher let out a harsh laugh. “Then you’re more foolish than the holiday.”
“Maybe I am not the foolish one, Asher.”
Having said this, she hopped out of the wagon, heading west. Ida walked quickly, not stopping despite the fact that the wagon was still. Asher set the wagon in motion, following his wife as she walked away from him.
“You’re going to get dirty this way.”
“A bit of dirt never harmed a soul.” He sighed, pulling alongside her, keeping the same pace.
“Well, you’ll ruin your dress. It’s a lovely blue. Wouldn’t you hate to see it spoiled?”
“It’s merely material goods. I can replace it or reuse it.”
Finally, Asher gave up and rode along in silence, his fuming wife staying as far away from him as possible. She was dangerously close to the river, but he supposed that she was a grown woman, capable of handling her own affairs.
>
As they moved onward, Ida’s steps slowed, her feet dragged in by the mud. The horses’ hooves and the wagon wheels were sinking as well, but the mud didn’t suck them in like it did his wife. Even with the mud and her sore temper, she sang.
“Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
Asher tried to avoid hearing the song, recognizing it from several churches he’d passed through of the years. But there was something in Ida’s voice, a bittersweet calling that made ignorance of the words impossible. And she had a wonderful voice, high and clear and precisely the opposite of his own. When she came to the last verse, her voice wavered some, then continued more quietly.
“Going forth with weeping, sowing for the Master,
Though the loss sustained our spirit often grieves;
When our weeping over, He will bid us welcome,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
Ida continued to sing, moving on with Amazing Grace, a song someone would have to be a fool not to recognize. Asher wished he couldn’t hear, no matter how nice the voice, no matter how silent the journey would be without song. He thought of his lonely trek to St. Louis, how quiet it had been.
“Asher?” He looked over at his wife, startled. He hadn’t even noticed she’d stopped singing.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry for being rude. I didn’t mean to hurt you or upset you in any way. It’s just a very frustrating experience to watch someone else hurt and be unable to help.” Asher was somewhat taken aback by her words. He didn’t say anything about hurting. Of course, he was, but that didn’t mean she should know.
“You haven’t hurt me,” he replied, unsure of what else to say. Quickly, his eyes found an excuse to look towards the path.
“I know I likely haven’t, but you are hurting, and I think I’ve added to it.” She sighed, and out of the corner of his eye, Asher saw her push her hands exasperatedly through her hair. “And I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” he muttered, knowing she wouldn’t let him go until he’d said something. She laughed, a quiet sound that made his heart skip a beat.
“Something tells me that a lack of forgiveness isn’t your problem. Perhaps it’s something more like anger?” Asher’s hands tightened on the lines. He let go with one of them, pushing his hat low over his eyes.
“I’m not angry,” he finally said, his tone flatter than a pancake without baking soda. “I’m . . . tired, Ida. That’s all.”
“You’re not the only one who has lost things, Asher.” Ida’s voice was shaking, and when he glanced over, there were tears in her eyes. “I have, too.”
And then came guilt, like a sharp knife to his heart. He’d forgotten what had brought Ida to him in the first place. That loss and desperation had driven her, not choice. He remembered her tears at their wedding, the look of fear as she said, “I do”.
“My mother and father. I told you, in my letter, that they died. But I didn’t tell you that I heard them, or that I watched our burning house collapse on top of them.” She stopped talking for a moment, pulling her right foot out of the mud. “I heard Ma’s screams, her fear. It was so hot in the house, like a piece of Hell had come up to wrap around us.”
“Ida -”
“My father got Cora and I out of the house, the home he’d built with his own hands. He went back for Ma, and neither of them came out.” A sob cut her words off, but she kept on. “Cora was the only family I had left. She’s always been there, and I’ve never been without her. But we had to separate because there is no respectable employment that can support two women.”
“I’m sorry -”
“No. Let me finish.” Asher didn’t dare speak again. “She had to leave me by myself in a strange place because you were late. I had to beg a room for the night. And then I met you, and found out that you’re more broken than I and with far less reason. Simply because you must have someone to blame, and you’ve decided that someone is God.”
“Who else is there to blame? My father? I know it wasn’t his fault.” He felt anger rise up, protecting him from the truth he wouldn’t acknowledge. “What do you expect?”
“There isn’t always someone to blame. Houses burn, explosives kill, and lives are lost. But that doesn’t mean we have to be bitter.” Asher made the mistake of looking at his wife one last time. In her eyes, he could see every storm her young heart had weathered. “People will die, leave, and disappoint you. Who in this world is constant but God?”
He replied with naught but silence. No other response seemed appropriate.
Hardin Arizona
December 1876
Ida tried to maintain her usual behavior, she truly did. But she was certain that she’d failed, that Asher would never learn of God’s love and that the fault rested solely on her. Something about her husband’s broken heart brought her own heart to a low place.
But then there were moments when she looked at Asher, and just being with him made her heart lighter. What exactly was responsible for that sentiment, she was wasn’t sure. Despite her lack of knowledge to the origin of the feeling, it grew stronger every day. She found herself walking along his side of the wagon in order to see him, too hear his voice better.
In the evening, when they stopped for one last night on the trail, Ida sat close beside Asher, enjoying the feeling that someone was with her. Someone she cared about. Perhaps the word care was not quite strong enough for her feelings, but she dared not use another. Not yet.
“This is good,” he said, taking a bite of the biscuits and gravy she’d cooked. Ida smiled, proud to be improving.
“Thank you. I tried to remember what Ma did when she made this, but Cora was always the cook in our family. I was always better at sewing or school things. Cooking was never my strong suit.”
“Well, you would never guess that now.” He took a sip of water from the cup between them, then set it down with a clank.
“When do you think we’ll get to Silver Bell?” Asher swallowed the bite he’d taken, thinking.
“We’ll reach the town by noon at the latest. I’m sorry to say it, but we won’t be home until nightfall.” Despite the impatience in Asher’s voice, Ida was elated. She’d be able to sleep in a real bed again, and take a hot bath. Oh, to bathe in something other than a river!
Ida opened her mouth to put her excitement to words, but her lungs seemed to tighten, rebelling against the idea of taking in air, let alone speaking. Burying her face in her elbow, she was overtaken by a coughing fit, unable to take in enough air.
“Ida? Ida, are you alright?” She nodded, still coughing.
After what seemed like hours but was only a minute, the coughing subsided. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said, her voice hoarse, her throat pained. “Just a tickle in my throat, that’s all.”
“Are you sure?” Ida reached over, boldly taking his and giving it a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.
“Quite,” was all she could manage. While she’d had a cough and her breathing rattled, she’d assumed it was a simple cold, nothing to fret over. But now she began to worry some.
********
As they rode into town the next day, Asher noticed one specific thing that had him worried; Ida was sitting beside him. Though she’d seemed more inclined to enjoy his company lately, she loved to walk. She said it brought her closer to God.
But today, she sat silently beside him. No singing, no speaking. Just a sad substitute for his wife. He’d begun to enjoy the way her eyes lit up as she spoke to him, the way she walked lighter when she sang. But she seemed heavier, like she wore a pack of stones across her back.
“Are you feeling alright, Ida? You’re awfully quiet today.” She shrugged. “Maybe you’ll feel better if you sing? Would you sing for me?”
She just shook her head, a
bsently leaning towards him to rest her head on his shoulder. He blushed, unsure what had made her do such a thing. If he was honest, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant occurrence. But it worried him. Ida was always so careful around him.
Asher had intended to stop in town and get a few things he needed - fence posts, leather oil, et cetera - but, in light of her behavior, he decided it would be best to get her home. Whether she liked it or not, she would be heading straight to bed the moment they arrived.
********
Ida fell asleep on the way to the house, her head on Asher’s shoulder. When she woke, it was only because the wagon stopped.
[2016] A Bride's Journey Page 20
