by Prairie Wife
The door opened and closed, and he was gone.
God help her, he was gone.
And it was what she deserved.
***
Amy slept only a couple of hours that night, and woke early to dress and tiptoe past the room where Cay was staying and down the stairs. She prepared a chicken and several sandwiches, wrapped slices of pie and jars of water and lemonade and packed two crates full of food.
When Jesse entered the kitchen dressed in his buckskins, the ever-present Colt revolver on his hip, she had a breakfast of ham, eggs and biscuits ready. He looked tired, but not hungover. After he'd gone up to wake Cay and returned without him, they avoided eye contact.
She indicated the crates on the end of the table nearest the door. "That's your food for the trip."
"We'll only be gone three days at the most."
"It'll probably only last two. And you should find Cay some milk along the way."
Cay showed up in overalls, carrying a hat. He sat at the corner opposite Jesse, and Amy served his breakfast.
He raised his blue gaze to Amy, then to Jesse, and said reluctantly, "Thanks."
After he'd finished his meal, he helped Jesse carry the crates out to the wagon in the door yard. Jesse had harnessed a handsome team of blacks, and they stood in the pink light of dawn, swishing their tails.
Sam approached on horseback, just arriving from his place a mile away. He dismounted and walked his horse to where Jesse and Amy stood several feet apart.
"Don't worry about anything," Sam told him. "We'll handle the place until you get back."
Jesse shook his hand. They'd been partners to start with, but were now family. The words weren't necessary.
And no one needed to mention that Amy would be looked after. Sam was her father, after all.
Jesse climbed up to the driver's seat and Cay scrambled to sit beside him. The back of the wagon held the crates, their bedrolls and a small tool chest.
If Sam thought it odd that Jesse hadn't said goodbye to Amy, he kept it to himself. He'd been around them every day for the past year, and he already knew things were strained, so this probably didn't seem any more out of the ordinary than any other day.
Cay, on the other hand, looked back at Amy with an expression she couldn't decipher. She assumed he didn't like her. And that was fine by her. Another month, six weeks and he'd probably run off anyway. Even if he stayed for the time being, another three or four years and he'd be out on his own.
Sam approached her, would have given her a hug if she hadn't taken a step back. He studied her for a moment, the look in his eyes telling her he saw it all, saw through her and wouldn't hold his silence much longer.
He led his horse toward the stables.
Mrs. Barnes arrived and waved a greeting before she entered the house.
Amy stood alone watching the wagon disappear. Then she watched the horizon until the sun was up and sounds of life and work came from the barns. Occasionally Jesse made a trip for horses or other business, so having him gone for a few days wasn't unknown. He'd even made a couple of trips over the past year while they hadn't been on the best of terms.
But this was different. It felt different. Because of the occasion. Because of what had happened last night. Because she was having trouble keeping a lid on her carefully guarded thoughts.
Work was good for keeping her mind occupied, and there was always plenty of that. The men would be coming for breakfast, so she turned and hurried toward the house.
***
Travelers from a wagon train that had camped nearby the night before rode into the door yard in mid-morning. Their horses were thin and dull-coated, and the travelers themselves looked as though a stiff wind would send them back to Kansas.
While the men were apparently working out a trade with Sam for fresh horses, Amy invited the three ladies in for tea.
Penelope Cross was a motherly looking woman, with deeply tanned hands and cracked red spots on her nose where she'd burned in the sun. These women spent much of their days on a wagon seat, reins in their hands, and every other moment cooking, washing clothing and collecting firewood. Penelope blushed with pleasure at being invited in.
"You can't know what a delight it is to sit in your kitchen."
Amy knew very well the difficult months these women were experiencing. Hers was quite likely the only roof they'd seen over their heads since leaving their homes.
Amy poured tea and Mrs. Barnes set a plate of sliced applesauce cake and sugar cookies on the table.
Penelope chewed a cookie slowly and closed her eyes. "Heaven."
Rebecca McDonald was Penelope's sister-in-law and Katy Montgomery was Rebecca's daughter. They planned to settle in Colorado before winter.
"Mrs. Shelby, does the mercantile nearby trade?" Penelope asked.
"Not often," Amy replied. "The problem out here is having someone to sell the traded items to. The people coming through need food and practical supplies, not the belongings that were dispensable to the previous owners. I'm sure you understand."
"I do," she said, but her expression showed her disappointment.
"What is it you need, Mrs. Cross?"
"I was hoping for eggs, and perhaps cheese and butter."
"And what do you have to trade?"
Penelope got up and crossed to the door. She disappeared for a few minutes and returned with an object wrapped in a blanket.
Amy watched as the woman carefully unwrapped the bundle and revealed a lovely cherry-wood mantel clock with a round glass face and gilt-edged legs. She took a brass key from a tiny drawer in the back and wound the timepiece, then opened the glass door and started the pendulum swinging.
"Mrs. Cross, that's worth far more than a few eggs and some cheese, don't you think?"
"My father brought it over from England. But it's doing me no good right now. I get up when daylight dawns and don't go to bed until work is finished. Not a lot of call for knowing what time it is."
"But someday..."
"Someday doesn't count much when my family needs to keep up their strength and their spirits."
Amy studied the ticking clock. She had a solid home and her daily needs were met without worry. Comparing her situation to that of these women, she felt fortunate. "Tell you what. I'll do you better than the eggs. I'll trade you two of my black laying hens, a rooster, a brick of cheese and two pounds of butter."
Penelope's face brightened, and she and her companions shared excited smiles.
"My father can fix up a cage," Amy added.
It had seemed a simple enough solution, but the three women acted as though they'd traded for a king's ransom. When it came time for them to leave, regret plainly showed on their faces. Amy accompanied them to the stage yard.
Penelope thanked Amy again and gave her an impulsive hug. Amy felt herself stiffen, but she didn't pull away. Everyone who knew Amy had learned to keep their distance, but this woman had no reason to realize her spontaneous act was unwelcome.
If Penelope noticed, she gave no indication. Her smile was as bright as before when she joined her party and rode away.
Amy watched "them go, thinking of the hardships they were enduring on their way to their new land.
Back at the house, she polished the clock and gave it a place of honor in the parlor. She'd met countless families making their way to what they hoped were better futures, and she recognized the sacrifices they made during their travels. Several pieces of furniture in this very room had been abandoned along the trail, discovered by Jesse or her father and brought home. Sometimes she wondered about the owners, hoped they'd reached their destinations.
She had so much to be thankful for. And that fact only added to her guilt and inadequacy. What weakness in her kept her from being the person she wanted to be?
That evening Amy worked on the dress she'd been making. Though Jesse hadn't been sleeping in the house, the rooms were all the more silent with him gone.
From her seat in the rocking chair in
the parlor, the tick of the clock on the mantel was her only company.
And something about the sound, about the elusive familiarity of it, disturbed her. Before she went up to bed, she opened the clock face and stopped the pendulum.
Chapter Four
"What are we gonna do with her?" Cay asked, giving Jesse a sidelong look from his spot beside him on the wagon seat.
They were descending the last hill that led them along the Platte Valley on their return to Shelby Station. Since they'd left Kansas, the boy hadn't spoken much, hadn't eaten much, and didn't seem inclined to share more than the seat and a campfire with his uncle.
"With your grandma?"
Cay nodded.
"Well, normally, we'd lay her out in the parlor and have visitation. Then bury her with a service and all. But the sorry truth is, it's been too many days, and we can't do more than put her in the ground."
The boy beside him showed no reaction.
Jesse had spent most of the miles of travel regretting having not taken time to visit his mother or send for her before it was too late. Now he was the only family Cay had left, and his mother had known Jesse would accept responsibility for him. Jesse didn't have a problem with that. Family was family.
"We're lucky to have her so we can bury her on our land, Cay. This whole valley is a graveyard for folks who died on their way west. We're on the Overland Trail here. Oregon Trail's the same."
Cay checked the surrounding vista with a concerned gaze.
"The graves aren't marked," Jesse said. "So you won't be seein' 'em. After the person's buried, their family or friends roll their wagons over the place so Indians or animals won't find it."
At that the boy looked a little pale. "Oh."
"So having her buried on our land with a marker is good. Even if we don't have a long drawn-out mourning time like back home."
Cay nodded his understanding.
The boy seemed withdrawn, and Jesse hadn't managed to find a subject that interested him. Cay was grieving and Jesse felt powerless to offer him comfort. He'd already learned that you couldn't force consolation on a person who didn't want it.
From the direction of the river came a sharp yelping sound. Both of them turned their attention toward the noise.
A small butterscotch-colored dog with darker fur on its ears and chin bounded across the dry prairie grass, sending grasshoppers whirring into the air. Keeping its distance, the dog ran alongside barking furiously.
"Where'd he come from?" Cay asked.
"Probably got left behind or lost from a wagon train," Jesse replied.
"How will he live?"
"Catching mice and prairie dogs, I suppose."
"What about winter? Don't it get cold here?"
"Mighty cold." Jesse glanced at the dog, then at Cay's face. It was the first interest he'd shown in anything. If a dog could be a comfort to the boy, Jesse was all for taking the mutt home. "You thinkin' you'd like to keep 'im?"
Cay shrugged. "He'd probably die out here when it got real cold."
"Probably. Whoa, there, whoa." Jesse stopped the team, and Cay jumped to the ground.
The feisty critter barked and ran in circles.
Cay took a few steps toward it, and the dog ran about ten feet, then stopped and darted back to bark again. Cay squinted up at the wagon. "We got any o' them biscuits left?"
Jesse twisted back to reach the crate they'd been munching from since morning and tossed Cay a biscuit.
Kneeling down, Cay held out the offering. "Come get this, boy. You need a place to bunk? Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya."
Jesse listened to the childish coaxing, instinctively knowing Cay was saying the things he needed to hear and know. His mother had cast him off like an old shoe and never come back. Now his grandmother was gone.
After a few minutes of coaxing, the dog finally wagged its tail and moved cautiously forward, eating the biscuit from Cay's hand, then licking the boy's fingers.
Cay picked him up and rubbed his ears.
"What're you gonna call 'im?" Jesse asked when they were back on their way, the dog settled in Cay's lap.
Cay petted the animal, who'd already shown a fondness for having his ears scratched. "Biscuit?"
Jesse grinned.
"That okay?"
"Fine by me. He's your dog."
***
An hour later, Shelby Station came into sight, and the view moved Jesse as it always did. Cottonwoods formed a windbreak across the south. The buildings were spread out in a nook between two hills of pastureland, a hay field to the west and the river to the east. A windmill turned lazily in the breeze, and a clothesline full of white towels and linens flapped beneath the sun.
"This is your home now," he told Cay. "You're family, and I'm glad you're here."
Cay said nothing, but studied the station a little more intently.
A dozen fine horses grazed in one of the pastures, and twenty others stood in paddocks. The repetitive ring of an anvil was proof that work never stopped. Once this had been everything Jesse had ever wanted.
Here were the horses he'd planned to train and sell. The operation he planned with Sam Burnham was a success. The woman he'd met and taken for his wife was here.
A sense of hopelessness washed over him at the thought of Amy.
He couldn't see the spot from here, but his gaze unerringly traveled in the direction of the rise of land that already held two markers. He'd almost had everything he'd ever wanted. He didn't know what he wanted or needed anymore, except the ability to survive nights and days he'd just as soon forget.
The horses knew their feed and stalls were just ahead, and he had to keep a tight rein, finally halting them in the door yard.
Pitch hurried out with his peculiar bowlegged stride. His gaze moved across the tarp-covered coffin in the back of the wagon.
"Unhitch this pair and bring a fresh team," Jesse said. "These fine girls deserve a rest."
"Sure thing." Pitch hurried to do the chore.
Amy came down the porch steps then, as pretty and fresh as the first time he'd seen her.
"How was your trip?"
"Mostly uneventful."
Cay climbed down and set the little dog on its feet. The critter scurried to sniff the corner of the porch and the last dying blooms of Amy's flower garden.
"That your dog?" Amy asked Cay, shading her eyes with her hand.
Cay looked at Jesse, then replied, "Yeah."
"Yes, ma'am," Jesse corrected.
"Yes, ma'am," he amended.
"Teach him not to water my flower bed, will you?"
Cay made a dash to stop Biscuit from peeing on Amy's petunias, but he was too late. He chased the dog across the yard.
Jesse took off his hat to run a hand through his hair, then settled it back on his head.
"What will you do now?" Amy asked.
"Get a shovel, I reckon."
"Already saw to that." Sam approached. "Me'n Hermie took turns the last couple o' days. Thought it would make it easier for you."
"Thanks, Sam."
"No thanks needed."
"Cay and I need a bath. After that, I'll pull the wagon up to the site. Will you ask some of the men to give us a hand with the...." He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "With this?"
Sam nodded.
"We could send for the preacher and wait, I reckon," Jesse said. "Or we could lay her to rest our own way." He glanced at Amy. "What do you think?"
"I think she'd like it just fine if you said a few words yourself. We can sing a hymn."
Jesse's chest felt so tight he couldn't speak, so he nodded.
"I'll send Adele to get your water, and I'll bring you clothes," she said.
With a jerking movement, he got himself headed toward the bathhouse.
Half an hour later, clean-shaven and dressed in his dark trousers and white shirt, Jesse watched as his men carried his mother's plain wooden coffin from the wagon bed to the side of the grave, then laid it on ropes and lowe
red it into the hole. He had always thought there was time left. Time to visit his mother, time to bring her here to meet Amy... But his mother's time had run out.
He couldn't even be sure Amy was breathing beside him. Her face was pale, and she looked steadfastly at Jesse, not at the box that held his mother or at the small grave beside it.
As far as Jesse knew, Amy had not been to their son's grave site since the day of his burial. If the rosebush Jesse'd planted was a surprise, she didn't let on.
Something was expected of him now, so Jesse opened the Bible he'd found among his mother's belongings and located the page she had marked. "'The Lord is my shepherd,'" he read. "'I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.'"
It wasn't a long Psalm, and when he was finished, he looked at Cay to find the boy's face pinched, tears glistening in his eyes. Jesse's mother was the only mother Cay had known; she had raised him from the time he was small.
With Jesse's permission, Cay had brought the dog, and Biscuit lay at his feet, its keen brown gaze watching the proceedings of the humans with curiosity.
Jesse looked at Amy then, and gave her an encouraging nod.
Her sweet girlish voice led them in all the verses of "Amazing Grace." His mother would have loved this place, this land. She would have loved Amy. Wrestling with regret was a waste of time and energy, but Jesse tussled with his feelings anyway. He'd lost his last opportunity for seeing his mother again and had missed introducing her to his wife.
Somehow he kept up his end of the song, and when it was over, Jesse took a shovel and scooped dirt into the hole.
Cay knelt and buried his face in the dog's fur.
Hermie and another hand stepped forward to take over the task, but Jesse refused their help. This was his job. "You can all head back now," he told the gathering. "I'll finish here."
One by one, the hands went back to their chores, the women to their tasks, and Sam settled his hat on his head and took Amy's arm to lead her away.
Only Cay stayed until the grave was filled. Then he released the dog and stared at the fresh mound of dirt, his throat working.
Jesse wiped perspiration from his forehead and watched as Cay got down and used his hands to smooth the dirt. He sat back on his haunches, his gaze moving to the two wooden markers bearing Shelby names. Jesse anticipated the question.
