by Jae
Amy glanced down at herself. “Yeah, I noticed. Papa forgot to bring the frock coat.”
“Yes, that too, but that’s not what I mean. You’re missing a certain...” Rika gestured at the trousers.
“Ah, the suspenders.”
“No.” Rika gestured lower, toward Amy’s crotch.
“Oh.” Amy’s cheeks burned. Fighting the urge to clutch herself, she turned toward Rika. “What are we going to do about it?”
Rika glanced around, reached for Amy’s socks still hanging from the washstand, and rolled them up. “This might work. Hold still.”
Amy froze as Rika slid her hand into her trousers from behind. Heat flared through her, and her breathing sped up.
“There.” Rika kissed Amy’s cheek and pulled back her hand.
Dazed, Amy stared down. A noticeable bulge now tented her pants, making her squirm. When she took a few steps to help settle it, the rolled-up socks slipped and fell out one pant leg.
“You lost your...uh...”
Amy didn’t pick up the socks. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”
“How does your father do it?”
“I have no idea, and I’m not going to ask.” There were some things she didn’t want to know about her father.
A knock on the door made her jump.
Rika went to the door and peeked out.
“It’s just me, Hendrika—Luke,” Papa said from outside. “I forgot something.”
“Yes, we noticed,” Rika said.
“Here’s my frock coat, and...” Papa lowered her voice. “And a pair of drawers. Amy’s mother...uh, prepared them, like she does mine. Good luck, and be careful.” Before either of them could answer, Papa hurried away.
Rika closed the door and locked it. With the frock coat hanging over her shoulder, she turned and held up a pair of drawers with visible padding sewed inside. “It seems your parents have it all figured out.”
“I imagine they would, after more than eighteen years.”
“Eighteen years...” Rika shook her head. “Can you imagine living as a man for that long?”
Right now, Amy had a hard time imagining how she would make it through the next eighteen hours, much less years, as a man. She unbuttoned her trousers and reached for the pair of drawers. “Come on. Let’s hurry. We have to leave before the ranch hands get up.”
Salem, Oregon
September 15th, 1869
Amy’s mouth hung open as she guided the wagon down Salem’s Ferry Street. She had never been to Oregon’s capital and couldn’t have imagined the bustling activity if she tried.
Steamboats whistled on the Willamette River as they unloaded cargo and passengers.
Carefully maneuvering through the busy intersection with Commercial Street, Amy took in several saloons, hotels, boarding houses, schools, stores, breweries, and even a bank, a courthouse, and a telegraph office. Signs announced bowling alleys and billiard rooms and the grand opening of an opera house. Up ahead, a church’s tall, white spire rose over the city.
A newsboy crossed the street in front of them, shouting out the headline of the Daily Unionist as he held the paper out for them to see.
Amy shook her head and tugged on the reins, slowing Old Jack and the wagon. When they reached the end of Ferry Street, she turned left. “Look,” she said, pointing at a five-story, red brick building with its white cupola. “I think that’s Wallamet University. They even have a ladies department.”
Rika just nodded and smiled as Amy continued to stare.
Of course. She lived in Boston most of her life. She’s used to it. A lump formed in Amy’s throat. “Do you miss all this?” She gestured to the buildings they were passing.
Rika turned on the wagon bench to face her more fully. “I never had any of this. I’ve never set foot inside a theater or any of the fancy stores in Boston. My life consisted of hard work. I didn’t have any money to spend on luxuries.”
Amy wanted so much to give Rika everything she had missed out on so far, but she knew she couldn’t. On the ranch, they never went hungry, and when fall roundup went well, as it had this year, they could afford a few extras, but it was still a simple life.
Well, for one day and one night, she would spoil Rika in any way she could. Determined, she directed the wagon north, toward the fairgrounds two miles outside of town.
* * *
They were greeted by a tumult of sound long before they reached the fair. The hills were dotted with wagons, buggies, and tents of families camping near the fairgrounds. People shouted to each other, horses whinnied, and violin music drifted over.
Amy stared at the crowd lining up in front of the gate entrance. “Lord.” She wasn’t sure if she had ever seen this many people in one place. There had to be hundreds, if not thousands of people attending the fair. A light rain fell, but that didn’t stop the visitors from streaming through the gates.
When she spotted a free space beneath a massive pine, she pulled Old Jack to a stop and wrapped the reins around the brake. At the last second, she remembered that she was supposed to act like a man, so she jumped down from the wagon and landed in a wide stance instead of climbing down in a more graceful way. For once, she could hurry around the wagon and help Rika down without worrying about what people might think.
After paying a boy to take care of Old Jack, she offered Rika her arm, and they strolled toward the gate.
The music got louder as they neared the entrance.
Amy craned her neck but couldn’t see over the top hats of the gentlemen and the umbrellas of the ladies waiting in line in front of them.
Rika squeezed her arm and grinned. “This is how I felt when I went to see the circus with my brother when we were little.”
The people in front of them oohed and aahed and pointed toward the sky.
When Amy looked up, her eyes widened. A large, round bag floated above the fairgrounds, tethered to the ground by ropes. In a basket suspended beneath, a man waved. She stared at the contraption. “What on God’s green earth is that?”
“I saw one of those in Boston,” Rika said. “It’s a balloon.”
Amy was still staring up. “How does it work?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I think it’s filled with gas that makes it float.”
When her neck started to hurt, Amy finally directed her gaze away from the balloon. “I wonder how the world looks from that high up.”
“You could find out. It seems they are offering tethered ascents.” Rika pointed at a sign that said so.
“I don’t know.” Amy wasn’t so sure she trusted the operator to bring the basket back down safely, and she would rather save her money to buy Rika something nice.
Finally, after a few more minutes, they reached the front of the line.
Amy counted out fifty cents and handed them to the man in the ticket booth.
He shook his head and held out his hand again. “That’s not quite enough, young man.”
“Yes, it is.” She pointed to the sign in front of the ticket booth, which indicated that admission was twenty-five cents for women. Couldn’t he count?
Rika tugged on her arm. “Admission is fifty cents for men, A... Amos,” she whispered.
Oh, Lord. Pretending to be a man was harder than she had imagined. How did Papa do it day in and day out? She apologized and quickly paid another twenty-five cents.
With Amy holding on to Rika’s arm much more than the other way around, they passed through the gate. Inside, Amy breathed a sigh of relief. She soon forgot her embarrassment as she took in the goods on display.
Tents with sawdust floors had been set up all over the fairground. In each tent, farmers displayed the best of their harvest. Amy’s eyes widened at a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound pumpkin and a two-pound pear. Hens cackled in a barn to their right, and sheep bawled to their left. A man led a cow with a gigantic udder past them.
Along the fence surrounding the fairgrounds, a racetrack had been established. Some of the finest ho
rses Amy had ever seen outside of their ranch trotted up and down to warm up their muscles. Too bad she hadn’t brought Ruby. Of course, women weren’t allowed to race anyway. Well, you’re here as a man. She sent another longing glance toward the racetrack, but then mentally shook her head. She was here to give Rika a special evening, not for her own enjoyment.
They strolled past a row of tents besieged by a few dozen women. In front of one of the tents, a woman had climbed on a wooden platform to deliver a passionate speech about women’s right to vote. A sign behind her announced the newly founded National Woman Suffrage Association.
“Can you imagine?” Rika whispered as they stopped to listen for a moment. “Women voting!”
“It’s only right. Mama, you, and I work as hard as any of the ranch hands, why shouldn’t we have the right to vote?”
One of the women next to them stared at her, and Amy realized that she hadn’t lowered her voice. Now the woman probably wondered why a man was speaking about himself as if he were a woman.
Lord, this is harder than I thought. Again, she wondered how Papa did it. Had she stopped thinking of herself as a woman? Flushing, Amy tugged on Rika’s arm and pulled her toward the next tent, which displayed parlor stoves and cook stoves from the east.
Amy gnawed on her lip. Rika had to cook over the fire in their small cabin. Her daily life would be so much easier if she had a stove. Amy glanced at the price tag and winced. No way could she afford that.
The next tent held sewing machines. At twenty dollars, they were quite expensive too, but maybe if she sold one of the yearlings... She pulled Rika to a stop in front of the tent. “Would you like to have one of these?”
Rika stared at her. “A sewing machine? Amy, they...” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Amos, they cost more than one of your ranch hands earns in a month.”
“I’m not a ranch hand,” Amy said. “I’ll own the ranch one day.” While she was no man, she worked hard and prided herself on being able to provide for Rika.
“Still,” Rika said.
“Then how about a new dress?” The next tent held dresses made of silk and brocade, all cut in the newest fashion from the East Coast and Europe.
Again, Rika shook her head. Grinning, she nudged her. “Why would I need a new dress when I can wear…our friend Amy’s?”
Ahead of them, a commotion broke out as a swine that had escaped from one of the barns started snacking on the award-winning flowers of a local lady.
“My flowers!” the woman shrieked. “Someone catch that pig!” She looked around for help, but most of the spectators in this part of the fairgrounds were women. Finally, her gaze fell on Amy, who remembered that she was supposed to act like a gentleman. She let go of Rika’s arm and ran to capture the pig.
The pig lifted its snout out of the flowers and backed up until a fence stopped it. A crowd of spectators, who by now were all watching Amy’s attempts to catch the pig, prevented escape on the other side.
No way out now. She grinned and advanced slowly. Within a few seconds, she would return to Rika’s side as the heroic conqueror of this flower-stealing hog. She aimed for the rope around the pig’s neck and pounced.
Squealing even more loudly than the woman, the hog jumped to the side.
Amy leaped too, hell-bent on not letting the pig escape, but her feet slid out from under her and she fell. She landed face-first in the mud while the pot-bellied devil ran past her, oinking in triumph. Darn it!
When she looked up, the pig had disappeared and every woman in the vicinity was staring at her. Even the suffragist up on the platform had paused in her speech. So much for being a heroic conqueror.
Rika lifted her skirts and hurried over. “A...Amos! Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, I’m fine.” Scowling, Amy got to her feet.
“Oh. I think you’re the one who needs new clothes now.”
Amy looked down at herself. Papa’s frock coat and the front of the linen trousers were smeared with mud. “Oh, no.” She couldn’t escort Rika to the dance tonight looking like this. She tried to brush off some of the mud, but it was no use.
Rika grabbed her hands and held on to them. “You’re making it worse.”
“But...but the dance...”
“Don’t worry.” Rika squeezed her hands. “We’ll just let it dry and brush it out. You’ll look as good as new.”
As the crowd dispersed and they continued their stroll past the rows of tents, Amy leaned over and whispered, “You know what? I don’t think I want to be a man after all.” Being seen as a man wasn’t at all what she had thought it would be.
Rika giggled. “I prefer you as a woman too.”
Amy stared at her. “You do?”
After pulling her to a stop next to a doctor’s booth displaying artificial teeth, Rika reached for both of Amy’s hands and looked her in the eyes. “When will you get it into your thick—?”
“How about a new hat for the lady?” a merchant asked from behind them. “Or maybe some wax fruit?”
Amy turned and regarded the merchant’s wares. Clearly, they were more exotic than what the other tents had to offer. Laid out on tables were wax fruit, silk quilts, colored crayons, and leather-bound diaries. The piano next to it was out of her price range, but not the canary in a cage. Maybe the bird could keep Rika company in the cabin while Amy was out, working with the horses. “What do you think?”
“I think we need to talk.” Rika dragged her past a lunch stand and a group of Bohemian glassblowers demonstrating their craft until they reached a quieter corner. “I don’t care for—” She stopped and stared at something behind Amy.
“What is it?” Amy whirled around.
People were screaming and shouting, pointing to something up in the sky.
Amy looked up.
The gas-filled balloon had gotten loose from its tethers and was rapidly drifting up.
“Oh, dear Lord!” Rika pressed her hands to her mouth. “There’s someone in it! A child!”
A little boy was in the basket, clinging to it with both hands.
“Samuel! Jump down!” a man, probably his father, shouted, but the balloon was already too high up.
Helplessly, they watched the balloon with the boy float higher. Then its upward movement stopped.
A sigh of relief went through the gathering crowd.
Amy narrowed her eyes. “The anchor rope caught in a tree!”
“Someone has to climb up and get it,” Rika said, clutching Amy’s arm.
Samuel’s father rushed toward the tree.
“No!” An onlooker stopped him. “You’re too heavy. If the branch with the rope breaks, the balloon will drift away for good.”
The child’s father and the owner of the balloon exchanged desperate glances.
Amy rushed forward. “I can do it,” she said, remembering at the last second to make her voice deeper. “I’m not as heavy.”
For once, no one was trying to hold her back and tell her it was too dangerous for womenfolk. Maybe dressing up as a man wasn’t so bad after all.
“Let’s give the feller a hand up, gentlemen,” the balloon’s owner shouted.
Rika followed her to the tree. “Please be careful.”
“Don’t worry. I can do this.”
“I know.” Rika swallowed audibly. “Still...”
“Hurry,” the boy’s father said.
About to take off her frock coat and hat, Amy hesitated, afraid to give herself away without part of her disguise. But then she glanced up to the balloon floating above and imagined how scared the little boy had to be. Without further delay, she took off her hat and coat and handed them to Rika. After one last glance back, she let herself be hoisted up by several of the men, grabbed the nearest branch, and began to climb. Within seconds, she was grunting and sweating. As a child, she had climbed every tree on the ranch, but she hadn’t been wearing a starched shirt with tight bandages underneath back then. Come on. I’m sure Papa could do this, so you can too
. Not taking her gaze off the rope that had gotten tangled in one of the top branches, she pulled herself higher.
At first, finding handholds was easy, but then the branches became thinner and she had to be careful where to set her hands and feet. Finally, after agonizing minutes, the rope was within reach. Holding on with one hand, she reached out with the other.
A gust of wind shook the tree.
“No!” She couldn’t keep her balance with just one hand. Branches scratched her face as she fell.
The people beneath the tree cried out.
Pain flared through her ribs when a bigger branch slowed her fall. She managed to grab that branch and hung on to it with trembling hands. Her stomach heaved, and she felt as if she was about to vomit. After a few seconds, her frantic heartbeat slowed. She looked down and into Rika’s frightened face. “I’m all right,” she shouted down, willing her voice not to shake.
“Please, please, try again!” the boy’s father shouted. “The rope’s still there.”
Amy looked up. The rope was still tangled in the branch high up in the tree. “Careful down there!” Without hesitation, she kicked off her boots and socks, hoping to get better traction if she climbed barefoot. Slowly, taking care to hold on better, she made her way up.
But her fall had broken many of the branches that had helped her climb earlier. Wrapping one hand and both legs around the last safe branch, she stretched her arm as far as it could go, but the end of the rope dangled several inches away—inches that might as well be miles.
Another gust of wind shook the tree.
This time, Amy was prepared and hung on.
The rope above her started to slip free.
Amy leaped.
The branch beneath her broke as she kicked out with her feet to boost herself higher.
Her fingers closed around the end of the rope. Instead of falling, she felt herself being lifted up by the balloon, which was now drifting higher. Darn, darn, darn. The muscles of her arm protested, but she hung on.
Rika screamed somewhere beneath her.
