by Ann Rinaldi
I said nothing, for it was impossible. Impossible for me, all of twelve, to negotiate with Mr. Addison. Why, I wasn't allowed to take Caboose and even ride out alone, according to Seth. That rule was carved in stone. But it did give birth to the idea that I'd best go and retrieve my treasures from where I'd left them that terrible morning Pa was killed.
That day, with the fire and Pa being buried, and us going to the Andersons and all, I left the box of precious things in the tree house. Likely they were safer there than anywhere else I've been since that day. And I fully intended to go and get them.
But how to get around Seth's brilliant order to not go out riding alone? I knew I couldn't fly directly against anything that was so clearly an order without incurring his wrath. So I decided to put the matter before him. Let him ponder it a bit and come up with a solution.
I did that evening, right when the house had quieted down after supper and I found him outside on the porch alone, smoking a cheroot.
"Seth."
"Umm."
"I need to know what you would do if you were me and you had this problem."
"The answer is no, Juliet. Don't even bother asking."
"But you don't even know what I'm going to ask."
"Now the answer is no with brown sugar on it."
"You said you would always be fair to me, Seth. You said that."
He sighed. "All right. Go ahead."
I told him. It did not go over too well.
"You mean you left Ma's good pearls in a box in your tree house since that day?" he asked incredulously.
"I never had the chance to go and get them."
He shook his head slowly. "Ma's good pearls. Sometimes I just don't know about you, Juliet. Is it your age or what?"
"Seth, don't scold. I have been through a few hardships since then, you know."
"All right. I'm sorry, baby. We'll ride over tonight and get them."
"Tonight?" I could scarce believe my good luck.
"Yes. We're both fugitives, Juliet. We have to creep around in the dark. Go and get ready. Put on something warm. It gets cold soon's the sun goes down."
I hugged him. "Oh, you're the best brother, Seth."
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "I know."
THE BOX was there, right where I left it. Seth helped me climb up the tree house ladder, and then back down. He put the box in his saddlebags and we set off the same way as we'd come, through the woods. Seth knew the paths where nobody else rode. We got back before ten that night, and I was allowed to take the box up to my room and enjoy my treasures before I went to sleep.
I examined my mother's pearls. I ran them through my fingers. Then I put them around the neck of the rag doll Seth had retrieved for me from Bill Anderson.
I got undressed and into bed just as Maxine came into the room with my nightly medicine. I took it without complaint, something that made her ask: "What you up to, Miss Juliet?"
"Nothing, Maxine. I was just going over my treasures."
She scowled. She did not believe me. She always knew when I was up to something, but she had no authority to make me tell her. And she seldom, if ever, went to Seth to tell on me. Trouble was, I had nothing she could tell.
"Don't ever ride out on your own." Those words stayed with me as I fell asleep.
THE NEXT morning was bright and blue and the leaves on the trees were near fully turned now. I went downstairs to breakfast, disappointed once again that I couldn't have real milk in my coffee.
Seth was gone already, outside to do the morning chores. I sat with Martha at the dining room table for a while, watching her write out the day's menu, working with what we had on the place. We had plenty of everything, except real milk.
Maxine had cautioned me to be good. Martha had had no success feeding the cubs this morning. Moreover, about ten minutes ago, she'd thrown up her own breakfast and begged Maxine not to tell Seth. Maxine was worried about her.
"All babies need milk," Martha said, "or they'll die. Of course some babies are fortunate enough to get it from their mothers. But if their mothers die or don't get it themselves before they are born, then you have real trouble. What was it you just said, dear?"
I had to stop and think of what it was. It wasn't important. Words were forming in my mind, pushing their way around to make sentences. Decisions. Words that were important. Could a decision be made so quickly? Moreover, could I do it?
Why not? I had Ma's pearl necklace now. And I had Charity McCorkle Kerr's rag doll. I could barter for a milk cow.
"Is it all right if I go riding?" I asked Martha. "My horse needs the exercise and so do I."
"If you feel up to it," she said. "But remember what Seth said. Stay off the main road and don't go too far."
I got up from the table.
"You might want to change into boys' clothing," she suggested lightly.
I hesitated. "Why?"
She stopped writing and looked at me. "Juliet, do you recollect the day Seth came and got you at the hospital to take you to Quantrill's camp? Do you recollect how he made you put on boys' clothing first?"
I said yes, I remembered.
She sighed and looked me up and down. "Seth was taking you into a camp of men, tough and lonely men who hadn't seen a woman in a while. He knew the impression you make when you walk into a room full of men. He was protecting you. You are a very pretty young lady, Juliet. And Seth would be the first to tell you."
"I don't understand."
"He loves you, Juliet. An awful lot. And if he seems gruff sometimes, it's because he loves you so much and he doesn't know how to handle you. It"—she stopped to shake her head, then went on—"it humbles him, darling, to think he's been left in charge of you. And Seth is not a man to be easily humbled."
I looked down at my hands and nodded my head.
"So," she finished, "remember all this the next time you give him a difficult time of it. Now go and put on boys' clothes."
I got up, and then stopped. "Martha?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I'm not a little girl anymore. So you can tell me things."
"Like what, dear?"
"Martha, are you going to have a baby?"
Her face went red, then white. "What makes you think..."
"What you just said right now. About mothers not getting any milk before their babies are born. You weren't talking about the cubs. And Seth thinks part of the reason you're so smitten with those cubs is because you want a baby."
"Oh, he does, does he?"
"Yes. He says the doctor says you shouldn't, but what in purple hell do doctors know, anyway?"
"Juliet! Your language!"
"I'm sorry, but are you?"
"Yes. But Seth doesn't know. And he mustn't know. He'll worry."
"Maybe he won't go back to camp if he knows."
"That's just it. He's a captain. He's expected back. And he does want to go. I won't be the one to keep him. I won't keep him here holding my hand all day. Please, don't tell him. Promise. Let this be our secret."
I leaned down and kissed her. I promised I wouldn't tell. I told her I'd soon be back, then I went to put on my boys' clothes and get my treasures, fully prepared to face Seth's anger when he found out what I'd done.
Chapter Twenty-six
I STAYED OFF the road, mainly in the woods, which were charred and burned. Didn't make much sense because I could be seen anyway, but at least I could tell Seth that I'd kept off the road when he found out.
I felt guilty already. Not because I was going against one of Seth's major rules, but because I was afeared that I was going to barter for a cow for the baby bears more than for Martha's betterment. Was I? This morning, after breakfast, I went to feed them with Martha's concoction in a bottle, but they pushed it aside and hid their faces in my arm and whimpered. That's what pushed me to get the cow, as much as Martha's need. And I was guilty about it. Of course, in the long run, the cow's milk would improve Martha's health, nobody could deny that, could they?
W
as that reason strong enough to stand up to what I was going to do today? And then there was the matter of my mama's good pearls. I knew Seth wouldn't take kindly to my bartering with them. They sat now in my pants pocket. The rag doll was in my saddlebag.
Good, there was the Addison farm up ahead, across the road, a gleaming white house with a porch, red barns, silo reaching up to the heavens, neat fences, horses and cattle, everything our spread used to be before the Yankees came. I pressed my heels into the horse's sides, crossed the road, and went through the open gate of the fence.
I heard the whizzing sound of the bullet before I realized what was happening. It went right past me.
"Halt out there! Identify yourself."
I couldn't see the owner of the voice, but I halted. "I'm Joe Mundy," I said, remembering the lie I was to tell if questioned in the outside world. The name Bradshaw was not to be mentioned hereabouts.
"What do you want, Joe Mundy?"
It seemed too important a request just to shout into the blue and gold surroundings. "I want to barter."
"All right. You can venture further in. I'll be down presently."
He walked from the front porch, two dogs with him, hunting dogs who sniffed me and my horse. In his arm he cradled a Sharpe's rifle, same as mine , the one I'd taken from off the rack on the wall in Seth's study. There was a hanging crime. But since I'd been taught to use one, I might as well carry one, right?
I prayed to God Seth wouldn't catch me with it.
Mr. Addison looked me up and down and in two seconds knew I was not a boy.
"You the little sister, hey?"
"I'm nobody's little sister. I'm a boy, and cousin to Sue Mundy."
"You people so muddled up in that house, so many comings and goings, you don't know who all is who all. Kin you take off the shirt for me?"
I clutched it fast in front.
"Thought so. You all is little sister to that Seth Bradshaw. Mean as a skunk in daylight when he wants to be. He home? Or is he hidin' in one of those trees yonder, ready to blast me away if I so much as look at you wrong?"
"I scarce know the man. Only heard his name. Heard he's with Quantrill."
"Why's your head bandaged like that? You get shot?"
Darn. I'd meant to remove the bandage. And he'd seen it beneath my borrowed brimmed hat. I gave no answer.
He squinted his eyes. "You one of those girls who was in that building what fell in Kansas City, ain't you? Kin to the Quantrill gang?"
I gave no answer.
"Just to keep things straight, though I'm for the Yankees, I think that was the worst sin of the war so far. Army got no business takin' things out on women an' girls. Hear me?"
"Yessir."
"Good. We got that straightened out now. What you want to barter for?"
"A cow."
"What you got to barter for the cow you want?"
"Does it give milk regular-like?"
He laughed, enjoying the joke. "You damned Southerners never give up, do you? All right. Come on up to the barn."
I followed him, leading my horse slowly. In the barn, he had three cows. All brown and white. All well fed and glossy. All needing to be milked. I had milked cows when I was a little girl, in better times. Seth had taught me.
I looked at Mr. Addison.
"Which one," he asked, "you willing to trade for?"
I just gazed at him, dumb-like.
"Oh, come on, you sweet little thing. I told your brother just last week that I was going to barter from here on in. What good does Confederate money do me out here? Maybe you ought to tell me what you got to trade, first."
I reached into my haversack and took out the rag doll. She looked beautiful, with her golden yarn hair all in place, her shoe-button eyes, and the big smile on her face. Her dress, newly made by me, was dark blue with red trim on it. Over it she wore a white apron.
He took it in his two rough hands, scrutinized it, and nodded approvingly. "What else?" he asked.
Now I dug into my pants pocket. Yes, they were there, wrapped in a man's handkerchief. I drew them out and handed them over. He carefully opened the clean and ironed handkerchief, and there was the pearl necklace that had been Mama's.
I heard him gasp, then whistle softly. "Where'd you get this?"
"It was," I stammered, "my mother's. She gave it to me when I turned twelve."
He held the pearls up, but there was no light to reflect upon them. "You sure you want to do this? I mean, they were your mother's!"
"Yes, sir. I mean, I love them and I love her, but we need the milk. We have no milk in the house. So what good are pearls if you have no milk?"
I heard a deep sigh, and then he pocketed the pearls and tucked the rag doll under his arm. "You're a good girl. What's your name? Juliet, isn't it? Hope that brother of yours appreciates you." He tied a halter rope with a bell on it around the cow's neck. "Here," he said, "she's yours."
"What's her name?"
"Daisy."
"I'm not Juliet Bradshaw, you know," I said.
"Sure, and the president's name isn't Lincoln. Listen, sweetie, I knew your parents. Only reason I'm trading with you and I never shot your brother. You look just like your mother. Now get before I change my mind."
I took the lead rope and mounted my horse and began the four-mile ride home, leading Daisy by one hand and holding my horse's reins with the other.
Daisy's bell jingled all the way home, slowly but with certainty, announcing us. Best that way, I thought. 'Cause it's gonna be awful hard to explain this all to Seth.
And so it came to be that I brought home Daisy. For Martha, who couldn't quite admit that she needed real milk herself; for her two little bears, who were so greedy for it; and for all of us who missed it on our mush in the morning, and in our coffee and tea.
SETH WAS waiting by the open barn door. With Martha.
I could see by the look on Martha's face that he'd gotten out of her the fact that I'd gone out riding alone, that she did not know where, and that I was long overdue. I could see that his anger was there, in every pore of him, but controlled. His eyes were hard, his face set.
You don't ever want to be on the receiving end of a look like Seth was giving me then. The mouth curled down, the eyes were set like stone, and the whole face made you think that the sun had left us forever. Or rather, that it had never been.
I rode right up to them and stopped. He stepped forward and took us in, me, the horse, Daisy, and, yes, the Sharpe's rifle, all in one lightning swoop.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
He held out his hand. I gave over the rifle. The cow mooed.
"Oh," Martha said, delighted. "Is this our cow now? Did you bring it for me? What's her name? Where did you get her?"
"Daisy," I said, ignoring Seth, who still stood there destroying the sun with his look. "I bartered with Mr. Addison. She's a real sweetheart, and she's all yours, Martha."
"Oh, you darling." Martha patted the cow's face and even gave her a kiss between the eyes. The bell jingled. "How can I ever thank you, Juliet?"
"Just having you for a sister is enough." I met Seth's eyes levelly.
"What did you have to barter?" she asked.
"Yes," Seth spoke for the first time then, "what did you barter?"
I spoke plain. I must sound unafraid. He wouldn't respect fear. "My rag doll," I said, "for the little girl."
Seth nodded his head, never taking his eyes from me. I was starting to get shaky. I must control myself. And my head was starting to hurt. I must remain strong.
"What else?" He took up the line of questioning. "That's a prime animal. Would go for quite a sum on the open market." And I think he knew. I know he knew.
I started to speak, but my tongue got stuck and I had to start again. Oh, God, don't let me get the mumblefuddles, I prayed. "Mama's pearls," I murmured.
"What?" Seth asked. But he had heard.
"Mama's pearls." I said it plain.
> He nodded, ever so slightly. Oh, God, I prayed, let's get this over with. Whatever he's going to do, let him do it, and then I can run away if I want and never come back.
He must have seen that I looked a little green around the gills, because he stepped forward, gestured that I should get off the horse, and then helped me down, steadying me. Oh yes, Seth, every inch the gentleman. Only now, standing before him, I felt small and vulnerable. Echo, one of Seth's farm nigras, came and led Caboose to the barn.
"Tell you what," Seth said quietly, "why don't you go on up to the house and wait for me in my office. I'll be along shortly. We have some talking to do."
"I'm all right, Seth."
"No, you're not." He spoke so low that only I could hear him. "You're the furthest from all right that you've been in a long time, and you and I, well, we have to figure out how to get you back on the trail now, don't we?"
I didn't like the tone, but I began walking toward the house.
"Seth," I heard Martha say as I walked away, "you're going to be good to her now, aren't you?"
I turned, briefly. He was going over the cow with his hands while Echo held the lead rope. "We have to settle some things, Martha, but yes, I'm going to be good. Am I ever anything else?"
"No. You're a good brother."
"You don't have to worry now. I've made you a promise that I'm not going to turn into Bloody Bill and I mean to keep it."
That hit me in the face like cold water, that Martha was fearful that Seth would go the way of her own brother and turn violent after the building collapsing in Kansas City and the raid on Lawrence, Kansas. I never had such fears. Should I? Bill Anderson had once been kind and loving like Seth, too. I went into the house and asked Maxine for a cup of tea. My mouth was dry and a whole pot of tea wouldn't moisten it again.
I stayed a long time that afternoon in Seth's office waiting for him to come in and "straighten things out" with me. I spent the time looking around. In as short a time as he'd been here, the place had his stamp on it already. Bookshelves on the walls. He must have moved the books before our house burned down. On the desk his writing things, ink and pens, ledger books open with records of the livestock and the produce grown on the place. A column of gains and losses.
