The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton

by Jane Smiley

  I paused and set the buckets down, then shifted them. They were lop-sided and hard to carry. She said, "If I had nicer hair, perhaps Thomas would have thought to marry me." I stared at her, looking for some evidence of rancor or disappointment, but she said it just the way you might say that you should have bought one pair of shoes rather than another. And then she skipped to another topic. She said, "I saw you looking at Mr. Newton last night when we were talking about Stringfellow."

  "You were very mysterious."

  "I wasn’t. I’m not supposed to know what he said, and of course Mr. Bisket wouldn’t say it in front of the ladies, but everyone knows what he said."

  "What did he say?"

  "He said that men will of course do low and cursed things with women, that’s their nature, and in a slavocracy, it’s a protection for the white women that the slave women are there for the men. He said that’s the best thing about slavery. But don’t tell Mr. Newton, or I shall die of embarrassment, and don’t let on to Mama that I told you. She already thinks that this life in K.T is making me coarse and wild."

  "But none of the lynchers are slaveholders, they said."

  "Do you expect the Border Ruffians to make sense? I don’t."

  We walked on.

  After a moment, she said, "And it is making me coarse and wild here. We’re all loosening up. The congregation in Medford that gave us some money to come out here would be shocked. For one thing, we went to services back there every Sunday, sometimes twice, but here, with one thing and another, we’re lucky to go once every three weeks. But you’re from the west yourself, so it probably isn’t much of a change for you."

  I said, "I don’t know. Ask me in a month."

  There had been big doings in Big Spring, and the next thing would be a constitutional convention a few weeks later, where the Free Staters would write the laws that they intended to live under. By the time we got back to the leaning house with the water, Thomas was up to his neck in all the issues. And I saw that the box of "harness" was not where we had left it but pulled out into the middle of the floor, by the stove. The men were lifting out the carbines and admiring them. Later, in the evening, they divided them up. That was how long it took us to become Free Staters all the way.

  It turned out that it was waiting for the carbines that had delayed Thomas in his first departure from Massachusetts: accompanying them had been his assigned task, though all had joined in purchasing them. And so it turned out that it was to the box of Sharps rifles that I owed my marriage.

  Mr. Bush and Mr. Jenkins knew just where our claim was, right between theirs on the river about three miles north of town. It was good land, they said, with a gentle slope to the river, but it had no timber. They were both prepared to cede us a timber lot in exchange for access to the river. Bush, in particular, had to have a way to get his cattle—his future catde, which he didn’t yet own—down to the water. At the moment, he had a cow and a calf out there. They were grazing our place. Now that Mr. Jenkins had been squeezed on the other side by a claim jumper whose rights had been provisionally upheld just three days before, he was still deciding what to do. He had two town lots, and maybe he would give up the farming idea and go into business in town. All the men agreed that it would take a few days, at the most, to put up a livable cabin for us and that I could stay here, at the Jenkinses’ place in town, while Thomas and the other men attended to this matter. They also agreed that they had better get started with it, because they wanted to get it up before the constitutional convention in Topeka, which would take place in less than two weeks and last several days. They were already talking as if it were understood that Thomas would be at Topeka, wherever that was, with them. I wondered what it would be like, three miles out, in my new cabin, all by myself.

  CHAPTER 8

  I Make an Unexpected Purchase, and Suffer an Expected Illness

  A sick-room should always be kept very neat, and in perfect order; and all haste, noise, and bustle, should be avoided. In order to secure neatness, order, and quiet, in case of long illness, the following arrangements should be made. Keep a large box for fuel, which will need to be filled only twice in twenty-four hours. Provide, also, and keep in the room, or an adjacent closet, a small teakettle, a saucepan, a pail of water, for drinks and ablutions, a pitcher, a covered porringer, two pint bowls, two tumblers, two cups and saucers, two wine glasses, two large and two small spoons; also, a dish in which to wash these articles; a good bucket, near by, to receive the wash of the room. Procuring all these articles at once, will save much noise and confusion. —p. 238

  I STAYEDIN Lawrence for nine days. The weather was hot enough to cook meat, and no one, man or woman, ever went without a large-brimmed hat. Modesty had nothing to do with it, and survival all. I thought, from living in Quincy, that I knew heat. The first day or two, in fact, I inwardly preened myself that this heat all these New Englanders kept exclaiming about was routine for us westerners. But in fact, this was K.T, and K.T. wasn’t Illinois. In Illinois, the heat rose around you, thick and damp, and hung there, unmoving, day and night. You got used to it. In K.T., the heat bore down on you during the day like a bright blue lid and then swept through you all night, a bullying, heavy wind that took your breath away rather than refreshing you. All but the severest, thinnest, most enervated ladies wore their garments turned up and folded back, their buttons unbuttoned. Petticoats stayed at home, corsets loosened and disappeared. The layers of clothes we were used to back in the States simply vanished, and no eyebrows went up, no remarks were made. For all the talk there was in Lawrence—and Lawrence was all talk—no one ever mentioned this. The men, too, put off their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. Quite a few went clean-shaven, and barbers in Lawrence did excellent business.

  On the third day, I bought a horse and his saddle and bridle. I had given Thomas a hundred of the dollars from the sale of my father’s house, and I had spent thirty-seven dollars on provisions in Quincy before our departure. The rest I had sewn into my traveling dress. Perhaps Thomas knew it was there and perhaps not—one of my sister Harriet’s pieces of marital advice had been to keep my financial affairs in my own hands as far as I could, and I was predisposed to take this advice, anyway, as Thomas and I were all but strangers on the day of our wedding. How it happened with the horse was this: I was walking along Massachusetts Street, carrying my buckets to the river. Susannah was at home with the shakes—she shook every third day, and today was her shaking day. On her shaking day she was useless, so I had offered to carry her share of the water. This was my second trip, my first time out alone, so I was looking eagerly about. Thomas had left for the claim the day before, and we had agreed that I would continue to buy provisions, though of course nothing had been said about a horse. Thomas had never actually owned a horse, which showed, to my mind, that he really was from Massachusetts.

  I was passing the Stearns establishment and looking through the door, thinking, no doubt, that for variety and wealth of goods, the Stearns establishment suffered by comparison to Horace’s place in Quincy, when a man on a black horse trotted by, with three other horses on a string, two bays and a gray. There were plenty of horses in Lawrence, and it was second nature to me to look at them—Roland Brereton had taught me what was good in a horse and what wasn’t—so I looked at this string and I was immediately taken with them. All three were healthy and shiny, well fed and clearly not overworked. They looked spirited but well broke, and the gray, especially, had a look of intelligence, in that he paid attention to his surroundings even while trotting along with the others. At that point, my only intention was to admire. I walked along with my buckets, and the man led his string of horses around a corner and disappeared.

  Later in the day, though, I saw them again. I had just been looking at stoves, imagining that I would soon have a house and would need a stove to put in it. The proprietor of the store had two models, and I had pretended that I needed to think about my choice and that I would return. I had pretended to a judiciousness
that I didn’t feel. Actually, the more I looked at the two stoves, the less inclined I felt to buy one. The fact that someday soon I would have to buy one, and then install it and use it and make it my daily companion, made my choice between the two seem more like a punishment than a purchase. I decided to go home and read Miss Beecher for a bit to fortify my resolve. When I came out of the store, I saw the back of a livery stable, and there, enclosed with some other horses in a corral, were the two bays and the gray. I went up to the bars. The horses were milling about some piles of prairie hay that had been thrown on the ground, and the gray was right beside the fence. I bent down and saw through the bars that his legs were clean and tight. He turned his head and looked at me, his ears pricked and the muscles in his neck arching compactly. He had a lovely throat, which meant he would be easy to ride, and his eyes were large and mild, dark in his almost white face. The owner of the livery stable, the man I had seen leading the horses, came out into the street and spit, then bit off another chaw, looked around, and spit again. When I approached him, he smiled.

  "Good afternoon, young lady," he said.

  "I’m Mrs. Newton."

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Newton. I’m Reverend Moss." He took off his hat, then put it right back on again. The sun was brutal.

  "I like that gray horse."

  "Where is Mr. Newton?"

  "He’s out at our claim. May I look at him?"

  "He’s a six-year-old. Young and healthy, but not foolish. Well broke to ride, well broke to harness. Fine animal."

  "May I look at him?"

  "You sound like a Kentucky girl! That’s a good horse." He didn’t move. His reluctance gave me second thoughts. I had meant to be buying a stove right then, and my conscience began to awaken. The money for the stove was in the pocket of my dress. I touched it, suddenly knowing that the larger of the two stoves was no doubt the right one. I turned.

  "Well, sure," said Reverend Moss. "Have a look at him. You won’t be disappointed."

  He went inside for a rope, then opened the gate and led the gray horse out. It turned out that I wasn’t judicious at all. Rather than looking the horse over, checking his teeth, feeling for heat in his legs, pressing his back, I just took the rope and handed the reverend the money in my pocket, thirty-five dollars. He unfolded it and laughed. I began scratching the horse on the face, between the eyes. His presence was large and sweet-smelling. I’d forgotten how good it felt to stand close to a horse. Reverend Moss said, "You expect to give me thirty-five dollars for a fine horse like this?"

  I pulled out my pocket to show that it was empty. Of course I said nothing about the rest of the money, sewn into my skirt. The reverend could not stop laughing as he handed me back the bills. I stood with the horse a minute, then turned and began to walk away. "Hey, ma’am!" called the reverend. "Hey! Mrs. Newton!"

  I stopped and looked at him.

  Still laughing, he said, "Now, ma’am, you’ll be needing a saddle and bridle for this animal, and I do believe I have just the thing for you."

  Ten minutes later, I led the horse away by his bridle, on his back an ancient military saddle, but one very like the one my father had used on old Wellington, the one I had taught myself to ride in.

  Mrs. Bush, Mrs. Jenkins, and Susannah, who rose from her bed and came out to look at the horse, were full of consternation at my foolishness. "A mule," said Mrs. Bush, "would have been a far wiser choice, my dear. Or a pair of oxen." She shook her head. We corralled the horse down the street, and I paid the man who owned the lot a dollar for hay. It was clear to everyone, even me, that if Thomas had not been out at the claim with the other men, building our cabin, there would have been no horse, and of course I regretted buying the animal. Mrs. Bush said, "Maybe you can sell it, dear. How much did you pay?"

  I told her. From the expression on her face, I surmised that that was a lot to pay. The next morning, another hot one, I rose before dawn and had already fetched the water for the day by the time the others were up. I had also laid the fire in the stove and set a pan of water at the back to heat up. As soon as our breakfast of corncakes and bacon was over—the only hot food we would have all day, because the leaning house became simply too intolerable if we kept a fire in the stove—I leapt up and washed the dishes; then, even before Mrs. Bush had a chance to say anything, I rolled the blanket beds and swept out the dirt floor and straightened the few chairs and the two little tables that served as furniture. I chased away the mice, who were more of a problem at night, anyway, and made sure all of our food was tightly sealed. Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Bush were astounded at my industry, until I solved their perplexity by saying, "I am going to ride my horse now."

  "Oh, my dear, I hate to see you going out on the streets by yourself unless it is absolutely essential. Those Missourians are always starting such brawls—" Mrs. Jenkins began, but I was already out the door. When I looked back, a moment later, I saw Susannah, no longer shaking, standing with the tablecloth door in her hand, staring after me. I waved to her, and she smiled.

  The horse came over to the fence when I approached. The day before, I had given him some prairie hay three or four times and spoken to him, and now I intended to ride him, but I realized that all the assurance I had been feeling the previous day was based on what the reverend had said, that he was well broke to ride and drive. Well, from the dealer’s point of view, every horse in the United States and its territories is well broke to ride and drive. All I really knew was that when he threw the saddle over the horse’s back, the horse didn’t seem to mind. I looked at the horse and said, "Jeremiah. That’s your new name. You’re Jeremiah." His ears swiveled back and forth. There was a kind of shed, very tiny and made of cottonwood, that sat beside the corral, and there I went to find Jeremiah’s saddle and bridle. The bridle was old enough, but all in one piece. The saddle, though, was perfectly dilapidated—rough and discolored, with a couple of little rips. He took to them well enough, standing steady while I cinched up. It was early yet, and even the owner of the corral was still in his house, two lots away. That was fine with me. I stepped up on the fence and climbed aboard, spreading my skirt underneath me and pulling it behind, over the cantle of the saddle, the way I had always done in Quincy. I settled my weight. Jeremiah’s ears flicked forward and backward, and he gave a little grunt, shifting his weight to his back legs and coming up a little in the front. This, I knew, was a bad sign; he might still be hesitant, but he was thinking about bucking. The flesh over his haunches shivered, as if my skirt was bothering him, and I quickly swept my hand over it, bunching it toward the saddle. Still no movement, but now it felt as though he wasn’t just standing still, rather as if he was getting ready to explode. I lifted the reins slightly. We stood there. My throat felt blocked with fear. The horse’s ears now stopped swiveling and turned backward. He suddenly dropped his head. At last, finding my voice, I said, "Jeremiah! Don’t buck me off! You’re a good horse, and I’ll take good care of you! Just walk, please." His head came up, and he walked forward.

  Now, I must say that although I had ridden my father’s horse and some of Roland Brereton’s animals and had been fond of one or two of them the way you are of a pet, I would never have attributed to any of those horses an understanding of the English language. From that first moment with Jeremiah, though, I believed viscerally that he listened to what I said and understood both the wishes I expressed and the fear in my voice. He chose not to hurt me. He walked forward mildly. It thus became impossible to sell him, either before Thomas returned or subsequently. We strolled around Lawrence, perhaps the only horse and rider with no business in hand. And I was certainly the only woman I saw who was riding like a man. Most were walking, some were seated in wagons; all glanced at me. I said to Jeremiah, "My goodness, they do admire you, Jeremiah." Perhaps they did, perhaps they didn’t, but here in K.T., where petticoats and buttons and manners were all loose and loosening further, I decided that I would ride my horse as I pleased, the Missourians and their brawls notwithstanding. That wou
ld be the compensation for everything else.

  And I did buy a stove. I unstitched the money sewn up in my skirt and bought the larger, more expensive model. I also bargained Mr. Stearns down from thirty-five dollars to twenty-nine. I must say that he considered me very critical of his wares and hard to please. He didn’t call himself a reverend, either.

  After three or four days, I was quite used to Lawrence; in particular, its combination of money and politics was always curious and stimulating. The stories they told of the last year, since Lawrence’s very founding, stood your hair up but also made you laugh. One friend of Mrs. Bush’s had been there from the beginning and was there the day that the Border Ruffians decided to come over and drive the settlers out. "The first thing they did, you know, before we even came out to K.T.," said Mr. Johnson to me, "was pass some resolutions. As soon as they ever heard of the Emigrant Aid Company, they resolved that they would remove us and that they would promote other societies, dedicated to our removal. Oh, when we came, they were ready for us!" We were alone in the leaning house—the Jenkinses had gone to visit friends of theirs, newly arrived at the Cincinnati House, and everyone else was still out at our claim."

  "It isn’t slavery, in my opinion, that’s the problem," said Mrs. Bush. "It’s that they want the whole territory to be settled by slovenly, coon-hunting squatters like themselves. They are such a shocking class of people, taken all in all—"

  "Certainly, ma’am." Mr. Johnson smiled, and Mrs. Bush fell silent.

  "Of course, the pretext for our removal was to be that there were prior claims, but Dr. Robinson and his associates were perfectly legal in their assertion of the claims. They bought out Stearns, who wasn’t even here but was back at his real farm in Missouri, for five hundred dollars, and they let the other fella be, since his claim was outside the town. Then it was like turning over a rock. This Missourian showed up with a claim, then that one, then the other one. They expected claims to be honored that had been staked illegally, before the Indians vacated. Well, half of them cared about the slavery issue, maybe, and were set to drive us away, but the other half just wanted to get some money out of us if there was money to be got."