The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton

by Jane Smiley

  "I do not believe that," said Thomas.

  "However it was," said Louisa, "they may learn their lesson like anyone else. If we count on them remaining ignoramuses, then we are the fools. According to General Lane—and he told me these things himself—we are sitting here in the cold thinking all of these matters are far away, but the United States is getting ready to settle them and settle them quickly."

  I said, "Frankly, speaking of the cold, how can they have slaves here? Cold like this would be death to slaves. It’s practically death to us, and the Indians can hardly abide it, either."

  "I’d like to see them bring a few slaves into this cold," said Louisa. "You don’t give a child a little open-necked shirt and send him barefoot into this weather. They’d soon have to dress those slaves like men and feed them properly, and then they might learn something!"

  In general, this is a fair example of how the talk went in the weeks following the letters to President Pierce. Folks disagreed about the extent of our danger and how to deal with it, but no one doubted that the government in Washington would act to save us once alerted to it.

  Unfortunately, one thing that Louisa did not have in her rooms above the wheelwright’s shop was a door, or rather, there was one door, but it was used at the top of the stairs. There was no door between the two rooms. For two newly married couples, this constituted something of an inconvenience. I felt my husband, the husband I had known out on our claim when we were all alone together, slipping away from me. I discussed this, obliquely, with both Thomas and Louisa, saying that I spent more time with Louisa and Thomas with Charles Bisket than ever we spent with our spouses. Each replied characteristically. Thomas gave me a slow, knowing smile, acknowledging in his way the justice of my concern, but then said, "My friends on the ship see their wives perhaps once every two years or so, and my father and brothers spend twelve hours out of every twenty-four in the factory, then three or four more associating with other sailmakers, or other townsmen, or other members of their party. On Sundays, when there are no other activities, the whole family troops off to services, morning and afternoon." Now his smile grew warmer, and he put his arm around my waist. "My mother and father call each other Mr. and Mrs. Newton. Perhaps they’ve forgotten each other’s Christian names." And he gave me a kiss. Louisa was more blunt. "Marriage," she said, "mustn’t be too sweet, my dear, or it would start to cloy. Domestic delights are like Turkish delight, best taken in small bites after a larger meal of Christian endeavor. I do not actually care to come to know Charles Bisket quite as well as I came to know Ruben Wheelwright. Marriage needs a little distance as a preservative." And in addition, I gave myself to understand that not only would our circumstances pass, but I ought to be thoroughly grateful for them. Every shivering, pale, and suffering countenance that I met on the street smote my conscience each time I questioned our situation. Surely what my sisters had always said, that I was spoiled to the core and thought only of myself, was true.

  Nevertheless, I couldn’t help regretting that our favorite amusement of former times, reading aloud, went by the board, as Louisa preferred to converse and Charles preferred to sing. With much encouragement from Louisa, Charles sang every evening for a period. He had a high, fluting tenor voice, and he liked any kind of song. In the spring, the two were planning to purchase some sort of piano or melodeon, or even a little concertina, for him to accompany himself on. Some nights, others came in and sang parts, and these evenings went late. I am sure many of the singers were singing, not for their supper, but for their warmth.

  On the coldest nights, my nephew Frank slept near the fire in our room, fully clothed and wrapped in blankets. Otherwise, he stayed down in the shop. If there were other boys there from time to time, some of the boys who had come out to K.T. without families or money, just hoping to see what was doing and make something of it, neither Louisa nor any other of the adults cared. And they were a hardy bunch, as we could not keep a fire in the stove in the shop all night. One of Frank’s associates was the oldest Lacey boy, whose name was Roger. He was perhaps a year older than Frank, and considerably taller and brawnier. At fourteen, he had almost the size and strength of a man, and he had quite a head of hair—it stood straight up, so strongly that he could hardly press it down with a hat. On mornings when he came by, we saw that he would have combed it down with some sort of grease, or water, but as the day went on, it persisted in rising, so that by evening it was standing again. Roger had permission of his parents to go out with the men cutting wood on the riverbanks, and Frank sought the same permission of me. All I could think of was Missourians hiding in the trees and picking off the woodcutters one by one— had I had the murderous intent that we allowed in the Missourians, that’s what I would have done—but there had been no incidents, and so I let Frank go. In general, I had let Frank fall away from all civilizing influences, I had to admit. He could have gone to school—a man in Lawrence, I heard, ran a school whenever he had the wood to keep his schoolhouse warm—but Frank never even saw the place. He could have more frequently gone to church, but what with the war and the cold and sickness and the overall alarms and difficulties of K.T. life, there weren’t all that many services for any of us to go to. He could have kept company with Louisa and me, and we might have improved him as the company of women is widely said to improve men and boys, but with all the friendliness in the world, he managed to slip away. K.T. was a boy’s adventure, that was for sure.

  By the end of January, I had now written two letters to my sisters since Frank’s arrival, in which I was careful to portray my care of him as responsible. My conscience smote me a bit. Only Frank and I considered my handling of him remotely responsible. Thomas thought he should be in school, and Louisa thought he should be gainfully employed. That he made a few dollars each week with his trades didn’t impress her. She said, "My dear, it’s a fact that merchants are a cancer upon the honest labor of those who actually produce a beautiful or useful object by the skill of their hands. We must vow between ourselves whenever possible to honor men’s or women’s labor by meeting them face-to-face and giving them our money ourselves, or better still, offering them the fruits of our own labor in barter. K.T. will be a true paradise when none of these goods in the stores that come from the east are available and all have been replaced by objects of Kansas manufacture, objects that we may thank their creators for personally!" She was vociferous in her urging that I steer Frank toward smithing or milling of some sort, "before his course is set." But Frank’s was a boat not easily steered, small though it was, and I had just begun my third letter to my sisters, and to Roland, with news of Frank:

  My dearest sisters,

  I write to inform you that all here are surviving the cold weather as well as might be expected. My husband got the frostbite twice, and I have gotten it only once in a toe and once in my nose, but we are fully recovered. My nephew Frank has avoided the frostbite altogether, though he is outdoors and active all the day long. You may be sure that he is a good boy—he is supporting himself and bringing home some money to me, and is respectful at all times. He told me to tell you, brother Roland, that he has traded his old rifle for a Sharps carbine and he likes it very much. He advises you to get one for yourself as soon as possible, and asks me to tell you particularly that they are manufactured in Connecticut, in case you want to know that. Let me say here that the school has stopped running because of the cold,

  I had no actual personal knowledge of the school or the schoolmaster.

  but I fully intend to send him there as soon as it resumes. You have perhaps read in the papers about our troubles here. I won’t say that things have been easy

  and here I left off for a day or two.

  It was just that day, a Sunday, that Frank showed us that he had gotten further out of hand than I imagined. The night had not been one of the very coldest ones, and so Frank had slept downstairs. Sometimes in the mornings when he got up early and had some money, he went over to the Cincinnati House or the Free State
Hotel for something to eat. When he didn’t show up for breakfast, I thought little of it. Thomas ate his corncakes and drank his tea and went off himself, to ride with Charles to Leavenworth. Though they didn’t expect the mail to be there, they were obliged to go for it, as every man and woman in Lawrence was obliged to stay as far as possible out of the wrong. But soon after leaving, Thomas returned. For once, he banged open the door and shouted my name. As soon as he did so, I could hear Louisa in the next room jumping out of bed and throwing on her wrapper, alarmed as I was at the tone of his voice. Jeremiah was gone.

  We did not think of Frank, of course, we thought of the Missourians, especially those Missourians, never mentioned but always in the backs of our minds, who had possibly once owned Jeremiah.

  I exclaimed, "I put him in that corral with the others last night myself! Were any of the others... ?"

  "Gate’s closed and locked, all the other horses are there. Jed Smith’s man hasn’t seen him all morning. He thought we’d gotten him out early and didn’t think to mention it, until I showed up!"

  "There’s men everywhere, all night long. They come over here to sell things and buy whiskey," said Louisa, pinning up her hair. "I’ve often thought we in Lawrence are too trusting."

  "What now?" I said.

  If we had been entirely confident of our claim on Jeremiah, we would have reported his loss all over town.

  Thomas said, "Bisket’s taking his horse to look around the other corrals. I should take the mule—"

  "You can’t ride that mule!" said Louisa. "He’s a terrible bucker under saddle."

  "I can," I said. "I want to, anyway. I’ve got to find Jeremiah!"

  I can’t say that when I got out into the morning air I didn’t feel a moment’s recoil. Normally, Louisa and I tried to find things to do indoors until midday or after. But Jeremiah! My own horse, who nickered to me every time he saw me, who was as easy to ride and willing and pert and sound and neat as a horse could be! I caught Louisa’s mule, threw on my saddle and bridle, and mounted him from a rail of the corral fence. Jed Smith was talking to me the whole time. "I an’t ever lost a hoss before, Mrs. Newton. I got good fence here, and nobody comes around. Two men watch all night, and then Now1 and I are here all day. Unless some of them Indians spirited him away. I don’t know what to say, but it seems so impossible he’s gone that I know he’s here somewhere. I’m still looking." He switched his plug of tobacco from one cheek to the other and spit into the frozen muck of the corral.

  "You didn’t see anyone around all morning, or over the night? Not Lawrence people, but strangers?"

  "Naw. Dead quiet all night. I tell ya, ma’am, he’s gonna turn up, and we’ll say, Now, how did he git there? and maybe it’s something we’ll never know. Indians got medicine for everything...."

  I coiled a length of rope around my waist. My fingers, though I was wearing gloves and mittens, were already stinging with the cold.

  "Good luck to ya, ma’am!" Mr. Smith spit again, this time at the mule’s feet. "While you’re gone, I’ll think this one through."

  Mr. Smith was from Michigan. While not of the brightest intelligence, he was kind with the horses and fed them well.

  As I rode down Massachusetts Street, looking in every corner and crevice for a wandering gray horse, I was trying to remember, if I ever knew it, the name of that family we’d run off Mr. Jenkins’s claim in the fall. I was just thinking that I could hardly remember what anyone had looked like, so hirsute and tangled had they been, the father and his sons, when I saw a group of men and horses gathered in a field, and then I saw Roger Lacey, who wore a distinctive green coat, and then I saw Jeremiah, and then I saw Frank, and then I realized that the men were having some races. A pair of horses and riders took off as I watched, causing the mule to buck and kick. I slapped him with the end of the reins and urged him forward. His big ears arrowed toward the running horses, and he nearly pulled me out of the saddle. "Harlan!" I cried, trying to hold him. ’Are you a racing mule?" They had those in Missouri and Arkansas, I knew.

  Frank ducked behind Jeremiah when he saw me, but I didn’t say anything except, "Hello, Jeremiah." Roger Lacey backed away and vanished completely.

  I waited. The mule curvetted and kicked out, but then settled down. The two runners finished their race and headed back to the group, led by three or four men who had manned the finish line. Lots of men were milling around, and I was the only woman. There was money in every hand, laughter and license in every face, and brown saliva flying everywhere. One of the men, with black whiskers up to his eyebrows, it seemed, and wearing red fingerless gloves and black instead of the usual blue denim trousers, took hold of the mule’s bridle. He said, "This is rough business, ma’am, and there’s unmannerly behaving going on. I don’t advise—"

  "That gray is mine. And the boy hiding behind him is mine, too. And I don’t want my horse racing in the snow, if at all."

  "Already raced, ma’am. Won, too. This snow an’t bad. Too dry to be slick. Hosses can really dig into it and git some speed. That gray’s a fine hoss. Beat Ben Matthews’s black over there all to—all to—all to pieces, ma’am."

  I coughed to refrain from smiling and tried to marshal my most disapproving face. I said, "If he already raced, why is he standing around in this cold?"

  From behind Jeremiah, Frank’s voice shouted, "I cooled him all out, Lidie! And his legs are tight as can be and cool, too!"

  "He’s got another heat, ma’am. I mean, if you’ll let him, of course." He moved closer and lowered his voice. "The boys’ll be disappointed if he an’t gonna run, as they’ve got a load of money on the animal."

  I didn’t answer immediately but instead kept quiet, looking at the man and at the horse, who looked at me, his gray, furry ears alert and his dark eyes in his white face intelligent and interested. Though he looked happy enough, I did not think that Jeremiah himself wanted to race. Frank peeked under Jeremiah’s neck, then eased around between me and the horse.

  "He won by four lengths," said Frank. "And he wasn’t even trying."

  "Did you gamble, Frank?" The man who was holding the mule’s bridle had by this time let go. Now he looked at the far horizon.

  "Well, of course I did," said Frank, indignantly. "You think I’m a fool? I won six dollars."

  "Frank! If your mother knew I let you—"

  "On a dollar bet! That’s good investing, Cousin Lydia. And you know Pa don’t hold betting on horses against anybody. Betting on horses is a natural human act! Pa says you got to do it."

  I was sure that Roland did say so, but I was equally sure that Thomas Newton did not say so. I hated Thomas’s disapproval. "Ma’am?" Another man came up behind me, and as I turned, he said, "Do you remember me? I am the Reverend Moss."

  He was, indeed, the man who had sold me Jeremiah, and he was dressed in his Sunday preaching clothes, perhaps—a black suit, with a heavy Indian blanket over his shoulders.

  "I recognize you, Reverend."

  "Horse looks very good."

  "He’s been satisfactory. Now, I think, I had better take him home. Frank, you find Roger, then you have to ride this mule. You’ve ridden Jeremiah enough today."

  "Ma’am, my doctrinal view is that no harm and considerable good might be done for all these boys here if they were to see that horse run again. That horse is a beautiful example of God’s work, an inspiring example. Perhaps you know the Book of Job? He saith among the trumpets, Ha ha, and he smelleth the battle far off. That passage could easily describe this horse."

  I regarded Jeremiah, who regarded me in turn. He was calm and relaxed. The reverend remarked, idly, "The price I’d put on that horse now? Two hundred U.S. dollars. New York dollars. Philadephia dollars. In Lexington, Missouri, where they are indeed fond of horseflesh, I could get three hundred for this horse."

  "My nephew took the horse without permission. My husband is out even now, beating the bushes, trying to find him. We were extremely concerned."

  "I myself asked the boy, as s
oon as I recognized the horse, whether he had permission to bring him out, ma’am. And he said he did."

  "Frank," I exclaimed, "lying, stealing, and gambling are enough sins for one Sunday! You get up on this mule and start home. Where is Roger? I will follow you smartly." I dismounted and hoisted him onto the mule, then slapped the animal’s rump so that he trotted quickly away. Jeremiah was wearing a saddle I didn’t recognize. I undid the girth and handed it to the reverend, then led the horse over to a tree stump and got on bareback. His flanks were warm against me. As I followed after Frank, I saw Roger separate himself from the group and begin to walk toward me, head hanging Then I heard a shot, then saw two more horses, a brown and a chestnut, gallop away from the starting line. All along their course, men called out, "Go, Lizzie!" or "Run, Hawkeye!" And Roland was at least partly right—it was a natural human act to watch them and to favor one over the other, even not knowing either. I favored the mare, the chestnut, as it turned out. Pinning her ears, she stretched out in a long, flat gallop, looking exactly like she was resolved not to lose. The other horse closed to just a neck behind her, but she pinned her ears even flatter to her head and increased her speed. He seemed to slow down, and she opened daylight between them. I looked down at Jeremiah. He was watching everything with interest, and when they passed their closest to us, he gave a little crow hop.

  Frank, on the mule, hadn’t gotten very far toward town. Roger had stopped dead, gaping.

  It was a beautiful sight, the sight of that gleaming mare stretched out at a full run against the white snow, and all the men, rough characters that they were, waving their hats and sticks and seegars and jugs and hands, and shouting, all senseless of themselves and abandoned to the moment. As soon as the mare won, of course, some of the items that had been thrown into the air were flung upon the ground and stomped on, and then the scene changed, and men began paying off their bets, cursing, grinning, pushing each other, slapping each other, taking pulls from their jugs, and blowing into their cold fingers. It took her rider five minutes or so to slow down the mare after they crossed the finish line, while the brown horse was ready to give it up within a few strides. The riders jumped off, and they led the horses past me. A few men glanced in my direction, sobered themselves, smiled, tipped their hats, but the others didn’t notice—possibly were not quite sure what to do with a woman at a race meet, even in K.T., where women went almost everywhere.