by Janette Oke
The train hooted and chugged, whined and rocked its way westward. Marty viewed more than one sunrise and sunset, happily content that the train was truly headed in the right direction.
They stopped at small towns to let off or take on passengers. Sometimes the train seemed to sit for a ridiculously long time while train cars were shuffled and shouting men hauled off or on some sort of cargo. At these times Clark and Marty would leave the train and walk, strolling around just to get the kinks out of their muscles. On occasion they visited a store to restock their little food supply. Often it was no cooler out on the station platform than it had been in the stuffy coach, but at least it was a bit of relief from the cramped position. Marty began to wonder if it really would have been much more difficult to cover the miles in a jolting covered wagon.
The landscape around them changed with each passing day. Trees were fewer in number, often forlornly clumped together by a meandering stream. The towns, sometimes no more than a few scattered houses, were now even farther apart than before. On the third day, they rolled into a town that Clark announced was the place where they would transfer to the other train. Marty was not reluctant to make the change. She had no ties to this present train, and she had found very little in common with their fellow travelers. Those few whom she had become acquainted with all seemed to have gotten off at earlier stops except for the one middle-aged lady in dove-gray gown and hat who had helped with the baby. Mrs. Swanson was heading west to live with her son, her husband having died recently. Marty thought it was awfully spunky of the woman to make such a life-changing move all alone.
Clark had visited with several of the men on the train, attempting to learn all he could about the West before arriving at his son-in-law’s ranch. He did not wish to appear to the ranch hands as another “ignorant fella from the East,” he told Marty.
When they arrived at their point of transfer and the train dismissed its passengers, Clark and Marty found their way across the rough platform. People milled about and called to one another, but as there was no one in this town they knew, they kept their attention on the task of finding their luggage and getting it stored in readiness for the next train in the morning. Then they made their way from the station into town to find suitable lodging.
The baggage attendant had informed them that a hotel was just down the street within easy walking distance. When Clark requested a room from the man at the reception desk, he was told that a room was available and named the price. Marty was shocked when she heard the amount. But Clark did not argue with him and counted out the bills from the small roll he carried in his pocket.
They climbed worn carpeted stairs and found their room number. Marty looked about her in shock at the sight that confronted them on opening the battered door. The room was almost bare, except for a good bit of dirt and dust, and the bed linens appeared to have been used by at least one other occupant— maybe more. Marty had little objection to sparse furnishings, but actual grime was another matter.
Marty could see Clark eying the muddy boot prints on the floor and the soiled pillows strewn on the bed. But he made no remark on the sad state of the room.
“I think I’ll take me a little walk an’ sorta check out the town. Ya wanta come along or jest rest a bit?” asked Clark.
A walk did sound appealing, yet from what Marty had so far seen of the town, she was not so sure she wanted to investigate it.
“I think I’ll jest rest here fer a bit. I’ll see the town when we go out to git our supper,” she answered.
Clark took his hat and left.
Marty didn’t know what to do with herself after Clark had gone. She wished she had a broom, a pail of hot, soapy water, and a stiff scrub brush. The place looked as though it could use a good cleaning.
She crossed to the bed with the thought of lying down, but then eyed the soiled linen and changed her mind. She walked to the window, intending to pass some time by watching the action down on the street. The window looked out on nothing but the desolate countryside. She lifted her case from the only chair in the room, an overstuffed piece that certainly had seen better days, and tried to settle herself in it. It had a broken spring that made it impossible to sit comfortably. Marty decided her only choice was to pace the floor. Well, she could certainly do with the exercise after being confined to the swaying train for three days. She walked. Round and round she walked, wishing she had gone with Clark.
About the time she thought she would surely go crazy, Clark returned, carrying clean bed linens over his arm.
“The maid has arrived,” he joked.
“Where’d ya git those?” Marty asked admiringly. “Ya been foragin’ through hotel closets?” she teased.
“Not exactly. They weren’t all thet easy to come by. I went out fer a walk, like I said. There’s only one other hotel, of a sort, in this here town. It boasted ’bout bein’ ‘full up.’ Couldn’t find a decent roomin’ house anywhere. So when I got back here, I jest asked the fella at the desk for some clean linens. I said it ’peared like the maid had somehow missed our room when she was makin’ her rounds. He wasn’t too happy to ’commodate me, but I jest stood right there, smilin’ an’ waitin’. He finally found me some.”
Marty was happy to strip the bed and put on the clean sheets and cases.
“Not too much fer eatin’ places, either,” Clark continued as she worked. “Did see a small place down the street. Looks a little more like a saloon than a café, but it mightn’t be too bad iffen we git there early an’ leave as soon as we’re done.”
“We can go most anytime. I’ll jest fix my hair some an’ grab me a hat.”
They left the hotel and walked out into the brisk wind. Marty held her hat with one hand and her skirt with the other.
“Fella I met says it blows like this most of the time here,” remarked Clark as they leaned into the wind. Marty wondered what in the world the women did if they ever needed one of their hands free to carry something.
When they reached the unpretentious building where they were to get their evening meal, Clark held the door against the wind. They seated themselves at a small table, and Clark nodded for the waiter. They soon learned that the “house speciality” was stew and biscuits; or roast beef, gravy, and biscuits; or beans, bacon, and biscuits. They ordered the roast beef and settled in to wait for their meal.
Marty glanced around the room. The lighting, a lone flickering lamp on each table, was dim. The few windows seemed to be covered with some kind of dark paint. A blue haze from the smoking of the occupants further hindered visibility. Most of those who lounged around were not eating but drinking. Marty did spot three men in the far corner who were having a meal. The others just seemed to be talking or playing cards. Occasionally a loud laugh would break the otherwise comparative silence in the place. At least for now, Marty was the only woman in the place.
Marty hoped their order would come quickly so they might leave soon. If this was Missie’s West, Marty wasn’t sure she would be at home in it. She felt uneasy in her present surroundings. Having never traveled beyond her own small community since leaving her girlhood home, Marty was very unfamiliar with the present environment. She had seen and heard things on this trip that were entirely new to her. She was sure she was not in favor of a lot of what she saw—the brashness, the intemperate drinking, the gambling, the casual attitude toward life and morality.
Their meal arrived. The waiter asked gruffly, “Watcha drinkin’?” as he set the plates down, frowning when Marty asked for tea. She hastily changed her order to coffee before he had time to respond. He didn’t fuss about the coffee, but when he set it before her it was so old and strong she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to drink it.
The meat was a little tough and the gravy was greasy and lumpy, but Marty sopped her biscuits in it and ate like the men in the corner. She was unable to finish it all and was relieved when she felt she had eaten enough that she could leave the rest. Clark had a second cup of coffee, and then they were free t
o go.
Forgetting it was still daylight, Marty was unprepared for the bright sunshine when they stepped out the door. She took advantage of the fact to study the buildings of the town and look in the store windows. The things on display did not really seem all that different from what Mr. Emory carried at the general store back home. The fact both surprised and relieved her. Perhaps Missie was able to shop for needed items after all.
It was too early to retire, so Clark suggested a short walk. Marty didn’t like the wind but, remembering her confining attempt to walk in the dismal little room, she agreed. They walked on past the remainder of the buildings on the street— the bank, the sheriff ’s office, the telegraph office, another store, on past the stagecoach office to the feedstore, the livery, and the blacksmith. Clark slowed his steps to better watch the action at the smithy’s. Two burly men were shouting and shoving as they prodded a big roan-colored ox into the ox sling for shoeing. The ox had decided on his own that he didn’t need new shoes. Marty heard some words she didn’t think were intended for a lady’s ears, so she hastened her steps. Clark lengthened his stride to catch up to her.
Having eventually left the board sidewalks behind, the roadway was dusty and rough, but it felt good to walk full stride. Marty let go of her skirt, allowing the hem to swish the ground as she walked. The wind wasn’t as strong now, or maybe she was just getting used to it. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, so she took off her hat, carrying it carefully in her hand, and let the wind tease at her hair. It felt good, and she wished for a moment she could reach up and pull the hairpins from it, as well, and shake it loose to blow free.
They left the street and turned onto a well-worn path. It led them into a grove of small trees; and, after walking for about fifteen minutes, they were surprised to discover a tiny stream that flowed rather sluggishly along. It wasn’t like Marty’s springfed creek back home, but it was water, and its discovery brought rest and joy to Marty’s heart. She stooped to pick a few of the small flowers that grew along its banks.
Clark seemed to enjoy it, too. He stood and breathed deeply. “I wonder jest where it comes from,” he murmured, “an’ where it goes. This little bit thet we see here before us don’t tell us much ’bout it a’tall. It could have started high up in the mountains as a ragin’ glacier-fed river and been givin’ of itself all across the miles until all thet is left is what we see here. Or it could go ’most from ocean to ocean by joinin’ up with cousin waters thet eventually make it a mighty river. Someday it could carry barges or sailin’ ships. Rather interestin’ to ponder on, ain’t it?”
Marty nodded and looked at the small stream with a new respect.
They lingered awhile, and then walked much more slowly back into town. On the way they watched the western sun sink below the far horizon with a wonderful display of vibrant colors. “Well,” sighed Marty, “I sure do favor me Missie’s sunsets.”
The hotel room looked just as bleak and bare when they again reached it, but Marty felt much better about having a clean bed. And she was sure enough ready for it now. After two nights on a swaying train, it would be good to have a solid place to lie down. They prepared for bed, prayed together, and crawled between the sheets. Clark put out the light, and before many minutes had passed, Marty knew he was sleeping soundly. She lay for a while thinking of the family at home and feeling just a bit lonely. Then she thought of Missie and her family, and the lonely feeling slipped away as she, too, drifted off to sleep.
Sometime during the night Marty awoke. Something was wrong. Something had wakened her. Was it a noise of some sort? No, she didn’t remember hearing anything out of the ordinary. Clark stirred. He seemed restless, too. Marty turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. She turned again.
“You havin’ problems, too?” asked Clark softly.
“Can’t sleep,” Marty complained. “Don’t rightly know why, I jest—”
“Me too.”
They tossed and turned as the minutes ticked slowly by.
“What time is it?” asked Marty. “Anywhere near mornin’? Might as well git up an’ be done with it iffen it is.”
Clark reached for his watch. He couldn’t read the hands in the darkness.
“Mind iffen I light the lamp to git a look?”
“Go ahead. Lamplight ain’t gonna make me any wider awake than I am already.”
Clark struck a match and lit the lamp. As the soft glow spread over the bed, Marty gasped. Clark, who had moved the pocket watch into the light to get a look at the time, jerked his head up.
“Bedbugs!” exclaimed Marty.
Both of them were instantly on their feet, and many small insects darted for cover.
“Bedbugs! No wonder we couldn’t sleep! Oh, Clark! We’ll be scratchin’ our way all across these prairies.”
“Funny,” said Clark, “I never felt ’em bitin’ me.”
“Thet’s the way with bedbugs. Sometimes ya don’t even feel ’em until the bite starts to swell up an’ itch. You’ll feel ’em fer sure tomorrow, I’m thinkin’.”
Marty ran to check their cases and thankfully noted that they were tightly closed. Only their bodies and the clothing around the room to worry about.
“Clark, when we leave this here place, we gotta be awful sure we don’t take none of them with us.”
“An’ how we gonna do thet?”
“I’m not rightly sure. One thing I do know—thet light stays on fer the rest of the night, an’ I’m not crawlin’ back into thet bed.”
They washed carefully, then inspected each item of their clothing before they put it on. Marty brushed and brushed and brushed her hair in the hopes that if there were any of the little creatures in her hair, she would brush them out. None appeared. She didn’t quite know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.
After checking and rechecking, they packed their belongings carefully and closed the cases tightly. Marty put the cases as close to the lamp as she could and stood vigil. It was still only four o’clock … hardly the hour of the morning to take to the street.
They managed to wait until the first rays of the dawn were showing on the eastern horizon, and then they left the hotel. The room had been paid for in advance, so Clark just tossed the key on the desk; the sleeping clerk stirred slightly, murmured something inaudible, and settled back to snoring. They walked through the unpainted doors and out into the street.
“Where are we gonna go?” questioned Marty. “Nothin’ will be open yet.”
“Well, there’s a bench over there in front of the sheriff ’s office. How ’bout sittin’ in the sun fer a spell?”
Marty nodded. It was a bit cool in the morning air; she could do with a little sun. She hoped that the warmth of the rays would reach them quickly.
It was a while before others were also stirring about the streets of the town. The livery hand arrived first and went about the duties of feeding the horses and a pair of mules. Roughly dressed men eventually swaggered out of the hotel, a few at a time; then the blacksmith began pounding on some metal in his shop. Shop owners began to open doors and rearrange window signs. The sheriff checked his office and then headed for the hotel and a cup of morning coffee. There was more movement toward the hotel, and soon Marty and Clark could smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Marty had not realized she was hungry until that moment.
Clark turned toward her. “Rather fun to watch a town wake up. I’ve never done thet before,” he commented, and Marty nodded her head in agreement.
“It’s not really so different from home as far as looks go— yet it feels strange,” she answered. “Still, I haven’t seen anything—” Her words were interrupted.
Four cowboys rode into view, their horses dusty and tired. They led four other horses behind them with some kind of bundles tied on their backs. The horses were spotted and wore no saddles, although two of them had colorful blankets tossed across their backs. The men rode past silently, their leatherencased feet swinging freely and their
hair hanging past their shoulders in long black braids. Upon observing the braids, Marty snatched a second look. Why, those weren’t cowboys. They were Indians! Now that was different. The riders looked neither to the left nor the right as they rode down the street and pulled their mounts to a stop before the general store. They swung down from their horses and began to untie the bundles from the backs of the pack animals.
“Looks like they’ve got ’em a pretty good catch of furs,” observed Clark.
“Furs,” said Marty. “I never thought of furs. What kind, ya supposin’?”
“I’ve no idea. Coyotes, badgers, maybe. Not close enough to the mountains fer bears or wildcats, I’m thinkin’. But then I’m not much fer knowin’ jest what they do have hereabouts.”
Marty turned only after they had all disappeared.
“Well,” said Clark, “ya ready fer some breakfast?” He stood up and stretched his tall frame.
Marty stood, too, and picked up her lunch bundle and hatbox. Without thinking, she reached to scratch an itching spot on her rib cage, then checked herself; a lady did not go about scratching in public. At the same time, she realized that Clark was scratching his neck. Marty looked at the spot. “Oh my,” she whispered.
Clark looked at her.
“Ya sure enough got yer share,” stated Marty. “They’re beginnin’ to show up all along yer collar.”
“Bedbugs?”
“Bedbugs. Well, not the bugs exactly—but where they been.”
“Guess they liked me better’n they did you, huh?”
“ ’Fraid not,” said Marty. “I got me four or five places thet I’d jest love to be scratchin’.”
Clark laughed. “Well, maybe a cup of coffee an’ a slice of ham will take our mind off ’em.” He picked up the cases and motioned Marty toward the hotel’s dining room they had passed up the night before in favor of the saloon place.
