“And then, presumably, you left your husband again,” Lemuel said.
“Yes, with Grisha, as I had before. This time, my husband told me that I could cut my ties to him completely if I wished.” She glared across the table at him. “I replied that I was still his wife, that I would be his wife for as long as I pleased, whether I lived under his tent or not. Grisha thought that he would get very angry with me, but he didn’t. I think that my words might have given him a little more respect for me.”
Perhaps they had; the man would have seen that she had some pride. Or perhaps she was only deluding herself.
“I didn’t think that we would stay in St. Joseph for long,” Katia said, “but things were worse between Grisha and me after that. So I left him. I will tell you what his greatest cruelty was to me, Mr. Rowland. He taught me just enough to live on the edge of the Wasichu world, and let me recall just enough to live on the edge of the Lakota world when I had returned there, but I cannot truly live in either.”
Lemuel finished his pie and coffee. He had grown used to living on the edges of things. Katia pushed away her plate, and after a few moments he saw that she had nothing more to say. What had she left out? What had Rubalev done to her to drive her from his side? Again he had the feeling that she was concealing as much as she had revealed.
Katia said little as Lemuel walked her back to the house where she was staying. He filled the silence with some talk about his life here and his trip to New Orleans. When they came to the house, he pressed a few greenbacks into her hands.
“Thank you, Mr. Rowland.” She put the money into her purse. “I cannot live like this for very much longer.”
“No, you can’t,” he admitted.
“I think now that I should have gone back to Touch-the-Clouds.” She hurried up the steps and into the house before he could reply.
What could he possibly do for her? Mrs. Gerhardt had Laetitia; she did not need another servant.
As he walked down the street, he thought of the letters from Donehogawa and Jeremiah Clarke. Events were conspiring to push him out of his small, safe life; now there was Katia to upset things. The discontent that he had kept at bay was troubling him again, feeding his restlessness. He thought of spending more years enduring Joe Wiegand’s insults and living on the fringes of life here, and the prospect suddenly repulsed him.
Lemuel recalled the dream as he woke. He was on horseback, riding across a grassy plain. The figures of men on horseback were visible on the horizon, then abruptly he was in the midst of the riders. He reined in his horse and watched as the riders fanned out around him to form a circle.
He could not see the other men clearly. Some wore the feathered headdresses of the Cheyenne and Sioux, while others had bandannas tied around their heads and still others wore long loose shirts. He watched as the circle closed, and saw a man in a long feathered headdress riding toward him. The man’s black eyes commanded his attention; his gaze was direct and implacable.
“The circle has closed,” the man said, and then Lemuel was awake, his memory of his dream so vivid that for a moment he did not know where he was. Somehow he had expected to wake under the vast blue sky of his dream, not in this cramped, darkened room.
He got up, used the chamberpot under his bed, poured some water from a pitcher into the basin on his wash stand, and washed quickly before getting dressed. Then he left his room, knowing what he had to do and vowing silently to himself that he would act on his decision before he could have second thoughts.
The banging of pans from the kitchen told him that Mrs. Gerhardt was still making breakfast. He came to the stairs and saw Virgil standing near the door.
“Still thinking of leaving St. Louis to head west?” Lemuel asked.
The black man nodded. “Yes, suh.”
“If you can wait two or three days more,’’ Lemuel continued, “you may have company. I’ve decided to leave St. Louis myself.”
Joe Wiegand, who had never hidden his contempt for Lemuel, suddenly seemed distressed at losing his services. “I’ll find another man,” he said, rubbing at his balding head, “but you knew how to get work out of the niggers.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Virgil,” Lemuel said, wanting to give the black man his due.
“And that nigger’s running off, too. If you ever come back this way—” Wiegand did not finish the sentence. There would always be work here, levees to rebuild and shore up with stone; the changing, unpredictable Mississippi made that inevitable.
Katia’s talk of her Sioux husband might have fed his dream of last night. The dream might simply be a reflection of his discontent. There were many ways a white man might explain such a dream, but the vision still held him, as rich and real as a memory.
He left the waterfront and headed up toward the house where Katia was staying, knowing what he would have to tell her. It came to him that he was sorrier about leaving her behind than about his impending departure from St. Louis.
A young woman with a broad freckled face answered the door, then went to get Miss Rubalev. He waited in the sitting room until the young woman returned with Katia. As he stood up, she nodded to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Rowland,” she said. The other woman left.
“Can we talk here,” he said, “or would you rather go for a walk?”
“We can talk here,” she replied. He sat down again on the settee; she seated herself in a chair near him.
“I have something to tell you,” he said. “I’ve decided to leave St. Louis, but before I go, I’ll make certain that you are taken care of.”
“I see.” She lowered her eyes; her hair was pulled up on her head, but a few black locks had escaped confinement, falling past her shoulders. “Mrs. O’Brien seemed a little suspicious when I gave her more money for my room. She must wonder where I got it, and how. She’s probably already wondering who you are. I don’t know how much longer she’ll want me here as a boarder.”
‘‘It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You can take my room at Mrs. Gerhardt’s. I’ll speak to her about it. She’ll be pleased at getting another roomer so quickly, and if she chooses to think of you as a sweetheart waiting for me, so much the better.” He tried to say it lightly, but felt a pang of regret. “You’ll be safe there. I’ll give you the money before you move, so Mrs. Gerhardt won’t have to know that I gave it to you.”
Her head was still bowed. “When will you come back?”
“I don’t know if I am coming back,” he said.
She looked up, widening her eyes.
“I can pay for your room and board for six months,” he said. He would have enough left for his needs, and surely half a year was a long enough time for Katia to find a situation for herself. “My advice is to make yourself useful to Mrs. Gerhardt in whatever ways you can. She’s a good- hearted woman in her way. She may find other work for you later on, or help you find another place.” Katia might meet a man who would make a good husband; her marriage to the Sioux chief could be conveniently forgotten, and had no legal standing here in any case. He ignored the qualms such thoughts brought to him.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“West.” He glanced toward the door. “An old friend wrote me to say that he would be in St. Joseph. I thought to meet him there.”
She pressed her lips into a thin straight line. “And what will you do there?”
He was not obligated to tell her anything. “I’ll probably look for your guardian, if he’s still there,’’ he replied. “Ely Parker did ask me to give Rubalev his regards. I promise you that I won’t tell him where you are, or even that I’ve seen you.”
“He’ll guess.” The skin of her face was taut; he saw her throat move as she swallowed. “He’ll know that I would have come to St. Louis. I’m not very good at making my way in the world, Grisha made sure of that, so he’ll know what I would have had to do.”
“Katia—”
“Why are you going to him?” She whispered the question, but
he still heard the anger in her voice. “You don’t have to visit him just because Ely Parker wants it. You needn’t see him at all.”
“I have to see him.” There was no reason to conceal what he was hoping to do from her. “The friend I may meet in St. Joseph is Jeremiah Clarke, the commander at Fort Kearney. He told me that sooner or later he and others will be ordered to punish any Indians who are too troublesome—meaning, of course, any Indians who happen to be in the way of whatever the government in Washington wants. Ely Parker is no longer in any position to try to prevent that.”
“What can you do about it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m going there to find out, and I may need Rubalev’s help. He obviously knows more about what may happen out there than I do—maybe even more than does Colonel Clarke.”
Her dark eyes stared at him. Her hands trembled slightly; she looked angry. Then she said in a soft voice, “If you can do anything to help my people, I would of course be grateful.” She averted her eyes once more. “If you find that there is nothing you can do, will you come back?”
“I don’t know. You would be wise not to wait here hoping that I might return.” He paused. “Shall I speak to Mrs. Gerhardt?”
“Yes,’’ she murmured.
“I’ll bring you some money to pay for your room later.” He stood up, knowing that he had done all he could for her. “Good morning, Katia.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Rowland.”
EIGHT
Lemuel carried his valise onto the train, leaving his carpetbag to Virgil. The Negro had only one bag of his own, and it would be easier for Lemuel to travel with Virgil if he allowed others to think that the colored man was his servant. The North Missouri Railroad would take them as far as Macon; from there, they would travel on the Hannibal and St. Joseph to their destination.
Lemuel sat down in one of the wooden seats, stowing his bag under it. Virgil handed him his other bag, then made his way to the back of the car, where two other black men were sitting. Lemuel had spoken to Mrs. Gerhardt about letting his room to Katia; his landlady had readily agreed to the arrangement, as he had expected. He had also, without actually saying so, allowed the widow to think that he might be coming back in a few months or a year and that he and Katia had an understanding.
The young woman would be moving to the house in a week. He recalled how solemn she had looked during their last meeting. He had introduced her to the widow Gerhardt and then taken her to the Southern Hotel for an early supper, justifying the extravagance by hoping that he might cheer her. She had said little and her face wore a resigned look as he spoke of the trains he would be taking to St. Joseph and the arrangements he had made on her behalf.
Only toward the end of the meal had she grown more animated. “Will you write to me?” she asked.
“I shall when I can, if I’m able to post a letter.” It was easy enough to make that promise.
“It would help me if you do,” she said. “Mrs. Gerhardt will be expecting you to write.”
“And when—if—I stop writing and don’t come back, she’ll likely take pity on you and be even more solicitous of a girl abandoned by her intended.” Katia had actually managed a smile at that remark.
More passengers came aboard the car. Lemuel shifted in his seat; the wood was hard against his backside. Some of the seats near him were still empty, which was unusual; he knew how crowded the trains often were. More people would grow restless again and be lured west, especially now that the Union Pacific could take them across the entire continent. The trains would decide the fate of the people who lived in their path. He wondered if it was already too late to do anything about that.
A slender woman in a black cape and bonnet came down the aisle, her head bent forward as she struggled with the weight of her bag. He got up to help her. She straightened and his eyes met Katia’s brown ones.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“What do you think?” She handed him her bag and sat down in the seat across from him. “I bought a ticket to Macon.”
“And where do you intend to go from there?”
She said, ‘‘To St. Joseph.”
He was too surprised to speak for a moment. “When did you decide to do this?”
“Last night. That’s when I finally decided to leave, but I was thinking of leaving all along. I saw what it would be like for me, living in that house with Mrs. Gerhardt and her boarders. What a small and poor life it would have been. If I have to live in a city, I would rather live as I did when I was with Grisha.”
“I see.”
“You’re angry.”
“Of course I’m angry,” he said, hearing the tremor in his voice. “I went to some trouble and expense to secure that situation for you. I suppose you used some of the money I gave you to buy your ticket.”
She nodded.
“Apparently it didn’t take you long to start missing the luxuries Rubalev provided. Maybe it will now be worth it to you to go back to him and put up with his ill treatment as long as you regain your comforts.”
“That’s not why I’m going to St. Joseph,” she said. “I intend to go back to my husband. I can find someone to guide me to him—perhaps even Grisha, if he’s stopped being angry with me. And you—” She leaned forward. “You say that you want to help my people.” She was whispering her words now. “You may need me.”
None of the boarding passengers had taken seats near them, and no one else had come aboard. “Will your husband take you back?” he asked.
“I think so. If I bring you to him, he might. You may be able to tell him more of what he wants to know.”
His anger was a hard knot inside him. The knot might have loosened if he could believe that she was on this train because she wanted to be with him.
“A dream came to me,” she said, “last night, and that was when I knew what I had to do. Perhaps you can understand that.”
“Yes,” he said, thinking of his own dream, “I can.” He had been sorry to leave her; perhaps he should be relieved that she had thrown in her lot with him. “Rubalev didn’t leave you so helpless after all.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “You’ve learned how to use someone else to get what you want, and without having to give anything in return.” He had the small mean pleasure of seeing her flinch before she looked away.
Lemuel had written to Jeremiah Clarke just before leaving St. Louis, saying that he would be going to St. Joseph. There was a good chance that he would arrive there before his letter reached Clarke at Fort Kearney. Presumably Jeremiah would know how to go about looking for him, and it was possible, given what he had told Lemuel in his letter, that he might already be in St. Joseph himself.
In the meantime, he would have to seek Rubalev out.
After Lemuel was settled in his room, he sent Virgil with a message to the considerably more sumptuous hotel where Katia said Rubalev had been living. The black man returned with a scrawled message from Rubalev saying that he would expect Lemuel to join him later for supper at his hotel.
“Now you done what you want, suh,” Virgil said as Lemuel put Rubalev’s note in his pocket, “think I’ll nose around some, see what I can learn.”
“Do as you like,” Lemuel said. They had maintained the pretense that Virgil was Lemuel’s servant, although the black man would be staying in a boardinghouse in the colored section of town.
“If’n I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” Virgil was speaking more clearly and distinctly now, as he often did when there was no one to overhear them. Sometimes Lemuel felt that Virgil had more learning than even he suspected. “But I think I’s going to stick with you for now, suh. You might discover somethin’ I should know.”
The black man left. Lemuel put on his one black suit, the only outfit he possessed that might pass muster at Rubalev’s hotel, then went down the hallway to Katia’s room.
He knocked on her door. “Who is it?” she called out.
“Lemuel Rowland.”
She opened the door. Behind her, he saw that her room was even smaller and more modest than his simple quarters. She glanced down the hallway before admitting him, perhaps out of worry over what others might think of a woman admitting a man to her room, perhaps because she was afraid that Rubalev might have found her and be lying in wait for her.
“I sent Virgil to Mr. Rubalev with a note,” he said as she closed the door. “He sent a message back inviting me to have supper with him, so I’m going there now.”
She turned away and sat down in the room’s only chair. “What will you say to him?”
“That’s what I came to ask you about.”
“I can’t go there, not until I know—” Katia twisted her hands together. “Perhaps you should tell him that you saw me in St. Louis, and then see what—”
“Are you so afraid of him? Has he been violent? Is he likely to beat you?”
Katia shook her head. “He never touched me. He never had to—I always did what he wanted me to do.”
“You had better decide what to do before your money runs out, Katia. I can’t afford to give you any more.”
She pointed her chin at him. ‘‘Tell Grisha whatever you like. Tell him that I want to go back to the camp of Touch-the-Clouds.”
He turned around and left the room without agreeing to her demand, slamming the door behind him. He would at least have the satisfaction of leaving her to worry about what he might say to Rubalev.
Grigory Rubalev remained seated as Lemuel approached his table. He was also dressed in a tailored black suit that fit his tall frame perfectly. His blond hair still fell to his shoulders, and he had grown a mustache.
Climb the Wind: A Journey Into Another Past Page 10
