Come Juneteenth

by Ann Rinaldi

  He spoke Comanche. As well as the Kickapoo and Delaware languages.

  The man was dressed like a chief, for what little I knew, complete with feathers and beads. The little boy was about ten and wore a buckskin shirt and leggings trimmed with handsome beads.

  Gabe came out of the brush and talked to him for a while. Then the little boy came forward to gather more plums.

  "Chief is blind," Gabe told me. "The boy is his guide."

  "What did you ask him?"

  "If they'd come across a Yankee officer and a young girl riding around these parts. He pointed south past Pond Creek. There's a steam mill at Pond Creek. We'll ask there after we ask at Cummin's Station."

  "So he's friendly, then?"

  "Yes, we're in luck. Here, let's clear out and let 'em have more plums."

  We left them eating to their heart's content. And Gabe left a small sack of corn, difficult to get in these parts, and you'd think we'd given them a sack of gold.

  That day we traveled near twenty miles. We saw plenty of wild game, dusty black buffalo, deer, antelope, wild mustangs, even some real Mexican lions.

  Gabe knew how to bypass them all. We passed a large spring that Gabe said gushed out twenty barrels of water a minute.

  He'd been this way before. On a trip to Mexico with Granville when he was young. Before the war. "Thank heaven the country doesn't change," he said. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

  We stopped at the end of the day at a place called Boone's Creek. Gabe said the creek held rare unio shells. "They're mussel shells that give a large share of pearls," Gabe told me. "When we were here, Granville dove in and got himself some pearls and gave them to a girl he knew in Mexico. I'm going in."

  And before I knew it, he'd stripped to his smallclothes and was in the cold water, looking for the shells with the pearls in them.

  "You might as well wash," he said. "It isn't too cold."

  I took off my skirt and blouse and, in my chemise and pantalets, I found myself some privacy in a cove and had a good wash, with some lavender soap Mama had sent along.

  Gabe did find one shell that yielded a pearl.

  "It's for Sis Goose," he said.

  It was the first time since he talked with the Indian that he'd really spoken of her on this trip.

  THERE WAS a lot of petrified wood around and Gabe collected some and started a fire. I sat next to it, drying my hair with a piece of flannel. Gabe cooked the swallow-tailed hawk eggs and salt pork, which was the most delicious supper, along with his strong coffee, that I ever had.

  The sunset was beautiful. The coffee perked. And I felt strangely safe and brave out here on the prairie with Gabe, though I still missed home. Then he started to talk.

  "In New Orleans, on Christmas, roses are in bloom and trees are in full green leaf," he said.

  But what was he saying? I looked at him questioningly.

  "You'd like New Orleans," he said.

  I just stared at him across the fire.

  "Luli, I'm thinking of putting you in school in New Orleans after all this is over and the dust settles. The ranch won't be the same until the Yankees leave. And it looks as if they've dug in for a while. You have to further your schooling."

  I was speechless. New Orleans?

  He cleared his throat. "Pa told me he wanted you to have more education. And I know you don't like the idea of Virginia. Unless you want to go to Miss Trask's School for Young Ladies in Cole's Settlement near Brazos."

  I shook my head no, vigorously. "That's a silly-boots school like Virginia. I don't want to go away anywhere, Gabe. I can learn everything from a good tutor at home."

  "Not everything you need to know," he said firmly.

  "For what?"

  "For life."

  "I can shoot a gun and skin a deer and cook it. I can ride better than any woman."

  "Someday you'll marry. Well, we hope. And there are things you need to know to be a wife to a man of good standing."

  "Mama can teach me."

  "Don't argue with me, Luli. I've made up my mind. It's either New Orleans or Miss Trask's. I've been to New Orleans. There's a fine school there for young ladies of eminence. And it's closer to home than Virginia. Also, I don't know how we're going to be regarded in the states now that the war is over."

  "I don't want to turn out like Amelia."

  "Nor do we want you to. Now it's settled. You've time yet. I just wanted to prepare you."

  Everything inside me was wringing out, like the servants wrung out the clothes on washday. I could see myself, flat and lifeless, already hung on the drying line.

  "You do it for Pa," he said, "if not for me."

  Pa. He was wily enough to use that on me. He knew I couldn't say no to Pa, especially now that he was dying.

  Then, as if the whole matter were settled, he gave the conversation a new turn.

  "Tell me, did you ever tell Sis Goose over these last two years that she was free?"

  The question hit me between the eyes.

  "You never mentioned Sis Goose once, all the way down here, until Boone's Creek. And now you do it to take my mind off that stupid school in New Orleans."

  I saw anger cloud the blueness of his eyes. "You're going to that school, Luli. Don't fight me on it. I don't lose well. Matter of fact, I seldom lose at all. Now answer my question, please. Did you ever tell Sis Goose that she was free?"

  "No. I lied to her like everybody else did."

  He nodded slightly. "Is she upset that I didn't tell her?"

  I didn't spare him. "Yes."

  "Do you think that's why she left with Heffernan?"

  Another shot between the eyes. "He kidnapped her. She didn't leave."

  "Are we sure of that? What did she say to you?"

  "All she said was that if the Yankees were for freedom she wanted to be with them up at the house."

  "Exactly," he mused. Then, "Well, it's something we'll have to find out, isn't it?"

  I didn't answer. He seemed bitter. Would Sis Goose have gone with Heffernan of her own will? But she loved Gabe, didn't she? Can love change its color like that, one minute standing for one thing, the next for something else?

  I had the first watch. Gabe rolled over and went to sleep, and I sat back, leaning on my saddle, and tried to find some answers in the stars. In the distance wolves howled out their sad song.

  And then, for no good reason in the world, I started to cry.

  It was like losing my supper because all the sadness of the last few weeks churned in my innards and I couldn't keep it from erupting. It just came out, the business with the Yankees in our house, Pa dying, my having to dig up the guns and shooting Heffernan, and finally, now, the crowning touch that invaded my being tonight.

  Having to go to school in New Orleans. Leaving home and Mama and Sis Goose. Would I even be here for her and Gabe's wedding?

  The quiet flow of tears quickly turned into an overflow, like some of the springs we'd forded, swollen because of the rain.

  Because then came the sobs. I couldn't stop them once they started. At first I tried to stop them, fearful they'd wake Gabe and he'd think I was a sissy boots. And then soon I didn't care.

  "What's wrong?" asked a worried Gabe, suddenly standing over me. "You ailing?"

  "No-ooo."

  "You don't have that business that girls get ... you know."

  "What business?" But he was rubbing his face, not looking at me. Oh, I would make him pay for New Orleans. "What business?" I asked again.

  "You know. That business girls have to deal with every month."

  "Oh, no."

  "Well, stop that fool crying, then. Come on, Luli, stop it and tell me." He pulled out a large red handkerchief, the kind men use on the prairie, and knelt down beside me and wiped my face. "I spoke too soon. You are going to give me a run for my money, aren't you?" he said quietly.

  I couldn't help smiling. Then I hiccupped and couldn't stop.

  "Lord. You used to do that when you were a baby
. Drove Ma crazy. Here." He picked up his flask, uncovered it, and offered me a sip. I shook my head no.

  "You think I'm going to stay up all night nursing your hiccups, you're daft, girl. Take some. That's an order."

  "You think"—I hiccupped—"you're still in the army."

  "Right. I'm the captain and you're the private. Drink."

  I drank. I almost spit it out, but he wouldn't let me. He held my head back and put his hand over my mouth. "Swallow."

  I did. For a good two minutes, he held my head like that. Then he let me go and the hiccups were gone. I breathed. "That's worse than when Granville washed my mouth out with soap," I said.

  "Don't use Granville's name in vain. He's a little rough around the edges, but if he were in charge you wouldn't be so spoiled."

  "I'm not spoiled."

  "That's a matter of conjecture. At least you're not crying anymore, are you? Now tell me why you were crying."

  So I told him, between sighs and diminishing sobs.

  "Hey," he said, "I know it's been rough going. And you've held up all along. And don't think I don't appreciate how you took care of Ma and Pa while I was away. And how you took care of Sis Goose. Come on now, you're not going to start with the tears again, are you? Hey, know what I think you need?" He pulled my hair.

  "Stop it."

  "I think you need a funny and interesting story. Did you know that coyotes like to eat hats and shoes?"

  "No."

  "You'd better watch out. You're liable to lose yours. Why don't you put them under your saddle when you go to sleep later? I do."

  I hadn't noticed him doing it, and I wondered if this was just another trick to get me to stop crying. But he looked so earnest, so serious about it that I said, all right, I'd do it. And I'd stop crying, too. So he returned to his bedroll and went back to sleep.

  When my watch was over, I took off my boots and put them, with my hat, under my saddle so the coyotes wouldn't get them. I felt silly doing it, but I had seen Gabe do it with his.

  Later on that night, I felt someone moving around me and squinted into the tricky darkness. There was Gabe, taking my hat and shoes out from under my saddle. I watched as he walked off and hid them in some high grass a little ways from our camp.

  He's really going out of his way to amuse me, I decided. And I was touched by it, after all the trouble he had right now.

  IN THE MORNING he made a great show out of telling me his hat and shoes were gone. Taken. And then he came and lifted my saddle from the ground. Mine were gone, too.

  "How did the coyotes lift my saddle and get them?" I asked. I wasn't about to let him off easy.

  "Don't know. It's one of the mysteries of this wild country. There are a lot of mysteries out here. I'm going to look around and see if they dropped them anywhere."

  I was intrigued, wanting to see what he would do next, how far he would go with the joke. And my troubles were temporarily forgotten.

  I followed him about while we looked around the camp. Then he went into the high grass where I knew he'd put them last night.

  They were gone, both our sets of boots. The hats were there but torn to pieces.

  The grass was trampled down around the torn-up hats. The coyotes had been and gone.

  Gabe scratched his head. Wordless he was, for the first time since I'd known him.

  I laughed and he scowled at me. "What's so funny?"

  "The story. I didn't believe you. Until now. The coyotes took them, our boots."

  But I couldn't stop laughing. He looked so funny standing there in the tall grass in only his socks. I nearly collapsed, laughing.

  I whirled around, still laughing. I couldn't stop.

  "What in purple hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.

  "Your story. It came true. You were just telling it as a story. I saw you last night, taking my hat and boots from under my saddle and hiding them in the tall grass to make me believe the coyotes took them and now the coyotes really did take them! Oh God! It's all too much. I can't help it."

  He started toward me and I ran. I ran fast, but he was pursuing me. I hurt my feet on some stones on the ground, but I kept going because he was gaining on me. And then I fell and he was on me, pulling me up and turning me around and shaking me.

  "I made myself a vow, when I took on this guardian thing with you," he said, "that I'd never hit you. No matter what you did. I promised Pa I'd be gentle with you."

  There were tears in his eyes. I had pushed him to the edge.

  I hugged him impulsively around the waist to comfort him. Overhead a giant hawk circled. "Did the coyotes really come?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "You have powers, Gabe."

  "Well," he put me at arm's length, "I'm glad to see you're your own sassy self again."

  The hawk was circling close over us now, closing in, like the truth of the matter was closing in on Gabe. "You going to tell anybody about this?" he asked.

  The temptation was too much. I could tell people and embarrass him, or I could keep a still tongue in my head and never mention it again. The best part of it was that he knew I could tell so I had it to hold over him. And hold it over him I would, as punishment for his deciding to send me away to school. Telling wasn't the point.

  It was the threat that mattered. And Gabe knew it. And I would always have it. Like Pa had had his money in that English bank.

  I looked up at him. Into those blue eyes, that were as endless in scope as the prairie itself.

  "It can be our secret if you behave yourself," I told him sassily.

  "So you've got something on me."

  "Yes."

  "Vows can be broken, you know."

  We both laughed on our way back to camp, then discussed the bigger problem. What to do with no boots. We decided to wear our Indian moccasins. "We ought to reach Cummin's Station today," he said. "It's a good trading post. They'll have boots. Come on, let's pack up."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  WE WERE five or six miles from Cummin's Station. And the way we had to travel was free of obstacles, because Cummin's Station was ten miles above San Felipe, Gabe said, and so we'd be passing a scattering of plantations, tilled land, and lovely green pasturelands.

  We did the six miles the next morning under skies as blue as Mama's porcelain and as we came upon Cummin's Station in the distance, Gabe slowed his horse's pace and I followed. The trading post was bigger than I thought it would be, and outside were hung colorful blankets and rows of strung peppers and onions. Saddles and horses' tack sat on the railing ledge, along with some fry pans and kettles. A ragged black boy was seated in the dust just outside Cummin's Station.

  "Never rush right in," Gabe instructed. "Always be careful to size up the place. See what kind of people are hanging about."

  Still in his Confederate uniform, he was concerned about Yankee soldiers who might not be as lenient toward him as Cochran was, in spite of the letter he had explaining our mission.

  Then there were Indians. Some were harmless, others out to kill, especially anyone in a uniform. So we approached slowly from the back, where we dismounted our horses and hobbled them to the fence of the corral.

  "You aimin' on telling them inside how we lost our boots?" Gabe asked me.

  I saw that even asking the question made him uncomfortable and that was reward aplenty.

  "No," I said. "I can't see how it's any of their business."

  He nodded. "First thing we do is find out if that Yankee came through here with Sis Goose."

  A hawk circled overhead as we headed toward the front entrance. Before we reached it, the little black boy came up and tugged Gabe's pants.

  "Suh. I's hungry. Could you please give a coin to a little nigra boy like me?"

  Gabe stopped and looked at him. "Don't you have a home?" he asked.

  He shook his curly head. He was ragged and dirty, no shoes on his feet. "I comes from the Hardin place, over to the north. I ain't goin' back there, no suh, no."

  "Di
d they free you?"

  "Yassuh, but the war be over and those white peoples still all be killin' each other back there. No more shootin' fer this nigra boy. No suh. I seed 'nough of it."

  "Shooting?" Gabe inquired.

  "Yassuh. Them Yankees that come done shoot all the horses and dogs and wanna put the white folks outa the house. The white folks started shootin', and I run. Been runnin' ever since."

  "How old are you?" Gabe asked.

  "Doan rightly know, suh. I wuz born a little bit before the war. All I knows is, it was the summer of the bad rain."

  Gabe nodded. "Means you're about nine. Come on inside and I'll buy you a bowl of beans and meat."

  "Yassuh!"

  The boy followed us into the cool inside of the station. Here were a few tables to sit down at, a stove on which was a large pot of what must have been the beans and meat, a bar, and a counter filled with merchandise.

  Gabe sat the boy down at a table and ordered him a bowl of food and some cornbread. Then he asked about Sis Goose and the Yankee.

  The man who owned the place, by the name of Max, ruminated a bit. "Come through here mebbe two days ago."

  "How was the girl?" Gabe asked.

  I held my breath. Would he say she was pregnant?

  "Seemed aright."

  "Did she seem like she wanted to be with him?"

  "Nooo." Max shook his head. "He had her hands tied behind her back. Said she was wanted by the law. I mind my own business."

  Gabe swore and asked if he knew where they were headed.

  "Nearest law or Yankees be in San Felipe. He asked me the way."

  Gabe thanked him and told me to find some boots. He found a pair as well, and while he was at it purchased some trousers, a shirt, and duster, too, the kind he'd had before the war when he rode the prairie for Pa.

  "Tired of this damn uniform," he told Max. "I need a place to change."

  Max showed him a curtain and he went behind it and put on his new clothes.