by Rod Miller
“Now, Richard—”
“Don’t ‘now Richard’ me, Pa! Abel done got us in this mess and I’m sick to death of us livin’ with one eye on our back trail.”
“Now, Richard,” Lee said. “You know it ain’t that bad. There ain’t been a speck of trouble and there ain’t likely to be.”
“Besides,” Sarah said, dropping her bonnet on the table and sweeping a lock of hair off her forehead, “our bein’ here is your Pa’s doing, not Abel’s. This is all his fault. If it weren’t for his cockeyed ideas and dreams—”
“—Sarah, we’ve been all over that. Leave it go.”
“Please,” Peter said. “What of me and Martha?”
Abel said, “If I can speak, Pa—and Ma—I’ve already told Peter I trust him. If he was apt to have me arrested he’d have done so long since. Far as I’m concerned, he can go his own way.”
Lee thought for a time. “I reckon you’re right,” he finally said. “Any of you-all object to the idea of leavin’ Peter to do as he pleases when we move on?”
“Of course not,” Sarah said.
“No, Pa,” Abel said.
Richard shook his head and Melvin shrugged.
“That’s it, then. Peter—you—and Martha—are welcome to come along west, or stay here in Fort Smith as you please.”
“We would dearly love to have you-all stay with us,” Sarah said. “I’m sure the Lewises would like that, too. But you-all do what you feel best, and the Pates will wish you-all much happiness.”
Peter stood. “Thank you. If you-all don’t mind, I will go now and tell Martha.”
Sarah smiled. “It’s late. You be sure to comport yourself like a gentleman and behave yourself—and get back here right soon.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
On his way to the Lewis camp, Peter passed Daniel on his way to the Pate camp. They stopped and talked and Peter passed along the Pates’ approval of his plan to remain in Fort Smith. Daniel allowed as how he would miss Martha but understood young folks had to make their own way.
The Pates were still gathered at the table when Daniel arrived, and he slid into the space on the bench Peter recently vacated.
“Daniel,” Lee said. “What brings you around?”
“I have arrived at a decision, Brother Pate. The girls and I— less Martha, as you are aware—will accompany you to the Province of New Mexico. We have decided our prospects for a good life there should be equal to those in Texas.”
Lee stood, clapped his hands together once and placed them on the table and leaned toward Daniel. “I am happy to hear it, my friend! You-all coming along will make the journey more pleasant. And time will prove your decision a wise one.” He extended a hand and when Daniel grasped it, pumped it with enthusiasm.
Sarah said, “Mister Lewis, I am delighted! I’ve grown fond of those girls of yours and, Lord knows, they know how to work.”
“Indeed. With their industry in running the laundry enterprise, they’ve quite a packet to help outfit us. But, I confess, they will be delighted to get their hands out of wash water.”
Lee and Daniel talked over preparations. They had compared and contrasted the use of mules and oxen to pull wagons, and agreed to disagree. Daniel would yoke up his oxen and Lee harness his mules. Daniel’s four head of oxen were in fine fettle after a long season’s rest, and the Pate mules were much the same. Lee debated and decided to invest in a saddle horse to aid in hunting and scouting the trail. Sarah insisted he rid them of the dry cow, and Abel arranged a trade—with money to boot—for a heifer with calf. The Lewis girls purchased a half dozen hens and lashed together willow withe cages to hang on the wagons.
“Toodle-pip,” Daniel said with a wave as he walked into the darkness. “We leave this place two weeks hence!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Richard’s frustrations mounted as the day of departure drew ever nearer. At work one night, his flask long empty, he fidgeted and fussed and finally recruited and paid a man wandering the streets to fetch him a bottle.
The whiskey settled his nerves—and all the rest of him—to the point that when the brickyard workers arrived in the morning, they found Richard curled up next to a warm kiln fast asleep. His boss gave him the sack and told him not to bother coming back for his time—the money owed him would be given to Lee and he could collect it from his father on payday.
Richard staggered home, slapped his way through the tent flap, sagged to his knees on his bedroll, then collapsed in a heap. He did not move until Melvin toed him awake at the end of the day.
“Rich,” he said. “Rich—wake up!”
Richard rolled to his stomach, hoisted himself on hands and knees, and shook his head like a dog worrying a caught coon. The pain of the sudden move prompted him to turn onto his backside and drop his chin to his chest and grasp his head with both hands to stifle its throbbing.
He groaned. “Oh, hell, Mel. I wish I was dead.”
“You just might get your wish. Pa’s plenty mad.”
With effort that flexed his whole face, Richard managed to open his eyes, partially and intermittently at first, and when finally they stayed open, their sagging state ever threatened their closing again. “What time is it?”
“Past work. Me and Abel and Pa and Peter is all home and Ma’s ’bout got supper fixed.”
Richard still sat, swaying slowly.
“What you goin’ to do, Rich?”
He scrubbed his face and scalp slowly with the palms of his hands. “I don’t know, brother. What the hell can I do?”
He would soon find out.
Supper was a silent affair, with the hungry workmen laboring hard to fill the holes in their bellies. Richard only picked at the food on his plate and barely sipped his coffee. With the meal cleared and coffee mugs topped off, Lee broached the subject permeating the camp like a miasma.
“Anything you’d like to say, Richard?”
The dissipated son only shook his head.
“I believe we’re owed an explanation.”
“Aw, hell, Pa. What good would it do? What’s done is done and jawin’ about it won’t change nothin’.”
Abel shook his head in disbelief. “That’s it, Richard? That’s all you got to say for yourself?”
Richard glared at his brother through bloodshot eyes. “Shut the hell up, Abel.”
“Aw, c’mon, Rich! What were you thinking?”
“I said shut up! Any more sass out of you and I’ll kick your ass!”
“Boys!” Sarah said. “Enough! You-all fighting ain’t goin’ to help.”
Silence persisted for a few minutes. Lee broke it. “Here’s what’s going to happen. There’s plenty to be done to get ready to pull out. Richard, since we all are still working and you ain’t, that job falls to you.”
Richard sat, sullen and silent.
“Ever’ morning, Ma and me will give you a list of things that need to be done. It’ll be yours to do. Understand?”
Richard nodded.
“When occasion calls for you to go into Fort Smith, you’re to do what you’re sent to do and come back. No visits to no grog shops, no refilling that infernal pocket bottle of yours, no nothin’! Is that understood?”
Again, Richard nodded. Then, “One thing, Pa.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’ll help get things ready to go. But I’m tellin’ you right now I ain’t goin’ with you-all.”
Sarah stopped her scrubbing in the dishpan. “Richard!”
“I’m sorry, Ma. I followed Pa’s foolish notions this far—hell, I even went all the way to Shelby County and back again for him—but I won’t do it no more. I’m done with him.” Richard turned an ugly stare on his father. “If the rest of you-all had any sense you’d quit him too.”
Abel stood, nearly upsetting the table, with fists clenched and breath hissing fast between clenched teeth. Lee placed a hand on his arm. “Sit down, Son. It’s all right.”
Then, Lee said, “Richard, I don’t kn
ow what you got in your head. I’ve tried to fathom it, but I can’t. Makes no sense to me whatsoever. We’ll not talk on it any more tonight. Just be ready to go to work come morning—if not for me, then for the rest of the family, for your Ma.”
Richard did not go to bed that night. Instead, he nursed tepid coffee, stewed and fretted, and nodded off where he sat at the table. Sarah shook him awake when she arose to fix breakfast.
“You’d best get on down to the creek and freshen up some,” she said. “You smell like somethin’ the dogs dug up and don’t look much better. Vittles’ll be ready by the time you get back.”
He tossed aside the dregs of coffee gone cold and shuffled off toward the stream. When he returned, his father and brothers and Peter were bowed over their plates, forking up biscuits and gravy and slabs of bacon. Richard filled a plate and slid onto the bench at the end of the table. Melvin watched his older brother, but no one spoke during the meal.
When Abel and Melvin and Peter finished, Sarah handed each a sack holding a pair of pork pies—another dish she learned cooking for the Lewises—for their midday meal. Before they started off down the road to Fort Smith, Lee handed Richard a slip of paper with a list scrawled on it.
“Here’s what you’re to do today, Richard. We’ll talk when I get home from work.”
Richard spent the day mending and checking harnesses, building a trough and soaking wagon wheels in linseed oil, greasing axles, tightening the king pin, tongue bolts and hounds, adjusting the reach, aligning brake blocks, tightening bow staples, and other tasks to ready the wagon.
He did not make it all the way through his father’s list but made a good start by the time his father and brothers returned home. Lee looked the wagon over and found the work good. “You’ve done well, Richard,” he said, grabbing the sideboard and giving it a shake. “This old wagon looks like it just might make the trip.”
After supper, Richard took Melvin aside. “I could sure use a drink, Brother. How ’bout let’s go to town and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I don’t know, Rich. Pa says you ain’t to be drinking.”
“You let me worry about that. Besides, he ain’t said nothin’ about you drinking.”
Melvin hitched his thumbs in his waistband and studied the ground he scratched with his boot. “Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t want Pa mad at me.”
Melvin’s eyes widened when Richard put a hand in the middle of his chest and shoved. “You’re a damn milksop, Mel. When you goin’ to grow up and be a man?
” With that, he turned and walked out of camp.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Richard thought better of going to Fort Smith. Instead, he walked to the Lewis camp. He stood in the waning light watching Emma—and Martha and Jane—talking and laughing as they sat with needles and thread stitching minor repairs into laundered shirts and trousers. Daniel and Mary sat at the table apart from the girls, Mary with pencil in hand, making notes from her conversation with her father.
After a few minutes, Richard walked on into the camp and approached the girls. He took off his hat. “Miss Emma,” he said. “Could I have the pleasure of your company on a short walk?”
Emma looked at Richard. She glanced at Martha and Jane. Looked to where Mary and her father sat. Dropping her hands and handwork to her lap, she said, “I am sorry, Richard—I have work to do.”
“Aw, c’mon. It’s gettin’ too dark to do that.”
“I know that. There is not much time left this evening to get it done. That is why I have to keep at it,” Emma said, casting glances at her sisters, then fixing her eyes on the tear in the shirt in her hands and the needle in her fingers dragging thread through the fabric.
Richard stood for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then turned and walked to where Daniel and Mary sat. He asked permission to sit, and did so.
“Mister Lewis, I guess you-all know I ain’t workin’ nights no more.”
Daniel hesitated. “Yes,” he said, but said no more.
“Well, Pa’s got me gettin’ things ready for the move over at our camp. I’ve got the wagon mostly in shape. There’s plenty more to be done, but I reckon I could give you folks a hand if you could use the help.”
Daniel folded his arms and furrowed his brow. “I do not know. Nothing comes immediately to mind. What do you think, Mary?”
Mary smiled. “It is kind of you to offer, Richard. We have been making ready all along, so much of what is needed is already prepared. I do not doubt we will need some help as the move grows nearer. I will surely ask for—and appreciate—your assistance when the time comes.”
“Thanks, Miss Mary.” Richard stood, studying the inside of his hat. “I wonder, Mary, if I might have a moment. Alone.”
“Father?”
“Certainly,” Daniel said with a wave of his hand. “Absolutely.”
Richard and Mary walked into the woods bordering the campsite. He sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and she stood before him. After an awkward silence, Mary said, “What is it, Richard?”
He cleared his throat. “About my not workin’ at the brickyard. . . .”
“Yes?”
“I suppose you-all know why.”
“Yes.”
“Emma, too?”
“Yes. . . .”
After a moment, “Mary, I know you done told me she ain’t interested in me.”
“Yes. It seems your brother Abel is the only man who intrigues her.”
“Abel. He ain’t but a boy.”
Mary laughed. “Oh, Richard! Abel is every bit as much a man as Emma is a woman.”
“He ain’t but sixteen.”
“And Emma is fifteen.”
“But it’s different with girls.”
Mary swept her dress against the back of her thighs and sat next to Richard.
“No, Richard. It is not. Oh, with some it is, sure—everyone grows up in their own time. But there is no question that both Emma and Abel are of an age to be counted grownups.”
Richard sighed and crushed his hat in his hands. “You can’t know what it’s like, Mary. Me bein’ the oldest and having feelings for Emma, and then my baby brother—hell, it ain’t even him—he don’t even see Emma for what she is—but to lose out like this to that little. . . . Oh, never mind. You don’t understand.”
Mary laughed. “Richard, Richard! How blind you are!”
“What do you mean?”
“You forget that I am the older sister in our family. The circumstances may not be the same, but I assure you it is no easier for me.”
Richard looked so perplexed she explained. “Look at Emma. The girl is a natural beauty and attracts men like moths to a lantern. Imagine what it is like to watch men pass me by without a glance for the chance to be near her. Then there is Martha. When not standing next to Emma—who makes other women invisible—Martha is attractive as well. And when it comes to intelligence, whether book learning or just plain common sense, I cannot hold a candle to her. She is to be married to Peter. Emma could marry any man she chose whenever it suited her. That leaves me—Mary Lewis, spinster.”
“Aw, Mary! You ain’t no old maid!”
“You said I do not understand how you feel. It is you who does not understand.”
Richard sat mulling things over. Mary waited.
“The thing is, Mary, when Pa and your family pulls out of here next week or the week after or whenever, I don’t aim to go along.”
Mary’s eyes widened at the words. “Does your family know this?”
“Yes. I’ve said as much.” Then, “I want to ask Emma to stay with me. We could stay here in Fort Smith, or go somewheres else—whatever suits her.”
Mary stood. “You can ask Emma if you want. It is not my place to answer for her. But I believe I know what her answer will be.” With that, Mary walked away in the darkness.
After a time, Richard started for home, staying to the edge of the woods until well clear of the Lewis camp. When he arrived at the Pat
e camp, he found his father sitting on a stump in the glow of the dying fire.
“You’re back early,” Lee said.
Richard did not answer.
“You been in town?”
“No.”
“Where, then?”
“I been over visitin’ with the Lewises. Not that it’s any of your affair.”
Lee let that settle for a minute while he tossed a stick of wood on the fire and watched the sparks rise to meet the stars. Then, in little more than a whisper, “Son, as long as you put your feet under my table, it is my affair. For all we—me and your Ma—knowed, you was off in Fort Smith drinking and making another mess for us to clean up.”
“Well, Pa, it ain’t goin’ to be a problem much longer. Once you’re gone from here, you won’t have to worry about me no more.”
“It saddens me to hear that, Son. Your Ma will likely be heartbroken.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“Sure it can, Richard. All you got to do is keep in mind that it ain’t just you that matters—you’re part of a family.”
“That would be a whole hell of a lot easier if my part was as big as Abel’s. Sometimes you act like you ain’t got but one son, Pa.”
Lee thought for a minute. “I reckon it might seem like I favor the boy. It ain’t by intention. Me and you—well, we butt heads like a pair of randy billy goats. I just ain’t got the will to fight you every step of the way. I want the best for all my sons. But if you ain’t willing to obey or abide correction—well, Son, I wish you’d see the light. And I wish you’d leave off tryin’ to drag your brother Melvin off into the dark with you.”
“Mel’s got a mind of his own.”
“True enough, I suppose. But ever since you two was little tykes, he’s been prone to let you do his thinkin’ for him.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Richard. You could help Melvin no end if you’d lead him in the right direction instead of the wrong one.”
“Who’s to say what’s right and what’s wrong? You?”
Lee used the ball of his thumb and forefinger to rub the moisture from the corners of his eyes. “I can see I’ve failed you, Son. I’m awful sorry about that.”
