by Janet Dailey
“It’s time to leave,” she guessed.
He nodded shortly. “I’ll bring the wagon around while you dress. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“All right,” she sighed, but he was already walking to the door.
The ungainly covered wagon lumbered into camp while the morning was still new. The scene awaiting Lorna had grown very familiar to her. The highly functional chuck wagon with its sideboards for storing the cowboys’ bedrolls and chuck box at the tail end was set up for business. A couple of drovers were hunkered down by the fire, nursing cups of coffee. Over by the Stanton wagon, Mary was washing clothes. She had assumed the role of camp laundress during the drive, a chore that usually went to the cook.
When the wagon rattled to a stop, Ely put aside the harness he was repairing and came over to give Benteen a hand with the team. With the brake set, Benteen swung to the ground and turned back to place a steadying hand on Lorna’s waist as she climbed down from the wagon seat.
“Thought you might want to know, Benteen”—Ely kept busy with the team, not pausing while he spoke—“me and Mary have talked it over. We’d like to go on with you to Montana an’ maybe file on a piece of land there. I can run a few cows an’ maybe work for you on the side.”
“I’ll be needing a few riders,” was all Benteen said in response.
Lorna heard it all and stared at the two men in numbed amazement. How could they treat such an important decision so calmly? They could have been discussing the weather. She picked up her skirts and hurried across to the Stanton wagon. Mary had squeezed the water out of the last shirt and turned to set it with the others to be spread out on the grass to dry.
“Is it true?” Lorna didn’t wait for Mary to turn around. “Are you coming with us?”
Mary’s face beamed with a warm smile when she faced Lorna. “It’s true.”
But Lorna couldn’t take the news as calmly as everyone else seemed to be doing. With a laugh of delight, she gave Mary a quick hug.
“I can’t believe it!” she declared. “I was hoping you’d come. What changed your mind?”
Although Mary was smiling, there was a serious light in her eyes. “A combination of things,” she admitted. “I finally realized Ely would never be happy being a farmer. He was trying to please me because he felt he’d let me down by not providing a home for us. I was a farmer’s daughter for so many years that I thought I should be a farmer’s wife. All along I’ve been trying to change Ely from a cowboy into a farmer. A man’s work is his pride. You can’t take it from him or you haven’t got a man anymore.”
“I don’t believe you really meant to do anything like that.” Lorna refused to think ill of her friend.
“Not consciously, but I did. And I discovered I had pride, too,” Mary added. “Going back to my relatives in Ioway would be the same as saying we didn’t have what it takes to make it out here.”
“But you do,” Lorna insisted.
“Once I was the one reassuring you,” Mary pointed out wryly. “I’ve never had a real friend before, Lorna. I guess the last reason is you.”
Both of them were on the verge of tears. “If the last half of this trip is like the first, maybe we should paint a sign on our wagon like the fortyniners did,” Lorna suggested in an emotionally tight voice. “‘Montana or Bust.’”
16
The Western Trail angled north out of Dodge City, cutting across the western end of Kansas and taking aim on Ogallala and its railhead on the southern end of the Nebraska sandhills. From there the trail swung west to Cheyenne and the Wyoming Territory north of it.
The herd of two-thousand-plus Longhorns, their numbers depleted by the sale of three hundred steers, was a week out of Dodge City. Since they were handling fewer cattle, Benteen hadn’t hired more trailhands to take Jonesy and Andy Young’s places. The herd was trailing kindly, so his present crew would be able to handle them.
Benteen was scouting ahead on the trail to choose a site to bed the cattle for the night. It was a sweltering July afternoon in the sun. There wasn’t any change on the flat prairie. It seemed they had traveled for miles without seeing a tree. Behind him, the herd made a dust cloud on the horizon.
Off to his left, he heard the distant clatter of a wagon. His gaze swung toward the sound. A pair of mules was pulling a high-sided wagon across the prairie. It looked like a Conestoga with the canvas removed. Some homesteader had probably hauled his family west in it, then converted it for farm use. Not wanting any trouble with farmers if it could be avoided, Benteen reined his horse toward the wagon to intercept it before it reached the herd.
The man pulled in his mules when Benteen rode up. The unrelenting Kansas sun had burned the farmer’s face to a ruddy shade. His eyes were sunken and dull, resigned to his constant war with nature.
“Hot day, isn’t it?” Benteen remarked idly, and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeved forearm.
“Always is. You with that trail herd?” The man spoke in chopped sentences, as if complete ones required too much effort.
“It’s my herd,” he acknowledged. “The name’s Calder. Benteen Calder.”
“Got a place off the trail.” The farmer gestured over his shoulder. “Water in the crick, and grass. Welcome to bed ’em there. Missus and me be needin’ fuel for the winter.”
Dried cow and buffalo manure was often referred to as “prairie coal.” Where trees were scarce, it was the only source of fuel. With a little bacon rind for kindling, it burned with a hot flame.
“I’ll ride over and take a look,” Benteen said.
“Hail took my crop a week back.” Which explained why he was willing to let the cattle graze on his land. They couldn’t damage a crop already destroyed.
Handling the team like the veteran driver she’d become, Lorna followed the chuck wagon to the site Benteen had selected for the night’s camp. The wagons were going to be positioned between the herd and the farmer’s homestead, a hundred yards away.
Their route took them close to the farmer’s home. It was the first time Lorna had seen a sod house, although she’d heard about them. She couldn’t help staring at the strange-looking structure with tufts of grass sticking out between layers of earth. The door and windows were framed with wood and the roof appeared to be a combination of brush, earth, and poles.
A woman was standing in the doorway of the primitive cabin, halted in the act of wiping her hands on the long apron around her waist. Lorna raised a hand and waved to her. Suddenly the woman started running toward the wagon.
“Stop!” she cried out. “Please, stop!”
The woman sounded so desperate that Lorna thought she needed help and hauled back on the reins to stop the team. Tears were streaming down the woman’s face as she ran alongside the wagon. Her hand was reaching out to Lorna while she continued to sob breathlessly for her to stop.
When the wagon rumbled to a halt, Lorna climbed quickly down. “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously as the woman stood and covered her mouth with a hand.
“Thank you.” It came out in a muffled sob, as her hand made a tentative gesture toward Lorna as if she wanted to touch her.
“What is it?” Lorna asked again, and glanced toward the sod home, wondering if someone was sick or hurt.
“I’m sorry.” A laugh bubbled through her sobs. “It’s just been so long … since I’ve seen another white woman.”
A cold shiver went down Lorna’s spine at the explanation. My God, what kind of life was it that reduced a woman to tears at the sight of another woman?
“You probably think I’m crazy.” The woman brought her hands together and clasped them in a prayerful attitude at her breast. “But I just couldn’t let you go by … without talking. Alfred never mentioned there were any women with the trail herd.” She glanced sideways as Mary came up to see what was wrong. “Alfred’s my husband. I thought I was seeing things when you waved to me. I thought this emptiness had finally driven me crazy.”
&n
bsp; Her words were tumbling out, rushing over themselves in her anxiety. Lorna was torn with pity for the woman, and a little frightened by the picture she painted, too.
“You aren’t imagining things,” Lorna promised. “This is Mary Stanton, and I’m Lorna Calder.”
“My name’s Emma Jenkins.” She suddenly raised a hand to the frizzy wisps of hair that had escaped from the carelessly gathered bun. “Gracious, I must look a sight.”
Lorna guessed that the woman had ceased to care about her appearance, probably discouraged by the dark hollows under her eyes and the thinness of her face. She made a vow to herself that she would never let it happen to her.
“It’s this land, you know,” Emma Jenkins insisted with a resentful glance at the lonely prairie that stretched from horizon to horizon. “The wind moans so.”
Benteen came riding back to find out what was holding up the two wagons. His horse stopped a few feet short of the women and did a sidestepping dance under him.
“What’s the problem?” His glance traveled over the three on the ground.
“Mrs. Jenkins, I’d like you to meet my husband, Benteen Calder.” Lorna tactfully ignored his question and introduced them instead.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jenkins.” With a nod, he touched his fingers to the front of his hat brim.
The excitement of the moment had made the woman so highly emotional that all her reactions were exaggerated. Now it was guilt and remorse that claimed her. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I detained your wife,” she admitted anxiously. “I know you’re wanting to set up camp for the night, and I’m keeping you.”
“I’m glad you stopped us,” Lorna said. “It’s given us a chance to thank you for letting us camp here.”
“Would you…?” She started to put the question to Lorna, then turned eagerly to Benteen. “Would you and your wife please come eat with us tonight?” Swinging to Mary, she included her, too. “And you and your husband, Mrs. Stanton? It would be so wonderful having company … and someone to talk to in the evening. Oh, please come.”
“We’d be proud to come,” Lorna assured her. It nearly made her cry to see how hungry Emma Jenkins was for company.
Mary was more aware of the strain feeding four extra mouths could put on the food supplies of a frontier family. “We wouldn’t want you to go to extra work for us,” she said in mild protest. “Maybe it would be better if we came to visit after the evening meal.”
“Please, I want you to come,” Emma Jenkins insisted. “We have a nasty old rooster who pecks my little girl every time she goes outside. It’s been begging to have its neck wrung for a long time.”
“As long as you’re sure …” Mary accepted with reluctance.
“I am.” The woman became happy again.
The thick earthen walls of the sod house kept the interior cool even on the hottest day, yet the air inside was dank and musty, like a cave. There were old newspapers on the walls to add some lightness to the rooms. A thread-worn carpet covered the dirt floor, and a brightly colored patchwork quilt lay atop the straw-filled mattress on the wooden bed frame in the corner. Muslin was tacked to the windows for curtains, and a large traveling trunk had been converted into an infant’s bed. A second trunk was pulled up to a crude table with two chairs. Additional seats were provided by two boxes.
Despite the little touches that tried to turn it into a home, it seemed a cheerless place to Lorna. There were water stains on the carpet that indicated the roof leaked. And the pieced-together strip of bright gingham on the table looked very much like a skirt from an old dress. But the table was set with beautiful flo-blue china, an odd symbol of luxury amid such rude surroundings.
Emma Jenkins was wearing her best dress, a rather plain dark blue dress made for serviceability rather than looks, and her light brown hair was slicked back in a neat bun. Her towheaded daughter kept hiding behind her, sucking earnestly on her thumb and peering apprehensively at the four strangers in the house.
“Can’t you say hello to our company, Elizabeth?” Emma tried to coax her two-year-old daughter to stop clinging to her legs, but little Elizabeth hid her face. “I’m sorry,” Emma apologized to them. “I’m afraid she’s shy. She’s never seen anybody that she can remember except Alfred and me.”
“Children that age are naturally shy around strangers,” Mary assured her.
“Your china is beautiful,” Lorna complimented.
“Thank you.” Emma beamed. “We brought it all the way from Ohio. And only one plate got broken on the trip.”
“Missus cried for a week, too,” Alfred Jenkins added; even he showed signs of being perked up by the company.
“Please, won’t you all sit down,” Emma invited.
Alfred insisted that Mary and Lorna sit in the two chairs while Ely and Benteen sat on the boxes. Alfred and Emma Jenkins scooched together on the traveling trunk with little Elizabeth on Emma’s lap. In addition to the chicken, there were potatoes, cornbread, and hominy. Before they dished their plates, Alfred bowed his head and said grace.
“Dear Lord, You took our crop, but You gave us fuel for the winter and brought nice folks to our table. We thank You for that. Amen.”
The simple words made Lorna feel very humble. Their eagerness to share what little they had caused her to look twice at herself. She noticed the small helpings of food they took so there would be plenty for everyone else.
Of course, Emma Jenkins was too excited and too busy asking questions to eat. Alfred seemed just as interested to find out what was going on in the world. There was so much crosstalk going on—man to man and woman to woman—that it was surprising any of it made sense.
After the meal, the men went outside to smoke. Emma was appalled when Lorna and Mary offered to help with the dishes. They were company; she couldn’t let them help. She very carefully stacked the china in a pan and insisted she would do them later.
It was dusk when Benteen stepped into the sod house to state it was time they were returning to camp. An emotional Emma hugged them and thanked them for coming. As Lorna walked away with Benteen, she glanced over her shoulder. The woman was standing in the doorway, just as she had seen her the first time. Lorna waved, as she had done before.
This time it was Alfred Jenkins who came hurrying after them. They waited for him to catch up with them. When he did, he spoke low so his voice wouldn’t carry as it so easily did on the flat terrain. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did for my missus by comin’ here tonight.” He spoke in complete sentences, which seemed to show how sincerely moved he was. “She hasn’t smiled in a long time. You helped her. Thank you. That’s all I had to say.” He seemed embarrassed by how much he had said, and turned quickly to retrace his steps to the woman in the doorway.
“Isn’t there something we can do for them, Benteen?” Lorna murmured. “Something more than leaving behind a bunch of cow chips?”
Benteen was a long time replying. “We’ll see what we can do, come morning.”
When they reached camp, Lorna retired directly to her wagon. Besides being all talked out, there were too many things on her mind, mainly a determination that this land wasn’t going to do to her what it had done to that woman, mentally or physically.
She slept alone in the wagon. Since leaving Dodge City, Benteen had spread out a bedroll on the ground with the other drovers. The change in the sleeping arrangements hadn’t gone unnoticed, but no one speculated aloud about the possible reasons.
When Lorna climbed out of the wagon the next morning, her glance went first to the sod house. The scarlet-orange hue of breaking dawn shaded the roof thatched with dirt and willow. She turned her gaze on the lonely grandeur of the plains with a kind of defiance then walked with a free-swinging stride to the chuck wagon for the morning meal.
“What’s with the kid?” Shorty Niles was asking Rusty as she walked up.
Both men slid short glances at Joe Dollarhide, sitting off by himself in a moody silence. Usually he came back for seconds, but the
food on the plate balanced on his knee didn’t appear to have been touched.
“Beats me.” Rusty shrugged, but the grimness of his mouth showed concern. “Last night I offered to let him grind the coffee, but he didn’t want to.”
There was never a shortage of volunteers to grind coffee, since the Arbuckle Coffee Company put a peppermint stick in its one-pound bags. All the cowboys had a sweet tooth, and whoever ground the coffee got the candy. There was obviously something wrong if Joe Dollarhide had turned down his chance.
“Good morning.”
Lorna turned to find Benteen standing behind her, a cup of coffee in his hand. There was an awkward moment when she couldn’t quite meet the dark study of his eyes. He lowered his gaze to take a swallow of coffee, and it was gone.
“How are you this morning?” she asked.
“As well as can be expected, under the circumstances.” His voice was dry, neither condemning nor complaining. She felt the flash of sexual tension and knew exactly what he meant. But he didn’t expect a reply, because he spoke again, this time addressing Shorty. “When you’re through eating, I want you to ride out to the herd. Spanish tells me two cows dropped calves in the night. Give the calves to the Jenkins family.”
“Right.” Shorty nodded and took his plate, moving away to sit on the ground.
“His milk cow should have enough to keep two calves alive,” Benteen said to Lorna. “The Jenkins family will have a beef to butcher this winter.”
“Food as well as fuel,” she said, and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank the cows.” A sunburst of lines radiated briefly from the corners of his eyes.
“Mr. Calder, sir?” Joe Dollarhide set his plate on the ground when he spied Benteen at the chuck wagon. He rose and rubbed his hands down his thighs in a nervous gesture now that he had Benteen’s attention. He approached with a degree of uncertainty.
“What is it, Dollarhide?” Benteen thought he knew. Last night he’d seen the boy gazing at the lighted windows of the sod house with a kind of homesick longing.
