by Annie Boone
That one caught her breath. Her stomach churned, and she felt the bile trying to rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down and kept walking. Almost there, Christina told herself, she was almost there.
It was only down the road but it felt like it took forever. She hadn’t realized how shallow her breath was until she stepped inside and inhaled deeply. Her head felt light as she blinked in the dimness and glanced around.
The shop was small and there were only two other people there besides herself and the owner, Maryn. He was talking to the other two men and shot her a curt glance as she entered. She tried to wave for attention, but he turned away. Her relief was short-lived. “Ex-excuse me?” She asked politely. “Hello?” She cleared her throat and tried to speak louder each time. “Excuse me? Might I make a purchase? Please?”
Once her voice was louder, Maryn didn’t have a choice. But he wasn’t happy about having to acknowledge her. “I’m trying to have a conversation. Can’t you see that?”
She took an involuntary step backwards. With a shaky breath, she knew she wouldn’t have any support from the other two men staring at her. It made her uncomfortable and her palms began to sweat. The heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She never did, no matter how often this happened.
“I’m sorry, but I’m in need of some pork. It’s for my uncle.” She hesitated, worried they wouldn’t give her the right amount again. The butcher had shorted her and taken her money last time. “Five pounds, please.”
Maryn scoffed but he took the sale, snatching the money as he handed over the meat. He gave no inclination that he was going to give her the change due and she didn’t know what to do. So, she just left. With the pork wrapped up under her arm, Christina hurried back into the cold. This time the streets were empty and so her walk back to the market and her family was pleasant.
“There you are,” Jane began but started to cough. It was a thick one, and Christina’s smile slipped as she patted her mother’s back in concern. She hadn’t heard anything so terrible in a while, and she glanced around for some water when it suddenly stopped. Her mother chuckled, patting her chest. “I’m sorry about that. I think I’ve had too much fresh air today. Now, did you get the meat?”
Nodding, Christina gave her mother a tight smile. “Yes, I did. There wasn’t any change, I’m afraid.”
“No? Strange. Perhaps things are tight for Maryn,” Jane mused, and turned to her sister. Ruby was shorter than Christina and shrugged. “How strange, and I thought his business was booming. Winter is always a difficult season, however. Thank you, Christina. I think we’re done for the day, Ruby. Shall we pack up?”
Soon they were on their way home. Christina sat on an empty box in the back, watching the town grow smaller in the distance as she rested against her mother’s shoulder. Her mother nudged her. “You’re quieter than usual. What’s wrong, Christina?”
She bit her lip, unable to meet her mother’s gaze. “Oh, it’s nothing, Mother. I was just thinking, well, wondering actually. Was Father an Apache? I know you don’t like talking about him,” Christina straightened and moved on quickly. “I was just wondering because I heard them saying things. You said he was a good man and I’m not sure what to believe.”
Jane squeezed her arm firmly. The concerned expression made the girl bite her tongue and she swallowed hard. “What did they say? Christina, oh, I wish you wouldn’t listen to them. But it’s not your fault. It’s not yours, nor your father’s fault. People can be so cruel, they don’t know what they’re saying.” She brushed the hair from Christina’s face. “No, your father wasn’t an Apache. He was Souix, as a matter of fact. And a gentleman, no matter what they say.”
Christina looked at her mother and blinked, trying to understand it all.
“I don’t talk about him because it hurts. Oh, but I do wish you could have met him. He’d have loved you so much.” Christina’s mother inhaled deeply. “Folks might think they’re good people but wearing the newest bonnets means nothing if they aren’t charitable on the inside. A person’s outward appearance doesn’t matter as much as what’s in their hearts.”
The wagon came to a stop and they were home. Jane grabbed her daughter’s hand before they moved. “Christina, I’m very proud of the young woman you’ve become. You’re a wonderful, wise, and beautiful girl.”
“If I’m so beautiful, why don’t they accept me?”
“The right people will accept you,” her mother assured her. “Trust in God, and you’ll find the love you deserve. Besides me, of course.” She chuckled, and kissed her daughter’s head. “Now let’s go inside.”
She coughed deeply as they clambered out of the wagon and cleaned up the boxes before heading inside. At first Christina thought nothing of that, but by the end of the week her mother could hardly stand up without a coughing fit.
3
Mitchell
“Whoa, there!” Mitchell Powell pulled on his horse’s reins to bring them to a stop. Standing straight up in the saddle, the tall man looked about warily. He thought he’d seen some movement but couldn’t be certain. Glancing at the horse, he watched his head turn and his ears flick. Until they stopped, and the horse pawed the ground impatiently, ready to move again. “Are you certain?” he asked his horse with a chuckle. “Well, if you say so. Hiyah!”
The Appaloosa was young and loved the wide-open country. It was the middle of winter but the sun had been out and melted much of the snow in the last two days. He loosened the reins and leaned in, letting the animal take the lead as they headed down the trail. It was good for the horse to stretch his legs and get a feel for the ground below them.
With the sharp chill in the air, his eyes watered as they sped over the land. But he didn’t mind, used to the cold. Granted, he allowed, it was still colder than he thought it would be. And they said the worst of winter was already over. Yet if the town of Rocky Ridge could survive a Colorado winter every year, so could he.
It was a nice town, even nicer than Colorado Springs and Boston combined. Mitchell and his horse followed the path through the avenue and they rounded the last of herd in the east before making it back to Harrison. The old man was slumped in his saddle, smoking and humming some old song as he glanced about warily.
“Any sign of them Injuns?” Harrison grumbled.
Mitchell shook his head. “Of course not. They aren’t what we need to worry about. We just need to make sure our horns stay with the herd this time around.”
With a heavy sigh, the man tugged on his scarf and pulled it up over his mouth. His thick mustache was tinged with white frost. Shaking his head, the old man grumbled something under his breath. Mitchell raised his eyebrow at the man who made a face and turned his horse to the side. His muffled voice was louder this time. “You can take a break. Go to town, do what you want. Just get out of here. I got the herd for the evening.”
“Watch by yourself?” Mitchell shook his head. “I don’t think that’s wise. Besides, there’s no reason for me to go into town. I don’t know what I would do there anyway.”
But the man was obstinate. “The twins are headed back any minute and will help me keep watch for the night. You’ve been working mornings, nights, everything. At least take the rest of the day off. Then you can sleep with the cows for all I care. But right now, you’re not working.”
For a minute, Mitchell considered arguing. Why, if he needed to, he could take the old man. He was tough and good with a gun, but the other man hadn’t wrestled or been in a fight in years. Just as his fists were clenching, the younger man realized he was being ridiculous. Harrison was trying to be generous by giving him some time away from the trail. “Fine,” he muttered, and turned his horse away.
Their enthusiasm dampened as they headed into town, the man and his ride. He wandered through the streets, keeping his head low and his collar high. Rocky Ridge was small, but it was spread out and full of vibrant colors. If there was any nice place on Earth, Mitchell decided, this could be
it. But all the same, he didn’t think testing the limits would be the best move.
A mercantile caught his eye, and that reminded him he needed some buttons. Grudgingly he brought the horse to a stop and climbed down. Mitchell carefully eyed his surroundings, making sure he and his horse wouldn’t have a reason for leaving in a hurry. “Stay put,” he ordered, and was just grabbing his hat to put it back on his head when he caught sight of two children with their mother passing him on the street.
It would have been an ordinary sight had the boy not suddenly dropped his mouth wide open with a stare. Mitchell met his gaze, and he felt the slight glimmer of excitement of being in town fade away. Even after all this time, no matter where he went, some things just never changed. Staring wasn’t necessarily mean and not even a crime, but it had a way of tying his stomach in knots and making him feel ashamed.
Turning up his collar again, he pulled the hat back down and looked away. That way, Mitchell’s face would be completely hidden from the boy’s view. A moment later, he could hear the mother talking to her children, telling them to move along. Soon they were gone, and it was as though it had never happened. Almost.
Mitchell thought seriously about turning around. He didn’t really need to be here. But he was right there at the shop, and he knew he needed to get it over with. In and out, he told himself, and all would be fine. Then he’d back on the job where he belonged. His team knew him and accepted him as he was.
Still, he kept the hat on when he stepped inside. For a moment, he stood quietly and took in the cinnamon scent and enjoyed being somewhere else besides a campfire site with his countrymen. Sometimes he forgot how nice it could be when people settled down. Moving around in the store, Mitchell leaned down and traced a glove over a few ribbons. Perhaps he could get a few for his mother?
He stopped. It had happened again. He dropped his hand and moved away. It was the one thing he had enjoyed about going into towns during the cattle drives over the years. The ability to always find something new to send to his mother back in Boston was a treat. He’d left home when he was sixteen and liked to find little gifts to mail so she knew he hadn’t forgotten her.
But just about a year ago, she’d grown sick and he’d lost her. His mother didn’t need ribbons in Heaven.
“They’re pretty nice, eh? Better than what you can find in Colorado Springs, any day.” A voice sounded beside him, and Mitchell froze. Another man, a few years older than himself, looked at him with a grin as he picked up a spool. “Do you think this is pink enough?”
Mitchell didn’t understand him for a minute. “I, um, I suppose.” Shifting his weight onto the other foot, he shrugged hesitantly. “But I wouldn’t know.”
The man laughed, making his hat only sit more crookedly than before on his head. “Neither would I. I always tell Eleanor if she really insists on me going out to make the purchases, she needs to be happy with what I bring home. That is, unless she isn’t happy and that’s when I come back and trade things out,” he winked. “I’m Matthew, by the way. Matthew Connor. How are you?”
Shaking his hand, Mitchell waited for the inevitable moment of staring, but the man hardly seemed to notice. “Hello. I’m Mitchell. Mitch Powell.”
“Good to meet you,” Matthew tipped his hat with a grin and after a moment of glancing at the options, he traded the spool for a softer pink. “This should do,” he proclaimed after inspecting it carefully. “That way, if little Susie tries putting her ribbons on my cattle again, then they’ll still look mighty fine.” And he laughed like it was a joke, slapping his knee.
“You work a herd here?” Mitchell glanced around curiously. “Where’s your spread? I didn’t think there was a lot out here.”
Matthew shrugged. “Oh, there’s plenty. This part of town, that’s only half the folks. Now my place is a little closer towards Colorado Springs, so I don’t come this way too often. But there’s plenty of space in these hereabouts. You just passing through?”
They started to walk around, and Mitchell spotted the collection of buttons. “Yes,” he nodded after a moment. “I’m driving a herd through. Job closes in Wyoming, and we should be heading out tomorrow, I believe.”
“Have you worked them for a while?” Matthew asked curiously. “I haven’t seen any other folks bringing their horns around here lately. At least not in this weather.”
He smiled wryly. “It’s a little mad, I know. Our foreman, Nichols, is as green as summer grass and thought we could move more slowly and make it work. I told him several times we’d need to beat the snow, but I’m afraid there’s no moving some folks.”
Matthew nodded knowingly. “I’ve been there. That’s why you’ve got to eventually go to work for yourself. It’s harder, but at least your problems are all your own. Have you any plans after Wyoming? Are you waiting on another herd, or what?”
That sort of question arose often enough, but Mitchell just shrugged. It was the west, after all. “I’ve got a few prospects. I’m not certain, but there’s always a job somewhere.”
“Five yards, please,” Matthew grinned at the man at the register and eyed Mitchell curiously for a moment. There was something about the man, his ease of conversation and casual enthusiasm. Mitchell wasn’t sure if he’d ever met a man who appeared so relaxed. “Then how about you come work for me?”
4
Christina
They caught the pneumonia too late, and within two weeks Christina’s Uncle Steven prepared a plot for Jane Bristol beneath their old apple tree. There was a small grave marker beside it, one for her father as well. It was only a small cross made of sticks, not even a name in case others saw it. No one would have let it stay up if they knew who was buried there.
Two weeks passed, and Christina found herself frequently returning to the two graves. Her aunt and uncle gave her time and solitude, only making sure she was inside after dark. If she wasn’t inside cooking, then that’s where she would be.
“Christina! Supper time!”
She offered a shrug to show she’d heard, but didn’t turn towards the house. The sky was overcast and she could hardly make out her mother’s name carved out on the tree. Kneeling beside it, she traced her fingers over the name. She was becoming numb with the realization that her mother was gone.
“Dear?” Her aunt came up behind her. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Christina’s throat constricted. Food was the last thing from her mind. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not hungry.” Her mother wouldn’t be at the table, telling her what a good cook she was. Her mother wouldn’t be there to help clean up afterwards. Just the idea of eating made her feel ill.
“But…” Her aunt hesitated, and gingerly set a hand on her shoulder. It was a pale hand that only reminded Christina of her mother. “Sweetheart, you haven’t eaten anything today. Please, it’s going to rain so let’s get you inside. For me?”
Several moments passed until Christina relented. She stood up without the offered hand and stepped right out of reach. The warm touch had become unfamiliar to her, and she crossed her arms so that her Aunt Ruby wouldn’t try to interlink them with hers. The walk back to the house felt long and it began to rain before they made it.
“There’s my two ladies,” Steven chuckled, coming forward with cloths. “Let’s get you nice and dry for supper, shall we?” He handed them over. She listened to them laugh as she slowly patted herself dry and forced herself to eat a few bites before retiring for the evening.
Just as she was curling up on the bed, there was a knock at her door. Christina curled up into a ball, holding her mother’s pillow. “Yes?” She sighed only wanting to be alone.
“It’s Uncle Steven,” he called. “I wanted to see if you’d like to join us at church tomorrow? It should be a nice day. And you haven’t been since… well, in a while,” the man finished awkwardly.
Christina pushed her hair out of her face. Dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes, all of which set her apart from just about every person in town. All her life they’d
watched and judged her. The only comfort she’d had was returning to her mother’s side who assured her that she was a good human being with a good heart, and that they weren’t right. Her heart was what truly mattered.
How could she go into town with no one to protect her from the stares? The mere idea made her hiccup and she bit her lip, burrowing deeper beneath her blanket. Her aunt and uncle were good people, but they didn’t know how to protect her.
“No,” she called out. “I’ll watch the farm. Good night.” Then Christina laid there through the night, trying to get some rest. No matter how much time she spent in bed, it never seemed to be enough sleep. Every day she grew more exhausted, and by the time she awoke on Sunday, her aunt and uncle had already left for Sunday services.
Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she wandered around the house. It was a nice house, one that Steven’s parents had built. Ruby had married him when Christina was ten years old, and he had brought in all three women. He was a good man, with a good home. Ruby was fortunate. And in turn, Christina knew that she was.
She just couldn’t feel it anymore. She was too miserable to feel fortunate, even to feel sad anymore. A lump formed in her throat, and there was a small realization in the back of her mind that things were bad. Though her aunt and uncle were managing their pain, she was not. Sniffling, Christina turned back to her room.
Although the plan was to return under the blankets, she noticed her mother’s Bible on the table and picked it up before falling onto the pillow. A small spark of inspiration hit, and Christina wondered if the words might provide her some comfort. She had just opened the book when a piece of paper fell out. Frowning, she picked it up.
It looked like part of a newspaper, a clipping that had been carefully placed in there. Christina was confused, having never noticed it before though her mother had been the one to read aloud when they were together.
