Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  “What’s that?” Buck said, being pulled away from his thoughts.

  “The geese,” Al said. “This is one of their main flyways. They come here by the thousands this time of year.” Buck nodded.

  He was a little reluctant, but after a minute or so, he asked, “How can I get across the river, Al? It looks almost impossible.”

  “There’s a crossing barge about four miles north of here. That’s where I’m headed. It’s expensive to use, costs fifty cents for a man and his horse.” Buck nodded, acknowledging the stranger’s information.

  “If you’ve a mind, we could ride there together,” Al said. “There’s plenty of daylight left, and there’s a campsite near the barge landing.” The men turned their horses and headed north alongside the mighty Mississippi.

  The river crossing was more than a barge. The first thing that caught Buck’s eye was a fair-size log cabin with a wide front porch sitting atop the embankment facing the river. Sitting on the porch in a rocking chair was a woman who appeared to be sewing. Not far north of the cabin was a corral with six mules in it. Buck found out later they were used to pull the barge back after it was floated down-stream during a round trip crossing.

  “The lady sitting in the rocker is Ellie. Some folks call her Mississippi Ellie,” Al said. “She’s been sitting on that porch for years selling folks her goods before they board the barge. She uses her cabin like an outpost, but it only has a few items in it. She sells folks garden things she grows and sometimes has salted-down chicken and pork products she’s raised. She always has catfish and turtle meat her son gets from the river, and occasionally, she’s got a squirrel or ’coon—even had buffalo meat for sale one time when I was passing through.”

  “I’ll be needing some more vittles before long,” Buck said. “Are there any stores west of the crossing with a better selection?”

  “I don’t know of any west of here, not for a four or five-day ride anyway. There may be something further on, but I ain’t sure.” After a pause, Al continued. “There’re a couple stores with a bigger supply in the riverboat town farther north of here. That’s where I’m headed. It only takes a mite over a day’s ride to get there, once you cross the river.”

  Buck thought on the matter. “How often do the river boats come by, Al?”

  “It ain’t a-for-sure schedule,” he answered. “The boats make round trips from St. Louis to New Orleans, and I ain’t sure how many boats there are, but you can normally catch a northbound every week or so. I suppose the southbound is about the same.”

  Just before they got to Ellie’s cabin, Al turned away from the river and led the way over a tree-covered ridge to a good-sized field of grass. Along the field’s western edge were dots of ashes from bygone fires and piles of firewood the crossing barge provided to travelers who used their service. Not far from the wood piles was a long hitching rail suitable for several horses.

  After removing the horses’ gear and taking them to grass, Buck started for the cabin, looking into the setting sun’s orange reflection off the river. “Howdy, Ma’am,” Buck said tipping his hat as he approached. “The sunset off the water sure is pretty, ain’t it?”

  The woman didn’t respond in any way. No words, no expression, which surprised Buck. He was expecting a greeting of some kind. A long minute passed before he started again. “I’m planning on taking your barge across the river come morning, so I’m in need of a place to spend the night. I’d be obliged if you allowed me to use your campsite, I’ll pay if there’s a charge.” Again, Buck didn’t get a reaction from the woman. Nervously, he said, “I’ve already settled in a mite, ma’am. I’ve piled my gear near the fire pits, and my horses are already eating your grass.”

  “I watched you ride in, young man. May I ask your name and where you’re from?”

  Buck was taken aback. He was expecting a Southern drawl, and a homespun Mississippi dialect from the woman, but instead, she spoke like an educated person from the north. Locks of dark brown hair hung from around her navy-blue bonnet, which shaded a quite attractive face. He could tell she was a tall woman even though she was sitting down, and her gray dress indicated a slim body. Buck guessed her age to be in the mid-forties. “Folks call me Buck, ma’am,” he said after a long pause. “I’m from Alabama.”

  She looked at Buck with beady eyes. “I’ll not call you Buck. What is your Christian name, young man?” Rather nervously, Buck said, “My ma named me Josiah Johnson, ma’am.”

  “I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Josiah. My name is Luella Duty.”

  “Al told me folks around here call you Ellie. Is it suitable to call you Ellie, ma’am?”

  “Not if you want me to answer.”

  “Then what should I call you?”

  “I would suggest Mrs. Duty, since I’m several years your senior, and it’s my proper name.”

  “Yes, ma’am…Mrs. Duty.”

  “I saw you ride in with Al. Is he a friend of yours?”

  “No, ma’am. I met up with him along the river a few miles back. We rode here together, but I don’t know anything about him.”

  “I know a great deal about him, Josiah,” she blurted out under a furrowed forehead, “and I’m glad you’re not associated with him. He’s a scoundrel…a man of low morals. He’d steal from his own mother if given a chance. And besides, he’s a greenhorn who wants people to think he’s a great western gun-slinger, wearing a tied-down pistol and dressing in those fancy western duds with jingling spurs.”

  “It sounds like he’s been here before and done something terrible to you, Mrs. Duty.” Buck paused for a long minute, took on a wide smile, and then said, “He does look like a western dude, ma’am.”

  The scowl left her face. “Perhaps, I did exaggerate things a little, but he does have a reputation of stealing and not keeping his word.” After a pause, she continued, “If I were you, I’d sever my association with him as soon as possible.”

  “That’ll be happening come morning, Mrs. Duty. He’s heading north where he can catch a riverboat going to St. Louis, and I’ll be going west.”

  She gave a satisfied nod.

  Both sat in silence looking at the day’s last glimmer of light. When the sun had totally hidden, Mrs. Duty rose and said, “Excuse me while I go inside and fix us a cup of coffee. You do drink coffee, don’t you, Josiah?”

  Buck nodded, and his eyes brightened. “I’d be obliged to help you, ma’am, if you need any. Maybe to fetch water or firewood?”

  “That won’t be necessary. William filled the wood box and carried in two buckets of water earlier.” By the time Mrs. Duty returned holding two cups of steaming coffee, Buck was sitting in a straight chair he’d gotten at the far end of the porch. “The coffee is mighty tasty, ma’am, just the way I like it, strong and steaming hot.” She smiled as she thanked him for the compliment.

  “Who’s William, Mrs. Duty?” Buck asked after a couple more swallows.

  “He’s my son,” she said. “He manages the barge crossings.”

  “How old is he, ma’am?”

  “He’s about your age. He’ll be twenty-one in a few months,” she said with a serious expression.

  “That can’t be,” Buck said.

  “And why not?” she asked.

  “You don’t look old enough to have a twenty-one-year-old son, ma’am,” Buck said, trying to get on her good side.

  Her eyes were smiling as she said, “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, young man.” They both grinned and reached for their cups.

  “Where is he, ma’am. Where’s your son?”

  “He always runs his traps this time of day. He has several ground and river traps that keep him busy when he’s not running the barge.”

  “I’ll be obliged to meet him tomorrow, ma’am when I cross the river.”

  She nodded. “You said you were from Alabama, Josiah. What did you do there and why are you going west?”

  Buck spent the next several minutes telling her about the cotton farm, what
happened to his family, his time in the war, and about the Andersonville prison. He told her about returning to his farm after the war and finding a black family living in his house.

  “I take it you were a Union soldier, Josiah,” she said as they sat in the darkness with only a soft glimmer of moonlight.

  “Yes, ma’am. You may not agree with me, but I can’t understand what the color of a person’s skin has to do with their God-given rights, so I fought for their freedom.”

  “You did the right thing, Josiah. I feel the same as you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “What did you do with your farm, Josiah? It’s obvious you have no intention of going back to it.” she asked.

  He explained he’d given it to Na’man and moved on because he wanted to get away from the bad memories associated with the farm and that part of the country. He said the west seemed to be the best place to go.

  Minutes later she rose. “Let’s go inside, Josiah, where I can light a couple of candles and fix us a bite to eat. We’ve talked past supper time.”

  “That’s awful kind of you, Ma’am, but I don’t want to be no bother. I’ve got grub in my food sack out yonder.”

  “You’re no bother, Josiah. It’s seldom I get to talk with a nice young man like you, other than my son, so I’m grateful to feed you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Buck said as he followed her inside and sat down in a table-chair she’d pointed to. She sure ain’t what I was expecting. Al said she was rude to everyone, but it seems to me like she’s taken a liking to me.

  When she removed her bonnet, he could tell her hair was long because of the size of her tightly wound bun. It was nearly on top of her head. After serving him a second cup of coffee, Buck watched her scurry about the fireplace preparing their food while humming, occasionally adding soft words to the tune.

  She asked Buck to bless the food before it was passed, which he did, incorporating words he’d heard Na’man say many times. The meal was delicious.

  As they sat drinking coffee in the twinkling candlelight, Buck said, “I’ve told you a great deal about myself, Mrs. Duty. May I ask you something about yourself?”

  “I suppose so, Josiah, as long as it’s not too embarrassing,” she said with a smile. “What do you want to ask me?”

  “Please don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way, ma’am, and if you think it’s none of my business just say so, but what’s a woman of your education and sophistication doing in a place like this? A backwoods cabin on the bank of the Mississippi River.”

  Silence gripped the table for a long minute. When she raised her head, her eyes were watery.

  “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to stir up bad memories.”

  “That’s all right, Josiah. I’m glad you did. Maybe talking about my past and why I’m stuck here will console me, give me a little peace. I’ve never spoken to anyone about it before.” She wiped her eyes and went for more coffee, even though their cups were nearly full.

  “My son and I have been here for eleven years. It’s not what either of us has wanted, but he won’t leave me here alone and go on with his life.” She paused as she wiped her eyes again. “For some reason, I’ve never had the courage to get on with my life, with what I’ve wanted to do my entire life.”

  “What’s that, ma’am? What have you always wanted to do?”

  “I’m a teacher, Josiah. At least I was when we lived in Philadelphia, and I’ve always wanted to teach underprivileged children in the Southwest part of the country, maybe even Indian children.” She paused again, gathering more memories. “Bill, my husband, was employed as a manager of a mercantile, and like me, had an adventurous mind, wanting to explore the west, so in ’54 when our son was ten years old, we both quit our jobs and headed west. After traveling on several small rivers, including the Cherokee, we came to the Ohio River and floated down it for several days until we came to Cairo, Illinois. We stopped there for a few days to purchase supplies and rest up. Cairo is where the Ohio dumps into the Mississippi, so my husband hired Captain Mike and his raft in Cairo to take us south to a point where we could buy a wagon and a team of horses and continue our westward journey. There were very few steam-powered riverboats at that time.”

  Mrs. Duty reached for her cup and sat holding it as she looked into the unknown. Buck knew she was near the end of her life’s story, but she seemed to have stalled, not wanting to continue with her painful memories. She needs to finish the story, he thought. She needs to get it out of her system. So, he pushed her to the finish. “What happened, Mrs. Duty? What happened to your husband? Why are you stuck here?”

  She wiped her eyes and after glaring at Buck for a few seconds said, “It was in the early morning on the fifth day after leaving Cairo, when Captain Mike shouted that we were about to hit a large snag sticking up in the river he couldn’t avoid. When we hit, the jolt threw us all from the raft, which was a blessing in a way because the raft immediately broke apart. I thought sure we’d all drown, but the captain saved William and me by pulling us to one of the raft’s logs which eventually floated to shore.” She paused. “This all happened not far from where we now sit.”

  “What happened to your husband, Mrs. Duty?” Buck asked.

  She glared for a long minute. “After the captain swam to shore, the three of us looked for him, thinking we’d find him alive, but after a five-day search, we concluded he’d been swallowed up by the river and was dead.” She took another swallow of coffee and said, “That was eleven years ago, and I still feel like I don’t belong here. Like I’m a stranger living in this wilderness.”

  The two had been sitting in silence for quite a spell when Buck suddenly said, “Why don’t you and William join me in my travels to Arizona or New Mexico, Mrs. Duty? Put the painful past of this old river behind you?”

  Her face became sober and shaking her head she said, “I can’t leave here, Josiah. People depend on the barge crossing. All I have in this world is here.”

  “That’s just another excuse, Mrs. Duty.” Buck reached across the table and put his hand on top of hers. “Why don’t you let go of those terrible memories that happened here eleven years ago and get on with your life? The memories of your husband will stay with you no matter where you are.”

  Mrs. Duty looked up into his eyes and through sobs said, “Someday, Josiah…maybe someday.”

  Buck rose, thanked her for her food and hospitality, and headed for his bedroll. He’d be on the barge tomorrow, crossing the river into Louisiana.

  Chapter Twelve

  Buck got to the landing a few minutes early the next morning and watched William prepare the barge for the morning’s crossing. After he had things organized, he waved Buck on board with his two horses. Buck tied his horses to the barge’s side-rail and then introduced himself. “My name’s Buck. At least that’s what folks call me. I spent last evening talking with your ma, and she told me your name. Glad to make your acquaintance, William.” The men shook hands.

  “Mom enjoyed your visit. She said you were heading to New Mexico or Arizona and tried to get us to go with you.”

  “Yes, I did,” Buck answered. “I’m hoping to get rid of bad war memories, and it sounded to me like you, and your ma, need to shed yourselves of some memories of the past, too.”

  “You’re right,” William said, “but I can’t get her to leave this place.”

  “Don’t give up. She’ll give in someday.”

  William nodded.

  After a few more minutes of small talk, Al rode up. William took on a sour face and waved him on board. After Al tied his horse, William untied the barge rope from a shore log and then walked to the front where he picked up a long pole to help him guide the barge. Buck was awe stricken as the barge got underway. Being on a small craft on the mighty river watching the river’s current swirl past with an occasional log or other debris was unnerving. William’s experience shone as he stood at ease in the front guiding the raft across the water with grac
e by pushing his long pole on the river’s bottom which concluded with a perfect shore landing. As the two travelers left the barge, they said their goodbyes and headed out, Al riding north alongside the river’s dry bank, and Buck riding due west over a stretch of grass-covered, level ground toward a high-up levy a half mile ahead.

  When Buck topped the levy, he stopped in disbelief. The land ahead of him was filled with marshes and swamps. In fact, it looked to Buck as if the wet bogs covered as much of the area as the dry land, which would make traveling through it very difficult.

  Buck took his time, not wanting his horses to step in a sinkhole and sprain their legs or injure themselves in some other way. If he was in doubt about the safety of a route, he took another, which often meant he had to backtrack, sometimes as much as a mile or two. Travel was extremely slow. A time or two he considered turning back to the river, but he stayed determined and stuck to his course.

  What appeared to be firm, grassy ground was actually a spongy soft surface that caused the horses’ hooves to sink three or four inches with every stride. This made traveling very strenuous for the animals, and they stopped more frequently than normal. As usual, Buck tried to find a patch of grass for the horses to feed on, along with dry wood to make coffee. During the stops, he saw various animal tracks in the soft ground. Raccoon, rabbit, opossum, and coyote. On a couple of stops, he saw large cougar prints and once he eyed bear tracks. Water snakes slithered about, and bugs were constantly attaching themselves to any exposed skin, but the pesky mosquitoes were the most bothersome with their constant biting.