Riding from Memories

by Jim Cox

  He tried to ignore the heat and focus on the beautiful surroundings he was passing through. The tree-covered mountains appearing to be touching the sky, now only a few miles north and east of him, and the multitude of plant species surrounding his path, many he’d become familiar with since living in Arizona. The Hedgehog Cactus, the Brittlebush, the Alligator Juniper, the Barrel Cactus, the Prairie Acacia, and a few more. Once he saw a snake slither around a boulder after a desert toad.

  Buck had been riding up the mountain foothills for about an hour when he came upon a small creek of swift running, cool water. He led Black to the stream and then lay on his chest upstream from him as both got their fill of water. When he rose, he removed his sweat soaked bandanna, rinsed it out in the stream, and wiped his face and neck. As he stood after getting another drink, he thought, I’d better be starting back. I want to take a bath and get my hair and beard trimmed before I visit Kate. He grinned. I’ll wear the blue shirt and black vest I bought yesterday…it’ll look good.

  »»•««

  That evening, Kate introduced Buck to her mother and father when he arrived, but shortly after the introductions her parents excused themselves and went inside, leaving Kate and Buck on the porch.

  The temperature hadn’t let up much, but the house faced east and had two large trees in the front yard shading the porch which helped cool things considerably. A two-person swing hung at one end of the porch, but Kate and Buck sat in rocking chairs next to the front door, drank coffee and ate the delicious apple cobbler Kate had promised back at the cafe. The minutes passed rather quickly as the two spent time getting acquainted, talking about their families, their growing up years, and what their expectations were for the future. Buck’s heart skipped a beat when Kate asked him if he had been in the war. He gave a short summary of his involvement, his Andersonville imprisonment, and the reasons he fought for the Union. He kept to himself his bad war dreams that were still occurring once or twice a week. Kate seemed to be sympathetic and at ease with what she had heard.

  When she returned from getting more coffee, Buck stated what had been on his mind. “Kate, I’m ashamed of it, but I ain’t able to read or write. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. I wanna learn, now that I’ve decided to settle down here in Tucson, but I don’t know of anyone who can learn me. I thought maybe you could give me a couple of names.”

  “I know how to read and write a little, Buck, but I’m not capable of teaching you. There’s the school teacher, but she’s an old grouch and won’t help anyone but those in her classroom. I know of a few people who’ve gone to her for help, but she’s turned ’em away. There may be other folks in town who could teach you, but I can’t think of any off hand. I’ll ask around and keep my ears open for you, Buck.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The August heat was smothering. The wind was dead most of the time, and rains were non-existent. Many folks stayed inside out of the heat as much as possible, but Buck did his best to keep busy. He and one of the smithies had hit it off, so Buck spent time helping him with chores and occasionally shoed a horse. Often, he would eat an early breakfast and then ride through the country while the air was cool and many of the plants were still displaying their early morning blooms. However, no matter where Buck spent his mornings, he always ate his noon meal at the Tucson Café to flirt with Kate.

  Days became weeks and by late September Buck was spending a great deal of his evenings and Sundays with Kate. They went on buggy rides, had picnics, attended barn dances, and went to church together every Sunday. They spent a lot of their time at Kate’s house and often enjoyed a piece of pie or some other desert while sitting in the porch swing. Matters between the two were becoming rather serious and Buck felt sure Kate was thinking of marriage, but he’d made up his mind not to ask her until he had found a good paying job, which meant he needed to be able to read and write, but as yet, he’d found no one to teach him.

  His concern about finding a job did not evolve around marriage only. He was considering his savings, now down to six hundred fifty dollars. Besides, working was what a man did—that’s what his ma and pa had taught him. Buck had spent time searching for employment but nothing was available except for wrangling cattle or staying in a range hut nursing cows—neither job paid much. He visited with Walt at the railroad company several times and the subject of employment always came up, but Walt wouldn’t make an exception concerning Buck’s inability to read and write.

  One October evening when Buck was at Kate’s house, the trees were casting long shadows as the day was coming to a close, while the two sat in silence in the porch swing watching the light turn to darkness. The evening had cooled considerably causing Kate to snuggle closer to Buck with her head on his shoulder. Buck responded by putting his arm around her shoulder, giving a squeeze, and then lightly kissing her forehead. Before he could raise his head, Kate had put her hand on the back of his head and pulled him to her for a lingering kiss. When they parted and their eyes connected, Kate whispered, “I love you, Josiah Johnson.”

  “Thank you, Kate,” Buck responded with smiling eyes, “I love you, too.” And then he pulled her to him for another lengthy kiss.

  The evening passed rather quickly as the two sat hand in hand thinking about what had just taken place. Finally, the silence was broken when Buck said, “I’d better be leaving, sweetheart. It’s getting late and you have to get up early for work.”

  He started to rise, but Kate pulled him back. “Buck, there was a young man in the café this afternoon who overheard me talking about you needing someone to teach you to read and write. We started discussing the matter and he said his mother might be able to help. She lives and teaches at the Indian reservation, got the job a couple of months back.”

  “Isn’t the reservation quite a ways from here, Kate?”

  “It’s twelve to fifteen miles south of here, but I thought it might be worth looking into. If she can’t do the teaching, maybe she’d know of someone who could.” Buck’s eyes brightened.

  “Thanks, Kate. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.” After a goodnight kiss, Buck stepped into the stirrup with a wide grin. Maybe things are starting to come together for me, he thought.

  »»•««

  At the break of dawn, Buck was riding in the chill of the morning a couple miles south of town. The sky was clear with no wind, so Buck knew he was in for another hot day and the sheepskin coat he was wearing would come off before long. He’d not ridden this far south of town before, so the terrain was a bit strange to him. The land had more desert characteristics than the area to the north. The sand was deeper, the plant life was scattered and sparse, and the distant mountains seemed to be smaller.

  Black had caught on to the southern travel and was walking at a fairly

  fast pace while Buck was engulfed in thoughts. Wonder what this teacher is like? Is she really able to teach me along with her normal duties? Will she have time for me? Maybe she ain’t capable of teaching someone like me.

  As miles passed, the mountains took on a southeasterly course and appeared as if they’d cross his path on the distant horizon. A couple hours later, Buck came to the foot of the mountains and was forced to follow a path along the foothills. A little before noon the path swung back to the South and the reservation came into sight, situated on flat terrain alongside a mountain stream. Buck had been told the reservation was for the Apache tribe, but he had never witnessed one of their camps before, so he was unsure what it would be like.

  He soon came to huts lining his path. They were tepee-like structures, made of poles and covered with brush - a few were covered with buffalo robes. Buck learned later the huts were called Wickiups. Children were running about, and women in buckskin dresses were busy cooking. The men sat close by in leather shirts and breechcloths waiting for their meal. A few men and women wore Spanish-style clothing, obviously obtained from Mexicans.

  Staring, black eyes followed the strange white man as he rode by thei
r huts toward the three log buildings at the far end of camp. Buck noticed nearly every hut he passed had strips of meat hanging over a clothes-line type rope, drying in the sun. He continued on toward the buildings, assuming the one with the cross towering from its roof to be a church. The other two were more than likely the reservation agent’s home and the school. When he got near the buildings, he saw a log cabin and a fair size barn behind what looked to be the school, tucked away in a mountain cove with a stream nearby. Buck assumed it was the teacher’s home.

  He tied Black to the school’s hitching rail and went to the door. He very quietly cracked the door, not wanting to disturb the class, and found the room to be empty. Wonder why there’s no one here? I’ll go to the church—the padre may know what’s going on.

  “I’m sorry,” the padre said, “but school is not in session today because of a native holiday. Our teacher and her son have taken a ride into the mountains and won’t be back until evening.”

  “Thank you, Padre,” Buck said. “I’ll have to come back another day.”

  “Would you be the person the young lady at the Tucson café was talking about. The man who wanted to learn to read and write?” the padre asked.

  “Yes, sir. Kate told me she spoke to a man from here about me. Kate’s the waitress at the Tucson Café.”

  “You came sooner than we expected, young man. The teacher told me to tell you, if she wasn’t around, she’d be coming to Tucson this Saturday to do some shopping, and she’d meet you at the Tucson café around noon.”

  “That makes it sound like she might be willing to help me out.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” the padre answered.

  Buck had started to leave but turned back, “Padre, is the teacher any good? Do you think she can learn someone like me to read and write?”

  The padre smiled. “Don’t worry about her ability. She’s one of the best teachers we’ve ever had. The children are learning very quickly.”

  By the time Buck had traveled twenty to thirty minutes north of the reservation, he spoke to Black, as he often did, “It’s time I’m having something to eat, Black, but you’ll have to wait. I’ll give you an extra big feeding of oats when we get home.” Then he twisted around in the saddle and reaching into his saddlebag, retrieved a ham-biscuit Mrs. Brandon had fixed for him. Actually, she’d fixed two.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Buck was up bright and early come Saturday morning, anxious to meet the school teacher and make arrangements to begin classes. The fifteen-mile distance to the reservation was a concern to him, but he was sure something could be worked out, even if he had to ride back and forth every day.

  Buck left the livery earlier than normal and went to the barber for a hair and beard trim, and a good soaking in the bathtub. He wanted to make a good impression on the teacher, starting with his appearance. After his time at the barber shop, he went home and put on clean clothes he’d recently bought, including the black vest and his freshly polished boots.

  By the time he got to the restaurant, it was a few minutes past twelve. Like most Saturdays the town was bustling. The boardwalk benches were full, the hitching rails were jam-packed with brands he recognized and a few he didn’t. An unfamiliar horse and buggy was tied in front of the café. Buck’s stomach tightened and his breath became short. He stood thinking of all the things that could go wrong. He even had thoughts of leaving and not talking with the teacher at all. Finally, he went to the café window and peeked in—the tables were full. Buck recognized everyone except for a lady who had her back toward the window sitting next to Walt. That must be the teacher, Buck thought. She looks pretty tolerable from the back. She’s dressed nice, she’s tall, and she ain’t fat.

  Buck straightened his shoulders, pulled his belt up a mite, pushed the batwings open, and took a couple steps inside, wondering what to do next. Walt saw him.

  “Come on over and meet this nice lady,” Walt called out, waving Buck over.

  When Buck faced the lady, he was speechless. He stood in shock—in disbelief. The lady stood with a similar expression.

  Walt started the introduction, “I’d like you to meet…” The lady cut him short.

  “I’m already acquainted with this young man,” she said as her smile widened. “How are you, Josiah? It’s nice seeing you again,” she said with an outstretched hand.

  Their hands remained together as Buck responded, “I’m fine, Mrs. Duty. I can’t believe you’re here. I thought you’d still be on the bank of the Mississippi River.”

  She asked, “Are you the young man who needs my help learning to read and write?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m the person Kate talked to your son about.”

  There was a slight lull, so Walt broke in, “What’s this all about? You two are acting like long lost relatives.” Mrs. Duty chuckled.

  “I suppose it does sound like that, Mr. Stickley, but we’re not related. Before coming to this part of the country, my son, William, and I lived in a cabin on the bank of the Mississippi River. He operated a river crossing barge and I sold goods to travelers heading west.”

  Walt cut in, “You don’t speak or act like you’re from Mississippi, Mrs. Duty.”

  “I’m not. I lived most of my life in Philadelphia. That’s where I received my education and became a teacher. In ’54 my husband and I decided to move west for a life of excitement. We traveled by river craft and while going down the Mississippi, we hit something that broke our raft apart. The captain of the raft managed to save William and me, but my husband was swallowed up by the river—we never found his body.”

  Buck detected a choke in Mrs. Duty’s voice, so he took over. “Mrs. Duty built her cabin close to where her husband drowned and wasn’t able to move on with her life. The location seemed to hold her.”

  Breaking in with a firm tone, Mrs. Duty said, “That accident happened thirteen years ago, Mr. Stickley, and I was mired down in self-pity until Buck came along two years ago. We hit it off very well and had several serious discussions about life in general, even though we only spent one afternoon and evening together.”

  “Yaw,” Buck said, “you told me I needed to learn to read and write.”

  “And you told me I should continue my westward travels, move away from the river, and get on with life. You said the memories of my husband would always be with me, no matter where I lived.”

  “Sounds to me like you followed each other’s advice,” Walt said as he smiled and stood. “I’m gonna leave you two alone. I believe you have a lot to talk about.”

  After a few pleasantries, Walt left, and Buck spoke up. “Mrs. Duty, I’m nervous over this reading and writing affair. I ain’t sure I’m capable to learn.”

  “Josiah Johnson, you stop saying those things about yourself, you’re very capable. I’ll have you reading and writing within a couple of months. You’ll be doing numbers too.”

  “I ain’t so…,” she cut him short.

  “I’m also going to teach you grammar, Josiah, and we might as well start today by eliminating ain’t from your vocabulary. Is that agreeable?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but I ain’t…,” he stopped with a puzzled look. “What am I supposed to say if I ain’t allowed to say ain’t, Mrs. Duty?”

  She smiled. “You’ll learn, Josiah. Just be patient.”

  The café had mostly cleared out as the two spent the next couple of hours making plans for Buck’s lessons. Kate kept their cups filled and made comments or answered questions from time to time when requested.

  They agreed Buck would start attending classes on Monday. He was a little embarrassed at first, thinking he’d be the only adult in the classroom, but when Mrs. Duty told him four Indian women and two Indian men attended, he was put at ease. The plan was for Buck to come to the reservation every Sunday evening and return to Tucson after school on Friday. A corner of Mrs. Duty’s barn would be partitioned-off and fixed up for his bedroom, and he would eat his meals with her and William. When Buck asked what he
r fees would be, all she would say was, “I’ll have to think about it.”

  Buck took a second look at the man entering the café in mid-afternoon. It was William, Mrs. Duty’s son. Buck quickly rose from the table, extended his hand, and said, “It’s been a long time since we crossed the Mississippi River on your barge, William. It’s good to see you again. Your ma and I have been talking the afternoon away.”

  William joined them at the table and with a smile said, “It’s good to see you too, Buck. I’m glad our paths crossed again, especially in this part of the country—I like it here.” It wasn’t long before Kate brought William his coffee and topped off the other cups.

  “Where have you been, Son?” his mother asked.

  “I’ve been over to the livery getting new shoes put on our horses, also spent a little time in the mercantile.” Mrs. Duty filled her son in on Buck’s new endeavor of being taught at the reservation, and after drinking their coffee, William told his mother they should be leaving. It would be well after dark when they got back to the reservation.

  That evening, Buck told Mrs. Brandon he planned to stay at the reservation during the week for his schooling, and he wouldn’t need his room ’til his schooling was completed, except for weekends. She was agreeable and said his room would be waiting for him every Friday night.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Buck started school the last week of October in 1867. At first school was a little awkward for him. He sat at a long table in the back with the other adults, feeling like he was crammed inside a small room with everyone staring at him. The children sat in descending order of their age, the front row being the youngest. There were seven adults, including Buck, and twenty-one children. Of course, everyone was Apache except for Buck and Mrs. Duty. The students could all read and write to a degree and two of the girls, who looked to be eleven or twelve, were very advanced in their studies and helped Mrs. Duty with the teaching, especially translating the native tongue of the Apache to English, which Buck soon found out was a sizable chore.