Night Fires in the Distance

by Sarah Goodwin

  Her face was twisted up in concentration. “I’ll make them the strongest buttons I’ve ever had. You won’t even be able to cut them off with shears.”

  I smiled at her. For once, we were all at peace, Nora was sleeping peaceably, like a baby in a picture. Thomas was polishing a harness by the stove and Beth sat on her tick, practicing her stitches on a piece of rag. She’d recovered from her fever in the weeks since returning from town, but was still thin and weak.

  It was at times like those that I missed music. Neither Will nor I owned or could play an instrument. It would have been lovely to hear a hymn or ditty played in the warmth of the soddie, to hearten us against the coming cold.

  “Thomas, could you come here and try this shirt for me?” I asked, biting off a thread and checking the old shirt, one of Will’s that I was making over.

  He pulled off his own work shirt, buttoned the other on and moved his arms back and forth. “Plenty of room in it,” he said.

  “I wonder about the colour.” It had been white, a good church shirt, but was now shades of grey all over, yellow under the arms. “Do you think we might dye it? Make it a nice plain brown? That’d be the thing.”

  Thomas took the shirt off and handed it back to me, “Thank you Ma.”

  I ruffled his hair and he ducked away, back to polishing the harness.

  “Did you see Clappe’s putting up a smoke house?” Will said, putting down his whittling to swig from a cup of coffee so full of molasses it was a wonder the spoon hadn’t stuck fast in it.

  “I did see him working at something the other day,” I said, turning my eyes to the shirt I was folding. “A smoke house? Well, I suppose it’s not too late yet to be thinking of some smoked venison later on. Maybe he got a taste for it after you put up that deer for him.”

  He took out his pipe and stuffed it with tobacco from his tin. “He’s going about it wrong, going to have smoke coming right in that side window.”

  “I’m sure he’d take your say in the matter, you could go over there tomorrow and talk to him about it.”

  “He reckons he’s too good for us, there’s no way he’ll take any advice of mine,” Will muttered.

  “I should think he’d welcome some advice. Seemed like he wanted to start fresh with us.”

  He glared from behind a screen of pipe smoke. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on it.”

  I shut my mouth and pulled out a petticoat that wanted re-hemming. There was a point Will reached when he wouldn’t take being pushed along anymore. He was like a mule, ready to bite. Having him take the news about the deer to James had been my idea, I’d hoped that they might bond better as neighbours, perhaps allow me to see more of my friend. But it looked as though I’d be spending the winter months sealed up in the soddie with Will.

  “I’ve decided it’s time we get a dog,” William said after a while. Rachel was still sewing buttons, slowly and crookedly, but she looked up at this.

  “Really Pa? Oh, can I name him?”

  He ignored her, looked at me instead. “If you’re going to bolt off and leave the children to fend for themselves, they’ll need a good guard dog.”

  I bristled, but didn’t jump at the bait. “It’s a good idea. I’ve been meaning to ask for one since summer, what with you generally taking the rifle out with you.”

  With narrowed eyes he gestured for Rachel to come to him, lifted her to his knee when she abandoned her needlework and went.

  “What kind of dog shall we get sweet pea?”

  “Can he be a big, yellow dog, like Uncle Jacob’s?”

  I watched the playfulness harden on Will’s face. He didn’t like to be reminded of his brother, who had no need for a guard dog, but kept a few hounds for his own amusement.

  “We’ll have a real dog, not a plaything with fur,” he chided her, “and he’ll keep you all safe in the winter, when the wolves come howling.” To me, over her shining hair he said, “Jamison’s driving to town at the end of the week, he’s intending to buy glass for his windows, said he’d take me in with him so I can find a good dog.”

  “You’ll have to invite him back for dinner,” I said, without much heart, I’d already figured that Jamison must be a man exactly like my husband to earn his ready respect.

  “I might very well do that,” he said. “He wanted you to have a go at teaching his girl to sew.”

  The thought of female company, even if it was with the squaw of a man I didn’t much care for, filled me with excitement. “I could do a proper meal with dessert if we have the sugar to spare.”

  “I thought perhaps he’d agree to leave her with you while I’m in town,” Will said, as I folded the edge of the petticoat into a new hem and started to sew. “Keep you from being worried while I’m gone.”

  “Maybe Mr Clappe would appreciate a trip to town with the two of you,” I said, knowing he wanted me kept away from our neighbour and that he was using Jamison’s woman to do just that. “You could ask him when you tell him his smoke house is going up in the wrong place.”

  He glared at me over Rachel’s head, but said nothing else on the matter.

  I mended the petticoat and he slid Rachel from his knee so as to finish his axe handle. I showed her which buttons would have to be unpicked and moved back into line. She didn’t thank me for it.

  It grew late. I bundled the needlework into my basket and settled the girls down to bed. In the darkness, with the lamp wick still aglow, I breathed in the scent of damp earth from the walls and hoped that I’d have another chance to see Clappe before winter came.

  During the past few weeks I’d seen him from a distance as he hauled wood and stacked it around his house. I’d been guilty of remembering his arms around me. The moments I’d spent in his company were the best memories I had of the summer, save for the first time Nora offered me her gummy smile and the moment Beth’s fever broke.

  *

  The next day William disappeared after breakfast, saying nothing, but heading in the direction of Clappe’s soddie. I kept an ear open for gunshots.

  Around midday I put out a meal of cold bean porridge and bread. Thomas had been mending the little fence around my garden and he was sitting by the door to the soddie, cutting a new post when Will came back.

  “Thomas, finish that and go straight to Mr Clappe’s. You’re building his smoke house with him,” William said, on his way to the food I’d laid out.

  “You’re sending Thomas to help him?”

  “The man has less than a mule’s understanding of building a good smoke house, Thomas can show him how it’s done. I’ve neither the time, nor the patience,” he scowled.

  “It’s very neighbourly of you,” I said, wondering what had brought this on.

  He started to heap a plate with beans. “Hardly matters now, there’s nothing I need the boy for. Might as well have him do a good turn for a neighbour.”

  I knew Will, and there was precious little chance of him doing anything Christian out of the goodness of his heart. Somehow he was out to gain from Thomas’s labour. I just couldn’t see how.

  “I’ll be heading to town tomorrow,” he said, watching Beth sleep on her tick, “does she need more quinine?”

  “I believe we have enough for the moment.”

  He grunted. “At any rate, once that smoke house’s built, I’ll not owe him a thing for buying her medicine.”

  So that was it. He’d give James the free labour of his son, rather than part with the money he was no doubt saving for carousing with Neaps.

  William spent the rest of the day putting up the new shelf in the soddie. It was almost dark by the time Thomas returned from Clappe’s, he came through the door just as I was getting ready to send Will out for him.

  “Thomas, you know better than to walk all this way in the dark.”

  He was taking off his boots. “Mr Clappe brought me back. He had his rifle.”

  I glanced at the door. “Did you ask him if he’d join us for dinner?”

  “He said he
had things to do at home, but that it was a kind offer.”

  William snorted.

  I’d made venison stew and dished out bowls for everyone. The girls sat on their tick and Thomas rested on a crate brought up to the end of the table. It was too dark in the evenings now to eat outside.

  “Did you get the smoke house finished?” Will asked.

  “There’s some things he needs to do for it, but he said thank you and that he wouldn’t need to borrow me again,” Thomas reported, turning to me he said, “Ma, he had me draw the smoke house in the back of a book, so he could look at it again. He has some old books he bought in town, and he can read all of them. He told me.”

  William scoffed. “He’ll have plenty of time to read in winter when he’s frozen to the floor of that trash heap he calls a house.”

  Thomas dampened his excitement and focused on his plate. I cast him a sympathetic look. “When it’s too cold to get much done outside, I’ll start teaching you your letters again,” I promised, “you were doing well with it last winter.”

  His cheeks went pink with pride. I vowed that by the time spring came to the prairie, he’d be reading as well as me. Though Will could read some and work with figures like nothing else, he never understood my insistence that Rachel and Beth should also learn their letters, or even that Thomas should be able to read books unaided. Will’s sisters hadn’t learnt beyond studying the Bible, and mostly they’d spent their time in embroidery and chores, rather than in reading.

  “I was thinking, next year, I should buy up a few hens and get us a cow. Fresh butter and cheese stored over winter would be a blessing,” William said, scraping up the last of his stew.

  “It would indeed,” I said.

  “Then again, odds are I’ll be investing in some more land when the time comes around. Perhaps it’ll have to wait another year.”

  I frowned. Rachel came to the table. “May I have some more?” she asked.

  “There’s a little left, be careful with the stove, and share with your sister,” I returned my attention of Will, “what land?”

  Will picked up a piece of bread and wiped off his bowl. “Well, the way I see it, Clappe can’t keep that farm going on his own. Ploughing alone’ll break him, he hasn’t the strength for it. By late spring he’ll be looking to be rid of his claim and sell everything on it so he can head off to town and get set up in some business or other.”

  I’d had the same kind of thoughts about James. He’d looked too green to survive, but I’d noticed a resolve under his cluelessness. He wouldn’t take leaving the land lightly. I didn’t appreciate William’s words, the thought of losing my only friend made me waspish.

  “He might surprise you,” I said.

  Will snorted. “You’ll see. Come spring, he’ll be long gone.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cecelia

  I was outside, attempting to whittle pegs for my newly built smoke house, when an unfamiliar wagon came rolling and jolting over the prairie. My first instinct was to rush into the house, to hide from what must surely be Charles or one of his men. Then I saw William Deene up on the wagon seat and realised that the bearded, stocky fellow beside him must be Jamison Neaps.

  “Morning Clappe,” Neaps called, “need a ride to town?”

  Truthfully I did, as I’d had it in mind for a few days to get myself a guard dog; the wolf howls at night left me feeling nervous and vulnerable. Also, I felt a dog would at least bring life to the soddie, making me feel less alone and giving me something to talk to without fearing I was losing my mind. I could of course go to town alone, but the weather had started to turn and I was worried my mustangs would bolt in a storm, dragging the schooner with them.

  “It’s kind of you to offer and I graciously accept,” I replied.

  I could not mistake the way in which Neaps looked to Deene, who inclined his head as if to say, ‘I told you, he talks like a man who doesn’t know an acre from an acorn’. I ignored it and made quick work of shutting up my house, packing a few things and climbing up to the wagon seat beside Neaps.

  “We’ll be staying overnight, making camp on the edge of town, so’s to start back tomorrow morning.”

  I nodded. I’d suspected that this would be the case, but as the wagon continued to jolt towards town I realised what an awkward thing it would be to pass a night with two men. I could only hope that they’d view my reluctance to relieve myself outside with them as some kind of eastern quirk.

  Neaps drove carelessly, the wagon shook whenever it struck a hole under the grass. He had a bottle between his legs and took frequent nips from it, offering it to Deene and myself. I refused and again the two of them shared a look. I began to sweat, my body tense all over. They would soon become suspicious of me if I failed to convince them of my maleness. During my weeks alone I’d let the practice of walking, talking and eating like a man drop. I struggled to get back into the character of James Clappe, as if he were a coat I’d outgrown.

  “I expect Martha’s having a time of it, she’s not been around many children,” Jamison confided, “not since I met her anyway. I dare say she’ll enjoy a bit of female company.”

  “I thought it’d do Laura some good, having a woman to talk to, I’ve no time to make sense of what she thinks the children ought to be doing. She’s after teaching them all to read a whole book over winter.”

  Jamison hawked and spat between the rumps of the horses. “She’ll be putting them in school next, there’s your help in the fields gone.”

  “I’m lucky in that respect, no school around here. I’m hoping she’ll be done with this foolishness by the time some do-gooder comes and sets one up.”

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “Now, Martha,” Jamison said, “she can speak English well enough even if she can’t put pen to paper, but I shan’t be bothering with the education if she gets herself a baby. T’would be a waste of time and effort.”

  The talk continued in this vein all the way to town, with brief intermissions, during which my travelling companions chomped pipe stems or got down to pass water unsteadily at the side of the wagon. It was the kind of talk I’d heard plenty of on my way west, in towns and from travellers encountered on the road. I kept my eyes on the grasses swaying in our path.

  We arrived in town late in the afternoon. Jamison left the wagon by a sort of shed that offered chains for the safety of the horses. There were evidently thieves about everywhere.

  “We ought to get something to eat and ask who’s got dogs to sell,” William said. Jamison nodded in agreement, “I can get my glass later on, store’s not going anywhere.”

  “I’d appreciate some decent food,” I said, trying to ape their enthusiasm.

  Jamison nodded his agreement and the three of us set off for a little place that he’d been to on a previous visit; a timber building with clapboard and a few benches inside that offered food and beer. I had a plate of eggs with toasted bread and a cup of coffee, it was the first meal I hadn’t had to cook for myself in months, my first eggs since leaving Ohio, and I enjoyed every mouthful.

  We learnt that one of the store owners was selling off a litter of animals barely out of puppyhood. Jamison started his pipe off as we headed over to the store in question. I contributed nothing but nods to their conversation.

  The dogs were mongrels. Four of them; brown and black creatures with hopeful faces and barks that cut the air as they circled their crude pen in excitement. We were around the back of the store and the owner, a stout man with a thick moustache and a clean apron over dirty clothes, was naming his price.

  “They’re hardly worth the trouble of drowning,” William said.

  “They’re in demand, I had six more’n this only two days ago.”

  “I can’t say I can see paying more than a dollar and for that I’ll want the black fella in the back.”

  “He’s the strongest of the litter,” the storekeeper retorted, “he’ll cost you double. The rest are hardly worth the dollar, but him, he’s
got the makings of a great guard dog.”

  “Then I’ll take the pale one, for seventy-five,” Deene said, triumphant.

  The storekeeper narrowed his eyes. The palest dog, a light brown with a dark snout, was the smallest of the bunch, thin and short legged, but it was the one barking the loudest.

  They shook on the deal and Deene handed over his money.

  “And you, Sir?” the storekeeper tucked the coins into his apron pocket. His large, pink face was already showing signs of weariness, clearly he wanted to be rid of the three farmers with hardly a dollar to their names.

  I cast my eye over the dogs. There was the black one and the thin fellow that Will was hauling out of the pen and inspecting. The two remaining animals were reddish brown and had curling hair on their throats. One had a white ear.

  “That one,” I pointed out the one with the white marking, “I’ll take him. For seventy-five.”

  “That’s a bitch,” William said scornfully and Jamison laughed with him.

  “It’s no matter,” I said, and offered my money to the storekeeper, “she’ll do just fine.”

  *

  Jamison bought his glass and we put it and the dogs into the wagon, using rope to keep the animals tethered.

  Jamison leapt down from the wagon and hitched up his frayed trousers. “I think it’s about time for a drink.”

  The saloon, a plank building with a dark interior and a sawdust covered floor, was just as appalling as it’d been when I first passed through. It smelt like spilled liquor, sweat and tobacco. It was early in the evening, hardly dark outside and there were only two other men in there with us.

  “First round’s on me,” Jamison said, raising a hand for the barman, gesturing for three glasses. There were only a few bottles behind the bar and they were all identical. Choice was limited for the inhabitants of the town, but then, I knew that already.

  William leant on the scarred table, watching the only women in the place, a pair of them holding up the bar. All the lamps were low, but I knew whores when I saw them, and their low, lace trimmed bodices spilling pale, liquid flesh were hardly a disguise.