Emily's Fortune

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  This, Emily found, was even worse than sleeping four or five to a bed at Callaway’s Inn. There wasn’t room to turn over, and each time the coach hit a rock or a tree root, her head rose from the floor and banged back down again. The two sisters groaned and complained, but the elderly man was squeezed against one end of the coach and seemed to be sleeping soundly.

  About midnight, they neared Lantern Hill. When they reached the top, the driver sounded several notes on his bugle to announce their approach to the ferryman, who would carry them across the river. But the horses were so eager for a drink that they galloped all the way down the steep hill. On top of the coach, trunks slid this way and that. Inside the coach, bodies rolled and bumped against each other.

  “Get your elbow out of my belly!” Oscar yelled to Angus.

  And Angus yelled to Jock, “Get your backside out of my face!”

  The stagecoach, in fact, was a bit top-heavy. When it stopped, the ferryman ordered all the men and boys out to help guide it onto the raft.

  “You too, Eli,” Jackson whispered, and Emily, who was sleepily rubbing her eyes, climbed out beside Jackson.

  The ferryman slowly led the nervous horses onto the raft. He told the men and boys to stand along the back and sides of the coach to make sure it didn’t tip over once they started across the river.

  Emily felt a chill as she and Uncle Victor passed each other in the darkness. For a moment she stumbled, but she managed to catch herself before she fell into the river. And she thought about how easy, how very easy, it would be for Uncle Victor to get rid of her forever if he knew who she really was.

  • • •

  It was early morning when they reached Fort Jawbone, and all the passengers went inside. Emily was wide awake now. She nervously waited for Uncle Victor to find out that Emily Wiggins was not there. Then, perhaps, he would give up the chase and go home, wherever that was.

  As they ate the cold meal that was provided for them, Angus said, “Better eat hearty, mates. Last good meal we’ll have for a long while, you can bet.”

  “It’ll be beans and bacon from here to California,” added Oscar.

  “And maybe some wormy bread,” put in Jock, wiggling his fingers. Emily was glad she wasn’t going all the way to California.

  But Uncle Victor wasn’t interested in eating. Emily watched him go from one person to the next at Fort Jawbone, asking if anyone there remembered an eight-year-old passenger by the name of Emily Wiggins who had come through on a stagecoach two days before.

  “Can’t say that I do,” one of the workers told him. “We get a few orphans now and then on their way out west, but I don’t remember that there was a young girl on the last coach.”

  “Well,” growled Uncle Victor. “Maybe she didn’t come through, then, or maybe she’s given me the slip. I’ll have to go on to Redbud and see if I can find her there.”

  Emily’s breath seemed caught in her throat, and she almost choked on a biscuit.

  No! No! She could not stand it! Riding with Uncle Victor three more days and three more nights, pretending to be a boy? How would she go that long without speaking? Would she even have a voice once she got to Aunt Hilda’s? But again it was time to board.

  “Eli!” Jackson called. “Come on!”

  A new driver leaped up to the driver’s seat and the whip cracked. Sitting in the back again, Emily fed Rufus a fly Jackson had caught, and looked into his tiny face.

  “Dear little friend,” she whispered. “Only a few more days and I’ll never put you in a box again. We’ll be at Aunt Hilda’s and you’ll have all the grass you want. I’ll make you your own little pool, and the sun will shine on you every day.”

  Rufus looked up at her and blinked his eyes. He crawled over to the old man’s leg, and Mortimer Muffit didn’t even notice.

  “We’re off!” Jock chortled as the carriage rattled across the ground.

  “No turnin’ back now!” said Angus.

  “We’re headed for Deadman’s Gulch, and the best part of the trip’s behind us,” said Oscar.

  But the two grown sisters were all aflutter because the tall man with the tiger tattoo was riding inside the coach now, on the very bench where they were sitting, the only spot left.

  “Oh, Mr. Victor!” Marigold purred, adjusting her bonnet. “I do love the way your mustache curls.”

  “And I love the way your shiny boots shine!” crooned Petunia.

  “Uh…thank you, ladies,” Uncle Victor said without smiling.

  “And that tiger tattoo!” exclaimed Marigold.

  “Did you actually kill a tiger?” asked Petunia.

  “Not exactly,” said Uncle Victor uncomfortably, and turned his attention to the window.

  Jackson poked Emily with his elbow and Emily almost smiled. She was afraid of Uncle Victor, and Uncle Victor was afraid of the ladies.

  As the coach went on, the land became rocky and rough. There was a way station every twenty miles or so, where passengers were allowed to get out and eat. Each time, Emily and Jackson finished before the others, then went outside and chased each other around. Jackson ran as fast as he could, first one way, then another, while Emily worked to keep up.

  Back in Luella Nash’s big house with the flowers planted just so, the bushes clipped, the walks swept, the leaves raked, and the grass mowed, one did not hop, skip, or jump. One did not skid, slither, or slide. And one especially did not run. But after a while, Emily discovered that her legs were stronger than she’d thought. She was glad of the exercise before the coach started out again.

  “Oh, Mr. Tiger Man,” said Marigold playfully as evening settled down over the prairie. “Tell us about your adventures hunting tigers!”

  “Yes, yes!” said Petunia with a giggle. “I get all tingly when I think of tigers. Lions too. Tell us, have you ever shot a lion?”

  Uncle Victor edged even closer to the window. “Ladies,” he said, “I believe you are misinformed.”

  This time Emily poked Jackson as they sat on the backseat and listened.

  “We will believe anything you tell us!” said Petunia. “We do love a good story!”

  “I’ll tell you a good story!” said Jock, who was sitting across from them. “You ever hear about the Ghost of Pimple Pass?” He scratched his nose with one hand and his knee with the other.

  “Prickly Pass, you idiot,” said Angus.

  “No ghost there at all, you imbecile,” said Oscar. “You’re thinking of the Ghost of Phantom Hill.”

  Angus gave Oscar’s arm a slap. “Weren’t no hill at all. That’s the creek you’re thinkin’ of, Phantom Creek, where we found some gold our first trip out.”

  At this Jock hee-hawed like a donkey. “And it weren’t no new gold in that creek at all. Just my gold tooth that fell in the water.”

  “Well, if you’re not going to tell the story, I will,” said Oscar. “It was the Ghost of Phantom Hill, sure as I’m sittin’ here. And it was all because of the severed hand that was found at Killer’s Grave.”

  “What?” cried Petunia. “A severed hand?”

  “There it was,” Angus interrupted. “Just lyin’ atop the grave, cut clean off at the wrist. Many a murder’s taken place in these parts, and they say if you go through Prickly Pass when the moon is full and you hear this moanin’ off in the bushes…”

  Petunia shrieked and clutched Uncle Victor’s arm as Marigold reached across her and grabbed his knee.

  “Ladies!” Uncle Victor cried, prying their hands loose and flattening himself against the window.

  “If you ever hear a moanin’, it’s likely to be an old coyote got itself a bellyache,” finished Jock with a laugh.

  Angus glared at him. “…it’ll be the ghost comin’ back to look for his hand,” he finished.

  At that very moment, as the coach was about to ford a creek, the rain that had begun that afternoon became a downpour. The driver called for all the men and boys to push the coach out of the mud.

  Uncle Victor seemed glad of a
chance to escape the women, and hurriedly opened the door. Out Emily jumped, along with Jackson. Her feet sank ankle-deep in mud and her little boots filled with water.

  “Push! Push!” the driver yelled, and Emily and Jackson put their shoulders against the coach, along with Oscar, Angus, and Jock. Old Mr. Muffit got out to see what was going on, turning up the collar of his jacket.

  Uncle Victor was up front with the driver, whipping the horses to make them go. At last, with a huge sucking sound, the stagecoach rose up out of the mud. The dirty men and boys (and Emily) crawled back into the coach to wipe themselves off as best they could, and finally the coach was off again.

  Emily had gone so long without speaking that she was almost getting used to being quiet. But as the gold-digging men continued their stories of the strange things that had happened on their first journey out west, it was hard not to ask questions. And when Oscar began a story about a skull on top of a high rock, she looked at the elderly man to see if he believed it. She wasn’t sure, but for a moment one eye seemed open and one eye closed; then he seemed to be sleeping again as usual.

  But the man with the tiger tattoo wasn’t sleepy, and he told no tales. Emily was already shivering in her wet and muddy clothes. And in the near darkness inside the stagecoach, when Uncle Victor turned his head to look out the window, his face had such an angry, scheming look that she shivered all the more.

  • • •

  The next morning, Jackson wasn’t saying much either, because he had come down with a fever. When Emily’s arm touched his, she could tell that his skin was warm beneath his shirt, and his lips looked parched.

  “Mercy, I hope he doesn’t have something that will bring us all down!” Marigold said worriedly. She and Petunia traded places with the children so that Jackson could have a bit more air on the middle bench.

  Emily let her lap be Jackson’s pillow. Mr. Moffit and the two sisters leaned over the seat and fanned the boy. Oscar, Angus, and Jock kept Jackson’s tin cup filled with water from their own jug. But the man with the tiger tattoo only watched from his end of the row.

  Sometimes Jackson moved his lips and sometimes he asked for more water. But once, when he opened his eyes and saw Emily wiping his face with a wet cloth, he said, “Emily….”

  Startled, she put one finger over his lips. Thumpa thumpa thumpa, went her heart. The two sisters continued fanning. Oscar, Angus, and Jock had fallen asleep, and so had the elderly man. But Uncle Victor stared hard at Emily, the pupils of his eyes as small and dark as those of a rat.

  What in the

  hunky monkey

  do you suppose

  he was thinking?

  The next day, Jackson was feeling better, and he and Emily took their seats in the back row once again.

  “You were right sick there for a while, son,” Oscar said. “Good thing you had your brother to care for you. He was worried about you, even though his brain’s not all there. Time or two you called out for someone named Emily.”

  Emily saw Jackson’s eyes widen with alarm. “Guess I was dreamin’ about our ma,” he said quickly.

  “Where is your mother?” asked Petunia.

  “She’s passed, ma’am. Died when I was six. And we’ve been bounced around from pillar to post ever since,” Jackson said.

  Emily was amazed at the stories Jackson could tell. He had told her that his ma had run off. She wondered if any of his stories were true.

  “Two little orphan boys, alone in the world,” Marigold murmured, and sighed as she turned her attention once more to the window.

  Emily stole a look at her uncle, but she couldn’t tell from his weasel eyes whether he believed Jackson or not. If only she could get to Redbud before he discovered who she was! There had been so many fresh teams of horses, so many different drivers.

  She imagined the big red stagecoach pulling up to the Redbud way station. She could almost feel Aunt Hilda’s arms around her. But each time Emily looked up from her daydream, the man with the tiger tattoo was watching…watching out the window as though he might see his niece crouched behind a rock, a tree. Watching the way stations to see if she’d been dropped off there. Watching Jackson and Emily when they ate their meals. Watching…

  There was only a trace of a road in desert country, and here and there a lone tree. Sagebrush took the place of bushes, and large outcroppings of rocks stood in place of buildings. The latest driver was young and impatient. He ran the horses hard, eager to reach the next stop. But one of the wheels hit a rock, turning sharply; the frame broke, and over the stagecoach went, at the very edge of a deep ravine.

  The door of the coach flew open, and everyone spilled out. Oscar and Angus and Jock and Uncle Victor hit the ground first. Marigold and Petunia fell on top of them, the elderly man found himself on top of Petunia, and when Jackson and Emily came tumbling out, Emily rolled off the heap of arms and legs and right over the edge of the cliff.

  “Eli!” Jackson yelled.

  The driver muttered as he picked himself up, more concerned about his wheel than his passengers, it seemed. The two sisters rubbed their bruised arms; Oscar and Angus and Jock massaged their twisted necks, and old Mr. Muffit seemed for a moment to have his beard on backward. But Jackson was peering over the edge of the cliff, looking for Emily, who had disappeared.

  Emily herself hardly knew what was happening. Over and over she rolled, desperately trying to grab on to something. Small rocks were dislodged from the dry ground as she fell, and they rolled down on top of her.

  Whop. A clump of earth hit her leg. Ping. A stone stung her cheek.

  Finally she managed to clutch the root of a scraggly bush, and her feet found a resting place on a rock. Her arms were scratched and her leg was bleeding. Emily thought if she could only find her heart and get it back in her chest where it belonged, she might live. She could hear it beating in her head, her ears, her throat. And then she thought of Rufus.

  Rufus! She had been holding the little box with her turtle in it, waiting for the next way station so she could sneak off and let him have some air and a walk. Where was the box? Frantically she looked about her. The lid was at her feet, the box itself upside down on a ledge below. But where was Rufus?

  How horrible to have come this far only to lose her little friend. Her eyes were so full of tears she could not see, and she leaned down and wiped them on her shoulder. “Rufus!” she whispered, holding tight to the bush as she looked all around. Something moved on the ledge below, and she recognized her pet.

  “Eli!” came a hoarse call as Jackson appeared, dangling above her, holding on to a tree root. “Give me your hand!”

  Emily only shook her head, and inch by inch she lowered herself down the side of the cliff.

  A little farther, farther still…If she could climb down a maple tree, Emily told herself, she could do this. At last she reached Rufus. And as soon as she had the box and the turtle both, she thrust them into one of the deep pockets of her britches and grabbed hold of Jackson’s outstretched hand as she made her way up again. The two of them climbed back to the top, where Oscar, Angus, and Jock helped pull them to safety.

  Jackson was still pale from his fever, but he was more worried about Emily than himself. Uncle Victor, however, showed no interest in the rescue. While the two sisters fussed over the children and brushed off their clothes, Uncle Victor swore at the driver who had driven so recklessly and stood over him as he worked to repair the wheel.

  “You’re wasting my time,” he growled. “I need to get to Redbud in a hurry.”

  “Well, breathin’ down my neck ain’t going to help you, mister,” the driver said. “If I drive too slow, folks complain and want to get there sooner. If I drive too fast, they complain and want to get there safer. You can help the most by gettin’ out of my way.”

  The man with the weasel eyes and the tiger tattoo swore again, but he went to stand in the shade of a large boulder, where he paced restlessly back and forth.

  After she and Jackson had dr
unk some water, Emily began to feel a little better, and so did Jackson.

  “For a minute there, I thought you were a goner!” he told Emily when Marigold and Petunia wandered off. “I looked over the edge and it was a long way down to the bottom.”

  “I was scared too,” Emily whispered. “But more scared of losing Rufus than anything.”

  The other passengers found what shade they could. The elderly man was resting. Oscar, Angus, and Jock were smoking their pipes. But Marigold and Petunia could not find a comfortable place to sit. They could not get back in the coach until it was upright, and it could not be upright until the driver had repaired the wheel. So they began to argue with each other.

  “When we get back in the coach, I get to sit by the tiger man,” Emily heard Marigold say. “You’ve been sitting by him ever since we woke up this morning. I saw him first, remember.”

  “What does it matter?” said Petunia. “That perfume you wear could knock an elephant over.”

  “What?” said Marigold. “Why, those silly flowers on top of your bonnet poke his cheek whenever you turn your head.”

  “Really!” said Petunia. “And who gave me this bonnet, may I ask?”

  “Better to smell my perfume than smell your feet. Really, Petunia, you should keep your boots on in the carriage.”

  Emily and Jackson watched as the sisters turned their backs on each other, noses in the air. But the heat soon overtook the women and they began complaining about other things. They even complained about a herd of buffalo grazing not far away.

  “That is surely the ugliest animal on the face of the earth,” said Marigold.

  “An animal that ugly should never have been born,” agreed Petunia.

  One of the buffalo moved toward the coach as it munched, a cloud of insects swarming above its huge furry hump.

  “Get out of here, you ugly thing, you!” shouted Marigold.

  “Leave it be,” the driver called, trying to fit the repaired wheel back in place. “It’s not doing you no harm.”