Well Traveled

by Margaret Mills

  Jed reached up and took off his hat, reminding Gideon that he had yet to do the same. “Jedediah,” Jed said, wiping his hand on his pants before taking hers carefully. “Jedediah Buffalo Bird. I am pleased to meet you.”

  “Well,” she said with a bigger smile, “I really am curious now. Polite and well-mannered—maybe you can teach Gideon a thing or two!”

  “I have tried,” Jed said, cutting his eyes to Gideon in a way that let Gideon know he was teasing. “But he is like a mule—very stubborn. Always trying to do things his own way, with no thought of the consequences.” The amusement in his tone dried away with the last words, but Ruby didn’t seem to notice.

  She squeezed Jed’s fingers before drawing her hand away. “That’s our Gideon,” she agreed. “Very stubborn and very certain that he’s always right—and no one knows better.” She turned away and headed back to the counter, waving them along behind her.

  The corners of Jed’s lips twitched as he glanced at Gideon, but the sadness still showed in his eyes, as deep as Gideon’s own. Gideon felt good for it, at first, knowing that Jed didn’t want them to part.

  “You want one room or two?” she asked as she made her way behind the counter to her ledger. She went on before Gideon had a chance to answer. “I know you won’t mind one. Carney folks and rodeo people, they’re all the same. It’s a small room, one bed, but it’s pretty big—Gideon, I think you’ve stayed in it before, the blue room at the top of the stairs on the third floor? Used to be an attic room so you have to be careful on the far side of the bed, but you two aren’t too tall.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Gideon said, remembering the room. It was small, but it would be fine for tonight.

  “Your timing is good, though,” she went on as she turned the register for Gideon to sign. “For dinner, we’ve got pork roast and roasted chicken, with potatoes and squash and onions, and Maybelle’s made chocolate cake and lemon cake for dessert.” She looked to Jed as she went on, “Don’t let him make you late—we always run out of the lemon cake early, since it’s one of Maybelle’s specialties.”

  “We will not be late,” Jed said, nodding to her. “Thank you.”

  “You want me to call Amos?” she asked as Gideon finished signing.

  “We can manage,” Gideon said. “And I know the way, thank you, Ruby.”

  She smiled as she handed the key across the counter along with two envelopes with Gideon’s name on them. But she did get in one last taunt. “Your pa was worried that you’d come dragging in with a woman on your arm and a wedding ring on your finger. I like your friend Jed, here, better.”

  Gideon smiled over his shoulder at her, but he looked to Jed as he said, “Yeah, me, too.”

  The room was one of the smallest in the hotel, but today, Gideon was happy about that. The bed was big enough that they ended up bumping up against each other as they moved around, and when the opportunity arose, Gideon took full advantage of it. He wasn’t trying to start anything, even though he didn’t move away when his groin brushed against Jed’s backside. But he was more pleased with the casual touches they shared, his hands along Jed’s back or shoulders, or Jed’s hands on his arm.

  “I will care for the horses,” Jed said as he settled his pack in one corner. “Leave you to your letters.”

  Gideon glanced to where he’d put them down on the dresser in the far corner. “They can wait—”

  “We came all this way for you to catch up with your family. Read what your parents have to say. I will be in the stable, then perhaps at the nearest bath house.”

  Jed eased out the door before Gideon had a chance to argue, and damned if now all he wanted to think about was Jed soaking naked in a hot bath. He sighed and peeled the wax seal off the first envelope.

  The letters were warm and worried, and he felt bad for being relieved that his family wasn’t here. But neither of his parents seemed upset, and he realized that somewhere along the way, they’d accepted his right and his responsibility for himself. He opened his mother’s first.

  My dearest Gideon,

  I hope you had such a wonderful time in Livingston that you decided to stay longer than expected, which is why you didn’t make it in time to catch us. I’m not worrying. I know you, and I know you let some sideshow distract you from your travels. So I’m not worried. Remind me to teach you about telegrams—they’ve been around for a while, but I suspect that you could have forgotten about them.

  We’ve stayed to the train this fall, because we fell behind, playing extra days in places like Bisbee and Yuma, even San Diego had a warm welcome for us all! San Francisco—we’ve been here three weeks, and every day I hoped to hear news from you. I expect to hear tales of adventures, when you do find us!

  Grace is already planning her wedding—not that there’s been a set date or even an engagement announcement, but I promise you that the first thing you will hear when you find your way back to us is that you have to be in the wedding. She’s planned it to the finest details, and if Jimmy lets her get away with riding astride up between a row of our band, well, he truly loves her!

  The twins have yet to understand that their ‘experiments’, as they call them, will get them in trouble. Just yesterday, we found them playing doctor with Tommy Richmond—again! I thought seriously about sending them to a convent, but your father, when he finished laughing and had caught his breath well enough to speak, reminded me how much we’d both miss them if I did. Twelve years old… I remember you causing me far less distress when you were twelve, my boy. But they say the mind plays tricks on a mother.

  The show is moving on—to Vacaville, then east to Sacramento and back down the San Joaquin Valley. We’ll hit Stockton and maybe Merced, and I’ll be back to trick shooting for a few stops. Bill isn’t sure there are quite enough people for us there, but we’ll scout it out. Then it’s the train back south and east: Albuquerque for sure, but I can’t say where else yet on the drive into winter. Please hurry along, Gideon, before I lose my nerves, or your father loses his charm. And bring your lovely young bride—we need to start planning your future!

  Missing you, my child,

  Elizabeth

  His father’s letter was much shorter, a bare bones of the status of the show, his horses, the health of the family, but like his mother, his closing was full of the affection Gideon never doubted: “Looking forward to your return, Gideon. Join us as soon as you can. Oh, and Bill is beginning to worry.”

  Bill’s was barely a note on a postcard: “Will continue to dock your pay. Very soon, will start charging you for the trouble of keeping your slot open. —Bill.”

  Jed was still gone when he finished up, tucking the letters into a pocket in his suitcase. He dug out some clean clothes and his washing gear, then took the liberty of picking up Jed’s whole pack. He had a thought about plundering to find what he knew Jed would want, but somehow, it was easier to take the whole thing, and he thought Jed would be more apt to thank him for that.

  The hotel lobby bustled with folks seeking drinks, news, or early dinner. They got the first two, but nobody got snacks before five o’clock—which, Gideon noticed with a glance at the big grandfather clock in the corner, was over an hour away yet. Ruby waved to him as he passed the counter, but she didn’t interrupt her talk with the group of finely dressed men standing in front of her. People had gathered on the porch, sipping drinks and talking in friendly groups. He nodded to the people he passed on the way to the stable, and he wasn’t surprised to find it about as busy as the hotel itself.

  He was surprised—and pleased—to find Jed in the wide barn hall talking to Jonah while they each brushed out a horse.

  “But don’t they have trouble with their hooves?” Jonah was asking, looking across Star’s back to Jed, who was facing him as he worked on his pony.

  “Not on grass and the earth,” Jed answered as he ran a brush down the pony’s back. It was a sign that he was almost done, a fact that Gideon wasn’t certain he was glad to know that he knew. He’d
gotten to know Jed far too well to want to leave him. “Their hooves are made for living on wild land.”

  Jed patted the pony on his withers, a gesture that was as affectionate as he’d ever gotten with the horse, and stepped back. “Is there a bath house near?” he asked Jonah without acknowledging that he was aware of Gideon.

  Jonah glanced up and then over to where Gideon stood watching from the open barn doors. “Howdy!” he called, not so loud as to startle the horses, but loud enough. “Jed was just telling me about why his horse doesn’t have shoes. I offered to have our blacksmith do it, but—”

  “Yeah, I know,” Gideon grinned, cutting him off and looking at Jed. “He’s not going to be in town long enough.”

  Jed shrugged, turning toward Gideon. “Won’t be any reason for me to,” he said.

  Gideon swallowed, hearing more in the words than he’d ever expected.

  “The best bath house is two blocks over and down on the right—Mister Canney’s place. You know it, don’t you, Gideon? It’s the same place we’ve always sent the overflow.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Gideon agreed. It was a nice place and had treated everyone in the show—the whites and Indians and Mexicans and Chinese, men and women, too, as far as he knew—the same way.

  Oakland was a busy city, and they didn’t talk much as Gideon led the way to the bathhouse. Inside, Mister Canney gave them a nod and took their money before directing them to two large tubs set side by side.

  Gideon spent more time than he should have watching Jed out of the corner of his eye, his brown skin slick from water and steam, his black hair wet and shining.

  About the time Jed pushed up and out of the tub, Gideon scrubbed himself fast and thorough and followed him to the draped-off changing area. After, they made their way back to the hotel. Dinner was just getting underway by the time they’d put their things back in the room, so they took a small table out on the wide back veranda. Their wide view from this corner of the porch let him see the hills to the east and the bay to the west if he craned his neck. Low evening sun cast long shadows and colored the foothills purple and gold and the air was cooling down—effects of the bay, he knew. It might get cold when the wind blew in off the ocean, but right now the air was pleasant and the food was good, some of the best Gideon had ever tasted. The service was better, their waiter, Franz, treating Jed as much as he did Gideon. Apparently, Franz thought Jed was about to be a showman, and Jed didn’t dissuade him from the idea even though he kept frowning Gideon’s way.

  “Not my fault,” he said with a shrug while Franz was off working other tables. “We travel with lots of Indians.”

  Jed put down his fork and leaned across the small table. “But you have never… traveled with an Indian before?” he asked.

  Gideon thought about playing dumb, just to see if Jed would squirm, but he didn’t have the heart to. “Not a one, Jed,” he admitted. “Got good friends there, but that’s all.”

  For all their efforts, talk was spare. Gideon couldn’t shake his sense of sadness and his few attempts to talk sputtered and died like a matchstick in the rain. He mostly sat and looked out at the city lights because looking at Jed made him sadder.

  After Franz cleared their plates and brought them after-dinner brandy, Jed leaned forward, his arms on the table. His voice was so low that Gideon had to strain to hear it. “I could leave now, if it would be better.”

  “Ain’t an issue of better, Jed. It’ll be hard whenever it comes.” He leaned forward a little to add, “I’d rather it come after I’m rested and ready for it.” He leaned back in his chair and watched the lights reflect off the wide waters of the bay. “I’ll go to the bank tomorrow—I’ve got cash aplenty waiting for me in San Francisco, and I’d like to offer you something for all the time and trouble I’ve put you to.” Jed froze like a pointing dog for a second, long enough that Gideon frowned at him. “What?”

  “You owe me nothing,” Jed said after a time.

  “I—no, not for—aww, hell, I just meant it took you longer to get me here than you expected, and—”

  “You owe me nothing, Gideon. You saved my life. Twice, if you are sure that rattlesnake was ready to bite. Stop trying to delay what must be. It is the end.”

  “I ain’t trying to delay it,” Gideon said, annoyed because that was exactly what he was doing. “But I don’t like saying goodbye, not to someone I care about.” He swallowed. “Not when I know I’m never gonna see ’em again.”

  “There is no Sioux word for ‘goodbye’,” Jed said. He was using that word more and more, the name white folks called his people, and the words sounded gentler than they ought to.

  “They got a word for ‘you’re leaving tomorrow, and I don’t like it’?” he grumbled.

  Jed sighed. “You do not know what tomorrow will bring.”

  He knew enough. “Where are you headed now?” he asked. He still wanted to offer Jed a job, but he didn’t have the authority to do it, and knew he’d likely be asking for trouble if he tried.

  “Back to Montana.”

  “Lonely trip, by yourself,” Gideon said.

  “Yes. Especially now,” Jed agreed.

  That was about the most honest admission Jed had made this whole trip, and Gideon appreciated it. He looked out at the boats that bobbed on rippling water down on the distant bay, at the way the lowering sun played across it and half-blinded him at the same time, and at the familiar buildings and wharves of the famous city beyond. He’d never imagined that a place as crowded and sprawling as San Francisco and its surrounding cities could make a man feel lonely, but he was just getting an inkling of how it was going to feel tomorrow. He half-envied Jed his trip back through the wild. At least in the wilderness and alone, if a man felt lonely it would make some damned sense. Here, surrounded by two hundred thousand people or more, Gideon had no excuse but the obvious one, and no one to tell. No way to tell and no will either, not even when he caught up with his family.

  What the hell could he say? That he’d done maybe the dumbest thing he’d ever done in his life? Maybe the best? And then he’d walked away from it, and let Jed walk away from him, just because he knew that hard as that might be, trying to keep him would be harder—like, impossible? Even his mother wouldn’t argue with his reasoning, not once she learned the truth.

  If she learned the truth. She’d worry about him, because he reckoned he wouldn’t be able to hide the sadness filling him for long, but she wouldn’t pry too hard. She’d believe him when he told her he just wasn’t ready to say. And probably, she’d send him to Ada Mae, and get her to try and fill up the hole opening up inside him with food. And still, Gideon wouldn’t be ready to say.

  He looked over at Jed’s quiet profile, memorizing the strong cheekbones, the fine, straight line of nose, the soft, thin lips and stubborn chin. This didn’t even feel like his story to tell.

  They sat there in silence long after the sun set behind the San Francisco peninsula, and longer still. Jed closed his eyes after a time, and Gideon watched the bright oranges and yellows of the night sky fade to black, the gaslights of the city across the bay brighten all at once. Lights here in Oakland flickered up less evenly, countering the lanterns on a hundred or more boats bobbing out there in the bay, but rise they did, until he couldn’t find more than a few stars in the night sky above. He blinked, though, trying, thinking that the sky right now seemed almost like the color of Jed’s eyes.

  People wandered out onto the porch, some to dally there with cigars and pipes, others to stride out into the street seeking sport or more refined entertainment. The ferries would run back and forth all night, but Gideon didn’t much care. He felt the time running out like the last grains of sand falling through an hourglass, and soon enough he thought he might feel just as empty. “We’d best go to bed,” he finally said, when most porch patrons had gone back inside or disappeared into the night. “I know you’ll want an early start tomorrow.”

  Jed didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at him, just
pushed fluidly up out of the wicker chair and strode silently to the door. He hesitated there, waiting, maybe, because he’d gotten used to having a white man at his back. Maybe because he didn’t see any more reason to part before they had to than Gideon did. So Gideon stood up, stretched briefly, and followed.

  The lobby had quieted, though there were still a dozen or more men and women at the bar. “Want a drink?” Gideon asked.

  Jed shook his head, and his black hair gleamed in the light off the chandeliers overhead.

  No. Jed wouldn’t. Jed didn’t like bars. Gideon would remember that, even if he didn’t know why. Jed paused at the staircase so Gideon moved ahead of him, climbing steadily until he reached the third floor, listening for Jed’s footfalls behind him but not hearing anything. He could feel Jed there, though, moving as quietly as he always did, letting the wool carpet on the hall floor absorb the sound of his passing.

  In the room, Gideon turned the knob to bring up the lamps—some chambermaid or other had already been in to light the pilots, and the faint whir of gas reached his ears before they caught. This place was as modern as they came, and Gideon smiled when Jed frowned at the fixtures, then stepped up to examine them curiously.

  Gideon didn’t explain. Either Jed already knew, because Livingston had gaslights on its main streets, or Jed wouldn’t care, because the ass end of nowhere, where Jed must surely choose to live, didn’t have them. Either way, Gideon felt like he’d run out of stories to tell.

  Gideon watched while Jed took off his boots and coat, setting them neatly aside, and slowly unbuttoned his shirt but left it hanging loose. Frowning, Gideon copied the movements and stood there awkwardly for a moment when he was equally undressed. Then he grunted his annoyance and shucked off his shirt and pants. His drawers covered him decently enough that Jed better not complain. “It’ll get warm in here,” he warned.