Prairie Wife (7 page)

And no one needed to mention that Amy would be looked after. Sam
was her father, after all.

Jesse climbed up to the driver's seat and Cay scrambled to sit
beside him. The back of the wagon held the crates, their bedrolls and a small
tool chest.

If Sam thought it odd that Jesse hadn't said goodbye to Amy, he
kept it to himself. He'd been around them every day for the past year, and he
already knew things were strained, so this probably didn't seem any more out of
the ordinary than any other day.

Cay, on the other hand, looked back at Amy with an expression she
couldn't decipher. She assumed he didn't like her. And that was fine by her.
Another month, six weeks and he'd probably run off anyway. Even if he stayed
for the time being, another three or four years and he'd be out on his own.

Sam approached her, would have given her a hug if she hadn't taken
a step back. He studied her for a moment, the look in his eyes telling her he
saw it all, saw through her and wouldn't hold his silence much longer.

He led his horse toward the stables.

Mrs. Barnes arrived and waved a greeting before she entered the
house.

Amy stood alone watching the wagon disappear. Then she watched the
horizon until the sun was up and sounds of life and work came from the barns.
Occasionally Jesse made a trip for horses or other business, so having him gone
for a few days wasn't unknown. He'd even made a couple of trips over the past
year while they hadn't been on the best of terms.

But this was different. It felt different. Because of the
occasion. Because of what had happened last night. Because she was having
trouble keeping a lid on her carefully guarded thoughts.

Work was good for keeping her mind occupied, and there was always
plenty of that. The men would be coming for breakfast, so she turned and
hurried toward the house.

***

Travelers from a wagon train that had camped nearby the night
before rode into the door yard in mid-morning. Their horses were thin and
dull-coated, and the travelers themselves looked as though a stiff wind would
send them back to Kansas.

While the men were apparently working out a trade with Sam for
fresh horses, Amy invited the three ladies in for tea.

Penelope Cross was a motherly looking woman, with deeply tanned
hands and cracked red spots on her nose where she'd burned in the sun. These
women spent much of their days on a wagon seat, reins in their hands, and every
other moment cooking, washing clothing and collecting firewood. Penelope
blushed with pleasure at being invited in.

"You can't know what a delight it is to sit in your
kitchen."

Amy knew very well the difficult months these women were
experiencing. Hers was quite likely the only roof they'd seen over their heads
since leaving their homes.

Amy poured tea and Mrs. Barnes set a plate of sliced applesauce
cake and sugar cookies on the table.

Penelope chewed a cookie slowly and closed her eyes.
"Heaven."

Rebecca McDonald was Penelope's sister-in-law and Katy Montgomery
was Rebecca's daughter. They planned to settle in Colorado before winter.

"Mrs. Shelby, does the mercantile nearby trade?" Penelope
asked.

"Not often," Amy replied. "The problem out here is
having someone to sell the traded items to. The people coming through need food
and practical supplies, not the belongings that were dispensable to the
previous owners. I'm sure you understand."

"I do," she said, but her expression showed her
disappointment.

"What is it you need, Mrs. Cross?"

"I was hoping for eggs, and perhaps cheese and butter."

"And what do you have to trade?"

Penelope got up and crossed to the door. She disappeared for a few
minutes and returned with an object wrapped in a blanket.

Amy watched as the woman carefully unwrapped the bundle and
revealed a lovely cherry-wood mantel clock with a round glass face and
gilt-edged legs. She took a brass key from a tiny drawer in the back and wound
the timepiece, then opened the glass door and started the pendulum swinging.

"Mrs. Cross, that's worth far more than a few eggs and some
cheese, don't you think?"

"My father brought it over from England. But it's doing me no
good right now. I get up when daylight dawns and don't go to bed until work is
finished. Not a lot of call for knowing what time it is."

"But someday..."

"Someday doesn't count much when my family needs to keep up
their strength and their spirits."

Amy studied the ticking clock. She had a solid home and her daily
needs were met without worry. Comparing her situation to that of these women,
she felt fortunate. "Tell you what. I'll do you better than the eggs. I'll
trade you two of my black laying hens, a rooster, a brick of cheese and two
pounds of butter."

Penelope's face brightened, and she and her companions shared
excited smiles.

"My father can fix up a cage," Amy added.

It had seemed a simple enough solution, but the three women acted
as though they'd traded for a king's ransom. When it came time for them to
leave, regret plainly showed on their faces. Amy accompanied them to the stage
yard.

Penelope thanked Amy again and gave her an impulsive hug. Amy felt
herself stiffen, but she didn't pull away. Everyone who knew Amy had learned to
keep their distance, but this woman had no reason to realize her spontaneous
act was unwelcome.

If Penelope noticed, she gave no indication. Her smile was as
bright as before when she joined her party and rode away.

Amy watched "them go, thinking of the hardships they were
enduring on their way to their new land.

Back at the house, she polished the clock and gave it a place of
honor in the parlor. She'd met countless families making their way to what they
hoped were better futures, and she recognized the sacrifices they made during
their travels. Several pieces of furniture in this very room had been abandoned
along the trail, discovered by Jesse or her father and brought home. Sometimes
she wondered about the owners, hoped they'd reached their destinations.

She had so much to be thankful for. And that fact only added to
her guilt and inadequacy. What weakness in her kept her from being the person
she wanted to be?

That evening Amy worked on the dress she'd been making. Though
Jesse hadn't been sleeping in the house, the rooms were all the more silent
with him gone.

From her seat in the rocking chair in the parlor, the
tick
of
the clock on the mantel was her only company.

And something about the sound, about the elusive familiarity of
it, disturbed her. Before she went up to bed, she opened the clock face and
stopped the pendulum.

"What
are we gonna do with her?" Cay asked, giving Jesse a sidelong
look from his spot beside him on the wagon seat.

They were descending the last hill that led them along the Platte
Valley on their return to Shelby Station. Since they'd left Kansas, the boy
hadn't spoken much, hadn't eaten much, and didn't seem inclined to share more
than the seat and a campfire with his uncle.

"With your grandma?"

Cay nodded.

"Well, normally, we'd lay her out in the parlor and have
visitation. Then bury her with a service and all. But the sorry truth is, it's
been too many days, and we can't do more than put her in the ground."

The boy beside him showed no reaction.

Jesse had spent most of the miles of travel regretting having not
taken time to visit his mother or send for her before it was too late. Now he
was the only family Cay had left, and his mother had known Jesse would accept
responsibility for him. Jesse didn't have a problem with that. Family was
family.

"We're lucky to have her so we can bury her on our land, Cay.
This whole valley is a graveyard for folks who died on their way west. We're on
the Overland Trail here. Oregon Trail's the same."

Cay checked the surrounding vista with a concerned gaze.

"The graves aren't marked," Jesse said. "So you
won't be seein' 'em. After the person's buried, their family or friends roll
their wagons over the place so Indians or animals won't find it."

At that the boy looked a little pale. "Oh."

"So having her buried on our land with a marker is good. Even
if we don't have a long drawn-out mourning time like back home."

Cay nodded his understanding.

The boy seemed withdrawn, and Jesse hadn't managed to find a
subject that interested him. Cay was grieving and Jesse felt powerless to offer
him comfort. He'd already learned that you couldn't force consolation on a
person who didn't want it.

From the direction of the river came a sharp yelping sound. Both
of them turned their attention toward the noise.

A small butterscotch-colored dog with darker fur on its ears and
chin bounded across the dry prairie grass, sending grasshoppers whirring into
the air. Keeping its distance, the dog ran alongside barking furiously.

"Where'd he come from?" Cay asked.

"Probably got left behind or lost from a wagon train,"
Jesse replied.

"How will he live?"

"Catching mice and prairie dogs, I suppose."

"What about winter? Don't it get cold here?"

"Mighty cold." Jesse glanced at the dog, then at Cay's
face. It was the first interest he'd shown in anything. If a dog could be a
comfort to the boy, Jesse was all for taking the mutt home. "You thinkin'
you'd like to keep 'im?"

Cay shrugged. "He'd probably die out here when it got real
cold."

"Probably. Whoa, there, whoa." Jesse stopped the team,
and Cay jumped to the ground.

The feisty critter barked and ran in circles.

Cay took a few steps toward it, and the dog ran about ten feet,
then stopped and darted back to bark again. Cay squinted up at the wagon.
"We got any o' them biscuits left?"

Jesse twisted back to reach the crate they'd been munching from
since morning and tossed Cay a biscuit.

Kneeling down, Cay held out the offering. "Come get this,
boy. You need a place to bunk? Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya."

Jesse listened to the childish coaxing, instinctively knowing Cay
was saying the things he needed to hear and know. His mother had cast him off
like an old shoe and never come back. Now his grandmother was gone.

After a few minutes of coaxing, the dog finally wagged its tail
and moved cautiously forward, eating the biscuit from Cay's hand, then licking
the boy's fingers.

Cay picked him up and rubbed his ears.

"What're you gonna call 'im?" Jesse asked when they were
back on their way, the dog settled in Cay's lap.

Cay petted the animal, who'd already shown a fondness for having
his ears scratched. "Biscuit?"

Jesse grinned.

"That okay?"

"Fine by me. He's your dog."

***

An hour later, Shelby Station came into sight, and the view moved
Jesse as it always did. Cottonwoods formed a windbreak across the south. The
buildings were spread out in a nook between two hills of pastureland, a hay
field to the west and the river to the east. A windmill turned lazily in the
breeze, and a clothesline full of white towels and linens flapped beneath the
sun.

"This is your home now," he told Cay. "You're
family, and I'm glad you're here."

Cay said nothing, but studied the station a little more intently.

A dozen fine horses grazed in one of the pastures, and twenty
others stood in paddocks. The repetitive ring of an anvil was proof that work
never stopped. Once this had been everything Jesse had ever wanted.

Here were the horses he'd planned to train and sell. The operation
he planned with Sam Burnham was a success. The woman he'd met and taken for his
wife was here.

A sense of hopelessness washed over him at the thought of Amy.

He couldn't see the spot from here, but his gaze unerringly
traveled in the direction of the rise of land that already held two markers.
He'd
almost
had everything he'd ever wanted. He didn't know what he
wanted or needed anymore, except the ability to survive nights and days he'd
just as soon forget.

The horses knew their feed and stalls were just ahead, and he had
to keep a tight rein, finally halting them in the door yard.

Pitch hurried out with his peculiar bowlegged stride. His gaze
moved across the tarp-covered coffin in the back of the wagon.

"Unhitch this pair and bring a fresh team," Jesse said.
"These fine girls deserve a rest."

"Sure thing." Pitch hurried to do the chore.

Amy came down the porch steps then, as pretty and fresh as the
first time he'd seen her.

"How was your trip?"