Walks the Fire (36 page)

LisBeth had flung the words out too hastily to reel them back in. Their effect on her mother was immediate. Jesse clenched both hands around the bedpost until her knuckles grew white. Green flecks appeared in the gray eyes as she said, “For the first time since you were born, LisBeth, I am ashamed of you. Your father wore animal skins instead of wool suits. He spoke a different language. He looked different from the men in our society. But when it comes down to a man’s
worth,
LisBeth, those differences don’t really make any difference at all. Do
you
think any less of MacKenzie because you know his father was a weak man who committed suicide? Of course not. Will MacKenzie think any less of
you
when he learns that your father was a Lakota brave? I don’t know. But I think that MacKenzie deserves something more than suddenly being snubbed by the young woman he likes, without so much as an explanation.

“Perhaps he
will
change his mind when he learns that you are half Indian. But, LisBeth, you have to take that chance. Don’t use your parents as an excuse to be miserable. Your future is
your
responsibility. I will
not
be
blamed for some imagined happiness that you think I have stolen from you. I wholeheartedly believe that God put me in your father’s arms, and you have
no
right
to say that there was anything wrong with that.

“Rides the Wind was a wonderful, kind man. I loved him. I
still
love him, and you would have loved him, too, if you’d had the chance to know him.” Jesse lowered her voice and said very coldly, “You will
never
speak of him with disrespect again, do you understand?”

Jesse’s monologue had been delivered in a tone of anger that LisBeth had never before heard. It made her a little afraid. Now, in the familiar voice of Mama, Jesse added, “Now, there is a very handsome young man out in that kitchen waiting to escort you to a church social. Tell him about your father. I’ve brought you up to be honest, so tell MacKenzie the truth and take whatever response you get as an answer from the Lord. If MacKenzie accepts you for what you are and still wants to take you to the social, then maybe he
is
the man God has for you. If he doesn’t, then you’re better off knowing now. There is nothing more challenging than being married to a man who doesn’t approve of you. Don’t repeat the mistake I made when I married Homer King. Now, I heartily suggest that you get out to the kitchen and do some apologizing. You may not get a second chance for happiness, LisBeth.”

Jesse was trembling with emotion as she finished. Wheeling about, she marched out of LisBeth’s room, across the hall, and into her own room. She lay down and pulled her quilt about her, listening to the stillness in the hall outside her door.

A few moments later, she heard LisBeth’s door creak and footsteps retreating toward the kitchen. Jesse stayed in her room, waiting, wondering what MacKenzie would do.

MacKenzie and Augusta conversed easily while the latter bustled about the kitchen and MacKenzie snapped the green beans. LisBeth stood at the kitchen door watching him work, listening to the tenor of his voice and the easy laughter that he shared with Augusta over an incident at the store that day. His thick black hair had fallen over his forehead as he worked. LisBeth liked the way the veins in the backs of his hands stood out as he worked. When he’d finished, he scooted his chair back and stretched easily, both hands behind his head. In the middle of the stretch he saw LisBeth, and immediately both hands dropped to his sides. A smile started across his face.

“MacKenzie,” LisBeth asked, “could I talk to you outside for just a minute?”

“Sure. MacKenzie cast a glance at Augusta, who nodded encouragement as the two young people went outside.

In nearly all LisBeth’s dealings with him, MacKenzie had been seated at a table while she served him. She had never really realized how tall he was. She liked the way he towered over her. And she liked the way he stayed quiet, waiting for her to sort out her thoughts.

The two meandered across the back lot and into the stable. Jesse’s now-ancient mare, Red Star, nickered a greeting, and they went down the row of stalls to scratch behind her ears.

“Red Star was all we had on this earth when we first came to Lincoln,” LisBeth said. “It had just been renamed from Lancaster then.”

“When my folks staked their claim, it was Lancaster.”

“You were here then? Why didn’t you ever come to town?”

“Pa did all his shopping at Nebraska City. Said Lancaster would never amount to anything.”

As they talked, LisBeth began to braid Red Star’s mane. She was silent for a moment. Then, without looking up she whispered, “I know, MacKenzie. I know about your folks. About your pa. I was in the loft the day you told Joseph about it.”

MacKenzie looked at her sharply, and she rushed to explain, “The loft is sort of my secret place, where I go to think and to be alone. I was up there that day. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but there was no way to come down when you were already talking to Joseph.”

“It’s all right, I guess,” MacKenzie said, shrugging his shoulders. Then, an almost desperate plea, “But you won’t tell anyone, will you? I mean—Pa didn’t have many friends here, but I wouldn’t want them to think…”

LisBeth finished braiding Red Star’s mane and looked up at MacKenzie. She promised, “Of
course
I
won’t tell anyone. It’s nobody’s business, anyway.”

MacKenzie nodded his thanks, swallowed hard, and stared at Red Star’s mane as he asked quietly, “So… will you go to the church social with me? Or maybe you don’t want to go with somebody who had a crazy man for a father.” His voice was pained.

“Oh, MacKenzie, I don’t care about that at all!” LisBeth exclaimed quickly. “You can’t blame a person for something his parents did. Goodness, just
think
what this world would be like if we all kept records of past generations.” She giggled. “Why, there’s not a person in Lincoln who’d have a thing to do with any of the other people in Lincoln!”

MacKenzie smiled. “So, will you go with me or won’t you?”

It was getting easier to talk with him. LisBeth looked into his blue eyes earnestly. “First, I have to explain something. You might not
want
to ask me when you hear it. I hope you won’t care.” LisBeth blinked hard, “But if you
do
care, if it makes a difference, I’ll understand.”

She told everything as quickly as she could, stringing sentences together the way she had when she was a little girl. By the end of the tale, she found herself defending her mother, angry at the world that made it necessary for her to explain. Impulsively, she grabbed a curry comb and began to brush Red Star’s coat vigorously. She brushed for a long time, and tears began to blur her vision. She tried to resign herself to what seemed to be happening. Then a hand covered hers and squeezed affectionately. Mac took the curry comb away, and bent to kiss the back of her hand.

“So, Miss King, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to the social next Friday evening at the Congregational Church?”

Miss King embarrassed herself by saying
yes!
so loudly that the dozing horse in the stall next to Red Star jumped and kicked the side of his stall in fright. The two young people laughed, and MacKenzie lifted LisBeth into the air and swung her around in his arms.

Sick with apprehension, Jesse had been unable to remain alone for long. She returned to the kitchen to help Augusta with meal preparations, praying earnestly for LisBeth and MacKenzie while she worked. When the two young people burst through the kitchen door together, their happy smiles told the older women all they needed to know.

LisBeth was sobered when she saw her Mother. “Mother, I…”

Jesse held up a hand to stop her. “It’s all right. I’m glad everything turned out. I’ve been praying for you both.”

“Mother, all four of us know about Papa. Would you tell me a story about him while we make supper?”

The culprit never came forward, but at some time that evening, the first book burning in the State of Nebraska took place. Francis Day’s
Memoirs of the Savage West
found its way into Augusta’s cook stove.

Thirty

She… worketh willingly with her hands.”
—
Proverbs 31:13

It was Saturday evening,
the boarders had all been fed and had gone off to bed, and Augusta and Jesse were finishing the day in their usual way. Jesse sat in her rocker by the stove, adding the borders to her latest quilt top. It would be in the fashionable solid greens and reds of the day. Jesse had wanted to try a Baltimore Album style quilt, which one of the ladies at the church quilting group had seen on a trip back east and had described, but Jesse opted for something less complicated, with less intricate applique work.
If I work with bigger pieces,
she thought,
then I can spend all the time I want to on the quilting.
Jesse loved quilting, and nothing satisfied her more than covering the top of a quilt with intricate plumes and feathers, then joining them with closely quilted lines and stippling.

While Jesse stitched, Augusta read aloud from the
Commonwealth.
It was no longer the only newspaper in Lincoln, but Augusta remained loyal to the oldest rag and its editor. “They were here when we started Lincoln, and they’ll still be here when we’ve passed on,” Augusta explained when a newsboy tried to sell her on the new paper. “I’m proud to call Charles Gere my friend, young man, and he always tells it straight.” The aggressive newsboy accepted defeat and went on up the street looking for new territory to conquer.

Augusta squinted at the fine print and read aloud:

We have not seen anything in Nebraska so free at once from stiffness and vulgarity as the unique and original scenes depicted at the entertainment given last evening by the Ladies of Lincoln for the benefit of the Congregational Church.

“Free from stiffness and vulgarity,”
August repeated. “Well, the
entertainment
certainly was—although I can’t say the same for Miss Charity Bond when she caught sight of our LisBeth on MacKenzie Baird’s arm!”

“Augusta!” Jesse chided.

Augusta lowered the paper. “I’m just saying what is, Jesse. You saw it too. That little snit’s been tossin’ her curls like a shameless hussy at every eligible young man that comes to town. She had her cap set for MacKenzie, and you and I both know it. I’ll never forget the look on her face when MacKenzie and LisBeth walked in together. Her back went ramrod straight and she just
whirled
across that floor to pull MacKenzie away. Downright rude, I’d say.”

Jesse tried to interrupt her.

“Oh, I know, I know… she ‘just wanted to introduce them to her friends,’ she said. Of course, she had to place herself
between
LisBeth and MacKenzie to do it! And she nearly forgot to introduce LisBeth at all.
“Vulgar,
I’d say, is the way to describe that little miss’s manners. Her mother should be ashamed of her!”

“Augusta, what else does the paper say about the event?” Jesse, ever kind and willing to give “the benefit of the doubt” to all, tried to change the subject.

Augusta read briefly:

Guests were treated to several scenes under the skillful direction of Mrs. Agnes Bond and Miss Hortense Griswall. Included were “Peter in Prison” (the editor’s personal favorite), “Queen Esther,” “Pygmalion,” and “The Temptation.”

Augusta left off reading again.
“Skillful!
I never saw such skill in making Charity Bond stand out. Agnes made certain that Charity was the centerpiece of every scene, except the one that best suits her. ‘The Temptation’ would have been the
perfect
part, but then Agnes wouldn’t want her darling Charity to appear a temptress. Hmph!”

“Augusta, please… just read the news,” Jesse pleaded.

“Oh, all right! But right is right and LisBeth should have had a part. That’s all I say.”

“Augusta, you know very well that LisBeth has no interest at all in dramatics. You were in this very room when she begged
not
to be forced to participate.”

Augusta pretended not to hear and finished reading the review.

The scenes were ably accompanied by Mrs. Agnes Bond’s fine piano performance…

Augusta interjected, “Which gave her every opportunity to loudly introduce the entrances of one Charity Bond,”

… with the assistance of a little fairy played by Birdie Pound, who saluted the audience to announce each next scene. Let it be known that Birdie was a favorite of the audience. The ladies deserve the highest praise for their invention, originality, and artistic skill.

Augusta left off reading to make a final editorial comment,
“Originality
—certainly Charity displayed
that.
I never saw such original schemes to make MacKenzie pay her mind. When she dropped her punch and splattered LisBeth’s new dress I wanted to slap her. But MacKenzie saved the day. He took LisBeth’s arm and walked back here with her and waited while she changed. Bless that boy’s heart.”