Orphan Hero

by John Babb

  He was so red-faced and discomfited that Elizabeth Rayl couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t believe I ever had a welcome like that before. You must have a friend with a strange sense of humor.”

  Crocia piled on as well with a straight face. “Mama and I’ll sit up front. Why don’t you sit in the back with your little green friends?”

  All his plans for conversation went out the window, and it was all he could do to take them to the Durham home and deliver their bags inside the door. Minnie Durham turned her attention from Elizabeth Rayl to him. “We’ll be expecting you for dinner soon as you close the store, B. F.”

  As he rode back to town, he couldn’t help but wonder why in the world every time he saw Crocia Rayl he ended up looking like a fool. He had been in all sorts of difficult situations in his life and most of the time had been able to see clearly what needed to be done. Here she was, a girl of eighteen, but every time she entered the picture, all his planning seemed to be wasted, and his conversation skills were nowhere to be found.

  The next morning the four women responded to his invitation and came to visit the store. He had arrived early and almost wore out his straw broom making sure the place was clean. The four front store windows had a woman’s dress displayed, four different bolts of cloth, kitchen implements, and clothing for small children. To his eye, the place looked better than it ever had before.

  When they arrived, one of his first acts was to direct their attention to the front of Squire Cave’s Saddlery and Bridle Shop directly across the street. B. F. explained to them that he had undoubtedly been the “friend” that had put the special box in his wagon the day before. Hanging on the doorknob of Cave’s store was a hand-lettered sign that read, “Store Closed—Out Carousing All Night.” B. F. smirked. “I don’t believe he’s had a customer all morning. Maybe I ought to take the sign off around noon.”

  His guests spent a little while in the store, then the older women left Crocia and Sue behind. B. F. asked for their suggestions, but he wasn’t really ready for all the advice that came his way.

  “These shoes are fine for old women, but put something newer in your window.”

  “Everybody already has a sausage grinder—why don’t you show off some decent dishes, or maybe something most people don’t have—a wringer washer, a cherry pitter—maybe one of those new stereopticons.”

  “Buy a couple of seamstress’ dummies and put the dresses on them—don’t just lay the dress on the windowsill.”

  “Change these bolts of cloth every week. These are the same ones you had in the window when you opened the store.”

  “When the strawberries start coming in next month, put some in the window.”

  “Put that new wringer washer out in the store so people can see it.”

  “Leaving hats in the hatbox is a waste of time and space.”

  “Put some of these cameo pins and hat pins in your display case.”

  “How about some nice ladies’ fans?”

  “Buy a spool cabinet and put all your thread and needles and knitting things in there so ladies won’t have to hunt all over the store for what they need. It’s fine to put functional things in the store, but put pretty things in the window.”

  He filled up two pages with their comments and different items to be ordered. “Thank you for all your help.”

  Crocia looked at him, then pointed to a glass jar on his counter. “That’s going to cost you two peppermint sticks and a ride home.”

  “Can I talk you into riding out to the house with me about five o’clock? It’s only about a mile from here . . . and you’re invited too, Sue.”

  Sue half-smiled at Crocia. “Why don’t you two go without me, and I’ll help Mama with supper.”

  When he stopped at the Durham home that afternoon, Crocia was waiting on him at the front door. “Do I need to ask your mother to go with us?” B. F. asked.

  She turned her head to him with a questioning look. “Do you want my mother to go with us?”

  He looked behind her to be sure no one was listening, then smiled. “Not really. I just wondered if she might feel like she needed to be along.”

  “Let’s go before she decides she does.”

  Within a few minutes, they had reached the southern boundary of the farm, and he pointed out the spring branch as well as tried to give her an idea of where the property lines were. The sugar cane was as green as a gourd, and the lespedeza was already at least six inches in height. The other fields had been recently planted, and they could see the evidence of corn and oats breaking the surface.

  When they pulled into the lane and she had a good view of the farm house, he could tell she was disappointed. After all, it was small and very plain. “I bought this property for a good price, which will give me an opportunity to spend some money on the house. It’s not much to look at—inside or out—but it could be a nice place with a little money and a good carpenter.”

  “Let’s go inside.”

  The place was in no better shape than when B. F. had first purchased the property. The spiders and mice obviously had full run of the place. As he looked at it again, he saw it with a different set of eyes, and he realized that Crocia was simply looking at a glorified one-room cabin with a yard full of unkempt grass and weeds. He fumbled for an excuse. “I haven’t done anything in here since I bought the place. To tell you the truth, I’ve been waiting on you to tell me what it would need to make it a decent home.”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of girls around here who would be glad to help with that.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that. I was more interested in what you might have to say.”

  “Are you sure you really want to hear it?”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  She kept an eye on him while she talked to gauge his reaction. “It’s not half as big as it needs to be. The existing house could be used as a kitchen and sitting room, but it needs at least two full size bedrooms built on the back of the house. The flooring needs to be replaced or covered. It needs interior walls rather than just chinked boards if it’s to be a snug home. You have to get a decent cookstove, a kitchen table and chairs, cabinets, a dry sink, an icebox, and you’ll need to dig a well so you can have a pump inside the house. Nobody wants to carry water in a bucket from a spring branch.

  “The sitting room needs a mantle over the fireplace, a couple of comfortable chairs, maybe one of those black, Lincoln rockers I saw in a catalog at Pa’s store, a bookcase, a desk for you to do your work at home, and pictures on the walls. The bedrooms should be separated by a central hallway, and they’ll need comfortable beds and chiffarobes, with maybe a nice big mirror in one room. Each of the bedrooms should have two windows for good circulation.

  “The yard is in need of shade trees. You should put a porch across the front with one of those gliders, a flower garden in front of the house, a vegetable garden in the back yard, and a stone walk from the lane to the front door and from the back door to the necessary so a body wouldn’t have to get her feet wet. The only thing holding up that rickety fence is the poison ivy. Papa says a fence should be horse high, pig tight and bull strong. A back porch would be a nice place to put a wringer washer. And you need a decent storm cellar, no matter what!”

  His eyes had gotten steadily bigger as she talked. “I surely underestimated what it would take to turn this house around. I didn’t think of more than a fourth of all that.”

  “I told you that you might not want to hear it.”

  “And I told you that’s why we’re here.”

  She walked over to him. “Is that why you invited me to come to Keetsville, Mister Windes—to give you advice on your house?”

  “Among other things.” He put her hand in his.

  She looked at their hands, then back at him. “What other things?”

  “Right this minute, I can only think of one thing.” He kissed her on the lips, then her ear, her neck, and finally back to the lips. It lasted long enough that he for
got to breathe. She put one hand behind his back and pressed herself close to him. This time, she kissed him. Despite her modest clothing, the closeness made him very aware of her figure.

  Finally, they pushed away from one another, and B. F. said in a voice that sounded strange, even to him. “I think we’d better leave.”

  She looked at him, smiled ever so slightly, and nodded. “I think maybe you’re right.”

  Crocia spent most of the next day in the mercantile store with him, writing down more recommended changes and actually moving things around a bit to accommodate some of the suggestions she and Sue had made earlier. B. F. suddenly realized how much he appreciated her company in the store, and told her so. She returned a smile to him that affected him so much it made him almost feel uneasy with the emotion.

  About noon, Squire Cave came in the store, didn’t see any customers, and said indignantly, “Out carousing all night? You low down son-of-a-gun, I didn’t have any business at all yesterday morning. No telling what folks thought.”

  Crocia was bent over her work behind some shelving, and hearing Cave, she stood up with an innocent look. “I think it’s terrible that an upstanding business man would close his store because he’d been out having a high old time the night before.”

  Cave was embarrassed. “Excuse me, Miss. I didn’t know anyone was in the store, but I can assure you that I didn’t go out carousing.” He paused for effect, casting his eyes downward. “Actually I spent the evening in private bible study.”

  She looked at him. “Now that just doesn’t sound like the kind of man who would play with cow pies one day and go out carousing the next!”

  Cave tipped his hat. “Sorry ma’am. It’s just that I have an uncontrollable desire to improve on the truth.”

  Cave looked at B. F., who was about to bust his collar to keep from laughing, then at Crocia, still with a straight face, and it finally hit him. “You gotta be the girl B. F. talks about.” Then he smiled. “Reckon I see why.”

  Early Sunday morning, the Durhams, Rayls, and B. F. took two wagons down to Roaring River for an all day picnic. As they passed through Dry Hollow, none of the men said a word about their experience there some four months earlier, let alone anything about the cave that was no more. All three were armed, for even though illegal activities in the area were much reduced lately, you could never take safety for granted—particularly when beautiful women were involved.

  There was a good foot of water at the crossing in Dry Hollow Creek, but they progressed well enough. The second time they stopped to cross the creek, B. F. could have sworn he heard a horse making noise on the rocks well behind them, but there was nobody within sight.

  They arrived at the confluence of the creek and the river in about two hours, then headed up the river a short distance to its source, where it poured out of a huge cave at the base of a mountain. There was a grain mill and a carding mill on the river, and from the looks of the water and the way the millwheels were turning, the owners had picked fine sites for their businesses.

  Roaring River had scoured a large lake out where it rushed out of the cave, and the water was crystal clear. Crocia stuck her hand in the water and exclaimed at how cold it was. In fact, with the combination of the roiling spring and the large cave, the air temperature seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees near the opening in the mountain.

  Two men were fishing along the bank of the lake, and another directly below where the lake emptied into the riverbed in a white, frothing torrent. All of them had caught speckled trout that morning. As they watched one of the fishermen struggling with yet another fish on his line, B. F. asked Matt and John if they had ever tried it. “No, but it might be enjoyable to come down here and catch our picnic lunch.”

  Minnie Durham looked at her husband and laughed. “We might all go home hungry if we depended on your fishing.”

  B. F. and Crocia wandered downstream a ways and sat on a large stone by the edge of the river, dangling their bare feet in the cold water. They sat close together, holding hands. “Crocia, I wonder how long it might take to get all that work done on the house.”

  She smiled and snuggled up to him. “If you put things off like my pa, maybe five years.”

  “I was thinking maybe five months.”

  “There’s a lot to be done.”

  “I’m tired of living in the back of my store. I’m ready to start having a real life.”

  She raised her head off his shoulder. “What does having a real life mean?”

  “It means something besides just work. It means a home and a family.”

  She pulled her hand away from him and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Do you really know anything about a family?”

  “I’ve never had one, if that’s what you mean. I sure don’t count my pa and my stepmother. But I’ve seen the way I don’t want it to be, and I’ve seen the way I want it to be.” He looked at her. “What about you? Your folks look like they care about each other, and they surely care about you. What kind of life do you want?”

  “I want to be happy. I want a husband who loves me and I love him. I want a family. I miss my brothers, so I’d really like to have two boys—and girls too. I’d like to have a nice home. And I’d like to be part of a community—church, friends, school.” She looked at him. “Maybe I want too much.”

  “One of the best men I ever knew was a farmer from Tennessee named Fitzwater. We crossed most of the country together before he got killed. He could just barely read, but he knew exactly how to be a good man, a good husband, a good pa, and a good friend. I asked him one time what made him decide he should get married. He told me he got married because he found somebody he just couldn’t live without.” He looked at Crocia. “I’ve never forgotten that.”

  She looked away again and threw a small rock into the river. “Have you ever found anyone you felt that way about?”

  “Yes.”

  Her voice was quieter. “You have? What did you do about it?”

  “Mostly just thought about her every day and every night. What about you—have you found anybody you felt that way about?”

  “I think so.”

  “And what did you do about it?”

  “Tried to make him see that I do.”

  He stared at the foaming river, arguing with himself as to whether or not she meant him or someone else. He finally looked behind them at the Durhams and Elizabeth Rayl laying out a picnic lunch. “Come with me back to the cave again.” They put their shoes on and walked upstream a bit out of sight of the group to where the river surged out of the mountain. The water came out with such force that it created a mist in the air that instantly cooled them off.

  They stood there for a minute, while he took some time to work up his courage. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “Crocia—surely you know it’s you. I don’t think I can do without you.”

  A tear ran down her cheek. “I feel the same way, B. F. Mama and I have to start back to Waynesville Wednesday, and to tell you the truth, I want to stay right here.”

  He kissed her. “I want to ask your folks for your hand.”

  “When?”

  “I’m going to ask your Ma in about two minutes. I’ll have to send a letter to your Pa.”

  “A telegram—so he’ll know before we get home.”

  “Even better.”

  They walked back to where the group was sitting in the shade. “Missus Rayl, could I speak to you for a few minutes?

  Elizabeth Rayl looked at her daughter, saw her flush, and knew down deep exactly what was coming. The others speculated as they watched her and B. F. walk down to the river together, stand talking for a few minutes, and then saw Elizabeth hug B. F. and kiss him. They walked back arm in arm and Missus Rayl grinned at her friends.

  “Minnie, Sue—you’re invited to Waynesville sometime soon.”

  “Wonderful. What’s the occasion?”

  “We’re havin’ ourselves a wedding.”

  M
cCorkle lay on a steep bluff that extended out over the river, about two hundred feet directly above the picnic, talking to himself. “Now ain’t they the happy couple. I think I’d like to give that girl a proper wedding present myself.” He smiled at his joke.

  He had to have a decent gun, and he definitely needed more information. There would be no way to do anything when the three men were around, as all of them were armed. He could only catch bits and pieces of conversation, but apparently, the girl and the woman didn’t live in Keetsville. That had to mean they would be traveling soon.

  Forty-Nine

  I Believe You Kilt Me This Time

  Keetsville, Missouri 1866

  Henry Sedgwick was as sore as he’d ever been, having ridden the bony old mare almost five hundred miles in the last two weeks. His bad leg burned like fire from trying to stay in the cheap saddle, and his backside was raw from all the bouncing around he had done on the backbone of the horse. It had taken almost six-month’s work in the Chicago railyards just to save enough money to buy the horse and saddle. But finally, he was a few miles north of Springfield and less than three days from home. Home and his Matilda.

  It worried him that she had not answered either of his two letters since the end of the war and his release from prison. But he’d heard stories about stolen mail, and even hints that some Yankees destroyed all letters going south, just to be mean-spirited. One thing was sure, in the last four years he had found there was no shortage of meanness in his fellow man. But he had to keep believing she was safe and still waiting for him.

  He hardly looked like the boy who had left Keetsville in January of 1862. He was at least twenty pounds lighter now, although a sight heavier than he had been during three miserable years of confinement at Camp Douglas. Between the horrible food and the frequent bouts of dysentery, he had only weighed around a hundred and ten pounds at the end of the war—hardly enough to cover the bones of a man six feet tall. He’d seen a lot of good men just wither away to nothing in that prison. He hated to guess how many had walked in the prison camp healthy as could be but were carried out feet first in no time at all. Frankly, he didn’t know why he had lived through it, while so many others had not.