“I don’t want to trick a man. I’m not sure I want to dress up and pretend I’m someone I’m not. I do have dreams, but I’m not sure they are the same as yours. I’ll think about it all.” She swallowed, unsure of what to say. Her mother was smiling. She was happy and Penny didn’t want to take that away. “I better go check on Honey. Last time Billy took her out, he let her get ahold of Mrs. Lewbrinksy’s laundry and she’s been glaring at me ever since.”
4
Who’s the lady with the frown?” Thomas motioned toward a woman standing outside the mercantile.
“That’s Eliza Danbury. She’s the store owner’s daughter.” Hugh’s eyes lingered on the woman. “Town beauty, or at least she was.” Hugh had a far-off look on his face. Surely, he was remembering long-ago days in Azure Springs that Thomas would never fully understand.
“She married Jeb a few months back and hasn’t been the same since. I guess marriage doesn’t suit everyone. At least not marriage to Jeb.” Hugh shook his head. “It’s not right. You should have seen her before. She was always laughing and smiling. She was different then.”
Thomas leaned back against the hitching post. “Seems you know everyone.”
“Can’t help it in a place like this. Won’t be long until we all know about you too.” Hugh scratched his forearm. “You got a girl?”
“Nope.” Thomas untied his horse and threw the reins over the mare’s head. His horses had been injured so badly in the accident that he’d had to let them go. This new mare he’d bought was a shaggy, ill-mannered beast. “I came out here alone.”
“What’s that look for?” Hugh prodded him with his finger. Though Hugh was equal to Thomas in age, his persistent smile gave him almost a boyish look. “You do got a girl, don’t ya? She coming later?”
Thomas, already regretting this foolish outing, swung his body into the saddle. He didn’t want to talk about women or the past. For the two days he’d been working on Hugh’s land, he’d done all he could to avoid personal questions. And now Hugh had asked him to ride to the old Dawson place with him. Even though Thomas had insisted he wasn’t interested in staying in Iowa, his new friend had somehow coaxed him into seeing what was for sale. But no piece of land was worth dredging up the past for.
“Come on. Tell me about her.” Hugh pulled himself up into his saddle. He wore the same grin he’d been wearing since Thomas had first met him at the dining hall.
“I don’t think you’ll let up, will you?” Thomas rubbed his chest. “Back in Alexandria, there was a girl who changed my life. It’s a long story and not a very enjoyable one.”
Hugh scoffed. “Why not bring her along? Is she too much of a city gal to handle the West? Any girl who doesn’t love all this”—he motioned toward the vast green landscape—“may not be right for you. Who am I to say though? Maybe she would take to Azure Springs. It’s not nearly as primitive as Montana.”
“It’s not like that. It’s complicated.” Thomas dug his heels harder into the horse’s side in a vain attempt to control the stubborn animal. “I’ve worked on your land for two days and it’s obvious no woman lives there. I hardly think you’re in a position to lecture me on matrimony. Besides, the bachelor life isn’t so bad.”
“I may be a bachelor too, but I’d change that if I could.”
Thomas raised a brow.
Hugh slowed his horse. “You can’t marry a girl who’s already married. That’s my story. I was too slow to speak up, too slow to even try. And until I find another gal who keeps me up at night thinking of her, I’ll just keep busy digging rocks out of my soil. It’s not a life I’d recommend. No one should be lonely if they can avoid it.”
Thomas rode in silence. Regrets seemed to be a universal burden. Hugh at least had found a way to smile beneath their weight.
Hugh looked over his shoulder in the direction of the town. “Look around. We’ve got women here. Your chances are better here than farther west. Maybe there’s an Azure Springs woman who could fill whatever void you have. Smile occasionally. I’m sure we could find you someone to make your house a home and keep you warm at night. You keep going and settle in Montana, you might die a single man.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Though I doubt it will be enough to entice me to stay.”
“You haven’t been here during an Iowa winter. I hear Montana’s worse. Having someone beside you might hold more appeal when the snow starts falling.” Hugh laughed at his own joke. “It’s your life. If you want to risk frostbite, I can’t stop you.”
“Better show me this homestead. As it is, I won’t be around long enough to court a girl. I can’t stay at the boardinghouse forever. I’ve already been there too long. Margaret’s forever threatening to use the switch on me. I think she really might one of these days. I’m itching to be on my way.”
“Follow me.” Hugh clicked his tongue as he led his horse farther down the path. “You’re going to love this spread. You won’t find a place like it anywhere in this whole world. Besides, in Montana you’ll end up with some plot of land that doesn’t even have a fence post in it. Your smooth city hands might not be up for that challenge. The Dawsons left this place with the soil already turned. You want to learn farming, start here.”
Thomas rubbed his hands together. There was truth in what Hugh said. He could run to the West and trade in his city duds for loose farm clothes, but he wasn’t prepared for the reality of such a life. His two days at Hugh’s and the day at the barn had taught him that much. Every muscle in his body ached, his hands were blistered, and at times he was certain his eyes would close while he worked because he was so tired. Never had he been so physically exhausted.
“I’m free to go or come as I please. That’s the luxury of being unattached. I can settle here and move on later if it pleases me.” Thomas patted his mare’s neck, only to have her balk at his touch. “Blasted animal. I can’t seem to win her over.”
“Maybe she’s longing for you to settle down. Put her in her own stall and she might treat you better.”
Thomas groaned. “You’re as bad as Margaret. She hassles me about seeing the barber and when to eat. The stall at the stable is fine. This horse just doesn’t like me.”
Hugh smiled. The man was always smiling. All Thomas’s life, he’d surrounded himself with conniving businessmen who smiled only when it served to further their success. Their every move motivated by some potential personal gain. Thomas sensed none of that in Hugh. It was unsettling. So unsettling that at times he found his own scowl loosening in the good man’s company.
Over one small rise and then another they rode. Seas of blowing grassland on either side rippled in unison at the will of the breeze. There was a beauty to it. He’d been slow to notice any beauty since his life had taken a turn. No, the truth was, he’d never been good at appreciating real beauty. But he saw it here, in the fresh, open air. He saw it in the dancing grasses and droplets of color made by the spring flowers. He saw it in the rare and unusual friendships he was making. For a moment, life held a bit of promise. As quickly as his ability to see beauty came, it vanished. Replaced once again by pangs of remorse. A cloud of guilt so dark it blocked the newly risen sun. The colors faded, leaving only shadows. Whatever beauty he had found was pushed aside, lost to the darkness.
“I don’t need to see the homestead.” Thomas pulled on the reins, directing his horse away from the path. “I’ll take it. I’ll give it a go. If I take to it, I’ll stay. If not, I’ll continue west.”
“You’ll buy it? You haven’t even seen the place.” Hugh rode up beside him. “You’ll give up your Montana dream without ever seeing the land you’re purchasing?”
“I know it seems irrational, and maybe it is, but I need a place of my own. I’m not going to stay with Margaret forever. And as much as I like working for you, I’m a man who likes a bit of control. My wagon’s done, but I don’t know when a group will be heading west. This land and house you speak of seem as good as any. I’m a man wandering. Why not stop here
?” He looked at his hands. The leather reins rested in them. “Besides, you’re right. My hands are soft. I can toughen them up here as well as I could out there.”
“You’re a strange man,” Hugh said. “I don’t understand. You’re willing to work for next to nothing digging holes for fence posts. Even when you have the funds to buy one of the nicest spreads in Azure Springs—”
“I needed to get away from the boardinghouse. I couldn’t stay locked up in there all day, every day. Working for you was never about the pay.” He shrugged. “I don’t blame you for finding me odd.”
“I’m not belittling your work. I’m grateful for it. I just don’t understand you.” Hugh smiled again. “I’ll tell you my whole story, every detail if you want. I’d listen to yours too.”
“Someday . . . perhaps.” Thomas wanted to end it there, but then he thought of Hugh’s patient teaching. Each new chore had required Hugh to stop his own work and come teach Thomas. There’d never been any malice in his looks or his words. Thomas had never had a friend like him. The least he could do was offer some sort of an explanation.
“See that tree there?” Thomas pointed to a stubby tree scarred by an old prairie fire. “I feel like that tree. Battered by the elements. Look at it. It’s not much of a tree. Sometimes I don’t feel like much of a man. I have a whole past behind me that I’d just as soon forget if I could, but the scars won’t go away. I don’t know how to go about finding a future. I don’t know which way to grow or whether to keep growing at all.”
Hugh wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. “That tree survived a fire that devoured all its neighbors. It survived, and if you look at the base of it you’ll see saplings. Whether or not it has scars, it’s doing something. If you’re that tree, then there’s a reason you’re here. That tree fought for its life. Fight for yours. Fight for it at the old Dawson place.” Hugh started back toward town.
Thomas took a deep breath. His lungs filled with the sweet scent of grass. “I will.”
“I got a day’s work ahead of me. I’ll see you soon. When the deed’s signed, I’ll come help you with your land.”
Thomas said a quick farewell, then slid off the back of his horse and watched Hugh ride toward town. The breeze blew across the open grasses and rustled the leaves of the mangled tree. Thomas walked to it. Kneeling on the ground, he inspected the small saplings at the tree’s base. Their leaves were fresh and green. Unscathed by the storms and hardships of the land.
Thomas reached for the grass nearest the little trees and pulled. Repeatedly he pulled handfuls of grass from around the saplings—handful after handful. The hot sun beat against his back, but he did not slow. Hunched over, he continued on until each sapling had a circle of space around it.
“Fight,” he whispered to them. And to himself.
Penny flipped the end of her braid back and forth while she read through a stack of letters. Nothing interesting had grabbed her attention the entire morning. In fact, she had found nothing exciting for days. And she needed a distraction. Something to pull her away from her own worries.
The next letter began like so many others—with someone addressing their mother. At least half the letters she went through were to mothers. When she was younger, before her father died, she dreamed of being a parent herself. And if that dream had come true, perhaps she’d have gotten a letter addressed to her with the words Dear Mother on it.
Dear Mother,
I couldn’t sleep last night. I lay in bed missing you and missing Father. I can’t believe he is really gone. I suppose it is the curse of youth to believe life can go on as it always has. But I never imagined a world without Father. Despite his quiet ways, I always knew I could turn to him when I was weak. He was so strong. So good. I know he’d know what to tell me. I know if he were only here, he’d be able to comfort me.
“Penny. Penny,” Dinah whispered. “You’re crying.”
Penny wiped her face. She hadn’t noticed the tears. Her mind had been too busy thinking of her own father, who also had been good and strong and wise.
“Dinah, do you ever worry we will spend the rest of our lives reading other people’s mail? I’m so often swept up in someone else’s love letter or my heart soars as I read of a new baby, but it’s never my baby or my love story.” Penny could almost hear her father telling her to make time for the simple joy of love and family. “I’ve been here so long. And if I go to Uncle Clyde’s, I think my chance for true love and adventure will be lost to decorum and presentation. I get older every day, and always it’s money or work that decides what I do. And soon it will be Uncle Clyde. I wonder if anyone will ever write me a love letter. Will I ever have a say in my fate?”
Dinah’s eyes grew soft. “I think any job has mundane days. No life is all adventure. Not here or with Uncle Clyde.”
“I know. It’s just . . . I want something of my own.” She glanced down at the paper in her hands. “When I was little, my father used to put me up on his shoulders and we’d walk through the city parks together. Once he pointed toward the government buildings and told me this land was a land of freedom. That we owed it to our forefathers to make good lives for ourselves.”
“Your father did that, did he not? He lived a good life.”
“My father was a hardworking man. He made his fortune and invested. Doubling, tripling it over time. He was brilliant. You know the rest—how two years after his death, his financial advisor cheated us and we lost it all. But that’s not what I was getting at. I no longer care about all we lost.” Penny took a deep breath. “My father wanted me to do things worth writing home about. Big things, little things. All of it. He wanted me to find joy and purpose.” She threw her hands to her sides, nearly dropping the letter she held. “He laughed. No one laughs like he did. And I hardly laugh anymore.” Penny’s voice became more intense. “I remember watching him. His eyes were always so alive. They were full of love. Even my mother was calm and happy when he was around. Everything was simpler and happier then. My mother used to smile. And it wasn’t forced—it was real. Their love was perfect, and now . . . Sometimes I feel I’ve lost both my parents, my dreams, and my hopes.”
Dinah didn’t tear into the letter she held in her hands. She waited.
“I can’t explain it. I wonder if there will ever be a chance for me to truly take after my father and go see something new. I wish I could ask him what I ought to do with my life.”
“You’ve told me so much of your father and his wisdom. Surely, when the time is right, you’ll know how to follow his lead.”
Penny reached over and grasped her friend’s hand. “Until then, I suppose I’ll continue reading this endless stack of correspondence. I’ll try with all of my might to keep from throttling my mother when she talks of how joyous it will be to dress me up and put me on display. And I’ll try not to lose faith.”
A raspy, wet noise drew the girls’ attention. Roland stood over them. He pushed up his spectacles with his forefinger and cleared his throat again.
“I heard you were collecting letters from Thomas. I know which bin to look in. Here.” Roland took a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, then he dropped three letters onto her lap, turned, and shuffled away.
Such an odd man.
“Thank you,” Penny called to his back before fanning the letters in Dinah’s direction. “These two are from a different Thomas. I can tell by the penmanship. But this one is Clara’s Thomas. He’s a determined man.”
“You’re smiling.” Dinah nudged her shoulder. “Remind me to thank good ol’ Tom for brightening your day.”
“They’re only letters.” Penny ran her finger over the perfect script. “I’m not sure why I enjoy them so much.”
“Better scurry off to your corner”—Dinah shooed her away—“and savor it.”
“My corner?”
Dinah pointed to the chair near the window. “You always read the letters you are most excited about right over there, away from all of us.�
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Penny felt a little sheepish knowing her habit was so predictable. “I suppose I do.”
Once she settled into the tall-backed chair, she took a deep breath and began.
Dear Clara,
I’m buying a bit of land with a house on it. Strange, is it not? Me in a small home surrounded by green fields. I haven’t seen it yet. To be honest, I do not care where I live. This place seems as good as any. I wanted to put more space between myself and the past, but I believe now that your face will haunt me anywhere I go. I’ve tried to accept that my future will forever be shadowed by the past. I am alive, though, and so I must put a roof over my head.
I have decided I will not allow the past to corrupt me. I saw the other night what happens when a man lets his pain lead him. I will live out my days bearing my burdens, but I will not allow myself to become a burden. I’ll not be a nuisance to my neighbors. I’ve made those commitments and I’ll honor them. That much I can do.
There is a goodness here that both frightens and entices me. I wonder sometimes if I deserve even glimpses of happiness or if that is unfair of me to dabble in. For someone who once lived life in such a calculating way, I’m surprising even myself with the life I’m leading now. Am I an imposter? It’s a question I’ve yet to answer.
I’ll move out to my land, the old Dawson place, in a matter of weeks when the money is transferred and the deed is signed. When I live there on my own land, I hope to be able to say with surety who I am. Someday I want to rise with the sun and know I am not fooling anyone but am the man I woke up to be.
Until then, I’ve a landlady who bangs on my door if I go too long without leaving my room. I’ve become a day laborer, making abysmal wages, just to keep her from threatening me with the switch. I jest. She is a good woman and has been my champion in many ways. And the labor I offer to my new friend is good for my body and soul. I do look forward to the ownership and accountability that comes from working one’s own spot in the world.
Yours Truly, Thomas Page 5