by Janette Oke
Having eventually left the board sidewalks behind, the roadway was dusty and rough, but it felt good to walk full stride. Marty let go of her skirt, allowing the hem to swish the ground as she walked. The wind wasn’t as strong now, or maybe she was just getting used to it. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, so she took off her hat, carrying it carefully in her hand, and let the wind tease at her hair. It felt good, and she wished for a moment she could reach up and pull the hairpins from it, as well, and shake it loose to blow free.
They left the street and turned onto a well-worn path. It led them into a grove of small trees; and, after walking for about fifteen minutes, they were surprised to discover a tiny stream that flowed rather sluggishly along. It wasn’t like Marty’s spring-fed creek back home, but it was water, and its discovery brought rest and joy to Marty’s heart. She stooped to pick a few of the small flowers that grew along its banks.
Clark seemed to enjoy it, too. He stood and breathed deeply. “I wonder jest where it comes from,” he murmured, “an’ where it goes. This little bit thet we see here before us don’t tell us much ’bout it a’tall. It could have started high up in the mountains as a ragin’ glacier-fed river and been givin’ of itself all across the miles until all thet is left is what we see here. Or it could go ’most from ocean to ocean by joinin’ up with cousin waters thet eventually make it a mighty river. Someday it could carry barges or sailin’ ships. Rather interestin’ to ponder on, ain’t it?”
Marty nodded and looked at the small stream with a new respect.
They lingered awhile, and then walked much more slowly back into town. On the way they watched the western sun sink below the far horizon with a wonderful display of vibrant colors.
“Well,” sighed Marty, “I sure do favor me Missie’s sunsets.”
The hotel room looked just as bleak and bare when they again reached it, but Marty felt much better about having a clean bed. And she was sure enough ready for it now. After two nights on a swaying train, it would be good to have a solid place to lie down. They prepared for bed, prayed together, and crawled between the sheets. Clark put out the light, and before many minutes had passed, Marty knew he was sleeping soundly. She lay for a while thinking of the family at home and feeling just a bit lonely. Then she thought of Missie and her family, and the lonely feeling slipped away as she, too, drifted off to sleep.
Sometime during the night Marty awoke. Something was wrong. Something had wakened her. Was it a noise of some sort? No, she didn’t remember hearing anything out of the ordinary. Clark stirred. He seemed restless, too. Marty turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. She turned again.
“You havin’ problems, too?” asked Clark softly.
“Can’t sleep,” Marty complained. “Don’t rightly know why, I jest—”
“Me too.”
They tossed and turned as the minutes ticked slowly by.
“What time is it?” asked Marty. “Anywhere near mornin’? Might as well git up an’ be done with it iffen it is.”
Clark reached for his watch. He couldn’t read the hands in the darkness.
“Mind iffen I light the lamp to git a look?”
“Go ahead. Lamplight ain’t gonna make me any wider awake than I am already.”
Clark struck a match and lit the lamp. As the soft glow spread over the bed, Marty gasped. Clark, who had moved the pocket watch into the light to get a look at the time, jerked his head up.
“Bedbugs!” exclaimed Marty.
Both of them were instantly on their feet, and many small insects darted for cover.
“Bedbugs! No wonder we couldn’t sleep! Oh, Clark! We’ll be scratchin’ our way all across these prairies.”
“Funny,” said Clark, “I never felt ’em bitin’ me.”
“Thet’s the way with bedbugs. Sometimes ya don’t even feel ’em until the bite starts to swell up an’ itch. You’ll feel ’em fer sure tomorrow, I’m thinkin’.”
Marty ran to check their cases and thankfully noted that they were tightly closed. Only their bodies and the clothing around the room to worry about.
“Clark, when we leave this here place, we gotta be awful sure we don’t take none of them with us.”
“An’ how we gonna do thet?”
“I’m not rightly sure. One thing I do know—thet light stays on fer the rest of the night, an’ I’m not crawlin’ back into thet bed.”
They washed carefully, then inspected each item of their clothing before they put it on. Marty brushed and brushed and brushed her hair in the hopes that if there were any of the little creatures in her hair, she would brush them out. None appeared. She didn’t quite know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.
After checking and rechecking, they packed their belongings carefully and closed the cases tightly. Marty put the cases as close to the lamp as she could and stood vigil. It was still only four o’clock . . . hardly the hour of the morning to take to the street.
They managed to wait until the first rays of the dawn were showing on the eastern horizon, and then they left the hotel. The room had been paid for in advance, so Clark just tossed the key on the desk; the sleeping clerk stirred slightly, murmured something inaudible, and settled back to snoring. They walked through the unpainted doors and out into the street.
“Where are we gonna go?” questioned Marty. “Nothin’ will be open yet.”
“Well, there’s a bench over there in front of the sheriff’s office. How ’bout sittin’ in the sun fer a spell?”
Marty nodded. It was a bit cool in the morning air; she could do with a little sun. She hoped that the warmth of the rays would reach them quickly.
It was a while before others were also stirring about the streets of the town. The livery hand arrived first and went about the duties of feeding the horses and a pair of mules. Roughly dressed men eventually swaggered out of the hotel, a few at a time; then the blacksmith began pounding on some metal in his shop. Shop owners began to open doors and rearrange window signs. The sheriff checked his office and then headed for the hotel and a cup of morning coffee. There was more movement toward the hotel, and soon Marty and Clark could smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Marty had not realized she was hungry until that moment.
Clark turned toward her. “Rather fun to watch a town wake up. I’ve never done thet before,” he commented, and Marty nodded her head in agreement.
“It’s not really so different from home as far as looks go—yet it feels strange,” she answered. “Still, I haven’t seen anything—” Her words were interrupted.
Four cowboys rode into view, their horses dusty and tired. They led four other horses behind them with some kind of bundles tied on their backs. The horses were spotted and wore no saddles, although two of them had colorful blankets tossed across their backs. The men rode past silently, their leather-encased feet swinging freely and their hair hanging past their shoulders in long black braids. Upon observing the braids, Marty snatched a second look. Why, those weren’t cowboys. They were Indians! Now that was different. The riders looked neither to the left nor the right as they rode down the street and pulled their mounts to a stop before the general store. They swung down from their horses and began to untie the bundles from the backs of the pack animals.
“Looks like they’ve got ’em a pretty good catch of furs,” observed Clark.
“Furs,” said Marty. “I never thought of furs. What kind, ya supposin’?”
“I’ve no idea. Coyotes, badgers, maybe. Not close enough to the mountains fer bears or wildcats, I’m thinkin’. But then I’m not much fer knowin’ jest what they do have hereabouts.”
Marty turned only after they had all disappeared.
“Well,” said Clark, “ya ready fer some breakfast?” He stood up and stretched his tall frame.
Marty stood, too, and picked up her lunch bundle and hatbox. Without thinking, she reached to scratch an itching spot on her rib cage, then checked herself; a lady did not go about scratchin
g in public. At the same time, she realized that Clark was scratching his neck. Marty looked at the spot. “Oh my,” she whispered.
Clark looked at her.
“Ya sure enough got yer share,” stated Marty. “They’re beginnin’ to show up all along yer collar.”
“Bedbugs?”
“Bedbugs. Well, not the bugs exactly—but where they been.”
“Guess they liked me better’n they did you, huh?”
“’Fraid not,” said Marty. “I got me four or five places thet I’d jest love to be scratchin’.”
Clark laughed. “Well, maybe a cup of coffee an’ a slice of ham will take our mind off ’em.” He picked up the cases and motioned Marty toward the hotel’s dining room they had passed up the night before in favor of the saloon place.
“Fella told me thet this ain’t the fanciest place around; but it’s the only one thet’s open this time of the day, so I guess we’ll give it a try. Surely nobody can make too much of a mess outta just boilin’ coffee.”
Maybe Marty was just hungry, or maybe the food actually wasn’t so bad; at any rate, she ate heartily.
Six
Arrival
The next three days on the train, a very slow-moving one, were even more difficult for Marty. For one thing, she was in a fever to reach Missie, and the many delays and the hesitant forward crawl irritated her. She also was tired from several nights without a good rest, and the train they rode was even more primitive and worn than the first. The wooden seats and cramped quarters made it difficult to sit comfortably, and the narrow aisles allowed little room for stretching or walking.
There were only two other women on the crowded train, and neither seemed inclined to make new friendships. The men, rough and rugged, appeared mostly to be gold seekers or opportunists. The constant smoking of cigars and cigarettes made Marty feel like choking. The temperature continued to climb, and the heat and stuffiness of the car almost overcame her. Discovering the bedbug bites from their previous hotel room did not help her frame of mind. Occasionally there was something of interest out the train window, like the small herd of buffalo that wandered aimlessly along beside the track. But usually there was nothing at all to see but barren hills and windswept prairie. Now and then herds of cattle or a squatter’s makeshift buildings came into view. Marty counted only three real houses, each surrounded by many outbuildings. She guessed each of these to be someone’s profitable ranch.
The small towns along the route, though few and far between, looked very busy. Marty wondered where the people came from. As much as she normally enjoyed watching people, she did not care for that activity now. She just wanted to get to the LaHaye ranch and Missie, and each time the train stopped and frittered away precious time, Marty chafed inside. What could they possibly be doing to take so long in such an insignificant place, anyway? Marty fussed, minding the heat, the cramped quarters, the smoke, the delay, and the itching bites.
But all her fretting did not get them one mile closer to Missie, she gradually came to realize. At length Marty willed herself to take a lesson from Clark and learn some patience. She settled herself in her corner and determined not to stew. She even decided to study the countryside and see what she could learn about it.
Early on the third morning, Clark returned from chatting with a fellow in a seat farther up the coach and informed Marty with a grin that the man had said Missie’s small town was the next stop, and unless something unforeseen happened, they should be in by noon. Marty was wild with joy. Now it was even harder to sit still and not chafe about the slowpoke engine that took them forward at such a snail’s pace.
The man was right. Just before the noon hour the train began to slow, and they all stirred themselves and started to gather their belongings.
Marty cast one final look around at her fellow passengers. She noticed a youth hoist up his small bundle and move toward the door. He looked tired and hungry, and there was a bit of uncertainty and loneliness in his eyes.
Why, he don’t look any older than my Luke, Marty thought compassionately. Supposin’ he’s come on out here all by himself an’ don’t know where he’s goin’ or what he’ll find when he gits there?
Marty was about to ask Clark if there was something they could do for the youth when the train stopped and the boy disappeared in the crowd.
They climbed down the steps from the train, looked around quickly, and moved toward the dusty new sidewalk. The boards had not fully weathered yet, and they obviously were newer than the town. Marty noticed the buildings were recently built, but many of them looked as though they had been constructed in a big hurry with the cheapest material available. Little attention was given to fanciness or even getting things straight.
Marty’s eyes turned to the scores and scores of bawling cattle milling around in the corrals to the right of the tracks, kicking up dust and drowning out all other noises. Yes, this was a cattle town, to be sure.
But Marty really was not interested in buildings or cattle—only people. She was busy scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Missie.
Dust-covered cowboys—and equally dust-covered horses—moved back and forth on the main street, wide hats almost hiding their features. A number of women walked by, none of them in hats but wearing cheap and practical bonnets or nothing on their heads at all.
Marty was trying to stay close to Clark through the crushing passengers from the incoming train, all the while straining her eyes for the first sight of Missie, when a deep voice drawled beside them, “’Scuse me, sir, but are you folks the Davises?”
Marty looked up at the cowboy who stood beside them, hat in hand.
“Shore are,” replied Clark.
“Right glad to meet ya, sir—ma’am. I’m Scottie, foreman for the LaHayes, an’ I been sent to meet this here train.” Marty felt her heart sink with disappointment. Missie was not here.
Clark set down a case so he could extend a hand. “Glad to meet ya, Mr. Scott.”
“I’d be happy to take ya on over to the hotel, ma’am, and let ya freshen up some. It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to the ranch. Then we’ll collect yer things an’ be off.”
“I’d like thet,” replied Marty as cheerfully as she could, and they followed Scottie down the street.
“Mrs. LaHaye is ’most bustin’ with eagerness. She could hardly stand it thet she ain’t here to meet ya herself. Never know when this here train is finally gonna pull in. This one was scheduled to be in here yesterday. ’Course, one day late ain’t so bad. Sometimes it’s been as much as five. A little hard fer her to stand around waitin’ with two little ones in tow—ya know what I mean?”
But Scottie didn’t wait for an answer.
“Boss, he came into town to check yesterday—brought the whole family, jest in case the train happened to be on time. Well, she warn’t. He sent me on in today. He was gonna give it another try tomorra. Missus will be right glad thet it won’t be necessary.”
Marty was glad, too. Mercy me, she thought, I’da never stood it if we’d been five days late—and neither would poor Missie!
They entered the small hotel, and Scottie spoke to the man at the desk. Marty was shown to a room. It was not fancy, but it was clean. Marty was glad for a fresh supply of water for a good wash. The men left again to go pick up their baggage from the train station. Marty prayed that everything had arrived safely and intact.
She couldn’t help but feel some disappointment at the further delay. She had thought when she arrived in this little town that her long wait to see Missie would be over. But of course Scottie was right. It would have been very foolish for Missie to make the long trip every day, not having any idea when the train might actually arrive.
The room seemed cool in spite of the warm weather, and after Marty’s wash she lay down on the bed, promising herself that she’d just rest for a few minutes while she waited for Clark and Mr. Scottie to come.
The next thing she knew Clark was bending over her. He said Scottie was ready to take them for a litt
le something to eat before they headed for the ranch.
Despite Marty’s hunger, she begrudged even the time spent on the meal. They hurried with their dinner because Scottie, too, was anxious to get back to the ranch.
Marty sat in the wagon on a seat that had been especially fashioned for her by Willie and made as comfortable as possible. Clark sat up on the driver’s bench with Scottie. Scottie was not a great talker, but he was generous in answering any questions. Marty paid no attention to the conversation. Nor did she particularly watch the passing scenery. Her mind was totally on Missie, wondering how much reserve the passing years might have put between mother and daughter. Would they still be able to share feelings and thoughts, or would the time and the experiences have closed some doors for them? Marty felt a little fear grip at her heart. And what about Missie’s children, her grandchildren? Would they see her as only a stranger they did not particularly welcome to their world? The questions and doubts persisted until her mind was whirling with anxieties as they rumbled along. Clark turned back to check on her now and then, and she managed to give him a shaky smile. She hoped he didn’t notice her agitation.
And then they came over a hill, and Scottie pulled up the team. “There’s the boss’s spread, right down there,” he said, pride coloring his voice. It was evident he felt a measure of ownership in the ranch, just by his association. Marty’s heart skipped. Right down there! Right before her very eyes was their Missie’s home. Marty saw a large, sprawling, gray stone home. Soft smoke curled up from the chimney. Off to one side, she could see a garden and a very small stream flowing away from a rocky embankment. She let her eyes seek out the pen with the chickens, the seeming miles of corrals, the bunkhouse and cook shack, and, yes, there on the other side was a straw-colored mound. That must be Missie’s soddy. Marty’s eyes filled with tears, and she had an impulse to jump from the wagon and run down the hill. Remarkably, she held herself in check. Scottie clucked to the team, and they moved forward.