“Wesley Roberts. Do not raise your voice at me.” I stepped toward him, but he backed away and scowled.
“Sheriff Murphy was right.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at my son. “About what?”
“About us needing a man to take care of us or we’ll die out here.” Wesley’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t let me die, Mama.”
He attempted to push me away as I knelt and wrapped my arms around him. His little body heaved as tears reserved for only scrapes and bruises poured out and dampened my blouse—seeping into my heart.
*****
Wesley wiggled out of my grasp and sat in the grass next to where Jim grazed. Far enough from me in the grasses, my son talked to the animal—most likely sharing his thoughts, and maybe his fears. Strangely, even though Wesley was with me now, a profound feeling of loneliness crept into my soul. Not alone like before, but lonely.
I stepped into the soddy and looked around once again. The sun no longer cast its direct light inside. Carefully, the glass chimney of the kerosene lamp was removed and the cotton wick raised. A box of matches rested on the stove. He had thought of such small, but important items. With the flick of a match, the wick lit and a warm glow filled the room. The bread, canned meat, and applesauce bought at the grocer before leaving town would suffice until tomorrow when the stove would get its first use with flapjacks and bacon.
The table looked lonely without chairs. At least he remembered most things. A smile spread across my face at the thought of Daniel carefully placing the items in the house. Chairs would be added when we could afford them. No hurt in standing for a while.
Before calling to Wesley, I lifted a note tucked under one of the cans and held it near the lamp. At the mention of the recent trouble, my heart raced. Joseph’s rifle leaned against the wall. I gave it a quick nod, resolved that it would be used if needed. After breakfast, we would visit the Andersons, get more details, and thank them for the generous gift. The stove would help get us through the first winter. Someday, I would need to sufficiently return the favor. My body shivered—not from the brutal cold that was sure to come, but from a nagging doubt. Were Sheriff Murphy’s words true?
As I read the signature and postscript on the note, my hands trembled.
I wish you happiness and prosperity.
Sincerely,
Daniel
P.S. When you look at the sunset, remember me.
The painting had caught my attention when I first entered the house, but I wouldn’t allow myself to stop and take in its full beauty until now. Even in the dim light, the colors were vibrant, yet at the same time, soothing and calm. The brushstrokes, stretching across the vastness of the sky, were methodic and peaceful. Daniel McKenzie. As my eyes rested on his signature, I pictured the man who came into my life so suddenly, and left just as quickly—tall and broad-shouldered, golden, sand-colored hair … and those turquoise eyes.
Moving to the doorway, my body leaned hard against the solid, wooden door. For several minutes, God’s hand painted the sunset across the sky, the same palette as the painting propped on the shelf.
I will remember you, Daniel McKenzie. More than you can imagine. I wrapped my arms tightly around my waist and allowed myself to hope.
Will you remember me?
CHAPTER 30
Mary ~ Catch, September 30, 1893
The first night in our bed, Wesley and I both tossed and turned. At least we had a roof over our heads and weren’t sleeping on the dirt floor. Once proper bedding was laid on the bottom board, rest would come easier.
But the main reason I couldn’t sleep wasn’t a lack of comfort. Much of the night, my unsettled mind jumped back and forth between the sheriff’s comments, listening for any unwelcome footsteps outside the windows, and wondering what Daniel’s real life was like, so far away from mine.
*****
In the morning, our success with the stove to cook breakfast lifted our spirits, and the short walk to the Andersons’ property made the morning even better. It was good to know honest people lived nearby.
Thomas and Lucy were nearly finished building their house. It was larger than ours and constructed out of a combination of sod for the walls and lumber to make a solid and well-pitched roof—a good thing as they would have their new addition in the springtime.
“Wonderful to have you back, Mary.” Lucy hugged me. “And, Wesley, pleased to meet you. You’re in for quite an adventure living out here.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I like adventures.”
Tom shook Wesley’s hand. “Welcome home, young man. Your mother is lucky to have a son with such a strong handshake. That’s the sign of a good man.”
Wesley beamed, and I knew he and Tom were already friends. I giggled when Wesley followed with an introduction to his other friend, Jim.
“We’re heading into town for more supplies to finish the house and start the barn. Come with us,” Thomas said.
“What did you think when you saw your soddy?” Lucy asked. “Daniel’s such a kind man. Too bad he had to leave so soon. After all, Tom and I think he’s smitten with you.”
Wesley looked up at me, and I quickly looked away, though I wondered if Lucy’s assumption was true. “It’s remarkable, but he didn’t need to do all he did. I planned to take care of a home upon my return.”
Thomas put his arm around his wife. “He wanted to do something kind for you and your son. Wanted to get you off to a good start. Seems to really care.”
“Especially before the cold,” Lucy added. “I’m planning on a long winter, especially having to wait for the baby.”
I couldn’t help but smile as she rubbed her hand over her stomach. “The baby will be the perfect gift of spring.” The dried and parched prairie grass was so brittle it crunched and lay lifeless underfoot. “He or she will arrive when the grass is green and flowers return—so different than the brown that spreads more each day in every direction.”
“Ladies, you can talk more on our ride into town. We need to be on our way, right, Wesley?”
“Yes, sir.” Wesley took up Jim’s lead. “The men have work to do.”
Lucy and I grinned like two lifelong friends.
*****
“Didn’t expect to see the two of you so soon,” Thomas’ brother called down to us from the top of a ladder in his hardware store. “Figured you had enough lumber to keep you busy for weeks.” He shuffled boxes around on a high shelf. “Be down in a minute. So many customers, I’m having to dip into my back stock.”
“Take your time, Roy.” Thomas tipped his hat to his sibling. “My brother, the businessman. Me, the farmer. Different from each other since we were boys. Good thing we have him though.”
“And he, us,” Lucy said. “Hard to believe two years have gone by since his Marjorie passed. As soon as our first harvest comes in, he’ll be the first at our table for my home cooking.”
Roy backed down the ladder, holding a handful of nails. “Ma’am. Roy Anderson.”
“Mary Roberts.”
“So, you’re the lucky lady. Mr. McKenzie set you up real fine. He was in about an hour ago before the train arrived. Purchased some last items for his attorney friend’s shop and ordered a couple chairs for you. I’ll have one of my men deliver them to you when they arrive from—”
“He’s still here?” I blurted.
“Well …” Roy rubbed his head. “Not sure if the train’s come or gone, but it’s got to be any time now.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “Granted, the stopping point is more than a stone’s throw from here, and I don’t always hear it.”
“It’s been a pleasure, but I have to try and catch him.”
Lucy and I exchanged nods, perhaps a woman’s way of reassuring another to follow her instincts.
“We’ll be here waiting,” she said.
Wesley and I headed toward the door.
“Where we going, Mama?”
“To thank Mr. McKenzie for making us a hom
e.” I tugged his hand, and we hurried down the road toward the tracks east of town.
A makeshift platform stood alone in the field. Prior to the recent birth of the town, trains passed this area without a hesitation. Now, the Santa Fe made brief stops twice a day.
My breath was short as I scanned those gathered on the platform. Two women wearing plumed hats waited next to several cases. My guess was they decided to get far away from here and closer to the comforts of city life. Mostly men, some in suits, and others in dirty and worn clothing, turned their heads in the direction of the approaching train.
I stepped onto the wooden planks and saw him. Perhaps it was my imagination, but as though he sensed a presence, he turned his head side to side as if looking for someone. Our eyes met. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My heart raced, and my head felt fuzzy—a distinct feeling I hadn’t experienced in so many years. As he walked in our direction, I released Wesley’s hand.
“Mary.” His expression was unreadable. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“I … we came to say thank you. The house is—”
“It’s something special, Mr. McKenzie.” Wesley beamed up at Daniel.
“And you must be Wesley.” Daniel shook his hand. “I’ve heard wonderful things about you. Sounds like you are something special.”
Wesley’s smile broadened nearly ear to ear.
“I plan to repay you as soon as possible, send money for the materials and food you—”
“I don’t want your money.” He squinted as if my words hurt. “Please, accept it as a gift. You probably had plans to build it differently, and the roof is crooked—”
“It’s perfect. The garden too.”
His smile warmed me to my toes. “It’s small, but I hope it produces well for you, at least until spring when there’s more to plant.”
The planks vibrated under our feet as the train pulled to a stop. I raised my voice over the rumbling of the engine. “I wish you safe travels.” An unexpected pang shot through my chest, and I wanted to beg him to stay. “And a happy and prosperous future.”
His eyes locked with mine. “Mary, more than anything, know that you’re amazing.”
The whistle blasted, startling all of us. Wesley wrapped his arms around Daniel’s waist, almost bringing tears to my eyes.
“It’s all right, dear.” I tried to pull him away, but he held tightly.
“Please don’t leave us. I’m scared.” He looked up at Daniel with pleading eyes. “You’d keep us safe, wouldn’t ya?”
Fine. My son had the courage to say the words that were in my own heart. “Now, Wesley, Mr. McKenzie has a job, a home, and probably a family.” Was that true? I knew so little about this man, but I longed to know more. My thoughts were confirmed by the look on Daniel’s face. The color had drained, and tears welled in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around my son. Did he feel the same about me?
“You’ll be all right, Wesley. There are good people here. Besides, I’m counting on you to take care of your mother.” Daniel knelt and held Wesley at arm’s length in front of him. “Deal?” He extended his hand.
“Yes, sir.” Wesley shook his hand and then sidled next to me.
The train inched its way down the tracks. With his bag in hand, Daniel stepped on board. For a last brief moment, we stared at each other. My mind told me better, but my heart sealed him into my memory as he held to the rail, looking back at me until the tracks separated our worlds a final time.
CHAPTER 31
Mary ~ Visitor, November 14, 1893
Over the next month and a half, Wesley and I worked hard to make our house feel like a home. Now, a part of me regretted my impatience to learn sewing and quilting when I was younger. While the other girls spent hours making new clothes and quilting with family and neighbors, my time was occupied with riding horses or fishing. But the balmy childhood days I spent on horseback paid off in the race for land.
“It’s not pretty, and the pattern doesn’t match, but it will keep us warm.” I tied the last stitch and spread the quilt across the bed.
“Looks good to me.” Wesley marched a toy soldier up one side of the bed and down the other. Bits of branches and twigs wrapped with strips of cloth and penciled faces came to life in his imagination as his soldiers set off to conquer their enemies.
“I’m gonna have a big battle outside.”
“You’re going to have a battle.” I sighed, realizing how much work was ahead. “Young man, it’s time we begin your schoolwork again. If you were in Adair, the winter session would be starting up about now.”
My son rolled his eyes and trotted out the front door with his soldiers.
My fingers caressed the spines of the books that comprised our tiny library. There was A Study in Scarlet by Arthur Conan Doyle, two of Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and The Prince and the Pauper. The New England Primer was a gift from Wesley’s schoolmarm to hold me accountable for his learning. Anna Sewell’s Black Beauty was a favorite and sure to make me cry again. Alcott’s Little Men’s cover was torn and pages frayed, more loved in our home than her earlier, Little Women. Still, they sat next to one another on the ledge, waiting to be revisited.
My fingers flipped through the pages of Heidi, another personal favorite. The orphan and I understood one another. We shared a need for freedom, especially in the beauty and tranquility of our surroundings. Even though I wasn’t in the lush hillsides and snow-capped mountains of Switzerland, my landscape was just as inspiring in its own way. And just like Heidi, surrounded by vast and monumental beauty, there was a definite void in my world—a loneliness, or perhaps an emptiness that yearned to be filled.
The Bible remained on the nightstand. Lately, Old Testament stories had become my favorite to read to Wesley—many I hadn’t heard since childhood. When Wesley slept and silence blanketed the room, portions of the New Testament were my companions. In those moments, I wasn’t alone.
*****
Wesley was talking just outside the door, most likely to his imaginary soldiers. Or maybe Jim, who was still without a shelter and tethered close to the house.
“Who’s winning the battle?” To my surprise, when I opened the door, a young girl close to my son’s age jumped backward and hunched behind the scrub brush. A quick glance around told me there was no adult in sight.
“I’ve been telling her she can come play, but she won’t talk.” Wesley waved his hand, beckoning her to join him. “See, I want her to play with me, but she keeps hiding.”
“Hello, dear,” I called to the little girl, but she ducked again. Only the top of her head, crowned with curly chestnut hair, was visible. “I’m Mrs. Roberts, and this is my son, Wesley.”
“I already told her my name. Even tried to give her one of my soldiers, but she ran away.”
“Do you live nearby?” Leaning to the side to get a better view of her proved pointless. I didn’t recall any neighbors nearby with a child her age.
“Sweetheart, it’s not safe for you to be away from home by yourself. Are you lost?” I raised my eyebrows at Wesley, but he shrugged and went back to playing in the dirt.
As I approached the brush, the girl popped up, her eyes wide like a captured animal.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” I said softly.
She wore a pale, cotton blouse draped over a pleated skirt. Surprisingly, her clothes were clean and well-pressed—different than most of the poor children in town and the outlying properties.
“Here, why don’t you come inside and have something to eat? Then Wesley and I will get you home.” I reached out my hand, but the girl turned and ran. Going after her would surely frighten her even more. As she ran up the hill, she looked back only once. The fear painted across her face pierced my heart. I would have to find out more about her.
“You scared her away.” Wesley stood next to me. “But she’ll be back.”
“How do you know that?”
“’Cause she’s come here plenty of ti
mes. Watches me from over there.” He pointed to the field. “I thought she might play with me this time … till you made her run away.”
“Sorry, Son. Next time, I’ll leave the introductions to you.”
*****
Sleep had barely found me when a pungent smell nudged me awake. Campfire? No, there hadn’t been an outside fire since we returned. I jumped out of bed and opened the door.
To the north, an orange line of fire danced on the hillside. Making sure it wasn’t a nightmare, I rubbed my eyes, but the thick veil of smoke drifted toward the house, carrying a stench that burned my nostrils.
“The hill’s on fire! Wesley, get up!” Before running out the door, I grabbed the box of matches and shovel near the stove.
On Thomas’ instruction, the grass around the house had been cleared to provide a barrier should a prairie fire occur. But even with the fire at least a hundred yards away, the intensity of the heat was brutal. The smoke forced me to cough, even though my nightgown was held close to my mouth and nose.
“Mama, I’m scared!” Wesley screamed from the doorway. “What about Jim?”
“Hold tight to his rope and stay close to the house,” I yelled while scooping up dirt and throwing it in a ring around the perimeter of the house where the brittle grass rose out of the ground and met the cleared area. Jim brayed, adding to the eerie sounds of the crackling of burning earth and the wind sweeping the fire closer to our home.
It was a risky move, but I ran into the area of taller grasses in front of the approaching fire, striking a match, then another, and another, until the grasses caught fire and the flames danced.
Set a backfire if you can. Burn off a space and stand in it for safety. Thomas’ words rang in my ears.
The other fire was gaining, burning high and fast—a horrific monster, intent on devouring everything in its path. I ran back to Wesley and pulled his face into my chest to shield him from the smoke. With each breath, my throat and lungs burned, and I realized how easily my next breath could be my last.
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