Like the clashing of opposing armies, the two fires met in the field in front of our home. The air exploded with a force not of this world, and then as quickly as it came, the fire subsided.
I stared in disbelief. The air, blackened and thick like a death veil, hung lifeless around our home. Crackles and hisses seethed from the ground—as if the Devil himself tried to emerge on my land.
“You’re all right now, Jim.” Wesley stroked the mule’s neck.
“That’s right. It’s all over.”
It took some doing to tuck Wesley into bed. The quilt, the pillows, our clothes … everything reeked of smoke. It would be a long time, if ever, that the reminder of this dreadful night would leave our home.
The rest of the night was spent looking into the darkness, watching for approaching flames and keeping a watch for the occasional red ember—the eye of a snake, coiled and ready to strike.
I’ll find out who did this. It couldn’t have been lightning on a clear night like this.
And it certainly wasn’t an accident.
CHAPTER 32
Mary ~ Dark Days, December 22, 1893
The days shortened and snow deepened as Christmas approached. Several times, I spotted the young girl crouched behind the charred bushes—her red coat a speck of color against the black and white landscape.
Although she still kept her distance, her presence became normal. But approaching her or trying to talk with her caused her to skitter away—elusive as drifting snow.
“She must be cold,” I said to Wesley while watching from the window. “It’s not right her folks let her wander off. I have a mind to go after her and let her parents—”
“She likes coming here, Mama.”
“I suppose so, but why do you think she’s so scared of us?”
“She’s not scared when you teach her. And she really likes listening to the stories.”
“I beg your pardon?” I stared at my son, wondering what he knew that I didn’t. He was sprawled on the bed, hands behind his head, and wearing a toothy smile.
“You know when I say it’s too hot in here?”
“Yes, the stove gets warm. What does that have to do with reading?”
“If I open the door a little, she’ll sit outside and listen.”
“That’s ridiculous. How do you know—”
Wesley held his finger to his lips and whispered, “I bet she’s by the door right now.” He motioned to me to open it and patted the space next to him.
It felt strange to have her outside while we were warm and protected. Nevertheless, I obliged my son, then opened to Matthew fourteen and began reading where we had left off.
And when it was evening, his disciples came to him, saying, This is a desert place, and the time is now past; send the multitude away, that they may go into the villages, and buy themselves victuals. But Jesus said unto them, They need not depart; give ye them to eat.
And they say unto him, We have here but five loaves, and two fishes. He said, Bring them hither to me. And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the grass, and took the five loaves, and the two fishes, and looking up to heaven, he blessed, and brake, and gave the loaves to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude. And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the fragments that remained twelve baskets full. And they that had eaten were about five thousand men, beside women and children.
Was the mysterious girl listening? If she was, did she believe in such wondrous miracles?
*****
Wesley and I spent a chilly Christmas Day huddled inside. For a special treat, we stacked our flapjacks high and pretended the last drops of maple syrup trickled down like mountain streams. We grinned at each other and licked our sticky lips. The absence of gifts, carolers, and stockings hung by the fire was not important. At that moment I had all I’d ever wanted.
I savored the last, sweet bite. For the rest of the winter, our food would consist of salt pork, flour biscuits, a sparse collection of canned peas and beans, and turnips. Visits to town for supplies would need to wait until early spring.
Last week’s ride into Perry to receive the official land deed had been enough of a challenge. The ruts and ice were so severe I feared the wagon wheels would snap or Jim would come up lame. Still, having the signed piece of paper in my hand was a tremendous relief—legal proof of being a landowner. The Cooleys no longer had reason to cause any trouble.
“Good thing we pulled the turnips before the first deep freeze.” I lifted the heavy burlap sack. “They didn’t have time to grow large like the ones back home, but they’re tender and sweet.”
Wesley frowned and his lower lip inched forward. “I miss Grandma. I miss her cookies and pie. And her Christmas tree.” He looked around as though only now noticing the void.
“I miss her too.”
“Are we ever gonna see her again?”
The question shot a pang through my chest because I didn’t know the answer. “I hope so, but it’s expensive to travel to Missouri.” I ruffled his hair. “And we need to buy those chickens this spring so we can have eggs for breakfast.”
“I’d rather see Grandma than have chickens.” He plopped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. “Besides …”
“Wesley?” I reached for him, but he pulled away. “What’s wrong?”
When he raised his head, big tears pooled in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. “I want my friends. I got no one to play with or even talk to.”
“I have no one—”
He wiggled from his chair and ran out the door.
I started to go after him but remained in my chair. He’d been let down so much. This wasn’t the life he wanted. A snapped twig bound with cloth—one of Wesley’s injured soldiers—lay on the table.
There was not even a present for him to open Christmas morning.
*****
For weeks after Christmas and well into the New Year, Wesley checked behind a cluster of bushes to see whether or not his gift for the girl had been received. Each time, he dragged his feet back to the house and shook his head.
“With the cold and all, maybe her parents decided they’d better keep a closer eye. Maybe she’ll come back when it’s springtime.” I scraped the remaining beans from the bottom of the kettle. “I’m sure she’s fine.” Please Lord, let her be okay. Don’t let the influenza take any more children.
For that reason, I didn’t want Wesley around the crowds in town. Pneumonia and a deadly flu brought back horrible memories of families losing loved ones, especially their children. Besides, the paths the mule would travel to pull the cart remained horribly rutted from the relentless slush and ice.
James and William. My twins came to mind often, making me wonder what life would be like with three children. Everything would be different for Wesley if he had his brothers—playmates and confidants sharing the good and bad. Perhaps I would still have Tuck. That thought made me wonder even more what my life would be like in this new place. Having a man around to do what needed to be done would be a blessing, but maybe Wesley and I were still better off without him.
“She didn’t like her present. That’s why she left it and didn’t come back.”
“Absolutely not.” I plopped a dollop of beans on his plate. “The rock is really nice, and you’re right. It does look like a rose.”
Wesley’s latest interest was collecting rocks around our property. His most prized find was unusual—a cluster of orange-reddish rocks, each in the distinct shape of a rose. Thomas told him the rock was a rare find. A Cherokee legend claimed the rock represented the blood of braves and the tears of the women who made the devastating “Trail of Tears” journey across this territory.
I untied my apron and joined Wesley at the table.
“Mama, you’re happy now. You got all this land.” He scrunched up his nose, a sign he was deep in thought. “But it makes me sad the Indians starved to death and got sick when they got kicked out.”
“Who tol
d you that?”
“Tom.” My son’s eyes were bright with admiration. “He knows lots of things.”
“Mr. Anderson’s right.” The beans on our plates, albeit a bland and staple meal, reminded me of our fortune to at least have something to eat. “I think about those people and wonder why we’re here instead of them. It doesn’t seem fair.”
We ate our beans in silence. My mind swirled with thoughts of the vanished tribes—families with children, homes, and animals—relocated to desolate and undesirable areas while my home was built on what was once theirs.
Then, as they often did, my wistful thoughts turned to Daniel, wondering what my life would be like if he had stayed.
And Wesley? I imagined he was thinking of the girl—the mysterious child who had become his friend in an odd sort of way, without ever saying a word.
CHAPTER 33
Mary ~ Schooltime, May 9, 1894
After a long and lonely winter, spring kept its promise, bringing new growth and sunshine—and a gathering of children.
Lucy had spread the word among the women in the area that I had a gift for teaching and especially loved reading aloud from my favorite children’s books. For most of the families, their homes had only necessities. Not many books, especially children’s, earned precious shelf space.
Once chores were completed and children were allowed to slip away, my home became a gathering place for more than a handful from the nearby properties. A formal school wasn’t established yet and most likely wouldn’t be for quite some time until homes, barns, gardens, and fields were well underway.
For Wesley, new faces and an opportunity for friendships was nothing short of a miracle. He spread blankets for the younger children on the newly sprung grass and helped the older boys carry hollow logs from the riverbank to provide extra seating for the students.
It was a hodge-podge. Stewart and Seth were ten-year-old twins from Wisconsin. Their sister, Emily, was only six but kept the brothers busy keeping track of her whereabouts. To my relief, they took their job seriously. No doubt they didn’t want to return home without the youngest and lose their privilege of going to school.
Twelve-year-old Luke and one-year-older brother, Aaron, were strong readers and quick with numbers. I made a mental note to remind myself they would be good help with the others who had little or no schooling.
My heart went out to William. He was clearly the oldest, although he wouldn’t say his age. My guess was fifteen, maybe more. Tall and skinny, his arms and legs were not yet able to stay in rhythm with the rest of his body. He and his parents traveled from England last year to begin a carpentry business on the East Coast. Before his mother was able to disembark the ship, she became ill and passed away within a month. With hopes of mending his son’s broken heart—as well as his own—the father decided to head West for a new start. I understood them well.
For the first few days, my time was spent getting to know the children—what they knew about arithmetic, reading, literature, and spelling—and, largely, what they didn’t know. Even William read only a little and struggled with the basics of arithmetic.
My work is certainly cut out for me … and I’m not sure how I was assigned this role.
Even though I had no formal training as an educator, I had always been a good student and often helped my friends and younger children with their studies. Several of my teachers had encouraged me to attend college to become an educator. But then Tuck came along, our children followed, and the desire to become a teacher was slipped into the attic of my life.
I smiled, and eager faces—several dirt stained—smiled in return, waiting for the lessons to begin.
*****
“Mama, she’s come back.” Wesley tugged at my sleeve and pointed toward the field.
Curly, dark hair and a light-blue jumper were visible when she briefly stepped from behind the sagebrush. I waved to her and—like a turtle retreating into its shell—she jumped behind the plant.
I tugged Wesley’s ear. “Let’s hope she stays for school today.”
Throughout the morning, the girl remained apart from the group but always within earshot of the lessons and story time. By lunchtime, while the others unwrapped sandwiches or chewed on jerky and handfuls of nuts, she inched herself outside the perimeter of the group.
Her small face was delicate and pretty—pink lips and porcelain skin framed by contrasting dark hair—like my favorite and only doll as a child. I tried not to stare, knowing the other children saw her as well. But the entire time, the others went along with their own business as if each of them understood and granted the quiet girl her own special and safe place.
As the children gathered to hear the next chapter of Huckleberry Finn, Wesley slipped from the group and sat a few feet from the girl. After a few pages, he extended an open hand to her. Resting on his palm was the rose-shaped rock.
Although the other children huddled closer, eager to learn what would happen to Huck and Jim on the foggy river, words stuck in my throat. Slowly, the girl scooted closer, peeked at the object in Wesley’s hand, and then picked it up and cupped it to her chest. As if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, they sat side by side on the blanket, holding hands and listening to the end of the chapter as though it were any other normal day.
*****
The children returned most days, except for a particularly rainy stretch when the dirt stuck to our boots like molasses and lightning seared the sky. I remained inside with Wesley, but he watched from the window—waiting for the sun to break through and for his friends’ return.
As new growth sprouts after rain, the number of students increased as well. Three more boys and another girl tagged along with the twins, bringing our class to a dozen. Clearly, we would need more books, small slate boards, chalk, paper, and pencils in addition to extra food and water to make our time spent together not only productive but enjoyable—and free from rumbling stomachs that were unwanted companions throughout the winter.
Although Lucy was due to be a mother any day, she had the gift of building community and worked hard to spread the word of my schooling needs. Families were abundantly generous. Four chickens, complete with a coop, arrived the first week. Gardening tools and packets of carrot, lettuce, tomato, pumpkin, melon, and bean seeds were sure to make my garden flourish.
Little Emily beamed when she handed me an envelope of sunflower seeds. “My papa says these will grow even bigger than me.”
“Oh my. Then they will be very tall.” I rose on tiptoes and reached toward the sky. “Please tell your father thank you from me and the birds.”
William lived the farthest from my lot and walked well over five miles each way to attend school. The morning he and his father arrived by wagon remains etched in my mind.
“Good day, Ms. Roberts. I’m Lewis Hill, William’s father. My apologies for not introducing myself sooner.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a wonderful son.”
“I appreciate that. He’s a fine boy. Our carpentry business in town is keeping my boy and me busy. Our specialty is furniture.” He nodded to William, who climbed into the back of the wagon and pulled back a tarp. “He’s made something for you.”
William lifted a rocking chair and carefully set it on the ground. “It’s cedar.” He rocked it a few times. “Please, try it.”
The right words were slow to form, so I settled into the chair, rocking back and forth while William smiled the widest smile I had seen since we met. “It’s absolutely perfect in every way.”
“My son has a talent working with wood. That’s why he won’t be coming to school any longer.”
I stopped rocking and stood, once again searching for words.
“Don’t get me wrong, ma’am. I greatly appreciate what you’ve done. It’s just that it’s only the two of us and … I need my son.”
Compassion filled my heart. “I understand.” More than you know.
Though not proper for a schoolmarm, I wrapped m
y arms around William and hugged him. When I stepped back, his eyes were damp—saddened perhaps by his father’s decision, but most likely for the longing of his mother’s touch.
“Please visit often and … oh, wait.” I ran into the house and pulled The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the ledge.
Before they turned their wagon toward town, I handed William the book. “Remember, Huck stayed true to what he believed and learned plenty about life through the process. You’ll be busy helping your father, but you’re always welcome here.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I hope you enjoy the rocking chair.”
“It means more to me than words can express.”
The boy grinned and waved as they pulled away.
*****
The rest of the morning felt incomplete. Not only did William’s absence create a void, the mysterious girl—whose name or family we didn’t know—hadn’t arrived.
Wesley was distracted during our penmanship practice and watched in the distance for his friend to appear. Staying focused was difficult as the children recited rhymes from the primer book. Even the methodic repetition couldn’t keep my mind on task.
Shortly before lunchtime, two riders that hadn’t been around since autumn descended the hill—Nate and Ben Cooley. I gasped when I saw the little girl astride the saddle in front of Ben, his arm wrapped around her waist. They must have seen her walking alone and thought they’d help her get here quicker. But she wouldn’t have told them where she needed to go.
When the horses stopped, Ben dismounted and lifted the girl to the ground. She skipped off and sat next to Wesley on the log. Wesley beamed at her.
Ben tipped his hat. “Mrs. Roberts.”
“Mr. Cooley.” I crossed my arms, wondering what kind of trouble was brewing. “It’s been a while. Kind of you to help the girl find her way. Do you know her family?”
“She’s our little sister,” Nate called from his horse.
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