Corrine huffed and looked at Abigail. “I hope you’re not listening to him.”
“People do it all the time,” insisted Charlie. “Thousands of people.”
“And how many get scalped by Indians? Bleed to death on the side of the trail?”
“That’s enough, Corrine.” Abigail watched Lina’s face wrinkle in worry.
Corrine had talked earliest, walked earliest, and asserted her independence earliest of all the Baldwyn children. Two schoolmasters at the Marston schoolhouse had declared her the brightest student ever to grace the building. But the quickness of her mind sometimes caused her to be impatient with others. Lina, on the other hand, was all gentleness and sensitivity.
Abigail looked across the table at Mimi, who was watching Charlie with her brows pulled together.
Jacob was the rash one, not Charlie. What made Charlie think of such a thing . . . going out west to be with Robert? No. There had to be another solution.
“We are not going to Independence and joining a wagon train so we can chase your father out west,” said Abigail, signaling an end to the discussion.
But she was wrong.
Hoke’s eyes locked on a white filly. He and James sat on their mounts and stared at a herd of wild horses in the Texan basin below.
“Yes, sir.” James grinned. “Just settin’ there waitin’ for us. My luck, the day I met you. There’s something about not seeing you get clawed by a two-hundred-pound cat, then coming out on this rise looking at our next year’s income, that makes me sentimental.”
Hoke took off his once-black hat and smoothed back his dark hair. He needed a haircut . . . and a shave . . . and a bath. Afternoon sunlight sparkled off a creek winding through the picturesque basin below. “You think that creek’s deep enough for a full-body bath?” It would make for another cold one, but that was the kind he was used to.
“I make a profession of gratitude and you want to know if the creek’s deep enough to wash in? That really hurts, Hoke.”
“You rattle on more than I got ears to tolerate.”
“But I was sayin’ nice things. It looks like you could tolerate listenin’ to nice things.”
As their horses picked a careful footing down the slope of the hillside, James asked, “Take ’em to St. Jo or Council Bluff?”
“Independence.”
“I thought you didn’t like Independence.”
“Why’d you think that?”
“You never want to go there when I suggest it.”
“Well . . . suggest it now.”
James shot him a look. “Is the trail dust itchin’ you?”
Hoke didn’t answer. He was watching the white Appaloosa, who was now watching him. He and James were nearly to the bottom of the hill. Several horses in the wild herd had raised their heads to eye them. That Appaloosa had been the first.
“Always said I wouldn’t keep a white horse,” Hoke said. A white horse was easy to spot. It made a man a target. “But she’s a beauty.”
“I think that cat done spooked you. That’s what I think. And now you’re drawn to the angelic. Say, aren’t you from Independence?”
“It’s where my folks are buried.” The cat hadn’t spooked Hoke, but his dreams of Independence had. Why was he suddenly filled with longing to see those grave markers again . . . to walk those dusty streets? Independence was calling him back after a twenty-year absence. He’d fought with Federal troops in other parts of Missouri during the war but had been thankful to avoid the town that held his childhood nightmares. Hoke’s gut usually served him well. It was trying to tell him something . . . but he didn’t know what.
Dreams of Independence had spooked him good.
James thought for a minute. “I’m trying to remember if I know any women in Independence.”
Hoke cut him a sideways glance. James was younger than Hoke by nine years, taller, leaner, with a thick, full beard, and a talker. Hoke wouldn’t have had the tolerance for most talkers, but James knew when not to talk, and he was capable. Hoke held a capable man in high regard.
“Women love me, Hoke. And I can’t say I blame ’em. Don’t be jealous just ’cause you ain’t had any luck with women. There’s always new women in a jumpin’-off town. That’ll make things interestin’.”
They had reached the valley where they would spend the next few weeks hovering around the wild herd, roping and calming, letting the horses get used to the smell and sound of civilized men—if he and James could be called that. Capable men . . . reliable men . . . but men with hearts as wild and free as the western horses running loose in the basin into which they’d descended.
“I wouldn’t mind tackin’ on to a wagon train one of these days,” mused James. “Be kind of nice to see the upper half of the Rockies, wouldn’t it?”
Hoke cast him a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t mind seeing ’em, but I’d hate to be shackled to a train full of people while I was doing it.”
Abigail sat brooding in her rocker, a cherry box filled with letters open at her feet. Rascal lay next to it, his eyes grown heavy from the rhythmic sound of the rocker hitting the slats of the wood floor. The children were at school. Mimi would be back from the butcher’s soon.
When the screen door banged in its frame, Rascal’s head popped up. Abigail was already in the hallway, itching to get the newly formed decision out of her mind and over her lips before she lost her courage. She could hear the dog’s toenails skidding across the floor as he scrambled to get his balance and follow her to the kitchen.
“I’m selling the house, Mimi, and going out there. I can’t sit here passively, expecting some miracle to fall into my lap.”
Mimi covered her mouth.
“Don’t try to talk me out of it. My mind is made. If I sit here one day more than necessary without trying to reclaim my husband and put my family back together, I’ll go mad. Suddenly this house—”
Mimi put her hands on Abigail’s arms and peered into her eyes like she did with the kids when they ran a fever. “You love this house, Miz Abigail! You stitched every curtain.”
Abigail wiggled out of Mimi’s hold. “This house is choking me. Every room holds reminders of Robert and how our life was before the war came and tore us apart.” She could hardly believe she was speaking these words herself but knew deep in her gut they rang true.
“Charlie’s right. We need a new start. If we move to a smaller house in town I’ll be sad every day it’s not this one. If we move back to Daddy’s, he and my brothers’ families will resent us for our neediness. And I don’t want the children to finish growing up under that burden. If we leave Marston we can start fresh. Why shouldn’t that be where Robert is? If we get out there and he doesn’t want us, then at least we’ll know where we stand.”
Rascal peed on the floor.
Corrine thumped her younger brother on the head. “You were supposed to take him out an hour ago, Jacob.”
From where he sat hunched over a newspaper with Charlie, Jacob rubbed his head and called, “Mimi! Come clean this up.”
Abigail, who was folding clothes into a trunk nearby, turned, grabbed Jacob’s arm, sailed him back to her bedroom, grabbed his father’s old belt, and held it under his nose. “If you ever speak to Mimi that way again, I will have your hide, do you understand me? That woman loves you as much as I do. She was present for your birth and has fed you and cared for you every day of your life. You will respect her for it!”
For the first time in his nine years, Jacob went mute.
Abigail released him and took a deep breath. She resisted the urge to smooth his hair. Jacob’s hair was darkest of the Baldwyns and stayed as unruly as his spirit. But he wasn’t mean-tempered, and Abigail knew it.
When Mimi came into the room he threw his arms around her legs. “Don’t clean it up, Mimi. I will. I’m sorry.”
“You’re all right, Jacob. Corrine done took care of it.” When he left, Mimi turned to Abigail. “What was that all about?”
Surprised as anyo
ne by her reaction, Abigail sat on the bed and stared at the belt in her hands. “He shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“I appreciate you sticking up for me, but what’s really bothering you?”
There were too many threads of fear to name just one, and she had let them grow fatter than she realized. “I guess I’m feeling the weight of what lies in front of me.”
Mimi sat down beside her. “Which part scares you the most?”
Abigail shook her head. “That he won’t want us. That I smothered every ounce of love he had for us when he left . . . when we fought.”
“That letter didn’t sound to me like his admiration for you was smothered. Didn’t he say come join him?”
“Why would he not want me to bring the children, Mimi? Did I do something to make him stop loving them?”
“No!” Mimi shooed the thought away. “Maybe he’s ashamed, Miz Abigail, and knows he’ll have trouble looking them in the eye. But if there is any woman who can help a man find hisself again, it’s you. Devil’s going to make you doubt this decision. That’s his job.”
“He’s good at it.”
“He’s had lots of practice.”
“How do you not hate us, Mimi? How do you not hate me?”
Mimi turned Abigail’s hand over and opened hers beside it . . . pink and pale on the inside. “I could never hate you, Abigail Baldwyn. You didn’t set up the way of things.”
Abigail clasped Mimi’s hand in both of hers. “You don’t have to come with us. You’re free to make your own choices.”
“I know. You told me every year on my birthday since you and Mr. Robert married.”
“I wish you’d take your freedom papers. I know you don’t need them anymore, but Robert wanted you to have them. He wanted you to know that no one owned you.”
“That ain’t true. Lord owns me just like He owns you.”
Abigail looked deep into Mimi’s eyes. “I need to know you’re not coming out of obligation. This is a chance for you to—”
“You got mighty big burdens on your shoulders, Miz Abigail. Don’t let me be one of them.”
Tears pooled in Abigail’s eyes. “Corrine thinks I’m making a mistake. If it doesn’t turn out well, I’ll have her blame.”
“You’ll have her blame no matter what. She’s fifteen years old. Don’t you worry about Miss Corrine . . . me and Lina can handle her. She’ll come around.”
But Mimi didn’t handle Corrine like she promised.
The day before departure, Arlon showed up at the house. Annie B had fallen ill. Arlon was desperate for Mimi to come to them.
Blood proved thicker than love.
“I have to go to her, Miz Abigail. Everybody else is up north, and you know Arlon’s never asked me for a thing before.”
Abigail couldn’t begrudge Arlon his request. Hadn’t he walked through soldier-infested hillsides to till her garden the past four springs? Hadn’t Abigail herself encouraged Mimi not to forfeit her own independence just because she thought the Baldwyns needed her? Still, Abigail couldn’t fathom a future without Mimi’s brown eyes and good sense. Impending doom seeped into her veins and swam straight to her heart. Suddenly sure she was making a horrible mistake, Abigail felt powerless now to stop the chain of events that had been set into motion.
As Abigail hugged Mimi one last time before she climbed onto the buckboard to leave with Arlon, Abigail whispered in Mimi’s ear, “Am I doing the right thing?”
“Yes, ma’am, you doin’ the right thing. I know it in my bones, Miz Abigail. The Lord, He whisper it to me. I couldn’t let you go otherwise.”
It gave Abigail hope because Mimi wasn’t one to stretch or alter what the Lord said.
“I’m only sorry I won’t see with my own eyes how much these children are goin’ to grow up out there. ’Specially this little miracle baby.” Mimi folded herself over and smothered Lina to her.
Laying herself across Mimi’s bent back, Abigail breathed deep, trying to memorize every inch of her. “You smell like cinnamon,” she whispered. Then frowning suddenly, she said, “You should have made me learn to cook.”
“You know, I’m sorry about that.” Mimi straightened up. “Maybe you can trade off sewing with some of them other ladies for cooking. Or get Corrine there working the stove.” Corrine rolled her eyes at the mention of her name. “That’s right. I know you heard me. And I know how much you been helpin’ me in the kitchen, too. You know what to do. And you better be helpin’ your mama. If I hear otherwise, I’ll be chasin’ down that wagon comin’ after you. You hear me?”
Lina smiled up at her. Mimi had never laid an angry hand on the children.
“You got mighty fine”—Mimi had to shake her head twice to get the words out—“mighty fine children. I can say that since I helped raise ’em. And I love ’em like they was my own. My very own.” Mimi didn’t look down at Lina again, fat tears welling in her eyes.
Charlie, Corrine, and Jacob each hugged her tightly, then stood awkwardly by, the boys trying not to cry, Corrine shaking her head, still unhappy with Abigail’s decision.
CHAPTER 3
The sudden click of heels
Come join me in Idaho Territory. I like it here . . .
He had chuckled when he wrote it, and chuckled again when he retold it to Bonnie as he buttoned his jacket, getting dressed to leave the cabin.
She had a small cracked mirror and had held it up so he could see if his waist sash was even, but now she lowered it, alarmed. “What if she comes out here?”
“Some chance. Abigail is too fine to travel out here. And she’d never leave her children. Hold that straight, Bonnie.”
She complied. That was why he put up with her and the squalor of this cabin—she complied.
“Her children? Ain’t you Robert Baldwyn? Don’t that make ’em both y’all’s children?”
He frowned as he polished his sword handle with his sleeve. “I suppose it does.”
“How many are there?”
He leaned in to check his beard. “How many what?”
“Children!”
He straightened and looked out the window. “I forget exactly. Three or four.”
They arrived by boat in Independence, Abigail’s nerves pinging like the sounds of Reconstruction. The air was ripped with the sounds of sawing, men hawing horse teams, and the clangs of metal hitting iron. Not one face that passed by on the riverbank was familiar. After they’d disembarked, Abigail stood on the boat dock and clutched Lina’s hand, wondering what to do.
She was just before putting them back on the boat to Tennessee when the riverboat captain’s wife put her hand on Abigail’s shoulder and shouted, “Percy!” to a man in a wagon. “Get over here!” Then to Abigail, “Percy can haul you over to Mrs. Helton’s. She’s particular about who stays with her, but she’ll take you.”
Charlie and Jacob helped the man load the heavy trunks, then lifted Rascal and their sisters into the wagon bed. Abigail didn’t flinch when Percy offered a grime-caked hand as she climbed onto the wagon seat, but her heart did lurch with a sickening thud. What was she doing? Loading her children and all their earthly possessions in the back of an unsavory man’s wagon?
“That there is Cannon Hill,” he said loudly as they jostled under the branches of oaks and maples past homes and storefronts. The symphony of Reconstruction grew louder as they neared the heart of town. “That’s where the Northers loaded up their cannons couple years back when the second battle swept through.” He nodded his head. “That boardin’house there took some bullets, see ’em?” He pointed to a nearby house with chipped bricks, and Jacob’s eyes grew big. “But lucky fer her, Mrs. Dandy’s place is over yonder.”
“I thought her name was Mrs. Helton,” said Corrine.
Abigail turned to give Corrine a look of warning, being well familiar with her oldest daughter’s sharp tongue.
“Yeah, I reckon it is. But she’s uppity. You’uns ain’t uppity, air ya?” He laughed and raked his eyes over Ab
igail, who fought the urge to scoot farther away from him on the wagon seat.
When they arrived at the boardinghouse, Mrs. Helton, an elegant woman with a neat gray bun, was busy cooking dinner. “Room five at the top of the stairs is the biggest one I have right now.” She flipped a key off a hook. “The boys’ll have to sleep on the floor.” Her eyes paused on Charlie. “How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen.” He stood straighter. “Almost seventeen.”
“Is that right?” She looked down at Rascal. “He’ll have to stay out back. Here’s the key to your room. I run a tight house and do my best to keep out the rabble.” She looked out a window at Percy as he drove away. “But you’ll want your door locked. You never know about folks around here.”
Abigail insisted the children change from their travel clothes for dinner. A family of Irish children—whose mother had not made them change from their travel clothes—eyed them as they came to the table. Charlie and Corrine exchanged glances.
A large, dusty man asked Jacob, “What are you all duded up for, son? Y’all just bury your pa? Look like you been to a funeral.”
“No, sir. We’re here to join a wagon train. We’re going to Fort Hall to find our pa.”
Abigail put her hand on Jacob’s shoulder. “I’m sure the gentleman doesn’t care to know our plans.”
Mrs. Helton watched them, her gaze often resting on Charlie. She, too, had changed for dinner and sat as hostess at the head of the table. When the other guests dispersed after dinner and the children went to check on Rascal, Mrs. Helton invited Abigail to the parlor for tea.
“You’ve got mighty nice children,” she said, eyeing Abigail over her porcelain cup and saucer. “Are you sure you want to take them west of here?”
Abigail wondered what had brought Mrs. Helton to Independence. She was more refined than most of the town Abigail had seen so far. “I can’t remember the last time I felt sure of anything.”
“I’ve seen a lot of folks heading down the trail, Mrs. Baldwyn. You and your family don’t fit the normal mold. I’m curious . . . why are you here?”
Leaving Independence Page 3