by Lucy Evanson
One child in particular, a girl who shared Kate’s dark hair, had built up quite a sand castle, decorated with flags made of seaweed and scraps of paper. Both Kate and the girl watched as the surf rolling up the beach came nearer and nearer, eating away at the edge of the castle until it eventually collapsed and was washed away. That’s what’s happening to my life, Kate thought as the girl burst into tears. Everything is going to be washed away.
She rubbed her forehead. This isn’t how I want to remember this. The water has always been a pleasant place, a comforting place, and I’m letting myself turn it into something it’s not.
The little girl’s mother came to her and hugged her, wiping away the tears, and bent to whisper something in the girl’s ear. After a minute her mood seemed to brighten and she got to work building a new castle farther up the sand, now out of reach of the water. Soon it was as if nothing had ever happened and she was running and playing with her brothers while seaweed flags flew from her palace once again.
Kate watched for a little while longer and then went back up the sand to where her driver waited for her at the roadside. He helped her into the carriage and Kate turned for a final look. Maybe it was the girl’s laughter, floating to her on the breeze that rolled in from the ocean. Perhaps it was the scent of the sea air, which made her remember herself as a child, running on the sand and playing in the water. Whatever the reason, she slowly began to feel more at ease with the thought of the journey that would begin the following morning. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all, she thought as she looked over in time to see the little girl returning to her castle, crowning it with a clamshell that she had plucked from the surf. Perhaps this will be the beginning of a wonderful adventure.
Kate took a final gulp of salt air, and then settled back into the seat. “Very well,” she said to the driver. “Time to go home.”
Chapter 2
Kate woke to sunlight streaming in through the window, a breeze flowing over the bed, and the sound of birds chirping outside. As she lay there, she had to take a few moments to orient herself, and only gradually did she remember where she was.
I’m home, she thought. Well, the new home, anyway.
She turned her head toward the window and looked out at the hills that rolled away into the distance, the bright green of the fields reaching out to the horizon to nestle up against the blue sky. Downstairs she could hear people talking—her father’s laugh carried easily up the stairs to her room—but she wanted to stay in bed a bit longer. It had been days since she’d had a good night’s rest, and there was no reason to leap out of bed so quickly this morning. It’s not as if I have anybody to call on today anyway, she reminded herself as she nestled her head deeper into the pillow.
The trip out to Wisconsin had been more beautiful and much longer than she’d anticipated. The country was really something to see, especially when from the window of a train. There had been parts of the journey that had been truly breathtaking, and combined with her excitement over her first real train travel of any significant length, it had been an auspicious start. She had spent the first morning aboard excited about the new possibilities that her family’s move would afford her.
Reality, unfortunately, soon trampled all over her pleasant thoughts. Kate decided by noon on the first day that train travel was not for her, that her father had made a rather large error when he decided to abandon their comfortable existence in Boston, and that their journey was not taking them on to a bright new life but rather toward an uncertain doom.
The first signal had come early on, when the train had made its first stop in a small town Kate had never heard of; from her vantage point at the window she watched as a few people lined up to have their tickets inspected before boarding, while many others descended from the train and funneled into a small unassuming building next to the brick depot.
“Where are those people going?” she asked Mark, who was sitting across from her. He leaned over to get a better look.
“To eat, probably,” he said. “That looks like a dining hall.”
“Really? How long are we going to be stopped here?”
“Not long. Just enough to pick up some passengers, maybe refill the train’s water tanks. Fifteen, twenty minutes,” Mark said. “Why? Are you hungry?”
“Not hungry enough to wolf down something in fifteen minutes,” Kate sniffed. “I’ll wait until we stop for a proper meal.”
She thought that she may have seen a smile appear on Mark’s face before he hid behind the newspaper, but she didn’t care. We’ve departed Boston, she thought, but we haven’t abandoned all civilization. A couple of hours later, she felt the train slowing and she realized that they were again coming to a stop.
“I expect that we’ll be taking our meal now,” she said to Mark. “Don’t you think?”
The smile reappeared. “Oh, Kate,” he said. “This is going to be an entertaining trip, that’s for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re stopping just like we did last time—for water and passengers. But you’re right, we should get something to eat. We’ve got to hurry, though—like I said, we’re only stopping for about twenty minutes.”
Kate looked across the aisle at her father, who had suddenly taken a real interest in examining the terrain outside his window.
“Papa.”
If Thomas heard his daughter, he made no sign of it.
“Papa, is there anything you want to tell me?” she asked. “Anything that you might have explained before we left Boston?”
He slowly turned to her, a sheepish smile on his face. “Katie, I may have exaggerated a bit about how nice it is traveling by train.”
“How much is a bit?”
“You’re about to find out,” Mark said, getting to his feet as the train came to a stop. “You better stick close to me, sister,” he said. “Let’s get to the meal hall before they run out of clean spoons.”
Kate laughed nervously, almost sure that Mark had been joking, and followed him out of the car. It was hard to say what left the strongest impression on her in the few minutes between her descent from the train and her return to her seat. Had it been being swallowed by the crowd of passengers jammed into the dining hall, all of them pushing and shoving in their race to claim a quick bowl of stew? Or was it the food itself, which had consisted of a thick, gummy paste—to call it stew would have been to disrespect the word—that tasted more of flour than anything else, alongside a crusty piece of bread that surely would have made a decent doorstop? Or had it been the truly terrifying journey to the outhouses behind the depot, where she had been exposed to things that no decent lady should have ever experienced? It was tough to say. The memories still made her shudder, even lying in her bed, with the pleasant sound of the birds outside and a refreshing breeze flowing over her body. The journey had not been quite what she’d expected.
It had been a welcome surprise then, when after days of train travel they had finally arrived in Chicago and been able to spend time on the ground for more than fifteen minutes at a time. While Mark supervised the men unloading their trunks and Kate’s father disappeared into the crowd of departing passengers, she and Jake took the chance to stretch their legs. As she walked around, Kate felt like she was using muscles she’d forgotten she had.
Finally her father reappeared with two men in tow. The men were dressed nearly identically, in heavy boots, roughly patched trousers, and jackets that seemed to have been entered in a competition to see which could bear more dirt.
“This is Mr. Harris,” Kate’s father said, “and Mr. Wilson.” The men nodded at Kate and the others. “They’re our drivers.”
Drivers? “What are they going to be driving, exactly?” Kate asked, but Mark and Jake had already left her side to shake hands with the men; they then all moved en masse to the hill of stacked trunks. Mark waved over a rail station porter and handed him a coin.
“What’s going on?” Kate might as well have been talking to herself. A st
ream of porters had arrived, each of them stopping to collect some money from Mark before teaming up with another to start ferrying their belongings away at Mr. Wilson’s direction.
Kate went to her father’s side. “What do we need drivers for?” she asked.
He turned to her briefly. “Well, for the wagon and carriage, of course,” he said, before turning back to the activity before them. He seemed intent on supervising Mark and Jake, who were in turn supervising the porters who were parading through the station, carrying their trunks out of sight.
“You mean the train doesn’t go to Wisconsin?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m sure it will in a few years.”
“Only a few years? I take it waiting here in Chicago is out of the question?”
Thomas grinned at his daughter. “I would have thought you’d jump at the chance to avoid the train from now on.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true,” she said. “How long will it take to get to Mineral Point from here?”
“Assuming we have good weather and good roads, I’d say no more than four or five days.”
“Four or five days?!” It was as if her voice had suddenly been replaced by that of a screech owl, and she realized that she had attracted the stares of several people around her. She smiled at her onlookers as graciously as she could and took her father by the arm. “Is that something else you just forgot to mention to me?”
He patted her hand. “It must have slipped my mind, my dear.”
Truth be told, traveling by carriage wasn’t bad compared to the train. There was plenty of fresh air, they could stop and eat at a more leisurely pace, and they even slept in somewhat normal beds in rooming houses as they made their way from Chicago to the Wisconsin prairie. Still, by the time they’d arrived at Taylor Farm, Kate felt as if she’d been pushed beyond the limit. She was exhausted. Her traveling clothes were filthy—no, on second thought she couldn’t blame it entirely on the clothing; she was filthy. She had left behind the only home she’d ever had and traipsed halfway across the continent to live on a farm. When she actually got down from the carriage and entered the house, she was in far too ill a temper to manage more than a few clipped words of introduction to the staff.
The cook and the housekeeper—Sarah and Mary, or perhaps the reverse—had tried to welcome everybody as best they could given the late hour, but Kate had only wanted to get cleaned up and get to bed. The girl, Becky, had shown her up to a bedroom and helped her undress while prattling on about something or other; Kate had been too grumpy and tired to pay attention, and it wasn’t until she had washed up a bit and was laying in bed that she felt somewhat civilized again. She didn’t even have a chance to give a prayer of thanks for a safe arrival before she slipped under the wave of exhaustion and fell fast asleep, not rousing once until she woke the next morning.
Kate turned her head away from the window. She could hear her father, definitely, and it seemed like both of her brothers were already downstairs as well. There was a female voice—the housekeeper, most likely. And there was something else rising from downstairs, something that was familiar yet which she couldn’t quite place at first, like an old friend whom she hadn’t seen in some time. Oh, of course, she thought. Toasted bread. The aroma made her realize how hungry she was, and as if to make the point further, her stomach let loose with a most unladylike gurgle. Time to get up.
She threw off the bedclothes and went to the window, almost immediately dropping to a crouch as a cold shock ran through her body.
Indians. Mark was right. Although she had never seen one in the flesh—Indians, let alone those in native costume, were rather hard to come by in her Boston social circle—she was sure that she was looking at them now. She slowly, carefully put one eye past the window frame and stared out at the fields that rolled off into the distance. There, just slightly up the next rise, was a barebacked horse grazing next to a trio of men, two of them clearly Indians. Even from a distance she could see that the two were wearing breechcloths and leggings, and thick black hair spilled down over the shoulders of their tunic shirts. One of them leaned casually on a longbow, his head resting on his fist as if they were having a relaxing conversation. The third man was dressed like a farm worker, his brown cotton trousers held up by suspenders that ran up over the shoulders of his faded blue shirt. He wore a broad-brimmed hat to protect against the sun, and Kate couldn’t help but wonder if she were about to witness the scalping of one of the men of Taylor Farm.
As if to answer her fears, the worker pulled a kerchief from his back pocket, removed his hat, and mopped the sweat from his brow. Thick black hair spilled down his shoulders as well, and after replacing his hat he briefly embraced each of the others. Kate’s breath caught in her chest. He’s not a farm worker. He’s in disguise. The two Indians turned to the tree line that ran up the hill and entered the forest, almost immediately disappearing in the thick growth. The other turned to the horse, leaped onto its bare back, and began the trek down the hill. Toward the house. Toward us, Kate thought.
It was as if she were frozen in place. His terrible approach continued while she was stuck there against the wall, helpless to do anything but watch as his figure grew larger and larger. She could see more detail now, from the mud on his boots to the circles of sweat that darkened his shirt under the arms. Perhaps most frightening, she could see that hanging from his belt, swaying as the horse trotted closer, was an oddly-shaped piece of wood. Looks like a club.
The horse pulled up directly in front of the house, right under her window. She heard a slight thud as the rider dismounted, and then the soft tread on the porch steps, like the beats of a funeral drum. And downstairs, enjoying breakfast, are my brothers and my father. My only remaining family. She heard the front door open and close. Kate finally ripped herself away from the window and leaped toward the bedroom door, only then realizing that she was wearing nothing but her nightshirt. This is no time for modesty, she thought. Kate whipped the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders before she raced into the hall and ran downstairs in her bare feet.
“Papa! Mark! Jake!” she yelled. “There’s an Indian in the house!” Kate burst into the dining room to find the Indian and her father shaking hands, both of them staring at her as if she had gone quite out of her mind.
Thomas extended his hand toward Kate and turned back to the other man. “And this is my daughter Katherine,” he said. “She usually makes a better first impression.” He turned back to her. “Katie, this is Sam Hall. He’s the manager here on the farm.”
Kate glanced around the room. The table was set for a full breakfast; she had surprised both Mark and Jake with their mouths full, and it looked like both of them were in danger of choking to death on eggs and bread while trying to stifle their laughs. The kitchen door eased itself open slightly and she could see the staff piled up on the other side, failing miserably in their attempt to surreptitiously eavesdrop.
“It’s good to meet you, Miss Taylor,” Sam said, and in spite of her entrance, his smile was warm and sincere.
“Are you going to join us for breakfast?” her father asked.
Kate let one hand escape from her makeshift shawl and ran it over her hair, trying to smooth out the wild waves that had risen while she slept.
“Perhaps later,” she said, uncomfortably aware that her cheeks were now nicely complementing the roses embroidered on the sheet. “Pleasure to meet you, Sam.” She turned and was about to leave the room when she stepped on the edge of the sheet, tripping herself up and sending her out of the dining room nearly horizontally before she caught her footing in the hall.
Her brothers finally burst out laughing at her at that point, and it was only Sam’s presence downstairs that kept her from shouting a few sisterly epithets at them. Instead, she climbed the stairs, replaced the sheet on her bed, and crawled in, only arising to get dressed and truly start her day an hour later when she’d heard Sam and his horse depart.
~
Sam opened the journal on the table and pulled the lamp a bit closer, letting the light spill over the handwritten pages. Not that he really needed to read what was written there; he knew it all by heart, but he found that taking the time every day to study the plan helped keep him focused on the larger task at hand. It was often difficult to find time for himself given his duties on the farm, but so far things were going well. Very well, actually. He had reached his first goal—purchasing the cow—four months ahead of time, thanks to a loan from Bill Taylor.
The thought of Bill, now resting beneath a grave marker up at the top of the hill, made Sam’s brow furrow unconsciously as he reviewed his journal. He had been a good boss and a good man, and although Sam had only just met his brother Thomas earlier in the day, he had high hopes that the brothers were similar men. So far it seemed that way. When he’d gone to meet the new boss earlier, he’d had an envelope stuffed full of money, ready to repay the loan Bill had made him. Thomas had refused to take it.
“You borrowed no money from me,” he had said. “My brother always spoke very highly of you in his letters, so as far as I’m concerned, you can consider that a gift.”
That had been the second nice surprise of the day. The first had happened even earlier, when a beautiful young girl wrapped only in a bed sheet had burst into the dining room, apparently afraid that Sam was about to attack her family members or some other such foolishness. Sam chuckled as he remembered how she’d looked, standing there with her hair radiating out in all directions, her cheeks blazing red and her toes sticking out from under the sheet. She’d made quite an entrance, he thought. Still, in spite of the few brief moments that he’d seen her, she had latched onto his mind like a burr on a saddle blanket. Her eyes, so deeply brown, had pierced him like knives the moment he saw her, and the hair tumbling down over her shoulders had had a similar effect. The cascade of dark locks had been quite beautiful; most of the women he saw had their hair so severely restrained that it almost seemed like punishment. But Kate, whether by choice or not, had shown him another side, a side he’d never seen in a woman before.