“I am so sorry for what you must be going through,” Mrs. Riley said.
“Colonel Barton told you, I suppose.”
“He didn’t have to,” Mrs. Riley said. “I been dusting that portrait hanging on that wall for ten years. I thought on it the minute I saw you. Wondered at it.” Her voice gentled. “Wasn’t my place to say anything, of course. I knew Colonel Barton would know what to do.”
Noah glanced back at the portrait. “I know it must be true, but I can’t quite embrace it yet.” He motioned to the papers scattered on the desk. “Any of it. It doesn’t seem real.”
“You hang on to God, Mr. Shaw. That’s what I came in here to say. Even when He’s quiet, He’s there. And you’re a good man. Anybody can see that. As for Miss Rhodes, the way she looks at you? You just give yourself some time. You’ll be all right.”
Emilie. Noah winced at the thought of her. “You’re very kind to say so.”
Mrs. Riley smiled. “The dumplings and the milk are for kindness’ sake. The words are because they’re true.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not a learned person, but I’ve been at the bottom of the heap in my life, and I know that if you’ll keep your face toward heaven, God will carry you—even if you can’t carry yourself. So you just hang on to God.” She turned to go, then hesitated. Turned back to face him. “As for Miss Rhodes, don’t you be turnin’ into some noble fool runnin’ off and leavin’ her to wonder what she done wrong. That’s not kindness. That’s just pridefulness in a new uniform.” When Noah said nothing, she pressed the point. “You respect her enough to let her make her own decision about this.” She swept her hand over the two desks. “You been washed over by a flood today. Give the waters time to recede. Give the good Lord time to send that dove with the olive branch.” She harrumphed. “That’s a fancy way of sayin’ don’t you go runnin’ off. And that’s all I got to say. Except for that dumpling’s gettin’ cold, and you should eat it while it’s warm.”
With that, she was gone, without giving Noah a chance to say a word. Which was just as well. He wouldn’t have known what to say. But at some point during the woman’s long-winded speech, just a flicker of hope had been born. Surely God was still on His throne, and if He had, indeed, enclosed the oceans, then He must know about what was happening here in Beatrice, in this moment. He knew Kit Leshario and Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes. He knew Emilie and Noah and whether or not their love would stand the storm that had just swept into their lives. Maybe, just maybe things would be all right.
Noah reached for the apple dumpling. He inhaled the aroma of cinnamon and baked apples. Do you see me, Ma? I’m trying to understand. He closed his eyes. Do you hear me, God? Help me. Please. Help me.
Emilie sat in the back of the buggy, her head bowed, her hands clenched in her lap. She wished she hadn’t forgotten her parasol back at the Bee Hive. It was so hot. As she stared off into the distance, the scenery shimmered. An imaginary pool of water glimmered in the distance.
“I really am quite weary of the battle.” That’s what Mother had said just before they left town. She’d said she wanted to settle things between the two of them “once and for all.” Did that mean she was going to deliver an ultimatum? When she turned the buggy up the road leading to the new house instead of continuing on to the Springs’, Emilie realized that Aunt Cornelia was going to be in on the conversation, too. That did not bode well.
Mother pulled up beneath the porte cochere, and Calvin came hurrying out of the barn. “This evening’s concert begins at 7:30,” she said to him. “If you can have the buggy ready by 6:30, that should be fine.” She hesitated, then glanced back at Emilie. “Would you like Calvin to saddle Royal for you? Then you can meet up with…whoever….” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“That’s a good idea. If you don’t mind, Calvin?”
“I’ll have him waiting right here at the hitching post, soon as I get old Dutch, here, unharnessed and cooled down.”
Emilie climbed down and followed Mother and Aunt Cornelia up the stairs to the side door, through the back hall, and finally into the front parlor which, thanks to Dinah’s having drawn the heavy drapes early this morning, actually felt almost cool compared to the rest of the house.
Mother removed her bonnet and dropped it on Father’s chair. Aunt Cornelia followed suit. Together, the sisters crossed the room and perched on the couch along the far wall. They simultaneously removed fans from their bags and sat, fanning and waiting. As if they’d planned how to make Emilie as uncomfortable as possible.
Emilie cleared her throat. “As I said, I meant to tell you. I just—there was never a right time.”
“You have had an unusually busy few days,” Mother said.
“I don’t know what else to say, except that I’m sorry. And I am, for hurting you.” She took a deep breath. “But I’m not sorry for doing the work. I’m just—sorry—that you found out the way you did today.”
“Today?” Mother looked over at Aunt Cornelia. “She thinks I just learned about it today.” She looked back at Emilie. “Emilie, dear. I’ve known since the appearance of the first article. Or perhaps the second. Yes, now that I think on it, it was the second.”
“Father told you?”
“Emilie Jane,” Mother said, shaking her head. “Do you really think I am so obtuse? I’ve read everything you’ve written since you were ten years old. I recognized your style with the first article. By the second, I was convinced. No one had to tell me.” She shook her head. “And goodness, but the dancing about each other your father and I did until finally we both realized the other already knew.” She paused. “I will admit to being hurt that you didn’t trust me in the same way you trusted him. But I forgive you for that. And while I’m reluctant to admit it, I can even understand your reluctance to tell me.”
Emilie plopped into a chair. “You knew. You both knew? And you don’t mind?”
“Mind?” Mother looked over at Aunt Cornelia again. “Well, yes. I do mind, actually. But apparently some very fine people are in the other camp. Reverend Talmage, for example. And Miss Jones. Mrs. Colby—although I’ve always thought of her as something of a radical.”
Aunt Cornelia nodded agreement. “Radical…and yet still quite a lady in every respect. As is Miss Jones.” She paused. “I do hope you aren’t going to take this newfound independence of yours too far, though. Your mother’s been worried all week that you’ll be donning reform dress next.”
Mother nodded. “I just…well…of course I’ll still love you, dear, but honestly, I don’t think it’s attractive for a lady to expose her bloomers to the public. Do you?”
Relief set Emilie to laughing. “Reform dress? No…I have no plans to raise any hems or expose any bloomers. Writing for publication is all the rebellion I have planned at the moment.” She paused. “And I didn’t really even plan that. It just…happened.”
“Thanks in part to Mr. Shaw’s assistance, I presume,” Mother said.
Emilie sat back up. “No, ma’am. Don’t blame Noah. It was entirely my idea.”
“I don’t doubt that it was,” Mother said. “And you’re misunderstanding my point. As usual. The thing is, if Mr. Shaw isn’t supportive of your writing, that’s a problem that needs to be addressed.” She paused. “You must realize, dear, that you will be miserable married to a man who doesn’t understand your…unique intentions when it comes to the future. Goodness, if I hadn’t had your Father’s unwavering support for all my causes…well. I don’t know if our marriage would have survived.”
“Noah…my writing won’t be a problem,” Emilie said. “He understands me.” She shrugged. “We finish each other’s sentences half the time. It’s almost strange.”
“No,” Mother said with a gentle smile. “It’s wonderful.”
“He’s your soul mate, dear,” Aunt Cornelia said. “Everyone who’s seen the two of you together knows it. Even Hazel Penner recognizes it—although those girls of hers are being stubborn.”
Emilie smiled at them both.
“You approve of Noah?”
“Well, of course I approve of Noah, dear,” Mother said. “And don’t look so surprised. The very first time I saw your Father, I came home and wrote in my diary that I’d just met the man I was going to marry.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“And Father. Was he…”
Mother laughed softly. “He took a little convincing.”
“And a little display of a finely formed ankle.” Aunt Cornelia nudged Mother.
Mother pushed back, then stood up. “Well, I’m so glad we had this little chat. The air is cleared, and Emilie, you can go about finishing that article.” She looked over at Aunt Cornelia. “Calvin can drive you home.”
“Nonsense,” Aunt Cornelia said. “It’s a five-minute walk. There’s a cool bath in my future, as well. And no more camping—at least until Long Pine.” She smiled. “Now that April isn’t retiring from the trio, I’m going to see if I can meet with Mr. Bowers while we’re there.”
“Mr. Bowers?” Emilie asked.
Mother nodded. “Mr. Thomas Bowers, the booking agent for the Redpath Lyceum Bureau,” She smiled. “The bureau that manages Mr. Shaw’s schedule.”
“And if Mr. Bowers takes on the Spring Sisters,” Aunt Cornelia said, “you can be our accompanist and a roving reporter at the same time.”
Mother nodded. “I was thinking that you might do a series titled From the Road. But for now, you should get changed so that you can ride back into town and get to work on your article about Colonel Barton. I’m looking forward to reading it. And be thinking about what you’ll do for the Dispatch. I know your Father has plans for E. J. Starr, but you mustn’t let him dictate too much.” She paused. “Although I have found that sometimes it’s best to let him think things were his idea.” With a soft laugh, she headed for the stairs.
CHAPTER 26
Mrs. Riley and Miss Barton were out back in the yard when Noah returned his empty dish and glass to the kitchen. Rinsing the glass, he refilled it with water and had just headed back toward the office when Colonel Barton came in the front door. When Noah commented on Emilie’s notebook in his hand, the colonel recounted their unexpected encounter with her mother and aunt at the hotel.
“I encouraged Miss Rhodes to settle things with them instead of coming back here with me.” Back in his office, he laid the notebook on his desk. “I promised to write out the answers for her. She’ll be by later to pick them up.” He settled back in his desk chair. “I assumed you wouldn’t mind having a little more time before you see her.”
“I don’t mind, but I don’t know if more time is going to make any difference. My mind’s still reeling. I don’t know what to do about any of this.”
For a moment, the two men sat in silence. Finally, the colonel said, “How much damage would it do your career if you excused yourself from Long Pine?”
“I’ve never missed an engagement. I don’t really know.”
“Then you’ve established that you’re dependable.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
The colonel nodded. “Can you do without the money?”
“Other than a new suit or two now and then, my needs are minimal. So yes. I could do without.”
The colonel leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped before him. “What if I were to offer to be your guide? I have commitments that will take me east again late next month, but if we were to leave in the next few days, I could take you to see what’s left of Fort Kearny. It was abandoned back in ‘71. I don’t think there’s anything left but the cottonwoods around the parade ground. Still, it’s the place all the wagon trains passed by. And there’s something to be said for seeing a place for yourself, even if it has changed.”
“You’d do that—for me?”
“Not just for you, son. It would help me, too. Refresh my memories. Energize my writing.” The colonel paused. “I’d be doing it for my friend Kit, as well. I am hoping that before all is said and done, you’ll want to meet him.”
“You’re assuming he’d want to meet me.”
“I don’t have to assume anything. He will.”
“You seem very sure.”
“He’s lived alone ever since he lost your mother. He works on a ranch instead of living on the reservation down in Oklahoma. And he chose Christianity. He’s been set apart from the majority of his people for a very long time. It has to be a lonely life. In light of all that, to discover that he has a son? Of course he’ll want to meet you.”
No wife or family…no reservation family…and Christianity? The last thing was the most surprising. “Christianity,” Noah said. “Really?”
The colonel nodded. “I’ve seen him reading a little testament by firelight. And on more than one occasion when we were all in a tough spot, Kit quietly reminded me that God was with us. Not that he preached any sermons, mind you.” The colonel chuckled. “He always said he’d leave the sermonizing to me.”
The mental image of the man in the photograph bent over a testament, reading by a campfire made Blue Bear more real. More tangible. Noah glanced back at the photograph. “I do think I’ll want to meet him. Someday. But I don’t know when. I just—I don’t know.”
“Can you ride, son?”
“Well enough.” When the colonel looked doubtful, Noah shrugged. “Not very well. Certainly not compared to you. There’s never been a need. I grew up in the city. Rode the rails. Learned to drive a buggy, but that’s about it.”
“If you think you can handle a few weeks in the saddle, we could do the entire trip on horseback. That would enable you to follow the same trail your mother did, from the Blue River here to Fort Kearny and beyond. It’s a week to the old fort and about another two days up to Turkey Creek. The city of Kearney is a booming concern these days, thanks to the railroad. There won’t be any problem getting resupplied along the way.
“After Turkey Creek, the distances get longer again. Powder Horn Valley is a good ten days to the north—assuming our horses stay sound and we don’t run into any problems. Allow another week to get back to North Platte—assuming that you want to meet up with Kit. All told, that’s a month.” The colonel smiled. “And if we make it that far, I can say with certainty we will both be more than ready to ride the train home.” He paused. Tilted his head. “So what do you say? A month, more or less, and a lot of aching muscles. By the time you get back, you’ll either never want to see another sand hill, or you’ll get that same look in your eye you say your mother always had every time you talk about Nebraska.” The colonel looked back over at the portraits on the wall. “We can send word ahead if you want to make a stop at Scout’s Rest before catching the train back here. I’m assuming you’ll want to come back to Beatrice before getting back on the Chautauqua trail.”
Noah nodded. “Yes. To all of it. I’ll head to the telegraph office and let my manager know today. He’ll just have to understand.” He paused. “I hope I don’t turn out to be so much of a greenhorn that I can’t keep up with you.”
The colonel chuckled. “Don’t worry, son. I’ve had plenty of experience with greenhorns in my day.” He paused. “And the truth is, these days my old bones are stiff. I won’t mind it if you do hold us up a little.” He leaned forward and took up Emilie’s notebook. “Ideally, we should go to the livery together. But Miss Rhodes will be here soon. Why don’t we go out on the porch where we can catch a bit of fresh air? I’ll give you more to read, and I’ll work on these questions while we wait. Then when Miss Rhodes comes into view, I’ll head over to Hamaker’s and do some preliminary planning at the livery while you speak with your young lady.” The colonel didn’t wait for Noah to agree to the plan before rising and beginning to gather up more of the papers on the research desk for him to read.
Emilie. What was he going to say to Emilie? How to even begin to explain this to her? Noah stood up. “Mrs. Riley said that if I respect Emilie, I won’t hide anything from her. She warned me against thinking that ‘the noble
thing’ would be to keep her in the dark.” He hesitated. “Again, I just don’t know how to think—or what to do.”
The colonel turned to look at him. “Things have progressed—rapidly between the two of you.”
Noah nodded. “I’d intended to ask her father’s permission to court her before leaving for Long Pine.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I can’t do that now, can I? I mean—really. I thought about little else while you were gone. I’ve looked at it from every possible angle and—I can’t see any other way but to break it off.”
The colonel merely handed Noah a pile of papers to read, then led the way out onto the front porch. As soon as the two men were settled in the rocking chairs facing the street, the colonel said, “I don’t think you could go wrong to listen to Mrs. Riley on the matter.”
“On principle,” Noah said, “I agree with you. But I just can’t see myself saying the words. Not to Emilie.”
“What words are those?”
“Half-breed. Bastard.”
The colonel frowned. “Those are strong words, son.”
“Well aren’t they true? Isn’t that what the world says about people like me?”
“Yes. But labels are just that, aren’t they? Labels. And to my mind, they say more about the people assigning them than anything. For example. My profession invites labels, too. Soldier. Indian fighter. Friend. That’s from one side of things. From the other side, I might be called warrior. Enemy. Killer.” He paused. “Let’s take the other pursuit I’ve been drawn into. People call me a minister. Reverend. Gospel grinder. And some use other, more colorful terms not to be repeated in polite conversation.”
“But that’s all just semantics,” Noah said. “Not everyone agrees with all of those.”
“And the people who know you aren’t going to agree with the labels you just gave yourself, either. The simple fact of Kit’s being your father doesn’t erase any of the other things about you. It can’t unless you allow it to. And the gospel truth is that every single one of us—if we’re honest about it—are ‘half-breeds’ in some sense. I myself am a mixture of English and German. And that’s only the part of the family history I know about. Only the Lord knows what else might be mixed in there. My grandfather told me once that there were rumors in his past of an ancestor who loved a slave. But I’m not going to accept any of the pejorative labels attached to that family history. Why should I?”
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