by Jodi Barrows
Thomas brushed something from the horse as he said, “Sure is foggy. Are you sure you want to do this today?”
“Yes, we need to,” she replied, looking around as though she might manage a glimpse through the fog.
Thomas helped Liz up into the wagon and they went on their way toward the hill where the family gravesite sat. On the way, the little lives that thrived only at night scurried around, not yet aware that morning had arrived, the sun to follow soon. A dull green bullfrog waited in a scummy waterhole, croaking out its prayer for catching some breakfast before daylight blew his cover, and little field mice scampered about gathering seeds of their own. The birds hadn’t yet warmed up for the chirps that would announce the day.
On a clearer day, the mill might have been seen next to the river when traveling along the main road. Standing on the slope behind it under the cover of fog were small cabins where some of the millworkers stayed; at least the ones that didn’t live out in Lecompte or Meeker, just a few minutes from the mill. The barn and stable where the horses, chickens, and Belle, the very old cow who had outlived two coats of milk paint on the barn, all lived, stood farther up the path and closer to the house.
Liz and Thomas rode along in silence until they reached the small graveyard, Thomas jumped down and immediately helped her down from the wagon. He grabbed the larger shovel and began digging a hole in which to place the marker. Liz watched from the sideline, first trying to lean against the wooden wheel. She quickly gave up and decided to pick some wildflowers to tie on the cross instead.
Thomas carried the wooden marker from the back of the wagon to the grassy area, inspecting the coat of paint along the way. He had constructed the large pine cross months ago at Luke’s request, and he’d carefully applied a couple coats of white paint. Liz’s heart squeezed slightly as Thomas grabbed a square marker for the base of the cross and set it into place.
To a true friend;
We will miss you.
To a father who fathered honorably;
You won’t be forgotten.
To a husband who loved faithfully;
Your memory will never fade from our hearts.
Thomas carefully packed dirt all the way around its base and then secured the square marker to the bottom of the cross before standing back to examine his work.
Liz thought he probably felt obligated to say something, so he decided to recite the words from the epitaph that he had painted on the marker. Afterward, silence shrouded them again. They both just stood there, looking down at the newly placed marker, each of them remembering Caleb in their own way. It felt so lonely to Liz without Caleb that she thought she might scream. Fighting back the urge to cry, Liz placed the flowers on the ground and walked back to the wagon, ready to be done with this. When she glanced back at him, Thomas still knelt silently beside the marker. And he was crying.
She knew Thomas still held a heavy burden for Caleb’s death. Liz knew he had risked his life jumping into the rushing water to try and rescue Caleb, and she felt she could never repay him for it. Caleb’s childhood friend had been willing to give his life in order to save her husband.
After a moment, Thomas stood up, cleared his throat, and placed his shovel in the rear of the wagon.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Liz said, “for everything you’ve done. I can never tell you how grateful I am.”
Thomas nodded his head without really looking at her.
They slowly loaded up again and were on their way, both glancing back at the memorial as they rode past. Silence followed them, and neither noticed when the morning fog finally lifted. By the time they got home, the sun shone brightly, not a single cloud to be found in the sky.
Liz imagined the stagecoach bouncing recklessly along the rocky, rutted road that led the way to a whole new life for her cousins. She pictured Abby and Emma trying for two solid days to sit upright in the leather seats, and she knew Emma would have given up long before Abby. After endlessly pricking her fingers as she stitched, Emma would have folded up her work and placed it back into her sewing pouch while Abby stared at the same two pages of her book for miles upon miles.
Abby, the schoolteacher, sat tall in her seat—in Liz’s imagination anyway—looking almost as fresh as the day they left. Emma, on the other hand, likely felt all five days of wear. Dirty, tired, and longing to arrive at their destination.
Part of Abby’s decision to go west with her grandfather had been Emma’s rebellious disposition. Tensions had been so heavy back at home that Liz wondered if Emma had even told her father goodbye. Abby had written that she hoped Emma might come into her own during their adventure.
Abby, calm, composed, and patient, had always seemed to occupy the flip side of Emma’s coin. She never blurted out any words for which she had to later apologize or try to take back; Emma, on the other hand, seemed to explode at times. She often slammed doors and spilled out things she didn’t really mean. They were so different in every way, from looks to attitudes to dreams.
Liz and Megan stood anxiously, fidgeting about in their puffy dresses, both of them burgeoning with anticipation, wiggling much more than two grown ladies should. Liz felt a little silly for it, but she couldn’t help herself. Grandpa Lucas had dropped them off at the general store earlier, then parked the wagon nearby.
“I see the stage,” Megan called out with girlish excitement. Liz jumped a little as Megan squeezed her hand a little too hard.
Liz pulled back slightly. “Megan!”
“Oh, sorry.”
“There it is! I see it now!” Liz said, pointing as the stage pulled to a stop.
She caught sight of Abby and Emma looking out the stagecoach window, and Megan sprung into action as she rushed to the stage. Liz scurried close behind, both of them holding up the edges of their dresses so they wouldn’t trip as they hurried. The stagecoach door opened and the Wilkes sisters stepped down to the dirt road, dust still swirling about. Their Sunday dresses looked slightly wrinkled, but the hats pinned on their heads sat perched straight and proper. With tired smiles, the girls greeted the others with joyous hugs.
“You look wonderful.” Liz spoke first, her arm around Abby. “But I’m sure you’re both exhausted from your travels.”
The commotion from the women drew the attention of bystanders. Some smiled, and a few gentlemen tipped their hats as the four women bustled up the steps. As the ladies chatted and hugged for the third or fourth time, Grandpa Lucas and Chet, one of the millworkers, grabbed the trunks and carpet bags, loading them into the wagon. Each man moved back and forth, taking several loads. When they finally finished, the two men exchanged big smiles.
“How many granddaughters are we picking up?” Chet asked.
Grandpa Lucas looked at the loaded wagon and shook his head. Finally, he slapped Chet on the back and said, “See ya in a while.”
Lucas’s four granddaughters held up traffic on the boardwalk, all of them chattering at once, but all of them keeping up with every conversation. Abby and Emma both kissed their grandfather and thanked him.
Emma looked deeply at her grandfather, as if she wanted to etch every detail about him in her mind. Liz smiled as she watched them. Grandpa Lucas still looked spry for a man of his age; the repayment for a lifetime’s uncompromising work, she supposed. He had many years ahead of him, simply because he refused to quit. Even now, he still put out nearly the same amount of work as he did in his prime.
Liz loved the twinkle in his eyes and his big smile. Lucas Mailly was a man of risk and reached for what he wanted. It was contagious and Liz wanted it, too.
“You ladies go on down to the bakery and take your time. When you’re ready, Chet and I will drive you home.”
Liz chatted happily with her sister and cousins as they strolled down the sidewalk to Granny Smith’s Tea Room and Bakery. Abby and Emma looked about the town of Lecompte and seemed intrigued by it. The wheels of passing wagons crunched over the small rocks covering the street. Horses were tied to most every hitching po
st. They stomped their hooves and swished their tails, snickering and snorting in the hope of attracting attention and receiving a treat. A brown horse with random white spots made eye contact with Liz, watching her as the girls strolled along. He let out a stern huff and stamped his hoof.
Emma stopped and rubbed the horse’s velvet nose. She had always loved horses. Liz recalled Isaac, the stable hand at her cousins’ plantation, teaching them how smart horses were and how they never forgot a person’s kindness; or lack thereof. Emma winked at the horse and hurried to catch up with the others. She looped her arm through Liz’s as they stopped in front of a large glass shop window.
Chet strolled down the wooden sidewalk up ahead of them, the nailed planks beneath his feet creaking as he walked. Liz caught him watching after the rustle of their four long skirts as they swished toward the tearoom. He stepped off the boardwalk and pulled out his handkerchief, folding it carefully and then dipping the end of it into the horse trough. He wiped his face and neck and put the damp cloth into his back pocket. As the girls headed into the tearoom, Liz watched Chet head toward the saloon down the street. Chet, born a Texan, had moved to Louisiana at twenty-two, and Liz remembered hearing him say that he’d stumbled upon Lecompte for “no particular reason,” and a few weeks later he met Lucas and went to work at the mill. Chet had been respected and paid well, but Grandpa Lucas had said the man had desperately wanted to go back to Texas—he said it was in his blood.
The sweet and enticing fragrance inside the tearoom made Liz remember how hungry she was. She imagined Emma and Abby were half starved by now.
Emma rubbed her leg and commented that it felt sore from the trip. “For two days,” she explained, “it hit the side of the stage until now it’s tender and bruised.”
Liz noticed the little half-moons that hung under her cousins’ eyes, and she smiled as she thought that they paraded their fatigue around like a little girl in a fancy dress. They likely felt horrible, mostly from the poor sleeping conditions, and the half hour of excitement since their arrival had disguised their tiredness. But now, as normalcy set in, their exhaustion looked unmistakable.
The four of them sat down at a white linen-covered table. They ordered dessert and tea and the cousins took turns relating everything that had happened to them since they had last exchanged letters. They were brought up on all of the latest news, including most of the plans for their journey west. They talked about the future and recent quilting projects, wagons, flowers, men, lacy hats, and hairstyles.
At a break in the conversation, Abby pulled off her thin gloves and looked over at Liz. Abby seemed overwhelmed by the heat. “Abby, I think it’s time to start home.”
Chet cautiously entered the tearoom just then as the ladies finished the last of the crumbly pastries. He walked with the confidence that comes from a shot of whiskey, and he touched his hat with a greeting as he reached the table.
“Hello, Chet,” Liz said cheerfully. “What perfect timing. We were about to leave.”
Chet smiled as his chocolate brown eyes went to each female. He looked handsome in his brown cowboy hat and green cotton shirt. His dark blond hair hung loosely under his hat, and his boots were dark and slightly dusty from constant wear.
“I’d like for you to meet my cousins, Chet. This is Abby,” she said. “And this is Emma, her younger sister.”
“Ma’am, ma’am,” he said, tipping the brim of his hat twice, greeting each of them.
“Nice to meet you,” they both said, almost in unison.
“Nice to meet you, also.” Chet shifted his weight to his other hip, causing his belt buckle to shine in the afternoon sun. “Well, I’ll be out front with the wagon when you ladies are ready to leave.”
“Thank you, Chet,” Liz said. “We’ll be right along.”
He smiled toward Emma, and gave her an extra tip of his hat as he headed out the door. Emma smiled back, her cheeks blushing red.
“Oh!” Megan teased. “I think Chet is sweet on you, Emma.”
“No … really? You think so?”
“Yes, really.”
“Maybe so, Emma,” Liz teased. “I saw the way he looked at you.”
Emma looked dazed and slightly embarrassed. “Who is Chet again?”
Megan giggled. “He works at the mill. You’ll see him again later, I’m sure.”
Liz quickly paid with the money that Lucas had given her, and they walked out to meet the men at the wagon.
Like each one before it, Lucas rose first that morning and started the coffee and the first skillet of bacon.
“The smell of bacon is better than any alarm,” he’d often told Thomas just about the time the girls trotted down the stairs to the table, sleepy-eyed and ready to eat. The same trick had come to work on Luke as well.
After Claire had passed away, Megan started making the biscuits, and Liz oversaw the eggs and the general needs of getting everyone fed. Caleb and Thomas had started joining the family for breakfast each day even before Caleb married into the Mailly family. Lucas ran the family timber mill straight from his morning breakfast table.
Thomas supposed that Liz and Megan had both learned the timber business while pouring coffee and flipping bacon. Liz said once that she believed more things in life are caught rather than taught, and that was certainly the case as the family trade passed down from generation to generation. Gathering around that breakfast table for the organization of the day’s responsibilities had become a Mailly family tradition.
A bright, warm sun greeted the family on this morning. The clear blue sky boasted a few puffy clouds floating about. No breeze fluttered the curtains on the open window, and when the sunlight crossed the front porch and peeked through the windows, Thomas usually followed. He tried never to show up late for his first cup of coffee!
He moseyed through the back door and greeted Lucas. Luke sat across from him, eating in complete silence. As usual, Thomas grabbed the coffee cup, poured the strong black liquid, and joined the silent breakfast table. He knew that the morning conversation would begin once Lucas completed his reading.
Lucas’s Bible sat open to the book of Nehemiah. He looked up and greeted Thomas as he poured more coffee into the old man’s cup.
“I don’t recall ever reading that book in the Bible,” Thomas commented.
Lucas swallowed his coffee and set the cup back down half full. “One of my favorites. I’ve read it often.”
“Oh,” Thomas replied. “Why?”
“An old man does his best work,” he chuckled, “and he doesn’t hesitate to tell a group of women how to help.”
Luke spoke for the first time that morning. “Tell me the story, Grandpa.”
Thomas leaned one arm on the table and prepared to listen to what Lucas would say.
“Well, Nehemiah had a big vision. He felt led by God to build back the city walls of Jerusalem. He made a plan, oversaw the work, financed it, and he prayed a lot. This story tells me to dream big, stay focused, get to work, refuse to give up, and always include God in every step along the way.”
“What else?” Luke asked.
Lucas looked at his audience and continued. “He had every reason to give up his dream. He didn’t think about the obstacles but looked toward the goal. The workers got tired and overwhelmed, and the town’s people were negative; some even wanted to kill him. He included the women in the plan, as well as the children, and together they accomplished the goal.”
“Hmm,” Thomas said as he leaned back in his chair. “I like this man. Sounds like I need to read this book for myself.”
“That’s what we have, Grandpa. We have a big goal to go west, and with lots of women!” Luke’s voice grew louder at the end.
Thomas and Lucas laughed out loud.
“Speaking of the women, aren’t they late coming down today?” Thomas asked. Usually breakfast was in full swing by now.
“I heard them up half the night talking and laughing like little schoolgirls. Guess coffee and bacon is gonna be
it this morning. We can cut some bread from the loaf. Butter and blackberry jam will fix it right up.”
Thomas stood to get the bread and a knife. Luke got the jam and a spoon from the basket. About that time, they heard Lucas’s four granddaughters on the stairs. Megan and Abby appeared in the kitchen first, with Liz and Emma just a few steps behind.
Abby, the tallest and thinnest of the four women, wore her brown hair pinned securely at the back of her head. She definitely had the poise of a schoolteacher, Thomas thought.
“I see the Mailly breakfast ritual is as it should be,” Abby said as she greeted her grandfather with a kiss to the cheek. “The smell of bacon is the best way to wake up. I had forgotten.” Thomas figured Emma might be too young to remember much but the love and warmth of the home. She smiled and greeted her Grandpa Lucas with a kiss as well.
“You men give up on breakfast this morning?” Liz asked as she put the teapot on the burner and stirred the flame under it. “Oh,” she continued, “Thomas, do you remember my cousins, Abby and Emma Wilkes?”
Thomas stood and greeted the Mississippi cousins. “Yes, it’s been awhile, ladies.”
“Sit down, girls,” Lucas commanded. “There is plenty of bacon and bread. Get your tea ready and let’s talk a few things over. Get everyone up to speed around here.”
The Wilkes sisters watched their grandpa as he spoke, with their plates in front of them full of bacon and bread.
“I’m pleased Abby and Emma are joining us,” he continued. “I wish your parents shared our views. As you all know, I firmly believe the Southern states will withdraw from the Union soon. With the presidential election before us, the time is upon us. I have a buyer for the timber mill.”
Every face focused on Lucas, and not a bite had been taken. The seriousness of selling the family mill and the unrest in the South as well as an extended journey west seemed to weigh upon each person, with both excitement and apprehension.
“It seems all our plans are falling into place, Lucas,” Thomas said. “After talking with Chet and the stage driver, I think it will take five or six weeks to get to Fort Worth.”