A Family Apart

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  “Katherine and I will stop by the Cummingses’ farm in a few days,” Andrew told her. “Some small tools Jake ordered haven’t come in. They’re due on the next steamboat from St. Louis.”

  Katherine interrupted. “We’ll deliver them ourselves. It will be a good excuse for a visit.”

  “I’ll be so glad to see you!” Frances blurted out to Andrew before she thought. She tried hard not to blush at her eagerness.

  “And so will we,” Margaret Cummings said and explained to Frances, “We’re all very good friends.”

  Katherine gave Frances a folded sheet of paper. “I wrote down your brothers’ and sisters’ addresses, and I’ve given them yours. You can keep in touch with them by letter until the next time you meet.” She held out a hand to Frances. “Mr. Friedrich is eager to get back to his farm, so now would be a good time for you children to say good-bye to one another.”

  Peg dashed toward her, and Frances dropped to her knees to throw her arms around her littlest sister.

  “I want you to come, too!” Peg cried.

  “I can’t, love,” Frances whispered against her hair. “But you’ll have Danny. The two of you will be together.”

  Danny squeezed them both so tightly it was painful. “I know how much you’re hurting inside,” Frances told him, “and I’m proud of you, Danny.” Danny’s body shook in a long, deep shudder, and she could tell he was fighting back tears.

  Megan ran to them, wrapping her arms around Frances’s neck. “I’ll miss you so terribly much!” she cried as she clung to Frances. “I’ll be all alone!”

  “No, no, you won’t,” Frances murmured. “You’ll have the fine people you’ll be going with. They’ll take good care of you. You won’t be alone.”

  “But I won’t be with you!”

  “Oh, Megan!” Frances cried. She shut her eyes against the burning pain of tears she refused to shed. “Write to me,” she said, “and I’ll write to you.”

  “I can’t write!” Megan wailed.

  Frances quickly soothed her. “But you’ll learn. Now you’ll have a reason to learn. Your—your new mother will help you, and until you do she’ll read my letters to you and—”

  Megan burst out, “I don’t want a new mother! Oh, Frances, can’t we go home?”

  Her words were a slap that shook sensibility back into Frances. She straightened. “No,” she said. “Face the truth, Megan. We can’t.”

  Megan stopped crying and blinked at Frances, who sounded so bitter she startled herself. “Megan,” Frances said more softly, “Megan, you know that I meant—”

  But Mike rushed to hug them, and Frances could feel the sobs that shook his body. Peg began to whimper, and Petey wailed.

  Danny clung to Mike and cried, “What will I do without you, Mike?”

  Mike just shook his head, snuffling and trying to smile at Danny. “You’ll do just fine, my lad,” he said. “Better than ever without me.”

  Danny shook his head as though he didn’t believe those words any more than Mike did. “What about you, Mike?” he asked. “How will things work out with you?” He glanced suspiciously at the Friedrichs, and Frances knew that she wasn’t the only one who was concerned about what kind of home they’d make for Mike.

  “Have you ever known me to be down-and-out?” Mike retorted. He gave Danny a playful shove.

  But Danny didn’t return it. “Mike,” he murmured as tears rushed to his eyes, “I’ll never be the same without you nearby.”

  With a cry Mike dove into Danny, burying his head in Danny’s shoulder, and Frances reached over to enfold her brothers.

  Suddenly Frances felt a hand on her shoulder, and Andrew said, “It’s time to go now.”

  Megan and Peg only squeezed in more tightly, but Frances struggled to break free and get to her feet. She wiped her eyes on the back of one hand and gave a loud sniffle.

  “Mr. MacNair is right,” she said firmly. “We’ve had our chance to say good-bye, and now we mustn’t keep our new families waiting any longer.”

  “Frankie?” Megan whispered.

  “Good-bye, sister.” Frances gave her one last kiss and a tentative smile. “I don’t know when we’ll be together again, but I’ll write to you. Often!”

  Megan, subdued, allowed herself to go with the Browders. Mrs. Browder’s own eyes were as red as Megan’s as she took Megan’s hand.

  The Swensons gathered up Danny and Peg, and with a last tearfully murmured “I’m sorry,” from Mrs. Swenson to Frances, they hurried from the room.

  “Be quick with you, Michael!” Mr. Friedrich said. “You should be a man and not waste time with foolish tears.”

  Mike shivered, and Frances reached out to rest her hands on his shoulders. She looked toward the Friedrichs. “If ever you need me, Michael Patrick, I’ll come,” she said firmly. “I won’t be far away.”

  Michael stood as tall as he could and tried to smile. “I’ll make do,” he told her. “Nothing’s going to get the best of me. I’m starting a new life in the West with a new family.” He paused and for just an instant regained his cocky grin, adding, “And shouldn’t you now be saying, Frankie Kelly, ‘and that’s the all of it?’ ”

  “Be off with you, Mike,” she said, answering his smile and trying hard to keep the tears from returning.

  She felt a strong hand take her own, and she looked up to meet Jake Cummings’s warm eyes. Petey, held high in his arms, looked to Frances for reassurance. “Ready?” Jake asked. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”

  “I’m ready,” Frances said with determination. But she trembled, because the words were nothing more than a brave lie.

  10

  “FRANKIE! FRANKIE, WAKE up! We’re almost home!”

  Frances struggled to a sitting position as Margaret’s voice penetrated her dreams. She rubbed her eyes, then reached for Petey, who laughed.

  “I’m up here on the big seat!” he crowed. “You slept for a long, long, long time!”

  Frances knelt to look ahead and saw the road curve, leading upward past what looked like a forest.

  Jake half turned to glance at her, then looked back at the road. “Cottonwoods near the water,” he said, “but that’s a good oak-hickory stand ahead. Lucky for us, the drought hasn’t hit the east part of Kansas too hard.”

  “Drought?” Frances asked.

  “It’s been a dry year for folks who’ve settled farther west. To keep a farm going, you need plenty of rain. Not too much, not too little, just enough to soak the ground at the right times and help the crops grow to their peak.”

  Margaret laughed. “You sound like a real farmer.”

  “I thought he was a farmer,” Frances said in surprise.

  “Mr. Cummings has two horses.” Petey offered helpfully, “so he must be a farmer.”

  “That’s right, Petey,” Jake said. “I am, but I wasn’t until just six years ago. I taught at a university, Margaret was a teacher in a primary school, and we lived in New England—in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, to be exact. Then a group of us decided to come to Kansas to homestead.”

  Frances was still puzzled. She grabbed for the side of the wagon to steady herself as the wagon dipped into a rut in the dirt road. “Did you get tired of the work you were doing?” she asked.

  “No,” Margaret said. “Someday I’d love to teach again, but we were needed in Kansas.”

  “Do you know what slavery is, Frankie?” Jake asked.

  Frances pictured the black man being led away in chains at the train station. “Yes,” she answered.

  “Our country’s national lawmakers worked out what they called a compromise—the Missouri Compromise. It gave us an equal number of states who accepted slavery and states who didn’t. With a new Free State and new territories added since then, the balance has shifted. The people who live in those territories want them to be free-soil, but the Southerners say no. The only way to succeed in making Kansas a Free State is to become a homesteader and have a voice in Kansas policy.”
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  “We came to Kansas because we believe that slavery is wrong,” Margaret said. “Many people have sacrificed the comfortable lives they had in the East for this cause.”

  Sacrifice! That word again. Frances nodded as Margaret spoke, but it was hard to understand. Frances was sure she would rather be a teacher than a farmer. To work with books, to learn from them, and to help others learn—that would be a wonderful job. She wondered if they missed the jobs they had and the land they came from. No. She couldn’t understand.

  “We’ll soon be home,” Margaret said, “and I know you’re going to enjoy your welcome.”

  “Welcome?” Frances asked.

  “Some of our neighbors planned to come to meet our child—our children—you. We’ll have quite a party.”

  “What’s a party?” Petey asked.

  “You know,” Frances said, “like when Ma and Da would sing Irish songs, and we’d drink hot tea with milk and sugar.”

  Margaret smiled. “At this party our friends from all the nearby farms will come, each of them bringing home-cooked dishes, and roasted meat, and fruit pies. There’ll be other children to play with, and games, and good conversation.”

  “We’ve never been to that kind of a party,” Frances said.

  “Oh!” For a moment Margaret looked distressed. Then she gave Petey a little hug and said, “Then this will be your first Kansas party. I can promise that you’ll enjoy it!”

  The river was a thin ribbon of mirrored sunlight below and to the east as the horses turned off the dirt road into a narrower lane and slowly tugged the wagon up a slight rise. Ahead, beyond a half dozen wagons lined up near the lane, Frances could see a two-story wood house, bright with white paint. Just to the right of it was a small log cabin, and to the left of it was a barn, larger than the house. She sat erect to study the buildings. The house was like a palace compared to the building in which she had lived in New York. It was every bit as grand as the house she had built in her dreams.

  Margaret’s voice rose in a happy lilt as she explained, “Our house is new. A real house again! We’ve had five good years and one fair one of com and wheat, and we were able to build.” With pride she added, “And we have our own well! We no longer have to carry water from the river.”

  Two boys dashed around the side of the house, stopping when they saw the wagon. Both were blond; one was tall and one stocky. They were dressed much as Frances was, in collarless shirts, loose jackets, and trousers. The tall one stayed to wave while the other ran inside the house, calling out and banging the door behind him. As they pulled to a stop near the barn, the door to the house opened, and a flurry of children and adults ran outside. With them ran a large, shaggy-haired brown dog.

  “A dog!” Petey shouted. “Is it yours?”

  “Yours, too,” Jake said. “His name is Barker.”

  Jake held Frances’s hand as she jumped from the wagon. Margaret was being hugged, and everyone was talking at once, exclaiming over Frances and Petey.

  “Two! Aren’t you lucky!”

  “What wonderful boys!”

  “What are their names? Tell us about them.”

  Petey, suddenly shy, dove for Frances and wrapped his arms around her neck. She was glad to hold him. It gave her a chance to duck her head against his so that she wasn’t facing everyone at once. She could peek through the corners of her eyes to examine them, especially the boys who seemed to be about her age and who were frankly examining her.

  “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you say anything?” the stocky boy asked Frances.

  “There’s nothing to say,” Frances answered back.

  “Huh! You come from Boston,” the boy said.

  “Naw, Elton,” the other said. “All those orphans were coming from New York.”

  “He talks like some of them who come from Boston.”

  “He talks Irish. That’s what you hear. It’s Irish.”

  “And proud of it!” Frances said, raising her head and attempting to stare them down.

  One of the women, who had tied a billowing white apron over her long homespun skirt, gave a little tap on the stocky boy’s shoulder, saying, “Elton, Johnny, mind your manners. These boys will be your neighbors and friends. Make them feel at home.”

  Margaret put an arm around Frances and Petey. “I know you’d like to get acquainted and play with the other children for a while, so I’ll show you your new home later.”

  “I could see it now,” Frances said quickly, anxious to escape these strange faces.

  “No. Just have a good time for yourselves,” Margaret said as though she thought Frances were only trying to please. “We’ll have dinner on the table in a short time. I know you must be very hungry.”

  Already the women had set up a large table covered in white cloths. Margaret bustled off to join them. Some of the men went with Jake to store the wagon and help with the horses.

  “Want to play tag?” a small girl asked Petey. Without a word to Frances, Petey wiggled out of her arms and raced off with the younger children, all of them shrieking at the top of their lungs. Barker, living up to his name, ran with them.

  Johnny and Elton ran off, too, shoving, poking, and yelling at each other, ignoring Frances. For this she was thankful. But some of the women began darting little concerned glances at her, so she went after the boys, wanting only to get away from all these people.

  As she rounded the corner of the house she discovered she was alone. Enjoying the silence, she gladly leaned against a nearby elm tree. The Cummingses’ land was beautiful. The house overlooked a large meadow dotted with trees, a few of them still green, many bright with orange and yellow leaves. To one side lay a field of black soil rising in rows of low mounds separated by shallow valleys, cleared except for a scattering of dried stalks. Next to the back of the house was a-garden, and she could see rounds of orange and yellow poking through green vines. Were they squash? Pumpkins? She had eaten squash and pumpkin both but had never imagined what they looked like before they arrived in huge piles at the greengrocer’s shop. If only she could show this to Megan or Ma. She pushed the thought that would lead to tears from her mind.

  A bright spot of color lying on a patch of grass near her feet caught her eye, and she bent to pick it up. It was a doll, made all of cloth. Frances had never seen anything like it. It was so different from the elegant dolls with china faces and silk dresses in the store windows of New York. This homely doll, with its embroidered eyes and smile and hair of tangled brown yarn, went straight to Frances’s heart. For just an instant, she held the doll close.

  “Whatcha doing with a girl’s doll?” The mocking voice came from just behind her.

  Frances whirled to face Elton and Johnny. “Never saw one of these before,” Frances mumbled and dropped the doll to the ground.

  Elton grinned. “You dropped your dolly. You ought to pick it up before it gets all dirty.” He grabbed Frances’s shoulder and pushed down hard.

  But Frances was no stranger to bullies. Having learned well from Mike how to protect herself, she reacted instinctively. Twisting into Elton, she butted him in the stomach. She hooked a foot behind his and jerked. Elton landed on his back in the dirt.

  “What’s going on, boys?” A woman who had come from around the corner of the house wiped her hands on her apron and stared at them suspiciously. “You’re not fighting, are you?”

  “No, ma’am,” Frances said. “Just having fun.”

  The woman looked a little dubious but said, “Dinner’s about ready. You can wash up by the back door.”

  As the woman walked away, Frances reached down, grabbed Elton’s elbow, and pulled him to his feet. Dusting him off much harder than necessary, she murmured, “Want to talk any more about dollies? Or have you got enough sense to talk about something else?”

  “Whatcha get so mad for?” the boy answered. “I was just making some fun.”

  Johnny folded his arms and appraised Frances. “Did you learn to fight like that in New York C
ity?”

  “That’s where I’m from,” Frances said.

  “How’d you do that thing with your feet?” Johnny asked. “That was fast. Could you show me how to do it?”

  “Children! Everyone! Come to dinner!” one of the women called.

  “C’mon! Let’s eat!” Elton shoved Johnny so hard he nearly knocked him off his feet. He was off in a moment, Johnny right behind him.

  Frances relaxed, once more leaning against the tree and letting out a long, slow breath. That was close. In the future she’d have to be a lot more careful.

  Frances splashed her face and neck with cold water from the basin, then dried herself with the towel that hung on a hook over the wooden bench. The water felt good, and she realized how hungry she had become.

  She walked around the house to join the others. Petey was sitting on the grass with some other children, a filled tin plate between his legs.

  A short, plump woman with smiling eyes greeted Frances, propelled her toward the table, and handed her a plate. Frances struggled to remember the woman’s name. Mrs. Mueller. Johnny’s mother. Yes, that was it.

  “Help yourself, Frankie!” Mrs. Mueller said.

  What a feast! At first Frances could only stare at the baskets and plates that covered the table. She had never seen so much food in one place. At the far end of the table were large bowls of red apples and stacked loaves of brown bread, with pots of honey and butter near them. Nearby were bowls and pans piled with meats and vegetables she didn’t recognize, but that were so fragrant the smell of them caused her stomach to rumble.

  Mrs. Mueller patted Frances’s shoulder and said, “Maybe some of our food is strange to you. But I think you’ll like it. Over there in the brown dish is game-bird pie.” She named one dish after another: cured and roasted pork hocks, pickled carrots, Indian cornmeal pudding—from which rose the tantalizing fragrance of molasses—and cold sliced potatoes seasoned with a sauce of bacon drippings and onions. “And squash pie, especially for Margaret,” she finished proudly. “That’s a real favorite with New Englanders.”