It wasn’t long before she heard him following her. “If you aren’t hurt at all, let me look.”
“What?” Ida continued towards the wagon, climbing into the back. Her feet stung badly enough that tears attempted to surface.
“You heard me. If you’re truly alright, let me see for myself.” She turned, crossing her arms and glaring at him. He wore a smirk that, she had to admit to herself, looked nice on him.
“Fine, I’ll show you.” Uncrossing her arms, Ida grabbed her skirts and lifted them just high enough to reveal the red, still bleeding blister. She dropped the fabric, letting it fall into place. “Are you happy now?”
“Not particularly,” Asher replied, taking off his hat and setting it on the edge of the wagon bed. “You had only to tell me. I would have stopped the wagon sooner, or you could have ridden with me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.” Ida’s voice was small in reaction to Asher’s hard tone. He sighed. “Besides, can’t we each go about our own business?”
“Not anymore, no. Whether you like it or not, we’re married. Our business is not separated anymore.”
Ida sighed, sitting down at the edge of the wagon bed, her legs dangling off the back. She kicked her feet absentmindedly and watched the grass ripple in the wind. Asher climbed in and started rifling through crates. When he found what he was looking for, he came forward.
Placing a small circular tin in her lap, he said, “Plantain salve. It works well on blisters and the like.” Then he hopped down, snatching his hat up as he went.
“God,” Ida whispered, burying her face in her hands. “Please, help me. I don’t know what to do about Asher. How can I convince him that you care for him? And how can I learn to care for him as well?”
She heard the creak of the wagon bench as her husband settled in. Quickly, she ran to the front of the wagon to sit beside him. When he gave her a questioning look, she smiled, hoping that both of them could learn to speak calmly with each other.
Lane Oklahoma
November 1876
“How do you feel about Christmas?” Ida asked when they’d been traveling for just over a week. “Do you celebrate it at all?”
“I have never had a Christmas, to be honest.” Ida’s eyes widened.
“Never? Not one single Christmas memory? No popcorn, no big dinner or supper?” He shook his head, his spine stiff.
“No. My Mother never liked Christmas, and my father was always gone. We didn’t have much money, so went out west to find work. He promised he’d make enough money to send for us. Instead, he died. He was working for a rail company, and when they wanted to use dynamite to open up a hill, something went wrong.”
“I’m sorry, Asher. That must have broken your heart.”
“I was sixteen, so it happened five years ago. Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, it never felt right to have a holiday when he wasn’t there. So I don’t celebrate Christmas.”
Ida wondered how she could change his mind in just over a month. Obviously, he was convinced that God was at fault for everything. Yes, God had not stopped his father from dying. But that didn’t mean God wanted Asher to suffer. Sometimes it’s just someone’s time to go. Sometimes, it’s our time to let them go.
“How about you? Did you ever celebrate Christmas?” Ida smiled, thinking back to her childhood, which, if she was honest, hadn’t been all that long ago.
“Pa loved Christmas. We never had money for big gifts, but sometimes he’d bring an orange or some such home for me and Cora. He always made sure we sang Christmas songs and read about Jesus in the Bible. Honestly, I can’t imagine letting Christmas pass without so much as a song.”
“Well, that’s how it’s been for me.”
For whatever reason, this made Ida’s usually light heart feel dreadfully heavy. She forced a smile, elbowing his ribs.
“It can’t have been all bad. Life has its low points, but there must have been something good. Perhaps a beloved pet, or a dear friend? Siblings?” Asher smiled, just slightly.
“I have a younger brother, Jones. He was our mother’s favorite baby. I always tried to take care of him, and he’d do the strangest things. He’s fifteen now. Occasionally he writes, but I haven’t seen him in years.”
“Maybe we could visit him some time?” Asher shrugged, his eyes heavy with sadness.
“We’ll see.”
********
Asher tried to keep a straight face while Ida tried to apply the plantain salve to her blisters. They were nearly gone, but the skin was still torn and damaged. As the wagon jostled along, she rested a foot on the opposite knee, gingerly dabbing salve on the affected area.
“If you want, I can stop. We can take a break.” She shook her head and set her foot down again, closing the container.
“Not necessary. I’m finished.” A long moment passed in which Ida hummed a jaunty tune, the same sort she’d been singing for over a week. He smiled, unsure why her happiness made him feel . . . better.
“Not if you keep walking for so long. They’ll just keep opening up again.” She shrugged, still humming.
“I like the walking it makes my heart feel lighter.” Asher couldn’t imagine anything lighter than Ida’s heart. She had such a sweet, naive air about her. It was childish but was somehow almost charming.
Asher shook his head, refusing to dwell on whether or not his wife was charming. He hadn’t even known her for two weeks. They’d hardly communicated at all before they met. And, of course, there was the fact that God seemed to be the most important thing in her life, and he wasn’t even a Christian anymore.
Leave it to him to marry a girl that was, by far, too good for him. But wasn’t everyone too good for him? He’d never done anything that he’d consider good. Perhaps caring for his brother, but that didn’t count. Jones was family. What had he ever done that genuinely made the world better?
And the Christmas nonsense! Ida was obsessed with the holiday like she kept track of her days by counting down to Christmas. Every time Asher thought of celebrating that, or any holiday, his stomach churned.
“You seem so cross all of a sudden,” Ida said, her tone light. He glanced over to see a dimpled smile that he was beginning to like. “Are you getting hungry? I can make something to eat when we stop.”
“No, but thank you for offering. I was just thinking.” That, and he’d found that Ida couldn’t cook much. She could cook beans well enough, and pancakes, though they always burned. But anything else turned out poorly.
“Whenever I get to thinking, I just talk.” She gave a short laugh. “Well, I talk quite often. But most of the time it’s just because I get to thinking, and then I get too excited for silence. If you give me the chance, I’ll talk your ear off.”
“I don’t mind. I’ve never liked quiet. Until recently, I had no choice but to live with it. It’s nice to have someone talking.” Asher felt his face burn red. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he speak with her without feeling shy? He wasn’t usually that way.
Returning his full attention to controlling the horses, he decided to stop talking. He told himself that it was because he needed to pay attention, rather than due to the fact that he was worried he’d start to care for Ida.
********
The further south the young couple went, the warmer it grew. Ida was beginning to wonder about Arizona and how warm it would be there. She figured it didn’t snow there, which was somewhat unfortunate. She’d always liked snow, as rarely as it had come her way. Still, it would be nice to go outside and feel the sun rather than ice.
As the sun was beginning to set, and Asher suggested they stop for the night. Ida agreed readily. She’d never enjoyed being in the dark, and a fire would be excellent. The only complaint she had was that she would embarrass herself once again as she attempted to cook.
“Why don’t you start the fire tonight? I need to go for a minute, but I’ll be right back.” Ida nodded, and Asher walked away into the darkness
.
Quickly, she moved to the wagon bed in search of the matches and some kindling. Once she had them in hand, she set about grabbing enough wood to get the fire going. Asher had stacked some wood in the wagon in case they didn’t find any more, but they were running low.
In the five minutes it took for her husband to return, Ida had started a decently sized fire. Large enough to cook over, but small enough to sit close to. That was one thing she was reasonably good at.
“Good work, Ida,” Asher said, appearing in the darkness like a phantom, his smile practically glowing against the blackness of night.
“Thank you very much.” Turning away from the fire, she found the kettle and some ingredients for a soup. Anyone could make soup, even if they had the cooking skills of a child.
“Soup?” Ida nodded, her face red. She hoped against hope that she would prepare the soup properly. “Good, I think I’m starving.”
“I doubt that. You eat every time we stop.” He shrugged.
“It keeps the cooking to a twice daily thing.” Ida raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened. “I don’t mean that I don’t like your cooking. I do. I just meant -”
Ida laughed, dumping a few things into the dutch oven, barely paying attention. “I know what you meant. You should try relaxing. Not everything is so serious.”
She glanced up, just in time to see him look away, his face red. As much as she tried to hold it back, a smirk grew on her face. Asher really was a serious man. Nothing seemed to make him entirely happy.
“That’s easy for you to say,” he muttered, then sat on the edge of the wagon. It saddened Ida to hear the melancholic tone of his voice.
Honestly, his constant sadness and that deep-seated anger made her want to scream at times. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shout, “It’s not easy for me, not in the slightest”, but it would have taken more courage than she had.
It wasn’t long before the soup was boiling inside the kettle. With a long stick, Ida pushed the coals around until they glowed. Then, taking out the two tin plates, she ladled a goodly portion into each, handing one to Asher.
“Thank you,” he said as Ida took out two spoons and a canteen of water. He took a tentative slurp from his spoon and nodded. “This is excellent. You’re getting quite good at this.”
Ida blush, taking a spoonful of her own supper. “Anyone can make soup. All that it requires is any vegetables and meat you have.”
“Well, whenever I make soup, it tastes like it came out of a rusted hand pump.” Asher grabbed the little tin cup they shared and poured himself some water. “I’m glad to have you along, Ida.”
“I could say the same of you.” He blushed, looking down at his plate. After gulping down half of the water in the cup, he offered her the rest. Ida quickly downed her half of the warm water. She’d have preferred for it to be cold, but it was still refreshing.
“I’d say you’ll be a fantastic cook by the time we get to Silver Bell.”
“How much longer do you think it will be before we get there?” Asher sighed, then took a bite of soup before answering.
“Two weeks? If we don’t have any unforeseen problems. Of course, if the axle breaks, and not for the first time, it would add time onto our journey. But don’t worry, it’s very unlikely that something will go wrong.”
Ida smiled wistfully, imagining what their life together could look like. “Just in time to get into the Christmas spirit.”
It could, but shall not, go without saying that Asher didn’t reply. He finished eating, the only sounds he made those of a general fashion. When he’d finished, he took his bedroll from the wagon and made his bed on the ground.
“Good night,” he said shortly, and laid down, his back to Ida.
When she was sure her husband was either asleep or feigning to be, Ida rose and cleaned up after their meal, putting everything in its right place. She laid a blanket down over an open space in the wagon, where she would spend the night.
Fortunately for her, she couldn’t see Asher, nor could she be seen by him. Because of this, Ida felt safely invisible as she let the tears fall down her face. Pressing a fist against her mouth, she managed to remain silent.
“God,” she whispered when her crying had subsided. “What can I do?”
Crystal New Mexico
November 1876
“We’ll be better off following the river past the town,” Asher said, rubbing his eyes.
“But the ground is so damp here! I keep getting my feet stuck in the mud.” He tried not to laugh at the stern expression Ida wore.
“Then you can ride in the wagon. It’s only for a day or so. You’ll be fine.” She crossed her arms, trying to look angry. Asher thought his wife was somewhat adorable when she attempted anger.
“I get bored just sitting around. I have to do something.” He smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll just have to converse like most recently married people do.” She pushed him away with far more force than he’d have guessed her to be capable of. It nearly sent him falling.
“Fine.” She smiled in a way that made him believe that the situation was not, in fact, fine. “But you will be cooking supper this evening.”
With that, she turned away from him and climbed onto the wagon bench, leaving Asher to watch her, jaw dropped. What had her so cross? It didn’t seem possible for someone to be so angry simply because he didn’t want to go through a town of gawking people. It had to be something more.
When he was settled in beside his wife, Asher asked, “Are you this angry with me because of the path we’re taking or is it something else? I’d like to know.”
Ida sighed heavily. “No, I’m not angry about anything like that. I’m angry because every time I think we could be getting along I say something that you don’t wish to hear. Then, because you’re a man and ridiculously stubborn, you stop talking to me. I’m angry because you’re almost always silent when I want to speak with you, but when you want to speak, it’s fine.”
Asher blinked. He tried to speak, but no words came forth. So he decided that, perhaps, silence would be his ally. When his wife, usually so good-humored, sighed exasperatedly, he realized that he’d erred.
“I’m sorry, Ida.” She shook her head, scoffing. “We don’t know each other well enough for me to tell you everything I think. Besides that, would you rather have me tell you that I will never celebrate your silly Christmas?”
Ida gasped, scooting away from him. “It is not my Christmas. And I assure you, it’s far from silly. It’s one of the most important things out there. Everyone, whether their faith stands or not, takes a day to sit and remember. They remember that if God’s son can come into the world so humbly and save everyone who wants to be saved that there is always hope. They remember that someone loves them enough to die in their place.”
“Really? Do you truly believe that’s why people have Christmas?” She nodded, and Asher let out a harsh laugh. “Then you’re more foolish than the holiday.”
“Maybe I am not the foolish one, Asher.”
Having said this, she hopped out of the wagon, heading west. Ida walked quickly, not stopping despite the fact that the wagon was still. Asher set the wagon in motion, following his wife as she walked away from him.
“You’re going to get dirty this way.”
“A bit of dirt never harmed a soul.” He sighed, pulling alongside her, keeping the same pace.
“Well, you’ll ruin your dress. It’s a lovely blue. Wouldn’t you hate to see it spoiled?”
“It’s merely material goods. I can replace it or reuse it.”
Finally, Asher gave up and rode along in silence, his fuming wife staying as far away from him as possible. She was dangerously close to the river, but he supposed that she was a grown woman, capable of handling her own affairs.
As they moved onward, Ida’s steps slowed, her feet dragged in by the mud. The horses’ hooves and the wagon wheels were sinking as well, but the mud did
n’t suck them in like it did his wife. Even with the mud and her sore temper, she sang.
“Sowing in the morning, sowing seeds of kindness,
Sowing in the noontide and the dewy eve;
Waiting for the harvest, and the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
Asher tried to avoid hearing the song, recognizing it from several churches he’d passed through of the years. But there was something in Ida’s voice, a bittersweet calling that made ignorance of the words impossible. And she had a wonderful voice, high and clear and precisely the opposite of his own. When she came to the last verse, her voice wavered some, then continued more quietly.
[2016] Widow Finds Love Page 39