The Indifference of Tumbleweed

by Rebecca Tope

  The afternoon was warm, with a pleasant breeze ruffling the surface of the river. We set camp somewhat early, having made good speed all day, and there was all the usual activity of releasing the oxen, collecting water and firewood, visiting other families for discussions of the day’s progress and plans for the morrow. There were still a good three hours of daylight remaining and nobody yet set light to the fires. Hunger was allayed with tack from the stores, before the stews were even set over the flames. A group of our menfolk walked towards a stand of trees away to the right, where it was suggested they might bring down a few birds to augment the pot. Mr Franklin was amongst them, the only one carrying a rifle. The others had slingshots, except for Mr Fields, who always went on such hunting parties, and who carried an Indian bow with a quiver of arrows.

  It was not difficult to kill pigeons, and mostly this is what came back with the hunters, but there was a bigger trophy to be had, in the shape of the turkey, which carried enough flesh to make a good-sized stew for a whole family. At sundown these birds would be plentiful amongst the trees, scratching and pecking at the ground, and sometimes perching in the branches. Their cry was a throaty warble that the children loved to mimic. They were also easy to catch with a degree of care and cunning, sometimes without the need of a cartridge or an arrow. The feathers made playthings for the youngsters, as well as being stuffed into pillows or used as writing implements. And yet there was seldom more than a single turkey hanging from the hunters’ shoulders, blood dripping from the beak, upon their return. There would be bickering as to who had claim to it, who would spend an hour on the plucking, how long it should be hung before eating. In hot weather, the meat quickly became unappetising, the need to prepare and cook it more urgent than the women liked. A pigeon was far easier, and better adapted to our circumstances. A child could pluck it, the dismemberment a simple matter, the taste a favourite with us all, and its death achieved with a single well-aimed rock. Small wonder, then, that every hunting party would return with a dozen or more of the plump creatures, dangling limply from a string. I once counted thirty-two shared amongst five men and boys.

  Mr Tennant did not involve himself in such activities. As the weeks passed he grew more kinglike in his role as party leader. His beard grew longer and whiter, his voice more imperious. His daughters-in-law were treated as if they were his slaves and his grandchildren were wary of him. He would order his large rocking chair to be brought down from the wagon and placed on as flat a piece of ground as could be found. There he would sit, with a pipe, watching us all as he gently rocked. It should have been comical, out in the wildness of the plains, to see a man behave as if in a city house, but it was far from amusing. He would cast loud judgements on those he observed, not so much a king as a god, I thought. ‘That’s a good boy, that Abel is.’ Or, ‘What does that fool Jude think he’s doing now? The brains of a jackass and a lot less useful.’ But when I heard him say, ‘The half-breed’s getting a sight too familiar. A man like that needs to know his rightful place,’ I found myself thrilling to an anger I had hardly known before. I had to turn away and lower my head to prevent myself from making an injudicious response. The injustice was too stark to ignore. Mr Fields had never once been impertinent or sharp with anyone in the party. He was dogged and diligent beyond any of the others. Because his equipment was old and unreliable, he was forced to spend far more time on repairs than anyone else. I had seen his hands blistered and bleeding after a long evening spent stitching unyielding leather harness that had frayed and split yet again. Because he had lower stocks of food than the others, he had greater need to hunt down birds, rabbits, groundhogs – anything his wife could add to the pot.

  So when the maligned man emerged from the woodland with a large turkey on his back, I was quick to scent trouble as Mr Tennant spotted him from his throne.

  ‘The villein brings tribute to his master, I see,’ he said, with no hint of jocularity.

  Mr Fields was slow to realise that he was being addressed. The heavy bird, with the shaft of the arrow that killed it still protruding from its breast, was tilting his slight frame a little. He shifted it, and took several more steps towards his wagon.

  ‘Fields!’ Mr Tennant suddenly shouted, far more loudly than necessary. ‘Is it your intention to share your game with the rest of us?’

  Now the hunter stopped, his head pulled down and forward, in a posture of belligerence. ‘You mean the turkey, sir?’

  ‘Indeed I do. A good meaty bird, I see.’

  ‘I intend it for my family, sir. My wife in particular is weak after her trouble, and one of our lads has a stomach sickness. It is my own kill, sir. I see no obligation whatever to part with it.’

  ‘Tribute, man. Regard it as a tribute.’

  ‘Under what regulation, sir? I am aware of no such provision in the agreement.’

  Mr Tennant now had the attention of almost everyone in the party. Murmurs came from several directions. Mr Fields looked around for support and received it most plainly from my father.

  ‘Tennant – what are you saying?’ he asked. ‘Where has this come from?’

  Mr Tennant puffed out his chest, seemingly unconcerned. ‘I simply presumed that since I am burdened with the responsibility of decisions, the security of some dozens of souls resting on my shoulders, I could reasonably expect some modest contributions towards my requirements, when a clear surplus existed.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said my father. ‘Sheer nonsense. I should remind you, sir, that this land is a democracy. We have a duty to convey the doctrines of democracy and Christianity alike to the peoples west of here. We are required at all times to show an example to such peoples. Your choice of Fields as the object of your greed is particularly unfortunate, given his parentage. I am beginning to regret, Mr Tennant, that I voted for you as party leader, at the outset. I expected much better of you than this.’

  ‘Greed?’ thundered Mr Tennant, fixated on that single word. ‘How dare you?’

  Nobody else spoke up, but the mutterings grew louder. Groups were forming, comprised of the Tennants on one side, and everyone else a distance from them. I stared in confusion at this startling display of how men could develop such sudden animosities, with real anger flaring. I felt a fear that I could hardly explain to myself. Something in the air was full of threat.

  My father was quite obviously in the right. Surely everyone, even Mr Tennant, could see that. My brother was standing stockstill, his jaw foolishly slack, the axe in his hand as ever. He looked from face to face in confusion.

  ‘What else would you call it?’ My father spoke with calm reason, which served to inflame Mr Tennant further. What had possessed the man, I wondered. Had his wits turned in the weeks since the journey began? ‘I trust you will recall yourself to a better attitude, with a pause for reflection.’

  My father had often told us that he had intended, in his youth, to become a priest. That he was now and then regretful at the change of mind brought about by an insecure vocation and a great desire to marry and have a family. But there was something priestly in his dealings with other men. He would gaze at them quietly, if he judged them to be misbehaving in some way, and compel them to consider their actions. More than that, he disciplined we children in something of the same fashion.

  But it was not an effective strategem when it came to Mr Tennant. Our leader had persuaded himself, over the weeks, that he was rightfully elevated above everyone else. ‘I was properly elected,’ he shouted now. ‘By virtue of all male persons above the age of majority, I stand as leader of this party. As such, I might expect a level of deference from those I lead. I warn you, Collins, that insubordination of such magnitude risks expulsion from the train.’

  Some onlookers understood the import of these words well before others. There was a gasp which swelled as more people saw the significance of the threat. ‘No!’ cried Mr Fields. ‘How can that be, for a simple disagreement?’

  Mr Tennant turned slowly in his chair, to face the man who had or
iginally angered him. ‘I merely remind all those present of my powers,’ he said, his rage controlled with an effort we could all see. ‘These early weeks of our trek have proved deceptive in their ease. It will not always be thus. We face great heat, in the immediate future, and many risks of shortages, accidents, delays and hard decisions. Without due discipline, we shall founder. The sharing of bounty is a basic absolute of any interdependent group. I dare say that not one of you has been a serving military man, as I have been. You do not fully comprehend the importance of such practices. It is my duty to educate you. Therefore, Mr Fields, I ask you again to offer portions of your handsome bird to anyone wishing to avail himself of them.’

  My father was confounded. He blinked and stared at the ground for a long moment. Then he said, ‘I cannot believe the hazards ahead are so great as to warrant this injustice. We are not alone – far from it. The real decisions are made for us by those in the forefront of the caravan. We have managed to overcome accidents well enough so far. And your reasoning is flawed, sir. You choose to be undemocratic in order to spread democracy. Your demand on Mr Fields does not have the merit of consent from the whole group. If someone were starving, the case would be different. As it is, the most hungry and needy amongst us can be found in Mr Fields’ own family. Therefore I say again, it is nothing more than greed on your part that impels your request. Furthermore, the threat to eject any family from this party is both cruel and entirely unjustified.’

  Opinion swung transparently from one to the other and back again. The Franklins nodded their heads at almost everything that was said by either man.

  Mr Tennant rested back in his chair and rocked a time or two. ‘Let that be an end of it for the moment, then,’ he said, like a judge in a high court. ‘Points have been made by us both, giving the whole party much to reflect upon. Mr Fields, I merely wished to remind you and others of the basis on which we are all here. Independent action can be laudable, of course. This nation is built on men of character, individualists and pioneers. However, in these circumstances, thought must be given to the greater good, at all times. Is that understood?’ He included us all in this final question, and with some mutters and head-scratchings, there seemed to be a fair level of agreement. Mr Fields, looking pale and unhappy, carried the turkey bird to his wagon, where his wife seized hold of it like the ever-hungry Melchior might have done.

  I had been sitting near the river’s edge, when the incident began, having collected a pan of water for washing, and paused to search for a place of privacy for the necessary and intimate ablutions I had in mind. It had been then that I realised there was a hunting party in the woods where I would have gone. Thwarted, I had put down my pan and simply sat idly waiting and enjoying the evening sunlight. For once there were no urgent tasks to perform – and even if my mother had summoned me, I would have made excuses based on my condition. I knew I was emitting odours that nobody would find attractive except for one or two of the dogs that were perpetually sniffing round for something of interest. The quest for personal cleanliness was a trump card amongst all the women and girls. Men could display sweat stains and gravy dribbles, smelling of beasts and worse, but none of the females would be tolerated in such a state. The monthly flux was a considerable nuisance, entailing constant washing and urgent disappearances behind rocks or shrubs along the way. While it was scarcely ever mentioned, it became all too apparent when one of us was afflicted. An unspoken agreement existed to guarantee a lack of disturbance when required. Young boys would be cuffed by their fathers if they tried to sneak after one of the girls. But in the evenings, when camp was pitched, it became more difficult. Cover was not always generous, and from the whole train there could be a score or more females all seeking the same sanctuary for the same reason, but too modest to share a space, and certainly unable to speak aloud of the matter.

  I was still awaiting my opportunity when the party began to disperse to their wagons after the confrontation between my father and Mr Tennant. I had pinpointed a group of four or five birch trees in the general direction of the Fields wagon, and was conscious that I could not leave it any longer. Even the act of getting to my feet brought the risk of discharge beyond the capacity of my rags to capture. Gathering my skirt in a bunch before me, in order to move quickly, I headed for the shelter without further ado. I carried the pan of water awkwardly, slopping much of it, irritated by the bother of it all. The inescapable shame that was the lot of every woman and girl in the world went with me, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground, ignoring anyone around, in the hope that they would ignore me in turn.

  The malign distraction of the physical was a recurring theme from our priests and Bible readings. From a young age I had understood that women could never hope to achieve the same power and freedom as men, thanks to the way their bodies were arranged. It was all due to Eve, we were told, and her disobedience. And yet my head was still swirling with the remarks that Mr Tennant had just made. I was most engaged by his list of future tribulations we must face, and far from feeling afraid, I found myself thrilling to the prospect. And in reality, on the migration trail, women did have a degree of equality. They walked as stoutly as the men, they would regularly be called upon to assist with cattle or mules, they provided many subtle necessities that maintained order and civilised living.

  As I returned from my unpleasant chore behind the trees, I walked with a more confident stride, letting my mercifully unblemished skirts swing free. I felt clean and hungry and relieved. The empty pan hung from my hand, and my intention was to return it to its hook inside the wagon before it was mislaid. I think I was even humming softly, so pleased was I to have accomplished my delayed purpose.

  I was arrested by a man suddenly before me, his face shadowed by the wide-brimmed hat he always wore. ‘Miss Charity,’ he began. ‘Would you take a word to your father for me?’

  ‘Mr Fields,’ I greeted him. Somehow, without my being conscious of it, I had moved to a point where I considered him my friend, despite his disastrous violence towards his wife. His face would float before my eyes, last thing before falling asleep, often revealing his profound grief and guilt over the lost baby. Since Mr Tennant had abused him, my loyalty had apparently strengthened. ‘Of course, I am pleased to be your messenger.’

  ‘You are a kind-tempered girl. I thought so from the first. I regret that you were witness to that small tragedy the other day.’

  ‘Not small, sir. A great loss for both you and your wife. Is she now in better health?’

  He shocked me then, by casting his eyes to the sky and shaking his head. It was a display of impatience, exasperation, even disloyalty. It was not a husbandly gesture. It suggested a disclosure that I as an unmarried young woman ought not to be receiving. But I was forced to smile at the flash of character that it revealed. The half-breed was not cowed by events. He might be poor and guilty and abused, but he still kept a straight back and a good spirit.

  ‘The message, sir? I ought to be helping my mother this hour past.’ I looked at the pan in my hand and wondered whether he understood what I had been doing. I had a cotton bag looped over my shoulder, containing the bloody rags that would have to be washed next time we had access to a river and time for some intensive scrubbing. The prospect seemed to me sordid and unworthy.

  ‘Please thank your father for me. Further than that, I would have him know that when he refers to my parentage, he is perhaps unaware of the identity of my father and mother. It is evident that I am of both Indian and European ancestry. Nobody has taken it upon himself to ask for detail. Let me tell you now that my father was Jim Fields who participated in the great expedition with Lewis and Clark. My uncle, his brother, was there, too. I trust this confers some slight status on an otherwise humble family. The Fields brothers were admittedly peripheral to the main adventure, confined to work with horses and mules, but the history books may remember them, for all that.’ He squared his shoulders and smiled. ‘And my mother was a very beautiful Indian squaw, who died just a
few months past. Her brother, another uncle, taught me a number of skills that I fancy might prove of use to this party before the summer is over.’

  The implied reproach to Mr Tennant did not pass me by. By threatening to expel Mr Fields from the train, he might well be depriving us all of a person who we would need later. This was my interpretation of the maligned man’s underlying theme.

  I smiled again and went on my way. Why in the world had I overlooked his guilt so readily, instead of holding a grudge against him for the violence to his wife? Because, I admitted to myself, I had not liked his wife from those first overheard complaints in Westport. I could quite easily understand the impulse to lash out at her to silence her whining, although a kick to the stomach did seem hard to forgive. A person with proper values would surely judge him harshly for that. I wondered that Mr Tennant had not raised it as a large black point against the man he had taken exception to.

  Chapter Eight

  My father was unsmiling as I repeated the message from Mr Fields in its entirety. He rubbed his cheek with a big hand when I conveyed the facts about his parents and groaned softly when I’d finished. ‘The man is trouble,’ he said. ‘It has been evident from the outset. He ought never to have joined this party.’

  My mother, contrary to her normal avoidance of unpleasant matters, spoke up. ‘Stay away from him, Charity. What do you mean by carrying messages for such a man, in any case?’

  I bridled, but my father interrupted. ‘That is of no matter. The girl is free to converse with whomever she chooses. We can trust her judgement, to be sure. Was he defiant in his manner, would you say?’ he asked me.