All Roads Lead Home

by Christine Johnson

  Mariah knew better. “That cloud bank is the Rocky Mountains.”

  “But I thought we were miles from the mountains.”

  “We are,” Mariah said, “but the Rockies are very tall. They have snow on top in the summer.”

  “Let’s hurry, then,” Anna said. “I want to see that.”

  Soon they were on their way, Mariah at the wheel. Grass or wheat, already yellowed, stretched as far as she could see in every direction. The land undulated in long, low waves. Occasionally, she’d see a speck in the distance: a house or a barn or a cow, perhaps. Or maybe a tree or a shrub.

  The Overland’s tires swirled up dust from the narrow road. It got in her hair, her ears, her clothing and even her eyes. She had to constantly rub an eye or wipe the grit from her lips. She would not miss that one bit when they reached their destination.

  “I hope there’s a nice hotel in Brunley.” Anna sighed from behind her. “I could use a long bath.”

  The girl’s momentary enthusiasm had dissipated within the hour. Even the new hat’s enchantment had worn off. Mariah couldn’t blame her. She’d like a good bath, too, not to mention a soft feather bed. The ground had gotten awfully hard the past couple nights.

  Hendrick stared straight ahead, brow drawn. She knew that meant he was thinking, and before long she learned exactly what was bothering him.

  “Where do you expect to find Mr. Gillard?”

  His question seemingly came out of nowhere, but it was one she’d been considering for miles.

  She was not about to admit that she had no idea. “It’s a small town. Someone will know him.”

  “I’d talk to the biggest gossip in town,” Anna said. “Mrs. Williams knows everything that’s going on in Pearlman.”

  Poor Gabe, stuck with the town gossip as his church secretary, but Florabelle Williams was not the only gossip in town. Plenty of rumors started from both men and women.

  “Where do you suggest I look?” Mariah teased. “At the barbershop?”

  Anna laughed at her attempt to level the stereotype, but Hendrick looked offended. “Gossip isn’t very Christian.”

  Mariah felt the rebuke and stopped chuckling. “It was a joke, Hendrick.”

  “My brother doesn’t joke,” said Anna.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute,” Mariah said. “I seem to recall a joke or two over the years.”

  Two summers ago, he’d been so much more relaxed. They’d laughed over the smallest things. Had she changed him that much? She’d thought they were just friends, but maybe that hadn’t been the case. A person in love finds joy in everything. Maybe he’d been in love that whole summer.

  She pressed her eyes shut against the aching memories. This trip could not be making things better. Hendrick needed to move on, to find a woman who could give him the family he so deeply desired. That would happen if she told him she couldn’t have children, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

  “It’s no time to joke,” Hendrick said, as if reading her mind. “We’re talking about serious things. What do you plan to tell Mr. Gillard when you find him?”

  She squirmed. She hadn’t exactly come up with the right way to ask Gillard if he’d sign the termination papers. “I’ll get to know him first.”

  He grunted in disbelief. It wouldn’t be that easy. She knew that, but until she faced Gillard and saw who he was, she wouldn’t know how to proceed.

  They fell into silence. Low rolling hill after low rolling hill passed by, the monotony endless. Here a fence post. There a herd of cattle looking at them as if they’d never seen a motorcar before. No other travelers.

  Then out of the blue Hendrick said, “I think you were supposed to turn right back there.”

  “What?”

  “Right. You were supposed to turn right at that intersection.”

  What was he talking about? “I didn’t see any intersection, unless you mean that cattle trail we crossed. That’s not an intersection.”

  He held up the map. “According to this, we needed to turn right.” The paper crinkled when he touched his finger to it.

  She shook her head. “If it’s on the map, it’s a major intersection, not a path. Besides, we haven’t gone far enough.”

  “Then why is this road getting narrower?”

  Mariah hated when he was right. The terrain was changing, getting hillier, with scrubby low trees just tall enough to block the view.

  “If we made a wrong turn,” Mariah said, “we’ll just turn around and go back.”

  “This road could go clear to the Pacific Ocean,” he countered.

  “I don’t think so. Look at the map. There aren’t many roads across the mountains. None this far north. We might end up in Canada, but not at the coast.”

  “Suppose we run out of gas?” Anna asked eagerly.

  Mariah lifted an eyebrow at her peculiar reaction. “Why do you sound so excited by the prospect?”

  “Because interesting things happen to people in danger.”

  “We’re not in danger,” Hendrick said. “You got that from a dime-store novel.”

  “What if I did?”

  Mariah understood well the thrill of those adventurous stories. They portrayed glamorous worlds filled with danger and forbidden romance. She’d read a few in her day.

  “I’ll bet the heroine meets a handsome hero when her car runs out of fuel,” she said, playing along.

  Anna squealed. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  The ladies laughed, but the conversation came to an abrupt halt when the road ended at a two-story brick building surrounded by scrub trees.

  She applied the brake to stop her car.

  “I wonder where we are.”

  “Beson Creek School.” Hendrick pointed to the sign above the doorway.

  Mariah peered at the building. “A school way out here. Imagine that.”

  The big building certainly looked like a school. It even had a bell near the broad porch. But it included far more outbuildings than any school she’d ever seen, a half dozen in all, ranging from privy-size to almost as big as the school building itself. A split-rail fence lined the drive and enclosed the schoolyard. No one was outside right now except a young dark-haired girl who sat on the stoop staring at her dusty shoes, seemingly oblivious to the motorcar’s approach. If not for the size and number of buildings, Mariah would think the place a homestead and the girl dawdling away the time after doing her chores.

  She cut the engine. This misstep afforded the perfect opportunity to get directions to Brunley and perhaps learn a bit about Mr. Frank Gillard. There had to be an adult inside.

  “I’m going to look for the person in charge.” Mariah got out of the car, followed by Hendrick and Anna.

  When the doors slammed shut, the girl glanced at them. Terror flashed across her face for an instant but turned quickly to hope. She sprang from her perch and ran across the yard toward Mariah, arms outstretched.

  “Mamaaaaaa,” she cried, her voice bouncing with each step.

  What on earth? Mariah instinctively braced herself. Hendrick stared at the girl and then at her. He couldn’t possibly think she was this girl’s mother. “I have no idea what she means.”

  “I think she thinks you’re her ma.”

  “That’s obvious,” Mariah hissed. But none of the orphans had ever made that mistake. She smiled at the little girl. “I’m sorry, dear.”

  The girl halted, disappointment crushing her joy. She blinked rapidly and averted her gaze, the black hair falling over her tan face. The poor girl must be waiting for her mother, or maybe she had lost her mama. She might be an orphan. Mariah’s heart went out to her. As hard as she tried to shackle her emotions, she inwardly wept for every child who’d lost a parent.

  “There, there.” Mariah reached to embrace the girl, but she darted away, skittish as a fawn. “This must be an Indian orphanage and school.”

  Hendrick knelt before the rail-thin girl, who couldn’t be more than six or seven years of age
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  “My name’s Hendrick. What’s yours?”

  The girl’s fingers crept into her mouth.

  With a bang, the school’s front door opened, and a pudgy, balding man strode out. “Constance,” he barked, “here.” He pointed at the step, and the little girl reluctantly returned to her perch and tugged the skirt of her ill-fitting brown uniform over her knees.

  The man, satisfied with the girl’s obedience, crossed the grounds to meet them. He extended a hand to Hendrick. “Allow me to introduce myself. Mr. Layton Sowich, director of the Beson Creek School.”

  Hendrick limply shook the man’s hand while his gaze drifted to the girl. “Why isn’t she in class?”

  Sowich’s expression tightened behind thick lenses that magnified his owlish eyes. Clearly he thought Hendrick was questioning his methods. If Mariah didn’t take over, she’d get no assistance from the man.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sowich,” said Mariah. “We are headed for Brunley and apparently took a wrong turn.”

  “Brunley? It’s just up the road, less than a mile. I don’t know how you missed it.” Sowich tore his attention from Hendrick and settled it on her. “Mrs.?”

  “Miss Mariah Meeks,” she said, shaking the man’s hand firmly. “I’m an agent for the Orphaned Children’s Society in New York and would love to learn about your school.”

  The man’s momentary surprise shifted to unease when she asked about the school. “You want to learn about my school? Why? Did someone send you to take away some of the children?”

  “No, no,” she rushed to explain. “Not at all. We are touring the area.” She hesitated at the stretch of the truth. “And investigating a prospective parent.”

  Hendrick shot her a look of reproach, but her response made Sowich’s discomfort vanish.

  “Then you’re here by accident,” the man said with obvious relief.

  “Exactly,” Mariah said, “but I’m fascinated with schools. I studied education in college. I would love to hear about your mission and curriculum.”

  Apparently satisfied that she was no threat, Sowich smiled broadly and with a flush of pride told her about their progressive agenda. “With the buffalo exterminated, the Indians need to acculturate by acquiring new trades. Unfortunately, all prior attempts have failed, with catastrophic results. We believe introducing new industries to the children will produce more lasting effects. Shall I show you around?”

  The entire time Mr. Sowich talked, Mariah watched Hendrick’s expression turn to stone. Something the man said had bothered him immensely, but Mariah found it a sensible and responsible program to address a terrible situation.

  “I’d love to hear more,” she told Mr. Sowich. “Anna? Hendrick?”

  Anna agreed, but Hendrick hung back, saying he wanted to check the car. Mariah joined Mr. Sowich for the tour. With any luck, he would know where she could find Frank Gillard and how to approach him. This misstep could yet prove fruitful.

  Hendrick watched Mariah get sucked into Sowich’s fancy talk. Oh, he could throw around big words, but he was nothing more than the director of a boarding school. Why couldn’t Mariah see that? Why did she get that look of excitement, that glow in her eyes and that quickness in her step?

  The man stepped right by little Constance as if she wasn’t there. What good was all that fancy language without caring about the children?

  Once the others went inside, the girl lifted her eyes, chin still resting on her knees. Hendrick nodded at her, and she ducked her face again, as if she’d been told she wasn’t to talk to anyone. Hendrick recognized punishment when he saw it. He’d endured his share of sitting in a corner because he couldn’t seem to sit still in class. There was so much to do, so many things to explore, and he couldn’t stand to spend all that time with books and letters and figures. Years later, after he’d had to run a business on his own, he realized the importance of book learning, but at the time it had been torture.

  “I’m going to check the oil level and the water,” he called out to the girl. “Do you want to watch?”

  She furtively glanced at the front door of the school.

  “They’ll be busy for a long time,” he said, opening the hood, “but you can watch from there if you want. I’ll explain. This is where I add more oil to the engine.” He removed the filler cap and hazarded a glance at the girl.

  She was peeking at him through her fingers.

  He checked the oil level. “Could use another quart. Engines need lots of oil. It keeps all the parts moving.” She still sat on the porch, but she’d dropped her hands to watch him. Curious black eyes followed his every move. Maybe there weren’t any cars in these parts. “Have you ever seen a car?”

  She nodded.

  “This is an Overland, a solid touring car.” He checked the water, which was low again. “Do you have a well or water pump here?”

  The girl pointed across the yard.

  Hendrick squinted into the sun and finally spied the hand pump. There wasn’t a bucket, though. Most everyone in Pearlman had indoor plumbing now, but a few of the outlying farms still used an outdoor hand pump.

  “Where’s the bucket?” he asked.

  The girl pointed in the same direction, so he walked over to investigate.

  “There’s no bucket here.”

  The girl sucked in her lower lip, checked the closed door once more and ran over to him. She motioned for him to follow her to the back of a small outbuilding. There he saw an outdoor laundry, with huge tubs and paddles for boiling the wash. Several tin buckets sat on the ground. A regular school wouldn’t need a laundry. This was a boarding school. Or Mariah could be right—maybe this was an orphanage.

  “Where are the workers?” he asked, looking for the adults. None were around. They must be busy inside.

  The girl looked at him blankly.

  “The workers,” he repeated, “like the women who do the laundry.” He pointed at the tubs.

  She shook her head and turned a finger to her own chest.

  He stared. It couldn’t be. “You do laundry? You can’t even reach into the tub.”

  She nodded proudly and grabbed a wooden paddle before racing to the other side of the tub where she climbed a stool. She pantomimed stirring the wash and then looked to him for praise.

  Clearly she was proud of her work, but to Hendrick she looked too young and thin for manual labor. “But aren’t you studying? Don’t you go to school?”

  She nodded, though tears formed in her round eyes. “Wanna go home.” Her lower lip quivered.

  Hendrick’s heart broke. “Where is home?”

  She shook her head, and a sniffle escaped.

  She didn’t know. She was too young to know.

  He took the paddle and set it aside before lifting her to the ground. Even in that brief moment, he felt her silent sobs. He had to help her. Mariah believed Constance was an orphan, but what if she wasn’t? What if this was just a boarding school? Constance had mistaken Mariah for her mama. She begged to go home. Hendrick wanted to help, but first he needed to calm her down.

  He knelt and took her hands in his. She wouldn’t look at him, so he hummed a bar of the hymn he used to sing to Anna when she couldn’t sleep and Ma was too tired or too sick to tend her.

  The girl stopped crying and listened. Her dark eyes, swimming with tears, watched his every move. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his rough thumb, but she didn’t seem to mind that he had workingman’s hands.

  When he finished a verse, he whispered in the same soft voice, “How old are you, Constance?”

  She held up four fingers on one hand and two on the other. Six.

  “Do you know where your home is?” he asked.

  Her face fell as she shook her head. “Mama know.”

  “Is your mama…alive?”

  She nodded vigorously. “Mama work Missa Lawd.”

  So he was right. Constance wasn’t an orphan. He would look for this Mr. Lord, and then talk to Constance’s mother.
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  He drank in the girl’s dark, trusting eyes. “I promise I will find your mama and get you home.”

  She threw her arms around his neck with a sob, and he patted the thin little back. He didn’t know quite how he’d do it, but he’d find a way. He had to.

  “There you are, Hendrick.” It was Mariah, and judging by the frown on her face, she wasn’t happy.

  He patted the girl one last time and sent her scurrying back to her perch on the porch.

  Mariah waited until the girl was gone before speaking. “You shouldn’t promise things you can’t deliver.”

  “But they’re making her do laundry.”

  “Mr. Sowich says the children are taught basic industries.”

  “She’s only six,” he protested, though he knew his sister had helped their mother do the wash when she was that young. “And she’s not just helping. She said she does the laundry herself.”

  Mariah looked incredulous. “Do you really believe that? Mr. Sowich explained that all the children participate, and the teachers supervise.”

  Mr. Sowich. Mr. Sowich. Mariah seemed to believe everything the man said. Hendrick crossed his arms, knowing he couldn’t say a thing to change her mind.

  Mariah sighed. “Please try to understand. The children are sent here by their parents, who hope to give them a better life. Constance is just homesick. It will pass.”

  All Hendrick knew was that Constance was hurting, and he had to help. He’d find her mother. Maybe if she knew how much her daughter suffered, she’d take her home.

  Mariah understood Hendrick’s desire to make the little girl happy, but this wasn’t their fight. Mr. Sowich had explained the program in full. Indian families sent their children to the school so they could learn how to integrate into American society. By the 1880s, disease and starvation had wiped out most of the Blackfeet tribe. Two winters ago, after a year of drought, the tribe’s cattle herd had been decimated. The remnant struggled to overcome poverty.

  Government cattle hadn’t solved the problem for more than an enterprising few. The new reservation superintendent, Frank Campbell, had a five-year plan for resurrecting agriculture on the reservation, but, according to Sowich, true success would never be achieved until the Indians learned how to live in the white man’s world. The next generation was the key.