Walks the Fire

by Stephanie Grace Whitson

  “Happy to, Miz Hathaway. I just finished shoeing the bay mare. She’s rented out tomorrow, and she seemed to be draggin’ that off hind foot a bit. Got her all fixed up. She’ll put on a fine show trottin’ through town.”

  Augusta scowled. “I suppose Winston Gregory again?”

  “Yes’m.”

  “I wish that varmint would take his business elsewhere!”

  “Well, Miz Hathaway, his money’s just as green as anybody’s.” Joseph was uncomfortable. He knew where the conversation was leading.

  Jesse chimed in, “He treats you like a slave, Joseph.”

  “Where he come from, Miz King, I was a slave.”

  “But you’re free now, Joseph,” Jesse answered.

  Joseph stared back at Jesse levelly and bared just the tiniest piece of his soul. “You know it, and Miz Hathaway knows it, but they ain’t many others that seems to remember it, ma’am. I may be free, but I ain’t free enough to turn down a white man’s business just ’cause he’s high-falutin’.”

  Jesse knew it was true. Joseph snapped his exposed soul shut and left to hunt down the stonemason. Jesse returned to her quilting, Augusta to reading the paper aloud. LisBeth sat at the table pretending to darn socks, but her mind was not on the task at hand, for LisBeth had been up town today, and upon exiting Patton’s Drug Store, she had been the recipient of a Winston Gregory smile.

  “Winston! Winston Gregory, come here!” the shrill voice could be heard up and down the block, and no doubt Winston Gregory heard his mother’s summons well before he answered. He was, however, absorbed in the dime novel he had secreted in the barn out back. Mother can wait. After all, I’m not her slave! He inwardly lamented the loss of their slaves. The last two had been sold in Nebraska City, because the stupid Nebraskans wouldn’t abide slavery in their territory.

  “Such a sensible institution,” his mother had complained, “but then your father thinks we simply must take advantage of a new city. Although how I’ll ever keep up without Betsy, I’ll never know.” Lillia Gregory had waved her lace-edged handkerchief in despair and closed her eyes, a martyr to her husband’s wishes.

  Winston’s father, Randall Gregory, had been a vigorous, ambitious lawyer, with plans to make a great name for himself. He had inherited wealth from his father’s landholdings but wanted to make his own way. Nebraska Territory held the key to future social position that he could earn on his own merits. So Randall broke his mother’s heart, took his ample inheritance, packed up his whining wife and their spoiled son, and headed west. He had the good sense to settle in the boomtown of Lincoln and the bad fortune to die shortly after erecting an imposing mansion on the corner of 13th and J Streets.

  The instant her husband’s funeral was over, Lillia Gregory began packing her trunks and making plans to return to civilization. All that remained was to sell the house, and a land agent had assured her that that could be settled by mail. Winston shared his mother’s passion to return to “real society,” but then that dark-haired beauty outside the drug store caught his eye.

  Winston had smiled. She smiled back. He followed her home and sniffed audibly when he saw where she lived. Too bad. The daughter of the maid at Hathaway House. His prospects brightened. Not material for a wife but maybe perfect for a little fun before leaving town. Why not?

  On Sunday, Winston Gregory amazed his mother by offering to accompany her to church. He was dashingly handsome in his best suit and hat. Just as he was helping his mother down from the rented carriage, Jesse and LisBeth walked by. Winston tipped his hat and bowed. LisBeth blushed. Jesse nodded, pressed her lips together, and hurried inside.

  Sitting in their usual pew, the two women waited for the service to begin. Winston Gregory ushered his mother to the same pew. “Ladies, may we join you?”

  Jesse forced a smile and slid down to make room. Lillia sat stiffly and offered no greeting. It was, after all, not necessary to acknowledge the existence of the servants in town. Winston sang much too loudly and gave too much when the offering plate was passed. Jesse put in her meager gift and was miserable.

  Back at the Hathaway House, Jesse and LisBeth joined Augusta in preparations for the early afternoon meal. Hathaway House offered only one meal at 3:00 on Sundays, in deference to the Lord’s Day and at Jesse King’s insistence. Augusta’s faith wasn’t a bit threatened by the earning of money on the Sabbath, but Jesse insisted that they somehow honor the Lord. Augusta had flatly refused to close the hotel kitchen.

  “You just can’t do that, Jesse. It’s not good business.”

  “Good business honors the Lord, Augusta. Anything else is worthless.”

  Augusta had long since learned that Jesse’s cool exterior was easily ruffled in matters where her faith in what was right before God was challenged.

  “Compromise, Jesse,” Augusta urged. “We won’t close, but we’ll offer only one meal. Didn’t the Lord eat on the Sabbath? Surely he’d understand that we can’t just let our boarders go hungry!”

  “We could fix a cold lunch on Saturday to serve on Sunday.”

  “And lose every single boarder to Cadman House! Not on your life, Jesse King! Now, I’ll accommodate your piety when I can, but business is business and I won’t give it away. We’ll offer one hot meal at 3:00 on Sundays, and it’ll be a great one. We’ll do something special every Sunday. But only one meal.”

  Augusta would not be moved. She’s set her jaw, Jesse thought, just like Homer.

  Thus, the announcement in the State Journal, at twenty cents per line, read:

  In an effort to honor the Lord’s Day and provide all with a day of rest, boarders at Hathaway House are hereby notified that only one meal will be served on the Sabbath. Boarders are invited to dine at 3:00 p.m. in the hotel dining room. A sumptuous feast will be provided.

  Much to Augusta’s surprise, not one boarder complained. She attributed it to the “sumptuous feast.” Jesse attributed it to the hours she had spent on her knees, asking God to understand, and to make a way for her to honor his day.

  Winston Gregory’s time was running short. The stage was to depart in only two days, and he had not yet managed to kiss LisBeth King. He had rented the best carriage from Joseph Freeman for the evening, and now he presented himself at the Hathaway House just at the hour when LisBeth was setting tables for the noon meal.

  Winston cleared his throat and LisBeth jumped, wheeled about, and blushed.

  “I was pleased to see you at church yesterday morning.” He saw the pitcher of water tremble as LisBeth tried to appear casual and continue pouring water into glasses. She spilled some. “I wondered if you would be available for a carriage ride this evening after dinner?”

  LisBeth blushed. “I… I’d have to ask my mother.”

  Winston smiled patiently. “Of course.”

  LisBeth sailed out of the room, through the kitchen, and out back where Jesse was harvesting carrots from the garden. “Mother! Mother! Winston Gregory’s inside and… and… he wants to take me for a carriage ride tonight!”

  Jesse stood up abruptly, shaking garden dirt off the carrots. “LisBeth King, you’re only thirteen years old!”

  “But, Mother, he doesn’t know that. I act older. Everyone says so. I’m mature for my age.” LisBeth grew defiant as she saw her mother’s expression. She knew what the answer was going to be.

  It came in a kind voice, but it was still difficult to accept. “There’s plenty of time for you to be grown up, LisBeth. Enjoy being a girl for a bit longer. I’ll tell Winston no for you.”

  Jesse moved to pass LisBeth, but LisBeth held out her hand and said, miserably, “No, Mother… I’ll tell him. I knew I shouldn’t.” The dark eyes glistened, “But, Mother, it’s nice to be noticed and… to be asked. Can’t you remember when you were a girl, and the boys noticed? Wasn’t it nice?”

  The question was innocent, but it brought back old pangs of loneliness, the feeling of rejection from a lonely young womanhood when no boys had noticed, and no one had asked. Jesse
cleared her dry throat. “Of course it’s nice. But it’s too early. Tell Winston you’re too young,” Jesse corrected herself. “No, you don’t have to tell him that. Just tell him I said no, that you must work in the kitchen after the boarders eat, and when you’ve finished it will be much too late for you to go out riding.” Jesse smiled. “Make me out to be an ogre. And you needn’t tell him you’re only thirteen. I know you don’t want him to think you’re a baby.”

  LisBeth gave her mother a quick hug and whispered, “I didn’t really want to go, anyway. It’s a little scary, growing up, Mama. Thanks for saying no.”

  “That’s what mothers are for. You use me anytime you need an excuse to say no and still save face with your friends. Don’t lie, but you can make me out to be as mean as necessary if you need help.”

  LisBeth retreated to the dining room where Winston waited expectantly. “Thank you very much, Winston, but,” LisBeth sighed dramatically, “Mother insists I do the dishes after the boarders have eaten. Of course, it would have been lovely.”

  Winston turned his hat around in his hands and thought of an alternative. “Then walk with me after you’re finished. I’ll go out in the carriage, and when I bring it back I’ll just hang around the stable, waiting. Come out back when the dishes are done and your mother’s asleep.”

  LisBeth hesitated.

  “Come on, LisBeth. I’m leaving day after tomorrow. I just want somebody to talk to. It’s been lonely here… and, gee… I thought you’d understand.”

  LisBeth’s heart softened momentarily, but Jesse came to the door. She had overheard, and she was angry. Green highlights blazed in her gray eyes, “We may be working class, Mr. Gregory, but that does not mean that my daughter is to be used for one night’s amusement when you have nothing better to do. She does not go out unchaperoned, sir, and I suggest you remember that, or…” Jesse cut him with sarcasm, “I’ll tell your mother what you’ve been up to!”

  Winston Gregory flushed with anger, stuffed his hat on his head, and retreated.

  LisBeth tried to be angry with her mother, but one look after Winston and she burst out laughing. “Oh, Mama, he was acting so grown up. I thought he was such a man, but look at him, hustling off down the street, just because you threatened to tell his mama! What a sight!” In a burst of affection, LisBeth hugged her mother. “Thank you Mama, for protecting me from ‘ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night.’ And from Winston Gregory!”

  Jesse was serious. “LisBeth, somewhere, God has a husband for you. I’m certain of it. I’ve prayed for him since you were little. When he comes, we’ll know it. Until then, you must be very careful that you never give away anything that you should be saving for him. Don’t give away your dreams or your inner thoughts or your affection until you have the man who’s right.”

  “Did you save your dreams for Papa?” LisBeth asked.

  Jesse pondered the question and avoided answering it directly. “There’s someone deep inside every woman, LisBeth, just waiting to be loved into the light. She was there, inside me, but I didn’t know it until I met Papa.”

  LisBeth saw her mother’s face change. That other smile—the one from Sundays at Fort Kearney—almost came back. LisBeth hadn’t seen that smile in a long time, and it made her ache inside. It made her want a father.

  Jesse knew. “Oh, dear LisBeth, just remember, when you feel lonely for Papa, you can always tell the Lord. He has promised to be your father. He will be your guide, and he will never, ever, leave you.”

  “Sometimes it doesn’t seem enough, Mama.”

  Jesse squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I know, honey. Sometimes it doesn’t seem enough for me, either. But I just take a deep breath and do the next thing, and somehow it is enough. The Lord gives me the grace to go on.” With scarcely a pause, Jesse added, “When the right man comes along, he’ll fill up that place inside you that Papa left empty. It’ll fill up and overflow until you’re just bursting with the love inside you. In the meantime, don’t you give any of LisBeth King’s heart to the likes of Winston Gregory, or I’ll take a switch to you!”

  Jesse attempted humor to hide sentimental tears. LisBeth was nearly grown up. Men would be calling on her and she would someday be leaving—for where?

  With one arm around her daughter’s waist, Jesse added, “Now let’s get supper cooking. I promised Augusta that we’d take care of everything tonight, so she could attend that meeting up at the bank. Let’s get to it!”

  Winston Gregory and his mother departed on the 7 AM. stage on Wednesday morning for Marysville, Kansas, where they were met by Lillia’s family and carted back to Missouri and civilization. Somehow, Nebraska carried on without them.

  Twenty-seven

  Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us, unto him be glory.—Ephesians 3:20-21

  “It’s finally getting syrupy, Mama,” LisBeth called, wiping her forehead and continuing to stir the huge pot of boiling purple liquid. Jesse hastily wiped the rims of the last few canning jars and hurried over to the stove. Together, the two women ladled elderberry syrup into the jars, sealed the lids, and stood back to survey their work with satisfaction.

  “Now, see? Aren’t you glad we went along to help Joseph harvest elderberries?” Jesse asked. “There’s nothing quite as rewarding as a larder full of preserves—”

  “—unless it’s a hope chest full of quilts!” LisBeth finished the sentence for her mother.

  Jesse laughed. “I suppose I’ve said that enough times, haven’t I?”

  LisBeth smiled wistfully. “Every time you added a quilt to my hope chest, Mama...and there are twelve now, and all hope is nearly gone.”

  Jesse’s attempt to encourage the daughter who had witnessed the weddings of each of her classmates in the past few months was interrupted by Augusta’s booming voice. “Get in here! Look at this… I never!”

  Jesse and LisBeth hurried to the front room of the hotel, where Augusta stood, peering outside. The sun had gone behind a dark cloud, and the building was shaken by violent winds that came on suddenly with the roar of hailstorm. But there was no hail. As the three women watched, the black cloud passed by, and the wind quieted. In the distance, they could see the cloud seem to descend from the heavens. A few grasshoppers appeared in the road.

  “Odd,” Augusta murmured. The three women returned to their chores and gave the cloud little thought until the next morning, when homesteaders began arriving in town with their unbelievable tales.

  “In two hours, they were four inches deep on the ground

  “I’m wiped out. They et the onions right out of the ground…”

  “All that’s left of my garden is holes where they was beets and carrots…”

  “They climbed up my dress… ate the stripes right out of the weave before I could beat them off and get back into the house!”

  “The curtains are hanging in shreds at the windows…”

  “The livestock all went crazy and ran off…”

  Jesse and LisBeth prayed for the homesteaders and were thankful they were in town. The worst of the horde had passed Lincoln by, but it was the final calamity for hundreds of homesteaders. Beset by prairie fires during a drought and floods when the drought broke, having battled tornados and hailstorms, they were finally wiped out by an insect. Only a few days after Hathaway House inhabitants had witnessed the cloud going over the town, droves of homesteaders began arriving to take the railroad back east, back home, out west, up north—anywhere.

  One poor woman got on the morning train that week, weeping hysterically and shouting to the disembarking passengers, “Turn back, turn back! I’ve spent a winter and a summer here. God help you all if you stay in this cursed place!” Her embarrassed husband pulled her up into the train car and gently led her to a seat, his arm about her shaking shoulders.

  On Friday of that week, a rickety wagon pulled up outside Hathaway House. Ma
cKenzie Baird shouted an unnecessary whoa to his ancient team—which had already stopped to drink from the horse trough on the street—and slowly climbed down from his rig. He stood for a moment, both hands on the side of the wagon, seeming to inventory its contents.

  LisBeth looked out the dining room window and watched carefully. The man’s head was turned away from her. She couldn’t see his face, but she saw his shoulders rise as he took a deep breath. She saw the dusty hat removed and shaken angrily in one hand while the other hand made a fist that pounded the side of the wagon.

  Before he turned to face the hotel, MacKenzie clamped the slightly oversized hat back on his head and pulled the brim down over his eyes. He scraped the mud from the bottom of his boots along the edge of the board sidewalk. Then he made elaborate inspection of the worn harness that held his team to the wagon. With a final attempt to slap the dust out of his flannel shirt, he strode into the hotel and rang the bell for the clerk.

  Augusta answered the bell immediately, sweeping into the small office from her sitting room “in the back.”

  The voice that LisBeth heard from her conveniently out-of-sight location in the dining room was mellow, deep. She would describe it in later years as the sound of a deep river rolling gently along a rocky gorge. I wonder if he looks as good as he sounds, she thought, and blushed. LisBeth, you’re not a flirt… stop being so dramatic! Having scolded herself properly, she continued to eavesdrop.

  The voice was steady, but slightly strained. “Do you have any work available that would enable me to pay for a room, ma’am? Joseph Freeman said to check with Hathaway House as soon as I arrived in town.” The young voice faltered.

  MacKenzie cleared his throat, hooked his right thumb in his suspenders and continued, “I, uh, we—that is, the grasshoppers wiped us out, and as soon as things are settled on the place and I earn enough for a new rig and team, I’ll be moving on.” He rushed to finish, “I’ll do anything honest to earn my way. I’m strong and a hard worker, but the fact is, I’ve got no way to pay for the room or the meals unless I get work.”