First Dawn

by Judith Miller

  She remained crouched by the fire. “No, not even enough to cook a decent breakfast. What are we going to do? Have the men talked about our future out here?”

  Thomas squatted down and looked at her with kind, deep brown eyes. “Not that I’ve heard—unless they made some plans last evening. I didn’t join ’em. Took the twins fishin’.”

  She nodded. Neither he nor the twins had snagged a single fish.

  “I’m headin’ down there again right now,” he said. “There’s gotta be at least a few fish in that river.”

  “If you catch any, I’ll be happy to cook them.”

  “And eat ’em?”

  “And eat them!” She watched Thomas stride off with his makeshift fishing pole in one hand and her father’s pitchfork in the other before she turned back to the fire.

  Her father’s long shadow stretched across the flames. “That Thomas?”

  “Yes. He’s gone off in hopes of catching a few fish. He says they bite better early in the morning or in the evening when it’s not so hot, but I’m not certain he truly knows. After all, he didn’t bring any back with him last night. I do hope he’s successful this morning. We’ve got next to nothing to keep us going. Do you think we can continue waiting on Mr. Hill?”

  Her father poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down by the fire. “Decided last night—we can’t wait no longer. We’s put our little bit of money together and we’re sendin’ one wagon down to the railhead in Ellis today. We’ll get what we can. Maybe a few more tools and some food to keep us goin’. ’Cept for prayin’, ain’t much else we can think to do.”

  Jarena wanted to offer her suggestion, but it would serve no purpose. Her words would fall on deaf ears. She thought they should all pile into the wagons and head off for Ellis. Maybe they could hire out and earn enough money to purchase train tickets back to Georgetown.

  “Will everyone go?”

  Her father looked at her as though she’d lost her senses. “It’s thirty miles each way, and we gots to stay here and protect our belongin’s from thieves and claim jumpers.”

  Jarena glanced about the camp at the smattering of household goods, the few tools, and the partially empty trunks. She saw little that needed protection.

  “Who’s going?”

  “We decided to send Thomas.”

  “Why Thomas?”

  “Why not Thomas?” her father countered. “He’s good with the horses, he’s young an’ strong, and he’s been in the West longer’n any of us ceptin’ Ivan Lovejoy. And Ivan made it real plain that he ain’t goin’. We agreed Thomas is the best choice.”

  “He’s never been this far west, has he? And who knows how long he’s been in Kansas. Has anyone even asked him?”

  “Stop your frettin’, Jarena. Thomas is a good choice. The women won’t want their husbands leavin’ without ’em, and that’s a fact. Most of ’em are still expectin’ Injuns to come ridin’ over one of them yonder hills.”

  “And who’s to say they won’t—the Indians, I mean.”

  “Mr. Hill tol’ us we wouldn’t have no trouble with Injuns.”

  “And we can believe everything he told us!” The words gushed forth unbidden. All her plans to remain silent had gone up in smoke, just like the smoldering brushwood she’d thrown on the fire.

  “Now, don’ you go gettin’ uppity with me. Ain’t no call for that sharp tongue of yours. We all know we’s got problems—don’ need to be reminded all the time.”

  “I’m sorry, Pappy.” She nodded toward the river. “Appears as though Thomas caught himself some fish.”

  Thomas was running across the prairie, holding several fish high in the air. “Look what I got,” he called out.

  Grace sat up from her sleeping blanket under the canvas, rubbed her eyes, and poked her sister. “Look!” Without a word, both girls jumped to their feet and ran over to greet him.

  Truth returned to the fire carrying the three large fish that Thomas had strung onto a heavy piece of twine. “Look at these! Ain’t they somethin’?”

  “Yes, they are something,” Jarena corrected.

  Obviously annoyed, Truth dropped the line of fish in front of her sister. A few inches further and the smelly catch would have landed in Jarena’s lap.

  “You want me to clean ’em, Pappy?” Truth asked.

  “No, I’ll clean the fish. You can help yo’ sister with some of the chores. I’m thinkin’ maybe you and Grace could spend some time down at the river doin’ the washin’. No reason Jarena should be the only one doin’ laundry.”

  The excitement in Truth’s eyes faded as she plopped down nearby.

  Thomas met Jarena’s gaze. “Think you can manage to eat some of dem fish?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He grinned. “I know you will. Sure gonna be good to have some fish, ain’t it, Mr. Harban?”

  “Sure will. Come on with me over here a ways, and we’ll get ’em cleaned. I’m needin’ to have a word with you.”

  Thomas followed along with a sense of uneasiness churning in his belly. Surely Mr. Harban hadn’t somehow found out about his past. He swallowed hard and chided himself. There was no possible way word could have reached this desolate place. Except for Ivan Lovejoy, these people had had no contact with the outside world—and Ivan couldn’t truly be considered the outside world. Nobody in this small group knew where he came from or why he was on the run. In fact, they didn’t even realize he was on the run. Best he settle down and let Mr. Harban speak first.

  Ezekiel dropped the catch on the ground. “These here fish is gonna taste mighty good. You done a fine job, but I still ain’t fer certain why you took my pitchfork.”

  Thomas laughed. “I set a couple of lines afore the sun was up. Once it got to be daylight, I used the pitchfork to stab at the fish that got near the bank. Caught that one with the pitchfork,” he said, pointing at one of the larger fish. “Woulda had another, but it slipped off when I lifted it outta the water. Didn’ make that mistake again. The next time I stabbed one, I swooped it up toward the bank. Worked pretty good.”

  “Right smart of ya,” Ezekiel commended as he began cleaning the fish. “We had a meetin’ last night—while you was down at the river.”

  Thomas nodded and waited.

  “Ain’t no way we’s gonna survive iffen we don’ get more supplies. We put our money together and decided to send a man down to the railhead at Ellis to get what he can with the money we scraped together.”

  Thomas nearly sighed aloud as he grabbed one of the fish and slit it open. “Sounds like a good idea. I got a few dollars I’d be happy to give. Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

  Ezekiel hesitated for a moment. “No. As a matter of fact, we decided you’d be the best choice to make the trip down to Ellis.”

  “Why? Wouldn’ it make more sense for one of you to go? I’m not truly a member of your group.”

  “You sound just like Jarena. Why, you’s as much a part of this group as the rest of us. We need someone that ain’t got womenfolks dependin’ on ’im. You’s young and strong, and ain’t no doubt you can handle that team and wagon long enough to get yerself down to Ellis and back again.”

  “What about Percy Sharp and Henry Ralston? They’s both single and know how to handle a team.”

  Mr. Harban gave him a questioning look. “Ain’t nobody gotten to know either one of dem very well. I vouched for you, said you was a good choice. Now you’s sounding like you don’ wanna help out.”

  “No, I’m willin’ to go. I’m willin’.” He didn’t want the others to think him unappreciative of the trust and acceptance they’d given him.

  “Good! We got us a list all made up. Now, let’s go have us some fish and corn mush. Once we finish breakfast, you can be on yer way.”

  “All right. I’ll go hitch up the wagon while Jarena’s fryin’ the fish. Be sure and save me some.” He forced a smile before he turned and headed off toward the field where the horses had been hobbled for the night.


  How he wished the men hadn’t entrusted him with this task. He mumbled to himself as he walked. “If they knew ’bout the bounty on my head, they wouldn’t be so quick to hand me their money. Or a team of horses an’ a wagon. How’d I get myself into this?”

  CHAPTER

  6

  Georgetown, Kentucky • August 1877

  Macia Boyle soundlessly hurried down the hallway in a pair of new white leather slippers. Her blond curls bobbed up and down in a chaotic rhythm as she came to a halt at the bottom of the stairway. “Father! I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  Dr. Samuel Boyle stood inside the front door of their home. “I just now arrived. Why don’t you join me in the parlor?”

  Her bow-shaped pink lips turned upward into a demure smile. “Must we talk now? I’m expecting Jackson Kincaid at any moment.”

  Samuel placed his physician’s bag on the elaborately carved receiving table beside the staircase, removed a folded paper, and met Macia’s eyes. “Why don’t you join me in the parlor until he arrives? We both know Jackson is notoriously tardy. It may be another hour before he appears. Turn around and let me see your dress.”

  His appeal pleased her, and she pivoted slowly.

  “Emerald green looks particularly lovely on you, Macia. You and your mother should both wear more green. Is that a new gown? I don’t believe I’ve seen it before, have I?”

  “No. Mrs. Langford delivered it just last week.”

  “So that fishtail at the back of ladies’ dresses is still in fashion, is it?” he teased.

  She emitted an exasperated sigh. “Mermaid’s tail, Father, not fishtail.”

  Samuel laughed heartily as he patted her shoulder. “Mermaid tail, fishtail—I don’t know how you ladies manage to keep abreast of these important fashion trends.

  “Margaret! Where are you?” he called while taking hold of Macia’s hand and leading her into the lavishly decorated front room of the house.

  “I’m right here, my dear. No need to raise your voice.” His wife walked into the parlor and placed a fleeting kiss on his stubbled cheek. “You look tired. Let me have Cook bring you a cup of tea.”

  Samuel sat down heavily on the brocade settee. “I’m no more tired than usual, and I truly don’t want any tea, but thank you for your concern, my dear. Is Harvey close at hand?” He patted his hand on the cushioned divan.

  Taking her husband’s cue, Margaret sat down beside him. “I don’t believe so. I haven’t seen him since earlier this afternoon. Is something wrong?”

  “No. I had hoped to talk to the entire family at one time, but perhaps this is best after all. I’ll talk to the two women in my life and get your reactions first.” He smoothed the wrinkles from his trousers. “Do sit down, Macia. Pacing in front of the window won’t cause Jackson to arrive any more quickly than if you’re seated.”

  She plopped down. Both women watched intently as he carefully unfolded the large piece of paper he’d carried into the parlor.

  “I want both of you to look at this broadside.”

  Macia quickly scanned the page. “Why did you want us to read this?” Her words were spoken in a nearly inaudible whisper.

  “What do you think?” he asked, a look of exhilaration on his face.

  “You aren’t planning on us moving to this place, are you? What’s the name of it?” Macia asked, pulling the circular closer. “Hill City. You aren’t planning on our family leaving Georgetown and going to Hill City, Kansas, are you?” Her voice was trembling by the time she completed the question.

  Margaret leaned forward and patted her daughter’s hand. “Now, don’t upset yourself, darling. Father merely brought this home to keep us informed of the latest news about town. Isn’t that right, Samuel?”

  Macia could hear the urgency in her mother’s words. She waited, hoping to hear her father’s immediate agreement. Instead, he inhaled deeply, settled back into the cushion, and gave them a pronounced frown.

  “No, that’s not at all what I intended. However, before either of you becomes unduly distressed, let me speak my piece. The only thing I’d ask is that you maintain a modicum of objectivity as you listen,” he urged. “Will you do that?”

  Macia simply stared at him. Apparently her mother had nodded in agreement, for her father smiled and began to speak.

  “Margaret, you know I’ve long desired to move away from Georgetown— get out of the South. I’ve remained in Kentucky because it’s always been your home, but you know I’m not happy in the South. I’ve always been an outsider in these parts. If it weren’t for the fact that folks in Georgetown need medical care, they’d shun me altogether.”

  Margaret edged forward on the settee. “Only because of your attitude about slavery and the coloreds. If you’d kept your opinions to yourself, folks would have taken to you just fine.”

  He gave his wife a lopsided grin. “Well, we both know that’s never going to happen. Why should I lead people to believe I agree with them when I don’t? Fact is, things around Georgetown haven’t changed all that much. Unfortunately, a lot of good men, both colored and white, died in the war, but I don’t see the Negroes around here making much progress. Most of them haven’t been able to break away from the hemp fields, and I certainly don’t see a change of attitude in most Southerners.”

  Macia’s mother appeared completely baffled. “Why, what do you mean, Samuel? The Negroes are free. They can come and go as they please, the same as you and I.”

  “Exactly my point, Margaret. We freed them to a dusty road with only the rags on their backs. How can they live unless they continue working for their same masters?”

  “They’re paid wages and given a place to live.”

  “Oh, Margaret, do pull off your blinders. Most of them live in the same old ramshackle dwellings they’ve always occupied, but now they must consider those hovels a part of their pay. The meager wage they’re paid is barely enough to buy food for their table.”

  Macia sighed. “What has any of this to do with this Hill City place?”

  “It would be an excellent place for our family to begin a fresh, new life,” Samuel replied. “Think of the adventure, the excitement—”

  “The lack of civility,” Margaret interjected.

  “There’s ample civility out west. I spent the afternoon with the founder of Hill City, and he tells me we would be a most welcome addition to the town. From what he said, Hill City is a prospering little community that will grow by leaps and bounds in the future. Besides giving us a fresh start, purchasing land in the West is a wise investment. Mr. Hill tells me there’s plenty of farmland for sale, and purchasing acreage now, while the prices are cheap, makes good sense.”

  “If it’s such a prospering town, why is he in Kentucky advertising for folks to move there?” Macia smugly inquired.

  Her father didn’t flinch at the question. “If you’ll look at the date located at the bottom of the page, you’ll see that this broadside was printed several years ago. Mr. Hill merely had it along with him and showed it to me. I asked if I could have it. To tell you the truth, he didn’t come here seeking prospective citizens for Hill City. He’s arrived with several colored gentlemen in order to encourage additional Negroes to move west, to a town that’s being formed exclusively for coloreds. There’s already one small group that’s settled in Nicodemus. In fact, he told me most of them are from this part of Kentucky.”

  Macia folded her arms across her waist. “I say we forget about Mr. Hill and his namesake city. Let him do what he came here to do: find more settlers for his colored community.”

  Margaret nodded in agreement. “She does make a sound point, Samuel. It seems as though this Hill City is already a thriving little community, and we’re well established in Georgetown.”

  “Have you heard nothing I said earlier? I’ve never felt settled in this town. And putting that fact aside, I believe this would be an excellent means to require more of Harvey—force him to take responsibility for his life. He doesn’t feel an io
ta of guilt about his lack of contribution to this household.”

  Margaret pulled a dainty lace handkerchief from her sleeve, a precursor to her habitual tearful displays.

  “There’s no need for tears, Margaret. We’re merely having a discussion, and you know as well as I do that it’s time Harvey took on the responsibilities of a man.”

  “Harvey’s still very young,” she defended, dabbing the corner of one eye.

  “He is nineteen. I wouldn’t say a word if he had continued with his education or if he spent his time learning a trade. I’ve encouraged him to continue his education just as I encouraged Carlisle.”

  “Just last week Harvey told me he was giving serious thought to reading the law.”

  “In the meantime, his behavior is abhorrent. I hear him come stumbling in at all hours of the night. He spends his evenings playing cards and socializing, and then he sleeps most of the day—trading daylight for dark. Moving out west will take him away from his revelry here in Georgetown and force him to grow up.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Margaret conceded.

  “What? How can you agree to such a thing, Mother? What kind of work could Harvey possibly find in Kansas? He’s more suited to life in Georgetown or some large eastern city.”

  “Harvey is currently suited to not working at all, and that is what I plan to change,” her father said with a definitive tone. “If I invest in land, there’s no reason why he can’t farm for a living.”

  Macia and Margaret gasped in unison.

  “What’s wrong with farming? It’s good, honest work. If he doesn’t want to go to school, he must discover a way to support himself. I can think of nothing better for him than hard physical labor.”

  “You’ll never get him to agree to such a thing,” Macia stated.

  “That’s fine. If we decide to move west and he doesn’t want to farm, he can remain in Georgetown and support himself in any manner he chooses.”

  “He will starve to death.” Margaret frantically moved her handkerchief from one eye to the other and back again.