The man smiled broadly. “Yes. In a town known as Nicodemus. Have you heard of it?”
Dr. Boyle hesitated. “Yes. We live in Hill City, not far from Nicodemus. I’ve visited Nicodemus on a number of occasions, but I don’t think it’s where you’ll want to make your home. Why don’t we get your baggage and you can accompany us to Hill City.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you. I was planning on renting a wagon and going directly to Nicodemus.”
“We would truly be delighted to have you accompany us to Hill City,” Mrs. Boyle said. “After my husband explains the circumstances in Nicodemus, you can then make an informed decision about your future.”
Carlisle gently slapped Moses on the shoulder and laughed. “I told you they would be determined to have you visit Hill City first.”
Moses shrugged amiably. “If you insist—I’m not on a schedule.”
After the family was situated in the wagon, Macia asked Moses some polite questions about his trip. “However did you hear about Nicodemus, Mr. Wyman?”
He shifted on the wagon seat. “I’ve lived in Boston for a number of years now and decided it was time to get out and explore some new frontiers. Our newspaper recently printed several articles about Kansas settlements, and I decided Nicodemus might appeal to me.”
“Apparently your local newspaper didn’t investigate very well. You see, Nicodemus is for coloreds. Both Hill City and Nicodemus were organized by the same men. They set up one town for whites and one for coloreds.”
“Well, Miss Boyle, I was the editor of the newspaper, and I always insist my reporters gain accurate information before submitting a story.”
Macia could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. “I didn’t realize you were a newspaper editor. And you want to sacrifice living in Boston to come west and live in a soddy or a dugout? I can’t imagine anyone willingly doing such a thing. Had your reporter actually visited Nicodemus?”
“No. However, he did interview Mr. Hill. I believe your fair city is named after him, isn’t it?”
She giggled. “Our city isn’t fair—in fact, it isn’t even a city. However, it does bear Mr. Hill’s name. I fear you will be sadly disappointed if you believed Mr. Hill’s commentary on Hill City—or Nicodemus.”
“No need to discourage Moses before he’s even arrived,” Carlisle said. “Your assessment may be tainted by your overwhelming desire to be living in Georgetown.”
“Just because you’re excited over the prospect of living in tents or in a frontier military outpost doesn’t mean such a life appeals to others, Carlisle. Nicodemus is truly in dire straits, isn’t it, Father?”
“Macia isn’t exaggerating the plight that has befallen the fine folks in Nicodemus. They arrived to pitiable circumstances. You see, Mr. Hill did not fulfill his many promises regarding the organization of the city. The Nicodemus settlers came expecting to find an established town. Instead, they were greeted by the same open prairie they’d traversed since leaving the Flint Hills in eastern Kansas. They’re a strong and determined group, but they’ve been forced to live in harsh circumstances.”
“Is nobody willing to help them?” he asked with a frown.
The wind began to blow harder, and Macia held one hand atop her bonnet. “Father has given them limited assistance and medical treatment, as funds and weather permit.”
Her father waved his right hand. “I’ve been able to accomplish very little, though it’s not for lack of trying. And the residents have made valiant attempts themselves, but thus far nothing of substance has been forthcoming.”
Moses leaned forward and rested his arms across his thighs. “Perhaps a plea to the state legislature or to the Congress should be considered, Dr. Boyle.”
Samuel nodded in agreement. “We entertained a delegation from the Kansas legislature not long ago, but there are divisive opinions. When they departed, I didn’t have a clear-cut feeling that anything had been accomplished. Even though land promoters actively pursued these settlers, there are men in the legislature who believe coloreds have nothing of value to offer Kansas. A sad commentary upon some of those who hold positions of power in this state.”
“When Carlisle said his family hailed from Kentucky, I didn’t expect such a tolerant attitude toward coloreds.”
Samuel laughed. “Though I’ve lived many years in Kentucky, I was reared in the North. I was never a proponent of slavery, a position that didn’t endear me to most Kentuckians. Unfortunately, my attempts to influence them against slavery weren’t particularly successful, either.”
“Seems as though you did a fine job with Carlisle. He tells me he’s going to be a chaplain for our colored soldiers.”
Mrs. Boyle flapped her hands in a dismissive wave. “I’d be pleased if he would avoid the military entirely.”
“You’re worrying needlessly, Mother. I’m doing the work God has called me to, and I’m going to be fine. I’m certain you’ll be pleased to hear that Moses is hoping he can continue his newspaper work out here in the West.”
Macia almost giggled. Carlisle obviously hoped to direct the conversation away from his military assignment.
“Now, that’s a wonderful piece of information,” Dr. Boyle said excitedly. “Hill City had a newspaper for a short time. Unfortunately, the owner printed only four editions of the paper before succumbing to a heart attack. We could certainly use a man of your talents in Hill City.”
“To be honest, my plan was to set up my newspaper in Nicodemus. Like Carlisle, I had hoped to work and live with the colored folks.”
“I think you’ve both taken leave of your senses,” Macia said with a sigh.
“There’s an old printing press and some other newspaper equipment in Hill City. Widow Jacoby took the train back to Ohio and left everything just as it was the day her husband died.”
Moses’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Do you think she might be interested in selling the equipment?”
Samuel nodded enthusiastically. “I’m certain she’d be delighted to accept any offer. She left the matter in Walt Johnson’s hands—he owns the general store.”
Moses and the family gathered around the dining table that had been elegantly set with fine china and silver in anticipation of Carlisle’s homecoming supper. Both sweet potatoes and white potatoes surrounded the loin of pork that had been roasted to perfection. Mrs. Boyle’s corn relish, pickled beets, and apple butter, which she said had been carefully packed in straw and transported from Georgetown, were served in fancy china bowls. Slices of lightly browned homemade bread were neatly arranged on a silver bread plate that matched the other pieces of glistening silver service that bedecked the table. Moses couldn’t remember when he’d eaten a meal quite so well prepared and beautifully served.
The conversation was lively and enjoyable, yet Moses found himself watching Truth Harban as she moved in and out of the room, anticipating every need before a word was spoken. At one point she noticed him scrutinizing her and she frowned, but he was unable to keep his gaze off of her.
Mrs. Boyle’s face contorted into a scowl as she placed her fork on her empty plate. “I don’t think I shall ever speak to William Wheeler again!”
The woman’s remark interrupted Moses’s thoughts, and he turned toward her. “Why is that, Mrs. Boyle?”
The hostess stared at him in disbelief. “Why, because he used his influence as vice-president to procure Carlisle’s appointment as an officer in the Army even though Carlisle never attended West Point.”
“And that displeases you?”
“Indeed! It makes me sorry we have friends of influence when something of this nature occurs. I doubt Vice-President Wheeler would want his son entering the military and going off to the hinterlands to be killed by savages.”
“Do have a little faith, Mother. I may surprise you and come back alive.”
Mrs. Boyle looked at Carlisle from the sides of her eyes. “The truth is, you haven’t had the proper military training to prepare yourself for the harsh c
onditions you’re going to experience living in the wilderness and fighting Indians. I doubt you’d raise a hand even if one of those savages attacked you.”
Dr. Boyle patted his wife’s arm. “Now, my dear, I don’t believe you need to work yourself into a state of apoplexy. We want to enjoy our time with Carlisle.”
“If you would excuse me for a moment”—Moses wiped his mouth with the linen napkin and pushed back his chair—“I believe I’ll fetch a glass of water.”
Mrs. Boyle lifted a small bell. “Sit still, Mr. Wyman. I’ll ring for Truth.”
“No, please don’t do that. I need to stretch my legs, and I’m certain she’s busy with her other duties.”
“As you wish.”
Moses walked down the hallway and into the kitchen. He stood quietly in the doorway, observing Truth as she bent over a pan of steamy water washing the supper dishes. She seemed to sense his presence and glanced over her shoulder.
As Moses moved farther into the kitchen, Truth spun around. “Is there something you need?”
“I told the family I wanted a glass of water, but what I truly wanted was a few moments to visit with you.”
Her brow puckered and she narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I find you interesting.”
She stared deep into his eyes before turning back to the dirty dishes. “I think you best go find some white gal to interest you, Mr. Wyman.”
“I mean you no harm. I was merely going to question you a bit about Nicodemus and your family.”
“You likely already heard all there is to hear about Nicodemus. As for my family, my mama’s dead. It’s just Pappy, Jarena, and Grace— she’s my twin sister. Isn’t much more to tell you, so I’m thinking you best go back and join the others before Mrs. Boyle wonders why you’re dallying out here in the kitchen.”
“I suppose you’re right. Thank you for an excellent meal. Your cooking is exceptional.”
“Thank you.” Truth watched until he was out of the kitchen. She didn’t want him hanging around her causing any trouble!
CHAPTER
28
Nicodemus, Kansas • March 1878
Shouts of excitement echoed throughout the small town as word spread from dugout to dugout that the long-awaited boxcar of supplies procured by Wilbur Rawlins had finally arrived in Ellis and awaited transport to Nicodemus. Harvey Boyle had delivered the message along with an offer to use his father’s wagon and team. An offer that was enthusiastically accepted.
“We’s gonna be doing real fine soon as dose supplies get here.” Ezekiel was delighted to spread encouragement to those who had gathered to celebrate the good news.
Charles folded his arms across his chest and glowered at Jarena. “You’re not going to do as I asked, are you?”
Jarena avoided his intimidating glare. “I’ve already told you I’m going. You could reconsider and come along.”
“There’s no reason for me to waste time going to Ellis when there’s land here in Nicodemus that needs to be plowed and planted.”
“The other young men are going to investigate the possibility of seasonal work with the railroad. You could do the same. Besides, it’s too early for planting. I think the only reason you won’t go is because of Thomas.”
“And what if it is?” He pulled her aside so the others couldn’t hear their conversation. “I’m beginning to think I should have been keeping company with Belle Harris instead of you. At least she made it clear she wasn’t interested in anyone except me.”
Jarena bristled at the response. “If you think Belle’s a better choice, perhaps you need to go back to Georgetown and marry her. I’ve told you over and over that I have no romantic interest in Thomas. He has always been a gentleman. However, I do have an interest in helping with the supplies so folks will have some food to fill their empty bellies. Staying here and chopping on a plot of frozen ground isn’t going to put food in anyone’s mouth.”
Charles glowered. “That little bit of food you’re going to get isn’t going to feed folks for long. We need this ground prepared for planting come spring—that’s what will provide food later on.”
“Not if we all starve to death first!” Jarena pulled away from him and stepped up into the wagon, her lips tightened into a firm line. She was not going to yield to Charles’s exasperating influence. Nothing she said or did alleviated his suspicions regarding Thomas, and she had tired of his childish behavior.
As the horses stepped out, Jarena glanced over her shoulder. Seeing Charles staring after them, she slid closer to Thomas in one final defiant act. She knew that her behavior was childish—even cruel. But his words about Belle Harris had cut her to the quick, and she wanted to hurt him in return.
Obviously surprised by her action, Thomas edged farther down the seat. “Don’t be using me to get that fella of yours jealous. I don’t want no trouble with him or nobody else.”
“Don’t worry. He wouldn’t attempt to hurt anyone, especially someone of your size.”
“I ain’t worried about gettin’ hurt. I just don’t want to be gettin’ in the middle of your squabble. I heard you two fussin’ at each other. Doesn’t bode well for marriage when a man and woman are havin’ spats afore they ever jump the broom,” he observed.
Jarena folded her arms tightly across her chest and stared straight ahead. “From what Charles said, it appears as if he thinks Belle Harris might be a better choice for a wife.”
“I don’t know nothing ’bout Belle Harris, but I think Charles would be a fool if he let you get away.”
She peeked at Thomas from beneath her thick lashes. “Thank you.”
The two of them rode in silence, listening as the others chattered excitedly about the contents of the anticipated boxcar of supplies. Percy Sharp and Henry Ralston, the other two single men who had joined them in Topeka, sat across from Jarena and Thomas. Mary Fowler had claimed the spot beside her husband, Robert, on the wagon’s high seat. Jarena leaned against the side of the wagon with a tiny smile playing on her lips as she considered Thomas’s words. Did he genuinely consider Charles fortunate to have her, or was he merely attempting to salve her wounded feelings? Never, in all the time he’d lived with her family, had he said anything to make her think he found her pleasing. Oh, he had complimented her on her cooking and her intelligence and skills as she assisted him with his reading and writing, but he’d never uttered any admiration for her as a woman.
Her gaze settled on his large, callused hands. There was little doubt Thomas had spent his years much as her father had—working hard with little reward. However, her attempts to learn the secrets of his past remained unsuccessful. Now that he’d spoken in a forthcoming manner, perhaps she would finally be able to get him to open up.
“The other two single men said they were going to seek employment with the railroad. Were you planning to do the same?”
Thomas pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head and squinted against the bright sunlight. “I sure don’t have any know-how ’bout working fer the railroad, but if what they’re needin’ is someone to swing a pick or hammer, they might hire me. Doc Boyle said the railroad pays better’n most jobs, so I’m thinkin’ to check on working there. If not, I guess I’ll see Mr. Horton. I owe him a couple days of work for loanin’ me the breaking plow.”
“What kind of work have you done in the past—before you came to Nicodemus?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Nothin’ that took much thought. Muscle was the only thing needed for any of the work I ever done.”
She bit her lower lip and thought for a moment. “How does Kansas compare to the other places you’ve lived, Thomas?”
“Kansas is the only place where I ever had a chance to own land, so I’d say it’s the best place to be. Other’n that, one place has been as good as the other.”
She knew he was attempting to avoid her questions, but Jarena was undeterred. “Are you planning to bring any of your family to Kansas once you get established?”
/> “Nope. Told you my folks is dead—ain’t got nobody else, and the only plans I’ve got is to get my land plowed and planted.”
Although Thomas didn’t appear agitated by her interrogation, he didn’t seem to want to divulge any further information about his past. “I should just give up,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?” he said, leaning closer.
She forced a smile. “Nothing. I was just saying I might as well try to take a nap. We’ll be arriving in an hour or so.”
He nodded, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and stretched his lanky legs across the wagon bed. Jarena stared at his sleeping form until the horses came to a halt in front of the Ellis train station.
Percy Sharp was first to jump down. “Guess we better check inside and see about the boxcar and if we’re gonna be able to load all them goods in this wagon.”
“I’m hopin’ Wilbur sent some money along, too,” Thomas said as he assisted Jarena from the wagon. “Sure would help if we could buy us another team and wagon—and I’m surely prayin’ there’s a plow in that boxcar.”
His remark surprised Jarena. “I didn’t know you were a praying man, Thomas.”
“Seems to help sometimes—leastways I figure prayer is what got me out of that blizzard alive.”
Thomas surveyed the crowded depot, hoping he might find someone who could direct them to the waiting boxcar. Passengers swarmed in all directions as he continued to peer about the room. The unexpected sound of shouting children caused him to turn toward the doorway. With his eyes widened in startled disbelief, Thomas quickly positioned himself behind one of the supporting pilasters located throughout the building.
Using extraordinary caution, he peered at several men lingering near the rear doorway and swallowed hard to push down the rising lump in his throat. His breath came in wrenching shallow gasps as rivulets of perspiration inched downward from his brow. He leaned back against the pillar. A chill seeped through the loosely woven fibers of his shirt and sent a shiver rushing down his spine. How had they found him? And how was he going to explain his reluctance to move away from the hiding place that now separated him from certain death?
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