Medicine Wheel

by Ron Schwab

She turned to Vedette, “I’m sorry, I haven’t been very good company . . . lost in thought, I guess.”

  “That’s quite alright, dear,” Vedette replied. “Myles and I are quiet people. Sometimes we’re in the sitting room for several hours at a time reading or visiting someplace in our minds before one of us breaks the silence. I just draw on the comfort of his nearness.”

  “You really love him, don’t you?”

  “More than life.”

  “How long have you been together?”

  “Nearly twenty-three years now. I was almost thirty years old when I arrived in Kansas. It was in the middle of the War of Rebellion. I was raised in Louisiana. My father was a former slave who had purchased his freedom . . . you could do that near New Orleans. My mother’s family were free Negroes who had owned land for several generations and were quite well to do by standards of the colored community.” She smiled and shook her head from side to side. “There was some debate in the family about whether we were really white folks, since under the old French law, if you were an octoroon . . . only one-eighth Negro . . . you were really white. Our blood was so mixed up with Indians and French and Spaniards and English, we didn’t know what we were. It was very complicated.”

  “You were purebred mongrels. That’s what someone told me once about mixed blooded people.”

  Vedette laughed. “That sounds like something Myles would say. I suppose we were that. But enough of the Negro showed through on my skin, I had to be careful because I’d be a suspected slave. There were some who were known to capture free Negroes and take them to slave auctions in other parts of the state or Mississippi or Alabama. Anyway, my father died a half dozen years before the war, and my mother sold their small land holdings for gold coin. I lived with her, teaching at free Negro schools . . . it was against the law to teach slaves to read, of course . . . and was well on my way to becoming a spinster school teacher when the war came along. My mother was always a frail woman, and she suffered from some kind of breathing ailment that finally took her after the war started. In the days before she died she insisted that when she was gone, I should find my way to a free state. She said it was too dangerous for me to stay there without the protection of family . . . and she was the last of mine. So when she passed, I decided Kansas was the safest, shortest journey to safety for me.”

  “And how did you meet Myles Locke?”

  “Well, when I arrived in Kansas, I didn’t have any teaching credentials or anything to prove I could read or write. It likely wouldn’t have mattered much. While the Free Staters were anti-slavery, many had their notions of where colored folks belonged in society . . . maids, tenant farmers, laborers and the like. I didn’t take it as a malicious thing . . . mostly ignorance. I’m sure you’ve had to deal with that.”

  “Yes, and I usually just shrug it off to that . . . ignorance. That allows me to laugh about it on occasion, but not always.”

  “Anyway, I bought the town paper and saw an advertisement for a live-in housekeeper. I thought, well now, that would solve two of my problems . . . a job and a roof over my head. I went to Myles’s office and presented myself. He was instantly easy to talk to. I learned he was a widower whose two small children were being primarily raised by his late wife’s sister, but they were also frequently a part of his household. Since I had been a schoolteacher, I didn’t find that too intimidating. He struck me as a kind man. I was a little wary about living in a house with a single man . . . maybe I was just wary of me. He had grown sons who were off to war . . . one on each side, strangely . . . so he was some years older than I, but he was not quite fifty, and I thought him very vital and handsome.”

  “And he offered you the job on the spot?”

  “Yes. And our relationship was very chaste and proper for over a year . . . or on the surface it was. But I was in love with him most of that year, crying myself to sleep some nights, thinking this was a man I could never have, whose life I could never share. Evenings, when he came home from work, he made me feel welcome in the sitting room . . . the house didn’t have a housekeeper’s quarters other than my separate bedroom. We sat and read like we do now, but sometimes we talked and gradually shared our histories and began telling each other things we’d never told anyone else. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Certainly. You became friends.”

  “Yes, and one night it suddenly became more, and after that I only returned to my room when his young children were staying in the house. Now I never leave his side.”

  “You obviously love each other. Did you ever want more?”

  “You mean marriage? He asks me at least twice a year, but I have always resisted. It’s probably assumed in his social circles that I’m his mistress, but it’s not too scandalous to have a colored lover. A Negro wife, however, is quite a different matter.”

  “But Kansas hasn’t had anti-miscegenation laws since before statehood. It is perfectly legal for you to marry.”

  “There are still unwritten laws in polite society. The Free Staters opposed slavery, but that didn’t mean they all condoned marriage between the races. I just have never seen any reason to make Myles the subject of scurrilous gossip and, perhaps, malicious acts. But who knows? Times change, and I might change my mind, too.”

  “You’re devoting your life to someone, but when he dies, you’ll have none of the property rights of a spouse.”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t need much. I still have my mother’s gold coins. Myles has made me the beneficiary of his will, so I’d have the house and what other meager assets he’s accumulated . . . country lawyers don’t get rich. Myles works not only because he loves to, but because he needs to earn a living.”

  “But you really have everything, don’t you?”

  “We do.”

  “I’ve made money in my short career, and I already have a nice nest egg set aside, largely because a certain man convinced me to invest my earnings in railroad stocks and Thomas Edison’s company.” She shrugged. “But my son is my real treasure. And I wonder sometimes what life would have been like if I had married his father and tried to build a life in the Flint Hills . . . wondered, mind you, because I have had an unbelievable life. I am what I had to be.”

  “And no time for love?”

  “There has been one man since Thad. I loved him, and I would have married him.”

  “But?”

  “He was a dynamic business man . . . a speculator or entrepreneur, depending on your perspective. Ezekiel brokered cotton and corn for hundreds of Negro tenant farmers and took his commissions and invested in real estate and other businesses. This incredibly handsome man with flawless ebony skin contacted me because he wanted to hire a colored lawyer, and one of the professors from the law school referred him to me. I helped him set up a few business partnership arrangements, but in a matter of a few weeks he swept me off my feet. He traveled a lot and so did I, of course, so we could only get together when we were both in Washington . . . but when we did . . . need I say more?”

  The women looked at each other, and both broke into naughty smiles and rolled their eyes.

  “It’s none of my business, but I’ve got to ask . . . what happened?”

  “This went on for almost two years, and I had evolved to the point where I thought I would be willing to marry this man, until I received a visit at my office.”

  “A visit?”

  “His wife. A very pretty young woman my age. It seems they had a home in northern Virginia not far from Washington. Some of his so-called business trips were to visit his wife and two children. She was pregnant with a third. She had a cousin who worked as a maid at the hotel where we often rendezvoused. Ezekiel had no idea she worked there. Anyway, the cousin wrote to the wife, and I endured a very unpleasant confrontation. I never saw him again.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It wouldn’t have happened if I had known about the wife, but I wouldn’t erase those two years from my mind if I could.” She paused. “Som
etimes we can’t scrub the bad out of our heads without washing away the good. I choose to remember fondly the wonderful times we shared and just consider his treachery another lesson learned. I’ve never had time to hold onto anger long enough for it to eat me up.”

  40

  IT WAS LATE afternoon, and Vedette, Rachael and Serena relaxed in the kitchen, taking coffee and enjoying a small platter of ginger cookies with apple slices that Rachael had placed on the table. Their conversation was superficially relaxed and casual, but Serena noted the worry creases on her mother’s forehead and in the soft flesh at the corners of her eyes.

  “What is it, Mama?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

  “You’ve never fibbed well, Mama. Say what you’ve got to say. Vedette knows everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes, she knows about Ned and my illness . . . everything.”

  Rachael sighed. “Very well, I might as well say it: I wish you weren’t taking on this case. I’m afraid it’s too much, and you should get home to Ned.”

  “Mama, I’m feeling fine right now, and this is my first opportunity with my new firm. Aren’t you glad I’m coming home? And as for Ned, this means I won’t have to travel all the time. I’ll have more time with him . . . and he’ll have you and the whole family.”

  Rachael reached across the table and clutched her daughter’s hand. “I’m thrilled you’re coming home. I just wish you were coming because you truly wanted to be here, not because you feel you have to.”

  Serena had no answer.

  “And,” Rachael continued, “you haven’t told Thad about Ned, have you?”

  “No, he’s an important witness at the trial. I will be handling his examination. That may frustrate him enough when he finds out. I can’t risk telling him about Ned until the trial’s over. But he will know before I return to Washington.”

  “I’m afraid of what he’ll say,” Rachael said. “He asks about you, and I just tell him you’re doing fine and that I can’t say more. But I feel like I’ve been a part of a terrible plot to deceive him.”

  “I know, Mama. I’ve been wrong. I’ve known that for a long time. And I’ve lied to my son. This is a terrible burden I’ve placed on too many people. And I’ve got to make this right before—”

  Serena felt Vedette’s arm wrap around her shoulders. “Don’t worry too much about Thad’s reaction. I think you’re right not to upset him now. But he is his father’s son in temperament, more than any of the other boys. He’ll be hurt and angry, but he won’t go into a rage. He’ll more likely go quiet and brood some and then think about it for a spell. After that he’ll want to help do what’s best for the boy.”

  “He is a good man, Serena,” Rachael said.

  “I never doubted that.”

  She turned to Vedette. “We need to be heading back to town if we want to get back before dark.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” Rachael said, “I worry about the two of you being out there on the road. The races get along pretty well here, but there are still a few I wouldn’t trust if they came across a couple of unescorted colored women.”

  Serena reached into her bag which sat on the floor next to her chair. She smiled when she saw the astonished look on her mother’s face when she displayed the pistol she had plucked out. “You have nothing to worry about, Mama. This is our escort.”

  “A pistol? Since when did you start carrying a gun?”

  “Since I finished law school. Washington is not the safest place for a young woman and I travel to cities where I might not be welcomed. This is a Smith & Wesson Second Model .38, sometimes called a ‘Baby Russian’ and I know how to use it. I target practice quite regularly, and I’m quite competent with the weapon, if I say so myself.”

  “You left me speechless.”

  “Just know that I can take care of myself if the need arises.”

  “I pray to God it doesn’t.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Quincy Belmont barged in from the mud porch. His eyes fastened on the gun and then he looked at Serena who met his astonished stare evenly. He turned toward Rachael. “I’ve got a serious problem. That pen of new Duroc gilts . . . I’ve got some sick ones. I’d say one’s near dead. I’ve saddled up Rusty and sent Elizabeth over to Dr. Locke’s to fetch him over. I thought I should tell you.”

  Quincy made a hasty retreat out the door. Serena put her gun away, and pushed her chair away from the table. “We’d better be on our way, Mama. I prefer not to meet up with Thad here. I’ll be working on trial preparation this next week, but if you come to town stop by the offices and we can talk some more.”

  41

  THAD WAS DEEPLY concerned when, during their ride to the Belmont farm, Elizabeth, who clearly was committed to becoming a veterinary surgeon, told him about the crisis, precisely describing the symptoms shown by the ailing porkers—skin lesions, insatiable thirst, diarrhea. The dying gilt was convulsing. Elizabeth had explained that her father hauled ten Duroc gilts with his team and paneled freighter from the Manhattan railroad depot several days earlier. They were to be seed stock for a purebred herd he wanted to establish to sell breeding animals in addition to the market hogs he sold and slaughtered. He had acquired a prime Duroc boar a few weeks earlier that would service the virginal Duroc females in addition to selected market sows and gilts. A tough life, Thad thought.

  Duroc boars sired long, heavily muscled progeny, and were favored by many hog producers for cross-breeding. According to Elizabeth, the always savvy Quincy Belmont figured to cash in on the new demand for the red boars as more land became cultivated in the river and valley bottomlands, and farmers started small swine herds as “mortgage lifters” to provide a steady income when crops burned up or grain prices faltered. Quincy’s monopoly in butcher hogs would be fading over the next few years, and he planned to increasingly shift to selling breeding stock, keeping only enough market animals to supply his own meat processing operation.

  Dusk was coming on when they arrived at the Belmont farm, and Thad could see Quincy’s shadowy profile standing next to a board fence some distance north of the outbuilding site, a flickering kerosene lantern at his feet. Thad removed his saddlebags and tossed them over his shoulder, and Elizabeth took charge of Cato. Such a special young woman, he thought, beautiful and intelligent like her sister and not the least full of herself. Like Serena, she knew what she wanted and she’d be off to Iowa State Agricultural College for a real veterinary education in a few years. He’d bet on it. He hoped the Kansas State Agricultural College in Manhattan, like Iowa State, a land grant institution, would establish a veterinary program soon.

  As he approached Quincy, Thad thought he had never seen the taciturn man so outright grim. “Good evening, Reverend. Elizabeth says you have some sick gilts.”

  “Yes, Doctor. One’s died since Elizabeth left for your place. At least two others are coming down with the sickness.”

  Thad leaned on the fence, his eyes studying the young hogs that moved listlessly in the close confines. Elizabeth’s description had been flawless. Some of the animals competing aggressively at the water trough indicated that at least a few were suffering high fevers. Another pig in a corner of the pen was in agony with convulsions. Then he noticed the dead pig had been dragged from the pen and lay just outside of it on the other side of Quincy.

  “I can’t keep them in water,” Quincy said.

  “Reverend, I need to post the dead one. That may answer some questions. It’ll be dark before I’m done. Can we get some more lanterns down here?”

  “I’ll tell the girls to gather whatever we can spare. I’ve got chores to do soon.”

  “You’ve been in this pen, I assume.”

  “Yes, to drag out the dead pig.”

  “Has anyone else?”

  He thought a moment. “No. These are special. I’ve been looking after these pigs myself."

  “I’d like Elizabeth to help us here. Can Rachael and the other girl
s do chores?”

  “Of course. Everybody knows chores around this place.”

  “Turn the job over to the rest of the family and ask them to stay away from here. Also, would you see if Elizabeth can boil a bucket of water and bring it with her? I’m going to need a few tarps of some kind . . . canvas would be ideal.”

  Quincy hurried away to issue orders. Thad could tell Quincy was scared. He had never seen the man so obedient and unquestioning. He feared the Reverend had good reason to be frightened. He turned toward the dead gilt and knelt down beside her, running his fingers over the animal’s bristly hair, feeling the lesions that marred the tough skin.

  Thad got up and looked around, taking note of the location of the other hog pens. He guessed there were at least five large pens dotted with small A-frame hog houses spread over the ground that sloped away from the out buildings—probably about ten sows with litters in each pen. The nearest pen was likely a good 100 feet distant from the one that enclosed the sick hogs. That was positive. Quincy at least had the good sense to keep new stock separate from the old stock until he was ready to introduce them to the herds. Of course, the new gilts were to be the foundation of a purebred herd and likely would not have been commingled with the others in any event. Thad searched his mind. There were no handbooks for something like this. If he was dealing with what he suspected, he was facing a lot of ignorance and would have to rely upon instinct.

  Soon Elizabeth appeared with a bucket of water and two more lanterns, and a few minutes later Quincy followed with an armful of canvas tarps. “I use these on the kill floor of the slaughter house,” he remarked matter-of-factly.

  “Perfect,“ Thad replied. “Spread one out next to the gilt, and then we’ll roll her on top.”

  In a matter of a few minutes, the two hundred fifty-pound pig was stretched out on the tarp and the lanterns were lighted up to maximum illumination. Thad retrieved his leather packet of surgical knives from the saddle bags and then knelt down again next to the dead gilt. He removed a scalpel that was about half the size of a butcher knife. Darkness was closing in now. “Elizabeth, I want you to hold a lantern over my shoulder, and move it to give me all the light you can while I’m cutting.” He looked up at her to see she was staring with wide eyes at the knife in his hand. “Can you do this?” he asked.