Land of My Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  “What’s so funny?” Morgan asked.

  Dianne nodded toward their mother and the heavy woman. “I was just thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Showalter. They make such a funny pair.”

  “To be sure,” Morgan replied with his mouth half full of biscuit.

  “Ma told me he’s an accountant by trade, but his missus wants to farm and so that’s what they’ll do,” Zane threw in.

  Dianne watched her mother momentarily, trying hard not to look like she was spying. “I wonder what Ma is saying.”

  Susannah Chadwick talked with animation while the older woman nodded and then appeared to reply. The Showalter children were obediently about their various chores, but even so, Griselda stopped from time to time to yell at one child or another. Watching now as Griselda paused to smack her eldest son with her wooden spoon, Dianne feared she was probably the one who had struck her child the other evening.

  “James Showalter, you get down to the river and fetch me another pail of water. I can’t believe how clumsy you are. Go on now, get!” she commanded, punctuating the demand with another smack of the spoon.

  Dianne exchanged a glance with her mother, then looked away as her little sisters came to camp for their breakfast.

  “I got to play with some baby pigs!” Betsy said, excitement causing her to dance around.

  Ardith held up her hand to reveal a bloody streak. “And I cut my hand on their pen.”

  Dianne clucked in a motherly way and took her sisters in hand. “Betsy, go wash up, and Ardith, let’s get that cut cleaned and bandaged. I wish you’d be more careful.”

  “It ain’t my fault that the pen had a piece of wire sticking up,” Ardith protested.

  “Don’t say ain’t. You know Ma will skin you for lazy talk. Now let me wash your hand.”

  Dianne found the iodine and took up a strip of cloth for the bandage. Working quickly, she washed Ardith’s hands, then noted the cut wasn’t too deep. She touched the wound with iodine, amazed at Ardith’s ability to bear the sting without crying. Her sister was such a tomboy, always getting herself into one scrape or another. If she wasn’t falling off of something, she was getting stuck in places she oughtn’t to have gone. Yet despite this, Ardith was a very tenderhearted girl who loved her dolls as though they were real babies.

  Dianne tied the bandage in place, then lifted her sister’s chin. “Do try to be more careful. We have a long way to go and we can’t be having you torn up and bleeding all the way to Uncle Bram’s.” Dianne mothered her more by straightening her sunbonnet.

  Ardith grimaced beneath the brim. “I’ll be careful. Can we eat now?”

  Dianne nodded. “Come on. I’ll dish you some oatmeal.”

  They were just finishing breakfast when their mother came back to camp. “Mrs. Showalter says there’s going to be nearly two hundred wagons in our train. Apparently the wagon master from another train here in Independence fell over dead yesterday. Mr. Keefer has agreed to allow them to travel with us as far as the cutoff for Salt Lake and Virginia City.” She took up the bowl of oatmeal Dianne offered but didn’t offer so much as a prayer or word of thanks.

  “Mrs. Showalter said the additional people will make for extra protection against the Indians.” She looked to Morgan and Zane. “We’ll leave here tomorrow. In the meanwhile, you boys might want to scout through the camp and see what all you can learn about the trail and the journey. I know there’s a great deal we don’t know.”

  “Well, Morgan and I learned that the oxen need to be shod for the long trip. I didn’t even realize they shoed oxen, but apparently it’s the only way to get them across the rough terrain without making them lame. There’s a man in town that can do the job. It’s expensive, but I figure we’ll be better off to spend the money now than worry about replacing an ox later.”

  Susannah considered this a moment and nodded. “Confirm this with Mr. Keefer or his assistant, that quiet man. Oh, what was his name?”

  “Cole Selby,” Dianne murmured, an edge to her tone.

  Her mother looked at her oddly but nodded. “Yes, that’s him. Check with one of them and make certain that we need to shoe the oxen. Find out about the milk cows too. I’m counting on you two to figure out the heavy work issues while Dianne and I will work hard to keep on top of the womanly chores. In fact,” she said, pausing long enough to take a bite, “I have a couple of ladies coming by this afternoon to show us some tips on laundry and mending.”

  Dianne perked up at this. “Who’s coming over?”

  Her mother continued eating for a moment, then put the bowl aside. “Griselda Showalter and a woman named Charity Hammond. Mrs. Hammond is traveling with her preacher husband. She knows a great deal about nursing and such. Anyway, we’ll learn what we can from them. Betsy, Ardith, I want you two to come with me now. I have some chores for both of you. Dianne, you get this mess cleaned up and put on something to cook for supper. Why don’t you use the Dutch oven and make a stew? Make enough so that we can take it with us tomorrow for our nooning as well.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Dianne got to her feet and began to take up the dirty breakfast dishes. She would need to wash everything up before she could even begin to cook again. Taking her load of dishes down to the river, Dianne began to think about how she would put the stew together.

  “Ya seem mighty deep in thought.”

  Dianne looked up to find Faith meandering her way with the same chore in mind. Dianne thought the woman very pretty. She bore herself in an almost regal manner, carrying her basket of dishes on her head. “Hello, Faith. I was just trying to figure out how to make a stew. Something really good, you know.”

  Faith smiled and her crooked teeth gleamed white against her dark chocolate skin. “I have some ideas if you’re interested.” She pulled the basket from her head and squatted by the river’s edge.

  Dianne nodded. “I’d love the help. This whole trip is going to be a real test for me. I can’t sew or cook, either one. Although I did make some fairly edible biscuits this morning. I did it just like you told me.”

  “See there. You’re a quick learner. I’d be pleased to help you as time allows.”

  Faith began washing her dishes and Dianne turned to do the same. “I feel so silly out here,” Dianne admitted. “I know it’s probably wrong to say all of this to you, but I’ve been a city girl all my life. I’ve never had to worry about such things.”

  “Don’t feel bad about it,” Faith replied. “I’ve been a slave all my life, and I’m just learning how to be free.”

  Dianne looked up and met Faith’s smile once again. In the wake of hearing Faith’s confession, Dianne’s problems seemed truly unimportant. “Was it awful—being a slave?”

  Faith’s expression sobered. “I had it better than most, which isn’t saying much. I was a companion to my master’s daughter from nearly the time I was born. I learned to speak proper-like and how to behave like a lady. When I was freed, my master even gave me a bit of travelin’ money. That’s how come we’re here. My husband, Malachi, he didn’t have it so good. He got whipped pretty regular by his master.”

  “Whipped.” Dianne said the word and shuddered. “I can’t imagine people being so cruel to one another. Beating a human being … like an animal.”

  Faith went back to scrubbing her plates and shrugged. “We weren’t considered human. Still aren’t by most.”

  Dianne had never given much consideration one way or another to the slave issues. Her mother and father had been born in border states and held varying views on the war. In the middle of hearing their debates, Dianne figured it wasn’t any of her concern. It wasn’t like she could do anything personally to help slaves have a better life, so she tried to just put such uncomfortable thoughts aside. She remembered when one of her teachers, a Yankee man who’d come south from Chicago, spoke nearly an entire hour about the plight of slaves in the Southern states. Dianne had been sickened when he’d talked of starving and beating the slaves on a regular basis. The teacher had offered gra
phic details about families being separated, babies ripped away from their mother’s breasts, and children beaten to death when they ran away to rejoin their families. Dianne had gone to her mother with the stories only to have her reject what the teacher had said and then pull her children out of school when the school board refused to fire the man. They’d schooled at home for a time after that.

  “You probably hate folks like us,” Dianne said softly. The realization of her own navet settled on her shoulders like a heavy mantle.

  Faith stopped what she was doing. “Why do you say that?”

  Dianne met the woman’s dark-eyed stare. “It’s just that … well …” She fell silent, trying hard to think of the words she wanted to say. “I used to think the things they said about slavery were … well … lies.”

  Faith nodded. “A lot of folks do. Maybe that’s why slavery was legal for so long.” Her gentle accent was almost lyrical.

  “Is it true that families were separated when they were sold?” Dianne asked, suddenly needing to know the truth of it.

  “That and worse,” Faith said, her expression taking on a faraway look.

  “Like what?”

  Faith shook her head. “You don’t want to know, child.” She leaned forward again and took up a small cast-iron kettle.

  Dianne swallowed hard. There was a warning in Faith’s voice that told her she was probably right. I’ve lived in ignorance. Life hasn’t taught me the reality of what’s going on in the world. Poor Faith. What burdens she must bear.

  “The good Lord saw fit to free us. I try to put the bad times behind me, but sometimes it’s hard. Folks are afraid of freed slaves.”

  “But why?” Dianne asked as she finished up the last of her dishes.

  “Because folks generally fear what’s different and unknown to them. And that’s exactly what we are. Not only that, but a war is being fought over us.”

  “There are other things besides slavery that caused the war,” Dianne replied. “Tariff laws and import problems. I heard my pa talk about it with my brothers.”

  Faith chuckled and gathered her things. Dianne began picking up her dishes as well. “People can say it’s about other things, but it’s slavery that’s got them all up in arms.” They walked up the bank and Faith added, “If there hadn’t been black folks in chains, there might not have been a war.”

  Dianne was silent as they made their way back to camp. She didn’t know what to say. It troubled her more than she could imagine that Faith might be right.

  “You feel free to come on over later, and I’ll show you how to season the stew. For now, just cut up some meat in chunks and put it in a kettle with a little water. Let it cook a spell till the water’s gone, then flour it up good. You got milk cows giving, right?” Dianne nodded. “Then you can have a real rich stew. Put in some milk—don’t bother to separate it. Let that simmer a while, and then add vegetables. While those are cooking, head on over and I’ll—” “Dianne, what are you doing?” Her mother’s voice held an edge of irritation.

  Dianne met her mother’s stern expression and stopped in midstep. “I was washing dishes like you told me to do.”

  “What are you doing with her?”

  Faith and Dianne exchanged a glance, and Dianne felt a flush creep up her face. “This is my friend Faith. I told you about her.”

  “You didn’t bother to tell me she was a Negro. I won’t have you associating with her kind—they cause nothing but misery and trouble.”

  “Ma, please don’t say such things. Faith is very nice. She’s teaching me some of the things I need to know for the trip.”

  “No she’s not. I don’t want you to be seen with her. Now come on. It’s her and her kind that killed your father. The Yankees wouldn’t have been in New Madrid if not for the slaves.” She turned and began walking back to their campsite.

  Dianne looked regretfully at Faith and followed; she could still see the expression on Faith’s face long after they’d parted company. It seemed she hadn’t been surprised by the condemnation in Dianne’s mother’s words. She’d taken it in stride with a look that seemed more weary than angry.

  “I personally can’t believe Negroes are being allowed to travel in the same wagon train as white folks,” Griselda Showalter said as she took up a piece of quilting. “I suppose that’s the way things will be now. Whites and blacks intermingling. It’s one of the reasons I’m glad we’re heading west. Percy and I can’t have our children thinking it’s acceptable to be making friends—even marrying their kind.”

  Susannah nodded. “I can’t imagine such things. It’s a complete abomination in the eyes of the Lord—I’m confident of that. At least they have the good sense to travel at the back of the train. Keep with their own kind.”

  Dianne said nothing but couldn’t imagine what God would have against white folks being friends with blacks.

  “There isn’t a single one I’d trust. Don’t you agree, Charity?” Mrs. Showalter paused long enough to let the older woman in on the conversation.

  Charity Hammond was a gracious little woman. Dianne presumed her to be somewhere in her late fifties, for she spoke of a son who was nearly forty and lived in Oregon.

  “I try not to let old prejudices give me cause to fear. I believe the good Lord has a plan in all things, even this. I’ve met some very nice people whose skin was darker than mine, and I’ve met some not-so-nice folks whose complexion was whiter than mine. I think we have to be careful about judging an entire group of people by the standards of fear and ignorance.”

  “I’m not ignorant about anything,” Griselda replied hostilely. “I’ve had to deal with them too many times.”

  Dianne watched as Charity worked on her quilt block, seemingly ignoring the conversation. The tight clench of her jaw, however, made it clear that this wasn’t the case. Dianne moved closer to watch Charity’s stitches.

  “I wish I could do work like that,” she said, offering Charity a smile. She wished she could just blurt out that she didn’t agree with her mother and Mrs. Showalter.

  “The key is to put the needle straight down when you pierce the fabric. Don’t slant it, or the stitches will be bigger. Here, you try on this block,” Charity said, handing Dianne the piece.

  “Oh no, I might mess it up.”

  Charity chuckled. “I’m not concerned about that, child. Nothing that’s done can’t be undone if needed. Every girl ought to know how to sew and make quilts for her home.”

  “There was never a need for such things when my husband was alive,” Dianne’s mother began. “I hated sewing as a child and have forgotten far more than I ever knew on the subject. We purchased our clothes and paid a seamstress to make what we couldn’t order. She also did our mending.”

  Griselda harrumphed. “It must have been nice to have that kind of money.”

  Dianne remembered her stew and plans to see Faith to learn about seasoning it. “Ma, I have a stew cooking in the Dutch oven, but I don’t know how to season it.”

  Griselda and Susannah both looked up. Charity reached out and patted Dianne’s knee. “Seasoning is all a matter of likes and dislikes. There are all sorts of things you can try.”

  “I’ll help you with the stew,” Griselda said, looking at Susannah rather than Dianne. “I have come up with the perfect combination of herbs and spices. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  And in this way the matter was taken from Dianne’s hands. She watched as Griselda tossed aside her sewing and motioned for Susannah to follow her to where the Dutch oven sat in the coals.

  “Never mind, child. It’s just her way,” Charity said quietly.

  “I’d still like to know how you’d go about seasoning the stew,” Dianne said, trying again to make a tiny stitch in the quilt block. “Oh, look!” she exclaimed. “I did it!”

  “Yes,” Charity said, offering Dianne a beaming smile. “I think you’re going to find that you can accomplish most anything you set your mind to.”

  Dianne met the woman�
�s gaze and heard the sincerity in her voice. “I wish I had as much faith in me as you seem to have.”

  “It’s not faith in you, child,” the older woman said softly. “It’s faith in God.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “YOU SEEM A BIT PREOCCUPIED, COLE. WANNA TALK ABOUT IT?”

  Cole looked up to find Daniel Keefer, his new boss, watching him from across the campfire. “Nothing much to talk about, sir.”

  Keefer took up his pipe. “I thought it a stroke of good luck to find you in Salt Lake, but you’ve been as silent as the grave. Not much of a companion across the empty prairie.” He smiled, but his good nature did nothing to encourage Cole’s black spirit.

  “Will we be picking up any more families before we head out for Kansas?” Cole asked.

  “I’m not expectin’ to, but you can never tell,” Keefer replied before lighting his pipe. He took several deep draws before continuing. “I have hired on a couple of new fellows to help out. They have nothing but the clothes on their backs and a bedroll, but they’re desperate to get west. I’ve offered them good work, just like you. It never hurts to have an extra man on the trip.” He chuckled and stretched out his legs. “They’re all hungry for gold, but no matter. Throwing in with us will allow them the safety of numbers and the knowledge of how to get there. I hope Virginia City doesn’t disappoint them too much.”

  Cole tried to focus on the conversation and forget the miseries of his past, but with statements like that he couldn’t ignore his own disappointment with the territory. He thought often of the things that had happened in Virginia City, driving him away. Memories that burned in his heart and mind with pictures so vivid they made him long only to forget. Even now, as he talked with Daniel Keefer about the trip back, Cole felt his anger flame into an inferno. Cursed country.

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about what ails you, boy?” Keefer asked. “I’ve been around folks too long to be fooled into thinking you’re just the quiet sort.”