Land of My Heart

by Tracie Peterson

  An old man, looking even more tired and haggard than Trenton felt, emerged from the trees. He wore a knee-length coat that looked outdated by about twenty years. Atop his head was a well-worn, dirtsmudged top hat of what must have one time been fine beaver. “The name is Henry DuPont. I smelled your cooking. Ain’t had nothing to eat in a month of Sundays.”

  Trenton relaxed a bit. “You’re welcome to join me. I don’t have much, just this rabbit.”

  “Sounds mighty fine.” The man reached into his torn coat and pulled out a small cloth bag. “I’ll provide the salt. Never travel anywhere without salt. I find a man can eat most anything if he has a bit of salt to go with it.”

  Trenton smiled. “I’m rather partial to salt myself. Come on and warm up.” The old man limped into camp, favoring his right leg. Trenton didn’t want to be rude and ask about it, so he said nothing.

  “You headin’ anywhere in particular?”

  Trenton shook his head. “No, not really. I have a sister up in Montana Territory, but it seems the wrong time of year to head up there. How about you?”

  “Nah, I’m just going wherever the wind takes me.”

  Trenton nodded and turned the rabbit again. It was browning nicely and the juices were dripping into the fire below—sizzling and releasing the most incredible aroma.

  “Were you in the war?” Henry asked.

  Trenton looked at the old man for a moment and then shook his head. “My pa didn’t want me to join up.” He shrugged. “I can’t say I had any real desire to go off to war.”

  “Well, at least you’re not a deserter. I can’t abide a man who gives his word then runs off. Known too many of that type. If a man doesn’t have his honor, he ain’t got nothing at all.”

  Trenton nodded, feeling guilty afresh as he thought of his thieving that morning. “Hard times make a man desperate,” he muttered.

  Henry laughed. “Don’t I know it. I wasn’t raised to this life. I had a good wife and two fine daughters. Lost the wife to childbirth when she tried to give me a son. My own dear mother came to live with us after that. She raised the girls as if they were her own. I haven’t seen any of them in years.”

  Trenton heard the loneliness in Henry’s voice. “What happened to put you on the road?”

  Henry shook his head. “I can’t tell you. One day I just up and walked away and kept walking.”

  “You just left your home and family?”

  Henry shrugged. “Like I said, I can’t honestly tell you why. It just seemed the thing to do. I’ve been wandering around for the last twenty years.”

  “Seems a long time to be missing from the lives of your loved ones. I haven’t been away from mine even a year, and I already miss them more than I like to admit. I miss the comforts of home too.”

  Henry stretched out his hands to the fire. The light was fading overhead as the sky thickened with dark clouds. “I know what you mean. Nothing beats a feather mattress and a warm quilt.”

  Trenton smiled at the thought. He took out his knife and tested a piece of the rabbit. “I think this is done.”

  They ate in relative silence, stripping the bones clean of meat. Trenton remembered his second apple and offered it to Henry. It made him feel as though he were doing some small penance for having stolen the thing to begin with.

  “No thanks. Can’t chew it well enough to enjoy it. My teeth are pert near rotten.”

  Trenton put the apple back in his pocket just as the first few raindrops began to fall. Henry glanced overhead. “I know a cave not but about a quarter mile upriver. It’ll keep us dry if we hurry.”

  Trenton gathered his things and tied them onto his horse. Henry led them through the trees, sometimes having to wait while Trenton found a way to come through with his mount. Finally they reached the cave, grateful that the rain had still not begun to fall in earnest.

  Trenton tied off the horse and took his things inside the cave. Henry was already gathering wood for their fire, and Trenton hurried to join him.

  “Cave will be a mite warmer, especially with a good fire going.”

  “I’ve been cautious about fires,” Trenton admitted. “I hadn’t really built one until I needed it for the rabbit. I was afraid it might draw some of the border ruffians.”

  “Could at that. Them ol’ boys know this area like the back of their hand. They could find us, that’s for sure. But it ain’t like we got much that they’d want. ’Ceptin’ your horse.”

  Trenton nodded. “Is the cave big enough for him as well?”

  “I’m sure we can squeeze him in,” Henry said. “He might not like it, though. We can put him in first and then make our fire at the mouth of the cave. That shouldn’t spook him too much.”

  They shared a companionable evening, talking of the weather and the winter to come. Henry pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and held them up. “Do you play?”

  Trenton shook his head. “Ma thought cards were tools of the devil.”

  Henry began to shuffle the deck. “Lotta folks think that way, but I can’t say why. A man never sits down to play but what he knows the odds are against him. Ain’t like anyone’s tricked him.”

  Henry dealt the cards. “We’re not playin’ for money, that’s for sure, so why not go a few hands with me? It’s a good way to pass the time.”

  “What will we play?”

  Henry smiled. “Poker. What else?”

  They played for several hours, stopping only long enough to add more wood to the fire. Outside the weather worsened and grew colder, the rain falling so hard at one point it was impossible to see beyond the opening of the cave.

  Trenton seemed to have a natural affinity for poker. Once he understood the rules, he won hand after hand, surprising even Henry.

  “You’re good at this, boy. Maybe too good. You could probably make a decent living if you learned to read men good enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Trenton asked. He was enjoying the game. The strategy kept his mind occupied and helped him to forget about his worries.

  “There are two kinds of men who play poker. Them that come expectin’ to win and them that come hopin’ to win. The hopers never get far. They don’t understand the mind that drives those who expect to win.

  “Now, there are a lot of professional gamblers out there. Used to be one for a time myself. You have your regular games where you might call it a good night if you make ten dollars. Then you have your high stakes games where thousands pass over the table.”

  Trenton perked up at the thought of all that money. “How can that be?”

  Henry shrugged. “Guess there are a lot of rich men who don’t know what else to do with their money.” He snickered. “I could sure help them spend it.”

  Trenton laughed. “Me too.”

  Henry sobered and dealt another hand. “I know where you could get into a decent game. You might make thirty, even fifty dollars before the night was over. If you played this good.”

  “I couldn’t do that. My ma would hightail it all the way back from Montana Territory to box my ears if I dared to gamble.”

  “I’m tellin’ ya, it ain’t the sin she makes it out to be. How can it be robbin’ or cheatin’ a man if he comes willingly to the table—knowing the odds are against him?”

  Trenton let that information sink in for a moment. The man made sense, and the game was pleasurable. How was it any different from passing the evening playing some other socially acceptable game?

  “Even if I wanted to give it a go,” Trenton finally said, “I don’t have any money.”

  “You got a pistol,” Henry pointed out. “You even have a horse and saddle. You could sell one or all and then buy them back after you won yourself a fair pot of money.”

  Trenton shook his head and picked up the cards Henry had dealt. “I couldn’t risk it. I might not win. After all, there are no doubt a lot of men out there who know a heap more about the game than I do.”

  “Well, sure. That’s where I come in. I can teach you ev
erything you need to know. How to read a man. How to keep track of the cards— this is especially good if you’re playin’ twenty-one.”

  Trenton began to see that the old man had something specific in mind. “And what would you want in return?”

  Henry rubbed his scrawny white beard and raised a bushy brow. “Well, now, I think maybe twenty-five percent of the game would be fair. We could travel together and see what happened. If it didn’t work out, there’d be no hard feelings.”

  Trenton wrestled with the idea for a minute. He knew how his mother would feel about her eldest son turning gambler, but he wasn’t sure there was any other choice. No one would hire him for honest work.

  Then he thought of Dianne and knew her disappointment would be more than he’d ever want to face. She had high hopes for him to make something of himself. So many times they’d talked long into the night about what he might try his hand at. Dianne felt he’d make a good business owner, but not in the mercantile or dry goods arena. She saw him more as owning a freighting company or working in delivery. That way he’d be outdoors most of the time, enjoying a life that at least had the pretense of freedom.

  He looked down at the cards in his hand. Two kings, a ten, a six, and a five. Not much to go on, but a pair was better than nothing. Maybe he and Henry could make a good pair. It was something—which was more than he had right now.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try. Something small to begin with, so I can be sure and get my pistol back.”

  Henry laughed and nodded. “I knew you’d see the sense of it.”

  CHAPTER 17

  THE CHADWICK SIBLINGS SOLD OFF EVERYTHING THAT WASN’T NECESSARY to getting them through the winter. The auction had gone well, as there were numerous gold miners who were desperate for goods and supplies. The auction lasted barely an hour, in fact, because people were so bent on purchasing the items quickly.

  Dianne even managed to speak to a woman at the auction who knew of a place the Chadwicks could rent. It wasn’t much, she told Dianne, but it would be a heap better than living in a wagon all winter. Dianne jumped at the chance but found it rather discouraging when she actually saw the place for the first time.

  It was just a one-room cabin, located on the north side of town. There were no windows, but there wasn’t any real need for them—the holes in the walls from missing chinking were big enough to put a fist through.

  Dianne hadn’t been happy about the situation, but there was nothing else available. The hotel was full and the boardinghouses hadn’t had vacancies in months. With winter coming on and the baby due in December, Dianne knew it was their only hope.

  Working to make the cabin into a home, Dianne had tacked up some of the wagon canvas to the walls in order to block out the weather. Still, it was chilly, and the price of coal or other fuel to heat the small cabin left her worried that they’d soon run through their nest egg.

  “How’s Ma feeling?” Morgan asked as he and Zane came in for supper that evening.

  “I haven’t gotten her to talk to me all day,” Dianne said, setting a batch of biscuits on the back of the tiny stove. They were burned on the bottoms, but it seemed impossible to regulate the temperature in the oven.

  “Do you think she needs a doctor?” Zane asked. The boys sat down on the crudely made bench on the opposite side of the table.

  “I wish I knew,” Dianne said, bringing them each a bowl of stew. “How did work go today?” She was glad the twins had been able to find odd jobs around town. Both of them were now working for a freighting company, loading and unloading the various shipments of goods.

  “It’s a job,” Morgan said.

  Dianne put the biscuits onto a plate and brought them to the table. “Will they have work for you through the winter?”

  Zane shrugged. “It’s hard to say. I heard them talkin’ about the gold not playing out like it should.”

  “They’ve struck gold up at someplace north. Last Chance Gulch, I think they called it,” Morgan added.

  Zane tore off a piece of biscuit. “One of the men figures this town won’t be long running as a gold camp.”

  “I can’t say that would grieve me any,” Dianne declared as she took a seat opposite them. “I’ve never seen so many lowlifes in all my days. I went to the store to sell eggs this morning and was nearly accosted. It seems eggs are pretty prized around here.” She glanced over to the corner where four rather content hens sat in crates stacked atop each other.

  “You probably shouldn’t go to town without one of us along. There are a lot of rowdies who give no thought to proper manners.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, but honestly, some things can’t wait. I mean— look—it’s already seven-thirty. The store’s been closed for over an hour.

  It wouldn’t have done me much good to wait. I needed supplies for supper.”

  “Well, in the future,” Morgan suggested, “if you can wait for one of us, it would probably be better.”

  Dianne nodded and began eating. She looked to the bed on the far side of the room where their mother slept. She worried about the situation more than she could ever let on to her brothers. Her mother seemed to have no interest in life. Dianne often had to force her to eat, sitting at her mother’s side and spooning in nourishment until her mother absolutely refused to take another bite.

  “I think that milk cow is going to calve come spring,” Zane said, surprising Dianne. “That ought to bring us more milk.”

  “And a calf to sell,” Dianne replied. She constantly worried about the money they’d need to survive. They had enough, even plenty at this point, but prices were outrageous and there was the possibility that they would never find their uncle.

  “What are we going to do,” she asked suddenly, “if Uncle Bram doesn’t show up?”

  Zane looked to Morgan and then to Dianne. “Well, we were talking about that the other day. Seems to me, you and Ma should go back to Missouri. Maybe not New Madrid, but somewhere with enough city and such to live comfortably.”

  “How would we get there and how would we afford a place to live once we were there?” Dianne asked frankly.

  “Morgan and I would send you money. You might even be able to locate Trenton and he could take care of you both. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would probably be a better situation than having you stay here.”

  Dianne thought of the long trip back to Missouri. “I don’t think Mama could bear the trip. Especially with a new baby. I think we’ll have to consider some other possibilities. Maybe we could build us a better cabin—away from town. You boys could learn how and we could set up a regular house. I can sew fairly well and can make us whatever linens or curtains we might need. We kept back quite a bit of cloth when we had the auction. Seems like there would be enough there for just about anything we’d need.”

  “I doubt it would be that easy,” Morgan replied.

  His dirty blond hair fell in matted waves almost to his shoulders. It was the first time Dianne thought of him needing a haircut. She looked at Zane. He was a mirror image of his brother. They both had lost the innocent boyish look to their faces. In its place was a hard, careworn expression.

  “Well, maybe we won’t have to worry about it. After all, the postmaster said Uncle Bram always comes in for mail and supplies this time of year. He stocks up before winter and then comes again in the spring. Anyway, the postmaster promised to give him the message that we’ve arrived.” Dianne could only hope that he wouldn’t forget.

  “That’s what we’re counting on,” Zane said, getting up to dish a second helping of the stew. “If Uncle Bram comes and takes control of the situation, then we won’t have anything to worry about.”

  Dianne nodded. So much hinged on Uncle Bram—a man she’d never met—whose letters telling of the northern wilderness had fascinated her since childhood.

  Dianne went through some of their personal belongings the next day. She hadn’t realized how very little they actually owned. They’d brought very few house
hold goods except for the few articles she had in her cedar chest. They’d not seen a need for it. They’d assumed Uncle Bram would have dishes and linens and blankets. Except for the things they’d used on the trip west and now used for everyday life, there was nothing that suggested this cabin was a home.

  Dianne thought of taking some of her sisters’ clothes and extra material and making some rag rugs like Faith had taught her. Originally, she’d thought to spread the wagon canvas on the floors, but they’d needed that for the walls. She’d even taken to stuffing the Montana Post in the cracks—after they’d read it from cover to cover—and still the cabin was unbearably cold at night.

  She went to the trunk where Ardith’s dresses had been packed and found herself moved by the sight of her sister’s doll. The porcelain-faced beauty that Ardith had dubbed Miss Kilpatrick, after her third-grade teacher, was the one luxury Ardith had decided to bring on the trip. Dianne gently touched the gold ringlets that cascaded from beneath a velvet bonnet of pale blue.

  She missed her sisters more than she could say. The pain in her heart overwhelmed her when Dianne allowed the memories to linger too long.

  “Who will take care of my babies?” Ardith had asked in desperate concern.

  Dianne could still see her worried expression as she sat amongst her dolls and tried to decide who could come and who would have to be left behind.

  “I wish I’d given her space in my trunk to bring them all,” Dianne whispered and clutched the doll to her breast. “Oh, Ardith—precious little sister. If only I could have found you.”

  She put the doll aside and pulled out Ardith’s red calico dress. The gown had suffered much wear but would be good for tearing into strips for a rug. Next there was a plain brown print that Ardith had always hated but which was quite serviceable for everyday use. That left only her Sunday best, which Dianne couldn’t bring herself to tear up. She placed Miss Kilpatrick atop the pale pink gown and closed the trunk lid.

  Next she went to Betsy’s trunk. It was smaller by half than her own but seemed large enough for the tiny six-year-old. Inside Dianne found Betsy’s baby doll, Millie. She’d been given the doll on her second birthday and the two had been inseparable. Until now.