Always Forward

by Ginny Dye

  “Yes,” Carrie managed in what she hoped was a natural voice. That in itself was a small miracle, because in all truth, she was having difficulty breathing.

  “Then I may buy them all?” Wallington pressed.

  Carrie smiled naturally and allowed her delight to shine through. “Yes, you may, Mr. Wallington.” She reached out a hand and shook his firmly, feeling a brief sympathy for the disappointment she saw on the other two men’s faces, but too elated in her success to be concerned for long. Abby had assured her it was just business, so she should treat it that way.

  Mr. Wallington shook her hand, stepped back, and smiled again. “Your husband would be very proud of you, Mrs. Borden,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Carrie managed to say around the sudden lump in her throat. She did know Robert would be proud of her, but she would give anything in the world for it to be him making this deal. The dream he had nurtured since he was a child was coming true. It broke her heart that he couldn’t see what he had accomplished.

  “May I ask another question?”

  “Of course.” Carrie was completely relaxed now that the business transaction had been taken care of.

  “I saw a stunning mare in your barn. I’m afraid I didn’t recognize the breed. I see the Thoroughbred in her, but there is something more. She is quite regal.”

  Carrie smiled. “You met Chelsea. She is a Cleveland Bay. I didn’t recognize her breed the first time I saw her either. They are Great Britain’s oldest breed of horse, but they haven’t been in the United States for very long. The breed started up in an area northeast of England that used to be called Cleveland.”

  “She appears to be quite athletic,” Mr. Wallington said with a voice full of admiration. “What is she used for?”

  “Chelsea is a carriage horse,” Carrie answered. “The Cleveland Bays, because they seem to almost always carry the same colors, are being used quite extensively for matching pairs.”

  “You’re expanding into Cleveland Bays?”

  “I have no idea,” Carrie answered honestly. “Miles, one of our stable hands, brought Chelsea down from Canada.”

  “Canada?”

  Carrie had become very comfortable talking to the man who obviously had a deep love for horses. “Miles used to be a slave here. He worked in Canada after he escaped the plantation before the war. He returned several months ago looking for a job. We were thrilled to give him one because he is wonderful with horses.”

  “And he brought Chelsea with him?”

  “I do believe you’re having a hard time believing my story, Mr. Wallington,” Carrie murmured.

  “Not at all, Mrs. Borden. I heard life on Cromwell Plantation was rather”—he paused as he searched for the right word—“unique.”

  Carrie laughed, watching out of the corner of her eye as the other two men left. She had seen Clint tell them the foals had all been sold. She could see the disappointment in the lines of their body, but their faces were resigned. She turned her attention back to Mr. Wallington .“I believe unique is an appropriate word,” she said lightly. She wanted to ask what else he had heard, but didn’t want to start a discussion that would harm the business arrangement they had just struck.

  Mr. Wallington looked at her for a long moment and seemed to make a decision about something. “I did my homework before I came, too.”

  Carrie cocked her head and waited.

  “I didn’t know about your husband’s death, but I did research your family after I realized Abby had married your father.”

  “You know Abby?”

  Mr. Wallington smiled. “I used to be a manufacturer’s representative in the textile industry,” he revealed. “I met Abigail Livingston shortly after she took over her husband’s business.”

  Carrie’s eyes narrowed. “May I trust you treated her better than many of the other men did?”

  “You may,” he assured her.

  Carrie decided she believed him. He had honest eyes, and his smile was genuine. “And now you’re into horses?”

  “Horses are far more fun,” he admitted with an easy smile. “I was raised on a horse farm in upstate New York. That’s where I met Mark and Susan. We grew up together as children.”

  “How delightful,” Carrie cried.

  Annie walked out onto the porch with a plate full of fried chicken and biscuits slathered with butter. “If I heard everythin’ right from behind the door, I believe business is finished, and it’s time to eat.”

  Carrie laughed, quite sure Annie had indeed had her ear plastered to the door during negotiations. “This is Mr. Wallington, Annie. He has just bought every one of the foals.”

  Annie fixed him with a steely gaze. “For a good price?”

  “For a very good price,” Carrie agreed happily.

  Mr. Wallington laughed. “Has Abby trained all the women on Cromwell Plantation? I recognize her very effective techniques.”

  Annie snorted, her eyes twinkling with fun. “Then you know we ain’t gonna tell you our secrets. I reckon you just ought to eat this food and be thankful you got the best horses in Virginia!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Carrie gazed out the train window, wondering what had ever possessed people to move west of the Mississippi River. She and Abby had long ago left behind the mountains, lush fields, and thick forests of the eastern United States. Now there seemed to be nothing but empty green flatness, limestone ledges, and dilapidated log houses or homes made from sod. Tired-faced women, standing herd over children in simple clothing, stared up at the train as they passed. Their eyes seemed glazed with fatigue, but they also had looks of determination that revealed how they had survived for so long in the brutal environment.

  “Does the wind ever stop blowing in Kansas?” Carrie asked, alarmed when a particularly hard gust made the train car sway even more than the tracks could account for.

  “Evidently not,” Abby said. “I was warned before I came, but I had no idea what it was really going to be like.”

  Carrie looked away from the unfolding scenery, or lack thereof, and fixed her eyes on her stepmother. “Have you ever lived a life of anything but luxury?” she asked.

  Abby shrugged. “No more than you have, my dear,” she said blandly. “But I have been assured it won’t kill us to live without comforts for a few weeks.” Her lips tightened. “We have our work cut out for us,” she said. “We have much bigger things to worry about than whether we will have a comfortable bed at night, or just how hard the wind is blowing.”

  Carrie knew Abby was right, but still, she missed the plantation with every fiber of her being. In her most honest moments, however, she admitted there was some relief in not being reminded of Robert by every single thing she saw. He was never out of her mind, but the sharpest edges of grief had been somewhat dulled the farther the train had chugged away from Virginia. “Tell me where we stand,” she invited, knowing she needed to think about something else.

  Abby knew her daughter needed distraction because they had already talked about this at length. “Things are not going as we hoped,” she admitted. “Susan Anthony, Elizabeth Stanton, Lucy Stone, and others have been here since July, campaigning tirelessly, but I fear they are fighting an uphill battle they have no hope of winning.”

  “Because the Republicans and abolitionists are blocking their efforts in an attempt to make sure the black vote passes?”

  “That would be the crux of it,” Abby replied, her lips tightening with anger. “I am watching it happen, but I still have a hard time believing they are working against us after all we gave up. We put away the cause of women’s rights during the war and put all our efforts into freeing the slaves—and were happy to do so.” She shook her head. “We were obviously fools to believe we would be rewarded by a grateful country, and that the Republicans would fight for us. We have become accustomed to the predictions of the conservatives who believe women getting the vote will mean the downfall of home, church, and state,
but we were totally unprepared for the opposition of the very politicians who have said they support us.”

  Carrie, prodded out of her memories of home, thought about what Matthew had told them before they left. She knew he was trying to prepare them for disappointment, but Abby had made a commitment, and she wasn’t the type to walk away from a promise. Even if it was too late, she would fight. “Evidently politics are much more complex than everyone understands,” Carrie said quietly. “The Republicans have their gaze fixed on the potential of two million black male voters in the South.” Her voice sharpened with sarcasm as she saw the pain of futility glaze Abby’s eyes. “Of course they are not going to jeopardize that by stirring up a tempest over women’s suffrage.” She thought about how hard Abby had fought for abolition of the slaves. “It is ludicrous that even the abolitionists are deserting women,” she said hotly.

  Abby sighed. “They are convinced this is the ‘Negro’s hour’ and that nothing must be allowed to interfere.” She lifted her head with defiance. “I refuse to believe it is not possible to do both. Blacks should have the right to vote, but I will not give up fighting for women to have the same right.” Her shoulders slumped a little when she made her next statement. “I’m afraid Elizabeth is right. If the Fourteenth Amendment passes and puts the word ‘male’ into the Constitution, it will no longer be possible for individual states to give women the right to vote. It will take another amendment to even give women the status of citizenship.” Her voice sharpened with disbelief. “It could be decades before we have another chance. Elizabeth believes it could set us back a full century.”

  Carrie absorbed that prediction. It was likely she would never have the right to vote. Even little Hope might never be granted that freedom. And Hope’s children, the next generation that was counting on them? It was inconceivable that they might not be able to have a voice either. She stiffened and looked out the window again, oblivious to the tall grasses bent flat by a roaring wind. She only saw an opportunity to change reality for women all over the country. “We’ll fight hard, Abby,” she said staunchly. “We may lose, but it won’t be for lack of trying.”

  Abby smiled and reached out to take her hand. “Which is exactly why I wanted you with me, Carrie,” she murmured.

  ********

  Carrie had felt bone-searing fatigue many times during the war years, but she honestly couldn’t remember ever being this tired. All the exhausting days seemed to blend into each other. She and Abby had arrived in Junction City, a rough and tumble town tucked up almost against the Texas border, ten days ago. Earlier campaigners had covered the sizeable towns in the months before their arrival, so she and Abby’s job had been to go out into the smaller settlements to distribute pamphlets and talk at impromptu meetings. She had ceased being astonished at the living conditions, but the itching welts that were the courtesy of bedbugs had made every night miserable.

  “We should be able to stop in an hour or so, Mrs. Borden,” Kyle said.

  Carrie looked at the man who had been selected by the Kansas Women’s Rights Committee to accompany them. He was as rough and rugged as he looked, but the scruffy exterior covered in dust hid a heart of gold that truly believed women should have the right to vote. Without Kyle they would have left in defeat after the first couple of days, and without his knowledge they would have been hopelessly lost in a terrain that had begun to all look the same. “We’ll be fine,” she said firmly.

  Kyle said nothing, but he cast a glance toward Abby.

  Carrie didn’t have to look to know why he had such a concerned expression on his face. If it was possible, Abby looked worse than she did. Her mother had an iron will and a determined spirit, but the hot, dusty days, combined with a howling wind that seemed to never lose its intensity, had seemed to suck the life right out of her. She still managed to stand in front of the crowds every night, whether they were in a schoolhouse, a church, or simply talking to people perched on rugged benches hastily assembled under the stars, but a particularly hot day had seemed to bring her to the end of her endurance. Carrie hoped the thunderstorm that had both drenched and cooled them would have restored some of her energy, but Abby seemed to be wilting even more. “Abby needs some water,” she said urgently.

  Kyle nodded and pulled out an oilskin he had filled from a stream they had passed earlier. “I have a few apples, too,” he offered.

  Carrie acknowledged his kindness with a nod as she reached for the water, but the shriveled fruit he called apples hardly resembled what they ate at home. She pushed aside the thought that they were ripening on the trees even now because the thought of the plantation made Kansas harder to endure. She was certain Abby’s stomach couldn’t handle what he was offering. She held the water up to her mother’s lips. “Drink this,” she said gently.

  “I’m fine,” Abby said weakly, working hard to summon a smile. “We’ll be somewhere we can stop soon. I just need some sleep.”

  Carrie returned the smile, but she knew Abby needed far more than sleep. Ten days of living off bacon swimming in grease, rock-hard biscuits, and coffee strong enough to curdle your hair had taken its toll on her. She glanced at Kyle. “Will you hand me some of the slippery elm we bought today?” The purchases they had made earlier that day in a settlement they passed had been sparse—dried herring, crackers, gum Arabic, and slippery elm—but they were better than nothing.

  “I saw you buy that today,” Kyle commented as he rooted around in a bag he had tied to the carriage. “What’s it for?”

  Carrie pulled out the pieces of bark and handed one to Abby. “Just chew on it,” she said. “It will help.” She smiled when Abby followed her orders, closing her eyes as she chewed.

  “Slippery elm bark is remarkable,” Carrie replied to Kyle. “It was first introduced to whites here in America by the Indians as a survival ration. You can eat it just like Abby is now because it is very nutritious, but it tastes better when it is ground into a coarse meal and boiled into a porridge. It actually has a creamy, sweet flavor. You can also use it as a powder to extend ordinary flour.” She glanced at Abby. “What she is chewing now is like a sweet, long-lasting chewing gum.”

  Kyle looked at the slightly slimy bark that glowed in the moonlight, and grimaced. “What does the porridge taste like?”

  “Oatmeal,” Carrie said with a smile. “You can probably thank the existence of our country to slippery elm bark.”

  Kyle raised a brow. “Really?”

  Carrie nodded, glad to have something else to think about besides the endless carriage ride. “During the Revolutionary War, George Washington’s soldiers had to survive for twelve days during the brutal winter at Valley Forge with little more than slippery elm porridge. I’m sure they were still hungry, but it kept them alive, and it kept them fighting.” She paused, looking out over the harsh landscape of southwestern Kansas. Carrie couldn’t imagine living in Kansas during a winter snowstorm. The very thought made her shudder. “We’ll probably never know how many families have survived their first winters here because of slippery elm bark.”

  Kyle looked impressed. He was also staring at her a little more closely. “How do you know all this?”

  Carrie was uncomfortable with the turn in the conversation. The endless exhaustion of the unbearably long days had actually produced moments when Robert and Bridget weren’t the first things on her mind, but Kyle’s innocent question brought it all roaring back with an intensity that almost took her breath away. She struggled to make her voice sound natural. “I mostly learned it from a woman on my father’s plantation.” She couldn’t bring herself to say anymore, so she decided to change the subject. “I’m surprised you don’t already know this. Slippery elm bark is fairly common in the settlements because it has so many uses.”

  “I haven’t been in Kansas very long,” Kyle admitted.

  Carrie looked at him with surprise. He fit right into the rugged environment like he had been here all his life. “How long have you been here?”

  �
�About six months.”

  Carrie was intrigued now, and once again happy to have anything keep her mind off the endless day. “Where are you from?”

  “Boston.”

  Carrie stared at him, certain she had not heard him correctly. “Did you say Boston?”

  Kyle grinned. “I don’t much look like it now, I know.”

  Carrie couldn’t think of a way to respond, but Abby saved her.

  “What brought you to Kansas, Kyle?” Abby asked quietly.

  Kyle shrugged, his look saying he would rather not be having this conversation. “I got the Westward Fever,” he finally said. “My family thought I was crazy, but they couldn’t talk me out of it. I was convinced everything was bigger and better out here.”

  “It’s certainly bigger,” Carrie muttered. Even under moonlight the countryside stretched on for endless miles because there was nothing to break it up. The last tree she had seen had been hours earlier by a creek, and there was hardly even a bump in the ground to break the flatness.

  “You’ve decided to stay?” Abby pressed.

  “I don’t think I’ve decided anything,” Kyle admitted, “except that I am going to help women try to get the vote.” He answered Abby’s next question before she could ask it. “My mother and sisters have been fighting for suffrage for years. I owe it to them to help however I can.”

  Carrie smiled at him. “Thank you. I figured you were doing this just for the money. I’m glad to know you believe in our cause.”

  Kyle laughed. “I’m not sure anyone could pay me enough to keep up with the schedule you ladies are keeping.” Suddenly he cursed and drew the horses up sharply.

  “What is it?” Carrie asked with alarm. She heard it before she saw it, remembering the thunderstorm she had welcomed because it would cool things off. She had neglected to take into account that the rain would fill the streambeds as well. She peered into the darkness. The moonlight was glistening off the water, and she could tell by the noise that it was moving swiftly, but she couldn’t tell how deep it was, nor how wide the creek had become.