A Home in Drayton Valley

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Although his tone sounded more weary than eager, her heart leaped with hope. She sought the section Tarsie had pointed out about Drayton Valley and read slowly, emphasizing the points she thought Joss would find the most interesting. While she read, she couldn’t help imagining her children running along a grassy riverbank or ambling toward a little schoolhouse, slates tucked in the bends of their arms. She pictured Joss coming home at the end of the day, tired but smiling, satisfied with the toil of his hands, his eyes clear and his face tanned from the sun. But she didn’t put herself in the fanciful imaginings.

  She finished reading every detail, then told Joss about the man at the railroad who could help them purchase tickets. Placing her hand over his, she sighed. “Doesn’t it sound like a fine place, Joss? A place for a family to prosper.” Slipping her eyes closed, she allowed one more picture to form in her mind—of Joss leading the children up the steps of a clapboard chapel. Tears stung behind her closed lids. It could happen, Lord, couldn’t it?

  “It’s far away from here, this Kansas?” Joss’s low, serious tone drew Mary’s focus.

  “Yes, Joss. Far away.”

  His jaw jutted. “This, then, is what you want?”

  Mary held her breath, afraid she might still be caught in her wistful dreaming. Her vocal cords seemed tangled in knots, unable to deliver words, so she gave a nod.

  Joss’s head sagged. “But money for tickets . . . I don’t have it.”

  As much as Mary wished she could refuse Tarsie’s offer to give over her saved earnings, she wouldn’t be taking it for herself. This was for her children. For Joss. For a better, richer, more joyful life. She could swallow her pride for the sake of her loved ones. She only prayed Joss’s pride, which was much larger than hers, could be overcome.

  In a mere whisper, she said, “I do.”

  His head shot up, one wavy strand of dark hair flopping across his forehead. “You have money?”

  The glimmer in his eyes frightened her. Desperation tinged with fury. But she couldn’t retreat now. “Y-yes.”

  “How much?”

  Tarsie hadn’t mentioned an amount, but she had indicated she’d spoken to the railroad man and knew her funds were adequate for the journey. Mary chose a simple reply. “Enough.”

  “Fetch it for me.”

  “I . . . can’t. It isn’t here.”

  “Where is it?”

  Mary swallowed. “Tarsie has it.” Should she tell him it was Tarsie’s money, not hers? But Tarsie was willing to give it to her, which made it hers, didn’t it? Her pain-muddled brain tried to reason, but rational thought wouldn’t form.

  Joss chewed his lower lip, his gaze aimed somewhere behind Mary’s shoulder. She’d learned over their years together that it was best to let Joss ruminate. If she pushed him, his defenses would rise. While he thought, she prayed, and after several silent minutes he blew out a mighty breath.

  Face still averted, he said, “Pack, then. We’ll go.”

  With a joyous cry, Mary threw herself into Joss’s arms. The sudden movement brought a new, excruciating crush of pain. She muffled her gasp with his shoulder. He’d change his mind if he knew how sick she was. And she couldn’t let him turn back now. Struggling against waves of nausea, she forced herself to speak. “I can be ready by Monday if need be.”

  “Monday, then.”

  Joss’s arms held her tight, the pressure painful but still welcome. He so rarely cradled her, seemingly afraid of gentleness being misconstrued as weakness. She relished the feel of his firm, sturdy arms encircling her frame, and although the pain continued to stab with a ferocity that brought tears to her eyes, she refused to wriggle loose of his snug embrace. Mary sighed in contentment as Joss ran his big, warm hands up and down her spine.

  With a final pat on her back, he disengaged himself from her hold. He picked up his fork, scooped a bite, and swallowed. “I’ll go to Tarsie’s after I finish work tomorrow and get the money so I can purchase tickets.”

  “That’s a fine idea.” Mary drew in a slow breath, gathering courage. Her next request would surely be met with resistance, but somehow she had to convince him. “And . . . would you tell her to pack, too?”

  The fork clattered to the tabletop as Joss spun to face her. “Why?”

  Tarsie had no family, nothing to hold her here. And Tarsie loved Mary. Tarsie would do anything to honor her friend—Mary knew this from the depth of her soul. Did Joss love Mary enough to honor her desire? She tested his love with a simple statement. “Tarsie must come with us. I won’t go without her. I . . . I need her, Joss.”

  And you and the children will need her soon, too.

  Tarsie snipped the thread with her teeth and let the heavy velvet skirt flop across her lap. She’d finished with hours to spare before the Saturday-morning deadline. She sent up a silent prayer of gratitude then balled her hands into fists and stretched, releasing the tense muscles in her shoulders.

  In a chair across the table, one of her roommates, Agnes, lifted her gaze from the camisole in her hands and sent Tarsie a narrow-eyed scowl. “All done? I wish I could sew as quickly as you. Mr. Garvey always berates me for being behind quota.”

  Their boss was a stern taskmaster, and often Tarsie’s heart lurched in sympathy for workers forced to endure the sharp side of his tongue. But sometimes, Tarsie had to admit, Agnes deserved it. Of the six young women who shared the little apartment and worked as seamstresses for August Garvey, Agnes was the only one to fall below expectations. Mostly because she piddled rather than used her time wisely, claiming the work “boring.” But Tarsie’s Bible admonished her to work as unto the Lord rather than men. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to shirk, no matter how uninteresting the task.

  Tarsie rose and shook out the skirt, admiring the glint of deep purple in the lantern light. “Speed comes with practice, Agnes. You’ll be catchin’ on soon enough, I’m sure.”

  Agnes sniffed and leaned back over the camisole.

  Tarsie folded the skirt and laid it carefully on her chair. Massaging her lower back, she moved to the stove. A peek in the tall enamel pot revealed at least a cupful of brackish liquid. She poured it into a tin mug and raised it to her lips, grimacing as the bitter brew hit her tongue. The coffee had sat on the back of the stove all day, gaining strength, and the taste turned her stomach, but she drank it anyway. Her empty stomach needed filling. After draining the mug, she carried it and the pot to the dry sink where more dirty mugs, plates, and silverware waited in a basin.

  When Mr. Garvey had assigned the girls to this apartment in his building, he’d instructed them to take turns with housekeeping, each pulling an equal share. But she’d discovered the other girls could ignore piles of dirty dishes, crumb-scattered floors, and dust-covered furniture. So frequently, Tarsie—the eldest of the girls at twenty-four—performed the others’ tasks rather than live in a messy apartment. She couldn’t prevent rodents and vermin from creeping in under the door or from holes in the walls, but she could at least make it harder for them to hide by keeping things tidy.

  She picked up the water bucket and headed for the door, intending to venture to the pump in the alley. When she opened the door she discovered a large man, fist upraised, on the opposite side of the threshold. She let out a squawk of surprise and nearly threw the bucket at him. But then lantern light from the apartment reached his face, and she blew out a breath of relief.

  “Joss Brubacher, you came close to scaring the life out of me. Why’ve you come?” A second bout of fear—this one much more intense—gripped her. She grabbed his shirtfront and dragged him through the doorway, her heart pounding.

  The other girls paused in their stitching, curious gazes aimed at Tarsie and their unexpected visitor. Joss swept from his head the little plaid hat he always wore and flicked a glance at the circle of seamstresses. Apparently intimidated by his unsmiling countenance, they bent back over their work. But their usual chatter ceased, and Tarsie sensed their ears tuned to her conversation with Joss.


  “Is it Mary? Should I fetch my medicinal herbs?” Thank goodness she’d finished that skirt early. She’d be free to go with Joss if need be. She turned toward the sleeping room, ready to retrieve the leather pouch of cures.

  Joss held out his hand, sealing her in place. “Mary’s fine. Least, as fine as she ever is.” His brow crunched—in worry or consternation? Mary claimed Joss cared beneath his bluster, but Tarsie wasn’t so sure. He was a difficult man to read. “But we’re leaving come Monday. For Kansas.”

  Tarsie clasped her hands beneath her chin and gasped. “Oh, praise be!”

  “So we’re needing the money . . . for tickets and such.”

  Joy exploded through Tarsie’s middle. A miracle! She was witnessing a miracle! She waved both hands at Joss, encouraging him to wait. “I’ll be gettin’ it for you. Stay right here.”

  She dashed to the sleeping room, aware of six pairs of eyes staring after her. Dropping to her knees beside her cot, she lifted the lumpy mattress and pulled out a woolen stocking containing the carefully hoarded bounty of nearly eight years’ labor. Bouncing to her feet, she darted to Joss and jammed the sock at him. “There you are. Thank you for agreein’.” She’d never have imagined Joss Brubacher accepting her help. His willingness to do so—to set aside his fierce pride—softened her toward him. He did care for Mary. He did.

  He gave her a puzzled look, but he took the stocking and shoved the wad into his jacket pocket. She expected him to take his leave, but instead he twiddled the hat in his hand and stared off to the side. From the circle of girls, a nervous titter sounded. It seemed to bring Joss to life. He jerked his face around to scowl down at Tarsie.

  “As I said, we’re leaving come Monday. I’m hoping to get us tickets on the eight o’clock train to Chicago. So be packed and at the station early. Only take what you can’t do without. One trunk—that’s it. Won’t be space for frippery.” He snorted. “Won’t hardly be space for the people I need to take, but Mary says she won’t go without you. So . . .” He slapped the hat onto his head. “Be there.” He turned and stomped off, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway.

  4

  Joss lifted Emmy onto the step leading to the passenger car, then reached for Nathaniel. He gazed up and down the Grand Central Depot’s boarding platform, searching the crowd for any of Lanker’s henchmen. If the gambler got wind that Joss had collected his pay a week early, he’d be on the prowl. What with Mary giving away all but their most important belongings to anyone in need, word was out that they were leaving. It was only a matter of time before Lanker came to demand his money.

  Granted, the pay envelope held precious little compared to what Mary had squirreled away. How had she managed to accumulate such a sum? The things he could’ve done with that money if he’d known about it! But now, if Lanker’s men caught him, they’d take every penny, whether he owed it to Lanker or not. Nobody bested that former riverboat rat.

  Someone in the jostling crowd bumped him, and Joss jerked around, his heart in his throat. But to his relief, it was only a hunchbacked old man, who waved a gnarled hand in silent apology. Joss’s shoulders sagged. He was far too jumpy. They needed to get out of here—and quick.

  Mary touched his arm. “Have you spotted Tarsie?”

  “Not yet.” To be honest, he hadn’t been looking for Mary’s friend. “Don’t worry. She’ll be here.” He’d seen where she lived. He’d always thought the tenement he and Mary occupied was sad, but it seemed a palace compared to the one Tarsie shared with so many others. Kansas probably sounded like the promised land to the girl. “Come on—let’s get you on board.”

  He lifted Mary the same way he had the children, surprised by how little effort it took. She’d never been a robust woman, but when had she grown so slight? She grimaced as his hands cupped her rib cage, her pale cheeks turning an ashen gray. He set her down gently, concerned. Readying the family for the journey must have worn her out even more than he’d realized. But their four days on a train—one to Chicago, then three more to reach Des Moines, Iowa—would give her time to rest.

  Joss waited until she took hold of the children’s hands. Then he pressed their tickets into her skirt pocket. “Find us seats. I’ll keep a watch out for your friend.”

  She gave a weary nod and guided the children inside the car. Joss paced, his head low, his eyes flicking this way and that. He’d always been proud of his stature. By the time he was sixteen, he’d stood an inch taller than Pa. The man had never laid a hand on him once he had to look up at him—a huge improvement over the previous years of his life. Standing tall made others think twice about challenging him in a fight. But now, with his head a good two inches higher than any other man on the busy walkway, he’d be easily spotted by Lanker or his cronies. Would that Irish girl hurry already?

  A blue-suited conductor walked from the caboose toward the engine, swinging a brass bell. Its clang competed with the blast of steam from the engine. As he neared Joss, his steps slowed. “Got a ticket, mister?”

  Joss nodded.

  “Best get aboard, then. Pulling out in less’n five minutes.” He headed on, the bell clanging out its warning.

  Mary’s worried face appeared in the window above Joss’s head. He shrugged at her. If Tarsie didn’t hurry, they’d have to go without her. They could all catch a train tomorrow—trains left for Chicago every day now, thanks to Cornelius Vanderbilt’s ingenuity—but he couldn’t give Lanker a chance to catch up with him. He had to go now.

  Another cloud of hissing steam, accompanied by a shrill whistle blast, chased Joss to the passenger car’s step. Mary’d be crushed, and Joss wasn’t thrilled he’d squandered money on a ticket that wouldn’t be used, but they couldn’t wait for Tarsie. He’d told her eight o’clock. Wasn’t his fault she couldn’t follow directions. With a resigned huff, he heaved himself into the car.

  Tarsie collided with a wall of steam. Temporarily blinded, she ceased her headlong dash. Agnes’s tattered carpetbag, which she’d traded for Tarsie’s good pair of shoes and the quilt off her bed—an uneven trade, to be sure—bounced against Tarsie’s knees, throwing her off balance. She staggered two steps to the side, coughed, then squinted and plowed on through the steam. Just ahead, a conductor waved a tarnished brass bell by its wooden handle. She dashed to his side.

  “Excuse me, sir, I’m not in possession of a ticket, but—”

  The man gave her an imperious look. “If you don’t have a ticket, you can’t board.”

  Panic seized Tarsie’s breast. “But I must be boarding, sir! My friends and me, we’re going to Kansas!”

  “Not without a ticket you ain’t.” He took hold of her arm and steered her toward the depot.

  A tap-tap-tap captured their attention. The conductor halted and looked upward, as did Tarsie. To Tarsie’s great relief, Mary peered at them through a passenger-car window. She gestured with both hands, her meaning clear: Stay put! The conductor growled under his breath, but he hesitated long enough for Joss to burst from the car’s doorway.

  Joss held a square of paper in his hand. “I’ve got her ticket. Let her come aboard.”

  The conductor looked Joss up and down. Seemingly deciding he’d rather not tangle with the big man, he abruptly released Tarsie’s arm. Without a word of apology, he gave his bell a swing and plodded on.

  “What kept you?” Joss grabbed Tarsie’s bag and herded her toward the step. “You worried Mary half sick.”

  Tarsie lifted her skirts out of the way and struggled to mount the high step. She’d donned two dresses beneath her black cloak, and she felt thick and bulky. Joss let out a huff and caught her elbow, giving a push that launched her onto the little platform. She gasped in surprise and skittered out of his way as he leaped up behind her, his motions as lithe as a cat’s.

  Still panting from her wild dash to the station, Tarsie leaned against the doorframe. But Joss didn’t give her time to rest. Once again grasping her elbow, he propelled her through the narrow aisle to a tal
l wooden booth where Mary, Emmy, and Nathaniel crowded together on a green-velvet-cushioned seat. The children smiled greetings, and Mary reached both hands toward Tarsie. “Oh, Tarsie, thank the good Lord you made it.”

  The conductor bustled up the aisle with a wide-legged gait, the bell sticking out of his pocket. “Sit, sit! We’re leaving the station.”

  Joss tossed Tarsie’s bag onto the floor, then plopped onto the bench opposite his family. He filled the half near the window. Tarsie looked uncertainly at the open space beside him. Was she to share a seat with Joss?

  Mary released a soft laugh. “Here. You sit with the children.” As stiff as an elderly woman, she eased out of her bench and slipped in beside her husband.

  A high-pitched whine sounded, followed by a chug-chug, and the train lurched. Tarsie, turning toward the bench, was thrown smartly onto her bottom in the spot Mary had abandoned. Emmy and Nathaniel hunched their shoulders and tittered. Tarsie flashed a grin at the pair. The train picked up speed, and both children clambered onto their knees to peer out the window and wave at people standing on the platform. Joss sunk low in the seat and tugged his hat over his brows, his furtive gaze aimed at the passing crowd. Tarsie had no one to bid farewell, so she looked across the narrow gap to Mary.

  Mary smiled, her lips white in an equally colorless face. “Did you find it difficult to leave your employ?” Sympathy tinged Mary’s voice.

  Tarsie considered Mr. Garvey’s fury—ear-singeing expletives followed by a wheedling series of threats—when she’d told him she’d be leaving. When those tactics failed to sway her, he’d set her roommates to condemning her for leaving them holding her share of the rent. Then he’d insisted she honor her responsibility to clients who’d commissioned articles of clothing. By putting off sleep, she’d managed to complete the lace-bedecked shirtwaist and sweeping multilayered skirt for one of Mr. Garvey’s most particular patrons. The past days had been her most trying since her arrival in New York with her great-aunt a dozen years ago. But she gave Mary a warm smile. “Not at all.”