by Zina Abbott
“His mother died giving birth to a sister for Leander. The baby also died. When Leander was five, he and our younger brother, Lyman, came to live with me and the half Potawatomie woman.”
Surprised, Kizzie turned towards Charlie. This was the first she had heard Leander and Charlie had a younger brother.
“Where is Lyman?”
“He fights for the militia in the war against the Missouri guerillas.”
Leander came and sat on the edge of the porch next to Kizzie. “What have you two found to talk about all this time?”
Kizzie turned to him even as she finished pressing the butter in the churn. “I know you two are brothers, Leander. Not just blood brothers, but real brothers.”
His expression serious, Leander looked deep into her eyes. “I never denied it.”
“I know. And I told Charlie he shouldn’t deny it either. Not to me, anyway. And he told me about your other brother, Lyman.” She turned to Charlie. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me about your family.”
~o0o~
As two men rode far enough around the bend that the trees hid them from the view of the Atwell farmhouse, Charlie turned to Leander. “You have chosen well, my brother.”
“I know. However, I have not asked her yet. I don’t know if she will have me.”
Charlie looked ahead and chuckled. “If she were Kaw, she would already be considered a woman. You could have taken your two geldings you sold to the fort last year and given them to her father instead. You would already have a wife.”
“Except we both know as young as she is, her father would not have approved of her marrying me even if I gave him horses. He will want her to wait until she is older. Besides, Kizzie would have my head if I asked her father before I settled it with her first.”
“This is true. She is not like most women.”
“I want her to care for me and I want her to be sure of her feelings before I ask.”
Charlie shook his head. “You are taking too long. You need to learn how to court a white woman, my brother. At least the woman you chose is pleased you are interested in her mare.”
SALINA, KANSAS—MARCH 1865
CHAPTER 12
Kizzie entered her Palmer grandparents’ home where she found her grandmother sitting at her kitchen table with scraps of fabric spread across the top. “Grandma Mary, what is all this? Are you planning another quilt?”
Mary Alice Godwin Benton Palmer looked up from her task to smile a greeting at her oldest grandchild. “Yes, my dear. I’m trying to find just the right colors and patterns to go together well. Unfortunately, nothing is matching up the way I want it to. Maybe you’d like to help.”
“Ah…Grandma Mary, you know quilting and sewing are not my best talents. If you have your usual quilting bee to stitch the layers together I’ll be happy to come help you. But I don’t know much about matching colors or designing blocks.”
“This quilt won’t be hard, Kizzie. I have it in mind for you someday. I thought I’d do a simple four patch on point. They are very popular right now. Most of what I have are floral. I need some small prints or maybe some small plaids. I don’t suppose you have anything like that at your house.”
Kizzie thought back to some of the clothes she had buried in her chest. She was not inclined to be sentimental—except with horses, of course. It had broken her heart the day her papa had taken Lightning to Fort Riley, and now Sugarcone’s new colt sired by Thunder was growing strong and had already started his training. “Grandma, you’re sure you intend this quilt for me?”
‘Yes, dear. Eventually. How soon depends on how things progress.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe nothing. Tell me, has that young man who owns the stallion come by to see your new colt yet this spring?”
“Yes. He’s been by twice this past winter. Once before the colt was born and once right after. He says he will stop by again when his freight train starts down the Santa Fe Trail for Fort Union.” Kizzie’s eyes brightened with pleasure and her smile reflected the joy the memory of visiting with Leander brought her.
“And you care for this young man, don’t you?”
“Yes, very much.” Kizzie wasn’t ready to admit that she just might be in love with him. After all, he came to see the horses, not her.
“That’s good, dear. That’s what I thought. So, to go in this quilt, do you or your mother have any scraps of cloth from clothing you made and have enjoyed over the years, fabric patterns you can look at with fond memories?”
Kizzie once again thought of the clothes buried in her trunk. “Does it have to be new cloth, Grandma? Can it come from used clothes?”
“As long as the fabric isn’t too worn, some of it can come from old clothes.”
Kizzie started towards the door. “I’ll be right back, Grandma. I think I have something you can use.
Within the hour Kizzie returned with a colorful clutch of fabric in her hands. Mary scooted her fabric to one side to free a corner of the table for Kizzie’s cloth.
First Kizzie spread out a shirt with a small plaid design in brown and white. She caressed the fabric with her fingers as she smoothed out the wrinkles. “This shirt belonged to Leander Jones. He wore it the day that nasty varmint from his freight train came and threatened our family. You know, it was right after the bushwhackers attacked Salina. The scoundrel stabbed Leander in the shoulder and would have killed him if Charlie Gray Cloud hadn’t been there and shot him dead. After Mama fixed Leander up, we gave him one of papa’s shirts. I tried to get the blood out of this one, but couldn’t get rid of all the stain. So I just kept it.” Kizzie didn’t want to admit she had kept it as a reminder of how brave Leander had been that day as he fought for her and the others.
Mary picked up the shirt and ran a finger over the slit in the fabric where it had been torn by a knife. She eyed the brownish-yellow that marked where blood had flowed. “Yes, I remember your grandpa telling me the story. This fabric is still good. I’ll be able to cut quite a few squares out of the part that isn’t stained.”
Kizzie showed her the shirt with the small dark red and white checks. “This was Jesse’s shirt until he outgrew it almost as soon as Mama made it for him. I used to wear it when I rode herd with Papa. I wore it the day we all went to Junction City because of the Cheyenne massacres. Only, it got too tight in the bosom not long after that, and it was already too small for cousins Carl and Henry, so I just put it away. I knew Meredith wouldn’t wear anything boyish like this.” Kizzie could not forget she wore it the day she met Leander. She suppressed a smile at the thought of how silly she had been to not recognize the reason Thunder had behaved as he had around Sugarcone was because her mare was in season. It was because of his interest in her horse that she had been able to stay in touch with Leander all these years.
Mary studied the faded red in the checks and the wear spots on the shirt. “This fabric is older and the threads a little weaker. However, I think for small pieces, it will work fine.”
The third design was of tiny pink and white blossoms on a navy blue background that came from fabric scraps left over from her dress Grandma Mary had helped her make. “I know you recognize this fabric, Grandma Mary. It finally got too tight on me and I passed it along to Meredith.”
It was the dress she wore the day Leander had come with the wooden tube he had borrowed from the Fort Riley stable master to listen to Sugarcone’s belly. Although she had changed into trousers before going into the barn, she associated the dress with that day. Whether or not he had noticed the dress, she remembered wearing it that day. She also wore it the day she found out Leander and Charlie were really brothers.
Mary smoothed a scrap of the navy print across the flat of her palm. “Yes, I recognize this material. I always thought the dress made from it looked fetching on you.”
“I always liked it too, Grandma.”
“These fabrics will work very nicely in your quilt, Kizzie. I think I may have some other sma
ll plaids or checked shirting fabric I can mix in to make the small squares. I think I will use some unbleached muslin and brown homespun for background fabrics to tie them all together.”
“I’m so excited to think you’re going to make a quilt for me, Grandma Mary. I can hardly wait to see it.”
Grandma Mary smiled. She did not intend for the quilt to be for Kizzie alone. She had a pretty good idea who would be the perfect husband for this rambunctious granddaughter. However, since there had been no formal announcement, she did not want to count her chickens before they hatched. She held her tongue in hopes the two of them figured it out for themselves.
“You will see the finished quilt top soon enough, child. I’ll hold you to your promise to help quilt it together when I get it ready for a big family quilting bee.”
FORT RILEY, KANSAS—APRIL 1865
CHAPTER 13
Kizzie fought back panic as once again she began to feel overwhelmed. She was at Fort Riley by way of an invitation from Captain Prescott to participate in a spring social for the officers. Word had reached them that General Robert E. Lee had surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant. Although they still expected pockets of resistance, especially in Missouri, the War Between the States was all but over. Excitement ran high, and not only the officers, but especially their wives, wanted to celebrate.
Like most frontier forts, Fort Riley had many more officers than women with whom to dance and socialize. That was why during the trip Captain Prescott had made to the Atwell farm to arrange for the purchase of the foal born to Sugarcone the previous year, he had invited Kizzie and Hannah to attend. With Kizzie being eighteen and Hannah being barely seventeen, the two fathers had reluctantly agreed they should go on the condition Kizzie’s Uncle Jefferson, Hannah’s father, would accompany them as chaperone.
Only now she and Hannah were in the Prescott home with Mrs. Prescott. More precisely, they were in the bedroom that had once belonged to the Prescott daughter before she had married a career brevet captain and followed him to Indiana. The daughter had left behind a collection of ball gowns claiming they were too outdated and too bulky for it to be worthwhile for her to take them with her. That was how Kizzie found herself serving as a clothes horse as Mrs. Prescott busied herself having her and Hannah try on gown after gown to see what fit best and what would look best on each girl.
All Kizzie knew was she was uncomfortable being cinched tightly in the corset Mrs. Prescott found for her. She fervently wished she could be wearing a pair of trousers and a comfortable shirt over her camisole and the loose corset she normally wore at home. She knew she would much rather be riding Sugarcone in the countryside outside the fort than to be trapped in this room trying on ball gowns over a hoop and multiple layers of petticoats.
Finally Mrs. Prescott settled on one for Hannah in a pale blue that brought out the blue in her cousin’s eyes. Kizzie had to admit Hannah, who always looked beautiful, looked even more gorgeous in her gown.
The dress Mrs. Prescott settled on for Kizzie was a pink frothy affair smothered in gathers and ruffles. It just was not her style. While Mrs. Prescott exclaimed over how the pink looked perfect with Kizzie’s dark hair and olive complexion, Kizzie looked down at the neckline that barely covered her bosom. Although she realized it was modest enough, she could not resist the urge to reach down and hike it higher.
“Oh, no, dear.” Mrs. Prescott reached over and stilled her hand. As the woman placed a finger on Kizzie’s chin to turn her head towards her, Mrs. Prescott held her gaze as she offered words of encouragement. “The dress is lovely on you, Miss Atwell, and is completely appropriate. After we fix your hair and your cousin’s, you two will be the belles of the ball.
Kizzie doubted that. She had agreed to come, all in the name of developing good faith between her family who did business with Fort Riley and for the good cause the fort chose to sponsor as an excuse for holding the social.
The gentlemen who came were expected to pay an entrance fee which would be forwarded to the Sanitary Commission to help those wounded soldiers still recovering from injuries and illnesses sustained in the war. Because it was Mrs. Prescott’s special project, Captain Prescott had worked extremely hard to assure there were enough attractive young single ladies present in order to command a hefty entrance fee from his women-starved officers. Kizzie suspected he was scraping the bottom of the barrel with her. However, he did say the men were women-starved, so she supposed that was the reason she had been encouraged to come.
Kizzie began to empathize with how her papa’s cattle might feel at auction, assuming they had any feelings concerning the matter. She quietly sighed and assured herself it was only for one night.
Mrs. Prescott interrupted her thoughts. “Here, dear. These earbobs will be just perfect with this dress.”
Kizzie screwed the earbobs in place and shook her head as she stared in the mirror. She usually didn’t wear earbobs, let along long ones that draped down her neck like these.
Once Kizzie was dressed and her hair styled with bows holding her locks in place, she had to admit Mrs. Prescott had done wonders and made her look pretty. Perhaps some of the men who came would be able to see beyond Hannah and notice her.
Mrs. Prescott’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Come, dear. Let me put you in my private office while I finish with your cousin. With all these hoop skirts, a room can get crowded quickly.”
Kizzie followed the captain’s wife to one of the most elegant rooms she had ever seen. White painted trim and wainscoting set off dove gray walls. Kizzie suspected the captain had decorated this room out of his personal funds to please his wife since the style was far more elegant than what she had seen in the rest of the officer’s quarters supplied by the Army.
Kizzie sat in the chair to which Mrs. Prescott directed her. Once she was alone, she studied the white painted writing table with its quill pen and parchment paper. Surely Mrs. Prescott had access to a real pen with a metal nib. Kizzie picked up the quill and cradled the feathery shaft in her hand as she pretended she was writing. She decided the old-fashioned writing quill was there for decoration. How different things were in Mrs. Prescott’s home than in her own house where almost everything inside had either a practical purpose or held sentimental value for the family.
At the sound of footsteps, Kizzie put the writing table back the way she had found it and rose from the chair to face the door.
Mrs. Prescott’s smiling face greeted her. “Are you ready, dear? It is time to meet the gentlemen who have come in anticipation of dancing with you. Isn’t this exciting?”
Kizzie smiled and nodded. Inside she felt anything but excited. Her papa loved to dance, and there had been occasions where she had joyfully watched him dance with her mama. He had taught both her and Meredith to dance, plus Otto had been pressed into service to partner with her as well as his sister. Kizzie hoped she remembered the steps she had learned. She hoped she wouldn’t trip over all the flounces that trailed along the floor.
The time had come. Kizzie found herself introduced to a host of eager, handsome officers resplendent in their dress uniforms. She greeted each one and promised a dance to several who asked. She noted that she received almost as much attention and expressions of admiration as Hannah who stayed close to her side until the first dance pulled them from each other and into the arms of handsome officers making every effort to charm them.
Kizzie smiled and responded as the men questioned her or offered their compliments. She managed to keep her feet as she danced. Only once or twice did she notice eyes stray to study her neckline, but her scowl of disapproval reminded the gentlemen to behave like gentlemen. Kizzie realized she was almost having a wonderful time. There was something missing to keep it from being the perfect party, but she wasn’t sure what it was.
As she finished a dance and her partner returned her to Hannah’s side while issuing a polite expression of appreciation for being in her company, Kizzie suddenly realized what was missing. She didn’t want to
be here in a crowded ballroom with all these men wearing their dashing uniforms. She wanted to be in the quiet countryside riding Sugarcone with Leander Jones on Thunder at her side.
A commotion near the entrance caught Kizzie’s attention. As if she had conjured him up, there Leander Jones stood mere feet away from her, shaking hands with a few of the senior officers. She had never seen him dressed so formally. She could not tear her eyes away from the dark wool suit with the gray brocade vest peeking from beneath his coat. The black silk scarf tied in a bow under his collar was so different from the bandanna or open-necked work shirt she was accustomed to him wearing.
Leander’s eyes finally connected with hers. Kizzie watched him as he halted in place at the sight of her. He turned back to the men he had been conversing with and spoke a few words before he turned and walked directly towards her, ignoring any attempts by others to catch his attention. Leander took her hand as if to lift it to his lips, but he never got it that far. Instead he clasped it between both of his as he focused his gaze on her face for several seconds. Next he surveyed her hair and gown.
Leander’s eyes sparkled and his smile broadened. “You look lovely, Miss Atwell. Kizzie. If I had known you would be here tonight, I would have come earlier.”
“I’m happy to see you too, Leander. You look rather handsome yourself in that suit. Not that you don’t always…I mean, that suit looks very nice on you.”
Leander offered a self-conscious chuckle. “That is one of the advantages of working for my father. His store carries gentlemen’s ready-mades for all occasions. I didn’t want to come tonight. I’m not comfortable with these affairs. However, since we are doing a lot of contract freighting for the Army right now, my father felt it was necessary.” He stopped and shook his head. “If I had known what awaited me here, nothing could have prevented me from being the first through the door.”