Night Fires in the Distance

by Sarah Goodwin

  “Why don’t we ride past there on the way back to town?” I said.

  “That adds miles to the journey,” her brother pointed out.

  “Better a few miles onto the journey than a wasted trip there and back on a horse. If they’re in trouble we’ll all end up riding out there to help anyway,” Cecelia said.

  We all stood quietly. I watched Rachel as carried a basket of tools to the wagon. The doll was tucked into the waist of her skirt, her eyes were dry. I’d thought losing Will would have brought more tears.

  I tore my gaze from Rachel and straightened my back. I wasn’t about to break, not while there was work to do.

  “I just want to get away from this place,” I said. “We’ll all go.”

  “Franklyn, pack up your supplies, then help us with the stove,” Cecelia said. Her eyes were full of sadness, but her voice held none of it. I was grateful for that. I couldn’t take any more pity.

  “The stove?” His voice was incredulous. “Will there be room?”

  I looked at him. He really had no idea. “Most everything else’s been eaten or burnt. There’ll be plenty of room.” I turned and headed for the soddie, hearing Cecelia’s steps behind me.

  “I’m sorry about him, he means well enough. He’s just not used to this. To how things are out here. I must’ve been the same when I came here.”

  “But you know what it’s like now. And what it’s like to lose what I’ve lost.”

  Only she’d never seen her baby grow up to speak and run and laugh at jam prints on his clothes. I had a lock of Beth’s gold hair, tied with a piece of twine and pressed between the pages of my Bible. Nora had barely sprouted a single curl, but I’d trimmed that too and kept it. I would not forget what the prairie had taken from me.

  In the soddie William lay on the tick, completely still, a soiled sheet drawn up to his chin. I brushed grasshoppers from him and looked at his face for a moment. That face had spewed hate at me, hovered over mine as he forced himself into me, sweat dripping onto my cheeks. That face had been the first face I’d seen every morning for over ten years. The man who’d bought me flowers, who’d struck my children as they hauled turnips. I put my hand on my belly. I had his child in me still, and it would never know him.

  Thomas came to my side and looked down at his father. He tucked his pipe and empty tobacco pouch between Will’s arm and his chest. He looked at Will for a long moment before going outside, where I heard him heave a shuddery breath. Rachel didn’t come and I didn’t look for her.

  I heard Cecelia emptying out the dry grass from a tick outside. I could only look down at William, wondering why I felt so sad. Hadn’t I thought of killing him a hundred times in the past year? Still, I felt an ache. He’d died a bad death, the same as Beth and Nora. I’d wanted to spare him that.

  “Laura?”

  Cecelia was at my side, the empty tick in her hands.

  “I’ll do it,” I said, taking it from her.

  I knelt down beside him and raised the sheet to cover his face. I felt that I should say a prayer, but nothing came to mind. Instead I eased Will’s body over by his shoulders, rolling him until the sheet lay beneath him. The tick cover I draped over his naked back. Once the loose fabric was twisted around him and knotted firmly, I stood and nodded to Cecelia.

  We moved him to the barn. Cecelia led the starving oxen out onto the parched dirt, then helped me to carry Will inside. Beth and Nora were lying in the far corner, separated from where the oxen lived by a low wall of sod that had once protected the fodder.

  She laid her hand on my arm for a moment, then squeezed gently and let her arm fall. She gave me a minute to say goodbye, and after a few moments Thomas and Rachel joined me in the barn. I ignored the ripe smell of rot and knelt by my babies, whispered to them and touched their hands through the sheet wrappings. Rachel put her ribbons in the centre of their bundled up bodies, along with the gold buttons she’d cut from her dress before we burnt it.

  Thomas touched his sisters’ feet, gentle squeezing as he had when he was just a tiny boy, meeting his first baby sister, now his only sister. He had no trinkets to leave, but stayed at their feet for a while, as if watching over them.

  We walked into the sun together, leaving the dark and the dead behind

  The wagon was barely half filled, even with the brother’s supplies and our remaining things. It was hard to believe that we’d come from Ohio with a wagon heaving with goods.

  “Ma, what should I do now?” Rachel asked as I put her up inside the wagon.

  “Stay out of the sun, we’ll be going soon,” I said. She was still so thin and weak looking. I worried that at any moment the fever might set in and take her too.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  I didn’t know. My mind had only taken me so far as filling the wagon and leaving the stinking soddie behind. Without Will my instinct was to return to Ohio, where there was some part of our family. But what then? Could I present myself to Jacob and ask that he honour his brother by paying my passage back to England with the children? The thought of seeing my parents, Will’s mother and father, made me feel tired and helpless. But what else was there for me to do? I couldn’t imagine myself marrying another man, at my age, and feeling as I did for Cecelia. I’d have to go on alone, taking care of my small family.

  “Why did that lady lie about being Mr Clappe?” Rachel asked.

  There seemed no point in continuing the lie. “Mr Clappe is a person that Cecelia made up. She was just pretending to be a man so she could live here and farm.”

  Rachel’s dark brows drew together. “I thought he was too pretty to be a man.”

  I felt my heart ache for her innocence, still there after the death that had come so close to taking her.

  “I’ll be back in a while, don’t go off,” I said.

  “I won’t.”

  I went around the house and found Thomas just outside the barn. Both the oxen were tethered out of the way while he struggled with the last thing to be loaded, our sod cutting plough. It really was such a rusty old thing. He looked up as I came closer and I saw the strain in his face, the paleness under the dirt.

  “Take a rest Thomas, you’re still sickly.”

  “I need to get this on the wagon.”

  “I’ll do it, with Franklyn’s help.”

  He looked at me, as though we were meeting for the first time. “He’s that lady’s brother, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pa thought you were sweet on her, when she was all dressed up, acting like a man.”

  “Pa was just worried,” I said, because Will wasn’t with us anymore and all the unkind, true things I’d known about him didn’t matter.

  “You’re sweet on her,” Thomas said, “I saw you.”

  He must have seen us kissing. I’d been too relieved to have her back to keep my wits about me. That was how Franklyn had caught us, and now Thomas knew as well. I’d never really thought about what it’d be like if the children found out. Only in so much as I’d imagined having them taken from me by their father or some God fearing town’s people. I guess I’d thought if it got that far Will’d kill me before it mattered. I should’ve been afraid, at any other time I would’ve been scared out of my mind at what Thomas thought of me, about who he might tell. But the normal world, where nails were ten cents a sack and seeds sewn in spring would come up by fall had stopped existing for me.

  “She’s a good woman,” I said.

  Thomas had gone red in the cheeks and I wondered how much he understood of the things Will and I had done to make him and his sisters, how much he understood of what I was still only beginning to grasp. About Cecelia and I.

  “She’s sweet on you,” he said and bolted for the wagon as if he expected me to cuff him across the back of the head.

  For a moment my heart thudded guiltily, then I looked into the darkness of the barn, and saw the white shapes, wrapped in sheets. That was how much good love was at holding back the bad in the wor
ld. At least when I lost Cecelia I’d know she was home with her family. Who would take care of my girls here?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Cecelia

  It saddened me to see how little Laura had to take with her; but not as much as it broke my heart to see all that she left behind.

  One we’d put the rusted plough onto the wagon, Laura took a shovel, and so did I. The walls of the barn were strong and baked hard as brick under the sun, but with Franklyn helping we levered a few pieces of sod loose near the top and the roof began to fall in. Though it all, Laura’s face wore only an expression of effort, and we pushed and hacked at the walls until they toppled and fell down on top of the crumbled roof. No part of the shrouded bodies was exposed, but I looked at the pile of dead earth with a shiver. Grasshoppers were already jumping over the dirt and scraping out their infernal song.

  Charlie had been buried in a tiny coffin of polished wood, with flowers and candles in the church as we prayed for him. I didn’t even know if Nora and Beth had been baptized. They deserved better, and I was appalled that we could offer them no better.

  Franklyn walked to the wagon and I heard him climb up on to the seat. The two children were inside already, under the wagon cover, sheltering from the sun and the insects. After a moment I joined my brother, leaving Laura to her grief.

  Looking back into the wagon, I saw a wooden supply crate with their few odd possessions in it; candles, soap, boot polish and tooth powder. Tucked to one side was the family Bible, its leather cover worn to a shine, tied closed with a blue hair ribbon.

  There was a crushed insect on almost everything that had been loaded into the wagon, and a few of the pests remained alive to hop around until Thomas caught them and flicked them through the small hole in the cover. The wheels on either side of us were caked in grasshopper pulp, dried brown and mixed with dust. Behind the wagon the two surviving oxen trailed listlessly on long ropes, too tired and thirsty to do more than put one foot in front of the other. I hoped that they’d make it to the creek in the ravine, and that there’d be water there when we reached it.

  Laura climbed up onto the seat beside me and was silent as Franklyn brought the horses to order and started us in the direction of Jamison’s house. Her body was stiff and unwelcoming as a bit of spiny brush. I knew she didn’t want me to reach for her hand and I bore my sadness at not being to offer that comfort. I knew from losing Charlie that there were no words that could take the pain away, no touch that could go to deep enough to sooth the raw place inside where that bond was torn out. I could only offer her what I’d wished to hear at that time, and pray that it would help, even a little, like lighting a candle in the longest night.

  “You did everything you could,” I said softly, “you were a good mother to them while they were yours, and you will never forget them, or love them any less for being gone. They will always be your children.”

  Laura only nodded stiffly, as though to do more would undo her entirely. The time for tears, for breaking, would come, I knew. Now she had to be strong, until danger was behind us, and she could cease her watch over her children, and close her eyes to grieve.

  I had no way of articulating what I’d seen in the soddie; the marks on Deene’s neck, the coiled rope, Rachel’s raw palms. I kept telling myself that I must have been mistaken in what I’d seen, yet I couldn’t get the image of it out of my head. It made me feel cold all thought the centre of myself as though I had witnessed the crime myself. Crime was what it was; murder, patricide. A murderer not yet out of girlhood, and not by some easy, impersonal means, but by the savage use of her own hands.

  Desperation wasn’t a foreign thing to me, but to be so desperate to be free of hardship, of a father’s harsh will that I would strangle him in his sickbed as he showed signs of recovering? I could not imagine such despair, or how it might feel to carry such an act on shoulders so young. I could not let myself imagine, for sheer horror prevented me.

  I was only glad that she had done it and wished that I’d had the strength to do it myself all those months ago, as he’d thrown Laura into the snow. Perhaps without him keeping her in the soddie she would have come to me for help sooner and we could have left the prairie behind.

  Maybe if I’d been braver and gone to her, Beth and Nora would have survived.

  None of us looked back at the ruined barn or the soddie that still stood beyond it.

  It took a good while to reach Jamison’s soddie, the constant weight of the sun on us, the knowledge that we had very little water, the presence of the grasshoppers that leapt up at the wagon, landing on Laura’s shift, striking Franklyn’s hands as he held the reins. I was filled with dread at the thought of the long journey back to town.

  The house was shut up tightly, its shutters closed and no sound coming from anywhere around. Even the barn was silent. We wasted no time on wondering what was inside. I climbed down after Laura, Franklyn followed us to the door. I found myself at the front of our small party and knocked on the splintery boards. No answer came.

  “Hattie, Jamison? We’re coming in.” I called, glancing at Laura, who looked as tense as I felt.

  Inside, a crudely made table and two chairs were standing by the tick that still lay on the floor, piled with dirty sheets. Everything seemed in order, down to the pipe sitting on the table by a glass, sticky and covered in flies. There was a pot on the stove, reeking of spoilt meat and the smell made my eyes water.

  Laura stepped into the house, while I held my nose and Franklyn coughed. “There was a tin up here,” she said, gesturing to a small shelf on the wall, “Jamison kept money in it. Will told me.”

  “Maybe he took it and figured they didn’t need any of the things here?” I said.

  She lifted the lid of a small box at the foot of the tick.

  “His clothes are gone.” She dipped her hand in and pulled out a handful of skirt, covered in lace and ribbons. “Hers are still right here.”

  “Maybe Hattie’s wearing his spares? If they were going on a long journey it might have suited her better.” It was logical but still I felt uneasy, Jamison hadn’t seemed the kind to lend his trousers to his wife, whatever the circumstances. “Franklyn, go check the barn and see if the horse is there.”

  He went and I joined Laura, looking at the box of women’s clothes.

  “She’s not here,” she said, “whatever happened…she has to be somewhere.”

  We both looked around us, and seeing nothing amiss in the living area, I pushed open the door to the lean-to at the back. The smell intensified, and I could see it had nothing to do with the pot on the stove. Lying between the washtub and a clutch of tools was Jamison’s body. The sudden stink of him billowed up and made me cough, my eyes watering. There was broken glass all over the floor, it looked as though he’d been struck with a bottle while he was bent over seeing to some task. I shut the door quickly, knowing even as I did so that I would be seeing that grasshopper-gnawed face in my nightmares for the rest of my life.

  My hand flew to my mouth and I must have made a noise because Laura was at my elbow in a second. She thrust me back, opened the door and closed it quickly with a short intake of breath. With all she’d seen I doubted there could be fresh horror left in her. She squeezed my hand for a moment, then went to the supply chest and started to look through it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, but I knew already.

  “He’s gone, and so is she. Whatever they left here isn’t going to do them any good now.” She glanced up at me. “Don’t look at me like I’m some thief.”

  The sting in her words wasn’t aimed at me, I could see the self-disgust all over her face.

  “I know. You’re right,” I said, “I’ll see if there’s anything on the shelves.”

  As it turned out, there wasn’t much. The food had all been packed up and taken. The only thing I found was a paper sack of flour with a hole in it. There was no sign that mice had gotten to it, or that insects had found their way into the course power, so I too
k the bag and wrapped it in an apron before putting it in the supply box.

  Franklyn returned just as we were carrying the box to the wagon.

  “There’s no horse in the barn,” he said, “no body either.”

  “We found it,” Cecelia said. “It’s Jamison.”

  “It looks like his wife took his money and his clothes and ran away.” I said, my voice so quiet even I could hardly hear it. The smell was still in my nostrils, I could almost taste it on my dry lips. More than anything I wanted to scrub it off of me.

  “Where do you think she’s gone?” Franklyn asked.

  “Maybe she went off to find some other fool to marry her,” Laura said.

  “When we reach town we should get word to the marshals. She killed her husband,” Franklyn said, keeping his voice low. “Why on earth would she-”

  “She’s a whore, not a homesteader,” Laura said, “the drought, the grasshoppers…if I could barely manage she must have been desperate. Desperate people can do terrible things to survive.”

  Franklyn closed his eyes briefly, then returned them to the prairie ahead.

  I glanced back at the wagon. “We should start back now. We’ll need to stop at my house as well.”

  He didn’t ask me for a reason. I wondered how much the last few days had affected him. He had lost the bluster and self-righteousness of a man on a rescue mission. He was sunburnt and tired and I knew he would never forget the amount of death he’d witnessed, as I wouldn’t.

  “Shouldn’t we bury him?” Franklyn asked.

  Laura swallowed and glanced at me.

  “There isn’t much of him to bury,” I said.

  We left Jamison’s body behind us and headed for my soddie. For most of the way we could see back to the Deene house and I saw Laura cast her eye to it frequently. I couldn’t imagine the things she must have felt, leaving her children with no grave marker aside from their empty house, a house she’d weathered so much in.