Part III

© 2005 by Elizabeth Delayne



The kitchen was a testimony that Roberta had at least tried to feed her children. The evening meal was dried into the pot that sat on the cold stove top, the dishes, lumped with messy stew still sat on the kitchen table, and food lay on the floor where it had fallen during the evening meal.

Martha sighed as she stared at the mess. I had been years since she'd had a kitchen of her own to clean. At the boarding house they worked together; when she cooked for her children, they cleaned together.

No one would have ever dreamed that Roberta's would have lost control. She'd always seemed to have everything in neatly place rows. People had bragged about her sewing, had told about the fanciful stories ...

But soon, if this got out, the gossip would turn rancid.

And it wouldn't just hurt Roberta. It would hurt Ellie ... the children, Ruby and Doc ....

Holding onto a whimpering Lucas, Martha turned from the mess. Roberta sat stoically in a chair James had built, staring into the cold hearth.

Martha knew she had more than one option. She could work around Roberta and hope Roberta jumped in to help, or she could plow right through the woman and the grief.

She walked Lucas to his mother and leaned over, careful setting him against her as she reached for Roberta's hands. They didn't reach up automatically to protect her child. They didn't seek him out.

It was as if she'd been stripped of all the essence of motherhood--of all that had made her the woman James had married.

But when Martha leaned back, she watched as Roberta's hands tightened and her face turned to breath in her son's scent.

"That's good," Martha murmured. "Just hold onto each other."

Leaving Roberta rocking back and forth, she went and took Mary's hand. One at a time, she thought, and smiled down at the little girl.

"Now do you think you can help me with this kitchen?"

*

Sunlight streamed through the store's front windows. Ellie held the length of fabric up so that it caught the light and scrutinized it. "Don't you think this is a little ... loud?"

Josie glanced over and tried so hard not to sigh. No matter how many times she prompted Ellie toward the more ... feminine colors, her future sister-in-law gravitated toward the mundane.

"I think it has color. You should choose something with color," Josie said as Ellie started to set the pale blue fabric down and reached for a grey. Quickly Josie reached out and tugged it from Ellie's hands. "Quit trying to be practical."

"I'm not being practical, I'm just ..."

"Being your father?"

She snorted. "Being me. I've never worn things like that," she said, looking back at the pale blue. "I've never had a use for things like that. It will only get dirty."

"It's that the point? That you wear something on your wedding day that you don't want to get dirty?" Josie asked, then tried again. "You wore that dress to the picnic. You wanted to wear it again for Thad."

"But—not the first time, not when my cousin first tried to get me to wear it. Then it ... then I knew how it would look and I knew how Thad would look when he saw it on me."

"It wasn't the fabric, Ellie," Josie reminded her patiently. "It was you."

Ellie sighed, and dropping her eyes, lifted the edge of a soft, peachy fabric and kneaded it between her fingers before tucking the length back under the roll.

"I know it was me," she said at last, still as if she was trying to convince herself. "If I'm going to get a dress, shouldn't it be more ...me?"

And how would she know, Josie wondered. Ellie had grown up, unused to the feel of a dress that was made for her, unused to colors that were the perfect tone for her skin. All the dresses had been hemmed or altered to fit her petite frame.

Josie watched as Ellie scanned the table of fabric searching for something safe, as she had the rolls that were stacked on the shelves.

"If you go for that grey fabric again I'm going to scream--Ellie, they had that in the store at home."

"I just don't know how to do this. I've never done this before."

"Well then, go for pretty. Just pick out things you find pretty."

Josie knew it was only something else for Ellie to worry over. She'd been raised by a practical man, on a farm. Things were planted in straight rows, line by line. She did the books for her father, her education having surpassed his. Her mind saw the figures in that practical manner.

For Ellie beauty was the land, the rows that had been plowed that you studied at the end of a long day, the fresh birth of each plant as it peaked from the earth.

She was content with the drapes and other fabric notions that were two decades old, things that she had packed away that had been her mother's. Roberta had decorated their new home beautifully, with colorful fabrics sewn to perfection.

Maybe Ellie was slightly shaken by the feminine touch. Maybe it was easier for her to look to her father, the farmer.

Josie knew what it was like to face that steady practicality. When she'd married Carl, she'd had to convince him that he'd needed new shirts, new pants. He'd been hesitant to spend money for himself on anything other than seed, farming equipment and dry goods.

Thad, however, didn't live as a farmer. He'd never been able to settle just for the row by row life as Carl had done. He'd traveled, had to look after himself and the needs of the company for whom he scouted. He'd had money and saved it, seen others abuse it, and abused by it. He'd brought nearly every penny of his own back to his mother, to make her life easier, to make up for his own absence.

He would appreciate the splash of color, the dresses, the notions, not because they made Ellie beautiful, but because the money and the work would seem worth it when it brightened Ellie's careful world.

She smiled a little as she walked over to Carl. He held his purchases in a neat stack before him. As always, he'd picked up the latest book on farming, a few packets of new seeds that he really didn't need, and pieces Josie recognized only as things that went on saddles, wagons and farming equipment. Where was the material for the new shirt he needed? The one he wore now was patched in several places. His Sunday shirt was not much better.

In their years of marriage he'd learned a great deal, but he was still the same practical man. "And what are you thinking, love?"

"That you're a wonderful, sensible, man."

"Mmm," he set aside his stack on the end of the counter and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil that had been whittled down to the nub. "If I'm to be so sensible, I suppose I should be taking notes. You made any decisions?"

Josie glanced back at Ellie who was moving further down the table of fabric, still hesitant.

"A few." Trying not to be obvious, she indicated a few of the fabric choices and gave Carl the lengths for when he came back later. There was the deep green for fall and the dark blue for winter. Josie didn't resist the soft blue that Ellie had studied earlier.

Ellie thought they were there for a single dress, but there was so much more that Josie and the other Newsome women had in store for her. Carl had two other brothers besides Thad, and their wives were ready for the sewing projects they had planned together.

Josie left Ellie alone, going on to look through notions for her own uses. They wouldn't make another trip back to Cartersville for some time. Carl didn't have the woodwork, or another trade, that Ellie's father had, so their trips were so much farther between. There would be things she would only be able to wish for later when the snows came. She was in need of buttons and thread and Ruby had requested more needles.

However, she kept her eye on Ellie as the soon-to be bride moved from cloth to cloth. She knew the moment Ellie hesitated again over the soft cream, one Josie had pointed out earlier, one somewhat similar to the color her dress would have been ... she knew then that Ellie had found the material for her wedding dress. It wasn't material for fall, so it would do her little good again until the spring, but it would be her wedding dress none-the-less.

*

They'd gone to town. Roberta had relented not because she'd wanted to go, but because she was tired of Martha pushing. At least she would have a break in town, away from Martha and the children. Maybe then she could focus on the light without wanting to curl into the darkness. Maybe some female companionship would help.

But when they reached the boarding house, and Martha shooed her off, Roberta didn't have the heart to head toward the shops where she would see the women she knew. Women who were friends, who were married, who were happy.

So she just started to walk, away from town, away from the busybodies, away from the places she had frequented with James.

She still couldn't think of him without weeping. He'd had such a strong character, such a wise mind. He'd been gentle and kind, with talented, strong hands. A good father, a loving man.

And when she thought of him, she remembered that her children would never know him, not his smile, not his laugh.

Not as Ellie did.

Nor did Roberta have the amount of memories that Ellie had, the years of companionship to remember and cherish.

When tears pricked her eyes, she stopped and concentrated on her breathing, blinking back the pools of tears that gathered in her eyes. She would not break down in the middle of town. She would not give people even more reason to feel sorry for her ...

As they had before she'd married James.

Poor Roberta. She's make some man a good wife.

Well, she had, hadn't she? She just hadn't had a chance to let her family blossom. They'd had less than five years together as man and wife, less then three as parents.

How she longed for her room, her bed, for the darkness and the night. She could slip into sleep and escape.

But she was in town. And people could see her and her grief.

So she took a few deep breaths and focused her eyes.

There was laughing and brightness. Men around tables. Playing poker. Drinking. She found herself entranced by the sound, the mindless chatter and something deeper, something darker.

The saloon, she realized, surprised she had walked so far. She started to step back, but stopped, unable to look away.

"You lost?"

Roberta turned quickly, feeling guilty and afraid that it showed on her face. A feeling a flashed across her consciousness, and for a moment, just a moment, she'd thought to go inside.

"No, I--" she stared up into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "No, of course not. I've lived in this town most of my life."

"And how many times have you frequented the Shady Horseman?"

"Never. And I wasn't now. Of course not. I was just walking by. That isn't a crime, is it?"

"No, but neither is going into a saloon." He tilted his head. "Why do you seem guilty?"

"I'm not. Of course I'm not."

"Then you wouldn't want to join me for a drink would you?"

"Of course not."

The man laughed, the sound rough and edgy. She looked at him and thought for a moment that she should feel fear. He looked as if he hadn't had a bath in sometime, the dark look of someone who lived on the trail. He had a scar that started at his cheek and ran down past his jaw until it disappeared behind the color of his shirt.

"Maybe I should accompany you then. Where were you heading?"

Roberta thought fast, but couldn't think of a place she would go beyond the doors of the saloon, or of a reason she could or should discourage him. "I wasn't going anywhere. Just out walking. I was given a morning of freedom from my children."

"Your husband have them?"

"My husband--" she murmured, and for a minute she tried to remember where he was, as if he was still alive. For a moment she started to turn and run back to where he would be waiting for her, waiting to take her home.

Then she remembered, and the pain rose up quickly.

"You feeling all right?"

"No--I'm mean, yes," she swallowed and fought to keep her composure. "It's just that, my husband ... he died, not long ago."

"Did he?" The man reached out, awkwardly patted her arm. "That's too bad. Maybe I could be of some company."

He was a stranger, Roberta thought, and a man. In both things she found comfort.

"If you would like."

*

The children were tucked in, tired after an afternoon of made-ups adventures and games that they'd played while following the wagon. Carl still leaned against the wagon wheel, strumming his guitar, quietly humming to himself. Ellie and Josie had already stretched out on their own pallets and were staring up at the stars.

Ellie let the music roll as she curled her fingers around the cameo. She thought of Thad, his mountains, prayed for his safety...

And sighed. If her father were still alive, if she could have done without a new dress, she would have been married and she would be looking up at the stars tonight with Thad by her side.

"You're thinking of Thad," Josie murmured.

"Yes," Ellie admitted and continued to study the stars.

"You want to share? It might help."

"Just thinking. We could have been married by now. We would be together. He would be showing me his mountains."

"You two and your mountains. How many new brides would want to spend the first month of marriage roaming the wilderness gathering pelts and following trails?"

Ellie grinned. She was sure the image in her head was completely different then the one in Josie's. As always it delighted her. "This one."

"If I didn't know you so well, I'd call you crazy."

"I've spent a lifetime here. Why shouldn't I want to see part of what Thad saw—part of what helped him into manhood and saw him safely back home? Why shouldn't I want to meet the people who helped Thad become the man he is today?"

"I haven't thought of it like that."

"No—and it is more than that. This is something he needs for me to do with him. He says that he used to think of me and wish that I could see so many things. When he was home, visiting my Pa, he would tell me there were things he wished that I could see, places he wished he could take me. Even before we even knew what we felt, he wanted me with him. It's important to him, so it's important to me."

"How long have you loved him?"

"All my life," Ellie murmured without thought and wondered over the words. She'd never voiced it allowed to anyone but herself—not even Roberta, whom she had shared some of the early wonder and feelings. No one had ever asked, no one had ever been close to her. Josie had been Carl's wife, a sister in some ways, but distant in others, more motherly at times then kind. Girls in town had their ways, and she had her own, working side by side with her father.

But her relationship with Josie had changed in the last few days, ever since she'd run into her house with the torn dress in her hands. As the soft music from Carl's guitar followed the air, she found it easy to open her inner box of cherished thoughts and memories.

"I missed him like crazy when he left the first time. I was too young to understand, and too young to feel like this, but I felt that part of myself was gone. He didn't say goodbye that first time. And he was gone for so long. It was over a year before we saw him again. He didn't send letters. No one knew if he was still alive."

"I remember. Carl and I had just started courting. Carl would go between worry and anger so fast," Josie's voice drifted off. "You would come around a lot that year, doing little chores for Martha, asking for cooking lessons when you didn't need them. You were just wishing to hear some news, weren't you?"

Ellie hadn't thought of that in a long time. "I couldn't ask. No one wanted anyone to speak Thad's name. Except for Martha. She would always talk of him."

"Even when Thad came home, it was hard for Carl," Josie recalled. "They argued constantly. So Thad spent time with your father."

"Most of the time."



"Is that when you knew that you loved him?"

"Maybe a little. Sometime after he started coming back home a little more regularly. He was always there with my dad, seeing if he could learn the trade--or so he said. After a month or so, he would leave, restless all over again, angry at life. He would come to my father, apologize for needing to escape, and be back in his saddle again. He would never write, but he'd send things, little things--some farming or woodworking things to Pa, but occasionally, little packages just for me, with ribbons or lace. Once he sent a book."

"Ribbons and lace?"

"What's wrong with ribbons and lace?"

"For you? It seems Thad has been looking at your feminine side for sometime."

Ellie thought over the gifts and shrugged. She'd worn them to church and tucked them into a small chest her father had made for her. She's treasured them. She'd never thought of them as odd.

"Maybe."

"More than maybe. So, he sent you packages..."

"And one day I was in the field with my pa, and I looked up, and I saw him, and I wished so desperately that he was riding home just to see me." She smiled, remembering the way he'd slid from his horse, remembering how he'd reached for her hand even before he'd greeted her father. "And he was."

Josie sighed again. "I always thought that Thad had a romantic side."

"I've never told anyone before. Besides Roberta. Sometimes I was able to tell Roberta those things."

"Were y'all ever close?"

"Before the babies came. Then Mary was her world. But that's the way it's supposed to be, isn't it?" When Josie didn't respond, Ellie turned over on her stomach and stared at her soon-to-be sister-in-law. "Josie?"

"I don't know, Ellie. It seems that God had already given her a daughter to cherish."

*

"You're quiet, my friend."

Thad glanced over at Rushing Waters, but he didn't say anything. His voice was deep, accented and fragmented at times, but with an articulate English that he had learned in the boarding school. They were riding through the night, toward Cartersville, more out of boredom then need. They planned to stop off at an old friend's barn who wouldn't mind them slipping in during the night.

Still, the road was taking him away from Ellie.

"Thinking of Ellie. Again."

Thad smiled and adjusted the reins in his hands. "She would be with me now, if not for ...."

Her stepmotherand a dress, and his own need to see her happy.

"She should be with you. You should have tied her to your horse and ridden away."

"I could have," Thad agreed, and thought of the sadness he'd seen in Ellie's eyes, "but I didn't. Would you?"

"I might have," Rushing Waters muttered, then added, "a century ago. It was the way of our people."

"And now?"

He grinned. "I like my freedom. Don't need a woman weighing me down."

Thad laughed then. No, Rushing Waters would not want a wife holding him down. He popped in and out of town on whims, sometimes missing scheduled departure days by weeks. No matter. Thad knew better then to wait around town for him now. Rushing Waters would always catch up to him.

It worried him a little with Ellie in mind. He wasn't sure that Rushing Waters would give them the privacy that he wanted. It was a good thing that Ellie liked his friend. They'd met during Thad's days scouting for the army. After years of boarding school, Rushing Waters had reclaimed his given name and was searching his roots. Most of his people were gone. They'd shared the loss, the loneliness. Their friendship had outlasted other jobs, other whims found in other towns.

Rushing Waters held up a hand and stopped. "Something's wrong. Do you smell it?"

Thad hadn't, but he did now. It was the smell of ashes mixed with the quiet of death.

Rushing Water's took the lead. Thad's heart began to pound. They turned up toward Jeremiah's cabin; his hand reached for his colt.

But it was for naught. The cabin, Jeremiah and his family were gone. The ashes were days old. Thad stood beside Rushing Waters and studied the remains of a chard cabin in the flickering torchlight. It had been a home for a family. Tonight is served as a grave marker.

"This wasn't an accident," Thad murmured, having walked the perimeter.

"No, it was not an accident," Rushing Waters agreed.

"They didn't have a chance to escape."

"The window, doorways were lit first. From the outside," Rushing waters pointed to the markings, then he following a trail of footprints. "They came over here, got on a horse, rode away with several others. Jeremiah's steed, perhaps."

Thad looked to the barn. It was dark and quiet and empty. "Jeremiah didn't have but one horse and a cow. Not enough for this."

"He rode with us at a time. He rode against men."

"He had a family," Thad thought of Ellie and the family he wanted to have with her. "He was a good man."

"There's been no burial. There has been no other witness."

"No, there wouldn't be a witness," Thad agreed. "We should go on into Cartersville. Report this. See what they know."

"We should," Rushing Waters agreed, but neither of them moved to their horses or the barn for the needed tools. "Do you want to get caught up in this, my friend? Ellie is waiting for you. And as you pointed out, the trail's cold. How much can you do?"

Thad took two small steps, heard the wood beneath his feet crack and eyed the toy that seemed to lay in the middle of the burning mess. He'd met this family. The little girl had been a baby the last time he'd seen her. He'd held her in his arms and thought of Ellie.

"He was a good man," Thad repeated. He looked over the charred building, then back at Rushing Waters. "But first, we need to bury them."


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