Walk on Earth a Stranger
Page 36
I blow it dry, fold it shut, and hand it back to the postmaster, who has been helping other customers while I wrote. I watch as he drops it in the box, and when Jefferson does not appear instantly to claim it, I head outside.
The general store draws me like a moth to a flame because two pretty blue-gingham dresses are now displayed in the window. The more I stare at them, the more I consider the possibility that I miss skirts even more than I miss my daddy’s rifle. For some reason, the thought of meeting Jefferson while looking like a boy makes me feel funny inside.
Then I see the prices. Twenty dollars each!
Someday, I’ll be rich. I’ll use my magic to find so much gold in California that I’ll be able to buy all the dresses and rifles a girl could ever want. I’ll buy carrots and sugar cubes for Peony too. White sugar cubes just because I can afford them. And I’ll have a tidy house with an oak bannister and a bright dormer—
“Hiram!” comes a voice.
I flatten myself against the wall like a rat trapped in the pantry corner. My eyes frantically search the crowd. Maybe Jim was wrong about Hiram taking the sea route. He probably turned around and came up the Mississippi in a steamer. Caught up to me when I was down with fever.
“Hey, Hiram, over here!”
The man shouting and waving is no one I recognize. He has a curly beard and an army issue jacket. His gaze leads my attention across the street and—
“Lemuel!”
A little sob escapes my lips. It’s not my uncle. Just someone who shares his name.
But Uncle Hiram will surely be waiting for me in California. It’s a big territory, I tell myself. Big enough to disappear in, maybe. Especially if he’s looking for a girl.
My hands don’t get the message though, and they refuse to stop trembling as I untie Peony from the hitching post. She nuzzles my fingers, looking for a treat.
“Sorry, girl. We don’t have enough money left for—”
“Lee McCauley!”
There’s nothing but jump left in me. I whip my head around, half ready to run, and find Mr. Joyner bearing down on me. His suit is as pristine as always, and I don’t have a single notion as to how he’s not as mud-spackled as the rest of us. “Sir,” I say, surprised. “Glad to see you.” I’m even more surprised that I mean it. It’s good to see a familiar face, even if it’s someone I don’t care for much.
“I can’t believe my good luck. Have you signed on with a wagon company yet?”
“No, sir,” I say, and immediately regret it. I don’t fancy being chased off by his wife again.
“Our hired hands took off. Thought they could make more money with another company. They’ll regret it, though.”
“Oh. I’m real sorry to hear that.” Though not at all surprised. “Must be hard on Mrs. Joyner.”
“It is, thank you. The thing is, now I need a couple hands to help manage the wagon and cattle. I found one fellow already, but I need another.”
“You offering me a job, Mr. Joyner?”
“You’ve proven yourself reliable and of decent moral character.”
“I don’t think your wife agrees, pardon my saying.”
He has the grace to seem confused. “Mrs. Joyner accepts my judgment in these matters. I remember that day, Mr. McCauley, when you helped us load the wagon without asking for pay. I was going to offer you a job the next day, but you disappeared.”
I don’t like the Joyners, and I’ll probably never like the Joyners. But this might be my last chance to travel in a big company. Might be my last chance to head west this season at all.
I’ve done all I can. I came here to meet Jefferson, just as I said I would. I’ve looked for him. I’ve left a message for him. If I wait any longer, it’ll be too late. It’s time for me to give up the search and hope our paths cross somewhere else.
My heart is a stone in my chest as I say, “Board as long as I’m with you. And two dollars and fifty cents a week until we get to California or part ways.”
He hesitates.
“I’ve got another offer,” I say. “Heading out tomorrow.” He doesn’t need to know that my other offer is with a single soul, when I’d rather travel with a big outfit.
“Done!”
He spits into his palm and holds out his hand. I stare at it.
I’ve never entered into a contract before. Not formally, like this. And I still wouldn’t, if he knew I was a girl.
I spit into my own palm, and we clasp hands, shaking firmly.
Chapter Seventeen
Mr. Joyner jabbers incessantly as we ride toward the wagons, which suits me fine because I don’t care for talking just now. I know I’ve made the right decision, but I feel like a shell of a girl, all hollow and aching at the possibility that I’ve missed Jefferson for good. What if I never see him again?
The Joyners had several delays on their journey, he tells me, including an inauspicious layover in St. Louis that involved riverboat gambling, where Mr. Joyner tried to increase their stake and would have, if not for that cheating Ohioan. But the good Lord watched over him, and he managed to come out even, more or less, by which I gather he means “less.” But wonderful memories were made, and now they’re here and ready to go, and all’s well that ends well and every other phrase he can think of to make things sound good when they’re not.
“We’ve had terrible luck finding a wagon train that would take us,” he says.
“Oh?” Peony’s ears twitch; Mr. Joyner’s gelding has veered too close for her comfort. I pat her neck to soothe her.
“Many of the so-called leaders of these expeditions are puffed-up martinets,” he explains. “Uncouth men who feel that the miles on their boot soles entitle them to pass judgment on their betters.”
“I see.”
“I saw right through them, of course, and they resented a man who could so easily smash their pretensions.”
“I’m sure.” I’ve been wandering the staging area for weeks, so I know full well that no one wants to take on an overloaded wagon.
“We finally found a small company of God-fearing men,” he continues. “Mostly from Missouri, with a few other families besides. The group is led by an excellent man, Major Wally Craven, a veteran of the Black Hawk War, who knows how to deal with Indians.”
We near the camp, which is a tight bundle of wagons and campfires and small tents. He says, “I’m off to tell Major Craven the news. He’s eager to depart.”
“What should I do?”
“Familiarize yourself with the company and then come find my wagon. It’s the big one.”
“I remember your wagon.”
“I’ve hired one other young man. He came west with a German family from Ohio. They’re part of our company too, though he works for me now. He’s congenial and hardworking, so don’t you worry about his deficiencies.”
I have no idea what he means by “deficiencies,” and I’m making up my mind whether it would be impolite to ask when he says, “Speak of the devil, and he appears.”
He points to a rider coming across the field. “There’s the fellow now. Go on, introduce yourself and ask him to perambulate the camp and familiarize you with our traveling compatriots, as well as the procedures we’ve agreed to follow. I’ll meet you at the wagon later.”
The general store draws me like a moth to a flame because two pretty blue-gingham dresses are now displayed in the window. The more I stare at them, the more I consider the possibility that I miss skirts even more than I miss my daddy’s rifle. For some reason, the thought of meeting Jefferson while looking like a boy makes me feel funny inside.
Then I see the prices. Twenty dollars each!
Someday, I’ll be rich. I’ll use my magic to find so much gold in California that I’ll be able to buy all the dresses and rifles a girl could ever want. I’ll buy carrots and sugar cubes for Peony too. White sugar cubes just because I can afford them. And I’ll have a tidy house with an oak bannister and a bright dormer—
“Hiram!” comes a voice.
I flatten myself against the wall like a rat trapped in the pantry corner. My eyes frantically search the crowd. Maybe Jim was wrong about Hiram taking the sea route. He probably turned around and came up the Mississippi in a steamer. Caught up to me when I was down with fever.
“Hey, Hiram, over here!”
The man shouting and waving is no one I recognize. He has a curly beard and an army issue jacket. His gaze leads my attention across the street and—
“Lemuel!”
A little sob escapes my lips. It’s not my uncle. Just someone who shares his name.
But Uncle Hiram will surely be waiting for me in California. It’s a big territory, I tell myself. Big enough to disappear in, maybe. Especially if he’s looking for a girl.
My hands don’t get the message though, and they refuse to stop trembling as I untie Peony from the hitching post. She nuzzles my fingers, looking for a treat.
“Sorry, girl. We don’t have enough money left for—”
“Lee McCauley!”
There’s nothing but jump left in me. I whip my head around, half ready to run, and find Mr. Joyner bearing down on me. His suit is as pristine as always, and I don’t have a single notion as to how he’s not as mud-spackled as the rest of us. “Sir,” I say, surprised. “Glad to see you.” I’m even more surprised that I mean it. It’s good to see a familiar face, even if it’s someone I don’t care for much.
“I can’t believe my good luck. Have you signed on with a wagon company yet?”
“No, sir,” I say, and immediately regret it. I don’t fancy being chased off by his wife again.
“Our hired hands took off. Thought they could make more money with another company. They’ll regret it, though.”
“Oh. I’m real sorry to hear that.” Though not at all surprised. “Must be hard on Mrs. Joyner.”
“It is, thank you. The thing is, now I need a couple hands to help manage the wagon and cattle. I found one fellow already, but I need another.”
“You offering me a job, Mr. Joyner?”
“You’ve proven yourself reliable and of decent moral character.”
“I don’t think your wife agrees, pardon my saying.”
He has the grace to seem confused. “Mrs. Joyner accepts my judgment in these matters. I remember that day, Mr. McCauley, when you helped us load the wagon without asking for pay. I was going to offer you a job the next day, but you disappeared.”
I don’t like the Joyners, and I’ll probably never like the Joyners. But this might be my last chance to travel in a big company. Might be my last chance to head west this season at all.
I’ve done all I can. I came here to meet Jefferson, just as I said I would. I’ve looked for him. I’ve left a message for him. If I wait any longer, it’ll be too late. It’s time for me to give up the search and hope our paths cross somewhere else.
My heart is a stone in my chest as I say, “Board as long as I’m with you. And two dollars and fifty cents a week until we get to California or part ways.”
He hesitates.
“I’ve got another offer,” I say. “Heading out tomorrow.” He doesn’t need to know that my other offer is with a single soul, when I’d rather travel with a big outfit.
“Done!”
He spits into his palm and holds out his hand. I stare at it.
I’ve never entered into a contract before. Not formally, like this. And I still wouldn’t, if he knew I was a girl.
I spit into my own palm, and we clasp hands, shaking firmly.
Chapter Seventeen
Mr. Joyner jabbers incessantly as we ride toward the wagons, which suits me fine because I don’t care for talking just now. I know I’ve made the right decision, but I feel like a shell of a girl, all hollow and aching at the possibility that I’ve missed Jefferson for good. What if I never see him again?
The Joyners had several delays on their journey, he tells me, including an inauspicious layover in St. Louis that involved riverboat gambling, where Mr. Joyner tried to increase their stake and would have, if not for that cheating Ohioan. But the good Lord watched over him, and he managed to come out even, more or less, by which I gather he means “less.” But wonderful memories were made, and now they’re here and ready to go, and all’s well that ends well and every other phrase he can think of to make things sound good when they’re not.
“We’ve had terrible luck finding a wagon train that would take us,” he says.
“Oh?” Peony’s ears twitch; Mr. Joyner’s gelding has veered too close for her comfort. I pat her neck to soothe her.
“Many of the so-called leaders of these expeditions are puffed-up martinets,” he explains. “Uncouth men who feel that the miles on their boot soles entitle them to pass judgment on their betters.”
“I see.”
“I saw right through them, of course, and they resented a man who could so easily smash their pretensions.”
“I’m sure.” I’ve been wandering the staging area for weeks, so I know full well that no one wants to take on an overloaded wagon.
“We finally found a small company of God-fearing men,” he continues. “Mostly from Missouri, with a few other families besides. The group is led by an excellent man, Major Wally Craven, a veteran of the Black Hawk War, who knows how to deal with Indians.”
We near the camp, which is a tight bundle of wagons and campfires and small tents. He says, “I’m off to tell Major Craven the news. He’s eager to depart.”
“What should I do?”
“Familiarize yourself with the company and then come find my wagon. It’s the big one.”
“I remember your wagon.”
“I’ve hired one other young man. He came west with a German family from Ohio. They’re part of our company too, though he works for me now. He’s congenial and hardworking, so don’t you worry about his deficiencies.”
I have no idea what he means by “deficiencies,” and I’m making up my mind whether it would be impolite to ask when he says, “Speak of the devil, and he appears.”
He points to a rider coming across the field. “There’s the fellow now. Go on, introduce yourself and ask him to perambulate the camp and familiarize you with our traveling compatriots, as well as the procedures we’ve agreed to follow. I’ll meet you at the wagon later.”
