Far From Home (33 page)

She nodded. ‘You got up once and went outside to pee, then fell right back to sleep agin.’

He was embarrassed. He couldn’t remember anything since coming into the shack with the dog following. ‘Where’s your dog?’ he asked.

She poured something from a pan into a bowl. ‘He’s on guard outside. Here, have some broth.’

‘Thank you.’ He took it from her. ‘Do you live alone here?’

‘Right now I do, but my man’ll be back from market any time.’

He drank the soup from the bowl, as she hadn’t offered him a spoon. It was thick and hot but he had no idea what the flavour was.

‘What does he do? Is he a boatman?’

‘You sure ask a lot o’ questions, mister.’ She sat down on a chair, folded her arms across her ample chest and surveyed him. ‘He’s a farmer.’

‘Really? Can you farm the land around here? It seems like swamp to me.’

‘It is swamp. We keep pigs. Where you from? You a city boy? You talk kinda funny.’

His head still ached. I wonder if I’ve got malaria like Allen had? Those mosquitoes certainly had a good feed off me. ‘I’m from England,’ he said. ‘I was robbed in New Orleans, then put on a boat and finished up here. I’ve no money or papers.’

‘Papers? What kinda papers?’

‘To say who I am! My identity.’

She laughed, showing gaps in her teeth. ‘We don’t bother with that kinda thing out here, mister. We know who we are. Don’t ya know who you are?’

He pondered for a second and wondered how far Rodriguez’ domination stretched. ‘Yes, I know who I am,’ he said. ‘My name is Robert Allen.’

‘May I have a wash?’ he asked later after he’d got up from the bed and stretched his aching limbs. He felt much better – the soup had given him some energy though his legs still felt weak.

‘Sure.’ She looked him over. ‘The water butt’s outside. If you take your pants off I’ll wash them for you.’

‘Erm—’ He cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure how he would feel about being in his undergarments in front of a strange woman.

‘No need to feel bashful.’ She winked at him. ‘You ain’t got nuthin’ Ah ain’t seen before. Ah grew up with six brothers and they didn’t own a pair of underpants between ’em. Besides,’ she gave him a sly look, ‘you’ve bin sharing my bed for the last couple o’ nights so it won’t matter too much.’ She grinned. ‘You kept calling me Ruby.’

He stared at her and his mouth opened and closed. He flushed. He hadn’t thought to wonder where she had slept! There was only one bed in the room. ‘I’m sorry—’ he began. ‘I didn’t think to ask—’

‘You were dead to the world,’ she remarked. ‘So you didn’t even notice.’

I wish I could remember, he thought uneasily. How could I have lost a couple of days?

She washed his trousers and jacket and hung them on a clothes line which stretched between the shanty and a dilapidated pig pen. It was empty of pigs but the guard dog lay sleeping inside and only opened one eye when he looked in. A few scrawny chickens clucked around and a nanny goat tied on a long rope bleated at him.

There didn’t seem to be a bowl to use for washing, so he dipped his head into the water butt and rubbed his hands through his hair to be rid of the tangle of weed. The woman called to him from the doorway. ‘Guess you’re a good-lookin’ fella when you’re cleaned up?’

‘Well,’ he began modestly. ‘This isn’t how I usually look or dress.’ Then he remembered his role as Robert Allen. ‘How can I get back to New Orleans?’ he asked. ‘My er, my employer will be wondering where I am.’

‘Can’t say.’ She finished pegging out the rest of her laundry. He thought that his trousers and jacket didn’t look any cleaner for washing, they were still stained with green, though maybe they smelt a little sweeter. ‘I ain’t never bin.’

She came towards him and looked him up and down, which he found disconcerting, standing only in his underclothes. ‘Why do you want to go back there? You can stay along a’ us.’

He gave a tense laugh. ‘I must get back. I, er, I have work to do. I need money.’

‘You can help us with the pigs. You wouldn’t need money out here.’ She gave him what he interpreted as a very warm smile, which, with her raised suggestive eyebrows, made him extremely apprehensive.

‘There surely isn’t enough work for two men to do? You said your man would be back soon.’

‘He might be. He might not.’ Again she smiled. ‘Ah ain’t too bothered if he ain’t.’

‘How long has he been gone?’ he asked uneasily.

‘’Bout five, six, weeks, I guess.’

‘That’s a long time just to take pigs to market. Did you have many pigs?’

‘Just the two,’ she said, nodding.

I think I’m going mad! This is as bad as being on the boat. How do I get out of this situation? And, he deliberated fearfully, where do I sleep tonight?

He slept on one of the chairs though she urged him to ‘Come alongside o’ me,’ but he told her that he couldn’t possibly sleep in the same bed as another man’s wife, not now that he was fully conscious of what he was doing.

‘It wouldn’t be right,’ he insisted. ‘And whatever would he think?’ he added. ‘Your man, if he should come home unexpectedly?’

‘Oh, Ah guess Guthrie wouldn’t mind too much,’ she said. ‘Ah was in bed with him when Eli came home.’

‘Eli?’ he asked.

‘My first fella. He was a mite annoyed, but he went quietly enough after Guthrie peppered him with shot.’

I
am
going mad, he decided. Or I will be if I don’t get out of here.

He was up early the next morning and dressed in his clean trousers, which appeared to have shrunk, for his ankles showed below them. He was determined to depart, even if it meant walking for miles again. There was no habitation in the landscape around him, only a vast area of swamp and open fields in the distance. I’ll have to make a dash when she’s doing something, he decided, and I’ll have to run, otherwise I’m quite sure I’ll be peppered with shot just as Eli was.

She called him in for breakfast and he sat down with her to a bowl of gruel and a slice of bread. ‘Here’s my neighbour coming,’ she said suddenly. ‘Ah guessed he’d be along sometime soon.’

He glanced across at her. She hadn’t stirred from the chair so how did she know someone was coming? Even the dog hadn’t barked. ‘Your neighbour? Where does he live?’

‘Five, six, miles along the track. He’s bringing me my groceries.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘Can’t you hear him?’

He concentrated hard, then shook his head. She must be so used to living in isolation that she could hear every little rumble or crack of sound that was out of the ordinary.

‘Heard you, way back, on the night you came,’ she said, keeping her eyes on him. ‘That’s why Ah had my gun ready. We git some strange folks coming up from that ole river. Folks that have bin tipped off the boats same as you were.’

‘Do you mean that fellow back there, Cap’n Mac, knew that I would get off the boat rather than risk travelling any further?’

‘Yip. Guess so. Saves him the bother of dumping you.’

The dog barked and Edward got up from the table and looked out. He couldn’t see anyone, but there was a dark shape on the horizon which he guessed could be a waggon or cart coming towards them. He felt a tingle of excitement. Perhaps I could get a lift. I don’t care where he’s going as long as it’s out of here.

‘Howdy, Rube!’ The woman greeted the man driving a waggon as he drew up at the door ten minutes later. ‘Heard you comin’.’

‘Howdy, Martha. Got yourself a visitor, Ah see.’

‘This is Bob,’ Martha said. ‘He got tipped off a boat.’

Bob? Edward thought. I told her I was Robert Allen. But he nodded at the stranger. ‘How do you do.’

‘Ah’m doin’ all right, thank you kindly, sir.’ He looked at Edward from beneath his battered hat. ‘Ah’ve just brought Martha some vittles. Sack o’ cornmeal.’ He sucked on his teeth, making a whistling sound. ‘Cooking oil. Coffee.’

I don’t need an inventory, Edward brooded. What I need is to hide in the back of that waggon and drive out of here. A vague notion of stealing the horse and waggon once Rube had unloaded the supplies entered his mind, but he decided against the idea as he wouldn’t have known in which direction to travel. If Rube will drive me to the nearest settlement, surely I can then find my way back to New Orleans?

The delivery of supplies also meant Rube sitting down to a pot of coffee and a gossip about neighbours, then partaking of a bowl of gruel and discussing the price of pigs at market, and all the while he kept glancing across at Edward. Then another pot of coffee and Rube told of his son who was set on going to California and who had bought a new wheelbarrow, before he finally rose up from his chair, stating that he would have to rush along.

Edward went outside before him and looked in the back of the uncovered waggon. There were several empty sacks and a coil of rope which had been thrown in haphazardly, but not enough to cover a man.

Rube came out and made a show of attending to the horse, and beckoned with his head for Edward to come closer. ‘If you want a ride outa here, mister, just give me ten minutes with Martha. See that tree?’ He pointed down the track where a stumpy dead tree was standing alone. ‘Wait fer me there.’

Edward stared in astonishment. Rube must have been all of sixty. His face was brown and wrinkled and he was wearing the oldest clothes that Edward had ever seen: baggy trousers, a worn waistcoat with the buttons missing, a striped cotton shirt. On his feet were cracked leather boots without laces.

‘Yes,’ Edward muttered, thinking that although Rube was not the most handsome man he had ever met, perhaps Martha wasn’t too particular. ‘Thank you.’

He waited beside the tree as the sun beat down on his head and presently saw the waggon move off from the shack and come in his direction. Rube pulled his hat further over his eyes as he reined in, whilst Edward climbed aboard.

‘Pretty good arrangement, Ah reckon,’ Rube muttered. ‘Sack o’ cornmeal. Cooking oil. Coffee.’

‘Yes. Yes, indeed,’ Edward agreed and wondered who had had the best of the bargain, Rube or Martha. He looked back over his shoulder and wondered if she knew that he had gone, but Rube reassured him.

‘Don’t you worry ’bout Martha,’ he said. ‘There’ll be some other fella along in no time at all.’

They trundled down the track in silence for a while, then Rube started to tell him about his son Jed. ‘Dead set on going to Californy, he is. Going to look fer gold. He’s got his pick and shovel. Bought a wheelbarrow, cos Ah said he couldn’t have mine. Meetin’ his friends at the saloon tonight, then they’re off first thing in the morning. Told him, Ah did, that there’s no use fer gold around here. Nothing to buy. Not a darned thing. ’Cept fer cornmeal, cooking oil and coffee. But he’s dead set on going anyway.’ He nodded his head, looked into the distance and sucked on his teeth. ‘Got his pick and shovel. Bought a wheelbarrow, cos Ah said he couldn’t have mine.’

Edward put his head in his hands. This is a nightmare! When am I going to wake up?

After about half an hour they passed a tumbledown shack and Rube raised a hand though Edward didn’t see anyone around, then ten minutes later they passed another, with a man sitting on a bench outside. Again Rube raised a hand and the man responded though neither of them spoke.

‘Jest coming into town now,’ Rube proclaimed after another fifteen minutes or so, as they approached half a dozen wooden cabins. ‘Traffic’ll be mighty busy.’ A waggon pulled by two horses was travelling in the opposite direction and a horse and rider followed it. ‘Yip,’ Rube commented. ‘Traffic’s always busy on a Monday.’

‘Is it Monday?’ Edward had completely lost count of the days.

Rube shrugged. ‘Guess it’s Monday. Or it might be Wednesday. Traffic’s mighty busy on a Wednesday.’ He pointed with his whip to a building where the word Saloon had been painted on a board across the front. The S and the l had worn off, but there was no mistaking what it was. Two oak casks were positioned by the door and there were shouts of laughter coming from within.

A covered waggon and two horses were tied to a hitching post. ‘Looks like my boy’s there already.’ Rube drew up and invited Edward to come in and meet his son before he left for California.

‘Would there be anyone who could show me the road to New Orleans, do you think?’ Edward asked as they went through the door. ‘It’s most important that I get back.’

‘I’ll ask around town, Bob,’ Rube said. ‘There jest might be.’

The saloon seemed to be full of young men, but the room was small and there were only about six or seven of them, all gathered together prior to departure for California.

Edward was introduced as Bob to Jed and the assembly, and a tankard of ale was put in front of him. ‘I haven’t any money,’ he started to explain. ‘I was robbed in New Orleans.’

‘Drink up,’ Jed said. ‘Nobody has any money. But we’re on our way to find some. We’re off to Californy—’

‘Yes, yes,’ Edward interrupted hastily. ‘I heard. You’ve got a pick and shovel.’

‘Yip.’ Jed put his hands into his pocket. ‘And a wheelbarrow.’

Edward took a long gulp of ale. ‘Couldn’t you have bought a wheelbarrow when you got there?’

‘Shucks, no,’ Jed said. ‘The price will be way out of reach. I’ve bought mine on credit. I’ll pay for it when I find gold.’

‘So you’ll come back?’ Edward asked, thinking that nothing on earth would get him to set foot here again.

‘Shucks, no,’ he answered. Jed was a young man of about twenty. ‘Pa thinks I will. But I know that I won’t. When I find gold I’ll set up in business, build me a nice little cabin, find a girl to marry and I’m set up for life.’

‘Good luck, then.’ Edward drained his tankard and found another one had been put in front of him by another man.

‘Say, where you from, mister?’ the man said. ‘Not from these parts?’

‘No.’ Edward told them part of the story, of how he was walking in New Orleans, was accosted and robbed and put on a boat.

‘It’s a wicked place, so Ah’ve heard,’ said another man. ‘Not that Ah’ve bin.’ And he too put a tankard in front of Edward.

‘I shouldn’t really,’ he protested. ‘I don’t usually drink ale.’

‘You want something stronger?’ Jed said. ‘Here, Moss,’ he called to the man who was serving behind a low counter. ‘One of your specials for our visitor here.’