Authors: Shirley Kennedy
Lucy smiled as Bessie and her sister broke into laughter at Bessie’s imitation. “I’d love to come.” Despite her tactful reply, she reflected with regret that she probably wasn’t going to like Mrs. Nathaniel Beauregard Benton.
After Hannah left, Lucy, bursting to tell her news, leaned forward and said, “I have a secret to tell you.”
Bessie smiled. “If you’re going to tell me you’re expecting, don’t bother.”
“
How can you tell?” At barely three months, Lucy was certain nothing showed.
Bessie flicked a glance toward Lucy’s bosom. “You’re bigger. Besides, it’s written all over you—a certain glow. Lots of women have it when they get in a family way, at least for the first, maybe the second month.” Bessie placed a palm on her swollen belly and sighed. “When you get to the seventh, there ain’t no more glow.”
Lucy was about to say more when she caught sight of Clint Palance striding through the square. Today he wore not buckskins but a long, black rifle coat, khaki pants, a stylish vest, and a black gambler’s hat with a soft, wide brim. So handsome! So very ... intriguing. As yet, he hadn’t seen her. She couldn’t face him. “I must run now, but I’ll be back for that tea this afternoon.”
“
See you then. Ask Martha. She might want to come, too.”
Not likely.
Lucy hastily turned and started away. She hadn’t gone more than ten steps when she heard Clint’s booming voice. “Mrs. Schneider? Mrs. Jacob Schneider?”
Damnation
. She didn’t want to stop but had no choice. She smoothed down the starched white apron she wore over her brown woolen dress, affixed a smile to her face, and turned. “Why, Mister Palance, what a surprise.”
“
Mrs. Schneider? I had no idea I’d see you here.”
She knew it! Just as she expected, his eye lit with a mocking gleam. She lifted her chin to a defiant angle. “Well, obviously I
am
here.”
His forehead furrowed in feigned puzzlement. “I can’t imagine what urgent event has led you to set foot outside of Suffolk County. As I recall—”
“
Obviously, my husband changed his mind.” This was every bit as excruciating as she had anticipated. “If you had any manners, out of delicacy alone, you wouldn’t bring up the subject.”
He grinned, revealing white teeth that dazzled against his bronzed skin. “I’ve never been accused of having good manners.”
“
Obviously.” What was the matter with her? Why did she feel so uncomfortable? What was it about this blunt man that set her all atwitter? She already knew he’ surely bring up her foolish declaration she would never leave Suffolk County, so why was she not prepared? Why was she now feeling a blush creep over her cheeks that he was sure to notice? Well, she would see this through as best she could. She squared her shoulders. “It appears we shall be joining your wagon train to California.” She was pleased at the bright, enthusiastic note she’d put in her voice.
“
Are you actually happy you’re going?”
“
I can hardly wait to get started.” Just amazing that she hadn’t choked on such a lie. “I’m very much enjoying living in the great out-of-doors and, uh, riding in the wagon ... all that wonderful fresh air. I just love cooking over an open fire and ... well, all of that.” She could kick herself. He wasn’t fooled.
After a moment’s reflection, he grew serious. “I have yet to meet a woman who truly wanted to make this journey.”
At least he wasn’t mocking her anymore. She’d planned another flippant answer but found she could no longer lie. She was equally serious. “I’m making the best of it.”
“
I’m certain you are.”
The worst was over. She was proud of herself for having met Clint’s anticipated sarcasm with dignity ... well, something like it. Good manners decreed she ought to stand and chat a little longer, but the problem was, her pulse remained quick and her mouth had gone dry. Why this should affect her this way, she didn’t know, except that she’d never met a man so overwhelmingly masculine as Clint Palance. Even in civilized clothes and without the knife dangling from his belt, he had a certain menacing air. She was so acutely aware of him she couldn’t act her normal self. She decided to leave before he noticed. “Well, I must be off. There’s so much to do.”
For a fleeting moment, his brown eyes delved into hers, making her feel as if he could peer into her very soul and know exactly what she was about and what she was thinking. He smiled politely and touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Then good day, ma’am.”
“
Good day, sir.” She went on her way. Feeling his eyes on her, she forced herself to walk at a leisurely pace and not, as she was sorely tempted, to run as fast as she could to get to her wagon and out of his sight.
* * *
Rooted to the spot, Clint observed Lucy Schneider. He liked the way she walked—tall and straight, with a lightness of foot few women possessed. She was pregnant. What a shame. The trek to California was hard enough as it was, but for a woman with child it was a tortuous journey. He could never understand why many of the husbands didn’t seem concerned. Despite all the difficulties of pregnancy, they expected their wives to endure the hardships of the trail and work their full share. He’d wager Lucy’s husband was one of those.
So, Jacob Schneider had changed his mind, had he? What bullshit. The one time they’d talked, that jackass had outright told him he and his brother would be heading for California, soon as the farm was sold. Apparently, he hadn’t bothered to tell his wife.
Clint vented his disgust by kicking the dirt with the point of his boot. They’d had only the one conversation, but that was enough for him to peg Jacob Schneider as a poor excuse for a man. His brother, too. Cold and rigid in their thinking. Real pains in the ass and likely to be hard to deal with on the trail. If they didn’t cause trouble before they reached California, he’d be greatly surprised.
* * *
Stopping by Abner’s wagon, Lucy found Martha bending over a large laundry tub, her reddened hands scrubbing clothes on a board. “We’re invited to a high tea this afternoon,” Lucy said. “It should be fun. I’m going, and I hope you will, too.”
Her sister-in-law looked up from her task and frowned. “Thank you, but I have too much to do.”
Just the answer Lucy expected. “Nonsense. This is a fine opportunity to meet the women we’ll be traveling with for the next few months. Surely Abner wouldn’t mind.”
Martha used her forearm to wipe the perspiration from her brow. “I’m not so sure. Abner wants this wash done. You know how he is.”
Indeed I do know
. Poor Martha always invited pity with her soft, timid voice and frail, stoop-shouldered figure. Her large gray eyes seemed to plead forgiveness for merely being alive. Perhaps if Martha had children she might think more highly of herself. Then again, perhaps not. Even a woman with iron resolve would have a hard time standing up to Abner’s constant criticism and stern rule.
“
I’m sorry you can’t go. If you change your mind, let me know.” Lucy turned to leave, but to her surprise, Martha called softly, “Wait a minute. I have something to tell you.”
Lucy turned back. “What is it?”
“
It’s just ... it’s ...” Suddenly Martha’s cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “I think, I think ...”
The truth dawned on Lucy immediately. “Are you expecting?” There could be no other cause for such a blush on Martha’s sallow cheeks.
“
I ... think so!”
“
Why, that’s wonderful news!” Lucy threw her arms around her sister-in-law and gave her an exuberant hug. “Have you told Abner?”
Martha’s blush deepened. “Not yet. I wanted to make sure, and now ... well, it’s been two months since I ... you know what I mean, so I’m almost sure.”
“
He’ll be delighted.”
True enough
. Abner would be delighted all right, but just like Jacob, he’d still expect Martha to do her share of the work, and no excuses. That was too bad. Even under normal conditions, frail little Martha might have problems with a pregnancy. Lucy hated to think what could happen to her, considering the hardships of the trail.
* * *
So this was high tea in Independence, Missouri!
Lucy suppressed a giggle as she recalled the many elegant teas she’d presided over in her fancy parlor on Beacon Hill. Now here she sat on an overturned barrel beside a muddy street, holding her own tin cup, beside the covered wagon of that former scion of Atlanta society, Mrs. Nathaniel Beauregard Benton. A handsome woman in her early forties with a narrow face and aristocratic nose, Mrs. Benton showed her slender figure to great advantage in an elegant dress of blue silk taffeta over a hoopskirt. Quite a contrast to her guests who had all left their hoopskirts behind, if they’d ever owned one in the first place. Instead, every other woman there wore a plain, long calico or wool dress, laced-up boots, and starched apron.
Upon meeting Lucy, Mrs. Benton exclaimed in a thick southern accent, “So you’re from Boston? Beacon Hill? Do tell!” Her manner instantly grew warmer. “You must call me Cordelia. I declare, we have lots in common.”
No, we don’t.
Lucy instantly recognized the woman as just another Pernelia, only with a southern accent—all soft and cloying on the outside, hard as granite on the inside. A snob besides. She suspected she’d soon be avoiding Mrs. Nathaniel Beauregard Benton.
How could she?
At home it was easy to avoid those she didn’t care for, but on the trail? Impossible. On second thought, she’d better make a special effort to get along with everybody whether she liked them or not.
Lucy sat quiet for the most part, observing the approximately twenty women who sat in a circle on an assortment of boxes, crates, and barrels. Each held her cup of tea, poured by Mrs. Benton from her solid silver teapot. Each held a pastry, freshly baked by a young Negro woman named Sukey, whom Mrs. Benton referred to as her slave. Lucy wondered how it was possible to own a slave while traveling on a wagon train headed west. Wasn’t this free territory? But now was hardly the time to ask.
So these were some of the women she’d spend the next few months with. Quite a variety. They included Bessie Potts and Hannah Richards, both from Possum Creek, Tennessee. One would never guess they were sisters, what with small, nervous Bessie constantly expressing her fears and tall, raw-boned Hannah coming across as fearless and unflappable. Both were pleasant and friendly, though, compared to a middle-aged, dour-face woman named Agnes Applegate. She, her husband, William, and their six children came from Pennsylvania. She talked a lot but had yet to utter a positive word about anything. Then there was Inez Helmick, a plumpish blond-haired woman in her forties with a broad, Scandinavian face. She, her husband, Stanley, and their five children came from Ohio. “My husband is a preacher, and I’m a midwife.” She had an air of great confidence. “In case any of you might need me on the trail.”
“
Well, ain’t that a comfort to know. I just might be needing you.” Bessie glanced at Lucy. “And others, too.”
Oh, no
. She could think of nothing worse than having her baby in a wagon in the middle of nowhere. But she needn’t worry. They’d be in California long before the baby arrived.
“
I’m serving oolong tea today.” Cordelia seated herself on a box, carefully spreading her taffeta skirt around her. “My favorite. Imported direct from China. Mister Benton made sure we brought enough to last the entire journey.” She nodded toward her elaborate sterling silver tea set and the silver tray of pastries, both precariously balanced on a makeshift table. “I plan to serve tea every day of our journey. After all, one must continue to observe the niceties.”
Hannah Richards gave an audible sniff. “Well, I sure don’t know about that.”
Cordelia’s ever-present smile tightened. “Why might that be?”
“
Ain’t you heard of the poor folks who’ve gone ahead of us on other wagon trains? Many’s the time when they run out of food and water, and the poor oxen are dead or about to die, they have to dump all their precious things along the wayside just to lighten the load.”
Cordelia glared at Hannah with reproachful eyes. “Throw away Grandmother Benton’s precious tea set? And her French Haviland china it took me a whole day to pack? That’s not likely to happen.”
“
Well, I surely hope not.” Hannah took up the tin cup that held her tea and raised it high. “Ladies, here’s to a safe journey. May we not be kidnapped or worse by them pesky Indians. May we not get drowned in some river, nor any of our loved ones. May we find food for ourselves and grass for the animals and water for all, so we don’t have to toss our precious possessions over the side.”
“
Amen to that.” Lucy raised her cup, as did all of the women, with the exception of Agnes, who sat with her arms crossed and a dour expression on her sallow face.
“
You all act like you’re happy to be here,” said Agnes.
No one spoke until someone murmured, “Well, indeed we are.”
Agnes returned a disdainful sniff. “If truth be told, there’s not a one of you wanted to come on this foolish journey in the first place. ‘T’was all your husband’s idea, now wasn’t it? I’d wager every last one of you was happy and content where you were until your man got bit by the gold bug. Now he wants to go to California and get rich.” Agnes glowered, her hazel eyes darting from one to another. “Well now, am I wrong? If anyone here was just dying to live in a flimsy wagon for months and months, and risk death and God-knows-what, then speak up.”