Authors: Shirley Kennedy
“
Mister Palance said he tried, but Sukey wants to go to Ohio. It’s a free state. I doubt she’d ever want to return to Atlanta where she’d still be a slave.”
“
That little ingrate! I treated her well. Never whipped her once, and this is the thanks I get.”
“
Apparently, she just wants to be free.”
Cordelia’s shoulders sagged. Her thin, aristocratic face grew haggard, the lines around her mouth more drawn. “What am I going to do? Nathaniel won’t even consider going back to Atlanta, and I can’t cook. I won’t cook!” She extended her dainty white hands palms up. “These are the hands of a lady. They weren’t meant for hauling wood and baking biscuits and God knows what. All my life I’ve had servants to wait on me. I’ve never had to dress myself or comb my hair. I have never once cooked my own meal, and I can’t change now. It’s too late.”
Lucy looked down at her own hands. Like Cordelia’s, they had once been soft, smooth, and alabaster white. Now they’d begun to brown and roughen. An ugly red burn from a cooking pot marred her palm. “I know it’s not easy, but—”
“
I never wanted to come on this trip!” Cordelia wailed. “This was all Nathaniel’s idea, him and his manifest destiny. I’m much too delicate for this, much too ... too ...”
Spoiled and pampered
were the words that sprung to Lucy’s lips, words she forced herself to suppress while Cordelia sputtered. She couldn’t suppress her anger. Just who did Cordelia think she was, some sort of princess? Better than the rest? The remains of the sympathy she’d felt for this mollycoddled woman vanished, replaced by mounting scorn. “Do you realize your husband and son have nothing to eat?” She was none too kindly. “To say nothing of your hired hands.”
The distressed woman fluttered her eyelids in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“
Because you won’t fix them a meal, your husband and son, as well as your hired young men, have been begging food from your neighbors. So far, everyone’s been generous, but believe me, it won’t last.”
“
Perhaps I can hire one of the women—”
“
Not likely. Every woman in this wagon train is already worked to death, and furthermore ...” She paused, surprised at herself. What had come over her? She would never have uttered such a sharp retort in the fancy parlor on Beacon Hill. Instead, she would’ve mouthed the usual shallow platitudes, never dreaming of saying what she really thought. Now her cultured, cozy little world lay far behind her. On a journey like this, no one cared about genteel manners, idle chatter, or polite little lies. Simply surviving each grueling day was all that mattered.
“
You have no choice. You must do what needs to be done. It’s as simple as that.”
“
You’re suggesting I
cook
?”
“
We’ll all help. Bessie and Hannah have already volunteered, as well as—”
“
I don’t care to be beholden to women like that.”
“
Women like what?”
“
You know, of a lesser standing. Really! I suspect some of them don’t even know how to read or write.”
“
Who cares? You should be grateful they’re willing to help.”
“
I couldn’t possibly! I’m much too delicate, and frankly, such manual labor is simply beneath me.”
Something snapped. She’d had enough. “My dear Cordelia, let’s not get into a discussion concerning what’s beneath you and what’s not. Maybe you were the leader of Atlanta society, but you aren’t anymore. You’re no better than the rest of us. You’d best remember you squat behind a bush just like the rest of us.”
Cordelia gasped. Her hand flew to her heart. “Why, Mrs. Schneider! I find your remark to be ... to be ...”
“
Yes, I know, extremely crude, and you’re shocked. Well, that doesn’t change the fact you’d better pull yourself together and start doing your part.” Lucy could hardly believe she’d just said that. Perhaps she’d gone too far, yet it was high time someone set this snobbish southern belle straight.
Cordelia remained silent for a very long time. Finally, she heaved a resigned sigh and muttered in a very small voice, “I see I have no choice. Very well then, I shall try.”
On her way back to the wagon, in high spirits after her success with Cordelia, Lucy passed by the one small wagon that belonged to Palance and Dawes. She saw Clint in front, building a fire. “Mrs. Benton says she’ll cook!”
“
That’s good news.” Clint strolled over to chat. “Mrs. Benton has some funny ideas, but she’s got a lot of grit. I suspect once she gets the hang of it, she’ll be fine.”
“
I think so, too.” Remembering the events of the morning, Lucy tried to stifle her curiosity but couldn’t. She tipped her head to one side. “By the way, wherever did you come up with that quote from the Bible? Was it just luck or do you know the scriptures as well as Abner and my husband?”
“
You heard?” The lines around Clint’s eyes wrinkled in amusement. “Were the Captain and his brother properly impressed?”
“
Oh, yes.” She let loose a bubbling peal of laughter. “Properly impressed, indeed.”
Clint nodded with satisfaction. “My father taught me the Bible. Yes, I could match your husband scripture for scripture if I had to.” There was a pause in which he seemed to debate whether to say more. “Back home in Kentucky, my father was a preacher.”
“
How nice.”
“
Not really. He raised me with a Bible in one hand and a birch whip in the other. I got tired of being beat. Left home when I was twelve.”
“
Oh, I’m sorry.” She sensed he’d just revealed a confidence not often shared.
“
Don’t be sorry. It was the best thing I ever did. I never looked back. Since then, I’ve led the life I wanted to lead.” He folded his arms and regarded her with curious eyes. “What of you? Are you leading the life you want to lead?”
She responded with a cynical laugh. “Now what do you think?”
“
What do I think?” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “You view this journey as the worst thing ever happened to you. I predict that some day you’ll think otherwise. That’s because I see depths in you that you don’t even know you have.”
“
Really?” She was astounded.
“
Yes, really. I see strength, determination, a will to survive. I see a woman who was meant for something more than sitting in a fancy Boston parlor serving tea, much as you might believe otherwise.”
“
So far I’m hating it. So far I’m scared to death of all the things Augustus Turner talked about. Accidents, drownings, Indians—”
“
You’re a survivor. If ever I saw a woman meant to pull through, no matter what, it’s you.”
Struck speechless, she wondered if he was only trying to flatter her. She searched his sun- and wind-burned face, marked forever by the jagged scar from the grizzly, and saw only honesty in his eyes. She should have known. Clint Palance was a man who didn’t tell lies, not even little white ones. She found herself immensely flattered. Aside from her father, none of the men she’d known had gone beyond mouthing meaningless blandishments about her pretty eyes, pert little nose, soft, silky hair. Come to think of it, Jacob hadn’t even said that much. Since they’d left Massachusetts, she’d spent endless hours cooking, scrubbing, and taking care of his child, yet he hadn’t expressed one word of thanks or appreciation. She doubted he ever would. “Thank you. That was kind of you to say.”
“
Truly meant.”
She wanted to stay and talk, but standing in the middle of the campground, she could almost feel the sharp eyes of Agnes Applegate drilling into her back. “I’d best be off.”
He touched his hat. “Good day.”
“
Good day.” Her spirits high, she wiggled her fingers at him in a bubbly little wave. When she turned, sure enough, there was Agnes staring directly at her with a wise little smirk on her face.
You old gossip.
She gave a gay wave to Agnes, too. Clint’s flattering words still in her head, she walked toward her campsite with buoyant steps.
She was almost there when she saw Jacob standing beside the wagon awaiting her return, fists clenched, face livid. Dear Lord! Had he seen her laughing conversation with Clint? The gay wave? The happy spring in her step?
“
What were you doing talking to Palance?” Jacob demanded when she drew close, the volume of his voice lowered only by his awareness of the sharp ears of close neighbors.
“
I—”
“
I won’t have you talking to that man, do you understand?” His chest heaved. His breath came in short, angry pants.
“
Jacob, I—”
“
Do ... you ... understand?” His quiet words came hissing through barred teeth, reminding her of a wild-eyed, salivating wolf about to spring on its prey. The effect frightened her more than if he were shouting. She fought her impulse to bolt and run—
mustn’t make a scene
—and forced herself to stand and listen. “For the good of the company, I must tolerate that blasphemer, but that doesn’t mean my wife is to speak to him, ever! Do I make myself clear?”
She tried to answer but found herself unable to speak over the lump of panic in her throat. Thank God for the neighbors. She had the feeling that if Jacob were not aware of their curious ears and eyes, those clenched fists he held tight to his sides would surely have struck her by now. “Jacob, why are you so angry? I was only telling Mister Palance about Cordelia. She’s agreed to cook.”
She waited, desperately hoping she’d dispelled her husband’s fury.
Jacob remained silent, glaring at her until, gradually, his heaving chest and anger-contorted face returned to normal. “You mind what I said. Clint Palance is a wicked, worldly man. You stay away from him. Now get back to work.” He spun around and left.
Deeply shaken, she noticed little Noah peering at her through the canvas with round, frightened eyes. He must’ve heard every word. She wanted to climb inside the wagon and hide from the world, but for her stepson’s sake, she forced herself to be calm, act normal.
“
It’s time for me to wash the dishes, sweetheart. Be a love and help me.”
“
Yes, ma’am.” Noah hopped nimbly from the wagon to the tongue, then to the ground, eager to do her bidding. Once again, this sweet little boy, so kind and loving, so eager to please, touched her heart. He was smart, too, and immensely curious about everything, sometimes spouting questions a mile a minute until the adults tired of answering. “Is Father mad?”
Lucy tousled Noah’s blond curls. “He was mad, but just a little bit. Everything’s fine now.”
She busied herself with cleaning up after the noontime meal, thinking everything was not so fine. She’d already discovered there was no such thing as privacy in a wagon train. Gossip spread fast as lightning. Everyone would pretend otherwise, but Jacob’s tirade, muted though it was, had been seen, heard, and carefully noted. Surely tongues would wag. She’d wager that by sunset the whole world would be aware Jacob Schneider had roundly upbraided his wife over her behavior with Clint Palance.
Just what had she done? So unfair! Why couldn’t she have a conversation with a man without tongues wagging, without her husband raging at her? After grimly mulling for a while, she forced herself to face the truth. Clint Palance wasn’t just any man. He was a man she was drawn to, could not stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried. Strange, how her unimaginative husband sensed the truth. It was almost as if he could read her mind.
Well, regardless of how harmless this foolishness was, it had to stop. Absolutely, she’d mend her ways. Even though Jacob couldn’t read her mind, from now on she wouldn’t care if he did. She was a good Christian woman who loved her husband. From this day forward, she wouldn’t waste one more thought on Clint Palance.
In the late afternoon, they came to a river so wide and fast-flowing that Clint and Charlie called for all to gather so they could discuss how they were going to get across.
Lucy, standing on the bank with a small knot of women, heard a lot of gloom and doom.
“
My stars, how will we ever cross this one?” Bessie watched the water’s swift flow with dismay. “It looks so deep.”
“
We shall all be drowned,” said Agnes.
“
Do you think so?” Martha’s voice sounded small, scared. Lately she’d come out of her shell a bit, Lucy had noted with satisfaction, and now occasionally spoke her mind. Perhaps her pregnancy had given her more confidence.
Only ever-positive Hannah offered hope. “Fiddlesticks! Let’s just listen to what Mister Palance and Mister Dawes have to say. I trust they’ll get us across.”
Lucy agreed with Hannah. She gazed at the two experienced guides sitting casually atop their mounts: clean-shaven Clint lightly holding the reins with strong, practiced hands; grizzly-bearded Charlie regarding the crowd with his old, snappy eyes. Between them, they must have tackled dozens of rivers. They knew what to do. She was not afraid.
After gathering them all together, Clint said, “Folks, so far, the rivers we’ve crossed so far have been shallow. We waded across, both us and the cattle, and drove the wagons through without getting stuck or losing one wagon or animal.”
“
This here one’s a mite different.” Charlie nodded toward the dark, swiftly flowing water. “You got a river what’s deep, running fast, and dangerous.”
“
Can we get across?” someone yelled.