A Woman Named Damaris (8 page)

He was almost out of earshot before Damaris stirred herself enough to call after him, “Captain.”

He turned then, the shadows almost hiding him.

“Thank you. Thank you kindly,” she said, hoping she had spoken loudly enough for him to hear her.

He lifted his hat, hesitated for a moment with it in his hand, then turned again and was lost in the darkness.

———

Damaris had a hard time sleeping. She longed to be able to creep from the wagon and go for a walk along the stream; but she had promised the captain, and this time she would not disobey his order.

It was hard for her to believe he had taken the time to find her a job in the town. Not just a job—but a room—a real room. A clean room he said, even a machine and yard goods. Damaris fingered the dress that hung from the peg beside her. It had been worn when she left home, but now, with the fierce sun, the dusty trails, and the many washings in streams along the way, it was faded almost white and had been patched more times than she even knew.

It would be wonderful to have a new dress. One on which she would be proud to pin her mama’s brooch. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize it, but her eyes popped open again. She was too restless to keep them closed.

Edgar slept soundly beside her. His soft snoring sounded like a purr to Damaris. She brushed his unruly hair from his face. Who would carry him when she was not around? Who would tell him silly little stories and sing him nursery rhymes? Who would comfort him when he cried and tell him he was a big boy when he ceased crying? Damaris was sure that his mother would be too weary and too busy to be fussing over Edgar.

Damaris pulled the little one closer and a tear escaped from beneath her long, dark lashes. Then she rebuked herself, wiped the back of her hand across her damp cheek, and willed herself to get some sleep.

———

The morning was filled with activity. Damaris hurried to light the fire and cook the morning porridge. She would have made biscuits but they were all out of flour. Mr. Brown had promised to replenish their supplies as soon as they reached a store, but there had not yet been an opportunity to enter the town.

As soon as Damaris completed her morning chores, she bundled her few belongings, checking for the hundredth time the little packet with the brooch and watch, and placed the load in readiness at the rear of the wagon.

She would need to take her leave of Mrs. Brown. She had nothing much to say to the woman, but a thank you would be in order. After all, had it not been for the family, Damaris would still be sitting back East.

Damaris hoisted Edgar onto a hip and started over to the second wagon. Mrs. Brown was just appearing from the rear opening with the crying baby in her arms.

“He still hasn’t quieted none?” asked Damaris.

The woman shook her head.

“Maybe once you are settled,” said Damaris, wanting to give some hope.

“Settled,” said the woman wearily. “I scarce know the meanin’ of the words. Seems this agony jest goes on an’ on.”

Damaris was puzzled by her words but made no comment.

“I came to thank you and to return Edgar,” Damaris said. She wished to complete her mission and be off as quickly as possible. She had the feeling that it might be more painful than she had imagined.

“What do you mean?” the woman asked, her head lifting quickly.

“Edgar. He—he can’t stay with me—now that we’re here.”

“But we aren’t there yet.”

Damaris lifted her eyes to the stream that separated them from the town. It was so near at hand and the stream was shallow. There was no reason to stay together any longer as far as she could see.

“I can walk into town,” went on Damaris. “No need for me to trouble you further.”

“But—you—you can’t do that,” said the woman.

“It’s close,” went on Damaris. “Why, the walk will be nothing more than a stroll. I’ve walked a lot farther than that—many times. And the stream is so shallow anyone could wade it.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” the woman asked.

Damaris saw fear or anger in her eyes, she wasn’t sure which.

“We aren’t stoppin’ here,” the woman continued.

Now it was Damaris’s face that registered puzzlement and concern. What was the woman saying?

“I thought you told my husband you were goin’ to settle in Dixen—like we are. He said—”

“Dixen?” repeated Damaris.

“Dixen,” repeated the woman. “We set out fer Dixen—an’ we ain’t changed our minds none.”

Damaris stood rooted to the spot.

“An’ the agreement was thet you would travel with us in exchange fer a free trip.”

Damaris swallowed.

“Well—am I right?” Mrs. Brown demanded.

Damaris nodded slowly. She had a job in Poplar Creek. It had sounded so right. If she went on to Dixen—wherever it was—how would she get back? She could walk—if it wasn’t too far. But would the job still be waiting for her?

“Wh—where is Dixen?” Damaris asked in a choked voice.

“My husband says it’s another ten or twelve days—dependin’,” the woman answered. Then she brushed the hair from her face with a tired hand. “Don’t know how I’ll ever be standin’ it,” she spoke sadly.

Damaris turned and walked away. She was afraid that tears were going to start to flow. She had never felt such disappointment in her entire life. She had to find some way to let Widow Collins know she couldn’t accept the job. Ten to twelve days! Ten or twelve more days on the trail. She didn’t know how she’d ever stand it either.

Chapter Eight

In Camp

Damaris awoke the next morning to a drizzling rain. As she listened to the patter on the canvas overhead, she wished she could turn over and go back to sleep. Edgar stirred and reached for her but Damaris drew back. Yesterday she had prepared herself to say farewell to Edgar. Knowing it would bring pain, she had steeled herself against it. Now she would need to repeat the procedure, and she didn’t know how her fragile emotions could endure any more. For the next ten or twelve days she would hold Edgar at a distance. He would not take possession of her devotion again.

The fire needs to be built,
she told herself as she snuggled beneath the blanket to gain as much warmth as possible before facing the coldness of the day. Damaris was thankful she had gathered extra wood and tucked it under the wagon where it would be dry.

At last she crawled reluctantly from her bed and managed, in the tightness of the small wagon, to squirm out of her simple sleeping garment and into her much-mended petticoat and colorless dress.

The morning was even colder than she expected. She wished she could bundle her shawl about her shoulders, but shawls were dangerous around morning fires. Back on the trail a woman had been badly burned when her shawl had dangled into the flames and caught on fire. Had not a man been passing by who quickly rolled her on the ground to put out the fire, her injuries might have been even worse. So Damaris left her shawl behind and shivered as she started the fire with trembling, cold fingers.

At the other side of the camp there was already a lot of commotion and Damaris remembered, with an aching heart, that the wagon master and nine wagons from the train would soon be off toward the south.

It reminded her again of the job that awaited her in town.

“I could just run off,” she murmured to herself. “I could hide until the Browns have left—and then go into Poplar Creek and take that job the captain found for me.”

But even as she whispered her thoughts, Damaris knew she could never do such a thing. She had made a promise. She owed the Browns for her passage west.

The fire was going and the coffee boiling when Mr. Brown appeared. He looked about as cold as Damaris felt and she could see by the wetness of his woollen shirt that he had been up for some time. He looked miserable, and Damaris concluded that he had been out in the rain caring for the horses and other chores about camp.

“My missus is gonna lay abed,” he said to Damaris, pouring himself a mug of coffee from the pot. “Baby kept her awake fer most of the night.”

Damaris nodded.

“I’m goin’ on into town fer supplies. We expect the new wagon master about noon an’ we need to be ready to roll soon as he gives the order.”

Damaris didn’t even nod. She knew what duties needed to be done before they would be ready to roll.

“Anything you needin’ from town?”

His question surprised Damaris. She hadn’t expected him to think of her. She shook her head slowly, admitting to herself that she needed just about everything.

Then she raised her eyes slowly, drawing a quick breath so she wouldn’t lose her courage. “Are you going to the mercantile?” she asked.

He nodded, looking at her over the cup of coffee.

“Would you—could you give the lady there a message for me?”

Damaris would have preferred to have written the woman a note, but she had no pen or paper.

Mr. Brown nodded again.

“The—the captain—he talked to her—about me getting a job in her store. Could you tell her that I—I won’t be staying on in Poplar Creek but—I—I sure do ’preciate the offer.”

Mr. Brown’s eyes opened wide as she made her little speech. Apparently Mrs. Brown had said nothing to him about their previous conversation.

Damaris allowed her eyes to turn back to the fire. “I—I didn’t know you weren’t stopping here,” she added quietly as an explanation.

Mr. Brown shifted on his log seat. Damaris continued stirring the morning porridge without looking up.

“I think thet’s good enough,” he said to her. “I’m in rather a hurry.”

Damaris dished the porridge and handed him his plate. She felt her own stomach heave. It was bad enough trying to down the gruel, unsavory as it was without milk or sugar, but to eat it half-raw, that was even worse.

But Mr. Brown went right to work, washing down the unappetizing food with long gulps of weak coffee.

He stood and cast a glance at the sky. There was no break in the cloudy curtain that closed them in.

“Get the kids up,” he said to Damaris. “I need to take thet wagon to town fer supplies. I was gonna drive the other wagon but I don’t want to bother Mrs. Brown.”

Damaris moved to obey but her thoughts were heavy. With their wagon gone and Mrs. Brown sleeping in the other, how would she ever get through the morning with four youngsters out in the rain?

Mr. Brown did not notice her concern. He had thought of another item to add to his long list and had reached into his pocket to draw it out. As he unfolded his little bit of paper, Damaris saw the bills tucked inside it.

She drew in her breath with a quick gulp of air.
He has money! And he’s heading to town!
Damaris knew what that meant. They likely wouldn’t see him for the rest of the day and when he did appear again—there would be trouble—for all of them.

With a quick step she went to awaken the children. She did not want Mr. Brown to be annoyed when he left. That might make him even more irritable and mean when he returned after a day at the saloon.

The three girls were not happy about the new day. They fussed and quarreled and lagged as Damaris tried to hurry them. Edgar awoke without too much grumbling but wanted to cling to Damaris for warmth and comfort, while all she wanted was to get him dressed and out of the wagon. When they all finally emerged no one was in a good mood.

“It’s cold out here,” moaned Nina, and Trudy echoed the words.

“Why do we have to come out in the rain?” cried Bella.

“Your pa is going to town,” answered Damaris.

“Why can’t we go?” asked Trudy.

“He doesn’t wish to take you,” answered Damaris, almost as sour as the others.

“I’m cold.”

“Wrap your shawl closer,” advised Damaris.

“It doesn’t help. It’s still cold.”

“Yes,” said Damaris, “it is cold—and it is going to get much colder, so no use fussing about it.”

Damaris decided to try to keep the fire going. At least there would be some comfort from the heat.

Conrad was just finishing his breakfast when Damaris and the children reached the shelter where the breakfast fire flamed. He didn’t even nod at Damaris or speak to his sisters as he spooned in the last few mouthfuls.

“Bet yer goin’ with Pa,” accused Bella.

Conrad nodded his head but did not look up.

“It’s not fair!” cried Nina.

He did look up then. Damaris thought she could read anger or resignation in his eyes.

“You wanna carry heavy sacks and crates to load the wagon?” His voice was low and controlled—but also weary—and Damaris suddenly realized that he was a very young boy to have been doing a man’s job for the many, many miles of crossing the prairies.

She stole a look at him and noticed how the coarse shirt hung loosely over his thin shoulders. She was sure he had lost weight, and he had not been big for his age at the beginning of the trip.

“Where’s Pa?” pouted Nina.

“Gittin’ the horses,” Conrad replied. Then he put down his empty plate and turned to go.

“It’s not fair,” Trudy flung after him, but he did not turn around or indicate in any way that he had heard her.

Damaris began to dish up plates of the morning porridge.

“I hate this stuff,” said Nina. “It tastes like—like slop.”

“How do you know what slop tastes like?” asked Bella. “Did you ever eat it?”

“I smelled it,” declared Nina hotly.

Trudy began to giggle. “Nina’s eating slo-op. Nina’s eatin’ slo-op,” she said in a sing-songy voice.

Nina reached over and slapped her and the fight began. Damaris knew they were in for a very long day.

———

“I hear there’s been a change of plans?”

The voice behind Damaris brought her quickly to an upright position. She had been bending over the porridge pot, scrubbing it with a handful of creek-bed sand. The wagon master stood there, his hat droopy with the morning rain, his shoulders seeming to sag under the weight of his wet shirt.

Her dark eyes clouded and she nodded slowly in verification.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

Damaris swallowed hard and tried to straighten her slight shoulders. “I did have an agreement,” she answered in a barely audible voice.