All Together in One Place (40 page)

“But there's no vision there,” Suzanne said. “Imagine me, speaking of something visionary, the one among us who can't see.” She breathed air out through her nose, a short sound of disdain.

“Tipton? We haven't heard from you,” Mazy said.

They turned their heads as one to face the girl who had said almost nothing for four days now. Her face was hollowed out at the cheeks, her eyes red. She looked up at the sound of her name.

“What's your desire, dear?” Elizabeth said.

“To die.” Tip ton turned empty eyes to gaze around the circle. “And I surely dont care where or how that happens.”

15
keeping

Something in Tiptons voice, something beyond the hardness of the words, the sureness of intent, sounded to Mazy like the bleat of a lost fawn. She wore the weariness that warned of giving up. The girls need reached inside Mazy s own layer of distance and disappointment, and she turned toward Tipton, reached out a hand, her fingers pricking the air between them.

Tipton stayed still, but Mazy thought she saw a flicker of recognition in the blue eyes as dark as a snow-filled sky.

“I am so sorry, Tipton,” Mazy said, dropping her hand back into her own lap. The flicker in Tiptons eyes closed over, blocked her out. Mazy chided herself. She'd done it again, expressed her “sorry-ness,” apologized but did nothing to touch the sentiment of sorrow. She tried again. “Is there anything I can…?” The offer sounded shallow and insignificant.

Mazy sighed. She was useless. This effort was useless. Maybe Tipton was right. They may as well stay where they were and just die, let these broken wagons be their markers. But there was something inside her that insisted upon life, even though her own baby had lost its life that very day. No. She had to go on.

“I think we've all thought of dying, Tipton,” Mazy said then. “None of us seems able to stretch past our own weariness.”

A silence broken only by meadowlarks descended on the group.

For a moment, Mazy feared the burden was all that they'd been left with, these widows, these survivors through no effort of their own. Perhaps they'd wear the cape of guilt for simply living, for death having stepped over them and plucked the ones they loved.

She looked around. Her head felt thick, her courage smothered by an old and matted quilt. She wished to push the weight aside, to invite hope inside the circle, give meaning to the losses. She opened up her mouth to speak, willing something wise to find its way into the world.

A shout in the distance interrupted, brought all their heads about.

“It's the girls,” Lura said, standing.

“They've got ol’ Snoz and Snuff,” Sister Esther said,
S s
of their names singing through her lips. “Yours are there, too, Betha. And, Suzanne, I see Boo, at least. Oh, thank you, God, thank you, thank you!

“Not to mention mules,” Elizabeth said. “Tipton, look! How many do you see? Oh—” She squinted her eyes at the riders following and added, “I see someone else I know.”

Mazy welcomed the shift, rescuing them from decision. She kept an eye on Tipton. The girl stood, at Adoras prodding, but her shoulders sloped, her mouth stayed drawn and tight. Even before the storm, before the illnesses and deaths, Mazy'd paid scant attention to the girl. Her mind fastened on her own needs, on pushing down her disappointment with Jeremy, then her loss of him, on trying harder to get home. Had it been Tipton in Mazy s dream seeking a compassionate listener?

“You want to stay sitting here?” Mazy's mother asked her.

“I'll help you back inside,” Esther said. “You go greet them, Elizabeth.”

“Isn't it grand?” Elizabeth said, watching the stock move closer. “What a gift ” A grin as wide as a johnnycake spread across her face. Elizabeth crawled inside the back of her broken-down wagon, pawed
about, then came out, a necklace in her fist. She waved at the riders and headed toward them.

“Just help me down,” Mazy said to Esther. When the older women left, Mazy said, “Tipton? Please? I could use your company”

Tipton shrugged her shoulders, slouched her way toward Mazy. They leaned a bit against each other, the two like old stovepipes, tired and used up.

“Bet we look as weary as those wagons,” Mazy told Tipton. “And just as in need of keeping.”

Ruth beamed. She cast a glance at Mariah, and while grit darkened the teeth of the girl, smudged her narrow face, she sat straight-backed in her saddle. They herded hope, at least that's how Ruth saw it. Hope. That the women would survive, that they could endure, and maybe, if she admitted it, that they weren't alone. She hadn't even considered yet how to explain the incident at the battle. Neither she nor Mariah had spoken of it yet. It was as though it hadn't happened, except it had.

When the warrior rode off, she and Mariah had stared at the grassy slope, empty of life. They led their horses out of the foliage, away from the arrow-laden body that lay fallen before them. Then Ruth spied two horses riding fast from the opposite direction.

“Mariah! Wait!” she whispered, but too late.

At first, Ruth thought the two were in pursuit of the Sioux, but the Pawnee pulled up their horses when they spied the women. They stared, spoke to each other, then turned around.

Mariah looked to Ruth. “Should we go? Stay?” Ruth was responsible, she was the adult, she was the one to protect a child.

Then she'd felt the vibration at her feet. Thirty, maybe forty head of stock, including the Wilsons’ mules, lumbered up and over the rise. Behind them rode the two Pawnee, their stocky ponies pushing the herd
before them. The afternoon light caught something shiny at the womans face, glittered like a spark as they watched the glorious sight of faithful oxen rumbling over the rise Silver earrings? Out here?

As pleased as they'd been to see the stock, nothing compared to the spirits they lifted when they rode back into camp. The Marriage Association women clapped their tiny hands and bobbed their heads, their pointy hats bending to each other like sunflowers bobbing to the sun. Betha wiped at her eyes with her apron. The children ran out and to either side. Jessie reached to be pulled up by Ruth, and the child rode sitting before her, waving as though she herself had accomplished the task.
Why not?
Ruth thought.
We all need to celebrate.
Jed would have celebrated. She shook her head, missing him, missing him so.

As she watched that crazy antelope follow Elizabeth out toward them, Ruth tried to remember when she had felt such joy as in this moment, when people that she cared for had found reason to rejoice. Perhaps at her wedding years ago; all but her father had rejoiced then. But this was surely different. This was a fuller time, because they'd been so low, and now together—at least for the moment—they were divorced from their despair.

Elizabeth had hiked her skirts up between her legs the way she did to move faster. She strode toward them, waving. Behind her, Ruth watched a scurry of activity.

Lura and Adora, Esther and Betha, rolled barrels, helped lift boxes; the boys dragged broken wagon tongues, hoisting them onto the barrels to serve as a kind of corral, incorporating the broken wagons to make the circle larger. It looked as though even Tipton had been enlisted, helping her mother shove a trunk into line. Suzanne stood off to the side holding Clayton near a campfire, the black dog panting at her feet. Mazy held Sarah by the hand.

Into this makeshift boundary, the oxen moved with additional speed as though happy to be home.

“Would you look at this!” Elizabeth said, breathless beside the
riders. The Indian woman Elizabeth had befriended smiled down at her from the pony, the silver bell earrings shimmering. Her man lifted his chin with a nod of recognition from the far side of their herd. “Isn't this a sight? You girls did real good,” Elizabeth said. “Just real good.”

“We're only short a few,” Mariah said. “Who would have thought? We even got your cows!”

“Did you find ‘em all in the same place?” Elizabeth asked, wanting to hear the details of the story.

“Guess you could say that,” Ruth said. “It was your friends that located them. They could have kept them for themselves, but didn't. Not even the mules. I think all eight are here.”

Elizabeth shook her head, patting the withers of Silver Bells’ horse as they walked. “Ain't this just a moment for rejoicin,” she said.

Ruth beamed. “My thoughts exactly.”

Outside the circle, cooking fires started. Mazy made an effort to help Ruth by putting grain in a bucket for the two horses and threw in a couple handfuls extra. Ruth picked up the buckets, one in each hand. “I'd carry,” Mazy said, “but—”

“No matter.” They walked quiet for a time. “You'll get back to where you were. I'm sorry, though. About the baby,” Ruth said. “Your mother told me”

“I'll never be back to where I was,” Mazy said. She took a deep breath. “Even though we'll eventually reach Wisconsin.”

Wisconsin?
Ruth did not respond, outwardly. Inside, her stomach lurched. They had to turn back west, and soon.

Mazy's breathing sounded labored. Animals stood drinking from puddles of standing water. The mules were hobbled now Ruth bent to check the iron links at their front legs.

“They should have been hobbled last night—they wouldn't have
been lost to the storm,” Mazy said. “I was just so tired, not thinking clearly. Should have checked with Adora and reminded her.”

“They weren't your responsibility,” Ruth said. “They belong to the Wilsons.”

“Adoras had her hands full. And Zilah's too new to it to know what's right or wrong. Besides, I think if we're to make it, we've got to pay attention to each other, take notice and walk beside each other a little more. At least I need to be less…pampering of myself.”

Ruth laughed. “Not a term I'd use to describe you, Mazy Bacon. Pampering?”

“I am, though Thinking about how I feel, my loss, my…disappointments and not even noticing what others need for keeping. We might have staked the wagons too, when the wind came up. I just wasn't thinking. Now I'm even more addled.”

“You've had lots to think about and lost more than most,” Ruth said.

“How can you compare?” Mazy said. “I mean, I know so little of what others face, what pool they draw from to see them through. They're so peculiar—troubles and loss. They hit us like a cold. We think we know how others are affected because it seems so common, something we've all faced. But something can be just a sniffle to one soul and to another, it's pneumonia.”

“Just seems to me we have to take responsibility for ourselves,” Ruth said. “We can't rely on others to see us through.” They stood quietly listening to the horses crunch against the grain. “People fail us,” she said. “Not good to put too much stock in them.”

“You didn't fail us,” Mazy said.

Mazy turned back to look at the oxen and her cows. They were lying down, chewing their cud in the fading light. She brushed the air against the insects buzzing and hovering. For Ruth, it was a miracle those stock were back, an absolute miracle. What on earth did it mean?

“Get back! Get back!” Tiptons words cut through the evening air, but still the flames licked up against Suzanne's skirt, finding fuel in the petticoat, smoldering putrid smoke against the damp wool of the woman's skirt.