In the Face of Danger (7 page)

Emma burst into laughter. “Your mother is a great storyteller, too!” she said.

Finally she read Ma’s parting words. “I hope you understand, love, why I did what I had to do. I love you with all of my heart and always will.”

Emma looked concerned, but Megan smiled bravely. “I do understand what Ma did,” she said. “I hope you do, too, because I want you to think only good things about my mother.”

“Of course. I’m glad you can forgive her,” Emma began, but Megan shook her head.

“There’s nothing to forgive. As Ma said, she did what she had to do. She loves us, and I know she misses us as much as we miss her.”

With that Megan’s brave resolve vanished. She burrowed her head into Emma’s lap and burst into tears.

All day Megan carried the letters in her pocket, and that night she slept with them under her pillow.

With his empty wagon rattling and clattering as it bounced on the hard-packed road, Farley Haskill arrived the next morning. It was a clear, bright day in mid-November with the sun so surprisingly warm that Megan had gladly shed her coat.

Mr. Haskill asked Ben to take care of his livestock while he traveled to St. Joseph and back. “Got to pick up some supplies afore winter sets in,” Mr. Haskill stammered. He looked at his wagon, at the ground, and at the sky, but never directly at Ben or Megan.

“Is everything all right, Farley?” Ben asked.

“Of course everything’s all right!” Mr. Haskill’s voice cracked, and his face turned as red as Goliath’s waggling comb. He climbed to the seat of his wagon and visibly tried to collect himself by gulping a couple of times. Megan was fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

“Got a lot on my mind, I tell you,” Mr. Haskill said. “I just hope it works out right, but I want you to know I’m beholden to you for your help.”

“That’s what neighbors are for,” Ben said.

“Anything you need me to get for you in St. Joe?”

“Nothing I can think of,” Ben said. “We got all that we went after on our own trip to St. Joe.”

“And a bit more,” Farley said, and winked in Megan’s direction.

With a sudden ache in her chest Megan thought about the bustling streets of St. Joseph. It was there she’d last seen Mike and Danny and Frances and Petey and Peg.
She could feel Frances’s arms around her, and a sob rose in her throat. Thankful that the men were talking and hadn’t noticed, Megan raced into the house.

Back in the house after the noon meal, as Emma was washing the dishes and Megan drying them, Ben told Emma about Mr. Haskill’s leaving. “I never saw the man in such a stew,” he said.

Emma frowned. “Do you think he’s deserting his farm? Could he be giving up and going back east the way so many others have done?”

“Farley wouldn’t just up and leave without saying so,” Ben said. “His stock is there. I looked into his dugout to make sure it was in good shape, and it’s neat enough to give a party in.”

Emma straightened in surprise, wiping her hands on her apron. “Farley’s no housekeeper. Are you sure you were in the right place?”

“There’s something afoot,” Ben said.

“What could it be? Did he drop any hints?” Emma asked.

“Not a one, far as I could tell.” Ben thought a moment, then added, “He’s due back in five days. Maybe then he’ll let us in on his secret.”

Lady scratched at the back door, and Megan hurried to open it to let her out. The day gleamed with sunlight, and Megan raced into it with Lady, feeling a part of the golden warmth. What a glorious season it had been so far. As much as she missed her family, Megan knew she couldn’t have wanted kinder or more generous people than Emma and Ben to have taken her into their home. Gypsy or no gypsy, it seemed the time for Megan to have some good luck had finally arrived. With Lady at her heels, Megan ran around and around the yard. Her arms became wings as she ran in wider and wider circles,
kicking up puffs of dust, swooping and twirling and laughing as Lady tried to keep up.

Suddenly Lady dashed against her legs, and Megan tripped over her and fell sprawling on the ground. Lady was zigzagging back and forth in front of Megan, barking furiously.

Brushing dust from the front of her dress, Megan struggled to her knees to see what had caused Lady to go into such a frenzy. Coiled next to an overturned tub, half-hidden in its shade, was a large rattlesnake.

Megan stared in terror at the wide-stretched mouth with its threatening fangs and darting, quivering tongue. The snake’s head swayed from side to side, following Lady’s every movement.

Megan screamed and scrambled to her feet. “Look out, Lady!” she yelled. “Get back! Get away!”

For just an instant Lady turned her head toward Megan, as though to make sure that she was safely out of harm’s way, and during that brief moment the rattlesnake struck.

T
HE DOOR BANGED
as Ben rushed from the house. He scooped up Megan and carried her well out of the rattlesnake’s range. Emma, puffing and gasping, one hand pressed against her abdomen, thrust a hoe into Ben’s hand.

Too shocked to move, Megan watched Ben slam down the hoe on the snake. Its long thick body twitched and undulated, and its tail of rattles rose and slapped the ground even after it was dead.

Lady walked slowly to Megan and lay down at her feet, looking up at her with a puzzled expression. Megan dropped to wrap her arms around Lady, who licked her cheek. “Do something for her!” Megan cried. “Help her!”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Emma said. Her words ended in a sob, and Megan burrowed her face into Lady’s fur.

“It’s my fault!” Megan wailed. “I called to her. She turned to look at me.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” Ben said.

“I wasn’t watching. I wasn’t thinking. She tried to protect me.”

Ben put a hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s rare to find a snake that large in the open, where people are working. Matter of fact, it’s late in the year for a snake to be out. By this time they’re all usually in hibernation, but we’ve been without rain for a long time, and this dry spell—”

His voice broke, and he knelt beside Megan to stroke Lady’s head.

The dog was quiet now, shivering as the poison spread through her body. Megan held her tightly. “Oh, Lady, Lady,” Megan sobbed. “Please don’t die!” Lady nestled against her, as though she trusted Megan to take care of her.

Megan squeezed her eyes tightly shut but gasped in horror as she saw through the blackness the grinning face of the old gypsy woman. “Bad luck,” the gypsy cackled. “Bad penny.”

“No, no!” Megan moaned.

“Megan.” Ben’s voice was soft. “Get up, Megan.”

She raised her head. “But Lady—”

“It’s over,” he said. He gently unwound Megan’s arms from around Lady and pulled her to her feet. “Why don’t you wash your face and go into the house with Emma? I’ll take care of Lady.”

“I want to stay with her.”

“There are things that you’ll need to do.”

“But I—”

“Someone will have to feed Lady’s pups.”

Megan gasped. “The pups! I forgot about them! What will happen to them without their mother?”

Emma took Megan around by the back door to wash her face. While Megan scrubbed away the tears and dust
with cold water and a lump of lye soap, Emma said, “They’ll take cow’s milk with a bit of sugar in it. We’ll tear some clean rags into strips, dip them into the milk, and wind them into nipples the pups can suck from.”

Megan glanced back toward the spot where Lady lay as Emma shepherded her into the house, but she couldn’t see around Emma. As they entered the house the pups were yipping and whining. Their tails waggled in eagerness as they spotted Megan, who sat on the floor by the box. “I’m sorry,” Megan murmured.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Emma told her. She carefully put down a bowl of milk on the floor next to Megan and handed her a narrow strip of unbleached cotton cloth. Kneeling beside Megan, Emma showed her how to tightly twist the cloth strips before dipping them into the milk.

Emma picked up Moby and thrust a cloth nipple into his mouth. Moby fought against it, loudly complaining, until he tasted the sugared milk that dripped onto his chin. Then he tentatively allowed Emma to dip the cloth and poke it into his mouth again. This time he sucked noisily at it.

Megan chose Peg, the littlest, and followed Emma’s lead. “They took the milk nicely,” Emma said as they finished, although by the time Megan had fed Peg and Patches, her dress was splattered with milk. Clumsily, with Megan helping her, Emma climbed to her feet. “We know how often Lady fed her pups, and we can keep the same schedule.”

“I’ll do it,” Megan said. “It’s too hard for you, and it’s my—my responsibility.”

Heartbroken, she gazed up at Emma, who wrapped her arms around Megan, hugging her close. “Oh, Megan!” Emma’s voice trembled. “I miss Lady, too, but dear little girl, I’m so very, very thankful that it wasn’t
you
!”

“Lady died because of me,” Megan whispered. “I brought the bad luck.”

“No, you didn’t!” Emma was emphatic. “Sorrow is a part of everyone’s life. We expect it and learn to live with it. I don’t want you blaming yourself for what happened. You mustn’t think for a moment that you were the cause of the bad luck. That’s not true!”

But Megan could still see the gypsy’s face and hear the gypsy’s bad-luck curse. Lady would not have died if she hadn’t been protecting Megan. Megan woke that night hearing Emma’s muffled tears, and she curled into a small, tight ball of misery. First her family had been split apart; now poor Lady was gone forever. Megan couldn’t even bear to imagine what sorrow she would bring next to the ones she loved.

In the morning, Megan had no time to think about what might take place, busy as she was with tasks that had to be done no matter what else happened.

The pups took the sugared milk greedily each time it was offered, and by the third day Megan stopped worrying about them, assured that they’d continue to grow stronger and healthier.

It was just after she’d finished feeding them their evening meal that she and Emma, who was browning sugar in the iron skillet to make a caramelized sauce for custard, heard a horse’s hoofbeats on the road.

Megan opened the door to see not Mr. Haskill but a lean, deeply tanned man who swung down from his horse to talk to Ben. The two men walked toward the barn, the stranger holding his horse’s bridle, and Megan popped back inside the house, quietly shutting the door. “It’s not Mr. Haskill. It’s someone else,” she said.

Emma looked up from her work. “Who?”

“I don’t know. A man alone who came on horseback.”

“In any case, we’ll have a guest for supper,” Emma said, her glance darting critically about the room. “It’s a good thing there’s plenty of side meat. And wasn’t it lucky I picked today to make a custard? Put an extra plate on the table, and oh—that rug by the fireplace—does it need shaking out?” As she spoke, Emma briskly stirred the contents of the skillet.

“The rug looks fine to me,” Megan said, smiling at the way Emma’s eyes were shining at the prospect of having a visitor.

Within a few minutes Ben led the man into the house, to be greeted by Emma, who had changed to a fresh apron, and Megan, whose scalp still tingled from having her hair quickly brushed.

“This is Mr. Thomas Cartwright,” Ben said. “I’ve invited him to stay the night with us.”

“Ma’am,” Mr. Cartwright said, quickly pulling off his wide-brimmed felt hat to expose a roughly cut shock of dark hair. He smiled at Megan, too.

“You’ll share our supper, Mr. Cartwright?” Emma said.

“With pleasure.” Mr. Cartwright leaned his bulging saddlebags against the wall. He eyed the table so eagerly that Megan knew he must be hungry.

“Then sit right down,” Emma said. “Megan and I will dish up the meal right away.”

“We’re having custard for dessert,” Megan told Mr. Cartwright, and he smiled so broadly that a dimple flickered in his right cheek.

“My favorite,” he said, “and it’s been at least two years since I’ve eaten any.”

Emma and Megan put the bowls of mashed squash and sliced cooked potatoes—both dotted with butter made from Rosie’s milk—in the center of the table, and
Ben brought the platter of fried meat. There was bread and more butter, and Megan could smell real coffee—instead of the usual chicory—being brewed in honor of the visitor.

They bowed their heads as Ben said grace, and the bowls were passed first to Mr. Cartwright, who—without waiting for any encouragement, Megan noticed—scooped liberal portions onto his plate and ate with obvious enjoyment.

But Megan was more curious than hungry. “Are you a Kansas farmer, too, Mr. Cartwright?” she asked.

He wiped his lips with his napkin and laid it back on his lap before he answered. “No,” he said. “I’m employed by the United States Department of the Interior.”

Megan had no idea what that meant, but Emma said, “Oh, my!” and looked impressed.

“Surveying the land?” Ben asked.

“In a way,” Mr. Cartwright said. “I was hired to travel with a United States Army western survey crew and make detailed sketches of the countryside.”

“You’re an artist? A real one?” Megan dropped her fork on the table and stared. She’d seen a few paintings in public buildings, even one in the entrance hall of the Children’s Aid Society. She’d been amazed when Mike told her there were homes uptown with large, gold-framed paintings hanging right in their living rooms. But she’d never seen a painter before.