Melinda Heads West (2 page)

The men outdistanced her with every step, walking singly or in pairs. As a rule, they weren’t concerned about her plight — except, that is, for Stanton, the talker. He’d offered his help repeatedly, but pride insisted she refuse it, even though her gait was becoming slower by the moment and her arms felt like they would soon drop from her shoulders onto the hateful rock-strewn road. The black-eyed man up ahead sent an occasional glance back at her, but she felt sure it was in disgust, and that she was becoming more of a laughing stock each moment.

To think that at the time, she’d thought she had packed light! Instead of the two cases, her mother had encouraged her to bring a trunk, for goodness sakes! “Melinda, my dear,” she had said, “you never know what company you might find yourself in. The right clothes and accoutrements
do
make a difference.”

Even now, Mindy snorted. She knew exactly what her mother had been saying: “Melinda, my dear, you’re about to track yourself across three states. If there’s a hope this side of heaven that you might meet a man interested in an old maid like yourself,
please
take along enough firepower to catch him!” Well, if “Mr. Right” saw her now, he’d fall off his horse and beg her to shoot him.

Mindy’s hair had long since sprung free of the neat bun she’d tried to wrestle it into. She could feel the telltale wisps around her face that signaled an all-out revolt of her hairdo. She didn’t need a mirror to know a hazy halo of dark brown curls circled her head. She resisted the natural desire to scream and stomp a foot at Nature’s joke at her expense. Her three sisters had lovely hair, perfect hair, well-behaved hair. She had a goat’s tail. And she couldn’t stomp a foot even if she wanted — her skirt was so weighted down with dust, she could barely drag one leg along with the other!

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you along with that bag, miz McCorkle? I’d be proud to,” Stanton said, at her side.

“No!” Mindy snapped, choking back tears. “I mean, no, thank you kindly, Mr. Stanton.” The very effort to talk overwhelmed her. Why didn’t he leave her alone? The rest of the men did.

The idea of her dresses and underthings falling into men’s hands was unbearable. What if her case came open? No, thank you. She’d carry it herself.

Mindy glanced up to suddenly see the black-eyed man charging toward her. His eyebrows had drawn together in a dangerous manner and he looked ready to breathe fire! She stopped in her tracks and, to her shame, shuffled a step so that she was standing behind Stanton when the ogre arrived. Without so much as a word, he reached and tried to jerk the tapestry bag from her hand. There he met resistance.

“
What
are you doing, sir? Those are my private things!”

“I am trying to save this trip from taking three
months
instead of three days!”

“I don’t see what my bag has to do with that.”

“I can see that you don’t, but if you’ll give it to me, I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Oh. Well, that would be kind of you. I didn’t realize I was holding everyone up.” Mindy reluctantly let go of her bag, glancing at the other men with a small shrug. As soon as the dark man had her case in his hands, he whirled it into the nearby bushes, and then turned to walk away.

“What? How? Are you … ?” Mindy stuttered, flabbergasted at the man’s behavior. Then she set her jaw, jerked up the hem of her skirt, and marched toward the underbrush to retrieve her property.

“Oh, no you don’t, little lady,” the stranger said, grabbing her around the waist. Mindy began to kick and swing at him like a she-devil.

He ducked her flailing arms as she yelled. “You better put me down, you heathen! I aim to carry my bag or stay with it!”

“Fine.” To her surprise, the man dropped her like a sack of potatoes. “But you’ll remember I tried, when you’re sitting here at night with the wild animals.”

Mindy sat sprawled on the ground in a most unladylike position. Her eyes grew large. “What do I care,” she cried, “If the men I travel with are no better?”

The black-eyed man stared deeply into her cold, green eyes until he grew disgusted and stormed off. Mindy rose, dusting off her skirt. Then she calmly started into the tall brambles to fetch her traveling bag. Once again, she was glad she had not brought something larger.

She looked up once as she climbed, very surreptitiously, and saw the men had begun walking without her. She harrumphed and continued her task. She found her bag open, its contents scattered five ways to Sunday. It took her fifteen minutes to put everything back in order because she had to shake off the straw and refold each item. When she came out of the bushes, she was startled to find the black-eyed man waiting on the other side.

“What on earth are you doing here?” she asked. “I assumed you would be off scaring infants by now, or taking food from the homeless.”

“Just give me the bag.”

Mindy held the bag as close to her heart as possible. “If you think I’ll fall for that again, you are sadly mistaken.” She sniffed. “There are very important items in here.”

“Well, you’re not going to need a change of clothes on this trip,
ma’am
.”

“For your information,
sir
, there is more than a change of clothing in this bag. There’s a gun, for one.”

The ogre burst out laughing. “A little thing like you? With a gun? What do you know about shooting? If we left you alone out here, I doubt you’d be able to fend for yourself for thirty minutes. What have you got, a little pearl-handled ladies’ pistol? That doesn’t scare away bears or big, bad men, lady.”

“I can shoot! Show me a target! I can shoot!” Something about the man made Mindy’s pulse pound.

“Forget it. Just give me the bag. I had no idea it contained such important items. I promise I won’t chuck it again. At least, not unless you give me reason.”

“I’d ask for your word on that, but I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” Mindy tapped one dirty shoe. “Give me something of yours.”

“What?”

“Give me something of yours that I can keep in trust.”

“You are one unique item.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Mindy puffed at the hair falling down over her eyes.

The man reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a leather wallet. He fumbled inside and then drew out a picture. “Here.” He handed over a daguerreotype of a stunning woman with upswept brown hair.

“Who is this?” Mindy asked. She couldn’t help but admire the lovely woman in the photo. “Why would I take a picture in trust for my bag?”

“It’s my wife. It’s the only picture I have of her.”

Catching up to the rest of the men, they continued their journey. They walked and walked and walked. They walked up one steep hill and down the next. They walked around sharp, rocky bends. They walked until Mindy thought they would surely walk off the face of the earth — all the while following rugged stage tracks scarred into brown clay.

A vicious sun cared not one whit for their plight and shone brighter than Mindy could ever remember it shining before. The glare hit rocks on the ground and the walls that surrounded them and then burst upwards in spiteful rays of blinding light. The heat was oppressive, pushing down as they walked, so that Mindy felt she not only carried her own weight but the weight of the universe. Gnats swarmed her head and flew into her nose; they raced into her mouth if she dared to open it to speak or breathe.

The party trudged along in silence. Mindy lost her footing, slipped and fell, cut her hands against the piercing stones, and bit her lips to keep from crying out. She wore shoes for traveling, but not this kind.

Mindy’s mind wandered. Her thoughts were of home: soft, leafy grass, tall, cool oak trees, and glistening glasses of hand-squeezed lemonade with tiny ice chips. She would have gladly given all the money in her pouch for one sip of that sweet, refreshing liquid. If she listened closely, she could faintly hear her mother calling from the back porch of a familiar weathered house: “Min-DEE!”

How remarkable it was she had dreaded hearing that voice at the time. It had meant putting down the pleasures of play and coming into a shadowy environment where lunch waited. A cool lunch: salad perhaps, just picked from the garden, with crisp greens and bright, fully ripened tomatoes that burst with an ambrosial splendor when you bit down into them. Cornbread with a crunchy, wholesome taste that offset the salad perfectly, and glasses of cool, well water. All she could drink, glasses and glasses, full to the brim and running over, of sweet, sweet, well water.

Thoughts of playing in the stream that ran alongside the house flitted through her mind: wading, splashing, laughing, slopping, spattering. How she had taken that water for granted!

Mindy’s eyes searched the road ahead, but all she saw were the backsides of the men and a horizon that stretched into a hazy distance. The twin ruts of the stagecoach went on eternally. How could she have lived in Mississippi all her life and not known about these two furrows that carved their way into an endless forever?

“We’ll stop here,” one of the men said.

The words didn’t filter through to Mindy’s thinking parts when they first floated through the air. They traveled around her head like gnats, before buzzing into her ears.

“There’s shade for now,” he continued, “and the sun’ll be setting before long. This is far enough. If I remember right, there’s a creek running along the bottom of this hill. We should hit it sometime tomorrow.”

Mindy’s eyes widened. Stepping dangerously close to the edge of the outcropping, she stared down, searching through the pine and scrub for any hint of the water (water!) mentioned. Her lips burned like they were on fire, and her tongue seemed to have grown to twice its size. Finally, far below, a brown thread could be seen winding enticingly between the trees. With a heavy sigh, Mindy was forced to admit it was much too far to jump.

Instead, with legs of applesauce, she carefully maneuvered to the designated shade and then collapsed into a rumpled heap. There she lay, falling back against the rocks and stones without concern, but registering faintly that there would be new places of pain tomorrow. For now, she didn’t care. They had stopped. The walking had ended.

• • •

Boone sat and leaned against a rock wall. He placed the worn and dusty traveling bag near his side. His arm felt ready to fall off — surely the bag weighed thirty-five pounds! He was exhausted, and the shade felt good.

It had been a hard tramp following the stagecoach path. He glanced over at the girl. She was in a green pile, with brown boots sticking out from beneath a dirty dress. Her hair was a mess, half in a wad on the side of her head, and half running down her back. Though right now, it was all splayed against the ground, and he couldn’t remember what color it had been originally.

He had to admit a grudging respect. He’d expected to be slowed by her presence or, worse yet, encumbered by having to take turns carrying her. The woman had surprised him. But there would be no water or food when she awoke, so he fully expected the whining to begin at that time. He’d never met a female yet who didn’t pine for attention and special treatment.

Boone momentarily thought about opening the tapestry bag and removing some of the contents while she slept, but … he’d made a commitment. And besides, if she found out, he’d never get the picture of his sister back. He smiled faintly, then crossed his arms and closed his eyes, looking for a few minutes’ rest.

• • •

Mindy awoke to a growling in her stomach and a terrific thirst, though, oddly enough, she didn’t feel the coarse ground beneath her. She could have been lying on a feather mattress. It was full dark and she could hear the men talking.

“ … for a woman,” one of them was saying.

Stanton’s voice was next, speaking low. “ … worth … her salt.”

Speak up!
Mindy fumed.

“Done … well as … of the men,” he continued. Her pride took a lift.

“It ain’t over yet,” said another voice. Mindy felt a tightening in her stomach and knew the voice immediately as that of The Tormentor. It rang clear and sharp, and instantly raised her hackles. “We might have made five or six miles this afternoon, but we’ve got close to thirty more to go. We’ll be carrying her before it’s over.”

Mindy’s blood ran hot, and then cold. Her palms fisted and all physical troubles vanished. Why, the no-account simpleton didn’t know a thing if he thought she needed to be carried and worried over!

“Forget about the woman,” whined another man. “What’re we gonna do about food?”

“Yeah. I’m dead beat. I need something to eat and drink.”

“Shut up, you two! For the last time!” Mindy heard a sound like a rock hitting hard dirt. Another followed.

“Ow! Whaddya do that for?”

“I’m tired of listening to the two of you complain. We’re
all
hungry! We’ll stay hungry ’til tomorrow when we get down in the lower region.” It was the leader of their small band, though Mindy couldn’t remember any decision that had actively made him such.

She sat up slowly. “I have food.”

“What?” A chorus of male voices.

“I have food. It’s in my traveling bag. I’ll be happy to share.”

The Tormentor stared. He stood and walked over to her, dropping the heavy bag at her feet.

“Thank you.” Mindy said, as coldly as possible. She hadn’t forgotten his unflattering statements. She stepped aside a few paces and turned her back. After a bit of fumbling, she unrolled three cans of pork and beans from the clothes inside. She returned to the group and extended them to the man in charge.

“What is
that
supposed to be?” asked the whiner. “I ain’t eating nothin’ that comes outta no can!”

“Well, I’ve heard of it, but I ain’t never seen it,” said another man. “But if there’s real food in there, I’ll eat the can itself!”

“Hold on,” said the leader. “First of all, there’s only three cans and there’s six of us. We’re going to have to split the food, but make sure nobody comes up short.” He looked over at the complainer. “If you choose not to eat, that’ll just be more for the rest of us.”