Prairie Wife (5 page)

He set down a jar of buttermilk and wiped a white mustache from
his upper Up. "You asking me to hire this Jack Douglas?"

"No." She busied herself picking up their plates.
"I was just wondering, is all. She asked me, and I told her Jack would
have to speak with you."

"If he comes to me, I'll talk to 'im," he said.

That was all she was going to think about that. She had enough to
deal with, now that Jesse's mother and nephew were coming. Amy packed their
lunch things and watched Jesse lope down the grassy lawn to join a group of
men.

***

Jesse no longer knew his wife. She wasn't the woman he'd married.
She wasn't the woman who'd lain beside him in the intimate stillness of a
winter night and shared dreams and feelings. She wasn't the woman who'd once
loved him so fiercely and well that he'd thought his heart would burst to
overflowing.

He lay on the bunk in the stark room he'd taken and stared at the
knotholes in the pine ceiling. He could remember so many details of their life
together that the memories drove him crazy long into the night.

As cavalry soldiers, he and Sam had met at Fort Kearny during the
war. Jesse'd been making a profit selling horses to the Army, and Sam had homesteaded
land in Nebraska. Seeing the need for way stations, they put their heads
together and came up with the plan to build one in a prime location. They
worked out their partnership, and after the war ended, scouted and purchased
land with access to water and grazing ranges. It was agreed that the stables
came first; horses would be their security and the base of their operation. But
until the business prospered, Sam had to provide a roof overhead for his wife
and daughter, so once the stables and barns were built, construction began on a
sod house.

Jesse remembered the first time he saw Amy. Sam's wife, Vanessa,
and his eighteen-year-old daughter had arrived by wagon, bringing supplies and
furniture. He'd been surprised that very first day to see Sam's daughter climb
down unaided from the wagon she'd driven, using the spokes of the wheel as a
step, and turn to help her mother.

From beneath her bonnet, honey-colored hair hung down her back in
waves, and she carried herself in a capable and confident manner. She'd spotted
her father stacking blocks of sod to form the base of the house and had taken
off running. Her bonnet fell back, and the sun glistened from that shiny, thick
hair.

Sam Burnham had stopped and straightened, and a smile that would
have lit the prairie night split his face. He plucked off his gloves, tossed
them down and ran forward to greet her.

She locked her arms around his neck and he swung her in a circle,
her laughter floating like a melody on the air.

"Whoo, Daddy, you smell like a goat!" she'd scolded him,
backing away and inspecting his stained clothing.

Neither he nor Jesse had bothered to launder their clothes since
they'd run out of clean a week or more ago.

"And you smell like a spring flower," Sam replied.

Jesse gazed at the curvy young lady wearing a pale green dress,
who looked as fresh as a new day, then glanced at his own clothing. He'd been
plowing sod behind a pair of oxen for two days, and his boots were caked with
mud and manure, his dungarees stiff with dirt. He smelled like the backside of
a buffalo. He stayed where he was.

Amy Burnham's attention shifted to him, and he was caught off
guard by how dark her eyes were—he'd expected blue, but discovered them a rich
caramel color. She looked him over, head to toe, an assessing but not critical
inspection.

Vanessa joined them then, her greeting less exuberant than her
daughter's. Sam kissed his wife on the cheek and she took her fill of gazing at
him, as though she was making up for the weeks apart.

"Jesse," Sam said finally, gesturing for him to come
closer. "This is my wife, Vanessa, and my daughter, Amy. Ladies, this is
Jesse. My partner."

Jesse doffed his hat then, but he stopped a good five feet away
from the women. "Ma'am," he said with a polite nod. "Miss
Burnham."

"You're younger than I expected," Mrs. Burnham said.

"I'm older than I was yesterday," he replied with a
grin.

Vanessa Burnham looked him over. "You're young for a man so
financially solvent," she explained.

"I've caught, broke and sold a lot of horses to the Army, ma'am,"
he explained. "I've outfitted stage lines and buffalo hunters. Then the
war scared the nonsense out of me. I met your husband and started thinking about
the future, and knew I wanted to settle in one place."

"This
is the future," Sam told the ladies
with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. "A prime spot along the Overland
Trail, no other way station in a hundred miles. Once we get the horses ready,
we can build sleeping quarters and attract travelers like flies to honey."

"Isn't that like bees to honey, Daddy?" Amy asked with a
twinkle in those captivating eyes. "Flies are attracted to... other
things." She glanced at Jesse's boots.

He'd recognized the teasing glimmer in her eyes, and though he'd
blushed, he hadn't taken offense. She wasn't prissy, not then and never since.
Over the years he'd seen her work hard and find satisfaction in the growth of
the operation and in their success. She was the woman he loved beyond reason,
the woman who made every day of his life and all the effort he'd put into Shelby
Station worthwhile.

She was the woman who'd cut him from her life as though he were a
loose thread. And day by day something inside Jesse was dying.

Bless
Mrs. Barnes, she never minded extra work or additional mouths to
feed. Earlier in the week a wagon train had camped to the west, and the female
travelers had been eager to pay for hot baths and fresh vegetables. Truth be
told, Mrs. Barnes seemed to welcome the chance to talk with other women, and
often made herself a profitable exchange for the scented soap she made and kept
wrapped for such occasions.

Jesse had dealings with the Army that same week, and a cavalry
troupe sent to obtain horses had camped overnight at the station while Jesse
trained the soldiers in special commands and care of his stock.

Mid-morning of the second day Amy browned rabbit parts in two
enormous skillets, then dropped the meat into a pot of bubbling water, which
would be stew by dinner. She'd waved down Pitch Gittleman that morning and
asked if he could spare a few hours to hunt rabbits. The stocky bowlegged
ex-cooper was always ready to hunt game when the need arose. He had a knack for
finding sizable rabbits, and didn't mind skinning them before he brought her
the meat.

She'd rewarded him with a napkin full of doughnuts she'd just
fried. He'd grinned a broad smile that showed a gold front tooth.

"I'm gonna hide these and make meself a pot o' coffee."

She had wondered if he'd enjoy his coffee and doughnuts before any
of the other hands sniffed him out.

At supper the soldiers raved over her stew and dumplings, told
Jesse that they regretted having to leave that afternoon, and thanked her
profusely as they filed out of her kitchen, picking up their guns from a pile
outside the door.

Amy dropped to a trestle bench and caught her breath.

Mrs. Barnes was already scraping dishes and shaving soap into the
dish pan. Adele, too, had stayed to help clean up.

From the yard came a familiar call.
"Stage a comin'."

"Oh Lord," Mrs. Barnes muttered.

Wearily, Amy stood. "There's still stew in the pot and I can
add potatoes in a hurry to make it stretch."

"I'll whip up a pan of corn bread, Miz Shelby," Adele
offered.

Amy nodded her appreciation and Mrs. Barnes bustled to clear the
table and reset it.

After she'd added the potatoes to the pot, Amy dipped water from
the bucket beside the house and filled the two washbasins kept on crates along
the porch wall for travelers.

She glanced across the distance to the stable yard, where the
coach was stopped and Hermie and Pitch were changing teams. Where was Jesse? He
always helped with that task and his absence was unsettling. She frowned when
she saw him standing at the opening in the fence that separated the yard from
the stable area. A boy who barely came to Jesse's shoulder stood beside him.

Something was wrong. She knew it from the way her husband held his
shoulders.

Amy gathered her skirts and descended the porch stairs, making her
way to where Jesse stood. Before she reached him, he moved and took the boy
into his arms in an awkward embrace.

"Jesse?" she called.

He released the boy slowly and turned to watch her approaching.
"Amy."

The boy quickly swiped his face and raised his chin to look at
her. He had hair a little darker than Jesse's and eyes the same color of blue.
Cay? So Jesse's mother had arrived? Amy glanced toward the coach.

"Amy, this is Cay."

She stepped forward. "How do you do?"

The boy didn't respond, and her gaze raised to Jesse. His eyes
held a peculiar sheen.

She experienced a twinge of fright in her chest. "Where's
your mother?"

Jesse looked out across the north pasture and grimaced before
composing his expression. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She died on
the skirts of Manhattan and they left her in town. I have to go get her."

Amy couldn't think for a moment. Her hand rose to her breast on
its own. "Oh my—oh, Jesse."

"It's a day's ride," he said. "I'll leave first
thing in the morning."

"I wanna go with you," Cay said immediately.

It was the first she'd heard him speak, and his voice was
childlike, with a hint of the change soon to come.

"You can go with me," Jesse replied easily.

Should she offer to accompany him? She wasn't good at knowing what
to do or at offering solace.

Four dusty passengers were heading toward the house. "Do you
want to eat, Cay?" she asked.

He shook his head.

He'd lost his grandmother and Jesse'd just learned he'd lost his
mother—and all she could do was offer food. Should she ask how it had happened
or should she leave them alone?

"She knew she didn't have long," Jesse said. "I
thought she'd make it here, though. I figured we'd have time to take care of
her."

Amy tamped down whatever it was that had started to rise in her
chest. She filled her lungs with the sage-scented breeze and pressed her
fingernails into her palms.

Cay shifted his feet and didn't raise his gaze. "She din't
look good ever since we left Fort Wayne."

Amy needed to see to the guests who had reached the house. She
hadn't put out extra towels yet. "I'm sorry about your grandmother."
She couldn't look at Jesse again, couldn't bear to see his face and his pain
and feel inadequate over her inability to share it. "I'm sorry, Jesse."
She caught up her hem. "I'll go see to the guests. Have Cay bring his
things to the house. He can stay in the room I got ready."

She buried her feelings by showing the travelers where to wash,
slicing bread and filling cups. She and Mrs. Barnes worked compatibly, their
relationship comfortable and familiar. Amy collected payment for the meals, and
the pocket of her apron grew heavy with coins from the day.

Afterward she used her key to let herself into the small locked
room behind the kitchen, where she recorded the amount in a ledger and placed
the money in a metal box. At the end of each week Jesse paid the employees, set
aside enough for groceries and supplies and took the rest to the bank.

A while back he had mentioned his desire to make a trip to Indiana
to see his mother, but there never had seemed to be a good time. He was
probably regretting not acting on that wish.

By supper the stage was on its way, and only two passengers had
stayed over for a night's lodging. Jesse brought Cay in to eat with the hands,
but the boy barely touched his food. Cay watched Amy with a mixture of
resentment and blame in his expression, and she wasn't sure why he would feel
either toward her.

When night fell, Jesse accompanied him back to the house. Cay's
hair was wet and his clothing wrinkled, but clean. He'd apparently been to the
bathhouse at Jesse's prompting.

Amy should have thought of it.

"You didn't eat much at supper," she said. "Would
you like something now?"

Cay didn't look at her, but replied, "I could eat."

"Sit down and I'll fix you something."

He took a seat at the kitchen table, while Jesse removed himself
to the locked room, probably to look over the day's earnings.

After slicing bread and ham, Amy placed a sandwich and a cup of
milk before the boy.

He reached for the food.

"'Thank you' is called for," Jesse said from behind Amy,
surprising her, because she hadn't heard him return.

He too had bathed, and she inhaled the fresh clean scent of his
skin and hair, smells that triggered responses over which she had no control
and caught her off guard.