Prairie Wife (8 page)

"Mostly uneventful."

Cay climbed down and set the little dog on its feet. The critter
scurried to sniff the corner of the porch and the last dying blooms of Amy's
flower garden.

"That your dog?" Amy asked Cay, shading her eyes with
her hand.

Cay looked at Jesse, then replied, "Yeah."

"Yes, ma'am," Jesse corrected.

"Yes, ma'am," he amended.

"Teach him not to water my flower bed, will you?"

Cay made a dash to stop Biscuit from peeing on Amy's petunias, but
he was too late. He chased the dog across the yard.

Jesse took off his hat to run a hand through his hair, then
settled it back on his head.

"What will you do now?" Amy asked.

"Get a shovel, I reckon."

"Already saw to that." Sam approached. "Me'n Hermie
took turns the last couple o' days. Thought it would make it easier for
you."

"Thanks, Sam."

"No thanks needed."

"Cay and I need a bath. After that, I'll pull the wagon up to
the site. Will you ask some of the men to give us a hand with the...." He
gestured with his thumb over his shoulder. "With this?"

Sam nodded.

"We could send for the preacher and wait, I reckon,"
Jesse said. "Or we could lay her to rest our own way." He glanced at
Amy. "What do you think?"

"I think she'd like it just fine if you said a few words
yourself. We can sing a hymn."

Jesse's chest felt so tight he couldn't speak, so he nodded.

"I'll send Adele to get your water, and I'll bring you
clothes," she said.

With a jerking movement, he got himself headed toward the
bathhouse.

Half an hour later, clean-shaven and dressed in his dark trousers
and white shirt, Jesse watched as his men carried his mother's plain wooden
coffin from the wagon bed to the side of the grave, then laid it on ropes and
lowered it into the hole. He had always thought there was time left. Time to
visit his mother, time to bring her here to meet Amy... But his mother's time
had run out.

He couldn't even be sure Amy was breathing beside him. Her face
was pale, and she looked steadfastly at Jesse, not at the box that held his
mother or at the small grave beside it.

As far as Jesse knew, Amy had not been to their son's grave site
since the day of his burial. If the rosebush Jesse'd planted was a surprise,
she didn't let on.

Something was expected of him now, so Jesse opened the Bible he'd
found among his mother's belongings and located the page she had marked.
"'The Lord is my shepherd,'" he read. "'I shall not want. He
maketh me to lie down in green pastures.'"

It wasn't a long Psalm, and when he was finished, he looked at Cay
to find the boy's face pinched, tears glistening in his eyes. Jesse's mother
was the only mother Cay had known; she had raised him from the time he was
small.

With Jesse's permission, Cay had brought the dog, and Biscuit lay
at his feet, its keen brown gaze watching the proceedings of the humans with
curiosity.

Jesse looked at Amy then, and gave her an encouraging nod.

Her sweet girlish voice led them in all the verses of
"Amazing Grace." His mother would have loved this place, this land.
She would have loved Amy. Wrestling with regret was a waste of time and energy,
but Jesse tussled with his feelings anyway. He'd lost his last opportunity for
seeing his mother again and had missed introducing her to his wife.

Somehow he kept up his end of the song, and when it was over,
Jesse took a shovel and scooped dirt into the hole.

Cay knelt and buried his face in the dog's fur.

Hermie and another hand stepped forward to take over the task, but
Jesse refused their help. This was his job. "You can all head back
now," he told the gathering. "I'll finish here."

One by one, the hands went back to their chores, the women to
their tasks, and Sam settled his hat on his head and took Amy's arm to lead her
away.

Only Cay stayed until the grave was filled. Then he released the
dog and stared at the fresh mound of dirt, his throat working.

Jesse wiped perspiration from his forehead and watched as Cay got
down and used his hands to smooth the dirt. He sat back on his haunches, his
gaze moving to the two wooden markers bearing Shelby names. Jesse anticipated
the question.

"Who're Vanessa and Tim?"

Jesse tucked his handkerchief away. "Vanessa's Amy's mama.
Tim's our boy."

That answer seemed to be enough, but there was more on his mind
because he frowned and asked, "What about a marker for Gran?"

"You can help me make one." Jesse worked the other two
crosses from the hard-packed ground. "These need a new coat of paint while
we're at it."

It didn't take long to make a simple wood cross, paint Jesse's
mother's name on it and freshen the paint on the other two markers. He and Cay
had all three finished and set into the ground by supper. They stood side by
side on the hill, each lost in his own thoughts.

Jesse took moderate comfort in the fact that his mother and Amy's
mother lay on either side of his son. They weren't really there, he reminded
himself, and glanced up at the sky where the sun headed for the horizon.
Take
care of each other.

"Well, I'm hungry, how about you?" he asked Cay.

The boy shrugged and followed him to the basins beside the porch
to wash.

During the meal, Sam brought Jesse up to date on the travelers
who'd been through while he was gone. Amy took special care in placing the best
pieces of meat on Jesse's plate and freshening his coffee. If she stopped long
enough to lay a hand on his shoulder or lean against him, the last shred of his
brittle soul would shatter.

As it was, the ache inside grew like a hunger he couldn't seem to
appease. When he'd finished eating, he pushed back his chair and waited as the
others filed out.

Only Mrs. Barnes remained, and she was busy washing pans in a tub
of suds.

"Come here, Amy," he said, and motioned for her to
follow him toward the back room, which he unlocked.

She hung back until he gestured again, and then she entered
hesitantly. He closed the door, confining them in the small space.

Amy clasped her hands before her and waited, her expression
impassive.

Jesse knelt to the bags he'd stored there for lack of a better
place. Among his mother's clothing had been her jewelry and personal things. He
took out a silver case engraved with roses and stood to hand it to Amy.
"This is for you."

It took several seconds for her to accept the box. She ran her fingers
over the top. "It was your mother's."

"There are a few pieces inside. Go ahead and look."

She opened the hinged lid, revealing a few brooches, a locket and
two pairs of earrings.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't like them."

She raised her gaze. "I do like them, Jesse."

"Well. I want you to have them."

Amy owned jewelry that had belonged to her mother, as well. If
they had a daughter, she would inherit the pieces someday. None of the items
was particularly valuable, except for the sentiment they held. Jesse didn't say
what he was thinking. They didn't talk about things like that anymore, and
chances for more children were slim. Their plans for the future and a family
were all buried in that little plot on the hillside.

He wanted to tell her how bad he felt that she hadn't met his
mother, how many regrets he'd experienced these past days. But he didn't.

Amy closed the lid. "Thank you. I'll keep this on my
bureau."

If she touched him, all the pieces of his soul would come together
and he'd feel whole again. If she touched him, he'd know she was doing it out
of duty or pity and not because of any great love she felt for him. If she
touched him and he showed his weakness for her, he'd hate himself later.

But he didn't have to concern himself, because she kept her
distance. He felt so cold, he didn't know how it could be only late September
and not the dead of winter.

"A trunk came yesterday," she told him. "Probably
more of her things. It's in the parlor."

"I'll look through it in a day or so. You can open it if you
like."

She shook her head and reached for the doorknob.

"Good night, Amy."

She left, and what little warmth had remained in his bones seeped
out. Jesse locked up, crossed the kitchen and made his way to the barn.

In the tack room, beneath his saddle, he found the remainder of
his case of whiskey and popped the cork on a fresh bottle.

The burn started at his throat and a path of fire spread to his
belly. After several swigs, his limbs were warm and the cavity in his chest
glowed like a coal furnace. He was damn tired of denying himself. Tired of
disapproval and guilt and helplessness, and if this eased the loss of
everything he'd once held dear and no longer had, well, who the hell could
blame him?

Jesse wrapped the crate in a horse blanket and carried it to his
room at the boardinghouse.

***

The following morning Amy encountered Cay in the hallway on her
way downstairs.

"Morning," she said.

He merely nodded.

"Is your room okay? Do you need anything?"

"Room's fine." He made a point of looking directly at
her and saying, "Thank you" before sliding past her and hurrying down
the stairs.

She watched him go with conflicting emotions. He was young and
would be alone if not for them. But she wasn't going to get her hopes up that
he'd blend right in to their family and way of life. Hope had a way of turning
sour and it was best to be practical.

She'd been in the kitchen only a half hour when a stage driven by
Pearly Higgs pulled into the station. The gray-bearded ribbon-sawer made his
way to the house, hung his hat and holster on a peg and rubbed his hands
together in glee. "I been a-waitin' for a stack o' your flapjacks, Miz
Shelby."

With fanfare he pulled a gold coin from the pocket of his buckskin
shirt and plunked it on the table.

Amy poured him a cup of coffee and set a plate before him.
"It'll be just a few minutes while I get the griddle hot again."

"Watchin' you work only makes the waitin' more
pleasurable," he said with a grin.

Sam entered through the back door, poured himself a cup of coffee
and took a seat across from Pearly. "What's this I hear about a train
derailing?"

"A party of Cheyenne tore down telegraph wire and lashed a
stack of rails to the tracks. Train came along last night." Pearly cracked
a fist into the other palm to demonstrate the collision.

Amy winced.

"Cheyenne are just tryin' to protect their land," Pearly
said with a shrug.

Sam took a sip from his mug. "Yeah, but the Army will see
this as an act of war and reinforce their efforts to round the Indians
up."

"Were many people hurt?" Amy asked.

"Don't rightly know," Pearly replied. "I heard it
from a rider comin' from the south."

Thinking of all those people stranded on the prairie, Amy looked
at her father. "Do you think there's something we can do? Should we go see
if they need doctors and stages?"

Sam scratched his chin. "I s'pose we could take a few wagons
and see if anyone wants to come back to the station with us. They can catch
rides from here."

Amy looked to Mrs. Barnes. "Can you handle things if I go
with my father?"

"You go ahead—we'll do fine," the woman assured her.

"You're fixin' to go?" Sam asked his daughter.

She removed her apron, then placed the twenty eggs she'd boiled
that morning in a clean coffee tin and covered
it
"No reason that I
shouldn't."

Knowing better than to argue, Sam raised a brow and turned to
Pearly. "Exactly where did this happen?"

While her father got directions, Amy packed food and stacked
blankets and crates on the porch.

Jesse pulled a team and wagon into the yard and stalked toward
her. Apparently her father had told him Amy's plans.

"Amy, you can't go off like this, it's not safe."

She gestured to the gun lying with her belongings. "I have my
rifle. And I'll be with my father."

"Maybe so, but we don't know about the Cheyenne that attacked
that train. They could still be out there."

"We've always been on good terms with the Cheyenne," she
replied. "They see the trains as the threat, not us. Their actions have
been more like deterrents than attacks."

"You can't be sure. I'll go, and you stay here."

"You need to run the station," she told him logically.

"Then I'll send one of the hands in your stead."