Spring for Susannah (36 page)

Susannah snatched the flapping letter from the storekeeper. “Thank you, but you must excuse me.” She patted her abdomen, then hurried to the one place Mrs. Rose wouldn't follow. Latching the outhouse door, she thanked God for the cold weather's effect on odors and flies.

Regulation-neat script, teacher's penmanship, graced the envelope. Susannah pulled out the letter and aligned the writing with a crack on the west wall.

Dear Mrs. Mason,

Yes, your three letters to your husband are here, safe and dry, awaiting his arrival. Rest assured, I will hold any future correspondence for him.

I hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty of making a few inquiries. None of our acquaintances, through the post office nor my husband's medical practice, has heard of Mr. Jesse Mason. I can state with some degree of certainty that your husband is not in Bismarck at this time.

Several outfits surreptitiously departed for the Black Hills last month. Perhaps he joined one of these groups of unknowns?

You may also want to inquire at Fort Abraham Lincoln.

Best wishes for the return of your beloved,
Linda Slaughter, Postmistress

Susannah tried to hold back her tears. Jesse wasn't in Bismarck, so where was he? Gold prospecting seemed more likely every day. If she wrote to the fort about Jesse, would the soldiers arrest him? Could they find him in all that wilderness? Winter was coming. Soon travel would be impossible.

The door rattled. “Mrs. Mason? Are you all right in there? What's your letter say?”

Susannah folded the heavy stationery into the envelope and leaned against the door with a sigh. A married woman running the post office in Bismarck. What next for this territory?

Jesse had a plan.

The next time the kid crawled into the tepee, Jesse was ready. “Misun. Where are my clothes?” He patted his arms and legs. “I can't sit around in a blanket. It's getting cold.” Not as cold as it usually got this time of year, but chilly enough.

The boy said a bunch of stuff, then held out the guitar.

“No.” Jesse shook his head. “I want my clothes.” The boy motioned for him to lean forward, off the backrest, then he pulled out Jesse's gear. All this time he'd been sitting on it. Jesse pulled on his pants and shirt. If he'd known he'd be out here this late in the year, he'd have brought heavier clothes.

No, if he'd known, he'd have never left home.

“Thank you. Now, where're my shoes?” Jesse pointed to his feet.

The kid shook his head, then handed him the guitar. Too smart. Maybe that was the problem with government Indian policy, underestimating their adversary.

“But, Mrs. Mason, if an Irish family with twin babies lived near here, we'd know about it.”

Susannah guided Pa Ox from the Roses' shed. “My point exactly, Mrs. Rose. Since they haven't come to you for supplies, I'd best go check on them.” She returned to the shed for Ma Ox.

“Mr. Rose, don't you touch this wagon. Mrs. Mason is not going anywhere, especially all the way to Fourth Siding.” The woman planted her hands on her hips and continued talking without taking a breath. “The only foreigners around here are those Norwegians.”

“No, my dear. McFadgen has some Irish friends.” Mr. Rose stepped around his wife, carrying the heavy yoke. “John Morrison and Richard McKinnon.”

“Right. If anyone needs to check on those people, it should be one of their own.” Mrs. Rose thrust her face toward Susannah's. “Unless
you're
Irish.”

“My parents were English. I'm American.” Susannah had just about used up her day's allotment of patience in this first hour of the morning.

“Those boys are busy fur trapping this time of year,” Mr. Rose said.

Mrs. Rose shot her husband a look, then continued her assault on Susannah. “What would Mr. Mason say about you gallivanting all the way to Fourth Siding and back?”

“He'd say they're overdue for a visit.”

“And the weather?” The woman ignored her. “It can change in a flash. Might look nice now, but we could have a foot of snow on the ground by nightfall. If you're caught out in it—”

“It's a fine day for a drive. Indian summer.”

Mrs. Rose jumped on the word. “Indians! You'll run into a tribe of bloodthirsty savages and be scalped for certain.”

“Now, Mrs. Rose.” Susannah loaded a basket of potatoes into the wagon. “When's the last time you saw an Indian?”

“Actually, we haven't seen any.” Her husband fastened the last trace onto the yoke. “Occasional half-breeds is the best we do for Indians around here.”

“Well, Lord only knows what evil you'll run into out there. A woman in your delicate condition. You'd better take someone with you. Robert!”

After attempting to teach that rapscallion all week, Susannah certainly didn't plan to spend her Saturday trying to keep him from burning down the territory. She climbed onto the seat. “I'm sure that's not necessary. I have a shotgun and a dog. Mrs. Hansen returned Jake when she moved into her new home.”

“Well, I could go with you.” The old bird's eyes glittered. “I'll fetch my shawl.”

Susannah didn't bother to hide her annoyance. She'd rather be stuck at the schoolhouse. “Thank you, but no.”

Mr. Rose herded his wife toward the store. “You go gallivanting off across the prairie, Mrs. Rose, who will help me with inventory?”

Susannah snapped the reins over the backs of the oxen. To Mr. Rose, she smiled and mouthed,
Thank you
. He touched his fingertips to his forehead in salute.

The last word was Mrs. Rose's. “I'll have you know, you're on a wild-goose chase!”

Better than being pecked to death by a domestic goose.

Susannah whistled for Jake. The dog joined her on the seat and dug his black toenails into the wood. The team stepped out, energetic after several days' rest. She guided them onto the narrow ruts of the stage road.

The sun baked the prairie, perfuming the air with the humid smell of grass. The dog retreated to the shade under the seat.

Susannah passed the time thinking of questions for Maureen Duffy. When did this upset stomach pass? It seemed so wasteful to have to eat a second breakfast because the first wouldn't stay down. Susannah had noticed several spots of blood on her toothbrush. Could this be due to the pregnancy or were her teeth giving out? When did Maureen start to feel the baby move? Could she tell hers were twins? The babies would be seven months old now. Would they be sitting up, crawling, sleeping through the night?

Fourth Siding's shed appeared on the eastern horizon. Why didn't the Duffys come to Worthington? Fargo was much farther away. Had someone warned Maureen about the Roses? Were they in good health? Had they been spared the grasshopper damage? Susannah turned the oxen off the road, heading northeast. She reached under the seat to pat Jake. “Almost there.”

The wagon tilted, then began a rhythmic bumping.

“Whoa!” Susannah frowned. This strip looked like the Duffys' firebreak, disguised by a summer's growth of wildflowers and prairie grass. A serious oversight this time of year. Didn't Colum remember last autumn's fire?

Jake bolted off in search of water. On their last visit, Mr. Duffy had answered the door with a muzzleloader. He might mistake Jake for a wolf.

“Hello, Duffys!” Susannah called. This was their draw, she was sure of it, but where was the stovepipe? Perhaps they'd taken it down for cleaning. And the path? A chill grazed her spine. She thought this was the right place, but—

The draw was empty. Grass grew two feet tall where it should have been trampled down. A dark rectangle showed where the door had been. The southeast corner of the dugout had caved in.

“The babies!” She raced to the opening. The soddy was empty. No people. No stove, no packing crate furniture, no hammock. The hole in the roof let in more sunlight than the oiled paper window, enough to see where rain had scooped a dip in the floor. Bird droppings spattered one corner. Susannah stepped on the threshold. The board creaked, tilting the door frame further off plumb.

No need to see more. The Duffys were gone.

Tears blurred her view of the dugout. This wasn't some sudden tragedy. The family had packed thoroughly, carefully. They'd left nothing behind.

Susannah wondered if the babies were all right. There was no way to know. The prairie grass would swallow up graves as quickly as it did paths and fields.

She took one last look around. Nothing plowed. The Duffys must have left shortly after their visit this spring. Where had they gone? Someplace easier, she hoped. She would imagine the four together, because any other image would shatter her.

By this time next year, the dugout would be completely gone, returned to the prairie. Nothing would show a young Irish couple had once tried to homestead here.

Susannah shivered, aware of her isolation. Jake nudged her hand with his wet nose. She knelt and wrapped her arms around the dog's neck. His long pink tongue swabbed her face.

“Watch over them, Lord, wherever they are.”

Susannah returned to the wagon and headed the team back to Worthington. A line of cumulus towered over the western sky, the southernmost forming into an anvil. “Get up, Ma Ox, Pa Ox.”

Fourth Siding's shed slid by her left shoulder. Just over a year ago she'd arrived here to begin a new life with Jesse. How long before the prairie took back his claim, before the grass choked their draw and reclaimed his fields? How long before the roof collapsed on their soddy and the rain melted its walls? In less time than it took Jesse to build, it would all be gone.

She would not let that happen.

The wind swung around to the north, driving cold rain, then ice and flurries, into the tepee. Jesse put on his woolen drawers, both pairs of pants, both shirts, jacket, and hat, then wrapped the blanket over all. He crawled to the dry part of the floor and shivered. He should have left yesterday. But he got winded walking to the latrine and back. And he still couldn't find his shoes. Or even an extra pair of moccasins.

He didn't know how far the boat had drifted downriver, or if the tribe had moved the village while he was sick, but he suspected Fort Lincoln was farther than he could walk. The Indians had horses but probably wouldn't take kindly to him borrowing one. Why hadn't they killed him already? For the most part, they ignored him. Except the kid with his big dreams of making music.

Misun crawled into the tepee. Right on time for his lesson, except he didn't have the guitar. The boy didn't look at him; Jesse was always suspicious of anyone who wouldn't meet his eye. Without a word the boy gathered up the backrest and second blanket. Now how was he supposed to stay warm?

Misun grabbed Jesse's elbow and towed him out. If the tribe was moving, they'd probably go farther away from civilization, not closer. Maybe they'd give him his shoes and leave him here.

But all the tepees were standing. The usual people did the usual work. Nobody seemed to be packing.