Walks the Fire (24 page)

Ma’am had apparently spoken about the quarters for the new laundress. Pierre arrived with his pack mules and unloaded all of Suzette’s things that he had been able to convince Jesse to take. Together, they walked across the compound to stable Red Star and the mule train. Pierre would stay a few days until the wagon train arrived with fresh provisions.

Having seen to the comfort of their animals, Jesse and Pierre stopped in again at the sutler’s, where Pierre insisted that Jesse allow him to trade a fine beaver pelt for several yards of richly colored madder-brown calico, muslin, a new pack of quilting needles, and several half-yard pieces of various colors of cotton cloth.

“I saw how the needlework heals you when you are lonely,” said Pierre. “This is my gift to you, for the little one.” Jesse accepted the gifts with warm thanks.

By the time they had walked the short distance back to her new quarters, the three soldiers assigned the duty had swept her room clean, set up two cots and a table, and laid out a plate, cup, frying pan and tea kettle near the fire. A rocking chair, “compliments of Ma’am” sat by the fireplace. Jesse sank into it gratefully, and rocked LisBeth before laying her, sound asleep, on the cot in the corner.

Pierre cleared his throat and turned to go.

“Surely I will see you before you…?”

“Of course, I will stop by to see how you are settled. Just now, if you wish to meet this Gilda, the head laundress, I will stay with LisBeth.” He felt awkward in her room and encouraged her to leave.

Jesse searched out Gilda, who stood scrubbing the collar of a filthy shirt over a steaming pan of water.

“So, yer the one who’s causin’ all the commotion t’day,” was her terse welcome. Jesse hesitated at the doorway.

“Where’s the baby?”

“She’s asleep. Mr. Canard said that he would watch her.”

“How you gonna’ work with a baby in tow?” She did not look up, did not pause in her attack upon the shirt collar.

“I’ll manage.”

“Don’t want you expectin’ no favors.”

“I won’t.”

“Fires need to be started and roarin’ hot by 5 a.m.—that’s when the water brigade fills the tubs. You know how to start a fire?”

Jesse smiled at the irony of the question. “I know how.”

“Then that’s yer job from now on.”

Two days later, Pierre Canard had traded his furs for provisions and headed home. Before he left, he clasped Jesse’s hands warmly in his own. “The sewing that helped you not be so lonely… perhaps I should have had you teach me, eh?” He cleared his throat, kissed Jesse on the cheek, rumpled LisBeth’s thick dark hair, and walked briskly away.

Twenty-one

Thy testimonies… are… my counselors.
—
Psalm 119:24

As LisBeth grew into a toddler,
Jesse often longed to confine her in a cradle board the way she had Two Mothers. She had thought it cruel when she first lived among the Lakota, but now she appreciated that most sensible way of keeping a young babe out of harm’s way. Somehow she managed to keep LisBeth away from the dangers of the laundry room. She rigged up a sort of play area, with boundaries created from a mix of branches and broken chairs. But when LisBeth began to scale the walls of her prison, Jesse took it down, afraid it would fall. Then she tied a cord about LisBeth’s waist and her own, ignoring the teasing of the officers who called LisBeth Jesse’s pet. Once in a while, someone would offer to help with the child, but Jesse always refused. She was never quite sure whether she didn’t trust the potential caregivers, or simply could not bear to have the child out of her sight. Whatever the reason, LisBeth grew up literally tied to her mother’s apron strings. But as soon as she was old enough to roam safely, she ran free, proving to be obedient even when out of her mother’s sight

Life at Fort Kearney fell into a monotonous routine. Up at 4 a.m., Jesse dressed in the dark, wrapping her thick braids around her head with no thought to style. Lighting a small fire, she prepared biscuits and hot mush for breakfast and set a little bowl close to the flames to keep it warm until LisBeth awoke. In a few moments, Jesse was out the door and across the compound. Entering the laundry room, she repeated the fire-building process, warming the huge tubs of water that were filled each morning by cavalrymen.

As she grew older, LisBeth had the luxury of sleeping until she chose to wake up, which was usually soon after sunrise. By the time she was seven, her morning routine was well established. After making her bed, she helped herself to breakfast, washed her cup and bowl in the bucket of water just outside the door, then followed her mother’s footsteps across the compound.

When LisBeth arrived, Jesse would always pause for a moment to hold her daughter’s hands and say a quick prayer for the day before them. The ritual brought them both comfort, as Jesse committed her daughter to the Lord’s care, asked for his help in her work, and thanked him for their home. Her thankfulness never wavered, and LisBeth consequently never saw herself as deprived. She seemed not to notice that her life was far different from that of the other children who had large families at the fort.

Jesse often despaired of not having more time to spend with her daughter. She needed time, she thought, to teach her the many things that a young girl needed to know. But the work never let up, and there was never time for more than the most basic lessons. LisBeth learned to read, sounding out and memorizing one word at a time from the Bible—their only book. She learned to keep house by watching her mother, late at night, sweeping and doing their own laundry. As soon as she was able, the young girl took over many of those chores. She was quick to see the weary lines in her mother’s face at day’s end, and in her little girl fashion, LisBeth strove to lighten the burden.

The ritual of morning prayers taught LisBeth the importance of regular worship. The quick prayers she often heard her mother send heavenward taught her the dynamics of a living faith. Whatever the problem, Jesse always took it to her Lord. She would break into the middle of a talk with LisBeth to say, “Now we’ll just have to ask the Lord about this, LisBeth.” And without even bowing her head, Jesse would turn her words heavenward, “Father, we need fabric to make LisBeth a new dress.” Or, “Father, please make Jimmy see that it hurts LisBeth when he doesn’t play nice.” And sometimes, “Father, we don’t really
need
it, but we sure would appreciate a new lamp to light our room at night.” LisBeth learned that God was not a stranger far away in the sky and that he was interested in her problems. LisBeth learned about the God who is “a very present help.”

“We don’t have Papa here to take care of us,” Jesse would say, “but our heavenly Father knows and cares, so we’ll just tell him about it and wait to see what he thinks needs to be done.”

After the long day of toiling over laundry tubs and flat irons, Jesse would drag herself back across the compound and lie down for a few minutes. She was only forty, but she was beginning to feel aged.

Once Jesse had risen and begun to prepare their supper, LisBeth would begin her string of tales from the day’s adventures. She explored every corner of Fort Kearney, knew every soldier’s name, petted every horse’s neck, and never complained of being bored. Jesse often thanked the Lord for having given her a child so able to entertain herself and so capable of the few chores demanded of her. Indeed, it had seemed that since she was an infant, LisBeth had been a blessing. As a baby, she would lie for hours, watching her mother hard at work, squirming only when hungry. Jesse would hear her first peeps and look over to see two dark eyes following her about the laundry room. She was reminded of another pair of dark eyes that had followed her every move just as eagerly, waiting to be fed.

After every supper, as the evening light dimmed, Jesse would place her Bible on the scarred tabletop, open it to a favorite passage, and read aloud. This was one of the few times she would be stern with LisBeth.

“Having God’s own words in a book is an awesome thing, LisBeth,” Jesse would remind her daughter at the first sign of a squirm. “We must cherish it. But more important, we must obey what it says. Now, let’s see what the Lord has for us today.” Jesse favored the Psalms and the end of Job, where God displayed his might in nature.

“Your pa loved this part of the Bible,” Jesse would say, and LisBeth’s eyes would sparkle at the thought of her imaginary papa reading the same book that her mother held.

“He never learned to read it himself,” Jesse explained, “but he had me read it to him every night. And he especially liked this part about God controlling the wind and the wild animals.” Then Jesse would read. She was careful not to read for too long. She did not want to tax her young daughter’s attention span. She longed for her daughter to look forward to rather than dread the reading.

LisBeth did her part, sitting quietly and listening to the words.

“It isn’t much, Lord,” Jesse would pray, “but you promised your Word wouldn’t come back void. I’m doing my best to share it with my daughter. Please bless it. Put it in her heart so that someday, when she needs it, your Word will come to comfort her and guide her.”

Day in and day out, Jesse’s and LisBeth’s schedules remained the same. There were few interruptions in the routine of life. Sunday was the one day when the two had respite. They began the day with church. Jesse would have been embarrassed had her daughter realized that it was not church that refreshed her mother’s soul. Many Sundays, Jesse only endured the sonorous sermons, waiting for the true highlight of her week: the opportunity to escape the fort, to return to the prairie, and to remember.

After services, they would change into older clothing, saddle up Red Star, and amble across the prairie. As the walls of the fort grew smaller in the distance, Jesse’s spirit soared. Heading for the nearby river, LisBeth and Jesse would dismount and eat their meager picnic on its banks.

After lunch, Jesse’s heavy braids would come down so that LisBeth could play with her mother’s hair. They picked flowers, sang hymns, walked along the edge of the water, and talked and laughed. Most Sunday afternoons, Jesse brought along a bit of needlework or mending. She diligently taught her daughter basic stitching and piecing. Together they cut out squares from discarded uniforms, and LisBeth happily pieced a doll quilt for the ragged doll she loved. It was a simple Nine Patch pattern, and the seams were uneven so that one edge was longer than the other, but Jesse praised it and stitched LisBeth’s name and the date along one edge.

As they picnicked and sang and stitched, Jesse’s eyes searched the horizon. Shadows seemed to dance in the prairie grasses about them. Had LisBeth seen them, she would have been afraid, but Jesse was comforted. Her long hair flowed down her back, and she drank in the fresh air.
He would be nineteen now,
Jesse thought, imagining Soaring Eagle hunting with his friends. The time always went too quickly. LisBeth would watch in fascination as her mother deftly rewrapped her hair about her head. Slowly they would ride back to the fort to begin another week of soap water and rinse water, of scrubbing and toiling.

If Jesse noticed how lonely their existence was, she never spoke of it. If LisBeth longed for a dear friend, she never spoke of it to Mama. LisBeth began to notice that Mama had two smiles. There was the gentle smile of every day—the one that barely showed and left her gray eyes solemn. But there was another smile that wreathed her mother’s face in joy and lighted something in her eyes.
I only see that smile on Sunday,
LisBeth thought.
I wonder why.

LisBeth sat outside the laundry room where Jesse worked. Her legs dangled over the edge of the bench, and her tiny feet pummeled the earth angrily as she stomped and muttered to herself. Her chubby hand defiantly swiped at the tears that she could not will away. “Not gonna cry… not gonna cry,” she muttered to herself.

Sitting down beside LisBeth, Jesse said, “You’re back early. Was it too hot for the game?”

LisBeth nodded and turned her head away. But Jesse had already seen the tracks the tears had left on her daughter’s dusty cheek.

“Why, LisBeth,” Jesse said gently. “What happened? Did you fall? Did you hurt yourself?”

LisBeth shook her head no. She hugged her knees and studied her toes, waiting for her mother to leave. But Jesse was not put off so easily. “LisBeth,” she said, “you must tell Mama what happened.”

It all came out in an angry tumble, “I hate that Jimmy Callaway. I just
hate
him! He thinks he’s really somethin’. Thinks he’s better’n me.”

Jesse waited for the little voice to regain its control. LisBeth continued, “Said he didn’t want me on his team. Said I got no pa.” LisBeth stared up into her mother’s eyes. “He called me a
name.”

Jesse’s arms encircled her child as she whispered, “Jimmy Callaway is just a little boy, LisBeth. He doesn’t know anything about us. You
do
have a papa. But your papa’s in heaven—that’s all.”

LisBeth slipped out of Jesse’s firm grasp. “Tell me about him, Mama. Tell me about my papa,” she pleaded.