What Once We Loved Page 8

  “He made his way with his head held high,” his mother would defend.

  “Because he jutted his chin out telling people his opinions,” his pa would respond. “But not keeping his thinking sharp.” Sometimes Matthew wondered how his parents had ever found each other, let alone decided to marry and stay that way for twenty years.

  “He told my mother every day that he loved her,” his ma would say. “Put his arm around her. Every day”

  “That's because your mother would forget from one day to the next, he had to tell her every day.” His mother's eyes would pool. “Oh, don't go pumping on that handle now. I told you I loved you when I married you. That hasn't changed. Don't need to keep repeating a thing. Only seven by nines need things repeated.”

  Matthew'd wondered about that phrase his pa used. He'd even asked him once, within his mothers hearing, what it meant.

  “Huh?” his pa said. “How would I know?”

  “Your pa don't worry over origins of things. Nor what their impact might be,” Lura told him and then answered the question her husband couldn't. “Used to be the size of common windows, a seven by nine, and people who're common—”

  “Don't you be filling your head with words and such,” his pa had countered, pointing with that pipe. “There are no solutions in reading. Experience, that's what you got to learn from. It don't matter what that term meant once. Enough said.”

  “She was just saying, Pa.”

  His father had sat right up in the chair. “Don't you go back-talking to your pa now, Son. Don't worry over women none either. They'll come along when they're told. It's the way it was meant to be. It's the way it is.” His pa had sat back in the leather chair. “You put your concentration on cattle and land, Son. That's how you'll take care of your ma. And how you'll find yourself a woman. You don't worry about this ‘touching ‘em' every day with sweet words and all. You give her land, and she'll come to you like a bear to honey.”

  His mother had snorted. “Ask your pa if that's how I came to him.” His father had lifted an eyebrow. “I'll answer that one, too. Your pa came to me, my being an only child. And my father having land with a house on it with windows larger than seven by nine. Now who's talking honeyed words,” she'd said and slammed the long-handled spider to the stove.

  Funny he should think ofthat day while he was dealing with Ruth. He guessed he wanted to say and do what would be a comfort to her— he didn't want to agitate her. He wanted to be more like his grandfather, using loving words every day, even if his pa thought it wasted effort.

  His ma seemed to be enjoying the readying. He was glad she'd be with him and Mariah instead of sharpening knives for butchers and whatnot, taking that little cart around with things from the Wilsons Mercantile to sell to folks up in the ravines. He didn't think that was safe, a woman going alone like that. “Pa said I was to look after you,” he'd told her when he arrived in Shasta City.

  “He couldn't look after himself,” she said and sniffed.

  “Ma!”

  “Its true. Oh, he loved me. I know he did, in his way. But I cooked and cleaned and mended and ran for him, and he mostly told me I was nothing but shucks. Well, I'm more than that. And so is Mariah, and so are you. I'm proud you took the cattle on ahead. Proud you tended Ruth Martins horses all that time. But while you were growing up, we were doing things to tend to others and ourselves, too, back there on the trail. We were growing up too.”

  “Mariah looks a little worse for wear,” he said under his breath.

  “Mariah does? She's doing fine. She's a big help to me.”

  “She ought to be in school, Ma. You don't want her ending up as some…seven by nine.”

  His mother hadn't responded, but she'd thumbed her eyes, quick like. He figured he'd hit a nerve.

  His little sister, Mariah, had changed. Taller, prettier, a good rider. He guessed it was all that time with Ruth's horses. But she wore a sadder face somehow. Joe Pepin, the wrangler who had come all the way from New York with them, had commented on that too, how Matt's little pipsqueak sister had “grown the eyes of a lonesome dog.” It wasn't exacdy how Matthew would describe it, but he knew just what Joe meant.

  Maybe his ma hadn't been available to her like she should have been this past year after his pa's death. Maybe his ma's push for business was her way of numbing the pain of it, and Mariah had paid the price. He had to step over the fact that his mother had worked in a saloon and been part of a traveling musical troupe to mining camps with slobbering men hanging around. She'd done what she had to do. Couldn't fault her for that.

  At least he'd had Joe Pepin to help guide him this past year. Not so much about the ways of women; Joe had little experience with that. But about catde and horses and keeping his head even when he was grieving the loss of a loved one. That was what he'd needed. He'd almost lost more than his head in the tangle of Oregon country. They'd given up some horses to Takelma Indians wearing paint, the braves pointing those bows laid flat out from their chests, the way he'd seen pictures of Englishmen holding crossbows. A good trade, three horses for their lives. He'd made sure they were the Schmidtkes' horses and not Ruth Martin's. And they'd learned later that the braves always wore paint; it was when they put on white dye that they meant to use those bows against the whites.

  He and Joe had lost two cows to broken necks from falls off ridges they shouldn't have been on. Eventually they'd found a route he later learned was part of the Applegate Brothers' Trail. They'd pushed the stock into a valley in the shadow of two flat-topped hills sticking up like tables just before the first snowfall. A river that folks sometimes called Gold and sometimes the Rogue flowed beneath the table rocks, and Matthew said that was where they'd stay, take the animals on to The Dalles in the spring where he'd agreed to meet up with his ma and Ruth Martin.

  It was the wasted time that had distressed him, the sense that he'd somehow lost his way and not kept his word to meet up along the Columbia River when he'd said he would. Ruth would be waiting for them there, he was pretty sure, and she'd think he'd taken off with her treasures if he didn't arrive. Treasures! After this past winter, he knew that just living was the treasure. He wouldn't mention that to Ruth just now, that the snows in Southern Oregon had been so bad the horses had eaten moss from the trees to stay alive. He'd save that and some of his other tales for telling over the campfires on the trail, if she was interested. Right now, he was just grateful she'd agreed to their partnering up, however stiff the terms.

  “Well, ponder that,” Ruth heard Elizabeth say. Seth stepped away from in front of the oak tree near the cabin on Poverty Flat. Behind him, a ladder rose up through the leaves.

  “For you and David and Oltipa's boy, Ben, when you come visit,” he said. “We boys here built it ourselves.”

  “Well, ponder that,” Elizabeth said again, her handkerchief moving the warm air before her.

  Adora Wilson and her son, Charles, had come out too, it being a Sunday, their mercantile closed. Who had invited them? Ruth wondered. Couldn't there be an event without everyone being included? Was there some written rule that whenever those who traveled on the widows' wagon gathered in a group, that all of them within trotting distance had to show up, even one who had created more problems for them in the first place? Charles Wilson with his jagged ear was slime on a rock, as far as she was concerned, slick and full of trips and falls if one stood too close.

  Besides, they were just putting off the inevitable. No one wanted to say good-bye, but that was what was needed next. Then came this tree house unveiling. Now all the children would have to climb up into it, and there'd be cake eating up there and drinking eggnog while retelling the stories about building it and whatnot.

  “When'd you find time to do that?” Mazy asked.

  “While Ruth and Matthew here were off gathering jacks and you and Lura were negotiating Durham cows,” Seth told her. “Me and the boys, we just pitched in and got ‘er done.”

  “I helped,” Jessie said.

 
; “You did. And Sarah, too. And Pipsqueak there. She holds a hammer right well. You'll be glad to have her in Oregon.” Mariah blushed. Ruth supposed it was Seth's use of the nickname said most often by her brother.

  Oltipa, David Taylor's wife, held her baby on her hip. She dressed not in traditional Indian clothes, but in a dress David gave her, purchased from Adoras mercantile.

  Ruth was just anxious to be gone. Just making a mile or more the first day gave impetus to a journey, moved their eyes forward instead of hanging back, which was where she'd been for the last five years, always looking over her shoulder. Outdistancing her husbands betrayal. She was past that now and liking the lightness of that burden. Moving on, that was what she wanted. Nothing to hold her back, everything to drive her forward.

  “Lets us check the wagon one last time,” she told Jason loud enough for all to hear. “Poor old oxen have been yoked since noon, and they're ready to go. Cant say as I blame them.”

  “Why dont you just plan to leave first thing in the morning?” Mazy asked.

  “That's a good idea,” Elizabeth said. “Give you time to come on up here.” She called down from the tree house. The children had helped push her up, laughing all the way.

  “Now that's just what I thought someone would offer,” Ruth said, answering Elizabeth. “But no, we've got a three-week journey, and we'd best be off. Nights are getting cool, and we could have an early winter. Wouldn't want to get stuck in the snow of the Siskiyous just because we wanted an extra piece of cake from on top a tree.”

  “You're right. It won't get no easier,” Elizabeth sighed. “We'll get the rest of you up here later. We'll play plenty then.” She made her way down.

  Mazy blinked back tears, and Ruth felt her eyes pool too, a sensation she tried to ignore.

  “I picked up a little something for you, Ruth, and the rest of you travelers, too,” Mazy said. “Little packages you can open on the trail. Or when you arrive. Just something to remember where you came from, here. In Shasta.” Seth stood beside Mazy and put his arm around her like a big brother, pulling her into his side.

  “You didn't have to do that, Mazy,” Lura told her. “But I love a good surprise.”

  “I just wanted to.” Mazy shrugged off Seths arm and walked fast to a box where she pulled out packages wrapped in paper and string. It looked like lamb's ears had been set in an old boot filled with dirt. Butcher paper was stuffed around it. “You can use the paper for writing a little letter now and then,” she said, looking sideways at Ruth.

  “Truth be known, she bought them at our store, she did,” Adora cooed.

  “The wrappings, yes,” Mazy corrected. She carried the packages and placed them in the back of the wagon through the puckers and stood there a bit as though collecting herself before she turned to say her final good-byes.

  Ruth didn't know why, but the presents annoyed her. Maybe because she hadn't thought of giving something herself to commemorate all they'd been to each other, all that had happened here at this place. Or maybe because it was one more way Mazy hung on or smoothed over a relationship too wrinkled for ironing.

  Ruth did have a package of her own that had taken her a fair amount of time to gather. But it belonged to someone…deserving of its special sting, to be given when the time was just right. When they were far away. David Taylor was going to see to that.

  “You'll survive, Mazy,” Seth said. “Come spring you'll have calves aplenty, and their antics'll keep us laughing.” To Ruth he said, “You just head off. You got your work cut out for you trailing jacks.” He nodded toward Ewald. “You picking up the other on the way?”

  “Carmine. Yes.”

  “More power to you,” Seth said. “I hope that jack's disposition is better than the family reputation.”

  “Whose family?”

  “Don't get defensive. I was talking about jacks and mules in general,” Seth said.

  “He's a good-looking animal,” Ruth defended.

  “Not saying he's not,” Seth said, pushing his hand against the air as though to calm her. “Just what I always heard was that two of them was worse than tying cougars together at the tail.”

  “They act fine to me,” Ruth said. “And I have full plans to keep them separated on the trail. Once we're north, we won't be sharing pasture. Not that it's any of your account.”

  Seth raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. Ruth wondered if she sounded spiteful. Men often raised an eyebrow when she spoke more forceful than she meant to. She was just sharing information, that was all, telling things to peoples eyes. Men did that all the time and expected people to just accept it. When a woman spoke her mind, they acted as if she was some kind of…wild one. People took her wrongly, but she couldn't account for how other people listened. She had things on her mind, and they'd just have to accept that.

  She motioned for Jason to join her. The boy came, along with Jessie. They stuck their heads in the back of the wagon and with Ruth scanned the trunks and boxes there, a wooden rake, pack boxes with tack. Her eye lit on the one she knew held a few bones and the tail hairs of Jumper. Taking you with us. She was glad again for her decision. Everything they needed was loaded, including Lura's knife sharpener and flour and salt to last them a couple of months.

  Koda stood saddled and tied to the wagon along with two other green-broke mares that Mariah and the boys would ride. Jessie had chosen the wagon seat where Lura and Sarah would sit, a move that surprised Ruth. She'd always been so willing and wanting to ride. Now it appeared she preferred sidling up next to Lura.

  “Let's head out,” Matthew said then, and Ruth shot him a grateful glance.

  Matthew moved toward his mother who was hugging Adora and patting little Ben on the head and making the rounds to Elizabeth and the rest. He touched her elbow, and the woman nodded. Sarah approached and Matthew lifted her like a paper fan, her little pinafore billowed out as she stepped down into the box. Then he unhitched his big gray gelding named Sailor and said, “Step along, boys. Ma. Come on now.”

  “I don't believe I'm ready to leave just yet,” Lura said. She lifted a mug of cider she'd placed in the box and drank from it. Lura's cheeks were pink. Perhaps from her singing “Pop Goes the Weasel” with the children not long before. “Got my pipe to chew on. I'm ready. Feels like I been living out of a wagon for over a year now.”

  “Let's be mounting up, children,” Ruth said.

  A kind of frenzy began then, with David helping Seth check the harnessing of the oxen, Elizabeth carrying last-minute food bags from the cabin. Mazy, too, busied herself, scraping butter from the mold and wrapping it in wet cheesecloth and placing it in the wagon.

  Matthew sat with his hands crossed over the saddle pommel.

  “I thank you,” Elizabeth said. “For the laughter and the special thoughts and all the rest you gave us to ponder by your presence. And we ask for traveling mercies for you all.”

  “We'll think of you every time we make angel pie,” Sarah said, waving down at Elizabeth. “Won't we, Jessie?”

  Ruth thought the girl would be crying any second, and she cleared her throat, hoping she wouldn't do the same. She brushed up against Mazy setting the butter into a camp box. Ruth heard her sniff.

  “Let's just get these hugs and holds and good-byes said fast as we can,” Mazy said then, stepping away from the wagon, nearly stumbling over Jessie who'd slipped out and come to wrap her arms around Mazy's apron. The woman knelt down so she could pull the child to her, kissed her head. Ned came next to brush against her, stick his hand to Seth's to shake.

  “We'll float that wagon away if we're not careful,” Mazy said, dabbing at her eyes with her apron. “You wont be able to drive it off.”

  “Thought that might be what you had in mind,” Mazy's mother said.

  “I can accept the inevitable,” Mazy said, pushing against her knees to stand. Her eyes glistened. “But I don't have to like it.”

  Mazy stepped over to Ruth then, fingered the rawhide hanging from the front rigging ring
of the saddle. “You take care of yourself now,” she whispered, looking up at her. “You write. When you're ready.”

  Ruth felt a tearing at the fabric of her heart. These were people she'd come to love, she realized. They were as much a part of her family as her brother and his wife had been, stitched to her through service, caring, and time. Ruth wanted to say something, to make this easier for Mazy—she had always been kind to her—but Ruth wasn't confident of speech. She swallowed, touched Mazy s cheek with her palm.

  The familiar faces looking up to her sitting atop Koda blurred. She had to leave. She reined the horse north.

  5

  “And before that?” Suzanne asked. “Where were you employed?”

  “That were my first job, Missis Cullver. Before that, my pappy paid me good to look after his kin.”

  “They weren't…your kin?”

  “Well, with his second wife, yes'urn. But his third, well, them were her children he paid me to tend. He didn't have no young uns with her. Now his fourth wife, she were younger than me, but they had one. So I got baby time, too. That's how I got such good ideas for herding little tykes, like what I told ya.”

  “Indeed. You did.” Suzanne took a deep breath. The woman before her was barely grown herself, judging from the pitch of her voice. She smelled of lavender, fresh and tidy, and probably worked hard to look proper for her interview. But she wasn't right for what Suzanne needed, what her boys needed.

  These interviews were just going nowhere. Surely there were educated women in Sacramento who, like herself, had come west with their husbands hoping for wealth and who woke up only to discover they'd not find it in the rushing streams of this state. Surely they'd be seeking something more to feed their children.