In the Face of Danger (12 page)

“Most of the talk was about the election, wondering how the states voted.”

“Do they think Lincoln was elected? Did they say?” Megan asked.

“Oh, if only Kansas had statehood!” Emma said. “What was the talk about statehood? Will we get it soon?”

Ben laughed and held up both hands, palms out, in the same gesture of peace he’d made to the Indians. “I just came inside to tell you I was home. I’ll feed and stable
Jay and Jimbo and be back soon. Then I’ll be glad to answer all your questions.”

By the time he returned, supper was on the table. Ben handed Megan a package wrapped in paper and string and said, “Before we eat, I’d like to give this to Megan. I bought it from a man who was selling most of his family’s possessions before they went back east.”

Megan eagerly tore off the paper and held up a carved wooden frame trimmed with gilt paint and holding a sheet of real glass. “Oh!” she cried. “It’s beautiful!”

“Dear Ben, how wonderful you are,” Emma murmured.

“The picture Mr. Cartwright drew of you deserves a real frame, not a homemade one,” Ben told Megan. “Run and get the picture. We’ll see how it looks.”

Megan removed the rolled sketch from the chest where she had hidden it and brought it to Ben. He fixed it in place inside the frame and held it up for Emma and Megan to see.

“Perfect!” Emma clapped her hands together. “I love it!”

Megan studied the drawing with even more excitement than she’d felt the first time. It looked elegant inside the frame.
That girl with the solemn eyes and long dark hair is me!
she thought and felt her cheeks grow warm. “Thank you,” she whispered shyly as she smiled up at Ben.

“Well, well,” Ben mumbled. “I’m hungry, and the food’s getting cold. Let’s say grace so we can eat.”

Megan didn’t think about what she was eating, because what Ben had to tell them was so interesting. He was eager to report to Emma and Megan all that he had heard from the men who voiced their fears that if Abraham Lincoln were not elected, the United States would be in grave danger. “We cannot abide slavery in this
country,” Ben stated, and Megan and Emma nodded in agreement.

“I hope Abraham Lincoln was elected,” Megan said. “Da said he’d make things right for the country.”

Ben sighed. “If he is elected, I’m afraid of what the South might do.”

“If Lincoln is elected, the Southerners will just have to accept it,” Emma said.

“Not necessarily,” Ben said. “His name wasn’t even allowed on the ballot in some states in the South. We could say there were really two elections—one in the North, and one in the South. There are strong rumors that if the electoral vote is for Lincoln, the Southern states will band together and secede from the Union.”

“And form their own country?” Emma’s forehead wrinkled. “The next step would truly be a civil war.”

Megan leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table. “When will we know who was elected—Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Douglas?”

“Don’t leave out Breckinridge, who is also with the Democratic party and very strong in the South. And there’s Bell, who represents the Constitutional Union party, but I don’t think that he stands a chance.” Ben smiled at Megan’s impatience. “Each state’s electoral votes will tell the tale. Word will come fairly quickly to the cities that have telegraph, but west of the Missouri River it’s going to take longer. Here in Kansas we should know in perhaps two to three weeks.”

“It’s hard to wait so long to find out,” Emma said.

Ben leaned back in his chair. “That’s not all the news I have that will interest you. There are new neighbors about six miles or so to the south of us.”

Emma perked up, eyes sparkling. “Have you met them? What are they like? Tell me.”

“They’re Russian, near as I can figure,” Ben said. “We had some trouble trying to understand each other’s language. They bought the Neuman place and have it pretty well fixed up, considering the Neumans left it over a year ago.”

“It’s good land,” Emma said, “handy to the river. Maybe they can make a go of it. I never thought the Neumans’ hearts were in it.”

“Well, these people—Oblinsky is their name, Maj and Nicolai Oblinsky—look as though they’re ready to tackle anything, but they’ll need a little help.”

“What kind of help? What can we do for them?” Emma asked.

“Their sod house needs a new roof,” Ben said. “I promised, if you felt it was all right for me to leave you tomorrow, to stay two days with them and help get the job done.”

“Of course I want you to go,” Emma said. She patted her large abdomen. “I wish I were less awkward and could go with you. But I’ll send some household things.”

Ben began rubbing his chin again. A worried wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, and Megan wondered why.

“We’ll be fine here,” she said reassuringly. “I’ll take good care of Emma.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ben said. “I’ll ride horseback so that you’ll have the other horse if you need to come for me.”

Emma patted his arm. “There’s no reason why we’d have to send for you. If for any reason we need help in a hurry—which we won’t—we can reach Farley much faster. What’s worrying you?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “It’s just an odd prickle, as
your mother used to say. Maybe I don’t like the idea of leaving you, Emma. Or maybe it’s the weather.”

As Emma and Megan looked at him with surprise, he explained, “We’re well into November and long overdue for snow.”

Emma got up and began to clear the plates from the table. “We’ve been so long overdue for rain or snow, I can’t imagine you worrying about a thing like that. The sky has been clear—
too
clear, if anything. A good soaking rain would be welcome.”

“Do you remember the blizzards in early 1856?” Ben asked. “They came without warning.” He shrugged and looked a little sheepish. “Maybe I’ve been a part of this land for so long I’m beginning to feel as the land feels.”

Emma stopped to pat his shoulder and rest her cheek against the top of his head. “Oh, Ben,” she said, “Megan and I will be fine. Don’t borrow bad luck.”

Bad luck will come to you and yours
.

Ben looked up at his wife and smiled, but Megan—the whisper of the gypsy’s voice suddenly in her ears—shivered with fear.

M
EGAN HUDDLED CLOSE
to Emma and waved as Ben rode off on Jimbo. Although she was wearing her heavy coat and gloves, and her cap was pulled down over her ears, the morning wind stung her face with mean little nips, and she put her hands up to cover her cheeks.

“Into the house! Quickly! We’re freezing out here!” Emma called. She grabbed Megan’s hand, and they ran together into the house, shutting the door tightly and pulling the latchstring inside. “Poor Ben,” Emma said. “The wind’s growing colder.” She pulled off her coat and stood in front of the fireplace, rubbing her hands together. “It would have been easier on everyone if the Oblinskys had come a few months ago, when it was warm.”

Megan heard a soft thump and turned to see Patches wobbling toward her. She rushed to scoop him up and nuzzled the back of his head. “Patches managed to climb out of the box!” she said.

Emma smiled. “The puppies are growing fast.”

The other pups yipped and jumped against the side of
their box, trying to join Patches, and Megan said, “I wish I hadn’t promised one of them to Mrs. Haskill.”

“I think a dog is just what the woman needs,” Emma said. “Moby might be a good choice for her. Or Dick. Yes. Dick’s such a friendly pup. Just think of all the love he’ll give her. She’ll soon find herself returning it.”

“I hope so.” Megan put Patches back into the box and cautioned him to stay there.

“We’ve got a great deal to do this morning,” Emma said. “We’d better get busy.”

Emma separated the morning’s cream from the milk and added it to cream she’d kept chilled over the past two days. She poured the liquid into the barrel churn. “If you’ll bring this to butter, Megan, I can start apple snitzing.”

“What’s snitzing?” Megan asked. “It sounds like a sneeze.”

Emma laughed. “It’s a short word for all the work that has to be done to apples before they can be boiled down into apple butter.” Ben had brought a sack of apples up from the root cellar before he left, and now Emma dumped them out on the worktable. “They’re getting mealy,” she said, “no longer good enough to eat in hand.” She immediately set to peeling, coring, and cutting the apples into sections. The slices went into a pot with water and spices, and Megan helped Emma carry the pot to the fireplace and hang it on one of the metal arms.

As the apple mixture began to boil and bubble, Emma watched it carefully, stirring it with a long wooden paddle.

Megan moved the dasher in the churn up and down, listening to the cream froth and splash. Soon she felt the lumps of butter begin to form and grow larger, hitting firmly against the dasher. She lifted the lid of the dasher
and peered inside the churn, enjoying the tangy fragrance of the warm buttermilk.

“I think the butter’s ready,” she said.

“I can leave this for half a minute to take a look,” Emma said. She gave her paddle a final stir through the thickening apple mixture and turned toward Megan.

At that moment Patches tumbled out of the box and sprawled in front of Emma.

“Look out!” Megan shouted.

Emma looked down, saw the pup, and tried to avoid him, but she lost her balance and fell heavily to the floor.

Megan jumped up and ran to Emma, her heart bumping loudly. “Are you hurt?” she cried.

Emma sat up and rubbed her left ankle. Megan scooped up Patches with one hand and tucked him into the box. “Stay there!” she scolded. “Look what you’ve done!”

“It’s not his fault,” Emma said. “He’s a growing pup and wants to go exploring. I should have remembered that he could get out of the box and watched where I was going.” She winced as she rubbed her ankle again. “I think I’ve sprained it. And oh—the apples!”

With a wad of toweling to protect her hands, Megan grabbed the heavy iron cooking arm and swung it out and away from the heat. “I’ll get to the apples later,” she said. Taking a firm grip under Emma’s arms, Megan hoisted her up and into a comfortable chair.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and pulled on her coat.

“Where are you going?” Emma asked.

“I think I saw ice under the rim of the well,” Megan told her. “I’ll make a pack for your ankle to keep the swelling down.” She snatched up a pan and a blunt-ended knife and ran outside.

The wind was stronger, and she struggled against it as she chipped at the ice.
More bad luck
, Megan thought
angrily.
Emma is hurt because of the gypsy’s curse. She made me the bad-luck penny. Look at all the trouble I cause to everyone around me! Something terrible is bound to happen to Ben and Emma if I stay here with them. But if I were to leave, I would only take harm wherever I went
.

Megan was startled to feel the sting of a hot tear on her windburned cheek. Quickly wiping it away, she scolded herself.
Shame on you, Megan Kelly. There’s no time for silliness now. Emma needs you. And
—she couldn’t help the little shiver that shook her spine—
you can’t stop whatever trouble the curse will cause, no matter how awful it might be
.

To distract herself, Megan chipped furiously at the ice until she had half-filled the pan. She ran back to the house, and in a short time had wrapped the ice in a cloth and bound the cloth around Emma’s ankle. “That’s just what it needs,” Emma said. “Thank you, Megan.”

After a few minutes Emma tried to stand but let out a little cry and sat down again quickly. Her face was white, and tiny beads of perspiration dotted her forehead.

“Don’t try to walk,” Megan said.

“But I need to tend the apple butter.”

“I can do that. I’m going to make you some herb tea with sugar, and then I’ll cook and stir the apples until they’re done. You can sit there and tell me what to do.”

Emma didn’t argue, so Megan knew how much pain she must be feeling. She added another log to the fire and prepared the tea. Then she swung the arm holding the apple mixture back over the fire and began to stir it slowly with the wooden paddle, just as she’d seen Emma do.

When the apples were finally cooked to a deep brown thickness, Megan brought Emma a sample. With the tip
of one finger, Emma warily skimmed the glob Megan held out on the paddle. She tasted it and smiled. “That’s it,” she said. “Take it off the fire, and stir it now and then as long as the pan is hot, just to keep it from sticking.”

Megan scooped a finger along the top of the apple butter, too, waved it quickly, and popped it into her mouth. “It’s good!” she said with such surprise that Emma laughed.

“Of course it’s good. Couldn’t you tell by the way it smells?”

Megan shrugged and stirred the paddle once around the pot. “It’s brown and strange-looking. I didn’t know what to expect.”

“You’ll like it on your bread,” Emma said. “We’ll have it all winter.” She stirred uncomfortably, trying to lift herself to her feet. “There is so much to do.”

In an instant Megan knelt beside her and examined the ankle. It looked much less red and puffy than it had a short time earlier. “I’ll bind it up for you,” she said. “That will help. But you can’t walk on it yet. Just let me do whatever is needed.”