Santa Fe Woman (12 page)

“This trail’s gonna be hard,” he warned.

“I don’t care, Pedro.”

He smiled. She was wearing men’s clothing that did not altogether conceal her trim, young figure. “What are you going to do when some of the men make up to you?”

It was the same question that Rocklin had brought up, and Callie smiled at Pedro. “I’ll shoot ’em in the foot.”

Pedro abruptly laughed. “That’s a good idea. You do that.”

* * *

THE TRAIN STARTED OUT, and Jori was surprised to see the mule skinners riding on the back of the horse closest to the wagons, although Charlie Reuschel walked beside his team. She was also surprised to see that the only animals with lines really attached to guide them were the off-leaders, the front horse on the left-hand side of each team. She did not understand that, but she determined to ask someone.

She rode in the front seat of the wagon for two hours and discovered exactly how hard a seat could be. It was a simple board with no padding and no back. Once she looked with envy at the girl Callie who was riding a horse at the back of the line of wagons.
She was laughing and talking with Pedro, and the thought came,
I
wish I could ride a horse.
The pace was slow enough, so she leaped down and started walking alongside the wagon. Carleen piled out after her, and they had not gone more than a hundred yards when Rocklin came by on his big red horse.

“You decide to walk all the way to Santa Fe, Carleen?”

Carleen looked up at the man on the big horse and grinned. “My bottom got sore. Didn’t yours, Jori?”

Jori flushed. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” Carleen said.

“Never mind.”

“If you’d rather ride, Jori, I’ll have Callie cut out a horse for you.”

Instantly Jori nodded. “I’d like it a lot better.”

“Come along. We’ll pick you out a good one.” Rocklin swung out of the saddle so that he could walk alongside Jori. “Wagon seats do get pretty hard.”

Jori did not answer. It aggravated her to have to take a favor from this man, but,
after all,
she thought,
these are our horses.

“Callie, will you put a saddle on that sorrel over there?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ten minutes later the horse was saddled, and Callie had handed the lines to Rocklin. She had mounted and ridden back to help with the stock. “This is a good horse. I don’t reckon he has a name.”

“How are you gonna ride in that dress?” Carleen had suddenly appeared and was staring at Jori curiously.

“That is a problem, I reckon,” Rocklin said. “We don’t have a sidesaddle in the train.”

“I don’t need one.” Jori made an instant decision. She lifted her foot up, put it in the stirrup and grasping the saddle horn
pulled herself into the saddle. She plumped down with both feet dangling from the left side of the horse and glared at Rocklin, daring him to laugh.

“Well, that’s one way, I reckon, but I’d sure hate to ride all the way to Santa Fe like that.”

“I want to ride with you,” Carleen said.

“Come on up then.”

Rocklin suddenly reached out, picked Carleen up, and put her on the back of the horse behind the saddle. He watched as Jori rode off and shook his head. “Well, it seems like I find more ways to irritate that woman. It’s going be a long trip if things don’t change.”

AS JORI LOOKED BACK at the wagons, it occurred to her that they well deserved the nickname of “prairie schooner.” They were huge wagons made in Pennsylvania, heavy and lumbering, all pulled by eight mules. Some called them Conestogas; others called them Pittsburghs. She pulled the sorrel up and waited, watching as they swayed heavily as the wheels dropped into different tracks. They had high prows and sterns and enormous wheels with iron tires six inches wide. She had heard Rocklin explain that most wagons had wheels no more than three inches, but it was his considered opinion that the wider wheels were less likely to burrow down into the soft ground. She had talked one evening after supper to Addie Joss, the only black man on the train. He was a quiet man with a ready smile and handy in every way, especially as a blacksmith. He had told her that the wagons were built like ships and as watertight as possible. “We’re gonna be crossin’ some pretty big rivers,” Addie had nodded, “but these are good wagons made out of white oak, hickory, bois d’arc—all of it well seasoned.”

Shifting her weight uncomfortably, Jori longed for a sidesaddle. They were not as comfortable as the saddles that men used, but it would be better than perching sideways. The sorrel snorted, bent his head, and bit at the new spring grass that
light rains had brought out. The sounds had become familiar to her—men’s voices, the mule skinners’ whips popping like gunshots over the heads of the mules, the stay chains and the traces jingling musically, and, from time to time, the raucous braying of the mules.

Despite herself, she thought there was a grace about the Conestogas. The covers were white, following the bows that arched over the wagons, which in turn followed the curve of the prow and the sterns. It occurred to her again that they looked more than ever like ships that sailed the rolling plains of the prairie instead of the blue seas and oceans.

One wagon had passed them on the day they had left Arkansas for Franklin. It was painted red and blue with the white sails giving it a patriotic flavor. But their wagons had been simply oiled and were designed strictly for utility. Eddie Plank had informed her that each wagon contained anywhere from twenty-five hundred to three thousand pounds of cargo. In addition to the trading goods there were extra spokes, extra chains, all sorts of tools, and cooking gear needed so that there was not a spare inch left unused. Uncomfortably, Jori thought of the encounter she had had over her grandfather’s desk. She hated to be wrong. Noticeably, the relationship between her and Rocklin had not modified.

The sound of hoofbeats caught her attention, and she looked up to see Rocklin, who had ridden on ahead, coming back at a fast gallop. He rode well, she admitted, but then all of the men did. He stopped to say a word to her father who was in the first wagon and then came alongside her. He was smiling. “Good news. We’ll be in Franklin before dark.” He turned his horse, which immediately fell into step with her mare. “I guess you’ll be ready for a change.”

“Be nice to sleep in a bed or even to sit in a chair.”

Rocklin merely smiled at her. She noticed that he never stopped searching the horizon, his eyes moving from point to point. “What are you looking for?” she asked curiously.

Rocklin started and then gave a half laugh. “Indians.”

“Indians? Are they here?”

“Just the tame ones. The hostiles won’t be a problem until we cross the Arkansas.”

He seemed comfortable enough with silence, this tall man with the restless eyes. She studied his tawny hair and wondered about the scar that began near his ear and followed his jawbone all the way down into his neck. “How’d you get that scar, Rocklin?”

“Foolishness.”

His brief enigmatic reply amused her. “Probably an interesting story.”

“Not one for ladies.” He suddenly turned to face her, and she met his eyes. He had the bluest eyes she had ever seen, almost the color of the cornflowers that grew in the woods throughout Arkansas. He held her glance, then said, “Been pretty rough on you. You’re not used to such things.”

“It has been hard.” Indeed, the admission did not cover the trouble. She had been bitten by mosquitoes and troubled by a strange sort of black fly that delighted in crawling in her nose and ears. Rocklin had included a tent in the gear despite the extra weight. It was large enough for the women, and Addie Joss put it up for them every night at the end of the day. There were no cots or beds, simply blankets, but Jori had been so tired each night that she had fallen asleep as if struck by a mighty blow.

“Does it get any worse on down the trail?”

“Worse? Why, I figure it’s pretty easy. No storms, no hostiles, plenty to eat, good water. This is about as good as it gets, Jori.”

A voice sounded, and Rocklin looked and saw that Callie was hailing him. “I’d better go check on that. Maybe there’ll be a restaurant in Franklin, though there wasn’t the last time I was there.” He turned his horse and said, “Come on, Red,” and the big horse shot out at a dead run. Jori watched as he dashed back toward the remuda, saw him speaking with Callie and noted that the young woman was waving her arms about in an excited fashion. She turned her horse around and dashed away with Rocklin after her.

“I wonder what that was about?” Jori envied the young woman’s freedom. Her clothes were certainly more practical. Wearing a dress across the prairie was not the most comfortable thing in the world. All the petticoats except one she had dispensed with, and the shoes that she had started out with were totally inadequate. She made up her mind that one thing she would buy in Franklin was a pair of shoes, even if they had to be the clodhoppers that some of the men wore.

* * *

“PITIFUL EXCUSE FOR A town, isn’t it?” Mark muttered. He was surly as he slumped on the seat of the wagon, a small one Leland had included for the women to ride in. Kate ran her eyes over the paintless buildings that seemed to have little form and noted that the most important thing about Franklin were the animals. There were mules and oxen and horses everywhere.

“Well, it’s not St. Louis or Little Rock, Mark, but it’s probably the closest thing to a town we’ll see for nearly a thousand miles.”

Mark did not speak. He was weary, and the one supply that he had brought with him from Little Rock was liquor. His eyes were red rimmed even now.

Kate was tempted to speak to Mark, but she knew that this was not the time. She loved the boy as if he were her own. He had a sweet nature usually, except when he was crossed. He was spoiled, of course, as was Jori, but she had hope for both of them. It was her prayer that this trip, even the hardship, would do something for them that they needed.

The wagons pulled up just outside the edge of town, and Rocklin disappeared. He came back quickly and said, “No hotel, so we’ll camp as usual.”

The mule skinners did not seem to find that unusual. They at once began making preparations, and the campfires soon put out acrid smoke that rose to the late afternoon sky. “I think I’ll go to that store and see if I can pick up a few things. It’ll be our last chance,” Kate said. She started to get down when suddenly she found Good News there. He put his hand out, and, as always, she hid her crippled hand behind her. He took her free hand and handed her to the ground.

“Goin’ shoppin’, I reckon?”

“Yes. I do need a few things.”

“You mind a little company?”

“Why no. Come right along.”

The two walked over to the store, and Jori soon joined them. Inside the store, which was the largest building in town, Rocklin and Jesse Burkett, who was probably the quietest man on the train, were going over a list.

“Look at this, Aunt Kate,” Jori said. She carried the cash, and she handed the list over to Kate.

Kate studied the list carefully. It included flour, coffee, sugar, bacon, and meal. “No frills there,” Kate smiled. “Let’s get some dried fruit,” she suggested. “Maybe I can make some pies.”

“That’d be mighty good,” Rocklin said.

Buying a few things was a pleasant enough break, and Kate heard Jori ask the storekeeper, “Do you have such a thing as a sidesaddle?”

“A what?” The clerk was a short, roly-poly man with round eyes and round face. Everything about him seemed to be round, even his mouth when he opened it. “No, ma’am, I ain’t got nothin’ like that. Plenty of saddles.”

“No, thank you.”

Jori moved away and Kate said, “Why don’t you ride astride like a man?”

“You know I can’t. Not in a dress. In the first place, it’d chafe me raw.”

“Well, with two women as smart as we are, we should be able to make some kind of an outfit. I’ve been thinking about it. Let’s find some good material, and we’ll make you something you can ride in.”

* * *

BY THE TIME JORI awoke, the sun was shining in through the gap in the front of the tent. Kate and Carleen were gone, and the sound of activity outside the tent was evident. Throwing back the covers, Jori stood for a moment irresolutely then glanced down at her clothing that lay neatly folded on a camp stool. She picked up the white blouse, slipped it on and buttoned it up, then reached down and picked up the skirt that she and Kate had labored on by a lantern light until late. The material was a royal blue and much heavier than the dresses she usually wore. She held it up by the waist and smiled, thinking how simple it all had been, for Kate was an expert seamstress. She lowered the skirt, stepped into it, noting it came down just to her ankles.
Basically they had made a full skirt, slit it in the front and the back, and then sewed up the separate side so that, in effect, she had a divided skirt. She fastened a black leather belt around her waist, slipped on her shoes, and then turned around quickly, feeling the freedom. It felt rather strange, but the thought that she would be able to ride astride pleased her. Quickly she ran a comb and brush through her hair and put on the small white hat with the wide brim that kept her face from the full force of the sun and exited from the tent.

The first person she saw was Addie Joss squatting before a fire, pushing some bacon around with a fork. “Good morning, Addie. How are you today?”

“Just fine, ma’am. I’ve about got your breakfast ready.”

“Where did everybody go?”

Addie had a tin plate by his side. He put four strips of bacon on it and then as he broke two eggs into the skillet, he remarked, “They done gone over to town to do a little shoppin’, I guess. Got only bacon and eggs for breakfast. Maybe I could make biscuits later.”

“That’s fine, Addie.”

“The coffee’s ready, Miss Jori.”

Jori got her tin cup, filled it with coffee, and then sat down on a box of trade goods. She took the plate from Addie and began to eat, finding that she, as always, was hungry. The outdoor air did something to her appetite. “Are you glad to be going to Santa Fe, Addie?”