The Misadventures of Maude March (19 page)

“We'll ask her if she has a blanket to spare,” Maude said in her that's-final voice.

Cleomie said, “I won't hear of it. Sleep upstairs in the back bedroom. I haven't been in there for two weeks at least, long before I took sick.” For someone so weak, she put forth a surprisingly strong protest. “You can't sleep in the barn. You'll freeze.”

“We haven't frozen yet,” Maude said, getting stubborn. This time, I knew it only meant she truly wanted to sleep in a real bed.

Cleomie said, “Are you girls going far? Are you expected to be there anytime soon? Because I could surely use your help till I get on my feet again.”

“We're in no hurry,” Maude said.

I didn't want to be the one to tell Maude otherwise. I waited till we were upstairs, sharing the bed Cleomie said we were to sleep in, to ask, “Don't you think the law must be looking for us? For those horses?”

“Likely they are,” Maude said. “But they don't seem to be looking here.”

“So we're hiding out.”

“This is not a dime novel, Sallie,” Maude said angrily. “This is our sorry lives.”

W
E DIDN'T RIGHT AWAY TELL CLEOMIE ANYTHING
about how we came to ride up this way. For one thing, we were too busy getting her place in order. For the second, she had a little business of making cheese, and it had to be made every day and stored in a springhouse till she took it to market.

But we were also too comfortable while staying there. And so was Cleomie. So we went on not telling her. “I think she's going to ask us to stay,” I told Maude on our fourth night of sleeping in a bed again.

“We can't stay.” Maude smiled a sad smile. “All we have to do is tell her our story. That will put her off.”

“I know it.” I did know it. But my heart fought the knowing. “We'll go while she's asleep. It will be easier that way.”

“No, it won't,” Maude said, looking like she might get tearful. “I can't believe how good it is to live this way again. The sad truth is, my resolve is worn thin. I don't know if I can make it to Independence.”

“You can do it,” I said. “It's just this has reminded us of how it was before Aunt Ruthie died.”

So the next morning we told Cleomie our story, including the part we had taken in the bank robbery. She was not put off. “I don't care if you two girls are the Younger Brothers' little sisters. I was sick to death, and you took care of me when I needed you.”

“You'd have been fine,” Maude said.

Cleomie shook her head. “I'd been off my feed the whole day before I took sick. I tended the cows and just managed to pour all that milk into the pig trough. From that point until you found me, I couldn't get myself a drink of water or put wood in the stove. If you gals hadn't found me when you did, I'd have died for sure. By the time anybody got out here to look in on me, they would have found me stone cold.”

“Don't talk like that,” I said.

“It's the simple truth,” Cleomie said. “Just moving around seemed to start the whole thing up again. Somebody had to take care of my animals. I'd've died of sheer wore out.”

“How are you now?” Maude said. “That's what we need to know.”

Cleomie tried, but she wasn't able to stay on her feet for long. She sat breathless in the kitchen after showing us how to make her cheese. “It's just knocked me for a loop,” she said.

Maude insisted that Cleomie remain in bed for the rest of the day. We agreed to put off leaving for another week, time enough for her to get her full strength back. We hoped. Every night it had been colder than the night before. Each morning frost lay on the ground. The longer we stayed with her, the less chance we had of making it to Independence before snow fell.

Three days later, we were in the barn loft, tossing hay
down to the cleaned-out stalls, when a lone rider came up the road. Maude saw him before I did and pointed him out. Pointed out, too, that we had left the horses out in the front pasture with the mule.

As he got closer, the rider reminded me of Reverend Peasley somehow. The way he had of riding in like he was sure to be welcome. He was dressed like Reverend Peasley too. Cleomie stepped out on her porch in a housedress and a shawl. She had improved to the point of being able to wrap the cheese after we made it, and she was dressed to greet a surprise visitor.

“Good,” Maude said. “So far, anyway. We'd best leave off what we're doing and sit tight till he goes.”

Cleomie sat down on the porch rocker to wait.

“Miss Cleomie,” the rider shouted out a few minutes later. “I came to find out why we didn't see you in church this week. Are you feeling poorly?”

“Just a little setdown,” Cleomie answered back. “Nothing serious. I thought it best to rest it out.”

“You have company?” the preacher asked her.

“Why, no, what makes you ask?”

“The horses,” he said. “You don't have horses.”

“Oh,” Cleomie said, looking puzzled. “The horses.”

“Miss Cleomie?”

“They came into the yard yesterday,” Cleomie said, and gave him a brilliant smile. “I put them up for the night. Won't you come in for a bite? But I'm going to let you get it for both of us. I've about worn myself out with making cheese.”

The reverend got down from his horse. There was more conversation, but we could only hear their voices; we couldn't make out the words. The reverend went into the house to put together the bite of lunch Cleomie had mentioned. Maude and I sat down in a corner of the loft and, because we were truly worn out, were soon dozing.

We snapped awake to hear the reverend in the barn below us. He brought the horses in and saddled them up. Maude and I looked the same questions at each other, but we didn't make a sound.

We listened to the reverend take the horses and watched him down the road. When we felt certain he wouldn't turn back, we lit into the house to get the full story.

“He was too interested in those horses,” Cleomie told us as we set about finishing the job of wrapping the freshly made cheese in layers of a thin, see-through cloth for storage. “He said he was going to see if he knew the brand, so I asked him to take the horses with him to save me the bother of returning them.”

“You did right,” Maude said. “His only other choice would have been to send the sheriff out here.”

“Well, that's good and bad, isn't it?” Cleomie said. “The sheriff might come out here anyway.”

“What's worse, I think we ought to go soon,” Maude said to me. “I didn't like that he came into the barn. We had just tossed the hay. How long will it be before he wonders if Cleomie could have done that work herself?”

“You're right. But we don't have a horse to ride,” I said.

“You can't walk to Independence,” Cleomie said. “I don't
have that mule for nothing. If you are certain of the need to go, saddle him up and be gone. By midday tomorrow, you'll reach a place where you can buy a horse.”

“We ought to pay you for the mule,” I told her.

Cleomie folded her arms around me and held me to her for a long moment. This was surprising at first; Aunt Ruthie had not hugged us often, but Cleomie's hug was welcome. It felt good to know someone loved me just a little. Someone besides Maude, of course.

When she let me go, she said, “I'm sending you to the trader who sold me this mule. He'll sell you a good horse, cheap. All you'll have to do is tell Ben I want him to get the animal back to me.”

She laughed and said, “You don't even have to tell him. This mule used to run away from me and go back home to Ben about once a month. Then Ben would bring him back again.”

“Why did he run off?” I asked.

Cleomie said, “Ben told me I probably worked him too hard. Maybe that was true.”

Maude said, “What about you, Cleomie? You aren't up to doing all this work yet.”

“The reverend insisted on sending someone out to give me a hand. I figured I'd have to hide you girls in the attic. I see it's going to work out in the end, though. You don't need to worry about me. Now let's get you ready to go.”

I
T WAS GOOD THE REVEREND HADN'T TAKEN THE SADDLE
bags, which we'd left in the barn. We loaded them with things needed for the trip. We took a healthy portion of cheese wrapped in more cheesecloth and then in layers of newspaper the reverend had handily brought along. We packed biscuits spread with butter and jelly, sliced ham, boiled eggs, and corn bread. Cleomie wouldn't have it any other way.

We rolled blankets and an old quilt, and tied them down. As we outfitted the mule, Cleomie put a few more things in the saddlebags, like matches and gloves and scarves. She was sure we couldn't do without these. She found knitted caps that she said had belonged to her boys, and they were a fine fit under our hats.

Cleomie's mule was a good animal, nearly as good as a horse in every way. It was even able to carry one of us. Cleomie said one of us should walk while the other rode, so we could make as much distance as possible.

“I want to hear from you when you get where you're going,” Cleomie said to us as we moved off. If our preparations
were hurried, our good-byes were even more so. We started out less than an hour after the reverend left.

The hard part was the starting out, when the urge to look back and wave led to wanting to turn around and go back. At first we didn't talk about this, and then we did. Finally Maude said, “Don't look back anymore.” It was easier that way.

We didn't expect to make many miles on the mule. But where we were headed, we had just enough money left to buy another horse. The good thing about trading off on who rode the mule was that Maude and me, both, managed to stay fairly warm.

The day had started out sunny and nearly warm, but by late afternoon, as we started out, clouds hung low and heavy with the promise of weather to come. I could hardly regret the time spent helping put Cleomie back on her feet. I did wish it hadn't set us back so many days.

“Do you think the law will come out to see if Cleomie is hiding us when he finds out where those horses came from?” I asked Maude. We'd left fast, on the strength of the possibility, and we hadn't really talked this through.

“I think the law will come out to be sure Cleomie is fine,” Maude said. “To make sure we aren't hiding around her farm. If he doesn't see any sign of us, he won't come looking for us out here. I don't think.”

“I wish we still had those horses,” I said, even though Maude had already said twice that she felt better knowing we weren't riding stolen horses.

We found the first marker that Cleomie told us to watch for. She was not a person to ever need a compass. She had the world around her mapped out by heart. Here was the tree
with a hole in the bole, the bee tree. From there we watched for a stand of three tall pines, and aimed right at them when they showed up.

The wind picked up as darkness fell, chilling us when we sat the mule, so we both walked to keep warm. There was a new, bitter feeling in the air, dampness, that meant snow might be on the way. I said nothing about this, nor did Maude.

We talked to take our minds off the cold. For a while we talked about the horse we would buy because it made us miss Cleomie less. We talked, too, about arriving in Independence. That made us feel hopeful. By silent agreement, we talked as if we knew right where to find Uncle Arlen. We talked as if he was waiting for us as hard as we were heading for him.

Sometime past nightfall we could hear the river in the distance, and followed its sound further into Missouri. We stopped to eat in a little stand of woods with prairie grass blowing all around it and a creek running through it.

While I secured the mule with a tether—Cleomie had warned us he didn't take to being hobbled—I decided we'd eat some of Cleomie's cheese. Maude took her rifle and tramped around some in the woods, to see if we could sleep there. Marion had mentioned bears, and Maude took particular care since we were camping so near the trees.

Maude and I couldn't bear tinned fish, but we were very fond of fried. Thinking we might have fried fish for the next morning's breakfast, I kindled a small blaze. While I waited for it to become a cooking fire, I put chunks of cheese on each of the fishing hooks, tied the line around and around a bush, and threw the baited trotline out into the water.