Walks the Fire (33 page)

Advancing age had not dulled Augusta’s ability to appreciate abundant black hair, deep blue eyes, fine teeth, and an undeniably handsome face. Age had, however, taught her to measure her kindnesses carefully to those who merited them. Augusta later assured herself, Jesse, and LisBeth that MacKenzie’s beauty had had nothing to do with the fact that he was immediately taken in. It was, rather, his use of the “password” that had resulted in countless folks finding shelter at Hathaway House. MacKenzie Baird called Joseph Freeman a friend. When Joseph Freeman sent someone to Augusta, Augusta helped.

So it was that moments after his struggle to state his case in a mature, controlled way, MacKenzie Baird found himself ushered into a spotlessly clean hotel room by Jesse and being handed clean linen by her lovely dark-haired daughter, who told him dinner would be served in two hours and then blushed and practically ran down the stairs and out the front door of the hotel.

LisBeth paused just outside the front door. An early morning rainstorm had turned the streets of Lincoln into a nearly impassable quagmire. The board sidewalk ended at the end of the “block” occupied solely by Hathaway House, and Freeman’s Livery. Glancing down at her new shoes, LisBeth turned left, toward the livery. Lifting her calico skirts high, she picked her way through the mud and ducked into the stable. Once inside, she closed her eyes and inhaled the wonderful aroma of recently curried horses and fresh hay. From overhead, Warbonnet, the chief cat on the block, stared down regally.

“Warbonnet, here kitty-kitty!” LisBeth coaxed. Warbonnet ignored her. LisBeth scurried up the ladder to the loft as quickly as her abundant petticoats would allow and tumbled into a pile of fresh straw. The cat flicked one ear in her direction and yawned.

“Oh, all right, Warbonnet, so I don’t have any milk with me today. Still, you have to listen.” LisBeth dropped her voice and confided, “It’s the greatest news in all the world, Warbonnet. I’ve
met
him! I’ve met the man I’m going to marry.”

Warbonnet was not a very good friend. At the first sound of LisBeth’s voice, he had seen the movement of a mouse on the opposite side of the stable—along the floor. With a flick of his half-missing tail, he had leaped down and engaged in hot pursuit.

LisBeth would not be discouraged. “Fine… don’t believe me. But I know what I know, and someday, you old cat, you’ll see. Mama and I have quilted and sewed until my hope chest is brimming over with lovely things. I’d nearly lost hope, but not anymore! MacKenzie Baird…” She tried the name out loud several times. Then footsteps sounded below, and she was forced to be quiet or be discovered.

It was Joseph, bringing in MacKenzie’s team.

“But, Joseph… I can’t pay for this, either. I’ll just take them to the edge of town and let them graze. Shoot! I saw cattle grazing on the lawn of the capitol building earlier. No one’s going to mind a couple of aged draft horses at the edge of town. You don’t want to take up your stalls with my team.”

“Mac, you just hush,” Joseph replied. “I done told you that I’m gonna help you. It’s a horrible thing that’s happened to us all. It’ll be all right. I got the livery and my land. Crop’s ruined for this year, sure, but I done proved up on the place, and it can just set for a year while I run the livery. What happened out there on your place—that should never happen to nobody, son, and the Good Lord done told me to help you all I can. So you just hush up and let this of black man lend you a hand!”

In the privacy of the stable, MacKenzie Baird broke down. The kindness being poured out was too much. He had steeled himself against the horror of what he had found when he had returned from searching for the livestock the night before. But he had not prepared himself to handle kindness.

Caught with no way to escape from the loft, LisBeth listened to the broken dreams of the young homesteader being poured out onto the wide shoulder of a former slave. “Why’d he do it, Joseph? I’ll never understand what made him do it. We could have started over. We could have taken care of everything…”

Joseph interrupted the young man. “Don’t know why anybody takes his own life, son. They’s never any answer. Just leaves the folks behind with a big hole in their heart and a whole load of guilt.”

“Maybe it just took too much out of him.”

“Losin’ your ma last winter—he took that real hard.”

LisBeth peeked over the edge of the loft. MacKenzie was wiping his face with a faded kerchief and nodding his head. “Yep—when Ma died, Pa just didn’t seem to have the interest anymore. He’s been going downhill ever since, but I never thought… I never suspected… I never would have gone and left him alone…” The voice trembled again, threatened to break down. Joseph put a thin hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Stop it, boy. You did what was right. Somebody had to see if they was any livestock to be rounded up. Somebody had to pick up and get on with it. You done right. Your pa took the wrong way out, son. That’s just it. The wrong way. Life handed him some hard stuff, but the Lord always helps his children bear up. Look here, Mac—you don’t know nothin’ ’bout me, and I ain’t tellin’ you much, either. What’s past is past and it ain’t good to be dredgin’ it up. But I’ll tell you somethin’. I been through lots worse than floods and grasshoppers. I lost a wife—and it wasn’t no sickness that took her—’cept the sickness of one man thinkin’ he can own another and buy and sell ’em as if they was animals. I lost two boys the same way. Thought I was gonna go plumb crazy when it happened. But I didn’t. I just sang and prayed my way to freedom, and then I sang and prayed some more, and finally, it didn’t hurt quite so bad.”

MacKenzie looked into the earnest dark face and croaked, “How long was it before you could quit singing and praying to keep going, Joseph?”

“Don’t know, MacKenzie, don’t know.”

The blue eyes questioned.

“Don’t know ’cause I’m still singin’ and prayin’ to keep going. That kind of hurt just don’t ever go away, son. But it gets bearable. It fades. And yours will fade, too. You just keep prayin’ and singin.’“ Joseph paused. “Say, can you read, boy?”

“Pa was sending me to the university next year. Yeah, I can read.”

“Then you pray and you sing and you read the Bible. You keep doin’ it every day, and you’ll see. The Lord will pull you through. And when you need it, son, you come to the livery stable and you let old Joseph Freeman hear your troubles. Only the Lord can solve ’em, but sometimes a man just need to tell someone.”

“Who’d
you
ever tell, Joseph?”

Freeman was quick to respond. “Only met two people I ever cared to tell. You met ’em both. LisBeth and her mama heard it a long time ago. Miz King, she ain’t never forgot. I see it in her face every time she looks my way. That’s a woman what don’t show her feelin’s much. Still, I know she cares.”

“How can you tell?”

“Oh, she ain’t much for words, Miz King ain’t. She just does what’s right and keeps her mouth shut. Last week, one of the poor coloreds died. Family didn’t even have money to bury him. We got ourselves a fine new cemetery northeast of here—named it
Wyuka,
‘Place of Rest’ in Sioux. Funny ain’t it, white man callin’ his graveyard that when he ain’t givin’ the Injuns a place to rest in all this land that used to be theirs. Anyway, old Jubilee Jamison up and died, and his family’s got no way to pay the undertaker. They’s hollerin’ and carryin’ on somethin’ awful. Comes a knock at the door, and there stands Miz King. She don’t say a word, just hands over an envelope and then leaves. She’s already halfway across town when here comes Jubilee’s widow after her. Miz King turns about and says, real quiet like, ‘The Lord has provided for Jubilee, Harriet. Don’t tell another soul or he might be upset with us all for flaunting our good works!’ And that’s that. The undertaker gets a call, and Jubilee Johnson gets a real nice buryin’, after all. Now, you ask Miz King about that, she’d just look out the window and smile and say she ‘just don’t know what to say about that, but ain’t it wonderful how the Lord provides?’”

“She heard my story, and she ain’t never forgot. I can tell her anything, and she cares to listen. It’s a healing thing, MacKenzie, sharing with another human being all the hurts life deals out. You’ve had a heap of hurt for your young years. When you need to spill it out, you always know where Joseph Freeman is!”

Joseph ended the encounter. “Now, scoot! Miz Hathaway don’t take long to find work for anybody, and she’s shorely got a job for you by now. Go find out what it is and get to it!”

Twenty-eight

Unless thy law had been my delights, I should then have perished in mine affliction.
—
Psalm 119:92

In the end it was Jesse,
not Augusta, who helped MacKenzie find work. His industrious search for work and his genteel manners won over the three women of Hathaway House. Jesse and Augusta agreed that he was a “fine young man.” When Sunday arrived, and MacKenzie requested permission to accompany the women to church, Jesse’s approval soared almost as much as her daughter’s heart Although it was Augusta that MacKenzie chose to escort personally, and although he sat at the opposite end of the pew from her, LisBeth was unable to concentrate on the Reverend Samuel’s exposition of the Scriptures that day.

Her daughter’s infatuation with MacKenzie did not go unnoticed by Jesse. When LisBeth dished up supper, MacKenzie received the biggest portions, the fluffiest dumplings, the freshest coffee. If he happened to look directly at her, the usually vivacious young woman blushed and fumbled a reply.

He had been in Lincoln only two weeks when MacKenzie announced that as soon as he had saved enough for a new outfit, he was headed to the Black Hills to try his luck in the gold mines. Jesse had “spoken a word” to J. W. Miles, owner of the dry goods store in town, and MacKenzie had worked for him since the day after he arrived in town.

“Lincoln’s a fine city,” he said, with tactful deference to Augusta, “but I’m just not cut out to live in the city. I grew up in the open air, and I couldn’t abide being cooped up in a store for long.”

Turning to Jesse he added hastily, “That’s not to say I’m not grateful for all you’ve done to help me, Mrs. King.”

Augusta interrupted him, “The Black Hills gold mines are not exactly the safest place to make one’s fortune, MacKenzie.”

Jesse agreed. “I certainly understand your love of the outdoors, but why not return to the family homestead? Mr. Miles says you’re a fine worker. Build up credit with him to outfit your farm. Owning land is a wonderful way for a young man to get started. Why, you’re halfway to being able to support a wife and family already.” Jesse stopped short. “I mean, if a family is in your plans for the future.” She felt awkward broaching such a personal subject, and quickly went back to Augusta’s subject. “The Lakota have been pushed so far already… prospectors coming into their lands are going to be in a very precarious position.”

Uninvited, other men in the dining room joined into the conversation.

“Yeah, that massacre back in ’66 made ’em think they could push us all around!”

Another voice boomed, “Carrington sure botched that job, all right. Should-a been court martialed.”

“They oughtta hang ten of the murderous savages for every one of our boys they butchered.”

Jesse’s face flushed with anger. Her mouth opened, but the angry retort went unspoken. As quickly as she had opened her mouth she snapped it shut, excused herself from the table, and hurried into the kitchen.

Augusta took note.
Pots and pans sure are rattling louder than usual out there.
She jumped at the sound of a plate crashing to the floor.

As the men continued to opine about the “Indian situation,” Augusta followed Jesse into the kitchen where she found her always calm, never emotional friend slamming things about with gusto, muttering to herself, mopping either angry tears or sweat off her face.

LisBeth scuttled about, trying both to help and to stay out of Jesse’s way.

Another plate hit the floor, and Jesse stamped her foot angrily. “Tarnation!” she whispered vehemently.

“Jesse!” Augusta exclaimed.

Jesse looked up, startled. Augusta and LisBeth stared back, speechless. It grew very quiet in the kitchen.

Joseph broke up the uncomfortable silence as he came in the back door with an armload of firewood. “Land sakes!” he exclaimed. “You ladies finally done it! I been wonderin’ how long three women could live in such close quarters and not have a scrap. So what’s it all about?”

Jesse closed her eyes, looked up to heaven, and took a deep breath. “Joseph,” she said, her mellow voice once again under control, “I have made a fool of myself and broken two plates. Would you mind sweeping it up while Augusta and LisBeth serve dessert?”

She turned to Augusta. “I’m sorry, Augusta, but I cannot go back into that dining room with
that
conversation going on and remain civil. If we do not want to be forced to close Hathaway House due to the insanity of one of the ‘staff,’ you had better serve the dessert and let me get some fresh air.”

Jesse didn’t wait for Augusta to answer. She swept by Joseph and slammed the back door as she stomped across the back lot Augusta hurried to slice up the hickory apple cake Jesse had hauled out of the oven. Joseph didn’t ask any more questions. Wondering what had happened and assuming that LisBeth and Jesse had had some kind of argument, he helped Augusta by working in the kitchen as LisBeth and Augusta hurried back and forth to serve her customers.