Rose thought a minute, then said, “Four of us could take her. One person leads the horse, two walk behind carrying the lean-to. We could take turns.”
“That’s a lot of liftin’ and carryin’. What would the fourth person do?”
“Ride the second horse.”
I stared at her a second. Then said, “Right. Because we’ll need two horses to get us all back.”
She nodded.
“That’s good plannin’,” I said.
“Well, it’s not perfect.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t even know if Molly is still there.”
“’Cause of the draught?”
“Uh huh.”
“She and Paul are close enough to Copper Lake to stay stocked. It ain’t likely they’d abandon their ranch due to water trouble.”
We were quiet a minute. I don’t know what she was thinkin’, but I was calculatin’ how much weight two people would have to lift and carry, and how long each would have to do it.
“Shrug should stay here,” I said.
“I agree. Shrug can take care of the others. You and I will have to go because we’ll need your strength. And I need to care for Scarlett along the way. When we get there, I’ll need to teach Molly how to care for her.”
“We can take Major, and Earl Grubbs’s horse.”
Rose nodded. “And Monique.”
“What?”
“We’ll need to take Monique.”
“Ain’t gonna work,” I said. “Apart from you, she’s the slightest woman in camp.”
“So?”
“The lean-to will run at least a hundred pounds. Scarlett’s one-eighty if she’s an ounce.”
“Monique will carry her end.”
“There’s better choices.”
“She loves her, Emmett.”
“Well, a’course she does. We all love Scarlett.”
“No, Emmett. I mean, she loves Scarlett.”
“Huh?”
“They’re lovers.”
As the full meanin’ of her words hit me, I felt like I’d been cold-cocked. I took my hat off, ran my hand over my head, and stared at my hat a full minute before puttin’ it back on.
“You mean to tell me—”
“How could you not know?” she said.
37.
Shrug guarded Hannah and Scarlett while the rest of us went up the hill and gathered wood from around the three trees. I cut a dozen lengths of rope from Earl Gruggs’s lasso, and passed ’em around so the women could help me lash the wood together. With so many helpin’ hands, it only took two hours to build a decent lean-to. When it was finished, I dragged it down the hill behind Major and we lifted Scarlett onto it, and tied her down while Rose held Major’s lead line.
The rest of us stood there, lookin’ at the lean-to.
“Monique,” I said.
Monique walked over and stood behind the pole on the right side. I took my spot at the left, counted to three, and to my surprise, Monique lifted her end three feet off the ground. We stood there for twenty seconds, then I told Rose to lead Major ten paces. She did. When Rose came to a stop, I nodded at Monique, and we set the lean-to down gently.
So beloved was Scarlett, all the women—Gentry, Phoebe, Leah, Emma, Hester, and even Mary—volunteered to ride Earl’s horse and take turns carryin’ the lean-to. When I chose Phoebe, Shrug gave me a stern look. I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. He pushed it off and glared at me. I motioned for him to walk with me away from the camp so the others couldn’t hear.
“If you don’t want her to go, just say so. But I think it’s important for Phoebe to see what pioneer life is really like. I don’t think she has any idea what she’s in for with Hiram Pickett, stuck in a sod house on a dirt ranch in the middle a’ nowhere. But seein’ how Molly and Paul live oughta give her a good idea.”
Shrug weighed my words a minute, then nodded. I turned away, intendin’ to walk back to camp. Shrug put his hand on my shoulder to stop me.
I turned, half expectin’ him to hit me, but instead, he reached into his pouch and handed me a single stone. When I took it, he looked down at the ground to show me he was sorry for the way he’d acted.
“No offense taken,” I said. “You’re my best friend, right?”
He nodded.
“And I’m yours, right?”
He made a face, and shook his head no.
I laughed. “Kiss my ass!”
Shrug grinned, and we walked back to camp.
We decided Shrug and the women would continue without us to Copper Lake and fill the barrels as best they could. Then we’d meet up in Kansas, at Blackstrap Crick, which I knew would be dry. Phoebe, Rose and Monique filled a dozen canteens and packed what supplies we’d need for the trip, which I now figured would take three days.
Before leavin’, Phoebe walked over and said somethin’ to Shrug, and he nodded at her. From the look on his face, I’d guess she told him she was gonna miss him. Then she hugged Hannah goodbye, and kissed the top of her head. She climbed on Earl’s horse, and off we went, under a cloudless sky, headin’ for the little sod house outside Maynard, Kansas, where me and Rose delivered Molly Thomas to her mail order husband, Paul Snow, six months earlier.
38.
There’s no comfortable way to carry two hundred and eighty pounds of lean-to and lady over uneven terrain, even with Major handlin’ his half of the load.
The closest you can get is to stand straight, with your arms hangin’ naturally, so you can hold the pole at your lowest point without bendin’ over. Unfortunately, there were two of us carryin’ the thing, and we were different heights. Bein’ much taller, I had to bend over the whole time and lift the lean-to with my arms bent, which quickly put a strain on my neck, shoulders, forearms and elbows, and a kink in my back. Every step hurt worse than the one before, and we couldn’t find a walkin’ rhythm, due to all the stumblin’ we did.
After a few minutes, Scarlett came to and cried out in pain. Monique grew excited, and called out to her in French. But Scarlett failed to answer, and Monique turned gloomy.
Both Rose and Phoebe spoke French better than Scarlett, and tried to engage Monique in conversation to keep her spirits up. Since Rose was walkin’ twenty feet ahead of us, leadin’ Major, Phoebe did most of the talkin’, which amounted to reassurin’ Monique that Scarlett would be okay, and lettin’ her know we cared deeply for her, and were gonna do all we could to help her. Monique let out a stream of French words in response. When I asked what she said, Rose answered, “Monique is amazed that Phoebe, a proper woman, volunteered for such a hard task. She’s even more amazed that Phoebe cares about Scarlett, a common whore, and said she’d never forget her kindness.”
“Don’t she know you’re a proper woman too?” I called out to Rose.
“According to you, she probably thinks I’m a witch,” Rose said, laughing. Then she said, “It makes sense she’d single Phoebe out for her gratitude. After all, you and I are getting paid for making the journey. As a paying customer, Phoebe has gone far out of her way to be of service.”
“That she has,” I agreed.
I turned to look at Phoebe, but she pretended not to hear the compliments. But it was true. Phoebe was an exceptional Easterner, and though her tongue could be sharp and her stand on cussin’ severe, I’d come to respect her for far more than her looks and coffee.
Deflectin’ the conversation, Phoebe said, “So Paul and Molly are newlyweds?”
“Well, they’re recently married,” I said.
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
I laughed. “They ain’t likely to put you in mind of newlyweds.”
“Why not?”
I thought about how best to say it. “Neither of ’em are partic’larly good with people.”
“Perhaps they’re good together.”
“I hope so.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, Paul’s an odd duck, and Molly’s a sharp-tongued
nag.”
“They sound like a rather unpleasant sort.”
“To you and me, maybe. But it takes a certain temperament to live in poverty, away from people. They’re probably a good fit. If he ain’t killed her by now.”
“I’m sure that’s just an expression, meant to amuse me.”
“Did it?”
“No. I don’t find any facet of this situation amusing. You’re the one who brought her west to live with Paul. If they were mismatched you shouldn’t have left her there.”
“I didn’t make her stay. It was her choice. And anyway, odd as he is, I think she’s the one got the bargain, if there’s one to be had.”
“So you think they’re happy?”
“Happy?”
“Aren’t newlyweds supposed to be happy?”
“If there had been any happy,” I said, “it probably wore off by suppertime.”
We trudged on.
As a former gunfighter, horseman, and buffalo hunter, I wasn’t used to this type of travel. My muscles kept lockin’ up on me and I was afraid my arms might go numb and I’d drop my corner of the lean-to. Because I had to walk in such an awkward position, I tried to find a way to stretch my neck and shoulders while carryin’ my part of the load. But nothin’ worked.
We got a mile and a half before takin’ our first break, which lasted long enough for Monique to pour some water on Scarlett’s hair and wash her face. She traded places with Phoebe. Rose took a funnel from her bag and poured canteen water through it into Scarlett’s mouth. I stretched my back for a couple of minutes, and we went at it again, with Phoebe on the left corner this time, and me on the right. I hoped it would help my back to rotate positions each time we stopped, but I feared I was only givin’ the lean-to a different angle to punish me.
For a city woman, Phoebe was strong. Like Monique, she made no complaints. But the goin’ was slow, and gettin’ slower, due to the painful nature of our journey. It weren’t just the weight of the lean-to that was breakin’ us down, it was a combination of things, like the numbness in our necks, shoulders and lower backs and the blisters under our gloves and inside our boots. Had we been tryin’ to cross a mountain, or even a series of hills, we couldn’t a’done it. But we were on the plains, just past the Kansas border, and the land was flat and mostly grass, far as the eye could see.
Not that the grass was green, or fun to walk through, ’cause it weren’t. It was brown and brittle, like over-cured hay, and crunched under our feet like crusted snow. I’d never seen grass this dry. Even our horses wouldn’t eat it! But dead as it was, the grass was still thick and long enough to cover most of the surface holes you’ll find on prairie land. Where it was patchy, we came upon hard-as-rock dirt clods that bruised our blistered feet.
“Did Mr. Pickett happen to tell you what type of material his house was made of?” I asked Phoebe, two miles into the trip.
“He did not,” she said. “Nor did I ask.”
The scent of urine filled the air, which told us Scarlett’s bladder was workin’ properly.
“Shouldn’t we stop and clean her up?” Phoebe said.
“Under normal circumstances, I’d say yes. But we haven’t covered much ground, and can’t afford to take the time. And anyway, because of how the lean-to is slanted, her upper body’s higher than her privates, meanin’ her piss ain’t likely to get in her wounds.”
“It’s barbaric,” Phoebe said. “A woman shouldn’t be forced to lie in her own urine.”
“There’s worse things,” I said. “Like livin’ in a sod house, for instance.”
Phoebe said, “I’ve always held the opinion that it’s not where you live, but how you live that counts.”
From up ahead I heard Rose chuckle.
“Well, I s’pect Mr. Pickett’s got a sod house,” I said.
We walked a few steps without speakin’.
“And what if he does?” Phoebe said.
“You know much about sod houses?”
“I’ve never heard that expression before, in reference to a house.”
I didn’t know what she meant by expression, so I didn’t speak again until I hollered, “Rose? We’ve got a situation back here.”
“What’s wrong?” Rose said.
“Scarlett just shit herself.”
39.
After we set the lean-to down, Rose said, “Turn away, Emmett, while I clean Scarlett up.” To Phoebe she said, “After I’m finished, you can lead Major, and I’ll take a turn carrying the lean-to.”
Before Rose could get started on Scarlett, Monique jumped off her horse and insisted on doin’ the cleanin’. Rose allowed her to, but kept a close watch. Afterward, she checked Scarlett’s wounds.
“How’s she holdin’ up?” I said.
“I don’t like what I saw,” Rose said.
“What’s that?”
“Her scat was almost black.”
I knew that to be a bad sign. Meant she might’ve busted somethin’ inside her.
“Is that why she’s unconscious all the time?” I said. “Is she in a coma?”
“No. I’ve severely drugged her. Otherwise, she’d be in such pain I doubt she’d survive the trip.”
We headed onward.
Rose was small, but sturdy, and she got us a mile closer to Molly’s place before needin’ to stop. We rotated positions again, and journeyed on. After our next short break, Phoebe and Monique traded places. By then we’d walked an agonizing six miles.
“Most folks don’t live on the plains for a reason.” I said.
“And what reason is that?” Phoebe said.
“Actually, there’s a lot of reasons. But one is a lack of trees. Since lumber’s scarce, people often dig squares of grass out of the ground and stack ’em up in a big pile and build a house out of it.”
I wasn’t sayin’ all this to be mean. I’d brought a number of women out west only to see the look on their faces when they realized what they were up against.
“The squares are about eight inches thick, with grass on top and packed dirt beneath it that’s held together by roots,” I said. “Among the roots you’ll find all sorts of crawly bugs, the worst of which is chiggers.”
She didn’t respond, so I said, “You know much about chiggers?”
With frost in her voice, she said, “I learned more about chiggers than I cared to when living among them in a cave recently.”
“In your sod house, if you’re lucky, you might have a leaky window or two in the upper curves, to let in some light. You’ll also have a stove with a pipe attached to it that goes up through the roof to let out most of the soot.”
“Well, I assume Mr. Pickett’s house is made of wood and has windows and a veranda,” she said.
“A what?”
“A covered porch,” she said.
“A porch?”
“I envision a wide, wooden porch with a hand rail that wraps elegantly around the front of the house, where people can sit and rock while enjoying conversation.”
Rose stifled a laugh.
I said, “Fuel’s a problem.”
“Why’s that?” Phoebe said.
“I’ve known plains people to travel forty miles to find wood that ain’t hardly fit to burn.”
Phoebe said, “I’d like to believe that Mr. Pickett is a prudent man, and one who would have an adequate supply of firewood for his stove at all times.”
“Well, if he don’t have much firewood stocked up, he’ll still be fine, I s’pect.”
“And why is that?” she said.
“Well, you said Pickett’s a rancher, so if he’s got cows you’ll have your fuel. Assumin’ the cows ain’t dead from the draught and still have grass or hay to eat.”
“What do the cows have to do with fuel?”
“They shit large piles of manure, what we call cow chips. When the shit pile dries, the settlers stack it inside the house and use it for fuel.”
“You’re joking.”
“I ain’t.”
&n
bsp; “I should think the stench would be horrific!” she said.
“Actually, it burns cleaner than you might think. Of course, if Mr. Pickett’s got hay, he might let you spend a good part of each day twistin’ it into bundles and stackin’ it in your sod house.”
“Yes, well as I say, I’m certain Mr. Pickett’s home is made of the finest wood money can buy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t like your tone, Mr. Love, nor do I approve of the assumptions you’ve made about my fiancé.”
“Well, we’ll see when we get there. I hope he’s got a fine wood house, ’cause sod houses are fiercely cold in the winter, and scorchin’ hot in the summer. And they leak like crazy whenever it rains, which ain’t often enough. But when it does rain, it won’t stop. As the water comes through the sod, it turns the dirt into mud, at which point you and your husband and kids’ll be wearin’ half the house on your faces and clothes. But you can always rebuild your house, and the good news is, the more often it caves in on you, the better you’ll get at fixin’ it.
Phoebe was silent awhile. Finally she said, “If you’re mocking me, shame on you, since I’ve done nothing to warrant it. But if you’re being serious, I can see why it might be a hard life for a woman, particularly an Easterner, such as myself, who is ill-prepared to suddenly step into such a harsh lifestyle. On the other hand, if a man and women are in love, I’m sure they can overcome all sorts of hardships, including those you’ve taken the time to catalogue for me.”
“I s’pect you’re right,” I said. “And it’s a good thing, because there’s a lot more obstacles involved.”
“Such as?”
“Well, insects—spiders in partic’lar—love sod houses. Of course, your grass snakes and mice feel right at home in sod, too. On the plus side, if you’ve got a cat that’s a good mouser, he’ll stay fat and happy without your havin’ to feed him.”
“Anything else you may have forgotten to say?”
“Well, if you’ve studied up on prairie life, you probably know sod folk don’t generally have outhouses. But you needn’t worry about privacy, since your neighbors are likely to live at least five miles away. You’ll spend weeks each year dealin’ with head lice, but when they’re finally gone it’ll be flea and tick season. Regardless of the season you’ll have body lice suckin’ your blood by day, and bedbugs by night. And if that ain’t enough—”