Walk on Earth a Stranger
Page 42

“The children will miss the butter,” Mrs. Joyner says.
I gape at them both. “We’ve got to do something to help her!” But I have no idea what.
The ferry glides past, and Athena falls behind. The college men run to the back of the raft. “This way, Athena!” Jasper calls. “You can do it, sweetheart. Just keep swimming.”
“Pardon, pardon me, if you please, let me help,” Mr. Robichaud says, brushing past me and pushing Jasper aside. He has a rope in one hand, a looped noose in the other.
Mr. Robichaud swings the noose into the air above his head and tosses it out. It arcs unnaturally, but somehow lands right over her head and settles around her neck. He tugs the rope gently to tighten the noose, giving it one firm yank, which gets her swimming toward the boat.
“That was something else!” Jasper says to him. “Never seen that done on water before. Thank you, sir.”
“When did you learn that?” I ask.
“I wrangled cattle back in Ottawa Valley.”
“On a plantation? Or did you drive them?”
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Mr. Robichaud says. “I’ll tell you about it if you practice English with Lucie.”
Jefferson warned me that Mrs. Robichaud is a chatterbox, but it would be nice to talk to another woman, which is something I can’t do without an invitation, not dressed as a boy. “I’ll do it,” I say.
When the ferry bumps onto shore, Jasper and Henry splash through the water to aid Athena. Her legs are wobbly, and she shakes with exhaustion and misery, but she manages to scramble up the riverbank with help and coaxing.
She’s just a cow, but I’m so glad she made it, and I look for Jefferson, wanting to share the feeling with someone. He’s already over by the Hoffmans’ wagon, helping them reattach the wheels.
I run to assist; it’s easier if we all pitch in. I’m loading a trunk when I freeze, nearly dropping it on my toes.
My throat buzzes and my knees tremble. Gold is somewhere nearby. A lot of it. In one of the Hoffmans’ trunks, maybe.
“Lee? You all right?” Jefferson peers into my face. A sack of flour is balanced over one shoulder.
I jump, startled. “Sorry. Yes. I . . .” Therese and her tiny sister, Doreen, are giving me a strange look, which sets my heart to pounding. “I thought I heard a coyote,” I finish lamely. “But I was mistaken.”
I turn away and get back to work, as if nothing is amiss. The presence of gold fades, first with familiarity, then with distance, as one by one we lift the wagons, slide the wheels back on, and yoke up the oxen. With all of us working together, the ferry empties quickly, and we roll off, glad to be on solid ground. Jefferson leaves me behind to ride off with the Hoffmans. I stare after him, my sense of gold fading even more.
I’ve no desire to ride alone with the Joyners, where I’m barely welcome, so I steer Peony toward the college men instead. Athena rests on the ground, her sides heaving. Tom paces with his hands in his pockets. Henry picks his teeth with a bit of straw. Jasper crouches over the cow, rubbing her with a blanket.
“Is she going to be all right?”
“I think so.”
“I could stay—”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he says.
“You’d better catch up with your family,” Henry says.
I open my mouth to snap that the Joyners are not my family, but I stop myself in the nick of time. He’s just trying to be helpful.
“Go on,” he says, gesturing me away. So I turn Peony and start her after the wagons again. As I ride away, the college men and the ferry landing grow distant, but I don’t feel like I’m getting any closer to the folks ahead.
Chapter Nineteen
The country north of the Kansas River is wide and flat and treeless. Stumps are scattered here and there, left over from earlier wagon trains. The prairie will be abundant with grass again in another month or two, but huge swaths of trail are grazed out and fouled with manure. The good watering places are much the same—churned up and dirtied with the waste of the folks ahead of us. We often veer far from the path to make camp.
At least there’s less mud. The rain is tapering off, and the air is pleasantly warm.
One morning, after I rise early and venture far to take care of my necessities, I return to find Major Craven with a scowl on his face. “There’s no need for you to go off. We’re getting to Indian country, and you can never tell what those savages will do.”
If he forbids me to wander off, I’ll be in a heap of trouble. “Maybe the Indians just want to trade,” I say, trying not to sound quarrelsome. I have vague memories of Daddy trading with the Cherokee, before the government chased them out of Georgia.
“Possibly, possibly,” he says. “Still, be careful. Take a dog with you.”
“I will, sir. Thank you, sir.” I’m grinning ear to ear. I should have realized he wouldn’t forbid me to go off on my own occasionally; I’m a boy now.
Coney is delighted to follow me the next time. I give him lots of belly rubs, something he’s always begging of Mr. Joyner but never gets. He and Peony have always been easy with each other, but before long, they’re fast friends; he walks beside her every day and curls up at her feet at night.
I make good on my word to Mr. Robichaud and take some time each day to ride alongside their wagon. It’s smaller and lighter than any of the others, and packed so neatly that the twins have room to sit in the back and play when the trail is smooth enough for it. They are good-natured children who get along well, often referring to each other as “frère,” which their mother immediately corrects to “brother.”
“We are going to live in America, we must learn to speak a little of American,” she says.
“A little American,” I say, because she has asked me to correct her. Her husband sits on the bench, eyes ahead, acting as if he doesn’t overhear. “And you speak it very well,” I add.
“Mrs. Lowrey says I speak it good,” she says.
“You can say it that way. ‘Speak it good.’ But it’s better to say ‘Speak it well.’”
“I speak it very well,” she intones, then she smiles in triumph. Her English is passing fair, much better than she seems to think. She’s a young woman, younger even than Mrs. Joyner, with a cheerful and chatty disposition, dancing brown eyes, and a dusting of freckles. She often stays up late, talking and singing around the campfire, and I suspect this makes her learning go faster.
The Robichauds have matching gold wedding bands—probably the most precious things they own. Those rings are never far apart, and the closer they are to each other, the more they call to me.
They’re not the only ones with a bit of gold. I don’t go near the Hoffmans’ wagons often, but I still get a strong sense from them, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what they’re carrying. A treasure chest of coins, maybe. Or a hundred lockets like the one I wear. If they park too close to the Joyner wagon, it’s like a beacon burning all night long. One night, I take my blanket and move farther off just so I can sleep.
Major Craven has some too. Gold pricks at me every time he stops by for a chat. Finally, I spy the pair of gold buttons at the cuffs of his shirt.