A Home in Drayton Valley (12 page)

“Weren't no, er, wasn't any trouble, miss.” He toyed with one of the buttons on his brown shirt and shot a quick look at Joss. “Well, let's go ahead an' get the words spoke, huh?”

Joss lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. “That's what we're here for.” In one stride, he moved beside Tarsie. But he didn't take her hand. Or even her elbow. Apparently a pretense wasn't important to Joss. Tarsie blinked back tears as her groom folded his arms over his chest and aimed his unsmiling gaze at Stanley King. “Let's get this over with.”

 12 

J
oss gripped the reins so tight his fingers ached. Had they fooled her? The billiard hall bartender had done a decent job of remembering the right words for a wedding. Joss had stated his “I do,” knowing it didn't matter, since Stanley King had no authority to bind a man and woman together. Even so, Joss had caught himself hesitating, a prick of guilt at his deception causing his tongue to stumble.

But Tarsie hadn't hesitated. She'd promised right there under the sunshine and without so much as a stammer to love, honor, and obey him for the rest of her earthly days. Joss stifled an amused snort, imagining Tarsie being obedient. She had a lot more sass in her than he preferred—but that was the only reason he could carry through with the mock ceremony. When the truth came out—and it would as soon as he got her and the young'uns settled in Drayton Valley—she'd have the gumption to see to herself, Emmy, and Nathaniel without him sticking around. A woman with sass had backbone. She'd be fine.

But would he? Ever since they'd put Mary in the ground four days ago, he'd felt empty. Like something that'd made him whole had been plucked out. Would he be forever hollow and aching? He wasn't one to cry. Pa had chased away his desire to let loose with tears when he wasn't much bigger
than Nathaniel. But keeping the hurt bottled up inside was harder than he'd figured something could be. He missed Mary. Missed her something fierce.

Tarsie and the young'uns rode in the wagon bed, their soft voices keeping company with the clop of the horses' hooves and the wind's whistle. It was cooler today, and the air smelled like rain. He wanted to reach Drayton Valley before those clouds billowing in the east opened up. Sooner he could get there and get Tarsie settled, sooner he could hightail it out of here. He couldn't go back to New York—not with Lanker waiting—but Chicago seemed like a good place. Lots of jobs available, and lots of saloons where he could keep himself so pickled he'd forget he once had a family.

He cleared his throat and called out hoarsely, “Tarsie? Come up here.”

Within seconds, she poked her head from the gap in the canvas. “Yes?”

Would she be so johnny-on-the-spot if she knew those vows'd been recited to a bartender instead of a minister? He cleared his throat again. “Climb on the seat. Need to talk to you.”

She wriggled her way over the seat's back, keeping a grip on her skirts. Even so, he got a quick glimpse of her unruffled petticoats. He jerked his gaze forward and focused on the horses' rumps until she settled herself.

“Yes? Is there something wrong?”

There were lots of things wrong. Mary was dead, he was heading to a town where he didn't know a soul, he had a woman for whom he didn't give two beans in a pot relying on him . . . He resisted a snort. “Just wanna tell you we'll be reaching Drayton Valley by tomorrow evening, for sure. Fella in White Cloud told me there's houses built for dockworkers' families an' we oughta be able to rent one of 'em without too much trouble. Thing is . . .” He angled a look at her attentive
face. She appeared to be memorizing his every word. Did she have to look so . . . wifely?

He harrumphed and continued. “Them houses'll be small. Sitting room and sleeping room all in one—that's it.”

She turned abruptly forward. Sunshine splashed her cheeks, which blazed red. Her fingers wove together in her lap. “Oh.”

Joss waited a few seconds to see if she'd say anything else. But she sucked in her lips and sat silently, staring ahead without blinking. He gave the reins a flick. “You gonna be all right sharing a little house like that with me? Or should I see about renting two of 'em? That'd mean less money coming in, of course, but if you'd rather—”

The coils of hair that always worked loose from her braid bounced against her pink-stained cheeks as she shook her head. “No. No, that'd be foolish, wouldn't it, to spend money on two houses when . . . when we're . . . a family?” Slowly, she turned her face and met his gaze. “We'll make do.”

Joss's chest pinched. “All right, then. We'll stop in an hour or so for some lunch and to stretch our legs.” He bobbed his chin toward the wagon bed. “Go on back with the young'uns now.”

Without a word, she followed his direction. Alone on the seat again, he considered her halting response to his question. Apparently when she said she'd be his wife, she meant in every way. Pa would probably smack Joss on the back and crow about how lucky he was, having a woman as easy on the eyes as Tarsie willing to offer herself to him. But something sour rose from Joss's belly and settled on the back of his tongue. He might've faked that wedding ceremony, but he wouldn't take advantage. As Mary'd said, he wasn't his pa.

Just as dusk was falling on the twenty-fifth day of April 1880, they reached Drayton Valley, Kansas. Tarsie held the
canvas flaps wide as Joss drove the wagon down the middle of the town's main street. She didn't want to miss a single inch of the place she'd dreamt about for so long.

Built in an area with close-fitting, rolling hills, the town reminded Tarsie of a tiered cake. The lowest, flattest portion stretched the widest and contained the businesses, with each subsequent level scattered with houses in uneven rows. Wood-shake roofs glowed gold, gilded by the descending sun. Glass windows glimmered like diamonds. Water from the recent rain stood in the ruts carved by wagon wheels and reflected light, becoming streaks of silver.

Tears pressed for release, but she blinked them away and focused on the sights. She examined the town for herself, but also for Mary, who would never see it.

By the time they reached the edge of Drayton Valley that butted against the banks of the Missouri River, Tarsie was convinced the
Handbook of Kansas
had aptly described the town. Such a nice place. A clean place. A cheerful place with proud trees standing guard on every corner and clustered in thick stands around the town. Surely she, the children, and Joss would find happiness here.

She pressed her fist to her mouth. “Oh, Mary, I wish you were with us.”

The wagon rattled to a stop, and Emmy and Nathaniel scrambled to the back hatch. Emmy turned a hopeful gaze upward. “Can we get out, Tarsie? Huh? Huh? Can we?”

Nathaniel adding his begging. “Out? Can we?”

Joss hollered over the fray before Tarsie had a chance to respond. “Not sure where we'll end up tonight. Stay in the wagon 'til I get back.” His gaze bounced to Tarsie. “All of you.”

The children moaned, and Tarsie bit back a word of protest. They'd spent so much time cooped up in this small space—what would it hurt to let the children run around a
bit? But remembering her promise to Mary to show God's love to Joss, she offered a nod rather than an argument. Joss strode toward the only house on this block with a railed porch, and Tarsie shifted her attention to the children. “While we wait for your papa to come back, how about a game? I'll pretend to be an animal, and you can be guessing what it is.”

Neither child expressed great enthusiasm, but Tarsie played the game with them until footsteps signaled Joss's return. He poked his head through the gap in the canvas. Although Emmy and Nathaniel bounced to the end of the wagon like a pair of eager puppies, Joss looked past them to Tarsie. “Talked to the dock manager—he said there's a house we can rent, but it's been empty for a while and is plenty dirty. Has a couple broken windows, too, so it might be wet inside. Guess they got the same rain we did on the trail.”

A house—no matter how dirty or damp—would be better than remaining in the back of the cramped wagon one minute longer. Tarsie said, “I can be sweeping dirt and blotting up water. As long as it has a good roof, we can make do.” She hoped her positive attitude might relieve the slump in his shoulders and ease the deep crease in his forehead, but he merely offered a weary nod.

“I'll tell him we'll take it, then.” He patted the lump beneath his shirt where the money pouch rested. “Gotta pay him for the first month's rent. Eight dollars.”

Tarsie gasped. “Oh, such an amount!”

Joss grimaced. “I know. But once I start working, it'll come out of my pay, so . . .” His brow furrowed as if something pained him. But then he drew in a breath that erased the odd expression. “Lemme get him squared away. Then we'll head to the house.”

Tarsie let the children climb onto the wagon seat so they could see their surroundings. When Joss returned, he squeezed in between them and drove the wagon to a tiny clapboard
house identical to more than three dozen others, with dirt pathways separating them and small yards climbing upward behind them. Joss set the brake and looked at the children. “Out of the way, now. We got a wagon to empty.” They scooted to obey.

The sun had slunk behind the trees while Joss made arrangements for their new home, and Tarsie squinted through the long shadows as she carried her carpetbag across the mushy ground to the little wooden stoop that served as a porch. Joss followed with one of the trunks. When he set it down on the wide-planked floor, dust rose.

Tarsie covered her nose. “Could you be bringing in the lanterns right away? I'm thinking some light might help us get settled in.” But when she lit a lantern and got a look at the house in full glow, her spirits sank. She'd thought her apartment in New York a dreary place, but the walls of this little house had never even been plastered. She held the lamp aloft and turned a slow circle, examining her new domicile.

Bare wood—some planks with exposed openings where knotholes had been knocked free—surrounded the room, which was no more than six wide paces across front to back and side to side. Muddy-looking water puddled below the broken-out west window, and wet stains ran down the wall below the south window thanks to a jagged crack in the pane. The east and north windows were intact, although the frames didn't fit snug to the openings, warning Tarsie that wind and insects could easily enter. The planked floor held a good quarter inch of dust, as did the shelves built into the wall near the rusty cookstove that filled one corner of the room. In her imaginings, Tarsie had never pictured such a dismal little house as the one in which she now stood.

Emmy tugged on Tarsie's skirt. “Is this where we're gonna live now?” Uncertainty pinched the child's face.

Tarsie set the lantern aside and embraced the little girl,
seeking comfort as much as trying to bestow it. She adopted her cheeriest tone. “Yes, darlin', and a fine place it'll be just as soon as I give it a thorough scrubbing and put all of our things away. You and Nathaniel will help me, and we'll make it the nicest house ever, won't we?”

“Yes.” Emmy yawned. Nathaniel leaned his head on his sister's shoulder and tucked a finger in his mouth, his eyelids drooping.

Tarsie pursed her lips. She hated to toss the children's pallet onto the filthy floor, but what choice did she have? The cleaning would have to wait until tomorrow.

Emmy and Nathaniel sat on a trunk, silently observing while Tarsie and Joss emptied the wagon. They stacked their belongings in the northeast corner, where the floor was driest, but then Tarsie had to shift several things to lay out the children's pallet. Both of them tumbled onto the simple bed without a fuss, not even bothering to remove their shoes. Tarsie knelt at the end of the feather-stuffed, blue-and-white-striped pallet and gently tugged their shoes free.