All Together in One Place (32 page)

Tipton turned to her side The effort of remembering made her head ache. It throbbed at her temples and she itched. She could smell herself. Not pleasant. The wheels had hit a hundred rocks during the day, each one thumping her head into the board. Her head throbbed now, though the wagon wasn't moving. Any minute she would rouse herself, use the chamber pot and slop it. Yes, any minute As soon as the dog stopped barking, that would be her sign. Or she heard a child laugh, yes, that would be the signal to stir—unless she could get that girl to slop the pot. Perhaps offer her walnuts.

The thought of food made Tipton wonder when she'd eaten last. Was she hungry for one of Bethas pies? No, no craving for food. It would make her fat, the food would She must not get fat, but she couldn't remember why Something gnawed inside her, something just below her heart

She shivered and rolled over, her hand slipping under the pillow to pull it to her face, to muffle the longing and the canyon of ache. Her fingers touched the cool bottle. She pulled them back as though burned. No, she needed to save it for when they were ill, when any of them were sick She rolled back over, her hands knotted like a crones over her stomach. She stared up at the mottled canvas arched over her. Her breathing shifted, she had trouble taking in air. She heard the cool of the laudanum calling her name, and she answered.

Ruth finished with Koda, hobbled him, then began brushing Jumper. The stallion nickered. “Yes, you're my friend,” she said. “Horses are
more reliable than men.” Men like Z. D Randolph had taught her that Back in Ohio, he'd breezed through the door, ducking his head as he came through, the bell jingling above the jamb, black cape and cane swinging out from his vested black suit. A sweet scent of his cologne drifted into the cavernous space known for its odor of oil, wet paper, and ink. Somehow, he filled the room, made everything else fade away.

She'd looked up from her work, to see what the freshness was and the cause of the bell and the breeze swirling the scents, and stared into the brown eyes of the man she would marry.

“I am in awe,” he said, “to find great beauty in such an unlikely place.” Ruth blushed. “I'm seeking a lithographer to characterize Columbus,” he said. “I've people in St. Louis I'm wishing to send it to. Do you know of someone?”

“I have family there,” Ruth said “And I do lithograph work ” He cocked his head to the side and wore a half grin that made his sculpted face all the more intriguing.

“Do you? Well, now, you'll know precisely what I need to make my family wish to join me.” He nodded at the limestone bar she held firmly in one palm, her fingers holding the engraving knife in the other. “Such lovely hands,” he said, “ought to be holding more than stone.”

“A wise woman holds on to what she needs to,” Ruth said.

He arched a thick eyebrow. “Again, I stand in awe,” he said, revealing a single dimple when his mouth slid into a smile. He removed his dark hat, reached out his hand She set the limestone down, touched his hand, and shook it. Her action interrupted his lips on their way to the back of her palm, but he smiled, squeezed her palm like a man's handshake. “I like that,” he said.

They began a long and leisurely courting, of strolls and picnics and attendance at the theater He bought her small gifts, then more extravagant ones It pleased Zane to see earrings dangling from her ears, necklaces sparkling against her olive skin. She asked him once not to spend so freely on her, tried to tell him her tastes were simple ones.

He'd frowned like a boy told he had to put his toy up for the night.

She shouldn't be so direct, she decided. She didn't really mind making small adjustments in what she packed for picnics or wearing the jewelry he sent that was not fully to her liking.

He told her of his family, his banking interests. She told him of her love of horses, her joy in practicing with a whip. He'd frowned, but just slightly. She'd noticed, though, and didn't mention those subjects—and many others—that mattered to her, again.

“That was my downfall, Koda,” Ruth said, finishing. “I gave myself up for someone else. Never again,” she told the horse. Koda hobbled over at the sound of her voice, pulled at the kerchief tucked at her waist. “Except this short turnaround for Betha,” she said. “And the children.”

Pig's barking brought them all. Sister Esther, Naomi, Deborah, Lura, Mariah, and Zilah were walking slowly back toward the circle of wagons, having completed their necessary time together. When they heard the child wail, the dog bark, and Suzanne's yelp for help, they picked up their pace.

“Clayton's there,” Sister Esther said, able to see better than the other, shorter women. The
S
sizzled in her teeth. She pointed. “Beneath the wagon.”

They hoisted up their skirts and stepped through the grass and small yellow flowers that sprinkled the ground like sparse confetti.

“What is it? Clayton?” Suzanne said, her chin up, her neck stretched out like a chicken's, hands flailing before her. The rope, she felt for it at her waist. There was no resistance—he'd come untied. She had gotten down from the wagon box, her hands swinging in a wide arc in front of her as though washing off a lengthy table pushed heavily before her. Where was that goading stick Naomi used for the oxen? “Clayton? Where are you? What's wrong?”

Mazy roused at Pigs bark. Stung from her grogginess, she took long strides toward the boy, watched the child start to stand as though to wobble toward his mothers voice when Pigs
gruff-gruff bask
grew louder, more insistent, hair standing up at his neck. Mazy suddenly understood and shouted, stern and sharp. “Clayton! Suzanne! Stop! Tell him not to move!”

“What is it? What do you see?” Suzanne said.

“Rattler, between Pig and your boy.”

Mazy heard her mother run up beside her. “Get me a hay fork,” Mazy told her. “Just stay, Clayton We'll play a game Just sit now. Tell him to sit, Suzanne”

Elizabeth jerked at the fork attached to Betha's wagon. She was joined by Sister Esther and the others.

Behind her, Mazy heard a small wail. She looked to see Mariah, fist to her mouth, her
eyes
wide. “Kill it! Kill it!” she said.

“Sit still, Clayton,” Mazy ordered, turning back. “Your mamas here Sit still, now.” Mazy stretched the fork out toward the snake. “He's paying more attention to the dog than Clayton at this moment. Pig, don't get too close.”

She jabbed at the reptile, the buzz of its rattles zinging in the dusk. It struck at the fork, slithered past to the left, coiled again. “Soon as it's out of striking range, Mother, grab the boy.”

The snake swayed its head like a compass needle. Mazy jabbed and poked again, then heard the sting of a whip snap past her head. It connected between her and Pig, the lick of the leather beheading the snake.

Mazy turned to see Ruth a step behind her, turned back to see her mother grab the child and hand him to Suzanne, who smothered him in kisses. The snake's body continued to wind back and forth in the flattened grass.

“He don't know he's dead yet,” Elizabeth said.

“We need to bury the head,” Ruth said. “Keep the yellow jackets from feasting. Make their stinging worse.”

“Don't want no one stepping on it either,” Ned said, still agog.

“It could poison ya even after its dead?” Sarah asked. She held Jessies hand tight.

Ruth nodded. “Should beat around the grass good before we turn in, try to discourage as many others as we can.”

“I can't stand them, I just can't,” Mariah repeated. “Snakes and spiders.” She shivered. “Spiders most.”

“Provides a little something extra for dinner,” Elizabeth said.

Mazy rubbed at the dog's ears. Pig still barked at the slithering snake but not as loud or with as much aggression. “It's all right,” Mazy said. “Good job, Pig.”

“Thank you,” Suzanne said, her chin resting on her child's head. “To whichever of you. I couldn't see. The dog…I'm just not able to look after Clayton.” She shook her head, brushed at tears, rubbing against her cheek.

“There, there,” Betha said. “Toddlers are hard to keep track of for everyone.”

“Look how long it is,” Mariah said. With the fork, Mazy lifted the form from beneath the wagon and turned toward the fire with it while Ruth dug a hole with her heel and pushed the head in with her boot. “We aren't really going to eat it, are we?”

“Enough there for each to have a taste,” Elizabeth said.

“How would we fix it?” Lura asked.

“Ma!”

“The way you want to eat rattlesnake,” Elizabeth said, “is to be real hungry. You don't want to have breakfast or nooning, not eat all day long on a day you're going to have rattler for supper.”

“I believe we can forgo that delicacy, then,” Sister Esther said, tying and retying the black ribbon at her throat “Seeing as how the Lord has provided us with two meals already this day.”

The women decided to sleep inside wagons that evening, instead of setting up tents. Perhaps they were all as tired as she was, Mazy thought, and it was easier to sink into the cornhusks in the narrow wagons than it was to set the tents and then wonder through the night if they'd be waking in the morning with a snake beside their heads. Mazy heard sounds outside by the low fire. She guessed Sister Esther hadn't yet turned in.

Tired as she was, Mazy hadn't slept. She allowed her mind to chew once again on the day. She had to make everything go without a hitch, be responsible for the ease of their turnaround. They'd have to find some way to keep closer watch on Clayton, assign someone to watch him all the time. Then she thought of the old sleighbells in her mother's wagon—she could attach them to the boy's shoes. That would help.

Had it been her imagination, or had Suzanne been less like a wasp? No, Mazy just hadn't been tending to her; her mother had She needed to change that. She must think of a task for Suzanne, something valued, not just meant to keep her occupied. She knew little of Suzanne's interests except for the sewing machine she'd seen. The Cullvers had musical instruments along, but she'd only seen Bryce play the violin. A stack of muslin and what looked like carpeting rolled into a cylinder were snugged along the wagons sidewalls. Mazy had tripped over them a dozen times while looking after Suzanne when she'd been so ill. She wondered how it was Suzanne didn't stumble on them.