Far Away Home (8 page)

Aislynn place
her valise on the chair and dropped her carpetbag on the floor. She turned to
find Johnny holding his large bag over the tub and trying to close the door
behind him. Setting his bag on the floor, he leaned against door. “This is the
best I could do.”

“It’s
wonderful.” Aislynn said with a smile. “It’s warm, and I have a hot bath. It’s
perfect for me.”

“ ‘Cept it’s for
us.”

“If I could
reach you, I’d slap your face,” she threatened.

“Aislynn, you’re
goin’ to have to be a little flexible. There are hordes of people in this town
lookin’ for rooms. This one is clean; you can have a bath and a bed. I’ll just
wait outside while you bathe, and you can turn your back when it’s my turn.”

“Oh, so simple.
And where might you be sleeping?”

“I’ll take a
pillow and the quilt, and I’ll use the floor.”

Eying the
limited floor space, she agreed, believing he deserved to be cramped for not
getting them two rooms. “Fine,” she said and ordered him out.

Aislynn sat in
front of the stove drying her hair while she listened to Johnny bumping and
splashing in the tiny tub. She giggled, imagining what he must look like. Fear
suppressed her urge to peek. She heard him as he dressed and helped the
proprietress empty the tub. When Johnny returned, Aislynn lay in the bed with
the blankets pulled up to her chin.

“Give me the
quilt and a pillow.”

Aislynn surveyed
him. “If you promise to stay outside the covers, you can have half the bed.”

Johnny gave her
a broad smile.

“I’m only
offering half the bed,” she said flatly. “Nothing more. And you better
promise.”

“Aislynn, do you
think I’d ever make you do anything you didn’t want to?”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

Johnny settled
himself on one side of the bed, and Aislynn curled up facing the wall. He said,
“Good night,” and Aislynn mumbled in return.

“Don’t you want
to kiss me good night?” he asked.

“No!”

“It’s our first
night alone. You could kiss me.”

“No!” Her
annoyance expanded.

Aislynn could
not sleep listening to the silence hanging between them. Irritated, she turned
abruptly and brushed his cheek with a kiss. “If you say one more word, I’ll put
you out of this room.” She turned back to the wall, feeling his smile. Ignoring
him, she began her prayers. When her devotions became personal and reached Tim,
she whipped around to Johnny and sat upright. In a panic, Aislynn cried,
“Johnny?”

Her call hauled
him back from the edge of sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“You won’t tell
anyone we’re sharing a bed will you?”

“Aislynn?”
Johnny questioned her distrust.

“You won’t tell
Tim? Especially Tim.” She shook her head furiously. “He would never understand,
and he would never approve.”

“Of course not.”

“And we’ll never
do this again. We’ll be traveling straight through from here on.”

“Right.”

Satisfied with
Johnny’s assurances and confident the arrogant Mr. Moran was wrong, Aislynn
cuddled under the covers.

The train to
Omaha was similar to the cars from the East, with rounded roofs housing tiny
glass vents which allowed air to the passengers stuffed into the lofty sleeping
berths. Large windows that could be opened in warmer weather paraded around the
middle of the cars through the dark wainscoted walls. The passengers were more
unruly, mostly men with aspirations of mining or railroading. The view of new
grass and furrowed fields held no interest for her imagination and Aislynn grew
bored. For amusement, Aislynn and Johnny etched tic-tac-toe games into the
window’s dusty film. Johnny told her tales of war, which extended from the
streets of New York City to the fields of the South.

When Johnny
rested, Aislynn listened to the secret conversations of her neighbors. They
spoke of the West and the grand opportunities they sought, about living in a
land without restrictions. It occurred to Aislynn she was like them, grabbing
for a new life with both hands. She would not be confined by circumstance; she
would live the dream that brought her father to these shores, partaking in the
grand experiment her friends had fought and died to preserve.

Outside her
window, like an invitation, lay the nation’s virgin land yet to be inhabited
and exploited by humans and their hopes. It stole her breath to think of the
possibilities. She looked to Johnny, his head lolling against the back of the
seat with his eyes closed and his mouth open, and decided her thoughts and her
destiny were her own.

By Davenport,
Aislynn had traveled enough for one day. Her body ached from hours of
bone-rubbing bouncing and swaying. The sounds, the smells and the sight of her
fellow passengers irritated her. Aislynn and Johnny disembarked at the station.

They found a
family who took in boarders. The house appeared clean, and they were promised
beds although they would have to share them with the family’s children. Aislynn
agreed. She crawled into a soft, warm bed and was joined by three girls younger
than herself. Two were small, but the thirteen-year-old seemed nearly as large
as Johnny. The younger ones passed the night kicking and throwing their limbs
in every direction. One woke crying three times to no one’s notice but
Aislynn’s. Between the child’s sobs, she could hear the house sleeping. She
pulled her pillow over her head, but it yielded no relief. She lay wakeful and
heard the clock in the parlor strike three. Exhaustion won out. However, with
the morning, she woke weary.

The train
pressed on another full day to Omaha, the Union Pacific’s town. It was built
for and around the railroad. Beyond the train cars and the rails radiating out
from the station, a small clapboard city with dirt roads bloomed on the gently
rolling plains. When their train pulled into the station complex, she pleaded
for a meal and some sleep. They found lodging in two rooms behind a tavern. The
larger room housed men, and women shared the smaller. There were two beds in
the tiny women’s room, and Aislynn shared hers with a stranger. The woman spent
the night squirming and scratching. Aislynn kept to one side of the bed with
her shawl pulled over her head and her coat closed around her, hoping to ward
off any loose bugs traveling her way. In the morning, while the others ate
breakfast, Aislynn took two beakers of water and washed her hair and her body
with brown lye soap. It left her skin dry and taut, but she hoped it removed
any critters before they took up residence.

The rail trip
west from Omaha provided a train car with fewer amenities. Slats of wood served
as seats. Windows were frozen in various levels of open. A stove sat untended
and the lamps unlit. Passengers were more male and less civil. Scenery was
extraordinary in its sameness. Huge fields with scatterings of small white or
brown houses repeated themselves for miles.

As they neared
North Platte, Johnny noticed Aislynn’s discomfort and suggested they get off
the train. She appreciated his offer and assured him they had enough money for
the expenditure. Johnny shrugged and said the money did not matter.

While the train
idled for fifteen minutes, they raced to the hotel. No rooms were available,
but a hotel worker referred them to a boarding house. There, the owner offered
them accommodations behind the tavern. They would have to share their beds with
one other person, but Aislynn agreed. While Johnny went for a drink, Aislynn
trotted off with the landlady.

In the
log-walled, sod-roofed room, she found two shelves of bunks suspended between
the wall and two posts of stripped tree trucks. Each bed stretched only four
feet long, but they held clean, white ticks stuffed with pine needles giving
the room a fresh scent. These mattresses were topped with fluffy quilts in
immaculate duvets. Aislynn crawled into her top bunk and fell into a deep
sleep. Sometime later, she awakened when a rough woman climbed onto her bed.
The woman had no teeth and skin splotched with thick black patches. Her smell
made Aislynn cringe. She hid her face in her pillow and tried to breathe. When
the woman removed her old boots, the room reeked with an odor so offensive
Aislynn could not catch her breath.

Grabbing her
pillow, Aislynn jumped down from her bunk. Throwing on her clothes, she picked
up her bags and walked to the tavern door.

Aislynn knocked
until a disheveled man answered. Women were not allowed inside, so she stood in
the doorway and asked for Johnny Maher. He appeared instantly.

“I can’t sleep
with these people; they’re pigs.”

Johnny’s
shoulders sagged. “Wait here.”

He returned to
the barroom and re-emerged with his bag and a lantern. “Come on,” he said.

“Where are we
going?”

“To the stable.”

As they walked
away from the tavern through the numbing Nebraska night, Aislynn looked up at
the navy sky. Through the brittle air, stars pierced the heavens and a huge
slash of white glowed against the darkness. Aislynn stopped and pointed.
“What’s that?”

“A whole bunch
of stars called the Milky Way.”

“Why don’t we
see it in New York?”

“Too much light,
not enough sky.” Johnny answered.

Aislynn imagined
the stars pointed west and viewed the phenomenon as a good omen. Johnny led her
across the muddy yard through the broad bay doors of a barn built of raw wooden
planks. Following, she struggled to keep her skirt up, but her shoes could not
escape the damp. In the barn, the dirt floor was dry and swept and the stalls
were clean. Johnny pointed to a loft with hay spilling over its lip. “We can
sleep up there.”

She started up
the ladder, and Johnny followed her carrying several horse blankets. He leveled
the hay and covered it with the blankets. Then, he brought up their bags.

Motioning at the
improvised bed, he said, “Sleep.”

Aislynn threw
down her pillow and lowered herself onto the blankets while Johnny dimmed the
lantern and stretched out next to her. She found the hay comfortable, but she shivered.

“Cold?” he
asked.

Pulling her
shawl over her head, she said, “Yes, mainly my feet.”

Johnny rose and
turned up the lamp. He fished around in his bag and pulled out a pair of large
socks knit from thick gray wool. Kneeling at her feet, he untied one of her
muddy shoes. He pushed the sock up her leg. She wondered if it was the sock or
his hands under her skirt, but she felt warmer. Aislynn knew she should take
charge of the job herself and reprimand his forwardness, but she did not want
to. He took her shoes to the edge of the loft and slapped them together,
knocking off the mud. “They should be dryer by morning.” He lowered the lamp
wick and lay next to her.

“Move closer and
we can share my coat,” Johnny offered.

Rolling to face
him, she placed her hands on his chest and hid her face between them. He
cocooned her in wool. She listened to his breathing, felt his heart and
wondered at the mysterious workings of his body.

Aislynn knew she
was a traitor to their plans, but she thought it was a good time to ask,
“Johnny?” she circled one of his shirt buttons with her finger.

She could feel
him inhale, “What?”

“I don’t think I
can tolerate stage stations after the places we’ve slept. Do you think we could
take a wagon instead?”

Although Johnny
nodded, she continued her defense. “It will cost us close to three hundred
dollars to take the stage and there’s no telling how much lodging and food will
run. If we wagon, I could do the cooking so we’d know what we were eating, and
we’d know where we were sleeping. It’s more expensive, but we’d have a wagon
and horses and lots of the things we’ll need when we get to Utah.”

“I was thinkin’
the same thing.”

“Why didn’t you
suggest it?”

“Because you
did.”

Aislynn wished
he had said it first. She did not want him to think of her as weak and
pampered. She knew they were beginning an arduous trip, one that required
sacrifices, but she did have some needs. For a minute, she settled in her
thoughts then asked, “Johnny?”

“Hmmm?”

“Cheyenne’s a
big town,” she started. Aislynn felt Johnny nod. “I know we’re trying to keep
expenses down, but when we get there can we get two hotel rooms, real hotel
rooms with hot baths?”

“No.”

Aislynn thought
she heard wrong. Johnny didn’t say “no” to her. Astonished, she questioned him,
“Why not?”

“Cheyenne is the
roughest town in the West. There are thousands of men sittin’ there with
nothin’ to do but get into trouble. You are not doin’ anything alone.”

Searching for a
way to get what she wanted, she asked, “Can we stay together, like in Chicago?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think
I’m fast for making such a suggestion, do you?”

Johnny pulled
his head back and looked down at her, “Fast? Aislynn, if you were in a race
with a tortoise, the tortoise would win.”

She pushed
against his chest, “You don’t want me to be fast, do you?”

“Only when
you’re lyin’ next to me.”

Chapter 8

Aislynn and
Johnny pulled into Cheyenne on April 5
^th
. As their train rolled up
to the railhead, they could see the army of the Union Pacific Railroad pulling
out. Once on the street, they found the townspeople abuzz. All talk centered
around surviving the ten thousand graders and track-layers who had been holed
up against a cold, snowy winter waiting for spring to move out and complete the
UP’s transcontinental railroad. The workers had found plenty of diversions,
losing their pay to the gangs of gamblers, saloonkeepers, whores and swindlers
who followed the railhead on its westerly course. Cheyenne’s sober, solid
citizens, who stayed behind to maintain the roundhouse and repair shops, hoped
they were gone for good. Johnny and Aislynn watched residents wave goodbye as a
thousand horse and mule teams, groaning and swaying under the weight of camp
equipment, dug in their hoofs and wagoned west toward Sherman Summit, the
highest point on the rail line, 8,235 feet.

Aislynn and
Johnny picked their way along the muddied, snow-lined boardwalks to 16
^th
Street and the Ford Hotel. Two stoves and hanging kerosene lamps wearing
reflector shades lit the large dining room. Three well-dressed men were eating
quietly at one table, while four others gambled boisterously in a corner. They
were dressed in rough clothes and each had a gun resting on the table. Aislynn
turned to Johnny, pleading to leave, but Johnny pulled out her chair and said,
“We’ll be fine.”

The first thing
Aislynn noticed about the gambler facing her was how his eyes scanned the room
like twin beacons searching for danger. They were pale eyes, frozen in a
permanent squint and set in a face lined like a cobweb. He had a huge moustache
hanging on his face. His hands were large and strong with veins protruding
through the dark, weathered skin. He held cards in one hand while the fingers
on his other twitched against the table. His long blond hair hung on the
shoulders of his buckskin shirt.

Her eyes were
drawn to him, and when he smiled at his companions’ banter, she recognized he
had been handsome in his youth. Her ears caught tales of scouting for the army,
skirmishes with Injuns while erecting the telegraph lines, and riding shotgun
on the Wells Fargo stages carrying payrolls. When her gambler spoke, his soft
voice seemed to crawl over slivers of glass to escape his throat. Although his
hushed words were as raw as his exterior, Aislynn found herself leaning across
her table to eavesdrop on his comments.

“Aislynn?”
Johnny recaptured her attention. “It seems to me in this company, it would be a
good idea to mind your own business.”

“I am.”

“There’s plenty
of trouble available; let’s not look for any.”

Aislynn jumped
out of sleep when something solid hit the wall next to their bed. The impact
made the thin wooden barrier shake, sending sawdust down on Aislynn’s face.
Johnny sat up holding Aislynn’s small pistol in his big hand. Something bounced
against the wall a second time and a woman’s voice cried, “Please stop!”

Aislynn gasped,
“We have to do something. He’s going to kill her.”

“If he were
goin’ to kill her, he’d shoot her.”

“Do you think he
has a gun?”

“Everyone here
has a gun. Didn’t you notice? We have to get one too, a real one,” he said,
displaying the toy-like pistol.

“What should we
do?”

“Nothin’. I
can’t interfere; it’s too dangerous.” 

Aislynn had
witnessed the aftermath of husbands beating wives. She had seen blackened eyes,
swollen lips, and cut faces hidden by veils in church and on the streets, yet
she had never seen or heard fighting.

“Can’t we get
the police?” she asked.

Johnny blinked
back his astonishment, “Aislynn, they don’t have police in these territories;
they have marshals who can’t control the men killin’ each other in the streets.
Do you think one of them is gonna come runnin’ because a woman is gettin’
beat?”

 The woman’s
cries grew louder. “Why is he beating her?” Aislynn whined.

“He’s teachin’
her a lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“That he’s in
control; that he’s the boss. He wants her to know she has to do what he wants.”
Disgust dripped from his words.

“If they’re
alone, well, shouldn’t they be, shouldn’t he love her?”

“Does it sound
like love?”

The woman
pleaded with her partner to stop. Johnny got out of the bed and pushed it to
the opposite wall. “Move over, I’ll sleep on this side.” He lay between her and
the brutality.

The woman’s
crying seeped through the wall. They could hear the springs of the bed moan as
someone’s weight dropped down on them. “Please don’t. You’ll hurt me,” she
whimpered from the other side of the wall.

Johnny moved
against Aislynn and placed his hand on her shoulder. With her mind tossing
thoughts of dread and vulnerability, she squirmed away from his touch.

“Aislynn,” he
started. Johnny stroked her arm, “Don’t blame me for what’s goin’ on in there.
I’m no bully. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“I know.”

Each time their
neighbor’s bed hit the wall the woman’s sobs followed. Tears slid from
Aislynn’s eyes, and a circle of dampness silently swelled on her pillow.

Johnny
whispered, “I love you,”

“I know,” she
replied.
I depend on it
.

The rooms
quieted. Aislynn could hear the sound of a wagon moving down the street, with
wheels rolling, hoofs slapping the mud. Johnny snored softly. She heard her
neighbor sniffing her tears. Aislynn’s heart sank and her resolve rose when she
heard the woman whisper, “I’m sorry.”

In the morning,
Johnny led her out to 18
^th
Street. At the Elkhorn Corral, he found
Brother Morton, a Mormon freighter, readying a train to return to Salt Lake
City. Johnny spoke to the man alone for a few moments while Aislynn watched.
The short, stocky man wore an attitude of superiority. Aislynn disliked him on
sight.

Johnny explained
the terms. “His train is leavin’ in three days, daybreak on the ninth. It’s
four freight wagons and five families, all Mormons. He plans on makin’ twenty
miles, maybe more, a day. Long days and hard wagonin’ for families. We can
join, but they’ll turn off at Echo Canyon for Salt Lake City. We’ll have to get
to Ogden on our own. It’s about thirty miles, but he says the road is safe. The
Mormons travel it regularly.”

“I don’t like
him.” Aislynn replied. She wanted to be open-minded, but she had read stories
in the newspapers about Mormons and their religion. As a traditional Christian,
or “Gentile” to the Mormons, she disagreed with the Mormons’ unorthodox ideas
about Christ and their practice of polygyny. She recalled the sect wanted to
establish an independent Mormon nation in the Utah Territory. Their separatist
desires and their radical religious views had developed into conflicts with
Gentile settlers and battles with federal troops. They were one more danger
waiting in the West, and she wanted to keep her distance from them.

Johnny stared at
Morton, “I don’t like him, either. But it’s them or waitin’ for someone else.
The trains to California and Oregon tend to cut off west of South Pass City; if
we join them, we’d be goin’ almost two hundred miles alone.”

“Then we don’t
have many choices.” As she looked at the man, her face became pinched. “Well, I
suppose if he were dangerous, he’d be in jail.”

“I don’t think
you can make that assumption, but the clerk at the hotel said this man’s been
crossin’ for years. I figure no matter who we go with we’re takin’ a risk.”

They passed the
morning shopping for mules and a wagon. The Great Western Corral had nearly two
hundred animals. Aislynn thought they all looked exactly alike; yet, she waited
while Johnny examined what seemed to be the entire herd. As he inspected, he
explained the important features of each animal to an uninterested Aislynn.
After he chose his animals, they moved on to the livery and shopped for a
wagon. “The springs are important. You’re going to have to ride most of the
day; twenty miles is too far to walk.” Walking twenty miles a day had not
entered her mind. She planned to ride to Utah. She watched him crawling under
each wagon until he found a suitable rig.

Hitched and
harnessed, Johnny helped Aislynn into the wagon and jumped up beside her. He
shook the reins and the mules stepped out. Happy to be free of the corral, they
pranced up the street. The wagon bounced on the uneven road. Johnny’s weight
tilted the seat, and she involuntarily slid against him.

Johnny leaned
his head toward hers, bursting, he said, “This is going to be more excitin’
than the war.”

“The war was not
exciting,” she stated flatly.

“It was; in some
strange way, the danger was thrillin’. Of course, I didn’t see much action,” he
added with disappointment.

She shook her
head at his perception. Testy, she grumbled, “Thank goodness. It was bad enough
I had to worry about the Nolans being killed any minute.”

Johnny looked at
her and smiled. “Well, this is much better; I get to be with you,” and he patted
her knee.

Aislynn picked
up his hand and dropped it over his leg. “Just remember, Mr. Maher, you may be
telling people we’re married but we’re not. It’s a public persona, and it
doesn’t come with any private privileges.”

“Just enjoy the
experience. It’s somethin’ we’ve heard about our whole lives, wagonin’ west,
the pioneers. We’re goin’ to be a part of it.”

“Yes.” She
nodded at his childlike enthusiasm.

“It’s somethin’
we can tell our grandchildren.”

Johnny pulled
back on the reins. The mules and the wagon shuttered to a stop in front of
Shackman Brothers Outfitting. “Grandchildren?” she asked with sarcasm.

“It doesn’t hurt
to have a plan.”

No, it
doesn’t hurt to have a plan.

Shackman’s
appealed to Aislynn, because they advertised reduced prices. With the absence
of the rail workers, deflation set in quickly, and Aislynn felt lucky for it.
Captain Morton estimated the trip at one month. Aislynn stocked two months of
supplies, knowing Johnny’s appetite and not knowing what they would find when
they arrived in Utah. Eggs, hams, bacon, smoked meat and dried fish. Flour,
rice, coffee. Potatoes, carrots, onions, beets and turnips. Canned fruits and
vegetables. Cookware, laundry essentials, bedding and bath necessities. Johnny
bought tools, knee-high boots for both of them, a Winchester repeater and a .44
Colt Army revolver. Everything went into the wagon.

On the east side
of town, adjacent to Crow Creek, waiting wagons camped. They pulled next to a
schooner housing another young couple. Before they had climbed down from their
wagon, a blowzy woman, breasts flapping, rushed forward to meet them. A
scarecrow of a man with a long, sad face followed her.

“Hey, ya’ll. I’m
Maybelle; this here’s Zach. Ya’ll need help? Zach help him get wood. I can tell
you anything you need to know ‘bout this here camp. We been here for days.”

With a Missouri
drawl, Zach told Johnny where he could find wood. Aislynn stood on the back of
the wagon, fishing out what she needed to prepare their evening meal with
Maybelle ceaselessly chatting.

Starting a fire
proved difficult. The wind took the spark. Johnny dug a hole and stacked the
kindling in it. As soon as the flames rose, Aislynn’s skirt blew into the
blaze. Still on the ground, Johnny clapped his hands over the flaming fabric.
He stood and moved her upwind.

While Aislynn
cooked, she, Johnny and Zach listened to Maybelle prattle. She explained they
met in St. Joe. After three days they realized they were in love and got
married. Aislynn could feel Johnny’s reaction. When she turned to him, she
found his eyes narrowed, his face hard and critical. Maybelle talked on about
their overland trip to Cheyenne and emphasized the humorous aspects. She
bounced around the camp as she spoke, prancing between the men and the fire,
revealing a shadow show of her legs through the thin fabric of her skirt.

Johnny laid
boards between the walls of the wagon, and Aislynn arranged their featherbed,
sheets and quilts. As they lay in their new bed, Johnny attempted to make the
most of their privacy. Lying on his side, he stretched an arm around her and
pulled her toward him, searching for her lips.

Aislynn
protested, “We’re not actually married, you know.”

“How many times
are you goin’ to remind me? Besides, we could be. It sure didn’t take much for
Maybelle to marry Zach.”

“We are not
them.”

“No, ma’am.”
Johnny shook his head, “We are not.”

“You don’t like
them?”

“He’s a fool,
and she’s a whore.”

Aislynn was
astonished. She did not think Zach was very bright. Maybelle talked too much
and dressed poorly, but she reasoned they were from Missouri. Aislynn did not
know if backwoods people knew about corsets and petticoats or if they could
afford them. She did not agree with Johnny’s assessment.

“You’re awfully
harsh,” she reprimanded.

“You asked; I
told you.”

“They’re poor.”

“I don’t want to
argue about them. I think we should use this time to practice kissin’.”

Johnny leaned
toward her again and gently brushed his lips against hers. With his hand in her
hair, he angled her head and pressed closer for a deeper kiss. She fell back
onto her pillow, and Johnny’s mouth moved to her ear and down her neck. Aislynn
could feel her heart rate quicken and began to feel warm and uncomfortable.
Johnny’s hand wandered from her head to her shoulder and began migrating over
the front of her coat, Aislynn sat up and announced, “I think it’s time for us
to go to sleep.” She moved to one side of the bed and turned her back on him.