KANSAS
1905
We Learn the Truth of Mr. Boudreaux—Good Deeds Done
After the Paola disaster, Pip and I had nothing to our names but the clothes on our back. And they were in bad shape. The thunderstorm had come like a whipsaw and not one corner of the box car escaped the deluge of rain. For though we had pulled shut the doors, the storm knew all the crannies and cracks and used them to devilish intent.
We huddled in a corner to wait out the worst of it, then collapsed flat to our backs when it ended and the steam and heat stole our bones and strength. My head pounded a great deal, so I kept as still as I could with the nauseating sway of the train.
Pip pulled a door open to catch any breeze and plopped down to watch the scenery. “What’s the next town?”
“Osawatomie.”
She took off her hat and fiddled with the crown before rolling the sides of the brim. “We should switch trains.”
“The next is at five fifteen but their watchmen aren’t as casual as those on the local route.”
“And you know that how?”
“I shall not willfully incriminate myself.” I pressed my thumbs to the walnut that had swelled up on the back of my head and breathed out. “I got an awful headache.”
“We need to get you another gun.”
“I don’t want a gun.” I dropped my hands to my stomach and closed my eyes. “I want my shop. I want to be worrying about Willie desecrating my Indian. I want Olaf to bug me until I am raving mad. I want—”
“You should want Cullen dead. Then you can have all of that. As small as it is.”
“Are you judging my life’s desires?”
“Why would I do that?” She folded the front of the brim and put the hat back on. “I want a smoke. That is my desire.”
“My life may seem dull to you, Pip, but it took a great deal of effort to make it.”
She stood and rubbed her face before walking over to me. “That effort’s worth nothing unless we finish this.”
I peeked open an eye and looked at her. “Then I guess we keep going.”
* * *
Our boxcar journey came to a swift and abrupt end. For no sooner had we settled down, and my head had improved from a ringing throb to a steady ache, the train pulled into Osawatomie. Pip sneaked a look out station way, then gave me an urgent wave to take a leap out the opposite door.
My head was not up for such a rattle of a landing, and I bent over, clutching it and waiting for the rails to stop wavering into sets of three. Before this had all settled, Pip jumped down, took my elbow and we hightailed for the willows and sycamore.
Two train men uncoupled the boxcar then ambled along the rail timbers, every so often crouching to look beneath the train cars until they’d gone along to the engine and called something to the engineer.
The rest of the train rolled forward a good twenty feet, leaving a clear view of the water tower, which proudly sported the name of the town in bright white capital letters.
“Osawatomie,” I murmured.
Pip slapped a bug on her neck. “Where’s that?”
“Thirty minutes past where we were.” The wind rustled the trees above us, then decided that wasn’t enough and bent them all one direction then the other before shaking off half the leaves. A small creek flowed at our backs, just over a lip of red rock. It was narrow enough to hop across most of the time, but I feared the impending boomer would swell its banks and cut us off from any escape were we to be spied upon by the train officials.
“We needed that boxcar,” Pip said, and slapped at her cheek.
I felt the sting of a bite on my neck, then another on my chest and scrambled away from the water and the cloud of mosquitoes that had not been noticed on our run to the tree line.
Pip took off her hat and flapped it every which way. She shook her head and glared at the boxcar, as if the force of her stare could couple it back on up and we’d be comfy cozy on our way. “Now what?”
“We get right back on,” I said. “I have a ticket. It isn’t as fancy as your Pullman, but it will get us to Wichita. So come on, before he blows that whistle and we miss it altogether.”
A dollop of rain splat on ground, then another. I gathered my coat and skirts and plodded back towards the car.
But Pip did not choose to follow.
“Come on. My head feels split and it’s going to rain cats and donkeys.”
“I don’t have a ticket.”
“What?”
“I wanted to see the reclining chairs.” She lifted her arms then dropped them to her side. “They’re not as comfortable as advertised. It’s just Pullman pulling the wool. I bet the sleepers—” She dropped like a stone behind some bramble.
I turned to the train to see what had caused her reaction and my eye caught on a nice straw hat being flipped to and fro from a window. My straw hat, with the striped blue ribbon. I rolled to a crouch and snuck along until I was directly below. Ernice leaned out.
“They’re looking for your friend,” she hissed.
“Who?”
“The watchmen. Say she tried to kill a man and train hopped.”
“Well, hell.”
“They’re asking about you, too, but I told them you were long gone in Paola. I guess there was a kerfuffle and shootout back there.”
“There wasn’t a shootout.”
Endicott snaked under his sister’s arm. “Are you an outlaw?”
I bit my lip. “No, sir. I am reformed.”
There was not a movement or peep from the brush and bramble behind me.
I peered at the two. “Give me my hat.”
Ernice dropped it to me.
“Now look out the other side. Is everyone on the platform?”
Endicott slipped out of sight, then popped back. “Yeah.”
“All right. I want you to count to thirty then let out a scream or two and point to the creek and holler some more.”
“What’re we hollering?”
Ernice rolled her eyes. “‘There they go,’ that’s what we’re hollering.”
“That’s right. You start counting now…One. Two…” I stayed close to the train, so close my shoulder rubbed against the wheels and pistons as I retreated towards the last car. I slowed as I came upon the spot Pip had ducked down. “Let’s go steal some luggage.”
She stood, ready to sprint.
Endicott must have stopped counting. He pointed right at Pip and shrieked.
Ernice clamped a hand to his mouth, but the alert was out. “There they go—”
“Point that way. At the creek, not at me. Jesus, Mary and damn it to hell.” I turned on my heel and took off.
The sky let loose the rain in sheets, plunking the ground and leaving divots in the dirt. My poor hat soaked through until it was nothing but a wad of straw, so I dropped it and kept running.
I took the ladder to the platform between the caboose and baggage, stopping to catch my breath. The air was heavy as bathtub water. I heard voices off afar and took a chance of climbing down the other side. My luck had turned for the better since my morning fright and near death. The platform was mercifully empty of anyone or anything, save the baggage cart half-full and the baggage door left gaping open in the melee.
One black pressed board valise flew in the air and skidded across the wooden boards. A second, this one red leather with brass studded corners, twisted over itself before landing. Pip jumped down, her own satchel crossed over her chest, and without missing a stride grabbed up both bags and took off towards the water tower.
I gulped down rain and lunged forward, my shoes squelching and heart knocking my chest. “You know, the mosquitos are the size of rats under there.”
* * *
We tucked up behind a riot of honeysuckle and some sort of thorn bush and did not move until night. The storm rolled on past, leaving a low moon and enough light to find an old shed out on the edge of the town proper. There was no door and most of the slats had rotted and hung from their nails. One corner of the roof had given up hope, meeting the ground in defeat. But it was dryer than our previous hiding place and I had not one more step left in me to take.
I scuffed aside a couple rusty cans and dropped down, resting my head against what was left of the wall.
“I guess I’m an outlaw again.”
“You were an outlaw for all of a minute.”
“It was enough.”
We shut our eyes for a bit before opening the cases. The black valise held men’s clothing and shaving kit, all neatly packed with a portrait of the man’s wife—or mistress—tucked in the pocket of the suit. I believed it was the wife, but Pip said the woman had a glint in her eye that promised more than a home-cooked meal.
The second was Boudreaux’s. I do not know why he left it when we departed at Paola. Maybe he was just after that egg salad sandwich and I had annoyed him to no end. But there it was, a hefty leather with a lock that took Pip ten minutes to jimmy with her knife.
The sample case sat right up top. Pip flipped the lid to show me the contents: ten pocket Bibles and four tabletop size that were tooled with names.
“Look at this.” Pip tossed me a leather folder.
I opened it to find a listing of names and addresses, and a note as to who had recently passed in the family. “Thank you, Mr. Boudreaux.” I flipped a page. He was quite organized and he took care with his handwriting. “I’m going to sell these, Pip. There’s three of these people right here in this very town. I’ll double the price and we’ll be in the parlor car, won’t we? I just need to clean up a bit and…what’s all that?”
My eyes roamed the materials she had pulled out of the case. A length of rope. Two boxes of bullets, .32 caliber by the label. A wrench. A rubber sheet.
“Ah, no.” My throat closed up.
She flipped a card, so I could see.
The same coffin. The same X.
“Number three,” she said. “Verna.”
I rubbed the folio’s fine leather and turned my head in the direction of a rooster crowing good morning. “I’m too hungry to think on that.”
“We need to find her.”
“Burdick. She’s in Burdick.” I pointed at the line in Boudreaux’s list of address. I stood, wiping dirt from my coat. It wasn’t of any use; the mud had ground its way in. One of the pockets had torn; I’d have to tell Olaf to check the stitch. I slung the folder against the shed wall.
“We’ll need to warn her.” Pip yawned. “If she’s alive.”
“If she’s alive? We have the card right here,” I said. “He hasn’t got to her yet.”
“Or he keeps it. Gives it back to Cullen with some evidence he’s done the deed.”
“Like what sort of evidence?”
Pip shrugged. “I don’t know. A toe. Maybe an ear.”
“If that be so, why did he not cut us to pieces at the cigar store? He’s meant to bring us to Cullen.”
“Then why take you off the train in Paola?”
“I’m too hungry to think about that, all right?” I rubbed my nose and paced, regretful about the loss of my string bag and money. “There isn’t a body part of Verna’s in that inventory, is there?”
“Maybe he keeps it in a box. In his chest pocket.”
“How many dime novels have you read?”
“None. None, Ruby. It’s Cullen, remember?”
* * *
“My husband said, ‘Don’t ever let in a Bibleman.’ But he didn’t say a thing about a Biblewoman.” Norma Croft clapped her bony hands and pushed open the screen door. “Come on in and settle your feet a bit.”
“That’s kind of you. As the Lord knows, a good sit down is manna for the soul.”
I followed Norma into the parlor of Croft manor, which consisted of two rooms, a lean-to kitchen, one spindly tree and a yellow mongrel who barked without cease from the end of his tie-down.
The entire room could be crossed in five good steps, but it would take triple that to maneuver the amount of furniture stuffed within the whitewashed walls. I took a seat on the blue-tufted chair she offered, keeping the sample case on my lap.
She perched on a horsehair sofa, leaning forward to take a good close look at me. Her eyes were a light blue and the skin crinkly at the corners, no doubt from squinting out at the godforsaken emptiness around her. She wore a shiny black percale wrapper with a braided collar and ruffles along the shoulder flaps. I suspect it had come recently from Sears & Roebuck, for it was a dress I had eyed and admired last spring, though I would have purchased it in blue. She had altered the garment, adding skirt flounces as lacy as the curtains and the doilies that adorned every surface of the room, all eyelets and shell-patterned borders. She showed it off by dipping her shoulders so the sheen caught the light.
“May I bring you a lemonade?” She popped up and shimmied around the other tufted chair and the piano bench before stepping to the front door and pushing at the screen. “Shut your racket!”
The dog stopped and started again.
“I have some rhubarb pie, too, if you’d like a slice?”
“Both would be a blessing, thank you.”
She nodded and went outside, walking around to the kitchen, passing the front window then the tall one on the side of the house.
“Shush, dog.” She gave a sharp lunge at it, but I could not see the cur’s reaction from my position on the chair.
I thrummed my fingers atop the sample case. The dog’s bark grew odd then became a whine and whimper. Norma passed by, shushed it again, and stepped onto the porch.
I heard her clear her throat. One time, then again.
“Are you all right?” I called.
“You wouldn’t mind getting the screen door, would you?”
“Well, aren’t I being rude.” I set the case down and wound my way over to hold the door, as she held a tray covered, as per the décor, in doilies.
After the fuss of pouring the lemonade and making sure I enjoyed the pie, she took the empty plate and glass and returned them to the tray.
“My Caleb does like his rhubarb,” she said, wiping a napkin to the bottom of the glass. “Not strawberries, he doesn’t like those at all. I think it reminds him of our youngest.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Poor boy choked on a strawberry. An early spring one, you, know, when they’re little bitty things. And he—John James—got both his grandfather’s names, he just…” She folded the napkin and set my plate on it. “I’m sure you saw the stone. Over by the turn to the walk? We had his shoes bronzed, did you see those, too? I imagine it gives him comfort to see who’s coming and going.”
I glanced past her shoulder to the window. “You get a lot of visitors this way?”
“Well, not many. No, not…but you’re here.”
I took the sample case. “May I?”
She nodded and moved the tray to the piano bench. I rose and joined her on the sofa, placing the box between us and snapping it open.
I rested my fingers atop the holy book, thanking the Lord Mr. Boudreaux had maintained a list of recent obituaries, weddings, and engagements, including aforesaid poor little John James. Mrs. Croft was the third and final Osawatomie griever on my list. I had not realized John James was a child, and I thought Boudreaux could have doubled his business had he made note of such as that, as he could have sold pretty frames for the final portrait.
“I do think I have something of comfort for you, Mrs. Croft. It’s a special edition, and, as you can see, small enough to slip into your apron pocket.” I fanned the Bible open. “As you can see, there are two silk ribbons, so, if you find a particular piece of Scripture you return to again and again, you slide the ribbon in thus. Then the other can be moved to mark your place in your regular reading.”
“It’s a pretty red.”
“Italian Morocco Levantine. Custom for this edition. And only a dollar ninety-eight, but we can round that to two, for ease of payment. The other two cents go to a fund I have set up for undertrodden and homeless women.”
She said not a word. Her lower lip quivered, and right eye drooped. She gripped her skirts and shuddered a breath. “I…”
The dog barked, his bay straining each time he yanked at his collar. I wished I had a whiskey-soaked steak I could throw at him to shut him up.
“Will you pray with me, Miss…?”
“Mrs. Luft.” I lowered my lids and sighed. “Marigold Luft. I am a widow.”
“Then let us pray together for comfort, Mrs. Luft.”
She ordered two Bibles. One for her and one for Caleb to keep next to his heart while tilling the fields.
Norma rounded up to four dollars and gave an extra nickel for the “fund.” She insisted I take a ham sandwich for my walk, and when I demurred, she insisted I take two. We stopped at the gate to pay tribute to the boy and his bronzed shoes. Held hands and prayed once more.
“Mrs. Croft,” I said, “you have done more than you could possibly imagine. My heart is full. I believe it will burst if I say but one more word.”
“You just keep to the good work, Mrs. Luft.”
“Marigold. Please.”
“Marigold. You keep the good Lord close.”
I made my escape to the road and hurried down it. I could not look back, for I was certain Norma would be standing there by the grave of her dead child and wishing me well. I felt a shiver of guilt. Then I thought of the nickel and four pennies extra, and the sandwiches tucked in a bag. I had hurt nobody. Indeed, I had done a good deed. Two good deeds. Norma could rest her mind a bit, and Pip could eat. That counted on the plus side for heaven, and that made me sing right out loud.
My song, which had few lyrics and a lackluster tune, soon petered out and I was left to clomp to the crossroad and take the evasive long way around Osawatomie to our hideout shed.
The sun was bright and bore down upon me without reprieve. I sweat profusely, all the way from my armpits to my shoes, and my step turned to a limp as the chafing caused a blister to grow and bubble and threaten to burst. Which made me mutter a few dozen “To hell with Kansas” curses.
But that brought neither relief nor succor. I was certain that Kansas had countered with a few “To hell with Ruby Calhoun” retorts
I transferred the sample case to my other hand. My fingers had grown numb and swelled, so I shook them until they tingled back to some form of life. At the crest of the single hillock, I stopped to give my foot a rest.
A shadow crossed over me. I leaned to its shade, covering my eyes to see who had disturbed my short reprieve.
“Why are you here?” I unbuttoned my boot and slipped it off, giving a great sigh at the relief of it.
“You sell some?”
“I sold four. Which gives us eight dollars. And a nickel extra because Mrs. Croft took to me.”
“You do have your charming moments.”
I pulled the boot on again, never minding the way it rubbed. “You’re checking up on me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are.” I stood, hefting the sample case. “Yes, you are. Which disappoints me. It truly does. I brought you ham sandwiches. I could have eaten them myself, but I thought: no, Pip has not eaten since her strenuous trip in First Class, I’ll bring these to her.”
“Is there mustard?”
I glared at her, then unclasped the box and took out the sandwiches Mrs. Croft had wrapped so neatly in a square of calico. “Here.”
Pip’s stomach growled. She pressed her hand to her belly, then untied the cloth and curled back a thick slice of bread. Her mouth twitched in a little grin. Then she took a big bite, chewing away and staring at me as she swallowed.
After both sandwiches had been consumed, she wiped her mouth with the rag and strode down the hillock. “Come on.”
“You didn’t need to check up on me.”
She didn’t answer, just kept on walking, though she was thoughtful enough to slow to my gimping gait.
We continued on, cutting through a fallow field to make the creek and the shade of the trees there.
I yanked off my boots and stockings and waded into the water. My feet curled over round rocks, toes digging into the silt. I stood, head back, skirts rolled over my arms, and let the creek rove around my legs.
“I’m staying right here,” I said. “I will never ever leave this very spot. This spot is a panacea. This is manna in heaven.”
“I saw a wanted poster hanging at the train depot.”
I swiveled my gaze to Pip who kneeled at the shore edge, splashing her face, then dunking the calico to the water and wrapping the cloth around her neck. “There’s a bounty on my head for one hundred and eighty dollars.”
“The fine for shooting in the street’s only fifty.”
“The bounty’s for attempted murder.”
I sunk down in the creek. “What the hell—”
“You’re up there for stealing those Bibles.”
The fronds of creek grass tickled my wrists and fingers. I crossed my arms and stared at a few tiny fish darting around my ankles. “That’s just not right.”
“But that’s what it is.”
“Why?”
“To make sure we don’t turn tail back to Kansas City. We’d run smack into the law.”
“Will Boudreaux go on to Verna?”
Pip stood, shaking the water from her hands. “What do you think?”
“There’s no possibility he got to Burdick already.”
“He could have taken the next train.”
“There’s only one to Burdick and it left KC an hour before we did. At nine thirty-seven a.m. and it’s a slow-as-marmalade local.” I stood and slogged my way to the shore. “Where are the suitcases?”
“Just down at the turn under some ivy.”
“We need to get to Burdick,” I said. “And I don’t know how to get to Burdick without a map. You know what I know of Kansas, Pip? The Missouri Pacific, the Union Pacific, and the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe. Which does not serve our situation at all.”