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THE DEPARTURE OF THE four wagons the next morning had a surreal festivity to it. A crowd of mournful looking men stood on either side of the street watching Naomi's girls climb into the wagon. And it was colorful, with the girls bedecked in bright scarves that fluttered from the collars of coats too big for them. They were the last to go, allowing the other families to precede them down the trail, just as Evan had promised.
Loud halloos followed them out of town and even along the road a quarter mile from Sawtooth. Men stood, hats in hands, waving as the wagon passed by taking with it all that gave their lives any measure of comfort, smoothing the harsh corners of their rough existence for a few moments every week. To most of these weary, hard-edged men, watching them leave was like watching the black clouds of winter bear down upon them.
Lena stayed back at the house, unwilling to watch Evan leave. Instead, she gave her farewell from the porch steps, holding back the tears pressing against her eyes. While a storm stirred a tidal wave of anxiety in her stomach, she would appear to those around her, calm and composed. She even smiled and wished him safe travels, then turned to the door.
Only after she stepped into the kitchen, did her composure slip and Ely was there to see it happen. No torrent of tears gave way her feelings. She was too afraid to yield to them. She leaned against the sink, her fingers white as she gripped the edge. Refusing to look out the window for fear of catching some last glimpse of Evan, she stared into the gray dishwater, speckled with oil and soggy bits of biscuits.
“He will come back, Lena,” Ely said in his soft scholar's voice, the lilt of wisdom in his tone but not his words.
She knew there was no assurance in his statement, only wishful thinking, to imbue her with courage. Her voice eerily calm, she said, “I know he will try, and I fear that effort will be his death.”
She spun on him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I wish I'd asked him to stay out of these mountains until it was safe to return! But I'm a selfish woman, unlike Evan in every way.” With the words spoken, she felt her composure eroding. Like a river bank in flood stage, her fears pounded at her reserve.
Expressionless, Ely let her speak without correction. His silence cut deep as she assumed his reticence to be a confirmation of her self-condemnation. In the silence of the room, where only the soft ticking of the wall clock offered an opinion on time's cruel constancy, she stood before him, feeling exposed, naked. Squaring her shoulders, she walked quietly from the room, closing the door soundlessly behind her.
She made her way like a blind person to the desk beneath the windows, touching the backs of chairs and tables along her path, those things in her life which were solid. Reaching out for the desktop, she leaned onto it with arms straight, finding support for her trembling legs. The view from the window called her out of the house, the suffocating stillness, and her self-focused fears.
Having yet the sense to take Nash's coat with her, she stepped onto the porch, wrapping herself in its rough cloth to shield her from the chilling winds. A pale sun broke through thin clouds, casting a patchwork of light and dark. Those high peaks, now thoroughly capped with snow, shone, as though stealing energy from the sun.
Following the path leading away from town, she wandered aimlessly. Her body felt heavy and awkward as she trudged the path angling near to the stream. A blue jay scolded her from a pine branch angled out high above the trail. She stopped, gazing up at the opinionated bird, with a less than friendly expression. “Why are you concerned about where I should walk? Don't you have better things to do?”
The bird, hopped along the branch, showing off his brilliant sapphire and ebony coat to best advantage, and squawked again.
“You should be busy, preparing for winter, like everyone else, or flying away to warmer places! Leave me alone!” Her voice rose a degree in pitch.
He hopped to a lower branch, tipping his head to peer down at her, bouncing two and fro on the limb with a care for her remonstrations.
She felt he really might speak to her in a language she would understand. His black eye shone with a luminescence that could have been mistaken for intelligence instead of avid curiosity. He bobbed his head.
A laugh bursting from her lips surprised not only the bird but Lena with its suddenness and volume. In that moment, all the pieces of her life, the confusing events of recent weeks, the failed expectations, the whirlwind of emotions that had derailed her reasoned perspectives began to settle into neat little piles, like snow on cedar branches. It was not that she could make sense of any of it, not yet, but the knots that had tangled all these threads of her life were loosening. She felt her hands releasing their grip on the fear that had been governing her thoughts.
She was a fool when it came to expressing her love. She accepted that. But Jessie had told her she could change—that she was changing. She recognized little alterations, shifts of perspective toward herself and others, and they gave her what she desperately needed in that moment—hope.
From the branch above her, the blue jay squawked yet again. Lena squinted up at the bird and squawked back, waving her arms. Had she insulted him or wished him a good day?
Ely was gone all day and was absent for dinner as well. Donal and Carrick, sitting across from her were uncharacteristically quiet. Lena watched them with their heads lowered, shoveling food into their mouths, avoiding eye contact. She knew, and they knew she knew. With their plates wiped clean by the final slices of bread, they exchanged a quick glance.
Before Carrick could speak, Lena said, “So when are you two heading north? I assume it is still north to these new diggings you've been talking of.” Her tone belied no hint of her feelings on the subject.
The two brothers exchanged surprised expressions before Carrick grinned at her. “Guess you can read us pretty well.”
“Fairly well. You've both been afraid to look at me all evening. Besides, you already said that was what you were considering.”
“We mean to leave tomorrow. Got our kits together and bought a couple of horses and a pack mule. Weather seems to be clearing some. We might get lucky and hit the trail in a lull between snows,” Donal finished with that lopsided grin.
“We know a couple of boys who already headed up there today. We'll just trail them tomorrow,” Carrick explained.
“It sounds as if you've thought it through then. I'll miss you around the hearth at nights, but I wish you God speed,” Lena said levelly.
The boys stood almost in unison, both shoving their hands in their pants' pockets. “We'll be sure missing you too, Miss Lena,” Carrick managed, his voice sounding strange.
“For sure, we'll be missing your cooking. Didn't think anyone on this side of New York City could bake an Irish soda bread the way you do.”
Lena tried to memorize their features before they too, faded from her life. She wondered what Jessie would do. The fondness that had grown in her heart for them both welled up, and she knew. She stretched out her arms and wrapped them around Donal first, stepping back she saw his eyes glistening. She gave Carrick a stern look. “You will take care of this brother of yours. Make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble than you'd allow for yourself.” She hugged him tight.
Both young men grinned at her, with a shyness she'd not seen in them. “Well, we'll be packing our things. Want to head out early.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I'll pack some things to eat.”
“Oh, don't bother, we'll be fine.” Carrick said, but she saw Donal's face fall, indicating he felt quite the contrary.
“It isn't a bother.” Lena laughed lightly, folding her arms in front of her in a fashion that showed she'd made up her mind. “Now, go pack your things. I won't help you with that.”
Later that evening, as she sat before the fire, a book open in her lap, Ely opened the door, pursued by a brisk west wind. She looked at him and smiled. “You were working late.”
“Ja.” Closing the door behind him, he gave an exaggerated shiver and shrugged out of his coat. “The bosses are keeping me busy.”
“I see. There's dinner on a plate in the kitchen and the kettle is hot.”
“Lena . . .” Ely started across the room, but she lifted her hand to stop him.
“Ely, it's all right. I'm starting to see the truth about myself. What I said was true. If you had been polite and tried to comfort me by denying it, you would not have been the true and good friend you are.”
He stepped beside her chair, looking just a little older than he had that morning, his eyes red from the strain of reading too many numbers under too little light. “You say that you are seeing truth about yourself. So many never do, and I think that many of us see only small pictures of ourselves as others paint them for us.”
Lena gave him a mild smile. “Still the poet. I think you have a gift for hiding your thoughts in beautiful phrases. I only understand parts of what you say.”
Her smile must have reassured him that she was no longer upset because he continued. “It is just this, my young friend, the truth you claim to see is only part of the truth of who you are. We can all be better than we are. Only God can be perfect, and He knows Himself well enough not to expect the same of us.”
“Now you are the theologian.”
This time it was Ely who laughed. “No more than you, my friend.”
She thought that a curious thing to say since she put her faith not in any powers beyond hers. But his next words took that question from her mind.
“Something brought you here for a reason,” he said with no trace of humor.
She considered that for a moment, a bemused expression on her upturned face. “Of course. I had an agreement with Mr. Nash.”
“No, Lena. Your work here is more than the running of a boarding house. You do not see that, do you?”
Bemusement slipped into full puzzlement. “I don't think I understand.”
“That is the truth you do not yet see.” He gave her hand a light pat and turned to the kitchen.
She watched him go, afraid to ponder his words. Her day's work had kept her from thinking deeply about anything, not her future, or the fate of her friends, or Evan. Until Evan returned that would become the routine of her day—work with her hands and deny her thoughts any fertile ground to replant the fear she'd expelled this morning. Closing the book, replacing it on the shelf, she turned down the oil lamps and retired to her bedroom.
Before dawn, Lena was up cooking, preparing food for the brothers' trip north. Packed away in a small box was enough for the day's journey, and to spare. As they strapped the last of their belongings onto the pack mule, she watched from the bottom step. Nash's coat seemed scarcely able to keep out the chill, and she resolved to search through his things for more warm clothing.
Ely stood beside her, his collar turned up to cover his ears, a wool cap resting above his bushy eyebrows. “It is cold this morning. This is good.”
She looked at him for explanation. “Why would you say that? They're likely to get frostbite.”
“But cold usually means clear sky, ja? Better cold, than snow.”
Carrick stood by his horse's head and shook Ely's hand solemnly. He turned to Lena and tipped his hat before stepping into the stirrup.
“Don't forget what I said about taking care of Donal,” Lena said, her smile broad and teasing.
“Oh, I won't. And I won't soon forget what Aunt Polly said to Tom Sawyer. 'Who knows, he may grow up to be President someday, unless they hang him first.'“
Lena's face reflected her surprise as she looked over at Ely, who was laughing aloud. “They were listening!”
“Of course they were. Perhaps you see a little picture of yourself painted by a hand not your own.”
For the remainder of the day, no surface in the house was unacquainted with her dusting cloth. The evening meal was simmering on the stove and a fragrant pie baking in the oven. Now she was attacking the chicken yard, bringing extra bedding and feed. She heard running steps on the road to the house. The voice calling out to her was familiar. Turning, she saw the boy, Daniel, running around the corner of the house, his face flushed and pinched by worry. She rubbed her hands on her apron and stepped out of the enclosure to meet him.
“What's happened, Daniel?”
“Is Mr. Hartmann here?” The words came out in small explosions of breath.
“No.” He didn't resist when she took his hand and led him to the porch steps. “Tell me what's wrong?”
He sagged against her, still trying to catch his breath. “It's my pa. He's bad sick.”
Taking his hand into hers, she noticed how waiflike he appeared, his eyes lined with dark circles. Her heart ached for the child. She wrapped her arm about his narrow shoulders, gently pulling him close. “How long as he been ill?”
“Came home a couple of weeks ago not feelin' so good. He's coughin' a lot now, 'most sounds like his insides is gonna' come out.”
“Have you been taking care of him by yourself?”
“Just me. Nobody else to do it since Ma died.”
“You come into the kitchen and have something to eat while I gather a few things.”
He put up no argument but followed her into the house, collapsing on the bench at the kitchen table, his head resting on his arms. Pulling out the remains of last night's meal, she placed it in front of him and put a fork in his hand. “Eat!” That's all she said before leaving the room to find some items she thought would be of use. Returning to the kitchen after only a few minutes, she found the boy asleep, the food barely touched.
Without waking him, she rummaged through cupboards for honey, cinnamon, and cloves, adding them to the lavender sachet she'd collected from her room and Epsom salts she'd seen on a shelf in Evan's room. Wrapping the food in a dish towel, she included that with the other items in her bag. The last thing she did was gently lay her hand on the boy's shoulder to wake him.
Startling awake, he looked up at her blearily.
“Daniel, let's go tend to your father.”
Nearly gagging at the stench as she stepped into the small cabin, she brought the back of her hand to her nose. Looking around at the boy, she noticed that he seemed unaffected. As she moved farther into the darkened rooms, the rasping sound of the man's breathing sent a chill of memory up her back. It was how her father had sounded during the last painful week of his life. Swallowing down her fear, she avoided a heap of soiled sheets, as she moved to the side of the bed where Daniel's father took in shallow breaths, too weak to fill his lungs.
Within minutes, she knew that she would not be able to care for Daniel and his father here. She turned to the boy, taking his hand firmly in hers. “I need for you to run to the mining offices on Main. Do you know where they are?”
Daniel nodded.
“Find a man named Ely Beckert. Tell him that Lena needs his help right away.” He started to pull away, but she pulled his arm back. “And tell him to hire a small buckboard from the livery and bring it here.”
She released his arm, and he was off at a run, huffing out the door. Turning back to the man, she tugged him up into a sitting position. His body slumped forward, oblivious of anything but the need for air. Grunting with the effort, she held him there while she stuffed pillows and anything else she could find within reach to prop him upright. Only then did she place the back of her hand against his forehead, feeling the heat.
Stabilized in his sitting position, she walked to the cooking area, finding a skillet with the greasy remains of some meal from days past. She gritted her teeth, taking a finger full of oil onto her finger and returning to the bed with it. Knowing full well, that her efforts here were a pitiful replacement for what the man needed, she refused to just watch him suffer. So, she smeared a small amount of grease beneath his nose and on his exposed chest. Then wiping her hands on her skirt, she reached into her bag withdrawing the bottles of cloves and cinnamon. These she mixed into the grease on his chest and upper lip.
She reassured herself that once he was back at the house tucked into a clean bed, in a room with windows that might be opened, she could care for him more properly. And the sooner she could coax him to drink tea and broth, the better would be his odds for survival. In the meanwhile, she talked to the man, telling him about his son and his kindness to her a few weeks past.
The sound of hoof beats and wagon wheels on dirt brought her to her feet. She flung the door wide, grateful that Ely had taken her message seriously. “What can I do?” Ely called out to her even before he stepped from the wagon.
“It's Daniel's father. We need to get him home where I can care for him. Will you please help me move him?”
“Of course!”
It took the three of them to lift the man and carry him to the wagon. With more effort they managed to lay him in the back of the wagon, Daniel scrambling in with him.
With Ely's assistance, he was settled into Carrick's old bed. Between Ely and Daniel, the two even managed to bathe him. While they were busy at that task, Lena put together a soup, rich in garlic. But the boy's eyelids drooped as soon as he sat at the table and Lena nearly despaired of getting food into him. Ely lay a hand on her arm and said, “The boy's body needs more sleep than food, I think. Help me carry him to Donal's bed.”
The boy scarcely roused from sleep as Ely carried him to the room and tucked him in beneath the quilt. He never even stirred at the sounds of his father's ragged breaths. So, Lena stayed the night, slumped in a chair between them, waking from time to time to check on her patient. From time-to-time, she would pound his back when spasms of coughing took him, or apply more chest rubs. This time she used a less offensive mixture of beeswax with cloves and cinnamon. And whenever he stirred to consciousness, she forced him to drink tea or broth.
The next morning, Ely stuck his head inside the door. Daniel was still sleeping and his father resting. He found Lena in the kitchen, a plate of ham and eggs waiting for him.
“Lena, you must be exhausted, ja?”
She sat across from him, nursing a steaming mug. “Yes, a bit. I think he's breathing just a little better, but it's good we moved him here. I don't think he's turned the corner yet. Daniel may have come to us in time. I hope so.”
Ely shook his head, chewing his meat while staring at her. At last he said, “You look very pretty like that, with your hair loose. You have nice curls.”
Lena blushed, pulling her hair back and twisting it into a quick braid. “I didn't take the time. You needed breakfast.”
Ely chuckled. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. But you are a kind person.”
She looked up, feeling neither thoughtful, nor pretty. Just tired.
“Little pictures, Lena. These are true too, not just those you draw for yourself.” Ely winked.
For the remainder of the day, Lena set her task to getting food into both Daniel and his father, starting with a stack of pancakes dripping with honey for Daniel. Half-way through the stack, he slowed. “Can I have them for lunch please? Don't seem to be able to fit as much in my belly as I used to.”
It made sense, and it saddened her. How long had the boy gone without sufficient food, let alone quantity suitable for his growing body? She was angry at herself as well as the townspeople who had looked the other way. But her anger with herself was greater. She should have seen it. Hadn't he dived into the food she'd put before him? So consumed with her thoughts, she'd missed the needs of the child.
“Do you think you could get your father to drink this tea? Even if he doesn't, just hold it under his nose for a while and let him breath in the steam.”
“I'll try.” He took the mug in his small hands, walking carefully down the hallway trying not to spill the liquid. She watched him go, an idea weaving its way into her heart.
She hurried through her cleaning and joined Daniel in the bedroom with his father. The man had yet to rouse to consciousness. Lena feared that there was little else she could do but wait. Daniel helped her prop more pillows behind him and she showed him how to pat his father's back to loosen the congestion pooling in his lungs.
Taking a clean pillow case, she dusted the inside with lavender from a sachet she kept in her linens. She'd seen her mother do that for her father in those trying last days before he had succumbed to the pneumonia. They took turns forcing him to swallow sips of tea flavored with honey, cinnamon and cloves. Lena was impressed that Daniel managed the task more successfully than she.
As they shared a cup of steaming cocoa that afternoon before the kitchen's wood stove, Lena happily noticed a bit of color returning to Daniel's cheeks. She loaded a plate with sugar cookies and pushed them across the table to the boy, smiling at his delighted expression.
“You know that you're very good at this—taking care of your father.” She blew on the steaming liquid.
“Since Ma died, I kinda had to.” He reached for a second cookie, still chewing on the last bite of the first one.
“But, I mean, the nursing part of caring. You seem to take to it. Maybe you would make a good doctor.” She watched as his eyes widened, then as quickly narrowed into a skeptical frown.
“Me?” He laughed around a bite of cookie and had to pick up a few crumbs that tumbled from his mouth.
“Of course, you. Why not you?” She put down her cup and took his to the stove to refill it. “We certainly need more frontier doctors and I've learned that you can be educated in two years before finding a doctor to take you on as an apprentice.” She warmed to the idea as she talked. “And think how much a doctor is needed here. There are remedies and treatments they know that would keep so many more people alive.”
Pushing the cup toward him, she took her seat, injecting a bit of challenge in her voice. “Why shouldn't you become one?”
He avoided her question by taking a gulp of his new cocoa, spluttering as it scalded his throat. “But I'm nobody. You have to be somebody to become a doctor, somebody smarter than me anyway.”
Propping her elbows on the table with her fingers steepled before her chin, she tried to adopt a bit of Ely's philosophical air. “I think it depends more on what you want. If you think that helping people in that way is something you'd like to do, then nothing can stop you. And, anyway, who told you that you aren't smart?”
Daniel let out a soft snort at that. “How about everybody?”
“Maybe everyone you know is wrong, then. I think you show remarkable skills. You’re patient with your dad, who can be difficult from what I've seen. You're a quick learner. And despite what others might say, I think you're smart.”
Taking another cookie from the plate, he nibbled it thoughtfully, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “Me? A doctor?”
“You won't have to stay here forever, or even follow your father around for the rest of your life. There's a world of possibilities out there. You just have to know what you want and try for it. Maybe you won't be a doctor but maybe there's something else you'll find you want even more. Just don't give up on something because you think everybody thinks you can't.”
Squinting at her over his mug, he said in a voice sounding years older than his freckled face bespoke, “You're a good talker, Miss Lena.”
She laughed at that, rising to her feet. “Come on, help me clean out the chicken house. You interrupted me with that chore yesterday and it has to be done.”
After another simple meal of soup and bread, Lena cleaned up the kitchen, scarcely able to keep her eyes open. Carrying another cup of broth into Daniel and Tom's room, she was pleased to see Tom's eyes open, Daniel perched on the bed beside him.
“Mr. Andrews, you're awake!”
He mumbled something too soft to make out from across the room. Daniel interpreted for her. “He said 'thanks'.”
“Well, he's very welcome. I brought some more soup. Maybe if your father is awake, he might take more of it.” She handed the cup to Daniel, who blew on the surface and tested the temperature by taking a sip first. He grinned at Lena before offering the cup to his father.
After a few minutes, Tom Andrews sagged back against the pillows, eyes closed again.
“Do you think that means he's better?” The look on Daniel's face revealed that in spite of his father's treatment of him in recent months, the boy still loved him.
“I think it's a good sign.” She took the cup from Daniel's hands and set it on the nightstand, then she perched herself on Daniel's bed. “I want to ask you something.”
“Sure.” Pulling up the covers on his father's sleeping body, he jumped onto the bed to sit beside Lena.
“Well, I've been thinking. You and your father have been living by yourselves for some time . . . and you've done a good job of keeping things together, but I was wondering if you might like to live here for a while. You could stay until your father was well and back on his feet again. You're a great help around the house, chopping wood, taking care of the chickens, and I'm sure there are a great deal more jobs we could find. How would you like that?”
Daniel did not look quite as enthusiastic as she'd hoped. In fact, he looked rather sad. At last he brought his head up. “This is a boarding house, Miss Lena. We couldn't pay ya' anything.”
Relieved by his response, she lifted her hand to touch his unruly thatch of hair. “That's all right, Daniel. I wasn't asking you to pay for the room. It's empty and likely to stay that way for the winter. Besides, I already told you I had work for you to do. You'll earn your board.”
Brightening at that, he said, “Well, sure it'd be fine to stay. It's warm here and plenty to eat.”
“But there's one more thing that comes with the bargain.”
He narrowed his eyes, waiting.
“I'd like to teach you some things that might help you later in life—after you leave Sawtooth.”
“Teach! Aw, I don't know about that! Don't think I ever learned anything much useful in school here except how to get beat up for likin' a girl too good for me.”
There was no restraining the smile that tugged at her lips. “I think you'd find the experience a bit different with me. But you have to want to try.”
He stuck a finger in his ear and screwed it around for a while, eyes scrunched in serious consideration. “Suppose it wouldn't hurt too much to try. I would like to read more than I do now. Heard the teacher read a story once last month that she never got to finish, before she took off and left for Hailey or Boise, or wherever she was goin'. If I could read better, there might be other books I'd like. I always liked it when Ma told me stories she remembered from her days in Illinois.”
Lena's heart gave a little leap of joy. “Wait right here. I'll be right back.”
Moments later she walked back in the room. The boy had plunged himself beneath the covers, his eyelids already drooping. She sat on the side of the narrow bed and lay the book on her lap. “How would you like for me to read to you before you go to sleep?”
“That'd be nice.” His words, slurred by sleepiness, were further muffled by the quilt about his head.
Lena ran her fingers across the cover of the book before opening it. Then she read.
“Tom!”
No Answer.
“What's gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!”
No answer.
“That's my pa's name.” Daniel mumbled.
“Yes, it is. But the boy, Tom, well he's a lot more like you.”
“I like this story. Read some more.”
And she did until Daniel's soft, little boy snores, filled the empty space of the house with a sweet rhythm.
