Chapter 3

As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit . . . even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all.

Ecclesiastes 11:5

L isBeth woke from her afternoon rest feeling weary. Dragging herself out of bed, she settled into the rocker by the window and stared through the glass, remembering the empty, flat expanse of land that she and her mother had come to only a few years ago. Then, Lincoln, Nebraska, had been little more than a few dugouts and cabins, among them a small boardinghouse run by Augusta Hathaway. Augusta had taken in Jesse King and her daughter, LisBeth, had grown to love them as her own family, had included them in her plans to transform the boardinghouse into a prosperous hotel. Now the Centennial Opera House was just about completed. Beyond the Centennial several new houses dotted the landscape. A white picket fence had sprung from the prairie to protect a two-story abode from errant wildlife. I remember when Mama wouldn’t let me walk to Miss Griswall’s school alone for fear a coyote’d cross my path! She smiled briefly at the memory, but then fresh grief set in and she stood up abruptly, pulling the curtains across the window to shut out the view of the growing city.

LisBeth finished unpacking the large valise Augusta had left untouched. Familiar sounds filtered down the short hallway. Dinner was being readied for the hotel boarders. Taking a deep breath, LisBeth opened the door and headed for the kitchen. She hesitated at the door, watching as fifteen-year-old Sarah Biddle and her nine-year-old brother Tom moved about. They worked as a team, Tom limping about beside Sarah, often knowing what she needed without her having to say a word.

Sarah and Tom looked up from the open oven and quickly set aside the trays of fresh biscuits. Sarah took the lead. Wiping her hands on her muslin apron, she crossed the kitchen quickly and held out her hand to LisBeth.

“I’m awful sorry about your husband, Miz Baird. And your ma too.”

Tom added. “I’m sorry, too, Miz Baird.”

LisBeth had had almost too much sympathy that day. Controlling the urge to weep, she took the offered hand and grasped it momentarily before saying, “Yes. Well. Thank you.” There was an awkward silence until Augusta came in. Taking LisBeth by the hand she led her to the table where the July 12 edition of the Nebraska State Journal lay open.

“I thought you’d like to see it, LisBeth,” Augusta said. “Charles Gere did right by your ma.”

LisBeth read:

Born into the Spirit world at the Hathaway House Hotel in Lincoln on Sunday, July 10, Mrs. Jesse King, after a sojourn on this earth of 54 years.

She was born into the earth life in St. Clair County, Illinois, in 1822, was married in 1841 to her husband, Homer King, who predeceased her, was the mother of one daughter, LisBeth, who grew to womanhood, and one son, Jacob, who passed as an infant to that life where she has now joined him.

Mrs. King was a consistent Christian, having been baptized as a young woman and a faithful member of the Congregational Church until summoned by the Death Angel to enter on the enjoyment of the future life.

Mrs. King lived a full life of goodness and beauty, affording her child and friends an example well worthy of their imitation. Sustained by her confidence in God’s love and her expectation of a happy life to come, she calmly fell asleep to wake in that home where there are no more separations.

On Tuesday her body was laid in the earth, the services conducted by Rev. W. E. Copeland.

As LisBeth read, Sarah and Tom returned to work. Joseph came in with another stash of firewood for the stove. Exchanging a concerned expression with Augusta, he helped himself to a cup of coffee and took an inordinate amount of time to stack the wood. When a log fell off the pile and hit the floor, LisBeth jumped. She wiped her tears and blew her nose and looked up at Augusta. Everyone in the kitchen appeared to be working furiously. In reality they were doing nothing, waiting for LisBeth to get through her mother’s obituary.

“I want to go to Wyuka, Augusta.” LisBeth took a deep breath. “I remember all the fuss when they chose those rolling hills so far from town. I thought it was all so silly, bothering over a cemetery. But then, I never thought about someone I loved being buried there. I wish Mac had a place like that—nearby—”

Joseph tried to rescue LisBeth from a new bout of tears. “You just say when, LisBeth. I’ll hitch up the carriage and take you out there any time you say.”

Augusta mumbled something about there being plenty of time for that, but LisBeth rose and said, “I think I’d like to go now, Joseph. Maybe,” her throat tightened, “maybe it will help.”

Joseph was already out the door.

LisBeth retreated to Jesse’s room. As she tied on her black bonnet, she studied her reflection in the dresser mirror. Her dark eyes were red and puffy, and thin lines had appeared at the corners of each eye. Once a warm, golden brown, her skin now looked almost sallow. She had lost weight, and her high cheekbones were more prominent, the slight dimple in her cheek more pronounced.

LisBeth remembered an evening less than a year ago when her mother Jesse had said wistfully, “You got that dimple from your pa, Rides the Wind, LisBeth. He was a handsome brave—at least I always thought so.” Then Jesse had laid her own fair-skinned hand next to LisBeth’s. “Fact is, LisBeth, you look mostly like your pa. His skin. His eyes.” She had sighed and added softly, “I sure wish you could have known him, LisBeth.”

LisBeth had reached out to take her mother’s hands in her own. “Do you wish we still lived among the Lakota, Mama?”

Jesse had thought carefully before answering. “No, LisBeth. The Lord brought us here. At least that’s how I’ve come to view it. With your pa dead, it would have been harder for us. I was Walks the Fire to the Lakota, but I wasn’t really Lakota. Except for Prairie Flower, I didn’t have many friends.” Smiling again, Jesse had said, “We’re where we belong now. I still wish sometimes for you to know Soaring Eagle. I’ll just leave that in God’s hands. He always does what’s best. If it’s to be, it will be.”

The memory of Jesse faded and was replaced by a feeling of aloneness so complete that it caused a physical hurt deep inside LisBeth. A soft knock sounded at the door. Sarah stood in the doorway, hands clasped tightly, her earnest blue eyes blinking rapidly.

“Miz Baird, I feel so bad about what’s happened to you. You don’t know me, ma’am, but your ma—”

Eager to block out the painful memories, LisBeth begged, “Sarah, please, come in. Sit here, in Mama’s rocker.”

Sarah settled nervously on the edge of the rocker while LisBeth talked. “Mama wrote all about you and Tom, Sarah. She went on and on about how hard you work and about how smart Tom is. She had great plans for Tom.”

“Yes, ma’am, Tom has always been the smart one.” Sarah said it proudly, but then she returned to her subject. “What I wanted to say, Miz Baird, was, I feel kinda bad about bein’ in your room, now that you’re back and all. I don’t have to be so near the living quarters. Maybe Miz Hathaway could give us another room—”

LisBeth interrupted. “Don’t be silly, Sarah.” Her next words won Sarah’s allegiance and something approaching love. LisBeth reached out and took both of Sarah’s hands. “Mama loved you and Tom, Sarah. I’ve always wanted a sister. I’ve lost two brothers in my life. Little Jacob died long before I was born, when he was only a baby, and the other brother—well, circumstances just tore us apart. I’ve never even met him—” LisBeth stopped short. “Please, Sarah, let’s be friends. And don’t even think about the room a second longer. It’s not my room anymore, Sarah. It’s your room.”

Sarah squeezed LisBeth’s hands, gratitude shining in her eyes. A year of living with Augusta Hathaway and Jesse King had prepared Sarah Biddle to open the door of friendship when the opportunity arose. Now, she quickly turned the handle and fairly flung it open as she began to share a bit of herself. “LisBeth, I know how it feels—to have people you love taken away. I know it’s awful for you right now. But it’ll get better. You’ll get through it.”

Something told LisBeth to let Sarah Biddle talk. “I had a sister once. Her name was Emma.” Sarah withdrew her hands from LisBeth’s and twisted the edge of her apron. She studied the floor as she continued. “Ma got sick and Pa wouldn’t bring the doctor. He just said, ‘We got no money to pay for a doctor.’ Well, one day, I was rockin’ by the wood stove, trying to soothe Baby Emma. Then Pa brought in some lady. Said she could help Baby Emma. Said she’d get her some milk, and that Tom and me could come see her whenever we wanted. Said when Ma got better, Emma could come home.”

Sarah looked desperately into LisBeth’s eyes. “So I let that lady take her. She said we could have her back just as soon as Ma got better. But Ma didn’t get better. Ma died the next day. Then Pa took Tom and me to the Home for the Friendless. He said he’d come back for us. But he never did.”

Sarah took a deep breath before concluding, “But what was even worse was our Baby Emma was gone. Somebody rich just took her to be theirs.”

LisBeth listened, breathing as soundlessly as possible, hoping that Sarah would stop, but knowing that she needed to go on.

Sarah smiled a tight, bitter smile. “ ’Course, nobody ever wanted Tom and me. I figured, I let go of Baby Emma, and they took her. I never let go of Tom. Plenty of folks wanted me to come work for them. But they wouldn’t take Tom. So we just stayed at the Home. Then we got put on that train. Nobody wanted us then, either—not in all the towns we stopped at. They’d look at Tom’s limp and just turn away. We’d get back on the train and ride to the next town. Tom and me finally ran away. I figured we could do better on our own. Nobody wanted us until your ma found us and took us in.”

Sarah stopped abruptly. She flushed with embarrassment. “Goodness—I rattled on and on. As if you don’t have enough troubles of your own.” Sarah was flustered. “What I wanted to say was I know how it hurts. But it gets better. It does. You’ll be all right. You got Joseph. You got Aunt Augusta. You got your Ma’s love inside you—and Mr. Baird’s love too. And, if you want, you got me for a friend,” Sarah’s voice lowered slightly as she timidly said the word friend. She was surprised to realize that sharing her past with LisBeth had come so easily. She felt strangely refreshed, as if the telling of the hurt had somehow cleaned out the last remnant of bitterness she had been nursing.

Impulsively, LisBeth reached out and stepped through the door of friendship that Sarah had opened so willingly. As she hugged Sarah, Lisbeth’s eyes filled with tears. Augusta’s voice rang down the hall and into the room. “LisBeth! Joseph has the carriage ready. . . .”

Joseph had been waiting patiently with his finest team and carriage for quite a few minutes when LisBeth finally stepped outside the hotel and climbed up beside him. As he urged the horses to a swift trot, the wind came up. It was a hot, dry wind, and before they had traveled a mile, LisBeth felt sweat trickle down her back and wished she had minded Augusta’s suggestion to make the journey early the next morning, before the afternoon sun had launched its assault.

Shading her eyes with one hand, LisBeth gripped the side of the carriage seat and stared to the northeast, along the banks of the Salt Creek. A few clumps of elms and cottonwood flourished along the creek beds, but no shade gave respite to the two travelers heading out O Street to the “place of rest” chosen by the legislature.

“Why’d they have to pick a spot so far away?” LisBeth wondered aloud.

“They’s bad air around a cemetery, LisBeth. Leastways, white folks thinks they is,” Joseph offered. “They wanted it far out from the city.”

“Well, they certainly accomplished that,” LisBeth snapped.

“You want to turn back? We can do this in the mornin’ when it’s cooler.”

LisBeth shook her head. “No, Joseph. I need to do it now. I’ve been dreading it something awful. I just need to get it done.” LisBeth interrupted herself. “Stop. Just a moment—see those flowers? Mama loved those. Just wait a minute.” She was already jumping down from the carriage and hurrying to a clump of bushes covered with bright orange blossoms. LisBeth shooed away several butterflies and gathered an enormous bouquet before climbing back up beside Joseph.

“I recollect your Mama did like those—”

“Remember that time those men came in from Omaha, and Augusta was so worried about impressing them with Lincoln’s fare—and Mama ended up cooking a whole meal with wild things?”

Joseph smiled at the memory. “And them Omaha gents was surprised as could be. Your Mama had fun, too, teasin’ ’em about them eatin’ dog meat stew.”

LisBeth chuckled briefly before sighing, “We made soup from the roots of this plant and—” Her throat tightened. She stopped in midsentence. They had arrived at the entrance to Wyuka Cemetery.

Joseph eased the moment, “They gonna have winding lanes here, they said, jus’ like in a big city park. Got lots of plans for trees and flowers too. They gonna make it a real nice buryin’ place, LisBeth. It’s a good place to be laid to rest.”

LisBeth looked about as she asked, “Where?”

Joseph didn’t have to answer. They had turned left inside the entrance and wound around the base of a low hill. A few small headstones shone in the afternoon sun, and there was one new grave. LisBeth had to shade her eyes from the brilliant white to find the name. It was carved under a simple design of palm fronds.

Jesse King
Born January 26, 1822
Died July 10, 1876
Aged 54 years, 5 mos., 14 days.
Gone home

Joseph helped LisBeth down and then led the team to a small brook that ran along one edge of the cemetery grounds. LisBeth stood staring at the tombstone for a long while before bending over to place her bouquet at its base.

“You were only fifty-four years old, Mama,” LisBeth whispered. “I thought I’d have you forever. I thought you’d always be here, at home. I thought you’d always be here.” The young voice quavered, and LisBeth cried freely before going on. “Mac’s gone, too, Mama. My dear, beautiful Mac is gone. How did you do it, Mama? How did you bear it when Papa died?” LisBeth sniffed loudly and blew her nose. Then she sat down on the prairie and ran her fingers through the coarse, dry grass. She looked around her at the barren hills.

“I wonder every day about what it must have been like for you, Mama.” You loved a Lakota man, and then he died. You raised his son, and then you were forced to leave him behind. You had so much pain. But when I remember you, I remember you smiling. How did you do it?

“I’m going to plant a tree here for you, Mama. You know what kind? A pine tree. I remember you told me that Papa once cut down the tallest lodgepole pine you’d ever seen, just so that you could have the biggest tepee in the village. Well, now you’ll be able to rest in the shade of a pine tree again.”

In only a few moments in the sun, the brilliant bouquet had begun to wilt. “I miss you, Mama. Without you and Mac, I’m not sure where I fit in the world. When I was Jesse King’s daughter and MacKenzie Baird’s wife, it didn’t matter much that I was half-Lakota and half-white. But now I’m all alone. I’m not sure how or who I should be.” LisBeth stood up wearily and brushed off her black skirt. The wind tugged at her clothes. Reaching up to straighten her bonnet, LisBeth whispered, “There are so many things I don’t understand, Mama. I wish you were still here. You’d know what I should do about—everything.”

Staring down at the new grave, LisBeth waited a few moments longer before turning abruptly and hurrying away. On the way back to Lincoln, both LisBeth and Joseph made several attempts at conversation, but each attempt failed. Finally, they rode along listening to the hot, dry wind blowing across the open prairie.

When they drove up to the kitchen door, LisBeth climbed down from the carriage before Joseph could get around to her side to help her. Her eyes thanked him, but her voice failed her. She went inside, crossed the kitchen without a word to Sarah or Augusta, and retreated to her mother’s room where she lay staring at the ceiling with no tears left to cry and an unquenched thirst for comfort.

When she finally fell asleep, Lakota warriors and the U.S. Army crowded into the darkened room. They engaged in mortal combat until only one soldier and one brave remained. As the two faced one another, LisBeth realized that the Lakota warrior looked just like her.

LisBeth woke from the dream and sat up. Shakily she got out of bed and made her way to the washstand to dash water on her face. When she returned to bed, she turned onto her side with her back to the one thing that could have brought her greater comfort than even Mac’s or her mother’s loving arms. On the small table at the bedside, within easy reach, lay Jesse’s Bible, and in it were all the words that Jesse would have shared had she been able to meet her grieving young daughter at the train station. But the Bible remained unopened, and the grieving young heart was not comforted.