Chapter 6

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the LORD , thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11†

T here were just two of them. He had stumbled over them in the dark, feeling his way along the cold stone edges, shivering and withdrawing his hands. Now, in the daylight, he inspected them more closely. Grass had grown up around the graves. As he leaned over the tombstones, Jim’s attention was drawn to a huge yellow and black spider that had spun a lace hammock between them. Dangling in the breeze, the spider waited for dinner to be caught in its web. Jim watched for a long moment, studying the web. He reached out impulsively to brush it away but stopped his hand in midair and denied the impulse.

The two stones were little more than huge red rocks, probably hauled from one of the fields that surrounded the abandoned farmhouse. Their inscriptions said only “Ma” and “Pa,” the words crudely chipped away from the center of each rock. “Ma” had apparently died before “Pa,” for the cedar seedling planted behind her stone was taller than Pa’s by a foot.

Jim stood up and walked to the well. By unwinding and mending the rope at several places, he made it long enough to reach the water below. In the barn he had found a bucket. Letting it down, he drew up water and gave both trees a thorough drenching. Drops splashed from the bucket onto the spider’s web, and the creature sought refuge in the tall grass growing around the graves.

Having watered the trees, Jim set to work pulling the weeds that had sprung up around the graves. After only a couple of hours’ work, the plot appeared well cared for. Jim stood back and grunted with satisfaction.

He turned his attention to the house and barn. Why had such a good start been abandoned? he wondered. The house was modest but seemed well built. On the north, a low porch sheltered the front door. Wrapping around one side, the porch also covered another entrance toward the back of the house. This door faced east and looked out toward the barn. The door facing the barn had blown loose and hung flapping on its hinges. The place had obviously been empty for a while. The roof seemed tight and the siding was in place, but an attempt at paint had long since worn off the exposed wood, showing only under the porch in a few faded splotches.

Jim inspected the massive barn. The owner had had big plans, all right. Inside there were eight box stalls, and on the wall opposite the stalls, elaborate harnesses hung covered with cobwebs and dust. Beyond the box stalls were two other large stalls, big enough to hold several sheep or goats. A ladder, ascending the far wall, gave access up to the hayloft.

Jim climbed the ladder. In one corner of the loft a pitchfork stuck out of the hay, as if its owner had just heard the supper bell and left his work. Jim ran his rough hands along the posts and beams of the barn, admiring the workmanship. Whatever had happened, the man who built this barn had had plans to stay for a long time.

A mouse skittered across the floor, and Jim hopped aside as a yellow cat shot by in hot pursuit. In a moment, the cat reappeared atop the huge pile of hay, his prize dangling from his mouth. Jim turned his back on the scene and retreated down the ladder. He walked to the far end of the barn again, outside and around the back, stepping over a fallen fence post and into the corral. Deliberately he opened every stall door, letting light pour into the stalls.

They needed mucking out. Jim retrieved the pitchfork from the hayloft and began clearing out each stall. In a corner of the barn, he found a hinged box half-hidden under a rotting saddle blanket. Inside was an array of tools that had obviously been cared for by loving hands. Taking up the hammer, Jim extracted a few nails and repaired a broken corral rail.

There was no reason for doing the work, and yet restoring the broken things in this abandoned farmstead brought an odd type of peace. Jim had weeded the burial plot and cleaned out the barn. Night was fast approaching. With it came a gnawing hunger. It would not be the first night Jim Callaway had bedded down without eating. Pulling a clear bucket of water up from the well, Jim drank deeply, climbed the ladder to the barn loft, and fell asleep.

Jim woke at dawn and sat upright with the sudden realization that last night, for the first night since Slim Buttes, the eyes of the Indian children had not come to haunt his sleep. He had slept fully and deeply, and the first moments of his waking had been curiously peaceful. Something about this place had seemed to welcome him. He was in no hurry to move on. But the pangs of hunger in his belly reminded him that he had to do something about eating, and soon.

From outside, the sound of a wagon rattling into the farmyard interrupted his plans to try fishing in the creek out back. Lying flat on his belly, Jim slithered to the edge of the loft and peered out the haymow at the intruder who had climbed from the wagon and stood by the graves, scratching his head in wonderment.

The intruder looked about him, hands on hips, and began to speak to the sky. “My, my, won’t you look at that! Now who’d be comin’ out here cleanin’ up them graves?” Joseph’s eyes scanned the farmyard for signs of life. Only the open door of the barn gave a hint of human habitation.

Jim was just about to believe that he would escape detection when a little gray dog shot out from under the wagon seat, into the barn, and to the ladder, yapping furiously. The man clamped his hat back on his head, drew a rifle from under his wagon seat, and followed the dog to the ladder.

“Whoever you are, you’d better come down outta that loft right now,” a deep voice boomed.

Jim Callaway stood up and brushed the hay from his clothes. He called from the loft, “Calm down, mister. I mean no harm. I came into the farmyard late and just spent the night up here in the loft, that’s all.”

“You got nothin’ to hide, then you quit yer hidin’ up in that loft.” Joseph silenced the little dog and carefully aimed his rifle at the broad back that descended the ladder. As the young man turned around, Joseph noticed the tattered clothes, the unkempt beard, the long hair. He wondered at the whiteness of the beard, the redness of the hair. He had seen that happen before—once. Joseph had been called on to help sift through the remains of a fire. A young wife and her two children had died in the fire, and her young husband had stood by, helpless to rescue his family. His beard had come in white, too, even though the hair on his head was black as a raven. This boy had been through something horrible. Even with the military buttons removed, Joseph recognized the tattered Army uniform. He squinted his eyes and muttered, “Suppose you just tell me what you been doin’ here on the Baird place, anyhow? And if I believe yer story, maybe I’ll lower this rifle, and we’ll talk some more.”

Jim Callaway met the hard stare of Joseph Freeman calmly. He stood up straight and answered honestly. “I’ve been wandering for quite a while, mister. I just stumbled into the farmyard last night. Everything was dark. I figured the folks was asleep and wouldn’t mind if I slept in their loft. I planned on offering to work for the night’s board this morning.” Jim glanced out at the graves, “But it doesn’t seem there’s anybody around.”

“Why you been wandering?” came the demand.

Jim looked away and blinked several times. Swallowing hard he said quietly, “Look, mister, I’d tell you if I could. Fact is, I can’t tell you. . . . I’m not a criminal or anything like that. . . . I just can’t. . . .”

“You’re a military man.” Joseph stated it as fact, and Jim flinched and swallowed hard. His gray-green eyes met Joseph’s hard brown stare and looked away. But before he looked away, Joseph saw it. He knew the look, because he’d seen it in dozens of eyes before. Every slave he’d ever met who was running away from the past had that look about him. This boy—and to Joseph he was just a boy—was running away from a past too awful to talk about. Something in the straight shoulders, the square chin, the attempt at an honest answer touched Joseph. The stare said, “I’ve got a story to tell, but don’t you ask it because it’s buried too deep. I’m trying to be an honest man. I’m looking for a new start. Just don’t ask about that thing in my past, and I’ll be all right.”

“I’ll be going if you’ll just lower that rifle.” Jim said it as calmly as he could, but his eyes pleaded kindness.

Slowly, the rifle was lowered. “Why’d you fix up those graves?”

The broad shoulders shrugged. “It just seemed to need doing.”

“Why’d you clean out these stalls—mend that fence?”

At the look of surprise on Jim’s face, Joseph said, “Yes, I know every board and every rock on this place. I been watchin’ it for years. So why’d you clean out these stalls—mend that fence?”

Jim repeated, “I really don’t know. It just seemed to need doing.”

The stillness that arose between the two men was broken by a voracious growl from Jim’s long-neglected stomach. Joseph Freeman suddenly laughed, a deep, booming laugh that filled every corner of the barn.

“Well, while I figure out what kind of varmint you are, guess you’d better come out here and eat some of Miz Hathaway’s biscuits. I don’t want no dead varmint on my hands!”

Jim sat in the shade of Joseph’s wagon and wolfed down three huge biscuits before Joseph questioned him again. “Now, listen here, young man, you don’t need to tell me your whole life story if you don’t want to, but you got to tell me a few things. You’re thin as a rail, and you need a good pair of duds. Are you running from the law?” Joseph looked into the gray-green eyes and demanded, “And don’t you be lying to me, either. You runnin’ from the law, that’s your business, and I’ll let you run on. But I want to know the truth.”

Jim looked squarely into the kind face. “No, sir, I’m not running from the law.”

“Where you headed?”

Jim pondered the question before answering, “I don’t know, sir. Anywhere away from,” the voice lowered, “where I been.”

“You far enough away from where you been to stop runnin’?”

Jim considered the question before slowly nodding, “I guess so.”

Joseph stood up and put his rifle back under the wagon seat. “Then climb on up here and we’ll get back to town. Miz’ Hathaway will fill you up with more than just biscuits, we’ll get you some decent clothes, and . . .”

At the mention of “town,” Jim jumped up and stepped away from the wagon. “No!” he almost shouted. Then, embarrassed, he said more steadily, “No, sir, thank you, sir, but I’ve got no need to go to town. I—I just want to be left alone, sir.” He stammered and grabbed the side of the wagon to steady his shaking legs.

Compassion filled Joseph’s voice. He used the soothing tone he had always used to quiet a nervous colt. “Now, settle down, son. Ain’t nobody hauling you to town against your will. You want to stay on your own, that’s all right. Every man needs time to hisself now and then. . . .” An idea came and Joseph spilled it out before having time really to consider it. “You was right about this place. Folks that worked it is all gone. Their son asked me to keep a watch over it. I been watchin’ it for two years now. The son didn’t want it. He’s gone now, too, God rest his soul. His widow don’t care what happens to the place. So it just sits here, like this, falling apart.” Joseph sighed. “An’ it’s a real shame too. It could be a fine place.”

As Joseph talked, Jim stopped trembling. Joseph talked until the boy was visibly calm before he said, “I like the way you cleaned up the folks’ graves. Shows respect. You cleaned out the barn real good too. Why don’t you just stay here while I go into town, get you some clothes, some food, and bring them on back here?”

Jim considered the offer for help from a stranger suspiciously. “I’ve no money to pay for new clothes or food, mister.”

Joseph pointed to the graves and the barn. “Seems to me you already earned something for your work on the place.”

Joseph tried to lay a broad hand on the young man’s shoulder, but Jim flinched and moved away, staring at Joseph out of the corner of his eyes, squinting against the sunlight.

Joseph stretched out his open hand, “You can trust me, son. I’ll bring you out some fresh clothes and some supper. You just stay here long enough to eat a decent meal. Then, what you do is up to you. Shake on it.”

Jim looked at the outstretched hand. Wiping his own grimy palm on his pants leg, he slowly reached out to grasp it. Joseph felt the firm handshake with satisfaction. The stranger was young and scared, but he had a strong hand and a steady eye. As he climbed up into the wagon and clucked to his team, Joseph smiled. He shouted over his shoulder, “Side door on the house is getting mighty loose on its hinges. You find a way to fix ’er, I’ll make it good.”

The wagon rattled down the road and Jim retreated from the hot sun to the barn. He looked over his shoulder at the house. Instead of attending to the loose door, he pulled down a harness. The tool box yielded everything he needed. Jim spent the afternoon cleaning and oiling the harness until it shone.

A gentle wind blew in the barn door and through the stalls, stirring up the faintest aroma of hay and horses. Jim sat absorbed in the work of the harness until the setting sun began shooting darts of pinking light in the door of the barn. With a start, Jim heard the rattling of the returning wagon. Joseph jumped down and came to the barn, leaning against the doorway and watching as Jim rearranged the harness on its pegs.

Jim smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t get to the door.”

Joseph shrugged. “No matter. You can always do it in the morning—uh, before you go. I got to get headed back. Here’s some new rags for you. And some supper.” Joseph returned to the wagon and reached under the seat. “Figured you could use these too.” He handed Jim a box of shells for his pistol, waving aside the young man’s protests.

Jim grasped the man’s hand in gratitude. “I’ve got no way to say thank you, sir.”

Joseph smiled warmly, “You fix that door before you leave in the mornin’, and that’ll be thanks enough. Good-bye.” He climbed back into the wagon seat before adding, “I’ll be praying for you, young man.”

Jim nodded once and raised his hand as the wagon pulled out.

“I didn’t get his name, LisBeth,” Joseph said quietly, “but I know he’d do right by you and MacKenzie if you was to give him a chance on the homestead. You should see the way he’s cleaned up around the place. And just to pay for a night in the hayloft!”

LisBeth frowned. “You don’t even know his name, and yet you want me to agree to asking him to work on the place?”

Joseph nodded and added the very thing he knew would secure “the young man’s” place on the homestead—if he wanted it. “I know it’s a mite out of the ordinary, LisBeth, but, fact is, the years are catching me up . . . and I don’t have the energy I once had, and I just thought . . .”

LisBeth’s frown was replaced with concern, “Oh, Joseph! I’m sorry—I didn’t think. I have expected a lot from you. We didn’t have time to make the proper arrangements before Mac left with his regiment—and then,” LisBeth sighed, “I came back all alone. I just hadn’t thought about all you’ve been doing. Joseph, I’m sorry. Of course, if you need the help, do ask this fellow to stay on. Just ask him to come into town tomorrow, and we’ll work something out.”

Joseph bargained, “Does he have to come into town, LisBeth? A ride out to the place would do you good, and I’d be glad to take you out there myself on Sunday.”

LisBeth flinched. “Oh, no, Joseph! I don’t want to go to the homestead, not yet.”

Joseph rushed to excuse her, “That’s all right, LisBeth. . . . I understand. Some things is pretty hard so soon after a loss. No need for you to go at all. I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

LisBeth was visibly relieved. “Thank you, Joseph. I don’t know what I’ll do about the homestead, but until I decide, there’s no use in its falling apart.”

Joseph retreated quickly before LisBeth could repeat a request for the young man to come into Lincoln. He climbed into his wagon, humming to himself, and made his way south again, toward the Baird homestead. In the wagon were provisions for at least a week for the young man he was hoping to convince to stay on.

When Joseph drew aside the cover that had hidden the provisions, Jim grinned and agreed to stay. “But just for the week. I’ll have things repaired by then, and I’ll be ready to move on.”

Joseph agreed that a week would be more than enough. But somehow, the next week came, and there were more chores that needed to be done, and Joseph’s rheumatism was acting up. Jim agreed to stay another week. On the seventh day, Joseph’s wagon rumbled onto the place with a bay gelding tied to the back of the wagon.

“Been nothing but trouble since I bought him,” Joseph recited carefully. “Nips and bites at everything I put in the stall next to him, and won’t have a thing to do with a saddle. I sure got taken when that horse trader come through town last week. So I thought if I was to bring him out here where he’s all by hisself, maybe you could gentle him for me—I just hate to lose my investment in him.”

When Jim started to protest, Joseph held up his hand, “I know you was fixin’ to leave tomorrow morning. But I just need a little more help with this here gelding, and then you can be on your way. Don’t need no fancy horseman. Just need somebody with the time to talk to the old duff and settle him down a bit. What d’ya say?”

“Jim” was the answer.

Joseph had been untying the perfectly well-mannered gelding while he talked. When the young man offered his name, he stopped and looked up in amazement.

“Jim, that’s my name, sir. Jim Callaway. And I’ll help you with the horse. I’m pretty good with horses. It won’t take long to solve this one’s problems,” a slow grin crept over the sunburned face, “seeing as how he’s perfectly well-mannered already.”

Joseph’s rumbling laughter filled the air, and he slapped the gelding’s neck. “Caught me, didn’t ya! Well, I just thought you needed company out here, and if you did decide to leave, you’ve more than earned a better way to travel than those two feet. So, Jim Callaway, will you stay on the place? I brought you a horse I don’t really need help with, but the fact is Miz Baird does need help with this here place until she decides whether to keep it or sell it. Her husband was killed at the Little Big Horn, and she ain’t got over it yet. Came home to find she’d just lost her Mama too. She said she’d like to have you stay on and keep the place up, if you want the job.”

“She won’t need to pay me,” came the curt reply. “It’s a place to stay, something to do. Something worthwhile—bringing a place back to life. I’ll like it.” He took a deep breath and his eyes met Joseph’s. “I’d be obliged to Mrs. Baird if she lets me stay on here and bring her place back to life. Maybe it’ll help—” Jim snapped the door shut on his past before finishing the sentence.

Joseph was satisfied. He nodded gravely, “I know, son. I know. I been in places like you been. Just don’t get bitter, Jim. Bitterness will kill your spirit quick as anything. Just let it go. Count your blessings and move on, Jim.”

Once again, the bay gelding brought Jim back to reality. The rubbing had stopped, and the gelding shoved his big head at Jim again, nearly pushing him over. Joseph laughed and Jim smiled slowly. “Real mean horse, Joseph. Don’t know how I’ll ever calm him down, but I’ll do my best.”

Joseph swung onto the wagon box again, laughing all the while. “Thank you, Jim. I shorely do appreciate it. Now, I’ll be out again in a couple a days and you make me a list of what you’ll be needing to get the place going again. Miz Baird’ll be right happy to know her husband’s home place is going to be taken care of.”