June fifth was Sarah’s fifteenth birthday, and she and Simon had been given permission to celebrate it with a picnic by the river. Sarah had planned the whole thing, and all Simon had to do was stop by the house at noon and pick her up. Paul needed the horse, so Simon made the half-mile trip to Sarah’s on foot, and now, within shouting distance of her house, he could see her sitting on the porch, picnic hamper next to the steps.
“Hi, Sarah.” Simon climbed the four steps and stopped at the edge of the porch.
“Hello, Simon.” She got up and adjusted her hat, a wide-brimmed straw arrangement with a yellow bow that hung down the back.
Simon thought she looked splendid. “Got everything we need?”
“Hopefully. I insisted Mother let me do it all, and I was real careful. I’ll tell her you’re here.” Sarah made for the door.
“Can’t we just take off?”
“Don’t be silly.” She opened the front door and called, “Simon’s here, Mother. We’re ready to go.”
A moment later Mrs. Kingsley joined them on the porch. “How are you today, Simon? I’ve heard you’re turning into quite a ruffian out there on the prairie with those awful Texas people.”
Mrs. Kingsley had made it clear that she was not impressed by the cowboys.
“Not really, ma’am. It’s as boring as anything you can think of. Mostly we just sit around camp, or sit on our horse on the prairie, hopefully in the shade of a tree. About the only excitement we get is if a few cows decide to wander south. Usually they just stay by the river in the shade.” Simon was amazed with himself. He hadn’t said that many words to Mrs. Kingsley in a year.
“I heard they were teaching you and Buell how to use weapons.”
The word “weapons” had the snap of a whip when she said it, and her frown told Simon more than what she said; the conversation appeared to be headed in the wrong direction. “Not really teaching us how to use them. More like how dangerous they are, and how much we have to be careful around them. Mr. Greene says civilized people shouldn’t even have to carry them.”
“Did he indeed? Well, maybe I’ve misjudged Mr. Greene a little.” She looked pensive for a moment. “And he said that? Well, good.”
And soon’s we’ve covered all them uncivilized bastards with dirt I’ll give up mine. Simon repeated Nathan’s words to himself in his best Texas accent and smiled behind his eyes.
“So, gather up your picnic things and go enjoy the afternoon.” Mrs. Kingsley waved her hand toward the basket. “I have to tell you that Sarah packed that herself. Wouldn’t let me touch a thing.” She reached out and laid her hands on both their shoulders.
Simon tensed. There! Her thumb caressed the side of his neck. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be back early afternoon. We’re going to be almost straight away from here.” He pointed due north, then reached down and picked up the basket. Its weight surprised him.
Half an hour later they found a level bench covered with soft green grass at the bottom of a low bluff. Several full-grown cottonwood trees, now near leafed-out, provided dappled shade. They’d carried the basket between them nearly all the way, and they set it on the ground. Sarah waved him away from it, lifted the lids on both ends, and extracted a medium-sized blanket and a tablecloth. With both spread, she unloaded two cloth-bound sandwiches, a quart jar of applesauce, a small jar of cream, two bowls, a tin containing raisin cookies, four bottles of root beer and some sugar. Now he understood the weight. He caught the aroma of smoked ham and knew where it came from—Mrs. Luger’s. He had eaten lightly at breakfast, and the long walk had raised a good appetite.
“Here, the big one’s yours.” Sarah handed it to him. Unwrapped, it overflowed with ham and the special cheese containing seeds of some kind that Mrs. Luger served in the saloon.
“Thank you, and happy birthday again, Sarah.” Simon took a bite to be rewarded by the tang of spicy mustard. More Luger’s, and it tasted wonderful. He attacked the huge sandwich, taking bite after bite, chewing and swallowing without pause.
“I guess when you eat that’s all you do,” Sarah finally said.
Simon looked at her and blinked. “What do you mean?” He savored the lingering taste of the meat and cheese.
“I thought you’d gone into a trance. I’ve never seen anyone concentrate on their food that way.”
Thinking back a few minutes, he realized what he had done, and felt slightly embarrassed. “You make a wonderful sandwich.” He shrugged. “That one is my favorite. I’m always glad when Freda, er, Mrs. Luger has ham and cheese for lunch.”
Sarah arched her eyebrows. “You eat in the saloon?”
“Not all the time.” He added quickly, “And when I do, it’s with Buell and his pa . . . and mine.”
“Well, I should think so.” She paused a moment, and then cocked her head slightly. “What’s in there?”
“I don’t know. A bar, some tables and chairs. It’s smoky.”
“Are there low women in there?”
“Low women? Low . . . Sarah!” The image of one of the women that served beer at Lancer’s appeared. “Of course not.”
“Well, it is a saloon,” she said huffily. “Mother says anyone who frequents those places will be damned in the end.”
“My ma doesn’t like them either, but she says we have to live in the world as it is, and learn to handle our affairs accordingly. I think I agree with her. I go in there to see Jake and get something to eat. Sure, there’s a lot of cussing and such going on, but that doesn’t mean I have to do the same.” Simon realized this was their first serious disagreement.
“Isn’t it better to stay out of places like that all together? You can get a sandwich at Swartz’s just as easy. If my mother asked me to stay out of a place I would.”
“But the food is better at Luger’s. I know where the mustard on that sandwich came from . . . and the ham and cheese too.” Simon’s heart beat faster and he realized he’d raised his voice. “You’ll eat Mrs. Luger’s food, but you won’t associate with her. How can that be right?”
Sarah glared at him. “It’s not her or Jake. It’s the place they run.”
“But that’s Luger’s. If I want to see Jake, I have to go where he is, and that’s the saloon. You sayin’ I can’t see him just because his folks run the place?” He stood and walked a few feet away to stand with his back to Sarah.
“I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just don’t like the idea of you going to places like that. Mother really likes you, so does my father. He thinks you’ll turn out to be a very successful man one day if you can avoid the wrong company. And mother thinks people who go to saloons and gambling halls are the wrong people.”
Simon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I like you a lot, Sarah, you know that, and mostly because you’re always the same. But I like Buell and Jake and Armand too . . . and even Gus, I guess. But Armand is big, slow, and rude, Jake is kinda messy and swears a lot, and you know most people think Buell is strange and a bit dangerous. And I like them the way they are. I can’t expect them to change just because I think they could be better. Maybe I wouldn’t like them that way.” He turned to see if she was understanding. “And maybe you’d like them better.”
Apparently not. Simon breathed deeply again. “In one of those books your father let me read, and, I might add, says will teach me a lot of things, it said, ‘We give up three fourths of ourselves just to be like other people.’ I didn’t understand it when I read it, but now I do. What you just said made me understand.” He felt a flush of fear as he realized the depth of their disagreement.
“What you read in those books is not always right. My father says a fool can also know how to write.”
She took on the stubborn look he’d learned to respect: head down, brow furrowed, lips set in a straight line.
Simon said, “Mr. Lindstrom said our conscience lets us find our way, and that making a mistake teaches us how not to do something. I think you made a mistake telling me to stop doing something I don’t see as wrong, and I made one by telling you my reasons, and not listening to yours.”
“Sometimes I can’t keep up with what you say, Simon. Do you have to talk like a book?”
“I don’t mean to. What I meant was, don’t ask me to change something just because you’ve been taught it’s wrong. And I’ll try to listen to your reasons for asking.” The festive mood of the picnic had dissipated, and Sarah sat silently on the blanket and looked away at the river, her arms folded across her chest. He knelt beside her and touched her arm. She looked at his hand for only a moment, and then returned her gaze to the water.
“I suppose we just as well gather up and go back to town,” he said.
“I suppose.” She got up and started to fold the blanket. Simon reached for the tin of cookies and she took it out of his hand and put it back on the ground. “I’ll do it.” Her curt words felt like a slap.
The walk back to town was long and silent and uncomfortable. Sarah had not offered to share the basket handles, so Simon’s legs were thoroughly banged up by the time they reached the porch.
Mrs. Kingsley sat on the swing doing needlework. “You’ve been gone less than two hours,” she said as they walked up the steps.
“It got too hot,” Sarah said. She took the basket from Simon, turned, and walked into the house.
Simon, left standing on the porch with Mrs. Kingsley, felt the questions streaming from her eyes. Her raised eyebrows demanded answers. “I think we had an argument, ma’am.”
She patted the seat beside her. “Come and sit.”
Simon saw no way to escape and did as she said.
“Tell me what happened.” Mrs. Kingsley spoke softly and quietly.
“She doesn’t like my friends or the places we go.”
“Surely she didn’t say that in those words.”
“Not those exact words, but that is exactly what she meant.”
Simon paused and looked at his hands.
“Go on. What else?”
“I mentioned that I went to Luger’s once in a while to have lunch and she said that only damned people go there. My father and Mr. Mace go there for lunch nearly every day. So do a lot of people. I’ve seen the Reverend Bray in there. I tried to explain they weren’t bad, but she wouldn’t listen. I like my friends for who they are, not where they are. We just decided to come home.”
She turned to face him, and her face relaxed before she spoke. “I don’t approve of saloons and such, and won’t let the judge frequent them. It’s simply not seemly. I suppose Sarah has heard me say as much, and has taken it to heart. I have to abide with my beliefs, Simon, and express them as I see fit, but I also know others can do as they see right as well. I accept that, and accept those who disagree with me. Sometimes a young person doesn’t see that last part. I’ll talk with her, and explain that. I’m sorry your day ended badly, but I’m sure she’ll think about it, and maybe try to be more tolerant.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm.
Simon couldn’t stop the flinch.
She chuckled. “I suppose it’s time I stopped doing that too. It’s just that I’ve always seen you as the boy I never had.”
“It’s not that bad, er, I mean, I don’t care if . . . I really don’t—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I mean, thank you, ma’am. I’ve always liked you and Judge Kingsley, and you’ve always been good to my family and me. But I’ve never gotten used to that, and it always makes me blush.” Simon could feel the color rising even as he spoke.
“I understand completely. We’ll let this afternoon fade into memory, and tomorrow Sarah will be Sarah again, mark my words.” Her hand started to go for his arm and then she stopped, giving him a warm smile instead. “It’s lovely to talk to you, Simon. You are so, ah, what’s the word? Worldly. Sometimes I wonder where you’ve gotten some of the wisdom you show. So much for such a young man.”
Simon got up. “I’m going to go home. I have to go back to the cow camp in the morning. Tell Sarah I’m not sure when I’ll be back in. Good-bye, Mrs. Kingsley.”
“Good-bye, Simon, and say hello to your mother for me.”
He walked down the steps and started down the dusty road toward home, putting together in his mind how he was going to explain his early arrival.