The Prettiest Girl in the Land (The Traherns #3) (2 page)

“Numbers, for sure.”

“You were mighty intimidating.”

“I were?”

“You don’t lack courage, Ruth. You just lack push.”

He winked at me. Now I knew Gage was a rollin’ stone. He didn’t
need any push. I also knew he had had his eye on Mary, and not on me. He was
always so handsome, all the girls set their caps for him. Ceptin’ me. So I just
shook my head at him and refused to read anything into what that wink meant. He
was too good looking to want a plain woman like me, but I think it bothered him
some when a woman refused to swoon when he came around. He laughed, grabbed me
and spun me around until I was dizzy.

“A push, Ruth. I’m a’pushin.” And he gave me a little shove that
staggered me across the floor to where the Johnston boys were stompin’ their
feet to the music. They spun me out and I ducked the next pair of arms and
stormed out of that group like a wet hen with ruffled feathers.

I looked back, and there was Gage, a’laughin at me. He waved and
then caught the first pretty girl who walked by and started talking to her.

“Sorry, Ruth.” Luke came up to join me and leaned back against
the hitching rail. “You know Gage.”

“Yes. But he’s been tellin’ me about those lands out west. I’d
like to see some of them. What’ll I do, Luke? Jonas aint about to leave these
mountains. He’s got ever thing here he wants.”

Luke straightened up from where he was leaning on the rail. “Do
you want to leave, Ruth?”

“Yes.”
I got me a Boaz to find.
“I want to see what’s out there.”

“Well, I never thought you’d be the wanderer. Mark and I are
planning on taking off soon. Matthew came home and helped Pa and Ma last year.
We figured we should help a little before we leave in a few months. We could
see you down the river. But what would you do?”

Gage said Mally had done it. With just her rifle and her wits. I
had me a rifle. And I could take numbers and make them dance. There must be
some sort of work a woman could do who could do that.

“I can calculate numbers, Luke. In my head. I’m sure someone
would need a woman who can calculate.”

“That’s a man’s job.”

“Says who?”

He shrugged. “People. It wouldn’t be proper. No one would hire
you.”

I sighed. “So if’n I can’t get a husband, I can’t see any of
this here land Gage was talking about?”

“That’s about right.”

“Hum. What does John plan to do?” Luke’s brother had come back
from the war with one arm gone, cut off short by a cannonball.

“John’s been talking to Simon Higgins. He’s been giving John tips
on how to handle things. Simon lost his hand when he was five and does quite
well at farming, actually. First thing he done, he sent John to the shoemaker
to have some protection made for his stump. John’s been doing a lot better
since. He talks like he wants to settle with the folks, at least for awhile.
There’s not much farm left. Soil is thin. I told him when we’d gotten us a
place, we’d send for him and the folks.”

  I went on home, thinkin’ hard, walking behind Jonas as we
travelled back to our farm that clung to the steep hillside like an insect
stuck in resin on an old pine tree.

I looked around at it. Just a two-room cabin. When more children
arrived, Pa built a shed where him and the boys slept at night while us girls
slept inside. It took care of all of us without the house having to grow any.

Now we were back to just two. I could see me, growing old,
taking care of Jonas’ children or Mary’s. I wanted my own. I wanted my Boaz.

The house was lifeless and dull without Mary. She had always
been singing and dancing around, with boundless energy and an unconquerable
spirit. The men had lined up at the door, interested only in her. With her
gone, the life was gone. The mountain seemed empty.

I took some grain and threw it to the goose Abigail and Jacob
had left behind. Gage’s parents had brought us the goose just before they left
the mountains.

The goose ran up and commenced to eat. I stood watching her, but
thinking about those there tall trees Jacob had talked about. I could stay here
and take care of the goose, or I could leave the goose and head for California,
same as them. I looked at her, concerned with nothing except the next grain of
oats she could find.

I could grow old, taking care of geese, and never get off this
mountain. Or I could do as the preacher said, and leave. Go find my Boaz. What
should I take? What should I leave? I’d seen travelers before. If you were walking,
you took only what you needed.

A gun, bullets, some money, and extra socks. A coat big and
heavy enough to wrap up and sleep in. A rain hat. Gloves. Walking boots. A
small flask for water. Some dried food. A knife.

I started making a pile, adding to it, then taking away. I got
out needle and thread and sewed my few coins into my underskirt at various
places, where they would not be noticed or in my way.

After three weeks of watching Jonas settle himself back into
Pa’s old rocker every evening, cut himself some terbaccy and spit past the
corner post, just like Pa had done, I packed a few clothes into a bag, picked
up my rifle, put a hat on my head and headed out. I could wait until Jonas took
a wife, but right now it was springtime and the best time to travel. Mark
wouldn’t be ready to leave for at least two months. I was itchin to go, so I up
and went.

It took all the gumption I had, but Jonas starting to chew
helped me decide. As soon as my monthly time was past, I left Jonas a note on
the kitchen table and some beans in a pot on the back of the stove. I picked a
beautiful morning when Jonas left early and would be gone all day. Mary was
eighteen and already wed. I was nineteen years old, chasing down twenty, and
had no prospects.

I waved to the goose and walked off that mountain, down the
mountain trail and through the holler, down to the store where I thought Gage
might be. I’d get him to walk with me out to the open lands. I got there just
before nightfall.

But Gage wasn’t there. He’d left two days after Mary’s wedding.

2

The storekeeper motioned toward his house. “Come eat with us,
Ruth. You can commence on down the trail or head back home tomorrow.”

I looked Mr. Johnson over. He was fatter than a tick on a coonhound.
He’d never leave the holler, he and his family were planted there. But he’d
always been kind to me, giving me a sweet when Pa warn’t payin no mind.

I pointed up the mountain, at the scraggly pines holdin onto the
rocks as if fearful of blowing away. “I can die up there, or I can go see me
some of this here country first, and maybe die with a passel of youngins round
me. My own youngins. So I’ll just spend the night, if’n you all don’t mind, and
head on down the road in the morning.”

Mrs. Johnson cleaned the table by flapping her apron at the
chickens gatherin crumbs, and we all grabbed some plates and set down to a
feast of hog legs and mustard greens. I hadn’t had hog legs for awhile, and
they were mighty tasty the way Mrs. Johnson boiled them up. My cooking was
never any good. I burnt things so often, the boys called it an offering.

A new dog came in, his back as high as the table, one I hadn’t
seen before. I slipped him a bite and he took it gentle-like out of my fingers.

“That there’s Travers,” Mr. Johnson said. “He came in one night
with a wanderin man. A peddler. The gent had been bit by a rabid skunk and
didn’t last long. So Travers has been hangin out here. You might see if’n he’ll
go with you. Be a comfort on the trail. He does his own hunting.”

I looked at Travers and he looked at me. He was pure mongrel,
greyish with a touch of tan. He might even have some wolf in him, for he had
the shoulders and jaws of a wolf. He was a huge dog.

“You want to come with me?” I asked. “I don’t know what to do
with you if I get into a town, but we can work that out when we get there.”

I spent the night on the counter of the general store, then
started out walking the next day. I was a’leavin and twarn’t nobody goin to say
me, “Nay.”

I stopped at the edge of the clearing. “Travers. You comin?”
He’d been a’standin there in the doorway, and as soon as I gave him the invite
he shot out to me like an otter down a wet bank. He took his position in front,
checkin’ out the trail as we went, and he was a’comfort. Nothin snuck up on
him. At noon, I opened the packet of food Mrs. Johnson had sent with me. A hunk
of fresh bread and a big slice of her homemade cheese. I ate half and wrapped
the rest up again for supper.

That night Travers brought us in a quail. Little thing didn’t
have much meat, but I cooked it and we shared it, along with some of that bread
and cheese. Next day he brought in a rabbit, and I feasted. He didn’t want any
and I decided he’d caught something else, ate it first, then got the rabbit.

“Don’t you go bringin down someone’s pet lamb,” I told him. “I
aint got money to pay for that.”

But I could sleep at night, off the trail with him setting
guard, and when I came across other travelers, they sized Travers up and
stepped aside.

It took three days to clear those mountain trails and come to a
wide road, full of wagons and travelers and such. I could tell I looked strange
to those folks, with them all dressed up and me in my travelin’ gear. I had
dropped down into the valley, and was following the Tennessee River as it
twisted and turned along the hills. Farms were closer together along
hereabouts, and the dogs barked as I passed. I tried to find shelter before
evening came.

One thing I hadn’t planned on was the lack of game once I
cleared the mountains. There were still rabbits and fish, but I had to stop and
cook them. I found out if I shot a couple of rabbits as I walked along, then
watched for a family home with children playing about, that they were glad to
share the rabbits with me. They would cook them and add their food to the pot,
so I ate pretty well as I went along. Travers did his own huntin and always
seemed well fed and ready to go the next morning.

The fact I was female actually helped, as they were less likely
to shoot first when I approached the house.

They shook their heads over what I was doing, but as I went
along, more and more suggested I seek work at the Wells Fargo Stage Company.

“They’d welcome a woman who could take tickets and handle money
and figure poundage rates,” they said.

“Stay off’n the riverboats. Too many gamblers,” another said.

“Go to Memphis and talk to the head man of the Wells Fargo Company.
I know the head of the company lives up north, but you should be able to send
word.”  

Then came the day I looked down on a town that had growed on the
Mississippi River. It were the biggest town I’d ever seen. People all running
about from here to there, taking care of business.

I found me a handy woodshed and stripped down just enough to
pull out one of my coins I had sewed into my skirt lining. As I was getting
refreshed and ready to go again, I heard voices.

“She went in thar.”

“Let’s go see what’s she’s up to.”

Then Travers gave a deep-throated growl to make himself known
and the two ran away, so that when I exited the building they were nowhere to
be seen. That dog was a real blessing to me. It didn’t pay to corner something
meaner than you. He kept me from having to shoot folks.

I needed to find a place to stay while I looked for a job. There
were places offering rooms at different costs. Room and board at many. They
grew more and more costly as I went into town. Then, as I got near the river
and the dock area, they got cheaper. Really cheap.

I looked at the creatures who worked there and decided I would
pay a little more, maybe find a room on the outer parts of town. I walked on
through and found a small boarding house on the other side, which offered rooms
for a day, a week, or a month at a time.

“I don’t know about your dog,” the old lady said, looking at
Travers.

“Ma’am, as long as this dog is here, no one will bother you or
your household. He has no fleas. He’s a quiet dog. He’ll stay in my room.”

“Guard dog, is he?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

So she showed me a room, just big enough for a cot and a chair,
several wall hooks and a chamber pot. Someone had braided a rug out of old
clothes and sewed it together. A small thing, but it cheered that room
considerable. I took it. That evening I took Travers out for a short run, then
joined seven others who lived there. Two were girls who worked at a mill,
weaving cloth, the others where men with different labor jobs.

I told them what I was looking for, a job using numbers.

“They might use you at the mill,” the older girl said. “You want
to stay away from the docks. The men there are mean.”

“Not all of them. I work there,” a big man said. “But it’s no
place for a woman.”

“You can add numbers?” the landlady asked. “Coins and such?”

“Yes’m.”

“Then look at these girls’ money they’re gettin paid. They say
something don’t seem right for them.”