She blamed him.
Blamed him for whatever it was made him decide to quit Virginia. Wasn’t nothing wrong with Virginia. Had a good home there, a life. Wasn’t a life anymore, the minute they left. Blamed him for not telling his sons and daughters alike to just keep their mouths shut that time in Louisville. He was the father here, he was the head of this family; if he wanted to sell his whiskey dear and head back home, why then that was his business and never mind voting. That’s what he. should’ve done right then, taken a stand, told the young’uns they didn’t like the way this family was being run, why then they could just go find theirselves a better one. But no, he got himself bullied into continuing on. Blamed him for what happened at the river, too, when they were waiting to be ferried across and anybody with a grain of sense was turning around for home. Should’ve realized that once they missed the chance there at the Kansas, why there’d be no heading back ever again. They’d be left alone at the Coast of Nebraska, and Indians would find them sure as rain.
Blamed Bobbo, too.
Supposed to be standing guard that night, yelling instead all the time about wanting to kill the wolves, like he was on a hunting expedition instead of out in the wilderness with Indians creeping up. Yelling back and forth to his father, Hadley still drunk. Both of them probably drunk, the one supposed to be watching for trouble, and the one supposed to be his father. Pair of worthless... Why didn’t he shoot sooner? Why’d he shoot after the man had... Oh, Jesus. Couldn’t he see the man was... God, God. Should’ve shot him, killed him, killed him before he could, before he... Dear, dear God. Blamed Bobbo, and blamed Bonnie Sue for being so homesick and moody all the time; hadn’t been so involved with her own misery and with pining for Sean Cassada, she would’ve maybe been able to do something that night, help Bobbo, help her sister.
She blamed them all.
She blamed herself.
In their corner of the courtyard, with a buffalo robe beneath them and a light comforter covering them, they whispered in the coolness of the night.
“The Hastys are leaving for Independence in the morning,” Minerva said.
“I know that,” he said.
“Be going with Major Duggan and his people... What do you think of him, Hadley?”
“Loudmouth.”
“Aye, but of what he said.”
“He seemed to know.”
“Hadley, I want to go with them,” she said, and caught her breath, and waited. “We could be back in Independence before summer’s end,” she said, and again waited. “And if we chose to go all the way to Virginia—”
“Min, it’s—”
“—we could be through the Gap by November.”
Hadley was silent.
“I want an answer,” she said.
“Min,” he said, “it’s six hundred miles to Independence.”
“Aye, and five to Fort Hall.”
“We’re halfway between nothin and nowhere,” he said. “I’m scared, Min. I don’t want to go ahead, and I don’t want to go back where my little girl...” He fell silent again. Then he said, “Forgive me, Min, I thought I was doin right. I wanted to find us land we could plant and harvest, I wanted to make a better life than we had back home. Instead, I–I seem to have done everything all wrong. Sent my two sons off to God knows where, took my family into a wilderness where — where my daughter...” He could not utter the words, he choked them back. “Min,” he said, “I’m a man can’t move for fear and for sorrow. I don’t know what to do, Min. I never been scared of nothing in my life, I never grieved for nobody this way before. I miss her so much, I miss her to death.”
“What do you want to do, Had? Whatever you want to do...”
“I want to stay here, Min. At least through the winter and maybe longer. Maybe always.” She said nothing. He waited, but she said nothing.
“There’s land up by the river, timber enough to build us a fine cabin. We could clear a field for planting; the soil’s rich, Min, we could grow things here.”
“Aye,” she said.
“Min, do you not long for a floor to sweep?”
“I do, Hadley.”
“Min, I don’t know who owns the land up there. If it’s American Fur does, then I’ll talk to Orliac about a fair price for what we’d need. If it’s public land, then we’d have to write the government, I reckon, tell them our intentions, ask what the price would be. I’m guessing a dollar, a dollar twenty-five an acre, and I think there’s a minimum you got to buy, a quarter section I think it is. We could squat, meanwhile, if it’s government-owned. Ain’t nobody going to come chase us off it. Min?”
“Yes, Hadley?”
“Would that suit you, Min?”
“If it would help you to mend again, it would suit me.”
“I only know I can’t leave here now,” he said.
“Then we’ll stay, Hadley.”
“I’ll talk to Orliac.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Min,” he said, “I love you, Min.”
“And I love you, too,” she answered.
The surveyors had packed their instruments into the wagons, and now they stood in the morning sunshine, waiting for the Hastys to say their farewells. The day was clear and hot. Captain Kelsey had taken off his hat and was wearing a blue bandanna around his forehead. It gave him a devil-may-care look entirely out of keeping with his prissy nature. Major Duggan stood with one hand on his horse’s bridle, chatting idly with Orliac. A dozen or more Indians were standing against the adobe wall, watching the leavetaking.
Minerva recognized among them the one who’d accosted her shortly after their arrival at the fort. Despite the heat, he was still wearing the white buffalo robe. His face was painted black; it glistened greasily in the bright sunshine. His eyes found hers. He grinned toothily, and then shoved himself off the wall and came toward where she and Martha were talking. Minerva was already starting to back away. But the Indian thrust out his hand to Martha instead. “Un-p’tee-plez,” he said, his voice demanding and somewhat threatening. Martha giggled nervously, and then shrugged. Orliac turned from the major.
“Allez! Allez!” he shouted, and shooed the Indian away with his hands. The Indian grasped his nose between thumb and forefinger. Apparently thinking better of what he was about to do, he turned away sullenly and went to stand against the wall of the fort again.
“He wants a favor, un petit plaisir,” Orliac said, and shrugged. “They are spoiled by emigrants all the time, eh? They want only a biscuit or two, a cup of coffee — but they are nuisances. You must never show you are in the slightest afraid. They can read faces; I sometimes think they can read minds.”
“Minerva, will you be all right?” Martha asked, and took her hand between both her own.
“I think so, yes.”
“We’ve scarcely met,” Martha said.
“I shall miss you,” Minerva said.
The women embraced. Jeb Hasty shook hands with Hadley, and then climbed up onto the wagon seat. “Tommy?” he said.
“Yes, Pa.”
How much like Gideon he looked. She was about to weep again; she wished she could learn to control these sudden fits of weeping that came upon her. She bit her lip. Kelsey wheeled his horse about; the crowd of Indians back away.
“Let’s move it then!” Major Duggan said, and pointed sharply eastward with the same forefinger he’d used to tap the air.
They watched the wagons and horses departing. Martha waved from the seat. Surprisingly and unexpectedly, the Indian with the painted black face stepped out from the others and waved back. He kept waving. The wagons moved into the distance. Far out on the horizon, Minerva saw dust rising, moving. She watched. Horses and riders coming from the east, closing the gap between themselves and the wagons. The horses stopped alongside the lead wagon. The dust settled. And now again the horses were in motion. A pair of riders. One of them astride a piebald. The other on a black...