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“Thank you.” It came out in a muffled sob, as her hand made a tentative gesture toward Lorna as if she wanted to touch her.
“What is it?” Lorna asked again, and glanced toward the sod home, wondering if someone was sick or hurt.
“I’m sorry.” A laugh bubbled through her sobs. “It’s just been so long … since I’ve seen another white woman.”
A cold shiver went down Lorna’s spine at the explanation. My God, what kind of life was it that reduced a woman to tears at the sight of another woman?
“You probably think I’m crazy.” The woman brought her hands together and clasped them in a prayerful attitude at her breast. “But I just couldn’t let you go by … without talking. Alfred never mentioned there were any women with the trail herd.” She glanced sideways as Mary came up to see what was wrong. “Alfred’s my husband. I thought I was seeing things when you waved to me. I thought this emptiness had finally driven me crazy.”
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bsp; Her words were tumbling out, rushing over themselves in her anxiety. Lorna was torn with pity for the woman, and a little frightened by the picture she painted, too.
“You aren’t imagining things,” Lorna promised. “This is Mary Stanton, and I’m Lorna Calder.”
“My name’s Emma Jenkins.” She suddenly raised a hand to the frizzy wisps of hair that had escaped from the carelessly gathered bun. “Gracious, I must look a sight.”
Lorna guessed that the woman had ceased to care about her appearance, probably discouraged by the dark hollows under her eyes and the thinness of her face. She made a vow to herself that she would never let it happen to her.
“It’s this land, you know,” Emma Jenkins insisted with a resentful glance at the lonely prairie that stretched from horizon to horizon. “The wind moans so.”
Benteen came riding back to find out what was holding up the two wagons. His horse stopped a few feet short of the women and did a sidestepping dance under him.
“What’s the problem?” His glance traveled over the three on the ground.
“Mrs. Jenkins, I’d like you to meet my husband, Benteen Calder.” Lorna tactfully ignored his question and introduced them instead.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Jenkins.” With a nod, he touched his fingers to the front of his hat brim.
The excitement of the moment had made the woman so highly emotional that all her reactions were exaggerated. Now it was guilt and remorse that claimed her. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I detained your wife,” she admitted anxiously. “I know you’re wanting to set up camp for the night, and I’m keeping you.”
“I’m glad you stopped us,” Lorna said. “It’s given us a chance to thank you for letting us camp here.”
“Would you…?” She started to put the question to Lorna, then turned eagerly to Benteen. “Would you and your wife please come eat with us tonight?” Swinging to Mary, she included her, too. “And you and your husband, Mrs. Stanton? It would be so wonderful having company … and someone to talk to in the evening. Oh, please come.”
“We’d be proud to come,” Lorna assured her. It nearly made her cry to see how hungry Emma Jenkins was for company.
Mary was more aware of the strain feeding four extra mouths could put on the food supplies of a frontier family. “We wouldn’t want you to go to extra work for us,” she said in mild protest. “Maybe it would be better if we came to visit after the evening meal.”
“Please, I want you to come,” Emma Jenkins insisted. “We have a nasty old rooster who pecks my little girl every time she goes outside. It’s been begging to have its neck wrung for a long time.”
“As long as you’re sure …” Mary accepted with reluctance.
“I am.” The woman became happy again.
The thick earthen walls of the sod house kept the interior cool even on the hottest day, yet the air inside was dank and musty, like a cave. There were old newspapers on the walls to add some lightness to the rooms. A thread-worn carpet covered the dirt floor, and a brightly colored patchwork quilt lay atop the straw-filled mattress on the wooden bed frame in the corner. Muslin was tacked to the windows for curtains, and a large traveling trunk had been converted into an infant’s bed. A second trunk was pulled up to a crude table with two chairs. Additional seats were provided by two boxes.
Despite the little touches that tried to turn it into a home, it seemed a cheerless place to Lorna. There were water stains on the carpet that indicated the roof leaked. And the pieced-together strip of bright gingham on the table looked very much like a skirt from an old dress. But the table was set with beautiful flo-blue china, an odd symbol of luxury amid such rude surroundings.
Emma Jenkins was wearing her best dress, a rather plain dark blue dress made for serviceability rather than looks, and her light brown hair was slicked back in a neat bun. Her towheaded daughter kept hiding behind her, sucking earnestly on her thumb and peering apprehensively at the four strangers in the house.
“Can’t you say hello to our company, Elizabeth?” Emma tried to coax her two-year-old daughter to stop clinging to her legs, but little Elizabeth hid her face. “I’m sorry,” Emma apologized to them. “I’m afraid she’s shy. She’s never seen anybody that she can remember except Alfred and me.”
“Children that age are naturally shy around strangers,” Mary assured her.
“Your china is beautiful,” Lorna complimented.
“Thank you.” Emma beamed. “We brought it all the way from Ohio. And only one plate got broken on the trip.”
