Walk on Earth a Stranger

Another customer is already at the counter—a tall, handsome young man with magnificent sideburns and a fine coat. He puffs on a cigar while a clerk peruses a list he just handed over.

The clerk frowns. “These are overland supplies, Andrew. Please tell me you didn’t get the fool notion to go gold hunting.”

“It’s just lying on the ground,” the gentleman says around his cigar, “waiting for a man of action to pick it up. But you have to be an early bird, or it’ll be too late. Just like the gold rush in Georgia.”

I inch closer, ears pricked like a cat’s.

“You’re taking everyone? Mrs. Joyner and the little ones too?”

He nods. “I aim to stay on. A prosperous man in California can live like a king.”

“If he’s prosperous enough, he can live like a king wherever he is. The railroad’ll be bringing a lot of opportunities for a smart fellow with connections in these parts.”

“A smart fellow with connections makes his own opportunities wherever he is.”

The clerk laughs and gives up. They dicker over a few items on the list, like shovels and pans and coffee.

“Excuse me! Sirs!” comes a familiar voice. My mouth goes dry.

I catch the barest glimpse of Abel Topper—ragged hat in hand, left suspender strap busted and dangling at his side—before I melt into the shadowy corner.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asks in an annoyed voice.

Topper is between me and the door. If I tried to sneak out now, he’d see me for sure and certain. I keep my back turned and pretend to study a bolt of canvas.

“I’m looking for a horse. Well, a horse thief. I expect—”

“Do you mind?” the fine gentleman interrupts. “We are in the middle of a business transaction.”

“Your pardon. It’s just that time is precious—”

“I assure you, there are no horse thieves in Chattanooga. They stay to the back roads.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’d lay odds your thief fled north into Kentucky. That’s the quickest way to lawless lands, where folks like him would feel right at home. Now, please allow me to conclude my affairs.”

“North into Kentucky, eh?” Topper says.

“You a sheriff?” the clerk asks. “A marshal?”

“Naw. Just trying to get in good with the horse’s fancy owner, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” the gentleman says.

“Do you have a leaflet?” the clerk asks. “I’d be happy to post it at my door.”

My heart races like a thousand galloping hooves.

“Naw. Never got a good look at the fellow.”

If he doesn’t know I’m the one who took Peony, then he struck off on his own. My uncle didn’t send him. But my relief is short-lived; Abel Topper could describe my horse to anyone, easy as pie.

The gentleman loudly clears his throat.

“Fine!” Topper snaps. “I’m leaving.” Boots tromp away as he mutters something about uppity rich folks under his breath.

“Uncouth fellow,” the clerk says.

“Can’t trust a man with only half his teeth,” the gentleman agrees.

They continue to dicker over supplies, but I pay no attention. I have to get out of here. I have to retrieve Peony from the blacksmith and flee before Abel Topper sees her. And maybe I shouldn’t take the road north like I’d planned. Not if that’s the way Topper aims to go.

“So who’s your captain?” the clerk says.

“Rodney Chisholm.”

“I heard he’s crewing with Fiddle Joe and Red Jack,” the clerk says.

“I don’t know any gentlemen graced by those sobriquets. But perhaps they have Christian names with which I would be more familiar?”

“Perhaps they do,” the clerk says. “But those are the only names I know. Great musicians both, fiddle and guitar.”

“Thank the good Lord you said guitar— I thought I might have to suffer a banjo.”

“Whatever you say. Is this everything?”

“Yes. Put it on my father’s tab and have your boys carry it down to the landing.”

“When do you need it?”

“At once. The river’s high, good for passage over the shoals.”

Free Jim warned me against taking a flatboat, but it might be my best option. If this Andrew Joyner fellow and his family are heading west, maybe I can follow. Or better yet, join up. It’d be a whole heap safer; those brothers would never have robbed me if I’d been traveling in a group, and it’s the last thing my uncle would expect.

I need to wrangle an introduction; it’s not proper to just go over and announce myself.

No, it wouldn’t be proper if I was a girl. Maybe I should walk right up and offer my hand. I take a few steps in his direction, but remembering his reaction to Abel Topper’s interruption gives me pause. If he considered Topper uncouth, then he certainly doesn’t have time for me, with my bad haircut, mud-smeared shirt, and ill-fitting trousers. I pretend to examine the hats on a nearby stand while I try to figure out what to do.

“Say hello to Captain Chisholm for me,” the clerk says.

“I certainly will,” Mr. Joyner says.

Captain Chisholm. That’s who I need to talk to. I dash from the store, looking right and left to make sure Topper is not around. Captain Chisholm, Captain Chisholm, I repeat silently.

The blacksmith is only a few blocks away. I walk fast, but not too fast, hat brim low, hands shoved into my pockets. I glance around one last time before heading into the stable, and I nearly trip over my own feet because Abel Topper is just down the street, broken suspender swinging at his side. I hold my breath as he mounts the steps to a tavern door and disappears inside.

Now is my chance. If Peony isn’t shod yet, we’re leaving anyway.

“You’re in luck, lad,” says the blacksmith’s apprentice, coming toward me. “Just finished with your pretty mare.”

My relief is so great I nearly stumble. “So fast!”

He shrugs. “You’re paying for it.”

I fumble for my money and hand him two dollars. “Thank you.”

“Heading west like everyone else?” he says.

I almost deny it, but I get a better idea. “Sure thing. Heading to Kentucky on the Federal Road tomorrow.”