Walk on Earth a Stranger

Frank and a few others kick their horses into a gallop, as if to run down the women and children.

Jefferson looks at me, and I shake my head. “Not going to do it,” I say.

“Good.”

I want to yell at them to stop, but I’m a coward and I say nothing. The women and children scream and scatter. Frank and his men turn aside at the last second. When Jefferson and I catch up, they’re still laughing about it.

Evening is falling by the time we return. Jefferson takes all his meat to the Hoffmans, saying they’ve been feeding him all along, and this is his chance to repay them a little.

I drop off some of mine with the Robichauds, who are grateful. Their little boys are nearly over the measles, and their appetites are coming back. I take more to the college men and Major Craven. Jasper says things are looking good so far, but his expression contradicts his words. The Major forces a grin and tells me he’ll eat every bite to get his strength back.

My next-to-the-last stop is the preacher’s wagon. I stand outside near the back curtain, nerving myself up to inquire about Mrs. Lowrey on behalf of Mrs. Joyner. Maybe I should ask Therese to do it. She would be a more appropriate choice.

A movement to my left catches my eye. It’s Reverend Lowrey, huddled in the shadowed lee of the wagon. He’s on his knees in prayer.

The wagon’s curtain is whisked aside. “Ma’am?” I say, expecting to see Mrs. Lowrey.

It’s Mrs. Joyner. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, and her hands are bloody. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without a cap on her head, and her wet blond hair is plastered to her face. Her own belly swells as she stands on the back of the wagon bed, wearing the grimmest expression.

“I’m s-sorry,” I stutter, not knowing what I’m sorry for just yet.

She rubs sweat from her forehead with her upper sleeve. My gaze jumps between her bloodied hands and the wagon bed, which is silent and still.

“Not your fault,” she says softly. “Reverend came to get me right after you left. Mrs. Lowrey . . .”

I want to tell her it’s all right, that I understand, that she can speak plain to me, woman to woman. Her water broke. Her laboring came.

“. . . she fell sick last night, I gather. She strained all alone for hours. Reverend didn’t get help at first because he said the outcome would be God’s will.”

“What?”

The reverend jumps up at my voice. The Bible dangles from his arm like a piece of overripe fruit. Fingers jammed between the pages mark the passage he was reading. His face is a swirl of worry and hope. I don’t know how he can hope. Surely he hears the silence.

Mrs. Joyner shakes her head.

The reverend opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I came too late,” she says. “I’ll tell the others. See if there’s someone who can come stay with you.”

“The babe?” he squeaks out.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond, just stands frozen. For the briefest moment, his features twist with gut-wrenching pain.

Then he hefts his Bible and stalks off. “Blessing be to God!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. “Even the father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of mercies and the God of all comforts, who comforteth us in all our tribulation . . .”

“Can you help me down?” Mrs. Joyner says in a quiet voice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I offer her my hand, and she practically falls into my arms. I’m lucky I don’t topple under her weight.

She steps away from me as soon as she’s steady on her feet and wipes her hands on her skirt, as if wiping away my touch. “I need to get back to Mr. Joyner,” she says, her voice trembling. “He still hasn’t recovered. This morning’s exertions nearly undid him.”

She staggers, and I move to steady her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Let me help you.”

She stiffens, as if to fight me, but common sense prevails. “Thank you.”

I spare one more glance at the preacher’s wagon. There’s a dead woman inside. Not much older than I am. And she’s all alone. Her husband is off stomping around the camp. Mrs. Joyner has to take care of her own family. There’s no one to keep Mrs. Lowrey company until she can be prepared for burial. Not that she needs company. She’s dead; I know that. But someone should do something.

This has been a terrible day right from the moment I woke, from Major Craven’s injury to Mrs. Lowrey’s death, and I didn’t do a thing to make it better. I froze in panic instead of running from the buffalo. I didn’t check on Mrs. Lowrey right away, even though Mrs. Joyner was terrified for her. I didn’t say anything to Frank Dilley and his gang of ruffians during the buffalo hunt.

Leah Westfall was never like that. Only Lee McCauley is so scared and useless.

We reach the wagon. Mr. Joyner is propped up on his mattress, looking wan and tired. Olive sits at his feet, playing with a doll.

I’m about to leave when Mrs. Joyner says, “Where’s Andy?”

“I thought he was with you,” Mr. Joyner says. “He was bored and whining. I couldn’t sleep. So I told him to go find you.”

Mrs. Joyner looks gut-punched. “I was . . . I couldn’t . . . When did you see him last?”

“Hours ago,” he says. “Around lunchtime.”

It’s like her chest cracks open and all the air rushes out as she cries in anguish.

“He’s got to be around here somewhere, ma’am,” I say. I know it’s rude to interrupt their conversation, but I can’t abide one more bad thing happening today. “I’ll go find him.”

She turns around. “Help me down. I’m coming with you.”

There’s no point arguing, so I help her down again. This time she practically jumps into my arms and hits the ground running.

She scurries around the circle of the camp so fast I can barely keep up, checking every wagon, asking people if they’ve seen her little boy. I follow after her, reaching out with the gold sense for my mother’s locket. But after one complete circuit of the wagons, I have to admit the worst: The locket is not nearby.

A crowd has gathered around the Reverend Lowrey, who is sermonizing about the many virtues of his late wife, but they shift their attention when Mrs. Joyner comes running up. “Has anyone seen Andy?”