Circle of Love(39)

“There was an argument somewhere in there, too,” Sheriff Duncan said.

“No matter,” Frances said. “He killed a man. He should go to prison.”

“We’re talking about Wild Bill Hickok, ma’am,” Sheriff Duncan said in surprise. “He’s pretty well known for helping to bring law and order all the way into Kansas. Surely you’ve heard of him.”

“Yes, I have, but it doesn’t matter how well known he is,” Frances said. “A murderer should go to jail.”

Sheriff Duncan spoke slowly, as though he were trying to explain something difficult to understand. “But it wasn’t murder, ma’am. It was a call-out. Either man could have shot first. Bill did. Tutt didn’t. It was as simple as that.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, along with the men.

“Kill or be killed?” Frances asked. “That’s not what life is all about.”

Sheriff Malloy broke in by speaking to his friend. “Women don’t understand these things,” he said. “I think Sarah’s even given up tryin’. So there’s no use explainin’.”

Frances glanced at Sarah. “I’m very tired,” she said. “May I please be excused? Eddie, too?”

“I’m not tired,” Eddie said. He edged his chair a little closer to Sheriff Duncan’s.

“Yes, you are,” Frances told him. “And we have to rise early tomorrow to get under way.”

Sarah said, “Make yourself comfortable in the girls’ room. The girls will share the bottom half of the trundle bed. You take the top. I’ll make a pallet for Eddie near the fireplace.”

“But I’m not sleepy,” Eddie complained.

“Good,” Sarah said. “Then you can help the girls wash the dishes.”

Satisfied that Eddie wouldn’t be subjected to an evening filled with stories about outlaws, Frances left the room. After she removed her tightly laced corset, she happily rubbed her back and sighed with relief. She changed into a nightdress and robe and washed her face and arms. It was the first time she’d been able to change her clothing since she’d left New York City.

Before she crawled into bed under one of Sarah’s neatly pieced quilts, Frances opened her journal. In the light from an oil lamp she wrote about what had happened on the train, and she wrote about the children who had been chosen. Then she wrote about what she had been longing to write about but had pushed aside—her love for Johnny.

Johnny and Seth—they’re so much alike in spite of being union   and Confederate in their feelings. If they had met on a battlefield, they would have tried to kill each other. If I tried to point out similarities, they’d hotly deny they had anything in common. Yet both are wrapped up in cocoons of resentment and hatred. Nothing else seems important to them. Seth’s goal is revenge, and I pray that Johnny doesn’t take the same path.

Johnny refused me, so in turn I refused him. Was I right to do so? I don’t want to lose him. I can’t.

Isn’t love stronger than hatred? I just hope that somehow I’ll have the chance to prove this is true.



* * *

At midmorning, after a hearty breakfast, Frances and Eddie returned to the depot, accompanied by Sheriff Malloy.

He plopped down on the platform a heavy basket of fresh biscuits, cheese, and apple cake that Sarah had packed for the children and surveyed the area around the depot. “Sarah doesn’t understand I can’t be a packhorse and a watchdog, too,” he said. “You don’t see Connally around, do you?”

“No,” Frances answered.

The sheriff kept his eyes on the window in the small building and added, “I’ll just have a quick look-around.”

Many of the children had already arrived. Frances greeted them eagerly, then thanked the kind people who had given them shelter for the night.

Soon all the names on her list had been checked except one—that of five-year-old Walter Emerich.

“I can’t leave without Walter,” Frances told Sheriff Malloy. “Is there someone we could send after him?”

The sheriff smiled and pointed up the road. “There’s Jake and Effie Kleinhurst coming now, and they’ve got a little boy with them. Is that Walter?”

“Yes,” Frances said. “Thank goodness!”

As Jake Kleinhurst stopped the wagon, his wife jumped out, not waiting to be helped. She picked up her skirts and ran through the dust toward Frances. She was a small, thin woman, and she shyly ducked her head as she said, “I’d thought about asking for one of the children, but I wasn’t sure if we should or not. I didn’t know how it would turn out. What if the child wasn’t happy? Or what if Jake and me weren’t happy?”