“But the church social … It’s Sunday.… We’ve always gone together.…”
“I’m sorry,” Frances said. “I promised Andrew that I would take Stefan to his family.” As she climbed up on the seat of the wagon she added, “Besides, you didn’t ask me to go with you to the church social.”
“But … but we’ve always gone together. I didn’t think …”
Frances held her tongue, although she wished she could say, You took it for granted that I’d go with you. You take me for granted. You think that I’ll tag around after you forever, without a commitment, without a promise, without even wanting to discuss the possibility of marriage. Well, I won’t!
Johnny frowned. “You made the decision to go to New York without talking it over with me.”
“There was no need to talk to you,” she said. “What I decide to do with my life is up to me and, apparently, no concern of yours.”
Fumbling with the reins as he climbed into the wagon, Johnny looked at Frances with stricken eyes. “It is my concern. You’re a part of my life, Frances,” he said.
“But not as much a part of it as the bitterness and anger inside you,” she said. “It’s like a mean, vicious animal that bites and hurts. But you hug it to yourself and won’t give it up. You can’t have it and me, too.”
“Nonsense! You’re talking rubbish,” Johnny grumbled.
“Am I?” Frances asked. “Then let’s not talk at all.”
Silently, they rode a mile out of Maxville to the cleared acre on which the local school and teacher’s house had been built.
As they pulled into the yard Johnny said, “I’ll take you and Stefan to the train. When do—”
Frances interrupted. “There’s no need to. Andrew has arranged to pick us up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? So soon? And you have no idea when you will be back?”
Frances paused, so sick at heart it was difficult to climb down from the wagon. Softly she answered, “At this moment I just don’t know.”
She woke Stefan and led him into her house. She settled him into an armchair with an illustrated fourth-grade reader. Then she closed the curtain over the door of her tiny bedroom, which was scarcely large enough for a narrow bed and dresser, and changed clothes. She began a fire in the stove, adding chunks of wood until it was blazing. Next she put floured pieces of chicken into a pan to brown and simmer.
When she saw that Stefan was engrossed in the reader, Frances slipped from the house and ran to the far side of the school. There she dropped onto a bench, rested her head in her hands, and sobbed.
The next morning, on the buggy drive to Maxville’s railway station, Frances found it hard to chat with Andrew. She let Stefan babble on about the train, the upcoming trip, and his uncle’s gigantic mustache.
She searched the horizon for signs of a rider. Surely Johnny would come to say goodbye. Wouldn’t he? Cold fingers clutched her stomach as she wondered over and over whether she had made the wrong decision. She had hoped for so long that Johnny would listen to her and let go of the bitterness he felt toward his Confederate captors. But the bitterness was spreading like a sickness, affecting every part of his life and his future—their future together.
Together? No. The angry words she had spoken had brought their togetherness to an end. If only Johnny had stopped her and promised to put away the past and think about the future. If only he’d said …
“What do you hear from Megan?” Andrew asked, jolting Frances away from her thoughts.
“Megan writes about little else than the son of one of the Browders’ near neighbors,” Frances said. “His name is Stuart Wallace, and everything about him is perfect—according to Megan.” Frances couldn’t help smiling with joy for her sister as she said, “I imagine a wedding date will be set within the year.”
“And how is little Petey? He must be growing up fast.”
“He’s no longer little Petey. He’s twelve now, and he insists on being called Pete. He’s tall and strong and has a real love of farming. From the time we first came to live with the Cummingses, he followed Mr. Cummings around like a puppy. If only he applied himself that well in school.” Frances sighed. “It’s hard to be Pete’s sister and teacher at the same time.”
As they reached the outskirts of Maxville, Andrew said, “We see Peg often, since she lives in St. Joe. She mentioned a few months ago that Mike had gone west, looking for gold. Has he had any success?”
“No,” Frances answered, “but that doesn’t discourage Mike. He tried Colorado and he’s in California now.” She paused. “Sometimes I think that if Mike were a bird, he’d be an eagle. He soars high, ranges wide, and isn’t afraid to tackle anything. Each day of life seems to excite him—even more than the possibility of finding gold.”