Wagon Train Cinderella. Shirley KennedyЧитать онлайн книгу.
much too frail and delicate for heavy work. Ma often said so, whereas she, the lowly stepsister, was as strong as an ox and should labor to pay for her keep and be grateful she had a roof over her head. That was the way of it, all she could remember since she was born. Not that she minded, or ever questioned her fate. Ma often pointed out how lucky she was the Whitakers had found her abandoned on their doorstep all those many years ago and, out of the kindness of their hearts, taken her in.
A ripple of laughter floated across their campsite. Pa, who’d been working on one of the wagon wheels, rose up and cast a look of disgust at the source of the sound, a large company of wagons, at least fifty, that had camped in a circle on the other side of the meadow. “We were here first,” he muttered. “The damn fools should find their own place.” He addressed his wife and daughters. “You’re to stay away from them. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Pa,” came quick answers. Caleb Whitaker ruled with an iron hand.
Ma gazed across the meadow. “Do you think I’d have anything to do with that trash? A while ago I saw one of the women wearing the most outlandish outfits I ever saw.”
Lydia giggled. “Those are bloomers, Ma. They’re like a man’s pants only baggier and gathered on the bottom.”
“Disgraceful.” Ma’s face took on its usual look of disapproval. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I, or any of my family, are caught in such an outfit.” She addressed Callie. “Are you going to just stand there?”
“No, ma’am.”
Callie went about fixing hot biscuits with fresh butter, salted meat, beans, and green peas gathered from vines along the trail. When supper was ready, she banged the bottom of a pan with a spoon. Tommy, the baby of the family at seven, came running. He was the only young’un left. Ma had birthed eight children altogether. The two older boys were grown and gone on their own. On the day the family left for California, Callie had paid her last sorrowful visit to the three tiny graves under the big oak tree. Far as Callie knew, Ma never went there. She had never mentioned the babies she’d lost at birth or soon after. As it was, she paid little attention to Tommy, whom she considered, “not right in the head.” No one knew exactly what was the matter with the boy, except he seemed to live in a world of his own, never played with other children, and didn’t like to be touched or held. Sometimes Callie wondered what would happen to Tommy if she weren’t around to take care of him. The rest of the family had long since given up and considered him nothing but a burden.
Their two hired men joined them for supper around the cook fire. Andy and Len, both in their early twenties, helped drive the family’s two wagons and cared for the hundred head of cattle they’d brought along. They were working their way west so they could get to the gold fields and make their fortune. Callie didn’t much like Len, who had a sly way about him. She didn’t trust him, either. Andy, the tall, awkward one, was “dumb as a stump,” she’d heard Pa say, but at least he was always pleasant and did his work well. Lately, he’d been casting longing glances at Lydia. It was clear he was smitten. Sensing his feelings, Lydia had begun to make fun of him behind his back, calling him her little puppy dog, laughing at his “moonstruck gazes.”
Callie felt sorry for Andy. He might not be very bright, but at least he gave Callie a sincere “thank you” after every meal, which was more than anyone else did. Tonight was no exception.
“Those beans was mighty good, Miss Callie,” he remarked in his shy way.
“Why, thank you, Andy.”
He was just being kind. They had been on the road for two weeks, eating beans every day. There was nothing special about them.
After supper, when Ma and her two stepsisters sat around the cook fire, and Callie had just finished washing up the dishes, someone approached from the wagon train across the meadow. Lydia pointed. “Looks like we’ve got company.”
Ma looked toward the lone figure and frowned. “I do believe it’s one of those women wearing pants.”
“Bloomers, Ma,” said Lydia.
Ma’s lips tightened. “I don’t want to talk to such a woman. I’m going in the wagon.”
She half rose, but before she could retreat, the woman waved and cried a friendly, “Woo-hoo, everyone!” from halfway across the field. “Are you going or coming?”
“Too late now,” said Lydia. “We’re going to California,” she yelled back.
“Now you’ve done it.” Ma sat back down, brow furrowed in a frown.
The visitor approached. She appeared to be in her thirties, a big, full-bosomed woman with a round, smiling face, wearing a small white cap. Two young children clung to her short, full skirt that fell to her knees. Below the skirt, a pair of bloomers extended to her ankles. How strange. Never had Callie seen such an outfit.
The woman reached their campfire. “We’re going to California too. Hello, I’m Florida Sawyer, and these here are two of my young’uns, Augie and Isaac. There’s more where they came from.” Without waiting for an invitation, she seated herself on a log by the campfire and thrust her pantalooned legs before her. “Lordy me, it feels good to get the load off.” She turned to Ma. “And who might you be?”
Ma’s lips pursed, as if she’d bit into a persimmon. Would she be nice? Callie held her breath. Ma could be the soul of politeness when she wanted. She could also get downright nasty with someone she even faintly disliked.
“We are the Whitaker family, Mrs. Sawyer. As my daughter said, we’re traveling west to California.”
Callie let out her breath. Ma’s reply was decidedly cool but at least civil.
If Florida Sawyer noticed Ma’s less-than-friendly attitude, she didn’t let on. Seeing Ma’s gaze travel to her bloomers, she laughed. “I know they look strange, but they’re the perfect thing for a woman to wear when she’s got to walk clear across the country. You’d be surprised how comfortable they are compared to a long, heavy skirt. You ought to try them sometime.”
“That’s not likely to happen, Mrs. Sawyer.”
Undaunted, Florida continued. “I’m a widow traveling with my brother, two hired hands, and my seven children. My husband, God rest his soul, passed on a short time ago—mind you, after we’d already sold the farm and bought the wagons. He was dead set on moving to Oregon. Then, all of a sudden, he was gone. His heart. One minute we were nearly ready to leave, and the next, there was Henry slumped over the milk pail, stone cold dead. Can you imagine? Left me and the young’uns to fend for ourselves. I didn’t know what I was going to do until Luke, that’s my brother, stepped in and saved the day. He’s a trapper and mountain man, the perfect guide for our wagon train. I don’t know what we would have done without him, bless his heart.”
“How fortunate for you.”
Callie inwardly winced over Ma’s abrupt answer to their friendly visitor. How could she be so rude? To cause a distraction, she got to her feet and indicated a pot of coffee next to the campfire. “I believe the coffee’s still hot, Mrs. Sawyer. Would you like a cup?”
“Well, I don’t mind if I do.”
Callie had scarcely picked up the pot when a horseman approached. A man on a horse was one of the most common sights imaginable, yet the graceful, easy manner in which he sat in the saddle held her spellbound. He drew close. He was casually dressed in buckskin. Closer still, he was somewhere in his early thirties with long, dark hair and… Oh, no, the naked man in the river. It’s him.
He reined to a stop.
“Here’s my brother now.” Florida’s voice filled with pride. “Luke McGraw. Ain’t he something? Luke, say hello to the Whitaker family. They’re traveling by themselves.”
In acknowledgement, Luke briefly touched a finger to the brim of his hat and returned the briefest of smiles. He addressed his sister, “Better come along. Hetty needs you.”
Florida