The Journey Home. Linda Ford
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fear or something else. She let her bag droop to her feet and turned to face him. The sky lightened, with the brassy sun poking through the remnants of the dust storm, and he saw her eyes were light brown.
“Are you accusing me of prejudice?” she demanded, her voice soft, her eyes flashing with challenge as if daring him to think it, let alone say it.
Could she really be free of such? His heart reared and bucked as long-buried hopes and dreams came to life—acceptance, belonging, so many things. He shoved them away, barricaded them from his thoughts. Best he be remembering who he was, how others saw him. “Nope. Just stating a fact.”
“I couldn’t care less if your horse is Indian, black, pink or stubborn as a mule. I prefer to walk.” She spun around and marched down the road, sidling sideways to capture the escaping bedroll with her hip.
He grinned at her attempts to manage her belongings. For a moment he stared after her. She said words of acceptance, but he doubted she meant them as anything more than argumentative.
He followed, leading Sam. “He ain’t stubborn.”
“How nice for you.” She continued, unconcerned by the wind tugging at her skirt and dragging her coppery-brown hair back from her forehead, undaunted by her belongings banging against her shins with every step.
Mule-headed woman. She made him want to prod at her more, see what would surface. He tried to think of a way to challenge her insistence on walking, wanting to somehow force her to state her opinion on his race. No doubt she had the same reservations as—ha, ha, good word choice. Again, his mother would have been amused. The same reservations about Indians most white folk. “My mother would want you to ride,” he murmured.
Finally she nodded. “For your mother.” He secured her things to the saddle, then she tucked her skirt around her legs and used his cupped hands to assist herself onto Sam’s back. “I’ll ride partway. You can ride the rest.”
He didn’t argue, but nothing under the brassy sun would allow him to ride while a white woman walked at his side. He could just imagine the comments if anyone saw them.
“Seems everyone wants a new life,” she said from her perch on Sam’s back. “Except me. I’ve been quite happy with the one God provided.”
He wondered how being abandoned made her happy or caused her to think God had provided for her. “How long since your brother left?”
She darted him a look, then shifted her gaze to some distant point down the road. “Near a week.”
Kody had learned to let insults roll off him without response. In fact, he’d learned to ignore lots of things in life. But a week? Well, he figured she had to be made of pretty strong stuff to still be fighting.
They walked on for the distance of half a mile until Charlotte broke the silence. “Why are you so anxious to go where you never see another soul?”
Kody didn’t answer at first. Wasn’t sure how to. This woman had a family. Sure, her brother had left her behind. Maybe with the best of intentions. But she expected him to welcome her into his new home. What would she know about how it felt to be a half-breed? How it affected everyone and everything in his world? How people expected him to be a wild Indian? At times his frustration made him want to act like one. “Sometimes a man likes to be alone.”
“Don’t you feel the need to have someone to talk to?”
Always. Try as he might, he never got used to keeping his thoughts inside himself. “Sam here is a good listener.”
She laughed, a sound like water rippling over rocks. A sound trickling through his senses like someone brushing his insides with a feather. “If you want only listening you could park a rock on your saddle and talk to it. Seems to me a person wants a bit more. Someone to agree or argue. Someone to acknowledge your presence.”
He refused to let her words poke at his loneliness. He’d made his decision. There was no looking back.
They fell into quiet contemplation as they continued toward the town. Kody’s thoughts always seemed to have a mind of their own, and after talk about his mother, there was no way to keep himself from remembering her. She loved him. As did his father. He’d never doubted it. They treated him as their own and never once made him feel inferior. For that he loved them deeply, but life had created a solidly strong reason for him to move on. He stopped himself from thinking further along those lines. He’d made his decision and he wouldn’t look back. Canada promised the sanctuary he sought. He hoped it would also provide forgetfulness of what he’d left behind.
Despite Charlotte’s insistence she’d take her turn walking, Kody did not allow Sam to stop until Big Rock sat square in front of them. He pulled Sam off the road and helped Charlotte dismount. He hung back behind the low bushes at the side of the road. “You go on and see if Harry has sent you a message.”
She brushed the dust off her dress and smoothed back her hair, which fell to her shoulders and trapped the golden rays of sunshine, then she took the bedroll and bag Kody handed her. He chuckled as she struggled to carry the rifle. “Might as well leave it behind.”
She ignored his suggestion. “Thank you again and God bless you on your journey to Canada.”
“You’re welcome.” He hunkered down behind the bushes and waited. He’d make his way into town later to assure himself she was okay, then he’d move on. He plucked a dry blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. Used to be he could occupy his mind with such useless activity, but not today. His thoughts had been willful and troubling since he’d entered the house where Charlotte huddled alone. Something about her—her words of faith, her belief in family and belonging—reminded him of what he’d left behind. He didn’t thank her for bringing to his mind the very things he wanted to forget.
He turned to discuss the matter with Sam. “She thinks you’re no better than a rock to talk to.”
Sam snorted his disbelief.
“I know. I was offended, too. Shows what a woman knows. Sure, it’s true you don’t say much, but I know you understand.”
Sam shook his head in agreement.
“Can’t understand her brother abandoning her, though. She ain’t so big she couldn’t fit in somewhere.”
Sam shook his head again.
“I sure hope the man has sent for her.” He pushed to his feet and swung into the saddle. “Let’s go see.”
He pulled his hat low over his eyes and sat boldly upright, ready to face any challenge. He rode slowly through the wide streets of the suffering town, noted the vacant windows in several buildings. People pulled up and left everything behind as the drought and depression took their toll. A lone truck sat at the side of the street.
A man in the doorway of the feed store jerked to attention and watched Kody with narrowed eyes. Two old codgers leaned back on chairs in front of the mercantile. As Kody passed they crashed their chairs to all four legs. One spat on the sidewalk. Kody ignored them. He had no wish to start trouble. He only wanted to check on Charlotte and then he intended to head north as far as his empty stomach allowed before he tried to find some kind of work. It had become the pattern of his days. Sometimes, if the work was good or the pay promising, he stayed for days, even weeks. Other times, he earned a meal and moved on. Always north. Always toward his dream—Canada and forgetfulness. The journey had taken far longer than it should. He needed to make more effort to reach his goal.
He turned aside and stared at the display in the window of Johnson’s General Store, though he only noted the post office sign. Charlotte would have gone inside to ask for her letter.
He waited, ignoring the stares from across the street. The two old men posed no threat, only annoyance and a reminder of what others saw when they looked at him.
Charlotte staggered out, a letter grasped in her hands. Her eyes had a faraway look as she stared past him, not seeing him, not, he guessed, seeing anything. At the shock on her