The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [79]
But in the midst of it all, I did have some valuable moments with my husband. One rainy afternoon, our conversation turned to the Missourians who had been driven off, whom we hadn’t mentioned in the intervening weeks. I had been over with the Jenkinses that morning, making soap, and I commented upon what a comfortable cabin I found it, and Thomas said, "I didn’t think we should have sent those men down the river. It was a miserable thing for them."
"I’m sure it was."
"We couldn’t find one of them for a bit. The rope tied to the log came loose, and he drifted off in the dark."
"What did you mean to do—"
"I thought sure the log had turned over and drowned the fellow, but it just drifted into some snags and hung there. He was deadly quiet, but Bisket saw him when the moon came out."
"But what—"
"We had the guns. Bush was all for shooting them and getting it over with, and maybe they deserved it, because they shot at us when we rode up, but I said I hadn’t brought all those Sharps rifles out here for that—"
"Well, what did you bring them out here for?"
"Defending our claims. But we were all hot to do something to them, and a dose of the river didn’t seem so bad in prospect. Afterward, I saw that we didn’t know what we were doing, and those men were just fortunate."
"But you wanted to run them off, didn’t you?"
"Yes, Lidie, I did." He sighed, then smiled a bit and said, "I generally want to do things, but often I don’t want to have done them."
He must have seen alarm in my face, for I had been wondering that very day whether his quiet manner hid regrets about his choice of a wife, but he put his arm around my waist and drew me to him, then he murmured, "Small things only," and kissed me.
A day or two later, we were alone again. Frank had gone to the Holmeses’, carrying a pot he had bought for them in Lawrence and brought home—he got a penny for running these errands. That evening, Thomas was in a more jovial mood, and he said, "Well, wife, we’ve been married three months now. Has your experience borne out your sisters’ advice?"
"I think that must be United States advice, not K.T. advice."
"That you’ll have to write up yourself."
"Perhaps I can have an article in The Western Ladies’ Journal, or even make a regular appearance: ’How to keep your skirts from rustling when you are shooting turkeys.’ "
"How do you?"
"I tie them up about my waist. It’s a scandal."
"What else?"
" ’Prairie Mud: Would you be better off on stilts?’ "
He laughed.
I said, "The ladies’ boots have not been invented that can handle prairie mud, that is for sure."
"You seem content enough. I’ve been watching you."
"Have you? I’ve been watching you, too, and I hadn’t noticed."
"Do I seem content enough?"
"On balance, yes." I felt myself flush.
"And you? Are you amazed and displeased to find yourself here?"
"Amazed, yes. Displeased, no."
"You’ve been watching me?" he said, softly.
"Of course. Everyone does."
"What do you see?"
"Oh, well. I suppose I see the promise of a prolonged investigation."
"Lifelong?"
"Lifelong, indeed."
"You are a mysterious woman, Lidie."
I considered this high praise.
I was always astonished at the speed with which news traveled in K.T. The solitudes of the prairies came later than my time—while I was there, the place was alive with travelers, messengers, and plain old gossips, galloping here and there to keep us all abreast of the latest events. So it was that on the very day it happened—it being the murder of a Free State man by a Missourian—we knew about it in our little cabin: Thomas had been over building fence at