The All-True Travels and Adventures of Lidie Newton_ A Novel - Jane Smiley [85]
Darkness was coming on; I hustled the two horses up to a trot and shortly came to some Border Ruffians huddled around a fire. I kept on without speeding up, or looking toward them when they shouted. They let me by, but another set stopped the wagon, held Jeremiah by the bridle, and peered at us.
"What’s your name?" There were three of them, wearing soft hats, their faces lost in their whiskers. They had on layers and layers of humble clothing against the cold and carried long Kentucky rifles that looked awkward and outmoded by the standards of the Sharps carbine but were nevertheless deadly. I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated just a moment, unsure of what to say. In that moment, Frank said, "She can’t talk. She can’t hear nor talk. I go along with her everywhere."
"Where are you going, then?"
"We’re going into town."
"There’s a war in town."
"Nah!" said Frank, dumbfounded. "Who’s fighting?"
"We’re gonna clear out them d— black abolitionist traitors!"
"Well, good," said Frank.
"What’s yer name, boy?"
I shook the reins, and the horses tried to step out, but the Ruffian tightened his grip on the horse’s bridle. He said, "Tell her she can’t go nowhere till we get to the bottom of a couple of things." Frank tapped me on the shoulder, and I looked at him alertly. He made some enthusiastic motions with his hands and face, at which I nodded. Then Frank said, "I’m Frank Brereton. Who are you?"
One of the others spoke up. "He’s an abolitionist’s worst nightmare! Haw!" He spit on the wheel of the wagon.
"We’re gonna burn them out down in that hole of abolitionists. We’re just waitin’ for some stuff! What’s her name?"
"She’s my cousin Lydia Brereton. We’re visiting from—"
"Illinois!" exclaimed one of the men. "Haw!"
Frank didn’t even look nonplussed. He said, "That’s about right."
"You know Burton Brereton, then?" said the man.
"He was my paw’s uncle. He was a killer," said Frank. I sat stock-still, a blank look on my face, as I struggled to pretend that I couldn’t hear this very interesting exchange. "I never met him," said Frank, conversationally. "He died before I was born. But we had them dogs."
"What dogs?"
"Them dogs that were descended from the bitch that warned Uncle Burton about the killers."
"I never heard about no dog."
"Well," said Frank with some animation, "that’s what happened. The dog snuck away and went to get Uncle Burton, and the killers didn’t realize it, and then Uncle Burton, who was raised among the Indians, snuck up and killed those men. He slit their throats."
This was not the story I’d heard, but I remained impassive.
"Hunh," said our interlocutor. "Well, my paw lived in Edwards County for five year before he come to Missouri, and he always said that a man named Burton Brereton was the death of the meanest and worst criminal who ever lived. So here you are."
"Here I am," said Frank, taking credit for the whole thing.
"And she’s your cousin." He pointed to me.
"Yes, she is, but she don’t know the story," said Frank.
"She’s a big one," said one of the men, in an unkind tone of voice. One of the others laughed.
Frank said, "You don’t have to insult her."
"I thought you said she can’t hear nothing."
Frank didn’t quite know how to answer this and fell silent. "And ugly," said one of the other men, speculatively, smiling at me. I smiled back at him. "Ma’am," he said, still smiling, "you are about as plain as an old sow."
I nodded and grinned.
He grinned back at me. "I bet you are an old maid!" I laughed and tossed my head flirtatiously. All the men guffawed.
"Deaf as dirt from the day she was born," said Frank.
"I’m cold," said the man who was holding Jeremiah. "What are we doing here?"
The man who had known about Burton Brereton said, "If they want to go to Lawrence, I say let ’em."
"We gonna check the wagon?"
"Nah. Nah. It’s too cold for that." The men stepped back, I waited, and then Frank nudged me. I