Blackfeather
15 Alone
I WAS STILL HERE. I suddenly felt alone in Miranda’s body. It was as if she’d taken a vacation and left me to housesit. I could feel her in all her memories—the furnishings of her mind—but I could not hear her. It was disorienting. Even at times when I’d taken or been given control of Miranda’s body, she was always there. Sometimes she fought me for control. Sometimes she was just standing by to take it back. Now, it felt like I was in my own body.
My own body. My own dead body.
What if Miranda had been sent to die in my stead? No! I begged old Blackfeather not to sacrifice her for me. Please, no! But there was still silence. I saw no sign of the black bird.
I slept the night beneath the blanket Katie offered to share with me. I awoke with her hugging my back. I tested Miranda’s memories and found this had not been uncommon over the past few months. Miranda often awoke with the younger girl tight against her.
I gently pulled away from Katie and went to the bushes to relieve myself of my morning dew. Oh my! Miranda certainly had creative expressions that suddenly were mine to access. She had giggled with Theresa one morning about having to use a privy for their morning toilet and I realized that Miranda had often awakened in the few short weeks they had been together with Theresa hugging her back. It was not only a comfort to the two younger girls, but to Miranda as well.
I wanted that comfort. I was trapped in a foreign world and feared for the life of my host. My own, I was sure, was gone.
When I returned to camp, I stirred the coals and managed to get the fire restarted. I threw a rasher of bacon into the frying pan and hoped there was something in our packs to serve with it. Katie rose and slipped away. When she returned, she poured a ladle of water into a pan and measured some cut oats into it. I was instantly grateful that there would be bacon grease to season the tasteless mash.
“Katie,” I whispered through my painful voice, “I will walk beside the wagon for a while this morning. There is no sense in the horses having to pull us both through this muck.”
“We can take turns, Mi… Ramie Lewis.”
“We will see,” I said. I tried my best to mimic Miranda’s way of talking. I would have to remind myself often not to use contractions or twenty-first century slang. I didn’t want to leave Miranda with questions to answer when she came back.
She had to come back. She had to.
When I started walking in the morning, I pulled off my shoes and went barefoot. Shoes were precious and we would travel 300 miles before we could reasonably expect to replace them. Miranda’s shoes with their high-top laces were also likely to give away the fact that I was not really a man. I thought about what it would take to make moccasins. Once we were across the river, I would have to hunt and kill a deer. Then we would have to tan the hide and smoke the meat. That meant we would need to be camped for a week or more. It would not be a fast trip.
The next section of the road was the worst we’d encountered. For perhaps a mile, Katie removed her shoes and walked ahead, pulling the horses through the mud as I leant my support in pushing the wagon until we forded a stream and the land began to rise. It was a drier stretch of road, but we were so exhausted that we camped. We used the opportunity to wash the horses’ legs and check their hooves before tethering them for the night.
As I made a fire and gathered wood for the night, Katie took the kitchen knife and disappeared for half an hour. She returned with a basket of bark. I smiled at her.
“What have you there, Katie girl?”
“Slippery elm,” she said. “If you can start a kettle of beans, I will work on making something that will soothe your throat.”
Katie was quite the pioneer woman. I knew she had experience with animals and she watched critically as I checked the horses’ hooves earlier. Miranda had known nothing about animals. But Katie was showing her skill in other ways now. Knowledge of herbs was something I didn’t know about her. Well, I certainly would not complain if she could relieve my throat. And if she poisoned me… so much the better.
She didn’t. In fact, the tea she made was soothing and relaxing. After we had finished our meal and cleaned our utensils, we crawled into the bedroll together, weary as we could be.
“Will you hold me tonight, husband?” she whispered. I started to protest about not being her husband and realized it was Miranda’s leftover sensibilities that I was expressing. In fact, I looked forward to holding the girl through the night and did just that.
As hard as Katie worked and as domestic as she seemed to be, she did not like rising in the morning. And so, when I awoke with her little breast snuggly in the palm of my hand, I did not rush to release it.
Is this what Aubrey feels when she holds my little tits in the morning when we wake up? They are so small—so different from her bosom. My own—or Miranda’s—breasts were much bigger than Katie’s, though I guessed that Katie was still growing and if I got her settled someplace where she had adequate food, she would fill out.
Those thoughts disturbed me and I crawled out of the bedding and made my way to our toilet. My poor Aubrey. If I ever returned to her, I would show her how much I loved her. And I would hug my brother until he couldn’t breathe. I needed them so much. My only hope was that he would find me in this life and at least tell our parents and Aubrey that I loved them. And in this life, if I could find and love that corporal, I would hold him whether my brother were present or not.
That thought startled me until I realized that I was reflecting Miranda’s own memories of her time on the train talking to Corporal Jason Wardlaw. She was already smitten. I wondered why he had not escorted her on that fateful afternoon when she was kidnapped.
And so, my new life in Miranda’s body progressed. Each day I woke either wrapped in Katie’s arms or with her wrapped in mine. We worked well together and broke our fast and then our camp. We walked alongside the horses in companionable silence or with Katie chattering about the various plants and herbs she spotted along the way. She often ran to collect some as I led the horses on.
In another week, we crested a rise and saw the town of Dyersburg a mile away. We decided to camp early and make our way into town the next day. We would try to find passage across the river.
“You have changed, Husband Ramie,” Katie whispered in my ear that night. “Miranda is gone, is she not? You are the Demon Ramie that has taken her body.” Katie shivered against me but did not move away. I wanted to deny and tell her she was foolish, but there was a yearning in my heart to let her know the whole story. I settled for a compromise.
“You must never say things like that, Katie dear. And you must accept that there may come a time when you wake up and realize that it is just Miranda sleeping beside you. You are a good girl. Please protect us the way you have always done.”
“I have told you before, Mistress Demon, if you will have me, I will serve you. However you wish, I am yours.”
“Katie… Katie, do not take service to me too seriously. But I will take you in my care and treat you well. Do you the same for me.”
It was the first night that Katie and I slept facing each other in our embrace.
I preferred not to pull out twenty-dollar gold pieces to pay for our passage across the river. For one thing, I had not told Katie of our treasure. For another, I feared it would draw suspicion toward us. Katie and I pooled the coins in our purses and after some considerable searching, found a man who poled his barge across the river about once a week to ferry people and goods to the other side. He asked two dollars for each person and horse and another dollar for the wagon. We would leave on Monday.
That left us the weekend and we chose to camp at the edge of town rather than take a room at the hostelry. Late that night, I slipped out of the bedroll and pulled the strongbox from its straps under the seat. I would not offer the ferryman a double eagle, but shopping at the local mercantile was a different matter. We needed some serious supplies before we headed across Missouri.
I spent some time in the morning smudging my face with loam and then brushing it off. When Katie realized what I was doing, she helped and it was she who thought of brushing it with our soft hairbrush. When we were finished, she inspected me thoroughly.
“It looks like just a dark shadow across your cheeks and chin,” she said. “From a distance you simply look to have a dark beard that has been carefully shaved. Near, it is difficult to tell if it is whiskers or dirt. Either way, you look more manly.”
“You are a sweetheart,” I said and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She stood there looking at me and blushed. I wiped a bit of dust from her cheek and smiled at her. “I am going to barter for some things at the mercantile. We need more supplies. Stay here with the wagon and the camp. I’ll collect you later and we’ll take the wagon to pick up the supplies.”
“Where will you get money to buy supplies?” she asked. I simply furrowed my brow and scowled at her. “Forgive my impertinence, Husband Ramie,” she whispered. “Just please be careful and come back for me.” I nodded and set off for town.
When we first set off, I expected that we would go straight north to St. Louis, or as straight as possible. But we could not reach the city before late summer at the rate we were traveling. Miranda’s family would be long gone toward Omaha. I hatched a new plan to cut across the state and try to intersect with them in Kansas City. It would be a long haul but, if we were diligent, I was sure we could cross Missouri northwesterly to catch them. I’d promised Miranda in effect that I would do my best to find and protect Theresa. I would do so.
To make that trip, however, we needed more extensive supplies than what we’d acquired from John. I was determined that we would travel hard for five days and camp for five days in order to rest, hunt, and take care of domestic needs like baking bread. Miranda knew as much about the practical side of a kitchen and household as Katie knew about horses and herb lore. Together, we could do this.
“My wife and I leave across the river on Monday morning. We will have a rigorous journey and I require supplies,” I said to the shopkeeper. My croaking voice, though it hurt, was a benefit to my disguise as a man.
“And how would you be paying for these supplies,” asked the clerk.
“I sold my father’s farm in Mississippi to a carpetbagger for a double eagle,” I said. “Surely that will supply a wagon for such a journey.” He nodded. He was apparently experienced in supplying wagons because he had a list on the counter of what he thought we would need. I checked it and said no to a couple of items and added a bit extra on a few others including a sturdy pair of boots for myself. I cut quite a picture in the store in buckskins and barefoot. I was sure to add a few peppermint sticks to the order to give my wife a treat. He tallied a total of sixteen dollars and twenty-five cents and looked at me questioningly. I dug in my pouch and produced the gold piece. He reached for it and I withdrew my hand. “Gather the supplies together. My wife and I will be by with our wagon shortly to load it and settle our bill.”
When we had loaded the wagon and received the proper change for our coin, we stopped at the local butcher. There we bought a cured ham, a side of smoked bacon, and one large, freshly cut steak. Then we went back to our encampment to wait out the weekend. We packed two potatoes in wet clay and then put them in the coals of the fire. After an hour, I charred the steak over the fire. Katie and I ate well that night and snuggled together beneath our blankets.
I’d been as circumspect as I could in town and Katie kept a shawl over her head the entire time we were there, but I was still watchful all weekend as we sorted and prepared our wagon for the coming trip. I’d acquired an axe and a saw, several yards of hemp rope, another knife, and a new flint and steel as well as flour, oats, honey, dried fruits and vegetables, and salt. The wagon was a good bit heavier when we had it loaded on Monday morning than it had been when we arrived on Friday.
Our crossing was uneventful and I gave the ferryman an extra two bits in thanks for his work. I felt generous.
June second found us camped just southwest of the growing town of Campbell. We found a space near the St. Francis River Ferry where we could have privacy and be away from the raucous town of Campbell. I had no desire to take my wife into the town and we decided that when we had recouped from our week’s travel, we would cross the river and then follow it north until we found a good passage west again.
It was here that I unstrapped the rifle from under the seat and set about to find us some meat. I needed a quick kill so we could cure the meat and hide and be on our way. Luck was with me that evening as I saw three white-tails come down to the river about a quarter mile from where we camped. I stilled my breathing and drew a bead on the buck. Just before I pulled the trigger, a gray streak came out of the brush, pinning the herd against the water. There was a flick of white tails and they took off. The wolf lunged at a small doe and brought her down with a piece missing from her neck.
God damned wolves! I shifted my aim and fired. The wolf turned and gave me a withering look. Damn it! John warned me the sights were catawampus on this gun. I levered another round into the chamber and before I could figure out how to adjust my sights, the wolf sprinted off into the woods. I heard a crashing through the brush behind me and in a minute, Katie was approaching.
“Did you get it?” she asked breathlessly.
“Well, I ain’t gonna leave it lie,” I said. Katie looked at the fresh kill and the chunk out of its throat.
“No rifle did that.”
“A wolf accidentally helped me. Keep an eye out in case he returns.” I pulled out my knife and field dressed the doe, dumping the guts on the ground. I used a length of rope to tie the legs together so we could drag it to camp. I was surprised when Katie drew the kitchen knife and began hacking at the intestines. Once she had them free, she squeezed the crap out of them. She wrapped them in a ball and we dragged our prize back to camp.
We were up most of the night skinning and butchering the deer. We set up a drying rack under a canvas tipi and kept green wood on the fire all night. In the morning I cracked the skull and mashed the brains in a bucket in which Katie and I took turns pissing. I knew the theory of tanning a hide and had seen Pa do it to an antelope hide once, but I’d stayed pretty far away because it was so gross. I found the process had not improved as we scraped the skin and applied the brain and urine mixture, rubbing it in.
Katie scrubbed the guts, turned them inside out and scraped them, then scrubbed them some more. I finally realized she was making sausage casings. We didn’t have a grinder, but she minced up all the meat we couldn’t preserve in dryable strips, mixed it with salt and cornmeal, and packed it in the guts to make sausage. She was a good girl.
We slept in shifts for the next two days so that one of us was always tending the fire and watching for scavengers. Our camp smelled great for a while as the meat smoked. Then the stink of tanning took over. We would have to adjust our travel schedule for longer breaks if we were to tan hides at each stop.
The smell drew a different kind of scavenger. The ferryman showed up about the time we were finished drying the meat and packing the sausage.
“Reckon you’ll want to cross the river with all this,” he said gesturing vaguely at the wagon and horses. I nodded. “Haven’t had fresh venison in a while. Been living off fish most of the spring. Reckon you got plenty, though.”
I settled in to start bartering, drawing on Miranda’s experience at the trading post last winter. Cash seldom crossed hands there. It was pricey in my mind, but in the end, he settled for a third of the dried meat and sausage to get us to the other side. Wednesday, we loaded the wagon and ferried it across, leaving Katie with the horses. I rode back with the ferry and we loaded the horses for the second trip across. It was less than a quarter the width of the Mississippi, even adding the two trips together. I didn’t tip him. He had enough meat to eat for at least two weeks.
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