Gone West by Kathleen Karr Read Free Book Online Page A

figure out which wagon is Mr. Thayer’s.”
     
    They found Sam Thayer’s wagon by dint of its silence. Maggie poked her head in and saw him disconsolately throwing a slab of raw bacon onto a piece of very dry bread.
     
    “Evening, Sam.”
     
    He jumped in surprise.
     
    “Could you do with some hot soup for supper?”
     
    His sodden hat was tipped at her and a grin spread from ear to ear of his homely face. It made him almost handsome, even if his nose had been broken once or twice along the way. “T’would be a rare pleasure, ma’am.”
     
    “Come by our wagon in about an hour. The broth will thicken while we visit the sick child at the Richman’s.”
     
    Maggie let the canvas flap close on him, almost catching Jamie’s curious nose.
     
    “Know why he’s so strong, Ma?”
     
    Maggie pulled Jamie closer under the umbrella. “Why, Jamie?”
     
    “He used to be a blacksmith. He can fix anything that moves~wagons and horseshoes alike. He’s just like Longfellow’s hero:
     
    Under a spreading chestnut tree
     
The village smithy stands;
     
The smith a mighty man is he,
     
With large and sinewy hands;
     
And the muscles of his brawny arms
     
Are strong as iron bands.”
     
    “You have been busy today, Jamie.”
     
    “Oh, I memorized lots more~”
     
    “Save a few to surprise me with later, son. I do believe my cup overfloweth at the moment.”
     
    The Richman’s wagon was easier to find in the sodden gloom. War whoops definitively marked its territory. Maggie closed in and raised her voice. “Grandma? It’s Maggie Stuart.”
     
    The flap was raised. “Come in and welcome if you can stand it. I think Jubal’s going to make it. The fever broke a while back, praise the Lord.”
     
    “Amen!” Maggie let Jamie hoist himself up, then followed. She sidled past the invalid’s elevated legs and scrunched up to his head. His eyes were almost animated again. The swelling was down on his arm, too, and he was accepting Jamie’s gift with subdued enthusiasm.
     
    “Bet that’s the last time you’re gonna jump from the wagon,” Jamie was saying.
     
    “Not on your life! Just be more careful-like next time. Woulda been everything all right if that big old clap of thunder hadn’t skittered me. Messed up my timing, it did.”
     
    Maggie smiled at the braggadocio. If Jubal was feeling well enough to boast he’d be all right. She felt his forehead anyway. Still damp and sweaty. He’d be needing some of her hot soup, too. “Come now, Jamie. There’re enough youngsters around here already. You can visit again at breakfast time.”
     
    She finally had to haul Jamie out and shove him under the umbrella. Then he remembered more poems and recited all the way back.
     
    Sam Thayer was already in the little cabin, cuddling a fascinated Charlotte. There was a bemused expression on his face as she tugged at his thick, bristly, brown mustache and pinched his lopsided nose. Reasonable father material, thought Maggie to herself. She closed the umbrella and stepped over his legs to check on the cauldron of soup. She had a ladle up to her mouth, tasting, when a tentative tap sounded on the door. Maggie glanced up at Johnny on the upper bunk. What now?
     
    Johnny didn’t wait to consider, just belted out a cheerful “Come in!”
     
    Gwen Hardisty entered, tears in her eyes. “Maggie, I’m at my wit’s end! I’ve done everything you taught me, but I just can’t keep the fire going in this rain, and Irish is in a black mood from the wet and no hot food, and~” She tripped over Sam Thayer’s legs and finally noticed him.
     
    “Oh.”
     
    Sam pulled his mustache out of Charlotte’s grasp and nodded, stiffening his back a little.
     
    Maggie checked her pot of soup once more, mentally calculating how far it could be stretched. She turned to a bag by her feet and threw in several handfuls of rice.
     
    “Go back for your spoons, bowls and your brother, Gwen. If you don’t mind standing up I’ve