The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick Read Free Book Online Page B

though his wobbly ways delayed us. At the next train station, he said he’d wait and see if he couldn’t get one of the other tramps who rode the rails to give him a lift. Mama left him an egg.
    â€œI don’t think we should be so hasty in the future,” I said as we walked away.
    â€œWhat? Why not? He’ll tell the other tramps that the two womenwalkers aren’t to be toyed with. He could have been trouble. You must do whatever is necessary to protect your family, Clara. This trip should prove that to you if nothing else.”
    I knew my mother was strong, brave even. She’d sued the city of Spokane over an injury. I’d taken care of her and my brothers and sisters while she healed. But shooting the tramp wasn’t brave; it was … impulsive, just like this trip. It had cost us precious time, caused the man pain, and we’d likely sleep under a willow, drenched in the rain, because of Mama’s hasty action. One needed to think things through. That’s what this trip would prove to me.

    We stepped aside for trains rumbling along the tracks. I held my hand to my hat and turned my face away from the black smoke that billowed as engines chugged past. Passengers sped by us, blobs of color in the windows. Surprised looks washed over faces flashing by. A man in the caboose waved. Strangers, all of them. Yet we were dependent on strangers to see us through. That’s what Mama said. We couldn’t live on hardtack and eggs forever. Everyone we’d encounter would be a stranger. Perhaps even my mother.

E IGHT

Sunflowers in Boise
    J UNE 1896
    S oggy sunflowers hung their heads over a fence outside of Boise City. Rain poured down as it had all but five days since we’d left. It’s good when God gives us great beginnings, because soon after come the downpours of discouragement. One needs the memory of good starts to carry on, and we’d had that one good, dry day. Since then, we’d crossed flooded streams, stood beneath leaky storefront porches in cowboy towns like Pendleton, hoping the rains would ease. Dirt paths became streams and I fell more than once, mud caking on my skirt and building up on the soles of my shoes. “At least we don’t lack for wash water,” Mama said, holding her hands out to the rainy heavens.
    We’d come only four hundred fifty miles in six weeks of walking. It was taking us too long. The leather bags weighted us. The mud, rain, snow in the Blue Mountains, tramps, and need to earn our meals bywashing dishes or laundry had all slowed us. So much for my mother’s planning. The only good thing so far was the ample time I had to daydream about Forest.
    Boise City ended at a railroad stub line, and trains backed into the city, then headed out and south, so following the rails meant we’d have to backtrack part of this road. But we had to go into the town, find work, and get new shoes, carpetbags to replace the leather. Boise was our first capital city, so we needed a governor’s signature too.
    Calf-high water covered the only road, giving us no choice but to slosh our way through it. Wet leather chafed my ankles. We’d sold all but one of the portrait pictures, so they needed replacing too. Our buyers had been startled ranchers out with their cattle or sheep, a few housewives who thought our adventure grand. A lot more looked at us with disgust and sent us on our way. I looked at our mud-laden skirts and snorted. “A fine picture we make.”
    â€œHopefully the
Union
article preceded us,” Mama said. “We’ll need new shoes here. I should have realized how badly the cinder packing the ties would cut the leather soles.”
    â€œMaybe a few other things we should have thought about too,” I snarled. My ankle ached from walking awkwardly outside the tracks on the rough and uneven ground. It made walking slow and messy. “We’re far from averaging twenty-nine miles a