Once I’m stuck on that tub for three days I’ll have nothing but time to stew about
the rest. All I need to worry about today is today.
Hungry again, she took the overturned bucket off the pie and attacked it with
the rice-encrusted spoon, eating straight out of the tin pan. She let the crumbs fall where they may and noisily spat out the few apple seeds she encountered.
“So this is how men acquire such terrible table manners,” she said to Dixby
and Dougan. “I guess it would be pretty easy to get used to acting like a pig, on
the trail all alone. Or with other people who are just as piggy.”
She ate without tasting, until her stomach began to ache. Then she looked
down, amazed to discover she had devoured more than half the pie. She heaved
what remained of it, pan and all, into the woods. Then she wiped her mouth on
her sleeve, her hands on her trousers, and released the first uninhibited belch of
her life.
While she harnessed the team she again felt frightened of traveling back to
the city alone. She made sure all three weapons were loaded, put the shotgun on
the seat beside her, tucked the pistol into the waistband of her pants, and placed
Filmore’s rifle behind her in the bed of the wagon. She fretted a bit about robbers
and strange men, but mostly was terrified of Iola and Filmore. She kept
imagining them leaping out of the woods onto the road in front of her.
The trip was uneventful. The only distractions were a mob of wild turkeys
waddling down the side of the road and a deer crossing in front of her. But the
lack of diversion was not to her benefit. Flashes of the past week began to torment her. The stench that permeated these memories was so real that she more
than once turned around to make sure Filmore wasn’t crouching behind her. She
tried to keep up a steady stream of conversation with Dougan and Dixby.
She knew she was approaching Detroit when she saw farmers putting up a
fence and then had to circumvent three men laying down new logs in the road.
They removed their hats and offered greetings; she nodded politely and kept one
hand on the shotgun. Then there it was. Civilization. Buildings. People. Too late,
she realized she should have stopped to change out of Mourning’s trousers, but
didn’t really care. So she wouldn’t stay at one of the fancy places. The United States Hotel was good enough. She surprised herself by actually finding her way
to the livery where Mourning had bought the team and wagon.
“I would like to leave my wagon here,” she said to the owner, a short bald man with an enormous mustache, “and ask you to look for a buyer for the team
and wagon and everything in it. Except for those.” She pointed to the two wicker
baskets.
“Bad time to be selling things.” He rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure I can get
you –”
“I have great faith that you’ll get a fair price for it all,” she said crisply. “Is
there someone who can take those two baskets and the water skins over to the United States Hotel?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll need them as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am.”