Ruthann had been of the opinion that I would be welcomed with love and acceptance by those who resided in her remembered hometown; I attempted to believe this, refusing to point out that her views were based more upon twenty-first century sensibilities than she realized. While descendants of the people living today may very well prove tolerant of an unwed mother – at least, unwed to her son’s father – Malcolm’s family could just as quickly cast me from their favor. And rightly so. Besides my sinful behavior on several fronts, my very presence was a danger to everyone with whom I came into contact.
I wished to pose these questions to Malcolm, wanting his opinion on the matter, but had not yet found an opportune or appropriate moment. Despite our brief acquaintance, I knew he and Cole shared a long history, and therefore I trusted him. Furthermore, I quite liked Malcolm. There was an effortless amiability in his manner, a wayward sense of good humor, however tempered by a deep, guarded well of sadness. The little I knew of Malcolm’s heartache came from Ruthann and Cole, both of whom had mentioned a woman named Cora, Malcolm’s lost love. Empathy and curiosity welled within me but I would never stoop to inquiring after her.
“Are you hungry at all?” Malcolm asked, peering at me with a faint crease denting his otherwise smooth brow. “This is a terrible way for a new mama to travel, I do apologize. You look right peaked, poor thing. Eat, if you’re able.”
Though my stomach sent out mild protests, nursing the baby sapped my energy like nothing I had ever known. I recognized I must retain my strength and let Cole take Monty so I could handle a plate and fork. Cole tucked the baby in the crook of his left arm and cupped my elbow with his free hand. Nodding southward, Cole commented, “It wasn’t too very far from here that Malcolm and I first met. We were but sprouts, both farther from home than we’d ever dreamed possible. I’d never seen a sight like the expanse of prairie we traveled over that summer. Land so wide and empty it seemed we’d never reach the end.”
Inspired by the storytelling quality of Cole’s words, Malcolm’s eyes took on a subtle shine. “Ain’t that the truth? What a fine dinner your dear mama served the afternoon we met. Remember them fireflies at dusk?”
Cole laughed, nodding. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen so many at once, since then. How glad we were for your company. And how jealous I was of Aces High! I begged Pa for my own horse from that moment forth, until he was fit to whip my hide for pestering.” Addressing me, Cole explained, “I spent most of those days walking alongside the wagon. Walking and walking in the heat of the sun, blisters across my heels every night. I didn’t have a fine horse to gallop away from the monotony.”
I listened with fascination despite my aching head and the slight haze across my vision.
“Aces High has been with me since the day I rode forth from Cumberland County,” Malcolm said, glancing with fond pride in the direction of the picket line where the same horse now grazed, before returning his attention to me. “I’d spent my boyhood in the hollers of Tennessee, you see, where the sun rose late and set early and you couldn’t see the horizon unless you climbed to the topmost ridge and then shimmied up the tallest pine. I never knew something so big as the prairie existed. I’m not too proud to admit it frightened me no small amount.”
Blythe nodded as he listened to Malcolm’s descriptions; he wore no hat in the early part of the day and I revised my assumption of his age; he appeared younger in the fire’s light, perhaps mid-thirties rather than past two score. Craggy-featured and with unruly hair, he offered an unexpected smile. When Blythe spoke, the sound of the southern lands was predominant in the cadence of his speech, more pronounced than the hint of it in Malcolm’s. Almost shyly, Blythe murmured, “We was raised but a stone’s throw from one another, young Malcolm, an’ we never met ’til now. Ain’t that somethin’? I’ve traveled far an’ wide in my time but I never found me a place quite as pretty as the hollers of home.”
“It’s a funny thing how life sorta comes around full circle,” Malcolm replied, nodding agreement. “Later that same summer your father and I met just yonder, in Iowa City.” I did not believe I imagined the way his eyes tightened as he added, “It’s a town I could do without ever revisiting, if you want the truth.”
I should have bitten my tongue. “Why is that?”
Malcolm fixed his gaze on the fire and gone was the sweetness of youthful memories, replaced by the stern, uncompromising regard of a man who had endured depths of pain I was only beginning to understand. I sensed a torrent of anguished words – the heaviness of guilt, the sting of bitterness, the razor of remembered agony – all held in check by his powerful will. He said only, “It was where I disobeyed Lorie.”
Blythe politely took up the conversational reins, drawing Malcolm’s focus as he inquired, “Lorie, your sister?”
“I love Lorie as well as my own kin, though we are not related by blood. Lorie is wed to my brother’s dearest friend, Sawyer.”
Blythe persisted, “And your brother is wed to my cousin Rebecca, ain’t that right?”
There were too many connections for my tired mind; I set aside my plate and leaned against Cole, thankful beyond measure for his solid strength.
“Yes, Boyd and Becky been wed for many happy years. They was most overjoyed to learn of your intent to rejoin them.” A smile elongated Malcolm’s mouth, restoring animation to his handsome face. “I can nearly catch the scent of all the baked goods being prepared in
