The Misadventures of Maude March Read online

  “We could wait till you make up your mind one way or the other,” I said to him, feeling a little desperate. If Marion came along, at least I would have someone to talk to. Maude didn't look like she would be talking for a week at least. “It's not even half light yet.”

  “It's been nice having you girls for company,” Marion said kindly, “but I think it's best if we all go our separate ways.”

  Which I figured meant, no, I won't travel with you. But I needed to make sure. “You won't change your mind?”

  “There's nothing to change,” Marion said, noticing the bootmaker had come to stand nearby. He'd been so quiet we more or less forgot about him. “What?” Marion wanted to know.

  “Nuthin',” the bootmaker said, and went back to his stitching.

  IT'S YOUR FAULT WE'RE TRAVELING ALONE AGAIN,” I SAID, feeling mean. “You treated Marion badly.”

  “He killed our aunt.”

  “You didn't mind that so much yesterday,” I pointed out. “You're only mad because of the newspaper. If you hadn't seen your picture in the newspaper, we would still have Marion here to help us along.”

  “We don't need his help.”

  “You don't know that for sure,” I said. “You're the one who said 'if we make it.' ”

  “We'll make it.”

  “If we don't, if we're attacked by Indians or get drowned in some swollen river or”—I thought fast, pulling out sad, bad ends that heroes meet in dimers—“or hung for horse thieves, it will be because you drove off someone who might have protected us.”

  This didn't move Maude, so I took another tack.

  “The Toleridge boy wasn't sweet, I understood that,” I said. “Mr. Wilburn was old. I'm not sure that's really so bad, but I helped you get away. There ain't nothing wrong with Marion. He's sweet enough and he ain't too awful old and he ain't asking you for nothing either, but still you treated him poorly.”

  Maude sped up on Flora and stayed a distance in front of me for another mile or so. But then she turned and headed back to me. Passed me without a word, and I knew she was headed back to Des Moines.

  Maude can be bullied. She just likes to be bullied gently.

  My heart lifted as I turned Goldie, unlucky as I was to ride back through a nearly visible cloud that she'd dispatched only moments before.

  The saloons were not open for business at this time of day, but many of the shop doors stood open. There had been hardly anyone on the boards when we left an hour or so before, and even fewer horses on the street. Now it looked like someone had started handing out free eats, there were so many people milling about.

  We didn't have to ride as far as the bootmaker's before we saw Marion's horse in front of the bank. Right off I could see Marion could do with a couple of riding partners. Why, he hadn't even hitched his horse to the post. Just left the reins laying over it, like.

  Maude tied Flora and stepped away, but I called her back with a short whistle. I raised my rifle, reminding her that she was forgetting hers. I wanted to show Marion that we took his advice to heart. It might sway him if he was still of a mind to ride alone. Maude took the hint and untied her rifle. I was right behind her as she opened the door and went into the bank.

  I saw everything at once.

  A teller stood with his hands in the air. A second teller had stopped midway in filling a lumpy canvas sack with money. Marion stood near the tellers, his gun in one hand and another such sack in the other.

  A man lay on the floor, money spilled all around him. Another man—his shirt struck me as such a bright white in the overall dim of the room—lay nearer the door.

  “Marion,” Maude said, shock making her voice squeak.

  “Miss Maude, what are you doing here?” Marion said, looking equally surprised, but he didn't squeak.

  The man nearest us made a quick motion I saw out of the corner of my eye. He reached for his gun, and just as quick, without thinking, I stomped that hand with the butt of my rifle. He yelled and dropped his pistol, so that it skittered across the floor a little.

  Maude bent to pick it up, hooking it with her pinkie finger. She moved awkwardly, crossing her rifle in front of her, so that the man took a notion. He moved fast, very fast, and snatched at the barrel of Maude's rifle.

  She held on with both hands, even though the pistol still dangled, and would not give up her grip on the rifle. I didn't know what to do. I looked at Marion just as he shot once and the man screamed, falling away from Maude.

  I saw blood on the white shirt.

  “Run, Miss Maude,” Marion shouted. “Sallie! Run!”

  We ran.

  ILED AND MAUDE FOLLOWED. WE RAN OUT OF THE BANK and down the boardwalk, ran past the bank and then a dress shop, still closed. I ducked into the first narrow alley I saw, and by then Maude was pushing me from behind. I could feel the butt of the six-gun against my back, still hanging from her finger.

  Behind us a volley of gunshots broke out. There were four, six, seven shots, maybe. I couldn't count them.

  We broke into the open behind the buildings, where there was a scattering of small houses and other sheds. We headed for the edge of town, still running away from the bank, but there was no safe place to go. No one had yet followed us here, but it was only a matter of time.

  I ran to the far side of a small barn, stopping to catch my breath. “Maude!” I said, finding two saddled horses hitched to a post. I loosed one and climbed on.

  Maude didn't hesitate but was hampered by managing both the rifle and the six-gun with one hand. She passed me the gun and swung up on the other horse, kicked the animal into a lunging gallop and bent low in the saddle.

  We rode straight out into the grasslands. My hat was lost in the foot running, Maude's was lost during the ride. We rode without sparing the horses, for three or four miles. At first it was exciting; I felt like we were living in the pages of a dime novel.

  But then it got so the ride was just pounding, pounding, pounding, and after a while I knew I couldn't take it for much longer. We stopped at the top of a hill to look back and didn't see any sign that we were being followed.

  “We better slow up some,” I told Maude. “It won't do us any good to ride these horses into the ground for nothing. Let's save a little of their strength in case we need it later on.”

  It was only when we stopped to water the horses that I realized I'd somehow thought we would come back to having our own horses to ride, that these were only for the moment. But that wasn't true, of course.

  It struck me that at only one other time in my life had the future been so uncertain, and then help was offered to us in the form of Aunt Ruthie. We didn't question this turn of events but trailed after her like goslings, setting our feet in her footsteps. These horses had looked to me like the same kind of gift. Without them, we were lost. But now we were genuine criminals. I felt bad. Guilty of wrongdoing—not at all the same feeling I'd had after making a fair trade, as when we left with the Peasleys' horses.

  “We're in a fine mess,” Maude said, now that we'd caught our breath enough to talk. “We don't have thing one to eat, or a pot to cook a chicken in if I shoot one. We don't even have a hat.”

  I had nothing to add to this. I watched the horses drink.

  “And now we're horse thieves, for certain,” she went on, starting to pace back and forth. She was working herself up into a fine lather. “Whoever owned these horses didn't owe us a thing. Nothing. They may not have wanted to hang me before, but they're going to want to hang me now.”

  “They'll hang us both,” I said.

  Maude stopped pacing. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you should turn back,” Maude said in a voice I didn't know.

  “Turn back?”

  “I mean, go home. Before we get into any worse trouble. Just go home and pretend this morning never happened. Tell them the last you saw of me, I was riding north.”

  “You're talking crazy,” I said, and star
ted to cry. I didn't mean to cry, but once begun, I couldn't stop it either.

  “We could both go back, maybe,” she said, mopping me up with the tail of her shirt. “I'll let them think I'm crazy as a bedbug, at least for another week or two. It'll be grief, like the paper said. Mr. Wilburn might still have me once I come to my senses.”

  I decided to ignore this manner of talk. It made me feel lost in a way I hadn't been before. Even if the horses were forgiven, even if things worked out so that people believed Maude had for a few days gone mad, it would be a long time before anyone trusted her again. I wouldn't want to go back to that either.

  It seemed like a very long time ago that I thought life was simple. Not easy, but simple, in the way that it went from day to day, and we were safe. At least we felt safe. I had not done away with the idea that life could be that way again, but I was certain that I could never go back to it, or even find it elsewhere, without Maude.

  “We aren't going back, either one of us,” I said as if Maude was the one who'd been doing the crying. “Mrs. Peasley will put chains around our ankles, and not a soul will speak up for us.”

  “If Mrs. Peasley doesn't, the law will,” Maude agreed. She looked a little lost herself. “It's too late for us, Sallie; there is no one to save us but each other.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I asked her.

  She rolled her eyes in answer.

  “We'd better watch for a chicken,” Maude said, boarding her horse. “Or maybe that bear Marion warned us about. If I shoot us a bear, we'll have a blanket.”

  “Only if I consent to do the skinning,” I said, “and I might not. Skinning a bear is a lot to ask of a ten-year-old.”

  “You're eleven,” Maude said as we started off again, our horses somewhat refreshed. “At least that's what I was given to believe. But I'd guess you were twenty if you were a day. Are you watching for chickens?”

  She was right about everything, of course. We weren't hungry now, but we would be soon. And we would be cold. These horses didn't carry a blanket roll. I didn't care to point out just yet that they didn't carry any cooking utensils either. Whoever was going to ride them wasn't planning to go far. It was doubtful they were range riders. More likely, ranchers.

  My thoughts turned back to range riders, and colored the morning's episode with a rosy glow. It wasn't much fun while it was happening, but it was a good memory to embroider. It made me ride tall in the saddle.

  “We did that old plow horse a kindness,” I said after a time, “leaving it behind. It could never have taken such a rough ride. It would've keeled over dead, and we'd have been nabbed for sure.”

  Maude didn't reply to this. She was deep in her own thoughts.

  “Do you think Marion meant for us to run to our horses?” I asked.

  “I'm pretty sure he never meant for us to run past them,” she said.

  I guess the whole business had begun to get to us because we looked at each other and laughed. We had a good, long laugh, and I don't think either of us knew what was funny.

  “What do you think happened to him?” I asked Maude after a time.

  “I don't know,” she said wearily. “All those gunshots… Did you have any idea he was going to rob a bank?”

  “No.” Now that the question stood in the air, I asked, “Do you think he really is Joe Harden?”

  “Sallie!” Maude shouted. “What is the matter with you?” she wailed.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Marion is not as nice as we believed him to be,” Maude said in a sharp tone. “Even though we knew he killed Aunt Ruthie, we trusted him.” She broke off to sob loudly and sob long; the cords in her throat were drawn taut as wire. Finally she said, “He shot that man right before our very eyes. Did you see that? He's dangerous, Sallie, and even if he's famous, we still do not admire him. Do you understand?”

  “I don't admire him,” I said. “I just like him. I can't help it.”

  “It's not right to like him,” Maude said. She blew her nose into the cuff of her man-sized shirt and then rolled the cuff up again. “We have to hate him. He killed Aunt Ruthie.”

  “It's not right to hate him either,” I said. “Aunt Ruthie believed it was wrong to hate, even though she didn't much like anybody.”

  “Let's not talk about it anymore,” Maude said. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

  “We rode west,” I said, thinking on it. “Mostly west.”

  “Are we still headed mostly west?” Maude asked, looking around her like there would be a printed sign.

  I looked at the sun and decided it must be coming on noon. But it would be another hour or two at least before I knew for sure what direction we were headed in. I had to get a look at my compass.

  “Just keep going,” I told her.

  ALONG ABOUT MIDAFTERNOON, WE TOPPED A RISE AND found a small town laid out before us. Behind it ran a river, a river we would have to cross sooner or later. From here, we could see a horseman being ferried across on a wooden raft.

  The raft was pulled across on rope traces, but we could see the race of the river put a little strain on the whole works. Before I could get my hopes up, Maude said, “Let's ride north.”

  “I'm hungry and so are you,” I said. “Let's go on in and get the supplies we need. Then we'll take the ferry.”

  “What if they recognize me?” Maude said. “Even if they don't have a newspaper, the sheriff could have my description. I've already been in one shoot-out today. I don't think I can tolerate another.”

  “We have to have something to eat. It's too late in the year to hope for corn or berries to be picked.”

  “You go,” Maude said.

  “Do I look passable?”

  “You look a mess. But you don't look like a red Indian anymore. You just look like you've been living on the land.”

  Maude waited for me to say I'd go, and when I said nothing, she tried acting bossy. “Get us each a hat. Thank goodness I kept the money in my pocket, or we'd be in really big trouble.”

  “I don't know,” I said, but I did know. I didn't want to go in there alone. I had a bad feeling about it.

  “I don't see any way around it,” Maude said, softening a little. “I'll wait for you east of town.”

  “No, wait for me here,” I said, seeing the flaw in her planning. “I should ride out the way I came in. That way no one will know for sure which way we were heading.”

  “All right.” She gave me part of Aunt Ruthie's nest egg.

  I watched her count out five dollars and change. I said, “That's all?”

  “We have to hold on to as much as we can. So don't spend any on foolishness. Except peppermints. Have we lost them too?”

  “No,” I said, “I have the last few here in my pocket.” We'd come to depend on the peppermints, and we ate one or two of them daily. Marion liked them too, and considered we were awful stingy with them.

  “Better get some more,” Maude said. “No dimers. We can both eat peppermints, but I'm not buying dimers.”

  I hesitated, thinking longingly of a time when I would have argued that was unfair. Maude must have thought I was working out my argument because she said, “You can read the one you have until our fortunes change.”

  As it happened, I hadn't stuffed one into my shirt that morning, not knowing we were going to lose all our belongings, but I didn't say so. I started out, making a list in my head of the bare necessaries, when an ugly thought popped in. I rode back to Maude and said, “You won't disappear on me, will you? It won't be a kindness.”

  “I'm not brave enough for that,” she said.

  Still, I kept looking back over my shoulder. I needed to see her there, sitting that horse. My nerve was shot.

  The town was smaller than it looked from a distance. The one general store was sizable enough. It carried everything from saddles and horse liniment to farm machinery, ready-made clothing, dry goods, household items, and finally, foodstuffs. Sausages and cheese hung from the ra
fters, filling the air with a smell that made my mouth water.

  Two men and a woman in aprons helped customers in the aisles. They only barely looked up as I tried on hats. The woman helped me hunt up matches and a can opener. They didn't bother me or worry about what was I up to. The secret of this is only touch what you plan to buy.

  A girl about Maude's age worked the counter where I did my food shopping, and she wasn't much given to curiosity. I chose what we could eat on the run if need be. I was so taken with the smell of fresh-baked cookies in a box on the counter that I paid a dear price for as many as could be put in a small sack.

  The girl wanted to put everything in two boxes but was willing enough to put it all in feed sacks when I told her I was on horseback. I remembered the peppermints at the last minute and added some licorice whips and toffees to the candy order.

  I climbed into the saddle to tie one of the feed sacks to the pommel, and then got off again to get the other sack off the ground. That's when I heard a man say, “You're mighty young to be a hand at the Fieldings' ranch.”

  I looked up and saw a lawman looking down at me. His glance moved to the brand on the horse's rump. “My pa works there,” I said, going weak all over.

  “You're awful far from home, aren't you?” he asked, taking the weight of the feed sack so I could climb on. I needed the help.

  “We're going to look at a horse,” I said. “Another two days' ride.”

  “Bob Fielding riding with you?” he said, looking up and down the short street.

  “Nope,” I said, hoping this would be the right answer. The last thing I needed was a lawman's company. “It's just my pa and me for this trip,” I said, tying up the feed sack.

  “You tell your pa's boss I said hello,” he said. “Landers is the name.”

  “I will,” I said. “Thanks for the hand.”

  I rode slow as I moved away from him, deciding to ride toward the smithy at the end of town. Landers might get the impression my pa was there, getting a horse shod or something. Whatever he thought, I hoped he'd lose interest in me.