“There are some abandoned farmsteads we can scavenge along the way,” Jackson says, giving Jane a hard look.
“You got a map of these farmsteads? Because that doesn’t sound like any kind of plan to me,” she shoots back. “Hoping that we can find supplies.”
“I have to agree with Jane,” the Madam says. “Lily here might be able to fend for herself, but little Thomas most definitely can’t. And to be truthful, me and the girls aren’t exactly used to fighting the dead or hunting for our food.”
“And I’m not even sure I want to go to Minnesota,” Nessie says with an apologetic look to Sallie. “Forts mean soldiers, and I don’t have good memories about any of that business.”
Sallie’s expression is stricken, and Nessie takes her hand. But the rest of our party is looking more vexatious by the moment, and I clap my hands three times to get everyone’s attention.
“All of this arguing is not going to get us anywhere,” I finally say. Panic thrums in a low key through my veins, like a plucked guitar string. That horde might not be upon us just yet, but if we keep at this they will. “Perhaps there is some logic to Jackson’s idea, but as Jane points out, it is still not a plan. How far to Fort Riley?”
A muscle in Jackson’s cheek twitches. “Three days, maybe a little more, depending.”
“And Nicodemus is what, another day’s walk?” Jane asks, needling. At Jackson’s slow nod, she snorts. “We’ve got no provisions, no water, and a bunch of tired, hungry people. I don’t think there’s a real choice, here.”
“Jane is right,” I say. “We should head north to Nicodemus, and once we have gotten our bearings and procured some supplies, we can discuss how we might head east to Fort Riley. Besides, with that horde behind us, we should send word out to all the nearest towns and encampments so that they can prepare.”
“That makes sense,” the Madam says.
Jackson opens his mouth to reply. “But—”
“Perhaps we should vote on it?” I interrupt him.
The Madam and Nessie both look uncertain, and Jane’s eyebrow has a cock to it that I dislike. She is plotting, and whatever has gotten the gears of her mind turning cannot be good. But a vote is the best way to put to rest hurt feelings, and there is no sense in setting off with someone out of sorts. This is not a pleasure trip. We are literally running for our lives.
“I know how I’m voting,” Sallie says. “I ain’t fond of Nicodemus, especially seeing as how they ain’t exactly going to be rolling out the welcome wagon for working girls like me and Nessie. But I’m even less fond of shamblers, and it’s only a matter of time until that horde starts to follow the rest of the food. We need a chance to prepare, no matter where we decide to go.”
Jackson does not appear convinced, but the rest of the group murmurs concurrence, and it seems like the majority has spoken. But that is when I notice that Jane is barely paying the discussion any attention. Instead, she watches Jackson like a hawk.
“I’m not voting on anything until I know why Jackson is so damn eager to run to Fort Riley,” Jane says, as direct as ever, her eyes narrowed.
Here we go. I swear, Jane lives to fight. It is her daily bread.
Jackson looks at Jane, but his expression is not angry. It is sad, almost regretful. “Fine, Jane, you win. The truth is that I heard there were survivors from Baltimore in Fort Riley, come west on the same train that brought Miss Preston’s girls out this way, and I’m hoping my wife is there.”
My breath catches. Jackson’s words fall into the oppressive heat of the afternoon like birds from the sky, sudden and unexpected.
Jane takes half a step back, as though she has been struck. “Your wife?”
He shrugs. “I got hitched back in May. I was going to tell you eventually . . . but, yes, Jane. I’m married.” His tone is gentle, but even so, the soiled doves all bear similar expressions of sadness and anger. It is impossible to ignore that this is a blow to our poor Jane.
“You went and got married? Without even discussing it with me?” Lily yelps. The girl is too young to parse the subtext of Jackson’s declaration.
All of my attention is for Jane. I remember how she looked when she thought Jackson was dead, the anguish that had crossed her face before she twisted her expression back into her usual scowl. The naked despair on her face now puts that past sorrow to shame.
Jane tries to recover, and Jackson watches her expectantly. I am not quite sure why. Does he want her to cry? I know they were close, close enough that I am sure Jane has compromised the boy a few times. But there is something here I just do not understand.
“Well, congratulations!” I say, forcing all the brightness I can muster into my voice. “Lovely that you, sir, have been able to find a wife amid the tragedy and death of these end times. You are quite the enterprising fellow.”
Jane makes a choked sound that is somewhere between laughter and a sob, and I keep talking, hoping no one else has heard her. I have found that when all else fails, a sunny disposition can save the moment.
I continue. “While Fort Riley does sound like a potential goal for us eventually, how delightful to be able to reconnect with other Baltimoreans, it seems that the only reasonable plan of action is that we seek out the nearest settlement, no matter whose wife may or may not be in residence there.” Once again, the group murmurs its assent. I look to Jackson and Jane, and they both give curt nods.
I give everyone my best smile and clap my hands once like Miss Duncan, my old instructor at Miss Preston’s. No one could redirect a mishap like Miss Duncan, and her poise was unimpeachable.
“Excellent, then let us stop wasting daylight.” I gesture for Sallie to take up the reins again. “Jackson, can you man lead scout? Jane and I will take the rear.”
He stalks off toward the front of the wagon and sets out with long strides. Jane and I fall behind and slightly to the left of the wagon, doing our best to stay out of the considerable cloud of dust the wheels kick up. After a short while it becomes clear that it is a wasted effort, and, using my boot knife, I slice off a strip of my petticoat to tie around my nose and mouth. I slice a piece for Jane as well, and she takes it without a word.
“Are you okay?” I ask in a low voice. I daresay Jane and I are not exactly confidantes, even after our trials together in Summerland. Our friendship is newborn, and I am wary of placing a strain upon it that it will not bear. I remember too well our first meeting and how quick Jane is to take offense at the least little comment. But it is plain to see that she is hurt. She cares about that boy in a way I only understand in an academic context. I know love, of course, but not the push-pull of whatever Jane shares with Jackson. I have come to believe that it just is not in my being to feel such a powerful longing for a person, not physically nor romantically. I am sure that there are lots of reasons why, and folks most likely would try to blame my upbringing, which I would say is wholly incorrect. I am the way God has made me, and I shall not question the wisdom of my Creator. But whatever the reason, the true fact is that I have never had to deal with the complications of romantic entanglements, because they are just not something I desire nor will seek out.
But no matter how she may feel about me, I care about Jane deeply. And even if I do not understand the pain she feels right now, it does not mean I cannot support her through it.