Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

“He’s burning up,” I say.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Rose says from the fireplace. “Dis here a nasty bout. Da young ‘uns be burnin’ with fever.”

“What’s your name?” I ask the little boy.

He fearfully looks at me with glazed over eyes. He blinks but doesn’t answer.

“He Willy,” Rose answers for him. “And he bin needin’ to relieve himself. I’m a-gonna take him.”

“I’ll take him,” I offer, helping the little boy to his feet. I take his hand in mine and shake it. I smile warmly. “Willy, my name is Rebecca. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Can you show me to the outhouse?”

He nods as I wrap a blanket around his shoulders. We head into the cold.

The smell coming from the outhouse is absolutely foul.  I plug my nose as Willy opens the door.  I kick whiskey bottles out of the outhouse before helping Willy unbutton his trousers.  He dances the entire time. Unfortunately, I’ve got him there a little too late. Urine sprays my leg before he can shoot into the pit. Willy’s eyes widen with mortification, and he begins to tremble in fright. The poor, little boy is very afraid of me.

“Willy, I am so sorry I got you here too late,” I tell him sincerely. “And then I was slow with your button. I promise; I’ll be better help next time.  It’s freezing out here. Let’s go back inside.”

I help him button up and wrap the blanket tightly around his shoulders, trying not to contemplate that there isn’t any toilet paper in the outhouse.  I don’t even want to know what the stack of advertisements and newspapers is for. I already miss my Charmin!

When we return to the cabin, Rose’s eyes go directly to my wet leg, but I don’t say anything about the accident. I simply help Willy lay down on his mattress.  I get him situated just before a baby girl in the corner begins to cry. Rose puts down the dough she is kneading.

“I’ll get her,” I say.

I’m pretty much useless when it comes to cooking in a fireplace, but I do know a thing or two about taking care of sick people. Rotating around the cabin, I give the sick children drinks of water, place cool cloths on their heads, change diapers, rub on calamine lotion, clip fingernails, put clean socks on their hands to keep them from scratching, and help some of the older children to the outhouse.  Like Willy, some of the other children look at me with fear as I try to help them, so I softly sing as I make my rounds.  Minutes seem to blend into hours as I tirelessly work.

I soon learn the children’s names.  There are three little boys: baby Solomon, four-year-old Johnny, and my Silly Willy. After a couple hours, the eight-year-old has warmed up to me and tries to make me laugh with silly faces.  Two baby girls sleep side-by-side: the silent Nellie and the crying Augusta.  Five sick children keep Rose and me on our toes.

She cooks, and I help to feed the sickest. I barely get breakfast in their stomachs when it’s time to feed them lunch.  Even though I’m starving, I can’t justify taking a break to eat when little babies are crying for their food.  Besides, I’m only here for five days; it’s okay if I miss a few meals.

I’m rocking the particularly fussy little Augusta when the next moment I jump, finding that I’ve fallen asleep. I wake up and find the little girl in bed, and Johnny and Willy missing. I sit up in a panic.

“Ma’am, da older ones done go back to help dey mamas,” Rose explains.

“But they’re still sick,” I reply.

She shakes her head. “Dey fevers done pass.  Da work be doin’ dem good and maybe keep dey minds off da scratchin’.”

I stretch my arms over my head.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Nearly sundown, Ma’am.” She sprinkles flour on a table and rolls out dough.

“My name is Rebecca,” I say, standing up. “What children need water?”

“Da children can wait, Ma’am. You be needin’ dinner.” She continues rolling out the dough.

“Rose, my mama was black.”

For the first time, she looks up from her dough and shakes her head.  She points at my blond hair.  “You ain’t no mulatto.”

“No, the people who gave me life were white, but my
mama
was black. My parents died when I was young, and Mama raised me. Blood can only give you so much; true family we gain by love, at least that’s what she taught me.” I smile. “The fire’s dying. I’ll go get some more wood.”

“It a-needin’ to be chopped. I’m a-gonna get it if you be watchin’ da biscuits.” Rose unties her apron.

I stop her. “I better go for the wood. I think I can manage to chop something apart, but I know I’d burn those biscuits.”

The ax isn’t hard to find, but chopping the wood turns out to be a nightmare. I slip around in the frost covered weeds, nearly cutting my leg in the process.  Henry’s pants are too long for me, and I roll them up to keep from tripping over them.  Soon I’m covered with sweat and mud, and all I have to show for my efforts are a couple nicks on the log and some blisters on my hands. I shiver as the sun begins to go down. I have to get the wood chopped, or Rose’s cabin is going to get cold very quickly.

I raise the ax to try another swing at the stubborn log when the handle is pulled out of my hands.

“Ma’am, it is best if I do that before you hurt yourself.” I recognize Colonel Blair’s soft-spoken voice.

I turn around and find him more handsome in life than he was in death, even in the dreadful state he’s in. His hair looks as though it hasn’t been washed in days, he hasn’t shaved recently, and his clothes are wrinkled and dirty. I can smell alcohol and tobacco on him and a big old case of BO.

Without looking at me, Colonel Blair efficiently chops several logs before carrying the stack into Rose’s cabin. The old woman squeals with delight when she sees him.

“Massa James!” She hugs him. “When done you arrive?”

“Just after lunch,” he answers, setting the wood by the fireplace. “My rest was disturbed by a dangerous sounding ax.”

“Ah, you done met Miss Rebecca,” Rose says. “She bin helpin’ with da children.”

“I apologize for waking you,” I say from the doorway.

“Oh, Miss Rebecca, you ain’t decent!” Rose gasps when she sees me, grabbing the nearest blanket to wrap my body with. “I done forgot dat you done changed into Henry’s trousers to help da children! And you done rolled da legs up!”

“I was in a losing battle with a log,” I say, realizing a girl from 1875 would never dress like I’m dressed, but I’m not from 1875. I’ll just have to try harder to behave properly.

“I be sorry, Massa James,” Rose apologizes for me. “Now dat da children be startin’ to feel better, I’m a-gonna send for Ida to help Miss Rebecca!”

“That would be best.” He nods, still avoiding looking at me.

“Miss Rebecca, dis Colonel Blair,” Rose introduces us properly. “Massa James, dis Miss Rebecca…” She stops, never having been told the rest of my name.

“Rebecca Josephine Harris,” I fill in, using the name on my birth certificate. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.  I hope you don’t mind that I’ve intruded on your hospitality.”

“Not at all, I am grateful to you for assisting Rose with the children. May I inquire how long you will be in Virginia City?” His eyes are firmly on the floor.

“I’m just passing through on my way to my sister’s. I will be leaving on the twenty-first. Can you suggest a hotel in town where I may lodge until then?”

“As a small act of gratitude for your kindness, you are welcome to remain here as our guest for the two weeks you are in Virginia City.”

Two weeks? What is he talking about?  I wrinkle my forehead. “I’m sorry, but what is today’s date?” I ask.

“Sunday, March seventh.”

I clench my jaw. I’m ten days too early. How can I be ten days too early? It hits me. My efficiency has backfired! When I took the potion, I didn’t take into account that I set my clock ten minutes early, so I’ll be on time for everything. This efficiency means I will be in 1875 for two weeks instead of five days.

Wednesday, March 17, 1875

Sunday, March 7, 1875

I put the beauty queen smile on my face, even though he refuses to look at me.

“That’s very kind of you,” I say.

“Massa James, I’m a-gonna come up to da house to cook dinner,” Rose interrupts the conversation.

“Thank you, Rose.” He goes to the door, stopping in front of me. His eyes remain on the floor. “Ma’am, perhaps if you are finished chopping wood, you would join me and my uncle for dinner?”

I am going to tell him that if Rose is cooking his dinner that I’ll have to stay to tend the children, but Rose answers before I can.

“She’s a-gonna be dere after she dressed, Massa James. Now, go rest. Lord knows you ain’t be sleepin’ enough!”

*     *     *

“I don’t feel right leaving all these sick children here,” I say from my lukewarm bath behind a sheet Rose put up for privacy. I shift my legs in the tiny tub to wash the mud off them. It’s a good thing I’m tiny, too.

“After Ida done help you dress, she gonna stay with da children,” Rose says as she organizes my things.

“I don’t need help getting dressed.” I rinse off my body.

Rose laughs. “I ain’t know much, but I be knowing dat you ain’t done worked a day in your life. You done work your hands raw.”

I look at my hands. She’s right. The skin is red and swollen from frequent washings, and they have more than their fair share of blisters. “Maybe, but I can get myself dressed.”

She laughs louder.

“Proper ladies ain’t be dressin’ demselves.” She passes me a towel over the sheet. “I’m a-gonna find you salve for your hands.”

I’m toweling off when I hear the door open.

“Dere you is!” Rose says to the person who’s entered. “I done bin waitin’ forever. I a-gotta get Massa James dinner cooked. You be helping Miss Harris dress and den watch da children. Dere be salve on da table for her hands.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” a timid voice answers.

“And ain’t you be listenin’ to her,” Rose adds. “She ain’t be knowin’nothin’ about gettin’ dressed. Massa James done saw her wearin’ Henry’s trousers.”

I hear Rose’s footsteps leave the cabin and the door shut behind her.

“Ma’am, you be needin’ help?” the timid voice asks.

“My clean underclothes are in a leather bag by the door, and Rose hung my dress in the corner. Could you please get them for me?”

Moments later, a small hand passes me a chemise, a pair of drawers, and a corset. I quickly put them on.

“I hate to inconvenience you, but I really could use some help with this corset,” I say aloud, thinking Rose was right about me not being able to dress myself.

“It ain’t no inconvenience at all, Ma’am.”

A thin, black girl of about eleven apprehensively walks into my makeshift dressing room. She

avoids eye contact as she tightly pulls the stings on my corset.

“If men had to wear these things, they would outlaw them!” I try to suck in a deep breath of air.

Ida says nothing as she efficiently helps me readjust my many articles of clothes. I soon see that I had put on almost everything incorrectly. Rose was right about me being helpless!  After Ida has cleaned up my shoes and helped me button them, I stand up.

“Ma’am, your hair,” Ida barely whispers.

“Ida, that would be really nice of you to help me with it,” I say gratefully. “I’m terrible at putting it up.”

Her hands move so quickly I’m amazed. Before I know it, my light hair is elegantly arranged around my head.

I am very grateful for Ida’s help, especially after I appeared so backward to Colonel Blair. Every hope of making a good first impression is gone. Maybe I can make a good second impression.

“Thank you very much,” I tell her. “I would have been lost without you.”

For the first time, Ida smiles.

As I walk to the Mansion, I hear Rose talking. “Her hands ain’t be workin’ hands and her gown too fine for her be nothin’ but a lady. And she ain’t no prostitute, dat for sure.”

“But where is she from?” Gabe asks.

“I ain’t knowin’ dat, but she done said she been raised by a negro.  Must be a southern lady, but she be talkin’ different.  Not like Massa James mama. And I ain’t never done seen a white woman be treatin’ negro children like she be doin’.  She done talkin’ and singin’ to dem, and she ain’t even done blink when little Willy done relieve himself on her leg when she done help him. She be mighty kind but mighty peculiar.  I be wondering where da train been done bring her from.”

“Why is she here? There are few unmarried women in Virginia City who aren’t prostitutes. Maybe she is here to set up business?”

“Definitely not, I am just passing through,” I say, walking around the house.  Gabe bows and Rose curtsies from the porch. I continue, “I was born and raised in South Carolina. My parents are both deceased. I live with my sister. I have a few errands to accomplish here, and then I am going home to her.”

“Sorry, Ma’am,” Gabe quickly says. “We didn’t mean no harm.”

I climb the stairs and stop in front of him.

“Gabe, don’t pretend to be something you’re not. It doesn’t suit you. I know that you are one of the smartest men in the state of Nevada, and the color of your skin will never change that. Yes, I’m a lady, but not like any you’ve ever met or will ever meet again. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Colonel Blair is waiting. I don’t need you to show me in.”