A Woman Named Damaris Page 4

  “I need a bit of a break from my walkin’. I’d be happy to hoe for a spell.”

  “What ya charge?” the woman finally asked.

  Damaris heaved a sigh. The woman had understood her well enough.

  “Just a place to sleep the night and a few supplies for the journey,” she answered.

  “I don’t have no extry bed,” the woman stated.

  “Then the supplies will do,” Damaris said quickly.

  The woman didn’t look particularly pleased with the arrangement, but Damaris could see she was mighty tired of hoeing in the hot sun.

  Damaris waited patiently as the woman made up her mind. At last she passed the hoe to Damaris. “I’ll give ya yer supper—nothin’ more.”

  Damaris nodded. It was a hard bargain but she was not in the position to turn it down.

  She laid aside her bundle and took the hoe. She had hoped a meal might come first, but apparently the woman didn’t want to part with food until she was sure the stranger kept her part of the bargain.

  Damaris began to make her way down the row, and the woman, after watching for a few minutes to be sure Damaris knew what she was doing, mopped her brow again and turned toward the house.

  “Please, ma’am,” called Damaris, “would you mind if I had a drink? I’ve run out of water.”

  The woman turned and nodded toward the well in the yard. “Help yerself,” she responded and continued on her way.

  Damaris drank until she gurgled. It felt good to have her stomach full, if only with water. Then she turned back to her hoeing. She had a long way to go to earn her supper.

  As Damaris worked, more than her stomach pained her. Her mother’s training meant that her conscience made her as miserable as her emptiness. Her lies might have worked to get her a job, but she knew it was wrong to lie. Right there and then she made up her mind that she would not resort to falsehood again—not even if she starved as a result.

  ———

  Supper was scant and served to Damaris on the porch. The woman seemed afraid to let her in the house. Damaris had hoped for enough food that she might tuck some away in her little cloth bundle for the future, but there was barely enough to satisfy her hunger. Besides, it was a watery stew that Damaris had no way of carrying.

  She sopped up the last of the stew with bread that had been provided, thanked the woman, and rose from the porch. The woman did not even thank Damaris for her service.

  It was beginning to get dark and Damaris had to find shelter for the night. It would not do to lie in the open in town as she had done along the empty railroad tracks.

  It took some time for her to find a small shed that seemed to be deserted. It was musty and dirty, but Damaris knew she needed to settle herself for the night. She placed her bundle under her head, wrapped the blanket tightly around herself, and curled up to sleep. She was in a town. Her bruised and blistered feet would have a chance to heal. Her back, though weary and aching, should be rested by morning. Surely she could find work to support her before long. She would just keep looking until she did. In the meantime, she was dry, comfortably warm, and—she hoped—safe. And she could get water at one of the many nearby wells. She had put enough miles between her and her hometown that no one should recognize her, and she didn’t think that her pa, no matter how angry he was over her leaving, would expend the energy to search this far for her.

  Damaris felt reasonably safe as she curled up on the floor of the shed and shut her eyes in sleep.

  ———

  During the following few days Damaris found little jobs here and there in the town, but nothing that really improved her situation. Each day she was pressed to find enough employment to guarantee her one decent meal. She was lucky once or twice. One woman had offered her a pair of shoes. They were worn and didn’t fit well, but they were much better than the ones she had been wearing. Another lady allowed her to sleep in a shed at the back of her property. This gave Damaris a home of sorts, but she knew she would need to do much better before winter came.

  Each day she made her rounds. Sweeping out a store, scrubbing floors, or pulling weeds. Once she was hired by the same woman for three whole days to do cleaning chores. But when the three days were up, she had nothing to show for it. She had been given only meals while she worked.

  And then little trickles of gossip began to reach her ears. Folks were wondering who she was and where she had come from. Damaris knew she must move on. One morning, just as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Damaris rolled her belongings into a neat bundle and started off down the tracks.

  ———

  She was into her second day before she arrived at the next small town. It was a welcomed sight, as she’d had nothing to eat since she worked for her last meal. She was bolder now—and her story, true as far as it went, was more rehearsed. She lost no time seeking out a small job in exchange for something to eat.

  The first woman gave her a flat no and an icy look, but Damaris was not easily discouraged. Her very existence depended upon her finding some job that would return her with a meal—even if only a piece of bread.

  Doggedly she moved from house to house. On her fifth try she was told there was ironing to do.

  The woman looked kindly at her, noting her dirty, mended dress and worn shoes.

  “Come in, dear,” she said without hesitation. “I can use a little help—providing your wages aren’t too high.”

  “Just a place to rest and a bit to eat,” answered Damaris, not wanting to be turned away again.

  “Sit down,” said the woman, ushering Damaris into her tidy kitchen. “We have just finished our own meal. I think the food is still warm enough.”

  Damaris was not worried about a warm meal. She needed sustenance.

  The woman heaped a plate with vegetables and a slice of ham, then placed two biscuits on the side and handed the plate to Damaris. The famished girl found it hard to remember the few manners her mama had taught her. She wanted to devour the food and tuck away what was left before the woman had a chance to change her mind.

  The food made Damaris sleepy. She had eaten too much, too quickly, and her stomach complained as she took her place at the ironing board. By sheer willpower she kept her head up and her body moving. From clothes basket to stove to ironing board she went, working her way through the warm afternoon.

  When supper was finally announced, Damaris was hanging the last white shirt on a hanger.

  “My husband is the town doctor,” the woman informed her. “That’s why I always have such a big ironing. Folks just take it for granted that he will have a clean shirt every day. Sometimes two or three a day—depending on his circumstances.”

  Damaris nodded.

  “You must be weary,” the woman continued. “That was a big job—and such a warm afternoon, too. The doctor will soon be home and we’ll have our supper.”

  Damaris had smelled the meal cooking as she worked and was surprised that she could feel hungry again, considering what she had eaten only hours before.

  “There he is now,” said the woman as the back door opened and closed. “Come now. We’ll eat right away. The doctor will be starving.”

  Damaris stood where she was. “Please, ma’am,” she faltered. “If it’s the same to you—could I—could I take my plate on the back porch?”

  The woman turned mid-step to look at the girl. “My! You are hot and weary, aren’t you. Well, it is cooler out there, I’ll grant you that. It always warms the house so with the stove burning. Of course. Take your plate to the porch.”

  Damaris let her eyes fall to her dress. She had washed it before leaving the previous town, but though clean, it was not fit for the parlor of a doctor and his wife.

  The woman passed Damaris a large plate, then bustled about her kitchen getting her meal ready.

  “You just help yourself. There’s plenty here. And cold buttermilk or lemonade in the icebox,” she said.

  Damaris dished up her plate of food. This time she was more
cautious. She did not wish to have her stomach ache from being too full any more than she wished to have it ache because it was too empty. She placed an ample serving on the plate, told herself that was the limit, and moved to the porch to enjoy the repast.

  Chapter Five

  An Opportunity

  Damaris did not want to take advantage of the woman’s kindness, so after she had washed the supper dishes she decided she should move on.

  “Do you have a place to stay?” the woman asked.

  “Oh yes,” Damaris assured her, not bothering to mention that she would stay wherever she found a roof over her head.

  “Well, if you must be going let me give you your wage.”

  “But I asked only my meals,” put in Damaris.

  “You worked much harder than that,” said the woman as she fished around in a small dish in the cupboard. She came up with four coins and handed them to Damaris.

  Damaris smiled her thank you and wished she hadn’t been so hasty in making up her mind to leave. The woman might have found her other jobs to do. But the die was cast. Damaris shouldered her bundle and moved toward the door.

  As she left the kitchen, Damaris noticed a black book lying on a small shelf. She paused, wishing again she could change her mind about leaving.

  Here was a Bible. She was sure it was a Bible. Perhaps this kind woman would be able to tell her about her name.

  “Thank you again for your help,” the woman was saying. “I usually get my ironing done the first of the week, but we had a man here who needed nursing care. We don’t have a nurse so I had to give a hand. He’s on the mend now—so I should be able to keep up again.”

  Damaris nodded and moved again toward the door. She said goodbye and started down the street, casting her eyes back and forth as she went, wondering what other jobs might be available in this little town. She needed something more settled. Going from small task to small task would never meet her needs.

  She would take one day at a time, she decided, and the first order of business was to find some place to sleep.

  ———

  After Damaris had been in the town for three days, working here and there as she found someone to hire her, she started to hear excited chatter. She had no idea what the folks were talking about until she heard two elderly gentleman discuss the event as they sat in front of the hardware store. She drew near as she swept so she could hear their words.

  “Not many trains go through here anymore,” one man said.

  His statement confused Damaris. She had seen two trains use the tracks just since she had been in town.

  “Not many trains go through anywhere anymore,” added the other old-timer. “I remember me a time when they went through three or four times a month in good weather.”

  The old fellow with the drooping gray mustache nodded in agreement.

  “Guess a lot of folks take the rails now,” he said, then spit at the ground.

  “Hear it’s expensive—iffen ya want to ship out all yer goods an’ such,” said the man in the stained straw hat.

  “Yeah. Costly. But then everything costs yer shirt now.”

  “Yeah. Yeah,” said the stained-straw-hat fellow.

  “Anybody goin’ from here?”

  “Got two families goin’ from what I hear. Thet new man and his brood. What’s his name agin? Black? White? I never can remember.”

  “Brown?”

  “Yeah—thet’s the one. He’s goin’, and then thet young fella—Travis. He an’ his bride are goin’.”

  The two old men were silent for a few moments and Damaris was afraid she would have to move on. She had swept in one place far too long.

  “I’d go myself—iffen I was younger. Shoulda done it years ago. Always had me a hankerin’ to see the West. But you know the Missus. She wasn’t anxious to pull up stakes and drag all the young’uns way out there. Kept talkin’ ’bout school an’ church an’ doctorin’. Guess the West’s got none of those things.”

  “Has now. Or so I heerd. Though I guess ya got to pick and choose the place ya head fer.”

  “Where’s this train goin’?”

  “Dunno. Ain’t heard a name put to it.”

  Damaris had to move on, but as she eased herself away she heard one last statement that made her eyes lift up from the dust at her feet.

  “Kinda sad,” said the one with the gray mustache. “Kinda hate to see it come to an end. I know the rails are faster—an’ I guess easier travelin’—but I’ll miss seein’ the wagon trains a passin’ through. Always an air of adventure with the rumblin’ of the wheels and the crackin’ of the whips.”

  Damaris sucked in her breath. A wagon train coming through town. A wagon train traveling west. If only—if only she could join it. She would never again need to fear being found by her pa.

  She wanted to ask the old gentlemen some questions, but she knew better than to approach them. She would just have to be alert—and ready. She would work her way west. Surely there were jobs she could do to earn her passage. Damaris could hardly contain her excitement as she went back into the store to replace the broom on the nail and collect her few cents of wages.

  ———

  After asking several people, Damaris finally found out who was in charge of the wagon train. She approached the big man with some hesitation and spoke softly.

  “Please, mister, could I speak with you a moment?”

  Never before had she dared to address a man other than the store owner back home where she traded the farm eggs for a few groceries. Since being on the trail, she had always appealed to women for work. It took all of the courage she could muster to draw near to the man and ask for his attention.

  He gave it reluctantly, lifting his head from the harness he had flung across his knees. His eyes did not soften as they took in the young girl before him, and he did not bother to answer her question. He just nodded his head in one quick, impatient motion, then turned his eyes back to the harness.

  “I—I understand you are the wagon master,” Damaris continued.

  He nodded again without looking at Damaris.

  She took a deep breath, glad that his eyes were not on her.

  “I—I would like—would like passage west,” she said hurriedly.

  His head jerked up. “You got a team an’ wagon?” he asked.

  “No—o,” answered Damaris, squirming before his stare.

  “Don’t take passengers. Check with the railroad train iffen ya want to travel west.”

  “But I thought—I mean—well, I—I thought—I don’t have money for the fare.”

  “Then the answer is still no.” He turned back to his work again.

  “But I—I am more than willin’ to work my way, sir,” Damaris continued.

  “Doin’ what?”

  “Why—why most anything. Cook. Wash. Herd. Anything.”

  “I do thet myself.”

  “But isn’t there—I mean isn’t there anything that I could do—for—for anyone?”

  “Not thet I know of.” His answer was sharp and blunt.

  “Could I—could I ask?” she insisted. “You have several wagons in your train. Maybe one of them could use—”

  “Look, girlie,” he said, his voice revealing irritation. “I have enough to take my attention ’thout setting out to care for a young girl who should be at home with her mama. I ain’t in the least inclined to let you go ’round from wagon to wagon seein’ iffen ya can bargain yer way fer a free trip. Now I think thet I’ve given more than thet minute you asked fer an’ I’ve a heap of work to do, so iffen ya don’t mind I’d like to git to it.”

  “Of—of course. I—I thank you kindly for your time,” murmured Damaris. With her shoulders sagging and her eyes to the ground, she moved away from the man and his harness.

  “Excuse me, miss,” said a voice beside her. Damaris jumped with the suddenness of it. She had not seen the man approach her.

  “Sorry,” he apologized, “I didn’t mean to startle you—but
I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with the captain.”

  Damaris waited, her eyes studying the stranger.

  “I’m Mel Brown. Me and my wife an’ family are joinin’ this train. Now we got a passel of little folks, and I know the trip will be hard on my missus. Jest what kind of arrangement were ya fixin’ to make?”

  “Well, I—I just want—want to travel with the train. I—I have no money for fare, but I would work my way—just for the—the trip—and my meals. I—I’m fairly handy at household chores and I—I’m not afraid of work. My mama always said that I have a strong back and—” The man raised his hand to bring her hurried words to an end.

  “Where ya aimin’ to go?” the man asked, catching Damaris off guard. She didn’t even know the name of any western towns, and she hadn’t heard anyone say where the train was heading.

  “Same place you are,” she answered dumbly, and the man accepted her answer without further pressing.

  “Come,” he bid her. “Talk to the Missus.”

  Damaris followed along behind him as they weaved in and out among the tethered wagons.

  At last they reached a covered wagon somewhat apart from the others. Damaris heard a baby crying and another young child whimpering for Mama. The man moved to the rear of the wagon, lifted the canvas flap, and called, “Martha.”

  An answer came from within and a woman soon stuck her head from the entrance. The crying baby was in her arms, and the demanding youngster was holding fast to the woman’s skirts.

  “This here young girl wants to travel west. Says she’ll work her way along in exchange for the ride. Ya interested?”

  The woman studied Damaris from top to bottom. There were questions in her eyes but she did not voice them. At length she nodded. She already looked tired and the trip had not yet begun.

  “You’ll ride in thet second wagon,” she informed Damaris. “Our oldest boy is drivin’ and there are three more young’uns in there. It’ll be yer job to care fer ’em when we are on the move. When we stop ya can busy yerself with helpin’ get the meals an’ sech.”

  Damaris nodded.