En route to Stockton
Utah Territory
Another day and we will be home. Correction. We’ll be in Stockton. To the best of my knowledge, Murdoch’s plan to meet us at the train station and head back to the ranch the next morning hasn’t changed, so setting foot on Lancer land will have to wait an additional day. I can only guess at the tune caller's plan for the little lady sitting across from me.
Speaking of Kinsey...when not staring out the window, my cousin has sought refuge behind Bradstreet’s book of poetry. An onlooker would assume she’s mesmerized by the ever-changing scenery speeding past our window or is immersed in her reading. Truth be told, Kinsey’s stalling for time, avoiding the situation and ignoring the fact we need to have a difficult conversation.
“You’re writing in your journal.”
Scott straightened up in his seat, surprised to see his cousin’s face was no longer hidden behind a book. He nodded with a smile. “I am.” Hoping to keep her engaged, he continued. “Maybe you should start a journal - write down your thoughts - your observations - whatever comes to mind.”
“I have my sketchbook.” Kinsey’s attention shifted to her view of the country’s rugged terrain.
“Yes, that’s true.” Scott cleared his throat to bring her eyes back to meet his. “Come to think of it, you haven’t shared your drawings with me...recently.”
A hint of a grin made a brief appearance. “Yes, that’s true. Come to think of it, you haven’t shared your writings with me...ever.” A rise of a book and Anne Bradstreet once again became a barrier.
That went well. Where’s the little chatterbox when I need one? Scott squinted out his own window at the passing landscape before returning to his journal. Dammit.
My younger cousin is a hard nut to crack. In the past, when I grabbed the bull by the horns and insisted on a discussion, she dug her heels in - resulting in a fruitless argument. I mentioned her frustrating stubbornness to my father once. He snorted out ‘Garrett Guts.’ I’m still uncertain which of us he was referring to.
Kinsey’s bad dreams - I’ve encountered her night walks a few times and her occasional crying out in the early hours before dawn. It wasn’t until our first evening in Omaha that I truly could comprehend the severity of the demon which followed her from Melbourne.
Scott leaned his head back and closed his eyes to give them a rest. It also provided him time to gather his thoughts. Words needed to be said without provoking the little mule. Opening his eyes, he spied the answer. It had been right in front of him all this time.
“You’ve never asked me the reason why I chose that particular book of poetry for you, Freckles.”
“You needed a reason?” The leather-bound wall remained in place.
Closing his journal and setting it aside, Scott crossed his arms while resting his ankle on a knee. “Well, yes. I’d like to think I have a reason for every decision I make.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, young lady, that is indeed a fact.” Scott’s eyebrows raised in time with the lowering of Kinsey’s book.
“Well then, sir, I’m curious to hear the reason you decided to pursue the McGuire twins...separately...neither having knowledge of the other’s pursuit.” The corners of Kinsey’s mouth turned upwards - keeping pace with Scott’s eyebrows plummeting into a scowl.
“Where are you getting your information?”
“I have my sources.”
There was no question where these so-called sources resided. For centuries, great mathematicians and scientists pondered the existence of the center of the universe. Scott, on the other hand, could not only confirm its existence but provide the location: The Green River Dress Shop. This emporium of fancy fabrics and fine lace was the center of the universe for every female within a twenty-mile radius. Gossip weaved its way around hat boxes and handbags, button-up shoes and button down sleeves. He observed the smirk on his cousin’s face and matched it. Enjoy the moment, little one. It will be a cold day in Hades before you cross the dress shop’s threshold again.
Refusing to bite on the line Kinsey cast out, Scott redirected to the intended topic. “Permit me to first explain my purchase of your book.” Before his cousin could interject, he continued without hesitation. “You and Anne Bradstreet are very much alike.”
Bingo.
Kinsey’s expression transformed from all-knowing confidence to questioning curiosity. “Oh?”
Her single utterance signaled Scott had found the correct path. “Bradstreet possessed quite the adventurous spirit. At sixteen this brave young lady booked passage on the Arbella and sailed off to a place she knew little about. According to my grandfather, the Garretts were also on the ship - no doubt with the same hopes and dreams.”
Kinsey closed the book of poetry. As she ran her hand over its gold-lettered cover, Scott further expressed his admiration for the poet. “I must admit - Anne Bradstreet had guts. Writing wasn’t considered an acceptable role for women at the time and she received sharp criticism. The popular belief insisted reading and writing were for men whose minds were stronger.”
Rolling her eyes, his cousin clucked her tongue. “I can think of a few men who still feel that way.”
Scott nodded. He guessed Will Jenkins was on her list - perhaps even Johnny.
“Bradstreet was a fighter. She accomplished much while dealing with poor health and social controversy. Her poetry was her voice - a voice laced with a wee bit of sarcasm.”
“Sarcasm.” Kinsey grinned “Ah. And that’s where you think my similarity with Anne Bradstreet begins.”
“No, Freckles. The similarity starts at the beginning - when I mentioned she was brave with an adventurous spirit.” Scott leaned forward to capture his cousin’s complete attention. “You are a brave woman, Kinsey Rose - maybe, at times, a little too brave. But now, I need to see your bravery so we can have a hard discussion.” Scott took a deep breath. “What that Melbourne bastard did to you was not your fault. Take the guilt haunting you at night and place it on the sonofabitch who deserves it. He’s the bloody mongrel in your nightmares. Do you understand me?”
A slow nod and a moment of thought passed before Kinsey patted the book in her lap. “Her husband and children were such inspirations for her poetry. I will never have that. I’m...used.”
Sucker punched. It was how Scott felt. He sat back, staring, stunned at her comment. My God. There’s the demon. “Kinsey -”
“No. Scott.” Holding up her hand commanded his silence. “What if your intended told you a man had already taken her? Tell me it would not make a difference.”
How could he give her an answer to a situation he’d need to experience for the reply to be an honest one? Of course, he’d like to think it couldn’t make a difference. However, with many men, yes, it would. Unfortunate, but true.
Scott rose to sit next to his cousin. Choosing the right words had never been so important. “If a man looks at the woman he loves and can only see her past and not their future together, then he’s a fool.” Reaching out, he placed his hand on top of hers. “You will stroll the streets of Paris on the arm of the man who deserves you.”
It's been a on-going journey with my cousin - a mostly uphill journey. But each step taken helps me understand her and the things she does. It took the past few hours for Kinsey and me to find the words and share our demons - hers and the few that still haunt me. Identifying demons is a hard task. The only task harder than calling out the demon is conquering it.
S.
Comments