A Stranger's Kindness

Oh, how I had dreaded that long journey west. Here I was, a young widow with an infant child, born to the comforts of one of the most exquisite families in Atlanta, setting out on a month-long journey to the savage frontier.

My dear Aunt Augusta in San Francisco, bless her spinster heart, had written to me upon the death of my husband that she would take me in. She even sent money for the coach journey, which was perhaps testament to her great loneliness rather than her charity. I accepted the money – not only had my dear Titus left me stone-broke, but just before his ungentle departure he had acquainted himself with one very young and very lovely society girl, and together they had set a pair of horns on my head that rivals the size of those sported by the half-wild cows wandering about this dreadful country. In short, I had to get as far away from Atlanta as geography would allow.

So here I was, on my way to live out my life and raise my young daughter amidst the mothballs of my Aunt’s waning life. Not a great prospect for a young woman whose blood still runs warm.

And then, just to make things a little bit worse, I tripped when dismounting the stage at Reno, fell flat on my face, and broke my arm.

The doctor in Reno had advised me to postpone my journey until my arm had mended, but I would rather have it amputated than spend one minute more than necessary traveling through this desolation. The next morning, with my baby daughter’s basket on one arm and a monstrosity of a plaster cast on the other, I was back on the stage.

For the whole next day I had been forced to share a coach with one particularly vile individual who had the most detestable habit of ejecting saliva through a gap in his teeth, right there onto the coach floor at my feet. Never in my born days had I witnessed such an abomination. I appealed, of course, to the coach driver to have the brute removed, only to receive a nod of the head and a toothless grin – the poor creature was stone deaf. There didn’t seem to be a man west of St. Louis who still had all of his teeth in his mouth.

Finally, we arrived in Virginia City. The connecting stage, as was the rule in this uncivilized land, was dreadfully late. There was a dusty ante-room in the stage office, which offered a few dusty chairs to dusty travelers. There I rested with Becky’s basket on the chair next to me. To my chagrin, we were not alone.

In the chair opposite, a man sat. If what he was doing could be described as ‘sitting’. He had slid down his chair till his rump teetered on the very front of the seat, with a pair of very long, dusty legs stretched out into the middle of the room. His arms were crossed over his wide chest and his hat was tipped on his forehead. His chin rested on his chest, and he appeared to be dozing in that most unflattering position. No gentleman in Atlanta would ever so much as slouch in the company of a lady. I prayed to God that this individual would not wake while I was present, as surely he would promptly begin to spit. He was dressed all in black, like a true villain.

Would you believe it, but just at this moment my dear Becky reminded me of my motherly duties by stirring to life and raising her voice to a most demanding crescendo. I hastily fished for her pacifier under her blanket and stuck it in her mouth, and when that did not soothe her, I tried her teething ring and then her bottle. But no, Becky insisted loudly that my attention was required at her other end.

I had feared this. How could I possibly change her bindings with the use of only one arm? Oh, the delights of motherhood. There was nothing to be done for it – it had to be taken care of right there and then. With a quick glance at the stranger, I rose and then turned my back on him to tend to Becky. I had placed a change of bindings and the powder bottle in her basket, and after pulling them out, I began to fumble one-handedly to untie the straps wrapped around my daughter. I sweated and fussed and wished like I never had before that Titus, curse his black soul, had left me a fortune, a reputation and a mansion full of servants. It was no use – the bindings did not come undone.

“Aah…excuse me, Ma’am?”

I straightened and swung around, and there stood the creature from the chair. He was tall, quite tall and unshaven. His black clothing was covered in trail dust, he smelled of sweat and horse and his eyes were dark and hooded. I shuddered and resolved to fight to my death, if need be. Just as I raised my one good fist, he politely tipped his hat. He didn’t remove it, however; apparently, such courtesies were reserved for special occasions only in this crude country.

“Forgive me if I startled you, Ma’am. I couldn’t help notice that you…ah…seem to be needin’ a hand, so to speak. If you don’t think it improper, I’d like to offer two of mine.” He smiled slightly and nodded towards Becky. Two dimples appeared in the shrubbery on his cheeks. He was possibly quite harmless after all.

“Well, sir. This is not exactly a task for a man.”

He inclined his head, just a little, with a bit of grace. “Ma’am, we frontier rogues are a versatile breed. I assure you, I’m up to the challenge.” He smiled the dimples again. I had to admit, though still dusty and unkempt, he was not entirely without charm.

It was most extraordinary. In Atlanta, no gentleman would ever offer himself to such a humiliating task as changing a baby’s wrappings; that is, not unless he was ungodly drunk or trying to win some sort of bet.

“I can’t possibly allow that! It would be most improper,” I blurted out.

“Ma’am, another thing you should know about us frontier types is that we are frequently more concerned with practicality than propriety.” He nodded at my casted arm. “Quite frankly, I don’t think you can manage.”

He was quite right about that, of course. And so, out of a mix of curiosity and desperation, I stepped aside and allowed him access to my daughter. I was resolved, however, to strike him across the head with my cast the moment he should touch Becky wrongly.

But strangely, as soon as his fingers began to work the knotted bindings, Becky’s squalling died to a little gurgle and she stared up at the dark stranger with large, curious eyes. Apparently, my child had no objections to the man’s ministrations. I observed carefully over his shoulder and was surprised at the deft but gentle way in which his long, tanned fingers grabbed my Becky by the ankles to lift her bottom off the bindings. I couldn’t help notice that his nails were surprisingly well manicured. He quickly and efficiently rolled the soiled fabric into a neat little package and laid it aside. He took the powder bottle and again he lifted her bottom to carefully administer the powder where it was needed. Then he reached for the fresh bindings and unrolled them. This is where he ran into trouble.

He managed a good start, but soon had her hopelessly in tangles. He shrugged, held up one of the straps and raised an apologetic eyebrow. “Help me out, would you? It’s been a while for me…”

I smiled and reached out to gently guide his hands with my good one. “Around the leg, through the other strap and across the…” I blushed. His hands were warm and strong.

“Ah yes, I remember,” he nodded and guided the strap where it belonged with careful, gentle fingers.

I sighed. A father. He must be a loving father, without a doubt.

“How many do you have?” I asked.

He looked up at me, and his eyebrows made perfect little triangles as they rose. “How many…oh.” He paused for a second, then cast his eyes down and chuckled a little. I noticed with delight that he still had all his teeth. “Uhm…two, Ma’am. I have two.” He laughed softly, fondly, and I imagined that they must be precious little dears indeed.

Very gently, he tied off the last strap and gave Becky a small pat on the belly. My daughter clucked delightedly. He cocked his head a little, as if admiring his handiwork. I had to admit, though no masterpiece, it was perfectly adequate; certainly better than I could have managed with one hand; and a whole lot better than anything Titus had ever done with two.

Becky blinked up at him and contentedly pedaled her legs in the air. He smiled down at her. Suddenly, before I could stop him, he reached into the basket with his long, dusty arms and pulled my daughter up and set her on his hip.

“Well, little one, does that feel better?”

My shy little Becky, who even at this innocent age had never been one to cast her heart at a stranger, studied his scruffy face in wonder. And then she reached out with her tiny fist and firmly grabbed his nose and held on so tight that the tears sprang to his eyes.

“Oof. Logs loik ya god me,” he told her and she giggled brightly but did not let go.

Just at that moment, the door to the street was pushed open noisily and two men entered. One was slender and wiry, the other took up about twice as much space and wore an atrocity of a hat, but both were covered with the same yellow trail dust. They had been laughing and talking as they entered, but upon spotting our little group, they fell instantly silent and froze in the doorframe.

My helper’s eyes rolled towards the newcomers, and his face fell and took on a look of panic. He cleared his throat. “Oh. Hi Doe. Oss.” He gently reached up to remove Becky’s fingers from his nostrils.

The two men came carefully forward, each nodding a polite “ma’am” to me. With raised eyebrows, they looked from myself to Becky to their friend. I saw the mirth growing in their faces and realized with some embarrassment that my dear benefactor must have been caught in a most unbecoming position.

The smaller one of the two gleefully cocked his head. “Now, older brother, you’ve only been gone two weeks…”

The large one grinned broadly. He, too, had all of his teeth, although there was a charming gap between the two front ones. “Dadburnit! Is there sompin’ you ain’t been tellin’ us about them trips to Sacramento?”

My helper stood with his mouth open. I decided then to rescue him, and gently took Becky from him with my good arm. He cleared his throat and looked at his boots while rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Then, his composure returned, he looked up at me warmly.

“Ma’am…may I introduce my younger brothers?” He gestured to his right side, “This is Joe,” and to his left, “and this is Hoss.” He looked back at me, smiling that soft little smile again. “Uh…It’s been a few years since I’ve had to change theirs, but I guess it’s like riding a horse: once you’ve learned how, you never really forget.” The two young men looked puzzled for a moment, and then they exchanged a stricken glance behind his back and blushed most endearingly.

Alas, our brief but memorable acquaintance came to an abrupt end when my stage to San Francisco pulled up in the yard. In a bustle of activity, I was helped and escorted on board by my three assistants and sent on my way with many wishes of good health. Before I knew it, the stage rumbled down the busy streets of Virginia City, and I was on my way to a new life. Maybe not such a bad life after all, I thought with renewed hope as I watched my daughter sleep peacefully in her basket. After all, I was still young, and my blood ran warm.

And as we climbed into the beautiful Sierra Mountains I realized, with some regret, that I hadn’t even asked his name.