Chapter 30
SLIGHTLY OUT OF brEATH FROM THE CLIMB, Josephine paused at the crest, surprised by the sweep of gently rolling fields stretching all the way to the foothills beyond.
Split-rail fences stitched the land into corrals and pasture, and from where she stood, she could make out two large barns and several smaller outbuildings.
A snug log cabin sat tucked among the stalwart pines and newly leafed oak, its porch swing—suspended by thick ropes—drifting lazily in the breeze.
It looked like a picture. Earthy greens against a cloudless blue sky, the whole scene peaceful enough to mask the trade that thrived a stone’s throw away.
A bunkhouse stood beyond the barns, set well away from the cabin, and judging by the number of farmhands moving about, it was likely full—and presumably where Dodge Coburn lived.
Then again, no. He wouldn’t live in such an unsuitable environment for Bethie.
The breeze shifted and the same foul odor she’d caught wind of earlier—sharp and metallic— permeated the air.
She covered her mouth and nose as her gaze trailed to the far end of one of the fields.
Thick plumes of smoke curled upward from a smoldering mound, and farmhands—their faces half-covered with kerchiefs—loaded burlap-wrapped cargo into waiting wagons.
She looked closer, and her stomach clenched.
Taking measured breaths, she searched for Dodge Coburn among the men, but didn’t see him. Or Mr. Daniel.
She ventured into the nearest barn, the air heavy with hay and dust. The smell of death lingered, diminished only slightly, mingled with labored breathing and low, pitiful moans that twisted her gut tight.
She paused to let her eyes adjust, and voices drifted toward her. One she recognized.
“Doc, you’ve got to tell him to give her more time. She’s due to drop her calf any day now.”
“Child, I don’t tell your uncle what to do,” a man replied gently. “I tell him the condition of each animal as best I know it, then he decides.”
“But this is Maple. She’s special. I raised her. Bottle-fed her. I was going to take her with us. Uncle Jack said I could.”
The man’s voice dropped too low for Josephine to hear.
She couldn’t see Bethie or the doctor the girl was speaking with, but guessed they were just beyond the stalls lining the corridor.
Being in a barn again stirred memories of her early years teaching—taking her students to a dairy farm outside Atlanta so they could glimpse a life beyond brick and streetcars, most having been raised in the city as she had.
Eventually, those visits had been deemed impractical, and finally unnecessary, by the school board.
Standing here now, and considering her lack of skills relevant to such a setting, she questioned that decision more than ever.
She moved quietly down the corridor just as someone entered from the opposite end. Instinctively, she stepped back out of sight, but not before recognizing the girl immediately.
Rowena Gibbs. And the basket on her arm likely contained something to entice a certain someone the girl was after.
“What are you doing here?” Bethie snapped.
“I’m here to see your uncle, girl. Do you know where he is?”
“Wherever he is he’s too busy to talk to you.”
Josephine bit back a smile. Bethie’s protectiveness was fierce—and understandable.
“Tell him I’m leaving something for him on the porch. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“He’ll be busy then, too.”
“Just tell him, Bethie!”
Bethie mumbled something Josephine couldn’t hear, but could easily imagine.
She admired Bethie’s spunk. Her clarity. And not for the first time, she wished she’d possessed such certainty at that age. Wished she’d known sooner that women didn’t have to make themselves small. That they could be strong, capable, independent—
And what? End up getting beaten senseless in an alley. Forced to run. To hide. To land in backwoods Tennessee, where much of what she’d spent her life learning seemed to count for very little. Except bookkeeping for a distillery.
It might have been amusing had it been someone else’s story.
Maybe what we’re fightin’ for is too much, Sarah had whispered to her in the alley. Maybe it’s never goin’ to happen, Finny. Josephine mouthed the words she’d answered with then, willing them to give her fresh courage. “Failure is impossible.”
Because didn’t they owe it to girls like Bethie to keep fighting for equality?
Even if, perhaps, a certain girl’s uncle warned her off?
She had no plans to turn Bethie into a young suffragist. Because, whether Dodge Coburn knew it or not, he already had the makings of one on his hands.
If Bethie was this strong-minded at nine years old, heaven help the man when the girl came of age.
“No, Uncle Dodge! You can’t. I won’t let you!”
The urgency in Bethie’s voice snapped her back.
Josephine edged forward just enough to see Dodge Coburn standing in the stall, rifle in hand, looking as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
“One more day, Uncle Dodge. Just one more!”
“That’s what you said two days ago, Bethie. I’m just keeping my promise not to let Maple suffer, remember? And she’s suffering plenty right now.”
“But Doc said—”
“Bethie,” he said gently, but firmly. “There’s a good chance the calf will have it too. Then we’d have to put it down too. So please, go on home. I’ll be there directly.”
Bethie ran from the barn, her sobs heart-wrenching.
Feeling every inch the intruder, Josephine decided it best to leave. She turned—and knocked a pail from its hook. It clanged, struck another, and both crashed to the dirt floor.
She cringed, then looked up to see Dodge Coburn striding toward her.
“May I help you, Mrs. Dunham?”
She rehung the pails on their hooks. “No, I’m sorry. I— I shouldn’t be here. I just came to see how things were.” She gave a small shrug. “To see if I could help.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “I appreciate that. But I think we’ve got it covered.”
She turned to go.
“Dodge! You best come quick! It’s Maple!”
Dodge Coburn rushed back to the stall, and Josephine could only follow.