Kitt Peak Read Free

Lieutenant Thomas Mullin still made Lincoln's back stiffen up in salute, his mind more alert. It was silly... .
    Lincoln read the short note, and instantly felt himself go rigid and alert. Not so silly.
    "Matty!" he called, already wincing at the fight he would have with his wife. He could only hope she would understand.
    Resolutely, steeling himself for the confrontation to come, he mounted the creaking steps of the farmhouse, vowing to fix them as soon as he returned, opened the squeaking screen door to enter.
    A day later, filled with guilt and remorse, he was packed and ready to go. Another fine day was dawning; it would be even warmer than yesterday, the temperature climbing perhaps into the sixties. Wonderful weather for January. There were a lot of chores that wouldn't get done today. . . .
    "Matty," he said, unable to say anything else, holding his hands out in supplication. His carpetbag lay at his feet on the porch. In Matty's arms, the baby cooed and twisted, following the flight of an early morning crow cawing through the air over the near field.
    "You say you'll be back before planting," Matty said solemnly.
    "Matty, I promise. You can get Jedediah and Marcus to help until then. Jedediah knows how to fix things, the pump and such, and if by any chance I was late he could start the early plowing." Seeing her eyebrows go up he continued in a rush. "Though I know that won't be necessary. But . . . if it is, he'll do it. He owes me big, I got him started last year. And Marcus is good with the baby, and can run chores to town. Oh please, Matty, don't be mad at me."
    "I'm not mad at you, Lincoln," she said evenly. "I'm mad at Thomas Mullin and the Army."
    "Don't be, Matty."
    "When the Army gets hold of you, it's the only thing can make you act like this. Everything else, you're your own man. I just can't understand why you have to drop your life and run. Especially to help some white man."
    ~ * ~
    He reached out to take one of her hands, but instead, she shifted the baby from the crook of her other arm and handed it to him.
    "Say good-bye to your papa, Washington," Matty said coldly. "Say good-bye to your papa who's leaving you to help some crazy old fool find a drunk white man's Indian daughter."
    The baby cooed, looking up into Lincoln's face and smiling. Lincoln looked at Matty imploringly.
    "Matty, I've told you. These are the only two men from the Army I would do this for. Sergeant Adams saved my life. And Lieutenant Mullin is —
    "Like a father to you," Matty finished. "I've only heard it a thousand times, Lincoln." Suddenly, as she saw him reach down for his bag, her tone softened.
    He straightened up, handed the baby to her. "I have to go, Matty," he said, turning away.
    "Lincoln —" She put her hand on his arm, gripped him tight, turned him around.
    He looked down at her. "Matty, I said I'm sor…
    "I know," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him. Suddenly she was crying. "I know, and I understand. But you have to be careful."
    "Of course I'll be careful," he said. He brought his lips down to the baby's head and kissed his crown. "And you be careful, too."
    When he looked back at Matty she was still crying. "Oh, Lincoln." she said, hugging him tight.
    "I know, Matty, I know."
    Gently, he pulled away from her, walked down the steps, and didn't look back until he was far away, across his sharecropped field, at the edge of the land that might one day be his or his son's.
    When he looked back he waved, and Matty waved back, and made little Washington wave, too.

Chapter Three
    Â 
    Steel your mind, Thomas.
    He hadn't remembered how truly tedious a long train trip could be. What at first began as an exciting excursion, a setting out for new places on a machine that traveled the rails faster than any man could run or ride, became, after the first few days, a boring series of embarkings and debarkings, facing an endless dull panorama of shorn trees and winter whiteness. What had at first been charming soon