Bethany Swafford - My Hands Hold My Story

For my parents who taught me to love books

Chapter One

1874

My world became one of silence when I was six years old.

Where others would hear the creak of the swaying wood or the pounding of the horses who were pulling the stagecoach, I heard nothing at all. Whenever the other passengersfive in this coach attempted to have some conversation, their mouths would open wide, and they would lift their chins, to raise their voices above the din.

Perhaps to onlookers, it was strange to see a sixteen year old girl traveling alone, let alone one who was deaf. However, I had been given little choice in the matter.

Across from me, the heavyset man mopped the sweat from his brow and said, ...mistake to come...this way. His gaze then shifted to the man beside me and nodded as though he agreed with something said.

The response he gave was, Business. What else? He glanced at me as he spoke those words.

I didnt always know how to read the body language of everyone around me; there were so many nuances to a persons facial expression. In fact, I wasnt as good as some of my former schoolmates, and I knew I would never be an expert at it. Most of the time it was a matter of guesswork, and this time I guessed he was wondering where I was going and why I was on the journey alone.

Even if I could have explained how it had happened, I dont think I would have. It would have involved putting into words what I had been through and faced every day, much less what had forced me to go west. As I thought about Aunt Ruths death, tears welled up in my eyes, and I brushed at them. The only other woman in the stagecoach, however, spotted me. She reached over from where she was seated in the middle on the opposite side of the coach and patted my knee in a way meant to be comforting.

I shifted my gaze to the window next to me and stared at the passing scenery. Though ten years had passed, my deafness remained a daily struggle. It set me apart from the majority of the world and made everyone treat me as different.

Though the event that took my hearing will always stick out in my mind, many of the details are forever fuzzy. Fever will do that to a persons memory, I suppose.

At the time, Father was fighting in the War Between the States, and he had been gone for two years. It hadnt been comfortable with him away. Simon, three years older than I, stocked the shelves of our familys store and did whatever odd jobs he could find to help out, while Mother did needlework to fill the gap Fathers absence caused in our income.

The fever struck us without warning. I have a slight recollection of being ill, of hearing wheezing and coughing nearby whenever I managed to fight my way out of the blackness that seemed determined to consume me. Strange nightmares haunted my sleep. And then, when I woke up, everything was silent.

It took several moments for me to recognize that something was not as it should be. Im not entirely sure what it was that made me realize I couldnt hear a thingwas it seeing the door swinging open but no corresponding squeak of the hinges? but I do remember how I reacted. I had screamed. My throat had vibrated with the action, and I didnt hear a single note.

And it wasnt Mother who flew to my side to comfort me; it was my Aunt Ruth. Because, as I would learn later, my mother and baby James had died that morning.

As quickly as that, our family of five was cut down to three. With Father gone, Simon and I had to stay with Aunt Ruth and her husband. Grief-stricken and panicked over the sudden loss of one of my main senses, I unequivocally labeled the time as the worst period of my life, made even worse when my father did return, injured from a battle.

These memories never failed to bring tears to my eyes, especially given what happened next. I shook my head, pushing away the feeling of being unwanted that followed me wherever I went. How I wished for something to occupy my mind! Though I had a novel on my lap, it was difficult to read the words in the moving stage, and so there was little else to occupy my mind besides the event that had sent me west.

The stagecoach gave a sudden jolt, and the passenger next to me squished me against the side of the coach. If I had been in the middle, I had no doubt I would have had elbows in both of my sides. As it was, it seemed to take the man longer than necessary to give me back what little bit of room I was entitled to.

As far as inappropriate advances, it was somewhat light compared to some I had faced since my journey had begun. The first part of my travels, where there had been rails for the train, I had been accompanied by a chaperone, Mrs. Jimson. That imposing lady reached Buffalo, New York, decided shed had enough of traveling, and returned to Springfield, Massachusetts.

With nowhere to go but onward, I had forced myself to continue alone. Each new train connection had left my funds a little lighter. I could only hope that I had enough to get me all the way to Montana.

The stage began to slow down. We had reached the next station, and we had barely stopped before one of the passengers opened the door. He made a gesture for me to disembark first, which I was more than happy to do.

It was a relief to stand upright and move around some. To my left, two men were already at work removing the harnesses from the horses.

We would only have a short time to relieve ourselves, eat a meal, and stretch our legs before the stagecoach would continue on its way, with or without us. Unsure where to go, I waited until someone else began to walk towards the station as they would have heard the directions the driver would have called out as soon as we stopped.

The woman went in a different direction, away from the main building. I assumed she was going to the outhouse, and as that was where I wished to go first, I followed her. Also, it was preferable to being alone with all the men.

Fortunately, there were two outhouses, so I didnt have to wait. When I stepped back out, I discovered the skinny passenger who had been beside me right there. The sly smile on his face sent a chill down my spine. I took a step to the side to go around him.

Before I could take a step forward, he grabbed my arm. Hello again, he said. His face was uncomfortably close to mine, making his words all too easy to read on his lips. The smell of his putrid breath made me gag, and I tried to jerk away from him.

Around others, I was treated with deference and respect, even when they discovered I was deaf. It was how ladies were treated in the west. This man wasnt the first who had tried to have fun by confronting me away from other people, however. He would discover that just because I couldnt hear did not mean I was not able to defend myself.