by J. F. Collen
Nellie softened. “I beseech your pardon for my harsh words. Howsoever, your cruel words regarding fellow human beings and worthy souls rend my heart in two.”
“Worthy souls? They are heathens,” Baker declared and glared at her.
“How can we, mere mortals, unworthy souls ourselves, judge? Only God our Father can judge a soul’s worthiness. I presume they are worthy—’tis the Christian way. These people are simply unschooled in our ways.”
Baker shook his head. “Be that as it may, I shall remain true to the assignment for which I was trained. We both have chosen our paths. We shall never again debate this subject.”
The handsome captain heaved a sigh of heart-wrenching melancholy. Nellie steeled herself for another confrontation. But he squinted off into the distance and shook his head. “Now. Reverting to our mission here, and that doggone jack-a-napes Hastings. His treatise certainly led the Donner Party astray. Therefore, I trust my military intelligence and my own recognizance on the particulars of this terrain. I think more likely the distance from New Fort Kearney to Plum Creek crossing is thirty-five some odd miles.”
“All the more reason we surely should have crossed paths with my company,” said Nellie. “Truly, the lion’s share of this distance is too great to walk in less than two days. I believe we should reverse and reconnoiter campsites.”
Baker stopped his horse, pushed up his hat and leaned on his saddle horn. He rubbed his kid-gloved hand over his mustache and looked at Nellie. “What strategy do you propose, that shall produce different intelligence from what we have already garnered? Every site in which a train could conceivably camp is visible for miles in this here Platte River Valley. We would have seen any wagon trail on this side of the Platte as we passed, regardless of their state of locomotion.”
Nellie shaded her eyes and squinted south, examining every blade of prairie grass, and every clump of vegetation she could see. The grass waved and wind blew, and nothing was visible save the tail end of a wagon train Nellie knew for certain was not her own. The prairie wind sounds suddenly lonely and desolate in my ears. I have lost my....
Suddenly, she jerked her horse around and looked north, to the other side of the Platte. “You said ‘on this side of the Platte’.... Often the route preferred by those seeking their fortune in California is the trail on the north side of the Platte, n’est-ce pas?”
Without waiting for a reply from Baker, she spurred her horse towards New Fort Kearney and shouted over her shoulder to him. “For foolish reasons unbeknownst to me, my company must have crossed back to the north side of the Platte. Giddy up!”
Baker was at her side in a heartbeat, reining in her horse. “Assuming your hypothesis is correct, we can cross these horses safely and handily at a juncture a little closer to my fort, and peruse the north trail emigrants from there. Due to the dip in terrain and the clumps of vegetation along this bank, it can be difficult to view the trail on the north side from here. Follow me.”
This time Nellie galloped faster than Baker. After a few minutes, he pulled alongside and shouted, “Your excessive speed prevents you from searching the other bank for evidence of your train.”
Nellie slowed to a trot. “You advised nothing on the other side would be visible.”
“I humbly apologize if I misled you. From time to time along this path glimpses of trains on the north bank do appear. Vigilant watch might well be rewarded, as ‘tis still an hour’s ride back to the most efficacious fording site.”
They cantered side by side, Nellie closest to the river, scouring the opposite bank.
Her heart leapt into her throat when she caught a glimpse of a train. But nothing about the travelers looked familiar.
They rode on.
Baker attempted conversation, but Nellie had no desire to turn her head away from her scrutiny of the north bank to listen. After a few more of his observations passed Nellie unheeded, they rode on in silence.
Suddenly, she gasped, “I believe I discern a recognizable figure.” Could that be the dour Mrs. Clayton? She squinted, then rubbed her eyes, examining whatever bits of wagons she could see across the water, up the bank, and through the scruffy bushes and clumps of cottonwood.
“The overflowing Wilton Wagon!” she shouted, digging her heels into the side of her horse and pulling the reins toward the river.
Nellie let out a holler that sounded like a war cry, and spurred her horse so hard the mare nearly bucked. She charged into the water.
“No, not here. The riverbed is quicksand!” She heard Baker call to her back. But she galloped even faster, praying she would not get stuck. In three minutes, she was across and racing up the bank. Nellie jumped off her horse and threw the reins over its head. Seconds later, she pulled Emma and Elizabeth from the wagon bench into her arms, smothering them with kisses. The girls squealed with delight. They squirmed, hugged, and all tumbled to the ground in a bundle of love and emotion.
Obadiah ran around the oxen to her. Nellie smiled up at him.
“Such an extravagant display of emotions is best left to theatrical performances,” Obadiah chided, roughly pulling her by her elbows to her feet.
Nellie held onto her daughters, walking to keep abreast of the wagons and looked at him, aghast. My heart fair breaks with this terse greeting. She hugged her babies and said, “I sorely missed my family.”
Before Obadiah formulated a reply, her daughters peppered her with questions.
“Is the mother alright?” asked Emma.
Tears sprang to Nellie’s eyes and choked her words, as memories of the traumas of the complicated birth rushed upon her. All she could do was nod.
She put the girls on the ground and they walked next to her.
“Where’s baby?” asked Elizabeth.
Without thinking, Nellie’s hand jerked to her own abdomen, as she looked at Obadiah. He stared at her, grim faced. But she saw his eyes startle at her gesture, and she knew he understood what it meant.
Nellie took a deep breath. “The little baby is well, thank the Lord. And her mother also returns to good health. Surely, in no time at all they will both be fit as fiddles.”
“What is the baby’s name?” asked Emma.
“Is she girl?” asked Elizabeth.
Nellie laughed. She grabbed her daughters’ hands and squeezed them tight as she walked them back to their seat on the driving bench. “Wonder of wonders, they christened her Cornelia Rose. Does that name sound familiar?”
“Your name, Mama!” both girls chorused.
Baker materialized. He reined his horse at the side of the Wright’s wagon and smiled at Nellie’s daughters. “‘Tis only fitting. Little ladies, you must be right proud of your mama, saving two lives with her medicinal know-how.”
“Yes, yes,” the girls chorused.
Obadiah walked silently next to Angel the ox.
Nellie looked at her husband. He still had not smiled at her. “How comes it our wagon train is on the north bank of the Platte?” she asked.
“That fool of a captain, Hines.” Obadiah gave a terse reply. He turned to Baker. “I see you have kept your word and returned Mrs. Wright to me. I thank you for this service.”
Baker looked down at Obadiah from his seat in the saddle. He shook his head in the negative and looked at Nellie with raised eyebrows.
Nellie blushed but shook her head no.
Baker broke the awkward silence with a touch of his hat, drawling, “You can always count on the word of a Southern Gentleman, my friend. Even when the promise inures to his own personal detriment.” He looked at Nellie, touched his breast pocket where her lace handkerchief protruded, grabbed the reins of Nellie’s mare, and wheeled off toward the river.
Nellie watched him slosh back across the river and gallop east toward his fort, with only a twinge of regret. ‘Tis just a reaction to Obadiah’s harsh words. She shook herself.
“I beseech forgiveness for my unladylike deportment,” said Nellie, reaching again to squeeze the hands of her daug
hters. “I confess a dearth of rational thinking, after the grueling events of these past two days. The great effort to endure the vicissitude of the medical emergency, followed closely on the heels by....” She swallowed, thinking of the soiree and Baker’s pass at her. “...The foray to join our train.... The utter desolation of not knowing your whereabouts, fear I would never abridge the distance between us—it simply caused me to be in quite frangible sentiment.” Nellie smiled at her daughters and looked at Obadiah as she walked next to him. “I shan’t even add ‘travel weary’ to my list of travails.”
“Thinkest thou I have had an easy time? Do you imagine my days have been a lark? Having to dig a trench for supper and warm up the meal you prepared for us?”
Nellie could not believe her ears. “But I prepared the meal, thus sparing you much effort. Moreover, you did no more than I do each night, in fact, far less.”
“Are you forgetting these chores were heaped atop my own duties?” snarled Obadiah. “Moreover, to what end? While you traipse off, who knows where, abandoning us whilst you aid some stranger....”
Nellie blinked back tears. “Mercy, Obadiah, I never thought I’d hear such unchristian speech from your lips.”
“That fool Hines,” Obadiah muttered, looking chagrined. “What hubris! Taking us across the river, wasting our time, misguiding our steps. Does he hold the guidebook upside-down, thus intentionally leading us astray?”
Emma and Elizabeth giggled at the thought of the captain reading the book upside-down. Nellie realized no good would come of further harsh words.
“As little pitchers have big ears,” she said, blinking back her tears. “I shall take my gear, properly stow it and then settle myself inside our wagon for a brief spell.”
She held out her hand. Obadiah, still avoiding her gaze, unloaded her medical bags from his arm.
Her daughters safely perched on the driving seat and Obadiah walking stoically beside their oxen team, Nellie stole into the back of the wagon.
By the time Nellie replenished her supplies in her emergency medical kit and stowed her other gear, exhaustion overwhelmed her. She lay down upon her eiderdown comforter, thinking, I’ll only tarry a moment. She closed her weary eyes as tears slid down her cheeks. Do not dwell upon Lawrence Simmons Baker, Nellie commanded herself. Simply because your husband appears unconcerned as to your whereabouts and apathetic as to your return, is no reason to revisit emotions you have summarily dismissed, again, once and for all. Lord, I have already sought forgiveness for succumbing to his dancing charms. I thank you, Lord, that he did not tempt me with his passionate kisses. Mercy, she chided herself again, I mustn’t let the thought of his kiss ever again enter my mind. I am a happily married woman who is simply fatigued. My husband is right and proper to conceal in public any emotion at my homecoming.
Nellie laughed at herself. Homecoming? Now I am referring to the trail in the middle of nowhere, far from civilization, as home?
Nellie opened her eyes with a start, and saw Obadiah’s head and shoulders sticking into the wagon bed from the canvas covering.
“I am sorry to abandon my post,” said Cornelia, snapping to attention, shrugging off the comforter, and struggling to stand.
Obadiah tumbled into the wagon bed. “Tarry a moment.”
“We mustn’t leave our daughters unattended,” Nellie protested.
“Did you call me, Mama?” asked Emma, sticking her head in the wagon cover from the front bench.
“Or me?” asked Elizabeth, her cherubic face joining her sister’s.
Nellie giggled.
Obadiah said, “You may continue to drive the team. We are right here, available to be called upon at any moment.” He waved them back. Their heads disappeared.
Obadiah scooted next to her and whispered in her ear, “Now then, a moment to settle this score.”
Nellie turned, her face inches from his, her eyes looking into his. “You must whisper,” she said. “I do not wish our daughters to overhear any discord.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Obadiah put his lips on her ear and whispered, “It is nigh impossible for me to whisper discordant words into your perfectly shaped ear.”
Nellie pulled away and looked into his eyes. “I had hoped you would throw the gates of love open, wide open, with golden hinges moving, to paraphrase Milton, at my return.”
A frown hopped from one of Obadiah’s eyebrows to the other, but before it traveled to his lips, he pulled her close and whispered, “Then this little soiree....” Nellie’s guilty conscience winced at the word, “...of yours has disappointed both our expectations.”
Nellie pulled away and looked at him. What expectations could he have...?
“I fully expected you to return last night, immediately upon the conclusion of your labor,” Obadiah whispered.
An absurd giggle rose in Nellie’s throat at Obadiah’s word choice. She ignored it and whispered, “I endeavored to do exactly that, but was unable to obtain a guide.”
Obadiah made a fist and whispered in a terse voice, “Why that lying, boot licking scallywag! I have half a mind to....”
Nellie laid a hand on his arm. “Obadiah, we must let sleeping dogs lie. I am beside myself with exhaustion even after a night’s repose; I fear I might just have fallen from the saddle, sound asleep, had I journeyed after sundown, upon completion of my task.”
Obadiah took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, contemplatively, and whispered, “Truly, the main fact is the wilderness has returned you to my arms. Ipso facto....” for this reason, Nellie translated the Latin in her head. “...there can only be gratitude in my heart.” He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, and she felt his warmth and his love.
She relaxed into his embrace. After all my toil, at long last, heaven.
After a moment, Obadiah whispered, “Now, since my lips are within whispering distance of this luscious ear, it seems the appropriate time to....” His lips kissed her ear, and her neck, and then returned to nibble on her ear again.
Delicious tingles ran up and down Nellie’s spine. She turned her head slightly and landed a kiss... on his nose, for she caught him as he bent his head. Obadiah’s gentle hand turned Nellie’s head and he licked her neck. His tongue slid from ear to shoulder, lightly, delicately, flicking little shivers of electricity along its path.
His lips at her ear again, he whispered, “You rest. I will resume my post. We shall recommence this non-verbal dialogue later tonight.”
Before Nellie could utter a word of protest, she saw him jump out the back of the wagon.
Nellie looked at the wagon cover ceiling for a second, stretching and smiling. Rejuvenated, she scrambled out the opening after him.
Obadiah turned in surprise and handed her down. Smiling in the bright sun of the Great Plains he said, “I thought you desired a respite after your trying several days.”
“Your love strengthens and nourishes me with renewed vigor,” replied Nellie.
Obadiah did not hesitate, or even look around to see if anyone was watching. He bent his head forward and gave Nellie a long, passionate kiss, as they both continued walking, keeping pace with their wagon.
After an elongated moment, she was dimly aware that her daughters were giggling at them. She smiled at her two adorable girls and stretched to grab a hand of each daughter. She felt Obadiah place his hand on the back of her neck.
Clinging to one another, they walked in happy silence. Nellie felt the sun warm her shoulders and heard the prairie breeze, now soft and comforting, whisper in her still tingling ears.
My walk across this vast land resumes, taking my home along with me. In my wake, beaus and hand-wrought lace handkerchiefs strewn across the wilderness.
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Cornelia Rose thought leaving the comforts of home and her family would be the greatest challenge she would ever have to face.
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CHAPTER 1 – Buffalo Gals Won’t You Come Out Tonight?
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Plum Creek, Nebraska Territory, April 1857
Cornelia Rose trudged silently along next to the wagon, the nausea and malaise of her body causing her emotions to take a deep dive into gloom. One foot in front of the other, she thought. It makes no never-mind that each step along this treacherous California Trail drags me further away from the home that I love. Tears stung her eyes. She brushed them angrily away. This shall never do.
She focused her attention on her daughters, perched on the lip of their wagon. She forced herself to listen to their chatter as they played their latest game of “pretend.” Just a few minutes did the trick. She giggled at their dialogue. How clever my daughters are, how ingenious their jousting. Although, I suppose nary a mother thinks the contrary of her own flesh and blood.
She rubbed her aching neck, thinking of her latest grueling marathon—cooking this morning’s breakfast. She had bent her back nearly to the breaking point, trying to keep her Dutch oven cooking while preventing the high wind from fanning the flames of her cooking fire into a bonfire of wagons. Even the protective walls of her freshly dug trench could not keep out this wind. With all the airborne sand and dirt, some was indubitably bound for the wrought-iron kettle pot, mixing with the mush and milk more thoroughly than a spice. Nellie tried to compensate for the grittier nature of the grits by lavishing a dollop of precious honey in each bowl. That certainly compensated adequately for the unwanted ingredients in little Elizabeth’s eyes.
