by J. A. Crook
***
“How’re you doing in here, Hattie?” Floyd peeked into the wagon as the group halted for a break on the trail.
“I’m doing alright, Floyd. How are you doing?” Hattie returned with a coy smile.
Floyd grinned and pulled himself into the wagon to sit beside his wife. “It’s pretty warm out there. But, while travelling, I think it’s always better for it to be warm than to be cold. The warm kills people that aren’t prepared for it. The cold just kills people regardless.” He chuckled, knowing that was only partially true.
Hattie stared to the front of the wagon. “I have plenty of books to read, Floyd, but staring at these books with the rockin’ and shakin’ of the wagon... it makes my stomach knot up!”
“I could give you something, dear, but it’ll probably put you right to sleep. Wouldn’t be of much help. That is, of course, unless you care to sleep through some of these early parts of the trip. The land out there isn’t anything you haven’t seen, but I’m sure that by the time we get out West a bit, you’re going to want to see the country. I hear it’s beautiful. Grant and I have spoken about it some. Some of it a bit dangerous, too.” Floyd added.
“Dangerous?” Hattie lifted a brow. “Well, it’s nothing we can’t handle, Floyd. We’ve been through the worst of it, if you ask me. We’re the sort of people that can get done whatever we put our minds to, you know. Then, what sort of danger are you talkin’ about?”
Floyd leaned back on the bench in the stuffed wagon, staring blankly forward himself to the supplies stacked within. “Well, there’s a lot of things that are dangerous. There’s the wild animals. The Indians. There’s some areas of land that are about as dry as can be, which can make for trouble with the cattle and oxen. However, Grant’s told me that him and his Indian fellows will be able to keep us in line with the best of the worst lands, dear.”
Hattie watched her husband as he stared off distantly, seeing that he must have been envisioning the challenges they would face in his mind. Floyd was always a planner, but Harriet, a woman of wit herself, saw a flaw in the whole plan, though the flaw depended on an idea a bit negative, perhaps even macabre.
“And what should happen, say, in the case that something happens to Mr. Vickers? We’re supposed to just head along and figure everything out ourselves? Sounds like we’ve invested quite a bit in his presence and knowledge of the land, Floyd.” Hattie said, half-curious, half playing Devil’s advocate.
Floyd snapped out of his daze and looked to his wife, surprised by her comments and questions. “Something should happen to Vickers? Oh, no! That’s preposterous. What better company to be in than of this group?”
It was about then that the shouts of the short-tempered Jim came bursting through wagon’s covering. “Son of a bitch! Not even a day! Not even a day before one of these blasted things wants to get sick! Well, I’ll say! I’ll say, God damn it!”
Harriet looked to her husband with a faint smile before leaning outside of the wagon to call out to the frustrated Jim. “Mr. Bleckley!” She shouted, with a stern look in her eyes.
Jim spun around, so short it almost seemed as though he spun simply from the torso up, to look toward Harriet, caught off guard by her shout. “Yes, Ma’am?” He questioned.
“Mr. Bleckley, I’ll say, you have all the right to be upset about having assumed a sub-par creature, but I should remind you that the creature you shout about is as much a creature of God as is any other creature you’ve brought along on this trip, or the creatures that arranged for the trip, and shouting God’s name in vain, sir, isn’t going to buy us any more of His sympathy! So, I suggest you repent for your loose-tongue and focus your frustrations on other matters now and for the remainder of our trip, alright?”
Jim Bleckley watched the woman completely flabbergasted. His mouth moved as if to return words, of apology or protest, none could say, but nothing came out. Before he could ever find those words, Harriet ducked back into the wagon beside her husband, with a wide smile. “Hopefully that’ll settle him down for a little while.” Knowing the effect wouldn’t be permanent. It was of Jim’s nature to be foul-mouthed and easily-aggravated.
Floyd laughed, nodding with admiration to his wife, a woman unafraid of rustling some men’s feathers if they needed it. “Well, it would have quieted me down, too, darling.” And he leaned over to kiss her cheek before preparing to leave. Before he got out completely, Hattie grabbed his hand.
“Floyd?” She asked.
Floyd stopped, looking back to Hattie. “Yes?”
“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” Hattie asked, just for further assurance.
Floyd smiled and nodded. It was a question that couldn’t be answered. Floyd was no fortune-teller. Still, Floyd answered with a confident “yes” and kissed his wife’s hand before stepping out of the wagon. “Alright, Jim, let’s do what we need to do and get moving again. Grant! Hank! We’re moving on.” And they did just that.
