Dance on the Wind

by Brenda Jernigan

  “ ’Nite,” Amy muttered.

  “Good night, Amy,” the children told her.

  Brandy looked at all their faces. Each mirrored a different emotion as they watched her. She could see they were scared and unsure. A flicker of compassion for her charges stirred within her, but she dismissed the feeling as fatigue. Her job was to take care of them . . . and that’s what she was trying to do.

  If only Father Brown were here. She could talk to him and make sure she was doing the right thing. She could certainly use someone to lean on, but there wasn’t anyone. She had to be the strong one. With a little help from above, she and her little group would somehow survive.

  “Be thinking about what you want to take on this trip. Remember, there won’t be much room, so you can’t take much,” Brandy told them as she shifted Amy higher on her hip. Complete silence filled the room as she turned and left.

  The walk to the little girl’s room seemed longer than usual, Brandy thought once she reached the door. Brandy sighed and tucked Amy into her bed. The day had started off so well, but was sliding slowly downhill. Hopefully, every day wasn’t going to be as difficult as this one. Sitting on the side of the bed, she told Amy a bedtime story and waited for her to fall asleep.

  Finally, Amy drifted off, and Brandy tiptoed away from the bed. She closed the door behind her and slipped outside to the porch. Billy stood, his shoulder propped against a rough wooden beam, waiting for her.

  “So we’re really going?” he said, chewing on a straw and waiting for her response.

  “Yes,” she answered, though she was still uncertain of her decision. “I don’t see that we have a choice.”

  Billy sat down in one of the two chairs on the porch. “You are plumb crazy. You ain’t got no idea what you’re doin’,” he told her, then propped his feet up on the rail and leaned back in the chair.

  “No,” Brandy admitted as she looked up at the star-filled night and leaned against the post. “You’re probably right... I am crazy, but at the moment, I don’t see another way.”

  Both grew quiet, lost in their own thoughts, until Billy broke the silence. “Who is this man you’ve hired?”

  “Well .. .” Brandy muttered uneasily, and tried not to appear as sheepish as she felt. “I haven’t actually gotten him to say yes,” she admitted. “But he will,” she added with false confidence.

  Billy watched her with one eyebrow cocked. “Yeah? What makes you so sure?”

  “He has a good heart,” she said with a conviction she felt, not knowing why. Memories of Thunder were vivid in her mind. She could remember his doubting, silver eyes, and she prayed he did have a heart . . . somewhere in that huge, menacing body.

  Billy threw his arms up in the air before letting them fall by his side. “You ain’t got a lick of sense. A good heart? The man sounds like a real dandy. How’s he goin’ to protect us?”

  Brandy smiled, slowly. “I wouldn’t call him a dandy. Far from that.” She could picture Thunder clearly now. “He’s tall and muscular, and something about him is frightening. He reminds me of a sleek cat, like the ones I’ve read about in books. I believe they’re called panthers. They’re fierce, agile, and attack without provocation.” Brandy smiled briefly at her description. No wonder her hands had shaken when she’d met him. “H—He’s different. I think he could be very dangerous if crossed.”

  “And you want someone like that to take us out west? Sounds like a real nice fellow.” Billy’s sarcasm showed in the tone of his voice. “What’s his name?” “The wagon master called him Thunder. I thought it was a strange name, but it fits him perfectly. He’s a scout for the wagon train.”

  Billy straightened. “Does he have silver-blue eyes?”

  Brandy looked up, startled by Billy’s description.

  “Yes, he does,” she replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like his. Do you know him?”

  “Yep, comes in the saloon every day ’round noon. He’s quiet. Usually don’t talk much unless Ward’s around. Your description fits perfect,” Billy said as he rubbed his chin. “Must admit, I admire the way Thunder carries himself. Looks more white than Indian to me,” he commented. “I liked him, though. I’m like you—there is a threatenin’ power that seems to come from him. Must be ’cause he’s part Cheyenne.”

  Brandy shoved away from the post and propped against the porch railing, facing Billy. She thought of Indians in war paint and feathers. “Strange. He doesn’t look like one.”

  “He’s a half-breed, but I wouldn’t dare say that to his face,” Billy said as he lowered the front legs of the chair to the porch.

  Brandy looked at him sharply. “Do you think you could talk to him about helping us with the wagon?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll try,” Billy reluctantly agreed.

  She looked up at the sky again. Maybe Billy could pull off a miracle. “Billy, do you know how to drive a wagon?”

  “No.”

  Brandy started down the steps. “Then you’d better learn,” she said and looked back over her shoulder. “Tomorrow we’re going to buy our own wagon.” She chuckled over Billy’s dumbfounded expression as she walked back to her room. For once she’d had the last word.

  Billy shook his head while he watched Brandy’s back, and wondered if the woman was a little loco, taking on an adventure like this. No, maybe he was plumb crazy for going along with her. One thing for sure—they would soon find out.

  “You’re a traitor, Billy West.” Mary stepped out of the shadows, where she’d obviously been eavesdropping.

  Billy turned, then stretched his arms out to the side. “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s always Brandy you’re with,” Mary complained. “I never get to see you.”

  “That’s not true. I’m here with you now,” Billy said softly.

  “But it seems we never get to talk anymore,” Mary pouted. “You’re always gone or with her.”

  “Things aren’t the way they used to be. I have to work, remember,” Billy reminded her. He knew Mary had missed him since he’d started to work. They had been constant cohorts in torturing Brandy. He’d always understood Mary’s rebellious nature, for it was much like his own. “Brandy needs some help around here, which she never gets from you.”

  “Now you’re even taking up for her! That’s just great!” Mary tapped her foot angrily. “I don’t like her bossing me around.”

  Billy smiled. “Aren’t you bein’ a little unfair?”

  “No! I am not.” Mary’s voice was cold and lashing. “Must I remind you that you used to think the same thing not too long ago?” Her angry gaze swung over him. “What happened to you, Billy?”

  “Guess I did some growin’ up.” He turned and placed his hands on Mary’s arms. “Maybe you should try to do the same,” he suggested, then left Mary to think upon his words.

  When Mary was alone, a sadness settled upon her. She didn’t like Billy taking up for Brandy. He was changing, and Mary didn’t know what to do. She missed his company and knew, in her heart, that she cared a great deal for him. She had always found strength in Billy, and had thought he liked her, too; that is, until Brandy had bewitched him. The only good news Mary had had lately was that Brandy was getting married.

  “The sooner the better,” Mary mumbled as she slipped back inside.

  * * *

  “Wait for me! I want to go ... I want to go!” Scott came flying lickety-split across the courtyard just as Brandy and Billy were leaving.

  Brandy turned back to see Scott running toward them “I don’t know.” She frowned at the bouncing ball of energy. “We’ll be busy today, and it won’t be much fun,” Brandy told him in a gentle tone.

  “I want to go see our new wagon!”

  “How did you know where we’re going?” Brandy hadn’t told anyone except Billy.

  “Mary told me.”

  Brandy looked to Billy for help, but he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the boss. But reckon he needs to know ab
out wagons, too.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Brandy muttered. She looked down at Scott’s upturned face, where hazel eyes peeked out from under bowl-cut bangs. It was hard not to smile. He really was adorable and difficult to resist.

  “P—please, Brandy.”

  “All right You can come, but you must be quiet and speak only when spoken to.”

  Scott grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door. “Thanks, Brandy. I’ll be quiet. I promise. Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “You won’t even know I’m here. Where are we going? Where do wagons come from?” He held Brandy’s hand, but danced impatiently at her side as they trudged down the dusty road.

  “There is a man who makes wagons on the south side of town,” Billy said.

  “Where’s the south side of town?” Scott asked and tugged on Brandy’s hand when he didn’t get a response. “How far is it? Are we going to get a big wagon? Can I drive it?”

  Brandy’s gaze met Billy’s and they both tried to hide their smiles. “I thought you were going to be quiet,” she said to Scott.

  “Oh, I forgot” Scott giggled, then continued his chatter. “Are we getting close?”

  “I’ll let you know when we get there.” Brandy should have remembered how far they had to walk. She’d worn a completely inappropriate outfit. She was already quite warm in her black dress, and now realized she needed to get some practical clothing before she made this trip.

  A multitude of shops lined the street on both sides. Toward the end of Main Street, there was a big, reddish barn located next to the livery stables. Adjacent to the building stood a large corral for horses and behind it another corral, which held oxen. There were several covered wagons scattered behind the building.

  They stepped through the large double doors of the building. The smell of sawdust filled the air and the sound of continuous hammering and sawing surrounded them. Workers bustled about in every comer of the building. At least ten to fifteen men worked on two new wagons in various stages of completion. No one seemed to notice them come in.

  Brandy knew people went out west, but she was surprised at how many. This must be a big business, she thought.

  “Excuse me,” Brandy attempted to shout over the loud banging, but the noise was deafening. “Where can I find the man in charge?”

  She didn’t receive a response, so Scott whispered, “I don’t think they heard you.”

  Billy stepped forward. “You want me to try?” Brandy frowned. “Excuse me,” she yelled a little louder this time. “Who’s in charge?”

  “I’m in charge, little lady.” A medium-built man stepped out from behind the first wagon. He had an apron tied around his waist and a pencil resting over one ear. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to buy a wagon.”

  “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Follow me.” He motioned for her to follow him.

  Brandy breathed a relieved sigh. Finally, she was getting somewhere. This was going to be easier than she’d first thought.

  “Gee! Look at the wagons,” Scott said, his eyes wide with wonder. “Did you make all these wagons, mister?”

  He looked at Scott and smiled. “Yes, I did, young man.”

  The man gestured for them to sit at a small, makeshift table consisting of nothing more than a rough slab of wood on sawhorses. He took out a sheet of paper and a quill pen. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Joseph Butler, at your service.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Butler,” Brandy said as she stuck out her hand. “My name is Brandy B-Brown, and this is my brother, Billy.”

  “You forgot me!” Scott said, tugging on her hand.

  She looked down at him and smiled. “And this is Scott.”

  “You sure have a big barn, mister,” Scott blurted out as he propped his chin on the table.

  Joseph looked at Scott and laughed. “Yes, son, it’s a mite large, but sometimes not nearly big enough. Now . . .” He picked up a quill and dipped it in a black bottle of ink Then he glanced up at Brandy. “When will you be needing this wagon?”

  “Today.”

  A deep rumble of laughter sounded in Joseph’s chest, and it took a moment before he recovered enough to speak “That’s a good one, ma’am!” His laughter quieted down, and he looked at her to see if she was serious. “Aren’t you a little late, ma’am?”

  “I don’t think so. We’ll be leaving next week, and I thought if we could get it today, we could start packing the wagon . . .” Brandy’s voice trailed off as she saw the look of incredulity on Butler’s face.

  “What I meant, ma’am,” Joseph interrupted, “is that it takes dam near three months to build a wagon, and most folks ’round here place their orders ahead of time.”

  “That can’t be! I saw three such rigs outside.” Brandy stood up quickly. “You don’t understand, Mr. Butler. We have to travel on this wagon train! Can’t I have one of those wagons?” she pleaded, pointing to the canvas-covered wagons.

  Mr. Butler stared opened-mouthed at her. Apparently, he wasn’t used to women arguing with him.

  “What’s wrong, Brandy?” Scott tugged on her skirt. “Aren’t we going to get a wagon? You said we would.”

  “Everything’s wrong, Scott. Be quiet!”

  Mr. Butler shuffled through several orders on his desk. He picked up a slip of paper. “Just a minute,” he said as he rose and went over to another man working on a nearby wagon. After they conversed, Mr. Butler returned. “I’ll tell you what I can do. There’s a prairie schooner out back complete with a well-broken oxen team and a team of horses. It was ordered for another family, but they are now on to three weeks late picking her up. If you have the cash, it’s yours.” Brandy sank back to her seat and gulped in air. “How much is it?”

  “One hundred fifteen dollars for the wagon, and you’ll have to have oxen or horses.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Oxen are right on fifty dollars apiece and horses are ninety.”

  It didn’t take Brandy long to decide on the cheapest thing. “I’ll take the oxen.”

  “Well, I hate to tell you, ma’am, but you’ll need extra teams of oxen, and since I only have one, I’d advise you to take the horses, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, boy, horses!” Scott shouted.

  “Shh,” Billy hissed. Billy reached over and swatted Scott’s arm. “Be quiet.”

  “Ouch!” Scott rubbed his arm and scowled at Billy.

  Brandy gave Scott a look of warning that she’d seen Father Brown do many, many times. “I’m sorry, Mr. Butler. I believe you were going to explain why?”

  “It will increase your chances of them lastin’ the entire journey if you work them in shifts. And you’ll have something to ride when you’re tired of walking.” Brandy frowned. “It appears I have no choice. I’ll take the extra team. How much?”

  “Two hundred ninety bucks,” he told her.

  Brandy hadn’t expected to pay so much, but Sam had been generous with the money he’d sent. However, a return bank visit would be necessary before she could purchase the rest of the supplies. That would leave them broke again. Money always seemed to be the root of all their troubles. Why couldn’t she have been born rich? Then she wouldn’t have to rely on anyone. She opened her black bag to pay Mr. Butler his fee.

  “Much obliged,” Joseph said. He counted the money, then leaned back in his chair. “Have either of you ever driven a wagon?” His bushy brows drew together in question.

  “I’ve driven a buckboard,” Billy said.

  “Well, that’s a help, but it’s going to take some practice to handle this enormous wagon.” Joseph stood up.

  “I wanna drive. I wanna drive.” Scott, who had been quiet for all of three minutes, decided to start again.

  Mr. Butler must be a patient man, Brandy thought, because he calmly said, “I’m afraid you’re a mite young.”

  But Scott wasn’t to be put off and continued to protest as they went
out to look at the covered wagon. Brandy looked up at the prairie schooner. It was bigger than some wagons, but still there wasn’t much room, considering the size of their family.

  “It’s not very big,” Brandy commented.

  “Sure it is, Brandy. There’s nothing in here . . . come see,” Scott called from inside the wagon.

  “It’s average, ma’am,” Joseph informed her. “I reckon it be ’bout ten by four feet. Heard tell some folks sew pockets and slings to the inside canvas for extra storage space.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Brandy looked over the inside, trying to picture where she would put everything. “Mr. Butler, could you provide me with a list of supplies we’ll need?”

  “You betcha. Then I’ll teach this young man here—” Joseph squeezed Billy’s shoulder “—how to drive.”

  “Did you change your mind, Mr. Butler?” Scott asked as he climbed from underneath the wagon.

  “Correction, I’ll teach both boys how to drive.”

  Brandy smiled warmly. She was thankful for this man’s help. Instead of turning his back on them he was trying his hardest to actually show them what they needed.

  “I’m going back to town, Billy. I’ll see you at home. Come on, Scott,” Brandy called to the child, who now had his head stuck out the back of the wagon. “Are you coming?”

  “No. I want to drive the wagon. I’m staying with Billy.”

  Brandy glanced at Billy, a question in her eyes.

  Billy smiled. “He’ll be fine.”

  Joseph handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s your list, ma’am.”

  Taking the list Joseph had written out, Brandy hurried on. As she walked, she unfolded the paper and began to read over the items. Her eyes grew wide at all the things they needed. Sweat beaded her worried brow. A fan should be the first thing on the list, she thought. She tugged on the neck of her dress. The first thing she was going to get was a cooler garment.

  She began the long walk back, making a right turn at the gunsmith’s shop. She stepped up on the boardwalk, passed the newspaper, funeral parlor, millinery shop, and two saloons. Up ahead she saw the dry goods and clothing store, with its sun-blistered sign.