by Rita Karnopp
"You really don't know, do you? These communities are filled with peaceable, law-abiding French citizens who live independent from the rest of the world."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Their community is founded on 'brotherly love'. It's a kind of cooperative communism in which things are the common property of all."
Sarah struggled with all the strange words. "I'm sorry, Emma. I don't understand."
"Look at it this way, Sarah. They live upon what their farms produce. They have vast herds of cattle and sheep, a fine site for their town, and are the picture of contentment, which is better than riches."
"How do you know so much about these people?"
"My father use to be a minister at an Icarian community when I was a little girl. I loved it there."
"If you loved it, why did you leave?"
"My father was accused of being responsible for my mother's death." A tear slid down her cheek.
"Oh, how awful. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's all right. I don't mind telling you. My mother was giving birth to my brother, Emanual, when she died."
"How could that have been your father's fault?" Sarah asked, astonished.
Emma folded her hands and held them against her breast. "My father was visiting a woman who was grieving over her dead husband. My mother went into labor and called out for Father, but by the time he got there…it was too late."
"I'm so sorry." Sarah placed a comforting hand to Emma's forearm. "It still seems unfair to blame your father for her death."
"Well, they did. Babies in the Icarian community are vital because few live. The survival of the community depends on the number of children they produce to carry on the life." Emma's voice quivered and she clutched her black cross. "This is all I have of my mother."
Sarah squeezed Emma's arm as a gesture of understanding, then turned to observe the strange town before her.
She noticed three women and a small girl standing outside their house, watching them as they walked by. All of the Icarian women wore dark blue dresses with white kerchiefs around their shoulders, pinned across the front at the waist. Their narrow skirts hung above their ankles and they wore heavy, thick-soled shoes.
They looked so clean and neat that Sarah fretted over her wind-blown, snarled hair, wondering what they thought of her filthy appearance. "We must look a mess to them."
"I suppose you're right. Cleanliness is of the utmost importance to these people. The floors, windows and everything in their houses are kept spotless, but not one bit of brightness or color, not a thread of carpet or rug is used."
"How awful. I don't think I'd be very happy living in a place like that," Sarah said, watching Emma's longing stare as they passed the community.
She blessed herself and looked ahead again. "I can't see how you'd think their life would be awful. I don't know of a better way to live. I miss those peaceful days of belonging. I'd give anything to live like that again."
They walked on, following the wagon. Just outside the sight of the community, the wagons stopped for the night. Sarah sat by the campfire with Judie and Delia. "How did Emma get mixed up with René? Sarah asked.
Delia laughed. "Well, honey, Emma's story has to be the best one of all. René talked her into believing he was a preacher. Once they reached the first town they'd get witnesses to their marriage, which he'd already performed in the eyes of God. They were going to preach God's word all the way to California."
"That's awful, but I wouldn't put it past René," Sarah said, shaking her head. "Delia, Judie, I have something to ask of you. We need to hurry before Melody comes back from washing at the creek. I'd understand if you want no part in it." Sarah waited as the two women briefly studied each other.
"Well, spill your beans. I'm tired and needs to get some sleep," Judie ordered.
Sarah took a deep breath, looked around and leaned forward. "Emma wants to live in an Icarian community, just like the one back there," Sarah pointed. "I'd guess it's barely one mile back."
"So, what's that gotta do with us?" Judie interrupted.
"I was thinking. What if Emma made it back to that Icarian community? You could tell René that I'm feeling sick again and that Emma is tending to me in the wagon. By the time he found out the truth, it'd be too late to go back and get her." Sarah looked at Delia, then Judie.
Delia raised her hands to the fire and rubbed them. "Land sakes! I think it might work. But, when René finds out we tricked him―"
"Damn right. What makes ya think I'm gonna risk my ass fer holier-than-thou Emma? 'Sides, when René found out he'd turn me back over to…never mind, I ain't doin' it."
"Now wait, Judie," Delia said. "There's something to what Sarah is trying to do here. What's a little hell from René when you think about the satisfaction we'd feel cheating him out of a sale!"
A crafty smile played upon Judie's thin lips. "I reckon that'd make me a mite pleased too. I'll has to think on it a while."
"We don't have time to think about it, Judie. She has to go tonight, or it'll be too late. When the time comes, I'll tell René it was my idea. I'll tell him no one else knew Emma was really gone. I'll tell him you thought she really was in the wagon with me. What do you think?"
"I say we do it," Delia said. "I can handle a saloon or even a mountain man if I had to, but poor Emma. She'd probably die of fright or even kill herself. We can't let René get away with it."
"I sees what ya mean. Don't get me wrong. I ain't doin' it for Emma. If'n I kin gets back at René, then it'll be worth it. I agrees to your plan, Sarah."
She nodded, and then stood. "I don't think we'd better let Melody in on our plan, her face would be a dead giveaway."
"Fer once you're tellin' it plain out. Don't needs no little pup drawin' attention to us."
"It's agreed then." Sarah headed toward Emma's sleeping spot under the back end of the wagon. She never stayed up past her chores to gossip around the campfire with the women.
Sarah dropped to her knees and reached over to shake Emma, then jumped back as the moon caught the gleam of the knife. "Wait, Emma, it's me, Sarah."
Sarah knew she probably answered. "Emma, it's too dark for me to see your lips, so I can't understand a word you're saying. You must be quiet and listen to me. We all had a talk and we decided you're going to help you escape. You're going back to that Icarian community. We're going to make René think you're taking care of me in the wagon. By the time he figures out you're gone, it'll be too late. What do you think? Sarah asked. Nearly smothered from Emma's hug, Sarah didn't need to hear what Emma thought of her plan.
"If we're going to do it, we have to sneak out now. It's black as a Halloween cat. I have a good feeling everything will go smoothly. Follow me, but don't talk, I can't hear you anyway. Slap my hand once for yes and two for no. Does this sound all right with you?"
Sarah fumbled in the dark for Emma's hand. It felt cold and clammy. One light slap followed. Sarah smiled to herself. "Good," Sarah whispered. "Now, follow me close. If you see or hear anything, yank on my dress and I'll stop immediately."
Sarah felt one tap on her arm. "Is there anything you wish to take with you?"
The immediate double slap informed Sarah of Emma's urgency to be rid of René and the train. Sarah almost envied Emma's escape.
"Let's go." Sarah gathered her skirts and moved into the night, making way to a short cropping of thick sage that lined their camp area. She felt a tug on her skirt and Sarah dropped flat on her stomach.
She rose slightly on her elbow, turned to look behind them and saw one of René's men riding toward them. Her heart pounded so hard she feared they'd hear it in camp. The man stopped a few feet from their hiding place, then dismounted.
Emma pulled once on her skirt, Sarah responded with a hard double tug, hoping Emma understood to remain still.
The man walked to the sage edge, stood for a few minutes, adjusted his trousers, then walked back to his horse and mounted. He moved his animal i
n an easy stride back to camp.
Sarah released a rush of air. She wanted to laugh once she realized the man must have been taking care of nature. They were lucky he stopped short of their position. How mortifying to think…no, she wouldn't think about it.
"Come," Sarah whispered. It would have been much easier to walk on the trail made by the wagons earlier in the day, but they couldn't take the chance of a rider coming down upon them. They'd have to take advantage of nature, hiding among the sagebrush. The constant pushing and skirting the scratchy, sometimes formidable, bush barrier took more time than she'd calculated. An hour had passed before they reached the outskirts of the Icarian community.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Emma? It's not too late to change your mind," Sarah offered.
She found Emma's hand in search of her answer. The soft slap said, yes, pause, yes, pause and yes! Then Emma placed something cold inside Sarah's hand. She felt the object with her fingertips…Emma's black cross. Unexpectedly, moisture stung Sarah's eyes.
She put the necklace back into Emma's hand and closed her fingers gently around it. "No, Emma. I appreciate the thought, but it just wouldn't be right. Pass it onto a daughter some day. Say a prayer for us. We're going to need it."
The yes came slow and Emma clung to Sarah's hand for a brief moment. "Go. I'll stay and watch to make sure everything is all right. If they won't let you stay, then come back to me and we'll return to the wagon together."
Emma stood, and then rushed from Sarah's side.
Watching Emma's form move in the darkness, Sarah felt a nagging loneliness sweep over her once again. After a few seconds, a light filled the single window. Sarah watched a woman appear at the door with a lantern in her hand.
She watched the two women talking, but the darkness and distance made it impossible for her to make out their conversation. The old Icarian woman embraced Emma. They entered the house together, closing the door behind them.
Sarah smiled. At least Emma would find happiness. This feeling would be worth any punishment René wanted to deliver.
Thoughts of running herself entered Sarah's mind. But, on foot, how far would she get before they found her? They'd find Emma too. No! She wouldn't betray Emma. Besides, she couldn't leave Melody behind. Sarah knew she had to go back.
By the time she crept back into camp and rolled onto the makeshift bed in the wagon, she found herself totally exhausted. Her bruised feet and scratched raw arms might give Emma away. She'd have to be careful. She wondered how long it'd be before she rid herself of the pungent, bitter sage that permeated her nostrils.
It wouldn't be long and the camp would be bustling with activity. Hopefully she'd be able to ride in the wagon long enough to heal her sore feet. Sarah closed her eyes, praying the plan would work, afraid René might barge into the wagon at any moment.
* * *
For two days Sarah stayed in the jostling wagon in pretense of illness, with Emma at her side. The sun now set and the wagons rested. Sarah longed for the sight of beautiful green trees and a breeze running through her hair. At times the dust rolled into the wagon thick enough to smother her. Her nostrils burned for lack of fresh air.
Bored, Sarah changed into the breeches and shirt long enough to wash and dry her now-ruined gold party dress. Although it would never be presentable again, it smelled incredibly better. Having washed herself Sarah managed to redress. Sitting on the edge of the hard bed, she brushed at the tangles of her freshly washed hair. She felt stronger and more determined than ever to find a way for her and Melody to escape. She wouldn't let René nor Giles Rutledge get away with the atrocities they were carrying out.
The canvas flap had been tossed up and bright light flooded the wagon. Sarah tensed as René pulled himself into the confined space.
"Mademoiselle, I see you are feeling much better. Where is Emma?"
"She went to take care of necessities, then help the others with the work. I'm feeling much better and told her I didn't need her watching over me all the time." Sarah watched his gaze rove the distance of her body. It made her skin crawl.
"Qui. René needs to talk to you. Surely you must know by now that I am indeed attracted to you, Sarah. René will be blunt. I am serious when I say I want you for my wife. The great René will not sell you to anyone. He will keep you for himself. I will buy you beautiful dresses, pretty bonnets, and jewelry. We will build a magnificent house and raise many children in California." He pulled her hands into his.
Sarah recoiled from his touch. "I told you, René. Don't ever touch me again. I could never love a man like you. How could I after what you're doing to these women, poor Maria? I hate you René. Just leave me alone!"
René dived at her, grabbing her arms and holding them down as he pressed his weight against her. "René will have you, Mademoiselle, and right now. Then, you will change your mind about how much you hate the great René."
His dry lips pressed against hers demandingly. Sarah twisted and turned against his assault. His lips devoured hers, leaving them bruised and violated.
Because of his small size, she'd underestimated his strength. He held her hands stretched down into the bed on each side of her head, and then leaned back, his stare deep and intense. "You are indeed a beauty, love. René is going to enjoy tasting the sweetness of you."
She shook her head violently. "You are despicable. I'll never willingly give in to you. I'll hate you my whole life. I'll run away every chance I get! If you want me, you'll have to keep me under lock and key."
Her angry retort hardened his features. "We will have an interesting life, then, won't we Mademoiselle?" He asked, yanking her dress upward with one hand, while his other still pinned her hands down.
Fear washed through her as real as hot coals. The same feeling she'd had the first time René tried this. This time there were no stones that would magically appear beneath her hands. He was going to take her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. How she hated this man. She glared at the sickening smile that mocked her attempts to break free.
Unexpectedly a cold, fierce expression settled on his face. His mouth dropped open. His actions froze as he paused to listen. Within seconds he pulled a pistol into his hand.
Sarah flinched at the sight of the barrel pointing at her. Had she pressed him to the limit? Would he kill her? Although the future looked bleak, she didn't want to die.
René's gaze captured hers. His expression remained still and grew nervous. Quickly he pressed his mouth to hers. "If René' should die this day, he will be happy with the taste of your sweet lips to keep him company."
Confused by his words, she stared at him.
René jumped off of her as quickly as he'd pinned her down, then rushed out of the wagon. She read fear clearly etched on his face.
Something must be happening outside. She rushed to the back of the wagon, then threw open the back dust cover. A fierce, hot wind blew sand in her face, stinging her skin.
She stared at the scene before her, unable to believe her eyes. Indians were killing the women. Melody ran toward her. Sarah reached down and helped the frantic girl climb into the wagon. Hiding behind Sarah like a frightened child, Melody clung to Sarah.
Trembling, they watched women running, fighting, and being killed. Horses trotted nervously through the camp area, confused by the activity around them. Sarah tried to forget she knew these women who were being slaughtered before her eyes. She watched Delia fall to the ground, an arrow protruded from her shoulder and another from her back. Beads of nervous perspiration formed on Sarah's upper lip. She breathed in shallow, quick gasps and her chest burned. She wanted to close her eyes from the horrifying sight, but they wouldn't oblige.
An Indian grabbed Sarah by the arm, wrenching her from the wagon and hurling her to the ground. Melody clung fast, falling with her.
They scrambled to their feet. Sheer black fright swept through Sarah. She tightened her grip around Melody, protecting her from the Indian before them.
Within
seconds the mounting winds tossed and twirled Sarah's waist-length hair…coiling and encircling them both, like a protective cocoon.
The Indian stood back, as though mesmerized. She looked at his red-painted face, with stripes of black across the cheekbones. Bright yellow rings circled both his eyes. His long black hair had been divided into two braids, with a scalp lock on top of his head.
He reached for Melody. Sarah screamed loud and fierce, pressing the girl closer to herself. Surprised, the Indian stepped back. Sarah found herself looking at the warrior's great brass wire rings that hung from his ears. She glared at the Indian, though her legs trembled uncontrollably beneath her skirts. The wind continued to whip her long hair wildly around them. Unable to restrain herself, Sarah screamed again. The warrior raced away.
She looked at Melody and found rounded eyes staring back at her.
"Will they kill us?" Fear lay like a stony mask across her face.
"I don't know. I thought he was going to, but now I'm not too sure. Did you see the way he looked at me? Did you notice it, Melody?"
"I don't know what you mean. I closed my eyes. I'm sorry, Sarah," she said, taking a deep, unsteady breath.
Sarah felt the girl tremble against her. Stay calm, Sarah told herself. Still, she felt an uncontrollable shaking in her own limbs.
"I'm scared," Melody gasped, clutching Sarah even tighter.
Holding her securely, Sarah said, "I'm scared too." She searched the campsite with her gaze. Bodies lay everywhere. Indians looted wagons, danced and held up their spoils for others to see.
A painted warrior held a light brown, long haired, bloodied scalp high into the air. Bile rose in Sarah's throat. She'd always chosen to believe Indians never scalped women.
Sarah felt Melody's body tense against her. The Sioux warrior came back toward them. Several other Indians sat on their mounts, a short distance behind him, staring. They moved as one, staying the same distance behind the one advancing before them.
Sarah felt smothered by Melody's shaking, grasping, and clutching. Her tears soaked through the thin fabric of Sarah's dress.
