Pa climbed from the wagon and unhitched the oxen. At least they weren’t stuck like the horses, and he managed to lead them to a more sheltered spot under some trees by the roadside.
Ma braved the rain and mud to bring her a blanket. Tossing it over Sarah’s shoulders, she said, “This is horrible. What have I done to you?”
“It’s not your fault, Ma.” Her lips were so numb from the cold it was hard to talk. “I don’t blame Pa, either. He did what he thought was best for all of us.”
“I feel so trapped.” Luzena spoke in an anguished whisper that tore at Sarah’s heart. “Every once in a while I think, I’ve had enough of this rain and cold and I’m going to get warm now. Then it hits me—there’s no place to go, nothing I can do. I’m stuck and there’s no escape.”
Sarah looked for words of comfort, but they were hard to find. Nothing to do but somehow, some way, get through this long, horrible night. “We’re going to make it, Ma. Get back in the wagon and try to keep warm.” Such inadequate words but the best she could do.
Drenched and exhausted, Sarah stood between the horses for hours praying for dawn to come and the rain to stop. Without a doubt, this was the worst night of her life. Her feet were like chunks of ice, her clothing frozen stiff. She would never be warm again. At least the horses stayed quiet. Somehow she’d get them out of the mud when morning came. As dawn broke, she was resting her head, eyes closed, against Rosie’s flank when she heard a voice.
“If it isn’t the Widow Gregg. Need some help?”
She opened her eyes. Was it a dream or was Jack McCoy looking down at her from his horse, a little smile playing on his lips?
* * * *
The day before, after Jack and Ben left the Bryans, they had traveled for several hours when Ben held his hand out. “Uh-oh, just felt a raindrop. Judging from the looks of that sky, we’re going to get a downpour.”
Jack hoped Ben was wrong, not for his own sake—he’d ridden through many a storm—but for the sake of the Bryan family. He’d never seen a bunch so unprepared for the hardships of the trail. At least Frank now knew enough to yoke and unyoke the oxen. He’d better know enough to stop the wagon when the rain started. Otherwise…but wait, not his business.
By the time they made camp for the night, rain pelted from the sky and a chill wind caused them to don their warmest gear and cover themselves with the linseed-oil slickers that would at least keep them dry. “Wonder how them Bryans are doing,” Ben called from beneath his poncho. “Like as not, they’re bogged down somewhere.”
“Like as not.” Jack couldn’t sleep. As each hour passed, the rain fell harder and the wind blew stronger. The Bryans had to be in trouble. No way could they survive the night in good shape, what with the ignorance of Frank Bryan. The rain was letting up, but only slightly when he rose and reached for Bandit’s saddle.
Ben poked his head out of the poncho. “What the Sam Hill are you up to?”
“I’m going back.”
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! You’re going all the way back to help that crazy family?”
“You don’t have to come.”
“I knew it, I knew it.” Muttering under his breath, Ben crawled from beneath his poncho. “You know I’ll come with you, but don’t tell me you’re not interested in the welfare of a certain widow.”
Jack stayed silent. What could he say when Ben had just nailed the truth dead-on?
Chapter 5
Jack peered down at the woman standing between the two horses, clutching the lead ropes in a death-like grip. Drenched to the skin, she was beyond shivering. Judging from the stark whiteness of her face and the bluish-white tinge of the skin around her mouth, she had the beginnings of frostbite. Quickly he swung off his horse. “You’ve been here all night?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was nod. She resembled a drowned rat, her long hair plastered to her head and her clothes and blanket dripping wet. He pulled it from her shoulders, grabbed a dry blanket from his bedroll, and threw it around her. “Got to get you dry. Don’t worry about the horses. I’ll take care of them.” He picked her up and carried her out of the muck and mire to the wagon where Frank and Luzena anxiously waited. “We need to get her dry and warm in a hurry.”
Frank asked, “Will she be all right?”
“She’ll be fine, but the next few hours will be tough. Have you ever thawed out from frostbite?”
* * * *
Ma helped Sarah out of her soaking wet clothes and boots and into another dress that had miraculously stayed dry. Clutching Jack’s blanket around herself, she climbed from the wagon and huddled by the small fire Jack built with the last of the dry wood they kept in the wagon. Slowly the heat crept through her. So good to be warm again! She thrust her feet toward the fire. They were the worst, still numb with cold, especially her toes. Gradually they thawed, and then the pain began, a deep, throbbing agony that wouldn’t stop for a moment. It kept getting worse until she was rocking back and forth, biting her lip to keep from crying out. She had never known such pain, yet she wouldn’t make a fuss, especially with everyone so busy cleaning up after the storm.
Sometime during the night, the canvas had sprung a leak. Her parents had to haul sopping wet blankets and items of clothing from the wagon and spread them in the sun to dry. Jack and Ben got spades from the toolbox and dug out the wagon wheels. With Ma, Pa, and Ben leaning in with their shoulders from behind, and the animals pulling with all their might, Jack took over the driver’s seat and urged the oxen forward. They all cheered when, with enough pushing and heaving, the wagon finally lurched free.
They cheered again when Jack dug Rosie and Titan from the mud.
At least Pa had the decency to apologize. “It seems I was mistaken, Mr. McCoy. You didn’t have to come back, especially after I asked you to leave.” For the first time in his life, a sheepish expression marked his face. “I’m beholden to you, sir. Don’t know what I would have done—”
“Forget it.” Obviously Jack wasn’t interested in apologies. Despite how busy he was taking care of the animals, he kept the small campfire going, checking on Sarah often. Once, when she couldn’t help moaning from the pain, he asked Luzena, “Do you have any laudanum?”
“I did, but Becky took it.” Ma’s look of disgust made it plain what she thought of her daughter-in-law.
“I’ll get her something.” Jack dug a small pouch from his saddlebag and was soon brewing some kind of tea. When he finished, he thrust a cup filled with steaming liquid into her shaking fingers. “Drink this.”
She took a sip. Ah, that felt good, just to have something warm inside her. It had a bitter taste. “What is it?”
“It’s a root called black cohosh. The Cherokees use it to make alcohol, but it’s also good for pain. You’re not pregnant, are you?”
What! If she’d been capable of blushing, she would have done so. At home, a gentleman never discussed such an intimate condition with a lady. But then, she wasn’t home, this man was no gentleman and, at the moment, she wasn’t much of a lady. “No, I’m not pregnant. Why do you ask?”
If he’d sensed her initial shock, he gave no sign. “Pregnant women shouldn’t take black cohosh—for a lot of reasons.”
A wave of pain hit her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Jack knelt in front of her, took her throbbing right foot in his hands, and massaged it vigorously. He kept on until the pain eased slightly and a touch of warmth returned. He did the same with her left foot—so competent, as if his skilled hands had done this sort of thing before. The pain lessened. She breathed a sigh of relief. “That was wonderful. I’m beginning to feel my feet again.”
After he left, she stayed by the fire sipping her tea. The pain was all but gone. She suspected the black cohosh, which could also be responsible for the sense of well-being that enveloped her. After a while, when the animals had all been fed and the wagon dried out, Jack came to sit with her. By now, all work was done. Her parents w
ere napping in the wagon, and Ben was asleep and snoring beneath his poncho.
Jack sat in that easy way he had, knees apart, hands loosely clasped in front of him, yet she sensed he was regarding her with keen, observant eyes. “So you’re all right now?”
“The massage helped a lot.”
“I’ve seen strong men cry when their frostbite thawed. You did well.”
His praise meant a lot, more than she cared to admit. She gave a casual shrug and cocked her head. “I never heard of black cohosh.”
“It’s an Indian remedy. Tribes like the Delaware, Iroquois, and Cherokee use it for everything from arthritis and snakebite to easing the pain of childbirth.”
“You know so much, like you must have been raised by Indians.”
“No, I wasn’t raised by Indians.”
“Then where were you raised?”
“New York City.”
“Really? My grandparents lived in New York, on the Upper East Side. I visited them once. They had a lovely home overlooking the East River. Where did you live?”
He took a long time to answer. “Five Points.”
“Oh?” Five Points was the worst neighborhood in New York City, full of crime and slums that were unspeakably vile. To her knowledge, no respectable person would ever be seen in Five Points. She searched for something polite to say. “Does your family still reside there?”
He stared at her and burst into laughter. “Except for my mother, I never had a family. I grew up in a brothel, Sarah. My mother was a prostitute.”
Now she was the one who was staring. “A…brothel?”
“Yes, a brothel, a bawdy house, where women sell their bodies.” His lips twisted into a cynical smile. “And their souls.”
“I…I…” Vainly she searched for something suitable to say.
“You don’t have to say anything. I’m surprised I told you. Except for you, I’ve never told anyone.” He smiled gently. “What have you done to me, Widow Gregg?”
Before she could answer, he got up and walked away.
* * * *
By the following day, Sarah had recovered from her frostbite. The road was passable again. After breakfast, accompanied by Jack and Ben, the Bryans got off to an early start. Ma was especially anxious and asked Jack, “Do you think we might catch up with the Morehead train today?”
“The storm might have held them up, too, so it’s possible. Let’s hope they had to stop for some other reason. Was anyone expecting a baby?”
Ma’s face lit. “Mrs. Carpenter! She was due any day.” She blushed, realizing she’d touched on a forbidden subject, yet the rest of the morning she had an eagerness about her, as if she expected to find the Morehead train around every bend of the trail. By the time they halted at noon, they’d come across a heap of garbage not yet rotted and fresh wagon tracks on the road—clear signs a wagon train had recently passed by. By now Ma was all eagerness. “I can hardly wait to see Hiram again. Who knows? Maybe he’ll have some word of Florrie.”
“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” With all her heart, Sarah hoped he would. She looked forward to seeing Hiram, too. She missed him. They’d always been close, even after he married Becky.
In the middle of the afternoon, when they rounded a bend, Ma gave a joyous cry. In a meadow ahead, parked in a big circle, lay the wagons of the Morehead wagon train.
The reunion was every bit as heartwarming as Sarah expected. Everyone was glad to see them. Sure enough, Mrs. Carpenter had just had her baby, and that’s why they’d stopped an extra day. When Hiram saw them, he whooped with delight. Even Becky was smiling. That night after supper, Jack, Ben, and the Bryan family sat around the campfire catching up on all that had happened. How Florrie’s necklace came to be part of a Shoshone Indian’s war bonnet caused great speculation. Nobody knew. To Ma’s deep disappointment, there’d been no news of Florrie. Hiram brought out his sketchpad. At one time or another, he’d drawn a sketch of every member of the family, including one of his younger sister. He tore it from the pad and handed it to his mother. “Here’s her picture. I’ve been showing it to everyone we meet along the trail.”
Ma took one look and had to hold back tears. She handed the picture to Sarah. “It looks just like her, doesn’t it?”
Not really. Hiram, always kind, had softened the plain features of his sister’s face and given her a slight smile so she looked almost pretty. Still, this was Florrie, and the sight of her image brought back all the anguish and heartache of her loss. Sarah swallowed the despair in her throat. “Yes, that’s Florrie. We’ll keep showing this picture to everyone we meet. Surely, someone must have seen her.”
Becky had been fidgeting, as if she was anxious to change the subject. “You’d never guess what happened while you were gone.” When she had everyone’s attention, her eyes sparked with eagerness as she told her story. “It happened the day after we left you behind. When we camped that night, this band of men rode into our camp. Said they were gold seekers, just riding through, and could we put them up for the night? Well!” Becky had a habit of pursing her lips when she disapproved. “Such a rough bunch I never did see, loud and given to curses the likes of which I never heard before. There was one man in particular, had a scraggly beard, big red nose, and he’d been drinking.”
“Had to be Josiah Peterson.” Ben spat a wad of tobacco with contempt. “A bad actor if ever there was one.”
Becky nodded in agreement. “I could tell. He had me scared, just the way he looked at me with those beady little eyes.”
Hiram spoke up. “You shouldn’t have worried. I was about to get my guns.”
“You?” Becky laughed with scorn. “You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn. Just about then Mr. Morehead showed up, thank goodness. He told that awful man in no uncertain terms…”
As Becky went on talking, Sarah sent a glaring look of indignation to her brother who sat on the other side of the campfire. Don’t let her talk to you like that! Poor, easy-going Hiram just sat there stony faced, as if he didn’t care, but his wife’s belittling words in front of everybody must have cut deep. Would he ever get the courage to stand up to her?
“…so they left,” Becky continued on. “They won’t be back. Mr. Morehead scared them off.”
Jack had listened without comment, but at Becky’s last remark his mouth curved into a thoughtful smile. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that. Josiah Peterson is a dangerous man. Better hope you don’t run into him again.”
In her usual aggressive fashion, Becky jutted out her chin. “If that’s so, Mr. McCoy, then why were you and Mr. Longren riding with that bunch of ne’er-do-wells?”
“Because Mr. Longren and I can take care of ourselves.” Jack casually rose. “You have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Bryan, not with a fine husband like Hiram to watch out for you.”
Becky had the decency to blush as he walked away.
* * * *
Sarah couldn’t sleep. Jack McCoy was on her mind, and she couldn’t get him off. So he was raised in a brothel? He’d said so little about himself, she was surprised he’d revealed as much as he did. Ever since then, she’d wanted to know more. The problem was, since their conversation the day she got frostbite, they’d had no chance to be alone and had barely spoken. She wished she could talk to him without half the wagon train within earshot. Among other things, she wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his standing up for Hiram and putting Becky in her place. Most of all, she wanted to know what his plans were now they’d caught up with the Morehead train. Would he and Ben leave the train behind or would they stay?
If she couldn’t sleep, she’d go for a walk. All fires were out and the camp quiet when she threw a shawl over her long white nightgown and slipped from her tent. In the moonlight, she saw a figure walking, not too far away. Jack. What a coincidence—or was it fate? He stopped when he saw her. When she got close, he spoke in a low voice. “You couldn’t sleep either?” Before she could answer, he took her arm.
“Not here. Let’s walk.”
The moon shone bright as they strolled from the ring of wagons, far enough that they couldn’t be heard. They stopped and faced each other. Sarah laughed and said, “I shouldn’t be wandering around in my nightgown. Not ladylike at all.”
“Are you really worried about being ladylike?”
She ignored his question. “I loved it when you put my sister-in-law in her place.”
He shrugged. “I only said what needed to be said.”
She wanted to ask if he planned to stay with the train, but the words stuck in her throat. Pride kept her from asking. If she did, he’d know she cared, that she wanted him to stay so much she’d be downright devastated if he left. No, she was not going to ask. Grateful though she was for all he’d done, she did not care to be beholden to any man. And most definitely, she didn’t want thoughts of a man swirling around her head as they were doing now. But one thing she had to know. “Last time we talked, you said—”
“That I was raised in a brothel. I’ll tell you more about it sometime. It’s not a pretty story.”
In the waning moonlight, she felt, rather than saw, the intensity of his dark eyes looking into hers—eyes that had seen more than she could ever imagine. She wanted to hear more, but he’d guessed wrong. Curious though she was about his past, another question kept burning in her mind. If she asked it, she might be sorry, but she couldn’t fight the urge any longer. “I have a question for you. The day you and Ben came back and found us stuck in the mud and me hanging onto the horses—”
“You’re wondering why I came back?”
“Exactly, especially after Pa told you to leave.”
He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I could say I felt sorry for your family, and that would be true. When it started to rain, I knew you’d be in trouble, given that your father—”
“Doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“He’s no different than thousands of others.” He paused again. “But there’s another reason I returned, and that reason is you. I tried, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ben thought I was crazy, but somehow I knew you were in trouble. Nothing, not even Frank Bryon’s wishes, was going to keep me away.”
Wagon Train Sisters (Women of the West) Page 6
