by Karen Baney
How long would she remain distant, carrying a grudge against him? What could he do to coax a smile again? As much as he wanted to mend what was broken, at the end of each arduous day he had no energy left to smooth things over with his wife.
She wasn’t the only person mad at him. Drew saw the looks of other settlers traveling with them. Whispers stopped as he neared. Piercing eyes followed his every movement. His shortcomings were painfully obvious. He was completely ill-equipped for what was required of him. Perhaps he would never fully adapt to this type of grueling labor.
Even Hannah seemed to be struggling to adapt to outdoor living, as evidenced by the dreadful, unappetizing meals. He assumed the meals she prepared would be hearty and fulfilling, much like he had come to expect back home. There she had been an amazing cook—never was anything less than sumptuous. However, on the trail that was not the case. Each night she served a foul combination of half raw half charred food. If only his empty stomach and exhausted body would be as forgiving as he. He needed satisfying nourishment if he was going to make it through this.
Restful sleep eluded him, too. The hard ground gave no comfort. The thin shelter of the tent did little to muffle the strange noises of the prairie. Rambunctious, and often inebriated teamsters employed by the freighters, added to the noise late into the night. Wolves or coyotes howled, sounding closer as the hours ticked by. The peaceful dark of night he expected turned out to be nothing more than fanciful images in his mind.
The flat, unending Kansas prairie failed to offer solace. Miles and miles of tall buffalo grass hissed in the wind. Trees confined themselves near river beds, offering little break to the chilling wind. Other than the few towns and sporadic houses they passed on the first day, there had been little sign of civilization or variation in the landscape.
Worse yet, he missed practicing medicine. He loved talking to patients, answering their questions and alleviating their symptoms. He loved birthing babies, watching as new life entered the world. He even liked patching up more severe wounds, like Mr. Davis’s bullet wound, and doing whatever he could to help the healing process along. While unknown illnesses terrified most doctors, Drew thrived when confronted with such a challenge, drawing on his experience or researching new remedies and theories that might aid in curing the patient.
All those years of training, studying late into the night, prepared him to be a confident physician…that sat atop a wagon without a patient in sight.
Discouraged, Drew glanced at Hannah again. He wished, not for the first time, that he would be able to make her proud.
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Hannah sensed Drew’s eyes on her. As she turned toward him, his head snapped forward, seemingly interested in the miniscule progress of the oxen.
The silence ate at her. How had this wordless, tense chasm formed between her heart and his? They were husband and wife. They were supposed to love each other and want to be with each other. So why did she feel like jumping down from the wagon and running far from his presence?
Moisture tickled the corners of her eyes. Maybe he didn’t love her anymore.
Her aunt would tell her that was impossible. Love doesn’t die. But, Hannah knew otherwise. After all, papa stopped loving her—the day mama died—so could Drew.
Growing up, she knew that both her parents loved and adored her. She felt it in the morning hugs and evening bed-time stories. It was there when papa lifted her off the ground and twirled her around as he came in from the fields at the end of the day.
Both papa and mama wanted more children and often spoke of their hope for another child. Finally, mama announced one day that she was with child. Hannah would have a younger brother or sister soon. Papa cried—for joy he told her—because they had waited twelve long years for their family to increase.
Only that joy faded, too quickly, when mama began having pains only a few months into the pregnancy. When the doctor confined her to bed rest, Hannah overheard him telling mama she had been irresponsible in trying to have a child at her advanced age of forty.
For months, mama remained in bed, following the doctor’s orders without complaint. Each month the doctor visited, he said the pregnancy was progressing, but there was too much cause for concern. She needed to stay abed.
Then, a month before the baby should have arrived, mama went into labor while Hannah was at school. When she arrived home, the doctor’s carriage sat out front. Her mother’s screams filled the air. For hours papa paced the small space between the stove and the table in the small farm house, ignoring Hannah. With each scream, his pacing turned more frantic.
For over a day, Hannah listened, helpless and terrified. Finally, the screaming stopped.
“There should be a baby’s cry,” papa said, reaching for the bedroom door latch.
The door flew open as the doctor stepped into the room. “I’m sorry,” were the only words he uttered before papa pushed him aside.
“No!” papa yelled in a guttural moan as he fell into a heap next to mama’s side.
Confused and frightened, she stepped into the doorway. Her mother’s pale body rested stiffly on their bed. Looking around the room, Hannah could not find the baby. The only thing she saw was her lifeless mother and enormous amounts of blood staining the sheets. The doctor, realizing she snuck into the room, quickly pulled her back into the kitchen as papa’s sobs grew louder.
“I’m sorry, little one, but your mama has passed away,” the doctor whispered, closing the door to allow her father to grieve in private.
The next hours and days had faded from Hannah’s memory. She didn’t remember the funeral.
What she did remember was her father working long hours in the field. He left before sunrise and returned late into the night. If she hadn’t lain awake each night to be certain he returned, she would have thought he abandoned her entirely.
Weeks rolled into a month. His behavior remained the same. Until one day, when she came home from school, he sat at the table sipping on a mug of coffee, staring off at nothing in particular. As she entered the small room, he looked up.
“Pack your things,” he said coldly before standing and walking out the door.
Not knowing what else to do, she followed the emotionless order. Several minutes later, with her bag in his hand, he led her to the waiting wagon. He lifted her into the seat without a word. Then he drove her to his sister’s house.
“Take her,” he said to auntie. When her aunt started to protest, he cut her off. “I can’t bear to look at her…she reminds me too much of…” his voice cracked.
For three years, Hannah lived with her aunt and uncle, without a single word or visit from her father. Then one day, shortly after her fifteenth birthday, he came as mysteriously as he left. With minimal conversation, he picked her up and took her back home.
The next few years ticked by slowly. Her father barely spoke to her outside of what was necessary to keep up with daily chores and the running of the farm. He hardly looked at her. He never hugged her. He didn’t love her any more.
Daily, Hannah threw herself into her school work and her chores. Many afternoons she cried on Emily’s shoulder, not understanding why her father didn’t love her. She longed to go back to live with her aunt. At least there she felt like someone cared.
Then, after Hannah turned eighteen, her father died suddenly. Bad heart the doctor said. She was an orphan with a farm—crops still in the field.
Her uncle came and advised her to sell the farm, suggesting Hannah move to town and take a job at the local mercantile. She did precisely that.
The first two years after her father’s death, Hannah spent her days working at Francis’s store and her Sundays begging God to heal her broken heart. She wanted to understand why her father stopped loving her, why he had abandoned her. But, she couldn’t. Friends told her that he must have been to overwrought with grief. Perhaps his heart broke beyond repair.
None of that mattered to Hannah. She once had his love and attention. Then, it was gone.<
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Did the silence from Drew mean that he no longer loved her?
Hannah sighed, looking across the grass-covered prairie. Maybe she held some blame for the distance. She had been less than receptive to the idea of moving to La Paz. After the dinner with Doc Henderson, she tried to convince Drew that moving so far away was ludicrous. The heated argument ended in her vowing to keep her opinions to herself. He would not budge.
The thing that bothered her the most about Drew’s immovable stance was that he continued to tell her the move was God’s will. If that was true, then why didn’t she have any peace about it? She tried. She prayed and prayed and prayed. She asked God to help her set aside her feelings and seek Him in this situation. Yet, she still had no peace.
Then again, she had not fully set aside her feelings. She hated leaving Ohio. She despised Thomas for robbing the bank that started so many difficult circumstances into motion. She fought against Drew’s decision—at first with words, then later with her silent resistance.
Another sigh rose to the edge of her breath. She quickly swallowed it away. Regardless of her feelings, she and Drew were moving to La Paz in the Arizona Territory. She would have to start over, again, in a new place with new people.
The slowing of the wagon pulled her from her frustrations. As Drew set the brake, Hannah quickly hopped down, without waiting for his assistance. Since he struggled so much with the team, she figured it would only slow down the process and deepen her embarrassment if she waited for the gentlemanly gesture.
She watched him from the corner of her eye. Even several days into the journey he seemed to have to concentrate very hard to remember how to properly unyoke the oxen and set them afield to graze for the afternoon break. It pained her to watch. Having grown up on a farm, she learned long ago how to hitch a team and how to care for livestock. She knew she could be done in half the time. And the first day on the trail, she made the mistake of trying to help him. He snapped at her, telling her that none of the other men needed help from their wives, so why should he?
Hannah pulled the small bundle of food from the wagon. Each morning, following a hot breakfast, she prepared food for the midday meal. Typically, she set aside some bread, dried beef, cheese, and other cold foodstuff. Only breakfast and supper were hot meals.
A good ten minutes after all the other men finished setting the oxen out to graze, Drew joined her on the blanket she laid out next to the wagon. She poured them both a cup of water, handing one to him. When he reached up to take the cup from her, his fingers lingered against hers long enough to give her pause. A tentative smile graced his lips as tingles traveled up her arm. Releasing her hold on the cup, she quickly sank to the blanket, turning her attention to dividing the meal.
She handed Drew his meal and waited while he blessed the food. As soon as the prayer concluded, Hannah nibbled on the bread and dried beef, still fearing the silence between her and her husband.
“Have you met any of the other women?” he asked.
“No,” she replied sharply. What did it matter if she spoke to the other women on the wagon train? She doubted any of them were headed to La Paz. And she did not really want to make friends that she would just leave again. And she wouldn’t be in this position if he decided Indiana was far enough. It was so unfair.
Drew finished chewing his mouthful of food. As he turned to look at her, his eyes clouded.
“Hannah,” he said, reaching over to gently lay his hand on her arm. “I didn’t mean anything by the question. I’m just trying to…I hate this distance between us.” His blue eyes bore through her defenses. “I miss talking to you.”
Tears burned her eyes. Maybe he still loved her.
“Anderson!” Eli Jacobs shouted, stopping her from responding to Drew. “A word with you.”
Drew set aside the rest of his uneaten meal and jumped to his feet. Then he walked a few yards away to where the wagon master stood. As the two men conversed in hushed tones, Hannah began packing up their things, her earlier despair returned.
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“Are those your oxen, Anderson?”
Drew nodded, unable to keep his nerves calm.
“Haven’t you noticed this one,” Eli asked. “He is favoring his hoof. If you don’t take care of that soon, you’re gonna have a lame animal.”
Heat flooded Drew’s face, growing hotter as Eli showed him how to care for the injured hoof. How was he supposed to know what to look for? He never worked with livestock.
He tried to pay close attention to Eli’s instructions, but the image of Hannah near tears distracted him. What was happening between them? What had he said to cause her to cry? Looking over at his wife, he caught her dabbing those tears from her face with her lace handkerchief. Guilt jabbed his heart. He was alienating his wife. He was failing miserably at leading them to their new home.
“Doc,” Eli’s irritated voice arrested his attention, “did you get all that?”
Drew nodded, wanting to appease the man.
“Good, then go to it.”
Blinking, he realized his bluff had been called. Trying to remember the very first thing Eli showed him, he placed his hand on the ox’s back, sliding it towards the animal’s hind quarters.
When he bent down to lift the ox’s injured hoof, Eli chastised him. “Pay attention this time.”
Drew forced his attention on Eli’s every movement, carefully repeating the steps in his mind. Each time Eli mentioned what he should look for, he stored the information away for future reference. This time, when Eli asked him to examine the animal’s foot, he responded by performing most of the correct steps.
By the time the hour and a half midday stop elapsed, Drew’s confidence faded even more. Eagerly, he climbed aboard the wagon, glad to be free from the embarrassment for a few minutes. He felt so inadequate, unable to manage the team. What would he do if one of the oxen went lame? Where would he get another ox? How much would it cost? What would happen if he could not find a replacement? Would Eli make them stay behind?
Chapter 7
Hannah’s hope continued to fade throughout the afternoon. Her thoughts kept returning to the distance between them, plunging further towards despair as the day grew longer and Drew seemed preoccupied. Twice she tried to start a conversation with him, only to see his attention wane quickly.
By the time he pulled the wagon to a stop for the evening, she turned her energy to gathering firewood, glad for the distraction from her thoughts. Her eyes darted back and forth across the tall prairie grass, looking for signs of wood peeking through. The only thing that caught her attention was the round dark brown lumps resembling cow dung, only larger and less odiferous.
Walking farther from the camp, her gaze continued searching, still finding no firewood. Perhaps she would have to forgo the hot meal and pull from their stock of dried beef instead. As she turned back toward camp she noticed a cluster of women gathered around a plump older woman.
“Listen up, ladies,” the older woman shouted. “From here on out, it is doubtful we’ll find firewood.”
Slumping shoulders, Hannah started to walk away from the crowd. Drew told her they would have fuel enough to cook hot meals daily. She had not planned to spend the bulk of the trip without fire. And what about staying warm at night? The temperature already dropped several degrees in the few minutes since they stopped traveling for the day.
The older woman’s next words stopped Hannah mid-step. “We will have to use buffalo chips to fuel our fires.”
“Buffalo chips?” Hannah asked, relieved to discover they would have fire after all.
“Yes, dried buffalo dung or ‘chips’ makes an excellent fire,” the older woman replied with a kind smile.
Then she proceeded to show the crowd of women how to kick over the chips with the toe of her boot. Next, she picked up and carried the chips in the fold of her apron. Some women outright refused to pick up the newly discovered form of fuel. Others hesitated, but eventually came around. Hannah, figuring Drew pr
eferred a hot meal, decided to follow the older woman’s example. When her apron looked as full as the older woman’s, she returned to camp.
As she started to build the fire, the older woman who told them about buffalo chips walked by. Hannah caught her attention and introduced herself. “Thank you for telling us about the buffalo chips.”
“Glad to help, dear,” the older woman said with a warm smile before introducing herself as Betty Lancaster.
“How did you know about them?” Hannah asked.
“Oh, my sweet Henry and I traveled through some of the plains on our way to Missouri as a young couple,” Betty said. Her black and silver streaked hair and the wistful expression implied the journey she spoke of transpired many years ago. “Twas difficult learning how to live outdoors. The first few days I missed my stove something fierce.”
Warmth flushed Hannah’s cheeks as she looked down at the pile of buffalo chips at her feet. Her voice soft as she spoke, “I haven’t quite figured out how to cook the food evenly yet.”
“I would be happy to help you, dear,” Betty smiled sympathetically. “It’s quite different from cooking over stove. Give me one minute and I’ll be back to help.”
As Betty scurried to the wagon next to Hannah’s, one of the Shawnee Indians, hired by the wagon master, brought by several chunks of fresh venison.
“Now, dear,” Betty said, as she reached for a skillet, “just watch me.”
