by Karen Baney
Taking the venison, Betty liberally seasoned it on both sides. Then she placed it over the fire. Hannah watched carefully, noting each step Betty took and the placement of the skillet to the fire.
“Those first few days on the way to Missouri, I thought my poor Henry might starve, my cooking turned so terrible,” Betty laughed as she started preparing the beans.
“Henry?” Hannah asked.
“My husband. ‘Bout fifteen years ago he passed on.”
“I’m sorry.”
Betty patted Hannah’s hand. “Don’t be, dear. He’s with his Lord in heaven smiling down on us now.”
“Tell me you are not travelling across the wilderness alone,” Hannah said with wide eyes.
“No, no. My son, Paul, is with me. He’s been a great help since Henry died. Took over the farm when he was nothing but a lad of seventeen. Been taking care of his ‘ol ma ever since.”
“Is his wife with you?”
“Oh, no, dear. Paul is not married. Don’t rightly know why. Guess he just never found the right woman,” Betty said cocking her head to one side. “There, now,” she said pointing to the food. “Just turn the food often and everything will come out just right.”
As Betty stepped away from the fire, she added, “After supper, why don’t you and your husband visit with us? Might make this long trip more bearable.”
Hannah nodded her agreement as she gave the beans another good stir.
A few minutes later, a weary Drew deposited the last of the full water barrels into the back of the wagon. Having gained confidence in her outdoor cooking skills, Hannah quickly dished him up a heaping plate of food, pleased that nothing seemed burned or undercooked. When she handed it to him, he smiled.
“Looks delicious,” Drew said. He wolfed down the meal before holding his plate out for seconds.
As she dished up more beans, she said, “I thought we could visit with our neighbors in the wagon next to us after supper.”
Swallowing his food, he answered with an edge to his voice, “Not tonight.”
“They are really nice—”
“I said not tonight,” he interrupted, brow furrowed deeply.
Hannah pursed her lips tightly as she grabbed the empty plate from Drew, confused by his adamant refusal. Shaving off a few curls of soap into the water warming over the fire, she tossed the rest of the dishes in. She had not realized how much she was looking forward to getting to know Betty and Paul, until now. Frustrated, she scrubbed the pot with fervor.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched for a few seconds as her husband struggled to put up the tent before returning her attention to the pot. Serves him right, she thought. This whole journey was his idea. He’s the one that decided they should move across the country to a wild territory full of unknown dangers. Maybe it was fair that things were not easy for him.
Anger boiling over, she lifted the pan she used for washing dishes. She carried it outside of the circle of wagons. Flinging the pan in the air with all her might she watched in the dim light as the water splashed out in an arc before it matted down a small area of the grass.
Tears burned the corners of her eyes. She was tired. Tired of being angry with Drew. Tired of his contrary behavior. Tired of this blasted wagon. She missed her home. She missed her kitchen. She missed her friends.
And she missed Drew—the happy, confident man she married.
Blotting her eyes dry with the corner of her apron, Hannah stowed the dishpan in the back of the wagon. As she neared their campfire, she saw no sign of Drew, though soft snores sounded from the tent. Despite the early hour, she pulled back the corner of the canvas tent and entered, taking her place next to her already sleeping husband.
---
The next morning Drew stretched his back once more, before leaning over to harness the oxen. Glancing nervously at the darkening clouds to the west, he hurried to take his place on the hard springboard wagon seat. Even though he retired earlier last night, he still felt exhausted and sore.
About an hour into the day, he felt the first drop of moisture. Hannah wordlessly left the seat, climbing into the shelter of the canvas cover seconds before the skies opened, spilling heavy sheets of cold rain over the prairie. The water soaked through his clothes quickly.
As the oxen slowed, Drew slapped down the reins trying to coax the animals forward. Within minutes, the former dusty rutted road became slick and gooey, coating the wheels with mud. More of the mud stuck to the wheels with each rotation.
Suddenly, the wagon in front of him came to a stop. The driver climbed down, then proceeded to scrape the gooey mess from each wheel spoke. Perhaps if he did the same thing, his team would struggle less.
Setting the brake, Drew jumped down from the wagon, his feet slipping on the mud. Quickly he reached out for the side of the wagon, just before his hind end landed in the mess. Rain pelted the top of his hat with audible splats, before shooting off the brim down his back. Walking around to the back of the wagon, he kicked out the oozing muck from between the spokes of the wagon wheel. He repeated the action for each wheel, until they were all empty. Carefully, he pulled himself back onto the wagon seat, released the brake, and started the team into motion again.
Another mile or so passed in misery. As the wagon grew heavy with a new coat of mud, he pulled it to a halt. Easing himself down off the seat, he removed the mire from the wheels once again. Back in the seat, Drew smacked the reins to move the oxen. The wagon rocked forward a few inches before settling back. He checked to make sure he released the brake. It was free. Another slap of the reins yielded the same results. The wagon was stuck.
“Hannah,” Drew hollered over the deafening sound of the downpour, barely keeping the irritation from his voice. “Take the oxen.”
When his dry wife appeared on the seat in a rain slicker, he climbed back down.
“When I yell, start the oxen moving.”
Hannah nodded before he turned and walked around the wagon. He yelled and she set the oxen in motion. There! The back wheel hung on a deep rut, which only deepened with each attempt to move forward. Standing behind the wagon, Drew pushed with all of his might to help free the wheel. His boots slid on the viscous mud. The wagon did not move. Trying again, he braced his back against the wagon, pushing with his legs. Again nothing happened. It was futile; he was not strong enough to move it.
“Need some help,” a deep voice asked as a large broad-shouldered man approached with a sturdy looking plank of wood.
Drew nodded, keenly aware that he would not be able to get the wagon moving without this man’s help. As he hollered for Hannah to move forward again, the man stuck the lever in the ground behind the immobile wheel. Grunting from the exertion, he put his large shoulder against the long piece of wood. Drew pushed against the back of the wagon at the same time. Between the two of them, it was enough force to break free.
“Thank you,” Drew shouted over his shoulder before rushing up to the front of the wagon. Hannah pulled it to as stop just long enough for him to jump back on board. Taking the reins back from her, he motioned her to go inside out of the downpour.
The rain continued throughout the morning. When they stopped for the midday meal, Drew stripped off his soaked clothing, changing into something dry. He donned a rain slicker before taking his place back on the seat. Even with the change of clothes, he shivered in the damp cold.
Just an hour before they set up camp, the rain ceased. A huge sigh of relief escaped his chilled lips. Hopefully they could build a fire tonight, so he could warm up.
At camp that evening, Drew eagerly devoured another delicious meal. Apparently, Hannah worked out her troubles with cooking outdoors, he thought, patting his stomach in a satisfied gesture. Good thing, too. After the strain of the day, he felt his body liven as the nourishment took hold.
After Hannah finished the dishes, Drew suggested they meet the people in the wagon behind them. He wanted to thank the broad-shouldered man for his help this morning.
Smiling,
Drew called out a greeting before introducing himself.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Anderson. I’m Paul Lancaster. And this is my ma, Betty.”
Betty already engulfed Hannah in a hug, surprising Drew.
“Dear, is this your husband?” Betty asked.
“Yes,” Hannah answered before turning toward him. “You have Betty to thank for helping me figure out how to cook over an open fire.”
“Well, I am indebted to you,” he teased.
Paul set two more crates on the ground, motioning for him and Hannah to be seated.
“Where are the two of you headed?” Drew asked.
Paul answered, “We are moving to the Granite Creek area of the Arizona Territory.”
“Paul hopes to set up a placer mine and I plan on running a boardinghouse,” Betty added.
“Won’t there be too much to do by yourself?” Hannah asked.
“Oh, Paul will help most days. The mining is more of a hobby than a means of supporting us.” Turning to Drew, Betty asked, “What about you?”
“We are moving to the gold mine town of La Paz,” Drew answered.
“Drew is a doctor,” Hannah added, sheepishly.
Betty’s face brightened. “Dear, you should think about heading to the Walker settlement with us. Rumor is that the new governor of the territory might locate the capital there. I’m sure they could use a doctor.”
“Ma is right,” Paul said. “What we’ve read about the Granite Creek area, it is much more civilized than some of the other gold towns.”
“And, Paul heard from the wagon master that once we arrive at Fort Larned, we will wait for the new governor and his party before continuing west. Why, you will already know half the town!” Betty exclaimed.
“Wouldn’t that be great?” Hannah joined in with their enthusiasm.
Everyone turned their attention towards him. Running his hands through his hair, Drew hated to douse their excitement. “Well, La Paz has a pretty large population—one that can easily support a doctor.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Hannah’s shoulders sag.
“Yes, but it is also a booming gold town,” Paul countered, “with many unsavory characters. Not the best of places to raise a family.”
Drew frowned. “Didn’t you say that Walker and his party were miners? And you would also be mining?”
“All of the Granite Creek miners sign an agreement with basic rules to live by, sort of laws, if you will. That’s why Ma and I chose the area,” Paul replied.
“If the governor is going there,” Hannah’s soft voice broke through the silence, “maybe we should consider it.”
Drew whipped his head towards his wife, clenching his jaw. The warning look he gave her went unheeded.
“Think, Drew, if the capital is there, the population would be growing—”
“We are going to La Paz.” His voice sounded louder than he intended. The look of shock on Hannah’s face stabbed his heart. He hadn’t meant to be harsh.
“Well, we will enjoy your friendship,” Betty said, patting Hannah’s hand, “for as long as the good Lord sees fit.”
Though the conversation darted on to other subjects, Drew’s irritation with Hannah remained. He knew she did not want to make this move. But, questioning him in front of strangers was disrespectful. And not at all like her.
Waiting for an opening in the conversation, Drew yawned. Seeing his chance, he stood, thanking Paul and Betty for their hospitality before seeing Hannah back to their tent.
“Why won’t you even consider Granite Creek?” she asked him as soon as they were in the semi-privacy of their tent.
In a hushed, angry whisper, he responded, “We have our plans, Hannah. Why do you continue to press this?”
Lowering to the ground, Hannah crawled under the covers. “Because, maybe I don’t think God is calling us to La Paz like you do.”
The words stung. She did not trust him to make the right decision for their family.
Drew thought of a million sharp answers as he kicked off his boots and stretched out on the ground. Instead of speaking a single one, he rolled onto his side away from her, letting his silence speak for him.
Self pity bubbled up. When had things gone so wrong? When had Hannah started to criticize his every decision? He stifled a snort of disgust. When Thomas robbed the bank—that is when things turned upside down.
Thomas. A pang of guilt stabbed Drew at the thought of his brother. The last time he saw him was a few days before he and Hannah left Cincinnati. Making the excuse of running an errand, he left the clinic without telling Hannah his true destination. Hiring a hackney, he arrived at the jail that housed his brother, the criminal. The stench inside the jail overwhelmed his senses and almost gave credence to the voice telling him to forget his brother.
But, he could not. Guilt hounded him for days. All he could hear was his father’s voice asking him over and over to take care of Thomas. Even though Thomas was a grown man, the promise still haunted Drew.
Following several sleepless nights, he decided to visit Thomas, though completely unprepared for the image that awaited him. When the jailer stopped in front of a cell, Drew barely recognized his brother. His sandy brown hair looked unkempt, caked with dirt. His threadbare clothing sported a similar look. Blue eyes sunk into his head, leaving dark circles. Haggard and weary.
The conversation was much like Drew expected. When he tried to engage, Thomas shot back angry retorts, even accusing Drew of gloating—over what, he did not know. Frustrated by the accusation, Drew told him that he and Hannah were moving to La Paz.
Unquenchable desire to lash out spurred him on. He confronted Thomas, making his own harsh accusations against his own flesh and blood. He told Thomas that he cost him the clinic and his livelihood. In his anger he said things he greatly regretted.
Once he finished venting, Drew turned to leave, shooting a pathetic “goodbye” over his shoulder. It was the kind that leaves one wondering how things might go should they ever cross paths again.
Then, unexpectedly, when Drew reached the end of the long hallway, Thomas gave a chilling laugh followed by his own emotionless goodbye. The reaction cut Drew deeply. What he intended to be a clearing-of-the-air, turned out to be a disaster.
As Hannah reclined next to him wordlessly, Drew stirred from his burdensome thoughts of his brother. He could do nothing to repair that relationship now.
The mild shaking of Hannah’s body alerted him that his wife was crying. He should do something. He should say something to comfort her. Yet his own fractured emotions kept him from trying.
Piled on to the guilt and self-recrimination, loneliness wedged in. He missed Hannah’s smiling face. He missed the way she used to brighten when he entered the room. It was like he was the most important man. Her reaction bolstered him, added to his confidence.
Now in the absence of her smile, her soft touch, the light in her eyes, he felt insignificant and undone.
Just reach out. His inner voice chastised vehemently. She still needs you.
Hovering his hand in midair over her shoulder, Drew hesitated. Her shaking stopped. Had she sensed his hand mere inches away? Wavering, indecisive, he listened. Soft, steady breathing of sleep reached his ears. Slowly he moved his hand back to his side as the loneliness threatened to suffocate him.
Chapter 8
New Mexico Territory
September 19, 1863
The dust stirring from the cattle stung Will’s tired eyes. In the two days since the Indian attack, he slept not more than an hour or two. Even his exhaustion could not diminish the bright pink and orange streaks splaying across the horizon, chasing the last remnants of night from the sky. God must have known he needed the little bit of peace that always rose up from his soul when witnessing such a glorious sunrise.
Other than this brief moment, peace seemed a distant friend—the kind that never wrote. The burdensome responsibility he bore ushered the refreshing peace to the corner of his heart. Hi
s men needed him to stay strong. He had to do whatever it takes to get them and the cattle to the Arizona Territory safely.
Only things weren’t exactly going as planned. With one man buried on the side of the trail two days ride behind them, and another looking like he might soon join his friend, Will fought against the strong sense of failure pushing through his fatigue. If given the choice, he would rather have both men healthy and in the saddle. No one wanted to be attacked by Indians.
Nevertheless, they had been. And now it was his job to pick up the pieces and get everyone to the next milestone—Santa Fe—as quickly and safely as possible.
How could he do that when every tired muscle begged him to slip from his horse and sleep the day away?
Stifling a groan of frustration, Will turned his horse from the flank of the herd to camp. Maybe his mind would function better once his stomach was full.
Pulling the chestnut mare to a stop next to the other horses, he dismounted in a wobbly manner, his feet almost buckling under him. Resting his hand on the horn of his saddle, he steadied himself before unbuckling the straps. Lifting the saddle from the horse that had given him too much trouble last night, he carried it away from the horses as Covington took over the horse’s care.
That horse, who he fondly dubbed Hilda, was one of the mares he bought from the livery back home. She had not been cattle trained and seemed to be adjusting to the cattle very slowly. Last night she nickered and whinnied far too much, setting the longhorns on edge—and Will. He was too tired to deal with a skittish horse. But, he rode Jackson most of the day before, maybe a bit too long before giving him a rest. When he asked for a mount, Covington suggested Hilda since she was the freshest.
Tossing his saddle on the ground, Will fought against the temptation to lie down without breakfast. Instead, he forced his feet towards the makeshift table where Snake dished out breakfast.
As he neared the table, a flash of silver caught his eye. Owens worked quickly to stash the flask, but not before it registered in Will’s foggy brain.
