Magnus frowned in puzzlement. “He’s from our company?”
“Yes, sir. He joined up with us a week or so ago. A young man by the name of Coy Barnett.”
Chapter 10
Members of the Ferguson wagon train were so engrossed in Donovan’s shocking news, nobody but Callie heard Nellie’s gasp of horror, nor saw the look of stunned disbelief that crossed her face. Callie caught her arm as she started to sag and pulled her up straight again. “Hold on, Nellie,” she whispered, “we’ve got to hear this.”
The whole camp listened with rapt attention while Sam Donovan told how Coy had appeared in their midst a little over a week ago. He seemed a nice young man and was hired immediately by Elihu Hawkins, a banker from Boston, who needed another hand to drive his wagons. Almost immediately Elihu began to find fault with his new hire. Coy’s laziness and insolent attitude were not to his liking. Worse, Coy was paying far too much attention to Sarah, Elihu’s sixteen-year-old daughter, who, despite her father’s warnings, continued to cast sheep’s eyes at the new hire whenever he was around. Hawkins warned Coy not to make free with his daughter, but the young man paid him no heed. When Hawkins found Coy and his daughter together “in intimate proximity,” as Donovan delicately put it, he immediately dismissed him. Backed by his captains, Donovan ordered Coy from the camp. A short time later, Hawkins caught the young man red-handed in his wagon, about to make off with his hidden stash of gold coins. He immediately leaped toward the thief, trying to restrain him, but before he could, Coy drew a pistol and shot him in the chest. “Hawkins fell backward from the wagon. He was dead before he hit the ground.” Sam Donovan shook his head with deep regret. “Hawkins was a fine man and respected by all. Left a wife and four children.”
Amid murmurs of sympathy from the crowd, Luke spoke up. “So, you’re holding a trial?”
“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock. Any man wanting to volunteer as a juror is welcome to join us. We’ll give Barnett a full and fair trial.”
Gert Gowdy called, “What if you find him guilty?”
Donovan looked surprised, as if the question was unnecessary. “He’ll be hanged. The sooner the better. We’ve wasted enough time on Coy Barnett.”
* * * *
Callie got little sleep that night. She and Lydia spent hours trying to console Nellie, who cried her heart out until finally she fell into fitful slumber. Morning came, and with it a dreary leaden sky. Nearly every member of the Ferguson wagon train traipsed the short distance to the Donovan Train for the trial of Coy Barnett. The Whitaker family was among them.
Along the way, Pa noticed Nellie’s tear-stained face and despairing manner. “Don’t know why you’re crying, Daughter. I always said he was no good.”
Nellie gave an answering wail.
“Don’t waste your sympathy. He deserves to hang. There’s no call for you to be so upset.”
If you only knew. Callie gave her distraught stepsister a pat on the arm.
Magnus Ferguson fell into step beside her. “It’s a shame you have to see this, Miss Whitaker.”
She was happy to see him and glad for his reassuring presence. “Oh, Mr. Ferguson, who are they to think they can give him a trial? What right do they have?”
Magnus shrugged. “Who else will do it? We’re not in the United States any more. Beyond the Missouri River, we’re on our own. From there on, the trains create their own justice. Some agree on a constitution with bylaws. That’s what we have. Before we started, we drew up a constitution and created rules for every dispute we could think of, and every crime, including murder. From what I understand, the Donovan Train has a constitution similar to ours. That being the case, they have every right to hold a trial.”
“Must they hang him?” Nellie asked in an anguished voice. “Aren’t there other kinds of ways to punish him?”
“Of course there are. There’s everything from banishment, whipping, a stakeout, or even a simple admonition.”
“Then why—”
“It appears Coy has committed an abominable crime for which he must be punished accordingly.” Magnus gave Nellie a grim smile. “If what I heard is correct, death is none too good for the likes of Coy Barnett. I hope he suffers while he’s dangling at the end of that rope.”
How harsh. Callie gazed at Magnus in surprise. She had thought he was nothing but kind and caring. Now, for the second time, she saw a side to him she’d never seen before. “But to put a young man to death, whatever the reason, seems so very cruel.”
Magnus gazed back at her with a look that, though sympathetic, revealed his slight disdain. “You’re a soft-hearted woman, Callie, like most women are. So of course you’d think that way. Let the men handle it, my dear.”
They reached the Donovan Train. Callie said no more. She had to focus all her attention on getting Nellie through this terrible day. Later on, though, she’d remember this conversation with Magnus and why she didn’t like what he’d said, didn’t like it at all.
In the middle of the Donovan campground, preparations for the trial were almost complete. Two rows of six chairs were set up for the jurors. A makeshift table stood at one side, presumably for the judge. An ominously empty chair was placed directly facing the jurors’ chairs, only a few feet away. Callie guessed it was for Coy. A cold knot formed in her stomach. At first she couldn’t believe this was happening, but now it was becoming so very real.
A noisy crowd had gathered around. It fell silent when a stern-faced Sam Donovan appeared and spoke in a voice that rang with authority. “Let’s get started. The jurors may take their places.” He looked toward a tent nearby. “Bring the prisoner forward.”
Twelve men, including Pa and five others from the Ferguson train, seated themselves in the jurors’ chairs. All eyes focused on Coy Barnet as four burly men dragged him across the campground. Callie hardly recognized him. The cocky young man with the impudent smile was gone. Hands tied behind his back, his clothes in disarray, he trembled with fear. A blackened eye and hideously swollen cheek marred his once-handsome face.
At the sight of him, Nellie cried out, “Coy! What have they done to you?”
Coy glanced in her direction but gave no sign of recognition.
Ma gave Nellie a sharp nudge with her elbow. “Keep your mouth shut. I won’t have you wailing and moaning over a murderer. If you can’t keep quiet, you can go home.”
Nellie stood mute as Sam Donovan, who had been appointed judge, called the trial to order.
Three men testified, all respected members of their company. They said much the same thing. They heard the gunshot, saw Elihu Hawkins fall backward from his wagon mortally wounded and saw Coy Barnett jump from the wagon, still holding a pistol. They pounced on him, foiling his futile attempt to get away.
When the last witness finished, Sam Donovan addressed Coy, who sat silent, head down, tied to the chair that faced the jury. “There’s no doubt you killed Elihu Hawkins. Do you have anything to say for yourself, Mister Barnett?”
Coy seemed in a daze. He barely lifted his head, looking as if he’d like to speak but hadn’t the strength. His head dropped down again. “No,” he replied in a barely audible voice that held no hope.
The jury didn’t bother to retire while they considered their verdict. They stayed where they were, whispering among themselves. Within five minutes they announced their decision.
Coy Barnett was guilty of murder. He would be hanged immediately.
* * * *
Callie noticed Luke didn’t attend the trial. When she returned to their camp, she passed by his tent. He was sitting on a log cleaning his rifle, not the least interested in the happenings at the Donovan train. When Callie stopped to talk, he raised his head. “So, is it over?”
“It was horrible.”
“Is he dead yet?”
“I suppose so.” After the trial, a group of grim-faced men, one with a coil of rope in his hand, led Coy away. The ladies were instructed not to follow.
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br /> “Then it’s done.” With a sad shake of his head, Luke arose. His observant gaze swept over her.
She took a breath and tried to calm herself, knowing he’d be sure to notice how upset she was.
“Try not to let it bother you.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. “You don’t always find justice in the wilderness. Nothing you can do about it.”
The horror of it all boiled up within her. “I never liked Coy. He was awful in so many ways, but even he deserved a fair trial. Why, Luke? That trial was a farce. What right did they have to kill him?” Remembering Magnus’s callous words, she wished she hadn’t asked. Luke probably felt the same.
He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “If this was a perfect world, there’d be fairness and justice for all, but it’s not a perfect world. Coy’s gone now. It’s over. Like I said, you can cry all you want, but you can’t bring him back.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. You’d better get back to your sister. She’s going to need you.”
“Nellie is…very upset.”
“Nellie’s in trouble, isn’t she?”
Luke’s question caught her unaware, so much she didn’t consider any sort of denial. “How did you know?”
“Just knew. Never mind how.”
“She was certain Coy would come back for her. Now he’s gone…” She fought to keep the hysteria from her voice. “Pa’s going to kill her.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I can’t think what to do.”
His eyes brimmed with sympathy. “It’s a bad situation, but knowing you, you’ll think of something. I’ll help if I can.”
She left his campsite with a lighter step. Whether or not he could really help, Luke made her feel better, bolstered her sagging spirits. Her mood lasted until she reached her tent.
Nellie was sobbing inside. When she saw Callie, she swallowed a sob and asked, “What shall I do?”
Callie hesitated. What should she say? How strange Nellie was looking for answers, not from Lydia or Ma, but from her previously scorned stepsister. And even stranger, why was it she actually wanted to help? Looking back over the years, she couldn’t think of one nice thing Nellie had ever done for her. She’d never even said a kind word, or given her much of anything other than sneers and insults. I’d be a fool to help her. If I have any sense at all, I should be rejoicing over Nellie’s well-deserved misery.
And yet… When she looked into Nellie’s tear-stained face, she wanted only to help. How could she hate someone who hadn’t the sense of a goose? Whose ignorance and gullibility led her to this awful mess? Callie knew the answer. Despite everything, she’d help Nellie if she could because she was the strong one, stronger than Nellie, stronger than poor, silly Lydia. Besides, she loved her family. How could she turn her back on a family member, awful though she might be? I won’t back away. It’s up to me.
She reached to take Nellie’s hand. “Stop your crying. I want you to look perfectly fine at supper tonight, like you haven’t a care in the world.”
“How can I when Coy is dead and my life ruined?”
“You can and you will. You’re not showing yet, so you’re safe, at least for a while, and that will give us time to think what to do.”
* * * *
The days following Coy’s death, Nellie’s behavior ranged from despair, to anger with Coy, to forgiveness of Coy, along with the belief those witnesses had lied and he hadn’t killed anyone. Only Callie and Lydia knew of Nellie’s hysterics. She managed to hold herself together when others were around, although everyone noticed she was not, as Ma put it, “herself.”
“Nellie, you look pale.” For the journey, Ma had brought along a big bottle of sulphur and molasses, guaranteed to cure any ailment from thinning hair to a heart attack. She forced Nellie to take a big spoonful every day, lamenting she couldn’t see any results.
Only at night when the girls were in their tent could Nellie give way to her growing terror. Often she whispered into the darkness, “What am I going to do, Callie? You promised you’d help me.”
“I don’t know yet.” Callie racked her brain but so far could think of no way Nellie could avoid their father’s wrath. The easy solutions weren’t going to happen. Coy was gone for good. Nellie showed no signs of losing the baby. If she hadn’t by now, she probably wouldn’t. “There’s still time. You don’t even show yet.”
“But I do.” Nellie placed a hand over her stomach. “There’s a bulge there. I can definitely feel it.”
“Your dress and apron will hide it for a long time.”
“Not ’til California they won’t.”
Callie had no answer.
Nellie stayed close to the wagon, hardly ever venturing out to visit other members of the train. But one evening she was gone for a while. When she came back, her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Come in the tent, Callie. I’ve got something to show you.”
Once in the privacy of the tent, Nellie reached in her pocket and drew out a small vial. “Look! The perfect answer. I’ll soon be rid of the baby.” She laughed with relief. “Just think, my troubles will soon be over.”
Callie remained unimpressed. “Where did you get this?”
“Gert Gowdy. We got to talking. She guessed about the baby, but she promised she’d keep quiet. She said it’s perfectly safe.”
Callie wished she could share Nellie’s excitement, but a warning voice from within told her she could not. She pointed at the vial. “What is it?”
“Gert says it’s an herb called blue cohosh. I take twenty drops in a cup of warm water every three to four hours until things start to happen. And then…” In the cramped confines of the tent, Nellie did a little jig. “My worries will be over. I’ll have my life back again.”
“How do you know it’s safe?”
“Because Gert said so.” Nellie frowned in puzzlement. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“I suppose, but…” Callie bit her lip. In all her sheltered life, she’d learned next to nothing about having babies and what prevented them. She had only the vaguest notion that certain herbs could be used to end a pregnancy. Somewhere she’d heard that some of them could be dangerous. “Of course, I’ll be happy for you if it works like it’s supposed to, but I’m not sure. It might be harmful.”
Nellie flung her head back. “So what? I’ll take that risk if I have to. Besides, Gert said—”
“I want to hear for myself what Gert says.” Callie held out her hand. “Give me that vial. I’m going to talk to Gert, just to make sure.”
Nellie’s lower lip protruded into its familiar pout. “I don’t see why…”
“Give me that vial.”
“All right then.” With great reluctance, Nellie handed over the small glass bottle.
“You wait here. I’ll be right back.” Without a backward glance, Callie left the tent and started a purposeful march across the campsite. She was halfway to Gert’s wagon before she realized she’d been so concerned, she’d forgotten to be her usual humble self, had practically yelled at Nellie, took command, and told her what to do. What’s happening? Not like me at all.
Luke came riding up. He slid from his horse and fell into step beside her. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t slow down. “I’m going to Gert’s. I need to ask her about something she gave Nellie.”
“To lose the baby?”
She nodded. “Have you ever heard of an herb called blue cohosh?”
He stopped in his tracks, took her arm, and brought her to a halt. “Is that what Gert gave her?”
“Yes. She’s supposed to take twenty drops every—”
Luke muttered a curse. “I saw an Indian woman die from taking blue cohosh. It wasn’t a pleasant death. The convulsions, the pain she suffered…” His eyes narrowed with disgust. “You can’t let her take it. That stuff could kill the poor girl.”
“She’s desperate.”
> “Better desperate than dead.”
His words hit home. “You’re right. I can’t let her do it.”
“It’s up to you. You can handle it.” His smile carried a touch of irony. “I wouldn’t have said that a few weeks ago.”
Any other day she would have been flattered by his remark and yearned to hear more. Not today, though. “I must talk to Gert right now.”
“So go.” Luke backed away. “I won’t stand in your way. If you need any help—”
“I can handle the likes of Gert Gowdy.” Without another word, Callie drew herself up and headed toward the Gowdys’ wagon.
After grueling weeks on the trail, no woman in the train looked her best. Even so, there was no excuse for Gert Gowdy’s slovenly appearance. Thin and sharp-nosed, she peered down at Callie from the wagon seat, her apron dirty, her fingernails none too clean. “You don’t want Nellie to take it?” She pressed her lips together. “I’m only trying to help the poor girl.”
Callie held out the vial. “It’s too dangerous. Nellie doesn’t want it.”
Gert eyed her shrewdly. “It isn’t Nellie who don’t want it, it’s you.”
“All I know is she’s not going to take it. Take it back or I’ll pour it on the ground.”
“Ain’t you something!” Gert’s hand swooped down to grab the vial. “You’ve got a nerve. You think you’re doing her a favor? She won’t thank you for what you done, especially when her Pa finds out she’s got a bun in the oven and the father dead. Likely he’ll skin her alive.”
“I don’t care about that. All I know is, what you gave her is poison and you’d better not do it again.” Callie turned and walked away, leaving Gert silenced and wide-eyed. Her anger was such she had almost reached her wagon before she realized what she’d done. Never had she sounded so bossy, telling an older woman like Gert what to do. No regrets, though. Gert deserved it.
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