His condescending attitude caused her temper to flare, but she didn’t let it show. “I’m not afraid of you, Mr. Ferguson. It’s just I have nothing to say to you.”
“Considering you nearly became my wife, I find that rather hard to believe.”
“It’s true. I’ve already apologized for calling off the wedding. Do you want to hear it again?”
His smile wasn’t so broad now. “Aren’t you the least bit sorry you called it off? Just think, if you’d married me, you wouldn’t be making a slave of yourself, driving a team of oxen all day. Rather unladylike, don’t you agree? And for what? You ma hardly speaks to you. Your pa threw you out and still pretends you don’t exist.”
“I’m managing quite well, thank you.” It was getting harder to keep the contempt from her voice, but she’d try to remain pleasant. “Lydia helps a lot. Colton yokes the oxen for us every morning, and Luke—” Uh-oh, now I’ve done it.
At the bare mention of Luke’s name, Magnus visibly flinched. The cords in his neck stood out. “Luke. Always Luke.” He spat upon the ground. “I’ve seen how you look at him. What a blind fool you were to listen to him. If not for his damn interference, we’d be married now.”
She raised her chin high. “Don’t blame Luke. I make my own decisions.”
“You’re throwing your life away, all for a black-hearted devil who’ll do nothing but hurt you. He’s had you, hasn’t he? What did he do, take you on the ground under a bush?”
“I’ve nothing more to say to you.” She started away, wanting nothing more than to get away from Magnus’s vicious words.
“Tell your lover he’d better watch out.”
She stopped in her tracks and turned. “What do you mean by that?”
He replied with a laugh so hoarse and bitter it sent a chill down her spine. He said nothing more. Still chuckling, he mounted his horse and rode away.
* * * *
Along the way, the Ferguson company kept encountering the Donovan company. They seemed to be on the exact same course, kept passing each other with irritating frequency. Magnus grew increasingly annoyed when Donovan, or any other company, passed him by, blowing up dust, hogging the best campgrounds, their animals eating the best grass before his train arrived. Bad blood between the trains sometimes went beyond hot words. Rumors flew about how members of one train, annoyed for various reasons by another, went so far as to set a grass fire that, because the wind was right, caused great devastation to the offending train. Speculation ran high among the members of the Ferguson train. What was Donovan planning? Could such a disaster happen to them?
One night when Callie visited Florida, her friend was bursting with the latest rumor. “Have you heard? Magnus wants to set a fire and burn out the Donovan company.”
Callie could hardly believe it. “Where did you hear such a thing?”
“Oh, it’s true all right. Luke found out. Magnus called a secret meeting with some of his captains, the ones who still have him on a pedestal, and that’s not many. He suggested they wait ’til the wind’s blowing right, then set a fire to burn out the Donovan train.”
“Are you sure? What a horrible thing to do.”
Luke appeared. “It’s horrible, all right, but don’t worry. No one went along with our great leader’s scheme. Even his most loyal captains told him to forget it.”
“Thank goodness,” Florida said.
Callie had her doubts. The trouble with Magnus wasn’t over and wouldn’t be until the last moment of their journey when at last she could get completely away from that horrible man.
* * * *
They traveled for several days, making good time each day, until finally, when they reached the Humboldt River, they halted for a much-needed day off. The men greased wheels, mended harnesses and tended to their animals. The women hauled huge piles of laundry to the riverbank and spent most of the day beating dirty clothes with pumice stones and hanging each piece to dry on nearby bushes. Despite the drudgery, Callie looked forward to these wash days when the women could get together. Lighthearted chatter made the day pass quickly. Not only that, as the weeks went by, the women grew more friendly and began to seek her advice. Bake a pie? Ask Callie. Handle an unruly child? Ask Callie.
“You’re certainly getting popular,” Lydia said one day with a bit of envy in her voice. “When they need help, they come to you.”
Callie was far too busy to dwell on her newfound esteem, yet she couldn’t help remembering back to the beginning of the trek when everyone called her Little Mouse and looked past her like she wasn’t there.
Today Callie caught a constant undertone of grumbling beneath the light banter. Gert Gowdy protested the loudest, “Jack still thinks we should get rid of that skunk, Magnus Ferguson. He don’t care what Luke says.” Murmurs of agreement followed.
Mary Gregg, Riley’s wife, chimed in, “Magnus cares for no one but himself. I won’t forget how he put us days behind that time he got sick. If we get caught in the snow, it’ll be his fault.”
“Luke had better watch out,” said Orus Brown’s wife. “I saw Magnus look at him with murder in his eyes.”
Callie listened with growing alarm. Murder in his eyes. Yes, Magnus would be capable of murder. Such crimes happened often on the trail. Sometimes, like with Coy, the criminal was caught and brought to justice, but law and order didn’t always come first in the wilderness. People were always in a rush, some to get to the gold fields, others to finish their journey before the first snow. Crimes went unsolved. Criminals went unpunished. The emigrants traveling west had far more important things on their mind.
* * * *
That night, Luke awoke abruptly from a sound sleep. Was that a noise? Maybe it was just the wind blowing. He raised his head and listened. There was the noise again and it wasn’t the wind. Men’s muted voices. Indians? He didn’t think so. He pulled on his boots, grabbed his knife, and slipped from the tent. In the bright moonlight, three figures came into view for a quick moment before they disappeared into the heavy growth of trees that bordered the campsite. Instantly he recognized Magnus Ferguson and his two hired hands, Hank and Seth. Those scoundrels! The Donovan train passed them today, stirring up clouds of dust, making life even more miserable for the Ferguson train. Later in the day, Magnus sped up the train and gleefully passed the Donovan company while they were taking a break. Magnus wanted to stay ahead and would go to any length to do so. Luke had a good guess what he and his hired hands planned to do.
With silent footsteps, he followed the three as they made their way through the woods, following the same trail they’d traveled that day, back toward the Donovan wagon train. When they came to a series of bluffs overlooking the Humboldt River, they left the woods and followed the trail along the edge. They stopped when they came to an open meadow covered with high, thick grass that was beginning to dry in the late summer heat.
The grass would burn well. The brisk wind coming from the northwest would carry the fire straight toward the Donovan camp.
The three men separated and began to move about the meadow. Luke caught a whiff of kerosene. A sudden flare of light revealed Magnus lighting a torch. No time to lose. Luke stepped forward. Dammit, he should have brought his gun instead of his knife. “Not a good idea, Ferguson. You start a fire and you’ll live to regret it.” In the darkness, he could barely make out Magnus stopping in surprise. Should have brought the gun.
“Stay out of my business, Luke. Now I’ve got to kill you.”
Every fiber in Luke’s body tingled with alarm. Magnus meant what he said. No mistake. Why the hell hadn’t he brought his gun? “Put that torch out, Colonel, then we’ll talk. You’re not a cold-blooded murderer.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” With a curse, Magnus hurled the torch high in the air where it sailed in a fiery arc, scattering a blazing path of embers over the meadow. Before the torch reached the ground, he drew out his pistol, took aim, and fired. Luke went down fast, ears ringing
from the sound of the shot. Smoke filled his nostrils. An excruciating pain ripped through his chest.
Callie…Callie…
So this is what it’s like to die.
* * * *
They buried Luke in a pretty spot by a fern-lined stream. The short service ended with a prayer from Reverend Wilkins. Every member of the wagon train attended. Now, despite their shock and grief, they hurried back to their wagons. Nothing, not even the death of a man as admired as Luke McGraw, could cause them to delay their journey. Only Callie and Florida remained at the hastily dug grave.
He’s dead. Callie couldn’t bring herself to believe the man she loved was gone. “I still don’t understand. Why was he chasing after Indians in the middle of the night?”
Florida wiped away her tears. “We’ll never know. Magnus thinks he must have heard Indians in our camp, probably robbing us blind. They left and he started to follow. When he saw them set the field on fire, he tried to stop them. That’s when they shot him—”
“And left him to die in the fire.” Callie struggled to erase the gruesome image that filled her mind.
“Thank God everyone in the Donovan party escaped the blaze.” Florida gazed upon the mound of earth and the plain wooden cross at the head, marked simply Luke McGraw. “You know I don’t like Magnus, but at least he and his hired men tried to help. Dug the grave, made the marker and all. Thank God, they buried him before we could see the body. Magnus said”—Florida swallowed a sob—“there wasn’t much left after the fire.”
Callie placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I don’t think I could have borne to see him…like that.” She refrained from voicing her opinion concerning Magnus. If Florida chose to think he’d been helpful, then fine, but Callie was filled with dark suspicion. His account of how he and his hired men tried to go to Luke’s rescue didn’t ring true. Although she wasn’t sure how, Magnus and his men had something to do with the fire and Luke’s death. She wouldn’t be surprised if they set the fire, not the Indians as they had claimed.
Why dwell on it? She’d be a fool to think she’d ever learn the truth. Other than herself, not one single person questioned Magnus’s story. No one could spare the time for anything that might delay their progress. How completely frustrating to know there was nothing she could do. Life would go on as before. Magnus would get away with whatever evil deeds he’d committed. Who was there to stop him? Poor Florida. How could she survive now? “Will you continue on, Florida? Or will you go back home?”
“Of course I shall carry on.” Florida raised her chin. “I’ve got Hetty to help. I wouldn’t dream of turning back.”
Thank heaven she still had Florida, but how could she live without Luke? She had so depended on his strength, his caring ways. Now she’d never know the joy of being in his arms again. Her secret, middle-of-the-night thoughts of her and Luke together would remain only fantasies, fulfilled once, and never again. A flash of wild grief ripped through her. She wanted to throw herself on his grave, press her cheek against the cold earth that covered him and stay there forever. But, of course, she’d do no such thing. Tommy needed her, and Lydia and Ma, and even Pa, though he still refused to speak to her. She must be strong. She would be strong. That meek, obedient servant girl bore little resemblance to the woman she was today.
Callie raised her eyes to the sky then lowered her gaze to the distant snow-capped mountains. “I’ll never come this way again, but I’ll never forget Luke. He’ll always be in my heart.”
Florida took her arm. “It’s time.”
“Yes, it’s time. We still have a long way to go.”
Chapter 15
Troubles mounted as the Ferguson wagon train continued to follow the Humboldt River. Each day seemed worse than the one before. Sweltering hot days turned into freezing cold nights, extremes in temperature that brought misery to both humans and animals. Food supplies were running low and game grew scarce, forcing them to exist on a monotonous diet of mostly hard tack and dried beef. The Digger Indians caused the most suffering. Not that they ever attacked, but nearly every night they sneaked into camp and stole food, weapons, pots, pans, and whatever else they could get their hands on. Worst of all, they were adept at stealing animals.
“Land’s sake!” Florida lamented to Callie one day when losses were especially bad. “If I don’t tether my horses right next to my wagon, those pesky Indians will get them for sure.”
The dreaded desert lay ahead. Callie heard nothing but horror stories about the forty barren miles they soon must cross. These days she coped because she had to, grateful for the never-ending toil and deprivation that took her mind off Luke’s tragedy. Occasionally something good happened, like the day she was driving the wagon with Tommy beside her, silent as always. Often she tried to interest him in driving the team. Most little boys begged to get their hands on the reins, but up to now, her little brother hadn’t shown the slightest interest.
Suddenly he held out his hand. “Let me drive.”
She managed to conceal her astonishment. “All right, Tommy.” Like she’d done it dozens of times, she casually handed him the lines.
He gave them a smart snap. “Gee haw!” No hesitation. He urged the oxen on as if he’d been doing it all his life.
Ma was walking alongside the wagon. When she saw Tommy take the reins, she gasped, “I can’t believe it!”
Callie put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Act like it’s nothing unusual.”
“But it’s wonderful to see him like this, thanks to you, Callie.”
“Thanks, Ma.” For the first time in ages, Ma said something nice. Callie could scarcely believe it.
Ma continued, giving Callie a smile and a nod of approval. “I’ve noticed how Tommy has been improving lately, and now this. You never gave up. I thought he would never improve, but I guess I was wrong and you were right.”
“This is just the beginning. I know he’s going to get better every day.” Callie hid her relief that after all these weeks, Ma was speaking to her again. Now if only Pa would, too. But no. Pa wasn’t one to forgive and forget. She’d be crazy if she thought he ever would. His leg had mended, although he still had a bad limp. He could walk if he wanted, but mostly he chose to lie in the back of the wagon, sullen and silent. She had little time to think about her future, but she knew one thing for sure. Pa didn’t want her. When they reached their new home in California, Pa would be in charge again, and she’d have to move on. She had no idea where she’d go, but it didn’t matter. Other than getting her family safely to California, nothing mattered now that Luke was gone.
* * * *
They finally reached the Humboldt Sink, a marshy area that marked the start of the forty-mile stretch of desert. The night before their hazardous journey was to begin, Magnus called everyone together for some dismal warnings. There would be no water for the next forty miles. No game to hunt. No wood for fires, so no hot food. No grass for the animals. Magnus looked in her direction. “Think you can make it, Miss Callie? Will you need extra help?”
She smiled to hide her annoyance. “We’ll be fine, Mr. Ferguson. No need to worry about us.” Like he cared. Ever since Luke had died, Magnus treated her with thinly veiled contempt, like he knew she’d fail, wanted her to fail.
Magnus had been right. Crossing the forty miles of desert was a nightmare experience for everyone, worse than she’d ever imagined. Sometimes she didn’t know how she could keep going. At some spots they found themselves knee-deep in alkaline dust. In others, the hot sun beat down over surfaces that were torture—razor-sharp ridges of coral-like rock that cut through their shoes, causing stabbing pains and bloody feet. The animals suffered greatly. One by one, those on horseback dismounted and walked in an effort to save their exhausted horses. Callie noted with disgust that Magnus was the last to do so. Selfish to the end. How she despised the man. A fear always lurked in the back of her mind that he meant to harm her, just as he must have harmed Luke. She didn’t
have much time to think about it, though, what with trying to keep her despairing family from giving up. Like many in the train, Ma, Lydia, and Tommy were, at times, so bone-weary and discouraged, they wanted to turn back. Pa said nothing, of course. He just lay silent in back of the wagon, an extra burden for the poor oxen to haul.
“I can’t go on,” Lydia cried when they were halfway through. “I’m thirsty, I’m hungry, and my feet hurt. Just leave me here to die.”
Ma joined in. “That makes two of us. I don’t think I can go another step.”
More than once, Callie pointed toward the jagged silhouette of the Sierra Nevada Mountains that lay to the west and seemed forever out of reach. “See those mountains? We’re going to reach them before you know it. We will keep going. We are not going to give up.”
The oxen were exhausted. Everyone had to lighten their loads, adding to a trail already strewn with everything imaginable, left by the poor souls who crossed before them. Stoves, furniture, mattresses, clothes, and heartbreaking choices like family mementos and pictures had to be left behind.
Even stalwart Florida grew discouraged. Forced to dump her precious box of books, she fought back tears. “I planned to open a school with these books, but my oxen are about done in. It about kills me, but I’ve got to leave my books behind.”
The Whitakers, too, were forced to discard precious possessions. Her face pale and drawn from fatigue, Ma carefully laid the family silver and set of china on the barren sand. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” In a rare moment of disloyalty, she threw a bitter glance toward the back of the wagon where her husband lay. “Caleb could walk if he wanted. Too bad I can’t dump him instead.” She bit her lip and said no more, leaving Callie and Lydia to exchange surprised glances.
For another day, they trudged on until, late in the afternoon, the animals sniffed the air and bellowed.
“They smell water,” someone yelled. “Unhitch the oxen. Let ’em go!”
Wagon Train Cinderella Page 21
