Follow The Stone

by John Locke

  “Mr. Love?” Phoebe said.

  “Yes ma’am?”

  “Kindly shut up.”

  40.

  Everythin’ around us seemed dead. There weren’t a dragon fly, grasshopper, or jack rabbit to be found anywhere among the parched earth. With all the snake holes we’d seen and prairie dog holes we’d tripped in, you’d think we would’ve seen a few by now. But no. The whole area was so dry I doubted there’d be so much as a drop of dew on the grass tomorrow mornin’.

  I looked up. The position of the sun told me it was about four hours past noon, which didn’t seem possible after all we’d been through since dawn. It seemed a week ago instead of this mornin’ that Phoebe and I were discussin’ the journey. I knew then it’d be a hard trek, but I had no idea it would be this bad.

  I’m no stranger to hard work. I’ve carried river rock a hundred yards to build a fireplace, and spent many a day choppin’ and haulin’ wood. I cut sheets of ice off a lake one bitter-cold winter, and I’ve dug a well and more than a few latrines.

  But I never felt this type of pain doin’ a day’s work.

  After nine miles, my legs were tremblin’ and my lower back felt like someone was drivin’ railroad spikes in it. My neck and shoulders burned as if prodded by a hot poker. Phoebe and Monique were bleached white with exhaustion, and only Rose and Earl’s horse seemed fresh. Rose took another turn at liftin’, and Phoebe had to lead Major, since Monique refused to be anywhere she couldn’t see Scarlett’s face. An hour later, when Rose tripped and stumbled, I came within an inch of droppin’ my side of the lean-to. She apologized twice, and even though she was dog tired, insisted on carryin’ her end for another mile. It would a’ been better for me if she didn’t, since she was so much smaller than the others. When she carried, I had to bend over more than I did with the others. But pitchin’ in was important to Rose, so I let her, and we trudged on.

  It was after six when we came to a large area of hard-packed dirt.

  “We’ll camp here,” I said, “and save some trip for tomorrow.”

  We got the lean-to off Major’s back and hobbled his legs so he wouldn’t stray. I removed his saddle, and gave him some water, and Phoebe and Rose did the same for Earl’s horse. Then I got my blanket off Major’s back and laid it out on the ground for Scarlett.

  As if we hadn’t lifted enough that day, the four of us bent to the task of liftin’ Scarlett off the lean-to in such a way as not to burst the stitches in her back. We managed it, but I have no idea where we found the strength. Once we had Scarlett on the blanket, Rose and Monique tended to her wounds, put her on her side, and placed a rolled-up blanket under her head, and covered her with two of the extra blankets we’d packed.

  “How is she?” Phoebe asked.

  “Surprisingly well,” Rose said. “The sleep medicine is wearing off, so she ought to be conscious soon.”

  Monique said somethin’ in French. Rose answered, and Phoebe translated for me.

  “Monique asked if Scarlett would be able to talk tonight, and Rose said it wouldn’t surprise her, though she’d be in pain. Then Rose said she planned to sedate Scarlett again before we retire for the night so her crying won’t keep us up.”

  “What cryin’?” I said.

  “When she regains consciousness, she’s going to be in a lot of pain,” Rose said.

  “Don’t you have somethin’ you can give her for that?”

  “The pain medicine is what’s keeping her sedated,” she said. “By the way, you were right about Scarlett.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She’s remarkably resilient.”

  I didn’t know the word she used, but I was glad to be right about somethin’ for a change. I turned my attention to the horses. Though I trusted Major more than Earl’s horse, I considered him lucky not to be lame, and didn’t want to put him through another day of carryin’ the lean-to. I figured to tie him and Earl’s horse to the lean-to that night, since there weren’t a tree nor rock in sight. Tomorrow I’d hitch up Earl’s horse and let him do the liftin’.

  Rose and Monique did what they could for Scarlett, then they started unpackin’ the cookin’ gear. Phoebe and I headed out across the dirt, lookin’ for wood.

  “How could there be wood out here if there aren’t any trees?” she said.

  “Independence, Missouri, is the drop off point for pioneers headin’ west,” I said.

  “So?”

  “They come by flatboats down the Missouri River, and take wagons the rest of the way.”

  “But we’re a long way south of Independence, are we not?”

  “We are for a fact. But some of the settlers head for Tulsa, and we’re only a few miles off the Independence-to-Tulsa trail. Buckboards and wagon trains often travel wide of the mark, to avoid outlaws and Indians. I half s’pect we’ll find a wagon wheel or chest of drawers someone abandoned along the trail.”

  Pointin’ to the west side of the dirt patch, I said, “Let’s check the grass on that side. If we don’t find any wood, we can pull enough dried grass out of the ground to make a fast-burnin’ fire, and that’ll be a whole lot better than no fire at all.”

  When we got to the grassy area, we fanned out and searched a wide area. I didn’t see anythin’, so I started pulling up grass. I was about to have Phoebe carry a load back to camp when I heard her say somethin’ in a voice so low I couldn’t understand what she’d said. I asked her to repeat it. When she didn’t, I walked over to where she was standin’.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said I found some wood,” she said, softly.

  She was standing solemnly, starin’ down at two small sticks, arranged in a cross…that marked a child’s grave.

  I removed my hat.

  Phoebe sighed a heavy sigh. “What do you suppose happened?”

  I shook my head. “Could be any of a hundred things.”

  “I know that, Emmett,” she said sharply. “Of course there are a hundred—no, a thousand things out here on the prairie that can kill a child, sap a man’s strength, or destroy a woman’s resolve. But give me just five, will you?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Tell me the five things you think are the most likely to have killed this poor child.”

  I’d never had such a strange request asked of me, so I thought powerful hard on it before offerin’ up my answer.

  “Cholera, typhoid, brain fever, and uncontrollable diarrhea are possible. But if I had to make a guess, I’d say this child fell out of a wagon and got crushed by either the ox or the wheel of the wagon that followed it.”

  She stared at me. “That cannot be a common way to die on the prairie.”

  “I’m afraid it’s quite common,” I said.

  She grimaced, closed her eyes tightly, and shook her head. “And not one of the diseases you mentioned?”

  “No ma’am.”

  She opened her eyes. “Why not?”

  I gestured to the open area all around us and said, “No other graves.”

  “What about a stampede?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Indians? Outlaws?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  “Same answer. There ain’t but one grave.”

  “Snakebite?”

  “Not too many poisonous snakes in this area.”

  “God in heaven,” she said.

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just stood there holdin’ my hat ’til she decided to speak again.

  “Such a senseless way to die,” she said, finally.

  I nodded, privately wonderin’ why she cared which way this unknown child might a’ died. But then she said somethin’ so bizarre it nearly struck me dumb. What she said was, “Should we go ahead then, and take the wood?”

  41.

  We didn’t take the cross.

  Instead, we gathered up some bundles of grass and twisted them into small stacks and tied ’em tight with twine to slow down the burnin’. We didn’t
have any tools to dig out a pit, so I dismantled a couple of small branches we’d used in the lean-to so we’d have somethin’ to set our fryin’ pan on. But none of us felt like eatin’ just then, despite the fact we were starvin’, and needed the nourishment.

  We were just too damned tired.

  For the next half hour the four of us did nothin’ more than relieve ourselves and lie on our backs to stretch. After awhile I took my shirt off and Rose rubbed me down with liniment. I put my shirt back on and looked the other way while she did the same for Monique and Phoebe. Rose claimed not to need any liniment for herself, and I believed her, though I’d a’ been more than happy to rub it on her.

  I removed a flask from my saddle bag, took a long pull, and passed it around to the others. Then I got the fire goin’. By and by, Rose put some beans and salt pork in the pan, and we commenced to talkin’ about how we were dreadin’ the last six or eight miles of the trip tomorrow.

  When the food was done, Scarlett opened her eyes and said, “What’s for dinner?”

  42.

  Monique squealed with delight and raced over to her friend before the rest of us even got to our feet. We let the two of ’em jabber at each other awhile before walkin’ over, so as not to intrude.

  “She’s asking about Hannah,” Phoebe said.

  “They’re usin’ a lot of words if that’s all they’re talkin’ about,” I said.

  Phoebe and Rose exchanged a look. Rose said, “There’s a lot of emotions being shared, Emmett. As I mentioned earlier, they’re quite close.”

  After a few minutes, Monique called us over. When we got there, Scarlett was wincin’.

  “You’re in a great deal of pain,” Rose said.

  “I feel like I’ve been drug across the country by horse,” she said, forcin’ a smile.

  “Do you feel like eating something?” Phoebe said.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” Scarlett said, “I’d like some bull nuts.”

  We all had a good laugh over that, except for Monique, who didn’t understand a word she’d said. Scarlett repeated her comment in French, and Monique shook her head as though it weren’t very funny.

  When Rose asked about her condition, Scarlett said she couldn’t feel nothin’ from the waist down, and wondered if that was on account of the drugs. Rose bit her lip and said that was probably it, but we all knew Scarlett had been paralyzed.

  Rose said, “Your outside wounds will heal. But I’m concerned about what’s happening on the inside. I know you’ve broken some ribs, and possibly ruptured some organs. What I’m worried about is internal bleeding.”

  “It hurts when I breathe,” Scarlett said. “But that’s the only pain I can report. Also, I feel foggy, and sorta like I’m half dreaming.”

  “That’s the drugs,” Rose said. “I’ll give you another dose after you eat.”

  “In the meantime, would you like a sip of whiskey?” I said.

  Scarlett smiled. “You buying?”

  “I am!”

  “In my experience,” Scarlett said, “a cowboy who shares his whiskey instead of his pecker is a rare find!”

  We spent the next hour feedin’ Scarlett, and tellin’ her about Molly and Paul Snow, and what they were like, and how we expected to be at their place by noon the next day.

  “It’s a huge imposition,” Scarlett said. “I don’t feel right about forcing them to take me in.”

  Monique said somethin’, and Phoebe said, “Monique intends to stay at the Snow residence and care for Scarlett until she’s ready to travel again.”

  Rose and I looked at each other.

  “It ain’t much of a residence,” I said.

  “Is it a sod house?” Phoebe said. “If so, I’m keen to see it.”

  “It is for a fact. And the inside’s about the size of two wagons set side by side.”

  “I’m inclined to ask Molly and Paul to let them both stay,” Rose said. “Despite the inconvenience.”

  “You think they’ll take on two extra people in that tiny space for six months?”

  “I’ll pay them so well, they’ll have to say yes.”

  “With what?”

  “Medicine.”

  Medicine bein’ the ultimate currency out west.

  “That’d do it,” I said.

  While the rest of us stowed the cookin’ gear and tended to the horses, Monique and Scarlett enjoyed some time together. I marveled at their relationship. I’d never heard of such a thing occurrin’ between two gals, but I weren’t against it. I figure love’s a hard enough thing to find, and ought to be treasured however it shows up.

  When it became clear that Scarlett was sufferin’ terribly, Rose gave her another dose of medicine, and we took turns tellin’ her how happy we were that she was feelin’ better. She asked if she could be awake durin’ the trip the next day, and Rose said we could give it a try. Scarlett apologized for bein’ so heavy, and wished we didn’t have to carry her. We explained it was an honor to carry her, and that it had been her size that saved Hannah’s life. Scarlett smiled at that. As her eyelids grew heavy, Monique kissed her friend on the forehead.

  Before fallin’ asleep I couldn’t help but remember that just a few hours ago I’d been dreadin’ the mornin’, because of the effort the trip would require. Now that Scarlett was feelin’ better, I found myself lookin’ forward to it! And I could tell the others felt the same way. Funny how she had the ability to lift our spirits that way, even though we were terribly sad to learn she’d been paralyzed.

  I got to my feet and walked over to where Rose was lyin’.

  “What is it, Emmett?”

  I whispered, “Scarlett’s paralyzed, isn’t she?”

  She whispered back, “I think so.”

  “Could she eventually get better and walk again?”

  “It’s not likely,” Rose whispered. “But it’s possible.”

  “I believe she’ll walk again,” I said.

  “I hope so, Emmett.”

  “Me too.”

  “Goodnight, Emmett.”

  “Goodnight, Rose.”

  When we woke up the next mornin’, we learned that Scarlett had died in her sleep.

  43.

  Scarlett’s death hit Monique as hard as anyone I’d ever known who lost a loved one. What made the tragic event even worse, it was Monique who came upon the body. Scarlett’s eyes were wide open and her face was twisted into a frightful grimace. A wide river of dried blood ran from her nose and mouth all the way to her waist, and from there, to the parched ground. There was a large stain where the blood had pooled durin’ the night before it slowly seeped into the dirt.

  It was terrifyin’ and sad at the same time, and a sight none of us were likely to forget.

  Monique’s first reaction surprised me. She jumped on her friend’s lifeless body and commenced rainin’ blows on it, while screamin’ in French. It took two of us to get her off Scarlett, and we both caught kicks and scratches for our trouble. We didn’t have the time or strength to deal with Monique’s grief, so Phoebe and I held her down while Rose sedated her.

  Much as we wanted to, we couldn’t bury Scarlett there. The ground was too hard, and even if it hadn’t been, we didn’t have a pick or shovel.

  “What are we going to do?” Phoebe said.

  “We’ll have to take her with us,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “To Molly and Paul’s house. Paul will have some proper tools, and I’m sure he’ll let us bury her on his land somewhere.

  “You’re not serious,” Phoebe said.

  “Of course I am!”

  “You don’t expect us to carry her there, do you?”

  “No. We’ll tie her to the lean-to, and Earl’s horse can drag it. We can be at Molly’s in three hours.”

  I know the women must’ve cried. If they did, I’m sure I comforted them—but I don’t remember it.

  I know I must’ve asked Rose what happened, and why she’d been powerless to prevent it. I’m su
re she gave me some sort of medical explanation—but I don’t remember that, either.

  I know we must’ve done all the things we had to in order to start the journey, like packin’ our blankets, saddlin’ the horses, gettin’ Scarlett’s body onto the lean-to and hitchin’ it to Earl’s horse—but I don’t remember doin’ most of ’em. I remember we didn’t eat breakfast, and I remember layin’ Monique’s unconscious body across the saddle on Major’s back, and tyin’ her to it so she wouldn’t fall down. I don’t remember coverin’ up Scarlett’s face with a blanket, but I’m glad one of us thought to do so.

  It was only with the most powerful sadness that we left the campsite and began the last stage of our journey, the five or six miles that would take us to Molly and Paul’s place. I led the way, towin’ Earl’s horse as it dragged the lean-to that carried Scarlett’s body. Phoebe and Rose followed us, and took turns leadin’ Major. We stopped once, when Monique slid off the saddle. On that occasion Rose moved quick as a cat and managed to catch her before she hit the ground. The sensation of fallin’ caused Monique to come to, and when she did, she let out a series of heart-wrenchin’ sobs that put me in mind of the time when I was a boy and my father was leadin’ one of our cows down the road to be butchered, its calf followin’ twenty steps behind, bellowin’ a mournful bleat.

  44.

  “I’d offer you whiskey if I had any,” Paul Snow said.

  He was eyein’ the lean-to. Not because poor Scarlett was still lyin’ on it, but because it’s the most wood he’d seen in a year. Paul and I were sittin’ on a sod bench he’d made the same day he finished buildin’ his sod house six years ago. Of course, he’d replaced so many parts of the house and bench over the years, the multi-colored patches looked like checkerboards.

  Inside the hut the women had been tendin’ to Monique, tryin’ to calm her, maybe get her to eat somethin’. But she’d been inconsolable. She was groggy from the sedative, and that was a good thing, ’cause it got her to lie down. But the women were stayin’ close, to make sure she didn’t do anythin’ crazy. Like her husband, Molly knew Scarlett was on the lean-to. But I hadn’t got to the part about how I needed a shovel and patch of land so I could bury her. Normally that would’ve been the first thing to come out of my mouth, but when we arrived, Monique was threatenin’ to kill herself, so I felt it best to have the women give her some attention. I’m sure Scarlett would’ve been the first person to say her burial could wait a few minutes while we cared for Monique. She wasn’t goin’ anywhere anyway, bless her soul.