It was as if his blackmail proposal and her rebuttal had never happened. Still, she didn’t trust him. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s about eight miles. We’d have to get an early start. Not everyone can go; some need to stay here and watch the stock and wagons.”
Abigail gave the teat a final squeeze and said, “I’ll stay here.”
Orin’s face went red. “Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
Abigail watched him go with a twist in her brow. Orin Peters was beginning to make her skin crawl.
She picked up the milk bucket and walked back toward the wagons with it, stopping to watch Hoke and the other men as they worked on the rafts. The colonel had collected logs in the last supply wagon before they hit the open plains, just for this purpose.
“Think that’ll work?” the colonel asked the men as James tied the last log on one of the rafts with a horsehair rope.
“We can see how they do floatin’ this supply wagon over,” said John Sutler. “Let’s get the wheels off.”
Some of the men worked to take the wheels off the supply wagon while the rest lifted up the raft so the younger boys who were helping could pitch the back of it. Hoke’s arm muscles bulged as he held the raft. He raked the sweat off his brow with his shoulder, then looked back over it at her, as if he could feel her watching him.
It made her self-conscious, so Abigail lowered her chin and walked on.
Harry, James, and Tam were put in charge of the trip to Chimney Rock.
As Abigail stood by her wagon and grudgingly returned Orin Peters’s wave good-bye the next morning, Hoke chuckled behind her ear. “Maybe Orin’ll take an interest in Ingrid Schroeder after spending the day with her.” Hoke’s breath on the back of her neck sent involuntary shivers down Abigail’s spine.
“Maybe he will, but then who would cut your hair?” She shot him the kind of sideways smirk he was always giving others.
“I’ve seen you with scissors. You’re not bad.” He pointed to his gold shirt as testimony.
Was he saying he wanted her to cut his hair? Abigail shook scandalous thoughts from her head and went to get more water from the Platte. The water needed to sit several hours before being used so the silt would settle to the bottom.
“Look, Ma,” whispered Lina when Abigail got back. Her hands were cupped in her lap. “Mr. Hoke brought me a butterfly.” She raised a thumb to show her mother a small white butterfly—the kind that flew by the hundreds over the goldenrod.
“That was nice of him,” said Abigail.
“Yeah. I like him.”
Abigail wasn’t sure if Lina was talking about Hoke or the butterfly.
June 23, 1866
I should not like to live on the plains, Mimi, and cannot believe Nebraska will ever be much settled. I miss the rolling hills of Tennessee. There are several pretty wildflowers, though. The children are helping me collect seeds in case Idaho Territory doesn’t have an ample supply of black-eyed Susans, goldenrod, Jacob’s Ladder, and prairie lilac. Goldenrod is especially plentiful on the open plains.
Abigail shaded her eyes, looking from Chimney Rock to the sun. “How soon do you think they’ll be back?” she asked Melinda.
“I don’t know, before sunset anyway. Don’t worry. They’re with James. And Hoke is out scoutin’.” Hoke and Michael Chessor had crossed the river and ridden out to scout shortly after the others left.
Abigail set down her letter to Mimi and checked on her plants again. She needed to stay busy to keep from worrying. Each time Charlie served on guard duty her heart grew antsy. It felt even worse for Corrine to be so far from the wagon train. Jacob hadn’t been allowed to go, and Prissy Schroeder had. But true to his sunny nature, Jacob hadn’t pouted about it long.
When Hoke rode back into camp midafternoon, Jacob, Cooper Austelle, and Lijah Sutler ran up to him.
“Let’s have games, Mr. Hoke!” cried Jacob.
“We’re asking all the men,” said Lijah.
“Colonel Dotson’s agreed to play,” added Cooper.
Doc Isaacs was standing nearby. “You’re only asking the men? I bet some of the women would play if you asked them.” He winked over at Abigail.
Jacob’s head whipped around. “Would you, Ma?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I could outrun most of the boys in school.” Truth was, Abigail loved games.
Irene McConnelly, who was walking by just then, let out a cackle.
Abigail turned to the younger woman. “Will you join us, Miss McConnelly?” She suddenly burned with a desire to best Irene at something . . . anything.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
These were the first words Irene had spoken to her since the Fort Kearney incident, and they felt like a slap. Abigail was about to ask Irene outright why she disliked her so much when Jacob tugged her skirt.
“Come on, Ma! We’re getting started.”
Empty feed sacks were collected and lines were drawn on either side of the circle.
The sight of Colonel Dotson hopping in a feed sack sent the smaller children into a frenzy. Abigail soon let go of her anger toward Irene. By the time she and Jacob had tied a bandana around one set of their ankles and raced through the grass, she was laughing as loud as anyone.
When they crossed the line they turned to look at Hoke and Lina behind them. Hoke had told Lina to plant both her feet on his boot and was swinging her along at an awkward gait. Lina had never giggled harder.
When Paddy Douglas outran Colonel Dotson in a footrace later, he beamed and said, “You are not the colonel now, I am!”
Alec told Colonel Dotson, “Now you’ve gone an’ done it. We’ll not be able to live with him.”
Baird, who was holding Carson, set the coon running after baby Will and the Schroeder twins, who had started walking after all. They squealed and clapped their hands.
Heads were bobbing for apples in water-filled tubs when the group returned from Chimney Rock. Mr. Austelle pulled his head from the water. “Melinda! Come and kiss me!”
“Mr. Austelle! Shame on you.” Melinda feigned shock and put a hand over her face to hide her laughter.
Prissy ran up to the apple tubs, but Jacob and Lijah barred her from them, saying, “Only the ones who didn’t get to go to Chimney Rock can play.”
Everyone who hadn’t gone to Chimney Rock wanted to know what it was like.
“Corrine drew pictures of it,” Clyde Austelle announced.
“Oh, can I see ’em?” asked Melinda.
Corrine reluctantly showed her pictures.
“Well, aren’t you smart!” admired Melinda.
“Guess what Harry etched in the rock?” piped Prissy Schroeder. “He wrote ‘Harry Sims was here with Tam Woodford.’ What do you think that means?”
Hmmms and grins went floating around the camp.
“I think it means Harry Sims was there with Tam Woodford,” said Tam, squinting at her. “What were you doin’ spyin’ on us anyway?”
“I wasn’t spyin’.” Prissy grinned.
“Of course you were. I know how your little mind works. You remind me of me and for your sake, I hope you outgrow it.” Tam eyed Prissy a minute, and then Prissy took off, Tam hot on her heels.
“We’ll all get to see Scott’s Bluff close up,” announced Jacob. “Mr. Peters says it’s better than Chimney Rock anyway.”
As others started to leave, James stepped over to Corrine to get a look at her pictures. “These are good. I like a talented woman.” He craned his long neck down to look her in the eye. “When you tire of Paul Sutler, let me know.”
Corrine started to say something, then apparently thought better of it. She hugged her pictures to her chest and stared at James.
“He don’t have a lot of sparkle,” said James. “You noticed?”
Charlie would tell his mother later that when the group reached the base of Chimney Rock, Corrine had stuck the charcoal pencil she’d brought into the knot of her hair. But it was s
till hard for her to climb holding the sketch pad.
Before Charlie could help her James said, “Here,” and took it from her. He untied his neckerchief, wrapped it around the sketch pad, and slipped it inside his shirt. “I’ll try not to sweat on it.” He winked at her, then put a hand to her back while she climbed up. “Careful now.”
“I’ll help her,” offered Paul Sutler.
Corrine turned and smiled at them. “I don’t need help.”
While Jocelyn Schroeder scratched each of the Vandergeldens’ names on Chimney Rock and Orin Peters wrote Timmy’s and the date of his death, Corrine found a spot away from the others and sketched with her pencil.
“Stop and come eat lunch with us, Corrine,” called Paul Sutler.
“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, never taking her eyes from her drawing.
The others climbed all over the rock reading names that had been written by travelers before them and wondering how many miles into the distance they were able to see, but Corrine never moved. When Tam said late in the day, “We gotta go now, Corrine,” she reluctantly gave her paper a final stroke and then wrapped her sketch pad back in James’s neckerchief.
“No peeking,” she said.
He acted hurt. “What do you take me for, Miss Baldwyn?”
As Corrine turned to look behind her at the changing light, she stepped too close to the edge. Paul, who was right beside her, didn’t notice. But James did. Just as she realized her mistake and started fighting to regain her balance, James snaked an arm past Paul and grabbed her around the waist.
“Watch where you’re steppin’ there, darlin’.”
Corrine clung to James and peered over the edge at the twenty-foot drop.
“Thank you,” she said gratefully.
He winked at her. “Your maw would skin me alive if I let you fall off a cliff.” Then James glowered at Paul. “Why don’t you go on? I’ll help her down.”
Charlie concluded his story by saying that Paul had been sullen the whole trip back.
“Mr. Parker,” said Corrine, hugging her sketch pad tight, “what makes you think I’d give you the satisfaction of knowing what I think about Paul Sutler or any other boy?”
James grinned. “You gonna keep calling me Mr. Parker when we’re married, like Mrs. Austelle does with Charles?”
Corrine rolled her eyes and put her drawings in the wagon, her cheeks burning red while she did it.
Someone proposed a game of hide-and-seek. With the sun sliding below the horizon, it would be harder to find people. Hoke heard the children making all sorts of elaborate rules about where you could and could not hide.
In the end, it was difficult to say who won. The children played the game over and over, first assigning Schroeders to be the “lookers,” then Sutlers, Baldwyns, Austelles.
Hoke saw Charlie take Emma Austelle’s hand and kiss her when they hid together behind the Jaspers’ wagon wheel.
He smiled, remembering what it had been like to kiss the boy’s mother. Then he wondered what Charlie would think to know he’d done it. He doubted the lad would take kindly to the news.
When Hoke came back to his and James’s wagon, he found James working hard on his block of wood. He’d cut the rough shape of an oval out of it.
“What are you makin’ with that?” asked Hoke.
“You’ll see.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
The rain started slow, while they were still crossing the river. It rained hard that night and all the next day.
Colonel Dotson looked out at the gray skies as he stood under a tarp Hoke and James had strung out behind their wagon, then turned back to Hoke. “You were right about this rain comin’. I don’t know how you knew, but I sure am glad we crossed the river yesterday, even if it was Sunday.”
He and Gerald had been around to every wagon to say, “Just hold tight till this lets up.” Those who made the meals did so as best they could.
Mr. Austelle strung a covering off the end of the Austelles’ wagon and Abigail and Melinda huddled under it, frying apples and bacon.
Charlie and Clyde carried plates over to Hoke and James when the food was ready and stayed and visited until the men had finished.
Hoke watched the boys run back with the empty plates, then watched Abigail from under his black hat, droplets of rain sliding off the rim past his eyes. Two wet curls were stuck to the back of her neck.
He went and brought the stallion and filly to stand at the back of his and James’s wagon, under their tarp, where he rubbed them down with a rag, then a brush.
“You coddle those horses,” said James.
“You take care of your animals . . .”
“Yeah, I know. And they’ll take care of you.” James was working on his block of wood with a flat iron scraper, the shavings piling up at his feet in the back of the wagon.
“Who’s watchin’ the stock?” asked James.
“Chessor and Sims. Why don’t you run ’em out a hot cup of coffee?”
“I’m working on my bowl. Why don’t you run it out there?”
“So it’s a bowl. Who’s it for?”
“I ain’t sayin’. None of your damn business, anyway,” James muttered.
Hoke finished rubbing down the filly and tossed the brush lightly at James. Then he reached for a couple of tin mugs and sloshed over to where Abigail and Melinda had finished cleaning up from breakfast and were now working on a pot of beans for lunch.
“You ladies got enough coffee for me to take some out to the boys on watch?”
Abigail brightened and reached for the pot. “I’ll make some fresh. Have a seat.”
Hoke flipped over a wooden box and set it close beside her, under the guise of getting in from the rain. She poured beans in the grinder. He reached for it and said, “I’ll do that,” taking it from her hand.
He caught Melinda’s eyes watching them, but she said nothing. He wondered if Abigail had told Mrs. Austelle what happened when she measured him for the shirt.
Throughout the soggy day, men congregated in clusters to clean guns and to smoke. Rudy Schroeder got sauced and started cursing about the rain, how much time they were losing, and how nobody could tell him when he could or could not drink his own liquor. One of the Schroeders’ chickens drowned in the downpour. Katrina and Bridgette plucked and pulled at the wet feathers to get it ready to boil.
Kids ran to neighboring wagons and climbed up with muddy feet, mothers yelling for them to wipe off on rags before they got the whole inside muddy. Jacob, Cooper, and Lijah rolled their pants legs up and stretched out on the back lip of the Baldwyn wagon, which Charlie had let down, giggling as the rain licked their feet.
Lina was trying to keep pace with Jacob and his friends. She rolled her pantaloons up and kept inching closer and closer to the edge. “Careful, Lina,” cautioned Charlie. “You don’t want to fall out.” He picked her up and set her on his own legs, then scooted her out a bit so she could get wet enough to satisfy her.
The Jaspers dozed. Sam Beckett read to Audrey and baby Evelyn. The Kensington sisters quilted and wondered aloud if it rained much in Oregon. Doc Isaacs checked over his pharmaceutical supply while Caroline visited with Corrine and Emma, who’d come to play with baby Will.
The Schroeder kids got out of their wagon and had a fierce mud fight, then lay on the ground and let the rain lick the dirt clumps off. The Baldwyn and Austelle children, who had turned around and propped themselves up on their elbows, watched them enviously, knowing better than to ask their own mothers if they could join in.
The McConnelly sisters sulked and talked bad about everybody else in the train.
Orin Peters slunk around to the McConnelly wagon that afternoon and told Irene and Diana how he’d caught Hoke and Abigail kissing behind the wagon.
Irene raised her eyebrows. “Do tell.”
CHAPTER 20
Brooding in the distance
Colonel Dotson and Gerald Jenkins were on scout a mile ahead of the trai
n when a dozen soldiers from Laramie met them.
Seeing their leaders come riding back with the cavalry sent a twitter of excitement rippling down the line of wagons. Word spread that the soldiers had come to escort them to the fort under their protection, and a cheer went up. The train had encountered dozens of people in settlements during the first month of their journey, as the roads through Kansas and Nebraska had been filled with trading posts and Indian villages, but in the past several weeks they’d met only a couple of mail carriers.
The last mail carrier had reported that the smaller train behind them had had a bad run of luck with cholera. Four people had died. They stopped and set up camp at a creek to let the illness finish running its course. It was either that or leave the dying by the side of the trail, which, according to the carrier, was not an altogether uncommon practice.
After supper was eaten, Colonel Dotson, the company leaders, and several other adults gathered around the soldiers. “You’re the first train to come through this season,” said the lieutenant in charge. Coatman was his name. “And you’re a large group, but I’m shocked the Indians haven’t tried to steal your horses. The Sioux, especially, have been on a rampage the last year and have burned out nearly every rancher in the area. There’s a displaced band of Piutes, too, that have caused a lot of trouble. The Bozeman is closed. Incidents from Laramie on up north along that trail are the worst.” He eyed the women in the crowd. “I don’t like to tell of the atrocities in mixed company.”
Later, Coatman told the group’s leaders about an incident that had happened earlier that spring. Laramie officers had invited Sioux leaders to a peace council. While promises were being made to the Indians, a large regiment arrived ready to build up fortifications to the north. When the Sioux realized the US Army had already decided to fortify the north and were meeting with their leaders under false pretenses, they were so angry they started attacking all along the Bozeman Trail. Besides scalping, they’d been known to castrate their victims and pull out their entrails.
“Even down here on the Oregon, trains are supposed to have at least forty people in them, for safety. The government put out that mandate last year. The Indians won’t usually attack the larger trains, especially if they’re well fortified and guarded. But a lot of settlers are ignoring the mandate and coming in smaller groups. One even came during the winter, which is astounding after the Donner party. A lot of them pay for it, too. You’ll see a number of overturned, looted wagons and cabins between here and Fort Hall, including two stage stations. This is the worst two hundred miles on your route. Once you get to Soda Springs you should be fine, although an entire family was killed there a few years ago. People that found them took the wheels off their wagon and buried the whole family inside it.”
Leaving Independence Page 19
