Still . . . Robert was her husband. Mimi had said that if ever there was a woman who could help a man find himself again, it was Abigail. So if an opinionated, stubborn husband was her cross to bear, she would bear it. And she would face the task with all the grace she could muster. After all, she owed it to her children to put their family back together.
Hoke could dance with Irene, kiss her behind the wagons, and drink whiskey by the barrel. None of that was anything to her.
Or was it?
Dotson had announced the night before that they would leave after breakfast. The camp flurried that morning as folks made final trades with the soldiers, packed their gear, and got the teams ready. A sergeant walked another letter over to the Baldwyn wagons. Its postmark read Franklin.
Abigail had been certain they would hear from Robert while they were at Laramie. “There’s nothing from Fort Hall?” she asked the sergeant.
“No, ma’am.”
She mustered a smile. “Thank you.” It wasn’t the soldier’s fault Robert hadn’t written.
Charlie, who was walking by, stopped, seeing the letter in her hand. “Is that from Pa?”
“No. I think it’s from Thad. It’s his handwriting.” She opened the letter.
May 29, 1866
Dear Sis,
I send this letter on behalf of Father and all the family. We miss you and the children and pray you are well. With Arlon’s help, we cleared a hundred acres and planted tobacco. It’s coming in nicely. Sue Anne and I had our new baby. We named him Seth Robert.
Abigail and Charlie exchanged a smile.
Nathan married Nora Clark. That will not be a surprise as they courted so long.
You may be interested to know that the girl who disappeared from Marston a few years ago was found. Everyone thought she was killed, like her mother and sisters were, while her father and brothers were off fighting. But she’s alive and has been reunited with what’s left of her family. She can’t be much older than Corrine.
“Louella Dale,” said Charlie.
“She was seventeen when she disappeared, wasn’t she?”
“That would make her nineteen now. She had a twin brother.”
“How wonderful that she’s alive and has been reunited with her family!” Maybe it was a sign . . . maybe this was how God whispered in Mimi’s ear.
I don’t know any other tales. Franklin continues to reconstruct. We looked at horses the army was selling back, but they were all worn out and shell-shocked. Arlon’s mules are the best working stock we’ve got. Mimi said you bought mules for your wagons.
Father is declining in health and mind. I’m sorry he was difficult last time you were here. He’d be sorry, too, if he could think straight. I hate to know you’re so far away, but we pray for you. Send us word when you get where you’re going.
Thad Walstone
Charlie put his arm around her. “Not much farther now, Ma.”
Abigail hugged him. “How are things with Emma Austelle?”
“Good.” He grinned.
“You going to be all right to stay in Idaho Territory while she travels on to Oregon?”
Charlie nodded, but the look on his face let her know he had wrestled with it. “I think so.”
He left to hitch the teams.
Abigail had just swung a leg over the dun’s saddle when the sergeant came running back to her and handed her another letter.
“I just found this one, Mrs. Baldwyn. It was so small I overlooked it at first.”
Her heart missed a beat. It was from Robert. “Thank you.”
He tipped his hat. “I hope you have a safe, pleasant journey to Fort Hall.”
Abigail wondered if she should call Charlie back, and all the children, before opening it. Company C was second in formation today. She looked over and saw that Charlie was lifting Lina into their first wagon. Corrine and Jacob were already on the seat of their second one, waiting to move into line.
Nervous about what it might say, she tore open the letter.
Welcome to the West, darling. It thrills me to know you are coming. We can have a happy life here, you and me.
It was brief, but reassuring. Abigail smiled and put the letter in her skirt pocket. Yes . . . this had to be what it felt like to have God whisper in your ear. But it bothered her that he still didn’t mention the children or offer an explanation about Cecil Ryman’s claims.
The trapper had made a quiet camp within sight of Laramie. A large but lean man, he moved as light as the Indians he’d lived with for the majority of his life. He had no trouble spotting Abigail Baldwyn or her children.
Her blue dress had been especially nice.
He had watched the wagon train arrive at Laramie, watched them circle up, watched them have their dance. He had crept through the untended wagons, feeding raw meat to the dogs to keep them quiet—had seen the gold and supplies, the whiskey stores, and the numerous rifles stored in the wagons throughout the camp.
He took nothing and left no prints with the soles of his moccasins. But he had identified which wagons he wanted, and he knew what all the Baldwyns looked like—the cute kid she carried sleeping in her arms, the pretty girl with the long ponytail, the boys who slept beneath the wagon.
It was sweet when they gathered around to read the letter from home.
To kill them there would have been easy, but he would wait until they were away from the fort, in the spot Robert Baldwyn had mentioned. He wanted the gold. And he knew a band of Piutes that would love that whiskey and appreciate those rifles.
July 2, 1866
I can hardly believe you are married, Mimi. May God bless your future and your marriage as richly as you deserve.
Thad wrote. He says Louella Dale from Treetop Ridge was reunited with her family. What a happy ending! It gives me hope. Robert wrote, too, and appears pleased to know we are coming.
In spite of these good omens, it makes me melancholy to count the grave markers left along this trail. Since Ash Hollow the numbers have increased.
Yesterday we heard about a man who stood on his wagon to look for Indians and lost his balance, shooting himself in the head as he fell. It seems it’s accidents and illness that take the better part of the lives lost out here, not Indians and nature.
Abigail wondered why she felt so jumpy.
Hoke also seemed on edge. He said little to her and little to anyone else. She thought back to his comment about feeling tempted to ride off from the group and wondered if there had, after all, been some truth to it.
Irene McConnelly had ridden with him the day they left Laramie—not on the white filly, but her own horse. And Abigail spied them that evening talking by the campfire. Ingrid had given him another haircut, too—and after Hoke had made that comment to Abigail about how she was good with scissors!
Abigail fumed at herself for keeping track of all his movements. Hadn’t she vowed to stop thinking about him? Wasn’t she traveling toward a husband who was thrilled she was coming?
Her temper grew short.
The second day after leaving Laramie, when she found dirt clumps scattered across the floor in the second wagon, she pulled everything out, swept and scrubbed, then packed it all back in. Later, when she found bugs crawling in the sugar sack she threw it against the wagon wheel.
“Mother!” Corrine picked up the bag and tried to keep any more from spilling out of a hole now torn in the side. “We need this sugar. It’s our last bag!”
“I’m sick of finding bugs in it!”
Melinda walked over. “Bring it over here, Corrine, and we’ll sift through it good and get ’em out. I’ve saved an old bag we can refill it in.”
Abigail put her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
She walked to a nearby creek and sat down on the bank. Melinda joined her there as the sun bent down and kissed the horizon.
“I’m sick of that dirty floor,” mumbled Abigail.
“And I’m sick of livin’ so close to livestock.”
“And I’m sick of my lumpy mattress.”
“And I’m sick of the sun scorchin’ my skin through this muslin. And havin’ to ask other women to hold their skirts out and hide me when I need to tinkle. And wakin’ up ever’ mornin’ to the Schroeders’ roosters callin’. I’m not havin’ me any roosters when we build our place.”
“I’m sick of not having any privacy.” A smile curled the corners of Abigail’s lips. “A woman can’t even have a fit in private around here.”
Melinda put an arm around her shoulders. “But you know what I’m not sick of? Look yonder at that sunset. I ain’t got sick of that yet, have you?”
Abigail leaned her head over on Melinda’s shoulder. “I’m scared, Melinda.”
“Scared of what, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know.” But as soon as Abigail said the words, she did know.
Back in Independence, she had thought to travel with this group of people only for the sake of safety and convenience. She’d seen this train as a vehicle meant to take her back to her husband, to the man she belonged to, so she could try to repair damage she had caused by not supporting him.
It had not occurred to her then that she would grow to love the people on this train. But she had. In fact, she now felt a stronger sense of community with this small group of people than she had felt with the whole town of Marston, where she had spent her married years.
This was the first time Abigail had ever picked up the reins of her own life. She’d had nothing to do with the place where she was born, nothing to do with where Robert had lived. But the bonds she had formed on this journey were hers, a result of choices she had made. And they felt good. She wasn’t ready to give them up, especially not for a man who had abandoned his family.
“This is all we’ve got, Melinda,” whispered Abigail. “That lumpy mattress, one bag of buggy sugar, those dirt-clumped floors. We left everything else behind, and this is all we’ve got.”
Melinda squeezed her. “It’s all any of us got, sweetheart. And each other.”
Abigail raised her head up and looked at her. “That’s just it. That’s what I was going to say. It’s enough—better than enough. We’ve got each other. But when we get to Fort Hall, I’ll lose you.” Her voice cracked. “At first I was scared Robert didn’t love me anymore, or that I wouldn’t love him when I found him. Now I’m scared of losing you . . . the Dotsons . . . this sense of belonging. I don’t want to have to start all over again on Robert’s terms.”
“Is there not any chance he’ll come with us?”
“I don’t know.” Abigail looked into the deepening shadows of the creek bank. Crickets and frogs had begun to serenade them. “Lieutenant Coatman says he’s opinionated and stubborn.”
Melinda cocked her head. “You’ll have to be persuasive, then.”
The corners of Abigail’s mouth curled. “You can always make me smile, Melinda Austelle.” Mimi had that quality, too.
Abigail rubbed her forehead. “Maybe I’m worrying over nothing. Yesterday, when I was driving the wagon and Lina was on the seat beside me, she asked, ‘Ma, aren’t you happy?’ And I said, ‘Of course I am, sweetheart. What makes you ask?’
“And she said, ‘Your eyes look sad.’”
“That child,” said Melinda. “An angel if there ever was one.”
“I told her I felt nervous in my heart and that I was sorry I wasn’t doing a good job of hiding it. She said, ‘Why would you try to hide your heart?’
“‘Because I don’t want my worry to make anyone else worry,’ I said. ‘Especially not you.’
“‘You don’t think I’m old enough to help?’ she asked. I told her she did help—that she was the best help I had, and that when I looked at her I knew somehow that everything would turn out like it should.
“But I lied to her, Melinda. When I look at my children I wonder if I’m doing right by them. First I worried that I shouldn’t have brought them out here. But it turned out to be the best thing I’ve ever done for any of us. Now I don’t know whether I’m meant to join Robert or whether we ought to keep going.”
Melinda shook her head, thinking. After a while she said, “I can’t tell you what to do or how it will all turn out, but you’ve got them no matter what. You’ll always be where you’re supposed to be as long as you’re with those children.”
“You’re right. I better go get them ready for bed.”
As she and Melinda walked back to the wagons, Abigail remembered the feeling of Lina’s sticky little hands reaching up to her face yesterday, and the words she had whispered up to her:
“Look at me more.”
CHAPTER 22
From the rocks and ground around the train
July 9, 1866
Today we crossed the Platte for the final time. It is a unique river, shallow and muddy, nearly two miles wide. It felt like we were Israelites crossing the Red Sea. Several times I looked behind me to see if the Egyptians were coming.
Abigail was walking with Marnie Sutler. The train had reached Mitchell Pass and the foot of the Black Hills. Aspens and evergreens dotted the landscape, a welcome sight after the flat monotony of the prairie. The women had just begun feeling the ascent in their legs—legs that had grown strong from three months of travel—and the oxen and mules leaned into their yokes and harnesses.
A large shepherd mix belonging to the Schroeders barked and darted toward a stand of cedars as a faint zzziipp whispered past Abigail’s ear. Lijah Sutler, who was driving the nearest wagon, cried out in pain. Abigail looked over to see a black-tailed arrow extending from his arm. She watched in horror as a second arrow from the thicket caught the dog in the throat, cutting his snarls short.
Hoke, who was riding near the front of the train, slapped the white filly’s rump and wheeled around sharply.
Marnie ran toward Lijah as Hoke yelled, “Circle up!” Then he grabbed the reins of the first wagon—driven by Phillip, the oldest Sutler boy. Lijah’s wagon had been second in line. Hoke turned the team and swung them around to start to form the outer circle. Rascal, always near the heels of Hoke’s horse, had a hard time keeping up.
They had talked about what to do if they were ever attacked but had hoped they would never need to act on the plan. The lead company was to swing away from the attack to form the first half of the outer circle; the second company was to swing in the same direction for the first half of the inner circle; the third company would fall in behind the first company to close the outer loop, leaving space for the fourth company to pull in and close the inner one. The last wagon would close in the gap. Women and children were to take cover inside the inner-circle wagons, and the men were to go to the center of the ring—Dotson’s command post—to receive instructions.
Thankfully, the train wasn’t as spread out as usual. Dotson had been keeping them tighter since they left Laramie, knowing this was Indian country.
Abigail helped Marnie pull Lijah into the back of the wagon, then grabbed the reins and led his team into formation behind Phillip’s. They were the first two wagons in Company D, which had been leading the train today. Hoke nodded to her.
“Sutler!” shouted Hoke to Phillip, who had secured his own team. “Get back here and tie this team. Go on down the line as they come up.” He pointed at Abigail. “Get back to your family!”
Hoke’s chest swelled with pride at Abigail’s quick actions, but he wanted her inside the loop so he wouldn’t have to worry about her.
Company A was in the rear, which meant that the Kensington sisters were in the last wagon and would need help. Hoke rode back through the line shouting instructions to the drivers.
He saw Abigail jump down and run toward her own wagons. Company C was second in formation.
More Indians had leapt from the trees. Arrows zipped like sideways rain. It was hard to tell how many there were; everything was happening so fast. The Indians were on foot. They had emerged from the rocks and ground around the train.
Charlie got in line behind James,
their two wagons forming the first part of the inner circle. Abigail saw him hand the reins to Corrine and climb into the back to get the rifle. James hobbled the lead team, then ran back to help Corrine tie her horses to the back of his wagon.
“I’ve got ’em!” she yelled. “See if Jacob needs help.”
“All right,” said James, “but get inside as soon as they’re tied.”
Abigail jumped in the back of the wagon just as Charlie’s feet cleared the buckboard on his way out. “Charlie!” she called. But he was gone.
“Oh, God, watch out for him,” she prayed, knowing Charlie had never heard her.
Her hands trembling, she clawed for the box that held the pistol—a .36 caliber Navy Colt exactly like the one Sue Vandergelden had used. Robert had wanted her to have something small that she could handle but still powerful enough to get the job done. It got Sue’s job done, she thought with a shiver.
She broke the gun open and checked. Five shots. Robert had said to leave it resting on an empty chamber with the children around. She closed the cylinder and clicked it over so the gun was ready to fire. She grabbed another box of cartridges and percussion caps and stuffed them in her skirt pocket. She looked around. Was that everything she needed?
Outside the wagon there were shouts and cries, then an eerie high-pitched whooping. That had to be Indians. Of course it was Indians! They were under attack. Hadn’t she seen the arrow in Lijah’s arm? She’d begun to react before the truth of the situation had really sunk in. A reckless thrill shot through her chest followed by a sinking fear. It could just as easily have been one of her boys who’d been shot.
Would they lose anyone? Everyone? Where were her children? Lina! Cold fear flooded her chest again. Lina had been at the back of the train with Josephine Jenkins in Company A.
Corrine was still working to tie the reins to the wagon in front of her, the mules pitching their heads wildly. The wagon jerked and Abigail was flung to the side, but she held on to the pistol. Corrine snapped the leather in frustration. “Settle down!”
Leaving Independence Page 21
