Maps of Fate

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  He looked slowly around the circle with a level, steady stare. “First, I am the wagon master. What I say goes. Anyone who does not do as I say when I say is endangering the families in the other wagons and the rest of the train. I won’t tolerate it. I’ll leave you to go it alone, and I will not stop to bury your buzzard-picked remains on the return trip.”

  The faces in the crowd exchanged quick looks. A night hawk flew over the group, it’s grunting call and beating wings the only sound.

  “I’ll do my level best to get us all through safe, but I’m here to tell you now that the odds that we all make it healthy and alive are not too good. There are one hundred twenty-six men, women and children on this train. Five to ten percent of us probably won’t make it.” He paused to let his words sink in. “We’re traveling into an unforgiving wilderness. If we see an army patrol, it will only be near Fort Kearney on the Platte, and then again, if we are lucky, we might run into troops along the South Platte east of Fort Laramie on the last leg to Cherry Creek. The only help we got is ourselves. If we don’t stick and work together, even with folks you’re not keen on, all our chances are diminished.”

  He paused again to let his words register.

  “Charlie and John are my herdsman and drive the supply wagons. They will tend the critters at night, but as we go further west, we will be watched. Indians, half-breeds, renegades, and outlaws are all horse thieves. If we get stuck out here without stock, odds are we will die. Starting in a week, I’ll detail three men from the wagon train to ride night duty with John and Charlie. I’ll try to keep that chore even, but if it is your night, you do it. No lip, no guff. Everybody has to do their share. Five days from now we cross the Gasconade River. We will encounter far bigger and faster streams before we get to Cherry Creek, so pay close attention to my directions.”

  Reuben sought Rebecca’s gaze, but she seemed absently transfixed by Mac’s speech. His attempt to catch her eye was interrupted by the mention of his name.

  Mac gestured toward Reuben. “Reuben is the assistant wagon master. We agreed on it today. Unless I say otherwise, his words are my words. Follow them. The night after we cross the Gasconade, we will camp a mite early. Reuben will muster all the men, and you all bring your long guns and pistols. I want to see how you shoot.” He turned to Johannes, “John, I…”

  Reuben chuckled when his friend, obviously unperturbed by Mac’s dire warnings, interrupted the wagon master, correcting him in a friendly tone. “Johannes, Mac. The name is Johannes.”

  “Okay, Joohan. Where was your military at?”

  Johannes looked momentarily surprised at the question. His face twitched and there was a tangible extended silence. “I don’t recall ever saying I was in the military,” he responded, smoothly sidestepping Mac’s inquiry.

  Mac looked at him hard then his intended reply dissolved into a partial grin. “Well, have it your way…you will assist me and Reuben in gauging the men’s shooting skills, and helping them out of any bad habits they might have acquired along the way.”

  “I am at your service, Mac.”

  Mac turned back to the crowd. “We can’t wait for no one. Better take good care of those wagons. Check wheels and axels each time we stop for breaks, which will be a few minutes each morning and afternoon, ’til we get further west. Then the schedule will change. And, check ’em at night. I hope you followed the lists I gave you all and have spare parts in your toolboxes. We will spend time weekly on regular repairs and maintenance. I have some spare parts and a forge in the supply wagons.” His face became stern and serious. “I will not put the entire train at risk for one wagon.

  “Next thing, only God knows if this will be a wet or dry spring. If it’s wet, we’ll be fighting mud, high rivers and sickness. If it’s dry, good water will be scarce. If I have to, I will have all the water kegs on the supply wagons spiked shut, and it will be rationed. If we ration and I find anyone stealing, I will kill him, if it’s a man. If it’s a woman, you’ve doomed your family because your wagon won’t be traveling with us as of that minute.

  “Finally, if there’s any fights, any bad behavior…” Reuben watched Mac’s head swivel toward Jacob, “or the slightest untoward bothering of any women, anyone responsible will answer to me.” He looked around the circle again, slowly, “Any questions?”

  The only sound as Mac’s words settled on the group was the crackle of the fire and the slight whisper of the night wind that swept with stealth through the grass, carrying the scent of the stock from uphill of the group.

  “Good,” Mac continued. “Let’s show this pig how hungry we are. We will be moving at daybreak.” He slapped his pants leg with the whip, half-smiled, and walked over to the roasting pits marked with iron stakes pounded in the ground halfway between the fire and the supply wagons. The gathered pioneers separated widely to let him pass, everyone’s eyes following his movement.

  Seizing the moment, Reuben moved over beside Rebecca, who was smiling at Mac’s retreating back. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, aware of the concern in his voice.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I was just thinking that watching Mac part the crowd was almost like Moses without a staff.” She sighed. “I am such a very long, long way from London.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come to your aid, Rebecca. By the time I realized what was happening, Mac had things well under control.”

  “That’s all right, Reuben,” she said, mustering a smile that looked forced, almost too sugary sweet. “Yes, Mac certainly did.”

  “That he did,” Reuben said, keeping his face impassive. “So I suppose he deserves the smile.” He turned and walked away into the darkness.

  CHAPTER 14

  MARCH 18, 1855

  DECISION MADE

  Sarah had been enjoying herself immensely. This was the first time since that horrible day when Jacob induced her to travel west with him (in separate sleeping cars, which she realized too late had never been truly intended), that she had the opportunity to speak relatively freely to other people. She drifted from one small group to another introducing herself, smiling and chatting. Some people were warmer than others, but there was not a single person she met who she did not like.

  Thelma and Arthur Leonard were among her favorites. He was a medical doctor, a lofty, thin man with closely cropped mustache, grey hair and an academic look. Thelma was also thin, with short grey hair, casually well-dressed, and vivacious. Mr. Leonard was pale and, in some indefinable way, did not look well. Sarah found herself wondering if Thelma’s incessant wind of her arm through her husband’s was for support or affection, or perhaps both.

  The woman was fascinated with Sarah’s brief rendition of her history, the death of her parents in 1852 and 1853, and the sewing shop established by her mother that she ran with her sister, Emily. They beamed when Sarah offered to mend the slight tear in the seam of Arthur’s nappy brown wool pants where they extended over his boots.

  “You’re such a sweet child,” Thelma said, pulling her arm. “And so young to be traveling all this way. It must be quite the adventure.”

  Sarah fought to keep the smile on her face. “More than an adventure, Thelma. I had originally planned to stay in New York and assist my aunt with her shop on West 47th Street. But it appears the talk of war that’s circulating has dampened business at the same time the new Singer sewing machines have sped production. My Aunt Stella simply could not afford to keep me on.”

  Feeling a pang, Sarah swallowed and looked around. Jacob glared at her from a distance. “And, then I intended to stay in St. Louis, but other situations arose that resulted in my decision to go west. I hear Cherry Creek is growing. Perhaps I can open a shop there.”

  Thelma had followed her eyes when she looked at Jacob and was now carefully searching her face. “How did you and Mr. O’Shanahan meet?”

  Sarah felt a tightness in her chest. “We met on the Edinburgh during the voyage across the Atlantic.”

  The older lady smiled,
either not noticing, or pretending to ignore the terse texture of Sarah’s answer. “How fortunate that you were able to become engaged and have a traveling companion on this journey.”

  The twinge of skepticism in Thelma’s tone made it clear to Sarah the older woman was probing. Thelma did not believe that she and Jacob being together was fortuitous whatsoever. Sarah tried to smile disarmingly. “Jacob likes to proclaim that we are betrothed. But we are not.”

  Both Thelma’s and Arthur’s faces blanched. “He is your friend, then? Relative perhaps?” she asked, persistently.

  An idea began to rapidly develop in Sarah’s mind. She already had a plan; its careful formulation began the night after Jacob first raped her on the train. The plan germinated unexpectedly with the encounters between Jacob and Zeb on the barge, and between Reuben, Zeb, and Jacob just hours ago as the wagons trundled west. She felt a sudden burst of courage. Why not begin telling a portion of the truth?

  She held Thelma’s inquisitive stare. “No, he is not a friend and he is not relative. He is merely somebody that for now I am forced to travel with, unfortunately.”

  Thelma’s eyebrows shot up. Arthur shook his head. Sarah could literally see the curiosity well up in their features but she did not wish to overplay her hand. Behind the couple, she saw Reuben talking to three of the men, turning his pistol in his hands. The men’s heads were bobbing up and down, and each passed the Colt to the next who examined it just as carefully. She desperately wanted to talk to Reuben alone. It was the perfect excuse to disengage from her conversation with the Leonards, which she did not wish to continue further. At least for now.

  “If you’ll excuse me, it has been such a great pleasure to meet you. Please do bring those pants over to the wagon, and I will have them looking brand new for you in no time. Right now there’s somebody I really need to talk to.”

  She had moved only half the distance between herself and Reuben when she felt a hand on her arm. In the same instant she thought it was Jacob, she realized the touch was much smaller and lighter. She turned, startled to see Rebecca. She was even more surprised at the look in the brunette’s face, particularly after their encounters on the boat, which had been mostly sharp, traded barbs. However, now Rebecca wore the empathetic, earnest expression that one woman wears when she talks to another about serious female concerns.

  Sarah smiled faintly, “That was a dreadful incident. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Thank you, Sarah, I’m fine.” Rebecca paused, studying her face intently. “I notice you didn’t apologize for the actions, of your berothed, and you seem rather unconcerned about him accosting another woman.”

  Sarah felt her cheeks redden. “Jacob is not my fiancé, and nothing he does would surprise me, especially when it comes to women, money, or poker.”

  Rebecca obviously did not expect such a direct answer. Her look of womanly concern deepened. “Has he hurt you? Why the dickens are you with him?”

  Her question and apparent sincerity flooded Sarah with a rush of bitter, distasteful memories—Jacob’s hands on her body, her torso pressed defenseless against mattresses, the pain, hurt, indignity, the searing burn of his vicious penetrations, his threats and bullying, and the beatings. Rebecca’s face grew blurry as tears came to Sarah’s eyes. Her lower lip trembled. She bit down on it, averted her gaze, and took a deep ratcheting breath.

  A look of horrible realization replaced the brunette’s air of concern. She moved close, gently put one arm over Sarah’s shoulders and leaned her forehead into Sarah’s. “I am truly sorry for my demeanor toward you on the Edinburgh. May I call you Sarah? I had no way of knowing…”

  Sarah’s lips trembled as she attempted a smile. In a soft whisper, the words began to pour out, “Yes, of course. It was after that…it started on the train. We must have been just a day or two behind you. I was a naïve fool, Rebecca.” She quivered, hoping she hadn’t overstepped herself. She could feel the cool evaporation of the drying tears on her cheeks. She had so needed to tell someone.

  Rebecca pulled their foreheads together more firmly. “Come stay in our wagon. Inga and I can make room.”

  “That’s very kind, but it would be much too crowded with three of us, and besides….” The waves of humiliation, seething inside of her for weeks, rose up in anger. That wagon and everything in it, will be mine. I shan’t leave it to him. The last chapter of the story has not been written. I will have that gold map. He owes me and he shall pay. She took a deep breath, which particularly caught in her throat. “Mr. O’Shanahan will not bully me away from what is mine.”

  Rebecca looked puzzled and pressed closer, almost whispering. “Then you be careful. I hope you change your mind. I will bring Inga to meet you. You will like her. We shall visit as often as possible and if anything happens, let us know and we will tell Johannes and Mac…” she lifted her head and smiled, “and Zeb. I have seen him looking at you. I think he would do anything for you…” Rebecca glanced behind her where Reuben and three of the men were still discussing the Colt, “and Reuben, too.”

  Sarah noticed a strange look flit across Rebecca’s eyes as she said those last words.

  “You be very careful, Sarah.”

  “You, too, Rebecca. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your thoughts. But, you’re a beautiful woman and you have shamed him. Be very careful.”

  To Sarah’s complete astonishment Rebecca leaned into her again and hugged her, but Sarah was suddenly pulled from the embrace by a hard, strong hand, which gripped her arm with indelicate force.

  “Well isn’t this lovely. My betrothed hugging a woman.” Jacob looked Rebecca up and down, from her eyes to her boots. “Two pretty lassies in love, eh? How tender.”

  Rebecca stiffened and her face hardened, but she caught the imploring look in Sarah’s eyes. Not here, not another scene now, please!

  Jacob lowered his head close to Sarah’s ear. “It’s time for us to go. We have spent far too long with these pie-eyed sheep.” Sarah looked up. Mac and Zeb stood side by side together watching the scene carefully. She yanked her arm away. Jacob, following her gaze, did not resist. He released his hold, but not his demands.

  “Let’s go, woman.”

  Sarah felt the stares of many as she and Jacob headed into the darkness back toward their wagon, including Reuben, who had turned from his discussion, his mouth a grim line as he watched their departure into the blackness beyond the reach of the fire.

  CHAPTER 15

  MARCH 18, 1855

  REDHEAD ASSERTION

  Sarah and Jacob walked back toward their wagon, the voices of the pioneers still gathered around the fire receding behind them. The darkness deepened as the flames grew more distant. Though they walked abreast of one another, Sarah was careful to keep at least a three-foot separation. Inga had looked worried when they left the gathering. Zeb frowned, and Reuben stared hard at Jacob.

  “That’s certainly an odd bunch of people,” grumbled Jacob.

  Emboldened by the support of the Leonards, Zeb, and her other Edinburgh shipmates, Sarah was forthright in her response. “I think they’re very nice. Some may be simple, but all have a dream. There was more excitement and hope than I’ve heard in any discussion for a long, long time. This country, this land, seems to breed a sense of opportunity. Perhaps it is these open spaces. This never-ending wild land. I’ve been on these shores less than a month and I feel it. I don’t understand it yet, and it is different than what I expected, but it’s real.”

  Even in the darkness, Sarah felt Jacob’s nasty glance.

  “You are a naïve fool. Everybody’s out for themselves in this world. These people just put on airs. You’ll get to know them on this godforsaken trip. You’ll see. I’ve been around. They can’t fool Jacob O’Shanahan for a second.”

  “That, Jacob, is exactlywhat Iwould expect you’d think,” she snapped back angrily.

  Jacob pulled up short and turned his sturdy frame to face her. “Now, Sarah, you’re my woman, and I�
�m your man. I was just telling you what I think.”

  She ignored him, kept walking, and quickened her pace.

  He stood for a moment in surprise, and then hurried after her. Quickly closing the distance, he sidled up next to her when they were a few paces from their wagon and attempted to put his arm around her shoulders.

  Sarah spun out of his grasp. In the dim flicker from the campfire, she stared at his wide, ruddy face and deep-set eyes. His mop of hair looked aflame from the red glare. “I’m not your woman, and you’re not my man, Jacob. Never have been, never will be,” she spat, an unmistakable venom in her tone.

  Jacob recoiled. His face took on an ugly, menacing look, and the right corner of his upper lip twitched. “You redheaded bitch. After all I have done for you. Every woman needs a man. I bought you things. I have protected you, let you come on this journey with me. I even shared the secret of the map to the gold with you...” He paused. “A secret you promised to keep.”

  A steeled coldness gave Sarah’s voice a rigid edge. “Jacob, from the time you first raped me on the train, and every time you raped me thereafter, you diminished my dignity. You have stolen my honor. You have treated me as a slave with threats, bullying, and vulgar manhandling.”

  She leaned forward, almost on her tiptoes, her hands clenched tightly at her sides, the freckles across the bridge of her petite, finely-formed nose highlighted by an angry flush. She took a deep uneven breath. “That is over as of right this minute. I will throw your bedding down to you. You may sleep under the wagon or wherever you choose.”

  Turning abruptly, Sarah unlatched the rear of the wagon, took out the ladder and set it against the lip of the extended gate, wedging its base into the earth. She climbed the first two wood rungs and was ready to step from the ladder onto the surface of the tailgate when she felt Jacob on the ladder behind her. He shoved her roughly, headlong into the wagon on her stomach, his heavy frame on top of her, his hand clamped tightly over her mouth and nose, his knee trying to force her legs apart.