Maps of Fate

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  It began as grovel, little round, white, cold pellets—half rain, half snow, that hissed and tapped on the wagons’ canvas tops. The wind roared incessantly. The animals inside the corral were nervous, drifting back and forth, horses nipping one another, and oxen rubbing shoulders. The mules had turned their heads way from the wind, their great grey muzzles lowered to their forelegs, and their tails flattened out over their rumps. Anything left outdoors weighing less than a few pounds rolled, bumped, and skidded along the ground, moving too quickly for the hapless pioneers to catch.

  Reuben looked out to the west. Johannes stood shoulder to shoulder with Reuben, their backs to the increasing gales. A few miles out, the landscape disappeared, swallowed by a sinister, pulsating wall of grey that moved rapidly toward them. Reuben pointed and yelled, “Here it comes!”

  He felt a tug on his jacket and turned around. It was Sarah, her hands clenched around the collar of the wool traveling jacket under her oilskin, the red locks of hair at her temples frozen by white flakes. She had replaced the moccasins with her boots.

  “Reuben, that damn Jacob forgot to fill the water kegs last night. I assumed it was done, but he must’ve gotten liquored-up. I just went to fill the water pouch to have water in the wagon during the storm, and they are empty. Could you spare some water? We only need a bagful.” Over the howl of the wind, Johannes overheard the conversation.

  He smiled down at her. “Stand in front of us, Sarah, we’ll break the wind a bit for you. Do you mean to say you plan to hunker out the storm in the wagon with that Irishman?”

  Sarah looked up at them. Her eyes blinked rapidly, snowflakes and gravel falling from her eyelashes. Clearly, she had thought about it and didn’t like the idea either. She opened her mouth to speak, but Reuben quickly interjected, “Why, don’t you come down here and weather it out with us?”

  “Thank you, Reuben, but I can’t leave him alone in the wagon with my things. They’re all I have.”

  Sarah’s cheeks quivered and Reuben couldn’t help but grimace. “It will be a bit cramped, but that would save lugging water back and forth. With you two, there’d be seven of us, including Zeb, in the wagon. With the oil lamps going, it will be half-way warm.”

  The relief on Sarah’s features was unmistakable. “Are you sure Reuben? I don’t want to put you to any bother.”

  Reuben and Johannes exchanged glances, and Johannes nodded a curt assent.

  “We are sure, Sarah.”

  “I’ll go back and get Jacob then. I don’t want him alone near the wagon with my belongings even for a short time. Is Zeb here? I saw him ride in.”

  Johannes reached out and grabbed her arm, “No, get into our schooner. Zeb’s inside. The storm will hit any second. I will go back and retrieve the son of a bitch.”

  The wagon ladder shook from the wind as Reuben helped Sarah up, his hands around her waist. He was surprised at the full curve of her hips, and the slight rounded feel of her belly, not fully distinguishable under the traveling garb, yet his thumbs and forefingers almost met as he lifted her up the rungs.

  Rebecca, Inga, and Zeb were busy in the prairie schooner rearranging the contents to create seats as comfortable as possible. “We’re going to have company. See what you can do to make room for two more.”

  Inga looked up sharply, her eyes moving back and forth between Reuben and Sarah, “Two more?”

  “Yep, Sarah and Jacob.”

  Zeb stepped forward with a smile to help Sarah. Rebecca stopped what she was doing and looked over her shoulder at Reuben with a questioning scowl, “Are you saying that scoundrel Irishman will be in our wagon?”

  “There’s not much choice. I’ll explain later.”

  Inga picked her way carefully across the wagon to Zeb and Sarah, put her arms around Sarah’s shoulders and smiled. “This won’t be the only storm we weather together, Sarah.” Sarah squeezed her hand. Reuben noticed Rebecca looking at the two women with a strange expression on her face before he turned, climbed down the ladder, closed the tailgate and called out to Zeb, “Lash up this canvas. I will wait for Johannes and Jacob. We’ll holler when we need in, and then be quick about it!”

  The first wave of heavy snow hit Reuben with full force as he walked from the rear of the wagon. It propelled him several quick steps, and he had to catch himself from being blown over. Some of the stock was settling, bracing for the storm, other animals were making a racket, though it could barely be heard. Several horses ran panicked around the interior circle of the wagons, now and again bumping wagon sides with their shoulders. The shadowy forms of those who had not yet disappeared into their wagons could be seen clambering up, leaning out, and closing up the tailgates and canvas.

  The snow blinded Reuben, whipping horizontally and so thick that he couldn’t breathe without inhaling sharp particles of ice. He took the handkerchief from around his neck, and tied it over his face and nose, squinting up toward Dr. Leonard’s wagon. In just minutes, several inches of snow blanketed the ground, sifting and simmering over the land, driven by sheets of wind. The encampment disappeared into shifting furls of snow that snaked and whistled between the wagons, forming drifts where the gusts whistled around the spokes of the wagon wheels. The circle became invisible in the opaque air, and flakes flew by Reuben, careening away before they could touch the ground.

  The dim, barely discernible shapes of Thelma and the doctor could be seen as Thelma tried to pull the tall figure up the slick ladder. The frail physician was having difficulty keeping his footing. Reuben hunched his shoulders and walked, stooped, into the wind, one leather-gloved hand holding his hat on, the other scrunching the fabric of his coat collar. He made it to the lee of their wagon, crouched down, put his hands on the doctor’s buttocks, and pushed. Thelma pulled on Dr. Leonard’s arms and finally they got the lanky form in the wagon, gasping for air. He looked terrible, white and sallow.

  “Thank you Reuben. Thank you so much,” she shouted above the din of the wind. Reuben nodded, shut their tailgate, and stumbled back to the rear of the prairie schooner.

  He searched for Johannes and Jacob, but found no figures moving through the snow. Wind forced snow inside the folds of his wool coat. He tried to remember exactly where Sarah’s wagon was in the corral, but the blizzard was disorienting. Should he continue to wait outside, or get in the wagon and wait there, or try and find them? Suddenly, two shadowy forms moved toward him, hugging the sides of the nearest wagon bed, feeling their way like blind men. They were only twenty feet away but almost indistinguishable in the crescendo of weather that cascaded down upon the camp.

  “Johannes!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. The figures stopped. Johannes was in the rear. He shoved Jacob, and they continued making their way to the schooner, stumbling the last few feet, leaning, breathing hard, with their backs to the tailgate.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” gasped Johannes. Jacob didn’t say anything. His lower back and rump was pressed to the tailgate, and he was bent over, wheezing, his hands on his knees.

  The storm intensified. The wagon to the rear disappeared from sight in a swirling, blowing, topsy-turvy whirlpool, and the tongue of their wagon vanished from view in a gusting snow dervish. Except for their prairie schooner, everything became ghostlike, invisible.

  Reuben put his face to the canvas and yelled, “We’re out here!” He and Johannes fumbled with the tailgate as Rebecca quickly undid the canvas flaps and the yellow light of the oil lamps appeared. She shoved the ladder out, holding her shawl tight around her chest at the invading squall. Johannes leapt, got one knee on the tailgate, and rolled into the wagon. Jacob stumbled unsteadily up the steps, followed by Reuben. They closed the tailgate as quickly as they could and sprawled over the uneven cargo as Inga and Rebecca hurriedly retied the flap.

  The wagon rocked and creaked with the force of the wind, like a small boat in a heavy sea, the sounds of the animals indistinguishable from the muted scream of the tempest. It took several minutes for everyone to se
ttle down, find their places, and for Jacob, Johannes and Reuben to doff their soaked coats and hang them in the rear of the wagon.

  Jacob sat with his back to the corner where the side of the wagon met the tailgate, his face cast downward, his expression angry and malevolent.

  Reuben turned to Johannes, “What in damnation took you so long?”

  A slow, laconic smile spread across Johannes’ face. He was propped up against India-rubber sacks of sugar and flour, and his long legs extended almost across the entire width of the wagon bed, his ankles crossed, and his arms folded across his chest. “It took us a few moments to agree on a course of action.” He winked at Reuben.

  Reuben turned his eyes to Jacob from the caddy-corner position he occupied and studied the blocky, glowering Irishman. His eyes lingered on a bruise that was beginning to form between his mouth and his chin, and a smear of blood on his lower lip.

  Johannes was watching him. He shrugged, nonchalantly. “Well, there wasn’t the time to have a long discussion.” Reuben stifled the chuckle creeping up his throat. The rest of the group was silent, uneasy at being in close quarters with Jacob. Reuben watched Zeb stare at the stocky tow-head with an unflinching look, his fingers slowly running down the taper of his mustache, the hand resting on one knee, a clenched fist. Sarah’s gaze was fixed on her boots. Inga looked anxious.

  His look lingered on Rebecca. She gave him a glance that made it clear she thought none of this was a good idea. He sighed. Outside, the wind screamed, ravaging any nook and cranny between the wagons that dared to stand in its path.

  Even though he wasn’t hungry, Reuben attempted to lower the level of tension. “Rebecca, what type of food do we have that will be easy to pass around? I’m starved.” She gave him a curt, short nod of understanding.

  “Inga made some delicious biscuit bread yesterday. I believe the baking tin is still almost full. We have a bit of deer jerky left, and plenty of dried fruit I can reach without too much rearranging.”

  Jacob looked up suddenly. His eyes lewdly scanned Rebecca’s figure. “I would think being a queen, there would be more than lowly commoner food in this wagon.”

  Reuben felt his teeth clench. Zeb stopped working on his mustache in mid-stroke. Inga looked at Rebecca, her eyes wide. Sarah cast rapid, embarrassed glances at them all.

  Jacob laughed, reached behind him and withdrew a silver whiskey flask from his rear trouser pocket. Without offering it to anyone, he tipped his head back, gulped a long swig, and smacked his lips with an exaggerated sound. Then slowly, and deliberately, he screwed the cap back on and held it up, turning it in his hand and examining it. “I won it, I did, in a poker game on the Edinburgh.” His eyes flitted, beady and piercing to each of the other occupants in the wagon. “Anyone here play poker?” He looked around at each of them again. “Didn’t think so.”

  Rebecca had paused in gathering up the food. She shook her head in disgust and went back to her task. Johannes stared at Jacob through languid, slitted eyelids, but his gaze was hard. Zeb’s scars seemed to be more pronounced against the deepened color of his face.

  “How may I help, Rebecca?” Sarah asked, anxiously.

  “If you get the tin plates out of that box to your right, Sarah, that would be of great assistance.”

  Reuben tried to make himself relax. The storm can’t last too long, he thought, without much conviction.

  Several hours drifted by. Sarah and Rebecca had passed out the tin plates, each with small helpings of biscuit bread, a short stick of jerky, and two pieces of fruit. Inga was upset by Jacob’s perverted fixation with Milady Marx’s every move and stretch as she had passed out the plates with long reaches of her arm. He had ceased looking at Rebecca only when she drew a blanket around herself and dozed off.

  Except for Johannes’ and Jacob’s plates, which were empty, the others had been barely touched. There had been little conversation within the omnipotent silence, punctuated only by the incessant rattling of the wagon, and the snap of the canvas against the bow supports. The tempest outside showed no signs of abating.

  Inga had been aware that for the last hour that Jacob had focused his abusive glare on her. Once in a while, his eyes shifted elsewhere, but his gaze always returned to her, or some part of her body. He’s trying to remember something, Inga thought with a touch of panic, her old life rising up in her mind, as dangerous as the storm outside. No, I’m sure he’s never seen me before, nor I him, not until the first night on the wagon train. She took a deep breath, smoothed her hands over her skirt, and tried to calm herself. But she couldn’t shake the ominous feeling that held her in its clutches.

  One of the two oil lamps flickered. Sarah jumped up, almost losing her balance when her foot caught on the molasses keg. She reached up, snuffed out the lamp and untied the rawhide thong, suspending it from the forward bow supporting the wagon top. “Do you have some oil, Inga?”

  Glad for the diversion, Inga raised her eyes. Sarah knew! She managed a half-smile and pointed behind the redhead. “I believe it is over there next to the sidewall, underneath those bedrolls.”

  Sarah refilled, rehung, and relit the lamp. Inga purposely kept her attention on Sarah’s movements to avoid Jacob’s eyes. Now that the second oil lamp was back in action and casting its dim yellow glow, she darted a glance at the Irishman. He stared at her, his forehead furrowed in shadowed lines.

  Time passed, impossible to measure. It must be near morning, Inga thought. The wind had died somewhat, the wagon shuddering but not shaking as fiercely. Rebecca slept curled up on her side. Johannes, next to her, had leaned his head back against the canvas, his hat in his lap. His mouth was open and he snored softly.

  Inga noticed that Reuben had made sure he had easy access to the pearl grip of the Colt snuggled in the holster on his right hip. His knees were drawn, his arms wrapped around them. His head would start to slowly sink and then snap up, with a rapid blink of his eyes. He doesn’t want to sleep, thought Inga. Zeb sat in another corner on top of one of Rebecca’s trunks. His back was straight, but his shoulders slumped forward and his chin rested on his chest.

  Jacob’s voice was low and beguiling. “I heard you hail from New York by way of Norway.”

  Reuben’s head jerked up, as did Zeb’s. Rebecca continued her slumber. Inga’s quick sideways glance at Johannes revealed his eyes were open, looking fixedly at Jacob.

  “How old was you when you got to New York?”

  Inga was so surprised at Jacob’s question she responded immediately, without thinking. “I was thirteen.”

  Jacob nodded his head, “Quite the city, New York. Makes Dublin look like a village. Where did you work?” His voice was level and smooth, but his eyes glittered, almost reptilian, like a snake that has found a mouse.

  “I worked for the mayor at Gracie Mansion.” Inga did not want to create a scene nor exacerbate the tension that permeated the wagon. That’s an innocuous answer. Shouldn’t do any damage.

  Jacob nodded. “You lived in the mayor’s mansion?”

  “Yes, Jacob, I did,” Inga fought to keep her tone level, but the ominous feeling had returned, more strongly.

  “You started working there when you were thirteen?”

  Inga felt the constriction in her voice, and a wave of fear tumbled through her chest. “No, Jacob, I first lived with my uncle, and then I moved in with four older women. We were roommates. I worked at a tavern, the Carriage Restaurant, on West 42nd street. The patrons were almost all important businessmen.”

  “Roommates, eh? You know, it’s a funny thing. I played in several poker games while I was in New York before me and Sarah got on the train to St. Louis.” He threw a leering, nasty grin at Sarah, who returned his look with an expression of contempt.

  “Did pretty well, too. One game, in particular. You might say I found my fortune.” He cast another evil smile at Sarah, and she pursed her lips. “Anyways, Ms. Bonney and I were not an item then,” a nasty chuckle rumbled from his throat. “To celebrate, I had me a
whore that night.”

  Reuben was staring intently at Jacob, his face grim. Zeb stood up, “That’s no way to talk in front of ladies.”

  Jacob, obviously pleased that he had everyone’s attention, reached in his back pocket, took out the flask and took another long guzzle, again deliberately screwing the cap on and returning it back to his hip pocket. “Relax coonskin, we’re all grownups here. Everyone knows that hand—‘cept maybe the Queen—and everyone has a card hid.” He peered intently at Inga who tried to fight the terrible, hollow feeling creeping into her gut. She could feel Johannes’ eyes slide from her to Jacob and back again. Oh God, God, please, no!

  “Her name was Mary…” Inga jerked involuntarily.

  “She was okay, a little old, maybe, but fun. She mentioned she lived with four roommates, too.”

  Despite herself, Inga was transfixed. Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He stared straight at her, a mean, triumphant expression on his face.

  “Between us having fun she mentioned that one of her roommates was a tall, beautiful, young blonde from Norway,” Jacob sneered. “She laughed about how popular the Norwegian was with fat old businessmen, and how the young woman entertained such gentleman on occasion for money, but maintained her job was as a waitress, and she really wasn’t a lady of the night.”

  Inga wanted to disappear, to hide, to wake up and find this a horrible dream. Her hands rested open, palms down on her thighs, cold and clammy. She could feel Johannes staring at her from the side. Rebecca wore an expression of shock. Sarah looked at her with pained sympathy.

  Jacob cackled a laugh. “It’s a small world, ain’t it, Lassie? Just think, if it was another night, could’ve been you and me…” He sneered at Sarah, “You and the blonde could have had that pleasure in common…”