The Love and Loss of Joshua James

by Danni Roan

  Joshua’s hand found hers and she clung to it. Clung to the other part of her, the part that helped her breathe, the part that made her laugh, and the part that filled her heart with love. Though her heart was breaking to leave her parents behind, she knew her place was by his side and that if she could hold on to her faith the journey would take her to where she belonged.

  “Brion!” Benji’s deep voice echoed along the road, making the red-headed man pull rein and turn back. “Come and fetch your niece and carry her to her ma, she needs changing and I didn’t sign on for that.”

  A hearty bark of a laugh echoed as the Irishman turned around and scooped the little girl from the wagon. “Come on then, lass, let’s have yer ma see to ye. No need to stop the wagons for such a thing.”

  “Bridgette, sit down,” Joshua ordered. “You’ll fall out and break your neck.”

  “Didn’t ya hear Josh, I’ve got woman’s work to do? I can see this will be a fine trip, with all you men around.” However, there was no heat in her eyes as she took her daughter from her brother. “We’ll have to work on getting you trained, poppet,” she said to her youngest child, “or you’ll just have to go without.”

  JOSHUA CHUCKLED TO himself as he stared at the ceiling above his bed of the ranch house he had built, thinking that if one of the girls came to check on him they would think he had lost his mind, laying in the dark talking to himself. Yet he knew that the ghosts of the past listened in the dark hours as he drifted off to sleep, a smile on his face.

  Chapter 2

  INDEPENDENCE, MISSOURI

  April 1868

  THE BUSTLING TOWN OF Independence was filled with wagons, wagon suppliers, horses, and hostlers as Joshua and Benji pulled their teams to a stop.

  "We're to meet Mr. Tucker at the Dew Drop Saloon," Joshua called to Benji and Brion.

  Beside him, Bridgette made a face.

  "What?" Joshua questioned, looking over his shoulder at his wife. "You know I don't go in for drink."

  "Perhaps you don't, but what does it say of the man we are trusting our lives to, that his meeting place is a saloon?"

  "Bri, most men spend at least some time in a place like that. It's somewhere that everyone can come to with no questions asked."

  "Exactly," Bridgette James said, a smooth, dark-red brow raised skeptically.

  Joshua climbed out of the wagon and walked around to lift his wife down. Already in the few weeks, it had taken them to travel to Missouri her stomach, had rounded and she had put on some weight. He hoped the trip would not be too much.

  "You go on over to the mercantile with the girls and see if they have anything you need while we go sort out our guide," he said, easing her to the ground so that she stood before him. He gazed along the busy street watching as wagons rolled in and out of the town proper.

  He pulled Bri close as a team of oxen lumbered by, hauling a wagon much like their own. "Maybe I'd better go with you," he mused, seeing how restless the town truly was.

  "Nay," Brion's voice rose from the other side of the wagon where he was busy securing his horses. "I'll take the ladies to the store." He smiled, his soft brown eyes crinkling at the corners.

  Brion Blakely hustled to Benji's wagon and lifted a niece in each arm. "Ma'be they'll have a peppermint stick or two," he added, making the girls squeal with glee.

  "You're sure you'll be all right?" Josh asked, looking down at his wife.

  "I have to go along now, just to keep me brother out of trouble," she laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "You go and get things ready."

  THE DEW DROP SALOON was a bit shabbier than many of the other such establishments that dotted the town of Independence’s main street. It was poorly lit, the bar was sticky, and the sawdust on the floor needed to be changed.

  Joshua looked at Benji questioningly as together they stepped into the dim room and looked around. Several men sat at battered tables and a few more stood at the bar. One man, tall and broad in the shoulders but showing signs of an expanding waistline tipped back a shot of whiskey with a sigh, as a lean boy of no more than sixteen stood by and watched.

  "I'm looking for a Mr. Tucker," Joshua said, stepping to the bar. "We're headin' for Oregon and are to meet him here." He looked at the bartender who offered neither comment nor indication that he had heard Joshua's words, as he wiped a mug with a dirty rag.

  Benji looked at Josh, one dark brow raised. "Now what?" he said quietly.

  At the end of the bar, the young man nudged the stranger and nodded toward where Joshua and his oldest friend stood.

  The big man turned toward them, his brown eyes shining in the dim light. "Huh?" he snorted, plunking his glass back on the bar. The boy leaned in, whispering something.

  "I'm Tucker," the big man growled, his voice louder than necessary. "You that fella joinin' my train?"

  "Yes, sir," Joshua said, stepping closer and offering his hand. "My family and Mr. Smith," he indicated Benji with a nod, "we were told to meet you here."

  "And here I am," the man spoke jovially. "How 'bout a snoot before we hit the trails?" Mr. Tucker raised his glass and the bartender moved toward him, bottle in hand.

  "No, thank you," Joshua said, "I'll be needing to meet the missus at the store. I need to know where to join the party and when we roll out," Joshua said, watching the man down his second drink.

  "Leavin' in the mornin'. Other folks are camped at the edge of the river. You can gw'on out there when you want."

  Joshua let out a breath. He was hoping they would have time to rest the teams a bit before starting again, but there was nothing for it. "I'll see you in the morning, then," he replied.

  "First things first, now," Mr. Tucker spoke, eyeing the small glass in his hand. "I'll need cash for the ferry in the mornin'." He turned to face Joshua his cheeks flushed from the liquor. "Thirty-five dollars, upfront," he stated.

  Something squirmed in Joshua, some little flicker of doubt. He'd looked carefully at many wagon trains and companies that were taking people west. The company that recommended Mr. Tucker had a good reputation and with his family at stake, he had chosen with great care. Letting out a slow breath, Joshua reached in his pocket and pulled out the bills to cover the fees for two wagons.

  "I'd like a receipt once we cross," Joshua asked, his cold eyes firm, as he watched the other man wrap his hand around the bills.

  "Alright, all right," Mr. Tucker agreed cheerfully. "Time for one more for the road." He raised his glass as Joshua and Benji turned to go.

  "Mr.," a high voice called as they moved toward the door.

  "Yes." Joshua and Benji turned as one to the skinny boy who'd stood silent at the bar throughout the conversation. His clothes were well-worn and his dark eyes, under a thick thatch of brown hair, were serious.

  "I'll go 'long with ya to the camp if ya don't mind."

  "You with this outfit?" Josh asked.

  "Yes sir, I signed on as a guide last year and been down the trail twice. Once up, once back.”

  "Joshua James," Joshua said, offering his hand, "and this is Benjamin Smith."

  Benji lifted his hand to shake with the young man as well.

  "Stevens, sir. Kyle Stevens," the boy said, somehow seeming surprised at their offer of friendship.

  "I WONDER WHAT HIS STORY is?" Bridgette asked a half-hour later as Joshua pulled his team in behind the skinny boy on the equally skinny roan horse. "He's very young."

  "We were young once, too," Joshua joked.

  "I don't know about you, but I still am." Bridgette jutted her chin into the air, before breaking into giggles, making him smile.

  "Did you find what you needed at the store?" he asked.

  "I did, but oh the cost. Joshua, things are three times what they were in Ohio."

  "I can't say I'm surprised." He shook his head. "It's all about supply and demand and demand is high."

  "True, I'd just like to think we'll have a bit of hard cash at the end of the trail," Bridgette sighed.

  "We'll
make do,” he replied, taking her hand.

  Soon they were approaching a collection of camps lined out in clumps along the wide Missouri River. Different trains left at different times heading out to various locations along the trail or toward its end in Oregon.

  "There must be more than a hundred wagons all told," Bridgette said, looking about her. "I hope we have good people to travel with."

  "Guess we're gonna find out now," Josh spoke, nodding toward the young man on his lean horse. "Looks like young Stevens is pullin' rein."

  It was already late afternoon as Joshua pulled his team of four chunky horses to a halt and looked around the plains, where a collection of wagons stood in a semi-circle. Several fires had been started using what material was at hand, by the smell of it dung, as men, women, and children milled about doing various things.

  To his left, a goat bleated and he turned to see a graying man peeling a turnip and tossing bits to a white nanny goat and two kids. Beside him, Bri giggled again. "Somehow I don't think it will be a boring trip," she whispered, bumping her shoulder against his.

  "Mr. Joshua," Stevens spoke, "you can pull your wagons in there behind Mr. Billy." He pointed a boney finger at the man with the goat. "Ma'am." He added, swallowing hard and making his Adam’s apple bob before he turned away.

  Within minutes, the wagons were braced, and Bridgette began preparing things for their evening meal. While Joshua started a fire, Brion and Benji tended the stock, hanging a feed sack from each halter as they staked the animals on what grass they could find.

  "Now watch yerse'f," a crotchety voice barked down the line, "don't you two scally-wags go upsettin' my goats."

  Bridgette turned to see both Katie and Meg offer a handful of oats to the two young goats as they stroked their soft fur.

  "Childrens ain't got no sense 'round animals," the old man's voice scratched as he glared at the girls.

  "I'm sure they don't mean any harm," Bridgette offered, walking toward the man whose gray beard bristled his chin. "I'm Bridgette James and these are my daughters."

  "Humph," the old man glared. "Long as they don't upset my Clara Bell, we won't have no trouble," he said, squinting in her direction.

  Bridgette suppressed a smile at his crankiness. "Girls, come along," she called firmly.

  "But Mam'," Meg grumbled, stroking the soft nose of the little goat.

  "I'm sure Mr..." She raised a brow in the man's direction, waiting.

  "Billy," he said flatly, crossing his arms over his red suspenders.

  "Mr. Billy doesn't need children messing about his goats."

  Katie turned her clear green eyes to the bewhiskered man. "I'm sorry, Uncle Billy; I didn't mean to upset your goats." She said, "Meggie, and I just thought they were sweet." She blinked at him apologetically.

  "I ain't yer uncle," he snapped.

  "Why not?" The girl’s innocent words made him drop his scowl.

  "Because I'm just ol' Billy, that's why."

  "He'o, Misser Billy," Meg piped up, walking to the man with an outstretched hand.

  "Meg!" Bridgette cried, reaching for the girl, but to her surprise, the old man laughed and shook the tiny hand offered.

  "Wat'cher name?" he asked with a twinkle.

  "Meggie," the girl said. "Goat," she added pointing, then turned back and tugged at Billy’s beard.

  Bridgette scurried to her daughter, mortified. "I'm so sorry sir. She doesn't know any better."

  Old Billy started to smile, then chuckled and finally laughed, making others turn to stare. When Meg started giggling as well, it only took moments for Katie to follow suit.

  "They'll do," the old man spoke, the deep creases in his face softening. "I'm a cantankerous old coot, but who wouldn't lose their heart to girls like these."

  Bridgette let out a breath.

  "You carry on with what you was doin,' missus," Billy spoke, "these two can visit with the goats a bit longer."

  Bridgette smiled. "Thank ye, Mr. Billy," she said softly and turned back to her cooking.

  As night fell, Benji tucked the girls into their quilts in the back of his wagon then joined the other adults at their fire.

  "The horses are in fine shape," Brion was saying as Benjamin settled his big frame on a flour barrel. "I've been over the lot o' them."

  “You’d know then, wouldn’t you,” Bridgette’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Aye that I would,” Brion replied jovially. “I know me some fine horseflesh if I say so me-self.”

  “Humph!” Bridgette snorted, “I hope you’re done with all that horse racing nonsense now,” she said, crossing her arms over her steadily growing belly. “Mam never approved, you know.”

  “Approve or no, I won me that fine stock I own now and have something to start my horse ranch with, in Oregon.”

  Bridgette settled herself comfortably on a crate. “They do look fine,” she conceded.

  "I'd hoped for another day to rest before moving on," Joshua changed the subject, his eyes coming to rest on Bridgette, as she drank coffee from a tin cup. "There isn't much feed here, though," he continued, pulling his eyes away from his wife. "I guess moving is better in the long run."

  "How many wagons all together?" Benji asked.

  "I count fifteen, so a small group," Joshua's eyes were troubled.

  "We'll be following others," Bridgette spoke up.

  "That we will, but we'll have to be independent overall."

  "Where's that trail master, anyway?" Brion spoke again.

  "I haven't seen him yet," Benji offered, looking to Josh, who shook his head.

  "There's no point borrowing trouble for tomorrow," Bridgette spoke up again, swilling the coffee in her cup before tossing the contents off to the side. "We'll sleep and start fresh in th' mornin'."

  Joshua smiled at his plucky wife. He couldn't imagine a woman as strong and steady, or as full of humor, as his Bri.

  In the distance, the soft strands of a guitar drifted toward them and they turned to see the young guide Stevens strumming a battered instrument as he leaned against his worn saddle.

  MORNING BROUGHT WITH it the hustle of activity as a hasty breakfast was consumed, wagons prepared, and teams moved toward the ferry. A lemon chiffon sunrise brushed the backs of the wagons in gold as the small caravan lined up to board the ferry.

  Mr. Tucker held the reins of a sleek gray horse and bellowed at the dockmaster. "I says all of ‘em can fit," he grumbled, his voice thick.

  "I can only accommodate ten wagons on each crossing," the ferryman spoke precisely.

  "I give you yer money," Tucker blustered, now you take this train across."

  "That is not possible."

  "Is there a problem?" Joshua walked to the front of the line to see what the delay was.

  "This man's trying to keep us from crossing!" Tucker spoke belligerently.

  Joshua looked the man up and down. He still smelled of liquor and looked as if he had slept in his clothes.

  Joshua felt, more than saw, Benji and Brion move up behind him. "What seems to be the problem?" He asked the ferryman politely.

  "I have already explained to Mr. Tucker that the ferry can only carry ten wagons at a time."

  "I see," Joshua considered. "Mr. Tucker, have you had breakfast yet?" Joshua asked, swinging an arm around the trail master.

  "No, I ain't," the man groused.

  "Well this is a perfect time then, isn't it? You can come to my wagon and have some of my wife's famous pancakes while we wait to board." He smiled jovially, glancing over his shoulder to see the boatman nod as he walked away, taking the belligerent wagon master with him.

  Chapter 3

  BRIDGETTE JAMES STOOD on the far bank of the Missouri River and pushed strands of red hair away from her face where they fluttered in the wind. Something final settled into her like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pool. From here, there would be no turning back to the old. No returning to what had been.

  A cool breeze rustled through the dry
grass of the plains, skidding dust and flecks of the desiccated leaf over golden earth. It tugged at her skirts, swirling them like waves around her legs; she felt deeply the sorrow of good-bye.

  A small body thudded into her legs as Katie dashed away from Meg, skidding to a halt with her arms wrapped around her mother’s knees. Meg's little hands pulled at Bridgette's dress, drawing her eyes to the upturned face of the rosy-cheeked, red-headed toddler.

  "Oh!" Bridgette gasped and smiled.

  "You all right, Mam?" Katie asked, her stark green eyes steady on her mother's face.

  "The baby kicked," Bridgette said, smiling as her heart filled with a flood of joy. It was time to move on, time to look to what came next. A new start, a bright future.

  The heavy clomp of horses’ hooves drew Bridgette’s attention as Joshua pulled the big team to a halt.

  "You ready?" he asked, his blue ice eyes full of love.

  "Aye." She smiled, handing him first Meg, then Katie. It was time to roll.

  "I TOLT YA BEFORE, GATES, if you can't keep up, we ain't waitin' for ya." Mr. Tucker's voice rose from the far end of the wagon. "It ain't my fault yer team ain't nothing but crow bait."

  It was a week later and the raised voices drew attention from everyone.

  "Mr. Tucker, the team's all right. The mare's slowed down ‘cause she's gonna foal. I can't push so hard as the others."

  "Gates, if you can't keep up, you'll be left behind." Tucker’s voice was hard. "I made it clear that only horses or mules was gonna be in this train. We’re movin’ fast and I ain't getting' stuck in the mountains come snowfall."

  "But," Mr. Gates spoke again, only to have the trail boss turn and walk away, ignoring his pleas.

  "Mr. Gates?" The thick, Irish tones of Brion Blakely drew the man's attention. "We couldn't help but hear yer conversation." The tall, red-haired, man said, scratching his russet whiskers. "My saddle horse is pretty fit and if you’re willin,' I'll take the mare and you put my Bear in harness." He turned his eyes to the man, waiting for a reply.