Millicent, his grim-face wife, nodded vigorously. “I knew it would be bad from almost the very start, when we started following the Platte. We started passing lots of dead animals—cattle, oxen, and such—and then there were the graves by the side of the trail. It was just the saddest sight you ever did see. Not a day went by when I didn’t see one or more. Sometimes the name was marked on a board, but some weren’t marked at all.”
“Most of the graves were shallow,” Augustus went on. “Like the people didn’t have the time or inclination to dig a deep enough hole.”
“It was just terrible,” Millicent said. “Some of the corpses were dug up by animals. Other times the Indians dug them up and stole their clothes.”
A collective gasp went up from the listeners around the campfire. Bad enough to die on the trail, but how awful to have some savage dig you up and strip you bare.
“We crossed river after river,” Augustus continued. “At one, the current was so swift that we lost our other wagon, two oxen, and a horse.”
“Is that when you turned back?” Jacob asked.
Augustus shook his head. “We kept going, and then—” his voice choked.
“We lost our little girl.” Millicent’s voice wavered. “Our little Leanna was just five. It happened so fast I couldn’t do a thing. One minute she was a’settin’ on the wagon seat, and the next, out she fell and got run over by a wheel.”
Amidst murmurs of sympathy, Augustus took up the tale. “She died right then. We had to bury her by the side of the trail.”
“Is that when you turned back?”
“We kept on.” Augustus brushed a tear away with the back of his hand. “It was tough going. By then, you should’ve seen all the furniture ’n’ books ’n’ bedding ’n’ I don’t know what, all thrown overboard from the wagons that had gone before ours. People are dumb, thinking they can haul all their fancy possessions clear to California.”
“I find that hard to believe.” As usual, Cordelia had not failed to dress for the evening and looked quite elegant in her hoop-skirted blue taffeta dress. She cast a skeptical gaze at Augustus.
“It’s true, ma’am. I even seen a piano thrown away. You see, there was times we went days without grass and water for the animals. They got weak, and when that happened, they couldn’t pull a full load. Nothing folks could do but throw their things away.”
Jacob asked, “So is that when you turned back?”
“We kept going. Then the Indians attacked. Comanche most likely.” He touched his empty sleeve. “Got an arrow in my arm.”
Millicent cast a pained gaze at her husband. “His arm got them red streaks, then it started turning black.” She shuddered. “I can still hear his screams when they took it off.”
Augustus cast a rueful look at his empty right sleeve. “That’s when we turned back.”
Later, before turning in, Bessie said, “Did you hear what the Turners said? Oh, Lucy, I’m so scared. When I think of the months ahead and what could happen ... I’ll never make it to California!”
Lucy patted her shoulder. “Don’t you worry. The Turners had some really bad luck, that’s all. It’s not going to happen to us. I’m not the least bit concerned, and you shouldn’t be, either.”
What a lie. Although Lucy had put on her most confident voice, the Turner’s sad tale had shaken her as well. The Schneider Party had only begun their journey. Fear knotted inside her when she thought of all the terrible things that could happen during the long months ahead.
Next morning, Lucy woke to the sound of hysterical screams. A woman’s voice ... it was Cordelia! “Something’s wrong,” she called to Jacob. They quickly pulled on their clothes and hurried outside where they discovered an empty space where the Turner wagon had been parked. In its place stood Cordelia, wild-eyed, clenching her fists.
“What’s happened?” Lucy asked.
“Sukey’s gone,” Cordelia screeched. “They took my cook!”
“Who took your cook?” asked Jacob.
Cordelia pointed a shaking finger southeast in the general direction the Turners must be traveling. “Sukey had the nerve, the audacity, to leave with the Turners. She left a note, hardly readable, I might add. I cannot believe this. She said she was tired of me, tired of cooking, tired of my darling Chadwick, and wanted to go to Ohio with the Turners.” Panic filled Cordelia’s eyes. “Sukey’s gone. I can’t cook! Captain, I must have her back.”
“That is impossible.”
“You must go after them! Tell Sukey I’ll even pay her wages, anything she asks.” Cordelia hesitated. “Within reason, of course.”
Jacob firmly shook his head. “Sorry, but we can’t hold up the others because you’ve lost your cook.”
By then, a sympathetic crowd had gathered, including Bessie, Hannah and her husband, Elija, and Agnes and William Applegate. Lucy noticed immediately that Clint Palance and Charlie Dawes had joined the crowd.
William Applegate said, “Turner couldn’t have gone far. Why not send someone back, or go back yourself?”
Jacob looked down his nose at William Applegate, a blunt, ill-mannered man he despised. “The sooner we reach the Platte, the better. That’s my plan. I won’t deviate.”
“Please, Captain,” begged Cordelia.
John Potts stepped forward. “Hells fire, we don’t mind waiting.” The crowd murmured its agreement.
“Well, perhaps ...” Jacob’s face softened. Relieved, Lucy observed he was about to give in.
“We shall not turn back!” came Abner’s thunderous voice.
In dismay, Lucy watched her brother-in-law lift his head and assume his I-am-the-prophet stance, a sure sign he was about to quote a scripture. Now was not the time. He wasn’t ... he couldn’t ... Lord help us, he was.
“Philippians two, Verse fourteen. ‘Do all things without murmurings and disputing.’ ” Abner cast a stern glance at his brother. “Is that not so?”
Not to Lucy’s surprise, but to her great chagrin, Jacob nodded in agreement. “I cannot argue with the scriptures.”
“So you refuse?” Cordelia’s lower lip trembled.
Jacob’s tightening jaw and cold eyes told Lucy in advance what his reply would be. “I have spoken.”
My husband is an idiot. Lucy caught herself. How could she think such a thing? But who, other than an idiot, would allow his brother to make his decisions?
“Don’t you worry,” called Bessie. “There ain’t nothing to cooking. We’ll show you how.”
Hannah nodded in agreement. “We’ll have you flipping slapjacks in no time.”
“I ... don’t ... cook!” White-faced, Cordelia stalked to her wagon and disappeared inside.
Hannah clucked in sympathy. “Poor thing, what’s she going to do?”
Bessie chimed in. “Well, she ain’t going to find a new cook in the middle of nowhere.”
“Cordelia either cooks or she starves.” Agnes gave a nod of satisfaction. “That goes for her mealy-mouthed husband and Chadwick, too. Serves her right for being so uppity.”
Lucy had heard enough. Amidst the continued murmurings from the crowd, she returned to their tent, pitched next to the wagon. She was rolling up bedding when she heard voices outside. Peering out, she saw her husband and his brother returning, followed by Clint Palance.
“Hold up, Captain!” Clint called.
Through the small slit opening, Lucy watched Jacob and Abner halt reluctantly. “What do you want?” Jacob asked. “If it’s about going after Sukey, I refuse to break my rule for some crazy woman.”
Clint smiled pleasantly. “I’m going to ride after the Turners. Maybe I can get Sukey to change her mind, maybe not. It’s worth a try. Don’t wait. Start without me, and I’ll catch up.”
Abner’s eyes blazed. His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. “No, you won’t. My brother is the leader of this wagon train, duly elected. You are under his command and will do as he says.”
Clint pushed back the wide brim of his hat with his thumb. He slu
ng his hands to his buckskin-clad hips and rested his tough, sinewy body back on his heels. Ignoring Abner, he addressed Jacob. “Here’s the way it is. Charlie Dawes and I were hired to lead your wagon train to California, and that’s what we’ll do. What we won’t do is take any of your shit.” He flicked a glance at Abner. “Or your brother’s, either.”
Abner’s face suffused with red. His eyes bulged out as if he were about to choke. Before he could speak, Clint spoke, still addressing his remarks to Jacob, who stood sputtering. “Anything else? Have I made myself clear?”
Clint turned to leave, but Jacob grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare turn your back on me! I’ll take this to the council. I’ll—”
“You do that.” Clint made no move to loosen his arm from Jacob’s grasp. Instead, he regarded Jacob with the cool, fearless eyes of a man who had fought a band of savage Indians and won, and an angry grizzly bear and survived. “Now take your goddamn fucking hand off my arm.”
Jacob dropped his hand so fast it could have been touching a red hot iron. Clint started to walk away. Puffing himself up with righteous wrath, Jacob boomed after him, “Exodus sixteen, Verse eight, Clint Palance, ‘Your murmurings are not against us, but against the Lord!’ ”
Clint stopped in his tracks and turned. The merest hint of a smile hovered around his lips. “Ecclesiastes seven, Verse sixteen, Jacob Schneider. ‘Be not righteous over much; neither make thyself over wise.’ ”
He walked away, leaving both Jacob and Abner with their mouths hanging open.
Oh, hilarious! The look on Jacob’s face! Self-righteous Abner for once at a loss for words. Lucy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. She wondered how an irreverent man like Clint could have delivered just the right scripture. Seconds later, she was making herself busy with the bedding when Jacob stepped into the tent, face still red, his breathing heavy from his rage. “Did you hear that? That profane man has taken the name of the Lord in vain! He must be dismissed. I shall not tolerate—”
“We’ll never reach California without him.”
“Didn’t you hear him? He blasphemed!”
“Then cover your ears next time.” Arms full of blankets, Lucy shouldered her way past her husband and out of the tent. Back in the wagon, it occurred to her that she’d never shown him such defiance. Because of it, her spirits soared in a way she couldn’t quite understand. What she perceived was, it was about time she spoke up, time she stopped allowing Jacob to bully her. In future, she’d speak her mind more often.
As for Clint, she ought to be incensed that he’d made a fool of her husband, shocked by his salty language, appalled at his disrespect. Instead, she kept picturing his fearless, nonchalant manner. Jacob was taller than Clint, and heavier, yet she sensed if he hadn’t instantly removed his hand from Clint’s arm, he would’ve found himself ass-over-tea-kettle on the ground, his dignity in tatters.
Chapter 6
Throughout the morning, the wagon train made slow but steady progress. By noon Clint had still not returned. Cordelia stayed hidden in her wagon, leaving Nathaniel, Chadwick, and their two hired men to fend for themselves for their meals. Some of the wives, including Lucy, gladly gave biscuits, beans, and pancakes to the hungry men, but all knew such generosity couldn’t continue.
At the noon break, Bessie stopped by Lucy’s cooking fire. “That Sukey had better come back soon.” She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Jesus wants us to share, but John doesn’t like to keep handing out all that extra food.”
“Jacob’s the same.” Lucy didn’t care to describe her husband’s flare of temper when he saw her doling out food from their precious supply.
“We only have enough for ourselves,” he’d thundered. She’d talked him into being generous for one more meal, pointing out that a leader of men should not appear stingy. He’d reluctantly conceded. “But just one more meal. We’re not going to feed the whole camp. The Bentons can starve, for all I care, or better yet, turn around and go back home.”
She and Jacob were sitting on the wagon seat eating their noon meal when in the distance she saw Clint Palance riding back alone. With growing apprehension, she watched him draw closer. Jacob hadn’t said a word concerning this morning’s ugly scene. She wondered if he’d be polite to Clint or if he was still in a rage over the man’s failure to obey and his so-called blasphemy.
Clint rode straight to Jacob’s wagon and touched the brim of his hat in greeting, casually, as if the earlier confrontation never occurred. “Sukey won’t come back, Captain. She’s hell-bent on going to Ohio with the Turners.”
Lucy held her breath while her husband sat silent, his broad face expressionless. No doubt he was trying to decide whether to lash out at Clint again or stifle his anger and resentment. Jacob cleared his throat. “That’s too bad. Will you inform Mrs. Benton?”
What a relief! Jacob sounded none too gracious, but at least civil. He wasn’t going to dismiss Clint and Charlie, thank the Lord. “I’ll inform Mrs. Benton if you like, Mister Palance,” Lucy said.
Clint smiled in relief. “If you wouldn’t mind. I don’t relish being the one to tell her.”
Minutes later, Lucy approached the Bentons’ wagon, wondering what had possessed her to volunteer for the unpleasant task of breaking the bad news to Cordelia. She went around to the rear of the wagon and knocked on the backboard. “Mrs. Benton? It’s me, Lucy Schneider.”
She heard a sharp “Go away,” from inside.
“I have news of Sukey.”
Cordelia poked her head through the opening. “Good or bad?”
“For you, bad.”
Tight-lipped, Cordelia jerked back the canvas flap and climbed to the ground. She faced Lucy with crossed arms and a frown. “Sukey refused to return?”
“Mister Palance said he tried, but Sukey wants to go to Ohio. It’s a free state. I doubt she’d ever want to return to Atlanta where she’d still be a slave.”
“That little ingrate! I treated her well. Never whipped her once, and this is the thanks I get.”
“Apparently, she just wants to be free.”
Cordelia’s shoulders sagged. Her thin, aristocratic face grew haggard, the lines around her mouth more drawn. “What am I going to do? Nathaniel won’t even consider going back to Atlanta, and I can’t cook. I won’t cook!” She extended her dainty white hands palms up. “These are the hands of a lady. They weren’t meant for hauling wood and baking biscuits and God knows what. All my life I’ve had servants to wait on me. I’ve never had to dress myself or comb my hair. I have never once cooked my own meal, and I can’t change now. It’s too late.”
Lucy looked down at her own hands. Like Cordelia’s, they had once been soft, smooth, and alabaster white. Now they’d begun to brown and roughen. An ugly red burn from a cooking pot marred her palm. “I know it’s not easy, but—”
“I never wanted to come on this trip!” Cordelia wailed. “This was all Nathaniel’s idea, him and his manifest destiny. I’m much too delicate for this, much too ... too ...”
Spoiled and pampered were the words that sprung to Lucy’s lips, words she forced herself to suppress while Cordelia sputtered. She couldn’t suppress her anger. Just who did Cordelia think she was, some sort of princess? Better than the rest? The remains of the sympathy she’d felt for this mollycoddled woman vanished, replaced by mounting scorn. “Do you realize your husband and son have nothing to eat?” She was none too kindly. “To say nothing of your hired hands.”
The distressed woman fluttered her eyelids in bewilderment. “What do you mean?”
“Because you won’t fix them a meal, your husband and son, as well as your hired young men, have been begging food from your neighbors. So far, everyone’s been generous, but believe me, it won’t last.”
“Perhaps I can hire one of the women—”
“Not likely. Every woman in this wagon train is already worked to death, and furthermore ...” She paused, surprised at herself. What had come over her? She would never have utt
ered such a sharp retort in the fancy parlor on Beacon Hill. Instead, she would’ve mouthed the usual shallow platitudes, never dreaming of saying what she really thought. Now her cultured, cozy little world lay far behind her. On a journey like this, no one cared about genteel manners, idle chatter, or polite little lies. Simply surviving each grueling day was all that mattered.
“You have no choice. You must do what needs to be done. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re suggesting I cook?”
“We’ll all help. Bessie and Hannah have already volunteered, as well as—”
“I don’t care to be beholden to women like that.”
“Women like what?”
“You know, of a lesser standing. Really! I suspect some of them don’t even know how to read or write.”
“Who cares? You should be grateful they’re willing to help.”
“I couldn’t possibly! I’m much too delicate, and frankly, such manual labor is simply beneath me.”
Something snapped. She’d had enough. “My dear Cordelia, let’s not get into a discussion concerning what’s beneath you and what’s not. Maybe you were the leader of Atlanta society, but you aren’t anymore. You’re no better than the rest of us. You’d best remember you squat behind a bush just like the rest of us.”
Cordelia gasped. Her hand flew to her heart. “Why, Mrs. Schneider! I find your remark to be ... to be ...”
“Yes, I know, extremely crude, and you’re shocked. Well, that doesn’t change the fact you’d better pull yourself together and start doing your part.” Lucy could hardly believe she’d just said that. Perhaps she’d gone too far, yet it was high time someone set this snobbish southern belle straight.
Cordelia remained silent for a very long time. Finally, she heaved a resigned sigh and muttered in a very small voice, “I see I have no choice. Very well then, I shall try.”
On her way back to the wagon, in high spirits after her success with Cordelia, Lucy passed by the one small wagon that belonged to Palance and Dawes. She saw Clint in front, building a fire. “Mrs. Benton says she’ll cook!”
Heartbreak Trail Page 6
