When the Indians finally left, Benjamin took up his guitar again and began strumming softly. A full moon rose over the tips of the pine trees; a warm breeze blew gently. Lost in reverie, Lucy faced the truth: once they got to California, and God willing they would, most of these people would take up the same dull, unexciting existence as the farmers they’d left behind. She wondered what she’d be doing. Right now she had little desire to speculate. After losing both her husband and child, all she could do was try to get through each grueling day and not fall apart.
She’d save the moccasins, just as Clint advised. Some day when she was very, very old, she’d dig them out of some musty trunk. They would remind her of the night the Indians traded for bread and one wore Cordelia’s hoopskirt, the night she had shared precious moments of warm camaraderie with the other members of the wagon train. She’d also remember how this journey, hard though it was, had given her a taste of something more, a brief escape from her ordinary, mundane life ... given her a sense of adventure, wasn’t that what Clint had called it? West to catch the sunset. Now she knew what he meant.
If she lived to be a hundred, she’d never forget this night.
Next day, the Schneider wagon train began its trek along the well-marked trappers’ trail that followed the Platte River. Edged by a thin fringe of timber lining the river bank, the trail led westward across the plains. They stopped to eat and rest at noon. Lucy was standing by the Potts’ wagon, chatting with Bessie, Hannah, and Roxana, when from the distance, they heard a strange roar.
Clint rode up on Paint. “Buffalo. Something’s set them off. They’re stampeding.”
Lucy looked toward the open plain and soon saw her first herd of buffalo. What a frightening sight! The herd was so thick that it resembled a great black cloud, filling the whole prairie and advancing toward them like a moving mountain.
“Should we run?” Bessie’s voice was panicked.
“We’re all right where we are,” Clint answered. “Come look.”
He led them to the top of a sand hill, where they stood and watched while thousands upon thousands of the huge beasts roared by, noses almost to the ground, tails flying in midair. Lucy had no idea how many there were, but the stampede seemed endless, the animals’ wild snorts and the thunder of their hooves assailing her ears.
After the last buffalo finally disappeared over the horizon, Bessie said, aghast, “My stars, they are horrible looking creatures.”
Clint replied, “They may not be beautiful, but I’ll wager you’ll be eating buffalo steaks from now on, and happy to get them.”
“So who’s going to hunt the huge creatures?” Bessie wrinkled her nose. “My husband can’t bring down so much as a squirrel.”
Neither could Jacob. Lucy felt guilty for demeaning the dead. Still, it was true, and that went for Abner, too.
“That’s a good question,” said Clint. “It’s not easy. Takes between fifteen and twenty bullets to kill a bull buffalo, but don’t worry, you can count on Charlie and me. We’ve brought down a few. Meantime, be grateful. Wood will be scarce for a while, but buffalo chips make a good fire.”
A frown appeared on Roxana’s pretty young face. “You mean we must start collecting buffalo droppings instead of wood? How nasty!”
Clint nodded. “Chips sounds better. The time is coming soon when you’ll be grateful to have them.” He grew thoughtful. “From now on, be careful. Of all the dangers we face, there’s nothing more deadly than a buffalo stampede.”
“What sets them off?”
“Lightning ... thunder ... a rabbit dashing across a field ... just about anything.”
Remembering the thousands of fearsome animals that had just pounded by, Lucy felt a pang of dread. What a horrible fate to get caught in their path.
Two days later, just as Clint warned, they could find no wood for the campfires. After the train encamped at the end of the day and formed a circle by the river, Lucy, along with most of the women, walked out on the prairie, sacks in hand, to collect buffalo chips. Even Cordelia collected chips. She kept to herself, though, still determined to avoid those-of-a-lesser-standing.
Why must she be such a snob? Lucy had hoped Cordelia would loosen up after the hoopskirt episode, but apparently not. How lonely she must be. It wouldn’t hurt to make another offer of friendship. She strolled over to where the snobbish Southern woman was picking up the chips so gingerly they could have been hot coals. “Hello. How are you doing?”
Cordelia smiled a greeting. “I’m as right as I can be, having to pick up these disgusting things.”
“We all feel the same way. Why don’t you join us? We’re in this together, you know. It makes the task a lot easier when—”
“I know what you’re trying to say, but don’t bother. I told you before, I shall not lower my standards.”
Lucy sensed there was no use arguing. “All right, but if ever you feel like joining us, please do.”
She left Cordelia and rejoined the others. Tall, raw-boned Hannah tossed a chip into her sack with extra zeal. “So what did Mrs. Stuck-up have to say?”
“She prefers to be by herself, that’s all.” Lucy would never dream of hurting her friends’ feelings by revealing the entire truth. One thing she knew for certain, though; she was done trying to convince Cordelia to come down off her high horse. If the woman made it to California still wrapped in her snooty shell, then fine. Somewhere along the way, Lucy suspected Mrs. Stuck-up would be in a situation where she needed friends. That would indeed be too bad, because she didn’t have any. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Cordelia had already suffered her worse disaster on the trail—losing her hoopskirt to the Indian.
Dressed in their sun bonnets, long skirts, and aprons, the women continued picking up chips, chatting comfortably amongst themselves. Roxana, looking extra pretty in a yellow sunbonnet and printed yellow dress, pointed to a spot much farther out on the prairie. “I see a bunch of them out there. Why don’t you quit now and go sit down? I’ll bring in enough for the fire.”
“I believe I’ll do just that.” Bessie, awkward and miserable in the advanced stage of her pregnancy, sighed with relief and looked after Roxana with pride in her eyes. “Ain’t she the best daughter?” She lowered her voice. “I’m not supposed to tell yet, but last night she told me Benjamin proposed. They want to get hitched real soon.”
Lucy joined the others in expressing her delight. “They make a darling couple and are obviously so much in love.”
“We’ll have a wedding by the campfire,” said Agnes, smiling for a change.
“My husband can perform the ceremony.” Inez turned to Martha. “Unless ... Your husband’s not ordained, is he?”
“No, although he was a deacon in the church. He was too busy farming, but I suspect when we reach California ...” From a distance there came a faint, muffled roar. “What’s that?”
They all froze, listening. Through her boots, Lucy felt the ground tremble.
Clint and Charlie appeared at the edge of the plain. “Run!” Clint called. “Drop the sacks and run!”
“Stampede!” Charlie shouted, “Get off the prairie, girls, them’s buffalo a’comin,’ headed straight toward you!”
Lucy dropped her sack, grabbed up her skirts and started to run. Then she stopped. All the other women raced ahead of her, but where was Bessie? And Roxana. She cast a quick look over her shoulder. Dear Lord! With clumsy strides, Bessie was running, but in the opposite direction, out to a distant spot in the prairie to meet Roxana, who was running full-out toward her.
Here came the advancing herd, now so close that Lucy’s ears were assailed by the thunderous sound of their hooves. With mounting horror, she judged the distances between the animals and Roxana, between Roxana and the edge of the prairie where safety lay. Her heart sank. No way in the world could Roxana reach safety in time. “Bessie, you’ve got to come back. You’ll never—”
“Bessie!” Clint called. All at once, Lucy had a sense of Clint sprinting past her, toward
the desperate mother. “Bessie, come back. You can’t reach her!”
Lucy watched, numb with horror. The huge dark cloud of buffalo was closing in. She saw Clint reach the pregnant woman and take her arm. For a moment, they argued, Bessie frantically pulling away. Clint grabbed her firmly. He began to guide her back to safety, but she still resisted. They were going too slow. They would never make it with Bessie dragging her heels.
Lucy shook herself out of her paralyzing fright and started to run toward Clint and Bessie, her boots fairly flying over the sand and dry sage.
Clint spied her. “Lucy, go back!”
She couldn’t spare the breath to reply. All she knew was she couldn’t leave her friend to die under a thousand pounding hooves. Strong as he was, Clint needed help. Not only was Bessie fighting him every step of the way, she was so heavy and awkward that she could hardly walk, let alone run.
When Lucy reached them, she grabbed Bessie’s other arm. “Run! You must run!”
“Let me go!” Bessie stretched her arm toward the spot far out on the plain where the small figure of Roxana stood, still as a statue, facing the buffalo. She must have known. She wasn’t trying to run anymore.
“Let me help my child!” Bessie’s anguished cry carried over the prairie.
“It’s too late.” Clint’s jaw was clenched with determination. “Quick, let’s move.” Between the two of them, they half-dragged, half-carried Bessie, kicking, screaming, sobbing, back across the plain. They reached safety just as the first red-eyed, frothing beast charged past. Bessie collapsed, and Lucy knelt to gather the woman in her arms, holding her while the herd of animals pounded by.
An eerie silence fell across the prairie after the last buffalo passed. Spectators stood helpless, not knowing what to say, what to do. Helped by Clint, both Lucy and Bessie staggered to their feet. Barely comprehending, they gazed in silence at the empty prairie where, only faintly seen, a splotch of yellow lay on the ground. Bessie sagged into Clint’s arms. “She’s gone, ain’t she? My little girl is gone.”
John Potts appeared, his face white with shock. “Let me have her.” He took his weeping wife’s arm and gently led her away.
Clint turned to Lucy. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but ...” she looked toward the prairie. Far out, she saw that small patch of yellow, all that was left of a beautiful young girl on the brink of life. She looked toward the sky. “It happened so fast. I can’t believe she’s gone. I ...” She choked back a sob.
Clint brought his hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes, feeling the rough comfort of his calloused palm against her skin. “You were very brave.”
When she opened her eyes, she caught his brown ones looking directly into hers. They were full of pain, and there again, deep inside, she caught the spark of that indefinable emotion she’d found before.
“Clint?” Charlie called, “we’d best get out there and find what’s left of that poor girl before the critters get her.”
“You’ll be all right.” Clint’s voice was strong and reassuring. Through her tears, she watched him follow Charlie onto the prairie.
Abner appeared at her shoulder, stony-faced as ever. “Come with me, Lucy.”
“Oh, Abner, have you heard? Poor Roxana—”
“I heard.” He gripped her arm. “Come along.”
She went with him gladly. The shock had left her weak and trembling. She felt sick to her stomach, too, and wanted very much to lie down.
Abner walked her to her wagon. She made a move to climb in, but he tightened his grip. “No, you come with me.” He ushered her past the wagon. They kept walking toward a small grove of trees.
Where were they going? Lucy began to feel alarmed and pulled back, but his grip tightened even more, his strong fingers digging into her flesh. “Abner, you’re hurting me.” Silence. Again, she pulled back.
“You’ll come with me, woman,” her brother-in-law commanded quietly, through clenched teeth. He yanked her forward so hard she tripped and nearly fell. It was then she realized he was angry, very angry. She couldn’t imagine why.
“All right, I’m coming. You needn’t be so rough.” Hadn’t she gone through enough today? Thoroughly perplexed, she offered no further resistance. They stopped when they reached the center of the grove of trees, a spot far enough from the wagons he could yell, if he wanted, and not be heard. He turned to face her.
She stood waiting, wondering why he was standing there, eyes ablaze, upper lip twitching, obviously so angry he could hardly speak. Finally he loosed his painful grip on her arm and let his hand drop. “Abner—?”
“Silence!”
“What have I done?”
“What have you done?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm and rage. “I’ll not allow you to disgrace the family.” Before she knew what was happening, his hand shot out and delivered a swift slap across her face.
Stunned, she brought her hand to her cheek, unable to speak. “You dare to hit me?” she finally asked in a horrified whisper.
“You deserve to be punished.” Again he drew his hand back, far back this time. She had easily endured the lightness of his first slap, but now she saw he intended to hit her with even more force. Oh, no he wouldn’t! She threw up both hands. “Abner Schneider, don’t you dare strike me again!”
He still held his hand at the ready, prepared to swing again.
‘You, you ...” She was so mad she choked on her words. She drew in a deep breath that filled her lungs. “You lay a hand on me, and I swear, I’ll scream at the top of my voice. Everyone will know. Is that what you want? For the whole world to know Abner Schneider hit a woman?”
Although Abner’s eyes still blazed, he lowered his hand and went into the scripture-quoting stance Jacob had imitated—the one she’d come to despise. “Nahum three, Verse five: ‘I will show the nations thy wickedness and the kingdoms thy shame.’ ”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I will not tolerate your wickedness.”
“What wickedness are you talking about? I was only helping rescue my friend, so what could possibly—?”
“I saw you with my own eyes. You made a spectacle of yourself, flaunting yourself before God when you ran out into that field in front of everyone.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Appearing not to hear, Abner raged on. “Then you consorted with that wicked blasphemer, Clint Palance. He touched your cheek. I saw him!”
“What if he did? I’m not your wife. Why should you care?” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Abner would be the last person who could give her a logical answer. She’d never suspected him of harboring lustful feelings toward her, and she didn’t now. Rather, his inflexible attitude stemmed from his rigid notions of right and wrong, leaving no room for tolerance. According to Abner, the world would be a better place if he were in charge of everyone’s morals. Dear God, what did the future hold? As if she didn’t have enough problems, she now must deal with a lunatic who wanted to dictate her behavior. “Abner.” She struggled to keep her composure. “I’m very tired. As you know, I recently lost my baby and haven’t completely recovered. I absolutely must go lie down. Have you anything more to say to me?”
He blasted, “Stay away from Clint Palance. If you don’t, Martha will take over Noah’s care, and I shall not allow you anywhere near the boy.”
Noah in the hands of Abner? A chill swept through her. She thought of those bruises that appeared from time to time on Martha’s face. Lord only knew what was hidden beneath her dress. She thought, too, of Abner’s cold treatment of the boy, of how he ordered Noah about, with never a laugh or smile. Oh, never. Noah must remain in her care. “All right, I’ll do as you say. Just don’t ever even think of hitting me again.”
“You’re my responsibility, under my command. I’ll do what I want with you, and you’d better obey.”
How outrageous! She felt her temper rising in response and wanted to set him straight. Increasingl
y she felt weak and dizzy. If she didn’t soon get to her bed and lie down, she’d collapse. She turned on her heel and left Abner standing in the middle of the grove. By the time she got back to the wagon, she felt sickeningly numb, as if her mind couldn’t cope any longer with the death of Roxana, Bessie’s grief, her own grief, and Abner’s unreasonable rage.
She’d hoped she could slip quietly into her wagon, but Henry, their shy, sandy-haired hired hand stood feeding the oxen close by. “Benjamin’s down by the river. It’s just awful, the way he’s been crying over Roxana. They were going to get hitched, you know.” His own eyes were red.
“Oh, dear. I shall go to him shortly.”
The young man took a closer look at her. “Mrs. Schneider, are you all right? You look ... your face is so white, like you’re going to faint or something.”
“I’m just upset over Roxana’s death. Such a terrible thing. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”
The horrible truth struck her. Clint’s words came back to her: “Haven’t you found out yet there are no secrets in a wagon train?”
Had she and Abner really been alone in the woods? She doubted they had. A sick feeling swept over her. Soon everybody would know the captain of the wagon train called her wicked and slapped her. Worse, she’d have no way to defend herself because all the gossip would take place behind her back. No one would dare say a word to her face, but everyone would know, just the same.
Chapter 9
Next morning, Lucy gathered with the rest of the somber members of the Schneider party around the hastily dug grave of Roxana Potts. Earlier, when she awoke and looked in her mirror, she cringed at the sight of her drawn, pale face. She really did look bad and could only hope everyone would attribute her wan appearance to her grief over Roxana. At least Abner’s slap hadn’t left a mark. He’d offered no apologies, nor had she expected him to. This morning he acted as if yesterday’s terrible scene never happened.
Heartbreak Trail Page 11
