Heartbreak Trail

by Shirley Kennedy

  Now, standing by Roxana’s grave, she forgot her own troubles and listened while Reverend Helmick gave a eulogy, followed by Abner reading from the Bible. When he came to “Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return,” she couldn’t hold back her tears. Hard to believe only yesterday Roxana had been a vivacious young girl, her whole life ahead of her. Now she was gone forever, doomed to lie in a forsaken grave by the side of the trail.

  There had been no wood available for a coffin, so they’d wrapped Roxana’s remains in a blanket before placing her in the ground. When Abner shut his Bible and stepped back, Bessie said in a choked whisper, “Not even a coffin for my little one.”

  John Potts, subdued and quiet, wiped his tears away. “My God, I hate to leave her here.”

  “We must move on,” Abner said.

  “ I can’t just leave her,” Bessie cried. “She’ll be all alone, and I’ll be so far away.” She sank to the ground and laid her head close to the board placed at the head of grave. Its inscription read, “Roxana Potts, born April 14, 1835, Died June 22, 1851.” “I can’t bear to think of her here, all alone. What if the wolves get her? Or the Indians? Or—?”

  Charlie stepped forward, his hat in hand. “We buried her as deep as we could.”

  Bessie bowed her head in resignation. “I know.” She gazed up at her grieving friends. “I’m sorry for being such a pest. It’s just so hard, leaving your dear child alone in the wilderness, knowing you won’t even be able to bring flowers to her grave.”

  John Potts turned to Abner. “We need to stay another day. Bessie will be better by then. Only a day.”

  “We cannot wait.”

  Lucy’s heart sank. She could tell from Abner’s stern, unbending expression he’d never soften.

  “Every moment counts,” Abner continued. “You’ve heard of those unfortunate wagon trains caught in deep snow in the mountains? Horror stories abound.”

  Bessie rose to her feet. “Please, Captain.”

  “Sorry.” Abner addressed the assemblage. “We leave in an hour. Come, Martha, Lucy.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment.” Lucy turned to her weeping friend. “I know it’s hard, and I’m so sorry.”

  Bessie stood with her head bowed and, for a time, remained in an attitude of frozen stillness. When she looked up, her eyes were dry. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be ready. I don’t know how I can bear it, but I will.” She lifted her head. “We must endure like good soldiers. My mother taught me that.”

  Lucy’s heart wrenched with grief, not only for Roxana but for brave Bessie, laden with sorrow but willing to carry on.

  Before they left, Lucy went to Bessie’s wagon. Hannah, her plain face pale and strained, stood outside as if on guard. “She’s asleep. Best leave her be. Oh, what are we going to do without Roxana? How could God let her die in that terrible way? I wish we’d never came on this horrible journey.”

  Lucy could only nod over the lump in her throat. Of the two sisters, Hannah was the strong one, yet even she showed signs of breaking over the death of her pretty young niece.

  Hannah went on, “I’m not blessed with children of my own, so I guess I can’t exactly feel Bessie’s grief, but ...” Her eyes moistened. “I loved that girl.”

  “We all did. Poor Benjamin couldn’t even come to her burial ...” Lucy proceeded to tell Hannah about the young man’s grief, how she’d heard him sobbing during the night.

  Hannah listened intently. At one point she seemed to see Lucy’s face for the first time and gave an almost imperceptible start. When Lucy finished, she said, “You look bad. Your face is all strained and white.”

  “Well, Roxana’s death—”

  “Abner done that.”

  Lucy put her hand to her face. “There’s a mark?”

  “No, there’s no mark, but we all know what happened just the same.” Hannah’s face twisted into an angry scowl. “That no-good bastard! There’s some as don’t like the captain. There were some who didn’t like Jacob, either, but at least he wasn’t quite so self-righteous and smiled once in a while. Abner not letting Bessie stay an extra day didn’t set well with a lot of us.” Compassion filled her eyes. “I guess you know we all heard how he yelled at you and slapped you, and, bless your heart, you didn’t let him give you anymore sass and stood right up to him.”

  She could almost laugh. “Is nothing sacred?”

  “Not around here it ain’t.”

  “Please, don’t say anything more.”

  “You think I don’t know you have your pride? Don’t worry. I’ve had my say.”

  Lucy raised her chin. “It won’t happen again. I informed Abner in no uncertain terms that I—”

  Hannah’s scornful laughter cut her off. “You think he’ll listen to you? These men! Well, you’re not the only one.”

  “Has your husband ever—?”

  “Elija? He’d better not, the little runt.”

  Lucy couldn’t suppress a quick smile. Hannah was a big woman, taller and heavier than her husband. Come to think of it, Hannah could probably knock the poor little man flat if she had a mind to. She wished she could do the same with Abner.

  Hannah patted her shoulder. “You’ll be all right. You’re strong, and you’re smart enough to know how not to rile him again.”

  Lucy nodded silently.

  “I know he’s got a hold on you. It’s Noah, ain’t it?”

  She could only nod again. How very perceptive of Hannah. “It’s Noah and a lot of things. I feel so trapped. Out here in the middle of nowhere there’s no place to run. I couldn’t leave now, even if I wanted to.”

  “You’re right, you can’t leave.” Hannah’s voice was practical. “My best advice to you is, stay with Abner for now. You’d best be very, very careful. You know what I mean.” Hannah cast a knowing look, as if she knew every shameful secret Lucy harbored in her head concerning Clint Palance. “Meanwhile—” the animation left her face “—say a prayer for Bessie, will you? I worry about her.”

  “Of course. I know how she loved Roxana.”

  “It ain’t only that. My sister’s having problems this time. We used to joke about how the seventh would just pop out, but lately I’m not thinking so.”

  “I’ve noticed her feet and legs are swollen. Is there anything else?”

  “She’s having sharp pains. Not labor pains, just the kind of pain she shouldn’t be having.”

  Not Bessie. Lucy’s heart sank at the thought her dear friend might be in trouble. “We can only hope for the best, out here in this God-forsaken wilderness.”

  Hannah sadly shook her head. “Sometimes I think God truly has forsaken us.”

  “Bessie said it best. ‘We must endure like good soldiers.’”

  “Yes, our mother used to say that. ‘Like good soldiers.’ ”

  Mere words ceased to be adequate. Lucy and Hannah embraced and stood silently for a time, each drawing strength from the other. When they finally drew apart, Lucy had a wistful smile. “I am such a long way from Boston.”

  “I’m sure as heck a long way from Possum Creek, Tennessee.”

  Together they shared a moment of laughter, a small consolation on such a dark day.

  For days, mile after mile, the bare plain stretched before them. Here and there the Platte River, their constant companion, divided into thread-like sluices wending through the open prairie and through the occasional clumps of woods that relieved the monotony.

  Not nearly enough clumps of woods. These were days when not one single tree, bush, or hill broke the horizon. Only endless miles of flatland that stretched on forever. As a result, the lack of shelter made life a daily agony of embarrassment for the women. Their long, full skirts supplied the only privacy for “nature’s call.” The best arrangement was for at least two or three women to stand together and hold their skirts out, but even one woman extending her skirt was far better than nothing.

  “I allow, I’m getting mighty tired of hunkering down in the middle of the prairie,” Bessi
e complained to Lucy and Hannah one day while they stood patiently, their skirts fanned out.

  Hannah retorted, “It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to go every fifteen minutes.”

  “Just wait ’til you get pregnant, my fine sister!”

  Lucy could surely commiserate with Bessie, as well as her shy sister-in-law. As the weeks went by, Martha’s pregnancy had caused more frequent treks to the bushes. At first she’d suffered agonies of embarrassment. Now, with no bushes at all, she’d grown accustomed to relying heavily on her women friends. Not one woman complained, though. The spirit of camaraderie and helpfulness never ran stronger than it did when each provided the other her privacy.

  The lack of any kind of plant life forced even Cordelia to make use of the curtain of skirts. She hadn’t changed, though, and acted as if every minute she spent with those-of-a-lesser-standing was a great sacrifice she must endure. By now her popularity had dipped even further. Bessie said it best. “If I didn’t have such a kind heart, I’d drop my skirt at just the right moment and let the men get an eyeful of Mrs. Stuck-up squatting just like the rest of us.”

  Not a day went by that Lucy didn’t see at least one grave dug by the side of the trail. Not surprisingly, Agnes kept a record of each and every grave site in her journal. “The road that runs beside the Platte River is like a graveyard,” she wrote in her usual glum style. She wasn’t far from wrong. They had yet to reach halfway to their destination, but already she had listed over eighty graves. She also took note of the cause of death, included on many of the inscriptions carved into rough boards that marked the graves. “Died of cholera,” was common, or “Died of typhoid ... died of measles.” Every day, Lucy gave thanks that so far no one in the party had been stricken with one of these deadly diseases. Still, there were always the accidents to worry about. She was keenly aware of the ever-growing list of tragedies in Agnes’ journal: “Died of a rattlesnake bite ... died from drinking poisonous water ... died when he accidentally shot himself ... drowned in the river ... killed by a grizzly.”

  One cause of death was never noted. “Died in childbirth” was much too delicate a subject to identify, but when an inscription listed the names and birth dates of a woman and baby who died the same day, the cause became obvious. Lucy did her best to divert Martha’s attention from such grave markers. Each time she saw one, Martha became visibly shaken. “What if me and my baby were the ones buried under the little mound of dirt, with only a rough board for a marker? How awful to lie in a cold, dark hole for all eternity with never a loved one to come and leave a flower, shed a tear, or say a prayer.”

  Lucy could only attempt to assure her sister-in-law she’d never suffer such a fate. She knew she didn’t sound too convincing. After all, she’d lost her own baby, and she wasn’t nearly as tiny and frail as Martha. She tried her best to appear confident. Worry was a useless emotion, and besides, she was far too busy to indulge herself. Simply surviving each day on the trail took all her energy.

  As the days went by, and the Schneider wagon train rolled on, the shock of Roxana’s death faded, along with the memory of the horrible scene with Abner. Lucy felt better. Her color returned. She continued caring for Noah as before. As for Abner, he never mentioned the slapping incident and acted as if nothing had changed between them.

  Now she was beginning to look ahead and wonder what would happen when they reached California. Would she have no other choice but to remain with Abner and Martha? Her mind rebelled at such a thought, but the dilemma remained. She would not spend the rest of her life with a man she’d come to detest, but on the other hand, how could she face losing Noah? Somehow, some way, she’d solve her dilemma, but at the moment, she could find no easy answer.

  To her constant frustration, because of Abner, she strove to steer clear of Clint. The irony hadn’t escaped her. She wasn’t a married woman anymore, yet because of her brother-in-law’s self righteous wrath, she didn’t dare go anywhere near Clint. That didn’t prevent her from constantly thinking about him. In those moments when she looked into what seemed a dismal future, all she had to do was think of Clint Palance, and her spirits lifted. She pictured him riding Paint, so easy in the saddle, so confident, so honorable and trustworthy, so handsome, too, despite the scar. She thought of the times they talked, when he looked down at her with that glint of humor in his eye. His eyes told her a lot more, too. They said he wanted her. It was so very plain. How unfair life was, never to know the feel of Clint’s arms. Now, because of Abner, she must avoid him. She blamed herself for being stupid enough to marry Jacob in the first place, especially when both her father and sister had warned her not to.

  If she hadn’t married Jacob, she never would’ve been on this wagon train, and if she hadn’t come on this wagon train she never would’ve gotten to know Clint Palance.

  Sometimes in the dark of night, when she was unable to sleep, she’d imagine it was Clint, her tender lover, who lay beside her, that she was thrilling to his touch, just like Sarah said, carried away on the wings of love. She wasn’t sure what that meant. She hadn’t learned from Jacob, but she had the feeling Clint could teach her.

  She knew her secret thoughts were utterly foolish, yet she felt not one twinge of guilt. After a grueling day on the trail, her fantasies of Clint Palance gave her most of the happy moments she could find amidst the toil and heartbreak of her harsh new world.

  On a day when heavy showers prevented the wagons from moving, Lucy stayed inside her tent, doing her best to keep Noah and his little friend Jamie entertained. In the late afternoon, she took the boys to the Helmick wagon, then went for a walk to get much-needed fresh air. The rain had stopped for the moment, replaced by a muggy stillness that hung like an oppressive mantle over the camp. There wasn’t one person in sight. Everyone must be hunkered down in their tents and wagons, which was most unusual, but how very nice. Privacy was a rare luxury these days, so she welcomed the idea she could actually go for a walk and be all by herself. She strolled out of the camp, through a grove of trees to the river, swollen from all the rain. Finding a log that extended into the water, she sat down, stripped off her boots and stockings, and dabbled her feet, enjoying the feel of cool water running across her toes. For a while, she took in the glorious view across the river, where a herd of deer had ambled down to the edge for their evening drink.

  Finally, in the gathering darkness, she stepped to the shore. When she bent to retrieve her stockings, she felt a burst of sharp pain in the sole of her right foot. “Oh, oh, oh!” she cried and began hopping about. Something had bit her, or stung her, she wasn’t sure which. She looked down in time to see a horrible looking creature scurrying under the log. It had crab-like front claws and a long body with a high arched tail that curved around. She had never seen anything like it.

  Tears welling in her eyes as she stood on one foot waiting for the excruciating pain to subside, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out again. At last, when the pain had lessened slightly, she knew she needed help. What should she do? Stay and wait? Surely, sooner or later, someone would come along. What if she didn’t have that much time? What if the creature was poisonous? She could be dead in an hour if she didn’t get help right away.

  She had to get back to the campsite. Had to get to Inez Helmick. With all those herbs and potions, surely she’d know what to do. Wincing with pain, she picked up her boots and stockings and began hobbling back, stepping on her left foot, gingerly balancing herself with the heel of her right.

  When she reached the campsite, she found only one person in sight—Clint, standing by his wagon. He saw her at once, painfully limping along, and immediately went to her side. “What happened?”

  “Oh, Clint!” She was so relieved to see him. “I stepped on this ... this awful thing, and it bit me. It hurts! What if it’s poisonous? Do I need to see Inez?”

  “What did it look like?” When she described it, he looked relieved. “You got stung by a scorpion. There are a lot of them around these parts.
Let’s have a look.” He swept her in his arms, carried her to his wagon, and set her down on the yoke. “Hold out your foot.”

  Grimacing, she extended her foot. “It feels like I got stuck with a red hot needle. Is it poisonous?”

  Clint bent over, clasped her foot gently, and raised it enough so he could see the bottom. “A little, but you’ll survive.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “It should feel better in a few minutes. It’s slightly swollen but shouldn’t get any worse. A cold compress helps. I’ll get one.”

  Clint disappeared inside his wagon. Just as he returned, the heavens opened and a deluge of rain began to fall. “Quick,” let’s get you inside.”

  Despite the rain, and the dreadful burning pain in her foot, she took a cautious look around the campsite. Still not a soul in sight. She couldn’t even feel the prying eyes of Agnes upon her.

  Clint regarded her with a mocking gleam in his eye. “Still worried about what people might say?”

  Why had she been thinking such nonsense? “Absolutely not. Help me inside.”

  He helped her into his wagon and had her sit on a bed that wasn’t much more than a mattress on the wagon floor. “A sting from a scorpion is pretty much like a bee sting. Hurts like hell, but you’re not going to die.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She was inwardly relieved. She watched Clint dip a cloth in cold water, then carefully wrap it around her foot. Instantly the burning eased. “That feels better. I’d wager this isn’t your first scorpion sting.”

  “Scorpions ... spiders ... snakes ... you learn a lot when you live in the wilderness.” He finished applying the compress, sat back on his haunches, and regarded her with concern. “Is that better?”