Throughout the afternoon, Bessie’s labor progressed “nicely,” according to Inez. At first, those outside could hear only muted groans coming from the wagon closest to the creek. The groans soon gave way to a series of piercing screams, causing several of the men, including John Potts, to declare they had a sudden need to go hunting, while others discovered some distant task well out of earshot. Many of the women stood in small, anxious groups around the campground while Lucy, Hannah, and Agnes took turns sitting by Bessie’s bedside in the cramped, stuffy wagon. There wasn’t much they could do other than offer words of comfort, hold Bessie’s hand, and lay cool cloths on her forehead.
“Oh, Lord, I’m so tired already,” Bessie gasped as the afternoon waned. Hair matted, face glistening with sweat, she gazed at Inez with desperation in her eyes. “I’ve never hurt as bad as this. Am I going to be all right?”
Inez had just finished an examination. She raised her head. “You’re dilating just fine.” She dug into her satchel and pulled out a small bottle. “I’m going to give you a few drops of tincture of valerian. It’ll relax you, as well as ease the pain.”
“Oh, it’s vile!” Bessie cried out after swallowing a spoonful of the valerian.
“All in a good cause, dear.”
The terrible pains continued. Lucy couldn’t see that the valerian helped at all. The sun went down. Despite Inez’s prediction, no baby appeared. During the next few hours, Bessie went through pain so agonizing she writhed on her bed screaming. Sometimes after a contraction, weak and panting, she’d apologize. “I’m just such a pest. Really, Lucy, you must be tired. You don’t have to stay.”
Each time, Lucy would firmly state she wasn’t leaving. Her ears might be ringing from Bessie’s screams, she might be feeling faint from the stifling heat in the wagon, but as long as her friend needed her, she’d continue to take her turn along with Hannah and Agnes. Despite Inez’s optimistic attitude, she grew more concerned about Bessie, suffering so much, yet getting nowhere. Once, when Bessie dozed off, Lucy asked, “Is everything really all right?”
The midwife returned a bright smile. “Right as rain.”
“The sun’s gone down, and the baby’s not here.”
“It soon will be. After all, it’s not a breech birth. I just wish ...” the slightest of frowns crossed her face “... she should have dilated more by now, but instead she appears to be slowing down.”
Lucy exchanged worried glances with Hannah, who sat across, just as Bessie woke up to a contraction and started to scream again. As they’d done already countless times, Lucy grabbed one hand, Hannah the other. “Push, Bessie,” commanded Inez. “Hang on to their hands. Push as hard as you can.”
Bessie pushed, but once again the baby didn’t move. The hours went by with Inez preparing various concoctions: lobelia and flaxseed, motherwort and green tea, both of which, Bessie declared, were equally nauseating and foul. She kept pushing, enduring the pain, but without results.
“Why ain’t the baby coming down?” Hannah asked Inez after a useless contraction left Bessie pale, weak, and weeping. “Looks to me like my sister ain’t doing so well. Can’t you do something?”
With great self-assurance, Inez reached into her tapestry valise yet again. “It’s time for blue cohosh. It’ll ease her pains as well as speed up her labor.”
The herb called blue cohosh had no effect. Around midnight, the contractions stopped. “My pain’s gone, thank the Lord.” Bessie was so exhausted she couldn’t lift her head from the pillow.
“Rest for a while.” Inez nodded to Lucy and Hannah. “We’ll slip out while she sleeps.”
In the late hour, no campfires remained to cut the darkness. Nearly everyone had gone to bed. Only John Potts and Clint Palance stood in the little circle of lantern light in front of the wagon. Earlier, John had gone hunting in high spirits, expecting to greet his new baby upon his return. Now he frowned with concern. “She’s not screaming anymore. Is that a good sign?”
“Nothing to worry about. For some reason, her labor has slowed.”
Not slowed, stopped. That couldn’t be good. “What do we do next?”
“We’re going to make her walk.”
Lucy stifled a gasp. “How can she walk when she’s so tired she can hardly move?”
“She must walk.”
Hannah asked, “Isn’t there something else you can do?”
“It’s the only way. A little walking should start things up again.”
Clint stepped forward. “John and I will help her down.”
Soon Lucy had to press her hand over her mouth. It was just so painful watching the two men, carefully as they could, ease poor Bessie from the wagon. She was so weak she couldn’t help at all and pretty much resembled a rag doll, her legs buckling when she reached the ground. She would have fallen had not the men held her up. Tears rolled down her strained, pale face. “I just don’t know if I can do this.”
“You will do it,” Inez commanded. “Lucy, you take one side, Hannah the other, and you, Bessie, are going to walk.”
They started out, Bessie’s arms around Lucy’s and Hannah’s shoulders, Inez leading the way, holding up a lantern. At first, Bessie dragged her steps. “I can’t do it.” They walked down to the creek, then around the campground until finally Bessie could almost walk on her own. At last she gave a little cry. “The pain’s come back. I think I’m in labor again. How will I ever climb back up in the wagon?”
She didn’t have to. While they walked, John and Clint had hastily erected a tent by the wagon and stacked the mattresses inside. Bessie’s eyes lit up when she saw the new arrangement. “Thank you! Now just let me lie down and get this over with.”
Lucy waited outside, all alone while Inez helped Bessie settle in. In the lantern light, she saw Clint approach. “Are you doing all right?”
“You should get some sleep,” she replied. “No sense all of us staying up all night.”
He gave her his funny, crooked grin. “The same might be said of you.”
“I’m fine. It’s Bessie I’m worried about.” What was it about Clint Palance that made her want to reveal her innermost secrets?
“Each woman is different. Try not to worry. It’s not good for you.” Quickly he walked away.
She stared after him into the darkness, grateful for his words. Somehow he knew how concerned she must be, seeing Bessie’s suffering, knowing the same could happen to Martha. Where was Abner? As Captain, he should have been here helping when they lifted Bessie from the wagon. He certainly should have helped Clint and John erect the tent. Instead, he lay safe in his own tent sound asleep, not caring one whit what happened to Bessie, Martha, or anyone else for that matter.
Bessie’s labor was short-lived. When the contractions stopped again, Inez announced stronger measures were necessary. “We’ll do a milk and honey enema. Agnes, I trust you have some milk from your cow? Get it and I’ll heat it up and add a slug of honey.”
Bessie, back to exhaustion again after her latest contractions, could offer only a feeble protest. “I just hate enemas.”
“Well, you must have one. It’s sure to work.”
The enema didn’t help at all, only made Bessie more miserable than ever. By now, they’d reached the wee small hours of the morning. Bessie had suffered for hours, and still the baby wasn’t close to being born.
“What next?” asked Lucy. Exhausted, Agnes had gone to bed. Lucy and Hannah, both bleary eyed, remained on either side of Bessie.
Inez reached into her satchel again. “I hate to do this, but it’s the only way.” She pulled out a quill and a bottle with something red inside.
“What is that?” asked Hannah.
“Cayenne pepper. I’ll do what is called ‘quilling.’ ”
Hannah wrinkled her nose. “That sounds awful.”
“It is awful,” Inez admitted. “What happens is, I dip one end of the quill into the cayenne pepper. Then I stick the other end up Bessie’s nostril and blow. The pepper will cause
her to sneeze so violently the baby will descend.” She nodded with confidence. “It’s most effective.”
Lucy asked, “But won’t that be just terrible for her, shoving pepper up her nose?”
“Yes, but Bessie’s labor has lasted much too long, and I don’t know what else to try.” Inez’s mask of unconcern slipped a little. “We must get the baby out.”
Dear Lord, please don’t ever do this to Martha, or me, either! What could be more excruciating than having red hot pepper shoved up your nose? Bessie screamed from the pain. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she sneezed and sneezed, just what Inez wanted, but horrible, nonetheless.
The cayenne had its effect. Soon Bessie was pushing again, this time with success. With the help of Inez, the baby finally slid out. A girl! Before Lucy could express her delight, she noticed how the umbilical cord was tangled around the baby’s neck, how the baby was still, her tiny face blue.
Inez grabbed for the scissors and swiftly cut the cord. For the next few minutes an air of desperation pervaded her every move. She hung the baby by its heels, slapped its bottom, breathed into its mouth. Nothing helped. Despite her frantic efforts, the baby never breathed, never lost its blue color.
“The baby was stillborn,” Inez finally declared in a voice leaden with defeat. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucy wasn’t sure if Bessie even heard. She lay so drawn and still, almost as if she were in a coma.
Inez laid the baby aside and examined Bessie. “She hasn’t yet expelled the afterbirth.” She massaged Bessie’s stomach until a gush of blood stained the sheet. At first it seemed normal, but it wouldn’t stop. “She’s hemorrhaging.” Inez grabbed towels from her valise and stuffed them between Bessie’s legs. “Quick, get me towels, rags, anything.”
With frantic haste, Lucy ripped a sheet into pieces. Hannah rushed from the tent and came back with towels. Inez used everything she had, but the flow of blood wouldn’t stop or even slow down. After agonizing minutes, Hannah begged, “Can’t you do something?”
“We’re losing her.” Inez’s voice broke miserably. “We’d best get her husband in here. Lucy, Hannah, say your goodbyes.”
Chapter 11
Bessie’s dead.
Lucy stumbled from the tent. Looking around in a daze, she thought she’d entered another world. The morning sun streamed down through puffy white clouds. The nearby brook gurgled softly. Birds chirped their early morning songs, as if nothing were wrong. She blinked her eyes in numb disbelief. How could this be the start of a beautiful day when her dear friend had just died?
Clint stood outside. Had he been there all night? “She’s gone?”
“She’s gone, and the baby, too.” She took a step forward and stumbled.
Clint caught her arm. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She tried to keep her raging emotions to herself. “It’s so unfair! Why did Bessie have to suffer like that? She never wanted to go on this journey in the first place. She was such a good person. Oh, Clint, you can’t believe what she went through. All that pain, Inez’s horrible concoctions, the enema, red pepper up her nose, while all the time ...” a sob welled up inside her “... nothing helped. She went through all that misery for nothing and died anyway. I want to scream, tear my hair out. I want—”
“Hush!” Clint pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t think of it now. You’ve been up all night. You need to sleep awhile.”
They were standing behind the Potts’ wagon so no one could see. Right now she didn’t care if they did. She rested her weary head on his broad shoulder. She didn’t know how long they stood that way. All she knew was that his sheltering arms, the warmth and comfort of his voice, soon made her pulse slow, brought her back from the edge of hysteria. She could stay forever in his embrace, if only the world wouldn’t intrude. It would. This precious, private moment couldn’t last. She forced herself to break from his arms and step back. “It was very kind of you, staying with us all night.”
“She was a good woman.” She heard the genuine grief in his voice. “One of the rare ones. Kind, unselfish, not a mean bone in her body. I’m going to miss her.”
“It hasn’t sunk in yet that she’s gone.” She gazed at him in despair. “When it does, how can I face not seeing her again? How can I ever not be haunted by the horrible way she died? How can—?”
“You can’t.” Clint caught her hand in his. “You’ll carry on because you must. I do.” He was staring off into nothingness. “I knew a man once, name of Jeremiah Todd. He was a trapper like me, crude as they come, barely civil, couldn’t even read, but we were good friends. One day we were out hunting when a grizzly came at me from out of nowhere. Had me on the ground, about to rip me apart, when Jeremiah started whooping and hollering. Then he shot off his gun. The grizzly got off me and went for Jeremiah instead. I watched helpless while that bear ripped my friend apart. There was nothing I could do.” He ran his finger along the jagged scar that scored his cheek. “Every time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how Jeremiah gave his life to save mine. Then I wonder, why him, not me? It’s something I live with, a memory that’ll never go away. I’ve managed to go on because I have to.” He smiled gently. “You’ll never forget Bessie, but you’re strong. You won’t let her death drag you down.”
His voice bolstered her confidence. Everything about him gave her strength. She’d be all right now. She drew a deep breath. “Thank you for that. If I were to guess, you don’t share that memory very often.”
He smiled. “Never.”
“Well, you’re right. I’ll survive.” She smoothed back her hair and lifted her chin. “It’s time for me to go. Good night, or should I say good morning?”
I’ll walk you.”
“It won’t be necessary. I’d best get back. They’ll be wondering where I am.”
She needn’t have worried. When she reached her wagon, Abner’s loud snores from the wagon next door told her he hadn’t waited up. Climbing into her own wagon, she tried to be as quiet as she could, but her foot slipped, causing a considerable noise. Before she could try again, Abner poked his head out. “Why are you so late?” His voice was hoarse from sleep.
She closed her eyes. “Bessie’s dead.”
“The baby?”
“Stillborn. It was a girl.”
“Too bad.” His voice held no vestige of sympathy.
Martha stuck her head out. “Oh, Lucy, that’s terrible about Bessie.”
“You may as well stay up,” Abner told his wife. “Time to fix breakfast. Lucy, you can help.”
Was the man totally devoid of sympathy and compassion? “Abner, I’ve been up all night. Right now I’m very tired. I’ve got to sleep awhile.”
A long pause. “All right, sleep an hour if you must. We’ll be getting off to a late start anyway, what with another funeral and having to dig more graves. Or maybe just one if we’re lucky. I hope John wants them buried together.”
For days, Lucy was haunted by the memory of that agonizing moment when the wagon train moved on, leaving Bessie and her baby’s lonely grave by the wayside, lost forever in the wilderness, never to be visited again.
Only two days after Bessie’s death, they left another grave beside the trail. One of the Applegates’ young hired hands accidentally shot himself and died an agonizing death, leaving Charlie Dawes livid with rage. “Didn’t the boy see all them grave markers with ‘Shot himself accidentally’ written on them? Didn’t he know enough to take the cap out before he stowed his gun in the wagon? Dang it, these people never learn.”
“Don’t forget that they’re amateurs,” said Clint. “They don’t know how to handle guns. They’ve never been in the wilderness before. All the stress of the journey makes them tired, and that makes them careless. That’s why we have so many accidents.”
Lucy could only nod in agreement when she heard Charlie say, “I still call it sheer, pigheaded stupidity!”
They would soon reach the Rockies but first had to dea
l with the broken terrain of the foothills, far different from the smooth, flat trek along the Platte. The lush grass gave way to sage and greasewood. The streams grew bitter and brackish. Only a few creeks provided enough good water. They had left the land of the buffalo, and that meant no more buffalo chips. Wood and grass for the animals became more difficult to find. Sometimes the trail became so indistinct that often, in the early morning, Lucy saw Clint and Charlie riding out to stake the way.
“It’s good we’re kept so busy,” Hannah remarked to Lucy one day. “God’s being generous giving us all these adversities. It don’t leave much time for grieving over Bessie.”
Lucy nodded grimly. “That’s one way of looking at it.” In one respect, Hannah was right. Simply surviving each day took all her strength and attention. To her surprise, even Cordelia seemed affected by Bessie’s death. “I know what good friends you were,” she told Lucy one evening when they were out searching for wood. “She had such a lovely smile.”
Lucy thanked her nicely. She hadn’t forgotten how Cordelia had looked down her nose at Bessie and Hannah, but now she hadn’t the time or energy to waste on resentment. Besides, of late, the snooty Southern lady had become a bit more human. Earlier that day she’d actually joined Lucy and others as they toiled to push the wagons up a particularly steep and rocky trail. On the other side, she’d helped hang onto the ropes, straining along with the rest, using all her might to ease the wagons down again.
If Cordelia had become slightly more human, the tough journey west had prompted even more drastic changes in both her husband and son. Thanks to Clint, who’d taught Chad how to ride, the spoiled, chubby boy who had started the journey was now “lean as a whip,” according to Charlie. “Chadwick doesn’t mouth off anymore, either. He tries to imitate Clint, and you know Clint, he don’t say a word more than he has to.”
Nathaniel Benton no longer talked about manifest destiny. No longer the pasty-faced, dreamy-eyed scholar, he now wore the rough twill pants and plain cotton shirts the rest of the men wore. Well-liked, he performed his share of the work and had become a valued member of the council.
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