Daliah

by Danni Roan

  “In His way, yes.”

  “How?”

  Daliah lifted her head looking at the wagon on her right. “One example is when I had nowhere to go and no one to look after me. I asked God to show me which way to go and then the Hamptons invited me to join them. That was one answer.”

  “I don’t think Pa talks to God,” Chad admitted. “He’s quiet like, most days.”

  “I’m sure he’s busy keeping us all safe as we travel,” Daliah said.

  “He had fun last night though,” Chad said. “I think he enjoyed dancing. I liked your dumplin’s best, is what I liked.”

  Daliah laughed looking down at the boy with affection. The scamp was as likely to be found dozing in someone’s wagon as throwing stones at a jack rabbit on any given day. He could find trouble in a heartbeat, but she felt a kinship to him just the same.

  “Maybe I’ll make some more dumplings when we get closer to our new home,” Daliah offered. “We’ll celebrate.”

  “Can I go play with Trey?” Chad asked, suddenly looking along the line of wagons toward the boy he admired so.

  “Why don’t I take you up there myself,” Daliah said. “I’ll see if Trey is feeling better today.”

  “Okay,” Chad replied skipping on ahead as Daliah lifted her skirts hurrying to keep up.

  They found Trey driving his mother’s team of oxen with a short prod and an easy way. The young man had taken on a great deal of responsibility as the man of the family as they traveled toward where his father was getting ready to set up a store.

  “Hi Trey,” Chad called stepping up to the older boy. “What ya doing?”

  Trey smiled. “The same thing I’ve been doing for nearly two months,” the young man said. “Driving the team, course I’m also trying not to itch under my arm at the same time,” he added, grinning at Daliah.

  “Sounds like that burn is healing then,” the young woman said. “I’m glad. Is there any trouble moving it?”

  “Nah,” Trey replied. shifting his prod and rotating his arm in every direction he could think of.

  “Oh Daliah,” Mrs. Script hurried around the back of the wagon. “Trey’s doing just fine,” she said relief evident in her eyes. “Mr. Gaines said we might make it to our stopping point in three weeks if the weather holds, and we don’t have any more troubles,” she continued a cheery tone in her voice.

  “You’re meeting your husband in the no-name town we’re headed to aren’t you?” Daliah asked.

  “I am,” Mrs. Script said a bright smile covering her face. “William took a job on a steam boat delivering supplies to folks along the river, and when he saw the place, he decided to stop and find us a new start.”

  “I’m looking for the same thing,” Daliah said falling into step with Mrs. Script as they followed the wagon smiling as Trey helped Chad into the wagon to rest his legs.

  “Do you know what to expect in our new home?” Daliah asked. She couldn’t help but worry about how she and the Hamptons would be making a living. Perhaps she could cook in the camp for single men, or take a job washing on a ranch.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Trey asked as the heavy oxen lumbered along the trail.

  The sound of horses thundering along the trail startled all of them as Mr. Gaines and Ben raced toward them shouting.

  “Fire! Fire!” Spencer called his heart pounding in his chest. He had spotted the prairie fire racing their way as he’d been out scouting the trail. It was still a few miles away but with the wind sweeping this way it would be here soon.

  Daliah looked up fear closing her throat as she reached for Chad pulling him roughly from the wagon seat.

  “We have to get to the Hamptons,” she shouted as Trey blinked. “You too,” she added grabbing Mrs. Script. “Trey, turn the oxen loose and run for the Hamptons wagon!”

  “Give me Chad,” Spencer yelled sliding to a stop in a shower of twigs and dust.

  “Turn the Oxen loose!” his voice raised to be heard along the line, they’ll have to run. Get into the horse-drawn wagons!” his voice cracked.

  People scrabbled, fear making their motions jolting as panicked tears began to fall.

  Daliah raced to the Hamptons pushing Mrs. Script into the wagon as Trey climbed into the seat next to Olive.

  “Wild fire!” she yelled pointing toward Mr. Gaines’ lathered horse. “Follow him and grab anyone you can along the way!”

  Mr. Hampton clutched the lines in his hands turning the horses toward Mr. Gaines who was directing the over full wagons pulled by four hitch horse teams as smoke reached the edge of the prairie within view.

  “Hold on,” the old man shouted lashing the reins across the horses’ rumps, and heading away from the blaze.

  Daliah wrapped her arms around Mrs. Script as the wagon lurched into a jostling run bouncing and jumping over uneven ground as it raced to safety.

  Behind her through the canvas cover of the wagon she could see other teams charging behind, the lesser horses racing at top speed as their drivers and fear drove them forward. Around them, heavy oxen free from their cumbersome burdens, bawled, wild eyed as they charged away from danger in the wake of the wagons.

  “My wagon,” Mrs. Script sobbed as behind them an angry glow engulfed all that had been left behind.

  Ahead of them Daliah could hear Mr. Gaines shouting, encouraging the wagons to greater speed. He’d spotted a trickle of a stream a mile in the distance, and their only hope was to cross the stream before the leaping tongues of flame reached them.

  Mr. Hampton lashed at his team his voice a ragged prayer as the horses plunged down the steep slope toward the water splashing across the stream then dragging on the reins to pull the horses into a long arch as others followed.

  As the wagon slowed Daliah leapt from the back racing to the stream where the last wagon rocked nearly tipping as it struggled across, the tail of the wagon sparking into flame as the wind shifted cinders onto the canvas.

  Stumbling as the wagon continued, Daliah grabbed a bucket and plunged back into the stream filling the bucket and throwing it onto the smoldering cover where children stared out in tear washed fear. Another bucket splashed from the other side as friends and neighbors hurried to drown flames on the still moving wagon.

  Struggling up the now muddy bank, the last wagon staggered to a stop. The weary travelers watched as the dry grass of the prairie on the other side of the stream was consumed by lashing tongues of flame.

  Daliah brushed her hand across her face smearing the dark smudge of soot on her forehead then hurried to the wagon to check on the children.

  Several of the smaller ones were clinging to their mothers, while men did their best to tend to over stressed stock and take inventory of their rigs.

  Shock, fear, and adrenaline permeated the small gathering as Mr. Gaines and Mr. Ben rode around the camp trying to calm jangled nerves.

  “Where’s my stock?” Trey called, his eyes red from the smoke that drifted across the shallow stream as the fire crept further down the path they had just covered. “Has anyone seen my stock?” he asked again wiping moisture from reddened eyes.

  “Most of them seem to be here on our side,” Mr. Gaines called, gazing around them from his vantage point on horseback, his voice steady as he approached the boy. “They followed the wagons. We’ll round them up again son.”

  Trey nodded wiping his eyes on a sleeve as he turned to help his shivering mother from the Hampton wagon.

  “Daliah take Chad,” Spencer said not realizing he had used the young woman’s Christian name. “I’ll see what I can do to round up the stock and check on everyone.”

  He was gone before Daliah could reply as she lowered his son to the ground.

  “Did everything burn up?” Chad asked still holding to her hand. “Will we have to walk from now on?”

  “No Chad, everything didn’t burn up,” Daliah replied praying that it was true, “and even if it did, there are enough of us left to see us into Texas.”

  “You thi
nk so?” Mrs. Script asked. “You think anything could have survived that?”

  Daliah wrapped her arm around the other woman moving the little troop toward the front of the wagon where Mr. Hampton and Trey were unhitching the heaving, sweat lathered team.

  “I’m starting some tea and biscuits,” Mrs. Hampton said straightening her bonnet that had hung crookedly down her back. “We can all use a good strong cup of tea to settle our nerves,” she added her hands shaking as she tied the bonnet in place.

  “Will you help Olive?” Daliah asked walking Mrs. Script to the stove that Mrs. Hampton had unloaded from the wagon. “I’m going to check in on everyone.”

  Turning, Daliah walked among her shaken friends calling the younger single men to tend the horses as she moved women and children toward Mrs. Hampton’s heavy kettle that was starting to steam.

  There had been several bruises and abrasions during the rough and terrifying drive to cross the stream, but thankfully, no one had been seriously injured, and at least half of the wagons that had made it to safety were undamaged.

  “Miss Owens?” Spencer called to the young woman as she finished bandaging a scrapped elbow. “Would you mind coming with me?” the trail boss asked, his eyes serious.

  “Of course,” Daliah said worry coursing through her like a shock of lightning. “Is anything wrong?”

  “It’s my partner Ben. He’s not feeling well after that ride, says his arm hurts something fierce.”

  Daliah stopped in her tracks looking up to meet Spencer’s eyes. “I need something from the wagon,” she said, not waiting on his reply as she lifted her skirts and ran.

  Spencer waited impatiently for Daliah to catch up again. She was out of breath, but she didn’t slow down until they reached Ben at the lead wagon, where the older man sat propped against a wheel.

  “He doesn’t look so good,” Daliah said. Opening a small carpet bag she had brought with her and examining the older trail boss. His pale waxy skin made her fear that they were too late. “I’m not trained for this sort of thing, but my mother said that these are signs that the heart isn’t working proper. I could help him or hurt him,” she finished pleading with Spencer with her eyes.

  “Do whatever you can,” Spencer said. “Ben is a good man, he deserves to see his new home.”

  Daliah nodded reaching into the bag and pulling out a tiny bottle and dropping the smallest bit of liquid onto Ben’s tongue. The man’s eyes fluttered open as she eased him to the ground and undid the top buttons of his shirt.

  “If it is going to work, we’ll know soon,” Daliah said, lifting a silent prayer to heaven that she had done the right thing.

  “I’m going after the rest of the stock,” Spencer said, handing a blanket down to Daliah. “We can’t do anything without those oxen. Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Daliah said. “Go with God.”

  Spencer threw himself into the saddle then trotted toward Ben’s horse that was nibbling grass near the wagon. Grabbing the other mounts reins he headed for the wagons calling for young Trey.

  “How is he dear?” Mrs. Hampton startled Daliah as she walked up to her a few minutes later. “Mr. Gaines mentioned what happened and asked if I’d check in on you. I brought you a cup of tea,” the old woman finished handing the steaming mug to Daliah.

  “He seems to be breathing easier,” Daliah said. “Isn’t it strange that we’ve been on the trail for nearly two months, and I barely know this man?” she asked.

  “I believe Mr. Ben usually does the scouting and hunting,” Olive said. “He keeps himself to himself.”

  Daliah nodded, looking off toward the blackened plain on the other side of the stream. The fire had raced on hopefully dying when it hit the spring, they had camped at the night before but leaving behind a charred desolate landscape in its wake.

  “Do you think anything is left?” she asked looking up at Mrs. Hampton.

  “I don’t know dear,” the older woman replied. “The fire was moving fast and if the wind shifted perhaps the wagons won’t be gone. All we can do now is pray and plan for what comes next.”

  ***

  An hour’s rest for the stock and everyone loaded back into the wagons turning back to see what could be salvaged from the wagon’s that had been left behind. Placing old Ben into the Hampton’s wagon Spencer looked at Daliah, nodding as he met her dark gaze.

  “Thank you for looking after him,” he said simply, before swinging up onto his horse and turning back across the stream.

  They were heading back to where the other wagons had been abandoned with hopes and prayers in their hearts that something would be left of the life so many were trying to build.

  Chapter 15

  Daliah lifted her head; her mouth and nose covered with a damp bandana, and gazed out across the blackened prairie. In the distance, the canvas covers of the abandoned wagons rippled in the wind giving her heart hope.

  The closer they came the more they could see of the damage the wild fire had caused. Charred wheels and fire black wagon tongues blended with the stark bareness of the earth, filling them all with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

  “It don’t look too bad,” Trey said, as he drove his nervous team of oxen back toward the wagons. “We might not have no real trouble,” the young man’s optimism was contagious and others quickened there steps.

  “Don’t look like any of the rigs is burned up,” Mr. Jostens said. “The wood’s a mite blackened but not burnt. The wind must have took the fire across too fast to get a bite,” he added with a grin, squeezing his wife’s hand.

  “I hear some folks blacken wood on their wagons and homes to make ‘em more water proof anyhow,” another of the single drivers called taking a turn around his own rig.

  “Check your trees and collars carefully,” Spencer called handing Chad down to Daliah without even asking. “If it’s in good knick get hitched up and we’ll head out to a good spot to let the stock graze.”

  Men, women, and boys all scrabbled to get the nervy stock hooked up and test the soundness of their wagons. It was a miracle in itself that none of the precious animals had been lost, if the wagons were sound, this would be a day to thank the good Lord for His mercies.

  “Ma, you go check the canvas and our supplies,” Trey called as he led the four oxen to the wagon and set them into the long tree with their yokes. The boy had somehow had the presence of mind to raise his wagon tongue saving it from the worst of the flame.

  “I think everything is all right,” Mrs. Script called. “I’ll be glad to be away from this blasted earth though,” she added. “It gives me the shakes, even if it is a miracle that all of our earthly possessions were spared.”

  “Can I ride in the wagon with you?” Chad asked Daliah as he walked along with her once the wagons were moving again.

  “You can ride with the Hamptons,” Daliah replied. “I’ll walk and look after Mr. Ben.”

  “You’re gonna walk through this?” the boy asked his bright eyes wide.

  “I am,” Daliah replied. “The wagon is already heavy enough and the horses are tired.”

  Chad scratched at his ear for a moment thinking. “Maybe I’ll walk a bit too,” he finally said, making Daliah smile. Perhaps the boy was learning something in all of this.

  Everyone was nervous as the snorting and stomping oxen leaned into their yokes and started the damaged wagons along the trail. Each creak of wood, each roll of an iron ringed wheel was watched with bated breath as the travelers set out on the trail. With minutes rolling into an hour the troupe began to breathe more easily especially as they finally made their way out of charred ground and onto the green prairie once more.

  “We’ll stop here for the night,” Spencer called waving his hand in a circle to indicate they were stopping for the night.

  Wearily, the wagons were turned in on themselves and the stock let loose into the makeshift corral made by linked wagons.

  “That was the longest day of my life,” Olive
Hampton said. “I hope we don’t have any more drama before we get to our new home.”

  Daliah wrapped the older woman in her arms, “I couldn’t agree more,” she said, hugging her tight. “I’m just going to check on Mr. Ben then I’ll help with supper.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see you ride up,” Daliah said, stepping around to the back of the wagon to find Mr. Gaines already there.

  “I thought I’d stop and look in on Ben before I checked the camp,” Spencer said, twirling the tip of his reins as his horse stood cow-hipped behind him.

  “Spence, that you?” Ben called his voice craggy.

  “I’m here Ben,” Spencer called. “How you feelin’ old man?”

  “Like I have one of those fine horses of Mr. Hampton’s sitting on my chest,” the man replied with a ragged chuckle.

  “I’ll fetch you some water,” Daliah said, hurrying to get a mug.

  “What happened Spence,” Ben asked.

  “Miss Owens thinks your heart gave out on ya,” Spencer replied, not holding anything back.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” the other man said. “Doctor a few towns back told me about the same. Said I needed to settle down and take it easy if I expected to see another winter.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Spencer said.

  “What for,” Ben said, his dark eyes boring into his partner. “You got enough to worry about with that boy of yours, and I’ve been pullin’ my own weight haven’t I?”

  “I’m just glad you ain’t dead,” Spencer said. With Ben’s help, he had moved three wagon trains to various states across the United States over the years and counted the quiet man a friend.

  “Everyone make it?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, and not much damage to the wagons we had to leave behind.”

  Ben smiled, coughing slightly. “I’m glad this is our last trail together,” he said. “I’m looking forward to a quiet town and a comfortable rocking chair. As for you, you should get at and marry that girl that’s been helping you with Chad. I see the way you look at her so don’t sass,” he finished just as Daliah returned with a cool cup of water.