by Ginny Dye
“And it’s glad I am to be seeing you,” Nathan said as he picked up her luggage. “The rest are waiting for us in the dining room at the hotel. We decided to fill our stomachs before we made our way to our camping spot.”
Carrie nodded and pointed toward the platform. “The supplies I brought are in that stack of crates.”
Nathan motioned to a man who was waiting nearby with a small wagon. “They are right there, Chester,” he called. “We need them taken out to the wagons where the other supplies are.”
“Sure thing,” Chester yelled back. He began to edge the wagon closer to the platform, calling loudly to get people to move out of the way.
Carrie frowned. “Will it all be safe?” She was reluctant to leave it behind.
Nathan nodded. “Your father is paying Chester well, and told him there would be a bonus if everything is well taken care of. There are two men watching the wagons your father bought.” He smiled broadly. “I have to admit it is nice to be traveling with people who have money. I’ve not had that experience before. The Irish in Moyamensing have learned to do without.”
Carrie eyed him with curiosity. “You never told me how you got to America.”
Nathan nodded. “That would be true.”
Carrie waited for him to say more, but he remained silent. “Are you going to tell me? I thought you had just come over with your family.” She thought of the couple whose lives she had saved during the cholera epidemic.
“It’s not a story to boast about,” Nathan muttered. “And the Gaffney’s aren’t my real parents,” he revealed.
Carrie was now certain she wanted to hear it. “Please.” She gazed around as she waited for Nathan to make the decision whether he was going to tell her. The heart of Independence was full of wagonmakers, blacksmith shops, gunsmiths, wheelwrights, saloons, and livery stables. When she looked the other direction she saw grocers, tinsmiths, harness makers, mule and oxen sellers, dry goods merchants and hotels. Felicia had been right in saying they would be able to buy everything they needed. Carrie was fascinated by the frantic energy that pulsed in the air, but it also made her a little nervous.
“They were going to kill me,” Nathan finally said.
Carrie’s attention snapped back to him. “Kill you? Who?”
“Me brothers.”
“Why would your brothers want to kill you?” Carrie was struck by the look of anguish in his eyes. She wished she had not started the conversation, but they were in it now.
Nathan took a deep breath. “Me brothers all be Catholic priests,” he revealed. “Me parents planned on the same for me.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t for me. I converted to Protestantism a few years back. They didn’t take kindly to my betrayal.”
“Betrayal just because you decided you believed something different than they did?”
“The Irish are rather serious about their Catholicism,” he responded sardonically. “Me parents were heartbroken and embarrassed to have anyone know. Me brothers decided the way to handle it was to kill me.”
“How Christian of them,” Carrie muttered.
Nathan shrugged. “God gets blamed for far more than he should, and people use religion to cover up evil far more than they should.”
Carrie suddenly saw through the easy good cheer to the true depth Nathan had. She had learned the same truths when she had to deal with her beliefs about slavery years earlier. “How did you escape?”
“I learned of their plans and decided I didn’t want to wait around to see if they would succeed or not. I went out on the docks during a dark, rainy night. I dove in and swam out to a merchant ship at anchor. I knew it was meant to leave two days later, but it hadn’t taken on crew yet. I snuck onboard by using a ladder dangling from the side, and found a place to hide.” He smiled slightly. “I was a wee bit hungry when I finally showed myself two weeks later.”
“Two weeks?” Carrie said in disbelief. “You hid for two weeks?”
“Aye,” Nathan replied. “I had enough water skins to hold me, but I finished off the meager food I was able to find on board before I hid after three days.”
Carrie stared at him. “You didn’t eat for eleven days?” She was horrified. “And then you just appeared on board one day?”
“Aye.”
“What did they do?”
“They discussed tossing me overboard, but I managed to convince them I would work hard to earn my keep the rest of the way.” He dipped his head. “I worked hard.”
Carrie could tell by the expression on his face that they probably worked him like a slave for the duration of the trip, but at least he had escaped the fate his brothers had planned for him. She laid a hand on his arm. “So the Gaffney’s are not really your parents.”
“Aye.” Nathan’s voice was more uncomfortable, but he had made the decision to tell his story. “The Gaffneys took pity on me when I arrived. Said I looked like a son they had lost. They convinced me I would be safer if I claimed to be their son newly arrived from Ireland. In truth, they are more my parents than me real ones. We agreed I would not talk about my religious beliefs. I know they don’t care, but they didn’t want me to squander me chance to start over in America.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Carrie asked, honored by his trust.
“You asked me to,” Nathan said, amusement springing into his eyes again, but then they sobered. “You are a good woman, Carrie Borden. You came into Moyamensing when no one else would. I took a chance you wouldn’t care about me background. It feels good to finally tell the truth to someone.”
Carrie smiled. “Your story is safe with me,” she assured him. “I’m simply glad you’re in America, and I’m glad you’re with us on this trip.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, not missing the look of relief in his eyes. “And now, if you don’t mind, I am starving!”
*****
Carrie gazed up at the stars not obscured by campfire smoke, and listened as the voices of dozens of people scattered around her rose on the breeze. She knew the numbers were far higher in the spring months than they were now. Not many wagon trains started their arduous journeys during the winter months. Most of the people surrounding her were the merchants of the Santa Fe Trail who depended on year-round wagons for their trade. She and her friends had thought about sleeping in the hotel that night, but had opted to stay with the wagons. The two men her father had hired were standing guard, but the supplies in the wagon the army had provided were too precious to take a chance with. They wanted to be with them.
“I’m looking for Carrie Borden.”
Carrie looked up at the tall, erect man with dark hair who stepped forward into the light of the campfire. His whole bearing spoke military. She saw Matthew open his mouth to say something, but she held up a hand to stop him. It was odd enough for a woman to be heading an expedition, and she was not going to have a man, even one she loved as much as she loved Matthew, talk for her. “I’m Carrie Borden,” she said as she stood. “Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” Her voice was courteous but firm.
“Captain Jacob Marley.”
Carrie waited a moment while his gaze assessed her. She didn’t feel any disdain, but there was a large amount of cautious wariness. She didn’t suppose she could blame him. “It’s nice to meet you, Captain Marley.” She turned and quickly introduced the rest of her team. “Thank you for the supply wagon. We have already filled it.”
Captain Marley nodded but continued to assess the team. Carrie was certain he was wondering if they would slow him down on the trail. “I can assure you we are all up for the challenge,” she said.
“Are you?” His voice was not unkind, but definitely blunt. “Do you folks have any idea of what you are getting into?”
“Assuming of course that medical do-gooders would not have the good sense to research the experience they are going to have?” Carrie asked. It was time to take control of the situation. She had learned the negotiation skills Abby had taught her the year before well.
Carrie chose to ignore him. “We are aware that close to ten percent of people who start out on this trail don’t make it. We are aware traveling in February and March makes it very possible we will have snowstorms and blizzards to contend with, and we can count on being cold for most of the trip. We know to expect mechanical breakdowns. Most importantly, there is a strong possibility of Indian attack by natives trying to defend the homelands white men seem intent on taking from them. Trail traffic has increased greatly, which means our risk has increased greatly.”
Captain Marley’s assessing look gave way to grudging admiration. “It looks like you have some idea of what to expect over the next months,” he conceded. “Being with an army unit won’t impact the weather or the chance of mechanical breakdowns, but it will help with the threat of Indian attack.”
Carrie met his eyes evenly. “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I can assure you most of my team knows how to shoot.”
“You can shoot a gun?” Captain Marley looked amused again.
Carrie knew he figured that the daughter of a wealthy Southerner was going on a reckless adventure to help worthless Indians, and bringing equally helpless people with her. “I can put a hole through the middle of your hat from one hundred paces if I get annoyed enough,” she assured him. “I have found that the condition of our country makes marksmanship a valuable talent.”
Captain Marley stared at her and then broke into laughter. “I told my men that you and your team weren’t going to be any trouble, but they insisted I try to scare you.” He walked over to the fire. “Mind if I join you for a little while?”
Carrie’s eyes widened before she relaxed. “As long as you are not planning on annoying me any more than you have already.”
“I wouldn’t think of it. You might decide to miss my hat and aim for my forehead,” Captain Marley said with amusement. He settled down next to Matthew. “Are you the journalist?”
“I am,” Matthew replied. “And don’t worry about being put in your place by Mrs. Borden. You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.”
Captain Marley nodded. “You’ve known her a long time?”
“Long enough to know someone like you doesn’t have a chance of standing in her way when she wants something.”
Carrie watched the exchange, satisfied when she saw the final remnants of suspicion disappear from Captain Marley’s eyes. She also remembered the letter Susan had read her just before she left. She settled down across the fire from him. “You’re a friend of Captain Mark Jones?”
“I am. Mark told me to not underestimate you.”
“That was wise,” Carrie murmured sweetly.
Captain Marley laughed again. “Excuse me for being so hard-nosed in the beginning. We don’t usually take civilians with us. In fact, we never have. This is very unusual, which makes my unit more than a little concerned that you will slow us down or create problems.” He lifted a hand when he saw Carrie open her mouth. “I’m going to assure them they have nothing to worry about.”
“Thank you,” Carrie replied. “That will certainly make this journey much easier.” She already knew she was going to like Captain Marley, but she intended to remain aloof for a while longer. “Do you have information on the current state of affairs at Bosque Redondo?”
Captain Marley scowled. “They are dismal. That is the real reason I let Mark talk me into letting you go with us on this trip. I don’t know how much you can do to help those people, but anything will be appreciated.” He paused before deciding to speak frankly. “What is happening to the Navajo is wrong. I hate that I have any part in it, but if it provides a way for me to help them, then I suppose I am grateful.”
“You are not a fan of Manifest Destiny?” Matthew asked.
“No,” Captain Marley snapped. “And I can assure you that if someone was trying to steal my homeland, I would fight, too.”
Carrie felt her last resistance fade away. “I think I’m going to like you, Captain Marley.”
“That is a supreme relief.” His voice was somber, but his eyes danced with laughter in the firelight. “Not all of my men believe the way I do. Despite my assurances, I predict some will give you a hard time. I’ll do my best to keep it from happening, but I can’t always be available.”
“We’ll be fine,” Carrie assured him. “I don’t really care whether anyone likes what we are doing. We are here, we are equipped, and we intend to do what we came to do.” She felt as confident as she sounded. There was something about being out on the plains, surrounded by wagons and campfires, that felt completely natural to her. She was surprised to realize she felt as at home here as she did on the plantation. Even with the wagons and people, there was an openness that appealed to her.
She was content to stare into the flames as Captain Marley conversed with the rest of her team. She was aware his eyes rested on her several times during the evening, but she pretended not to notice. Obviously, Mark had not told him about Robert, nor how she had escaped his men by jumping Granite over a fence. She was glad for that. She wanted this experience to be on her terms—not a reflection of the past.
“I understand there are forts along the trail now to provide protection,” Carolyn said. “Is that true?”
“Definitely,” Captain Marley assured her. “Fort Larned was the first, but there are three more now, spaced out to provide protection for the wagon trains.”
Matthew cleared his throat. “What is the Indian attack situation like now?”
Carrie stared at him. She saw Janie lock her eyes on him, as well. Both of them knew his journalistic tone. From the look on Captain Marley’s face, he suspected it was more than a casual question, too.
“Are you asking about anything in particular?”
“The name General Winfield Hancock comes to mind,” Matthew replied.
Marley sighed. “It was definitely not one of our finest moments,” he admitted in a heavy voice. “In fact, it was something the entire army should be ashamed of,” he added sharply.
Melissa’s voice broke into the silence that followed his statement. “There are those of us who have no idea what you are talking about. We have been buried in books at medical school, not keeping track of Indian affairs. I sense, however, that this is something we should know.”
Captain Marley took a deep breath. “I suppose you do have the right to know. I truly don’t think there will be attacks on this trip, but I wouldn’t have predicted what happened last year either.” He stared into the fire for a moment before he began. “General Winfield Scott Hancock is a hero of the Civil War, but he was rather inexperienced at dealing with the Indians. He arrived at Fort Larned last spring with orders to solve the Indian problem because they stand in the way of American expansion.”
“American greed,” Janie snapped.
“I won’t disagree with that,” Marley responded. “He had been told the Cheyenne Indians were among the most dangerous on the plains because they are superior warriors. When he arrived, he was legally unable to forge treaties with the tribes so he decided he would intimidate them into compliance. He invited several Cheyenne chiefs to Fort Larned on April twelfth. He told them if they chose to go to war with the white man, they would lose because the United States has many great chiefs with far more men, who have fought many more great battles.” He paused. “The chiefs listened and returned home, but not before Hancock told them he wanted to meet with all their chiefs in their village.”
Carrie listened, knowing the story wasn’t going to end well.
“Two days later, Hancock and his troops went to the village. Before they got there, a large group of Cheyenne warriors rode out to meet them. They had as many warriors as Hancock had troops. Colonel Wynkoop, the agent at the fort, rode out between the lines and asked the warriors to remain calm. They agreed, and the army marched to within one mile of their village. From their vantage point above the valley, they
could see how large and magnificent the Cheyenne village was.”
Captain Marley’s voice grew more somber. “The appearance of so many troops on the hills above them scared the Indians. They were afraid there would be another Sand Creek Massacre, so they fled the village that night. They left most of their lodges and belongings behind.”
“The Sand Creek Massacre?” Randall asked, his eyes already glittering with anger.
Matthew was the one to answer. “The Sand Creek Massacre was another fine moment in American history,” he said with clipped sarcasm. “The Treaty of Fort Laramie in 1851 gave the Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians extensive territory in Colorado. The discovery of gold around Pikes Peak seven years later persuaded the government to tell the tribes their treaty was no longer any good. In 1861, they took away most of their land, leaving them with a small portion of the original amount.”
“That’s terrible!” Carolyn cried in a shocked voice.
“It gets worse,” Matthew said. “Three years later, seven hundred members of the Colorado Territory militia decided to attack the Indians. The militia was led by Colonel John Chivington, who claimed to be a Methodist preacher. After a night of heavy drinking by the soldiers, Chivington ordered a massacre. Two chiefs, trying to obtain a truce to protect their people, had been advised to camp near Fort Lyon in Colorado, and were told to fly the American flag to establish themselves as friendly.” His voice thickened. “In late November, while the majority of the males were out hunting, Chivington and his troops attacked the camp. More than a hundred women and children were murdered. Despite eyewitness accounts from survivors, and even some of the soldiers who were horrified by the event, they were never charged for the heinous attack.”
Carrie felt nauseous. The group’s shocked silence told her everyone else was feeling the same way. She forced herself to ask the next question. As horrible as it was, they needed to know the truth about the territory they were traveling through. “I understand why the Cheyenne fled Hancock,” she growled. “What happened next?”
