by Tess LeSue
The twins looked marginally happier about that. She felt immeasurable relief as she watched them set out on foot. That was Right and Left out of her way for a while. The grasses were several feet high, and they disappeared into them, only the top of Dugard’s hat visible as they went looking for small game.
They wouldn’t be gone long, Georgiana imagined. Thunderheads were massing on the horizon, giant purple monoliths that flickered with lightning. She shivered. She didn’t much care for the storms out here. They were loud and violent, and she didn’t feel the slightest bit safe in the tents. Distant thunder rumbled. She’d best be quick making these biscuits for the morning or she’d be making them in the rain.
“You need help with that?”
Matt took her by surprise. He’d kept his distance since Dugard had appeared, although she often caught him watching her. She hadn’t realized he was back from his rounds.
“Thank you.” This was one man she was happy to get help from. She handed over the flour and her cooking utensils. Then, to her surprise, he put them down and reached up to swing her down from the wagon. He never touched her. Not that she was complaining. The feel of his hands on her waist made her weak all over.
He walked her back to the fire. She expected him to leave, as he was usually busy beyond belief in the evenings, but he didn’t. Instead, he helped her make the biscuits.
“You seem to have a third hand,” Della Barry teased when Matt went to fetch water for her. They’d made camp a fair distance from the river today, and it was a bit of a hike.
“Matt might count as two hands,” Sarah Colicut giggled.
Georgiana blushed.
“Take advantage of it,” Della laughed. “I wish I had more hands!”
While Matt was gone, Georgiana quickly pinned up her stray curls. She didn’t know why she bothered, as she must look a complete fright, hair mussed or not.
“I reckon we’re in for a big one tonight,” Matt said when he returned with the water. He poured it into a pitcher for her, so she could make her dough.
See? What was the point in fixing her hair? He hadn’t so much as looked at her since he got back. He rolled up his sleeves and went to work on the dough for her, his big hands making shorter work of it than hers ever did.
“The storm, you mean?” Della asked, squinting at the horizon, where the thunderheads had gone from purple to a horrifying black. They’d assumed a surreal shape Georgiana had never seen before, stacked on top of one another in cylinders, each one wider than the last. The thunder was still a long way off, but even so, the ground rumbled. The air was perfectly still, without a breath of wind. The animals shifted skittishly in their makeshift paddock in the middle of the circled wagons. Georgiana and Della exchanged nervous looks. They felt very exposed out here on the plains.
Matt finished kneading the dough and scraped the last scraps of it off his hands. “We might empty the wagons out now. We can put the barrels and other bits and pieces in the tents and sleep in the wagons tonight. Might be best to be up off the ground.”
Georgiana glanced nervously back at the approaching storm and then checked to see that Wilby and Susannah were safe. They were. Susannah was sitting reading a book, and Wilby was playing with Woof. “The boys are off hunting.”
“I’ll get them back,” Matt said. “We still have plenty of time. That’s a slow-moving storm right there. Slow but serious. I’ve got Seb and the scouts spreading the news and helping people make sure their goods are covered and their tents firmly pegged. You finish the biscuits, and maybe if you could all plan for dinner to be eaten in the wagons? Pack yourselves a picnic.”
The women nodded anxiously.
“Put your empty containers and buckets on your wagon seats, to catch the rain. We might as well have fresh drinking water.” He winked at them.
They laughed nervously. The water from the Platte was so foul with alkali dust that they had to stir in cornstarch to purify it, so they’d taken to leaving buckets out overnight, in case it rained. It certainly looked like it was about to rain now.
“Are we in for a tornado?” Sarah asked shakily.
A tornado! Georgiana looked at the towering odd-shaped clouds with new eyes. Her guidebook had said there might be tornadoes on the plains in summer, but she’d treated it as a pretty big “might.” Until now.
“Cain’t tell yet,” Matt said. “Let’s hope it passes and makes landfall somewhere else.” He was so calm. As he reeled off instructions, a group gathered to listen. The light had a sickly glow to it now. Georgiana’s heart was thundering in her ears. How could a scrap of canvas and wood protect them from a tornado?
“I’ll get the boys, and we’ll start moving things into your tent,” he said, taking Georgiana by the arm when he was finished with the group. They’d scattered to start preparing for the storm. “Do you know where Becky and Kipp are?”
“I think Becky might have gone to find LeFoy again.” Georgiana bit her lip. “I don’t know about Kipp.”
“I might have some idea where he is,” Matt sighed. “I’ll hunt them down after we get things in order here.”
“I don’t know how we’re all going to fit in the wagons,” Georgiana fretted as she and Della hurried about their tasks.
“We can take someone in our wagon,” Della offered. “Becky maybe? I’m sure the children will want to be with you, and then the men can have your second wagon.”
Georgiana accepted her offer gratefully and rushed to pack food they could eat in the wagon. She rolled up her sleeves and, with Susannah’s help, managed to empty their lead wagon of the smaller barrels and tools. By the time Wendell and Dugard and the boys trailed back, she was tackling the second wagon.
“You and Kipp will need to manage the big barrels,” she told Wendell, “but leave the sacks and anything that isn’t waterproofed. We’ll have to sleep around them.”
“I’ll help you,” Dugard said.
“Oh no, you won’t.” Matt had Dugard’s horse ready and waiting for him. “You’ll get back to your wagon and worry about your own business.” He didn’t wait for Dugard to protest but tossed him the reins. “Come on, I’ll escort you.”
“Kipp . . .” Wendell said.
“I’ll get him.”
“He—”
“I know where he is.” Matt cut him off. “He’s where he is most nights, at the back of the train with the rest of the troublemakers.”
Georgiana frowned. Where? And then she realized what was at the back of the train. The whores. She blanched.
Wait a minute. How did Matt know Kipp was there most nights? She watched Matt escort Dugard down the line, feeling sick and angry. She was such a fool. She’d actually thought he’d stopped going to see the whore.
“Hey, Ma, catch this!”
She jumped back as Phin and Flip rolled a barrel out the back of the wagon. It crashed to the ground.
“Watch your feet,” Flip said belatedly.
“If you’ve broken that, you’ll be up for a whipping!” Wendell snapped at them.
“I beg your pardon?” Georgiana stepped in front of him as he made for the twins.
“Those two need some serious discipline,” Wendell warned her, “especially after the stunt they pulled out there!”
“What stunt?” Georgiana turned narrowed eyes on her twins.
They ducked back into the wagon. “Storm’s coming!” they yelled. “We can talk about this later.”
“What did they do?” Georgiana asked grimly, suspecting she already had an idea.
“They took Dugard’s pistol right out of his holster,” Wendell snapped, “and damn near shot Matt’s head off when he came riding up.”
“We were shooting at a pheasant!” came a disgruntled voice from behind the canvas of the wagon. “We didn’t know Matt was there.”
“There ain’t no damn pheasants out he
re!”
Georgiana just about had to hold Wendell back. He looked about to launch himself into the wagon after the twins. “The storm’s coming,” she said tightly. As if to punctuate her words, a stiff wind skittered through the camp. It carried the sharp smell of rain and something else . . . the smell of lightning. “This can wait until we’ve got everything secured.”
With great effort, Wendell restrained himself and gave a jerky nod. “Those two need a man’s hand,” he growled as he left to empty the lead wagon.
“Who does he think he is?” Phin complained, emerging from the wagon and dropping to the ground. “He’s not our father.”
“Even if he wants to be.” Flip dropped down after him and poked at the barrel. “It ain’t even broken.”
“Isn’t,” Georgiana corrected. “It isn’t even broken.” She put her hands on her hips. “You roll that over to the tent and store it. I’ll be talking to you about the gun later.”
They didn’t look too concerned. Georgiana would have to see about remedying that. She’d tackle them tonight, when they were trapped in the wagon with her.
“Mother, what about Princess? She doesn’t fit in the wagon!” Susannah was beside herself with fear for her horse as the winds picked up. The tall grasses were rippling like a choppy sea, and they could hear the nervous whinnying of horses and the lowing of the cattle.
“Princess will be fine, darling. Horses belong in the wild.”
“No!” Wilby was outraged and wrapped his arms around Woof, who was barking at the stiffening winds.
“Woof’s not a horse, Wilby,” Georgiana sighed. “He can hop into the wagon with us. Now, both of you keep out of the way while the big people get organized.”
She and Wendell worked quickly and had most of the barrels stored by the time Kipp rode up.
“Where’s Matt?” She couldn’t quite keep the sharpness out of her voice. Was he still back there with the whore?
Kipp shrugged. He didn’t care.
“Can you organize the animals?” she asked him.
“Don’t tie them up,” Seb called as he hurried by. “Leave ’em loose so they can run if they need to.”
Susannah moaned. “What does that mean?”
Georgiana gave her a hug but couldn’t reassure her more than that. Who knew what would happen to the horses tonight?
By the time they were organized, the thunderheads were rolling overhead in towering spongy masses, and the wind carried the first sprinkle of rain. The light was eerie, the colors of a yellowing bruise, and lightning stabbed in the hearts of the clouds above. The thunder was still distant, cracking and rolling but making the earth shudder beneath their feet, even from afar.
Georgiana piled their bedding into the back of the wagon, using the buffalo hides as mattresses. Even with the trunks and barrels cleared away, it was cramped, as the dry goods were still in there, the sacks lining the edges of the wagon like ballast. Georgiana left the children to go and fetch the kettle and to help damp the fire down, and when she returned, the twins had built a wall down the middle of the wagon with the sacks of sugar and flour. They’d set themselves up on the other side of it, and Wilby was throwing himself at it and wailing.
“Let him in,” Georgiana ordered.
“He can build his own room if he wants one.”
Georgiana bent over the wall into their “room” and glared at them. “I really don’t think you want to be lippy with me after your behavior with the gun earlier.”
“Flip!” Wilby railed, hitting his chubby fist against the wall. She lifted him over and deposited him on their quilts with them. She could see the canvas hadn’t been drawn tight over the front entrance. The wind was hitting the side of the wagon at the moment, causing the canvas to push hard against the hickory ribs of the frame, but if it swung around, the wind would gust through the open front of the wagon like a demon. The boys would get soaked in no time. She sighed and prepared to go out again and fix it.
“Woof!” Wilby wailed.
The puppy was sitting curled up in Susannah’s lap. She pouted as Georgiana moved to take the dog.
“Susannah’s coming with Woof,” Georgiana called, gesturing to her daughter. She deposited girl and dog into the cramped space on the other side of the sacks. “Give me a minute to fix the canvas, and then I’ll come back and feed you.”
She could hear them all bickering as she climbed down from the back of the wagon. The first heavy drops were falling from the bruised sky.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay in there with you?” Wendell called from the second wagon. He had one foot on the back tray and was poised to come help her.
“No,” Georgiana yelled back, “we’re fine!” The last thing she wanted was to spend the night with Wendell Todd. She waved him off, and he waved back, climbing up and disappearing into the wagon. The oxen were huddled together in great clumps, and the horses had gravitated to the edge of the wagon circle where they were most sheltered from the wind. A murky darkness had fallen, and lamps glowed here and there around the perimeter of the circle. The Colicuts and the Barrys, who flanked Georgiana’s wagons, had already laced themselves in tight for the night.
She fought the stiff wind and climbed onto the front of the wagon, which faced into the circle and the paddock of animals. The canvas was snapping in the wind.
“Ma!” Wilby squealed with delight when he saw her appear in the opening of the hoop.
“Hello, darling.” Georgiana smiled at him. The wind blew her bonnet off and it caught around her neck on its ribbons. Her hair whipped at her face. She struggled to pull the canvas tight around the hoop.
“Bye, Ma!” Wilby waved at her as she closed it. She fought to knot the cords and get the whole arrangement secure. The wind was so stiff now it was practically pushing her off the seat. She tied off the knot. The empty buckets had blown over. They weren’t going to be any good for catching rain like that, and might even be dangerous projectiles, so she gathered them up to bring inside. The tents were snapping in the wind too, bent almost double, but they were as secure as they were ever going to be. There wasn’t much she could do about them, except pray they lasted the night and her goods survived.
“You all right, missus?” Seb shouted, trying to be heard over the wind. He was crossing the paddock back to the chuck wagon.
She waved and nodded.
“You get in now!” Seb shooed her.
“Becky!” she shouted. “Becky hasn’t come back!”
“Matt said she’s staying with the LeFoys! LeFoy needs some help with the girls!”
Georgiana doubted it. It was more likely Becky was using the girls as an excuse to spend time with their father.
“And where’s Matt?” She had to yell herself hoarse to be heard over the wind, which was really screeching now.
“Don’t you worry about him. He’ll have found shelter somewhere! Get inside!”
As if a wagon counted as “inside.” And she could guess where Matt had found “shelter.” Right at the back of the train with his whore. Georgiana threw the buckets into the back of the wagon and hauled herself up. The canvas was snapping hard now. What better way for a virile man like Matt to pass a stormy night than with a wagon full of whores. Even if it was thoroughly irresponsible of him when he was supposed to be up here protecting them. The whores weren’t even in his party. Georgiana scowled out at the stormy plains. From the back of the wagon she had a clear view of the havoc the wind was playing in the grasslands. The seed heads tossed and flicked, the stalks bending en masse. Nets of purple lightning flickered on the horizon.
The wind made the wagon shudder and shake.
“Mama?” Susannah was terrified, peeking over the wall of sacks the twins had built. It was dark in the wagon, but Georgiana could make out enough to see her fear. The boys popped up beside her, and they looked just as scared.
; “It’s all right, darlings,” Georgiana said with pure bravado. “We’ll be nice and cozy in just a minute. Let me just light a lamp and close the back up.”
Her hand was trembling as she lit the oil lamp. Maybe she should have accepted Wendell’s offer. She suddenly felt very alone. And, to be honest, she was as scared as the children were. She hung the lantern from the hook above and turned to the task of lacing them in.
“Do you have to close it all the way?” Phin said quickly. She was surprised to hear his voice break. She had somehow expected the twins to be less scared than the little ones. But they were only small boys, for all their spirit.
“I suppose we could leave a small opening, just for a little while.” Georgiana didn’t really want to close it all the way either. It felt a bit like lacing oneself into a tomb. She cleared her throat. “We’ll close it up when the storm gets worse. If it gets worse,” she corrected. “Matt said maybe it will pass us by.”
As she spoke, there was an earsplitting crack of thunder and they all cried out. Heavy drops of rain spattered on the canvas hoop.
“Or maybe not,” she said shakily.
The children scrambled over their wall and piled around her. She stroked their curly dark heads. Woof whined, trapped behind the wall. The twins lifted him over, and he joined in the huddle, wriggling right into the middle, onto Georgiana’s lap. His sturdy little body was quivering.
“Let’s eat,” she said, striving for calm. “Pass the basket, Flip.”
They ate ham sandwiches and listened to the rain and wind pelting the canvas. Through the opening, they watched the spikes of lightning intensify until they were a constant net of violent light, shivering in the murky night. The oil lamp swung on its hook, sending jagged shadows leaping. After a while, Georgiana took it down, as it jangled her nerves. She put it in the cook pot, paranoid it would fall and break and start a fire. The light grew even more muted once it was in the pot, but at least the shadows weren’t so bad.
Soon there was no more thunder overhead. It marched onward away from them, a constant rumble and crack, but not as scary now that it wasn’t right above them. The wind was far worse. It bent the canvas in between the hoops and squalled at the openings, rocking the wagon bed on its wheels. The rain had eased to a sporadic patter of heavy drops. But the air still had that charge. It fairly pulsed with threat. Georgiana resigned herself to a restless night.
