by Caryl McAdoo
While Andrew and Seve counted coins and wrote up a bill of sale, the fifty—five sacks of seed got unloaded. Flynn would only let Corbin donate five, most came out of the wagon he'd been driving.
The clan got a late start, but the delay was definitely well worth it. Land certificates in hand that entitled them to claim over seven thousand acres seemed a miracle.
It'd been a good morning all the way around.
The sun had already started its descent toward the western horizon when the general in the lead wagon stopped for dinner. Afterwards, without him asking, Izzy volunteered to drive for Liberty while his daughter spelled him. The widow joined him. Was she walking a bit closer than before?
“Flynn told me you threw in your whiskey. Should have gotten the two bottles you gave me.”
“Save them. The way I figure it, you'll need them.”
Hurrying ahead, she turned and faced him. “Why would you say that?” Her tone was a mixture of skeptical and hurt.
“Turn back around.” He looked to the side of him. “And I'll tell you.”
“Fine.” She did. “So. Start explaining.”
“I read that chapter in the Good Book last night and figured out why you didn't want to read any further.”
“Oh? Why's that?” Her tone had changed.
If he had it right, she acted somewhat embarrassed. Not his intent at all. “Well, you mentioned the other day about having a problem after birthing Charity Grace.”
The lady offered no answer, so he went on.
“Anyway, if it's the same problem the Philistines had, then my Izzy—I've got to quit saying that. Just like you said, her name needs no possessive pronoun. Anyway, she knows how to fix that problem.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, ma'am. She learned all kinds of healing arts from the old slave granny that lived a couple of miles from us. Anytime anyone had a problem, Izzy would go and find out a cure. She knows how to do all sorts of things.”
“So, you're saying the whiskey would be a part of the cure?”
“No, I'm saying the whiskey will let you take the cure. From my understanding, though well worth the trouble, it's rather painful.”
Liberty contemplated what he'd just said—a cure for her problem. How wonderful would that be. “Are you certain she knows how to do this? Would she have to cut me?”
Snickering, he glanced over. “Now, I'm telling you true. I'm about to blush. I say until we're married, probably shouldn't speak about such private things. Talk to Izzy about it, you know, woman to woman. If you can stand it, she'll fix you up.”
After Liberty walked along in silence for ten or fifteen steps, she walked ahead and turned around again. “After supper tonight, our private fire being a little bigger might be in order. I got a little chilled last evening.”
“Sure.” He nodded. “Roaring if you want.”
Hiking both shoulders, she smiled. “Maybe somewhere in between.”
“Go on then and talk to Izzy a while. I know that's what you want to do.”
With a nod, she bumped his shoulder on her way by. Why'd she do that?
A body would mistake her for a school girl who'd never had a beau before instead of a middle-aged lady almost old enough to be a grandmother. She miss-hopped twice, then timed her step just right and swung herself up on the wagon's bench.
“You wasn't gone long. Something wrong, Miss Liberty?”
“There's no need to use the miss, Izzy. Just my Christian name will do.”
“Well, I thank you, but it's such a habit. It does show respect, and I never see no harm in that. 'Specially with such a nice lady as you.”
“Thank you, dear one. Anyway, Corbin was telling me that you knew how to uh . . .” She put her hands beside her mouth then whispered in the ex-slave's ear.
“Yes, ma'am. I can fix a body right up.”
You've done it before?”
“Oh, many a time. Yes, ma'am. Birthed plenty of new babes where the mams suffered the same. It works just fine, every time.”
“Can we do it tonight?”
“Tonight? Oh no, Miss Liberty. It hurts something powerful, and it's best iffin you lay up in your bed a few days, be all still and easy as you can.”
“Oh. So, we need to wait until we get there?”
“Indeed, indeed we do. But soon as we are, I'll take good care of you.”
“It hurts that much?”
“Hate to tell you, but yes, ma'am. It do. It's really bad, but we'd liquor you up really good. There's a healing weed that helps right nice, too. I'll be on the lookout for it. It's hurtful, but them what had the cure done say it's worth it all.”
“I suspect it is. I've suffered something terrible these last eleven years.”
“Yes, ma'am. I's so sorry for your troubles, but glad I knows how to help you now.”
That night after supper, Corbin had the fire wider and higher, and it warmed her nicely. She loved reading the scripture to him, but the thought of being healed kept coming to the front of her thoughts.
She finished the chapters about David and Bathsheba then closed the Bible.
“Corbin?”
He looked at the closed Bible in her lap then up into her eyes. “Yes, ma'am?”
“I'm so conflicted. I miss Reagan so much, but I'm also enjoying spending time with you.”
“Understandable. Yes, ma'am. Did you talk with Izzy?”
“I did, and she thinks we should wait until we get there for the cure. Says I'll need a few days in bed afterwards.”
“Didn't think of that, but bouncing around in a wagon, especially on that hard bench day in, day out couldn't be a good idea.”
Looking up into the near—moonless night, she marveled at the stars. They'd always fascinated her since as long as she could remember. How would they look from Reagan's perspective?
Oh, her beloved. Would he think she dishonored him? His memory? Spending so much time with Corbin . . . and enjoying it?
“Do you think I'm just horrible, enjoying the time I spend with you? I mean, my husband is hardly cold.”
“No. Not one bit. Of course, I'm plenty biased. What does Flynn say?”
“Haven't heard a word from him. I get a few looks now and again.” She smiled. “I did lead you to the Lord, so that counts for something. Including a perfectly wonderful, highly acceptable excuse.”
“Yes, you did. Praise His Name. See how you have turned my life around in so many ways, Libby? How could I not love you?”
Love her? He loved her? The words obviously slipped out accidentally if she could read his face at all. He almost gasped, blew it out fast as he could, then changed the topic immediately.
“Have you said anything to Charity Grace yet?”
Should she ignore that she heard those words?
“No, but I guess I need to say something.”
He tossed his hat onto his boot toe. “On the other foot, I've been thinking about once we get there. Figure the first thing we need to do is build us a big barn.”
“Really? Before cabins? Why's that?”
“Well, seems soon as possible we'll be needing a dry place for us and the seed before the rains set in. Next, I'm thinking we should bust out and lay-by as many acres as possible. A garden spot at the same time would be good.”
“All well and fine, but what about our cabins?”
“Well. We've been living in our wagons over a month now. If we go to building cabins first, it'd be hard to do all that other, especially working the land.” He shrugged.
“Would you really be so opposed to staying in the wagons a little longer? As the barn went up, we could clear them out more, so they’d have more room. What do you think?”
Though her druthers would not be served by the order of things he suggested, it all did make good sense, and the better it got the more she thought on it. In her mind's eye, she always saw a cabin at the end of the road. “Have you said anything to Seve?”
“No, ma'am.”
&
nbsp; “I think you probably should.”
“Hard man to talk to sometimes.”
“Oh, I know that!” She laughed. “But he is levelheaded. I'll bring it up after dinner tomorrow.”
That night she worked on catching the journal up-to-date then put it away. Thirty-five days on the trail, and so much had happened. With the land certificates in hand, the clan would have over seven thousand acres . . . seven thousand . . . the number proved hard to wrap her mind around.
And if that Ranger Baylor knew what he was talking about, a nice mixture of land that would yield to the plow and timber to build with and sell.
If not for Reagan . . . uh . . . she laughed. Would he agree to come back if he had a choice? She wouldn't. Living with Jesus, in His presence constantly, had to be awesome. Who would want to ever leave heaven?
She blew out the lantern then eased down next to her precious girl. “Oh, Lord, what am I going to do?”
The low whistle, followed by a double tap on the wagon's gate, woke Flynn. He eased Alicia's leg off his, grabbed his clothes and pistol, then scooted to the back. He held the flap back and stuck his head out. “I'm up.”
“Good, see you later.” Seve's whisper trailed off as he headed toward his wagon.
The last watch was no hill for a stepper. The middle ones were hardest. And while no marauders—two or four-legged had been thwarted—sure enough if the watches were cut out, that'd be the night something would happen.
After a slow walk around the campsite, he settled on a tree to lean against.
Shortly, a low shadow loped toward him. He knelt down and grabbed Aaron's mutt before he could slobber all over him. “You're up early, boy.”
The hound sat on his haunches and held out his paw. Flynn shook it. “Yes, he's a good boy. And so smart. Those boys been teaching you new tricks?”
The dog laid down, rolled over, then held all four legs straight up into the air.
“I see. Playing dead, are we?”
The mutt jerked upright, took two steps toward the south, and growled real low, but very menacingly. Flynn stared in the direction the dog pointed with his nose, but in dim moonlight, all he could see were shades of gray that faded to black.
“What is it?”
Another growl rumbled in the pup's throat, that one a bit louder. Whatever was out there never showed itself, then after ten minutes or so, the dog sat on his haunches, tongue lolling, but continued looking southward.
After daybreak, Flynn walked out to the south, twenty yards or so past the campsite's clearing. The mutt who'd followed stopped, sniffed the ground, then looked up at him. He knelt and fingered the tracks, looked canine, but dog, wolf, or coyote was anybody's guess?
Whatever it was, it hadn't posed any threat.
Sure nice to know though that the mutt saw himself as the clan's protector.
Like the thirty-odd previous mornings, he fed the mules before breakfast, ate his own, then loaded everything, and hit the trail. He'd never imagined being so sick of traveling, but he'd have to suffer at least another week of it if the map was right.
Then what?
Build a cabin. Before that though, best figure out how one legally went about staking a claim. Had anyone asked that question?
Alicia was in the back of Corbin's wagon with Gabby. Shame he hadn't told her he wanted some time before dinner, but then saying something over the noon meal would be better anyway.
He looked up. Too much distance separated him from the next wagon. He shook the reins. “Hey now, mules. No loafing.”
Yesterday's beans and cornbread with a strip of jerky filled his belly. He washed it all down with two mugs of hot coffee. He held his peace until all the men were finished then sat forward and looked at his wife's father.
“What do you figure we’ll do first, Pa? Once we get there, how we’ll choose the place we want to lay claim to? Or how we're going to mark the corners? I can hardly imagine even being able to tell how much seven thousand acres is?”
“Figured we'd all start on building us a cabin each. Might take some time marking boundaries. Step it off is the only way I know until we survey it.”
“Hey, Pa.” Aaron rolled the pup on his back and gave him a belly rub. “How can we tell someone else doesn't already have a spot?”
“Guess we’ll check with our neighbors if we have any.”
Laud handed Katie Kay over to Alicia. “Hold her a minute for me?”
“Sure I will.” She immediately went into a falsetto. “How's my sweetie pie?”
“Go ahead, I'm listening.” His uncle rummaged through the back of his wagon.
“For my money.” Corbin tossed his hat over his boot toe. “I'd like to see us build a big barn first off.”
“Really?” Flynn pitched his coffee grounds into the fire. “Why's that, Mister Harrell?”
“Quickest way, with winter coming for us to get a dry place big enough for ourselves and the seed. Don't know about you men, but it takes me a month or better of not doing much of anything else to throw up a cabin.”
Pa nodded. “About that, give or take.”
“If we all worked together, we could have . . . say a forty-by-twenty barn in the same time. We could all back our wagons up to it, and sleep in them a bit longer.”
“That’s a thought.”
“Maybe put up pickets between each other for some privacy, and have the roof over us if the rains set in.” Corbin checked the reactions around the circle.
“Yes, sir. That sounds like a good idea. Waxed canvas sheds water fine for a few days, but if it rains even a week . . .” Flynn shrugged. “It gets pretty soggy after a while.”
“And whose barn would it be? Yours?” Pa's voice carried a bit of tone. How would Mister Harrell handle that?
“No, course not. We're all partners on the first-class headright, figured the barn would be built on that ground and be everyone's till we get our own up. Later, we can use it as a meeting house or even turn it into a church.”
“I like that idea.” Pa’s nod started slow and gained speed. “And it might be best if we didn't build any cabins right off, until we get a better lay of the land.”
Walking back up to the group, Laud carried a big ball of rag strips. “Sure gives a body something to think on, Corbin. I was thinking we could tie something like these cloth strips to mark our boundaries the quickest.”
“Laud Worley, that's for my new braided rug, and I'll thank you to put them right back where you found them!”
“Fine.” He started off but turned. “Anyway, it’s a discussion to be entered into of an evening after supper. Aren't we about to start burning what daylight we've got left?”
Once back on the trail, Liberty replayed the dinner conversation over and over. She didn't much care for the way Seve dismissed Corbin's idea at first. And such a tone! Wasn't like the man to be downright rude.
But she certainly appreciated how Corbin handled it. The more she thought on the barn idea, the more sense it made.
A cabin would allow more privacy, but everyone staying close for a while had merit.
What if the Rangers missed some of the Indians?
“Hey, Miss Liberty! Can I join you?” Gabby trotted beside her wagon.
“Certainly, get on up here before you fall out.”
A seemingly effortless hop onto the wheel, and the girl rode it three-quarters of the way up then jumped aboard.
“Mercy, Gabby. Doing that is so dangerous.”
The girl grinned as she straightened her dress. “Yes, ma'am. ’Cept I've been doing it all my life.”
“Did your pap send you?”
“No, ma'am. I come on my own.” She stared at the off-mule's rump then filled her lungs and turned sideways. “Miss Liberty, I have to ask you something.”
“All right. Go ahead, I'm listening.”
“Well . . . I've been wondering . . . I mean.”
“If it's a hard thing to say, I am convinced just spitting it out is the easiest way, sugar
.”
“Yes, ma'am. I want to know if I'm going to hell for letting Junior . . . uh . . . you know, get me in the family way?”
“Are you a believer in Jesus Christ, Gabby?”
“I've been to church, and some of the brush arbor meetings with Izzy. I pray some, so doesn't that mean I do believe in Him? I tell folks I'm a Christian, so I'd say yes. Yes. Am I right?”
“Well, that isn't for me to decide, dear. It's all good, but have you been born again?”
“Not far as I know.” She hiked both shoulders. “Can't say I know how. So, does that mean I am going to hell?”
“It does, actually, sweetheart.” Liberty nodded. “But you can turn your life around any time, any day.”
“If I do? Will I have whatever it is Pap's got? He's so different of late. Why, I'd have bet money he wouldn't never set Izzy free . . . and oh, Miss Liberty, have you seen the look in his eyes?”
“I have.”
“They're so different now, right? Before, they were hard and sort of sad, then angry sometimes. Except when he'd get soaked. But he's just always happy now. About every day.”
“Isn't it wonderful?”
“Yes, ma'am, surely is. He would never have let a man talk to him the way Mister Van Zandt did today without a fight. And I'm telling you, him selling that whiskey? He'd never do that! It's nothing short of a miracle if you ask me.”
“Yes, ma'am.” She smiled at the young girl's perceptions. “I suppose you could definitely attribute his new self to his salvation. As soon as you accept the Messiah's free gift, the Father begins making you more and more like Christ. You give Him your burdens, and He handles them all. He gives you peace and joy.”
“I want all of that. What do I have to do?”
“Confess and repent of your sins . . . not just what you did with Junior, but all of them. Tell Jesus you believe He was born of a virgin, lived a perfect life, died on the cross for our sins, and rose from the grave on the third day to live forever.”
“All that? Do you believe that stuff?”
“Yes, ma'am, I do.”
“And Pap, too?”
Chapter Twenty-seven
