Brennan had uncorked the jug and was taking a long drink. His voice was thick as he said, “You ain’t never going to get a husband, girl. You’re sour as a pickle.”
“You shut up!” Rena snapped. “At least I ain’t a drunk like you!”
Brennan laughed. He looked down at the fire and said, “You better enjoy that fire. There’ll be long stretches we won’t have any wood.”
“What will we cook with?” Temperance asked.
“Buffalo chips.”
“I remember that from my trip over. I was young, but I remember having to collect them.”
The darkness had closed around the wagon, and the fire made a cheerful, orange dot in the blackness. The children drew close to it, but finally they grew tired and went off to bed. Temperance saw to it that they all were down, and when she came back to the fire, she saw Brennan was drawing something.
“What are you doing, writing a letter?”
“No. I’m making a map. You want to see?”
Curious, Temperance walked over and sat down beside him. He turned the map so that she could see it by the flickering light of the fire.
“Where are we now?”
“Right here. Next civilization we get to will be Fort Boise.”
“When will that be?”
“One week. Two. Depends on how rough the trail is. Might have a rainstorm and bog the wagon down. Who knows?”
She leaned closer, and he said, “Here’s the way we’ll go. We’ll go to Fort Boise, follow the Snake River on down to Fort Hall. Then we get to the South Pass.”
“The South Pass? What’s that?”
“It’s kind of a gap in the Rocky Mountains. About the only place wagons can get through. And by the time we get there, we’ll be almost a third of the way, maybe a little better. You see this?” He put his finger on the map. “That’s Fort Laramie. From then on we follow the Platte River. Pretty easy going all the way into Fort Kearny, and then if we ain’t scalped or don’t die of cholera or fall in a well, we’ll get to Independence.”
“When will we get there, Thaddeus?”
“Middle of July, if we’re lucky.”
“What if we’re not lucky?”
“Then we’ll be dead. That’d simplify things, wouldn’t it?”
“Why do you have to have a map if you know the way?”
“Just like to draw maps.”
Temperance was sitting closer to him than she had ever been, soaking up the fire. She was so tired she could barely sit up. She glanced up and saw the brilliant stars overhead. “You know the Bible says the heavens declare the glory of God. Every time I see them, I think of what a great God He is to make all those stars.”
“Well, they’re mighty pretty, but lots of stuff ain’t pretty. If God made them pretty stars, why does He make cholera to kill little kids?”
“I don’t know the answer to that, but I know God is good.”
Suddenly Brennan turned to face her. She was close enough that she could see the angular planes of his features. She was startled to realize that he would be a fine-looking man if he shaved and was not bleary-eyed with liquor.
“You ought to be scared of me.”
“Scared of you, why?”
He laughed shortly. “A lone woman out here with a man like me? I might take advantage of you. What would you do then?”
Temperance stared at him. “You wouldn’t do that.” Before she could move, however, he suddenly reached out his arms and dragged her over. He was hugging her tightly, his face only inches from hers. She could feel the strength of his body and knew that he was conscious of her as a woman. She did not struggle, however, knowing it was useless. For a long moment he held her, then he laughed and released her. She got up at once and stared down at him. “Why did you let me go, Thaddeus?”
Thaddeus Brennan looked up at her and said thoughtfully, “Why, it’s real simple, Peabody. You just ain’t enough woman for me.”
The answer struck Temperance, and she whirled and went at once to climb into the wagon. Without bothering to undress, she pulled a blanket over her, found a place beside Billy and Rose, and lay there in the darkness. Her face was flushed, and she could not help but remember the strength of his muscular body. You’re just not woman enough for me, he had said. That troubled her, and she went to sleep thinking of ways to respond.
Chapter Eight
OVERHEAD, THE AZURE SKY seemed hard enough to scratch a match on. Across the horizon drifted soft, white, fleecy clouds that moved gently from east to west forming beautifully shaped columns that rose up like pristine castles. The air was cool and refreshing, as clean and pure as any air could be. From far off came the sounds of children talking, and over all the landscape peace seemed to come dropping slow . . .
But the dream faded when Temperance came awake, clawing at her stomach, and as the dream faded, all the harsh realities of more than a week on the western section of the Oregon Trail came rushing back. Gus was digging into her, treading on her stomach, and she shoved him away. “Stop that, Gus!” The big cat stared at her, then stalked away. Temperance scratched at her stomach through the linsey-woolsey nightgown, wondering if she was being attacked by bedbugs or chiggers, but decided that it was Gus’s claws that brought on the irritation.
The darkness inside the wagon was complete, blacker than a hundred midnights, and she reached over and touched Timmy, who she kept close beside her. He made a soft mewing cry, and she drew him close in the crook of her arm. The smell of the trail dust was in her nostrils, and no matter how many times she blew her nose, it always seemed to be clogged up. With only a single wagon that seemed impossible, but it was true enough.
Cautiously, after a time, she moved her arm and sat up. Rose and Billy were sleeping toward the front of the wagon. She did not want to wake them yet. Her muscles creaked as she crawled awkwardly across the blankets covering the jumble of boxes, tools, and supplies that filled the wagon to the top of the sideboards. Rena moaned in her sleep as Temperance made her way between the Overmeyer children. She opened the drawstring, and throwing her legs over, she lowered herself to the ground. She had put her clothing at the back of the wagon, and now quickly glancing around, she proceeded to remove the nightgown and put on one petticoat and one cotton dress. As she moved, her body felt sore. Sitting on the hard wagon seat made her discover muscles she didn’t know she had.
Glancing toward the east, she saw a pale opalescent line on the horizon breaking the empty blackness. A night bird complained softly somewhere to her left. All throughout the night she had heard the plaintive cries of the coyotes. Slipping into her half boots, she squatted awkwardly and laced them up, then paused, ready to start the regimen of the day.
As she moved toward the remnants of the fire, she was pleased to see there was still a faint glow in the ashes. Brennan had taught her how to put a large chunk of green wood on, before going to bed, and now there would not be the problem of starting a fire from scratch. He had also taught her to keep small and medium-sized sticks handy for starting the fire. These she now applied, blowing them until the smaller ones burst into a yellow flame that scored the darkness. As she nursed the fire into life, she thought of the difficulties of the trail and how different it was from what she had expected.
When Brennan had told her that they would follow the Snake River, that sounded pleasing. She had had a vision of a beautiful mountain stream, blue and clear, but it had not been like that. She quickly discovered that the Snake River was as ugly a river as its name. The river sank deep into a gorge, and the cliffs high above were scattered with boulders. Just getting water to drink meant lowering herself in the gorge, a torturous journey, filling up the water bags and cooking pots, and struggling back up. By the time she reached the top, she usually needed another drink. Temperance had not remembered this on her journey years ago when she had been a girl and had been filled with glowing aspirations and hope of a better life. Now she was older, and most of her youthful dreams had been extinguished.
> Twice, over rough terrain they’d had to unload the wagon almost completely, unhitch the oxen, and let the wagon down foot by foot by means of ropes. Even now as she put the skillet over the flame, she felt the rawness of her palms cut by the effort. Getting up, she stretched her aching back and for that moment tried to pray. She had discovered that praying was not as easy as it had been in her cozy cabin back in Walla Walla. There had been a time and comfort, a warm fire in the winter, going out onto the porch to get the cool breeze, a place to meet with God. Now her prayers seemed as dry as dust, and the words seemed to catch and hold in her mind like a logjam in a river. She found herself unable to do more than say, Lord, I wish I had more faith, but I don’t. I know You hear prayers, but it seems to me that the heavens are made out of brass. So, Lord, I guess You’ll just have to take me just as I am. The prayer was dry and unsatisfying, but she doggedly kept at it.
Finally, as the darkness turned to a lambent milky color, she went back to the wagon where Thad was rolled up in a wool blanket. He never undressed and did not even take his boots off to sleep, another mark of his carelessness and lack of personal hygiene. “Thaddeus, get up.” He did not stir, nor did she expect that he would. Reaching out, she shook one of his feet. “Get up, Thaddeus. It’s late. We’ve got to get started.”
After what seemed an excessive amount of speaking sharply and shaking Brennan’s boot, he groaned, rolled over, sat up, and belched loudly. “What is it? What do you want?”
“It’s time to get up.”
Brennan had removed his hat, his one bedtime habit. He clawed at his coarse hair, digging with his fingernails into his scalp. He yawned enormously and then crawled out.
“You wouldn’t be much help if there was an Indian attack,” Temperance observed acidly.
Coming to his feet, Brennan stretched, then turned to face her. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, and she could smell the raw alcohol on his breath. “Indians ain’t gonna attack, not here anyway.”
They had had this argument before, and Temperance had given up. “I want you to milk Ruth.”
“I got other things to do. I ain’t no milkmaid.”
“I’ve got to cook breakfast and feed the baby.”
“Get that Overmeyer brat to do it,” he announced and abruptly turned and ambled off in the direction of the oxen grazing to his right.
There was no arguing with Brennan in times like these, so Temperance moved to where the Overmeyer children were all together in a clump. Rena was in the middle holding on to Bess, who had her head under the blanket, while Bent, on the other side, was mumbling and kicking at something, having a bad dream.
“Rena, wake up.”
Rena awoke instantly, sat up, and said, “What do you want?”
“I need some help. Will you milk the goat for me?”
For a moment Temperance thought the girl would refuse. She often refused to do even the simplest chore out of a sheer rebellious spirit, it seemed. There was in Rena Overmeyer a contradiction that Temperance could not solve. The girl, at times, revealed a flash of goodness, surprising and indeed amazing. Considering that her mother had been a prostitute and her father a professional criminal, it was almost a miracle to see any sign of virtue. Still, it was there, although it was rare and one had to watch for it. It’s as if, Temperance thought, a beautiful violet grew up amid a garbage heap.
“I guess so,” Rena said. She got up and eased herself out of the blankets and went at once to milk the goat. It was one of her generous moments, and Temperance was grateful.
By the time Rena had milked Ruth and Brennan had yoked the oxen, Temperance had cooked a breakfast of mush, two-day-old biscuits, and antelope steaks. Brennan had shot the antelope the day before and had dressed it. The little creature was tough and stringy, but at least it was fresh meat.
“Breakfast is ready,” Temperance called out, and the little band gathered itself. Rose came with two pans and got meals for herself and for little Billy. The two sat down and ate at once. Temperance noticed that Rena got the mush and put some sugar and cream in it for one-year-old Bess. Bess sat down, and Rena shoveled the mush into her mouth before eating herself.
Bent, on the other hand, ate like a starved wolf. He downed his mush then chewed on the tough biscuits and the even tougher antelope steak. “I can’t hardly chew this,” he complained.
“That’s cause you didn’t say no grace,” Brennan grinned. He himself appeared able to digest scrap iron and filled his plate a second time.
As usual, he had a hangover, and Rose, who had some sort of fascination for the tall man, watched him eat. “You don’t have no manners at all, Brennan,” she said.
“Ain’t important. Mind your own business.”
“What were you like when you were younger? Were you as mean as you are now?”
“I was shorter,” Brennan said testily.
He looked at the empty plate and said, “Ain’t there some way you can make some sawmill gravy or something to loosen up these biscuits? You could use them to fire out of a cannon.”
“Why don’t you ever shave?” Rose persisted. “You look like an ol’ porkypine.”
Brennan turned and studied the young girl. Even at the age of six, she had an overdeveloped maternal instinct and watched out for her two-year-old brother constantly. She was a small child for her age but not delicate. The days on the trail had brought freckles out across her nose and tanned her skin into a summer darkness. Her dark hair caught the gleam of the morning sun with just a touch of red in it, and her eyes were a solid dark blue. “I’m afraid to shave,” Brennan snapped at her crossly.
“Why? Afraid you’ll cut yourself?”
“No. When I shave, I’m so pretty the women won’t leave me alone.”
Rose stared at him and finally announced loudly, “That’s a lie.”
Temperance had to smile, for it amused her that Rose, at her tender age, could get the best of Brennan. He stayed as far away from the children as possible and refused to have anything to do with the care they required.
“Where are we, Brennan?”
“We’re out in the middle of the desert, can’t you see?”
“I mean show me on the map.” She had begun keeping the map that he had drawn, and he glanced at it with bleary eyes and poked with a dirty finger. “Right here. We’ll be at Fort Boise sometime today, I reckon.”
“That’s good. I’d like to have a chair to sit down in.”
“I ain’t sure they even got chairs in Fort Boise—ain’t much of a place.” Abruptly Brennan got to his feet. “Let’s get going if we’re going. We’re burning daylight.” He turned and said, “When we get to Fort Boise, we’ll have to buy some trading goods.”
“Trading for what?”
“We’ll try to trade the Cheyenne and the Pawnee some beads and maybe a knife or two.”
“And what will they give us?”
“They’ll let us keep our scalps if they’re in a good humor.” The effect of Brennan’s words on the others seemed to please him. He laughed abruptly, then turned and said, “Everybody needs to take care of their personal needs. I don’t want to stop every ten minutes on the way to Fort Boise for all of you to dribble.”
* * *
BY TEN O’CLOCK THE hard seat of the wagon had produced about the same effect on Temperance’s bottom as if someone had beat her with a thick wooden paddle. The wagon had no springs, and every pothole and gully caused the seat to hit her like a blow. Finally, they stopped at noon and ate a quick meal. When they were ready to go, she said, “I’m going to walk, Brennan. Teach me how to lead the oxen.”
Brennan had been about to go back to his position beside Babe. He turned now and studied her. Suddenly humor gleamed in his dark eyes. He took time to roll a cigarette, lit it, then grinned broadly. Every time he grinned, two parallel creases appeared at the sides of his mouth barely visible under the dirt and the whiskers. “I know why you want to walk. Your bottom is sore.”
Temperance glared at him.
“Don’t—don’t you talk to me like that!”
Brennan grinned even more broadly, “You always like to fool yourself. You think if you don’t mention something it don’t exist. Women got bottoms just like men.”
“I don’t want you talking about my anatomy.”
“Anatomy?” Brennan grinned broadly at her. “What part of you is that?”
“Never mind! Just teach me how to lead the oxen.”
Highly amused for once, Brennan said, “I reckon even a holy woman like you can lead oxen. The trail’s marked out. Come on.”
Brennan led her to the big ox Babe, who turned and looked at Temperance with liquid brown eyes. “Get acquainted with Babe. He’s the brains of the outfit.”
Temperance reached up and put her hand on the big animal’s shoulder and stroked it. It was an enormous beast but placid and never showed any ill temper.
“Just say hup and start out, and Babe will go with you.”
“How do I stop them?”
“Just stop and say whoa. That too hard for you?”
“No, I can do it.”
“Who’s going to take care of the younguns?”
“Rose can take care of Timmy, and Rena will take care of her sister.”
“Good. I’ll get to ride a horse.”
“Ride a horse where?”
“Maybe I can shoot something, or I’ll ride ahead and kill off all the bloodthirsty Cheyenne just lusting to have a nice, juicy white woman like you. They’ll sure enough like your anatomy.” He moved to the back of the wagon, mounted Judas, and a few minutes later shot past Temperance. A sense of fear came to Temperance as he grew smaller and disappeared around a curve. Here she was in the middle of the wilderness with six defenseless children, and between them and safety lay a dangerous trail with Indians, sickness, and disaster possibly every mile.
Putting the fears aside, Temperance slapped Babe on the shoulder and said, “Come on, Babe, let’s go. Hup!”
The huge animal moved forward against the oxbow. The other animals followed suit and Temperance, pleased by the response, walked along. Actually walking was much easier than riding. From time to time she would glance back at the wagon to see that the children were all right. As long as they didn’t fall out, nothing could happen to them. She knew that Rena would take care of Bess, and Rose was a youthful mother, in effect, taking care of Timmy.
A Man for Temperance (Wagon Wheel) Page 10
