A Dream for Tomorrow

by Melody Carlson

  “I would imagine she is very unwell.” Elizabeth scooped a cup of rice from the barrel. “She’s been through a shocking experience.”

  “More than just that,” Clara said. “She has a very gray look about her. The same sort of coloring Aunt Beatrice had before she passed on last winter.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “I know there’s a doctor in unit three. Should we send JT for him?”

  “Perhaps.”

  After JT left to locate the doctor, Elizabeth felt even more guilty for her ill feelings toward Mrs. Taylor. What if the poor woman was dying? “Maybe we can use some of this gravy to make soup for Mrs. Taylor,” she suggested to her mother. “Perhaps mash some rice into it?”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

  Elizabeth was just filling a bowl with some buffalo and rice broth when JT returned with Dr. Nash in tow. “I’ll take you to her,” she told the doctor. “I made her some soup.”

  “Your son told me that her husband, Mr. Taylor, is most likely dead?”

  “We don’t know for sure, but I doubt he survived the fall.”

  “I didn’t hear of the accident until we were making camp. I could take a horse back there…to see if I can be of any help.”

  She paused by the back of her wagon. “Right now, you might be of more help with Mrs. Taylor.” She pulled the canvas back. “Ruth, please help Grandma with supper now.”

  Ruth looked glad to be relieved of her nursemaid duties. Elizabeth and the doctor climbed into the wagon, where she lit a lantern and assured Mrs. Taylor that there had been no news regarding her husband while the doctor began to examine her. He listened to her heart and checked her pulse and a few other things, including asking her some questions, which she answered in a weak, tired voice.

  “I suspect you are simply overwrought over today’s ordeal,” he finally proclaimed. “It’s certainly understandable.” He turned to Elizabeth. “I would prescribe a good deal of rest and soups and tea like you’ve made here. As well as…” He lowered his voice. “An occasional dose of spirits to build up her blood.”

  Elizabeth blinked. “A dose of spirits? Where am I to get that?”

  “I believe Ruby Morris still has a small supply. I’ve sent a few others her way.” Dr. Nash gave her a sly smile. “Strictly for medicinal purposes, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll head back down the trail and see how Mr. Taylor has fared.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Taylor said weakly. “Please do.”

  As he climbed out, Elizabeth held the bowl of soup in front of Mrs. Taylor. “And while the doctor is seeing about Mr. Taylor, you can sit up and eat this soup. It’ll help to build your strength back up.”

  Mrs. Taylor reluctantly complied, and with Elizabeth’s help and encouragement, she managed to get the full bowl down. “Now I want you to obey the doctor’s orders and continue to rest.” Elizabeth helped her to lie back down.

  “But…Horace…” Mrs. Taylor’s looked helplessly up at her.

  “As soon as we know something, we will tell you. In the meantime, just rest.” Elizabeth took the empty bowl and climbed out of the wagon. Instead of returning to her parents’ campsite, she went directly to Ruby’s wagon.

  “Elizabeth.” Ruby smiled to see Elizabeth approaching. “Welcome!”

  “How are the Taylors?” Doris asked eagerly. “We heard of their troubles.”

  Elizabeth was surprised at how compassionate these two women were, especially after the Taylors had practically accused them of running a brothel during the first part of this journey. Mrs. Taylor nearly managed to get them kicked out of the wagon train. Putting that behind her, Elizabeth gave her the latest news, which wasn’t much. “My mother was worried that poor Mrs. Taylor might be having heart problems as a result of her shock, but Dr. Nash from unit three just examined her.”

  “And she is all right?” Doris asked.

  “I think so. But he did recommend that she receive a dose of spirits.” Elizabeth made an uncomfortable smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Ruby laughed loudly. “The doc wants you to give Mrs. Taylor some whiskey?”

  “He said it would be good for her blood.”

  “I don’t doubt that. But do you honestly think she’ll willingly imbibe?”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Probably not.”

  “She will if you tell her it’s just medicine,” Doris suggested. “I’ll go find a bottle to put some in. What the old gal doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  “I never liked the Taylors,” Ruby admitted as Doris was fetching the whiskey, “but I never wished them no ill. Nothing like this anyway.”

  “Here you go.” Doris handed Elizabeth a tall amber bottle with a cork on top. “Medicine.”

  “Thank you.” Elizabeth slid the bottle into a pocket of her oilskin, and feeling a bit like a bootlegger, she hurried back to her wagon. “I got the medicine Dr. Nash recommended,” she told Mrs. Taylor as she opened the bottle and filled the soup spoon with the strong-smelling liquid. “Open wide.” Mrs. Taylor complied but then wrinkled her nose at the taste.

  “Ugh! That is horrible.”

  “Never mind. I just hope it will help you to rest,” Elizabeth told her.

  “Horace?” Mrs. Taylor asked quietly as Elizabeth was leaving.

  “No word yet. The men haven’t returned.”

  It was nearly dark when Asa and some of the other men returned on horseback. JT and Brady jumped up to help with the horses. Looking hungry and tired, Asa came into camp looking as if he were carrying the world on his shoulders. “Are you all right, Father?” Elizabeth led him to a chair by the fire, and as she got him a cup of hot coffee, Clara hurried to fill him a plate with food.

  “Mr. Taylor is no longer with us,” Asa said sadly.

  “Oh, dear.” Clara wrung her hands. “I was afraid that was the situation. Poor Mrs. Taylor.”

  “Where is she?” Asa asked.

  “In my wagon,” Elizabeth supplied. “Ruth is staying with her.” She sat down on a chair by her father, waiting for him to continue his story.

  He nodded, slowly forking into his food. “It’s been a long day. Matthew and Jess are on their way now. They’re bringing the body and a few salvaged goods. Will and Jeremiah are riding in front of the wagon with lanterns.”

  “Oh, my!” Elizabeth shuddered. “That stretch of road is bad enough in daylight. I can’t even imagine it by dark.”

  “At least it’s not raining now,” Asa assured her. “And you know your brother. He’ll be careful. And Jess had the good sense to fix him a hot meal, so he’s not driving on an empty stomach.”

  “Should we tell Mrs. Taylor?” Clara asked timidly.

  Asa sighed. “I s’pect we’ll have to.”

  Without speaking, they all looked at one another.

  Elizabeth knew her parents were both worn out. “Why don’t I tell her,” she offered. “Maybe I can offer a token of comfort…after all, I do know what it feels like to lose a husband.”

  Clara placed her hand on Elizabeth’s head. “You are an angel, child.”

  “You two get some good rest tonight,” she told them.

  “What about you?” Clara asked. “Do you plan to keep Mrs. Taylor with you all night?”

  “Where else can she go?”

  Asa just shook his head.

  “Why don’t you send Ruthie over to sleep in our wagon,” Clara offered. “That way you’ll have more room.”

  “I’m so tired, I might just throw a bedroll beneath the wagon tonight,” Asa told her. “Your mother and Ruthie will have plenty of room.” He gave her a weary smile. “Hopefully my snoring won’t keep them awake.”

  “You go see to Mrs. Taylor,” Clara told her. “I’ll finish cleaning up here. You’ll have your work cut out for you in your wagon.”

  Elizabeth knew that was true. She sighed as she stood, pausing to plant a kiss on her father’s and then her mother’s cheeks, bidding them each good night and re
alizing how thankful she was that they were not the Taylors. Then she picked up her lantern and slowly walked to her wagon, trying to concoct a plan for how she would tell Mrs. Taylor this most unfortunate news. But she truly believed that deep down, Mrs. Taylor must already know. One glance at the wreckage today had convinced Elizabeth that no one could have survived.

  Ruth, already in her nightgown, was reading a book that Jess had given to her by the golden lamplight. Such a sweet scene…until Elizabeth saw Mrs. Taylor watching them with a worried expression. Then the sweetness was gone. “Ruthie, Grandma invited you to sleep in her wagon tonight.”

  “What about Grandpa?” Ruth asked curiously.

  “He’s going to make a bed under the wagon.” Elizabeth assisted Ruth with her shoes and then helped her down from the tailgate. Then with lantern in hand, she proceeded to walk Ruth over to her grandparents’ wagon. On their way, they met JT and Brady. “I might as well tell you all at once,” Elizabeth said quietly. “Mr. Taylor has passed on.”

  They expressed their sorrows, and then Elizabeth explained that she had yet to tell Mrs. Taylor. “This will be very hard on her, and we’ll all need to do what we can to be helpful and understanding.”

  Finally, with everyone settled for the night, Elizabeth climbed back into her wagon. The irony that she was sharing her bed with the same woman she’d been enraged at earlier today did not escape her. And although she felt guilty for her anger, she was more concerned with how Mrs. Taylor was going to receive this sad news. For a moment, she almost thought that Mrs. Taylor was sleeping. But then she opened her eyes, staring at Elizabeth with such a deep and lonely longing that Elizabeth felt tears gathering in her own eyes. Mr. Taylor was probably this woman’s only real family…and now he was gone.

  “Mrs. Taylor,” Elizabeth began slowly, “the men have returned. Unfortunately they did not return with good news.”

  “Horace?” Her voice broke.

  Elizabeth nodded somberly. “He has passed on.”

  Mrs. Taylor tightly closed her eyes, her face contorted into a twisted mass of grief and pain. Then she rolled onto her side, facing away from Elizabeth, and curling up like a small child, she let out a long, low guttural sound—like a wounded animal. Elizabeth shuddered at the haunting sound. After a brief silence, Elizabeth was preparing to say something of comfort when Mrs. Taylor began to loudly sob. She continued like this for some time, sounding as if she might never stop.

  Everything in Elizabeth wanted to run…to escape the unhappy confines of this crowded wagon, a spot that had been her family’s refuge these past few months. She longed for a place of peace and quiet, a reprieve from the tortured sounds of this poor woman’s heartache. At the very least, although it was discouraged, she was tempted to go outside and take an evening stroll. Instead, she moved the kerosene lamp closer to her and reached for her Bible, opening the old book to the place where she used a faded hair ribbon as a bookmark. She knew the twenty-third psalm by heart, but at the moment she felt the need to have something solid in her hands…and so she read.

  The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

  He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:

  he leadeth me beside the still waters.

  He restoreth my soul:

  he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

  Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

  thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

  Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies:

  thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:

  and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Captain Brownlee delayed the wagon train’s departure for an hour to attend to the funeral and burial of Horace Taylor. At Mrs. Taylor’s request, the captain was chosen to perform the solemn ceremony. Elizabeth felt dismayed that her father hadn’t been invited to provide this service, because she knew his words would have provided more hope and spiritual encouragement than the captain’s. However, the captain had clearly done this before…probably many times.

  “Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,” the captain proclaimed as he dropped a handful of dirt onto the faded patchwork quilt that had been salvaged from the wreckage of the Taylors’ wagon and was now Mr. Taylor’s shroud. The dirt landed in a dull thud, and the captain turned and walked away. Naturally there had been no time to make a casket, although Elizabeth had overheard one of the young people suggesting that someone should have salvaged the piano and remodeled it into a coffin. Unkind words perhaps, but the irony was inescapable.

  “And now we will sing Horace’s favorite hymn,” Mrs. Taylor declared in a shaky voice. “If you will all join me in ‘A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.’”

  Elizabeth had offered her family’s assistance with some musical accompaniment for the service, but Mrs. Taylor soundly rejected this idea. Now as the old woman bravely led the group in song, many of the voices stumbled over the melody as well as the words, but Mrs. Taylor’s voice boomed out loud and clear, if not slightly off-key. By the time they came to the last verse only a few continued singing—with Mrs. Taylor still leading, still off-key. Elizabeth sang quietly along with her, but she nearly stopped singing as the appropriateness of the last few lines hit her. She turned to see Mrs. Taylor, still singing with eyes closed and two streams of tears sliding down her weathered cheeks.

  Let goods and kindred go,

  This mortal life also.

  The body they may kill,

  God’s truth abideth still.

  His kingdom is forever.

  Although there was great relief to have reached Red Buttes, many travelers were sorely disappointed when they learned that the North Platte River was so swollen with rain that their crossing would be delayed. However, Elizabeth and her family decided to make use of this unexpected break. Because of the muddy water of the North Platte, it was impossible to wash clothes in the river and get them clean. As a result, they were forced to carry buckets of water back to camp. They let the water sit until the silt settled to the bottom, and then they scooped water off the top to pour into the washtubs. This made doing laundry a challenge, but Clara, Elizabeth, Jess, and Ruth were determined to get it done, and working together made the task more enjoyable.

  They took turns scrubbing and rinsing and finally hanging the clothes to dry in the morning sun, but when the afternoon rain came they scurried to move the nearly dry clothes into Asa’s large tent to continue drying. The mixed blessing of the rain was that they were able to use their tarp awnings to collect drinking water that tasted much better than the river water. Besides, Clara had heard rumors of cholera on this river. She insisted on boiling any water they used for cooking or dishwashing.

  During this waiting period, the men tended to mechanical repairs and wagon maintenance. Matthew insisted on applying fresh coats of tar to the undersides of the wagons. After all the rough roads, he wanted to ensure they were still watertight. And Asa hired Bert Flanders to replace some horseshoes and do a few other blacksmithing chores to strengthen the wagons and gear for the second half of their journey. In exchange for Bert’s labor, Asa and Clara shared food supplies, which the Flanders were always grateful to receive.

  During the days following her husband’s demise, Mrs. Taylor kept to herself, saying very little to anyone. Despite Clara and Elizabeth’s numerous attempts to draw her out, inviting her to take walks or to join them for family mealtimes, Mrs. Taylor insisted on staying holed up in Elizabeth’s wagon. The bedding even began to smell as stale as the old woman, and Elizabeth felt more trapped than ever.

  “What am I going to do with her?” Elizabeth quietly asked her mother on her fourth day of hosting Mrs. Taylor. The children had gone exploring with Asa, leaving the two women to wash up after their midday meal. />
  “You mean your guest?” Clara absently dried a wooden bowl.

  Elizabeth added more hot water to the washtub. “I don’t want to complain, and I do feel great pity for her, but I don’t understand why she’s become my personal responsibility.”

  Clara reached for a dripping plate. “Because no one else wants her?”

  “Yes, I know…but…” Elizabeth glanced over to her wagon, which no longer felt like her wagon, and sighed.

  “I know it isn’t fair for you to be saddled with her for the duration of the trip,” Clara stated. “However, it seems unkind to start moving the poor woman around against her will. She already feels lost and displaced. I can’t even imagine what that would be like. No family. No friends. Hardly any possessions for that matter.”

  “I know…I’ve considered all that.”

  “And you’ve heard me ask her again and again. I’ve encouraged her to stay with us in our wagon, but she’s worried about displacing Asa.”

  “She doesn’t realize Father is already somewhat displaced by Ruth sleeping in your wagon.”

  “Asa doesn’t really mind so much. Matthew is letting him use his old hammock.”

  Elizabeth scrubbed a scorched pot with vexed vigor. She didn’t want to say the question that was really on her mind—was she going to be stuck with Mrs. Taylor for the duration of the trip?

  “Your father and I discussed this topic this morning. He suggested that the wagons with the least occupants should help out. That would be us, the McIntires, and Ruby and Doris.”

  Elizabeth set the pot down with a clang. “I can just imagine Mrs. Taylor’s response to sharing a wagon with Ruby and Doris.”

  Clara chuckled. “It might prove interesting.”

  “And the sweet McIntires. They barely have enough food as it is. And poor Fiona is still getting over losing her baby. I’d hate to foist Mrs. Taylor on them.”