A Dream for Tomorrow

by Melody Carlson

  Mrs. Taylor looked up from reading her Bible, which was her nightly routine. “Pulling my weight?” Her voice wavered.

  Elizabeth set her hairbrush aside, trying to determine what she’d said wrong. “It’s good that you’re working with the rest of us.”

  “You believe it’s my fault, don’t you?” Mrs. Taylor said quietly.

  “What do you mean?” Elizabeth now began to braid her hair.

  “You believe it’s my fault that Horace died…because I wouldn’t give up my piano. You and everyone else believe that, don’t you?”

  Elizabeth tied off the braid and let out a long sigh. “I’m not sure it’s important what I or anyone else believes in regard to your husband’s demise.”

  “I see them looking at me…” she continued in a shaky voice. “I know that they all blame me. I hear them whispering. They think I killed my husband.” Now she was starting to cry.

  “Mrs. Taylor, over the years I have learned that what people think of you is not nearly as important as what you think of yourself.”

  Mrs. Taylor pulled a rumpled hankie from her sleeve, wiping her eyes. “Do you know what I wish?” she said quietly. “I wish that I had been in the wagon with Horace. I wish that I had died with him. Then no one would be saying I killed my husband.” She sniffed. “In a way we would be martyrs.”

  “Martyrs?”

  “We would have both died for our faith.” Mrs. Taylor stuck her chin out. “That would make us Christian martyrs.”

  Elizabeth was tired and longing for sleep, but something in her could not allow Mrs. Taylor to believe this without at least challenging it. “I’m sorry,” she said gently, “but I do not believe that would make you martyrs.”

  “Well, of course it would. We would have both been killed on a mission for God.”

  “You would have both been killed because you refused to follow your councilman’s orders. My father warned you, Mrs. Taylor, that piano was too heavy for your team. And you know it.”

  Mrs. Taylor pointed a bony finger at Elizabeth. “See! You do believe I’m responsible for Horace’s death. You as much as admitted it. Tell the truth, Elizabeth Martin, you blame me, do you not?”

  Elizabeth looked up at the canvas overhead, wishing there was some gentle way out of this. “Yes, it’s true that I believe your stubbornness over that piano contributed greatly to your husband losing control of the wagon…I believe your overloaded wagon was partly responsible for the accident that took your husband’s life.” She let out a long sigh. There. She had said it.

  And now Mrs. Taylor began to sob again. Even louder this time. Elizabeth could only imagine what Brady and JT, sleeping beneath the wagon, must be thinking.

  “I’m sorry.” Elizabeth placed a hand on her shoulder. “You demanded the truth from me.”

  “I know…I asked for it…and I’m sure you’re right. It’s what everyone else believes.”

  “But only God knows the full story.” Elizabeth softened her tone. “Well, God and Mr. Taylor. There might have been other factors involved.” She tried to think. “Perhaps a snake frightened your team and made your husband lose control. Or maybe the axle broke or a harness snapped. Or…perhaps it was simply Horace’s time to go.”

  Mrs. Taylor looked at her with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you think so?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But I do know this…”

  “What?”

  Elizabeth pointed at her. “You will have to come to terms with this. It’s obvious you feel guilty. And you should feel guilty. It was selfish to hold onto that piano.”

  “I know.” She nodded sadly. “And I do feel guilty. Believe me, I feel very guilty.”

  “I find that reassuring.”

  Mrs. Taylor looked confused by this.

  “It just shows that you’re human,” Elizabeth explained. “And it makes me like you more.”

  “Truly?” Mrs. Taylor looked surprised.

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “But what shall I do with all this guilt?” Mrs. Taylor held her hands up helplessly. “I feel as if I’ve been buried alive with it, as if I can hardly breathe at times. And I find myself wishing I were dead. I even considered jumping into the river the other day when you were crossing the North Platte. But I knew that would be a sin. Oh, dear, what can I do?”

  “Being that you’re a Christian woman, I should think you would know what to do, Mrs. Taylor. But perhaps it’s a bit like the shoemaker’s children.”

  “The what?”

  “Surely you’ve heard the old saying that the shoemaker’s children go barefoot.”

  Mrs. Taylor shook her head. “No, I have not. What does it mean? Their father is a shoemaker, so certainly they would have shoes.”

  “Yes…you would think so. But perhaps the shoemaker father, so weary from making shoes all day, came home so tired that he overlooked his own family’s need for footwear.”

  “Well, yes, I can imagine that.”

  “And perhaps someone in the clergy…someone such as yourself…perhaps you have lost sight of who God truly is.”

  “What are you saying?” Mrs. Taylor seemed offended now.

  “I’m speaking of the gospel—the good news. I should think you of all people would have great need of it just now.”

  Mrs. Taylor’s brow creased as if Elizabeth was talking of some great mystery. But Elizabeth felt as if she were finally getting someplace. Was it possible that with all the Taylors’ focus on serving God as missionaries, Mrs. Taylor had actually lost her grasp on God’s true character—the simple truths that Elizabeth’s father had taught his children from the cradle? Perhaps Mrs. Taylor had never understood them. And as Elizabeth remembered the Taylors’ negative sermons, railing against everything, predicting hell and damnation for everyone, she knew it must be so. Mrs. Taylor had been so full of condemnation and judgment, she had been blinded by it. Elizabeth had never once heard Mrs. Taylor make mention of God’s love or grace or mercy.

  “Surely you are aware of the gospel,” Elizabeth continued patiently, as if speaking to a small child. “You do know that God sent Jesus to take away the burden of sin and guilt.”

  “Yes…” she murmured, “of course.”

  “But you feel as if you’re being buried in guilt and you even felt tempted to take your own life?”

  She nodded. “I even imbibed and became drunk and danced like a fool for the whole world to see.” She started sobbing again.

  Elizabeth patted her on the back, suppressing the urge to chuckle. “Quite honestly, I think that is your most forgivable offense of all, Mrs. Taylor. No one here will ever hold that against you. In fact, it might have softened some hearts toward you. We all knew you were in pain over losing Mr. Taylor.”

  She just nodded, sniffling again.

  “But you do need forgiveness for the guilt you’re carrying in regard to Mr. Taylor’s death. It’s only natural that you blame yourself. And you’re right, there are others who blame you too.”

  “I know…I know. But what can I do?”

  Elizabeth reached for her own Bible now, flipping to the back. “I’m sure you’re familiar with this scripture. It’s from the first book of John, chapter one, verse nine.” She began to read. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

  “Yes. I am familiar with that.”

  “Just like the shoemaker was familiar with boot making.” Now Elizabeth read the verse again, slowly and clearly. “Don’t you see, Mrs. Taylor? You need to confess your sin—you need to admit what you did wrong and take responsibility for it. Then you can hand it over to God so he can forgive you…and cleanse you.”

  She pressed her thin lips together as if she was trying to grasp this. Elizabeth suspected that this was a new challenge for Mrs. Taylor. She was probably unaccustomed to confessing any of her shortcomings. Before losing her husband, she probably didn’t even realize she had anything to be forgiven for.

  “I kn
ow you are a proud woman, Mrs. Taylor. At least you were before…but God wants you to be humble. He wants you to admit that you were selfish and stubborn about your piano. When you admit to these things, God will be able to pour out his forgiveness and mercy on you. God will give you a new beginning, but only if you admit to your own sins and shortcomings.”

  Mrs. Taylor sighed and with downcast eyes just sadly shook her head.

  “I hope I haven’t worn your ears out.” Elizabeth turned the wick down on the lantern. “I know we’re both tired, and we have a long hard day ahead of us tomorrow. If you want to discuss this further tomorrow, I am more than willing.”

  Mrs. Taylor remained silent.

  “Good night.” Elizabeth crawled into bed and closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer for this poor lost woman.

  The first day on Devil’s Backbone was long and hard and hot and dry. The pale sun-baked alkaline soil seemed to suck the moisture out of everything around it. Nothing grew in this hellish wasteland. When they came across a small bog of brackish-looking water, Elizabeth knew from her father’s warning that it was toxic, and the bleached bones of unfortunate livestock seemed to grimly confirm this.

  Mrs. Taylor had continued being very quiet today. But at least she got out and walked for short spells. Elizabeth could tell the travel was hard on her. It was hard on everyone. Even the children seemed dull and slow as they plodded along. The sooner they all escaped this dangerous desert, the happier she would be.

  Whether it was knowing that water was scarce or simply the hostile arid climate, she found herself feeling thirstier than ever. And despite her resolve to ration and control the water, she had difficulty forbidding her children from drinking when they were thirsty. She would rather give up some of her water than to see them suffer. By the end of the day, she couldn’t even imagine how they would make it through two more.

  “The good news is that we made nearly twelve miles today,” Asa announced at suppertime. Their whole family was gathered under the shade afforded by the large tarp attached to her parents’ wagon. Several of them were draping themselves in the damp cloths Asa had encouraged them to pack. But Elizabeth guessed even those would be dry by tomorrow.

  “What is the bad news?” Matthew sounded slightly irritable, but he had helped Ruby and Doris with a minor breakdown in the heat of the day, only to find out he had guard duty tonight and wasn’t too pleased about it.

  “We still have two days to go.” Asa made a weak smile.

  “I can help you on guard duty,” JT said to Matthew.

  “Thanks, buddy, but I think you need to be eighteen.”

  “That’s right,” Asa told them.

  “And male,” Jess added, which made them laugh to remember when she had disguised herself as a young man.

  “It seems unlikely that any Indians would venture out here,” Elizabeth said as she began gathering some of the dishes. The plan was to first rub them clean with the alkaline soil to conserve water and then to rinse them in boiling hot water.

  “You never know.” Asa pointed a stern finger at Matthew. “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep. Someone in unit four got caught sleeping, and it resulted in a steep fine.”

  Matthew reached for the coffeepot. “Anyone mind if I finish this off?”

  The second day on Devil’s Backbone was worse than the first. Elizabeth was thankful she hadn’t suffered a breakdown as had some of the others, but she knew her team was stressed. Horses were not as hardy as oxen and mules. For this reason she took over for JT and Brady by caring for the stock at the end of the day. She knew some people would think it silly, but she spoke to the horses as she curried their coats and checked their hooves. She told them they were doing a good job and that they only had one day of this hellish torture left.

  “Talking to your horses, are you?” Will Bramford popped his head over the other side of Bella’s back.

  “Goodness!” She stood up straight. “You startled me.”

  “You startled me,” he teased. “I thought your horses were actually conversing with each other.”

  “Ha-ha,” she said sarcastically.

  “Do you always talk to your animals?”

  She held her chin high. “I believe if I take care of my animals, they will take care of me.”

  “Well, they are some fine-looking animals,” he admitted. “Can’t blame you for that.”

  “If you were smart, you’d be tending to your own team right now,” she told him, “instead of wasting time talking to me.”

  “Are you suggesting I go speak to my oxen?”

  She shrugged, continuing to curry Bella’s coat.

  “You have heard the expression, dumb as an ox?”

  She stood up straight again, looking him in the eye. “Those dumb oxen are getting you and your family safely to Oregon. I should think that would win them some respect.”

  “They’re just animals, Elizabeth. Besides, Jeremiah and Julius are seeing to them now. They’re being properly fed and watered.” He frowned. “You seem a bit irate. Is Mrs. Taylor getting under your skin again?”

  She exhaled loudly, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so contrary. And to answer your question, no, Mrs. Taylor is just fine, thank you very much.” Actually Mrs. Taylor had barely spoken to her since their late-night conversation about forgiveness. “The truth is I’m a bit worried about our water situation.”

  His dark brows shot up. “You’re running out of water?”

  “I don’t want to tell my father because he’s our councilman. But I’m afraid I’ve already gone through more than two-thirds of our water supply, and we still have a full day of travel through this…this fire and brimstone desert.” She tossed the curry brush into the canvas bucket that no longer held water.

  “Oh…” He rubbed his chin. “Do you think you have enough water to make it?”

  She sighed as she pushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it into her bonnet. “It doesn’t look good. And I know my brother and father will barely have enough. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought so much livestock. I’ve considered getting rid of some hens, but they really don’t drink much water anyway.” She glanced over to the milking cow she’d brought from the farm. She’d long since dried up from giving milk, but the poor animal looked parched, and Elizabeth knew she was thirsty. She had so hoped to get this cow all the way to Oregon, but now she was uncertain. “I’m afraid I’ll need to sacrifice Goldie.”

  He looked startled. “Who is Goldie?”

  “Our cow. She was our best milk cow too.”

  “Oh.” He looked over to the cow. “You would do that so your team can have more water?”

  She nodded sadly. “It’s the sensible thing to do. But it won’t be easy.”

  “No, I should think not.”

  “Well, I suppose I should go tell my father the bad news. The sooner we do this, the better.”

  “Wait…” He held up a hand. “Give me just a moment.”

  “Why?” She turned to look at him.

  His brow was creased in thought. “What if I adopt Goldie?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I hate to see her killed, and we seem to be all right with water. We still have enough for tomorrow and probably some to spare.”

  “That’s because you don’t have extra livestock.”

  “I don’t really mean to say I’ll take Goldie off your hands, Elizabeth. But how about if we share some of our water with her?”

  Elizabeth tilted her head to one side, trying to determine his motives. “Is it because you don’t want to see her slaughtered? You know we would share the meat with everyone in our unit, including your family.”

  “It seems a shame to kill a perfectly good milk cow.” He reached over and patted her on the neck. “And she seems such a nice cow.”

  Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile. “Still, you can’t just be giving me your water. Out here water is more precious than gold. What would you expect in return?�
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  He shrugged. “Well, my girls keep hinting that they want to follow your family to where you locate in Oregon. At first I thought it was because they were in love with Matthew. But now he’s married.” His eyes twinkled. “Maybe we’ll be your neighbors and we can drop by and borrow a quart of milk sometimes. That would be a fair exchange for a bucket of water.”

  She was surprised. “You really want to go all the way down to the southern part of the Oregon Territory to live? I thought you planned to settle in Portland. Where we’re going is a fair distance from there.”

  “We are a democratic family,” he declared. “And my children have the majority vote.”

  “Even the females?”

  “Yes. We are a very progressive bunch.”

  She chuckled but then grew more serious. “Are you certain you have water to spare for Goldie?”

  “I think we do. But I’ll check with my children first. Put it to a vote.”

  “Please, let me know directly,” she told him. “This is a decision that should be made as soon as possible.” She frowned at the sweet Guernsey. She had only given Goldie a smidgeon of water so far, knowing she should conserve it in case she really was forced to put her beloved bovine down.

  “I promise to return shortly.” He tipped his hat.

  “And I’ll understand if you choose not to do this, Will,” she assured him. “You must look to the welfare of your own stock and family first.”

  He just nodded and then hurried away. She hoped that he was being honest with her. She would feel terrible if he was shortchanging his own family for her sake. But really, why would he do that? Oh, she knew that he was somewhat interested in her. But she had never done anything to give him the impression that she wanted anything more than friendship with him.

  Now she had to ask herself why she was interested only in his friendship and not something more. Why didn’t she consider him someone she could potentially marry and grow old together with? Will seemed to be a genuinely good man. And she liked him. He was intelligent and interesting. Certainly, many widows would see Will Bramford as quite a catch. Why didn’t she?