by Prairie Song
Caleb was in the process of turning around, about thirty feet from Miss Goben, when she looked up.
With no choice now but to follow through on his original plan, Caleb joined her beside a young willow. “Good day, Miss Goben.”
Her face pinked. “And to you, Caleb.” She glanced around them. “I didn’t see you there. Anna. Call me Anna.”
“Anna.” He pulled the derby from his head.
Her gaze rose to the top of his head, and a bashful grin brightened her blue eyes.
“My hair?” He looked that direction as if he could actually see his hair and then, smiling, raised his right arm. “On the top. Your left.”
He switched hands and brushed his hair. “Better?”
She nodded.
“I heard you singing.”
The pink in her cheeks deepened.
“You have a lovely voice.”
“Thank you.” She glanced at the rope in her hand. “I was just moving one of our oxen.”
“Mind if I walk with you?”
“I don’t mind, but I’m not going very far.” She looked at the steer. “It seems he’s feeling a bit cantankerous this morning.”
Caleb grinned. “I know the feeling. That happened to me last Tuesday morning.”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“When I saw you out here, I thought this might be a better time to clear the air.”
“I would’ve said you did as much the other evening when you helped with the wagon.”
Caleb matched her easy pace, swinging his hat at his side. “Yes, well, thank you. But there was nothing official about it.”
“All right, then. Let’s clear the air.”
“Good. It’s just that I have a job to do, and I wish to be cordial with everyone in the Company. I don’t want any ill will between us.”
She stopped and looked him in the eye. He saw no sign of ill will, and what he thought he saw made him weak in the knees. Curiosity? Interest? Attraction?
Caleb cleared his throat, hoping his imagination would take the hint. “I became concerned when I learned that you and Miss Pemberton weren’t with the wagons.” He sighed. “I overreacted.”
“Yes, well, at least now I am quite familiar with Company policy.”
“Please forgive my curtness.”
“You were only doing your job, keeping track of wayward women.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps, but I really don’t aim to make your trip miserable.”
“That’s good news. I agree that our travels will be more pleasant if we’re cordial, free of any ill will.” She moistened her lips.
Did she have any idea how distracting she was?
“You were new to Saint Charles when you took the job as a trail hand. My guess is you’re from Tennessee or Georgia, maybe Kentucky.”
“Good guess. I’m from Tennessee.” But it hadn’t been home since the war. “You went to school with Boney. Does that mean you’ve lived in Saint Charles all your life?”
“Since I was six.” She stopped and let the lead rope drop to the ground. “My father left me, my mother, and Dedrick in New York. That very week, we climbed into a stagecoach and came to Missouri to live with my grandfather.”
“I’m sure it was hard to leave your friends behind there, but it can’t have been any easier to leave the place where you last saw your brother alive.”
She shook her head, holding his gaze. “No, but I felt we had to make this trip if there was any hope of crawling out of our grief. It’s been really hard on my mother. And on my grandfather.”
And on her. Trying to be strong for them. He could see the strain of it in her eyes.
Sighing, Anna tucked a curl of golden-brown hair behind her ear. “What about you? And your family?”
“I have one sister. And my parents.”
She raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for more. “They’re all still in Tennessee?”
“As far as I know, they are. I haven’t seen them since the war.” For all he knew, they counted him among the dead. Something else he didn’t care to think about, let alone say.
“I’m sorry, Caleb.”
“For what?”
“For whatever it is you can’t say.”
“Thank you.”
The air between them was certainly free of ill will, but it was nowhere close to being free of secrets.
Caroline greeted the two Beck couples on her way by their campfire. Rhoda had given Caroline time to herself this morning before the Sunday worship service. Davonna had found her missing locket, but the fact that she had jumped to disturbing conclusions remained. And so did Caroline’s concern regarding the older woman’s well-being.
She shook her head. Time to put the whole Kamden family out of her mind, for now, and think about someone else. Maren Wainwright. Whenever Caroline was tempted to feel sorry for herself, she thought about Maren. Here she was on this long journey to the unknown—a newlywed, stepmother to a four-year-old, and losing her eyesight because of some mysterious condition. And all without Mrs. Brantenberg, the woman who had become like a mother to her in America.
When Caroline arrived at the Wainwrights’ wagon, Maren sat at the worktable cutting up potatoes and Gabi was still inside dressing. Rutherford came up from the stream, a bucket of water in each hand. After they greeted each other, he poured the water into the barrel lashed to the side of the wagon.
Rutherford captured his bride’s hand. “I’ll leave you two to visit. But I’ll be back in time for breakfast.” He pulled Maren toward him and kissed her on the forehead.
Caroline looked away while a niggling question taunted her. Would she ever love and be loved again?
Rutherford waved good-bye and strolled toward Garrett’s chuck wagon.
A sweet, happy song floated from Maren’s wagon, and Caroline looked that direction. “It sounds like Gabi is enjoying a little time to herself. As am I.”
“You’ll have breakfast with us?”
“Yes, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, and Gabi will love the company too.” Maren pointed toward the three-footed skillet on the cookfire. “The spider pan, as Mother Brantenberg liked to call it, should be hot enough by now. Mind if I cook while we visit?”
“Not at all. I like to watch other people work.”
Smiling, Maren rose from the stool. Before she could straighten, she began to teeter.
Caroline lunged forward, holding her arm out to catch her, but Maren quickly regained her balance.
“Are you all right?” Caroline asked.
“Yes. Thank you. I must have stood with too much haste.” Maren took slow steps to the campfire, tugging her apron straight.
Caroline looked at the spread of fixings on the table. “What can I do to help you?”
“You want to slice onion for the potatoes or cook the bacon?”
“I’ll take the onion.” Caroline reached into the tow sack and pulled out an onion. She found a knife and while she sliced, Maren started the bacon to sizzling.
A few moments later, Maren turned to her, blinking, something she did a lot of to help refocus her vision. But this time she didn’t look well. The color drained from her face.
“You’re not well. Are you?” Caroline asked.
Shaking her head, Maren twisted away from the fire. She jerked her apron skirt to her mouth and began to retch.
When her friend’s wave of sickness passed, Caroline carefully removed the soiled apron from Maren, set it on the ground under the wagon, and took over tending the bubbling skillet.
“How long have you not been feeling right?”
“Two or three days.”
“Mostly in the mornings?”
Maren nodded.
Caroline looked her in the eye. “You could be expecting.”
“Now?” Tears glistened in Maren’s eyes.
“Does Rutherford know you haven’t been feeling well?” Caroline could scarcely hear herself for all the popping and sizzling in the skillet
.
“No. He’s busy every morning tending to the animals.” Maren pressed her hand to the waist of her calico dress, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’ll talk to Dr. Le Beau tomorrow. I don’t want to disturb him on a Sunday.” Her bottom lip quivered. “Gabi is old enough to do a lot for herself, but a baby—”
Suddenly, Gabi stood beside them, holding up her cloth dolly. “Here’s my baby.”
Neither of them had seen or heard the child climb out of the wagon.
Maren looked away, brushing tears from her face.
Caroline scrambled to fill the silence. “After breakfast, maybe you’d like to go with me to help Miss Mary Alice with baby Evie.”
Gabi’s woolly brown curls bounced. “Yes.”
So much had changed for all of them in the past few months, and Caroline couldn’t help but wonder if Rutherford would choose to turn back when he found out Maren was carrying his child … on what his friend Garrett Cowlishaw called a treacherous journey.
Today, Caroline couldn’t say she wouldn’t return to Saint Charles with them.
19
Caleb squirmed on his sparse allotment of log, bumping Tiny’s arm on one side and Frank’s shoulder on the other. All three of them shifted. The last Sunday service Caleb had attended wasn’t all that different from the one being held at the center of the circled wagons. The sky served as the ceiling. The grassy ground, the church flooring. A mishmash of logs and stools took the place of pews in the same way they had just over a year ago at Centralia. But Caleb couldn’t remember there even being a sermon, let alone who had delivered it. That Sunday morning, he’d somehow roused himself enough to attend.
No. Someone had dragged him out of the tent.
Billy.
A familiar pang seared Caleb’s gut and shot into his chest, and he crossed his arms against the onslaught.
Garrett had insisted all of the wagon train’s leadership attend the service. Probably saw it as part of his role as the group’s shepherd. Most members of the caravan were present, including the immigrants who didn’t speak English. Even Wilma Goben, whom he’d rarely seen outside of her camp. Anna’s mother seemed to appreciate isolation as much as he did.
Raised in the church, attending Sunday services had once been second nature to Caleb. He had looked forward to the gatherings. But that was before …
His gaze darted to Mama Zanzucchi and the cross dangling from her neck, then to little Gabi Wainwright who sat in front of the group between Maren and Rutherford, her fingers tracing the holes on the flute she held. He shouldn’t be here. Didn’t deserve to be here. He was a hypocrite, a sinner who didn’t belong in the midst of these good people.
When Garrett cleared his throat and seated himself on a tree stump, Rutherford stood with a zither at his side and set his Bible on the stool.
“Welcome to the Boone’s Lick Company’s first worship service.”
The oldest Zanzucchi boy translated for his family while Le Doc’s daughter translated for hers.
“Our esteemed captain asked me and my family to provide some music before I share my story with you.”
Mrs. Rengler stood, wearing a hat too small for her head. “Excuse me, Mr. Wainwright, but I have something to say.”
Owen tugged her calico sleeve. “Sit down, Sally.”
“I will not.” She turned her back on her husband and faced the boss.
Garrett stood. “Mrs. Rengler?”
“Captain.” Her back stiff, she lifted her generous nose in the air. “I’m not sure he should be in our church service.” Without turning her body, she jerked her head to where Isaac sat on a stool at the back of the ragtag congregation. Following Mrs. Rengler’s gesture, the whole group turned in their seats. Husbands and wives gasped and murmured. If the count of hats bobbing were to be compared to those swaying back and forth, the group was about evenly split.
Emery Beck rose to his feet. “I agree with Mrs. Rengler. Fighting for the abolishment of slavery is one thing, but inviting the coloreds into our worship services is another entirely.”
Caleb’s shoulders tensed. Tiny and Frank both leaned forward. They all knew this test of Garrett’s leadership had been coming. They also knew he’d rather eat broken glass than let an innocent be abused or allow anyone to question the worth of any man.
“I see no one in this congregation who is above or below anyone else. It is not our place, especially in the eyes of our Maker, to judge any of His created beings as less valuable than ourselves.” Garrett scanned the group, not focusing on either of those standing.
“You didn’t even fight on their side,” Emery spat.
“Now you have me confused, Emery.” Garrett’s gentle tone belied the sharp set of his jaw. “Are we in church? Or are we not?”
Isaac stood. “I can go, Boss. I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You’re not.” His voice steady, Garrett looked from one dissenter to the other. “If Mrs. Rengler and Mr. Beck are uncomfortable with our way of doing things, they are welcome to dismiss themselves from this service and conduct one of their own, if they so choose. They are not, however, permitted to cause such a disruption here.”
Mrs. Rengler sank to her chair. Emery, on the other hand, slapped his hat against his leg and stormed off.
Garrett looked at Rutherford. “What was that you were saying?”
“Welcome.” Rutherford set his fingers to the zither, and his wife and little Gabi lifted their flutes and began playing “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” Most everyone joined in, singing in English, French, German, or Italian.
Miss Hattie Pemberton stood, turned toward the group, and began moving her arms as if she were a musical director. Unfortunately, the movements bore little connection to the melody. She had just ushered in the second stanza when Mrs. Wainwright’s flute dropped to her lap then tumbled to the ground. Rutherford swiftly set his zither on the stool and cupped his arms just in time to catch his wilting wife.
“Mother Maren!” Gabi’s cry tore Caleb’s heart. The group had already suffered a child breaking an arm. Now this, and they were only six days into the demanding journey.
If disease were to strike them and spread … Caleb didn’t want to think about what could happen.
Dr. Le Beau darted toward Rutherford, shouting orders over his shoulder. The oldest of his sons ran to their wagon while Caroline Milburn suddenly appeared with a cup of water. When Maren Wainwright stirred, whispers ensued in the inner circle and murmurs rippled through the gathering again.
Within moments, Rutherford carried his wife to the bench where the widow Milburn cradled Gabi in her arms. His hand on his wife’s shoulder, he looked out at the concerned crowd. “It is with joy that I make this announcement.”
More murmurs.
“It appears my dear wife is going to give me a son or a daughter.”
Sighs of relief replaced the murmurs as Gabi shouted, “A baby!”
Knowing Rutherford had lost his first wife in childbirth, Caleb begged God’s protection on them all.
Folks swarmed the family, offering well-wishes and advice. What began as a simple church service had quickly given way to a public announcement. Now, everyone knew the Wainwrights’ business. This traveling town didn’t allow for privacy.
Caleb went to stand behind the crude seats. How did he expect to keep his failings in the past where they belonged?
He fought the nagging fear and drew a deep breath. His secret was safe. No one knew.
Except for him, and the pit of his stomach.
Anna couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good. Not only was Mutter out of the wagon, but she was seated beside Anna in a worship service. The last time Mutter had attended a service was branded upon Anna’s memory. The following Tuesday, Mutter received the telegram from the Department of War saying her beloved son had fallen in a barrage of enemy gunfire. Mutter hadn’t gone to church since. Anna felt her throat tighten at the remembrance. She refused to let the past tarnish this moment.
Her new beginning. Mutter and Großvater’s fresh starts.
“Before she was my wife … before I ever believed I could love again, Miss Maren Jensen”—Rutherford smiled at Maren, now settled comfortably between Caroline and Gabi—“showed me what it meant to allow oneself to be guided by the lamp of God’s Word. To trust the path He has for you, even when you can’t see the way. Especially when you can’t discern the direction, trusting His ability to navigate rough waters.” Rutherford Wainwright stood before them in the midst of his own second chance. Reuniting with his daughter after a four-year absence, finding a new wife, and having a baby on its way.
Lord, please strengthen Maren with Thy divine grace.
Anna reached for her mother’s hand, praying the same for her. For all of them, including Caleb.
Following the service and a noon meal, Hattie and Mary Alice brought their busy work to Anna’s camp for a visit. Mutter had gone into the wagon to rest, causing Anna to wonder about any more hidden bottles.
Now, Anna sat at the worktable, feathers, ribbons, and hat blanks spread in front of her. Word was they’d roll into Independence in less than two weeks. The city had long been the jumping-off point for most westbound overlanders. Independence was certain to have at least one millinery and dress shop, and Anna was determined to have five hats ready to sell to the proprietor.
Hattie Pemberton was the only person Anna knew who would continue to wear a Sunday bonnet while doing her mending. Her friend pulled a needle through a wool sock and glanced toward the wagon. “It did my heart good to see your mother at the service this morning.”
Anna nodded. “Mine too.”
Bending to the quilt where Evie slept, Mary Alice pulled the corner taut. “I surely wish my Tom would join us for church.” She sighed then lifted the knitting from her lap and resumed her work. “Says he can’t believe in a God who would allow people to kill one another.” The words had no sooner left Mary Alice’s mouth when she gasped. “Oh dear. You both buried … Forgive me. My husband would say I live with my foot in my mouth.”
