“I never liked Violet very much.” He took another sip.
“I wasn’t too fond of her either. But Matthew was.”
“Does Matthew want to go to Oregon?”
Elizabeth considered this. “I’m not sure. He seems to want to go, but it’s possible he’s simply looking for a way to escape.”
“Because of Violet?”
“Maybe. It was unkind of her to run off like that, especially with his best friend.”
“I’ll say.” Jamie shook his head with a wise look that belied his youth. “I would never do something that low-down to a friend. Not even to an enemy.”
“You are a good man.” She smiled and then pointed to her own upper lip. “With a milk mustache.” He wiped it off, and she almost wished he hadn’t. It looked so like a little boy. And now she wondered about how much she should burden him with.
“Pa wanted to go to Oregon.”
“We had been making plans.” She closed the box. “But that was before…”
He nodded to the box. “Those letters make Oregon sound like a great place.”
“But it’s a long, long way away.”
“How far is it?”
“About two thousand miles.”
His dark eyes grew wide.
“And a prairie schooner can only travel about twelve miles a day. Some days even less.”
Now his brow creased. “That’s more than a hundred and sixty.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“About five months,” he said somewhat absently.
“Your arithmetic is good.”
“I’ve read about Thomas Jefferson in history,” he told her. “His dream was to make our country bigger by opening up the West. And I’ve read about men who explored the West. The Lewis and Clark expedition.”
She smiled. “You’re getting a good education.”
“Why didn’t we go to Oregon with Uncle John and Aunt Malinda?”
Elizabeth wasn’t sure how much to say now. But if Jamie was going to be her right-hand man, he deserved to know. “I was with child,” she confessed. “Your father worried that the journey would be too difficult. As it turned out, I lost the baby anyway.”
“You mean because of the cholera? When you and Pa and Uncle Peter got sick?”
She shook her head. “No, the cholera came nearly two years later.”
Jamie frowned. “You mean you lost two babies?”
She nodded sadly.
“Oh…” Jamie looked troubled, as if he was trying to grasp all this.
“You weren’t even school-age when I lost that first baby, Jamie. There was no reason for you to know about it.” She peered at him. “How’s your tummy doing?”
“I think the milk is helping.”
“Oh, good.” She felt a rush of relief. “You know how I always get worried if I think someone I love is getting sick.”
“How did you and Pa and Uncle Peter get cholera?” he asked. “I know you went on a trip. And Ruth and I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. But that’s about all I know. What happened, Ma?”
She thought back to that time. “It was late summer,” she began, “and we’d had a pretty good harvest of corn, and your father and uncle wanted to take it to Paducah to get a better price.” She sighed. “And to look at wagons…”
“What kind of wagons?”
“Your father was thinking about going to Oregon again. Planning for the upcoming spring.”
“Oh.”
“I wanted to go with them to Paducah. I thought it would be fun to do some shopping and city things. It sounded like an enjoyable trip. And it was. We sold the corn for top dollar and did some shopping. We went to the theater and stayed in a fancy hotel. The next day we looked at wagons. Your father had almost decided on one, but Uncle Peter had heard about a wainwright down by the river. It was a family-owned business with some innovative-looking prairie schooners, and we spent the whole afternoon with them. We had no idea there was a cholera outbreak. We ate with them and drank lemonade…” She sadly shook her head. “Later on, we realized that the lemonade had probably been contaminated…infected with the cholera. But how would we know?”
“The lemonade made you sick?”
“Not the lemonade, but it was likely in the water they used to make it. Thinking back, I remember that I didn’t like the taste of it. But I thought perhaps it was just me. So I didn’t drink too much. But it was a hot day, and your father and uncle were very thirsty. I’m sure they had plenty of lemonade. It wasn’t until we came home the following day that we realized something was wrong… very, very wrong.”
Jamie’s expression was so serious that Elizabeth felt badly. Perhaps this was too much to put upon a boy. What had she been thinking? How could she turn this around? “So…” she pointed to the oak box. “What did you read in there?”
He admitted to reading letters and the supply list.
“What did you think?”
He brightened. “Could we really do that, Ma?”
“You mean go to Oregon?”
He nodded eagerly. “Could we?”
She pressed her lips together.
“It would be so exciting. Traveling like that, seeing new places, exploring new land…like a real adventure!”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “It would certainly be that.”
“I could help drive the wagon,” he offered.
“Yes, I’m sure you could.” She looked at the clock. “But it’s very late now, Jamie. Is your stomach better?”
He nodded, setting the empty mug on the table.
She tapped the box. “I’ve been giving it serious thought, son. And I must admit it sounds exciting to me too.”
“Really?” He looked hopeful.
“So, there’s something you can do to help.”
“What?” His eyes lit up.
“Ask God to lead us, son. Pray about it. If it’s the right path for us to take, God will have to show us. And if God shows us, I will gladly go.”
“I’ll do that. I promise. I’ll pray about it a lot.”
“Good.” She stood and reached for his hand. “You get back to bed, and you can pray about it tonight.”
“I will, Ma.” He scurried toward the stairs. “Right now.”
Encouraged by his enthusiasm, she tossed a couple more logs on the fire, blew out one of the lanterns, and headed up to her own chilly bed.
Chapter Six
Thanks to Jamie’s exuberance about the possibility of becoming Western explorers, Ruth soon figured things out. “Is it true, Mama?” she asked the next evening as the three of them sat around the dining table together. “Are we going to Oregon to live with Uncle John and Aunt Malinda?”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jamie and then smiled. “I honestly don’t know, Ruthie. But if you want to pray about it with us, maybe God will show us his answer.”
Ruth looked around the room. “If we went to Oregon, would we ever come back here again?”
“I… uh… I don’t really know for sure. But if we went to Oregon, we would have to sell this house and the farm. Sometimes people come back, but it’s a very, very long trip.”
“How long?”
“More than a hundred and sixty days,” Jamie told her.
Ruth’s blue eyes got big.
“We would leave in the early springtime,” Elizabeth explained. “And we would travel until the early fall.”
“Would we still go to school?” Ruth asked.
Jamie laughed. “No, silly.”
“We would still do lessons,” Elizabeth explained. “We would take your schoolbooks and work on reading and writing and arithmetic.”
“And we could learn a lot of things on the Oregon Trail,” Jamie said with eager authority. “About animals and birds and plants and all sorts of interesting things.”
“That’s true.” Elizabeth got an idea. “Perhaps we could write about what we see. And we could draw pictures. We could make books about it.”
“That
sounds like fun,” Ruth said happily. “I’m going to ask God to send us on the Oregon Trail.”
As Elizabeth washed the dinner dishes, she felt slightly overwhelmed—as if she had truly gotten the wagon ahead of the horse—and she hoped she was not mistaken to get her children’s hopes up like this. At the same time, she knew this was a good life lesson. Just because one wanted to do something did not make it right. Her children needed to see for themselves that God was able to lead and direct them. To add emphasis to this, she looked in the family Bible for a particular scripture, something she planned to read to them at bedtime.
So it was that after the children were tucked in and their prayers were said, Elizabeth opened the big black book to Proverbs and read these words: “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” She looked from one bed to the other, making sure they were listening. “Do you know what that means?”
Ruth looked uncertain.
“It means we should trust the Lord,” Jamie answered.
“That’s right.” She nodded. “It also means we don’t have all the answers, so we shouldn’t lean on our own understanding. But if we acknowledge God—if we believe him and listen to him—he will direct our paths. He’ll show us which way to go.”
“On the Oregon Trail?” Ruth asked hopefully.
“If that’s the way he wants us to go.” Elizabeth closed the Bible. “Or he might show us that we need to stay right here.”
Both of the children looked dismayed by this.
“So it’s up to us to trust God and pray for him to lead us.” She smiled and stood. “And whichever way God shows us to go, it will be the best way.” She kissed each of them, and with the Bible in one hand and the lantern in the other, she told them goodnight and slipped from the room.
The topic of the Oregon Trail came up a few times in the following days, but as the week progressed, Elizabeth knew that Jamie and Ruth were distracted with the planning and preparations for their annual New Year’s Eve supper. It was a tradition that James had originally begun early in their marriage, something his parents had eagerly passed down to him. But even after his parents and John went to Oregon, and after James’ passing, she had continued this hospitality at the insistence of her children. It involved a lot of work, including roasting a pig out in the farmyard, which Brady took responsibility for. There were also treats to bake and other chores to tend to. Still, it was an evening that family and neighbors and friends had grown to appreciate over the years, and Elizabeth felt it was a lovely way to welcome the new year.
As usual, Elizabeth’s mother came early in the day in order to help with food preparation. But when she arrived, she seemed to be in a bit of a fluster. “I told the children to empty my carriage for me,” she told Elizabeth as she hurriedly peeled off her hat and gloves. Then, tugging Elizabeth with her, she led her to the spare bedroom in the back of the house, closing the door behind them.
“What in the world is wrong?” Elizabeth asked with concern.
“Oh, my word! I don’t even know where to begin.” Clara sat down on the edge of the bed, waving her hand in front of her face as if she was too warm, although the room was chilly from having been closed off.
“Tell me,” Elizabeth urged. “Is someone ill? Is it Father? Matthew?”
“No…no, not exactly.” Clara took in a deep breath. “I had a dream.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth nodded, sitting down in the chair across from the bed. This didn’t seem too serious. “What sort of dream?”
“Oh, dear!” She shook her head. “A very bad dream. I almost hate to say the words out loud, dear.”
Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t.”
“No, I must tell you. I’m afraid I’ll burst if I don’t confide in someone.” She took in a deep breath and began. “There was a war—or so it seemed, although I heard no gunshots. But it was right here in Selma…I could tell a very bad battle had occurred because there was row upon row of dead soldiers, lying throughout the streets, right in the middle of town. And there were flies buzzing around them and blood everywhere…oh, my, it was so gruesome!”
Elizabeth’s hand went over her mouth. “That’s horrible, Mother.”
“I know—believe me, I know.” Clara looked at Elizabeth with frightened eyes. “But it gets worse.”
“How can it get worse?”
“I was walking among the dead, and I saw Matthew lying there too.”
Elizabeth felt a rush of panic. “But—but it was only a dream, Mother.”
Clara shook her head grimly. “But sometimes dreams have meanings.”
“Or else they are simply bad dreams. Perhaps you ate something that disagreed with you before going to bed.”
“Sometimes dreams are warnings.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve had this happen before.” Clara looked truly disturbed, first wringing her hands and then fanning her flushed face.
Elizabeth was confused. “How so? What are you saying, Mother?”
“I never told you this…” Clara pulled a lace-trimmed hanky from her sleeve, using it dab her forehead as if she were perspiring.
“Told me what?”
“The dream I had before you and James and Peter went to Paducah that summer.”
Elizabeth cringed. “What sort of dream?”
“It was about Peter. To be honest it seemed nothing much at first. Certainly not anything like last night’s dream.”
“Tell me what it was.”
“I dreamed Peter was sleeping peacefully in his bed. And then someone reached down and placed two silver coins over his closed eyes.” She shuddered.
“You dreamed he was dead?”
“That’s what it seemed to be…” Clara looked on the verge of tears. “At the time I passed it off as a foolish dream. It wasn’t until you children returned home and were sick with cholera that I realized it had been more than just a dream. Of course, it was too late by then. I never told you—or anyone for that matter. What was the use?”
“So do you honestly believe your dream is warning you that Matthew is going to die in some untimely fashion?”
“I know it must sound fantastic, but I’m terribly worried.”
Feeling frustrated and overwhelmed, Elizabeth tried to make sense of this. “But Matthew isn’t going to war. He’s not enlisting in any sort of army…is he?”
“No, not that I know of. But there has been fighting in Kansas. Your father told me of it.”
“Perhaps that’s what’s behind the dream. You were worried about Kansas, and you’ve been worried about Matthew. Certainly…that makes sense.”
“It was more than that, Elizabeth. This war happened right here. And there are many people, including your father, who truly believe war is coming.”
“That may be true in some places, like the deep South. But this is Kentucky, Mother. We are in the middle. I’m sure we will remain neutral.”
Clara shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Elizabeth let out a long sigh. “I really don’t know what to say, Mother. And really, I need to get busy. There’s so much to be done today.”
“Yes, yes.” Clara slowly stood. “I know, I know. I just needed to tell someone…I needed to get it off my chest.”
Elizabeth put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to say to you. But since war is not imminent and since Matthew isn’t joining any army, at least that we know of, I don’t see any real cause for concern right now.”
“I know you’re right. But it was so upsetting.” She shuddered again. “It seemed so real.”
Now Elizabeth hugged her. “It will be all right, Mother. Don’t think on it anymore. Just come and help me with the bread pudding. No one makes it quite as tasty as you do. And I need to get the shortcake rolled out.”
As they worked together in the kitchen, no more was said of Clara�
�s strange dream. However, those images now felt etched into Elizabeth’s imagination, almost as if she had endured this nightmare herself. What did it mean?
Fortunately, the house grew busier, and she was too distracted to fret. And before long, guests began to arrive. Busily tending to them, Elizabeth was unable to dwell on her mother’s strange dream. However, she felt dismayed that her brother hadn’t come. And the party wasn’t as merry as it should have been. She understood his reasoning, but she missed his cheerful fiddle playing just the same. No one lit up a party quite like Matthew Dawson. And it grieved her to think he was home alone…still feeling hurt and betrayed by that senseless Violet.
Shortly after midnight, guests began thanking her for her hospitality and excusing themselves to their carriages, and Elizabeth, worn out as well, kissed her children goodnight and sent them to bed. Her father was asleep by the fireplace, but her mother, fussing about the front room, still looked anxious and upset.
“It was a good gathering, don’t you think?” Elizabeth said as she gathered up some punch cups.
Clara nodded. “Yes…very nice crowd. Good food.”
“Do you and Father wish to stay over? I opened the door to the guest room. It should be warmer by now.”
Clara looked at Asa, who was now snoring loudly. “If I wake him, he’ll probably insist on going home and sleeping in his own bed. Although that might be best since Matthew is home alone.”
“How is Matthew anyway? Besides telling me about the dream, you didn’t mention how he’s faring.”
Clara picked up some dishes. “He’s still hurting…and humiliated…and angry. Poor boy. But at least he’s keeping himself busy.”
They carried the dishes into the kitchen. As usual, some of the women had helped with the cleaning up, so it wasn’t too daunting. “I’ll tend to these in the morning,” Elizabeth said as she set the cups on the table.
“I didn’t tell your father about my dream,” Clara said quietly.
“Maybe that’s for the best.” Elizabeth shoved some more pieces of wood into the cookstove. “It was rather disturbing.”
“Don’t I know that!” She shook her head. “But I do believe it has pushed me to make up my mind.”
Westward Hearts Page 5
