The faraway howl of a wolf pierced the night stillness. Sarah’s eyes flew open as a second howl answered from much nearer. Nervously she pulled the blankets over her head and snuggled closer to her sister’s slumbering form. But not until the vision of a stalwart man astride a glorious golden horse drifted into her thoughts was she able to relax as she imagined him patrolling the grounds around them. A peacefulness settled upon her, and her eyelids fluttered closed.
Morning arrived all too quickly. When Sarah felt behind her, Amanda’s side of the bed was empty. She gathered the topmost blanket around her shoulders and went to peer out of the wagon into the semidarkness.
Amanda was fully clothed and kneeling before a feeble fire she was coaxing to life.
“You’re up early,” Sarah called. “It’s not even light yet.”
“Thought we’d better not waste any of this morning if we expect to ever get anywhere.”
“Of course. I’ll wash up and get dressed.”
Her older sister nodded and set a pot of water over the flames to boil. By the time Sarah got back, Amanda was stirring a thick mixture of mush.
“I wonder if it’s supposed to be this hard to stir,” she commented as Sarah handed her two tin bowls. Then with a shrug she ladled out a sticky gob for each of them, and they took seats on a fallen log. Amanda bowed her head. “We thank you, heavenly Father, for this new day and for the food you’ve provided. We ask your blessing and continued presence on our journey. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Sarah whispered, then smiled. “It smells good.” She spooned some of the gooey substance to her mouth, struck by the unusual taste—or lack of same—as she slowly chewed.
Amanda, beside her, spit hers out. “Blah. This is horrid.”
“What did you put into it?”
She shrugged. “Just cornmeal, flour, and water.”
“Not even salt?”
Amanda shook her head. “I didn’t know it needed any. Maddie’s mush always tasted just fine.”
“I think she used a bit of sugar, too. And maybe it didn’t need flour.”
“Well, how was I to know?” Amanda huffed.
“Sorry.” Sarah bit her lip at her sister’s uncharacteristic outburst. “I’m sure if we just sprinkle some salt in it now, it’ll help,” she said hopefully, and went to get some at the wagon. “Anyway, I’m more thirsty than hungry. That coffee should be about finished, shouldn’t it?”
Amanda’s glum face brightened. “I’ll pour us some.” But when Sarah returned with the salt box, an irregular black stain in the dirt steamed next to the fire.
“Thank your lucky stars you didn’t even taste it,” Amanda said miserably. “We’ll just have some water instead.” She offered one of the two cups she held.
“I’m not that fond of coffee anyway,” Sarah assured her, taking it. “As a rule, I’d much prefer tea.” She bent over and sprinkled a pinch of salt into the pot of mush, then reached for the wooden spoon. But the mixture had hardened, and now the spoon stuck fast, right in the middle. It would not even budge. Sarah fought hard to restrain a giggle as Amanda groaned.
“We are going to starve to death, do you realize that?” her sister groused. “This breakfast wasn’t even fit for pigs. And look at this pot. The mush is hard as a rock.” With a grimace she tossed the container, spoon and all, into the weeds.
“Well, no matter,” Sarah said brightly. “We can have more of that two-day-old bread Nancy from the bakery was going to tear up for the birds. And there’s lots of cheese in the cornmeal barrel.”
While her older sister put the collars on the mules and hitched them to the wagon after the meager breakfast, Sarah traipsed happily from the grove with another armload of dried wood, which she put in back. Then the two of them climbed aboard. Glancing backward shortly after they drove off, Sarah saw a small coyote prance tentatively up to the castaway pot of mush. He put his snout into it, then scampered away. She almost laughed out loud as she settled back onto the seat. It would make a funny entry in her diary, one she’d have to keep secret.
Amanda hoped they would cover a decent stretch of ground before nightfall. So far there had been no trace of the wagon train ahead. She couldn’t help wondering how many miles’ advantage the emigrants had. But before any thought of Mr. Holloway could intrude, she glanced at Sarah, who was removing some light blue thread and a crochet hook from her sewing bag.
“Thought I’d work on a baby cap,” her sister said, nimbly forming the first few loops of a chain stitch.
“Good idea. During our nooning today I’ll cut out some aprons. We should be able to work by firelight in the evenings. By the time we reach Oregon we could have a fair number of things made for our store.”
Sarah smiled and went on crocheting as they left their first camp behind. Before them lay even grander spring displays amid the trees and swells of the greening landscape, and the cheery songs of bobolinks echoed across the meadows.
The first narrow stretch of the Blue River to be crossed presented no difficulty, and after fording it they stopped for dinner and a rest. Amanda figured it was probably too much to hope the entire trip would pass as smoothly and effortlessly as these first days, but in any case, it was better to dwell in the moment. No sense borrowing trouble.
Another long day of lumbering onward began a set routine as the girls divided chores related to making camp each evening and breaking it the next morning. Good as her word, Sarah took over the cooking, so Amanda no longer dreaded noonings and suppertimes. The throat-closing splendor of green swells star-dusted with tiny frail blossoms and great spillings of mountain pink, larkspur, and other more vivid wildflowers continued to fill them with awe.
“The train must have spent a night here,” Amanda stated, hopping down from the wagon one evening. They had stopped near a solitary elm with a trunk three feet thick. The tree towered over the headwaters of a little creek. “There’ve been lots of cook fires here recently.”
Sarah placed a hand on her hip. “Yes, and they didn’t leave much wood, you’ll notice.” Tightening her lips, she walked some distance away to find enough to make supper.
The middle of the following day they passed the fork where the Santa Fe Trail split off in a more southwesterly route, a landmark Amanda regarded in silence, brushing off the solemn reminder she and Sarah were in the middle of nowhere.
“What’s that up ahead?” Sarah asked one afternoon, looking up from a flannel baby blanket she was hemming.
“Must be the ferry over the Kansas River.” Amanda had been assessing the questionable-looking scows at the edge of the wide, swiftly running water ever since she’d first glimpsed them. And the nearer they came, the less optimistic she felt—especially considering the two somewhat disheveled, black-haired characters in buckskin breeches and rumpled calico shirts who were manning the contraptions. She would have rather faced another cozy little stream like others they had driven through.
“They’re Indians!” Sarah murmured. “Unsavory ones like we saw loitering around Independence. Is this the only spot we can cross?”
Amanda shrugged. “It’s part of the trail. The rest of the train must have crossed here.”
“Well, I don’t like the way those two are snickering and leering at us.”
Amanda took note of the more-than-interested glances the swarthy pair aimed at them while muttering comments behind their bony hands. The fine hairs on her arms prickled, and her heartbeat increased. Glancing nervously upstream and down, she saw no fordable sites and wished as never before that they were in the company of other travelers. She swallowed and sent a quick prayer heavenward, pretending a confidence that was far from her true feelings as she drew up to the edge of the steep bank and stopped the team.
“Good day.”
One of the unkempt men approached. A lecherous smile curved one end of his mouth. “No more wagons?” Beady dark eyes peered around the schooner, searching the distance before exchanging a wordless look with his chum.
/> The second one’s lips slid into a knowing grin. He stepped nearer, hungrily eyeing Sarah up and down.
Amanda’s skin crawled. She barely subdued a blush as Sarah’s hand latched on to hers.
The motley louts whispered something. Then, black eyes glinting with devilment, the taller one took hold of the wagon to hoist himself up.
“It’s all right, Pa,” Amanda said over her shoulder. “We’ve reached the ferry.”
The man paused.
Amanda quelled her sister’s questioning expression with a stern look, then returned her attention to the Indians. “He’s feeling poorly. Came down with a fever early this morning.” The calmness in her voice amazed even her.
“Fever?” Dark fingers instantly released their grip on the wagon. He leapt backward.
The other, with some hesitance, thrust out his palm. “Five dollar for wagon. Two more for mules. One for passengers.”
Amanda was fairly sure the price was outrageous, but wasn’t about to make an issue of it. She smiled politely and turned to Sarah. “Go inside, Sissy, and get the money from Pa, will you?” As the younger girl complied, Amanda prayed all the more fervently for the Lord’s help and protection.
When Sarah returned, Amanda forced herself to remain casual as she placed the fee in the dark hand.
He motioned the two of them inside the rig, and the girls watched out the back while a rope that had been looped around a tree was attached to the wagon. The taller Indian led the team forward toward the boat, while the other used the rope to help slow the schooner’s descent down the bank. When everything was finally positioned on the ferry, the men used poles and paddles to propel the scow across the fast current. On the other side, the larger of the dark-skinned pair drove the team through deep sands leading up the northern bank and a short ways beyond. Halting the mules, he nodded to Amanda and jumped off, then loped back to join his cohort on the return across the river.
With the greatest relief, Amanda drew what seemed like her first real breath since the entire process had begun. She emerged from the confines of the wagon bed and moved to the seat.
Sarah, inches behind, grabbed her in a hug. “I’m so glad they believed you. I was never so frightened in my whole life.”
“Me neither.” Returning the embrace, Amanda gathered her shattered emotions together and allowed herself a moment to stop shaking. Then she clucked her tongue to start the mules and put as many miles between them and the Kansas River as they could before stopping for the night.
After a supper of bacon and fried mush, Sarah refilled their coffee mugs. “I’m too tired to sew tonight,” she said on a yawn.
“It’s been a long day.” Amanda looked dejectedly down at her hands, growing tender from the constant rubbing of the traces against her soft flesh.
“I think there are some of Pa’s work gloves in the back,” Sarah offered. “They might make the driving easier.”
Amanda only stared.
“Or shall I take a turn tomorrow?”
“Actually, that’s more what I had in mind, if you must know,” Amanda admitted.
“Well, that’s fair. You shouldn’t have to do it all.”
After the nooning stop, Amanda took the reins again, more relaxed after Sarah’s turn driving than she would have thought possible. The rhythmic, soothing clopping of the hooves and the jangle of the harness now brought a misty half-consciousness, and she lost herself in memories of their old life, of family times.
Very few people enjoyed such a privileged existence as she and Sarah had once known. But that was before their father’s partner—bile rose in Amanda’s throat—her own betrothed, had swindled Pa and absconded with all the cash from the land investments, leaving him alone to face creditors and wronged clients. Amanda felt partly responsible for her pa’s death, though she had never voiced the dire thought. Morris had fooled them all. Only through her father’s grit and hard work, plus the sale of the grand house and most of their worldly possessions, had all the monies been repaid. The three of them were able to set out for Oregon with their heads high.
Even if we would have preferred to stay home, Amanda mused caustically, immediately cutting off thought of the dastardly blackguard whom she had foolishly trusted enough to promise her heart. Well, at least he was out of her life. She was twenty now—old enough to know better than to trust any man’s sweet words, ever again. She would remain forever a spinster, one whose sole responsibility in life was to look out for her beautiful younger sister—and she would do that to the very best of her ability. Firm in that resolve, her gaze rose idly into the hazy distance.
A jolt of alarm seized her.
A sullen, angry mass of clouds churned across the faraway horizon.
“Uh-oh. Looks like we might be in for some rain.”
Her sister looked up. “Well, a shower shouldn’t bother us. The wagon, after all, does have a double-canvas top.”
Amanda could only hope the younger girl was right. But eyeing the irregular black cloud bank crawling toward them from the west, she had a niggling fear it was no mere spring shower heading their way.
She urged the team faster as the pleasant breeze began to turn strong and cold.
All too soon the first jagged bolts of lightning forked the slate-gray sky in the distance. Amanda strained to hear the low growl of thunder, then nudged Sarah. “We’d better stop for today. We’ll have an early supper.”
At the nearest likely spot, they made camp in the fading light, then draped India-rubber tarps over the bedding and the barrels of supplies. Amanda tied the drawstring closure tight on their haven, and the girls wrapped in shawls and sat down in the eerie darkness, hoping the mules would fare all right.
Soon enough, a strong gust of wind rattled the wagon. The arched top shuddered. A mule brayed.
Amanda drew her lips inward as tentative raindrops spattered the canvas. Maybe Sarah was right, it was just a shower after all. But relief vanished almost as quickly as it had come.
The gentle patter turned sinister. With each second, the pounding overhead grew more deafening. The torrent roared over the heavy bowed top, pouring down the sides of the wagon and splashing onto the ground.
A bright flash of lightning glowed through the sodden fabric like daylight for a split second. An earth-shattering boom of thunder rent the night.
Sarah’s scream was drowned out by another blast. Amanda huddled close to her, cringing with every flash and crash. Rain began to drip through the cover overhead, trickling down onto the tarpaulins.
“I’m c—cold,” Sarah said, shivering as she inched nearer.
Thunder boomed again.
“This has to end sometime,” Amanda assured her as an icy drop spattered her nose and rolled off her chin. She hugged herself and tucked her chin deeper into her shawl, pressing close to her sister.
The elements crashed around them for what seemed like forever. Then, ever so gradually, almost imperceptibly, the thunder began to lessen in degree. The spaces between lightning bolts grew longer. Amanda eased out from under the heavy tarp and went to peer through the closure to see how the trail was faring. She gawked in dismay when a bright flash revealed they were surrounded by a sea of water and mud. The wagon ruts were not even visible.
A small part of her harbored the wish they had the comforting company of the other emigrants, but she was not ready to concede that the know-it-all Mr. Holloway had been right. Surely this wasn’t the first bad storm that faced an overlander on the westward trek. If others had made it through, so would she and Sarah Jane.
“If I weren’t so cold, I could at least play my guitar,” Sarah groused. “It would pass the time.”
Amanda silently thanked the Lord for the cold. It was bad enough being soggy and chilled without adding the headache of Sarah’s toneless singing. Soon would come the blessedness of sleep, when they would be less aware of how miserable they were. Heaven only knew how long the rain would last. It had to stop sometime. It had to.
CHAPTER
6
Steaming! We’re steaming!”
“What?” Amanda opened her eyes, momentarily blinded by bright sunshine. How had they slept so late?
“Look at everything, Mandy,” Sarah insisted.
With a yawn and a stretch, Amanda lifted the drenched tarp and sat up. Fragile wisps of mist floated upward in the confining interior of the wagon bed from the scattered tarpaulins and blankets. Rising, she untied the drawstring and leaned out.
The sodden earth sparkled in newly washed glory. Beside them, the rushing stream and a thousand puddles reflected the last puffs of cloud and the blue sky. And Sarah was right. The whole wagon was steaming in the warmth of the brilliant sun. So were the hobbled mules, unharmed and grazing contentedly nearby.
“See if any of that last wood you gathered is still dry,” Amanda said. “We’ll have hot tea to go with our breakfast. While the water heats, we’ll open the sides and set things out to dry.”
Sarah stripped down to her drawers and chemise, then rooted through the piles of damp supplies to find the wood she’d wrapped in blankets. “It’s not wet at all, Sissy.”
Within an hour, the bushes in the surrounding area sported a colorful array of blankets, linens, and articles of clothing, and the soft spring breeze wafted over them while the girls sipped mugs of tea. The temperature warmed considerably, inching higher and higher, the opposite extreme from the previous day.
Alas, the soggy rutted road ahead looked less than hopeful. The ground remained spongy to the foot, much too soft for travel. Amanda knew they’d be stuck here for at least a couple of days, but if nothing else, they’d have ample time to sew.
In the middle of the third lazy afternoon, Sarah laid aside the sunbonnet she’d finished and stretched a kink out of her spine with a sigh. “Know what I’d love right now?”
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 43
