“Would you like more?” the gray-haired woman asked, interrupting Amanda’s musings.
“Oh no, we’ve had plenty, thank you.” Amanda placed a hand on the older woman’s forearm. “It was truly delicious.”
“I’m afraid we don’t share your gift for cooking,” Sarah confessed. “All I’ve managed so far is some pretty ordinary beans with biscuits or corn bread.”
“Well, cookin’s more skill than gift, I’d say. There’ll be plenty of time on this trip for both of you to pick up some of the basics of makin’ meals on the trail. I’d be more’n happy to pass on what I know at some of the noonings and suppertimes.”
“Why, that’s very kind of you.” Amanda fought sudden and unexpected tears at the woman’s generosity. Up until this past sad year, she hadn’t been one given to displaying her emotions, and she sincerely hoped this was not becoming a habit. She must merely be overly tired. She smiled and got up. “We’ll just wash up our dishes and bring them back.” She nodded at Sarah, and the two hurried to the spring with the soiled things.
The beauty of Alcove Spring was not lost on either one. They gazed in rapt delight at the pure, cold water that gushed from a ledge of rocks and cascaded ten feet down into a basin. Quickly finished with their chore, they left the idyllic spot.
Mrs. Randolph graciously inclined her bonneted head on their return. “I know this has been a long day, so I won’t keep you. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to some of the folks around. Meanwhile, don’t waste time worryin’ about anything. We’ll all take real good care of you two.”
A wave of reassurance washed over Amanda, and she couldn’t help wondering if everyone in the train would be so kind and thoughtful. She lifted a hand in parting and took her leave. “Thanks again. Good evening.”
Passing the next wagon, Amanda once more met the brooding eyes of the lanky man sitting inside as he cuddled his two forlorn children. She gave a polite nod and continued on. Tomorrow she’d ask Mrs. Randolph about those little ones.
CHAPTER 9
At the wakeup signal the next morning, the girls expectantly threw on their clothes. From all around the camp, a curious assortment of whistles, snorts, shouts, and cracks of bullwhackers’ whips filled the air as the company came to life. Women put coffee on to boil and started the bacon to sizzle over crackling fires, while the men went to gather their oxen or mules and hitch them up. Sleepy-eyed children yawned and stretched, then hustled to wash, dress, and tend to chores before the order came for the wagons to roll.
“Sure is a busy place,” Sarah commented, measuring tea leaves into the tin coffeepot.
Amanda only nodded. “I’d best round up the mules while you see to that. We’ll have to do like everyone else now.” She stepped over the wagon tongue and hurried toward the animals.
Hardly had the company finished breakfast when the first outfit set off for the river. The girls stashed their things and boarded their schooner, waiting to take their place in line.
A movement on the edge of Amanda’s vision brought a brief glimpse of Seth Holloway riding herd on the cattle. She did not allow her gaze to linger. Concentration was needed to maintain a proper distance between her mules and the wagon ahead.
“This is all so exciting,” Sarah Jane gushed. “I never realized before how dead our camps were. All this organized bustle and activity…” Her words trailed off as she swiveled on the seat to look around the edge of the wagon.
“I liked the quiet,” Amanda mused. Cutting a glance toward Sarah, she found her too occupied in observing the surroundings to have heard. Amanda tightened her hold on the reins.
Soon enough, she glimpsed the belt of sycamores, oaks, and elms lining the banks of the awe-inspiring Big Blue, the sight and sound of which became more and more unnerving the nearer they got. She reined to a stop.
The long, slow process of crossing had already begun. A number of wagons dotted the opposite shore, and several more now inched across the swiftly flowing water at an upstream angle. Amanda noticed that some outfits drove right into the Blue, while others, at the river’s edge, had men grunting and straining to remove the wheels so the beds could be elevated on wooden blocks. Still others were being hitched to double teams. Sarah jumped down without a word and walked ahead, where a handful of women stood watching the men at work.
Amanda’s gaze returned to the brave souls traversing the roiling water, and her heartbeat increased. She tried to study the way the drivers retained control against the force of the current, knowing soon enough she would face that same challenge.
Sounds came from farther downstream, from bawling and balking cattle whose bobbing heads kept time with their sporadic movements. Several swing in wide-eyed frenzy to return to the riverbank, and a few of them lost their footing, only to be swept away by the rushing water. Amanda held her breath as outriders ignored those and quickly set to persuading the rest to continue on. She easily picked out Seth Holloway. With the determined set of his jaw and distinctive rigid posture, he stood out from the others. Watching him, she couldn’t help but admire his mettle and strength.
“You’ll be next, miss.”
The low voice startled Amanda. She swallowed and obeyed the signal to pull up to the edge of the water. Sarah Jane climbed to the seat and clutched the edges, her knuckles white, as their schooner, somewhat lighter in weight than the more cumbersome Conestoga wagons, was checked over for the crossing.
Mr. Randolph stepped near, astutely reading the apprehension Amanda knew must be evident in her expression. “Don’t worry, little gal. Just keep a firm hold on your animals. They’re strong swimmers, an’ I’ll be right behind you, keepin’ an eye out.” With a grin of encouragement, he turned and strode to his own rig, parked off to one side so she could precede him.
Amanda tried to smile, but failed miserably as the men coaxed the skittish mules down the slippery bank and into the dark current that whooshed by unimpeded as it swirled over the animals’ shoulders. They hee-hawed in protest, but began their unhappy swim.
The wagon bed rocked fore and aft, jouncing uncertainly on the choppy waves, and cold wetness splashed over the wooden sides to slosh about Amanda’s feet. She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it, but sent a frantic prayer aloft and held on for dear life.
The churning water surrounding them now seemed wide as an ocean. Hoping her own inexperience would not hinder the mules from following the rig ahead at a similar angle, Amanda clutched the reins, watching anxiously as the animals labored toward the opposite shore. Sarah, huddled beside her, kept her eyes closed the whole time. Amanda only hoped her sister was adding fervent prayers to her own.
An eternity later, forelegs and hind legs gained footing on the other bank, where men armed with strong ropes and other teams lent a hand and ushered the mules up to dry ground. It took all Amanda’s stamina not to collapse in relief.
Moments later, the Randolph wagon followed and pulled alongside. A grin of satisfaction spread across the lined face of the older man, but his wife’s was devoid of color. “Land sakes,” she murmured. “Thank the good Lord we made that one!”
As soon as Amanda had parked the wagon out of the way of the last remaining rigs and got down to unhitch the team, Sarah Jane climbed into the back and settled down with her journal:
Dear Diary,
I cannot even describe how good it feels to have come to the end of this busiest and most frightening day! Poor Mandy shook like a leaf when we had finally made it across the Big Blue—a curious name for a river flowing with such brown water! But when word reached us to make camp, both of us could have jumped for joy. Everyone else seemed grateful, too, since so many hours of light had been given to the effort of getting the entire assemblage to the westward side.
Now it is oddly peaceful. The animals graze contentedly on the shining grass, while the setting sun haloes the slim trees with a border of hazy gold. Most of the songbirds whose sweet trills lighten our journey have returned to their nests, and the twilight air
is filled with the pungent smell of wood smoke. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
“That was some mighty fine driving you did earlier.”
At the sound of Alvin Rivers’ voice outside, Sarah quickly closed her book, set it down, and exited the wagon.
The young man’s freckled face bore a grin from ear to ear at her sister, but his gaze immediately sought Sarah’s. “If I hadn’t had my own hands full helping out my aunt and uncle, I’d have gladly taken the reins for you.”
Sarah saw Amanda smile her thanks.
“Mandy’s almost as strong as Pa,” she blurted.
Rolling her eyes, Amanda shook her head and began getting into the wagon. “I’ll see if there’s enough dry wood and kindling to make a cook fire.”
“Anyway,” Alvin went on, “I’ll see that the hubs get a good greasing after all that water.”
“Why, how very sweet.” Sarah tied her apron ties more snugly about her waist, then got out the cookpot while Alvin tended to the wheels. She returned to the fire Amanda was laying.
They both looked up at the sound of footsteps.
“No use botherin’ with viddles tonight,” Mrs. Randolph said. “One of our neighbors shot a fine pair of rabbits while the rest of us were comin’ over the water. I’m just about to fry one of them right now, and you gals are more than welcome to join us. There’s wild honey for the biscuits, too, thanks to him.”
Coming after the trying day, the invitation was more than welcome. “We’d be delighted,” Sarah said.
“If we can contribute something,” Amanda quickly added. “Potatoes and carrots, at least? And may we watch?”
The older woman’s bonnet dipped with her nod. “Don’t mind if you do. Come anytime.”
“Thanks ever so much. We’ll be there soon as we put these things back inside.” Amanda flashed a grin of relief at Sarah.
At the close of the delicious meal, the girls made fast work of washing the dishes. When Alvin and some of his friends came by to claim Sarah for a walk, Amanda chose to linger over a second cup of coffee with their kind neighbor.
Twilight was deepening, and the cacophony of music made by the night creatures began to fill the air… pleasant sounds against the intermittent crying coming from the next wagon. Mrs. Randolph heaved a sigh. “Poor little thing starts up every night about this time.”
Amanda dragged her gaze back to her hostess. “Where’s her mama?” she couldn’t help asking.
“That’s a sorry tale.” The older woman paused in raising her cup to her lips and slowly wagged her head. “While we were camped at Independence, the child’s mother—scarcely more than a kid herself—was cavorting with her brood out in one of the fields, gathering wildflowers, racing to see who could pick the most. Running toward a real purty bunch of flowers, she turned to look over her shoulder at the little ones, and tripped over a root. Hit her head on a jagged rock, she did. Prit’ near bled to death on the spot.”
“How awful.”
“Somebody went and fetched the doc right quick. But by the time he came, it was too late. Little gal was so weak she never even come to. She was in the family way, too, which didn’t help matters.” Mrs. Randolph gazed toward the motherless children.
A raft of sad memories flooded Amanda’s mind, and her eyes swam with tears. She quickly blinked them away.
“Had ourselves our first funeral before we even left town,” the older woman continued. “And now those precious babes are without a mother’s love.” Then, as if suddenly recalling that hadn’t been the only death among the families gathering to migrate west this spring, she blanched. Her hand flew to her throat. “Mercy me. I’m as sorry as sorry can be, child. You losin’ your own pa, too. I should be more careful to think before I talk.” Amanda reached to pat her gnarled hand. “It’s all right. Truly. I’ve accepted Pa’s passing on. We both have. And at least we’re grown. What must those poor darlings be going through?” Her curiosity once again drew her stare toward the sobbing child—and met the somber gaze of the widowed father.
Amanda quickly averted her eyes, focusing on the half-empty cup in her hands. She gulped some of the lukewarm coffee. “What are the children’s names, Mrs. Randolph? Perhaps there’s something Sarah or I could do to help.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “You know, there just might be, now that you mention it. The little girl’s Bethany, as I recall. The boy, now… Hmm.” Frowning, she folded her arms over her generous bosom and tapped an index finger against her mouth. “Thomas, maybe. No, Timothy, Goes by the nickname Tad.”
“And the father?” Amanda prompted, aware of a rising flush at her boldness.
The older woman seemed not to notice. “Name’s Jared Hill. Seems a decent sort, leastwise from what we’ve gotten to know of him since we been on the trail. He’s a mite standoffish.”
Jared Hill. It suited him, Amanda decided—or did from a distance. She had yet to see him close up. The important thing was that the poor man had his hands full, and anyone with a sense of Christian duty should be more than willing to help in whatever small way she could.
By the time Amanda finished her coffee and made her way back to her own wagon, Bethany’s sobs had ceased. She surmised that the children had been tucked in for the night. Mr. Hill, however, remained outside, kneeling in the circle of firelight, checking a section of harness. He looked up as Amanda neared.
She felt it only polite to smile. “Good evening.”
“Evening, miss.” Putting the traces aside, he rose, straightening his long limbs to tower a head above her. The eyes beneath his sandy hair appeared dark in the dim glow, their color indistinct, but a pronounced downward turn at the outer comers gave evidence of his grief.
Amanda stopped. “I—I couldn’t help hearing your little girl cry.”
He shrugged in resignation.
“So sorry to hear of your loss.” Taking a step forward, she reached out her hand. “I’m Amanda Shelby, your new neighbor.”
“Hill,” he replied, shaking her hand. “Jared Hill. I’ll do my best to see Bethy doesn’t disturb you anymore.”
“No!” Amanda gasped. “Please don’t think—” Flustered that he’d mistaken her remark as criticism, she started over. “I—I only wanted to offer help. My sister Sarah’s especially good with children. If there’s anything we can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
His fingers raked through the tousled strands of his hair. “Well, thanks. Don’t see as I need help, though. Or pity. We’ll get by.” One side of his mouth turned upward in the barest hint of a smile, softening his narrow face.
Amanda nodded. “Oh. But—Well, I just wanted to offer, that’s all. Good night.” At his nod of dismissal, she walked briskly away… trying not to feel utterly humiliated.
CHAPTER 10
You’d be surprised what an interesting life Alvin has led,” Sarah Jane declared as the wagon rumbled onward the following morning, the harness jangling in time with the clopping of the mules. “His great passion is art. Last year his aunt and uncle took him to Europe to art museums in Spain, Italy, France, and England, just to view the work of the great masters. He even showed me some of his own drawings. He’s got wonderful talent.”
“Oh, really?”
“Um-hmm. He’s working on a book of sketches of the various terrain and landmarks along the trail. He’s planning to try to interest a publisher in putting together a project of that sort for other folks thinking of heading west. Someday Alvin hopes to become a real artist. Maybe paint portraits, or—”
Her sister’s sigh indicated she was only half-listening.
Sarah paused and turned her head, a ringlet falling forward on her shoulder with the movement. She flicked it back. “You’re awfully quiet this morning. Something wrong?”
Staring at her for a few seconds, Amanda finally spoke. “It’s that man and the two young children, in the wagon behind the Randolphs.”
“What about them?”
“The mother died accidentally back in Indep
endence. The kids—especially the daughter—have taken it real hard.”
At the sad news, Sarah’s mouth gaped in dismay. “How very tragic. That would account for the crying I’ve heard from time to time. How old are those little ones?” She peered ahead, in the direction of their wagon.
“The boy, Tad, looks to be about four. Bethany must be three, or nearly so.”
“Maybe we could help out somehow.”
Amanda gave a soft huff. “That’s what I thought, too. Only their father as much as told me to mind my own business.”
Recalling her own first experience in the valley of the shadow of death, Sarah could easily identify with other people’s sorrow. “Well, I’m sure he must not have meant to put you off so rudely. He might just be hurting, too. Remember how we felt when Mama died?”
Her elder sibling momentarily appeared lost in the sad memory of their own wrenching loss. “We knew our lives would never be the same. Nor had we expected to stand before another open grave so soon.” she added with a pang of near bitterness.
“Maybe I’ll make a doll for the little girl and take it by. She needs to be around women.”
“I think that’s a splendid idea.” Amanda visibly relaxed. Sarah lifted her gaze to the countryside, making mental notes she would enter into her diary later. There were considerably fewer trees since they’d crossed the river, no forests filled with glorious red-budded maples, no thickly wooded groves like those in the East, which seemed like nap on earth’s carpet. Now she saw only the occasional solitary tree standing alone to face the elements.
The grasses, too, were taller, growing to a height of six or eight feet in the moist areas. The land itself was more open, allowing the wagons to spread out. some of them even traveling side by side as they meandered westward along the Little Blue River, a calm glistening ribbon of satin accented by the floral beauty of spring. Most of the womenfolk and youngsters had taken to walking now, in deference to the hard, springless wagon seats. Sarah often walked with them herself, taking part in the cheerful chatting as they gathered wood or colorful bouquets of wildflowers to pass the miles.
The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 46
