by Jim Cox
Peeking through a crack in the door, I saw him go toward the barn and figured he’d soon be rummaging through my wagon, trying to find anything of value.
I’d had the food on the table for over a half hour when Luke returned. He had a sour expression on his face and seemed to be in a bad mood. Nothing was said between us until after the meal was eaten. Luke was heading for his rocker and his jug when he said, "Clean up that there mess you made and while you're at it, fetch more water and firewood. The wood needs cuttin'."
I took my time and carried in several armloads of wood. Then I heated some water, washed the dishes, and scrubbed the table. For an hour afterward, I straightened things up the best I could and finished by sweeping the dirt floor. Luke emptied his jug and slept with his chin on his chest while I worked.
While he slept, I slipped out to the barn. My suspicions were accurate. Nearly everything had been removed from my wagon. However, the mules’ harnesses were still hanging on the wall where I had hung them. I hurried to the haystack and was relieved to find my feed bag still in its hiding place.
When Luke woke, I was drinking coffee. "Bring me a cup of that thar coffee," he ordered. As I handed him the cup, he saw my muddy boots. "Where you been? There's mud on your boots."
"I went to the outhouse," I lied.
"Don't lie to me," he shouted. He drew back his hand to slap me but caught himself before swinging. Minutes later, coffee was spilling from Luke’s tipped cup as his head nodded toward sleep.
Knowing he wouldn’t let me leave, I started making plans to escape. I would spend the night and most of the next day acting as if everything was all right. And then, after Luke had passed out from his afternoon drinking, I would harness my team and get out while there was still enough light to travel a good distance.
Everything went as planned. Luke settled in his chair in the afternoon, swigging on his jug. At this rate, he would be passed out and sleeping soundly within the hour.
I didn’t want him to get suspicious, so I pretended to be busy by frying bacon for supper. He ordered me to bring him another jug, and as I was carrying it, the jug slipped from my greasy hands, hit the edge of the bench, and broke. Luke lunged up in a rage. "You done that on a purpose, wasting good whiskey. I’m gonna give you a whipping you ain't gonna forget." Luke reached for his rawhide whip, and I ran for the door. I was outside and thought I’d gotten away from the outrageous drunk when his whip encircled my legs, jerking me to the ground. I tried to rise but couldn't. The leather coil retracted for another lash. This time the whip snapped against my back, cutting a deep gash several inches long. I yelled in agony, but Luke only laughed and kept on cutting deep gashes into my back, time after time.
"That'll learn you not to shatter good moonshine," Luke scolded as he continued his beating.
I had lifted my head, pleading for mercy, when the whip’s tip found my face, cutting a terrible gash all the way through my cheek and nicking my tongue. Unconsciousness came.
It was dark when I woke. I was in agony. Lying still for a few minutes, I tried to orient myself. I was lying by the horse trough next to the corral fence, about twenty-five feet from the barn.
Unable to stand, I crawled to the barn, retrieved the hidden sack, and crawled back to the corral, dragging the bag. Maude was the closest ride, so I pulled myself up against her, tied the bag around her neck, and led her to the fence. I got my foot on the second rail and with a great deal of effort mounted her. For a moment, I swayed and struggled to keep my seat, and then I reached for Maude's halter rope and whispered, "Let's go, Maude."
Chapter Eleven
Bart became alert when someone entered the wagon from the back. He could tell it was a girl from her silhouette. She bent to pick something up and then turned to leave.
"Can you tell me where I am and how I got here?" he whispered.
"Oh, you're awake," said the excited girl. "How are you feeling? Do your injuries hurt?"
"My face feels terrible and hurts when I talk. My back feels stiff but doesn’t hurt too much. Where are we?" Their conversation filtered through the thin canvas bonnet to the ears of the girl’s parents. Mrs. Douglas looked at her husband and then started to rise to lend her assistance, but her husband pulled her back. “Why don’t we let Liz spend time with the young man, explaining the circumstances?” She nodded and sat back down.
"We're part of a wagon train traveling to a little town called Flat Peaks in Colorado. Right now we're in Kansas. I don't know the exact location," the girl answered. "Mama and I have been taking care of you since I found you five days ago. You've been awfully sick."
"I've been unconscious for five days?” Bart couldn't see her nod. Time passed before he said, "I sure appreciate everything you've done, me being a total stranger to you. Can you tell me your name?”
"My name is Liz, Liz Douglas."
"That's a right pretty name, Liz." She blushed, but the redness didn't show in the dark.
"My name is Bart Carter," he said. Liz felt guilty for not saying she already knew, but that could come later. She rose. "Don't know where my manners are. I'll bet you’re starving? Mama cooked some good stew for supper, and I believe there's some left. I'll get you a bowl, but you won't be able to eat very much since you've been without food for so long."
"I'd be obliged if it's not too much of a bother." Bart's mouth was watering in anticipation of the food. She started to leave but then turned and asked if he wanted a cup of coffee to go with his meal.
"I'd be thankful for a cup," he answered.
∙•∙
When Liz came to the fire, her mother had a bowl of stew and a steaming cup of coffee ready for her on the sitting board. “He’s awake. You must have heard our conversation?" whispered Liz very quietly. "Bart seems like a nice person. Do you want to help feed him, Mama?"
"No, you're doing a fine job. Just don't rush matters. There'll be time for the details later. And Liz, light a candle for him to eat by."
Later, when everyone was sleeping, Bart lay thinking about his situation. He was lucky the Douglas family had taken him in and doctored him, but he couldn't depend on them much longer—it wouldn't be right, them not being family. The thought of family brought back sad memories. When his Pa died a week ago, he was left with no living relatives.
Suddenly, he thought of Maude. What had become of her? He remembered she was tied to his wrist when he left the hill country. Maybe the Indians got her. He'd ask Liz about her tomorrow.
His fingers started exploring his damaged cheek. The gash was worse than he remembered. Even though the cheek hole into his mouth had been sewn closed, the injury seemed wider with hard tissue surrounding it. Several minutes later he was asleep.
The rattling of cooking pans woke him. He could hear folks up and about, doing their morning chores before starting their travel. He wanted to join them but didn't know if he was strong enough. Just then, Liz climbed into the wagon with a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee. He pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Good morning, Bart," she said with a cheerful voice. "I hope you're feeling better? We'll be moving out soon, so eat up. I'll need to wash your plate before leaving." Bart was embarrassed to have her serve him but took the food and handed the empty plate back within minutes.
After she had left the wagon, an image of Liz filled Bart’s mind. She was tall, as skinny as a rail, with light red hair, braided into pigtails that hung to her shoulder blades. She had a big mouth with puffy lips, and her hazel green eyes appeared too large for her face. She had a tiny nose covered with freckles—it seemed like freckles covered her entire body, at least the part visible. She's not nearly as pretty as some of the girls in Blainsboro. Besides, she looks way too young for me.
Bart threw back his blankets and struggled to his hands and knees in an attempt to rise. He was about to stand when he heard footsteps coming up to the wagon, probably Liz again. Remembering he was only wearing underdrawers, he quickly sat back down under the covers. It was Mrs. Douglas.
>
“Good morning, Bart. I’m Alice Douglas, Liz’s mother. You had us worried for several days, young man,” she said with a smile. “We’re glad you’re doing better.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Douglas. I sure am grateful for all you’ve done for me. I’d be a goner without your help.” After a few seconds, Bart said with a sheepish voice, “Mrs. Douglas, I'll need some clothes if I'm to get out of bed. I'm only wearing underdrawers."
"Bart, I think it would be best for you to remain in the wagon until we stop for the night. Your body is still weak, and we don't want to rush things. It’ll only take a few days to get your strength back, you being so young. Tonight you can join us outside. Liz will bring you a pair of her papa's pants and a shirt—they'll be too large but will have to do until we can find some that fit."
"What happened to mine?" Bart asked.
"Your pants are soaked with blood and dirt. We’ll wash them as soon as we find time and water. I'm sorry Bart, but the whip lashes cut your shirt into ribbons. It wasn’t repairable.”
“It's wonderful you took me in, but what's to become of me now?” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sobbed the words. “I don't have anyone to help me. My family's all gone. I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I know I look a mess. My hair needs to be cut, and the scar on my cheek is ugly. I look terrible, Mrs. Douglas, what's to become of me?”
∙•∙
Knowing words weren’t appropriate, Mrs. Douglas kneeled beside Bart and pulled him into her arms. For a long time, they clung together, both with tears running down their faces. Douglas had heard it all through the thin bonnet wall and knew a bond was being knitted. Where the bond would lead, he didn't know, but he felt sure Bart would somehow become a part of their lives.
Captain Willard rode up as Douglas stood listening to the voices inside the wagon. "Better hitch up your team, Douglas, we're leaving in ten minutes," barked the captain.
"We'll be along in a few minutes," Douglas answered. The captain looked at him with a concerned expression and then turned and rode to the front.
Douglas had already hitched his team to the wagon and loaded the two pack animals. All that remained was tying them to the back of the wagon. When he brought them to the rear of the wagon, the mule stuck her head inside and pointed her long ears toward her master.
"It's Maude,” exclaimed Bart. “I've been wondering what happened to you." Pulling away from Mrs. Douglas, he crawled to Maude and hugged her neck. Then he heard Liz's approach, and remembering his drawers, went for his covers with a red face.
Both Mrs. Douglas and Bart had heard the captain’s orders and knew it was time to leave. She had started toward the front wagon seat but turned back to Bart with a smile and said, "If you'd like, I'd be happy to cut your hair this evening. I've cut my husband's for years."
Chapter Twelve
The long, hot, bone-dry, mid-August days seemed to last forever as the wagons rolled through the West Kansas terrain, making a little over twenty miles a day. Dust covered anything unprotected, choking every living nostril. The stock seemed to be getting gaunt, and food supplies were getting short.
By the fourth day after his haircut, Bart was strong enough to ride Maude, but he stayed close to the Douglas wagon out of sight of the other folks. In fact, he constantly kept to himself, almost in isolation, so people wouldn't see his terrible scar. When someone did approach, he would turn the bad cheek from them and put his hand over the injury.
During a noon break, when he and Liz were gathering chips, she asked Bart how he got injured. They had already discussed his twenty-seven gold pieces, which were now in safe hiding, but he had been uneasy talking about his hurtful past. After hesitating for a minute or two, he answered with a condensed version of events, feeling Liz had a right to know since she’d rescued him and helped him back to health. She listened intently to his story and then said in a squeamish tone, “Bart, I have a confession to make. I knew your name before you introduced yourself.”
“How did you find out my name? Did I talk when I was unconscious?"
"No. I snooped in your bag and found a letter addressed to you in your Bible. I expect your mother wrote it.”
"You found a letter to me in Ma's Bible?" snapped Bart.
"Please don't be mad at me. I stopped reading once I found your name. I promise with all my heart I didn't read the rest." Liz could obviously see doubt building in Bart's eyes. "You can ask Mama if you don't believe me, she was there."
"I believe you, Liz, and I'm not mad—at least, not with you. I haven't opened Ma's Bible since her death, and that's been over two years. I'm grateful to you for finding her letter but mad at myself for not finding it earlier. I can't wait to read it. Let's hurry back."
After the chips were stored, Bart and Liz retrieved the Bible and were heading for a sitting place when Mrs. Douglas caught Liz's arm. "He should be alone when he reads the letter, Liz. It'll be a very emotional experience. Give him time to collect himself and then if he wants to share the letter he'll come to you." Liz nodded, seeming to understand her mother's wisdom, and walked away.
Bart walked several yards from the wagon before sitting down. He held the unopened Bible in both hands and visualized his mother's smiling face with her blonde hair pulled back, tied with a blue ribbon. She was wearing her blue, pleated dress—she was beautiful. Other memories were occupying his mind when Mrs. Douglas approached him. "It's time to go, Bart. Everyone is in their wagon ready to leave." Bart's expression didn’t change. He simply nodded and rose.
Liz and her mother climbed into the wagon seat with Mr. Douglas, and they started west in total silence. Bart rode a few yards to their right. After some time, Liz asked quietly, "Mama, is Bart all right? He seems so different since he read his mother's letter. I'm worried over his quietness."
"He hasn't read the letter, Liz. It was unopened when I went to him."
"Why didn't he read it, Mama? Maybe he can't read."
"He can read, Liz. He simply wasn't ready to reopen his painful past—he's been through a lot, you know. He'll read it when his mind gets ready. He needs time for the healing process to take place, and we ought to honor this need. Do you understand?" Liz nodded.
When evening came, the train circled beside a small, waterless grove of trees. After the stock was watered from the barrels and hobbled on a nearby knoll, folks cleaned their clothing of sweat and soaked dust as best they could and prepared their supper. They seemed subdued.
While meals were being eaten, Captain Willard stepped to the center of the circle and said in a loud voice, "Listen up, everyone. We've been traveling hard for the past few days and are a little ahead of schedule. I think it's time for an afternoon of relaxation and fun. By noon tomorrow, we'll come to Deep Springs. The area has a waterfall, a large pool made by the falls, and a river flowing from the pool that runs along the eastern border of the Colorado Territory. When we get there, you'll have time to wash clothes, take a good bath, pitch some horseshoes, or do whatever you want. In the evening, we’ll have our fill of buffalo steak topped off with Mr. Dubia's fiddle music and some dancing. I've seen plenty of buffalo signs around, so it shouldn't be difficult to find our dinner. Let's all get a good night’s sleep so we can start early."
The camp’s attitude changed immediately as the travelers became keyed up and started talking to one another about tomorrow's event. It was well after sundown when folks started slipping away from the fire, anxious for the new day to arrive.
After the last person had turned in, Captain Willard found Bart and asked if he’d like to accompany him on the buffalo hunt at daybreak. Bart was excited but told the captain he'd never been on a buffalo hunt before—that he'd never shot a gun.
"That's all right, Bart. I'll show you what to do. You'll catch on fast. Be dressed and ready to go by first light." Bart stood smiling as he watched the captain disappear into darkness.
"Tomorrow will be a fun day, a new experience,” he whispered to himself.
Afte
r getting a candle and his Ma’s letter from the Douglas wagon, Bart walked several yards outside the wagon circle and sat down. Unfolding his Ma’s letter, he focused the candlelight and entered into the world of yesteryear, reading what his Ma had to say.
To my beloved son, Bart, October 15, 1870
If you are reading this, I will have died and now live in Heaven. As you know, I have been suffering and anticipate my life in this world to be completed shortly. I don't dread death itself but do fear the death of my unborn baby and mourn being unable to be a part of your life as you mature into manhood and raise your family. Of course, I'll miss your Pa. He's the love of my life. Please help him in his time of grief.
Son, I'm very proud of you. I believe you'll grow up to be a respected man; someone people can count on; someone who helps those in need. Keep a strong faith and live a life that demonstrates your beliefs to those around.
Now, about your name. I know you feel I treated you cruelly when I named you Azro Bartholomew Carter, but it's a name that carries a great deal of history. A name that represents men with good acts toward their fellow man. Son, what's in a name? Does it only point to a person, like a page number in a book? No. It defines one’s very soul; your acts of kindness or the lack thereof. People will recall your characteristics, both inward and outward when your name is spoken. Folks may turn their heads or stand out of courteousness when they recognize a person of respect. Your name can bring laughter, joy, and comfort for those you have helped. You have a good name, respect it and be proud.
Son, accept my death as being part of God's plan and not something unfair.
Remember, my love for you will last for an eternity.
With love from your Mother
Bart folded the letter and looked up into the heavens. The crescent moon shone bright, and the sky was filled with millions of twinkling stars. Two coyotes were speaking in the far distance. A new feeling came over Bart. A feeling of comfort, a feeling of belonging, a feeling that everything would be all right. He moved to his bedroll, took off his boots, and lay in wonderment, thinking of what the future held for him.
