by Linda Ford
“Polly, would you play with her in the back of the wagon?” Judith asked.
Polly readily agreed to do so.
A little later the food was ready and the men joined them for supper. Warren set out buckets and dragged in some logs so they could perch close to the fire without having to sit on the wet ground. Somehow he ended up next to her.
Normally, she wouldn’t have noticed, but Polly’s matchmaking efforts had left her self-conscious around the single men—all two of them, not counting the teamsters. She smiled to herself at the thought of who among the teamsters Polly might feel was suitable for Mary Mae if she didn’t abandon the thought that Mary Mae needed a man to be happy.
Warren held out his hand, a pebble in his palm.
“What’s that?”
“A pebble for your thoughts.” He shrugged. “Didn’t have a penny handy.”
She laughed. “My thoughts have been badly devalued. Down to a pebble.” She leaned closer to study the little rock. “Could you have found a smaller one? That really makes my thoughts appear worthless.”
“I wasn’t going for size, but for perfection.” He rolled the stone around in his palm. “Note how perfectly round it is and the fine coloring.” He talked like a carnival barker trying to sell her something.
With a chortle, she plucked the pebble from his cool palm. Forced herself not to jerk back at the touch of her fingers against his hand.
He waited as she rolled the pebble between the tips of her finger and thumb.
“Have you forgotten something?” he asked.
“Am I supposed to be serving coffee?” She looked about with utmost innocence.
“A pebble for your thoughts. Remember?”
“Right. A small pebble deserves only a small thought.” She continued to roll the rock between her fingers as she considered what to tell him.
“You were smiling about something,” he prodded.
Her smile returned and grew into a chuckle. “I was wondering if Polly would keep in mind that I said I don’t need or want a man, or if she would bring forth every teamster for my perusal.” Her gaze went to the fire where the other men gathered. Some of them looked like they hadn’t seen a razor or a bar of soap since long before they left Independence. She shuddered.
Warren laughed. “That thought is certainly worth more than that tiny pebble. I’ll have to find a bigger one.”
She met his gaze then turned back to watching the teamsters and grimaced.
“Pete’s not too bad,” Warren said.
“At least he can play his harmonica.”
Up until now, the others had been deep in conversations of their own but her words fell into a silence.
Polly perked up. “You like Pete?”
Mary Mae groaned. “I like his music. That is all.”
Sam pulled Polly to his knee. “Best you leave off trying to get Mary Mae married and give her some peace. Remember what I told you about making her uncomfortable?”
Polly hung her head. “I forgot.” She drew in a breath and faced Mary Mae across the fire. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to be angry at me.”
“You’re forgiven and I’m not angry.”
Polly sat up straighter. “I just want you to be happy like the others, and they’re married.”
Mary Mae couldn’t decide to groan or laugh.
Warren chortled. “The little gal is very single minded.”
“So am I,” Mary Mae said with some force and then laughed to make sure everyone knew she harbored no bitterness.
Mealtime was over, but they lingered a few more minutes until the harmonica player began with his customary sad song. It always filled Mary Mae with a deep ache and she jumped up to prepare a batch of biscuits for tomorrow.
The others got up as well and began the evening chores.
The harmonica player switched to a jolly tune and two of the teamsters danced a jig. Mary Mae’s mood lightened.
A little later, food preparation for the next day was done and beans simmered over the fire as the men returned. Mary Mae had baked cookies and passed them around with coffee.
Donna Grace and Judith put the baby girls to bed.
“Time for you to go to bed, too,” Sam said to Polly.
“I don’t like sleeping by myself.” The child put on a little pout.
Mary Mae felt everyone turn toward her. She pretended to be greatly interested in the contents of her cup. Despite the wet conditions, she meant to sleep in the tent again. Sam could keep his niece company.
A flurry of talk, all directed toward Polly, set Mary Mae free of study.
Warren had gone to refill his cup and get more cookies, and he stopped behind Mary Mae.
She tried not to squirm and forced herself to continue to study her cup when every muscle twitched to jump to her feet, face him and ask what he wanted.
Not that she had to ask. He propped on boot on a length of wood and leaned over his knee so his mouth was very close to her ear. She knew no one else could hear what he said.
“It’s wet and cold on the ground. Why not keep the child company?”
She turned slightly so her words were for him alone. “And make Sam sleep on the cold, wet ground? That doesn’t seem fair when he has a perfectly fine wagon to sleep in.”
“I venture to say he’s somewhat more used to such conditions.”
“I venture to say cold and wet is cold and wet, whether one is a man or a woman, a hardened traveler or a greenhorn.”
He chuckled softly so as not to draw attention to them. “True. But still not the same.” He straightened and before she could think what he meant to do, he raised his voice and addressed the others.
“Mary Mae is agreeable to sleeping in the wagon with Polly. Sam and I will sleep under the wagons and keep an eye on things.” He nudged Mary Mae. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
Of all the gall!
Polly clapped her hands. “I’m so glad.”
Mary Mae would not give Warren the satisfaction of letting him see how his high-handed ways annoyed her. “If it’s okay with Sam.”
Sam said it was most agreeable.
Warren spoke again, softly. “I could not abide you sleeping in the tent when there is a dry wagon available.”
“Why thank you, kind sir.” She rose in what she hoped was a noble, majestic way and went to the Clark wagon to retrieve her things. She marched over to the Braddock wagon and followed Polly inside.
She listened to Polly’s chatter with half a mind as her thoughts swirled at the way Warren had treated her. For her comfort? Or to try and prove something? Did he hope to convince her she needed a man? Well, if he thought to do so, he was fighting a lost cause.
The next morning, Warren tromped through the mud to get the animals. The rain had soaked the worn areas near the trail and left them to fight a bog.
He smiled as he worked. Even though he knew Mary Mae likely had been offended at how he’d done it, he’d enjoyed finding a way to get her to spend the night in the wagon. Like he told her, he couldn’t bear the thought of her sleeping in the tent when she didn’t need to and guessed she wouldn’t listen to reason, so he’d forced her into agreeing.
She’d spoken less than a dozen words to him this morning as she joined the other women in making breakfast, but he hoped to remedy that soon enough. He’d suggested to Judith that she ask Mary Mae to ride with them again.
Could be she would refuse. She could choose to ride with Sam and Polly, or Luke and Donna Grace and baby Elena, but he’d sweetened the offer by telling Judith to say she needed some advice on the quilt square she worked on.
Judith had laughed merrily. “Are you not the man who said he wasn’t interested in her?”
“Not interested in marriage,” he corrected. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about how she’s feeling after Polly’s remarks.”
Judith had patted his arm. “I’ll ask her.” She’d chuckled as she walked away.
He hitched the mules to the wagon, and Ju
dith, Mary Mae and Anna got in the back of the wagon. Somehow he’d pictured Mary Mae sitting beside him as she’d done yesterday.
Buck rode down the line of wagons speaking to each driver. “There’s a bog hole ahead. Gil’s looked up and down the draw and says there’s no better way across. It will be tough pulling.”
The lighter wagons were to go first before the heavier ones chewed the mud into a quagmire.
Luke and Donna Grace led the way, taking their wagon down the slope toward the muddy crossing. The mules strained to pull the wagon through and then they made their way to the top of the draw and stopped to watch the others.
Warren and his wagon were next because of the baby in the back. Sam and Polly followed, then the reverend and his wife. By the time the reverend crossed the mud, it sucked the wheels in almost to the axles.
“It’s going to be hard to get the freight wagons across,” Mary Mae commented from behind him. He’d known the minute she peered past his shoulder to watch the crossings.
Buck rode up. “We’ll make camp over there.” He pointed to a grove of trees. “It will take most of the day to get the rest of the wagons over. You men set up camp and then come and help.”
Warren turned his wagon aside and soon the smaller wagons drew in together.
“This will give us time to do some cooking and laundry,” Judith said as Warren and the men jogged back to the crossing.
The mud deepened with the passage of each wagon. The men worked to double yoke the oxen, using different teams each time to spare the animals. They had brought over the fourth wagon when Warren straightened and arched his back to relieve the strain.
“Have some coffee and sandwiches.”
He jerked about to face Mary Mae, her hands holding a cup of steaming coffee and a handful of sandwiches. He rubbed his hands on his trousers then immediately regretted it as it only put more mud on his hands. “I’m dirty.”
She nodded toward the towel on her arm. “Polly has hot water to wash in.”
He glanced around, saw the women had all arrived with food and coffee—not only for Warren, Luke, Gil, Sam, and the reverend, but also Buck and the teamsters who were on this side of the draw. Those on the other side had eaten the noon meal as they waited their turn to cross.
Warren stood behind Luke and the reverend as they washed their hands, then he stuck his into the warm water.
“It will soon be mud.”
Mary Mae nodded. “We knew that, but didn’t know what else to do.”
He downed his coffee in seconds and wolfed down the sandwiches. “Thanks for this. I hate to eat and run, but… ” He glanced at the sky. Dark clouds hung in the west.
“I understand. There are more wagons yet to get across.”
The women trooped away. He watched them for a few seconds though, and to his surprise, it was Mary Mae he watched.
As soon as he realized it, he turned back to the task at hand.
One by one, struggling against the cold, sucking mud, they pulled the wagons through the mud hole until it grew impassable.
“Let’s try a different crossing,” Buck said. Gil had been exploring the draw and pointed to another spot.
“It wasn’t as favorable as this one earlier, but it’s better now.”
So the wagons moved thirty feet down the draw.
They soon discovered the ford dropped off rather abruptly on one side and guided the oxen carefully to prevent a misstep.
One by one the wagons crossed. Only one left—one of Sam’s.
The teamsters drove the teams into the water that by now was more mud than water.
Sam followed, calling out instructions, as he watched the progress of his wagon.
One wheel slipped sideways.
Warren watched, his heart in his mouth, praying the oxen would pull the wagon back to the safety of the ford.
His breath whooshed out as the wagon righted.
Sam called to the teamsters. “Drive them hard. The wheels are sinking fast.”
Without warning, the wheels on one side fell from the ford. Warren stared. It almost appeared as if the ground had given way under them.
He called out, hoping to warn Sam to get out of the way. But it happened so fast. There was nothing anyone could do as the wagon flipped to its side, taking Sam with it.
Everyone rushed forward, but Warren was there first. As the teamsters strained against the weight of the wagon and the oxen pulled, the wagon was lifted and Warren eased his friend out from the muck. Luke and Gil helped carry him to dry ground.
Sam’s face was grey. He struggled to breathe. They all, including Sam, knew he had only a few minutes left.
Warren held his hand, offering what little encouragement he could.
Sam tugged at Warren’s hand, his eyes pleading.
Warren bent low to hear what Sam had to say.
“Take care of Polly for me. Don’t let anyone take her away from you.”
“I will.”
“Swear you will.”
“Sam, I give my word.”
“Tell her I love her. Tell her God loves her.” He struggled for each word. Then gasped, and breathed his last.
Warren bent his head over Sam’s chest and groaned.
The men gathered around him, heads bowed. Death came frequently on the trail, but this time was different. This was Sam, both friend and fellow freighter.
The teamsters brought Sam’s wagon successfully across.
Warren pushed to his feet and headed toward the camp.
What he had to do next was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Equally as difficult as four years ago when he held Gina and Reggie as they left this life for a better one in heaven.
The others huddled close to the fire preparing supper and keeping warm. They’d be lucky to not get snow before they reached Bent’s Fort. He repeated his wish for no snow, in the hopes of numbing the pain that sucked at his insides. But it failed to do so.
His steps slowed as he considered the news he must relate to ten-year-old Polly.
Luke and Gil flanked him like guards. He welcomed their presence, but knew it fell upon him to relay the news.
Was there a good way to do so? He couldn’t think of one and forced his feet to keep moving. As he reached the campfire all heads turned toward him. Polly looked past him, no doubt looking for her uncle.
Removing his hat, he slowly took in those watching him. Young Polly sat next to Mary Mae. Behind them the teamsters had circled their wagons and gathered at their own fire. He felt their tense waiting.
“Where’s my uncle?” Polly asked, and he knew he could no longer put off his task.
“There’s been an accident,” he said, his throat tightening.
Polly gave a startled cry, then straightened. This kid knew life on the trail as well as any of them. “How bad?”
“Real bad.”
She was on her feet. “Where is he?” She would have run to the draw, but he caught her arm. “Polly, it was real bad.” He let the words sink in.
“He’s dead?”
He nodded, his own sorrow at losing his best friend reduced by the knowledge of what lay ahead for this child.
She twisted from his grasp and took a faltering step toward the muddy draw.
Mary Mae hurried after Polly and pulled her into her arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
Polly shook with sobs.
Warren sank back on his heels.
“Son, what happened?” the reverend asked.
Polly sat up. “I want to know, too.”
Warren glanced to his brother and sister, silently beseeching them to help him out. Luke rested his hand on Warren’s back. He said nothing. No words were necessary, nor would they have changed anything.
Polly pushed from Mary Mae’s grasp and faced Warren. “Tell me what happened to my uncle Sam.”
Warren held up his hands as if he could block the pain from reaching Polly. “He stumbled in the mud.”
Polly rumbled her lips.
“That don’t kill a man.”
No one corrected her grammar.
She stuck her hands on her hips. Normally a pliable, well-behaved child, she took on the pose of a warrior. It might have been amusing except for the circumstances.
He had to give her enough information to satisfy her. “The wagon tipped over.” He squatted to look her squarely in the eyes. “He asked me to take care of you and I promised I would. Sam was my best friend. I will keep my promise to him.” He might have failed his wife and son, but he’d changed since then. In four years, he surely must have. Taking care of Polly was his chance to prove it.
“I want to see him,” Polly demanded.
He rocked his head back and forth. “You want to remember him smiling at you.”
“I want to see him,” she said again.
Helpless, he looked about at the others, could see that they shared his opinion that the child should not see her uncle. Not that he had been badly banged up. His injuries were internal.
Polly gave him a look of defiance and headed toward the river.
Mary Mae rushed after the child. She caught her and held her. “Polly, wait. Listen to Warren.”
Polly broke free. “He’s not my pa.”
Warren reached them and blocked Polly’s path. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“You mean to see him dead.” She spat the words out. “I want to say goodbye. Is that so bad?”
“No, and I’m not arguing against it if you’re sure that’s what you want.”
She stopped. “You won’t stand in my way?”
“All I ask is you give us time to clean him up. He fell in the mud so he’s a little dirty and I don’t think he’d want you to see him that way.”
Polly considered his suggestion, then nodded. “Fine. I’ll wait for you to clean him up.”
“I’ll get water,” Mary Mae said and rushed back to the campfire. Mrs. Shepton had anticipated the need and had water hot and ready.
“He’ll need clean clothes,” Warren said.
“I’ll get his shirt and pants.” With steps full of purpose, Polly went to their wagon and returned in a moment with the items of clothing and handed them to Warren.
