The Long Way Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  The

  Long Way

  Home

  Books by Lauraine Snelling

  A SECRET REFUGE

  Daughter of Twin Oaks Sisters of the Confederacy

  The Long Way Home

  DAKOTAH TREASURES

  Ruby Opal

  Pearl Amethyst

  DAUGHTERS OF BLESSING

  A Promise for Ellie

  RED RIVER OF THE NORTH

  An Untamed Land The Reapers’ Song

  A New Day Rising Tender Mercies

  A Land to Call Home Blessing in Disguise

  RETURN TO RED RIVER

  A Dream to Follow Believing the Dream

  More Than a Dream

  HIGH HURDLES

  Olympic Dreams Close Quarters

  DJ’s Challenge Moving Up

  Setting the Pace Letting Go

  Out of the Blue Raising the Bar

  Storm Clouds Class Act

  LAURAINE

  SNELLING

  The

  Long Way

  Home

  The Long Way Home

  Copyright © 2001

  Lauraine Snelling

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55661-841-3

  ISBN-10: 1-55661-841-7

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Snelling, Lauraine.

  The long way home / by Lauraine Snelling.

  p. cm. — (A secret refuge ; 3)

  ISBN 1-55661-841-7 (pbk.)

  1. Women pioneers—Fiction. 2. Overland journeys to the Pacific—

  Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3569.N39 L66 2001

  813'.54—dc21

  2001001317

  The Long Way Home is dedicated to

  the glory of God and to the gift

  He has given me in my Round Robin Circle.

  These friends help keep me sane and on track.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE West of Fort Laramie on the Oregon Trail Late June 1863

  CHAPTER TWO: Fort Laramie, Wyoming Territory

  CHAPTER THREE: Richmond, Virginia July 1863

  CHAPTER FOUR: West of Fort Laramie July ,1863

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN: "Richmond, ,Virginia

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Fort Laramie

  CHAPTER NINE: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER TEN: West of Fort Laramie

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Fort Laramie

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Fort Laramie

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: On the Chugwater River August 1863

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO: On the Chugwater River August 1863

  CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE: OglalaCamp

  CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR: Washington Prison

  CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE: September 1863

  CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX: The White House

  CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN: Washington

  CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT: Returning From the Harvest

  CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE: Horse Hunting on the Powder River Range September 1863

  CHAPTER THIRTY: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER THIRTY - ONE: On the Chugwater River

  CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY - FOUR: On the Chugwater River

  CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER THIRTY - SIX: Richmond, Virginia

  CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVENT: winOaks

  EPILOGUE: Wyoming Territory Spring 1867

  LAURAINE SNELLING is an award-winning author of over forty books, including fiction and nonfiction for adults and young adults. Besides writing both books and articles, she teaches at writers’ conferences across the country. She and her husband, Wayne, have TWO grown sons and four granddogs, and they make their home in California.

  CHAPTER ONE

  West of Fort Laramie on the Oregon Trail

  Late June 1 8 6 3

  Gray Wolf Torstead, long dark hair tied back with a piece of latigo, topped the hill on his blood bay Appaloosa as the sun broke the horizon. Turning to look over his shoulder, he could no longer see the smoke from the campfires of the wagon train. Looking east he knew he could make it back to the fort with some days of hard riding, gather his supplies, and head home.

  Home. Would his mother’s tribe’s tepees feel like home, or had he lived with the white men too long? Like he’d been trailing the wagon train too long. They didn’t need him. Jesselynn didn’t need him. Jesselynn—a much better name than Jesse. But he’d had to make sure the new wagon master knew what he was doing. They’d camped in the right places, kept watch at night, and grazed the herd. He’d even heard the fiddle singing one evening.

  He knew the scouts had seen him, but then he hadn’t been trying to hide. Just making sure they were safe.

  He nudged his Appaloosa into a mile-eating lope and promised himself to put Jesselynn Highwood out of his mind. Out of his heart was another matter entirely. Questions that kept time with his horse’s hooves circled round again. Why had he let her go? Why had he not at least asked her to stay, to marry him?

  ‘‘Worryin’ gots you lower den a turtle belly.’’

  Jesselynn Highwood looked over at the smiling black face of Meshach, who used to be overseer at her home in Kentucky. Now he was a freedman and her friend. ‘‘I’m not worrying. I’m thinking.’’ She tucked her slouch hat, which looked to have been wheel fodder, between her britches-covered knees and finger combed her shaggy hair back off her forehead. The hat kept her hair out of her eyes at least, dark blond hair now barely stained by walnut dye. Masquerading as a male to keep her people safe took a lot of sacrifices, especially for a nineteen-year-old Southern woman.

  I thought you gave up lying. That little voice inside woke from a nap and, smirking, tapped her on the shoulder.

  Jesselynn, her elbows propped on her knees, the reins to the two span of oxen loose in her fingers, stared out over the backs of her trudging bovines. Dust from the wagons ahead of her wore her face dry and crunched between her teeth. She’d lost the juice to swallow with, and the sun hadn’t come on eleven yet.

  ‘‘Whoa, son.’’ Meshach gentled Ahab, the Thoroughbred stallion that would be the foundation of their horse farm when they made it to Oregon Territory and a new start—away from the war.

  Right now, after weeks on the trail, Oregon seemed farther away than ever.

  Meshach kept the horse even with the left front wheel of their lead wagon. ‘‘Looks like worryin’ to me.’’

  Jesselynn kept the bite out of her voice with great effort. ‘‘I said I’m not worrying.’’ The emphasis on the last word rang hollow even to her own ears. If this wasn’t worrying, what was it? She chewed on the thoughts like a hound dog with a knucklebone.

  ‘‘I don’t trust Jason Cobalt.’’ She said the words loud enough for Mesha
ch’s ears alone.

  ‘‘They say he be a good man.’’

  ‘‘I don’t doubt that. I just doubt his ability to guide this wagon train through to Oregon. Last night they were talking about taking a shortcut.’’

  ‘‘I heard.’’

  ‘‘Wolf said that shortcut was short on water and the hills steeper.’’ That was her real problem—Mr. Gray Wolf Torstead, better known as Wolf. She knew it down to the stitching on her boots. Why had he left the train and his job as wagon master? She thought she understood the answer to that too, thanks to a conversation with an Indian scout. Wolf had felt a call to return to the land of his mother, an Oglala Sioux who died when he was a youth. However, understanding and agreeing were two entirely different things. She wished she understood all the scout had said.

  But if she dug deep enough, and she did that only in the still hours of the morning before the rising sun dimmed the starlight, she knew the real question. Why? Why had he left her? Thanks to that one embrace they’d shared, she’d dreamed of more. More embraces, perhaps a life together. After all, she didn’t take embraces lightly, not when they made her breathless. Seemed like his had. She let her head drop forward like a heavy blossom on a slender stalk. Why had he left?

  Meshach was entirely too perceptive. Aunt Agatha would be on her back next. Keeping her feelings from her nosy aunt would take some doing. Pious, upright, Southern to the smallest bone, Aunt Agatha would definitely not approve of the direction her niece’s thoughts were taking in regard to a halfwhite, half-Sioux man named Wolf. No matter how much Agatha had changed since the early days of Springfield, with these woman-man thoughts, Jesselynn was seriously transgressing.

  Jesselynn forced her head upright and a smile to her lips. Wolf was a moot point anyway. He’d left the train, left her, and all she had to do was keep her sights on Oregon.

  Am I not sufficient for thee?

  At the gentle reminder, she shook her head. Of course you are, Lord, but you know what I mean. I . . . I thought maybe—okay, I don’t know. The sigh came from the balls of her feet. He’s a good man, and I hope and pray he will be happy up there with his mother’s people. She glanced ahead to see that Meshach now rode beside the McPhereson wagon. Something Mrs. Mac said made him throw his head back and laugh, a hearty laugh that said more about the man than the joke. Meshach laughed a lot more on the trail than she’d ever heard him laugh at Twin Oaks. His body-shaking laugh drew in others like bees to blossoms. One would have to be carrying a huge lump of a heart to not laugh along with Meshach.

  Jesselynn saw it all and tucked it away to ponder later. Is this what freedom did to a man once enslaved? He’d told her once that Christ set him free long before she did, but she knew she witnessed the change.

  Do others see that joy in me? The thought made her flinch. The last three days had been particularly empty of any emotion that bore even a fleeting reminiscence of joy. ‘‘Sorry,’’ she said aloud and shook her head as she flipped a glance heavenward. Praise ye the Lord. Meshach had read that in a psalm the night before. She’d heard it with only half an ear. She had a feeling God would rather she not only heard but did as He commanded.

  She could hear her mother too. ‘‘No better time to change than right now.’’ Oh, Mother, such wisdom you had. What would you say to all this that’s gone on?

  ‘‘Marse Jesse, you all right?’’ Benjamin, another of her former slaves, looked at her out of the corner of his eye, as if afraid of intruding but caring enough to want to know.

  ‘‘Yes, I’m right as a June bug.’’ Jesselynn flashed him a smile that she’d dredged up somewhere out of her middle. ‘‘You want to drive awhile?’’ She grinned at the rolled-eye look he gave her. She knew he’d rather ride than drive any day, just like she would.

  ‘‘Yes, suh.’’ His sigh made her smile again. ‘‘I go tell Miss Agatha.’’ He turned his horse and rode to the wagon behind hers. Jesselynn had become Jesse instead of Jesselynn and Sir or Suh or Marse to her family to keep them all safe when they were forced to leave Twin Oaks near Midway, Kentucky. When Benjamin returned, Jesselynn whoad the oxen and leaped to the ground, her feet sending tingles up to her knees. She swung easily into the saddle and waited while Benjamin climbed up on the wagon seat and hupped the oxen forward. The wheels creaked in protest. One of the oxen bellered.

  Jesselynn dropped back to the end of the wagon train and crossed to the north side. No one had reported the Indian shadowing them in the last day or so. On one hand she felt the same relief the others expressed at his supposed departure, but on the other she wished she’d known who he was and what his purpose was. When Wolf had led the wagon train, she’d not wasted time thinking on such things.

  Turning Ahab, she cantered back to the herd of horses and cattle that snatched grass along the way as they trailed the train. Daniel, another of her young freedmen, and two other young men from the train kept the herd moving, watching out for danger, be it Indian or beast.

  ‘‘Anyone seen the Indian that followed us?’’ she asked as she drew even with Daniel riding Domino, her younger stallion. The two mares along with their foals kept to the center of the herd.

  ‘‘No, suh.’’ Daniel stood in his stirrups to stretch his legs. ‘‘We ain’t seen nothin’, not even a coyote. This sure do be empty land.’’

  ‘‘Getting rougher too.’’ Jesselynn looked westward toward the undulating hills that grew ever steeper. Black clouds billowed on top of the hills like frosting piled high on a three-layer cake, the sun stenciling the rims with silver. The cooling breeze felt welcome to her dry skin, but the thought of a thunder-and-lightning storm made her squint. Heat lightning speared the blackness.

  Surely Cobalt would send others back to help with the herd.

  Jesselynn saw Meshach cantering back toward them, but no one else.

  ‘‘Is he going to circle the wagons?’’

  Meshach shook his head. ‘‘He say got to make up lost time. Keep dem wagons rollin’.’’

  Jesselynn gritted her teeth. God help them if they had a runaway. Another lightning bolt streaked the sky, this time with a thunder rumble. Several of the herd leaders raised their heads, sniffing the wind. Bellows answered restless bellows.

  Oxen lowed from the wagons ahead.

  Meshach dropped back to speak with one of the young men and pointed out where he should ride, then did the same for the other. With the five of them circling the herd, perhaps they had a chance.

  At the first heavy crack of thunder and lightning, Wolf had always circled the wagons with the herd inside. While restless at first, the herd had settled down, ignoring the rain, with the cattle chewing their cuds.

  But now the pace picked up. More bawling. A horse whinnied.

  Do I go confront Cobalt or not? Ice balled in her middle. The first drops spattered her hat brim and sprinkled her hands. Cold all right. It could turn to hail real easy.

  ‘‘We need to settle the herd down in a low place. You want to take on Cobalt, or should I?’’ She knew better than to ask. Cobalt had already made his opinion of black men obvious. But then he’d ignored her also.

  ‘‘We take care de herd first,’’ Meshach said.

  Jesselynn nodded. In a stampede her foals would be the first to go down. She turned and rode up beside one of the other young men with the herd. ‘‘Swing those ropes in front of the leaders and keep them calm. Whistle, sing, whatever you can do.’’

  ‘‘Yes, sir.’’ The boy—she couldn’t remember his name—did as told. If only some of the others in the train were as cooperative.

  ‘‘Over there!’’ She pointed off to what looked like a basin set among the hills. ‘‘Get the herd down there and off these hills.’’

  Lightning lit the sky with blue light. She counted until the thunder crashed. Coming nearer. She drove Ahab into the center of the herd to cut out their mares. Daniel followed suit, and without adding turmoil to the tail-twitching, bawling herd, they each lassoed a mare and eased her and her foa
l out of the mass of animals. They still needed the filly and Roman the mule. Their loose ox would have to take his chances.

  Meshach brought the filly out and handed his rope to Daniel. ‘‘I’ll get de mule.’’

  ‘‘No!’’ Jesselynn had to shout to be heard, close as they were. ‘‘Save the herd.’’

  Never had she wished for another rope as much as now. Lightning flashed again, thunder rolled and boomed with another crack right after. The lead cow broke into a trot. Jesselynn handed her lead rope to Daniel and pointed to an arroyo that cut off to the north. ‘‘Get the horses up in that arroyo and hold them there.’’

  Knowing he would follow orders, she whistled for Patch, their cow dog, and broke into a canter, heading for the leaders of the trotting herd. ‘‘Swing them in a circle. Now!’’ Thunder and splattering rain drowned out her shout. She whipped her hat off and waved it at the still-milling cattle. ‘‘Hai, hayup! ’’ Patch headed for the leaders. Ahab shook his head but obeyed her squeezing legs and edged closer to the herd. Seeing what she and Meshach were doing, the other two herders followed suit, and the herd surged over the rise and down into the depression. With Patch barking and nipping when necessary, they turned the front-runners and got them circling with the riders loping around them. Sheltered by the hills in the shallow valley, Jesselynn breathed a sigh of relief. They could catch up with the train later.

  Lightning turned the darkness into day, a blue day with the smell of lightning and rain on the air. The crack near to broke her eardrums. Ahab half reared, and only Jesselynn’s hands clenched on the reins and her legs clamped to his sides kept him from bolting. She fought him back to a standstill, her voice calm in spite of the terror that set her heart to racing.

  ‘‘That was a strike for sure. I’m goin’ to check on the wagons. Can you hold them here?’’

  Meshach nodded, so Jesselynn reined Ahab away from the herd and trotted him up the rise, lightning flashes illuminating her way. Ducking her head to keep the rain from blinding her, she broke into a canter now that she was beyond the distance of panicking the herd.