The Long Way Home

by Lauraine Snelling

  ‘‘She’s beautiful, wife, just like you.’’ He kissed her cheek and the baby’s head. ‘‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner. I was out to dinner, but they told me as soon as I returned to the office.’’

  Louisa stepped out of the room. ‘‘I’ll let them be,’’ she said to the maid. ‘‘Tell Carrie Mae that I’ll come by to see her tomorrow.’’

  ‘‘I call de buggy for you.’’ Becca went out the door before Louisa had time to argue.

  She arrived home just in time for supper being served out on the back veranda, where everyone hoped for a bit of breeze.

  ‘‘We have a beautiful baby girl named Miriam Amelia. Mother and baby are both doing fine.’’ She clasped her hands to her bosom and smiled at Sylvania. ‘‘I have now joined the exalted ranks of auntyhood.’’

  ‘‘Does that make us honorary uncles?’’ The young private missing a leg and an eye smiled as he asked.

  ‘‘But of course. Although as honorary uncles, you might need to hold her at times.’’

  ‘‘I’m the oldest of eight. I’ve held lots of babies.’’ He held up the knife he used to carve handy spoons. Abby used them all the time now. ‘‘Think I can do a rattle, you know, with a little ball within a sphere, with a handle. Made one for my baby brother. You know where I could get me some cherrywood? Even babies can’t gnaw on that.’’

  Louisa kept her astonishment to herself. He’d never said more than ‘‘please’’ and ‘‘thank you’’ and ‘‘yes, ma’am’’ up to now. ‘‘I’m sure I can find you some, or Reuben will.’’ If I have to turn Richmond upside down, I’ll find it.

  Two days later Zachary came to her and announced another trip.

  Louisa felt her heart knock around her kneecaps. Weren’t they testing God’s providence to try for a fourth trip?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  On the Chugwater River

  August 1863

  Cave living hadn’t changed much, just more people, more animals, and smaller caves.

  Jesselynn stared out at the curtains of rain. Rain falling so hard she could barely see across their little valley. Sammy and Thaddeus both had a bad case of the squalls this morning, perhaps due to the weather.

  ‘‘Thaddeus, give that back to Sammy.’’ Jesselynn didn’t even bother to turn around. With all she had to do, standing watching the rain fall could be called a direct waste of time.

  The squall going on within her looked about as gray as the rain. They’d been in camp three weeks now, and Aunt Agatha still hadn’t spoken a word to her. With the sour look on her face, even the little boys had taken to giving her a wide berth.

  ‘‘Thaddeus, I said give that back to Sammy—now!’’ Where in heaven’s name was Jane Ellen? Most likely with Mrs. Jones. For some reason the two of them had taken a shine to each other and had become the best of friends.

  Patch came in from a check on the herd and shook himself, soaking Jesselynn before he sat down at her feet. Tongue lolling out one side of his mouth, he looked up for her pat or words of approval. When they didn’t come, he whined.

  ‘‘I know. You’re a good dog. I’m surprised the mares didn’t come back with you to stand here under the shelter of the cave.’’ She leaned over to give him the expected and well-earned pat. All the animals looked as if they’d put on weight with the rest and good pasture. The rain of course would help that pasture remain green, but Jesselynn and Mrs. Mac had planned on washing clothes today. She had set water to dripping through wood ash to make lye, not that they had much fat to make soap with, but if Wolf and Benjamin brought back deer and elk with plenty of fat, she’d use that.

  ‘‘Jesse, me go outside?’’ Thaddeus leaned against her leg.

  ‘‘You’ll get wet.’’

  ‘‘Patch is wet.’’

  ‘‘Patch was herding the cattle.’’

  ‘‘Where Meshach?’’

  ‘‘Over making scythes and rakes.’’

  ‘‘Go see?’’ He looked up at her, hope written all over his face.

  ‘‘No. You’ll get in the way.’’ She looked down to see Sammy stuck to her other knee. ‘‘Where’s Ophelia?’’

  Thaddeus pointed to the back of the cave. ‘‘There.’’

  Jesselynn looked over her shoulder, but the way the cave curved around an angle, she could see nothing. ‘‘You two play with Patch. Get a stick of wood and throw for him.’’ She snatched Thaddeus back as he headed outside. ‘‘No, get one from the woodpile.’’

  She ignored the smoke floating out along the low ceiling and blinked in the dimness lit by the slow fire with racks of venison drying on A-frames along both sides of the shallow trench. A caldron of stew bubbled on a separate and more substantial fire. They’d decided to use this cave for all the storage, cooking and sleeping outside until the rain drove them into the other caves. Good thing they’d brought in plenty of dry wood. Daniel and Nathan, along with his grandson, Mark, and the McPhereson boys, had taken two ox teams and wagons up into the hills to bring back more wood. By winter they hoped to bring down logs to extend the fronts of the caves into a cabin or two with rock fireplaces and chimneys for cooking.

  ‘‘You go help Ophelia. I need to talk with Meshach.’’ Jesselynn gave her little brother a pat on the seat and sent him to the rear of the cave.

  ‘‘Me go.’’ Her little brother’s plaintive plea tugged at her heart.

  ‘‘Not this time.’’ She settled her hat firmly on her head and, grabbing a cape off a peg, ducked out into the downpour. The gray sky looked to be sitting right on top of them, with enough rain tucked into the lowering clouds to last the proverbial forty days and nights.

  Meshach sat just under the lip of the cave so he could use the available light, carving pegs for the three-foot rake he’d fashioned from slender willow saplings. A completed one leaned against the cave wall.

  ‘‘What’s that bar across the handle?’’

  ‘‘Get a better grip dat way.’’ Meshach eyed the peg and laid it beside him, picking up another piece of wood and commencing to whittle it to the right size.

  Jesselynn looked toward the rear of the cave where another fire and drying racks matched those in the storage cave. Aunt Agatha was laying strips of venison in place. If only she would talk with me.

  Meshach raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  Jesselynn took in a deep breath. Just because her aunt was being stubborn gave her no excuse to act the same. ‘‘Good morning, Aunt Agatha. Looks to be raining forever, doesn’t it?’’

  Agatha laid a final strip in place, wiped her hands on her apron, and strode on out of the cave without even glancing in Jesselynn’s direction. She turned to the left and trotted on over to the easternmost cave where Darcy and Jane Ellen were sewing soft buckskin into shirts for the men for the winter.

  ‘‘Give her time.’’

  Jesselynn turned back to Meshach. ‘‘Not much else I can do, short of snatching her by the shoulders and shaking her.’’ The thought brought a smile to lighten Jesselynn’s outlook. That would be something all right.

  ‘‘God work slow, it seem to us, but we don’ see de whole picture. Bible say let de day’s own trouble be sufficient for de day.’’

  ‘‘I know, Mama used to say that so often.’’

  ‘‘She teached me.’’

  ‘‘But, Meshach, think what the winter will be like in these close caves if she continues to act like this.’’

  ‘‘De winter long ways off.’’

  ‘‘I know, today’s trouble.’’ So what is today’s trouble? Agatha didn’t talk to me—that’s nothing new. It’s raining. So, we need the rain. I can’t do the wash, so I’ll do it tomorrow or when the rain stops.

  So here I am in a grumbling mood when we have so much to be thankful for. Father, forgive me.

  ‘‘Thanks, Meshach. Think I’ll go fishing. They should be biting good in weather like this, right?’’

  He nodded, giving her a slow smile that drew forth one in return. ‘‘Fried
fish taste mighty fine. Take de rifle.’’

  As she darted back out in the rain, she heard him pick up the tune he’d been humming when she arrived—‘‘Way Down Upon the Swanee River.’’ No, they weren’t on a deep river here, but the creek sure was a welcome part of their new home.

  Back in the main cave, she called to Ophelia. ‘‘I’m going fishing.’’ She dug into one of the boxes for the fishhooks. ‘‘Should be biting good in this weather.’’ Fishhooks and line in hand, she stopped. ‘‘You want I should take the boys over to play with Jane Ellen?’’

  ‘‘No, they be fine here.’’

  Jesselynn checked her lye drip. She’d fashioned a skin to make a water bag with a slow leak and hung that above a pan of wood ashes. The pan had a hole drilled in the bottom and dripped the lye into an iron kettle. Oh, the things she’d taken for granted at Twin Oaks, useful things like soap and candles and a smokehouse and a cellar in the ground for storing the bounty they’d put by. Digging an outhouse was another thing they needed to do, and soon.

  ‘‘You boys go on back in the cave.’’ She snagged Sammy back from his dash out in the rain. ‘‘I told you to stay inside.’’ The urge to swat his fat little bottom went down to setting him on his feet with a gentle shove pointed in the direction of his mother. ‘‘Here they come, Ophelia. I think they need to break up kindling for a while. I’ll be up by the beaver pond.’’

  Ignoring the look Thaddeus sent her, Jesselynn swung the waterproof cape over her shoulders again, pulled her hat down snug and the hood up. She’d just stepped out in the rain when Ophelia, rifle in hand, called from behind her. ‘‘You need gun.’’

  ‘‘I have the pistol.’’

  ‘‘You take gun.’’ She and Meshach sure thought alike.

  Jesselynn shook her head and took the rifle and the powder horn. ‘‘I’m just going fishing right around that hill.’’

  Ophelia shrugged. ‘‘Fish be good for supper.’’

  Rifle in the crook of her arm, Jesselynn struck off toward the creek to follow the trail that bordered it. While originally a game trail, they’d ridden back there enough now to make it more visible, even in the rain.

  A pouch with worms in moist dirt hung at her belt, along with her skinning knife and the holster for the pistol. While tempted to leave the rifle propped in a tree, she carried it under the cape to keep it dry. Wet powder never did anyone any good. Of course, if she saw deer or elk coming to drink, she’d be ready. Now wouldn’t that be a good joke if she got something and the men didn’t. Right close to home too.

  She stopped often, peering ahead, trying to see and hear if anything but fish and beaver had visited the pond or taken up residence there. Nothing. The rain splatting on the cape drowned out any sounds but itself.

  Leaning her rifle against a hefty cottonwood tree trunk, she deftly cut a willow sapling, skinned off its branches, and tied her string to the tip. Knotting the hook took some concentration with wet hands, but within minutes she was seated on a rock on the bank with the worm floating on the top of the water ten feet out. She sighed. Should have tied a rock on for a sinker. Raising the tip to pull it back in, the pole bent and a flopping fish broke the surface of the rain-pecked pond. Jesselynn gave a jerk, and the fish flew through the air to land with a splat in the grass behind her.

  ‘‘Whooa-ee. Let’s do that again.’’ Jumping to her feet, she heard a whoof, much like a big dog. She turned and froze. Her heart thundered in her ears, her mouth dry as cave dust. A black bear rose on his hind legs and whoofed again. He raised his snout, sniffing the air, forepaws relaxed against his chest. The falling rain shimmered like a gauze curtain graying the bear to apparition.

  If he doesn’t know human smell, he knows fish smell. Only her eyes moved as she measured the distance to the rifle. Without a sound, she pulled the pistol from the holster, all the while keeping her gaze on the bear. When she smelled a rank odor, she knew the wind was protecting her. If she could smell him, he couldn’t smell her.

  Dear God, keep him blind. Make him go away. Never had any animal looked so big. Surely he was taller even than Wolf.

  Her hands shook so she could barely grip the pistol. She’d have to be close enough to smell his breath to kill him with that. But the rifle. One shot she’d have. Would have to be right in the eye. Keeping her mind at work on how to kill the monster freed her feet to ease her to the side. Barely moving, one foot and pause.

  The bear continued sniffing, his big head moving from side to side, testing the air currents.

  Jesselynn licked her dry lips.

  A dog barked from the trail back to the camp. The bear swung in that direction. Jesselynn took two steps and grabbed the rifle, putting the massive tree trunk between her and the bear. The dog barked again, coming closer, growling.

  ‘‘No! Patch, go back!’’ She might as well try to stop a waterfall. She stepped from behind the tree. The bear swung back in her direction.

  A flash of black and Patch was at him, snarling like he was as big as the bear.

  Jesselynn raised the rifle, sighted, and with the muzzle, followed the bear’s weaving head.

  The bear and dog snarled at each other. Patch dodged under the massive swinging front paws and slashed the bear’s rear leg. The bear roared.

  Patch danced out of reach, barking all the while.

  ‘‘Patch! No!’’ She’d never trained him to ‘‘No.’’ Not that she’d had to train him.

  The dog charged again. The bear swiped and knocked the dog high in the air. Patch landed with a thump.

  ‘‘No!’’

  The bear swung to face her shout. Jesselynn pulled the trigger, and the bear rocked back, half his head gone with the blast. He started toward her.

  She drew her pistol and dodged behind the tree again. She listened. No sound but the rain on the leaves above her.

  Then a crash. She stepped from behind the tree to see the bear fall face forward, crushing the brush, twitching but not trying to rise.

  Jesselynn ran around the brush, leaping an overturned log where the bear had been digging grubs, and searched for her dog.

  ‘‘Patch!’’ She screamed his name, listened, and called again. Nothing.

  Ten feet farther, Patch lay on his side in the flattened grass, as still as the huge black bear. Jesselynn knelt beside him, tears streaming down her face. ‘‘Oh, Patch, not you too.’’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jesselynn laid a hand on the dog’s ribs.

  ‘‘Come on, Patch, you can’t let a little ol’ bear knock the life outa you.’’ She knelt and laid an ear to the same place. Sure enough, though faint, the dog’s heart beat on. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. ‘‘God, you have to save him. He was just trying to save me.’’

  She glared at the bear, half expecting him to rise and charge her again. Back to the dog. Was that a twitch of his eye? The tip of his tail lifted also. Once, twice. She raised his lip to look at his gums. White gums meant internal bleeding, but his teeth gleamed white against pink flesh. ‘‘Thank you, Jesus.’’ She felt his legs, looked for blood, none. Pushing gently on his rib cage, she heard a slight crackle. ‘‘Ribs. He broke your ribs.’’ She rocked back on her heels to think. ‘‘But all we have to do is get you back to camp without poking one through a lung. Even dogs can heal of broken ribs.’’ She kept up the soothing words, not sure who needed them most, her or the dog.

  ‘‘You wait right here, Patch. I’ll be right back.’’ Taking her knife from the sheath on her belt, she rose and returned to the bear, nudging his hind foot to see if he moved. Nothing. No rise and fall of the back. Swiftly she twisted the massive head just enough to reach the neck and, with a slash, left him to bleed out. They couldn’t afford to waste the meat, the hide, nor the fat.

  ‘‘You’ll make good soap, you fool critter. All over that measly fish.’’ She glanced skyward to realize that the rain had let up. Now, how to carry Patch and the rifle? She pulled off her cape and laid it on the ground
by the dog with the rifle beside him. She folded it over and, kneeling, slid both hands underneath the package.

  Patch whimpered, so faint she wouldn’t have heard it had she not started to lift him. She pushed to her feet, swaying against the weight. A rhythmic thudding caught her attention.

  ‘‘Horse’s hooves. Ah, Patch, help is on the way.’’ She turned to see Jane Ellen, skirts a-flying, riding astride on Dulcie, one of the mares. The colt ran right beside her.

  ‘‘What happened?’’ Jane Ellen called over the clop of hooves.

  ‘‘Bear.’’

  At that same moment the mare scented blood and plowed to a stop. Jane Ellen kept right on going over the mare’s neck and flat out to thud on the grass, water causing her to slide before coming to a halt. The colt snorted and retreated behind his dam.

  But before Jesselynn could put the dog down and get to Jane Ellen, the girl groaned. She gagged and finally sucked in a breath. ‘‘Knocked . . . my . . . breath out.’’ She shook her head and looked up at the mare snorting at the end of the reins still clenched in her fist. ‘‘Fool horse.’’

  ‘‘Just sit there a minute.’’ Carrying her burden carefully, Jes-selynn approached the wild-eyed mare. ‘‘Come on, Dulcie, behave yourself.’’

  The mare backed up, dragging on the reins. Jane Ellen rolled over on her belly, glared at the horse, and commanded, ‘‘Stop now, you hear me?’’ She tugged on the reins at the same time, then coughing again, got to her feet. ‘‘Nothin’s gonna hurt you.’’

  ‘‘Patch has broken ribs, so we got to carry him real gentle-like. Thanks for coming.’’

  ‘‘We heard the shot, and it took me a minute to catch this stubborn horse.’’ Jane Ellen looked around. ‘‘So what happened to the bear?’’

  ‘‘I shot it.’’

  Jane Ellen’s eyes widened, her jaw dropped. ‘‘Kilt it?’’

  Patch whimpered again, more strongly this time.

  ‘‘We’ll come back for it. We can use my cape as a sling. You lead the horse and carry this end. I’ll take the other and the rifle.’’