“Not today, but it’s early yet,” Beth replied, forcing a smile.
“Hm.” The girl put hands to hips, exasperated. “Too bad, because I wanted to chat with Nicholas before we started today.”
Their first name familiarity grated on Beth’s nerves. She bit back a sharp retort. “Should I tell Mr. Granville you are looking for him if I see him this morning?”
Amelia blushed. “No, please don’t. I would rather ask Nicholas myself.”
“Very well, I’ll keep mum,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish.” Beth went back to their wagon. She tried to ignore the lingering envy over the other girl’s calling Nicholas by his given name. It was such a little thing, but she wanted to be as open with her affections as Amelia could be toward him.
Despite her best efforts, Beth’s musings stayed on Nicholas and Amelia the entire day. The trail went on forever, as did the land. Rock bluffs ran low alongside the river’s bottoms, the sandy soil in between the cliffs had been worn flat by the Platte’s flow. She’d heard news about Daggart hunting a buffalo and how he’d stayed behind rendering the kills. The men, loaded down, caught up to the wagon circle at dusk. Everyone had already settled in, their chores done, and ready to cook and dry the fresh meat.
Daggart was in the best mood she’d seen in years. He chatted about the hunt, the other men, how the Chatillons appreciated him sharing with them. “We have more than enough for us. It’s the right thing to do, since Miss Amelia’s father is lame.”
She listened, enjoying the buffalo as he went on to tell her how Mr. Chatillon was injured, why they came west, about the deceased Mrs. Chatillon, and what Amelia thought of the journey so far. Beth let him go on and on about the two, not wanting to disrupt his disposition.
“It sounds like they are very nice.” She gathered their dishes. “Is this where you are, usually, visiting them?”
He nodded a little shamefully. “Yea, usually. Sometimes at a card game, if there’s room.” Daggart leaned back, watching her. “What about you? What do you do when I’m not at camp? I ain’t never seen that dress before. It wasn’t Lizzy’s, was it?”
His question surprised her. He’d not expressed interest in Beth’s activities nor had he caught her working on her clothes. How did he go through life so obtuse? “I keep busy with Erleen some, but mostly sew or knit.” Feeling guilty at the near condescending tone in her answer, she added, “Rarely, I’m asked to cook for the hired hands and maybe the Granvilles.”
“Sounds interestin’.” He yawned, glanced around them, and stood, stretching. “Well, I suppose I’ll get tomorrow’s water for you then hit the hay.”
She watched a little while as he left, glad he’d not pressed about her new clothes. Beth laid out their bedrolls, leaving it to him to put up a tent cloth if he wanted. After the fire died down too low to see her knitting, she went to bed.
The wagon train traveled the river valley for five almost identical days. Sometimes they saw hundreds of buffalo on the bluffs above, other days, forty or fifty. To her surprise and delight, Beth found buffalo chips burned clean. None of her food smelled like manure, not even when accidently burned. She loved the buffalo meat, encouraging Daggart to hunt. He went out with the rest of the men often, hoping to impress Miss Amelia with his shooting skill.
Beth saw little of Nicholas or Samuel. The other hired hands greeted her, too busy to talk much. Mr. Lucky wore the socks she made and bragged to everyone else. When giving him his new socks, she’d understood Mr. Claude’s “Marvelous.” He surprised Beth by giving her a kiss on the cheek. She was certain her face glowed with a blush from his actions.
The Saturday’s travel, though light, exhausted everyone. The sandy road seemed to suck in the wheels, hampering progress and annoying the draft animals. A family up ahead delayed almost everyone, digging their way out of a deeply sandy portion of the trail. Palpable relief swept through the group when they stopped mid afternoon at the north and south forks of the Platte for the night. The sun shone high over the horizon, lending a festive atmosphere. Plus, other trains stopped here to camp too. Beth looked forward to hearing news from back east.
The few hours of light gave her lots of glorious knitting time. She meandered over to the other ladies in the sewing circle. Beth smiled at their warm welcome. Women from other camps were there too. Listening to the stories of their travels since they left Omaha interested her. She completed a lot of work on Mr. Chuck’s socks. They also exchanged new ways for cooking the same old food stores. After hearing all the new ideas, Beth was impatient for a chance to try enhancing dinner.
Evening mealtime approached and everyone disbanded. She went to their camp, seeing Daggart there, napping. He’d started a campsite, but not a fire. She agreed the day was already warm enough. Him being asleep disappointed her. She couldn’t start dinner without waking him, and she’d rather kick a bear awake. Beth decided against any fire and ate a cold meal before turning in for the night.
The next day, Sabbath dawned bright and cold. A steady wind lifted the loose ends of their tent, keeping them from dozing late. Beth took care of Erleen while Daggart started the fire. When it was ready to drink, both held onto their hot cups of coffee. They ate a quick breakfast, eager, like everyone else, to warm up by continuing on the trail.
The train trekked three days, each just a little warmer than the one before. After a morning jaunt of six miles, they reached the South Fork crossing. News went around from wagons heading east about how easy South Fork was to cross. Sharp gusts rattled everyone’s canopies as the train approached. Some of the children rode in their wagons, unable to stand in the harsher winds.
She and Daggart traveled close to the front. Before their turn, the mules ahead balked at the water. They reared as much as they could while rigged up and bolted, dragging their wagon on its side until the rigging jerked free. The mules’ panic rippled back to the other teams. The Bartlett’s oxen ran as if whipped, through the river and onto the other side. Daggart tried to stop them, being towed a little way before letting go. Beth ran up to him to see if he was injured.
He shrugged off her concern, giving her a little shove. “I’m fine, woman. Stay out of the way!”
Beth stumbled over a clump of grass, falling on her rump. To her right, another wagon headed in her direction, the team running amok while managing to stay upright through the river. She scrambled out of the way. Keeping a watch behind her, Beth went to the water, hoping to help retrieve items without having to actually get her feet wet.
Mr. Lucky rode up to her. “Are you fine, Ma’am?”
She looked down at her muddy but not bloody dress, nodded, and at her “Yes,” he rode north. Watching, Beth saw another runaway set of oxen, the driver holding on with determination. In the water, the wheels slowed, causing the team to lunge. As they did, the driver lost his grip, falling into the river and under the wheels. Beth cried out in horror as first one wheel and then the other rolled over the man’s legs.
Running, she arrived at the bank near Mr. Watts just as Nicholas and Samuel did. Mr. Watts lay almost underwater, his face barely above the surface. He screamed with the pain, howling and yelling for help. Beth squelched a shudder of fear and gathered her skirts in one hand. She entered the river and lifted Mr. Watts’ head, keeping it above water while the men dismounted. Blood from the injury flowed toward her in the current. She looked up into Nicholas’s pale face and shouted above Mr. Watts’ cries of distress, “We need to get him out of here. This isn’t safe.”
Samuel stood to the side of the man and held him by the torso, asking, “Can you hold him by his shoulders, Beth?” Nicholas went to Mr. Watts’ feet, his expression fierce.
“Yes, I can.” She let go of her skirt, concentrating on Mr. Watts more than the current. Beth took a deep breath as she lifted his shoulders. The water only came up to her knees, she reassured herself. Not enough to sweep anyone downstream.
“No,” Nicholas said. “You do it, Sam, and I’ll get his fee
t.”
Sam went to Beth’s side, taking hold of where she held the man as she let go of him. “Go get a blanket and a medicine kit from the lead wagons.”
She hurried as much as possible, concentrating on the items instead of the river. Mr. Lucky had anticipated the need and she met him halfway between. As the two of them went back with the medical supplies, the three men carried Mr. Watts to the bank.
Samuel took the kit, opening it and giving Mr. Watts the whiskey. He stopped his bawling enough to drink down the flask like water. After draining the contents, he moaned, “I’m gonna die. It hurts so much,” over and over until the alcohol eased his pain.
Nicholas rolled up the bloody pant leg to the knee, revealing a compound fracture on the back of Mr. Watts’ calf. He put the back of his hand up to his mouth before ordering, “Hold him down Sam, this’ll hurt.” He waited until Samuel held onto both shoulders.
Beth saw his reaction and how Nicholas’s face grew paler. “Nicholas? Are you all right?”
He lowered his hand and glanced up at her. “I’ll have to set his leg.” By now, a crowd of those already across the river had gathered, watching.
Samuel stared at his brother, “Will you be able to do this?”
“Yes, I can. It’s not surgery. I’ve seen much worse,” he snapped. “Keep his good leg still so he doesn’t hurt himself or us.” Mr. Lucky braced the patient while Nicholas set the fracture. Mr. Watts yelled as the bone slipped back past his calf muscles.
Even in the cool air of the day, beads of sweat rolled down Nicholas’s face. He addressed Beth, “I’ll need two splints. Have Mr. Claude help you, and tell him bois deux pour la jambe.”
She repeated phonetically, “Bwahduh poorla shawmb.”
He waved her off as he would a mosquito. “Good enough. Go tell him.”
Beth ran to where Mr. Claude led others across the river. “Monsieur! Nick—Mr. Granville wants bwahduh poorla sha, um, shasha?”
Claude looked where Beth pointed. “Il besoin bois deux pour la jambe?”
“Yes! Poorla shawmb!”
He removed his foot from the stirrup and slid down from his horse. “Allons, ma cheri!”
She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but followed as he led his horse to the Granvilles’ wagons. Mr. Claude quickly tied off the animal to the wheel and hopped into the wagon. Beth peeked in as he found two thin planks of wood purposely made for broken bones, and some thick bandages as well. He hopped down from the tailgate, giving her the bandages, and motioned for her to follow him. They wove a path through the crowd of onlookers to Mr. Watts.
Watts moaned. Samuel and Mr. Lucky had released him while Nicholas retained his feet. He nodded his thanks then went to work binding up the injury.
Beth watched, fascinated at how quickly and gently he worked. Nicholas made binding a leg look easy. She said, “You should be a doctor. You’re very good.”
Finishing, he glared at her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He gathered the medical kit and stood. “Let’s get Watts in his wagon. We’ll need to make a bed for him in there.” Mr. Lucky and Claude supported the man, walking him to his family. Nicholas took the blanket and supplies to the Granvilles’ wagon, leaving her behind.
She blinked, astonished by his sudden hostility. Beth bit her lip to stay the tears threatening to fill her eyes. Samuel stepped beside her, catching her attention. She turned to leave without a word to him.
“Mrs. Bartlett?”
Beth faced him, giving what she hoped was a glare, “Yes Mr. Granville?”
“You did well in helping us just now.” Samuel held his hat like an errant schoolboy. “Later, Nick won’t like how he spoke to you.”
“Oh?” She didn’t want a discussion or lecture. Beth needed to hide before the tears began falling.
“No.” Samuel stepped closer to her. “He’ll have to apologize, after thinking on how harsh he sounded.”
“Mr. Granville need say nothing to me. He’s correct, ask my husband. I often don’t know what I’m talking about.” Concentrating on not stomping in anger, she left him to find her wagon. Beth couldn’t see Daggart or the animals, and hoped the oxen hadn’t run completely across the country.
Others in the train had obscured her husband’s tracks. She found Erleen a quarter mile away, happily munching on some grass. A little dot in the distance west of them neared as the train spent noontime on the South Fork’s bank. Beth walked to the dot, recognizing it as her husband and their wagon once she was closer. “How are you?” she asked when she reached him.
He slapped an ox on the back. “I’m angry as hell, but there’s nothin’ I can do about it.”
She responded, “I understand,” sympathizing with what must have been a difficult trek.
Daggart stopped in his tracks. “No you don’t.” Staring at her in contempt, he said, “I’m the one who had to run down these bastards. You got to play around the water.”
Rage hit her full strength. She glowered at him, furious. “I don’t play around water.”
“You should more often,” he sneered.
Furious, she yelled at him, “Maybe I will, then! I wish it had been me who drowned instead of Lizzy. Then, all of us would be blissfully happy instead of so miserable.”
All through the afternoon, Beth used her anger to carry her onward. She ignored everyone, only responding out of politeness. The train rolled into the usual circle in a clear area. They found no wood but plenty of buffalo chips. A handful of the men went to hunt for the few deer spotted, later coming back empty handed.
Though loath to do so, Beth went to their wagon. Daggart wasn’t there, neither were their animals. She pursed her lips, unable to believe he did her chores for her. Beth took out her knitting, hoping the soothing activity would calm her temper. She leaned against the wheel in the shade, working on the last sock for Mr. Chuck. The past few days of steady wind kept her from knitting as much as she’d have liked. With luck, she’d be able to cast on for Mr. Lawrence’s first sock.
“Hello.” Her husband walked up beside her, leading Erleen. He tied the cow to the other side and went to Beth. “I’m sorry about this afternoon. I was angry at the oxen, not you.”
She didn’t want to discuss anything with him. “I see.”
He kicked at a rock. “I didn’t mean you should drown or anythin’. I know what I said before about wanting you dead, but I don’t. I hate that you’re not Lizzy, but I don’t hate you.”
Refraining from making a rude remark, she instead said, “That’s nice to hear.”
“It’s true.” Daggart cleared his throat. “You, uh, don’t hate me, do you?”
Beth stopped knitting, glaring at him. “Not too much, no.” She gave up on Mr. Chuck’s sock for the moment, putting it back in her knit bag. “I hate having to be Lizzy for you more than I hate you.”
Daggart stared at her. “You don’t like bein’ Lizzy? She was an angel, Beth. Better’n any woman ever born.”
“Yes, I know. You and my father have told me how perfect she was. I’ll never live long enough to be half as good as her or our mother.” Beth put her knitting back in the wagon, rummaging for her cooking supplies. “But, since she isn’t here to fix you her manna from heaven, I’ll have to. So if you’ll pardon me, I’m busy.”
“Yea, you do your best. Thank you.”
Beth grit her teeth and headed for the South Fork. She wanted to put the pail over his head and tap it with a spoon until his ears rang. He considered her inadequate, yet he didn’t catch on to her sarcasm about Lizzy. She used all her frustrations to speed through cooking dinner.
Daggart tried talking with her, ignoring Beth’s monosyllabic replies. When done eating, he handed her his plate and fork. “Good meal. I might go see if Mr. Chatillon needs help with their tent or team.”
Taking his dishes, she looked at him in surprise. He didn’t inform her of his whereabouts often. “Very well. Most likely, I’ll be here or washing something.” He gave a little wave
as she watched him walk away. Once Daggart was out of sight, she put their dishes in the larger pail to take to the river.
She took her time, enjoying the flowers. Beth chuckled at the frogs startled by her strolling past. The North Fork ran slow and shallow, the cool water inviting to her sore feet. She saw the bottom of the river through the clear water and set down the pail, removing her boots and socks. Gingerly walking across the sand to the stream, she stepped in and enjoyed the squish between her toes.
“Good evening, Beth.”
At the sound of a familiar voice, she turned, seeing Nicholas approach. She gave him a tight smile, responding, “Good evening.”
He sat as she had, removing his own boots and socks, and rolled up his pant legs. “I like this idea.”
“I’m glad you approve.” Beth walked away, up the river.
“Wait,” he hurried to her, the water slowing him down a little. “I owe you an apology. I was rude this morning. Sam told me I should talk to you about my outburst.”
She stopped, kicking a small splash with her toes. “How nice of him to say so, but he needn’t have forced you to act contrite.”
“He’s not forcing me. I spoke out of turn.” Walking downstream with her, Nicholas kept quiet. After a few more moments, he sighed, stepping in front of her to stop her. “Not everyone knows this, but I was a doctor at one time.”
Still unhappy, she looked up at him. “So I might have known what I was talking about?”
He laughed, “Yes, you did, more than you were aware of at the time.”
His amusement rankled her. Beth didn’t want to forgive him so soon. A growling attitude tolerable from Daggart was instead unbearable from Nicholas. She wanted a little more remorse from him. “I appreciate that admission and almost accept your apology.”
He stared down at the water like a little boy getting a reprimand from a teacher. “Almost?”
A little of her heart melted. Still, considering the hermit she’d first met and the professional he’d been this morning, Beth wanted to learn more. “Well, I’d like to know why you aren’t a doctor now. Your skills are valuable out here.”
Undeniable - Book One: The Oregon Trail Series Page 18
