Chapter 9
The next day found Beth grateful she had enough wood for breakfast and dinner. Daggart’s bedroll appeared slept in; he must have been there and gone without waking her. Coffee stayed hot on their campfire embers. She drank deeply, wanting the boost of energy. Her stomach tensed inside. Had she kissed Nicholas last night? Had he kissed her? Beth held on to the warmth of her coffee cup. She wanted him with a lust unknown to her before now. Was this what Daggart and Lizzy felt for each other? If so, little wonder he couldn’t let go of her memory.
Beth drained the coffee and readied to decamp. The air smelled of rain and river, a combination unnerving her. She didn’t look forward to today, crossing a flooded Platte. They’d survive only to reach Fort Kearny where Daggart would end up drunk. She heard the signal to leave, and yet her husband didn’t appear. After packing the tent, Beth hitched up the oxen. She stood by, ready to lead them on while keeping a look out for Daggart. Although a relief, his absences meant more work for her. She thought it a shame he didn’t just get another horse and ride on to California, letting her do as she pleased.
Her breath caught, thinking of going to a different destination from Daggart. Would he let her go to Oregon alone? The idea sparkled in her mind like snow on a sunny day. She didn’t want to live underground, digging for phantom gold. Beth couldn’t even bear the idea of mining for real gold. Living without the sun and fresh air wasn’t a life at all. Her husband might be happy as a mole, but not her. The best part of traveling proved so far to be finding new flowers, seeing butterflies, and spotting various birds and animals. She looked up at the puffy clouds, outlined in sunset’s brilliance.
She longed for her garden, certainly, and all the fresh vegetables grown there. Making bread, growing herbs, and gathering eggs were high on her list of desires. Beth imagined all the yarn she’d be able to spin if she could have had her own sheep again. Everyone would have blankets, a nice coat, and socks of course. Did anyone in the California hills have sheep to shear? Maybe only farmers in the Oregon Territory had them and Beth would have to go there for any wool.
She led the animals on, following others up the Platte River bottom. Although the course curled and twisted, the train hadn’t needed to cross yet. Everyone stopped for a cold lunch and fresh water. Another group of wagons, twice their number, camped on the other side. Beth watched across as those on horseback worked a large herd of cattle, keeping them with the wagons. She liked the tranquility of their smaller group. Only a few head of cattle traveled with them, keeping stampedes low.
They continued along the Platte until noon. Daggart walked up while she ate lunch and greeted her. “Good day.”
“Hello. Are you hungry?” She went to get him some dried meat, flat bread, and a pickle.
“Yea.” He sat and ate, saying in between bites, “We’re crossin’ to Kearny late today. The Platte is about three foot deep, and there’s no ferry.”
Now nauseous, she put down her food. “Three foot? That’s pretty deep.”
Daggart gave her a withering glare. “Only you and children would think so.”
She ignored his jibe, searching for a solution to being in water herself. “The animals won’t need walking across, so I could ride in the wagon, couldn’t I?”
“Yea, you can.” He stood and brushed off the crumbs. “I’ll take the team this afternoon. You didn’t tear up anythin’ this mornin’ while leadin’, so that’s good.”
His near praise surprised Beth. Whatever he’d been up to this morning helped his mood. Maybe Daggart had learned of a cheap claim in California. Whatever the reason for the lack of ill-treatment, she wouldn’t complain. Best of all, she had permission to ride over and not walk in the river.
She followed the teams as they kept on the south bank. Shallow pools dotted the wide bed, most of them foul smelling and green. As they went, the Platte’s level rose. With storm clouds in the distance, word passed around they’d stop for the night near Fort Kearny, but not cross the river. Beth agreed with the decision when informed, not willing to risk anyone in a flash flood.
For the first time during the trip, she saw wagons rolling east. Some traveled on the north side, fewer on the south. The people walking and riding appeared beaten by the elements. Beth wondered if those in her group would be in the same condition at their journey’s end. No one going back joined them when the train camped that night.
Even with the smell of rain blowing in from the west, the Platte kept its smooth currents. Beth didn’t fear washing up supper dishes, nor scooping water for tomorrow. She’d found a fresh flowing part, away from the stagnant ponds. While heading back to camp, she saw Nicholas and Claude walking toward her. As they passed, both men nodded in greeting but didn’t halt their conversation in French. She loved hearing anyone speak the language. Maybe some intrepid schoolteacher thought to bring a book on French to California or Oregon territories. If they let her copy a few pages at a time or even borrow the book, Beth could learn the language on her own.
“Ma’am?” Lawrence sought her attention. “The captains say to prepare for a storm.”
“Oh dear. Will it be bad?” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“Yes ma’am. There are gusts right there.” He pointed up to a bow of clouds rapidly moving out from the towering thunderhead.
“Thank you, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll prepare everything.” Beth smiled at him. She didn’t see Daggart anywhere, so she tied the oxen to the far side from the wind and Erleen to the back, facing east. When the storm front hit, the wagon shuddered with the force. No lightning flashed, but the rain beat down like hailstones. She’d fastened the flaps, making the wagon as watertight as possible. Even then, rain seeped in, soaking the bottom few inches of everything. Beth made a mental note to rinse the damp food for tomorrow’s meals. After the gust front, the rain settled into a steady drip, lulling her to sleep.
The day started much too early for her. She kept waking up from fretting about the animals and Daggart. Considering how much he liked his comfort, she was sure he’d found a warm place. Beth changed into her new dress, the only clothes dry. She took care of the animals while eating some dried fruit for breakfast.
Firewood in the wagon was soaked, making coffee impossible. Even without the luxury of hot drinks, atmosphere in the camp seemed extra lively. When the captains decided to stay put for a day, getting supplies at the fort was the only topic of conversation. She shared in the anticipation but also had feelings of dread. Beth wondered how much money Daggart allocated for whisky. He’d not been drunk since the men stopped playing poker for rotgut, no one willing to part with enough to intoxicate him.
With the Platte River at almost four feet instead of the estimated three, only those on horseback bothered crossing to the store. Most people sent a family member or two over while others remained behind to dry out possessions. Beth also stayed, hoping Daggart did too. She emptied the wet beans and rice into a pan for cooking, and added some bacon and spices for flavor. Beth wished the wood was already dry. The mix would keep until evening when she could cook.
She was busy cleaning out the wagon when Claude peeked inside. Beth squeaked, startled, and he laughed, showing her his hands in surrender.
“Bonjour, madam.”
“Bonjour?” She asked, thinking he might be saying hello.
“Oui. Pour vous.” He held out a skein of yarn in a light grey.
“Oh! All right.” Beth climbed out of the wagon and took the yarn. “Hm.” She pointed to his feet. “For you?”
“Oui, pour moi, s’il vous plait.” Claude smiled, gave her a wave, and went on to his next task.
She ran the back of her hand across the wool, liking the softness. Beth smiled to herself. The man had good taste. This would be a joy to knit. No sooner than she’d placed Claude’s future socks in her knitting bag, Beth was surrounded by the other hands in the Granvilles’ company.
The three dismounted, each greeting her with a tip of the hat and a “ma’am.”
“I don’t so much, ma’am. This here’s from Mr. Sam. He said he didn’t want Mr. Nick getting ahead of him in the favors.”
“Ah, I see. Very well, I’ll get started on these sometime today.” She gathered the wool, every man having picked a different natural color. They each thanked her as she took the yarns, afterward getting back on their horses. Beth smiled as they rode off to duty, happy to have such lovely yarn to knit. She’d take more pleasure in working with their choices than they’d enjoy wearing the product.
Beth ate a quick lunch then organized her knitting. Whose socks to start first? All the wools tempted her. She chose the grey, almost black, from Mr. Lucky. She cast on and knitted a couple of rows to establish the cuff. A shadow darkened her work, causing Beth to look up at the source. She noticed with a start Amelia stood in front of her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bartlett.”
“Hello, Miss Chatillon.” She stood. Even in a new dress, Beth felt dowdy next to the younger and more stylish girl. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Likewise.” Amelia smiled. “I would like you to join us this afternoon. A group of ladies are getting together, working on various projects while we’re resting.”
“Thank you, I’d love to, but…” Her face warmed when she thought of all the women looking at her knitting. They were all possibly far beyond her in skill and would later laugh at her.
“No, you must join us. Don’t be shy.” Amelia made a little gesture. “Don’t think about it, just come along.”
After shrugging in mock defeat, Beth said, “How can I say no, now?” She followed Amelia to the hen party where everyone seemed welcoming. Being observed by so many pairs of eyes made her shy and unfocused. She listened to the women chatter about the personalities of the others, some biting, others amusing. She paid particular attention to various clever solutions to problems caused by the travel.
As she picked up stitches along the heel flap of Mr. Lucky’s sock, Daggart and Mr. Chatillon walked up to them.
“There’s my girl!” Daggart said.
Hearing his voice, Beth looked up to see him addressing Amelia. An embarrassed hush fell over the group as the ladies waited for Beth’s reaction. Daggart’s cheeks reddened. She wanted to laugh at his discomfort, humiliating himself instead of her for a welcome change. Standing, her sense of empathy won over orneriness. “You’re right, here I am. I’d not realized it grew so late. You must be starved.” To Amelia, she said, “Thank you for including me this afternoon. I had a lovely time. Ladies.”
He glanced around at all the people staring at him. “Uh, yea, I am hungry.” He went to her, taking Beth by the elbow in a gentlemanly fashion. “Tell me about your day, and I’ll tell you everythin’ about Fort Kearny.”
Letting him lead her away, she said, “I had a grand time. Dinner won’t take long either. That’s all so now may I hear about the Fort?”
“It’s bigger than I imagined with more people.” He glanced back. “Thank you, Beth. I really put my foot in it over there.”
She wanted to reassure him, but couldn’t. “Yes, you did.”
He gave her a wary look. “You must be angry.”
“I should be, don’t you think?” She shook her head. “But I’m not.”
“Yea.” Daggart gave a forced chuckle. “I didn’t mean she was my girl, not like Lizzy.”
Didn’t she want him to like Amelia enough to let her go? Beth asked herself, did she want to play matchmaker? “She can’t be yours, not while you’re married to me.”
“I’m married to Lizzy.”
She glanced over to see that stubborn set of his jaw. Maybe planting a seed of an idea would take root in that sparse field of a brain he had. “And I’m supposed to be her, unless you’d prefer me not to be.”
Shrugging, he said, “I don’t know what I want.”
She watched as he walked away, out of the wagon circle. Her eyes narrowed. Pushing him toward Amelia was like shoving the girl under a wagon wheel. Unless Daggart treated her as he had her sister. Beth tried ignoring a sudden fury. Lizzy received all his love and care, while Beth received his resentment and hate. She dumped the beans and rice mixture into a cooking pot with an angry shake. Her father and Daggart may have thought differently, but Beth wanted to be a man’s first love. She didn’t deserve to be a consolation prize. Not only that, he’d not noticed her dress. A childish thing, to be sure, but if Daggart was the only one allowed to notice her, then he needed to do his job.
Adding water to the pot, she stirred dinner. She’d not paid attention to the quantities and made too much for just the two of them. Beth straightened. Instead of throwing out the excess, maybe the Granvilles and their men would help them eat all of it this evening. They’d shared their food last night, after all, and so offering to return the favor was only right. Nervous at the possible refusal, she looked at the beans and rice. It already smelled too good to waste. Beth took a deep breath. If she didn’t have to ask Samuel himself, she could do this.
Beth went to the Granvilles’ wagons. All of them sat around a campfire, Lawrence playing a banjo while Claude sang. Her heart beat faster, anticipating interrupting their fun. She leaned against the wagon, enjoying the song.
Once done, Claude waved her over to them. “Bonjour, madam!”
“Bonjour, Mr. Claude,” she greeted, pleased to understand this much at least.
“Monsieur Claude, s’il vous plait.”
Nicholas and the others laughed. “Aren’t we so proper? Mrs. Bartlett, he would like to be called Monsieur Claude, if you please.”
“Ah, Monsieur Claude, then, and gentlemen, it seems I’ve made way too much dinner for us two tonight.” She wrung her hands at so many people seated and staring at her. “In fact, I would be grateful if everyone helped me by having dinner with me. Us.” Beth made sure she glanced at each man, but not too long for fear they would think her forward.
Samuel spoke first. “A lovely woman wants to serve us dinner, men. Do we need to be asked twice?” They all grinned like cats in the cream and spoke over each other.
Claude stood, stretching. “Non!”
“Not me,” Chuck replied, taking Claude’s banjo and putting it away.
Mr. Lucky bounded to the front of the group. “I’m in! Let’s go!”
Lawrence shook his head, following Claude.
“I can’t say no.” Nicholas grinned, bringing up the rear with Beth.
As with the afternoon, Beth contented herself with listening to the news and gossip from her guests as they ate. Daggart stumbled over halfway through the meal. He dished up some dinner, which seemed to sober him a bit. She appreciated everyone’s efforts to ignore his drunkenness. Claude made an effort to sit by her when seeing her get his sock to work on in the firelight.
During a lull in the conversation, he pointed to her work. “C’est pour moi.”
She looked to Nicholas for a translation when Samuel said, “For you? What about us?”
“Oh! Yes, this one is for him.” She held up what little she’d done so Monsieur Claude could see. “Don’t worry. I plan to make sure all of them are done by the time we reach cold weather.”
“But why is he first?” Samuel asked.
Beth laughed at how much he resembled a petulant child. “Because he’s special.”
Claude winked. “Et Monsieur Nick?”
She felt her face burn, knowing what he meant. Beth stared at her knitting for a moment and glanced up at him. “Monsieur Nick may be special, too, but was also the first to request.”
Mr. Lucky quickly translated for Claude, who laughed and clapped, saying, “Bonn, bonn.”
“Yea,” Daggart interjected. “He’s not special, or first. I am. She made me socks before I married Lizzy.” He rose, unsteady on his feet. “
I’m sick of all of you having fun and laughin’. ‘M goin’ t’ bed.”
Everyone stood, parting so Daggart had a path to the wagon. Her husband reached in, fumbling for his bedroll. Finding what he needed, he hugged the side of the wagon, groping around to the darker side to sleep.
Beth snapped out of her shock at Daggart referring to Lizzy and her in the same sentence. He’d slipped up before, but every time continued to surprise her. Heart still beating hard in her chest, she said, “Thank you, gentlemen, for coming to dinner.” She grabbed a bucket by the wagon. “Put your dishes in here and I’ll have them ready for breakfast tomorrow.”
Nicholas stepped forward. “I can wash these up for you tonight.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Granville?” She shook her head. “I think not, since you were my guest this evening.”
“Let’s compromise,” Samuel said. “Nick, you can see to our bedrolls while I help Mrs. Bartlett clean up.”
She didn’t want to hear a possible lecture from him. “No need, I can do this myself,” Beth argued.
Samuel smiled at her. “Nonsense. With the two of us, it’ll be short work.”
“I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Nicholas nodded to her. “Thank you again, and goodnight.”
None of the plates had so much as a grain of rice remaining, leaving them easy to wash. The pot also had been scraped empty. She let him lead her to the water’s edge and settled in beside him. Not wanting to say anything, she washed as Samuel rinsed.
“I’ve noticed you and Nicholas aren’t as cozy as usual,” he quietly stated.
“No,” Beth replied.
“I dislike saying this, but maybe that’s for the best.”
She pursed her lips, trying to remain neutral in tone. “I’m happy to please.”
“I’m not pleased. I’d rather Nick found a woman to love, even if it’s you.” Samuel took the plate she handed him.
Even if, she thought, trying not to be offended. He didn’t need to reiterate her second choice status. “Oh? I appreciate your approval, such as it is.”
“Now, don’t misunderstand me.” He dried the dish with a cup towel she handed him. “You’re very lovely and I’m glad you’re able to be a good friend for my brother.”
“Despite Daggart, of course.”
Raising an eyebrow, Samuel said, “He is an obstacle.”
Beth clamped a wet hand over her mouth to stifle giggles. She restrained herself enough to say, “He always has been.”
Samuel paused before asking, “This is very forward of me, but I want to ask, why did you marry him?”
She bit her lip, wanting to be honest, but afraid to be. “I made a promise to my father to take Daggart as a husband and let him take care of me.”
“I assume your father passed away?”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, soon after I made the promise.”
“It seems he made things difficult for you with his death.”
“He did, not knowing how much I’d…” she paused to hand him the last fork, then changed the subject. “Um, we’re all done.”
Samuel took the utensil. “Mrs. Bartlett, tell me. Not knowing how much you’d what?”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “How much I’d regret making that particular promise to him. Both Daggart and I deserve much better.”
“Interesting.” He dried his hands. “Your secret is still yours to tell Nick.” Samuel handed her his towel. “My concern for him in this hasn’t changed. I’d prefer you remember your marriage before befriending him too much.”
“The other Mr. Granville and I are acquaintances, not friends, we’ve decided.” She stood when he did and headed back to camp. Before they parted, she added, “A friendship would be very improper, considering.”
“Considering, yes,” he said. “I’ll bid you good night, Mrs. Bartlett. Sleep well.”
“Thank you.” Beth wanted to throw a plate or something in sadness and frustration. Nicholas seemed to seek her out, not her catting around for him. She needed to stay far away from both Granvilles. Otherwise, she’d tell them everything about her and Lizzy despite her husband’s orders. Daggart staggered from around the wagon, startling her. Beth knew the drink usually changed him to meanness, not to weakness. “Dag, are you all right?”
He rubbed his eyes like a child. “No, I’m not,” he replied, his voice small.
“What’s wrong? Will a little sleep help you? Maybe some coffee?”
Daggart shook his head and went to her. He hugged her close, sobbing. “I miss her, Beth. I miss Lizzy so much.” Burying his face in her neck, he mumbled, “She can’t be back, can she?”
“No, dear, I’m sorry.” She patted his back, stunned that he showed true grief at last. He’d not cried at Lizzy’s funeral. Daggart had spent the last two years clinging to Beth as a replacement for her sister as if she were a sturdy oak in a storm. She didn’t know what to say to him to help, so she just let him hold her.
“You can’t be her, can you?” he asked in a wavering voice.
Beth assured him as gently as she could manage, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t.” She began to feel a little hope for them both. Maybe he could see reason and release her from the chafing vow they’d made.
“Miss Chatillon is so much like her.”
Continuing to pat his back, she replied, “I know.”
Daggart sniffled, saying, “I don’t think she cares for me like Lizzy did.”
She made shushing sounds, saying, “No one could. Lizzy loved you so much.”
He started bawling in earnest, his sobs louder. “She, she likes that Granville, Nick.” Daggart hiccupped. “They’re always together, talking that French stuff. I hate him.”
Beth paused, suddenly not too fond of Amelia, herself. She took a deep breath, knowing jealousy colored her feelings. “Daggart, you only hate him because you care for her. Isn’t that right?”
“Yea.” He sniffled. “I love her. She’s so pretty.”
“She is, I agree.” Beth stepped back, saying, “How about we go to sleep so you’ll look good tomorrow, in case you see her.”
Daggart wiped his nose on a sleeve. “All right.” He let her lead them to his bedroll, letting go of her arm to slide into his blankets. She retrieved hers, setting up to sleep a little ways away. Beth worried he could change his mind about preferring Amelia. In that case, he would try to make love to her as Lizzy. She shuddered with revulsion, unable to bear him touching her again.
Her brother-in-law turned husband had cried for his wife. She lay on her side and stared at the dying fire. He also found another woman appealing. He’d promised to take care of her while she was Lizzy. But now, she’d see to her own care if it meant no more pretending. For the first time since her sister’s death, Beth hoped they could both walk away from each other.
The next morning, while doing both sets of chores, she saw Daggart helping the Chatillon’s with their large tent. She snorted, her sympathy for him evaporating. Of course he helped them. Amelia resembled Lizzy so much, Daggart had to play gentleman to her. Let him play the hero to her, she quietly seethed, but only after he did his own work.
While getting water for their coffee, Beth overheard someone say buffalo were nearby. Plans for a hunt were in progress, and they’d start traveling in the herd’s direction soon. She cut her eyes at Daggart. He’d go hunting for fresh meat if it meant impressing Amelia. First, she needed to convince him that being manly in front of her by hunting was a good idea.
Strolling up to him with his gun, Beth smiled at Daggart. “Did you know? The men have seen buffalo over the next ridge and are going hunting late this morning. Only the best shots and strongest are going, so I’m assuming that includes you?”
He glanced at Amelia and winked at Beth. “Sure am, Lizzy. I’ll bring back the biggest, and we’ll share with the Chatillons.”
She smiled and looked modestly at the ground. “Good, I’ll make sure everything is ready for traveling this morning while you go
with the men.”
Her husband tipped his hat, and gun in hand, swaggered off to the group of hunters. When he was out of earshot, Amelia asked her, “Have you seen Nicholas and Mr. Claude today?”
“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 b
reath 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 feet.”
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.”
“Yes, they would be.” He paused, watching the water drift sand over his toes. Finally, he said, “I was a doctor in the west and central part of the Oregon territory. A couple of patients of mine died in my care. I quit after that.”
Nicholas looked so sad she wanted to cheer him a little and said, “Only a couple of them? The doctor in my town should be so lucky. I’ll bet he loses several in a year.”
Looking up at her, he asked, “Was his wife and baby among those he lost?”
Undeniable - Book One: The Oregon Trail Series Page 9
