A part of her wished they could stay a few more days and she could deliver this baby. She felt like a watermelon, every step a waddle.
On their way now, morning routines began before dawn. Nancy Hawkins thought it strange that the men kept changing companies to travel with. That company had fewer cattle to watch after or this company moved faster. She shook her head. And they say women had fickle ways. After crossing the Missouri River, the Carson and Hawkins families traveled northwest, meeting up with Solomon Tetherow and Stephen Staats as captains now. Davey Carson told Zach he was happy to turn his captaining over to others, be responsible for his own instead of many.
Nancy walked beside the wagon, scruffs of dust billowing up to make her cough. When the baby slept she could quilt a block or sometimes crochet a little lace as she walked. She pushed the side of her bonnet back so she could see better to her side, freckles or not. The bonnets made her feel like she lived in a tunnel. She hated having to turn her head to see what dangers might lurk at her side or even to greet a friend. Nancy’s mother and sister and two brothers—one everyone called “Judge”—and their families had joined. The gathering of more family added comfort. She had in-laws, nieces, nephews, one little niece, Mary Margaret, born in March not long before they’d left. Nancy got on well with her mother-in-law, exchanging suggestions as the two cared for infants.
Birds twittered from the bushes beside the Kansas River they followed into a hazy sky. She stepped away from the dusty road, careful not to step in front of another wagon, her eyes first scanning to see where the children were. That Laura. Such a scamp. Inside the cabin she had been all quiet and frail, while out here in the wide-open spaces the child had become a fluff of dandelion hair, racing after dogs, jumping off the wagon and back on, holding a stick to the wheel to hear it tick-tick-tick. She’d have to keep an eye on that girl, give her little tasks to keep her out of trouble.
She was surprised at how relieved she felt to be in a daily routine. No more planning or choosing what to leave behind. What they had now was all they’d have, and each would have to adjust to the dwindling supplies or the weather reversals such as Sarah had written of in her letter. Nancy liked the sounds of the harness and hames, the lowing of cattle, and the tick of the odometer as the wheel turned to mark their miles. She carried Nancy Jane bundled in a cloth tied to her front, patting the child’s bottom as she walked talking to her sister.
On a small rise Nancy looked outward. “Oh look.” She clutched her sister’s arm. The world opened up before her. Like strands of oatmeal-colored yarn furled along bright green prairie grass, the wagons spread out across the landscape, not in a single line but several. The river bordered in blue. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” This would be their lives now, a steady walk through new landscapes sashaying into the hopefulness of the unknown. One day I’ll weave that image into a quilt. She’d add a daisy or two, even though they weren’t growing here.
She already had ideas to break up the monotonous days once these vistas became familiar. She’d plan special celebrations for the children’s birthdays and make up flour pastes to color with wildflower blossoms to give the children things to do when the weather turned foul and they were stuck traveling inside the wagon. She shifted Nancy Jane in the carrying sack that lodged her youngest and brushed back the tawny hair from Nancy Jane’s forehead. Hot. Maybe from the sun. She’d have to make sure her bonnet offered cooling shade for the child. She cuddled the baby closer. At the wagon, from one of her many petticoats, she tore a strip of cloth, dipped it into cool water from the barrel to relieve the child’s flushed face.
“I’m worried over Nancy Jane,” Nancy told her husband that evening.
The children had been put to bed in their own tent while she and Zach and the baby and Edward stayed in another. Dogs barked in the distance. They hadn’t brought their dog. Zach had said the companies didn’t really want them. “They scare the cattle.” But Nancy missed their old hound. Letitia helped her find a home for him at the hotel with two young colored girls.
Somewhere farther away a fiddler played a happy tune. “Seems like she’s fevered even though I wash her with cool water. I hoped she’d be a healthy baby. Laura’s the one I worry over with her little wild side. Goodness. Now I have two that trouble my thoughts.”
“She isn’t fevered.” Zach touched the child’s forehead. “Just the hot sun. I can get her a tincture, but the cooling cloths work best and you’re doing that.” He straightened himself on the bedroll. Crossed his arms behind his head.
“Tell me something reassuring.”
“Everything will be all right.”
She pulled her hand from his. “That’s not reassuring, it’s . . . condescending.”
Zach rolled onto his side, the baby between them. He twirled the child’s blonde strand in his finger, his elbow sustaining him. “‘Eastward I go only by force, Westward I go free.’”
“Thoreau,” Nancy said.
“Yes. And children get sick no matter where they are. Could have gotten sick back home too.”
“I know.”
“There are all kinds of unknowns out here, but I carry with me the absolute belief that this is what we’re supposed to be doing, that our going is part of some larger plan. So I can’t let worries bring me down.”
“I don’t want them to bring me down either. I’m—”
“A mother. I know. But I also know you will do everything in your power to care for our children no matter where you are. You love, Nancy. No finer healing balm than that. I’m blessed with the results of that myself.” He leaned in to kiss her, held her chin in the palm of his hand. He smelled of leather and the laudanum he’d administered to a patient, comforting smells. “You haven’t changed your mind about having another, have you?” He grinned.
“No!” She laughed as he ran his fingers down her shoulder, creating those happiness chills. He did make her feel better, reminding her that they were in the palm of God’s hand, that she came freely west.
The warmth of his hands along her hip made her weak. Zach lifted Nancy Jane and put her on the far side of him on their bedroll next to three-year-old Edward snoring softly. Then he reached for Nancy.
“I have so little will,” she whispered.
“You’re being an obedient wife. Trust me. Everything will work out as it should. Nancy Jane will be better by morning.”
“That’s my prayer.”
“That, and that you will always love me, is mine.”
She let herself be pulled to him, her face warm in awareness that other people were close and might hear them in their tent, and yet that thought added to the happiness chills Zach brought again with his kiss. She kissed him back. I am so very weak!
13
Guarded
The companies hadn’t been out but a few weeks when Davey told Letitia, “They’re posting double guards tonight. I’m one.” He pushed his knee into Fergus’s belly to make the gelding let out air so Davey could tighten the cinch on the saddle. His pat on the animal’s rump was friendly.
“Don’t let them take Charity.” Letitia bit at a piece of hardtack hoping it would ease the discomfort in her belly. It didn’t. Her back ached when she walked, but walking felt better than riding in the wagon and having her bones jerked about by the rough trail.
“Oh, now, I shouldn’t have worried ye. I’ll make sure your ol’ cow’s good. She’ll be chewing her cud at the moon.” He rubbed her shoulder. “I have the first watch. Be back in a few hours.” He looked around, then pecked her cheek.
Letitia held Rothwell’s collar and they both watched Davey ride off. “You stay with me, Roth.” She scratched the hound’s ears. Not that she had to tell the dog to stay. He’d been a faithful companion to her, more so since they’d been on the trail and the guards didn’t want dogs loafing around, which seemed strange to her. The animals would pick up false sounds more easily than men would. She liked Rothwell’s company, liked how he chased a rabbit through the sage, then retur
ned panting with joy despite never catching his prey.
Watching Davey ride off she realized she’d be alone much of the time on this journey even if Davey no longer captained. He’d be flitting here and there like a horsefly lighting then disappearing. Davey drove the wagon, but anytime they stopped he was off helping others, talking up a canyon with resulting goodwill, so she didn’t complain. The dog was untroubled company. Davey was a good man, she knew, but sometimes, like tonight, she wished he could have stayed here with her. She stroked her stomach, her fingers catching on the rough tow.
They’d circled wagons not far from a river whose name escaped her. The prairie had a dozen streams marking the dusty trail. She and Roth walked toward willows offering shade for rabbits and women tending their dailies. Instead of feeling comforted by the dry air, clear skies, and bird-chattering shrubs, a cower visited. She created it herself, as she’d never noticed any dangers there, hadn’t seen anyone follow her. And if she turned quickly when she felt a stare, no one was ever there. The cowers in such places arrived on old memories, she decided, when being alert to potential danger was a matter for living and dying. Here she needed to sweep those thoughts with a new broom.
She decided it was a mother-worry. She patted Roth’s head, and with a bar of soap she filled the bucket then nestled herself in the cover of the shrubs. She slipped the wrapper over her shoulders, letting the top fabric hang over her waist, exposing her arms and white undershirt. She bent awkwardly to dip her rag into the water and let the cool liquid cleanse her neck, her shoulders, her arms. She poured cool water over her feet. The dust. At times it was like walking in yellow moonbeams, the powdery earth washing her feet. But it felt good to rid herself of that powder too. Roth sniffed at a distance. She wiped her bodice and replaced the wrapper top. She spoke softly to her baby, words of love and comfort and welcome for when that baby would arrive. Finished and refreshed, she walked out of the willows.
“Oh!” She bumped into Nancy Hawkins. “Goodness.”
“Scare me to dyin’.”
“I saw a man come out of the bushes. I didn’t think anyone else was here.”
“He near?” Letitia felt her arms shiver.
“Close enough. You’d best let me know when you’re taking your toilet. If for nothing else so I keep from scaring you!” Nancy searched her face. “Why, those beautiful arched brows of yours like to disappear into your hairline, I frightened you so. I’m sorry.”
Letitia laughed, relief washing over her. “Come on, Roth. We stand guard for you.”
“Much obliged.”
When Nancy finished, the two women walked back to Letitia’s wagon where Letitia picked up the milking bucket and stool, then she and the dog dropped Nancy at her wagon some way back from the Carson camp.
At the rope corral where the neat cows waited for milking, there was no Charity. They had lost stock. Her eyes searched the growing dusk. “We needs that cow,” she told her baby.
She waited up for Davey, the dog snoring beside her as she listened to the sounds of families settling in for the night. There had been a man watching in the willows. Nancy had seen him. Stock was missing. These cowers were real. Letitia located one of the pistols, held it in her lap. She would take care of herself if Davey didn’t return before she fell asleep. Or if he never returned at all.
Davey’s face was hot and his wrinkles grimed with dust and sweat, but he was riding high in his saddle. “Old Charity saved the day,” he told Letitia.
The sun cast its morning light on Letitia, who waddled out from their tent. He’d enjoyed this stock search, even though there’d been one slight discomfort. Not the right word. Problem. “Yes sir, I ’spect we’d never have found them without your Charity and the bell around her neck. We’re the earliest companies coming through, so those Indians got to get themselves clear about what’s going to happen if they sneak in and steal cattle at night. We’ll go after them and we’ll get our bovines back.”
Letitia spread her fingers on her back that must be aching. The cow wouldn’t need milking, pushed hard as she’d been. At least she wouldn’t have that task.
“Kept shaking her neck like she does. Glad I gave you one good solid bell.”
“Indians steal ’em? They plow through ropes?”
Davey swallowed. “Some guards fell asleep.” He hurried on. “I didn’t actually see any Indians, but the other search party heard a noise up in a tree when they were bringing cattle back and thought it might be a bear or meat and, without looking, shot.” He whacked dust from his floppy hat. “And guess what? An Indian fell out.”
Letitia gasped.
“You got some vittles I can take back to our drovers?”
“They kill him?”
“Who? Oh, that Indian. When I heard, I told them that wasn’t a wise thing. We don’t want no trouble with those folks. We’re passing through, and chasing after our cows is a small price to pay for crossing their land, I ’spect.”
“They bury him?”
Davey shook his head. “Left him, I hear.”
“He stole Charity?”
“Doubt it. He was on foot. Probably crawled up there to be safe.” He squinted at her. “You all right? Should I get Mrs. Hawkins?”
“I . . . lies down for a spell.”
“Sure, sure. Didn’t mean to upset you. Thought you’d be happy to know Charity was back. I’ll get the biscuits and bacon for the drovers.”
He never could figure out what upset a woman and what would make her happy. He guessed he could use a different path in his telling maybe, but he didn’t think keeping bad news from her was wise either. There’d be lots of bad news in the days ahead and she’d have to learn from it. Not like she hadn’t known trouble in her life before him. Still, maybe he’d been a little brash in sharing about the shooting. He threw away what was left of his coffee, the liquid beading up in the dust.
He approached their tent. “Letitia? You doing all right?”
A steady drizzle fell on her as she removed the tent from the wagon, then helped Davey unharness the oxen. The baby stirred but wasn’t planning to enter the world this cool evening. It had been a long day with a late start due to the men helping repair a broken wagon wheel. It wasn’t their wagon, this time. Letitia carried the bucket and her stool to the makeshift corral for the milk cows. Charity chewed her cud, looked at Letitia with placid brown eyes. Charity was safe. Little Nancy Jane’s fever had broken. Something worried Letitia, though. That Indian. He’d been shot and they didn’t even bother to bury him. He might have been someone’s father. A mother would grieve him. What had Davey said? Crawled up there to be safe. As the warm milk hit the bucket, Letitia got lost in the rhythm and scent.
She remembered a man on the plantation she’d been contracted to, a man who crawled up a sycamore tree, hiding. The field marse lashed him out with his long black whip, then beat him to death in front of the slaves. “Let him be a lesson to you.” She’d never forgotten the sounds, the thump and slash and wails. He was property, and the marse told them he could do whatever he wanted with his property.
May my baby’s skin match his daddy’s more than mine, she prayed. Maybe her son or daughter would pass as white. Davey would be more likely to love them, wouldn’t he? Tears welled up; she brushed them with her wrist. She needed to tell herself the truth. A child who could pass would be easier for Davey to claim as his own and better for keeping the story that she was his employee . . . at least while they were on this wagon train.
She stripped the teat to make sure no milk remained, dipped her fingers into the warm white as she lifted the bucket. Maybe there was no place safe.
14
The Fundamentals
“Some of us are gathering in a circle for our morning fundamentals,” Nancy told her. “Come with us? Maryanne’s watching Nancy Jane for me.”
“Until you mentioned it, I’s doin’ well.” Letitia rubbed her belly. “But now I’s feelin’ the pressure.” She grinned. Davey told her she needed to g
et more kindred, as he called it.
They followed a group of women laughing as they formed a loose circle, their backs to each other holding wide their skirts fluffled with many petticoats, making their waists look small as a wagon hub. As they approached, Nancy waved at her mother and introduced herself to the rest of the group.
“Come on over.” One of the women let loose her skirt and motioned them in. She had a pockmarked face and a broken front tooth. “Slip in right over here.” The woman moved to make room.
“That’s my daughter,” Patsy Hawkins said, turning into the circle. “By marriage. Couldn’t ask for a better one.”
“I didn’t see you over there, Mama Hawkins.”
“You didn’t recognize my backside?” The women laughed, a banter like quail chatter pecked the clear air.
“This is Letitia Carson.” Nancy settled in beside her mother, motioning for Letitia to join them.
Letitia felt the pressure of making water and took a step forward.
“She can wait ’til last.” A stout woman with a clean white apron over her pink-flowered calico held up her hand to hold Letitia back. “Out there.” She pointed.
Letitia felt a burn rise up. She’d forgotten for a moment, thought she belonged when she didn’t. The baby kicked at a greater need to relieve herself. Just step away; hold your water. She adjusted the kerchief she tied at the back of her neck, lifted her thick hair off her neck, willed her body to comply. Please. Not now.
Then the first trickling down her legs. She wanted to disappear into the dirt beside the hot water from her body.
Unaware, Nancy said, “I don’t know that our bodies always do what we want when we want them to. That’s why some of us have children we didn’t expect.” She said it cheerfully and several women laughed, but not the stout woman. Nancy added, “She may not be able to wait until last is all I’m saying.”
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