A Light in the Wilderness

by Jane Kirkpatrick

  “Even then there’s no assurance.” These the first words from the woman’s husband. “Prayers didn’t keep us heading west, now did they?”

  Letitia could feel the heat between this couple, still far from a home that was no longer like what they’d left, carrying barrels of blame in their wagon. She’d work to make sure she and Davey weren’t carrying similar cargo.

  18

  Double Deception

  Near the Green River, Davey’s company caught up with Tetherow’s group, the one they’d started out with. At last we’re in the front group. Took us long enough. Not far beyond they approached a deep canyon, and oxen had to be put on both the front to steer and the back to keep the wagons from careening over the front oxen and tumbling everything down the ridge. Staying in the wagons was an invitation to death.

  “Sit on your bottom,” Davey told Letitia. “And slide.”

  The success of this effort was followed by a landscape covered with crickets that crunched beneath the wagon wheels.

  “Lookee there.” Davey pointed to where friendly Indians had rigged a kind of cricket corral, forcing the insects into baskets.

  “They eats ’em?”

  “’Spect so.”

  Davey later learned that they’d be ground into a meal and, when cooked in boiling water, formed a thick mush lasting a year. “It would last longer than that if I was to eat it,” Davey told Tish.

  They encountered a section of land with several springs bubbling from the ground, one so hot Tish dipped a tin full and poured it over her tea leaves and sipped. Not far away they drank from a cold spring while geysers of water shot into the air in the distance. Tish’s bread rose to a fine high with the soda springs near a rock shaped like a steamboat. A few days later they arrived at the Hudson’s Bay Company’s Fort Hall where snowcapped mountains awaited and talk of choices abounded: sell wagons and go with pack animals on a narrow route? No, take wagons to California where they’d be greeted like kings. Leave saplings behind. Take on bacon. Or head onward to Oregon, crossing the dangerous Snake and prepare for the Blue Mountains and then the Columbia River where the Applegates had lost sons.

  Davey didn’t want to make a foolish choice, and yet packing mules and leaving the wagon behind sounded appealing what with all the talk about hostile Indians and even more demanding terrain. “I’m not sure what we ought to do, Tish.” He surprised himself confessing his uncertainty. “I suspect the Britishers running the fort wants folk to head to California so they keep Oregon country for themselves.”

  “Lots of cattle here.”

  “Yes, they’ve been left by emigrants like us who didn’t risk taking loose stock. We get our milk cows through to Oregon and we’ll be sitting pretty. British know that.”

  “Could we take apple saplings?” Tish watched one of the emigrants unload apple saplings that Rothwell sniffed at, piled on the ground.

  “He’s leaving them because they won’t grow in Oregon, or so one of the Canadian trappers told him. Surprises me. I hear tell soil is rich there, grows anything.”

  “I sees an apple orchard spreadin’ wide on our land. Beside our cabin door.” She opened her arms taking in the landscape.

  He shrugged. The saplings wouldn’t take up much space, and if he agreed maybe she’d talk less about the papers and the trailing Hawkins clan. Once they caught up, she’d be on him to get their contract back in writing. He hadn’t decided yet whether to add Junior to the agreement or not. He hadn’t broached that subject with Tish. Didn’t want to think about death and dying. He held pride in Tish and the work she did without complaint and how she’d not named him responsible for the loss of her papers. It wasn’t his fault; but he could see where a woman might say it was. Tish hadn’t. Sometimes, he was a little embarrassed admiring of a colored woman. But if he didn’t think of her as that—only as his wife and the good woman she was and the mother of his sweet Martha Ann—then the shame flowed from his ever having thought he shouldn’t sign an agreement. Harnessing oneself to a woman caused all kinds of rough road.

  “Your orchard says we’ll need a wagon, so looks like we’re heading to the Blues and on to the Columbia.” He rather liked that they shared that decision. “Since he’s leaving the saplings, maybe he’ll give us a couple rather than my having to trade him for them.”

  “I’s grateful.” He could tell when she was moved by the grin on her face and a look of sparkle in her eyes. She had a dimple back now that her face wasn’t so puffed from her carrying the child. He liked the warmth in his belly when he saw that burst of gratitude. He’d have to try for more of those occasions—so long as they weren’t dancing around papers.

  The evening before they planned to head out, the Hawkins clan rolled in. “Tish! Tish!” Martha’s tiny voice rang above the sounds of pounding wagon repairs, cattle lowing, men laughing, and dogs barking.

  Letitia stepped down from the wagon and slipped Baby Martha on her back. She squatted and Martha Hawkins, arms open wide, plowed into Letitia, a dirty cheek pressed velvet against Letitia’s as she squatted.

  “Goodness, Martha.” Nancy spoke from behind her. “Don’t knock the woman over.”

  “She fine, jus’ fine.” Letitia stood, rested her hand on Martha’s head. The evening breeze ruffled the girl’s skirt, the hem hanging low. She wanted to hug Nancy but wasn’t sure she should. During grieving maybe, but out of friendship? Yes, they were friends, people who had shared sorrows and joys.

  Nancy wrapped her arms around Letitia. “I’m so glad we caught up with you.” She whispered now. “I needed someone to complain to about my sister-in-law and my mother. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent this much time with them and I declare, Tish, if I wasn’t crazy before I must surely be there now. You can catch bouts of craziness from your children and your parents!”

  Letitia laughed, the sound coming from her belly. It had been a long time since she’d laughed so deep as that.

  “Let me see that little coffee cup. What an ingenious contraption you’ve got for carrying her.” She leaned in. “Better be careful. I might come borrow it sometime. Nancy Jane’s weighing a ton carried on my hip.”

  “We makes one for you.”

  “That would be grand. Not tonight though. I’m tired as an all-day-hunting hound dog. Speaking of which, where’s that Rothwell?”

  “He’s off with Mr. Carson rootin’ holes like he does. He more pig than dog. How you manage to catch up?”

  “Wasn’t easy.” She perched against the wagon wheel, let Nancy Jane crawl on the quilt Letitia laid down. “Folks like having a doctor in their company. But Zach knew I wanted to hurry along. He pushed my in-laws too. And Martha, well, Martha grieved your leaving so much I think he was willing to do most anything to put a smile back on that child’s face. We put our few stock in with others and it took us but a few hours to cross Green River. We heard it took one group four days.”

  “That be us.”

  Doc Hawkins sauntered over then and Martha ran to his knees and hugged them. “Baby Martha’s growed up.”

  Nancy pointed to the cradleboard as Letitia took Martha from it.

  “Looks healthy. And you, Miss Letitia?”

  “Not a day of sickness. Davey had Dengue fever.”

  “That can be fatal. Good he endured. Where is Davey?”

  “At the horse corral.” Should I bring up the lost agreement? “Doc Hawkins, suh, you remembers that paper you draws up, one Davey sign? About his agreein’ to look after me and our chil’ in return for my workin’ with him, cookin’ and farmin’. It got lost.”

  “Oh no,” Nancy said. “You had a written contract?”

  Letitia nodded. “Lose it and my freedom papers.”

  “Oh, Letitia!” Nancy touched her arm.

  “Davey say Bowmans say I’s free so I needs to find them in Oregon. But I needs another agreement paper signed, case Davey dies and I still livin’.”

  Doc Hawkins frowned. “I don’t know what sort of paper you’re referrin
g to, Miss Letitia.”

  “Davey say you write out that he care for me and my chil’. His property come to us when he die. He say he sign it in front of you.”

  “There’s no such agreement that I prepared.” Doc Hawkins’s eyes held sadness. “Maybe he had someone else do it. I’ll bet that’s it.”

  “You didn’t draw up the words?”

  “I did not. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” All sorts of rumblings tumbled through her thoughts, none of them bringing cheer.

  “Doc Hawkins say he know nothin’ about no contract.” Letitia hissed at Davey when he’d sauntered back from fishing, poked his chest with her finger. “What you show me with your name on it? It weren’t no agreement. Someone else write it for you?”

  Truth was, he never had signed any agreement. He’d signed a paper certifying the list of supplies he’d brought along. He didn’t want any other white man to know what he’d verbally agreed to with a colored woman. They’d think him daft probably, committing to caring for a colored woman and child even if he did think of them as his family. His second family. Davey had another son, and now that he knew where Junior was, he felt he ought to provide for that child as well if something ever happened to him. He’d shamefully been a little relieved when Letitia stopped asking about written words to match what he told her and a little more ashamed to know she hung onto a worthless list thinking it was gospel. Now the roosting chicken roasted in the fire of his own making, as his mother might say.

  “I . . . my word to you ought to be enough.” He puffed up his chest, lowered his voice. No need to let folks know about their squabble. “What’s the use of papers anyway. They just get lost. Like yours. You have my word. That’s enough for any man; should be enough for you, too.”

  “You lie to me about what I look at and keep so careful ’til you toss it away.”

  “Now Tish, I didn’t mean to do that. You know that.”

  “Do I? My man say he care for me then deceive me like I’s some chil’ he stealin’ candy from, tellin’ it sweet when it poison. I gots a sweet paper but it nothin’ but stink!”

  He did hate to see her eyes filling with tears, but a man ought not be challenged over every little thing. “Lookee, I can get one written, but I resent the need to. I told you I’d care for you. I did. I will. We got a verbal agreement.” He leaned in close. “It still stands.”

  “Sho if somethin’ happen to you, what Martha and me do then?”

  “We’ll be in Oregon. We’ll prove up the land. It’ll be a state one day.” He kept his secret about his citizenship papers. He held up fingers he counted out, his voice like he was teaching a child. “Truth is, I don’t know that you can inherit.”

  “I can earn money you pay me, and I get to keep it if you dies, if you puts that in a paper. Laws change. Maybe one day a woman inherit land, even a colored woman.”

  “I told you, Tish, not to worry.”

  Martha started to cry.

  “There no witness to what you tell me. You say it in front of Doc Hawkins, then I believe.” She carried the child on her shoulder, patting her back, and turned away.

  “No witness? Sure there is,” he called after her, not caring if others heard. “That tinker who read the words over us when we . . . you know.” She stopped. “He heard me promise.”

  “Not abouts you payin’ for my laborin’.”

  I wish she wouldn’t talk so slave-like, dipping into words without finishing them. “Well, no. But promising to keep you in sickness and health and all that. God’s my witness. None better.” That should quiet her and comfort her too.

  “I want a man to witness your words. Doc Hawkins. You say this in front of him, then I rest. If I need, he can be the one to tell if I needs a day in court.”

  They stood in the shade of a large cottonwood tree near the fort. Doc Hawkins nodded while Davey declared that he had an agreement with Letitia from the time they left Missouri until his death that if she would help him, care for him and his children and help work his claim, he would put her name on the deed if allowed. Or that when the land was sold, the money would be hers in return for her labor. Davey glared at the ground.

  “I can easily write this down for you, Davey. You could sign and Tish could keep it in your Bible.”

  Letitia raised pleading eyes toward Davey. “He say it easy to do.”

  “My word’s as good as gold and you need to trust that, Tish. Bad enough I agree to have another man involved in our little . . . arrangement.” He held his hands on his hips, elbows out.

  It wasn’t such a little arrangement, but she’d pushed him to his limits. He didn’t like others knowing he was beholden to her. She was fortunate he allowed a woman to require him to do anything. She had pushed this for her Martha. Or for any other children they might have, though at the moment she couldn’t imagine coupling with him to have another. It would take time for her to trust him again, and trust came first before a shared cot. Still, if she did and they had another son or daughter, she had to be certain he wouldn’t—she could barely think it—sell his children the way the father of Jeremiah had. Doc Hawkins’s witness might not prevent that, but it could slow it down. Davey had promised to care for his children and her in front of Doc Hawkins. She’d promised to care for him too, before God, so they had another witness to it all. She’d get no better than that. She’d keep that marriage promise and trust that God would fill the empty spaces that lay between their history and her hope.

  Letitia and Nancy pushed the dust beside each other, stitching quilt pieces, patching pants, renewing tender ties. Martha and Maryanne ran ahead to be with other children but stayed within the company, not moving too far away. Martha always came back first, often walked between the two women, carrying Martha in her board for a few steps until her arms tired. In one lull, Letitia told Nancy of the agreement.

  “Zach makes a good witness should you ever need it. He’s such a good man.”

  “You can witness.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they’d allow that. I mean, I can speak to your good character, but anything I didn’t hear myself they’d call hearsay evidence. But Tish, Davey would have to be dead before you’d need a witness for your character or Davey’s words. I’ll pray for long years for the two of you together so no one would even question that he would make such a promise to his family.”

  South of Fort Hall on the Raft River, a large group of travelers headed south into California, and Letitia was pleased the Hawkinses didn’t go. They traveled now above a massive river called the Snake, looking down steep bluffs with deep ravines gouged out and peppered with ragged rocks. Eagles perched then plunged below to dive for fish. On August 9, as they camped at Rock Creek, Letitia and Doc Hawkins helped deliver a twelve-pound baby. And a day or so later, at Salmon Falls, another infant joined the world. Yet right after, Davey’s and Doc Hawkins’s companies made plans to separate again.

  “They’re choosing to go with Parker’s party and I’m committed to Captain English. Twenty wagons. He moves faster.” Davey greased the wheels, the smell of oil strong to her nose.

  Letitia wrapped the apple saplings in wet burlap, then soaked them. All six were still alive. “Our oxen all beaten up. They need to go slow.”

  “You keep their feet good. And we packed light so nothing more to unload. ’Cept your candlesticks.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “You’ll meet up with Mrs. Hawkins in Oregon.”

  That evening she lamented to Nancy of the company’s division.

  “Best I tell you my latest secret then.” Nancy leaned into Letitia. “I’m carrying.”

  “You is? Lawd woman, you said Nancy Jane be your last.”

  Nancy giggled. “I have an available medical man to help deliver.”

  “Get him to hep you figure out what cause it and maybe put a stop to it too.”

  Nancy laughed, then took a big breath. “It’s helped me, with Laura. Finding new life, new hopes, that’s what heals the wounds. Tha
t and believing as I do that God is in all things and wants the best for each of us. I have to keep moving toward the light, even in the darkest days.” She stroked the cloth over her belly. “Besides, it got me the quilt frame. Oh how he hated to leave that anvil.”

  In the morning they said their good-byes.

  “Zach says we’ll head south of Oregon City to find good land not already being farmed in the Willamette Valley. Goodness. How big can a valley be? We’ll find each other.”

  “Yessum, we find Doc Hawkins’s shingle easy.” Letitia held Nancy Jane and now she exchanged her for Baby Martha. Martha played with the baby’s toes. “We see you in Oregon.” Tish ran her hand over Martha’s hair, smooth as corn silk. “Maybe before if we stall and you catches up.” Her voice caught, but she kept from crying.

  Nancy grasped her hand. “We’ll pray for that and for safekeeping. It’ll all be better on the other side of these last mountains.” It was every pioneer’s hope.

  Oregon Country

  They would do it as a people, all together. Children would learn to use the flames to move deer into chosen places so they could be brought down more easily, brought down to feed the People. Later, the flames would push farther, taking the low shrubs, clearing the underbrush of trees whose trunks would sometimes blacken but not burn, keeping the oak leaves as shelter for both animals and people. After burning, women and children gathered up grasshoppers in baskets, their crisp forms already cooked and ready for the grinding stone.

  “When will we go to the lake, Kasa?”

  “You like wapato.” Little Shoot nodded. “Or is it the muddy streams your toes miss?”

  The boy grinned, making his face round like a moon. She was glad his father had not insisted his head be flattened like so many of the People along Nch-i’-Wana, the big river with the dalles. She didn’t understand that custom, the slow crushing of a baby’s skull until over time, the baby’s forehead sloped like the end of Coffin Butte. Not that she would say. How one does a thing that’s different does not require comment from another except to prevent injury. She saw no evidence a child was injured with the changing head shape. And she had heard that the sloped heads were considered beautiful and distinguished them as slaveholders rather than slaves. Little Shoot was a handsome boy. When they visited along the river, a Kalapuya boy with a round, handsome head stood out.