by Diane Noble
“I thought you were asleep when I left the wagon, young lady.”
“Sarah and I were just pretending. There’s too much noise tonight.”
Ellie laughed. Her daughter was right. No one in the wagon camp seemed willing to settle down, least of all the children. Riding on the breeze with the smoky fragrance of the cook fires were sounds of laughter and talking, the music of fiddles and mandolins and harmonicas, and the clatter of iron cookware being washed and packed away.
“But if you don’t get those eyes closed soon, you’ll be too tired to hold them open tomorrow morning.”
“Papa said I can ride with him until the trumpet blows.” Meg, still holding Ellie’s hand, marched up the rocky path with her.
“Your papa’s going to be mighty busy. You can’t begin to imagine what it’ll be like, Meg. When your papa shouts the command, 137 people, 40 wagons, and 900 head of cattle will be leaving this place.” No wonder the folks in camp tonight were wild with anticipation, Ellie thought, as she watched her wide-eyed daughter.
Meg skipped over a root in their pathway. “Papa said Sarah and me—
“Sarah and I,” Ellie corrected.
Meg let out an exasperated sigh. “Papa said Sarah and I could ride our ponies next to him out front where we can see. He said it’ll be a sight he doesn’t ever want us to forget.”
“All right, then,” Ellie said as they stopped on the trail. “But if you’re going to have such an exciting morning, you must get back to the wagon and into bed.”
“But I want to go with you …” Meg started to whine, then her pout turned to a frown. “Where’re you going anyway?”
“To find your papa. I think he’s up the trail a ways.”
“In his thinking spot?”
Ellie chuckled. “Yes, in his thinking spot.” Since the families had begun to gather weeks before, Alexander had taken to climbing to the outcropping of boulders up ahead, his place of solitary refuge away from the loud and eager and sometimes complaining voices of the wagon company. It was also the place where she and her husband could speak alone. They’d both come to treasure their quiet moments together at day’s end.
“But I want to go too. Papa didn’t give me a good-night kiss.”
“He’ll come give you your kiss when we get back to camp.” Meg’s lower lip stuck out in a pretty pout, and Ellie gave her another quick hug. “Now you get back to the wagon and into bed, you hear?”
Meg nodded slowly. “Yes ma’am.”
“What was Sarah doing when you left?” Ellie sighed, thinking of Meg’s sister. Though she wasn’t as adventurous, she could be just as mischievous as her twin.
“She’s playing with Phoebe in the wagon. Making sure all her clothes are packed.” She rolled her eyes.
Ellie smiled. Phoebe was Sarah’s wooden doll, one of the two that Alexander had carved for the twins for their first birthday. Meg would rather climb trees or skip stones across the flowing water of a brook while Sarah spent hours playing house and caring for her precious Phoebe. Meg, on the other hand, had never named her doll and kept her in a hatbox, fully dressed in the tiny doll clothes Ellie had sewn. Phoebe’s wooden face had been worn smooth with Sarah’s kisses; Meg’s doll still showed the whittling marks of Alexander’s workman’ship.
“Now, you hop back down this trail and into bed. Tell Sarah to put Phoebe to bed and get to sleep herself. Papa and I will be in to kiss you both good night in just a few minutes.”
“All right, Mommy,” said the little girl, turning with another heavy sigh.
“Meggie?” Love welled up in Ellie’s heart. Meg looked back. “Come here for one more hug.” Meg’s face brightened, and she fell into her mother’s arms. “I love you, baby.”
“I love you, Mommy.” Meg squeezed Ellie around the neck. “But I’m not a baby.”
“You’ll always be my baby, sweetheart. Even when you’re grown and have children of your own. Now, off you go.” And after another quick hug, Meg skipped back down the trail. Ellie watched until her daughter safely reached the edge of camp and had once again climbed into the back of the Farrington wagon. Meg turned and waved, then closed the back flap.
Before continuing her ascent to the rocky ledge above, Ellie considered the wagon camp for a few minutes. Tents and wagons stretched out as far as she could see. Tomorrow it all would be gone.
She smiled as she saw a few of her friends—talkative Polly O’Donnell; sweet and sassy Liza Barrett, who, though she was more than a decade older than Ellie, was closer than a sister; and Alexander’s widowed sister-in-law, Jane Farrington—all busy with last-minute packing. Hampton and Billy were hurrying to and from their own wagons, with their wives at their sides, readying for the morning’s departure.
Nearly all in the company were related; Polly and Jesse O’Donnell were kin to the Mitchell boys, Joel and Lawson, who’d joined as cattlehands. She smiled, thinking of their kindness. Polly and Jesse had five daughters of their own, enough to keep any set of parents busy … without the added duties of two gangling, growing boys. But they weren’t alone in taking on extra mouths to feed during the trek. Besides caring for their grandchildren, Abe and Liza Barrett were also keeping watch over their nearly grown nephews, William and John Prewitt. The boys—young, green, and feisty—had signed on to help Alexander with the cattle drive.
Ellie hoped the blood kinship of the wagon company would help Alexander keep the folks in line. Mutiny had split apart more than one train before its journey was done. No, these folks were extended families of cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents, people who loved each other and spoke openly about how they believed God had knit them together for a purpose.
Last month they had come from the four counties in northwest Arkansas, elected Alexander as their captain, purchased farm wagons with tall, arched canvas covers, ordered their supplies, and when all was said and done, pulled into Crooked Creek to await good weather. And while they tarried, they’d practiced hitching and driving their teams and circling their wagons as quickly as possible for the night circle and as a defense against danger.
Even Alexander had been surprised that Ellie had taken to the task so readily. Ellie smiled to herself, remembering the expression on Alexander’s face. She had poked and prodded her oxen until her hands were raw from handling the long, sticklike goad. She’d even learned to turn the animals to the right by shouting “Gee!” then left by shouting “Haw!” with only a tap of the goad as a reminder. She’d practiced hard until the beasts obeyed, just to see her husband’s eyes shine with pride. She glanced down at her hands, wondering if the calluses would ever disappear.
Ellie turned away from her view of the camp. Tucking an errant strand of dark hair behind one ear, she stopped for a minute to rub the small of her back. The infant she carried in her womb was tiring her with a weariness she hadn’t before known. She rubbed her back again and started up the hillside.
She tried to push away any worry about this baby. After all, why wouldn’t she be tired? All day she and Alexander and the twins had been readying to go; hefting trunks and Dutch ovens and bags of wheat flour, coffee, and sugar into the supply wagon; packing dishes in barrels of cornmeal; airing quilts and blankets, beating them clean. But now, she thought, satisfied, it was done, and the Farringtons were ready to depart.
Just as Ellie reached the top of the hillside, she stepped on some loose gravel and grabbed on to the low branch of a sycamore tree to keep her balance. Alexander was sitting on a large boulder just beyond the sycamore, and he turned, hearing her footsteps.
“Ellie,” he said, smiling a welcome as she moved closer. Ellie loved the way he said her name, and she smiled in return. He reached for her hand as she settled onto a flat boulder beside him.
“Did you get the girls into bed?”
She nodded. “I thought I had, but Meg followed me up the trail, too excited to settle down. I doubt they’ll get any sleep tonight.” She shook her head slowly. “I promised them we’d be in for good-
night kisses before we retire.”
A full moon was now rising, so bright it dimmed the stars, and she could see the concern on his face. From the shallows of a slow-moving creek below them rose the night songs of frogs and crickets, a low din that had kept Ellie awake during their first weeks at Crooked Creek.
“And you, Ellie? How are you feeling?”
“More tired than anything else, but that’s to be expected,” she said, reaching to rub her back again. He moved her hand away and began kneading her tight muscles in the small hollow of her back. His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man with such massive, strong hands, and she closed her eyes, enjoying his touch. “But more important, dearest,” she murmured, head down, as he worked, “how are you feeling about our company’s readiness?”
At first he didn’t answer. “I don’t know if we could ever be completely ready,” he admitted. “Some of the folks still can’t handle their teams.” He laughed lightly. “Of course, they’ll know a lot more than they do now once we’ve been on the road a day or two.”
“There it is,” Ellie said, lifting her head and looking west. Her husband followed her gaze toward the wagon trail on the grassy flatlands to the northwest. Ellie laughed softly. “I can hardly believe tomorrows the day. The day we’ve dreamed about. We are going to California, Alexander! Think of it! Tomorrow!”
He nodded. “I think you’ve caught the California fever even more than I have.”
“I know it was your dream first,” she said, remembering how he had spoken of it even on the day he asked for her hand in marriage. “But it’s mine equally now.”
He chuckled. “I think it’s that ranch on an ocean cliff I’ve promised to build. I’ve described the crashing of the waves and the sounds of sea gulls calling on the wind so many times.” He laughed lightly again. “I think, my dearest, it’s the ocean that’s calling you west.”
But Ellie didn’t laugh with him. Gazing up at the moon, she said, “Just being with you until the day we die, Alexander, is all I want.” Then she turned to him again. “Whether it’s a little house tucked away in Arkansas, a soddy on the prairie, or a ranch in California.” She touched his cheek. “It’s just you I want to be with. You and our babies all wrapped in God’s arms.”
Alexander touched her cheek.
She felt a flutter of life deep in her womb and raised her face to Alexander’s with a smile. “Here,” she said. “Feel your son.” She took her husband’s hand and pressed it to the spot.
He grinned as the baby moved again. “And how are you sure it’s a son:
“He’s already so full of life, Alexander. I can’t imagine a sweet little girl causing such a ruckus.”
“I know two other little girls who caused quite a ruckus, as I remember.”
Ellie laughed. “Not so much until after they were born. No,” she said decisively. “This child is definitely different. These are no butterfly wings. Not even from two butterflies.”
The moon rose higher, and in the distance a harmonica player lifted a plaintive melody that carried on the wind. Alexander stood and pulled Ellie into his arms. She felt the rough warmth of his homespun shirt, the smooth softness of his buckskin vest against her cheek.
“I love you, Ellie,” he murmured as he rested his chin on the top of her head. She could feel the deep resonance of his voice as he spoke and closed her eyes to cherish its sound. “Oh, how I love you!”
Ellie stepped back slightly so she could see into his eyes. Her deep love for this man welled up inside her to the point she thought she might suddenly weep. He cupped her chin and tilted her face upward, then he kissed her, gently at first, then more passionately. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes, the bittersweet sounds of the harmonica drifting toward them from the wagon camp.
Then they danced in the moonlight to the soft strains of “My Old Kentucky Home.” To the northwest, the wagon train wound far beyond the distant moon-silvered trees until it became a gray ribbon disappearing into the horizon.
Somewhere a rooster crowed, then crowed again. Three or four dogs scuffled through camp, nosing first around one tent then another, a yip or a growl marking their trail. It wasn’t long until the sounds of a waking camp began—folks calling out greetings as they laid wood for a breakfast cook fire or struck their tents and began loading bedding and blankets into the wagons.
Dawn started its stretch across the eastern sky, casting a pale light into the heavy canvas of Ellie and Alexander’s tent. She lay quiet and watched her husband rise, watched him unwind his body from his pallet. Sensing her gaze, he looked down at her with a warm and sleepy smile. “It’s time,” he said simply, then stooped to give her a kiss.
She nodded, feeling the fast beat of her heart, from his closeness, from the day she knew was about to dawn. “It’s really here,” she said, throwing back her covers.
After a few minutes, Ellie pulled on her clothes and stepped out of the tent and into the morning. In the space between the tent and their covered wagon, Alexander’s morning cook fire was already crackling, the coffeepot on the iron grate. Alexander had left to get the oxen. Ellie yawned then stepped toward the wagon to wake the girls.
She smiled to herself. This was like no other morning since the beginning of the rendezvous. Around her stirred the disorder of the first day’s start, many of the folks already hitching unruly teams to rigs, others still packing or cooking.
Ellie was climbing up the rear of the wagon when she spotted Sarah and Meg, still in their nightclothes, chasing through camp with Becky and Louisa O’Donnell, falling over wagon tongues, getting up and running again. Dogs barked, sniffed the ground, barked again, jumping and running with Joey, Mary, and John Calvin Miller, who chased behind the squealing girls. Laughter and giggling and happy shouting seemed to rise from every corner of the camp.
She started after the girls, passing Alexander and his older sons driving the oxen teams into camp. Some of the men from neighboring wagons called out to each other as they prodded their teams into place. Whips cracked and flicked, and cattle bawled in the distance as the men closed them in for the drive.
Ellie put her hands on her hips and looked around camp, shaking her head at the cacophony of motion and sounds and smells. Mules brayed and chains jangled against the dull thud of wood yokes as teams were joined to wagon tongues. And mixed with it all, smoke from dozens of cook fires swirled into the dawn mist. Already it clung to the canvas of the wagons, the tents, and every piece of clothing packed or worn by the girls, Alexander, and herself. Ellie wondered if she would ever rid her skin and hair of it.
Within a few more minutes, she had reined in the unruly twins and headed them back to the wagon to get dressed and eat breakfast. But try as she might, the little girls wouldn’t sit still for one bite of egg or one piece of bread. Not even for their father.
Alexander, after gulping down his own breakfast, gave them each a wink and a salute before riding out to check on the Mitchell and Prewitt boys, today’s riders, and his newly appointed foreman, Silas Edwards, all readying to drive the herd.
The captain rode his Appaloosa around the back perimeter of the herd and spoke with Lawson Mitchell, today’s point man. He nudged the horse up a nearby rise and watched Silas Edwards give the signal—a rifle shot—and the thundering nine hundred head of cattle moved out, bawling, as five hundred horses galloped to one side, kicking dust into the air.
Still mounted, Alexander threaded his way through camp back to Ellie and their wagon. Folks called out greetings to him as he passed, and he tipped his hat. Little Becky O’Donnell waved as she packed dishes in a flour barrel for her mother, and kind-faced Reverend Brown looked up with a smile as he hooked a cast-iron skillet to the wagon side. A couple more of the five little O’Donnell girls raced by. It seemed one or more of the brood turned up everywhere he looked.
He had known most of the families nearly all his life. They were solid folks, stouthearted and hardworking. Abe Barrett was yoking his team as Alexander pass
ed, and as usual, Abe grinned and nodded as he called out a greeting. The two men had been friends since boyhood. It had been Abe who had talked him into being captain, then talked the company into electing him. He could see the excitement of the day’s departure in Abe’s eyes as he passed.
As the captain headed toward his and Ellie’s wagon, he passed Hampton and Sadie, shoving barrels and boxes into the back of their rig. He dismounted to greet them.
“I’m glad you’re along, son,” he said, wondering if his pride showed in his face. “Your being here’s a big help.” Already his son was showing leadership abilities Alexander hadn’t seen before.
Sadie grinned into Alexander’s face. “Wild horses couldn’t have kept us from comin’,” she said. “Isn’t that right, Ham?”
Hampton nodded and gave his father a mock salute. “It’s all I ever remember our family talking about, Pa. Now, here we are on our way.” His grin was as wide as Sadie’s. He looked up at the clear sky. “I’d say it’s a good day for heading out.”
“Fair skies leavin’ mean a fair journey,” said Sadie, smiling confidently as if she knew this for certain. She pulled her poke bonnet forward and gave Alexander a nod. “We’ll pray this is true.”
Before he could answer, Billy and Bess stepped up from where they’d been checking their oxen team’s yokes a few wagons back. “Hey, Pa,” Billy said. “When do I get to ride point?”
“When your pa decides,” Bess said, laughing. “Until then, mister, I want you back here eating dust with the rest of us.”
They talked for a few minutes about the day’s trek, then Alexander remounted and continued riding to his own wagon. Even from the distance of a few wagon outfits back, he could see the flame-haired Liza Barrett helping Ellie finish packing the breakfast dishes and iron pans. Though she was older than Ellie by some years, Abe’s wife was Ellie’s best friend and spirit kin. She was a woman of great joy and an easy companion. There was not a neighbor unwelcome by her fire, not a child in the company unwelcome in her lap. She loved to sing, and she loved to laugh. Her joy was contagious, and Alexander knew that Ellie loved her dearly.
