Angel Train

by Gilbert, Morris

  Sturdy and with piercing blue eyes Jacob Dekker stood up. “I have troubled about this journey, Brother Gwilym. None of us have been this way before.”

  “We could all drive wagons,” Studdart spoke up. “That’s the way we will get there.”

  “Yes, we can drive wagons, but we know nothing about fighting Indians or even the way. There will be decisions to make. I am not sure we are ready for this, not until we look at all other possibilities.”

  One by one the members rose, and each man said something. Most of them were filled with doubt, and York Wingate spoke for all when he said, “It troubles me, Brother Morgan, that none of us have been over this trail. We are not frontiersmen. I think that the proper thing would be to find men who could go with us and teach us the way to make this journey.”

  A murmur of ascent went over the congregation, and at once Gwilym said, “That is a wise suggestion, Brother Wingate, and we will do exactly that.” He knew that the group was still divided and that some action was needed to draw them together. They were a small enough group as it was, and all of them had heard that the larger the wagon train the safer it was from Indian attack.

  “We will take this day for fasting and prayer and seek God’s leadership,” Gwilym said. He went to the bench in the front and knelt and soon was joined by others, and the building was filled with the murmurs of intercession as members of the Pilgrim Way sought God.

  * * *

  NONE OF THE WOMEN had spoken in the meeting. This was customary with the Way. Any leadership the women had was the ability to influence their husbands who would then make the public announcements. Charity had listened carefully, and during the service one thing had become clear. She had not been able to escape the dream of her Uncle Paul motioning to her. She believed strongly that some dreams had meaning, and she had decided she would visit the prison.

  Her father was agreeable for the Morgans had all visited the prison to bear witness of the gospel to the inmates as well as to take books, tracts, and gifts of food. “I think it would be a good thing if you would go see your uncle, but you must not be gone too long.”

  “Two days at the most. You know how much I enjoy Uncle Paul. I’ll cook all day tomorrow to take things to the prisoners, and I’ll take the buggy if it’s all right.”

  “It’s somehow unseemly for a young woman to be going about the country alone. Maybe Evan should go with you.”

  “I’ll ask him, Pa.”

  Evan declined Charity’s invitation, and the next day she spent cooking with Bronwen’s help. By bedtime they had cooked a mountain of cookies, several cakes, and pies. She knew the inmates got hungry for sweets, and she was exhausted by the time she’d finished.

  The next morning she rose early, and Evan helped her load the wagon. “I’ll go with you if you think I should, Sister,” he said, his eyes troubled.

  “I’ll be glad to have you, but you don’t have to, Evan, if you’ve got things to do here.”

  “I’m not very good at talking to prisoners,” Evan admitted. “I never know what to say to them. You talk like a magpie.” He grinned. “Whatever do you find to talk about?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter. They’re hungry for any kind of conversation.”

  “Especially from a pretty woman, I would guess. You have a way with them.”

  Finally the buggy was loaded, and she spoke to the horses and turned to wave, “Good-bye, Bronwen. Good-bye, Meredith. Good-bye, Evan—Pa. I’ll be careful.”

  She looked forward to the trip for it would give her time to think. She had thought of little but her dream and knew from the meeting at the church that something must happen soon. She prayed all the way to the prison, fifteen miles away, and reached it well before dark. Her uncle’s house was close to the prison, which was surrounded by thick, high walls. The sight of them always gave her a chill, and her visits always brought a sense of pain that men should be locked up like animals, but she knew it had to be.

  “Whoa, Queenie,” she said as she pulled up in front of the house. She started to get down and saw her Uncle Paul Bryce walking rapidly out of the house.

  “Charity!” he cried. “How good to see you!” He reached up and lifted her down easily. He was a tall man, lean and strong, with the reddish hair and the gray eyes that his sister, Charity’s mother, had.

  “It’s good to see you, Uncle Paul. Look, I’ve got all kinds of goodies here for the prisoners. What shall we do with them?”

  Eileen Bryce came hurrying out. She was forty-six, a handsome blonde with light green eyes. “Charity, I’m so glad you’ve come.” The two women embraced, and she added, “It looks like you brought enough to feed the world.”

  “It won’t be nearly enough, but I like to bring something. I brought a lot of tracts, too, Uncle Paul.”

  “Well, the prisoners will take the tracts if you put them alongside a slice of pie.” He smiled. “You’re getting prettier every time I see you.”

  “You’re just trying to get some of my pies, Uncle Paul.” Charity smiled and patted his arm. “Let’s get these inside, or should we take them directly to the prison?”

  “I think I’ll take them to the prison. You stay here and visit with Eileen. You can distribute them and visit in the morning. How long can you stay?”

  “Oh, until you get tired of me.”

  “Well, that will never happen,” Eileen smiled. She was very fond of Charity and all the other children. Both she and her husband spoiled them dreadfully every chance they got. “Come on in now. You must be tired. The food’s still hot. Still on the stove.” She led Charity inside, and Charity sank into a chair, accepting the food and hot coffee gratefully. As she ate, she gave Eileen the news of the family, and then when her Uncle Paul came back, she had to tell it again.

  “What’s happening?” he said, taking a cup of coffee from Eileen. “Is the family well?”

  “Very well, Uncle Paul, but there’s a great deal of difficulty facing us.”

  “Difficulty? What sort of difficulty?” Warden Bryce listened as his niece outlined the problem. He was a highly intelligent man and kept up with national affairs. It turned out he knew a great deal about the exodus to Oregon, and the three of them talked for a long time about the possibility. Finally, Paul said, “Well, Charity, it’s a difficult trip. Dangerous, even deadly, and I’d be sorry to see you and your family settle so far away.”

  “We’d miss you, too,” Charity said, “but we’ve got to do something.”

  Paul Bryce had never been an intimate member of the Pilgrim Way. He thought the Pilgrims were too narrow, and he was a member of the Methodist Church as was his wife. He still had great faith in the small group, especially in Gwilym and his family. “Well,” he said finally, “while you’re here, maybe God will open a door.”

  “I was reading that in the Bible last night,” Eileen said suddenly. “It’s in the book of Revelation. God said to one of the churches, I forget which, I set before you an open door.”

  “That’s what we need, Aunt Eileen,” Charity responded, “a door.” She hesitated. “I had a dream about you, Uncle Paul.”

  “Well, there are young women dreaming about me all over this country.” Paul winked at her and ignored Eileen’s sniff. “What was the dream?” He listened as Charity related the dream, and then he said, “So, that’s why you’ve come.”

  “Well, I’m always glad to see you and to have a chance to bear witness to the prisoners and to do what I can for them. But, yes, I believe some dreams mean something.”

  “Well, they did to Joseph and to Jacob and to Paul. He dreamed he saw a man from Macedonia, saying, ‘Come over and help us.’ So if there’s some reason for you to be here, we’ll have to find it. Now, let’s you and I go in and sit before the fire and—”

  “No, I’m going to help Aunt Eileen with the dishes, then we’ll all three sit before the fire.”

  “Good for you!” Eileen exclaimed. “He’s the laziest man I’ve ever seen,” but she smiled as she spoke, and
the three immediately started clearing the dishes.

  * * *

  THE PRISON HAD ALWAYS frightened Charity, and she was not easily frightened. There was a fetid smell about the place that she thought was the smell of fear. Of course, there were other bad odors, too, that seemed to have sunk into the concrete walls of the prison, but the physical aspects were only part of the difficulty. Everything was gray and hard and cold. The strange lean faces that looked out at her from between the bars gave the appearance of vicious animals. She always managed to cover her fears and managed a smile each time she talked to one of the inmates. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some men with white hair and gaunt faces had all goodness and benevolence leeched out of them by their lives and by the prison itself. Some were very young, and she encountered one of the youngest during her morning visitation.

  Her Uncle Paul had furnished a large room and had agreed to let the men come in five at a time so that she could see as many as possible. He had tables set up, and the sweets she had brought filled the tops of them. The warden had provided plates and fresh coffee for all who wished it, and, of course, they all did.

  The first group of men scrambled in, wearing coarse, gray prison dress. All of them had shaved heads, which made their appearance more wolfish than was actually true.

  Charity introduced herself. “Good morning. I’m glad to see you. My name is Charity Morgan. I’ve met some of you before, perhaps, but I want you all to taste some of my cooking. I am considered a very good cook.”

  The men moved forward eagerly, and Charity spoke to each one. She did not give a tract to every inmate, only those who showed an interest, and it was not until the second group of prisoners entered that she met a young man who appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Billy Watson, ma’am.”

  “Well, Billy, would you rather have pie or cake or cookies?”

  “Any will do me, ma’am.”

  “How about some nice blackberry cobbler?”

  “Oh, ma’am, that would be very nice.”

  The other prisoners were eating wolfishly, and one of them, a big bruising man who had introduced himself as Jack Canreen, said, “Hey, Billy, you get us something to take back to the cell, and I’ll let you keep half of it.”

  Charity turned and stared at him. “If I give it to him, he’ll keep all of it.”

  Canreen grinned roughly. He was rough in every aspect. His face showed the marks of battle, and his hands were like hams. “Billy takes care of me. He’s like my daddy, ain’t you, Billy?”

  Charity tried to stare him down, but his eyes were bold and innocent. “How about another piece of that cake, Charity?”

  Charity did not like his attitude. She cut him another piece of cake, however, and said, “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Canreen?” The other inmates laughed, and one of them, a tall man who had said absolutely not a word but had taken coffee and a piece of pie, smiled briefly.

  “No, Jack’s no Christian. He belongs to the devil.”

  Canreen shot a glance at the tall man who must have been at least six feet three inches. He had a dark complexion and was sunburned so that his light blue eyes seemed to gleam almost electrically. “You stay out of this, Tremayne.”

  The tall man took a sip of coffee, shrugged, and said no more.

  Before this group left, she pulled Billy to one side. She felt sorry for the young man. “How old are you, Billy?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And what are you in for?”

  “I was convicted of burglary. I got in with the wrong bunch, Miss Charity.”

  “That big man, the one called Canreen, does he bully you?”

  Fear touched the young man’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am, he bullies everybody—except Casey Tremayne.”

  “If I give you some cookies, can you hide them from him?”

  “No, ma’am, he’ll shake me down as soon as I get out of here.”

  “Before I leave, I’ll have my uncle bring you back, and I’ll give you something extra good. Are you a Christian man, Billy?”

  “My ma was. I guess I’m nothing.”

  “Here, take this.” She handed him a small New Testament, and he took it awkwardly. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll sure read it.”

  She watched the young man go and then greeted the next group. At noon she had lunch with her uncle who did not eat the prison food but what Eileen brought in covered dishes. They had a meal of pork chops, mashed potatoes, and green salad that she was surprised to see.

  “Eileen knows how to grow things,” Uncle Paul said.

  “She’s a good cook,” Charity said. Her mind returned to the prisoners. “I feel so sorry for these men.”

  “So do I,” Paul said, shrugging his shoulders. “Most of them are here because they couldn’t control themselves. Others, more or less, got caught up in the machinery.”

  “I think that young fellow Billy Watson must be one of those.”

  “Yes, he is. Doesn’t have any business being here. The other prisoners brutalize him. There’s nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”

  “The big man, Canreen. He bullies him.”

  “Canreen’s a hard case. He bullies everybody.”

  “But not the one called Tremayne.”

  Paul’s wife shot his niece a glance. “You met Tremayne? You get a smile out of him?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You never will. He’s a hard one. Canreen wouldn’t bully him. He tried it once and lost a couple of teeth in the process.”

  “He seems angry about something, Tremayne I mean.”

  “Yes, his name is Casey Tremayne. He’s got an interesting story. He’s not from the North, you know. He grew up in the West. As a matter of fact, his folks were killed in an Indian raid, and he was raised by the Sioux until he was twelve. Then he got away from them.”

  “What’s he in for?”

  “He half killed a man. They got him for attempted murder. Trouble is, the man he shot was the nephew of the attorney general of the state of Pennsylvania. He was pretty well railroaded, and he’s bitter about it.”

  “He looks different from the others.”

  “Well, that’s his Western side, I guess. He’s been all over the West. He was a trapper for a while, trapping beavers and prospecting for gold. He knows that country.”

  “How long is he in for?”

  “He comes up for parole pretty soon, but he’ll never make it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He can’t behave himself. He’s angry at the world, and anytime anybody crosses him he lashes out and that includes guards. No way to get out of this place.”

  “I’d like to have that young man Billy back and give him some extra food. He took a Bible, too, but he said Canreen would take the food away if I gave it to him.”

  “You can have him back in. Would two o’clock be about right?”

  “That’ll be fine, Uncle Paul.”

  * * *

  LATE THAT NIGHT CHARITY was tired, for she had spent all day at the prison. Many of the prisoners were eager to talk, and some would listen to her urging to look to Jesus for salvation. Some rebuffed her, and some simply remained silent. She had finished dinner, and she was sitting in front of the fire with her Uncle Paul. Eileen was in the kitchen.

  The two talked for a long time. Finally, Charity asked, “Do you think the dream I had about you means anything?”

  “It might. Your mother would have known. She was very close to God. He spoke to her often in dreams.” Charity stirred. Bryce gave her a careful look and said, “All this you’ve told me about Oregon, you think I can help you with that?”

  “I don’t know how you could, Uncle Paul.”

  Paul Bryce was a deeply religious man. He believed in the supernatural, that God entered into the lives of people. His sister had been a fine Christian, and their mother had been devout. He sat silently for a time and said, “Well, if God is in i
t, we’ll find out. Let me pray on this, Charity.”

  “All right, Uncle Paul. I hope God speaks to you.”

  Chapter Five

  CHARITY HAD EXTENDED HER visit to three days, and she had given away all her tracts and, of course, all the food she had brought. A feeling kept pulling at her, and each time she had thought she was ready to leave, something had prevented her. She spent a great deal of time alone, praying and seeking the face of God, as she always did, but for some reason she knew with certainty there was a purpose in her being here. She would not have put it in those terms, but it kept her at her uncle’s house longer than she had first intended.

  Finally, on the fourth day of her visit, she had risen early and was fixing breakfast when her uncle came in. He was dressed and ready for work in the same dark suit he always wore, and he greeted her pleasantly. But with one glance at him, Charity knew something was on his mind. He was a smiling man, as a rule, but now there was a seriousness about him. He accepted the cup of coffee she offered and said, “Sit down, Charity. There’s something I may need to tell you.”

  “All right, Uncle Paul. What is it?”

  The simple question seemed to trouble Paul Bryce. He turned the cup around and around in his hand, studied it as if there was an answer to be found in the black coffee, and finally he looked at her. “There’s something that has come to me, and I wonder whether I should mention it or not. It’s about Oregon.”

  Instantly Charity grew alert. “About Oregon? What about Oregon, Uncle Paul?”

  “The difficulty seems to be getting there. From what I understand the land there is wonderful. They get plenty of rain, and crops would grow well. If a man wanted to go into logging, there’s the logging industry. There’s the biggest stand of timber on the continent, I believe, but getting there has been a problem for many.”

  Charity sat very still. Hope was rising within her, and she said, “I’ve been praying every day for an answer. What is it you’ve been thinking?”