“Don’t do what?”
She was angry; she saw that Tremayne hadn’t been fooled. He had seen through her motives, and then she flung off without another word. Tremayne watched her go and chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully.
“I feel sorry for that girl,” he muttered. “She’s got a hard way to go, but then most of us have.”
Chapter Twelve
JULY HAD COME TO the land, bringing with it hot weather. The sun beat down mercilessly on Charity as she walked beside Babe, the lead ox. She glanced ahead at the wagons in line, and it seemed they had been on the trail forever. It was hard to remember what it was like not to be caught up in the routine of the journey; it was always the same.
Usually at 4:00 a.m., the guards discharged their rifles signaling that sleep was over. The travelers began pouring out of the wagons, and soon smoke began to rise. Breakfast was eaten between six and seven; the wagons were loaded, the teams yoked, and then the trek began.
The lead wagon would move out, and Tremayne would soon disappear into the distance, looking for game to eat and for country to avoid. Hunters usually went with him. The Platte River made a shining body under the sun, and the wagons usually formed a horizontal line so no one would have to eat the dust. Following the train came the horses and the spare animals, and during nooning the teams were not unyoked but allowed to stand. The trek continued all day long until late afternoon when the train formed a circle at the spot Tremayne had chosen. Soon everyone began preparing the evening meal, and the sun went down, sometimes dropping like a plummet, so it seemed. At times there was music in the camp with some of the younger people organizing a dance. Finally, all was hushed as the fatigue of the day drained the life out of the travelers. Only the guards stayed awake as the night deepened, and the rest were deep in sleep—the sleep necessary to do the same thing on the following day.
* * *
CHARITY MOVED QUICKLY TO one side for a snake had appeared, a bright green length that caused her to jump away with fear. It was, she knew, a harmless snake. She had learned to recognize the deadly kind, but still a snake was a snake.
She looked up and down the line of wagons. What will happen to all of us when we get to Oregon? Will we all make it? So far they had had no deaths nor even accidents. At the head of the line she saw Karl Studdart. His wife, Freida, and Helga, their attractive daughter, walked alongside the wagon. Charity knew that Helga, a sly girl, was seeing Ringo Jukes, and she wondered what would come of it. It occurred to her that she ought to tell Tremayne about the situation, but she didn’t want to add to his load of responsibilities. Besides, she had no proof of wrongdoing, only strong suspicions.
She noted the Novaks, the Dekkers, and the Brands with their wagons all bunched closely together. Right behind her was the Cole wagon, and last in the line were York Wingate and his wife, Helen. Helen was not doing well, and Wingate had a perpetual frown on his face.
She thought, as she walked alongside Babe, how she had learned to know the others so well. It could not be otherwise, tight as they were, living in a line of wagons that formed a circle with all of them inside every night. She thought she had known her neighbors well back in their village in Pennsylvania, but there everyone retreated into a house and who knew what went on behind the closed doors.
She looked to her right and saw some of the younger children, including Meredith and Bronwen. They were chasing a butterfly, it seemed, and their cries of laughter made a pleasing sound. Her father, Gwilym, and Evan were helping with the herd; the men all had to take turns. There was some complaining about this for the Studdarts had far more animals than anyone else, and the Studdarts’ cattle were included in the herd. Studdart proved more amiable than anyone had thought, especially to Charity. She knew the big man had thought himself capable of being the master of any group, but so far he had not tried to force this on anyone.
For the next three hours they trooped on, and finally Tremayne appeared and led the wagons to the camping place he had selected. He led them into a circle a hundred yards across, and so accurate was his dead reckoning that the last wagon in line would always precisely close the gap so that there was a fort, of sorts, each night. Once Konrad Dekker had complained that it wasn’t necessary since there were no Indians, but Tremayne had simply remarked, “Better to be safe than dead.”
As soon as the circle was completed, the struggle began to fix a meal. Charity had been amazed at how hard it was to cook by campfire rather than in a kitchen with a stove waist high. Trail cooking involved muscles not previously used, and for the first days of the journey, she had been sore constantly from the difficulty this brought on. Now she went at it methodically.
Wood was so scarce that they had to use mostly buffalo chips. They were in buffalo country now, and the land was littered with the dried dung of the huge beast. There had been some apprehension at first. Recalling this, she smiled. Some of the men had objected to their wives picking up such items, and they had called a meeting of the council—a rather heated meeting—but finally it was decided there was no choice. There was little wood along the Platte, and buffalo chips did burn well when one learned how to create a draft for them. Charity had heard Tremayne say when the meeting broke up, “Mighty big doings for something so important.” She had caught his eyes; he smiled and shook his head. She had found herself smiling back at him.
She began cooking, helped by Bronwen and somewhat by Meredith, and they worked quickly. It took too long to bake bread even though she had a small oven. It also took a lot of fuel. She did make fried cakes from flour and water mixed with rendered beef fat. When the cakes had browned on both sides in the skillet, she salted them. She made about twenty cakes. She cooked buffalo steaks; Tremayne had killed one of the animals the day before. As he had promised, he had given her the liver and the tongue, and despite her reluctance, she found them delicious.
Knowing that everyone was tired of the same fare, she had also made an apple pie. She had been soaking two cups of dried apples in water for eight hours, then added sugar, allspice, and cinnamon. She decided to make two pies so that she had some to give away, and after the Morgans had eaten, she made her way to the Wingates’ wagon.
“Doctor,” she said, smiling, “I brought some pie for you and Helen.”
York turned. His face was lined with worry. “I don’t know as she can eat much. She’s not well.”
“Try to get her to eat a little bit. I think you’ll like it too.”
“You’re good to us, Charity. Thank you.”
“How is she, do you think?”
“She’s afraid, and I can’t blame her. She didn’t realize how hard it would be and neither did I. We should never have made this trip, but it’s too late to go back now. We may stay at Fort Laramie until the baby’s born. I think that might be best.”
“Let me know if I can do anything.”
Charity walked to the Gypsies’ wagon and found the three of them seated around a fire, and with them was Casey Tremayne. The old lady said, “Here is our friend. Have some tea.”
“Thanks. I believe I will, and I brought you all a pie, part of one. I gave some of it to the doctor and his wife.”
“How is the lady?” Tremayne asked.
Charity bit her lower lip and shook her head nervously. “Not too well, I’m afraid, Tremayne. She’s not strong. The doctor’s sorry he brought her.”
Zamora cut the pie into slices and passed it around. She tasted it and said, “This is good cooking.”
“Anybody can make a pie.”
“Not this good,” Stefan said. He ate his pie quickly, washed it down with tea, and then picked up his fiddle. He began playing a sad tune.
“Why do you play such a sad tune?” Zamora said. “Play something happy.”
“No, I’m a sad man. My heart is broken.”
“If you don’t stay away from Kirsten Dekker, Jacob will break your head.”
“I’m teaching her some things she needs to know about life.” Stefan was smi
ling; he winked at Tremayne and said, “You women just don’t understand what it is to have a broken heart.” He stopped playing long enough to put his hand over his heart and assumed a sad countenance. “You women folk just don’t have it here. When we men suffer over love, we really suffer.”
“You’re going to suffer from a broken head if you don’t leave that girl alone,” Zamora said. Her eyes were sparkling, and she wiped a morsel of pie from her lips.
“I wish I had some idea of where we are, Casey. We should have some kind of a map.”
“Why, I can take care of that. Have you got a piece of blank paper, Zamora?” He waited until she brought him a large piece of paper and a pencil. He laid it flat and began to sketch a rough map. The rest of them gathered around to watch, and finally he said, “I’m no mapmaker, but you can see Nauvoo here, and how we’ll follow the Platte River to Fort Kearney. We’re headed for Fort Laramie, and after that, we’ll rest up at Fort Hall.”
“But this isn’t the end of the journey, is it?” Charity asked.
“No, just about halfway. But if you’re a good child, I’ll draw you a map of the last half when we get to Fort Hall.”
Charity sniffed, then said, “I’m always a good child.” She stayed long enough to drink a cup of tea and then left. Tremayne left shortly after that.
As soon as he was gone, Lareina turned to her granddaughter. “Zamora,” she said, “it’s better not to play games with men.”
Zamora flushed. “Who’s playing games?”
“You are with Tremayne. You’d better leave him alone.”
“I do leave him alone. He’s like all other men. He’ll take what he wants from a woman and then throw her out.”
“Not all men are like that,” Lareina said. “Your grandfather wasn’t.”
“No, he wasn’t, but there aren’t many like him, if any, left.” She kept her eye on the tall form of Tremayne, but she soon left and walked toward the men finishing their meal. They all greeted her.
Ringo Jukes said, “When are you going to fall in love with me, Zamora?”
Zamora liked Jukes. He was a big, good-looking man, and she turned to face him. “You don’t want me. You’re too busy thinking about the Studdart girl.”
“Well, a man’s got to try a few girls out, not settle on one,” Jukes said. He grinned broadly and picked the plates up from the men.
She took them, saying, “I’ll help you wash these.” He went with her, and she enjoyed his company. She saw, as they passed the Studdart wagon, that Helga Studdart gave her a venomous look. “Helga may try to stick a knife in me. She’s jealous.”
“Nothing going on with us. She’s just a nice young woman.”
“Didn’t Tremayne tell you to leave the women of the train alone?”
“I am leaving the women of the train alone, except for the good-looking ones like you,” he said.
She laughed. “You stay away from me, or I’ll poke your eye with my knife.”
Actually she liked Ringo Jukes. He made no secret of his admiration for her, but neither did he make veiled suggestions, and he never tried to put his hands on her as most of the other crew had. The two of them washed the dishes.
“Frenchy Doucett brought some whiskey along,” Jukes said. “I think we’re all going to get a little bit drunk tonight.”
“Don’t let Tremayne catch you at it.”
“He won’t catch us. Man has a right to drink if he wants to.”
* * *
THE CREW DID INDEED drink, but the next morning when Tremayne was checking the wagons, Ringo Jukes came to him with a worried look. “Got some bad news, Tremayne.”
“What is it, Ringo?”
“It’s Doucett. He’s gone.”
Tremayne turned to face him. “He didn’t walk away?”
“No, he took one of the Studdarts’ horses. We was all drinking last night. I guess you knew that, and I guess he didn’t drink as much as the rest of us. We all passed out. When I went to get him this morning, he was gone.”
“What horse did he take?”
“That tall gelding. He’s shod, but one of the shoes came off.”
“Then he’ll be easy to track,” Tremayne said.
“You going after him?”
“What do you think, Ringo?”
Ringo Jukes shoved his hat back and shook his head, “It makes it hard on the rest of us.”
“I’ll be leaving. You better tell the rest of the men that if any of them leave while I’m gone, they’ll look up one day and see me behind them.”
“Nobody’s going anywhere. Are we not moving today?”
“No. I’ll have him back soon enough.”
The word spread quickly throughout the train, and everybody knew what had happened. Canreen studied Tremayne, who was saddling his horse. “You won’t catch him. That’s a fast horse he stole.”
“The fool will get lost, and there are Indian signs around here. If he runs into a Blackfoot or a Cheyenne, we won’t have to worry about him.” He turned then. “Jack, don’t try to run.”
“You think I’m afraid of you?”
“I think you should be. Remember what I said. Don’t run.”
He led his horse to the Morgan wagon and found Gwilym. “Gwilym,” he said, “we’ll stay here today. Be a good time for the women to wash down in the river and let the animals rest up.”
“You’re going after him then,” Gwilym said. “What will you do if you catch him?”
“I’ll make him wish he hadn’t run.”
“Will you shoot him?” asked Charity who had been standing close by.
“Not unless I have to. I need him too much.”
Karl Studdart approached Tremayne and spoke up, “We don’t have time to chase after him.”
“If I don’t stop him, the rest will run too. I’ll have to make an example out of him.”
Studdart studied the tall man for a moment and saw what a forceful man he was. “You want me to go with you?”
“No, you stay here, Karl. You and Gwilym take care of things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
* * *
THE CAMP WAS QUIET that day. Everyone was talking about the situation. Lareina was not feeling well, and Zamora grew worried. She went to the Wingate wagon and found York Wingate sitting outside, smoking a pipe.
“Well, hello,” he said.
“Doctor, my grandmother’s sick. I wish you’d come and look to her.”
“All right. Let me tell my wife.” He went over to where his wife had been sitting in the shade of the wagon and said a few words to her. He picked up his black bag. “How long has she been sick?”
“Just since this morning.”
“Is she sick often?”
“She’s old but in good health.” Zamora turned and looked back to York Wingate’s wagon. “Your wife isn’t well.”
“No, she’s not. I’m worried about her.”
Zamora was curious about the doctor but made no comment. When they got to their wagon, Lareina was lying on a pallet where she could catch some of the breeze. York knelt down, felt her pulse, and asked her a few questions.
“There’s nothing wrong with me that you can fix,” Lareina said.
“Maybe I can.”
“Can you stop someone from growing old?” Lareina asked and suddenly smiled. “You’d be a rich man if you could.”
York asked her more questions. “I’ve got something that might make you feel better here.”
He took a bottle from his bag, poured some medicine into an empty bottle, and gave it to Lareina.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Suddenly Stefan appeared, excitement on his face. “Tremayne is back,” he said.
“Does he have Doucett with him?”
“Yes, come on, let’s see what happens.”
Everybody had seen Tremayne’s approach, it seemed, and Charity saw that Doucett’s face was swollen. At Tremayne’s command he got off the horse, moving very slowly.
“Where did
you catch up with him?” Frank Novak asked.
“Not too far from here.” Charity waited for Tremayne to say more, but the situation spoke for itself. Tremayne suddenly turned to Frenchy, “Try it again, Frenchy, and I’ll tie you to a wagon wheel and break a bullwhip on you. That goes for anybody else who tries to leave. We’ve been over this before.”
Charity was not at all satisfied at what she had heard, but she was relieved because she had feared that Tremayne might shoot Frenchy Doucett.
She did not see Tremayne for the rest of the day. He had told the travelers that they would leave early in the morning. Then after the darkness closed in, she saw him standing at the edge of the wagons. Everyone had gone to bed, but she was curious. She walked over, and he turned to face her.
“You’re up late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She stood beside him and was very much aware of his height. “I was afraid you might shoot Doucett.”
“I can’t afford to lose a man. We need him.”
“Did he try to fight?”
“He tried, but he won’t try it again, I don’t think.”
The two were silent for a time. Overhead, the moon was full and bright, and the stars seemed brighter than ever. Charity felt uncomfortable around Tremayne, and he noted that. She was not wise in the ways of men, but several had been interested in her.
Tremayne studied her carefully. He had studied her more than she knew. Small shades of expression softly darkened and then lightened her face, and her lips made elusive changes as her thinking varied. She was a well-shaped girl, and her features were quick to express her thoughts, and laughter and love of live seemed to lie impatiently behind her expressions, waiting for release. She had a calm manner, usually, but from time to time a liveliness had its sudden way and her lips mirrored the change. At times her face displayed a little-girl eagerness.
From far off came a lonely howl of a wolf, one of the many that followed the buffalo herd.
“That always makes me sad,” he said, “the wolves. I don’t know why.”
Charity studied his face, and without warning he reached out and touched her hair. “You have beautiful hair,” he said. “My grandmother had hair like this, as red as yours.”
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