Morning Star

by Judith Plaxton

  “We are only doing our duty…what we believe is right. Go in safety and help others like yourselves.”

  When the family was settled in the wagon, the driver clucked and slapped a rein. The horse responded, pulling it forward with a lurch. Flower watched as the Pembertons slowly receded into the distance, then turned and aligned herself against her mother’s side. Samuel lay behind them on a pallet of hay. He moaned at each bump in the road.

  Within two hours they reached the Simons’ and were welcomed by the doctor’s wife. “Come in, all of you, and rest a while. I’ve prepared a small lunch.”

  They followed her into the kitchen, except for Samuel, who was led into a separate room so the doctor could attend to his wound. Flower stood at the kitchen window, watched as the driver filled a pail of water for his horse. He chatted with the animal, stroked its side as it sucked up the liquid, and then placed a handful of hay on the ground at its feet.

  Mrs. Simon looked up as the driver entered the kitchen. “There’s a pump in the yard for washing up.” He bowed his head, his dusty hat clutched in both hands, and made an abrupt turn. When he came back into the room, he spread his hands out for her to see, like a small boy.

  “That’s better. We love our horses, but they carry dirt best left outdoors.” She ladled steaming soup into bowls as she spoke. Flower carried them to the table. A jug of water and a basket of biscuits sat in the center. They sat down and, after Dr. Simon said grace, ate their lunch. Samuel spooned the soup into his mouth with a shaky hand.

  “A good, quiet day for travel,” the doctor commented.

  “The roads are dry,” offered the driver.

  “After all that rain!”

  “Yes.”

  “The babe is well?” asked Dr. Simon.

  Gabriel sat in his mother’s lap and sucked on a spoon. He suddenly sneezed, and as Cleo tidied him with the edge of her shawl, he waved clenched fists in protest, dropped the spoon, and began to cry.

  “He’s fretful,” said Cleo.

  “But nursing?”

  “Yes, better.”

  “Good. I will give you a paregoric for the journey,” said Dr. Simon.

  “Medicine?”

  “It’s a special medicine. It won’t hurt him, but it will make him sleepy. If he cries and people hear him, you could be caught. We don’t want that to happen.”

  After lunch, they prepared to leave. Still not well enough to travel any farther, Samuel lay in bed. The family stood by it to say their farewells. Flower watched as he and her father clasped hands.

  “Till we meet again.”

  Flower stepped forward and extended her own hand. Samuel looked abandoned and forlorn, with the bandage looped over where his ear used to be and under his chin. She wanted to say something encouraging to him, that they would soon reunite in a free place. She paused and thought, then said, “I hope you get better soon.”

  He tried to smile at her, but his mouth gave up right away.

  “Courage, brother,” said Eldon.

  They left his bedside and gathered at the front of the house where a horse and wagon waited for them. The driver directed the family to the back of his rig, then lifted a blanket and the lid of a large box. “When we reach a certain place, you must ride in here, out of sight. I’ll tell you when.”

  As the family climbed aboard, Doctor Simon placed a small vial of liquid in Cleo’s lap. “Just a drop should be enough.”

  “Good-bye and thank you.”

  “Safe journey.”

  The wagon swayed forward as they set off down the road. The horse trotted for a distance, then settled into a steady walk. Flower sat dreamily, looked at the stony roadside, the trees with leaves drying to shades of reds and yellows. After a while they came to a bend in the road.

  The driver pulled back on the reins and said, “It’s time.”

  The space wasn’t large. The four of them lay side by side, Flower and Gabriel in the middle. Cleo placed a drop of the medication on her finger and then put the finger into the baby’s mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut in disgust and began to whimper. The box top thudded down in place. An explosion of dust caused them to sneeze, then Eldon said “shhh,” and they were silent.

  The wagon started to move again. Flower felt close to the road—heard the creak of rotating wooden wheels, the ping of stone, the grind of dirt, even the snorting breath of the laboring horse as he drew his load forward.

  The first voice shocked her.

  “Good day.”

  “G’day.”

  The motion continued, sounds intensified: people, animals, and other wagons. They came to an abrupt stop, and reins were tied in place. Flower heard the driver leap down to the ground. Someone walked by. Flower’s heart began to pound so hard she thought surely everyone could hear it and they would be discovered. Her father found her hand and squeezed it. Gabriel slept on, his breath warm against her face.

  The driver returned, another man with him.

  “That rain yesterday…the street was a sea of mud.”

  “The roads are dry today.”

  “Easier going.”

  There was the sudden scrape of the box lid. Flower held her breath and clamped her eyes shut.

  “No, leave that be!” The driver’s sharp command kept them hidden. “That bit’s for the Jensons! We’ll put the rest on top.”

  Six things were thrown into the back of the cart, landing with thumps above them. The air was dusty again. Eldon’s hand covered his daughter’s face, and Cleo clasped her baby close to her.

  “Next thing we know, it’ll be snowing.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “How’s Jenson? Hear he’s poorly.”

  “I’ll find out soon enough.”

  The driver climbed up onto his seat and picked up the reins. “I’ll be off then.” He clucked his command to the horse, and the wagon moved forward. The family stayed silent even after they left the town and were again on country roads. Flower fell asleep.

  She woke up as the wagon jolted to a stop. The driver lifted off the supplies and then the box lid. “We’re here.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Felicia

  FELICIA ARRIVED at the tryouts just as Mr. Butler bustled in, carrying a large folder under his arm. She watched as he placed it on the table with a dramatic flourish. “Welcome, everyone! I hope you’re feeling creative.”

  Questions rang out. “What’s the play about?”

  “Are you giving out copies?”

  Mr. Butler raised his hands. “Just give me a minute and I’ll tell you. I have written a play about the pioneers who came to this area. There are six main characters and twenty secondary ones. I have copies available for those who would like to audition.”

  “Is the play complete, or do we have a chance to work on dialogue, say—”

  Josh was interrupted before he finished his question. “It stays as it’s written. I don’t want any changes.”

  “Does it have any funny bits?” asked Matt.

  “No. This is a serious subject.”

  Matt turned to the group of drama club students and crossed his eyes. Josh doodled on a piece of paper.

  Mr. Butler lifted a script out of the folder, pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and began to read. “There once was a time when the timber was high, and all of the trees grew straight up to the sky…” His voice rose and dipped with emotive intensity, despite the undercurrent of sighs and shuffling feet. Three loud sneezes interrupted the flow of words. The teacher
pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose.

  “How long does this take, Mr. Butler?”

  “Can you give out copies now?”

  “Is there any music in this?”

  “Yes. There are several songs, and there will be a pianist who will accompany them. All cast members will do some singing, and, by the way, I need four singing pioneers. You’ll only have about twelve speaking lines, not much to memorize.”

  “What do you think?” Dodie whispered to the others.

  “Okay,” said Felicia. Renate and Sophie nodded.

  Dodie spoke up. “Excuse us, Mr. Butler, there are four of us here and we can sing.”

  “Yes? Good. Come up on the stage. Let’s hear you.”

  Felicia felt fine until she stood in the center of the stage and looked out at the sloping seats of the auditorium, curious students now staring in her direction. “What are we going to sing?” she asked Dodie.

  “Girls? Anytime,” said Mr. Butler.

  Dodie took charge. “We’ll sing what we sang before riding yesterday. Turn around and face the audience. We’ll each do a verse. I’ll go first, then Renate, then Sophie, then Felicia. We’ll all sing the chorus.” They looked out to the back of the vast room and took deep breaths. Dodie muttered “here goes” and began to sing. Her voice was clear and controlled. Three voices joined her in the chorus. Renate sang the next verse, their voices melded in the chorus, and then it was Sophie’s turn. She was shy but brave, and her voice quavered only a little at the beginning. Finally, Felicia sang out, surprising herself with the pure pleasure of performing. They swayed with a shared rhythm at the end. Their audience stood up and moved along with them. After the girls finished, they were rewarded with whistles and cheers and wild applause. The girls clapped back to the students, laughing and hugging each other.

  “Very nice,” said Mr. Butler, his voice barely audible over the din. “Yes, very nice, thank you.”

  The girls made their way back to their seats, feeling happy and accomplished.

  Josh leaned forward from behind Felicia and patted her on her shoulder. “You were amazing.”

  “Such talent,” said Matt, “here in our little burg.”

  Mr. Butler took charge once more. “We have quite a few readings, so let’s get started. I need six First Nations people. Who’s interested?” Three hands were raised. “That’s three, how about another three?”

  “How about we skip this?” whispered Dodie. “We have our parts and the clock’s ticking. If we hurry, we can still fit in our riding class.”

  The girls stood up and made their way out.

  “Leaving?” asked Josh.

  “We’ve got to go riding,” explained Felicia.

  “I’ll call you later and tell you what happened,” said Josh.

  “Thanks.”

  “Giving up already?” Ashley had her legs stretched out so each girl had to make her way over them.

  “We’ve got things to do,” said Renate, as she stepped on Ashley’s left foot. “Bye!”

  CHAPTER 23

  Flower

  FLOWER AND her family climbed out of their hiding place and stepped down off the wagon. Before them was a wooden-frame farmhouse, weathered and worn. A thin woman who looked as weather-beaten as her house stood on the covered verandah. She held a baby in her arms and was surrounded by four children. The tallest was a girl who brushed unruly hair from her eyes and stared at Flower.

  Eldon and the driver unloaded supplies from the wagon. They were directed by Mrs. Jenson to carry them to a shed. No one said anything until the men came back and the driver asked about Mr. Jenson.

  “You can see him if you like. His days are long and hard. He needs the talk of another man,” said his wife. She turned to Eldon and his family. “I’ll show you your place.” She led them to the barn, the children following behind her like ducklings. The barn was large, with an open area in the center and stalls on each side. A ladder led to a hayloft. One of the boys ran ahead and started to climb it.

  “Get down from there before you break your neck! That’s just what I need, another one lame.”

  The boy skittered down the ladder and stood again with his siblings. Flower watched his efforts with fascination and then turned her gaze to include the other children, only to discover they were all staring at her, even the baby in its mother’s arms.

  Mrs. Jenson continued, “There’s some hay to sleep on, and the animals can come in if you need more warmth.”

  “Thank you, Missus,” said Cleo.

  All was quiet again as Mrs. Jenson appeared to organize her thoughts. Finally she said, “You’ll be wanting some nourishment.”

  “That would be most kind,” said Cleo.

  “Much appreciated,” said Eldon.

  They started back toward the house, the wind blowing dust up around their feet. The adventurous boy led the way, but stopped at the door to let his mother enter first. The interior of the house was sparse, not at all like the Pembertons’. In the center stood a rectangular table with benches on either side. A rocking chair sat by a black woodstove, and in the corner was a cot, the driver standing beside it. The children scurried to sit on the benches, except for the eldest girl, who took the baby from her mother’s arms and settled in the rocking chair.

  “I’ll make some tea, then,” said Mrs. Jenson. She placed the kettle on the stove and brought mugs to the table. “Here now,” she addressed her children, “make room for everyone.” She gestured to Eldon, Cleo, and Flower, who watched space being made for them, then sat down.

  “How’s about yourself? Will you be wanting some tea as well?”

  A voice from the cot, raspy and weak, answered, “I’ll try some.”

  The driver said, “A nice cup of tea—just the thing to perk us all up.” He walked to the table and sat down.

  Mrs. Jenson poured tea. No biscuits were served. She brought a mug to her husband, helped him raise himself onto one elbow, and then held the mug close to his mouth so he could sip it. When he had had enough, he flopped back down with a sigh, and she came back to the table.

  “Hettie, come and have some tea.”

  The girl left the rocking chair, placed the baby back in Mrs. Jenson’s lap, and sat down beside Flower. No one spoke; the only sounds were the swallows of tea from mugs and the wind outside. Cleo unwrapped Gabriel from his sling. He sat up in her lap, spied a spoon, and reached for it. Successful, he stuck it in his mouth and surveyed the group around the table, his gaze stopping at the Jenson infant. Both babies regarded each other with solemn expressions until Gabriel waved the spoon in the air and made a joyful cry. The other baby laughed. His mother offered him a spoon.

  Cleo said, “What handsome children you have.”

  A glimmer of a smile played on Mrs. Jenson’s lips. She could not conceal her pride in her brood. “That is the truth.”

  “Many helpful hands.”

  Mrs. Jenson’s face became downcast once more. “Not enough help for all that needs doing, I’m afraid.”

  “We are able to help, not just hide,” said Eldon.

  Mrs. Jenson looked across the table at him. Her glance was shy but appraising. “You look strong enough.”

  “That I am.”

  “You must speak to my husband.”

  Flower’s father got up from the table and, within two paces, stood at the makeshift bedside. “I’m sorry for your trouble.” He stood tall and straight, towering over the slight figure beneath the blanket.

  “Yes. I’ve come to a sad pass.”

  “Tell me what needs doing.”

  “The h
arvest is still in the fields and on the trees, waiting to rot. Tools are getting rusty, fences falling down.”

  “I’ll be glad to make things right in exchange for a safe refuge for myself and my family.”

  “Agreed.”

  “No one comes to help you? Do your neighbors drop by?”

  “We have no neighbors to speak of. The missus goes to town occasionally for supplies. She can manage that.”

  Mrs. Jenson spoke up. “Children, outside now!” She handed the baby again to Hettie, so Cleo passed Gabriel into Flower’s outstretched arms.

  Hettie led the way to the porch. She and Flower sat down on the top step with both babies facing each other. The boys settled at their feet.

  “Sing us a song, Hettie,” one of the brothers commanded.

  “Give me a minute.” Hettie readjusted the squirming infant in her lap, then sat and studied Gabriel and Flower. “Your skin is brown,” she said.

  Flower, in turn, regarded Hettie and her family. She had never seen such pale people. Their hair was yellowy white, their eyes light gray, and their skin seemed almost transparent, spattered with tiny tan spots across their noses. “You all have hardly any color.”

  “Sometimes the sun burns us red, but then it goes away.”

  “Does that hurt?”

  “A little. What’s your baby’s name?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Like the angel in the Bible?”

  “The very one. And he is a little angel, aren’t you?” She gave Gabriel a hug, and he snuggled against her. “What are the names of your kin?”

  The boy who had climbed the ladder spoke up. “She’s Hettie. I’m Wilfred. This here’s Edgar, then Joseph, and the babe’s George.”

  “Georgie,” said Hettie, giving her baby a squeeze. “I’m the only girl.”

  “Do you look after everybody?” asked Flower.

  Wilfred stood up. “I don’t need anyone to look after me.”