Orchids in Moonlight

by Patricia Hagan

  Warily, she eyed the cover, about five feet over her head. It had been waterproofed with linseed oil and was meant to shield from rain and protect from sun and dust. Yet, when they encountered midsummer heat, it would have to be rolled back and bunched to provide air circulation. How would she go undetected then? As they sat up talking throughout the night, she had finally voiced her fears.

  Ella had dismissed her concern. "We're all going to be wearing slat bonnets. They're called that because they've got wooden splints on the sides. They almost hide your whole face. I've got an extra one you can use. You'd better keep your hair pinned up, though, because nobody else has hair the color of yours."

  Jaime remembered pleasantly how Cord had called her Sunshine. No doubt he had been thinking of her hair.

  "Besides," Ella had continued, "nobody stays in the wagon all the time anyway. Mr. Austin told us how everybody should walk on the footpaths as much as possible, because there aren't any springs in these things, and it's worse riding than walking when you hit a rocky stretch. So you can probably move around a little more, because everybody will be spreading out, and you won't be noticed."

  "How many wagons is he taking?"

  "Ten. We heard they cost around a hundred dollars each. Some have mules pulling them, which were fifty, and some, like ours, have oxen. They cost the most—ninety. Ten wagons of women," she calculated brightly, "and thirty-one others with families."

  At the first faint light of dawn, Cord had come to hitch up the oxen.

  Ella had seen him and nudged Jaime. Together, they crouched to peek out from behind the cover, which had been closed by drawstrings for privacy.

  "He is a handsome devil, isn't he?" Ella whispered against Jaime's ear. "Look. He isn't wearing a shirt. See how big his chest is? He's strong, I can tell. I'll bet you've never seen a man half naked before, have you?"

  Jaime was glad it was so dark inside the wagon Ella couldn't see her face. She could feel her cheeks flaming to think how she'd seen much more, like how he looked in his union suit.

  "Are you cold? You're shivering."

  Not shivering, Jaime could have corrected. Trembling. And she hated herself for it, but no matter how she despised Cord Austin for his smugness, there was no denying he set her pulse to racing. Surely during the arduous times ahead, she told herself, that kind of silly nonsense would stop.

  There had been one terrifying moment when Jaime thought her quest had ended before it even began. Shortly after a bell clanged to signal it was time for everyone to wake up and make final preparations to leave, Cord had again come to the wagon. Carrying a barrel, she heard him explain to Ella how it was filled with cornmeal and packed with eggs. "When the eggs are gone, you can use the meal to make bread. I'll be back with another in a minute. That one has slabs of smoked bacon packed in bran. The bran protects the bacon from the heat. It keeps longer."

  Balancing the heavy barrel on one broad shoulder, he had been about to hoist it inside and crawl in behind to position it. Jaime, drawn up in a corner, had no time to scramble beneath anything and would have been discovered when he poked his head inside.

  Hannah, however, was quick to lunge for the end of the wagon to stop him. "You can't come in here now. We aren't all dressed. And really, Mr. Austin," she continued, feigning indignation, "you're going to have to remember there are ladies in here, and you can't just barge in any time you like."

  He set the barrel on the ground. "Don't worry. I'll be too busy."

  When he had gone, Ella snickered. "He'll be busy, all right, busy with the prostitutes. I'll bet that's where he beds down every night."

  Jaime struggled to keep her voice even as she asked, "What are you talking about? What prostitutes?"

  Ella obliged to tell her. "Both wives and prostitutes are scarce in California. Didn't you know that? There's only four whores, though, and they're in the wagon right behind us. You haven't seen them, because they didn't join the party last night."

  Ruth commented airily, "They knew they wouldn't be welcome around decent folk."

  Hannah frowned. She didn't like such remarks about anybody. "It's going to be a long trip, and we're all in this together. It's no time for snobbery."

  "Snobbery has nothing to do with it," Ruth fired back. "I don't mingle with whores."

  Hannah said nothing more and exchanged disapproving glances with Jaime and Ella. They knew they could not risk making an enemy, lest Jaime be exposed out of spite.

  The call was given for everyone to assemble one last time, and Jaime tucked her hair beneath a bonnet and squeezed in between Hannah and Ella.

  Along with everyone else, she was surprised by Cord's announcement that he was the new wagon master.

  At once, several of the men wanted to know why Captain Wingate was being replaced, as they had met him and liked him.

  Cord was not the sort to mince words, as everyone was soon to learn. Neither did he believe in softening the truth. The way west was harsh. It did no good, he felt, to give hope it could be any other way, so he came right out and told them. "Captain Wingate decided it was too late to be leaving. He felt too many other trains had already left, trampling grass ahead of us and fouling water holes."

  Someone shouted irately, "Well, is that true?"

  "It's a possibility," Cord admitted. "But there is no one perfect time to leave. We take what comes. That's how it is.

  "And as you've already been told," he continued, meeting hostile glares in challenge, "if you don't think you can take it, stay here. It's better to pull out now than later. After we've gone so far, it's too late to turn back, because it would be dangerous to be alone out there. The Army is even talking about banning travel by single wagons because of Indian danger. There's safety in numbers, despite renegades and ruffians."

  Jaime smiled and hugged herself. That was the time she was waiting for, when they were too far along to do anything but keep on going—with her right along with them. Surely Cord would not abandon her along the way in a strange settlement where she knew no one.

  Fifteen wagons, the owners either sharing Captain Wingate's fears or not absolutely certain they wanted to go at all, did pull out. The others rolled forward, taking a previously assigned position in line.

  Jaime crouched behind Hannah, who sat on the wagon seat, anxiously holding the reins of the four oxen, yoked two by two. "Are you sure you can handle them? They're awfully big."

  Hannah tightened her grip and said confidently, "I've got to. All but two of Captain Wingate's sentinels resigned with him, and all the teamsters. The sentinels will be kept busy riding the line. But I think I can do it. I've worked with these monsters before."

  "Look back there." Ruth pointed to the rear, where two men were loudly arguing outside the prostitutes' wagon. "Looks like the remaining sentinels are fighting for their reins."

  They watched with interest as Cord appeared, just as the blows started. Slinging each man in turn to the ground, he towered above them, fists clenched. "No more. You get into a fight on the trail, and you're finished, then and there. I won't tolerate bickering and fighting. Understand?"

  Mumbling, the men struggled to their feet.

  "You–Fletcher." Cord pointed to one of them. "You take the reins. Henderson, you go ride herd on the cattle."

  He was about to turn away when a pinch-faced woman stepped from the onlookers that had gathered. Firmly planting herself before him, she lashed out. "There wouldn't be any trouble if you'd get rid of those Jezebels before we even start. As long as they're with us, the devil is going to be working on our menfolk, filling them with lust. It's not good for decent folk to be around such trash."

  Cord looked into the furious face of Mrs. Wilma Turnage and again wondered miserably what he had got himself into. He had agreed to take wives and prostitutes to California, not coddle and cater to a hundred other people on the way. No time like the present, however, to set a few of them straight. "I'm sure, Mrs. Turnage," he told her with forced politeness, "that the Lord depends on g
ood women like you to keep your menfolk from temptation.

  "Now let's roll," he said to no one in particular, dismissing her as he brushed by.

  Jaime and the others in her wagon giggled as one of the prostitutes leaned out to needle Mrs. Turnage. "Don't worry, lady. We've seen your husband. Satan himself couldn't make me take a tumble with him."

  With a red face, Wilma Turnage angrily scurried back to her own wagon.

  #

  Excitement and tension was in the air as everyone awaited the signal for departure.

  Cord rode up and down the line of wagons, making sure they all were in position.

  Most people were planning to walk beside their wagons, especially as they left Independence. With relatives and friends lining the road out, some carrying flags and waving banners, it would be quite a parade to the edge of town.

  Jaime could hear her own heart pounding as she sat inside the wagon. The others had joined the caravan walking, but she did not particularly long to be with them. So many emotions were churning within her that she relished the time alone to try and sort them out.

  What if she didn't make it and died en route as some people did? If anything happened, no one would ever know what became of her. But did it really matter? After all, her father could already be dead, and she could arrive in California to find herself truly alone, destitute, with nowhere to go. She had the map but it might be worthless. Ultimately, she might become desperate enough to marry any man willing to give her a home.

  But I won't let that happen, she vowed. Somehow she would find a way to take care of herself. Meanwhile, she was going to taste life and experience all it had to offer.

  Too long, she had been sheltered and restrained, but no more. This was truly the start of a great adventure.

  Free.

  Dear Lord, she had never felt so free.

  A gun fired, exploding the stillness.

  With whoops and hollers, outriders galloped far ahead, unleashing some of their pent-up impatience. Reins popped, and oxen and mules began to plod forward.

  The cries rang out.

  "God bless!"

  "Farewell!"

  "May the Lord have mercy!"

  "Good-bye!"

  "Godspeed!"

  The sun made its final leap from the horizon. There was not a cloud in the bright blue sky. A cool breeze assaulted, rippling the canvas tops.

  It was a motley scene. Some wagons had cows tied behind. A few had pigs. There were crates of chickens fastened on the sides. Children skipped along happily, hand in hand, the womenfolk following, some carrying babies and the ones too little to walk. There were banjo and guitar players. Someone even had a flute.

  "Oh, I wish you could be up here with me, Jaime," Hannah called. "It's so exciting. But I can tell lots of people are scared. I just saw another wagon pull out and turn back. And some folks are crying. But for the most part, I think everybody is happy. I know I am. How about you? Any second thoughts?"

  "None at all." Jaime drew back as she spotted Cord up ahead. The horse he was riding was magnificent, sleek and black.

  Suddenly, the animal reared up on its hind legs, forelegs pawing the air as though it, too, wanted to share in exultation over the trip's beginning.

  Hannah said, "Look at him. He's quite a rider, isn't he? But then, I've got a feeling he's also quite a man. I think we're in good hands."

  With a strange tremor rippling through her, Jaime drew even farther back in the wagon.

  * * *

  Cord took off his hat to give a final wave to the cheering onlookers. It was time for the wagons to cut toward the trail that would lead northwest to Nebraska and the Platte River.

  The wagons passed carrying the future brides, and the one called Hannah waved at him. She was big-boned, appeared healthy, and Cord figured she would make some prospector or farmer a good strong wife. But there was always the possibility she and some of the others might fall out at some village or post along the way. He'd been told that usually happened with a few.

  Suddenly the image of the one with the golden hair came to mind. He laughed out loud to think again of that crazy night in his hotel room. And, once again, he could not resist thinking how nice it might have been if she were along.

  Maybe too nice.

  He spurred his horse to gallop forward, wanting to position himself to observe the crossing of a small creek just ahead.

  There was no time to dwell on what might have been.

  * * *

  "He's laughing."

  "Who?"

  "Captain Austin. He waved at me and sort of chuckled. Wonder what that was all about. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him smile. He's always so serious." Hannah was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Jamie, what really happened that night you went to see him? You never told us any of the details."

  "He just said I'd made a mistake, that's all." Jaime hedged, not about to tell her the truth. "And then when I asked could I come along, he said I was too small, like I told you before."

  "Well, it doesn't matter." She dismissed her interrogation of Jaime. "You're here, and by the time he finds out about it, he'll have to accept it. We're on our way now."

  Jaime settled back, feeling as though every bone in her body were rattling as the oxen pulled the wagon down the first bumpy path.

  Her new life had begun, she told herself, in blended emotions of anticipation and fear, and nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter 5

  The reached the river known as the Big Blue on schedule.

  Cord was relieved to find the water level was down, enabling the wagons to ford rather than be ferried. The trail then carried them into Nebraska to meet the Platte River, where they turned west to follow its south bank.

  Farther away, the land began to creep upward in cliffs of sandstone, which became higher and broke apart as they moved deeper west.

  They marveled at the terrain, so different from the forested regions of the East, but were even more awed by the wildlife they saw from time to time—antelopes and coyotes, grizzlies and black bears, prairie dogs, rabbits, and buffaloes.

  The day they saw buffalo for the first time, Cord spread the word for the women to join the men at the nightly meeting after supper. When the usual problems and complaints had been dealt with, he drew disgusted cries with his announcement that the ladies should carry baskets and pick up buffalo dung as they walked alongside the wagons during the day.

  "What on earth for?" Wilma Turnage screeched above the immediate wave of disgust. "Why would we want something so nasty?"

  "You've seen the prairie," Cord said, glancing about to note almost everyone shared her revulsion. "Wood is scarce. It's going to get worse. Dry dung—chips, they're called—makes good fires. We'll eventually reach a point where chips are all you have to cook with, and you will use them or go hungry."

  "I won't do it," Wilma cried.

  A murmur of support rippled through the other women, with a few men also chiming in. The thought of cooking their food over animal excrement was repulsive.

  Ignoring the protest, Cord went on to explain how buffalo chips were also used in smudge spots to fend off mosquitoes and gnats. "This pleasant spring weather we've been blessed with since leaving Missouri won't last. It's going to get hot, and we're going to have rain. You'll be eaten alive by bugs at night unless you have the smudge pots going. You ladies suit yourself. If you're too squeamish to take my advice, you'll suffer the consequences.

  "You'd be wise to stock up now." He raised his voice above the displeased mutterings. "We'll hit some trails when we get farther southwest, where both trees and chips are in short supply. The only fuel then will be mesquite roots, and looking for them would take time we might not have. You all know we've got to keep on schedule if we're to make the Sierras before the first snows."

  Cord was standing on the open tailgate of the supply wagon. Wilma maneuvered her way forward to glare up at him. "You should have told us all this ahead of time,
Captain Austin. Seems to me you've got a little surprise for us most every day. Like yesterday– the Lord's day. Captain Wingate told us we wouldn't have to travel on the Sabbath. It'd be our layover day. We agreed if we had time for a devotional service, we'd spend part of the day working—laundry for us women, and catch-up chores for the men. But you!" She scowled. "You made us do fifteen miles just like it was any other day of the week."

  His face void of expression, Cord advised, "You can do a lot of praying while you're covering those fifteen miles, Mrs. Turnage.

  "All of you"—he swept the crowd with a commanding gaze—"had better get this straight once and for all: I don't intend for anybody or anything to hold us back. It's my job to get you to California, and I intend to do it. We'll take layover days only after a rain to clean and air the wagons and dry bedding and clothing. Otherwise, we keep rolling."

  He broached the other reason he had requested the ladies' presence. "I've noticed some of you ignored the packing list you were given back when you first signed on, and you're overloaded. In another week, we're going to have to cross the south and north forks of the river. After that, we're out of flat country. We've got a sharp uphill climb, then twenty miles or more across a tableland before the trail drops into the valley of the North Platte."

  He described the steep drop, how special care was needed to take the wagons down. Wagon wheels would have to be locked by chaining them to the wagon boxes, then slowly skidded by ropes down to the bottom of the forty-five-degree grade. "If a wagon is too heavy and breaks the rope, it hits the bottom in splinters. To keep that from happening, the wagons have to be as light as possible. This is a good time for you to lighten your loads and get rid of some things you were told not to bring anyway."

  Wilma was fast to challenge him. "Like what?"

  "Your sheet-iron stove, Mrs. Turnage." Then, having to raise his voice to be heard above her shouted protests, he went on to tell Amy Dunbar to abandon her claw-foot table; the Ward family, as well as the Proctors, needed to unload anvils. Reading from the list he'd made, he called out other names, other possessions: crates of china, books, other heavy pieces of furniture.