All Together in One Place (25 page)

Mazy swallowed. She didn't like disagreeing with older people. She considered them wiser, more experienced than herself. “I saw many ill in my father's house, and they were undeserving, fine men and women and
even children. I dont think God uses disease and death that way, as punishment. He makes good come of all things. Like stinging involved with gathering honey. It s how I met my Jeremy”

“This cholera, if that is what it is, afflicts those with poor habits. Poor people have poor ways.”

“But your brother—”

“Must have hidden something from me,” she said with certainty. “A side of him I did not know.” Her eyes held a glazed look. Mazy felt her face grow hot from the warmth of the fire.
Certainty wears a cat's face
, she thought,
wisdom wears a dogs.

“I have bothered you,” Sister Esther said, then retrieved her desk and turned toward the wagon, her straight back disappearing into the black.

By noon the next day, several more members of their party carried the symptoms. They shook, complained of a looseness in their bowels, exhibited a putrid color to their skin The afflicted lay confined, tightly holding themselves or being held by those who loved them, in stark contrast to their boundless surroundings beside a stream that flowed with freshness, in a land expansive and full of promise.

Antone called a meeting, but it did not materialize as he too turned ill along with Hathaway Wilson and Sister Esther s second brother. The emigrants helped each other and moved on. Adora now drove the Wilsons’ wagon; one of the Celestials named Naomi drove the second brothers.

That evening, Jeremy bent over, dropped almost to his knees.

“Let me help,” Mazy said. She set the butter churn down, dropped the glob of cream destined for a biscuit “Tyrell!” she shouted. “Mother! Get the doctor!”

Dr. Masters, looking harried and rubbing the place on his nose
where his glasses sat, suggested bismuth now, or acetate of lead. He shook his head and left.

“He hasn't any of that, a course,” Elizabeth scowled as they laid Jeremy in the shade of the tent, pulled the flap back to offer breeze. “Used up our own laudanum too, almost. He said he could always bleed him.”

“Not that, Mother.”

“Course not. Barbarians, the lot, excepting your father.”

“Someone wondered about the stew so many ate,” Mazy said. She laid a cool, wet cloth on Jeremy s forehead, pushing back a shock of hair.

“Ate that myself. So did you,” Elizabeth said. “Cant be that.” She cleared her throat and spoke low. “Its cholera, that's sure. Try to keep liquids down him, and we'll restock the laudanum in Laramie—it's all we can do.”

“I think we should stay here. The traveling's hard on people, confined in the wagons, then jostled about. That little girl, Jessie, she recovered when we stayed a day. The day you were off antelope gathering gave her a rest.”

Jeremy groaned. “Keep going,” he said.

“Your insides are coming out both ends,” Mazy said. “You need tea. I can't keep it hot on the trail. I can't handle Mother's wagon and do that, too.”

“I'll manage my wagon,” Elizabeth said. “You worry over yours.”

“That's what I'm doing,” Mazy said, her voice raised. “We stay. So we can tend to Jeremy. Others might wish to stop too. Lura Schmidtke has her hands full with Antone, and Mariah's not doing well either. I heard a Celestial was ailing too We can boil things, bathe Jeremy, have better food. He looks so…blue,” Mazy said. Tears burned behind her nose. She swallowed and fought them back. “The only Wisconsin men whore well are Charles andTyrell. They'll succumb to fatigue if we don't rest. He looks so blue.”

Hadn't she just said that? Yes, she had. She could feel the repetition,
the thing she did when fear settled on her neck. She repeated thoughts as though it sent her roots deeper against a prevailing wind. “Well pray over everyone who's ill. That's what we need to do now. Not move. Stay here.”

Elizabeth stared at her.

“Antone's in no shape to dictate. I'm stopping,” Mazy said. “The water's good. Grass too. Well get a decent amount of milk. That'll help. Well stay and pray.”

By morning few were better, but no more had died. Tipton brushed her hair over and over, a luxury. Her parents had decided to stay too, her mother a little weaker than usual, though showing no signs of what had claimed the others. Hathaway had taken a fever. Tipton looked in on her father, but his shaking had frightened her, so she sought refuge in Tyrell's presence.

“Papa's awful ill,” she said. Tyrell bent beneath the Quivers’ wagon, checking the wagon reach Finished, he stood, put one arm around Tipton, and pulled her to him, not saying anything, just holding her close.

“Help your mama, Tip. It'll help you too. Keeping busy, it's good for reducing a person's worrying.” He smoothed her hair back from her face, tucked strands into a ribbon holding it at the back of her neck. She sunk into his chest, inhaled the scent of him, drinking in his comfort.

“Got to check the other wagons,” he said. “Step careful now. Don't want you hurt.” He eased her out of the way. “I don't ever want you hurt.”

“Mrs Cullver?” Tyrell said loud enough for someone inside the wagon to hear. “Folks are resting a day. Think that might be wise if you've no objection.”

“And if I did?”

“Then I'd see if the Bacons wished to go forward today too, seeing as how I'm still driving under their canvas, so to speak.”

“Mr. Bacons taken ill himself,” Tipton offered. “I think its best to stop.”

“Are you willing to drive me back, Mr. Jenkins?” Suzanne said, her head now out of the canvas opening, her chin lifted so her blank eyes looked up toward the sky. Tipton noticed she never looked in the direction people spoke. “I could pay well for the effort. It s clear I can't drive the thing myself.” She made her way over the seat and, feeling along the side, stopped to suck at her hand as though she'd just picked up little slivers.

Tyrell reached up to her, said, “Put out your right hand. I'll help you down”

She had long fingers and wore a heavy ring with some kind of blue stone set in a twisting setting that covered the length between her knuckles Suzanne put her hand into Tyrell's, and he closed his palm over hers to balance.

Tipton thought her heart would break with Tyrell's touch to the widow.

Funny how she'd begun to think of Suzanne as the widow already, the woman's status changing from “that blind woman” to “the widow” in an instant. In profile, the woman's roundness, the sign of her pregnancy, caused Tipton to turn away. What would it be like for her baby to be born without its father, to an unseeing mother?

Suzanne stood, brushed off her apron, and felt along the wagon side for the rope she tied around her waist. Tyrell left the oxen yoked but moved them inside the half circle of wagons, directing both women to stand back out of the way. “I've tied the rope to Clayton, missus,” he said then, giving it a tug so she could feel the connection to her son.

“Puppy,” Clayton squealed as Pig trotted over and pushed against Suzanne, causing her to stop.

“It looks like he doesn't want you to stumble into the fire,” Tipton said

Suzanne turned partway toward Tipton's voice.

“The dog stops just before you're about to step somewhere you shouldn't Curious, if you ask me”

“No one has,” Suzanne said. She turned back. As she did, the rope at her waist pulled slightly, tugging on Clayton. The toddler sat now, rope cinched around his middle, slapping at the dirt, his face smudged with the fruits of his effort

“Since we're staying, believe I'll sneak away and see if I can't bring back some venison,” Tyrell said. “Good meat'U be defense against this, whatever this is. Won't be able to hunt once we get closer to the fort.”

“You're hunting for her?” Tipton asked.

Suzanne snorted. “I couldn't care less. I suspect it's for any who have need of it, girl. Mr. Jenkins is that kind.”

Tipton was glad the widow couldn't see Tyrell blush. “You could use some meat on those bones, Tip.” He winked, tipped his hat to her, said, “Ladies, see you later,” and strode away

“Tipton!” her mother wailed. “Come here this minute.”

“Sorry I can't stay to help you,” Tipton said to Suzanne.

“I've no need of anyone's help.”

“That's what you'll likely get,” Tipton said and hurried away.

How long did it take to kill a deer, dress it out, and return? Tipton and Tyrell had seen a small herd last evening grazing at a distance. They would have bedded down, not moved far at all. Tyrell said deer rarely moved at night. He should have been back before midday. Charles had been gone most of the day too. The two of them wouldn't have hunted together, Tipton didn't think, but they'd left about the same time. Maybe he'd gotten a late start.

“What was the ruckus about?” Elizabeth said, falling in step beside her. “Between Charles and your Tyrell?”

“I didn't see anything,” Tipton said.

“MustVe heard it, words so hot they could have raised the dead. Oh, best I not say that.”

“I've never heard Tyrell raise his voice.”

“Looked to me like an argument over something in the Quivers’ wagon that showed up in your brother's sticky paws.” Elizabeth clucked her tongue. “Everyone already so grieved, and he takes advantage. You didn't train him right, child.”

“You can't train a snake,” Tipton told her as she and Elizabeth approached the Wilsons’ wagon.

“Your fathers worse,” Adora told them.

Tiptons mother pulled at her handkerchief in between trying to get him to sip water or hyssop tea as Tipton and Elizabeth stepped past her, inside the wagon. Hathaway shivered and shook, his eyes frightened almost, shifting. “Charles should have stayed to help,” Tipton said, trying to get her father to take a drink.

What Mazy planned didn't matter. All the green grasses, all the prayers, all the promise of this pleasant place did not forestall the losses.

Hathaway Wilson, the robust mercantile owner formerly of Cass-ville, Wisconsin, Adoras faithful husband, and Charles and Tiptons beloved father, died at noon.

His death was followed by Tyrell's.

10
of longing and light