Janet Quin-Harkin (7 page)

“I don’t think we’ll try and get dinner in there,” Libby whispered to the girls. “I’ll see if a steward can bring us up some sandwiches instead.”

When she found a steward and gave him this request, he laughed at her.

“This ain’t New York, lady,” he said. “Meals is served in the dining room and you get what comes out of the pot!”

“But I can’t take my daughters in there,” she exclaimed, indicating the rowdy, smoke-filled interior.

The steward looked with more compassion. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I expect there’s some bread I can get my hands on, and maybe some cold meat.”

Libby thanked him as he hurried off.

She kept her daughters close to her side as she crept along the passageways and back onto the deck again. After that, the first night passed not too unpleasantly.

In the morning they stopped at a small settlement along the river and had a chance to go ashore. The girls ran up and down the wooded bank while Libby managed to buy a loaf of fresh bread, six hard-boiled eggs, and some dried apples. She felt relieved that she no longer had to worry about taking the children into the public rooms on the boat to feed them and she enjoyed a good cup of coffee before the bell rang to get everyone back on board. The Missouri was a prettier river with more varied scenery than its bigger sister. In places, the banks rose to steep yellow cliffs and then fell to peaceful wooded coves. The sandbars were also covered with trees and once Eden spotted two deer having a drink. She called out to her mother and instantly every man on the deck grabbed a rifle and began shooting. The deer bounded away in fright and Eden started to cry.

“They are horrid men, Mama. They shot at the baby deer.”

“Out here it’s different, precious one,” Libby said, hugging the sobbing child. “Here they must shoot for food. Where we are going there will be no butcher shops.”

By the middle of the next night Libby discovered that the voyage was not going to be a peaceful one. She woke from fitful sleep, curled as tightly as humanly possible under the lifeboat, to feel boots run past, vibrating the deck close to her face. Farther down the deck loud groans were followed by the sound of more boots passing. There were murmurs of “doctor” and “dying.” In the morning three of the passengers were now covered with their blankets.

“What happened?” Libby asked, assuming the men had gotten into a fight.

“It’s cholera,” a small, frightened-faced man hissed as he passed her. “The cholera’s come aboard.”

Libby hugged the children close to her. “We’ll eat and drink nothing more on this ship,” she said, “and we’ll not come out from this lifeboat until we can go ashore.”

At first light the wrapped corpses were carried ashore for a hasty burial in a sandy bank beside the river. Libby leaned on the railing, staring down at the incongruous scene. Willows and cottonwoods spread shade over a grassy clearing. Swallows skimmed low over the swiftly moving water and a pair of mallards paddled along the edge, under the trailing strands of willow leaves. It was the sort of scene for lovers and dreamers and summer picnics and yet there were now men with shovels piling up mounds of sand as they hastily dug a grave.

“At least they’ve got themselves a pretty burial place,” a man behind her commented, “better than in the heathen lands out West.”

Libby watched the men now shovelling sand back into the holes. It doesn’t matter where you’re buried, she thought. Dead is dead.

News of cholera on board had the effect of instantly quieting the noisy men. There was no singing and laughing that night, just the groans and screams of more dying men. In the morning there were four more bodies to be buried. Libby hurried ashore too and was almost tempted to take the girls off the boat to wait for a safer one. A farmer’s wife was hanging out washing nearby and came over to see what was going on, on the riverbank.

“More poor devils not even getting a decent Christian burial,” she commented to Libby, folding her arms across her broad chest.

“It seems to be happening all the time on this boat,” Libby said. “I’m beginning to think I should wait for another boat to come along, for my children’s sake.”

“They’re all the same these days,” the farmer’s wife said, shaking her head. “There’s cholera raging up and down the whole river. Nobody’s safe anymore. Too many dirty strangers, packed in like sardines,” she added tersely. “I wish they’d go west and have done with it and leave us poor settlers in peace.”

Then she went back to her washing, leaving Libby alone on the bank not really sure what to do for the best. She managed to buy some fresh bread and milk from a trader. She washed the children thoroughly before they boarded again and kept them as far away from the other passengers as she could.

When they were only one day out of Independence, the steamer ran aground on a sandbar which jutted out from the shore. The captain had gangways lowered and ordered all the passengers to disembark to make the ship lighter. Ropes were dropped from the upper deck and men passengers joined the crew in trying to pull the ship free. As one sweating team did not succeed, other men stepped in to take their place and by late afternoon they had succeeded in refloating the
Amelia
. Not wanting to risk it happening again with the water level so low, the captain made them all walk a mile or so up the riverbank until the water was deeper and they could reboard. The mile walk along a leafy path relieved a little of Libby’s anxiety. Only one more night and they could escape from the stinking pigpen the ship had become. She looked forward to the plains now as clean and breezy and free of disease. Before they got back on board, they passed another farm and the farmer’s wife gave the children a drink of milk and a big peach each.

Libby had just dozed off to an uncomfortable sleep on the hard wood of the deck when she was woken by a gentle touch. “Mama?” Eden’s frightened little face peered into hers. “Bliss doesn’t feel well.”

Libby shot upright, banging her head against the lifeboat above her. “What is it, darling?” she asked.

“My tummy hurts bad, real bad,” Bliss said. Her little face was flushed and puckered up with pain. “Make it stop, Mama,” she begged.

Libby felt cold sweat break out. “Stay with her, I’ll go find a doctor,” she whispered to Eden. Treading her way cautiously over sleeping men, she found a young doctor sitting by another cholera victim. The man was shaking with convulsions. “You’ll let my wife know, won’t you, Doc?” he asked, gasping between vomits. “Name’s Anson, just outside Buffalo. They all know me. Tell her I tried my best. . . .” Then he convulsed once more and lay still. Libby stared in horror. It was the first time she had ever seen a person die. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, shivering in the night air, and touched the young doctor lightly on the shoulder.

“Can you come quickly? It’s my little girl,” she said.

A look of concern spread across his boyish face. “Little girl, you say?” He shook his head and followed Libby across the deck. Bliss was lying doubled over, holding her stomach. “It hurts, Mama, make it go away,” she wailed.

The doctor bent down to examine her. “Any vomits? Diarrhea?” he asked. He prodded her stomach.

“Don’t,” Bliss complained.

He straightened up, looked at Libby, and smiled. “Has she eaten anything she is not used to?” he asked.

“A peach, this afternoon,” Libby said.

The smile broadened. “Just a good, old-fashioned case of colic,” he said. “Do you have any peppermint? A couple of drops should be all it takes.”

“Thank God,” Libby said, hugging the child close to her.

W
HEN THEY DOCKED
at the upper landing near Independence the next morning, the first sight that attracted the attention of the passengers crowded against the rails was not the town they expected to see, but a gentle countryside completely covered with tents. The tent city stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. The smoke of hundreds of campfires hung in the humid air and a steady stream of men passed to and from the river, collecting water.

“Holy cow! Looks just like an army,” a young man beside Libby commented. “Waitin’ ready for battle.”

“What are they all doing there?” Libby asked, still scanning the improbable scene.

“They’re waiting to join companies, ma’am. Waiting for their chance to set off.”

“Is that how this works?” Libby asked, delighted to have found somebody who seemed to know something, “One joins a company?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” the man said. “You signs yourself on with a company that’s already formed, if you don’t have enough men to form one of your own, and that way you gets across safe and sound.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?” she asked.

He grinned, the fresh, hopeful grin of a young man with adventure about to face him. “You bet ya,” he said. “I aim to sign me on with the biggest and best company I can find. That way I’ll eat well and not get myself scalped by Injuns.”

“What does this cost?” Libby asked, thinking of her money, now down to just over two hundred dollars, tucked carefully in a pocket inside her blouse.

“They say the companies usually ask a hundred dollars,” the young man said. “That’s fair enough, I reckon, although it sure seems like a lot of money to a farm boy like me. We could get us a hired hand for a year for less.”

“You’re from a farm?” Libby asked, enjoying watching the excitement on the young, freckled face.

The young man nodded. “South Carolina. Loveliest country on God’s earth,” he said. “I got me a chance to buy the farm next to my pa’s if I can raise the money. I aim to make a fortune quick as possible then go home and marry Bonnie Birdwell.”

“Good luck to you,” Libby said.

“From what I hear, we’ll need it,” the young man said, pushing his hat back on his head as his turn approached to walk down the gangplank. “I already lost my partner to cholera and him the fittest, toughest farmhand you ever did see. One morning he was talking and laughing and playing cards down in the saloon. Next morning we was carrying him ashore to bury him.”

The line of people reached the top of the gangplank. “I’ll be happy to give you a hand with your bags, ma’am,” the young man said to Libby. “Seeing as how you’ve got the two littl’uns.”

“Thank you very much,” Libby said, gratefully handing them to him.

At the bottom of the gangplank the young man tipped his hat. “Well, goodbye to you, ma’am. Nice talking with you. Luke Hollister’s my name.”

“I’m Libby Grenville, Luke,” Libby said. “I’ll see you in California, maybe.”

“You’re heading for Californy? A little bitty woman like you?” Luke stammered. “My mam didn’t even want me to go, telling me I was too young. Her eyes would pop clean from her head if she saw these young’uns going.”

“How old are you, Luke?” Libby asked.

“I’m nineteen, almost,” Luke said proudly. He touched his hat again. “Well, goodbye to you, Mrs. Grenville. Nice talking with you. God willing we will meet again out West.”

The moment they reached the shore, Libby directed her children into town, away from that tent city. Her first priority was to have the children safely housed in a respectable hotel before she went out looking for a suitable company to join. It was a mile or so walk into the city of Independence, along a delightful sandy road, shaded by oak trees and looking very like any country road in New England. To begin with, she enjoyed the cool shade and soft sand under her feet, but as the heavy bags began to weigh her down and the straps cut into her hands, she found herself wishing these really were New England woods and that she was not alone here. All her confidence and bravado of a few moments earlier evaporated under a great rush of homesickness at finding herself in such familiar countryside so very far from home. She found herself remembering outings along such leafy lanes, picnics under such spreading oaks—civilized picnics with checkered cloths and wicker hampers of cold meats and lobster and chilled champagne. . . .

The little girls spotted squirrels and bright birds and danced along as if they were on an afternoon’s outing. From beyond the woods came the rough shouts and laughter of men, the constant braying and snorting of mules. Libby looked at the two little figures dancing ahead of her and seriously considered not going any farther. She could find employment easily enough in Independence, she reasoned. The children could live in a real house in a real town and she’d write to Hugh to tell him to join her as soon as possible. Then she reminded herself why she had come on this journey. Hugh would not leave California until he had made his fortune. For the first time she found herself wondering whether he had reached California safely by now. Who would know if he had been carried from a river steamer, wrapped in his blanket to be buried in a sandbar or had died unnoticed in that tent city? Doubts crept into her mind that her journey might be for nothing and she might never see Hugh again.

“There’s nothing for it but to go on,” she said, emerging from the cool woodlands with a sigh and gathering the children as she approached the bustling city.

Main Street looked as busy as Boston the week before Christmas. Heavily laden wagons groaned through the dusty streets. The air resounded with the crack of whips and the harsh curses of wagon drivers. Horsemen galloped up, weaving skillfully past the wagons and pedestrians. People were hurrying to and fro with packages and sacks, going in and out of stores and banks. But the shoppers were all men and they each carried a gun at their sides. Libby was turned away from the two respectable-looking hotels.

“I don’t think you’ll find a vacant bed in town,” she was told. But at Ma Zettel’s Boarding House, in a small back street at the edge of town, they had better luck. Ma Zettel was a big woman with hair severely scraped back into a bun and skin like tanned leather. She looked formidable as she stood in her doorway with big arms folded across her chest, but as she looked down at the two timid little figures holding onto Libby’s skirt, her stony face softened and creased into a thousand smile lines. “Well, ain’t you the prettiest things I seen in a month of Sundays,” she said, bending down toward Bliss. Bliss held out her little hand. “How do you do, I’m Bliss Grenville,” she said. “I corned a long way in a big boat.”