Leaving Independence (15 page)

“I can trim it if you need me to. Since your fingers are missing.”

“Somehow I’ve managed.” He threw back the blanket and stood, reaching for his clothes. “I won’t be back for a while. I need to go to Laramie.”

He had been mulling over the best solution after Abigail’s first letter arrived. He wouldn’t tell Bonnie. If the Piute woman knew Abigail was headed this way, she would do worse than pout. He didn’t need two upset women on his hands.

No
. . .
there was no need for Bonnie to ever know the difference. Soon enough, Abigail would be nothing more than a bittersweet memory, tucked safely away with the letters in the box.

When the second letter came—the one telling him about Cecil Ryman—the sweetness of her effort to warn him almost made him change his mind. But then she mentioned she was bringing the children. That wasn’t what he’d told her to do
. . .
bringing the children just complicated everything.

Bonnie pouted. “How long will you be gone?”

“Long as it takes.”

“To do what?”

“None of your business.”

Bonnie crossed her arms and huffed. “What am I supposed to do while you’re gone to Laramie?”

“Girl like you? You’ll be fine.”

CHAPTER 14

Life’s pilgrim journey

They arrived at Alcove Springs midday on a warm Saturday. Several members of the wagon party spent the afternoon at a nearby settlement conducting trade negotiations. This proved to be a popular event whenever they came to settlements.

Jacob came running back to camp proudly holding a pair of moccasins. “Charlie got your molasses.”

“The people in these towns must be making a fortune,” Melinda said, as she, Abigail, and Caroline Atwood all worked on supper.

Abigail smiled as Charlie walked up carrying the molasses and a dozen eggs packed in salt. She wasn’t doing badly herself. Charlie had traded two of her needlework hand towels for the items.

The Baldwyns might not starve after all.

“How come you never eat with us, Tam?” called James over to Tam’s wagon. Most of Company C had started eating together in the evenings. But Tam never joined them. She ate with two men in Company D.

“Because Harry Sims is a bad cook,” she called back. “And Michael Chessor ain’t no better. They’d starve if I didn’t feed ’em.”

“That sounds like me and Hoke.” James winked at Corrine. “’Cept that I’m a great cook.”

“What are you cooking for us tonight, Mr. Parker?” asked Corrine, holding baby Will on her hip.

“You ladies appear to have it covered. Say, how old are you again?”

“She and Charlie have birthdays in another week,” announced Jacob.

“Will that make her old enough to get married?”

“Some girls do get married at sixteen,” said Emma, looking at Charlie. “I’ll be sixteen in August.”

James grinned at Charlie, but Charlie acted like he hadn’t heard.

Cold water bubbled into several deep pools at Alcove Springs, a stop on the trail that was a short walk from camp. Abigail rushed through supper so she and the other ladies from Company C could slip back down to the water and bathe before sunset. Since the mud that had been caused by the heavy rains had dried, the dust seemed thicker than ever. A month of travel and they hadn’t bathed once! Water was shared with livestock that needed it for drinking, and there had been little privacy with them passing so many settlements and Indian villages. She had tried to wash as best she could with a cloth and the water basin each night but longed to submerge her body in a clean pool of water.

Abigail wasn’t alone; soon there was a large group of women at the springs.

Tam Woodford ran off boys who tried to spy. When Tam felt the risk was over, she too ran down to the springs, stripped to her underclothes, and jumped in the water. Lina and Deena Sutler had a grand time splashing on the banks with her. When Prissy Schroeder challenged her to a swimming race, Tam beat her without mercy.

“I believe every female from the wagon train is here.” Melinda twisted water out of her hair as she and Abigail sat on the water’s edge, their feet dangling in the clear, cold pool.

“I don’t see Sue Vandergelden. Or the McConnelly sisters,” said Abigail.

“And let us be thankful for it.”

Josephine Jenkins approached Audrey Beckett, who was expecting and had waddled down to the springs to sit nearby, resting her legs in the water. “Let me and Chris do that washing for you.” Abigail smiled to see Josephine and Christine giggling like schoolgirls as they helped Audrey with her basket of clothes.

“My feet feel like they’re going to crack right open,” said Audrey.

“Marc has a plaster you should try,” said Caroline, who was watching Will splash in the water with Corrine and Emma. “I used it when I was expecting Will and it helped. I can’t imagine doing all this walking in that condition.”

“Poor Nelda,” said Melinda. Nelda had not joined them at the springs, either. No one had known Nelda was expecting until after Timmy died.

Katrina Schroeder walked up to them. “Have any of you had items go missing from your wagons? We’re missing a silver spoon and dish I use to feed the twins.”

“That’s funny,” said Tam, who had just finished swimming and had come to sit on the bank. “I’m missing a brass telescope. It was right next to an ivory box that’s worth a lot more. It didn’t make sense to me that someone would take the telescope and not the box. So I thought I might have misplaced it, but I’ve been through the wagon half a dozen times and it never has turned up.”

Abigail told about her gold coins that were taken in Independence. “Since no one else reported stolen money, I thought it must have been taken by someone from the town.”

“I’ll talk to George about it,” said Christine.

As the evening sun began to sink full and orange on the tree-lined horizon, the women walked slowly back to camp.

Abigail linked her arm through Melinda’s. “I feel more like myself. It’s been impossible to keep those wagons or any piece of clothing clean.”

“Isn’t that the truth? Now if I could only get Mr. Austelle and my boys to scrub.”

Just then a herd of boys ran past them on their way to the springs. Mr. Austelle and several of the men, including James Parker and Hoke, were right behind them.

Melinda looked at Abigail and giggled. “That’ll make the wagon smell nicer.”

By the time the men returned the whole camp buzzed with renewed energy, the result of everyone feeling rested and festive.

“You know what we need?” said Tam. “A dance!” She turned to Harry Sims with a mischievous grin. “If you don’t ask me to dance, I’ll be hoppin’ mad.”

“Then I’ll be sure to ask you.” He grinned shyly. Harry had a long handlebar mustache and his hair was thinning on top. He was of only average height but was strong and stocky.

Josephine clapped her hands. “Let’s do have a dance! Or is it too soon after Timmy’s death?” She asked Orin and Bart Peters how they felt about it and whether they thought it would hurt poor Nelda. Mrs. Josephine had held off singing with the children ever since the accident out of respect for her.

“Timmy wouldn’t want people to stop having fun on his account,” said Bart.

“Have the dance. Refusin’ to live isn’t going to bring him back,” said old Tim Peters.

Josephine begged the Vandergeldens to let Ned come, and they relented. The smile that appeared on his face was the first one any of the party had seen the boy wear.

James got his guitar, Alec Douglas his fiddle, Harry his harmonica, and Nichodemus Jasper his dulcimer. They practiced while everyone else went to their wagons to spruce up.

Corrine and Lina donned the best dresses they’d brought. “Mama, you should wear your pretty blue dress,” said Lina.

“No, she shouldn’t,” corrected Corrine. “It will be fancier than any of the other ladies’ dresses.”

“You’re wearing your prettiest dress, Corrine. Why can’t Mama?”

“Because I’m not married, and she is.”

Lina cupped her hand and whispered in Abigail’s ear so Corrine couldn’t hear. “I think you’re the prettiest mother, and I think you should wear the prettiest dress.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, but Corrine’s probably right.” Just yesterday as Abigail passed the McConnelly wagon she’d overhead Irene say to her sister, Diana, “She’ll have those hemlines up over her waist next.”

They had to have been talking about her. She was the one who had taken up her hemlines after catching her skirt on fire. And she knew her green riding habit was shorter than was customary, but she didn’t think there was any harm in it. After all, she’d had knee-length boots on.

Maybe Irene had never seen a split riding skirt in Boston, where she was from. Maybe Irene also thought it was wrong for a married woman to ride horses with an unmarried man. Abigail didn’t want to cater to the judgment of a woman like Irene McConnelly, but perhaps she should be more guarded in the future.

May 12, 1866

Mr. McConnelly and his two grown daughters are in Company D. The oldest, Irene, is unpleasant. She said some disparaging things about the South, and Southern soldiers in particular, so I keep my distance and do not remind her that I had a brother who gave his life for the Confederacy. I suspect she has been told this by the Dotsons. Everyone else in this group seems willing to move on from the recent conflict.

The blue of the dress perfectly matched her eyes. But as much as she would have loved to wear it, she tucked it back in a burlap sack and scooted it under the feather bed.

Abigail had washed her other clothes that afternoon and they were still wet, hanging on a rope tied between their two wagons, leaving only the dress she was wearing. It was a soft pink, in a high-waisted style, lighter weight for summer, freshly pressed by rotating irons in the fire and fine enough for a dance out on the trail. She dressed it up with a lace shawl and sprinkled lavender powder on her neck. Then she found a pink ribbon and used it to tie her mother’s brooch around her neck. Instead of her usual midcalf boots, she donned daintier ivory boots that buckled around her ankles.

As they were leaving the wagon, Abigail caught a glimpse of gold outside. “Go on, girls, I’m coming,” she said, walking back to investigate.

There, in one corner of her box garden, was a new patch of jonquils—about a dozen of them.

Couples were already dancing when Abigail arrived at the campfire. Word had spread and some folks from the nearby village had joined them.

James Parker whistled long and low as Corrine walked up, but she acted like she didn’t hear him. Abigail loved the blue Regency dress on her daughter. The high crossover bodice offset her tiny waist, and the short sleeves, tied with long ivory ribbons, revealed arms as strong as Corrine’s will. Another ivory ribbon tied her long hair back.

“You better save me a dance,” James told Corrine under his breath.

John and Marnie Sutler were dancing, to the joy of their six children. Their son Paul watched Corrine, but Cooper Austelle got to her first on Jacob’s dare. “Would you like to dance, Corrine?”

She glanced over at Paul, taking Cooper’s arm without enthusiasm. “Sure.”

Lina, wearing a bib dress of pink-and-white calico with yellow rosettes along the collar, skipped off to sit by Caroline Atwood and baby Will.

“Don’t you look like a princess!” Caroline twirled Lina around.

Rascal ran up to Abigail. She turned, looking for Hoke. There he was across the opening talking to the McConnelly sisters, who looked extra pretty in satin frocks. For once, they were animated—especially Irene, who wore a green bonnet with a wide ribbon. It made her face hard to see, even though the men had lit several lanterns around the circle and two fires on either side. Hoke’s face was clear enough. He was smiling broadly—he, who hardly ever smiled.

Abigail felt a pang of jealousy followed by guilt. Just because he watered her box gardens and let her ride his white horse didn’t mean he cared for her. But of all people for him to be smiling at—
Irene!

Doc Isaacs approached, looking dapper in a gray vest. He invited Abigail to dance.

Hoke was conscious of Abigail’s every movement. She and Doc Isaacs made a striking couple, he noted with a scowl. The two talked frequently in the evenings. Both were cultured and educated.

Irene smiled up at Hoke. “I see Mrs. Baldwyn hasn’t raised all her skirts above her ankles.”

Tipping his hat to her, Hoke excused himself. “Enjoy the rest of your evenin’, ma’am.”

He heard Irene mumble to Diana, “I thought he was going to ask me to dance.”

“Maybe he doesn’t dance.”

Doc Isaacs expertly wove Abigail between the other couples.

“It must be hard to be a physician,” said Abigail. “We all want you to work miracles for us, and in the end . . .”

Doc’s face fell from mirthful to somber. “I’m just a man.”

Abigail was sorry to have caused his mood to change. She squeezed his shoulder with the hand that rested there. “Thank you for your patience when I was unreasonable.”

He looked in her eyes. Doc’s eyes were blue, like hers. “I don’t recall you being unreasonable.”

“You have a kindly forgetful memory, then.”

He grinned at her mischievously. “So this husband you’re rumored to have . . . is he real?”

Abigail laughed. “I hope so. I’m going to a lot of trouble on his account. What about you, Dr. Isaacs?”