Leaving Independence (22 page)

As others started to leave, James stepped over to Corrine to get a look at her pictures. “These are good. I like a talented woman.” He craned his long neck down to look her in the eye. “When you tire of Paul Sutler, let me know.”

Corrine started to say something, then apparently thought better of it. She hugged her pictures to her chest and stared at James.

“He don’t have a lot of sparkle,” said James. “You noticed?”

Charlie would tell his mother later that when the group reached the base of Chimney Rock, Corrine had stuck the charcoal pencil she’d brought into the knot of her hair. But it was still hard for her to climb holding the sketch pad.

Before Charlie could help her James said, “Here,” and took it from her. He untied his neckerchief, wrapped it around the sketch pad, and slipped it inside his shirt. “I’ll try not to sweat on it.” He winked at her, then put a hand to her back while she climbed up. “Careful now.”

“I’ll help her,” offered Paul Sutler.

Corrine turned and smiled at them. “I don’t need help.”

While Jocelyn Schroeder scratched each of the Vandergeldens’ names on Chimney Rock and Orin Peters wrote Timmy’s and the date of his death, Corrine found a spot away from the others and sketched with her pencil.

“Stop and come eat lunch with us, Corrine,” called Paul Sutler.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled, never taking her eyes from her drawing.

The others climbed all over the rock reading names that had been written by travelers before them and wondering how many miles into the distance they were able to see, but Corrine never moved. When Tam said late in the day, “We gotta go now, Corrine,” she reluctantly gave her paper a final stroke and then wrapped her sketch pad back in James’s neckerchief.

“No peeking,” she said.

He acted hurt. “What do you take me for, Miss Baldwyn?”

As Corrine turned to look behind her at the changing light, she stepped too close to the edge. Paul, who was right beside her, didn’t notice. But James did. Just as she realized her mistake and started fighting to regain her balance, James snaked an arm past Paul and grabbed her around the waist.

“Watch where you’re steppin’ there, darlin’.”

Corrine clung to James and peered over the edge at the twenty-foot drop.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

He winked at her. “Your maw would skin me alive if I let you fall off a cliff.” Then James glowered at Paul. “Why don’t you go on? I’ll help her down.”

Charlie concluded his story by saying that Paul had been sullen the whole trip back.

“Mr. Parker,” said Corrine, hugging her sketch pad tight, “what makes you think I’d give you the satisfaction of knowing what I think about Paul Sutler or any other boy?”

James grinned. “You gonna keep calling me Mr. Parker when we’re married, like Mrs. Austelle does with Charles?”

Corrine rolled her eyes and put her drawings in the wagon, her cheeks burning red while she did it.

Someone proposed a game of hide-and-seek. With the sun sliding below the horizon, it would be harder to find people. Hoke heard the children making all sorts of elaborate rules about where you could and could not hide.

In the end, it was difficult to say who won. The children played the game over and over, first assigning Schroeders to be the “lookers,” then Sutlers, Baldwyns, Austelles.

Hoke saw Charlie take Emma Austelle’s hand and kiss her when they hid together behind the Jaspers’ wagon wheel.

He smiled, remembering what it had been like to kiss the boy’s mother. Then he wondered what Charlie would think to know he’d done it. He doubted the lad would take kindly to the news.

When Hoke came back to his and James’s wagon, he found James working hard on his block of wood. He’d cut the rough shape of an oval out of it.

“What are you makin’ with that?” asked Hoke.

“You’ll see.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The rain started slow, while they were still crossing the river. It rained hard that night and all the next day.

Colonel Dotson looked out at the gray skies as he stood under a tarp Hoke and James had strung out behind their wagon, then turned back to Hoke. “You were right about this rain comin’. I don’t know how you knew, but I sure am glad we crossed the river yesterday, even if it was Sunday.”

He and Gerald had been around to every wagon to say, “Just hold tight till this lets up.” Those who made the meals did so as best they could.

Mr. Austelle strung a covering off the end of the Austelles’ wagon and Abigail and Melinda huddled under it, frying apples and bacon.

Charlie and Clyde carried plates over to Hoke and James when the food was ready and stayed and visited until the men had finished.

Hoke watched the boys run back with the empty plates, then watched Abigail from under his black hat, droplets of rain sliding off the rim past his eyes. Two wet curls were stuck to the back of her neck.

He went and brought the stallion and filly to stand at the back of his and James’s wagon, under their tarp, where he rubbed them down with a rag, then a brush.

“You coddle those horses,” said James.

“You take care of your animals . . .”

“Yeah, I know. And they’ll take care of you.” James was working on his block of wood with a flat iron scraper, the shavings piling up at his feet in the back of the wagon.

“Who’s watchin’ the stock?” asked James.

“Chessor and Sims. Why don’t you run ’em out a hot cup of coffee?”

“I’m working on my bowl. Why don’t you run it out there?”

“So it’s a bowl. Who’s it for?”

“I ain’t sayin’. None of your damn business, anyway,” James muttered.

Hoke finished rubbing down the filly and tossed the brush lightly at James. Then he reached for a couple of tin mugs and sloshed over to where Abigail and Melinda had finished cleaning up from breakfast and were now working on a pot of beans for lunch.

“You ladies got enough coffee for me to take some out to the boys on watch?”

Abigail brightened and reached for the pot. “I’ll make some fresh. Have a seat.”

Hoke flipped over a wooden box and set it close beside her, under the guise of getting in from the rain. She poured beans in the grinder. He reached for it and said, “I’ll do that,” taking it from her hand.

He caught Melinda’s eyes watching them, but she said nothing. He wondered if Abigail had told Mrs. Austelle what happened when she measured him for the shirt.

Throughout the soggy day, men congregated in clusters to clean guns and to smoke. Rudy Schroeder got sauced and started cursing about the rain, how much time they were losing, and how nobody could tell him when he could or could not drink his own liquor. One of the Schroeders’ chickens drowned in the downpour. Katrina and Bridgette plucked and pulled at the wet feathers to get it ready to boil.

Kids ran to neighboring wagons and climbed up with muddy feet, mothers yelling for them to wipe off on rags before they got the whole inside muddy. Jacob, Cooper, and Lijah rolled their pants legs up and stretched out on the back lip of the Baldwyn wagon, which Charlie had let down, giggling as the rain licked their feet.

Lina was trying to keep pace with Jacob and his friends. She rolled her pantaloons up and kept inching closer and closer to the edge. “Careful, Lina,” cautioned Charlie. “You don’t want to fall out.” He picked her up and set her on his own legs, then scooted her out a bit so she could get wet enough to satisfy her.

The Jaspers dozed. Sam Beckett read to Audrey and baby Evelyn. The Kensington sisters quilted and wondered aloud if it rained much in Oregon. Doc Isaacs checked over his pharmaceutical supply while Caroline visited with Corrine and Emma, who’d come to play with baby Will.

The Schroeder kids got out of their wagon and had a fierce mud fight, then lay on the ground and let the rain lick the dirt clumps off. The Baldwyn and Austelle children, who had turned around and propped themselves up on their elbows, watched them enviously, knowing better than to ask their own mothers if they could join in.

The McConnelly sisters sulked and talked bad about everybody else in the train.

Orin Peters slunk around to the McConnelly wagon that afternoon and told Irene and Diana how he’d caught Hoke and Abigail kissing behind the wagon.

Irene raised her eyebrows. “Do tell.”

CHAPTER 20

Brooding in the distance

Colonel Dotson and Gerald Jenkins were on scout a mile ahead of the train when a dozen soldiers from Laramie met them.

Seeing their leaders come riding back with the cavalry sent a twitter of excitement rippling down the line of wagons. Word spread that the soldiers had come to escort them to the fort under their protection, and a cheer went up. The train had encountered dozens of people in settlements during the first month of their journey, as the roads through Kansas and Nebraska had been filled with trading posts and Indian villages, but in the past several weeks they’d met only a couple of mail carriers.

The last mail carrier had reported that the smaller train behind them had had a bad run of luck with cholera. Four people had died. They stopped and set up camp at a creek to let the illness finish running its course. It was either that or leave the dying by the side of the trail, which, according to the carrier, was not an altogether uncommon practice.

After supper was eaten, Colonel Dotson, the company leaders, and several other adults gathered around the soldiers. “You’re the first train to come through this season,” said the lieutenant in charge. Coatman was his name. “And you’re a large group, but I’m shocked the Indians haven’t tried to steal your horses. The Sioux, especially, have been on a rampage the last year and have burned out nearly every rancher in the area. There’s a displaced band of Piutes, too, that have caused a lot of trouble. The Bozeman is closed. Incidents from Laramie on up north along that trail are the worst.” He eyed the women in the crowd. “I don’t like to tell of the atrocities in mixed company.”

Later, Coatman told the group’s leaders about an incident that had happened earlier that spring. Laramie officers had invited Sioux leaders to a peace council. While promises were being made to the Indians, a large regiment arrived ready to build up fortifications to the north. When the Sioux realized the US Army had already decided to fortify the north and were meeting with their leaders under false pretenses, they were so angry they started attacking all along the Bozeman Trail. Besides scalping, they’d been known to castrate their victims and pull out their entrails.

“Even down here on the Oregon, trains are supposed to have at least forty people in them, for safety. The government put out that mandate last year. The Indians won’t usually attack the larger trains, especially if they’re well fortified and guarded. But a lot of settlers are ignoring the mandate and coming in smaller groups. One even came during the winter, which is astounding after the Donner party. A lot of them pay for it, too. You’ll see a number of overturned, looted wagons and cabins between here and Fort Hall, including two stage stations. This is the worst two hundred miles on your route. Once you get to Soda Springs you should be fine, although an entire family was killed there a few years ago. People that found them took the wheels off their wagon and buried the whole family inside it.”

“We’ve seen some smoke to the northwest,” said Colonel Dotson. “Thin line.”

“We have?” Christine looked at him. “That’s news to me.”

“We didn’t want to worry you women. I sent Chessor out to investigate right after all that rain, but any sign of a trail got washed out. We’ve not seen any smoke since. More than likely it was just a lone rider.”

Still . . . the mood of the entire train turned sober. Josephine didn’t sing. The children didn’t play hide-and-seek. Couples didn’t stroll down to the water and back. And Hoke hardly slept. He watched the stallion during the day to see if he pricked his ears, and he watched Rascal at night, believing the dog would wake him if he heard anything out of the ordinary.

June 28, 1866

A few days ago we passed a station formerly used by the Pony Express, now abandoned, new telegraph poles strung overhead. It’s so vast and lonely out here it is hard to imagine there are settlements at the end of those poles.

I continue to waver between confidence and trepidation as we draw nearer our answers, Mimi. It feels like the skies are brooding in the distance.

They rode into Fort Laramie on June 29, weary and grateful to be near fortified walls.

By the time most settlers arrived at Laramie, the romance of the adventure had long worn off. They’d experienced storms, rivers, sleeplessness, sameness of diet, monotony of landscape, and death.

Sometimes settlers got to Laramie and decided to turn around and go home. Several families on the Dotson train thought about it: Sam and Audrey Beckett with their new baby; the Kensington sisters, who had both been ill with mountain fever; Nichodemus and Nora Jasper, who had inherited several hundred dollars found in the Vandergelden wagon along with a stockpile of whiskey; and Abigail Baldwyn, who was getting colder and colder feet with every step that took her closer to Fort Hall.

All of these people and more considered turning back. But in the end, every family decided to keep moving forward.

Within moments of their arrival at Fort Laramie, a tall soldier walked up to the Baldwyn wagons.

“Mrs. Robert Baldwyn?” he asked.

Abigail held her breath.

“Letter for you, ma’am.” He handed her a thick letter addressed in Mimi’s handwriting.

“Charlie! Corrine! Jacob! Lina!” The children came running.

“Is it from Pa?” asked Charlie.

“No. Mimi.”

Charlie looked disappointed but Corrine said, “Quick, open it!”

Abigail’s hands were shaking so violently she couldn’t untie the string. Corrine took it. “Here, let me.”

May 21, 1866

Dear Mrs. Abigail,

How I hope this letter finds you and the children well. So much has happened since you left. First, Annie B recovered. We all thought she was going to die from whatever it was ailed her, but just when it seemed all was lost, she recovered.

There is a small community of Negroes here and we have formed a church. I surely did enjoy going to that Presbyterian church with you in Marston, but it was nothing like the joy I get worshipping here. The men pitched in and built a simple building. It is only one room with an open back door and side windows to let the breeze flow. The walls cannot contain the singing.

And the cooking! We bring food every Sunday and have a feast like you can’t imagine. I am going to feel bad writing this if you and my babies have been suffering for food. I pray that is not so.

Corrine stopped and looked at the others.

“What I wouldn’t give for Mimi’s cooking right now,” said Jacob.

“The letter, Corrine!” Abigail urged her.

If you’ll just pour your love into the food like I do, you’ll be fine. Same way you pour your love into the fabric when you’re working it into a pretty garment. It will put health on my babies’ bones, so promise me you’ll try.

Corrine raised her eyebrows at Abigail just like Mimi used to do. They all laughed.

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” said Abigail. “Now keep reading.”

Your father is growing meaner, I do believe. He never was a mean man before the war but some men need a woman to make them tame.

Corrine raised her eyebrows again.

I know you probably think what do I know about it, but surprise, surprise. I have done married, Mrs. Abigail!

Corrine’s jaw dropped. Lina put her hand over her mouth.

“It does not say that.” Abigail snatched the letter. “Oh my word, it
does
say that.”

“My heart got swelled,” said Lina. Charlie picked her up as Abigail finished reading out loud.

And guess who? The preacher of our new congregation. He never was a slave, but is a free man from upstate New York who came to Tennessee to especially encourage his brothers and sisters as they are figuring out what they want for their lives.

Just think, if Annie B hadn’t fallen ill, I would have gone to Independence with you and missed meeting my Thomas. He is a good man, Mrs. Abigail.

Abigail stopped reading for a minute, her throat growing tight.

I know you would approve of him. Even though our courtship was short, the Lord, He whispered in my ear that it was the right thing to do.

Abigail stopped reading again, her throat threatening now to close.

You know I listen when the Lord talks, and now He has gone and taken care of me. He is going to . . .

This time when Abigail stopped reading, Corrine smiled and took the letter from her hands to finish.

He is going to take care of you, too. (I know, because He whispered it in my ear.) And I understand why you sent me my freedom papers. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it. But my love to you was always free. You need to know that.

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose as Corrine continued reading.

Thad and Mrs. Sue Anne had their new baby, right on the heels of the other one. They named him Seth Robert and wanted you to know. Your father has not rejected him. We all take this as a good sign.

My love and hugs to the children. I have enclosed a letter for each of them. I wrote Lina’s in big letters because I know she is still learning.

Corrine handed out the letters and gave the first one back to Abigail.

Signed, Mrs. Thomas Hargrove (but you can still call me Mimi).

Abigail was so happy to have heard from Mimi that when the soldiers threw a dance in their train’s honor later that evening, she wore her blue dress. Corrine didn’t say a word about it.

The waist piece was fashioned like a corset worn over a white blouse. A dyed blue string laced up the front and the bottom of the Swiss waist dipped to a low V, pointing down to a wide flounced skirt. It wasn’t on a hoop but still swung slow and wide, thanks to the stiffness of an underskirt of crinoline.

The dress sent quite a buzz through the soldier ranks.

Hoke was standing beside Lieutenant Coatman and several other men when she came into the fort’s dining hall. The lieutenant turned to him. “Did someone tell me she was married?”

“I don’t know, did they?” Hoke didn’t like for so many men to be following her with their eyes. “You know any of the men at Fort Hall?”

Coatman’s eyes lingered on her. “A few. What’s his name?”

Hoke didn’t like where Coatman’s eyes were concentrating.

“Baldwyn,” he said flatly.

Coatman nodded, his eyes never leaving Abigail. “Yeah. He’s been here.”

Hoke’s eyes bored through him. “Robert Baldwyn?”

“Yeah.” Coatman frowned up at Hoke, then looked back at Abigail. “Lucky man.”

A hard blow to Hoke’s stomach couldn’t have hurt more. In spite of all evidence that seemed to prove the man’s existence, he had not wanted to believe him real.

“When was he here last?” Hoke asked.

“Month and a half ago, maybe?” Coatman crossed his arms. “Never said a word about his wife coming.”

When another soldier came over to ask the lieutenant a question, Hoke stepped to the wall opposite Abigail Baldwyn.

He was just breathing normally again when Irene approached him. “You’ve never asked me to dance, Hoke Mathews, and I’m starting to get my feelings hurt.”

“We can’t have that.” He bowed. “Miss McConnelly, shall we?”

She smiled. “It’s actually Mrs. Stinson, but I was married such a short time everybody still thinks of me as Irene McConnelly.”

“Begging your pardon then, Mrs. Stinson.” He led her onto the dance floor.

“You know, you’re hard to read,” she said.

“How’s that?”

“You don’t talk much. Mr. Parker, now, he is very sociable.”

“Would you like me to get him for you?”

“No!” She held tight to Hoke’s arm.

Hoke did not place his hand low on her back nor lay her hand on his chest like he had with Abigail Baldwyn. He refused to look over Irene’s head at Abigail but knew when she passed on the dance floor. He seemed always to be aware of her movements, as if she held him by a string.