Leaving Independence (8 page)

“They won’t go barefoot on the trip, will they?”

“I won’t be surprised if they do. They’re wild as bucks.”

Abigail thought the children weren’t the only folks at the gathering who looked wild as bucks—in fact, several looked like the type to have taken her money. Some had simple farm wagons with homespun cloth coverings on top. Abigail had bought the best linseed-oiled coverings for her wagons that she could find. That was what Robert and her father would have done. She had spent nearly everything on supplies for this trip. She had even insisted on paying Hoke more than he had agreed to for his mules and horses.

Abigail saw now how naïve she had been, and how naïve not to have hidden her money better. The possibility of theft had never occurred to her. She felt deeply aware of her dependence. She was dependent on Mrs. Helton, dependent on God’s grace . . . and ever more dependent on the husband she was traveling toward . . . the husband who had abandoned them.

“Company C will be led by Hoke Mathews. Hoke is a former scout for the cavalry and served as a US Marshal in Colorado Territory, along with James Parker, also in Company C.”

Hoke raised his arm but didn’t hop up on the wagon as the others had. James Parker was the tall, bearded gentleman standing next to Hoke, judging from the reaction of the other men, who suddenly sized the two up with visible appreciation.

Mathews . . .
where had she heard that name before?

Jacob slapped Charlie’s arm. “I told you he looked like a sheriff!”

“He wasn’t a sheriff, Jake. He was a US Marshal.”

“That’s even tougher.”

Corrine elbowed Jacob. “Shush!”

Abigail frowned and the children quieted but continued to trade threatening stares. Lina crawled into Abigail’s lap.

“Other families in Company C are the Baldwyns, Austelles, Dr. Isaacs, Mrs. Atwood, the Becketts, and Tam Woodford.”

So . . . they were in Hoke’s company. Abigail was glad. Now she understood why Dotson and Jenkins had been so eager to have him join the trip. She, too, would sleep a little easier knowing his wagon was to be close to hers. Had her inclusion in his company been mere chance?

Melinda hugged her. “In the same company! And with a lawman for a leader. I’ve got to go find Mr. Austelle and see what he knows about those other families. By the way, that gentleman over there’s been smiling at you.”

Abigail turned in the direction of Melinda’s nod as the gentleman stepped forward. “Mr. Isaacs!”

“Mrs. Baldwyn, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” He grinned. “Most people call me Doc.”

“You’re the physician the colonel just mentioned?” Abigail set Lina down and stepped back from the ring of travelers to speak to him.

He nodded.

“And part of Dotson’s wagon train?”

“I am. And it sounds like we’re in the same company.”

Abigail was thrilled. Melinda Austelle was starting to feel like a friend, and now here was another familiar face . . . so unexpected. “Where’s your son?”

“He’s my nephew.” Doc Isaacs smiled warmly at her. “I’m not married. Will’s over there.” He pointed to a woman standing several feet away with the boy on her hip. “My sister, Caroline, is recently widowed.” Abigail could see the family resemblance. Doc Isaacs and his sister were both fair-headed and attractive. And Will, with his snowy white hair, was as angelic as Lina, Abigail’s youngest.

Irene McConnelly and another dark-haired woman with her both turned to stare at Abigail and Doc Isaacs from under pinched brows.

Doc winked at Abigail. “I think we’re being scolded.”

Colonel Dotson finished talking about Company D, whose leader was a large, affable man named John Sutler.

“We’ll rotate the lead group each week,” said the colonel. “If a wagon falls out of formation, let your company leader know. Fall back in as soon as you can. If there’s any sign of danger, get word to your leader. He’ll have someone mounted each day that can run up and down the train with word. If there’s trouble, we’ll circle up just like we do at night, in a double ring, putting the women and children inside.”

Dotson called Harry Sims, the preacher, to the front and asked him to say a few words. Harry Sims was barrel-chested and softer spoken than any preacher Abigail had ever heard.

Doc Isaacs excused himself to go back to his sister.

“What was his name?” whispered a woman standing behind Abigail.

“Marc Isaacs,” said Abigail. “He’s a physician.”

“No, the preacher.”

“Oh. Sims, I think.”

The woman was attractive, but—Abigail felt guilty for thinking it—masculine. Her dress sleeves were rolled up past her elbows, revealing the strongest forearms Abigail had ever seen on a woman.

“Huh.” The woman looked hard at Harry Sims as he read Psalm 23. “He don’t sound like no preacher I ever heard.” She thrust her hand at Abigail as soon as Sims finished. “Tam Woodford.”

“Abigail Baldwyn.”

“These all your kids?”

“Yes.”

“They’re a good-lookin’ bunch. No husband?”

“He’s in Idaho Territory, fighting the Indians,” said Jacob. “We’re going to meet him.”

“I reckon he’ll be glad to see you’uns. I don’t have a husband. Never had one.”

“You’re traveling by yourself?” asked Corrine.

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Woodford could be waitin’ out there for me. Thought I better go find out, ’cause he ain’t back there in Independence.” She jerked her thumb toward town.

Lina smiled shyly at her as they said good night.

That night, Abigail had a tough time settling the children and doubted she’d sleep herself.

CHAPTER 8

Sleeping in a covered wagon

April 10, 1866

We begin, Mimi.

Charlie read that over 300,000 settlers have left from Independence, St. Joseph, and Council Bluffs. How many of them will be in Oregon? California? Salt Lake City? Montana? Or Idaho?

Abigail’s eyes opened. Where was she? On a strange bed with Lina nuzzled close. Corrine lay on the other side of Lina. Both were sleeping soundly.

Remember when our mothers let us sleep on the porch at night? How the dew seeped through the screen and we woke up under damp quilts with the taste of Tennessee dust in our noses? Sleeping in a covered wagon feels like sleeping on the screened porch again.

The quilts were heavy with damp and Abigail’s mouth tasted like new-wagon sawdust. Their bed, which lay on top of the burlap sacks that held their clothes, was so high she could reach out and touch the coarse canvas that flapped in the wind all night. It was surprising she had slept at all. Horses and cattle moved in the grass nearby, their earthy scent seeping through the cracks of the wagon’s planks.

She shivered. It was cold, but not freezing.

Abigail eased Lina’s arm off her stomach and scooted to the end of the bed. In the predawn light she couldn’t tell the time but thought she heard people moving around camp. Wagons were spread over several acres in no real order. Last night there had been introductions and laughter, dogs barking excitedly, children running, parents scolding, and continued packing in the wagons. Now all was silent but for a few soft stirrings.

This was it. Tuesday. They would set out at sunup.

The colonel and Christine had come to check on her last night after the meeting. No one else had reported missing money. They assured her that the money she had after the sale of her pendant should be enough to pay for incidentals along the way.

“We’re all in this together,” said Colonel Dotson. But Abigail was determined that her family not be a burden.

As she dressed and smoothed her hair, she wished for more light.

I’ve nailed a round mirror at a downward angle at the top of the wooden slats, securing it with string to keep it from moving as we jostle. Beneath that sits an upturned wooden crate with a blue tin washbowl and pitcher. It is a poor substitute for the sideboard dresser with its beveled mirror and porcelain wash set I had in Marston, but I am resolved not to feel sorry for myself.

Raising the back flap, Abigail eased out into the moist predawn air. Her long skirts made it hard to see where to step. She envied Lina and Corrine their shorter dresses but didn’t know how they were going to fare climbing in and out either, especially short-legged Lina, who would have a far hop to the ground.

A couple of fires burned in the distance, but she could see little else. Feeling her way to the nearest wagon, she climbed up to check on the boys. Rascal’s head popped up. Charlie and Jacob had lifted him in during the night to quiet his whining.

Charlie whispered, “That you, Ma? Time to get up?”

She had asked the boys to sleep in the wagon this first night just to ease her mind. The feeling of having been watched in town, then having her money stolen, had made her uneasy. Hopefully the feeling would go away once they got on the trail.

“It’s still dark,” she whispered. “Get a little more sleep if you can. I’m going to start breakfast.”

As she stepped off in the dark, Abigail slapped into something hard—a body!

“You all right, ma’am?” She recognized the deep voice as an iron-strong arm reached out to steady her.

“Yes. Sorry. I can’t see a thing.”

“Why don’t we fix that?”

He moved off before she could thank him. She heard twigs breaking and the striking of a match. Soon a small fire crackled, the light dancing patterns on his face and hands. Abigail liked the hot smell of the wood burning—it helped cover the stench of manure that hung over the camp, trapped in the mist of the coming morning.

She felt for the dish crate she had prepared the night before and pulled it from the boys’ wagon, nearly dropping it.

“Need help with that?” Hoke was at her elbow.

“No, I’ve got it. Thank you.” She didn’t want him burdened by her lack of a husband. Was that why they put her in his company? “You don’t have to look out for us, Mr. Hoke. We’ll get the hang of things.”

“Just Hoke. You’re going to have a sore back if you pull that off there every morning. Here.” He took the crate from her hands and set it by the fire. “Mind if I put a pot of coffee on and share this fire with you?” He smelled like the dawn—like sod and the horses—like the wooden sticks now popping in the flames.

“That would be fine.”

Surely he wasn’t going to stand there and watch her! She couldn’t make herself stop rattling the dishes until he walked off into the distance.

Mrs. Helton told me how to make skillet biscuits, saying that would be easiest, but she went through the directions fast, assuming I had some basic knowledge of cooking. I was too embarrassed to admit otherwise.

Soon Charlie and Jacob were at the fire. Abigail handed Jacob the milk bucket.

“How much?” he asked.

“As much as you can get.” Abigail smoothed his unruly hair.

Jacob retousled it and set off swinging the milk bucket.

“I’ll feed and water the teams,” said Charlie. She was pleased to see that Charlie had combed his hair.

Jacob soon ran back, sloshing the milk. “I’m helping Charlie with the mules!”

“Slow down, Jacob,” she hissed, but he was already out of earshot.

Abigail tried to ease the milk into the flour and lard like Mimi always did, but the dough stuck to her hands. Wiping them off as best she could, she pulled out a wire rack to place over the fire for the skillet to set on. How was she going to manage this without burning herself every morning?

Smoke blew in her eyes. Hoke was back with a small table for her to work on.

“Are those biscuits?” he asked.

“I hope so.” Abigail wanted to show appreciation for his help but hesitated to offer him any, fearing her biscuits wouldn’t turn out. “Should I make extra for you and Mr. Parker?”

“That would be nice. I’ll send James with some bacon.”

The sky lightened and roosters, so close Abigail jumped at the sound of them, began to crow. Someone came toward the fire chuckling. “Those roosters belong to the Schroeder clan yonder,” the person said, pointing. “They’ve fastened chicken wire to the sides of their wagons and made floatin’ henhouses.”

It was the tall, bearded man she’d seen with Hoke last night.

“My God, you’re pretty. I don’t believe we’ve met. James Parker.” He stuck out his hand, then drew it back when he saw hers were tacky with the dough. “Hoke has sent me over with bacon and coffee.” He held up a small black pot and a grinder.

Abigail looked up. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Parker.”

She went back to her work, expecting him to leave. But he didn’t. When she looked back up, he was grinning.

“Why don’t I grind the coffee and slice this up?” he offered. “You know, if we fry the bacon in that pan first, those biscuits might not stick as bad. Pan looks new. Fryin’ a pan full of bacon grease will help it cure.”

She looked down at the pan. “Oh, yes. Good idea. Thank you, Mr. Parker.”

Abigail picked her sticky biscuits back out of the pan and handed it to him. “I don’t have much experience cooking.”

“Well, I got lots. What do you say we do it together?”

She offered him a grateful smile.

“You know, I been tryin’ not to smile at the dough on your cheek.”

“Oh!” Abigail reached up and felt one of her cheeks.

James Parker was grinning down at her over his thick beard again. Then his voice dropped and his eyes got serious. “If you won’t think I’m pryin’, who did your cookin’ before now?”

Abigail appreciated the man’s ability to put others at ease, but she didn’t know him well enough to trust him with much information. She also didn’t trust herself to talk about Mimi without setting her heart to aching. “I had a woman who helped me. She went back to her sister, who was sick.”

Hoke was rubbing down the legs of the stallion, getting him ready to saddle, when James walked up.

“You’ll be glad to know I’ve got the bacon frying, the coffee ground, and the water boiling.”

Hoke didn’t answer.

“You keep rubbing that horse’s legs, you’ll wear the hide off.”

“Hast thou given thy horse strength, James? Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder?”

“I know that comes from the Bible you tote around in your saddlebags with all that ‘thou’ language in it. Now that I’ve met me a proper preacher, I mean to ask Harry Sims if he knows where that horse bit comes from. But I ain’t as dumb as a rock. I been over to deliver coffee, and now that I’ve seen that woman up close, I think I got an idee why you were suddenly so keen to go on this trip.”

Hoke didn’t bother looking at him. He kept working on the stallion.

“I ain’t as smart as you, but I ain’t as dumb as a rock,” James repeated.

Hoke still didn’t comment.

When James finally started to walk off, Hoke called after him, “We got enough extra wood to make the Baldwyns some steps on the back of their wagons? It’s going to be hard for those girls to climb in and out with dresses on.”

“Yeah, we got enough.”

“Good. Plan to help me with that when we stop this afternoon. And I’m studyin’ on how to make a grub box for those dishes so Mrs. Baldwyn doesn’t have to reach up for that crate every day.”

James shook his head. “You can think of more jobs than any man I ever met.”

Abigail’s back ached.

Driving a team isn’t hard, Mimi, not with how slow everyone is to get in formation, but four hours of sitting makes a wagon seat feel like a slab of moving rock.

James Parker was driving his and Hoke’s wagon. All morning Hoke had been on his horse, then off his horse, as he worked his way down the line of Company C helping people get adjusted to moving in a wagon train.

“You’re doing fine. Let ’em know you’re the boss. They’ll get the hang of things. Fall in behind that one, there,” Abigail heard him say to Charlie, then to her, then the Austelles, Doc Isaacs, Tam Woodford, and so forth.

Marc Isaacs waved to her from three wagons back.

“Who is that man?” asked Lina, standing in the wagon bed behind her.

“Dr. Isaacs. He has a nephew close to your age.”

Abigail’s back ached from spending a restless first night on a lumpy makeshift mattress, sitting on the hard wooden bench, turning so often to check on Lina and Corrine, and feeling so keyed up about the journey. Or maybe Hoke had been right about her getting a sore back from pulling the heavy dish crate down at breakfast.

When Colonel Dotson stopped the train at midday, she eased off the seat and reached up for Lina, feeling soreness down to every bone. As she unwrapped lunches she’d prepared for the children, Hoke came by with a bucket of water and swabbed the mules’ mouths and noses.

“Aren’t you going to stop and eat?” she asked.

“I will directly.”

Charlie ran to help him.

All too soon, it seemed to Abigail, Colonel Dotson was back on his big red horse motioning for each company to roll out again.