Walk by Faith (12 page)

D
awson found Clarissa and Carolyn both inside Clarissa's wagon, tending to a crying, terrified Sophie. A sniffling Lena sat at the end near the wagon seat, terror in her eyes.

“Come on out so I can get in there,” Dawson told Carolyn. “Take Lena out of here.”

A sobbing Clarissa looked at him with devastation in her eyes. “How did this happen? They came out of nowhere!”

Dawson helped Carolyn down, and she hurried around to lift Lena down from the front of the wagon while Dawson climbed inside. “Zeb and I got most of them,” he told Clarissa. “One got away. I've told folks to circle the wagons, and Zeb rode after the one who escaped to do a little spying and see if there are more camped somewhere over the bluff.”

Clarissa held Sophie close, a blood-soaked bandage on the girl's left arm, a lot of the blood also staining Clarissa's blue gingham dress. “I'm so glad you're here,” she sobbed. “I've treated all kinds of wounds, but when it's your own daughter—” She couldn't finish.

“I know,” Dawson answered, his heart aching for her. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Graham. I was only looking ahead for trouble, not behind.”

She shook her head. “You couldn't have known. I'm just glad you and Zeb got here and shot most of them before they could do more harm. Poor Mrs. Buettner. I think they killed her.”

“Let me look at Sophie's arm.”

“I think it's a flesh wound. I don't think it broke the bone, but she's so terrified I can't get her to let me look at it good.”

“Sophie.” Dawson spoke her name. “It's Mr. Clements. Can I look at your arm?”

“It hoots,” the girl said, her body jerking in sobs.

“Maybe I can fix it. Remember when I kept you from getting hurt by those horses back in St. Louis? Can I help you again? If you want your arm to get all better you have to let your mommy and I bandage it better.”

Pouting, Sophie looked at him with big blue eyes that tore at his heart.

“I wouldn't want to live without my Sophie,” Clarissa told him, leaning down to kiss the girl's tears. “It will be okay, sweetie. Please let us fix your arm. We can make it feel lots better.”

“Okay,” the girl answered in a tiny, pathetic tone that made Dawson want to hug her. In his army career he'd not had much chance to be around children, and her innocence stirred him. Being around her helped him start to believe what Clarissa had told him, that little children can't be held responsible for things they do in total innocence. Was there really hope he could be forgiven?

Carefully he unwrapped Sophie's upper arm and felt along the bone. She cried harder, but she didn't pull away. “You sure are a brave little soldier,” he told her. “I've seen grown men cry over a wound like this, and they wouldn't let me touch them.” He looked at Clarissa. “I agree. It's a flesh wound. We should wash it out with whiskey and wrap it tighter. As long as she doesn't get infection she should be fine, except for a scar, which I hate to see on such a pretty little thing.” He sighed. “Give her to me and find some more bandages and some whiskey.”

Clarissa met his eyes as he took Sophie. “Thank you,” she told him.

“Don't thank me. If I'd been more alert this wouldn't have happened.”

She wiped at her tears. “You've got to stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens to others, Mr. Clements. I don't blame you for this.”

He pulled Sophie close, as she shook quietly, her crying now ended. “Lawyer Burkette does,” he told her.

Clarissa dug into a small trunk and pulled out clean bandage material and a small bottle of whiskey. “Lawyer Burkette likes to pretend he knows everything. He's an arrogant man who doesn't like having to answer to anyone. It bothers him that someone other than himself is in charge, so he's looking for any excuse to call you out.”

Dawson thought how beautiful Clarissa was even in her current disheveled state, her hair coming undone, her hazel eyes puffy and red from crying. He imagined how beautiful she would be with that rich auburn hair falling around bare shoulders. Don't be a fool, Clements!

“Here's the whiskey,” she said. “Sophie, sweetie, this is going to sting, but after that your arm will feel better, I promise. Remember, Mommy is a nurse. I fix people's owies.”

Quiet tears trickled down the sides of her face then as she lay face-up in Dawson's arms. “I'll be a bwave soldoo,” she answered.

Clarissa and Dawson both grinned, but then Sophie screamed when the whiskey hit the open wound. Dawson held her tightly.

“It's okay, Sophie,” he told her. “I remember how bad it hurt when your mommy put that stuff on my leg. Remember when I came to your house?”

“Yeah,” the girl replied through sniffles.

Clarissa began wrapping the arm. “Once this is on nice and tight, you'll feel lots better,” she told Sophie.

Dawson could only imagine how terrified she must have been to see her daughter shot. He could well imagine what a horror it would be for her to lose her little girl.

“I was so afraid it was worse than this when Mr. Harvey told me Sophie had been shot,” he told Clarissa. In the confines of the wagon she was so close, the only thing between them being Sophie herself.

“How is she? Shall I come in and pray?” Michael Harvey was standing at the back of the wagon.

“Yes, do pray,” Clarissa answered, “but don't come inside. There isn't room, and Mr. Clements seems to have a calming effect on Sophie. I want him to stay a few more minutes.”

“It's just a flesh wound,” Dawson told the man. “You'd be better off praying for Mrs. Buettner, and we'll need you to pray over all the graves when they're ready. Personally I wouldn't offer any prayers for those no-goods out there who did this, but I suppose you think everyone needs praying over, so do what you think is best, Mr. Harvey.”

Michael nodded. “Thanks for helping with the little girl. She likes you, you know.”

Michael left, and Clarissa and Dawson could hear him telling someone to get a shovel. “Let's get these men buried before dark so we can be on guard during the night.”

Clarissa finished wrapping Sophie's arm. “Do you think they'll come back?”

“Hard to say. They were probably rebels looking for food and supplies. A lot of them are starting to get desperate. Zeb will be back by night with a report.”

“You must be pretty good with that rifle.”

“Sixteen years in the army requires it. When a pack of Indians are after your scalp, you learn to shoot straight.”

Sophie was calm now. Clarissa smiled at his remark. “Do you think we'll have Indian trouble, Mr. Clements?”

“You never know. They're probably feeling pretty confident right now, what with half the western army involved in the war. Some forts have been completely abandoned. The Indians might think this is a good time to raise some he—uh, to do some raiding and such.”

Clarissa tied off the bandage. “How's that, Sophie? Feel better?”

“A little.” The girl nodded, then looked up at Dawson. “You my daddy now?”

The question astounded both of them.

“Sophie!” Clarissa exclaimed. “What on earth made you say that?”

“Mistoo Clement fixed me like a daddy would. I can tell. He's holding me like a daddy.” She looked into Dawson's eyes. “I want a daddy like Lena has.” She looked at Clarissa, all innocence. “Can Mistoo Clement be my daddy?”

Dawson cleared his throat nervously, and he saw color come into Clarissa's cheeks. “It's all right,” he assured her. “She's just wanting a daddy. She doesn't understand what that involves.”

Clarissa put her hands to her cheeks. “I'm so embarrassed. And so sorry.”

“Don't be.” Their gazes held a moment, and Dawson longed to tell her he'd like the chance to be Sophie's daddy, but poor Clarissa would probably be shocked and insulted and kick him out of the wagon. Still, there was something in her eyes that almost made him tell her how he was feeling.

No. He didn't deserve a woman like Clarissa Graham, or the happiness a little girl like Sophie could bring him, or children of his own.

Fearing Clarissa would read his thoughts, he looked down at Sophie. “Sophie, as long as we're on this trip, I'll be your
pretend
daddy, but I can't be around much, you know. I have to help everybody, not just you and your mommy.”

“That's okay. Can I call you Daddy?”

Dawson frowned. “How about Dawson? That might be better.”

The girl actually smiled. “Okay.”

Dawson looked at Clarissa. “Why don't you call me Dawson, too? Mr. Clements is beginning to sound too formal, what with you fixing my leg and the couple of little talks we've had, and now this.”

“Then you must call me Clare.”

He smiled. “All right. And to make sure people don't get the wrong idea, I'll address Mr. Harvey as Michael and his wife as Carolyn, and start calling a few others by their first names.”

Clarissa nodded. “Yes, we certainly wouldn't want the others to misunderstand.”

“Right.”

Again her big, beautiful eyes held his gaze. What was she trying to tell him? Did he dare think she had feelings for him that went beyond a simple friendship?

“Thank you again, Mr.—I mean, Dawson.”

“I'm so sorry it happened at all, Clare.” He looked down at Sophie, deciding he had to get out of this wagon. It was too painful being so close to Clare Graham. “Sophie, you lie very still now for a while. Try to go to sleep, will you? We'll camp right here the rest of the day and tonight. I don't want you jostled around in this wagon.” He looked at Clarissa again. “Besides, we have some graves to dig.” He scooted out from under Sophie and gently laid her into the comforter she used for a bed, then moved to the back of the wagon. “You'd better stay in here and rest yourself. Did you unload any of your supplies for those men?”

“I didn't have a chance because of Sophie.”

“Good. Then I don't have to worry about looking for what belongs to you. I'll tell Carolyn to make you and Sophie something to eat.”

“Thank you. You're a good man, Dawson. And this wasn't your fault. Believe that. Neither are the other things you blame yourself for. God loves you very much. He even loves those bandits, and if they asked His forgiveness, He would forgive them. There is nothing man can do that cannot be forgiven, Dawson. Remember that.”

“Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that, but it's a nice thought.” He gave her a smile and left, thinking how just minutes ago he was furious and terrified, shooting men down with not a thought to taking the lives of such scoundrels. But as soon as he climbed in that wagon with Clare Graham and little Sophie, he softened up like a biscuit soaked in milk. What was happening to him?

 

June 8, 1863

H
aans Buettner left the wagon train, taking his remaining two children with him. He was simply too brokenhearted to continue the journey, for he'd planned to settle in Montana and build a new life with his beloved wife. Now that she and his little Ruth were both gone, he didn't have the heart to go on. He took Florence's wrapped body with him when he left, planning to find Ruth's grave and bury her mother beside her.

It was painful to watch the man leave them, and it reminded Clarissa how lucky she was that Sophie was alive. Eric Buettner decided to go on with the supply wagon and open his supply store as planned. After a matter of time, Haans would come back west, after the children had time to heal and get over their mother's and sister's deaths.

Zeb and Dawson both spent the next eight days after the attack riding ahead and behind the train, keeping watch both ways and staying in the saddle from dawn to dusk. Dawson was right in telling Sophie that she wouldn't see much of him, and Clarissa suspected he was glad for the excuse to stay away. Sophie's remark about wanting him to be her daddy had embarrassed him as well as herself, although there were moments when she could not help wondering how nice that might be, if Dawson Clements truly knew what he wanted out of life.

Sophie recovered well, thank goodness. The girl had begun talking about Dawson often, asking when he would stop and talk to her again. After having her own daddy walk out on her, Clarissa wondered how Sophie would handle it when this trip was over and Dawson Clements went his own way. She wasn't sure how she would feel about that herself. It was becoming more and more difficult to picture him riding out of her life, and that was a dangerous way to feel about a man.

They followed the Platte day after day, allowed to take one afternoon to wash some clothes in the river and take a half-day's rest. Clarissa could tell her clothes were beginning to hang on her. All the walking had caused her to lose weight. Most everyone else was looking the same, mostly tired and gaunt despite having enough food.

Most of the travelers had never done so much walking or worked so hard day after day. There were no front porches to sit on, no casual evening socials, no comfortable beds to sleep in, no tables to sit at, no way to wash or for a woman to fix her hair fancy or wear a pretty dress.

It had come to the point where no one much cared how they looked, and it had grown so hot that most of the women had given up wearing several underslips. Mosquitoes were becoming a huge problem, so much so that people seldom sat around long at night. They preferred getting into their wagons or wherever they chose to sleep and covering themselves with netting. Some even slapped mud on their necks and faces as a deterrent to the pesky, whining, stinging insects.

Finally they were camped at their next major stop, the junction of the North and South Platte. Here they would cross the river again and follow the North Platte. This time there were no ferries, and Clarissa did not look forward to the arduous, dangerous crossing, although Dawson had assured them that although the Platte was swollen, it still shouldn't be more than three or four feet deep at the most. He told them that later in the summer it was practically no more than mud in some places.

“Mommy, it's Dawson!” Sophie spoke up.

Clarissa closed her diary and looked up from the log she sat on to see him approaching the area along the river where she was camped with Carolyn and Michael. A cool breeze had kicked up, helping ward off the mosquitoes, and Lena and Sophie were playing by drawing pictures in an area of damp sand nearby.

“Hi, Dawson!” Sophie literally ran to the man. “Look at my owie!”

Dawson knelt down and studied the new bandage there. “Well, it looks like you're doing just fine, little soldier.”

“Yeah! You fixed me!”

“Well, I'm glad.”

“Will you pick me up?”

Dawson hesitated.

“Now, who could turn down an invitation like that?” Michael asked jovially.

Dawson grinned and lifted Sophie.

“Look, Mommy, I'm high!”

“I see that.”

“Come and sit down a while,” Michael offered. “We have some coffee left.”

Dawson looked around, appearing somewhat uncomfortable. “I guess it would be all right.” He carried Sophie to a food crate that served as a chair and sat down, letting the little girl sit on his knee. Lena ran over and insisted on sitting on the other knee.

“Well, now, if that isn't a sight!” Carolyn exclaimed.

Both little girls hugged Dawson, who looked embarrassed. “Hey now, people are going to think I'm a big softie,” he told the girls. “I can't have them thinking that if I expect them to take orders from me,” he teased.

“Dawson's my daddy,” Sophie said in a rather bragging way to Lena. “Now
I
have a daddy, too!”

The girls giggled, and Clarissa reddened. “Sophie, stop saying that.”

“It's okay, I guess,” Dawson told her. “If it makes her happy. No real harm done.”

Clarissa raised her eyebrows. “Until we reach our destination and you ride off into the sunset,” she answered. “She knows she had a daddy before and that he's gone. I'm not sure she'll like seeing you leave, too.”

Dawson lifted both girls down and told them to go draw him a picture in the sand so he could drink his coffee. They ran off, and he took a tin cup of coffee from Clarissa.

“Well,” he answered, “maybe I
won't
ride off into the sunset.”

“Now there's some words I like to hear,” Michael said. “You need to settle, Dawson, and I sure would like it if you claimed some land near me so I could call on you for help now and then.”

Did he mean it? Was Dawson really considering staying in Montana? Why did that make Clarissa so happy?

“Help? I thought you were going to build a church,” Dawson told him. “Don't expect me to help with that or help you raise money or something.”

Michael laughed. “Yes, I'll build a church. But in the meantime I have to provide for the family. I'll likely be looking into ranching, raising cattle or something.”

Dawson rested his elbows on his knees, holding the cup with both hands. “You've got to have a good plan to settle in land like that,” he told Michael. “It's pretty harsh and unforgiving. If I were you, I'd settle in town somewhere first, maybe get a job while you build a congregation—get yourself used to the country and learn a little more about cattle and ranching or farming.”

Michael sobered. “Well, I appreciate the advice. If you stay around maybe we could find a way to work together. You know the land better than I do.”

Dawson shrugged. “I've never ranched, but I guess I could learn quick enough. I know about horses and what they need. I'd have to do some studying when it comes to cattle.”

“Speaking of studying, did you get any schooling in the army? You seem a pretty well-spoken man,” Carolyn said.

Dawson studied the cup he held as he talked, and Clarissa again wondered at his mood changes. This was the most talkative he'd been so far.

“Finished the equivalent of high school and a little college,” he told them, “by the good graces of a major whose life I happened to save in the Mexican War. He sent me to his home in Philadelphia for more schooling. He was killed fighting Indians a couple of years after I returned to the army. Army life is all I've ever known, till now.”

“And during all that time you've never married or been in love?” Carolyn asked.

Dawson pursed his lips and thought a moment before answering. “I married once—a Mexican woman—more out of loneliness than love, and she just wanted out of the miserable conditions she was living in. She ended up dying only a few months later. She was carrying. The baby died with her.”

“Oh, how sad!” Carolyn commented.

Dawson stared at his coffee cup. “Death and loss seem to follow me. I haven't dared care much about anyone since. I had one pretty good friend in the army, but he was shot down right in front of my eyes at Shiloh. Like I said, it's almost dangerous getting close to me.”

After another moment of silence, Michael spoke up. “You've got to get such thoughts out of your head, Dawson. God loves you too much. I'm sorry you've never known the joy of having a real family around you.”

Dawson glanced at Clarissa, then at Michael. “Up until I was eight years old I did. It's hard to remember most of it now, but from what I can recall, my parents were good people.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, I suppose Clare told you how they died.”

Michael nodded. “Yes, she did. I'm so sorry you lost both parents at such a young age, but it was an accident, and you're not to blame. No child that age is capable of such a deliberate action.”

Dawson suddenly gulped down the rest of his coffee. “I'd better go.”

“Dawson, come look!” Sophie called out.

He rose and handed his cup to Clarissa. “Thanks for the coffee.” He walked over to look at Sophie and Lena's drawings, telling them they were very good, then hurried away.

“You got too close to the subject of his childhood,” Clarissa told Michael.

Michael shook his head. “Some day he'll come to me and let me pray for him, and he'll understand that he's forgiven—more important, that he doesn't
need
forgiving. You mark my words. And that man is giving a lot of thought to you, Clarissa Graham. That was a pretty big hint, talking about settling in Montana.”

Clarissa smiled bashfully. “Maybe. But I'm not sure it matters, Michael. I've been disappointed once in the worst way. I'm not sure I could ever trust someone that much again.”

“You would if you could find a way to forgive Chad for what he did to you and Sophie. That's the only thing that will keep you from loving again, Clare. Dawson Clements is a lot of man to turn your back to, and look how much Sophie likes him. Chad Graham couldn't hold a candle to that man.”

She waved him off. “It might not even matter. Dawson might have something else in mind completely, something that doesn't even involve me. And don't forget how strong the smell of gold can be. It's silly of us to talk about this. We are taking far too much for granted, and I'm not interested anyway.”

Michael shook his head. “My, oh my. You are the worst liar who ever walked the face of the earth. And Dawson? I can see right through that man. He's interested, all right. He just doesn't feel worthy of you, or of happiness. When he learns to quit blaming himself for things that aren't his fault, he'll be able to open his heart and truly love someone. I told you, Clare. God is working in His own way, on you and Mr. Clements both.”

“Since when did you become such a romantic?” Clarissa teased.

“Just calling it as I see it,” Michael answered.

Clarissa folded her arms. “Then you're looking through rose-colored spectacles.” She walked over to join Sophie and Lena, praising their drawing.

“See, Mommy?” Sophie pointed to her drawing, a man and a woman and a little girl, drawn as stick figures. “It's you and me and Dawson. And this is the house we'll have someday.”

“Is that so?” Clarissa thought how it was going to break poor Sophie's heart—and maybe hers—when Dawson left them….