Westering Women

by Sandra Dallas

  “I did not know we were so vain,” Maggie said, as she repaired a collar on Sadie’s dress. “We have come thousands of miles through desert and mountain, driving oxen, fighting Indians and weather, and now are we reduced to frail womanhood?”

  “We will never be that,” Bessie replied. “We will never go back to what we were.”

  “No,” Maggie said. “For that alone I am grateful.” Then she asked, “What kind of a husband will you look for?”

  Bessie shrugged. “One who will be kind to Evaline,” she replied, “and one who is not perfect.”

  “I’d rather have a kind man than a rich one,” Penn told them.

  Maggie turned to study the girl, thinking how much Penn, too, had changed. She had joined them as a frightened young woman. Now she was strong and sure of herself. Mary did not believe Penn would ever again let a man hurt her.

  “Then you do not care about riches?” Maggie asked.

  Penn straightened her skirt. “Maybe I’ll get rich on my own.”

  Dora laughed. “How? Will you learn to pan for gold?”

  “Who knows?”

  “If you do not find your brother, will you look for a husband?” Caroline asked Winny.

  “I will find him,” Winny insisted. “Or he will find me.”

  One by one, they stopped their sewing and primping and wrapped up in quilts and blankets, and despite their excitement, they fell asleep, not waking until the sky in the east was pale.

  Maggie did not have to be hurried to eat breakfast and yoke the oxen, because with the end of their journey so close, she could not wait to reach the diggings. With the wagons packed, she moved off over the mountain trail with the others, Mary in the lead again, as she had been since they started into the mountains, her chestnut horse tied to the back of the wagon. Maggie led the second wagon, while Dora walked beside her, holding the baby. Maggie wished the animals would hurry, but they plodded along, just as they had for months, too dumb to know their journey was almost over. There were still mountains to cross, but after what they had come through, those mountains did not seem so formidable.

  They reached a wagon that was bogged down in the mud and stopped. A man cursed his oxen as he whipped them, but they could not pull the wagon out of the mire. “Give me the borrow of your oxen,” he demanded of Mary.

  “I am not inclined to do so,” Mary muttered, then looked at the harried woman beside him and the brood of thin and bewildered children and relented. She added her oxen to his, and they pulled his wagon onto dry ground.

  The man did not thank her but said, “You ought to trade me a pair of my oxen for yours. Mine are used up.”

  “You abused them. You are lucky they have got you this far,” Mary told him.

  “So you would leave me here with the wife and brats?”

  Mary looked him over and replied, “Your wife and brats are welcome to join us. You, sir, can sit with your wagon and poor oxen until kingdom come.” The retort pleased Maggie, who knew Mary would not have dared utter such an impertinence only a few months before.

  The man cursed her, but his wife looked up, and Maggie saw the trace of a smile on her lips.

  “I believe she was tempted,” Maggie told Dora, as they started on their way.

  The day had turned cold, and the mud along the trail was slippery. Harsh, stinging snow began to fall, making the ground slick with ice.

  They were on a downward slope now, a treacherous place where the trail was narrow. The mountain was on one side, and a steep chasm dropped off hundreds of feet on the other. “We must go lower to get out of the storm, no more than a mile,” William told them. “It is too dangerous to camp this high up.”

  Mary and Maggie hurried the oxen, but the animals would not go faster. The trail was too slick, and the wind had come up, swirling snow and making it difficult to see. Other travelers, anxious to reach the diggings, passed them. Some were on horseback, but others walked. A man cursed Maggie’s oxen for blocking the trail. Another forced her close to the cliff edge as he pushed by her on the inside. She glared at him, then turned to discover another man, on horseback, who had come up behind her. He had been following them for an hour or more, she realized, but now he was moving fast, and it seemed that he might shove her aside.

  Instead, the man dismounted and put his hand on her shoulder, and Maggie was wrenched around. “There you are!” the man screamed. “I knew you were one of them. It took me a time to recognize you, but I do! Come with me, or I will kill you!”

  Maggie looked at the bearded face contorted with hatred, and for a moment she thought the man was someone after her for the reward. Then slowly she recognized him. “Jesse!” she cried, shrinking back, nearly falling against the wagon. She had believed he was dead. All these weeks and months she had thought she had killed her husband, had been comforted by the belief he would never hurt her again, but she was wrong. “You are dead. I thought you were dead,” Maggie whispered, trying to wrench herself away.

  “If you had your way, I would be. You tried hard enough to kill me.”

  “You would have killed me. And Clara.”

  “It was my right.”

  “We were told there was a reward.”

  He laughed, and the sound chilled her. “I put it about that there was.”

  “You have the money?”

  He only smiled. “Who’d be the wiser?” He dug his fingers into her shoulder. “Where is Clara?”

  “Dead. Clara is dead.”

  Jesse’s face turned white in anger. “You killed my daughter.”

  “She drowned. I could not save her.” Maggie paused. “What does it matter to you? You never cared about her.”

  “She belonged to me. So do you.”

  Maggie stared at him. The shock of seeing her husband alive had worn off. She looked at him now in fear.

  Still, she said, “I will not. You will not hurt me ever again.”

  “You come with me, or someone will be hurt,” Jesse told her. “Maybe one of these women. You will be responsible.”

  She thought how Penn had stood up to Asa. Maggie would not falter either. She looked around then, frantic to spot one of the ministers, but they were far behind, pushing a wagon that was mired in the muck.

  Only Dora was beside her, her arms protecting the baby, not sure what to do. Then Mary, who was walking just ahead beside the chestnut horse tied to the wagon, turned and stared at Jesse. She realized something was wrong. “Maggie?” she called.

  “Jesse. This is Jesse. He is alive,” Maggie managed to say.

  Enraged, Jesse slapped Maggie’s face. Then he struck her with his fist.

  Mary stopped the oxen. “Leave be,” she ordered, her whip in her hand. “Let go of her or I’ll whip you.”

  “It is not your business. I do what I like.”

  “No,” Maggie cried. “Not anymore.”

  “You tried to kill me. You have to pay for it,” Jesse said. “I nearly died.”

  “How often did you try to kill her?” Mary asked.

  Jesse didn’t answer. “She murdered our daughter.”

  “Clara fell from a boat. Maggie tried to save her. Maggie would have died, too, if she had not been held back.”

  “What does that matter? She will come with me.”

  “Leave be, Jesse.” Maggie backed away from him until she reached Mary’s wagon. Jesse followed her.

  Penn came up to them then. “Who’s that?”

  “Maggie’s husband,” Mary told her. “He is not dead. He wants her to go with him.”

  “He ain’t going to take her any more than you let Asa take me.” Penn reached into her pocket for the pistol, but Jesse leaned over and brushed it out of her hand.

  “You’re nothing but worthless women. You back off before you get hurt.”

  We are not worthless women. We have survived two thousand miles of hardship that would have defeated many men, Maggie thought. I am not the woman who once cowered before you. She straightened her back and faced her hus
band. “I am not afraid of you, Jesse. Not now. Not anymore. I have friends to protect me.” Both Penn and Dora moved close to Maggie and put their arms around her.

  Jesse looked about and saw that the rest of the women had come up and were surrounding them. They did not know what was happening, but they sensed the danger Maggie was in. Sadie had picked up a rock, while Winny held a tree branch in her hands. Even Caroline held a stout stick. The two preachers joined them, and Joseph said, “You can see for yourself that you are outnumbered. If you hurt Mrs. Hale or anyone else, we will report you to the authorities in California. They deal harshly with men who harm women.”

  “Mrs. Hale. Is that what she calls herself? She is Mrs. Kaiser. My wife.” Jesse, angry, glanced around at the group. He let go of Maggie and took a gun from his belt.

  “You can threaten us all you want, but Mrs. Hale is not going with you,” Joseph said.

  “I say she is.” Outraged, Jesse lunged at the minister, who fell back against the wagon. Mary grabbed Jesse and wrestled his gun from his hand. He fought for the weapon, pushing Mary down into the mud. She tried to right herself, but the mud was slippery, and she slid. She grasped Jesse to steady herself, but he stumbled and landed on top of her.

  Before anyone could grab them, the two fell against the wagon, knocking the chestnut horse off balance. He reared, and the wagon shifted. The oxen tried to steady themselves, but they were tired and balky, and their hooves slipped in the mud. A wagon wheel slid off the edge of the cliff. The oxen struggled for purchase, but the weight of the wagon was too much. It fell over the cliff, dragging the oxen and the horse with it. Mary and Jesse, caught beneath the wagon, tried to brace themselves, but there was nothing to grasp, and they slid into the abyss.

  Maggie stared in terror as Mary disappeared in the white.

  Stunned, the women were silent, listening for Mary’s cry, but the only sounds were the oxen bellowing and the wagon crashing and splintering as it bounced on the rocks and landed hundreds of feet down. When all was still, Maggie rushed to the edge, but in the swirling snow she could see nothing, only a vast field of white obscuring the horror far below.

  Twenty-Three

  Maggie was silent as she stared into the white. For a moment, she could not move. Then she spoke, her voice choked and raw. “I will fetch a rope. Mary will be hurt bad. We will find her.”

  “And the man,” Caroline added.

  “He can go to hell,” Maggie said. “I am only sorry he did not die months ago, before we left Chicago.”

  Maggie started for the wagon, but William took her arm. “Miss Madrid is gone. No one could have survived such a fall.”

  “You do not know that,” Maggie told him.

  “I do know it, and so do you. You have seen the remains of men who have fallen into canyons that are only half so deep as this one.”

  “Maybe she survived. She could have been caught on a tree branch,” Maggie said. “We cannot leave her. Remember the stories we heard about men with cholera who were left behind by their friends for dead, but they recovered?”

  William shook his head. “Miss Madrid did not have cholera. No one could live after a fall of hundreds of feet. It is likely she hit a rock or was crushed by the oxen or the wagon long before she reached the bottom. I am so sorry…” His voice trailed off as he himself was overcome with sorrow.

  “Then we will bring up her body,” Maggie told him. She yanked away her arm and clenched her fists. Tears ran down her face and froze on her cheeks. Nothing on the entire trip had prepared her for the loss of Mary. Or for the fact that she was responsible. Two of their number had died because of her—Clara and now Mary—the two she cared about most. She had considered that she or Penn or some of the others, even the ministers, might die, but Mary was invincible. Maggie would not have survived the trip without her. None of them would. Maggie would not even have had the courage to sign up for the journey in the first place. How could she desert Mary now? “I won’t leave her here for the bears and panthers to rip her apart. We will take her with us to the diggings and bury her there.”

  William shook his head. His eyes were wet. “How will you find her body, Mrs. Hale? We cannot see more than a dozen feet into the depth. And if you do find it, how will you bring it up?”

  “We’ll find it. I’ll go with you,” Penn spoke up. “Me and Maggie’ll fetch her. If she’s dead, we’ll bury her in my red shawl.”

  “I’ll go, too,” Sadie offered. “We’ll bring her up with a rope.”

  “All the ropes we have tied together would not reach half the way down that canyon. You would endanger not just yourselves but the rest of us. It is hard enough to follow the trail in the snow. Do you really believe you can safely descend hundreds of feet when you cannot see where you are going? How could you find her?” Joseph asked. “You would perish yourselves.”

  “Then we shall camp until the snow clears,” Maggie said.

  “Until summer?” William asked. “This is the first of winter’s storms. The snow may not melt in these canyons until June or July.”

  “We cannot leave her to freeze,” Maggie cried.

  Penn put her arms around Maggie and held her as the two sobbed. The others wept, too.

  “Only her body will be frozen. Her spirit is alive in us. She is in heaven, where she is looking out for us, as she has these many months,” Caroline spoke up. “I believe we must ask ourselves what Mary would have wanted. Would she have wished her friends to risk their lives to find her body? She herself has no use for it now. She has deserted it to be with God.” She glanced at Maggie and added, “And Clara. Clara is not alone now.”

  “She almost made it to California. All these months and thousands of miles. She would have reached the diggings in just hours,” Dora sobbed. “She was so close.” She let her tears spill onto baby Washoe’s head.

  “She did make it,” Caroline told her. “She made it because you will arrive safely. You will take Mary there in your hearts. I believe Mary’s mission was to bring the rest of you through this journey. Her strength is in all of you. We will go on because Mary showed us the way. Perhaps, like Moses, she was given a glimpse of the Promised Land, and that was enough.”

  Maggie stood in the snow, oblivious to the cold, contemplating Caroline’s words. It was not enough, of course. Mary deserved better. She had wanted to complete the journey, but still, she had had a sense that she would not. Maggie remembered Mary saying that if she did not reach the gold camps, she was still glad she had come.

  Mary was dead, and Joseph and William were right. It would be folly to try to recover her body. Mary would not have wanted her and the others to risk their lives just to bring back her remains. Anyone who descended into the canyon would likely not return. She went to her wagon and found the bundle containing the few things she had not discarded. She reached inside and removed the china teapot that she had planned to give to Mary at their journey’s end. Running her hand over the tiny roses, she thought of how much the teapot had meant to Mary. Then, slowly, she raised it above her head and threw it into the canyon where Mary had disappeared, listening as it hit a rock and shattered into a thousand fragments.

  * * *

  “WE MUST GO on before the snow worsens,” said Joseph. “I will take the first wagon.”

  Maggie stared at him. Since leaving the desert, Mary had always led the first wagon. There were only two wagons now. William said he would drive the second.

  “No,” Maggie spoke up. “I will take the lead wagon.” Mary was dead. Now Maggie would see them through.

  “Evaline and I will drive the second,” Bessie said.

  William started to protest, but Joseph stopped him. “It is up to the women. This is their train—Mary’s train.”

  Maggie moved toward the wagon. As she did so, William turned to Joseph. “Another woman dead, and it is my fault,” he said. “Of all of them, why did it have to be Mary?”

  “Perhaps, as Caroline suggested, her mission was done. She more than anyo
ne brought our band of women through. Because of you, Mary found her purpose.”

  William considered the words. “Do you believe that?”

  “I do, and you must, too.”

  William slowly nodded, and in a minute he set off toward the wagons. Joseph would have followed him, but Caroline touched his arm.

  “You have found your purpose on this great journey, too, Joseph. You have risen to the challenge. I suspected there was a greatness in you, that you were intended for something better than overseeing a church in Chicago, and in the hundreds of miles we have come, I have seen evidence of it,” Caroline said.

  “It is William who has led us.”

  “Yes, in the beginning, but you have taken over where William faltered. I am proud of you.”

  “And I you,” Joseph told her.

  Caroline closed her eyes for a moment at the rare compliment. Then she smiled at her husband and said, “I believe the little one who will join us in just a few months will be proud of both of us.”

  “Are you saying…?” Joseph stared at his wife. “After all these years…”

  “I would not tell you before for fear you would worry about me. But now that the trip is near done, I believe it is time you know.”

  Joseph smiled. “You are even more beautiful this moment than the day I married you.” Then, despite the snow and the cold and the sorrow of Mary’s death, he picked up Caroline and swirled her around as snowflakes covered them.

  * * *

  THAT EVENING, THE two ministers held a memorial service for Mary. There would be another in a proper church, when they reached the diggings—that is, if there was a proper church.

  For the moment Mary’s friends wanted their grief assuaged by prayers and hymns. After camp was set up and supper finished, they gathered between the two remaining wagons. As befit the site, the service was informal. The ministers led the prayers, and the women sang. “She was the ablest and purest of us,” William said in a eulogy, then asked if anyone else wanted to speak. Almost all of the women did.