She was solemn when they reached that spot, dismounting and trudging up the hill, more winded than she had been forty years earlier. “There,” she told Robert, pointing to a group of trees. “I remember there were saplings. Look how they have grown. Somewhere close is a rock that is shaped like an egg. Mary placed it there. Clara’s grave is beside it.”
She started toward the grove, but just then, she spotted a man working in a field. The land was no longer wilderness but had become a farm. The man came over to them.
“I was through here in 1852 with a group of women,” Maggie told him.
“They tell of you still.”
“You have heard of us, then?” Maggie smiled. “Thirty-six of us made it to California.”
“And one did not,” the man said.
“Several did not.”
“One you buried here.”
Maggie touched the locket with the strands of Clara’s hair that she still wore. “How did you know? She was my daughter. She drowned. She was four.”
“A girl, then. We thought she was a grown woman.”
“You know of her?”
The man nodded. “We found the grave. It must have been a deep grave, because wild animals never dug it up. You will see that there are still rocks on top of it. There was a cross, too.”
Maggie’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered Mary pounding the cross into the ground. “It was made from the spokes of a rocking chair.”
“Part of it was broken off, and we could make out only one name. Come.” He led them into the trees, then pointed to a small plot of ground surrounded by an iron fence. Inside, beside the remains of the cross and the egg-shaped rock, was a headstone. “We considered it to be sacred ground, so we never planted here.”
Maggie went inside the fence and knelt beside the headstone. Chiseled into it was “Clara. 1852?”
“Her name was Clara Hale. She drowned,” Maggie said, her voice filled with emotion. “I was afraid she would be forgotten.”
The man shook his head. “She is written up in a history book about the county. We have all wondered about her. We placed the gravestone. The wife, Ella, tends the grave. She puts flowers on it. She says she knows that somewhere someone may still be grieving for her.”
He introduced himself as Ephraim Tanner before he left them alone. Maggie and Robert stayed by the grave for a long time, Maggie sitting beside the mound of dirt and rocks, holding her husband’s hand, feeling the grief of that awful time. After she composed herself, she and Robert went to the farmhouse. Ella Tanner invited them to sit on the porch. She brought a pitcher of water and glasses, because it was a hot day. “We think of her as a part of this place,” she said. “She was here before us. That’s why we call it Clara Farm.” She cleared her throat and glanced away so that she would not embarrass Maggie, who was crying. “Would you like to take the cross with you?”
Maggie thought that over and shook her head. “No, Clara is part of this land now. The cross should remain with her.”
* * *
TO MARK THE fiftieth anniversary of the women’s arrival in Goosetown, the town commissioned a statue of Mary. It was made by the noted artist and sculptor Evaline Whitney Parnell. Her Overland Trail sketchbook, first published in 1855, had become a classic. The statue was dedicated at a ceremony attended by all twenty-one of the wagon-train women who were still living. William was an invalid, but Bessie had come with Evaline. Joseph was there, along with Caroline and four of their five children. Maggie and Penn, both widows, were accompanied by Maggie’s daughter, Mary. Sadie and Winny brought Davy. Sadie still wore a gold nugget around her neck that Davy had given her in place of a wedding ring. She preferred it to the diamond ring he had bought for her after selling his mining interests and taking her and Winny to live in a mansion in San Francisco. Dora was accompanied by Wash. Now fifty, Wash wore a worn gold ring. Dora saw Maggie looking at it and said, “You must remember. It was her mother’s. There are initials inside.”
“Did Wash ever find out who she is?” Maggie asked Dora.
“She never tried. She says I am her mother.”
The dedication included fireworks, a picnic, and speeches. The women, many old and bent and one in a wheelchair, recalled the excitement of the trip, the beauty of the land, the companionship. Few talked of the hardships. They remembered Clara and Lavinia and Adela, the woman who had died during the Indian attack. Most of all, they remembered Mary. Maggie spoke for all of them when she recalled Mary’s strength and her love and said they would not have finished the trip without her help. “She was the ablest and purest of us,” Maggie said, recalling the words of Reverend Parnell a half century earlier, spoken the day Mary died.
It was a wonderful gathering, Maggie thought, as she chatted with her friends from so long ago. “We have grown old,” Maggie told Caroline. Joseph shook his head. “Caroline will never grow old.” Maggie knew he had never seen Caroline as she really looked but had always considered her beautiful.
“Come, Mother,” Evaline told Bessie at the sound of a train approaching. “The train has arrived. Father will be anxious for us to return.”
Penn tightened a worn red shawl around her shoulders while the others gathered their belongings and made ready to leave. But just then a portly couple as old as the women hurried up.
“We are late,” the woman said. “It could not be helped. We made our disappointment known to the conductor, but he did nothing.” Distressed, she looked around. “Why did you not delay the ceremony and wait for us? You knew we were coming. When I heard of it, I sent a telegram. We expected to be part of the occasion.” She held out several pages of paper. “I have prepared a speech.” With the back of her hand she wiped perspiration from her face.
Maggie, confused, glanced at Penn, who shook her head. Dora frowned, and Joseph and Caroline exchanged a glance. The others, curious, stared. Maggie couldn’t imagine who the couple was. There had been so many telegrams back and forth among the women, and even newspaper reporters, that she was not surprised she had missed one or two. The event had been reported in all the California papers and picked up across the country. Maggie had been interviewed a dozen times. Perhaps the woman had been a member of the wagon train. Maggie had thought that they had all been accounted for. She went over the names of those listed in the program as dead. Had she made a mistake? Was this woman one of them? Perhaps she was among those who had started out but turned back.
“I read of it in the Chicago newspapers, and my wife sent word we would be here. It is strange that you went ahead without us, for who could be more important than us?” the man said.
“Than you?” Maggie asked. She was tired and leaned on her cane, the one Sadie had given her so long before.
“Mary would not have joined the train had we not urged her to go. Why, you might say that none of you would be here if it were not for us.”
“Who are you?” Maggie asked.
“Why, we are Louise and Micah Madrid,” the man said. “I sold half of our farm and gave the money to Mary for the trip. We encouraged her to go.”
“And I presented her with my prized china teapot. I should like to know what happened to it.”
“It was broken” was all that Maggie could think to say. She stared at the couple. She remembered how they had called Mary a fool, how they had mistreated her, how Mary had had to threaten Micah with a lawsuit to get a fraction of her inheritance. Most of all, Maggie recalled how happy Mary had been once she was away from them, how she had bonded with the women as she had never done with her brother and his wife.
Louise held her chin high and announced in a loud voice, “Mary was our sister.” She looked around for acknowledgment.
Maggie glanced at Penn, then at Dora, Sadie, Bessie, and Caroline. At Wash and Evaline. The women exchanged glances, then clustered around Maggie. She rested her hand on the cane’s knob, silver now since the gold had worn off long ago. “I remember,” she said. She did not tell them what she remembered, did not re
mark on how they had belittled and exploited Mary. She would not dishonor Mary’s memory with pettiness. But one thing she would not accept. “You say she is your sister,” Maggie said. Her back stiffened, and she raised her head. “No. Oh, no.” She felt Penn’s arm tighten around her. “She was not yours. She belonged to us. Mary Madrid was our sister.”
Acknowledgments
I’ve been intrigued with the westward movement ever since I was six, when my parents, my brother and sister, and I went west from Virginia to Colorado in a 1939 Plymouth. For years, I’ve wanted to write a novel about a strong group of women on the Overland Trail during the gold rush days. The problem was finding my story, and when I finally did, it was a mishmash. Thanks to my agent, Danielle Egan-Miller, for making me switch from a cast of thousands to a focused approach. Thanks to the wonderful people at St. Martin’s Press—Elisabeth Dyssegaard, who suggested I further condense and clarify the tale; Jennifer Enderlin, who always has my back; and Alan Bradshaw and India Cooper, for final editing. I’m grateful to writer friends Arnie Grossman, Wick Downing, and Harry MacLean for their encouragement. I’m indebted to Will Bagley, one of the West’s premier historians, for his input. Will helped me keep Overland Trail history straight by suggesting a number of changes and corrections. He also pointed out that too many men in the story are bad guys. So?
I can’t say it often enough that my family is my strength—Bob, Dana, Kendal, Lloyd, and Forrest. My sister, Mary Dallas Cole, props me up with her love and support. I am blessed to have her and my brother, Michael Dallas, to whom this book is dedicated. Mike was an exceptional high school English teacher in Clear Creek County, Colorado, who made a difference in the lives of so many students. Although unpublished, he is the better writer in the family.
I’ve written about western history for fifty years. Still, Westering Women required considerable research. These are some of the best Overland Trail sources I used:
The Great Platte River Road: The Covered Wagon Mainline via Fort Kearny to Fort Laramie. By Merrill J. Mattes. Lincoln, NE: Nebraska State Historical Society, 1969.
With Golden Visions Bright Before Them: Trails to the Mining West, 1849–1852. By Will Bagley. Norman, OK: University of Oklahoma Press, 2012.
The Plains Across: The Overland Emigrants and the Trans-Mississippi West, 1840–60. By John D. Unruh, Jr. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1979.
Hard Road West: History and Geology along the Gold Rush Trail. By Keith Heyer Meldahl. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2007.
The California Trail: An Epic with Many Heroes. By George R. Stewart. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1983.
Covered Wagon Women: Diaries and Letters from the Western Trails, 1840–1890. Vols. 1–11. Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clark, 1983–1993.
Overland Days to Montana in 1865: The Diary of Sarah Raymond and Journal of Dr. Waid Howard. Edited by Raymond W. and Mary Lund Settle. Glendale, CA: Arthur H. Clark, 1971.
The Shirley Letters: Being Letters in 1851–1852 from the California Mines. By Dame Shirley (Louise A. K. S. Clappe). Santa Barbara, CA: Peregrine Press, 1970.
Covered Wagon Days: A Journey across the Plains in the Sixties, and Pioneer Days in the Northwest; from the Private Journals of Albert Jerome Dickson. Edited by Arthur Jerome Dickson. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1989.
Journal of a Trip to California: Across the Continent from Weston, Mo., to Weber Creek, Cal., in the Summer of 1850. By Charles W. Smith. Publisher not listed.
A Frontier Lady: Recollections of the Gold Rush and Early California. By Sarah Royce. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1932.
Also by Sandra Dallas
The Patchwork Bride
The Last Midwife
A Quilt for Christmas
Fallen Women
True Sisters
The Bride’s House
Whiter Than Snow
Prayers for Sale
Tallgrass
New Mercies
The Chili Queen
Alice’s Tulips
The Diary of Mattie Spenser
The Persian Pickle Club
Buster Midnight’s Cafe
About the Author
Award-winning author Sandra Dallas was dubbed “a quintessential American voice” by Jane Smiley in Vogue magazine. She’s the author of sixteen novels, including The Bride’s House, Whiter Than Snow, The Persian Pickle Club, and Tallgrass. Her novels have been translated into a dozen languages and optioned for films. She is a three-time winner of the National Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum Wrangler Award, a three-time winner of the Western Writers of America Spur Award, and a four-time recipient of the Women Writing the West Willa Award. For thirty-five years Dallas worked as a reporter covering the Rocky Mountain region for Business Week. She started writing fiction in 1990. She lives with her husband in Denver and Georgetown, Colorado. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Attention
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Sandra Dallas
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
WESTERING WOMEN. Copyright © 2020 by Sandra Dallas. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design: Michael Storrings
Cover photographs: woman © Mark Owen/Trevillion Images; wagon © David Bailey/ Nashville/Getty Images; cattle © Roshan Prabhu/Getty Images
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Names: Dallas, Sandra, author.
Title: Westering women : a novel / Sandra Dallas.
Description: First edition. | New York : St. Martin’s Press, 2020. | Summary: “From the bestselling author of Prayers for Sale, an inspiring celebration of sisterhood on the perilous Overland Trail “If you are an adventuresome young woman of high moral character and fine health, are you willing to travel to California in search of a good husband?” It’s February, 1852, and all around Chicago, Maggie sees the postings soliciting “eligible women” to travel to the gold mines of Goosetown. A young seamstress with a small daughter and several painful secrets, she has nothing to lose. So she joins forty-three other women and two pious reverends on the dangerous 2,000-mile journey west. None of them are prepared for the hardships they face on the trek through the high plains, mountains, and deserts, or for the triumphs of finding strengths they did not know they possessed. And not all will make it. As Maggie gets to know the other women, she soon discovers that she’s not the only one looking to leave dark secrets behind. And when her past catches up with her, it becomes cle
ar a band of sisters will do whatever it takes to protect one of their own”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019034031 | ISBN 9781250239662 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250239679 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Western stories.
Classification: LCC PS3554.A434 W46 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034031
eISBN 9781250239679
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at [email protected].
First Edition: January 2020
Westering Women Page 29