“So,” Nathan said, “what did you find down there?”
It was as though a steel gate dropped behind his eyes. “Find?” he asked slowly.
Caroline broke in quickly. “I told them Brigham had you go down to the river to look around a little.”
“Oh. Oh, that.” The relief was obvious. He shook his head. “There are lots of spots with good feed, but we’ll have to look some for a campsite. With the spring runoff there’re still quite a few boggy places.”
“Do you think we can ford the river, Uncle Joshua?” Emily asked.
“The Missouri?” He shook his head emphatically. “No. Too wide and too deep. And unless we’re willing to spend a few weeks, there’ll be no bridging it either. We’ll have to ferry across.”
That brought murmurs of disappointment from several. “Do you think the west side is going to be a better place to camp?” Matthew asked.
“Probably. We’ve got to cross it sooner or later either way.” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “Oh, by the way, Caroline, I stopped at the wagon to look for my whetstone. I need to sharpen my knife. You haven’t seen it, have you?”
“It was in the brown trunk.”
“That’s what I thought.” He turned. “Let me look once more while Mama gets my supper ready.”
Now Caroline understood. She set her plate aside and rose swiftly. “Let me help. I think I know right where it is.”
They walked to the wagon and went around to the back. As soon as they were blocked from the family’s view, Caroline reached out and took his elbow. Her eyes were wide and hopeful.
For a long moment, he gazed at her; then slowly he shook his head.
She visibly sagged.
He reached out and touched her face. “I’m sorry, Caroline,” he said in a low voice. “I warned you that this might be how it turned out.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I may as well have been praying to the trees.” He turned away from her, rummaging in the wagon. “Here it is!” he said loudly, holding up the stone. Then to her again, quietly, “I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”
Somewhere within her she found the power to force a smile through the sick feeling that filled her body. “I told you, Joshua. I will love you no matter what happens.”
“I know. I also know what this would have meant to you.” Again he searched for the right words, but all that came out, and very lamely at that, was, “I’m sorry, Caroline.”
She took a deep breath. “You go back. Tell them I’m looking for something else. I . . . Just give me a minute or two.”
He couldn’t bear the pain he saw in her eyes and turned away. “All right.”
Neither of them spoke of it again that night. Caroline managed to return to the family and put on a bright face while Joshua ate. After cleanup they sat around the fire and talked, and she contributed enough to allay any suspicions that something was wrong. Once they were in bed and the children were asleep, he acted as though he wanted to speak about it, but then changed his mind. They both lay awake for a long time, but didn’t speak again.
This morning it was better. The disappointment was still as sharp as a tent peg driven into her side, but she was starting to accept it. He had been right about her getting her hopes too high. A lesson learned. But on the other hand, she wasn’t ready to give up hope either. He had come so far. Perhaps it just needed more time.
Joshua watched her closely, guessing at her thoughts and feeling all the more depressed. Thankfully, although the family all ate dinner together, generally they did breakfast by individual wagons. Each family built a small fire if something needed cooking, or prepared their food cold. They were all close by each other—they always camped together—but not right on top of one another so everyone could see every expression, every flicker of emotion.
“Papa?”
He turned. Savannah was there beside him. Her eyes were downcast and her lower lip was pulled into half a pout.
“What, sweetheart?”
“I’ll never get to see Daughter of the Morning Mist again, will I?”
“It’s not likely,” he said. “We’re going west, many miles away from her village.”
“I would like to be her friend.”
He put an arm around her. “I know. And I’ll bet she would have liked to be your friend too.”
Charles put the last of the food back in the pantry box and came over to join them. “I want an Indian friend too, Papa.”
Joshua chuckled. Savannah was now the envy of every young man and woman in the entire company. “I know. I think a lot of others would too.”
Caroline had Livvy perched on the wagon tongue, brushing out her long brown hair with strong, even strokes. She looked at her son. “Maybe when we get to the Rocky Mountains, there will be Indians there, and you both can make friends with them.”
“I would like that,” Savannah said.
Joshua slapped her gently on the rump. “Okay, kids, we’ve got to get moving. It’s almost nine o’clock already. We’ve got to be ready when it’s our turn to cross the bridge.” As they moved away he stood and stretched, breathing deeply. The air was clean and sweet and cool. “What a beautiful morning!” he said to no one in particular.
Matthew and Jenny’s wagon was next to his. His mother was folding clothing they had washed the night before in the creek, her back partly to him.
He stopped to watch her. The sun was behind her, turning the gray in her hair to gold. She was singing a children’s lullaby softly to herself as she worked. He was struck by the scene. It wasn’t his mother he suddenly saw but young Mary Ann Morgan, who had been working on a New England turnpike when young Benjamin Steed rode up and saw her. No wonder his father had been smitten, he thought.
There was childish laughter and he turned. Charles and Savannah had grabbed the trunk with the food and were staggering toward the wagon. Then Charles tripped and nearly went down.
Savannah giggled. “It’s a good thing our Indian friend Rattlesnake isn’t here,” she said with mock gravity. “He’d call you Old Stumbles and Falls.” Charles, whose feelings for Savannah fell somewhere between total worship and complete adoration, only laughed merrily and labored gamely on. The lines around Joshua’s mouth softened. There was a sweetness in that relationship that was like spun silver.
“Livvy. One more minute, then you can go. Please hold still.”
He pivoted, turning back toward the wagon. Caroline was kneeling behind Livvy now, starting to braid her hair into two strands. It was no simple task. Livvy was already long past her limit for holding still, which was about ninety seconds. She tossed her head this way and that, trying to see every tiny movement around her. Caroline, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in concentration, tried to follow the bobbing, bouncing head. He watched, smiling. What a little elf. And how he adored her. His eyes lifted to search Caroline’s face. It was fully lit by sunlight now. He could see the first of the lines starting around her eyes—crow’s feet, she called them—yet her skin, bronzed now by days in the sun, was still nearly flawless. It reminded him of that day when he had seen her coming across the grass near the docks in Savannah, looking for Will, who had been showing Joshua around the city. In that way, Joshua was like his father. One look had struck him down and he was never the same again.
This was what he needed, he thought. This was the perfect tonic for his gloom of the day before. It was a beautiful morning. He had his family—immediate and extended—around him and that made things seem right. So what if there had been no answer? That didn’t change any of this. He wouldn’t lose what mattered most to him because he wasn’t capable of getting an answer. It was a crazy idea anyway to think that after a lifetime of folly you could go into the woods and come out with a miracle five hours later. He would keep searching, looking, questioning, and maybe someday it would come. But for now it would just have to wait.
Feeling much better about things, he reluctantly pulled himself out of hi
s thoughts, called back by the duty that awaited him. Joshua guessed it would take another hour or so before it was their turn to go across the bridge, but there was plenty to do in the meantime. Nathan and Matthew were on duty helping the wagons over. Derek had been asked to help get the stock across the creek. Since the loose boards of the bridge made the cattle skittish, they had to be driven directly across the stream. It wasn’t a difficult task, because the creek was neither very wide nor very deep, but it would still take some time to get the task done, so they had left right after breakfast. That left the supervision of the striking of the tents and packing up the camp his responsibility. He also had to round up the oxen and make sure they were watered before they were hitched to the wagons. He decided to do that first, so they would have some time after drinking before they had to pull.
“Caroline?”
She looked up, the exasperation clearly written on her face as Livvy jerked to look at her father and pulled the braid out of her mother’s hand for the ninth or tenth time in half that many minutes.
“I’m going to water the oxen.”
“All right.”
“Can I come, Papa?” Livvy called.
“No, you need to help Mama get things put away, Livvy. I’ll be back in about half an hour, then you can help me hitch the teams up.”
His daughter sagged into a limp pile, disappointment clearly twisting her face. He laughed, waved, and started for the meadow where the hobbled oxen had been turned loose the night before.
He sat on the bank, idly watching as the several oxen drank deeply or munched the lush grass that lined the creek. His mind kept reverting back to his experience of the day before. There was a soft, self-deprecating laugh. He had actually gotten his hopes up. How was that for a joke? Joshua Steed actually thought he was going to get an answer to his prayers. He shook his head in disgust, examining again in memory what he had done. Or hadn’t done? But that was what puzzled him. After Brigham’s direct challenge, he had given it a sincere effort. He had not held back. Maybe it wasn’t the right words. Maybe he was still too nervous about being seen—he had stopped his prayer several times at some imagined noise or other. And he had taken walks on three different occasions just because he didn’t feel comfortable staying on his knees for five hours. Well, whatever he had or hadn’t done, he had brought pain to Caroline’s eyes.
He picked up a pebble and tossed it at a small fish he could see just below the surface. The fish flipped around and was gone in a flash of gray beneath the ripples. He barely noticed. Brigham said that if nothing happened he would leave him alone. Well, that wasn’t a bad strategy for Joshua Steed either. Leave it alone. He was tired of seesawing back and forth, one moment determined that there might be some hope, the next feeling like an absolute fool. Maybe if he turned his back on it, the answers would come in time.
He turned his head as he heard a sound. Through the willows he could see that Savannah had stepped into view about two rods downstream from him. She had a bucket in one hand and in the other the kettle in which they had cooked their corn mush this morning. He watched, half smiling as she crouched down beside the water and submerged the kettle into it.
She had not seen him, probably could not because from that distance the willows would look like a solid screen to her. Glad for the diversion, he decided he would sneak around and give her a scare. That was one of their games, though they both had learned through sad experience that Caroline had little humor for it. They were constantly jumping out from behind doors, or tossing something as the other passed, or leaping out with a shriek when it was least expected.
He checked the oxen, saw that they were content where they were for the moment, and got to his feet. Moving like a cat, he went back around his hiding place and made a wide circle so he could come in directly behind her. The grass was thick and his boots made hardly a whisper as he moved carefully toward her. Then, about twenty feet away, he slowed even more. She was singing softly to herself as she scrubbed at the kettle with a rag. Over the gurgling sound of the water he caught just a wisp of the melody and stopped dead. It was Olivia’s song. He was so struck by the scene before him that he totally forgot his purpose in coming in so quietly.
He leaned forward slightly, straining to hear. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t pick it out clearly, but she was not just humming or singing wordlessly to herself. He heard words and phrases—“to your heart,” “God,” “Papa, don’t you . . .” But it was just snatches, not enough to understand. Her voice was low and husky for a child of her age. Caroline said she would be a lovely contralto when she grew older, whatever that meant. Occasionally some of the other children teased her about sounding like a boy, which she flung back at them without the least bit of shame.
He took a step forward, wanting to hear what she was singing. He was not aware of any sound he made, but she gave a little cry and whirled around. For a moment he thought she was going to fall into the water as she tried to stand and teetered precariously.
“Papa! You scared me!”
He walked forward. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I didn’t mean to.”
She gave him a sharp look, obviously questioning his veracity. She knew the game as well as he did.
“Really. I was going to try and scare you and then—” He decided not to tell her everything. “What are you doing?”
“Washing the pot for Mama, and getting water for the wagon.”
He nodded his approval. “Good.”
Savannah had turned nine in March. But she had been at least ten years older than that since she was three. The red hair had darkened somewhat now, so that it wasn’t such a fiery color. In facial features she didn’t look much like either Joshua or Caroline, though she had Caroline’s eyes. Mary Ann said that she looked a lot like her mother, Savannah’s Great-grandmother Morgan. She had become a touch more serious as she grew, but Joshua suspected that that impish impudence would be something that would be part of her nature even into womanhood. He certainly hoped so, for he could not imagine her without it.
“Mama told me what a big help you were with Charles and Livvy while I was gone, Savannah. I’m proud of you.”
She seemed surprised. “But Papa, I promised.”
“You promised?”
“Yes. When you let me be baptized, remember? I promised I would always try to do what’s right and to help Mama.”
There was a sudden tightness in his throat. “Yes, you did, Savannah, and you’ve kept that promise.” At the time it had been a compromise, a way to let two strong minds honorably back away from the impasse between them. He had accepted her promise, thinking it was just a child’s willingness to say anything in order to get her way. He supposed it might last for a week or two or, knowing Savannah, maybe as long as a month. But he had been wrong. It had been over a year now, and she had not wavered even a trifle in her determination to be a better person. “I do remember, Savannah,” he said softly, “and I am very pleased that you have kept that promise.”
“Thank you, Papa.”
He put an arm around her and squeezed her with deep affection. “I’m very pleased to have you as my daughter.”
“Thank you, Papa. I thank Heavenly Father every night and morning that you are my father.” It was said with such simplicity and such honesty. She had an astonishing ability to get to his heart.
“You do?”
“Yes, and Mama too, of course.”
“Of course.” He waited a moment. “Do you ever think of Grandpa, Savannah?”
Her head dropped and her hands came together. “All the time, Papa.”
“Me too.”
“Each day I try to remember that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Grandpa.”
“What he did was very brave.”
“I know. I wish I could see him and thank him for it.”
“You will someday.”
She looked at him, a little surprised that he had said it. “I know,” she said simply. “I just wish it were now.”
He nodded, then decided the timing was good. “And what about Olivia? Do you think of her too?”
“Yes, Papa. Every day. I miss her so much.”
“I do too, Savannah. A great deal.”
She didn’t answer. He heard the quiet buzz of a mosquito near his ear and brushed at it absently. “Do you know,” he said, keeping his voice casual, “when I was out hunting the other day, I found myself humming Olivia’s song? How’s that for strange?”
“You did?” She peered up at him, trying to read his expression.
He decided he didn’t want to be deceptive with her. “Wasn’t that Olivia’s song you were just singing?”
She blushed. “Yes.”
“I love that song. I wish Olivia were here to play it for us.”
“Oh, me too, Papa.” And then, looking down, she said shyly, “Did you know I have made up some words for it?”
He chuckled. There was no sneaking up on this one. “I didn’t know that, but I thought just now I heard you singing words.”
She nodded. “I was.”
“Will you sing them for me?”
She shook her head so quickly that the red hair danced briskly on her neck.
“Why not?”
“My voice sounds like a frog.”
He laughed aloud, then sobered immediately. “You have a lovely voice, Savannah, and I can’t think of any frog I would more like to have sing for me.”
She was bright scarlet now. “I don’t sing around people, Papa. I only sing to myself.”
He nodded, disappointed but not wanting to push her against her will. He put an arm around her and pulled her in close. “Will you tell me what the words say, then?”
Her color only deepened. “I wrote the words for you, Papa.”
“You did?” He certainly hadn’t expected that. “What do they say?”
Again there was the wagging of her head. “I would feel funny telling you, Papa.”
“Then just sing them to me.”
“I only sing to myself,” she said again, starting to feel cornered now.
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