by Emily Woods
“Oh, you'll see mountains alright,” Jeremiah promised. “We'll have to actually pass through them to get to Oregon City.”
Robbie's eye grew wide. “Really? I can't wait.”
With a chuckle, Jeremiah shook his head. “Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to. It's quite a ways off yet.”
There was silence for awhile, and then the boy asked, “Why aren't you married?”
That was not a question he expected or was prepared to answer.
“Uh, well, I don't know. Just, um, never met the right woman, I guess.”
Robbie seemed to ponder this a little. “I think it's because you travel too much, but you're going to stop now, right?”
Jeremiah grinned at the simplistic logic and had a feeling he knew what the boy was going to say next.
“Yeah, I'm going to retire after this trip.”
Robbie twisted a little to get a look at Jeremiah's face. “Retire? But you're not real old, are you? Are you forty?”
“No.”
“Fifty?”
Reaching back into his own childhood, Jeremiah remembered not being able to clearly grasp the age of adults, so he didn't take any offense. He figured he'd better just tell the boy outright.
“I'm thirty-seven. I've been doing this job for a long time now, and I figure it's time to be done. I won't give up working altogether. I just want to do something different, ranching in fact.”
Robbie nodded. “Well, that's a good age then.”
“I'm glad you think so.” He paused and wondered if he dared to ask. “A good age for what?”
“To marry my mama, of course.”
What had made him say that? He guessed it was because the two of them were both alone. To Robbie, it was simple math.
“Uh, well, it takes a little more than being around the same age for people to want to marry,” he replied, his voice taking on a tinny quality. “They have to like each other a little at least.”
“Oh, Mama likes you well enough, and don't you think she's pretty? She's real nice too. I know she's not a great cook, but she's trying.”
Jeremiah supposed that in a child's mind, those qualities were enough to add up to wanting to marry someone. However, something else the boy said implanted itself in his mind.
“What makes you think she likes me?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. Thankfully, Robbie didn't seem to notice.
“Oh, well, she smiles when we talk about you, and one time, I saw her blush when you came over. Plus, she tells us to be respectful to you and listen to you.”
Again, the answer was simple, but it sat well with Jeremiah.
“I appreciate all that, but maybe we should just keep these ideas to ourselves for a while, hmm? Women scare off easy if they think men are planning their future for them.”
Robbie nodded solemnly. “But you like her, right?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes grew thoughtful. “I like her.”
Jeremiah couldn't see it, but Robbie's face took on a look of satisfaction, and he even gave a little nod to himself. Then he folded his hands and closed his eyes. His lips began to move and Jeremiah heard him muttering.
“Did you say something?” he asked.
Robbie's eyes popped open. “Yes, sir, but not to you. I'm talking to my Father in Heaven.”
“You mean like your pa?”
The boy shook his head and turned to give him an almost scornful look. “I mean God, of course.”
“Oh.” There was nothing else to say. As usual, he had nothing to add on the subject of God or religion, so he remained quiet.
But Robbie wasn't done. “You pray to God, right?”
“Uh, well, I guess I used to.”
Robbie frowned again. “Why did you stop?”
Jeremiah shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. “It's a long story.”
“I like stories, especially long ones.”
Jeremiah blinked a couple time. How could he dissuade the boy? “It's not a nice story,” he warned. “Lots of bad stuff has happened to me.”
Robbie shrugged. “Lots of bad stuff happened to me too. I'm not scared. Start at the beginning.”
Sighing, Jeremiah knew he would either have to return the boy to his mother or tell him the story. He didn't feel particularly inclined to do the former, so he launched into the story about a boy whose parents took him to church every Sunday for most of his life.
“But then one day, some bad people came and, uh, hurt my parents. I hid under the bed like they told me to and I prayed and prayed that they would be alright, but they weren't.”
“They died?” Robbie asked, his voice more curious than upset. Jeremiah was more surprised by his reaction than Robbie was by the information.
“Yeah, they did.”
There was a bit of a pause. “Well, my daddy died too. I prayed that he wouldn't, but God had another idea.”
The concept seemed a bit advanced for a boy of five. Jeremiah suspected that his mother had told him this.
“What was God's idea?” he asked, carrying on the direction of the conversation despite himself.
“Well, we don't always know, but we can trust that it's better than our own. Bad stuff happens all the time to people, but we can't blame God.”
“Oh no? Than who do we blame?”
Robbie shrugged. “Depends. Sometimes we should blame ourselves because we mighta done something wrong, but most of the time, we don't really know. Mama says that's when we have to trust God the most.”
His reply was so sure that Jeremiah's heart constricted. What would it be like to have such faith? To trust God so much with his life that he didn't have to doubt His goodness? It was unfathomable.
“Well, I'm glad you feel that way, but truth is that I don't know how to do that, how to just believe in God.”
Robbie nodded. “People can't do it on their own. God has to help us. When we can’t do things by our own self, we have to pray. God hears our prayers.”
Everything he was saying made sense, but Jeremiah couldn't really absorb it. Then, a herd of bison appeared in front of them, distracting them both.
“There! Buffalo!” Robbie cried. “Are they stampeding?”
Jeremiah shook his head and worked to keep his voice calm. “Nah, they're just grazing. Guess I'll round up a couple men and make sure the way ahead is clear. It's nearly time to stop for lunch, so I'm going to return you to your ma.”
Once Robbie was safely back with Emma, Jeremiah discreetly asked two of the men to ride out with him.
“What are we looking for?” Henry Morris asked. He was the oldest of the Morris brothers, who were on their way to California to look for gold but would travel with them most of the way. He and his two brothers accompanied Jeremiah along with George Lewis, a newly married man who was traveling with his young wife.
Jeremiah hesitated before answering. He wanted to make sure they were well out of earshot of the others.
“Well, whenever you see a herd that big, you can bet there's a hunting party around somewhere. I don't want to cause a ruckus, but if there is one nearby, I think we should stop the train for a while.”
He had great respect for the natives and had no desire to give them any reason to attack.
“Aw, and here was me thinking that we're going on a hunt,” complained George. “One of them buffalo would feed the whole camp, wouldn't it?”
Jeremiah nodded. “We've eaten lots of buffalo on past trips, but we usually only hunt when the pack is small. Not much chance of a hunting party in those cases.”
He led the men up a small hill and crouched down, each of them scanning the land for signs of natives. After nearly an hour, there was no sign, so they crawled back to their horses and returned to the camp where the women were packing up the lunch remains.
“Here are some Johnny cakes with bacon,” Emma offered him. “And a few pickles on the side.”
Forcing a smile, he accepted the food, noticing that their fingers brushed as he di
d so. He saw her face change a little at the contact, but he didn't try to analyze it too much in that moment. There were other things he had to focus on now.
“Gather around, folks. I have a little announcement to make.” He waited while the families came close. “No doubt you noticed the herd of buffalo up yonder a way. We should be able to get by them without any trouble as they're not all that close to the trail, but I want us to pull in a little. Each set of wagons should come as close as possible to the next, and let's make as little noise as possible.”
“Why is that?” Preacher Riley asked. “Does the noise disturb them?”
Jeremiah hesitated. He never knew how a certain group would react to the news of natives being close by.
“Uh, well, that's part of it, but we don't want any, uh, attention as we cross. Let's just keep the ruckus to a minimum.”
The families seemed to accept his words easily enough, but Emma had a question. “Are the children safe or should we put them in the wagons?” Her voice was strong and her eye contact steady. She wasn't afraid, just alert.
“Just keep them close to you. Don't let them wander off.” He kept his voice low and even, not because he was worried about her, but other women might panic if they knew there might be natives about.
“Can we shoot some?” a voice called out from the back. “Can't ever have too much meat.”
“Well, that's not entirely true. If you have a lot, it can cause problems. A rotting carcass in the back of your wagon attracts vermin, insects, and disease. Right now, we have a lot of provisions, so let's just hold off.”
He didn't add that the last time he'd been in this area, he'd encountered a tribe of Sioux and further out, Apaches. Both tribes had only wanted to trade, but he'd heard of some skirmish a few weeks before and wasn't sure what the current situation was.
“Fine,” the man grumbled. Jeremiah noted it was the same burly man who had given him grief at the initial meeting. If he kept complaining and causing trouble, they might have to talk.
Slowly and carefully, they picked their way across the land. Jeremiah didn't want to settle down for the night anywhere near here, but that would mean traveling for longer than usual.
Around three o'clock, he noticed a band of natives heading toward them on horseback. His first concern was making sure his group didn't overreact, so he turned his horse around and informed the people row by row that a small party was on its way, but they shouldn't be alarmed. He recognized them and knew they weren't violent. In fact, he'd traded with them many times in the past. He never quite got their names, but he always made a fair trade. He smiled broadly, but as they drew closer, he saw their faces were drawn and not friendly at all.
His Sioux wasn't anywhere near fluent, but he knew a few words.
“Ya ta say,” he greeted them. They grunted the words back, but their eyes were scouring the party. Jeremiah glanced back and saw the men gripping their guns. “Guns down!” There would be no bloodshed if he could help it.
One man, clearly the leader of the band but not the chief of the tribe, urged his horse forward and spoke to Jeremiah in rapid Sioux. The only words he caught were 'son,' 'nine,' and 'killed.' When he tried to find out who killed the boy, he only got one word.
“Wasichu.”
He bowed his head to show that he was grieved that a white man had killed the man’s son, but he didn't like the way the man kept looking at the children. Emma drew her two sons closer to her, an action that seemed to draw the leader’s attention. He trotted his horse over to Emma and pointed at Jacob.
“Cinks,” he said quietly, but with steely determination. He let go of another stream of words that needed no interpretation. Jeremiah knew exactly what was happening. A white man had killed this man’s son, and now he was going to take one of theirs to replace him, but he wouldn't let them take Jacob.
“Wonunicun,” he stumbled, saying that a mistake had been made, but the man was intent.
“Cinks,” he said again, claiming Jacob for his son.
“Eh ya,” he replied, keeping his eyes calm as he attempted to refuse the man. “Wonunicun, cola,” he repeated, adding the word friend on the end, but he could see that the man would not be dissuaded. Before he could think, two of the others were off their horses and pulling Jacob out of Emma's arms. She screamed and threw herself on him, but was quickly thrown to the ground by one of the others.
“Do something!” she shouted at him. The other men in the camp came forward, raising their guns.
“No!” Jeremiah shouted. “Lower your guns. We will not start a war here!”
“What should we do then?” Preacher Riley asked, his voice raw with emotion. “We can't just let them take Emma's son!”
He'd heard of other situations escalating very quickly and knew that he would need to say something quickly. This was part of the reason that he seldom allowed children on the trip, but he could hardly refuse Emma her sons or the preacher his children.
“Stop! Let me talk.”
He slid off his horse and approached the leader with his hands held in the air as a sign of submission. Looking from Emma's desperate face to that of the determined leader, he knew that he would have to do some fast talking, but no words came to mind.
Finally, in a desperate moment, he remembered what Robbie had said only a short time ago. When you’re in trouble, pray to God and He will help you. He found himself praying that God would show him what to do. It wasn't a formal prayer, but more of a cry for help that he sent to the heavens.
But then, it came to him. The native knew him, knew that he was honest and fair. He might be able to appeal to the man on a familial basis.
“Cinks,” he declared, pointing to Jacob. “Cinks.” His brows lowered and his mouth pressed into a grim line as he put his hand on his gun. He'd told the others that they could not draw, and he wouldn't either unless it became absolutely necessary.
Jacob struggled to get away from the two natives, but then he went limp, his eyes beseeching Jeremiah.
“Captain Holt,” Emma whimpered. “Jeremiah?”
He raised his chin a little and pointed at Jacob again. “Cinks!” He walked toward Jacob and held out his hand, his eyes never leaving the leader’s face. He pointed at Emma and said, “Tow-wee-choo.”
The brave glared at Jeremiah for a moment, his eyes glanced at the gun, and finally, he nodded to the two men holding Jacob. They released him, practically flinging him toward Emma before jumping back on their mounts in one fluid motion. Without another word, the group departed.
Emma clung to Jacob, but her eyes were on Jeremiah, gratitude pouring out of them. On a different day, he would have been glad to see that, but today, he felt sick to his stomach. His selfishness had nearly lost Emma her son. Because he wanted her for his wife, he'd put her children in danger.
From here on out, he wouldn't attempt to court her, wouldn't take his meals with her, and wouldn't talk to her more than absolutely necessary.
He would ensure that she made it to Oregon City, but that was it. From this moment forward, he would have nothing to do with Emma Pearson. He didn't deserve her.
7
The next two hours before they stopped to camp for the night were interminable for Emma. She longed to talk to Jeremiah, to find out what had transpired between him and the brave who had seemed determined to take her son, but Jeremiah didn't come by their wagon once and Robbie lagged by her side.
Three times, she saw him approach, but he didn't come near enough for her to talk to him. She wondered if he was angry or regretted bringing them. She'd find out tonight over dinner.
At the camp, she asked Grace for very specific instructions on how to make a savory stew using the cured ham she'd brought. Although she'd been saving it, she knew it was right to make it today. Grace had helped her enormously, and by the time dinner rolled around, the delicious smell wafting from the pot was making her mouth water.
She held off feeding her boys, wanting to give Jeremiah the first portion, but
he didn't come. Instead, Tommy came over to retrieve his food for him. Emma was hurt and confused, but handed over the biscuits and stew without comment. A short time later, Tommy returned with the dishes and a compliment.
“That was real tasty, Missus Pearson. Thanks.”
“Did Jeremiah enjoy it as well?” she asked, wishing she didn't sound so desperate.
“Uh, yeah. I'm sure he did. Well, I'd better set up for the night. See you all in the morning.”
Before she could say anything else, he disappeared.
“Is Captain Holt upset with us?” Jacob asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
A flicker of indignation ignited in her chest. How dare he make her little boy feel guilty!
“No, darling. You did nothing. I don't know why Captain Holt is being so...detached, but I'll find out. You and your brother get to bed, alright? I'll be in shortly.”
After asking Grace to keep an eye on her boys, Emma made her way over to where Tommy and Jeremiah had pitched a tent. Even though it wasn't even eight o'clock, their fire was already extinguished and there was no sign of their being awake. Still, that didn't deter her.
“Captain Holt?” she called, standing beside their tent. “Captain Holt, I need to speak with you. It's urgent.”
When there was no reply, she called again. “Sir, I won't be put off. If you refuse to come out, then I'll... I'll...” What could she do? “I'll come in!”
She'd seen a man in a state of undress before and would have barged in, possibly ruining her reputation, but a voice behind her halted her actions.
“He's not in there, Missus Pearson.”
She whipped around to see Tommy standing in front of her, looking concerned.
“Where is he then?” she demanded.
He looked around a little before answering. “He, uh, wanted some time to himself. I don't expect he'll be back any time soon, ma'am. I suggest you get some rest.”
Emma nearly stamped her foot in frustration. “Do you have any idea where he went?”
The man shrugged, but cast a very subtle glance over his left shoulder. She wasn't sure if he meant to give her a hint or not, but she immediately began walking in that direction.