Beth decided against starting a fire on such a warm night. Not knowing when her husband would return, she set up their tent and bedrolls. At least tonight if he returned drunk, they’d have privacy. She paused, sick to her stomach. If he wanted to do that disgusting thing most people called making love, Beth didn’t know if she could let him ever again. After Nicholas carried her over the creek on horseback, she’d realized a man could feel quite good while against her. She shivered as if chilled. If Nicholas tried to pull up her skirt like Daggart… Beth stopped herself from imagining anything further. She crawled into her cold bedroll, too tired to endure thinking about either man.
Another couple days of travel passed like the prior two. The activities were the same, but at a slower pace. Those with horses left the road in search of better grass or water. Finding none, the group stayed with the shallow, muddy creeks they crossed. Beth filled the water jar and let the silt settle overnight. In the morning, she’d boil the water in the cleaned out jar for the day’s use. Fortunately, neither the oxen nor Erleen were as picky about grit as she and Daggart.
The third day after leaving Wolf River, they found better water and fishing. The mood around camp brightened when word reached the last wagon of the large stream lying ahead of them. Everyone agreed to cross now instead of leaving the work for tomorrow.
Beth tapped her foot as she and her husband waited their turn. Had they camped on this side, she’d have her dress ready for sewing. Beth peered around people and vehicles at the stream to see how close they were to crossing. The longer the wait, the more likely she could start sewing.
From what she could see, the wagons made good progress across the river, too much for her to sit and sew a spell. She watched as high-spirited horses splashed over, while the steady oxen lumbered across. Mules dug in their heels, unwilling to walk over anything different from the usual dirt and grass. Never mind the animals had crossed water before this; every creek was a new experience for the stubborn creatures. She shook her head, certain only a fool would want a mule.
A disturbance to the right caught everyone’s attention. Six oxen pulling a Conestoga spooked, the ruckus drowning out many other sounds. Beth watched as the driver tried to calm the animals in mid-stream before the team broke away. The wagon tongue tore off with the oxen as they pulled left, overturning the wagon. People scrambled to gather items before they vanished in the currents. Other animals weren’t as affected as the horses, most of whom stayed calm, while only a few reared in displeasure.
Several men hauled the wagon upright as the driver and others retrieved the wayward team. Beth noticed Daggart standing close to their oxen, acting as if he needed to calm the already placid pair. She stifled a chuckle at his pretense, walking forward to see if the couple needed help reloading their items.
She stopped at the water’s edge. The river reached one of the taller men’s knees, and Beth chewed her lip from worry. Not only was the water cloudy, it rapidly swirled around people and things, causing definite ripples. A little shiver of fear went through her, and she stepped back a couple of paces.
“Mrs. Bartlett,” Nicholas addressed her. “We have things well in hand; get on to your place. You’ll be up here soon enough.” He rode off into the stream with a splash.
Feeling a bit rebuked, she nodded and moved out of the way for the next wagon. Amelia rode past Beth on her bay. The girl waved at her and joined Nicholas as he helped lead on individual wagons. Beth walked back to where Daggart waited, knowing she had no right to any sort of jealousy. Not for the first time in the past week did she think Nicholas deserved someone like Amelia.
She reached her husband, looking in the same direction he stared. Upon seeing his target, Beth gave him a sharp glance. “She thinks you’re married.”
“So do I,” he retorted, not taking his gaze from Amelia. He spat on the ground near her and then led the team up to the water.
She shook her head at his meanness and blinked back tears. Seeing him and their belongings enter the stream, she didn’t have time for crying. Beth took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the backboard of their wagon. She’d devised a plan on how to approach rushing water the day Nicholas had to carry her across. While she enjoyed being so close to him, Beth knew she couldn’t rely on him for crossing every river or creek. She figured the man had a job to do that didn’t include playing her knight in shining armor at a moment’s notice.
Beth held onto the wagon until her fingers grew numb. She ignored the water rushing into the boots she wore and stared only at her sunbonnet’s brim. She consciously inhaled and exhaled while hoping she didn’t appear too foolish to others. Only after reaching solid ground did she let go her fierce grip of the backboard. Her hands ached and Beth just knew she left indentions from her grip. She shivered despite the afternoon’s warmth.
Nicholas rode up to her, a concerned expression on his face. “Are you doing well?”
She nodded, “I think so.” Beth pulled off a boot, upended it and let the water run out. “I didn’t catch any fish, though.”
He laughed, tipped his hat, and rode on to the next family to cross. Beth didn’t spend any time watching him ride away; instead she emptied the other boot and hurried to catch up to Daggart.
In a rare good mood, Dag set up camp for them once they joined the wagon circle. All Beth had to do was make sure the animals had plenty to eat and drink. Her husband staked up their tent and scrounged for firewood, planning to join others at a fishing hole further down the stream. As she led Erleen around for grass, Beth also picked up any tinder for future fires. The further they traveled into the prairie, the less she saw of forests or even solitary trees. Despite assurances to the contrary, she felt sure burning buffalo chips would result in foul-smelling food.
After milking Erleen, she wanted to know if Daggart had any fish for dinner. She took the milk jar for him and brought a pail to the fishing hole for the evening and tomorrow’s water. Beth found Daggart sitting alongside several others, including Nicholas and Amelia.
“For me?” he asked, taking the jar and bucket.
“Of course.” She watched as he poured milk into the jar. “You’re probably thirsty, dinner time or not.”
He drank deeply of the milk, wiping his mouth on his sleeve afterward. “I was, thank you.” Daggart lifted the pail for her to take, keeping the jar.
“You’re welcome.” She looked out over the pond, seeing if anyone else pulled in a catch. “Any luck?”
He shrugged. “A couple of the boys caught some five pounders.”
“Hopefully, their friends will find your hook too.”
“Yeah, I’m gettin’ tired of bacon, no matter how you fix it.” Daggart shifted around, getting comfortable for a long wait.
Someone waving to her left caught Beth’s eye. She looked to see Nicholas walking with Amelia as the younger woman called out to her, “Bon jour!”
Beth waved back. “Hello.”
“Comment allez-vous?” she asked. To Beth, it sounded like Amelia had asked her “Come on, tall ay voo.” She understood the first part but not the second, and so responded with a shrug and a smile.
Daggart whistled. “What a fine woman. I’ll bet she speaks French and a lot of other languages. Probably reads them too. Dang.”
To her chagrin, after Amelia said something quietly to Nicholas, he and the girl laughed. He murmured in her ear and waving, the girl added, “Bonn chance et au revoir!”
Beth waved, having the feeling she’d been dismissed for the second time that day. Daggart was right. Amelia was a fine woman, much finer than she. Beth forced a bright smile at her husband, who wasn’t looking at her but at the retreating pair. “I’ll let you continue fishing, then.”
“I liked the milk. You don’t need some for butter?” he asked.
Beth shrugged. “No. Not unless you catch something.”
Dag cleared his throat as if getting ready to say something difficult. “I liked that bacon grease you used with the cornmeal and gras
s stuff like last time.”
She smiled at his somewhat accurate description. “Do you mean rosemary?”
Giving her a skeptical look, the same one she received when doing something stupid, he chided her. “You call it rosemary like some gal’s name?”
“Yes, and so does everyone else because that happens to be its name.” She eased down to the water’s edge, rinsing the jar of milk and filling it with fresh water. “Since you approve, I’ll use it when you bring back something for me to fry.”
He grinned, giving her a salute. “You got a deal, woman.”
Beth smiled as she carried the pail up to the campfire, pleased there’d been no fight or argument with her husband. She started the fire, put the pail on for boiling, and started bacon frying. While the heat did its job, Beth picked a couple pieces of her dress to sew. Working with the fabric was a joy. She took care, making each stitch small and even, although she’d rather go faster, impatient to wear such a lovely garment.
“Hello, Mrs. Bartlett.”
She looked up to see Nicholas with a stringer of fish, Amelia beside him. Beth stood, a little flustered at having been so engrossed in her work that she’d not heard them approach. “Hello, Mr. Granville, Miss Chatillon. It’s nice to see you both.”
“Merci beaucoup!” Amelia replied.
Nicholas smiled at the young woman next to him, saying, “I need to give Mrs. Bartlett a message from her husband. Je vous verrai au dîner, mon cheri?”
“Oh!” She cleared her throat then replied, “Mais oui, mon chere.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.” He didn’t watch her walk away, instead addressing Beth, “I see you’re making progress.”
“Yes, I am. This is so lovely I wish I could sew while walking.”
He raised an eyebrow, asking, “Should I ask how my socks are coming along?”
“Um,” Beth put the fabric behind her back. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”
Chuckling, Nicholas reassured her, “I’d rather see you out of your old dress first.” He grinned like a little boy caught eating a stolen apple. “And in your new one too, that is.”
Beth felt the blush all the way to her toes. Surely he couldn’t be courting Miss Chatillon while being so ornery to her. “Lucky for you, I can knit and walk at the same time if the ground is somewhat level. You’ll get your socks before my dress is finished, I promise.”
“No need to fret, Beth.” He winked at her. “As long as they are done by the Rockies, I’ll be happy. I truly would prefer your dress finished first.”
“Honestly? Because I agree even though I shouldn’t. You needed new socks or wouldn’t have asked me to make you a pair.” Beth brought the pieces of fabric up front for him to see. “But this is so beautiful and wonderful, I couldn’t resist. It has been a dream to sew.”
“I’m glad.” He glanced toward the fishing pond. “I need to get these started cooking. Your husband wanted me to tell you he’s caught a couple for you to have for supper.”
She smiled, knowing Daggart’s hunger had won out over his jealousy over another man talking to her. “In that case, we’re having cornmeal fish with rosemary.” She turned to the side casually as if Erleen had caught her interest, trying to keep her request informal. “Would you like to join us? I could add your catch to ours.”
Nicholas hesitated, staring into her eyes. “You’re very tempting, but I have plans already this evening.”
She looked away on the pretext of checking the boiling water to keep him from seeing her resentment. Before Beth could stop herself, she asked, “I’m assuming with Miss Chatillon?”
“Yes, Sam and I are having dinner with both her and her father. I’m helping her cook for the hands.”
“That’s very nice.” Beth forced lightness to her voice she didn’t feel and smiled up at him. “I won’t keep you then, and thank you for the message.”
He opened his mouth to say something then stopped, tipping his hat instead. Beth knew she imagined it, but with him gone, the night seemed darker than usual. She sewed until Daggart returned. He arrived not long after Nicholas left, with three fish for them. Whistling, he cleaned the catch, handing them over to her for cooking. Neither talked much; she didn’t know his reasons, and wanted to ignore hers. Both settled into their bedrolls expecting tomorrow to be somewhat the same as today.
Little spatters of drizzle on the tent woke her the next morning. “Daggart! It’s raining!” Water seeped in under the tent, soaking their blankets and them. She shook him awake, knowing he’d join her in having a bad mood over the rain. The day had yet to fully dawn, clouds darkening the sky. Crawling out, the chilly rain drenched her. She looked around, watching as others folded up their shelters, loaded them, and hitched their animals to the wagons or carts.
As the sky lightened, the faces of those traveling did not. Everyone, it seemed, missed their morning coffee very much. Some were able to ride in their wagons, others preferred walking in the chill to the rough bounce of the roads. As the morning wore on into noon, the trail became mushy and difficult to ride over. They didn’t stop for noontime; instead, everyone ate their cold lunch. Beth rode in their wagon, handing Daggart a biscuit bacon sandwich of sorts, wishing she’d had fresh vegetables from the garden to add. Any sort of a different taste would be wonderful, she thought, trying to chew the dry bread.
The steady drizzle continued into the late evening, never ending. Large, shallow pools stood on parts of the flattest land. The train couldn’t travel far today, the animals unable to take pulling their load through soggy dirt. Yesterday’s hot dinners were a fond memory when facing a cold evening meal. Daggart led the oxen around, searching for grass. After Beth did the milking, she looked for the cow something to eat as well. The land here had been too dry for too long. The tufts of grass had dried into crisps. A hungry Erleen pulled at the shriveled blades. Beth patted the cow on the neck, hoping for better grass ahead. She figured the nearer the Platte they were, the better the vegetation. Beth made a mental note to ask one of the Granvilles or hands when the grazing would improve.
As she staked the cow near the wagon, the rain pelted down harder. A blinding flash of lighting too quickly followed by booming thunder led more than one lady to cry out in shock. Beth clambered into the wagon, moving aside to let in Daggart.
“Help me pull down the flaps,” he ordered.
She took the back flap while he took the front. They tied them off, making the wagon less likely to leak. In the flash of lighting, she saw men running past, chasing errant animals. Several more loud thunderclaps sounded along with horse shrieks. The rain almost drowned out the sound of a stampede. Daggart hopped out to check on their cow. Beth peeked from under the flap to see Erleen’s broken rope. Heaven knew where or if they’d ever find her. After a while, they all straggled past, lightning illuminating the distant landscape without the deafening thunder. Daggart appeared at the back of the wagon where she looked out, startling Beth.
“Did you find Erleen?” she asked him. “How is she?”
He shook his head and hoisted himself into the wagon. “I don’t know.” Settling in beside her to look out also, he added, “I’m hopin’ we’ll be able to find her and the rest. They could be anywhere by now at full run.” Daggart began unbuttoning his shirt.
She turned away to get out the bedrolls. As many hooves as she’d heard, Beth had to ask, “Was anyone trampled?”
“Naw,” he shook his head and pulled a dry shirt over his head. “But I heard someone was struck. Killed them.”
Beth paused while setting up their bedding. Another person dead so soon? She took a deep, calming breath. Keeping her tone indifferent, she inquired in an offhand manner, “You don’t know who?”
“No one knew for sure which one of us it was.” He grunted, struggling out of his wet pants, then putting on a dry pair. After a slight tussle to get dressed, he added, “Weather’s so bad out there, most won’t know what’s gone until mornin’.”
Beth laid down on her
blankets. She placed the back of her hand on her forehead, forcing her voice to sound calm. “Morning sounds good. Since everything is wet, we might as well sleep here for the night.”
Dag stretched out for the night, yawning. “We’ll do that. I’m bushed.”
Soon, she heard his slight snore. Beth couldn’t sleep, wondering who’d been hit by lightning. She prayed Nicholas wasn’t out there, dead. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She also couldn’t bear it if Samuel or the Misters Lucky, Chuck, Lawrence, or Claude had been killed, either. All of them, at one time or another, enjoyed her cooking for them. She suspected it was them missing a wife or mother more than her way with spices. Still, their company made mealtimes enjoyable. The possibility any of them suddenly gone broke her heart.
Beth paid for her restless night the next morning. Her mind foggy, she desperately wanted coffee. The whole camp shared the same foul mood, the men especially so. They’d all left to search the countryside since Erleen and a couple of other cows were the only livestock still in camp. Beth hugged her and fixed her a new tether. She dug around for a small potato to give Erleen, who gobbled it up and rooted around Beth for more. She laughed at the animal’s enthusiasm and scouted around for fresh grass to feed her.
Water stood a couple of inches in places, more in others. The rain saturated the ground into muck, leading everyone to duck walk to avoid sticking in the clay. Listening to the chatter, Beth learned Jackson Watts had been killed in the storm. He was one of the card players Daggart liked chatting with in the evening. She didn’t relish the idea of telling her husband his friend had died and hoped he learned the news before coming back.
She saw Daggart leading their oxen to the wagon. “Did you hear?”
“Yeah.” He walked past her to hitch up the animals.
Beth looked at his face. “I’m sorry. It’s such a shame.”
Still busy checking the yokes, he muttered, “Doesn’t matter, he didn’t owe me money.”
She stepped back to let him pass. Not often, but sometimes Daggart surprised her with his lack of concern for other people. Amazed at his apathy, she asked, “Is whether he owed you anything all you care about?”
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