A Dream Unfolding

by Karen Baney

  As the wagon train continued through town, many of the freighters headed directly for the town plaza, presumably the center of commerce. This was their final destination culminating in the sale of all their wares and goods.

  The wagon train camped on the western outskirts of town close to the river. Tonight, they would make supper and chat around the campfire. Then tomorrow the routine of camp would begin again with laundry and such. Not waiting for Drew’s assistance, Hannah jumped down from the wagon eager to be free from the wretched seat. Stretching her arms high over her head, she tried to work out the stiffness of muscles long inactive.

  Some days the endless journey really chafed her nerves. They left Cincinnati over two months ago. They covered only a few more miles in the last two months as what they covered by steamboat in just those first few days. Wagon travel was indeed agonizingly slow. Hannah hoped they would not be delayed in Santa Fe for too long. She was more than ready to settle in her new home even if it might be teeming with Apaches.

  She rooted through the crate where she kept their pans and utensils for cooking on the trail. While she had other items stowed for when they finally found a home, she kept things simple like Betty showed her. Tonight they had fresh beef provided by some generous locals. She savored the long forgotten aroma of beef steaks sizzling in the pan. While she enjoyed the venison, buffalo, and other game eaten along the way, there was nothing like the familiar flavor of beef. Feeling ambitious, Hannah decided to mix up some biscuits and gravy. Perhaps keeping her hands busy would help her forget her fears.

  “Smells delicious,” Drew said as he came up behind her and put his arms around her. When was the last time he did that? Was it in Ohio? She leaned back against his chest, missing his nearness.

  He kissed her neck and lightening shot through her limbs, improving her mood. Drew settled his chin on her shoulder still holding her close. Oh she longed for the privacy to succumb to the thoughts running through her head. Instead, she pulled away, aware of the constant watch of their fellow travelers. Kissing Drew on the cheek she shooed him away, but not before she caught his roguish grin.

  In addition to her fears and the overwhelming length of the journey, the complete lack of privacy vexed her. The prying eyes of their companions never closed. Since they camped with the wagons providing a perimeter around the people, every conversation and action was scrutinized—and often whispered around the circle. Intimacy between a husband and wife seemed impossible. She wondered if any of the other married couples found it difficult, although there were very few couples in their wagon train.

  Grumbling to herself, Hannah dished up the completed meal, the earlier embrace of her husband forgotten. Sitting near Betty and Paul, the foursome bowed their heads for Paul’s blessing before eating the mouth-watering beef.

  “Have either of you,” Betty asked addressing Drew and Paul, “heard how long we will remain in Santa Fe before moving on our way?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “I’m not certain how much farther we have to go before we get to the Arizona Territory either,” Paul said.

  “Do you think there is any possibility we might be there by Christmas?” Hannah asked, hopefully.

  “Not sure. I’m certain the wagon master will be around in the next day or so to give us an update. We should be here for at least a few days,” Drew answered.

  Hannah ate the rest of her food in silence as Drew and Paul speculated about their arrival date.

  By the time they finished their meal, fast-paced rambunctious music filled the air. Hannah found herself tapping her foot to the beat as she sat around the fire with her husband and friends. Lieutenant Harrison joined them shortly after sunset.

  Drew asked, “Where is that music coming from?”

  Lieutenant Harrison replied, “The locals have a custom they call a fandango, or dance. Almost nightly, they gather at a sala, or dancing hall.” He pointed towards the building nearby as several uniformed men ducked inside. “It is a relatively harmless form of entertainment.”

  “Come on,” Drew said, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he grasped Hannah’s hand. They followed the growing throng of travelers pouring into the sala.

  Contrary to her husband’s sense of adventure, Hannah felt more concerned than excited as they entered the long and narrow building. The room was lined with benches along every wall, except for the far side along one of the narrow walls where the stage held musicians. Velvety fabric covered the walls up to the top of Drew’s head. Candles, ornate iron crucifixes, and gold framed pictures of saints adorned the walls. The bare dirt floor whirled dust around her ankles as the dancers waltzed down the center of the hall.

  Drew led her to one of the benches on the long side of the sala, where she watched the diverse group of people gathering in the room. Men and women from every race and station of life participated. The dancers lined up, men on one side and women on the other. One, obviously wealthy, woman was dressed in a flowing lavender silk gown with large gold necklaces decorating her neck. She wore enough rings for every finger on her hands; each ring contained some sort of precious ruby, diamond, or emerald. In her hair was the most exquisite pearl comb. This woman partnered with a short local Mexican dressed in an open cotton shirt and leather trousers. His bare feet further contrasted the difference in class and clothing. Every dancing couple was similarly mismatched, such as the army officer paired with an old peasant woman.

  The music was different from what Hannah remembered at the old barn dances and socials back home. A lively short and stout man on the stage picked out an energetic tune on a small guitarra. The tombé, a small drum, provided the steady beat. The fiddler was very tall and thin, with short, dark black hair slicked back from his brown skin. A thick black moustache hid his upper lip and wide dark eyebrows provided a strong line above his dark brown eyes. The ruffles on his sleeves bounced in time with each lively stroke of the bow against the fiddle strings.

  The energy of this odd collection of people became contagious. More Americans joined in the revelry. The wagon master picked a lovely Mexican gal with a cigarritos dangling from her brightly painted lips. Most of the local men held a cigar or drink in one hand and a dance partner in the other. Even more scandalous were the local women, many smoking cigarritos or gulping their champagne. After a few waltzes, the far end of the dance floor became obscured from the smoke and the dust kicked up by dancing.

  Despite the unusual pairing of couples, everyone seemed well behaved. There seemed to be a general understanding and respect among the participants. The dancers kept arms and hands to appropriate places. Hannah overheard Lieutenant Harrison say that the fandango was simply meant to be entertaining. Most attendees only wanted to dance. Even the children joined in the fun. One adorable little girl, not more than six or seven years old, with dark curly tresses danced with the priest.

  Turning towards Drew, she tried not to breathe too deeply of the dust and smoke. He bobbed his hand up and down against his leg keeping beat with the drum. When he looked at her, his eyes shimmered, free from the worried look he carried since they started west. She smiled. He nodded his head towards her, causing her focus to shift forward again.

  A young boy of ten or so, stopped in front of her. He held out his hand towards Hannah, indicating he wanted to dance. She grew nervous, uncertain as to whether or not it would be considered proper.

  “You should dance with him,” Lieutenant Harrison said, sitting next to Drew. “It is considered impolite to refuse anyone requesting a dance.”

  Hannah glanced at Drew almost seeking permission. With a smile on his face, Drew nodded, giving her the courage to proceed. She was quickly swept into the crowd of dancers whirling about the dance floor. The music was jovial and one could not keep from becoming festive. As the song concluded, the young boy, with a huge grin on his face mumbled “gracias señora” before running off the dance floor into the haze.

  Hannah looked around frantically searching for Drew. She lost
sight of him during the dance. Dancers moved about her, one pair bumped into her nearly knocking her on the ground. Suddenly the weariness of the journey hit her and her eyes began to water.

  Chapter 14

  Drew watched Hannah as she danced with the young boy, swirling about the room with a smile on her face. She seemed to be having a good time. The dust from the dirt floor and the cigarritos smoke grew thicker, but Drew easily kept his wife in sight, should she need rescued.

  A smile teased the corners of his lips. Sometime during the last month, things seemed to improve between them, despite Hannah’s tiredness. She smiled at him. She spoke with him, without sharpness. Ever since the near miss at Devil’s Gate. His heart lurched with the memory. For a few minutes he thought she might fall off the wagon, down over the edge into the canyon far below. Since then, he could hardly wait for a moment alone each day to wrap her in his arms or shower her with kisses.

  As the song came to an end, Hannah looked around agitatedly. The smile on her face faded and the slump returned to her shoulders. Standing, Drew pushed through the crowd and grasped her hand. She looked near tears. He led her from the sala to a quieter area nearby. He placed one hand on the small of her back then clasped her hand with his other hand. Stepping forward, he led her in a brief waltz in the fresh air of the outdoors to the tune of the strange music echoing from the dance hall. When the song ended, he brought Hannah close, brushing a light kiss across her lips. He was rewarded with her lovely smile.

  “You, dear wife,” Drew said, “are amazing.” He wanted to say more—to tell her how much her willingness to move clear across the country meant to him—but his own guilt blocked the words from forming.

  He continued to hold her close for some time, swaying back and forth, not really keeping time with the music. He missed just holding his wife, resting her head over his heart. He missed a great deal about their life in Ohio. The routine of daily life without fear of danger. The warm bed shared at night. The privacy. Perhaps tomorrow he would find a way to get some time alone with his wife, apart from the crowded camp.

  The next morning came sooner than expected. The noise from the dance hall increased in volume throughout the night keeping Drew from a peaceful sleep. As their neighbors returned to camp, many stumbled and tripped making more noise. He worried that one might lose their way and end up in his tent, so he stirred at every sound.

  The smell of flapjacks grilling motivated him to rise. Hannah already started breakfast. He could hear her chattering with Betty about the events of last night. Exiting the tent, Drew moved next to her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  “After breakfast, the wagon master said we would have the day to relax,” Hannah said.

  “I am assuming you will want a bath then, Mrs. Anderson?” Drew teased.

  “Oh, Mr. Anderson, don’t think you will be skipping by without one, too,” she shot back quickly, her smile giving away her lightheartedness. He smiled back as he turned to go check on the stock. It had been a long time since his wife teased him. He forgot how much he missed it.

  Drew welcomed the idea of a bath. He could not recall the last time he had a bath. What a luxury to bathe as often as he desired—one he took for granted back in Ohio. Along the trail, washing up two consecutive mornings seemed a luxury. A bath was out of the question. But, camping near the river, he would gladly fill the water barrels and roll them up the bank so he and Hannah could indulge.

  His mind began to wander as he made sure the oxen had plenty of food and water. How was Hannah really doing? The fear in her eyes last night at the sala had little to do with losing sight of him. There was something much worse troubling her, and had been for some time now. He knew this trip was hard on her—probably harder than she let show. Was this whole venture a mistake? Should he have done as she suggested and settled in Indiana instead?

  No matter, they had come much too far to turn around now.

  Perhaps they should go to Granite Creek, instead of La Paz. Paul and Betty would be there. A fort would be located nearby according to Harrison. The government seemed likely to set up the capital there.

  Mulling over the idea, Drew recalled all of the things discussed over the meals with the governor. The place sounded far more picturesque than La Paz. Tall pines and junipers. Rivers and creeks. Several industries besides mining. A place like that would grow quickly.

  Being deep in the wilderness, any medical care he could provide would be so much better than a complete lack of care. He could barter his services for goods. If there were several hundred men, it might mean sparse work at first, but over time as new settlers arrived, he would have more work. Maybe he could even help with animals.

  “You seem deep in thought for such an early morning,” remarked Lieutenant Harrison as he hobbled his horse with the others.

  “Just thinking about how hard this trip has been, especially on my wife,” Drew said.

  “Mrs. Anderson? She appears very confident and capable of dealing with the duties of a woman on the trail.”

  “Well, I am relieved to know she doesn’t show it,” Drew said.

  Wanting to shift the focus away from such personal discussions, Drew asked, “How much longer before we reach the Arizona Territory?”

  “We are more than a week from Fort Wingate, which is last stop in New Mexico. Much of it depends on the weather and the Indians. From Fort Wingate, we expect the trip to take another four to six weeks.”

  “That will put us there around the beginning of January, right?”

  “Most likely we will stop for a few days at Fort Wingate before heading out again, but it is possible we will be there by the beginning of the year,” Harrison said.

  “Might I ask a favor?” Drew hesitated, wishing he had thought through his forthcoming words more carefully. “You see…that is…” Drew stumbled to a halt. Perhaps it was ludicrous to ask the lieutenant to teach him how to shoot a gun. He was embarrassed to admit he had yet to learn.

  “Drew, it would please me greatly to be able to help you with whatever you are about to ask. I can never repay you for saving my life,” Harrison said.

  “I thought you might be able to teach me to shoot my rifle,” Drew said looking off into the distance. “We left in such a hurry, I had no opportunity to learn. I purchased extra ammunition with the intention of practicing, but…”

  Harrison’s astonished look further embarrassed Drew. But, he spoke kindly, “I don’t suppose I would have thought a doctor would be particularly handy with a gun, given your nature to save lives rather than take them. Let’s meet tomorrow morning for your first lesson.”

  Drew nodded, relieved that he would not be required to call upon Hannah’s skill should they encounter trouble.

  Then Harrison turned to look directly at Drew with a rather serious expression. He opened and closed his mouth several times, as if weighing his words carefully. “Drew, I wanted to thank you for all you have done for me. Between you and Mrs. Lancaster, I have been able to let go of the past and start fresh with our Lord.”

  Drew smiled, very pleased with the news. Thank you, Lord, for the work you are doing in the lieutenant’s heart.

  The lieutenant continued, “Might I ask, how does one grow deeper with God?”

  “Well, prayer is one way. Just talk to him like you are talking to me now. Another way is to read the Bible. Everything in it is from God and as one verse says, it is useful for teaching and rebuking. That is how I learn more about God.”

  Lieutenant Harrison looked down at the ground. “I…do not…that is…have a Bible.”

  “You may have mine.”

  Harrison’s eyes went wide. “But, what of you?”

  Drew smiled at his friend’s concern. “I can borrow Hannah’s.”

  Harrison nodded and grew quiet as he followed Drew back to camp.

  Drew climbed up into the wagon and quickly located his black leather Bible. He rubbed his long slender fingers over the well worn cover of the book that belonged to his
father. He always thought he would pass it along to his son, but giving it to his friend now seemed so much more important. He would say nothing of its sentimental value to Harrison, for he doubted his friend would take the gift then. Lord, let your words bring life to my friend.

  Clearing his throat to dislodge the emotion forming, Drew climbed back down from the wagon. Standing before his waiting friend, he stretched out his arm and offered the Bible to Harrison. The lieutenant looked down, hesitating for the briefest of seconds before taking the book.

  “You might start with the gospel of John,” Drew suggested, showing Harrison where to find it.

  The expressions moving across Harrison’s face went from awe to humility to appreciation as the silence stretched. His gaze remained focused on the words at the beginning of John. He ran his thick fingers over the words as if they were the most precious of jewels.

  “If I have questions, may I come to you?” Harrison asked.

  “Certainly. I will do my best to answer what I can,” Drew said as Harrison turned and walked back to the cavalry camp.

  After Lieutenant Harrison left, Drew thought back to what he said about the rest of the journey. Six more weeks. Maybe longer if we run into any trouble. Reality dawned on him. They were just over half way to their destination. Dejected, he sat down near the camp fire, just as Hannah dished up the meal. He was unable to push aside the regret and guilt storming in his mind.